#she isn’t going to like. stop knowing me and everything about me

[amirasainz]

hi i was wondering if you could do a max x kelly x amira where she’s in the red bull paddock and she just gets showered with attention from everybody and carlos gets a bit jealous?

You don’t have to do it if you feel uncomfortable!

Hope this is what you wanted. Enjoy reading and don't be shy to send me some requests!!!

-XoXo

No Part 2!!!

Mango-Dragon Fruit Refresher

“- and here is a hot cup of chocolate for you. Oh, and a blanket, so you don’t get cold,” said GP. “If you need anything else, let me know and we will get it for you,” added Christian. “Christian, she isn’t going to stay here. Her and Kelly—” Max started before Geri interrupted him. “While we wait for the food to arrive, let’s do some online shopping with Christian’s card.”

To be honest, it was quite a funny sight in the Red Bull garage. Max and Kelly didn’t realize that the situation would escalate like that. When the couple first woke up, their bodies were filled with excitement. Today was finally the day where Amira would spend her day at the Red Bull garage. They had asked her yesterday when they took her out for dinner. And like the sweet angel she is, she answered with a soft “I would love to spend the day with you guys.”

This morning, everything was fine. Kelly and she got ready together, while Max ordered breakfast for all of them. Afterwards, they drove to Starbucks where Amira got four “Mango Dragon Fruit Iced Refreshers.” They obviously didn’t want their love to get thirsty on their way.

But the moment the three of them entered Max’s garage, everything went downhill. The mechanics and the PR team cheered when they saw the Spanish girl. They stole her from Max and Kelly’s side, showing her the car. Amira, because she honestly is the most polite person on earth, paid attention to every single thing they showed her. Then, out of nowhere, Christian and Geri arrived, catching up with their favorite “daughter.” So one can understand why Kelly and Max are currently pissed off.

But the couple wasn’t the only one being unhappy with the situation. Carlos, who was passing by with Charles and Fred by his side, saw how everyone was hogging his precious little sister. The moment he heard Geri promise her to do some online shopping, he saw red. How dare they buy his sister things when she is only supposed to buy things with HIS money? And the audacity of the whole team has to give her a Red Bull branded blanket! She is the FERRARI princess, NOT the Red Bull one. It’s not Ferrari’s fault that the team doesn’t have any pretty princesses they can cuddle and love (Sorry Kelly.)

So like a man on a mission, Carlos marched into the garage. “Hey, you can’t b—” started one of Max’s mechanics before falling quiet under Carlos’ murderous glare. He marched towards his sister, “ripping” her out of Geri’s arms. “Sainz, you can’t just walk in here; this is not your garage,” said a furious Christian. “And this is not your sister, so you can’t have her,” countered Carlos. “Now wait Carlos; you know she is our guest today,” said Kelly. “Oh yeah? How about you all stop stealing our guest and try to find some fans for your own team?” answered Carlos.

Charles and Fred were heard from outside, both of them encouraging Carlos. “Yes Chilli! Don’t let them take your sister away from you!” Charles yelled. Before anyone could say anything else, Carlos gently took Amira’s hand, saying “Let’s get out of here, hermosa. We can do some shopping with Charles if you like,” receiving a smile from the girl.

The Red Bull team watched with bewildered faces how the Sainz siblings left the pit lane with Charles. Fred, who was still left at the entrance turned towards Christian, pointing his finger at him and yelled a loud and joyous “HA!” before skipping happily towards his team building.

The silence was interrupted when Kelly turned towards Geri and said: “This is all your fault!” “MY FAULT?! How can this possibly be my fault?” asked Geri. This was the moment cameras captured the biggest fight ever in Formula 1.

And Checo? He stood on his side of the garage, enjoying a refreshing “Mango Dragon Fruit Refresher.”

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... J'onn broke the news that Danny thinks he's going to be forced into combat in exchange for his medical care. Everyone disliked that™.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

COME GET YOUR NEW ART HERE 💥🍳!!💥 IT'S FIBERCRAFT!!Shoutout to @rainbowbeansprout for crocheting a fic accurate injured ghost Danny!! That's outstanding!!

💚👻👽👻💚

So, Wally broke all of the bones in his legs yesterday.

Which is…not ideal. Still. He’s pretty used to it at this point, though, and he’s already mostly healed.

It’s just that. Well.

…The rest of healing is kind of…time-consuming.

So Wally’s in basketball shorts and a mask and a t-shirt he’d started using as pajamas when he was in college and he’s on the med floor of the Watchtower, and yet another physical therapist is helping him bend his leg back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, because he’d tripped in the middle of the Speedforce and busted everything hip-down.

So. (Back, and forth. Back, and forth. Back…) This sucks.

“Do we have to do this every time?” Wally asks, as if there isn’t a team of medical professionals kept on hand to deal with Superpower-wrought Super Medical Problems.

“Do you have to shatter your legs every time?” the PT asks back wryly, which, hey! The pressure pressing up against his bare foot is an additional stressor to the sass. “Bend this more for me, Flash. You can do it.”

Wally grumbles, and pretends the angle his leg is bending at doesn’t make him wince. Wow is he going to have to build his flexibility back up again.

The physical therapy room looks just like any other gym, basically; a lot of squishy mats in playful colors, a lot of grippy tape; a LOT of wipeable vinyl surfaces that can be sanitized at a moment’s notice. It smells kind of weird and plasticky and kind of like alcohol cleaner.

It’s not his favorite room in the Watchtower, but, eh. It could be way worse. What’s unusual is the whirrr of the door opening and closing in one of the private care rooms for another patient, since, you know...HIPAA and all that. Wally assumes. Or is it costume confidentiality once you leave Earth's atmosphere...?

Usually everyone knows who’s stopping in for PE through the sheer power of the Justice League gossip groupchats. (There’s at least nine. Wally’s in four of them. He aspires to be in two more by April.) There hasn’t been a big fight that requires long-term medical care in a while, and there’s no one Wally can think of who’d need this kind of recovery.

Something’s buzzing at the outside of his awareness, though. It sounds kind of…

Wally perks up. “Hey, the alien kid’s here!”

The PT holding Wally up at the waist hums. Her name is Cindy, and judging from their previous conversations, she thinks that Wally is the dumbest man alive. “There’s a million of those, Flash. Which one?”

“The one who bit Superman,” Wally adds.

Judging by the face Cindy makes, this clarifies nothing.

“Most recently,” Wally stresses, carefully not wincing as his leg gets stretched out again, only to be pulled back into position as tightly as before. “OW. Cindy, you’re killing me.”

Cindy makes a strangled noise. She asks: “What, again?” which is how Wally remembers that he got torn back out of the time stream not all that long ago, and it may be a big gauche to joke about your own death with the people who care about it.

Whoops. Wally winces. “…Nevermind?”

The other PTs make various fussy and annoyed noises, but the alien kid is wheeled onto the other side of the medical floor’s only gym. (The actual training floors are on another level. Wally wishes he was there. Alone.)

(Without four PTs clinging to his legs at all times.)

Wally waves. It’s a nice enough gesture, and now that the alien-phantasm-turned-flesh-and-blood-boy is more physically embodied than he used to be, the boy even deigns to carefully wave back.

The kid’s PTs—Wally thinks at least one of them is from the team that supervises Bart and his super-powered-leg-problems—end up encouraging the alien kid’s chair round to the soft mats where the kid can lay down. He ends up in the exact same position Wally is—horizontal on the floor, legs forcibly pinwheeled by enthusiastic but firm PTs.

Wally can physically feel the kid’s astonishment and discontentment buzzing in the air as he figures out what’s being done to him. Wally can’t help but laugh.

The kid angles his head towards the speedster. His face still looks—well, it looks…bad. It looks bad, unhealed and still threatening to weep neon green body fluids; there’s a wet, living crack running up and down his face that makes eye contact kind of hard. His hands are all spidery—this kid can probably hold and grip things, but the previous breakage have left his hands a little too easy to splay, a little too oddly-angled. He’s too thin to keep himself fully upright for long. When he looks at you, his eyes shake like a poorly lined-up television signal.

Martian Manhunter had said that he’d once looked like a healthy, happy human child. His current form is a reflection of the injuries he’d experienced since.

...What a thing for a kid to go through. Wally wouldn’t wish this sort of injury on anyone.

“­Alright, up you go,” the PT above him—Rhys, Wally remembers at the very last second—orders, and Wally is prompted to let the man help him back upright. “Over to the bars for you. You think your legs are up to bearing that kind of weight as you try out walking?”

“…Sure,” Wally lies to Rhys. It’ll be fine. Probably. By the time he gets over there, his legs might have already speed-healed by then. “Hand me the—?”

“Yeah, yeah, here’s the crutches. Don’t destroy yourself trying to make this happen, okay?”

So Wally gets set up at the glorified playground equipment in his least restrictive gym clothes, one long iron bar under one arm, and one long iron bar under the other. Two full-size physical therapists spot him as the speedster completes the most strenuous task available to him at the moment: walking across a very short distance without putting his full weight on his legs.

Wally puts one shaking leg in front of the other. The steps are slow. The urge to zoom to the end of the little bowling lane he’s stuck in—and therefore shatter his legs under the speedforce, again—is irresistibly temping.

Healing sucks. And Wally’s even got the longer end of the stick.

In the end, Wally sticks the landing. He is unreasonably sweaty. He is miserable. But he makes it to the end. Every one of the witnessing PTs applauds as if this is a great success. It’s literally not. It’s the inevitable result of pushing himself too far for the third time this year.

A question buzzes through the air, fluffing through Wally’s hair and the little fine hairs up and down his body. It’s nothing but inquisitive—whatareyoudoing whatareyoudoing?

Wally lets the PT maneuver a chair underneath him. It gives him enough breathing room to turn his upper torso, and he ends up catching the eye of the little alien kid in the corner. He’s sat on a yoga ball, two members of his medical team and one of the kids’ PTs trying to get his attention back to his exercises.

“Hey,” Wally realizes suddenly. “Your casts are gone!”

The kids’ legs are actually bare, which Wally’s never seen before. They’re twiggy, sure, stretched taut over a bone frame, and discolored and pale, but they’re legs. Wally hadn’t even known the alien had possessed legs until he’d formed a physical body months and months ago.

“Dude, that’s great!”

Happy/smug/proud vibrates through the room, making Wally’s teeth buzz. The kid smiles through a half-split lip, and bounces on the yoga ball ever so slightly.

“Good,” the kid says, surprising Wally, his PTs, and the kid’s usual medical team. He was talking already?! He thought J’onn had said—

“Hurt?” the boy asks, concern/concern flooding through the air. Oh. Right. He’s probably here for his busted legs; it would make sense that by virtue of the setting, Wally would be injured too.

And, sure, Wally busted his legs, but he at least heals with all the swiftness of the speedforce. “Meh.” Wally waves off the question. “I’m fine. It’ll be quick for me; some rehab and some lunch and a few days off, and I’ll be in shipshape.”

Wait. Wally’s eyes scrunches up. Is using wordplay appropriate with this kid…?

“Pain?” the kid asks, and turned his attention to the closest member of his medical team. “He pain?”

The medical professional sighs, which finally clues Wally in that the man is no longer masked. Hey, the kid is out of medical isolation! “The Flash has his own medication, thankfully. His doctors know what to do.”

The kid frowns. He doesn’t get it. He looks at Wally, and he looks at the staffer, who shrugs. “It’s the usual indicator word he uses for pain medication. He’s wondering if you’re hurt enough to need some.”

Wally hums. On one hand, it’s sweet that the alien kid is worried about him. It’s a huge step upwards from the alien who spent all his time hiding in abandoned meeting rooms and occasionally biting Superheroes.

On the other hand, the kid doesn’t just look worried that Wally might not be getting care; he looks scared.

Something happened to this kid. Something he can't shake off.

Wally breathes in, and breathes out.

—And breathes in sharply when Cindy starts wiggling his feet. She doesn’t respond at all to his glare, because she is a professional, and he is not a big baby of a superhero.

Mean.

“I’m fine,” Wally finally responds, trying to alleviate the kid’s concerns through sheer vibes-telepathy alone. Who knows if it’s working, but it makes Wally feel better about trying at the very least. “I’ve got my own team to fix me up, and they do a good job of taking care of me. Even if they’re bullying me at my most vulnerable.”

“Anything for you, boss,” Cindy volleys back cheerfully. “Gimme your other leg.”

The tension in the air slowly dissipates. The kid doesn’t stop shooting occasional looks at the unadorned, half-out-of-uniform Flash, but he does let Bart’s little PT team get to working on stretching out his previously-bound now-physical legs and getting him upright—if only for a few seconds at a time, balanced precariously by humans who actually touch his back and arms and hips and legs.

Wally’s session wraps up before the kid’s does. He’s not in any rush. He gets onto the walking crutches Rhys leaves out for his temporary use and lopes over to watch, occasionally hooting and applauding when the kid pulls off something no one’d been sure he could do.

The double handed high-five Wally offers him at the end is punctuated with shaky eye contact, two working hands, and a green-threaded beaming grin.

*

Diana cheerfully digs into her kebab lunch, plastic cutlery pushed to their maximum limit before threatening to break under her prodigious strength. “You know, Batman,” she starts, beaming, “My charge gave me his name the other day.”

Bruce sets down his muenster-ham-and-whole-wheat sandwich mid-bite. “I’ll need to hear everything,” he says immediately, to which Diana tuts.

“Oh, Batman, I could never break his trust like that,” she says, sweet as anything. She finesses a bite of lamb from the skewer and takes a neat bite.

“…Wonder Woman,” Batman says.

“Hm?”

“Diana.”

“Is there something you needed, Bruce?” Diana asks, pleased with herself. There genuinely is very little that could be done with a vague description of a now-altered human form and a first name alone; besides, she genuinely does feel that hearing the boy’s name come from others’ lips would be upsetting for him. Danny offered his name to Diana alone, and so it shall remain until hers alone he offers it to others.

Still, she is not above bragging.

“I need information.” Bruce’s face underneath his mask is stone.

Diana dips a second chunk of lamb into a little container of tzatziki sauce. “Well, then,” she points out, “Shouldn’t you spend some time building rapport with my charge, then?”

The feared Batman of Gotham, father of a half-dozen highly trained heroes, bristles like a wet cat. The demeanor is almost comical. He knows what he looks like to non-Gothamite children. He knows his suit will make this fight for common familiarity an uphill battle.

Diana smugly works through her lunch and ignores Bruce’s silent brooding as he does the same.

[kamii-2]

i’m so glad ur back!! can you write something where paige comforts anxious reader

hi anon, thank you so much and i hope you enjoy this blurb!!

warning(s): anxiety, cussing

genre: fluff, angst (?)

pairing(s): paige bueckers x anxious!reader

==================================

you were deathly afraid of airplanes and you had to go on one for your vacation with paige and you were rethinking everything. you were super scared to go on the plane for a lot of reasons, but the main one was ‘what if the plane crashes’ and you didn’t know how to make the thought stop as you two sat together waiting for them to call your flight. “paige i’m super nervous.” you admitted for the 46th time, “it’ll be okay, nothing will happen.” she reassured while rubbing your hand with her thumb. you looked up at her with a smile, you were still nervous but it was slowly fading away.

-

as you guys boarded the plane you were shaking and clearly nervous, paige was holding your hand tight and squeezed it every few seconds to show that you’d be okay. as you guys were seated you were still scared and paige’s reassurance wasn’t working too well at the moment. “y/n, it’ll be okay. nothing will happen to the plane i swear, if something does happen we will be okay.” paige reassured while rubbing your hand with her thumb. you were silent but clearly scared and hearing paige reassure you over and over again made you less scared but you still were. “y/n focus on your phone or something and you’ll calm down and be okay.” she told you as you did what she told you to.

-

“see i told you it isn’t that bad.” paige smiled as you two walked to the rental car waiting outside of the airport. “shut up, those videos about plane crashes used to pop up all the time when i was younger and it made me terrified of planes.” you admitted while laughing. “well atleast now you know it’s not that bad.” she laughed as you two got in the rental, “yea but i’m still a little scared of them.” you told her as you put on your seatbelt.

==================================

i so sorry this took so long to get out but i still hope you liked it, anyway have a good day/night, love you 💋💋

[antoncyng]

౨ৎ. SUFFERED - h.sh

synopsis - dreaming about his presence started to hurt again, so it was time to finally watch the VHS.

genre / warning(s) - angst, mentions of death, somewhat based off of 20th century girl, vhs tape is different tho, flashbacks based in 1999

word count - 1.0k (first fic to hit 1k???)

author’s note - this fic is for @cupidhoons because this woman wanted her heartbroken so what better way than to make it about seunghan :33 love u liz! want to read m0re . . ? cl1ck here !

24 YEARS.

24 years was the length you’ve had to suffer without the love of your life by your side.

waking up from this dream was a nightmare, the more you tried to reach out and save him, the farther you would get. it was so hard to accept the fact he was gone, no matter how long it’s been.

the words spilling out of his bestfriend’s mouth still and always will break your heart, deny deny deny was all your mind could comprehend.

7.18.00 6:45 PM

“what do you mean? seunghan isn’t dead.. he’s on a family trip!” all the excuses you could think of spewed out of your mouth with tears running down your face.

“no.. no yn. he isn’t on a family trip, he never went on a family trip. just accept it, he isn’t with us anymore, how would it make sense to go on a family trip if his family came home? he died yn, he died after his surgery. it was guaranteed he would’t live for more than a month, so he did it himself. he left this for you.” sohee did the best he could keeping himself together as well, not wanting to make your situation worse.

he kept quiet and gave you a VHS tape, only to walk away soon after, it looked like he wanted to say something to you(?).

HOW could this be? it only felt like a few weeks ago that seunghan was by your side, holding your hand as you two walked along the beach together, laughing the night away together as the world blurred around the two of you. when you were together, everything just felt right.

now, it feels like nothing would feel right ever again.

6.11.24 4:37 AM

it felt so real. sweat coated your forehead and parts of your body, your breathing grew heavy by the minute, your eyes shot open with water growing in them.

you tried so so hard to reach out for seunghan, but it just looked like the more you stepped closer to him, the further he would walk away. your fingertips touched, and his body slowly started to fade away. all you could do was cry, trying to scream but nothing would come out as you watched seunghan step further into the distance with an emotional smile on his lips, you swore he had a tear running down his face. why did it feel so real?

it hurt, it hurt like someone had just ripped your heart out of your chest and walked away so emotionless. what was so scary or hard that he couldn’t tell you?

you got out of bed, walking towards your desk and opened the drawer, pulling out the VHS tape sohee gave you 24 years ago, you never pulled yourself enough to throw it away. slipping it into the player, the video started to play.

sitting back in your chair, you didn’t know what to expect. a song started playing, it rang in your ears like a shooting star of nostalgia.

“are you alright? how are you doing these days? are you crying again..”

you heard his singing voice call out to you, it brought you to tears.

“because i’m not there? we used to chat a lot, now i don’t see your fine face..”

he appeared on the screen, guitar in his hands as his face focused on the strings, the tears slipped out of your eyes. he’s still the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen, the most beautiful person you’ll ever meet.

the song stopped. a few clips of the beach you two always walked on together showed, there were clips of the places you loved to bring him to. you were shown clips of yourself falling asleep in an empty classroom, seunghan’s voice in the back.

“look at this girl, she told me she would stay behind during lunch to study..”

more clips were shown, memories were flooding your mind. then it cut to a scene on the beach, it seemed like the phone was set up.

and there he was again, your beautiful boy. just the sight of him on the old tv had your heart melting, he was just so pretty.

“hi yn. if you’re seeing this, you must be very angry with me.” he started off, chuckling dryly. “i recorded this before i went to the u.s. for my surgery, and you must already know the result. i’m sorry i can’t tell you, i would if i really could, but everything is too much for the both of us and i figured it would be better for your life in the future to figure out like this.”

he read off of a piece of paper like a script, clearing his throat as he was already getting emotional just from reading the next words. tears were already flowing out of your eyes, but you couldn’t stop watching the tape.

“i know living without each other is hard after sticking together for so long, i want you to know i truly love you so much, but there’s a reason that i could not tell you about the guaranteed result of my surgery. i don’t think i’ll tell you that now, maybe in another century?” he dryly laughs again, before looking back at the sunset behind him.

“its nice seeing this view again before i leave, i wish i could see it with you. you’re busy a lot but i understand that, i just wish i could spend just a few more hours with you.” his voice makes it obvious he’s starting to tear up, before turning back to the camera with teary eyes like he’s about to end the video.

“but don’t worry too much, i’ll make a pretty sunset and sunrise for you so you don’t have to suffer too much without me, how does that sound? i hope you’re saying good behind this screen..” he tries to cheer himself up with a smile, distracting you from the tears rolling down his face.

“i love you so much, i’ll see you again soon. don’t suffer too much, okay?” he says, waving with his sweet smile before the video ends and the old tv audio starts buzzing again.

but what seunghan will always know, is how much you already suffered without his presence.

🤍. ————————————

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL | antoncyng 061624

thank u for reading !! i hope u didn’t get too sad :pp ending is kinda bad because i’m bad at ending stories but whatever ><

perm taglist - @lcvclywon @jlheon @jwsdoll @ohmydollie @cupidhoons @junislqve @hyeinism @copyhanni @onlyjjong @seoktized (?)

[kangminjissi]

19. good people - sofia

danielle trailed close behind as hanni rushed out of the building and onto the street. she thought the vietnamese girl would stop, but hanni turned and kept a quick pace as she tried to escape the party. danielle didn’t do anything but follow until hanni made it to an intersection and tried to keep walking.

danielle quickly ran to her and grabbed her shirt to pull her back. “hanni! you’re going to get killed,” she quickly shouted. hanni didn’t acknowledge her and just turned left to continue walking, but her body collapsed as she sobbed.

the taller girl quickly moved hanni to sit on the curb and looked at her, “where were you trying to go?” hanni shrugged and avoided her gaze as she mumbled, “anywhere. anywhere but here.” the taller girl sighed and looked out onto the road to give her time.

after a long stretch of silence filled only by hanni’s tears and the occasional car passing by, hanni finally sniffled. she wiped her hands over her face as she sighed, “you can go back to the party. you practically abandoned your girlfriend.”

danielle laughed softly before shaking her head, “haerin has her friends there. i’m not the only person she knows. i’d rather be here with you anyway.” danielle grabbed hanni’s hand and leaned down to look her in the eyes, “so… are you going to explain that outburst?”

hanni took a deep breath, “it was stupid. seeing them.. it made me feel like i couldn’t breathe. i had to do something because it felt like i was choking and the only thing i could do was separate them.” danielle nodded as she squeezed the other girl’s hand.

“i’m so angry and so heartbroken. i want to cry or scream, but at this point im too defeated to do either.” hanni looked down at her crumpled shirt, “i knew it was bound to happen, you know? the rest of the world isn’t blind. someone was going to realize that yn is perfect, but i didn’t expect some party jock to be that person.” danielle just nodded knowing that no words could soothe hanni.

“i expected some stupid instagram post, maybe yn coming to me gushing about some girl who came in looking for a cat. something to ease me into the thought of her being with someone, but seeing that girl with her hands inside yn’s jacket… i just. i just couldn’t take it.

“i want to laugh at myself honestly. i have no right to be angry with anyone but myself. yn doesn’t owe me anything. im nothing to her, and yet she’s everything to me.”

danielle reached into her bag and handed hanni some tissues before speaking up, “you’re right, you know.” hanni looked up at her with her eyebrows furrowed as the taller girl continued to speak, “yn owes you nothing because you’ve never told her your feelings. she has no clue how you feel about her…

“but to say you mean nothing to her is a lie. you’re her best friend and that means miles more than what that girl from the party means to her. yn found someone she thought was attractive and so she kissed them. that’s normal, is it not?

“you can be upset, but you can’t be upset at her for her choices. one day, i hope you tell her how you feel. i know you truly believe she’ll never reciprocate your feelings and maybe you’re right, but she deserves to know the truth. i doubt you’ll tell her soon, but it’s something she should know when you’re ready to tell her.”

hanni took a shaky breath and tried to steady her voice, “i’m not upset at her.” danielle interjected, “you can’t be mad at that girl either.” hanni sighed, “i know. i’m really truly mad at myself for being a coward.

“dani, do you think she’ll forgive me?” danielle looked at her friend with empathy, “han, yn will always forgive you. she didn’t grab onto that girl because she was taking her side. she grabbed her because she was afraid you would get seriously hurt.

“i’m sure she tried to run after you, but i doubt minji would’ve let her. you need to talk to her when you’re both sober. i don’t know how you’ll explain why you did what you did without telling her the truth, though.” hanni chuckled as she bunched her knees to her chest, “i don’t know either.”

danielle hummed understandably and looked down at her phone, “let’s get up. the taxi is almost here.” hanni looked up at danielle, “huh?” the latter stretched out her hand with a smile, “what? you thought we’d camp out on the sidewalk? we’re going home.”

hanni stood up and stumbled slightly as the taller girl engulfed her in a hug. hanni rested her head on the latter’s shoulder and cried silently, “you’re too good to me. i don’t deserve it.” danielle felt the tears on her shoulder and pulled back to look at hanni, “hush. good people deserve to have good families.”

a/n 😇

#taglist ~ @shuxiii @somedaydream @jiwoneiric @multiliker @haerinsloverr @wintersgff @limbforalimb @emphobics @keiji-jin @sixflame438 @olives-on-pizza @edenzeepy @ogueh @randombystander-yep @saysirhc @dexthzone

masterlist next

[mazzystar24]

Okay for context look at this first and the link inside it^^^

Then this was part two here of the video

And now imma rant:

STOP THE HETERONORMATIVITY AND CONSERVATIVE ASS VIEW OF HOW FAMILIES FUNCTION

Thats point one I’m not elaborating on that one again but fr what coparent role entails differs family to family so without recognising that every single point you make abt what we should see happening is moot and a title being “reserved by Eddie” is a bullshit concept so that’s just getting ignored before I rant abt it again

But for real she’s like I think people don’t understand what coparenting is- brother in Christ the hypocrisy like coparenting plain and simple is two or more people parenting a child together regardless of romantic status

So let me ask you parenting itself? Is it about financial contribution or the shit on your list? Because

1. No it goes beyond that it’s being there for your kid it’s making decisions for your kid it’s helping them it’s childcare it’s being there for the hard stuff it’s doing annoying tasks, supporting the other parents decisions and a bunch of stuff that go beyond financial contribution or whatever

And this is stuff we’ve seen buck do such as their heart to hearts, being a safe space for him, making decisions abt where he should stay while Eddie was in the hospital, preparing food for his class, the implications of that one Eddie technophobia scene where Chris asks to go to buck and Eddie does a face implying that buck COULD agree but Eddie seeks him to back him up, and a billion other things that both @lenaboskow and @warpedpuppeteer said

Like there is also the debate of instrumental vs expressive role but that’s gonnna get me carried away in a sociology lesson but lemme explain briefly- instrumental role is monetary contribution it’s discipline it’s making the decisions for the child and family whereas expressive role is physical and emotional care of the child and their socialisation and other responsibilities

It makes sense that since buck isn’t legally a parent to Chris he leans more on the expressive role but also plenty of parents who are biological or legally parents of their kids will still take an expressive role and their partner will take an instrumental role like it’s just down to personal preference really even if it’s more common now for the roles to be split equally, because originally it was from the idea that women should be in the expressive role and men in the instrumental but for obvious reasons more people split or invert the roles nowadays but again it’s down to preference

2. THIS IS A TV SHOW not everything will be explicitly stated until it comes up

Chris hasn’t had a medical thing or an emergency or allergy thing yet so why would those things have come up as buck knowing them

Butttt it’s a safe assumption to say he does because not only are they firefighters and know the risks and how important medical history is but also because in canon Eddie pestered some poor mom with a bunch of info FOR A BIRTHDAY PARTY CHRIS WAS GOING TO so you’re telling me the guy who cares for Chris constantly isn’t gonna know the necessary info???? Where is the logic

3. By that logic of oh have we seen this or have we seen that then Athena, Bobby, Michael, henren, madney and even Eddie HIMSELF are apparently not parents either cos all of them have a few things on that list that aren’t explicitly stated or even implied

4. it’s an undisputed fact that Bobby is a dad to buck or Maddie was a mom to buck or bobby a dad to may

And because I can see the “father figure vs dad” defence a mile away let’s go with most relevantly the last two points

Maddie raised buck plain and simple- she was also a teenager so did she financially contribute did she know his past doctors did she make decisions abt where he should go to school etc etc? No because raising someone goes beyond that

Bobby is May’s dad- does she call him dad regularly? No she’s done it once and it was quite late into it but she considered him a dad before that

And also he came into her life when she was older than Chris so again moot point

Does he make decisions abt her or financially contribute? No

In fact a lot of the parenting moments for him in relation to her or Harry has been similar circumstances to buck and Chris

I’m gonna shut up now but like I beg some of y’all to think before you speak because the teeny tiny boxes y’all try to shove stuff into is so weird

Like this stuff is legit canon

On a final note I wanna give a heartbreaking reminder that the decision to have buck jump back into the water eventhough it had practically no chance of survival was based on asking one of the crew (directors?) if it was their kid would they jump and they said they would without hesitation so that’s why they had buck jump in without hesitation (tehe guys I love giving you guys heartbreaking reminders🤭🤭🤭)

[cornerihaunt]

.

[theamazingannie]

One thing I really don’t like about the pjo show is they are very tell not show about EVERYTHING. One thing I loved from the books is them teasing who the monster or god they were meeting was and getting the chance to pull from prior Greek mythology knowledge and figure it out myself. It was like a game and, yeah, most of the time it was someone new and I couldn’t guess but it was still fun having a tease up until a reveal and THEN they would share the story for those who didn’t know. The show just keeps straight up telling the audience who everyone is and instead of unknowingly walking into a trap and building suspense they go in expecting something to happen and then have a less exciting trap happen later (Medusa and the Lotus Hotel being the main ones). It’s like they both want to cut the teasing because the book readers already know and want to explain things simply to show watchers who probably aren’t well versed in Greek mythology but it takes all the whimsy away. One part I loved in the Lotus scenes in the book was Percy figuring out that they were in a time warp because he meets the kid from the 1970s and realizes what’s going on but in the show he notices cuz it’s…dark outside? Like yeah okay it works but going “it’s dark outside even tho it feels like it’s been 20 minutes and that means we are in a time warp and oh yeah the flowers are in the air even tho I’ve given no reason prior to have figured that out” is not NEARLY as compelling as “I lost track of time cuz I was having fun but huh this guy I’m playing with talks weird and dresses weird and oh boy he’s from the 1970s and now that I’m pulled out enough to look around I see that everyone here is wearing period clothes and this is trouble”. I know the extras were wearing period clothes but it never cuts to them long enough to make it seem like it’s anything but a costume that would be typical in a Vegas casino. You can argue that the Hermes scene wasn’t pointless but aside from Grover’s scenes to an extent it just wasn’t compelling and not just in an inaccurate adaptation way

[itspileofgoodthings]

I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone / trying to find the one where I went wrong

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[80zgf]

i’ve had this extra shitty feeling lingering over me all semester and it’s doing such a fantastic job at getting the best of me. my friend group since the first year keeps proving time and time again they care more about each other even when i go out of my way to make sure they’re alright and make sure everybody else avoids things that would upset others. feelings get hurt a lot otherwise. a few nights back i took my a few of my friends out to eat and pay for part of their meals (context: my dad’s boss gets tipped through gift cards sometimes and he gave me a few so it wasn’t exactly out of my pocket). i told my best friend i haven’t been really been feeling my best so to take it easy on me since our other two friends have been deeply upsetting me all week by saying genuinely hurtful shit. and then in the middle of a very stressful meal he started telling me about how his sister’s boyfriend was saying weird shit abt me and her boyfriend doesn’t like me (i have never had a proper conversation with either one of these people) and i ended up fucking bawling lmfaoooo. i guess my friends froze because i’m the “tough friend” so i’m not allowed to cry but it ended up with in me comforting them which is so odd? i get not everyone you encounter will be your #1 fan but if someone pulls you aside and says hey man i haven’t been feeling great lately why would you say that at that time ??? lmfao

(goes without saying but d-on.t r.-b pls)

[ghostfacd]

YOU CAN LET GO NOW ! | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. in which tom blyth can’t let go of your hand after an intense argument scene in your film

installment of this au | your character and Tom’s lines in the film are written in italics

“Action!”

Tom and you have probably been on your tenth cut by now, the scene was an argument between yours and his character, Balleona and Coriolanus. It was fierce and intense, filled with lots of angry yelling and a few tears.

Needless to say, your director was on both of your asses to make sure you got everything down perfectly, from the lines and hand movements to the crocodile tears.

“You can’t just expect everything to be okay Coriolanus!” You yell exasperated. You look up at Tom, who was currently looking down at you with a cold gaze. “You decided to cheat! You decide to risk your entire career for Lucy Gray, now you go sit with the consequences!”

Tom slams his hand on the table nearby, making you flinch back. “I had to! I did it for us! All of it! The rat poison—the scarf—I did everything for us! And now you repay me by yelling at me like a child?!”

You push Tom back with an accusing finger, eyes lingering with hurt. “You’re acting like a child Coriolanus Snow! I told you that my family has enough money, enough for you to go to university. But you just had to ruin the entire system, didn’t you? Is it Lucy Gray? The disgusting filth from District 12? Is she influencing you?”

Tom places his hand on your chin, grabbing it harshly, making you let out a whine.

“You don’t speak about her like that, do you understand?” Tom tightens his grip, making your hands come up to try to get out of his grasp. “Do you understand?!” He yells, causing you to close your eyes tightly.

“Let me go, you’re hurting me.” You say, “Coryo, let go, you’re hurting me.”

Tom’s eyes suddenly switched from anger to softness, and he lets go of his hold on your face. “I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

He brings you into a hug, letting you bury your head into his chest. “You know I didn’t mean it right? You know you’re more important to me than Lucy Gray—that’s why I did all of this. It was for you.”

You nod, letting out a few tears. Tom breaks the hug to hold your hand, his other one coming up to wipe them away.

“And.. cut!”

Tom stops wiping the tears that have fallen down to your cheeks, sighing in relief when the director says that they don’t have to redo the scene again.

However, he’s still holding tightly on your hand, nodding slowly at each of the words that come out from the director’s mouth.

“You okay?” You whisper to him.

“Hm? Yeah, no, I’m fine.” He reassures you, smiling down at your figure. “I’m a bit thirsty. Water?”

You smile and nod, letting him walk you two over to the water dispenser. He’s still holding firmly onto your hand, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by your co stars, Rachel and Josh.

“Geez Blyth, do you always have such a possessive hold on our dear Y/N here?” Rachel jokes, smiling teasingly at you two.

You roll your eyes, looking up at your boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to hear Rachel’s words, instead, focusing on getting the two of you water.

“Do you want some Rachel? Josh?”

“I’m good,” Rachel replies, “and Josh is too. We were gonna head out to this smoothie place for our lunch break.”

“Ah.” With his free hand, Tom pulls you closer to him until you’re practically leaning against him. “Well have fun you two.”

Rachel and Josh say their thanks, but before they leave, Rachel slips by you, whispering “he’s stuck to you like glue, isn’t he?” in your ear.

You try to hold in your smile, butterflies filling your stomach. Despite shooting the scene 15 minutes ago, Tom was still holding onto your hand as if you were his lifeline.

“Hey babe,” you say, which automatically makes all the gears in Tom’s hand focus their attention on you.

“Hm?”

“How come you’re still holding onto my hand?”

He seems to be surprised at your words, glancing down briefly at your intertwined fingers.

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” He says, shrugging.

“Yeah,” you tease him. “Obsessed with me aren’t you?”

He rolls his eyes, but nods in agreement. “Just a habit I guess. I felt really bad for yelling at you so much in the scene and grabbing your face. I’d never do that in real life.”

You let out a laugh, making Tom furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

“Aww Tom,” you say, leaning into his chest with your head. “I know you would never do that in real life baby. It’s just acting.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I just hate arguing with you, whether it’s acting or not. Coriolanus is a loser for not realizing what he has, you know.”

Now that made you laugh even louder, “yeah, but Tom Blyth is a sweetheart.” You tippy toe to reach his nose, placing a small kiss on the bridge of it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

Men sure will simultaneously talk down to u while desperately asking for ur help

[milo-is-rambling]

Had a nightmare last night that many different large scary animals were trying to break into the house I lived in in New Hampshire and I kept running around and locking doors and screaming and crying and begging for my family to help me and they were just sitting and laughing or sleeping or living their lives and I was watching huge black bears pound on glass sliding doors and fog them up with their breath as they drool over the idea of demolishing my family and there were like big mountain lions finding small holes to crawl through trying to get in and I’m sobbing and bleeding and kicking them and trying to get my family to do something and they don’t even notice and act like I’m crazy

[actiniumwrites]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇

synopsis: wriothesley finds out you have a crush on someone and somehow manages to guess it’s on literally everyone but himself

characters: wriothesley x gn!reader

wc: 1.4k

warnings: fluff, a tiny pinch of angst and insecurity, my poor attempt at humor, slight miscommunication, friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, swearing, first time writing for wriothesley so he might be ooc

notes: i almost made this angst to fluff but then decided i need to stop adding angst into literally everything i write (even though there’s like a tiny pinch of angst in here too 🙄). anyway, wriothesley is a lot harder to write than i thought he would be so i apologize if he seems ooc here

“Heard you gotta crush on someone,” Wriothesley teases as he walks into his office where you sit on one of his couches. You don’t even hear him walk in, too engaged in the book you were reading to pass time until you had to go through hundreds of inmate records to find something Neuvillette had requested.

His declaration is so sudden it almost makes you spit out the tea you had stolen from him.

Your eyes go wide as you stare at where he moves to lean against the front of his desk, arms crossed and waiting for an answer with that stupid smirk of his, “Hey now, that tea is expensive, so don’t go wasting it, okay?”

“Who told you about that?” you press for answers, a hint of anger in your voice as you ignore his previous statement about the tea. He had plenty to spare anyway.

Wriothesley’s smirk widens a bit, “So it is true.”

Damn him.

You don’t even bother trying to make an excuse, knowing your best friend all too well. He’d pick apart your words like weeds in a garden, finding meaning in them that you hadn’t even intended.

“And what if it is true?” you cross your arms defensively, glaring at him from across the room.

“At least tell me who it is,” he says as he rests his palms on the wooden desk behind him. When you don’t give in to his pleading, he playfully scoffs, “Oh c’mon, I’m your best friend! It’s kinda an obligation for you to tell me these things.”

You turn away, fixating your gaze on a nearby wall adorned with some weird painting he had hung awhile back, “Oh yeah? Since when? Last I checked there aren’t any rule books for being friends with someone. I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.”

“It’s Neuvillette, isn’t it?” he smiles knowingly. Perhaps that was why you were always the one receiving tasks from the Chief Justice instead of him — a guess at best, but enough evidence to convince him Neuvillette was the one.

No, you idiot. It’s you.

You snap your head back toward him, “What? No! I don’t like Neuvillette…not like that, at least. He’s nice and all, but I don’t think I’d be able to date the guy.”

“Damn, I really thought I had that one,” Wriothesley mumbles in defeat, pushing himself off the desk and instead moving to walk around the room as he thinks. It scares you. The fact that he’s so particular with facts and little details that it’s only a matter of time before he collects all the pieces to the puzzle and figures out he’s the one you like. What would he say when that happens? “Too nice, huh? So you like someone a little colder, then.”

Damn it, he got you again!

You don’t answer him.

“Not even going to try to deny it?”

“No,” you grumble to yourself, slumping further into the couch, “you’re only going to dig further anyway.”

He gives a satisfied hum, “Right, so it’s Clorinde then. I mean c’mon, we don’t get a lot of visitors, so it has to be her. She fits the description too.”

You exhaustedly sigh and swipe a hand over your face dramatically, done with his antics, “It’s not her either. And there is no ‘description.’”

He perks up in a way that makes you way too uncomfortable, “Navia?”

“No, I’ve never even met her aside from like one time two years ago,” you refute, sliding further down on the couch to fully lie down and shut your eyes, “I don’t get why you’re so excited over this.”

Wriothesley thinks for a moment before squinting his eyes, “Don’t tell me you have a crush on a prisoner?”

You teasingly peek an eye open while leaning back to look at him, “And if I did?”

“You better not,” he warns, pointing a stern finger at you like you were a prisoner and not his coworker.

You laugh to yourself at his sudden change of mood, “Relax, I was only joking!”

“Not funny,” he says unamused, prepared to pull out the prison’s rule book and slap it over your head if you did, “I’m really runnin’ out of people here.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, “thousands of people live in Fontaine. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

You really hope he doesn’t.

The following ten minutes consist of Wriothesley irritatingly pacing around the room and mumbling all sorts of names to himself. Some of which you recognized, others you had never even heard of before. And, despite all of your countless no’s to his guesses, he never gives up. Nor does he realize the answer is right in front of him.

“Just give it up already,” you finally interrupt as he stops in front of you.

A heavy sigh falls from Wriothesley’s lips as he collapses onto the couch, narrowly missing where your legs were outstretched. Defeatedly, he lays his head against the back of the sofa, shutting his eyes as he thinks a little harder. “Oh my god,” he says suddenly, head shooting up to look at you, “…don’t tell me.”

No way. Did he figure it out?

Your breath captures in your throat as his eyes flicker back and forth between your own, searching for some sort of truth. He knows. Your best friend knows that you have feelings for him — and not just the platonic kind.

His brows furrow and his face morphs into one of disgust. It makes your heart drop; the way he’s looking at you.

He doesn’t feel the same way.

“I can’t believe it,” he clicks his tongue in disgust, crossing his arms and turning his attention away from you, “you like Furina.”

Your jaw drops to the floor and suddenly you don’t feel bad anymore, “I actually can’t believe you just said that. Archons, I think you need to visit Sigewinne. I mean, seriously! Furina? Of all people!”

He grins and shrugs carelessly, “I don’t know? She was the last person I could think of.”

“Something is seriously wrong with you.”

“Clearly not so wrong that I couldn’t figure out that the person you actually like is me.”

“Oh please, I don’t even—wait, what? You knew?!”

A boisterous laugh erupts suddenly as you stare at him with wide eyes. You sit up on the couch quickly, slapping his shoulder as he continues to laugh, “Sorry, sorry!”

You don’t find it amusing, “I—when did you figure it out?”

His laugh eventually subsides into a drawn out sigh and his blue eyes soften a bit as they gaze into your own, “I’m not an idiot, you know? I wouldn’t be running this place if I was.”

“Right,” you mumble awkwardly, averting your gaze from his, “so, um, were you just doing all that to lighten the mood so you could let me down easily or…?”

“Or…what?” Wriothesley mocks you, a playful smirk pulling at his lips.

You roll your eyes with a scoff, “don’t make me say it.”

He spares you, luckily. It’s unlike him, but he doesn’t care to joke with you any longer when the subject is so serious, “Yes, I feel the same way. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No, I totally wanted to hear you say you hate me and want me dead,” you say sarcastically, trying to fight a smile.

“I’m being serious, I really do like you,” Wriothesley presses, ignoring the way you’re becoming awkward from the nervousness floating in the air.

You finally exhale the breath you had been guarding in your chest, relieved that this didn’t go as horribly as you once thought it would.

The alarm sounding for dinner goes off after and you both stand from your places on the couch, “So what do we do now that that’s out of the way?”

Wriothesley falls into step next to you, holding the doors to his office open to let you out first, “We have our first date in the cafeteria, of course.”

Your face drops and you stop in your tracks to glare at him, “That better be a joke.”

He laughs it off quickly, not thinking you’d take it so seriously. Eagerly, he grabs your hand tightly in his as he pulls you to the exit of the Fortress, “Relax, I’m just teasing you! You deserve only the best, after all.”

“You are so annoying.”

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

soap ghost and reader 3some?? 😻

“Steamin Jesus, look at you.” Johnny breathed out, practically droooling as he his eyes raked over your naked body. “Can’t believe L.T. has kept this body of yours all to himself.”

You let out a shaky sigh as Johnny’s hands began to wander across your body, his eyes flickering to Simon as his fingers ghosted over your breasts. “May I touch?”

“She’s yours for the night, Johnny. I’m only here to watch.” Simons voice was strained, and you looked over to find him watching the two of you intently, his hand lazily palming his cock through his boxers. “You know my rule, though. If she says stop, you stop.”

Johnny gave a nod in reply, his eyes falling back to you. His hands grabbed at both of your tits, massaging at the plump flesh firmly, before capturing your lips with his.

It was clear that Johnny was quite experienced. He kissed you like you were the only girl on the planet for him, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, groaning against your lips as he memorized your taste.

He pulled away with a shit eating smirk, watching as your wandering eyes landed on the obvious buldge growing in his boxers “You gonna help a man out, lass?”

You took your lower lip between your teeth before looking over at your boyfriend, silently asking for permission even though the entire night was his idea.

“Go ahead, love.” Simon encouraged, giving you a soft smile. He never took his eyes off you as you sank down to your knees, freeing the Scotsman’s cock from the confines of his boxers.

Your eyes widened at his size, his cock being the farthest thing from small. It wasn’t as big as Simon’s, but it made up for the difference in length with just how thick it was.

Feeling your mouth water in anticipation, you wasted no time in taking his cock in your mouth, relishing in the fact that it had both men in the room groaning.

~~~~~~~~

“Fucking hell, you’re so tight.” Johnny groaned out, his hands finding purchase on your waist as he sank himself fully inside of you. “Feels so good, lass.”

Your eyes squeezed shut at the intrusion, the delicious stretch from his cock nearly causing you to see stars. Though he wasn’t as lengthy as Simon, Johnny was just as if not thicker, and it stretched your walls in ways you didn’t think possible. “Oh my god.”

You heard a soft groan come from the corner of the room, and looked over to see Simon pumping at his cock, which was now fully hard in his hand. “S-Si.”

“Johnny makin’ you feel good, sweet girl?” Simon cooed, not taking his eyes off of you as he pumped at himself faster. “I want to hear what my best mate does to you, baby. Wanna hear if he can make you feel as good as I do.”

You let out a guttural moan as Johnny began to pull out of you, before ramming himself back into your soaked cunt. He let out a low chuckle as he felt your walls clench around him, before setting a brutal pace.

His fingers were bruising against your waist, his nails digging into the flesh there as his cock assaulted your walls, the tip of it kissing your cervix with each jut of his hips.

Unlike Simon, Johnny was rough. His nails began to pierce your skin, his pace not relenting as he relished in the soft mewls that he elicited from you. Your hands gripped the sheets in front of you as you gasped for air, your mind growing fuzzy as your friend continued to fuck you dumb.

You didn’t notice Simon moved from his spot until his face was right in front of yours, his deep brown eyes filled with lust as he looked at your lips. “You doing alright, princess?”

You gave your boyfriend a weak nod, your eyes threatening to squeeze shut as the sounds of Johnnys moans, and the sound of his abdomen hitting your ass filled the air. Everything about this night was completely filthy, and you loved every second of it.

“Such a fuckin’ good girl.” Simon praised, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips. “Think you can help me get off while Johnny fucks you? Turns out my hand isn’t as effective as that pretty mouth of yours.”

You let out a soft whine as your boyfriend cupped your jaw, pressing another kiss to your lips before standing. You watched as he fisted himself for a moment longer before gesturing for you to open your mouth.

Oh yeah, this night was far from over.