#with my main it's so easy because there are just so many footballers and you can find one thats not taken pretty easily

[jackleopard]

why is trying to choose a new url so hard

[nebuladreamerrr]

Love in words| Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: Kylian wins your heart with a charming routine of leaving little love notes in French. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been secretly learning French just to understand his sweet messages

Warnings: English is not my first language. I don't speak Dutch or French, so if there's any mistake, I would appreciate it if you let me know :)))

You couldn't help but smile when you noticed the little envelope next to the breakfast on the counter, certain that your boyfriend had prepared it before leaving for training. It was these small gestures that made you fall more deeply in love with him each day.

The past few months hadn't been easy. In fact, your relationship hadn't followed a "normal" trajectory at all. Just a year ago, you had left your beloved Netherlands to advance your modeling career. Many saw it as a leap into the unknown, predicting you would return with less than you left with. Fortunately, you proved them wrong. It was at a serene evening event under the moonlight, hosted by a brand to showcase their new perfume, where you first met your current partner.

From the moment you met him, you felt a connection. However, you rarely recount your first conversation because it embarrasses you, despite it being one of Kylian's favorite stories. To Kylian's surprise, you didn't recognize who he was, leading him to initially disbelieve you and playfully ask what profession you thought suited him. Without hesitation, you said "architect," which amused him greatly.

Luckily, it turned into a humorous anecdote, and the following week, the handsome Frenchman seized the opportunity to take you on a date where you could savor authentic French cuisine. It was during this date that your mother called you, causing you embarrassment as you excused yourself briefly to the bathroom to speak with her. Uncertain of how to ensure you didn't return with a negative impression of him, Kylian took a lipstick from your bag and wrote on a napkin, "Meeting you was a nice accident." This gesture deeply touched your heart, and since then, you've cherished that napkin, hoping to one day share it with your future children as a cherished memory.

When your relationship began, you faced a series of challenges. First, Kylian got injured. Although it wasn’t a severe injury, he was quite moody since his whole life revolved around football. Luckily, your arrival in his life cheered him up, and he used that recovery time to get to know you better. However, the main issue in your relationship was the language barrier. After moving to France, your French was not very good, and after some bad experiences with a few French people who got offended when you mispronounced words, you decided to communicate mostly in English. Additionally, Kylian didn’t know any Dutch, so your conversations often felt monotonous or a bit awkward, requiring a translator to express your different points of view.

Kylian was quite concerned when you told him about the "trauma" you developed due to those few rude individuals who belittled your efforts and preferred to ridicule you rather than help you improve. To encourage you, Kylian came up with a plan involving leaving little notes in French to motivate you to learn the language. Of course, he understood that you could easily use your phone to translate them, so the first letter he gave you was on your birthday, hoping you’d understand how much he wanted it to come from you and not from a simple translation app. Therefore, on your birthday, he left this letter along with a bouquet of blue carnations:

“Bonjour à l'amour de ma vie,

J'espère que tu as très bien dormi aujourd'hui comme la princesse que tu es. Tu n'as aucune idée de combien je suis fier d'être ton petit ami et d'avoir comme petite amie une personne si gentille et noble, quelqu'un qui se soucie des autres et qui n'a pas peur de tout risquer pour accomplir de grandes choses.

(Y/N), en seulement vingt-quatre ans, tu as accompli tant de choses, et j'espère que tu es fière de chaque réussite car je ne peux m'empêcher de sourire comme un idiot amoureux quand j'entends ton nom mentionné dans une émission de télévision ou que je vois que tu as posté une nouvelle photo sur ton profil.

Je sais que tu vas me tuer pour avoir tout écrit en français, mais j'espère qu'un jour tu liras et comprendras tout. Je ne veux pas dire que j'espère que tu seras ma femme et la mère de mes enfants parce que je suis sûr que cela arrivera; nous sommes destinés à être ensemble.

Merci de me supporter, et s'il te plaît continue de cuisiner; je ne sais pas ce que je ferais sans ta nourriture. Je t'aime tellement, mon amour, profite de ta journée.

P.S. Please, princess, don’t translate anything, and don’t ask anyone to translate it for you. I love you, my queen."

("Good morning to the love of my life.

I hope you slept very well today like the princess you are. You have no idea how proud I am to be your boyfriend and to have such a gentle, noble person as my girlfriend, someone who cares about others and isn’t afraid to risk everything to achieve great things.

(Y/N), in just twenty-four years, you have accomplished so much, and I hope you are proud of every achievement because I can’t help but smile like a love-struck fool when I hear your name mentioned on a TV show or see that you’ve posted a new picture on your profile.

I know you’re going to kill me for writing this all in French, but I hope that one day you’ll read and understand everything. I don’t want to say I hope you’ll be my wife and the mother of my children because I’m sure it will happen; we’re destined to be together.

Thank you for putting up with me, and please keep cooking; I don’t know what I’d do without your food. I love you so much, my love, enjoy your day.

P.S. Please, princess, don’t translate anything, and don’t ask anyone to translate it for you. I love you, my queen.")

When you read the letter, you couldn't help but feel a bit shocked because you didn't expect to receive a handwritten letter from Kylian, especially not one written in French. Although it frustrated you that you couldn't understand what was written, you were sure it was all kind words. From that moment on, you had a new goal: to decipher everything the letter said.

Your motivation grew with the increase in notes that Kylian left everywhere: in your car, your apartment, and even in your purse. His messages varied—some shorter, some longer—but they all had one common factor: they were all written in French.

“Mon cœur, les gars me taquinent parce que je veux aller voir Vice Versa 2 avec toi. Est-ce bizarre ? » "Sweetheart, the guys are bullying me because I want to see Inside Out 2 with you. Is that weird?"

« Hey, je n'aime pas que tu prêtes plus d'attention à mon frère qu'à moi. Rappelle-toi, j'ai une Coupe du Monde, et lui non. » "Hey, I don’t like that you pay more attention to my brother than to me. Remember, I have a World Cup, and he doesn’t."

« Pendant l'entraînement, je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher de penser à toi et à comment nos enfants vont me taquiner parce que je ne parle pas néerlandais. Pourquoi tout le monde se moque de moi ? » "During training, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how our kids will bully me because I don’t speak Dutch. Why does everyone make fun of me?"

All of this motivated you to sign up for classes with a private tutor to learn the language. You often surprised her by asking about the meaning of specific words to slowly decipher the meaning of your boyfriend’s letters. When you finally succeeded, you couldn’t feel more satisfied with yourself. So, you decided to write Kylian a letter in French and slip it into his training bag, hoping to surprise him. You also had a little revenge planned.

"My love, I hope training went well, and you had a great time with the guys.

Remember to behave, and there will be a delicious meal for lunch.

Overigens, ik denk dat het tijd is dat jij ook mijn taal leert, dus ik hoop dat je veel plezier hebt. Onthoud, als je opgeeft, zal mijn vader een slechte indruk van je hebben.

Ik hou van je, mijn kleine schildpad.

(By the way, I think it’s time for you to learn my language too, so I hope you have a lot of fun. Remember, if you give up, my father will have a bad impression of you.

I love you, my little turtle.)

P.S. Don’t use the translator either."

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 3 - Best Friends

Summary: Corroded Coffin...a group of good-looking young guys. But jealousy is not a good look on any of them.

Word Count: 941

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Friendship, jealousy, tiny bit of angst, mentions of FOI, tiny bit of Jeff backstory, Freak #3 is named Dave in my universe, special appearance of the freshman.

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you didn’t start on Day 1, you can still join!

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Friendship dynamics in groups were always tricky things.

You'd know more about one person in the group than the others, someone might know more about you than you know about them. More often than not, the bonds of friendship were more braided and intricate than a straight connection from Person A to Person B.

This concept had led to many-a-fight between Mike, Lucas, Dustin, and Will. Petty, puberty-driven, anxiety-riddled fights that Eddie stupidly tried to mediate one afternoon when he got to the lunch table and found them all bickering.

The other, older boys groaned when their leader asked with a snort, "alright, who's fighting over the Skeletor action figure this time?"

Their arguing only got louder, all of them turned to face Eddie now, who realized his mistake as they spoke over one another and shoved elbows into each others sides.

He remedied it by whistling loudly to get them all to shut up.

"One at a time," he demanded, and then waved to Dustin, who sat the closest to him.

And Dustin, desperate for some sort of epiphany or intervention, asked,

"Eddie, who is your best friend?"

"Oh, that's easy," he waved dismissively. "It's Jeff."

It was a record-scratch moment.

Maybe not for everyone at the table, but certainly for the other members of Corroded Coffin.

"What about Ronnie?" Jeff himself questioned.

"Yeah what about Ronnie?"

"Weren't you guys in Kindergarten together?"

"Jeff can't be your best friend, because he's my best friend."

Everyone froze then and turned to Gareth, who shrunk under everyone's stares for a moment and then straightened his shoulders.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Jeff's my best friend, what about it?"

"When do you guys hang out except for Hellfire...or class...or band practice?" Eddie narrowed his eyes at Gareth.

"When do you guys hang out except for those places?" Dave retorted. "If anything, Jeff's my best friend because I've actually been to his house to listen to tapes before."

And from there it just devolved, as all of the boys at the table began to argue about who was whose best friend.

Everyone but Jeff.

Eddie was the first to notice him, sitting there taking immense interest in his lunch. Cutting his meatloaf into the tiniest bites.

"Alright!" he snapped, earning the table's. "Let's hear it from the man of the hour. Jeff, since you seem to be winning the popularity contest and have everyone up in arms about being the Ethel to your Lucy...who is your best friend?"

The thing was...if Eddie was the face of Corroded Coffin--of Hellfire Club--Jeff was the heart. And he knew it. He'd easily slid into the space that Ronnie had left vacant when she graduated, offering guidance and kindness and help to all of his friends.

He enjoyed a laugh, enjoyed being surrounded by everyone, enjoyed getting to see them all smile. Their happiness was his, and they all held a special place in his heart and in his life.

So it shouldn't have been a surprise to him that they all held him in such a high regard as well.

He didn't know how to soften the blow when the answer to this heavy, weighted question was "Richie Stafford."

It was said clearly and confidently, no hesitation whatsoever.

Cue another record scratch for all the boys at the table.

"Wait...Isn't..." Dave's face scrunched for a moment. "Isn't that your cousin?"

"Yeah," Jeff nodded. "It is."

"Wasn't he on the football team?"

"Yeah, but he isn't a bad guy." He shrugged and gestured to Eddie. "He graduated last year. That's why I was surprised you didn't say Ronnie. Because my answer is Richie."

Jeff watched his friends deflate for a second before he continued.

"You guys are all my pals. And I wouldn't give any of you up for the world. But Richie was my first friend, my best friend. I don't know if you remember Ed, but I was just as scared as these guy were to come up and talk to you on my first week of high school. A metal band? At Hawkins High? I thought you guys were the coolest!

"But I wouldn't even be in Corroded Coffin or Hellfire if Richie give me the push to try. I sat with him and his friends at lunch that first week, and he could tell how uncomfortable I was...but...I dunno, you got up on the table one day and played air guitar or something. Got detention, I'm sure. But Richie said it was like the clouds parted, so the next Monday, he sent me over to sit with you guys.

"He always said I was a nerd, but he never gave me shit for being myself," Jeff finished confidently. "So that's why he's my best friend."

Hellfire Club's table was silent for a moment, somber at the news that their favorite person favored someone else.

Eddie, ever the leader, was the first one to speak up.

"Well, thanks for being honest with us all Jeff. You stuck with your guns, and I think it's pretty metal of you, actually."

He and Jeff shared a smile with one another, Jeff happy that his friend and role model wasn't upset with him.

They whole table erupted into chatter, their voices filled with friendship this time, instead of anger or annoyance. They all picked on Jeff, telling him not to let the popularity get to his head.

"I will say," Gareth piped up over the din, "I feel better that at least you picked Richie...and not any of these turds."

The whole table broke down in laughter, and Gareth earned a soft punch to the shoulder from his best friend.

[kanralovesu]

⛺Recounting the great story of Reverse 1999's Horror at Green Lake so more people can hear it ⛺

We open on a group of college students on vacation in Green Lake Campsite. Blonde beauty Blonney immediately goes off to fool around with the football player, only to find a vicious masked man with a butcher's knife who swiftly murders them. As the rest of the group gets picked off, the virtuous and naive Anne is left alone to fend off the monster. But just as she's about to be corned our main character Vertin and her crew arrive, including Horrorpedia a self proclaimed horror movie expert.

As our heroes use their magical arcanum powers to fight the killer, they're shocked to see Blonney wake from the dead, covered in blood that smells suspiciously like cherry syrup. "You ruined my perfect shot!" She proclaims, parading her magical floating camera. Turns out we had accidently wandered onto a student movie set! A pissed off director Blonney proclaims that she doesn't even like horror movies, but choose to make one for her film major because "they're so cliched and easy to make!" We even find out the football player who was acting all tough earlier is actually a timid liberal arts major! Anne, however, is just as naive as her film counterpart as they apparently just enlisted her from the local village to replace an actress who got sick the night before.

But the story doesn't end there. As everyone gets ready for the next take, Blonney is reminded "wait, didn't Greg also get sick? Who did we find to replace him as the killer?" Blonney thought the rest of them had found someone. With the realization that no one knows the true identity of the killer in the mask, the group bolts to the nearby cabin, chased by the supposedly real killer who was among them!

Hiding from the killer as rain begins to pour, Blonney consoles in Anne that she's actually an Arcanist like the rest of the main characters. In this world, that means she has magical powers but faces discrimination because of it. She tried to blend in to human society, throwing away her childhood love for horror movies and storytelling because emotional things like those are more stereotypically arcanist in nature. She put on an air of "the pretty and stupid blonde" because that's what she thought society wanted out of her. However, as her crewmates (besides Anne) turn on her for being an arcanist, she's shown that the prejudice runs deeper than she thought.

Throughout all of this, a mysterious entity has been leaving clue and picking off the film crew one by one. Not a singular movie monster, but someone controlling multiple movie monsters, each of which our heroes has to fight off. When push comes to shove, Blonney embraces her Arcanist powers once again, drawing up a creative version to her car with giant teeth and then making that drawing a reality to crush the monsters! Anne also gets her moment, although she dispatches the man with the butcher's knife in a less magical way: whipping him with a large branch, stealing his own knife and then driving him through with it. Horrorpedia, as genre savvy as ever, points out that Anne has true "Final Girl" energy!

But there is one final twist to uncover: who is the mastermind behind all of these monsters? In a shocking twist presented in a puppet theater of all things, we find out that Blonney accidently willed into existence an imaginary friend when she was younger and visited Green Lake Campsite: a deer girl based on the puppet she had back then. Back in the day, she told so many stories to herself, imagining all kind of horror movie monsters that the team now find themselves up against. It was Blonney's imagination that created these monsters, but her imaginary friend had turned them into reality after she left.

This deer girl, waiting ever so patiently for her best friend to return, is revealed to be Anne all along! She had been masterminding the monster attacks because in her naivete she believed that it was all just fun and games. Not only that, but she was desperate to not be left alone again like when Blonney left her as a child to pursue the human world. Blonney knows she can't stay with her in the forest like Anne (whose real name is Jessica) wants, but she offers Jessica a home with her instead. After our main character assures her that everything will be alright, Jessica calls off the monsters, transforming the campsite into a beautiful location yet again.

Horrorpedia is disappointed that the whole thing ended with "love and friendship and a deus ex machina" and everyone lived happily ever after! (With Blonney and Jessica becoming girlfriends of course. I skipped over the details but its barely subtext! I don't care if she's a deer-centaur and she's a human, they're perfect for each other!)

Please go play Reverse 1999! Its got a few translation issues as you can see with the text above, but the stellar character writing still shines through, especially since its fully voice acted. I still recommend reading this story for yourself even after reading this plot summary because there is so much nuance I missed out on when summarizing it. Particularly the way Blonney and Anne/Jessica's relationship evolves over the story is great to see! There are also plenty of other great stories like this in the main campaign. So far, they haven't missed!

[insomniac4000]

If you Loved Me- A ChrisMD Fic

From my Wattpad

Sometimes if you love someone you have to let them go, you never understood that phrase until it came a point in your relationship with Chris that it was obvious it was no longer going to work. His channel was keeping him busier and busier and flights to the mainland were happening more frequently, it was only a matter of time until the question came up but you knew you couldn't go with him.

"But I've found a great flat, it's on the ground floor it has two bedrooms your mum can stay," Chris pleaded as he looked into your eyes, they were brimming with tears, this wasn't a journey you could go on. Your mother had been ill for as long as you could remember and she was only getting worse, degenerative diseases did that but she could live for another twenty years with round the clock care or she could die tomorrow, you couldn't leave her and couldn't ask her to leave her home. All the specialist equipment was set up for her here, she had a sister who would help, she had the carers she knew and recognised.

"You say it like it's easy. She can't get on a flight you know that." Your mum's muscle disease had now rendered her bed bound, she had been for six months now. There was no way to get her to the main island even she wanted to. 

"We can find a way, boat? I'll pay for a private ambulance and then..." You cut him off, with your eyes flooded with tears you hugged Chris tightly before painstakingly pulling away, your heart ached, more than it had ever done before, more than when your dad left when you were ten. He couldn't hack it anymore, it had only been you and your mum since and it had to stay that way she needed you. 

"Chris. This is your dream, not mine. I need to stay here I'm sorry," you whispered. Chris gasped sharply knowing what you were doing but wanted to fight it every step of the way. You had been together since you were fifteen, you were twenty four now these kind of romances were so few and far between. 

"My dream is being with you."

"Don't. You've let me hold you back for this long, you need to go and I need to stay here. I love you but we're at a crossroads now and we've got different paths." You had always felt guilty every time Chris ended a shoot early or came back from the mainland early because there was an emergency with your mum. You couldn't do that to him anymore. 

"Please don't do this," Chris whispered his eyed now spilling with tears, he grabbed your arms tightly but not to hurt you as he went to kiss you. You turned your head away and shook it, knowing if you kissed him you wouldn't be able to let him go and you had to. Instead you placed a kiss on his cheek and told him you loved him and you were proud of him for following his dreams. You turn turned on his heel and left his house, leaving a very heartbroken man standing in the doorway to his room. 

Of course Chris did go, him being able to collaborate more only made his channel grew. In fact he ended up moving in with a couple of other content creators George Clarke and Arthur Hill with yours and Chris's old school friend Arthur Frederick not far away. The four collaborated a lot, along with some other people and whenever you got time you watched some of their videos. You tried to make a point not to watch him a lot, you still loved him and as much as this is what he needed to do it was hard to hear jokes about all the dates he went on. 

The truth was Chris went on so many dates because he was desperately trying to find someone but no one matched up to you, every single woman was measured to you and none of them made the cut, he told himself he just had to keep looking. 

He was currently making a video with Arthur, George, Harry and Theo when Arthur who was on his phone like usual gasped. 

"Chris, Chris I think you need to come and see this," Arthur bellowed as loud as he could in his usually soft voice. 

"Arthur I don't care about chess," Chris moaned as he dropped the football by his feet.

"Chris please." Arthur looked so serious that Chris couldn't help but run over, he looked at the screen and his face dropped when he saw a message from Arthur's mum saying that your mum had passed away. Chris got his phone out of his pocket and saw a similar message from his mum, with the additional info that the funeral would be Friday. 

"What do I do?" Chris asked.

"What's happened?" Harry enquired, walking over to the Jersey pair. 

"Y/N's mum's died." Arthur announced sadly, he then turned his attention back to the small man who was running his hands through his hair. "I think you need to go."

"You're right." Chris nodded, that smart little nerd was always right. Harry then placed an arm round his friend, along with Arthur he was the other person who knew how much that girl meant to him through his time visiting Chris and doing videos in Jersey. 

Back in Jersey you were coping but only on the surface. The funeral arrangements were keeping you busy enough to stop yourself from losing it completely, to an observer you were doing very well getting your head down and organising everything. The truth was your mum had her wishes laid out years ago so you knew what to do. People who knew you a bit more noticed how quiet you were, Chris's mum came over with a cup of tea and a cake from your favourite bakery plus some home made pasta bake so you didn't have to worry about cooking. She was always sweet to you, even after the breakup if she saw you round the island she'd always stop for a quick chat, making a point to not mention her son as she knew you were hurting too. 

It was the day before the funeral and you sat there in your living room, it was yours now but you didn't want it you just wanted her back. The doorbell went and you sighed before getting up from the cream sofa walking to the door, assuming it was someone checking in on you, your aunt or some more flowers you opened it not caring you were still in your PJ's at two o clock in the afternoon. There on the other side of the door was the only other person you had wanted to see again apart from your mum. You hated yourself for thinking about how good he looked, his hair was now natural and curly and he had sprouted now facial hair, it suited him. Completely forgetting you two hadn't spoken in two years you broke down into tears and fell into his open arms. He wrapped them around you as tightly as he could without hurting placing his head on yours as you sobbed into his shoulder. 

"Shhh it's okay. I'm here now." Chris soothed, his voice sounded like angels singing it had been so long since you had heard it not being through a screen. Chris had arrived in Jersey that morning, he caught up with his mum who had told him the how and when's, suggesting that she could really do with a friend to speak to as her mum's health had worsened so much since Chris moved that you spent all of your time caring for her and most people your age had moved on with their own lives. He held you there for a few minutes until you calmed down and the cries turned to small sobs. 

"Did you want a cup of tea?" Chris asked, you nodded only realising you had barely drunk anything that day, you weren't taking proper care of yourself, it was too easy to forget to eat, or drink, or change you looked down at your attire. 

"Please. Sorry for the state of me."

"You never need to apologise for anything. Ever." Chris's words gave you some relief. Him letting you know that he wasn't mad at you for everything is all you ever wanted to know. 

"Place hasn't changed much," Chris mused when the pair of you were sipping on your tea, he even bought out a pack of biscuits from one of the cupboards. 

"Dunno what I'm going to do with it now, or with my life." The house belonged to your grandparents who, knowing their daughter was ill left it to her and she now in turn had left it to her daughter. All you have known for years is looking after your mum, you had a job in a book shop but it was part time, the owner knew you and your mother and was very understanding to your situation giving you time off and flexible hours. You would have gone to university but couldn't leave your mum, you put your life on hold for her which was why you wouldn't let Chris do the same for you. It took everything in Chris's power not to say to come back with him, now wasn't the time you needed him to be there and he was. 

He sat next to you at the funeral, held your hand he looked up at you encouraging you to go on as you read the eulogy. He had his arm around you as you watched the coffin get lowered for the final time. He stayed in your spare room for three nights, making you breakfast every morning and dinner every evening until he had to go back to film. 

"There is no pressure but it wanted a break you can come and see me," Chris offered before he left. You nodded and did think about it seriously, he called and messaged you every day to check in on you and after a month of you wallowing you decided to take him up on the offer messaging him back 'I think I'm ready for that little holiday.' 

"Chris, there's another girl at the door for you!" Arthur Hill bellowed from the front door, George smacked the back of his head. In his conversations with Chris the past few weeks he knew you were different. 

"I thought he was picking you up at the airport, he's just filming with..." George started to explain when Arthur and Chris came into view. 

"It's so nice to see you again," Arthur smiled before bringing you into a hug.

"I got an earlier flight," you smiled at Chris and almost fling yourself into his arms, they felt so safe to be in. 

"I feel like a right knob now making you lug that thing around across London."

"Oh it was no bother." You'd take anything to see Chris again sooner. 

"So how long are you around for?" ArthurTV asked when you were all sat around the sofas with pizza later on that evening. 

"I don't know, whenever I get fed up I guess, I just needed a break," you explained and Arthur nodded sadly. The expression on his face was the same look everyone else gave you, sadness, concern and pity. The only person who didn't look at you like that was Chris, he only had care in his eyes. 

You had been to London a handful of times before but there was so much you wanted to see and Chris took you to everything. You laughed together, you cried together but you had realised how much this break was needed and how much better it made you feel but it got you thinking, was it the break or was it Chris? You stayed for three weeks but eventually life needs dealing with. 

"I need to make sure the house is still standing at least," you explained to Chris as he watched you pack your bags. 

"You can always come back whenever you want. Have my key! I'll get another one cut," Chris suggested and you couldn't help but laugh at his almost childlike optimism. 

"You know I sit there in that house and I hate it. It's nothing but bad memories. It's her house, not mine and I just sit there and think about her, watching her deteriorate, thinking about all of the things I missed out on because I stayed."

"Like us?" Chris said softly. Up until now neither of them had bought up their past but Chris couldn't hold it in any longer, these past few weeks had taught him he wasn't prepared to let her go again, there was nothing stopping them this time. 

"I had to," you reminded him and yourself. You still stand by what you did, it was the right thing to do at the time. 

"I know. You're grieving I'm not going to be an arsehole and jump on you when you're down but. I never stopped loving you." Chris walked to you and gently caressed your cheek with his thumb, it was something he often did before he kissed you and he did, it was very short but incredibly tender. 

"I love you too." You whispered bringing him in for another kiss. Guess what they said was also true, absence really did make the heart grow fonder. 

[spritebug]

What do you think the MS characters studied during FCU/at university generally?

Thank you for the ask! ^^

My FCU knowledge is very limited, so I’m sorry if this is ooc or goes against cannon 😅

I’ve also never done something like this, so I hope the layout is okay!

What the main Mystreet characters studied at FCU/College/University

———————————————

Like I say, I don’t remember much of FCU. So this will be based on their MS and PDH personalities!

(Also I’m British so I’m sorry if I mixed anything up!)

Aph

-I strongly think aph went into a creative subject.

-Specifically Graphic Design or Drawing and Painting

-I also think she could have taken Creative Writing, after realising that she could make Fan fiction her entire job if she just “got it published”

-turns out it wasn’t that easy.

-(I think she’d have considered a Veterinary course, but decided against it after realising she’d have to see some of the animals pass on)

Katelyn

-I truly don’t talk about Katelyn enough.

-The easy answer is obviously a sports based course.

-Such as studying/training for volleyball or Sports Coaching.

-BUT I think she also could have done something in Drama, specifically Acting and Performance.

-I think she would have taken up Boxing Lessons during this, either for fun or to try cover her love of Theatre.

Nana(kc)

-Bakery.

-It’s easy, I know. But I really think she probably would have taken a Bakery and Patisserie course.

-If we’re also talking in universe stuff, then I think she might have taken some form of Magics Classes.

-And depending on when her dream of starting a maid cafe started, she could have taken Business Management to try and do that.

-I like to think she had a part time job at the Meif’wa scouts as a scout leader.

-(Probably also considered Veterinary as an option)

Garroth

-This man was way too difficult

-But it’s okay we love him anyway

-I think Garroth would be the type of person who just panicked and applied for a course in whatever he got the best grades in at the end of secondary/high school, even if it’s not what he wanted to do. (Which is valid)

-He probably could have continued in Baseball, but realised he’d rather keep it as a hobby and not a career.

-Garte absolutely offered him an apprenticeship at his business, and definitely tried super hard to get him to accept.

-Thankfully, Zianna pushed for him to do what he wants not what Garte wants. We love zianna.

-But, Garte definitely made him do a part time course in Business Management “just in case”

-Garroth doesn’t know what he wants to do in life yet, and that’s perfectly fine.

Zane

-Ahhh zane. Just as difficult as his brother.

-I think he could have done English Literature or some form of Poetry, gotta get the angst out somehow.

-But other things MCD and the wiki also make me think he could have done Business management to try and please his dad and become the favourite child.

-Garte probably offered him the the apprenticeship after Garroth declined it, but it was too late to accept.

-He probably considered an art course because of his love of MLP 2D animation.

Vylad

-MY BOYYY

-I have so many opinions

-Okay, so for some reason I really think Vylad would take a Photography course. It just makes sense in my mind.

-If not photography, I think he would have taken any course that involved him having to travel in order to study.

-I think Vylad learned at least 1 other language during college/uni.

-Probably took baking classes at one point, but kept eating his projects before he could present them.

-I don’t think Garte got around to offering him the apprenticeship, but he wouldn’t have accepted anyway.

Laurence

-This man. I love him, but his wiki is….lacking compared to everyone else’s.

-But we continue anyway

-I’m tempted to say he didn’t go to Uni/college, and instead helped on his parents farm for a little while or did some form of Apprenticeship.

-if he did I think Laurence could have continued football/soccer, but I think he’d get bored and choose something else.

-I think Laurence would be the type who chooses his courses based solely on what he enjoys doing, without a real plan on what to do afterward. (me too)

-I think he would have taken a culinary course, mainly surrounding savoury food.

-college/uni is probably where he learnt Japanese.

-I think Cadenza would have convinced him to do a part time Fashion and Beauty course “or she’d disown him”.

-Definitely did Babysitting as a part time job.

Dante

-Dante. One of the hardest out of this list.

-I’m honestly so stumped for our dear Danny boy

-I can imagine Dante going into something like Engineering or Film.

-I literally have no idea why, it’s just all I picture when I think about it. I wish I could provide more information

-I think he probably got a job pretty early after leaving Secondarily/High school. Like just something small, not a stable forever job.

-I think College/Uni has to be around the time he toned down his PDH-era flirting.

Travis

-I feel like Travis could have went into Media or something along those lines.

-Or social studies

-He seems like he’d do an apprenticeship somewhere, but I’m not sure where.

-he’s a tricky one

-he definitely did cooking lessons at some point

-I think college/Uni is also where he learnt a martial art

-He defiantly went to the same place as Dante

Aaron

-I think Aaron didn’t have much control over what he studied. I think he was heavily influenced by his parents.

-Definitely took Business Management

-Definitely took some form of Werewolf classes

-And definitely lost interest quickly

-100% made use of the on-campus gym. He probably spent more time there than classes.

Lucinda

-Magic time

-Definitely took multiple Magic Courses.

-Specifically about Familiars and Witchcraft

-Took bakery classes on the side, and tried to mix the two together.

-I think she could have also taken gardening on the side.

Nicole

-I think Nicole’s dad would have tried to convince her to study Law or Politics, but after less than a year she switches.

-I think she would have taken Sport and Exercise Science, to better herself and others.

-I think she could have taken Veterinary part time too, like a wildlife sanctuary or something.

-She probably took martial art classes in between classes.

Cadenza

-CADENZAAA

-yes I’m including our girl

-She absolutely took Fashion Design.

-And possibly Beauty on the side.

-She knew exactly what she wanted in Secondary/High school, and she hasn’t changed her mind since.

-Definitely took self defence classes

-Also helped out at her parents farm for a little while.

———————————————

I hope this was okay, I had to re-do the whole thing three times cause I kept accidentally losing all the progress 😅

[tangledinink]

Leo frowned a bit.  “You know I already tried melatonin, right?” “It’s not melatonin, dummy,” Mikey sighed, rolling his eyes as he twisted the pill bottle open, grabbing Leo’s hand so that he could shake one of the little gummies out into his palm. “It’s weed. Obviously.”

Leo and Mikey take edibles. That's it, that's the whole fic. :) A TMWN one-shot; takes place prior to main fic, so no need to be caught up! Read it on ao3 or below the cut!

Though Leo had, admittedly, been a bit jumpy and out of it today, (okay, fine, the past few days,) he was still pretty sure he was justified in his yelp when a hand latched onto his wrist, yanking him sharply inside the apartment as soon as the front door was open and hip-checking it shut behind him.

“Jesus CHRIST, Mikey! Were you waiting for me to get home just so you could do that!? Is this supposed to be revenge for the thing with your Twitter account and profile pic? ‘Cause that was definitely Donnie and not me--”

“The thing with the what now?! What’d you-- you know what, nevermind. Shut up,” Mikey said, promptly darting past Leo and ducking under his arm in order to lock the door shut behind him.

Leo blinked slowly.

“Dude. What are you doing?”

Mikey turned to face him, his hands on his hips.

“Is Donnie at his robotics meet?”

“... Yeah?”

“And Dad, too?”

“Yeah? Mikey--”

“And Raph is at football practice?”

“Angie, what is your deal?” Leo sighed loudly, scrubbing at his face tiredly as he tilted his head back in annoyance. What the fuck was with Mikey all of a sudden!? And why was he being interrogated? Like, okay, look, he knew that he kind of spooked him the other day with that whole… falling down the stairs thing. But he was totally fine! Just some bruises. It was so not that big of a deal! Leo just… hadn’t been paying attention.

… And, yeah, okay, sure. You could, in theory, argue that the fact that he hadn’t slept for more than three hours or so in about as many days had something to do with that. But that was all just conjecture! They had no evidence! 

“Good,” Mikey said, quite decisively, clapping his hands together and narrowing his eyes at the other, his lips pursed as he stared at him for just a moment before he pointed at him, almost accusingly.

“You need to sleep.”

Oh, great. Here we go. Leo rolled his eyes, bristling.

“Wow, seriously? You think so? What a crazy smart suggestion! And so unique and original! Gosh, thank you, Miguel, I never would have thought of that on my own! Sleeping! That’s a great idea! I’ll go do that now, since it’s so simple and easy to do, except actually no it’s not!” He hissed, throwing his arms up in annoyance.

What, did he think he didn’t try? Because he had tried desperately! He would love to be sleeping right now! He had spent countless hours over the past week staring at the ceiling in his dark room, meditating, and listening to the endless droning of sleep podcasts. He had guzzled down melatonin like it was going out of style to no avail. He had taken trazodone, for god’s sake, and even that didn’t put him down for more than an hour or two. 

Mikey pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and pursing his lips, giving the other a long look.

“Are you done yet?”

Leo scowled. 

He blinked slowly at the other.

He crossed his arms over his chest, too, echoing the other’s posture.

And then finally he grumbled and nodded.

“Okay, good. C’mon,” Mikey replied quickly, grabbing Leo’s wrist once more and heading up the stairs at a hurried pace. Leo swore softly, stumbling a bit, but followed and kept pace anyway, jogging up to the second floor and following his brother, who didn’t slow down until they were in his room, the door shut behind him.

“Okay,” Mikey said, turning once again to face the other, reaching over to grab him by his shoulders. “You need to sleep. We agree on this. Right?”

Leo raised a brow. “... Right?”

“And you trust me. Right?”

“... Yeah?”

“Because I’m your brother. We’re family.”

“... As far as I’m aware…” Leo said slowly, narrowing his eyes.

“And you!” Mikey added in, pointing accusingly. “Are the one who taught me the snitches get stitches rule, right? That’s your rule. You are the main enforcer of said rule! So you believe in the rule! Right?”

“Mikey, what are you--”

“True or false, Leo!”

“... Yeah. Okay. True. What the fuck are you about to try to do to me, Miguel?” He sighed. “Because if your intention is to knock me out via blunt force trauma, Donnie and I already tried that--”

“Okay, well, we’ll unpack that later,” Mikey chirped cheerily, shoving Leo in the general direction of the bed, gesturing to him a bit before he darted off. Leo pouted, but sat down anyway, kicking his shoes off and curling up. If Mikey was gonna try to hypnotize him or something after all this drama, he was going to be so fucking mad.

Slumped down against the copious amounts of pillows and stuffed animals (his collection rivaled only by Raph’s,) on Mikey’s bed, he watched as his baby brother threw open his closet, kicking a storage bin over to hop up on top of. Once he had the necessary height from his make-shift step-stool, he reached up, rummaging around for a bit on the top shelf. After a bit of shuffling and rearranging he finally pulled down a milk crate, and from that, he fished out a small painted chest-- one that Leo recognized as his music box from when they were little, decorated with little painted rainbows and unicorns on every side that, no, Leo had not been jealous of when Mikey got it at the age of six, thank you very much. 

Holding the music box under one arm, Mikey hopped back down and scampered over to re-join Leo on the bed. Inside the music box was an even smaller box-- this one Leo pegged as the box for the tarot cards Mikey had convinced April to buy him at that craft fair they went to two summers ago. He did readings with them from time to time, just for fun, not that Leo thought that they really meant anything. They were more a pretty trinket than anything else. Though Leo noted quietly to himself, didn’t Mikey keep his cards in a little velvet pouch, actually, now that he thought about it?

“Mikey, if you actually think now is a good time to do a tarot reading--”

“Well, I could after this if you want,” Mikey said brightly in reply, and when he cracked open the tarot card deck, there were, in fact, not any cards inside at all. Rather, there was a little orange bottle that Leo immediately clocked as one from one of Mikey’s Adderall prescriptions. But after a slightly closer inspection, he could already see that there weren’t any pills inside said bottle.

It looked more like candy.

Leo frowned a bit. 

“You know I already tried melatonin, right?”

“It’s not melatonin, dummy,” Mikey sighed, rolling his eyes as he twisted the pill bottle open, grabbing Leo’s hand so that he could shake one of the little gummies out into his palm. “It’s weed. Obviously.”

Leo stayed quiet for a moment, silently processing this.

And then his mouth fell open into a perfect ‘o.’

“HAMATO MICHELANGELO--”

“YOU AGREED!” Mikey shrieked, rearing back to point wildly at the other. “YOU ALREADY AGREED TO NO SNITCHING! NO BACKSIES!!!”

“Where the fuck did you get edibles!?” Leo cried.

Mikey threw up his hands in response. “I’m in the art club, Leo!!!”

Leo gasped. “Sarah is a weed dealer, isn’t she?! I totally called it!!!”

“No!” Mikey protested. “... Well, okay, yeah. But I get mine from Kody. So I think you only get half points?”

“Oh my god,” Leo gaped. “Since when!?”

“Likkeeee, last February?”

“What?!”

“You are being, like, so much less chill about this than I thought you’d be,” Mikey sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. “Look. It’s not a big deal! I promise! It’s, like, a special occasion once-every-few-months kind of thing. And at least for me,” he gestured to himself. “I always end up passing out, like… so hard,” he explained. “You don’t gotta take any if you don’t want to! I’m just saying. It might help. And you haven’t tried it yet. Sooo…”

He sort of shrugged.

Leo frowned, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Okay. Well.

On one hand… If he got caught, by either their dad or by, like, anyone involved in any of his many copious sports teams, he’d definitely be in, like… so much trouble.

On the other hand… Mikey had gone this long without getting caught. And Mikey was, like, way less sneaky than he was. And what were the odds that he was going to be subjected to a drug test or something anytime in the near future, really? He had never been drug tested before, (just threatened with it,) and they were still really early in the season, before any big, high-stakes meets or matches would be cropping up…

And Mikey did have a point. He hadn’t tried it yet. And it might help. And he did, like… really wanna sleep. 

Like. So bad.

… And also. I mean. It’s not like he wasn’t curious.

---

How long until they kick in? He had asked. I dunno if it’s working, he had said. Maybe it wasn’t enough-- should I take another? He had questioned. (No, Mikey had said.)

(That was probably for the best.)

“Mikey.”

“Hm?”

“I want a peanut butter jelly sandwich, like… so much,” Leo muttered dimly, staring up at the ceiling of Mikey’s room. He had been examining the little glow-in-the-dark stars up there for a while there, noting that it had been some time since he had actually taken notice of them. Man. They were so cool. He should get some for his room. Note to self: ask Dad about that later.

Mikey was flopped over on the bed with him, his head sort of laid across Leo’s ankles as he drew something in his sketchbook, and he glanced over at his brother, smirking a little and raising a brow.

“We have the stuff to make one if you want,” he pointed out. (I mean, technically, they only kept almond butter in the house, because this was a peanut-free space, thank you very much, but basically the same thing.)

“Fuck yes,” Leo enthused. “I love those things, dude. Do we have-- do we have the raspberry jelly? ‘Cause that shit is honestly so good.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” Mikey hummed, setting his sketchbook to the side so that he could begin to get up.

“Hey,” Leo said, frowning a bit as he rolled over onto his side. “... I think grape jelly is a scam.”

Mikey snorted softly, raising a brow. “Uh, elaborate?”

“Okay,” Leo agreed, eager to lay out his logic. “What’s your favorite fruit?”

“I mean, I don’t not like grapes--”

“No no no no!” Leo protested, shaking his head sharply. “What’s your favorite fruit though?”

“Uhmmmm,” Mikey tilted his head to the side for a second. “Cantaloupe. Or lychee! Or mango. It’s a three-way tie,” he declared, and Leo pointed a finger.

“Exactly!” He cried. “Exactly! See? No one’s favorite fruit is grapes! Like-- they don’t exist! No one’s favorite fruit is grapes!”

Mikey laughed. “So?”

“So!” Leo threw out his hands. “No one would want to get grape jelly! ‘Cause it’s no one’s favorite fruit! There are so many other better fruits! So they had to figure out a way to get rid of all the grape jelly! So that’s why they tricked us all into thinking that grape jelly is, like. The jelly. And made peanut-butter-jelly sandwiches with grape jelly. Instead of any other jellies. Which are better. Because peanut-butter-jelly sandwiches with raspberry jelly is like? So much fucking better, dude. Or strawberry, even. Or anything! Because grapes are just okay! So they have to make the people think that that’s the default ‘cause otherwise grape jelly would be completely screwed, bro!”

“Wow,” Mikey hummed, grinning, resting his head in his hand as he stared at the other. “You are so high.”

Leo just giggled in response, letting his head fall back down, pointing at the other. “You did this to me, Angelo. This is your doing. You must reap what you’ve sown… You made me like this…!”

“Heck yeah I did,” Mikey confirmed, puffing out his chest proudly as he got up to his feet. “Come on. Do you want the sandwich or not?”

“Yessss…” Leo hummed, pulling himself up into a sitting position. Oh wow. Moving was great. Everything felt kind of tingly and wobbly in this really fun way? It was like one of those aluminum sheets that you wiggled and it made that really funny wub-wub-wub sound. Except, like… instead of just sound it was just…

Everything.

Yo, weed was kind of dope, actually. 

“Yo, weed is kind of dope, actually.”

“I told you,” Mikey said, seeming rather smug with himself. 

“I’m having a good time.”

“Yeah, it’s fun,” Mikey agreed, reaching to grab the other by the wrist, beginning to pull them up to their feet.

“Bro, why didn’t you take any? This is great. We could do a Smash Bros tournament except high,” Leo enthused, and Mikey scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t get high, I’m watching you!”

“Why?”

“I dunno. To make sure you don’t freak out or whatever. You’ve never been high before,” Mikey reasoned. “That’s just basic weed courtesy! It’s weed 101!”

Leo blinked slowly, considering this.

“Well, how long have I been high?”

Mikey shrugged a bit, fishing out his phone to check.

“Uhhh. Like. An hour and a half?”

“Well, then, am I good?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I probably would have freaked out already if I was gonna, right? So, like… am I good yet?”

Mikey wrinkled his nose, considering this for a bit.

“Well… I guess so. You’re probably fine.”

Leo reached over to grab his little brother’s shoulders, shaking him.

“Then let’s do Smash Bros Tournament except high!”

Mikey snorted, laughing loudly as he batted the other away.

“... Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I wanna do Smash Bros Tournament! Except high! I’m so good, Mikey! Lookit how hard I’m not freaking out! I’m being, like… so normal right now.”

Mikey seemed to consider this for a little bit, and then he shrugged.

“Yeah, okay.”

---

Leo had found that, in the time that he had been high thus far, he had a lot to say. He had a lot to think about and lots of thoughts to share with everyone around him (ie Mikey,) and while he overall just felt really cool and floaty and good, there was also an ever-so-slight element of brightness to it. Like-- everything was just kind of really funny right now. He was feeling very thoughtful and imaginative, so to speak. His brain was all scattered, but not in a way that felt bad-- just loose. He just wanted to discuss things! Like! Dude, IHOP? That place is the best. We should talk about that. And what’s better, pancakes or waffles? And dude, who do you think would win in, like, an actual for-real battle, Ho-Oh or Lugia? Be honest.

He was a bit surprised to find that Mikey, when high, wasn’t really any of those things.

For the most part, he was pretty normal.

Just… slowed down.

When they spoke now, it took just a tiny bit longer than usual for Mikey to respond, and his manner of speaking itself had shifted slightly to drag, allowing for longer pauses in between each word. He just seemed so very content and unbothered that he was in no rush to do anything at all, including thinking or speaking, and there was this slight shade of lazy amusement layered over everything he did. Leo, of course, found this all to be very funny. He spent a good deal of time just asking Mikey random questions and then giggling over the way he gave his answers, finding it absolutely delightful how he paused to think about it and then reported his opinion in this soft, humming tone.

And they were having so much fucking fun.

The pair of them were all piled together on the couch in The Lair, half tangled in each other’s limbs. The bid for pb-and-j had evolved into quite the cacophony of snacks, and the carnage of their munchies laid at their feet in tatters as they battled their way through their fourteenth round of Smash Bros.

“Dude, how do you keep beating me?” Leo whined, leaning in slightly towards the screen, as though that might help.

“‘Cause you always choose Kirby,” Mikey hummed in reply, slumping against the pillows in contrast. “And you suck at playing Kirby.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah-huh.”

“I’m great at Kirby. I’m the master of Kirby. Me and Kirby, we understand each other. We’re basically family. Kirby is basically my long-lost brother is how good I am at Kirby.”

“Then why do you keep losing?” Mikey countered lazily, grinning a little bit, and Leo giggled in response.

“You have an unfair advantage of not being high for the first time ever,” Leo countered, and Mikey just laughed in response.

“Kirby is cool. He’s like-- a little guy. The coolest little round dude ever. I love that dude. And I can make him blue!” Leo enthused. “And he’s. Like. My dude. Once you find your guy, you have to stick with that guy, Mikey! It’s. Like… a calling. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“You’re only a year older than me.”

“Okay? So, like… give it a year.”

Mikey snorted softly, shaking his head a bit and sticking out his tongue as he wrapped up the game neatly, murdering the shit out of blue Kirby and bringing home yet another Smash Bros victory. Leo groaned loudly, flopping back over the couch and kicking his legs up, comfortably contorting himself into an absolutely asinine position-- one of his favorite things to do. 

“We should play Mario Kart next. I’ll beat you at Mario Kart.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mikey agreed easily, waving a hand a bit. “Put it on then.”

“Why do I gotta do it?”

“‘Cause I gave you free weed.”

Leo groaned loudly, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay, finneeeeeee,” he mumbled, getting to his feet, (with only a little bit of a wobble,) making his way over to the console so he could begin picking his way through their, quite frankly, ridiculous collection of video games, looking to fish out Mario Kart so he could get it set up.

And, like, yes, okay. Maybe he got a little bit distracted. But someone put the Red Dead Redemption 2 disc in the Cyberpunk case and obviously he could not let that stand! That needed to be corrected, like, immediately, and then the disc that was in the Red Dead Redemption case had to be relocated, too…

But, I mean, it didn’t take that long. Probably. 

And now their DVDs were organized!

“Okay, all set,” Leo hummed, turning back around to face his brother… who had an absolute hundred-yard stare, gazing off into nothing with his mouth slightly agape. Leo frowned a bit.

“Mikey.”

Silence.

“... Mikey.”

Nope.

“... Mikey!”

There he is. Mikey blinked a bit in surprise, glancing back over at him, processing for a moment, and then laughing. “Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t listening. I just had a really cool idea for a mural… Hang on. I wanna sketch it out so I don’t forget…” He said, quickly fishing out his phone and beginning to draw with his finger, his tongue stuck out in concentration. Leo huffed a bit.

“Okay, fine, just don’t take forever. I wanna do stoned Mario Kart,” Leo insisted, moving to flop back over onto the couch, curling up on his side. Mikey gave a little hum in response, but didn’t spare him much else, clearly sucked into his project.

Leo did his best to entertain himself in the meantime. He scrolled blindly through Instagram for a while, liking a bunch of pics that he would probably get in trouble for later, though who’s really to say? Once he got bored with that, he drafted and deleted about eight different tweets, just barely managing to wrestle his inner demon down into its cage and exercise some impulse control. And he flicked through TikTok for a while, but didn’t really find anything of interest on his ForYou page. And Mikey was still going strong, so…

For a little bit. He was just. Bored.

He hummed softly, curled up on the couch, pulling at one of his curls absently and examining it as he went-- pulling it out straight, and then letting it bounce back, giggling a tiny bit to himself at the motion of it. He remembered when he was little and he and his brother’s would have arguments over who had the curliest hair-- as if it were really ever a competition. They’d do that for everything though-- always trying to see who was the ‘most’ or ‘best’ at any one thing.

He remembered, vaguely, back before April’s mom taught him how to do it properly, his dad sitting with them for hours in front of the computer, one by one, watching YouTube tutorials and trying to tame their hair for them. He smiled a bit at the thought. He had hated it at the time, whining about being bored and having to sit still, annoyed with his father messing with his hair and pulling at it… but now, the memory was… kind of sweet.

He hadn’t thought about that in a really long time, he thought vaguely to himself, sighing very softly. 

It was almost weird to suddenly confront such an old, forgotten memory like that out of the blue. But not unwelcome. It was nice, actually, and he laid his head down against the pillows with a sigh, allowing himself to bask in the warmth of it for a while, running through images of his childhood, playing them on loop.

And somewhere along the way, he realized, vaguely in the back of his head, that he was sleepy.

Usually, at times like these, this moment would be followed swiftly by disappointment. He’d be laying in his bed, trying desperately to get to sleep, absolutely praying for it to take him and knock him the fuck out, and he’d realized that it was happening, he was getting sleepy-- only for the excitement of it to promptly kick a shot of adrenaline through his body, spooking the sensation and scaring it off, leaving him perfectly awake once more and writhing with frustration (which of course only worsened matters.)

But he didn’t feel that right now. He was just kind of aware of it, smiling the tiniest bit at the thought, curling up a bit tighter in on himself and wrapping his arms around the pillow he was snuggled up against to cling to.

Everything was so oddly calm. Pebbled and loose and wobbly, but in a good way, and right now, mostly just calm. And sleepy. His eyelids were heavy. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this. Like he was sinking into sleep rather than fighting his way into it tooth and claw. Like it was inviting him in instead of him kicking down the door with a battle cry, bloody and bruised. He was just… ready to sleep. He was never ready to sleep.

Man, this was cool. Marijuana fucking slapped.

He played with his own hair for just a little longer before he yawned, humming very softly.

“Mmmm… Hey Mikey?”

“Yeah?” Mikey replied, after a long beat of delay, not looking up at him.

“‘M gonna go to sleep now, I think.”

“Okay. That’s a good idea.”

“Okay. Thanks.” 

“Yeah. It’s cool. G’night.”

“G’night,” Leo mumbled, laying his head down and allowing his eyes to slide shut.

[seishiroses]

Happy Episode Nagi Movie Premiere Day 🤍

✨a few thoughts✨

It feels significant any time a character I can relate to is platformed as the main character of anything. When I first started watching Blue Lock I didn't know there was a spin off or that there would be a movie. I was simply drawn to this character because I found him to be the most interesting and relatable.

Usually I cannot relate much to the endless determination and positivity of classic battle/sports anime protagonists even though I do love many of them as characters. What I like about Nagi is that he doesn't really get over his laziness and lack of motivation completely even 250+ chapters into the manga. I like it in the sense that I think it's very realistic. It's not so easy to just magically find motivation one day and keep it consistent if you're a low-energy person who gets tired easily (even if you have prodigal talent). This also makes him quite a polarising character because his sudden spikes and dips in motivation often translate to unpredictable actions that can blindside others even if he means well.

I am always wondering how he will find his "ego" eventually and what it will be. The way his death aura shifts and changes with his emotions is also very exciting to see both in terms of the plot and the artwork. I wonder if it will have some kind of a deadly final form once he does discover what he truly seeks from football and from the people around him. Or maybe he will fail to find a solid, lasting motivation and will have to figure out some other way to stay focused. Or maybe he just never figures it out.

In any case I think the themes around Nagi are more complex than the usual lazy genius trope - and they have the potential for a deep and realistic exploration of human nature within this framework of a highly competitive environment. Which is why I'm very thankful for his spin-off and the movie. I have high hopes for how his story will advance, which scares me (because what if in the end I feel like "oh well that ending was kind of dumb") but considering he is the author's favourite I will keep my fingers crossed and enjoy the ride. 🖤🤍

[cowboymenace]

T-Shirt Salesman Makes Embarassing Return

At All In 2023, CM Punk would ruin his second chance run in a company willing to give him everything by starting a backstage scuffle. He seemed gone from wrestling in general, but his truest believers hoped and coped that he would show up in November 25 Survivor Series in Chicago. It was a funny prospect knowing that several company line towers like Seth Rollins and Booker T would have to swallow a bitter pill, Cody Rhodes's story will most likely not be finished this Wrestlemania, and some poor title holder will lose their belt to him. As funny as it may be, I still did not want it to happen.

Punk spent 9 years griping and complaining about his time in the WWE. He took potshots when he could, sometimes taking a moral stance when doing so. For example, he would tweet about how abhorrent it was for the WWE to work with Saudi Arabia.

The tweet is now deleted.

His signing with AEW was a massive shock, but it makes sense. AEW feels like something that was for wrestling fans by wrestling fans, and the guy who presented himself as the voice of the voiceless seemed like a good fit. His first few programs were rock solid affairs. Everything was going fine until one bad back n forth town hall battle.

Hangman Adam Page would make sneak references to CM Punk and Colt Cabana which would be something Punk would tuck into the back of his mind. Then you add his foot injury, his mood began to really sour. CM Punk would have one of my favorite title matches with Jon Moxley at All Out, I was reassured that he would be back and stable. Then all hell broke loose.

Everything about this has been said, but this is still the craziest thing I've ever seen. A top star having an end all be all meltdown and completely killing Kayfabe. At this point, I thought he was done as he got suspended indefinitely. Months pass and suddenly a sign that CM Punk was coming back (again) but this time with his own show. To be honest, I think AEW should have a second show to give their large roster some time, and it has that vibe. You got guys like Andrade, House of Black, Bullet Club Gold, and Ricky Starks evolving themselves. Jokingly, it was the show for people who had too much beef with people on Dynamite, Thunder Rosa and CM Punk to be exact. Again, everything was going fine until nepotism hire Jack Perry provoked notoriously easy to provoke CM Punk.

Another backstage altercation occurs. CM Punk is fired. Young Bucks do a victory lap off air in front of a collision crowd (ratings for that show are in the dumps by the way, to give you an indication for some of the EVP's priorities). It seemed like CM Punk was gone for good.

Everyone scoffed at the idea of Punk going back to the WWE. Why should he return? The same company that hosted a video with weird zooming in on his ass to prove he didn't have a staph infection

The same company that sent him his termination papers on his wedding day. The same company that down played his value because he wasn't the guy they chose to be the main top star. It just tells everyone who believed that he has convictions that he is a massive mark for himself. What, suddenly the company that mistreated you is gonna give you top star treatment? The guy who you specifically mentioned as the primary actor who's goal was to make sure you don't succeed is in charge! CM Punk does not realize he is Charlie Brown, Triple H is Lucy, and the football is a main event at Wrestlemania.

I'm certain Punk will make good money during this run, it's a guarantee. The man who once said 20 million is enough now says otherwise. The only thing that isn't certain is how much will Punk tolerate? Will Punk keep his mouth shut as a trainer hands him a Zpak? Will Punk work the schedule he once bemoaned? How sturdy is his body that seems to be crumbling? He is in his 40s now, how much further does he have? He probably hasn't considered those questions, he's too preoccupied with how many T-shirts he is going to sell.

[dogmetaph0r]

SIC ‘EM

Chapter 2: Speak

A/N: So sorry y'all, I promised Fia's POV a while back but this chapter was literally longer than Ch 1 by SEVERAL pages by the time I got there, so I figured I'd split it up a bit. There's like no Fia in this one, my sincerest apologies. This one's a very big exciting chunk of content though, I prommy! Side note, this one was posted relatively quickly after the last one only because I'd already had the biggest portion of it done, so I can't promise a consistent posting schedule. Also, I think I'm gonna start adding song recs based on what I listen to while writing each chapter just to give you guys a PB-esque soundtrack for your montage moments, which will be updated over time just like the main playlist. Enjoyyy!

Pairings: M!OC x F!OC, M!OC x Tommy Shelby

Warnings: descriptions of violence, mental health issues, animal abuse/injury, internalized homophobia, one (1) singular antiquated homophobic slur

Soundtrack: De Selby (Part 2) - Hozier // The Distance - Cake // D Is for Dangerous - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: As the Grand National approaches, Sam reflects on the time he's spent as the Blinders' spy. New friends are made and old grudges resurface as the Aintree heist progresses. Before the race can begin, a few bumps in the road raise a frightening question: who else has a stake in their game?

It was surprisingly easy to find employment at Aintree Racecourse. Sam had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the mysterious disappearance of their in-house farrier, but he knew better than to question Tommy or Paul about the face he was seeing in the papers. In any case, with the rate Aintree was paying him for work in and around the stables he had no motivation to go around blowing his own cover. For the first time since they’d run away, he and Fia had begun to accumulate enough money to do more than just survive. By the end of the summer, he reasoned, they would have enough money that Fia could take care of the baby without having to work herself into the ground on the side.

But of course nothing came without a price. Every few days, he left the racecourse only to find Paul waiting for him just outside the gates, arms crossed as though Sam had somehow already disappointed him. He was difficult to please when it came to discussing business; none of Sam’s observations were ever helpful and no amount of detail was ever enough. For the first week or two, the feedback was crushing. It was bad enough that he had to work with the Peaky Blinders to make it through the year, but to be completely shit at it? Humiliating.

Over many weeks of this routine, though, Paul had eventually started to warm up to him, seeing him as less of an inconvenience to his day and more of a fellow collaborator of the Peaky Blinders. He was a grumpy middle-aged man, not much of a talker, but with a pint or two in him he began to loosen up enough to share a few words about his own life. It had become their routine. Both of them would meet up outside of Aintree after Sam had left the stables, and from there they’d make their way to the Queen’s Arms for a drink and something to eat. They’d make small talk about work and football (Paul was particularly passionate about Liverpool, and had nearly gone into cardiac arrest when Sam shyly expressed his preference for Manchester City), but Paul’s favorite topic hands-down was family. Sam was more than happy to let him dominate the conversation in these cases.

“You know,” he rumbled around a mouthful of shepherd’s pie roughly a week before the Grand National, “I’ve got a wife and kids meself. Second wife, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sam was only half listening, distracted by the storm clouds gathering on the other side of the thick, distorted windowpane to his right. Would the vardo hold up? It had been over a month since he’d last patched the roof, and that was only because the cold had shrunk the old wood, revealing little cracks and signs of wear along the frame. Since then it had rained a handful of times, but by the tetchiness this afternoon of the horses stabled early for the race, this storm would be harsh. He wondered if he ought to head home early, see to his own horses’ hooves and make sure they weren’t at risk of any infection-bearing cracks–

“...and yeah, they ain’t all that bright, but they’re me own boys so I’ve no choice but to love ‘em, thick skulls and all.” Paul chuckled at his own anecdote, rubbing his red stubbled chin with one hand.

Guilt lurched at the bottom of Sam’s stomach for ignoring his friend (acquaintance? colleague?) so readily. Paul was nice enough now that he and Sam had begun to establish a rapport, and it was clear that he didn’t have too many friends of his own. Lost most in the Great War, he’d told him grimly. The Somme. Sam didn’t have to ask to know that the pain of loss haunted Paul in those strange gaps between words, the times when Sam had let the silence sit between them. Perhaps that was why he was so eager to fill the space with beer. Sam had never been the type of boy to make many friends as a child, and had a habit of hiding behind his father’s legs around strangers. The Great War had forced him just far enough out of his shell to bond with his fellow soldiers, but many either died or had to return home to different countries. Well-practiced in being alone, Sam had not minded as much as he thought he ought to.

“You look tired, lad.”

The comment startled Sam out of his head. He blinked owlishly at Paul before realizing exactly what it was that he had said, which made him avert his eyes and prod his fork around the modest serving of pie that he’d hardly eaten. “Guess so,” he muttered, shrugging. “It’s been a lot of work, s’all. Not that that’s a bad thing.”

Paul grunted his agreement. “Tommy asks a lot of us, don’t he? Never seems to come around here for himself.”

“Oh, I dunno.” Sam gazed out the window again at the racecourse. “He’s probably just trying to keep things running in Birmingham, is all. Must be tiring.”

Except Sam knew how tiring it was. He’d seen it firsthand. Tommy had come to visit his camp several times over the course of the past month, just to check in and gather information directly on Aintree and its key players. As validating as it felt to have Tommy himself care about the fine details that Paul hadn’t needed, it had been irritating, at first– why couldn’t he leave Sam be and let Paul give him the salient details? Hadn’t he anything better to do back in sooty, stinking Birmingham that didn’t involve bothering him? It seemed like every time he visited, he seemed more worn than the last. The commute couldn’t be helping him. He’d stayed overnight before, the work week being so exhausting that Sam feared he might fall asleep behind the wheel of that noisy automobile of his. As much as Sam hadn’t liked Tommy, he wasn’t a monster. He knew when to insist that Tommy consider his own wellbeing. Fia’d offered him the bed in the vardo out of strained politeness, but he preferred the tent every time. Just feels right to see the stars, he’d said. He didn’t see them as well in Birmingham, apparently. Too much smog.

After about the third of these visits, it became strangely… nice to have Tommy as a guest. He was a good conversationalist, a man of few but carefully chosen words. He was also very polite and apologetic about his visits, and as grating as it was to put up with Tommy’s newfound high-class mask, it was refreshing to have someone treat him as a respectable peer rather than a blue-collar nobody. Better yet, after Tommy had stayed a while, Sam could physically see the charade fall when the night air finally reached that part of his spirit that longed to roam. The north did him well, it seemed.

It was strange, then, that Paul hadn’t seen him so much. Perhaps he was tired of life in the city and just needed a break in the countryside, and Paul was just too far into town to justify the extra few miles. Perhaps– and Sam puffed up with pride at the possibility –his observations weren’t mostly useless, and Tommy preferred to go to the source when the weekly telegram didn’t say enough. Sam and Tommy would talk for long hours when he visited, not just about business but about their lives in general. Something about the topics he spoke about kept his attention far more than Paul did, bless him, and perhaps it was the same for Tommy. Maybe Sam’s curiosity stemmed from their similar upbringing, Tommy being born on a narrowboat and Sam learning how to ride a horse practically as soon as he could walk. They had that interest in common, at least. There had been more than one lighthearted argument over the best way to check the condition of an auction colt’s gut or the ideal feed for a work horse versus a race horse.

Or maybe Sam was just fascinated by the way he spoke, smooth and low with such a quietly commanding presence. He had a brilliant mind, that was for sure. In the late hours, after sharing a meal (Tommy had supplied gamefowl from his own sprawling property more than once, to Fia’s delight but Sam’s slight embarrassment as the supposed breadwinner) they would sit around the fire with whiskey. Fia would retire early, tired as she was from mending garments in nearby Lowton. Conversation without her then usually drifted to those darker topics that Sam liked to keep from troubling her with: war and loss and struggle. Success, sometimes, at a steep price. It didn’t matter so much what exactly their conversations were about; Sam had enough space in his head to ruminate on his fears plenty on his own. What really intrigued him was hearing Tommy talk, that strange Birmingham accent lilting his vowels in a repetitive up-down cadence. He didn’t know why it was so charming, other than the fact that it was so novel.

One such night, after Sam had made the executive decision for Tommy to not wrestle with the winding back roads when the sun had long gone down, Tommy broke their usual pattern of conversation to make an observation: “You don’t have anywhere for the winter, do you, Samuel?”

The question jarred him. In all their time discussing their shared pasts, Tommy had never shown interest in what happened to him past the end of their agreement. “I guess not, no,” he muttered, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he took a moment to gaze up at the night sky. “Figured I’d try my luck in Liverpool.”

Tommy nodded, silent for a moment. Sam had thought that was the end of the conversation when a second question startled him out of his anxious planning. “You could come to Arrow House in Warwickshire.” He took a puff of his cigarette, leaning against the wheel of the vardo at his back to follow Sam’s gaze. “We have plenty of land there. Esme’ll be glad to come visit her sister and the new baby for a season. If it snows, we have more guest rooms than we know what to do with.”

Sam blinked in shock for a second before recovering with a scoff. “What, that big mansion too lonely without a pack of us travelers takin’ up on your lawn?” A clear deflection. The generosity grated on him as much as it warmed something in his chest.

Tommy had just tilted his head, smiling. “Something like that.” He passed his flask of whiskey– the good stuff –back to Sam. “Consider it. My Grace wouldn’t mind. I mean, you’re family, after all. And I know what you’re thinking, so I’ll tell it to you straight now.” He looked back at Sam, sky blue eyes considerably softer with the liquor in his system. “I’d be happy to have you there, Samuel.”

What a strange feeling, to be wanted anywhere.

Paul hummed contemplatively, breaking him from his thoughts. “He’s a mysterious one, ain’t he?”

“Sure is.” Sam took a gulp from his pint, shoveling down a chunk of the pie for good measure. No use in letting a good meal go to waste, especially one that Paul had treated him to since Sam had, according to him, looked about ready to keel over. “Can never guess what he’s gonna say next.”

“By the way,” Paul mirrored a swig of his own beer, wiping the foam off his upper lip with the sleeve of his shirt. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Sam raised a brow, gesturing with his head for Paul to continue.

Paul glanced around at the few other patrons before leaning in, elbows on the sticky table. “A few of the lads down at the Swan and Gosling have been talking about the betting, an’ I want in on the action. Any clue where Tommy’s favor is gonna go? He usually tells the boys where to lay the smart bet.”

That drew a slight chuckle out of Sam. For all his stone-faced gruffness, Paul was just as prone to games of chance as any of them. “Wish I could tell you for certain,” he said, shaking his head. “Could go many ways. Reigning champion is Senator, but there’s also Pride-o’-Coventry, Grands Honneurs… and the newcomer,” he punctuated the revelation with a point of his finger, “Little Tsarina. She’s sound, I tell you. Her jockey’s starting to get noticed. She’ll likely be the favorite after the Grand National, so you’d better make your large bets early in her career with the rising odds she’s at. I can’t speak for Tommy, but that’s who I’d pick.”

Paul snorted. “That’s just like you, betting on the underdog.”

Sam shook his head, smiling. “What can I say? You stick around the stables long enough, you hear all sorts of things.”

“Cheers to that.”

The morning of the Grand National, Tommy startled awake with the scent of wet earth stuck in his nostrils and the sound of shovels grating at his ears. Not for the first time, he guiltily longed for the days of opium hazes and the lingering headaches the mornings after to keep his mind away from those dark corners. Tommy was no stranger to hiding the tremor that lingered in his hands, nor unskilled at explaining away the sweat beading on his brow. Just anticipation. Just the weather. Just a cold. Despite this, the bumpy ride from Birmingham to Aintree in the oversized delivery vehicle– borrowed from Uncle Charlie, who got it from lord-knows-where –did nothing to quell the queasiness rising in his stomach. This day had been planned and examined from every angle, each possible obstacle picked apart in at least five different ways. It would be perfect, he had told himself a dozen times over. It had to be.

Tommy had chosen a handful of skilled Blinders from various backgrounds to make this all go right. Ed and Albert, a double act, were skilled at sleight of hand. Common pickpockets as children, but made snipers by war, the friends were both sly and disciplined. They would be lookouts, giving signals before the race and stealing licenses when the real fun started. Jim Casey on the other hand was a bit of a simpleton, but he could take a hit and return it twice as hard without hesitation. He would be their muscle, and could be relied upon to take on the biggest threats. Harry Short, his last name being more of a bad pun than anything documented, had contracted influenza as a child and hadn’t grown very tall. That was saying something for the average height in Birmingham, but it had left him just small enough to fit into crawl spaces and tunnels. If it came down to it, Harry could get the jump on just about anyone. Richard “Ol’ Timer” Mooney was older, starting to reach his twilight years of being a Blinder as the last of Arthur Sr.’s generation, but he had an unassuming enough appearance that would make him the perfect getaway driver. With his brothers included, it was a bit of a ragtag team to bring all the way from Birmingham, but it was one that he could rely on to adapt quickly and carefully without taking their main seat of power away from home.

And then, of course, Tommy couldn’t have done it without Paul Knight. The Somme veteran was their main contact in the north, and while he wasn’t a Blinder directly, he was invaluable to the effort. He was discreet, tight-lipped, and hesitant to trust just anyone. He gave succinct details to Tommy via coded telegram and did his damnedest to make coordinating this heist easy. It was only fair, he reckoned, that Paul be included day-of in order to reap the benefits and prove himself in action. He knew the racecourse inside and out from the perspective of a frequent gambler, and while he didn’t have the sort of undercover expertise that would make him a veteran of the operation, he was a valuable man to have onsite. Besides, the extra muscle couldn’t hurt, and Tommy knew just from looking at the man that he was no stranger to a fistfight.

The head of the pack, whether he knew it or not, was Samuel. Everything hinged on his observations, from the schedule of the police officers making their rounds to the daily staff whose workplace gossip could prove invaluable. With Paul’s careful coaching, the man had become a more-than-proficient spy. Tommy’s own visits up north only reaffirmed this– late night conversations with Sam, while enjoyable in their own right, had settled his anxieties about his newest recruit’s ability to be trusted. Sam was candid and unguarded, perhaps to a fault if he’d been entrusted with any information beyond what was absolutely essential for him to know. He cared about this operation going well because he cared about Florence-Maria and his unborn child. That, in Tommy’s eyes, was enough to know that Sam would see it through.

So when he and John began to butt heads in the bright, sunny morning just fifteen minutes before Sam was due at the stables, it came as more than a bit of a shock. Hadn’t Sam voiced his concerns about being drawn into violence just a few days ago? Hadn’t he reassured him that he would be protected?

“—And if you so much as open your divvy mouth again about my family, so help me I’ll knock your lights clean out, lad.”

“Family? Mate, your da’s a looney and your mom’s all but fucked off. You’ve got fuckin’ stones to be talking about the Lees like you’re anything close to kin, just because you’re fucking the—“

“Better watch the next fuckin’ words out of your mouth, city boy—“

“Hey. Enough,” Tommy commanded, placing himself between his brother and his newest ally. John was red-faced and scowling, and despite Sam’s ever-present pallor, he wasn’t far behind with the sharpness of his own spectral glare. Tommy felt more like an undersized referee at the weigh-in before a brutal boxing match than the leader of an organized crime operation, a feeling that did not bode well for the cohesion within their little cohort. Tommy prayed to any higher power that might hear him that John knew well enough to keep his mouth shut. Sam’s cooperation, skittish as he was, depended on it.

“Tommy,” John pleaded like a boy twenty years younger, gesturing towards Sam with a broad, sweeping gesture. “He’s been provoking me the whole way here.”

“Was not,” Sam replied, equally petulant. “‘S like the moment you all picked me up from my camp, he’s been breathing down my neck. Jus’ telling him where to shove it.”

Tommy’s quick reflexes intercepted John’s sudden advance with a firm shove, while a sidelong glare admonished Sam’s attitude without having to speak a word. Sam wilted under it, ducking his head like a scolded pup.

“Right, neither of you are getting a fair cut of the pay if this keeps up.” Tommy patted John’s chest roughly, both a comfort and a warning. “Save it for the bookies, eh?”

The threat of losing out quelled their argument for the time being, but Tommy would be a fool if he thought that it was all over and done. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see both men seethe as they parted, silently arguing through glares from their distance across the semicircle of men awaiting their instructions.

Arthur was the last to join them from within the black automobile, huffing and snorting with the back of his hand pressed under his nose. Right, of course. As much as he’d wanted Arthur to stay clear-headed and sober for such a high-stakes operation, it wasn’t something he’d specifically prohibited. Snow focused Arthur’s will just as much as it clouded his judgment. When wielded well, he was a one-man army in a fight. When misdirected… well, there was a reason why Tommy had a small fund set up for the mothers and sons of the men who had crossed Arthur at the wrong time. The tremor in Tommy’s hands made lighting his cigarette more difficult than it should’ve been, but that first rush of nicotine was a balm for his scattered mind.

“Alright, men,” his voice rang out, calling the rabble to attention. “You have your assignments, so I won’t waste your time. Few reminders,” he pointed at three men– Harry, Albert, and Ed. “You lot are doing a lot of heavy lifting today. Keep your eyes on the hired security, and keep your ears open for the coppers. John, Jim, and Paul, keep the guns to a minimum. Mooney, be ready to move at a moment’s notice. The goal is quick, quiet, and quit the scene. All the heat oughta be on Sam and Arthur in the bar tent. Yeah?”

John and Jim nodded, Jim elbowing his partners for the day with an exaggerated grin on his face. John wasn’t much a fan of big Jim and his tendency to lose focus after too much talking, but even he couldn’t restrain a smile at the idea that the three of them would be the heavy artillery. Paul couldn’t care less about the glory of a fist fight, but he gave Tommy a stiff, reassuring nod as he cracked the thick knuckles of all nine of his remaining fingers.

“Samuel, remember that your signal is coming from Harry. Anyone that’s not him means it’s meant for me. You’ll meet me under the grandstand to go over any changes this morning, but he’ll keep an eye out for you regardless in case I don’t make it there.” He reached out and patted Arthur’s shoulder, practically vibrating out of his skin as he was already. “And Arthur? I’m trusting you to make a scene, not a mess. No actual boxing with Samuel, eh? Just the song and dance of it. You’re the actor of us Shelbys.”

Arthur honed in on him like a hawk, pupils dilated but unmoving. Good, not too lost in the snow, then. He nodded frantically, an equally confident, broad grin crossing his face behind the spread of his mustache. “Song and dance, Tom, right.”

Sam looked a little queasy at the prospect of an unsupervised Arthur controlling himself while off his gourd. He looked to Tommy for support, but his objections were interrupted with Arthur’s booming voice.

“Naw, it’ll be alright, Sammy-boy. Y’know, me and you go back! You won’t remember, but I minded you, I did, back at Appleby in ‘99.” He laughed, rocking back on his heels like an old man lost in reverie. “Taught you to cuss while your pop was working with the ‘orses!”

With the rumbling chuckles that rose up through the small crowd of men, Sam smirked a bit, some of the nerves visibly leaking from him as his mind worked quickly to find a quip of his own. “And here I thought I learned the concept of doin’ fuckall from Danny Lee and Mack Boswell.”

Arthur laughed uproariously, throwing a lean arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Aw, we’re gonna have a time, lil’ Lovell.”

Sam shook his head fondly. “Song and dance, Arthur. Song and dance.”

Half an hour after Sam was kitted up and beginning his watchful lap of the grounds, the first round of early bird racegoers began to filter through the gates in an array of colorful silks and feathers. The thrumming of Tommy’s pulse beneath his skin urged him to go, but he needed to be patient. They couldn’t enter too early and make their faces known among the sparse crowd, especially with a group as large as theirs.

When the band started up and the crowd truly began to pour in, Tommy thumbed through a stack of brightly decorated entrance tickets. “Ed and Albert, you go on ahead,” he said, handing them each one of the little paper slips. “Bet on Tsarina today. Samuel tells me she’s the right pick. We’ve got inside eyes on the odds, boys.”

The two friends cheered, taking off with excitement towards their biggest pay day of the year. Harry was sent next with instructions to keep to the shadows and be on the lookout for weak points in the security. Mooney and John took their tickets a few minutes later, John grumbling under his breath about Sam and where he can shove his odds. That left him, Arthur, and Paul to bring up the rear.

“We ready, boys?” Arthur cracked his knuckles and stretched his tight jaw, eyes flashing with feverish eagerness.

Tommy took a moment to breathe, forcing his heartbeat to slow and ignoring the sweat prickling the back of his neck, cooling uncomfortably in the light breeze. It would be fine. It would be fine. It was an unseasonably good morning, dry and cloudless. Count the horses, count the men, count the color red in each racegoer’s dress or tie. His latest cigarette burned nearly to his lips before he let it fall to the ground, crushing out the ember with the flat of one polished shoe. Say a prayer, Thomas. Hail Mary full of grace, in the bleak midwinter, in the bleak midwinter, in the bleak midwinter.

“Ready, Arthur. Let’s give ‘em hell.”

Little Tsarina weaved in her stall, speckled nose twitching and shuddering as her grey head bobbed up and down, left and right, round and round. Sam was transfixed by the paleness of her large sclera, whale-eyed and bloodshot with anxiety. Her mouth, flecked with foamy spit, held tense in resolute resistance against the pain seizing her front right leg. She held it just barely aloft, the tip of her hoof grazing the hay beneath her.

“She’s been like this at least since the morning,” the jockey, George something-or-other, worried his lip between his teeth, shifting on his feet in much the same rhythm as his horse. “She’s never thrown a shoe before. Couldn’t find it, neither. And look,” he reached over the box and pointed at her hoof, “the way she’s holding it. Something’s wrong, but I can’t see it.”

Sam felt for the poor young man. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen, still pockmarked and pimple-spotted like an adolescent. While his older peers had gone off to war, it was clear that the boy didn’t have the years or temperament to him. Yet according to the papers, he was a prodigy on the horse. He would be a legend, soon enough. Or, at least, could’ve been. It was clear that if Little Tsarina rode today there would be no undoing her lameness. One jump could ruin her, if she even worked up the nerve.

But still… to look into the boy’s eyes and tell him no off the bat would be agony. Perhaps worse than if he’d just let him lose on his own, but Sam would never have done such a thing to such a beautiful animal. “I’ll take a look,” he sighed, resigned. “But I’ll make you no promises, yeah?”

George looked about ready to weep with relief. “Oh, please do!” He swept a hand over his shock of red hair, watching intently as Sam unlatched the lower half of the stall door.

The first thing Sam noticed was the little patch of blood beneath her hoof as she shifted away from him, still crimson and wet. This was something more serious than a loose shoe on race day.

“Hello, love,” he gentled, lowering his voice to a murmur. “Might I have a look? Yeah?”

In a person, the look Little Tsarina shot him could only be described as withering. But with no capacity for human expression, she had no clearer way to convey her message of fuck right off, mate than to point her ears back and huff warningly. Sam approached her with caution, taking a slice of dried apple out of his pocket and offering her some, which she reluctantly sniffed at, having not eaten since the night before to protect her gut. Her defiance was admirable, something that was obnoxious and ill-bred in Meska but proud and stately in a winning horse such as her. Careful not to startle her, Sam took some time to pat her neck and cheeks as she chewed, slowly moving his hands in broader circles so as not to startle her when he reached for her bad leg.

Despite her earlier hesitance, she seemed glad to no longer support her weight on a bleeding hoof, allowing Sam to hold her between his apron-clad knees as she tensed against the pain once more. From this angle, the damage was clear: a missing shoe, with one remaining nail driven far enough into the hoof to have gone way past the start of the quick. On any typical day, Sam might’ve considered this a bad accident. But this was no typical day, and she was no typical horse. And this nail, he noted, was decidedly not hers.

“How long ago was she last shod?” He asked over his shoulder, lightly brushing some of the dirt and hay away from the injury.

“Not long at all, sir. A week at most.” George peered over the side of the box stall, bushy brows knit together in concern.

Sam hummed, inspecting the edge of her hoof. “And she was shod with a broad shoe? Meant for steeplechase?”

“Yeah, I always give her some time to adjust ‘coz it’s heavy,” the boy stammered, wringing his hands.

Sam let her hoof down carefully, so as not to cause Little Tsarina any more pain than she was already in. From just outside the stall, he grabbed his roll of tools, tucking them under his arm before reentering. The mare eyed the bundle cautiously as he sifted through the variety of clippers, hammers, and pliers before he settled on a buffer and a long-handled crease nail puller. Drawing her hoof between his knees once again, Sam wasted no time in prying the stuck nail from within the poor horse’s foot. The buffer slid over the manicured hoof, coming to a halt right at the head of the nail, where he carefully dug it underneath and began to pry it upwards. Predictably, she wrenched her leg forward with a grumble, nearly unseating Sam if it weren’t for the strength of his thighs and the friction of his boots against the flooring. Dropping the buffer behind him (sloppy tool handling, he could hear his father’s disapproving tsk in the back of his mind), he reached for the puller just within reach. Just one good tug, one good pull and the nail would be free. Slowly, as slowly as he could, he clamped around the nail, slippery with the fresh blood bubbling through the hair-thin crack running across the bottom of her hoof. And pulled. And pulled.

“Sir?” The boy spoke up, concern raising his pitch as Little Tsarina began to complain.

The nail popped free, lubricated with the bubbling stream of blood and fluid dripping thickly from the wound. With one hand, he pulled cotton and gauze from his back pocket, packing and wrapping her foot before gently letting the poor girl rest.

Sam grabbed his tools and straightened his strained spine, letting out the breath he’d been holding. “You’re a talented rider, George. Very talented, and with a very good horse.”

George blinked, eyes blown wide. “Uh, thank you… sir?”

Sam met his eyes tiredly. “You wanna know how I know?”

George nodded, and gasped a bit when the bloody nail was thrown at his feet: too long for a thoroughbred, especially one with Little Tsarina’s build, and too lightweight to be used with a heavy shoe.

“Because someone has it out for you.”

George went pale as a sheet, scrambling to pick the nail up from the floor and look it over. “This isn’t the right size…”

“And she didn’t throw that shoe. Someone threw it for her.” Sam stroked Little Tsarina’s neck apologetically, grabbing his tool roll and latching the stall door behind him. “I’m sorry, George. She won’t be racing today. Call the veterinarian over, ask for her to be seen, and pray it’s not gone into the bone.”

George looked on the verge of tears. A yawning pit ached in Sam’s chest, because he knew the pain of seeing his horse suffer, but no amount of sympathy could fix the situation.

“But… I don’t understand?” George hurried after him, casting quick looks back over his shoulder at his horse. “I- I haven’t done anythin’ to anyone, and we’ve only just made it this far…”

Sam eyed the clock atop the grandstand, stomach leaping when he saw the time. He whipped around, grabbing George by the shoulders so that he quieted down, eye-to-eye with Sam’s cold stare. “Listen to me, lad. It doesn’t matter how good you are, or how new. There are people out there– listen,” he shook George lightly to interrupt the quiver of his lip. “There are people out there who see other people as a means to an end. And it’s nothing personal. Right? They’re just looking out for themselves.” In his periphery, he could make out Paul’s hulking silhouette, lurking by the fence near the track entrance. “It’s… it’s just business.”

With that, he turned and marched on towards the meeting point under the stands with long strides. His hands were shaking, clammy and smelling faintly of coppery horse blood. Rubbing them on his apron didn’t help, nor did undoing the belt and wrenching the leather covers from his legs and hands. They flopped uselessly to the ground alongside his Aintree-issued tools with a dull thud, the thud of metal and leather, the thud of something solid. The smell of copper grew stronger, his throat closing tighter, not now not now not now–

“Mate! What the fuck?” Paul’s smoke-roughened voice stopped Sam in his tracks before he could crash into the man headlong. “You dead-set on fuckin’ everyone over today? We’re nearly ten minutes behind.”

Sam nodded wordlessly, mouth opening as if to speak but with no words to follow. What… what was he meant to be doing? All he could smell was mud, blood, infection–

“C’mon, then! Let’s stop playing bloody doctor and get a move on.”

Shaky as he was, Sam’s long strides only just kept him a pace behind Paul as they pushed their way through the steadily growing swarm of racegoers milling around, placing their bets with the first wave of bookies: some legitimate, dressed in pricy suits and chomping on Spanish cigars as they blustered through their pitches, and some Scuttlers weaving their way through the crowds with stolen licenses and forged papers. These didn’t look like a challenge to Sam, mostly youths under the age of twenty who would sheepishly turn over their place at Aintree when faced with a credible threat to call their mothers. Tommy wouldn’t be worried about them, if he was any sort of racketeer worth his salt. The real challenge would be these gentleman bookies, the ones well-used to making great deals of money on the Grand National. They were the types to have police protection far stronger than your average razor gangster. If Sam were to hazard a guess, these were the men Tommy was really targeting.

Paul dragged him by the elbow to a shadowy space behind the grandstand, shoving him roughly against the brick with a hand gripping his shirt front. “Care to explain why the fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth, so close to Sam’s face that the sharp consonants flecked his cheek with tobacco-scented spit, “you’re going around talking to the jockeys? Eh? You wanna get found out or something?”

Sam shook his head, breath short from the impact. “Just doing my job. The horse–”

“You have got to watch with who you speak to, Sam, anyone could be–”

“Paul,” a familiar deep voice rang out, “that’s enough.” Tommy patted the large man’s shoulder firmly as he approached from one of the festival tents, the warning clear. Paul stepped back, grumbling under his breath but keeping that menacing glare on Sam.

Tommy gave him a once over, dusting a stray speck of dirt from the collar of Sam’s shirt. With his hand this close, he could smell gunpowder and clean leather from Tommy’s glove. Had there been a fight already? Or was he just always acquainted with the trigger of a gun? He wasn’t sure which answer he preferred more, given Tommy’s proximity to his jumping pulse.

“You doing alright, Samuel? Things going well?” His voice was still just as low, but softer. Like the way Sam spoke to the racehorse he’d just treated.

He nodded, taking a shaky breath. His back hurt from the way Paul had slammed him against the masonry, but that was nothing compared to the tightness lingering from that moment of panic in the stables. Only the worst kind of person would treat an animal like that, and there was no doubt in his mind that someone who’d harm a gentle horse to skew the odds would stop at nothing when it came to other people.

“There’s proper bad men here, Tom,” Sam’s voice dropped to a hiss. 

Tommy huffed something close to a laugh. “We’re proper bad men, mate.”

Sam shook his head vehemently. “Worse than crooked cops and sham bookies. Screwing the race, laming horses… it smells rotten.”

A frown creased Tommy’s brow. “Laming horses?”

“Little Tsarina. The mare I told you about. Fuck, she was only just old enough to race. Just a little one.”

Tommy cursed, pacing a few steps away with his hands on his hips as he nodded to himself. He approached Paul, giving him an order too quiet for Sam to hear over the raucous laughter of a gaggle of young ladies having a few too many drinks nearby. Paul looked back and forth between Tommy and Sam, a hint of confusion crossing his face, but nodded and lumbered away towards the Blinders lurking near the track.

Tommy returned to him, expression tight with anger. “What else, Samuel? What did you see?”

Sam stammered through a retelling of his lap around the racecourse, from the cop he’d seen rubbing a bump of Tokyo over his gums in the men’s restroom to the well-paid bookies and their stores of cash. As he was describing the squirrely appearance of a nervous young woman arguing with her man over something about a purse, one of the Blinders– Ed, not Harry like he’d been told to expect –crossed into their line of sight and gave the signal: a pebble kicked at the wall by their feet. He was early. Too early for it to be a miscalculation. Tommy and Sam looked back to each other, the older man’s blue eyes filled with uncharacteristic worry.

“You ought to grab something to drink before they play the first call,” Tommy said, slowly and deliberately. The implication was clear: The bar fight has to get started. Now.

As Sam pushed through the flamboyantly dressed crowd to reach the entrance to the bar tent, he noted a trio of Blinders led by Arthur purposefully making their way towards an unassumingly-dressed older man standing by the other side of the grandstand. But if Arthur won’t be there to start the brawl, Sam thought, then who–

He barely had time to think through the options before the answer was presented to him. Of-fucking-course. Armed with a cheeky smirk, John stood casually leaning against the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Looking right at him.

Sam knew immediately where this was headed, but he had his orders. He had promised Tommy that this was something he could do.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sam grumbled, sidling up to the bar next to John and flagging the bartender down for a pint.

“Aw, likewise, mate,” John sneered, tossing down the last gulp of liquor.

“Thought we were told to stick to beers today?” “Yeah, well,” he sniffed, swiping his nose with his thumb. “Rules are different for the men who can handle themselves out here.”

Sam didn’t dignify that with a response, sliding his payment to the bartender and taking a swig of cheap, foamy beer. John noticed, which only made him grin wider.

“You smell godawful, mate,” he remarked, as casually as one might remark on the weather at an event like this. “Blood and horse shit. Had a nice morning?”

“Oh, yeah, real nice,” he muttered into his pint. Where the hell did this guy get off?

“Yeah,” he laughed, “figured as much. Though it’s not like that’s much of a change for you, is it, with all the arse-kissing you do for every fucker with a wallet you meet? You probably can’t even smell yourself.”

An angry flush came to the tips of Sam’s ears, despite trying as he did to restrain himself from giving in to any sort of reaction.

“It’s a wonder your wife can tolerate it. Or… wait, then again, she’s still not your wife, is she?”

Sam couldn’t help himself at that point. He swung around, nose-to-nose with John’s self-satisfied gloat, puffing himself up so that he towered over the smaller man. “The fuck are you trying to say, mate? If you’ve got a problem with me, then take it up with me. For the last fuckin’ time, leave my girl out of it.”

John snorted a laugh, his breath reeking of whiskey. “A problem with you? Fuck, mate, you have no idea what you’ve done, have you? Just for starters, you’re makin’ my wife miserable, not knowing what’s happening with her baby sister. Spirited away by the raving mad son of raving mad Henry Lovell with no warning. You have any idea what that’s done to her?” By then he and John were chest-to-chest, staring one another down like boxers in the ring as John hissed and spat. “And, come to find out from Danny, you’ve knocked the poor girl up? And you have the bloody nerve to ask me what my issue is? My issue is that you’ve no right to even speak to Florence-Maria when her Uncle Ephraim is lyin’ cold in a grave with no justice for what your nutter father’s done! You may have fooled Tommy with that pathetic hangdog face of yours, but I know what right bastards you and your kin are, Sam.”

Sam shoved him. John stumbled heavily into the stool behind him, practically knocking a large man off his seat.

When he regained his footing, John let out a raucous laugh. “Fuck! Well, Tom wanted a fight, didn’t he?” John shook his arms, bringing his hands up into a defensive position. “Might as well make it count. Hit me, Sam. Go on ahead. Fucking try me.”

A murmur had begun to rumble through the crowd, prim ladies drawing their handbags closer to themselves and gentlemen scoffing at the rowdy display. Sam knew he had to act fast, or their faces would be remembered.

“Well? What’re you waiting for? Or are you too much of a nancy to–”

He saw red. Sam’s fist landed square on John’s left cheek, sending him reeling back again into the big man, who by this point was more than bothered by the whole display. John took only a moment to recover, shaking the stars from his sight before rebutting with a swift strike of his own, catching Sam in the bridge of the nose. He felt something pop before a thick, sludgy bleed oozed over his upper lip. The chain reaction as Sam caught himself on the bar was immediate: his elbow knocked a gentleman’s glass of gin onto his tailored trousers, who’d assumed based on the large man’s quick cut into the middle of the disruption that it was his doing. Sam stumbled out of the way before he could get caught in the crossfire, allowing the two men to square off in their own miscommunicated fashion. As they did so, John lunged again, missing and bumping into a table with a young couple. That man stood, obviously having something to prove in front of his lady, and began to march towards John. The Shelby brother, thinking quickly, grabbed the remainder of Sam’s beer and splashed it carelessly on another nearby man, who accosted the blustering youth he’d assumed to be the culprit. Their resulting scuffle disturbed an entire table full of well-dressed and thoroughly drunk Americans, and before long the tent erupted in an all-out brawl. Exactly as planned. Fucking animals, the lot of them, Sam thought as he took in the chaos, all that posturing for nothing. Across the impromptu battleground, Sam locked eyes with a victoriously grinning John.

It didn’t take long for them to meet in the middle again, Sam refusing to let the other man have the last word. His next punch was aimed at John’s gut, doubling him over with a grunt before John caught him around the middle and slammed him against a tent pole. The force and the sudden searing pain in his chest crushed the breath out of him once more, but he managed a few solid hits around John’s head before the other man relented. He staggered back, John panting heavily and Sam struggling around rattling wheezes. John was bleeding from a spot on his brow where Sam had nailed a particularly nasty hit, and Sam’s nose was beginning to leak all the way down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. They looked a mess, all split knuckles and dirty clothes. He nearly spared the time to laugh incredulously about the situation, dreading the fussing-over he’d get at home and the inevitable lecture on maturity and self-control. Before he could dwell on it, John went after him with another wide swing. A swift dodge sent the man’s fist careening into the wood pole behind him, forcing a yelp out of him. Sam spun around, attempting to grab at John’s waistcoat and yank him off balance, but a pink silk purse laying abandoned in the alcohol-soaked earth below caught itself around his shoe and sent them both tumbling to the ground. John took advantage of the situation when Sam choked out a pained gasp, landing atop of him and delivering blow after blow, most missing and hitting the dirt, but several catching him on the cheek, the chin, the jaw. Sam flailed below him, catching him equally well in the mouth, the nose, the forehead.

A well-placed blow to the temple left Sam reeling, black spots dancing around his vision. The chaos around him muted for just a moment, fading into muffled complaints and a handful of shrieks that pierced through the fog clouding his senses. John must have realized at that point that he’d won, because the weight around his midsection disappeared and a vaguely John-shaped figure was offering him a hand up, urgently hurrying him on. The bar tent had descended into pandemonium, and they needed to run. In the not-too-far distance, he could hear police whistles and the shouts of men being apprehended. Sam, regaining his survival instinct, scrambled upright with John’s help (which irritated him to no end, despite the circumstances). John snatched his bladed hat from the ground behind him, throwing it back on his head as Sam untangled the muddy bag from his ankle. Shoving through the crowd, they staggered frantically towards the exit. By now, the Blinders would have given the signal across the racetrack to rush in and handle the scattered bookmakers and their personal security, thrown off-kilter by the chaos of the fight and left without the defense of the coppers. They were almost there. Just a few more meters and they’d be out of the tent, away from the fight and that much closer to safety. Just a few more steps, and he would–

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The unmistakable sound of gunshots nearly drove Sam back to the ground, if not for John’s strong grip on the back of his shirt and his own fist clutching the shoulder of John’s waistcoat. Wails of terror rang out around them, and Sam could swear that he tripped over someone’s leg as they lay motionless on the ground.

“Fucking run, you son of a bitch!” John shouted at him, practically dragging him along as they stumbled into the open festival field. To their left and right, coppers were pulling brawlers apart, shoving men to the dirt and subduing them with cuffs and batons. Through sheer luck and dogged pursuit of their getaway car, the two of them managed to avoid the clutches of the police, throwing themselves into the large loading space of the delivery car and hunkering down to avoid detection until the rest of the crew could return. The ache in Sam’s chest was staggering, outranked only by the sting-thud of the bullet he’d survived in Belgium.

Paul arrived soon after they did, sweating and red-faced as he hauled himself into the back of the van with a grunt and a handful of curses. Ed and Albert joined them soon enough with victorious whoops, and lazy-eyed Jim Casey lumbered in after them, wringing his bruised knuckles. Harry, the little one, hopped in with a bagful of cash, followed soon after by Arthur, who sat next to his younger brother and ruffled his hair, seeming not to notice the state that the two of them were in. Unsurprising, frankly, considering how blown his pupils still were and how rapidly his knee bounced. Mooney hopped into the drivers’ seat not long after, starting up the engine as Thomas Shelby finally found his place in the crowded back of the van.

So many bodies stinking of sweat and horse and cigarette and blood made him queasy, so Sam leaned his head against the cool wall of the automobile and lethargically watched Tommy gesture with his arms as he ran the numbers and got their story straight, a commanding presence even in his disheveled state. A few times, Tommy caught his eyes, and he could swear that there was a glimmer of pride in that gaze behind the steely King-of-Birmingham exterior. It sent a wave of relief washing through him, to know that he hadn’t fucked it up. That he’d done well. He blinked slowly a couple of times, the rocking and rumbling of the vehicle over countryside dirt roads luring him into meditative peace as it had when he was just a boy in his father’s caravan.

He hadn’t realized that he’d fallen asleep until there was a hand frantically batting his bruised cheek, forcing him upright. The car was stopped and empty, just him, Tommy, and Ed remaining.

“Well, good mornin’, princess,” Ed drawled, tipping his hat dramatically. “Thought you were a goner for a second there.”

Sam scoffed on principle, though he couldn’t deny that he certainly felt half-dead. The cotton filling his head made it difficult to blink his surroundings into focus, the light sharp and abrasive against his retinas. Ed playfully saluted Tommy and hopped out of the back of the car, leaving the two of them alone again.

“John did a number on you,” Tommy observed, sitting down against the back wall with him when he realized that Sam was in no rush to go anywhere.

“Sure did,” he grumbled, though his mouth felt like it was full of marbles. He flinched and tensed as the movement of his mouth and jaw sent a dull, throbbing pain up through his temples. “Hell of a right hook on your brother.”

“Hell of a right hook on you,” Tommy countered, grinning slightly. “John complained about his split lip the whole way out here.”

Sam hummed, a slight smirk twitching the corner of his mouth. Served the bastard right, after all. But Tommy’s reference to out here made him curious. “Where are we now?” Adjusting to the brightness of the late afternoon, he could make out a grove of trees and the sparkling surface of dark water.

Tommy followed his gaze to where the men were standing around in a loose circle, smoking and chatting. John sat on a rock by the river, pressing a whiskey-soaked rag to his forehead and as Arthur regaled him with a dramatic reenactment of his own brawl.

“We’re a few miles out of Tern Hill,” Tommy said. “The radiator’s leaking. I’ve sent Mooney and Albert out to find a phone, and hopefully Pol can send some men out here to get us.”

Fia will be worried. Shit, why are we in fucking Tern Hill? He was supposed to be in Haydock–

A broad palm pressed against his bruised sternum, pushing him back into a seated position. When did he try to get up?

“Easy, Samuel,” Tommy reassured, kneeling in front of him. “Easy. It’s okay, just slow down. We need to get you to a doctor, alright? Someone we trust not to rat you out. You aren’t looking well.”

Sam tried to take a deep breath, but his diaphragm hitched against Tommy’s hand when a sharp stab of pain ran through his torso, like his ribs were being squeezed in a vice. The attempt winded him. He gripped instinctually at the back of Tommy’s hand as he leaned his head back against the wall of the car, eyes clenched shut as his shallow, halting breaths evened out.

When he recovered, one eye cracked, Tommy’s typically stony, expressionless face was close to his own, brow tight with concern. “No offense, Tom,” Sam rasped, “but your brother might be the biggest arsehole I’ve ever met.”

Tommy sighed. “John should’ve controlled himself better. Grudges or not, he disobeyed orders and got someone hurt,” he said. “I sent Arthur to sniff out whoever had lamed that poor horse, instead. He was too fucked up to dial it down with you in the tent, and I’d hoped that John would be better. Besides, you seemed…upset. With that mare being your favorite, and all. Needed to right the wrongs. You deserved as much, for your hard work.” He looked sheepish, as though the slightest emotionally-based decision was shameful. A light flush spread over the bridge of Sam’s nose when he realized it was probably the most gallant thing anyone had ever done for him, and all because Sam had mentioned it in passing.

“I’m glad you did,” he said gently. “That was…” Kind? Righteous?

Fuck, please let it be just kind. Righteous. Respectable. Not something to think about later, with his eyes staring unblinkingly at the roof of the vardo and Fia’s long hair soft on his shoulder. A gentle, merciful, divine physical reminder of his shame, shame, shame.

Tommy gave him a weak smile, blinking a few times as his gaze drifted just slightly lower. Sam’s flush spread farther as he realized that he was still holding Tommy’s hand captive against his chest, pressed to his racing pulse. He released him as though the contact burned him, scooting with a wince so that he was better supported by the wall behind him.

The barriers went up very quickly in Tommy’s eyes. Sam had already learned this, and he found himself wishing he could force them down like the crumbling walls of Jericho. Every time he built them back up, that ache was worse. He didn’t want to dwell on why that could be.

“Well,” Tommy cleared his throat. “As soon as Pol can get people up this way, I’ll make sure they pass the message along to your… to Florence-Maria, and they’ll see that she makes it to Birmingham safely. But–” He raised his eyebrows raised and pointing a finger at him as though scolding Sam for chewing up his slippers or chasing the chickens, “–You’ll be seeing our doctor, eh?”

Sam nodded, rubbing a hand under his nose and frowning when it came away tacky with drying blood. He startled when Tommy reached out with his own handkerchief, wiping the blood from his chin.

“You didn’t walk,” Tommy muttered as he worked, gently rubbing at the oxidized blood streak smearing down his throat. Sam gulped against the pressure.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you’d walk if I switched things up on you,” he mused. “You didn’t.”

Sam had nothing to say to that. Perhaps it was just the fact that he was already in too deep, or that he’d already developed a habit of giving in to whatever Tommy thought was best. He had that effect on people, Sam noticed. If Tommy Shelby asked the Thames to flow the other direction, the river might just steer itself right around posthaste.

Instead of voicing this, Sam shrugged. “I have a little one on the way,” he said. “Can’t afford to give up with the kind of money you’re offering. Not now.”

Tommy, satisfied with the work he’d done to clean him up, stood up to his full height to withdraw a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. He rubbed the filter over his lips, a quirk reminiscent of the older boys he’d watched sneaking a forbidden smoke outside the schoolyard during his short stays in the cities. Did Tommy always smoke like that? Certainly a man like him could afford higher quality cigarettes, ones that wouldn’t stick to the inside of his mouth.

“I’ve got a son myself,” he told Sam, slightly muffled by the cigarette as he lit it. “Just two months old, now.”

Sam blinked. “I didn’t take you for a family man. Other than the present company, of course,” he added, nodding in the direction of John and Arthur, who were locked in a heated argument over the veracity of Arthur’s wild story. Tommy laughed at that. It was barely an exhale, but it nearly crinkled the corners of his eyes, so Sam took it as a victory. Serious as the plague, that one.

“A bit of a surprise, that I’ll admit. You and I aren’t too different in that regard.” He took a long drag of the cigarette, tapping the ash off with his finger. “I’m not married either, you know. Not yet. You could say Grace ran off with me.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at that, but didn’t comment on it. He figured that any commentary on the irony of his younger brother’s vitriol wouldn’t be appreciated right now. In any case, his head and jaw were beginning to throb, and all he really wanted was to go back to sleep and wait for the ache to go away. His shoulders slumped as the will to keep his eyes open bled out of him.

“Oi, eyes open, my friend,” Tommy nudged his outstretched leg with the side of his foot, jolting Sam back to consciousness. “Need to be able to tell us if something’s going sideways.”

“Other than my whole fucking body hurting?”

“You know what I mean.” Tommy shook his head fondly and turned to leave the back of the delivery van. “Shout if you’re dying, will you?”

Sam chuckled at the price of another hot stab of pain. “Don’t worry, you’ll hear me.”

[jinxxsims]

Hi, Jinxy! Thank you so much for your wonderful conversions! Please, can you tell, which tutorials you've used to learn? I would love to make conversions too, but some parts of creating process are quite confusing (like getting GUIDs for example). Any advices would be much appreciated! Thanks in advance!

Hello, anon! I'm happy to offer up the tutorials I used to figure out (as much as I have, anyway...) this whole conversion and object creation thing.

@keoni-chan has a really well written tutorial on converting objects (with pictures!) available on her Livejournal here. For the most part, her instructions are what I do, we just have a few differences in settings. For instance, in blender, you don't need to check "Write Normals" and "Write Materials," because they just create unnecessary files for you to delete and if you're new to things, the fewer files you have floating around to confuse you, the better.

The other main difference would be that there is no longer a database for GUIDs in Sims 2 (as so many tutorials point you to). To create a unique GUID for an object, in SimPe, go to Tools > Object Creation > Hash Generator and make sure the little dot beneath the "string" box is on CRC 24. At the bottom of the box is a field marked "Hash Value." So long as you've given your object a thoroughly unique name, it will create a random GUID derived from that name that you can use. It's super easy to do. The picture below shows each of the necessary elements.

If the object you're creating requires multiple GUIDs (like a dining table or bed or the hutch I'm converting right now, for instance), I just use what would be immediately around the GUID SimPE generated for me. For example, if the GUID the program generated is 0x0075768B, I'd make the additional GUIDs 0x0075768A, 0x0075768C, and 0x0075768D. Or 0x00757680, 0x00757681, 0x00757682, etc. Just change that last letter or number, and you're good to go.

The only tutorial I regularly reference is by @hugelunatic and that's her repository technique tutorial. I can never remember all the steps on my own, so I check back on it every time I'm doing something I want slaved.

My biggest piece of advice would be to work smarter, not harder. Think about what you're creating, and clone something that makes creating your job easiest, at least until you really get the hang of SimPE and all the different parts of it. For instance, if you're making something decorative with glass, clone the football helmet in a case because it has a glass subset and you won't have to change a bunch of things in the TXMT because of it. If you want to make an end table with a lot of slots, clone an end table with a lot of slots already. There's no need to reinvent the wheel. Learning to do this can be time consuming and frustrating, but so much of it is trial and error and just getting used to the SimPE program. Any way you can make things easier on yourself... do.

Other tips based on my own errors... if at first your object doesn't succeed, go to Tools > Object Tools > Fix Integrity. More than once that's righted a frustrating problem I spent way too long trying to puzzle through. If you find your recolors aren't showing up, it's because you forgot to click the checkbox next to update all MMATs and update (see: Keoni's step 16 for reference). Go and check it, update it, and then redo your recolors with the corrected MMAT. For glass subsets, make sure the "stdMatAlphaBlendMode" in the TXMT has a "Value" of blend. If you have things like leaves or filigree or something that has a white outline that should not have a white outline, go to the TXMT and find the field that says "stdMatAlphaTestEnabled." Change the "Value" from 0 to 1 and the white boxes will be gone.

I hope this was clear enough to be at least a little helpful. I'm still learning myself, so I know just how overwhelming it can be. If I get a little extra time, I'll try to put together a step-by-step tutorial myself with all the little tips and tricks I've picked up through trial and error.

It can be really intimidating at first, but once you start spending time in the program, the pieces of it kind of fall into place. I know that may sound like a cop out, but it's really not. I'm nowhere near an expert, but I'm much more confident with it now than I was just a few months ago.

Be patient with yourself! If an object is causing tons of problems, sometimes it's best to start over from scratch, or at the very least, walk away for a while and come back to it. Making mistakes is part of the learning process. Good luck!

[okinawa-division]

Pumpkin - Ace

Candy - Evelyn

Tombstone - Rashaad

Pumpkin - Would they want to do a couple’s costume with their significant other?

"Would I do a couple's costume with my significant other?" Ace asked. "Believe it or not, Evee and I have collaborated when it comes to Halloween costumes on more than one occasion." He looks up and starts counting off on his fingers. "The first time we did that, we dressed up as a cowboy and a cowgirl. The second time, Evelyn dressed up as Ariel from "The Little Mermaid" and had me dress up as Prince Eric." Ace says, rolling his eyes.

"The third time was my favorite cause we both just dressed up as a football player and a cheerleader. And another time, we dressed up as Superman and Lois Lane." Ace looks back at the screen. "Really and truly, Evee and I always collaborate when it comes to Halloween costumes. ...Because believe it or not, it wouldn't be Halloween if we didn't."

"Aww!"

Ace is suddenly knocked down by his girlfriend, Evelyn, who tackles him to the ground.

"Wah?! Evee?!"

"That's so sweet, Ace!"

Kissing sounds are soon heard as Ace screams...

Candy - If they got to choose to be any supernatural being, what would they choose?

"If I got to choose to be, like, a supernatural being?" Evelyn asked, before looking at the screen with a smile. "That's, like, easy! I'd like to be, like, a mermaid! As you probably have, liked, guess, I've always loved the movie, "The Little Mermaid". Ariel was, like, one of my favorite Disney characters growing up. The way she, like, desired to walk on land, despite her father not, like, letting her follow her heart, was, like, so sweet! It's a shame her father was so controlling that she, like, had to go to an evil sea witch to make her, like, dreams come true. But the ending where she and, like, Prince Eric finally get together is my favorite ending ever!"

"But anyway, I've always, like, loved the water! Don't ask me why, but I've always felt at home on a beach. I guess that's why I'm glad we're here in Okinawa than any other, like, city in Japan. The place reminds me so much of Los Angeles with it's, like, sunny beaches! But I'd like to be a mermaid, exploring the, like, world underwater. I don't know if I'd like to stay as a mermaid, though! If I could, like, change back to a human whenever I wish, then that'd be, like, cool!"

Tombstone - Would they survive a stereotypical horror movie?

"Would I survive a horror movie?" Rashaad asks, cocking an eyebrow. "Uhh... well, I'd like to think that I would, but I probably wouldn't. Usually, it's always the female main character that survives in those movies, not the male ones. Granted, I don't really watch many horror movies though, so I could be wrong. Not because I'm afraid of them, but because... well, much of what you see in those movies makes me want to raise an eyebrow and question, 'Why would the main characters do that or make that decision?' It makes me wonder if they lack common survival instincts, or if they're begging the monster or creature in the movie to kill them..."

Thanks for the ask!

[immortaltale]

pre-match presser roundup (8 march)

— is the rivalry with pep something klopp has enjoyed? klopp: "yeah. i don't feel there's a rivalry. i understand that you call it like that, but there's no rivalry, we just- we are both pretty competitive, we both want to win football games, we both are blessed with having really good players in our teams, but it's not a rivalry. we have said it before, we will definitely — if we meet in the future — it will be full of respect, and so far we have not [had] the opportunity to meet each other more often, but i think i've said it often enough how much i respect him, and we would have a lot to talk about, *laughs* definitely."

— what is one of the main things klopp admires about pep? klopp: "not the first time [i've talked about respecting pep], by the way. you can read all the articles about it, probably. [i admire] the way he influenced football, easy as that. then winning the amount of trophies he won in his career, but you feel like when you see him on the touchline, it's like he's never won anything before. so the desire he has, that's absolutely outstanding in so many aspects, i know that. i do the job myself so i see excellence when i face it, and pep is definitely that. it's just so many different things over the years he did with his teams ... i don't know how i could judge managers from the past, but in my lifetime, he's the outstanding manager, definitely."

— has it been frustrating for klopp to be denied winning by pep? klopp: "i was never frustrated because of that ... i have no problem with that, absolutely not. it never frustrated me, it made me definitely a better manager, to find solutions against these teams, to win these games. in this moment i just got told now i have a 'positive record' against pep. i have no clue how that happened, to be honest, but it's all fine. i know i'm quite good at what i'm doing as well ... i know i'm not bad, but you ask me about the best, and for me, he's the best. bam. so that's it, that's why i say it, there's nothing to do with me."

— what is it about klopp that has driven pep? pep: "the way they play, the teams play. well, he doesn't play, i don't play, but the way the teams play football, always you learn ... it always was a pleasure, and it will be tomorrow, too."

— will pep miss klopp when he leaves? pep: "... [blatant pause after which he proceeds to dodge the question] i respect completely his decision, completely. i spoke with him, and i had the feeling that he will be back, sooner or later. he's a man who loves football, his passion is there. he explained perfectly the reason why. in the premier league it's the last time, but maybe in the fa cup we can find [each other], and yeah, we'll see."

— has pep spent any time away from the pitch together with klopp? pep: "no. sometimes in the corridor before the press conferences, when we were honored to get the hall of fame with jurgen years ago, we spent time with the families. but in terms of lunch, dinners, it never happened. we have to decide who pays, that's why we didn't do it ... i think it's going to happen sooner or later, yeah. i would love it, but we'll see."

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

because i am sad, don't have my nina meds and have the personality of tissue paper rn, will you take pity on me, pretty girl, and pray tell what the locations look like in ur fics? like how you imagine south park looks, maybe stan and kyle's old bed rooms, the sp survivor haus? starks pond, the vibes and stuff -- you can be as hyper specific as you want i really like detail and visualizing things <3 also you

Melda Tâe I sincerely hope this is a bright spot in the Sadsack!!! This is such a great ask too like what does the HWB elven palace look like? The train station in WGSIES? The Broken Bottle Quartet apt complex? Heidi’s coffee shop in ATLCTS? The bistro where ojv Craig and Kyle have Nerd Boy Time? The TWITR bunkhouse?

And I’ve said on multiple occasions that I suck an unfathomable amount of ass at actually putting setting descriptions into my fics. Not because I’m picturing scenes playing out in a blank void, or bc I’m not picturing things clearly, but 1) I fully convince myself that no one wants to read my boring drawn out descriptions, which is stupid and I’m aware of that bc I LOVEEEEE vivid imagery when I’m reading 2) I often forget that no one is envisioning what I am without visual explanations lmfao it’s just so There to me I forget my readers don’t live in my cursed brain 3) I have such a habit of getting too into Witty Banter™️ and I’ll write so much dialogue with the occasional action and realize I haven’t said shit about what the setting looks like

But boy oh boy do I have specific pictures in mind! Especially regarding settings. (God I need to make a fuckin Pinterest omg the OJV board alone would go stupid)

I’m gonna be so fuckin fr right now, I have way too many AU’s and I will be unhinged abt a lot of them, so, below the cut!

So, as a surprise to absolutely no one, I’m starting with the OrangeJuiceVerse!

That bizarre town our kids grew up in is very typical suburbia, with neatly arranged near identical houses and blacktop roads that the snow plow goes through the same time every morning. Downtown holds the major businesses and across the tracks, not even a block over from the main neighborhoods, is the handful of “ghetto” houses, right by the woods. And through those woods, with a small single lane street that is far too narrow and winding to be safe? Stark’s Pond. The clearing in the tree canopy that the parking lot provides is the best stargazing spot, far enough away from the minimal light pollution that a tiny mountain town emits. It’s not just a pond, more of a park, with a field next to the water that’s a well traversed snowball fight battleground and a single bench under an ancient oak tree. The pond freezes and that’s how you know winter is truly underway. Kids slipping and sliding on the ice with no adult supervision is the standard here. In the summer, the water is still so cold, fed by mountain runoff. The surrounding shore is rocky and the m5 regularly compete to see who can find the coolest stone in the gravel.

There’s an elementary school, middle school, and high school, all in the same block and sharing a parking lot. Makes it easy for bus drivers and parents dropping off their kids. The high school is WAY bigger than is warranted for how small the town is, and there’s a separate building for band and av club. The football “stadium” isn’t much, the bleachers are only a few rows high and the field house is little more than a locker room, the concession stand is tiny and only run by student council members, and the cow painted into the turf over the 50 yrd line is lopsided. The gym where pep rallies and volleyball and basketball games are held has better seating, but football is a big damn deal in sp and the whole town is crowded around the track fence if they don’t get a seat, cheering on the hometown boys on cold October nights with nothing but fireball and ridiculous amounts of school spirit in their systems.

Stan and Kyle practically live at each others houses growing up. They each have a “Super Best Sleepover Drawer” in the others rooms and when they were younger and still the same size? No one could tell who actually owned what clothing. Like, y’all dear god you are more intertwined than your fingers holding hands. Stan’s room is a messsssss! Especially when he’s not doing well mentally. And he holds on to every stray item so his dusty shelves are cluttered as hell. His pillows are flat as shit. Nothing in his closet has been folded properly in years. The only organized thing in that room is the record collection, the sheet music folder, and the dnd character breakdown. Kyle has stress cleaned Stan’s room before. And (think You Belong With Me music video) THEIR WINDOWS FACE EACH OTHER!!! Kyle’s room has so much of the same kind of decor as Stan’s, with the posters and the figurines and the wall of nostalgic Polaroids, but he’s so much more organized. Both the boys have Kenny Paintings, (Stan is the one mentioned in this and Kyle’s is one of him as the elf king when they’d play as youngsters) and Kyle’s is hung level on the wall and Stan has his propped on his desk.

Ohhhh man the SP Survivor Safehouse, I described it some here and it really is such a College Kid House!!! They found the cheapest place to rent close to campus that would fit the 5, and it’s a SHITHOLE! It’s old as fuck and falling apart, the foundation is crooked, the blueprint must’ve been drawn by someone with severe distraction problems because for a place that’s not all that big, it’s labyrinthine in its random layout and the out of place way too high to reach ledges and the fireplace but no chimney and the ridiculousness of the narrow backyard, doing laundry in that house is a NIGHTMARE like the washer is downstairs and the dryer is in a separate room upstairs that logistically should be a bathroom. The kitchen tile is so old and cracked, and there’s this weird half wall facing the living room with a window? Also the walls are thin as hell and that staircase? Good god. Steep as fuck, tilted to the left, no railing, everyone has fallen on the Widowmakers multiple times. The garage door doesn’t work. The water heater is older than god. But this is their house, and they make it work.

I also want to describe the waterfall from How We Began, as specific and random as that is lmao. Think Multinoma Falls in Oregon, with a long trail to the top and no man made bridge over it. And it freezes like that one waterfall in narnia. Completely solid, snow and frosted trees on both sides at the summit, just the perfect place to meditate and reflect, because the reflection off the ice is like a rippled mirror. (Actually and so fr I need art of chapter 12 so bad rip) that place is BEAUTIFUL with the mountains in the background, the icicles refracting light, pine trees with needles dusted with snow, large rocks overlooking the edge of the cliff and the forest surrounding it!!!

Oh damn also the Big House in The Webs In The Rafters is the most eerie looking house of all time. At the end of that twisting gravel drive, to the left of the western pasture, sits this giant black mansion. It looks wayyyy too gothic to be on a ranch. And most of the rooms are unused, that place feels cold and dark even when the farmhands are in for dinner at that huge table in the dining room. The upstairs office has all these strange carvings in the wooden walls, Craig’s massive granite desk is right in front of the window that sees the whole front part of the land. And both that house and the bunkhouse are ancient as the “haven” itself. The walls have crawlspaces big enough for a full grown person to fit in. Like there’s a maze in the walls. The upper pasture isn’t visible from the master bedroom at the back of the top floor, and there’s a tree by the pond that Butters’ ducks live in that’s the first thing the morning light touches. That spot, where Ken and butters had their first kiss in chapter 16, is the only place that doesn’t feel stifling on the entire land.

Dude the haunted house in In The Truly Gruesome! It is legit the most cheesy haunted house of all time, set up in what is essentially a double wide trailer, no bathroom, no kitchen, barely a tiny breakroom at the back, the decor is the cheapest spirit Halloween shit imaginable and just lame shit like a bowl of peeled grapes that are supposed to feel like eyeballs in the mad scientist area. That front office with its plywood walls and plastic door is the most unromantic setting for a love confession, but Stan and Kyle made it work. The breakroom “furniture” is a random hodgepodge of booths from a closed McDonald’s and tables someone found on the side of the street. The mini fridge has nothing in there but a moldy jar of pizza sauce and a single half drank mellow yellow. This place is absurd. I love it.

AND I loved this ask! You always send me such great things my beloved omg never stop! <3

[boyfrillish]

your works have me curious, what else do ya headcanon for our boy victor? :o (and other chars too! i'm just esp interested in how you filled out his blank slate)

Ohh this is a good one. Since I only played Sword for the first time starting in January, I'm still very much in my formative phase for headcanons and stuff. For most of the characters I can't even say I consciously headcanoned yet, even with all my thinking about everyone and saying "the whole of swsh is my blorbo" (admittedly with most of my focus on Victor and Hop because they're my number one favourites and OTP lol so there are definitely also ship headcanons in here, hope you don't mind! ^^"). I'll put it under a readmore since it kinda got a bit long ^^"

So here's my personal "fixed"/"core" headcanons for Victor when it comes to my own stuff:

he's transmasc and gay (this one was probably obvious since I've made on-text trans references in all but like, two fanfics haha)

he's the one who becomes Champion and is chosen by Zacian

Corviknight, Sylveon, Obstagoon and Toxtricity (evolved from the babby Toxel you get as a gift at the daycare) on the team

Fairy type association

He and Hop won the inaugural Galarian Star Tournament together and are the dream team everyone wants to battle but knows will be tough to beat (Hop calling them "Postwick dream team" is a canon thing, so!)

a short king

Now for personality and other random things? I'm open for so many things lol I did start out (even before I played) with the timid/soft-spoken/shy headcanon and I'm still so very fond of him being timid initially (and that's why Sobble as a starter + the Isle of Armor Kubfu are a perfect fit lol) — whether it's only when he's younger or still at the start of the game but growing confident once he gets his starter from Leon and finds he's pretty good at battling (the fact that he got it as a gift from Leon aka the Champion he admires + big bro of his best friend when Leon met him for the first time combined with Leon just being such a sweet and encouraging dude probably helped with that)

But yeah I'm open for many other headcanons/portrayals in that regard lol cool and confident? bless all the fanart. Easily flustered? sweet. On the oblivious side? heck yes. Sunshine boy? Absolutely, he is a whole sunshine boy 10000000000000%! Just give me all the positive Victor content and I'll probably soak it up happily and cry and have it fuel me lmao thank you for my life.

As for his starter, god I simply cannot decide. I picked Grookey in my game (I really wanted Sobble but joked I was obligated to pick Scorbunny because I like football and then GMax Rillaboom came and said "hi" lol) but as mentioned above I'm so fond of Victor with Sobble. But Scorbunny is also a perfect fit so I've just been rotating around for a bit between my fics (though I think I've yet to actually write him with Scorbunny???). Maybe one of these days I can make up my mind for both him and Hop which starter they choose ^^" in any case: I also live for the whole "they gift each other eggs of their starters and some of their 'mons are partners" thing so there's that (in fact it might've been easy to guess that in my world of things their Corviknight are a partners for sure)

Speaking of Hop, it's my headcanon that Victor has a crush on him pretty much since they're kids/since they first met, and is very much aware of it being a crush that just never leaves and his feelings grow stronger as they grow up. Meanwhile Hop also has a crush all along but is a bit oblivious about how to interpret his own feelings until along on the main story (Leon, meanwhile, guesses pretty easily that his little bro has a giant crush on that friend he keeps talking about all the time and lightly teases him for it, cue denial lol). So much potential for both fluff and a dash of angst... mmmm. By the post-credits story lines Hop definitely had that "Oh." moment and then is even more loud about his crush.

Based on me associating Victor with the fairy type, I have the silly little headcanon that at first he just thinks Bede is kinda funny, then it gets personal when Bede very largely contributes to Hop's mid-story crisis, and then Opal rejects him as a successor candidate only to later scout/adopt Bede in front of him. Cue him solo-ing battles against him with just his Corviknight (ok I admit this last part is also based on how it goes in my game lmao Bede is far too easy to beat... both as an opponent and if I team up with him)

Recently I've really been into the idea that Victor is asked to take over the Flying type Gym a couple of years after becoming Champion and then he's both Champion and also becomes strongest ranked Gym Leader (this is me guessing that since Gym Leaders can win the Championship, it's possible to be a parallel thing/Champions in general have a side thing they're doing rather than just being fulltime Champ, idk lol also, he totally beats Mustard's record for a reigning streak). His ace as a Gym Leader is Corviknight! (because what else would you expect from me, I adore Corviknight hahaha)

Now for "where's his family from" I am not sure if I have a "proper" headcanon yet. I've seen the headcanon that the protagonist's family is from Sinnoh and I like that hc, so I adopted that for the meet-cute drabble I wrote earlier this week but with a spin where I kinda combined it with some inspo from Elio|Selene (i.e. Dad's still working in Sinnoh/often away for work + combined with the headcanon I've seen for Elio|Selene's mom that she does have an Alolan background. unrelated sidenote, I'm really fond of the Alola protags' mom lol she's sweet). So basically like with all these other things I'm just having fun playing around with different possibilities at this point!

I'm also so very fond of flower boi Victor and it's one of my headcanons that he loves exploring and really loved the Crown Tundra adventures (and didn't mind that Sonia asked him to do all the work finding the Swords of Justice + was happy about the praise). He really enjoys tagging along with Hop and/or Sonia for fieldwork, and the two make it a habit to invite him along since they value his input and also want to make sure he gets breaks to destress from everything that comes along with being the reigning Champion, especially as the one who caught Eternatus + gained the title when he beat Leon. Especially Hop invites him along since that also doubles as more time together when they're both often busy with their career paths. Also on that note, Leon and Sonia being Victor and Hop's mentor figures just makes me so soft 🥺 the Leon being Victor's mentor doubly so with the headcanon that Leon is transmasc too (which unlike transmasc Victor I can't say is a "fixed" hc yet but I'm very fond of the idea)

(also, while I'm now all on the "Victor is a total career Champ/Gym Leader and thriving" train at this point, I still live for the type of angst where he gets a little bit of selfdoubt crisis — in the early years somewhat more subtle and like a case of stagefright like in my drabble "Believe", then a bit more into the future it's like "oh god what do I even do when I inevitably lose the Championship, can I even continue as a Gym Leader if I lose my title, this is kind of all I have going for me what do I do" but he gets through it since he has such a supportive network of loved ones and friends. Also another tangent here, I also love the idea of Victor as a (part-time) model so lol he definitely has a lot more than just a fulltime battle career)

He likes hanging out in Spikemuth with Marnie, Piers, and Team Yell, and especially Obstagoon and Toxtricity really have fun when they do. On a related note, I like the idea that Team Yell kind of become Victor stans too because Marnie thinks highly of him, so they cheer for him together with her (whenever she's not the one battling him in a match, obviously lol)

I've already rambled so much about various aspects I could think of ahaha so now since I've already talked about Hop + this is a trainshipping zone, I'll add some of my "core" headcanons for him!

is gay (or not clearly labeled but definitely likes boys. this is coming from someone who's very "???" about labels re: my own orientation but definitely is a boy-liker lol so please excuse the bit of vaguess here despite listing it in my core hcs hahaha)

chosen by Zamazenta (easy to guess when Vic is chosen by Zacian)

he's so supportive of Victor's transition, regardless of whether or not Leon is also trans, but it's a bonus when he already grew up with a trans big bro and then his best friend/crush is trans too and that's his two most favourite people in the world so of course he'll do anything to be supportive

fighting type association

he grows tall like Leon

He'd often ramble to Victor about what he's studying and Victor is always happy to listen and loves when he's so excited, so it basically turns into Victor helping him study. Also, they both make sure the other gets enough rest and destresses, already through their teens but especially when they're both grown up and Victor is still Champion (+ a Gym Leader) while Hop is now a fully fledged Professor. Even way into the future it remains a Thing that Hop excitedly rambles about his research or rants when he's stuck on something, and Victor is happy to listen and try to help him get unstuck (and Hop gives him a big smooch in thanks even if all Vic did was just listen and ask questions to hear more).

Most random thing but I so love the idea of either (or both) of them having freckles and same for glasses... bless all the fanarts with glasses for either of them. And while I also love fanart of Prof Hop wearing a more formal look, it's my wholehearted believe that he'll still wear the signature trackies look just with a labcoat now (and — you guessed it — Vic hogs his jackets. Nevermind that he has all the hoodies and fancy jackets and everything, the boyfriend jacket is so much comfier than anything else).

And I'm going to end this looooong ramble to mention that I've been developing fankids for them too! I already talked about them over on twitter and I'll probably talk about them here eventually too haha

Thank you so much for sending this ask, I was "!!!" when I saw it last night and couldn't help myself from rambling on forever lol. I kept the focus exclusively on Victor featuring Hop & them as a couple since they're my main focus so I have a lot more concrete thoughts about them than for any of the other characters (or ships bc I don't quite actively have side ships). But maybe I'll talk a little about others at another opportunity haha.

[a-sterling-rose]

My Valentine’s Day Danny Phantom Ship Rating - I was gonna rate every single ship, but there's too many 🤣

Happy Valentine’s everybody! For this special holiday, I thought it would be fun to rank every ship that is prevalent in the Phandom. To add a personal twist, I’m going to add the rankings for how the couples are by canon and fanon. Do keep in mind that this is my personal opinions and I’m going off of what I’ve seen from these ships. If you have a differing opinion and have fanfictions/fanart that could sway my opinion on a ship, I encourage you to share them with me. This is gonna be a long one, and I’m only going to cover official characters from the show(No crossovers or fan created characters- this includes Wes). Let’s begin!

Amethyst Ocean, Fakeout Makeout, Violet Haze(Danny and Sam)

Canon: 3/10

Fanon: 5.5/10

I’m just gonna rip off this bandage right off. Even as a kid, I didn’t particularly care for this ship. In the show, it just felt like they got together just because they were the main guy and girl characters(sorry Tucker!). From how I saw them, their dynamic is supposed to be Sam is the brain while Danny is the heart: the two being together is what makes each of them complete. However, the show didn’t really capitalize on this, Danny never really challenging Sam whenever she instigated unnecessary conflicts or was just being judgmental. Sam was always right no matter the situation, this being the main reason so many people have conflicting opinions of her(she suffers the most from the show's writing flaws). 

Danny isn’t a saint himself, he has abandoned her and Tucker with ease whenever it gave him the chance for social validation. Canon Danny can be quite sexist actually. He even took advantage of every girl at school when he was the judge for the beauty pageant(Season 2, Episode 14).

They both know they like each other, but neither wants to potentially ruin their friendship. Some say it adds to the drama, I say it adds to my migraine. My AroAce ass can’t put up with this annoyance! Overall, I truly felt nothing when the two got together in the final episode. Beyond everyone around them telling them they like each other and them blushing around each other, do these two have actual chemistry? 

The fanon makes this couple much more tolerable, especially because we actually add nuance to Sam beyond her ‘Goth Vegan Nag’ status. There are some really cute art of the two together that I have saved. However, I think the canon ship has just ruined it for me. I can see why people find them adorable together, but it just isn’t more me.

Brains Over Brawn, Popular Psychology, Strong Smarts(Dash/Jazz)

Canon: 1/10

Fanon: 2/10

In the show, Dash is shown to have a crush on Jazz, something she capitalizes on for Danny to potentially get more social approval(season 1, episode 4). I believe this is the only time Dash’s crush is ever addressed towards Jazz, and I’m glad for it. Jazz is smart enough not to put up with Dash’s bullshit. I’m surprised she didn’t confront Dash more throughout the show about his treatment towards Danny, but Dash is too easy of an antagonist to not use. What would the two even talk about if they did go on a date? Jazz would be so bored being with Dash, he either talking about football or awkwardly trying to reenact a scene in a romance show he totally doesn’t watch. I don’t see it.

For fanon, it’s a bit better since Dash is more nuanced, but the same issue is still present. Dash is just so hostile towards Danny for easy conflict. A well written Jazz would never tolerate that and make it known to the blond. He either changes his attitude, or he can piss off back to Singles Town. From what I’ve seen, people mainly ship them because of how they like the two look together- not compatibility. I feel nothing when I see art of the two together. I haven’t found any fiction that has made me root for them to get together. It just isn’t for me.

Pink Astronaut, Shallow Sapphire, Ghostly Prep(Danny/Paulina)

Canon: 1/10

Fanon: 8/10

Canon Paulina is obsessed with Danny Phantom. Danny Fenton is nothing to her. Paulina has only ever shown Danny interest whenever it suits her and will throw him away once she is done. Canon Paulina is shallow, and there’s nothing else to her. Danny is only attracted to Paulina’s looks, he doesn't care how she acts and how she treats his friends. If these two got together, it would be purely transactional. Funnily enough, it would be Danny to end their relationship once he realizes how obsessive Paulina is towards his ghost half. That or he sees what she really looks like without makeup. Remember, Canon Danny is quite shallow himself. Danny used his judge status to score a date with Paulina(Season 2, Episode 14). He wasn't as much of a simp towards Paulina in season 3, so at least canon knows he wouldn’t tolerate her bratty attitude after everything he’s been through.

When it comes to fanon, now we have something we can work with! The nuances people have added to Paulina in the phandom has made her one of my favorite characters. Some have added so much to Paulina that she is a completely new character. Other’s have addressed her shallowness and gave her a redemption arc. There’s a fanfic that has made me see how these two could work together. Some have her retain a dragon form after the dance event(Season 1, Episode 2). Even when it’s just stories of the two becoming friends, they’re just so cute together. 

Gray Ghost(Danny/Valerie)

Canon: 6/10

Fanon: 9/10

Now this is a drama I can become invested in. Valerie may have been a brat, but she didn’t deserve to have her entire life ripped from underneath her just because of a ghost incident. Seriously, was there really no reason why Danny couldn’t have helped to set things right(like scaring Damon’s Boss, thus making him believe in ghosts)? Nevertheless, the two went on an actual date together(Season 2, Episode 12) and had a good chemistry. The fact Valerie didn’t continue a relationship with Danny for his own safety is beautiful irony at its best. Valerie got an actual character arc and has a hero persona as well. Valerie hates Danny Phantom, but cares for Danny Fenton. A simple conversation could possibly clear things up, but where’s the fun in that? The only thing that keeps me from raising my vote higher is how much Valerie does hate Danny Phantom. The two kinda find a middle ground(Season 1, Episode 18), but of course season 3 makes her forget this and makes her a basic antagonist. They don’t even let her have a conversation with Danny when his identity is revealed in the finale. 

The fanon plays on what the show has given us, but doesn’t fail Valerie like season three did. The fact that fanon just expands on this dynamic instead of having to create things to make these two work shows how beautifully crafted this ship is. 

Dark Gray(Dan/Valerie)

Canon: 0/10

Fanon:1/10

Dan committed mass genocide against humanity and is trying to complete the job. Valerie is doing her best to save what’s left of humanity. There’s nothing here but hate.

Fanon tries to redeem Dan, but it just doesn’t work for me. Genocide is genocide. That shit ain’t cute. The only thing that gives fanon an actual point is that I read a fanfic where Dan sacrifices his very existence to restore his timeline back to normal.

Hunter Silly(Tucker/Valerie)

Canon: 3/10

Fanon: 5/10

Tucker is the one who informed Valerie that the Dog and Kid that destroyed her Dad’s work were ghosts, hence causing her to become a Ghost Hunter. He was shown to have a crush on her before the Cujo incident(Season 1, Episode 11), but Tucker had a crush on anyone who was a girl his age. Anytime Valerie has shown interest in Tucker was to get something out of him: She letting him take her to the dance when Kwan dumped her(Season 1, Episode 2), when Tucker told her about Danny’s parents being ghost hunters(Season 1, Episode 11). It seemed the show tried to set them both together just because they were both black, which I’m glad they stopped once Danny and Valerie were set up as a possible ship. Despite her constant usage of him, Tucker does see the good side of her, hence why he said he wouldn’t give up on her(which was just kinda dropped).

I personally haven’t seen much of the phandom ship these two together that much. I’ve seen some cute art work of the two, but not much fan fiction. I know it’s out there, but I’m not that drawn to the ship that I actively seek it out. Overall just kinda ‘meh’.

Techno Smarts(Tucker/Jazz)

Canon: 3/10

Fanon: 3/10

This is an instance where the Canon and Fanon are tied with this possible ship. Any interest Tucker shows in Jazz in the show is just because she’s a girl. And the Fanon fiction works I’ve seen of the two only have the two together as a means to keep the Phantom Team close together. I don’t feel inclined to seek out works of the ship, but I’m not offended by it either. 

Veggie Burger, Ghost’s Absence(Sam/Tucker)

Canon: 6/10

Fanon: 8/10

This is an instance where the subtext of the canon shows how Tucker may have a crush on Sam. I link you all to this post by @dreamwraith that expands on this more as it made me remember how I shipped these two when I originally watched the show(hence explain why I’m probably not a fan of Danny/Sam even more). They remind me so much of an old married couple already. 

https://at.tumblr.com/a-sam-manson-screencap-a-day/hear-me-out-as-its-something-the-show-worked/axwylxwmv1id

I rank this ship a six simply because of how toxic canon Tucker is, but Sam can be just as toxic back in canon- this is why they work so well together!

Beyond fanart, I personally haven’t read any fanfics for the two, but the art I’ve seen is cute enough to boost the rating up one. 

Jock Goth, Gothic Sports(Kwan/Sam)

Canon: 3/10

Fanon: 4/10

Now this is a ship I personally never made the connection on in canon. Kwan was one of the nice jocks, only really acting up when socially pressured to, but nice when he’s alone. It was out of pity, but Sam hanging out with Kwan was nice of her to do(Season 1, Episode 16), but quickly wanted to get rid of him once he ruined her standing in the goth community. Kwan was having fun with her, but quickly took the chance to be with Star since it meant he could regain some of his popularity status. So in canon, they weren’t the best couple- but not the worst.

I specifically remember reading a fanfic that I really liked about how Kwan realized he developed a crush on Sam, but was too much of a coward to really follow up on his feelings. Sam ended up with Danny in the story, hence making Kwan wallow in his own self-pity for valuing social acceptance more than her. I also remember a fic where Kwan wanted to become legit friends with Sam and the story follows how the two make their friendship work. Not the most popular ship in the Phandom, but one I personally like for friendship. But we aren’t here for friendship, are we?

Twinkle Techno(Tucker/Star)

Canon: 3/10

Fanon: 3/10

Yet another instance of Tucker liking a girl because she is a girl. Star went out with Tucker when ‘Paulina’ was focusing all her attention on Danny(Season 1, Episode 16). She treated Tucker like an errand boy/servant, a fact that he hated enough to be relieved about when Star left him for Kwan. Despite knowing this, Tucker still has a crush on her enough to have dreams about her(Season 3, Episode 9). They would get sick of each other quickly in canon, Star possibly only staying if Tucker had enough money. This relationship would be purely transactional if taken seriously.

I haven’t really seen any fanart or fanfic of this ship, so I’m just going to give it the same ranking as canon.

Sports Satellite(Kwan/Star)

Canon: 7/10

Fanon: 9/10

Once they ditch Sam and Tucker for each other(Season 1, Episode 16), the two remain together for the rest of the show from what I remember. From what we’ve seen, Star is very demanding, wanting basically a man servant as a boyfriend, and I guess Kwan is into it.

I read fanfics adding nuance to their relationship, realizing how toxic their friend group is and just finding solace in each other. Truly they are a cute couple. Shame I haven’t seen any fanart of the two.

Makeup Honor(Dash/Paulina)

Canon: 5/10

Fanon: 6/10

Dash and Paulina seem to only date out of obligation, he being the quarterback while she is cheer captain. They’re with their arms around each other when Danny resets reality(Season 2, Episode 19), but they aren’t really lovey-dovey as you’d expect. They honestly seem more like friends.

Fanon seems to agree with the friendship view like me with their nuance takes on the characters. Whenever they are together, it’s when they are used as antagonists in fanfics. I don’t see this romantic relationship lasting past high school, but they’re fine enough as friends.

Moronic Genius, Brain Cookies, Blue and Orange(Jack/Maddie)

Canon: 9/10

Fanon: 9/10

What is there to say about the Fenton’s? They’re happily married in canon. Maddie has shown she does the occasional romantic gesture, wanting Jack to at least remember their wedding anniversary(Season 1, Episode 8). Despite this mishap, the two seem perfectly happy together. From what I’ve gathered from the subtext, Jack is the one who comes up with the ideas for the inventions while Maddie is who makes them possible. Jack is creative while Maddie is practical. Despite being clueless, the two make a deadly combination.

I honestly believe Fanon overestimates Maddie intelligence. Maddie’s just as oblivious as Jack, she’s just not as loud about it compared to him. You’d think she would have noticed they put the on and off button inside the portal while they were building it. She only read over the prototype portal formulas just as they were about to activate it(Season 2, Episode 16). The Fenton’s are adorable dipshits. That’s what makes them so good together. 

Spurned Affection(Vlad/Maddie)

Canon: 2/10

Fanon: 1/10

Gotta love how canon shows that Vlad would have been awful even if he didn’t get in the portal accident(Season 2, Episode 16). Despite him being against her ghost hunting, Maddie does so in her own secret lab(how did she build it underneath Vlad’s secret lab?). Vlad is very controlling and just uses his accident as an excuse why he’s such an awful person. No, Vlad is an awful person because he chooses to be an awful person.

This is another case of where canon has ruined me ever really liking any rendition of this ship. There are some fics that I read that try to counteract Vlad’s personality by making Jack abusive. Like that’s supposed to make things better somehow? I’m sure there are some works out there that make this ship work, but I have no interest in looking for them myself. 

Family Breakfast, College Triangle(Vlad/Jack/Maddie)

Canon: 4/10

Fanon: 9/10

If canon had the balls to make this a possibility. Well, at least Jack would totally be into the idea. Perhaps Maddie was more upset with Vlad about the log cabin incident(Season 1, Episode 17) because he wanted her to drop Jack, not necessarily because he liked her. The only one holding this ship back is canon Vlad. He’s just too awful.

Fanon has made this ship possible, and it’s the cutest thing imaginable- mainly the bromance of Vlad and Jack. 

Phantom Satellite, Star Gazers(Danny/Star)

Canon: 2/10

Fanon: 5/10

Another shallow canon couple. The two were only really seen romantically together, Star was trying to win favor with Danny for the beauty pageant(Season 2, Episode 14). Any other time Star is seen interacting with Danny is when she’s being mean to him, so there isn’t much else to say about canon.

Another instance of fanon adding nuance to a character, thus making them actually interesting dynamic. The only reason I don’t rank it higher is because Phandom doesn’t seem as interested in this ship, thus being less works to compare to each other unlike Pink Astronaut(Danny/Paulina). I’m not that drawn to it myself to be honest, but what I’ve seen is pretty good.