#in 2021??? yet i can find NOTHING

[two-bats]

friends wanna go bowling but mom is saying no for racist reasons. how the fuck do I tell her that her worries stem from 1. her Even More racist parents drilling shit into her head over Thirty Years Ago & 2. working in a shitty hole-in-the-wall diner means you're likely to deal with shitty shady people Regardless Of The Area.

we're a group of adults. we (mostly) know how to conduct ourselves. the place is woman-owned and apparently lgbtq+ friendly. they have live performances nearly every night. two of my friends have been there before and vouch for it. I'm almost positive the local bowling alleys we've been to in the past have been Sketchier Than This Place.

[fallloverfic]

I'm very curious about 2! (From the Ennead ask meme)

2. How did you discover the manhwa?

I actually saw fanart on Tumblr in late 2021! I cannot remember what it was unfortunately (the stuff I have from that time seems to come from my browsing the tag the day after I'd read it, notably this Khemmis art I was and am still obsessed with). I didn't know what it was when I first saw it (though I remember it looked nice... I think it was Seth fanart?), scrolled past it, did a double-take when I saw people mention "boy's love, Egyptian mythology", went back, googled, and caught sight of the Horuseth official cover art, was immediately like "Egypt stuff and a boy's love series with gorgeous art??? This is my jam???" (I've loved Egyptian stuff since I was really little, and I love m/m). So I immediately went searching for the manhwa, found the censored version on Tappytoon, read it in an evening, went browsing for anything I could find on it, discovered people posting panels I hadn't seen, and discovered there was an entire non-censored version, and read that the morning after lol

Bit of a fever dream 24-hours lol The ask meme if folks wanna ask questions :D

[ochibrochi]

spontaneous magic manifestation was NOT mentioned in the parenting handbook 😬

I know this isn’t how magic in dc works, but the fact that Damian’s ancestry includes some pretty powerful magic users is… INTERESTING 🤔? Drabble under the cut!

I wanna preface that I'M NOT SAYIN' that Damian should/does have magic powers, but there’s still so much unexplored potential with Damian's character, and the thought that he has a dormant adeptness in magic is somewhat compelling to me. Most importantly it would FREAK! BRUCE! OUT!!!!! What is this, magic puberty 😭??

By DC laws, anyone has the ability to learn magic, but it is also possible to be an innate ability. The Al Ghuls are no strangers to the occult-- Ra's has had increasingly been portrayed as a magic user, and the recent establishment of his mother being a sorceress/witch?? Even Talia dabbled in a bit of magic, I think. There is a catch that their power is suggested to be due to Lazarus exposure, but for arguments sake let's say the Al Ghul lineage is inherently proficient in magic (and Lazarus exposure simply enhances it).

I can't recall "magic" being a part of Damian's training/upbringing (I'm still slowly catching-up on Damian comics so apologies if I miss any canon examples of magic use). Not sure why Talia wouldn't want her little "heir to an ancient assassin empire baby" to learn magic, but it would at least give reason to Damian not knowing about his magic potential, or lack of interest in it.

Through the power of pseudo storytelling, what if Damian's encounter with Mother Soul could have triggered a manifestation of magic that was once dormant; like a pressure cooker waiting to explode with energy when it hasn't been given a safe outlet.

I've yet to read a satisfying arc where Damian truly gets to contemplate his Al Ghul roots outside of "dad is good guy, mum is bad guy". Damian's initial character growth stems from him running away from, and renouncing his association with the League (i.e. "I'm nothing like you, mother and grandfather!").

The most recent thing I've read was Robin (2021), and whilst Damian is much more cordial with his mother, there's still an emotional distance and sense of distrust/resentment (for good reason, even if the context was some cartoonishly evil writing). But there is a silver-lining that they still appear to be fond of each other, in a melancholy kind of way.

Realizing he's "genetically" primed for magic would be especially confronting to Damian. There's no denying his Al Ghul blood, forcing him to confront a facet of himself he can no longer ignore or reject. A family that he likely has to approach for help/guidance.

Damian is put in a position of acknowledging this power could be used for good, to be stronger, to fight crime, balancing it with the implication that what he possesses could be rooted in dark magic (Lazarus enchantment).

If he decides to embrace it, would that be too much of an endorsement of the Al Ghul's dark occultism? Can he separate the two ideas? What if he can't control it? What if he accidentally hurts someone? What if has the ability to save someone where his other skills fall short?

Ideally, I'd love for this hypothetical story to lead into Damian exploring his Al Ghul heritage more intimately, historically, and spiritually (à la RSoB: Year of Redemption adventures). Another little coming-of-age self discovery journey.

I have my own little personal thoughts on what Damian decides to do with his magic powers, but I'd like to leave that open to interpretation... By the end of it I hope that he will at least find some forgiveness over resentment, and a balance between accepting that side of his family a little easier. It is finally a sense of inner peace :)

Any thoughts? Did I get any characterisation wrong? Let's talk over on my DC blog @arkhamochi! I'm currently trying to read all Damian-centric comics until I catch up with the current run. I'm hungry for discussion and analysis!!!!!!

[ghada-zaki]

I am Ghada Ikrayyem, I am 23 years old and I am a Palestine refugee from Gaza.

Being the oldest sister among six girls, I've always wanted to set a good example for them. I aim to be a strong woman who breaks through any limitations to reach her goals.

Since I have always been very curious and loved taking on challenges, I chose to become a solar energy technician.

I received a training course on solar panels at UNRWA training centre in Gaza, and thanks to my achievements, I won the International Green Skills Competition from the European Union Training Foundation, which made me one of the most influential women in Palestine in 2021.

Two years ago, the European Parliament invited me in Venice, at the Annual Conference on the Global State of Human Rights, where I spoke in a panel on youth as change-makers.

I was invited to give voice to Gaza youth, and to highlight the importance and impact that education has on women’s careers in a male-dominated environment.

A job followed, opening new doors. And my ambitions didn’t stop there. I enrolled in university, pursuing a bachelor’s degree in commerce, because I wanted to become an entrepreneur in Gaza.

And then the war came. And it took everything from me: my father, my brother, my home, my room, my office, my smile, and my memories. My family and I are traumatized now, because of what we are going through.

I was looking forward to graduating and celebrating with my family. But now all my dreams and everything I owned have turned to ashes under the rubble.

I am the sole provider for my family, we have nothing left.

On the 188th day of the genocide, I have lost everything, literally everything. The Israeli occupation took my father and my deaf brother from me. They killed them with an air strike. They deprived me of my beloved father and my caring, innocent brother. We did not find any trace of my father due to the intensity of the missile’s force, which shattered his body into small pieces. He has no grave, they even deprived us of my father's body. I can't bear more losses. I don't want a luxurious life. I just want to survive. I just want to get out of Gaza with what's left of my family. We have become 10 people instead of 12.

Malnutrition gnaws at my younger siblings. Their frail bodies bear the scars of hunger. I fear their condition will worsen, their innocence fading like a dying ember.

Your donation is our lifeline. With it, we can survive. Time slips through our fingers, and I refuse to lose another loved one. Please, help us evacuate. Your generosity is our only hope, our chance to breathe beyond the blockade.

Thank you for being our beacon of compassion 🙏

Gaza, my beloved home, holds my heart. Yet, as Palestinian refugees, where are our fundamental rights? For 15 years, Gaza has been under blockade and constant fighting, leaving lasting wounds on our people and our lives. And now this terrible war.

I am trying to get out of here with all my families and collect money for this, but it is hard🥺!

Please continue talking about Gaza and what is happening here.

[simp4konig]

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

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I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

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A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

[patito-oward]

one of my favorite pieces of indycar lore is beadgate, also referred to as tubgate, and it is TRULY not talked about enough. in case any of you don’t know, here’s a deep dive into the lore.

to really get the full effect you have to rewind to may of 2021. for anyone who doesn’t know all of the drivers basically live in a lot together in motorhomes for the month of may. rossi returns to his bus one day to see that his golf cart had been put up on blocks, had the wheels taken off, and the wheels were now on top of his motorhome; see below:

so alex, because he’s the most predictable human alive, is furious. he’s determined to find out who did this and get revenge on them. eventually he breaks down sweet baby colton, who originally helped conor with the golf cart on blocks, and colton tells him it was conor.

alex had already narrowed it down to conor, but colton confirmed it. alex even overhears a call between conor and colton where conor is panicking thinking alex is onto them. then alex starts a deliberate plan to get him back and make his life hell. despite being very adamant that he had nothing to do with the golf cart conor is very careful because he knows revenge is coming.

throughout the next week and a half-ish alex tries everything to get conor back. conor is being very careful to lock his bus and car whenever he’s away, and he’s also stopped using his golf cart completely and hidden it somewhere at the speedway. alex is so dedicated to doing this that he finds out who conor was going on a date with that night (because conor was a bit of a whore before his girlfriend), dms the girl on instagram, and gets her in on this prank.

he basically asked her to keep an eye out for his motorhome keys in the car or on him, she says she doesn’t see him, but tells him where they went for dinner. rossi goes to this restaurant, convinces the valet to give him the keys to conor’s car and looks for the keys to his bus, they aren’t there. then, not willing to give up, he goes to conor’s house and breaks in, still can’t find the keys.

finally, he heads back to the speedway and decides he’ll fuck with his golf cart instead, but like i said, conor’s golf cart is MIA. rossi starts a search party for this golf cart, he has everyone he knows, including doug boles (president of ims and conor’s step dad), looking for this golf cart and they can not find it. he calls it off for 2021, but promises that he’s not done yet, and now has a whole year to plan his next prank.

a whole year goes by, it’s may 2022, and because conor is who he is he decides an inflatable hot tub is an absolute need for his motorhome.

he is so proud of himself for this thing and is showing it off to everyone, and the absolutely diabolical alex rossi sits back and laughs maniacally as everything falls into place.

alex does extensive research (as he does on most things) and finds out exactly how many orbeez it would take to fill the hot tub, and on tuesday morning of practice week he sneaks over to conor’s hot tub, and 4 hours later conor goes to show off his hot tub to someone and finds this:

conor is furious and on the hunt for who would’ve done this, he, wrongly, assumed that it was done monday night and therefore couldn’t be alex because alex was with him. the whole week goes by, and he still doesn’t know who it is, until the night of the victory banquet when alex drops this:

anyways this is my favorite thing ever hope you all enjoy as much as i do

[disneyprincemuke]

"wanna hang out?" * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic fem!driver

notes: also nothing to do with vr, but ON GOD I'VE GOT SOMETHING PLANNED WITH THEM I- i am also making this a mini series, because i cant physically sit down and write anything too long because this ask was very long and i simply can't not break it down into parts im sorry anon i love you

| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |

"mate, just go up and him and say 'hi'. it's not that hard."

"i know, but i'm scared."

"scared? he's a 22-year-old. he won't bite you."

"you don't know that!"

"he's a really nice kid. just go up to him and ask him if he wants to hang out."

"okay, but only if you come with me?"

"you're a fully grown adult! you don't need me with you to play matchmaker to get a new friend."

"please, george? i'm asking you this one favour."

"no can do. look! there he is! go!"

that's the last thing you hear before you are rudely shoved out of alex's driver's room. you press your lips together into a thin line, fists balled by your side as you hear george close the door behind you. you knew hanging out with george in alex's room without alex is stupid.

you had simply noticed the american rookie quietly following the thai driver around, not making many conversations with other drivers during the pre-season test a couple of weeks ago. while you're very well equipped with making friends and incorporating yourself with the rest of your colleagues, logan seemed to be one of the people you found quite difficult to approach.

not because he's unapproachable. simply because he is also very quiet and reserved on his own. once upon a time, when you first joined formula 1 as the only woman on the grid, you were good friends with charles. that was before you had drifted apart amidst all the outright comparisons everyone would make, and eventually, you had fallen into his shadow while he achieved greater things in the sport.

you had learned to find solace in your own company for about a year or so, only speaking to whoever spoke to you. it wasn't until things started falling into place when toto wolff had picked you to race with mercedes, following lewis hamilton's retirement in 2021 after failing to secure himself a championship.

logan, who has just finished his climb up the stairs, flashes you a friendly smile as he fiddles with his keys. "hey," he greets you, before abruptly turning to unlock the door to his driver's room.

"hi," you smile, awkwardly wiping your palms against the material of your shorts. "i haven't had the chance to properly introduce myself to you. i'm (y/n)."

he pushes his door open, craning his neck to acknowledge you. "i know. i've been a big fan since you joined the sport," he glances elsewhere before meeting your eyes again, "i'm logan?"

"right, we already know that," you sigh, shaking your head. you take a step forward, maintaining your distance from the entrance of his driver's room. you don't want to wind up overstepping your welcome. "um, well, welcome to formula 1."

he smiles at you, slightly more genuine this time. you watch as he puts his bag down by the door. "thank you."

"no problem." you bite on the inside of your cheek, turning around to open the door to alex's driver's room. you hear the door creaking behind you, and you vaguely remember that all this awkward conversation wasn't initiated for nothing.

you turn back around and try to hold the door open. your palm meets the door, logan flinching back in surprise as you tilt your head to peek up at him. "have you had your lunch yet?"

he shakes his head. "why?"

"george and i are waiting for alex to finish his meeting with james before we go and grab lunch somewhere in the paddocks," you smile. "wanna hang out?"

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Three Rules

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: being in an abusive relationship, domestic violence, covering up bruises (nothing is ever explicit, just talked about), minor fluff at the end

Summary: Bucky Barnes has been assigned to you as a way to overcome his feelings and separate himself from the Winter Solider. You're his saving grace and maybe, he can be yours.

Squares Filled: "need a medic?" (2021) @star-spangled-bingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

The mirror above the steering wheel is so tiny but it’ll have to do since you don’t have your big mirror in your purse this time. You make sure your makeup is good enough to last the whole day, and more importantly, to keep what’s underneath hidden from everyone else. You don’t know what you’d do if people found out about your home life.

When you deem yourself okay, you grab your things and head straight to work. Your assistant, Carly, greets you with a friendly smile and a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, boss!”

“Morning. Who do we have on the books today?”

“The only one is Bucky Barnes.”

“Great. Send him in as soon as he gets here.”

“Sure.”

You walk into your office and make sure everything you need for today’s session is in front of you. Bucky Barnes has only been seeing you for a couple of months so it’s still so new to either of you. You're a well-respected psychologist who had many clients, but you never thought you’d be seeing the former Winter Soldier.

You’ve heard the stories. You know what he’s done but he’s trying to atone for his mistakes. One of the important ways he’s going to do that is if you give him the chance to. He’s been respectful of you even though he’s closed off. Someone like him who experienced the torture he’s been through isn’t going to open up easily. It’s hard getting him to talk about himself but you’re hoping that if you start from before Hydra it will get him to open up to you a lot more.

His appointment is in a couple of minutes so you check yourself using your desk mirror to make sure everything still looks the same.

“Boss, Mr. Barnes is here,” Carly says through the phone intercom.

“Send him in.” The door opens and Bucky walks in with an uncertain look in his eyes. You give him a small yet friendly smile to ease his concerns. “Hello, Mr. Barnes. Please, have a seat.”

“Please, call me Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky.” He sits down on the couch across from your desk. “How was your week?” He shrugs in response. “Did you do anything special?”

“I spent time with Sam and his family.”

“How did that make you feel? Did you like it?”

“It was alright,” he sighs.

“Did you uphold your three rules?”

Rule #1: Don’t do anything illegal. Rule #2: Don’t hurt anyone. Rule #3: Introduce himself as James Barnes instead of Bucky, formerly the Winter Solider.

“Yes.”

“That’s good. I’m proud of the progress you’ve made since seeing me. Is there anything you’d like to talk about specifically that happened this week?”

“No.”

He can’t seem to look at you. He’s talking to you, that’s a plus, even though he’s only giving you one-syllable words.

“Bucky, if this is going to work, I need you to try here. I’m not asking you to write me a novel about your life. I’m asking you to give a little. Can you do that for me?” you ask in a gentle tone.

“Okay,” he sighs and looks into your eyes. “I’ll try.”

“What would you like to talk about?”

“Steve.”

“What about Steve?” Bucky looks like he wants to cry. Anything about Steve makes him question everything about him. He left Bucky. He left everyone behind to start a life in another timeline. “This is a safe space. Everything you’re feeling is valid, Bucky. When you’re ready, I’d love to hear what you have to say.”

It takes him ten long minutes to find the courage to talk and when he does, he can’t look at you.

“What if Steve was wrong about me? I was under Hydra’s influence when we crossed paths again, and he did everything he could to save me. He even brought me to Wakanda to get that shit out of my head. What if it’s still there? What if they say those words again and I’m back to being the Winter Soldier? Sometimes I don’t think I’m worth saving.”

You want to cry for him. He is so badly damaged that it will take a long time if not the rest of his life to be okay again. He might have happy moments here and there, but those fears will always be there. You have to choose your words carefully.

“It’s hard to see the good in someone who has done bad, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. Steve remembered his best friend and knew the kind of person he was. Steve remembered something in you that is still true to this day.”

“What?” he asks and looks up at you with hints of tears in his eyes.

“I see a man trying to do good, to atone for his mistakes, and I think that’s someone worth saving. Steve saw it, too.” A single tear escapes his eyes but he doesn’t wipe it away. “If you are who you think you are, you wouldn’t feel remorse for what they did to you. The fact that you do shows me that you’re more than what they put in your head. You’re trying to do good with the bad you’ve been given, and that’s not a bad person.”

You’ve made excellent progress with Bucky this session, and you think the next one is going to go by just as smoothly. He only gets an hour but you make the most of the rest of the hour.

“The same time next week?” you ask.

“I’ll see you then, Doc,” Bucky smiles and leaves your office.

With each passing session, you and Bucky form a stronger bond until he realizes he looks forward to being with you. You make his day a bit brighter but the last thing he is gonna do is tell you that. You’d never have romantic relations with a client but you can’t say the same once they no longer are your clients.

You show up to work one week dabbing makeup on your face while driving. You’re on the phone with your husband. He isn’t on speakerphone and your phone is resting in one of the cup holders, but you can still hear every word he is saying as clear as day. He is yelling that loudly at you. You forgot to do the dishes before you left for work and now he is telling you what a burden you are, how much he hates you, and that you’re useless…

…and those are the nice things.

“Baby, I was running late this morning. I’m sorry,” you sigh and pick up the phone.

“I will deal with you later,” he growls and hangs up the phone.

You’d cry but then you’d ruin your makeup, and you’re already at work. You push down your feelings about your abusive husband and walk into work. You gasp at how hot it is, and you look at your assistant who has her work jacket off.

“What is going on in here? Why is it so hot?”

“The air conditioning is broken but someone is coming to look at it later.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “How many today?”

“Three.”

“Send them through.”

You get through the first two clients with as few problems as possible but by the time Bucky comes in, you’re almost about to break. You're tired, your face is pulsing with pain, your makeup feels like cake at this point, and you don’t know how much longer you can stand sitting in the heat.

“Hi, Bucky. Please have a seat,” you greet. He sees the immediate shift in your behavior and you’ve only said six words to him. “I’d like to start this session by talking about last week. You said something about taking a trip with Sam, right? How did that go?”

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Bucky, we’re here to talk about you, not me.”

Bucky has to let it go for right now but he can’t when you wipe your face to clear the sweat. You forget that you have makeup on otherwise you wouldn’t have wiped your face with your handkerchief. It’s not entirely present but Bucky knows a bruise when he sees one, and you have a dark one near your eye.

“Need a medic?”

“I’m fine. I fell.”

“I’ve fallen plenty of times. I’ve gotten hit enough times to know a bruise caused by a punch when I see one.”

“Bucky, please. Drop it. We’re not here to talk about me.”

Bucky notices you play with your wedding ring nervously whenever the spotlight is on you. He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what’s been happening here. For your sake, he lets it go. The session is cut short due to Bucky needing to be somewhere, and you made it clear he is still getting charged the full hour whether he uses it or not. He was fine with it so you moved on with three other clients after him.

The air conditioning was fixed after the first client, so you redid your makeup in the bathroom to be more presentable. It’s late when you finish with your last client, and you curse at the time. Your husband is going to kill you if you’re late again. You gather your things and rush out of your office, but Carly stops you before you can get far.

“Listen, I’m running late, so can you--”

“The police called earlier. I told them you were with a client and they asked if you could call them back. They said it was urgent.”

“Oh, okay,” you stutter. She hands you her phone after redialing the last number called. “Hi, my name is Y/N. My assistant got a call earlier?” You hear the words they’re saying but your brain isn’t processing them. “Wait, I’m sorry, he’s what?”

“Your husband is dead, ma’am. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“How? When? I just talked to him this morning.”

“My guess is that he’s been dead for maybe four hours. He died from a severe beating and blunt-force trauma to the head.”

All you hear them saying is that you’re free. You’re finally free. No more pain. You’re not sure who killed your husband because he didn’t have a lot of enemies. Despite how he treated you, he was very charming to everyone else. He put up this facade that made him look like a saint when really, he was the devil.

When you show up to work the next week, your hair is pinned up, you have light makeup on, a nice outfit, and your heart is light. You’ve never been happier now that your husband is out of the picture. He was a wealthy man, so you got all of his money to use how you see fit. He was so horrible to you so maybe his money will bring some happiness to people when you donate a chunk to different charities.

Bucky shows up right on time, and you give him a smile when he enters your room. You look down and notice some bruising and scabs on his knuckles, and if his metal hand could scar as easily as flesh, he’d have scars there, too.

“Have a seat, Bucky.”

“You look happier.”

You chuckle in amusement. You look Carly through the small glass window who is busy taking calls for you to listen to later. You look back at Bucky who raises his eyebrows in question.

“The following conversation didn’t happen.” He nods in understanding. “My husband is dead. Someone killed him.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long five minutes.

“Did he deserve it?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“Did you break rule number two?”

“I might have,” he smiles, “but I had a really good reason.”

“What reason is that?” you ask and sit back.

“There’s this woman I know, and for the first time since I met her, she actually had a genuine smile on her face… and it is gorgeous. I guess her husband didn’t know what he had when he had her.”

You smile at Bucky.

“No, he didn’t.”

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[adventuringblind]

Breathe For Me

LandOscar x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Dialouge: "It's okay, you can rest. We've got you. Just Breathe."

Summary: Marks on your soulmates skin appear on yours. Oscar and Lando hope they find whoever it is before they run out of time.

Warnings: SELF-HARM, Alcohol, scars, blood, panic attacks,

Notes: This is Part of my 1000 follower event. Feel free to click the link and throw me a request!

Masterlist

It's not every day you meet your soulmate. It's certainly not rare, but it also isn't an everyday event and is supposed to only happen once. If you're Lando Norris, then you get to go through it twice.

Originally he thought only one. I mean, maybe his souldmate is just clumsy. That is not the case however, because Lando has more scars, cuts, bumps, and bruises then anyone else he knows. He would be fine with it if he wasn't on national television all the time.

Max and Charles were lucky and found each other in Karting. Max had a bruise on his face from his dad and showed up to the race with it still getting darker. Charles had one to match. Now they're happily in love and the public doesn't now (is what they tell themselves).

So Lando finds himself stuck in between a soulmate who bruises every occasionally and on who gets scrapes nearly every day. He feels for whoever the first is because Lando is clumsy and is always running into things. Between himself and whoever the latter is, he probably is already exasperated.

Aside from his family, Carlos is the first person to notice. He double checks nothing is happening in Lando's own life that is causing all the marks. He assures happily that he's clumsy and the two soul mates certainly don't help.

Lando has heard of people carving names and addresses into their arms to find their destined partner. He lets it happen naturally. It's supposed destiny and who is he to rush it?

Daniel admits to an extreme worry of Lando. The older driver kept a close eye on him and Lando has to reassure him non-stop that he's clumsy, but it's not that bad.

He soon realizes that it's not the bruises Daniel is worried about, it's the scars. When his sweatshirt sleeves roll up the red lines are visible. It's something he's gotten used to over the past couple of years, but he dosen't think about it when he's not being filmed.

They cover a good amount of space on his body. Biceps, collarbone, thighs, stomach, and shins. It wasn't that bad until 2021 when it got significantly worse. It's stressing him out if he's being honest with himself.

He's is pieces when Daniel tells him he's losing his seat. No other driver lined up yet. Another teammate gone.

Daniel reassures him that Oscar looks like he'll make a good teammate. Lando is skeptical. Oscar is younger and a rookie.

The first time he meets Oscar is at the MTC. They shake hands, two sets of sleeves role up and Lando can't help but stare.

They match. Their wrists are completely identical.

They don't talk about it until a while later after spending the off season getting to know each other. They determined in Febuary they would be really close friends. It obviously escalated and now Charlotte keeps tell him to make it less obvious.

He's nit afraid to say he's weak for Oscar. A calm in his storm of emotions. The one person who can get him to actually rationalize his anxious thoughts.

In 2023, three rookies came to the grid. One of them being a female driver for alphatauri and a good friend of Oscar's. She then consequently became a friend of Lando's.

Which would be so terrible if Lando didn't know for a fact she's hiding something. She's shy and closed off to everybody unless it's him or Oscar. Mostly because he's forced his way under her skin.

"There is something about her, Osc. I can feel it in my bones."

"Are you sure it's not the cup of milk you downed getting to your head?"

"Rude!"

Oddly enough, it's max who approaches them about her later. He'd gotten to know her through media things and race weekends and often asked Lando about her or vice versa.

He pulls Oscar and him aside early one morning in the paddock. Oscar is still half asleep and Lando doesn't know what's happened until Max slides their sleeves up.

The ones they decided to wear to the cameras didn't pick up the fresh scar close to their elbow on their forearms. Completely identical to each other.

"You said you have another soulmate right?"

"Yes?"

"I think I might know who it is."

This is how Lando and Oscar find themselves in front of her hotel room door after the race. A DNF that wasn't her fault had ended her race early. Max had been about to go get her himself, but Lando and Oscar had said they would. If Max is right then they have a higher chance of getting through to the female driver.

Max sent them with the key card he has to her room. The one he forced her to give after he found her last night with a blade in her hand.

They knock out of curtosey first. No answer, as expected, but at least they tried. Maybe She’s asleep? Lando knows that’s probably not the case but he really doesn’t want to and see what is most likely happening. If the sting on his thigh says anything, it’s definitely not sleep.

Oscar keys the door open and hesitantly steps inside. Lando follows right on his heels. The lights are off and he would probably think it was empty if it weren’t for the visible blob of blankets in the corner that’s sobbing violently. to close to hyperventilation for Lando’s liking. He takes immediate action and pulls her out of the blankets.

Immediately, he keeps her body from curling in on itself so her chest is open and can get air easier. Oscar manages to find a lamp switch. She’s a wreck. So incredibly broken that Lando doesn’t know where to start.

“Breathe.” Is all he can come up with. "It's okay, you can rest. We've got you. Just Breathe."

Somehow he coax’s her to sleep. Him and Oscar combined manage to get her to bed, wrestle her shoes off, and bandage what they could see without removing clothing.

Oscar practically forces Lando into the be with her and he takes the floor. He’d said he’d take the floor with him, but Oscar claimed that Lando is the lighter sleeper and would know if she moved at all. Curse his soulmate and his logical thinking.

She manages to sleep until five in the morning. This time she just cries and huddles closer into Lando.

“I’m sorry you have to see me in such a state… I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

Lando maneuvers then int a sitting position. He then takes a pillow and throw it at his lover on the floor. Oscar stirs and groans.

“Must you.”

“Yes, It’s funny.”

Oscar makes his way up onto the bed and looks immediately like he’s going to fall asleep. Lando consequently throws another pillow at him.

“You should know something…” Lando starts. He doesn’t finish because the word are not doing what he needs them to. They jumble on his head and he can’t figure out where to start.

He’s entirely to grateful for Oscars presence. “Max thinks that the three of us are soulmates.”

Lando was thinking it would be like the first. Realization followed by smiles and laughs. This is not that. Instead it’s panic. She defends into the depths of her mind as she studies the match scars, even revealing her own identical one.

The pain, embarrassment and shame are written all over her features. She’s mumbling through some kind of an apology.

“Breathe.” He repeats. He says it over and over again until it’s all her own mind can hear.

Oscar looks gutted and lost. He’d helped Lando through many panic attacks, but this is completely different.

“I didn’t think I would ever find you. The doctors had tried to cut me off because it was a mistake since there were two. They said I wasn’t supposed to have one.”

Are the two boys shocked? A tad. Why would a doctor do that?

Lando doesn’t get time to ask as she pulls out a bottle of medication from the drawer in the nightstand. It’s stuff he’s heard of, but never actually seen. “This has been suppressed to sever the connection, but it hasn’t worked. They said to take it in higher doses at smaller intervals until it stops.”

She pops open the lid and pours a couple into her hands. Thank goodness for quick reflexes because Lando goes to get the ones in her hands, and Oscar goes for the bottle. She's too focused on Lando to notice the Aussie who manages to swipe it from her.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Didn't feel relevant."

"But this is incredibly dangerous! I've heard most people who do it end up -" Oh. It dawns on him why she's doing this to herself. The connection between them was already rough for her. She had been trying to 'fix' it like her doctors said. Had been told her entire life that the people who are fated to lover her unconditionally won't because she is nothing to them.

"How long have you been taking the meds?" Oscar's voice is so careful. The Brit would love to swoon, but it feels impolite at the moment.

"Years. They've tried everything. Put me on different kinds and change the dosage."

"Thirteen?" Lando whisper asks. His voice was barely audible. The small nod from the female confirms it. That's when the first scars arrived.

Lando places his hands on either side of her teary face. "You are not a mistake. You have never been a mistake. We've been aching for you. Scared maybe one day there wouldn't be any more marks and the implications of it. I've wanted nothing more than to tell you for years that you are loved and wanted."

He didn't even notice his own tears. Everything is just so overwhelming at the moment. They came so unexpectedly that it almost startled him. Screw Oscar and his ability to be amazing emotional support. The hand on Lando's knee is the only thing keeping him grounded.

They don't let her go until Max comes to get her. She's flying to do some filming with him. Neither of the males want to let her go, so they don’t. They end up flying with her since McLaren hasn’t filled their schedules.

But then they don’t leave. They spend every moment possible reminding her she is loved. That they want her. That nothing between them is a mistake.

Soon the scars start to fade.

But have no fear, Lando is clumsy enough to make up for it.

[kanmom51]

Please help 😅 I think there is something or some conversation l have missed in JIKOOK’s timeline. Something about our Jimin getting so upset that he left the members and went home to heal from some trauma caused by V & Jk ?? The next we heard about him was when he was hospitalised suffering from covid?? Please fill in the blanks for me if you know any deets.. l would be grateful. No pressure though😂🫶🏽

Idk what fan fiction this is from, but WOW.

JM healing from trauma caused by V and JK?

The next was when he was hospitalized with covid?

Bull bloody shit is what I can tell you.

But let's look at the timeline why don't we?

At least what we know of it.

JM was hospitalized end of January 2022. Not because of covid but because of his appendix, and when in hospital tested positive for covid.

This followed the group going on a break after their 4 concerts in LA in November 2021.

Last time we had all three together was in their live on 28 November 2021. That was a chaotic super happy live. Only bullying I can think of, jokingly, would be Tae constantly mentioning brand names he wasn't supposed to, lol.

You can find many links to posts I wrote about that live here:

Then JK and JM returned to Korea with Jin. Just the three of them. They were supposed to go into quarantine as they returned, separately, as the government rules stated, and yet JK waited for JM at the airport upon their arrival thinking that they will be sharing a car only for the two to be separated.

There is absolutely, and I repeat absolutely NOTHING to show that there was anything wrong between JM and JK at that place and time!!!

JM and JK were fine, and there was no bullying going on from Tae and JK. What AO3 fanfic is that even?

As for the stupidity I've been hearing of since Ep. 3 of Are you sure? JK and V bullying JM, like wtf is wrong with people?

Every time I think people have reached the limit of being the worst they just prove that they can surpass themselves.

I think people lack basic ideas of human interactions if they claim that the playfulness we saw in that episode can be called bullying. If that's bullying then every single time those three played throughout the years would also be. These are 3 young men who grew up together and at times roughhouse. Like men do.

I've kind of lost hope in trying to explain to these people, who love to see JM as a victim, and therefore think they are his knights in shining armour, that JM is a grown ass man who knows exactly how to put both JK and Tae in their places if he wanted to!!! He's got the physical strength to do so, not to mention the personality too. He's known to have done both, when he wanted. And here's the news flash. Maybe he didn't want to! JM knows how to be assertive. Being such a nice human being doesn't make him a weak human being. I think that many of those that claim to love him and want to protect him either don't know him at all or want him to be weak so they can show up as his great protectors against the big bad JK, whom they would love to get rid of, cause he's just not good enough for JM, in their warped reality. Perhaps because they want JM for themselves.

JK is the person that JM loves most in this world.

The person that stood by JM's side and supported him when he was going through the turmoil he was experiencing during the pandemic.

The person that JM wanted to go on these trips with and came up with the idea to create this show so that they can go on these trips together.

The person that he flew from Korea to NY to be with for his solo debut.

The person that he can't stop talking about and bringing up in conversations that have really nothing to do with him, like during the Minimoni album exchange.

The man he chose to write a song for and write these lines to:

Baby, don't leave Just stay by my side, yeah To you, who see me bigger than what my little self is (to you) So that I can give as much as I’ve received (oh-oh) So that I can keep my word (oh-oh) Don't worry, just stay by my side, yeah (Yeah) We don’t know what the future holds (holds, yeah) And that’s scary and makes us afraid (oh-oh) But don’t forget that we’re always together (don't forget)

The person he chose to enlist with and be with for the 18 months of their military service, even though it meant a more difficult placement, even though it would raise eyebrows and questions marks seeing that the two are the first ever idols, both in their late 20s to do this!!

I've said this once I've said this a thousand times. People need to go live their lives and stop looking for drama where it doesn't exist in JM and JK's life.

They are together.

They are good.

Even if they are idols and public figures.

Even if they are two gorgeous young men who happen to love each other and are, god forbid, in a queer relationship.

Even if being in a queer relationship in their industry and society is frowned upon.

All those don't mean that their relationship isn't just a normal stable long term relationship with everything that such a loving relationship entails, including the struggles.

Enough with trying to insert drama where there is none.

[natailiatulls07]

In Maurgrite series could you do Charles and the grid reaction to her coming back home sad cause she was getting picked on and he tried to hide it but they know something wrong as she wasn’t her usual sunshine self

Marguerite; The father daughter dance

Jules Bianchi x Daughter!reader

Charles Leclerc x little sister!reader

Charlotte Sine x platonic!reader

Summary - When Y/n's school is doing a father daughter dance she chooses not to tell Charles and skip it but of course that doesn't work out to plan

Warning - Loss of a father, feeling guilty, mourning a father

A/n - Charles and Y/n aren’t blood related but consider each other brother and sister. I know Alex was with Charles in the first part but I'm trying to stick to irl relationships and events so Charlotte is here today!

Marguerite

-

2021

When Charles was told that his godfather had passed away, his mind immediately went to Y/n. How would she cope with this? How would she feel about seeing her friends with their fathers?

But there was one thing the driver forgot about; the father daughter dance. It was a one time event, every daughter would get when they're in year ten. Yet Charles forgot.

It wasn't like Y/n didn't remind him, no she kept it a secret. Not wanting to go because her dad was gone. So when she got the letter from school, what did she do with it?

Well she just threw into the bin outside of the school gates.

Unfornuately when Y/n had her friend round to do homework together, her friend accidentally let it slip right in front of Charles.

"Wait are you coming the dance?" The question was totally innocent, y/f/n thought that maybe Charles would take the place of Jules and take Y/n.

They were in the open plan living space, y/n and her friend in the living room and Charles in the kitchen with Charlotte. So of course he heard them. "Wait what dance?" Charles' voice echoed through the large room.

Y/n's face went pale. She had been caught and would have to explain herself to Charles. "O-oh uh nothing!" Trying to dismiss the question, even though she knew it wouldn't be dismissed that easily.

The older two moved from the kitchen to sit on the plush couch next to the two teens. "Well it's not nothing is it though?" Charlotte replied, also urging Y/n to answer the question.

But instead of Y/n, y/f/n once again spilled the beans. "It's the father daughter dance, I thought Y/n would told you..." She trailed off, finally coming to her senses and realising. "Oh, I should go...bye Y/n, thank you for the snacks Mr Leclerc"

She was quick to collect her stuff and leaving, y/f/n had just thrown Y/n under bus and left faster than the McLaren pitstop. "So...there's a father daughter dance..." Charles and Charlotte had eyes of sympathy, upset that they made her feel like she couldn't go. "Why didn't you tell us?"

There was hesitation, how was she meant to answer a question like this. "Didn't think I could go..." Y/n took a deep breath, finding the carpet more entertaining. "Because papa is not really...you know..." This was the type of conversation Y/n wasn't fond of.

It wasn't a conversation Charles loved all that best either. He absolutely hated how his Marguerite felt she couldn't talk to him about this stuff. "When...When is it?" He had idea and good one.

"Tomorrow..."

Charles was quick to nod his head.

-

"Alex, can you distract Y/n tomorrow please" Everyone had gone to bed, Charlotte and Charles in bed togther and Y/n asleep in her own bed. He needed Y/n to be distracted so he could set up the surprise.

Charlotte smiled softly, cuddling closer to Charles. "Yeah of course, is this about the dance?" She knew the answer, she knew how guilty Charles felt about the dance.

Playing with the womens long brunette hair, Charles just nodded. He didn't have the heart to speak, fearing he'd break down.

-

So the next day whilst eating breakfast, Charlotte suggested to Y/n that they do a pamper day. Get their nails done, hair done and just go on a massive shopping spree. During said shopping spree, Charlotte had managed to convince her to get a nice formal dress, the dress she would wear to the dance.

"Hey, you should get this!" Take the dress off the rack, it was totally Y/n's style. "You never know what kind of event Charlie will want to take you to in the future, have it as back up" That was all that Y/n needed to be convinced to get the dress

Charlotte had successfully done what Charles asked of her. Unknow to Y/n, Charles had called up the school and asked if he could attend the dance in place of his late godfather.

They were very understanding and guilty they hadn't thought it through any earlier, but immediately agreed and ensured Charles that they wouldn't single him and Y/n out.

-

Arriving back at the apartment, it was surprisingly quiet. Charlotte and Y/n walked into the kitchen living space and there was an envelope laid next to a bouquet of African Daisies. On the envelope in fancy handwriting, wrote her name and in brackets, Marguerite.

Y/n (Marguerite)

With eyebrows frowned, Y/n turned to Charlotte. "Wait what's this?" Charlotte, who was pouring herself a glass of water just smirked, motioning for Y/n to opening it.

Riping the envelope open, she pulled out the letter and started to read it out loud.

Dear Marguerite, Get ready to put on your dancing shoes and join me for a night of laughter, joy, and unforgettable moments at our father daughter dance! It's going to be a night to remember, and I wouldn't want to share it with anyone else but you. Date: Tonight Time: 8pm Location: School You are cordially invited to be my dance partner for an evening filled with music, twirls, and sibling love. It's a chance for us to create memories that will last a lifetime and celebrate the awesome bond we share as older brother and younger sister. I understand that papa is no longer with us but I don't to subject you to miss these core memories, I have called ahead and we are more than allowed to attend together. Let me step up and honour Jules with you tonight. So, dust off that fancy dress, and let's make this night magical. Get ready to hit the dance floor and show everyone how we rock the dance moves together. Please let me know as soon as possible because I wouldn't want to dance the night away with anyone but my favorite sister. Can't wait to see you there, all dolled up and ready to dance! With love, Your Charlie

As if on cue, Charles came walking out of his office with a big smile on his face. "So what do you say?" He held out his arm, and she ran straight into them. Everyone was tearing up; Y/n, Charlotte and Charles.

He felt her nodding excitedly, her face in the crook of his neck. "Yes! thank you so much Charlie!" Y/n was over the moon, so grateful that Charles got this opportunity for her to actually happen.

"Marguerite, please don't think you can' experience these things..." Pulling out of the hug, Charles held her face in his hands and looked her in the eyes. "Papa would of wanted you to get those experience even though he is not here anymore"

Y/n nodding slowly, that guilt and grief slightly melting away.

Charlotte made her way over to the two, placing her hands on the younger girls shoulders and leaning down. "Come on Marguerite, we have to get you ready and you..." The two girls turned to the driver stood beaming in front of them. "You need to sort yourself out, like the hair?" The sound of laughing echos through the apartment as Charlotte and Y/n make their way to go get ready.

-

It's around seven thirty when Charlotte finally curls the last piece of hair and Y/n slides into her heels. They both look in the mirror, and Charlotte smiles softly. "You look like a princess..."

It's not often Y/n dresses up, she really doesn't attend many formal events with Charles. Esperically after Jules' death, Charles hated how the press exploited the girl so he limited their chances.

"Are you nearly ready?" The monégasque shouted from what it sounded like to be the hallway. Quickly checking her hair and makeup, Y/n nodded to Charlotte who was first to leave the bedroom and meet Charles in the hallway.

Y/n stepped out of her bedroom behind Charlotte and noticed how Charles had put on a classic black suit. Once the driver saw his little sister, his eyes were watering again.

He placed his hand over his heart. "My god I won't last on your wedding day..." Rolling her eyes, Y/n thought he was being dramatic. "You are stunning Marguerite..."

Looking up at the clock on the wall, Y/n didn't want to ruin her makeup. "Stop, I don't want to ruin my makeup" The hallway erupted with laughter before Charles nodded, chuckling slightly.

"Come on then, lets go dance the night away..."

-

[klxudykai]

the ugly part of reality shifting

as great as shifting is, its really fucking draining. like REALLY draining. its nice that people want to show the fun and positive side of shifting and all, but once new shifters (specifically) hit the stage where they're drained and extremely demotivated, they aren't going to know how to deal with these new overwhelming emotions. reality shifting takes a toll on our mental health even if we don't like to admit it. this may not apply to everything, but I know it applies to the majority.

ive been shifting since 2021 (if you saw my post Abt me starting shifting in 2019 that was wrong lmfao mb yall-). and I still haven't shifted. I used to think I'd shift within 4 years but surprise surprise. I haven't. I'm drained and demotivated. I don't completely believe I wont ever shift, but I don't think I can get what I want by manifesting or affirming or doing any of that. I think the universe will just randomly hand it to me. it sounds dumb but that's the weird luck I have. when I don't expect it, I get what I want. but when I try hard and I expect it, nothing happens or I get smth worse. i don't think that even when I put blood,sweat, and tears into this that I'll shift. I've discovered so much shit about myself yet I am still here with no experience of what its like in another reality let alone my dr. never saw my dr once. only in my dreams and my imagination.

im going to be completely honest when I say that shifting is not for the weak. I'm not saying this to get you to quit because shifting is one of the best things that I found. I just want you to know that its not always going to be perfect. you might feel desperate, you might feel homesick, you might feel exhausted mentally. and sometimes you'll make progress but then find another obstacle. quite frankly, fuck the obstacles because that's not the issue. its how you deal with them that really determine how your growth goes. and no I'm not saying it controls if you'll shift or not because it doesn't. but if you're a person that gives up easily, its going to be hard to overcome those blockages. I say that because I myself give up easily. which is ironic because I don't give up when it comes to certain goals I want to accomplish (one of those goals being shifting), but I refuse to get rid of those so called "blockages" and avoid them even though I know what's the problem. I avoid them because I don't know how to fix them and I just have this fear that's telling me I'll fail.

this post probably doesn't make a lot of sense but that's because I'm writing this in the heat of the moment so I'm not doing a lot of thinking, I'm just typing. what I'm saying is don't be that person that avoids the problems. be transparent with yourself because I'm telling you, the more you avoid it, the more drained youre going to become. it might turn into an endless loop where you think about your Dr daily but you have zero energy to shift. and it fucking sucks.

overall, please take breaks whether they're mental or shifting breaks, if you feel like there is an issue with yourself, fix it. this is a hard journey but it will be a lot easier once you're honest and overcome problems that need to be solved.

(disclaimer that this may not apply to everyone, just the people who are going through a rough patch in their journey. this is mainly just my perspective and what I've heard from a friend of mine since our issues seemed pretty similar. and if anyone needs someone to talk to, my DMS are open. I want my blog to be a safe space and that this is a place where not everything is perfect. I love y'all and please take care and don't stress yourselves <33)

also, fuck that toxic positivity shit that just makes mfs more drained. if you feel demotivated address it don't push it away

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Submissions are CLOSED.

01CEST - 18CEST 1st of June (find the current time here)

RULES:

Submissions will only be open during this specific time, then the askbox will close. (that means no questions or other things can be sent to me at that point for a while)

All required information needs to be filled in! Any submissions that lacks any of required info will instantly be deleted.

I want to showcase more non-English songs! So please specify which language the song is in. Write instrumental instead of language on instrumental songs. Also remember to add country of origin of the artist because it's more fun to hear things from all over the world, not just "the usual" bunch! (yes, english songs from north america & europe are still fine to add!)

Artist Song title Year Genre Language Country of origin

Again; all of the above needs to be specified or the message will be deleted.

Artists that have previously been featured on the blog are welcome back, of course! Just make sure to not submit songs that have already been posted!

The first 220 songs are all listed here. The songs between 221 and 230 can be found as listed in the Showdown polls. Of course it's ok to add songs being covered by other artists than the original! (final choice which goes is up to me though)

For artists on a smaller scale and/or that are very local and have basically no info to be found online, please do make sure to send along a blurb with info about them and their song. :) It doesn't have to be much, but something is better than nothing! The songs needs to be available on Youtube and/or Spotify for people to get the chance to listen and discover the full versions.

There will be a maximum of 7 SONGS PER USER, so make sure to send them all in ONE message to my askbox. Only users that already follows this blog are allowed to submit songs, obviously, lol. New and empty accounts don't count, don't be daft! 😂 Anything sent to me from a freshly created account will be deleted because you haven't even had time to discover and follow this blog yet.

Double-check all the info before sending it in, there's no rush unless you're very last minute. :'D If you send in multiple messages instead of a single one, they will be deleted.

There's still way over a thousand songs from before to go through 😅 All the old song submissions are still waiting in my askbox, so if you've already submitted them you don't have to re-submit them. 💖 So with both the old and these new songs, please have patience for them to be added. 😅💖

Example of submissions: 1- A-ha - Take On Me, 1985, synth-pop, english, norway 2- Måneskin - Zitti e Buoni, 2021, glam/punk rock, italian, italy 3- Youssou N'Dour and Neneh Cherry - 7 Seconds, 1994, ballad, wolof/english/french, senegal+sweden

time table made here

[dynamoe]

REDRAW Venture Bros S01E10 "Tag Sale— You're It!"

→ → to all Billy Quizboy & Pete White posts

The scene where Mr. White and Master Billy (they didn't have full names yet) try to sell Dr. Girlfriend on becoming their nemesis opens with a tilt (camera moves up-down on X-axis), which I patched together from multiple screenshots.

This episode is officially Conjectural Technologies first appearance post-pilot, but the episode order was scrambled. Even as early as this episode is, when everything looked kinda “off” in general, in this scene in particular the proportions are very odd.

Dr. Girlfriend is enormous. It's not from a forced perspective/"wide lens" effect since even White is looking up at her— she really is like 7 feet tall here. The stretch is somewhat hidden by the tilt. She's supposed to be barely 5' (according to Doc on a commentary track)— a petite lady. Meanwhile, Billy's way too small in the shot. He's usually level with White's top row of buttons.

I rejiggered the proportions while faithfully recreating the poses, which I find both static/boring (the boys) + weird (why are her hands posed like that?) If I recall, I don't think anyone moves in this shot, just the simulated camera angle, so it may have been one drawing so no one could move, explaining the stiff poses.

Looks like I accidentally created a new subtext. White gives Billy judgemental side-eye for looking up with reverential joy at Dr. Girlfriend about to bless him with a laying-on of hands on his big ol' melonhead.

When I've drawn White with his parasol before, I used the typical Japanese design. I considered maybe the canon brolly might have been based on a Thai (or another Southeast Asian culture's) design. When it comes back in a later episode it has more of an inverse curve to it that you see in old temple roofs.

I've searched everywhere for a real life parasol with this design. Nothing. The closest I can find are big beach umbrellas at fancy resorts, but they aren't open at the top with criss-crossing ribs. Venture Bros takes place in a world very much like ours, but with subtle differences. This umbrella is one of those differences.

In my redraw, I added a Santa windsock. If you don't know why, turn in your fan club card, you POSEUR.

I found this abandoned drawing on my backup drive from 2021. Decided to finish it as self-care. (I'm moving in two weeks and very stressed out.)

First time (kinda) drawing Dr. Girlfriend. Only my fourth VB character drawn after, like, four years? Fifth if you count the Rusty Venture action figure.

What did they do with the Santa Windsock? Which one wanted it? Did Venture refuse sell it to them after he threw a snit over the Shrink Ray? He claims he won't sell the Shrink Ray to them in that scene (because they said the logo was stupid), but then they have it (in pieces) in their possession when he comes looking for it in Escape to the House of Mummies (Part II)

→ to Master Billy Quizboy & Pete White index

edited to add a further idea....

If only the show had an unlimited animation budget, it'd be more in character for Billy to be jumping around and gesturing wildly while making his pitch to be her nemesis. Sweaty. Hard sell.

...and smoking. (My version of Billy smokes.)

[kiwriteswords]

I Promise You This

Chapter Two: Calls of Guilt Thrown at Me

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Trigger Warnings: Chronic illness, reader with past abusive relationship, canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, language, future sexual themes

Rating: Mature for mature themes and future chapters.

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Y/N, the newest and youngest profiler in the BAU, is haunted by her past—an abusive relationship and an illness she keeps hidden from her team. Though skilled in her work, she distances herself emotionally, fearing vulnerability. Aaron Hotchner, her reserved and perceptive boss, begins to notice the cracks in her carefully constructed walls as they navigate high-stakes cases together. Drawn to her resilience, Hotch finds himself increasingly protective of Y/N. As their bond deepens, both must confront their own emotional barriers, leading to an unexpected connection amidst the darkness of their work.

AN: Thanks for the wonderful feedback on the re-write of chapter one! I have received many requests for a taglist, which I originally had for the story back in 2021, but I have updated that as well, and that can be found here.

Masterlist | I Promise You This | Ao3

The Arizona heat was suffocating, even from the safety of the jet. You stepped off, walking side-by-side with Morgan. Years on the job had taught you how to collect yourself and how to compartmentalize the grief. That part had gotten easier with time. The pain, the heaviness of it, would only come when you were alone. Never before.

Rossi and Hotch were the last to disembark. Hotch, as always, took the time to thank the pilot. It was a quiet gesture, but Hotch had always made it clear that everyone mattered, even those behind the scenes.

"You ever wonder when she's going to break?" Rossi's voice was low, a passing observation aimed at Hotch.

"Who?" Hotch’s brow furrowed as he looked at Rossi, caught off guard by the question.

"Y/N." Rossi’s tone carried the weight of experience. "She's only in her twenties, and she's been through enough cases to break anyone. She went from a college classroom to working brutal cases with us. Yet, she hasn't cracked. Not once." He shook his head. “We all have our moments, but her? She’s been thrown into the deep end and hasn’t come up for air.”

Hotch remained silent, taking in the comment. He couldn’t deny that he’d noticed too. The way you held yourself together in the worst of times, the same way he did. But there was something else he didn’t admit to Rossi. He didn’t just notice it—he was concerned.

"She's strong," Hotch replied finally, his voice steady. "She’s proven her skills in the field. What she does off the clock isn’t my concern as long as she can do her job."

Rossi nodded but said nothing more. There was no point in pushing Hotch on a topic he clearly didn’t want to explore.

The drive to the local police department was filled with the usual briefing. The case involved three missing children, all under the age of nine. There was one lead so far, pointing to a possible husband-and-wife duo. The profile suggested the man was dominant, likely controlling the submissive woman. The connection between the children? Local sports. All three were active in the K-12 youth leagues.

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speakerphone as she relayed her findings. “There was a coach—Cliff Hall—recently fired from the youth soccer league. His neighbors reported multiple noise complaints, mostly shouting and what they suspected was violent behavior. Cliff toward his wife, Melinda. No reports of violence from her, though.”

"Do you have the address for the neighbor who reported this?" Morgan asked, pulling the phone closer.

"Yessiree! Laura and William Read, 38 Breeze Road. Two kids, too, just in case you’re wondering."

“Thanks, baby girl,” Morgan replied, his tone light despite the grim circumstances.

"Garcia, look for any family members or triggers that might’ve set Cliff off recently," Hotch added, brows furrowed in thought.

“On it, boss!” Garcia chirped, her optimism never wavering, even in the darkest cases.

Hotch assigned the team their tasks: Morgan and JJ to the Read family’s home, Rossi and Reid to the youth sports center to dig deeper into Cliff’s dismissal. Then, unexpectedly, he turned to you.

“Y/N, you’re with me. We’ll talk to the parents.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the change in routine. Usually, JJ handled these delicate conversations with grieving families. But you nodded, keeping your surprise hidden. “Of course, sir.”

As you gathered your files, you couldn’t shake the question. Why had he chosen you this time? Your curiosity got the better of you as you followed Hotch to the door. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking... why me? JJ’s usually the one who handles these kinds of cases."

Hotch paused, his tall frame towering over you. His dark eyes softened slightly as he looked down at you. “Y/N, you have a unique ability to balance compassion with professionalism. These parents are hanging by a thread. They need someone who can handle that. And I trust you can.”

You nodded, taken aback by the rare compliment. Hotch wasn’t one to hand out praise easily, and it left you feeling the weight of the responsibility he was placing on your shoulders.

“I won’t let you down,” you said, squaring your shoulders.

He gave a brief nod. “I know you won’t.”

The interviews were grueling. The parents, as expected, were devastated. They confirmed the connection between their children and Cliff Hall, the soccer coach. The moment that stuck with you was when the father of one of the missing children revealed a heartbreaking detail: Cliff’s own son had died of a terminal illness earlier in the year. A potential stressor.

Hotch stepped out of the room, taking a phone call while you continued the interview. You absorbed the father’s words, feeling the pieces fall into place. When Hotch returned, his expression confirmed he had received the same news.

“Cliff’s son passed away earlier this year. The timing fits,” you said, glancing at Hotch.

“Yes. We need to wrap this up and regroup,” Hotch replied, his tone tight.

Garcia and the team worked tirelessly to track down the Halls, leading to Melinda’s arrest. The woman now sat in the interrogation room, her face bruised but wearing a smug expression that made your blood boil.

Hotch and Emily stood next to you, discussing their plan to go in for a good-cop, bad-cop routine. You exhaled a shaky breath, something tugging at you as you watched Melinda through the one-way glass.

“I want to talk to her,” you said suddenly, your voice steady but firm.

Both agents turned to you, surprise flickering in their eyes. You weren’t known for interrogations, but Hotch seemed to recognize something in your tone. He gave a brief nod. “If you think you’re ready, go ahead.”

You met his gaze. “I’m ready.”

As you walked into the room, Melinda barely looked up. She scoffed at the sight of you, clearly unimpressed by your smaller frame. “They sent the rookie in, huh?” she sneered.

You ignored her comment, circling the table. “When’s enough, enough, Melinda?” Your voice was low, controlled.

Melinda shifted, uncrossing her legs and crossing them again.

“I know what it’s like to be behind the hand of a man who controls you,” you said, your tone sharp. “I was like you once. But I got out before more heartache turned me into a monster.”

The smugness on Melinda’s face faltered. She wasn’t expecting this.

“I know what it feels like to think the only person who will ever touch you, the only person who will ever want you, is the one who hurts you the most,” you continued, voice unwavering. “But you let it get this far. And now, children are suffering because of it.”

From behind the glass, Hotch watched, his brows furrowed. Emily glanced up at him, surprised.

“Did you know about this?” she asked quietly.

Hotch shook his head, his eyes still fixed on you. “No.”

You walked out of the interrogation room, emotionally drained but victorious. You had gotten the information needed to find Cliff, and the children were rescued, unharmed.

As you packed up your things at the police station, you hoped no one would ask about what you revealed during the interrogation. You didn’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t something you ever thought you’d have to explain on the job.

But of course, Hotch had questions. You noticed him standing over you as you zipped up your bag.

“Agent Y/L/N, a word?” His tone was calm but authoritative.

You followed him into an empty office, wondering what this was about.

Hotch shut the door and turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “I don’t condone my agents lying to get the job done.”

You stared at him, disbelief and anger bubbling up inside you. “Excuse me?”

“That story you told Melinda—you lied. That could’ve cost us credibility.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “You think I lied?” Your voice was ice cold. “I didn’t lie, Hotch. Everything I told her was the truth.”

Hotch’s expression shifted, realization dawning on him. “There’s nothing in your file about this—”

“Because it doesn’t belong in my file,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “Just because there’s no documentation doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And I used it to get through to her, to save those kids. If you have a problem with that, then that’s on you.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before walking out, leaving him standing there, stunned.

Hotch stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of his mistake. He hadn’t considered the possibility that someone as strong as you could’ve endured something like that. And now, he felt not only guilty but angry—angry that someone had ever hurt you in such a way.

Stupid, he thought to himself. Stupid.

He heard the door to the station slam shut, and he knew it was you. Balling his fists, he let out a shaky breath, feeling something tug at him, something he couldn’t quite put into words.

Tag List: @jencole214 @indiatuck @eg-dr3amer3 @crispy-croke @esposadomd @genevieve-blr @mdanon027

[preseriesdean]

for @spnficrecfest day seven: outsider pov 🧡

JOHN POV

Like Arrows in the Hands of a Warrior by ADeedWithoutaName 10.3k words, rated M, published 2018, underage John Winchester loves his boys, and would take a bullet for either of them. He knows that he's doing it right, the way he's raising them, the things he's teaching them. Not every problem, however, has an easy answer. Like what to do after an incubus case in which their target got his pollen all over both of John's sons.

Flagstaff by Linden 7.3k words, rated T, published 2014 John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.

Generosity by astolat 1.7k words, rated E, published 2007 John had traded the gun; he'd have traded away more, and he was still feeling the cold dread of the moment when the demon had cocked its head like a pistol and said, "You know, I'm feeling generous today," because if it hadn't taken more, that was only because it figured what was in store was going to be worse.

lost in yesterday by margaryes / @christsam 1k words, not rated, published 2023 John hasn’t seen his youngest son in 18 months.

half the man i used to be by dollylux 2.2k words, rated M, published 2016 John has a gradual, horrifying realization.

Mary's Angels by FrancesHouseman 3.1k words, rated G, published 2016 There's one more silver bullet in the chamber; one last shot at the sikutor, the ice siren that has Dean in thrall. John takes aim, and misses.

OTHERS POV

Buy You a Mockingbird by candle_beck (a.k.a. thee outsider pov fic of all time no contest) 10.3k words, rated M, published 2011, author chose not to warn A genuine horror story.

Multitude of Sins by Linden 4.4k words, rated T, published 2015 Every now and again, Jim Murphy would look up from his altar and find the Winchester boys at the back of his church.

All Heartless Spectres, Happiness 5.7k words, rated E, published 2021, soulless!sam Lisa Braeden receives an email with the subject line, "You Deserve to Know." It contains a single video file and nothing else.

I'll take my chance on a beautiful stranger by fleshflutter 3.9k words, rated M, published 2007 If Chase were a better friend, he might try to end the game now, before Brendan loses even more money. But if Brendan is a dick at Stanford, it’s nothing compared to how he is on break.

Other Brothers by homo_pink 7k words, rated M, published 2020, underage A callow boy can go from infancy to someone’s lover in the space of two wildflower summers.

Try asking by @goshen-applecrumbledore 7.4k words, rated T, published 2022 “Jerry says he saw them going at it in the back of that car of theirs outside Atlanta last year, I swear to God.” “Listen, man, I don’t like them either, but that’s a low blow. Jerry’s a fucking pervert.”

charmer & gentle by Askance 3.7k words, rated G, published 2015 The afternoon girl calls them Big and Tall, the strangers who come in late every now and then, buying this or that. The night girl doesn't think those names fit quite right.

Happy Wife, Happy Life by petrichorsam pre-slash, 7.1k words, rated T, published 2023 The hunters at Johnny's Roadhouse have heard enough tales about Dean Winchester's wife, Sam, to fill a book, and yet no one has ever seen her.