#I'm open to commentary if I missed something
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Project Shadow Theory Thing: the Silvquel Part 2
It's time to continue where we left off from part 1 (link). And here's another one for the beginning of this theory series (link).
Last time: We talked about Silver originating from the past, not the future. Then we ended with how his cuffs share surprising similarities to Shadow's inhibitor rings.
Now I want to talk about Silver's creation. Why he was created, what went into creating him, and how he ended up 200 years into the future. Keep in mind, there will be spaces that had to be left to the imagination. Regardless, I will do my best to answer each of these topics logically.
Silver's Conception
Going in order, we'll begin with the purpose of Silver's creation. Why did Gerald feel the need to create another Ultimate Lifeform when he already had Shadow? Shadow by himself is very strong and intelligent. Did Gerald not believe Shadow could do it alone?
Maybe so. During his research, Gerald discovered the existence of at least four powerful beings with godly levels of strength: Chaos, the Gizoid (Emerl), Black Doom (and the Black Arms), and the super hedgehog figure from the Hidden Palace mural.
There were already too many entities that could compete with Shadow's power. Gerald should know, he created Shadow from two of them. However, Shadow wasn't designed for raw power. The goal of Project Shadow was to achieve immortality, and Gerald wanted to find a cure for Maria's illness. Shadow is still very powerful, but he's rendered vulnerable if he unleashes too much energy at once, hence his need for the inhibitor rings. Gerald couldn't risk Shadow being defeated during the mission.
Even though Shadow still had a chance against these strong entities, he's just one person. His progress could've been halted significantly if he were continually fighting something that matched his strength. In SA2, the main reason Shadow was able to stay consistent with his mission while fighting Sonic was because he had two other people helping him find the emeralds.
I mentioned in a previous post that (according to this theory) Gerald left the details of his plan to someone outside of Prison Island before his execution. Even so, Gerald didn't know if this person would be able to release Shadow within his lifetime. The person would not only need heavy firepower to get through G.U.N's high security defenses, but also bring a chaos emerald with them to unlock Shadow's capsule.
Project Shadow was also fresh on G.U.N's mind at the time. They were on high alert, searching for all traces of anyone involved with the incident, or people associated with Gerald Robotnik. Chances of this person getting caught before reaching Shadow were much greater. The most Gerald could reliably hope for was this person hiding the plans somewhere Shadow could locate them once he escaped captivity.
That's why Gerald felt the need to create an ally to help Shadow succeed in his revenge plot. Another Ultimate Lifeform who would survive to help carry out this plan, no matter how long it took. One that could match the abilities of anyone who'd oppose them while Shadow finds the chaos emeralds.
Someone who can match the abilities of their opponents?
Silver's Roots
Similarly to how Silver's based on Shadow, I think he was also partially based on the Gizoid.
But first, let's go over a possible conflict with this reasoning to clear something up. Gerald's journal in Sonic Battle states that he knows very little about the technology that makes up the Gizoid. He wouldn't have been able to recreate a machine like this.
However, Silver isn't a machine. Silver is a living organism the same way Shadow is. Gerald didn't need to recreate the Gizoid's technology. He just needed to produce the same result through biological methods.
That result was an Ultimate Lifeform that can manipulate it's own chaos energy to mimic the abilities of whoever it wishes to copy. How does this apply to Silver? There's actually multiple instances of him mimicking the powers of others.
The most noticeable one being when he used chaos control for the first time.
Shadow is thoroughly trained in performing chaos control, as well as other chaos powers. Sonic first used chaos control back in SA2, and that was after witnessing Shadow do it multiple times throughout the game. His first attempt wasn't exactly flawless either, as he ended up in a completely different part of the ARK than he intended.
Silver, on the other hand, has never used a chaos emerald before. He didn't even know what it was until Blaze told him. His first time ever seeing someone induce chaos control was this fight with Shadow. And yet, merely 35 seconds later, Silver performs it perfectly.
He mirrors Shadow's movements all the way down to the stance. We know the attempt was successful because of the resulting portal. It's the same kind of portal Shadow and Sonic create later on, and those two are seasoned users of chaos energy.
Next, I want to bring up Silver's ESP before I move on to my most important point.
These wiki entries state that psychic powers are the norm 200 years in the future.
(The links to the source sites don't seem to be working. If anyone has access to them, I would greatly appreciate it)
There are three ways this is possible.
ESP is an evolutionary trait that took place before 200 years forward, but after Sonic's present time.
ESP is granted to those with the technology that causes it in their possession.
ESP is granted through a surgical procedure.
I explained in a part 1 that Silver couldn't have originated from the future, so being born with an evolutionary trait that hadn't occurred at the time of his creation is off the table. In that same post, I explained that Silver's cuffs and gloves don't give him his ESP, since he can still use it while they're off. Other than that, we don't see him with other technology constantly in his possession.
Surgery is also highly unlikely. Silver has no surgical scars on his head, and the destroyed future of Sonic 06 would make finding the resources very difficult, as well as sterile environments to perform it.
Psychic powers being the norm would suggest this kind of medical procedure was readily available anywhere and at any time. A society of people struggling to survive in a world where Iblis's minions could frequently attack wouldn't have that luxury.
Silver didn't get his psychic powers from any of these possibilities. That narrows it down to one conclusion: Silver learned it from someone. He copied it.
Silver mentioned in his introductory cutscene that he has met and interacted with other people before.
I think that Silver saw these people using psychokinesis and started mimicking it with his chaos energy to blend in. Not on purpose, though. He probably thought that, since he could use ESP as well, that he was just like them.
This could be why we see him use a new telepathic confusion move in Sonic Rivals. Since Iblis never destroyed the world after the 06 rewrite, Silver had more people to copy psychic techniques from.
Don't worry, that's not my strongest evidence. In fact, this next example is the most crucial one of this entire post.
Silver can time travel.
In Sonic 06, he needed either Mephiles or two people with chaos emeralds in order to travel through time. Now, in Sonic Rivals, Silver can do so without Mephiles or any chaos emeralds.
Blaze may be able to travel between dimensions, but it's the sol emeralds that help her do so. Silver has no excuse. He just reappeared as a time traveler without an explanation.
We know this is an ability he's had within him from the past because nothing he does in the present affects it. If his time travel powers were something he obtained from the future, then it's highly likely that the changes made before he gained those abilities would still affect it.
It's like how Elise blowing out the Flame of Hope prevented Mephiles from existing, despite Mephiles having time travel powers.
But wait, Mephiles doesn't exist anymore. It's impossible for Silver to have copied Mephiles' time travel powers if he never existed, right?
I'm inclined to agree. Mephiles never existed before the Flame of Hope was extinguished.
But Solaris did.
The Solaris Project
This is where we'll talk about why Silver changed after the Sonic 06 rewrite, why his cuffs are constantly glowing now when they didn't before, and how he obtained his time travel powers.
This part doesn't have as much in-game evidence, but instead has reasoning based on what we've theorized so far. Here's how I see this series of events playing out.
I believe Silver was created in Soleanna. More specifically, in the Aquatic Base.
In a previous post (here), Gerald gave the instructions for his last project to someone outside of Prison Island, a man only referred to as "him". "He" had to find a secure location to begin this project.
The Aquatic Base was not only hidden underwater, but it was also highly advanced and in a faraway city-state. On top of that, Soleanna is a monarchy. If "he" could convince the Duke at the time to cover up the existence of Gerald's project, then this would be a prime location for the birth of his final Ultimate Lifeform.
"He" offered the Duke of Soleanna Gerald's priceless research discoveries in exchange for the use of Soleanna's hidden research facility. The Duke agreed, and thus the project began.
With time, the project was a success. They then left the creature unawakened. Whether it was due to a request from "him" to leave it in stasis, or fear of what G.U.N would do if they discovered Soleanna's sin, the scientists decided to hide it's body within the base indefinitely.
Roughly more than 10 years before the events of Sonic 06, the present Duke of Soleanna began making preparations for the Solaris Project. Unfortunately for him, the Flame of Hope was extinguished before he could start it.
The Duke didn't give up, not when there was still some hope. That hope being the candle that once held Solaris. Surely, it couldn't have been just any candle that could carry a god onto its wick. Perhaps there were even some traces of the Flame of Hope left, such as melted wax or ashes.
The Duke already found the white chaos emerald he would use during the experiment, and he had the candle with Solaris' remains, but that wouldn't be enough. They needed the perfect vessel that could utilize this power.
Project Solaris changed when the Duke discovered the existence of a certain white hedgehog in the archives of the base. The Ultimate Lifeform that could copy any ability.
The Solaris Project's goal was changed to creating a copy of Solaris himself.
In a way, the project was a success. Silver was imbued with Solaris' time travel abilities. However, something went wrong. The machine used to accomplish this still exploded and mortally wounded the Duke.
Silver's energy became unstable, and sent him 200 years into the future, where he woke up for the very first time.
So that's the story, but what's my reasoning?
Silver is cited in multiple sources to have lived in Crisis City (A.K.A: ruined Soleanna). It makes sense that the place he woke up would be inside it, or at least nearby.
Silver reappeared in Sonic Rivals with time travel, an ability we have only seen from Mephiles (and by proxy Solaris) and the Time Eater. The Time Eater didn't exist before Sonic Colors, so Solaris is the most likely candidate for Silver to have gotten his powers from.
We don't see the Duke anywhere at the end of Sonic 06 after the rewrite. You would think that the ruler of Soleanna would be present for an important festival honoring their sun god, alongside his daughter. It's possible that he still died in some way.
During Sonic 06, Silver's cuffs opened and closed to manage how much energy he would use. But now they're constantly opened, meaning that his body is constantly expelling energy. This could be for one of two reasons.
Silver started to exist outside of the timeline from the point he got his powers onward. Because of this, his body believes he's continuously using an ability. So, Silver's body makes his cuffs release energy nonstop to accommodate this, whether he wants to or not.
Silver has a similar issue to the Gizoid, where collecting too much data on the abilities of others can cause a destructive meltdown. Containing the data of a sun god is probably enough on its own to approach that limit. As such, Silver's body is keeping his energy level below a certain percentage to prevent this.
Both of these would explain Silver's sudden drop in power after his reintroduction in Sonic Rivals.
That should do it for the major points of this theory. Bear with me as I quickly recap the basics:
Silver the Hedgehog was designed by Gerald Robotnik and created in the Aquatic Base of Soleanna. His design was based on a combination of Shadow and the Gizoid. Afterwards, he was hidden away deeper within the facility.
Roughly before 40 years had passed, the Duke of Soleanna wished to harness the power to control time from the Flame of Hope. However, the flame was extinguished before the project could begin.
Instead of giving up, the Duke used Silver's body to create an artificial copy of Solaris. Something went wrong, and Silver was sent 200 years into the future. It turned out that the project was at least partially successful, since he now has time travel powers.
Silver woke up in the future and met people with psychic abilities. He then started to mimick those abilities, and convinced himself that he was also one of them.
That's the bulk what I have about Silver's origins right now. If I find more, I'll either add it to this or make a separate mini post.
#sonic the hedgehog#silver the hedgehog#shadow the hedgehog#theory#project shadow#I'm open to commentary if I missed something#this is all for fun so feel free to have your own opinions#now to figure out Sonic's past based on vague implications and hints
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I fear for Bloodmoon.
Ruin absolutely knows that it was Bloodmoon who messed with his computer, and since he knows that Bloodmoon isn't smart enough to do that on their own, he's probably able to guess that they had help from someone who IS smart enough to do that *cough cough* Shadow *cough cough*.
The interaction between Stitchwraith and Ruin leads me to wonder even more what led them to collaborating. Did Stitchwraith know Eclipse before the virus? Does he know the limitations of the virus (internet connection, intense electrocution, etc.)? I'm not going to get into speculations about what Stitchwraith wants with Foxy or Monty because that's not really what I cover here. I mostly stick to SaMS unless a video from another channel is intrinsically connected to the greater lore of SaMS. Anyway, my point is I have SEVERAL questions.
Stitchwraith also kept telling Ruin to "drop the act" and mentioned at one point toward the end that "the mask slipped". This can't just be referring to Ruin being smarter than he lets on; Stitchwraith and several others involved already know this. It's really the thing that has me wondering how long the two have been in contact. It would have to have been long enough for Stitchwraith to know "the truth". Even then, I can't be certain what it is he's seeing; it could really be anything, considering how tight-lipped Ruin is about what he's really feeling and thinking most of the time.
Now, as much as I know it's really bad for them in the long-run, it brings me so much joy to hear Bloodmoon sassing and mouthing off to Ruin. When one of the twins told him to shut up, I can't even explain how proud I felt. Immediately after, I feared for them after hearing Ruin's response and how clearly angry he was.
Also, just a few funny things I want to note: I absolutely love how Davis can't seem to keep the Ruin voice going while sounding serious, and he kind of just defaults to Eclipse with a hint of an accent. Then, there was (I'm assuming) EC acting as the cameraman here and just running around and jumping on top of things, trying to get some cool angle shots.
#the sun and moon show#this is the longest commentary post i've made in a while and i wish i understood more of what was happening so it could be even longer#on that note if i missed something important or misunderstood something i'm 100% open to discussion!
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tag dump! the tags are all lines from the books! (except my ooc tag, obviously lol)
#please read knigh.ts of the borrow.ed dark || ooc#i'm never relaxed! || muse: denizen#a particle and a wave || muse: mercy#those doors never close || the opening boy#a paper lantern with the heart of a star || aesthetics & musings: denizen#the color of royalty || aesthetics & musings: mercy#tu ne cede malis; sed contra audentior ito || headcanons: denizen#thousands of plans and a lot of hope || headcanons: mercy#there’s always another sunrise || post-canon verse#we're here; aren't we? || in medias res#I Am Missing Something Important Here; Which Is Unfair Because It Concerns Me || dash commentary#all the grace of a wheelbarrow full of rocks || crack#wait long enough and the sun always rises || memes#you are all this moment has || asks#what could we become in the dark but monsters? || anon#you mind your house; i’ll mind mine || saved#it’s only afterwards that they make us into stories || queue#sunrise || wishlist#there are always those born closer to the dark || lore#there are always those born closer to the light || analysis
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Little Big Fan | Five
- Little Big Surprise
Series Masterlist
wc: 3.3k
The house felt too empty, too quiet.
Isabella has been at her father's house for the past week and you missed her dearly. So, you had to find new hobbies to pass the time. You should've been used to the days she isn't home but you still aren't.
A new addition to your routine was your newfound hobby; watching Formula One races, or more so, watching Max race.
You would've been a fan even if you didn't know him personally, purely based on his driver skills, but that little detail made every moment of the race a tad bit more special. Your eyes would always try to find him on the track with the others, which he was in front of, leading.
You even found out that you could watch an on-board camera for a specific driver while watching the main race screen as well. It was very obvious whose camera feed you chose to watch.
This was the first time you watched the race after coming back from The Netherlands, mainly because it's only been a week since.
Though it wasn't fun watching the race without Isabella, or more like without her own added commentary.
Fortunately, Isabella's father would be dropping her off today. Until then, you had to find a way to pass the time.
Picking up your phone, your finger hovered over Max's contact. The last time you spoke was yesterday, when you congratulated him for the win over text.
You caught up on your pending work, meeting clients, writing up contracts, and even began designing the floor plans. One of the perks of working as a freelance interior designer, was that you could complete it at your own pace. The downside, however, was once you were done, you didn't really have anything else to do.
You worked for a few hours today, so your little break where you contemplated to call Max was well earned.
But before you could decide whether or not you wanted to call him, your phone rang with a call from him.
You quickly answered, greeting him with, "I was just about to call you, but I thought it'd be too late for you." You remembered that even though it was daytime for you, it was nighttime for him.
Max hummed, "too late? Oh wait, you're right, it's well past midnight." You furrowed your brow as his response confused you, but you didn't comment on it.
"So, what's up?" You asked, wanting to know why he called.
"You actually left something when you came to the race, and I kept forgetting to mention it, but I was thinking of sending it back to you as a package," Max explained, and you began to wonder what you had left behind.
"Yeah, sure that's fine, I actually have no idea when I'm going to see you again either." You shut your eyes tightly as you regretted the words as soon as you spoke them. "I mean—" you tried to explain but he cut you off, "I know what you mean and you're not wrong,"
You told him your address for the package, still wondering what you left behind, but dismissed the thought once you heard some noises on the other end. Specifically, noises that would indicate a person is outside, such as traffic.
"Max, are you outside?" You asked, wondering what he'd be doing out at this hour. "What no! Hold on, can I call you back in a bit?" He didn't wait for your response, just hung up the call.
You held your phone in front of you, looking at the dark screen as if it would give you any answers, but as excepted, it didn't. Then, you dropped the thought or at least tried to since Max did say he'll call you back.
You made yourself an iced coffee before falling into the depths of online shopping. Before you could decide on buying anything, the doorbell interrupted you.
"Max" you gasped as you opened the door, seeing him standing on the other side, holding a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands. "Hi," he grinned, eyes taking in your presence since it had been too long since he last saw you.
"You lied about the package," you commented though there wasn't any malice behind your words. "Consider me as the thing you forgot?"
You chuckled at his words but it quickly became quiet as you finally realized that he was truly standing in front of you. "Please tell me you have a work thing here and you're just stopping by because you were in the area?"
"I could tell you that, but it would be a lie," he shrugged. You hesitated before asking the next question, "and the truth is?"
"I just wanted to see you and Isabella again." Either he didn't realize the weight behind his words or he chose to ignore it but you stood there, holding the door, in surprise.
"And now I'm realizing it probably wasn't a good idea to drop by without asking you," Max's words lacked confidence but you quickly shook your head. "No, it's just that you keep surprising me by standing on the other side of the door," then you smiled and added, "this time it happens to be in a different country."
Again, he shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, but if he was able to hear the thoughts running through your mind, he'd know that this was a big deal to you. In the best way possible.
"So, can I come in?" He asked, as he was just idly standing by the door. "Oh yes, sorry."
He passed the flowers to you once he was inside. "I didn't know which flowers you like, but this seemed fitting," he explained the reason behind the sunflowers.
You wanted to ask why, but you held back because in the few weeks you've known Max, he always manages to say something that leaves you speechless.
"It's perfect, thank you. I think I have a vase lying around somewhere." You found one in the back of a cabinet next to your kitchen, and started filling it with water.
Max stood across from you and commented, "that vase should never be left empty."
You chuckled, more at the thought of the vase being full than his words. "It has been empty more often than not."
Although it was just a simple back and forth conversation, Max made a mental note to try and never let it be empty for as long as he knows you. Which he hopes would be a long, long time.
Max looked around the house, noticing a lack of a little ball of energy. "Where's Isabella?"
"At Tyler's. He'll drop her off in about an hour." Once you set up the flowers, you paused, realizing you have to make lunch for Isabella but you didn't want Max to think that you didn't want him here.
"Everything okay?" He asked, always noticing everything. "Yeah, I have to make lunch for Isabella." You didn't know what reaction you expected but it definitely wasn't a laugh.
Max stepped closer to you, rounding the kitchen island that was in between you two. "If you think you have to entertain me as a guest, who by the way showed up unexpectedly, I'm going to think you don't consider me a friend."
You broke out into a smile, realizing that you overthought the small situation. "I do consider you a friend, otherwise I wouldn't have ranted on and on about my job."
"I will say though, if you're making lunch, I want some too," Max added with a sheepish smile. "Isabella's lunch entails a homemade pizza and fries—made with freshly cut potatoes—because that's all she wants to eat every time she comes home."
"Fair enough, let's make extras for all of us," Max began rolling up his sleeves and washed his hands in preparation.
You couldn't help but laugh, "Max, what are you doing?" He looked at you as if his actions were obvious, "I'm going to help you. Did you think I was going to let you make lunch all by yourself?"
There he goes, leaving you speechless. You shut your mouth because you couldn't find a response, and began taking out the ingredients. "Just a warning though, you're gonna have to tell me what to do because I'm not the best chef," Max stated.
"It's okay, you can be my assistant," you responded which made him raise his eyebrows, "assistant huh? I like the sound of that."
You paused, looking at him with a playful glower before both of you broke out into laughter.
You passed him the potatoes after rinsing them, tasking him to peel and cut into strips to make french fries.
Although he didn't notice, you might've stopped a few times while kneading the dough to look at him. Unbeknownst to you, he did the same when you weren't looking either.
"So does Isabella go to her dad's often?" Max asked after a moment of silence. "Sometimes it's every other week, other times it's only a weekend per month," you explained.
Max had loads of questions about Tyler, but he was content in knowing only what you were willing to tell him. This time, you didn't continue the conversation about your ex, and Max understood that you didn't want to talk about it.
The topic was forgotten as soon as you accidentally smeared pizza sauce across your face. You truly had no idea how it got there, but only realized when Max brushed his fingers against your cheek to wipe it away.
However, he only smeared it further. He couldn't control his laughter as it spread and that prompted you to wipe it from your cheek and smear it on his.
He glared at you but it only lasted a millisecond as he grabbed a handful of dry flour. "Max," you warned, stepping backwards in an attempt to get away from him.
You didn't get far as his arm found its away around your waist to pull you back and hold you still. Then, he dumped the flour on your face, adding to the remnants of the sauce.
Your hands pressed against his chest to push him away but it was a useless attempt since he had you cornered against the counter so you had nowhere to go.
You spluttered since a bit of the flour got in your mouth and Max laughed at you. Then, you did the only thing you could think of. Grabbing Max's face, you rubbed your cheek dusted with flour and sauce against his. Now it was even.
Once the laughter died down, both of you noticed how close you were standing. Max couldn't back away because of your palms on his cheek and on the nape of his neck.
Your eyes widened slightly at the realization and you quickly dropped your hands so he could move. Max took a second too long to process that you weren't holding him anymore, before he created more space between you two.
Then, you noticed the time, "shit she'll be here in twenty minutes."
"You should go change, I'll take care of the rest," Max suggested and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "you're going to take care of it?"
He nodded like it wasn't a big deal. "You're the one who said you're not a good chef," you spoke with a teasing smile.
"I said I'm not the best chef, I can be a good chef," he reasoned and you couldn't argue with that logic. "Fine, as long as you don't burn my house down."
"I'll try," you heard him as you went upstairs to your room.
"He got me flowers," you muttered to yourself as you picked out a clean outfit. "He fucking got me flowers." The realization hit you hard, more so because you loved sunflowers, and he just happened to randomly guess the right bouquet. Which was something your ex could never do right even after you told him, mainly because he preferred roses and only bought you roses.
"It seemed fitting," you repeated his words, "Max, why do you have to be so nice?" You asked rhetorically as of course he wasn't there to answer.
You hurriedly went downstairs after washing up and changing to see whether Max had done anything wrong. Perhaps if he was a lousy chef, you'd have one complaint about him. So far, you have liked everything about him.
Fortunately, nothing smelt burnt, and nothing was broken. When you spotted him, he was frying the French fries.
You paused in your tracks, and took a good look at him so you could remember this moment later. Max looked very comfortable in your kitchen, in your house, as if it wasn't his first time. You hoped it wouldn't be the last.
"Looks like everything's fine here," you commented and he turned to look at you with a smile, "no burnt houses," he shrugged.
"The pizza still has a few minutes to go, and the fries are all done," he spoke as he gestured with his hands, but when he looked at you again, you had a stupid smile on your face.
"What?" That made your smile widen, "nothing, just, thank you for helping me."
"Always," he responded, already planning that he'll be around as long as you wanted him to be.
The doorbell rang, interrupting your peace but you were beyond excited to open the door and greet your daughter. Isabella definitely got the habit of being overly excited from you.
However, when you opened the door you saw Isabella standing beside Tyler with a frown on her face. "Hi angel, did you have fun?" You crouched down and ruffled her hair.
"Can I go inside, mama?" Her timid voice surprised you as she would usually answer that question happily. "Sure, sweetheart, I'll be there in a minute."
You watched her head inside before you stood up, closing the door behind you so Isabella wouldn't hear your conversation and faced your ex, "what happened?"
He scoffed, "nothing happened, I just told her that I won't be able to see her again as planned because I'm flying out of the country."
"Another business trip?" You asked and he nodded. "She usually doesn't get this upset any other time you cancel, did something else happen?"
"You know how she is, overdramatic," Tyler casually shrugged and that word ticked you off. "Don't you dare call my daughter overdramatic," you pointed at him harshly.
"Oh so now she's your daughter? Isabella gets upset easily, you know this."
"I do not want to hear you say that word again to describe her, I've heard it enough from you when we were together. Now tell me what happened."
Tyler sighed, and for a moment he thought about saying that Isabella was just like her mother, like you, but he didn't want to waste any extra time being around you.
"I introduced her to Emma," he stated as if it would explain everything but you furrowed your brows in confusion. "Who?"
"My girlfriend. Isabella noticed her around the house a few times so I thought it would be a good idea to introduce her," he explained and you were about to interrupt but he kept going. "I don't know if Isabella doesn't like her, but she's been in that mood ever since."
"Tyler, she has only seen us together, so of course if you introduce her to someone else, it'll take time for her to get used to it," you decided to explain in a calm manner.
"You don't have an issue with my girlfriend?" He asked and you raised your brows, "why would I? It's not my business unless it involves Isabella."
He shrugged, then laughed at his thought before saying it out loud, "well I hope that you don't have an issue explaining dating to her, that is, if you ever start dating again."
"My dating life is none of your business. Don't you have somewhere to be? Perhaps back to Emma?"
"Alright, I'll text you when I'm back in the country," he stated and turned around to leave but paused as he saw a new car in the driveway that he knew didn't belong to you.
"Whose car is that?" You laughed at his need to always be all up in your business, "goodbye, Tyler."
You entered the house with a sigh but the sight in front of you warmed your heart, making you forget all about the conversation with your ex.
Max was crouched down onto his knees to be at eye level with Isabella, who had two arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug.
When Max heard the door close, he opened his eyes and saw you. He removed one hand that was resting on Isabella's back and gestured for you to come closer.
Understanding his silent gesture, you crouched down right behind your daughter and wrapped her in a hug as well, so she was sandwiched between you and Max.
You placed loads of kisses on her cheeks until she started giggling. Isabella let go of Max and turned to face you, "mama, you didn't tell me that Maxy was here!" Just like that, her mood was drastically different from when she first arrived at the doorstep.
"He surprised me too, angel," you spoke as your gaze shifted to Max.
"Did you watch him race yesterday?" You asked Isabella, but her mood dropped again. "No mama, daddy was busy."
"It's okay, you can watch the next one with your mama," Max spoke, and Isabella nodded in agreement. "Okay!"
Then Max gasped, "the pizza!" He quickly rushed towards the oven to check on it, making you and Isabella laugh.
"Maxy made pizza?" She asked as she sat up on one of the barstools, which also happens to be her favourite place to eat even if you have a dining table.
"Maxy and mama made pizza," Max corrected, as he watched you cut it into slices.
"Are you ready for school?" Max asked once all of you began eating. You and Max also sat up on the barstools beside Isabella.
"No." She simply stated. Max frowned, "why not?"
"It's a big school, it's scary." Her words made you frown, "but you're a big girl too now."
"How about we go shopping tomorrow? Buy a new bag, more school supplies, and anything you want," Max suggested and this time you didn't stop him.
You already had a plan to take her shopping tomorrow, mainly because you already knew that Tyler didn't or else she would’ve been beaming about it.
"Even the glittery clips?" Isabella asks with a bright smile on her face, making Max chuckle, "yes even the glittery clips"
"Oh what about ice cream?" Isabella asked, and this time you watched Max become the victim of her pout and big round eyes. He looked at you for help, but you pressed your lips together, holding back a laugh.
"Yes, we can get ice cream too," he gave in making Isabella cheer.
"Alright, angel, finish your food." You gestured to her plate and she quickly obliged, stuffing her face with pizza and fries.
You were glad that Max was here, able to instantly uplift Isabella's mood. However you couldn't help but think about Tyler's words.
You never thought about dating again ever since you broke up with your ex, especially since Isabella was a baby and almost always with you.
But now that she was older, beginning to understand relationships, you thought about her reaction if you ever introduced her to someone you wanted to date.
Plus, you never met anyone that would make you debate the decision of whether to start dating again or not, that was until you met Max.
Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @glitterf1 @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @hockeyboysarehot @formulaal @namgification @tallrock35 @bloodyymaryyy
#little big fan fic#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#thef1diary fic#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen fic#fluff#f1 fluff
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Steve is bitchy. It's a known fact. He's a reformed mean girl and bitch is like a second language to him. Whether it's scathing commentary about Family Video customers almost before they're out the door,
"So apparently it's national hit on someone young enough to be your granddaughter day, who knew we had such a gross holiday?"
snarky conversations with the kids,
"Well, whaddya know, Dustin, would you look at this?"
"What?
"It's the coke you said wasn't in the fridge! Isn't it amazing how it just magically appeared?"
"Oh, shut up, Steve."
"I'm just so completely in awe!"
or calling out the people that still give Eddie nasty looks (and doesn't that make Eddie's heart grow three sizes and threaten to pop out of his chest and burrow into Steve's?),
"You know, Carol, if you keep making that face, it might stick like that. But look on the bright side, at least then the outside would be as hideous as the inside!"
Eddie adores all of it. Loves Steve's mile-wide mean streak. Loves how he can use it to tease the people he loves or decimate the latest idiot he's been forced to deal with.
But Eddie's favorite, the best, the most wonderful, absolutely fantastic moments of Steve's bitchiness? Those happen while he's driving. It doesn't matter what exactly has him riled up about another driver, Steve always has something sarcastic on the tip of his tongue to bitch about them with.
"Do you look as stupid as you drive? Dumbass."
"Jeeze, I never knew the white line was for driving on. What an amazing thing you've discovered!"
"Oh, apparently I missed the memo where 35 mph got changed to 55. Eddie, remind me to check the speed limit sign the next time we drive through here. God, what an impatient asshole."
No matter what it is, it always has Eddie stifling his laughter behind his hand. But this last time - they're at a four-way stop and the car turning across from them definitely went before it was their turn and Steve says, "Hmm, seems someone missed the lesson on taking turns in kindergarten," with that little bitchy tilt to his head - Eddie can't help the guffaw that bursts out of his mouth.
Steve looks at him from the corner of his eye. "What are you giggling about?"
"You. You just - you get so bitchy at the other drivers and, I swear to god, man, it's the funniest shit." He laughs again, says fervently, "Christ, I love you, Stevie."
And then he freezes. Realizes what he said. Takes a deep, horrified breath. It's too soon, they only just started dating, he can't say something like that, he's... He backtracks. "Uh... I mean, uh, I love when you - "
And then freezes again when Steve slides his hand off the steering wheel and onto his thigh, fingers curling around the inside. "So, you love me, huh?"
Eddie chances a glance over at Steve. Despite the teasing tone in his voice, there's something soft around his eyes and the edges of his smile. Something almost... hopeful.
Eddie swallows and decides fuck it. "Yeah, yeah I do," he tells Steve quietly.
Steve makes a quiet sound that goes straight to Eddie's heart. When he peeks over again, Steve is looking back and forth between Eddie and the road and his expression is so open and tender and happy that Eddie doesn't regret for a second what he said, even if it is too soon. "I love you, too, Eds," Steve says and Eddie feels his stomach swoop with butterflies. He puts his hand on Steve's, squeezes it, tangles their fingers together, grins bright at this man he loves so very much.
And if, after that, Steve goes out of his way to play up his bitchiness whenever Eddie is in the car and Eddie never stifles his laughter at it again, well, that's between the two of them, isn't it?
#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#are steve's bitchy comments while driving entirely based on my own? yes#steve and i are both bitchy drivers#reformed mean girl steve#yes i am incapable of writing anything that doesn't devolve into fluff 😅#also i have been trying to write this since january 27th so i'm not even gonna try to edit it you get what you get#zan fic
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Hiii!!! I’m hoping that you can write a request for me! Gzd and other drivers during a red flag. She’d be like drinking some juice, inspecting cars with seb, trying to get the audience to do a wave with Daniel. Sitting in a corner and enjoying ice cream with Kimi, you get the gist!
You writing is always so comforting and fun to read! {if you aren’t down to write this request then please ignore this one! No hard feelings haha}
SLOW DOWN, RED FLAG
pairing: f1 grid x driver!reader
warnings: sleeping? lol.
author's note: I FINALLY GOT TO THIS ONE!!! also sprinkled some webber + button content in there cause why not x
masterlist
• • • • • • •
''The race still hasn't restarted so let's see what our drivers are up to.'' Martin's voice spoke over the commentary, informing the viewers of the current situation.
The screen cut to Mick and Sebastian playing football in one of the empty hallways, keeping themselves energised for the race. ''Young Schumacher and Vettel playing some ball, trying to maintain their energy and not slump.''
''And here we have Charles Leclerc, the Monégasque writing some things down in his journal- a habit he picked up from his former teammate, Sebastian Vettel.'' Ted observed, describing how the young man scribbled some things down in the Ferrari garage.
''Let's see what Y/N Y/L is up to. I'm sure the young woman is doing her best to keep herself high- is she sleeping?'' Martin interrupted himself, watching the screen with an open mouth as it cut to the driver laying on the floor in her garage while her team worked around her sleeping form.
''Well, all the drivers have different ways of keeping their energy up.'' Ted chuckled, finding amusement in the woman's antics once again.
Both men took a closer look at the screen as the camera kept lingering on her garage and what was happening inside of it. ''Is… is she sleeping- oh my goodness, her blanket has Kimi Raikkonen's face on it.''
As the screen zoomed out, the viewers could see the driver having a blanket draped over her- one that had a picture of a sleeping Kimi on it.
''She keeps surprising me that one.'' Mark Webber joined in, laughing at the image of the young woman. ''I love the fact that her team just ignores it and works around her.'' He noted.
''Yeah, this is probably not the first time this has happened.'' Martin said, coming to that conclusion because of the way the mechanics and others don't seem bothered by it.
''This is a message for the crew that will be interviewing Miss Y/L later; Please ask her about this!'' Ted pleaded over the commentary, asking his colleagues that will be conducting the interviews to question the driver about her 'red flag habit'.
''Now, Y/N- we were specifically told to ask you this by Ted Kravitz himself.'' Jenson started off, making her hesitantly nod her head.
''Why were you sleeping during the red flag?''
''Oh,'' she laughed in relief, having expected a more controversial question that would have her press officer shit themselves, ''I was bored so I slept.''
''Aren't you supposed to keep yourself pumped for the race?'' Nathalie asked, a frown on her face.
Y/N nodded. ''Yes and that's my way of doing that.'' She grinned. ''Please don't judge me.'' She quickly added upon seeing the confused expression everyone was wearing.
''We're not! Don't worry, dear.'' Nathalie assured her, momentarily caressing her arm.
''Is it something you do often, because your team seemed to be very nonchalant about it- especially your mechanics, since they were working on your car.'' Jenson asked, genuinely curious about the matter.
The young driver pouted her lips in thought. ''Uh, I don't want to say it's a regular thing that I do, but I'm also not gonna say that it hasn't happened before.''
''Alright, and the Kimi blanket?''
''I got that for my birthday a few years ago, it's very cute, isn't it?'' She smiled from ear-to-ear, proud of her blanket of the World Champion.
The reporters nodded, endeared by her authentic excitement. ''Has he seen it?''
''He has! I showed him a picture of it when I first got it and he smiled so I think he was a big fan of it.'' She answered, with the same smile on her face.
''He didn't say anything?''
''Kimi asked where I got it from, but I didn't know the answer so that was the end of our conversation.'' She chuckled.
Jenson laughed at her response. ''That's more than I ever got out of him.''
another author’s note lol: I have decided to get rid of my taglist since it was becoming unorganized and I can only tag an x-amount of people per post + I’m not a fan of reblogging my own work.
#f1 fics#f1 fic#f1 x reader#jenson button x oc#jenson button x reader#f1 x oc#f1 imagine#f1 oc#female f1 driver#f1 x female driver
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a (very inexhaustive, wincest-heavy) sam whump reclist
@transfemmesam asked me for Sam whump recs a few days ago, and I've had other requests in the same vein before (I can't imagine why.../s) so I thought I would throw this together, since these authors deserve all of the love and support for their contributions to our li'l fandom corner.
like I mentioned in the title, this is not at all a comprehensive list; I have at least ~200 more fics in my to-read queue that could thematically fit here, but alas, I have stupid shit like a job and a body and a dog to take care of, so. I'm always happy to get recs along these lines, so if you notice anything important missing, hit me UP. (and don't take any omissions as any specific commentary by me -- it's likely I just haven't had the chance to read it yet, haha.)
disclaimers:
some (most, honestly) of these contain potentially triggering and dark content, including but not limited to rape/noncon, torture, and suicidal attempts & ideation. I have tried to note content warnings where applicable, and most of the works are hosted on ao3, so the tags should have most of the information you need to make an informed decision. that being said, tread with caution. all of the summaries provided are from the original author, with warnings added after by me.
the list is in alphabetical order and separated into wincest and gen categories. a lot of the gen is also focused on the sam & dean relationship, because...I am what I am. and what I am a sucker for these two dipshits. there is also a brief section at the end with a few fics that don't fit into either category.
gen
All That Goes Unspoken by amnesiawife:
A case forces Sam to confront something long kept buried. (Set nebulously in season 12.)
CW: discussions of past rape/noncon, victim blaming
Beneath the Trees 'verse by Lise (5 works total, starting with Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees):
Sam doesn't go to Stanford. Everything goes downhill from there.
CW: suicidal ideation
a boy is a cage by ad_castra:
After expelling Gadreel from Sam's body, Dean thinks they're in the clear.
If only they were that lucky.
//
S9 fic wherein Gadreel's grace causes some adverse side-effects in Sam's mind.
CW: past referenced rape/noncon, body horror
body of proof by Askance (doomcountry):
There are things Sam hasn't told his brother. They're all in the envelope laid on Dean's pillow.
CW: heavy discussion of past rape/noncon
break these bones 'til they're better by redskyatmorning:
After Sam’s torture at the hands of the British Men of Letters, the latest in a long string of violations, he is rescued by Dean and Mary – and forced to ponder his broken relationship with his own body. Months later, when Sam is resurrected and tormented by Lucifer yet again, Dean confronts Mary and Sam gets his revenge against the devil.
catching my death (staring out an open window) by ad_castra:
Sam gazes at the window, catches the faint pink hue tinting the sky. It’s so realistic - he could breathe in the fresh air if he were really here.
-----
They got Sam out.
Sometimes, just knowing that isn't enough.
CW: implied past rape/noncon
Death of Convenience by WilsonTheMoose:
It should have been easy. Wendigos are no joke but daylight slows them. The weather's been unpredictable though and perfect, idyllic hunts don't exactly stay that way where they're concerned.
Or Sam has one card to play and never stops to think that Dean would care if he killed himself.
CW: suicidal ideation, references to suicide
Echoes of Hell by The_Nightbreaker:
It wasn't real. He wasn't in Hell anymore. That's what he tried to tell himself over and over. But two centuries of torture don't disappear in a day.
Sam struggles with visions of Hell, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. Dean hates that he can't protect his brother from what isn't real—but curse him if he doesn't try.
When the boys stumble on a case with ties to the Devil himself, will they be able to pull themselves together in time to stop the sacrifices? Or will the echoes of Hell finally overtake them?
Aka, season 7, but the plot is Hell trauma, not leviathans.
CW: suicidal ideation
Evening Shadows by withthekeyisking:
Sam is hallucinating the monster who tortured him for nearly two centuries, Dean feels like he's failing his brother, and a diner waitress bears witness.
CW: past rape/noncon
Everything Dies Given Time by Lise:
AU from 5.03. Sam discovers something wrong with himself, and learns to live with it. Only a lot less functional.
CW: suicide/temporary character death
The Freedom to Be Loud by jribbing:
It hadn’t occurred to Dean that maybe Sam remembered so much about that little nowhere town because something memorable had happened there.
CW: referenced past rape/noncon
golgotha by redskyatmorning:
There’s a vacancy on the throne of hell, and Sam is desperate enough to save Dean from Michael’s possession to give into the abyssal depths of his own darkness.
Head Space by ameliacareful:
A witch curses Sam leaving him blind, deaf, and bedridden. Left with only the inside of his own head and the occasional touch, Sam begins to unravel.
CW: suicidal ideation
Hiraeth by inkandpaperqwerty:
(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past
"Dean... I made a really big mistake."
For a second, Dean actually thought things were going okay. He was out of Hell, Sam agreed to stop drinking demon blood, they had just wrapped up a successful hunt... for once, everything was okay. And then it wasn't.
"I overdosed."
Not at all.
CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation
if i could leave (i would've already left) by serendipity0930:
“I have a mission from God for you,” the Angel whispers to the man. “It is time for you to do what you were born to.”
The man’s face twists into a smile, delighted over being chosen by Him, a purpose from God digging into his heart, carving out a place to fester.
“Hunt.”
...
05x03 AU where Zachariah is even more determined to keep the brothers apart and hunters are all too willing to take Lucifer's True Vessel off the board for good
CW: referenced suicide
It's A River (But Not In Egypt) by Lise:
He's still a liar. Maybe always has been.
CW: toxic Sam/Lucifer dynamics
Kindred Instruments by PinBitch:
They’re in a tug of war and Sam is the rope. He doesn’t need to be alive for that.
OR
Sam dies in detox, being flung against the walls of a metal box will do that to you. Dean and Ruby pick up the pieces.
CW: temporary main character death, permanent supporting character death
lazarus trick by katsidhe:
Sam's alive, so everything is gonna be okay.
13.22 coda.
Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence by Lise:
Sam's back. He's in one piece. That's the problem.
CW: self-harm
love is like ghosts by redskyatmorning:
I’m poison, Dean had said instead of I’m sorry. Well, Sam wants to say, what does that make me? What the hell does that make me?
(A look into Sam's mind in the aftermath of the Gadreel possession.)
The Other Brother by RadioFriday:
Sam and Adam are pulled from the cage at the same time. Sam is not right, and Adam, stuck as his caretaker, is not pleased.
Oxygen by inkandpaperqwerty:
“Cas! Cas, please! Please, answer me! Cas!”
Castiel ignores Dean for several minutes, but then Dean gives him an opening that might help him complete his mission. So, he goes to investigate, and what he finds is a very bloody, nearly dead Sam. Dean tells him where the injuries came from, and Castiel quickly becomes confused. It doesn't make sense, but Dean tries to explain it to him, and slowly... Castiel begins to understand.
CW: suicide attempt
Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc by AmberSock:
Sam waits, kneeling, for his execution.
What if Dean hadn't missed?
CW: temporary character death
Safety In Distance by GalaxyThreads and SpiritClusters:
The Mark of Cain is a brand of violence. Sam was an idiot to think that he'd be exempt from it, just because he and Dean are siblings.
sometimes a kind of singing by adi_rotynd:
Sam gets cursed. They're dealing with it. Jack can see souls. That one they're not dealing with quite as well.
CW: past referenced rape/noncon
Soul Windows by GalaxyThreads and Spirit Clusters:
A few months after his birth, Jack learns how to see souls. Then he comes to a realization about the Winchester brothers, Sam in particular, and it's not a pleasant one. (gen)
Starry Night by keepcalmsmile:
Sam attempts suicide-by-monster. Dean tries to help. It sort of works...until it doesn't.
CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation
such fragile, broken things by The_Bookkeeper:
Sam wishes that Dean would just get it over with already.
The Tale of Sir Galahad by keepcalmsmile:
Sam once said he could never be clean like Sir Galahad. Dean assumed he was just talking about the demon blood. Turns out, Sam was talking about something else too.
WARNING: Extended discussions of the aftermath of rape and childhood sexual abuse (but NO description of the actual events). Happy(ish) ending, but potentially very triggering.
CW: past rape/noncon, mentioned CSA
They Hammered in His Teeth by jribbing:
Sam has a secret.
CW: suicidal ideation
today's troubles (are history tomorrow) by a_good_soldier:
"It's not really something I know how to share," Sam had said.
In which Dean figures he ought to help Sam out a bit.
Touch and Go by themegalosaurus:
Tag to 9.19 (Alex Annie Alexis Ann) in which Dean realises why, exactly, Sam is so angry about what happened with Gadreel.
trust fall by ad_castra:
“I’m nothing like you,” Sam hisses. Nevermind relating to the anguish of going it alone. Nevermind that he knows what it is to be strapped down and forcibly cleansed against his will.
Sam wonders if these trials are purifying Crowley as well.
Words Like Glass by broken_cinders:
Dean never figured the cage wouldn't leave a mark. He was prepared for memories, flashbacks, and nightmares. He wasn't expecting the words Sam brought back with him or the way they made him seem just a breath beyond Dean's reach.
Wound and Unwound by fascra:
Sam stops eating spring of his freshman year.
CW: eating disorder
wincest (dean/sam)
Brittle by thecapn:
Sam Winchester has an eating disorder.
CW: eating disorder
Don't You Cry No More by sixtysevenlmpala (schittyfic):
The first time Sam gets badly hurt on a hunt, he doesn’t cry.
Dean does.
Fall On Your Knees by dollylux:
Sam doesn't quite make it home on the last day of school before winter break.
The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez:
Set between 7.04 and the aftermath of 7.07. Dean is not as okay as he'd like you to think. Neither is Sam.
CW: self-harm
Feels so good to feel again by Trojie:
The pain keeps Lucifer at bay, at least to start with.
Follow In Your Form by withthekeyisking:
Sam is hallucinating Lucifer in the wake of Cas bringing his Hell Wall crashing down.
To make matters worse, it seems like this has his dormant powers flaring back to life.
Last Temptation by merle_p:
Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state.
Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.
CW: mentioned past rape/noncon
leeches by Anonymous:
Sam discovers a spell to make everybody forget him. He’s convinced it’s for the best.
Pre-Stanford.
CW: attempted kidnapping/torture
Make Thick My Blood by themegalosaurus:
“You’re going to kill me, Dean,” Sam says, eventually.
And all Dean can say is, “I think I am.”
A season 10 AU, set after 10x14 ('The Executioner's Song'). Cas finds a solution that might cure the Mark of Cain; but if they're going to go through with it, Sam has a terrible price to pay.
CW: mentioned past rape/noncon
Prophecy of an Abomination by ashitanoyuki:
Sam is kidnapped by fanatically religious hunters and crucified. Coming back from this won't be easy.
Canon-divergent from midway through season 2.
Recall by De_Nugis:
Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.
The Room Upstairs by brokenlittleboy:
Sam comes back from hell, but he’s inside-out and all wrong, and Dean can’t fix him.
CW: mentioned past rape/noncon
Ruin You (and its companion fic Worth) by Mumble_Bee:
Cole fucks Sam with Demon!Dean watching from a devil's trap, snarling that anyone would dare touch what was his.
“I told you I don’t care what you do to his face or his blood or his fucking nose,” Dean growled, “but you put your dick anywhere near him and I will end you.”
“Better hurry up then, Dean, because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”
CW: explicit rape/noncon
Snowed In by HelloStarlingFics:
When working a case, Sam and Dean get stuck out in a shack in the woods when the snow comes in hard and fast. Trouble is, Sam’s hated the cold ever since the Cage.
Time for Dean to step up and look after him.
Wake by minchout:
Gadreel has had Sam for four years, and Dean, lost in guilt and obsessed with finding a way to get his brother back, has isolated himself in a cabin in the Missouri Ozarks with nothing but the woods, a stray dog, some chickens, and all the books the Men of Letters had to offer to keep him company. Then Sam shows up one day without his passenger, and Dean learns quickly that it doesn't matter that Sam is with him again - there is still a lot of work to be done before they can find their way back to each other.
Wanting to Forget by morganaDW (morgana07):
1-shot. S1 fic. After getting Sam freed from the Benders Dean thinks all he has to cope with is some bruises and cuts. He learns quickly just how wrong he is when Sam wakes up with a nightmare, reliving his brief but bad captivity in every detail. Sam just wants to forget & Dean has to try to get him to let him help. Will one night of cruelty and pain ruin what’s been formed between them?
CW: referenced past rape/noncon
when I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place by quake_quiver:
Sam doesn’t remember the last time he cried for Dean like he did that night.
And now it’s been…two weeks. Maybe more. Sam is tired, and in pain, and starting to doubt that Dean’s going to show up. He’s weak and shaking from a combination of constant pain and hunger.
Sam longs for Dean. Dean would make it better. Dean would fix it.
CW: rape/noncon, body horror
Wire Inside Me by merle_p:
There are a lot of things Sam hates about his current condition, to the point where he sometimes feels for the gun under his pillow at night, blindly toys with the safety, imagines pressing the muzzle into the underside of his chin and pulling the trigger just to make it stop.
But there’s nothing he hates as much as the shadows he sees in Dean’s eyes whenever his brother is looking at him these days. It’s not an expression he remembers ever seeing before, but Sam thinks it’s probably something like revulsion. Horror. Disgust.
What else could it be.
CW: referenced past rape/noncon, body horror, forced pregnancy
Worth (and its companion fic Ruin You) by Mumble_Bee:
Episode 10x01 "Black" where Dean is a human, and very, very, pissed off to hear someone has hands on his brother.
“It’s nothing personal,” Cole whispered into Sam's ear, too quietly for Dean to hear, “but I need to kill your brother, and I need him off his game when he gets here. I don’t wanna hurt you, kid, but I’m going to, anyway. I’m going to hurt you a lot."
CW: explicit rape/noncon
you'll never see us again by according2thelore:
Then finally, his eyes trail over to Dean.
His pupils are pin-point thin, and his hair is straggling in his face so Dean can’t see most of what expression lies there.
Sam usually wakes up from nightmares in one of three attitudes: confusion, fear, or calm. A scary, sense-prickling calm that Dean hates more than anything else. Resignation, almost.
Or: Sam suffers from nightmares and touch starvation post-Cage. They do their best to deal.
other
Sam/Lucifer noncon
Cage Fight (No Way To Do This Right) by Dyed_Red:
Sam’s visit to the cage is already going awry, but Dean’s one-man rescue ends up skidding it sideways into territory neither him or Sam are ready for.
(Gratuitous episode scene re-write. If Cas hadn’t come till after, if he hadn’t been there yet when Dean ran down to the 'parole' cage after hearing Sam scream - how bad could it have got for the brothers before he made it?)
CW: graphic rape/noncon
Into Being by withthekeyisking:
When Sam wakes up in the cave on Apocalypse World after having been killed by vamps, it's not just to find Lucifer there with him. It's to find him in him.
CW: graphic rape/noncon, necrophilia, forced pregnancy
Reggie/Tim/Sam noncon
a pointless resistance for you by withthekeyisking:
Sam doesn't know how long he's been with Tim and Reggie by the time Dean shows up and tries to take him out of there. Long enough that's he's already lost one baby and is pregnant with the next. Long enough that this life is starting to feel like all he knows.
CW: graphic rape/noncon, forced pregnancy & miscarriage, victim blaming
screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing by withthekeyisking:
Sam has done his best to move past what Tim and Reggie did to him, pretending it never happened at all. But running into them again makes that very difficult—especially when Dean gets involved.
CW: referenced past rape/noncon
Waste 'Em All by withthekeyisking:
When Tim and Reggie try to force the demon blood down Sam's throat, he spits it back out. He has no interest in being turned into their own personal attack dog.
They don't...take it well.
CW: explicit rape/noncon
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thinking about high-school!gojo today.....
he’s top of his classes, a-list student, and everyone knows him. people across campus gossip about his latest romances and grades and all— he’s an open book. and a new york time’s best seller, apparently.
gojo is specifically notorious for his position as top student at your prestigious school. only the best from the best lineage, it seems. in graded discussions, he’s viciously tearing down others’ points. he disagrees with the teacher. makes jokes that make the whole class laugh. has been responsible for at least 3 faculty members’ quitting. all this, and he’s still failing art. sculpture class, to be exact.
it’s an elective both he and you have been forced into; you’re a lot happier about it than him, it seems. because he always complains. loudly. and he sucks at art, quite frankly.
it's plain to see that the boy has never even drawn a portrait in his life. he's got two right hands and he's left-handed, it looks like, that's how bad he is. and even worse is the fact that he's got no friends in this class; everyone's a stranger. which is probably why he resorts to bothering you.
you like to think you're a strong person, of mind and of being. but your resolve to being kind crumbles as soon as gojo opens his big fat mouth.
you see why people like him. he can be funny. he's good at lots of things (arts not included) and sometimes, only sometimes, does he have something valuable to say. but mostly, you find gojo satoru to be a nuisance.
working on your projects is made incredibly difficult when 6 feet of pure frustration is bitching right next to you. "this clay," he'd complain, "it's gotta be broken. it's not working."
you try to ignore him, you really do. him and his inane excuses, and empty commentary. and for the most part, he disregards you right back. he looks through you, sometimes. sometimes. that is, until the teacher pulls him aside a few weeks before the end of the school year and he comes back more stone-faced and scared than you've ever seen him. he's quiet for longer than you've known possible and you're surprised to find that you kind of miss hearing his voice.
he doesn't really say much, and class lets out, and you go on with your life like normal. but there's an itch in the back of your mind, and it sounds like his name over and over and you can't quite get it out of your head. not until the next day, when you see him again- 2nd period sculpture class, 9 o'clock in the morning.
and this time, he looks right at you.
"you're really good at this whole sculpture thing." he's making a statement, not asking a question. you blink and realise that this is the very first time he's spoken to you, directly. he was complimenting you in a way- on what? does this mean he's seen you? all this time you presumed he stared straight through, blue eyes burning holes through your skull. maybe, just maybe, he's been looking at you the whole time. you're not sure how to reply so you just nod, "i guess."
"i," he says the next words like he's choking on glass and you see his adam's apple bob (his skin is so pale; translucent. you think it'd be cold to the touch,) "need help."
you almost feel bad. he looks like a cat that just got soaked in water. pitiful. playing dumb, though you know exactly what he means, you tilt your head innocently. "help with what?"
he grimaces. you bite the inside of your cheek to stop a smile from spreading like wildfire.
"this class."
"oh? what about it?"
he dramatically slumps against the desk, knocking over the boy in front of him's water bottle. he doesn't bother picking it up. "sculpting. art. everything."
"i thought you were good at everything, though."
that might've been too far, because he looks at you again. he really, really looks. and you think he sees you. because he smiles, "my reputation precedes me. i'm so famous, aren't i?"
"i guess you are," you concede, allowing an edge of amusement to lighten your tone. he is still looking at you. he does not break eye contact. it makes your stomach churn with something sickeningly alive, something abhorrently beautiful.
"then it should be your honour to help me out or something, yeah?"
it should be. it will be. you could let it be.
"i'm pretty busy. sorry."
he blinks at you. you turn away. why did you say no? you didn't want to. but then again, you'd prefer to be away from him and his life- lavish, elegant, mansions and stars and cameras and glamour- you have homework to do.
you think that, after this, gojo satoru will leave you be.
he does not.
in fact, you think it gets worse.
if he wasn't talking to you much at all before, it's all he does now. he sits in your seat before class starts, getting there before you, waiting for you. chats your ears off, too, when you try to get work done. and he always ends up bringing up that proposal again- to help tutor him in sculpture, or give him pointers, or whatever, you try to tune him out.
you wonder why he only asks you. there's plenty of much more talented, much more friendly students in your class. ones that'd say yes. but he only asks you. you think he knew it was only a matter of time before you gave in. that was what he was banking on, probably. all it took was two weeks worth of asking, talking non-stop, and basically borderline begging. and you folded.
..which, is how you find yourself in the art room, after-hours, sitting next to gojo satoru and a pottery wheel as he helplessly squishes the miserable and miserly beginnings of yet another deformed clay pot.
"you can do it," you encourage rather dryly. he shoots you a look. "great acting."
"sorry. i'm trying my best here."
his hands are covered in wet clay, so when he wipes his brow he uses his forearm. the crewneck he wears is pulled up and pale, pale skin glows a wintery shade. you tear your eyes away. "and i am too! but it isn't working!"
you frown. he really is bad at this- ignoring all your direct pointers and advice. you've told him what he needs to fix; be gentle, go slowly, be patient, patient, patient. all that has gone in one ear and out the other.
you really dread what you're about to do. but you want to help him save his grade in this class, because gojo satoru was not gojo satoru without his 4.0 gpa. so, bracing yourself, feeling a tight, tight knot in your stomach, you ghost your hands over his on the wheel and hold on, shadowing them. a guide.
his skin is cold, you were right. big hands, bigger than yours, they feel good and frigid beneath your touch; like they were made for you, sculpted to your touch. you feel his breathing stall before he starts rambling again.
his words move fast, but not faster than his heartbeat, which you feel in his wrist. you'd be dizzy with the proximity if you weren't so focused on making something. it's almost magic, how 2 pairs of hands come together to make something- a small pot, spinning on the wheel.
it's a little lopsided and wonky looking but it's far, far better than anything gojo's accomplished. he goes quiet. "wow," he says, so so hushed you almost don't catch it. you know he's not talking about the pot.
"i told you that you could do it."
his hands break away from the wheel, leaving the clay formation and pulling your hands away, too. they're in his, still, and covered in a think muddy-coloured sludge of slip. but he holds them.
"you have something on your face," you exhale after a beat of silence. because he does; a dash of clay, marking the expanse of skin on his cheek. just below his lip. he smiles and a dimple creases his pretty, pretty face.
"yeah? why don't you get it for me?"
you blink. "my hands are filthy. i'd make it worse."
"do you think i care?"
you're surprised your hands are steady, a sculptor's hands, as you wipe away the drying residue of slip. it crumbles and flakes off his cheek, but your thumb brushes his lip and you feel him freeze before grinning wider and pulling away. you miss his cold. you feel a bit too hot all over, now.
"it's all over your face now," you inform him, snapping your gaze away to hide your embarrassment. he doesn't look away. he looks at you, he looks at you, he looks at you. like he likes you, a little bit.
"we can deal with that after the lesson, yeah?"
you expect him to sound different than he does, when he says this. you expect his voice to be full of ego and confidence, like usual. boisterous, louder than life. but he's quieter. almost like he's shy. you turn back, and you see the way he watches you. like you're precious, like you're fleeting and rare and the most beautiful, beautiful piece of art he's ever seen.
"okay," you say, "okay. sure."
his grin is worth a million dollars and his boyish confidence returns after the lapse of shyness; "awesome!"
promptly after, he moves to go back to the clay pot. in his excitement, he squishes it into a lump again.
"awesome," you sign, resigned. but you can't find it in yourself to be mad. you like him too much for that.
#me chugging 2 energy drinks to get through my homework but ending up writing this instead#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#mitzi's world!#gojo satoru#reader insert
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Integration
Bayverse Donatello x Reader imagine
Info + Warnings: Donatello finds himself all over your life. No gendered language, pronouns, or Y.N used for Reader, but they use Spotify. Friends-to-lovers type beat. Set a few years after OOTS.
Commentary: While it's not strictly necessary reading, this is the sequel to Glow in the Dark, and is set to this playlist.
Donatello has always prided himself on his observational skills.
He notices things other people don't. He recognizes patterns, he collects data, he observes.
It's why Leo turns to him first for mission analysis.
It's why April sends him documents to proof-read.
It's how he fixes codes that refuse to work and reverse engineers biological weapons and is able to turn scraps into functioning gear.
He sees.
Especially when he's already interested in what he's looking at.
Which is why, in the middle of the night, he glances at your activity in his Spotify sidebar.
It's just in his nature.
He does it every now and again- well, okay, every time he opens Spotify- and it's become a bit of a game for him, to try and hone in on your music taste and then casually send you very casually considered recommendations.
He's the most casual turtle alive, everyone knows that.
Sometimes, he spots you playing a song he's given you, and he gets a dorky little smile on his face as he alt-tabs his way back to work.
This time, it's a song he'd given you months back- StarWaves, off of the Oblivion soundtrack, by M83- and just as his lips quirk up and his fingers find his keyboard, he notices something else.
Just below the song, he spots the playlist title.
It's a purple heart emoji.
He hesitates, hand over keys, eyes lingering on his screen.
His timing is fantastic, because the song changes. Little Dark Age by MGMT, which he'd sent you when he last updated the surveillance system- still on purple heart emoji.
This is why science is such a comfort to him- it ties all of those constant observations to something concrete, makes them matter. Observation alone means nothing; study gives him structure.
This means nothing.
But further study- tabbing back and forth between his latest project and Spotify every three-or-so minutes, noting song after song that he remembers giving you- suggests that the purple heart emoji means him.
It makes his heart do something dizzy in his chest, to think that you've tucked his suggestions somewhere safe. That you've taken them with open hands and set them in a display case.
That you make use of them.
It's not even a week later when you come into the lair with a smile and your computer bag over your shoulders and bags of take out in your hands. You set your phone and keys on his desk, both tangled in your headphones, and head off to dole out food, and he can hear a Phantogram song heavy in the earbuds.
Another one of his, he notes happily.
You come back a few minutes later, a tired and amused expression on your face as you offer him his food.
"I take it Mikey found you," Donnie says in wry, fond amusement, and he's rewarded by a little snort of laughter.
"He did," You respond, setting your own food on the desk- next to your things- and shimmying your bag off your shoulder. "I swear, it's like you all let that guy starve when I'm not here."
"He does a lot of things when you're not here. Starve is not one of them."
He almost misses your response- "Tell that to him, he nearly tackled me for his lo mein!"- because something green catches the light of his computer and, in turn, catches his eye.
It's a little piece of circuit board.
One you'd helped him pull out of a haul of scrap tech, and once he'd deemed that piece useless you'd made a joke about it making a cute keychain.
He'd taken an old soldering iron and melted a hole in the corner, threading a keyring through it, and passed it to you before you left.
It was mostly a joke. You'd been joking. He'd just tapped in and taken the bit to the next level.
And the joke was somehow still in one piece, hanging off your computer bag.
It makes his heart do something fluttery in his chest, to think that you carried that silly (warm, safe, delightful) memory around with you.
It's nearly two weeks after that when he climbs in your window in the early part of the night, a little earlier than he should probably be out, with a bag of snacks hanging from his elbow.
You're in front of your TV, flicking through movie options, and he intentionally scuffs his shoe in the doorway to make sure you know he's there.
He somehow still isn't prepared for the way you tilt your head back to smile at him in greeting.
"I know it's kinda warm out, but I made hot cocoa," You say sweetly. "I got marshmallows on sale, so..."
"I brought those chips you like," He responds, slipping the bag to his palm and holding it up as though you can see through it.
"You're the best!" You chirp, slipping off the couch and leading him to the kitchen.
You already have two mugs set out, filled to the brim with marshmallows- he assumes there's cocoa beneath them somewhere, but has little proof from just looking at them.
One mug is your favorite, the one you've been using as long as he's known you.
The other is new.
It's dark purple and large, with an oversized handle. About the same size as the one he probably left on his desk when he left the lair. Large enough to comfortably fit his hand, he suspects.
It nearly stops him in his tracks.
"What is it?" You ask.
"Is this new?" He asks in place of an answer, nodding at the drinks.
"The mug?" You're using that carefully nonchalant voice you use whenever you do something nice. The one that usually obscures a lot of time and effort. "Yeah, found it at that antiques place I told you about. The one with the iron giraffe by the door?"
He remembers.
"It's- pretty," He says haltingly, trying to keep himself in a logical, reasonable headspace.
It isn't a big deal. It's a mug.
(It feels big. Feels huge. Feels like he's going to suddenly collapse under his own emotional weight and leave a black hole in your kitchen where he had been.)
(It's you adapting to his- and his brothers', he reminds himself sharply, trying to stay in the realm of reasonable and unimpacted- quirks and needs. It's you accommodating him in your own home. It's his color. He thinks his unwieldy feelings for you grow a size right here, standing in your kitchen.)
"I thought so," You agree lightly, your back to him as you grab bowls. "Thought you might like it. Thought maybe it would be nice to have one here. For you."
Reasonable is rapidly becoming less and less realistic as his heart skips a beat. There's weight in your words, despite your best efforts- he's more sure than ever than you'd set out to find this mug, that this had been a mission for you.
You never act this casually about something you're actually casual about.
"Vank- er, very nice," He stumbles over his words, slowing down to enunciate. "Thank you."
You shrug, turning to him with the bowls, eyes trained on them. "Since I like having you here, might as well, like, make it easier for you, huh?"
He's glad, in a way, that he's green. When he blushes, it's a lot more subtle on him than it is on somebody like Casey.
(He hopes you're not feeling particularly observant.)
"Being here is easy," He says quickly, a confession he hadn't really meant to make.
It's simultaneously huge and just-the-surface.
Being around you is easy.
You look up now, eyes meeting his with a searching look, and you smile. "I'm glad," You say, that weight still in your voice, some extra, unknown thing just beyond his ability to figure out. Then it shifts, and you're more smirking than smiling, and the air shifts from uncertain warmth to a familiar playfulness. "That means you can easily pick a movie. I'm sick of looking."
He stays long after the credits roll, listening as you look up tidbits about the movie and the cast and how the effects were done. He's on your couch, one leg crossed beneath the other as he angles his body to you and rests an arm over the back (staying very carefully on his side, thank you).
He chimes in as you read out trivia ("I'm pretty sure that should be lucis, but my Latin's a little rusty." "You're right, according to this. Wonder if that was an error or a stylistic choice?") and laughs as you stop mid-sentence to re-read twice because something is so littered with typos that you can't immediately tell what it's saying.
Neither of you look at the clock.
You finish the chips he brought, and you make popcorn, and the two of you finish that, too.
The movie trivia gives way to a story about your friend's dog, and the laughter from that flows into him telling a similar story about Mikey as a child- because apparently, chewing on skateboards is a more common behavior than he'd thought- which shifts into you showing him the meme Mikey had sent you earlier in the day.
Mikey'd sent it to him, too, but he didn't mention it. He let himself lean into your bubble to half-look at your phone, just to be near you.
When he finally gets home- late, very late, the sun's already planning its ascent- he's grateful that everyone seems to be asleep.
Until he hears a throat clear behind him and he winces.
"Hi, Donnie," Leo says, knowing and smug and making Donnie stifle a groan.
Leo asks how you are.
"Good," He says simply, turning and holding his oldest brother's gaze. "We had lots to catch up on."
"Clearly," Leo says, a clear undertone of teasing.
Donnie resists the urge to roll his eyes.
"I'm glad you had a good time," Leo says, teasing fading from his voice, leaving an earnest tone in its place as he bumps a fist into Donnie's shoulder. "Just let me know next time movie night turns four movies long, yeah? Keeping your dinner safe from Mikey isn't my idea of a good time."
Don can feel the blood in his cheeks again. He hadn't meant to stay so long- disrupting your sleep schedule isn't his idea of a good time- but it just... was easy. "Yeah. Will do."
Leo nods and smiles and takes his mug- strong green tea, if Don's nose is to be believed- towards his room.
Donatello exhales softly. He'd expected worse-
"Oh, Donnie," Leo calls playfully, "Mike's come up with several new songs including "k-i-s-s-i-n-g", so I'd brace myself for a musical breakfast."
This time, Donnie does groan, not bothering to respond as Leo chuckles and leaves.
He eats the dinner Leo'd kept guarded- pasta with meatballs, cold, because Donnie thinks that if the microwave wakes either of his other brothers and he has to deal with them before he sleeps he's going to ask you if he can just live on your couch- before shuffling into his lab and flopping into the chair at his workbench.
He leans back into the chair, stretching his neck out with a soft groan before his eyes land on the little glass sun hanging above him.
He watches it for a moment, a soft smile creeping onto his face.
Then he stretches out- too lazy, too tired to get up- and flicks the lights off.
The sun glows, and it looks almost as bright as his heart feels, and he feels himself sink fully into the chair and memories of you and the unwieldy, bright feelings you spark in his chest.
After a few minutes in comfortable, sweet silence, he shifts forwards and boots his computer up.
Just for some music.
Work will have to wait until he gets some sleep. You'd be livid if he jumps in now.
He pulls up Spotify and his eyes go to the sidebar out of muscle memory more than conscious effort.
Your username is the first on the list, right above a purple heart.
He lets out a little laugh, a you-shaped feeling turning bubbly and warm behind his ribs.
Deciding you have the right idea, he pulls up Random Access Memories and hits play on his favorite track, letting the bass softly fill the room and enjoying the feeling of it beneath his fingers as he quickly types out the few ideas he'd had while at your place.
He's asleep before the song ends, face buried in his forearms on the desk.
#tmnt x reader#tmnt imagine#donatello#donatello x reader#x reader#tmnt 2014 x reader#2014#bayverse x reader#*writing
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Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 12
it's here everybody
I just want to say a HUGE thank you to everybody that has read and enjoyed along with me, whether that was in the form of reblogging with commentary, leaving a comment or kudos, or even if you just read it and moved on, and to everyone who binge read after the whole thing came out, or stumbled across it months after it finished, thank you to you too. this has most definitely been a labour of love, very self-indulgent at most points, and I have thoroughly enjoyed writing every word (although maybe not so much when Steph was being a grade-A Bitch), and I hope you enjoy this last part!
while the main work of this series is over, keep an eye out for holiday specials (bc I can't just let go of my schmoopies forever)!
Warnings: swearing, mildly spicy bit near the start, you might cry from this being the finale (I did lol), flustered/awkward lockwood, oh you also might cry from the part in the middle/end because I'm evil and can't let you have a fully happy ending (@ the anon who requested this hopefully this satisfied the masochistic urge hehehe), if I forgot anything it's bc I'm tired while I write this
Word count: 6.3k
series masterlist
“Are you sure you’ve got everything? It’s a long way to go if you leave something behind,” Ben said, peering in on Anthony and Y/n where they sat in their loveseat.
They had packed pretty much everything but their wash bags (which they would need tomorrow morning) and pyjamas (which they would wear tonight), and now they were cuddled up in front of the fire that was roaring in the hearth. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve checked and double checked so if we leave anything behind then we’ll just have to make do.” Her father nodded, smiling at them before ducking back out the room. Everybody else was gathered in the kitchen, making drinks and getting dinner (leftovers and an assortment of deli), which meant that Y/n and Anthony had the living room to themselves. “You alright?” she asked, voice quiet. He hummed in answer, the low sound vibrating in his chest and through her head where it laid on his shoulder.
“I’m more than alright, darling. Looking forward to being home again, though. Not that I haven’t enjoyed the last few days,” he hurried to add. “I just miss sleeping in my own bed.”
“I get that.” There was a momentary lull in the conversation, both of them basking in the warmth of the fire and each other. “Wait. I feel like we should probably… talk about when we get back? And what… what we’re going to do about…” she trailed off, waving her free hand between them.
“No, you’re right. We should… we should definitely talk about that.” Another lull, although this one was slightly more tense. “I mean-” Anthony cut himself off with a huff, and she felt him clench his jaw from where she was nestled underneath it. “If you wanted, you could move out of the attic? Obviously if you’d rather stay rooming with Lucy then that’s fine too, I just-”
“Where would I go if I wasn’t in the attic?” She cut him off when he started to ramble, lifting up her head to frown at him. He flushed a delightful pink that wasn’t too dissimilar from the socks he had on, and opened and closed his mouth a few times before turning even more red and answering.
“In… in my room? It’s a big bed, although not quite as large as the one here, and I’ve got extra pillows if you wanted. But if you would rather stay upstairs then that’s fine too.” He was fidgeting, his leg bouncing and his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Y/n smiled softly.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind, darling.” The blush stayed on his cheeks but his worry eased. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you there.”
“Then… when we get back tomorrow, can I just go straight to bed with you?”
“Absolutely,” he grinned, and she couldn’t help but mirror his smile, pressing a small kiss to his lips.
“Ew, go suck faces somewhere else.” Y/n rolled her eyes at Will’s teasing tone, flipping her middle finger up at him and putting it away swiftly when Tom walked in, already snacking on the food on his plate. She hadn’t heard Will come in, which was quite the feat given how loudly he was chewing, but he was smiling behind his comments as he settled into an armchair. He was ecstatic that he could openly tease his younger sister now (much to her chagrin) and had wasted no time in doing so. “Bet you two are glad you’re going home?”
“Yeah. It’ll be nice to be back in London, I think,” she replied, shifting around in Anthony’s lap to face the room a little more. “And I miss the others. I did call George the other day after we booked our train tickets, just to let him know what was happening and when we’d be back, but the reception is so bad up here that contacting any of the others has been tricky.” Lucy had been somewhere near them visiting Norrie, but her signal had been awful too. Y/n hadn’t seen the point in calling when mostly it was just static.
“I didn’t realise you’d called George,” Anthony said.
“Oh, yeah. I knew he’d be at Portland Row so I figured I should let him know why we weren’t there. He said he wasn’t gonna spend the entire holiday with his family because of the whole ‘your siblings are engineers, so why aren’t you’ thing that always happens.” George had been the first friend that Y/n had opened up to, despite sharing a room with Lucy. They had been researching for a case together in the Archives late into the night, early on after Y/n had first joined the agency, and something about the calm atmosphere and rustle of the papers had meant that when George asked about her backstory in a tea break she had spilled it all. Lucy had been next, also late at night while the boys were on their own case, and Holly not too long after. But George had been the first, and the two of them had been close ever since. He’d opened up to her about his own family, and they’d found they had more in common than they had originally thought.
“Well, it’s a good job you called. I imagine he would have been quite worried about us.”
“Us? No, George was definitely only worried about me. He didn’t once ask about you.”
“Rude.”
“I’m just telling the truth, it’s not my fault your ego can’t handle it,” Y/n teased. Anthony scoffed, fighting the smile that was breaking through.
“Sure, Schmoopie.” Her responding glare would have been enough to make even Barnes shrink back, but Anthony could see that it lacked any heat when directed at him.
He did yelp when she jabbed him in the side though, and her grin turned devilish.
~~~
The next morning, Anthony was awake before Y/n was.
At some point in the night she had obviously grown cold, as the duvet was bunched up more on her side than it was his, leaving most of his body out in the not-so-warm air of the bedroom. He didn’t mind, though. Not if it meant that she was happy.
He didn’t often get the chance to admire her in the morning, not without her knowing he was doing it (not in a creepy way, it just meant that he often got caught and she often made fun of him), so he took his time now.
He didn’t think he would ever get over how gorgeous she was.
There was barely any light in the room, but from what little he could see she looked like an angel, especially in the t-shirt of his that she kept stealing. He didn’t mind that either, mostly because somehow she made it look so much better than he ever could. Anthony wasn’t a fool (although given his behaviour over the past few years there was definitely a strong argument against him), and he was well aware that Y/n knew the effect her wearing his clothes had on him. He’d had to excuse the two of them the other day when she’d come downstairs for breakfast wearing his grey hoodie and her pyjama shorts, and when they reemerged from their room nobody commented on the flushed faces or the messy hair of either of them (Y/n had stayed in the hoodie, too). She’d teased him mercilessly since finding out, and now he finally had an opportunity to gaze lovingly at her without her poking fun at him.
“Morning.” Damn, he must have cursed himself and made her wake up.
“Good morning, darling.” He smiled at her, wedging his arm under his head while he watched her wipe the sleep from her eyes and turn to face him. “Did you sleep alright?”
“Yeah. Like a log. You been awake long?” She reached out for his hand where it rested on the pillow between them, and he gladly let her thread her fingers through his.
“Not really. Any good dreams?” There was a pause where she flushed, and Anthony’s curiosity only grew when she shook her head.
“Not… not that I can think of.” She was avoiding his eyes, which meant she was lying. He smiled, huffing a laugh before shifting his weight.
“Are you sure, darling?”
“Prick.” He laughed properly at that and propped himself up on an elbow. Y/n had covered her face with her hands to hide the rapidly growing flush, and she was shrinking further into the mattress with every passing second. “It wasn’t even- we were just, like… in a field.”
“What?”
“We were just having a picnic in a field. It was sweet.” She still hadn’t moved her hands so Anthony had to strain a little to hear what she was saying, but the amusement was very present in his voice when he next spoke.
“So why are you acting like we were doing something else?” There was another pause, and he raised his eyebrows. “Were we doing something else?”
“It might… have ended up that way…”
“I see,” he said, moving again to prevent the arm under his head from falling asleep. Instead of lying back down, however, he pushed himself further up, placing one hand beside Y/n’s head and the other at her waist, slotting a leg between her thighs. He felt her shiver in response, and he gently pried her hands away from her face, lacing his fingers through hers and holding their joined hands in position on the other side of her head.
“Anthony,” she whispered, lifting her hips a little and brushing her nose against his.
“Yes?” He could feel her breath on his mouth, could feel it hitch when he let go of her hand to trail his own down her arm slowly, then tracing a path down the side of her body to her thigh. She didn’t answer him, instead reaching up to grab the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in the hair there (god, he loved it when she did that) and kissing him in a way that reminded him of honey. It was long and slow, both taking their time to bask in each other, although if she kept tugging lightly at his hair in the way that she was then he might have to speed the pace up a little. It was ridiculous, the power she held over him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. If she was an angel, then he would gladly fall into hell a million times over for this little piece of paradise he was experiencing right now.
He wasn’t sure how long they were there for, kissing, laughing softly when the t-shirt got stuck around her head, tangling limbs but never taking it further than a few bold touches just in case someone walked in with the morning tea, but it felt like barely a few seconds and eternity at the same time.
When Ben did eventually knock on the door, Anthony went to answer, collecting the teas with a smile and a thank you before kicking the door closed. He smiled down at Y/n where she lay in bed, eyes closed to the light of the lamp that had just been flicked on, and planted a lingering kiss on her forehead. The action had her smiling immediately, and Anthony felt his heart jump in his chest.
They spent most of the next hour lazing in bed, trading more kisses and soft touches before their stomachs started complaining and they were forced to get up and have breakfast.
A million times, Anthony mused as he watched Y/n get stuck in her (his) jumper. A million times and more, and he had definitely fallen for her already.
~~~
“Alright, you’re absolutely sure you have everything?”
“Yes, Mum, just like I was the previous six times you asked.”
“I just want to be sure! Who knows when we’ll next see you!” The statement hung in the air for a few seconds, the words sinking in and nestling into everybody’s minds.
“Soon,” Y/n said, her tone decisive. “As long as Steph and Linda aren’t there.”
“I think I can live with that,” her mother grinned. Anthony and her father had been pulling their bags out of the car and were just now rejoining the gathered family members. Her parents were here, as was Will, but everybody else had stayed behind. They had said their goodbyes back at the house, with promises of phone calls for Nana Jean and Gramps and games of whatever Tom liked the most when she next saw him. Olivia had pretended to be indifferent about her sister leaving, but had squeezed just that little bit tighter when Y/n had said that she really needed to go. Y/n had pretended not to notice the slight shine to Olivia’s eyes, opting to ruffle her hair and laugh instead. Sam and John had wrapped her in hugs so tight she thought she might pass out before even stepping foot outside the house, and had left one last remark of ‘if you hurt her, we’ll kill you’ with Anthony before waving them off cheerfully as though they hadn’t just threatened murder.
“Right then, Squeak. How long ’till your train?” Will asked, placing an arm over her shoulders and drawing her into his side.
“About thirty minutes?”
“Why do you always get here so early? You could have had another cup of tea!”
“Uh, no, we couldn’t. Have you got any idea how much can go wrong with trains?!” Will just laughed at her, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You’re ridiculous, Squeak.”
“You love me anyway though.”
Their parents stepped over then, having finished talking to Anthony about… whatever they had been talking about (she had been too busy with her conversation with Will to hear), and wrapped her in a teary hug. “You promise you’ll come back sometime next year?” her mother choked out, pulling back and holding her daughter by the shoulders.
“Promise, Mum.” Her father hugged her then, letting Will comfort Emma.
“I love you, Y/n. You’ll call us too, won’t you?”
“Of course,” she replied, huffing a laugh. “I already said I would about a hundred times.”
“We’re just making sure! Right. Off you two go, then, or you’ll miss your train.”
“Ben, they’ve got half an hour.”
“I know that, Emma, but what if something goes wrong?”
“Dad, please don’t jinx it. I’ll let you know when we’re back, alright?” She moved away, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and frowning when she felt Anthony’s hand already there. “I can take my own luggage, Ant.”
He shrugged. “I know. But I’ve got two hands and you have the tickets.”
“Your logic doesn’t make much sense; I also have two hands. And anyway, you could have your bag and your ticket, and I could have mine!”
“Just- just let me take your luggage, darling.” How could she say no when he was looking at her like that? She relented her grasp on the handle, casting him a mock glare before turning to look at her family one last time.
“Have a safe journey, you two,” her mother said with a smile.
“Yeah, get back home safe,” Y/n responded, starting to move towards the station entrance. She could hear Anthony behind her, the suitcase wheels dragging on the concrete while his repurposed kit bag bounced against his side.
“You alright?” he asked once they were on the train, bags safely stowed.
“Yeah. Looking forward to being home again.” It was funny, really. The last time she had been on a train she would have scowled at herself for calling Anthony Lockwood’s house her home, but now here she was, doing it without a second thought.
“What are we going to tell the others?”
“Well… it’ll be late when we get back, right? I mean it’s already three o’clock now and it’s getting darker, so maybe by the time we get in they’ll be in bed? Or on a case if they managed to get a client. We could just do what you said and see how long it takes them?”
“I think you coming out of my bedroom in the morning would be a pretty big hint, darling. But I do love a game,” he grinned, already thinking about their friends’ reactions. “How do we think they’re going to respond?”
“Not a clue. George will probably say ‘I told you so’ or something.”
“Was… was that meant to be an impression of George?”
“Yeah?”
“Darling, no offence, but I think you might be worse than me.”
“Arsehole.”
~~~
It was dark when they got back, although that wasn’t a surprise given it was the middle of winter.
Anthony had unloaded the bags from the taxi, smiling and thanking the driver with both words and payment, and had turned around to see Y/n stood on the pavement. She looked exhausted, rubbing her eyes and yawning while she waited for him to finish up. The gate stood locked, and 35 Portland Row seemed empty, the windows as dark and grey as the sky.
Weird, he thought. Maybe they’re out on a case.
He shouldered his bag and pulled up the handle on Y/n’s suitcase just as the last of the noise from the taxi leaving died off and the road went quiet. Then he heard a scream that was so piercing he dropped the luggage and clapped his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as though it would save his hearing. A ghost? Only Visitors could make a sound that fear-inducing, and if the chill that crept along his spine was anything to go by he would need some sort of weapon. Maybe their best bet was to get inside the house, so he reached for his keys and tried to block out the screaming.
His keys.
Shit, where were his keys? He looked up to see if Y/n was alright, if she had maybe had the wise idea to remove herself from possible danger before he did, and his heart stopped in his chest.
The gate was still closed, and 35 Portland Row still empty and cold. Somehow it felt a whole lot darker than it had just a few moments ago, and Anthony belatedly realised that it might have something to do with the rapidly spreading blue tinge on Y/n’s arm. He couldn’t see any Visitors nearby, or any death glows that might have been stepped on by either one of them to provoke an attack, but all of that had happened so fast that he didn’t have time to process any of it. “Darling? Darling look at me.” He couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice when he spoke, memories of another time a girl he had loved died in much the same way, and he refused to let that happen again. “Let’s get you inside, yeah? There’s some adrenaline shots in the hallway, I just need you to stand up for me, darling. Y/n, please. Please, just stand up.” Why was she so heavy? Why was he so heavy? Was this what dying felt like?
“Anthony?”
Why did her voice sound so far away? No. He couldn’t let this happen. He tried to lift her again, but somehow she was even heavier than before. Maybe he was tired, or too weak.
“Anthony, what’s going on?” Her face was blurring and he realised that it was because he was crying, but his hands were too weighted to lift and wipe the tears away.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I don’t know, darling. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’ll be okay.”
“Anthony!”
That had been louder, as though she were talking right into his ear, and he gasped for air and sat bolt upright.
“Anthony, are you okay? You looked-”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes blinking back the harsh light that threatened to turn him blind.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I can’t… I can’t help you,” his breath was coming faster now, and vaguely he noted that there was someone nearby offering him water. His gaze was solely fixed on Y/n, though, and-
Wait. Hadn’t she been on the floor? Now she was on his left where before she had been on his right and in his arms, and her arms were the colour they always were, no blue tinge in sight. “Anthony, what were you dreaming about?”
He stared at her, partly in realisation that none of it had been real, but mostly in disbelief that she wasn’t dying in his arms in front of their home. “What?” The train carriage came back into focus, checkered seats and wooden table forming solid shapes in his line of vision. The view out the windows was barely visible from how dark it was.
“You were asleep, and then you started… I don’t know. Twitching, I guess? And you were talking but I couldn’t make it out but you sounded really sad, and-” He cut her off by launching himself at her, wrapping his arms around her torso and burying his face in her neck and holding his breath. “Ant?” She paused, slowly bringing her own arms around him and shifting position so that she was more comfortable. “Are… are you breathing right now? I’m gonna need you to breathe for me, Ant, can you do that?”
He did, and immediately choked on a sob. It hadn’t been real, and she was alive. They sat there for a long time while he cried, and then even longer after his tears had subsided and he was just sniffling into her neck. He didn’t know whereabouts they had been when he first woke up, but Y/n finally moved him off of her the station before theirs. “Sorry, just need to shake my arm out. You’re heavier than you look, you know.” They both sat up, and Anthony went to take a tissue out of his coat pocket. “Here,” Y/n whispered, reaching up to wipe his face with her sleeve. Her hands were gentle, barely-there touches on his cheek, but Anthony needed more. He pushed her hand to his face, focusing on the pressure and the warmth of her skin, and the callouses that had built up from being an agent all these years. A few seconds later he felt her forehead against his, and her breath on his mouth (her breath was warm too), and her other hand slipping into his hair, holding him as close as possible. “You’re okay. It’s okay. We’ll be back soon, alright? I think it’s only about ten minutes until we get to our station and then we can call a taxi and go home.”
“Okay.” Whoever it was that had been offering water earlier had left the bottle on the table, and he reached for it now, twisting the cap and downing the liquid. “We’ll be careful once we get out though, right? Because it’s dark and there could be Visitors, and we don’t have our rapiers, and-”
“Anthony, we will be absolutely fine.” Her tone was firm and she pulled his chin up to stare directly in his eyes. “The taxi will drop us off right outside, and if you like I’ll take the keys and get the kettle on. Or you can do that and I’ll get the bags, or we can get our own bags and go up together. Whichever you feel most comfortable with, yeah?” When he nodded she sighed, letting go of his chin and holding his hand instead. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m here, alright?”
“I know. Thank you.”
He didn’t let go of her hand until they were safely back in 35 Portland Row, front door shut and locked and bags in his room ready to be unpacked in the morning.
~~~
Lucy Carlyle had had the best sleep of her life.
She’d come back from seeing Norrie the day before, the freak snowstorm keeping her from getting back sooner, and the journey had been so horrific she’d passed out the moment she got into bed. Screaming children and drunk men had populated the carriage, creating so much noise that she hadn’t been able to go to sleep on the train, and she was starting to look like Lockwood with the bags under her eyes.
Now it was nearly midday, and she had managed to crawl out of bed, sling on some clothes, and stumble down the stairs to put the kettle on for some tea.
Given how late Lockwood and Y/n must have got back last night (it had been after her, and the clock in the hall had shown a time that was both far too late and far too early for her liking), she had been expecting them, as well as George, to be in bed. But then again Y/n hadn’t been in the attic with her when she’d woken up just now (although her vision had been rather blurry, so she totally could have missed a whole human being in the room), so maybe she was already downstairs?
What she hadn’t expected was walking in to the kitchen to see both Y/n and Lockwood having a normal conversation (well, as normal as conversations in this house could go, she was quite sure they were discussing frogs), in which neither of them was glaring or looking like they would commit a felony at any given moment. Lockwood was leaning back against the kitchen sink (looking very snug in his grey hoodie and comfy trousers), mug of tea in one hand while the other braced his weight on the counter, and he was chatting happily to Y/n (who was wearing what looked suspiciously like one of Lockwood’s jumpers). She was sat at the kitchen table, cupping her tea with both hands, and the smile on her face, Lucy realised with a start, was genuine.
“… Morning?” She started, pushing the kitchen door open and moving further into the room, eyeing her friends.
“Morning, Luce,” Lockwood replied, taking a large gulp of his tea. He didn’t seem fazed by the incredibly strange situation that was happening right now (was this some sort of a fever dream? Maybe she was hallucinating from sleep deprivation or something), and Lucy nearly poured the still-hot water on her hand instead of in the mug. “Sleep alright?”
“Uh… yeah. What time did you two get back last night?”
“Oh, I don’t even know,” Y/n started. “Definitely past two in the morning, but we were so tired we didn’t really look at the time.”
“Right.” There was a pause while Lucy finished making her tea, and as she took an experimental first sip she regarded them over the top of her drink. “So… Y/n. Did you just collapse on the sofa downstairs or something? I didn’t hear you come in last night.” The other girl froze for a moment, and if Lucy wasn’t a trained operative then she probably wouldn’t have noticed it since her panic was almost instantly replaced by forced calm.
“Oh, uh…” she glanced at Lockwood, who made some sort of face in reply. “… no?”
“Huh, you must have been quiet, then. That or I was sleeping like a rock.”
“Sure,” Y/n said, a weird look on her face. She was smiling, but almost like she knew something that Lucy didn’t, and that puzzled her. A chuckle sounded from the corner of the room, and under a blue and white striped tea towel, Skull had woken up.
“You’re really going to take that for an answer? She didn’t even pick one!” Lucy frowned, begrudgingly realising that Skull was right. Y/n hadn’t really answered her question, and what had happened at her parents’ house the last couple of weeks for her to stop trying to kill Lockwood by glaring at him?
As nonchalantly as possible she asked “So you were quiet? Or was I sleeping like a rock?”
“Um… I was quiet?” She didn’t sound very sure, and Lucy’s suspicion was growing at the same rate that Skull’s grin was.
“I know for a fact she didn’t make it all the way up the stairs last night,” he said, some of the sludge in the jar forming comically large eyebrows that waggled around. Now that was interesting. Why would Y/n say she’d been quiet coming in if she had never come in in the first place? Lucy was just about to ask that very question when George trudged into the kitchen, oversized shirt thankfully covering what his lack of trousers didn’t. He pushed his glasses up his nose and squinting at the people gathered.
“… What’s going on? Y/n’s not trying to murder Lockwood.”
“Why is that a thing?! I’m not always trying to kill him!”
“In fairness, it was a regular occurrence, dar-” Lockwood’s mouth snapped shut, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. Lucy saw his jaw clench, unclench, then clench again while he flitted his eyes closed in some sort of silent prayer.
“Yeah…” George said. “This is weird.” He stood at the head of the table, lifting a hand to scratch at his side like a monkey. “Dare I ask how your Christmas was?”
“I mean… Steph and Linda were there, but after I slapped Steph and Mum shouted at Linda they left.” Lucy stood straighter in shock, pushing off the counter she had previously been leaning on. George was similarly surprised, but Lockwood? Lockwood was grinning with pride.
“You slapped your cousin?!” George exclaimed, a smile growing on his face. “Like, you properly hit her?!”
“I mean… yeah?” Y/n replied, taking a sip of tea.
“It was awesome,” Lockwood added, and Lucy and George shared a look.
“You think he would have said that before?” Skull piped up again. “I certainly don’t. Something happened while they were away, that’s for sure. And I know what it was!” He said the last part in a sing-song voice, face turning over in the jar.
“Yeah, well you could just tell me,” Lucy muttered, drawing everyone’s attention. “Sorry. Skull’s talking.”
“Where’s the fun in that! Better to watch you figure it all out on your own!”
“Bastard.”
George had started making his own tea, popping two slices of bread into the toaster and giving it a good whack when it didn’t immediately start working. Satisfied that his breakfast was underway, he busied himself with his drink. “So Y/n… how come your suitcase was in Lockwood’s room?” he questioned, turning and pushing his glasses further up his nose. Lucy tried to disguise her shock, but that resulted in a small smirk instead, her eyebrows rising while she regarded her friends.
Lockwood answered. “She didn’t want to lug it all the way up the stairs, not with the time being what it was. It just… hasn’t been moved yet.” Y/n nodded, a little too enthusiastically, and cast a worried glance towards Skull.
“So Y/n and her suitcase slept in Lockwood’s room?” George asked, still probing for answers. He had a little smile on his face, one of those ‘I figured it out’ ones that when she had first joined the agency, Lucy had mistaken for ‘I’m better than you’ smirks. She wasn’t far behind him, and if she hadn’t already figured it out then the reactions of Y/n and Lockwood were enough to confirm her suspicions.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Y/n said, sipping her tea. There was a brief pause in which Lockwood nodded, smiling softly at her, and then it set in. Lockwood looked like he had malfunctioned, the cogs in his brain turning but not producing any kind of reaction other than a blank stare with confused eyes. Y/n choked on her mouthful of tea, spitting some of it back out into the mug and resting it on the kitchen table while she coughed. Immediately Lockwood’s brain started functioning properly again, and he quickly put his own tea down and went to help Y/n, fussing over her like a worried parent.
Skull was chuckling in the corner again, and Lucy couldn’t help but join in. George laughed too, his mirth only growing when Lockwood and Y/n turned and glared at him. “Alright,” Lucy started. “Why was Y/n sleeping with Lockwood?”
“I wasn’t sleeping with him!” the other girl spluttered, apparently thinking that Lucy had suggested that the pair of them had had sex, and George was now nearly doubled over with laughter. Lockwood smirked, and before Lucy could protest he was already opening his mouth.
“I mean not last night, but there were plenty of times at your parents’ house where we-”
“OH MY DAYS NO, STOP-” Y/n got up, all but tackling Lockwood to the ground and slapping her hand over his mouth to prevent him from finishing his sentence. Lockwood went down like a sack of potatoes, and the ‘oof’ he let out on impact had made Lucy snort into her mug. “They don’t need to know that, idiot,” she whispered, but since sound echoed in the kitchen Lucy and George could still hear her, even after the toaster popped loudly.
“How long have you two… been like this?” Lucy asked, waving her hand in their direction where they now laid on the floor. Lockwood tried to talk but Y/n’s hand was still firmly keeping his mouth shut, and while he was attempting to prise himself out of her grip she was apparently too strong. Lucy didn’t want to think about how much his jaw would hurt afterwards; she had had pillow fights with Y/n that had ended with trips to the medical cabinet because the pair of them got too ambitious with their hits.
Y/n answered, still attempting to maintain some dignity. “On the floor? A few seconds-”
“Let me rephrase,” Lucy cut her off, putting her finished mug of tea down on the counter with a decisive thud. “How long have you two been together?” Y/n stilled, giving Lockwood time to wriggle out of her grasp and glance awkwardly between his gathered colleagues. He pushed himself to sit back against the kitchen cabinets, one arm resting outstretched on his knee while the other scratched at his neck. He was nervous, then. He looked like he wanted to answer, but he was still shifting his gaze between them all.
“Uh…” Y/n started. There was a pause, and then she sighed. “Dammit.” She fished around in her pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled five pound note. Lucy frowned for a moment, wondering what the hell a fiver had to do with this situation, then huffed in surprise when it was passed very begrudgingly to Lockwood. He looked very pleased with himself, accepting the money without moving much, hand outstretched to catch the note between his index and middle fingers.
“What was that for?” George asked, although he’d just taken a mouthful of his toast so it came out more muffled.
“Lockwood said we wouldn’t last a day keeping it secret from you both, and I bet that we could.” Y/n shrugged, shuffling around on the floor to sit between Lockwood’s legs. He didn’t get the message at first, too busy stuffing the money into his hoodie pocket, but after a sharp jab to his thigh he moved, wrapping his arms around her waist and complaining when Y/n shoved her elbows into his middle.
“I swear you do that deliberately,” he muttered, but there wasn’t any malice behind it like there would have been before the holidays.
“I don’t! If you keep complaining about it then I will do it on purpose, dickhead.”
That was better. Lucy shuddered at the thought of the two of them being overly sickly sweet, all cuddles and pet names like ‘Sugar’ or ‘Schmoopie’, and was instantly glad that the competitive streak in them both had apparently stayed. It would be a lot easier to stomach living with a new couple if they weren’t being insufferably cute.
“So… you bet on your own acting skills?” questioned George, finishing his slice of toast. “Seems a bit stupid, really. You’re both awful at acting.” Lockwood and Y/n stopped bickering, instead staring up at George in shared outrage.
“How dare you! I’m a charades champion!”
“I can act, it’s Lockwood that’s the problem!”
They spoke at the same time, both pointing at Lockwood for their respective comments, and Y/n took a moment to take in what he’d said. “Charades champion?” she said, drawing out the syllables and turning slowly to look at him over her shoulder. “We already talked about this, Ant. Using props is cheating, so you lost every game you played!” Lucy frowned. ‘Ant’? Since when had Lockwood let anybody call him Ant?! Apparently he didn’t mind, instead being too busy looking at Y/n with hearts for eyes while he tried (ineffectively) to argue his case. It was obvious that Y/n would win, given how wrapped around her little finger Lockwood was, but the argument wasn’t really an argument. More like… friendly teasing. Lucy could deal with that, she decided. It was much better than having to comfort one of them or convince apologies out of them after a screaming match.
Skull had gone silent in the corner, but there was a smile in the sludge. He almost certainly had some information, but Lucy could get the details out of him and her friends later.
For now, she was content to watch them be a proper family for the first time since Y/n joined, even if Lockwood’s laughing face was being shoved away from the aforementioned girl as he tried to kiss her in an attempt to apologise for cheating at charades.
tag list (if you're on here twice or I forgot you I'm so sorry, this tag list is honestly such a mess whoops):
@strawberryloveyyy, @chameleon021, @genderfluid-anime-goth, @cottagecore-babe, @anthonylockwoodandco111, @a-taken-url, @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @aysha4life, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @rhysand-devorak, @a-candle-maker, @h0lyheck, @apple-bottom-jeans6, @icantwaittoliveandlearn
@neewtmas, @bobbys-not-that-small, @avdiobliss, @demigoddess-of-ghosts, @maraschinomerry, @lewkwoodnco, @uku-lelevillain, @oblivious-idiot
#lockwood and co#lockwood & co#anthony lockwood#anthony lockwood x reader#lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood x you#deck the halls (and not your partner)#enemies to lovers#fake dating#christmas
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Thank you for posting videos, pictures, and the Tribeca panel commentary on twitter. It is much appreciated. 🙏🏻
[ Anonymous #2 asked ]: Sarah, would you mind writing a S701 review since you were at the premiere last night? Don't mind spoilers and you can warn others if they don't want to read. Loved it when you did it before. Thanks!
Hello Anons! Thanks so much for both your asks! I hope you don't mind me combining both your asks.
You're so welcome, Anon #1! I so glad so many people enjoyed my posts about it! I'm very grateful that I've been able to go to these events for several years now. I know that so many of you don't get that opportunity, so I try to do what I can to bring it to you all even if only virtually. Things are always so much more fun when they're shared, anyway. After all, that's what fandom should be about! 💜
For anyone who missed it, you can check out my Twitter page for my full coverage of 92Y and the Tribeca Festival. But here's some GIF spam from my favorite of the videos I was able to capture this week!
Anon #2, yes of course I'll write up a summary of my thoughts. I know you said you don't mind them, but I will try my very best to not include any spoilers in it as I know it really does ruin it for some. But just in case:
~~~POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR OUTLANDER 7x01 BELOW~~~ ~~~SERIOUSLY, DON’T @ ME THAT I DIDN’T WARN YOU~~~
Outlander 7x01, "A Life Well Lost"
As Caitriona + Sam have mentioned previously in interviews, 7x01 picks up right where 6x08 left off. No time jump or anything, which I was really glad for. The opening scene was SHOCKING and used something that I thought was really clever and really rude all at the same time lol. I can tell you that the audience gasped because of it. I feel this bit was extremely effectively done. Caitriona's micro-expressions really made it for me.
One thing that surprised me — and perhaps it shouldn't simply because Outlander has always been full of this — was that there were so many small moments of humor in this episode, despite the obvious dire situation Claire and Jamie are in (but really, when aren't they lol). There's a new small side character that both Claire and Jamie get to interact with that provides much needed comedic breaks. Even Jamie's menacing looks add to this. Claire especially, I feel, gets to use her biting wit (or just straight up cursing) to add some humor to the tenseness. There's one particularly funny scene that takes place on a boat and involves an interrupting officer that I so loved! The entire audience burst out laughing when we saw it.
While Caitriona + Sam were obviously amazing, I'll say the surprising standout actor in this episode wasn't them. I won't say who, but it's someone we're well acquainted with. There are moments straight out of the book that this actor just fully nails. We're so lucky to have such strong actors filling these side character roles and s/he is just fantastic. Their sincerity and conviction sold me completely.
As book readers can probably guess from the title and from where we are in the timeline, we know basically what will happen in this episode — and they to stick pretty well to it. Even so, it is still so satisfying to get to see it played out on screen. Claire's despair, hope, and heartbreak. Jamie's torment, anger, and determination. The relief of it all. It's all played so, so well across Caitriona + Sam's faces and in their line delivery. Sam said during the Tribeca panel that Jamie is perhaps "more frail" in this episode, and I think that can be said for both of them. Despite them being well versed in separation, I think every subsequent one after their 20 year split wears on them more and more. And they both play that so expertly, making the time that we do see them together just that much sweeter. I don't think it's too spoilery to say that yes, they do share several scenes together this episode so dinna fash!
As for Brianna and R*ger, their scenes are pretty well separate from the Jamie x Claire scenes. I don't really have much to say about them, except that they move certain other storylines that will become more important later on in the season forward. And only just so. While it was important to do so, honestly it felt a bit filler-like. That said, I am actually pretty excited for certain arcs for Brianna and Jemmy later on (while also hoping they don't include that storyline for R*ger... sorry, not sorry) and this brought them maybe half a step closer to it.
Other than the moment on the boat I had mentioned earlier, there are two scenes toward the end which I really loved. One was such a sweet moment straight out of the book with some really great book lines that I had very much wanted to hear. it is Classic™ Jamie x Claire, so you know Caitriona + Sam knocked it out of the park. The second is not a book scene (I believe?? I don't remember it anyway), but was a great one for Sam / Jamie. It's how the episode ends and I told a new friend I had met in the Tribeca line that the final moment of the episode reminded me of Batman's cape swooshing over the camera turning everything black. Lol take from that what you will!
Some other random thoughts:
Jamie x Claire are SO. SOFT. They say separation makes the heart grow fonder? Really, it makes those two grandparents softer AND I LOVE IT.
I LOVED seeing Caitriona + Sam's names appear as Executive Producers! The entire audience was singing along to The Skye Boat song and then burst out cheering when that came up.
I really hope Major MacDonald's wig gets snatched by Adso at some point because F him lol
Overall, I'd say I enjoyed the episode. Some might say it's a bit slow, which I wouldn't disagree with. But knowing that 1) they had to get this part over with the tie up the Season 6 cliffhanger; and 2) this is really going to be a jam packed season of action and emotion, I think I'm okay with that. I've heard it from more than one source that 7x02 is even better than 7x01 so I'm really excited! I'm also really excited to meet our newer cast members, as none of them featured in the premiere episode. The Hunters especially will be so much fun to watch!
Hearing Caitriona + Sam speak about not only this season, but their journey with Outlander overall makes me so grateful that the quality is still there after seven seasons. They're clearly still so passionate about these characters and are determined to do them justice in every way to the very end. And I think that most definitely shows up in their scenes. I'm super curious to see if there's anything noticeably different or better now that they've been promoted to Executive Producers. And of course, to see Caitriona's first foray into directing!! Until then, I'm looking forward to you all seeing the first episode for yourselves 💜
#outlander#outlanderedit#outlander 7x01#sam heughan#caitriona balfe#outlander season 7#season 7 promo#jamie x claire#jamie fraser#claire fraser#my edit#92Y#tribeca#tribeca film festival#outlander premiere#a life well lost
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cw ━━ ! minors, ageless and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. this is a toji-centric fic (exclusively from his pov with third person narration) so it doesn’t truly have a reader, but the “woman” often being mentioned throughout is afab. loosely based on chapter 75 of the manga. contains heavy (ish) angst + and descriptions of angst. contains nsfw and descriptions of explicit scenarios, including penetrative sex (reflecting on it already happening) and masturbation (m. receiving, mentions of dried cum). metaphorical (sort of??) depictions of dark themes (i.e., nonexistent “voices”, bad coping skills, toji’s deep emotional and mental trauma, hints of dissociation, etc.). toji is emotionally stunted n constipated and therefore kinda rude. i’m trying to depict him as realistically as possible. lmk if i missed something ♡.
word count ━━ ! 2.0k
notes ━━ ! i posted this fic last night but i am reposting because it wasn’t showing up in the tags (sobs loudly) so i'm sorry for tagging everyone again. i hope you all enjoy this though. wanted highlight an important aspect of toji's life (after mamaguro's death) in a different way bc a lot of the fandom glosses it over w/ jokes. they can be funny or whatever but what this man has been through is actually sad and must have been difficult. since gege refuses to give more backstory on him, i wanted to try and verbalize a more somber, realistic version of toji and dissect him a bit. hopefully i did well characterizing him in this context. reblogs and commentary are very much appreciated!!!!
TOJI'S RAGGED BREATHS SOON evened out after a few minutes. His strong, scarred chest resumed its normal pattern and pacing of its rises and falls. The tail end of his constrained groans of pleasure and expletives lingered in the air along with the stuffy aroma of sex.
With his head resting against the headboard of this woman's bed━ a woman whose name briefly escaped from his mind━ and his increasingly soft cock resting in his callous palms, Toji's eyes slowly pried themselves open and were motionlessly glued to the white ceiling.
He laid there in that position, unmoving, for at least five minutes. Silence swallowed up the space of the room, except for the distant sound of a shower running directly across the hall.
At present, all Toji had the energy for was to breathe and blink. He didn't even move to immediately rid himself of his own ropes of cum that were beginning to harden in his hand in spots on his inner thighs.
Like a spark of static electricity giving him a miniscule jolt of energy, Toji found it within himself to drag his dark, jade irises over to the bedroom door that was slightly ajar, and stared at it as he listened to the water from the showerhead rain on the woman bathing herself.
The events of the last couple of hours replayed throughout his mind's eye as he blankly stared at the entryway. He thought about how he met the woman at one of the establishments he preferred to gamble his money at and how her sugary smile sweetened his silver tongue. He pondered over how he somehow persuaded her to take him back to her very nice apartment, and how he in return gained a place to lay low and rest for the next week or so, by coaxing her with his words and his well-endowed cock.
A gruff, sardonic chuckle fell from his parted lips when he then started thinking about the intercourse he engaged in with this woman. Despite how good it was, despite how her cunt squeezed and fluttered around him, at the end of it all, he still had to resort to pumping his own length like a touch deprived teenager just to obtain that release that's been building up over the last few hours.
Mentally shaking away the lethargy that plagued every square inch of his brain and body, the former Zen'in lifted his head and directed his vision at his bare lap and the sheets that pooled around his knees. Allowing his head fall forward a bit, his inky black hair acted as curtains to conceal his scarred face━ and the other thoughts that lurked in the shadows of his mind that threatened to reveal themselves on his countenance.
If this is what post-nut clarity truly felt like, Toji would have preferred to remain in the state of blissful ignorance and perpetual 'arousal' forever.
He's never felt so blinded by his reality than he did in this moment.
As he thought over this, dark tendrils of smoke rose and slithered out from his repressed memories, suffocating his consciousness like a python squeezing the life out of its prey. He ignored the sensation and its whispers that told him that that wasn't true. He lent a deaf ear to its reminders that he had always been cognizant.
Toji had always been painfully aware of his feelings and the realities that were constantly handed to him. The reality of the life he ran away from, the reality that crumbled away and died with his wife, and of the fucking pathetic reality that stared at him in the face in the form of his dried seed and some stranger's bed. Deep down he unfortunately remembered and was aware of everything. He only became increasingly more conscious, as the months and years toiled by, that he didn't want to be. It was less of a pain that way.
But goddamn it, sometimes his mind was too sharp for its own good, his thoughts strayed too far that it would pierce his very heart and soul.
Toji's vacant gaze was no longer trained on his hands, but more like past them━ into the metaphysical void of space itself, and he was dragged deeper into thoughts he didn't like to revisit or linger on. Everything around him seemed to become muffled and faded into nonexistence.
Toji had previously believed that he didn't care how he lived anymore, as long as he got paid what he was owed and someone didn't try to assassinate him as he slept, then everything else was fine. He believed that going through life like this was no big deal, that this ephemeral living situation didn't bother him. He again ignored the tendrils that reminded him that it did.
A grimace of contempt formed on his face when he subconsciously compared his current behavior of jumping from woman to woman to that of some kind of male prostitute. It shouldn't have bothered him, really━ wasn't like he put a gun to any of their heads or something. It was their problem if they wanted to spread their legs for him, and he enjoyed sex, relatively free meals and some extra spending cash here and there. None of that was supposed to tug uncomfortably at his soul but it did.
And it made sense that it did, when memories of his late wife still flashed in his mind from time to time━ like at this very moment, for example. She appeared whenever his eyes fluttered shut for too long or when he was pulled so far underneath the surface of his own thoughts. Strangely enough, this wasn't exclusive to after having sex with another woman or mindless masturbating.
He was supposed to have gotten rid of that stupid self-respect, this dignity and its adjacent shame, that still lingered in the back of his chest.
He promised himself that he wouldn't live by such standards of pride anymore. He hasn't for a long time, and has been doing well but. . . . but why did the specters of doubt still haunt him so? Hasn't he suffered enough? Those remnants and emotions of an existence that slipped through the cracks and fell into the abyss, shouldn't be able to reach him all the way up here.
But they did.
Toji wasn't as foreign to doubt, to shame, to pride & to self-respect as he thought he was. He'd just been fooling himself. He had always been very persuasive.
None of those things had ever done him any good anyway. All they did was remind him that he was still human.
A useless sentiment. One that no longer mattered.
He shifted his head to the right, gaze hooded before he briefly closed his eyes━ as if he were trying to avert his attention away from something disturbing━ in a feeble attempt to extinguish the wispy embers of his thoughts and ignore its voice.
But Toji’s soul would always smolder with rejection, a characteristic of his that was so deeply ingrained into the fabric of his existence, it wouldn't dissipate no matter how much he wanted it to. His acceptance or refusal of this notion would always be apart of him━ it would always define who he was, whether he welcomed it or not.
But he didn’t care. Caring would make him feel, and reflect and remember too much, and he wasn't really itching to do any of those things anymore.
He only opened his eyes again by a few centimeters, his long dark lashes nearly obscuring his vision completely. His broad shoulders faintly slumped forward, and the fist he didn’t know was clenched into a fist relaxed itself. Like everything else, he ignored the dull ache his short finger nails caused, creating crescent shaped marks on his hand.
The large man hadn't realized the woman was finished with her shower until his ears picked up the sound of her feet on the hardwood floor. The padding noise that steadily increased in volume was enough to break Toji free of his torpid stupor, allowing him to swing his legs over the bed and finally stand up.
Stretching out his limbs and rolling his shoulders, his muscles flexed and shifted across the wide planes of his marred but statuesque body.
As he began looking around for his shirt and boxers, his phone vibrated on the bedside table. Toji picked up and answered without even bothering to check who it was, because there were only two people that had this particular number. And one of those people had an unfortunate "accident” during a previous job.
“What is it?” he answered, slightly startling himself with his own voice; it didn’t quite sound like it came from his mouth. It seemed a little raspier, rougher around the edges, and deeper than usual, like he hasn't spoken in long time.
“Now is that any way to greet the person who so generously hands you on a silver platter?” Shiu Kong’s equally deep but honey-smooth voice reverberated in Toji’s ear.
Toji’s eye roll was practically audible as Shiu chuckled mirthfully on the other line, already imagining the look on his client’s face.
Without having to turn around, he sensed the presence of the woman he was currently “staying” with enter the room. He couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge her wrapping her arms around him from behind and kissing his upper back before floating off to her vanity and closet, which sat on the other side of the room closer to the door.
Still, even though he wasn’t next to her, Toji knew he couldn’t speak as freely as he would of liked now, which irritated him.
“Do you have something for me or not?”
“I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t.”
After listening to what Shiu had to say, and agreeing to confirm the meeting spot via text, the phone call between them ended as swiftly as it started. Toji sighed.
Another job.
Another chance to earn money.
And although he didn’t wholly or immediately admit it to himself, it was his new distraction, and another chance to reject the wretched society that birthed him.
Toji had unknowingly zoned out trying not to think too hard about this, before the woman’s voice regained his attention by cutting through the air like a knife on a chopping board.
“Did you hear me? I was just asking who that was? . . . . Are you okay?”
The raven haired man remained still for a moment before directing his stare at the woman. He was nearly staring down his nose at her, confusion, concern and light curiosity laced in her own eyes.
The silence carried on for what felt like ages, Toji’s mostly unreadable but still intimidating expression scalded the space in between them.
But, as if his thoughts and whatever emotions it mirrored were never there to begin with, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, and the scar that stretched across his lips curved with them in tandem. His smirk looked disarming— maybe even harmless, but something about it felt cold and wolfish, as if it weren’t genuine.
“I’m really sorry if this comes as a bit of a shock and disappointment to you, but if I'm not mistaken, I believe the phone call came through my phone. Not yours, and not ours. Thanks for the concern though, sweetheart.”
As he headed towards the door, still bare as the day he was born, Toji didn’t miss the opportunity to glide a heavy hand across the woman’s delicate shoulder blades, his grin widening by a fraction when she tried and failed to suppress a shudder.
“Oh, and um I made a little bit of a mess on the sheets after you left so, you might wanna clean that up. Probably already dried up by now. Sorry 'bout that,” his voice dipped low, utterly tantalizing as he whispered against the woman’s earlobe. The man didn’t even stick around to see her reaction, as he was already out the door and making his way to the bathroom for his own shower.
When the water warmed up to his liking, he didn’t waste any time stepping in and letting the droplets cascade down his body and relax his muscles.
Running his left hand through his hair to push it out of his face, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. Toji was able to silence and cool down the smoldering coal that burned at the bottom of his soul, the opaque tendrils retracting back to whence it came.
Just . . . . nearly.
(#) @triangularz @stygianoir @valentineluvu @ramonathinks @valentineluvu @ryukenzz @gabzlovesu @luxesiren @honeybleed @blkjupiters @souyaszn @sxphyroth . let me know if you wanna join my tag list ♡. again i apologize for tagging folks twice, this is a repost of the original 💔
#໒꒱ newborn stand ─ sosa’s filez#praying this shows up in the tags this time#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#toji fushiguro#shiu kong#toji zenin#toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji x you#toji x fem reader#toji fushiguro fanfic#toji fushiguro x you
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Prompt idea: Danny is stuck in ghost mode while at school. (Is he dressed up as Fenton? Is this during a post-reveal? Crack where the bomb is dropped on the last day? Crack commentary on the obliviousness of the townsfolk? A rumor of Phantom secretly attending classes turns into something more serious for Danny to grapple with?) If it interests you, go wild c:
I have no excuse for how long these prompts take me...
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"Jazz. Jazz! Wake up."
"Mmmm, what?" Jazz groggily lifted her head off of her pillow, her hair neatly fashioned into two braids. "What time is it?"
"It's one in the morning," whispered Danny. "We need your help."
The room was dark except for Danny's ghostly glow, illuminating Sam and Tucker beside him. Jazz bolted into a sitting position.
"Did something happen?" she asked in alarm. "Danny, are you okay?"
"I'm okay," said Danny.
"If you can call being stuck in ghost form okay," added Tucker.
"Stuck in ghost form?" echoed Jazz, her brow knitting.
"We were out on patrol and some ghost hit Danny with a ghost ray that's now preventing him from changing back," said Sam.
Jazz gasped. "Is he stuck in ghost form forever?"
"No," said Tucker. "I mean, we don't think so. We're sure it'll wear off, we just don't know when."
"But we don't think it'll be before school tomorrow," said Sam.
"Yeah, and I have a really important English test tomorrow," said Danny, sounding panicked. "Like I have to take it or Lancer says I'll fail the whole semester. I'm sitting on a low C right now, so I can't afford to miss it."
"Danny, have you even been studying for this test?" asked Jazz, narrowing her eyes and sounding cross. "Why did you go out fighting ghosts when you knew you had this big important test to take?"
"Look, can you spare me the lecture?" pleaded Danny. "I need your help."
"What exactly do you think I can do to help?"
"I need you to help disguise my ghost form so I can go to school tomorrow looking human enough to attend all my classes and take the test."
Jazz stared at the three teens in front of her. They all stared back.
"You can't be serious," said Jazz at last.
"Dead serious," said Tucker. "No pun intended." He chortled. "Okay, maybe a little intended."
Jazz sighed and grabbed her phone off her nightstand and opened a note-taking app. "All right, let's start by making a list of everything we need to disguise. Then we'll go through each one at a time. First, the white hair, of course."
"White eyelashes and eyebrows, too," said Sam. "And the glowing green eyes."
"His glow in general," chirped Tucker. "He can light up a whole room sometimes, especially when he's hyper or happy."
"His voice echoes."
"He blushes green."
"Plus his skin has an overall green tinge instead of red."
"Yeah, even his lips are greenish-blue, looking like he's oxygen-deprived."
"And he's like a walking, floating AC. You just instantly feel cold when he's nearby."
"True, he's deathly cold to the touch."
Jazz nodded, tapping each entry into her phone. "Danny? Do you have anything to add?"
Danny flinched and rubbed his neck. "No, I think you've all managed to list out everything that makes me a freak."
"It doesn't make you a freak, Danny," said Sam, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It just makes you unique." She shivered and withdrew her hand, shaking it out. "But damn, you are cold."
Danny rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Sam. I feel much better."
"First, the white hair," said Jazz. "Hats aren't allowed at school, so we need to dye it black."
"No problem," said Sam. "I have plenty of black hair dye at home."
Tucker and Danny quirked their brows.
"Oh, come on," said Sam. "You both already know that my natural hair color is blonde. And even though my mom hates that I dye it, she at least buys me the good stuff so I don't look 'cheap,' as she says."
"That takes care of that, then," said Jazz, writing in some notes. "Okay, next is the eyes."
"I have some blue colored contacts, too," said Sam.
Tucker gasped, pressing a hand over his heart. "Sam, do you mean to tell me your natural eye color isn't purple either?"
"Shut it," hissed Sam.
"But the contacts aren't going to stop his eyes from glowing," said Jazz.
"Yeah, I don't know how we can cover up his glow," said Sam.
"Layers," said Tucker. "Lots of layers. Danny, you're just gonna have to be hot tomorrow."
Danny sighed, not enjoying that idea at all.
"You know, this is the part where you're supposed to say, 'I'm always hot!'" quipped Tucker.
Danny snorted. "Who do you think I am, you?"
"Layers won't work," Sam cut in. "His eyes and face would still glow, and we can't cover his face with a mask."
"Then you're screwed, dude," said Tucker. "Ghosts can't just stop glowing."
"That's not true," said Danny. "I've encountered several ghosts that were able to suppress their glow and pass for humans while in town. Like Johnny and Kitty."
"I guess that's true," said Tucker, nodding.
"But how do they do it?" asked Sam.
"I actually asked Kitty that once," said Danny. "She said the easiest way is to hold back on all emotions, to be completely serious, blank. Empty, as she put it."
"Empty?" Tucker tilted his head.
"Yeah," said Danny. "You said yourself that my glow gets brighter when I'm really happy."
"And it gets dim when you're depressed," said Jazz. "Yes, we've all noticed that."
"So if I just try to stay blank all day tomorrow, I shouldn't glow," said Danny.
"But you're like the moodiest guy we know," said Tucker. "How are you going to pull that off?"
Danny glared at him, his eyes flashing brighter.
"See?" said Tucker, pointing.
"He's right, Danny," said Jazz. "You're a little moody, you know."
"You get kind of pissy pretty easily," added Sam.
"And you get turned on just seeing Paulina in a tight shirt," said Tucker.
"Tucker!" squealed Sam, lightly decking him.
"Hey, you like seeing Paulina in a tight shirt as much as I do," said Danny, his face glowing green with flushing ectoplasm.
"Yeah, but I don't light up like a glowstick," said Tucker.
Danny groaned. "Okay, fine. I guess I just have to stay away from everyone tomorrow. You know, not talk to anyone…at all. Ever."
"Really?" Sam raised a brow. "You're just not going to interact with a single person tomorrow?"
"What choice do I have?" asked Danny. "It's the only way to stop myself from showing emotion that would make me glow."
"It would also solve the problem of your echoey voice," said Jazz. "Honestly, not talking at all probably is your best bet."
"Right," said Danny, nodding. "I just go to school, stay blank and emotionless all day long, take the test, and then come right home. We've already tampered with the school's ghost detection system to not pick up on my ecto-signature, so no one will suspect that I'm secretly a ghost in disguise."
"If we're really going to do this, we need to start now," said Jazz. "Sam and Tucker, go get the hair dye and contacts. Danny, start figuring out how to suppress your emotions."
Sam and Tucker left to retrieve the dye while Danny stayed in Jazz's room and tried to meditate. He sat cross-legged on Jazz's carpet, closing his eyes and just breathing.
But his mind kept wandering. Thinking over Kitty's instructions made him remember how she overshadowed Paulina and made him think the prettiest girl in school actually liked him—that hurt.
And thinking about Dash borderline worshiping Phantom but having no respect for Fenton—that made him angry.
And imagining being stuck in ghost form forever and his parents eventually finding out and taking him down to the lab for torturous experimentation—that frightened him.
Through his closed eyes, he could see his glow pulsating, emanating with his different emotions.
"Here." Jazz lit an unscented candle and placed it in front of him on the floor. "I was doing some research on my phone about clearing your head when meditating, and they suggest focusing on a candle flame."
Danny opened his eyes and tightened his cross-legged position, holding his ankles as he stared at the crimson-edged flame. Bright white and orange sparked and flittered around the wick, melting the wax in a shiny pool underneath.
He followed each movement, each flicker.
Anytime a new thought tried to enter his head, whenever his mind started to wander, he refocused on the flame's dreamy dance.
"Hey!" Jazz squealed. "It's working!"
Danny blinked and looked down at himself. His brow creased when his glow appeared just the same as always.
"Well, it was," insisted Jazz. "I guess maybe I was too excited and that knocked you out of your state of emptiness. But it really does work!"
Danny refocused on the flame, this time with the confidence that this was definitely not a waste of time and he really could stop glowing if he just stopped feeling anything and everything.
His English grade depended on it.
After a few more minutes, Danny was able to clear his mind enough to dim his glow. He was working on closing his eyes and imagining the flame in just his head when Sam and Tucker arrived with the dye and contacts. With just half an hour before sunrise and a lot of teamwork, Danny Phantom was at last all dressed up and disguised as Danny Fenton.
Danny looked at himself in his bedroom mirror after Sam and Tucker returned home to get what little sleep they could before they had to start getting ready for school.
"What are you going to do with that?" asked Jazz, pointing at his black and white jumpsuit draped over his desk chair.
"Oh." Danny grabbed the suit and phased it through his wall, setting it on the nogging that he was using as a makeshift shelf for all of his hidden contraband. "Wow, I've never had to do that before."
Jazz put her hands on her hips as her gaze traveled up and down his body. "Black hair, blue eyes, regular clothes with pants and long sleeves to cover up as much as possible—but you're still glowing."
Danny moaned. "I know. I'm feeling nervous right now."
"Clear your mind. Let me see the full effect."
Danny shut his eyes, conjuring the flame again. His shoulders relaxed, and he opened his eyes, trying his best to remain blank and unfeeling.
Jazz approached him, her lips puckered with scrutiny as she walked around him, studying him from all angles. She then cupped her hands around her eyes and leaned in very close to his face.
"You're still glowing a tiny bit." She stepped back. "But as long as the lights are on and you try really hard to keep your mood even and bland, no one should notice."
Danny nodded, not wanting to even speak and risk losing his focus.
"But there is one last thing that needs to be covered up," said Jazz. "Your complexion. You still look like a ghost with all those green undertones." She brightened. "But some foundation will fix that right up!"
Danny sat in his desk chair while Jazz retrieved a few makeup items, including a bottle of foundation and some makeup brushes and sponges.
"Just don't think about it," said Jazz. "I need you to keep that glow dim so I can do this right."
Danny focused on the flame in his head and sat still while Jazz caked the foundation onto his face, blending out the edges and then setting it with a matte finishing powder. She also swept powder into his eyebrows to darken them.
"Open your eyes," said Jazz, coming toward him with a mascara wand.
"Is mascara really necessary?" asked Danny as Jazz tickled his eyelashes with the wand.
"Well, I considered using fake lashes, but I figured your white lashes would still show up underneath them," said Jazz. "Look up, please."
Danny grumbled but obeyed as Jazz continued applying the mascara.
"Okay, now look at me." Jazz squinted as she studied Danny's face. "Just one last thing."
Jazz picked up three tubes of lipstick and held them up to Danny's face, closing one eye as she examined each against her recent makeup job. Danny groaned and regained his glow.
"Danny, try to stay blank right now," said Jazz. "It's hard for me to choose the right color when you're glowing."
"But Jazz, lipstick, really?"
"Your lips are cold green. We have to somehow convince everyone you're filled with blood and not ectoplasm."
Danny groaned a final time before clearing his head again and subsequently dimming. Jazz selected a color and applied one layer over his lips, then another.
"This is expensive lipstick that is supposed to stay on your lips all day and not transfer," said Jazz, recapping the tube. "But just be careful when you eat or drink."
Danny stood to check his reflection in a mirror. His glow started returning as soon as he saw it.
"I've used makeup to cover bruises, but I never thought I'd wear a whole face of it," moaned Danny. After allowing himself to pout, he forced his glow back down again.
"You look great," said Jazz, coming up behind him. "You look human."
"You sure this is going to fool people?"
"As long as you don't let anyone look too closely, yes. Just keep everyone at a distance and don't engage in conversation or even eye contact." Jazz rubbed his back. "And don't touch anyone either, okay? No handshakes or anything like that. There's no way for us to raise your internal temperature."
"Mom likes to hug and kiss me in the morning."
"Well, then I guess we'll just have to leave for school early before she gets a chance."
Later, when Maddie was about to start cooking breakfast in the kitchen, Jazz invented an excuse for having to get to school early, something about a morning study session in the library before the first bell that of course Maddie believed because Jazz would never lie to her about such a thing. Jazz then ushered Danny past the kitchen, grabbing some toaster pastries that they could eat on the way.
"Bye, you two," said Maddie. "Study hard!"
Danny almost replied but stopped when Jazz shushed him. Right, right, his voice echoed too much in ghost form, he had to try very hard not to speak at all the entire day.
For once, Danny was relieved that he was not popular.
On the way to Casper High, Jazz stopped to pick up Sam and Tucker, who both had very dark circles under their eyes.
"Danny, hey." Sam gave him a groggy smile from the back seat. "You're looking good."
"Yeah," said Tucker with a yawn. "You look human."
Danny nodded but kept a very serious expression. "Thanks."
Tucker leaned forward and studied Danny more closely. "Dude, are you wearing lipstick?"
Danny blushed. "It was Jazz's idea. She insisted—I mean, she said my lips looked too green." Danny looked down at his glowing hands and groaned. "Oh, great. Tucker, I'm trying to keep my emotions in check, you know."
"That's right," said Jazz. "You two can't be cracking any jokes or teasing Danny today, not when he has to focus on staying blank."
"But Danny's always so fun to tease," said Tucker, grabbing and shaking Danny's shoulders from behind.
"That's of course true," said Jazz with a smile, "but he needs you two today." She glanced at Sam and Tucker using her rearview mirror. "You two need to be flanking Danny as much as possible, and if anyone tries to talk to him, you need to speak for him."
Tucker yawned again, more exaggerated this time. "I don't know, I might actually pull a Danny and fall asleep in class today."
Danny scowled. "Hey! I don't fall asleep that often!"
"Danny," said Jazz sternly.
"Right, sorry," mumbled Danny as he reeled his mood back in to turn down his glow again.
"We only got a couple hours of sleep," said Sam with a small slur. "But you two don't look too tired."
"That's because we didn't even try to sleep. Your bodies are feeling sluggish because you probably woke up in the middle of deep sleep," said Jazz. "I'm sure Danny and I will both feel some fatigue later today, but hopefully Danny will get the ability to change back before tomorrow so we don't have to do this again."
"God, I really hope so," moaned Tucker. "Danny's usually such a chatty Cathy, I don't know how we're going to explain why he's suddenly mute today."
Danny scoffed. "I am not a chatty Cathy!"
"Danny!" rebuked Jazz.
"God damn it." Danny gritted his teeth and refocused on the candle flame in his head.
When they arrived at Casper High, Danny stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept his head down as he walked between Sam and Tucker toward the main entrance.
"Is there anyone around that we know?" asked Danny, staring at the ground, watching his shoes with each step.
"Not yet," said Tucker.
"Okay, good," said Danny. "Please let me know if you see Valerie or Paulina headed toward us. I don't know if I can stay blank when I see a pretty girl."
"You've been looking at me just fine," said Sam, scowling.
Danny hunched over and shut his eyes. "Sam, don't make me feel guilty right now, please."
"All right, whatever," muttered Sam. "There are no pretty girls around to get your hormones in a twist, so you can relax."
"Let's just get to our lockers and then go directly to homeroom," said Danny evenly.
At his locker, Danny turned the dial for his combination, not wanting to risk phasing through in case engaging his ghost powers caused him to glow again. Nope, today he had to be as completely human as possible.
"Paulina's walking this way," said Tucker next to him, tilting his chin up to indicate down the hall. Danny closed his eyes and breathed in, focusing on the flame in his mind.
"She's seen us," said Tucker. "She's looking right at you, dude."
"Tucker, don't tell him that!" hissed Sam, smacking Tucker's shoulder with the back of her hand.
"Just tell me when she's walked by," said Danny, gritting his teeth and pretending to organize his books in his locker.
Danny could hear her voice, her laughter. She was getting closer, closer, and then he could hear her right behind him.
And a second later, she was still there. Another second, still there. Why was she taking so long to walk past?
"She's doing that thing you love where she flips her hair over her shoulder," Tucker whispered out of the side of his mouth.
Oh, God, he did love that. Danny ducked his head and threw his hands into his locker to hide the flash of his glow.
"Tucker, seriously, shut up," Sam whispered back.
Paulina's voice was finally starting to move now, drifting, floating away. Danny turned his head and could see her just out of the corner of his eye. She was looking back at him with a very confused pout, and then Star ushered her down the hall.
"She's so irritating," grumbled Sam.
"You survived, dude!" Tucker clapped a hand on Danny's back. "Now let's get you to class quick."
Danny breathed deep, sticking his head in his locker as he tried to keep the image of the flame bright. He exhaled, then pulled his head out and was just about to close his locker when he caught sight of another very pretty girl walking in the hall, a very pretty girl who smiled at him and was heading right for him.
"Shit, shit—" Danny buried his head in his locker again. "Tucker, make her go away, don't let her talk to me."
"Who?" Tucker whirled around. "Oh, Valerie! Hey!"
"Hey, Tucker," said Valerie. "What's Danny doing? Did he lose something in his locker?"
Danny pushed his head into his locker even farther.
"Nah," said Tucker. "He's just got a real bad zit he doesn't want anyone seeing."
Oh, Danny was gonna kill him for that—
Danny pulled his head out and slammed his locker door shut before dashing down the hall.
"Danny?" Valerie called after him. "Danny, everyone gets zits sometimes, it's okay—"
Danny ignored her, had to ignore her, couldn't let her see him glowing—
He breathed, slowed his walk, focused on the candle flame again.
"Danny." Sam came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "You got this, Danny. And don't worry, I'll be sure to kill Tucker for you." She winced, lifting her hand. "You really are cold."
"Let's just get to class," muttered Danny.
"Okay, but be careful," said Sam. "Dash and Paulina are straight ahead."
"Of course they are."
Danny jammed in his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor as he walked quickly down the hall. He could see Dash's sneakers and Paulina's flats come into view.
"Hey, Fenturd!" taunted Dash.
Danny ignored him.
"Danny, hi!" greeted Paulina with her signature lilt.
Danny ignored her harder.
"Oh, my God," laughed Sam, looking over her shoulder. "Paulina looks so confused. I guess she's not used to guys just walking by her."
"She doesn't look mad, does she?" asked Danny anxiously, his glow promptly returning.
"Danny, chill."
"God—shit—"
Danny breathed in, his glow fading.
In homeroom, Danny clasped his hands on his desk and sat up straight, staring at Mrs. Werner's face and nothing and no one else. Breathing, breathing, breathing, staring, breathing some more.
When the bell rang, Mrs. Werner stopped Danny on his way out the door.
"You looked so focused, Danny," said Mrs. Werner. "You looked like you were really paying attention. Usually you look like you're about to fall asleep this early in the morning."
Danny stared at her. In truth, he could not remember a single word from her lecture.
"It's because you're a good teacher," he said flatly.
Mrs. Werner tilted her head. "Your voice sounds strange. Are you feeling okay?"
"Come on, bud, we don't want to be late for our next class," said Tucker, pushing and dragging Danny out of the classroom.
"Danny, your voice echoes in ghost form, remember?" said Sam in a low voice. "You can't talk to anyone."
"But nice try telling Mrs. Werner she's a good teacher," laughed Tucker. "You hoping to flatter your way to better grades?"
"I'm really not hoping for anything right now," said Danny, staring forward with blank expression. "Except to get through this day without anyone finding out I'm a ghost."
Paulina was out in the hall chatting with Star and Dash. She dropped her pen as Danny walked by. Danny barely glanced at the pen and didn't look at Paulina at all as he sped past her.
Right behind him, Tucker picked up the pen and held it out to Paulina with a big smile. "I think you dropped this."
Paulina made a face and held up her hand, palm facing him. "Ew, you can keep it." She turned up her nose, clutched her books to her chest, and walked away.
"You will not believe what just happened," muttered Tucker, running to catch up with Danny.
"I heard it," said Danny without turning his head. "Remind me to laugh about it later."
Each class blurred together for Danny. He had no idea what any of the teachers were saying as he tried to focus on the flame in his head, but they each remarked on his attentive stare and straight posture.
"Nice to see your eyes open for once," said Mr. Falluca with a wink.
"I've never seen any student look so enthralled with my lesson!" said Ms. Eddington while clasping her hands.
Danny never smiled, staring through them and not at them.
"Yes, Danny enjoyed your class so much, but we've really gotta get going now," said Sam on his behalf over and over again.
A few of his classmates tried to get his attention in the hall between classes.
"Hi, Danny!"
"Danny, hey!"
Danny could see the confusion on their faces out of the corner of his eye as he walked past them without even a glance.
"Fentnerd, hey, I'm talking to you—"
Dash's red letterman jacket was merely a blur.
"Danny!" cooed Paulina. "Where are you off to in such a rush?"
Danny had no idea why Paulina was actually trying to talk to him but he hated that he had to shrug her off. God, he hoped she would forgive him.
"Is it just me, or does it seem like everyone is trying to talk to me today?" asked Danny.
"Isn't this what you always wanted?" asked Tucker with a grin. "To be popular?"
"Not when I literally can't even enjoy it," said Danny. "Could this day go any slower?"
Lunchtime arrived at last. Danny phased himself and Sam through a locked classroom door while Tucker headed to the cafeteria. Danny took a seat at a desk in the empty classroom and sprawled out, letting his head fall back as relief and all other emotions washed over him and brought out his ghostly glow.
"I'm exhausted," sighed Danny, closing his eyes. "I had no idea repressing your emotions could be so draining."
"You've been doing a great job," said Sam at the desk next to him. She pulled her vegan lunch out of her eco-friendly bag and spread it out before her. "Want some?"
Danny eyed the leafy rabbit food. "No, thanks. I'll just wait for Tucker to bring some real food."
"That slop in the cafeteria isn't real food, Danny. It's literally cancer."
"Well, at least it tastes good."
Sam turned up her nose and took a bite of her lettuce wrap.
A few minutes later, Tucker entered the classroom carrying two lunch trays. Jazz walked in behind him.
"Pizza today, my friend!" whooped Tucker, setting a tray with a large pepperoni slice on Danny's desk.
"What are you doing here, Jazz?" asked Danny. "This isn't your lunch period."
"She snuck out of class!" laughed Tucker, popping open a can of soda and taking a seat next to Danny with his own pizza slice.
Jazz blushed. "Just for a little bit. I just said I needed to use the bathroom." Jazz held up a hall pass. "I really wanted to see how you were doing."
"Well. I survived the first half of the day." Danny groaned. "Barely."
"Tucker tells me you've managed to keep your glow at bay."
"I just hope to God I never have to do this again."
"Dash was actually looking for you in the cafeteria," said Tucker, his mouth full of cheese and sauce. "He's not happy you've been ignoring him."
"Yeah, I'm sure I'm in for the swirly of my life when this is all over," Danny quipped.
Jazz gasped, pressing a hand over her heart. "He does that to you?"
"When he's in a good mood," said Tucker, causing Jazz to gasp again.
Danny rolled his eyes. "Calm down, Jazz."
"But have you reported him? Have you told Mom?"
"No, Jazz, and you better not tell her either." Danny glared at her. "The last thing I need is for Dash to come after me if I get him kicked off the football team or something."
"But Danny—"
"No, I'm not having this conversation right now. One problem at a time." Danny placed both palms on the desk in front of him, breathing in slowly. "I just need to get through today so I can take my English test and go home without anyone realizing that Danny Phantom has actually been filling in for Danny Fenton."
"But Paulina would be all over you if she knew you were her ghost boy." Tucker grinned. "Although I think she maybe wants to be all over you now. I overheard her talking to Dash in the cafeteria. She thinks the way you've been ignoring everyone and acting all aloof is 'manly,' her word."
Danny's glow brightened. "She said I was manly?"
Sam scoffed and rolled her eyes. "I guess you just need to shut up every day and you can finally have the mega babe of your dreams."
"You're really telling me that this whole time, all I had to do was not talk to her?" Danny's jaw dropped. "Why didn't anyone tell me this sooner?"
"Hey, this is news to me, too!" insisted Tucker. "I had no idea girls also like it when guys play hard-to-get."
"Boys, calm down and eat your cancer," said Sam. "Lunch is going to be over soon."
"And I need to touch up your makeup a bit, Danny," said Jazz, holding up a small bag of cosmetics she had brought with her. "You're looking a little green."
Danny finished eating and stayed still while Jazz smoothed a new layer of foundation over his face, using red undertones to neutralize the ectoplasmic tinge. He closed his eyes and tried to keep his glow down.
"Have you even tried changing back yet?" asked Tucker. "Maybe it's already worn off."
Danny sent a signal to his molecules to switch over, but they remained trapped in ghost form. "Still stuck like this."
"You've made it this far," said Sam. "You'll be fine."
Jazz swept black powder over Danny's eyebrows and studied his eyes. "Mascara really makes your eyes so pretty, Danny."
Danny groaned and looked away, feeling his glow returning. "Yeah, that's just what I need to hear right now."
"She's not wrong," said Tucker, batting his own eyelashes mockingly.
"There's nothing wrong with guys wearing makeup," insisted Sam. "You look great, Danny." Her mouth twitched, threatening to curl into a smile. "And so very pretty."
Danny smirked mirthlessly, irritably. "You know, maybe you shouldn't make fun of a guy with ghost powers."
"Aw, are you trying to threaten us?" Sam coyly stuck out her bottom lip. "That's adorable."
"Be nice to Danny, you two," said Jazz sternly. "You can tease him all you want after school."
"Fine, fine," Sam and Tucker grumbled. Danny sighed and tried to once again suppress everything he was feeling.
Just a few more hours of suffering. Then he could go home and pray that this would somehow wear off before school the next day.
The next few classes passed similarly, teachers and students equally confused by his unusually stoic behavior and the way he sat up straight at his desk. Never speaking, never making eye contact, never allowing anyone to get close enough to touch his icy skin.
"Last class, dude," said Tucker, leading the way to Lancer's English classroom. "You ready?"
"You better ace that test after all the work we've done to get you here," said Sam.
"I will be thrilled with just a C," said Danny.
"Just try not to be thrilled until you can safely feel emotion again," said Sam.
In Lancer's classroom, Danny sat up straight with his hands clasped on his desk, looking forward and filtering out all the chatter around him, focusing only on the flame in his head.
Just one last class and then he could go home and wash off all this makeup and this nightmare would be over.
"Glad to see everyone is on time for our English test today," drawled Lancer, looking right at Danny. "Please remove everything off your desks except for a pen or pencil."
The students obeyed, shuffling and clearing off their desks all around Danny, who continued staring at nothing, his pen lying in front of him on his bare desk.
Lancer began passing out the tests. Danny's heart fluttered as a thin packet of paper was placed in front of him, and he hoped the lights were bright enough for no one to notice his skin tone flickering.
Sam and Tucker glanced at him before turning their eyes to their own tests. Danny breathed deep and picked up his pen, writing his name at the top of the first page of the test.
Easy so far.
He continued, a few multiple-choice questions about literary devices, some short-answer responses about the novels and short stories they had been reading in class. He relaxed, relieved that he remembered all of this from his studying.
Maybe he could actually get an A this time.
Or at least a B.
He was getting close to being done, almost there, just one more question, an essay question. Yes, he could describe the main character of the novel they had been reading the past couple weeks. Yes, he could discuss how the character upheld the themes and he could write a thesis statement and then expand on it in several paragraphs. Yes, yes, he had been studying this and he could do it, for once he could—
The lights went out just then, the sound of the air conditioner also vanishing. Students gasped and shrieked, a few whooped and laughed.
Danny's heart skipped once, maybe twice. He blinked down at his test, which he could still see in the natural light coming in through the windows.
"The power's out!" Paulina squealed.
"Does this mean the test is over?" asked Kwan excitedly.
"No, it does not. Everyone, please calm down and continue taking the test." Lancer opened the window curtains fully to bring in maximum sunlight. "Settle, settle, please."
Danny breathed in. This was fine, he could still finish his test and then go home and everything would be totally and completely fine.
But even with the sunlight streaming in from one side of the room, Danny realized just how dark it still was. If he were to glow now, it would be obvious, he wouldn't be able to hide it.
His heart started racing, sweat breaking out on his neck and under his shirt.
"Danny," whispered Tucker, staring at him. Sam also turned in her seat to look at Danny, her eyes widening.
Danny didn't need them to say anything. He knew exactly what they were seeing.
"Whoa—hey—what's going on with Fenton?" asked Kwan, standing up to get a better look.
"What do you mean? Oh, whoa." Dash also stood, his mouth gaping.
"He's glowing!" gasped Paulina. "And not the way my skin always glows, like actually glowing!"
"I told you he was a freak," said Star huffily.
Whispers arose all around the room, and Lancer didn't even try to quiet everyone this time. He was too busy staring at Danny, his expression comically dumbfounded.
And Danny's panic only grew, his glow brightening. Should he leave? Run away? No, that wouldn't solve anything. How could he explain this, solve this, fix this—
"Danny, uh—did you eat your dad's ecto-fudge again?" asked Sam.
Danny turned to her, his eyes big and mouth hanging open.
"Uh, yeah," said Tucker, sitting up straighter in his seat. "You know that stuff makes you glow like a ghost when you eat it."
Danny now stared at Tucker, still unable to speak as his mind tried to process their words.
"Wait a minute," said Dash. "You're saying Fenton is glowing because he ate some of his freakazoid dad's ghost fudge?"
"Yeah, sometimes Danny eats it for breakfast and forgets the side effects," said Tucker, chuckling and shaking Danny's shoulder with one hand.
The room was completely silent for a moment. Danny was sure his glow was getting brighter and brighter as he tried to avoid everyone's eyes.
"That is so cool," said Kwan, sounding genuinely awed.
"Ooooooh, so pretty!" gushed Paulina.
The room filled with excited whispers and murmurs. Danny looked around, confused and unsure how to interpret any of this.
"You guys really don't think it's freaky?" asked Dash, frowning.
"It's super freaky, but that would look so awesome on the dance floor," said Star. "It would be perfect for a rave."
"And I would love to glow just like the ghost boy!" Paulina sighed and clasped her hands against her cheek. "Maybe then he'll finally ask me out."
"And I wouldn't have to sleep with a night-light anymore!" exclaimed Kwan.
The room fell quiet as all eyes turned to Kwan.
"Uh, I mean what, who said that?" muttered Kwan, turning bright red as his enormous frame tried to shrink under his desk.
The lights came back on. The students chattered and whooped as Lancer tried to restore order in the classroom.
"You're in the middle of a test, everyone," said Lancer. "You still have until the bell rings, no extensions. Please focus and get back to work."
Lancer gave Danny a final odd look before sitting at his desk and surveying the quieting classroom. Sam and Tucker both smiled reassuringly at Danny before turning away from him.
Pens scratched against paper all around him. One student cleared his throat.
Danny sighed with immense relief as he looked down at his unfinished test, feeling his glow dimming a little. But now he no longer had to repress his emotions to hide it.
Everyone already thought he was a freak even before they saw him glowing, but at least no one suspected he was a ghost.
Danny picked up his pen, only too happy to finish writing his essay.
-DP-
Danny could feel his ability to change back into his human self return as Jazz drove him home after school. In the bathroom near his room, he removed the colored contacts and washed all of the makeup off his face, relieved to see his normal reflection in the mirror again.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Danny ignored it as he put his head in the sink and started rinsing the black dye out of his hair. It was probably just another package for his parents, parts and supplies for their ghost-hunting inventions.
"Danny?" Jack's voice called up to him. "Why are there a bunch of kids here asking to buy fudge?"
Danny froze before turning on the water even higher and burying his head farther into the sink.
#danny phantom#danny fenton#jazz fenton#tucker foley#sam manson#imekitty writes#prompt writing#astravis
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Online Discourse, Redemption Arcs, and Jane Austen
There is a story in the Bible where Jesus is brought a woman who has cheated on her spouse. The officials ask Jesus what to do, he knows they are trying to trick him into breaking the law with mercy, so he says, "Go ahead, throw rocks at her until she dies, that's the law, BUT whoever has never done anything wrong throws the first stone." Eventually everyone leaves and Jesus forgives the woman.
This post I shared a while ago really makes me think of that story, because online commentary of characters seems to so often break into two groups:
People so unforgiving, so unwilling to allow a single misstep in a character that they would start throwing stones immediately
People who will twist themselves into knots to prove that everything the character did was justified (and since we have zero backstory for the unnamed woman in this story, it would be easy to give her a sympathetic one. She did it because of trauma!)
Let's apply this to Emma Woodhouse. At Box Hill, she mildly insults an older woman, it is a poorly timed and placed joke:
“Oh! very well,” exclaimed Miss Bates, “then I need not be uneasy. ‘Three things very dull indeed.’ That will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan’t I? (looking round with the most good-humoured dependence on every body’s assent)—Do not you all think I shall?”
Emma could not resist.
“Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me—but you will be limited as to number—only three at once.”
There are basically two reactions to this insult: BURN EMMA AT THE STAKE and Eh, not that bad. Now I think with this particular insult, it really wasn't that bad and we are told about the surrounding extenuating circumstances that caused Emma to slip up. However, I'm probably wrong because Emma does feel guilty and she does make amends. While she does not directly apologize, it's clear in the novel that what she did was a relationship repair.
What makes me feel like a crazy person is how many people throw first stones! How many people are SHOCKED by what Emma said and they could NEVER imagine insulting Miss Bates in such a cruel way! Get over yourself! I feel fairly certain that every human being on earth over 25 had insulted someone to the same level as Emma has insulted Miss Bates. That doesn't mean it is excusable, Emma should apologize and so should we, but I'm left amazed by how many people feel blameless in the face of this extremely human and relatable error.
And yes, it makes me wonder about forgiveness in their real lives. There are some things that I believe could be hard and fast "never forgive" rules, like your SO should never hit you, but people make mistakes. We should have room for forgiveness, we should understand circumstances. People get tired and sick and angry and overwhelmed and sometimes they screw up. It makes me wonder if this is an online persona effect, where we never show our negative sides, or is this a true opinion. Do people forget their own mistakes?
There also seems to be this idea that once someone has done something once, it's already a pattern even if the novel is full of counter-evidence. Emma is very polite throughout the novel, she endures people that annoy her a lot, she is endlessly accommodating with her father, but a single insult to Miss Bates and people start retroactively making her worse. When she visited that poor family she must have been insulting them! (Nope) Suddenly she becomes a villain through and through, instead of a normal girl who made a few mistakes.
That's not even getting into the real "villains" of Austen's works. The amount of people who tell me that Lydia (16), Henry Crawford (probably 24), Mary Crawford (22-24), Willoughby (25), and so on and so fourth ARE INCAPABLE OF CHANGE and will never improve. Like excuse me? Have you not changed and improved since you were 16-25? How early do you give up on people? Do you really think a young adult is fully formed?
Is this how you think of people in the real world too?
#redemption#jane austen#mostly about emma#emma woodhouse#emma#It terrifies me the lack of forgiveness and understanding that I see online#And it makes me wonder what happened to the concept of forgiveness.
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seven days to say i love you
summary. you and jeno can't get enough of spending time together even when you are practically glued to each other's side at any given opportunity. but spending seven days a week for eternity with your favourite person doesn't sound like a bad idea, right?
pairing. college boyfriend! jeno x fem! reader
genre. hockey player! au, college! au, established relationship! au, friends to lovers! au, fluff
word count. 5,108
warnings/tags. none, this is 423% fluff <3 (but please let me know if i did miss out anything!)
a/n. (repost because there was an error... 😔) but hi!! i'm so sorry for the inactivity, i was so busy and couldn't put out my fics like i wanted to. but i'm back with a small something (my first non-jaehyun fic,,) i wrote this a while back and changed like 3/4 of it, and i hope it'll be a fun read!! i also came back to 2.8k notes on jaehyun bolton fic (is that what we're calling it now? yes.) i don’t reply to every comment/reblog/tag because by the time i see them it’s already so late, but i promise i read through and appreciate every single one of them,, thank you a million times!!!!!! i am working on more stuff now that i'm a little more free... so, as jaehyun likes to say, to be continued... :) hope everyone is well!
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01 MONDAY.
The beginning of the week never failed to come to you in a dreadful manner, as if to make sure that you felt the full force of what most people like to call the Monday blues. Whoever was in charge of making sure that you would experience it, they certainly did not miss you out today as well.
Not that you enjoyed seeing other people suffer, but if there’s one thing that you’re grateful for, it’s the knowledge that you’re probably not the only one who feels this way. Though, the blaring sound of your alarm ringing at seven in the morning is too eerily similar to having someone have a personal vendetta against you, serving as a very unfriendly reminder that it is also the start of the school week. Perhaps, your disdain for Mondays could be attributed to this… but there’s always an exception, right?
Despite your reluctance to attend your morning lecture, you were somehow seated in the lecture theatre by nine, giving you more than enough time to lay out your laptop and the reading materials that you needed for the lesson before it started.
Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. Often only going to sleep when the sun is about to rise, Lee Jeno has an unhealthy habit of pulling all-nighters, which causes him to miss his alarm because he’d be so deep in his sleep that he would only be able to hear it after the seventh alarm has gone off, which by then, was most likely the time that he needed to leave his house if he wanted to reach on time. The worst part of this is that he was up all night for the sole reason of wanting to break his record in his mobile games; and he plays so many that even you find it difficult to keep up too. Even when you nagged at him and said that you would complain to his mum, Jeno often dismissed your words as empty threats, still not breaking his bad habit. Reading his text message to you about how he was going to be late again, you could only let out a helpless sigh as you left his message on read.
Jeno announces his appearance by quietly opening the backdoor of the lecture theatre thirty minutes later. He makes his way over to his seat next to you, genuinely appreciating how even though sitting in front is better for your eyesight, you still opted to sit around the last few rows so that it’s easier for him to join the lecture when he comes in late without causing a loud disruption to your peers.
“Good morning, pretty,” Jeno bends down to whisper in your ear. Removing his crossbody bag, he leaves it in the empty space between you two. Once he settles down, Jeno slides a Venti-sized Hazelnut Latte from Starbucks over to your side of the desk. The rest of the lecture goes by quickly with you and Jeno making silly commentaries about anything and everything.
“Why did you still get me coffee?” you ask Jeno after the lecture had ended, a deep frown etched on your face. “You were already running late, Jeno. You really didn’t have to.” Being late was one thing, and making an additional stop at the café is another, especially because you knew that it was definitely not on the way.
“Just because,” Jeno replies with a loving smile. The kind of smile where his eyes would curve into beautiful crescents, his pupils almost disappearing because of how wide he is smiling at you. The kind of smile that you’d never get tired of seeing, so much so that you wordlessly lean in to give him a quick peck on the lips to say thank you.
Perhaps you like Mondays. Mondays with Jeno where you learnt that words left unspoken speak much more volume in expressing one’s heart.
02 TUESDAY.
It’s Tuesday, which means that you and Jeno have some spare time to meet up and study at the café near campus before his hockey practice starts. Study dates with Jeno are admittedly not as productive as you expect them to be, mainly because you often distract each other from getting any actual work done. Because of this, the both of you become public nuisances of some sort, so you had no choice but to study at a café instead of the quiet library. Imagine getting kicked out of the library… that would be an embarrassing sight.
“Jeno, how do you work out the answer to question five? I wasn’t paying attention when Prof taught this...” You look over at Jeno with a sheepish smile, earning a chuckle from him. He isn’t even surprised by your question, guessing that you probably spaced out or dozed off during the lesson.
Without saying a word, Jeno tucks a pencil behind his ear and grabs a piece of rough paper before getting up and shifting to the empty seat next to you, leaving you confused. As if he could read your mind, Jeno speaks again before you could question him. “So that it’ll be easier to explain it to you," he mumbles.
Ironically, the close proximity between the two of you only makes it harder for you to focus, but easier for you to admire his handsome features. Puckered lips, furrowed eyebrows and his gold rimmed glasses slipping down slightly to rest on his nose bridge–Jeno couldn’t look any cuter in this moment as you watch him diligently scribble on the piece of paper. He is seemingly deep in thought about how he should explain this concept to you. Watching how focused Jeno was, you took the chance to lean in, giving him a peck on the cheek before retreating back quickly, chin resting on your palm as your gaze lingers on him, slyly pretending that nothing happened.
“You broke my train of thought!” he grunted. Jeno puts his pencil down and turns to you with an annoyed expression on his face, but swiftly looks back down on the scribbled paper upon making eye contact with you.
It only dawns on him now that you were staring at him the entire time.
“Don’t do that, you’re distracting me.” His voice is quiet, eyes basically glued to that piece of paper.
“Sorry, I can’t help it. You’re so handsome and cute.” You pause, seeing a bashful smile appear on his face. “Did you know that a guy is the most attractive when he’s focused?”
“Do you still want my help or not?” Jeno asks with a grimace in his voice.
“Yes, yes, I do. I’m sorry,” you apologise with a small smile. It was difficult to resist the urge of calling him cute again, but you decide not to tease him any further for the sake of his sanity.
“Good. Now pay attention, I need to leave for training soon and if you still don’t get it by then... that’s on you.”
Jeno lied. Even after long hours of training, he still went on FaceTime that night to thoroughly explain the concepts that you were unfamiliar with, not minding that he was practically fighting for his life trying not to fall asleep on you.
That Tuesday night, you went to sleep with the widest grin on your face. Heart carrying so much love for your boyfriend who coincidentally asked you out for the first time ever on a Tuesday too.
03 WEDNESDAY.
Wednesday's child is full of woe. If there was a sentence that could explain how you feel about this particular day, this would be it. Mid-week crisis should be an actual thing if it wasn’t already one. Not only did Wednesday feel like the longest day of the week, you’d also feel extremely restless, wishing nothing more than for the weekends to come quickly.
Back-to-back seminars for six hours with only a short forty-five minute break in between had to be the most unappealing thing known to mankind, and you’d most certainly file a complaint if it was possible. Then again, this is perhaps part of the university experience.
However, this still isn’t the most devastating part. What truly makes this a tragedy for you is that Jeno isn't there to accompany you through it all due to conflicting timetables. He also had training again, this time outside of school, which meant that he’d only be free after that.
You’re so used to being around Jeno all the time that you can’t seem to spend even the littlest amount of time away from him even though you pretty much see him almost every day of the week. Talk about being clingy.
The feeling’s mutual for Jeno though. Just like you, he seems to hate the idea of not being by your side too, evident from the numerous messages he sends throughout the day despite knowing that your replies would take longer than usual to come in.
You’re not complaining. Because in one way or another, you feel like that’s his way of being by your side, albeit not physically. It is his text messages of checking up on you and ensuring that you didn’t skip your meals that make this unbearable day a little more bearable. Most of all, you look forward to being on FaceTime with him at night, having him all to yourself after such a long day.
Jeno usually ends training at seven-thirty in the evening, but sometimes it could overrun till eight. Thereafter, he still has to travel home for an hour or so, get dinner and wash up. He hides this from you, but very often he attempts to rush home because he doesn’t want you to stay up too late waiting for him, and because he wants to talk after an entire day of not seeing you.
Jeno makes sure to call before eleven, always starting the conversation by telling you how much he misses you, as if he didn’t already tell you that through text. He goes on to ramble about his day, how he saw the time match the digits of your birthdate and it made him think of you, not forgetting to also ask you how did your day go. Not long after, you’d notice his breaths becoming louder, his speech slightly slurred, and that’s when you know that he’s going to fall asleep soon. Even so, you don’t say anything, simply watching him slowly fall into a deep slumber.
“Good night Jeno,” you whisper softly, careful not to wake him up and taking one last look at how peaceful he looks before ending the call.
04 THURSDAY.
Due to how busy the both of you were, you are grateful for the small gap that Jeno has between classes and practices, just so that you’d still be able to see his face. Once it's about time for him to leave, you get ready to say goodbye to Jeno with a warm hug , when he suddenly stops you by placing his hand over yours.
“Do you want to watch me train?” he asks. “You can say no. But I just thought we could get dinner after so we can spend a little more time together,” Jeno adds, his thumb rubbing small circles against your knuckle. An air of expectancy fills the small booth that the both of you occupy in the reading room as he awaits your answer.
“I’d love to, Jen.” Flipping his hand over so that you could intertwine your fingers together, you jokingly rush Jeno to pack up his things, telling him how excited you are to finally sit in and watch him train for the first time ever. You’ve only ever heard funny anecdotes of his teammates from him every once in a while, and you’re beyond elated to finally meet the people who bring so much joy into his life.
On the way to the hockey rink, you ask Jeno more about the sport and various positions. You weren’t a sports person but thought that it’d be a good time to know more about it, especially because of Jeno’s immense passion towards hockey.
“So what position do you play?” you glance over at him with curious eyes.
“Centre,” he says, a sense of pride in his voice. Before you could ask him what that position entails, Jeno beats you to it with a rather cheeky explanation. “You just need to know that it’s called centre because I’m supposed to be the centre of your attention.”
True to his words, Jeno remains as the centre of your attention for the entire duration. You’d never admit this to him, but he becomes even more charming than he already is when he’s on the rink. Especially during the friendly match that his team had with a neighbouring school towards the end of practice, his entire demeanour changed so much that you’d think that you were watching an entirely different person.
The way Jeno plays is extremely captivating to watch. You’re not sure how he does it, but you can see him mentally strategizing his next move as the clock ticks. Even down to the last minute of the match, Jeno had not let his guard down, the fire in his eyes so prominent that anyone could see that he was determined to end this with a bang.
Skating across the rink, Jeno moves at the speed of light, making it hard for his opponents to catch him. He is the ace of the team after all, so it wouldn’t be that easy to mess with him. His eyes follow the puck, set on scoring yet another goal despite their favourable lead. The opponents are in full defence mode too, though it wouldn’t make much of a difference since there's too short of a duration left for them to catch up. Speedily, Jeno intercepts the puck from the opposing team, skating away at high speed, still vigilantly guarding the puck with his stick. With the help of his teammates who effectively block the opponent from getting to Jeno, he manages to catch both your eyes and heart in that moment, making you hold your breath in anticipation as he skilfully shoots the puck into the goal at the very last second.
In the matter of a few minutes, Jeno returns to his usual self, smiling widely and cheering loudly with his teammates to celebrate their victory. And of course, he turns to look at you, giving you a smile that holds some semblance of shyness. It’s fascinating to watch how different he is on and off the rink, but it also reminds you how in love you are with the many sides of him; those you have seen and those that you have yet to uncover.
As promised, Jeno takes you to the burger joint down the alley near your university afterwards. During dinner, he still reenacts the funny incidents that happened during training even though you were present when they occurred. Though, this sweet gesture admittedly warms your heart because it makes you feel even more included in his life, as though he is gradually inviting you to be a part of his world, just as you do the same when talking about your interests and hobbies with him.
Time seems to slow down whenever you’re with him but that’s okay because time is merely a social construct. What matters is that you get to spend time with Jeno, who is now walking you home. With his hand in yours, Jeno slows down his footsteps to match your pace. The atmosphere is filled with shared laughter, along with Sweet Nothing softly playing through Jeno’s airpods, both of you taking one side each. It would have been wired earphones, but a certain someone claims that it gets in the way… of what, he refuses to elaborate.
It is also a homely moment like this that makes the both of you wish that time could slow down even more as you basked in each other’s comforting presence, sharing the same sentiment of hoping that the walk to your house will last a little longer. Anything to prolong the time that you spend with each other, right?
05 FRIDAY.
Friday may be your favourite day of the week because it is when Jeno is finally free after three consecutive days of training. It is also movie night, where you and Jeno would take turns to go over to each other’s place every Friday evening.
It was a few weeks into freshman year, when the two of you made this pact after discovering that you were neighbours. How is it possible that you’ve never noticed Jeno before anyway?
Funny enough, it all began with you telling your mum that you made a new friend in college who goes by the name of Jeno. That name clearly rang a bell, prompting her to start narrating her grocery adventures with Jeno’s mother, excitedly telling you how close they were. In her words, “Jeno is a really sweet boy, I’ve been dying to introduce you to him but it slipped my mind so many times!” Gushing about the said boy, she hurried you to invite his family over for dinner, rushing into the kitchen herself to whip a meal up in no time.
The awkwardness of the dinner was enough to kill you from the inside, to say the least. Mothers being mothers, you had to admit that you were amazed at their ability to jump from topic to topic in the span of a few minutes. Together with Jeno’s and your father laughing, they also joined in the conversation from time to time. Meanwhile, you and Jeno sat in silence side by side, and spoke only when necessary.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but can we excuse ourselves? It’s my first time at your house and I was wondering if ____ could show me around.” Jeno asked, giving your mum a polite smile as he glanced sideways at you momentarily.
“Of course! The two of you should get to know each other better. Ah, young lo–”
You cleared your throat, preventing your mum from completing her sentence. “Friendship,” she corrected herself.
Believe it or not, you had no idea how dramatic of a person she was up until this moment, or maybe it’s because there was something about Jeno that reeled in her overflowing sense of, you’re guessing, motherly love? That would also explain why the old ladies at the school cafeteria were so nice to Jeno, constantly giving him extra servings. You didn’t know what to think of Jeno’s suggestion since you’ve only known him for a few weeks, and being alone with him couldn’t be any better after having such an awkward dinner. At that time, however, it seemed like it was the next best alternative that you had.
“Let’s go.” You stood up abruptly to disrupt the conversation so that the adults (specifically, your mum) would not have an opportunity to say anything else to make the atmosphere any weirder than it already was. Jeno trailed behind you like a lost puppy, quickly following you upstairs to your room.
“I’m so sorry, my mum doesn’t think before she speaks sometimes. I hope you don’t mind what she said.” You broke the silence, not knowing where this conversation was going exactly, suddenly regretting speaking at all. You took a quick look at Jeno, who was now leaning against the doorframe, standing quite a distance away from the edge of your bed where you were sitting.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a soft smile while shaking his head lightly.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” you asked, the smile on his face now replaced with a frown as he gave you a quizzical look.
“You’re still leaning against the door?” you asked again, even though it was meant to be more of a statement rather than a question.
Jeno bursted out laughing, “I thought I was making you uncomfortable!” He raised his hand to rub the nape of his neck. He moved away from the door to sit next to you, still leaving a small space between you two.
“Want to watch The Lion King?” you suggested, mindlessly browsing through Disney Plus.
“Are you kidding me?”
You creased your eyebrows in confusion. “No... why?”
“I love Lion King!” Jeno said a little too enthusiastically, his eyes widening at how there were so many movies in the world, yet you somehow suggested watching his favourite Disney movie.
With the awkward tension in the atmosphere finally gone, you and Jeno made yourselves comfortable on your bed. Unknowingly, the both of you scooted closer to each other’s side as the movie played. By the time the credits scene started to roll, the both of you were already fast asleep, your legs tangled with each other’s under the sheets.
And as most people would like to say, the rest is history.
However, Fridays weren’t just reserved for movie nights. Soon enough, Friday nights also turned into sleepover nights, which meant that other than your usual movie marathons, you and Jeno end up doing other things too.
Like now, the two of you just ended a karaoke singing session that you would most probably never have again. It was far too loud in the night for your neighbour’s liking, causing them to lodge a complaint, making you and Jeno permanently cross that out of your sleepover activities.
Jeno comes up with a better idea of setting up a cosy outdoor blanket fort in your backyard to lay on. The sense of tranquillity is like no other, you and Jeno having a heart-to-heart talk in hushed whispers with crickets chirping in the background.
In the end, you fall asleep first, feeling burnt out from the entire school week. Although Jeno knows that you’re already asleep, he still makes sure to pat your head lightly, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Good night angel,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around your waist before drifting to sleep.
06 SATURDAY.
Saturdays are without a doubt, the most exciting for you. As a matter of fact, dating Jeno is a thrill in itself; but what makes Saturdays exceptional is Jeno taking you out on proper dates.
You and Jeno have been together for slightly over three years now, yet every date always feels like the first. The butterflies in your stomach? They never go away.
Initially, going on a date with Jeno seemed to be nerve-wracking to you because he’d always bring you somewhere new. Naturally, you thought it was the suspense of not knowing what he planned that made you feel this way.
Deep down, however, you knew that you simply felt this way because it was… Jeno.
“Why don’t I have anything to wear?” you shout in exasperation to no one in particular as you rummage through the closet to find a perfect outfit for your date. It feels like Jeno has already seen you in everything that you own, and you’re this close to going on Pinterest for outfit ideas.
That is, until you hear a text notification sound from your phone. It was a text message from Jeno informing you that he's coming over in five minutes. You give up searching, hastily picking out a white turtleneck, layering an autumn brown velvet overall over it.
“You look pretty today.” This is the first thing that Jeno says to you when you open the door, once again leaning against the door frame with a mellow smile on his face. You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks because of his compliment.
And there it is again, the butterflies. Lee Jeno looking as flawless as he could be, a cosmic latte dress shirt tucked with a pair of black pants along with a brown leather jacket draped over his shoulders, coincidentally matching your outfit. To top it off, he’s wearing a beret today too, suddenly making him look cuter. It’s as if he travelled back in time, turning into your Victorian boyfriend.
“But... why are you dressed like this?” Jeno asks, rudely interrupting your staring session.
“Why? Is there something wrong with my outfit?” you were perplexed by his sudden question. Did he not like it? Should you change out of it? He said you looked pretty though. Besides, what else were you going to wear? You stare intently at Jeno, anxious about what he's going to say next. You hope it isn’t something bad.
“I thought I told you we were going cycling...” He stops mid-sentence, brows raised as he purposefully gives you a once-over again.
The tension in your shoulders disappears upon hearing his words. You roll your eyes at him, pushing his right shoulder lightly. “You’re going to ride a bicycle in a leather jacket?”
“Nevermind, please pretend I never said that.” Jeno makes a sulky expression upon realising that he did not plan out his joke well. But he is also quick to shoot you an endearing smile. “I love your outfit, baby.”
“You’re so lucky you’re cute, Lee Jeno.” And that I love you.
Thank goodness though, you were definitely not prepared to make another mess out of your wardrobe to search for another outfit when you’ve painstakingly organised it ten minutes ago.
In many ways, dates with Jeno always feel like the first. A simple thing, like the slight brush of your shoulders against each other as you’re walking down a random shopping street was sufficient to send your heart racing. Jeno’s hesitation to hold your hand in a crowded amusement park even though he really wants to, but he doesn’t know when is the right time to grab it–you can feel it, he fumbles with his fingers, reaches out every now and then, but pulls back immediately when his fingers accidentally meet yours.
And the memory of today that you can’t seem to forget. It’s spring, so Jeno thought that it’s a perfect time to bring you to a flower field located at the outskirts of the city. He’d once seen you looking at pictures of it on Instagram, making a mental note about it before he went home to do more research that night.
It wasn’t an uncommon thing for Jeno to take pictures of you, but when the both of you arrived, he didn’t stop at all, you swear he probably has a thousand pictures of you just from today.
However, what surprised you more was that when you asked Jeno to pose in front of the daisy fields, he happily did, even though there was still a hint of shyness within him since he wasn’t exactly comfortable with being photographed at times. He even went as far as to ask the other visitors to help take pictures of the both of you together, which was something you usually did. It wasn’t something extravagant, but it sure was endearing, and you’re positive that discovering a new side of Jeno made you giddy. So giddy that you never knew how it was possible for your heart to be swelling with so much love for another person.
Just like how daisies symbolise new beginnings, you hope that it's the same for you and Jeno’s story too. To not have endings, but only new beginnings.
07 SUNDAY.
Being certified homebodies, you and Jeno wholeheartedly enjoy staying in. It is also perhaps an excuse for the both of you to cuddle and nap together. You’d think that by the end of the week, you’ll be tired of seeing Jeno’s face for the seventh time. You joke that you are, but in reality, you could never bring yourself to grow tired of being together with your favourite person.
You usually go over to Jeno’s house in the afternoon, which is the ideal time to take a nap. Sometimes, you prayed that it would rain, so that you’ll have an excuse to steal one of his hoodies. Even so, he lets you take them as and when you want to. What is he supposed to do, say no? Of course not.
Napping wasn’t supposed to be your favourite hobby, but if it meant that you could enjoy the warmth and comfort of being in Jeno’s embrace, then clearly, any other hobby in the world couldn’t possibly compare to it. Like a baby, you snuggle close to rest your head on Jeno’s chest, putting your arms around his neck, taking in his soft cotton scent. The faint sound of his heartbeat and gentle breathing lulls you to sleep, it is very much like a lullaby on its own.
The best feeling in the world is to wake up the same way you fell asleep–still in Jeno’s arms. Not wanting to awake him, you slowly loosen your arms from his neck. Carefully, you brush his hair to the side, getting a clearer view of his face as you tenderly caress the mole below his eye, and then his cheek. He has pretty eyelashes, you’ve come to notice.
“Jeno,” you call out softly, in hopes of waking him up, but not wanting to be too loud at the same time. You wanted to let him continue sleeping, but the sky is already dark.
“Jeno, it’s time to wake up,” you try again. The clock on his side table reads half past six in the evening, indicating that it is almost dinnertime. His eyes were still shut, but he let out a groggy sound to let you know that he was awake, mumbling something shortly after. You didn’t quite catch it, but you think that he asked you to let him sleep for another five minutes. Typical Jeno.
“But it’s time for dinner,” you try to sit up, only causing Jeno to hug your waist tighter. You could barely move an inch with the way he was holding you.
“Just five minutes.” You let out a sigh, giving in to him.
“Jeno?”
He hums in response, which you take as a cue to ask your question. “Would you still love me if I were a worm?”
His eyelids finally flutter open, sleep still evident in his eyes. He appears to be in deep thought about your question before he answers. “Yeah. I’d still love you.”
“Hmm…” You narrow your eyes at him. “That took you a while to answer.”
“I just woke up,” he retorts.
“Fine.” You close your eyes and move closer to Jeno’s body, enjoying how he feels like your personal human pillow.
“Okay but what if there were other cuter worms? Like if I weren’t your ideal worm girlfriend, would you still date me?”
“Baby…”
#jeno imagines#jeno scenarios#jeno fluff#jeno x reader#nct imagines#nct scenarios#nct dream imagines#nct dream scenarios#nct#nct dream#lee jeno#jeno
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Violence and Walter
I've been reading LM Montgomery and Gender, and although I'm only a few essays in, there have been a couple on Walter that have blown my mind. Specifically, their commentary on Walter's relationship to violence has split my brain open. They've begun to answer a question I've had for a while: why did LM Montgomery have Walter so savagely beat Dan Reese?
Let's be real here, the general image of Walter is someone who is milk-soppish. In a way, he shares some similarities with Robin Stuart, although he decidedly has more backbone. However, he still has that delicate, sensitive imagery surrounding him that follows him throughout the books. We have all the passages that are probably familiar if you've been following me for a while: Gilbert describes him as being afraid to go upstairs in the dark, many people mock him for being sensitive, and the overall impression is that he's thought of is being shy, retiring, and girly.
This stands in stark contrast to the scene where he fights Dan Reese. Exhibit:
Walter reeled a little. The pain of the blow tingled through all his sensitive frame for a moment. Then he felt pain no longer. Something, such as he had never experienced before, seemed to roll over him like a flood. His face flushed crimson, his eyes burned like flame. The scholars of Glen St. Mary school had never dreamed that “Miss Walter” could look like that. He hurled himself forward and closed with Dan like a young wildcat.
There were no particular rules in the fights of the Glen school boys. It was catch-as-catch can, and get your blows in anyhow. Walter fought with a savage fury and a joy in the struggle against which Dan could not hold his ground. It was all over very speedily. Walter had no clear consciousness of what he was doing until suddenly the red mist cleared from his sight and he found himself kneeling on the body of the prostrate Dan whose nose—oh, horror!—was spouting blood.
[...]
There was a loud clapping from the boys who were perched on the rail fence, but some of the girls were crying. They were frightened. They had seen schoolboy fights before, but nothing like Walter as he had grappled with Dan. There had been something terrifying about him. They thought he would kill Dan. Now that all was over they sobbed hysterically—except Faith, who still stood tense and crimson cheeked.
This isn't the skittish, highstrung Walter we know. This is deliberately emphasizing Walter's savagery. The language here is not one that speaks to justice being served. Walter isn't being presented as an avenging force for justice; Walter is being presented as an animal. He's fully carried away by a blunt brutality arising from base instinct. More that that: he's enjoying it.
Epperly's book The Fragrance of Sweet Grass provided me with some preliminary answers. According to her, this entire passage is an allegory for WWI. And ah ha, that makes so much sense. Walter, fighting against forces of evil, losing himself in the brutality and bloodshed. As Epperly states:
However, even Epperly questions Montgomery's use of Walter's savagery. She attributes it to a brief commentary on vengeance within the framework of Walter as the gallant knight (it's cut off, but this paragraph begins with "Interestingly..." on the previous page of the book):
So we have some answers here - the allegory is obvious, especially in the context of WWI - but there's an essay in the gender book that has some really interesting explorations into Walter's frame of mind that I want to poke at (From "Uncanny Beauty" to "Uncanny Disease": Destabilizing Gender through the Deaths of Ruby Gillis and Walter Blythe and the Life of Anne Shirley by Lesley Clement).
Clement more fully leans into the savagery of Walter, to the point of claiming that the Jekyll and Hyde cat could be seen as a parallel for Walter's two sides. In their analysis of Walter's arc, they see possibilities for (1) Walter having a death wish, and (2) Walter suffering from shell shock, even as he writes that letter to Rilla.
LM Montgomery's portrayal of Walter's heroism takes on a very different light here. It's a sort of double-vision: Walter wasn't scared of realities, only of his imagination; Walter, in the end, was the bravest of them all; but also - Walter wanted to die on the front. This could even be seen as tacitly confirmed by his message to Rilla that he couldn't live after what he'd seen. His immunity to fear on the front can be seen as both a personal triumph that ends his arc, and a suicidal shell shock.
Walter's death wish could arguably also be seen in the aftermath, the last poem he ever wrote - and the last story every written in the AOGG series:
The Aftermath carries multiple possible meanings. Walter could be remembering killing a teen boy, he could be recalling what he'd seen, or, as stated here: he could be reflecting on his own death. Overall, in Clement's opinion, Walter "displays not only a death wish but also possible signs of shell shock" in that final letter to Rilla. And I have to say, I agree. I'm sure LM Montgomery meant it as a noble goodbye on the part of Walter, and that still stands; interpreting Walter's statements also gets particularly tricky when considering his second sight aspects. However, in the letter Walter both sensed his death on the horizon due to those aspects, and at the same time welcomed it. Although it doesn't quite get to an explicit death wish - more framed as an acceptance of his fate - I think that reading is fair.
Notably, though, to go back to the main subject of this--Clement also ties in Walter's savage side. That Jekyll and Hyde is very reminiscent to the two sides of Walter seen in Rainbow Valley. Clement only questions Walter's "Hyde-ness", and I can see why: I think that portraying Walter as a murderous psychopath is definitely a step too far. However...we've seen how Walter gets when fighting for justice. That's inarguable. At the least, we know that WWI would have required Walter to tap into that part of himself. Ultimately, despite the coolheaded words, Walter has held hands with the side of himself that savagely beat Dan Reese, and that has a grip which does not let go. The essay even argues that Walter would be unfit to marry Una if he had returned:
In addition to these passages, in Walter's case specifically, we have precedent for the effect that fighting has on him - his fight with Dan Reese definitely "unleashed an unfitness of soul." Clement goes so far as to describe Walter as tainted, which, when viewing Walter as an individual, I'm uncomfortable with, but when viewing Walter as a symbol, makes complete sense.
Although it might feel icky to say this in the context of PTSD, I think Clement's point isn't about Walter being quote-end quote "damaged goods;" it's about highlighting that a just war is still war. As the passage itself states, fighting "God's battles" doesn't mean you will be spared from the aftereffects (or, one might say, the aftermath). Still, I dislike the framing here, until I remembered a passage from an earlier essay and everything clicked (yes, this conclusion is supremely obvious, but bear with me and my two brain cells). The previous essay (the white feather one I shared passages from earlier) comments that LM Montgomery wrote Rilla as a tribute to "Canada's girlhood," then goes on to say:
And so we arrive, at last, at the reasoning for Walter's savagery for Dan Reese, and as always, Walter's symbolism. Walter Blythe is Canada. The death of Walter's innocence - his "tainting" - could represent the death of the old world and its perceived innocence. He fought to save family and homes - Faith, in her girlhood - against the enemy, but in doing so, lost himself. And based on what we have here, I think Walter realized it. He couldn't live in the world after what he'd seen, but also, he didn't want to live in the world after what he'd done.
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