#and instead of doing something with it we get

[gallusrostromegalus]

This morning I came downstairs to discover that the dogs have invented a New Crime.

My husband get up very early for his Real Adult Job, and feeds Charleston (Black-and-cream Sighthound mix, mostly leg) and Herschel (40lb cardigan welsh crime tube), then lets them out into the fenced yard before he leaves.

I get up at the same time but take longer to boot up, so the dogs frolick about and discourage the local tree rats from lingering about the property while I get dressed/brush my teeth/try to not be psychologically crushed by The Horrors (TM)

Now it's pretty normal for me to find Herschel doing a high-speed yet startlingly efficient MC Hammer Shuffle on his stubby little legs around the base of the large honey Locust tree we have in the middle of the yard so he could keep his face pointed directly up the trunk at something in the canopy, because this his how he tries to herd squirrels.

...but Charlie is usually nearby, cheerfully play-bowing and encouraging the squirrel to come down, nothing bad will happen-!

This time Charleston is nowhere in sight.

I go outside to investigate and Herschel pauses to tackle me about the kneecaps as a greeting before returning to the tree.

Charleston is not behind the garden bins, nor in the side yard.

I am growing concerned, when I hear a telltale guilty scrape of claws above me.

Charleston is on the roof.

I shuffle out to the middle of the yard, until I can make eye contact with him.

He looks down at me, cheerfully wagging his tail, clearly anticipating praise for being such a clever boy.

I at least know how he got up there.

My house has a deck built off the second floor with a set of stairs leading up to it, and a large honey locust tree grows next to it. Part of the roof is easily accessible with a small hop from the deck.

The deck has only a minimal amount of railing ad the roof has none, so I blocked off the stairs with a board that was too high for Herschel, an inveterate explorer and criminal, to jump, but not Charlie.

I didn't worry about this at the time because Charleston is, in fact, The Best Dog In The Universe, and understands that even though he *could* easily jump various barriers, it would be *impolite* of him to do so.

Charleston is Extremely Polite and thus almost never commits any crimes.

...Almost Never.

Charlie has exactly two vices, which aren't even vices because his ancestors were bred for millennia to do these two exact things.

The first is that he is HIGHLY leash aggressive when I'm present (We were both attacked by a St. Bernard the first day I had him and Charlie has decided Strange Dogs Are Not Allowed To Approach Me)

The Second is that he has the Prey Drive From Hell.

He has chased bears and bulls with full murderous intent.

He almost got me arrested because he cut his leash to chase a pronghorn antelope in front of a park ranger.

It is only for the sake of my saftey and pursuit of prey that he will break the rules.

Today, he has his nemesis cornered

Charleston isn't clever the way Herschel is. He's never really explored using his toys as tools, whereas Herschel speedran the early stages of hominid tool use as a puppy. Arwen was a logistical sort of genius who managed to terraform my parent's yard into Rabbit Thunderdome.

Charleston's genius is... psychological.

If the Squirrels see both dogs, they run for the fence, but if they only see Herschel, they run for the tree.

Charlie is much better at tracking and guessing the route his prey might go, so Charlie runs for their preferred escape route of the tree instead of chasing them.

The squirrels compensate by running for the fence, which is farther away in general, but they have a head start on the dogs.

At Some Point, charlie managed to work out that if he stays in the shadows under the deck, the squirrels won't see his mostly-black body, especially when Herschel charges into the sunlight and catches it on his white ruff.

Charleston realized, long before I did, that there is only the ONE branch that overhangs the roof, and therefore if a squirrel runs up the tree, it only has ONE way out of the yard.

The real genius was combining all of the above into the realization that he could let Herschel charge the squirrels, run through the under-deck shadows and up to the deck and roof while the squirrels are distracted, and plant himself on the roof where the squirrels HAVE to land without them seeing him until it was too late.

-And so we stand this morning.

Herschel at the foot of the tree, preventing the squirrel from running back down and heading for the fence

Charleston square in the landing zone on the roof, at the ready

The squirrel paralyzed on the branch between them

...and me, only sort of awake and realizing that I'm probably the dumbest mammal here.

I need to figure out how to disentangle these beasts without anyone getting maimed. Charleston has the blood of his ancestors baying for the flesh of his nemesis in his ears. Herschel is dangerously close to figuring out how to get on the roof himself. The squirrel is contemplating some truly dire Maneuvers, including dropping out of the tree and assaulting me to buy time.

I haven't even had my coffee yet.

"Charleston." I say with a very aggravated sigh. "That's not where dogs go."

Charleston whimpers.

He has Disappointed (TM) me.

A fate worse than death.

He starts to walk back to the deck, but as he takes a step to leave, so does the squirrel, and he is pulled back by millennia of instinct.

This will require. Delicacy.

or delicacies.

"Stay. I'll be right back." I tell the dogs.

I go back into the house, and retrieve The Best Treat.

The Cat's Wet Food.

Both dogs crave this Most Forbidden snack with an irrational passion, and it is usually both out of reach in the cat tree AND defended by Mochi, who rules the dogs with an Iron Paw.

I return to the yard, and open the can in full view of both dogs.

"Charlie?" I call. "Do you want Wet Food?"

He is halfway down the stairs before I can finish the question.

Herschel switches his orbit from the tree to my person, and I have to shuffle to avoid tripping over them as we go back inside and the squirrel flees.

None of this is the new crime.

I go out with them later to pull Yet More Thistles, and a few minutes in, I hear a little 'huff' from Charlie.

I look up, and he's standing on the stairs, paw up to indicate he's going to jump over the barrier board and go right back up there.

You know.

...Unless there is wet food to be had.

The children have figured out how to commit extortion. I text my husband.

They're so smart! Do you think we can set them on the jackasses across the street? My husband asks, ever the practical man.

I'm going back to bed.

---

I'm a disabled writier who makes my living tellng stories. if you liked this, please consider giving me a Ko-fi tip, or pre-ordering the Family Lore book of stories on my Patreon. Thank you!

[ms-demeanor]

I don't know how to say it so that people will listen, but if you work at a business you should just accept that *unless your literal job is being the only one who handles wire transfers and you are professionally engaged ONLY in verifying that money is being transferred correctly* any request to wire someone money is a scam.

Our client is working with a company called (anonymized for internet example purposes) "Anaheim Sales" and have been communicating with them at their email, which is, deeply unfortunately, anaheimsales@aim.com

Client has been told by Anaheim Sales to send a check in the mail. They put the check in the mail, then get an email from anahiemsales@aol.com requesting a wire transfer instead. They cancel the check and they wire the money.

Now. A huge part of this is Anaheim Sales' fault. Buy a domain, dipshits. Your business email shouldn't be going to a gmail aim yahoo outlook whatever ass address, it should be going to YOURNAME@YOURDOMAIN.COM because it's a lot harder to scam your clients when you have to purchase YOURDOMIAN.COM than it is to scam them by setting up YOURNAAME@aol.com.

But also. They never should have wired the money. Even if it HAD been from bobsmith@anaheimsales.com, Bob's email could have been compromised. Even if it's in an industry where wiring money isn't something that happens only once in a blue moon.

If you are working at a business and you get a request for a wire transfer, you NEED to make sure that you speak to someone from the requesting business who you either know personally or who you reached by calling a known number for that business (KNOWN NUMBER from your vendor/client records; not from an email signature, and not from their website). If I were allowed to make all the rules, you wouldn't be allowed to make a wire transfer without a notarized request from the accounts payable department of the vendor.

This will slow down the transfer. It will make things take longer. But nobody doing legitimate business with you is going to be pissed if you take a couple extra hours to verify that they are actually making that request before you send them tens of thousands of dollars. If someone is yelling at you that you need to send the money NOW, that is actually when you need to stop and back away and escalate to your boss or get someone else from the requesting company on the phone.

"They said the contact I knew was out sick" cool don't send the money, if your known contact is not available you require a notarized request from one of the company's officers.

"They said they'd cancel the contract if we didn't get it out by this afternoon" then let them cancel you can re-sign a contract, even with a penalty, but you can't get that money back.

"They said that THEIR business was tied up and they couldn't do anything because they didn't have the payment and the check would take days to clear" sounds like a them problem; unless you get a signed, notarized request for a wire transfer you will not be sending a wire transfer.

And if you are a business owner you need to give your employees unlimited permission to say "yeah this sounds like bullshit I need to verify before I move forward" to anything that is even slightly suspicious. Your employees should NEVER be worried that they'll get fired if they say no to wiring money. You should give them a fucking bonus if they cause a delay in getting a *legitimate* wire payment transferred because they needed to get confirmation.

Wire transfers need to be a last resort, and you need to have policies in place that make them extremely cumbersome to use. The fact that wire transfers are immediate, efficient, convenient, and irreversible is WHY they're such a common way to scam people.

Also ffs please please please just set up a real website for your business there are cheap and easy ways to do it that will mean your clients are less easily targeted by scammers because they know that your email address isn't at *AOL INSTANT MESSENGER DOT COM*

[fandoms--fluff]

Hideout

Wife reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: your husband and a bunch of strangers show up at your house in the middle of the night.

Warnings: John walker, swearing

A/n: The car they have is a mini van instead of the van they had in the movie, so with actual seats and that stuff - so minor change, that's all.

^the car seating plan

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where are we going?" Ava asks, being the third person in the last ten minutes to ask Bucky this. "We'll be there shortly" He grounds out, the same response he's given the last two times.

John is about to say something but is quickly stopped by the glare wielded his way from Yelena. From the past three days of knowing him, she's gotten used to knowing that whenever he opens his mouth, something stupid comes out. Every. Time. And every time, it looks like Bucky is that much closer to pummeling him.

Another fifteen minutes later and Bucky pulls the van into a dirt road leading away from any civilization. Ava and Yelena look out the rear window as the main road is getting further and further away.

The two women glance at each other in concern of where they're heading and how Bucky isn't telling them anything about it. "This seems more like a kidnapping than staying under the radar" Ava finally says when Bucky continues driving deeper into the forest.

"I'm sure the winter soldier knows where we're going and what he's doing. We're fine." Alexei says with a hefty laugh as he's watching from the window beside him.

Bucky meanwhile lets out an aggravated sigh to himself, but he doesn't say anything since in just mere minutes, they'll arrive at the location. The location of which feels like he hasn't been to in way too long for his liking.

And that location is a cabin. A cabin that Tony had set up for his wife during the blip so she wouldn't have to put on any kind of act by being around others all the time. That woman just so happened yo be you, Y/n Barnes.

You're an ex. shield agent that helped Steve with finding Bucky after the events of Pierce and Hydra still being active, as well as the whole project insight fail. Bucky and you caught feelings for each other after some time of finding him again and through the events of the team splitting up and fighting against Thanos, both times. After the second time and all the tragedy, you guys decided to get married. Not that it didn't come with hardships, like the whole therapy thing and having to forgive himself and make amends, and the flagsmashers. But all in all, you love each other.

Which is how you find your eyebrows furrowing as you hear a rusty sound of a car driving along the path towards the cabin. That wasn't normal. Your husband always comes home on his bike, only a car a few times, but those times he alerted you. This time though, you got no communication from him that says not to worry.

So, you immediately turn the light off in the living room and grab your gun from the holster on your thigh. Yes, you may be alone out here, but it doesn't mean danger can't find you. Plus, this is what you were trained for.

You silently move through the pitch black house, the only light coming from the headlights of the car illuminating the halls from through the windows. Sticking to the shadows, you make your way outside through a hidden door at the side of the house.

The gun with your finger on the trigger is held firmly down to your right side as you trek silently to the corner to get a glimpse at who's in the car.

"What is this place?" Yelena asks when Bucky turns off the ignition and pulls the keys out. Instead of answering, Bucky just gets out of the car and puts his hands up after closing the door.

"I know you're there. It's me." He calls out to, appearance wise, no one. This makes everyone still in the van look at each other with confused gazes before unbuckling their seatbelts and getting out of the mini van as well. Except for Yelena right away, she stays to wake Bob up. He had nodded off an hour ago in the drive, his head rested against the small window to his left.

You come out of your hiding spot behind the corner of the house with your gun held in front of you, your legs spread in a fighting stance. That is until it's confirmed that it's in fact your husband and no trick.

Paying no mind to the other people coming out of the car, you holster your gun and go over to him. Bucky quickly wraps his arms around you and holds you close to him. He rests his head on your shoulder as he breathes in the light scent of your shampoo that's still lingering from the shower you took this morning.

As Yelena and Bob emerge from the beat up mini van, you and bucky pull apart from one another to face the group of them who are now acting as though they weren't just watching what happened.

You scan over everyone and the last person, your face twists in something someone can only call as disgust. John Walker. "Hey, Y/n, long time no see?" The man at least has the decency to be weary and nervous, scratching the back of his neck. "Could be longer" You say sharply before taking your eyes off him, and just stare at the group as a whole instead.

"Wait, who is this?" Yelena is the one to speak up. "This is Y/n. My wife." Bucky smiles softly, the most genuine look on his face they've seen on him as he looks at you.

"You have a wife?" Several versions of this questions rise from the group, but get off from a glare he sends their way.

"Hey. Nice to meet you guys, I guess" You look back up at your husband before to them again. "Who are you exactly and why do you look like you just went ten rounds with a tornado?" You ask with a raised eyebrow as you take in how disheveled they all look.

"It's best we explain inside." Bucky says. You let out a puff of air before nodding after a moment and taking a key out of your boot. You head to the front door and unlock it, your husband by your side as the rest of them follow inside.

You turn the lights on as Bucky closes and locks the door and enacts the security system that runs through the house and property. "This way" You say and lead them to the living room. As they take a seat, all basically bursting with confusion still, you go over to your husband.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me you were coming, Buck!?" You exclaim in a hushed whisper. "I didn't have any way of communicating you. And I was a little pre-occupied" He glances at the people in the next room over. "I was worried about you" you finally say. "I didn't know what was happening. All I knew was how you bailed on your congressman meetings and had apparently gone rogue."

"I know, and I'm so sorry, darling. But I promise, I'm alright, and we'll tell you everything that happened" Bucky says and presses a kiss to your lips. You melt into it for a second before remembering about the occupants in the next room over.

"Come on, mind as well get this over with." He says quietly into your ear and wraps your hand in his. He leads you to the living room and to in front of the fireplace to face everyone.

"Alright, this is Alexei, Ava, Yelena, and Bob." Bucky introduces them to you. "And him as well," he quickly nods over to John, not wanting to draw too much of your attention to the man that you loath. And boy, does Bucky understand, but nows not the time.

Yelena does a little awkward wave. "Alright. Would someone like to inform me what the hell exactly happened?" You cross your arms and lean against the fireplace mantle.

They all glance at each other before Yelena sighs and sits up straighter, starting to summarize everything that happened to them up to when Bucky met them and blew up Alexie's limo. At that you look at your husband with a raised brow before Yelena continues, the others popping in at times as well.

Once everyone was finished explaining the events leading up to them arriving here, you pinch the bridge of your nose and quietly groan. "Valentina? As in the same woman from three years ago, is behind this whole thing?"

You get multiple nods and 'yeah's from the group. "Wonderful. Well, next time you plan to see her, bring me with. I have a thing or two to say...or do" the ex spy in you is coming out.

"Does he usually fall asleep like that" you're attention is drawn to Bob who is asleep with his head resting on the back couch cushioning. "Uh, he's been through a lot." Ava says.

"Okay, yeah," you sigh, "Well, down the hall are some bedrooms. You guys look like you need to clean up and some sleep yourselves." You point down the hall to your right.

"Thank you" Yelena nods, the rest of them saying thanks as well before standing and going down the hall. Though John goes over to lift Bob. "Don't bother, he can stay in the couch, he seems peaceful" you tell him, trying to fight off the growl even though technically the man was doing something sweet (ish).

He relents and nods, not wanting to get into a fight with you at this time, knowing he won't win. You go over to the younger man and have him lay down more comfortably on the couch with a pillow, as well as draping one of the throw blankets over him.

"Though if you break anything, I will personally come after you" you call down the hallway before going upstairs to your bedroom with Bucky.

"You're very authoritative. It's good, they actually listened to you" he says once you guys get to your shared room.

"That's cause I'm such an amazing person" you smirk. But a moment later, you smack your husband upside the head. "What was that for?" He asks, surprised at the action, not like it hurt that much anyways.

"For worrying me. And for the stupid shit you did" you say before kissing him softly.

[nostalgebraist]

Imagine that you can still draw, or paint, if you feel like it, and have the tools. That hasn't changed.

And (no, this post isn't about AI, there we go, where was I) all the other newer tools still exist too: Wacom tablets exist, and Adobe Photoshop, and every sort of camera, and so forth. If you have these tools ready at hand, you can just pick them up, and make pictures with them.

And tumblr still exists, and all the rest of the internet with it. And so – if you like – you can use these venues to share the pictures you make with others, easily and immediately, for free.

However, there is also another venue, for sharing pictures.

That is the only thing that is different.

The other venue is... let's say it's a magazine that only prints visual art, and which has an extremely large number of subscribers.

Everyone knows about The Magazine. Most people you know are subscribers.

Before the internet, The Magazine was the main way that visual art got into people's homes (if it wasn't created there in the first place). Your parents speak of The Magazine as though it's just where art lives, as though the notion that there might be art somewhere else has never really crossed their minds.

Much of what appears in The Magazine is, in fact, pretty good. Conversely, much of the truly great art of the recent past made an appearance in The Magazine, at some point, before or after appearing in galleries and/or being reproduced in other ways.

But a lot of it is just... fine. Trendy, competent, workmanlike.

You flip through the pages and mostly you think, yeah, this sure is the sort of thing that gets printed in The Magazine, in the current year. Occasionally you're impressed by something you see there, and even more rarely something moves you, transfixes you.

Much the same could be said of your tumblr dash, of course.

It must be noted, however, that The Magazine has a higher quality floor than your tumblr dash. Everything that appears there looks polished, professional, carefully worked-over. This counts for less than one might think; that professional gloss can do nothing to elevate ill-conceived or simply dull work (and The Magazine does print such things fairly often).

In a gallery, you might encounter mere sketches, or blatantly unfinished paintings (Leonardo left behind plenty of both, after all). But you will never find such things in The Magazine.

The Magazine's cultural and psychological prestige is immense. It holds the popular conception of "art" in its tight, totalizing grip. If you ever pick up a pencil and draw, it will be assumed – by default – that you aspire to eventual publication in The Magazine. If you are not very good, people will tell you to keep at it; maybe someday you will make the grade. If you are good, people will tell you so, and ask you whether you've prepared anything for submission, whether you've sent it, whether you heard back.

It is tremendously inconvenient to appear in The Magazine.

After all, anyone can pick up paper and pencil, but The Magazine only has so many pages per month. So, The Magazine has standards. It is persnickety. It couldn't afford to behave differently.

But even if it could afford to behave differently, it would not want to. For it so happens that The Magazine prides itself on its active role in the production of "art" (meaning, "that which has appeared in The Magazine").

Even if you are one of the "lucky" few who does not receive a simple rejection letter from The Magazine, you will not simply be allowed to put your drawing or painting or what-have-you into The Magazine as it is.

Unmediated transmission of art, straight from artist to viewer, is for lower-class venues ("tumblr.com," "physical reality and its tendency to project images of nearby objects onto the retina," etc). The Magazine has standards, and they have a full staff of not-quite-artist, not-quite-art-critic people who are employed to impose them. If you do not get a rejection letter, what happens instead is that you begin a long and laborious transaction with one or more of these strange middlemen. They will tell you that your work is a good start, but that you really should have put this part over there, or made the symbolism more obvious or less obvious, or "applied your evident talent" to a more socially relevant choice of subject matter, or something of this nature.

Eventually, after a protracted interaction like this, you might succeed! A new, different, quite possibly worse picture – produced by laboriously adjusting your original one (which, being original/unmediated, is of course unprintable by definition) until The Magazine's staff feel satisfied in the relative scope of their role versus yours in the collaborative act that is "art" production – will end up on a page somewhere in the next issue of The Magazine.

And, finally: real art has been produced! You've made it!

You're in The Magazine. And your work ("your"? you don't feel so sure anymore) does look nice, sitting there on one of those oh-so-glossy pages.

It is nice enough that you spend nearly a minute lingering over it, before you go back to tumblr.com, where all the rest of the pictures are.

(And then, on the weekend, you go to a museum, and look at pictures which were being lauded as masterworks centuries before The Magazine was even founded. You could never produce anything like them, you know – and you feel envious of their creators, not so much because of their greater talents, but because no one ever praised them by saying, hey, this stuff is good enough to be in The Magazine!)

But at least your mom and dad will look at your drawings, now, and think: my child is an artist. You were an artist before, too, but it was just amateur stuff. Now it's for real. Professional. In The Magazine.

Professional? Well, The Magazine did pay you a little in the end, as a prize. And there are some people who make their livings this way. They have good, longstanding, hard-won relationships with The Magazine's staff of intermediaries. They are unusual; by sheer force of numbers, only a select few can make a decent and reliable living in this manner.

(Indeed, The Magazine's insistence on imposing its standards is essentially inimical to steady, reproducible money-making for individual artists. You shouldn't feel secure already that they'll print your next picture without delay, before you've even sent it in for assessment – that would mean they are not keeping standards at all, wouldn't it? And so, cultural forces within The Magazine conspire to degrade its value as a potential source of one's livelihood.)

Those who appear regularly in The Magazine have unparalleled reach. As a child, perhaps, they shaped your notion of what an "artist" was; as a child, maybe you wanted to be just like them, when you grew up.

But then you did grow up – and so, you realized that they were employing the tools at hand (pencil, paper) to a very unusual end. Anyone can pick up the tools and draw. But few can make it into The Magazine, and perhaps even fewer than that should want to appear there.

After all, there is something almost shameful about the exercise, isn't it?

The Magazine says: I am the means by art is produced and disseminated. And many people, passively following the ambient culture, unconsciously nod along.

But in fact, The Magazine has no potency in it whatsoever. It is you, and the viewer, who create the work of art and create the experience of experiencing art. You can just draw things. You can just show your drawings to people.

And The Magazine cannot turn an uninspired artist into a genius, or an unskilled artist into a master; it can only trim perceived fat, arrange perceived rough edges into a more agreeable shape, apply gloss and trendiness and "professionalism." But those were never what anyone liked about art to begin with. You don't need them – unless you do, for your own artistic reasons (and your viewers'), and in that case home-made versions will probably do the job well enough.

There is, in fact, not much reason at all to want to appear in The Magazine.

And that, in itself, is a strong argument against the idea.

You ought not to play along in the charade, pretending that the whole laborious exercise has a point after all, if you know that it is in fact pointless. This is a matter of integrity, if nothing else.

Anyway, that's how I feel whenever anyone's like, "so are you gonna try to get this stuff published or what"

[dulceamore]

die for you — joel miller

”you are my sunshine, my only sunshine,”

pairings reader x joel miller

summary abby wants you dead instead.

tags spoilers for those who haven’t watched s2 e2, reader insert, sad, depressive, just pure sadness. mentions of death, because you will die. joel crying and begging. ellie crying too. established relationship.

the world had already fallen apart, but this day was supposed to be ordinary.

joel had gone with dina, and you were paired with ellie and jesse. a patrol like any other. except today, the cold was unforgiving and you can’t help but feel that something bad might happen.

winter had buried the abandoned buildings under thick layers of snow, turning streets into treacherous paths. frost clung to your eyelashes, burning against exposed skin. visibility was near zero, and the biting winds made it impossible to push forward.

“we need to find shelter!” jesse shouted. he pointed ahead a building as they helped him open the shutter doors urging the horses inside. you shoved past the threshold without a second thought, fingers clumsily reaching for your walkie-talkie. you roughly tore of your balaclava, ripping it free in frustration.

you breath came in sharp, steam rising in the air as you held your cold fingers to the radio.

“joel? dina? come in”

static.

you tightened your grip. “joel. dina. do you copy?”

nothing. just silence.

ellie stepped inside, shaking the frost from her coat. she glanced at your stiff posture, the way your fingers gripped the device like it might give you the answer you needed.

“any luck?” ellie asked, rubbing her hands together for warmth, and then her gaze drifted—eyes scanning the dimly lit space. marijuanas. ellie huffed a small, amused breath despite the tension.

“no.” you swallowed hard. your head was pounding.

“well… at least someone had the right idea. can’t imagine getting high in a place like this. too depressing.” you barely reacted, lost in the silence of the radio.

jesse entered behind her, his boots leaving damp streaks on the frozen floor. “what?” he asked, pulling off his gloves. the static in the radio felt heavier than the snow pressing in around you.

jesse shook her head. “they’re probably just out of range. we need to stay put. let’s wait for the storm to pass.” but you couldn’t sit still, not with joel and dina somewhere out there.

you turned to look at ellie, reading your thoughts before you could say them aloud. “i’m coming with you,” ellie said. jesse exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

“fine, i’ll cover the east side” he said, grabbing his gloves and pulling them on. “if you don’t hear from me, i’m probably dead or freezing my ass off.”

the wind howled around you and ellie, cutting through your layers like knives. snow blurred the world beyond a few feet. footsteps vanished the moment they were made. as the cold pressed in around you, a terrible thought crept into your mind.

“we need to keep moving,” ellie said, her voice tight. “we won’t last long out here.” you nodded, that’s when you saw it—a shape emerging from the storm, just barely visible through the swirling snow. a cabin in the mountain. you hesitated.

“what are the odds it’s safe?” you stared at the cabin, a creeping dread curling in your stomach. “low. but better than freezing to death.” ellie shifted slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“someone’s here.” the tension in the cabin thickened as you and ellie remained pressed against the wall, weapons drawn.

another noise. footsteps. not yours nor ellie’s.

a loud, sharp gunshot echoed. your breath hitched. ellie’s gaze snapped to yours, wide and panicked. then a voice. a familiar voice, shouted in pain from the room across you.

joel.

ellie surged forward, bursting through the door without hesitation. you barely had a chance to stop her but ellie was already inside, gun raised, fury burning in her eyes.

one of them whirled around at the sudden intrusion, attacking into Ellie before she could react. the force sent her crashing to the ground with a hard grunt, her revolver skidding across the wooden floor as another pair of hands pinned her down.

ellie groaned, struggling. “joel!” “fucking get off me!” abby just stood there watching paying the intruder no mind.

you sucked in a sharp breath, ducking behind just in time before anyone could spot you.

your eyes landed on him. he laid on the wooden floor. his breath uneven, his face twisted in pain as blood seeped through his pants. you felt you stomach twist as you caught sight of his busted knee.

through the haze of pain, his gaze lifted locking onto Ellie. his lips parted slightly, a hoarse, breathless sound escaping him, barely loud enough to hear.

“ellie…”

“joel! joe—” ellie shouted, thrashing harder, pure desperation in her voice. her words cut off with a sharp gasp as one of them pressed her harder into the floor, tightening their hold.

joel tensed, his breathing ragged, his hands curling into fists despite his weakness. he tried to push himself forward. but his ruined knee buckled, sending fresh agony through him. his jaw clenched, his face twisting in pain, and his voice came out strained, almost broken.

“get your goddamn hands off her.”

joel now wondered where you are. he wanted to ask ellie but couldn’t risk your life. he just hoped that you are somewhere far from the cabin and far away from jackson as the place is currently being attacked.

“tourniquet his knee."

a scream ripped from his throat, raw and broken. you clenched your teeth trying not to cry. "stop!" she shouted, thrashing violently. her face slowly turning red.

joel was breathing hard now, short and sharp gasps escaping him as his head dropped back.

without hesitation, you moved fast as your gun lifted and aimed.

the shot rang out. blood splattered against the wooden walls.

one of the men dropped as chaos erupted.

joel’s eyes snapped to you the moment the shots rang out.

ellie scrambled to her feet, using the distraction to break free, throwing her elbow into the second man's face before scrambling for her revolver.

you had shot 5 out of 8.

you asked ellie is she was okay but just as you took your next step, you felt it. a cold metal pressing against your temple. your breath hitched.

“drop them” one of the guys ordered. your fingers tightened around your gun still warm in your hands.

“you…" abby muttered, almost breathless. she lunged, grabbing her rifle, yanking it into position and pointing it straight at joel.

"abby.."

"drop them," she snarled, the barrel pressed close, just inches from his head. joel barely flinched, his jaw clenched tight. ellie froze beside you, her breath sharp, her revolver still aimed.

slowly, carefully, you exhaled through your nose, lowering your arms. your guns slipping from your fingers, clattering onto the bloodstained floor. the moment they hit the ground, one of abby’s people, a woman, tackled ellie to the ground once more.

a slow, humorless laugh escaped her lips. "funny how the world works," she murmured, shaking her head.

"i thought i'd be tracking you two down forever, and here you two are walking straight into my hands." her fingers flexed against the rifle, gripping it tighter, and then her expression shifted.

her gaze flicked to joel, then back to you.

“i heard a rumor,” she murmured, almost conversational, like she was testing the words on her tongue.

“that when joel killed my father…you were there.”

ellie froze beneath the girl pinning her down, her wild glare flicking between you and abby. joel couldn't speak.

abby took a slow step forward. “you were there,” she repeated, her voice lower now, heavier, her anger burning just beneath the surface.

“you watched it happen. didn’t you?”

“you let him do it,” she hissed.

“you let him take everything from me.” “you were supposed to be family,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

"abby, please i—"you barely blinked. family. the word felt wrong coming from her.

“shut the fuck up! we were together in this world, surviving it,” she continued, her fingers flexing against the trigger now pointed to you.

“i trusted you.” her gaze locked onto yours, fury burning just beneath the surface. “and then joel took everything from me. and you— you just let it happen.” her voice broke slightly at the edges, but she swallowed it down, replacing it with something cold.

this wasn’t just revenge.

this wasn’t just about joel anymore.

this was about you now.

“i could just put a bullet in your head right now,” “but that would be too easy,” she continued. “too quick. too clean.” her fingers flexed against the trigger, but she didn’t pull it. not yet. she let out a slow breath, shaking her head as if thinking what to do with you.

“you’re gonna die painfully slow.”

joel’s breath hitched. abby’s gaze flicked to him, watching the way his jaw tightened, watching the way his panic had settled deep into his bones.

she was enjoying this.

she was feeding off his fear. and that meant you mean a whole lot of something to him.

“she doesn’t belong in this,” joel pleaded, his voice growing more desperate, thick with something heavier than pain.

“you came for me right? fine. fine. take me. just— just please let them go.” joel swallowed hard, his breath stuttering as he tried to force himself forward, as if he could shield you from abby’s aim.

“she ain’t done nothing to you,” he continued, words rushed now, his voice cracking in places, and for the first time you saw it. tears. threatening to spill, but he fought against them, his jaw tightening, his breath coming out in desperate bursts.

“just let her go,” he whispered. “please.”

“oh, joel, that’s exactly why I won’t.” his face twisted, horror settling deep in his bones.

it wasn’t supposed to end the way that it is ending. it was just supposed to be a normal patrol day. you and joel sleeping together at the end of the day in each other’s embrace, joel whispering sweet nothings into yours and yours into his.

that’s how your days went with him for the past five years since the three of you settled into jackson.

pain swallowed you whole. your body was wrecked, bruised, battered, broken.

you lay on the cold wooden floor, chest rising and falling in strained, shallow gasps. blood dripped from your mouth, staining the worn boards beneath you, pooling along the edges of your ruined body.

your swollen eyes found him. joel. his eyes locked onto yours. you saw everything. rage. fear. desperation. and worse, guilt. with a last blow from abby, the golf club broke in half. leaving abby to punch you.

you didn’t scream, you couldn’t feel any pain at this point.

“stop," joel rasped, his voice raw, strained, begging. "please—just stop." he tried to move, tried to push himself forward but his ruined knee buckled. his face twisted, his hands twitching weakly against the wooden floor, as if he could somehow reach you.

he couldn’t. he was trapped. forced to watch.

ellie was screaming raw, desperate cries, her voice breaking as she thrashed beneath, tears spilling from her eyes. you meant a lot to her.

"stop!" she sobbed. "just fucking stop!"

but abby wasn’t listening, reaching the broken golf club. she kneeled over you, hands ready to pierce through your neck. joel let out a sharp, strangled breath.

"don't," he rasped, his voice cracking, breaking, falling apart in the space between you. abby exhaled softly.

"say hello to my dad for me," abby raised her hands and paused.

“i’m sorry.” she murmured quietly. your vision swam, clouding at the edges, fading to black. “for everything.”

you try to speak, to force out a word, a plea, anything, but your throat tightens, the world tipping.

"you don’t have to do this! please!" joel's voice shakes, a mix of fear and disbelief. his eyes bloodshot.

then a sharp, sickening crack as the metal connects with your throat. the darkness creeps in, slow at first, then all at once.

you heard joel screaming your name, the sound breaking apart like glass.

"no—no—no—" ellie screamed, fighting, struggling, kicking but she was pinned, she was helpless, she was drowning in the horror of it all.

memories started flashing before your eyes.

joel.

no, this is the joel only you knew.

the joel who looked at you with eyes that softened when you caught him staring. the joel whose laughter was rare but beautiful.

your vision flickers. you see him under the soft jackson light, his hand absentmindedly tracing patterns over your knuckles as you sit beside him on the porch.

you remember the way his calloused fingers felt, rough from years of hardship, yet somehow the gentlest touch you’d ever known.

“never thought i'd have this,” he had murmured once, voice barely above a whisper. you’d turned to him, resting your head against his shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

he had always, always found a way to make you feel like you mattered.

and ellie. she had teased, nudged, given you knowing looks when Joel would brush a stray hair from your face or linger a little too long when saying goodbye.

now, you try to reach for him, desperation lacing the last flicker of strength in your limbs. your fingers twitch, stretching toward the fading memory of him. he’s sat there in front of you, looking at you like he always did like he sees you in a way no one else ever has, but you can see the pain in his eyes as he shouts your name begging you to get up.

your body fails you. the weight of it all pulls you down, down, down. your hand drops. joel’s image flickers and both joel and ellie’s voice fades. then nothing.

abby steps back, her expression unreadable, and the two men with her exchange glances. one gestures, impatient, and she nods.

they leave.

but the silence that follows is louder than any scream.

joel groans. a broken, ragged sound as he forces himself forward.

he crawled towards you.

blood pools around his knee, staining the ground beneath him, but he drags himself closer, hands trembling, breath shallow. every inch forward is agony, but still, he moves.

ellie scrambles beside him, desperation pushing her forward, hands shaking violently as she reaches for you.

joel's hand finds yours, trembling, bloodied fingers curling around yours in desperation. he grips tightly, waiting, pleading in silence. “just squeeze,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “just once. please.”

Elalie chokes on a sob, her hands pressed against your chest, searching for something—anything—to hold onto. joel’s grip tightens around your lifeless hand, desperation threading through his veins like fire. his breath trembles, uneven, as he waits for any sign that you’re still here.

but there’s nothing.

no squeeze. just silence. “come on,” he whispers, voice hoarse, barely more than a breath.

“baby please...”

nothing.

ellie lets out a strangled cry but joel barely hears her.

because suddenly, he is not here—not kneeling in blood, not gripping your lifeless hand.

he is somewhere else. years ago.

sarah. his little girl.

she used to hold his hand so tight, like she was afraid he’d slip away like she’d never let go.

and then one day she did.

the last time he held her hand, she hadn’t squeezed back either.

the memory crushes him, knocks the air from his lungs, rips through him with a force so brutal it’s unbearable. the same pain. the same silence. the same unbearable emptiness.

“no,” he chokes out, shaking his head violently, his grip tightening like that alone can pull you back. “not again. not you. please—don’t do this to me. don’t—”

joel cradles you in his arms, holding you like you’re made of glass. his breaths are uneven, sharp, as he presses his forehead against yours.

"you’re okay," he whispers, but his voice cracks, betraying him.

his grip tightens around you, like he can somehow anchor you here. like he can change what’s already happened.

the reality settles in. the weight of it crushes his chest. a shuddering breath escapes his lips and then, the tears come once more.

slow at first, like he’s fighting them. like he’s trying to hold himself together for just another second. but it’s useless.

a broken sob escapes him, muffled against your shoulder. his body shakes as he clutches you closer, as if the sheer force of his grief could undo the impossible.

ellie lets out another choked cry, her fingers trembling as she reaches for you, her own tears slipping down her face.

he leans down and presses a gentle kiss against your forehead.

he is drowning in his guilt, in the unbearable weight of what he has done.

he brought you into this chaos. into his life of violence and consequence. he made you part of his story.

"this is my fault," he chokes out, "i brought you into my mess. i—i should've kept you out of it."

"why did it have to be you? why, why wasn’t it me instead?"

"i should've protected you but i just sat there and watched them taking away the most important person in my life."

he lost you.

and there’s no coming back from that.

“you made everything better,” he murmurs, his tears slip onto your skin. “even when the world was hell, you—you made it brighter.”

“you are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he brokenly sang.

"you make me happy... when skies are grey...you'll never know dear...how much i— love you... please don't take... my sunshine away..." he continued as he sang your favorite song. the one that he always sings before you close your eyes and sleep beside him because you couldn't sleep without him doing so.

but this time, you'll be sleeping forever.

a/n i'm sorry. made this 7am in the morning because girly woke up and chose violence. might make an alternate version of this where u live and have a happily ever after w joel. comment if u want to be tagged!

[okaylikeschaewon]

Boxes

~6k words, smut, male reader

“I can’t accept this.”

“Why not?”

“It’s way too expensive.”

Stupid… that was definitely stupid. For Yuri, there was no set of words that held less meaning. It just slipped out, a dumb mistake on your part. No matter how many times you’ve had this redundant back and forth in the past, you’re always left in the same place – this simply wasn’t a dispute Yuri would even consider losing, and eventually you would have to accept it.

“Just say thank you,” Yuri replied, not even sparing you a glance as she continued browsing. “Do you think I should try gold?”

“I think I like your platinum one more,” you answered, taking a quick glance at the necklace she was modeling before turning back to the pendant in your hands. “But it still looks nice.”

Yuri placed the necklace back and turned to you, sighing before flashing you a smile. “No, you’re right, it doesn’t suit me,” she commented, glancing around the store. “Come on, let’s try somewhere else.”

“I didn’t say it doesn’t suit you, it’s still nice,” you clarified as you placed the pendant back in the display case. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You don’t have to lie, I’m a big girl. I can handle the truth,” she replied coldly, holding her hand out for you to take. “Now come on, let’s go. And pick that cute box back up before you offend me again.”

“Yuri, don’t be like that,” you groaned, picking the pendant’s case back up and taking her hand. “I said it’s nice.”

“Yeah and what you meant was it’s ugly on me.”

“I did not mean it’s ugly on you!” you protested before pausing in your tracks, holding up the little box. “Hey, forgetting something?”

“They know you’re with me, it’ll just get added to my account. They won’t hassle me for such a small purchase,” Yuri replied casually, turning to face you. “Put it back on, I like how it looks on you.”

“How the hell do you have such privilege at a Cartier store?”

“I come here all the time,” Yuri shrugged, holding her hand out for you to take again. “You’re asking too many questions.”

That’s a first, you thought to yourself as you put the pendant on and took her hand once more. “You’re just full of surprises,” you chuckled. “Thank you again.”

“Don’t mention it. You hungry?”

“I could eat. You?”

“A little bit,” Yuri replied, letting go of your hand and leaning right up against your body instead, interlocking arms with you. “And we both know that just means I’m going to eat some of whatever you get.”

“Then tell me, what am I in the mood for today?”

She thought for a moment, scanning the food court around her before fixating on a stall. “Corndog.”

“Just a corndog?” you asked, knowing Yuri would always want more, even if just a bite. “How about some chicken? It's been a while.”

“I can get you some, sure,” Yuri replied, pulling you towards the food court. “You go get the corndogs, I’ll go get the chicken,” she instructed, handing you her credit card.

“It’s just a couple of corndogs, I can get it,” you waved her off.

“Don’t be difficult, take the card,” Yuri glared at you. She had this uncanny way of making you listen when she spoke, those slightly pursed lips – shining with just a bit of gloss – seemingly intensifying whatever words she decided to use in a way that just made it so difficult to argue. 

With a smile and a roll of your eyes, you walked off, leaving Yuri behind as you went to pick up her corndogs. You decided on one with fried potatoes on the outside, picking more so based on what you thought Yuri would like rather than your own preferences. After paying with her card and picking up the food, you looked around for her, finding her waiting at another stall.

“I thought you were getting chicken.”

“I figured you’d also want some noodles,” she replied, her gaze locked firmly on the man scooping them into the box. It was like she was in a trance, an adorable and cute one. She held up a receipt, still not even looking your way. “It should be done by now.”

And with the little slip of paper, you maneuvered through the crowd and picked up the yangnyeom from the next stall over – your favorite flavor – before bringing it back to the table that Yuri had settled on.

“It looks amazing,” you commented on the spread of food as you took your seat. “And this little box they put the chicken in, it’s so cute!”

“Unlike me in a gold necklace.”

“Yuri,” you sighed, holding her corndog up for her to take. “Are you really still on that?”

Yuri leaned forward and took a bite, keeping firm eye contact with you the entire time, taking her time to chew slowly. She knew what she was doing. That testy expression, ready to lash out at you at the first provocation, combined with the adorable fullness of her cheeks was sending you for a loop. On one hand you didn’t want to make her upset, but on the other hand she was so adorable right now that all you could think about was teasing her some more.

“How’s the corndog?”

“Maybe you try it yourself and find out,” she replied, picking up her chopsticks and starting on the chicken. “Then if you hate it, you can tell me it’s still nice or whatever you said.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

“I don’t think so.”

“You absolutely are,” you crossed your arms. “You’re sulking for no reason.”

“First you call me ugly, now you say I’m being perverse.”

“Yuri,” you rolled your eyes. “You’re not ugly, but you are being perverse.”

“No I’m not, this is just my style,” she stuck her nose up in an attempt to seem sassy, but the food filling her cheeks made her look more adorable than anything else. “Why aren’t you eating? It’s going to get cold.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Yuri’s gaze left the chicken and landed on you, her eyes burning red in frustration. “What do you mean you’re not hungry, I got all this for you,” she snapped, putting down her chopsticks. “You said you’d eat.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Are you in the mood for something else? We can get whatever you want,” Yuri suggested, her features hinting real concern, the coldness evaporating before your eyes. “We can even go somewhere else–”

“I’m okay Yuri,” you replied, trying your best to hold back your smile. “I’ll just watch you eat.”

“No,” she whined, jumping to her feet and stomping around the table, sitting next to you. “Eat something, here,” she held up a piece of chicken for you, holding her hand under it.

“No thanks.”

Yuri’s expression shifted slightly from worry to determination. “Just take at least one bite,” she insisted, moving her chopsticks closer to your mouth, eyes wide and pleading. “Please?”

The corners of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upwards slightly. “Fine, just one,” you conceded, accepting the bite.

Yuri’s face lit up with triumph as she quickly grabbed another piece of chicken for you. “It’s good, right?” she asked, holding the piece up and blowing on it for you. “Here, have more.”

“Yuri I can feed myself,” you chuckled while grabbing her wrist gently. “But thank you.”

“You sure you don’t want anything else? Dessert maybe?”

“I’m good, this is more than enough.���

“Alright, just let me know,” Yuri yawned as she leaned her head against your shoulder. “I’m full.”

“You had like two bites.”

“So what, we’ll take the leftovers,” Yuri replied while stifling a small giggle at your reaction. “Good thing we have such a cute little box, right?”

“Yeah, right,” you grumbled before picking your chopsticks back up.

— 

“What are you about to do?” Yuri asked as she took off her coat.

“Nothing in particular,” you replied, waiting for her to ask for what you already knew was coming.

She ran up in front of you, watching patiently as you took off your shoes, her eyes shining in excitement. “Cuddle?” she asked once you slipped them both off, holding her hands out.

“Sure,” you smiled back and took her hands, following along as she pulled you into her little apartment.

Her place was modest to say the least – considering how much money this girl had. At first glance, you’d never know, but once you really started to take a closer look, the signs were there.

The couch – that she just pushed you onto – was easily the most comfortable couch you had ever sat on, facing a gorgeous, brand new OLED. The two of you have spent many evenings watching random movies, shows, and YouTube videos together here, more often than not falling asleep before making it to her luxurious king-sized bed, which was equally as comfortable – not that the girl needed a bed of that size.

Yuri quickly threw on some random video about some infamous thief before excitedly climbing onto your body, sliding into your arms and pulling out her phone. “Do you wanna share a hot chocolate or something?” she asked while opening up an app.

“Do you actually want hot chocolate or do you just want to try using the robot again?” you chuckled, giving her a small poke in the ribs. “Go ahead, let's see if it works this time.”

“It will!” she replied excitedly as she pulled out her phone. “Alright let’s do simple hot chocolate with… marshmallows and some chocolate flakes! Anything else?”

“Let’s try just that, I don’t really want to clean up a mess tonight.”

“It’ll work this time,” she whined, sending the order. “You just have to believe.”

“Alright alright, this time I’m with you, I believe in him,” you gave the back of her head a little peck. “And if it works, I’ll cuddle with you all night.”

“And what if it doesn’t?”

“I’ll probably still cuddle with you all night.”

“No take backs,” she giggled, turning onto her side and resting her cheek on your chest. She lay there for a while, watching the screen while the robot worked on the drink, breathing calmly as you ran your fingers through her hair slowly. “Do you really believe this guy managed to steal this much all by himself?”

“Not at all, it sounds absolutely ridiculous,” you answered, moving your hand down to rest it around Yuri’s stomach. “Although, he is clearly stupidly rich. Maybe he did kill all those people.”

“Yeah,” Yuri sighed softly. “Look at that house, it must have cost like a billion dollars.”

“Your sense of money might be a bit off,” you chuckled, giving her hip a gentle pat. “But even if it was a billion dollars, we both know you could afford it.”

“I prefer a cozier place, gives you fewer places to hide from me.”

“Truly a shame, I’m just stuck here with you all the time, nowhere to hide.”

“Hey,” Yuri rolled over so that she was facing you. She looked upset. “If I bought a bigger place, would you really hide from me?”

“Yeah, all the time.”

Yuri frowned, scrunching up her face in the most adorable way possible. “Stop joking,” she pouted, her shiny eyes pleading.

Why did she have to be so cute?

“Yuri, I promise I wouldn’t hide,” you cupped her face in yours hands and gazed tenderly into her eyes. “I love you,” you added before kissing her forehead softly.

Her frown melted away, replaced by the brightest and that adorable smile you’ve grown to love returned. She wrapped her arms around you tightly, pulling herself into your body. “Say it again,” she whispered against your chest.

“I – love – you – so – much,” you kissed the top of her head between each word.

Her smile widened and her eyes sparkled as she looked up at you, squeezing tighter, as if she never wanted to let go.

“Yuri, I can’t breathe,” you playfully croaked.

She loosened up her grip slightly. “More than anything?” she asked with anticipation all over her expression.

“More than anything.”

“Then you won’t care if you can’t breathe,” she giggled before squeezing you again, as hard as she could.

Your lips couldn’t help but curl up into a smile at her antics. You began tickling her ribs, both of you getting lost in laughter with Yuri’s occasional shriek of protest as it turned into an impromptu wrestling match.

“Stop! Stop!” Yuri howled, laughing hysterically as she curled into a ball in a feeble attempt to protect her sides. “I can’t breathe!”

“Yeah, how do you like it?” you chuckled as Yuri finally broke away from you, gasping heavily and smiling.

“I’m not sharing my hot chocolate anymore,” she panted heavily, clutching her ribs. “Speaking of which, here it comes.”

Slowly and methodically, the little robot rolled over to Yuri with a fresh cup of hot chocolate. She picked it up carefully and shot you a proud smirk before taking a small sip as the robot rolled back into the kitchen.

“Ouch!” she yelped before giggling again, “It’s hot.”

“Dummy,” you shook your head in disappointment.

“It’s really good though!”

“I wouldn’t know, you’re not sharing.”

She looked at you, then down at the cup, then back up to you and exhaled heavily through her nose before motioning for you to come close, her lips slightly pouted the entire time.

She lifted the cup, but then paused, a worried look crossing her face. “Wait, it’s still really hot,” she said before gently blowing on the surface.

She really was the sweetest, you thought to yourself while watching the tiny ripples in the surface of the chocolatey drink, amused by the gesture.

“Here, take a small sip,” she carefully held the mug up again. “Be careful though.”

As you leaned in, she tilted the cup with utmost care, her face fully focused. Once you took a sip, you leaned back as the rich and velvety chocolate enveloped your taste buds, leaving a lingering sweetness on your tongue long after the drink went down your throat.

“How is it?” she asked eagerly, eyes full of anticipation once more.

“Almost as sweet as you,” you smiled at her.

“Is it too sweet? Should I add something to dilute it?” she looked worried without properly registering what you said.

“No,” you leaned over and kissed her cheek. “It’s actually really good.”

“Oh,” she said with a relieved smile as she took another sip. “You sure you don’t want something? The robot works now!”

“I’m fine, all I want is to be close to you,” you replied as she held the mug up for you to take another sip. “And even if it didn’t work, your kitchen is like five steps away.”

“Yeah but a robot is more fun,” Yuri giggled, putting the cup on a cute little flower coaster she had on the table and turning off the TV.

“Cuddling with you is more fun.”

“Then why aren’t you?” she teased, crossing her arms at you.

She began smiling again as you leaned into her, giving her neck a couple of light kisses before hugging her.

“Any plans tomorrow?” you asked as you kissed lower down the neckline of her shirt.

“No, I was thinking about just staying in all day.”

“I could stop by after work if you’d like,” you mumbled, kissing her neck softly while sliding a hand up the bottom of her shirt.

“When are you just going to quit your job,” Yuri sighed, adjusting slightly to give your hand easier access. “Things would be so much easier.”

“We’ve talked about this, I can’t do that,” you replied, appreciating the fact that Yuri bra was the first to go whenever she arrived home as you cupped a tit in your palm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Why not?” Yuri frowned. “I already told you I’d pay for everything, it’s really not a problem.”

“It is a problem.”

“You don’t think I could afford it?”

“I know you can afford it,” you laughed, drawing circles around her nipple with two fingers until you felt it stiffen before giving the nub a small pinch.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Yuri, baby,” you slipped your other hand up her shirt as well, giving both of her tits equal love as you gave her neck a couple of soft kisses. “I don’t even know where you got the money from.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because,” you paused to give both of her tits a firm squeeze at the same time, admiring the shape through her shirt. “For all I know, you’re like that thief from the documentary who murdered people. What if you murder me?”

“You don’t actually think I’m going to murder you,” she scoffed before casually grabbing the bottom of her shirt and lifting it up to her neck, freeing her beautiful tits for you to enjoy. “Do you?”

“No,” you muttered, eyes locked on her chest, before leaning forward and pressing her nipple between your lips, stretching it back softly. “I don’t,” you added before moving to the other one.

“Then why is it so difficult,” she sighed, absentmindedly running her fingers through your hair as you toyed with her nipples. “You know that I love you.”

“And I love you,” you replied while cupping both of her tits firmly in your palms and alternating kisses between them. “But then why can’t you tell me?”

“Because,” she hesitated, biting her lip. “You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you.”

“You don’t know that,” you replied without even looking up as you pressed her tits together and ran your tongue up and down her cleavage a few times. “Have I ever told you how much I love your tits?”

“Maybe once or twice,” Yuri giggled, pressing your head down into her chest. “Fine, I won the money in a competition.”

“What competition?” you mumbled into her tits. “And how much did you win?”

“See, you don’t believe me, just more questions.”

“Yuri,” you brought your attention back to one of her nipples, using your tongue to poke at it gently. “We don’t have to do this tonight if you don’t want to tell me.”

“It was some silly game show. I’m really not allowed to tell people about it,” Yuri ignored your suggestion entirely. “It’s a secret, but I promise I didn’t do anything bad.”

“What, is it one of those porno ones where–” you stopped mid sentence as Yuri slapped you across the cheek. “Oh, feisty tonight are we?” you chuckled before lightly biting her nipple.

“I’m not that type of girl.”

“I know you’re not,” you let go of her nipple and tilted your neck upwards, giving her soft, plump lips a drawn out kiss. “It was just a joke.”

“I know, but still, I don’t want you thinking that I would do that even as a joke,” Yuri pouted her dewy lips.

“I’m sorry my love,” you gave her another kiss before bringing your lips back to her tits, rubbing your tongue all over them. “Alright, you won them in some secret game. Fine. And what if you run out?”

“I won’t.”

Her reply… you weren’t expecting it to hit as hard as it did. Something about her confidence, it just resonated with you through all the uncertainty, and you felt like trusting the girl without any real proof.

“Even then, I still need to work. I like my job.”

“Fine, keep the job, but when are you moving in with me?” Yuri asked as she started pulling your shirt off your body.

“I basically already live here,” you answered as the shirt came off. “I’m here every other night.”

“But I want you every night,” Yuri pouted up at you. “I want to wake up next to you every morning.”

“Soon, my love, I promise,” you leaned in to give her a kiss. “What’s the rush?”

“There’s no rush, but like you said, you basically already live here. It would just be easier.”

“Easier? Babe, I already fuck you at least once a day, how much easier do you need it to be?” you chuckled while slipping off Yuri’s skirt.

She smiled up at you with a soft expression, one that could make your heart flutter faster than anything in the world. “It could still be easier,” she whispered. She used both hands to grab the back of your neck and pull you towards her, pressing her lips softly against yours.

“I’ll think about it,” you smiled as you sat up and began unbuckling your belt. You took a glance around the room before chuckling at Yuri. “If I do, you’re going to have to clean up all these boxes.”

“I like ordering stuff…”

“I know you do, but there are actually boxes everywhere.”

“What did the boxes do to you?” Yuri argued as she watched you take off your pants. “I think they’re cute.”

“The boxes are cute?” you laughed, tossing your pants and underwear to the side and laying down next to Yuri. “You seriously are just full of all kinds of surprises.”

“Yeah, you ever thought about how maybe I might like them?” Yuri giggled as her fingers found their way between your legs. “And when I don’t have this to play with, they come in handy.”

“We’ll have to get you some better toys if you’re fucking boxes.”

“Or you could just fuck me,” Yuri whispered back. She pulled her panties off with one hand, her other gently stroking your shaft to life. “Should we head to the bedroom? We haven’t done it there in a while.”

“I literally fucked you in there yesterday.”

“Oops,” Yuri giggled before sliding off the couch and onto her knees. “Whatever, come here. It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“I could fuck you on the boxes,” you suggested while swinging your legs around and sitting on the edge of the couch.

“Shut up,” Yuri grinned with her hand on your cock. She leaned down and pressed her tongue against your balls, sliding it up your shaft and ending with a kiss against your tip.

As she was about to put your cock in her mouth, she paused to hold her hands up for you. Once she had her fingers interlocked with yours on both hands, she gave your tip another kiss and locked eyes with you, squeezing your hands softly before lowering her lips down your cock.

“Oh fuck Yuri, that’s nice,” you sighed deeply, squeezing her fingers back, eyes locked on hers.

The gaze was driving you insane, fierce and confident while her mouth stretched around your cock, her cheeks hollowed in. Yuri moved up and down your cock slowly, making sure to show each inch some love. From time to time, she would lift her mouth up and take a sharp gasp of air, just to bring her mouth back down to your cock.

“I can’t get enough of this,” you groaned.

“Neither can I,” Yuri gasped in response, leaving a string of saliva between her lips and your cock. She gave it a couple of last licks before letting go of your hands. “You look ready. You taste ready.”

“For you,” you paused to grab Yuri by the face and kiss her. “Always.”

“Then what are you waiting for,” she smiled as you held her.

“Bedroom?” you suggested as you slipped a hand down between her legs. She was already wet, her pussy sticking to your fingers as you pressed down and began rubbing little circles.

“Nah, fuck it,” she moaned softly, eyes half-lidded for a moment before she grabbed your cock with both hands and began jerking you. “It doesn’t matter where.”

“Agreed,” you murmured, leaning in and kissing Yuri as she stroked your shaft, making sure to keep your fingers rubbed up against her clit. You were both ready, but you got lost in the moment, everything just felt so right. It took a lot of willpower to break out of the trance you found yourself in, but eventually you picked Yuri up and fell until your back hit the couch with Yuri on top of you. “It really doesn’t fucking matter.”

Yuri giggled softly as she took hold of your shaft again, lining it up while balancing on one knee before slowly lowering herself onto your cock. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up to the roof as she slowly inched her way down your length.

Once you were fully inside Yuri’s pussy, and with your hands on her hips, she slowly lifted herself back up. Each movement was slow and calculated, a moan or gasp blessed your ears every time Yuri went back down on your cock. She began to speed up, just a bit, making sure to take your entire length with each little bounce.

“Oops,” she started giggling. She accidentally moved too far up, and your cock slipped out of her. “My fault.”

“God damn you’re wet tonight,” you moaned as she rubbed your tip against her pussy.

“You like that?” she whispered while lowering herself once more onto your cock, making a little circular movement this time.

“Fucking love it,” you grunted, finally joining in and giving her a couple of soft thrusts.

“Oh fuck yes, just how I like it,” Yuri cried out softly, taking your cock expertly with her cute little tits bouncing in small circles each time you thrusted your hips up into her. “Oh baby, give it to me.”

“Fuck, Yuri,” you sighed before pulling her down against your body.

The two of you began moving your hips in tandem, with the rest of your bodies completely attached. Her warm, soft skin felt amazing, just as amazing as her pussy felt. The tighter you hugged her, the harder she squeezed back, allowing for the most beautiful intimacy to course through your veins.

A jumble of moans and gasps filled the little apartment, broken only by the sound of you kissing Yuri’s warm neck. While your hands explored her back, occasionally seeking refuge against her soft ass. Nothing in the world could feel better than this.

“I fucking love you,” Yuri cried out softly.

Turns out there was something that could feel better.

“I love you so much,” you moaned back before flipping Yuri onto her back. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” you cupped her face in your hands and kissed her before lining yourself up with her pussy again.

“Fuck,” Yuri stretched the word as far as it could go as you eased into her pussy slowly. She closed her eyes, squirming as you brought your thumb down to her clit and started rubbing gently with each soft thrust.

Your other hand gently pressed her leg to the side, letting you move closer as you fucked Yuri deep and hard. She began screaming out – music in the purest form to your ears. With how many times you’ve fucked Yuri now, you knew exactly what was happening, and you were going to make sure to ride it out with her, the love of your life.

“I… I’m… oh fuck… please.”

“Don’t talk,” you whispered softly while pressing a finger against her lip. She opened her eyes, that pleading glance, forehead scrunched up, and nodded up at you.

Or at least, it looked like a nod, her entire body was bouncing with each thrust still. With a few more deep thrusts, Yuri’s mouth shot open and her eyes shut, she began silently screaming out as her world stopped – this was your favorite part.

There it was, the glorious squeeze of Yuri’s pussy whenever she would cum. Nothing was more perfect. Without fail, you knew this was the best moment, and the perfect motivation for you to start thrusting as hard and fast as you could.

Speaking from experience, you knew how much Yuri loved this part. She claimed it felt amazing for her, which was the ultimate blessing, because it felt fucking divine for you. Her pussy squeezed your cock as hard as it could, and your brain began going numb.

A soft ringing in your ears, like when you stand up too quickly, accompanied by the most intense pleasure you have ever felt between your legs. Your cock began erupting inside Yuri’s pussy while the rest of your body spasmed in the most uncontrollable fit of pure ecstasy.

At some point, your cock slipped out of her pussy. You didn’t care to think about how or when, you just made do by grabbing your cock and stroking it over Yuri’s petite body, shooting a couple of final ropes onto her flat and adorable tummy.

“Oh my fucking God,” you moaned as you stroked whatever was left out of your cock right onto her pussy, joining the mess that was leaking out of her. “I love you so much.”

“I fucking love you,” Yuri sighed back with a smile, quickly sitting herself up and kissing you as all of your cum slowly flowed down her body.

She gave your cock a final few gentle strokes while kissing you, fondling your balls a bit between her fingers, and occasionally clawing at your tip to make a mess of the cum you had left on it. Once satisfied with the kiss, Yuri smiled warmly at you before looking down at herself.

“Ugh, I’m so fucking sticky,” Yuri whined while scooping your cum off her stomach. “I’m going to go wash up, give me a moment. We’re cuddling again after.”

“Take your time,” you breathed softly, gathering your breath. “I’ll be here.”

Yuri gave you a final quick peck on the cheek before hopping off the couch and skipping across the room. Once Yuri closed the door to her bedroom, you jumped to your feet and ran over to the coat rack. As quickly as you could, you took the little box hidden inside your jacket’s inner pocket, double checking inside to make sure the ring was still there even though you knew it was.

With the box in hand, you quietly leaned against Yuri’s bedroom door, trying to relax as the sound of her shower turning on came through the mahogany. As calmly as your throbbing heart would allow, you cleaned yourself off quickly with some wipes before putting your clothes back on.

Once dressed, you entered Yuri’s room and waited patiently until the shower turned off. Your heart was beating harder than ever now as you dropped down to one knee a few steps away from the bathroom door. You tried taking a few deep breaths, but nothing worked; eventually, you conceded to the fact that you were going to be nervous and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Babe, before I head home, there was something I had to ask,” you called out through the door.

“I thought we were going to–” Yuri began replying as she entered the room before she froze in her tracks. “What are you doing?”

“Yuri–”

“No! Are you serious?” she squealed, bringing her hands up to her mouth, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen. She quickly ran up to you, nearly tripping on her towel. “Babe?!”

“Yuri,” you smiled tenderly up at her. “You are the most beautiful, amazing girl I have ever met in my life. You were my first love, and my only love. You mean the most to me in this world, and there is not a single person I could imagine spending the rest of my life with, other than you.”

Anticipation at an all time high, and hands still glued to her mouth, Yuri stared down at you wide eyed and frozen, incapable of movement.

“Jo Yuri, will you marry me?”

It was as if time stopped for a moment, the world stopped spinning, and the room around you blurred out of existence. All that was left was you, the little box in your hand, and Yuri. Then, with the weight of the entire world, Yuri lowered her hands from her mouth, and, with tears in her eyes, gave her answer.

“Yes, of course. Fucking yes, absolutely!”

Before you could even take in her response, before you could accept what she just said, you were pushed down to your back as Yuri – literally – jumped onto your body, landing with her lips pressed to yours in the best kiss you have ever had. It went on forever, seemingly. Yuri didn’t let go until she physically had to, gasping for breath and letting her tears flow down her cheeks as she looked down at you.

“Babe,” you whispered with a smile that you wouldn’t have been able to wipe off your face even if you wanted. “Try it on?”

“Oh, right,” she gasped, sitting up on her knees and holding out her hand.

She was trembling more than you’ve ever seen. You took hold of her wrist softly, giving it a comforting squeeze before bringing the ring up to her finger and sliding it on – a perfect fit.

“How do you like it?”

“Where did you get this? I’ve never seen anything like it,” Yuri gushed as she held her hand up towards the light, letting it shine against her finger. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s my great-great-grandfather’s, it got passed down my family for generations,” you explained. “I had to get it tightened and stuff, of course.”

“Wow, I love it,” Yuri muttered softly under her breath. She turned her attention away from the ring to look into your eyes. Her expression, soft as ever with little fresh tears of joy in her eyes, just made you melt. “I love you.”

Normally you’d say it back, but there was nothing you wanted more in the world right now than to kiss Yuri, your now-fiancée, on the lips. And that kiss would mark the start of new beginnings, a future, for the rest of your life, with the girl you loved – Jo Yuri.

---

A/N:

I'm just a huge liar I guess. Look, this was a fic I started writing as soon as I binged S2 of squidgame, but I wasn't able to finish it before life got busy. I was reminded of it by talking to some other writers and decided to finish it up in one night. I hope you guys still enjoy!

I know a lot of you guys have been asking and very patiently been waiting for the next Twice chapter, it's coming soon! I mentioned in my discord, but I might end up just dropping like four fics in the next couple of weeks. Dating Seraphs ch11 (once ch10 hits 1k notes maybe), Debauchery p2 (idk when, it's pretty much done already), a MiSaMo unnamed standalone of no plot all smut (probably the next release, maybe a couple days pr a week from now), and then I'll try to get the next Twice chapter out!

Love everyone's support and patience recently. I really hope my writing has been enjoyable still, I promise I'm not rushing through it. I still try to put in the effort to make it quality stuff for you guys, I just had a lot of half-finished works that I've finally come around to finishing! <3

[orphicsun]

idk im thinking about ellie trying to get her girl off, but shes just too stressed to fall over the edge so ellie has to do her very best to keep her focused enough to get the release she needed :(

warnings: 18+ blurb, oral sex + nipple play + clit stim (r! receiving), lovey sex

"It's just so dumb. I felt like I was the only one doing the peer review shit right. The feedback I got was not even two full sentences. And the worst part? My professor doesn't even care!"

Ellie pauses from in between your legs for probably the tenth time. She isn't annoyed with you, but seeing you so stressed out over a class, feeling the stiffness in your body worries her.

She squeezes the inside of your thigh affectionately. "Which class is this again?"

"Psychology," you grumble pitifully. "It should be my easiest class, but people make it so complicated."

Ellie gives you a soft look of empathy and nods along. "Yeah. You know, we don't have to do this if you're not in the mood."

You shake your head, adjusting to slide further down the bed. She follows further down with you. "It's not that. I just keep thinking about it.."

She slowly crawls up your body, hers encompassing yours now. Two soft kisses on your ear, then a row down your jawline. Her breath is warm, the sensation on your skin almost enough to take your mind off of your stress. "Just focus on me, okay? I'm going to touch you. I want you to tell me how it feels..and nothing else. You understand?"

You nod, and she smiles, unable to keep herself from leaving a comforting kiss on your cheek. "Good girl."

One of her hands traces a line down your body, stopping at your chest. She doesn't firmly roll your nipples between her hands as she would usually do, but instead traces a thumb over. Before you can even think of bringing up another grievance, you feel her soft lips attach to your nipple, applying gentle suction that makes you instinctively arch your back into her mouth and moan.

Ellie's hand squeezes your other boob before heading further down, sliding a finger through your slick. You can feel her lips curving up when you shudder at her touch. With a slick-coated finger, she pulls your clitorial hood back to give your aching clit some direct stimulation. Your mind is empty of whatever was bothering you, even if just for a bit.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Tell me how it feels," Ellie says, her low voice muffled with your tit. She continues to work you, not having much of a problem getting you further as you were already stimulated from her mouth.

"Feels so good, Els. Please don't stop."

She wouldn't dream of stopping, either. Though she only wishes to give you some stress relief, the way you whine and buck up into her touch naturally makes her own pussy clench and leak.

"I can feel you twitching, honey. Just let go for me." Another finger rubs faster at your clit, making you nearly squeal in pleasure. Her teeth eases your nipple into a soft nip, not wanting to snap you out of your state of pleasure. You love it, though. You cup her face and try to pull her mouth even further down against you.

Ellie wants to sigh in relief when she finally feels you tense up from something other than your worries. You grasp the side of her face, fingers lacing thoughtlessly through her hair. Ellie doesn't stop working over your chest and clit until you come down from the intense orgasm she pulled from you.

All she can do now is bury her face between your tits and wrap her arms around your torso, holding you tight. She knows you're most likely exhausted from the orgasm and the lack of sleep you've been getting recently, so she has no plans on returning back to her apartment. She simply holds you tight for tonight.

taglist: @femme-tobe, @sulliefimmie, @klallx, @mytaping, @pryncess123, @therealhexstrap, @piercedome, @violetszn, @saturnhas82moons, @sawaagyapong, @prettyinpink69, @usuck, @s7nburn, @hellokittyfeenie, @ssijht, @starberr1, @ruevu, @ruelezz, @littlefallenangel111, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2, @starrycherie , @tphmnv, @hotpinkskitties, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @elliesngirl, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @l0veylace, @abbysmeatrider, @ferxanda, @vahnilla, @plasticl0v3r, @g4ys0n, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs, @vixxxen, @aceywaycy, @abbysbutch, @evoscancelled, @x0x0xkimara, @mysexy-anxiety want to be tagged? click here!

[pitlanepeach]

Reader is secretly married to Lando, and she starts using his sim, she misses him and she wants to feel closer and also really wants to learn (even if she is not ready to admit that she always had a thing for learning how it would feel to be in an actual f1 car). She creates a profile for herself for fun: Mrs Norris (which of course no one thinks it’s actually her). She becomes so good at it that she ends up beating the whole grid one time, and everyone is just wondering who the hell is this person…

👀👀👀👀

Very unrealistic, but well… 😂😂😂😂

Mrs Norris (Oneshot)

Lando Norris x Verstappen!Reader

Summary — It was only supposed to be a bit of fun, but really, what did she expect? Her surname might be Norris now, but she was born a Verstappen.

Notes — This was so fun!!!!!! Em, I will never not appreciate your cute ideas.

Lando had been gone for exactly twelve hours when she caved.

It wasn’t boredom—the Verstappen family didn’t do boredom. Her schedule was packed with gym sessions, influencer brunches, and brand events she had no real desire to attend.

But the apartment felt off without him. Too quiet. Too tidy.

And the sim rig—God, it just sat there. Smug. Taunting. Like it knew she’d eventually give in to its silent, high-tech seduction.

She told herself it was just curiosity. Racing was in her blood, even if she’d had zero interest as a kid. She used to stage silent protests just to get out of karting, sulking until her dad finally let her quit and focus on gymnastics instead.

Still, one harmless session wouldn’t hurt, right?

Just a few laps around Silverstone. Just something to do before bed.

Two hours later, she was red-faced, sweaty, and yelling at an AI Williams for brake-checking her into Turn 1.

She was terrible. Hilariously, painfully terrible.

But she was hooked.

—

By day three, she was watching tutorials, scribbling notes, and fine-tuning the seat and wheel setup like her life depended on it.

She texted Lando under the guise of checking in.

Hey handsome, you okay? Totally random, but what’s the best braking point for Eau Rouge?

He didn’t even question it—just sent a smug voice note with a full breakdown like she was a rookie on his team.

It made her want to destroy his time.

That night, she created a profile.

She debated using her real name, but that was a quick no. The username had to be anonymous… but also funny.

So she picked the most on-the-nose option possible.

@Mrs.Norris

It was meant to be a joke. A bit of fun. She never expected it to go anywhere.

She definitely didn’t expect to get good.

—

Two weeks in, she was holding her own in online lobbies. Four weeks in, she was winning. All of them.

Six weeks in, she entered a public charity sim race and beat George, Charles, and Alex.

The stream chat lost its collective mind.

Who TF is Mrs. Norris???

Actual alien pace.

Lando alt??

Plot twist: it’s Max Verstappen in disguise.

That last one made her laugh so hard she nearly fell out of the rig. The idea that they thought her brother was racing under her married name? Unhinged enough to make her cry.

Then came the text from Lando.

Lando:

Baby, are you using my sim under the username Mrs. Norris?

You:

Yep. And I beat them all.

Lando:

No. Shut up. You did not.

You:

Duh. I might be a Norris now, but I was born a Verstappen.

—

When he finally got home after the triple-header, he walked in to find her mid-race, cursing like a sailor, laser-focused, fire in her eyes.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking.

She crossed the finish line five seconds clear of second place.

Slowly, she removed the headset. Even slower, she turned to face him, cheeks flushed pink.

“Hi,” she said softly, suddenly shy.

He didn’t say anything.

Then he grinned.

“Mrs. Norris,” he drawled, walking over to kiss her forehead, “we are so screwed if this gets out.”

She smiled. “It won’t. They think I’m Max.”

He leaned in, voice low. “You beat my Silverstone time.”

“Your fault for sounding all smug about Eau Rouge.”

He kissed her properly then, holding her like he hadn’t seen her in months.

And neither of them mentioned the way his hands trembled slightly at the thought of her in a real F1 car.

Because if her dad ever found out?

He’d have her in one tomorrow.

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝑺𝒉𝒚 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒚 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

Pairing: No Goggles/Lensless!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUTTTTT, so good, so dirty, Mark’s losing his MIND

Tags: Praise kink, dom!reader (kinda, you try, bless your heart), sub!Mark (again, kinda, he’s encouraging tf out of you), Mark is literally the best hype man to ever exist, reader is shy as hell typically so she’s coming WAY out of her shell, porn with no plot (but will one develop? 🧐 we shall see)

Word Count: 1,312

Synopsis: You & Mark have been going steady for awhile. You’re the personal assistant to Cecil – handling all the jobs that are too low for Donald (think coffee runs, taking calls, etc.). You’re shy, reserved, and quiet. So the night you come crawling out of your shell and take the reigns in bed? Mark becomes your biggest fan, your personal hype man, and a man on the edge of religious experience.

a/n: this is so absurdly self-indulgent and i won’t even apologize. i’m not even gonna lie to y’all no goggles/lensless (i like lensless better but seems like the fandom’s collectively sided with no goggles *sigh*) is my new fav. he is just so uugghhhh – like, the perfect balance of psycho with room for being OBSESSED and just, yeah, he’s that man. this was also so cathartic to write after an otherwise traumatic day.

gonna focus on my inbox after this & rebuilding what was lost in the southern belle series 😭

The room was a mess. The bed creaked under the frantic rhythm you were setting, your hips moving with reckless abandon. You’d never felt more alive—this wasn’t like you; not fitting into the quiet, reserved version of yourself he’d come to know. This was something else.

And Mark was eating it up, his eyes burning with dark, primal excitement as he lay back with his hands behind his head, fully relaxed but completely obsessed with the sight of you.

“Yeah, babe, fuck yeah!” he shouted, his voice thick with lust, practically buzzing with excitement. “That’s it! That’s how you do it! You look so fucking good like this. Go harder, don’t hold back, babe, I wanna see you lose it.”

Mark wasn’t just into this. He was thriving, watching you like the goddamn Super Bowl — except the MVP was you, on top, riding him like you owned him.

“OH my god—yes, yes, that’s what I’m TALKING ABOUT!” he yelled, voice echoing off the walls, like you were hitting home runs instead of grinding down on him so hard his abs twitched. “Shy little thing, huh? Where?! I don’t see her anymore—this version? She’s my favorite.”

Your thighs shook, pace relentless even as your breath hitched, lips parted, face glowing with sweat and something far more dangerous — confidence. You didn’t look at him much, still half-embarrassed to meet his eyes even now.

But Mark couldn’t stop staring.

“You feel that?” he groaned, lifting his hips just enough to meet you halfway. “That’s you wrecking me. This is insane. I’m literally being blessed right now.”

You bit your lip, eyes fluttering shut, trying to stay focused as your rhythm wavered under the weight of his praise.

“Ohhh, don’t get quiet on me now, baby—nah, nah, nah—talk to me, moan for me, let me hear that pretty mouth, c’mon—GOD, you’re so fucking hot right now, are you kidding me?!”

He was so hyped it was almost absurd — panting, ranting, eyes wide with disbelief like he couldn’t believe this was real. His arms were still behind his head but twitching now, dying to grab you, help you, worship you. But no. He was loving being your seat, your toy, your audience.

“You’re slamming down like you’re mad at me—are you mad at me, babe? ‘Cause you’re gonna make me fucking cry,” he gasped out, then broke into manic laughter. “Shit! Wait—do it again! That grind? That little twist right at the end? HOLY—yes! YESSSS.”

You whimpered, breath catching as your pace faltered again—but he wasn’t about to let you stop.

“Oh no, don’t you dare stop now—look at me, c’mon—ride it out, ride it all the way down, you’ve got this, you’re doing so good, I swear to god I’m gonna blow just watching you.”

You finally looked down at him, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, and Mark just about lost his damn mind.

“There she is! YESSS, there’s my girl, look at you—on top of the fucking world. Queen shit. Certified. I should be PAYING you right now.”

Your body stuttered—overstimulated, trembling—but you kept going. And he felt it.

His grin snapped into something wicked. His arms finally dropped to grab your hips, not guiding you—just feeling the way you moved, grounding himself while you used him.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, you’re gonna cum, I can feel it—so tight, so wet, baby you are milking me, are you trying to kill me? Is that what this is?” he babbled, delirious now. “Oh my god I love you. Wait—marry me. I’m serious. I’ll give you the moon.”

And when you finally shattered—silently, jaw slack, body stiffening as you came hard around him—Mark practically screamed.

“THAT’S IT! THAT’S MY GIRL! TAKE IT, BABY, FUCKING TAKE IT—”

His hands snapped to your hips, slamming you down as he buried himself deep, coming with a violent groan, his entire body locking under yours. His head fell back, chest rising like he couldn’t breathe, muscles twitching as he emptied into you.

He held you there—still, trembling, connected—until the last pulse faded.

You collapsed against him, shaking and spent, and he caught you immediately, wrapping you up tight, still grinning like a man who just won every lottery ever invented.

“...That was... beyond,” he muttered against your hair, catching his breath. “You just blew my entire fucking mind. I think I blacked out for a second.”

You made a tiny, worn-out noise.

He smiled wider.

—

It was a normal debrief. Supposed to be, anyway.

Cecil was droning on about some black ops mission Mark had technically been assigned to but never showed up for, and a few other heroes were milling around the room. You stayed close to the wall, sipping your coffee quietly, trying very hard to pretend you weren’t being stared at like a snack.

Mark was across the room. Or, more accurately, posing across the room. Back against the wall, arms folded, smirk in full effect, eyes locked on you like you were the only person there.

He hadn't stopped looking at you like that all day.

Your cheeks were already pink, but it got so much worse when he suddenly spoke—loudly.

“You know what’s crazy?”

Everyone turned.

Cecil’s eye twitched. “What now.”

Mark pushed off the wall, casually strolling into the middle of the conversation like he hadn’t just derailed the entire room.

“I just think it’s wild,” he said, grinning, “how someone can be all sweet and quiet in public, but the second they’re on top of you—” You choked on your coffee. Actually, physically choked. “—they go absolutely feral,” Mark finished proudly.

Your soul left your body.

Every head turned to you. Even the intern looked scandalized. Cecil let out the slowest, longest sigh you’d ever heard.

“Oh my god,” you whispered into your hand.

Mark kept going. “Like, I knew she had it in her. I knew. But the dedication? The power? The whole—” he mimed someone slamming down onto a seat, complete with sound effects, “—Boom boom pow, I mean—chef’s kiss. 10/10. Academy Award performance. And the STAMINA? Un-fucking-real. Her thighs were shaking like—”

“MARK!” you hissed, face flaming.

“What?” he said, half-laughing. “I’m complimenting you!”

You were about to melt into the floor.

And that’s when Rexleaned in from two chairs down, elbow propped on the table, face lit up like fireworks.

“Wait, hold up,” he said, pointing at you with his half-eaten protein bar. “You mean quiet girl over here? She was on top?”

Mark beamed. “Oh, on top, in charge, out of body—I was literally just lying there like ‘is this how I die?’ Would’ve been a good way to go out too.”

Rex whistled low. “Shiiiit. Okay. I see you.” He turned to you, eyes dragging way too slow. “Damn, quiet ones really are the freakiest, huh? I knew it.”

You felt your stomach drop. “Rex.”

He didn’t stop. “No no, this is important. For science. So like… did you do the thing where you—”

And then Mark moved.

Slow, calm, still smiling. But the air in the room dropped ten degrees as he crossed the space between them in half a heartbeat and leaned down to Rex’s ear with that same shit-eating grin still plastered on his face.

“If your eyes so much as blink in her direction again, I’ll pop your head like a grape,” he whispered casually.

Rex blinked.

“Like—pshhht. Just… juice,” Mark added with a cheerful hand gesture.

Then he clapped Rex on the shoulder, straightened up, and turned back toward you like nothing happened.

You were bright red, half-horrified and half trying very hard not to laugh. “Mark—”

He winked. “Still thinking about last night, baby.”

“Please stop talking forever.”

[cressidagrey]

The Mysterious Mrs Piastri - The "Canon" Version

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.

Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.

And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.

Notes:

Hi! This is the reworked version of the "The mysterious Mrs. Piastri". No worries! The original is still there. The problem is, that I wrote that piece originally as a stand alone.

There was never supposed to be Bee. There was never even supposed to be Felicity, because it was originally supposed to be a reader insert.

There was never supposed to be a sequel, which is why there is a lot of social media stuff in the original that's very out of character for Felicity, but I used back then to flesh out the "character" more because again, there was never supposed to be sequel.

So here it is: The new and "improved" version:

Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.

Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.

And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.

It had started innocently enough, just another fan stage, just another round of questions.

“Oscar, would you rather get married or get a tattoo?”

Lando relaxed. This one was easy. Surely Oscar would say tattoo. Maybe he’d joke about getting “downforce” written across his bicep in cursive. Something normal.

Instead, Oscar said, calm as ever, “Well, I already did one of those things.”

Lando choked.

He choked.

His drink shot out of his mouth like a missile. “YOU GOT A TATTOO?!”

Oscar turned to him, eyebrows creased in confusion. “What? No.”

And then it happened.

Lando watched, in real-time, as his brain caught up with Oscar’s words. “Wait.” His voice cracked. “WAIT.”

He stood up. Actually stood up. “YOU’RE MARRIED?!”

Oscar just nodded. Calm. Chill. Like he’d just announced what time breakfast was, not that his entire personal life was something Lando apparently had zero clue about.

Lando was spiraling. “WHAT?”

Even the interviewer sat forward, sensing blood in the water. “Wait—married married? Like, legally?”

Oscar looked almost offended by the clarification. “Is there another kind?”

Lando’s hands flew to his head. His whole worldview was crumbling. “SINCE WHEN?!”

Oscar shrugged like they were discussing tire strategy. “A while now.”

Lando looked to the crowd for help. The crowd was screaming. Phones were recording. PR was probably out back crying.

“I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend!” Lando yelled.

Oscar squinted at him. “You know that.”

“I DO NOT KNOW THAT.” Lando was full-blown shrieking now. “WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED A GIRLFRIEND—LET ALONE A WIFE?!”

Oscar just shrugged again, that same infuriating calm on his face. “Well. I do. She’s amazing. 10/10. Would always marry her again.”

Lando’s soul left his body. “YOU HAVE A WIFE?!”

The interviewer was thriving. “We need details. How long have you been together?”

Oscar, ever consistent: “Since we were fifteen.”

Lando wheezed. “FIFTEEN?!” He sounded like he was being personally attacked. Oscar nodded like that was a normal answer.

“Where did you meet?”

Oscar blinked. “School?”

Lando turned to the audience, pointing like he needed witnesses. “Look at this guy! Of course he’s been secretly married this whole time. Of course!”

“When did you get married?” the interviewer asked, beaming like she’d just uncovered the next great F1 scandal.

Oscar: “When I was eighteen.”

The crowd erupted. Lando clutched his chest. “EIGHTEEN?! WHY?!”

Oscar: “Because I wanted to? Because I love her?”

Lando physically recoiled. “What, like… straight out of high school?!”

“Not straight out,” Oscar said thoughtfully. “We waited.”

“How long is a bit, Oscar?”

Oscar tilted his head. “Three weeks after graduation?”

Lando made a noise he was pretty sure only dolphins could hear. “THAT’S NOT A BIT, THAT’S A BLINK.”

The interviewer was practically in Oscar’s lap at this point. “How did you propose?”

Oscar shrugged. “I asked her to marry me.”

Lando stared. “That’s it? That’s the whole story?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”

“Where?” the interviewer prompted.

“At home.”

“…At home?”

“On the bed.”

Lando threw his hands in the air. “YOU ABSOLUTE ROBOT.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “She said yes.”

“That poor woman,” Lando muttered.

Then came the worst part.

“How did you manage to keep this a secret for so long?” the interviewer asked.

Oscar gave the most Piastri answer imaginable: “No one asked.”

Lando screamed.

“Who is she?!” the interviewer asked, practically vibrating. “What’s her name? Where’s she from?”

Oscar, completely useless: “My wife?”

Lando looked ready to launch himself into the stratosphere. “YES, BUT WHO IS SHE? WHY HAVE I NEVER MET HER?!”

Oscar blinked. “I thought it was obvious?”

“OBVIOUS TO WHO?!”

Oscar just shrugged again.

Lando was losing it. “Okay, but why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew,” Oscar said, like that wasn’t the most unhinged thing he could possibly say.

“How would I have known?!” Lando shouted. “Do I look like a mind reader to you?!”

Oscar just looked at him, completely unbothered. The calmest chaos Lando had ever known.

Finally, Lando gave in. “You have to introduce me to her. Like, actually. You can’t just be married and expect me not to meet her.”

Oscar sighed, clearly seeing the writing on the wall. “Fine.”

“Good.” Lando sat back. Then narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Does anyone else know?”

Oscar considered. “I think Zak does.”

Lando shrieked. “WHY DOES ZAK KNOW?!”

“Because he’s my boss?”

“I’M YOUR FRIEND!”

Somewhere, McLaren PR was having the worst day of their careers.

Oscar Piastri, the most low-maintenance driver in the paddock, had just casually revealed on live fan stage that he had a wife—and had had one since he was eighteen.

And Lando?

Lando was never going to emotionally recover from this.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/FormulaTea: 🚨OSCAR PIASTRI JUST CASUALLY ANNOUNCED ON FAN STAGE THAT HE’S BEEN MARRIED SINCE HE WAS 18??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN. WHAT.

@/chaoticf1brain: not oscar piastri saying “i already did one of those” to a “married or tattoo?” question and lando immediately short-circuiting. THIS IS CINEMA.

@/pitlaneprincess: the fact that oscar piastri’s marriage reveal came from a game of “would you rather get married or get a tattoo” is so unintentionally iconic. robot behavior. absolute king.

@/mclarensburner: no like. imagine being oscar’s teammate, sharing hotel gyms and debriefs and flights and NEVER KNOWING he was out here with a whole ass wife since he was a teenager. i’d scream too.

@/lanxiety_norris: Lando’s live meltdown over not knowing Oscar was married has already entered my top 5 F1 moments of all time. He spat out his drink. He screamed. I will be studying this footage for the rest of my life.

@/drivehivehq: oscar saying “she’s amazing. 10/10. would always marry her again.” in the middle of lando’s breakdown 😭💍

why is he lowkey husband goals???

@tiretalkpod: Oscar Piastri being married for FIVE YEARS and no one knowing is somehow more chaotic than any on-track drama we’ve had in the past 3 seasons. This man kept a whole wife secret like it was tire strategy.

@/piastrified: oscar: “how did i keep it a secret? no one asked.” the ENTIRE INTERNET: now asking every possible question at once

@/PRnightmare:  McLaren PR right now: 🧍‍♂️💻💥🔥🧯📉📉📉📉📉

@landosocial:  lando literally said “I’M YOUR FRIEND” like a hurt Victorian child finding out his best mate got married without telling him i’m sobbing 😭😭😭

@/f1brainrot:  we don’t know her name. we don’t know her face. we just know she said yes to a man who proposed “at home. on the bed.” and honestly? she’s a legend.

@/gridwivesunite:  Oscar said “I proposed at home. On the bed.” Oscar also said “she said yes.” Sir??? Why is this accidentally the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard???

@/tracklimitsandtea:  Me watching Oscar drop five years of marital lore in one fan stage while Lando has a nervous breakdown: 👁️👄👁️

@/buzzingtonstan: IF THIS MAN HAS A WHOLE WIFE, DOES THAT MEAN HE ALSO HAS A KID?? IS THERE A BABY PIASTRI OUT THERE??? OSCAR. BLINK TWICE.

@/landodrama: someone make the Netflix episode of this IMMEDIATELY. title it “How Oscar Piastri Crashed the Internet in 6 Words”

@/flannelanddownforceWHO IS THE MYSTERIOUS MRS PIASTRI!?!?

@/nicolepiastri:  I see the internet is discovering my son is married. Welcome to the club. I, too, found out after the fact 5 years ago. 👍

↪️@/piastriluv: NICOLE PLEASE TELL US YOU’RE KIDDING 😭😭😭

@/landochaotic:   Did he at least call you after the ceremony or did you find out via a tax form?!

***

Oscar Piastri was a man of routine.

He liked predictability. Consistency. A life largely free of unnecessary chaos.

Which was exactly why, after the complete meltdown that was today’s fan stage, he had retreated to his driver’s room, shut the door, and pulled out his phone. If there was one thing in his life that wasn’t chaotic, it was his wife.

The call barely rang twice before Felicity picked up, her face appearing on-screen, framed by the garage lighting. She had her hair tied up and was wearing one of his old hoodies—his favorite one, judging by the faded McLaren logo on the sleeve.

Just seeing her calmed him down instantly.

“Hey, Oz,” she said, smiling like she already knew he needed it.

Oscar slumped back against the couch, head tilted to rest against the wall. “Hey, Fliss.”

She studied him for a second. “So. How was your day?”

Oscar closed his eyes for a beat. “Lando found out we’re married.”

Her eyebrows lifted in slow, amused surprise. “Oh.” A pause. “He… didn’t know?”

Oscar opened one eye. “Apparently not.”

That earned a full laugh, soft and familiar. “How the hell did you think he knew?”

Oscar shrugged. “I dunno. We’ve been married for, what, five years now? I figured… someone would’ve told him.”

Felicity gave him a long, fond look. “Oz. You’re about as subtle as a torque wrench, and somehow also the most emotionally secretive man alive.”

“I can be romantic,” Oscar huffed, immediately defensive.

Before she could reply, there was a loud, unmistakable bang on the door. Followed by—

“LET ME IN, PIASTRI!”

Oscar closed his eyes again and muttered under his breath, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

On-screen, Felicity was trying very hard not to laugh. “Is that…?”

“YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS BEFORE I BREAK THIS DOOR DOWN AND DEMAND ANSWERS—”

Oscar tilted the phone so she could see the ceiling. “Yes.”

Now she was laughing freely, and it was a beautiful sound—one he’d always liked more than any podium cheer.

The banging continued. “STOP IGNORING ME, OSCAR. I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. I CAN HEAR YOU BREATHING.”

“You should probably let him in,” Felicity said, lips twitching. “Before he combusts.”

Oscar sighed the sigh of a man who had accepted his fate. He got up, opened the door—

—and Lando barreled in like a man on a mission.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Lando demanded. “I NEED TO SEE HER WITH MY OWN EYES.”

Oscar didn’t even flinch. Just held up the phone like it was Exhibit A. “She’s on FaceTime. Calm down, lunatic.”

Lando whipped around so fast he nearly tripped, then launched himself onto the couch, staring at the screen with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Silence.

Felicity gave him a polite, amused smile. “Hi. You must be Lando.”

Lando stared. Then pointed. “You’re real.”

She laughed. “I hope so.”

He turned to Oscar, looking betrayed on a spiritual level. “SHE’S REAL.”

Oscar sighed. “I know.”

Lando turned back to the screen. “And you married him? At eighteen?”

Felicity shrugged, her smile fond. “Yep.”

“WHY?!” Lando looked genuinely baffled.

Felicity tilted her head. “Because I love him?”

Lando looked like his entire world had been completely shaken. “You love him,” he repeated, staring incredulously down at her.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oi, mate, why’s that so hard to believe?”

Lando just groaned in exasperation. “You do not understand how hard it is, being friends with a guy for literal years, and never knowing he had a girlfriend—let alone a WIFE.”

“Mate, I’m pretty sure that says more about you than me,” Oscar told him bluntly.

Lando shot him a glare. “Oh, and you’re what? Mister Emotional Intelligence? You’ve been hiding this for years!”

Oscar shrugged. “Never came up in conversation.”

Lando looked horrified. “Don’t put this on me!”

Oscar shrugged. “You never asked.”

Lando flopped onto the couch, rubbing his face. “Unbelievable.”

Felicity stifled a laugh, the corners of her mouth tugging upward as she watched Lando in his current state.

Oscar side-eyed Lando. “What’s so hard to believe?”

Lando just flailed his arms. “You’ve been my friend for years and I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend, let alone a wife!”

Oscar folded his arms. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Oh, and now I’m the emotionally unaware one?”

“Yes.”

Lando flopped back on the couch like his entire world had been shaken. “You never told me!”

“You never asked.”

Lando, meanwhile, had moved to the “trying to wrap his head around this situation” portion of his breakdown.

“Okay, no. We’re fixing this. Immediately.”

Oscar looked at him flatly. “You’re meeting her. Right now.”

“No. In person. I need proof she’s not a deepfake generated by your PR team to make you seem like a human being.”

Oscar deadpanned, “No PR team is that good.”

Lando pointed to the phone. “Mrs. Piastri, I will see you soon.”

She laughed. “Looking forward to it.”

Lando nodded firmly, then turned back to Oscar. “I will be grilling you for details later.”

Oscar sighed. “Of course you will.”

Lando stood dramatically. “Good. Carry on.” And then he walked out like he had just personally fixed the situation.

Oscar turned back to Fliss, who was fully laughing.

“You were not kidding about him,” she said.

Oscar sighed. “I regret everything.”

She smirked. “Love you.”

Oscar huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

And somewhere, in the distance, Lando was plotting.

****

@/oscarpiastri ✅

Caption:

So, the internet (and, more importantly, Lando) just found out I’m married.

To be honest, I didn’t think it was a secret. I’ve been married for years. I assumed people knew. Turns out, I was very, very wrong.

Yes, I’m married. Have been for five years this summer.

So, meet my wife- Felicity—my best friend, my favorite person in the world, and the only one who has somehow put up with me for this long.

We met when we were 14. Two kids at boarding school, thrown together by pure chance. The only open seat in class was next to me, so she took it. I stole a pen from her once—completely by accident—but she still let me borrow her pens after that. Eventually, she started carrying a second one just for me. I told myself that meant something.

She always knew when I was having a bad day, even when I hadn’t said a word. She made school bearable, made exams feel less stressful, made me laugh even when all I wanted to do was complain. Somewhere between stolen lunch breaks and long walks back to the dorms, between late-night study sessions and whispered conversations about the future, I fell in love with her. Quietly, all at once and over time. I knew by the time we were 15—maybe even before then.

She was my best friend first. The person I trusted most. The one who understood the parts of my life that didn’t always make sense to everyone else. By the time I worked up the nerve to tell her how I felt, she just smiled and said, ‘I was wondering when you’d figure that out.’ Like she had known all along.

When I left school to chase this ridiculous dream, she didn’t ask me to stay. She just told me she’d be there, no matter how far I went. And she was. Through every win, every loss, every moment of self-doubt.

So when we turned 18, we didn’t wait. Three weeks after graduation, we walked into a registry office in London, signed a piece of paper, and walked out married. No grand ceremony, no expensive dress. Just us, two rings we picked out in under twenty minutes, and a promise we already knew we’d keep.

We told our families afterward. Some took it better than others.

I know getting married at 18 sounds a little mad. People told us we were too young, that we should wait, that we were being reckless. But why? I had no doubt in my mind then, and I have none now.

Fliss is still the first person I call after every race, no matter the result. She’s the one who tells me to go to bed when I’m up too late on the sim, who reminds me to eat when I forget, who talks me down when I start overthinking. She’s been with me through everything. Through junior categories to F1, through every high and every low, through the moments I wanted to quit and the ones where I felt like I was on top of the world.

She’s my best friend, my greatest love, the only person who can call me out on my nonsense and get away with it.

So, no, I don’t have a tattoo. But I do have a wife. The person who still looks at me like I’m just that 15-year-old kid stealing a pen and falling in love before he even realizes it’s happening.

I have no idea how I convinced her to marry me, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

10/10, would always marry her again. ❤️

@/felicitypiastri

Comments:

@/landonorris: FIVE YEARS??? YOU HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS???↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I assumed you knew. ↪️ @/landonorris: WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED HAVING A WIFE???↪️ @/felicitypiastri: He does this thing where he forgets people don’t just know things.

@/danielricciardo: High school sweethearts. Eloped at 18. Best plot twist of the season.

@/mclaren: We have so many questions.↪️ @/felicitypiastri: Submit them in an organized document, I’ll answer the best ones.

@/f1updates: Today in ‘Oscar Piastri casually drops life-changing information’—he has a whole wife. Lando learned this at the same time as the rest of us.

@/landoscult: Not Lando finding out with the fans and having a full existential crisis on stage 💀💀💀

@/thef1editz: POV: You just found out your best friend has been MARRIED FOR YEARS and never told you (attached video of Lando’s reaction with dramatic music)

@/wagsf1: WE NEED A FULL BOARDING SCHOOL LOVE STORY IMMEDIATELY.

@/f1tea: No thoughts, just Lando yelling ‘WHO GETS MARRIED AT 18’ like he was personally betrayed.

@/padlockthegrid: We’ve been watching this man for YEARS and never once suspected a wife??

@/georgerussell63: I feel like this is something you announce at a dinner, not in front of an audience.↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I thought I had mentioned it. ↪️ @/landonorris: YOU DID NOT.

@/charles_leclerc: This is the greatest plot twist in F1 history.

@/fernandoalo_oficial: I respect this level of secrecy.

@/chaoticneutralf1: Oscar Piastri is terrifying. He just DOES things and assumes people KNOW.

@/mclaren: Oscar, any other life-altering facts you’ve forgotten to mention?↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not that I can think of.↪️ @/landonorris: I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT.

@/felicitypiastri: 10/10, would marry you again. (Even if you forget to tell people.)↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Love you too. ❤️

@/danielricciardo: Oscar, mate, do you have any other shocking secrets? ↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not really. ↪️ @/landonorris: I AM NOT CONVINCED.

@/chaoticgrid: I will think about this every day for the rest of my life.

***

@/felicitypiastri Instagram Post

Caption:

So. Yesterday happened.

Since Oscar apparently forgot that telling people you’re married is something you actually have to do, I’ve spent the last 24 hours watching the internet lose its collective mind. You guys have questions. Lots of them. So, let’s go:

1. Wait… Oscar is MARRIED?!

Yes. Since we were 18. I know, I know. We should have made a big announcement. Or at the very least told his teammate. Oops.

2. When did you get married?!Right after we graduated. We were 18, ran off to London, signed a piece of paper, and then told our families. In hindsight, we probably should have done that last part beforehand, but hey, we were young and in love.

3. Why so young?Because we were sure. It wasn’t impulsive—it was inevitable. People told us we were crazy, that we should wait, that we’d change. But we didn’t. We grew up together, and we only ever grew toward each other. If I had to choose again, I’d do it exactly the same way.

3. How did you two meet?We were 15, stuck at boarding school, and Oscar stole my pen. He swears it was an accident. I maintain that it was the moment he decided to make me fall in love with him.

5. Did you really not tell Lando?I thought he knew! Everyone close to us does! I assumed Oscar had mentioned it at some point, but, well… you all saw what happened. Apparently, Oscar’s ‘private life’ policy extended to his teammate of nearly two years. Which is why we all got to witness his public breakdown in real-time.

5. Does this mean you’re an F1 WAG?Technically? Yes. Do I have the outfit coordination and expensive handbag collection to back it up? No. I do steal Oscar’s team hoodies, so that counts, right?

6. What’s your favorite thing about Oscar?The way he loves—quietly, steadily, with his whole heart. He still waits up for me if I’m out late, still kisses my forehead when he thinks I’m asleep, still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves like he did back when he was karting. I’ve loved him for so long that I can’t imagine my life any other way.

7. And since Oscar said ‘10/10 would always marry her again,’ what’s your answer?10/10. No regrets, no hesitation, no doubt. I’d marry him a thousand times over.

Comments: 

@/landonorris: I’M STILL NOT OVER THIS. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: I’m never going to live this down, am I? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Nope. But I love you anyway.

@/danielricciardo: This is the kind of romance novel material I expect from an F1 WAG.

@/mclaren: We demand a Netflix special on this.

@/wagsf1: This is the cutest thing we’ve ever seen. Please post more.

@/f1updates: The way she said ‘10/10’ like it was the easiest question ever 😭💖

@/wagsf1: He still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves??? I’M GONNA CRY.

@/f1updates: This woman just broke the internet by being casually, devastatingly in love.

@/f1fangirl92: The way this man has been secretly in love since he was FIFTEEN is actually lethal.”

@/fanaccountoscarpiastri: So what I’m getting is that Oscar is out here winning races and marriage. I respect it.

@/fanofeverything: Why did Oscar keep it a secret??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: It wasn’t a secret so much as… he never felt the need to bring it up? It’s not like he was hiding me in a basement somewhere. He just doesn’t talk about personal stuff unless someone asks directly. Which, apparently, no one did.

@/paddockinsider: Did Oscar just assume that everyone knew you guys were married? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. 100%. This man did not think to mention it because he thought it was ‘obvious. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OBVIOUS TO WHO?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: To him. He just figured if someone asked if he was married, he’d say yes. But since no one did, he saw no need to bring it up. ↪️@/landonorris: HOW IS THAT YOUR LOGIC. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No one asked. ↪️@/landonorris: I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.

@/paddockgossip: Did ANY other drivers know??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Oscar’s Prema teammates figured it out. The rest of the grid? Oblivious. ↪️@/landonorris: How did Oscar never accidentally spill?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He doesn’t overshare. Meanwhile, I am still in awe that he just assumed people knew.

@/mclarenfanatic: Did he really think Lando knew? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: 100%. I asked him and he was like, ‘Well, I didn’t HIDE it?’ And I was like, ‘Oscar. That is not the same thing as telling people.’

@/pitstopqueen: What was your first impression of Oscar? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Honestly? I thought he was too quiet. Then he made some dry, sarcastic comment under his breath in class, and I immediately knew we’d get along.

@/tracksidegossip: How long did you actually plan the wedding? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: A week. And ‘plan’ is a generous term. We just Googled how to get married in London, booked the appointment, and that was that.

@/f1chaos: Oscar, be so honest, did you really think people would just ‘figure it out’ without you ever saying anything?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. Yes, he did.

@/gridgirlgossip: Oscar Piastri, the man who quietly eloped at 18, dealt with family drama, and then just went racing like nothing happened.

@/drsdiva: This is the wildest reveal in F1 history. Netflix, do your job.

@/f1softies: The fact that Oscar has been in wife guy mode for YEARS and we had no idea.

@/lando4lyf: Lando: ‘YOU GOT A TATTOO?!’ Oscar: ‘No, I’m married.’ Lando: internal system crash

@/piastriupdates: Lando Norris finding out live on stage that his teammate has been MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS is the funniest thing to ever happen in F1.

@/f1memesdaily: Oscar Piastri eloped at 18, never told anyone, and assumed people would figure it out while Lando was out here thinking he was a single man. I respect the commitment to quiet chaos.

@/danielricciardo: Mate. You were MARRIED this whole time?? I thought you were just too focused on racing to date anyone, and instead you were out here with a whole WIFE???

@/charles_leclerc: You were married at 18? And Oscar thought that was a normal thing to do?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. 

@/alex_albon: Tbh, I respect it. Absolute power move. Eloping at 18, casually keeping it a secret, and then just dropping it on Lando like that?? Unreal. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: See? Alex gets it.

@/robertschwartzman: Oh, now everyone suddenly cares. Meanwhile, WE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: To be fair, you were basically forced to know. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: Yeah, because he wouldn’t shut up about you. ‘Oh, I can’t come to dinner, I have to call my wife.’ ‘Oh, I’m flying to London to see my wife.’ Mate, we were 19, and you were out here married like a 40-year-old. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He still does that, btw.↪️@/robertschwartzman: Not surprised. The man has been whipped since day one.

@/arthur_leclerc: The funniest part was watching Oscar just assume we all knew. Like we’d be talking about normal 19-year-old things, and he’d casually drop, ‘Yeah, my wife said the same thing.’ ↪️@/felicitypiastri: And did any of you ever ask for clarification? ↪️@/arthur_leclerc: Oh, we asked. His response? ‘What about it?’ LIKE SIR. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: “One time, I straight-up said, ‘Mate, do you realize you’re married?’ and he just blinked at me and said, ‘Yeah.’ As if that was a totally normal thing for a teenage racing driver. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Sounds about right. ↪️@/logansergeant: “Honestly, we stopped questioning it after a while. He was just so chill about it. ↪️@/arthur_leclerc: Yeah, it was like, ‘Oh, Oscar’s in a committed marriage while we’re all just trying to survive? Cool, cool.’

@/f1updates: So you eloped… but do you think you’ll ever have a big wedding? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Not really. Oscar and I don’t love being the center of attention, so a big wedding never appealed to us. ↪️@/landonorris: THEN CAN I HAVE A BIG PARTY ON YOUR BEHALF??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: We literally just had a wedding reveal by accident and you want to throw an even bigger event??? ↪️@/landonorris: YES.

@/f1updates: Why doesn’t Oscar wear a wedding ring? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He does! He just doesn’t wear it when driving. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: Okay but I have never seen this man wear a ring in my life. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He wears it in the off-season. Also, fun fact: he has a silicone one for training that he keeps losing.

@/f1updates: Serious question—why don’t you ever go to races?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: I like my privacy. Nobody needs to see my terrified facial expressions. Also, I am busy at home. ↪️@/f1memes: You really married a professional racing driver and said no thanks to the circus.” ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yep.  

↪️@/mclarenmemes: And Oscar’s fine with that??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He knew what he was signing up for.

@/landonorris: So I still haven’t met you because??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Because you are chaos incarnate and I am scared. ↪️@/landonorris: I AM DELIGHTFUL. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Oscar tells me otherwise. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, SAY IT AIN’T SO. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No comment.

@/mclarenmemes: So you just send him off to work and watch from home like it’s the Super Bowl? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. ↪️@/f1memes: AND HE’S FINE WITH THAT??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He comes home, I feed him, we watch race replays together, and he tells me all the paddock gossip. We have an excellent system. ↪️@/f1updates: Oscar, confirm or deny? ↪️@/oscarpiastri: Confirmed.

@/f1updates: So, will we ever see you at a race? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Maybe. One day. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, MAKE HER COME TO ONE. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: She does whatever she wants. I learned that a long time ago.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/piastrified: oscar posting a heartfelt essay about marrying the love of his life felicity posting a selfie from their wedding day and casually mentioning he stole her pen we are in a ROMANCE NOVEL people

@/tifosibutsoft:  not to be dramatic but i would lay down my life for felicity piastri and her 20-photo instagram grid.

@/formulafeminism: her instagram goes: 🧠 page-long math caption 🐔 chicken in a knitted sweater?! 🛠️ engine restoration 🍞 perfect sourdough crumb 💍 wedding ring in engine grease this woman is unhinged. i love her.

@/landoslostmind: lando finding out oscar is married via fan stage chaos the internet finding out felicity is better than ALL of us via a grid that has exactly zero curated content same vibe.

@/chaosinturn1:  felicity: “technically i’m an f1 wag” also felicity: wears oil-stained jeans, builds a gearbox, and bakes bread from scratch at 3am this woman is a weapon

@/garagegirlsupreme:  Felicity Piastri’s whole vibe is: “I could kill you with this torque wrench or love you for the rest of my life. Either way, you’re eating homemade banana bread.” 10/10 no notes.

@/formula1tumblr: Oscar: “I’d marry her again in a heartbeat.” Felicity: “We were inevitable.” Me: sob crying into an old hoodie I pretend is Oscar’s

@/pitwallposters:  you know she’s terrifyingly brilliant bc her instagram isn’t even TRYING to be aesthetic and it still made us fall in love with her

@/felicityspanner: people are out here thirst-following felicity for hot girl math & carburetors and you know what? same

@/softoscarpiastri:  Oscar: “I assumed people knew.” Felicity: “Oops.” Me, holding back tears while reading both their posts like it’s a Nicholas Sparks adaptation: 🧍‍♀️

@/beehivetheory:  felicity piastri’s instagram is the most confusing and impressive thing i’ve ever seen. one post: her holding a sourdough starter like it’s her child. next post: her under a 1967 alfa romeo spider with a wrench in her mouth. next: her proving a theorem i don’t have the qualifications to read.

@/mclarenbrainrot:  i think the best part is that felicity’s account is just soft lighting, feral captions, old cars, and a literal chicken coop.

@/chaoticgoodfelicity:  “Technically I’m a WAG. I steal Oscar’s hoodies so that counts right?” felicity i want to be you SO BAD.

@/formulanope:  I don’t know who I want to be more:

Oscar, who married the love of his life at 18 and thought everyone just knew

Felicity, who loves cars, chickens, and spreadsheets more than media attention

@/speedmathqueen people are shocked oscar married a genius but felicity’s instagram LITERALLY has a video where she’s like “just fixing a differential while calculating gravitational drag on a whiteboard” and then makes banana bread like it’s nbd how is this woman real

@/lanlanf1:  every team principal right now reading oscar’s caption like: “okay so not only is he unshakeable on track but also writes like a poet, has been married since 18, and literally fixed himself by 15. great. fantastic. my drivers can’t even commit to a protein shake.”

@/gpbutemotional:  Zak Brown: “we support family at McLaren.” Andrea Stella, quietly reprinting Oscar’s driver bio with “married to a woman smarter than all of us combined”

@/justpitthings:  the fact that felicity Piastri could win an engine-rebuild competition, a bake-off, and a theoretical physics conference in the same weekend AND look bored while doing it… she’s what every gifted kid from tumblr wanted to become

@/tinfoilfelicity:  convinced felicity is the reason oscar is so calm. you grow up married to someone who organizes her maths notes in color-coded hexadecimal and has chicken and suddenly nothing in life phases you anymore.

@/piastriupdates:  what do you mean oscar’s love language is handwritten notes inside his gloves before every race i’m actually going to cry in the middle of a petrol station

[visforvengeance]

Where you been, baby?

Requested by: no one :)

Notes: and here’s stack!!!! So this can be read as a standalone or apart of a series. It’s kind of similar to the one for smoke but not exactly. This WILL be posted on AO3. Enjoy!

Warnings: mmm not smut exactly. But not sfw either ya know what I’m sayin. Ok. I didn’t necessarily feel any way about Mary as a character. She was just there tbh. But all love to Hailee, I love her down. There’s just some Mary slander here lmao

Smoke x reader

You could hear the music outside of the mill as clear as day. There had been bodies hanging around. Some dancing, some drinking, some…better left unsaid. You made your way to the entrance. You didn’t even get the option of waiting in line before Cornbread saw you and ushered you right on inside.

It looked just how you’d imagined inside. Warm lighting, joyous faces. It ignited something in you. Recognition. Reminiscence. Nostalgia. It had been a long, quiet time while the twins were gone. And, maybe that was for the better. But you couldn’t say you didn’t miss it.

As you were walking to the bar, you managed to lock eyes with one twin. Your twin, Stack. He had Mary hanging off of his arm, and he was mid-puff when he saw you. Mary had been too wrapped up in herself to notice that Stack had suddenly stopped paying attention to her and focused on you instead.

Still, you walked on until you reached it. Taking a seat beside the pair, ignoring Stack’s stare. You warmly greeted Annie,

“How ya doin', Annie?”

She beamed at you, pulling you over the bar to squeeze you into a hug. All of you had grown up close together, but you and Stack grew closer. You were each other’s first everything. And, because of that, you thought that meant it’d stay that way. But, no, it didn’t. You caught Stack with Mary one night, and it had been a cycle of heartbreak ever since then.

Elias obviously loved you more than her, more than anything. But with that realization came fear. The twins were on a warpath. And, he couldn’t have you there for it. He wouldn’t. So, he left it all. He knew it would hurt you. Hell, it even hurt him, too. But, it was for the best after all. Right?

“Lemme get a shot of whiskey, please.”

Annie began serving up your shot when you heard Mary speak up beside you.

“Well, look what the cat done dragged in.”

Annie tried to diffuse the situation because she knew how both of you could be. But, Stack just watched, intrigued. Everyone knew you didn’t start problems, but you sure as hell could finish them. And, Mary was always a problem.

“Now, Annie, wasn’t I just here minding my business?”

“Don’t y’all bring that mess in here. This is a celebratory night. Take it outside if y’all gon fight.”

You really hadn’t planned to fight. You were even willing to let it slide if Mary would just shut the hell up. But she never did know her place.

“No, Ms. Annie, it ain’t gon be no fighting tonight. I just came to congratulate the twins, give them a little warm welcome back home,”

You looked over to Stack, who still had his eyes only on you. He looked damn good, you’ll give him that. But, nothing more. He didn’t deserve to know just how much you missed him. And how much his leaving had affected you.

“Welcome home, baby. We missed you.”

Elias didn’t miss the wink you threw at him, nor did Mary.

“Oh, bitch, who do you think you walking in here like that?”

So foul-mouthed, that one. Almost like she was trying to compensate for something? Who knows. However, Stack wasn’t going to tolerate her disrespecting you. No matter how much she thinks he’s over you, that was never really the case.

It was always you. Only you. Why he had to go and fuck that up? He never fucking knew. But it’s just you.

While he shoved her out of the juke joint, you made your way to the dancefloor. Sammie had been playing on stage, and the whiskey had hit you harder and faster than you thought it would. You could feel the bass in your bones as the ground shook from the stomping and music.

You were in your own little world until you felt a body slide up against yours so perfectly you melded together. His warmth was what got you first. Next, the feeling of his hands all over you. Years of missing how they felt against your soft skin.

Then his scent circled around you. He smelled like smoke, alcohol, and the earth. It made you dizzy. He turned you around so you were facing him. Still so close together that you were breathing each other in. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this feeling.

“I really was only coming to say hi and welcome, you know.”

He wasn’t listening as his lips were on your neck, kissing and sucking, desperately trying to eat and inhale you at the same time.

“You wasn’t even gonna tell me you was back here, huh?”

His hands gripped at the fat of your ass, pulling you into him. You could feel his erection against your stomach. Still kissing. Still sucking. Still trying to devour you piece by piece.

“Elias..”

He stopped, resting his head on your shoulder. Inhale. Exhale.

Softly, “I was scared to see ya.”

Stack didn’t usually talk about his feelings, at least not with anyone other than his brother or you. So, it was no surprise when you were met with the softer, more vulnerable side of him than usual. And, it’d been so long since he could really talk about his feelings. The ones he couldn’t share with his big brother.

“I was scared.”

“Which time? When you left or when you came back?”

“Both.”

That was the first time in a long time that he’d been honest with anyone other than himself.

Your hand caressed his cheek, like how you used to when he was laid up in your bed. You forced him to look at you; he’d been doing so all night, but now the ground floor was more interesting.

“What were you so afraid of, Elias?”

Man, he really didn’t want to answer that. That’s a whole new layer of vulnerability that he’d have to learn to break down. One that no one had seen, not even you.

“How was I gon keep you safe? I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. So I left.”

You wanted to be mad at him. Be fucking angry like you should be. But, you just couldn’t.

“So, what about now? You gon leave me high and dry after tonight?”

He had just gotten back into your life, and neither of you wanted him out of it again. Stack knew you missed him more than you were willing to admit, and he’d get on his knees and beg for you to give him another chance if that’s what it took.

Maybe this new version of the two of you could work out better than before. But, what if you don’t? Were you willing to go through that heartbreak again? You refused to be someone’s second choice again. Not even for him.

“If we gon do this again, I need to know you ain’t gon leave me again.”

Elias would not make the same mistake twice, no matter what. He just got you back, and he’d do whatever it took to keep his baby right here with him.

“I ain’t going nowhere without you this time, girl.”

Your eyes lingered on his for a minute. Despite their usual hard exterior, the twins wore their emotions on their sleeves. It was never outright noticeable. But when Smoke was angry, there’d be a permanent scowl on his face. When Stack was sad, it was almost like he wasn’t connected with reality. Like he was detached.

What you saw on his face now was just truth. The man made promises, and he didn’t always keep them. But tonight, he’d decided that loving you how you should’ve been loved was something he’d do forever. Even on his last day on earth.

Your lips locked with each other, slow and passionate. There was curiosity, too. A bitter trace of sadness. But, a whole lotta want and need. Stack had decided from that moment on, regardless of what life threw at him, he was not going to suffer it through with you by his side.

[bullet-prooflove]

Pop Tarts: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis @oklahomapeach @queensland-lover93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby's had a really shitty day he always ends up whereever you are.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

Dumb Bitch - Robby exhibits his protective side when another man steps on his territory.

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

24 Hours - Robby refuses to leave your side in the aftermath of the shooting.

Saftey Rail - Abbot gets real with Robby when he finds him on the roof.

Baby, It's Gonna Be Alright - Robby wonders if he's fucked things up with you for good.

Exorcism (NSFW) - Robby and you finally find a way to be honest with one another.

Ready - Robby and you discuss starting a family in the aftermath of Pittfest.

The Rose - You give Robby a special gift for your anniversary.

Heartbeat - Robby finds something to help him sleep.

Jinx - Robby discovers a particular superstition of yours.

The Scary One - Robby and you face concerns during your second pregnancy scan.

You’re putting stars on the ceiling of the nursery when Robby comes home from work. Dozens of tiny glow in the dark ones that will illuminate the sky your baby lies under. It’s a lovely idea, one that pairs well with the constellations theme the two of you have chosen for his bedroom.

You’ve spent the last week painting the place while Robby put on his tool belt and built the furniture. There’s only a couple of finishing touches left and then it’ll be ready for your little bundle of joy.

Right now though Robby has a problem, the problem being you’re standing on top of a ladder in the cutest pair dungarees that Robby has ever seen and it’s giving him heart palpations.

“No.” He says, his hands coming to rest on your waist as he lifts you down. “Absolutely not.”

“Woah…” You say as your feet hit the floor. “I have a whole other pack to do.”

“No you don’t.” Robby informs you, ushering you towards the nursing chair. “You will sit and rest, while I do it.”

You sink into the chair and he picks up the grey blanket off the back of it, tucking it tenderly around your body.

“Now I’m sufficiently comfortable…” You remark as Robby pulls away and begins his ascent up the ladder. “Are we gonna talk about how overly protective you’re being?”

“I’m not being overly protective.” He informs you, picking up a couple of stars and sticking them to the ceiling. “You shouldn’t be on a ladder after 26 weeks.”

“It’s like three steps.” You respond, pointing at the equipment. “And you also wouldn’t let me help with the furniture, you got Jack to come around to do it instead… Is it about the VSD? Should I be more worried?”

“No, no.” He says abruptly, holding his hand up as if to physically stop that train of thought. “You don’t need to be worried about the hole in the baby’s heart, that’s gonna heal itself. It’s just…”

He pauses, his lips pursing together in a grim line as he lingers on the ladder.

“I’m used to being the one who fixes things, things like this and right now I can’t do that and it makes me feel…”

“Helpless.” You submit as he rubs his palm over the nape of his neck.

“Yea.” He says as he steps down the ladder. He kneels down in front of you so that the two of you are on the same level, his palms running over the baby bump, cradling his son. “So just let me be a little over protective ok? It makes me feel like I’m helping him heal somehow.”

“Alright.” You say softly, your fingertips stroking lightly through his hair. “But if you try to stop me taking baths or eating pop tarts there will be trouble.”

“Well…” Robby says, deliberating. “We should probably slow down on the pop tarts due to their high sugar content…”

“Robby, don’t take that joy from me and the baby.” You tell him, your hand soothing over your stomach. “We’ve already given up brie and charcuterie boards. Don’t take away our pop tarts.”

“OK.” Robby concedes, leaning in close to kiss the tip of your nose. “We’ll keep the pop tarts, but you have to promise no more ladders and you have to let me do the heavy lifting.”

“Technically…” You gesture at your stomach.

“Alright you are the one doing the heavy lifting.” He admits. “But you gotta let me help out more too instead of doing all the cool stuff like the shopping and planning when I’m at work. The closer we get to his due date the more exciting it is and I wanna be as involved as I can.”

“I know I’ll try I’m just really excited too.” You say, your fingertips trailing along his jaw. “And you are gonna be a great father, you’re gonna do all the night feeds and change all his diapers…”

“Oh sweetheart you think you’re so funny don’t you?” Robby murmurs, clasping your palm to the side of his face, his lips brushing over the indentation on your wrist. “That you’ve got me completely wrapped around your little finger.”

“Isn’t that why you’re about to head into the kitchen and make the two of us some pop tarts?” You remark. “I swear I heard you say it.”

He laughs then, a deep rumble that emits from his chest as he sits back on his heels before raising to his feet. “I can’t deny you a single thing you know that?”

“I do.” You tell him as he leans over to kiss you. “And I plan on utilising it to my full advantage.”

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ivorivet]

Fellowship Cloak Weaving Draft

Hi all! I've been kind of quiet on this blog, but I have something really exciting to share today: after six years, I FINALLY figured out the weaving draft for the Fellowship cloaks from Lord of the Rings.

This is a problem I've been trying to figure out since shortly after I made my Legolas cosplay in 2018. The cloaks that the nine members of the Fellowship receive in Lothlórien look like a nondescript gray fabric from far away, but zoom in and you'll see a very complex pattern of horizontal and vertical bars of dark gray and white.

(First image from Alleycatscratch, second is a photo of the scarf of the same fabric I bought from Stansborough where I was attempting to trace the pattern repeat with orange thread)

This is going to be a long post, so I'm just going to lead with the completed draft:

Imagine me Will Smith wife posing at this for the last 24 hours.

It's got the correct size of pattern repeat! It's got the five individual ripples! It's got that dumb little pattern break in the middle that breaks up the center of the leaf motif! I am OVER THE MOON about figuring this out, especially starting out with very little knowledge about weaving drafts in general. More ramblings about this type of draft and my thought process below:

This particular pattern is known as "shadow weave," a subset of color-and-weave where the pattern is created from the interplay of different warp and weft colors plus the weaving draft itself. To get an idea of how that works, let's start by looking at plain weave in one color:

The solid purple bar at the top indicates the color of the warp threads, and the solid purple bar at the right indicates the color of the weft threads. So far we've got our basic under-over-under-over pattern in a single, solid color (purple). But what if we add an additional color (green) to the warp, and alternate those colors? Then we'd get a speckled fabric like this:

The visual effect looks pretty much identical regardless of if you start with green or purple. However, if you also alternate purple and green in the weft, it produces a very different effect depending on if you start with purple or green (note the differences in the bar on the right):

So cool, now we can make either vertical or horizontal stripes! If you double up on the colored threads in some areas, you can even flip between the two and start dividing the fabric into "blocks," like so:

Note that with all these changes, the only thing we've been doing is changing the order of the colors in the warp and weft. The actual weave structure itself is still just regular ol' plain weave. The pattern that we've created in the pictures above is called "log cabin," which you can read about here. But similar effects can be created by skipping shafts/picks in the weaving draft as well. So how do we get from log cabin into the more complicated and general category of shadow weave?

It's weird to describe how to convert a given pattern into shadow weave. There are multiple very good books with chapters on shadow weave as well as books entirely dedicated to it. Despite my best efforts, all these explanations still got so technical so fast it feels like, to me at least, asking a 6 year old to recite an entire Shakespeare play verbatim immediately after confirming that they can, in fact, sing the alphabet song. So I'm going to give my best shot at explaining it, and if it doesn't make sense, just blame it on me and check out some of the linked books above if you're really curious.

Think of shadow weave as a beauty filter for a black and white drawing. If you create a pattern out of black and white blocks/pixels/whatever, the shadow weave "filter" can be applied to it to create a similar pattern that preserves the shapes in the original, but makes them out of vertical/horizontal lines instead of solid color blocks. So in some of these books you'll find mention of converting a twill or an overshot pattern into shadow weave - that's what this is referencing. The original pattern (usually designated with light yarn) gets a secondary shadow pattern (in dark yarn) inserted into in between every other thread (also called an "end" when referencing warp yarns).

I got stuck at this point for literal years. I could find examples of weaving drafts using shadow weave, but couldn't figure out how to generate ones of my own. I imported some of the drafts I found in books into weaving software and poked around to see if I could push the patterns in the direction I wanted by changing individual elements. My experiments in changing individual warp ends and weft picks always ended up looking like stretched or compressed versions of the original pattern (when I was being careful), or incomprehensible garbage (when I was being daring). I even bought a sample of the fabric from Stansborough in the form of a scarf, thinking I could brute force it by using a magnifying glass to figure out the interlacements. I was able to figure out how large the pattern repeat was (approximately 160 x 80 ends), but otherwise I got nothing but eye strain. I ended up tabling the project and coming back to it every couple years, banging my head against it until I gave up.

Until one day last week when I was flipping through the Strickler book and saw this page:

And I was like

HOLD UP

IT'S HER

...or at least a close cousin of her. BUT IT WAS A START.

So the first step was to identify what about this pattern needed to change in order to make this look like the Fellowship cloak. Overall, the main differences were:

Pattern repeat on Strickler 304 was too small - it was 42 x 42 ends and I needed it to be somewhere in the ballpark of 80 x 80 before altering the repeat.

The Fellowship pattern has a weird vertical dividing line that runs down the middle of the leaf motif, effectively doubling the width of the repeat by creating two similar looking but different leaves. This was the change I was least concerned about, as flipping between vertical and horizontal lines is pretty a straightforward process as shown above with the log cabin draft.

Strickler 304 also has a different number of waves (peaks and valleys, or whatever you want to call them) compared to the Fellowship pattern. There are 3 waves in Strickler and 5 in Fellowship. Figuring out how to add these extra waves was the biggest obstacle for me to address.

And finally, a couple of things I didn't need to care about for the weaving draft: 1) the Fellowship pattern is elongated in the warp direction, but this has more to do with a little extra spacing between weft picks as compared to the warp threads. When weaving this you'd just need to make sure you don't beat it very hard and you'll get that tall rectangle shape instead of a square repeat. 2) Both patterns have mirrored symmetry around a diagonal line drawn through the center, meaning that for treadling I could "tromp as writ" or basically just mirror the threading diagram to get the treadling instructions. For reasons I can't figure out, the Strickler pattern isn't exactly tromp as writ but looks close enough to it that the effect is still there. But I don't really care enough to figure out why - the important thing is that it gives us a threading diagram to start with!

So to start with, here's what Strickler 304 looks like in my weaving software:

(By the way, this is Fiberworks PCW Bronze. The trial version is free, and the only difference between that and the paid version is that the save/print options are disabled. I'm not sure they know about screenshots, bless their hearts.)

This is a design for 8 shafts and 8 treadles, thus the 8x8 square in the upper right corner. And you can see in the threading diagram (upper horizontal bar) and treadling diagram (right bar) that the curvature of the waves takes a similar shape to the curves of the final pattern. We just have to figure out why. And since I had already tried changing individual warp ends and treadling patterns without much success, I needed to approach in a different way.

What ended up helping me see the forest for the trees was de-shadowifying the pattern. It's relatively easy to get the black-and-white version of the pattern from the threading draft - you just need to delete the shadow, which means removing every other warp end. This is what deleting all the dark ends from the warp and light ends from the weft looks like:

We can also see with a little more detail how the threading diagram is similar to the curve in the pattern. The pattern is 21 pixels tall, but it's been chopped up to repeat over 8 shafts, like so:

OKAY COOL COOL COOL. EVERYTHING'S COMIN' UP MILHOUSE IVORIVET. From this green squiggly line we know two things:

The final number of warp ends in the shadow weave pattern is double whatever the height of the squiggle is. In the case of the Strickler pattern, we're going from 21 to 42. Since we know that we need our final height for the Fellowship pattern needs to be 80, the squiggle for that pattern needs to be around 40 pixels tall.

We needed to stitch three repeats of the Strickler threading diagram together in order to see the full squiggle. How many waves does the Strickler pattern have? Three. How many waves does the Fellowship pattern need? Five. How many shafts do we have to work on? Eight. What is 5 x 8? 40!!!

So how about we make a NEW squiggle, only 40 pixels high instead of 21? (We're gonna drop the pixels in blue, since threading diagrams won't work if you put a single end through two shafts.)

Next, we're going to chop up that squiggle and use it to create a new threading diagram in Fiberworks. I'm also using "tromp as writ" here to create the treadling pattern.

LOOK AT THAT. IT'S GOT MORE WAVES!! FIVE OF THEM!

And then we add back in the shadow by creating a space for a new end between each existing end:

And then add in the shadow. I'm using 4 as my number for the shadow offset since we're using 8 shafts. So shaft 1 shadows to shaft 5, shaft 2 shadows to shaft 6, etc.

And we're going to apply tromp as writ again to get:

AYYYYYY WE'RE GETTING CLOSE! I'm fairly certain that the reason why the Strickler treadling wasn't exactly tromp as writ had something to do with centering the pattern repeat a little more than this, but I don't really care about that so I'm going to leave this treadling the way that it is.

From here out, we need at add that weird vertical dividing line that chops up the center of the leaves. So we double the pattern repeat along the horizontal axis, and offset a 40 pixel section in the middle of the threading diagram by 1 pixel. I've also colored in the differences between the dark and light ends to help differentiate the original and shadowed curves a little bit more. (I also tried offsetting the colors of the warp ends by 1 as well like what we did in the log cabin example, but I ended up liking the way that this looked more.)

THERE SHE IS!!! MY PRECIOUS!!

From here on out, there is still a ton of work I need to do if I actually want to weave this cloak from scratch. I did buy roving in quantities that could be used to spin both the dark and light yarn (dark gray Gotland for the dark yarn, and dove gray merino + white alpaca for the light yarn), but there's still the matter of, like, handspinning a cloak's quantity of extremely fine yarn. I did start spinning the Gotland several years ago as fine as I could possibly manage, and got through maybe 20 ounces of it. However, I'm a much better spinner now and I'm not sure if the my skeins from several years ago would be suitable for weaving, or if it would be worth replicating what I did back then vs. just starting over with a new standard. There's also the possibility of just... buying weaving yarn if I want to skip that step, which would definitely save me a significant amount of time.

Anyway, thanks for reading this far and I hope it helped break down why this was so exciting for me!

[bananaeatstape]

You're useless, that's what you are.

There's no worth in you, nothing to be used, no power, and in a world covetous of everything and everyone who holds even a sliver of it, you think that you're finally safe from their chokehold. Now, instead, you've become one.

Because what happens when they have to one to help? To destroy? No one to take advantage of and rob of everything they have to take as their own? They're useless, that's what they are. And it seems The Void has called you to be the one that makes it happen.

You watch every killing, knowing that each one will just subtract someone's feeling of worth and ambitions. Uselessness will devour them until former allies devour each other. You'll watch it happen, remembering how they once jeered you years ago for seemingly having no purpose. Now they're on their knees, begging you to grant them something of value, make them once again what they were.

You wonder why they beg to you specifically; they saw you withering without a purpose, and now they believe you can grant them one? What happened to the God you-still, against all odds-believed in, or The Void that had called you? You ask one of them this, one of the many in this godforsaken wasteland that stumbles to their knees to your feet as they plead.

"Because you might listen," they say, "and I would hear you."

"The Void listens."

"It doesn't get you what you want without a price."

"What makes you think I won't? I have nothing."

"You do."

You look down at them, confusion spreading across your face.

"Don't you see?" they say. "We have no reason to live. The Void gave you one."

You pause, almost laughing at the irony. "That doesn't mean I can do the same for you."

"Please." They cling as you try to move past them, breaking into tears. "Please."

You kneel to their level and gently lift up their chin. "I can't. I'm sorry. I'm useless."

You were the healer—the last light of your party. But now your final ally dies in your arms, and there’s no one left to save. The enemy jeers, calling you useless. You look up, eyes hollow and black. The light is gone. The Void answers. You're no longer a cleric. You're something far worse.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Shadows of Dawn

"During Amarantha’s reign, she would delight in ripping out the feathers of Peregryn she was displeased with - one by one. She once made a dress out of the feathers."

Stripped of your wings so Amarantha could make a dress out of the feathers. Stripped of your wings so Amarantha could make a dress out of the feathers. Stripped of your wings so Amarantha could make a dress out of the feathers. Stripped of your wings so …

>>>>>>>>>>

A groan slips through Azriel’s lips as he rolls back his shoulders, trying to ease the tension between his shoulder blades. But it won’t go away. Even as he lifts a hand to his back, fingers pressing into the skin, searching for the source of the pain. But it lingers, won’t fade—painful and unrelenting.

His brows furrow. He hasn’t been on a mission or flown in a while, there shouldn’t be any wounds or any tension in his back. He has no idea where it suddenly comes from. He had a restless night… 

His wings twitch as his hand drifts lower, fingers brushing the juncture where they are connected to his back. That’s where the pain is coming from. Unease coils in his stomach. It doesn’t make sense. His wings themselves don’t ache—only the point where they are attached to his back.

It could be the ghost of an old wound. But why resurface now? Out of the blue? And so suddenly?

He clenches his jaw, and gives his head a shake to clear his thoughts. Maybe it’s just in his mind. Maybe it’s nothing. But his shadows—slithering closer, curling protectively around him—seem to sense something else. Seem to know that something isn’t quite right.

Before he can dwell on it further, the door opens and Rhysand strides into his office, moving past the shadowsinger and toward his desk. Cassian follows, claiming the seat beside Azriel. The general glances at him, sharp-eyed, his expression partly worried, partly quizzical. Rhys always knows everything….knows when one of his closest friends is doing well.

Azriel brushes it off with a shake of his head. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t want his brothers to worry over this. Never. Cassian has enough on his plate with readying the Illyrian soldiers for a potential war. And Rhysand too with everything that is going on. 

He doesn’t want to answer any questions about his well-being, so instead he addresses the High Lord and says,. “You called us here, Rhys.”

“Thesan has offered his palace for another meeting for the High Lords of Prythian. Everyone, including our newly crowned High Lord of Autumn, as well as Tamlin, has agreed to attend.” Slowly, Rhys bows his head. “Due to some circumstances, we’ll be leaving for the meeting in two days. Until then, Cass—” he shifts his gaze, “you’ll prepare everything in Illyria. And you, Az—” he pauses for a second. “Send more of your spies to the continent. We need every scrap of information we can get. Everything there is to know.”

Azriel nods but immediately regrets it. A sharp jolt of pain blazes down his spine, sudden and excruciating. Fucking hell. His jaw tightens as he forces his eyes closed for a small moment, steadying himself.

He needs Madja to check his wings. Now. He can’t waste any more time. But it will have to be in secret.

For now, he shoves his discomfort away, and tries to keep the cool and well-practised nonchalance in place. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Esren‘s voice is a distant murmur, seemingly miles away, yet you know he is close. Right beside you. His hand grips your shoulder, shaking you, but the pain is too overwhelming for you to respond. The rush of blood in your ears drowns out his words, making it impossible for you to understand what he is saying. 

You keep your eyes closed, as your body feels like it's engulfed in flames, dissolving into an unending sea of pain.

When it happened there was nothing but pain. 

Excruciating. Terrible pain. 

It burned, your back was torn apart and then. Then there was nothing. Your whole body entered a state of utter numbness. A sort of numbness that has never really vanished. Sometimes you feel like your body was frozen that day. That day she took your wings. That day she took a part of your body. By taking your wings she took part of your identity, part of what made you you, she took what was once yours and can never come back.

The memories of her terror linger within you, an unshakable presence that will probably never fade. You can still feel her cold hands on your skin, her icy, rotten breath on the back of your neck.

Forcing your eyes to open, and swallowing the pain, you turn your head to the side. Once you make out your brother’s features, you bite the inside of your cheeks. It takes a while for your vision to clear, to arrive fully in the moment, but when you do, you find yourself asking him, "What is it?" 

You’re quite dazed, from a sleepless night and the nightmares still haunting you, of what had been done to you … what she had done to you. And the pain. It hurts so much, you can’t lie on your back any more. Even breathing feels hard. But you don’t want to worry your brother. He’s the only family left, your whole life, you can’t let him worry.

"Thesan has been looking for you. He needs to talk to you about something but … when I see you like this … I think we need to talk about something wholly different right now." The concern within his voice is loud and clear and you know that this time there is no escaping. You need to have the conversation with him. A conversation you desperately tried to avoid for weeks … months even. 

Once the wounds had sealed, were tightly shut, but you had always had a feeling that the magic she used alongside the knife to cut them off would have some long term effects. 

You swallow roughly, close your eyes and then open them again to meet your brother’s gaze. "Something is happening with the wounds…" you whisper, barely recognising your own voice. You don’t want to sound vulnerable, weak. 

Esren presses his lips in a thin line. "Let me see."

No escaping. Especially not under his piercing gaze that seems to be looking right into your soul, already seeing your deepest secrets. So, you gather all the strength you need and push yourself up so you can turn to lie on your belly.

A low, pained groan slips through your lips when you shift and lie back down, sighing deeply as your face hits the pillow. 

"May I?" Esren’s hand hovers above your back. You give him a "mhm“.

Gently, and with utmost care, he brushes your hair away from your back, then the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders. 

"The scars are quite red…"

"I know,“ you breathe and your eyes shut once more. "But you shouldn’t worry." 

"You know I always worry." He laughs softly and brings the straps of your dress back in place before you turn to lie on your side again. "Can’t you worry about what you will gift your mate as a birthday gift?“ A small grin that doesn’t reach your eyes appears on your lips. 

Esren only frowns. 

"You worry too much!“ You reach for his hand and squeeze it tightly. "When the day —the anniversary— gets closer, they always hurt more." Your eyes drift shut as you fight against the memories, not wanting to give them more space than they have already claimed. And knowing how hard it is for your brother to see you like that, how much he hurts with you and how much he hates himself for not having been the chosen one who got his wings cut instead of you, you add, "But I would appreciate it if you could call a healer. They should do a check up and maybe put some lotion on them.“

Esren seems to reluctantly agree and tells you that he will call for a healer first thing after he leaves you. Which he doesn’t want to do yet, watching you squinted eyes, his gaze as sharp as an eagle’s. 

But you don’t want to continue talking about your scars, your wings that are no longer there, or … the pain. You want to, if he insists on staying, at least talk about something else. So, quickly biting down on the insides of your cheeks to tamp down on the pain on your back, you lock your gaze with his and smile at him. “What did Thesan want?”

“Huh?”

“You came here because Thesan wanted to speak to me?!”

“Ah, right.” Esren lifts a hand to rub it over his chin, seemingly deliberating if he should tell you or not. And you hate that. You know he’s just not telling you because you’re in pain and he doesn’t want you to have to do any kind of work.

“Esren!” you say and warning laces your voice. “What did the High Lord want from me?”

He groans, the sound carrying a note of long-suffering irritation. “He needs you to help him with some last preparations for the High Lords’ meeting.”

“Oh it’s this weekend, right….” You blow out a long breath and the expression on his face speaks volumes. There’s fear within the deep blue of his eyes. Both because he worries that preparing for the meeting will be too much for your physical and mental health. And because you will see Rhysand again. The male who used his mind powers to distract you while Thesan … removed the last bit of your wings that still was attached to your skin.

But now that war is coming sooner than expected, it’s inevitable to face parts of your past once again. Because this war will be bigger. More lethal. And Prythian needs to get ready for whatever is about to come.

“Tell him, I shall meet him this evening. I don’t … I don’t … I–”

“I will!” Esren presses his lips in a thin line. He lets his gaze drop to his thighs and then rises. “Y/N, I know how strong you are. I know how powerful you are, but your health will always be my priority. And it should be yours as well!” He sighs deeply. “So if you don’t feel well, don’t pressure yourself. Don’t … he understands. Everyone does. Don’t feel bad about … it. Never do.” He leans down and brushes a soft, brotherly kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll let a healer know to come here now, so you won’t be woken up later.”

Everyone does. 

His words still hollow through mind after he closes the door and walks away. You don’t want people to pity you. Yes, Amarantha took your wings and with it a part of your identity. And yes, you were in pain, and yes, you cried a lot. But if there’s one thing you really can’t stand, then it is pity. You don’t want them to look at you with their sad eyes.

What was done to you was cruel, but you survived and that is it. This is your life now, you don’t want to be constantly reminded of your past. Of the cruelty Amarantha has done to you.

You want to focus on the presence, on the future ahead of you. The High Lord’s meeting which you have been preparing for for a while now. This is what gives you strength. That despite what was done to you, you’re still vital in the court, important for the High Lord and that you can still work as efficiently as before. 

She may have harmed your body, and your soul. But she couldn’t break you. She took your wings, but you still won. You live and she is dead.

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @cadiawrites @bookishbroadwaybish @tele86 @fuckingsimp4azriel 

[orbitalpython]

Oh the horror of stabbing clowns

def fic starter

So in a pinch to get a one up on Vlad Danny, Dani and Dan constantly get into shenanigans. Be it the police, the government, the GIW, old miss Sharon from down the street or anyone who will pay any meaningful attention (look they take having chaos as a gender very seriously.) There are constant attempts to ruin Vlad's reputation. He's found the three doing the most random things to get on his nerves. He's found Dani eating furniture, Dan scaring people by telling them when and where their loved ones will or have died ( He has yet to find anything Danny has done only seeing him being scarily normal (what did he do?!?))

But this gala might just take the cake. It was simple, straight forward, Bruce Wayne has dealt with worse. Between child Richard swinging from chandeliers, Jason stealing anything of noteworthy value, Timothy's nonchalant attitude when the gala was in a hostage situation, Cassandra's standoffish quiet nature, Damian's rudeness, Duke's extroverted tendencies and Stephanie being herself. There's nothing Daniel, Danielle and Dan can do to destroy the playboy's sanity than what those brat's did.

He should have just taken that bowling invitation instead (It was really enticing too). The start of the gala was going swimmingly, Little Badger was talking with Timothy, making weird hand gestures, nothing too bad. Danielle and Stephanie were giggling about something looking near the punch bowl where Alexander Luther was, being absolutely annoyed at by Oliver Queen (they likely spiked it going to have to avoid THAT drama). Dan and Damian were squaring up each other with swords (where did they get those this is a public event ('We aren't even at Wayne manor where the Ancients did they get those')). When of course in Gotham 'do as gothamites do' some very kind gas mask wearing folk barge in and spray sleeping gas all over the place, and wake up in some sort of death contraption. It had only been 5 hours. Bowling is seeming very nice right about now.

This was likely the clowns doing if the massive amounts of green and purple spray paint everywhere has anything to say about it.

"Well hello there, All the most rich and powerful people in one Place how unfortun--- ACK." Somehow without warning, without being seen. Daniel was already on top of the Joker with Dan and Danielle off to the side quietly chanting "Stab the clown. Stab the clown. Stab the clown."

Bruce seeing an opportunity to further his case on Vlad Masters takes one look at what's about to happen asks "Your's?"

Sighing dramatically the response is quick and decisive. "No, Mr. Wayne they are... My godchildren, sadly."

A pat on the back with a quiet chuckle. "Well I see, you have your hands full huh?"

Can he have just one day where the 3 love him like a father?