#i have thrush now

[femmeboyhooters]

Why does life ALWAYS have to be shit

[mj-thrush-gxn]

posting the epilogue doodle on the main since i barely post here

[foibles-fables]

don't go too deep into the flood [horizon, aloy/talanah]

Horizon series, rated T, 500 words

But then there is a flicker of something new in Talanah’s eyes—something shadowed and tense and uncertain as a held breath. A bruise. The instinctive bracing before a broken rib.

Aloy considers inevitability and the grip that it has on her.

See notes/tags and read the rest on AO3:

[st-highwind]

To keep up the momentum for my ffiv au, I have decided now is a good time to make a post about Thrush's Lunar Trial.

Background and shoddy artwork included!

Content warnings: Transphobia

A bit of background first: Thrush's big struggle is with their identity and the relationship they had with their family. Overbearing narcissist mother, emotionally absent father, a hateful older sister and a brat younger sister-- Thrush left. They left, changed their name, their appearance (magic top surgery and some cool scars). They refuse to go back to Troia on their own volition. When they wash ashore back in Troia anyways after Leviathan capsizes the Fabul ship, they are forced to confront not the whole family, mercifully, but their older sister Oriole who has become an epopt. The encounter doesn't go well. Oriole curses at Thrush, scorns them, and threatens to use force to return them to their former body. Thrush flees after Oriole swore a life of physical labor as punishment for abandoning their family (as familial ties in Troia are hugely important).

Thrush was very secretive about their origin/past to the party, so having it all revealed so unceremoniously and messily was rather traumatizing. They behave like a hunted, cornered animal for a time.

So Thrush's trial, of course, takes place in Troia. It opens with Thrush approaching the town's edge, cautious and carefully scaling a heavily-leafed tree so not to alert any bystanders. There is some sort of promenade going through the town and they count seven epopts walking in their procession down the street-- upon further investigation, they find it's a coronation ceremony for a new eighth epopt. Thrush squints to try to make out faces and feels their stomach drop when they finally see who the new epopt is: it's them, but it's not. It's her-- Lark, not Thrush, grown into a beautiful and talented white mage, is being guided through the town in epopt's robes with their family smiling brightly and proudly.

(Lark, the newest epopt)

In their bewilderment, Thrush falls out of the tree. They hit the ground and their vision blurs as the scene changes. When their vision clears and they're back on their feet, they find themself shoulder-to-shoulder in a town in Troia's town square. They nudge their way to the front of the crowd and it's an even more soul-crushing scene: a wedding. Not just any wedding, but that of Lark and Kain. Kain, clad in his Holy Dragoon armor, overcame his darkness and had fallen in love and has now wed a powerful yet graceful white mage, just as he wishes to in the real world. Lark meets Thrush's eyes and it's insidious. Kain and Lark, dancing slowly as Lark flaunts the glimmering ring on her hand and Kain's blessed armor gleams in the sunlight. They spin and suddenly Kain stares at Thrush, his gaze swimming with contempt and disgust, a gaze Thrush is too familiar with but never coming from him.

(Holy!Kain and Lark’s wedding)

Thrush turns to run away, tearing through the crowd, and once they make it out, the scene changes again. The final scene change throws Thrush into the epopt's chamber. Instead of epopts, however, it's their party members. Cecil, Rosa, Rydia, Edge, and Kain, except he is still in his Holy armor. Completing the circle is Lark. To keep this part brief, it's a nightmare: one giant circle of negative self-talk expressed verbally by illusions of their closest friends. The illusions play into their fears of their loved ones lying about caring about them, being useless, etc.. Lark is especially brutal: "I am everything you could've been but were too spineless to become."

Thrush fights diligently to remind themself that this isn't really real, they're on the moon inside ancient ruins, the party is waiting outside. Lark definitely isn't real because Thrush is real. Slowly, as Thrush calms down, the illusions begin to disappear. At the end, only Cecil, Kain, and Lark are left, and as Thrush stands and readies their scythe, the illusion fades fully, revealing a trio of Lunar Sylphs as a boss battle.

I haven't exactly decided what the prize of Thrush's trial is, I haven't gotten that far. I'd love to hear peoples' thoughts tho!! Please!!!

[socialfilter]

no no no NO no BECAUSE -

what I need right now is aloy to make the longass trip back to meridian and find talanah in the middle of the busiest marketplace you’ve ever seen but their eyes just meet across this huge square despite all the people that are around them and despite however long it’s been and despite whatever! aloy’s got this smile on her face and talanah sees it and just knows.

how could aloy ever forget about her?

please, I need this. I’m a fragile being.

[laughing-thrush]

The oldest pipevine swallowtail cats are getting big, and there are still more hatching out!! They tend to hang out in groups when they’re small, and spread out as they get bigger. Seems like they mostly default to moving up the vine too- that’s the only big one I’ve seen up close so far. The vines have to be 15 feet tall now tho, and I can see more big ones up there!

As the first groups started to disperse we were worried the cardinals were eating them. Cardinals absolutely clean us out of monarch caterpillars despite their supposed toxicity, but maybe the pipevine cats taste even worse bc predation seems to be minimal. Fingers crossed it stays that way!

[juniperscholar]

the annoying thing they don't tell you about trauma is that even if you get really good at squishing it all down until you don't think about it anymore, your brain will just be like 'lol bitch you thought' and make your whole body malfunction until you go to therapy about it

and then even after extensive therapy you still have the task of trying to retrain your nervous system to work properly, meanwhile doctors are just like 'hmm nothing we can do maybe try yoga or something'

[godtears]

I am having a visceral reminder of the man a few feet away from us at the ER this morning who was NOT wearing his mask properly (his nose was sticking out on the top and the sides had open spaces) who literally took off his mask to OPEN MOUTH COUGH during a period where uhhh COVID IS A LIKELY SUSPECT.

I have a weakened immune system. I don't get sick very often surprisingly (because I do my best to be VERY cautious and careful and it's worked in my favor so far luckily) but when I do I get hit HARD. If I get covid, I'm gonna find out where that dude lives and beat the shit out of him (for legal reasons I am only exaggerating that last sentence for comedic purposes, I am merely venting and have no intentions nor possible possibility of harming anyone).

[chalcopyrites]

never seen a cellar spider in my life, now i can't go a day without having to relocate one. i'm used to blackbirds and jackdaws and wood pigeons, now it's thrushes and magpies and non-fucking-stop sparrows. there are weeds/wildflowers growing in the lawn that i've never seen before. (and the soil feels totally different. it helps that it's actually substantial, not 2 inches above solid rock, but i'm also not that far from some kind of minor wetland which might contribute.) i'm literally 10 minutes down the road from where i was, not even out of the town. it's all Basically, Technically, Essentially the same but as soon as i look at the details it's like. huh

[neixins]

my throat has been hurting for the past few days and if it’s a cold i’ll be so pissed bc i was one of the only people wearing a mask at the book fair last week and if it’s thrush from my inhaler i’m gonna start mauling everyone in sight like a wild animal. either way to quote the great thinkers of our time, simple plan, how could this happen to meee :(

[mj-thrush-gxn]

Some linnells

[moonastroellie]

we already have virgin ellie, but what about virgin reader? ellie being careful with her and having to control herself cause she's so tight around her

Yes, absolutely.

cw: 18+, transgender!ellie, overstim, reader is a virgin, lmk if i missed anything

-

We all know Ellie masturbates a lot, definitely has something to do with raging teenage hormones. I'm talking stamina, this girl could masturbate non-stop for at least 15 minutes if she really wanted to.

But today she was with you, so delicate, precious, and soft-

Ellie laying on your stomach and kissing all up your jaw and neck, slightly grinding against you needing some friction against her cock as it thumps from hardness.

"mhmmm, ellie" you moan, and you clench around nothing, carefully move your hands through Ellie's hair as she works wonders on your neck...

"may I?" She looks up at you with the cutest doe-eyes, how could you say no to her? You couldn't, "yes"

Ellie swiftly takes off your bra and shirt, before kissing all down your stomach to the waist band of your shorts. Ellie just looks at you "go on" you tease and she lifts you up slightly so she can take off your shorts- leaving you in thin white cotton panties, that were already soaked through.

"s-so fucking hot" Ellie says as she takes off her shirt, revealing her boner- it was long and slightly curved with veins running down the side and too the tip. "Ellie please fuck me" you whimper out.

"yeah?" She leans down, undoing her jeans and taking them off, leaving her in just boxers... You could feel her hard-on; on your pussy. She holds your jaw gently in one hand and kisses up your neck as you whimper and squirm at the pleasure.

"please" your voice getting higher as you get more desperate, she chuckles against your neck sending vibration shocks all down your spine. You desperately remove your cotton panties as she holds her dick close to your wet pussy.

"let me know if it hurts and I'll stop" Ellie says, you look down and holy fuck it's big- I'm talking 7inches and wide.

You nod at her and your pussy is just begging to be fucked by her, she's got one hand on the bed near the side of your head as the other slowly puts the tip inside.

"fuck" you bite your lip and moan out, this makes Ellie whimper- "d-dont wanna push- fuck" she struggles to say as she pushes in more, letting you get used to the length.

Her length was so intoxicating, it was slightly painful but also so addictive- Ellie moves both hands to the side of your face

"please I need all of you" the stretch feeling too good now and you needed all of her, you look at her and nod, she sighs and sinks herself all the way down. You moan loudly and Ellie grunts, Ellie toys with your clit gently.

Allowing you to get used to the length, she slowly grinds her dick into you for some type of friction.

"so fucking tight - OH fuck" Ellie says as you clench around her, she lifts herself up and starts to fuck into you slowly...

"please fuck- faster, faster Ellie" you beg, Ellie groans trying to speed up but she only gets louder and louder "your so fucking tight, I don't think- fuck- I can't last" she pushes her face into your neck to hide her embarrassment.

She thrusts hard into your pussy, hitting your cervix and ripping a moan from your throat- this alone makes Ellie jerk hard, low grunts and mumbles of 'fuck' as her abs contract and her face scrunched up from pleasure.

You giggle at this sight, still panting- the feeling of her cum was intoxicating, it was warm and so comforting- she stays on top of you for a few seconds before lifting herself back up, slowly she begins to thrush back into you, becoming more fast from the turning second.

Your whining and holding onto her shoulders as your tits bounced in her face, making her groan- she as well was moaning loudly, she didn't care if she was overstimulated or it hurts, she wanted to make you feel good.

"Els" you moan as you play with your clit "i-i, cumming! Fuck!" You clench around her cock and she moans loudly, probably the loudest you've heard her....

She collapses on top of you, out of breath and groaning still- you're playing with her hair softly as you regain your breath.

[charliemwrites]

Part 6 of Nikto's Commandments!

A little angst because... yeah. Comfort next, though! Whenever I get around to it...

Content: Injury, Violence, Shock

Being shot feels exactly how you expected it would.

You’ve cared for enough bullet wounds, listened to enough agonized soldiers, to imagine it in vivid detail. Asked Nikto once. He didn’t have the words to explain it, just shook his head and ushered you off to the next thing. Mumbled something about not wondering after what wouldn’t come to pass.

Getting dragged bleeding and delirious with pain now, you have the hysterical thought I told you so.

Speaking of Nikto, you don’t know where he is now. You separated on O’Conor’s orders – Nikto needed for stealth, and you needed as support for another squad member. He hadn’t been happy about it, eyes searing into yours. But you had nodded for him to follow orders and ducked away to get the mission over with.

If you live through this, he’s never going to listen to you again.

You’ve got two men dragging your half-dead weight down the hall, another leading the way in front. A smear of crimson follows after your legs like a demented snail. You kick and try to thrash, but it just sends white-hot pain throughout your abdomen and leaves your vision spotty. One of the enemies says something – hard to hear over the beating of your heart, the rush of blood, the thrush of your blood-soaked clothes along the floor. But you hear something about torture and feel your already-ruined stomach sink.

KorTac doesn’t save compromised assets.

You can hear Nikto’s voice in your ear but can’t reach your headset to answer; the men have both your arms. Fuck, fuck.

His face flashes through your panicky mind. Handsome and ruined and still so sensitive to cold air and humid weather. Eyes so startlingly bright but fathomless. It’s like trying to find the bottom of the sky. You love waking up to them.

He’s getting more frantic now, voice hard but brittle. Others chiming in as well, but you hear his above all.

You murmur his name, the one you’ve only hushed in the quiet of a dark car. Wish you could tell him one more time.

There’s a shift in your captors’ gaits. A stairwell. Your body jolts down the first stair and sends spikes of fire straight from your throat. It’s an awful scream, loud and cracking and only serves to make it hurt worse.

But there’s a sudden, deafening silence in the echo of your voice.

Then Nikto.

“Copy.”

The men stop, realizing that your screams are going to be an issue. The one in the lead wrenches your head back, trying to shove some sort of fabric in your mouth. But the knowledge the Nikto is coming, that you just have to hold out, sends the pain to the back of your mind. You twist and struggle, teeth sinking into flesh.

Your boot catches on the corner of the step and you push.

The soldiers lose their grip, and you tumble halfway down the stairs, head bouncing off cement. But your arms are free, and you manage to grab the pistol at your thigh. Fire wildly and hit one in the leg with a ricochet off the wall. All the while trying to scramble out of sight before they can reach for their own weapons.

You hit the landing with a bitten-off yelp. But you’re low on bullets and you’re not confident in your abilities with a knife right now.

And then a blur of black armor slams into one of the men, a knee in his throat, crushing his windpipe. Someone follows just behind – you recognize Konig by height alone. He throws another down the stairs, and the soldier doesn’t hesitate to take the head start he’s been given. Doesn’t even pause to try to use you for leverage, just begins limping away. The third man is quick to turn tail while his comrades are being assaulted.

“Run, bastard,” Nikto laughs, ragged and manic.

He turns as if to follow and your heart turns to ice. “Stop!”

It’s like you’ve physically yanked on his leash. He goes rigid, head whipping around to take in the state of you. You can almost measure the fury that floods him when he realizes how badly you are.

“Nikto, I need you here,” you say, as calm and even as you can. Same voice you use as in medical emergencies – well, technically, you suppose this is a medical emergency. “Leave it to Konig.”

He jerks as if you’ve offended him somehow. Like you’re unjustly punishing him. You struggle up onto one arm, gun forgotten in favor of applying what little pressure you can to your abdomen. Your throat feels tight with repressed fear, struggling to breathe through radiating pain.

“I know you’re angry, I do,” you strain, “but I need your help right now. Revenge can come later. I’m sure Konig can save one for you.”

Understanding seems to dawn through bloodlust. Nikto darts to your side between one ragged breath and the next. He kneels beside you, pupils shrunken to pinpricks.

“Go on, Konig,” you call, “I’ll be alright.”

He nods and disappears. You turn to Nikto and softly call his name; instantly have his attention.

“I need you to apply pressure,” you explain, “I can’t do it myself.”

He does, but you know he’s trying to spare you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug.

“Harder, love,” you whisper, “or it’ll kill me.”

His mask shifts as he grits his teeth and puts his weight into it. You choke on a cry, swallow it down and try to blink through spots.

“G-good. Keep it like that.”

“You’re shaking.”

You hiss out through your teeth. “I might be going into shock.”

“That can kill you too.”

“I said ‘might’.”

“How do I fix?” he demands.

You swallow and lower your arms to your side. “Loosen my vest as much as you can. Radio someone else for help, they can get a blanket. Don’t let up on my side.”

You focus on regulating your breathing while he obeys, murmuring to himself in Russian. You occupy yourself with trying to translate – though it mostly sounds like curses. Still, it’s something for your brain to latch onto other than the severity of your injury. You wish you could risk speaking, but the adrenaline crash is already hitting, and you need to focus on staying conscious for as long as possible.

Soon O’Conor is there, the foil blanket flashing in the shitty stairwell lights. He also comes with a stim that stabilizes you enough for Nikto to scoop you up and get you to exfil. You lose the plot after that, swimming in and out of awareness through triage.

But through it all, you keep your hand around Nikto’s.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[shrubsparrow]

hey! I really loved your bird, art tutorial! This might seem a little specific, but do you perhaps have any advice for drawing a mourning dove, specifically the head? I have really loved these guys!

Hello, and thank you! I ended up getting inspired by this question, because when I googled some reference photos of morning doves, I discovered that there is a wikiHow article called "How to identify a mourning dove". And the illustrations in it are, ummmm....

This is really rough. The text was written by an ornithologist, but it barely helps because it feels like the illustrator has never drawn a bird before this. Doves and pigeons usually have a very distinct body and head shape, and based on this image, I couldn't even tell this was supposed to be a dove of any kind, much less a mourning dove. So I thought that we could learn by looking at what went wrong here!

(Keep in mind that I'm only being this critical of these illustrations because they are attached to an article that's supposed to help you identify a mourning dove, and they do not help in this matter.)

There are multiple issues here, so let's address the general ones first. The legs are too straight for a dove, and also so far back in the body that this bird would end up falling on its face. The feathers are very strange and almost look like fur. And I don't know how they missed the most distinct feature of a mourning dove, which is the long pin-tail. Here is a quick redline to make it actually resemble a dove!

You can probably see that the head has the most issues. The head is what gives doves and pigeons a very characteristic silhouette, so let's focus on that in more detail!

You can compare the head of a mourning dove to something like the head of a thrush to see what makes it distinctly dove-like!

Doves and pigeons also have quite a bit of body mass, but their head stays small, so the head looks comparatively small to the body.

Some more tips for drawing the head!

Like in that wikiHow article, I sometimes see people draw doves with too much curvature in the beak. Doves and pigeons have a relatively thin and short beak, and it curves less than you think!

That's all I have for now. I wanted to keep it kind of general so you can use the same advice for other doves and pigeons too. I hope this was helpful!

[likethevalley]

Hermit Thrush have one of my favorite bird songs. Love when they come back in the spring.

This guy was stitched onto a shirt pocket that is rags now, so I cut this guy off and now need to transfer him somewhere.

[chgridlock]

Fine. LN- pt 4.

Part. 3 here: https://www.tumblr.com/chgridlock/749755983679586304/fine-ln-pt-3?source=share

Y/n and Lando were childhood best friends, an inseparable duo who knew each other’s secrets like the back of their hand. But then came F1. Lando transformed into a playboy prince, his name synonymous with champagne showers and a different model on every arm. Models just like y/n, except for her. Disgusted, she distanced herself, the warmth of their friendship replaced by a biting cold. Y/n, chasing her own dreams, blossomed into a sough-after model, gracing the covers of magazines right under Lando’s nose, well, at least that’s what she assumed. In taught, Lando followed her religiously on social media, a secret admirer hidden behind a facade of arrogante.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, ex best friends, Lando being a dick sometimes.

The morning light, harsh and unwelcome, streamed through Lando’s blinds, pulling him from a restless sleep. He didn’t even wait for the insistent buzz of his alarm. Groaning, he reached for his phone, the glowing screen a beacon in the pre-dawn, a silver of hope flickering within him.

His heart dropped like a stone. No new notification. Disappointment washed over him, a bitter taste in his mouth. He stared at the blank screen, replaying last night's messages in his mind. The frustration, the simmering anger, the helpless concern- all tangled up in a knot that tightened with each passing second.

He wasn’t sure what to feel anymore. This whole situation had stirred a chaotic cocktail of emotions within him. Worry, of course that gnawed at his gut like a hungry beast. Anger, hot and sharp, at your stubbornness. Irritation, a dull ache at the back of his mind, at your disregard for your own health. Guilt, an unwelcome guest in his thoughts, for his earlier callous wish. An beneath it all, a sliver of something else, a concern that went beyond simple friendship.

He sighed heavily, throwing back the covers and forcing himself out of bed. Despite the emotional turmoil churning within, he had a day to dace. Anything to distract him from the constant thought of you tucked away in your apartment, feverish and alone.

This whole thing felt irrational. Why did he care so much? You were just being yourself, stubbornly refusing to admit vulnerability. “Just a simple case of stubbornness and annoying behavior,” he muttered himself, trying to convince his heart of a thrush his mind couldn’t quite accept.

He went through the motions of his morning routine, a practiced autopilot to keep his thoughts at bay. But it was futile. Every mundane task - brushing his teeth, making coffee- sent his mind wandering back to you. He reply’s your dismissive message, picturing the grimace on your face as you typed it. He remembered his own frustration, his simmering helplessness.

Then came the guilt. The way he’d lashed out about your lack of self-care. And finally, the undeniable worry. The worry that have culminated in a desperate need to check on you.

He sighed again, a defeated sound. Grabbing his phone once more, he typed out a message, culminating in a desperate need to check on you.

“Hi,” he wrote, the single word with unspoken concern. “Is everything okay now? Did your fever get worse or anything?”

A wave of relief washed over Lando as his phone buzzed, quickly replaced by a surge of worry as he read your message. “I literally feel like I’m dying gosh,” it read, a stark contrast to your usual behavior. He frowned, his eyes narrowing in concern.

“Still?” He typed, the question hanging heavy in the air.

He couldn’t believe it. A whole night had passed, and you were still feeling this awful? The image of you flashed in his mind. He paused for a moment, trying to to chose his words carefully, “Have you at least taken the meds for your fever…or seen a doctor?” He finally typed.

He waited, his heart pounding in his chest. Your response arrived all of quickly: “it’ll pass.”

He groaned- There you were again, brushing it off like a minor inconvenience. His frustration bubbled over, tinges with a touch of anger. You were being so irresponsible.

“Just take the damn meds,” he typed forcefully. “Or see a doctor…” He paused, tossing around a crazy idea.

“Or I’ll have to come over and take care of you myself…”

He knew it was a ridiculous threat, considering the distance between them. But the though of you lying there alone, miserable and neglected, was unbearable. He hit send, a mix of irritation and concern churning in his stomach.

Another message pinged on his screen. You needed to sleep, you said, the curse word a testament to just how bad you were feeling. Lando felt a surge of exasperation mixed with a strange pang of sympathy.

He sighed, defeated. He knew pushing you wouldn’t help. “Just… sleep then,” he typed with a resigned air. “And don’t forget to take the meds…” he trailed off, leaving the implied threat hanging in the air. “Or else..”

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Did he really want to storm over there and take care of you? I mean, in the past he craved for that. The thought now was absurd and yet… so tempting.

Lando’s heart plummeted as read your response. “I don’t have,” it read, hanging in the air like a confession of neglect. He raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t jus a simple annoyance anymore. This was full-blown worry, tinged with a hefty dose of self-reproach.

“You really don’t have any meds at all…” he typed, the words heavy with disappointment. He couldn’t believe you’d gone a whole night without even a basic painkiller to dull the ache. Had you eaten anything? Were you even bundled up in something warm?

He slammed his fist against the desk in frustration, the sound echoing in the silence of his apartment. How could he have let this get so bad?

“Did you take anything else? Are you taking enough care?” He bombarded you with questions, having against hope that you’d done something, anything, to soothe your discomfort.

But your following message stopped him cold. “Look Lando,” you wrote, the flippancy in your words a stark contrast to the seriousness of the situation, “Im dying but is fine, didn’t you want me to get sick?”

His eyes narrowed, his initial frustration morphing into something else entirely. Was that… sarcasm? A twisted joke? His mind raced. Was this a cry for help disguised, or were you genuinely bitter about his earlier callous words?

Lando’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, a knot of guilt tightening in his stomach. He wanted to express his remorse, but finding te right words felt impossible. Finally, he typed, “I didn’t wish for you to get sick to he point that you were dying…”

A beat later, your response arrived, laced with exasperation. “Jesus Christ, Lando” it read.

He winced, the sting of your words a well-deserved punishment. “Shut up,” he replied, shame burning in his fingers. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was a stupid thing to say in the heat of the moment, and i only meant for it to be a lousy cold, nothing serious.”

“Great!” You replied, the sarcasm dripping from your text.

Lando rolled his eyes, a small part of his frustration returning. “Don’t act like you weren’t infuriatingly stubborn yesterday!” He fired back, swift and fiery.

“You were the stubborn one!” Your responde came back “Good fucking bye.”

The sudden silence that followed hit him like a physical blow. He stared at the black screen, the last message hanging there, a stark reminder of his idiocy. You were right, you always were. He’d been the stubborn one, and now you were paying the price.

A surge of panic washed over him. “Wait,” he typed, a desperate plea hanging. “Don’t ignore me, damn it…”

But his message was met with silence. He spent the rest of the day glued to his phone, his heart sinking with each passing second. Every notification had him scrambling, only to be met with disappointment. The worry gnawed at him, a constant companion alongside the guilt that twisted his gut.

The world throbbed with a dull ache, mirroring the pain in your head. Each breath felt like a chore, your body heavy and sluggish. Lando’s messages swam in and out of focus on the screen, his words blurring together. You felt a flicker of anger, a spark amidst the fog of your illness.

“Good fucking bye”, you typed, your finger hitting the send button with a satisfying click. Who the fuck does he think he is, you muttered to yourself. He said he was coming over if I didn’t take care of myself? What was he thinking being now so caring and…and sweet… wait, no, no. He’s a dick, utterly and bitterly dickhead egoistic shithead… but it would be nice to have him here, like old times, feeling his arms around…NO. This must be the fever playing tricks with me. Oh how i hate being this vulnerable fuck.

The phone slipped from your grasp, clattering on the nightstand. You didn’t have the energy to puck it up, the effort too much. Closing you eyes, you drifted off into a feverish sleep.

The day stretches on, each tick of the clock an echo of his growing worry. Lando went trough the motions of his routine- work, dinner, a mindless TV show- but his focus remained fragmented. He stole glances at his phone constantly, hoping for a notification, a message, anything to break the silence.

Frustration warred with worry. Were you truly sick, or were you simply ignoring him after their heated exchange? Finally, after a full day of agonizing silence, he hesitantly picked up his phone and hoped a simple “Hey…” The single word hung up in to the air, a fragile bridge between them.

He pressed send, holding his breath. Seconds turn into minutes, silence stretching uncomfortable. He finally consider calling, a desperate need to hear your voice overriding his usual hesitance.

“Yes?” The voice that answered was barely a whisper, raspy and strained. The sound of your voice smelt a jolt of worry straight to his heart. The playful defiance of your usual voice was replaced by a vulnerability that tightened his throat.

“Are you alright…? How are you?” He blurted out.

The reply came back, raw and desperate, “Like fucking dying, my fever is not coming down.” Lando’s heart clenched. Parted of him wanted to yell, to remind you of your stubbornness, how you refused to take care of yourself. But the bigger part, the part that truly cared, drowned it out. He took a deep breath, forcing calm into his voice.

“How high is your fever now?” He asked, his tone firm but laced with concern.

“Hmm, like…40 degrees,” your voice whispered back.

A groan escaped Lando’s lips. 40 degrees? That was dangerously high. The worry that had been simmering all day erupted into a full-blown panic. He couldn't just sit here anymore.

“40 degrees…?” He repeated, his voice barely a whisper too.

“Yes…” the single word confirmed his worst fear right now. A surge of protectiveness shot through him. He couldn’t just wait and hope for the best. He needed to see you, to make sure you were alright, to take care of you the way you wouldn’t take care of yourself.

“Im coming to your flat now,” he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Don’t even try to stop me.”

Silence descended on the line. He held his breath, waiting for you inevitable protest.

“Lando, no,” your voice came back, weak but resolute.

“Y/n,” he countered, his voice firm but gentle, “your fever is 40 degrees. I’m coming over.”

“Lando, don’t-“

“Shut up,” he interrupted, surprising himself with his own urgency. “I’m coming over and that’s that.”

He wouldn’t allow room for debate. He knew you well enough to understand you might still try to downplay your condition. But this time, he woulnd’t let you. He cared about you, damn, deeply, too much, fuck. The thought of you being alone and potentially getting worse was a terrifying prospect.

He hung up the phone before you could argue further. “Fine, you’re making me doing this y/n.” His focus was singular - get you, take care of you, and make sure you were alright.

Author’s note: HELLO LOVES. Sorry for taking THIS long to post, but college is hard guys and I’ve been sick twice so yeah, not much time, I’m sorry. But summer is coming and that means more time to write. Not really happy with this chapter but God know that the next one is going to be good. Tysm for reading this. Love u all. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Tag list: @persiar9 @mia-rrrs @ssararuffoni @kapsylia @formulaal @sparklysharknerd-blog1 @f1fantasys @landosgirlxoxo @moonclaine @charlesgirl16 (for some reason I’m not able to mention all of the users, don’t know why its happening, trying to find a solution. Sorry loves for that.)