#it’ll pass

[spookeart]

That one fleabag scene

[maraudersislife]

“I love you.” - James

“It’ll pass.” - Regulus

[wanderingblindly]

omg i’d die for a flip flop for landos pov during the scene where oscar is having a lowkey meltdown bc he *feels* something wrong with lando and is trying to find him in It’ll Pass. like dying for it in fact

(ask game) (original fic)

Yeah fuck it, let’s write Omegaverse in the laundromat lmfaoooooo

Lando’s been playing a dangerous game for too long, toeing lines too narrow for his brash nature. He knows it; he’s known it since the first time he met Oscar at the MTC, since he crossed his arms and made some side comment about Oscar being quite tall.

But it’s hard to stop a game with no clear end, no clear winners. It’s even harder to stop a game that, frankly, Lando wants to keep playing. Race car drivers aren’t in the business of quitting, they’re in the business of greed.

And Oscar pulling him into a hug in Miami, the solidness of his body like honey-thick relief against his electric nerves, that’s greed.

And, Lando immediately realizes with wide eyes, a mistake. A step too far. More than a toe over the line, but his entire body flung over the threshold.

He doesn’t hear what Oscar says — whispers — into his ear, doesn’t feel the light puff of his shell-shocked laughter against his fevered skin; Lando can’t register anything beyond the slight shift in his skin, the delicate cross between adrenaline and more.

No.

No.

He slips away, Oscar pulled elsewhere by the post-race masses and Lando back into his teams’ loving arms; subtly, in a way only they know, Lando grabs Jon’s hand — a plea in the haze of excited tears and relentless Miami sun. They lock eyes, Lando’s silently urging: we have to go.

---

His breathing is getting heavy, skin starting to feel too tight too quickly. It’s too soon, building too rapidly. Jon shouldn’t have to be shouldering him like this. The air shouldn’t hurt like this, his knees shouldn’t be wobbling as they stumble through the hotel’s back door.

The elevator doors slide closed.

“No,” Lando manages to get out, eyes focused on Jon’s hand — reaching for the elevator buttons. The wrong floor.

“We gotta get you inside,” Jon looks at him, leaned against the elevator wall, cheeks a brilliant pink. “It’s… you didn’t forget your meds, right?”

“Oscar��s.” His breathing feels too labored, hot and heavy like something’s sat on his chest.

“Lando,” His voice drops soft, grazing Lando’s cheek like a father’s loving hand. It makes him whimper, sliding down the wall and finding home on the floor. Jon follows suit, crouching down to his eye-line. “We have to go to your room, you know how —”

“I need.” A shaking breath, Jon’s concerned face starts to blur. “Him. Can’t, hah, breathe.”

It’s panic. Deep in his nerves, burrowed in his bones, is the subconscious understanding that something’s wrong. The onset. The speed. The tugging deep in his heart that he left part of him back at some fucking football stadium parking lot.

His pulse is throbbing in his teeth as he talks, heat building under his skin like a weapon.

Jon’s still staring, a familiar hand reaching for his neck. Feeling his pulse. Feeling for scars. Finding nothing but racing need and unfamiliar fear.

“You know that you can’t… Lando, it’s too dangerous to try…” He sounds torn, but Lando can’t find the pieces. The world’s going fuzzy, both soft and hard around the edges and fading fast.

He tries to grab Jon’s arm, hand flopping uselessly in the space between them. “Get me there.” Lando’s words are shaking, chest heaving under the weight of his heat. “Now.”

---

It’s like coming in and out of a light, summer sleep. Laying in the field behind his childhood home, distantly aware that the sun may set soon, more intimately aware of the wildflowers in the air; perfectly warm, dusted in sunshine sifting through the leaves above.

Lando shoves his face in deeper, flexing his fingers in the soft cotton of his sleeves.

The door clicks.

The sun feels closer, that painful tension in his heart finally easing — like he can finally draw in a full breath. “Osc?”

His muscles ache, somehow overly tense and pliant all at once. And he’s sweating, damp around the hairline and under his layers of Oscar’s clothes. But it’s. His mind homes in on the smell of him, the perfectly glistening, wonderfully orange glow of him.

And he needs it. Needs it needs it needs it —

So he shifts over, spurring a thousand needles under his skin but he’s too tired to care. Too desperate to feel whole and safe and like he’s holding the world in his hands. “C’mere,”

“Please.” He begs into the sheets, skin prickling with the awareness that it’s lacking. Missing. A touch so far, lingering at the foot of his nest.

It feels like becoming whole, the moment Oscar’s fingers — shaking, scared — graze against him. Better than whole, it’s. Fulfilling something greater. Balanced, maybe. He feels a purr building in his chest, skin finally soothed, heart awash in light.

He can finally breathe again.

[tacosaysroar]

Adelaide accidentally broke something tonight that belonged to my grandmother. We both cried a little. I have other more sentimental items of hers — this was just a tiny bud vase — but I’m upset because this item got destroyed out of simple carelessness. She was overloading a surface instead of putting things back where they belonged or throwing them away and so the vase got knocked over. I told her it was just a thing and it was an accident — she already feels bad — and I’ll be over it tomorrow, but tonight I’m privately (she says publicly to the internet) sad and annoyed.

[emo-clarence]

in my fleabag era

[dubblebubbleibuprofen]

Sooooo I’m watching dr who…

[richarlotte]

Wednesday’s Wisdom?

A key component of getting out is not going back. Be that a physical location, a mindset, a person, or a piece of yourself you left behind. You look forward, and you strive and persevere to get there; you don’t let yourself regress and slip into the past. Once you get yourself out of whatever you’re struggling to overcome, you do whatever it takes to never return to that place again. Getting out, getting over it, and getting great all depend on your ability to keep yourself moving forward no matter the circumstances. 

One of the best people I have ever known used to sit me down after school to do our math and say, “Charlotte, what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?”. I thought she was being literal for the longest time, and I’d do my best to figure out the answer. It took me until 2021 to finally be able to tell her what she wanted to hear. I had to think of myself as the unstoppable force and my issues as the immovable object, and at the end of the day, you can move and get over almost any object if you’re willing to put in the necessary effort. 

My point is that you have to do your damndest to completely change your mindset; you have to be willing to make hard choices and even harder changes, and you have to be willing to fully sacrifice your old self so that your new self has the opportunity to thrive. I think you’re also going to have to realize that nothing is guaranteed, and life is really just a series of trials and errors at the end of the day. You try something, it doesn’t work, and so you keep trying until something sticks and feels good to you. Pushing forward is only half of the equation though; learning how to pull yourself out when you’re slipping is the other half. 

[nicki-lewis903]

I love this scene so much. And we often talk about how he saw her speaking to us and asking where she was going off to in that moment later on in the season, but I think he saw her doing that here and was bringing her back into the present. Priest is the only person who noticed this, noticed her, asked about her, and wanted to get to know her. It still hasn’t passed. 💔

[theyhaditcoming]

“I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like, what to hate, what to rage about, what to listen to, what band to like, what to buy tickets for, what to joke about, what not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in, who to vote for, and who to love, and how to tell them. I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far I think I’ve been getting it wrong.”

- Fleabag

[thelonesomequeen]

[brat-pack-it-up-boys]

I’d like to apologize for my lack of posting recently. The west side story brain rot is hitting HARD and I fear no one wants to hear about that

[mycrazylittleship]

Wyatt: I love you

Doc: it’ll pass

[sansabirdanne]

Otto is just a tiny bit jealous of Olly’s shirt. He was under the impression *he* was the trophy husband.

Oleanders trouser/skirt situation is by @adelarsims

I *know* I got the shirt on here as well, but I am not home to look it up, just at work.. avoiding working. If you know, let me know so I can properly tag, or if I find it myself, I will update.

[unbisoudelibby]

it is officially rewatch ‘fleabag’ time of the year.

[h--hannah--h]

ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS ITLL PASS

[jisbonsism]

i love you. it’ll pass