#three years of working w her and going out of my way to provide her w help even

[juicezone]

:’]

[readychilledwine]

hii!! i’m in love w your writing!!❤️❤️❤️ can i please request one where it’s azriel x reader. Feyre sees azriel wearing a ring on his left finger and asks,

” i’ve seen you wear that ring forever azriel, what does it mean? ”

” it’s my wedding ring ”

and her jaw drops bc she didn’t know he even had a lover.

” who is she? do i know her? what is she like? ”

he smiles faintly and says

” her name is y/n, she’s my mate and wife and she isn’t a warrior like us, she works at a library downtown. you don’t know her, only rhys and cassian do. we have a house in the outskirts in velaris. she is very sweet and i love her more than anything, our daughter is- ”

” YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER ????? ”

he nods and tells them all about her, he asks if feyre wants to meet reader and their daughter and feyre smiles and nods. He asks reader in the mating bond if it’s okay to bring her, nyx, rhys and cassian to dinner. reader says yes and azriel tells feyre he’ll pick them all up tonight before leaving to help his wife prepare. Reader meets feyre and become friends instantly, nyx and their daughter become friends aswell.

” how did i not know this?? this makes so much sense now. How he never sleeps here and he’s gone for days sometimes but not on missions. ” feyre asks rhysand.

”don’t worry i didn’t know for a long time either, Az is a very private person, he is extremely protective of his family. i’m glad he told me at all. either way he’s still a mystery sometimes, i learn new things about him all the time and i’ve known him for over 500 years” rhys says and laughs knowing your perfect for his brother 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️😭🥹😍

Haven

Warnings - none

A/n - I played with this for a while, rewrote it several times, and then made something that met in the middle of what came to mind, but still stuck with the request. Hopefully, you love it, dear 💜

Feyre had been in Velaris for 5 years. 5 long years and she had yet to figure out why Azriel kept a simple black band on his left ring finger at all times.

The two of them were on the couch, Rhys across from them, as they looked over maps of a few of the Illyrian Camps that had been recently renovated. The new cabins, mess halls, and dorms were a huge success, and figuring out the same layout for the remaining few was a huge topic of interest for the three smaller camps.

She glanced at the ring one more time before tapping it. Rhys and Azriel both looked at her, brows raised. "So, not magic," she muttered to herself. She tried spell cleaving it, "And not a ward or shield."

Azriel blinked at her, brows knit in silent question. Rhys had his hand over his mouth, hiding his amusement. Leave it to his wife to provide entertainment without knowing it was needed. "I-" she sighed. "You wear this ring all the time. I'm trying to figure out why."

Both of the males chuckled. "Probably the same reason you wear your wedding ring, Feyre Darling."

The High Lady made face, tapping the ring again. "Don't be ridiculous, Rhys. I would know if Azriel was married."

"Evidently not, my love."

Feyre and Azriel held eye contact, the male then going back to the maps. "Since I have extensive time in Steppes Peak, I think it would be easiest to move the mess hall here, at the base of the mountain, maintain the warroom in the carved out cave, and build better dorms here," he pointed to an empty part of the map.

Rhys nodded, drawing it out on the empty map he had. "I'm sure y/n will agree with whatever you say."

"Okay, stop." Feyre crossed her arms, pouting slightly at the two of them. "Azriel isn't married, and making up some name to make me feel stupid isn't kind."

Azriel sighed. He leaned back while dropping the scent ward he kept on himself at all times. He watched as her face fell. He knew his scent, chilled air and cedar, was the predominant one in the mateship, but now a soft floral scent, something like lavender and warm honey clung there softly.

"I've been married for longer than you have been alive, Fey." Azriel patted her hand. "I have a daughter older than you and another younger than Nyx."

He watched as her face fell, a small amount of hurt flashing across it. "Why didn't you tell me?" She paused, looking at the sleeping heir in his craddle. "We could be having play dates. I could have a friend who understands."

Guilt settled into his face as he pulled her into him. "I torture people for living, sweet sister. I execute people on your orders. I imprison people with a flick of your wrist." He tilted Feyre's head up. "Y/n has no combat training and refused to learn. She likes to sit at home writing poetry, baking, and cuddling our children. I do not bring her around or introduce them to anyone to keep them safe." His face held the ghost of a rare smile. "I think I've brought her to meet Rhys and Cassian once."

Rhys nodded. "I've met her once here and several times behind your back in town. Especially after my first niece was born."

Feyre kept her gaze on Nyx. "He could have a friend," her voice was distant.

Azriel stood, placing a kiss on her forehead as he did. "I'll be right back." Rhysand's smile grew wide. Folding the maps and putting them away. He moved to the liquor cabinet, bringing down one of his more expensive wines.

Azriel reappeared with you and both daughters in tow. Your oldest ran to Rhys, jumping on him and holding him tightly, her wings fluttering with joy as she did. "Hello, Amara," he nuzzled into her hair. "Missed you so much, baby girl. Cassian is on his way."

He walked with her in his arms to the table, setting the wine down and then carried her over to Feyre. "Would you like to meet your aunt?" She allowed Rhys to set her down and turned toward Feyre.

There was little question she was Azriel's. She was the beautiful artists dreamed of painting. Soft classic features framed with inky black hair that fell in gorgeous curls. "Feyre, this is our niece Amara. She's 56. She was my favorite suprise when I got home from the mountain."

She smiled shyly, keeping close to Rhysand. "Hi."

"Hi," Feyre didn't know what came over her, pulling the Illyrian female close to her and holding her. "I'm so excited to meet you."

Amara wrapped her arms around Feyre, returning the gesture. "Me too. Mom and I have been BEGGING dad for a while. But you know how the bats are."

The door slammed open, rushed loud footsteps and a panting filling the hall. "Where's my baby?!"

Amara pulled away from Feyre, smiling softly before moving away from all of them. She was rushed by Cassian, lifted up into his arms as he spun her.

Feyre looked to her side, noticing Azriel next to her, holding a swaddled bundle. "This is Iris. She's a month younger than Nyx." Azriel wouldn't look away from his daughter and her peaceful sleeping face. "I fear the day she loses her chipmunk cheeks."

Feyre looked around the room, trying to find the reason this was happening and felt her heart shift when she saw you, arm wrapped around Rhysand's bicep, looking at Nyx.

You were wingless, long dark hair braided back. Soft leggings and a sweater that was a few sizes too big covering your frame. Cassian had moved next to you, bumping you with his arm and smiling down at you. "He's so beautiful," your voice was a melody, a soft echo that brought calm to the room. "And so sweet. Look at those rosy cheeks."

Rhysand pulled you away, moving you back to Feyre. He handed you to Azriel, arms out expectedly. "Don't make me command it."

The shadowsinger placed his youngest in Rhysand's arms, hands shaking despite the trust between them, "Be careful with her. Please." Rhys nodded, moving over to Cassian. "Feyre, this is y/n, my wife and mat-"

Feyre didn't allow him to finish, hugging you instantly, tears lining her eyes as she did. "Please tell me we can be friends and cry about our babies together."

"I didn't realize that would even be a question. Of course we will be friends, and of course we will cry about all of the things. Our mates don't get it. Cassian, though, Cassian will join us."

The warlord stuck one finger in your direction. "Let me love them in peace, y/n."

You leaned into Feyre, "Has he cried while holding Nyx yet?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah. Big illyrian baby."

"The worst, aren't they? Rhysand, did you want me to make dinner?"

The High lord looked at Azriel, a small look of guilt on his face, "Please."

You squeezed Feyre's arm, kissing Azriel as you moved towards the kitchen. "You know where to find me if she needs me." He nodded.

Azriel moved to Cassian, watching like a hawk as the general snuggled the small babe in his arms. Amara was sitting by Nyx a look of love and adoration on her face as she sighed.

"She's perfect for Azriel in every way," Rhys stroked Feyre's hand. "I was nervous at first too when he brought her home. I was even more nervous when his fears manifested in the form of being deeply private with her. But she is perfect for him."

Feyre nodded, watching as Azriel glared as Cassian due to the loud squeak his baby had just let out.

"His girls are beautiful." Rhys hummed in agreement. "Y/n is beautiful."

Feyre moved to Amara's side, sitting next to her and smiling as her niece started asking questions.

She didn't realize it until now, but this was the missing piece. The part of the puzzle that had sat empty despite every thing around it being done. You and your girls were that lost center.

Now she just had to convince Azriel to keep bringing you around.

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers

[basketball-lesbians]

Freefall

summary: The thing about Paige and Azzi is they were never any good at staying away from each other. Even when they really should.

OR

The fwb pazzi fic that quite literally nobody asked for but I’m providing anyway.

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

contents: angst, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff occasionally if you squint, fwb, cheating

disclaimer:

As the story progresses, some of this will be out of character for Paige, especially with Azzi (she's lowkey an asshole at times in this storyline). There is cheating in this fic (NOT between Paige and Azzi), I don't condone it, but I did write it. I literally just wrote this because I could not get the prompt out of my head and bc I think it’s hot, lol. None of this has been beta’d, please do not repost/distribute anywhere else. Hope you enjoy these silly gay bitches being obsessed w each other :)

—

It was something they’d fought about a thousand times: the impending end of their time together at UCONN, whether Azzi would declare, how they would manage being thrust into being a long distance relationship again- if the cards fell that way.

Each time they’d fought about it, they would inevitably come to a resolution that it wasn’t worth stressing about before they had to- that they should treasure the moments they had left and live in the moment while it lasted. No matter how much that conclusion equally made Azzi’s stomach turn, ever the over-thinker, Paige would soothe her with that sweet, gentle voice she reserved for only her, and brush her loose curls behind her ear as she pressed sweet kisses to her face, and Azzi would let it go.

This time though, they hadn’t had such luck. They’d been arguing ahead of the season starting for an hour- loud enough that it echoed off the walls of the shared apartment, leading Ice and the other girls to take it as a sign and leave to give them privacy.

“No Paige, you’re not listening to me!” Azzi shouts, tears welling in her eyes as she flings her hands in a gesture of frustration that shows her desperation.

“How the fuck am I not listening to you?” Paige bites back defensively, her tone hot with anger. At that, Azzi scoffs, turning around to wipe the tears from her eyes harshly. The site of her back turned as she sniffles and wipes her face clearly melts away at Paige’s resolve, and it’s quiet for a ten count before her voice softens. “Baby, we’ve been at this for an hour.” She says, clearly exasperated.

“No. For months.” Azzi corrects pointedly, turning on her heel to meet Paige’s gaze. Her voice is unsteady, but the words are sharp and sure. There’s sincerity behind it, and they both know the implications of what she’s saying as it settles into the room.

It hangs heavy in the air between them, but neither of them manages to address it, just staring at each other. “And we’re no closer to resolving it.” It slips from her lips before she really thinks about it, and even though she means it, she feels bad as soon as she says it. She knows it was a low blow, speaking something aloud that so evidently assigned blame to Paige’s career.

Paige’s frame suddenly seems small in the low lighting of the room. She stares at the ground midway between them, not quite bold enough to look Azzi right in the face. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Azzi.” She mutters, defeated.

Azzi nods, wetting her lips. She would never ask Paige to choose her over her career, in any capacity. As teenagers, they’d conspired dreams about how they’d play together in college, spend every day together in practice and win championships before declaring for the draft and entering the league together. Azzi had finished college in 3 years just so they could stay in the same class.

But life hadn’t quite worked out that way. Yes, they’d both gotten to UCONN. They’d even gotten as close to a championship as the final four, more than once. But in three years, they’d only played 17 games together, injuries always getting in the way.

Now, almost a year after her second ACL tear, Azzi was close to coming back- this time, hopefully more permanently. But Paige was expected to declare after the end of her fifth year of playing at UCONN, her eligibility to stay in college gone, and nobody- including herself- was sure if the time was right for Azzi to declare, having missed so much play time throughout her collegiate career.

She knew the importance that getting to the league held to Paige. To both of them. She would never want to put herself before that. She did wish, though, that just for once, Paige would at least admit that the tensions that declaring brought with it were causing issues between them.

Really what she wishes is that she would hold her and apologize for the stress it caused, and promise that she would still be her priority, no matter where the draft took her. But Paige, ever so stubborn and never one to take blame if she didn’t have to, had yet to do so.

“You know what? Nevermind. I don’t know why I even brought it up.” Azzi grumbles, reaching for her sweatshirt that was slung over the back of Paige’s desk chair.

“Hey,” Paige says in protest, stepping toward her to grab her hand. “Paige, please.” Azzi sighs, glancing at their hands together before meeting the blonde’s eyes, glossy with tears. They share a pained look, but neither of them says anything. Paige drops her hand as Azzi reaches for her bedroom door. “I’ll see you at practice.” She says, closing the door behind her.

—

To make matters worse, when her alarm goes off the next morning, Azzi discovers that in her overly tired and emotional state after coming back from Paige’s, she’d set her alarm for 45 minutes after what she normally would to get ready for practice. She groans as she wakes up, rolling over to pick up her phone, turning off the alarm.

When she sees the time, she throws the blankets off, scrambling to her feet. She pulls her bonnet off and tosses it to her bedside table, grabbing a hair-tie left behind by Paige and pulling her curls back as fast as she can. Nearly falling over as she pulls on a pair of sweats and a hoodie she's pretty sure is her girlfriends', she rushes into the bathroom to quickly brush her teeth, splashing cold water on her face in a desperate effort to wake herself up, not bothering to look at her reflection in the mirror.

Of course this would happen to her the day of the first official practice back.

She grabs her practice set and court shoes and tosses them into her duffel along with another change of clothes, quickly grabbing a few hair care products and hygiene items to get ready with after practice before zipping it closed and slinking out the door. She gets down one out of three flights before realizing her keys aren’t in her hand. She groans in frustration, hanging her head in exasperation for a moment before turning around and running back up the flight of stairs she’d just come down, swiping her card to get back into her apartment to grab her keys.

Once she finds them, she rushes back down the stairs a second time, jogging across the walkway into the lot to her jeep as she checks her watch for the time. Shit. There was no way she was making it on time. She tosses her bag into the backseat before climbing into the drivers seat, and when she does, she’s instantly met with the realization that Paige was the last person to drive her car- she’d taken it for an oil change over the weekend because Azzi had studying she’d needed to do.

It’s evident in the way that her seat is slightly further back to account for Paige’s long legs, the smell of her cologne still barely in the air, and finally, when the engine turns over, the way that the speakers are turned to full volume once her phone resyncs to the audio system.

She flinches, partially at how bad she feels for picking a fight with Paige last night and partially at how loud the music comes through the speakers. She cranks the dial down after nearly jumping out of her skin, reversing out of her parking spot and out of the lot, probably a little bit faster than she should.

—

She pulls into the practice facility and manages a parking job she’s sure she’ll hear about in the team group chat later before speed walking inside, her bag hitting her knee awkwardly every other step. She swipes herself into the facility and immediately rushes to the team room and then to the changing rooms, throwing on her practice set and pulling out her shoes to walk to the courts. She tries to slink into the gym without being noticed, but the girls are already running drills across the court, so there’s nothing to distract CD from clocking her as soon as she rounds the corner.

Azzi offers an apologetic smile, and for a second she actually thinks that the pathetic look on her face might have spared her from a lecture when CD’s expression softens as she looks at her, but then she hears it. Geno’s loud voice booms across the gym- calling her out in front of the entire team and staff.

“Azzi Fudd! How nice of you to make an appearance.” He chides, hands wide as he makes a big gesture at her in disbelief, walking towards her. She nods, dropping her court shoes to the floor, slipping her slides off to change into them. “I know- I’m so sorry,” She acknowledges, not bothering to provide an excuse, because she knows by now how their coaching staff feels about them.

“Mmm. Just decided since you aren’t fully cleared you don’t need to be here?” He asks sharply, and even though she knows he doesn’t actually think that about her, and that he’s just annoyed and trying to prove a point, it still stings. “No, I-“

She stops herself, knowing she’s getting emotional and about to launch into a defensive explanation for no reason. It was a shitty feeling right now, but he’ll forget about it before the week’s out. “No excuse, Coach. It won’t happen again.”

Even though he’s barely taller than her, she feels small as he looks at her intently. “Better not. Get your mind right, kid.” She nods, kneeling down to tie her shoe. He turns away from her, spurring the girls on the court into switching to another drill.

CD takes his place next to her, leaning over slightly so she can hear her without her having to raise her voice. “Brush it off. Lynn’s waiting for you in the team room,” She says, patting Azzi on the back as she stands up.

She nods, smoothing a hand over her hair as she offers a small smile in response. Subconsciously, her eyes scan the group of girls on the court for Paige as she walks back out of the gym, although she hears her before her eyes actually find her.

“Box out, box out! You can’t leave him open like that!” She yells to the underclassmen as she runs under the basket to rebound a shot thrown up by one of the practice players, dribbling it back outside the key and retaking the possession. Azzi smiles to herself slightly at that, walking under the banner that hangs over the doors on her way out.

Paige’s gaze finds Azzi’s figure walking out as she resets, closing in on the three point line. She pump fakes the practice player thats guarding her and pivots hard to the left, losing him fully, before coming up for a wide open jumpshot three.

Azzi’s already turned the corner and walked out of the gym by the time the ball leaves her shooting hand, but her eyes still come back to the doorway to look for her. When she doesn’t find her there, her gaze snaps back to the hoop. The shot bounces off the shooting square of the backboard, rolling around the lip of the rim tantalizingly before tipping out of the basket. Miss.

—

Paige wrings her hair out with her towel, the material of the dri-fit shirt she’d pulled on sticking to her back with her movements. The chatter from the other girls that would usually fill the locker room is non-existent this morning, Paige having stayed significantly late after practice to get extra shots up and talk to Geno.

The stress of this season was already weighing on her, but she was determined to rise to the occasion and use this season, her last, to get the Huskies to championship number 12. She’d always had a chip on her shoulder, but this year, with all the media speculation and attention, she was committed to showing up and showing out- to do what she came here to do.

No matter what the cost was. It was something she needed to prove to herself.

She sighs, hanging up the towel into her locker, and drops her hygiene bag into the open drawer of her locker, nudging it shut with her hip.

She barely hears when Azzi enters the locker room from the team room, shower kit in hand to head to where Paige had just emerged from.

“Hey,” Azzi says, a quiet start to a conversation they both know is going to feel like ripping off a bandaid. Paige nods at her, lifting a hand under her shirt to apply deodorant. Azzi’s eyes briefly skim the exposed section of taut midriff that flashes before her shirt falls back to cover it again. “Hey. Didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, um. Stayed back for some cupping.” She shifts her clothes and shower kit between her hands awkwardly, lingering in place solely to talk to the other girl, who’s nodding along as she combs through her drawer, evidently looking for something specific.

“Talked with Lynn a little bit about the conversations I’ve been having with Carl,” She says, a touch of hopefulness in her voice evident at the mention of her recovery timeline.

Paige offers a slight smile at that, running lotion over her hands and face. “That’s good,” She says, pulling a hoodie on over her t-shirt. “You wanna get breakfast after you shower, talk about last night?” She asks, finally turning to look at Azzi fully.

Azzi doesn’t miss the way her tone is just a little short, her expression tense, like she’s holding back from her. She hates when she gets like this after they fight- understands it, but hates it, nonetheless.

“I have class after this,” She reminds her gently- a byproduct of the fact that Azzi had chosen in person classes while Paige had adamantly tried to keep the both of their schedules as fully online as possible.

Paige purses her lips slightly and nods, reaching for her bag. “Right. Okay,” She says, putting her shoes in the top of her locker and tidying up her space. “Well, I guess lemme know when you have time to talk, then.”

“Paige, hey.” Paige looks up, pulling her backpack over her shoulder. “What’s up?” She asks, her voice almost impatient, like she's waiting for Azzi to finish her thought so she can leave.

“I-“ Her voice falters, not sure of what to say. After not interacting at all since their fight last night, Azzi wasn’t sure what to say.

She thought they’d both soften by the time they talked about it, and maybe they had- but an immediate rejection the second that Paige offered to talk definitely hadn’t helped. Now she was doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out a way to walk that back before Paige walked out of the room.

“I finish with classes at 4. Do you wanna meet at my apartment?” Paige frowns. “We were gonna go to the women’s soccer game tonight, we talked about it in practice.” She says flatly.

Azzi nods, pretending it didn’t sting that the season had literally barely started and she’d already been left out of team conversations due to being benched. “Okay. After that?”

Paige sighs, pulling her phone out of her pocket when it starts ringing. “Shit. It’s Brittany, I gotta take this.”

Azzi draws her bottom lip between her teeth and raises her eyebrows, nodding. “Okay.” She says as Paige walks past her and towards the door.

She turns to acknowledge Azzi as she passes at least, which softens the blow.

“Sorry for not telling you about the soccer thing, it was an impromptu idea that got brought up this morning. You’re obviously invited,” She says, before drawing her thumb across the screen and pulling her phone to her ear.

“Yeah. I’ll text you,” Azzi calls after her, and Paige throws a pointer finger up in acknowledgment as she walks out.

So much for talking about it.

—

She gets ready quickly after her shower, not liking how quiet the facility was when the whole team wasn’t there, filling it with buzzing energy and a love for the game.

She pulls her hair back and makes faces at herself in the mirror for a minute before heading to her locker and putting away the gear she kept at the facility, packing up the rest in her duffel.

She pulls her phone and keys out of her bag, looking at her phone for the first time since she’d gotten to the facility. Really, for the first time since she’d been awake, what with the way she’d woken up.

She unlocks her phone and navigates to messages, where she sees 5 unread messages from Paige. Furrowing her brows, she opens their pinned conversation.

Paige Madison 💗:

12:07am: Hey, I’m sorry about tonight. Can I come up?

12:22am: I love you, Az

1:12am: U still tryna ride w me to practice?

4:45am: Should I wait for you or nah?

5:20am: Yo, you good? Getting worried now.

Azzi sighs, running her free hand over her face, frustrated. No wonder she was short with her this morning.

She probably thought she had ignored her all night, and as soon as she’d asked her to go with her to get breakfast and talk this morning, Azzi had turned her down. If Azzi knew anything about Paige from the last 7 years, it was that she hated feeling rejected.

Feeling guilty, she types out a response.

9:11am: I’m so sorry, I just saw this. I went straight to sleep and then overslept this morning

9:11am: I’m okay. I’m sorry if I worried you

Then, after a beat:

9:13am: I love you too

—

Collegiate soccer games are 90 minutes, divided into two 45 minute halves. Azzi knows this because she googled it. Twice.

The soccer game had started at 5:30, and Azzi had too much homework to go, which she’d texted to the team chat. Ice had tried to drag her with her on her way out the door, but Azzi held her ground, knowing she needed to stay on top of her coursework as the season ramped up, or she’d regret it later.

The girls complained in the groupchat at her absence, which made her feel a little less bad, but Paige had largely not acknowledged her since their tense conversation in the locker room- aside from a response to the messages Azzi had sent when she finally looked at her phone this morning.

Paige Madison 💗

9:43am: All g. Lmk if you still wanna talk after the game

So she’d texted back after her class-

11:12am: Ofc. I just have some hw I’ll be working on but I’ll be at home after my class ends at 4

And although Paige had heart reacted to it, Azzi was still feeling a bit uneasy about the whole thing.

Now it was 8:24, and Azzi’s done the math- even accounting for timeouts, substitutions, and a break at half, and even if they went into overtime, it’s getting late.

There’s nothing in the chat about the game going long or traffic being bad or something coming up- so even though she tries to assure herself it’s nothing, she’s slowly becoming convinced that it’s definitely something.

—

When the group finally comes barreling through the door, Azzi’s moved to her bed to be more comfortable, giving up on trying to stay up. She isn’t sure what time it is, but she knows it’s late enough for her to be justified in being bothered.

She goes to check her phone. 1:41am, and still no texts from Paige. Nice.

The girls erupt in laughter in the living room, and she hears Paige’s voice amongst them. “Yo, yo. Shut up, f’real. You’re acting dumb as fu-“ Her words are cut off by very obviously running her shin into something- Azzi would assume the ottoman she left sticking out.

For a second, she almost feels bad. Almost.

“Ohhhh, fuck me.” Paige groans out loudly, and then there's what sounds like her jumping on one foot to hold her leg.

The other girls cackle at her obnoxiously, and Azzi huffs, resolving to get out of bed so all the girls make it to theirs safely. She switches on the light in her room, pulling her robe on, and the way she can hear the girls scatter at the sound makes her feel like she’s somebody’s mother.

She pulls her door open, and Ice is laying on the floor clutching at her stomach in laughter while she watches Paige nurse her leg leaning against the wall. She hears Morgan giggling somewhere on the couch, and the smell of liquor coming off of the trio does not impress her at all.

She stands with her hands on her hips just outside the living room, staring at Ice. Ice giggles anxiously when she sees her, scooting across the floor and away from her.

“Isuneh,” Azzi warns, walking toward her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” She laughs out, clearly picking up on Azzi’s agitation, despite being inebriated to the extent that she is.

“We should have texted- the girls won, like totally kicked Boston’s ass, and they wanted to go to Ted’s with us, so…” She trails off, and Azzi sighs, turning to find the other two in the dimly lit room.

Morgan, to her credit, seems the least drunk out of the three of them, but she’s entirely too bubbly considering that it’s nearly midnight on a monday.

Azzi gestures towards Morgan, not acknowledging Paige yet. The tension it adds to the room is palpable. “Do you need help getting to bed?” Azzi asks, a gentle lilt in her voice despite being annoyed.

She wasn’t trying to ruin the freshman’s fun just because she was having a bad day. Morgan shakes her head, standing slightly unsteadily.

Azzi sighs, leaning down to grab Ice’s hands and pull her up and lean her against the couch. “Get some sleep,” She says to Morgan. “Pain meds are in the cabinet above the coffee maker, I’ll make sure there’s food in the morning.”

Morgan smiles nervously at her, her posture small. “Thanks, Az,” She whispers, and Azzi nods at her, offering a small smile back.

Ice slumps into Azzi’s shoulder, giggling again. Azzi hits her shoulder, only slightly playfully. “You should know better, Isuneh,”

She scolds, pushing her back against the couch again so she can swing an arm beneath hers and get her to her bedroom.

“It’s a frikin' Monday night.” She says incredulously, mostly to herself.

Ice laughs at that before groaning, reaching for her stomach. “No, no, no,” She rushes to get out. Azzi cranes her neck to look at her.

“What?” She asks, and Ice gags. Azzi winces, saying a silent prayer that nothing comes up, and that if it does, it somehow manages to avoid her.

Ice drops her weight back towards the couch and out of Azzi’s reach. “Don’t move me, just let me die here.” She says dramatically, and Azzi makes a face, staring at her for a moment, calculating.

She sighs, picking up her feet and putting her fully on the couch. She walks to the closet just outside the living room and pulls out a blanket, fanning it out over Ice so she can at least hopefully get comfortable and sleep this off.

She feels Paige’s gaze on her, but she makes no effort to acknowledge it. She walks to the kitchen and gets a glass of water, bringing it back to the drunken girl sprawled out on the couch. “Here,” She says, holding out the glass in one hand and two aspirin in the other.

“You’re gonna wanna get ahead of this before the morning,” She says when Ice stares at her blankly. “I don’t know if I can even swallow that,” Ice slurs, trying to sit up and missing when she tries to plant her arm, nearly dropping off the side of the couch and into Azzi’s leg.

She grimaces, leaning out of the contact, and resettles Ice onto the cushions. “Come on. Take this and I’ll let you sleep.” Ice sighs loudly, reaching for the pills and taking them from Azzi’s hand.

The glass, however, she simply presses her lips to, rather than taking it from Azzi’s hand.

“Oh my god,” Azzi mutters, tilting the glass slowly so the water flows into Ice’s mouth. She swallows loudly, opening her mouth wide after the fact to show off that the pills were gone.

Azzi chuckles to herself. “Very nice,” She credits, pulling the blanket over the taller girl once she settles back on the couch.

Ice sighs, bringing the blanket to her chin. “Thanks, crazy Azzi. Don’t have too much fun with Paigey-Waigey. I’ll be able to hear it from here.” She giggles, wagging her finger at Azzi suggestively. Azzi rolls her eyes, taking the glass back to the kitchen. As if.

She walks back through the living room and Paige is already looking at her, her hand still over her shin. Azzi sighs. “Are you okay?” She asks, gesturing loosely at her leg.

Paige nods, her eyes obviously tired, and moves to try and stand, using the wall for aid. Azzi comes slightly closer, so if she falls she’d be able to catch her, and watches her carefully. “‘M fine, Az. I’m not even that drunk.” She defends, and Azzi rolls her eyes yet again.

“Right.” She says. Paige clears her throat, awkward, using the opportunity of being braced against the wall to catch her breath. “Do you need the couch or can you make it downstairs?” Azzi asks, and Paige furrows her eyebrows.

“Oh. Uh,” She pauses, looking around. Azzi swallows. She’d obviously planned to stay with her tonight.

The assumption that she would stay with Azzi would be sweet if she hadn’t left her hanging for hours, not texted, and then shown up drunk at midnight on a weeknight- if she hadn’t said they could talk tonight, and then completely stood her up. But she did.

“Come on. You probably wouldn’t make it down those stairs in once piece anyway.” She grumbles, grabbing Paige’s arm and guiding her to her bedroom. Paige starts to protest, but quickly drops it.

The younger girl makes sure Paige gets to the bed, and then turns to close the bedroom door. She pulls her robe off and drapes it back over her desk chair, Paige’s eyes tracking her movements intently.

“You look good, mama,” Paige draws, and Azzi scoffs. “Absolutely not, Paige Madison.” She clears, walking towards the bed, deliberate in staying out of Paige’s reach.

Paige’s eyebrows draw up in surprise, and Azzi stares at her incredulously, her clueless reaction making frustration flash in her chest.

“What? Did you drink so much you forgot we were supposed to talk?” Azzi asks, unable to help herself, and as soon as she says it, she regrets it.

She knows better than that, she should have waited until tomorrow to do this. It’s only going to cost them both sleep, and Paige probably won’t even remember it in a few hours.

Paige breathes heavily, leaning forward so her forearms are braced against her quads as she leans over, feet square on the ground. “Fuck, Az. ‘M sorry,”

Azzi bites at the inside of her cheek, weighing whether or not to engage further. “Seriously, Paige? What, you just spaced it?” Paige winces when she raises her voice. “No, I-“ She stops, holding her head.

She looks up at Azzi, squinting, even just from the normal lighting in her room. “We went out for dinner and a couple of drinks. I meant to text you, honest. We got caught up and…” She trails off, and Azzi’s mouth goes dry.

“And what, Paige?” She asks. The blonde groans next to her. “I’on even know,” She complains, hanging her head, and in any other situation, Azzi would sympathize more and pull her under the blankets, play with her hair and let her fall asleep on her chest.

But right now, tears are brimming her eyes and she can’t even bring herself to touch her hand. “You couldn’t even muster the presence of mind to have somebody else text? Or, god forbid, you couldn’t have just made it a priority to get back to me so we could have this stupid conversation?”

Paige's eyebrows furrow, looking up at her. “Wh’d’you mean, stupid conversation? If it’s about us and it’s important, how is it stupid?”

Azzi purses her lips, beyond frustrated that she can pick a fight over minced words but won’t actually address the problem that’s been hanging over them for months. “You tell me, Paige. You’re the one who couldn’t make it a priority.”

“I’m sorry, Az. You gotta understand, dude, I got a lot going on, and I was already upset-" Azzi laughs at that, throwing her hands up.

“You were upset? Paige, you barely even talked to me today. And then you stood me up when we were finally supposed to actually talk.”

“Whoa, you started the “barely talking” thing. You didn’t even answer my texts til practice was over the next morning.” Paige says, scooting back in the bed to lean against the wall and get further from Azzi. “Yeah, because I fell asleep. I told you that.” Azzi argues.

“Okay, well I tried to talk with you earlier, and you were too busy.” Paige stabs back. “No, Paige, I wasn’t “too busy”. I had classes. Classes I am trying to stay on top of so that you and I can have time together outside of the season and actually enjoy the last year we have together before who fucking knows what happens!”

Paige laughs. “Dude, you think I don’t understand that? That’s why I tried to get as many online classes as possible. You’re making me out to be this villain who like, doesn’t wanna be around you or something, and that’s not fuckin’ true. I’m trying so hard to be on top of classes and be a good leader for the team and keep myself in a good position to get to the league-“ Azzi cuts her off cold.

“Exactly, Paige! It’s always about the league. Your priority is always the league. And I get that that’s your dream- it’s my dream too. But fuck, Paige. It’s gonna fucking happen either way. You’ve been projected as first pick for over a year. We could bomb all season long and it wouldn’t matter- you’re getting to the W. I wish you could admit that it’s such a fucking given and focus on literally anything else for one goddamn minute.”

Paige scoffs, standing up, her blue eyes wide in disbelief. "Yes, Azzi, the league is my priority." She stares at the other girl dubiously, like she's trying to figure out why the hell that's coming as a shock. "If you don't understand that, maybe we're not doing what I thought we were doing here," She rushes out, gesturing loosely between them.

Her words send Azzi's head spinning, so much that she barely hears the next words out of her mouth.

"Going pro is everything we ever talked about. Getting drafted is foundational to the fucking life we always planned on. You being injured and not knowing when you’re declaring is fucking complicated and it weighs on you, I know. I’m sorry if you feel like I don’t focus on that enough." Anger rises in Azzi's throat at that, but Paige is quick to resume her point, not giving her a chance to verbalize it.

"It's not that I don’t care- but that only adds to the importance of me getting my foot in the door to ensure we have a good fucking life set up.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Azzi mutters, looking at the blonde in disbelief. "What, you think because I’m too fucking fragile you need to get into the league so we can ensure a paycheck?"

Her eyes sting as tears begin to well, threatening to fall. "You think I’m that incapable? That weak?" She asks, looking up at Paige from where she sits on the bed, her voice breaking.

Paige sighs, working her jaw, resolve clearly fractured by Azzi’s reaction. “No, Azzi, that’s not what I-“

“You have that little faith in my future?” Azzi asks, drawing into herself as she leans against her headboard, her arms crossing over her chest. Tears run over and fall down her face now, bottom lip quivering in a way that makes Paige’s stomach churn.

Paige moves to get closer to her, her movements still a little bit sluggish, despite how much the argument had sobered her up. “No, baby, hey-“ She reaches for her hand, and Azzi quickly pulls away, shoving at her to put distance between them.

Paige is taken aback, sitting down on the foot of the bed. “Whoa, hey,” She says, trying to soothe the other girl, but Azzi is inconsolable. She hasn’t felt this betrayed, this misconstrued since she was a child. She had definitely not ever felt this way by Paige’s hand, and she didn’t think she ever would.

The self doubt and concern about coming back from this injury was something that weighed on her constantly- and she’d gotten good at hiding it, sure. Sometimes she was so good she even almost fooled herself.

But it was there. It lived deep in her chest, a voice that spoke to her every time she missed a shot in the gym she knew she should have made.

It kept her awake at night, even with Paige’s body pressed against hers, sound asleep. It was the reason she spent so much time wondering if she was even good enough to make it to the league at all- if she’d even deserved to come to UCONN, if she’d pulled her weight since being there.

Although the comment the other girl had made about their relationship maybe “not doing what she’d thought” had hurt, the mere thought of Paige questioning her abilities made her want to crawl into a hole and die.

“Azzi, that is not what I was trying to say,” Paige promises, leaning closer to try and get Azzi to focus on her rather than whatever thoughts she was quite evidently spinning in her head.

“Hey, look at me, Az,” Paige tries again, reaching to touch her face. Azzi flinches away from the contact, wiping at her face furiously. “Just go.” She says, sniffling as she leans away from the blonde.

Paige watches her with her mouth just barely open, unable to come up with a response. “Wh- don’t you think we need to talk about this?” She tries, but the other girls’ mind is made up, withdrawn from the conversation.

“I don’t wanna argue with you anymore, Paige. Just go, I’m serious.” She says, her voice small. Paige sighs, running her hands over her face.

She can’t just leave when Azzi looks so sad like this. "Come on, Az." She pleads. “That’s not what I meant, can we just-“

“Paige, I want to be left alone. Can we please just not?” Azzi croaks, pulling a pillow over her chest and furthering the barriers between the two girls. The blonde wets her lips, starting to reply and then stopping, not sure where to pivot from here.

“It’s not like it matters, anyway.” Azzi mutters, wiping at her nose. Paige’s expression drops, eyebrows knitting together as she looks at the other girl.

“Doesn’t matter? To who? What is that even supposed to mean?” She asks, hurt rising in her chest.

Azzi looks up at her, her eyes puffy from crying, her expression exhausted. “Come on, Paige. We’ve been arguing over this for months, we’re not going to magically stumble upon a solution tonight.” She says, her voice scratchy- and Paige can’t tell if its from being tired or from crying. “You’re not even sober.”

Paige stares at her, indignant at the suggestion that she wasn’t sober enough to defend her career and fight for their relationship. If Azzi was going to take dirty hits, she wasn’t going to let what she’d said go.

“Who does it not matter to, Azzi?” She repeats. Azzi narrows her eyes, scoffing at the blonde in disbelief. “I’m not doing this with you right now.” She states, getting off the bed and walking across the room to put distance between them.

Paige follows suit, getting to her feet and standing behind her, refusing to let her walk away. "I asked you a question.” She states, insistent, and Azzi turns around, adamant brown eyes meeting stubborn blue.

“No, Paige.” She says firmly. Her inflexible tone only ramps the blonde up further. “What do you mean, “no”? We’re having a conversation.”

“Not anymore, we’re not." She shuts her down simply. "Azzi." Paige prompts.

"You know I don’t like when you get like this.” Azzi says, staring daggers at her before pushing past to get around her. “Azzi.”

Paige turns her body with the movement and grabs for her wrist. Azzi pulls away hard, like her flesh is burning in the blonde’s grip. “No, Paige. I’m done. Go home.”

Frustrated tears fall silently down her pale cheeks, and she wipes at them with the back of her hand, only irritated further by their presence.

“You’re ‘done’?” She asks, incredulous, a scoff ripping its way up from the back of her throat. Loose strands of blonde hair that came undone from her bun throughout the drunken activities of the night frame the desperate look on her face.

Azzi crosses her arms, keeping distance between them. “I’m serious, Paige. Go.” She repeats, and Paige wants to scream. Her mind is moving too fast and too slow at the same time- she doesn’t know if she should storm out, raise her voice, or drop to her knees and beg Azzi to let her stay and try and make up.

As soon as that mental image crosses her mind, anger flashes in her chest at the fact she’d thought it in the first place. She hadn’t even done anything wrong aside from getting drunk when she shouldn't have. Why was she being crucified for trying to make a life for them?

Was she the only one who’d meant it all the times they’d talked about getting to the league, building a family, and living on the coast?

The anger in her chest bubbles over, and she can’t even see straight. “You know what, Azzi? Fine. Maybe its better off that way, anyway. We both could stand to lock in this year, without any distractions.” She spits.

Before Azzi can get her mouth to open, she's closing the door behind herself- and then she's gone.

Hey y’all! Here's a little something I've been working on. This is part 1 of multiple, idk how many yet. This chapter is really just to set up the rest of the story- the rest from here on out will be a lot more fun, I promise. This was not beta’d at all, so be warned! Any comments/shares/love is sooo appreciated. Thank you and I really hope you guys enjoy!

[iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning]

so i think this might have been top three, if not top one, worst years of my life; and while i still don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, as i’m still concerningly depressed and consistently declining (my therapist just quit her job so now i have to start all over w someone new AND my psychiatrist wants me to take 6 wks off work to do iop dbt so that’s fun), i’ve managed to conjure up some teeny tiny shreds of hope that next year will be even slightly better

i don’t drink much bc i really hate the taste of alcohol lmao so i probably won’t be drinking tonight and i’ll probably be in bed asleep when the ball drops

but i wanted to say thank you to all of you, who have been so so kind to me since i decided to join our little tumblr community. you guys have provided comfort to me in some really really dark times (and i literally suck so much at responding to people so i apologize for that and rest assured, its one of my resolutions lolol), and even in the not so dark times when i get one of those cute ask trends (the ones where its a cute message and then you send it to your favorite blogs too, y’all know what i’m talking abt) in my inbox bc truly i love them sm 🥺. they make my day every single time i see one, even if i don’t respond to it right away

happy new years everyone🍾🎊 hopefully this next year is better for all of us, even if this year wasn’t all that bad for you

(also even though i quite literally just admitted to being terrible at responding ((again so sorry)), send me messages bc i love this little community and i want to talk to more of you guys and be lil friends bc y’all seem so fucking sick and cool as shit and i promise i’ll try so hard to respond better stg but also pls have some grace if i don’t sometimes bc sometimes i don’t have the mental capacity to formulate any kind of sentence or response in any way but stg i’ll try my best😭)

(also also thank you to every single person who puts any kind of time and effort into writing any and all of the fics that are out there ((check out my fic recs for all of my favs (((i’m a smut whore if no one could tell😅))) )). genuinely and sincerely those get me through every day of my life ((esp when i reread my absolute favs in the entire world)) and i love to see all of your different writing styles. i’m so looking forward to whatever different directions you all go in with your writing and ideas. cheers to y’all for making my life a whole lot more bearable lmao🥂)

edit: i’ve decided i’m forcing myself to stay up until midnight so that i can ring in the new year listening to miracle (specifically the “i wanted to dress a blade up in red w both of our necks…” part🥹) yk to drum up good vibes for the new year. upward and onwards everyone🤝🏻

[fyonahmacnally]

Thank you to @rainbow-rebellion for the amazing prompt!

“W-Wait…you’re going to Midvale this weekend? You’re spending the 4th of July in Midvale? With the Danvers? The same place I am going?” Lena asks, voice an octave higher than usual as her panicked green eyes dart between her computer screen, her cell phone, and the woman sitting in front of her. “K-Kara didn’t mention anything at lunch yesterday.”

Oh fuck! Lena thinks. This can’t be happening. Sam knows me too well. This is a disaster. Fuck! That’s it, I have to find an excuse not to go. 

Sam’s hazel eyes scan her boss and longtime friend’s face with a smirk. “Well, that’s because she just asked today. I ran into her on the sidewalk on my way back from lunch with Andrea. She invited the two of us as well as Ruby, but Rubes is going to be with her friends all weekend. So, it’s just Drea and I.” 

Shit, Andrea will be there as well. Goddammit, Kara. Drea knows me better than Sam! Gay panicking. You’re gay panicking. Okay, it’s fine. Everything is fine. You’re fine, Luthor. Get it together. You’ve hidden your pining for years. You can handle a weekend with your friends. 

The brunette CFO raises a brow in question, an act picked up from the raven haired genius over their years of working together. It’s obvious the youngest Luthor is panicking over the presence of two of her oldest friends. No, she’s full on gay panicking. Sam does her best to stifle her laughter for Lena’s sake, but just barely. “Why are you being so twitchy about it, Luthor? Drea and I have been going to game nights since I moved back to National City. Besides, all of us already know you have the hots for blondie.”

The L-Corp CFO grins as she watches Lena’s posture shift from nervous to defensive. The entirety of their friend group knows Kara and Lena have been pining over each other for years. Sam is more than aware of the reason her friend is being squirmy about her and Andrea spending the weekend in Midvale. Lena knows she and Andrea know her better than the rest of their friends. The two of them know her every little tell and both of them live to give her shit about it. 

Sam gives the youngest Luthor one final devilish smile before leaving her office. Lena knows she is absolutely fucked with the Arias and Rojas duo.

Lena does her best to put things out of her mind after her conversation with Sam. The first two days of her week fly by. It’s suddenly Wednesday, she’s finished her work for the day, and is currently standing in the middle of her walk-in closet trying to figure out what to pack for her four day weekend in Midvale. 

The past few years with Kara around have provided a crash course in “comfy clothes” as the hero calls them. She has even accumulated a lot more casual clothing, but it doesn’t mean she has figured out how to pack for a holiday weekend, much less one held primarily outdoors. Honestly, she never really had holiday weekends while growing up with the Luthors. How the hell is she supposed to know these things? 

She sighs and glances down at her watch, she should have been finished packing hours ago.

Kara will be at her penthouse any minute and she has exactly three things packed – her toiletries, her tablet, and her glasses. They are supposed to leave at 7:00 pm, which is exactly 45 minutes from now. There is absolutely no way she will have all of her shit done by Kara’s proposed departure time. 

The Kryptonian wants to beat everyone to her childhood home to help Eliza set-up for all the guests. Lena pulled out all the stops and tried her best to get out of going after learning Sam and Andrea would be there, but the lovable reporter wielded her deadly pout and any further attempt died on her lips. So here she is, packing her suitcase. She was originally excited for the trip. It was supposed to be relaxing, but now she’s certain she will spend the entirety of the trip tense as a mouse in a room full of cats. 

Lena sighs, again. She can already feel her anxiety climbing and shakes her head. Get yourself together, Luthor. Accept the fact you’re the mouse and will be tormented by two very devious cats. Fucking Sam and Andrea.  

She gets lost in her thoughts. The next thing she knows, warm arms wrap around her waist causing her to shriek like a banshee. Once she calms down and wrangles her heart out of her throat, she smacks Kara for scaring the hell out of her quickly followed by shaking her now aching hand. They tag team her packing and get it done much faster than she would have alone. Unfortunately, she let her heart eyes cloud her judgment and allowed her years-long crush to take care of her swimwear for the weekend. There is no doubt in her mind she is going to regret this decision later as she has no idea what awaits her.

You are a fucking gay disaster, Luthor. Useless, pining queer disaster. 

Unfortunately, Kara Danvers is her kryptonite. Lena Luthor cannot say no to that woman. It’s impossible.

Read the rest on AO3 - link at the top.

[loukaiitis]

Notes and Journal Entries by Kip Kinkel

A compilation of writings by Kip Kinkel. This is for informational and educational purposes only. Post is below the cut.

Disclaimer: the majority of his writing pieces (that have been released to the public) are only available in a typed transcript format, provided by PBS. Because of this, I am only able to include a few images of the original writing. This post will be updated if any new images come out!

Journal Entry by Kip:

"I sit here all alone. I am always alone. I don't know who I am. I want to be something I can never be. I try so hard every day. But in the end, I hate myself for what I've become.

Every single person I know means nothing to me. I hate every person on this earth. I wish they could all go away. You all make me sick. I wish I was dead.

The only reason I stay alive is because of hope. Even though I am repulsive and few people know who I am, I still feel that things might, maybe, just a little bit, get better.

I don't understand any fucking person on this earth. Some of you are so weak, mainly, that a four year old could push you down. I am strong, but my head just doesn't work right. I know I should be happy with what I have, but I hate living.

Every time I talk to her, I have a small amount of hope. But then she will tear it right down. It feels like my heart is breaking. But is that possible. I am so consumed with hate all of the time. Could I ever love anyone? I have feelings, but do I have a heart that's not black and full of animosity?

I know everyone thinks this way sometimes, but I am so full of rage that I feel I could snap at any moment. I think about it everyday. Blowing the school up or just taking the easy way out, and walk into a pep assembly with guns. In either case, people that are breathing will stop breathing. That is how I will repay all you mother fuckers for all you put me through.

I feel like everyone is against me, but no one ever makes fun of me, mainly because they think I am a psycho. There is one kid above all others that I want to kill. I want nothing more than to put a hole in his head. The one reason I don't: Hope. That tomorrow will be better. As soon as my hope is gone, people die.

I ask myself why I hate more than anyone else. I don't know. But my head and heart want him dead. He only knows who I am through reputation, and I know he is scared of me. He should be. One bad day, and there will be a sawed off shotgun in his face or five pounds of Semtex under his bed.

Oh fuck. I sound so pitiful. People would laugh at this if they read it. I hate being laughed at. But they won't laugh after they're scraping parts of their parents, sisters, brothers, and friends from the wall of my hate.

Please. Someone, help me. All I want is something small. Nothing big. I just want to be happy.

End. New day. Today of all days, I ask her to help me. I was shot down. I feel like my heart has been ripped open and ripped apart. Right now, I'm drunk, so I don't know what the hell is happening to me.

It is clear that no one will help me. Oh God, I am so close to killing people. So close.

I gave her all I have, and she just threw it away. Why? Why did God just want me to be in complete misery? I need to find more weapons. My parents are trying to take away some of my guns! My guns are the only things that haven't stabbed me in the back.

My eyes hurt. They hurt so bad. They feel like they are trying to crawl out of my head. Why aren't I normal? Help me. No one will. I will kill every last mother fucking one of you. The thought of you is still racing in my head. I am too drunk to make sense.

Every time I see your face, my heart is shot with an arrow. I think she will say yes, but she doesn't, does she? She says, "I don't know". The three most fucked up words in the English language.

I want you to feel this, be this, taste this, kill this. Kill me. Oh God, I don't want to live. Will I see it to the end? What kind of dad would I make? All humans are evil. I just want to end the world of evil.

I don't want to see, hear, speak or feel evil, but I can't help it. I am evil. I want to kill and give pain without a cost. And there is no such thing. We kill him - we killed him a long time ago. Anyone that believes in God is a fucking sheep.

If there was a God, he wouldn't let me feel the way I do. ....Love isn't real, only hate remains. Only hate."

Essay about love, written by Kip

"Love Sucks

No, I don't believe in love at first sight because love is an evil plot to make people buy alcohol and firearms. When you love someone something it is always taken away from you. I also would like to add that I hate each and every one of you. Because everything I touch turns to shit. I think if you think you fall in love with someone at first sight it might just be lust. Love at first sight is only in movies. Where the people in the movies are better than you. That is why you go to a pone [pawn] shop and buy an AK-15 because you are going to execute every last mother fucking one of you. If I had a heart it would be gray.

It is easier to hate than love. Because there is much more hate and misery in the world than there is love and peace. Some people say that you should love everyone. But that is impossible. Look at our history it is full of death, depression, rape, wars and diseases. I also do not believe in love at first sight. But I do believe in hate at first sight. Therefore love is a much harder feeling to experience."

Monologue written by Kip for a homework assignment. This monologue was written for the character Tybalt of Romeo and Juliet.

"But you know me, I loathe all of them. I am no longer blind in my hatred, I can see with my hate. Blood will flow until they are all dead. This was the first moment in my life where I had taken the life of another. I loved it. It dispelled all the anger and animosity I was feeling."

Note written by Kip, confessing to the murder of his parents. This was found on a coffee table in the living room of the Kinkel's home.

"I have just killed my parents! I don't know what is happening. I love my mom and dad so much. I just got two felonies on my record. My parents can't take that! It would destroy them. The embarrassment would be too much for them. They couldn't live with themselves. I'm so sorry. I am a horrible son. I wish I had been aborted. I destroy everything I touch. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I didn't deserve them. They were wonderful people. It's not their fault or the fault of any person, organization, or television show. My head just doesn't work right. God damn these VOICES inside my head. I want to die. I want to be gone. But I have to kill people. I don't know why. I am so sorry! Why did God do this to me. I have never been happy. I wish I was happy. I wish I made my mother proud. I am nothing! I tried so hard to find happiness. But you know me I hate everything. I have no other choice. What have I become? I am so sorry"

A concerning note written by Kip on a Spanish worksheet

Another concerning note by Kip

"Respect Sheet" filled out by Kip

[writingstoraes]

begin again 🌷 (split pt. 3)

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: the long awaited part 3! this took so long only cause i had no idea how i want it to go lol anyway i hope u guys love this one :D lmk what u think!

about: almost a year after your split with charles, fans take a trip down memory lane and wondering why the two of you seemed to have watered things down after soft launching other people months ago. a bunch of rumors also set twt crazy along with speculations at your paddock appearance where you apparently support ferrari.

read: part 1, part 2 (can read on its own, but the parts provide context hehe)

yourusername

liked by isahernaez, lilymhe, landonorris, and 231,298 others

yourusername back at the happiest place on earth ❤️

lilymhe Have fun, love xo

yourbff Looking that good just to watch a race????

tyretactics QUEEN I ALWAYS LOOK FORWARD TO YOU EVERY RACE

charliez1655 miss mam twt is on fire we all miss you 😪

leclercsluv wdym shes almost always at every race ricciardoshooey no they meant w charles lol

yourusername recently added to her instagram story!

Now playing: Charles Leclerc, 2023 Austrian GP, Post-Sprint Shootout Interviews

yourusername

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yourusername on a wednesday, in a cafe, i watched it begin again

lecslover looking GOOD AS HELL QUEEN

sainzplaylist god shes back to the man shes been soft launching i think i am going to be: sick

1655lecs that might be charles, we don't know 🙏 sainzplaylist yeah i think its time we let that go lol

wagsqueens mam im sorry wym by begin again???

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, finemidnights, carlossainz55, and 982,221 others

charles_leclerc It's nice to have a friend 🌅

tyreexpert u cant tell me thats not y/n 😪 she's his friend after all...

joris__trouche Looking sharp!

lecssainz16 war is over you guys theyre back at it i am in my acceptance stage now

Some months later...

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, lilymhe, and 756,293 others

yourusername i am and willl always be your number one fan. words cannot encapsulate how proud i am of you; truly, you deserve all of this and so much more. congratulations, my love ❤️

it's nice to see you running towards me again :)

ps. yes we've been soft-launching each other the past months hahaha

leclercfan AM I DREAMING SOMEONE PINCH ME

livwatchraces i screamed when i saw you guys on the screen!!!

carlossainz55 Aaand they're back 🎉

charles_leclerc Thanks, number one shipper

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen, arthurleclerc, and 1,982,384 others

charles_leclerc Sunshine in human form.

A few months ago, I started hanging on to the fact that in good faith and in good time, things will eventually work its way out. Almost a year ago, it seems as if we have closed a chapter but today, we are living proof people who are made for each other can begin again.

Ce sera toujours toi 🤍 It will always be you.

scuderiaferrari We missed you tons, Y/N! ❤️

wagsf1 the queen of all queens is back we love to see it

lecslover it's years later and he still talks about her the same way he always have 🥹

sainzchamp The way theyve been soft launching each other all this time and that one rumor of Charles being with another girl was still Y/N 😭

yourusername sold our apartment already? too bad 😆

charles_leclerc I never actually sold it, if I did, I'd probably buy it back

---------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy, @mehrmonga, @mess-in-side, @leclerc16s, @thelovehypothesis, @dakotali, @aldene-styles

notes: eeee and its finally done! cant believe it took so much time before i finished all three parts lol anyway thank you so much for those who waited for the part three (i see all the asks on my inbox and the comments ehehe) i really just didn't know how i wanted it to go so! i hope you guys love this and lmk what you think <3

[lewkwoodnco]

Can I make you a request about Anthony Lockwood based on the song “So American” by Olivia Rodrigo🥺😭

so american! - Lockwood x Reader

when he laughs at all my jokes and he says I’m so american oh god it’s just not fair of him to make me feel this much I’d go anywhere he goes when he says I’m so american oh god I’m gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up i might just be in la la la la la la la la la love

a/n: this fic has been rattling around in my head for a couple of weeks now and I was soooo double minded abt writing it so THANK YOU for the ask!!!!!! might not have written it otherwise heheh also I’m sooo proud of how my gifs turned out it was so fun to colour them all guts themed 😍😍 I hope you enjoy!! <333 also im having issues w the keep reading button AGAIN so sorry :(((

warnings/tropes: lockwood and reader are already in an established relationship, fluffy fluff, veeerrry small sprinkling of angst but happy ending! domestic sweetness

word count: 3.3k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

“Ready?”

Lockwood ducked into the car's passenger seat, grinning at the sight of her comically desperate expression. George and Lucy were fussing in the backseat, mainly because of Lucy’s seatbelt, or lack thereof, and they didn't seem to notice his arrival.

“Just wear the fucking seatbelt.”

"I'll be fine, George."

"She got her license at 16. 16! They just let anyone drive all willy-nilly up and down the roads in America."

Lucy gave him a look. He finally gave up and tugged at his own seatbelt sceptically, muttering darkly under his breath.

Lockwood & Co. was much more than a psychical investigation agency. Outside of their working hours, each member liked to work on some kind of passion project. After not having driven for over a year since she got her driving license in the States, she had decided to apply for one in London. Luckily, her employer had gallantly offered to provide her with the lessons she badly needed, having been the first of the three to earn his license. Well, employer and boyfriend. 

Her mother could hardly believe the news and, frankly, so could she. In a lot of ways, having an English boyfriend was vastly different from having an American one. First, there was a slight communication barrier, given how terrible she was with accents. Then there were the differing preferences - Lockwood seemed forever ready for a cuppa at any time of day, whereas the only kind of tea she really enjoyed was iced tea. Still, these differences left gaps for lingering gazes and silences that stretched on a little too much, and somewhere in between she slipped her hand into his, and the rest was history. 

Lockwood turned away to buckle his seatbelt.

"Okay, your seatbelt on?"

"Yes."

"Ready to go?"

"Hang on," came George's peeved voice from behind them, "you're not going to brief her first?" The two of them stared at each other blankly. 

"Uh, Y/N, do you remember how to drive?"

"Sure." It was one of those things you never forget, like riding a bicycle. Sure, it had been a while, but how hard could it truly be?

"Brilliant. Now-"

George pulled himself forward between the two front seats, straining against his seatbelt. “We don’t drive on the right side here. We drive on the left side of the road. Left. Left.”

She glanced at her rearview mirror which outlined the line of cars behind them parked on the left side of the street.

“No. You don’t say.”

Lockwood coughed, poorly concealing his laugh as he craned his neck towards the backseat windows. "Right, all clear. I think we can move of-"

"Parking brake."

"Er, right, what George said. Disable the parking brake first."

“I’ve never driven with a parking brake before.”

“So you push in this metal bit, like so,” said Lockwood, gently manoeuvring her fingers into the right grip, “and then pull it up a little, and then bring it all the way down.”

She tugged at it in frustration. “I -it’s not working.”

“Lockwood, did you tell her to step on the “

“Step-on-the-brake-while-doing-that-yes I was just about to say, George. I think I know how to teach someone how to drive. Unless you’d like to take over?”

"Oh, please. You couldn't pay me to sit in the front seat with that maniac driving."

She got her parking brake down, checked her mirrors, and they were off. For a minute there it was quite enjoyable, trundling through the mostly empty backstreets of London. Lockwood even tried to prop his feet on the dashboard before getting badly told off by George. He was forever propping his feet up at the slightest chance - at the Archives, at home, and now here. Maybe it was all part of some innate desire to be a wheelbarrow.

And so, things were going perfectly rosy, until she faced her first real challenge - oncoming traffic. As soon as the car heading towards them came into plain enough view, the four of them went into hysterics. The road was just narrow enough to make overtaking a little too tricky for her abilities at the moment.

“What do I do? WHY isn’t he slowing down?”

“Don’t panic, it’s alright. Stop a little to the side.”

She cursed, fumbling for the brake pedal her foot had carelessly slipped off of. Lockwood was nervously watching the car get closer and closer to them.

“Now would be a good time to stop, Y/N. Brake! BRAKE!”

They shot ahead sharply, swerving right sharply, narrowly missing the car passing them. Lucy swore loudly and George gripped the car grab handle above him as he started scolding no one in particular. 

"NOT THE BRAKE!”

Lockwood gripped the steering wheel over her hands, frantically trying to steer them to safety. With some difficulty, she shifted her foot back to the right pedal and slammed the brakes. There was a bit of a scuffle in the backseat, including George going off on Lucy in a very ‘I-told-you-so’ tone.

At the front of the car, Lockwood and she were still frozen, reeling from the past very exciting 30 seconds. Her eyes settled to where his hands were still resting on hers, tightly pinning her fingers to the steering wheel.

“Your hands are so warm.”

He peeled them off almost instantly, and she was sorry she brought it up in the first place. “Yeah, well, they’re panicking, just like the rest of me. What the bloody hell was that? I thought you said you knew how to drive!”

“I do know how to drive.” She bit back a smile at the sight of her 180 cm tall boyfriend trying to catch his breath with his hand dramatically splayed across his chest, muttering something about Americans handing out licenses to just about anyone.

The drive back to the rental car agency was much less eventful. After returning the car, they trudged back up the road to Portland Row. As they hung their coats up, she met his thoughtful gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He drew in a breath and hesitated. “You look nice.”

“Is this some convoluted way of patting yourself on the back for your fashion choices?”

“So you agree? You think you look nice?”

She groaned. She should have known no good was going to come from showing Lockwood Mean Girls. Still, it was hard to stay mad for long at a face like that. "You’re such a nuisance. A…delightful one, arguably, but still a nuisance.”

"You find me delightful?"

"That's your takeaway?”

"Next thing I know you’ll be saying you fancy me.”

“I’m literally wearing your shirt right now.”

“Luce!” He turned and started down the hallway. “Y/N says I’m delightful!”

As usual, the four of them reconvened in the kitchen a little after lunch for a tea break. Well, the four of them minus Lockwood, who had been bullied into fixing a plumbing issue in the basement. They sipped their tea and chewed their biscuits in silence. She wished she could bring down a little for Lockwood.

“Maybe I should go see if he needs some help.”

“No!” George nearly upset his tea, which made Lucy choke on her biscuit. “ Don’t go down there. You’ll distract him, he won’t get shit done, and that’ll be one more week without hot water for me.”

So she sat back down sulkily, brooding over her tea, until another topic of conversation struck her.

“Speaking of Lockwood -“

“- no one’s mentioned Lockwood-“

“-did you guys see the socks he was wearing today?”

Lucy and George didn’t even try to muffle their groans.

“They were very nice socks! They had the most precious pattern of baby ducks against a darling blue backgr-“

She stopped short as Lucy reached across the table to grip her hand.

“Y/N, I say this with love, but if I have to hear one more word about Lockwood, or his stupid bloody socks, I am going to ram a fork into my eye.”

She blinked, confused, and scoffed. “Gosh, you guys are so overdramatic. I don’t talk about him that much.”

George and Lucy exchanged a look.

“Okay, so maybe I like my boyfriend and I enjoy talking about him. Is that really so bad?”

Lockwood rescued all of them from the siege of George’s response by walking in right then, holding a wrench and looking a little worse for wear, but appeared very pleased with himself.

“Fixed!”

“Finally.”

Lucy frowned at the clock above the stove. “Isn’t that client meeting at Tooting today?”

Lockwood’s smile slipped right off as he glanced at his watch and rushed out of the kitchen, muttering furiously. His simple black leather watch which complemented his wrist so perfectly-

“Y/N! Time to leave!”

Maybe George and Lucy had a point.

Once their client meeting had finished, she and Lockwood stood on the pavement outside the house, looking for cabs to flag down. It was a balmy evening, and a cloudless sky meant they could enjoy the warmth of the setting sun beating down on them. She squinted down the road while Lockwood pulled something out from his coat pocket.

“For a job well done this morning and at the meeting…” he revealed two pieces of tightly wrapped square candies sitting on his palm. “A little treat.”

She stared at the candy for a moment, thinking hard.

“Caramel! I just remembered.”

“…what?”

“That’s what we call it in the States. A caramel.”

“It’s made of caramel, sure-“

“Plural is caramels.”

He made a strangled sound from the back of his throat. “Changing an uncountable noun into a countable one? That’s just lazy.”

“Fine. What do you call it?”

“Toffee.” The vowels rolled off his tongue like silk in that English accent that had made it difficult to fully concentrate from day one. Standing next to him, watching him gently and methodically unfolding the golden wrapper, shining and glinting like a beacon of light…maybe this was all she needed to be happy.

“Taw-fee?”

He pulled a face at her exaggerated American drawl, and she leaned her head on his shoulder as he pried apart the stuck halves of the toffee. She watched him visibly relax as the first tangy notes hit his tongue, her own half close to melting in her palm under the brunt of the setting sun. He met her gaze and gave a faint smile, almost reflexively covering her hand with his own.

“God, you’re so American. So, which is it? Toffee or caramel?”

She bites into what's left of the soft treat she's scraped off her palm. It's warm and comforting and she instantly feels a little more happy. Maybe it's the candy, or maybe it's the boy whose side is pressed into hers. Love, she decides. It's love.

“How many cups of tea have you had today?”

As idyllic as the weekend had been, they were back to their usual busy routine which meant that their evening tea break was the first time they’d see each other since breakfast. She had just walked into the kitchen where Lockwood was seated at the kitchen table, pouring over a mess of papers with a cup of tea to the side. One of the first things she had learnt about Lockwood was his near-debilitating addiction to tea. Now, he silently took a sip from his mug and she gave an exaggerated sigh, settling into the opposite end of the table.

“You really drink too much caffeine.”

He quirked his lips into a lopsided half-smile -/ he peered at the papers she had spilled onto the table. “What’s all…” he gestured to her papers with his mug, “…that?”

“The Rotwell agents give me hell for my American accent when they’re on duty at DEPRAC.” She held up her list of words dolefully. “‘Least I can do is pronounce things right.”

He slid into the chair next to her, taking a look at the list. “Which one are you at?”

“Pri-vacy. Pri...vacy. Nope, can't do it.”

���Of course it sounds weird when you say it like that. Try using it in a sentence.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. If I have to say ‘pri-vacy’ one more time, I’m running you through with my rapier."

Lockwood choked on his tea.

"...or, you know...'pry-vacy' sounds perfectly fine."

She gave him a brief smile. “Anyway, I’ve got to do a Satchell’s run now. Lucy says we’re out of flares. Don’t wait up for me.”

It took her a decent amount of time to collect all the supplies they were out of stock on, yet when she returned Lockwood was still sitting in that same chair, staring at the same papers with worn-out eyes, distractedly tugging at his hair. He barely looked up when she walked in, mystified.

“You’re still up?”

He rubbed his face firmly. “I can’t…I can’t figure this out.” She took a closer look at the papers. There were reports dating back two centuries on the house of one of their upcoming cases.

“The investigation is tomorrow and I have no idea what or where the Source could be.”

“Well…maybe George’s figured it out.”

“If he did, he’d be home by now.” He hunched over the papers once again, his head swaying dangerously close to the table, and she was instantly reminded of how exhausted Lockwood had looked that morning. As if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. She started stacking some papers together.

“It’s getting late. We should head to bed.”

“But I’m not done yet.”

“You can continue in the morning, but right now, you need to rest.”

His features hardened like he was ready to start a fight, but it lasted all of half a second before they caved to exhaustion. He looked like a drenched cat left out in the rain, with his hair messed up and in disarray.

“George is still at the Archives. What kind of a boss would I be to go to bed now? What kind of a…friend?”

Lockwood leaned back in his chair, briefly pressing a hand to his eyes and then his forehead, his forearm trembling ever so slightly. In the dim light of the kitchen, he seemed more skeleton than Man with his malnourished pallor and the scar on his lip being carefully outlined by a shadow. She ran a hand through his hair, down his neck, all the way to his shoulder.

“Hey. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re human, too.”

He gave a deep sigh. “Fine. I’ll come in a while.”

“Promise?”

He gave a jerky nod. The tea in his mug had gone stone cold by then, and so she brewed him a fresh cup. He looked up, confused, as she placed it next to his papers.

“What about the caffeine?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and combed down the hair sticking up all haywire, as if she hadn’t heard him. “What about it?”

He smiled faintly and gave the hand on his shoulder a light squeeze, and returned to his work with his eyes humming with a little more energy.

Later that night, she dreamt that he was falling, and she was losing her mind trying to save him.

She should have known nothing was going to right in the job from the very beginning. None of them had been able to find much information on the house, and they were running late, so tempers were running very high. Even during the case itself, they were forced to split up and fumble through improvised plans. That was until she had stumbled onto Lockwood frozen at the basement door, looking down into the darkness in a strange way. 

Go back, he had said. I don’t know what any of us can expect in this place. So I’ll come with you, she had replied. Or let’s wait for George or Lucy. I can’t. Why not? It’s different. I don’t have the time to explain it. Different how?

You’re more important.

The look on his face was more foreign than the house itself.

Now they were home, back at Portland Row. Lucy and George had sensed something was off and retired to their rooms. Lockwood headed towards the kitchen, and she followed him. He hadn’t spoken a word since her face had blanched at the sight of him poised at the basement’s entrance. She tugged at the ends of her hair. She could feel an argument brewing and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Are you okay?”

Lockwood continued rummaging through the refrigerator for his routine drink of orange juice, taking his time to reply. “Don’t I look okay?”

“Yes. No.” He was terribly confusing. “Why did you say you weren’t important?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said you were less important.”

He finally twisted the cap off the carton with his trembling fingers. The case had shaken all of them up, but for some reason, he was trying to hide it.

“Well…it’s not not true.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I’m a figurehead, Y/N. I represent the agency, that’s my name on the plaque out there, but that’s about it. You, Lucy, George…you’re the soul of the agency.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If…heaven forbid, something were to happen to one of us…”

Oh, he was so aggravating. She massaged her temples. She was going to punch him soon if she wasn’t careful.

“…the lot of you’d be better off without me than anyone else, and-“

"Oh god, shut up already!"

Lockwood abandoned the carton and straightened, and they glared at each other from opposite ends of the kitchen. “Or what? You'll shoot me?"

His expression softened only marginally when he saw how close she was to tears. She shook her head.

"If you pull another stunt like this...I might just have to marry you.”

“I’d have to marry you so that you can look down at your bloody hand and remember that there are people out there who would be nothing without you.”

“Y/-“

“Shame on you, Anthony J. Lockwood. Do you think George wouldn’t care about losing his best friend? Or Lucy? Or me? Hm?”

The tears had started to trickle down her face, and he walked towards her with a sympathetic expression, any and all rage long forgotten, and offered her his handkerchief. She could barely manage a weak glare before caving and accepting it, wiping away at her face. As soon as she was done, she wrapped her arms around him, and he enveloped her in a warm hug that smelled faintly of vanilla.

“That was a…a terrible thing to say, Anthony.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty shitty job then. I’m worried about you every day.”

She felt rather than saw his smile, though he could perfectly picture it in her mind - uneven and tipped to the right, but perfectly sincere.

"Also, I'm pretty sure that shooting remark counts as xenophobia."

"Yes, I'm hugging you very xenophobically now."

She buried her face into his chest and scrunched her nose hard. It was moments like these that only cemented her faith that she was never going to find somebody who made her feel the way Lockwood did. Seeing him standing outside the basement, she didn’t even need to think about what to do next. It had become incredibly instinctual - her readiness to take his hand and hurtle into the latest oblivion, blind as a bat. It didn’t get more simple than this: she just wanted to be wherever he was. 

It was him and her, and her and him - Portland Row’s cripplingly disaster couple, Mr A.J. Lockwood and Miss Americana.

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

[ryanguzmanscowlick]

okay hear me out, buck and tommy slowly taking eddie apart in bed ... tenderly spitroating bottom eddie

I'm so sorry Magdalyna, but you don't get a neatly packaged ficlet. You get the stream of consciousness, nonsense, rambling "pre-work" I do when I'm trying to feel out a concept in my brain.

This would be the thing, too, because he's so bottled up. He's so tightly wound and has needed so much for so long. He's forced it all down, sure, but that doesn't mean the pressure didn't mount another notch with every passing day of need, desperate need. Out of all three of them, I think Eddie would benefit the most from a slow, careful, experienced hand unfurling him and being there to keep everything together when he bursts apart. You can't let out that much pressure without expecting a mess to follow.

They wouldn't get to the spit roasting of it all right away. I'm picturing Eddie and Tommy on their knees, Tommy pressed up along Eddie's back - Buck on his knees in front of them so he can lock in eye contact with Eddie the whole while he's taken apart.

Even a handjob feels like getting split open and scooped out of your flesh when you'v wanted it for so long and refused to give it a name, a face, a real consideration. When it suddenly runs up on you with two names, two faces? When you know you can fall into it and be caught in a way you've never been able to? Suddenly there's chunks of you that you don't even remember burying rocketing to the surface to meet them. Buck and Tommy. Buck and Tommy. Tommy. Buck.

"I don't need a provider. I need a partner."

Shannon, Buck, Tommy ... none of them need to be provided for. They can all provide for themselves. What all three of them need, want is Eddie's full self brought to them. All his vulnerability, all his compassion, all his stubbornness and reliability and ache, coupled with all his trust. He loved- loves Shannon. But he only ever knew how to love her by providing for her. He couldn't then. Maybe he could now, if she were still here, with all he's learned, but ... maybe not. Probably not.

He could do it for them, though. For Tommy and Buck. With them.

Even a handjob can turn your mind and body upside down when - for the very first time in over thirty years, you close your eyes and relax into the arms holding you and let your mind go blank. Let it happen. Eddie's never let anyone touch him without a thousand racing, anxiety-rusted, doubting thoughts crowding out every sensation. He's never just felt it. Shannon, Ana, Marisol ... they deserved it, they'd never done anything wrong, really but ... Eddie had never trusted them enough to just feel it.

But Buck's right here in front of him while Tommy takes his weight like it's nothing and wraps a hand around his dick. Buck's cradling his head in his warm palm and Tommy's rumbling reassurances into his neck. Eddie trusts Buck more than anyone in the world. Anyone. With his kid, but also with himself. If he's honest (and he's really trying to be these days), he's never trusted anyone like he trusts Buck, even his unit in Afghanistan.

That tripped him out for a bit. Every time he looked at Buck and realized he trusted him more than those other soldiers in his unit ... the guilt spun him out. They were supposed to die for each other, fight for each other, face any physical or existential threat together. And they did. Until they couldn't anymore. But the trust he felt in them doesn't hold a candle to what his body and mind will do easy as breathing for Buck. No training necessary.

He's learned to accept it.

Eddie is nothing but a feeling thing between these two men. No pretenses, no masks, no walls, no assumptions, no baggage, no guilt. He's just their feeling thing and it's crazy how safe he feels exposed like this.

Tommy is a whole different animal from Buck. They don't have that history yet. They don't have the baggage (the lore, Chim would say). But Eddie's beginning to suspect, with another glob of guilt and horror, that this is what meeting a new person and wanting them should've felt like all along.

He burns with curiosity for Tommy. He thinks about when he'll get to see Tommy next and how soon it can be before their current hangout even ends. He thinks, at random times in his day, about things he should tell Tommy or show Tommy or ask Tommy. He gets dressed and catches himself thinking, what would Tommy say if he saw how this t-shirt clings to the curve of my hip?

Before, in his relationships with women, he thought it was right because it was easy. Now, he thinks maybe you're supposed to think about the person you're interested in even after they've walked away. You're supposed to struggle over the wording of a text a little. You're supposed to buzz with anticipation before you see them. Maybe you're supposed to feel the higher stakes instead of just knowing the correct steps by heart and climbing the relationship ladder.

With women, he knows what he's supposed to do. With Buck and Tommy, he wants. He wants and he tries and he fumbles and they're strong enough together to keep each other upright even when one of them stumbles. The steps aren't laid out in advance. They find the path together.

[3-2-whump]

Khaled’s Backstory, Part 2: Growing Pains

<prev next>

Happy Birthday Khaled! This is the part where your backstory starts to go downhill. Thank you @generic-whumperz and @whumped-by-glitter for beta reading this!

TW/CW: death of a family member, aftermath of death of a family member

Language Note: The Urdu words I used were learned through reading multiple language-learning blogs, culture blogs, Reddit, and of course, the ol' reliable Google Translate. If I misrepresented any of the expressions (which is extremely likely) please let me know as civilly as possible, because I'd rather know than not know.

Khaled stared at the freshly filled-in earth, his swollen red eyes blurring as he took in the finality of it. The mourners had finally started dissipating, leaving only Abdul Bakhsh’s widow and children at the grave. A large, heavyset man with glasses came up to him and his mother, expressing his condolences, and extending a surprising offer.

“Your father and I were good friends,” he began, addressing Khaled directly. “He would want his family provided for. So, whenever you can manage it, you’re more than welcome to work at my café, if you’d like.”

The teenager blinked up at him confusedly. “Me? W-Why?”

“You’re the next man in the family,” the friend explained, “you have three younger siblings to look after, and your mum can’t do it alone with only her meager salary.”

He was completely right. Almost instantly, Khaled could feel the weight of these newfound responsibilities settle on his shoulders.

“Muhammad, this is not a good time-” his mother began to intervene.

“Ammi, it’s okay,” he interrupted. Mum glanced at him hesitantly, but ultimately backed off. Khaled faced the man again, all serious as he said, “I’ll think about it, sir. Thank you for looking out for us.”

And that’s how he ended up here, now, wiping down tables with a wet dish rag. He had quit school after the academic year was up, going full time at Mr. Saeed’s café as soon as he could. He mostly washed dishes or cleaned up after customers, five days of the week from noon to ten in the evening. He didn’t make much money, but, after an entire year of buffing coffee stains out of linoleum countertops, he’d like to think this little job was helping his family in some way.

The bell above the shop dinged, and he waved to the new customers that entered. His old friends, Tariq, Imran, and Muhammad, waved back, all smiles as they jostled up to the counter and placed their orders. They took a seat at the table Khaled had finished cleaning up, asking about him and how his family was doing.

“They’re great, they’re fine,” he replied. “Yusuf and Ayesha are still in school, and they’re finally stepping up and helping me and Ammi with the twins!”

“That’s great!” Tariq exclaimed. “It’s about time they pitched in!”

“It can’t have been easy to parent your little sisters all the time,” Imran commented.

Khaled briefly recalled late nights of emotions running high, of careless words being thrown about, and of him having an emotional breakdown in front of his siblings. “I’m not Dad!” he screamed at them. “I’m sorry that I’m not doing things exactly like he used to do them, but nobody is more aware of the fact that I’m not him than me!” And while his emotional outburst earned him a serious talking-to from his mother, it seemed that Yusuf, Ayesha, and the twins were much more forgiving of his shortcomings after that.

“Never mind Khaled’s troubles, what about ours? What even is this shit?” Muhammad groaned as he stared at his calculus homework.

Khaled peeked over his shoulder and let out a shudder.

Imran caught his subtle reaction and smiled bitterly. “You’re lucky you dropped out when you did,” he said. “This coursework is so hard! I mean, just look at my literature homework!” He rifled through his bag before he pulled out a thin paperback book and a double-sided sheet of follow-up questions.

“How much of it do you have to read?”

“All of it.”

“All of it?!”

A moist towel whipped at Khaled’s head, bringing his attention to somewhere behind him as the towel smacked him with a wet thwack! Hamza, an older employee, glared at him from behind the service counter. “You want to socialize, do that on your break, Khaled!” he reminded him.

“Yes, sir!” Khaled replied, although it physically pained him to call the annoying nineteen-year-old ‘sir.’ He quickly made his excuses to his friends and left them to do their homework in peace.

A few more regulars walked in after his friends had left: the real estate agent who always ordered a double espresso, the lawyer who constantly smelled of tobacco smoke, the university students who also came to do their homework there. They even got a few first-time customers, locals and tourists alike. There was one girl who walked into their café near the end of the day, wearing a magenta pink kurta and blue jeans with sandals. A cream-colored dupatta was wrapped around her graceful neck. She ordered a latte and sat down in one of the booths by the window, scrolling through her phone as she waited. She was the most beautiful girl Khaled had ever seen. Long, glossy, dark brown hair cascaded in loose ringlets down her back, and, as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, he caught a glimpse of electrifying blue eyes underneath thick eyelashes. She looked up from her phone, and for a moment, blue eyes locked with brown. Khaled couldn’t help but feel a flush of heat spread over his face, despite standing directly beneath the ceiling fan. The girl waved a hand at him in greeting and smiled. She smiled at him. Khaled could hear his heart threatening to break out of his ribcage.

He received another wet towel slap to the head, and a reminder not to openly gape at the customers. He shook his head and blinked a few times to reorient himself, then collected the rest of the used mugs to take back to the kitchen.

He saw the girl around the café quite a few times after that. About a month later, he was lucky enough to take an order out to her, and then another, and then a few more. He became addicted to her smile, to her laugh, to her. The girl –Shazia–was enough for him to stay behind off-hours and learn how to use the milk foamer. Seeing her light up and hearing her beautiful laugh when she saw his happy face latte art was the best fifteenth birthday present he could’ve ever asked for.

A week after he presented his latte art, she had asked to talk to him during his break. So, there they sat, at her usual booth near the window, talking about anything and everything as she drank her falooda and he collected her empty glass when she was done. And one break’s worth of talking together quickly became a routine whenever Shazia came to visit.

“I don’t know, doesn’t it seem kind of odd that a grown woman is expressing interest in Khaled, of all people?” Hamza mused one night as the boys were going through closing tasks at the end of the night.

“‘Grown woman?’ She’s like, eighteen,” Khaled argued, leaning against his broom as he took a break from sweeping the floor. “That’s only three years older than me, and a year and a half younger than you.”

“Pay him no mind, Khaled,” Kamran, the other employee, smirked. He inverted chairs on top of freshly cleaned tables, clearing the way before Khaled could sweep the floor underneath. “He’s just jealous,” he taunted, earning a sour glare from the boy setting up the coffee machine for the next morning.

“I’m not jealous!” Hamza defended.

“Boys! Am I paying you to talk, or am I paying you to work?!” their employer snapped, coming back with an empty cash drawer after doing the final count for the day. All three employees offered their apologies and quickly got back to their given tasks. Mr. Saeed rolled his eyes. “Chalo, chalo, the sooner we wrap this up, the sooner all of us can go home!”

To Khaled’s surprise, Shazia was waiting outside the café as he stepped out after closing. He waved at her, smiling, yet confused. “What are you doing here? Not that I don’t mind seeing you,” he clarified, “but, it’s late, and you’re alone. Don’t you have family that will worry?”

“Khaled, it’s fine, I just wanted to see you after work, that’s all!” she explained.

She wanted to see me? Me? He couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. He looked back smugly at his older coworkers. Hamza glared back in poorly disguised envy, and Kamran threw him two thumbs up. “I –uh, sure! Yeah, okay,” he chuckled.

They walked from the café to a brightly lit storefront, where Shazia and Khaled briefly bickered over who was going to pay for the kulfis they selected. “But, I should pay, I’m a man!” he insisted.

“No, you’re fifteen.”

“Yeah, exactly! Wait-” Khaled paused, giving Shazia enough time to pay for their treats.

“I’ll be honest, Khaled,” Shazia began as they walked out of the store with kulfis in hand, “I waited for you tonight because I actually wanted to ask a favor of you.”

Khaled perked up, pausing mid-lick with his tongue millimeters from the icy treat before him. “Me?” He committed to the lick, then composed himself. “What do you mean?” he asked.

She threw her hair back over her shoulder, making micro adjustments to get it out of the way of her face. “You see, I’m a model, or at least I plan to be.”

“Makes sense, you’re definitely pretty enough to be a model.” Her laughter made Khaled blush red as he realized he had voiced that thought out loud.

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you!” She took a few licks of her kulfi before continuing. “So, I was going to do a photoshoot tomorrow with my photographer, my agent, and a friend of mine to round out my portfolio, but my friend just said he’d come down with a cold, and now he can’t make it tomorrow,” she explained.

“Oh, that’s awful, I’m sorry. Can you carry on without him, though?” Khaled asked.

Shazia shook her head and sighed. “We’re doing a sports-themed photoshoot, and it wouldn’t look right if it was just me kicking around the football. So…” she hesitated, before shyly asking, “...would you mind filling in for my friend tomorrow?”

Khaled’s brain bluescreened, taking a second to reboot as Shazia tried to further persuade him. “It would only take an hour or two at most, you would be paid for your time, and my photographer and agent will make sure it’s fun for both of us-”

Khaled’s lips widened in a smile. “I’ll do it!” he decided. She could’ve told him it would take five hours in the freezing rain and he’d still be down for spending more time with her. “Where, and what time?” he asked eagerly.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[theboywithburninghands]

Morning guys, or afternoon/evening depending on where you are. So, I know I said the @rottentricks story was only gonna be three chapters, but chapter two has gotten so big I wouldn’t feel right slapping a giant wall of text onto your timeline. So, it’s being split into two parts. Here you are, hope you like it!

T/W: Blood, discussions of suicide/murder, fantasy racism

Animals Ch. 2: Sheep, Part 1

What do you get for pretending the danger’s not real?

—

Pomni fell out of bed with a jolt at the sound of her telephone ringing. She hurriedly detangled her quilt from around her foot as the phone rang again, followed by the caller ID loudly and robotically blurting out:

“CALL FROM- PRIVATE CALLER.”

“Gee, thanks…” Pomni mumbled. She had no idea why her parents got her a phone with caller ID. It almost never worked unless the person had a private cell, and the only people she knew who could afford one of those were her parents… Hm, she might have just answered her own question.

She grabbed the phone off the charging dock and hit talk before it could ring again.

“Hello…?” she said sleepily.

“Hey Pomni, it’s Ragatha! Did I wake you up?”

Pomni cleared her throat. She checked her watch. 12:47 PM… sweet Jesus. How embarrassing.

“Uh- n-no, you didn’t… what’s up? You okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, hun, but have you seen what’s going on downtown?” Ragatha asked, her tone hushed. A faint susurrus could be heard in the background of the phone call.

“Uh… no. I’ve been at my apartment since I got steak from Kingston’s Charcuterie yesterday morning… Working on stuff for school, you know? What’s happening?”

“You were at Kingston’s yesterday…? You know Jax then?” Ragatha’s tone turned much more serious.

“Uh, yeah..?”

“Honey, he was arrested.”

Pomni covered up the mouthpiece of the phone and loudly swore. She uncovered it and kept talking.

“Are you serious..? Why?” she asked. Her concern was quite genuine, but her surprise was not. She knew why.

“They’re saying that it looks like someone killed Kaufmo with a knife and hung him up a tree to make it look like a suicide… oh god, it’s horrible. But they found a knife from Jax’s store in the woods nearby, and they said that was good enough evidence to arrest him. They took him in last night around 6 PM…”

Pomni sighed. She knew it would happen… Those stupid cops already had him pegged for the murderer. There was some evidence sure, but-

Well… maybe she was wrong. Maybe they did find some evidence incriminating him that came up, fingerprints (like she demanded they look for), a piece of purple fur or something… Maybe she really was just letting her biases get in the way.

“…all over Main Street. …Pomni, baby, you there?”

Pomni blinked back into her apartment, and realized that Ragatha had been talking the entire time she’d been arguing with herself.

“Uh- s-sorry you broke up for a minute, what did you say?”

“I said that someone must have said something, because there’s a huge protest going on outside the station, saying it was an unfair arrest! There’s out-of-towners, some locals, they’re all over Main Street! I think I see a news van out there..! You can probably hear ‘em right now!”

“Oh god, is that what that background noise is? Holy shit. Are… you okay, Ragatha?” Pomni asked.

“Me? I’m a little shaken up. Jax has been providing supplies for the café for years! He gives us our steak, our burgers, our bacon, our sausages… and he’s my friend. He can be a bit rude and he’s scary looking, but… I don’t think he’s capable of…killing people.” Ragatha whispered the last two words.

“I don’t think he is either,” Pomni said. “And-And I only met him for a few minutes yesterday. Sure, it’s suspicious about the knife, but he sells knives! Someone could have used one they already bought or stole one. And-And I was there when those cops showed up, and I saw how they acted! They looked ready to shoot him and one of them said something really nasty…”

Ragatha sighed. “You wanna know the sad part, honey? That doesn’t surprise me even a little. Autumnvale is a nice place, but some people around here like things in their place, and if you fall outta that place… It can be hard for you. But I hope you don’t think our whole town is like that.”

“Oh- No- No, not at all! I love the friends I’ve made here. You’ve been amazing…” Pomni said. She meant it. Ragatha had basically taken on the role of her big sister here.

“Aww… That’s so sweet of you, Pomni. You’ve got enough to eat, right? I’m sorry I closed the café yesterday…”

“No, Ragatha, don’t worry. I was fine, and you needed the day off. But I can come see you now if you want? I haven’t had breakfast yet and I ate my whole steak yesterday…”

She could practically feel Ragatha’s luminous smile through the phone. “Well sure, hun, come and visit! I’ll make you something special. Just be careful, okay? These protesters are making me nervous…”

“I will. See you in a bit, okay?” Pomni said with a smile.

“Bye.~” Ragatha said, and there was a click at the other end.

Pomni hopped off her bed and got herself dressed. Fresh underwear, then shirt, then pants, then fleece, then puffer, then purse. She looked out her window, saw it was snowing, and added a pair of black gloves and a white scarf, topped with her gray university beanie. It didn’t match her outfit, but maybe with this on, the protestors wouldn’t yell at her. She was on their side, after all, she thought something was fishy about the whole thing too…

She stepped outside, looking around at the falling snow. Big, fat flakes that looked like wisps of cotton. She held out a black-gloved hand and caught one. The flake remained on her palm for a moment before the heat from her hand caused the fluff to recede into water on her glove. She smiled.

She put her glove back on the strap of her purse, then turned to look at the stairs. They were dusted with snow, and no doubt slippery.

She huffed and gripped the railing tight. One step at a time, never let go. Repeat for all thirteen steps.

An excruciating minute later and she was at the bottom, panting and sending up plumes of steam. She appreciated being on the second floor to avoid the rats and bugs, but having to climb up and especially down these icy stairs was brutal… One of these days she was going to slip and fall and it was gonna suck.

“You okay, Miss?”

Pomni looked up at the unfamiliar voice. An abstract person sat atop a horse. They had a triangular head, bright pink, with no visible mouth and a shiny metal hook for a left hand. They wore a heavy poncho, colored dark green with yellow diamonds, and a brown cowboy hat. They sat atop a horse with an unusual coat, a nearly perfect split between black and white stripes and plain white fur.

“Um… hi. Yeah, I’m fine, just… uh… stairs.” Pomni pointed to the offending structure, still out of breath.

“Mmm. You headed into town?” the person on the horse asked.

“Yeah. You heading there too? Have you heard about the protests..?” Pomni asked.

“Yeah. I’m close friends with the guy that got arrested. I’m gonna see if I can post his bail.” they said.

Pomni perked up a bit. “Oh, great! Uh, I’m a friend of his as well! I saw the way the cops treated him…”

“Really? Tell me about it, I’ll give you a lift into town.”

The person on the horse turned their mount around the opposite direction, offering their non-hook hand. Pomni took it, carefully sliding her feet into the stirrups and climbing up onto the horse, sitting herself a bit clumsily behind the rider. The horse shook their head and snorted in annoyance.

“I’m Zooble. This is ZigZag.”

Zooble patted the side of their horse, gently tugging on their reins so they turned back towards town, then flicked the reins with a soft “giddyup.” ZigZag chuffed and trotted forward, leaving horseshoe prints in the new fallen snow.

“Hi, I’m Pomni. I’m here on an art scholarship.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot Mayor Mason started doing that. You’re here a full year, then?” Zooble asked without turning around.

“Yeah. Until I get my Master’s in May… I really love it here though… Well I love most of here. Winter has been pretty rough.” Pomni admitted.

Zooble chuckled. “Yeah, we have harsh winters. Our nights are especially bad. You’ve been staying inside after dark, right?”

“Mhm, always. If I die, my parents will have wasted money. Worse still, the college will have to liquidate my loans.” Pomni replied, putting her gloves to her cheeks in mock horror.

Zooble chuckled once again. “I’m not surprised you fit in here, you came pre-fit with small-town snark.”

“Thanks. Oh, so, yeah, I saw Jax yesterday. The cops were already gung-ho about arresting him… You’re his friend, right? You don't think he would do something like that, right…?”

Zooble was silent for a moment. “To someone like Kaufmo? No.”

“Wait- what do you mean?” Pomni asked, leaning a ways off of ZigZag to get a better look at the rider’s face.

“What I mean is that… He would never hurt anyone that didn’t really have it coming. I don’t know if you know, but the other kids made his life hell growing up. They called him a freak and said his parents abandoned him ‘cause he was so ugly and a half-breed. But… he fought back one day. It was bad. And ever since then, he hasn’t taken shit from anybody. I bet the only reason he even went with the cops is because if he put out one of their eyes or snapped one of their arms, he’d get his brains blown out or thrown away to rot. He’s got a temper, and he’s capable of a lot when you push the right buttons… but no. He wouldn’t hurt Kaufmo. Or me, or Gangle, or Rags.”

“…Or me?” Pomni asked.

“…I dunno. Are you a good person?” Zooble retorted.

“I’d like to think so…” Pomni replied meekly. “He seems to like me okay. He let me have a steak yesterday.”

“Really? He almost never gives anyone free food. He mumbles and grumbles about just giving me enough beef chuck to make stew.”

“Is that right..?” Pomni felt her face warm up again.

As they approached the town, they faintly heard the chanting of a good-sized crowd.

“AUTUMNVALE ISN’T FAIR! RACIST PEOPLE EVERYWHERE! AUTUMNVALE ISN’T FAIR! RACIST PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!”

Zooble tugged gently on ZigZag’s reins, slowing her to a stop. ZigZag nickered uneasily at the commotion up ahead, Zooble putting a hand out to pet her neck.

“Yeah, I know it’s loud, princess. Don’t worry, we’ll tie you off right here, okay?” they soothed.

Zooble then hopped down off the horse, landing firmly on both feet. They looked up at Pomni.

“Need help, city girl?”

Pomni bristled a tiny bit at that comment. Sure, it wasn’t a lie or anything, but it always made her feel… inexperienced. Sheltered.

“I got it,” Pomni replied. She looked down at the snowy ground. It was a drop for sure, especially for someone her size. Well, what did she have to lose other than the use of her ankles?

She slid off the horse, hitting the snow with both feet a bit too hard and fast, buckling and being forced to catch herself with her hands. She stood up immediately and dusted the snow off her gloves.

“You go on ahead. I gotta tie her off and put on her blanket.” Zooble said.

“Okay, thanks for the ride… Do you really think you can cover Jax’s bail?” Pomni asked, looking down at the snow.

Zooble sighed. Their breath steamed.

“Hope so. I’m just one person, and the bail for suspicion of murder is gonna be a small fortune. But I got a lot in savings. You didn’t hear it from me though.”

“I… don’t have much money, but I can try and help.” Pomni said. She desperately needed that money for groceries and art supplies, truth be told… She wasn’t sure why she even offered.

“Nah. Thanks, but nah.” Zooble said, tying ZigZag’s halter to a wooden perimeter fence nearby. “Do have a quick question, though.”

“Yeah?”

Zooble opened one of the saddle bags and looked at Pomni. Even though they had no visible mouth, looking at their eyes made it clear that they were smiling.

“You said you only met Jax yesterday, and you’re dead-set on helping him out. Why’s that?” Zooble asked, removing a green and yellow horse blanket.

“Because…” Pomni swallowed and felt her already rosy cheeks darken. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yup, that is true…” Zooble replied expectantly, shaking out the blanket.

“Y-Yeah. I’m… I’ll see you up ahead. Thanks again.”

“Be seeing you.” Zooble said, a laugh on the edge of their voice.

Pomni put her hands in her jacket pockets and crunched her way towards town. The roar of emotions in her belly distracted her long enough for her to reach the hubbub on Main Street.

A crowd of around four dozen people had gathered outside the Autumnvale police station, some familiar faces from around town, some people Pomni didn’t recognize that must have come from neighboring towns, maybe even her city. A few people held signs written on bright yellow or green poster paper, a few having opted for foam boards instead. They read things such as:

“DIFFERENT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE”

“YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN BLACK AND BLUE”

“AUTUMN-FAIL”

“WHERE’S THE EVIDENCE?”

“JUSTICE FOR JAX!”

An older chickadee birdman in an orangish-brown leather jacket and black toque stood at the head of the crowd. Pomni recognized him as the town doctor. She’d seen him a few times. He seemed to be the leader of the group, but that could be because he was the only one that had a bullhorn. He turned it on and spoke into it.

“We aren’t going to lay down and let the police continue to treat crossbreeds like second-class citizens! Not here, not in any other city!”

He then led the crowd in another chant of “AUTUMNVALE ISN’T FAIR, RACIST PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!”

Nearby, a news anchor and her cameraman interviewed a chess piece shaped fellow in a red flannel jacket and a fishing hat, who wrung his hands nervously.

“And you raised him, Mr. Kingston?” the anchor asked into her mic before offering it to the man.

“Y-Yes my wife and I raised Jax, the mayor found him abandoned in a cabin in the woods and brought him to us when he was just bite-sized.”

Pomni tried to walk a little closer inconspicuously.

“And you believe he’s innocent?” The anchor asked.

“Of course. Jax is a good boy. People around town have treated him so rotten.” Mr. Kingston said adamantly.

“You think that there’s bias in the arrest?” The reporter asked.

“Definitely, definitely. Some people around here still call him a cannibal, can you believe that? Just because he’s part wolf and needs meat in his diet, they call him a cannibal.” Mr. Kingston said, wounded.

“And what do you have to say about the knife that was found near the crime scene, Mr. Kingston?” The anchor asked.

“I say ‘malarkey.’ Jax sells those knives in his shop, anyone could have taken one and put it there. They probably picked him on purpose!”

Pomni listened a while longer before looking out amongst the crowd again. A few of the same cops from the crime scene the previous day stood in front of the station behind sawhorses, along with some new ones. Autumnvale must have brought in other precincts to keep the situation under control. One particular officer, a human with a gold badge and in a wide brimmed white cowboy hat and aviator shades, stood along with them, hands on his hips. Probably the sheriff.

The protest leader spoke into his bullhorn again.

“The detectives who made the arrest are nowhere to be seen! Isn’t that intriguing, everyone?”

The crowd booed.

“It seems that they feel perfectly comfortable bullying a man when they outnumber him, but once we show up, they go missing! Isn’t that intriguing?!”

Another round of booing and hissing from the crowd, one person shouting “Fuckin’ cowards!”

“Yes, these enforcers of justice seem to only bother enforcing said justice if it’s against people they don’t like!”

He continued on as Pomni slipped behind the crowd. The café was located just beyond the protest. No doubt, they were all going to head there after the demonstrations finished. Although from the amount of fervor in the crowd, it didn’t seem to be losing momentum anytime soon.

As she crossed to the other side of the road to the café, she spotted Trevor leaning against the post office next door. He locked eyes with her, a cigarette smoldering in his teeth, and grinned spitefully. Pomni hurried into the café.

“Hey! Good afternoon hun!” Ragatha waved. Pomni couldn’t help but smile and wave back. That sunny smile could cure sickness if someone could figure out how to bottle it.

“Good afternoon to you, miss.” another voice chimed in. A woman composed of a white mask and red ribbons sat at the counter, a black beret on her head and a cup of coffee in her hands. Er… ribbons.

“Come and sit, Pomni! You’ve met Gangle, right?” Ragatha poured another cup of coffee for the art student.

She stomped the snow off of her boots before going to sit at the counter, taking off her puffer jacket and hanging it over the back of her usual chair before climbing up into it.

“Um, I don’t think in person, but I saw your production of A Streetcar Named Desire. You were an amazing Stella!” Pomni said.

Gangle gave a worried smile. “Oh no, you weren’t there the night I forgot my lines, were you?”

“I don’t think so, I don’t remember any mistakes. Um, the guy who played Stanley was amazing too, so intense… Thank you.” Pomni accepted her mug from Ragatha.

“Ahh, yeah, Gummigoo. You know he’s actually a complete sweetheart in real life? We had to practice the scene where his character hits mine over and over with the stunt coordinator since he didn’t even want to pretend to hit me.”

Pomni added sugar and cream to her coffee, two blue packets and one little plastic cup, and stirred it.

“So how are you holding up this morning, baby? You said you saw those detectives get onto Jax, right?” Ragatha asked, leaning both her hands on the counter.

“Oh. Yeah, I did. I hid for a bit because I didn’t want to get in trouble just for being there… but then one of them said something really horrible and I yelled at them.” Pomni sipped her coffee. Bitter stuff, but it had a pleasant chocolatey taste on the edge of the flavor.

“What did they say? They didn’t call him a… you know…” Gangle whispered.

“No. They weren’t that blatant, but one guy, I think his name was Wexley, basically said Jax lived by himself ‘cause he’s a crossbreed. Said it was ‘understandable.’”

Ragatha made a disgusted noise as she went over to the griddle, pouring batter onto it. “I don’t understand how people that pea-brained are allowed to carry badges. Well it’s no wonder they’re not showing their faces right now. Probably got sent back to the big city with their tails between their legs. Buncha bullies…”

“Yeah… I’ve been meaning to ask, how did they find out so quickly..? The-The demonstrators, I mean. I thought Jax only got arrested last night…” Pomni inquired.

“It was probably Dr. Wren that found out,” Gangle replied, pointing out the window. Her ribbon pointed towards the older bird fellow with the megaphone. “Our town doctor. He’s always been about issues like this. You know, institutional racism and stuff? My guess is he jumped at the chance to get a crowd together. And look at the turnout!”

Pomni hummed. “Well, I’m glad he did.”

“Hm, I dunno,” Ragatha replied from over at the griddle. “Personally, I wish he’d have just waited a day or two so we could at least lay Kaufmo to rest. So many people here in town are still processing the fact that he might have been murdered, and he’s out there hollering his lungs out, disturbing everyone’s grieving.”

“B-But what about Jax? Doesn’t he deserve justice?” Pomni replied.

“Well of course he does, baby, but if he’s really done nothing wrong, he’ll be out of the jailhouse in 72 hours..” Ragatha flipped a pancake.

“He’ll- huh?” Pomni tilted her head.

“She’s right, I almost forgot…” Gangle chimed in. “This town has a Speedy Trial law. Since we’re such a small community, there’s not many trials. So there’s a 72-hour limit in place for someone being held in custody without substantial evidence… If Jax really didn’t do anything, and I don’t think he did, they’ll have to let him go in a couple days.

“And I’ll betcha the only people that are itching to find evidence on him are those detectives, and who knows where they went? With that protest out there, all our cops are busy keeping that under control. No time to be sniffing around for clues.” Ragatha added, testing the firmness of her pancakes with her spatula.

Pomni felt herself relax. That was… good news.. There was a pretty decent chance that they’d let Jax go tonight. Maybe she’d wait for him if the crowd had died down by then…

“W-Wait, so that means that the knife..?”

“Unless it had his DNA or prints on it, it’s not good enough. It’s like people have been saying, anyone could have bought it and hid it out there.” Gangle explained.

Ragatha gave a surprised smile over her shoulder at Gangle as she stacked the pancakes on a plate. “Well, look at you, Nancy Drew! Who taught you all this detective stuff?”

Gangle gained red blush marks under her eyes and looked down at the counter. “Oh, you know… I do a lot of research for my roles. We did an Agatha Christie play once…”

Ragatha brought over a short stack of pancakes, dusted with powdered sugar and topped with whipped cream and some fresh strawberry slices. She set the plate down in front of Pomni, along with a boat of maple syrup.

“Eat it while it’s warm, honey.” Ragatha cooed, pecking the art student on the cheek.

“Thank you Ragatha…” Pomni sighed. How this absolute peach of a woman remained single was a mystery to her. Wasn’t any of her business, anyway. She dug into the food. It was delicious, fluffy and moist cake mixed in with rich, hand churned cream and the bright flavor of strawberry. She could eat this every day for the rest of her life and never get tired of it.

The door to the café swung open, and a person in a yellow and green poncho stepped inside, stomping off their boots chasing snowflakes from their hat.

“Zooble! I was wondering when you’d show up! You want the regular… Zooble?”

Ragatha’s sunny voice darkened with worry as she saw a stain of red on their hand, which they were currently wiping off on their poncho.

“Zooble, are you bleeding?!” Pomni cried out.

“No, it’s not my blood. I punched Trevor in the nose. Might’ve busted it.” Zooble’s voice sounded hollow and distant. Their hand reasonably clean, they sank down into a chair by the window, resting their arms on top of the table.

“Trevor? The wolf?” Pomni asked. No, Trevor the marmoset, stupid.

“Yeah. He laughed at me when the sheriff turned me away. ‘Tough luck, pizza-head.’ I heard a crunch.” Zooble looked at their hand and clenched it a few times. “Anyway. Couldn’t post his bail. The Sheriff told me it was 500 thousand. ‘Possible homicide.’ I don’t even have half of that.”

“Oh, Zooble…” Ragatha opened the counter hatch and went around to see them. “Honey, I’m so sorry… But, we were just talking about the speedy trial law. If all they have is a knife that came from his store-”

“Horseshit…” Zooble mumbled.

“If there’s no DNA on the knife, then-”

“HORSESHIT!” Zooble bellowed, banging on the table with their fist. The sound rattled the glass salt and pepper shakers. Everyone jumped.

“Zooble, I’m sorry-” Ragatha began, but Zooble cut her off.

“You know how the system is! It doesn’t matter how many angry people wave signs around out there, or if the doctor gives some nice speeches on a megaphone! Jax is a crossbreed, and they’re gonna find some ‘new evidence’ or dig up some old law that makes it so he gets put away for good! Don’t you get it?! Those sheep big city detectives they hired took one look at Jax and saw he was a freak, so he must’ve done it! And our redneck-ass, no-brain FUCK of a sheriff agrees with them! They’ve been waiting to do this- they…”

Tears beaded in Zooble’s eyes, and they collapsed into their chair, shoulders shaking.

“They’ve been waiting…” they moaned.

For a while, there were no sounds other than the faint din outside and Zooble’s soft sobbing. Pomni couldn’t blame them… if her best friend was being put away on flimsy evidence based on prejudice alone, she’d have cried like a baby. Hell, she felt a little bit like crying now…

She pushed her half-eaten plate of food away and shyly walked over to Zooble. The cowboy looked at her through red, puffy eyes.

“What?” they spat.

“…I… I want to help.” Pomni said.

“I just told you there’s nothing we can do, kid… unless your mommy and daddy have $500,000 sitting around the house, this is the end of the line…” Zooble wiped their eyes on the non-bloodied parts of their poncho.

“Don’t say that. We can look for more evidence.”

“How? They’ve got the crime scene cordoned off… we’ll get in huge trouble if we go there…” Gangle said.

“What about Jax’s sales log? That’s like a list of suspects!” Pomni proposed.

“Cops already took it. I saw ‘em carrying it out of the shop when they hauled him away in cuffs…”

“Dammit…” Pomni chewed on her thumbnail. “Okay. Okay, what about this? Does anyone know where Kaufmo lived?”

“He lived not far from here,” Ragatha said. “His house was over near Gangle’s theater.”

“Do you think we could get a look inside it?”

“What? Pomni, what for?” Gangle asked.

“I dunno… anything! Clues about who might have it out for him!”

“Look, city girl. I appreciate your enthusiasm… I do. But the cops-” Zooble began.

“Are all busy, dealing with that.” Pomni pointed out the window at the crowd. “All we have to do is see if those three asshole detectives aren’t sniffing around the place, and we can look inside, right?”

“Pomni…”

“Look, Zooble’s right. Unless a miracle happens, the system is gonna do what it can to get Jax put behind bars for good. We need to at least try. Right?”

“I… But… Pomni, what about you? Aren’t you worried about losing your scholarship?” Gangle asked.

“Yeah. But… I think I… I want to make a difference in this town more than I want to just use it to further myself. You guys… this place has done so much for me, and I… I want to give something back.”

Zooble used a napkin to wipe their eyes. “It helps she also has a crush on Jax.”

Pomni turned bright red. “Hey! That’s not-”

“Aw, Pomni… that’s so romantic. A lover, wrongly imprisoned... It’s like a Carolinian play!” Gangle said, looping her ribbons together as though she was clasping her hands.

“Wh- He’s not my lover! We only met for like five minutes!” Pomni grabbed her beanie and tugged it down over her face.

“And yet you’re willing to risk your higher education to save him. Yup, you’ve totally got it bad, honey.” Ragatha added, crossing her arms and smiling.

“Sh-Shut uuuuuuuup!” Pomni whined.

“Well… I wouldn’t be much of a best friend if I didn’t do something incredibly stupid for him. Alright, let’s go, kid.” Zooble got to their feet, drying their eyes one more time.

“I’m twenty-fiiiiiiive!”

“You’re twenty-five? Jeez, you coulda fooled me. What are you, four foot two?”

“Four foot NINE!” Pomni snapped, shuffling out the door as Zooble held it open for her. Zooble said their goodbyes to Ragatha and Gangle before following after Pomni.

“Do you think they’ll find anything?” Gangle asked.

“Honey, I hope so. I… doubt it. But I hope so.” Ragatha replied.

[maineshewrote]

I-just-started-s4e9-thoughts:

The way Charles just described working with someone and not wanting to let them go is exactly what Oliretta was about in season 3. Also, it's about the connection that Charles and Sazz share—the woman's playing Charles in her everyday life to the point of adapting many of his mannerisms, in addition to the looks.

I feel like this Sazz scene was supposed to make us think Glen was a natural and Sazz gave him his break, but we know from Glen that he was actually working with Ben for a while before that. So it's either a very misleading scene or the guy who fell into Sazz's car was not Glen at all.

I'm noticing only now that the beer Sazz preferred is also Belgian.

With the exception of Ronnie, Oliver with an Irish accent gives me life. Also the fact that he didn't drop the act even when the others did.

Come to think of it, the beer is definitely a huge clue.

Oliver seems unreasonably calm about the wedding and the fact that he has to make all the arrangements. So far we haven't seen him make any, except for deciding on the ideal location. Okay, maybe not ideal, considering the abnormal amount of death in the Arconia, but it's definitely ideal for them.

Oh, good, Glen has been washed clean. Peace is restored.

This must be the first time there's two animals in the opening titles.

The green screens really took me by surprise.

I just had an idea. If the wedding is taking place in the Arconia, is the building going to be decorated somehow in the season finale's opening titles?

Completely unrelated and brought on by Charles saying that Glen was not the shooter, I just remembered the writer saying he had excellent vision. I'm still suspecting him, and that would mean he could shoot from a distance.

Also unrelated, but imagine the way Dudenoff must be fuming. What are the odds of a killer disposing of his victim's body right where Dudenoff had chosen as his final resting place, and therefore endangering the professor's neat plan of keeping his found family together?

Why does that masked stunt protégé have to be blonde? We don't know any suitable blonde suspects. At least not that I can recall. Not that blonde. Unless, of course, they changed their hair in the two years since. Ooh, maybe they got burned during the stunt and either lost their hair or it was somehow tinged due to trauma? We do know someone who can't grow facial hair, is all I'm saying.

While I'm speculating, a severe burn would make a right-handed writer write door notes with his left hand. Except, according to the timeline we were provided with this season, the Tim Kono case happened three years ago and the stuff with Sazz's protégé was after that. Yes, I am aware that I just eliminated my own theory.

Once again, everything about Sazz has turned out so tragic. She took someone under her wing, taught them everything she knew, even gave them her dear father's fireproof vest, and it seems the protege is the one who killed her.

Could we just skip the embarrassing mess that would be Oliver's bachelor party, please?

My respect for lady Melon keeps growing. She's had so many chances and ways to be a bitch and she's just never taken the bait. She has just kept on working hard, doing her part, being positive and helpful and just overall fun, in her slightly off-putting but already familiar way.

I would love it if Mabel took a look at the script and noticed a scene or something that is not common knowledge and would indicate that the writer knew more than he should. By the way, if it turns out not to be him, I'm going to be so disappointed in all the clues I put together so far.

Are they still sponsored by the deli chain, though?

I'm wondering why that emergency contact bit upset Charles, aside from it reminding them all that Oliver is starting a new era in his life. For a moment I thought Charles used to be Oliver's and Oliver his emergency contact, but it was sort of implied in season 3 that Oliver's is Will, which makes a lot of sense, and now that we've met her, Charles's could very well be Doreen.

Ah, yes, my boy Glen is all right. What a relief!

Oh, that protégé is so gonna burn. They're gonna do something wrong.

Poor Charles has been through so much this season. Can't we just spare him the nerve-wrecking task of arranging that nightmare of a bachelor's party. Knowing this show, it's either going to be extremely awkward and not worth the trouble at all or they're going to skip the party and have a cozy celebration amongst themselves, possibly at the Pickle Diner, which regretfully, hasn't made an appearance yet.

Currently terrified for Glen, but the only hope I have is that as a stuntman he would have extraordinary lung capacity and the good sense and skill to play dead until the killer leaves. Though, he can't really play dead if the machines he's attached to say that his heart is still beating. Unless he disconnects them during the struggle. That would be glorious.

I am devastated.

I just knew the villain got burned. And I know why, too. They moved too quickly after being put out. So it wasn't Sazz's fault in any way, because she taught them well, they just didn't listen.

Now, this time I didn't even think I'd be right—but those were two such sweet scenes between Charles and Oliver. This season is just one emotional roller-coaster after another, I've gotta hand it to the creators, they really outdid themselves with touching story-lines and scenes this time around.

I wonder if Mabel got Helga to help her change her door code or if she's just counting on the Oh Hells to not take advantage of the fact that they have access to her apartment.

I said it!! I knew it! The burning stuntman not only was at fault because of moving too quickly after being put out, but the fire made the director's facial hair burn off! That is a massive clue against the writer! And I bet what he wanted to show the director was his OMitB script (which was somehow conveniently on him seconds after going through a fire stunt).

No, Mabel, don't leave your phone on the bed when you go to get a beer for the killer.

AND! There was a clue in the beer box!!

The shoes, too! Oh, it's all coming together. I love it!

Rex Bailey! Oh, the guys may have no idea who that is but we do! Although, Charles should remember the name from right before he was knocked out. Glen talked about Rex Bailey at Sazz's funeral—and how Bailey "got his heel blown off" (so he was never that much of a good stuntman), so that's why he would steal and appreciate shoes which, according to Ron Howard, have extra cushioning in the heels.

I was so fuckin' right.

I was not prepared for the ending. If the story was not tragic enough before (which it was), it sure is now. I am weeping.

Darling Sazz was so proud of her podcast trio and so convinced that they were doing something extraordinary that she wanted to immortalize them by turning their story into a movie script. She worked hard to get to the bottom of the plot holes in season 1, which she was basing her script on, except nobody had the answers she was looking for, so she had to leave the plot holes in the script for the time being.

I believe that the script-stealing happened after the stunt burning disaster. So sometime between the stunt accident and Death Rattle Dazzle Sazz realized that Bailey/Marshall, who blamed Sazz for his accident and couldn't put together a half-decent script, had stolen Sazz's script instead. On the opening night of Death Rattle Dazzle Sazz was trying to save her work by calling Bev Melon but never got the chance to explain that the script that Melon loved had been stolen from her.

Mabel really shouldn't confront a probable killer so alone and so far from her phone.

[thelongforgottenrealm]

UPDATE 03.10.24

Hey everyone!

Just a quick update: I hope to get the last couple of characters from tier 3 posted this evening, but if not they will be the first thing to come after my hiatus! (Speaking of, I don't think I'll be on much this week, at all. The next couple of days before I go away will be pretty busy tbh)

I also wanted to give a quick overview of what is going on with the Lorcans! They will come in the next tier in a few months, but since Saoirse works for them/they are Malconaire cousins, I think it would be helpful to know about their situation!

Lorcan's estate is basically a fortress that is built into the side of a mountain

And, in true Lorcan fashion, it was designed with the potential to not only protect the family instead, but had enough room that it could provide shelter to the entire village below in the event of a war or natural disaster

There is also a secret labyrinth of tunnels beneath that can be both used as a shelter and as a means of escape -- the tunnel will eventually lead out through a cave that borders the Malconaire lands (so, in theory, the Malconaires could secretly visit their cousins w/o being spotted ... however this journey does take several hours, one way, on foot)

During the way, not a single Astairan life was lost upon Lorcan lands. When Roderick sent an army to set siege upon them, the villagers took shelter inside and had more than enough supplies that they outlasted the army

Lord Lorcan, however, was not present during the siege -- having left days beforehand to offer his help to his in the Battle of Malconaire

He never returned (nor was his body ever found)

Lord Lorcan was married to Aine Calleary and with he had two children. His eldest, a son, is only nine years old

While he is Lord Lorcan now, in name (his father presumed dead), he is too young to govern and Roderick knew that a steward must be appointed to him

Lord Lorcan also left behind two (or three??? I haven't decided yet #whoops) sisters

Given that his wife and his sisters are unfit for this position under Roderick's rule, given that they are females, Roderick's next choice was Aine Calleary's brothers and therefore uncle's to the new Lord Lorcan, but as their own father was executed for being a traitor, Roderick did not wish to bestow such a valuable holding to either of them, either

So he has appointed his own steward, who the Lorcan's must live under

The Calleary's are also relatives of Eoin's/Ciara's (their mother being the the late Lord Calleary's younger sister)

The Calleary's ancestral seat of Hanthom was taken from them after their father's refusal to bend his knee to Roderick and was gifted to Godfrey upon his engagement to Ciara

Cormac Calleary, the eldest son of Lord Calleary, has been gifted another estate of slighter smaller size and prestige, but one that had also been so badly destroyed during the war that it is currently uninhabitable and he, his brother, and two sisters are currently living with Lady Lorcan, her children, and her sisters-in-law at Lorcan under the watch of Roderick's steward

[ahmed-s-f]

Christian ministries gangs in Egypt And sexual harassment Paul’s ministry

This article is about a real-life experience that happened to me

I joined a Christian ministry at an early age. The funny thing is that I did not know that it was a Christian ministry at all. It was a charitable organization that worked in secret for the benefit of a Christian institution.

I accepted the truth easily when I learned of it. The security situation is difficult and dangerous for Christians who work in Christian missionary work in Egypt.

An organization under the name FOF was working for one of the Christian ministries under the name Paul’s Ministry

This, of course, necessitates accepting small legal crimes such as the institution’s falsification of its papers and sources of income, and more importantly, accepting continuous lying to people under the pretext that this is for their benefit and to convey the Christian faith to them.

I did not understand how to combine lying and the Christian faith and how they should work together for the same goal

Then I began to realize the reality of the ministry under which I worked, that its work was similar to that of gangs. It was forbidden for anyone to know the name of its leader. His name was John W. Hanna, and he was hiding behind dozens of employees so that she could not reach him.

The institution’s financial resources were poor, and the money spent on development work was small, despite my knowledge that the ministry had an income in the millions, and property worth about 40 million Egyptian pounds ..

However, the Ministry’s employees monopolized that money for themselves, and that was the reason for the director’s secrecy. It came to the point of stealing my salary for three years and stealing donations that went specifically to specific people who did not get anything from them and did not even know they existed.

The biggest disaster is when I saw in our Christian ministry cases of sexual harassment of working women and those who were targeted, and because the harasser was related to the director, JOHN, he was not punished or even expelled from his position.

John’s ministry was offering money that should be given as non-refundable donations. They were offering it in the form of loans and forcing the beneficiaries to return it, which is an effective way to steal money. One person died due to health deteriorations due to John and Hana’s pressure on him to force him to return money that should have been Provided primarily as a donation

The service was also trading its money on the black market, which is a difficult to trace method they use to steal donation funds.

Threats were a common method. Those who complained about those who converted from Islam to Christianity were threatened to inform their Muslim families.. even though the work of the service is to protect those who converted to Christianity.

What is strange is that all neighboring ministries knew about these crimes, and despite that, no one dared to expose or fight them

In addition to wasting money on fake projects and failed projects, while dozens of new believers were suffering from poverty and the difficulty of life, Paul’s ministry was wasting money on projects that had not worked for a single day.

When I saw with the eyes of one of the new believers suffering after he was expelled from his home and his family pursued him, John refused to give him support to obtain housing even though he receives funding allocated for these cases.

Which made me go directly to the British institution that supports our ministry to file a complaint with it, as it does not know what is happening in Egypt. It was the 3pministries Foundation.

I filed a formal complaint but they ignored it

Once again they ignored her

I had to file a complaint with a British ministry specializing in charitable institutions, which forced them to respond

Their response was very dry. They did not try to find out anything. They only sought to close the complaint. I sent them all the evidence of crimes in Egypt and of the incidents of theft and waste of money, but they did not take any reaction.

Then they just told me that they would stop replying to me or I would not text them again

I discovered that the organization ignored all crimes and did not mind their occurrence just to keep its work in Egypt afloat

And maintaining the flow of Muslims crossing over to Christianity, which means more money flowing to the Egyptian side Paul’s Ministry and the British side 3pministries

The funny thing is that the goal of spreading Christianity itself was not achieved due to the fact that most of the reports written about new believers are fake, they are composed positions written from imagination.

Most of the new believers quickly return to Islam due to lack of proper follow-up, because it simply no longer brings in money.

The spread of corruption in Arab Christian ministries is a disaster that must be looked at seriously

[coralhoneyrose]

The Princess and the Frog Chrobin AU... you don't know how hyped I was to read that.

I'm the exact opposite where I can't seem to write longfic. Do you have any suggestions for someone looking to try her hand at one?

Ohh I'm so glad that you're excited by the idea! 😊 Honestly there is such a tragic dearth of Birb!Robin content that I feel compelled to remedy it myself haha. And I think the fairytale-ish angle has a lot of fun / cute potential!

As for suggestions on getting into writing long fic, I certainly wouldn't consider myself an expert by any stretch, but I can tell you what has worked for me!

Find an idea that you *love* that just won't let you go

This, really, is the biggest tip I have. Obviously it's going to vary some based on the efficiency of the writer and just HOW long of a long fic we're talking about, but you're going to be thinking about and working on this fic for a long time. If that work isn't something you are extremely excited about, it's very quickly going to start to feel like a drag and become challenging to see through. Again, I can only speak to my own experience here, but I have thought about my long fics in some capacity for at least a few hours every day for the last two years (and often much much more than that LOL). Definitely I have days where I am not in the mood to write or I am not in a great head space with the fic and need to take a step back. But when all is said and done, it's still a story I am excited to tell and involves scenarios I *want* to have an excuse to think about all the time, day after day. If you're that excited about the ideas, I think that alone will carry you far!

2. Ask yourself why you want to write a long fic

To elaborate: what is it that a long fic allows you to do that you feel as though you can't accomplish in a shorter fic instead? Extensive world building? A more intricate plot? The answer to this question should drive a lot of your story conceptualization process. Honestly for me the biggest draws of long fic are how it lends itself to slow-burn, extensive opportunities for agonizing pining, and the ability to portray much more gradual character growth. Those are three of the things I love most in the fics and novels I read *and* three things that I love to write about. Because those things are such big priorities for me, the way I formed and built my story ideas around them was already very naturally geared towards long fic--I didn't have to try to fit it into that mold at all!

3. Find a good beta reader

Easier said than done, I know, but I genuinely think a fresh set of eyes / a brain to pick when you're stuck makes a world of difference. I cannot tell you how many times I have gotten myself into a deep rut with my long fics that I was convinced there was no way out of, or where I'd written a whole chapter draft that I thought was un-salvageable only for my beta reader to provide a very elegant solution / quickly pinpoint and direct me towards what wasn't working so that I wouldn't have to throw out the whole thing. One of the dangers with long fic is that you're working on it for so long that your sense of how things move and progress in the story and where they are going winds up being very divorced from the way readers experience it. Having someone else who can give you outside POV on what's working and what's not is invaluable during the drafting and revising process. Ideally that person would also have tastes that align well with your own and be someone who you can trust to be both honest and encouraging (even better if they know the characters of the world well and can give feedback from that angle too) but I do recognize perfect beta readers don't grow on trees. If not a full fledged beta reader, I think having a close friend or two who you can talk through the writers blocks or concerns with is helpful too!

4. Plan ahead but don't be afraid to change directions

Probably the most subjective piece of advice on here since I know different writers vary wildly with how much they like / need to plan ahead, but this is the combination that I've found has worked best for me. The reason being that if you don't do *some* more extensive idea generating and planning before hand I don't think it gives you anything to get hyped up about and look forward to. Having a big exciting moment in the story that you can't wait to write is a really good motivator, but unless you are very good at delayed gratification, brainstorming smaller moments along the way that are iddy and fun while still moving you closer to that big moment will be imperative for motivating yourself to stick it out long enough to get there. That being said, I don't think you have to feel locked into those early ideas either. Things are going to occur to you as you're writing that didn't during the planning stages. New ideas you like better, logistical bumps you didn't think to account for, the discovery that a character feels a different way about something than how you anticipated they would...there's a whole bunch of possibilities and all of them may wind up derailing your initial vision to varying degrees. And I think that's okay! Part of the writing process is re-discovering the world and characters from new angles...I honestly think it would be odd if that *didn't* impact the story's direction, at least a little! And generally I think those changes just tend to make the story even better in the end~

5. Let the fic be gratuitous and self-indulgent

Echoes of this are present in some of the previous pieces of advice, but I think it bears repeating as a separate (and final) point. Don't be afraid to pile on as many of your favorite tropes as you can!! Build your fic concept so that it includes lots of story beats and themes you're a sucker for every time. The more opportunities you find to load in things that you love, the more fun you'll have writing and thinking about the idea and the more likely it is that you'll both have an idea big enough to write a long fic for and that you'll be willing to stick it out and see it through to the end 💕

Okay...I think that's all I've got. This was so long and apologies if you were not looking for an answer anywhere near this detailed but, well, I did say I struggle to write anything short LOL Thank you for being interested enough in my perspective and experiences to ask in the first place! And I hope you'll find something I said here was helpful!

[dykesbat]

bestie my bestie i have a chem lab due in an hour that i don't want to do. i would like to humbly ask for your miscellaneous thoughts on the hunger games pls rant to me i would love to see it <33

FRAMING THIS ON MY WALL FOREVER DEAR GODDDDDDDDD. EVEREST…. YAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!! SKIPPING IN A CIRCLE W YOU!!! ok :3 hehe

they make me sick in the head dear god. miscellaneous things abt hunger games that make me sick in the head this is not going to be organized btw.

thresh and katniss being parallels. both being older and non-careers that matched the careers' scores. katniss wishing she could play that stoicism like thresh because then she wouldn't have to act as much. katniss noting that she doesn't think that thresh likes owing people when he spares her for saving rue...... THEY MAKE ME SO SO SICK.

also rue and katniss and prim venn diagram.. katniss seeing herself AND prim in rue (mockingjay symbolism, eldest child, only 12 years old, named after plants, is the primary reason why katniss sticks so so true to her morals within the arena..)

gale. so many complex feelings abt him. like on one hand the way he took out his anger on katniss sucks!!! a lot!!!!! i dont think the way people discuss him is very fair either. he is still a child.. AND if we're working under the assumption that the people of the seam are intentionally indigenous-coded it feels a bit insidious the way people liken him to war and anger and shit like..... yeah gale operates from anger but it is ultimately an anger born from love and generational loss. like. gale deals with a lot of the same traumas that katniss deals with pre-74th games (losing a father, being parentified, being the primary provider for a family, watching children you grew up with die on screen every year, watching people die from disease and hunger, etc etc.) then during/post the hunger games he watched his best friend enter the games and enter an act he knows she has no agency in (and yeah theres jealousy there which. booooo but whatever he has flaws) while keeping his promise to care for her sibling and mother. THEN he is publicly tortured and watches as his home burns to the ground as the capitol attempts to commit a genocide against them, knowing full well that he wasn't able to warn the merchants town in time. i think people talk abt gale as if he's some big villain capable of holding a candle to snow when he's literally a kid whos been manipulated over and over again and led to believe that anger is the only fuel he needs. also. if im honest. im very hesitant with gale's character bc a lot of peoples criticisms of him as a person read a lot like people who believe revolutions should only ever be peaceful and that. is bullshit.

anyways. MADGE. :( I LOVE MADGE SO SO MUCH. she makes me sick she and katniss are a story of generational love. the fact that madge brings katniss the morphling because she cares for her.. the fact that madge brings katniss the pin in the first place!!! the fact that madge's aunt and katniss's mother were best friends!!! its a story of generational love!! IM SO SICK. DEAR GOD.

aro katniss hc :33 its real 2 me..

little rebellions found in small acts of love.. the three-finger salute first appearing when katniss volunteers in prim's place.. the fact that katniss volunteering at all was an unspoken rebellion bc it reinforced this idea of familial love and loyalty that the volunteer system was meant to break.. the salute being a sign of mourning as if to say district twelve will remember katniss's love..... the fact that the salute becomes this symbol of revolution.. katniss and rue bonding and exchanging tales from their districts breaking the separation each district has from the other, katniss laying rue to rest with a lullaby and a bed of flowers the capitol can't not show, district 11 in turn breaking those rules again by sending katniss bread as a token of thanks and solidarity.......... THE MOCKINGJAY PIN BEING KATNISS'S TOKEN THAT WAS GIVEN TO HER BY ONE OF HER ONLY FRIENDS. A PHYSICAL REMINDER THAT SHE WAS LOVED AT HOME. KILL ME. I NEED TO BE SHOT.

the way characters are explored through katniss and vice versa is so so interesting. i already mentioned thresh and gale but also notable are ofc haymitch, johanna, and peeta. all of which are intentionally similar to katniss in a way. (whether it be the all-consuming love and selflessness, the anger, the rebellion, holding on to stoicism as some form of protection, etc.) AND. the fact that so many characters butt heads with katniss because of this (AGAIN. HAYMITCH AND JOHANNA.)

katniss and buttercup. katniss's save the cat moment being her trying to drown the cat is so so telling both about katniss and about the world she lives in (this idea that death is some sort of salvation). buttercup being symbolic of katniss' relationship w herself (like cmon.. catnip. ok.) starting off with hating each other but only being amiable because they both love and want to protect prim, katniss saving buttercup literally only for prim (katniss intentionally wanting to come home for both prim and rue's sake), katniss lashing out at buttercup after prim has died, katniss and buttercup finding comfort in each other because prim is no longer there. their relationship shows katniss's evolution from living for prim to actually living for herself.

WHICH IS SO SO SICK. BECAUSE SHE ONLY LIVES FOR HERSELF WHEN SHE REACHES THE AGE OF ADULTHOOD. SHE HAS ONLY EVER LIVED FOR PRIM. AND EVERYONE KNOWS. JOHANNA MAKES KATNISS SWEAR ON HER MOTHER AND PRIM'S LIFE BECAUSE KATNISS DIDN'T VALUE HER OWN ENOUGH. THEY HAD TO MAKE SURE THAT KATNISS DIDN'T COMMIT SUICIDE SO SO SO MANY TIMES AFTER PRIM DIED. DEAR GODDDDD. SHES ONLY LIVED FOR PRIM.

katniss' relationship w her mother also makes me sick in the head. like mrs everdeen is not the best mom ever but the fact that she and katniss foil and parallel each other makes me so so so sick.. (katniss falling into that same depressive state her mother was in. the mockingjay pin. the seam vs merchants.. etc etc.) katniss and her motehr clearly care for each other too! her mother tries! she tries to make it up to katniss! she tries to care for her! and katniss lets her even if she doesnt like it because she knows its her mother's attempts and that means something! her mother holds her and comforts her and lets out a scream when she realizes that katniss has to be reaped again. katniss yells at her but she also grips her hand and tells her she loves her and lets the braid she wove into her hair be the signature she keeps.

ALSO SOBBING i wish we knew more about each districts individual cultures because we were given snippets of them (annie and finnick's wedding having particular district 4 customs, district 12 and their dances/music, district 11 with their music, etc etc).

also like while i stand by aro katniss 4eversies i do think that narratively peeta wouldve been the best romantic end game for her. basically what im saying is. katpee qpr. also her having children makes so much sense.