#found this and my drafts so!! time to post

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Upcoming One-Shots

Just wanted to let you know that this one-shot stories will be coming out in the next few weeks! They’ve been sitting in my drafts for a long time (some of them are actually requests from you, so thank you for the inspiration), but I really wanted to finish up the current series before posting them.

If you’d like to be added to the taglist for their release, just let me know 🧡

What's in my bag

Summary : While filming a “What’s In My Bag?” video for TUMI during a dreamy shoot in Lake Como, Lando Norris proudly shares his favorite travel items: headphones, cinnamon mints, lucky charms… and a stack of Polaroids of his girlfriend.

Until one very private photo slips into the mix, and suddenly the internet sees a whole lot more than he meant to show.

Genre : suggestive, fluff, oneshot

Passenger princess

Summary : She has a license. She knows how to drive. But Lando has made it very clear: as long as he’s around, she’s not touching the wheel because he refuses to let the girl he loves be anything other than his passenger princess. He likes taking care of her, driving her everywhere, holding her hand at stoplights and making sure she never has to worry about a thing.

But when she asks for the keys one day, everything shifts.

Genre : fluff, oneshot, request

Lost and found

Summary : Having to take care of twenty eight-year-olds student through the Monaco Grand Prix paddock was never going to be easy. Between roaring engines, flashing cameras, and a sea of distracted little minds, Y/N's just trying to survive the day with her sanity intact.

But when one curious kid slips away into the chaos, panic sets in fast, until an unexpected rescue from someone in papaya orange turns the worst moment into something, unexpectedly unforgettable.

Genre : fluff, oneshot, request

[dolcecherub]

off the record ‧͙⁺˚*･☾

♡ pairing: oscar piastri x media manager!reader

♡ tags: social media manager reader, lowkey tension, deadpan oscar, pining oscar, frustrated reader lol, happy ending, fluff

♡ yap: this was inspired by this fic here by the lovely @papayainsectorone, they wrote this dynamic so well and the smut is *chefs kiss* i was craving more build up so here's my take on it :) honestly wasn't expecting to have another fic out so soon but i'm in the writing mood, so expect maybe some smut soon lol

♡ word count: 4.6k

Being Oscar Piastri’s social media manager sounded a hell of a lot cooler on paper.

The reality? A full-time position in pure damage control and editing. 

It wasn’t that Oscar was a bad guy, quite the opposite actually. He was annoyingly likable. But in an industry of personalities so polished you could see your reflections in them, Oscar was… well, Oscar. Dry-humoured, mostly straight-faced, foreign with emojis aside from the simple smiley face. Not even a golden retriever puppy in a McLaren hoodie could crack a big smile from the man.

You had tried everything and it was quite easy to say that the last few months had been hell. 

You wrote him fun captions, you scheduled posts, and briefed him before interviews. And yet he would still deadpan his way through as many interactions as he possibly could, switching up your pre-written captions for three-word ones. If you were lucky, maybe he’d add a song to it. 

Once, in a fatal attempt, you had practically begged Oscar to do a TikTok trend. His response?

“I’d rather crash into a barrier and get stuck in a gravel trap.”

Still, you kept at it. You filtered photos, crafted witty tweets and captions, and edited videos for TikTok, so he at least looked 20% more charming and 100% engaged. But Oscar remained the same, calm, collected, and chronically unbothered. 

It drove you crazy, and some part of you was convinced Oscar found joy in riling you up, the tension spiralling between you two. 

Until one day, you just…stopped.

It was after an interview in which Oscar said, “Yeah, the car was good,” followed by a few simple remarks about the overall race and the car, even though you had specifically coached him on how to highlight the team’s efforts and the new upgrades. You sat there, watching the video on your laptop, the PR director sending you questioning looks. Something in you just gave up.

If Oscar didn’t care, why should you?

This time, instead of doubling down and trying harder to fix it, you shifted gears. 

You kept running the socials, kept building out the calendar, kept coordinating cross-posts with sponsors. You threw yourself into season promos for some rookies, drafted killer captions for Lando (who did, in fact, appreciate them, often adding his own flair as well). Hell, you even helped restructure the entire engagement strategy for McLaren’s YouTube account. Your inbox was still flooded, deadlines still to be met. You were still good at your job, just focusing your attention elsewhere rather than bending over backwards for Oscar. 

You still gave him the essentials. Posted his podium shots with a simple caption fit for him, uploaded interview clips without the usual fun editing. You stopped chasing him for quotes and thoughts, and generally stopped fighting for moments he didn’t want to give.

And weirdly enough, it all kept going. 

Oscar didn’t change, of course, the fans still adored him, his dry wit, his blank expressions, the accidental charisma of someone who didn’t try at all, or didn’t have to. People enjoyed his slightly sarcastic comments post-race, and so what if his metrics slightly dipped? It’s not like he necessarily noticed it. 

You still saw him every day, still worked around him, still made space for him on the schedule, but not in your head. Not in that quiet, careful way you used to. Perhaps you had gotten too close, you reeled. No more last-minute efforts to make him sound polished, no more staying late to re-edit his posts, not when you had better things to do for people who truly cared. 

And if he noticed the shift, the quiet space you left where your effort used to live, he didn’t say a word. Which, somehow, was more than enough. 

✧༺♥༻∞

It was a Thursday morning, and everything had been off.

You were running late, which, truthfully, rarely happened. A sponsor call had run longer than it should’ve, your usual transportation route taking a detour you were unaware of, and your badge wouldn’t scan at the main paddock gate. By the time you finally walked through the McLaren hospitality, your hair had been haphazardly clipped up, your phone was at 3%, and your brain was somewhere between caffeine withdrawal and a full-on system crash. 

You exhaled sharply, finally getting a moment to catch your breath. You pulled open the media schedule to hopefully catch up before the day truly began, your head slightly spinning as you barely noticed the figure leaning against the wall. 

Oscar.

He was dressed in team gear, the orange always sitting well with his skin tone as he had a basic black ball cap on and some shorts, his bag slung over his shoulder with a hand in his pocket. He looked casual, calm. 

As per usual. 

His other hand held out something to you as he walked closer. A coffee cup.

You looked up at him curiously, head tilting slightly as you lowered your tablet. “What’s this?” 

“Coffee,” he said simply. “Obviously.” 

You eyed it, seeing your name written on the side as your jaw twitched at his tone.

“...What kind of coffee?” You asked, his eyes roaming your face.

“Extra hot. Two sugars. Oat milk and a shot of caramel.” He said like it was nothing, as if he hadn’t just recited your exact order back to you, heart stammering against your chest. 

You brought your hand up, taking it from him, fingers brushing his slightly. Your jaw nearly dropped with shock. Why hadn’t he listened like this during pre-interview briefings? 

It was still warm to hold, still fresh. The lid was secured the way you always preferred, double cups, the lid pressed down tight with no drips at the seam.

You searched his face for expressions, “You got this for me?” You asked, albeit a silly question.

Oscar shrugged, arms crossing against his chest, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt, his eyes straying from yours. “You’re usually here earlier. Figured you didn’t have time to stop for one.” He said as if it meant nothing.

A beat passed, your heart skipping that exact beat. 

You swallowed. “I didn’t.”

Another pause, your face flushing slightly. 

“Thank you,” You said finally, voice far quieter than before. 

He nodded, not smug, just acknowledging, as if that was the end of it. As if he hadn’t just undone a week’s worth of you convincing yourself that he didn’t notice you slipping away. 

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder and added, “I wasn’t sure if it was oat or almond. Figured it was oat, you seem like it.”

You blinked, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “Why?”

He gave you the faintest smirk, “Almond milk people always have something to prove.” He joked. 

You huffed, surprised by the small, shaky breath of laughter it pulled out of you. Perhaps you did understand the population’s obsession with him. 

Oscar turned to leave, no further acknowledgement, no comment on your attire or the lack of polish to your appearance this morning, no follow-up. Just the quietest moment between you two, the coffee in your hand warming your palm cozily, his smirk setting your pulse to quicken. 

He didn’t look back. 

Although it didn’t matter, because you were already watching him go, heart quietly pounding.

So he did notice. 

Even when you thought he didn’t. 

✧༺♥༻∞

A few weeks had passed, and you were getting yourself ready for the following race weekend. The past few weeks had been the same, doing more for others to keep yourself while keeping Oscar entertained with the bare minimum. 

Now, it started with a headache.

Then came the chills, the sore throat, the kind of fatigue that sank into your bones like wet cement, weighing you down impossibly. You told yourself it was nothing, stress maybe, but by the time the race weekend rolled around, you couldn’t even sit up without your head spinning. 

You did what you had to. You called in sick, feeling bad, although you had not done so before while working with the team.

Just one day, you told yourself. Just one race day. The team could surely handle it, you had pre-scheduled most of the posts anyway, as well as sending over any notes and ideas you had to the rest of the team to follow. And it wasn’t like Oscar would notice. He barely spoke to you when you were there anyway. 

So you stayed in your hotel room, curtains drawn, laptop closed, and haphazardly thrown onto the armchair next to the bed. You had wrapped yourself in two blankets, your body settled with a chill that wouldn’t leave. You drifted in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of your phone buzzing a few times, your body far too sleepy to pay attention, let alone respond. 

Around 6 p.m., there was a knock on the door. 

You blinked, trying to figure out if it was in your room or a distant noise in the hall. You felt your stomach clench, mostly empty aside from a few pieces of toast from earlier in the afternoon and water. 

Another knock sounded on the door. Firmer this time, followed by silence. 

You dragged yourself up, wincing as the floor spun. You brushed your hair down slightly and wiped away any sleep from your eyes, your body shivering from the sudden chill after emerging from your blankets. You cracked the door open slowly, expecting the hotel staff, perhaps with a message from the team or even room service. 

It was neither.

Oscar stood in front of you, simply dressed in a quarter zip and some jeans, his hair slightly tousled. He still looked calm, a medium sized brown paper bag in one hand and a plastic container in the other. You froze, so did he, though only for a second, just enough to make you think he hadn’t expected you to actually open the door. 

“Hi,” you croaked, your throat aching and sore, raw from not speaking all day. 

“You’ve sure seen better days, hm?,” he asked rhetorically, face deadpan.

You raised a brow, now feeling slightly embarrassed at the state he was seeing you in as you shamefully brushed your messy hair down as well as possible. “Thanks…”

“I meant it in a supportive way.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the doorway, suddenly feeling fairly light headed again, simply too tired to question what the hell was going on. “Why are you here?”

He shifted the bag in his hand, fixing his grip, eyes not meeting yours. “You didn’t show up today. You don’t not show up.”

You swallowed sorely, “I texted the team, told them I was sick.”

“Yeah,” he said, tone quiet, “but you didn’t text me.” 

That shut you up.

Oscar cleared his throat, holding out the plastic container filled with soup. “It’s the one you always get when it’s cold, the one from the random organic store down the street. You know, the one with the weird green logo.” 

Your chest tightened, his eyes trailing back up to yours. 

“And I brought some ginger tea bags. And the gummy vitamins you always hoard in the media van.” 

You stared at the bag in his hand, and then back up at him, his eyes dark, cheeks slightly pink, surely from being in the sun all day. “You walked across the paddock to get those?” 

“They deliver. I’m not that heroic.” He joked. You knew as a matter of fact that they didn’t deliver, you had most definitely asked more than once before, but you supposed Oscar didn’t want to admit that he had done that for you.

You exhaled a half-laugh, quiet, slightly painful and unsteady. 

Oscar looked at you, no smirk, no blank stare. Just something softer, eyes relaxed, something he could barely hold back. 

“Can I come in?” he asked after a pause, “Just to make sure you don’t choke on soup or something.” He teased.

You stepped aside, far too tired to joke and too tired to pretend like you didn’t want to be taken care of. 

He stepped in, toeing off his shoes, then settling the soup and the bag on the table tucked in the hotel corner. You crawled back into bed, body immediately collapsing into the fluffed sheets as you sniffled. 

He walked around filling the room’s small kettle with some water before putting it to boil and opening up the soup container before bringing it and a spoon to the bedside table. You sleepily watched him quietly move around the room with a sense of ease, your heart aching at his actions. Hearing the kettle click, he grabbed a mug, opened up the tea bag case and popped one in before pouring in some water. Settling that beside you on the table, too, he finally glanced at you. 

“Come on, sit up. At least eat some of the soup before you fall asleep,” Oscar spoke, voice soft and convincing as he settled down into the armchair next to the bed, making sure to move your laptop before sitting. 

Pushing yourself up, you sat against the headboard, head spinning again. He passed you the soup, simply watching you eat as much as you could without feeling sick. Neither of you said anything, Oscar simply ensuring you were okay, passing you a napkin whenever you needed it.

Placing the empty container down on the bedside table, you wiped your sleeve across your mouth before sliding back down into bed. Oscar stood up, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders when you shifted with a wince as your eyes fluttered shut. His fingers brushed over your arm as he did, then simply brushing a few hairs off your forehead, your body shivering, not from the chill this time but rather from his touch. 

“I’m fine,” you spoke, voice extremely rough but quiet. 

He didn’t say anything. Just sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, hands now folded in his lap, his eyes flickering between you and the headboard as if he was doing anything to stop himself from looking at you for too long. 

You were the one to break the silence, eyes still shut. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I know,” he said. You felt your breath catch for a second, mind drifting slowly to sleep.

“Thank you, Osc.” You mumbled quietly, words slurring from fatigue. 

He hadn’t said anything after that. And so what if his gaze lingered a bit too long before he left that night? You would be none the wiser, head misty with sleep.

✧༺♥༻∞

Weeks later, at the start of a triple header, everything felt back to normal. Too normal. It grated your nerves more than ever.

Oscar was back to his usual self, low-effort captions, brushing off most interview questions with short answers, and ignoring half of your content ideas. After you had thought you’d made at least some progress, you found yourself rubbing your temple in frustration after he refused to film a “Pre-race ritual” TikTok a few sponsors had requested. 

You found him in the garage, talking to a mechanic, most likely about race strats. If only he spoke to the media with such enthusiasm. You walked towards him angrily, your tablet hanging at your fingertips, face flushed with anger. 

“Oscar, may I speak with you, please?” You asked, tone stern and straight to the point. 

His brows knitted together with confusion, the mechanic patting his arm twice before walking away. He tilted his head, following behind you as you led him to a meeting room. You closed the door, setting the tablet down on the desk before turning back to face Oscar, arms crossing angrily against your chest. You leaned back against the desk, staring him down momentarily before speaking.

“Why do you make this so hard?” You huffed, voice cracking slightly. You hate that it cracked.

“Make what hard?” He asked, mirroring your body language.

“This!” You said waving your arms around for emphasis. “Your image, your career. I bust my ass trying to make you look even remotely engaged in sponsorships and media day, and yet you act like you’re allergic to enthusiasm.” You ramble exasperatedly, catching your breath before you continue. “And then- then you go and do these little things, like buying me coffee or taking care of me when I’m sick. I’m not stupid Oscar, I know you’re not oblivious. You notice things, you care. But you pretend like you don’t and it’s… infuriating.”

He was quiet, not blinking, eyes still holding your gaze. He walked closer, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face before returning to his crossed-arm position, just now closer to you. Your heart pounded at his proximity. 

The silence between you was heavy, suffocating almost. 

“I don’t let people see it because once they do, they expect more. They expect a reaction every time a little blip happens. And I’m not good at more.”

You stared up at him, lips parted slightly. 

“I didn’t grow up under the impression of needing to be liked.” He spoke, eyes searching yours. “I wanted to drive. I wanted to win. But now, I’ve got people picking apart every expression, every quote, hell everything I don’t say. And you-you come into my life like this force to be reckoned with. You clean up my messes, making me look far better than I am. And it terrifies me.” He admitted truthfully.

He exhaled as though he hadn’t meant to say that last part, but it was too late now. 

“You make me want to try. Even though I don’t know how. And I hate that I let you do everything alone, I’m sorry I don’t cooperate more. I hate that I don’t say thank you when I should. I hate that I barely show what I feel because I’m scared that once I do, it’ll matter too much. That people will always want that, and I won’t be able to deliver.” Oscar spoke frantically.

Your breath caught, heart aching for being mean to him originally. “Oscar…” 

He continued, “I noticed when you stopped trying so hard,” He admitted, voice softer as he took a step closer. “And it scared the shit out of me because I thought that meant you were done. That I had pushed you too far. And if I lost you…I don’t know what I’d do.” 

And for the first time, you felt as though Oscar hadn’t just meant in terms of work. 

You stood still, heart hammering against your ribs. 

He stepped forward once more, practically caging you against the desk and himself. 

“I brought you coffee because I know you can barely function without it in the morning. I remember your order because you complained about the barista using a shot of vanilla instead of caramel once. I remember you like it extra hot because it keeps your hands warm while you’re out. I brought you soup because I know you hate being alone when you’re sick. I pay attention, even if I don’t always know what to say, but I do care, okay? Far more than I’ve let on.” He expressed, eyes fluttering across your face. “Maybe more than I should.” He confessed quietly, cheeks lightly flushing.

You stared at him, awestruck. The boy who never flinched on track, now looking completely exposed. 

You reached a hand towards him, pulling them away from his chest and placing them next to you on the desk, his body leaning slightly forward. 

And in a quiet, breaking voice, you said, “Then say it, tell me.” You plead.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. 

“I care about you,” his voice hoarse with emotion. “Not just because you make my life easier, even if I don’t make yours any easier,” he joked with a sarcastic huff before continuing. “Not just because you’re brilliant at your job. Because I care about you. And I think I’ve been falling for you since the day you yelled at me for skipping media day.” 

The silence returned, your body flushing at the confession and your breath hitched slightly. 

“You make me want to be better. Not just for the press. For you. Because when you’re around, I don’t feel like some machine for the media to chew up and spit out. I feel like maybe I’m someone worth showing up for.” He confessed, arms encaging you against the desk as his head leaned down slightly. 

Then quieter, “I know I’ve been difficult. I don’t say enough, but I’m saying it now. I care, I care about you. I want you here. Not because you fix things, but because I love having you around.” He reiterated, you felt as though you hadn’t spoken in ages, none of the right words coming to mind.

Your throat tightened. 

And suddenly, the frustration, the exhaustion, the weeks worth of wondering if he even noticed you slipping away, all cracked away and spilled into something else. 

A knock on the door interrupted your moment as you broke away. He took a step back, head whipping towards the door as your breath caught up to you. 

Work awaited you. 

✧༺♥༻∞

Days had passed, the paddock was winding down for the night.

You had migrated from your desk to one of the couches in the corner of the hospitality unit, half-heartedly editing clips from Oscar’s earlier media rounds to hopefully post the following morning. Your headphones sat around your neck, untouched. The screen glowed, but your eyes glazed over somewhere between the third and fourth timestamp. 

You hadn’t talked about the confession since it happened, but your mind kept drifting back to him. The look on his face and the way his voice sounded. 

You’d both gone back to work like professionals. He gave more thoughtful answers during interviews. You polished his media presence like always, job slightly easier nowadays. But under every interaction with him sat this new charged silence, one that said something happened and neither of you had figured out what it meant yet. 

Then came a quiet knock from the doorframe. 

Oscar.

He wasn’t in race gear anymore, not even team gear, just a hoodie, slightly damp at the sleeves, his hair tousled from his post-session shower. He looked…normal, cozy if you would. Not a headline, or a race statistic, or a social media puzzle for people to pick apart.

Just him. 

“You busy?” He asked, walking closer anyway.

“A little,” you blinked, watching him intently. 

He stepped closer, sitting on the couch across from you, silent for a moment, before wordlessly placing a bag on the table between you, sliding it towards you.

Your brows furrowed curiously, “What is this?”

“Some takeout, I figured you hadn’t eaten in a while since most places on the track are closed by now. It’s the fried rice you like and some of those weird seaweed chips you eat when you’re stressed.” He explained, cheeks flushing slightly pink.

You paused, still in awe of the fact that he noticed. “You remembered.” you spoke, leaning forward to untie the bag and pulling out the bag of chips, a soft smile crossing your face.

He didn’t look at you, eyes wandering the room. “It wasn’t hard.” 

Your chest tightened. 

You pushed your laptop aside, slowly looking at him. There was something in the way his shoulders tensed, the slight crease in his brow. As though he was trying to say something without saying it too fast, or too wrong. 

“Oscar-”

“I keep thinking about what you said. About how you care and how I didn’t give you anything back.” He swallowed thickly. Your breath caught but you stayed quiet. 

He looked up at you then, and for once he didn’t look guarded or sarcastic. He looked nervous. 

“I kept thinking if I acted like I didn’t need anyone, I couldn’t lose anything. But I think maybe I lost a little bit of you already, and fuck, I don’t want to keep doing that.” 

You felt your eyes sting unexpectedly as you blinked quickly. 

“I don’t expect you to fix me up or stay just because I suddenly decided to show up. But I meant it all. I care. About all of it, about you. I was worried if I said the wrong thing, I’d ruin the only good thing I actually gave a shit about.” 

“I’ve been trying to show it,” he went on, voice tighter now. “In the ways I can, but I don’t know if it’s enough. And it’s driving me fucking insane wondering if I’ve missed my chance” 

Your heart beat a little too loudly in your chest.

He ran a stressed hand through his hair, “I keep thinking about how close I could’ve been to losing you. It’s not just about work, it never has been.” His eyes met yours, raw and serious. “It’s you. I don’t want to go through another race weekend without knowing if you’re mine. If this thing between us is real or if I’ve just been imagining it.”

The room went still.

You stood slowly, every nerve in your body on fire, the air between you wound so tight it could snap. 

“You didn’t miss your chance,” you said, your voice barely a breath. You walked towards him, now standing next to him sat on the couch, within arm’s reach.

A pause, his jaw clenching as though something had finally broken. 

He reached for you, pulling you closer with a hand on your waist as he stood up. Oscar towered over you now, arms snaking around you comfortably as your hands came up to rest on his chest.

He leaned down, breath fanning your face as his nose nudged yours. Then, he kissed you. Lips landing on yours like they had waited months. 

Tension bled out of both of you like a flood. His mouth was warm and searching, far too much restraint pent up as his teeth gnashed teasingly against your bottom lip. You stood slightly on your tiptoes to reach him better, a hand sliding up from his chest into his hair, tugging lightly as he groaned. 

It was far from perfect, you stumbled slightly unbalanced as his hands shook against your hip, but it was real. Honest and a little desperate. You slid your tongue against Oscar’s lip, his own poking out to meet yours. He licked into your mouth, hand tightening against your hip as you whined. 

You pulled back slightly, nose still pressed against his breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since my second week on the job,” You admitted, lips curling into a smile. 

He huffed a soft laugh. “Took me that long to stop pretending I didn’t”

You smiled, brushing your fingers along the curve of his neck, lightly scratching the hair at the nape of his neck as he shivered. “So what now?”

“Now I stop pretending, full stop.” He spoke, no hesitation. “And I get to flirt with my media manager.” He joked, a small smirk settling on his face. 

You giggled softly, feeling the weight of that promise, simple and sincere, You leaned into him, body warming at his words. 

“Let me take you home,” He spoke softly, mouth near your ear as he whispered as if trying to keep it a secret between you two. 

You shuddered at his words, biting your lip before facing him again. You nodded slowly at him, eyes lighting with excitement. He smiled at you sweetly, placing another small kiss on your lips before letting you go to pack up. 

Everything seemed to be exactly where it was meant to be, and you felt your heart settle happily at how the night turned out.

✧༺♥༻∞

[obsidianpegasus]

“Writing is so fun,” I say, as I:

Rewrite the same sentence six times.

Cut a line I loved for "flow" and immediately wish I found a way to make it fit instead.

Sit motionless for twelve minutes trying to decide whether I should use commas or em-dashes for one particular phrase.

Get distracted imagining a scene four chapters ahead that has nothing to do with the current plot.

Change one word and feel like I just altered the fate of humanity.

Re-read my own dialogue and debate whether it’s good or if it will make people give up on the fanfic instead.

Delete an entire paragraph because it didn’t feel right.

Spend twenty minutes choosing between “said,” “asked,” “murmured,” or “whispered,” as if it will alter the timeline.

Get emotionally attached to a metaphor no one else will even notice.

Write one (1) good line and convince myself I deserve a national award.

Leave a comment for myself in the draft like: “Fix This Crap” and then never fix it.

Realize I cannot explain how time works. Was that scene three minutes or three hours? Unclear.

Pause mid-sentence to stare at the wall and question my life choices.

Get so overwhelmed I close the page and proceed to feel guilty about it for three days.

Threaten to delete everything and start over. Again. For the seventh time this week.

Post it anyway. Obsessively check stats like my life depends on it.

[abbysreal-wife]

In my feelings

Abby x Stripper!Reader

In my feelings

I’m cryin’ while I’m cumin’

makin’ love while I’m making good money

— Lana del Rey

Summary:: 20 years old, living alone, as a stripper. Not the best life. But meeting her. Made you feel like a teenager crushing on someone again.

Tags:: Dellie is in this story (brief though)

A/N:: There’s a whole ass fluff fic sitting in my drafts and here I am posting smut… 😞 I’m just a slut, part two will shortly be out so hang tight.

Dina is also a stripper but just for the storyline. Currently playing.. ————————————————————————

Dance.

Seduce.

Make money.

Normal routine for you. Being a stripper was something that you would’ve never thought of being. But everybody in your family hated you and left you nothing.

You were a Disgrace to them.

Broke the family tradition of being picture perfect when you came home at 5am so drunk you couldn’t feel your own legs. And your mom. Oh my goodness your mom. She hated you more than you hated yourself. She was your biggest hater “You know I know never even fucking wanted you. You were just a mistake.” That’s the last thing your mother said to you before you left, started a whole new life and became a stripper.

They Left you in your feelings. so you had to make money somehow.

A blond buff woman walked into the dimly lit club. The music loud enough to cause brain damage, an auburn women walked beside her.

Their height difference was almost alerting “you think you’re gonna have fun?” The short haired woman asked. The blonde gave her side eye not even answering. The woman scoffed “oh come on, you need to loosen up— she’s nudged her playfully “plus, I think we can meet some people here” she added.

The blonde woman still had a cold expression on her face. Eventually, Dina walked out from behind the beaded curtains, in a pink see-through dress and her hot pink set peeking out.

“How can I help you two ladies?” Dina gleamed “two people in please. For one hour.” The blonde woman spoke up, a slight smile finally breaking her cold look. The short haired woman snapped her head towards her “do two hours” The tall one rolled her eyes, reaching for her back pocket pulling out her credit card “two hours, please.”

Dina nodded, her attention facing the auburn haired girl “cool” she grabbed the black card out of the blonde girls hand ringing it through.

“Fuck, I forgot my blush at home” you curse to yourself silently before, ally handed you a pink blush, being the sweetheart she is. “Thank you sweetie” you gleamed at the brunette girl who was smiling while standing over you while putting the blush on Cassie burst in “angel, baby, your performance is next.” Your stage name was angel, but Cassie always called you angel baby. You finally touched up your makeup, glanced yourself in the mirror a few times and sprayed yourself with your perfume.

You pranced out the door the white lights giving the crowd just your presence and silhouette.

‘In my feelings’ by Lana del Rey started to play.

The sweaty men on the other side of Abby begin to whoop and laugh. You walked out in the black set, covering absolutely nothing. Your steps swaying side to side as your heels hit the ground.

You were moving in slow motion to Abby. And hell, she didn’t even know you.

Your tongue ran across your top teeth. In a teasing matter. Winking at the auburn and blonde woman beside each other. Then you started to move against the pole grinding and running your nails across it.

The music was running throughout your body.

It was like this every night, except a special woman had your eye.

After the performance you gave, the crinkled dollars in your waist band and bra strap were awfully uncomfortable, so you pulled them out and started to count them as you did, on the bar counter.

Then a finger found your shoulder “Excuse me, pretty lady, could we talk for a bit?”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

A/N:: spoiler alert. I reached my word limit. So here’s the fic cut in half, bare with me now 😕

@graciedollie @liliofabby @luvnette @look-me @cloudyorgy @ellieswife4ever @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @gay-jedis @korn-dawg @yokedtablet

if I forgot yew I’m sorry forgive me😕🙏🏾😞

[xanneeeyyyy]

The Confession He Never Heard

A/N: Unedited; not proof read

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!reader

Warnings: character death; angst

It was supposed to be an ordinary mission. Just another late-night patrol in Tokyo nothing he couldn’t handle. Nothing you hadn’t seen him come home from a hundred times before, exhausted but alive. You had just finished recording the message when the call came. Your hands were still gripping your phone. The voicemail unsent. Still there. Still blinking.


Draft: 1 audio message

Your voice was on it. Laughing a little nervously. Saying:

“Hey… I know it’s late. You’ll probably be annoyed hearing this at 2 a.m., but—”
“I love you, Katsuki. I’ve been holding it in for too long. But I do. I really do. You make me feel like I’m home even when everything’s a mess, and I’m tired of pretending I’m not scared every time you leave.”
“So… yeah. That’s all. Come back safe, okay?”

But he didn’t. The explosion happened around 1:42 a.m.

By 2:00 a.m., Pro Hero Dynamight had been declared KIA—killed in action.
By 2:15 a.m., the media was already swarming the scene.
By 2:21 a.m., your phone was still in your hand. Message unsent. Heart in pieces. You don’t remember screaming. Only the silence afterward.

The funeral was held on a rainy Tuesday. Closed casket. The burn damage was too severe, they said. You didn’t cry in front of anyone. You saved that for when you were alone in his apartment where the smell of his shampoo still lingered in the air, where his hoodie still hung by the door, where his hero costume was folded on the bed, never to be worn again.

Where the voicemail still sat on your phone, waiting to be sent.

It was his mom who found it. You didn’t even know she had your number until she called you, voice shaking for the first time since the funeral. “I was going through his things,” she said. “Found his old laptop, and there were notes… messages he never sent to you,”


“I think he was scared. But I know he loved you,”


“Do you still have anything of his?”

You hesitated. Then, slowly, you said, “I have… a voicemail. Wished he heard it...” you softly spoke. She then asked if she could play it at the memorial. You didn’t answer right away. Your voice cracked when you finally said,

“Okay…”

When they played it, no one spoke. Your voice echoed through the quiet room—raw, honest, trembling with all the love you never got to give him face to face.

“…I love you, Katsuki”

You couldn’t stay until the end. You walked out before the last words finished playing before the world could hear you beg him to come back safe.

Because he didn’t.

© 2025 CODE:BKXY — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[andyouloveme]

I found this post in my drafts that I had written up during my rewatch pre series 3 and, at the time, decided to wait to see S3 and add that in too. However I'd need a separate watch to count lies and tbh I didn't enjoy S3 enough to watch again so just posting as is:

Lies in Young Royals

So one of the themes of Young Royals, in particular S2, is about hiding the truth and lying so I wanted to rewatch and count just how many lies there are in YR and who is the biggest offender.

Note: this is only looking at the quantities of lies, not the severity of them or how long the lie was kept for, and I'm not making any judgements as to whether the lie was right, wrong or neutral. Some things are a little more ambiguous than others but I've been pretty strict in including the smallest of lies and I am counting omissions of truth as lies too.

Without further ado our biggest liar in S1 is *drumroll*

Wilhelm!

With 12 lies he is our lying king in S1! This probably doesn't come as much of a surprise but interesting to note he doesn't tell a single lie in Episode 4, where he is at the peak of grieving for Erik.

Close runner up was Simon with 10 but he also doesn't tell a single lie in Episodes 5 or 6. The pair of them have the joint honour of most lies per episode in ep 2 where they tell 4 lies each.

For Series 2 it is Simon stepping up for the biggest liar title! Slightly ironic given he tells Wille he's being honest and Wille should try it sometimes. And Wille must have listened to that to some extent cause he lies significantly less in S2 with only 6 lies to his name.

The award for biggest increase in lies goes to Sara who had one lie right at the end of S1 and who goes up to 6 lies in S2.

And that leaves us with the biggest liar across S1 and S2...

Simon!

With a spectacular 19 lies across the series, Simon claims the crown of lies. I'll admit I was a bit surprised at this but then there are a lot of lies and hidden truths about the drugs and lies to make people not worry about him and it all adds up.

I have included all the lies, including those of more minor characters, below the cut so let me know if I missed any! For those of you wondering why Marcus isn't on here, he is wrong on several occasions and manipulative but I don't think he ever actually lies unless I missed something.

S1 E1

Wilhelm/Kristina - "Together with my parents we have decided to go to Hillerska" etc

Felice - lying on insta about enjoying the stables

Henry/Walter -Lie about their opinions to agree with Wilhelm

Simon - lies by omission to Linda about getting invited to party. Doesn't tell her he needs to supply booze and technically Sara wasn't invited

Wille - lies saying he likes Hillerska to Simon

Wille 2

Simon 1

Felice 1

Henry/Walter 1

Kristina 1

S1 E2

Wille - omits about hanging out with Simon at the party when encouraged to go on the table

Wille - this is a bit ambiguous, says party was great to Felice. He definitely didn't enjoy the initiation but seemed alright at the party and he got to meet Simon

Simon - to Meister Englund says he's spoken to his parents about tutoring

August - lying (badly) to the therapist about having ADHD (why didn't he at least look up the symptoms?)

Wille - lies to August about being sick to go see Simon

August - lies to head teacher about his mum travelling

Simon - lies to Sara that he needs to talk to August about rowing

Simon - in doing so he's preventing Sara from finding out about the booze

Simon - lies to his dad about his visit/steals from him

Wille - lies to Simon about panic attack

Wille 4

Simon 4

August 2

S1 E3

Wille - lying about being "like that", both to himself and Simon

Felice - lying to her mum about being able to jump a 1.2m jump

Felice - lies to her mum (and possibly to herself) about her and Wilhelm's relationships

Wille - lies about why he wants to stay in school to Erik, saying he wants to study. Erik sees through this

Simon - lies to Linda when she asks if he's okay

Simon - lies to Linda about staying with Ayub

Wille 2

Simon 2

Felice 2

S1 E4

Simon - omits to Linda about how he was going to pay for the tuition

Simon - lies to Sara about seeing their dad

Felice - lied about closing her eyes when having sex with august

Felice - lied where she was on insta

August - ambiguous, lied to Sara about being pretty (I mean she is but he was only saying that to kiss her and get back at Felice so I don't think he meant it)

Simon - ambiguous, arguably omits truth about where the drugs came from to Wille. He finds Wille high but doesn't tell him he supplied the drugs or the booze from the first party

Simon 3

Felice 2

August 1

S1 E5

Wille - Lies to August about where he went/memory after the party

August - lies to headteacher about not hearing from Alexander

Wille - Lies to August about suggesting the plan to kick Alexander out saying it's easier rather than he's saying it to protect Simon

The society (Wille, August, Henry, Vincent etc) - lie to headmistress about Alexander

Wille 3

August 2

Henry 1

Vincent 1

S1 E6

August - omits to Wille that he published the video

Sara - omits she knows who published it to Simon and everyone else bar August

August - lies to Sara he doesn't mind her telling Wilhelm

Wille/Kristina - lies to country about being in the video

Kristina - lies by omission it was August

Wille 1

August 2

Sara 1

Kristina 2

S1 TOTAL

Wilhelm 12

Simon 10

August 7

Felice 5

Kristina 3

Sara 1

Henry 2

Walter 1

Vincent 1

S2 E1

Felice - has been omitting about quitting riding to her mother

Wille - omits to Alexander about who blamed him

Wille - omits to Simon about who leaked the video

Wille 2

Felice 1

S2 E2

Sara - hides that she read Felice's phone

Simon - lies to Marcus about his room being cosy

Simon - ambiguous, lies to Marcus when he says you too after Marcus calls him beautiful (I say this is ambiguous as his body language makes it look like he's lying but maybe he does think he's pretty)

Wille - lies to therapist about being fine

Felice - has been omitting to Sara about quitting riding

Simon - lies about knowing Marcus

Wille and Simon - cheat on the race

Wille - Lies saying the reason he's helping Simon in the race is to help Simon's grades

Sara 1

Simon 4

Wille 3

Felice 1

S2 E3

Felice - lies about having PMS to skip dinner

Henry - lies about laughing at Vincents speech

Sara - lies to Simon about being friends with august

Simon - initially lies to Marcus that it's not about Wille but then admits there was drama (still lying about his feelings though)

Sara - lies to Felice about where she's been

Sara - lies by ommision about liking to smell like "him". Let's Felice think she means Rousseau

Kristina - ambiguous, says she'll always put her son first. Whilst I think she means it, she hasn't actually done that so I'm counting it as a lie

Kristina - omits to Wilhelm initially about August being back up

Sara 3

Henry 1

Felice 1

Simon 1

Kristina 2

S2 E4

Sara- lying about not having someone in mind when wanting to write a valentine's letter

*Note - Vincent mentions lying and get's Wille to talk by saying "so Henry is lying?"

Henry - lying about snitching

Stella - omits she wrote the letter for Fredrika

August - lying to Jan Olaf about drinking and drugs

Simon - LYING ABOUT THE FISH HAVING NAMES!!!

Simon - lies to Marcus about checking on the choir when he's going to see Wilhelm

Sara 1

Simon 2

Henry 1

Stella 1

August 1

S2 E5

Wille - doesn't tell Simon how long he's known it was August

Jan Olaf - changes the subject when Wille asks if they changed the song because of Simon

Sara - lies to Felice about where she spent the night

Wille 1

Jan Olaf 1

Sara 1

S2 E6

Simon - lies to Marcus about it not being about Wille and bringing Marcus to the ball to make Wille jealous

August - doesn't tell Wille and Simon it was Sara

August - lies to Sara saying he did it to protect the royal family. Sara rightly sees through this lie that it's to protect himself

Simon - lies to Linda it wasn't August

Simon 2

August 2

S2 TOTAL

Wille - 6

Simon - 9

Sara - 6

August - 3

Felice - 3

Kristina - 2

Jan Olaf - 1

Henry - 2

[lightofraye]

So. The story behind this was caught and written by @/beltainewitch in this post:

She details about how Danneel... did not think a post through. Danneel tried to praise Jensen for his work with Steve on Radio Company, about the music, and then hash tagged it #allourown. Not to mention, tried to lay claim that she was Penny Lane herself. (Did she not know the history and story behind Penny Lane? Evidently not.)

Anyway, some fans point out that All Our Own could not have been about her and Jensen because the lyrics clearly reference a love that could not be, a love lost. I mean, surely the Ackles were together, happily married, right?

So. Danneel went back and edited it, thinking no one caught it.

Oh Danneel, Danneel, Danneel....

We caught it. One of us did. And the internet remembers.

Why would Jensen now claim this, I have no idea. Maybe he's backtracking and deciding to cover for Danneel's blunder? Your guess is as good as mine.

But this is the history. A hat tip to my top co-researcher who found this post, as I could not remember where it was, but knew it existed.

"Listened to yesterday

Long before the way it has become

And it all came down to you

I don't really know the way

It played out stranger than it seemed

But what went down came true

Like an all day dream

I don't want to be the one to say it's wrong

When the heavens open and a new day comes along

I know I would rather be together alone

In a big top circle and a world we can call our own

It's all our own

In a world we can call our own

You'll find shelter darlin'

Where I'll always promise to

Never let it be

I don't want to be the one to say it's wrong

When the heavens open and a new day comes along

I know I would rather be together alone

In a big top circle and a world we can call our own

Yeah it's all our own"

This song is supposed to be about danneel and jensen? Explain that to me

As well, they apparently said that they like their songs having multiple meanings and leaving it to interpretation. So let's interpret!!!

I am stumped because, as a whole, this song makes no sense. I couldn’t tell you what Jensen was trying to say. I always thought this song was about a lost love, now it makes no sense just like J/D’s relationship.

[lazarus-harp]

an old ‘ the record producer ’ moodboard

[third-king-of-salmonids]

THE L IN SALMON IS SILENT BC I NEVER FUCKIN LOSE

[yourstrulynobody]

(Draft from all the way back in March)

[" OCEAN TERROR " DCA MERMAY CONTENT, PART 1 ~ PART 2 ]

(NOT TSAMS!!!)

(Note: I am a writer but not exactly good at it, so expect some bad and cringe writing incoming👍)

Moon thrashed and clawed at the thick net that hugged he and Sun's bodies close, but it was useless. If only he could use half of his potential then he would have broken out, but with Sun around so close to him, he knew this risk would be fatal for his brother who was a different species from him.

The deeper they sunk, the more desperate Moon became.

His fins and stingers tensed and straightened, trying to penetrate the net at least a little bit just for a small spark of hope—just so he could have a false sense that Sun would be alive by the end of this.

Awanis like Sun aren't made for deep water. Just the 1,000 feet of the Twilight Zone made Sun hurt and swim back up frantically.

So now that they were so close to entering the midnight zone, how could Sun live?

He couldn't. That was the answer.

Bawsins like Moon have the ability to store fat and use it as soon as they hit the deeper levels, so he was fine; he had no reason to worry.

Yet he yelled and fought.

He yelled and fought for his brother who had passed out by then, his body unable to take the pressure that kept building.

He couldn't lose Sun like this.

He couldn't lose Sun to some stupid sailors.

No.

For the Leviathan's sake—he couldn't lose his brother to some sailors!

Moon writhe in the net a bit harder, his claws digging into the trap as best he could. He even chewed on the net just to try break it, but it didn't work. Still, he had to keep trying.

When he raised his hand to claw on the net again, he caught the glimpse of Sun's transparent rays. Looking over, he saw how much in pain Sun looked even now that his body shut down.

It hurt to see him like this.

Moon dedicated his life into protecting his brother who had been traumatized by another group of sailors years ago; he tried everyday to cheer him up and it thankfully worked as Sun was the happiest fish he knew.

That trip to the surface was suppose to be healing—Sun was suppose to heal, but he got hurt more.

What kind of brother was Moon to have let this happen?

A bad one as it was made clear.

"I'm sorry." Moon sobbed, choking on his words. "I'm so sorry, Sunny."

He let go of the net and did his best to wrap his arms around his brother for an embrace he wished Sun returned. "Please wake up..." He begged, his stingers lowering. "Please—please, Sunny, just wake up."

No answer.

Moon whimpered and let out a pulse, one he used to often communicate with Sun from far distances. He let it out directly on Sun's rays, causing them to sway a bit at the action.

He continued to sob and let out pulses he wished Sun would give back in an attempt to savor the last moments he'd have with his brother.

Just a few more moments, just a 1,000 feet more and they'll be entering the Twilight Zone with a pressure Sun could not handle.

He let out another desperate pulse, one louder than the ones before, just to try wake his—

The pulse was returned.

But it wasn't Sun.

That pulse was too big and loud for it to be Sun. If it was Sun, Moon would've felt him vibrate, but Sun continued to be motionless in his arms.

"Awanis aren't suppose to be here, especially one as lanky as he." Grumbled an irritated voice from below them. "And you, Buwsin, are far too ambitious to enter so deep."

[electrozeistyking]

Happy Birthday, Beanie! :D

I designed her on this day one year ago :3

Fun fact: this is technically how Beanie’s fourth bootday went down. She finally got to try whatever awful concoction drones whip up to make cake that day!

Additional fact: originally had this one scheduled to post since my own birthday... which was apparently 230 days ago, but i meant in months. which in that case would be seven.

[starry-bi-sky]

fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

--------

Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions. 

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food." 

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.  

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy. 

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him. 

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that." 

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again. 

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?) 

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately." 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up. 

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly. 

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from. 

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite. 

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing. 

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.” 

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows. 

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?” 

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?” 

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.” 

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human. 

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved. 

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.” 

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything? 

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted. 

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

[lotus-pear]

do you ever think about how in the day i picked up dazai side b dazai had to lie emotionless and soulless—like a corpse, almost—beside the man that gently brought him in, nursed his injuries, held him while he was in pain? he had to keep those suffocating bandages around his entire face, lest this man gain some sort of recognition for the little boy he saved. he had to lay there curled in the fetal position, bleeding and in pain, perhaps thinking about how, in another life, this man cooked for him, tried to build up his strength. read to him to pass the time while he curled up against him like a child listening to a bedtime story. played cards with him. saw through the heartless mafioso. the ruthless killer. and instead saw a boy.

imagine knowing this man, the man who saved you in more ways than one, was going to die one day all because he knew you. because he reached his hand into the darkness and plaintively, like a small child wanting a parent's touch, you grasped back desperately. imagine thinking all of that while that man is just a stone's throw away, making coffee in the next room just like he used to for you in another life. the scent, although you've never been here before, is reminiscent of home. and the tune he's humming? it's the silent melody that plays through your mind seven years later, for the last time as you fall backward off the building with your arms out like an embrace. but, hey. that man is alive. he's happy, although he never knew you. you can die with no regrets.

[hipsternumbertwo]

Favorite Angela Moments 76/∞: Angela on TV

[untitled-tmnt-blog]

I absolutely HAD to draw something for @phoebepheebsphibs's DTIYS (based on this pose)! I decided to mix things up a bit by experimenting with a more limited color palette, which was a pretty fun challenge.

[yanderespamton78]

sometimes i feel like toby fox made spamton and the addisons especially for people to hyperfixate on. everything about them seems so perfect for people to go rabid about its insane to me

for one, spamton himself pretty much counts for 4 people, those being addispam, big shot spamton, in game spamton, and spamton neo. now sure you mostly see people going rabid about in game spamton but ive seen plenty of people who are obsessed with a version we dont get to see on screen

secondly, even the main in game spamton himself is kinda up to interpretation. loads of people characterise him differently. if i compared two aus to eachother theyd often be very different and depending on the ones i chose could be almost like 2 different people, and then if i compared those to in-game spamton, theyd still be very different. also since you dont see addispam and big shot spamton on screen you dont even know what they acted like so again basically you can make your own guy to fixate on with a few prompts as to what he was like

dont even get me started on the addisons. now im biased as fuck here seeing that ive been fixated on the addisons for like 6 months now (send help) but toby fox basically gave us 4 templates for us to have fun with. sure based off of in game dialogue you have a bit to go off of when it comes to their personality (pink being an asshole and blue being caring for example) but even then every addison in every different au is slightly different and i have never seen two addisons turn out exactly the same. ALSO you dont even know the relationship these characters have to spamton meaning you can have them be siblings, you can have them be friends, or you can ship them based off of what you enjoy. OR you could just ignore them altogether (which a lot of people do lmao)

also another thing is the fact that you dont necessarily need to have your addisons' personalities just reflect off of spamtons. I mean the main 4 addisons give you enough to go off of to make your own, and you are given cyber city, an entire fantasy world for you to put them in. cyber city again is up to interpretation, some people have it be like a normal city, some people make it a utopia, some people make it a hellscape. the choice is yours!!

and even then in game spamton is so versatile. he is perfect for angsty stuff, fluffy stuff, or jsut silly stuff, and none of it is out of character. you couldnt really make an angsty spongebob edit could you, itd be weird and out of characer and no one would take it seriously. but also you couldnt make a silly walten files video, sure people do but its out of character and wouldnt actually happen canonically. but spamton on the other hand. hes the kinda guy who you can draw holding a wallet in his mouth like a cat and generally being silly but also you could draw him sobbing at the bottom of dumpster and neither would be out of character!! AAAA

also extra thing i thought id add but his backstory is also very up to interpretation, like i dont think ive ever seen two people who think spamtons rise and downfall went exactly the same. sure everyone has the same general idea of how it went but some people believe in acid theory, some people believe in puppetification theory, some people have a mix of both, some people have their own idea of how it went down, and with that you can project different parts of your own trauma onto whatever happened to him.

ok sorry that was so long thank you for reading my very biased ramble about why spamton is perfect byeeee