#trying to write British teens

[mozzarella-stix]

Dead Silence

Lockwood & Co- Johnathan Stroud

Lucy Carlyle x Anthony Lockwood

Summary: The tragic incident at Wythburn Mill has left 3rd Grade Agent Lucy Carlyle with more damage than originally thought. Ostracized by any agencies who need her incredible talent, a company of misfits might be her perfect match. Will Lucy rise to the challenge of her new circumstance? Or will her misfortune follow her into the heart of London?

An exploration into the events of "The Screaming Staircase" if Lucy had suffered a bit more than just emotional scarring on her last job with Jacobs and Co.

Content/Warnings: Graphic Description of Injury, Graphic Description of Corpses, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Slight Gore, Hearing Loss AU, American Pretending to be British

Thanks @maarigolds for being super supportive and my beta reader! Tags for people who liked the original post at the end

The ringing came first. The doctors called it tinnitus. I called it the only thing I could hear properly.

The blast knocked me backwards, and Norrie into me. Hot blood spilled like lava down my cheeks and into my hair. Horrifying screeches, like a chorus of demons overtook the buzzing in my ears. I rolled away from Norries limp frame, and grasped my throbbing head.

No position or pressure stopped the wailing from raking across my soul. I blinked my eyes free of tears, refocused on the entity beyond the darkness. Pale faces emerged from the black fog, distorted and disfigured in unspeakable ways, each screaming a terrible scream.

Lucy

A soft hiss penetrated the screams.

Save yourselves

Hardly above a whisper, yet familiar enough to pick from the noise.

The door

Just as quickly as the presence entered, it departed, and the screeching returned.

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[gguk-n]

Hello!! I was wondering if you could please write a redbull driver with multiple wdc x platonic grid

But the older drivers like max Charles Lewis lando etc get jealous of her constantly being with the younger ones like franco kimi and Ollie all fluff n funny n fans going crazy bout their jealousy

Thank you

Rivals of the Track

{Reader's POV}

It was the Azerbaijan GP, Kevin wouldn't be racing so Ollie had replaced him for the race. He was this tall lanky British teen who rightfully corrected me saying that he was an adult now, he was funny. Ollie was with his best friend Kimi, who had come to support him for the race. I found their friendship endearing and reminded me of my best friend who would try to come to as many races as she could. The other drivers would argue about who my best friend was, but I knew who my best friend was and it was Y/BFF/N.

"Y/N, did you colour your hair?" Kimi asked. "You can tell?" I asked slightly shocked, "I just went for a lighter shade of burgundy than the last time" I elaborated. "Yeah, you look prettier" Ollie chimed. "Thank you. You boys are so sweet, unlike some people I know" I said looking at the other drivers who were stood a few feet away who were very confused when I asked them if anything was different about me. "You're always pretty" Franco added. "Okay, okay, flattery will only get you so far" I laughed. "We're being honest. Having some one as talented and beautiful on the grid that we can learn from is an honour" Kimi said solemnly. "Okay, is there a body you boys wanna hide?" I asked laughing. They laughed back.

"Can you introduce us to Lewis?" Franco whispered while we were stood there waiting for the media interviews. "Sure" I said. "He's so cool and we aren't sure if he'll talk to us" The other two boys added. "Oh, no, my babies, he's a sweetheart. You could just walk up to him and start talking. I was scared of him when I first joined too but we're pretty good friends" I explained. The 3 boys smiled at me, nodding in agreement.

Every time I would be talking to these 3, trying to make them feel at home like all the times the others did, I could feel eyes on me. I wasn't sure why they were all glaring at me.

I was doing my post quali media after qualifying P4. "So, what a race? Are you expecting a win or a podium?" The interviewer asked. "Obviously going to go for the win, podium isn't too far away either, let's see, I have a Ferrari and a McLaren to fight off though" I laughed. "We've seen you hanging around with the younger drivers, do they remind you of your rookie days?" she asked. "Yes, they are so nervous and scared but full of energy. They are fun to hang out with too" I said. "Does this mean you find the older drivers boring?" she prodded. "Never said that" I tsked. "I'm just trying to make them feel at home" I said. "Well, the fans are eating your interactions up. They find it so cute, you're like the mother duck and they are your ducklings" she said. "I wouldn't say that they are wrong" I chuckled. "I interviewed your teammate Max a while back and he didn't seem too pleased with your blossoming friendship. Why is that so?" the interviewer pointed out. "We're all competitive. I guess they are competitive about friends too" I shrugged. "It was nice talking to you, can't wait to watch you on the podium" she stated. I smiled and talked away.

I met the others in my drivers room. "I think this is a confidentiality breech to have all the other teams here" I laughed. "We're staging an intervention" Max stated. "For what? I don't have an addiction" I pointed out. "Since we're losing our bestie" Lando said. I couldn't help but laugh, "Who?" I asked. "You, you dumbass" Charles said. I sat on the chair that was unoccupied. "What's up my fellow drivers?" I asked. "We aren't only your fellow drivers, we're best friends" Lewis said. "Arguable but okay" I shrugged. "Are we not best friends?" Daniel fake cried. "My best friend is Y/BFF/n. You guys, I tolerate at best" I laughed. I could see all them visibly pout. "We don't like it" they said in unison. "What do you not like?" I asked. "You hanging out with the younger drivers or that we aren't best friends. Are we too old for you?" Carlos asked. "I'm as old as you guys. They just remind me of my siblings, they are like my ducklings and I'm their mother duck" I chuckled reminded of the analogy. "So, you aren't replacing us?" Oscar quipped. "Obviously not, they are my children. You guys are my friends" I said face palming myself. "Group hug?" Yuki asked and then we all huddled together. "What about us being best friends?" Max asked. "Still Y/BFF/N. I don't feel like a girl when I'm around you guys, she reminds me. We all have something special, we're competitors and friends" I said. They all seemed to nod in agreement.

After an abysmal race, I was laying in my hotel room going through twitter when I saw people talking about how I had taken the younger drivers under my wing and how they would follow me around like lost puppies while you could see the others stare daggers at them. At some point in the weekend, Max did almost carry me away from them, out of jealousy it seems and the gif was circulating all over the internet. I laughed at the tweets, my friends can get jealous, they would be jealous when I hang out with Y/BFF/N but I do need a get away from all the testosterone, but they are nice people, just bad at communicating.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Wonderwall

Rating: Teen Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 4,550 Summary: Your ex boyfriend Simon is marrying Sabrina, the woman he left you for. You were sure you'd have have a date in time for his wedding... too bad you were wrong. Once again. your best friend Maria has to save the day by letting you use her handsome, single brother-in-law that owes her a favor as your date. Warnings: fluff, idk what's going on with me but there's so much fluff, soft joel, fake wedding date, rom com vibes, crying over a broken vibrator, no outbreak, maria and tommy are married, sarah and kevin live, british ex boyfriend, reader and joel are close in age (reader is 36, joel is 40), alcohol, i know the gif is marcus pike but i can't stop seeing young joel in this gif, anyways here's wonderwall, no use of y/n, not beta read

A/N: This was written for @justagalwhowrites' Joel Miller Birthday Celebration. Thank you to the always wonderful @ohheypedrito for suggesting the fake dating trope when I asked her what to write.

Masterlist

Fizzy mimosas, fluffy pancakes, crispy hash browns, and sweet maple syrup. Brunch on Sundays with Maria has been a long standing tradition for the two of you. Fifteen years of friendship kept stronger by always promising to make time for each other no matter what is going on in your lives.

These days, Maria’s raising a toddler while building a very successful career in the Austin district attorney's office whereas last night you cried over your vibrator dying while trying to pull an orgasm out of you for an endorphin rush. God knows you need one.

You’ve been in a hole since the arrival of Simon’s wedding invitation. The man you spent your most youthful and fulfilling years with is now marrying Sabrina, the beautiful co-worker he crashed your relationship for. Yeah, yeah, your twenty year partnership was already headed for the cliff, but her perky tits and pouty lips sure did speed up the demise. 

“So, Simon’s wedding is next weekend, how do you feel?” Maria interrogates from across the table.

“Fine!” you stuff a pancake triangle into your mouth. “It’s fine! I’m fine!”

“Mm,” she lifts a skeptical eyebrow. Why do you lie to her? She makes three figures locking away liars, she can spot them a mile away. “Let me guess, you still don’t have a date?”

“Ugh, no, why did I mark two on the RSVP?” 

“I told you not to,” Maria shakes her head 

“Yeah, but, I-I want to show him I’m doing great without him.”

“Babe,” Maria grabs your hand and squeezes it, “I say this with all the love in my heart… you’re not doing great.”

“I knoooow!” you sigh, closing your eyes. “I just thought… I’d show up in my pretty dress with a hot man on my arm and show Simon I’m happy and fulfilled without his love.”

“But you don’t ha–”

“Please, I know. I just– I’m happy for him in some really odd way but I also want to be… happy for myself.”

“Okay,” she nods before taking a deep breath, “here’s what I’m going to do for you. You know Joel?”

“Your… brother-in-law?”

“Yes, he owes me a favor, soooo, he’s going to be your date,” she sits back folding her arms across her chest with a smug smirk. “He’s handsome as hell and a good man but he’s very quiet and intimidating to those who don’t know him. He’s perfect for this situation.” 

You do know Joel… just not very well at all. There have been random run-ins at Miller family parties, but nothing more than a quick “hello” and “how are you?” exchanged between the two of you. He seems the opposite of your Dartmouth educated, polo playing yuppie of an ex. “Yoo hoo,” Maria waves her hand in front of your face catching your attention. “Does that work for you?”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, I think… it does,” a relieved smile lifts your face.  

Maria has, once again, fixed your problem. 

—-

RING… RING… RING… 

Your fingers nervously tap against the countertop. “Come on, pick uuup, pick uuuup, pick uuu–”

“Miller,” a deep voice answers.

“H-Hi, uh, Joel?” You feel a third your age, like you’re right back in middle school calling the cute boy in your science class because your friend dared you. 

“Speaking.”

“Hey, uh, you’re my wedding date? Maria… she gave me your number so we can plan?”

“Oh, yes,” his voice softens. “Saturday, right?”

“Yeah, uh… I think it might be good to go over a story for us before the big day.”

“Right,” he chuckles, “I’m all ears.”

—-

Your eyes roam down your notes from the call. “So, we formally met at Kevin’s graduation party. I call you ‘honey’, our first date was to a movie and then to pizza. We’ve been together for a little over a year. You hate sushi and love tamales. You don’t like water slides. You play the guitar. You have a daughter named Sarah who’s a senior in high school. You own a construction company with Tommy… I think that’s about right?”

"Believe so," the bass of his quiet voice causes goosebumps to pebble your skin. If he's doing this to you over the phone, what will the wedding be like?

"Okay," you settle against your sofa, "and for me?" 

Papers shuffle before Joel clears his throat. “Hm, okay. I asked Tommy for your number after Kevin’s graduation party. You work at an insurance company, but you dream of owning your own bookstore one day. You love mashed potatoes. I call you 'baby.' Your favorite color is bronze. You’re a night owl forced to be an early bird. You love Taylor Swift unapologetically. You like staying over at my home because your favorite coffee place delivers to my house.”

“Perfect. I know this is totally weird and all, but, thanks for doing this. Sometimes I allow my pride to sabotage me... and Maria has to come in and save me.”

“She’s good at that.”

“Thanks again Joel.”

“You’re welcome,” his voice feels you with warmth. “I’ll pick you up on Saturday.” 

“Yes, Saturday. Until then, have a good week.”

“You too.”

After saying goodbye, you hang up with a plume of butterflies in your stomach. 

—

“Okay! Get ready!” you shout from behind your bathroom door. 

Your Sunday brunch date with Maria has been moved up to a Saturday afternoon primping and preening spree in your home as she helps you get ready to watch the once love of your life marry someone else. 

You step out of the bathroom to find Maria sitting cross-legged on your bed. As soon as she sees you, she leans forward with wide eyes.

"Wow," she breathes, her voice filled with awe. "I mean, seriously, wow."

"Really?" you ask, giving a twirl in your mauve dress, adorned with a delicate print of sequined flowers blooming across the bodice.

“Really,” her eyebrow angles as she nods, “I can’t wait for Miller to have to deal with keeping his cool around you.”

“What?”

Maria just smiles, “Let’s just say, you look hot, that’s all I’m going to say.” 

___

A shiny black truck pulls into your driveway. Panic jolts through you as you watch the door swing open from your front window. Out steps Joel Miller, impeccably dressed in a black suit. Oh good lord–he’s your date. Like, date date, as in the guy you’re going to be spending the rest of the night with. The anxiety over Simon and Sabrina’s wedding fades into the background, replaced by the overwhelming challenge of maintaining your composure in the presence of someone who looks that stunning in a tuxedo.

The doorbell rings. 

Okay, okay, you got this.

A gust of pleasant autumn air hits your skin when you open the door. Oh good LORD, he looks incredible. His hair is longer than you remember, falling in gentle waves you dream of running your fingers through. His beard is neatly trimmed, though slightly patchy with a strong mustache that frames his plush lips. He has a shy smile, his dimple makes a divot you want to press your finger into. His simple black suit stretches around his obviously toned and broad shoulders. 

“Hi, it’s uh, nice to see you again. Come on in,” you say, opening the door wider and stepping aside. 

“Course,” he replies, striding in past you. His hand twitches nervously when he turns and takes how you look fully in. “You look– y’look beautiful.” 

A flush of warmth spreads through you at the compliment from the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, now standing in the middle of your living room. 

“Oh, thanks, uh, it’s not every day your ex boyfriend of twenty years gets married to the woman he left you for… so I guess I needed to show off.”

“It’s–yeah–good,” he stammers, his eyes darting around the room, clearly avoiding your gaze.

“Well, uh, I just need to slip on my shoes and grab my bag, then we can get going. Make yourself at home.” 

“Sure thing.” 

As you head down the hall to get your things, you hear him let out a long sigh. 

Don’t worry dude, I get it. It’s going to be a long night. 

“So, um, I know, this is awkward,” you say, returning to the living room and dropping your shoes on the floor, “but I’m really grateful to you.”

He chuckles, sitting on the edge of your couch. “S’alright. I can’t say no to a free meal and open bar.” 

“If I still know Simon’s taste, it’ll be a top-notch open bar too,” you muse, slipping into your high heel and bending over to fasten the buckle. 

You glance up when you hear Joel’s breath catch. He’s staring intently at you–more specifically, at your exposed leg and thigh, courtesy of the high slit in your dress. 

You really had to pick the dress that Maria dubbed “the revenge dress,” didn’t you? He clears his throat and quickly averts his gaze, but the charged atmosphere lingers. You try to ignore it, buckle your other shoe and grab your clutch.

“Ready?” you ask. 

“I am," he replies, standing up and adjusting his neck tie, a hint of color warms his cheeks. . 

—-

Joel’s truck looks quite out of place pulling into the Hurts Family’s grand estate. Of course Simon’s getting married at Father & Mother’s sprawling manor. You can’t help but wonder if the altar and ceremony will be located in the same conservatory you and Simon lost your virginity to each other in. 

The whole drive over, you and Joel practiced your spiels, all the while you tried to ignore the waves of attraction that vibrated between you and him in the small cab of his truck.

He pulls up to the valet and reluctantly hands his keys over to the college aged kid before hurrying over to your door, cutting in front of the doorman to help you down. What a gentleman.

Soft violin music floats through the air and white flower petals line the walkway leading into the massive estate that once felt like your second home. A nagging thought lingers in the back of your mind that you’re about to live what should’ve been your wedding day. 

You breathe out deeply, Joel grabs your hand as he guides you into the house. 

People mingle, some you don’t know, many you do. Aunt Billie, Uncle Martin, the cousins from Manchester, Simon’s favorite professor. Familiar faces surround you, what the hell were you thinking this would be okay?

You’ve known this home since you were twelve, Simon showed up in your seventh grade algebra class, a new student with bright blue eyes and blonde hair, you thought he was the prettiest boy you had ever seen, even before he spoke… the British accent would’ve been enough to sweep you off your feet. It took a couple years of friendship before you both admitted your crushes on each other, the confessions happened in the movie room, just down the hallway you stand near.

Love is fleeting, love is hopeless. You’ve learned to care for yourself like Simon once cared for you, but now in this home you used to sneak into, you feel just as alone as you did the day you moved out of the house you shared with him for a decade just two streets down from here. 

“Hey, you okay?” Joel leans in and whispers. “Squeezin’ my hand mighty hard.”

“Oh,” you blink, refocusing on him, “I am, it’s just… really bizarre and everything. Seeing so many familiar people I haven't seen in years feels strange.”

“You’re doing good, I got you,” he says, letting go of your hand, and wrapping his arm around your waist, guiding you farther into the mansion. 

___

The impressive altar stands in the conservatory–you know your ex well– this windowed dwelling means everything to him. Everywhere you look, peach and champagne flowers are nestled among lush green foliage. You and Joel settle eight rows back on the groom's side, just a few feet from the bench you lost your virginity on. Jamie, Simon’s friend from college, sends you a kind smile when you sit next to him. 

Your foot taps nervously against the stone tile, keeping rhythm with the soft string music lilting through the air. You take a deep breath to center yourself as the processional begins. The family minister you’ve known since you were fifteen leads the way then–Simon. Still just as handsome, in that specific pretty way that drew you to him as a teenager. The slight waves of his dark blonde hair are more controlled and slicked back. His slender body is topped by wide shoulders from all his years of playing polo. His equally handsome brother Liam follows, along with a handful of friends you used to consider your own. 

Joel’s arm wraps around you as Simon takes his place at the altar, his fingers resting firmly on your bare shoulder just in time for the bridal procession to begin. Everybody takes their rightful places waiting for the bride. Simon stands at the altar, laser focused on the doorway, oddly, you feel a sense of happiness for him. Maybe you feel less lonely with the comfort of Joel’s strong arm around you, maybe you’re just caught up in the emotions of the day. 

As you expected, Lia and Ewan, Simon’s niece and nephew, are the ring bearer and flower girl. You were at the hospital when both of them were born. You taught both of them how to swim. They used to call you their aunt. 

The small orchestra begins playing “The Wedding March,” the audience stands in anticipation of Sabrina’s entrance. The curtains part and she appears shimmering down the aisle in her ivory dress. Okay, you have to admit, she looks gorgeous. Joel pulls you closer, his hand rests against your hip as Sabrina and her father pass your row. You’re grateful for his presence, even if it’s just a comforting distraction that just happens to be pretend.

The look on Simon’s face is unmistakable when he takes Sabrina’s hand–it’s the same look he would give you whenever he told you loved you all those thousands upon thousands of times. 

You take your seat, Joel’s hand finds your shoulder once more. It’s going to be damn hard to concentrate on the ceremony.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today.

—

You survive the ceremony… thanks to Joel and his calloused hand rubbing circles on your shoulder. As Simon and Sabrina lead the recessional out of the conservatory, Simon spots you and sends you a knowing wink and smile when he spots Joel next to you. Maybe it’s a good thing you attended, it’s the final picket placed in the closure fence. 

“You good?” Joel whispers in your ear while watching the rest of the party leave. You turn to respond, failing to realize his face is now right next to yours. His lips now sit a breath away from yours. Panic slips in, overwhelmed by the thought of anyone catching an awkward moment like this, especially since you’re the ex girlfriend the groom left for his brand new bride. 

Fuck it. You lean forward and place your lips against his, leaving a delicate peck against them. At least now you’ll have this moment that’s just for you. 

—

The warm autumn sun is beginning to set casting the preened and pristine gardens of the Hurts Estate in amber tones. Thank god for the cocktail hour and open bar. 

You sip your champagne and smile at a few familiar faces while gazing out upon the vast lawns you used to spend lazy days sunbathing and playing croquet on. What a bizarre homecoming of sorts. Joel is taking his role seriously, constantly checking on you and never leaving your side.

A familiar voice calls your name, pulling you from your reverie.

“Oh sweetheart! It’s so lovely to see you!” Simon’s mother, Adeline, greets you with kisses on both cheeks before pulling you into a warm hug. You’ve always liked the woman and she always adored you. She turns to your date, her eyes lighting up when she looks Joel up and down. 

“Addy, this is my boyfriend Joel.” A rush of excitement is sent through you at the simple introduction. “Joel, this is Simon’s mom, Adeline.”

“Good evening ma’am,” Joel says, extending his hand to shake hers gently. “It’s quite beautiful here.”

“Oh, thank you! Aside from our two boys, this is our pride and joy. There’s nothing better than seeing your child get married in the place you call home.” . 

“Well, I’ve heard a lot of nice things about this place, you have a lot of good memories here, right baby?” Joel looks at you with an affectionate smile. Oh he’s good.

“I do,” you smile warmly at Addy. 

“Oh sweetheart! That makes me so happy! You’re always welcome here, I’m so happy Simon invited you!”

“I am too, it’s so nice to see you,” you say, realizing how much you truly miss her. You spent twenty years of your life around so many of these people before being cut off cold turkey from them.  

“Shoot! I better keep moving and making my rounds! Do enjoy the bar, and make sure tell them Addy sent you; they’ll give you the real good stuff. Joel, are you a whiskey man?”

“Yes ma’am,” Joel replies with a nod.

“We’ve got some Old Rip Van Winkle, aged 25 years. Just tell them Adeline insists and they’ll pour you a glass.” 

“Thank you ma’am,” Joel says gratefully.

“Oh, I like him darling!” Addy winks before turning to leave, her gold dress gleaming just as bright as her personality. 

—

The large tent erected for the ceremony glows in pink and orange hues. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling overflowing with roses and garlands. It’s gorgeous and opulent everywhere you look. 

You’ve been nervous about your table assignment since you sent in your RSVP. Who will you be stuck with? You prayed it would be strangers versus people you used to call friends. You thank your lucky stars when you’re led to table eleven, where you’re greeted warmly by strangers. You tell your new tablemates you’re an old friend of Simon’s, Joel grabs your hand and gently holds it while you introduce yourselves,  shocked you still haven’t had to utilize the stories you and him invented. 

Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Simon Hurts! 

The two lovebirds make their grand entrance, glowing and grinning in their newlywed aura before the symphonic melody of “Can’t Help Falling In Love” begins to play. Hilarious, the last time you heard this song it was on a playlist Sabrina had made for Simon… a couple weeks before your ultimate separation. You got into a fight over the amount of times he’d play it, he told you were overreacting and being dramatic, you should’ve trusted your instincts right then and there.

They look so happy and gorgeous together, dancing their first dance surrounded by all of their loved ones inside this picturesque setting. It should’ve been you…

Joel leans in closer, wrapping his arm around you, stealing your attention from your spiraling thoughts. “I can’t play this song on violin or cello, but I can play it on guitar, maybe I can play it for you sometime.” 

You look up at him, your eyes locking with his, “I–I’d like that.” 

“Thought you would,” he smirks, before leaning down to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

He’s been touching you all night, always considerate and tender, as if he holds an actual amount of reverence in his heart for you. God, he’s either the sweetest man to ever live, or he should give up the construction job, move to Hollywood and start acting. 

—

Simon and Sabrina make their rounds after dinner, they’re a table away laughing and galavanting with friends you used to call your own. It’s been over a year since you last spoke to him and now as the ultimate final thing you’ve been dreading is near, you’re nervous as hell. Joel casually drapes his arm around the back of your chair before leaning forward and pressing his lips to the top of your head, helping subside some of your anxieties. 

“You good?” he checks in with a soft whisper. 

You nod, scooting closer into the shell he’s created for you with his large body. 

Simon catches your eye with a warm, gentle smile as he leads Sabrina over to your table. You can’t be too mad at him, he’s been nothing but a gentleman since he forced the end of your already faltering relationship. Sabrina, well–she was just a better match for him. You wish them well, no matter how much it still seemingly hurts. You just want Simon to miss you a little bit.

The newlyweds greet the rest of the table, collecting well-wishes and flattery from the guests before turning their attention to you and Joel. 

Simon bends forward and gives you a tight hug before thanking you and saying how lovely it is to see you. Sabrina says hello, you tell her she looks beautiful, she returns the favor. 

Simon extends his hand to Joel and introduces himself. “I’m Simon, I’m sure you’ve heard a bit about me–hopefully some good,” he says, his ever present British charm helps cut through the tension radiating off of Joel’s gruff reservedness. 

“She has,” Joel replies, shaking Simon’s hand. “I’m Joel. Nice to meet you both. Congrats. S’been a lovely wedding.”

The four of you make casual conversation. Joel mentions he’s a contractor, Simon’s eyes light up before he mentions how he wants to build a pool house. Your heart twinges a bit when you remember it’s all for pretend and there’s no way Joel could take the job. Joel makes a joke about how dinner was better than a No. 5 from Whataburger, eliciting a ruckus laugh from the newlyweds. You feel good, until the sinking feeling inside rears its ugly head and reminds you this is all a sham. 

Sabrina nods to Simon in an unspoken understanding that they need to move on with their greetings. Joel wishes them well and thanks them for the lovely party. You smile and do the same. 

“It’s good to see you happy,” Simon says as he gives you a parting hug. 

If only he knew…

You’re quiet as you watch Simon and Sabrina walk away, Simon’s hand is placed on Sabrina’s back lightly stroking up and down. Joel softly says your name, breaking your concentration on the happy married couple. 

“I like this song, let’s dance,” he says, rising and extending his hand to you. 

“Wonderwall?” you ask, taking his hand and letting him lead you to the dance floor. “Let me guess, you can play it on guitar.” 

“I do,” he confirms with a smile, pulling you close against his body. His large hand splays against your lower back, and yours finds its place on his firm shoulder. The wedding band has slowed the song down, couples gently sway around you. The twinkling lights above reflect in Joel’s dark brown eyes. You can’t stop looking at him, he can’t stop looking at you. The moment is intimate, to any other wedding guest, you look like a couple just as in love as the newlyweds. 

You rest your head against his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne–woodsy, smoky, with a hint of cinnamon. His thumb strokes against the skin of your hand as your bodies synchronistically move together. This doesn't feel like pretending at all.

The song ends, Joel makes no move to pull away, and you don’t either. The first notes of the next song begin and you recognize the drumbeat anywhere. You can’t believe you’re hearing it here, of all places.

“We can leave the Christmas lights up till January…”

“Ohh,” you let out a soft sigh against Joel’s chest, feeling your heart drop. “This was going to be our first dance song, I-I told him it as soon as I first heard it all those years ago.”

Joel tilts his head down, his concerned brown eyes peer into yours. “M’sorry, did you want to stop?”

“No, no, it’s–I can’t leave the floor during this. What if he sees me?”

Joel nods reassuringly before tightening his hold on you and pulling your joined hands in closer. His head rests on top of yours engulfing you with his broad body, like your own personal fake wedding date security blanket. 

Your heartbreak slowly dissipates, mended by the gentle touch and attention of Joel. The song ends, he asks if you want to get a breath of fresh air, you gratefully nod before taking his hand and telling him you know a place.

—

The breeze rolling off the lake sends a chill across your skin, Joel takes notice, quickly removing his jacket and places it over your shoulders without hesitation.

“Thanks,” you say, sinking into the leftover warmth of Joel.

“No problem,” he says, shuffling his neck tie open and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his crisp white dress shirt. “I’m burnin’ up under it.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence as you watch the tranquil waves lap at the shore. “Sorry about earlier. It was just… a shock to hear that song. He moved on so quickly and I feel like I’ve just been left wondering how I can so easily be… replaced.” 

“No need to apologize,” he sighs, “I’m not good at any of this stuff, but, you don’t seem like someone that’s so… easy to get over.” 

Your heart skips a beat when you look over at him. The soft ambient glow of the full moon reflecting off the water bathes him in an almost ethereal glow, making him look like a knight in shining armor who walked through a portal to help save you from your own wounded heart you’ve been trying to heal for the past two years. 

“Guess you just don’t know me very well then,” you joke, trying to slow down the thoughts racing within your heart and mind. 

“No, but I think I’d like to,” he says, turning to you with a sincere look in his eyes. 

“I-I’d like that too.” 

Joel hesitates for a moment before asking, “There’s a new Curtis & Viper movie releasing next week. Did you want to go with me?”

“Like a real date?” you ask, your voice tinged with excitement.

“Suppose it would be. We could recreate our ‘first’ date that we told that one aunt of Simon’s all about. We’ll get pizza at the place across the street.”

“I’d love that,” you say, your excitement clear in your voice. 

From across the yard, you can just make out the sound of the band playing for the wedding guests. 

Joel takes a deep breath and turns to you with a warm, playful smile. “I feel better asking you here so you know I’m being for real. I really want to dance with you. May I have this dance?” 

“I’d love nothing more,” you reply, a smile spreading across your face as he pulls you closer.

You remind yourself to send Maria a bouquet of flowers for setting up your fake wedding date as you settle into his embrace.

[hobiebrownismygod]

Researching Characters so you don't have to Part 1: Hobie Brown & His Accent

Art above IS NOT MINE! Click for the link to the original art! Artist: @Jay19

A lot of people write Hobie Brown like Tom Holland, but this just isn't accurate if you want to write a good fan fiction. Hobie is a homeless black teen from the 70s, who was born in Cambridge, and is also a punk. He's not gonna sound like Aaron Warner or Tom Hiddleston. Just because he has a British accent doesn't mean he's going to sound like your average British movie star.

British English is a dialect, not technically an accent. An accent is how someone pronounces words, while a dialect includes pronunciations, but also includes general vocabulary and grammar. This means that despite Hobie speaking English, he won't use the same vocabulary that American-English speakers use, so if you write him that way it won't be accurate.

The British accent that most people are used to is called Received Pronunciation, which is considered the "upper-class" British Accent. However, Hobie does not have a a Received Pronunciation accent. He's cockney. They do not sound the same as upper-class British people, and have a completely different set of vocabulary.

How do you write a cockney accent?

Rule 1: Never pronounce the "H"

For example, house becomes 'ouse. Hat becomes 'at. Hello becomes 'Ello. By writing the words with an apostrophe in place of the "h", it would read more accurately.

Rule 2: -ing becomes -in

For example, running becomes runnin'. Helping becomes 'elpin' (because both the h and the g are silent). Walking becomes walkin'. Those speaking in a cockney accent don't pronounce the "g" part of the ending -ing.

Rule 3: Words starting with "th-" are usually replaced with "f-"

For example, thing becomes fing. This becomes fis. However, don't overdo it. If you write out every word starting with an f, it'll become difficult to read. Only do it if you're trying to enunciate some words over others. Even if you're trying to write an accent, it should still be comprehensible.

There's other rules as well, but these were the main three I saw during my research!

How do you write a cockney dialect?

Cockney rhyming slang

Hobie consistently uses Cockney rhyming slang in ATSV. For example, he calls Miles, "Peter Pan" which is Cockney rhyming slang for "Little man". Using Cockney rhyming slang can make your writing seem more authentic

Some other examples are "Apples and pears" for stairs. "bees and honey" for money, etc. You can google other ones for any words you want to use!

As always research is your best friend, so while writing Hobie, make sure to have another page open with lots of slang and other words available for you to use in your writing to make your character sound as authentic as possible!

Note: I'm not cockney nor British, so if you see any mistakes with my writing, please let me know <3

[7ulpix]

Simon Riley with AAF! Reader + Skincare 🫧

🫧 warning(s): girly/very feminine reader, very messy, not proofread!

paring - simon riley • reader

word count: 561

🫧 request - not one!

🫧 author's note - FIRST WRITING POST ON HERE?? HI HELLO just me rambling....british military man save me......reader is Simon's gf at the time!!!!! PLEASEPLEAS leave criticism, this is my first time writing for COD idk how to write for older guys 😞💔💔

- 🫧 -

After having a very busy day, Simon cannot wait to come home to his very bubbly girlfriend and adorable puppy, Riley. No matter how much of a bad mood he is in, the two always manage to soothe it instantly. As he opens the door he is welcomed by a very excited puppy and his girlfriend, both in the kitchen.

"What are yer' two up to?"

"Nothing much. Trying a new skincare remedy."

Simon had moved from his position by the door to leaning over your shoulder. He peeks down at the bowl you're currently stirring to see a brownish mixture of ingredients and the smell of.....coffee........

"Those my coffee beans yer' got in there, too?" (🤨)

"Needed them for the recipe to work."

"I need them in order for me to work."

You look up at him and stick your tongue out before continuing your stirring.

"It's supposed to help clear your skin and reduce redness and eyebags."

You finish stirring. Turning away to get two smaller bowls.

"Don't think Riley can eat this."

"The bowls are not for Riley silly, you're doing it too!"

"Me?"

"Yeah! We're both trying this out, pretty boy. Go get cleaned up."

Simon sighed very loudly in a sarcastic way as if he was so tired of being bossed around, walking to their shared room. After 20 minutes, Simon came out freshly clean after a shower, switched into black basketball shorts, and a black baggy shirt. His outfit was the complete opposite to his girlfriend: pink robe, pink bonnet, pink nails, black tanktop, pink minishorts, and bunny slippers. Even Riley, the scary German Shepard their neighbor downstairs hated, had a light pink collar. You had now moved into the bathroom with the two bowls, Riley sitting by the tub, most likely bored.

"Ready?"

"M' ready."

"Okay, just rub it all over your face. Avoid your mouth though, not very tasty."

"Tasted it, didn't ya?"

".......not the best, you can definitely taste the coffee beans."

You push one of the smaller bowls towards him. He grabs a bit of the mixture, slowly rubbing it on his face as much as he can. You do the same, rubbing it around your face.

"Okay, now we leave it on for about 15 minutes!!!"

"So what do we do in those 15 minutes?"

".......watch Teen Wolf?"

The next 15 minutes were spent on the couch, finishing season 1 of Teen Wolf with riley enjoying the headpats received. If Soap witnessed Ghost sitting and wztching a show like this, he would lose it. Simon never thought in his entire life, he would be sitting on his couch watching a young teens show about being turning into a hybird wolf. He also never thought he'd see Riley rolling around on the rug, while his girlfriend gives the most praise he's ever seen.

"Timers up! C'mon we gotta wash this off our face."

Simon's out of his daydreams and into the bathroom with you. You both wash your face, you even lean up to leave kisses on his chin and rubbing water onto Riley's face so he doesn't feel left out. You look back into the mirror, smiling noticing that small blemish from earlier, is gone. Simon doesn't see much change done to his face besides glowing a bit more. Kinda sad only you get to see that glowing face. <3

[everythingne]

looking in a mirror - click ! take a pic ! (op81)

rhys, daisy, and co's socials leading up to the announcement of them joining f1.

(series masterlist)

fcs: // archie madekwe (rhys) / ruby campbell (y/n / daisy)

oscar piastri x reader series

warnings/notes: no warnings for this other than mentions of a breakup, just something quick to try and get me out of this writing slump i've been in >:0!!!

-

msdaisypearce

🎶 wildflowers - tom petty

liked by oscarpiastri, rhyspearce, hanavettel and 238k others...

msdaisypearce: local german man forces british teen to save the bees ?? again ??

tagged: sebvettel

sebvettel: you literally asked to come with me.

⤷ msdaisypearce: have you ever considered i went with u for @ hannavettel?

⤷ hannavettel: awe!! love you lots dais!!!

⤷ sebvettel: sei nicht so gemein

⤷ msdaisypearce: cant hear u over ur wifes cooking !!

user1: shes basically daisy vettel atp

rhyspearce: girl fucks off to germany and doesn't say anything

user2: SEB NATION WAKE UP DAISY HAS BLESSED US!!!

rhyspearce

📍 the dream life

liked by charlesleclerc, sebvettel, mwebber, and 278k others...

rhyspearce: snippets of life this month...

tagged: hannavettel, msdaisypearce, and two others..

msdaisypearce: casually leaves out him nearly breaking my nose

⤷ sebvettel: ur being dramatic

⤷ rhyspearce: omg ur teaching him abbreviations?

user1: UR SO HOT PLS OH MY GOD

user2: another day another rhys thirst trap to add to the collection

charlesleclerc: maman requests ur visit soon

⤷ rhyspearce: funnily enough im coming back from porsche in stuttgart tn...

user3: PORSCHE HQ???

msdaisypearce posted a story!

sebvettel posted a story!

msdaisypearce

🎶 history of man - maisie peters

liked by rhyspearce, oscarpiastri, sebvettel, and 245k others...

msdaisypeace: 'just a heart broke bitch, high heels, six inch In the back of the nightclub, sippin' champagne' (caption doesnt match the song, post doesn't match the way im feeling. a kind reminder everything u see on socials are hand picked for ur viewing.)

hanavettel: lots of very exciting things coming up in ur life, sending love from home

user1: SHE BROKE UP W HER BOYF??

⤷ user2: tbf she hasn't posted him since the end of last season

sebvettel: my offer still stands, you know. much love.

⤷ msdaisypearce: get off insta and check my texts >:(

user3: is this why she's been with the vettels all week while her brother went back to monaco??

rhyspearce: love u love u love u

oscarpiastri: logan is pacing just so u know

⤷ alexalbon: PACING.

⤷ msdaisypearce: aweee my f2 boyss!!! 🩷 i will call u tmrw

⤷ logansargeant: we're both awake now call me now tf.

rhyspearce posted a new story!

msdaisypearce and rhyspearce

liked by lewishamilton, mwebber, oscarpiastri, and 456k others...

msdaisypearce: something new on the horizons. thank u to @ f1 and @ porsche.motorsport for trusting us. thank u to @ sebvettel for working ur magic as per usual. thank u to all the f1 drivers for welcoming us in. see u all in 2025 !!

comments have been disabled for this post!

porsche.motorsport

liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo, carlossainz, and 459k others...

porsche.motorsport: welcoming both of the pearce siblings to join our team for 2025!

Rhys has been a reserve for Ferrari these past two seasons while racing in both Formula E for Porsche and Formula 2 for Prema. He has been racing since 2006, and racing in FIA sports since 2014.

Y/N, or Daisy, has been racing with F1 ACADEMY since its maiden season in 2023 and was the first ever F1 ACADEMY Champion. She had been racing since 2009, and racing in FIA sports since 2017.

tagged: rhyspearce, msdaisypearce

comments have been disabled for this post!

[asmallpinkfan3]

Hobie brown and young! troubled teen reader hcs (more like oneshot)

Note-this is the first time I’ve tried writing for him and if u get his personality wrong please forgive me.

TW: reader has issues, swearing, slight mentions of sucidal feelings. Also I’m not British so idk any slang. So if anyone is British out there I’m sorry. And I dunno if I’m gonna write more for him I gotta figure it out.

GN reader, also reader is a younger teen like 13-16

You had met him purely by accident, you ran into him while not paying attention in the spider society headquarters, he didn’t get upset really seeing that you did it by accident but it did catch his attention when you were apologizing like you had ran into Miguel.

He noticed the way your hands gripped your sleeve almost as if you were mentally beating yourself up because you ran into someone. “It’s fine”. He said with a small smile trying to assure you he wouldn’t body slam you into the concrete like your mind had overreacted because of bumping into him.

He saw you a couple more times around headquarters, spacing out,fiddling with your hands, etc. he also noticed how you stayed at headquarters a lot not seeming to wanna go home for whatever reason.

The time that you had actually got a proper introduction to him and not bumping into him or catch him looking at you was when Gwen befriended you and introduced you to him.

Overtime he kinda saw the way you would try to be near him without saying anything almost like his presence gave you comfort. He never pointed it out nor did he seem to mind when you went to his place to be around miles, Gwen, and Pav you would always sit near him.

Sometimes he caught you staring at his stuff, posters, pins, wall decor, all that. You seem to like how his place was decorated and he felt a little flattered.

The first time you had started talking to him and showing interest in his stuff by speaking was when you asked where his pins were from. “Made them myself.” He replied with a smile and you nodded in understanding. One time you had watched him play his guitar and you kinda just stood there and watched amazed at his playing, he didn’t mind. It’s not like you were being a bother just by watching with big eyes and being completely focused on it.

The first time you opened up was when you had a fight with your parents about something so small and for some reason you went to his universe. “Y/n? Mate what you-“ “can I stay here for tonight?” You cut him off before he could finish, and he noticed the tears in your eyes as it’s obvious you’re not doing too good.

“The couch is free you can sleep there for tonight.” He replied softly as he threw a blanket to you. “You caught it with a tight grip and nodded as a thanks and went to the couch and laid on it, you did have to move a pair of shoes out the way but other wise it was pretty comfortable.

In the morning you woke up to Hobie making himself some breakfast and you sat up and walked over to him, blanket still wrapped around you.

“Thank you for letting me stay the night”. You thanked him as he gave you a soft smile, he then took a sip of his coffee . “No problem mate, you wanna talk about what happened?” He asked and you sighed as you explained everything from your parents being assholes and constantly feeling like you wanna end it all.

He put his coffee down as he stared at you with a concerned look as tears started falling. “Mate, you need a hug?” He asked softly as it’s pretty much the only thing he can offer as he watched a young teen just tell him everything on why they feel like shit constantly.

You nodded as he then gave you a massive hug mainly cause he’s 6’5 and you felt safe, protected, like nothing could harm you. “I’m just tired of everything and my parents don’t help, and being a spider person it just-“ you sobbed into him as he rubbed your back keeping his voice soft and low. “Shh mate it’s ok, it’s alright your parents aren’t here and I’m not gonna judge ya, ok?”

He didn’t move or let go till you did and when you stopped crying he wanted to make sure you felt at least a little better so he tried to think. “How about this, we go get ya cleaned up and go somewhere, you ever had fish and chips?”

You shook your head as you looked up at him and he only smirked a little trying to lighten your mood. “There’s this small shop around here we can go get some, plus their food is really good not like that rubbish that big company’s produce.” He explained as it got a small smile from you. “I would like that”. You responded as you put the blanket that’s currently wrapped around you on the couch.

[mxssingmemories]

Go Fish, Bitch

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x teen!reader, a little bit of Jared Padalecki x teen!reader as well

Summary: When Jensen gets bored, he tends to cause chaos. Today, he brings Y/N into the chaos, and she loves it. In which a card game commences, and Jensen loses by a long shot.

Warnings: None. Pure, tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: 870 ish.

A/N: Hello lovelies! I'm going to try to start writing for the SPN cast, I honestly really love their dynamic. As always, requests are open :) Feel free to send in any asks/requests/random thoughts!

Standing at the door to Y/N's trailer, Jensen knocked twice. Another boring day on the set of Supernatural meant he had nothing to do. He'd already teased Jared and Misha and filmed his scenes, so for once he could say he had nothing to do.

A minute later, you opened the door.

"The hell do you want, Jense? You know I love you and all, but I'm really trying to do my homework." you grumbled, despite the goofy smile on your face. Truth be told, Jensen was one of your favorite people. Seeing as you were 16 and still in school, Jensen and you loved playing pranks on the rest of the cast. If you asked Jensen, you were the only one who had his sense of humor.

"I'm bored out of my mind, kiddo. I've filmed my scenes and Jare and Misha kicked me out, I literally have nothing to do."

"Fine," you sighed, "come on in." Opening the door, Jensen walked in, plopping down on the couch while you shut and locked the door.

"So, how're you doing today?" he asked, turning on the T.V.

"Please don't make me think about my life." you groaned, laying back on the couch. "what do you wanna do, anyways?"

"Well, I kind of brought cards..?" he said sheepishly, and a smile found its way onto your face.

"Fuck yeah! Ever played Go Fish?" you asked excitedly.

"Okay, first of all, language. Second of all, obviously, I'm not that old." he rolled his eyes, taking the pack of cards out of his jean pocket.

"You shuffle and I'll deal?" you asked, grabbing the hoodie in the corner of the room and doing your best to clean off the kitchen table. He nodded, and you set out a bag of chips. You both sat down, you dealing the cards and Jensen grabbing the bag of chips like it was a lifeline.

"Okay, I'll go first since you so rudely took my focus away from my homework. Any fives?" Jensen groaned and handed you his five, already prepared to lose the game.

"Any twos?" you asked with a smug grin on your face. At Jensen's shit-eating grin, you begrudgingly drew a card from the pile.

"Do you, my fair lady, happen to have any nines?" You sighed as you handed him your card. You both had 5 cards left-the game could go either way.

"Okay. Any threes?" You handed him another card, and he laid down the match with a proud expression on his face. "Aces?"

"Nope. Go fish, bitch." Jensen gasped, pretending to be offended. He drew a card.

"How dare thine disrespect me like that!" he exclaimed in a posh accent.

"Well, British guy, do you have any Kings?" Jensen threw his King across the table.

"Queens?" He once again threw a card at you. You decided to test your luck.

"Any twos?" He muttered some version of a curse word as he threw the card at your face. You had two cards left, and he knew he was screwed.

"Any fours?" He shook his head, and you drew a card with a sad expression on your face.

"Do you have any Aces?" he asked, hopeful. "Nice try, Jens. Nope! Go fishin'."

"Do you have any sevens?" you asked, and he once again handed you his card. "I'm really good at this," you mumbled, once again left with only two cards.

"Do you have any jacks, Jay?" you asked, your grin only getting wider when he handed you his card.

"Do you...Jensen Ackles... have an eight?" "Fuuuuck!" he exclaimed, hurling his card at you.

"I WIN!" you yelled, getting up and doing a victory dance that could only be described as terrifying.

"Y/N, you probably just alerted the whole crew of your little victory," Jensen sighed, throwing his head in his hands dramatically.

"Well excuse me if I'm a little excited about my win. I've been having a rough day, you can't rain on my fishy parade."

Jensen accepted the loss, and gathered the cards, putting them back in the box. He smiled as you practically dragged him to the couch, throwing yourself on top of him to get in your self-proclaimed "spot".

"Watch yourself, squirrel, or I'll throw you right off the couch!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatcha wanna watch?" you questioned, grabbing the remote off the floor where it fell during your scuffle.

"Brooklyn Nine-Nine?" he asked hopefully, and did a happy dance as well as he could from his position. You put on his favorite episode, the one where Jake tries to join a bike group to find out evidence.

You both end up falling asleep curled up on the couch, and when Jared comes to get you because you missed a scene, he audibly 'awws' when he sees the scene. Quickly taking a photo and posting it on his Instagram to make the father-daughter fans happy, he wakes you two up gently.

"Y/N, honey, you missed your cue. The directors are calling for you, c'mon."

At his call, you rush out of the trailer, homework long forgotten.

Jensen may or may not finish it for you, but if asked, he will definitely deny it. It's a dad's duty, right?

[kirain]

oh God I hope, those ‘how dare you pick Gale?!’ anons, don’t annoy you too much or sour Astarion for you. Both are great romances and I’m glad Gale gets some love as well.

Admittedly, Astarion fans have kind of been souring his character for me, but I'm trying very hard not to let that happen. My friend and I were actually talking about this yesterday, funny enough. She's an Astarion fan, but she admits the hateful energy people have for Gale is pretty hypocritical, because everything people hate about him also blatantly applies to Astarion. The insecurity, the emotional outbursts, the trauma, the arrogance—they're literally two sides of the same coin, and liking them shouldn't be a competition.

When I first met Astarion, we didn't really vibe, but I was content with his character ... until I started getting anons and comments on Tumblr, TikTok, Twitter, and YouTube from people bashing Gale; calling him an incel, possessive, selfish, etc., and all in comparison to Astarion, for some reason. It seems like every time I write a nice comment or analysis of Gale, I'm challenged by Astarion fans who berate me for liking Gale more. Or for romancing him at all. I've received the weirdest comments, from people saying Gale supposedly abused Mystra (even though he's the victim in an unfair power dynamic) to someone telling me his grooming "isn't a big deal" because he was probably in his late teens to early twenties the first time Mystra "slept" with him. 😕

Someone even told me he's like an alcoholic who can't stop drinking, and as someone who grew up with an alcoholic father, that's both insulting and completely incorrect. You can't just walk away from an addiction after one conversation, the way Gale can. I know it's just a game and normally I enjoy a good debate, but some of the comments I've received are downright feral, to the point that I'm hit with ad hominems and accusations. I like Gale, therefore I must be a horrible person, stupid, an incel-lover, a glutton for abuse, etc.

There are entire subreddits and YouTube videos dedicated to hating on Gale, as if he's the main villain of the game or something. And even more scary, some fans have taken their discourse to the actors directly. Apparently when Tim Downie was on Neil Newbon's podcast, people in the comments were calling him an incel and telling Neil not to give him a platform. Tim is just a nerdy British guy with a wife and kids, he probably doesn't even know what an "incel" is. Luckily the mods caught most of it and banned a lot of users, but the comments were getting spammed with Gale hate.

But I'm trying not to take it out on Astarion, as I know it's not really fair for me to do so. I also know this is probably just a vocal minority of vicious fans that don't represent the community as a whole. Plus, I think Neil Newbon did an incredible job and he seems like a genuinely nice person. I don't want to hate his character, especially since I know Astarion can change. In fact, I just finished his personal quest and found his little "thank you for saving me" speech to be quite sweet and heartfelt. And thank you for your kindness. You're the first person who's told me you enjoy both characters and that you appreciate both of their romances, so that restores some of my faith. ❤

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi! I’ve noticed these days that my writing is struggling between sounding very formal and proper versus sounding casual. On one hand, I’ll have a sentence that looks like it came straight out of a 1940s British series, but two lines later there’s some casual dialogue that’s closer to an American teen novel. I grew up with both types of books tbh, so maybe that’s why? How do I stabilize my writing style and make it a little more consistent? Thank you!

Stabilizing Voice in Writing

There are three types of "voice" that play a role in how your writing sounds... authorial voice, narrative voice, and character voice.

Authorial voice is your writing style as an author. In many ways, it's your "writer personality." It's what makes your writing distinctive from another writer's. While authorial voice tends to be consistent across all stories, it will evolve with time and may even change slightly for particular projects--especially when crossing genres. Authorial voice includes things like how much/little description you use, how simple or ornate that description is, how you use word play, and the types of words you use. Narrative voice is the "voice/voices" with which the story is told. This is made up of point-of-view (the perspective from which the story is told, for example, first-person or third-person limited), as well as your writing style and use of language. Anything the narrator says falls under narrative voice.

Character voice is the way a character's personality comes through in the things they think and say. It includes things like whether they're concise or wordy when they speak, slang and catchphrases, quirks of speech like saying "um" or "uh" a lot, how their attitude is reflected in what they think and say, accent, and the kinds of words they use.

When you have a first-person narrator, narrative voice and character voice are combined, because the character's voice IS the narrative voice.

So, there are several quick exercises you can do if you want to stabilize the voice in your writing:

1 - Do a little analysis of your own writing style (so far). Remember: writing style is something that evolves over time, so you might not have a fully established writing style yet, but you should be able to look at what you write and start to see some patterns. In your case in particular, do you gravitate more toward formal speech than casual speech? Can you think of any writers whose style matches what you'd like your writing style to be? Try reading more of their books, or read a chapter an analyze the writing style to see what you can mimic.

2 - Think about the narrator of your story... Even if it's a third-person omniscient, faceless narrator, it can still help to assign a sort of mental picture for who this person might be and who they're telling the story to. Is this someone who experienced it telling the story in third-person long after the fact, with 20/20 hindsight, to someone who might be interested? Is this a god who watched it all unfold and is retelling the tale to an audience of other gods? Is it an old grizzled storyteller telling the story to a rapt audience around a campfire? Try to choose something that makes sense as far as who might be telling this story, who they're telling it to, and why. It's not that you're including this as part of the story, but rather as a sort of placeholder for your brain any time you're in narrator mode. If you can slip into this narrator's shoes as you write the narrator parts, it sometimes helps you "get into character" and stick with a consistent, relevant narrative voice.

3 - Establish character voice... Character voice does have an impact on narrative voice, even if the story isn't told in first-person. In third-person stories, who the characters are can tell you a lot about who your narrator might be (so it might help to do this step before #2 above...) For example, if your characters do happen to be a bunch of 1940s Brits, you can start to think about who they are and what they experience to figure out who the narrator might be. In this case, it probably wouldn't make sense for the narrator to be a god telling the story to other gods (as that feels too mystical for this narrator), but a grizzled storyteller recounting the tale around a campfire might make sense.

If your story's being told in second-person (You walked to the window... Like a Choose Your Own Adventure) or first-person (I walked to the window...) character voice relates even more to narrative voice, because in second-person, even though the narrator is not the POV character, the narration is still being filtered through the POV character's personality, knowledge, and experiences. And in first-person, the narrator IS the POV character, so the narrative voice and character voice are one and the same.

By doing these exercises, you can start to hone each of these voices to find some stability. Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[dom1re]

Hi! 💙 I partly know the answer to this question regarding Sunan’s hair colour, but other than that, are there any other characters (from books, films, etc) that were references for Sunan or influenced his traits, lore and/or design?

I don't think I referenced anything for Sunan specifically. The goal was to write someone who's nice and easygoing but sort of has a wall up coz he's scared of opening himself up.

In that regard, actually, Sunan reminds me of Allen Walker from D Gray Man. They're both in their teens but forced to grow up very fast; they are the keys to the war that's going on in their respective worlds, and carry this unreasonable burden to resolve conflicts and save lives. They also share a deep fear of being rejected by their loved ones due to their past. I remember being really fascinated by Allen as a teen myself so I might have drawn inspiration from him unconsciously.

(I didn't realize this but D Gray Man also takes place in 19th century... And Allen is presumably British)

But what I can say for sure is that the fic is loosely inspired by Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger. The book's about a 16 year old boy, Holden Caulfield, who's basically stuck between childhood and adulthood. He feels rejected by the society and neglected by adults around him; he refuses to grow up and become one of them. This is the interpretation i take with not just Sunan but Sebastian and Ominis as well. Those of u who read the fic might recall the rye field and the cliff scene. That's meant to be a nod to this book (though it's pretty vague). I'm planning to use this imagery throughout the fic. We'll see how many times I can squeeze it in

Oh I also wanna mention The Sympathizer by Viet Thanh Nguyen. This book is about a double agent who's half Vietnamese, half French. Some of its key themes are, surprise surprise, dealing with one's conflicting cultural/political identities; the idea of belonging to both and neither.

Now Sunan's also mixed (Chinese Thai / British), and spent time as both a Squib and a Wizard. He has to lie and pretend a lot for his goal (protecting the Repository), which he doesn't particularly feel loyal towards. I guess being a 1.5 gen immigrant I've always been drawn to these themes, so I'm trying to explore them in my writing. And that's how Sunan became a deeply troubled teen

(In fact Natty is a perfect character for this; she's an immigrant who had to move to a different society and adapt to new ways. It'd be fun to write a one shot about her... if I ever get time 🤪)

Alright I gotta stop myself 😂😂 sorry this is so long, you can tell how much I loved this ask 🫶 thank you for ur interest diana!! such good questions keep em coming coming

[michelasnook]

NOBODY'S SOLDIER

Sergeant Francesca Herrald doesn't like being in the military. She is one of the best snipers and the most meticulous medic. But at nineteen she desires to just live her teenage years. Inside the Fourth Squadron she just has to work. And she hates it.

Lieutenant Johnathan Price sees in the sister of his Captain a sad teen that wishes to escape that reality of blood and death. Even if she works with extraordinary focus and energy. He tries to make her life a bit more cheerful, but just when he thinks he is doing some progress, she turns and leaves. However, he just can let her go.

Now, something is wrong with her, more than usual. And he will do his best to understand her.

Words (for the chapter): 2503;

Warnings and tags (for the whole story): Lieutenant John Price, angst, depictions of violence, age gap, eventual smut, fluff, brother-sister relationship, panick attacks, minor character death, eventually more warnings.

A/N: So I started writing this story and I am now ready to start publish it all around. I fell in love with Francesca since the first chapters, and I hope I can manage to bring this story to conclusion (I've never finished a story in my life, but I feel confident). English is not my first language, but I hope there aren't any errors.

I. The Emptiness Machine

LONDON , 23rd of October, 2009. 

   I can imagine them all screaming my name, in unison, and then headbanging at the rhythm of my music. Even if my eyes are closed, I can see them all, while I move my head and strung the chords of my imaginary guitar. The riff is hard, but I know I'm nailing every note, making them all scream in awe. 

   I reach the most difficult part, my left hand going up and down the air and pressing on the right chords, with the right pressure, and when I almost nail it completely- one of my earbuds falls.

   No, it doesn't fall: Elia has yanked it out. He is looking at me, slightly disappointed.

   The pub all around me takes form again as the other people at the table chat. I sigh and pause the music on my iPod.

   "Care to grace us with your presence, Franny?" Elia asks me with a smile. I respond with a playful face, sticking my tongue out. He chuckles, turning back to his beer as the others laugh and talk.

   I swirl my shirley temple and then take a sip from the straw. I hate when my brother forces me to go out with our squad. He wants for me to socialize outside our job, but it's hard if you can't even drink alchool and all you want to do is just read and listen to music. It's even harder to try and make friend at base if everyone sees you Captain Herrald's little sister, or as the child of Major Herrald and Colonel Pearson-Herrald. Yet here I am, Sergeant Medic of the 4th British Squadron.

   I pluck the cherry from my drink and pop it into my mouth, just as Lieutenant Price sits down beside me with a dark beer in hand. I glance at it, wishing I could take a sip.

   "It's a Guinnes, right?" I ask, clear longing and sadness in my voice. John turns with shy smile and nods to me, then turns towards my brother and checks him. Slowly, without drawing attention, he slides the pint over to me. Grinning, I take a quick, satisfying sip before handing it back.

   "Thanks" I mutter, still savouring the dark tones of that good and cool Guinnes on my tongue.

   "Didn't peg you for a beer person" he says taking a drink from the same spot I pressed my lips on.

   "I enjoy a fresh Guinnes," I admit, "It's harsh to just drink it every now and then only when you pass me illegal sips." I pocket my iPod and earbuds in the big and old hoodie.

   He chuckles deep and smiles, shifting on his stool. "So, are you in on this mission?"

   Lieutenant Jonathan Price is the only one in the squad that actually tries to empatise and understand me. All the men and women at the table have enrolled because they wanted to, because they needed to give all their life to our country. But me? I don't want to risk my life only to save people I don't even know.

   I enrolled in the military academy at sixteen, but already at twelve I was trained by my father and deep in medical books under the scrutinous eyes of my mother. They wanted for me to be a military medic, a trauma field surgeon. And they got that, even if every night, at least until at seventeen I accepted my fate, I cried until I fell asleep. Under the command of my brother they now have total control of my being. Them and the United Kingdom, even if I just want to disappear in my old room in Bournemouth reading stories of dragons and fairies.

   John doesn't know the full story, but he listens when I talk. He's my sounding board when I need to vent, and I ignore his growing nicotine addiction as a form of silent gratitude. Sometimes, we share a cigarette when my brother isn't around.

   "I have no way out, so Afghanistan here I come!" I say mocking a tost and then take another slow sip. "Again, I suppose".

   John doesn't laugh, but just tries to smile to encourage me. "You can still leave, you can't stay out of coercion" he whispers, trying to not be heard by my brother that is just in front of him on the other side of the table. Elia is laughing at some joke Private MacGavin has said.

   "Except I can't if I want to stay in touch with all my family and not be disinherited" I suck even the last drop of my drink and then push it with the other glasses that have gathered from the others. "You know, I still would like some kind of family. So... I am stuck".

   I have two families: my actual blood and all family, and my gunpowder and injuries family. If I walk away, I would lose them both.

   "You wouldn't lose me, Sonne" he says, cues another one of his cute smiles. But I cringe at him for using my code name. 

   "Oh, don't worry. My brother would make sure of that" Elia thinks exactly as my father, even if he is more pleasant to be around and he cares about me more. 

   Elia and John are best friends, my brother has took the young Lieutenant under his wing, almost making him de facto his second in command. There isn't one single thing John wouldn't do under Elia's command. 

   "I have a mind of my own. Elia can make sure of whatever, but I think I'll never stop sneaking you sips of Guinnes" he chuckles at the end of the phrase and then pats me on my head, a few strands of ash blond hair falling on my forehead. I look at him, admiring him a few seconds. 

   If just he looked at me the same lovingly way I am looking at him now.

   "Thanks, Price" I say with a half sigh, then I turn to the little stage where three young teens are performing a Radiohead's song. I don't dare look at the Lieutenant for the rest of the night, not if I can avoid it.

-----------------------------------------------------

HELMAND PROVINCE, AFHGANISTAN, 25th of october, 2009.

   The base is rumbling with action: trucks rolling in and out, squadrons full of privateers marching around, weapons firing off in the distance. And the dust, there is too much dust, that is around our boots, that deposit on our faces and threatens to get in our eyes. It's not a place I like, it's not where I can find myself, opposite of my brother. 

   I look at him while he talks off in the distance with a Corporal that has orders to pass to him. His hands are on his hips, nodding and moving his hands if he needs to explain something. In his uniform and combact gear he looks the part; hell, he is the part. Elia thrives in this life. Meanwhile, I am here, just surviving it. 

   Captain Herrald returns with a piece of paper that the Corporal has given him, and looks at us with a sigh. He looks displeased.

   "The Chinook's been delayed. We're stuck here until tomorrow afternoon. They need us to work in the meantime. Franny, report to Role 3. John, head to JOC..." His voice is commanding, as always, but I barely hear the rest. I gather my gear and head to the Combat Support Hospital without waiting for further instructions.

   Role 3 is where I find a sense of purpose, if not belonging. After stowing my things in a small office, I report to Major Sheffield, the hospital's commanding officer. She's tall, redheaded, and carries herself with quiet authority. 

   "Seargent Herrald, I heard many great things about your operations. Care to walk with me?" Major Sheffield asks me, and I nod when she starts walking like she owns the place. Because she does, she owns the place. This is her hospital. 

   "So young and already putting your hands inside men's stomach to make them return home to their families, you must be proud" she says while we walk up the stairs and enter the surgical floor, where the many wounded soliders are awaiting their surgeries or to be discharged, ready to go home or back to action. 

   I mentally sigh when she saysthose words, because I don't know how to answer. But I smile, put myself practically on attention with my hands together behind my back and give her a cordial smile. "Yes, I am" I simply say, lowering my military medical surgeon mask. 

   "We have one surgery where we could really use another set of capable hands. Can I count you in?" she asks, while another doctor gives her a chart. 

   "If we finish before dinner, sure" I say with a smile, she returns it and leaves the chart for me to study. 

   Here I am, back to work. And the only thing I hope is that this base has good hiding spots. Even in this place, which should feel like my sanctuary, I still feel trapped.

------------------------------------------------------

   The desert wind feels fresh on my skin, like the vanilla ice cream I'm eating while sitting on the rooftop of our barrack. I can look at the stars clearly, like they've been painted just for me. One thing that I can surely be happy about this job is that it makes me travel around the world. Sure, it doesn't let me be a proper tourist, but at least I get to watch the sky from different parts of this planet. And this ice cream is actually really good. 

   I moan quietly with closed eyes when I savour in my mouth the last spoon of this wednesday's base dessert, then sigh at the sight of the empty cup. Even the small pleasure of life are short-lived here, and I am now left with the spectacle that is the base ahead of me. 

   It's dinner time, even if in half an hour everyone has to go to sleep, the base is still alive with activity. Everyone is busy with something, and me... I am just hiding. 

   Rooftops are my speciality, just like operation rooms. It's the duality of being a sniper and a doctor. I have two hiding places, but with time even these places feel so wrong to me. I don't belong. 

   I lean back on my elbows, listening to the rhythm of the soldiers marching below. I close my eyes and I take a big breath. Trying to convince myself that I belong here, that I am doing something actually right for me and for the people. But which people?

   Behind me, I can sense someone is climbing up the pipe to reach the roof, and then I hear the unmistakable sound of my brother's footsteps. Elia sits besides me with an non-alcoholic beer in hand. I didn't realise they would give beers out at base. 

   "Ugh, are you here to remind me that I'm still to young to drink?" I ask with a sigh. In response he hands me the green bottle. I smile and take a swig, but immediatly girmace at the taste and give it back in disgust. "Why do you drink this blonde shit?" I ask, wiping the drops around my mouth. 

   "I am blonde, we are blonde. Of course I am going to like a blonde beer" he says with a chuckle in his voice, looking out the base, but his expression is different from mine. 

   I can see it in his face, in his eyes. He is surveying his domain, his land, like a King. His dream is taking our father's position, rise to his rank. So yeah, he wants to be the King of this land. 

   "Everything good at the hospital?" he asks, still not looking at me, his diamond-like eyes reflecting the moonlight as his golden beard gleams.

   "I did four GSWs, a fasciotomy, and cleaned so many burns and immobilized so many fractures that I lost count" I say, groaning as my shoulders scream for rest. I give in, lying down with a tired sigh. "I was in the OR for nine hours, then spent the rest of the time in the trauma wing." My muscles ease as my back hits the ground.

   I open my eyes and see Elia's usual proud smile when it comes to my work. When it comes to be happy about what I accomplish, Elia does it for me. He covers joy and proudness for all my family, decanting my successes in the field, from the lives I save to the enemies I take down. 

   "You've been awfully quiet, Fran" he says, setting his beer aside and turning towards me for the first time this evening. 

   "I always am" I say, avoiding his gaze. 

   I look at his forehead, his cheeks, even his lips- anywhere but his eyes. If I look at him in his eyes he'll see that I am scared to be here, that I don't want to be here. Just like how when we were kids and he could always tell how much I hated our father's training. And he would take the beatings for me. 

   Elia doesn't know still don't want to be here. He thinks I found some deep sense of patriotism at sixteen when I enrolled. He doesn't know what convinced me to stay.

   I can't let him see how scared and angry I am. It would be misinterpreted as a lack of confidence in my ability, and even though I hate it, I'm damn good at my job. This whole setup is insane, but I can handle it.

   "If you are bothered in some way, you can talk to me. I'm here as your brother, not as your Captain" he says, trying to meet my eyes. My eyes fall on his collar, where his insignias are, then his chest, decorated with medals. 

   Here, he's just my Captain. He doesn't get it. He never will. This is his land, not mine. 

   "I am fine, Elia. Just need to get through this mission" I say with a deep breath, moving my eyes back up, to the sky, to the indifferent dying stars. 

   He nods, staying by my side for a few more minutes. Then he finishes his beer, pats me on my shoulder and climbs back down. I sit back up, look down and can see my brother meeting with his Lieutenant. 

   John looks relaxed, though a bit tired from the work day. However, he looks like he could do it all over again. He's twenty-three and already a lieutenant; at this pace, he'll have Elia's job in a few deployments.

   I see Elia telling him something, and then John looks up in my direction. I stay where I am and wave. He returns the gesture, touching the visor of his cap and flashing me a small, kind smile. 

   Oh, I really liked that smile. Damn as hell I need to get to Lucy after all this shit. 

[ttexed]

Larry Williams - She Said Yeah

‘Larry Williams (May 10, 1935  January 7, 1980) was an American rhythm and blues and rock and roll singer, songwriter and pianist from New Orleans, Louisiana. Williams is best known for writing and recording some rock and roll classics from 1957 to 1959 for Specialty Records, including "Bony Moronie", "Short Fat Fannie", "Bad Boy", "Dizzy Miss Lizzie" and "She Said Yeah," which were later covered by British Invasion groups and other artists. John Lennon, in particular, was a fan of Williams, recording several of his songs over the course of his career. "Bony Maronie" is listed as one of the Top 500 songs that shaped Rock and Roll. 

Williams lived a life mixed with tremendous success and violence-fueled drug addiction. He was a long-time friend of Little Richard. As a child in New Orleans, Williams learned how to play piano. When he was a teenager, he and his family moved to Oakland, California, where he joined a local R&B group called the Lemon Drops. In 1954, when he was 19 years old, Williams went back to New Orleans for a visit. He began work as Lloyd Price's valet and developed a friendship with Little Richard Penniman, who was recording at the time in New Orleans. Price and Penniman were both recording for Specialty Records at the time. Williams was introduced to Specialty's house producer, Robert Blackwell, and was signed to record. 

 In 1957, Little Richard was Specialty's biggest star, but bolted from Rock and Roll to pursue the ministry. Williams was quickly groomed by Blackwell to try to replicate his success. Using the same raw, shouting vocals and piano-driven intensity, Williams scored with a number of hit singles. Williams' three biggest successes were "Short Fat Fannie", which was his first hit, reaching #5 in Billboard's pop chart, "High School Dance", which also made #5, and "Bony Moronie", which peaked at #14. Both "Short Fat Fanny" and "Bony Moronie" sold over one million copies, gaining gold discs. Several of his songs achieved later success as revivals by The Beatles ("Bad Boy", "Slow Down", and "Dizzy Miss Lizzy"); The Rolling Stones ("She Said Yeah"); and John Lennon's versions of "Bony Moronie" and "Dizzy Miss Lizzy". 

 Williams had been involved with underworld activity since his early teens, and had reputedly been a pimp before he ever recorded music. After 1957 Williams did not have much success selling records. He recorded a number of songs in 1958 and 1959, including "Heebie Jeebies", with band members such as Plas Johnson on tenor sax and Alvin "Red" Tyler on baritone, Barney Kessel on guitar, Gerald Wilson on trumpet, Ernie Freeman or Williams himself on piano, and Earl Palmer on drums. He was convicted of dealing narcotics in 1960 and served a jail term, setting back his career considerably. 

 Williams made a comeback in the mid-1960s with a funky soul band that included Johnny "Guitar" Watson, which paired him musically with Little Richard who had been lured back into secular music. He produced two Little Richard albums for Okeh Records in 1966 and 1967, which returned Little Richard to the Billboard album chart for the first time in ten years and spawned the hit single Poor Dog. He also acted as the music director for the Little Richard's live performances at the Okeh Club. Bookings for Little Richard during this period skyrocketed. Williams also recorded and released material of his own and with Watson, with some moderate chart success. This period may have garnered few hits but produced some of his best and most original work.  

Williams also began acting in the 1960s, appearing on film in Just for the Hell of It (1968), The Klansman (1974), and Drum (1976). 

 In the 1970s, there was also a brief dalliance with disco, but Williams' wild lifestyle continued. By the middle of the decade, the drug abuse and violence was taking its toll. In 1977, Williams pulled a gun on and threatened to kill his long-time friend, Little Richard, over a drug debt. They were both living in Los Angeles and addicted to cocaine. Little Richard bought drugs from him, arranged to pay him later, but did not show up because he was high. Williams was furious. He hunted him down but ended up showing compassion on his long-time friend after Little Richard repaid the debt. This, along with other factors, led to Little Richard's return to born again Christianity and the ministry, but Williams would not escape LA's seedy underworld.'

 SOURCE: Wikipedia 

[book-place]

Dress Shopping Expeditions

Warnings: none (I think), let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Marc Spector x daughter reader, Steven Grant x reader platonic, Khonshu x reader platonic

Request: Hello! Could you do a fic for the Mk boys? I request another Mk boys x daughter bc I am such a simp after bingeing all your Mk x daughter or teen fics. Okay, so I know formal isn't really common in the Uk but I know some people do Proms, so could you do a fic where the Mk boys takes her dress shopping? And Khonshu is just judging all the dresses. Thought It would be a cute and funny fic

Request by: @mochystark

*not my gif*

Summary: It’s time for prom, so naturally you have to go dress shopping. Your father is less than pleased

A/N: I haven’t really written in a while- so please excuse the shitty writing

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

“Come on!” You cheered, literally dragging the man behind you by the arm into the closest shop.

Marc tried- and failed- to dig his heels into the ground. “But I don’t want to,” He whined childishly.

“Well that’s too bad,” You looked over your shoulder at him with a grin, “Because Steven volunteered you to do it.”

The man was in fact still being pulled along behind you, but this time he was muttering obscenities to his alter.

If there was one thing in this world your father hated, it was shopping. But dress shopping, oh that was worse. So much worse.

The store was filled to the brim with gowns of all shapes and sizes. Colors ranging from the brightest oranges, to the darkest greens. You were completely in awe at everything you saw, spinning in a circle as your eyes tried to drink it all in.

Marc came to a stop, crossing his arms as he looked around nervously, “I don’t like this.” He muttered.

“Aww,” You teased, “Does dress shopping make you uncomfortable, dad?”

He let out a huff of air and turned his head to face the other way so you wouldn’t see the way his cheeks tinged the pink of a nearby Barbie-like dress, “Shut up.”

You just laughed, skipping off in a different direction to look at some colorful material, leaving Marc to rock back and forth on his heels where you had left him.

“Marc,” Steven chastised in his ear, “I volunteered you for this so that you could spend some time with Y/n.”

Marc shifted on his feet again, “I don’t know anything about this stuff, Steven!” He complained, not caring about any of the surrounding people who threw weird looks his way for talking to seemingly himself.

“It’s her prom,” The british man’s voice softened, “And you’re her father. She deserves to have you here with her.”

Your father deflated a bit at that before he sighed, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

After only a second's hesitation, he set off into your direction, you in turn looking up and grinning brightly when you saw him approach.

“Dad, good, do you mind holding this?” You barely waited for him to nod before shoving at least five dresses into his hold.

“Yep,” He grunted a bit, “I got it.”

He followed you around like a lost puppy for the next forty five minutes as you tossed into his arms the different dresses you wanted to try on, and he didn’t complain once. In fact, he even seemed to be slightly happy.

Eventually, you trailed into the dressing room and one by one tried on the dresses, him waiting outside and you walking out each time to ask for his opinion.

“No.” Khonshu said the second you opened the door and stepped from your dressing room for the twenty-seventh dress you were trying on.

The God evidently had nothing better to do and decided to drop by to help.

“No?” You quipped back, anger rising in your voice.

“I don’t like it.” He said simply.

“Oh? You don’t like it?” You seethed, eyes narrowing at his quick judgment of your dress.

“Now, now,” Steven said nervously, looking back and forth between you two, “Let’s not fight.”

“No, let’s.” Marc fronted with a grunt and muttered, “Maybe the store will kick us out then.”

“No, I don’t.” Khonshu continued as if the other two hadn’t even spoken.

Marc sighed at the look Steven was giving him in a nearby mirror- one that told him to intervene before things got messy- and he stepped in between both of you.

“Sweetie,” He spoke, gently laying his hands on your shoulders, “You look beautiful.” He gently placed a kiss on your forehead.

You smiled up at him before grinning at Khonshu, “See? I look beautiful in this dress.”

Your father nodded, “And if you want to get this dress- then we’ll get this one.”

You shook your head and turned back into your dressing room, “Nah, I don’t really like it that much anyway.”

Steven burst into a fit of giggles as Marc’s face dropped and even Khonshu let out a small snigger.

Despite that though, the three of them stayed, waiting until you found the perfect dress. Not once complaining, but a couple more small fights did break out between you and the God of the moon.

Like a Bee 🐝- @ip747 @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @jvdethirlwall @wolfmoonmusic

[tdjustess]

Rating all Trent ships I've ever came across

Trent×Gwen - The only canon ship and for what it was, I liked it. It always felt like just a summer fling and them being each others manic pixie dream girl/boy is a detail I highly appreciate. It was the most artsy teen romance of all TD ships and should stay as only that 7.5/10 cause it does make me cringe nowadays

Trent×Justin - I don't know who was the first person to come up with this ship but holy shit their brain. And even if you're too good to fall for the trope of "two guys amicably standing next to each other", these two would be the Larry of the TDverse, which you have to at least admit it's funny as shit 10/10

Trent×Duncan - Listen. I've also been a 15 year old girl, I get it, but this is shit. They either forget about each others existence or actively hate each other. Even the fanfics I used to read back then had to jump through hoops or make them ooc to even get them to stay amicably in the same room 0/10

Trent×Geoff - The better version of Duntrent. They still ignore/hate eachother but there's literally no reason for it which is so funny. They're both pieces of shit and the only time it was justified was when Geoff was trying to protect Gwen over the breakup. Read the TDA bios, they're still trying to poke at some rivalry we never see on screen. AU writers I beg of you, write a enemys-to-enemys fic of their fighting backstage 3/10

Trent×Cody - Oh boy. Oooooh boy. I hate to play this card but they're brothers. Maybe if it's one sided like Cody having a crush for 2 weeks tops but yeah. Brothers energy 0/10

Trent×Courtney - Listen. Don't look at me like that and listen. It's two possibly unmedicated mentaly ill upper middle kids with dreams of success in performing arts that go about it in two extremely different ways. Like. I want to keep this short but they'd be so bad for each other while being the only ones who can understand the others devotion, they'd destroy each other. I'm tearing a phonebook in half with my teeth, shout out to the Ballet AU i'll never write 6/10 realistically but 9.9999998/10 in my heart

Trent×Leshawna - I was really surprised when I first saw this ship cause I'd only ever seen them as sort of "friends-in-law"? But now that I sit down and think of it, it could work?? Leshawna is assertive but also laid back, kind and has a lot of goofy moments. And Trent is a certified wife guy™. I'd never thought of this ship myself but it could work 9.4/10

Trent×Noah - Once again, would have never thought of this if I hadn't read one of the best ship-centered fanfics this fandom has to offer. But I think it works better in that specific fanfic than realistically speaking. Trent isn't the exact type of pathetic (positive) Noah hangs out with and in the long run they'd both be too messy. If Gwent is the cuter side of teen romance, Trent×Noah would be the depressing side. I never watched the show, but from what I remember from "2015 grunge tumblr", it's giving Skins vibes 4.8/10

Trent×Anne Maria - I appreciate the mediterranean representation but no 1/10

Trent×Scott - How. Why. Walk me through this one without making them ooc 0/10

Trent×Zoey - Only in a Doey AU where Duncan keeps throwing dogeballs at Trent in PE everytime he tries to talk with Zoey about british pop 2/10

[mothervonmayhem]

Neon Requiem - Band Rivals Hobie x Guitarist! Reader

Based on @rexlroze and @the-kr8tor 's original ideas that just started to eat my brain.

NOTE: I don't write Hobie/Miguel--in fact--I don't write fanfiction at all. As the fandom's resident Chaos Goblin Queen!Spider-Mom writing characters half my age is a bit of a stretch for me. This has not been proofread/edited for foreign language used. All repetitive info, boring shit, and grammatical mistakes are 100% my own and brought to you by the letters ASD and the numbers 5 (as in year-old-child with aforementioned ASD) and 3 (as in hours of sleep that I get each night).

Also, written like a screenplay, so I could turn this into a proper comic coming up. Also also, get you a person who looks at you like Hobie looks at R.

ACT 1 SCENE 1 - FLASHBACK - EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT In a gritty, neon-lit alleyway, Young teen R is busy wheat-pasting posters for her band's upcoming gig. The posters feature a cybernetic skull (looking suspiciously like Spider-Man 2099 mask) with glowing eyes, the band's name "2099" emblazoned beneath it. As she works, Hobie appears from the shadows, a spray can in hand. He's tagging a nearby wall with a stylized anarchy symbol.

HOBIE (noticing R) Oi, what've we got 'ere? Another lost soul in the concrete jungle?

R (startled, then regaining composure) Hardly lost, mon ami. Just spreading the word about the revolution. Hobie steps closer, examining her posters.

HOBIE "2099," eh? Sounds like a proper cyberpunk outfit. You lot singing about the end of the world or sommat?

R (grinning) More like the rebirth of a new one, through science and technology. It is the brain-child of mon ami, his idea for a band... but he sings like...a cat in heat yowling from inside a Cookie Monster costume. Fun concept though. I'm going to take lead vocals.

HOBIE (intrigued) That sounds painful... but color me impressed, love... You can sing? Right? Not every day you meet a bird with brains, talent, and beauty. R rolls her eyes, but there is a hint of a blush on her cheeks, but before she can respond, the sound of police sirens fills the air.

HOBIE (grabbing R's hand) Bollocks, your dystopian future has arrived! They run through the winding alleyways, adrenaline pumping, until they finally come to a stop in a secluded courtyard.

READER (catching her breath) Merde, that was close!

HOBIE (grinning) Stick with me, love, and you'll never be bored. As they lean against the wall, laughing and trying to catch their breath, a spark of connection flickers between them.

READER (realizing) Wait, I never got your name.

HOBIE (extending his hand) Most just call me Dirty Punk, or Punk for short. He jokes, self-deprecating, he doesn’t want to tell her his name yet, it feels really personal now, like it's just Hobart, it's not that cool. It’s definitely not cool enough to tell her.

READER Punk, eh? Really? Fine, then call me R. Yeah, Punk, I can sing...

SCENE 2 - PRESENT DAY - EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT

In a gritty, neon-lit alleyway, READER, a French metal chick with ever-changing hair color, is struggling to wheat-paste a large poster featuring her band "NEON REQUIEM" on a high, hard-to-reach wall.

Suddenly, SPIDER PUNK (aka HOBIE BROWN), a British punk rocker and vigilante, appears hanging upside down on a web behind her.

SPIDER PUNK Need a hand, love?

Reader spins around, eyes wide with fear and surprise.

READER (stammering) Spider-Man! Je suis désolée, It… yeah.. it's exactly what it looks like.

SPIDER PUNK (waving his hand dismissively) Nah, don't sweat it, mate. I'm all for stickin' it to the man. 'Sides, that's a wicked poster you got there.

Reader relaxes, a smile spreading across her face.

READER (relieved) Merci! I thought I was busted for sure.

SPIDER PUNK (flips down from the web and lands on his feet, like a cat) Not on my watch, love. 'Ere, let me give you a boost.

Spider Punk gently wraps an arm around Reader's waist and shoots a web to the top of the wall. They ascend together, Reader grinning as they reach the perfect spot to place the poster.

As they work together to smooth out the poster, Spider Punk notices the band details: Reader, Miguel, and Gabriel. Guitar, Bass, and Drums. Miguel is handsome, long-haired, massive band-mate. Miguel back up vocals and bass he is the epitome of a metal-head.

SPIDER PUNK (chuckling at Miguel's serious metal-head expression) This bloke looks like he could use a laugh.

With a mischievous grin beneath his mask, Spider Punk uses his web shooter to draw a silly mustache on Miguel's serious face.

READER (giggling) Oh, il va être furieux! But it's too funny! My poor brother.

SPIDER PUNK (admiring their handiwork) There, now that's a proper work of art.

As they descend back to the ground, Reader turns to Spider Punk, her eyes sparkling with amusement and gratitude.

READER (sincerely) Merci beaucoup, Spider-Man. You really saved my ass tonight. You should come cheer us on at Battle of the Bands.

SPIDER PUNK (bowing dramatically) All in a night's work for your friendly neighborhood Spider Punk, love. I might be there, afterall, the Spider Punks are playing-band like that is my namesake, innit?

With a wink beneath his mask, Spider Punk shoots a web and swings off into the night, leaving Reader grinning and shaking her head in amazement.

SCENE 3 - INT. BAR - NIGHT

Later after dropping by her hostel room to change and wash up from paste, READER, aka, R is at a bar when she spots the only open spot at the bar. It's next to a 20-something nursing a pint. SPIDER PUNK, aka HOBIE BROWN aka PUNK, a British punk guitarist in his mid-20s, sits at the bar, nursing a pint. His lean, wiry frame is clad in a torn Sex Pistols shirt and tight jeans, held up by a studded belt slung low on his hips. Fishnet gloves adorn his hands, their black polished nails chipped from endless hours of guitar playing. Piercings glint in the dim light, catching the eye and hinting at his rebellious nature. He's in his civvy digs, a signature blend of 1980s anarcho-punk style that makes him look like the second-coming of Jean-Michel Basquiat, all raw talent and unfiltered edge. Lost in thought, an achingly familiar voice, something from a buried memory, suddenly catches his attention. It can't be...

READER, [loosely based on Gwen Stacy's Black Cat] a French metal chick with ever-changing hair color,  also in their mid-20s and equally skilled with a guitar, orders a drink next to him. Her effortlessly cool vibe is a result of her world travels. She is now in her full stage persona costume with all the eyeliner and leather that comes along with it.The two don't recognize each other at first.

READER (to the bartender, in a French accent) Un Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît.

Hobie glances at Reader, a flicker of recognition in his eyes... doesn't he know her? Battle of the Bands? Must be it, mate.

HOBIE (in a thick British accent) Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands, love?

READER (surprised) Oui, how did you know?

HOBIE (smirking) Just a... sense...Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know.

MIGUEL O'HARA, Reader's handsome, *built* Hispanic bandmate, approaches. At 6'7" and 310lbs of pure muscle, he cuts an imposing figure. His younger brother GABRIEL, a softer, sweeter version of Miguel, follows close behind.

MIGUEL (Finds Reader and is by her side instantly, voice dripping with sarcasm and derision) R, you snuck out on practice...just to drink in this hellhole? Is that Jack? No puedo mas... Carnalita...This shit is bad for you.

READER (smiles to her bandmate, she has just arrived but she is hiding her wheat-pasting activities from the stern older band-mate) You worry too much, Miggy, mon ami. We've been practicing all week.

MIGUEL (softens) Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out in an unknown city alone. It's not safe for you, carnala.

HOBIE (puffs a bit, all charm, recognizing Miguel from the poster, he puts it together that R is the same girl from earlier. Hoping to impress this 'brother' of the cute girl, he offers Miguel his hand. Miguel looks him over and is unimpressed, he does not take Hobie's hand) Keeping the lady safe, mate. You can trust me. I'm one of the Spider-Punks.

GABRIEL (shoulders his brother to the side and takes Hobie's hand, gushing) We've heard of you guys, the local punk rock band, yeah? Your drummer is... gahh...Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?

Someone's got a crush on Gwen Stacy.

MIGUEL (scoffing, stepping closer to R) You call that punk noise "rock"? Metal is where the real skill lies...Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude.

HOBIE (visible shift in attitude, he eyes Miguel's massive frame) Never skip leg day, eh bruv?

R stifles a laugh as Miguel's face reddens with anger. Gabriel looks nervously between his brother and Hobie.

READER (trying to defuse the tension) Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord?

HOBIE (smirking, he stands, not as tall as Miguel, but nearly so) Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops.

MIGUEL (grinning fiercely, are those...fangs?) You're on, punk. Prepare to be schooled.

READER (interjecting, her eyes sparkling with amusement) Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non? Who is your drummer, she sounds enchanting.

GABRIEL (nodding) She is, she's go this...energy. Pero, R's right, Miguel.

There is a not so subtle look that passes between the brothers, an undertone of: DON'T RUIN THIS FOR ME MANO from Gabri, Miguel nearly rolls his eyes.

Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?

HOBIE (winking at Reader) Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. Let's give 'em a show they won't forget...later?

READER (brightly, oblivious to the brothers' feelings) Later!

As Hobie saunters off, Miguel glares after him, his fists clenched. Gabriel places a calming hand on his brother's arm.

GABRIEL (softly) Easy, hermano. He's not worth it.

As Hobie leaves the bar, Reader shoots Miguel a disapproving look.

READER (oblivious to the brothers' feelings) Was that really necessary?

MIGUEL (shrugging) Just giving him a taste of what's to come. We're going to blow them away, R.

GABRIEL (sighing) I hope this doesn't get out of hand, their drummer is way better...I wanted to meet her.

READER (shrugs, trying to ease the tension) You will, I'll be yoru wingman, yeah? Gabri. You got this. And mano, Miguel... nothing wrong with being confident, but..just...save that aggro energy out on the stage. Come on, we're going to kick some ass!

MIGUEL (glaring at Hobie's retreating back) Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita, time for practice.