#and yeah then there is that one part I can't stand

[darkbluekies]

Cannot take what was never meant to leave

Yandere!king OC x fem!fairy!reader

Summary: Edmund walks out in the forest and finds something he never seen before: a tree fairy. Upon learning that he can't take her as long as her tree is there, he does the only thing he can think of.

Warnings: Edmund is a bit more insane than usual, reader is in a lot of pain, kidnapping, basically killing, use of an ax

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: this is HEAVILY inspired by Erutan's song "The Willow Maid"!! I have absolutely loved that song for ages, and after seeing PurestarMedia's music video of it on YouTube, I had to write something!! Edmund felt like the perfect fit for it!!

Summer is almost over. He can tell by a slight shift in the winds that colder times are approaching, even though barely any of the trees show any signs of autumn. He can't wait until he can bring out his thicker coat. He likes the colors of it much more.

Ten men he brought with him on his hunt for rabbits. They've decided to go into another part of the forest in hopes of finding anything.

Suddenly. A sound.

“Shh!” Edmund hushes and holds up a hand, signaling the others to stop.

He listens closely. It sounds like humming. It's a tune he has never heard before, but one that feels weirdly familiar — as if he has heard it in a dream or past life.

Quietly, they follow the sound until they reach a field full of small, white flowers. In the middle of the white field stands a tree with dark leaves. A scene taken straight out of one of the paintings hanging on the castle walls. Edmund notices someone sitting by the foot of the tree, resting among the roots. A woman?

The group of men creep closer. The woman is lying on the tree roots, leaning her head against the tree trunk, having a root under her knees for support. She's dressed in a long, white gown reminding Edmund of the small flowers. On her head rests a flower crown made of the very flowers. Her eyes are shut. Her mouth hums. 

A fairy.

One of Edmund’s men steps onto a branch on the floor, which snaps in half and pulls the fairy out of her thoughts. Her eyes snap open, revealing them to be deep and dark — and full of fear. She shoots up from her root and stumbles backwards, hiding behind her tree.

“Who are you?” she asks quickly. “What do you want?”

“You are a fairy”, Edmund says, still in disbelief.

“Yes … what do you want?”

“Have you seen any rabbits around here?”

She peeks out from behind the tree.

“What do you want them?” she asks and seems to notice the rifles hanging over their shoulders. “I'm not assisting you in killing harmless creatures.”

Edmund meets her dark eyes. They're hypnotic.

“You humans are despicable sometimes”, she says. “Killing innocent creatures who haven't done anything to you.”

“If I wouldn't, someone else would — man or animal.”

“I want you to leave.”

“Yeah, we should move on. We have rabbits to hunt.”

He can feel her eyes burn through his back as he walks back over the field of white flowers. He hopes that she will watch him until he disappears into the forest.

“Did you have a good hunt, your majesty?” his secretary asks as Edmund and his ten men come back to the castle.

“Caught a few rabbits”, he answers and smiles, thinking of the memory. “We encountered a fairy.”

They start to walk inside. 

“A fairy?” the secretary asks and holds the door into the castle open for the young king.

“What do you know about fairies?” Edmund asks. 

They walk down the large hall.

“I know that, like humans, there are different types of fairies”, the secretary says. “You found her in the woods, you said?”

Edmund nods. 

“She’s probably a tree fairy”, the secretary continues. 

“Yeah, she was sitting by a tree … almost like it was holding her”, Edmund says, furrowing his dark brows as he thinks about it. 

He holds out his arms as if he was carrying a woman, imagining her knees bending over his right arm and her back supported by his left … her head resting on his shoulder — like she had done to the tree bark. 

They walk into Edmund’s office, closing the door behind them. 

“What do you know about tree fairies?” Edmund asks and throws himself in his chair. 

“I know that they live in the woods and that they are connected to a particular tree. They feed off of sap from the tree and flower nectar — and if their tree bears fruit they eat that too.”

“What happens if they eat something else? Like meat? Or potatoes?”

“I don’t know, your majesty.”

“Would it kill them, do you think?”

“Perhaps. What I do know kills a tree fairy is killing their tree.”

Edmund looks up at him. “What?” 

“Their life source is connected to their tree. They live as long as their tree does.”

“So you’re saying that a fairy can become hundreds of years? Thousands even?”

“Could be.”

“Interesting.” He sighs and throws his head back. “You should have seen that thing. Before she noticed us she looked so … peaceful. She was resting and humming a tune. When she realized that we were there she flew up and hid behind her tree. All of that seemed so young and naive. Her tree wasn’t that large either. I think I’ve found myself a young fairy.”

“The fairy seems to interest you.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet a fairy. I didn’t believe that they actually existed. But now, I’ve found one. I think that I’m going to make her my wife.”

The next day, he returns with his ten men and his secretary, dressed in his autumn coat. On the way to the glade, Edmund picks a few flowers with the biggest nectars he can find, hoping that they will be a good enough gift. He is going to ask her to marry him. 

She is walking around the white flowers, picking up a few and putting them in her flower crown. She looks up as they come. This time she doesn’t look as startled, but there’s something wary in her eyes. 

She’s beautiful and delicate, there’s no denying. Edmund needs her. Every fiber of his body needs her. She needs to be his wife, to be the mother to his children. He refuses to leave without her. 

“What brings you back?” she asks as Edmund gets close enough, but doesn’t sound like she wants to know. 

He can tell that she wants to get back to her tree. She gives it quick glimpses and takes small steps back towards it. 

Edmund holds out the flowers towards her. She hesitates before taking them out of his hand. Her fingertips barely graces his skin. Her touch is humanlike, kind and delicate. 

“Thank you”, she says and smells them softly. 

He smiles. He wants nothing more than to hug her, to hold what belongs to him in his arms, but he has to ask the question first.

“I want you to marry me”, Edmund says. 

The fairy drops the flowers in shock. They disappear underneath the small, white ones. Edmund furrows his brows.

“Marry you?” the fairy repeats, shocked. “How could I possibly-? No, no, I shall not.”

Edmund stares at her, eyes darkening, unable to understand how anyone could turn down his proposal. Women would travel far and wide to hear those words come from his mouth, and this fairy — who does she think she is — doesn’t even think twice before rejecting him. It should crush him, but instead it has the opposite effect. He will not leave without his fairy. 

He looks over his shoulder, at his ten men. “Seize her.”

Just as the ten men are about to grab the fleeing girl, his secretary grabs his shoulder. 

“Your majesty, don’t”, he says quickly. “That won’t be possible. She can’t leave the glade.”

“What do you mean?” Edmund scoffs.

“She’s connected to that tree.” He nods towards the tree in the middle of the field. “She can’t leave it.”

Edmund glares at the tree. That damn tree. The woman runs through the flowers towards her tree, hugging it tightly. Edmund finds it humorous how she thinks a simple tree could protect her. He could do it a hundred times better, will do it a hundred times better. 

He sees how she sinks down by the tree, huddled up by the tree bark, crying. Soon, she will search for comfort in him, not a damn tree. 

“We can’t take her”, the secretary says. “I don’t know what would happen if we tried, but as long as that tree is there, we can’t remove her.”

Edmund doesn’t answer as he walks back into the forest. The ten men follow him. His secretary keeps a distance. Edmund feels like he could explode with anger. He had pictured himself leaving the forest with his new fiance hand in hand. But he will not give up. He will get his fairy. 

He returns a third time the next day. This time he’s by himself … and this time, he’s brought an ax. Determined to take her with him. She will be his wife. This time, he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. He will not walk away empty handed. The thought consumes him as he marches through the forest, towards the glade. 

He can see her lying in the same spot he had seen her the first time. This time, she’s not humming. She opens her eyes as he gets nearer and jumps to her feet as her eyes fall on the sharp edge of the ax. 

“No!” she screams in pure panic. “No, what are you doing?! Don’t!”

Edmund lifts his hands and lands a blow on the bark, cutting away a piece. To his right, the fairy screams in agonizing pain and clutches her heart. He continues to hit the tree. The woman continues to scream. She cries in pain. 

It takes longer than he expects. He takes his eyes off the deep cut in the tree and turns them towards her. She’s lying between the roots, curled up with her hands pressed against her heart, crying and screaming. 

“Please stop!” she screams and sobs so that her entire body trembles. “Y-You’ll kill me! Please s-stop, please! I’m begging y-you!”

If he continues to hit the tree, she will die. 

Edmund will have to bring a piece of the tree with him and replant it in his castle’s garden so that it doesn’t die — so that she doesn’t die. He continues to chop. She continues to scream, cry and plead for him to stop. 

A loud creaking echoes through the air. He watches as the tree bends in half and falls. The fairy stumbles upon weak legs and hugs her fallen tree, sobbing. 

With the ax, Edmund manages to dig up root systems of the tree. He holds it in his left hand and grabs the fairy’s wrist tightly with his right. He yanks her up on her feet. 

“You belong to me now”, he says. 

She only sobs for an answer. She tries reaching out for her tree, but Edmund pulls her with him. She stumbles. He drags her into the forest. 

“Please …”, she sobs. “Please …”

He doesn’t know what she begs for. The tree is fallen, he can’t undo what he has done. 

“Please, I’m in so much pain”, she pants. 

He doesn’t listen, doesn’t have time for it. He has to get her to the castle, where he can lock her in, so that she can’t escape out to the forest again. 

He can feel her collapse. Edmund gasps and watches her lie lifeless on the ground. He shoves the tree roots in his pocket and hurries to check her pulse. She’s still living, for now. Edmund stresses to pick her up. Her limp body rests in his arms as he runs out of the forest, towards the castle. 

He runs into the castle yard, into the hallways and out to the garden. He lays the fairy down on the grass and hurried to dig a hole with his hands. Oh, how he hates the feeling of dirt under his nails. He can’t think about that now. 

He places the root in the hole and covers it with the soil. Edmund runs over to the fountain, cups his hands and fills it with water. He runs back and forth until enough water has been poured over it. He feels for a pulse on the fairy’s neck. There’s still a faint pulsation underneath his fingers. He removes his coat and places it on the ground beside the tree root before lifting the fairy onto it. He caresses her face. 

“You actually got her.”

He looks over his shoulder at his secretary. He stands there, looking at them in disbelief and horror. 

“Is she dead?” he asks. 

“No, not yet”, Edmund replies  breathlessly. “I brought a piece of the tree here and I have replanted it. She should survive. But we need flowers — lots of flowers. And anything else a fairy might eat. We need to nurture her back to life.”

“I’ll prepare some honey water, I think that should be drinkable.”

Edmund sits by the fairy, waiting patiently. 

Hours go by. She doesn’t move. Barely breathing. Edmund wonders if he she has fallen into some kind of limbo, where the tree is barely alive, and so is she. If the tree doesn’t survive, neither will she. He has to nurture both. 

He feeds the tree water and nutrient dense soil and tries to pour droplets of honey water into the fairy’s mouth. Sometimes she responds by swallowing softly, and sometimes let it drip out of her mouth. 

Hours turn to days. Days to weeks. As the tree slowly grows roots in Edmund’s soil and become stronger, so does the fairy. Edmund doubts that she will ever become as strong as she was before. The tree will never be in its full glory again, and neither will she. She can’t walk, her body is too weak to move more than a few minutes. He lets her rest by her short stub. When he can’t stay with her, he watches from afar, from one of the windows. She’s always curled up, hugging her stomach as if she’s got cramps. The poor thing never smiles anymore. 

He holds a glass of warm honey water in his hands as he walks out to the petty excuse of a tree. It'll take years to become as big as it originally was, but it will never be the original tree.

“Hi”, Edmund says softly and sits down beside the fairy, holding the cup to her dry lips.

She doesn't seem to care what she gets fed anymore. Maybe she hopes that it will kill her.

In a sense, Edmund has killed the fairy.

She drinks slowly.

“I don't know what to feed you when winter comes”, he says. “I have harvested a lot of nectar and sap, but I don't know how long that will be good for.”

A tear runs down her cheek. Edmund wipes it carefully.

“My fairy, don't worry”, he whispers reassuringly. “I will figure it out.”

He wishes that she could respond, but he hasn't heard her voice since that day she screams in pain — when he killed her.

He stands up, gives her forehead one last kiss before walking back inside. In the beginning, he used to have guards watch over the garden to make sure that she wouldn't run off, but he realized that as long as that tree is there, she isn't going anywhere.

[aaagustd]

make it cute | jjk (m)

title: make it cute pairing: jeon jungkook x (f)reader genre/rating: smut, pwp, 18+ summary: if jungkook loans someone money, he expects to be paid with just that. but tonight, he just might make an exception. wc: 1.8k warnings: infidelity, swearing, mentions ransoms and everything that comes with that (threats, m*rder, etc), pictures??, consensual g*n play (more like oral but yeah), sloppy bl*wjob/deep throating, consent bc it's sexy, pet names, degradation, m*sturbation, facial c*m shot, dirty talk, slight power play dynamics, Dom/sub themes, obedience kink, hair pulling, face f*cking, that should be all release date: september 21st, 2024; 10:18pm est

note: reposting this baby. it’s from the old aaagustd account. i hope y’all enjoy the new version. divider credit.

"That’s it. Keep going until I tell you to stop."

Jungkook can feel the material of his pants stretching to accommodate the growing boner pressing against the fabric. One wrong jerk of his hips, and he fears the measly button and zipper securing his trousers will go flying across his lavishly decored master bedroom.

He’s done some sick shit in his life, but this. This was your idea.

If only he could hear how you begged for it.

"Damn, baby, You are dead-ass enjoying this, aren't you?"

You don’t have to respond, but you do. "M-Mhm," you exhale in a needy moan as your throat engulfs the barrel of his gun.

There’s no way you can deny what is visibly present in both your eyes. 

The way your middle finger teases your soaked cunt. Your erected nipples leave two perfectly sculpted peaks that he can see through your sheer top.

He can't lie; he’s impressed and turned on by the sight. 

However, the reason you’re on your knees on his bedroom floor isn’t because he had a taste for a bored housewife. Your darling husband owes him a lot of money, and he will pay it if he wants his little trophy home by dinner.

Otherwise, Jungkook will gladly keep you—if you can behave.

With an ass like yours, Jungkook wouldn't let you out of his sight. Your place would be right on his lap, no matter the time or the place.

You have to keep a tight leash on this kind of pussy. The man’s an idiot. 

A woman as beautiful as you begging to be fucked? He’s not a nice guy, but how could he not show pity?

Jungkook can only stand there and imagine how your plump lips would look wrapped around his dick. The thought of it has him twitching inside his boxers.

As if you are reading his mind, your sticky digits abandon your wet panties and you place them on his designer-covered crotch. A sharp hiss pushes through his clenched teeth, biting back a slew of insults that could imply that he’s angry. Not in the slightest, he was just shaken by the sensitivity.

Staring into the desperation lingering deep in your irises, Jungkook knows what you’re asking for. Your mouth is filled to the brim, but you’re still begging for more.

Jungkook isn’t a gentleman, but he’s mindful of his strength when he grips your hair, snatching you away from his gun. He should have been cautious of your teeth, but you won’t need them anyway for what you’re about to do.

“Hey!” He watches your swollen lips part as you suddenly take in a large breath of air. Your lungs struggle to accommodate the pressure, leaving you coughing and choking for several seconds. The sound nearly drowns out his voice. “Look at me, dollface!”

Jungkook stares into your watery blown-out eyes, holding an intense gaze to make sure you understand him clearly. He realizes then that he has a problem on his hands.

Sexy and obedient. Fuck.

"Doll, you can get up if you want. I just want my money-"

"Fuck my throat."

Jungkook almost shudders when he hears your sweet voice. The lust hidden within that raspy tone is intoxicating.

"What?" he asks.

He heard you, though. Jungkook never misses a beat, but he’s just—stunned.

Clearing your throat, you repeat your request without an ounce of shame.

"My throat. Shove it down my throat, please."

Please.

You didn't have to add that last part. He was already preparing to take his dick out.

"Well, shit," he curses. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

Jungkook quickly places his gun on the dresser behind him and unbuckles his belt. He steals glances at you waiting patiently on your knees—like a good little slut. 

It’s goddamn shame how you have him fidgeting like a virgin.

Once his pants are loosened enough to slip a hand in and pull down his boxers, his cock springs out and introduces itself. Your reaction leaves a prideful smirk spreading across his face. Whatever you were expecting he knows that has been exceeded.

"Bit off more than you can chew, huh?"

You appear to be offended by his assumption. At least that’s what your expression reads. "Not at all," you reply, straightening your posture to align with his midsection. "May I?"

With Jungkook’s permission, you make contact with his length by grasping it gently in your smooth hand. Your fingers wrap around his girth as your eyes size him up.

Stroking him lazily in your warm palm, you admire his protruding veins that run along his length. You pause at the reddened tip, tapping the pool of precum that has developed at his slit. Your tongue licks your lips as if you’re sitting before a feast.

He understands it’s probably been forever since you’ve been in the presence of someone his size, but he’s impatient. You’ll have to do this another time.

"Don't fuck around, alright? I still got a bullet with your name on it, dollface."

You heed his warning and move closer, determining the best method of swallowing him whole.

"Sorry," you say in a whisper.

Those manners of yours will take you places; if you play your cards right.

"It’s no sweat, beautiful. Just keep going."

It's probably the first time he's said something as sincere; but honestly, he's just trying to get gobbled up before he cums all over his freshly waxed floors. His men are probably wondering what the hell is taking so long. For all they know, you’re using his bathroom to clean yourself up from the bumpy ride you had in the trunk of their car.

Without warning, Jungkook’s dick is sucked into your heavenly mouth. The warm and wetness invite him in without hesitation, comforting his throbbing length like a compress. He struggles to maintain his composure.

He isn't sure if he should allow you to take over because he cannot move. He couldn’t thrust if he wanted to. He’s mentally and physically stuck. The way you're slurping him up…he might not even be able to walk after this.

"Easy," Jungkook warns, which causes you to raise an eyebrow.

Finally, a bit of cockiness breaks through the surface.

Jungkook has no choice but to pull himself together and find his bearings because he’d die before boosting your ego.

"Fine," he grunts. "I can play rough too."

His hands snake their way to the back of your head, granting him full control. Your dark eyes never tear away from his face as he harshly uses his grip to push your head into his swift thrusts. You start to gag and choke, dropping saliva all over his cock and the floor. Something that would usually piss him off—but tonight, he can’t find an ounce of care.

It's not like he has to clean it up.

"Goddamn. Who's training this throat, hm?" He buries himself in your throat, making your forehead collide with his pelvic area. "Can’t be your hubby?"

When he hears a gurgled moan, he pulls away and allows you to speak. Through labored pants, you huff out your response. It’s one he's sure you've never shared with your husband.

"I'll suck that bastard dry every night before I let him cum inside me."

Jungkook nods. "Smart woman."

However, your business has nothing to do with him. Right now, he needs your undivided attention.

"Come here," he demands.

Jungkook hopes you were able to take in a breath before he lets go of his self-control.

You two had a deal, and he will uphold his part as you are yours. You’ve complied and given him some of the best head he’s ever received. Now, it’s time for the real show.

It’s been a month since he loaned your spouse some money; it’s time to pay up. To remind him of that, he’ll send your husband some face shots of his beautiful wife.

Jungkook will get his payment—one way, or another.

"Fuck!"

His body tenses now that he’s hitting the back of your throat. No matter how deep he goes, you never run out of space. The sweat rolling down his face is ignored because he’s too focused on how good your mouth feels around him.

Your warmth has him hunched over and leaning on his toes, his mouth stuck in an O-shape as he comes dangerously close to release. As he moves in and out of your crevice, he catches a glimpse of your juicy cunt being filled with your fingers, your body squirming and seeking the same relief he's chasing.

Both of your moans fill the room as you reach the peak of your highs. Your eyes roll back as your body becomes stiff. Jungkook knows exactly what's going on with you, and as you're riding out the waves of your orgasm, he waits for the perfect moment to pull out and paint you with his seed.

The time comes when you're no longer able to control your breathing, and you're desperately looking for a source of air. It's not a second too soon because Jungkook cannot bear another deep dive into your wet hole.

He slips out and gives his boner a couple of quick strokes before ropes of his cum paint your pretty face. The sounds you make indicate just how pleased you are with the results of your messy blowjob.

…And messy it is indeed.

It's everywhere, but he kept his promise and didn't get any in your hair.

"Ready?" Jungkook asks, still trying to catch his breath.

"Yeah."

Jungkook pulls his phone out of his back pocket and finds his camera. He positions it directly in front of your face. Your exhausted eyes and fucked out expression brings him some amusement. A contrast of how he felt before meeting you. 

"Is my hair okay?" you ask him, and this time he actually has to chuckle.

Since you've made his night a little better, he does a quick job smoothing down flyaways and kinks. 

Honestly, he didn't have to because you already look hot. Your hair all messy with his load dumped all over your face. All while adorned in an expensive diamond necklace your husband bought you—probably with his money.

Before he gets angry, he instructs you to look at the camera.

You pose provocatively as he takes a few pictures, giving your best doe-eyed pout.  When he’s done, he finally guides you to the bathroom. He allows you to use his shower or whatever else you’d need to clean up. 

Jungkook then lets you know that you may take as long as you need to freshen up while he sits on the bed to make this official.

He searches his contacts for the correct number. A mischievous grin slowly forms on his face as he taps the latest images in his camera roll, sending his debtor a little message to stir the pot.

03:14 am Sent: img.788, img.789....

03:14 am Sent: at the crib fucking your bitch. bring my bread and i might give her back.

He's lying. You’re staying right here.

Or…you can join your husband, in the cozy six-foot bed his men dug up for him in the woods.

[toiletclown]

breathless. (part two.)

spencer agnew x gn!reader

mostly fluff, a little angst.

part two of probably 5/6 (i can't stop writing this fic)

summary: to 'train' for an upcoming guitar hero stream, you head to spencer's for the first time in weeks. the tension is thick, and you have to call your best friend, angela, for some input. your feelings were growing to lengths you weren't sure you could handle -- but what other choice do you have?

word count: 2251 (7000+ remaining)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

It was not fine. The AC in Spencer’s apartment had broken sometime between him going into the office and him coming back home. He sent you a text to let you know, and even offered to bring all his stuff to yours if that was easier, but you knew how many cords and controllers that entailed and told him it was fine, you’d just wear something you’d be comfortable in.

However, you were not prepared for just how warm his apartment was. You came over in a cropped baby tee and some comfy shorts, but you had worn a very thin cardigan over the shirt, hoping it would be thin enough you could keep it on. But alas, the world was constantly against you, and about fifteen minutes into your visit you knew you had to shed the layer. The windows were open but there was no breeze, and the standing fan and ceiling fan were working overtime. 

So here you were, standing in Spencer’s living room, attempting to hide your Guitar Hero skills while also trying to hide your discomfort. Honestly, you weren’t even sure why you were uncomfortable. It’s Spencer. He’s seen you in worse. At least this outfit is cute, right? When you finally pulled yourself out of your thoughts, you realized you were beating Spencer in 1v1 by a country mile. What the hell was he doing? You knew he was good at this game, and despite you purposefully missing every few notes and hitting the whammy bar much too late, he was still way, way behind.

You paused the game and turned to look at him. You had been standing in front of the couch, since it was a little harder to play the guitar when sitting down. He, however, was sitting on the couch in gym shorts he had no right to be wearing (They were so short that if he moved one inch the wrong way there would be a problem. Why did he pick such slutty little shorts??) and a Zelda triforce logo tank top. His arms were on full display, along with his gorgeous legs, and you had to admit your words got caught in your throat when you saw him. You hadn’t really looked at him with much precision when you arrived because you were more focused on how warm the apartment was, but now, seeing him with his leg balanced on his knee and the guitar lazily draped in his lap, you were borderline salivating.

“You okay, Peach?” He always called you that, since you had a penchant for snacking on peaches and preferred to play as Princess Peach whenever the two of you played Mario Party or Mario Kart. He never let it slip at work, but a part of you wanted him to. Just to see how someone else would react to it. Would they hear it as a platonic, long-term-friendship type of nickname, or would they pick up on a subtle romantic vibe beneath that? Was it crazy to want that romantic connotation? 

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay. Are you, though? I’m not very good at this and I’m still beating your ass. You good over there?” You willed your blush away at his nickname for you, knowing he, realistically, didn’t have any romantic implications behind it. You knew why he called you that, and it made sense. Let’s not think too hard on it, okay? No need to make a romantic mountain out of a friend-shaped mole hill.

Spencer sighed, opening and closing his mouth a few times before finding his words. “Yeah, sorry. The heat is kind of making my brain blank out, I guess.” He stood, pulling the string on his ceiling fan to move it from medium to high speed. You were silently wondering why it wasn’t already on high, but chose not to question him. You also knew he was lying. You’ve been friends with Spencer (on top of having severe unrequited feelings for him) for far too long, and you knew him better than he knew himself. You knew all of his tells, and currently, he was avoiding eye contact and picking at his right thumb, which he always did when he was nervous and/or lying.

You sat down next to him, still leaving some space due to the heat. You were both quite physically affectionate with one another, but lately you had both pulled back in that regard, though neither of you wanted to say anything about it. While he had basically stopped being touchy-feely altogether, you still attempted that contact sometimes. He didn’t react the way he used to.

“Spence, honey, I’ve known you far too long for you to lie to my face. What’s going on?” You voiced your concern with a gentle hand on his thigh, close enough to his knee that it didn’t come across wrong, but also far enough away from his knee that you felt a whoosh in your stomach. It was too late to move it now without him calling you on it, though, so you left it there.

He took a deep breath, seemingly gearing up for a word vomit. But instead he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m just dealing with some… personal stuff, I guess, and I was lost in my head. We can get back to it, I’m sorry, Y/N.” He patted your hand with his, before moving to grab the guitar again and start the game back up. You pulled your hand away, burning, and decided you needed to leave. 

“Oh, it’s… it’s okay. I’ll head out, leave you to your thoughts. You can always text me if you need me, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow?” You stood to start gathering your stuff, and you felt Spencer’s eyes on your back as you bent over to pet one of his cats. The cropped tee was definitely showing off more of you than he had seen before, so it was only natural for him to look. But you wondered what he was thinking, too.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sorry again about the AC being broken. Maintenance should be coming by soon,” Spencer supplied, walking with you to the door. “Hopefully I won’t have to sweat to death for much longer.”

You both laughed, and you held your arms out for a hug. Spencer hesitated, before returning the hug and reassuring you that he’ll see you tomorrow. You offered him a goodbye and told him you loved him, like you both did every time you parted. You didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t say it back this time.

//

Angela, please help me. You didn’t know who to talk to about this. Your thoughts had been a bubbling mess for hours at this point, and you couldn’t talk to Spencer, and you weren’t quite ready to talk to Courtney about it. Courtney should be your go-to about this situation, but you weren’t sure how to broach it. Hey, you went from coworkers to friends to lovers. How do I do that? wasn’t exactly the best icebreaker to get into the conversation. Angela had heard you vent many times before, and although you never, ever named Spencer in the conversations, you had no doubt that little Italian gremlin knew you were talking about him. Angela was very intuitive and just because you leave a few details out and refuse to use his name in conversation, that doesn’t mean she can’t pick up on everything else. Especially since Erin was clearly picking up on it. Among others.

What an ominous text to receive at 1am. What’s up babe? 

Holy fuck, was it that late already? You checked the time and sure enough, it was 1:03am. You’d been in your head for far longer than you thought.

Oh fuck I didn’t even realize it was that late lol my bad queen :(( we can hold off till tmr it’s nbd!

NOPE you’re not pulling that shit, ft me rn

You sighed, but it was near impossible to say no to Angela, so you turned your desk lamp on and hit the FaceTime button. You needed to get this out of your system soon anyway, it was starting to eat at you. With other people seeing it clear as day you felt as though you should probably work your feelings out before Spencer realized.

“Hello there my gorgeous best friend, what’s on your mind?” Angela was clearly in bed, face lit only by her phone and the fairy lights she kept strung up around her room. “Is it Spencer?”

Your face went pale at her question, which answered her for you. “Oh, so it is Spencer! Did you ask him out? Did he ask you out? When’s the wedding? Can I sing at the reception? Oh, that might be weird, right? What would I even sing? Oh, I know–”

“Angela.”

“Sorry, go on.”

She let you ramble on for a few minutes, starting from the beginning. When you were hired and instantly bonded with him. When the movie nights turned to movie sleepovers and the game nights turned to game weekends. When he got promoted to cast, then you got promoted, and suddenly your friendship felt different. The first Erin Dougal meme, the second Erin Dougal meme, and finally, whatever the fuck had happened tonight. The way he was distant, but not cold. The way you could feel his eyes on you, and the two times you caught him “lost in his thoughts” as Erin had phrased it. His lack of response when you told him you loved him tonight. That was what hurt the most. He had never left you hanging when you said it, and he said it more often than you did. At lunch, on set, while watching him play Fortnite. You always reassured each other in every aspect of life. And suddenly, it was like that reassurance and friendship was going dormant.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong, I guess? It seems like out of nowhere we lost our friendship and we’re back to being acquaintances, in a way. He’s not as touchy anymore, and he gets weird when I am. He rarely invites me over anymore. I haven’t stayed the night in months. And he didn’t say he loved me before I left tonight. He’s never not said it back. And like, why? What changed? What did I do wrong?” Once your word salad was out and in the open, Angela sat for a minute, thinking on how she wanted to respond.

“Okay, I have a question before we proceed.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you want me to respond as your best friend or as your coworker?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Only slightly.”

“Then as my best friend, please.” You took a breath in, knowing with this selection came some harsh words. If she was responding as your coworker she would be nothing but kind, but with the best friend response you knew she was going to drag you, hard. But at this point, you needed that, didn’t you?

“Y/N, my sunshine, my flower, my angel. He’s pulled back significantly as of late because he thinks that his feelings for you are one-sided.”

“His–”

“Don’t interrupt me, you clown!” 

“Okay!” You laughed along with your friend, knowing that this conversation was going to be hard but it was necessary.

“He sees all these things in a different light because, somewhere in the timeline of your friendship, he got it in his head that you would never reciprocate his feelings. So now, all those things he used to enjoy, almost hurt now. Your touch on his skin is no longer comforting, because he wants more. And he doesn’t think he’s capable of getting that. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to lose you, but he also is having trouble coping with the fact that he doesn’t know if he can ‘just be friends’ with you. Spencer might have held his façade quite well for quite some time, but it’s cracking now and he’s scared. He doesn’t want to lose his best friend, but he also doesn’t want to be strictly friends anymore. He wants to love you openly, and he thinks he can’t do that.”

“Jesus, Angela. How do you even know all this?” You were absorbing her words, letting them flow through you. Spencer thinks his romantic feelings for you are one-sided? Spencer has romantic feelings for you? What the hell is going on, man?

“Because three and a half minutes before you texted me, he also texted me. I was basically reading his text out loud, word-for-word. And before you yell at me for breaking his trust, you are my best friend and I am legally obligated to tell you everything, just like you are legally obligated to tell me everything. Even though you seem to think I can’t parse that the guy you’ve been obsessing and gushing over is Spencer despite your obvious phrasing. You're not as slick as you think, babe.”

You sat in silence for a moment, really trying to let everything sink in. Your feelings weren’t one sided. You had a chance with him. He didn't suddenly dislike you, or hate you, or not enjoy your company. It was just harder now. And that, that you understood, quite thoroughly.

“Ang, how do I unfuck this?”

“I already have a plan for you, Peach.”

You groaned, “Okay, that’s not fair!”

“I know, I know. So here’s what you're going to do…”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

taglist: @lokidokieokie (thanks for being my first ever taglister hehe)

[runariya]

I am in love with that Jk merman story of yourssss , you are such a talented author !!!! Keep it up with the good work .

Even i want to request a prompt after that story because i believe only you have the capability to bring that prompt to life (only if you want to write ofcourse, no pressure )

I have never read an ABO fic with enemies to lovers troupe in modern era , I mean just imagine them being the high-school academic rival wolves who can't bear standing eachother

but the moment they turn 18 and their wolves will develop some special senses and powers, they both will realise that they both are actually mates . damnnn now image the strong pull their wolves will feel towards eachother making them go crazy ( their wolves will fall in love with eachother the moment they will recognize eachother as mate and start rebelling their human counterparts and start convincing them to love eachother too .)

and how bad they will try to hide it , deny their wolves forbid their animal counterparts from eachother only to fail miserably in the end because yeah that mate bond will win 🥹

You can choose any BTS member you want because I love and enjoy reading all seven of them so go for any member you want .

Borahae 💜 , no pressure if you are not interested in writing this prompt , I will still adore you and your work 💜 😘 so feel free to reject this request if you want .

part of the prompt game pairing: alpha!Jungkook x omega!female reader genre: fantasy!AU, "E"2L, ABO, high school romance warnings: Jungkook's the most pitiful teenager in all of existence, bad handling of emotions/feelings, a lot of cliques, denial, a little bit of physical fighting, mentions of blood, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 2.754

a/n: tysm for all your compliments, I'm so flattered 🫂 I've tweaked your request a tiny bit to fit the character of OC better and left out marking etc. bc they're still so young 🥹 hope that's okay 💕

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He hates you.

No, he loathes your entire existence.

That Miss Perfect attitude, excelling in everything you do as if it’s the easiest task in the world. You’ve been enemies since high school started—not because either of you declared it so, but because Jungkook simply can’t stand you.

You, on the other hand, are oblivious to this feud, always kind and friendly towards everyone, especially Jungkook. He doesn’t understand how you do it, staying so humble and kind towards him when he takes every opportunity to throw jabs your way, or cause you minor inconveniences, like not holding the door open or letting you trip more times than he can count.

It’s infuriating to watch you be so lovely, especially when you’re not only the smartest but also the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—something he will never admit. Ever.

“Jungkook?” Your soft, sweet voice startles him. He’s been too busy glaring at the papers scattered before him, his thoughts circling back to you. There's no one else in the lecture hall, and he didn’t even realise you’d entered. You seem to appear out of nowhere, catching him off guard. “I think you dropped this.”

You’re smiling again, that blinding smile of yours, starry eyes sparkling with joy, courteous as ever. He wants to scream. He doesn’t want this treatment from you, not when you’re a little older than him—well, only two months, but still. You’re 18 now, with your wolf, while he’s not, which only deepens his resentment. Once again, you’re ahead, better at something.

The whole school talked about your wolf. Despite your gentle nature, everyone was shocked to learn after your first turn that you’re an omega—one of the very few in the city, the only one known in school. It’s yet another thing Jungkook can’t stand, especially now that everyone, wolf or not, showers you with attention.

“Not mine,” Jungkook lies through his teeth, eyeing the pencil still held out towards him in your small, delicate hand, your nails perfectly manicured.

“Oh…” you murmur, glancing down at the pencil, your brows drawing together in disbelief. Of course, you don’t believe him. “But it’s got your initials, and it’s the one you’re always using.”

Damn you! Of course, you know it’s his favourite. He should’ve seen this coming.

“You think I’d use it after your germs have contaminated it?” Jungkook scoffs.

“That’s not very kind.” You purse your lips, those beautiful lips.

“It’s the truth, ___.”

“Is it okay if I keep it?”

What?! “What?” Jungkook can’t believe his ears. Why would you want to keep it?

“Can I keep your pen? It would be a waste to throw it away, especially when it looks so cool.” You repeat, smiling again.

The pencil is cool, and Jungkook has half a mind to just snatch it back, but he won’t give in. He won’t concede even the smallest defeat.

“I don’t care,” he grumbles. It’s enough to make you burst with joy, your face lighting up as you clutch the pencil to your chest.

“Thanks, Jungkook! You’re so kind!”

“Whatever.”

And ‘whatever’ indeed, because seeing you every day with his pencil, as if it’s the most precious thing in the world, drives him mad. He regrets his decision. He wants it back. It’s his, and what’s his should stay his, but it isn’t—and it makes him livid.

Livid in a way that fuels his pettiness, pushing him to new lengths to make your life difficult. He puts fake spiders in your bag, bumps into you when you’re struggling with your food tray in the canteen. But all of it is in vain, because you’re an omega—everyone’s darling. Every time something inconvenient happens to you, a horde of people rushes to your aid.

This alone is enough to make Jungkook reconsider his actions—or rather, the attention he’s giving you. It’s not like you care. It’s not like you treat him any differently when he’s mean. So what’s the point? At some stage, he’s not even sure why he started all this, why he loathes you so much. If he’s honest, you’ve never actually wronged him. Not once. And now, he’s running out of ways to break you, to show everyone your true colours, because no one can be this perfect, right?

It’s the Friday before his birthday weekend when you approach him again, this time holding a small present. You look up at him as he stands by his locker.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you say softly.

“What do you want?”

“Uhm, I know Sunday’s your 18th birthday and… well, I know you didn’t invite me to your party, which is totally fine! Don’t get me wrong! But I just wanted to give you this because it’s a big birthday, right? So, yeah…”

The tiny gift is wrapped in floral paper with a neatly tied bow, and it looks exactly how he imagined your presents would. It screams 'you', and he’s unsure what to say. He reckons he should just take it and thank you, but the way you’re looking up at him, so small and kind despite knowing you weren’t invited, bothers him like a sock slipping off mid-walk.

Jungkook reluctantly takes the present, ignoring the slight relieved droop of your shoulders and how your warm, soft fingers brushed softly against his.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, his eyes transfixed on the gift.

“Happy birthday, Jungkook. I hope it’ll be everything you wanted and beyond.”

And with that, you turn away, a light spring in your step, your hair moving behind you like a fairy’s wings.

Jungkook doesn’t waste any time after you leave, ripping the gift open in a rush of curiosity, only to freeze, stunned, when a tiny jewellery box is revealed to him. He’s never received any jewellery before, and the fact that it’s a gift from you—a female ‘stranger’, no less—makes his nerve endings prickle with discomfort. The idea of receiving something so personal feels wrong somehow, and yet, despite this strange feeling creeping over him, he still finds himself opening the small red box.

Inside, nestled on an equally red velvet cushion, is a delicate necklace with a pendant that bears his initials. It’s the prettiest necklace he’s ever seen, and the worst part is that he can already picture himself wearing it, the style so perfectly matching his aesthetic that it’s rather unsettling.

He carefully takes the necklace from the box, letting it twist and turn in the sunlight, the metal gleaming ever so mesmerising. But that’s when he notices an engraving on the back of the pendant, and as he peers closer, he fights the urge to rub his eyes.

You’ve had ‘alpha’ engraved onto it. There’s no way anyone could be so bold as to assume another person’s future rank, and yet here you are, making such an assumption about him. Jungkook can’t help but think maybe he was right all along—there’s something strange about you. You’re just a little too perfect, a little too confident in your kindness, a little too bold in your presumptions.

Shaking his head, he lets the necklace fall back into the box, snapping it shut and tossing it carelessly into his locker, fully intending to forget about it sooner or later. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Saturday night and Sunday come and go in a blur of noise, people, and anticipation. Jungkook has invited practically everyone he knows to his birthday party, hoping that with the arrival of his wolf, his mate might finally be revealed as well. But no one who attends is his mate, and this realisation drags his mood dangerously low. He feels a nagging stab in his chest that he can’t shake, made even heavier by the recurring thought that you, little Miss Perfect, were right all along—Jungkook has become an alpha, just as you predicted. Typical.

What infuriates him even more is that on Monday morning, as you—like always—walk past his locker on your way to the lecture hall, the world seems to slow around him. He watches in disbelief as you suddenly stop, staring at him with wide eyes that shimmer with unshed tears. You look stunned, but more than that, you look happy, as though you’ve just discovered something wonderful. And then, in the midst of his confusion, his inner wolf starts to go wild, barking ‘mate’ over and over again, leaping with excitement inside him.

It should be a moment of joy, a moment where he feels relief and happiness in finally knowing who his mate is. But instead, all Jungkook feels is denial, a desperate refusal to accept the truth, even though, deep down, he knows that you’re everything he ever wanted in a mate.

Still, he turns away from you, ignoring the way your face crumples, the way your bright, hopeful tears turn into ones of sadness, the way you rush past him with your head down, leaving his wolf whimpering in confusion and hurt. Jungkook tries to convince himself that this can’t be real, that it can’t be right, even though every part of him knows it’s exactly what he wanted, what he’s been waiting for.

In the days that follow, he struggles to keep up his usual routine of tormenting you, making snide remarks whenever he gets the chance, but there’s no joy in it anymore. You’re not kind to him the way you used to be, not anymore. You don’t smile at him, don’t even really smile at anyone; instead, you accept his cruelty with a resigned, sad look in your eyes and a forced, brittle smile that never quite reaches your eyes.

Each day, it becomes harder and harder for Jungkook to suppress his wolf, who clearly isn’t on the same page with his cold treatment of you. His wolf growls at him, restless and unhappy, frustrated with the way things are. And Jungkook knows—he understands why—but he feels trapped.

How could he possibly make things right after all he’s done to you? How could he ever redeem himself after letting his bitterness and resentment carry him so far? It doesn’t help that the necklace you gave him is now tucked securely under his shirt, the cool metal pendant resting against his chest, near his heart, multiplying the ache that’s slowly but surely forming there as well. He fiddles with it absentmindedly, the action soothing in a way he can’t explain, though it only makes the guilt grow.

“Jungkook?”

He no longer startles when you appear, his wolf always sensing your presence before you even speak, and your voice has become so quiet, so broken, that it doesn’t have the same effect it once did.

Looking at you now, standing there with your eyes downcast and your voice soft, makes him wish he could take it all back—every harsh word, every petty action. He wishes he could go back and rewrite everything, build something good between you instead of tearing it down. But it’s too late for that, far too late, and he knows it.

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to continue, your voice wavering slightly. “I know it’s random, but I noticed your grades haven’t been as good as they used to be. I know you’re not the kind of person who needs help, but… if there’s anything I can do, just let me know, yeah?”

He wants to snap at you, wants to push you away, but he’s so exhausted—exhausted from pretending he doesn’t care, exhausted from pretending he hates you, and most of all, exhausted from fighting this undeniable bond between you.

Tears prick at his eyes, overwhelming him with guilt, frustration, and something else he can’t quite name. He’s so fed up with himself, so trapped in the mess he’s made that he doesn’t know how to fix it, doesn’t even know where to start.

“Hey… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say, your voice tinged with panic now as you shift nervously on the spot, your hands reaching out towards him only to pull back, unsure of what to do. “I’m sorry…”

“Stop!” Jungkook yells, and the sound of his own voice surprises him. You flinch, your entire body recoiling as if he’s physically struck you, your trembling hands clasping tightly in front of you.

“I… I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers, and before Jungkook can say anything else, you turn and run, disappearing down the hall, leaving him standing there with the misery of his guilt pressing down harder than ever.

To think it couldn’t get worse was the stupidest thought Jungkook ever had, because it got worse. Not only did his little outburst suffocate him in guilt, but it also made you avoid him every chance you got. It also didn’t help that most people noticed your changed persona, adding one plus one and recognising Jungkook as the culprit.

He doesn’t fault them, doesn’t really mind the insults coming his way, of being heartless for not wanting a mate like you, when he knows they speak the truth. He doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve someone who he clearly hurts without a true reason.

And the way his inner wolf retreats now from him too, is something he understands as well, because there’s literally nothing he could do to mend what he’s broken.

It’s one afternoon after classes have just finished, and he’s walking out of the school when he notices you cornered against the wall by some other alphas, three in total. Jungkook’s immediately enraged, and it’s then that his wolf rises to full strength, baring his teeth and growling violently.

You’re clearly uncomfortable, clearly scared of what might happen, especially when one of these alphas gets in your face, giving you no way to escape. The last straw for Jungkook is when one runs his filthy finger along your beautiful face.

“Hey!” Jungkook roars, storming towards the alphas who have now turned to laugh in his face. “Back off.”

“What?! She’s fair game.” One mocks, while you’re still pressed against the wall, but your eyes are hopefully locked onto Jungkook.

“I said back off my mate.”

They do, but only to now lunge at Jungkook, thinking that outnumbering him will shoo him away. But it doesn’t—Jungkook won’t let anyone else touch you, his wolf and himself ready to do anything to protect you. And so, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to take each one of them down.

Driven by adrenaline, he doesn’t notice the sting of the hits he couldn’t block, but it’s nothing compared to the urge to protect you with all he has, all he is.

One after the other falls to the floor, while blood trickles from his split lip, knuckles burning and swollen, his chest still heaving, his wolf still angrily jabbing at the air.

“Jungkook?” His eyes snap up to you when you call for him, and he’s relieved to find no repulsion or fear in them when they lock onto him.

“Are you okay?”

“Thank you,” you nod, and his wolf wags his tail, barking mate, deafening all his other senses.

“Good."

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?”

You hesitate, and it makes him feel powerless all over again, but eventually you whisper, “Because I’m not who you wanted.”

It’s broken, it’s defeated, and it’s everything he never wanted his mate to say, because it’s not the truth. Never was. Never will be.

“But you are.” Jungkook tries to smile, despite knowing it’s not hopeful or kind, but sad in all the ways his decisions led it to be.

“I am?”

Seeing your eyes gradually returning to their lively, sparkly self is more than he ever wished to witness, more than he ever should receive, but everything he ever wanted.

“You are. Always were.”

And with that, he opens his arms, stepping over the still-groaning alphas to get closer to you.

With a push off the wall, you sprint into Jungkook’s arms, tears of relief running down your cheeks as he embraces you like you wished he would from the start. But it doesn’t matter, because no time apart could ruin the feeling of him embracing you and your bond.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook mumbles into your hair, inhaling the magnificent scent of you.

“It’s fine, everything’s fine.”

And as you cling to him, your wolves finally as content as you are, you know that you’d never change a thing, because it’s better to be loved willingly than with no other choice.

[thatwritterbeach]

One messed up bat pt.1

Dc masterlist all other parts found here

Batfam x femreader Jason x reader eventually

Warnings: angst, self harm, self hate, depression,

Summary:Y/n gets cough self harming by Damian, and Tim calls in some backup

A/N: I do not own dc booohooo ooc Tim, I don't spend much time watching/reading his robin sorry **^ so I can't remember if it's canon or from a fic but at this point who cares the storyline is all fucked so in this story I'm saying that Jason tried to call dick for help with his mom but dick was asleep/didn't pick up so Jay went alone and died, now Dick CAN NOT miss a phone call it sends him into a panic attack, thank you for coming to my trauma talk

ok so we all know the timeline is shit so this is the ages for this story only found it on a reddit post, fight me at dawn if you don't like it

Bruce Wayne (Batman) at 45

Barbara Gordon (Oracle) at 27

Dick Grayson (Nightwing) at 25

Jason Todd (Red Hood) at 22

Tim Drake (Red Robin) at 18

Damian Wayne (Robin) at 11

Y/n 21

not my gif^

(2 weeks ago)

"Y/n, you can't keep acting like a child you're twenty-one," Dick whisper shouted in the corner of the batcave.

"Dick, I'm not going to apologize for helping people-"

"You disobeyed a direct order. You could have been hurt, you can't be that kind of influence to Tim and Damian."

"You don't even live here, Dick, you can't just-"

"You're benched until further notice."

"You can't-"

"Benched," Bruce confirmed stepping over to them.

(1 week ago)

"Hey, Dick, do you have a sec," she asked into the phone then immediately bit firmly into her hand to hold back a sob.

"You're still benched," he said without remorse.

"That's not-you know what never mind." She hung up on him and threw the phone onto her bed heading to her en-suite bathroom to release the itch.

(present)

"Beloved! Beloved, look I-," Damian shouted with glee but cut himself off with a scream when he opened her unlocked bathroom door. He thought she was doing her face masks not...in the bathtub with blood dripping from her arms into pink bubble filled water.

"Damian wait," she called after his retreating form. Shit, shit. She hurried to drain the water and throw on her over sized t-shirt just managing to pull some boxers on when Damian burst back in with Tim, practically dragging him into the space.

"Damian what's the problem-"

"Fix her," he shouted with haste and was about to shove Tim into the room when he noticed y/n standing there looking fine.

"Damian, I'm ok, I promise," she tried to convince him softly. He looked from her to the tub, not even a drop of evidence in sight.

"No, you-I saw the blood. Tim she cut herself I saw it," he told the older boy trying to lunge for her arm but she side stepped him.

"Damian, give us a minute," Tim tried to gently shoo him away. Damian shook his head aggressively and latched himself onto her side, clinging to her like a koala. She combed her fingers through his hair and gently detangled him.

"Dami, Tim and I just need to have a quick chat, he's gonna fix me right up, aren't you, Tim," she asked, sending him a look that clearly gave direction.

"Yeah, kid, I'll take care of her, she'll be right as rain."

"You won't hurt yourself again?" He was giving her puppy eyes, looking his own age for once and it pulled on her heart strings.

"I won't," she agreed patting him on the head and crossing her fingers behind her back with the other hand. Damian gave her one last hug then hurried out of the room. There was an awkward silence as Tim stood blocking the doorway, his jaw ticking and toe nearly tapping.

"You know I have to tell."

"Please don't." She shook her head then grabbed the first aid kit beneath the sink.

"Let me," he said softly, taking it from her and getting out the supplies. When she set her arm on the counter for him to work he sucked in a breath. "Those are deep," he accused.

"I wasn't trying anything. I'm not stupid, just a heavy bleeder." She rolled her eyes where he couldn't see and hissed when he dumped alcohol on her arm.

"They almost need stitches."

"Butterfly stickers are fine," she said digging them out of the kit one handed.

"I at least have to tell Dick-"

"NO," she said so firm he actually stepped back to look at her.

"I have to tell someone, I can't watch you 24/7."

"I don't need babysat," she seethed.

"I can tell Bruce or I can tell Dick first. Either way you aren't doing this alone."

"I cant stop you?"

"Not a chance."

"Dick told me I needed to be a better influence for you. Sorry for fucking that up, but to be fair there's worse things about me. I tried to call him a week ago, I was feeling the um...the 'itch' so to speak but as soon as he picked up he told me I was still benched. I was so pissed that he immediately thought that's what I called for I told him never mind and hung up. You can't tell him that, after Jason you know he-"

"Hates missing phone calls," Tim finished for her. **^

Tim had every intention of telling him, he knew it would hurt but come on, she tried to get help. Of course she didn't ask anyone in the house, but he wasn't about to be offended she didn't ask the child or his newly adult self for help, and he sure as hell got the not wanting to tell Bruce.

"Why not Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't you go to Alfred for help."

"He deals with enough shit from the rest of you, coming in half dead each night."

"That doesn't mean you come second, and sure as hell not last, we love you."

"Yeah, well it doesn't feel like it most of the time." He was finished with her arm and she resisted the urge to yank it away from him. One of Jason's flannel was on a towel hook on the wall and she quickly put it on to hide the bandages.

"I'm gonna go make sure Dami's ok," she said gently moving him out of the way. The second she was gone he hurried back to his room for his phone, that he'd left on the charger and yanked the cord out. He hit speed dial 3, Dick's cell, and held the phone to his ear while he headed out on his balcony to totally not scale down the wall instead of taking the stairs. Dick picked up on the 4th ring with a tired sigh and a 'this better be good' Tim told him to wait a sec while he got way out of hearing range.

"Did Y/n call you last week?"

"Uh, yeah, why?"

"Did you jump her case and not give her a second to speak?"

"You sound a bit pissed timbers, cut to it and tell me what I did. I haven't slept in 37 and a half hours."

"And you call me an idiot," he snorted.

"Tick tock bro," Dick mumbled head already sinking into his pillow.

"She'd been cutting herself and she called you to ask for help, well, she didn't say that word, but she was calling to tell you what she'd been doing to herself," Tim stated with little to no remorse for the heart attack he'd just given his brother.

"She what," Dick shouted throwing off the blankets and grabbing his go bag.

"I assume you'll catch the next train?" The sound of Dick falling and cursing while he hopped into pants could be heard and Tim nodded and hung up. Thankfully because the author said so Dick had switched from his police job to a remote roll in Wayne industries he just stayed in Bludhaven to have his independence and not deal with Bruce more than he had to. Alfred insisted he come for monthly dinners and he did.

Tim went back inside to hunt for Y/n and Damian and found them having mugs of hot chocolate together on the kitchen counter.

"So, you're ok," Damian asked in a small voice using a stir stick to hold his marshmallows under the liquid.

"I told you, Tim fixed me, and he probably ran off to call Dick so he could come make double sure I'm ok. You don't need to worry, I promise I'll always be here to have hot cocoa with," she replied, crossing her heart and holding out her pinkie to him. He hooks his with hers and to her surprise continued to hold on, not moving to actually hold her hand but simply letting their hands rest on the counter pinkies linked. Not wanting to interrupt Tim quietly made his way back out, he still had some calls to make.

Jason picked didn't pick up on the first call, or the second but finally on the third he answered out of breath and with gunshots loud in the foreground.

"The hell dya' want," he all but shouted into the line dodging hits and getting in several of his own.

"Sorry, I'll call back later-"

"No, talk now, I got it under *way too loud thud* control."

"Just uh, get here as quick as you can, nobodies dying so-"

"Make it quick but don't freak, got it." And he hung up. Next was Bruce who surprise surprise didn't answer a call or text, so Tim left a message.

"Get off Selena and come help your kid," he said with more aggression than snark. (this doesn't feel at all like something Tim would say but i'm not familiar enough with his character to fix it)

This time when he went to the kitchen it was just Y/n on the counter Damian had gone who knows where.

"So who all did you tell?"

"Just Dick so far, he's on his way. Jason was in the middle of a fight so he's coming later but I didn't tell him and Bruce didn't pick up-"

"Shocker, dude nabs all these kids then can't be bothered to spend time with them outside of a Halloween costume," she scoffed rolling her eyes.

"You're not wrong but-"

"Oh, don't start Stan." She waved him off hopping down to wash the mugs not willing to leave them for Alfred.

9-20-24

[theninthdoor]

⭒˚｡⋆ 🍓 pac || inside your crush's mind ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆ 🐞

𖦹 think of your crush, take 3 deep breaths and pick one of the piles below! lets see what is/was going through your person’s mind & if you have or ever had a chance with them. 𖦹 take only what resonates. if you feel like the pile you’ve initially picked doesn’t really apply to the person/situation you’re thinking of, it’s OK to pick another one. I'm also leaving some extra messages and keywords at the end of each reading. those may work as confirmation for some people, but if they don't mean anything to you, that doesn't mean that that's not your pile. what you should really take into account is the description I make of the person (your crush) in each pile, and that's how you will know if you have chosen the right or wrong one. please use your discernment. 𖦹 remember that this is all for entertainment purposes and that free will still exists. don’t feel pressured to do anything you don’t want to, just because your person thinks this or that, ok? 𖦹 enjoy, my lovelies!

Pile 1 || ☎️ cards: four of pentacles rx, death rx, knight of pentacles rx, judgement rx, the chariot

not you guys landing on the player's pile… omg So, yeah- Did you ever had a chance? For sure. Anyone would have a chance with this person, I feel like. This is someone who's either constantly in love or just can't stand being alone for too long. Maybe it's just their personality - being extroverted, a connection-seeker, always open to new relationships and whatever experiences come with it -, or perhaps they are simply that charming and the options never end for them. This does feel like someone who's very much a feeler, but maybe not the wisest or yet the most mature in general (or even the most emotionally available!!). For the most part, their relationships feel quite short lived, and mostly based on physical attraction. They may have had one or two longer ones, still (for some people in specific, it feels like your crush may have been in longer-term relationship that was very talked about and known about, and they may still be heavily associated with this ex of theirs). Now, when it comes to their thoughts and feelings towards you: I'm sorry to say it, but I just don't see them having cared or caring too much... They see you quite plainly (if they know you at all); you're just a friend, coworker or acquaintance. Yet, as I said, I feel like you'd definitely still be able to have a chance with them - all you would have to do is take that step towards them and get yourself noticed. Be confident about it! I think that's what attracts them the most to someone, actually: boldness. Flirt a little with them, and see where it leads you… It might not result in the most serious, stable or long lasting relationship of all time, but maybe you'll still get to have a good time together.

⋆ extra messages:

This totally feels straight out of a 2000s coming of age movie, or some rom-com set in high school, with your crush being the popular guy/girl everyone knows and is attracted to lol. Just thought I should add that in.

Milena. Mimi. Mario. Jet-black hair. Affluent neighbourhoods. Family business. Taking acting classes. Ankles/ankle bracelets. Big family event or gathering coming up soon (like a birthday, a wedding, some special holiday…). Talking about or someone's been worrying about frown lines recently. Jennifer. Janet. J surnames. Wearing a lot of orange lately, or having just bought a new orange clothing item. Ash. Ashley.

⋆ channeled song: The Bellamy Brothers - Let Your Love Flow

Pile 2 || 💄 cards: page of wands rx, ten of pentacles rx, knight of pentacles rx, the hermit, seven of wands

So, my sweet pile 2, here we have someone who has, for sure, noticed you before! Seven of Wands + The Hermit at the bottom of the deck = this person would do anything to get to know you a little better and/or to spend more time with you. There's something about the way you are or carry yourself that makes you stand out from other people - or perhaps you're just your crush's type and that's why their eyes are on you... I don't get a whole lot of communication or movement coming from them, so even if they talk to you, it doesn't feel direct; they're not letting you know how they feel; they're not openly flirting with you. This person actually feels very much like a Virgo or Capricorn Moon; logical, careful, slow moving. Once you get them to come of their shell and finally they feel ready to say something, though, you can definitely expect them to be very direct about it. At first they study you, consider the potential of this connection, and then they decide if they should go for it or not. If they do come towards you then, they won't waste any time, again. They're saying, you know… "Hey, let's go out one of these days. I'd like to spend some time with you." or "I really like your vibe. Would you care to go on a date with me, sometime?". It's quite dry and lame actually lol. They're still not flirting, exactly. They're just putting it out there that they're interested and want to explore this connection - again, very direct and logical about the whole thing. (And their flirting skills may actually suck, btw…) In the meantime, they may get closer to you by asking you about your interests, by sitting nearby in class or at lunch, watching your ig stories or something like that. It's the small things, and they're gonna take their sweet time with this. It's not something they are losing their sleep over; it's a case they are studying.

⋆ extra messages:

Is anyone here working or studying in a scientific field? Science feels very relevant. Ron, Rob, R names. Lab coats. Law; rules and regulations. College towns. Planning (or planning on attending) a big Halloween party - and putting a lot of thought into this as of late. Wisconsin. Big 3 Libra placements. Glasgow. Glass working/art. Gallows. Gallows humour. G surnames.

⋆ channeled song: John Legend - All of Me

Pile 3 || 🎧 cards: the chariot, four of swords rx, the magician, ten of swords, queen of wands, two of wands

Listen!!- Pile 3, please go for it!! Even if this doesn't last too long, I think there's great potential here for an absolutely amazing relationship/fling! The chemistry here is just insane… I don't know if it's this person themselves, or if it's actually the result of you two coming together, but I'm feeling HOT. I'm blushing. I'm excited. There's just so much passion here! I think this person is a smooth talker; not necessarily the most extroverted or talkative, but when they do talk to you, you can't help it but feel absolutely charmed. They are good-looking, smart, polite. I get a very venusian vibe coming them. They may put a lot of effort into how they look, not by vanity but because they genuinely like to take care of themselves + find it unmannerly to go out looking like a mess.

As for what's on their mind, my dear pile 3, I have good news for you! They have noticed you and thought about you before, and everything's very positive. They find you attractive, interesting, and a great catch, really. It also seems like they may have heard quite a bit about you (coming from others), and whatever was said gave them a very good impression on you, so even if you're not that well acquainted, they hold you in high regard already. However, with this 2oW, I feel like they may have other options, and if you don't make it clear that you want to explore a relationship with them, the opportunity might just pass you by. I actually don't see them making that move themselves, I'm sorry… There are other things/people holding their attention at the moment and for the foreseeable future. Still, The Strength rx + Queen of Cups at the bottom of the deck = the potential is here, and so is the chemistry I was talking about. Once you get this started, there's no stopping it! You'll be pulled in and taken on the most amazing ride.

⋆ extra messages:

E names. Emily. Emmett. Emerson. Soccer/football. Lia/Leah. India. Indya. I + IY/YI names. 2016 being a significant year - moving, meeting, Instagram following. June. Born on the 6th of the month. History. Brown hair and green eyes. Hazel eyes. Hazelnut. German family or travelling to Germany. Studying architecture or building architectural models. Learning french.

⋆ channeled song: Rihanna - Love On The Brain

Pile 4 || ♣️ cards: justice rx, page of cups rx, five of cups, page of pentacles rx, eight of pentacles

There's something very sad about this person and this pile. Your crush may have been or may be going through a difficult period, yet I feel like they've been doing their best to hide it. They laugh a lot, smile all day, joke around, but on the inside they are going through something that has been bringing them down. I think they feel lost, confused, alone. Maybe it's a family matter (like a divorce or some kind of separation), or perhaps it's just that, for some reason, they are now being forced to leave their home, friends and/or family, and it just hasn't been easy to them to accept and deal with that. There's a loss of stability here, and a loss of community. It could've happened already, too, by the way - they may already be in separation from their loved ones or away from the place they were used to calling home. On a positive note, I feel like this is temporary and they'll recover soon. It's just a low point for them. Also, they may be dealing with some concerns regarding their future and where to go next (professionally, academically, etc.), and that only adds to it all. As for the two of you, my dear pile 3, it seems like right now just isn't the right moment for anything to happen here. You can offer them friendship, some comfort, advice, support, but that's about it, I believe. This person has a lot to figure out at the moment, on their own, and whatever they have to offer you doesn't seem to be exactly what you need or want, deep down. It would lead to heartbreak, most likely. Still, this feels so sweet and so warm. So, maybe, you should give it some time and then give it a try… Because, honestly, I do think this person has some good feelings for you (or could grow some good feelings for you, if you aren't yet acquainted). They may not know what those are exactly, but I still think something really good could bloom from this.

⋆ extra messages:

A names. Adam. Adrienne. Greenland. Finland. Art class. Discussing or studying politics. Georgia. G names. Galicia. Meeting or seeing their father/father figure for the 1st time, or their father being mentioned in conversation a lot. Surgery. Torn ankle or some other leg/foot injury. Mockingbird. Buzzcut. Red nail polish.

⋆ channeled song: Billie Eilish - Bored

deck used || Tarot of the New Vision

(Disclaimer: Based on current energies. All is alleged and for entertainment purposes only.)

[saffusthings]

Baby I Can Feel Your Halo

oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader

summary: the one where the world gets to become familiar with a new name: Y/N L/N. word count: 8.4k warnings: awkwardness, my attempt and poetic writing, poor understanding of how film and media works, Lando as a bit of a side character, poorly edited writing a/n: i can't tell whether this is half decent or nonsensical. inspired by That Viral Interview. i have a soft spot for this part of the story, so i hope you guys are able to like it too.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

She’s going to kill him.

Clicking her phone on to check the time for the umpteenth time as if it will make this stupid elevator go any faster, she lets out a huff. The tapping of her shoe acts as a placebo, perhaps. Or maybe this elevator is actually getting slower-

When the metal gates finally part, she bolts. As gracefully as one can, she awkwardly half-run, half power walks past the hall of doors until she reaches Room 307.

She doesn’t even pretend to knock. Glancing at her phone one more time - 27 calls - she slips a plastic card from the lanyard around her neck. When it beeps, flashing green, the door opens with a click, allowing her to storm in.

To her credit, she at least waits for the door to close before she yells.

“Oscar Jack Piastri!”

Oscar wakes to a fire. Or at least that’s what he has to assume is happening, considering someone is screaming his name at full volume. Eyelids barely open, he immediately sits up in bed. “M’awake! Jesus, give me a second,” he mumbles, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Tossing him his pants that had been hanging in his closet, she goes around, picking up any stray items. “Put some pants on,” she grumbles. “C’mon get up, we’re already-”

“-running late,” he says defeatedly, eyes landing on the bedside alarm clock. 

When he finally steps out of the bathroom, his brows are scrunched in confusion. She’s typing something on her phone, and definitely not trying not to look at him.

It’s been over a week since their almost-kiss in her office. She’s no rookie, she’s been more than professional since, knowing she can’t risk this. But a small part of her can’t help but think of how close his lips had been to her anytime she’s standing close enough to smell his familiar cologne. 

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of Oscar’s voice, her thumb still hovering over her phone from her long forgotten text.

Trying to get the swoop of his hair to land in some sane looking way, he gestures to the pine green spread out for him on the bed, the one she insisted he wear. “You sure about this?”

He watches her as she knits her eyebrows together as she gives him the once over. “Yes. You look good in green,” she explains, still entirely absorbed in sending an e-mail to their media liaison.

It’s only once he’s finally dressed that she gets up and gives him a look over. Her lips purse before she motions for him to stand closer. “C’mere.”

She aligns the seams that are supposed to trace along his shoulder, before using her hands to smooth out any wrinkles in the soft fabric. She stands back for a moment, before coming closer again, and pulling his sleeves up just a bit in a way that exposes some of his forearm. Assessing it one more, and seeming content with how it looks, before doing the same to his other sleeve.

Entirely unaware of the chaos his cardiovascular system seems to be undergoing, she gives him one last look over, and wipes a bit of excess moisturizer that had been left on his nose.

“There we go,” she says with a small smile. 

Grabbing her things, she stands at the door before looking back for him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, patting his pockets and searching the hastily made bed. “Just…”

“Good to go,” he announces, swiping his phone off the bedside table, and tucking into his pocket before following her into the hall. “Where are we headed?”

“They’ve set up in one of the conference rooms near the swimming pool” she says from over her shoulder as they make their way down. “It’s some Australian channel looking to do a segment on their hometown hero, so it should be a safe set. Of course, if they veer off course, let me know and I’ll take care of it. ”

“Will you be there? Or are you headed back to the office?” Oscar asks. His tone makes it difficult to differentiate whether he's nervous, wary, or doesn’t want her to be there, but he hopes she understands anyway. 

“Yep,” she replies, smiling. Oscar wonders why his chest feels warm. 

“That’s my job, remember?” 

When he gets to hair and make-up, he can’t help but feel more than a little lost. Not because of the makeup, certainly - god knows Hattie has tested more than enough ‘smokey eyes’ on him - but rather because when he sits in the chair, the woman immediately asks what kind of look he wants to go for.

Huh?

He looks over to Y/N with desperate eyes. 

Help me, please.

She’s quick to walk over and greet Lindsay, his stylist for today, with a warm smile. Once she’s sure that the stylist is okay with taking recommendations, the rest of it comes easily.

“We’ll wanna do some powder to counter the glare from the studio lights,’ she suggests, glancing at the woman for approval. Tilting Oscar’s face, the two women survey him analytically.

“It’s up to you if you want to add a little warmth, but no blush or color corrector or anything like that. And then his hair looks good like this, so we don’t need to do anything there. How does that sound?”

The elder woman nods in agreement before pointing at different parts of Oscar’s face and mumbling somethings to Y/N who nods along thoughtfully. 

Finally, he’s left at the mercy of his stylist, as Y/N walks away.

Once the mic checks are complete and the people behind the large lights give the go ahead, one of the employees counts off the seconds before the cameras start recording.

Oscar spends those seconds looking over to wherever she is. She’s stood by one of the people carrying a large white panel, watching on to make sure everything runs smoothly. They’ve done this dance probably dozens of times, but the buzzing lessens once he assures himself that she’s still in the vicinity. 

He watches her nod, giving him a reassuring smile, and then, Oscar is ready.

“And cameras are rolling 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.”

“We’re here now with Oscar Piastri,” the host says with a warm smile, “now in his second year of representing Australia in the highest level of motorsport - Formula One. Thank you so much for joining us, Oscar.”

“Of course, thank you for having me,” Oscar smiles, that polite cat smile that’s become associated with his name. “Just Oscar, is usually fine though,” he jokes, never one to feel too comfortable with high praise. The host laughs good naturedly, “Oh, the boy’s got jokes now, does he?“ Oscar seems to glow in the spotlight. Something about him, even in front of  the cameras, seems to radiate comfort, familiarity. Even on TV, even with his rising stardom, his laidback posture and the crinkle around his eyes when he smiles suggests that he could be the boy next door, that he could be your boy next door. The cameras are not the only thing focused on him. “So Oscar, not sure if you remember, but you did a sit-down with us last year as well.” “Of course. I don’t forget that easily, Mick,” the driver replies easily. “I’m not that old.” “No, no, in fact, you’re quite young aren’t you? Only 23 and already in your second year of Formula 1.” “Yeah, feels a bit strange when you say it like that,” Oscar chuckles, “but yeah. It’s been a bit of a wild ride.” Mickie smiles. “One year closer to retirement, I imagine?”

“God no,” Oscar scoffs, shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable. He looks more relaxed this way, more open. “I’m not leaving without a championship, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while. Sorry to disappoint.” Laughing good naturedly, the older man shakes his head. “Far from it. You’re a hometown hero. You’ve got everyone here rooting for you,” he tells him, gesturing to the crew around them.” Smiling gratefully, Oscar nods. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty lucky with all the support. That always makes a difference.” “I’m sure it does. Who would you say are your biggest supporters?” “My parents, for sure. I’m sure there’s a clip of my mom talking about my… let's call them oddities, as a child,” Oscar laughs, referring to his habit of make-believing as a car around the house, or how he wanted car magazines read to him instead of bedtime stories. “If they hadn’t put up with me through that, there’s no way I’d be here now.” It’s clear as day that beneath the thin film of humor, there’s a chasm of sincerity. He really does love his family - always making time to call them during long trips away or even just because. Working on media with Oscar is (usually) pleasant for that same reason - you don’t have to give him PR-written responses or pre-plan his anecdotes to make the audience fall in love with him. He tells the truth, and they can’t help but fall in love all on their own. “I’ve also got other supporters too. Silent supporters, I guess you could call them, since you all don’t see their faces as much. But my sisters, my team, Y/N, the fans - they are the reasons I get to live my dream everyday.” Mickie nods in acknowledgement. “Of course. Though I see we’re name dropping now,” he teases. Oscar looks up at him, mild panic hidden behind his eyes. He’s only just about to adjust his cap - a predetermined signal to Y/N that he needs her to intervene somehow - when Mickie interrupts his train of thought. “You mentioned Y/N as one of your supporters. Could you tell us a bit more about that?” When Oscar looks at the man with the salt and pepper hair, he doesn’t see the usual malice or hunger that many reporters would have if they had been in the same position. Mickie has been good to him and his team in the past - not coming off as a dog with a bone, but instead as an easy conversationalist who happens to be genuinely curious about Oscar and his life. The young driver recovers easily from his momentary scare. “Oh, yeah. Y/N’s definitely one of my greatest supports. I’d tell you all that she works for me, but I think she might poison my coffee if I did that.” The two share a laugh, easing Oscar’s nerves a little. He subtly adjusts his watch instead.

It’s alright, I got it.

From behind the cameras, Y/N takes a small breath of relief. Though she’s pleased the conversation didn’t take a turn for the rumor mill, she’ll still be a little on edge anytime her driver is in the media’s playpen.

“Alright then. Without risking your coffee, what can you tell us then? That’s not a name we’ve heard too often around the paddock.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s a shame too - she’s supposed to be my assistant, but with how much she’s involved in everything, we might have to come up with a better title for her,” Oscar smiles easily. Mickie gives him a smile, straightening his notecards into a neat stack. “Is that so? Must be high praise, coming from a big-shot like yourself.” The air is pleasant, the conversation flowing naturally. Even as an observer, the scene could almost be mistaken for a casual chat in a living room somewhere. Oscar shakes his head. “Not enough, actually. When I say I wouldn’t be here without her, I mean it literally. If she hadn’t come to my rescue this morning, I’d probably still be in bed!” Mick leans over, laughing. “Glad to see how much you value our time here together, Oscar!” “Even if I did, I value my sleep more,” Oscar deadpans, a sly smile on his face. “I don’t envy her job, not in the slightest.” “Fair enough, fair enough.” The conversation makes its own way from there - Oscar’s goals for this year, what people can expect from the team this season, how the new car has been. 

“So what I’m hearing is that we have a promising season ahead?”

“I mean, every season looks promising at the start really, but yeah, I have a good feeling about this one. Cautiously optimistic, we’ll call it.” “Well I’m sure I’m not the only one when I say that I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us this season, Oscar.” “Wow, no pressure there. Thanks, though.”

The two share a laugh. It’s getting closer to the end of the segment, but with some time remaining. Mickie decides to take the conversation in a different direction. “Now that we’re done with all the shop talk.” he starts. “I was wondering if you could tell us what Formula 1 has been like for you personally. Last time around, during your rookie season, you mentioned that the intensity of the training and the magnitude of the races were some of the things that took some getting used to. Would you say the same is true now, or have you gotten used to it?” Oscar nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, your rookie season is always an adjustment. It took me some time to get used to that stuff, and I’d say I’m better at it now,” he answers honestly. “But that doesn't mean there aren’t still things I’m learning to get used to.” “What kind of things?” “As you can probably tell, the time zones are one thing,” he laughs, animatedly gesturing to where his eye bags would be. For a second, there’s silence as he’s given a moment to think, before he finally speaks again. “I’d say the people, too.”

“The drivers, the teams, or the fans?” Mick asks curiously. “The fans are pretty great,” he tells him. “But I think I meant like the drivers and their teams?”  Oscar tries to explain. “Like, you have to understand that there’s so many people in this complex machine that is Formula 1. And every single person that’s there, is because they’ve got this insane drive to win - that includes the drivers, of course, but the engineers, and the strategists, and the trainers too.”

“Tell me a bit more about that.”

“I mean, like, even in Formula 2, with Prema, there was a certain level of friendship and camaraderie that gets overshadowed in Formula 1, because of just how competitive everything is,” he explains, gesturing with his hands. “It’s crazy how the drivers flip a switch for lights out or the chequered flag, because that’s what comes with competing at the highest level.”

The host nods, making an effort to understand.

“Would you say it strains relationships then? This sort of… dual personality that you and the other drivers have to have?”

“Honestly. To some degree, I imagine it has to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly with one another.”

“You’d mentioned earlier this year, in an interview with your company Quadlock, actually, where they asked you if you had any mates on the grid, and you replied with…” Oscar chuckles shyly, recalling the moment. “No friends, only enemies,” he quotes himself. “Exactly,” the older man chuckles. “Would you say the same is true for you now?” “The honest answer would be yes and no.” The man sitting across from Oscar raises an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “When you live in that bubble with people that are, at their core, just as competitive as you are..” he trails off, contemplating how to phrase it. “Let’s just say it has an interesting way of showing you who your friends and your enemies are.”

“And has it?” Mick asks genuinely. “Shown you your friends, I mean?” Oscar takes a breath before replying. “I mean, of course. There’s Lando, y’know - as my teammate, he’s always my greatest competitor but also the only one who can kind of understand where I’m coming from. Logan, also - you know we grew up through the lower Formulas together. He and I have been teammates in the past too, so it’s nice to have an old friend on the grid. Y/N too, y’know - we’re pretty close in age, and she’s really been there for the highs and the lows.”

“We’ve seen you interact with Logan and with Lando, but what would you say your friendship with Y/N is like?”

“I mean, we work together, so a lot of it comes from that,” he shrugs, not wanting to slip up and say the wrong thing. He signed up for the spotlight, but putting his assistant, his friend there without discussing it with her would be unfair.

“We work in tandem, you see - she takes care of everything outside the car, while I take care of everything in it.”

The interviewer hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a dynamic that requires a lot of trust, I’d say.”

“Maybe, but she hasn’t let me down even once in two years.” For a moment, for a fraction of a second it feels like Oscar’s eyes glance in the direction of where she’s standing with the tech crew, but it must be a trick of her imagination. They’re standing in the shadows, and it’d be a stretch for her to think that he could even see her in the first place. “Not even once.”

“Would you say your friendship complicates this dynamic, or simplifies it?”

“Helps, definitely. Easier to get out of media duties that way,” Oscar jokes. Mickie laughs easily at that, before focusing on the subject once again.

“Really?  You two don’t face any challenges with that? I’d imagine with the other drivers that that boundary is a bit more clear, what with them being your competitors and all.” Oscar lips press together, his tongue subtly running over his lower lip to soothe the pressure. “I think maybe if it were someone else, then it would be. But not with her.“

Looking over to the armchair, he can see that the other man looks surprised. 

“You seem quite confident in saying that.”

“I am,” he says bluntly. Why wouldn’t he be?

“And what inspires that confidence?”

“Just who she is, really, “ Oscar answers with a shrug. On the other side of the room, Y/N waits for a signal that never comes. 

What the hell is he doing? 

This was most definitely not one of the agreed topics for tonight’s show.

“How do you mean?” Mickie can’t help but inquire.

“I mean the obvious thing to say here would be to say that we’re close in age,” Oscar starts, gesturing. “But it really is more than that. I’m lucky to work with an immensely talented team, especially with all the fresh talent McLaren’s brought on board this year.”

“Of course.”

“But as for her in particular…” The blonde seems to think for a minute. “I think, that in order for someone to understand how we work, they’d have to understand how she works,” he muses.

“And how’s that?”

“She’s like the light you need in order to see. With her perspective, her input,  the fundamental way in which she operates - things make sense. She makes things make sense, really - whether that’s logistically, or with the car, and especially with me.”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even know what he’s thinking. The tricky thing about this cozy lounge setup that he’s seated in is that, from her,  it looks nothing like the studios and press conferences and media pens that they’re used to. Here, there are no clambering reporters, no flashing cameras, no microphones shoved in his face.

It’s easier to forget that the world is watching.

“It’s a bit unfortunate that the fans watching this don’t get to see her as we do,” he says with a serious expression. “Because it’s hard to describe her personality, or even just her role if you haven’t existed in her orbit. There’s this… this spark that ignites with everything she interacts with.”

Oscar finds himself thinking of everything that happened on the road so far, every step that led them here. All he knows for certain is that his confidence is not unfounded. Sure, things were… less than ideal at the moment, but they’d go back to normal. He knew they would, he was sure of it.

Not so much because Oscar had a plan, but rather because he didn’t know what to do if they didn’t. They’d figure it out - that was their thing, after all.

He’s disturbed from his thoughts by the voice of another.

“A spark?” the older man prompts with a smile.

It’s almost frustrating when the words don’t come fast enough to keep up with his mind.

“When you’re expected to function at the highest levels, there’s a lot of moving parts underneath the shiny cover that no one really tells you about. Y/N has this intuitive sense and this unlearnable skill to take apart the most challenging complexities and put them back together into something wonderful.”

The studio falls silent. 

“She sounds lucky,” Mick offers sincerely.

Oscar laughs dryly. “The way I see it, I’m the lucky one. McLaren certainly is.”

Mickie’s expression is open, leaving the silence available for him to fill.

Oscar, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how they ended up here. Talking about Y/N wasn’t a preplanned part of the segment, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s surprisingly nice to talk about something besides how hot it is in the car or the rabbit food  athletes have to eat or his opinions on the championship standings. 

And it probably doesn’t hurt that talking about her is really quite easy.

“It’s an incredible gift to meet someone who complements each of your strengths and your weaknesses completely. And if that person happens to be someone who can somehow challenge you and support you simultaneously, then there’s nothing more that I need.”

The boom mic edges closer to the stage setup, careful not to enter the cameras’ parameters of visibility. There’s a shift in tone that’s apparent, something curious and authentic that seems to wash across the studio and everyone in it.

“Will we be seeing this dynamic duo in action anytime soon then?” the interviewer asks, charismatically guiding the conversation towards its conclusion.

“I sure hope so. Maybe you guys can finally convince her to do some of those McLaren challenges with us,” Oscar smiles widely, that dorky, lopsided smile of his. “Trust me, I tried, but somehow she won’t let me drive her around for a Hot Lap. Wonder why that is,” he shrugs, before both men share a laugh.

A hand in the dark silently signals for them to wrap up, indicating that the segment must come to an end.

“Well then, Oscar I see we’re being told to wrap,” he smiles, glancing over in the direction of the crew. Both men begin to go to stand up, extending their arms for a friendly handshake.

“Thank you so much for joining us once again. As always, it was a pleasure, and I know I speak for everyone here at Down Under Daily when I say that we can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.”

Oscar nods, smiling, giving the man a firm handshake. “Thank you.”

Once the segment wraps up and the overhead lights come back on, the studio buzzes with the hum of activity. Uniformed crew members unpack and disassemble various machines and setups, beginning to clear out the studio. Oscar glances around, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Y/N, who stands a few feet away, chatting with one of the technicians. Her laughter cuts through the noise, bright and genuine, making something warm unfurl in his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, a casual attempt to draw her attention. When she turns, their eyes lock, and for a moment, the world around them blurs. There’s something in her expression that sends a jolt through him, a flicker of recognition and a hint of something deeper.

“Hey,” she replies, her smile easy but layered, like they’re sharing some inside joke that only they understand. He shifts slightly, suddenly a bit squirmish under her undivided attention.

Not that he gets squirmish, of course. Oscar is the picture of cool and collected.

As her eyes scan him, she notes the slight flush of his skin, the way the muscles of his face are tense ever so slightly. It’s honestly a bit refreshing to see someone who isn’t always unfazed by it all, she thinks. She does her best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“That went well,” she comments, her voice carrying a lightness that contrasts with the tension simmering beneath the surface. It’s the kind of praise that makes him feel seen, but also a bit exposed.

“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he responds, his tone sincere. Oscar isn’t one of those fools who thinks the whole orchestra runs around him. Even  if it did, his mother didn’t raise him to be any bit unappreciative to everyone who works behind the scenes for his successes. He knows she’s more than just an assistant; she’s the one who keeps everything in motion, the anchor in the chaos.

Her gaze lingers on him, and for a moment, the air between them thickens. He’s acutely aware of the distance that’s very much there, yet it feels charged, like static before a storm. “I just do what I can,” she says softly, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear—an action so simple, yet watching it feels intimate.

Oscar looks away.

The moment stretches, and he senses a shift, a palpable tension that neither of them is ready to address. Memories of their almost-kiss hang between them, unacknowledged yet ever-present. He wonders if she feels it too, this strange blend of familiarity and hesitation.

The silence is uncomfortable in a familiar way, like the awkward pause that occurs when you can’t decide who should speak first. Oscar even opens his mouth to try to say something - though he’s not sure what - Y/N beats him to it.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, her tone casual, but he detects a deeper curiosity behind her question.

“I guess just… figuring things out,” he replies, glancing down for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. There’s moments in the midst of the whirlwind of fame and fortune where it all truly feels surreal. Young Oscar always aspired to go fast, to push himself to the limit, to win, but this?

The spotlight, the admiration , the respect, the expectations? It was almost overwhelming, a heavy medal hanging around his neck that he’s still not used to wearing. Especially with the number of people that work day and night to give him a fighting chance at making his childhood dreams into reality, there’s no greater expectation than the one Oscar places on himself.

“Trying to get it right still, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding, her eyes searching his. There’s an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race, as if she’s peering into the part of him he keeps to himself. Briefly, he wonders if she can read his thoughts sometimes.

Like on one of those teleprompters they use for broadcasts and award shows.

He wants to say more, to delve into this strange thing swirling between them, but the words feel stuck, caught in a web. The awkwardness between them might as well be a loose screw in his car - keeping him at the edge of his seat as he navigates the clunkiness that replaces the flow he’s used to. “I keep waiting to get used to it, but it never seems to happen,” he says finally, hoping to keep the conversation light.

“True,” she agrees, her smile faint but genuine. “But you manage.”

“Most of the time,” he admits, letting out a soft laugh that feels half-hearted, both playful and tinged with something meaningful. Oscar may have grown into this suave, clever, mature personality that he’s recognized for, but there are times when he still feels like the lanky teen with the acne and the too-short hair that climbed into a Formula car that very first time.

As the crew clears the set, Y/N steps back, her focus shifting to the flurry of activity around them. Oscar feels the space between them widen, the moment suddenly dissipating like a whisk of smoke. He wants to reach out, to anchor her back to him, but the tide of reality keeps them away.

“Ready to head out?” she asks, her voice interrupting the stream 0f his personal thoughts. 

“Yeah,” he replies, an uncharacteristic hesitation slipping into his tone. He can feel the warmth radiating off her, and the longing rises within him, a familiar ache that refuses to fade. He elects to ignore it, in favor of using long strides to catch up with her quick ones to follow her out into the hall.

Oscar steals a glance at Y/N, her profile illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and he wonders what it would be like to bridge that gap. He recalls what it had been like the last time he'd been in such proximity to her - felt the warmth of body, the coolness of her breath, the ghost of her lips. For now, though, he settles into the silence, allowing the moment to hang between them.

Y/N leans against the small counter in her hotel room, the yellow light from the lamp seeming to warm the place. She stares at her phone, buzzing with a handful of messages, but her mind is tangled in thoughts of today’s interview. Hearing him casually mention her, smiling as he spoke, had left her feeling a mix of pride and confusion.

As she pours herself a cup of hot tea, she replays the almost-kiss in her mind - the way his breath had caught for just a moment. It felt like a line had been crossed, but they hadn’t addressed it. It hung in the air between them like an uninvited guest, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin the good thing they had.

Her phone buzzes again, the sixth time in the last half hour. This time, however, the contact name reads: Oscar. “How’s your evening?”

“Trying to figure out the chaos that is my notes,” she replies, glancing down at loose pages, and spiral books that are splattered across the coffee table.

“You always have chaos in your notes. It’s part of your charm.” His teases, knowing full well that no matter how chaotic her notes were, they were somehow still always loads better than his hurried scrawl.

The tone of the conversation feels light, teasing, friendly - but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t feel like something more—an unspoken understanding that neither of them wants to acknowledge.

“Charm, huh? I prefer to think of it as organized chaos.” She takes a sip of the warm herbal tea, now having cooled down to the temperature of her liking. It’s grounding these little rituals - which reminds her that she still needs to change out of her work clothes, maybe shower and do some skincare…

“Sure, if that makes you feel better,” he replies easily. Even just reading the words, she can practically hear the laughter in his voice. 

A moment later, he decides to add, “I was just about to put something on the TV. You in?”

In a hotel room just a ways down the hall, Oscar’s heart rate increases. What the hell are you doing? He chides himself. He feels stupid - things were already weird, and now he probably just made them even weirder.

Relax, he has to tell himself. This isn’t new - in fact, this is normal. Like before - friends, just relaxing together after a long day of work. Airplane games of monopoly, friday happy hours, movie nights - all of this was perfectly normal. Right?

Thumbs still hovering over her keyboard, she hesitates. The idea of sitting together, sharing popcorn and laughter, sounded nice, but there was the lingering possibility that things would be strange instead.

Instead she types out, “Maybe. What are you watching?”

She could use a night off, after all.

“Something mindless, one of those cable shows they have on this thing. You know, to balance all the brainpower we exert during the week.”

She had to admit, he did make it sound inviting.

“Mindless does sound good. I’ll join you.”Oscar props himself up a bit better, leaning back on his elbow. The smile on his face is lit up by the blue light of his phone screen as he reads her reply. Forcing himself out of the unexpectedly comfortable position he’d evolved into, he gets up, phone in hand, before starting to work to make his hotel room look a tad more presentable.

He was not having a repeat of this morning.

He types out a reply. “Great. I’ll set it up.”

There is a brief pause, and he wonders if he should clear the air, just in case. He really does just want to have a relaxing evening with her - it had been a long time since they last had the chance. Conjuring up some courage, he types out another message to her. “So, about the interview…”

Reading that, Y/N’s heart races. She didn’t want to overanalyze his words, but it was impossible not to. She decides to go for the safe answer. “You did well. Really.” So maybe he was just overthinking it. The praise lifts some of the weight off his chest.

“Thanks. Felt good to share some insights. And the part about you… well, it was true.”

Had he really meant all of it?

There’s a fluttering sensation in her stomach. “Just doing my job.”

“No, really. It means a lot to me. You’ve been here through so much of it.”

The sincerity of his words has her forgetting this tension for a moment, allowing it to slip into the back of her mind. They had a rhythm, a friendship built on shared experiences, but now it felt precarious.

“I just want you to succeed, Oscar,” she tells him, words honest. “That’s all.”

“And you’re doing your part brilliantly. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. He’s said those same words a thousand times before, but for some reason, this one makes her heart skip. She shifts her weight, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. 

“So, movie?” she suggested, wanting to steer the conversation away before she can get too caught up in her own messy thoughts..

“Right. I’ll get it ready.” 

Rustling the duvet to make it appear slightly less misshapen. One of his hands seeks the remote to see what’s on at this time, and tries to pick the most tolerable option. Happy with his choice, he stalk over to the other side of his room, the show in the background acting as welcome background noise.

He then pulls out two packets of microwaveable popcorn from the welcome basket that had greeted him when he checked into the room, popping each of them into the microwave so the snack would be warm by the time she arrived.

Y/N stands outside the door to Oscar’s hotel room, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Sure, she could use her emergency key card, but she decides that knocking feels less criminal. She knocks, and immediately the door creaks back to reveal his familiar face. His hair is mussed up, loose locks flopping to one side or the other. Her eyes are fogging with sleep, but  the smile he wears is warm and  sweet.

“Hey! Look who made it,” Oscar teases, stepping aside to let her in.

“Thought I’d save you from another night of mediocre cable,” she replied, a playful smile on her lips. 

She hopes it comes less nervous than she feels.

“Trust me, you’re in for a treat. It’s ‘Chef’s Disaster’ tonight. Guaranteed chaos,” he says,  leading her to the couch.

When she glances at the television that’s playing, she finds scenes of various chefs - forgetting ingredients, leaving the stove on too high,  accidentally dropping their dishes.

“Ah, the best kind of TV,” she laughs, settling in beside him. The pair of them end up on opposite sides of a generously-sized, two-seater couch. Her mind begins to whir, trying to figure out if she’s sitting too far, if it’s too late to scoot a bit closer, would that make things weirder? But when she looks over to Oscar, his relaxed figure sprawled across his side of the couch, the knot in her chest loosens a little. She allows herself to get more comfortable, curling up on her seat. Finally breathing a little bit easier, she allows herself to lean back against the cushioning.

The show flickers on, and they immediately fall into a comfortable rhythm. Y/N reaches for the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared, gathering a handful of pieces to then to slip into her mouth.

They watch as the chefs try to organize their chaos into something presentable, laughing as they watch one of the younger contestants put an unseasoned chicken into the oven.

What happened to salt? Pepper? Common sense?

In the darkness of the room, their faces are lit up only by the glow of the changing scenes flickering across the TV screen. With a subtly yawn, Oscar stretches his arms, before one coincidently drapes itself across the back of the couch, right behind Y/N’s shoulders. He can feel how her hair tickles the skin of his forearm, but it only makes him smile. He’d missed this - time together, the two of them. Life had a funny way of making people feel so close and so far all at once.

When she can’t help but giggle at someone who’d forgotten to put the lid on their blending before powering it on, Oscar can’t help but look at her.

Even at this awkward distance, even with her too far to touch - he feels lucky. He’d be happy to stay like this - to only hear her laugh instead of causing it, to watch her smile from the sidelines -  just to get to be in her orbit at all. 

He wonders if the world might stop spinning on its axis if that wasn’t the case.

His certainly would.

“Okay, chef,” Oscar said, nudging her. “What’s your go-to dish?”

Turning to glance at him, she can’t help but smile. Oscar’s smile is contagious like that, she supposes.

She hums, thinking over his question for a moment.

“Honestly? I make a pretty decent chicken alfredo. You’d be impressed,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Pasta, huh? Fancy,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her. His heart does a strange fluttery thing when she laughs. “The only thing I can make reliably is scrambled eggs,” he admits, chuckling.

“Hey, scrambled eggs are a classic! Hell, all the eggs I make end up scrambled. But you should branch out,” Y/N says with mock seriousness, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you cooking lessons sometime.”

“Deal,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. Raising his hands defensively, he adds, “But no promises on the outcome.”

As they watch the chefs struggle with absurd challenges, the initial awkwardness begins to fade. They exchange jokes about the contestants, their laughter echoing off the walls. They laugh until their stomachs hurt, adding in their own commentary until there are tears in their eyes and their cheeks hurt from laughing. “I actually hate you,” she wheezes, throwing her couch cushion at him. “My nonexistent abs hurt, you asshole. Can’t you be a little more considerate?”

He catches her projectile weapon with an exaggerated ‘oof’, defending himself. “I was just providing valuable insights, really.”

The silence that settles thereafter as they try to catch their breaths is comfortable in the way that graceful snowfall is - familiar and calming, peaceful.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked?” he asks, turning to her.

Y/N has to hold back a giggle, recalling a memory. She can’t remember how long its been since she was able to let loose like this. “I once tried to make soufflé. I think by the time I was done with it, it fell under the legal definition of what the pros call, ‘hazardous materials.’”

Oscar bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s a tragedy! You should’ve brought it here as a surprise.”

“I’m sure. Next time, I’ll bring my ‘signature’ dish,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

Tilting her head back, she lets her eyes slip closed for a second just basking in whatever this is. It’s difficult to think of the right word for it, but quite frankly, she doesn’t care. She just wants to bottle it up and keep it with her forever. Just as they start to find that comfortable groove, a sharp knock interrupts them. Immediately, they both lift their head to turn to look in the direction of the offending sound.

“You expecting someone?” Y/N asks, her heart sinking slightly. She tries to push the feeling away. “Who is it?”

“Probably someone who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘do not disturb,’” Oscar grumbles, shaking his head as he gets up to walk over to the door.

He stands up and walks toward the door, leaving Y/N to focus on the flickering screen. But her mind drifted back to the lingering tension between them, their easy banter feeling suddenly fragile.

She nervously fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Making sure she looks professional enough - and not like they were sitting a mere centimeter apart - she turns toward the door. Finally, he slides the pin aside, unlocking the door as he pulls it back.

“Who is it?” she asks him quietly.

There’s a pause for a moment, before Lando’s familiar voice calls through. “It’s me,” he replies, and Oscar seems visibly annoyed. Lando peers over Oscar’s shoulder, noting Y/N perched on one of the couches in the room.

Good, both of them were here. That’d make this a bit easier.

“You need to see this,” Lando tells them, careful to keep his tone even. Oscar nods, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow Lando in.

“Yeah, of course. Come on in,” she replies at the same time, making sure she looks presentable. Hopefully whatever Lando has to say will save her from whatever awkwardness was probably about to ensue.

Lando pushes into the room and instantly notices that the vibe is… something. It’s *very* obvious that he’s interrupted something, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

Interesting. He files the information away for later.

Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a news article pulled up on the screen.

“What is it?” Oscar asks, his gaze flickering between Lando and the screen.

Lando points to the small picture in the article, and Oscar’s jaw clenches, the muscle on the side of his face visibly pulled tight. Lando observes his teammate’s reaction, before he looks over to meet Y/N’s eyes. 

“You might want to read this,” he says gently, his voice low. “You’re mentioned in it.”

That doesn’t sound right.

“I- What?”

Lando briefly wonders what the likelihood is that the ground will physically swallow him whole. Or that he might turn invisible. Or anything that means he doesn’t have to explain this.

“I don’t-“ He cuts off, struggling to put his words together, sighing. “I don’t know how they got their information, but some of these details…”

Seeing Lando - normally smiley Lando - looking so painfully neutral despite the anxiety that flashes in his eyes, feels deeply unsettling. Like dark clouds at a wedding or an empty chair at a birthday party, seeing Lando like this feels ominous, wrong.

He hands her the phone, watching her as she takes it and begins to scan the text. Words and letters blend into a blur, her eyes reading through the article - speculation after speculation on her current health status and how she got hurt. It reads less like news and more like pure gossip tabloid rumors. 

There’s an odd sinking in her chest, some muscle winding itself tighter and tighter.

She can’t stop reading it, standing eerily still. Hidden amongst this clear violation of the privacy she’s held sacred for so long are some very specific facts that only Oscar and a select few other people should be able to know and recognize. 

“This is-“ she starts quietly, her breath hitching in her chest.

It’s quiet. “This is bad.”

Her eyes continue to scan the article, and her mouth goes dry. Even when she knows it’s all mostly bullshit, there’s still a part of her that feels a little violated, like there’s suddenly not enough oxygen in the room. This is her life - her past and her trauma put on display. The most traumatic years of her life suddenly available for the whole world to read about. 

She reads it yet another time, uselessly hoping for something to change, for the words to transform or dissipate like the final wisps of a nightmare.

“One has to ask—can you really call it a "dream job" when it lands you in the ER? Y/N L/N is clearly in need of a reality check. Whispers from insiders paint the picture of a young woman entangled in a life of chaos, fueled by impulsive decisions and reckless relationships. Is she simply a victim of her surroundings, or is there a more troubling narrative at play? Recently, Y/N was hospitalized with troubling injuries: extensive bruising and a suspected concussion, allegedly the result of a wild night that spiraled out of control. Sources suggest her aggressive tendencies may have exacerbated the situation, raising alarms about her behavior and its implications for McLaren. As Y/N navigates her tumultuous life, her influence over rising star Oscar Piastri comes into question. McLaren must now confront the uncomfortable truth: her erratic behavior could endanger Piastri’s career and the team’s reputation. The last thing they need is a scandal, especially when they’re striving for excellence on and off the track. The team's efforts to sweep this under the rug hint at deeper issues within their camp. Insiders are growing increasingly concerned that Y/N’s instability could tarnish McLaren’s hard-earned image, especially as rumors circulate. As Y/N begins her recovery, the pressure mounts on McLaren to manage the fallout. Fans and sponsors alike are watching closely, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Ultimately, the future for Y/N is uncertain. Will she take this opportunity to change her trajectory, or will she continue to spiral, jeopardizing not only her own future but also the stability of McLaren? The racing world waits with bated breath, knowing that every decision could have lasting consequences.”

Lando’s expression is sympathetic as he watches her pale. Something guilty settles in his gut - he knows he didn’t cause this, but he doesn’t know how to protect her from it either. Lando has always held loyalty so close to his chest - growing up famous at such a young age forces you to learn that lesson quickly.

It's easy, then, to understand why Lando is the way he is. He's known for his friendly personality - his charismatic charm and his easy laugh - but there are a select few which Lando considers his closest friends. Those are people he answers even in the middle of the night, the ones he’d fly across the world to be there for.

But Y/N is standing in front of him like the very ground  has been pulled from beneath her feet and he can’t do a fucking thing. 

“Um, it’s- it’s okay,” she stammers, voice shaky. She tucks her hair behind her ears again, but they were never loose in the first place. A fragile mask of calm slips over her face, a familiar trick she’s performed thousands of times before

“I can take care of this. I- I’ll take care of this.”

Her heart feels like it’s stuttering in her chest but she knows better than to show it. Taking a short breath, she whirls around to make a beeline for her office. She’ll need to make a few calls, send emails to various liaisons and communication personnel, maybe reach out to HR and PR too-

“Hey, hey, stop.” Oscar reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around his bicep, spinning her around gently to face him. His eyes are worried as he searches hers for something true. He’s seen her upset before, but now her face is pale in a way he’s never seen before.

“Oh, right,” she chuckles awkwardly, suddenly remembering. “Lando, your phone.”

She holds the phone with the article displayed on it for Lando to grab, but she eyes the device like it’s very presence is toxic. She chuckles, but the sound is high pitched and forced. “Sorry, almost forgot!”

Lando slowly takes his phone from her, his eyes flickering between his friends for a moment.

“No worries, s’fine,” he says carefully, his eyes not leaving her face. “Are you actually okay?” That’s a stupid question, you idiot.

“Me?” she asks, as if caught off guard. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine,” she answers, waving him off.

Oscars expression is stern, unconvinced - and he doesn’t bother to hide it.

“You seem a little, uh, upset,” he says delicately, his gaze flitting to her shaking hands. He immediately looks away, not wanting to draw any attention to it. He doesn’t want her to feel exposed.

“No it’s-” horrible, she wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, “It’s okay. I’m just trying to figure out what I need to do, that’s all.”

He hesitates, his brows furrowing at her attempts to downplay what’s happening.

“And your first thought is to go work?” he points out, a small hint of accusation in his tone.

It’s like she doesn’t even hear him.

“I’m going to fix this,” she tells him, giving both of them her most convincing smile, even as the corners of her mouth threaten to twitch downward.

Breathe.

And with that, she sees herself out of the room, already planning each action she needs to set into motion. She’s going to fix this.

a/n: thank you for reading this far! feedback means a lot to me. your likes, comments, reblogs, asks - that's the only way i can tell if you like the story so pls pls pls! all the feedback!!!

[spectralscathath]

Tour Guide to the Unexplained- A Gravity Falls Fanfiction

Chapter 2- Blue Light Fright Night

Stan and Ford didn’t expect much when getting shipped up to Gravity Falls to stay with estranged family. Not a party-hating ghost, not new friends and new enemies, and definitely not the Mystery Shack and their lying uncle who runs it. But with Ford’s smarts and Stan’s punching, there’s no mystery they can’t solve.

Ao3 Link

"I can't believe it," Ford scowled as he restocked the snowglobe shelf. Little mini Mystery Shacks mocked him as they sat beside glass-encased Waddleses. How did Grunkle Dipper even get question mark-shaped glitter for these? "Gnomes on our first day- then we don't see jack!"

"Maybe we fought the gnomes so well they told the rest of the forest to be scared of us?" Stan polished the body parts jars on the other side of the aisle. 

"I think you're giving yourself too much credit."

"Hey-" Stan kicked him in the shin. Ford kicked back without thinking, focused on trying to get all the snowglobes lined up perfectly. "Maybe we're just looking in the wrong places? It's only been three days since gnome-pocalypse."

"We're not calling it 'gnome-pocalypse'. It was only a hundred or so gnomes. An apocalypse would require at least a thousand." He was rounding down as well. 

"Fine. What are we gonna call it then?"

"Uh-" 

"So are you guys coming to the party tonight?" Carla interrupted as she came around the corner, her nametag pinned to the front of her pink shirt and a flower in her hair. 

"Party?" Ford looked at her, setting down the final snowglobe. 

"Yeah!" Carla beamed and did a little dance in place, hopping from one foot to the other. "It's at the high school gym- the local sheriff sets up one every month for all the teens and it's super fun. You should totally come and meet all my friends- it'll be awesome!"

Ford's breath caught in his throat, an indescribable mixture of wonder and excitement filling him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. A real invitation to a real party. They'd never had one before! And here Carla was, offering an invitation like they were normal . Like it didn't matter that Ford had six fingers and Stan had the school record for detentions. 

"Yeah, we'll definitely be there!" He blurted out immediately, unwilling to let the opportunity of a lifetime slip by. "Wow, this is so exciting- Stanley, our first party!"

"Have you… never been to a party before?" Carla's face fell. 

" Pfft - of course we have," Stanley jumped in, waving a hand. "He just means in Gravity Falls, yunno. Jersey parties are really different so-"

"Oh, totally. But get ready, a Gravity Falls party is gonna knock your socks off!" Carla was all smiles again. Ford could see the reason why Grunkle Dipper had her as a cashier, she had a very upbeat demeanour that seemed popular with the tourists. The way she talked to them, able to get them smiling and laughing and telling her stories about their travels, she made it look so easy. Like talking to people was easy. Ford wondered how she did it. 

Maybe if he asked, she'd let him observe and record her interactions for science?

"Earth to Sixer-" Stanley poked him in the face and Ford spluttered, swatting at his hand. "You okay in there?"

'I'm fine!" Ford looked around and adjusted his glasses. "Where'd Carla go?"

"A tour finished so she's gone to do her charm offensive on getting them to buy junk," Stan shrugged. "Are you sure you want to go to a party?"

"Yeah!" Was that even a question? "Don't you? Why did you lie to Carla? We've never been invited anywhere before."

"Listen, Fordsy," Stanley put an arm around his shoulders. "When people invite you to do stuff you haven't done, you gotta pretend you have, or else they'll think 'wow, what kinda losers are those guys, never going to parties'. You wanna be in the in-crowd, go along with the popular decision if you don't wanna stand out."

"How do you know that?" Ford scrunched his nose. It seemed unnecessarily complicated, wouldn't honesty be the best policy in any conversation?

"Just makes sense," Stan shrugged. "Now Carla won't be thinking, 'those guys must be lame', she'll be thinking we're cool dudes back home."

"But we're not?"

"Yeah, but you shouldn't say that." Stan patted his back. "Do you really wanna go?"

"Of course! This is a chance to meet the wider population of Gravity Falls, and I bet with all the anomalies in this area, I won't even be the weirdest thing anyone's seen today!" He'd always wanted to go to a party. Like a regular kid. Maybe Gravity Falls wasn't so bad. 

"You're not weird," Stan scowled. "If any of them give you trouble I'll hit them."

"Stanley, mom said one week. You still have three more days." Ford reminded him. 

"Blegh-" Stanley stuck out his tongue. "Now we just gotta convince Grunkle Dipper to let us go."

"Why would we need to convince him? Surely he'll understand how important this is to our preteen social development."

#

"Not a chance." Dipper didn't even look up from the pasta sauce he was stirring. 

"What?!" They yelled in unison, Ford looking like all his dreams crashed and burned and Stan slamming his hands on the kitchen table. He hid a wince. Toughen up, Stan. Be a man. 

"It's a cop party, no nephews of mine are going to a cop party." 

"Grunkle Dipper, do you have something against cops?" Stan had to ask.

"I didn't agree to more questions."

So the answer was a yes. Cool. 

"But Grunkle Dipper-" Ford whined. "We've never been to a party before and we told Carla we'd be there. Please?"

"Okay, here's the thing." Dipper turned around and pointed his pasta spoon at them, pajama pants and a threadbare sweater on. It was silly. It had a puppy on it. "Grenda throws these parties once a month for all the teens in town, and because everyone's kids are there, all the townsfolk treat it as a social event. It's loud, annoying, and seriously not worth your time."

"But we could be party rocking in the house tonight." Ford said it with all the sincerity in his soul and Stan wanted to know how his nerd of a brother had found out about songs that weren't from the 1700s or whenever.

"What?" Dipper's face scrunched before he shook it off and went back to mixing pasta sauce and spaghetti. "Let me explain: I don't 'like' or 'trust' most of the people in this town, and the feeling's pretty mutual. Why don't you just have a party here? This is a house, it can- it can 'party rock'."

"Can we invite people?" Ford perked up.

"No."

"Grunkle Dipper!"

Stan hid a snort-laugh as he watched, studying Dipper more so than Ford, head tilted to make sure he didn't miss anything. There had to be a magic word of some sort to get him to agree. He didn't trust the townspeople, hey?

"If you don't like anyone here-" he cut off Ford's rant about the 'psychosocial development of twelve-year-old brains' before it really got going- "then the smartest option is to bring us into town when everyone's gonna be there." Stan shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world, playing up the casualness. 

Dipper looked at him with suspicion. "What's your game, kid?"

"That way you can point out who to avoid and who we should keep an eye on so we can recognise them. I mean, we're gonna need to go into town eventually, might as well get it over with."

"... Alright, that's not a bad point." Dipper nodded, brow furrowed. Stan gave him an absolutely angelic smile, well practiced for when mom busted out the camera for family photos, and Dipper's brows furrowed harder.

"So can we go? Carla invited us as well, it would look bad if we went back on our word. And you said you wanted us to have a good summer."

"Okay, okay, okay." Dipper groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, serving up three plates of spaghetti as he joined them at the table. "You can go, but if Sheriff Grenda asks about me, tell her I'm dead or whatever."

"Yes!" Stan punched the air. "Yes!"

"What?! How is that the conclusion of this?" Ford looked stunned, mouth hanging open.

"Your brother drives a hard bargain, kid," Dipper pointed with a plastic spork. All his cutlery was plastic and Stan thought it was weird, no metal, no forks. But  it was the durable, colourful kind used for camping. "Eat your pasta and we'll get this over with."

Stan shoveled the pasta into his mouth, enjoying the taste of victory. Whaddaya know, for once Stan got them the win. That was never gonna happen again.

#

Ford's excitement only grew as they drove into town, staring out the window and trying to see anomalies in the dark. Stan kicked the back of the empty passenger seat and tossed his head back with a groan. "Why are we listening to BABBA?" 

"Because I love this song." Grunkle Dipper turned it up a notch and sang along, badly. Ford winced at the falsetto of "Dis-co Girl! Coming through! That girl is you!"

"Get me outta here!" Stan's next kick used both feet. "If you're listening, save me, Paul Bunyan!"

"Calm down, Stanley, we're almost there!" Ford could see all the cars parked outside the high school, and a giant RV with GIDEON across the side that towered over everything else. "What's that?"

"First people in this town you need to avoid: Gideon Gleeful and his lil b-" Dipper growled, cutting himself off before continuing- "Bud Gleeful. Gideon's the worst, they're just a creepy pair. Just got back from touring America with their fake psychic act."

"Okay." A fake psychic. Just like their mom. Ford missed her, she promised she'd call every week but it didn't feel like enough. "Anyone else?"

"Preston Northwest is about your age and a piece of work?" 

"I thought you'd have more enemies." Stan grinned mischievously.

"Those are just the child ones." Dipper hooked an elbow over his seat and looked back as he reversed into a parking space, wearing one of the baseball caps from the gift shop with a pine tree logo. His denim jacket and pajama pants clashed terribly with his 'dog playing basketball' sweater. Ford hadn't seen him wear the same sweater twice, but they all looked decades old, handknitted, and far too irrational for him. Perhaps he had some ancient sweater collection?

"How many adult enemies are there?" Stan unclipped his seatbelt as the truck stopped. 

"Don't you have a party to go to?" Dipper waved a hand at them. "Have fun and don't die or something. I'll be here when you want to leave."

"Thanks, Grunkle Dipper!" They chorused and hopped out, Stan racing around to Ford's side of the truck. 

"You ready?" He took Ford's hand for a second, and Ford snatched it back, trying not to think about his hands. It was gonna be fine, this wasn't Jersey. People here would like him. 

"Race you in?" He offered instead, shoving his hands into his pockets just in case. 

"You're on." Stan grinned and took off. He might have been better at punching, but they were both pretty fast from a childhood of dodging bullies. Usually it was a tie. 

This time Ford got there first by mere seconds and paused, able to feel the thud of the music inside in his ribcage. Of course- soundwaves were physical, that only made sense. He was about to lift his hand from his pocket before hesitating. His first party. Did he want to start off with a bad impression?

Stan caught up and pushed open the door. "After you, Sixer."

Ford smiled gratefully at him, stepping in as the smell of dry ice and cheese flavouring hit him. The gym was big, all the bleachers tucked away, and while there was no disco ball, someone had set up projector lights that sent rainbow shapes and lazers everywhere. The room was surprisingly full, and Ford had a sinking feeling they arrived late. "Were we meant to be here earlier?"

"Don't worry- it's cool to arrive late, I heard." Stanley stuck by his side as they stood in the doorway. "Should we find Carla? She's the only person we know here, I think."

Ford had a thought. A bit of a mean thought. Did he want his first impression on people to be Stanley as well? Not that Stanley was bad, Ford loved his brother more than anything, but his nicknames might give people the wrong idea, and the other way around- Maybe Stan would want to meet people without having to talk for Ford as well?

"We can split up, do a sweep on each side, and meet on the other end of the gym." He felt guilty saying it, but he couldn't help being interested in what would happen if he made introductions on his own for once. It was an experiment. 

"See who spots her first so we can talk to her, good idea." Stanley nodded. "Race you there."

He took off through the crowd to the right, leaving Ford to his own business and taking the other. He didn't move as fast as Stanley, keeping his hands in his pockets as he avoided the major crowd and skirted the edges. His head swivelled like an owl's as he looked around, trying to see anyone who might be safe to talk to. 

He saw something sparking near the wall and immediately remembered the various dangers of electrical hazards, resolving to check it and report it to the nearest grown-up- oh, but if that was Sheriff Grenda, Grunkle Dipper said not to talk to her-

Ford didn't really want to do what Dipper said, but… what if he got angry at them for disobeying?

More sparks. He blinked, regaining his focus, and sped up, noticing they were tucked beside the folded bleachers, hard for people in the crowd to see, hidden by the fog of dry ice. 

There was someone there. Two someones. Ford drew closer, in time to see a blowtorch light up and be lowered to a piece of metal. 

"What are you doing?" He blurted out, the two teenagers looking at him. It was hard to make out clear details in the dark hall, but the one leaning against the wall held a plastic bag of sliced bread, and the boy on the floor had a welding visor over his face. 

"Hi there!" The boy stood and flipped his welding mask up, revealing round glasses, a thin face, a long nose, and a friendly smile. "I'm Fiddleford McGucket, local inventor."

"You're an inventor?" Ford smiled. "Me too! I mean- I'm branching out into the field, I'm currently working on a magnet gun."

"Well that sounds mathematically feasible, I reckon." Fiddleford offered a hand to shake, absolutely covered in bandages.

Ford stared at it. "Uh- won't that hurt if I touch it?"

"I've got an un-nat-ur-al-ly high tolerance to pain, doctors say," he laughed, singsonging each syllable in a playful Tennessee twang. "Don't mind the bandages, all from my thingamajig building."

Ford hesitated just a moment longer before he pulled his hand from his pocket and shook Fiddleford's hand.

"Why, that is a mighty fine case of polydactyly you got there." Fiddleford complimented. 

"Th- thanks." He stuttered, in utter shock. No one had ever actually complimented him on it before. Most people didn't even know the term. "You too- I mean- not polydactyly, just thanks?" 

"Thank you kindly, and this here's my friend, Tad."

"Hi, I'm Tad Strange." The deepness of the other boy's voice had Ford reeling. Was that natural? He looked barely older than Ford, with shiny black hair and very neat clothes. He had to be the most nondescript person Ford had ever seen. "Would you like some bread?"

"Uh- okay?" Ford took some of the offered bread. Plain white sliced, from a grocery store. Was he meant to eat this without anything on it? Well- okay, he could try. "Do you carry this everywhere?"

"Of course. It's my emergency bread."

"Oh. Cool?" It didn't seem normal, but maybe it was for Gravity Falls? His hypothesis was correct, he was an anomaly in a town of anomalies! He could fit in here! "I like your voice."

"Thank you." Tad smiled. Ford liked his diction, how deliberately he spoke, how even his voice was. It seemed so calm. "It broke when Tad Strange was seven."

"If we're talking about weird body things, I'm double-jointed?" Fiddleford offered and pulled out a pair of black goggles, a matching pair to the ones Tad had pushed up into his dark hair, hard to see. "Here, put these on, I'm working on improving Tad's phone. I reckon I can really spruce it up."

"Tad Strange would like jetpack capabilities." 

"Yeah! I'd love to help!" Ford's smile was so wide it hurt at the edges, so excited he feared he may explode. Not that it was scientifically possible. 

Was this how easy making friends could be? 

#

Stan plunged into the crowd like a superhero charged through henchmen, keeping his head cocked in case he heard Ford get in trouble. He had to be always ready for bullies, Ford could have all the hope he wanted, as long as Stanley protected him. 

He squinted through the dark, not able to see too much in the weird party lights, lots of pinks and blues and kinda dark. He didn't really like his glasses much when he had to wear them, they were nerdy and made bullies throw stuff at him. He could see most things anyway, just blurry, and as long as he could get the gist he could work with the rest. 'Sides, no point in him having glasses anymore, amount of fights he got in.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he swung without thinking, catching air. Carla's laugh was bright and cheery. "Easy, tiger! Didn't mean to surprise you."

"Sorry." Stan mumbled. He wasn't as noble as some of the boys back home, who didn't hit girls. Seemed insulting to Stan, if they wanted to fight they should get to fight. But Carla wasn't like the girls back home, he didn't want to hit her. 

"C'mon, my friends are this way." Carla took his hand and pulled him through the crowd. Her hand was warm around his, and she didn't even hesitate. Known him four days and still took his hand. Wow, she was nice.

She pulled him to the snacks table, piled high with chips and chocolates and one very big lady in a cop uniform serving punch. Carla let go of his hand and spun around to face him, her skirt twirling as the lazers made the sequin design on it sparkle, and Stan suddenly got why Shermie used to get so weird around girls. Holy Moses.

"Stanley Pines, meet my besties!" Carla gestured at the group. One girl was spinning in place with an eye closed, two boys were having a string cheese war that looked more like flirting than fighting, the other girl was filming, and the last boy was cheering everyone on. "That's Shandra, Susan, Daryl and Edwin, and Tyler! Everyone, this is Stan!"

"Hi." Stan nodded at them, getting a nod back from the girls and Tyler. 

"And- wait, where's your brother?" Carla looked worriedly at him. "Didn't he come?"

"Course he did! Just went to scope out some of the party," Stan played it off, even as he looked around. What if Ford was already getting picked on? "He'll catch up."

"Okay, cool!" Carla looked up over the crowd and brightened. Didn't seem possible but she managed it. "There's Bud! Hold on, I'll get him." She dove into the crowd again, leaving Stan with her friends and no idea what to do.

He grabbed a random bar of candy to eat to avoid having to make conversation, shoving it all in his mouth in one go. He accidentally made eye contact with the cop and looked away too fast. That was probably suspicious. What was it Grunkle Dipper said? Don't speak English to cops?

Carla came back to the group with a wave, her hand entwined with another boy's. "Okay everyone! I need to introduce you all to my new boyfriend, Bud Gleeful!"

Stan was real dumb. Shoulda seen that coming, obviously Carla had a boyfriend. Little weird that it was one of Grunkle Dipper's enemies, but it was Stan's own fault that he got all weird just because the prettiest, nicest girl he ever met thought he was worth being kind to. No point being disappointed because he got stupid. 

"What a delight to meet you all," Bud smiled cheerfully, his brown roots visibly showing through white hair dye. Stan turned his back and started eating more candy.

The other teens offered a chorus of uninterested 'hi's, still focused on their cheese fight. Looked like Blubs was winning, if the goal was to spray as much cheese as possible in his mouth? 

Stan was starting to get why Grunkle Dipper didn't bother with the town, he was not impressed so far. Except by Carla, but she worked in the Mystery Shack so she didn't count. 

"And who might you be, lil fella?" Bud drawled from behind Stan, which had his hackles up and his fists clenched, ready for a fight. Bud was twice his size, but so was Crampelter, and Stan had won that last fight. He wasn't weak and useless anymore, he wasn't the wimp that cried after just one hit, not now that he could fight.

He turned around, feet shifting into the stance from his boxing lessons as he looked up at the bigger teenager. "I'm Stan. Who wants to know?"

"Why, just 'lil ol me'-" he spoke it like a quote- "it's merely just- well, small towns, I tend to know near-everyone. But I don't recall seeing you here before."

"He and his twin are Dipper's nephews and they're in town for the summer," Carla smiled, clinging to Bud's arm. "They're here all the way from New Jersey, how cool is that?"

The other teens looked a bit more interested hearing that, looking at him like he was an oddity, something to gawk at. Was this how Ford felt? All the time? 

"Yeah, what about it?" 

"That's quite a distance," Bud whistled. "Would I be right in assuming you're staying in that old shack in the woods?"

"Where else would I stay, smart guy?" Stan mouthed off, focus narrowing to who else might be coming in for a sneak attack. Crampelter had friends, maybe Bud did too. "My Grunkle lives there."

"Yes, a so-called man of mystery," Bud clicked his tongue. "He's quite a shameless fraud, wouldn't you agree?"

"Coming from someone who's dad is a fake psychic?" Stan aimed for what would hurt, because it hurt when he thought about it. "What a liar, bet you can't trust anything he says."

Everyone gasped. But they didn't know. He loved his mom so much, so much , but she lied so much, just because, even when there was no reason. She didn't mean any harm, but… 

"Hey now, that's not true!" Bud snapped, getting angry, and Stan regretted saying anything when he saw the look on Carla's face. She looked at him like he said something bad. He did say something bad. He was a bad kid, everyone knew it. 

What was he doing? He was ruining the party, he was making everyone upset, and Ford wasn't here, Stan needed him and he wasn't here, and why did he instantly make it a fight? Because Dipper said not to trust someone?  What was wrong with him?!

He had to get out of here. He pulled a smoke bomb from his pocket and hoped and prayed he got it right- got something right- and threw it at the ground. 

It shattered with a flash and a POP! and sent up a cloud of smoke and sparkles that had everyone coughing, and Stan bolted. 

He ran, sticking to the walls and the shadows, passing a supply closet as he looked for Ford. Where was his brother? 

He was rounding the bleachers when he heard Ford laughing. At what? He slowed his steps, peeking around the corner to see Ford holding a blowtorch and soldering something, laughing and talking with two other boys. He looked like he was having a great time. Without Stanley.

Stan felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, fists clenched tight and shaking with that energy he got in fights. Ford had some sciency name for it that Stan couldn't remember right now. 

Ford was fine. He found people who liked him. Just like he wanted. Stan was tempted to go over there and say hi- but if Ford wanted that wouldn't he have come and got Stanley? Ford always wanted to show off cool things he found, he dragged Stanley all over Glass Shard Beach, so this must mean Ford didn't want to show off his new friends. 

Stanley could take a hint. Heck- Ford would probably be better off with friends who were smart like him. Stan just caused trouble, everyone knew it. 

He backed away, genuinely considering sneaking out to go sit with Grunkle Dipper. Even if that meant listening to girly pop music. 

Actually-

Nah. Still not desperate enough for that. He still wasn't sure if Grunkle Dipper even wanted them around, Shermie had been the one to push for the trip. Even brought the bus tickets. 

Everyone else kept making decisions and Stan kept having to deal with them. He scowled and found the supply closet again, because at least Carla and Bud wouldn't find him in here if they wanted to get mad at him for causing problems. 

He closed the door behind him and shoved over the nearest thing, sending janitor supplies clattering to the ground as he yelled, just to get the energy out. "I never even wanted to come here! Ford did, not me!" 

He turned and punched the drywall. "I hate stupid parties!"

The drywall cracked. Cracked more. Fell away to reveal a big boxy safe hidden behind the plaster, rusted and covered in dust and cobwebs. Stan had a suddenly cold feeling, a looming sense that he'd done something very stupid. 

A girl's voice whispered in his ear.

"Me too."

#

The screaming started as Dipper chewed a pen, brainstorming new attractions for the track. He caught the smell of ectoplasm in the air, able to recognise it instantly, and shoved open the door to his truck, sprinting towards the gym as a pale glow began to surround the building. 

He could hear the panic of the townsfolk,  his focus set on the door as he raced the ghostly energy, trying to get in before it cut off the gym from the outside world. The boys were still in there.

"No, no, no, no-!" The ectoplasm covered the door right as he reached it, the handle chilling his fingers as he failed to yank it open. He kept trying to jiggle it open before he switched to banging his fists against the glass. "Kids!"

"My lil Buddy-boy!" He heard from behind him, Gideon Gleeful running in his bedazzled suit, his white pompadour bouncing with each step of his wingtip shoes.  Dipper ignored him and braced his shoulder against the door, trying to shove it open. Now wasn't the time to start fighting his nemesis. Maybe? He could multitask.

"Hold on, son!" Gideon panicked before turning to the crowd, hand on his bolo tie. "Everyone, please! I need you all to step back and let me use my psychic abilities! Step back, everyone!"

Dipper felt himself step back before he could snap at Gideon to back off, watching Gideon raise his hand to the building.

"Spirit! I compel thee! Release our children and be banished from this place!" Gideon's voice boomed out bombastically, bringing his TV psychic bravado to the real world.

Nothing happened.

Obviously.

"Oh no! Something's blocking my powers! My innate abilities! That I definitely have!"

"Yeah, yeah," Dipper snarled and pulled a glove from his pocket, yanking it on as he stomped to the door. "Hey, ghost! Open up!" 

He drew back his fist and punched the door, the ectoplasmic coating jiggling like jello before it started to wobble faster, energy building up. Bad sign.

Dipper had enough time to swear for real before the ghost blasted him away from the building and into darkness.

#

One minute Ford was helping solder an ignition wire, the next the walls were glowing and tables and chairs were floating in the air. Snacks were flying, aimed at people's heads as screams filled the air, and Tad had to struggle to hold onto his bread as it threatened to fly away too. 

"What's happening?" Fiddleford clutched his hands together, rubbing at his spindly fingers. The rest of the party were freaking out, some rushing the doors, others trying to hide, some freezing in fear. 

Ford? Ford felt alive . This was it, the weirdness he knew was here. 

"Hold on, I may have an answer-" but the diary was so uncool-looking, what if his new friends didn't want to be his friends because of it? 

"Ford!" That was Stanley! "Ford, Ford, Ford!"

"Over here!" He responded without hesitation, because that was his brother calling and Ford would always answer. 

Stan rounded the bleachers and skidded to a stop, worn sneakers nearly losing traction on the smooth gym floors. His eyes were wide and he almost looked scared. Couldn't be true though, Ford had documented Stan's phobias and fear responses. Paranormal activity wasn't meant to register. "It's bad! It's really bad!"

"Wait-" Ford adjusted his glasses. "Stanley, did you do this?"

"I didn't plan on it, Sixer!" Stan flipped a switch into anger, shoulders hunched defensively. "I think it's a girl! I heard a voice!"

"A voice? So not only is this clearly paranormal activity of some form, but it's aware enough to manifest vocals and self-identify? Fascinating!"

"Uh, Ford? Who's this?" Fiddleford tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh!" He'd completely forgotten they were there, so caught up in the supernatural. "Fiddleford, Tad, this is my twin brother, Stanley. Stanley, these are my friends, Fiddleford and Tad."

"Hi. I'm Tad Strange. I like bread."

"Yeah, great to meetcha, the nerd book , Ford, what does it say ?" Stan made a swipe for Ford's jacket, where he knew the book was. 

Ford backed up. "I don't- I haven't looked yet!"

"Why not?!"

"Because-" laughter, vicious and dark, rang out around the room, and Stan whirled, hand out like he was protecting Ford and his friends. Ford stared as Carla lifted into the centre of the room, her eyes glowing white from within and her arms outstretched.

She spoke with a voice that wasn't hers. "Sixty years I've watched you all party! Now tonight will be your last!"

"Hey!" Sheriff Grenda stomped forward and pointed at her. "You're under arrest for possession! Get outta that teenager!"

"Adults," the ghost scoffed, crossing Carla's arms. "You threw this party? Then I'll throw you!"

Carla pointed as Grenda was enveloped in pale light before she seemed to- rip apart? But it looked wet? But there was also no blood or anything, her matter was just rearranged? That was so cool! Oh- and bad too, right.

"Sheriff!" 

"Where did she go?"

"It turned her into a disco ball!"

It had. Ford had never seen a disco ball with a face before. He wanted to take so many notes.

"Back behind the bleachers, c'mon!" Fiddleford dragged both the twins to the corner he and Tad were hiding in, sitting them down as they hid in the shadows. It wasn't much of a hiding spot, but the panicking crowd likely drew more attention. 

"Poindexter!" Stanley grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "You gotta focus! How do we stop this?"

"Okay." He pulled out the diary and started flipping through, face burning. He hoped Fiddleford and Tad didn't laugh at the sparkliness of it. "Ghosts, ghosts, I know I saw something- here!"

He cleared his throat and began reading the sticker-covered page, googly eyes pasted onto a drawing of a happy ghost.

"Dear diary,

I fought a ghost today! It was crazy! He was really cute, definitely dreamy, but he was also a major meanie who wanted to destroy town, so dateability: questionable. 

Good thing I saw some of her ghost hunting tapes, otherwise I wouldn't have kicked ghostly butt! I bet this one would have counted as a Category 5, so kind of a ghost wimp. Lemme list the categories before I forget! Womp womp!"

Ford scanned through the categories before he found it. "This must be it! 'Category 8: Haunted Buildings- these ghosts are stuck in one place and make reality go all whoa! But they can't actually hurt people permanently and you can totally work things out with them by talking about their feelings, awwwwww' and then there's a heart drawn in? And people hugging?"

"We're all gonna die," Stan decided. 

"Stan, you have to tell me how this happened. Maybe there's a clue there."

"I just hit a wall." Stan shrugged, looking away. "Same as always."

"Perhaps we should ask the ghost what it wants?" Tad offered as a solution, looking abnormally calm while Fiddleford was having a silent freak out next to him, rocking back and forth and carding his hands through his hair. Ford felt a bit bad to see him so nervous, he must not have encountered an anomaly before. 

"I think it's pretty easy to tell what the ghost wants, Strange." Stan snarked.

"I WILL DESTROY ALL THE PARTY SPIRIT THAT HAS EVER EXISTED!"

"Yeah, that bit's obvious," Ford agreed. "It says that Category 8s aren't unreasonable, so maybe we can convince it to leave everyone alone?"

"We have to get it out of Carla," Stan agreed and took Ford's hand. Ford blinked at him in surprise. Stan must have really been scared, they hadn't held hands in a while. His fingers were trembling. 

Ford didn't let go this time. Not if Stanley needed it. He squeezed his twin's hand and pulled them both out of hiding, the room nearly empty from everyone being turned into party favours and posters and stuff. Carla's body floated, items swirling around her like a tornado, her flower missing from her hair. 

"Hey, ghost!" Ford yelled as he and Stan stepped up. "We wanna talk!"

"Oh?" Carla's body raised a hand and they were both floating. Ford felt Stanley's hand go tight in a death grip, hard enough to hurt. His fear of heights, Ford had to do something. The ghost continued, making Carla's face angry in a way that didn't look right. "What do you possibly have to say? Here to defend parties like everyone else?"

"I- we wanted to ask why you're unhappy!" Ford blurted out. "We want to try fix it!"

"How can you fix it? You were invited to this party like everyone else, I bet you've been to lots of them, everyone has! Everyone but me!"

"No we haven't!" Ford tried to convince her. "Tell her, Stanley!"

"I-" Stan's eyes were scrunched shut, face pale and sweaty. "We haven't! Look at us, we're losers! Who'd invite us anywhere?!"

Everything in the gym stopped spinning. Then it all crashed to the ground, Stan and Ford included. Stan immediately dropped to his knees and pressed his face to the floor, while Ford landed a little steadier. He placed a hand on Stanley's back and looked up at Carla, or, more accurately, at the ghost that had appeared, holding Carla up by the shoulders.

She looked like a normal teenager in retro clothes, just with thick glasses like Ford. 

"You're losers like me? But you don't look like it!"

Ford held up his hand and wiggled his six fingers. "I'm definitely a loser. And my brother…"  they both looked at Stanley, currently muttering 'sweet Moses, I love you ground'. 

"But if you're losers, then why are you at a party?" She scowled and adjusted her glasses. "Especially when one of you hates them."

"Huh?" Ford looked at Stanley, feeling betrayed. Stanley didn't like parties? But he was the one who convinced Grunkle Dipper, and said they'd been to lots to Carla, and-

And, Ford suddenly remembered, dodged the question about wanting to go in the first place.

"Stanley?"

Stanley looked away and swiped his nose with his wrist brace. "Whatever. So what if I do?" He pointed at the ghost. "Why do you hate them?"

The ghost gave a very big sigh and Ford braced for backstory. "No one in this town ever invited me to anything."

"Even all of the parties that were meant for everyone, I would get an anti-invitation. An unvitation ." The ghost floated just above the ground, looking sad.  "So one day, I decided that I would ignore my unvitation and go to a party meant for everyone."

She tilted her head. "Unfortunately, that party was to celebrate Gravity Falls' Annual Heavy Object Tossing Competition, and a safe landed right on me."

"That can not be a real thing-"

"It's real!" Sheriff Grenda, in disco ball form, yelled out. "I've won it eight years in a row!"

"Okay…?" Ford shook his head, resolving to ignore that. "So you've been here ever since?"

"Yes. I've watched people party for sixty years here!" The ghost began to turn red and catch fire. "And still! No invitations!"

"What if we invited you?" Ford offered.

"Or Carla!" Stan blurted out. "Carla over there, you just possessed her. She's super nice and will invite anyone. She invited us, for cryin' out loud."

"Oh. Okay." The ghost floated over to Carla, sitting on the floor staring blankly into the middle distance, hugging her knees to her chest. "Hi Carla! Can I come to this party?"

"Uh…" Carla looked over at them, frazzled and ruffled. Ford nodded as hard as he could while Stan gave her very emphatic thumbs up. Carla looked back to the ghost. "Sure...?"

"Great!" The ghost snapped her fingers and everything went right back to normal. People turned back into people, Grenda was no longer a disco ball, and the music started up again. "I've always wanted to go to a party! Whoo-hoo!"

"Can I ask you a million questions about being a ghost?!" Ford asked now that the danger was gone, pulling out a spare notepad and pencil, not noticing Stan walk off.

#

Stan picked up Carla's plastic flower and held it out to her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure?" Carla accepted the flower, putting it in her hair. "I think my whole worldview just changed."

"Yep." Stan hesitated, fidgeting with his wrist brace. "I'm sorry I said mean things to Bud."

"Oh. Well- thanks, but I think you need to apologise to him, okay?" Carla smiled at him and stood up, brushing off her skirt.

Stan nodded and scuffed his shoe against the floor. "I will."

"Thanks. You're a good kid, Stan." She patted his shoulder. "And for the record: I don't think you're a loser, you or your brother. Jersey doesn't know what they got."

"Kay." Stan agreed because how was he meant to argue that? Not when Carla was smiling at him like she believed it, like she wasn't so cool. "Thanks, Carla."

"Carla!" Bud shoved through the crowd, flowery shirt looking a bit rumpled. "Are you alright, dearest-darlingest?"

"I'm fine, really!" Carla beamed, taking Bud's hands. "Stan and Ford saved me."

"I can see that." Bud shot Stan a filthy look. 

"Hey, Bud." Stan shoved his hands into his pockets, having to drag the words out of himself. He didn't like apologising much. Usually it didn't help things. 

"Can I help you, Stanley?" He made it sound utterly frigid. 

"Sorry for what I said about your dad and stuff. It was mean." Stan looked away, looking at Ford, who was introducing the ghost to Strange and McGucket. At least he was having fun. 

"I… suppose I'm also sorry about what I said about your great uncle. It was uncalled for." Bud tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Perhaps we should call a truce?"

"Sure. Truce." Stan stuck out his hand, too late realising it was his braced hand. 

Bud took it, squeezing way too hard and making the bones hurt. Stan didn't flinch and dug his nails in as an answer. 'Truce'. Sure. When Carla was around, at least.

"Yay!" Carla did a happy dance. "The power of friendship wins again!"

They both put on a smile for her, immediately shooting daggers at the other the moment she wasn't looking. Looked like they'd be hating each other in secret. Stan could live with that.

"I'm gonna go check on my brother." Stan yanked his hand back and walked off, already sick of Bud Gleeful. He was joining his Grunkle's rivalry on the side of his Grunkle. 

#

They found their Grunkle Dipper snoring in the back of his pick-up truck, having one of those old people naps he usually had in his armchair. Ford poked his face with a pencil, not expecting him to bolt upright and immediately fall out of the truck with a surprisingly girly scream.

"Augh! Dipper down! Dipper down!"

"Grunkle Dipper, we met a ghost!" Surely he saw the building glow, right? He'd believe Ford now!

"Huh?" Dipper rubbed his head, accidentally showing off the birthmark on his forehead of the Big Dipper constellation. He picked up his cap and set it down, blinking blearily up at Stan and Ford. "You what a what?"

"Met a ghost. Fought her, invited her to a party, whole shebang," Stan yawned. "Can we go home now?"

"I made friends!" Ford already had so many plans. "Can they come over for a sleepover tomorrow? They already called their parents and asked!"

"Sure and sure?" Dipper dusted off his pajamas, surprisingly dirty for a nap in his truck, and Ford noticed something.

"What's that glove?"

"Glove?" Dipper looked down before he noticed the blue glove on his right hand. He made a weird face before he pulled it off. "Uh, it's a- a compression glove? Yep! That thing! For my old man arthritis. Flares up sometimes. 'Cause I'm old."

"Aren't you fifty-seven?"

"I'm whatever age a senior's discount at the movies is," Dipper snarked, and Ford scowled. That felt sorta illegal. Definitely unethical.

"I like your moxie, Grunkle Dip," Stan complimented as he clambered out of the back of the truck. "So did you see any of that?"

"Any of what? I've been sleeping." Dipper blinked innocently.

"Oh, come on!" Now Ford really had to find proof of the supernatural. Time to build a gnome trap.

He reached for Stanley's hand again, resolving to talk to him later about stuff. Stanley squeezed his hand back, smiling at him before he yawned again. 

Ford yawned in response. Okay. Tomorrow. They'd talk tomorrow. Stanley shouldn't have to feel like he needed to hide things, not from his brother. 

Mystery twins forever, after all.

[catastrfy]

more grease for logan and wade!

(nope, sorry, not the greasy tits type. mea culpa)

i love that we got "you're the one that i want" from the movie grease for logan and wade (and the odyssey)

but pls consider "all choked up" from the 1972 grease play

i've put it here with logan singing the bostwick part and wade singing the demers part, but really, i think it could work either way.

so without further ado:

[Logan]

Well I feel so strange

Well upon my word

Now my brain is reeling and my

Eye-eye-eyesight’s blurred

Well, I tremble a lot I'm nervous and I'm hot

Uh-huh, I'm all choked up

Well there's a fire alarm wailin' in my head

And my circulation cries “condition red”

I'm in a cold sweat, my t-shirt's all wet

Uh-huh, I'm all choked up

Oh, baby-baby-baby, take my heart, before it breaks

My knees are weak and my backbone aches

My hands are colder than ice

My throat is locked in a vicе

Come on change my pain to paradise

Well there's a fever heat runnin' through my skin

Don't you hear me knockin', oh, won't ya let me in?

You know I'm your fool

Ah, so don't you be cruel

Uh-huh, I'm all choked up

[the Deadpool corps]

Now listen here!

[Wade]

So you're spinnin' round in a dizzy spell

It's a situation I know prettty well

Well, I been there too, so I feel for you

Uh-huh, I'm all choked up

[the Deadpool corps]

And further more!

[Wade]

So you're down and out, you're against a wall

And you say that I'm the one that did it all

Well I'm sure you're sincere; it gets me right here

Uh-huh, I'm all choked up

Oh baby, take it slow and don't complain

My poor heart just can't stand the strain

I can cure your disease

Come on and say pretty please

Take your medicine down on your knees

[Logan]

Got a fever, a hundred-four fahrenheit

Need your lovin', can I come over tonight?

Feelin' low down, my equilibrium's shot

Give me the tranquilizer you got

Well baby take my ring, 'cause you're my match

[Wade]

Well, I still think there's strings attached

[Logan]

You're writin' my epitaph

[Wade]

Well, that's just tough and a half

[Logan]

You're gonna make me die

[Wade]

Don't make me laugh!

[Logan and Wade]

Well, I might forgive what you put me through

'Cause I do believe you really love me too

I look in your eyes, the sufferin' dies

Uh-huh, I'm all choked up

[the Deadpool corps]

Hey, hey, hey, yeah

[Logan and Wade]

I'm all choked up

[the Deadpool corps]

Hey, hey, hey, yeah

[Logan and Wade]

I'm all choked up

[the Deadpool corps]

Shoobe-doo-bop

Shoobe-doo-bop

Shoobe-doo-bop

Ah yeah

[Mary Puppins]

*bark!*

link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4v8BUcqnSUU

[wornouteggman]

X-Men go to Disneyland for the First Time

first post! tag along for more delusions, asks are always open -alex

Cyclops

not just the group dad or the paranoid leader but a secret, third, worse thing

this guy has a stomachache the whole day you can't convince me otherwise

has carrots in his backpack?! and trail mix?!

yeah laugh it up until you're standing in a disney line for 45 minutes and you start getting peckish- oh nowww you want to appreciate him

please do not put him on that stupid Pinocchio boat ride he will puke

gave everyone a map at the beginning of the day and is exceptionally stressed that he's the only one with one at the end of the day

Jean

half of her job is making sure Scott doesn't walk into a pole and the other half is making sure no one gets lost

SHE MAKES SURE EVERYONE HAS A "it's my first time" PIN

all the people around her is overwhelming- not just in a powers way but in a general sensory overload way

likes the classic stuff, loves the snow white ride

she's not too invested in things like disney but she likes doing the touristy stuff upfront (they're popular for a reason right?) which is why she's the first to buy a set of mickey(minnie?) ears

her favorite part of the day is watching the fireworks with Scott, letting herself get almost misty-eyed as she listens to the swell of music, Scott's arms wrapped around her securely

Storm

certified churro enjoyer

weirdly enough loves the dumbo ride?

"Ororo. You can literally fly why do we have to go on th-" "Party of six please"

get her ass away from star tours, she will have a panic attack

the one who pulls up games to play during wait times. she is comically bad at charades

likes the parade!! makes sure to have nice seats on the sidewalk to watch it happen!

a part of her inner child is healed going around disney enjoying the day with her weird mutant family

Rogue

she does a little dance in her seat at the end of the haunted mansion ride with all the partying ghosts (she gets excited to see which ghost is hitchhiking with her) (she loudly whispers the entire intro to the haunted mansion word for word to gambit every time they go on it

her and jean are the only ones to get mickey ears, Rogue going for one of the dessert-related ones (I'm going to project a little bit and say she gets the churro ears)

takes photos with every single character she sees

silly photos with gambit in front of the disney castle

incredibly cranky when it comes to long lines!! her and scott teaming up and eating trail mix from his bag from boredom (Scott picks out the m&ms and gives them to her while he eats all the nuts and granola)

Gambit

HIS FAVORITE RIDE IS INDIANA JONES IDCIDC

okay him and Rogue would have way more fun in california adventure but I fucked myself over and wrote Disneyland so now I have to suffer the consequences of my actions

he's sooo pretentious about the quality of the beignets

competitive teacup ride, him and rogue are teacup spinners

he really likes Batuu and the star wars stuff in general, I can see him liking the ronto wraps

HATES the millennium falcon ride if he's not the pilot. will skulk.

#stealfromcorporations

a little sizeable pang of homesickness in the chest as he walks through the New Orleans Square, which is specifically modelled after the french quarter

Logan

free him from this hell

"oh but he secretly enjoys-" no he doesn't.

barely made it past security, as the... you know... adamantium fused to his bones make the sensors go off

jean steps in and says he's got several joint replacements. it's humiliating (for him)

I get the vibe that he's scared of the peter pan ride when you're in the ship "flying"

bristles like a cat tbh

once he's sat at the hungry bear restaurant chowing down on a burger he calms down a little

complains about the california heat incessantly

would rather die than admit that a part of him looks at the families on the carousel and gets deeply sad❗️

[thisismyobsessionnow]

Oh? My thoughts on Honey (are you coming?)?

I don't necessarily hate it but I also certainly don't love it.

[birb-catto]

I love the wholesomeness of this fandom

Cale sacrificing himself:

TCF fandom: YES YES YEAAAH MORE BLOOD MOAAAR

DHB sacrificing himself:

TCF fandom: NOOOOOO baby don't die 😭

[sulky-cabbage]

The sukugo fight can't get animated any sooner I'm craving sukugo tiktok edits

[icewindandboringhorror]

I still very loathe the Media Trope of ‘’cold genius man doesn’t feel emotions and never has relationships... UNTIL.. one random relatively bland Preddy Woman comes along and warps his entire personality and ability to think, his heart has grown and his seeming asexuality has evaporated, he is now Normal :)” or whatever like... AS a walking generic hermit archetype myself.. we would NOT act like that .... just let people be detached weirdos in peace, you cowards .. OR, don’t bother to write one in the first place if you find us too boring to exist realistically in our natural state lol.. pathetic 

[notbroadwaybound]

I hate when I'm flatlining. like i am just so middle / unemoted / empty right now. I mean actually this is way better than being depressed although I'm worried that's where I'm heading

[ya-gurl-emily]

The awesome thing about college is that being there is miserable, and not being there is worse.

Nifty!