#we had a really great day even though I am very exhausted

[astro-inthestars]

Hi guess who feels like he just experienced 8 consecutive days in a matter of 2?

[bilal-salah0]

Hi guys,

I hesitated a great deal to talk about my predicament in Germany but my friends encouraged me to. I truly didn't want anyone to think I was taking advantage of their generosity. I have always relied on myself even during hard times but these are desperate times I never imagined living through before. I was raised to be responsible at a very young age and be resilient whatever the situation I'm in. Since Life has never been easy in Gaza even before the genocide, that's how it had to be, but I also grew up in a home and a community where love and family are everything and it is my family's very survival that is at stake right now.

You have all been more than generous and helped us raise 85,227 € as of now and I am beyond grateful for that but we still need you. Unfortunately, I only have 5 days left to raise what remains of my goal. I fear it will be impossible for me to promote this campaign, support and save my family when the time comes, if I'm considered stateless and deported.

Moreover, even though my job was exhausting, I tried so hard to keep it because I really needed it to provide for my family. However, try as I might, I failed to reach an agreement with the company, ended unemployed and lost the apartment I was renting, too. I am also unable to get a new job at the moment because of all the legal and bureaucratic procedures I need to go through first. As a result, My family, unable to evacuate due to the border still seized by Israel, have been depending solely on donation money to pay for their ever rising daily expenses and frequent displacements. That's why, I was forced to raise my previous target of 1 70,000€ to 100,000 €. I truly had no choice.

I would also like everyone to know that I am used to hardship and I am not one to surrender easily. I am trying my best to beat the odds and win this fight but I am not asking for help for myself. I don't care what happens to me as long as my family, especially our children and newborns, are able to receive any help they can get until they're able to hopefully evacuate. Please don't give up on them! They need you now more than you can imagine! It's only God's mercy and your support that have been getting them through this nightmare!

Donate if you can, reblog and share anywhere you have reach on your social media platforms. Any contribution counts and means the world to us. I truly believe we can make it and achieve our new goal thanks to your unwavering support and boundless generosity. I can never thank everyone enough!

€85,227 raised of €100,000 goal

[sirfrogsworth]

Meeting my longtime artist and good friend, Chris, IN REAL LIFE!

So, I hadn't been to a restaurant in over a decade. I can't even remember which restaurant since it was so long ago. But in the past few weeks I've now been to TWO restaurants.

I am becoming a social butterfly. 

And it is exhausting.

But also good.

First I reconnected with my high school best friend, John.

And that went great.

But then the opportunity to see my friend Chris (a.k.a @whosthewhatnow ) came up only a few days later. And this close proximity of social events scared me a bit, but I have been feeling much better since they figured out my heart thing, so I decided to try and do both things even though they were only a few days apart. 

The key to this was strategic resting. As soon as I got home from seeing John, I got in bed and I didn't get out of it until it was time to see Chris. And that was just enough recovery time to pull this off. Typically a short outing requires 2-3 days of rest after. 

I had never met Chris in real life. He has done nearly all of the artwork for my website and comics over the past decade. And he was a main character in my CRAPPRnauts series.

We know each other so well and it is crazy that we've never seen each other with our very own eyeballs.

He is such an amazing artist. He works fast and he adds so many cool extra details that you can stare at his comic panels multiple times and catch a new joke or easter egg each time. He is a dream to work with and my Corg Life series was only successful because he did such a wonderful job bringing Otis to life in comic form. 

So we decided to meet up at a restaurant with his friend Michael and then I was going to take a nice portrait of him after dinner. Chris had never had a professional photo taken of himself and I decided to fix that.

I told him I had a mobile photography setup. Which, in reality, is a trunk full of lights and stands and other various camera gear that I definitely won't need, but bring anyway. It's "mobile" in that it all fits in my car if you are good at Tetris (which I am).

The restaurant was downtown and I had visions of St. Louis's famous Gateway Arch in the background of Chris's portrait. I thought that would be such a cool shot. I could see it in my head and I even dreamed about it.

So I got in my car and headed downtown and my GPS told me to exit at 249B. But I kept looking and I couldn't see the sign for 249B.

This is how much road I had left when I finally was able to see the exit for 249B.

So I ended up taking 249A and going straight to East St. Louis.

Which, if you believe the headlines, is not a place you ever want to be.

Google Maps and I have been having issues lately. They also tried to get me to take the spooky way home that night, but thankfully I actually knew the non-spooky way back from when I used to go to Cardinal games with my parents as a kid.

My short term memory was trashed by shock therapy. And so was a lot of my long term memory. But it finally came through in a pinch and remembered something useful.

I only had to loop around and cross a bridge so I didn't really do anything but touch the edge of East St. Louis. I was mostly concerned about being late for dinner more than its scary reputation. Usually those news stories about a place being "dangerous" are actually just racist and hurtful to people stuck in poverty. I mean, technically my house is in a "dangerous" neighborhood, and we do have trouble with petty crime in some spots, but aside from a few dinged-up mailboxes, I've never felt unsafe in my home.

On the way back to regular St. Louis I could see the Arch on the horizon at sunset and it was kind of magical. And I wasn't able to get a good shot of it, but it sure looked pretty from my point of view. 

My photos kind of remind me of the beginning of movies like Training Day where they are trying to show you gritty, dutch angle shots of the city out of the car window to give you a sense of the location.

As I approached the restaurant I invented a new genre I call "stoplight photography." The sky was orange and the streets of St. Louis were just asking to be photographed. But I wasn't willing to die to get neat photos, so I just took them at every red light.

The big trick was trying to edit the dark area at the top of my windshield out of the photos to make it look like I didn't take these pictures from my car.

After a 15 minute detour through Illinois I arrived at my destination—a Mexican place called Rosalita's. It had a beautiful sign, so I took that literal sign as a metaphorical sign it was a nice place to get a quesadilla. 

Dinner was great. Both signs were right and their quesadilla was very tasty. Chris and I both got one, so we are quesadilla twins. The waitress was one of those "I can remember your order without writing anything down" types. And I am one of those, "I get anxiety when things aren't written down" types. And, to her credit, she did not forget our orders. But she did forget to give us silverware and napkins. So I still feel like my anxiety was valid. 

We told sad stories of the pups we lost. But we also had a lot of fun and laughed and I got to meet Michael who turned out to be an absolute mensch. I sometimes have trouble meeting new people with my social anxiety, but he was very affable and made me feel comfortable with his presence almost right away. He was a fan of Otis and mentioned he still has a Super Otis shirt. I always get choked up hearing that Otis is still loved. Hopefully we get to meet again. 

Dinner ended and it was picture time.

I asked Chris if he wanted the high effort photo or the low effort photo. Either we figure out how to get to the Arch or we find a spot near the restaurant and just take his portrait there. Chris and Michael had a driver because they were coming from a big conference and getting to the Arch would have been complicated. So we decided to go with the low effort option. 

I found a cool shop nearby that had an LED wall that changed to all sorts of different colors. And I thought that would make a neat background and give a colorful edge light on Chris's face. I pulled my car near that spot and started unloading my trunk full of photo gear.

I think Chris and Michael were a little overwhelmed when I started pulling camera gear out of my trunk like a clown pulling an endless handkerchief out of his mouth. But as far as photo setups go, it was actually pretty minimal. 

Light, giant battery, light stand, umbrella, tripod, camera, rolling walker with seat.

My dad's old rollator came in clutch because I wanted to shoot from a low angle and it is hard for me to bend down. In fact, I think I'm going to look into getting an all terrain version so I can do more outdoor photoshoots.

I started shooting in the middle of a downtown sidewalk. And I was super anxious. I could not focus (my brain, not my camera). I was very distracted with all of the people walking by and staring. I was not sure if any of the photos were turning out. I wasn't even sure if they were in focus (my camera, not my brain) because I had not yet had my lens calibrated. But down the street there was a guy with an old school boombox playing random music. His music helped to drown out the ambient noise and gave me some comfort.

I had no clue if the photos were any good, but when I got home and checked them on my computer, I realized I have 12 years of experience and muscle memory built up. I probably should have just trusted myself because the photos all turned out great.

I think Chris can now officially say he has had a professional portrait taken of himself.

This photo has been officially loved by Chris's girlfriend and mother.

There is no greater seal of approval and I am honored.

I was able to comp in any of the colors the wall displayed from other shots in case Chris is feeling a little more green in the future.

A literal rainbow of options.

I also liked this one, though it is a little more "environmental portrait" than regular portrait.

And I got some nice photos of our little group to help us remember the night. 

And I got a bunch of photos of Chris making silly faces like Calvin at his school photoshoot. 

I love this woman's reaction to our little impromptu sidewalk photo shenanigans.

After we said our goodbyes and I gave my friend a hug, I was a little bummed I didn't get to photograph him at the Arch like I had dreamed.

But then I realized I had my own car and it was capable of taking me places. (I actually haven't gotten used to that after not driving for nearly 15 years.)

So I decided to drive a few blocks over to Kiener Plaza—a park with a view of the Arch. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 425: New Normal

Previously on BnHA: Everyone was all “and with that we conclude our final battle for better or worse!! We will now commence our slow return to the new normal, beginning with our protagonist and deuteragonist who are miraculously more or less intact, albeit exhausted and mildly traumatized. Also the words ‘more or less’ are kind of doing a lot of heavy lifting there.”

Today on BnHA: The Big 3 and Aoyama are OUT. Shinsou is IN. The Tododrama is PENDING, and the mysterious figure in the shadows is UNIDENTIFIED. Also class 1-A finally becomes class 2-A and it only took them 425 chapters and TEN LONG YEARS. Can you imagine if this series had actually run throughout their high school experience like people once expected. “THE YEAR IS 2044 AND MY HERO ACADEMIA IS FINALLY WINDING TO A CLOSE.” There’s an alternate universe somewhere where this actually happened and we were all so very, very tired.

This is once again a shorter than usual reaction summary post, as opposed to my typical page-by-page liveblog. Not gonna have time to do those for a while yet most likely, but like hell am I gonna miss out on the last days of the series, so here we are.

Once again basing this off of @pikahlua’s spoiler translation summary here!

watching the eighteen inch tall Rat Principal standing at a podium overseeing this graduation ceremony is surreal in the most wonderful way. it’s like receiving your diploma from a sentient Funko Pop

I love how they established that Mic sitting there screaming at the top of his lungs is also a beloved U.A. graduation tradition, and that the senpais just roll with it while everyone else is in varying stages of trying to decide if it’s too late to transfer to another school

ngl sometimes I forget that Ochako and Toga were actually the second canonical f/f ship in this series. shoutout to Hadou and her adorable girlfriend whose name I absolutely cannot recall

absolutely wild that Horikoshi gives credit to Rat Principal for coordinating the entire disaster recovery nationwide. are you serious. the “world-famous” Principal Nezu?? you’re telling me this little capybara is effectively the secret president of Japan now or something. when does he even sleep

“the principal made great contributions to quirk morality education” is also a VERY interesting tidbit that I really want to know more about. “hey guys what if we did a better job at teaching people not to be dicks with their quirks” AND JUST LIKE THAT JAPAN WAS SAVED huzzah

“we lost many things, but we gained nothing” is both HILARIOUS and soundly depressing, but I can see what he’s trying to get at. still an odd choice for a graduation speech though. “our job is all about harm reduction, and we couldn’t even do that this time around, but in the future we hope to balance things out and maybe even get some net positive impact going!” lmao. again it’s all true, and in all honesty it’s spectacular that they managed as well as they did, all things considered. and I guess it would have been disingenuous to just ignore the reality of everything this particular school body has been through and pretend like everything is great right now. but I still can’t help feeling like there was probably a more inspiring way to get this message across lol

regardless of what he says, Aizawa 100% either bribed or threatened Rat Principal behind the scenes in order to stay with his class. and will do so again next year. he can and will keep getting away with it. he is never leaving these kids

and the sheer relief from all of them upon hearing it is all the justification he needs. these kids have four thousand nine hundred and seventeen accumulated traumas among them. they don’t need a four thousand nine hundred and eighteenth. this man is their father ffs. MINA WAS CRYING AND EVERYTHING

Kacchan watched that YouTube video about a dozen times until he managed to tie his tie all on his own with the one hand. and he did an amazing job. he’s such a model citizen now

also it looks to me like he has his right arm hidden in a sling underneath his shirt, which is interesting. if I’m not mistaken (and I very well could be, since it’s been a hot minute since I did any BnHA timeline math), the final battle took place sometime in early May, so this chapter is taking place roughly one month later. the hospital chapter took place about a week after the battle, so it’s been about 3-4 weeks since then. I really want to know what kind of shape Kacchan’s arm is in, but I guess Horikoshi will get to it when he gets to it

also, “we all gotta be together today” was a real wakeup call to me in that it gave me just an absolutely ridiculous amount of feels. just a totally unreasonable amount. and it’s like. listen, self. Kacchan has completed his character growth arc. he’s a team player and a leader who loves all his friends and they all love him in return. we’ve known this for years now. it’s an established fact. you can’t keep bursting into tears or whatever every time he shows it. this is no way to live your life. I need an intervention

anyways later this evening class 2-A is gonna have a celebratory movie night in the common room, and Kacchan is gonna fall asleep two minutes in peacefully surrounded by all his classmates, and they’re all gonna nudge each other and smile fondly and cover him with a blanket and stay up until 2am and Aizawa will have no mercy on them the following morning. it’s gonna be so wholesome you guys

(ETA: I decided to go back and have some more feels about this one tiny Kacchan panel, because apparently the four paragraphs I already wrote about it weren't enough. so the thing is, Sero's wonderment at Katsuki being out of the hospital initially read to me as half bemused awe, and half "oh boy, time to get back into our usual rhythm of antagonizing Kacchan!" but my second time around, I can't help remembering that all of Kacchan's classmates got to watch this kid getting tortured and strangled and stabbed through the heart in 4K. like, even if they were busy with their own fights at the time, there's no way they didn't see the footage later on afterwards.

and that had to have been traumatic for them. their friend literally died and was just lying there so still for so long afterwards. and him getting better and going back to his usual asskicking self later on doesn't just erase those memories, you know? especially with him having lasting, permanent damage afterward. not just his arm, even! like who even knows if his heart is going to be okay long term. when people get organ transplants they have to go on immunosuppressants afterwards because otherwise their body will try to attack the replacement organ. so I wonder how exactly it works when it's still your heart, but it's being held together by various bits and pieces of a spindly little floss man. idk, but I bet you it's still pretty rough.

anyway so long story short, I'm now reading this as one-third bemused awe, one-third joking antagonism, and one-third genuine "no seriously, is it okay for you to be here, please don't do anything to put your health at risk because we seriously cannot handle you dying on us again." and Kacchan's not even disagreeing with him lol, which has to be the most concerning thing of all. "they said it's okay if I rest." even he knows he's pushing it, but it was too important of an occasion to miss. anyway please take it easy kiddo.)

Aoyama leaving makes me sad but it makes total sense for his character after what he’s been through. he needs time to sort things out and continue down his own personal honor-regaining journey. respect

also glad to hear that it was his own choice and that both Rat Principal and Nao would have supported him if he stayed. I still to this day do not understand Naomasa’s actual level of authority lol. like, he’s supposedly a detective, and yet he seems to be personally in charge of every single important police operation, on like a national level. and he has the authority to make decisions like letting Aoyama go free. he is the law, literally

Aoyama trying to feed Deku some farewell cheese also took me out. like he just walked in there and was all “sorry everyone, I’m leaving, but I’ll still aim for the path of a hero and will one day return, don’t you worry!” and at some point in the midst of this tearful speech he made a beeline directly to Izuku and tried to give him some cheese that he apparently just had in his pocket or something. and Izuku was all “YEAH!” all solemnly but HE DIDN’T EVEN TOUCH THAT POCKET CHEESE. like he loves you and accepts you for who you are Yuuga but COME ON

at this point in the chapter it also became clear to me that Aizawa has his hair up in some sort of loosely assembled messy bun and that’s why it looks so especially flowing and gorgeous today. this is great cinema

and then AT LONG LAST, the admission of Shinsou into class 2-A. they tried everything they could to keep him out, BUT NOT EVEN THE END OF THE WORLD COULD STOP HIM. his rightful place

Ojiro’s scandalized response to hearing Fuwa refer to Aizawa as “Era-sen”, and then Fuwa subsequently revealing all of Aizawa’s secrets and Aizawa getting flustered and kicking her out, was one of the most delightful sequences I’ve read. “nooooo don’t tell them that, what the hell am I gonna threaten them with now”

Izuku has not even attempted to crack a smile since the final battle, aside from when he was frantically trying to reassure Kacchan in the hospital. I’m worried about him but also loving this a little bit, ngl. I am content to wait for you to eventually have a proper breakdown, mister Greatest Hero

also I singled him out on the whole not-smiling thing, but really this is true for just about all of them. my heart aches :(

were there really so many people freaking out over Izuku’s hair that Horikoshi felt compelled to throw in that “HEY DEKU-KUN, YOU SHAVED YOUR HAIR LIKE THAT DUE TO AN INJURY, RIGHT? BUT IT’LL GROW BACK, RIGHT!?” line in there lol. the hilarious thing is that this chapter was already in the books before 424 was released, so it means that Horikoshi anticipated the backlash ahead of time. the man knows his audience

and now for this mysterious little barefoot man randomly emerging from some rubble somewhere. who are you. fandom already thinks you’re everyone from Tenko to Hisashi lol. my personal theory is that he’s just a random citizen who’s hurt and traumatized and needs help. and unlike what happened with baby Tenko once upon a time, this young man actually will be helped by a hero in his moment of need, and it’ll be all hopeful and stuff because SOCIETY IS CHANGING FOR THE BETTER NOW HOORAY

or maybe he really is Tenko, idk. what do I know lol. don’t listen to me

lastly, Shouto out here immediately leaving U.A. after class and ruining my dreams of a class 2-A movie night. FINE THEN. GO AND BE WITH YOUR FAMILY my precious little life preserver. and I’m actually really, really excited to see what their endgame is actually, so yes, Horikoshi, bring it on please and thank you

[cloudsmateria]

college roommate - leon kennedy x reader

nerdy!reader x leon kennedy

synopsis: you and leon have just started university, finding yourself in the same university visit, he comes and visits your dorm as he's been struggling in his classes. you kick it off, and you invite each other into your different, interesting lives.

words: like 4500

disclaimer: this isn't proof-read and i actually do need to proofread it and i will when i finish it, this also isn't finished. so if u don't wanna read it now and wanna come back to it when it's pristine and complete be my guest, the edit of this will be very edited like literally whole chunks of texts will be different, i just wanted to post something

content warning: kissing, bit of angst, slight smut/almost smut, sexual themes

A loud knock rings through your door, if it had come even a second later you wouldn’t have heard it at all as you were on a one-way path to passing out on top of your notes. 

“Come in.” You mumble, picking your head up off of the desk and watching as a dirt-blonde hunk of a boy you don’t recognise comes through. Maybe it’s one of the frat boys trying to get to know all the girls in his dorm house. 

“Hey. Can I ask a favour?”

“Who are you?”

"I'm Leon, I saw you in my engineering lecture the other day and you looked like you understood what was going on. Then I found out you were in my university building. So here, I am. Help. Please. I’m going to fail and we’re only 3 weeks in." His desperation makes you laugh, something you were shocked you could do in this dazed state after a mind-boggling 8 hours of completing work.

"Oh Leon, I'd love to but I think if I even think about that engineering class for another second right now I might actually drop down and die."

"It can wait, you busy right now? Other than you know, spilling drool all over your papers?”

“Yeah, I was just about to go spill some on my pillow too, I'm exhausted." You say, not entirely joking, and begin to gather your things.

“I get it.”

“We have another engineering lecture tomorrow anyway so you can just catch me then."

"You sure, though? I mean I'm already here." He shrugs and picks up a book from her bookshelf. "How do you read any of these? There are no pictures." You laugh again. 

"You're asking me how I read physics books when you take engineering… Are you sure you picked the right course? You know, you can read it if you want, and would probably benefit from it. If you can even read."

"No thanks, I'll just get you to teach it to me tomrrow. I’ll see you in a bit, Einstein.” 

"You should watch what you call me if you want me to tutor you, that’s usually not free."

"Oh, but the thing is I don't think you're actually going to make me pay for anything. You're too nice for that."

"That's a very bold statement to make to a stranger."

"You'll come round eventually."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"Can I just ask you another question? I'm not going to stop annoying you until you answer it the way I want you to."

"Go on." You sigh.

"Have you eaten today? Cause I haven't and I'm hungry."

"Leon-"

"Please."

"Okay, okay, God, you're persistent. Gonna give me a headache." You groan and sit up.

"It’s worth it, you'll need me to keep you sane later in the year."

"Oh really? You think we’re gonna stay friends that long?"

"I know you've got your nerdy brain, but I've been told I have a great personality." You can't tell if he's implying something with that disgustingly stupid joke or if he really is just an idiot. To be fair, he's funny and managed to pull you out your the room you had been hibernating in for the past few days to get ahead of work. You suppose there are worse people you could be forced to talk to.

"Whatever. Just get out of here." You push him towards the door.

"You're not going to eat with me?" You roll your eyes and lock the door, getting dressed into something that wasn't your pyjamas.

…

Now here you were, eating outside with this boy from your lectures when you had just wanted to be at home sleeping. Although it was nicer than you thought it would be, he had insisted on buying you an energy drink to keep your eyes open as you were eating in some random burger shop.

"How come you're struggling?" 

"Been going to too many parties, I've got different priorities."

"..."

"What?" He says defensively.

"Don't make me slap you. You can't be stupid because you got into this university, you're wasting your potential."

"I am not!"

"You're struggling! We're only 3 weeks in! I mean, come on, Leon."

"I don't understand what your problem is, maybe you need to live a little."

"That is rich coming from you. You're going to peak in college and fuck up the rest of your life if you ruin your chance now. And I live fine right now, I go out often enough and put the rest of my time toward my course, like a responsible human being."

"So you're boring?"

"So you're an idiot and can't plan for the future?"

"No, I'm not." He smirks. "And also, I never said I couldn't plan for the future, just that it isn't the only thing I want to focus on."

"Okay, fine, that's it. This is your problem, I'm not tutoring you."

"Got under your skin?" He smiles.

"I'm serious. You're smart if you got into this school, but you're wasting your talent partying and sleeping around."

“You’ve only known me for 20 minutes and you’ve managed to start an argument.”

“I just don’t want to waste my time. If you want me to help with assignments you need to make an effort, and if you want to be my friend, you’re also going to need to make an effort because I’m not going to care about someone who can’t even care about themselves.”

"I care about myself. Why else would I come to you for help on this?"

"Because you can't do it yourself and your friends are too stupid to ask them for help."

"No... Well... Okay fine, yeah that sounds pretty accurate. But in all honesty, I do care about my grade, that's why I'm coming to you. Now you know my intentions, I beg talk about something else, this entire conversation is reminding me of my mom."

"Like what?"

"Like, there's a party next Saturday, and I think you should come with me. You’re pretty entertaining."

"Oh, Leon. You're so clueless, it's pitiful."

"You have to go to the party, it will be fun."

"I have been to parties, I've gone to 2 since the start of the semester. But we have assignments to work on this week."

"One more little party isn't going to kill you. It'll be good, and then we can do the work."

"That's a very backward mindset." 

"You'll thank me, trust me."

"You say the reason you’re struggling is because you’re going to many parties, and immediately proceed to invite me to a party." You shake your head and laugh. “You are something else.”

“So are you coming?”

“I’ll think about it.”

… 

You and Leon had been going to the lectures together ever since, having lunch at points when he wasn’t hoarded by his friends and even managing a few study sessions into his schedule. You came 5 minutes early for the engineering lecture the next day. Flipping through the textbook notes to top up on your pre-reading beforehand, you had right at the back as Leon begged you to over text the previous night to sit there rather than the front so he’d feel comfortable sitting next to you. It doesn't take long for people to start filtering in, and eventually, that blonde-headed boy pops up next to you, leaning his head on your shoulder immediately. 

"Didn't get enough sleep last night." He mutters.

"Up studying?"

"You know me so well." 

“I'm not even going to ask what you were doing." You sigh, fully believing he had either gone clubbing or to another party last night.

"I promise you, I was studying. And you can ask me all the questions you want, I'll try my best to answer. I did go a little off track and I'm not doing well at it but your inspirational speech convinced me to try a bit."

"Really?" You ask excitedly, looking down at him. "Leon, that's great!" You feel his cheeks crease into a smile against your shoulder at your enthusiasm.

"You're more excited about it than I am, that's cute." He chuckles. "Keep talking, my head hurts, your voice helps."

"The lecture starts soon."

"Don't care." 

"I’m not going to talk over the lecturer." You say, flicking his forehead.

"It's just a lot, okay? I'm trying my best, but I might have reached my full capacity last night." He sits up and sighs, rubbing his temples.

“Welcome to university."

"Yeah, whatever. Can we go back to your room after?"

"Sure."

"Thank you."

"Of course." 

The professor finally steps into the lecture hall, and everyone quiets down, preparing for the lesson.

Halfway through, Leon couldn't help but pass out on you again. Your body went rigid, trying to make sure his head wouldn't fall off your shoulder. You pick the paper off of his desk, dragging it toward you as you start to write notes on your own and his paper so he won't miss out on anything.

He's surprisingly cute when he's not cracking annoying jokes and snapping back with snarky remarks. He was even making you lose track of the lecture a bit.

After class, you wake him up and walk him back to your dorm with him, chatting and catching him up on what he missed briefly. When you think about it, you're surprised you only met him yesterday. He feels like someone you've known since secondary school, or maybe he just treats everyone this way. Either way, you wouldn't complain about spending time with him.

"So, we're alone. What do we do?"

"Study?" You say, throwing him a pencil and paper. "Don't ask me stupid questions like that again."

"Come on, we just got out of an hour lecture, we basically already studied."

"A lecture that you slept for half of-"

"And that you caught me up on after."

"We need to make up the time. Now come on, let's work."

"But-"

"Now, Leon."

"Ugh."

…

The next hour wasn't as bad as you had expected it to be, you could still get your work done while simultaneously teaching Leon that content he missed out on. His demeanour quickly became enthusiastic when he saw how proud you were when you understood a concept, and you were genuinely impressed, he caught onto things quickly. After an hour, you both took a break sitting on your bed, him replying to some messages on his phone.

"Hey." You say, poking his arm to draw his attention.

"What?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Making the effort to try, even if it is just a little bit."

"You're definitely making more effort than me." He smiles, leaning his head on your shoulder again.

"If you want to sleep you should just go home, you must be exhausted."

"I'm not leaving you in this depressing room, I'm keeping you company."

"I’m not keeping you from anything? Your phone was blowing up a second ago I assume you have somewhere to be."

"They can wait, I want to stay around for a bit longer. I like the change for once."

"Change?"

"It's quiet, I can think for once. You’re different from the people I’m around smart and stubborn,”

“So you’re aware of the poor choice of people you hang around, you had me fooled for a while.”

“Wait I’m not done, and even after all of that, I can tell that you're a little shy which is adorable. Oh, and my favourite part is how easy you are to annoy."

"I am not."

"You're blushing right now, I can feel your cheek getting hot. Adorable."

"Don’t you even close your mouth?"

"You know I can't, come on, it's not like you mind."

"Oh my god."

"Admit it, I'm fun to be around."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Tell me what you think of me."

"What?"

"Tell me, come on. Please, I'm dying for validation."

"Well. You're nice, and I've never seen you without a smile on your face, it's refreshing.”

“A little more… I know you got it in you.”

“You're not as stupid as you make yourself out to be,. And I honestly can't tell if I'm special or if you treat everyone else this way because you make me feel way more important than I really would be for someone like you."

"You're special, trust me. And that's a stupid question to ask. Do you want a list of the people I've met? The people I’ve made friends with?"

"What?"

"I can count on one hand the real people I've managed to keep around and one of those is my dog. Don't worry about that, because I know you’re gonna be on that list too. I know you think that I have so many friends and I'm surrounded by people all the time, but they're all fake. They're just fun for parties and clubbing when you have nothing else to do."

"But-"

"It's true." He looks at you, his expression becoming serious for the first time since you've met him. "And I've got to tell you, you're different."

"Different?"

"Yeah, you're interesting. You're not fake, and you're actually doing something with your life."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, I think you’ve just surrounded yourself with one particular type of person, and now you’re shocked when you meet someone who’s not an idiot."

"Come on, I've seen the work you've done in these past 24 hours. You were working for at least 25 of them.” 

"You know how to flatter me."

"That's another reason why you should hang out with me more."

"Oh, and why's that?"

"I'm not afraid to admit how much I like you, Einstein. Makes you feel good, doesn’t it?"

"I can't even think about what I should say to that." You say, laughing and burying your head in your hands. "God, you're a mess."

“I suppose, yeah. You’re changing that though.” He lifts your chin up to face him, smiling at your red cheeks. “See? So cute.”

"Why do you have to keep saying things like that?"

"Because you react this way." He grins.

"I hate you."

"Let me ask you something again. Are you going to go to the party on Saturday?"

"I don’t think so."

“Since I’ve got the chance, I think I can change your mind.” He smiles and pulls your face a little closer, close enough for him to feel your shallow breaths against his lips.

"I-" You can't find any words, you're stunned. He's gorgeous, and you can't deny that, but the idea of kissing him feels wrong, you can't do it. Not right now. The thought of getting with someone you're starting to have feelings for is setting off alarm bells, the alarm bells imprinted by your bad experiences from secondary school of guys playing with your emotions. No matter how much your heart is screaming you want to, your mind is screaming no. 

"You're gonna go with me right?" He whispers.

"Okay." You say hoarsely, your legs desperately pressed together.

"Good girl." He smiles, getting up and putting his shoes on. "I'll see you on Saturday." He says, before leaving.

"I'm screwed." You mutter.

… 

Saturday finally rolled around. You weren't even sure how much time you spent with Leon the day before, but you knew you wanted more.  This was starting to become a concern for you. You remember last year, when you were hurt so bad you pledged to never fall for someone again. You can't do this, not with him. You know Leon is exactly that kind of guy, he’s charming, an athlete, with too many friends for his own good, someone who has no reason to be associated with you unless he wanted something, and was patient when it came to getting it. 

And yet, here you were, wearing a simple little black dress and the heels Leon said would match. You pray that the feelings are cut off here, hopefully he sees you as just a friend and just likes to tease. But a little part of you has a sliver of hope that maybe this is real.

Leon came to pick you up from your room, as he was only a floor away. When you opened the door you were met with Leon dressed in a black bottom down with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up which definitely made you feel some kind of way.

"Leon, hi." You say, overly aware of the fabric hugging your skin, you rarely wore tight clothes. 

"Wow." His eyes were stuck to everything that wasn't your face.

"Hey! My eyes are on my face, not my chest."

"I know."

"Leon!"

"Just admiring the view." You ended up crossing your arms to try and hide a bit of your figure.

"Can you stop looking?"

"You look great, don't worry." He says.

"Whatever."

"No, I'm serious. I mean it, you look amazing. Just relax and have fun, okay?"  He puts his arm around your waist, pulling you close. "You look hot. And it's only going to get better. Just try to have a good time, I'll be by your side the whole time.”

"I've been to a party before, you don't need to baby me."

"I know it’s just this one is a big one. They always end in a mess. I've had a couple of close calls with the police."

"That's not what I'm worried about." I'm worried about what I might end up doing with you, she thinks.

"Just tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable and we can go." He smiles and leads you out of the dorm building and into the street.

"How far is it?"

"Only a few minutes away." He says, leading you along the sidewalk.

The walk wasn't too far, it was about 20 minutes of you both drinking from a wine bottle for some pre-game. Time seemed to fly by as you came to the house. Whoever was hosting this party, probably one of Leon's friends no doubt, was rich. The house was huge and the whole thing was vibrating with the music that blasted through it.

"We're here."

"I think it’s going to collapse.."

"Wait until you see inside." He grabs your hand and drags you in, the house packed. You didn't recognise anyone and felt a little intimidated as Leon led you through the crowd of people, pushing them aside. You couldn't believe there were this many students in the town.

He stops at the kitchen, handing you a drink. You hadn't gone to a party this big before, and that was voluntary, this was just too much. You drink it in one to hopefully get you drunk enough to gain a bit of confidence and hand it back to Leon for it to get refilled.

"I didn't know there were this many people here."

"There's usually a lot." He smiles, handing her another drink. "Don't worry, I'll be with you the whole night. You take a shot before starting to sip on the more tame drink Leon had gotten. 

"What do you want to do first?"

"Let’s go find some of my friends.He says, taking your hand and dragging you through the sea of people, most likely dancing, grinding, or drinking.

He pulls you into the living room, finding his friends from one of the lectures and joining in on their conversation. You're introduced and you talk with them, they're all quite funny and sweet. You were happy to have found a fun little group.

The rest of the night is spent with them, the five of you getting progressively drunker and drunker and talking about more and more stupid shit before someone suggests the group should go and dance, you immediately go and hide behind Leon. 

"Dancing is definitely not my thing." You whisper.

"You have to come."

"No way."

"Please." He says, looking into your eyes.

"Why?"

"I want you to."

"Leon."

"If you hate it, I'll make it up to you. Please." He whispers, and you sigh, giving in. "I know you'll enjoy it." He smiles and leads her by the hand into the living room where everyone is.

"Everyone's too drunk to be paying any attention anyway." He says, and the group joins in on the dance. 

After a few more drinks the alcohol started to hit.

"Isn't so bad, is it?" He says after the first few minutes, watching you find your rhythm.

"No, it's fun."

"See, told you."

"Don't let it go to your head, I'm just drunk."

He smiles, spinning you so your back is pressed against his, the two of you continue to dance. He leans down and kisses your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and grinding into you.

"Leon-"

"It's hard to control myself with you, almost kissed you that time I convinced you to come to this party, could tell you weren’t sure though."

"Because I thought we were just friends."

"That never lasts long, does it? Did you really think it was going to stay that way forever?" He says, running his hand down your thigh.

"We're drunk." You mumble, leaning your head back onto his shoulder. God, you wanted it. You were trying with everything you had to rationalise with yourself. He knew what he was doing.

"That doesn't change the fact that you're irresistible. And that's not the alcohol talking. I've been wanting to do this for a while."

 He smirks, spinning her back around to face him and lifting you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

"Let's go upstairs,"

"Leon-"

"Shh." He puts a finger over her lips and leads her away, finding the stairs and walking up. “Stop doubting yourself. One thing about you is that you always say no, or doubt yourself, let’s change that for once.”

He takes you to the first room he finds, happening to be a bathroom, opening the door and stepping in, kicking it closed and locking it. He sets you down and starts to kiss you, the alcohol making it a lot more forceful than usual. You kiss back, letting him guide you and set the pace, his hands sliding over her body. 

"You're so fucking beautiful." He mutters, his lips trailing down to your neck. You feel the pressure of his hands pushing you backwards. Your back hits the counter, he lifts you up and settles himself between your thighs.

"Leon-"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure? About me?"

"Yes." He smiles, lifting his head. "Now stop doubting yourself, will you? You're too perfect for that." If you were sober, your mind would've had red lights blaring, trying to protect you, but the alcohol flattened out all thoughts. A hint of doubt crossed your mind instinctually. But his touch is so good, and he's making you feel things that you haven't in a long time.

"I-"

"Come on, tell me how much you want me."

"I really like you, Leon. It's just...I have this feeling that I'll get hurt."

"What are you so afraid of? What can I do to change your mind?" He whispers. "I'll do anything for you." He says, pulling your head down to kiss him. The sweet nothings bring back some bad memories, it's starting to feel a bit like deja vu.

"I've been hurt before, Leon."

"What's his name? I'll kick his ass."

"It was in high school, but it happened too many times."

"You have to stop thinking, just focus on me, okay?"

"Leon."

"Come on." He sighs, pressing a finger to your lips. "I won't let anything bad happen to you. I don't want to lose something because someone in your past ruined everything for you, okay?"

"I don't know."

He sighs. "Do you wanna head home ?"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not upset. Come on, I'll take you back."

"I didn't mean to ruin the night."

"No, I'm not letting you leave thinking you ruined it. I'm sure a million more parties are happening this week if you feel so bad."

"I'm a mess, Leon. Why do you even like me? I'm not worth it."

"Of course you are." He says, cupping your cheek."You're the only person I can stand to be around for hours while sober. And you can't argue with that."

"Okay."

"I'll get us out of here and you can crash in my room."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Now come on, we're leaving." 

...

The taxi ride home was short and sweet,  but still awkward. You were scared he'd be mad at you for ending the night so abruptly, but when you got into the room he made sure to put his arm around you, whispering reassurement into your ear, stroking your hair.

"You don't have to worry. I'm not angry."

"Really?"

"I don't blame you for wanting to wait."

"It's just, the last time-"

"I'm not him, you can trust me. I've been trying to prove that to you."

"I think... Maybe I can learn to trust you."

"You will, eventually." He says, holding his arms open, gesturing for her to cuddle with him.

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

You cuddle him for a bit, the silence being cut by the sound of the two of you breathing. Leon leans down to kiss capture your lips softly, it feels a lot easier to kiss him back, pressing your body against him.

"I don't know why anyone would ever hurt you." He whispers between kisses. "You're perfect." He runs his fingers through your hair.

"I don't know about that."

"I don't know why you doubt yourself either. Go to sleep, you'll feel better in the morning."

[llamagoddessofficial]

Hello Ms. Llama! Since weve heard Akas opinion on Ramattra, can we hear what you think about him?

Ramattra?

I have several opinions. I have abt 15k words of opinions, currently in my drafts, that I keep adding to in feral writing fits.

Here's 1k of opinions - particularly, from a slice-of-life AU I keep laying awake at night imagining (and @aka-indulgence keeps ENCOURAGING), where you become friends with Zenyatta while attending the same yoga class and end up getting 'close' with his roommate, Ramattra.

---

“I imagine this is going to sound bizarre, human. And I won’t be offended if you decline. But I have a request.”

You blinked up at him, from your spot perched on his couch, eyes drawn away from your phone screen. The height difference between you and the larger omnic was big enough as it was but now, with you sitting down and him standing up, how much you had to crane your neck to look at his face was borderline comical.

You were just waiting for Zenyatta to get home. The two of you always walked to yoga together, and since his place was closer, it made sense for you to wait there for him to get back from his Pencak Silat class. How he had the energy for both in one day, you’d never know - yoga alone left you sweaty and exhausted.

“... A request?” you repeated. Ramattra’s hands were tucked away in his hoodie pockets.

Zenyatta, when you first met him, had seemed very concerned about how you would get along with his roommate. Concerned enough to warn you in advance that Ramattra didn’t like humans - concerned enough to assure you multiple times that if the Ravager-class omnic refused to look at you, or speak with you, it was ‘very normal’. ‘Just how he was around humans’. "Please don't take it personally if he acts unpleasantly," were the exact words that left Zenyatta's voicebox.

Ramattra looked down at you. “Would you touch my back?”

...

Sure, Ramattra had been cordial with you. Friendly, even, seemingly to Zenyatta’s great surprise and delight. But you didn’t think yourself close enough for this. 

“T... touch your...?”

He nodded. “I have some calibration issues. If you could spare a few minutes to press the areas around my joints, I would greatly appreciate it. Though I understand if you don’t want to.”

“Oh!” You brightened. “Like a massage?”

Ramattra’s head cocked. You’d never get used to not being able to see any emotion in his face. “Massage?”

“Yeah, it’s something humans do to each other. You like... press someone’s body in certain spots to help relax their muscles.” You mimed the action with your hands.

“Hm.” By the rise in the inflection of his voice, he seemed pleasantly surprised. “Yes, something to the tune of that.”

“That’s no problem at all. Your back, yeah?”

Ramattra, to your surprise, immediately pulled his hoodie off. You supposed that was a yes.

He sat on the floor in front of you, his back to you, legs crossed. You’d never seen him from this perspective. Jeez, he really was massive, wasn’t he? His back was wider than you, shoulders past your knees. You could see the segments of dark metal that comprised his body, connecting to one another seamlessly, muscle-like in shape and angle but far stronger than anything a human could possibly grow.

Your hands hovered awkwardly above your lap. “You’re, uhm... you’re sure you’re fine with me doing this?”

“I am.” He swept his corded ‘hair’ to the side, over one shoulder. “I would not have asked otherwise.”

“Is there a spot in particular you want me to focus on?”

“No. Anywhere is fine. I have contact sensors across my entire body.”

... Hm. You eyed his back; between the metal sheets was a lining of black material. It looked thick and tensile, borderline bulletproof. You figured you might as well start there, and then Ramattra would let you know if you had the wrong idea. 

You pressed your thumbs into the rubber lining. No sound of protest. So you kept going - your hands moved up and down, with as much force as you could manage without giving yourself hand pain. You didn't consider yourself all that small of a human, but man, your hands looked so tiny up against him.

He was... warmer to the touch than you anticipated. The black material felt like rubber; the kind on a bike tyre, or computer cabling. The sort of thing you secretly really enjoyed the smell of. You pushed the balls of your hands against the metal itself, he was smoother than you expected too.

“Does this help?” you asked, softly.

“Yes.” Ramttra hummed. His voice sounded clearer, but lower, and with a softness you hadn’t heard him use with anyone but you. “A lot.”

“It doesn’t feel like I’m doing much.” You tried to find a balance between touching the rubber-like material and the huge metal plates themselves. He said he had sensors everywhere, right? So a mix of both was important.

“You are,” he replied, simply. His head leaned to the side. Following his lead, you moved your hand to his neck there, rubbing cautiously. He made a sound like a fan powering down in another room.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to actually help.”

“It isn’t about strength.”

“It’s not?”

“The best way I can describe it is that... you’re helping me be aware of my body. From your touch, I can pinpoint issues, adjust my internals. Your pressure is variable and allows me to reset many of my functions against an external force. A very gentle jumpstart, if you will.”

“... Oh. I see.” You eased up. “Human massages need pressure. It makes more blood flow to the area, I think.”

“Interesting. And it feels pleasant?”

“Some people love it so much they pay for a professional to do it. Some people don’t like it at all.” You pushed both your hands into the spots where his shoulders met the tops of his massive metal arms. Concentrating on touching, you missed the little twitch in his fingers.

“Do you like massages?”

“Yeah, I suppose. I’m a bit iffy about a random person touching me up. But if I trust and like the person, it feels wonderful.”

“Hm.”

“What about you? Is this just a necessary thing, or does it feel nice?”

He thought, for a moment.

“... I am the same as you.” 

You lifted your hands, migrating away from his back, pressing your thumbs into the back of his neck. Ramattra’s head slowly rocked forward; he made a sound you’d never heard before. It was quiet, but heavily robotic, like a hum put through several audio filters until it was barely recognisable as speech.

You paused, somewhat startled. “Everything ok?”

His voice was very very soft. Very very deep. “Yes. Keep going.”

... Huh. Well, you did as he asked, starting up again, pushing circles into the back of his neck. It was easy work, and you couldn’t deny it was fascinating to see him up so close. 

He let out a long, slow ‘sigh’. He had mentioned before that he could sigh two ways - one was just an audial manner of showing emotion, and the other was a way to flush air through his system and cool any overheating components. This was the latter. You could actually hear the hissing air, sifting out from between his ribs and mouth.

Ramattra’s head rocked back. Surprised, you pulled your hands away. His head was suddenly in your lap. He was heavy - he looked up at you, masked face as unreadable as ever.

... For just a moment, though, you could see eyes behind the cuts in his face. Dim light glanced off what almost resembled two dark camera apertures - clearly staring up at you.

...

“Uh...” You didn’t know what to say. You signed up for giving him a shoulder rub. You weren’t expecting this. 

He took a moment to respond.

“... I’m sorry.” His voice was making you feel some kinda way. “My system just reset. It hasn’t done that in a while. I might need a moment.”

“R-reset? I didn’t break anything, did I?”

He chuckled, gently. “No. Don’t worry. It’s a good thing.”

“Okay. If you say you're fine, I believe you.”

“Thank you, human. That felt... wonderful. It was exactly what I needed.” He sounded thoughtful. Relaxed.

"I'm glad I could help."

"Give me forty-eight more seconds."

"Pft." You grinned down at him. "Okay."

... You kinda felt proud of yourself. But you also really hoped Zenyatta didn't come home to his brother's head in your lap. You weren't entirely sure how you'd live that down.

[everythingne]

marketing ploy ln4 - ch 6

Austria goes to shit. Great Britain follows.

piastri!oc x lando norris, bestfriends brother/fake dating

warnings/notes: inappropriate comments, lando being overprotective, arguments/cursing, mildly severe car accidents (guys its an f1 fic what we were expecting. gotta do the cliche for my first fic), vague descriptions of injury, a few sexual comments, this is SO LONG. like 5k-6k words?

prev | next

-

01 JULY, AUSTRIA.

I woke up with a bad feeling in my chest and an odd headache. My lone hotel room, to give Oscar and Lily some space since she was finally able to tag along again this season, felt so enclosing. Slowly pulling myself out of bed, I groaned and immediately went to get ready when I noticed the time. Luckily, it was only qualifiers today, so I didn't have much to do other than hide in my office and make sure no one's car was going to explode.

But god, on my worst day, everything has to go wrong.

First, Max's tires never got warmed. Something was broken, and I had to do so much boring bullshit paperwork. Then, Checo's brakes got sticky and we had to have him DNF. Then for some reason, half the fucking sensors hadn't even recorded anything so I couldn't even tell why they had gotten sticky. But I did feel a bit better (not at all) knowing it had also happened to a few other drivers so it wasn’t just us.

So I was having the greatest time, sarcasm fully intended. And then I completely missed seeing Oscar and Lily for lunch because I was in an emergency meeting. And by the time I got out of Red Bull's garage, it was nearing five at night and I hadn't had anything to eat or anything to drink after one water bottle and my headache still had gotten worse because of it.

And then got immediately swamped by reporters.

Luckily, I saved some class and patience and was able to make it through fine but by the time I got to McLaren's garage, I was about ready to snap at someone.

"Ollie!"

Thank god.

"Oscar." I hum as he wraps an arm around my shoulder, and then he makes a face as he notices just how exhausted I am.

"You guys had it rough today." He says and I just nod, rubbing at my jaw and rolling my neck as he steps back, leans over, and hands me a packet of some sort of assorted chocolates.

"I love you so much." I sigh as I open the packet and he laughs, dragging me further into the garage where everyone else is settled and just relaxing. McLaren had a really good day, both Lando and Oscar in Q1 and I can see everyone laughing and celebrating. A completely different feel from the tense garage at Red Bull. Lily gives me a tight hug when she sees me and urges me to come sit with her so we can catch up, we end up in a bit further and in a corner so we can have a bit of privacy. All is fine, and Lily is very quickly improving my mood as we giggle and share stories (and I happily answer all her questions about Lando and me) before we're approached by a guy I don't recognize.

"You guys need water?" He asks innocently, and though it's not extremely hot in Austria, I take one from his hands. Lily denies it, showing off the water bottle she's still drinking, and the guy seemingly just blips out.

"Weird." I hum, cracking open the water bottle and taking a sip of the cool liquid, "Never seen him before. Maybe he's new?"

"Or a volunteer?" Lily suggests and I shrug in response, eventually, Oscar comes over and wraps an arm around Lily's waist and she grins, popping a kiss on his cheek. Finally, the two of them were actually looking like a couple in public. Which, is probably what happens when two introverts start dating. I swear they didn't hold hands for months.

"Lando's being interviewed if you wanna wait for him for the media shit." Oscar pokes my hand and I pretend to flick the water bottle at him. The two of us make faces for a few seconds before I nod, taking another sip of my water bottle.

"Yeah, he and I are going out to eat again tonight. Andrea's idea." I sigh, looking over my shoulder where I can see Lando sitting with some people with a microphone in hand. I notice though it's not Sky, but rather ESPN, and I hum before turning back to Oscar and Lily and wishing them on their way. I pull out my phone, answering a few texts before someone walks up beside me. And it's the same guy from earlier.

"Oh. Hi." I say softly as he smiles at me, looking a little flustered for a second before he starts talking.

"Just wanted to say hello, I'm one of the mid-season hires. I'm an engineering assistant, Jordan." He held out his hand and I grinned, shaking his hand firmly.

"Olivia Piastri, Oscar's younger sister. I'm Red Bull's head analyst." I let go of his hand and Jordan nods, he wrings his hands before he continues talking and I feel the confidence he's trying to exhume here.

"Ah, I've seen a bit about you. Kinda hard to miss such a pretty face." Jordan grins, running a hand through his hair and tilting his head with a tiny grin. 

Is he flirting with me? Is this guy daft?

"Well, thank you. But uhm--" I look around the garage, hoping to maybe signal another person in the garage to come over and get me out of this just terribly awkward situation. Lando's wrapping up his interview, handing back his microphone and laughing softly as he shakes hands with the reporters. 

"Seriously, you're by far one of the most gorgeous girls I've seen." Jordan steps a bit closer and leans on the wall beside me with his body covering my view of the majority of the garage, "are you free tonight? I'd like to get to know you better."

I step back, putting myself back into the view of the garage as I try to keep my patience and shake my head no. I'd never had this issue before, how exactly does one stop unwanted advances? I'd never had to, I was never alone when these sorts of things happened to me. 

So, I stammer, "Ah, I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend and.."

"Ay, is he here? Because I don't see anyone staking their claim on you." Jordan grins and I tighten my grip on the water bottle and click my tongue against my teeth. Okay, if he was gonna be like that I could be bitchy too. I glance back across the room one final time, making eye contact with Jon who gives me a sharp nod, but I don't see Lando anymore. Which... could be good or bad.

"He works for McLaren, and is a part of your team, so you might wanna... not... flirt with me?" I turn back to Jordan, make an uncomfortable grimace at him, and end up tightly crossing my arms over my uniform shirt, "So..."

"Yeah, who's your boyfriend then?" Jordan hums, looking over, "Jon?"

"Me," A hand slides across my waist, fingers digging into my skin harsh enough to likely leave bruises as I'm tugged back into Lando's chest. With one hand still firm on my waist, his other hand comes to my jaw so he can turn me to press a soft kiss to my lips before he leans back and whispers, "Hi, baby."

"Hi, Nori." I smile, turning back to Jordan who raises an eyebrow. And I can already tell this is going to be terrible because he hasn't exactly backed down. I see a reporter tilt their camera at us, and I grip Lando's wrist to tell him to back off. But Lando stays close, and my cheeks tint red as Jordan starts to speak.

"Got yourself a good-lookin' girl there, Lando." Jordan grins, winking at me and making my skin crawl. Lando's hands tighten on my waist, pulling me into him a bit more if that's even possible, and now I'm not even mad that he's doing this anymore. I wanted to be doing anything else than being here.

"Mhm. Olivia's my girl, don't you know? She's been my girlfriend for a while, so why dont'cha step back?" Lando smiles, but his threat is not hidden very well. 

"Ay, it's all good Lando, I don't like to share my meals."

"Oh-kay!" I shout but Lando takes over, stepping around me to point at Jordan and get in his face. I see half the McLaren garage turn, and someone shouts to send the media out of the garage as the cameras scramble to try and take photos and videos of the altercation.

"If you know what's good for you--" Lando grits, eyes narrowing as Jordan smirks in his face. His confidence was a far cry from the scrawny guy who had walked up to me prior, Lando continues through his teeth, "You won't say anything like that again or I'll make sure you can't speak anymore."

"Sorry, man. Didn't realize this would piss you off so much," Jordan takes a step back, his smile making it known his apology was fake, and my tight grip on Lando's wrist makes it so he won't follow.

"Bye, Jordan," I say, voice soft but level. A sort of period to the end of whatever conversation Lando and Jordan had silently through their eyes before Jordan backed off and slipped into the crowd of McLaren officers off to the side. I keep my iron grip on Lando's wrist and he slowly turns around to look at me. At this point, my exhaustion and anger from the whole day is bubbling just under my skin. Unlike my twin, I was never good at completely holding myself back when I got like this.

"Lando." My tone comes out much colder than I'm expecting, and I grab his wrist again and forcefully tug him to my side as I hiss, "What the fuck was that?!"

"Did you hear what he said?"

"Yes! But was that worth threatening him?"

"What did you want me to do?" He said and when I peeked over his shoulder and saw everyone watching, I grabbed Lando by the collar and pulled him into Andrea's vacant office, slamming the door shut and pointing at him.

"I had it handled, okay?" I snap, "He was just being a jackass, you didn't have to threaten to make him unable to speak--Lando! Who the fuck says that?!"

"Did you have it handled? That was you having it handled?" Lando asks, incredulously, sitting on the edge of Andrea's desk as I stay at the door, using my heel to keep it closed just in case someone tried to push it open at any point since I knew the door didn't lock.

"You don't need to protect me like that, Lando, it's not your job!"

"It's not, I'm your boyfriend--" And the rest of what Lando says fizzles out in my head. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. The word that had been taunting me for weeks. Lando Norris, my boyfriend for the media. The boy who could never be mine. And something in my chest breaks, I can feel the tether finally snap, and I shout.

"No, you are not!" My volume surprises me, and I know McLaren can probably hear us immediately after saying it, so I drop my voice down to a hard snapping tone, "You aren't my boyfriend, Lando. You aren't! You can't be, no matter how much I love you, or you love me, or if we fall in love after all of this is over--you are not my boyfriend and you will never be because we can't be in love, Lando!"

"We can't? Who said that?!" He snaps back, "Do you think I've been doing all of this for media? For a fucking paycheck? God, no Ollie. I fell in love with you the first time Oscar brought you around! Do you think I agreed with this for a check? No, I agreed to that stupid contract because it's you! If it was anyone else I would've just walked the fuck out of that office, it's you I want, only you, only you, Olivia."

"But you know you can't have me, so why string me along like this? We can't be together, no matter what we want, we're gonna have to break up at some point! So why should we even try?" 

"Who cares what they say? Zak, Andrea, Christian? You're gonna let them run your life?" Lando steps closer to me, taking my jaw into his gentle hold, voice so soft I feel my heart drum against my lungs, "We do what they say, sure, but once we've completed that contractual obligation... can they tell us we can't ever be this again? Be... us, again?"

"I can't do this Lando," I whisper, bringing my hands to my chest and he steps back. The space between us suddenly felt so vast, and something in me clicked and I knew something irreversible was going to be said. That maybe I had started the downfall here, and Lando's hurt expression tells me I have.

He can only whisper, "Why?"

"I just..." I stammer, making a vague gesture to the room. There's no way for me to express the thousands of thoughts that race through my head, a constant loop of some F1 circuit of emotional mess slamming into every reasonable thought and fizzling out reason.

"Because you're scared of being loved? You're scared of what will happen if you fall in love?" Lando accuses and I can't answer those questions, because I am. I'm so scared. But not because of Lando. Because of media. So I shout the next best option.

"I never wanted the attention! I didn't become a driver because I can't handle the media like you all can! And yet I end up here, and--" I go to keep talking and Lando holds up a hand, shouting over me,

"Okay, then back out! You clearly want nothing to do with me, or this, or everything that's happening, so go tell Christian you're done!"

Silence. I swallow thickly because no. I don't want to be done. I want to fight tooth and nail for everything in this relationship, but also, was this what was best? Should I back out now, before everything we've done catches up to us? A hubris that needs to be checked? I knew from the beginning I was going to burn, but not like this. Never did I think it would be like this. 

"Olivia..." Lando whispers, and I feel something roll down my cheeks. I'm crying I realize. The world is blurry, my throat is dry, and I'm crying over a relationship I can now see we both want but... at least to me, we can never have.

Do I ask Christian..?

"No, Lando." I sigh, doting under my teary eyes, "This is why. This is why. We will end up here one day, and I can't do that. I... I'll talk to you later."

"Ollie, wait!"

I turn, leaving the office in a hurry. I shove through the McLaren workers who try to stop me and once I'm in the clear, I run. The Red Bull paddock isn't far and once I get there I can't breathe, shoving through people who now wear the same uniform as me. My office doesn't even feel safe, the flowers on my desk mocking me, and I grab them and in a fit of rage, I throw them across the room. It doesn't make the pain in my chest leave.

“Olivia!” Someone shouts and I turn, Christian just barely in the doorway. I shout, without thinking, without even pausing.

“I’m backing out! I’m done with that media stunt—!” And a hiccup breaks my sentence, “Get me out of it!”

“I—“

“—Now, Christian!”

The garage is silent after my scream, and poor Christian looks horrified as he nods, and shuts the door to my office. I let a shaky breath out as I realize what I’ve done is irreversible, but there’s so much pain in my whole heart I can’t tell if that’s what’s hurting me. I sink to my knees on the floor, a hand on my chest, a hand on the carpet, and I sob.

I don’t even know why I’m crying.

An arm is around my shoulder, a set of hands resting on my elbows as someone whispers to me. I don't even know who the people are when I look up, and the sight of both Max and Checo kneeling in front of me makes the tears double. At some point, Checo leaves, once I've calmed enough for Max to convince me to lay down with his jacket covering my legs as I hiccupped and slowed down my breathing with Max's hand applying solid pressure to my chest.

Charles and Daniel come back with Checo, who then leaves the room entirely, and I end up with my weird little mixed driver support group on the floor in my office.

Something so odd, something that should not be happening in any way, but yet here we are.

Somehow, one relationship shattering had made the other relationships in my life more clear. Relationships that had started casually and professionally, and ended up with me now having twenty or so brothers at this point. 

Brothers.

Just like Oscar.

-

Max drops me at Oscar's hotel room a few hours later when he returns from his date with Lily. She ends up going off on her own, with a few of the other WAGs, to give Oscar and me privacy. I settle on the couch, sipping a water bottle as Oscar looks out the window. I hadn't told anyone else what Lando and I had argued about, Max had kinda picked up on it as had Charles, but they had given me a berth. A space to explain. When I didn't take the invitation, they didn't try and pull me in to say anything. Which I appreciated beyond words.

"What happened?" Comes the soft voice of my twin. I knew Oscar wouldn't have been like them though. 

“I backed out,” I say, rubbing a hand along the fabric beneath me.

"What?" Oscar turns to face me, "You backed out?"

"Of the shit with Lando, I can't do it anymore. I can't have my emotions being toyed with like this anymore. And we both like each other but one day they're gonna come along and tell us we need to break up and we have to listen to them." I find a stray string in the couch stitching and begin picking it. My nails dig into them, making a slightly bigger hole. It feels like the way I'd ripped a hole into my own heart earlier.

"I had a feeling this was gonna happen." Oscar walks across the room to sit on the arm of the couch, looking over at me, "what happened?"

"I just had a shit day, and... and when this guy at McLaren started flirting excessively with me he got super overprotective and threatened the guy. Which... isn't the worst but he could've handled it better." I wave my hands, "But I had such a shit day I just blew up at him over it, and we fought, and he told me to back out if I couldn't handle it... and when I got back to Red Bull I just did it. I didn't even think and now I think I made a huge fuckin' mistake but I can't go back on it now."

"Could you talk to Christian? Ask him to wait?" Oscar hums, his hand coming up to card through my hair again and I melt into his touch as per usual.

"I dunno." I murmured, closing my eyes, "I just wanna sleep the rest of the day off."

"We can talk about it tomorrow after the race, okay?" He says, looking down at me before turning to look at his phone as it buzzes on the table. I look up at him and see his jaw tense, hand pausing on my head as he makes a face.

"Oh, Christ." He whispers, turning his phone to me. I climb up to sit next to him, eyes widening as I look over the post he shares and my stomach falls to my chest.

"This is not what Christian told me would happen," I whisper, Oscar's hand squeezing my upper arm in some sort of semblance of support. Of course, getting out of this mess with Lando wouldn't be easy.

Now I needed to talk to Christian. As soon as possible.

01 JULY, TWITTER ↴

written by Julia Sine, 01 July, 2024.

Cars aren't the only thing racing down the track in Austria this weekend, so are some hearts! In an exclusive interview after the qualifier today, multiple McLaren and Red Bull workers spoke with reporter Julia Sine about what might become the next 'it couple' after Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift.

"Lando and I first spoke about it in Bahrain. He said the two of them have been close since Oscar's rookie season last year and he was worried Olivia's job would be at stake if their relationship ever leaked to the public," Steve Atkins, McLaren's Head of Communications explained while standing in the paddock with Chief Executive Officer Zak Brown and Team Principal Andrea Stella, "I went and spoke with Christian Horner, the Team Principal of [Oracle Red Bull Racing] and we agreed that since they were on separate teams, and Olivia was an analyst and not an engineer, there was no conflict of interest. Olivia did sign an NDA, just to make sure she wasn't leaking race information to Lando but it was never brought to our attention if Olivia and Lando ended up dating."

"If the two of them are dating, which again I've had nothing clarified to me if they are or aren't, I'd imagine they've been keeping it private due to concerns with the media and fans." 

"Olivia and Lando have a very unique connection, and we here at McLaren are all supportive of relations between teams. All our drivers are friends at the end of the day and we support [Lando and Oscar] being friends with any of the drivers outside of racing. However, I will say we have seen some tensions growing between our drivers and Red Bull." Andrea spoke with me and Zak right before leaving for a meeting, Zak agreed with Andrea, and he further stated, "A lot of the tension we've been seeing with Max and Lando on the track stems from this, in my opinion."

When I made my way to Red Bull to ask some more questions about the situation, I was only able to briefly speak with Alice McLoughlin, Red Bull's Head of Communications who said, "The relationships our staff members get into is not any of our business as long as it's not a conflict of interest or damaging to the staff member themselves. I have not been told if there is for certain a relationship, but if there is I wish both of them well but we will be waiting for their announcement before we decide anything.

read more online at popsugar.uk!

--

04 JULY, 2024 - MILTON KEYNES, UK.

My phone ringing breaks the three hour silence I've subjected myself to after my meeting with Christian and Ada. The meeting where I had said me wanting to back out of the contract was emotionally charged and said I no longer wanted to. Luckily, they hadn't started the process of backing me out of the contract yet, so it was pretty easy for me to stay.

Reaching over, I grab my phone and read the contact, pausing before lifting it to my ear, "Lando..?"

"Ollie, hey... uhm, how are you?" He sounds uncertain, almost like he wasn't sure if I was going to pick up. I can't blame him for thinking that, since our last conversation was that big fight.

"Tired." I admit, but don't say it's because I've lost sleep thinking I was going to lose him, "I'm working late again tonight."

"Oh, sorry... do you want me to call you later?" I hear what sounds like a gear shifting, and I briefly wonder if he's on his sim.

"No, I'm just uploading files. And your voice is honestly more welcome than the silence of a nearly empty Red Bull garage... why'd you call?" I turn to look out the windows at the slowly setting sun, watching as the world is beginning to be coated gold.

"I wanted to apologize for the whole thing with Jordan, I shouldn't have threatened him like that." Lando's words come out rushed and squishy, like he's holding out his heart and expecting me to step on it.

I like to imagine gently covering his heart, protecting it, as I speak softly, "No, no you're fine. I was having a shitty day and I took it out on you. I really should be the one apologizing, you didn't do anything wrong. You were protecting me. Thank you for that."

"Yeah, it's fine. I'd do it a thousand times." He says, then theres a long pause. It's not akward, if anything it allows me to feel the emotions roll through me-- embarrassment at my past behavior, nervousness for his call, and a sick sort of love building in my gut that I, for once, did not push away.

Finally, Lando whispers, "did you back out?"

"I was going to, but... I talked to Christian this morning when I was a bit more level headed and we agreed I'm gonna stay." I say, and I hear him sigh with relief. A small smile bubbles across my lips, letting the giddy feeling fill my body as I tap my toes along the floor and spin my chair.

"Can you come outside?" Lando's question catches me off guard.

"What?"

"Look out your window." He says, and I scramble up from my desk and walk to the big glass panes that cover my office, looking down into the mostly vacant parking lot and there he is.

"You are something else." I whisper, then look back at my computer. I could finish the work tomorrow, "I'll be down in ten."

I scramble to save my work, kicking off my work shoes for the actual nice YSL heels I'd worn in. Once they're secure on my feet, I touch up my makeup and spritz myself with perfume. The whole time I'm giggling to myself, smiling as I pack up my desk and then throw my belongings into my purse and find myself half running to the elevator. I hurry to text Oscar that I'll be back a bit later than expected as the floors ping, and when I hit the ground floor, I throw my phone in my bag without a care, clock out and scan out, and open the door to the cool night breeze rippling across my blushing, hot skin.

God, it was so good to let myself feel this raw emotions again.

Lando pushes himself off his car, hands still in his pockets, and I bee line to him. Luckily, he kinda gets the hint of what I'm asking, and his hands come to rest on my waist when I reach him.

I pause to put my purse on the hood of his car, and then grab his collar and pull his lips to mine.

He laughs into the kiss, our teeth briefly smashing before I right us and press in deep. His arms wrap around my waist and he tugs me closer, one hand sliding up the side of the dress shirt I wear before tangling its fingers in the hair at the base of my neck. When we pull back, briefly, I giggle as he peppers kisses to my hairline before pulling me back in.

"Fuck, I missed you." He whispers against my lips and I step back, just enough to see him--and he looks exhausted. My hands come to his face and he melts into my touch, almost like he's craving it.

"I missed you too." I murmur back, watching the way he holds his eyes shut. I can see the layers of stress physically peeling away from him and being swept away by the hand I raise to run through his curls and the other hand I slide down to apply that comforting firm pressure to the chest--right under his collarbones, and then his head falls to the crook of my neck. One innocent little peck placed on my collarbone that has me shiver.

We stand like that for a while. Two silent beings in the windy, cold, English night, and eventually I convince Lando to sit in his car when my thinly covered legs start to get cold. We end up just... driving. A silence enveloping us as I rest my head on his shoulder and he keeps that damn hand on my thigh. It's gonna be the death of me. He is going to be the death of me.

But, loving Lando Norris is a death I would welcome with open arms.

04 JULY -- INSTAGRAM ↴

OLIVIAPIASTRI MADE A NEW POST!

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxverstappen, and 145k others...

oliviapiastri: my pretty boy <3

landonorris: this mystery guy needs a haircut hes stealing my look >:(

⤷ oliviapiastri: you'll get over it

maxverstappen: i want u to know kelly shouted 'THANK GOD' when i showed her this post

oscarpiastri: OH SO THIS IS WHY YOU MISSED OUR FUCKING MOVIE NIGHT??

⤷ oscarpiastri: ANSWER ME HELLO?

⤷ oliviapiastri: BRO HOLD ON I AM DOING SOMEONE

⤷ opheliapiastri: OLIVIA????

⤷ oscarpiastri: HOLD THEFUCKON??? OLIVIA LOUISE RAY PIASTRI.

⤷ oaklynnpiastri: moment of silence for our mystery guy. oscar is approaching his location at rapid speeds.

⤷ landonorris: rip

⤷ oscarpiastri: shut.

⤷ oliviapiastri: @ oscarpiastri I MEANT SOMETYHIN. I MEANT TOT TYPE SOMETHING. DO NOT SHOW UP TO HIS HOUSE.

christianhorner: geri said 'good that little fucker didn't break her heart' and slammed the steak knife back into the knife holder.

⤷ oliviapiastri: OH MY GOD?? THANK U MOM?? @ gerihalliwell

⤷ gerihalliwell: of course :)! girls stick together!

09 JULY -- GREAT BRITAIN.

"Max, make sure you're giving space here. These turns can get tricky." I hear someone say in the radios, my hands fidgeting with my keychains as I watch the race on the screens, and then glance over to the sensors. All was running well, back tires a bit hot, but nothing we were concerned about.

"Ollie, tell your brothers best friend to get out of the way." Max frustratedly huffs and I laugh, leaning forward to speak into the comms.

"Logan is in P9, actually, not P1." I chime, luckily getting a soft chuckle from Max. We'd been doing exceptionally well this season as per usual, even if I had sort of stopped paying attention a bit. I did note the tensions between him and Lando were really high during this race. The two had been neck and neck since the beginning, and everytime they got a one-up on the other it just made them push harder. They had a pretty good gap between them and the rest of the racers, with Oscar holding his own in P3. It seemed like another weekend with those three on top, but at least watching this race was interesting.

The breaking sensors start flashing, indicating they're running too hot, so I chime, "Max, ease up on breaking. We might want to look into getting your tires swapped for mediums soon."

Max doesn't respond, but he does ease up on the breaking. Which makes me feel a bit better.

"Lando's coming in hot to the pit." Someone says, and I glance up over the computers and my eyebrows knit. He's driving weird. Like... almost as if he doesn't have control of steering. I see the safety car prepare for a possible departure and I stand, looking down at Max's sensors, and then someone shouting brings my attention back up.

"He can't stop!"

There was a moment where it felt like everything froze. My hands couldn’t find my mouth fast enough to hide my shock. Lando’s car slams probably two hundred kilometers into the barrier that leads into the pit lane and skids along the wall all the way inside the lane until it spins and slams into another one of the barriers. Red Bulls paddock is first in the pit this round, and I can see the smoke beginning to billow around Lando's car immediately once the car fully stops. People are shouting, McLaren engineers sort of straggling by the exit to the track as a yellow is waved, waiting for a command. I see Jon amongst them, shouting into his headset, and I hate the silence lets me hear his voice strain as he hollers,

"Lando! Lando, are you alright?"

I can't hear a response from the McLaren driver even if I strain my ears.

“Lando—come on.” I find myself saying, hearing Max and Checo on the radio asking for clarification of what happened, but also hearing someone say it was clear for people to go and get Lando out of a burning car. My headphones are yanked off my head and Christian’s hand firmly pushes me forward.

“Go.” Is all he has to say.

I’m running faster than I can carry myself, stumbling over numb legs as I sprint to the car. My hands scrape the concrete as I nearly fall, but I save myself the embarrassment of wiping out with a quick stumble and keep running. I can hear more people behind me as I climb up, holding onto the halo to stabilize myself.

“Lando!” I shout as I grab Lando’s helmet and slowly slide his head back as I start to detach him from his seat belts. Jon is there immediately, helping my shaky hands undo the devices. I keep looking at Lando's visor, trying to catch his eyes, but there’s no time to waste as I smell and hear the various engineers who'd run out trying to extinguish the car. I get one side of the belt off, starting to detach the hands device from the helmet by Jon's command when two hands grab my wrist.

Snapping my gaze up, I meet Lando’s eyes from where I’m sitting, one leg wrapped around the halo so I don’t fall, one hand on his neck as I hold the clasp to the hands device, the other on the back of the car as his eyes meet mine.

I’ve never seen Lando look so…terrified. His bright eyes are staring me down, pupils small and shaking as his grip tightens on me. I know my own eyes can’t look much different.

“Ollie?” He whispers and I shush him, detaching him from the car fully as I grab him by the shoulders.

“I got you, Nori. Jon and I got you.” I say softly, looking up to where other drivers are stopped on the track—standing up in their cars to get a better view, “get up so everyone knows you’re okay.”

Lando’s hands grab my shoulders, my hands sliding to his ribs as I slowly help him to his feet with Jon on standby. Medical and McLaren officials swarm around us, hands out and ready to help as I slowly unlatch my leg and slide off the side of the car. Lando’s weight on me is nearly crushing, but once we get him out he collapses even further into my arms in a cry of agony. Two hands find my back, medics reaching to grab Lando and I almost fight them in retaliation.

“Ollie!” someone shouts and I turn to see Jon running along to the medics side. I feel stuck, trying to swallow something that makes my eyes burn. Lando’s still got a vice grip on my wrist and when the medics try to separate us—it only tightens.

“Mr. Norris—“ The woman tries.

“Lando.” I finally find the courage to move forward, they’ve got him on a gurney now, trying to lay him back but he keeps fighting them. I can’t begin to understand why, “you’re okay. Let them take care of you.”

They tilt his visor up, and I gently lay him back, Jon reciting medical information over my head as they begin to assess his damage, still pulling us further away from the car which I note is now long extinguished. They stop us at McLaren's paddocks, Jon dipping inside to grab Lando's things as we wait for an ambulance to meet us here.

“Olivia.” I hear Lando’s muffled voice and I feel tears fill my eyes as I lean down, pressing my forehead to where his visor now lays and let out a shuttering sigh that makes my body ache just as much as my heart.

“You’ll be okay, Lando. But you have to let them help you.” I speak in a strained voice, feeling one of his hands come to wrap around my waist. I find his other hand and squeeze it, before that hand comes to rest under his helmet, “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“I don’t wanna go without you.” he whispers, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces at his soft plea for me to stay. But I know its useless.

"I'm so sorry, baby." The words feel forced out of my mouth with how much effort it takes it whisper them, "You gotta go. And I have to stay."

"Ollie, please..." He whispers, and I press a kiss to the spot on his helmet where his lips would be, then take his gloved hand on my waist and lift it to my lips and kiss his hidden knuckles. The barrier feels unfair, but I'm doing what I can.

"As soon as I can be, I will be by your side." I say as Jon reappears, the ambulance coming up screaming besides us.

"You promise?" Lando says under the sirens and the shouting and I nod.

"I swear on my life."

That's what ends up being enough, because Lando finally lets go of me after one more final kiss to the 'mouth' of his helmet. The medics and EMTs swarm us, carefully moving Lando who groans and gasps in pain. I can't imagine what injuries he might have as they slowly and carefully load him into the back of the ambulance. Jon speaks with Lando all the while, and right before the doors slam he turns to me and shouts,

"I've got him, Olivia!"

And all I can do is nod, blinking back tears as the doors shut. The second they're pulling away I find myself crying, full body shaking that wrecks me, and I manage to be pulled into the sanctuary of the Red Bull garage by Kylie and a few other employees before it can really be taken advantage of for media points.

But I know I'll keep on my promise. Especially when Christian tells me to just do one thing.

"Go."

taglist (thank you!)

@harrysdimple05 @charli123456789 @fangirl125reader @dark-night-sky-99 @starmanv @ophcelia @buendiabebeta

[robinsno1lesbian]

Hi! So i have an idea for some Nancy smut because we are in desperate need of it!(at least i am)

Imagine you and Nancy have been roomates in college for about 3 months but,ever since you first laid eyes on her,you can’t get her out of your mind. You know that Nancy is probably not into girls and that she would never like someone she met 3 months ago,but this felt right.

However, you are way too scared to speak up and tell her about your feelings, because you are shy and awkward,but also because you were pretty sure she would reject you,Until one day,you were exhausted from how much you were studying and even though you knew it was wrong,you decided to ‘relax’ by masturbating,letting your imagination run free with thoughts of Nancy. And of course,when she gets back to the dorm weirdly earlier than usual,she catches you whispering her name as you hump a pillow you secretly stole from her.

So sorry for the long request,i added way too many details but i’ve had this idea for so long i memorised it:’)

𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

-n.w. x reader

summary: falling in love with your roommate in college, who happens to be nancy wheeler (because, honestly, who wouldn’t fall in love with her?) (3k)

warnings: SMUT!! masturbation, pillow humping, r gets caught, mention of oral sex, strap-ons & sex toys, vaginal fingering (r receiving), pet names (baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, darling), as always: i didn’t beta read before posting, let me know if i missed anything! :)

a/n: thank you so much for the request anon! don’t worry about it being “too long” or “too detailed”!! i love receiving new requests!! anyway i hope you like this! <3

things had been great. they’d been perfect, even. the day you got the acceptance letter from emerson, you’d been bouncing off the walls, happy to finally leave your small town behind.

they’d been great, still, when you learned who your roommate would be. she seemed nice, from the things you were told about her: nancy wheeler. from an equally small town somewhere in indiana. majoring in investigative journalism. and you thought, you really thought, maybe the two of you would become great friends.

and unfortunately for you, you did.

nancy was a great roommate from the start. she’s reliable, probably more than you are yourself, and caring. the kind of roommate who puts effort into really knowing you: she arranges movie nights and dinners together to have conversations.

she’s as old as you are, meaning you’ll graduate the same year, and often talks about her hometown, about some ex boyfriend of hers back in indiana and her family there.

nancy always waits until you’ve finished your breakfast or dinner before getting up, she helps you with your chores and even offers to help with your studying when she’s not too busy.

and, while you appreciate all of this, it’s slowly but surely driving you mad. nancy is.

she’s gorgeous, that’s the first thing you learned about her when the two of you met: brunette perm that’s framing sharp features and sapphire eyes, always watching you. her touch is firmer than you would expect, judging by her height and rather petite physique, and it seems to linger on you more often than not; her hands moving you by the waist to reach the dishwasher, fingers curling around your wrist when there’s a jumpscare in the horror film you’re watching together.

none of this would be a problem, if it wasn’t for the way it makes your heart flutter. it reminds you of falling in love for the very first time all over again: the secrecy of being head over heels for a girl you will never have. you thought that nancy wheeler would just be another one of those presumably straight girls who’ll never know how much you really liked them.

and while you were convinced you’d get over it in the first couple of weeks, it only got worse over time.

the more you learned about her, the more you fell for your roommate: you figured how she takes her coffee (black, no sugar or cream), and that she, for some reason, knows a whole lot about guns. you learned to love each of her facial expressions, from that tight lipped smile she’ll occasionally offer you, to the frown on her face when she’s trying to figure something out.

by the time your exams are right around the corner, you’re hopelessly in love with nancy wheeler.

you should be focused on nothing but studying and yet your roommate is all you can think about.

even when you’re sitting by the desk in your room, behind a pile of books and notes, you can’t stop your stupid mind from wandering.

you flip your pen around your index finger, groaning quietly as you find yourself rereading the same paragraph for the third time in a row without actually taking in the words. it’s all just one big blur.

if nancy was here, you find yourself thinking, she would praise you for the hard work. she would run her fingers up and down your shoulders from behind, her breath hot against the side of your neck…

“you’re working so hard sweetheart” imaginary nancy whispers in your head. “see? you’re all tense. god, darling, let me help you with that, yeah?”

you groan and bury your face in your hands. you can feel yourself throbbing in your pants and it’s pathetic.

you wonder if nancy would think so too, as you press the heels of your hands against your eyes. if she would scold you once she feels your slick against her fingertips, mock you for the amount of wetness and-

“fuck, fuck, fuck” you mutter, slamming your pen down onto the table top in frustration.

there’s no point in studying like this: when you’re practically soaking through your panties.

perhaps, you think, you just need a little stress relief. ever since you had moved in with nancy, you’ve made sure to keep quiet when it came to that. you had always slammed a hand over your mouth whenever you would be touching yourself in the quiet of the night. even after making sure nancy was asleep, you had made sure that your roommate wouldn’t hear the quiet whimpers of her name that would fall from your lips whenever you’d get close.

it was disgusting, you knew, perverted even. to get off to the thought of her and reach your height with nancy’s name on your lips, to close your eyes and picture her and the way she would sometimes come to the breakfast table in nothing but an oversized shirt and a pair of underwear that you’d catch a glimpse of whenever she’d get on her tiptoes to reach the upper cupboards.

the thing is, you can’t seem to stop.

you can’t stop watching her, you can’t stop thinking about her, you can’t stop your hand from slipping into your panties when you’re by yourself.

you couldn’t even stop yourself from taking the pillow nancy had left on the couch once. she must’ve forgotten it there after napping in the living room and you found it when cleaning the dorm. looking back at it now, you have no idea what possessed you to do it but you grabbed the silky pillow case and took it to your own room. nancy never asked for it back, never even noticed it was missing.

you let your gaze wander over all the notes on your desk one last time, sighing in defeat. studying like this is pointless, you decide, as you shake your head and get up, already peeling off the top you’re wearing and unbuttoning your pants. you drop them on the hardwood floor before laying yourself down onto your soothingly cold duvet.

you don’t bother to lock the door to your room: nancy said she would be out until later tonight and, given the fact that she’s always on time, you believe her.

your lashes flutter shut when you trace your fingertips over your skin: over the swell of your breasts, down your ribs and to the side of your hipbone.

you wonder if nancy touches herself like this. if she takes her time with it, teases herself through her clothes and lets her hands wander. or if, perhaps, she’s too impatient. maybe she gets straight to the point, you think, sucks her fingers into her mouth to get them nice and wet before fucking them into herself.

with a slow exhale, you feel yourself relaxing already. your heavy-lidded eyes wander until they reach your closet. in there, in the lowest drawer, you keep a box where you hide a couple of toys. and, right by that box, is nancy’s pillow.

you know that you shouldn’t. you know it. but your body moves on its own, walking over and getting it out.

when you lower yourself on the pillow, you picture her. it’s easy like this, finding a position that creates the perfect friction between the fabric and your center. you moan her name, quietly at first, but louder when you start grinding against the pillow.

-

when nancy enters the apartment, she’s quiet. it’s not that late yet, but she knows you’ve been studying for the upcoming exams and it wouldn’t surprise her if you’re exhausted from all the relentless, hard work.

she slips inside quietly and makes sure to shut the door behind her without causing any loud noises.

when she’s about to untie her shoes after putting aside her keys, she hears it for the first time. it’s just a little noise, somewhat of a gasp that echoes down the hall. yet nancy freezes. the sound obviously came from your room.

she stops in her tracks and turns her head towards your door. nancy quietly kicks off her shoes, unsure of whether or not she had just imagined it.

she has not.

another breathy moan comes from your room, one that’s unmistakably her name.

nancy inhales sharply, eyes wide open at the realization. she’s home earlier than expected, so you must’ve thought you would have the dorm to yourself for the night. she knows this is wrong. she should make a noise, clear her throat or drop the keys to make her presence known.

nancy wants to, she really does, but she can’t turn away.

instead, when she picks up another gasp of “oh my god, nancy” she moves towards your room.

hearing your pretty moans like this is something nancy had always wanted. she hadn’t expected the feeling to be mutual though, nor had she expected to hear you like this.

the idea of what you’re currently doing sends a jolt of arousal to her center as she approaches your room. the door isn’t fully closed, nancy notices, leaving a small gap that lets her see a glimpse of what’s happening inside…

-

you’re moving on the pillow frantically, your clit dragging over the silk deliciously.

you picture your roommate, beneath you, nails digging into your waist as you ride her face. you picture her tongue instead of the pillow, her mouth slurping up the slick of your arousal. her eyes, a deep shade of blue as they watch you moving on top of her.

you’re wet, you’re so wet, your underwear pushed to the side so you’re dripping all over the pretty pillow, grinding and gasping for air as you grip the pillow case tightly.

“oh, yes” you exhale slowly, whispering nancy’s name like a prayer. you can feel your orgasm building in your core already, the pillow soaked with your wetness. you roll your hips against it, chasing the heavenly feeling of your release.

“y/n…?”

your eyes immediately snap open. the reality of the situation only sinks in through the hazy fog of pleasure when you see nancy in your doorway. immediately, regardless of how weak your limbs feel, you scramble away from the pillow and try to cover as much of your body as possible.

“fuck” you pant, flinching away from her. “fuck- i- i’m so sorry nance! i- i can explain!”

you can’t explain, you know that. there’s no way to ‘explain’ why you were humping her pillow like that mere seconds ago. why you were moaning her name. you know, right then and there, that you’ve ruined everything.

“y/n” nancy repeats, her eyes wide. strangely enough, she doesn’t seem mad. not at all. there seems to be something in her voice though, a low, husky tone you’ve never heard before “holy shit”

it takes a moment for you to understand but that is definitely arousal in her voice. nancy is biting her lower lip, her eyes darker than usual as her gaze wanders over the scene in front of her.

“i can explain” you croak again, weaker.

“don’t” nancy hushes you, walking further into the room. “look you can tell me if i got it wrong, alright?”

you nod, hands slowly sliding down your body, exposing your breasts to her. heat rushes through you when her eyes dart down to stare at them.

“were you-“ nancy mumbles, crawling towards you on the bed. “moaning my name, y/n?”

“i-“ you turn your gaze away. immediately, nancy reaches for your chin and makes you look up at her.

“it’s okay” she whispers, her thumb dragging down your lower lip absentmindedly. “is that my pillow baby?”

you shiver. why isn’t she disgusted with you? why isn’t she mad that you were fucking humping her pillow like that?

“mhm”

“you wanted me that bad?” nancy husks, her breath hot on your face. “that you just had to hump one of my pillows instead of just asking me to help you out?”

“you would’ve-?” you croak.

“help a pretty girl like you out?” nancy finishes for you. “mhm, yeah. i mean- fuck- have you seen yourself?”

her fingers trace your face gently as she speaks. her lips parted and pink. you’re not even sure who leans in first. all you know is that you’re kissing her, suddenly. her mouth is soft against yours, but demanding and hungry. you keep up, kiss her back like you had always imagined.

“you’re a sight for sore eyes baby. you didn’t have to rub that poor pussy of yours raw against my pillow you could’ve just-“ her free hand drops between your legs and her eyes widen when she feels your arousal, the sensation morphing her voice into a high pitched gasp “asked”

you grab her wrists, without really intending to, you just need her to stay right there. her palm is pressing against your clit just right and you’re so, so close already. your hips jump forward on their own accord, desperately rubbing against her hand. later, you’ll feel embarrassed for how greedy you are, but right now, you really cannot help yourself.

“oh baby” nancy whispers, her hand still in place. she even pushes it upwards the slightest bit, pressing it against your clit while her fingers sink between your folds. “you want it so bad don’t you?”

you’re too far gone to feel embarrassed for the whine you let out. all you can do is nod your head, over and over again.

“shhh” nancy coos, adjusting herself so she’s kneeling in front of you, hand still sitting firmly between your thighs. “you want my fingers baby?”

any other time, you would’ve verbalized all those fantasies you’ve been having. you would’ve asked her to ride her face, or for her to get out one of those toys you keep hidden in the drawer. you picture nancy with one of the dildos strapped to her body, her voice telling you to get on all fours for her. maybe you would’ve begged for her mouth or for her to bend you over your desk and eat you out like that. but for now, with your abdomen still coiling from the ruined orgasm, you know her hands will have to do.

“yeah” you nod, both eyes closed. “yeah please i need it”

“i know” she coos, her voice sending another wave of arousal through you. “i know, i’ve got you”

another thing you learn about nancy wheeler is that her fingers are fucking heavenly. she runs them through your folds, gathers your arousal on her index- and middle finger, and brings it up to your clit. nancy had always been quick to learn the way you like things: she picked up your favorite snacks and dinner within the first couple of weeks, learned how you fold your laundry and sorted your shampoo and body wash in the shower. now, she’s showing off that observation skill once more.

she finds your clit, draws circles around it with a finger and adjusts the pressure and pace until you’re falling forward against her body, panting heavily.

“oh yeah?” nancy says, pleased with herself. “yeah? right there baby?”

you know it won’t take long for you to cum like this, not when you’ve been painfully close the moment she first walked in on you and certainly not when nancy is stroking your clit the way she currently is.

“do you like penetration?” she asks, her voice soft and genuine.

you nod at her weakly, one hand grabbing her by the shoulder to keep her close, bracing yourself for the sensation of her stretching you open.

you moan when she pushes them into you, two at once after making sure you’re wet enough to take it (which you definitely are).

she pumps them into you a couple of times, quickly figuring out a rhythm that works for you and causes her thumb to brush against your clit with each thrust.

the only thing you can offer her is an encouraging nod and the quiet “ah ah ah” sounds that she draws from your lips.

“come on y/n” she pants, pressing her thumb against your clit. “i wanna see you cum. can you do that for me?”

the whine you give her in response briefly resembles a noise of approval but it’s enough for nancy. she picks up the pace of her fingers, her face a reflection of your own: eyebrows drawn together and mouth agape in pleasure.

“that’s it” she praises when she feels your velvet walls flutter around her fingers. “that’s it baby, give it to me, come on”

that, and a couple of rolls of your own hips to ride her fingers, is all it takes for you to stumble over the edge. the knot in your belly finally snaps and, for a moment, there’s only pleasure and the sound of nancy’s name. you hardly even realize it’s you who’s desperately moaning it out like that.

you stumble against her, her fingers still moving against that spot inside you as she wraps her free arm around you and holds you.

your body still trembles with the force of the orgasm when you register nancy’s soothing voice close to your ear.

“i got you, pretty girl” she says softly. “i’m right here baby, you did so good”

“n-nance-“ you finally manage, when the pleasure ebbs and reality comes crashing down on you. you fucked up. you fucked it all up and this is the end of shared dinners and movie nights and the friendship between the two of you and-

“i was wondering when you’d make a move” nancy’s voice snaps you back to reality. “i mean- i guess i wasn’t expecting…that”

“w-what?” you mumble, leaning back to catch her eyes.

“listen” she tells you gently. “i like you, y/n. and, judging by what just happened, i think you like me too? correct me if i’m wrong. but i think once you’re…calmer, i would really like to ask you out on a proper date? if that’s okay?”

your eyes are wide with surprise. this is not what you expected.

“i mean- i- yes!” you finally answer, after staring up at her for what must’ve been way too long.

nancy just chuckles, running her fingers through your hair soothingly.

“okay” she hums.

“okay” you tell her. “does that mean i get to kiss you?”

nancy smiles, happily leaning down to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

[redr0sewrites]

I don't usually see him in that light but the fluffy vox headcannon was absolutely adorable and definitely a pleasant read. I'm not one to steal ideas but any chance of some Charlie comforting fluff at some point? Time with that cinnamon roll just seems perfect after a bad day.

ADJDHSHE TYYYYY!!! i had a bit of a shitty day today myself and i love charlie sooo yea ♥️

🥀Cw: none really, fluff, lil bit of angst to comfort

how does it feel to have the sweetest gf in the world?

seriously though, charlie cares about you so, so much. she's also pretty perceptive, maybe not incredible at reading people but emotionally intelligent enough to be able to tell when your upset. charlie is definitely very empathetic and once she knows someone well, she can tell how they feel very quickly. sometimes you won't even realize how upset you are until she asks you if you're okay, and the weight of the past day or so comes crashing down around you as you finally feel genuine comfort.

charlie is very cuddly, and when you're feeling down she's always willing to offer some hugs or affection of any kind. however, she's also very understanding in the case of you not wanting to be touched, and will offer to get some snacks and blankets and just sit together!

charlie is an amazing listener, always providing great advice and sweet solutions. you'll be laying with your head in her lap as she plays with your hair, rambling about your shitty day while she listens carefully, occasionally pausing to press a soft kiss to your forehead before you continue

charlie, like vox, would also be the type to sing to you when you're tired, or even dance with you after a long day. you both are definitely the type of couple to dance in the kitchen to soft music, and this often occurs unprompted. you'll be sitting, looking miserable and tried and charlie will scoop you up and pull you along until your both swaying to the rythm, and she'll twirl you and dance with you until giggles fill the room and a smile is on your face

YOU TWO DEFINITELY HAVE SPA DAYS TOGETHER!!! when you're overworked and exhausted she pleads with you to take the day off and you indulge, allowing yourself to be pampered by her. you guys will do facemasks, paint eachothers nails, do full skincare and haircare routines, everything! she'll even give you a massage, forcing you to relax. she truly does care about you more than anything

she def likes to talk to you about her day when you're too tired to rant, and she stays close to you when she knows that you're not feeling great. she doesn't want to be irritating, but she wants to let you know that she's there if you need her ♥️

overall, charlie is very caring and a TOTAL sweetheart when it comes toy our wellbeing. she genuinely cares so much about your feelings and you matter to her a lot, so she always wants to make sure your happy and content

"hey baby!! how are youuuu?" charlie grinned, opening her arms as you stepped inside the hotel. your smile didn't meet your eyes as you stepped into her embrace, leaning against her as she ran her hands through your hair. "m' fine," you murmur, pressing a kiss to her cheek as you pull away. charlie arches a brow, not pausing for a second before scooping you up into her arms. "you don't look fine," she hums, carrying you towards your shared bedroom. "you need rest! you look exhausted- what did i say about pushing yourself too hard?"

you chuckle at her endearing tone, her nose always scrunched up when she ranted and you can't help but kiss her again. charlie flushes, entering your bedroom and dropping you unceremoniously onto the mattress. you grumble for a second as she joins you, wrapping herself in a blanket and grabbing some snacks from her nightstand. "lets just chill, we can watch a movie!" charlie offers excitedly, and you nod, relaxing against her. soon, you feel your eyelids start to droop as exhaustion takes over.

i am so tired and i feel like shit but i love herrrrrrrr!!! i need more reqs for the fem characters fr‼️ sorry this is so short i am very tired and i cant breathe through my nose and my throat and head hurts and i am Trying My Best

[sugarpasteltmnt]

Just finished reading the new chapter and OH MY GOD??? Ik I already wrote a comment on AO3 but I felt like I had to come yell at you over here too 😜

First of all: that was a phenomenal chapter. I could feel the tension and apprehension right alongside the family - and then Leo's uncontained joy at the end. Gotta say, you write emotions very well

Second: holy shell, where do I even start? That went in a COMPLETELY different direction than I was expecting (which is a GOOD THING). Ngl I was half expecting the destruction of the Key to kill Leo, or maybe just eradicate the Kraang parasite or smth. I was waiting for him to jump into the black hole with the Key, but then the little trinkets he had collected chapters (felt like ages lmao) ago held him down! I honestly cannot wait to see where he goes and what happens next, I'm HOOKED.

But to be fair I've been hooked since I first started, back when chapter 7 or 8 first came out, and I am so thrilled that we're nearing the end!!!

Now all we need is everybody to pass out from exhaustion 🤣

The way you've brought in stuff from other chapters and made them plot relevant is really impressive, it reads as though you had every detail planned out and I LOVE that! I hope I can write like that some day, you're really amazing

I have no doubt that, however you chose to end this story, it will be great. Neon Void is certainly going out with a bang! 🤣

Have a lovely day, lots of love and best wishes from me! 🩷

- 🍁

THANK YOU SO MUCH this was such a delight— i was super worried about the first half, as that was more of a spur of the moment decision rather than the second half which has always been planned lol. Im so so glad you liked it!!

And as for the Krang parasite…. I have a special plan for that ;3

[therealvinelle]

Is it true that Tom Riddle has a different name in a lot of translations because publishers thought making the anagram in book 2 would be super important so they changed the name rather than just letting that one thing not work in the translation? What's Tom's name in your Norwegian copy?

I'll have you know almost everybody have different names in the Norwegian translation. I'm sure Harry would too, if the translator could get away with it, sadly his name was on the title card.

Some of this is for pronunciation, Hermione Granger is made Hermine Grang so we're not all sounding like Victor Krumm trying to make sense of her name, others are given more of an overhaul to convey the pun or vibe from the original name. Alastor "Madeye" Moody is Alastor "Galøye" Bister ("Galøye" is literally "Madeye", while "bister" means "terse").

Other examples of translations include the Black family being Svart (Norwegian word for Black) but by and large keeping their constellation names and spelling (with such exceptions as Alfar ("ph" isn't how we spell the f-sound, and the d would doesn't really work either - it's a phonetic translation of Alphard) and Narsissa (the c would be a problem)), and foreign characters like Victor Krumm and Gellert Grindelwald stay (almost: Victor is now Viktor.) the same, presumably because they're foreign in-universe.

For punny translations we have not just the names, but places and things being made punny to best reflect the original. Diagon Alley is made Diagonalgangen, "The diagonal hallway" that with the -en ending becomes "walking diagonally". Heh. Quidditch is rumpeldunk, the snitch is "snoppen" (a euphemism for penis. I commend the translator for making the game somehow that little bit gayer than it already was), Rita Skeeter is Rita Slita (conveying that she's an exhausting, tireless person), Cornelius Fudge is Kornelius Bleouf (a made-up surname that coincidentally is pronounced the same as "bluff"). It keeps going.

Some people didn't get punny names, simply names that captured the vibe. The Crouch family is now Kroek, Percy is Perry, and Tom Riddle (whom I'll get further into below) is Tom Venster.

(Though, since you've got me talking about one of my favorite niche subjects: the translator did make a pun out of Tom's name that isn't in the original series.

Tom is a common name in Norwegian, but it also is the word for "empty". We have an unrelated idiom, "full av faen" - literally "full of the devil", figuratively a malicious or cruel person. For use in conversation, I could use it about a person but also about a particularly grouchy cat. My friend had a horrible day so now they're full av faen, I tried petting that cat but it's full av faen.

The chapter where we meet eleven-year-old Tom Riddle is titled "Tom, eller full av faen".

I can only imagine the translator had been waiting four books to make that pun.)

In other words, yes Tom's name was trnaslated. In Norwegian the full name is Tom Dredolo Venster, with the anagram being "Voldemort den store" (Voldemort the great). That's right, we suffered even worse secondhand embarrassment in Norway.

I am quite fond of the translated name, as it in my opinion captures the vibe of Tom Riddle very well. An ordinary name with a very nice ring to it, and you don't actually know anybody else with that exact name. Dredolo, the oddball middle name, is as foreign yet fitting with the rest as Marvolo is in English. It's a name that rolls off the tongue.

The Danes, by comparison, have Romeo Gåde Detlev. Which is a very... eyecatching name, I've seen it go viral several times (along with the French Tom Elvis Jedusor), but the problem is that Tom was named for his father, an English gentleman in the 1920's, and this name sounds like a cultural melting pot. Gåde, originally the middle name that stood out and had Mrs. Cole assuming Merope came from an exotic background, is now the most normal name in there.

I want to be lenient, I do, the translator hadn't read Half-Blood Prince at the time and didn't know how much emphasis would be placed on Tom's name being ordinary. But, well, he made the name a different ethnicity, and I can only imagine he must have wanted the first name "Romeo" quite badly. We're left with a name that signals completely different things, which I do think is relevant when Tom's name being painfully Muggle and ordinary, growing up in 1930's London, had such an impact. Being perceived as foreign, which he would be with that name, would change things. His shedding the name to become Voldemort also takes on a very different meaning when he's an Englishmen who spent the first few decades of his life being asked if his parents fled the Soviet Union.

So, not a fan of Romeo Detlev.

As for Tom Elvis Jedusor, that one I have no problem with. Elvis wouldn't become a star until several decades after Tom's birth, and the middle name is supposed to be unusual anyway. The rest of the name sounds appropriately French, no notes. (Though the Danish translator should have taken some for how to give readers a funny, but plausible name).

[trans-androgyne]

hey, thank you for having and running this blog. you're doing the equivalent of gods work.

first, i'm sorry for the amounts of jerk anons you have to deal with. you literally articulate yourself very well and clearly, and still, people will find a way to twist it or not take it seriously. it reminds me of me "arguing" with terfs back in 2022 on twitter. (shudders.)

and second, how do you deal with the constant negativity? i have found myself doomscrolling the transandrophobia tag, and, well, to no ones surprise, my mental health is down the gutter. do you have any tips to deal with it? mainly with the transandrophobia in general? it is more than exhausting existing as a (gnc & enby) trans guy atm, and it's really getting to me. the thing is, I wouldn't mind it if it were non-queer bigots, but the fact it's coming from inside the community is devastating. i am more than hurt. this intense hatred for men and masculinity, queer, trans, or not, is incomprehensible to me. it never does anything good. anyone who says "i hate all men and anything masculine" is definitely going in the "yep that's either a radfem or a radfem hatchling" box. i partially understand as to why- i had a fear of men myself when i still identified as a girl, and slipped into the "all men bad. kill" side of the internet for a short while but ONLY because of this rhetoric ("you need to be afraid because there are men outside." , "men and masculinity are inherently predatory or dangerous")- but i got out of it because i saw how fucked it was eventually (thank goodness)- but nothing should ever be an excuse to excessively hate a gender or masculinity this badly. and its mostly gender essentialist bs anyways imo, so i do not understand it at all...it reminds me of people saying men/mascs cant be asexual because it's "in their nature to be sexual"- because testosterone. its hard. i just wish we all could respect each other. you're either "one of the bad bad evil men" or "noooooo not YOU. you're AFAB!! never!! youre a girl/woman in spirit!!" from my personal experience with terfs/radfems/idiots.

anyways, sorry for invading your anon space with this long rant, but i just wanted to leave this and the question. i hope you have a nice day/night, and thank you for reporting on transandrophobia as much as you do. it's sadly very much needed right now.

Thank you so much, this is such a kind ask to receive. To be honest with you: I don’t handle my mental health very well around it </3 It’s weighed on me pretty heavily these last few months especially. The things keeping me running this blog anyway are my passion for the transmasc community and lovely anons like yourself cheering me up. When it comes to trying to manage it, the most important thing for me has been finding people I can vent to about it who will understand. I’m lucky enough to have a wonderful discord server full of awesome trans people who will talk it through with me, and that’s been a life-saver. Staying offline for a bit and trying to engage in person with people who are unlikely to be transandrophobic towards you can be a nice relief. I catch myself doomscrolling constantly too, and it doesn’t feel great. If you need to set some sort of time limit on your phone even just to remind yourself not to do it, that’s helped me before and might help you too.

Having this much hatred levied at me for my identity from my own community lately has been devastating. I completely understand you. I’ve always been vocal about supporting transfems in particular, so it really hurts to see so many turn against me for speaking up. I understand how the queer community got this way, though. Antimasculinism has been an issue in queer and feminist spaces for ages. I think people are starting to notice it more and understand why it sucks and how much it negatively affects trans men and mascs. It feels like a losing battle sometimes with how much cultural feminism — the Men Bad Women Good flavor of pop feminism — has pervaded our communities and often led to very overt radical feminism that people still can’t always recognize because they don’t know anything about TERFs outside of them hating trans women. I believe the culture will start to shift soon such that people are able to recognize sexism and gender essentialism that harms all genders, and I will be doing my part to help that happen.

[major-mads]

Chapter 3: Listen to Your Heart

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: I'm so glad y'all are enjoying the series!! Thank you so much for reading!! Us Callum girlies sure got some...cough cough...quality content in episode four, that's for sure! Let me know what you think, and go read the other half of the story using the link below!!! this wonderful gif is by @zsuo!

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 4.7k

August 3rd, 1943

Ruthie, Since Saturday night, you have rarely left my mind. I replay the dance in my head, trying to commit every detail to memory. I love being around you, Ruth. I couldn’t imagine the night going any better than it did, and I’m so glad that you stepped outside of your comfort zone to come with me. Curt’s been giving me a hard time about embarrassing you when I sang, but I told him you loved it, even if I sound like a “dying animal” in Buck’s words.  Speaking of Buck, I’ve decided to never let him live down Saturday’s condom incident with Hope. Hugh sure isn’t letting it go, so I can’t help but join in on the fun. Despite that, I think he had a great time with her, even though he’s a total stick in the mud. I can’t believe they didn’t dance, Ruthie! Our dance was my favorite part of the night, besides how we said goodnight, of course.

I would really like to see you again soon, Ruth. It’s no secret that I’m taken with you, and I think you feel the same. We’re spending the next few weeks replacing crews and forts, so we won’t be too busy. If you’re able, please stop by and pay me a visit. At the sight of your sweet, kind smile, and the feeling of your hand in mine, my worries seem to disappear. The only worry left in my mind is that my efforts to convert you to a Yankees fan won’t be successful. I hold onto the hope that you’ll see that the Braves are terrible and that the Yankees are the better team. The Braves went 11 and 18 this past month, and my amazing team went 21 and 11. You can’t argue against stats, slugger. I hope this won’t affect your feelings toward me because then we might have a problem. I can’t wait to see you again soon. Please stay safe up there for me.  Your Hotshot, Johnny Egan

August 6th, 1943

Dear John, I am happy to hear that you and the boys are finally getting a break. When we were at the dance, I knew y’all were exhausted, but you sure didn’t show it, Major. You danced and sang like there was no tomorrow, and I had more fun than I had in a long while in your arms. Don’t worry about what Curt or Buck said. I loved your singing, even if it was slightly off-key and very loud. You might have embarrassed me, but seeing you in your element was worth it.  Every time I think back to that night, my heart begins to race and I can’t help but smile at the thought of you. I’m so very grateful that you decided to bring me along. Somehow you manage to turn me into a giddy, blushing teenager every time you cross my mind. Our kiss is a cherished memory of mine, and forgive me for being forward, but I hope that we can make more of such memories in the future.  Hope had an amazing time with Gale at the dance, and apparently, he wasn’t as much of a “stick in the mud” as you think. I’m sworn to secrecy, but know that they are very fond of each other already. When we got back to Grove the day after the dance, we told Frank what happened with…the incident, and he thought it was hilarious! He even said that he “did his job well,” whatever that means.  I would love nothing more than to come see you, but sadly, I don’t know when I’ll be able. Casualties from Italy are getting worse with the invasion of Sicily underway, and we’ve been on runs almost every day since we got back from the dance. Regardless of this, the first chance we get, Hope and I will make our way up to Thorpe Abbotts.  I can’t wait to see you again, Johnny, but the blatant slander against the Braves might damage your chances of getting another kiss. We’ll just have to agree to disagree on this because I promise you I am not going to be converted. After all, a little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone, right? Don’t hurt yourself falling off your bike during your break. Yours,  Ruth Morgan P.S. I would like to meet Meatball the next time I visit the base!

Sunday, August 8th, 1943: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base, Norwich

The mess hall buzzed with energy as Buck and Johnny sat at breakfast with Curt, who slowly moved his powdered eggs around on his plate with his fork. 

“I can’t eat this shit anymore,” he groaned, pushing the plate away from him.

John took a slow sip of his “coffee,” raising an eyebrow at the man. “Then don’t eat it.”

“Oh wow,” Biddick quipped. “What a great idea, Bucky. I’d never thought of that.”

The major smirked behind his mug and shot his friend a wink. Buck watched on in amusement, used to the two going back and forth as he and John did.

Leaning his elbows on the table, Curt leaned over the table toward John with a teasing glare. “Have you heard anything from Ruthie? Has she mentioned me? I thought I made a good first impression the other night.”

“Hmm,” Johnny hummed, pursing his lips for a moment before pointing at Biddick. “That’s Nurse Morgan to you, you dodo. I’m surprised you even remember anything from the dance with how drunk you were.”

“Oh I couldn’t forget a face like that,” he chuckled.

John’s eyes narrowed playfully as he clasped his hands together and leaned on the table. “Well it’s a good thing for me that she could forget yours, then,” he clapped back. “And you’re not the one she kissed goodnight.”

Buck rolled his eyes and continued to eat his breakfast as Egan’s loud, wide-mouthed cackle echoed through the mostly quiet mess hall. Curt then turned to Gale with a raised brow. “How about Hope-”

“Nope,” Buck interrupted calmly, raising his cup and taking a sip of his steaming coffee.

The other two men watched him as a tiny grin formed on the Major’s lips. Although he didn’t talk about it much, they could tell Buck had already developed deep feelings for the woman. 

Raising his eyebrows at Curt, John grinned. “Oh boy.”

“You’ve got it bad, Buck,” Biddick laughed, his hand landing on Gale’s shoulder roughly. “You gotten a reply to your letter yet?”

Thinking of the perfectly folded letter from Ruth he’d picked up that morning sitting in his breast pocket, John smiled down at his food, warmth spreading through him at the thought of the blonde. Buck, however, pursed his lips and shook his head at the question.

“I actually haven’t written her yet,” he sighed, running a hand down his face. “I want-”

“What!?” Johnny all but yelled, his eyes widening as coffee almost spewed from his mouth. “Why the hell not, Buck? I already sent one to Ruth and got a response.”

Gale groaned and put down his fork with a clink. “Because of Hugh.”

“Why are you so worried about Charlie?” Curtis asked, wearing a confused expression.

“Because he’s in my squadron. And he’s her brother.”

John pointed and leaned over the table at him. “Hope’s a big girl, Buck. She can make her own decisions. Screw what Hugh says.”

“But-” Gale started but was once again cut off by Bucky.

“He’s gonna hate you even more if he thinks you're leading her on. You not sending Hope a letter isn’t making anything better,” he said, a smirk beginning to tug at his lips as he continued. “On top of the condom situation.” 

John and Curt busted out into chuckles as Buck just groaned, closing his eyes tightly. “Oh, please don’t remind me.”

The ideal chatter was disturbed by the door to the mess hall swinging back on its hinges with a crash, followed by heavy footfall as Hugh all but stormed through the building like a tornado. He snatched a mug off a table and poured himself a steaming cup of black coffee before marching past the trio, staring daggers at Gale who looked up worriedly from his breakfast. 

Curt’s eyes followed the man as he walked in, muttering under his breath, “Speak of the devil.”

"Good morning to you, too, Sparky," John called out with a small wave as he walked by, only to be met with deafening silence from the other pilot. 

Hugh's harsh glare was burning a hole in the back of Gale’s skull and he thought any second now he’d come into his brain and it would be lights out. 

“You’ve really pissed him off this time, Buck, and you didn’t even get his sister into bed,” John laughed heartily, taking a long swig from his whiskey and coffee, it was most likely more whiskey than coffee but Gale humored him. 

“Will you give it a rest? I’m already getting it from Hugh without your added input,” Gale stabbed aggressively at his scrambled eggs, willing the eyes of the room to stop looking at him. 

Curt snorted beside him, waving his fork around. “Well, I’m telling you boys, if I’d have had Hope in my arms and she’d bought condoms with her, let’s just say she wouldn’t have been going back home with them.” 

That was the final straw. 

Gale slammed his fist down on the table, ignoring the way Johnny jumped in his seat, spilling his coffee over the table, and the way several chunks of his scrambled egg disappeared onto the floor.

“You say anymore slander about my girl, Biddick and I swear…”

“Your girl, Buck?” John raised his right eyebrow, an amused smirk on his lips as his mustache twitched. “She’s your girl and you haven’t even written her yet?”

Sometimes Gale wished he could rip that stupid mustache off John’s face, but he kept his cool. 

It would seem that Hugh had heard the whole commotion. His chair screeching back from the table, he stomped up between the tables once more, his glare never leaving Gale until the door slammed shut behind him. 

Buck groaned, unsure if it was in relief or at the impending doom that he was likely to suffer if this debacle continued. Without a second thought, he excused himself from the table, ignoring the calls of protest from John and Curt, and hurried after Hugh. 

“Hugh! Hugh, wait up. Please, I want to talk to you,” Gale jogged after the tall brunette whose face turned sour the instant he noticed him.

The door quickly closed behind him, and Curt looked at the major across from him with a guilty expression. “I was just joking, Bucky. I would never-”

“Ahh don’t worry about it,” John said as he sipped on his coffee. “He knows that. Like you said, Buck’s got it bad and this thing with Hugh has been eating at him since Saturday.” 

Biddick nodded to himself, his eyes lingering on the door. “Do you think Hugh’ll let it go?”

“For Buck’s sake, I do…I think he will. Doesn’t mean I won’t still rag Buck about it, though.” 

“Yeah,” Curt mumbled, staring down at his plate.

Neither man spoke for a few moments, each lost in their thoughts until Bucky wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up. “I’ve got a letter to write. See you later, Curt.”

“I never thought I’d live to see the day,” Biddick replied. “Bucky Egan writing a love letter. Looks like Buck isn’t the only one who’s got it bad.”

John tugged his white-fleece jacket back into place and chuckled at his friend. “Don’t go all soft on me.”

“I think it suits you, John. Really,” he urged, a soft smile on his lips. “You seem happier.”

Staring at him for a moment, Bucky didn’t quite know how to respond. He felt happier. He had something to look forward to other than getting drunk at the bar or the adrenaline rush he got when the sound of .50 cal brownings echoed through his fort. John placed his cap back on his head, and with a curt nod, turned toward the door.

His tie suddenly became too tight around his throat as he pushed through the doors into the cool English air, and he quickly loosened it, letting it hang limply as he took a deep breath. In that moment, John Egan had a profound realization.

Since he came over to England in May, he had been simply going through the motions, replaying the same days over and over: Wake up…Fly forts…Bomb targets…Get drunk…Show a woman a good time…then start the cycle again the next day. For someone with such a passionate personality, he lacked the feeling that he so deeply desired. Curt could vouch for this, being the one to knock some feeling back into him a few months back on the wing of Mugwump.

But since that day in July when the nurses landed on their small base in East Anglia, feeling had slowly been creeping back into his life. He first felt it when Ruth caught him staring, and was soon captivated by her dimpled smile and capable personality. The numbness that had become so familiar to him faded into the background when she was near, her laughter shaking free his heart a little more each time it left her lips. 

He was alive with Ruth. More alive than he felt when ME-109s whizzed past him or when flack shook his fort. More alive than when he unbuttoned a woman’s dress and laid her down. More alive than the burning sensation that traveled down his throat when he downed another shot at the bar.

Over the past few weeks, the blonde nurse had somehow burrowed into his jaded exterior and broken down the walls he didn’t even know existed. 

John’s mind reeled as he silently mounted his bike and rode to the base HQ. The ride passed in a blur, and before he knew it, he was sitting at his desk, staring down at the blank sheet of paper before him. He hadn’t had a problem writing her before, so why was this any different?

How was he supposed to convey such profound feelings in a letter?

He started simply, letting his mind imagine her there beside him.

“Dear Ruth.”

Thursday, August 12, 1943: Termini Imerese, Sicily, Italy

“You ready girls!” Frank called over his shoulder, glancing as Hope and Ruth took the stretcher from the medics below them and loaded the last wounded soldier onto the rack. Hope pulled out her flight manifest and checked off the final patient to board. The young boy reached out, grasping her hand. 

“Nurse,” his voice cracking as he tried to grab her attention. He was so young, barely eighteen years old. His bright blue eyes, glossy and hazy, gazed up at her. 

“Yes, My Love,” Hope crouched down, clasping the boy's hand in one of hers while her other brushed away his brunette locks from his face. She tried to stop her eyes from drifting down his body to where only stumps of his legs remained, the burnt flesh wrapped neatly in crisp bandages. 

“You’re an angel,” he whispered and Hope smiled sweetly at him, squeezing his hand. “When I write home, I’m gonna tell my Momma ‘bout you.” 

A single tear trickled down her cheek and she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and watching until he drifted off to sleep. His delicate, young features were no longer etched with worry, and the hard lines across his forehead softened as the morphine began to take effect. 

Hope turned, watching as Ruth comforted one of the other young men further down the plane who had managed to remove some of his bandages. 

“Hey, don’t do that, you need those,” Ruth tutted quietly, helping the Private sit up a little so she could secure fresh, white bandages around his bloody arm. The poor boy grumbled under his breath as Ruth tucked in the end. “Now leave ‘em be, okay?”

The young boy nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his cot. They weren’t the most comfortable racks, just cool metal bars lining the hammock-like beds that swayed as the C-47 rocked through the sky. 

Hope took her seat beside Ruth, who had finished trying to redress the soldier's wounds, smiling briefly at her friend, who wore the same exhausted expression she did.

“I can’t wait to get back to the Grove. I need a warm bath and my bed,” Ruth mumbled, stretching out her aching muscles that screamed against the tension in her body. 

“Oh don’t say that, Rue. We’ve still got to drop these poor boys off at the hospital in Mateur.” Ruth just groaned in response. 

The dance with the boys had been their last outing in a while. It was the last time Hope hadn’t felt completely exhausted. She’d been relaxed, able to let go, and safe in Gale’s arms. 

This trip had been hard. The plane was at full capacity and when they arrived on the airfield at Termini Imerese, Sicily, they were instantly thrown into action. The girls disappeared into the makeshift hospitals that lined the airfield, the white tents flapping in the harsh wind that did little to cool the heat from the scorching midday sun. 

Hope and Ruth conferred with the surgeons, assessing and stabilizing patients that were safe to fly, meaning that many of the young men with head injuries or who had suffered significant blood loss would be unable to fly due to the unpressurized aircraft cabins. Many of the men didn’t have emergency medical tags, so the girls had to make their own assessments for many of the patients. 

The thrumming roar of the C-47’s engine erupting to life always brought a great sense of comfort to Hope, along with an impending sense of fear in unison. This job, while rejuvenating her youth through the exhilarating flights and the lives they saved, aged her with each passing moment spent in the air, because after every successful landing she was left with the feeling that although they had saved lives, they couldn’t save them all. This weighed heavily on both of the women.

Frank and his fellow pilot chatted hastily in the cockpit, their muffled voices cracking through over the radio. As soon as the plane leveled out Hope and Ruth stood, each taking a side of the plane and beginning the checkups on their patients, recording their temperature, pulse, and respiration as well as checking there was no strike through of blood from their dressings. The girls worked quickly, only conferring on their patients' conditions. 

It always amazed Hope how quickly their work changed them, on the flight over Ruth had been once again telling her about the letter she’d received from John. Hope feared she could probably quote Ruth’s letter herself by now, but she never complained, pleased that Ruth was finally coming out of herself. 

Hope had her own letter from Gale tucked into her top overall pocket, over her heart. His words burned into her flesh and she felt as though he was right there beside her all along. 

Having dropped off the soldiers at the large US hospital in Mateur, Tunisia, the C-47 headed home. The mood was somber as the large metal bird rattled its way across Europe towards England. 

Ruth’s eyes had closed about half an hour before, and Hope didn’t have the heart to wake her up. She looked so peaceful, the wrinkles that normally appeared when she smiled were smoothed away, and her blonde locks fell softly from where she had so lovingly pinned them that very morning. 

Hope took Gale’s letter out of her pocket, smoothing out the creases that had poked around the edge of the page. Words of affirmation sprung out at her and a smile was instantly cemented to her lips as she relieved the last moments with him. 

The flight home always seemed quicker, and soon ‘The Angel of Death’ was touching down on the runway. Hope helped a rather sleepy Ruth off the plane and waved goodnight to Frank, who chuckled in amusement at the blonde’s incoherent murmurs, some of them sounding an awful lot like the name of her beloved major.

 “Goodnight Ladies.” 

“Come on, Rue. Let’s get you home,” Hope wrapped her arm around her sleepy friend, leading the way to the Nissan huts they were billeted in. 

Some of the other nurses were still stationed in Africa and so they currently had the hut to themselves. Hope lay Ruth down on the bed, smiling as she snuggled closer into the pillow.

So much for a warm bath…

Hope would rag her about it later, but she couldn’t deny that the stress of the day was getting to her too, but something restless kept her from falling into her own bed. Instead, Hope sat at the small desk in the corner, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. She pulled Gale’s crumpled letter from her pocket, smoothed it flat onto the desk, and began writing her reply.

The following day, the girls finally had a day off, and as much as they wanted to make the trip up to Thorpe Abbotts, the nurses were so exhausted that they barely got out of bed. 

“What time is it?” Ruth groaned, turning onto her side to hide from the bright sun peeking through the curtains. 

Getting no response, she cracked her eyes open, and a smile tugged at her lips at the sight before her. In the corner of the room, Hope’s cheek lay smushed against the desktop, her messy black hair splayed around her as she slept soundly. The corner of a paper could just barely be seen under her hair, and Ruth immediately knew what she’d fallen asleep doing.

Sighing softly, she pulled back her covers and padded over to Hope, wincing at the sting of her feet against the cold floors. “Hope,” Ruth whispered, rubbing the woman’s shoulder gently. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

She awoke slowly, allowing the blonde to sit her up off the desk. “Five more minutes,” Hope mumbled.

Ruth chuckled, the sound echoing through the silent hut. Luckily, Hope’s bed was directly beside the desk, so the smaller woman didn’t have to maneuver her around too much to get her onto the mattress. 

Gently laying her extra blanket over her best friend, Ruth smiled down at her. “There you go. Snug as a bug.”

She then walked over to her bed and snuggled under the covers again, but not before closing their blackout curtains, causing darkness to envelop the room once again. The warmth drew her back into her peaceful slumber, her eyes fluttering closed as her mind repeated Johnny’s latest letter:

Sunday, August 8th, 1943

Dear Ruth, I can’t wait to see you again. I know I said that in my last letter, but I’ve recently discovered that absence actually does make the heart grow fonder. I find myself waiting in anticipation for your letters the moment I send off my own, and I long to see you…to have you here next to me. Hopefully, your missions will ease soon and you’ll finally get a break, too. I understand how tiring it can be to fly day after day, and that’s without even having to take care of patients. Please take care of yourself, alright? As much as I would love to see you, please rest if you get the chance. Don’t worry about me. We’ll see each other soon enough. Today Buck finally wrote Hope back. I tried to tell him how stupid it was to wait, but he was adamant about getting Hugh’s approval. He’s a bigger man than I am, Ruth. Regardless of this, we can never let him live the incident down…ever. In response to your threat to withhold your affection from me, I say bring it on. Like I said before, you can’t argue with facts. The Yankees are the better team, and I’m going to convince you of that, so I cannot agree to disagree. I’m too stubborn to let you win, and if I’m being honest, I don’t know if you’ll be able to resist my charming personality…or the mustache. I know you love the mustache, Ruth. If you decide to follow through on your threat, I’ll shave it off. Just for you. Don’t stand between a man and kisses from his girl. It doesn’t end well for anyone. But it’s like you said, a little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone, right? Please be safe, Ruthie, and know I am thinking of you. Yours, John Egan

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Hope! Ruth! You alive in there?” a voice hollered through the hut’s door, rousing Ruth for the second time that morning. She opened her mouth to reply, but Hope beat her to it. 

“Go away, Frank!” she groaned, covering her ears with her pillow.

“It’s almost noon,” the man chuckled. “I know you’re tired but you both need to get up. We’ve got stuff to do.”

Sitting up abruptly, Ruth grabbed her watch off her small side table, her eyes widening when she read 11:43 am. She looked over to Hope who was also staring at her watch in utter disbelief.

“I haven’t slept in this much since I was a teenager,” Hope muttered under her breath before turning to Ruth, almost breaking into a fit of laughter at the blonde’s wonky curls from the day before. “We look terrible.”

Frank pounded his fist against the door, yelling, “Get up!”

“WE ARE!!” They both hollered back, unable to keep the frustration from lacing their voices.

Throwing off her covers, Hope stood to her feet and marched over to the door, swinging it open. Ruth clamored quickly out of bed to follow her, stopping right behind her shoulder as they glared at Frank. His eyes scanned the women before him, and a grimace appeared on his face at their ragged appearances. 

“Okay,” he started, raising his hands in surrender. “Go back to sleep. You look like shit, and I’d rather do things on the plane by myself than deal with your grumpy attitudes.”

They narrowed their eyes at him. “Nope. We’re awake now,” Hope retorted, smiling sweetly at him.

Sighing, Frank stepped back from the door with a barely concealed smirk. “Meet me at the hardstand.”

As Hope shut the door, Ruth flopped back on her bed, her eyes following Hope’s figure walking across the room to the desk in the corner. “How’s Gale?” she asked, propping her head up with her hand.

Hope began to neatly fold up the letter, smiling softly as she talked over her shoulder. “He’s good. Said he didn’t write because of Hugh causing problems, but he’s got his blessing now.” She turned toward Ruth with dusty pink cheeks, giggling to herself. “He even signed his last letter with ‘your Gale.’”

“Hope!” Ruth squealed, sitting up and covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve someone like Gale, and I’m sure Hugh sees how much he adores you.”

Hope looked down at the letter in her hands, her heart swelling at the thought of the man. “He’s amazing,” she whispered as her eyes traced over his name on the paper. After a few moments, she shook her head, seemingly clearing her thoughts, and raised an eyebrow at Ruth. “How’s John?”

It was now Ruth’s turn to blush, the tips of her ears heating up at the mention of the major. “Great…amazing…wonderful. I feel like I’ve known him so much longer than a few weeks, Hope. You know how I can get sometimes, but when I’m with him, I don’t feel nearly as anxious. And when he kissed me…I wished it could’ve lasted forever. I can’t wait to see him again.”

Sighing softly, Hope plopped down onto her bed. “Look at us, Rue. We’re like a bunch of lovesick teenagers.”

“Yeah, we are,” Ruth giggled, her mind replaying her and John’s laughter, soft touches, and tender looks from the dance. The way he held her face so delicately, how his lips-

“Come on,” Hope called, her mattress squeaking as she got up, breaking Ruth from her thoughts. “Let’s get ready so we can go annoy Frank.”

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[loveundrwrld]

m yan business owner (owns a rage room) x f customer reader

f reader is a hyper independent eldest daughter who pays for the most expensive package m yan offers.

m yan is scared but also intrigued as f reader destroys the heck out of the room and caves in the selected weapon of choice (metallic base ball bat) while california here we go by the garden blares through the speakers

i have this scene in my mind where f reader looks at m yan through the security camera situated in one of the upper corners of the room, bat pointed at the camera, “turn that song up now” and proceeds to smash everything as the music plays loudly that it leaks into the other hired out rooms (idk how rage rooms work i want to go to one).

yes i am living vicariously through this request

ok ty

i love this request! ur valid, it's totally okay to be self-indulgent here.

i really like how detailed your request is- i did look up some stuff about rage rooms, which was interesting!

i'd never heard of them before. they do sound like they can be a little dangerous though, anon, so if you go to one in real life be careful- smashing electronics for instance is not recommended irl, there's a lot of stuff in computers and such that are not meant to be airborne. not trying to rain on your parade though, ofc, just do make sure to proceed with caution 👍

_____

burnt out female reader x rage room owner male yandere

(cw: dysfunctional family dynamic)

you were fed up with everything. exhausted, burnt out to the core. on the palms of your hands there were crescent marks from clenching your fist tightly all day, and your lip felt raw from biting them.

all day you had to do everything- go to your job, listen to your stupid boss's inane requests, drive your younger siblings to soccer or school, and run errands for your aging parents. and what thanks did you get? only a small acknowledgment if any. you were your parent's most "responsible" child, the eldest, so it was expected of you.

you got a job at an early age, and moved out when you were very young. you were hoping that being successful would make you feel better and would make you help you feel better about yourself. make your life feel more full. you tried your best to do everything by yourself, hoping that would make you look like a better daughter in your parents' eyes. and yet, you felt painfully empty. and you knew exactly why.

it was all criticism for you. no praise. even though you were great at your job and highly accomplished, it didn't matter. to your parents, all that mattered was that you could have done better. even though you were no longer living in their house, you could still feel the stress of their eyes on you weighing you down.

you decided that it was about time you have a little stress relief. punching your pillow could only get you so far. and by coincidence, you found an ad for something local that fit your interests- a "rage room." you could get all your anger out easily, and let your real self out. you could forget the mask of the "perfect daughter," if only for a little bit.

you thought for a second and realized that you couldn’t remember the last time you took a day off just for the sake of it. you could just take one vacation day for fun, and then you’d go back to work the next day feeling much better.

and, besides that, you were so busy being a careful, diligent daughter that you barely spent any money on yourself. you had plenty of money stored up, so why not use it?

you decided to just take a chance and do it. you dipped into your ample savings and reserved a room for yourself, and picked the most expensive option- a room reserved just for you, with someone coming in and giving you even more stuff to destroy so you can spend hours smashing as much stuff as you desire. it was the perfect idea.

when you got to the location, you were surprised at how small the place was. it looked a lot bigger on the website... and a lot cleaner, too.

the person that greeted you was a nervous, mousy-eyed teenager. he was wearing coveralls with a little name tag saying “max.” max spoke to you with a small, nervous voice, constantly darting his eyes.

"so, where's the owner? is it you?" you said with a smile, joking, but max only gave you a pained look in response. a sore subject, you guessed. it seemed you weren't the only person here with a terrible boss.

he silently passed you some forms to fill out, which you skim through and sign. it's just a standard liability form, you figured.

once he led you into your room, he handed you a face shield and some heavy-duty gloves, as well as some coveralls to put over what you were wearing. you put them on while he talked about the safety precautions.

you just nodded, your brain turned off. sure, you didn't catch all he said, but it couldn't be that important, right?

"... so, ma’am, make sure you don't get too distracted, or else you could get hurt, okay?" he said, giving you a nervous smile.

"hm. sure. okay. now, max, is there any way i can play some music here?"

---

"stupid parents, stupid fucking job, stupid fucking responsibilities-"

you yelled, smashing into the third television set with wild abandon with your bat. your favorite song was playing on the speakers too, so loudly you could nearly feel the bass through your feet.

this was a great choice! you were already feeling much better. your throat was a bit raw from yelling over the music that was playing over the speakers, and your arms were feeling the burn of swinging over and over again.

your body was pulsing with energy, and you felt absolutely unstoppable. what a great little vacation! who knew being consumed with rage could feel so good!

---

at that moment, unbeknownst to you, someone was watching you from the security room. rhys, the owner of the place, was settled in his security control room, watching around the feeds idly to make sure that everyone was following the rules as expected.

he was half paying attention while he was scrolling on his phone, bored out of his mind, when one feed happened to catch his attention. it was you.

when you first came in, he thought you looked like a typical prim, proper, well-mannered girl. dressed nicely with a tidy appearance, you paid him in advance for a specialty reservation. he thought you were a typical rich girl having fun with her parent's money. nothing too special.

but now, to his surprise… you were smashing everything in sight like there was no tomorrow. you were becoming almost manic in your efforts, forgetting even that someone was in the room with you. glass and metal shards were flying everywhere, and your metal bat was becoming dented as you kept using it with all your might.

a shiver went down him. part of it was fear, of course. he wouldn't want to get on your bad side. but, another part of him was feeling something else as he watched your sweet little face become almost demented as you swung your bat over and over again.

right now, he was beginning to be grateful that he put down cell phone numbers on the forms he made his customers sign. maybe he could give you a little call and ask if you'd like to become a "loyal customer"... or, better yet, he could give you a job offer for a little side hustle…

the door opened, and max came in, interrupting his precious viewing session. he turned to glare at the young employee.

he was always babbling on about the customers, coming in and complaining about them being rude or scary. it was one of the annoying parts of owning your own business- you had to hire other people to help, and with a minimum wage job like this, only squirrelly little teens looking for extra money were applying for the position.

"s-sir, the lady in our specialty room isn't following proper safety precautions, and the music is already way too loud and it's bothering the other customers but she wants it even louder, but when i tried to talk to her she couldn't even hear me-"

rhys waved his hand dismissively, turning his head back around to continue watching the feed of your security camera. his large fingers tapped quickly on his desk, impatiently.

"yeah yeah, so be it. anyways, see that?" he pointed to you swinging the bat on the monitor. "it looks like her bat is almost done, it's so dented it's nearly caved in. you gotta get her a brand new one."

"... s-sir? you want me to go back in there?"

"yeah. what's the big deal? a little broken glass?" he scoffed. "i don't pay you to just sit around."

on the feed, he could see you stopping for a bit, heaving in large breaths. you turned your head, looking around. your eyes widened.

"see, kid? she needs you in there."

you stepped forward to where the security camera was, staring up at it with fiery eyes. your arm came up and pointed towards it.

for a second, he felt like the two of you had a connection. like you knew exactly who was watching you, and was pointing and staring directly at him.

then, your lips moved, mouthing words. you were saying "music... louder..."

he couldn't help but to smile, amused by your antics. you really were something, weren't you?

and now, he realized he didn't want to send max in there. he had a chance to get even closer to you, be around you physically. he didn't want him to be the one doing tasks for you, getting your attention. he wanted all your fiery passionate anger, all for himself.

the fear and excitement just thinking about it ran shivers through his spine, and a coil of heat down his stomach.

"actually, on second thought. i'll be the one to help her out, 'kay?"

[lifeontoast]

Can I request a scenario for Edward Cullen where reader falls asleep on his shoulder for the first time?

reader is his mate but they're not romantically involved yet-

we are just starved for Edward fluff on here 😭 I hope im not being too vague with my request. have a great day!

Sleepy Cuddles (10/1/23)

Edward Cullen x reader

A/N: Hey Nonnie! Thank you for your well wishes - I am sending you some too! Thank you for sending this request in, and I hope you like it :)

SUMMARY: reader falls asleep on Edward’s shoulder for the first time - just a bit of fluff!

…

You and Edward were mates. But because he was 104 years old, and quite a traditional man in his values, you had never really done anything romantic, or even had much physical contact.

That’s why you were so excited by what had happened the other night.

You had had a tough week, and as a result you were exhausted beyond belief. However, you decided to spend some quality time with Edward, rather than going to sleep (logical - who wouldn’t?). So that’s where you found yourself. On the couch, next to Edward (a sufficient distance away, obviously) watching a gory horror movie of his choosing. Apparently, this was because he ‘wanted to see “monsters” like himself on screen’. You found this to be complete and utter rubbish, as you knew that behind the sparkling stone-cold killer exterior, he was a complete softie; though he did his best to keep this side of him hidden away (however, you’d found it).

Now, it had to be said that you weren’t the biggest fan of horror movies. Especially not the gory ones. However, you wanted to finally make a move on Edward. You used this combination of factors to formulate a plan in your head: you would try to inch closer to him on the sofa, very discreetly. This would also make a welcome distraction to the horrible scenes on the screen, and a way to keep yourself awake.

Unbeknownst to you, Edward had noticed you moving closer to him. At first, he had tried to inch away from you as you were inching towards him; but after a while, he realised that, deep inside his cold heart (that was not so cold for you), he had wanted to make a move on you for a while, so he sat still and let you move closer to him.

About halfway through the film, your arms were almost touching. You felt a little spark of excitement in your heart as you realised that you were one minute movement away from being shoulder-to shoulder with Edward. You found you weren’t bold enough to make that final move yet, however the universe had decided you were ready. The movie suddenly took a violent turn, and it made you jump, nearly into Edward’s arms. You felt him tense up a little at the unexpected contact, but he relaxed almost immediately. The two of you were finally TOUCHING! You just couldn’t believe it.

The film was about 3/4 of the way through, and as much as you tried, you just couldn’t keep your eyes open. They grew heavier and heavier until you were sure you were about to lose the fight. Finally, you did. You fell asleep; your head falling softly on Edward’s shoulder. Edward, being the good man that he was, let you stay there. As you slept on silently, Edward was having some trouble keeping his gorgeous smile off his face. If he was honest, he enjoyed the feeling of having someone trust him that much to sleep on his shoulder. Although he would never admit to that.

The movie finished, but Edward stayed sat on the sofa, not wishing to disturb you. After a little while had gone by, he took you in his arms slowly and carefully so you wouldn’t notice and wake up; your head on his shoulder all the while. He placed a gentle kiss on your head, and told himself to stop beating about the bush and give you all the love in the world. Hell, he promised he would give you the world if you wanted it. And so, there you both were. Edward Cullen cuddling you all night long, his head resting on yours. Edward found he couldn’t bear to let you go, even when morning came.

All it took for him to realise his deep, true love for you was you trusting him, and wanting to be with him, even doing something you hated.

That night, Edward promised to love you forever and always.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading. I hope you’ve enjoyed this! You guys rock!

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences (CW: Description of attempted suicide) Words: 5.4K~ Summary: There’s more to this story, Lars can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with Steven, something is distinctly wrong. And oh, does he hate being right. - When an unexpected visitor tumbles through the magic portal in his hair long after hours, breathless and bright pink, Lars must amass the courage to weather one of the most difficult conversations of his life.

Hey folks- this is a really heavy one, but it's a story I've been sitting on in my WIPs for a good four years and am very happy to finally set loose. A lot of personal experience has been poured into this particular fic, and I hope you enjoy.

Please take care and mind the content warning given above. If you're curious on what else this story entails, you can click through to see the AO3 tags as well. Love y'all!

__

Advocate

The Sun Incinerator’s bridge is unusually quiet tonight, with almost everyone spending the evening in their quarters. As such, the only sounds greeting Lars’ ears right now are the dull buzz of their FTL-drive and the gentle chimes of one of the ship’s secondary consoles in the back. (Padparadscha’s making some adjustments to the mainframe parameters, hoping to secure them more malleable control over each system’s energy output.) It makes for a rather meditative scene… focusing on these lulling, almost formulaic bits of white noise as he peers through the glass and watches entire stars and solar systems zip by as nothing but razor thin tendrils of light, the very fabric of space warping and folding around their ship in a myriad of hypnotizing colors. Content to simply be in this peaceful silence, he stretches back in his captain’s chair, allowing a wide smile to rejuvenate his countenance. There’s genuinely nothing more relaxing in all the universe than this.

Though, as he begins to muse upon today’s chaotic ventures of choice, it occurs to him that he hasn’t logged anything down for a good few cycles. And that really, really needs to change, he thinks. Keeping thorough audio records of their whereabouts and activities could prove useful if they get into any more legal scrapes with disgruntled Gems. Plus, it’s great for personal posterity— for when he and the fam want to kick back with some mixers and reminisce about old times.

He activates the mic embedded in the armrest of his seat with a single tap, and clears his throat.

“Logging… stardate one-three zero-five twenty eighteen,“ he begins, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the cool metal. “Or, uh… however that’s supposed to work,” he tags on with a bemused mumble, his nose wrinkling in personal annoyance as he realizes he might have completely jumbled the date format again. At this point, half of his logs are month first, then date, and the other half are date then month. Ugh, what a mess. Perhaps one day he’ll standardize the captain’s logging procedure, but that future is definitely not now. 

And knowing him, it’s probably not gonna be tomorrow, either.

He’s unable to help his exhausted yawn as he kicks back and unwinds, throwing his legs over the side of the armrest as he pushes ahead with his recounting of the last few hours.

“Today’s travels once again had us come face-to-face with our favorite frenemy Emerald, who claimed that her latest star cruiser had the booster technology to easily outperform all other Era 3 ships and challenged us to a race across the Stellaris Astroid Field in sector 9. We won, of course,” he says with a smug lilt to his voice. “The Rutiles’ savvy piloting saw to that, as well as Fluorite’s last-minute engine modifications. I think we hit like… a record cruising speed?” He presses his lips into a thin line and turns his head towards his friend working at the rear of the main deck. “Hey Pady? D’ya happen to remember what our top velocity came to during the final stretch of that race?”

She pauses in her self-appointed duty and hums in careful thought, sorting back through her eidetic knowledge of the recent past like it’s nothing but child’s play. “I believe… 181 klicks per second, nearing the speed of light.”

“And that was like… a record, yeah?” he asks, a sudden hair-raising twinge of… well, something settling deep at the pit of his chest. He ignores it for now. Such phantom pangs aren’t uncommon these days. He’s not exactly sure what causes it yet, and chalks it up to more ‘pink zombie’ weirdness.

“For our craft, yes,” she nods. “For all Gemkind, no. I was curious, as well. As far as I’ve read from Homeworld’s databases, the current non-FTL cruising record is 186.1 klicks per second.” 

Lars can’t help the scoffing chuckle that bubbles within his throat. “Ugh. Good grief, that’s basically light speed as it is. Like, leave some room for competition for the rest of us, yeah?”

Padparadscha gives a faint snicker of agreement as she turns her focus back to the ship’s mainframe interface. Right, right… she’s got work to get done. Which really reminds him, he needs to get back to his point too, or else this log’s gonna be stuffed with nothing but meaningless chit-chatter and asides. He sighs, leaning his cheek against the seat’s edge again.

“But in any case,” he continues into the mic, “our latest victory over Emerald seems to ha—”

With zero warning whatsoever that hollow pang at his core intensifies, its thrall pulsing louder and louder until it’s a thunderous cascade of static rippling through his very veins. He hisses in alarm, jamming his hands over his ears out of pure bodily instinct. This doesn’t help, of course— as this cacophonous feeling (not a sound, not some external input he can mute or modulate, but a feeling—) seems to be emanating from within, from a place all but intangible to the physical realm, from— 

He spies that oh-so-familiar glow emanating from the fringe of his hair just a split second before his surprise visitor tumbles through and throws off his center of balance, unceremoniously toppling both of them to the floor in a ridiculous tangle of limbs. 

Lars’ exhales become laborious as he extracts himself from under the teen and clambers back up to his knees, heart pounding with more fervent intensity than it has since he up and died a few years back.

And right on cue, about fifteen seconds too late:

“Captain Lars, Steven is about to cross through the portal in your head!”

“Yeah, I noticed, thanks,” he snaps in the shock of it all, feeling guilty for this snide remark the second it passes through his lips. (Because Padparadscha can’t help her compulsive ‘predictions.’ He knows this. Everyone knows this. He’ll have to find time to pull her aside and apologize.)

But not now.

Not yet.

Because the alarm bells rung by Pady’s next comment are enough to slap him right out of his brooding contemplation and back to the troubling here-and-now.

“I also predict that Steven won’t be in a very sound state of mind when he arrives,” she says, a noticeable tension building in her tone.

His eyes blow wide as he shifts his full attention to his friend, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a thin sleep shirt.

Steven is… oh, geeze. It seems Steven can’t even manage coherent speech right now. His cheeks are blotchy and raw with recent tears. He’s doubled over on the floor with one hand clutching at his center as he heaves for breath, glowing bright ass pink and looking halfway to hyperventilating. One thing’s for sure: it’s really, really hard to watch. His own chest growing insufferably tight in sympathy, Lars leaps to action, unwilling to let the poor guy wallow in the thickets of whatever the hell this breakdown is about any longer than he has to.

“H-hey…” he begins, edging towards him with the same slow deliberateness he always has to use with the rescue dog his parents recently adopted. And like, yeah— a part of him feels really rude for comparing his own friend to a skittish, fretful animal— but it’s a comparison that seems all the more apt the longer he drinks in the realities of this situation.

Because just like ol’ Maru, Steven is jumpy, horrifically on-edge, and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

Lars frowns, considering what few options he has.

Realizing his friend’s not likely to calm down very well so out in the open like this, he turns towards his fellow Off-Color. 

“Pady, I’m taking him to my quarters. Can you let the others know, and uh… tell them not to disturb us for a while?”

“Yes, right away,” she chimes, hopping off her seat.

“Thank you,” he breathes, expression softening. “I mean it. And sorry about— well, I’ll talk with you later, all right?”

Her mouth falling into a perfectly neutral line (even if she’s incapable of reading the future, he’s sure she’s intensely aware of what he wishes to speak to her about from mere context clues alone), the Gem serves him a solid nod of acceptance and spins on her heels, striding down the hall with a level of confidence he envies. The bridge’s door slides shut after her, leaving him and his glowing, pink hued guest entirely alone.

Alone, and incredibly, incredibly vulnerable, like a live wire flailing about atop a damaged Earth power line.

(The last thing anyone on this ship needs is him having one of his infamous explosive episodes here and compromising the bridge’s airlock system. Which is why his quarters— below deck and fully enclosed— is a far more ideal locale for them right now.)

“O-okay, Steven,” he says, holding out his arm in aid as the teen struggles to clamber back to his feet. “Let’s go somewhere private to cool down, yeah?”

~~

A few minutes later, Lars has Steven situated on the one plush sofa he keeps in his quarters. Since he no longer possess any biological need for sleep and thus doesn’t keep a bed, his room on the ship is pretty sparse— just a desk for journaling or gaming and some shelves with a number of sentimental knick-knacks he brought with him from Earth— but he did find it important to keep a couch. Even if he doesn’t need to sleep, curling up for a quick hour of shut-eye still feels quite rejuvenating sometimes. Plus, it’s handy to have whenever he hosts visitors. Like now. 

Lars sits himself down right next to the distressed teen. He’s still flushed bright pink, but has regained a fair bit of emotional stability compared to how he was right after tumbling out of the magic space portal in his hair. It might take a while until the glow fades away entirely, but it’s progress, at least. 

He sighs, rapping his fingertips against his jeans as he gives his friend some time in silence to cool down. The last thing the guy needs right now is for him to wave half a dozen questions in his face. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Or, hell, maybe not at all. That’s okay, too. Maybe he just wanted a place to have a quick little freak-out away from his family or girlfriend. Who’s he to judge? Sometimes a man’s just gotta be alone for a while. 

Of course, he muses, if Steven really wanted to be alone, then he wouldn’t have crossed through Lion’s mane over to him, now would he? So this visit can’t only be due to a desire for solitude. Steven sought out him— specifically him— for a reason.

That churning, hollow pang at his core radiates even stronger, pulsing at the same interval as the dull tick of the clock he has hanging up on his wall, the one he keeps set to Earth EST as an everlasting reminder of his humble human roots and all the people who care about him back home.

Finally— some ten or so minutes later— the seventeen-year-old stops glowing, that unnatural, otherworldly pallor fading into obscurity. The kid (sorry, but Steven will always be a ‘kid’ to him at this point, don’t matter his age) deflates in exhaustion, cupping his face in his hands.

Now a little more confident that his expressions of concern won’t rile him up to destructive levels of stress, Lars makes a gentle inquiry as to what brought him here. 

“‘Course, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he tacks on quickly when he sees Steven’s expression widen with an almost grief-stricken apprehension, “but since I’m here an’ all, I figured…”

His guest sucks in a deep, shaky bout of air.

“N-no, I wanna talk,” he says, voice painfully hoarse. “I came here to talk, but I— it’s just so, so much, I-I’m—”

Lars’ eyes soften. “Dude, it’s okay. Take your time.”

And take his time he does. Another minute or so passes whilst Steven continues to reel himself in on the emotional side of things, breathing slow and heavy as he levels a dead-eyed stare at the blank section of wall flanking the doorway and his desk.

“Connie and I had a fight,” he begins eventually, his tone streaked with embarrassment. “Over the phone.”

Lars’ brow shoots up. Huh. All right. This is absolutely not the opener he expected.

“Really? You two fight? About what?”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore. It was nothing,” Steven mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists against the soft fabric of his pajama pants in a markedly uneven rhythm. “Just me being an idiot, as per usual. I’m sure we’ll make up over it tomorrow. But the problem is that we hung up mad. And when I’m mad about something, it just… makes me mad at myself. A-and then it’s like—” anxious, clawing hands migrate to his head, gripping at his hair— “w-when I’m mad at myself I just spiral? And it’s so, so scary how fast that can happen.”

Ever so slight, his lip presses into a tense frown as he listens. He doesn’t interject, not yet. Steven’s not finished with his disclosure— there’s more to this story, he can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with him, something is distinctly wrong.

And oh, does he hate being right.

“I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Steven admits.

The aching hollowness etched into the contours of his friend’s face intensifies, if that’s even possible.

Lars swallows.

“It?”

“—about killing myself,” he rasps, “and finally being done with all this.”

…

So, he’s not gonna lie.

While— much like himself— Steven’s never been the sort of person to prefer wearing his most turbulent emotions on his sleeve, he’s long suspected something like this was going on with him.

He suspected (because he’s been right there in those trenches himself), but he never said anything. 

He never mentioned these worries to any of his guardians.

And he never asked.

‘Cause like, how could he, right?? What a horrible, triggering inquiry that would be. ‘Hey Steven, hah, so random question— you don’t happen to casually fantasize about your own death or anything sometimes, do you?’ Fucking hell, what an asshole he’d make. What a disgusting, disgusting breech of boundaries. He always hated it when his parents violated his trust by butting into his own personal business unprompted, so how could he ever turn right around and do that to Steven? To one of his most cherished friends in the whole galaxy? To the guy who— despite years and years of putting up with all his toxic bullshit and daring to see the good in him anyways— literally brought him back to life?

Thus, with him never volunteering any information himself, all that was left for Lars to do was watch. 

To watch, and to listen where he can.

But still.

He’s not gonna lie.

Even if he always kinda suspected, even if so many of their interactions this past year only acted as fuel for all his constant, silent worries, hearing the kid actually say those words hurts like a bitch.

…

“Steven…” he utters with widened eyes, extending his hand.

To no avail, though.

“And that’s stupid, right??” the teen blurts out with a broad sweep of his arms, either ignoring or plain not noticing his offer of comfort as he rants onwards, his demeanor growing more and more unstable with each and every syllable. “That’s just… stupid! Normal people don’t think like that! Normal people don’t make mistakes and instantly leap to the worst possible punishment and spin that little thought around, and around, and around in your head until you’ve considered a thousand different scenarios that all end the same way.”

He pauses for breath, his chest heaving in and out— probably amidst the exertion of being so damn honest for once. Lars doesn’t even make a sound within this brief span of quiet. A part of him is a little terrified at what else might spill out of his friend’s mouth now that the cork of his anxieties has thoroughly been popped off, but he’s even more terrified at the thought of derailing him, of unintentionally stopping these truths from ever being spoken.

“And it’d be so easy, too,” Steven says, his once manic tone dropping a little lower, into something that’s worryingly more akin to numb acceptance. “I already know exactly how I’d do it! All I’d have to do is smash my gem so I don’t heal, and slit my wrists, and let myself just—” his voice cracks— “drift away, b-but—”

Lars’ brow hardens with a sudden rush of understanding as the trajectory of the teen’s sentence trails on off. “But something’s… holding you back?”

He nods, swallowing so hard that he can see the resultant lump move along the center line of his throat.

“The problem is,” he says, voice raw and vulnerable, “I’ve already seen how my family would respond to that. To… to me trying to kill myself. When I turned into that monster, I— I don’t actually remember much about it, but what I do remember is that the last thought I had before I changed was eerily similar to what I’m feeling now.”

Momentary lull. He’s rotating a thought in his head with the same intensity of a set of steam engine gears grinding against each other, that much is obvious.

“I think… for me,” he continues with marked hesitation, “corruption was a form of suicide. Which means—” he grinds his fingers into the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms as if seeking out an anchor, any anchor at all— “I already know what that would do to them. And I hate that I do, b-because… ‘cause I’m just so tired. Of all of this. I just want everything to stop. I want to stop.” 

Lars can’t help but wince as he listens to the developing theme of this admission, to how each and every new word his friend weaves into existence falls into such dissonant harmony with the gloomy, directionless version of himself he’s worked so hard to let rest in the past. Hell, he might as well be looking straight into some weird, warped mirror of his own teenage years. His lungs seize tight upon this revelation. Instinctively, he extends his hand towards the guy’s shoulder, sobered by the understanding that he’s possibly the sole person in this entire quadrant who’s capable of conveying even an ounce of sympathy or comfort for what he’s battling through right now.

“Hey, man. It’s okay. It’s over, now, you’re here with me. Those are just thoughts, y’know?”

Steven shakes his head, the motion swift and drenched with the dread of all his unaddressed self-loathing.

“But they’re not, though…”

“Wait, what are you even—?”

“Because… this time I almost carried through with it.”

His expression crumples upon the advent of this spoken revelation.

Fuck, he thinks, wishing with every last brittle nerve in his body that this conversation didn’t just swerve in the exact godawful direction he always feared it might. What the actual fuck.

He is so not equipped for this. 

With literally nothing else in his arsenal but the drive to bite his lip and listen, Lars motions for him to continue.

Sniffling, the teen backs his story up to provide what little context he feels comfortable with sharing. 

“After Connie and I’s fight… well, my dreams were really, really bad. So I woke up. Alone. And I started spiraling real bad again, an’… and then before I could even process what was happening, I—”

Sweet stars, is the poor guy trembling as he struggles to push this admission out. With a brief waver of hesitation (‘cause in normal circumstances, he’s not huge on all this touchy-feely stuff), he reaches over, angling to rest one of his hands over Steven’s.

“I had the knife in my hand,” he says. “And a pestle from the kitchen, to smash my gem. B-but I just… I just couldn’t do it! I’m just a coward, Lars! A stupid fucking coward who can’t even—”

He doesn’t utter a single syllable. 

He doesn’t even think. (How could he, in such fraught circumstances?) 

Limbs trembling in an outright terrifying cascade of adrenaline he hasn’t experienced since the day he finally found something worth existing for, Lars surges forward to wrap him into what’s gotta be the tightest, most sincere hug he’s given in his whole twenty-one years of life.

And thankfully, such an impulsive interjection is all it takes.

The walls his friend’s erected around himself this past season topples like wayward dominos. They smash against the ground, crumbling into vulnerable, vulnerable fragments. 

Steven sobs into his shoulder with a raw, shattered fervency that stretches leagues beyond any outpour of emotion he’s ever witnessed from another living person. It’s messy. It’s visceral. And in the precise context of this intensely specific turn of events, it’s a damn cathartic relief… because when it comes to training your brain out of a deep-rooted death wish, feeling anything— literally anything at all— is step number fucking one.

“I wanted to die so badly,” the teen warbles, his ugly mixture of snot and tears staining his shirt all the while. “B-but… I’m just such a worthless, pathetic failure that I can’t even do that right!”

He can’t help but cringe at this admission, but resolves to remain silent, not wanting a gentle pushback to such brutal self-loathing to spook Steven away from showing any shred of vulnerability whatsoever. He’s been there plenty of times himself. After all, when a person who’s caught in such a void of hopelessness and despair makes a last ditch appeal for help, they’re usually not looking to be told ‘everything will get better in time, you’ll see’ or ‘don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re not a worthless failure at all,’ or whatever other empty attempt at reassurance someone who doesn’t have such intimate experience with depression and suicidal ideation as he does might come up with. In many cases, such people are simply vying for their bleakest, most private feelings to actually be heard for once in their lives. 

The moment’s sanctity unhindered, the boy continues to cry against his shoulder for a good long stretch of time. Lars barely even breathes as he sits perched at the very edge of that couch, consigned to nothing but a statue as he holds him within what’s gotta be a record for the galaxy’s most awkward and stiff embrace ever shared.

A miniature eternity passes within this space before those sobs finally begin to lighten up.

“‘M sorry,” Steven mumbles through a face full of snot, pulling away from his offered comfort as a flicker of shame wrests control of his features. 

Lars shakes his head in a vehement refusal of the habitual guilt spiral he’s sure the guy’s a split second from slipping right into. “Dude, don’t be. Stars, I— I’m just glad you came over to me, okay?”

Then, swallowing… and doing his upmost best to consider the most respectful way to broach such a sensitive topic, he continues:

“I… I don’t mean to pry, but… are you… taking anything for this?”

Steven’s glassy expression scrunches into a configuration that screams nothing but blank confusion. “What?”

“Like… medication, or—?”

A bright understanding dawns within his gaze like the glow from a passing star system, before immediately collapsing inwards into a bitter, shadowed singularity. 

“No… no,” he protests, gesticulating all the while, “I keep telling everyone— my therapist, my dad, the Gems— I don’t wanna take any medicine! I’m not sick, I’m not, I don’t need drugs in my brain, I just— I just need to stop acting like this, just need to do better, to be better, I-I need—”

“Steven, no offense, but it’s called mental illness for a reason,” Lars says in the most deadpan tone he can muster, crossing his arms as he leans back upon the plush of the couch cushion. “Your brain is ill. That’s literally what this is. If you had the flu, you’d be taking flu medicine to help yourself get over it, right?”

“I’ve never had the flu,” he says in miserable contradiction.

“Yeah, well— come on, man, just work with me here,” he half-snaps, throwing a hand up for emphasis. “You agree that someone who is ill deserves medicine to feel better, right?”

The teen merely shrugs, his features growing cold and sullen. And good golly does he super want to smack all this noncommittal, self-sabotaging bullshit out of his stupid fucking system right this instant— because it reminds him so damn much of himself, and he hates that it does— but… aughhh. He’s gotta be more mature than that, doesn’t he?

As the older of the pair, he’s gotta be the role model here. 

“Then, don’t you think you might benefit from the same thing?” he presses.

Steven responds in the negative, swiveling his head from side to side. “I don’t know how it’d interact with… well—” 

He flashes a sharp gesture towards himself. More specifically, towards his very center, where his gem sits. Lars has no need to live inside his thoughts to pick up on the tricky little issue he’s hinting at here… he’s worried about how human medications would interact with the complexities of part-Gem physiology. And to be fair, it’s a reasonable concern to have.

But then again…

“That’s how it is with humans, too,” he shrugs. “It takes some people a lot of trial and error to find a drug and dosage that works for them. For once, you wouldn’t be any more an unusual case than anyone else. Do what you want, but—” deep inhale— “if it were me, I’d really consider talking with a psychiatrist about this.”

The teen issues a dull huff through his nose. It’s the sort of response that makes it clear he reluctantly agrees with Lars’ logic, but should he actually follow his advice— and stars, he hopes he does— won’t be doing so with a willing heart. That’s fine, though. Sometimes, being the most supportive friend one can be means that the other party won’t always like what you have to say. He knows this from intense personal experience… from being the person on the other side of this kind of conflict. Sadie was never afraid of serving him the tough love and cutting perspective he needed when he opened up to her about his own experience with suicidal ideation, and he’s forever grateful for that. Thus, the least he can do now is try to be that kind of advocate for Steven, too.

Which brings him to the next vital topic rattling within his brain.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Lars says, folding his hands in his lap and looking him directly in the eye. “This is important, so please be honest with me. Have you told anyone else you’ve been struggling with these kinds of thoughts?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, his own gaze slipping aside amidst the turbulent throes of his clear shame. “I just… I wanted to deal with this myself. I don’t want them to be disappointed. They all think I’m doing so well these days, but then—”

“Steven.”

There’s no acknowledgement of his call, at first. He’s just too damn tangled within his own thoughts— expression glazed over and restless fingertips drumming in an endless thrall against his thigh.

“Steven, come on. Look at me,” he implores, interrupting his manic fidgeting with the reassuring solidity of a hand over his. “Please. Promise me, when you go back through my head, you’ll call someone else— anyone else— and tell them. Tell them, and then have them contact me. I want to hear you promise.”

“Lars…”

“Promise me,” he repeats with an even stronger fervency, his normally sluggish heartbeat surging halfway to its old full-strength status quo. “Listen, I don’t want to invade your privacy any more than you want me to, but if you don’t do this by the end of tomorrow… if that very clock—” he jabs a finger towards the so-mentioned object hanging upon his wall— “hits midnight and I don’t hear anything from your family… then I’m calling your father and telling him myself.”

Steven’s expression twists with a sharp jolt of dismay, his mouth falling ajar. Lars cuts off any pending protests with a swift flash of his hand and continues undeterred.

“I’m not joking. I’m like, a billion light years in space, man. You need someone closer to home in your corner, too.”

Unable to ignore the hard hitting truth of this statement, his friend finally acquiesces to his request, his shoulders slumping inwards.   

“Fine,” he mumbles, folding his arms to his chest. “I promise I’ll tell Dad.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in sheer spine tingling relief. And by golly, does he uber mean it. 

Because holy shit, have the past fifteen or so minutes of conversation been an absolute stress-soaked ordeal. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so emotionally exhausted in his whole ass existence.

“In the morning, though,” Steven adds. “I—” the kid heaves a long, exhausted sigh— “I really don’t think either of us are prepared for that kind of conversation this late.”

“Absolutely fair enough.”

His friend sniffles a little, gaze averting once more. “Can I— can I stay here, for tonight? I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” he nods. In his mind, Steven’s request was never a matter up for debate. “Always. I’ll… I’ll go get some blankets.”

Hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, Lars pushes himself off the couch and slowly shuffles his way to the door. (The storage closet he keeps all his extra personal elements in is a short distance down the hall, past Rhody and Padparadscha’s shared room.) He keeps his expression as blank as he can muster… at least until he’s moved well out of both visual and auditory range. And then… once he’s absolutely positive that Steven can’t overhear… all that built-up worry and emotional strain simply overflows.

He’s not outright crying— not in the way that others might— but damn if he’s not real close to it.

Lars’ whole body shudders with a burst of delayed grief as he braces himself upon the closet door. He clamps a hand over his mouth, stifling the impact of the shaky exhale that spills from his lips otherwise unhindered. Just… fuck. What the fuck. All of this feels like a horrible nightmare. When the hell did things get so bad for him? Who let things get this bad? Is he at fault—? Like, geeze— he always knew something felt awry with the kid (and that’s half the issue, isn’t it? He’s not just a sweet little kid with simple lil’ problems anymore, and in many ways he never was), but should he have said something? Confronted him about it? Told his guardians about his concerns, privacy be damned? 

He grits his teeth as he muddles over all the infinite complexities of this problem.

Ugh.

What if, what if, what if.

It’s all useless conjecture.

The bottom line is, Steven doesn’t deserve any of this. Not then, not now, not ever. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of these horrid, horrid thoughts. Stars, if anything had happened to him— if he actually did follow through with his plan, then—

Lars drops his head against the door panel, doing everything within his power to will the thought to evaporate from his mind.

No.

No…

He doesn’t even want to consider that possibility. Steven’s like a brother to him at this point. It’s not gonna happen. Not now, not ever. Not on his watch.

He’s not sure how yet, but he’ll make damn sure of it.

…

Once he’s cooled himself down, Lars returns to his quarters with a couple of blankets in hand.

Upon passing through the doorframe, he’s met with a somewhat reassuring sight: Steven already sound asleep on his ratty old couch, curled up against the armrest and snoring softly. Heh. He sure doesn’t blame him for tuckering out so soon. Poor guy must’ve been exhausted after such a rigorous emotional outpouring. Moving with calm intent so as not to disturb him, he quickly lays the blankets across his slumbering form before retreating to the far wall to keep watch for the night. He stretches back against the metallic panel, inhaling as deep as he can muster to erase the quavering tension staining his countenance.

Standing vigil over a soul in need… just in case.