#i realize this makes no sense

[vicsy]

a 1.4k Strollonso ficlet in this trying time. some slightly tenderhorny introspection, really.

It’s in the way every living soul keeps patronizing him. 

It’s in the way, when Sebastian says his heartfelt goodbyes at the end of the season party, he clasps Lance’s shoulder and bids him good luck for the year to come. It has nothing to do with him driving; it’s about who he’ll be driving with. 

It’s in the way his father never gave him the talk but when Fernando Alonso gets signed to Aston Martin, Lawrence sits him down and they talk for an hour or two, touching on the entire history of the F1 that Lance knows already, for the love of god, and he’s pretty miserable by the time his dad sings praises to Fernando’s skills, underlining his holy like importance to the team. 

It’s in the way he can’t fucking log on twitter in the off-season without being hit by a barrage of insanity and, frankly, poorly made memes created to feed a certain narrative while Lance hasn’t even met Fernando in the role of his new teammate, even though they’ve shared the grid for years. 

Lance doesn’t really care; that is, basically, his whole brand and he lives the good life, untethered and unbothered, surrounded by wealth, love, a particular thrill.

And yet. 

Fernando Alonso is a perpetual wildcard and Lance builds his attitude around this little image, prepared for some sort of psychological warfare but it never happens. Fernando is in his space every day — testing, meetings, strategy planning; once at a get-along dinner his father planned. Lance should be bored and bitching his way out but he’s stuck with this enigma of a man, sitting in front of him, sharing a meal and some wine while Lawrence explains the unexplainable things the team did to the car. 

His mind wanders to the reasons he’ll be brushed off this season, just a young brat racing alongside a living legend again but then Fernando raises a toast and Lance’s name falls off his lips with that lilting accent and– 

It’s the wine or something in the air or a shell inside his chest that cracks open to let a little light in, all while Fernando talks, spilling niceties and compliments, and that image Lance built somewhat falls apart. 

Maybe it’s because Fernando hasn’t run him off the track yet or glared at him in a way some people that have been around long enough call a death stare; maybe Lance hasn’t spent enough time in his company to earn a reputation, to become a part of the feud that’ll go down in history. So many teams, he knows, have fallen by the wayside over less. 

Oh, but it’s such a good play because Fernando has eyes only for him like the rest don’t exist, and Lance finds himself caught like a fly in a glue trap, an object of his sole undivided attention, and Esteban fucking warned him profusely, that’s how Fernando operates. Lures you into a manic little game only he can win. 

And all those precautions are mushed together in Lance‘s brain, he knows, he knows but Fernando’s usual sharpness doesn’t cut him into bits and pieces, the lack of malice he was preparing to meet like an unwanted guest non-existent in the space between them, in the constant close proximity. It’s confusing and Lance is a shit actor. He can’t bring himself to feign ignorance or pretend to put on the face of someone he’s not. 

The picture everyone paints of Fernando is skewed, so when Lance catches a glimpse of his true colors, all of his plans to stick it to the man burst at the seams, crumbling like a house of cards. 

For all of Lance’s naivety, for how easily he follows down that narrow path, it’s a rush no money can buy. A touch here, a not-so-friendly pat there, a show of teeth in a smile that is lethal and Lance knows Fernando wants a taste, craves to do so much more, something unspeakable, something that could turn into the nastiest paddock gossip to this day but it’s exhilarating — knowing he does that to a man by simply existing. Knows that, maybe, he wants it, too. 

And it doesn’t take them long to fall into the bed together or, rather, it’s Lance who falls, perhaps for some elaborate scheme Fernando is running on him because who is he if not a villain with a plan for mayhem. 

And yet. 

It’s in the way Fernando softly kisses both his wrists, carefully thumbs at the bandages, smoothing them with furrowed brow, and Lance feels like he might get shattered by that fondness reserved just for him. 

It’s in the way he makes a face at another flock of reporters, forever annoyed by the implications they keep oh so implicit, but a private smile tugs at the corners of his lips the moment Fernando appears behind him, a palm splayed wide on the small of his back, his own smile shark-like when he says how great Lance is doing, how the team is proud of the work he puts in. 

It’s in the way he feels more than an heir to the old money, more than his privilege and some character quirks that label him as spoiled when they are alone, Lance’s long legs pillowed in Fernando’s lap and the lights are dimmed with just a TV on. He makes a dumb joke, fighting a flutter in his chest, and Fernando laughs unabashedly, swatting his thigh while all the jostling causes his phone to slip between the couch cushions, the old race reruns playing out muted in the background. 

And every time Fernando pushes into him unhurriedly, surrounded by the faceless hotel room walls, it washes away everything Lance is constantly bottling down inside; the little flame burns brighter with each languid thrust, with a hand between his shoulder blades, with a kiss placed at the back of his neck. Fernando holds him through it insanely close as Lance pants into the pristine white sheets, wet from stray tears and come, patches soaked through under his trembling knees. 

And every time Fernando gets rough with him, hand coming down hard on his reddened ass because Lance had been in a mood, riling Fernando up, giving as good as he gets, to the point where he ends up bent in half, cock straining and weeping from each slap, each word reaching his ears seeped in unearthly lust. The breakneck speed of a racing car doesn’t quite match the adrenaline hit, doesn’t reduce Lance to whimpers and croaky moans, doesn’t push him to the edge of begging. 

And every time Fernando spends what feels like hours cleaning him up and licking traces of his orgasm off Lance’s skin before plopping down next to him, sweaty and out of breath, sucking a mark into his neck, Lance feels like his floating, finally out of his head. Fernando teases him with a twinkle in his eyes, forever kind where he looks at him, and Lance playfully bites his shoulder in return, then smiles into the pillow before sleep claims him, a heavy arm thrown over his waist, grounding him. 

And it’s Fernando, Fernando, Fernando — every time, all the time, and Lance finds himself suddenly caring, wanting, feeling like he doesn’t wish for it to end, ever. Like losing at this game they play is worth having a life inside a life; something real and fragile and raw encapsulated between who they both are to the outside world. 

And yet. 

It spins out of control like a car on a wet track, rules to the game Lance never bothered to learn forgotten and discarded, but he knows, among the sound of the engine running, the buzzing lamp in the meeting room, or the commotion just before a race. He knows, somewhere among all the sneaking around, stealing time together under the guise of team building, the false pretense got stripped away from Fernando’s actions. Lance knows, dares to look past the man behind a legacy, past a villainous haze. 

It’s in the way Lance knows they’ve abandoned the chase, the thrill, or it left them without as much as a warning. 

It’s in the way Lance seeks Fernando out with his eyes only to find him already staring at him, reading his features like an open book, his heart beating out of sync.

It’s in the way there is no turning back but Lance only looks forward and Fernando is holding his hand over the car console, squeezing his knee under the table at dinner while no one is looking, embracing him from behind with a kiss to his bare shoulder blade while the ribbons of morning light stream through the kitchen window. 

It just leaves Lance wondering. 

How can someone love so loud, so deafening, without a single word. 

[thenightlymirror]

It’s wild that for so long, people were like, DO NOT look at another naked body, and then were like, Ok, you can look at naked bodies now, and then people were immediately like, We will do everything in our power to make sure all naked bodies look exactly the same. It’s basically the same principle. In a way, you’re seeing even less nudity. It’s as if there was a handful of designated nudes, and those just get reproduced ad infinitum, instead of, here, everyone be nude, be free.

[miketownsends]

today i got home from work, turned on the Ms game (which was in the 2nd inning), saw we were down 6-1, and immediately turned it back off

my husband was like “are you not gonna watch the game?” and i was just like i cannot do this today lmao

[keets-writing-corner]

Thinking a LOT about Lucifer in the latest Hazbin episode. Idk what I was expecting but not this??

As I was watching my immediate thought was just "huh... Lucifer is kinda of weird..." but as the episode went on I realized the issue

the dude is off the chain depressed, like he says it as a joke but holy cow it is SO BAD

He's manically just creating rubber ducks cuz his daughter really like it that one time but it's empty, it's never good enough but he keeps doing it, maybe cuz he doesn't know how to pass the time otherwise.

like I get the feeling he HAS better things he SHOULD be doing than making rubber duck after rubber duck. At first I was like, "Bruh why isn't the king of hell doing anything?" aaaaand then it became clear...

The dude is disassociating so bad he can barely hold a conversation let alone remember information. He clearly WANTS to, he wants to be involved with his daughter so bad, he wants to care about the things she's doing so bad, but his depression keeps interfering. It's like he can only hear every other word and he grasps onto the ones he does hear semi-out of context. Like you can see every time he catches something that he hadn't before and he just "well shit I didn't catch that part"

and that's why he reacts so weird when people talk to him. He is struggling so bad to engage with the conversation he's only getting 50% of it

does that look like the face of a man who knows what the hell the conversation is even about??? he is STRUGGLING

like Charlie spent so long telling him about the hotel, and he STILL didn't understand what she wanted. Yeah it comes off as ditzy but literally I've been in that position where your brain just "nope, not doing this right now" and nerfs your conversation comprehension. So as someone who's BEEN in that position, to me it feels exactly like what he's dealing with. He's sorta engaged with the conversation, but only as much as his brain will allow

For example, when I'm dealing with this, this is what someone talking to me feels like this where the crossed out parts are what I missed and bold is what I catch, "Hey! You know I was thinking for dinner we could either make some chicken with rice? But if you don't feel like cooking, pasta is super easy and you love that right? What do you want to do?" you can kinda get that someone is trying to talk to you about dinner, and towards the end you get the impression that they asked something that needs your input so you can decently put 2 and 2 together and try and pass off, but crucial bits were left out, I would have no idea that either chicken or pasta is in the conversation only having heard "rice". When someone is just talking at me, I can decently pass off as being engaged but the second I'm required to participate in the conversation I'm screwed. Seem familiar? At which point I have 2 options, try to give a bullshit answer, or admit that I missed what they were saying and ask them to repeat

Lucifer, unfortunately, is trying so damn hard to hide that he's dealing with like 24/7 dissociation, so he can't admit that he's missing entire chunks of the conversation, hence his really weird replies. He does eventually get the full picture and then he and Charlie start having the real conversation

Also, the Alastor/Lucifer rivalry was hilarious but also really indicative of more of what Lucifer is dealing with

Alastor is, unfortunately, really good at picking up people's insecurities, and thanks to Charlie's description earlier and watching Lucifer clearly trying to overcompensate, he immediately picks up on the fact that Lucifer KNOWS he struggles to be a good dad (we know cuz it's cuz of the depression, hard to be engaged when your brain keeps turning off) and decides to rub salt in the wound by pretending he's been acting as a surrogate father to Charlie. Now why Alastor decided to pick a fight with the king of hell is beyond me, I do not understand Alastor (and I LIKE IT) (maybe it's cuz Alastor thinks he's hot shit and was expecting Lucifer to at least have heard of him but Lucifer just treats him like a nobody? who knows)(why would Lucifer listen to radio anyways when he can't even pay attention to a conversation it'd just be white noise)

But yeah I just was expecting someone who oozed either charisma or presence and instead I got a depressed dad who's dissociating so bad he can barely function and be present in his life. The only thing it seems he CAN do is make rubber ducks cuz his daughter really liked it that one time

Idk Lucifer is tragic to me. Whatever the full details of what heavan did to him absolutely broke him and he can't deal with it. He's aware of it, and he doesn't know how to fix it, so he tries to over compensate and sorta makes an ass out of himself but no one says or does anything cuz this guy is supposed to be THE king of hell

Suddenly it's making a lot more sense why he just rolls over and lets heaven do what it wants and even told Charlie to go in his place the start of the show. He's not in any headspace to hold a basic conversation let alone negotiate! He didn't even know who Alastor was, he's been so out of touch

idk I like him, he seems sweet, I hope Charlie brings some light back into his life. He really needs to get out of that rubber duck room

[lightvialamp]

Girl in front of me on the four hour bus ride from Cardiff to London has had ao3 open on her ipad the entire time reading something from a fandom I am not familiar with but I do feel some sort of. Kinship. Idk. I know fandom is massive but. I would like to think that I know the feeling that she is feeling that is making her read for four hours nonstop on her ipad open for all the world to see on this bus. Like. I get you. Idk

[ohno-the-sun]

Some thoughts about who Eclipse is exactly

[dreamerdagn]

my tears of the kingdom experience so far

[frostbytemyrik]

I'm not epileptic, but between the Cyberpunk2077 and Avatar 2 stuff, is anyone else getting the feeling that studios are getting a bit more...lax with making sure their shit doesn't cause seizures in photosensitive people?

[worldvhs]

the plan

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i have a Scene - a Plot if you will - that backs this as context. y'all are gonna have to trust me on this one <3 or read the tags...

[ryllen]

and some extra unused stuff while they are in affectionate mood

[azulhood]

Jazz was, at her core, a pessimist.

Oh sure, she wanted the best outcomes and strived to always see the best in people. But listening to her parents talk about and share crime scene photos of someone who was brutally murdered and who may haunt the place they were headed to while true crime podcasts played instead of road trip tunes as they traveled to whatever graveyard had caught their interest had dulled young Jazz's faith in humanity.

Jazz still had memories of a young her standing in an abandoned insane asylum (or abandoned hospital, or old house, or graveyard, or whatever place they dragged her too) holding a small torch with shaky hands and begging to leave because she was terrified "Can we go? Please? this place is scaring me" only to be told "In a minute Jazzy, we down want the ghost getting away."

They had settled down after Danny was born, choosing to stay in one placed instead of traveling all over the country. She still expected them to unexpectedly announce that they were going on the road again, she had plans in case they did (saying she'd stay behind with the van to take care of Danny was better then both of them getting used as ghost bait) But surprisingly they didn't.

And Jazz was thrilled. Sure, she and Danny were known as the kids of the towns crazy ghosthunters, and sure, she basically had to raise her brother since her parents would rarely leave their lab let alone focus on something not ghost related, and yes, she did have to carefully plan out how to use the family's money so that none of them starved.

But no more sleeping in cheap hotels or their van, no more making friends at playgrounds that she'd never see the next day, no more countless hours spent in places where people died, no more English lessons while on the road. She went to school now, she had friends that she saw more than once, she had a home that wasn't filled with cockroaches and the sounds of a argument from the room next door. She had a semi-normal life.

In this time of normality, she relaxed, she let her guard down. Then Danny died and only came back halfway.

And Jazz was back to being that little girl who was scared of ghosts, only this time she was scared for a ghost.

Danny didn't tell her at first, and even though it hurt she understood, and so while she waited for him to tell her, she planned.

She took job after job, from mowing someone's lawn to working at a checkout. Money had been put aside in bags filled with clothes and a pair of new id that she had gotten from Tucker, ("Just in case our parents get classified as supervillains and we need to flee" She said not giving anyway that she knew of Danny's ghostly problem, Tucker had made the id anyway even if he thought she was joking and did not in fact have a plan should that situation happen) One of their neighbors was willing to let her buy their old car despite her family's driving history. A safe house (more like safe apartment) was bought in the only place that was willing to let a teen buy property, Gotham City.

Danny fought numerous enemies until the only enemy that was left was telling their ghost hunter parents that their son was half dead.

Compared to her, Danny was an optimist, seeing the best in everyone without even having to try like she did. Believing that the best would happen like if he didn't, he would break into a million pieces and not know how to put himself together again.

Even though he was scared Danny believed that their parents wouldn't react badly, Jazz hoped they wouldn't but was prepared if they did.

And finally, after many nights spent wide awake in case her parents tried to rip Danny apart molecule by molecule while she slept, the shoe dropped. Their parents loved them, but their work came first, it always came first. Jazz loved her parents, she truly did, but she loved Danny more. And in the end, that made her choice of driving all the way to Gotham with nothing but their go bags all the more easier.

And that was how Jazz and Danny ended up as the neighbors of one Jason Todd.

[kaogens]

hi vashu (puts him in various situations)

[loserifer]

i survived another week under capitalism's thumb. w me. anyway, here's some Tension >:)

Page 5/?

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reblogs are appreciated!!! 🕺🕺🕺

[ingoodjesst]

have you put the pieces together yet, detective

[acerospectrum]

i don't understand people who say that aromanticism is a sad thing. personally, i'd never felt more liberated than when i realized i didn't have to date anyone, or that the reason i felt uncomfortable with romantic affection was not because i was a horrible person

for me, being arospec means the freedom of not having to fulfill society's expectations of what my life should be like. it means that i can allow myself to find happiness in things that are not romantic relationships. and it means i can stop getting into relationships without actually being attracted to the other person.

i know those are things that alloromantics can also benefit from and should internalize (amatonormativity hurts everyone, after all), but being arospec makes it even more liberating, if that makes any sense