#dead links ofc

[antisocial-transfag]

Trying to mod the sims will really make you hate pinterest users

[starlight-and-whiskey]

AO3 Masterlist - RDR2

Under Your Skin (Ongoing) Never meaning to, you end up pregnant with Arthur Morgan's child. One child leads to a happiness you never thought you'd find, which in turn leads to a family Arthur never thought he deserved. Arthur/ (F) Reader

Weep and Call it Singing When tasked with bringing down Dutch's boys from the inside by Colm O Driscoll, the last thing you expected was to find yourself torn between two sides. Least of all, you never expected to fall in love with your rival's loyal enforcer. Arthur/(F) Reader - Word Count: 57,739

Seams are Torn When a hunting trip with Arthur goes bad, you find yourself holed up miles from camp and inches from death. This story takes place in the cabin you take refuge in, with fear burrowing into your bones, Arthur's honeyed reassurances, and the threatening icy embrace of death's hand looming at your shoulder. Arthur/(F) Reader - Word Count: 22,362

A Place to Rest Your Bones (18+ Chapters) Your momma always welcomed Dutch and Hosea to take refuge in your small house whenever they needed. As you grow older, you become a safe haven for Arthur. A life told through snapshots of these visits from a young child, until your final visit. Arthur/(F) Reader - Word Count: 59,102

More People than Ghosts Battered and bruised, when Eleanor escaped the infamous Blackthorne gang, she didn't expect to fall into the arms of Arthur Morgan. But can you ever truly leave your past behind? Arthur/OFC - Word Count: 24,068

Roping 101 Arthur finds himself a little...tied-up. After all, camp doesn't provide a whole heap of opportunities to really let go. A hotel room with a sturdy headboard does. Arthur/Reader - 18+ - Word Count: 1,342

Fever and Falling You left the Van der Linde gang years ago, but when Arthur Morgan falls ill, you're persuaded to return. Nursing Arthur back to health rekindles more than just old memories. Arthur/Reader - Word Count: 6,430

My Soul has Gone Away Arthur Morgan doesn't say a lot about Eliza and Isaac. He has nightmares about them a lot though. This is one of them. Word Count: 1,513

Don't Call Me Sweetheart Had a dream, wrote a fic. Aimless smut/fluff about reader getting hurt and Arthur caretaking...of sorts.... Arthur/Reader - 18+ - Word Count: 2,733

We Can't Change What's Done Your world is turned upside down when a crazed cowboy claiming to be from the past barges into your home. Your future in his past is told to you through letters from...well, from yourself. Arthur/Reader - 18+ Chapter - Word Count: 19,622

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[premamelody]

the passed down asgore hug is inescapable

[a-whole-lot-of-things]

i am Once Again in the process of making a playlist for my interests, so if anyone knows any of the songs that are played in the wonderful Dead Boy Detectives (and even better, which episode and at what point) and could tell me to assist me in my music quest, it would be greatly appreciated!!

[applebyraven]

Our Ours update!

Chapter 10: Nothing human is alien to me.

RIP Todd Anderson (1942-1961. Got asked too many questions by Charlie Dalton).

[beanbagbuddies4life]

I'm building a website full of fun free browser tools and games, does anybuddy have any recommendations? Games, tools, tutorials and stuff are all fair game as long as the barrier of entry is low

(Click this link at your own risk btw I'm actively building)

[old-web-cats]

Left to right, top to bottom:

"margrador" - Robyn

"we found out that margaret is not a she but a he! hence the new name: theodore. and you can adopt him (apparently newly neutered) right here: ottawa humane society - super pet merivale."

"rowr." - Robyn

"adopt theodore right here:  ottawa humane society - super pet merivale."

"are you really going to take that picture?" - Robyn

"I *cannot* believe you are going to take that picture. I am going to get you."

Uploaded to Flickr on July 25, 2006, Taken on July 17, 2006

[coldshrugs]

⚠️ ♻️ 🤔 + ❤️ <:

:> thank youuuu (but i feel like. these are all repeats you've heard before LMAO)

⚠️Which wip are you most likely to finish or update next?

🧍‍♂️... i kinda want to see if i can write a short thing for modern au since that's suddenly taking up space in my head :') but currently all my projects are either pretty far from complete or just ideas that haven't been started yet.

♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP

okay, i'm not really actively working on this at the moment, but i was writing the first time estinio sleep together and i changed the beginning of it like four times. i can't figure out where to start it? the whole thing is not working and i think i need to think about what this moment means to them before i can approach it again.

🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

i keep mentioning the ShB patch convo, and that is high on my "want to write" list. I also want to write some introspective pre-msq io!!

[mochirialgworl]

WHAT IS GOING ON???

Why the hell is rob lowe on gmm???

y'all couldn't get anyone else? like Peppa Pig or smthn?

[dxrksong]

Not me selling ponies, changeling species commissions, and the occasional turtle so I can get music making equipment

https://ko-fi.com/dxrksong/shop

[dreadfuldevotee]

Im increasing sure this quote is from an interview Rolin did with immortal_daily on twitter, whos website is down and the article itself does not seem to have been archived on the wayback machine. It might only exist in screenshots atp. I just remember the quote being something about crafting a more classical romance and making them seem a bit softer in comparison to louis and lestat in season one.

i feel like im always coming up here looking for a quote but does anyone else remember that interview where someone (I think it was either assad or a producer, idk anymore) described louis/armand as a old hollywood romance or something along those lines. or did i hallucinate that, i'm starting to think it's the later

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Four

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — So, for reference, this fic is going to be "split-up" into sections of about 10 chapters per "era" of Oscar and Harper's lives. This is the Boarding School era. (YAY CONGRATS ON THE WIN OSCAR)

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

They sat cross-legged on the floor of Oscar's bedroom, backs pressed to the bed frame, the pregnancy test box torn open between them like the evidence of a crime. It felt different this time. Heavier. Too real. The plastic wrapper crackled in Harper's shaking hands, slick with sweat.

Oscar kept looking at her, barely blinking. His knees touched hers. His thumb made nervous little circles on his jeans, over and over like if he stopped, something bad might happen. His hoodie sleeves were shoved up to his elbows — the arms she'd seen tense when he hauled his kart frame or when he wrapped them around her in the middle of the night, after nightmares.

"You sure you wanna do this right now?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"We have to," she said. Her throat was tight. "We need to know how pregnant I am, right?"

He shrugged a bit and then nodded. 

She got up and disappeared into the en suite, the test clutched like a weapon. The door clicked shut.

Oscar sat perfectly still.

One minute.

Two.

She came out without looking at him and sat back down slowly. Placed the test between them.

A blinking hourglass stared back.

The room went dead quiet. No words, no breathing, just the faint hum of Oscar’s laptop still open behind them, some paused video of a race breakdown he didn’t care about anymore. They didn’t look at it.

They stared at the test like it was a bomb.

The blinking stopped.

The screen cleared.

Then the words appeared.

Pregnant | 3+ weeks

Harper made a noise — something between a gasp and a laugh and a sob — and sucked in a breath like she’d been drowning.

Oscar just stared. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. That little crease between his brows deepened and didn’t go away.

She spoke first, barely audible. “That’s... okay. So that’s more than a month. Before Christmas.”

He nodded slowly, numb. "Before it snowed, probably. I think that's how it works but...”

She turned her head toward him, her face pale, mouth trembling. “What the hell do we do now? I mean, we — we used protection. Every time. We were so careful.”

But she already knew.

Oscar looked like he’d been punched. He picked up the test with shaking fingers, held it too close, like maybe it would say something different. “Not… shit. No. Not every time.” He swallowed. “That one time. In the woods. When — when it was raining.”

She made a strangled sound and curled in on herself, pulling her knees up and hiding her face. “Oh my god. Oh my god. We’re so stupid. We’re so fucking stupid.”

He set the test down like it might burn him.

And then they just… sat there. Hearts pounding in the quiet. Sam was still down in the common room, watching the football, thankfully. They weren’t gonna be interrupted. Not yet.

Harper finally whispered, so soft he barely heard her. “What do we do now?”

Oscar wiped his palms on his thighs, blinking fast. “I think— I think we have to tell someone. My dad. My mum. Or— I don’t know. Mark? Someone older. Someone who knows what to do. Because I don’t. I have no clue what the hell we’re supposed to do.”

She nodded slowly, but her head kept bobbing like she couldn’t make it stop.

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t either.”

She slumped against him, and he caught her, arms stiff at first like he was scared to touch her. Then he pulled her tighter, and she let herself melt into him, like if she stayed still enough, she could disappear.

“My mum’s going to kill me,” she whispered into his chest. “The only reason she even let me come back to Haileybury was because the school in Switzerland didn’t appreciate my disastrous STEM grades. But now... now she’s definitely going to send me away. Some girls’ home or something. She won’t even look at me. And you—” her voice cracked, “you won’t even see me again.” 

Oscar froze — then let out this breathy, shaky half-laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “No. No, she won’t.”

“She might,” she said, voice cracking. “She would. You don’t know her.”

“I won’t let her.” His voice was firm this time. Small but certain. “You’re not gonna be alone in this, okay? I swear.”

She didn’t answer.

But she didn’t pull away.

And for now, that was enough.

—

They hadn’t planned to tell him first — Mark.

But something about the little meeting room — the scribbled race calendars on the whiteboard, the faint stink of oil and track mud on Oscar’s boots — made it feel like the moment was already happening. 

Like they were mid-crash and couldn’t steer out of it.

Mark was talking logistics — camp dates, tuning sessions, Belgium travel — when he paused. His eyes flicked toward Harper, quiet in the corner.

She was usually mouthy. Annoying. Always poking at him with weird questions about tire compounds just to watch him groan.

Now she was silent. Her hands twitched on her pleated school skirt. Her face was way too pale.

Mark’s brow furrowed. “Everything alright, kid?”

Oscar hesitated.

Then Harper said, in this too-small voice, “We need to tell you something.”

Mark blinked.

Oscar turned to face him properly, his spine going straight like that would help, like he could fake being older than fifteen and three-quarters. “Harper’s pregnant.”

The silence hit like a gut punch. Not shock — Mark didn’t do shock — but something worse. Like the air got sucked out of the room and nothing had been put back yet.

Mark leaned back, slowly, eyes jumping between the two of them. “Right.” He rubbed his face, then let his hand fall. “How far along?”

"Three-plus weeks," Harper answered, quoting the test. She still didn't know exactly what that meant. Why couldn't the test just tell her exactly how pregnant she was? It was weird. "We took the test last week. I missed my period over Christmas. And, uh — I guess." She glanced at Oscar. "We don't know what to do." She admitted. 

 Mark nodded. He didn't yell. He didn't flinch. He just looked... gutted for them. 

 "Are you alright?" He asked Harper, his tone more serious than either of them had ever heard. "Have you talked to a doctor yet?"

She bit her lip and looked down at her lap with a shrug. 

Oscar answered for her. “No. We haven’t talked to a doctor yet. That’s what we do next then, yeah?”

Mark nodded slower this time. “Alright. I won’t sugarcoat it. You’ve both fucked up. Big time. This is a huge deal.”

Harper looked down fast, blinking too hard, eyes glassy.

“I’ll help however I can.” He said, but there was something tense on his face. 

Oscar’s voice was small. “We know we've messed up, okay? We know.”

“You’ve got to tell your parents. Both of you. You especially, Oscar. Do you have any idea how pissed they'll be if they find out I've kept this from them?”

Oscar winced. 

“We will,” Harper whispered. “Just not today. Not yet. I’m... I’m really scared of telling my mum.”

Mark leaned forward, resting on his elbows. “Okay. Shit. I guess I'm glad that you at-least told me, then.”

Oscar exhaled. 

Harper’s leg bounced like it had a motor of its own.

—

Harper ducked into the bathroom, saying something about needing a second. 

The office door swung behind her.

Oscar fidgeted with the edge of a packet of race notes, fingers trembling.

Mark hadn’t moved. The silence had turned tight. Awkward.

Then Mark stood. Crossed the room. Closed the door fully with a soft click. When he turned back, his arms were folded and his face was hard.

“Oscar,” he said. Quiet. Sharp. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Oscar looked up slowly. “I obviously wasn’t.”

“No. You weren’t,” Mark said, voice still low but like it had claws now. “You’re fifteen. You’ve got the most important season of your life ahead of you. And meanwhile, you’re—”

“I know—”

“No, you don’t know,” Mark snapped. “You think this won’t affect your career? You think that this is just going to be all fun and dandy? This isn’t a movie, Oscar. This changes everything.”

Oscar’s jaw clenched. “It doesn’t change the fact that I can win races. That I want to be a world champion.”

“It changes how people see you,” Mark shot back, stepping in. “Sponsors. Teams. The press. You think the Red Bulljunior team is going to like this? You think Ferrari will look at you and not just see a teen dad?”

Oscar’s fists curled in his lap. “So what — I’m supposed to pretend it’s not happening? Tell her to— to get rid of it? Abandon her? Is that what you’re saying?”

Mark’s voice cut through him like a blade. “No. Don’t twist my words. I didn’t say walk away. I didn’t say abandon her. I’m saying wake the hell up. Because you’re not just going to be able to be a kart driver anymore. You’re a fifteen-year-old kid who’s about to be a dad.”

Oscar stared at the floor. His chest felt like it was full of wet concrete.

“I’m not leaving her to deal with this alone,” he said eventually. “I promised her that I'd stick by her, yeah?”

Mark paused, then sighed through his nose. “I know you’re not the kind of kid who'd do that. You’ve got a spine. But having a spine isn’t the same as knowing what you’re about to walk into.”

Oscar’s throat burned. “I love her.”

“I know,” Mark said, softer now. “And that’s why I’m so scared for you.”

Silence fell again.

“I’ll do both,” Oscar said. Quiet but solid. “If she keeps the baby. I’ll be present. And I’ll race. I’ll win.”

Mark just looked at him for a long time, eyes tired. “Then you’d better grow up fast, mate,” he said at last. “Because the second that test turned positive, you stopped being a kid.”

—

They sat on the floor again. Same spot as before — backs against Oscar’s bed frame, knees almost touching — but the silence was heavier now. Denser. Like the space between them was filled with invisible debris.

Outside, the sky was grey and close, clouds sagging low over the school grounds. It felt like the world was holding its breath — pressing down, waiting for them to crack.

Harper had one of Oscar’s karting hoodies on, her fingers buried deep in the sleeves. She stared at the wall like it might give her an answer if she waited long enough.

“So we have to tell one of our parents,” she murmured eventually.

Oscar looked over at her, then nodded. Slow, like the movement itself required effort. “Yeah.”

She didn’t look up. Just pulled her knees tighter to her chest and pressed her forehead to them. “I can’t tell my mum. Not yet.”

He didn’t push. He knew exactly what that meant — not just because of who her mother was, but because of what Harper became around her. Smaller. Quieter. Like she was always bracing for something that hadn’t happened yet. Like she lived half-flinched.

“I don’t even know what I want to do yet,” she whispered. “How can I tell her when I don’t even know what’s happening in my own head?”

Oscar’s voice was soft. “Okay. Fine. We don’t tell her.”

Her head lifted, eyes flicking to his in surprise. “Yeah?”

“I mean, you’ll have to eventually,” he added, a bit cautiously. “But I get it. I know why you don’t want to.”

She blinked slowly. “Right.”

He shrugged, staring down at his hands like they might tell him something. “So... I was thinking maybe I should tell my dad.”

Harper’s brows rose. “Really?”

Oscar nodded. “He’s solid. He won’t freak out. I think he already knows something’s off — I haven’t been calling as much.”

“Are you scared?”

There was a pause. A beat too long.

“Yeah,” he said. Quiet and real.

She reached out and squeezed his hand. Her fingers were cold. “I love you.”

“I know.”

Harper leaned into him, cheek resting against his shoulder. She didn’t say anything else for a moment, just breathed and listened to his heartbeat where her ear met his chest.

“We don’t have to do everything today,” she said eventually. “We only told Mark earlier.”

“No,” Oscar agreed. “I know. But I want to. I think I should.” He paused, then added with more urgency, “We have no idea what we’re doing, Harper. What if something’s wrong and we don’t know it? I don’t even know what kind of — like — appointments we need to make. Or what questions to ask. I tried Google, but it’s all medical and scary and confusing.”

Harper shut her eyes. “You’re right,” she admitted, her voice thread-thin. “You’re right. Okay. Call him. Tell him.”

—

Oscar paced the length of the empty common room, his phone clutched tight in one hand, thumb hovering over the contact that just read Dad.

Harper sat curled on the couch, arms wrapped around a pillow like it was a shield. She was trying not to watch him too hard, but her eyes kept tracking him. Every step. Every pause.

“I hope he doesn’t get mad,” she said softly. “Just... be honest with him.”

Oscar nodded, jaw tight.

Then he hit call.

It rang twice.

Then — “Hey, mate.”

Oscar froze for half a second. Swallowed. “Hey, Dad. You busy?”

Chris’ voice came through the speaker, a little fuzzy with bad signal. “Bit of admin, nothing urgent. You alright?”

Oscar moved to the window, staring out across the rain-dark courtyard. “Um. Yeah. Kind of.”

A beat.

“You don’t sound alright.”

Oscar let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it cracked on the way out. “No, I’m... I need to tell you something. It’s — it’s a lot.”

There was silence on the line. Not confused. Just quiet. Just waiting.

Oscar inhaled, then forced the words out. “Harper’s pregnant.”

They hung there. Exposed. Like he’d cut something open.

He stared at the window so long that the reflection blurred.

The line stayed quiet.

One second. Two. Three.

Then Chris said, calmly, “I’m assuming the baby is yours?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said.

“Okay.”

Oscar blinked. “That’s it?”

“No. But that’s what I’ve got for now.”

Oscar turned from the window. Harper was sitting up straighter now, the pillow hugged tighter to her chest, chewing the inside of her lip.

Chris spoke again. “Is she alright?”

“She’s... scared. We both are.”

“You sure you’re alright, mate?”

“I think so.” It came out thin. Not very convincing.

There was another pause. Then Chris’ voice came firmer. “Right, then. I’m coming to England.”

Oscar’s head snapped up. “Wait, what?”

“I’ll book a flight tonight. Be there in a few days.”

A breath.

“This isn’t something you two need to be sorting out alone. You’re just kids. Bloody teenagers — and this is a hell of a thing for you to be dealing with on your own.”

Oscar closed his eyes. His chest stuttered. “Dad, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” Chris said. “Because I’m your dad. And you’re my son. And because this, Osc, this difficult, rotten-part? This is when it's my job to show up, okay?”

Oscar pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Alright.” His voice broke. “Okay.”

“You make sure you’re looking after that girl, yeah?” Chris added, voice softer now. “I'll tell your mum; try my best to keep her calm, but expect a phone call, alright?”

Oscar turned to look at Harper.

She met his eyes, wide and searching.

“Okay. Thanks, Dad,” Oscar said, voice barely audible.

“I’ll call you when I land.”

The call ended.

Oscar let the phone drop to his side. He stood still, breath uneven.

Harper rose slowly and walked across the room to him.

“Well?” She asked, lip bitten red with anxiety.

“He’s coming,” Oscar said.

She exhaled — and then, for the first time all day, she smiled. Small. Tired. But real.

“Thank god,” she whispered, eyes wet and hands trembling slightly. “Was he mad?”

Oscar pulled her into a hug. “No,” he said into her hair. “Not mad. Just... disappointed.”

She winced. “That’s worse sometimes.”

“I know.”

He tightened his arms around her. 

—

Jane lay sprawled on her back across Harper’s bed, legs dangling off the side, face still half-covered by yesterday’s makeup. Somewhere beneath the duvet, her phone buzzed—ignored.

Harper sat curled in her desk chair, knees tucked to her chest, chewing the inside of her cheek.

She’d been quiet too long.

Jane cracked one eye open.

“Okay,” she said slowly, sitting up. “What’s going on? You’ve been suspiciously unfun for the past few days.”

Harper exhaled like her lungs were collapsing. “Promise you won’t freak out?”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “That depends. Is this about a secret sibling? Did someone die? Are you getting expelled?”

Harper stayed silent.

Jane’s face shifted. “Wait. Is this about Oscar?”

A nod.

“Is he okay?”

Another nod.

“You okay?”

A smaller, less convincing nod.

Then Harper looked at her. Eyes too bright. Lips pressed tight.

“You remember the other day? When I freaked out about my period?”

Jane nodded, slowly.

Harper gave a wry smile. “Yeah. Well — I’m pregnant.”

Jane stared. Blinked once. Twice.

Then she said, “No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

A beat of silence.

Then Jane blurted, “What the actual fuck, Harper!”

And just like that, Harper laughed — wet, shaky, half-hysterical — and started crying at the same time.

Jane flew off the bed and dropped to her knees in front of her. “No, no, don’t cry—I didn’t mean it like that, I just—you?! I always thought if someone here got knocked up, it’d be someone named ‘Isobelle’ or ‘Jazmyne’ with a ‘y’.”

Harper choked on another laugh.

Jane grabbed her hands. “You’re like… the good one.”

“I was trying to be.”

Jane groaned, dramatically thudding her forehead against Harper’s knee. “You are literally the boarding school teen pregnancy stereotype. I feel like I’m in a Netflix original series.”

“Shut up,” Harper muttered, smiling through tears.

“I’m serious. You. The broody Aussie boy sneaking into the girls’ dorm. The secret makeout sessions on the astroturf. It was all leading here.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Jane corrected, standing and wrapping her arms around her from behind. “And I love you. And we’re going to get through this. Even if I have to punch your mum in the face. Because I just know she’s going to be a cunt about it.”

Harper leaned back into her best friend and finally let herself breathe.

“Oscar’s dad—Chris—he knows. He was... I don't know. Calm. He’s flying to England tonight.”

Jane nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

“I don’t want to tell my mum.” She whispered. 

Jane kissed the top of her head. “Yeah. We’ll save that one for when we’ve got riot shields and a legal team.”

They stood in the quiet, Harper’s hands finally still.

And even though nothing was fixed, she still had Jane.

—

The next morning, Oscar was waiting outside the girls’ dorm before breakfast. Hands in his blazer pockets, hair still damp like he’d barely slept.

Harper blinked at him. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said. “But I’m here.”

She didn’t argue. Just fell into step beside him, shoulder brushing his.

—

He walked her to every class.

Even the ones they didn’t share. Even the ones on the far side of campus, through ankle-deep slush and biting wind. He waited outside Chemistry like a silent sentinel, tie askew, eyes down.

“You didn’t have to wait,” she said quietly as they left.

“I wanted to.”

—

At lunch, they sat side by side instead of across from each other. Oscar barely touched his food, but his hand rested on Harper’s knee under the table—steady, warm.

Jane raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Sam joked, “Why are you so clingy today, man?”

Oscar shrugged. “Dunno.”

—

In English, they shared earbuds while working on essays. Some soft indie track played low enough not to distract—just enough to fill the spaces between thoughts.

Harper rested her fingers on his wrist. He let her trace the rope bracelet on his arm without question.

—

Between classes, they didn’t say much.

Oscar carried both their books.

Harper tugged at his blazer sleeve while they waited for the bell.

They didn’t kiss. Didn’t hold hands.

But every part of them seemed magnetised; shoulders brushing, pinkies bumping.

—

After last period, she looked at him and said, “You really don’t have to keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This. Following me around.”

He gave a small, crooked smile. “I don’t really know what else I’m supposed to do.”

And that was the truth—neither of them did.

But for now, being near her was the only thing that made sense.

So he walked her to the girls dorms.

Waited until she stepped inside.

And only then did he let himself walk away.

—

Dinner was loud—trays clattering, voices echoing, and the sharp, mysterious scent of the school’s chicken surprise wafting from the kitchens.

Harper sat between Jane and Oscar at their usual spot at the end of the table. Across from them: Matt, Sam, and Alfie, already halfway through their meals, locked in an argument about whether a pigeon could realistically steal a car.

“You guys are morons,” Jane muttered.

“I’m just saying,” Sam insisted, “pigeons in London are jacked. They’ve got gangs. Wing muscles.”

Oscar grinned. “If I see a pigeon with biceps, I’ll give you a heads up to lock your car, yeah?”

Harper smiled faintly. Not fully tuned in, but grateful for the noise. For the normal.

She picked at her food. Not much appetite—just toast earlier, a few crackers at lunch—but now, surrounded by banter and noise, it was easier to eat a little.

Matt was telling a dramatic story about nearly being run over by a golf cart when Alfie leaned across the table and stage-whispered, “Harpy-girl. You’re unusually quiet. Finally realised you're dating the wrong guy?” He wiggled his dark eyebrows at her. 

Oscar rolled his eyes and gave him a mighty kick under the table. “Shut up, Alfie.”

Harper played along, if only to wind-up her usual steady-headed boyfriend. “Yeah. You know...it’s been a lot to work through.”

The table cracked up.

“Babe,” Oscar said, frowning at her. 

“Well,” she continued, “your hair when you first got here was a choice.”

Jane leaned in. “The mullet was honestly the most traumatic part of the year.”

“It was a phase,” Oscar muttered, grinning.

Harper let herself laugh. 

Oscar glanced at her sideways, smile quiet.

Later, after trays were cleared and the boys snuck off to raid the staff kitchen, Harper lingered at the table.

Oscar stayed too, their knees touching under the bench.

She looked at him. “Thanks for today.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I’m always going to show up for you. I swear.”

Her eyes shimmered. But she nodded.

And he didn’t press.

Because sometimes, just sitting in the noise with your person was enough to keep the hard parts quiet.

For now.

—

They were leaving French when they saw him.

At first, Harper didn’t recognise him; tall, neat jacket, hands in his pockets, standing under the old oak near the science block like he didn’t quite belong.

But Oscar stopped cold beside her.

And Harper looked again.

Chris.

Her stomach flipped.

Oscar said nothing. Just started walking toward him, slow and sure, Harper tight beside him.

Chris looked up. His expression was unreadable—not angry, not cold. Just… quiet. His eyes moved between them.

“Hi, Dad,” Oscar said.

Chris gave a small smile. “Hey, mate.”

Harper shifted. Arms folded across her chest. Chris looked at her properly now, and something in his face softened.

She managed a tight, polite, “Hi, Mr. Piastri.”

Chris nodded. Looked at them both again.

Then said, “Right,” and pulled them into a hug.

Oscar was taller now, but Chris still held him like he was eight years old. Harper stood stiff for a moment, stunned—until Chris gently tugged her in too.

And then it was warm. Solid. Real. Arms around both of them. Tight, but not crushing.

No words. Just the kind of silence that grounded you.

Harper’s shoulders dropped. She hadn’t even realised how high they’d been. Her cheek pressed to Chris’s shoulder, and behind his back, she felt Oscar’s fingers brush hers.

Chris finally stepped back.

“You two must be scared shitless." 

Oscar gave a crooked, breathy laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Chris nodded once, his eyes crinkling. “Right. Let me call your mum, tell her you're okay and that I'm here. Then we'll find somewhere to talk." He told them, and then wandered a few steps away. 

For a second, they stood under the oak, wind tugging at Harper’s hair, the cold nipping at Oscar’s ears.

He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together without looking down. “You okay?” He asked softly.

Harper swallowed. “Not really.”

Oscar nodded like he understood completely. “Me neither.” A beat. Then, still not looking at her, he said, “But we’re going to be okay.”

She glanced sideways. “You don’t know that.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I think... if we stick together, and we let my dad handle the hard parts...”

Harper let out a breath. Not a laugh, not quite a sigh—something quieter, heavier.

He turned toward her then, gently squeezing her hand. “I don’t know what's supposed to happen now. But I’m not, like, going anywhere. Yeah? I promise.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, and for a second, she looked like she might cry again—but she didn’t. She just nodded.

Then, from a few metres away, Chris called out, “Alright, you two—come on. Let’s get somewhere warm before I freeze my arse off.”

Oscar gave her hand one more squeeze before they let go.

They started walking together across the frost-hardened grass.

NEXT CHAPTER

[oldwritingm]

Thinking thoughts about these guys again

Creepypasta/MH - Things That Make Them Think of You

Characters: Jeff the Killer, Jane the Killer, Clockwork, Nina the Killer, Tim/Masky, "Ticci" Toby

Jeff the Killer

Violence. Specifically, committing it

I know that sounds bad, but he gets so high off of that stuff

The adrenaline rushing through his veins, the wild smile that comes to his face, the noise, the sights... it's euphoria for him

And when he reaches his peak, endorphins at maximum saturation, that's when he thinks of you

It's almost like he subconsciously asks himself if there's anything in the world that could make him happy like this, and his subconscious responds by conjuring an image of you

As if he couldn't get any happier, thinking of you just pushes him higher

This happens a lot...

He'll be killing someone, already over the moon, then he'll blast to Mars when he thinks of you

And he starts associating you with violence; even if you're the gentlest person in the world

It's the happiness it brings him that links it to you

Though if you're a psycho (affectionate) like him, there might be another reason he associates it with you lol

It just gets worse over time; eventually he can't even see other people committing violent acts without thinking of you

He'll be watching a horror movie, and blood will splatter the screen and he'll be like: Nice. Y/n's nice too. Y/n... <3

Jane the Killer

Quite the opposite of Jeff; it's the quiet moments that get her thinking of you

(my reasoning is confusing but I'll try my best to explain T-T)

And there are two reasons for this

One, because whenever she gets a moment to think to herself, her brain always wants to think of you first

Maybe it's just hunting that hit of dopamine it gets when she imagines your smile, or the way your hands feel in hers...

Or maybe it's just that it's become a habit for her to think of you so often, so it's second-nature that she does so when she gets the chance

But the second reason is that she loves peace, and you are her peace :)

She's a vengeful person with a lot of turmoil inside, so when her environment is peaceful, she tries to follow suit

She's just taking what she can get before she has to go back to hate and obsession

So she imagines the peaceful things in her life

Namely, you

Even if you're not a very peaceful person, she feels at ease when she's with you

So, when it's quiet, she thinks of you to quiet herself

Memories of forehead touches and holding hands are more than enough to fill the silence :)

Clockwork

Literally everything.

I’ve mentioned this in a previous post, but Clockwork will find the most random things that remind her of you

She’s got a very creative mind; she can find the subtlest of things that make her think of you

Oftentimes they’ll be disturbing things…. Like a dead animal or smth

But she gets a little smile when she thinks of you anyway :)

She’ll probably send you a picture of whatever it was that reminded her of you

So you’ll just get a text out of nowhere like:

[picture of a dead wasp] “thought of you <3”

After a while you’ll learn to just not ask

Because you’ll definitely get one of these texts AT LEAST every other day, if not every day

Sometimes they’re actually nice things though! Like a song or a pretty sunset :)

Or something she saw while shopping that made her think of you; she always makes sure to steal …obtain those things

And ofc she gifts them to you 😌

Nina the Killer

I think it depends on your aesthetic

To me, Nina is someone who’s very in tune with aesthetics

Even if yours is super niche, or it doesn’t fit under a specific category like “emo” or “butch” or even “clowncore,” she’s got it DOWN

And so it’s always things that fit your aesthetic that make her think of you

Maybe it’s a view: a dark forest, a bright sunset in your favorite color, a sunny park, an eerily empty sidewalk…

Maybe it’s clothing: pants, shirts, dresses, jackets… always the exact kind of thing you’d wear :)

Maybe it’s music: she listens to music like. All the time. So she’s definitely at least dipped her toes into a genre that’s so totally you

Or maybe it’s something miscellaneous: a pop tart flavor, a blanket, a picture, the color on a soda dispenser…

No matter what it is, you’re guaranteed to love it

She always manages to surprise you with yet another random thing perfectly suited to your aesthetic

And she’s always on the hunt for more >;)

If it’s something she can physically bring to you, you best believe she will though

And if you decide you hate it (you won’t, but maybe later when your aesthetic changes), you guys light a bonfire and burn it together :)

Tim/Masky

It’s a Polaroid picture of you

He’s not in the picture; it’s just you

The flash is on, illuminating you and leaving the background in dark obscurity

He took it himself one night when he was just enamored with the way you looked

He did it casually, just telling you to look at the camera

The rest was all you; maybe you smiled, maybe you threw up a peace sign…

Whatever you did, he felt it captured your essence perfectly

He stared at the photo for a long time after it came out, and he still stares at it frequently

He carries it deep in his wallet where no one can find it

He’ll pull it out when he needs to think of you, usually when he’s especially down

Which is pretty often, my boy is troubled :(

He’ll trace his fingers around the edges, remembering that night

Your voice fills his ears, your scent fills his nose, and suddenly he’s aching to see you in person again

And he will; he’ll probably call or text you soon :)

“Ticci” Toby

Honestly? Probably something super obscure related to some kind of inside joke between you two

I’ll paint an example

Maybe you two were in the kitchen together, and you wanted him to get out the milk for you

But you ended up calling it a “mug of jilk” instead of a “jug of milk”

Toby, of course, bursts into laughter

He teases you for ages afterwards, calling milk “jilk” and always pointing out jugs of milk with a knowing grin

You’re in on it too though

You always snicker whenever he does those things

Maybe that’s why it becomes so special to him; it amuses the both of you

He gets to laugh and hear you laugh :D

So (in this case) he’ll think of you whenever he sees a mug of j (oh gosh oh no you guys got me too) jug of milk

And he probably takes pictures to send you too

You’ll just get a text that says “jilk mugs spotted ‼️” and a picture of the milk aisle at the grocery store

He likes to imagine your laugh when he sends texts like those :)

Thank you so much for reading!! Take care my lovey doves <33

(divider by saradika)

[danijaci]

excuse me

So hello, i just wanted to ask how exactly do u think is Palestine is in poor condition... cus i live in Israel and the bombs they sent us here are almost every year for months... and if they didn't send them instead buying themselves basic things as food, water and some brains that according to if they didn't break the rules of the contract with Israel that palastenians and Israeli people should live in peace if they didn't start a war all over again and again it wouldn't be so hard to live

Bro ofc you're anonymous ur gonna say ts 😂😂😂😂😂 your IDF soldiers TORTURE AND R*PE Palestinians why should I listen to you ⁉️😂😂😂🙏🙏 not to mention, YOUR PEOPLE defend these monsters what are you yapping about 😁😁

There are A LOT of videos and images of palestinians getting bombed, dead bodies of Palestinian children, and parents holding their child's decapitated body and YOU wanna ask me how bad their condition is??

I've had Palestinians go into my inbox, showing the ruins of their home and the condition of their sick children, asking for my help to donate and share their donation links is some dystopian shit that your terrorist state brought upon

[alicentsgf]

the soccer team element of the show actually adds such a fun layer and if you know soccer the little interplays are so interesting so im gonna share.

overwhelmingly their positions on the field mirror their personalities, roles, and relationships off of it. 11 players in a normal line up (8 positions with 3 duplicates) and we only know who played 7 = 8 survivors but we only know 7. or perhaps this doesnt represent the 8th survivor, but wilderness as the invisible playmaker. after all, the jersey numbers tell us whos missing - the attacking playmaker that normally links the attack to the midfield. the person making all the attacking decisions for the team, a mirror to the wilderness deciding who lives and dies. the way this would foreshadow jackies isolation (as the attacking playmaker stands between her and everyone else) and all the attackers missing or dead as though the wilderness is pulling out the teams teeth.

the #6 and #9 dichotomy of jackie and shauna. shauna as the silent playmaker. jackie as the golden girl goalscorer. and then van ? the symbolism of her being a keeper. always touched by death but never dying, parrying a ball away at the very last moment. lottie as her defender, stood between van and the opposition. and then laura lee as lotties fullback, positioned at her right hand with all the biblical allusions that brings. and then tai and shauna as the central playmakers, working in tandem, making decisions for the group.

the way the hierarchy of the team, the starters and the reserves, remains exactly that, even in the wilderness. with misty, who has no position, always being the outsider. picking up after them as she always has and never appreciated. ofc she gravitates towards nat, a winger, naturally on the outskirts. though always typically the player called upon to play centrally in the absence of the #9 (Jackie). as we see nat shoulder jackies leadership role after her death. the necklace becoming a symbol of leadership as well as sacrifice, passed down the ranks like the passing of the armband when a captain leaves the field.

and then you have the mindset of the game itself "what happens on the field stays on the field" being applied to the wilderness, as they try to make sense of the two realities they're living in. the different rules for each. one thats ruthless, alongside the one of comeraderie, just like soccer. because on the field your best friend can kick out your legs and elbow you in the face, but once you step back over the white line its over. its how they comparmentalise. so is it any wonder they couldnt kill each other without making it into a sport.