#Stally

[that-one-english-nerd]

outsiders rare pairs hit DIFFERENT. like, have i always been a multi-shipper? yes, but i’ve reached a new level with this fandom‼️

[gay-poet-gabriel]

Steve and Dally kissing (another rare pair >:) )

EEP!!

[reasoningdaily]

Good Luck Meg, we want to see you win ALL the Awards

[moodywritesmoody]

They left the campsite a little later than planned, but Stella reckoned they would make up enough time by avoiding early morning traffic into the City.

Sally, who had managed an undisturbed night of sleep, apparently still had plenty of sleep left in her, and was snoozing in the van's passenger seat, her head held in a pillow and a blanket pinned over her shoulders. She looked like a fighter at rest; body unwilling, spirit also unwilling.

So Stella was alone with her thoughts for the drive to London. Her thoughts and the melancholy of a Katie Melua album. The grey cloud from the night before had followed her into the next day and it wouldn't let her just ignore it, so Stella leaned in.

As she watched the long highway stretch out in front of her, increasingly grey and daunting; she was left to mull over just how much she dreaded returning to the office. She would make up some reason as to why her reports would be in by the evening, instead of the morning; she’d take the lecture, and then she’d buzz off for the actual weekend.

She could still remember the days when work was all she lived for, though the memory felt more and more like a different life. If she’d wanted an ordinary life she would have become an accountant, or a manager or one of the other careers her parents had insisted on, but she had fought for this life. She’d fought to get this far into her career. In every department she moved into she was always “The youngest DI in the division,” and “The most promising young agent,” and all that fluff that felt like it never ever actually led to anything. No increased responsibilities, no increased access, no increased independence; only increased bullshit. Bullshit by the shelf-load.

More forms, more protocol, more insufferable people to answer to, more restrictions but less actual codification (since it was implied that you knew what was expected, but nobody ever verbalised those expectations) and the more gracefully one could contort and bend and smile and speak gibberish, the more one fit in. It was like being stuck in a hellish game of twister, and everything that wasn't a dot was lava.

Here was the rub, ultimately, when it came to Scotland Yard, those who fit in far outpaced those who stood-out in any meaningful way. If someone like Sherlock Holmes, for instance, had tried to join the police force, he wouldn’t have made it even a week. Sherlock did his work by being different and by thinking differently: thinking differently at the Met was a recipe for daily harassment. Sherlock literally walked around with an ex-military bodyguard attached to his slender hip so it wasn’t surprising that he barely noticed.

So Stella was torn, because if she wanted her career at the Met; saving lives, pursuing the course of justice - then she had to toe the delicate line of acceptability. Even when it felt like the other side of that line was exactly where the saving lives and the justice lay. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't make it make sense.

But it had to make sense somehow. Somehow she was missing something.

It was like she constantly had to sacrifice doing the right thing, for the opportunity to keep having the opportunity to do the right thing - knowing that if she ever simply did the right thing, she’d be a failure. And would promptly be treated as such.

Stella was aware that Sally saw her as some sort of righteous hero who spoke up about a bunch of stuff that most agents knew to shut up about; but she didn’t realise just how much Stella did simply let things slide. How much she avoided because she knew that if she looked too closely she’d have to see her own culpability. Her Guilt. Fucking guilt, there was no use pretending that that wasn't what it was.

Their first late night conversation in the van played back in her mind and she felt now that there was a lot she might have said differently. She'd protested too much.

Trying to wrap her mind around the sordidness of it all made her want to punch a wall. Or else just sleep for a week.

She instead fumbled for the flask of tea she’d made for the journey; and washed down her bitter frustration. The tea was persuasively sweet. She’d figure it out, she just had to make sure of some things.

When Sally had still worked at the Yard this had all seemed much easier. No less convoluted by any means, but also not unmanageable. Perhaps it was less that the problems felt smaller but that she felt a bit bigger than them. Detective Hopkins versus the world felt like a joke, but Hopkins and Donovan versus the world was at least a breathtaking game to watch.

As she eased onto the fast lane of another high-way, her mind shifted to Sally’s cold case. The case that had finally pushed her out of the Yard for good was also the case she’d probably fought the hardest for. It was unlike Sally to concede defeat, perhaps that was why she'd ejected herself when a win looked to be impossible.

That case that had twisted her entire life inside out. It lay, like a pandora’s box in a locked cabinet under Stella’s desk and every now and then she riffled through it.

It was nothing spectacular, or out of the ordinary, and she couldn’t see what about it made Sally abandon everything in search for answers - all of a sudden. Children went missing every day. If they were to stick to every case older than 6 years where a child had gone missing and turned up dead in the river, that’s all they would ever do. But they didn’t. Because accidents happened, and people got careless, and some things were just not the Police’s job.

But Sally knew that as well as she did, which meant there was something about the case that she was keeping to herself. Some details that made this case stand out. Somehow she was... missing something.

————————————————————————-

Chapter 5 Snippet: For You

[puddingmilkt]

[歌詞翻譯] 安炳雄 Ahn Byeong Wong x Layone 張來沅 x 趙廣一 Jo Gwangil - Rain Drops (Prod. Stally & Kim Jisu) 

“괜찮을 거야 근데 내가 잘할 수 있을까” 發行: 22.09.14 / 專輯: rain drops (single)

(安炳雄) 每次也是無預兆驟降的雨點 連鞋子濕掉我也沒為意 我的雨傘 總被我丟失 濕透的衣服 放進乾衣機 每次也是無預兆驟降的雨點 連鞋子濕掉也沒為意 我的雨傘 總被我丟失 濕透的衣服 放進乾衣機 沒有雨傘 被雨點灑了一身 TV裡的氣象預告員 連領帶也濕透 手機因訊息提示而滾燙 放回褲兜 連接airpods 按下播放 Chet Baker on the list 即使會感冒 此刻也想耍帥 願望清單上這樣寫著 (its okay) 所以就讓我像crush哥那個meme 究竟這陣雨何時才會停止 (盡快吧) 每次也是無預兆驟降的雨點 連鞋子濕掉也沒為意 我的雨傘 總被我丟失 濕透的衣服 放進乾衣機 每次也是無預兆驟降的雨點 連鞋子濕掉也沒為意 我的雨傘 總被我丟失 濕透的衣服 放進乾衣機 (Layone) 擠不進乾衣機的單間房 在喇叭笛鳴之間度過的夏與冬 夢見自己在前度婚禮上 提岀反對 我那單間 連女性身影也未曾見過 總感覺渾身黏糊 的確想轉換新環境 但是看了看上半年結算 明擺是妄想 親愛的 下雨了 往哪去呢 醉什麼 沒帶錢包又怎樣喝暈 趁除濕器運行 水沸 倒進拉麪 夕陽西下之際 恍神了 來了空車 也不會乘往龍山方向 身體被可悲的面子佔據 手機宣佈電池沒剩5% 泡在新沙洞的夜店街 怪可憐的 (安炳雄) 每次也是無預兆驟降的雨點 連鞋子濕掉也沒為意 我的雨傘 總被我丟失 濕透的衣服 放進乾衣機 每次也是無預兆驟降的雨點 連鞋子濕掉也沒為意 我的雨傘 總被我丟失 濕透的衣服 放進乾衣機 (趙廣一) 今天不降雨 天氣預報明明這樣說 被雨澆了一身後 全日感覺不對勁 總認為梅雨季過後 不會繼續下雨  雖然正因這類想法 讓我一而再淋雨 想哭了我又 但我只想笑著 想問狂妄的青春 能被細小螺絲完全毀掉的 算得上太空船嗎 幾億顆雨點 無預兆急墜 雖然全身濕透 衣服濕透 現在已洗乾淨 杯空了 再斟滿就是 扛得過的 但是我能做得好嗎 即使單邊肩膀總是濕透 即使雙手永遠冷如冰塊 仍然分享我的所有 雖然也沒多少錢 但是今後 雨再微我也會先把傘撐好 (安炳雄) 每次也是無預兆驟降的雨點 連鞋子濕掉也沒為意 我的雨傘 總被我丟失 濕透的衣服 放進乾衣機 每次也是無預兆驟降的雨點 連鞋子濕掉也沒為意 我的雨傘 總被我丟失 濕透的衣服 放進乾衣機

[neotrances]

megan thee stallion speaking on how passing as a trans person can be fulfilling but self love regardless of if you fit into cis standards or pass is more important @ LA PRIDE 2023

[gilyoungroach]

you wish u were part of the bang gang (gmvn)

[pyritecaves]

hiiii it’s ya girl megan. i’m in recovery mode for now so catch me while you can. if you want to know which anime i'm currently watching hmu @ pyritecave

[dollypopup]

(to be the one) to walk in the sun

Summary: What if Penelope said yes to Debling's proposal? What if Colin never cut into that dance? cowritten with @starryspindel Rating: E Snippet:

1816

Dear Mr. Bridgerton, I am writing to request your help in a important-

Dearest Colin, How are you? I hope you are well on your travels. I am

Colin, I have made a mistake

Mansfield Park was, in her humble opinion, the most boring piece of literature written in the last hundred years, which was a shame really because she usually liked all the novels penned By a Lady. She might have liked the novel the first, or second, or even fifth read through, but now onto her twenty-third (or was it thirty sixth? Sixty fourth? Forty first? One, two, three, four-) she was getting quite sick of Fanny, the insipid protagonist with the backbone of a chocolate éclair.

When was the last time she had an éclair? At the wedding breakfast? The engagement ball? How many had she eaten that day? One, two, three, four-

Her life had devolved into a series of numbers, something she had once thought would be so easy to keep track of. How far the room spread, (one, two, three, four-), toe to toe, (five and seventy slippers apart from wall to wall at the farthest, toe to heel, and six and thirty by the shorter end), the exact number of seams, immaculately maintained, from the papered walls, (one, two, three-), the slats of sunbeam through the curtains, (more in the midday than the morning) (one, two-). Once she began occupying herself with how many instances of the letter ‘a’ she could find ruffling through the book, (one- one- one- one-), she felt something within her splinter. 

But, as with everything in her life, now, there was nowhere for it to be kept but inside. 

So, she read. All but howled in her head as she huffed. Leave, Fanny. You could simply leave.

Fiction had, after all, been such a means of escape for her in the past. 

[twisting-roads]

I've never used a lickilicky until now and I'll be honest I don't regret it

[popdiosa]

MEGAN THEE STALLION via instagram

[earth222ky]

meg and cardi too fine

[nobutseriouslywhat]

Drunk dude on the bus: *passionately explaining the differences between Pokemon and Digimon*

Me: so basically Digimon is sci-fi and Pokemon is fantasy?

Him: yeah! That's a really succinct way of putting it. Although I don't believe in fantasy. I believe that what we think of as fantasy is actually glimpses that authors have had into alternate universes and written it down filling in the gaps with what makes sense to them

Me: *subtly signals the bus to stop*

[moodywritesmoody]

Sally silently snuck back into the van, about an hour after she’d left it. She thought she’d managed to sneak back into her blanket unnoticed, when Stella mumbled over her shoulder. “Nightmare?”

Sally gave a satisfying yelp, and punched Stella in the arm. It was worth it though, and she snickered but turned over to get a look at Sally’s face. She didn’t look more annoyed than usual; she was basically fine then. Except her face still looked haunted, and that had less to do with Stella and more to do with whatever she saw when she closed her eyes.

“My mum used to say that I got nightmares because I ate too much before bed.” She offered. They had just had a feast. Sally didn’t look too comforted though.

“Maybe you’re right.” She said without much conviction.

Stella reflected on how tired Sally seemed all the time. “Except it’s not the first time, is it? Dare I say not the second, third or fourth either?”

“Alright calm down detective.” She scoffed. “Recurring nightmares are not unheard of, and we’ve both seen some things.”

“You can say that again.”

Stella didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t feel very sleepy either. So she just lay still and listened for interesting noises outside - the universe beyond London traffic. Crickets, the creek, possibly a frog, something else she couldn’t pick out.

She thought Sally had fallen back asleep, but very quietly she spoke again.

“Stella, do you ever have dreams about cases you were on?”

“Yeah of course.” Stella couldn’t count how many times.

“Yeah but like, do you ever have the dream but, from the victim’s perspective? Like you were the victim? Or the perpetrator?”

Stella had to think more about that one. If she did have dreams like that, none stood out.

“Cause it’s been happening for a while, I think it might be my guilty conscience or something.”

“Guilty conscience?” Stella searched for Sally’s eyes in the dark, “guilty about what.”

Sally shrugged, turning to look at her. “You don’t ever feel guilty? Or have any regrets?”

“Are you talking about your last case? Cause that wasn’t your fault Sally.”

“No, not just that, I mean in general.”

In the silence, Stella tried to find the right words. Because she probably did know what Sally was talking about on some level. How could she not, they were both cops in what critics and pundits were calling one of the most corrupt police forces in the world, guilt and regret were standard fare. But it was a loaded conversation, and Stella was still at least half asleep.

“I guess I try my best to have nothing to feel guilty about. Why else do you think half the guys hate my guts.” She wasn’t exactly popular at work, except for the people she was popular with, but they were a minority. Incidentally a minority of people who she herself could stand being around.

“We’ve just got to work towards improving things, Donovan, that’s all there is for it.”

Sally scoffed, “You sound exactly like Lestrade.”

“What, you don’t buy it?”

“No!” She sat up and stared Stella down, “And I don’t think you buy it either.”

Stella tried to shush her, reaching for her mouth; Sally just batted her hand away.

“Well what are we supposed to do Sally, shut down Scotland fucking Yard? Come on, in what reality could that ever happen?”

“Yeah, good question. I feel like we’d actually get somewhere if we asked ourselves that question, but seriously - and not as a way to just shut people down.”

Stella sat up too, because Sally looked like she wanted to storm out into the cold again. “Hey, no, I’m not trying to shut you down, ok. I’m just being realistic, because I take this seriously too. Sal, look at me. I mean it.”

They didn’t want to wake everyone else up so they were sort of whisper yelling; but they had to talk kind of close to hear each other. If Stella leaned down just a few inches, she could lay her head on Sally’s shoulder. The Orange jumper she wore to sleep looked like it was made of fine desert sand.

Instead she nudged Sally with her shoulder. “Ok then, what kind of reality would have no Scotland Yard?”

“A fucking peaceful one.” Sally muttered, Stella could tell she was also trying to avoid a full blown fight. “A less paranoid one.”

“Mmm. One with less paperwork.” Stella added, getting into the mood a bit, like they were playing a game. “Probably one with better traffic honestly.”

“Yeah definitely.” Sally laughed quietly. She continued a little more seriously, “One with fewer traumatised kids, for sure.”

Stella nodded, this was definitely at least tangentially connected to Sally’s last case. But if she wanted to discuss it she’d bring it up herself.

“A London that doesn’t need Scotland Yard is a London that has figured out better ways to deal with all the shit that we handle disastrously, because we’re not equipped for it. I mean why are we handling mental health calls when half of us are bloody psychopaths?”

Stella hummed in understanding. Letting Sally get as much as she could off her chest; she’d been waiting for her to let her in on what was bothering her for a long time. But Sally held her cards close to her chest. Actually in that regard they weren’t so different. It probably also meant something that Sally still talked like she worked at Scotland yard; probably she didn’t need Ella to tell her that it was a sign of lack of closure or whatever.

“Most of the guys in the force are ten times worse than most of the people they lock up. I’m bloody worse than most of the people I’ve locked up, its no wonder I can’t fucking sleep. I don’t know how you do it.”

“What, sleep? Imported Melatonin baby.”

“No, how you manage to keep your untarnished soul. You’ve got that whole righteous anger thing going for you, don’t you?”

Something about that remark grated on Stella. At this point she regularly caught herself reacting as much to the things Sally didn’t say as to the things she did. “I dunno, sounds a bit like you’re putting me on a pedestal, Sergeant Donovan.”

———————————————————————

Chapter 3 Snippet

[hilarybanks]

Saw someone on TikTok say that anyone with a brain would be on Megan Thee Stallion's side in this so called "beef" (although, can you really call it beef if it mainly consists of one middle aged woman yelling at her on the Internet and she hasn't responded?) so, that explains why the barbs are all defending Nicki because they don't have brains.

it’s hilarious cus this is a perfect example of a hit dog will holler. spiraling that bad over a couple of lines 🤷🏾‍♀️ i really do wish megan came at her harder directly cus good lord, what a vile woman. you’ve been poking at her for years (over a fucking collab) then get mad when she finally says fuck you? 41 years of age…. too unserious. i’m mad i even liked and adored nicki so much in my teen years but never looking back there again, thank god. get that bitch outta here, it’s time. her music hasn’t been good for years anyway and all she is is bitter and spiteful.

[neotrances]