#Earth First! UK

[dailyanarchistposts]

“Environmental restoration may be the art form of the twenty-first century” — from Helping Nature Heal (Ten Speed Press, 1991)

Environmental restoration is the other side of the coin to much of the activity that Earth First! has so far been engaged in — that is, grappling with the toxic forces of ‘law’ and ‘order’ in a very overt way. Such activity is the defensive work, a holding operation, crucial in many ways and important for bringing people together as a group, cementing the bonds between them in shared, often harrowing experience. However it is important not to get hung up on the adrenaline and peculiar glamour of such frontline situations.

Environmental restoration is proactive — whereby we set our own agenda — as opposed to campaigns, which usually involve little more than reacting to the latest state or business atrocity. Restoration therefore helps to signal our ultimate indifference to politicians and the fleeting games that they play. Restoration is less dramatic and more humble than the preservation battles, but it does establish a vital new paradigm: humanity as creator and healer — one who adds value or — makes reparations to nature — rather than one who is unable to do anything but destroy and despoil.

There is no immediate gratification, no overnight old growth forest or pristine wilderness — rather a slow, cumulative process of getting to grips with what surrounds you, and establishing an intimacy and a rapport with a given area of land. There are strong personal and spiritual repercussions: the realisation that you have set in motion a process that will extend far beyond your lifetime leads you into a deeper comprehension of nature, and the scale on which she works. Some of you goes with the tree branches as they steadily rear up towards the sky.

Earth repair work is becoming increasingly widespread in the US, India and elsewhere, but is still relatively uncommon in Britain. We featured Alan Watson’s visionary Trees for Life project in Do or Die #2 (Write to the editorial address for a copy of that article), and a similar project, albeit on a much more modest scale, is that run by the group Tree Spirit on their newly acquired 24 acre plot at Maes y Mynach, near Shrewsbury.

Tree Spirit exist to promote an appreciation of trees and the spiritual, social and ecological roles that they fulfil. To this end, they publish a newsletter, hold regular ‘tree moot’ gatherings, and campaign for the preservation of woodland areas. On a more practical level they also operate their own tree nursery, with stock largely drawn from commercial nursery surplus. (A word of advice to EF!ers interested in tree rearing with a view to clandestine or authorised planting: due to the exigencies of the deranged market system that we live under, many nurseries are forced to destroy thousands of perfectly good trees every year — generally from March through to June. This is for no other reason than to make way for the new stock (and to protect prices, of course). It is therefore worth approaching your local nursery at this time of year — you can take the trees off their hands, leave them with a clear conscience, and acquire the raw materials for reforestation at little or no cost.)

Another lesson to be learnt from Tree Spirit’s purchase of Maes y Mynach concerns funding. The purchase was partly financed by the Forestry Commission’s Woodland Grant Scheme, which is well worth looking into for anyone contemplating such a project. Although the buying and selling of land is obviously a complete absurdity, it is true to say that if you buy land where it is cheapest — i.e. Wales or Scotland (Particularly Scotland where there is currently a glut on the market as the big estates are further dismembered) — and then reforest it under the Woodland Grant Scheme, you actually stand to make a profit (Over, say, about 10 years), which can then be reinvested in additional acquisitions — this is Tree Spirit’s intention. And before you know it, your mighty empire of reforestation has expanded, and the wildwood has returned... NOT! (Ecological capitalism, any one?) Copies of the Woodland Grant Scheme are available from ‘The Wilderness’, South Downs EF!, or you local Forestry Commission office. Bear in mind the fact that, as the WGS is an attempt by the Forestry Commission to restore an image tarnished by decades of desecrating the landscape with conifers, the grants for broadleaved tree planting are very generous. Even more incredibly the grants for ‘natural regeneration’ are the most generous of all. For non-interventionist EF! types, this has to be worthy of serious attention. (A word of warning however. The Forestry Commission has reportedly begun to revert back to type — plans are afoot to increase funding for large scale conifer plantations, and to reduce it for broadleaved planting, particularly if it is small scale. If true, I guess it just goes to show that you can’t keep a bad institution down.)

Maes y Mynach is itself a former Forestry Commission plantation, and part of Tree Spirit’s vision for the land involves rectifying the environmental damage that such a plantation entails. Their aim is twofold: firstly, to create a mixed woodland for ecological reasons — to which end, a very wide range of trees are being planted: oak, ash, birch, rowan, willow, lime, chestnut, hazel, hawthorn, wild cherry, bird cherry, aspen, field maple, sycamore, yew and larch. Ultimately they intend to encircle the entire plot with a good mixed hedge, which will in itself be extremely valuable to wildlife.

Secondly there is the human element — acknowledging that we do have a place in nature, and that we are not intrinsically hostile to the natural world, as some strands in deep ecology seem to suggest. Tree Spirit hope that Maes y Mynach will be “a place where people can come to do practical conservation work, enjoy nature, relax and generally find a little bit of peace and quiet... it will be a place where people can stay for a few days without being told to move on or “get orf my land”. However they emphasize that “it will not become a permanent encampment for all and sundry. For those who have something constructive to offer or who need a little time away from the madness of modern society, Maes y Mynach will be accessible.”

To achieve these aims a tremendous amount of work is in order. Most of the tree planting has been done, but some still remains — particularly the hedgerows. Planting season is October through to April. Many paths need clearing as there is still a great deal of felled wood strewn about from the forestry operations. Tree Spirit want to create a pond, which will serve as both a wildlife feature and as drainage for the main track. Maes y Mynach also has a spring, which is currently being made into a source of clean water. The most ambitious plan is to construct a roundhouse, for which planning permission has already been obtained. It will be 32 feet in diameter, 13 feet high at the central point and crowned with a turf roof. It is envisaged that the roundhouse will act as a workshop, storage space, communal gathering/celebratory venue, and as a sleeping area. (Perhaps a future EF! gathering could be held there.)

Anyone who is interested in helping out with this inspiring project should contact Tree Spirit at:

Hawkbatch Farm, Arley, Nr. Bewdley, Worcs. DY12 3AH (Phone: 0299 400586) OR: Shelley and Jeff Griffiths, 95 Anstey Rd., Perry Barr, Birmingham B44 8AN (Phone: 021 356 2206)

As Tree Spirit say, in a phrase that could serve as a motto for all our efforts: “Cooperation for mutual benefit and input of constructive energies will go a long way.”

[inkperch]

Okay, important thing I've not really seen people mentioning in relation to the riots:

If you see the Neo Nazi bullshit stickers, DO NOT REMOVE THEM. If they're in a shop property, mention them to the cashier, but don't try to remove them.

Fuckers are hiding razor blades underneath their stickers so you take your finger off if you try to take them down. Like, if you rate those odds, go for it, but at least be aware they're there.

[saint-sebastian-coded]

"philomena cunk can't make observations about america declaring itself home of the free while having slaves because she's british" as if a fictional individual living now is responsible for what their country did a good while ago

[have-you-been-here]

I slightly edited the submission guide - please include ONLY a photo of the place and the name/location of the place in your submission! Also, I prefer for submissions to have image first, then text in big letters, but it's fine if you don't do that.

Examples: 1 2 3

Note: After community votes, we have decided to use Aotearoa and not New Zealand, Czech Republic instead of Czechia, & we include a "the" in The Netherlands. It would be appreciated if you stuck to those names in your submissions :)

Desktop users, please make sure you click into the original post before you check the FAQ!

Welcome to Have You Been Here, a blog that gages where tumblr has been!

If you'd like to submit a place, please read the entire FAQ under the cut BEFORE you send it in!

FAQ

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A: Anywhere! Places can be as specific or as vague as you'd like: both The Milky Way and 123 Main Street, Frankfort, Kentucky, USA are both perfectly fine!

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Do not include anything else!

The preferred format is image first, then text in big letters.

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Q: It's been a while, but my place still hasn't been posted! Did you delete it?

A: Probably not! The queue posts six times a day, and there are a LOT of posts in the queue and in my inbox! I don't add posts in the order that they were submitted, so it's likely that your place hasn't been queued yet. The only reason I delete asks is if the place has already been posted or added to the queue!

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A: Awesome! I'm all for it; send me a dm from your gimmick blog and I'll tag you at the end of this post :)

Happy travels!

[wherethefireliliesgrow]

Make You Remember

Yoo Jimin (Karina) x Reader

GENRE: angst, fluff

TYPE: One Shot

Inspired by: Make You Remember - Lazy Weekends

A/N: i’ve been in a writing slump this year, but every now and then, i’d come here to read. recently, a few pieces caught my attention and reignited my urge to write. so, here we are! while revisiting my 2018 spotify playlists for a dose of nostalgia, i stumbled upon one of my favorite songs from back then—it felt like the perfect way to ease back into writing. (a little shoutout to 2cool-2die, her stories were what got me back into writing). anyway, hope you all enjoy the story!

“Stop staring at her like a creep,” Minjeong whispered, her large eyes narrowing in a protective glare.

Jimin couldn’t help herself. She had been watching you for the past hour—watching the way you threw your head back in laughter at something your friends said or carefully picked the tomatoes off your sandwich to hand them off to someone else. Her fists clenched at the sight.

You used to pluck off tomatoes and feed them to her, letting her play your knight in shining armor against your sworn enemy: tomatoes. It should’ve been her.

Oh, how she missed that smile you used to reserve just for her.

“Dude, I’m serious,” Minjeong hissed again, this time throwing a balled-up tissue at Jimin’s face. “This is getting out of hand.”

Jimin grunted in annoyance, lazily stretching her long arms overhead before sprawling out on the metal bench. Her head landed on Aeri’s lap as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“I can’t help it. I miss her,” she admitted quietly, closing her eyes as Aeri absentmindedly began combing through her soft raven-black hair with her fingers.

“Well, you should’ve done better,” NingNing said flatly, taking a deep drag from her Juul. “She really loved you, you know.”

The girls expected Jimin to snap back, as she always did. Instead, they watched her deflate entirely, burrowing her face into Aeri’s stomach for solace.

“I know.”

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Jimin had always been sure of herself. She was proud of her decisions, every one of them. After all, she had transferred from one of the top universities in the UK to pursue her passion for dance in Korea—a choice that went against her parents’ wishes. They had warned her about the instability of a dance career, but she’d proved them wrong.

She had met Minjeong, Aeri, and NingNing shortly after her return, and together, they formed a dance group. Now in her third year of university, Jimin was part of AESPA, a group that had skyrocketed to fame after winning first place in a national competition.

With a growing fanbase, a promising future, and an upcoming performance in front of the president at the annual ceremony, Jimin had every reason to be proud of her choices.

Every reason—except for letting you go.

She had met you during her first year back in Korea. You were the university’s student ambassador, tasked with introducing new students to campus life. Since she was the only mid-semester transfer at the time, Jimin had the luck of spending the entire day with you, just the two of you.

You captivated her immediately. Your soft, angelic voice, dry sense of humor, and those big brown eyes that lit up with excitement over the smallest things…like the library. Jimin had thought you were the lamest, cutest little thing she’d ever met. And from that moment, she was hooked.

Jimin made it her mission to sweep you off your feet. Surprised but not surprised, you had plenty of admirers. You were popular, down-to-earth, and undeniably beautiful, the kind of person who effortlessly drew others in. That only made Jimin's task harder, pushing her to work tirelessly to win your heart.

To everyone else, you were the classy student ambassador, smart, athletic, and poised. But Jimin knew the truth: beneath all that polish, you were a total nerd. 

So, she went out of her way to prove how much she cared. She’d pick you up from class with your favorite snacks, even when her schedule was packed.

She once secretly drove across state lines to attend an anime expo, just to get you those rare Pokémon cards you’d been obsessing over…though she swore she lost at least a million cool points doing it. But every second was worth it when she saw your face light up. Jimin even sat through every Avengers movie, biting back sarcastic remarks just to see you smile. 

Before long, you were hers and she was yours. You found yourself snuggled into her arms during late-night movie marathons, or cheering from backstage as she started entering dance competitions.

You were her there to support when she doubted herself after losing a dance battle, always ready with a hug and soft kisses. You were AESPA's unofficial fifth member, helping them set up for street performances and cheering louder than anyone else when they won.

And when AESPA skyrocketed to fame, you stood faithfully by her side, despite the growing distance you felt creeping in. 

But fame did something to Jimin. Slowly, the girl who once drove hours for Pokémon cards began to lose sight of the things that mattered. You were the first to notice the changes. Jimin started craving the spotlight more than anything else, and you quietly faded into the shadows.

You stopped bringing up your hobbies after a fan on her livestream mocked you for being childish. You stopped asking her for late-night drives when her excuses became more frequent. And you stopped waiting for her to notice how tired you looked, how empty you felt. 

She didn’t notice when you began packing up your prized Pokémon collection, throwing it all away as if erasing a piece of yourself. She didn’t notice when you started leaving events early, hiding the hurt behind a polite smile. Jimin was so caught up in her world of adoration, flashing lights, and applause that she failed to see you slipping through her fingers. 

She didn’t notice until it was far too late. By the time she turned around, desperate to hold onto what was left, you were already gone. She had lost you. And in losing you, she lost the part of herself that had once felt complete.

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“C’mon, Jimin. Get out of your head.” Jimin slapped her forehead in frustration as she stumbled through the routine once again.

The sound of sneakers squeaking on the polished floor was followed by a collective groan from the rest of the girls, who collapsed onto the studio floor in exhaustion. AESPA was under pressure. They were supposed to perfect a dance routine for a massive ad collaboration, a career-defining moment. But with finals looming and the team juggling school and practice, their patience was wearing thin. 

“I’m really sorry, guys,” Jimin said quietly, glancing at her exhausted teammates sprawled on the floor.

Aeri’s pink hair stuck to her damp face, and Minjeong lay flat on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling like she’d lost her will to live. 

“It’s been three months, Jimin.” NingNing sighed, rubbing her temples. “When are you going to get over her? This isn’t like you.” 

“I’m trying,” Jimin muttered, her gaze locked on her scuffed sneakers, her throat tight with unshed tears. “But at the same time…I don’t want to.” 

“Well, what do you want, then?” Aeri asked, sitting up with a tired glare.

She was drained. She was tired of practice, of exams, and most of all, of watching her leader spiral into a deep abyss of self-hatred and regret in front of her. 

Jimin hesitated, her dark brows knitting together as if weighing the weight of her answer.

“I want her back,” she finally admitted. “I want Y/N back.” 

“Absolutely not,” Minjeong snapped, suddenly sitting up and joining the conversation. Her arms crossed, and her expression was livid. “You broke her, Jimin. You fucking broke her heart.” 

Jimin lowered her head, guilt weighing heavy on her shoulders, but her she had already made this decision days ago. After finding one of your old LEGO pieces buried under her bed, a reminder of simpler, happier times, she had cradled it in her hands and cried like a baby.

That night, she spiraled into a social media stalking session, scrolling through your photos, searching for any trace of the love she had destroyed. That was when she decided she’d do whatever it took to make things right. 

“I’ll treat her right this time,” Jimin whispered, her voice trembling.

“I’ll do anything to make her happy.” 

Minjeong stood abruptly, storming over to Jimin, her smaller frame radiating fiery anger. Despite the height difference, Jimin instinctively cowered under Minjeong’s glare. 

“Do you know how many times she came to me crying in the middle of the night because you couldn’t even show up for a date? How insecure you made her feel? How your stupid fangirls tore her apart?” Minjeong jabbed a finger into Jimin’s chest with every accusation.

“She’s my best friend, Jimin. I won’t let you hurt her again. She gave you everything. She gave you so many chances, and you let her down every single time.” 

The room crackled with tension as Jimin’s lips parted to respond, but no words came out. Sensing a fight about to break out, NingNing and Aeri hurriedly stepped between the two girls. 

“Hey, now’s not the time to fight,” NingNing said gently, wrapping her arms around Minjeong’s shoulders to pull her back. “We all care about Y/N, okay? Let’s take a second.” 

“Please,” Jimin pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. Tears rimmed her eyes, but there was an earnestness in her tone that softened her hardened edges.

“Just give me a chance. I swear I’ll never hurt her again.” 

“No. No fucking way,” Minjeong snapped, her voice firm. 

“How about we let Y/N decide herself?” Aeri suggested cautiously, flinching slightly under Minjeong’s searing glare.

“Jimin can talk to her. If she says no…then that’s it. Jimin walks away and never bothers her again.” 

The blonde hesitated. She knew how deeply you had loved Jimin and how much it had cost you when things fell apart. Letting Jimin reach out could undo all the progress you’d made. But at the same time…if she stopped this, would you resent her for it? 

With a heavy sigh, Minjeong finally relented. “Fine. Just one sentence. If she reacts badly to whatever you say, you stay the hell away from her. For good.” 

Jimin’s lips curved into a genuine smile for the first time in months, a smile full of hope, the kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

“One sentence is more than enough to make her remember.”

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They say the easiest way to someone's heart is through their stomach, so Jimin threw herself into her first mission with relentless determination. The five-hour drive to Busan and back didn’t faze her—this was for you. She needed to remind you of the small things, the little joys you used to share.

The memory of your trips together flooded her mind: your hand in hers, your voice belting off tune to whichever K-pop song was stuck in your head, and your infectious laughter filling the car. She prayed to the gods to hear that laugh again. 

By the time she returned to Seoul, the darkness of the night had already cloaked the streets. Armed with the pink box of macarons from your hometown bakery, Jimin’s heart raced with anticipation and dread. Aeri had passed along a tip (reluctantly overheard from Minjeong, who would never willingly disclose your whereabouts to Jimin) that you were working a shift at the local bistro. 

When Jimin walked into the cozy bistro, the soft chime of the bell drew attention from other patrons. Murmurs rippled through the room as people recognized her, AESPA’s leader, a rising star. But Jimin’s focus was on you. Only you. 

You stood behind the counter, your hair tied up in a messy bun, concentrated on preparing a tray of drinks. You weren’t as put-together as you are in school, with your crisp white shirt bearing faint creases, but to Jimin, you were as breathtaking as ever. 

She made her way to the counter, sitting directly in front of you. She waited, patient and quiet, as you prepared another Long Island, your tongue sticking out in concentration. 

“Hi, sorry for the wait. What can I—” You froze mid-sentence as your eyes met hers.

Recognition flickered across your face, followed by a flash of pain. Your expression changed into something cold, guarded. 

“No.” Your tone was flat, final. “Please leave.” 

Jimin didn’t flinch. Her gaze softened, a melancholic smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t respond, she couldn’t. Not yet, she only had one chance. All she knew was that seeing you here within an arms length, was enough to momentarily soothe the ache in her chest. 

As much as you tried to suppress it, your heart betrayed you, fluttering at the sight of her. Jimin looked effortlessly stunning, her leather jacket rolled up to reveal familiar tattoos snaking down her forearm. She was exactly how you remembered and yet entirely different. 

She stared at you for another moment, her silence unnerving. Her eyes brimmed with emotions you couldn’t understand. Finally, Jimin rose to her feet, placed the pink box on the counter, and lightly squeezed your arm before turning to leave. 

You stared at the box, stunned, your mind reeling. It was from your favorite bakery in Busan, the one she had driven hours to visit countless times when you were together. Your chest tightened as you realized the lengths she must’ve gone to for this gesture. 

But you couldn’t let yourself fall for her again. Not this time. 

“I’ll be right back!” you yelled to your coworker, grabbing the box as you stormed out of the bistro.

The cold November air bit at your skin as you scanned the street for her. 

You found her leaning against a lamppost, a cigarette dangling from her lips. The sight stopped you in your tracks. When had she started smoking again? Fury flared in your chest. You strode toward her, plucking the cigarette from her fingers and tossing it to the ground. 

“What the hell, Jimin?” you snapped, glaring at her. “I thought you quit.” 

She continued to stay silent, her dark eyes fixed on you as if trying to engrave your face in her memories.

Your anger wavered. You shouldn’t care. You couldn’t care. Not after everything. Shoving the pink box back into her hands, you hissed, “Don’t ever come to this bistro again.” 

The words tasted bitter, and regret coiled in your stomach the moment they left your lips. But you couldn’t take them back. Not now. 

Jimin nodded wordlessly, her lips curling into a soft, bittersweet smile—one that inexplicably cut deeper than any argument could. With that, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the cold night. 

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It seemed after that night, Jimin had made it her mission to claw her way back into your life, whether you wanted her to or not. She didn’t speak, didn’t push, but her presence was always there, an unspoken reminder of everything you’d once shared.

You could feel her eyes on you during lunch, lingering from across the cafeteria as if she thought she could will you to look back. Even on your way to work, you swore you’d catch her silhouette in the distance, leaning against a lamppost or sitting on a nearby bench, always careful not to cross any boundaries but still there.

The weekends were no escape either. When AESPA was invited to perform at the school fair you unfortunately was in charge of organizing, it felt like fate, or perhaps Jimin, was mocking you. She stood front and center, capturing attention with her effortless charm, but every so often her eyes would search for yours in the crowd, a desperate glance that left you feeling raw and exposed.

What annoyed you most, though, was her silence. She never spoke to you, never tried to bridge the impossible gap between you. And yet, as much as it infuriated you, you hated to admit how much you missed her voice.

The way it would rasp slightly in the mornings when she whispered sweet nothings into your ear, or the confident drawl she carried when talking to others.

This Jimin, silent and unsure, almost timid, felt like a stranger. It was disarming, and you weren’t sure if you hated her for it or if it broke your heart just a little more.

As much as you tried to build walls around yourself, Jimin had a way of chipping at them, bit by bit, with gestures that felt achingly familiar.

One evening when you finally left the library, you found a gift on the hood of your car, neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, was a book you had mentioned loving once, years ago before you got together with her, a rare edition of poetry that you never got the chance to buy.

Tucked inside was a small card with her unmistakable handwriting:

For when you need an escape.– J

Your heart twisted painfully, remembering how she used to surprise you with little things like this, whether it was a book, a drink she knew you loved, or a random trinket that reminded her of you.

Another day, on your way home from a long shift, you found her waiting by the campus fountain. She didn’t approach, didn’t say anything, just held out a single stem of a sunflower, your favorite flower, the kind she used to bring to your dorm every time you aced an exam.

You wanted to yell at her, to demand why she was doing this now, but instead, you took the flower silently, clutching it tightly all the way home.

The memories came rushing back. The way she used to sit with you for hours in the library, pretending to study but really just stealing glances at you over the top of her books. How she’d wake up early to walk you to class, even if it meant cutting her own sleep short. The nights she stayed up late with you on the phone, talking about nothing and everything until you both fell asleep to the sound of each other's breathing.

Jimin knew exactly how to unravel you, and she was relentless in her quiet persistence.

Another day, after a particularly stressful day, you find yourself staring at a box left outside your apartment. Inside was a Slowpoke doll (you used to call her your SlowPoke because she was always running late and had a knack for falling asleep in random places) and a note: 

I know how these made you feel like you weren’t good enough, but these are the things I love about you. All your interests, your little habits…don’t stop.

You shoved the box under your bed in a haze of shame and anger. You’d given up your obsession with Pokémon long ago, sacrificing that part of yourself just to appease her fans and their cruel remarks. But as the days stretched on, your resolve wavered. You caught yourself glancing at the box more often than you cared to admit, the memories flooding into your mind. 

Eventually, you couldn’t help yourself. With a reluctant sigh, you pulled the Slowpoke doll from the box and placed it on your bed. That night, you held it close as you drifted off to sleep, comforted by a piece of the past you thought you’d lost. 

Each gesture tugged at the guarded heart. You hated her for how easily she slipped back into your life, even as you found yourself clutching the flower she’d given you, rereading her notes late into the night, and biting your lip to suppress the warmth spreading in your chest.

You hated her, and yet, you couldn’t deny your feelings for her. You never could.

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You wrapped your scarf tightly around your neck, shielding yourself from the brisk evening wind as you waited for Minjeong outside the movie theater.

The newest Marvel movie had finally been released, and although you’d downplayed your excitement, your heart raced. Your lame obsession with Avengers had always been a sore spot, especially since Jimin’s fangirls used it to mock you mercilessly.

Over time, you tried to bury that part of yourself, to hide how much you still adored superheroes. It was easier than facing the ridicule—or the memories tied to it. 

When Minjeong, your best friend since elementary school, asked if you wanted to see the movie, you hesitated at first. But her easy acceptance of your quirks had always been earnest, so you agreed.

The sound of tires crunching gravel pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see a sleek black Mercedes pulling into the parking lot. Minjeong stepped out, her face drawn in a disgruntled scowl. She spotted you and quickly brightened, crossing the space in a few brisk strides before pulling you into a warm hug. 

“Hey, Y/N-nie. Have you been waiting long?” she asked, her voice light, though her body was stiff against yours. 

You shook your head, but something about her demeanor made you pause. Your gaze drifted back to the car, the sleek black exterior gleaming under the parking lot lights. A pit formed in your stomach as realization hit. 

“Was that… Jimin?” you asked cautiously. 

Minjeong froze. Her jaw tightened, her grip on your arms faltering slightly before she let out a resigned sigh. She avoided your eyes as she nodded.

“Yeah,” she admitted reluctantly. 

“She’s the one who asked me to bring you here,” Minjeong added after a pause. Her tone was careful, measured, as though she were treading on thin ice. “She even bought the tickets beforehand.” 

You blinked at her, stunned. 

“I didn’t want to do it,” Minjeong continued quickly, frustration in her voice. “I told her this was a bad idea, but…” She trailed off, biting her lip as her gaze dropped to the ground.

“She was persistent.” 

Your heart did a strange flip at that. You could almost picture Jimin sitting across from Minjeong, stubborn as ever, insisting that she take you to the movie. She must have known showing up herself would only push you away, so she found a way to make sure you’d still see it. It was so… Jimin. Thoughtful in a way that made your chest ache. 

“She’s been doing things like this for weeks,” Minjeong muttered, almost to herself. “Little things. She thinks they’ll fix everything.” Her round eyes flickered with an anger she didn’t bother to hide.

“I told her to leave you alone. I told her you didn’t need her messing things up again.” 

“She hasn’t been bothering me,” you said softly, reaching out to squeeze Minjeong’s hand in reassurance when her voice grew sharp.

“I promise, Jeongnie. She hasn’t done anything. Don’t worry.” 

Minjeong’s shoulders sagged slightly, but her lips pressed into a tight line. “Has she talked to you yet?” 

You shook your head. “No. Weirdly, she hasn’t said a word. Just… left some gifts every now and then.” 

At that, Minjeong’s eyes widened, and she groaned, slapping her forehead.

“I’m so stupid,” she muttered, half to herself. 

“What?” you asked, confused by her sudden exasperation. 

She shook her head quickly, waving the question away. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go inside. The movie’s about to start.” 

As she guided you toward the theater, her arm looped protectively through yours. Though Minjeong was close friends with the leader, it was clear she didn’t like Jimin trying to worm her way back into your life.

You could see it in the tightness of her jaw, the subtle furrow in her brow. She didn’t trust Jimin. Not her promises, not her intentions, and certainly not her ability to heal the wounds she’d caused. After all, it had been Minjeong who had patiently helped you piece yourself back together, bit by bit.

And yet, the fact that she’d brought you here today, using Jimin’s tickets, betrayed the tiny sliver of hope she held for her.

.

.

.

.

This was the fifth time that day Jimin walked past the bistro, casually peering through the windows with her hands stuffed in her leather jacket pockets before walking away.

You watched her each time, fidgeting, kicking the ground with her boots, looking like she wanted to step inside but was holding back. It was endearing, not that you’d admit it. But every time, she chose to walk away, opting to follow your words from before instead.

It had begun to snow, and you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying.

“Stupid oaf,” you muttered, before slipping outside to call out Jimin’s name.

She was already on her sixth round of circling the bistro, her slender figure blending into the gray snowfall.

“Yoo Jimin!” You called, your breath forming a cloud in the cold air.

The raven-haired girl stopped in her tracks, her shoulders stiffening before she slowly turned around to look at you. A nervous grin tugged at her lips, and your heart fluttered involuntarily.

“Just…just come in.” You sighed, avoiding her gaze.

Jimin’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling with glee like a little kid as she quickly made her way over.

You led her through the busy bistro, past the tables full of customers, to the counter, exactly where she had sat the first time she came. You couldn’t help but feel self-conscious at the way she was staring at you, her face resting in her palms, eyes wide and starry.

Sighing, you pushed the menu to her. “What do you want to order?”

Jimin merely looked at you, a silly smile gracing her lips. Your eyes flickered to it, momentarily lost in the soft curve of her mouth and her luscious lips, before quickly looking away.

“Fine.” You mumbled, quickly pouring her a cup of warm coffee.

Fortunately, you were distracted by the steady stream of orders. It was a Saturday night, after all, and that meant people were coming in for drinks. You were busy making drinks, serving them, but with Jimin there, it felt different, lighter, happier.

That was when Joon, a usual customer and a tall, blurry figure, stumbled over to the counter, clearly drunk. You tensed instantly. Joon was always handsy when he drank, more often than not, and you always tried to stay out of his way.

“Y/NNNNN,” he slurred, leaning way too close for comfort, his breath heavy on the counter.

Jimin’s eyes narrowed, and you saw the muscles in her jaw clench.

“I missed you,” Joon continued, leaning forward, his gaze lingering in a way that made your stomach churn.

“How about we go on a date? My place is just around the corner.”

“I’m not interested, Joon.” You pushed back, trying to create some space. “Please, leave me alone.”

Joon’s expression twisted into something more sinister, his hand suddenly reaching over the counter to grab your arm, his fingers digging into your skin. You winced at the pressure, red marks forming on your arm as he held you tight.

That’s when Jimin had had enough. She stood up, towering over him, her height equal to his, but with a quiet strength that commanded attention.

“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Her.” Her voice was cold, and before you could react, she pushed Joon off, sending him stumbling backward into the wall.

Joon recovered quickly and swung at Jimin, narrowly missing her face by a hair. You stepped forward, panic flooding your chest, quickly pulling Jimin away from him.

“Let it go, Jimin,” you urged, your voice shaky as you tugged her close to you. “Please, stop.”

Jimin hesitated, her eyes softening as she looked at you. She reached down and gently cradled the arm that Joon had grabbed, her cold fingers brushing over the tender skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

“I’m okay,” you said, trying to reassure her.

She looked like she was about to say something when a yell from your coworkers snapped your attention back to the scene. You turned just in time to see Joon charging forward, having managed to break free from the grip of your coworkers. His fist collided with Jimin’s temple with a sickening crunch, and she crumpled to the floor.

You screamed, panic rising as onlookers rushed to contain Joon. Jimin lay motionless, and you immediately knelt by her side, heart racing.

“Jimin?” You screamed, rushing to her side. The blood had already begun to trickle down her temple, and a bruise was swelling rapidly.

You knelt beside her, panic clawing at your chest. “Jimin? Baby? Please, wake up.”

You cupped her pale face in your trembling hands, her skin cool against your palms. She was so still, and it terrified you.

After a few moments of desperate attempts to rouse her, her eyelids finally fluttered open, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“Oh thank god,” you sighed out in relief, your chest tightening as her eyelids slowly fluttered open.

“Jimin? Can you hear me?”

Her cheeks were squished as your hands cupped her face. You might have found it cute if you weren’t so worried. Her dazed expression and the way her chubby cheeks puffed out only made your heart ache more.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked, a dopey smile still lingering on her lips.

You leaned back, running a hand through your hair in relief and exasperation.

“No, Jimin,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You just got punched. This is very real.”

Her grin faltered in realization. Her eyes widened in horror as she scrambled to sit up.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered, groaning in embarrassment, her hands shooting up to touch her tender forehead.

“Please forget I said anything. Please.”

She couldn’t believe that she wasted her only chance, her only sentence, just to ask her if you were real.

You reached out, gently stopping her from touching her injury. “Don’t touch. You’re bleeding.”

Your manager let you leave early after apologizing repeatedly to Jimin. After all, one of the biggest rising stars had just been injured in his bistro.

Jimin smiled good-naturedly and shrugged off his apologies, clearly not phased. She had refused to go to the hospital for a check-up, and unable to stop yourself, you found yourself driving her back to your apartment.

You promised yourself this was a one-time thing, that you were just being a caring, responsible friend. Anyone would’ve done the same for her, right?

As you led her into your room, she glanced around, the familiar space tugging at something in her heart. Her eyes landed on her sweatshirt that she had lost so long ago, still draped casually over the chair.

She noticed the absence of the photos on your vanity mirror, ones that once captured all the memories of the two of you. But, then, her gaze softened as it settled on the SlowPoke doll still sitting on your bed. Her heart skipped a beat. You had kept it.

You still cared, even if you seemed so distant, so far away.

Maybe, just maybe, you hadn't forgotten her love.

You paused in your tracks as you saw Jimin poking at the SlowPoke on your bed. You turned a brilliant shade of pink, flustered, before quickly ushering her to sit down so you could tend to her wound.

"Don't move," you muttered, your voice softer than you intended as you reached up gingerly to disinfect the cut on her temple.

She winced and hissed in pain but didn’t pull away, remaining still, her dark eyes never leaving your face. The closeness of your bodies was unnerving, her skin so warm under your touch, and that tight white shirt she wore, showing off her tattoos, only added to the flurry of thoughts rushing through your head.

Why did she have to be so damn beautiful?

Jimin, on the other hand, couldn’t take her eyes off you. The softness in your eyes and the gentleness of your touch, was making her heart race. She wasn’t sure if she'd ever have this chance again.

"Why are you doing this, Jimin?" you asked, your voice coming out a little more strained than you'd planned, your hands trembling as you applied a thin layer of medicine.

Jimin’s brows furrowed in confusion. "Doing what?"

"All this," you said, motioning between the two of you. "Not talking to me, but following me around... giving me gifts..."

Jimin paused, taking a deep breath, before saying, “I wanted to make you remember.”

“Remember what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you finished applying the medicine.

She let out a small breath, trying to steady herself. "Remember us."

She looked down at her hands, then back up at you, her voice growing quieter, more vulnerable. "And... make you remember my love for you."

You froze, your hands retreating from her face as your heart pounded in your chest. You searched her eyes, so open, so full of regret and hope.

And in that moment, you knew you still loved her too.

"Jimin..." You tried to form words, but your throat was tight, the emotions threatening to spill over. “I-“

Before you could finish, Jimin quickly knelt beside the bed, gently cradling your hand in hers and placing it in your lap.

“Please, give me another chance, Y/N,” she begged, the tears she had been holding back finally breaking free.

"These past few months without you have been... miserable. I know I hurt you. I know I lost myself, but I promise, I won’t let this happen again. I love everything about you, your softness, your quirky obsessions... everything. I’m sorry I didn’t reassure you when you were doubting yourself, or protect you from the hate.”

She took a shaky breath, and in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I don’t think I could ever love anyone as much as I love you.”

Your heart clenched, the weight of her words crashing over you. The pain you had felt for so long, the loneliness that had settled deep in your soul, began to break. You missed her, but you're scared, so scared. Scared of trusting her again, scared of the hurt she could cause, scared of how much power she held over you.

“You hurt me, Jimin. So much,” you said softly, unable to keep the pain from your voice. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Jimin nodded, her face softening with understanding, though the sadness in her eyes remained. But she wasn’t giving up.

“I know,” she said, her voice steady. “But I will spend the rest of my life earning back your trust.”

And in that moment, with everything on the line, you finally gave in.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Her eyes widened, and that smile, so hopeful, so full of warmth, spread across her angelic face.

“Yes, Jimin. One chance.” You whispered, your heartbeat thudding loudly in your ears.

“Yes!” Jimin punched the air lamely, her eyes sparkling as she grabbed your hand, pulling you up effortlessly.

Before you could even react, she spun you around in a twirl, making you let out a small scream in surprise. The sudden rush of laughter filled the room as you both stumbled and collapsed onto the bed, her arms immediately wrapping around you.

.

.

.

.

The soft thud of Jimin’s heartbeat was lulling you to sleep, a comforting rhythm that calmed your racing thoughts. You gently traced the ink on her forearms, each line and curve filled with her memories. Her steady breathing was a lullaby, peaceful and steady, as you cuddled up to her.

After tending to her injury, you had given her a change of clothes, and let her stay the night. She refused to let go of you, her arms wrapped tightly around you, her lips pressing soft, affectionate kisses to your forehead. It was a strange feeling, like nothing could go wrong in that moment.

For the first time in months, your heart felt whole again, free of the old pain that had lingered too long.

But then, a thought crept into your mind. Gently, you pulled away slightly, your eyes meeting the beautiful dancer’s.

She whined, unhappy at the space between you. You laughed softly, seeing the playful pout on her lips. Outside, she was fierce, confident, and intimidating even, but here, in front of you, she was just a clingy baby.

“I wanted to ask,” you began, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, “Why did you want me to forget about what you said at the bistro? When you told me to forget it?”

A faint pink blush spread across her cheeks, and she shifted uncomfortably, not meeting your eyes.

"It was because..." she trailed off, her voice hesitant, and you gently cupped her chin, forcing  her gaze to meet yours.

“Because of what?”

"Because Minjeong said I could only talk to you once. One sentence. If you reacted badly, I would have to leave your life for good," Jimin admitted, looking away in embarrassment.

"I couldn’t believe I wasted that one sentence on asking if you were real. I was scared Minjeong would beat me up if you got mad."

You stared at her in disbelief. "That was why you refused to speak to me?"

Jimin nodded, her lips twisting into a sheepish smile.

"You’re so fucking stupid, Jimin," you muttered under your breath, shaking your head, though a fond smile tugged at your lips.

"Thank god you’re good at dancing, or else I’d be worried about your future."

"Hey!" she whined, pushing you playfully. "I’m not stupid! It’s just... Minjeong is scary when she’s mad."

Unable to hold back your endearment for this stupid lovable girl, you finally leaned down to press your lips to hers.

Jimin froze, marveling at the feel of your soft lips against hers. She had been dreaming about this moment for so long, and she quickly kissed you back with just as much enthusiasm. The kiss was soft at first, tentative before it deepened following the quickening of your heart beats.

When the air between you became a problem, you both pulled away, gasping for breath, but neither of you made a move to break the closeness. Your foreheads rested together, and for a moment, you just smiled into the space between your lips.

“What did you plan to say then?” You whispered, still breathless from the kiss, “The sentence.”

“Oh, I was going to say: Look at this cool tattoo I got.” She said mischievously, before sitting up and pulling off her shirt, leaving herself in nothing but a bra top.

You blushed immediately, eyes instinctively flicking to the defined muscles of her abs as she twisted to show you the back of her shoulders. For a moment, you couldn’t help but be distracted by the way her muscles flexed before your gaze landed on a small patch of ink on the corner of her right shoulder.

“You got a tattoo of a Charmander?” you sputtered, almost disbelieving.

“Yeah, it’s cute, right?” Jimin grinned, proud of herself.

“It reminded me of you. You have the same eyes as Charmander. And also, it’s your favorite Pokémon, so it’s a win-win.”

“Jimin, my favorite Pokémon is Chikorita…” you sighed, shaking your head in exasperation.

“Chikorita.” She repeated, her lips pursing in thought. “Not Charmander?”

“Not Charmander.”

She thought for a second, then shrugged with a grin. “At least it looks like you.”

Unable to contain yourself any longer, you grabbed the collar of her top and pulled her into another kiss, one that made her remember that you were definitely hers.

got a bit carried away so some scenes kinda dragged out 😬

but hope you all enjoyed this loserish version of jimin!

[maybe-boys-do-love]

Mix Sahaphap gets to perform (and has the performance chops to perform) in a style that I’ve never seen any other male actor get to embody. Mix gets to unironically play the #strongfemalecharacter. The Beatrice, the Elizabeth Bennett, the Jo March. Strong-willed, emotional, kind-hearted.

Not only do the plot points line up, but Mix, more than any BL actor I’ve seen, fully leans into the embodiment of this archetype. In his roles, he rolls his eyes, pouts, banters flirtatiously, softens his posture and expression at small details. He doesn’t over-exaggerate and imposition other characters but his face also doesn’t hold back his character’s thoughts and judgments. And when the moments arrive, he lets all the hurt and anguish pour out in shatters of tears and visible heartbreak—the star-counting scene, anyone????—in a way that harkens to the operatic emotionality of well-done melodramas, soap-operas, and their contemporary Thai equivalent of Lakorn. It’s only that these have never been men’s roles in those.

It’s no surprise that one of Mix’s roles—Cupid’s Last Wish—is explicitly a gender body-swap, and Tian in A Tale of Thousand Stars is (albeit explicitly denied within the show) heavily connected to gender body-swapping. What Mix specializes in as an actor, and does exceptionally well, has been defined as feminine. To depict a kind of queer expression in this style is novel because it’s not camp, it’s not okama, it’s not a soft or femboy, it’s not a BL twink (Mix has been mostly excluded from the schoolyards and quads of the BL universe except for a role as a senior crush in Fish Upon the Sky). It’s too sincere and too adult for any of that.

In Moonlight Chicken we get to see, without the pretense of gendered mysticism, this performance style’s seduction, warmth, wit, and explosiveness within the framework of a general gay form of expression. It says that this kind of femininity might just be a gay thing. Not all gay men exhibit it, obviously—queer men aren’t a monolith. Still, it gives us something to consider about how we observe performance of queerness on screen, especially in front of an audience that puts so much more emphasis on ships, heat, and pairing chemistry to assess how well they perform a BL role. Could we look for other features to judge performance of queerness instead of how well they kiss?

Seme and uke roles would be the major performance style categories loyal BL fans assess actors with, yet even within the archetype his character’s fill within BL narratives, Mix’s performances differ from the typical uke depiction in BL because he really doesn’t perform them as passive. Rather, Mix’s characters and his portrayal of them are dynamic and demanding. It certainly fits certain stereotypes of ukes (Gilbert!) and their gay stereotype equivalent of bottoms as pillow princesses and brats. Mix’s characters, though, have more drive, agency, and compassion than that, and he plays them with all of those currents running underneath.

We certainly have openly gay writer/director Aof Noppharnach to thank for writing this kind of queer character for Mix to play in Tian and Wen. But for Mix’s specific commitment to the performance starting off with his (debut!?) role in ATOTS, we first have Earth to thank for believing in Mix’s ability and recommending him to portray the role of Tian, and then Aof’s acceptance despite his differing initial expectations for the character. Mix, Earth, and Aof have all been open about how Mix in his personal life and nature holds a lot of similarities to both his role as Tian in ATOTS and Wen in Moonlight Chicken. Some people might knock points off his performances because he’s like them. But his relationship to the characters, rather than dampening my enthusiasm for Mix’s performances, helps me appreciate his willingness to give an authentic performance in a style that hasn’t been encouraged on screens previously. It’s made more impactful that he chose to risk vulnerability to bring something personal that had previously been excluded from screens because of its gender deviance (and in broader society explicitly condemned). This doesn’t make a claim on Mix’s actual identity, but simply shows his willingness to understand and perform the expressions of his queer characters with an effort at empathy that many other actors would feel challenged to bring.

Some actors are chameleons, but some actors have a gift of a type within which they can explore depths and range that no one else can best. For me, that’s what Mix does in his work when directors and casting understands his talent. There’s a BTS video of Mix actually fainting during a scene while in Earth/Phupa’s embrace on the mountain that immediately brought to mind the wildly famous final scene in the film Camille where Greta Garbo as Marguerite dies in her lover’s arms.

For Mix, it was a serious incident due to regrettably extreme conditions and requiring the on-set paramedics, but these levels of theatrics, for me, are emblematic of what Mix is capable of as a performer, as well. After all, he had to faint in Phupa’s arms multiple times on purpose. It’s the kinds of Old Hollywood and heightened sentimental romance realms Mix takes his performances to! Then he can turn around and make it look easy to take that same character into grounded quips or dedicated everyday tasks. It only takes writers, directors, and audiences willing to see that men can feel this way and act this way. Mix has paved the way.

[isaacsapphire]

@thathopeyetlives I also was thinking that’s what he’s talking about. And that Really doesn’t sound like an international norm that anyone should feel enthusiastic about setting.

Even keeping it strictly to the UK, there’s plenty of left of center non-brits who have said mean things to JK Rawling on twitter in a way that violates some UK law against being mean on twitter. Absolutely nobody should expect extradition for online speech to be restricted to only online speech they don’t like.

Cuck Islanders are mad about free speech again.

Musk replied to an account laying blame for the riots at the “effects of mass migration and open borders” with “civil war is inevitable”, prompting criticism from No 10. He then in turn responded to a tweet from Prime Minister Keir Starmer with “shouldn’t you be concerned about attacks on *all* communities?”, seemingly parroting a far-right trope suggesting that officials don’t care about attacks on white victims – which is not remotely backed up by reality.

correction: which is thoroughly demonstrated by the Rotherham, Telford, and other rape rings targeting white victims.

To call this uncharted territory is the understatement of the century. The world’s richest man has bought what is still by far the most important real-time social network for news. He is not just failing to act over the far right using his site to mobilise and to radicalise one another – he is actively participating in discussions around the present unrest.

Oh no, "actively participating in discussions".

Musk has crossed the Rubicon, and the Government should make that clear. If he is fanning domestic unrest, we have laws relating to that and powers allowing it to take action. These range from travel bans, to sanctions, or possibly even criminal prosecution. Musk might be the world’s richest man, but he is still just a man. Perhaps it’s time for the UK authorities to remind him of that.

it's extraordinary what this guy thinks the UK is in a position to prosecute foreigners for.

Similarly from the BBC, which has weird page structure so the link might break:

The Director of Public Prosecutions says his teams will consider seeking the extradition from abroad of social media influencers who are playing a role in the violent disorder gripping the UK.

"playing a role in". What an open-endedly censorious and totalitarian thing to say.

Stephen Parkinson tells BBC that anybody invovled in the violence should know they will face the most severe possible criminal charges, including terrorism.

I think Stephen Parkinson should face the most severe possible criminal charges for abuse of government power in violation of the First Amendment to the American Constitution. It would be ironic punishment for a guy trying to enforce UK censorship abroad.

"We have liaison prosecutors around the globe, who've got local links with the local judiciary. We can cooperate with our international partners. "We would certainly consider extradition if we are satisfied that an offence has been committed. They must know that they are not safe and there is nowhere to hide."

ordinary dishonest bloviation, or imperialist mindset to censor the world, I wonder?

[cheriladycl01]

My boyfriend the Bad Guy- Oscar Piastri x Teacher! Reader

Plot: Oscar surprises you in a class that you’re covering for on a day before a race weekend.

“Okay guys so Mrs Copani won’t be here for the rest of term, but that means I get to teach you guys all about … the rainforest!” You exclaim to the young children in your class. You were currently covering for a school in your district whose teacher went on maternity leave, it was your first job as a teacher rather than a teaching assistant because you were so young.

“Now, this project will be very fun! We’re going to do lots of arts and crafts and at the end of term Headmaster Kelvin has organised a trip” you tell them excitedly and they all start chatting!

“We’re going to a rainforest!” One of them exclaims.

“My mum says they’re a long way from us!” Another chips in.

“Are we going far for this trip?” Another asks a little confused.

“Okay okay settle down! Now you’ll learn that Chloe is right and that there aren’t any rainforests near us. The closest one would be Africa, and I can’t take you guys all the way there … but in the UK we have a place where they have these biome pods called the Eden Project so we’re going to take you there” you explain and they all nod.

“Okay so let’s start on some facts about the rainforest. Does anyone know anything about the rainforest that they can tell me!” You ask.

“It rains a lot!” Dylan shouts and you nod.

“That’s right! It’s helps that its in the name right? But rainforests have a lot of warm humid rain all year round. 79-394 inches. High for comparison is about the height of a tree!” You exclaim and gaze round seeing the fascinated look on all the kids faces.

That was your favourite part of teaching!

“And when you look at a rainforest … like this one” you say getting up a picture of one of the interactive whiteboard. “What do you see!” You ask looking around the classroom.

“Lots or Green” AJ shouts and everyone agrees.

“Mmmmm that’s very true. And what is all that greenery, some of you might have them in your garden at home! We have some in the gardens here and Miss Y/L/N has a few on her classroom windowsill” you offer helpfully, a girl raises her hand.

“Gabby?”

“Plants Miss!” She squeals and you nod with a smile on your face.

“Very good! Now the rainforest is very important as even though only 10% of earth is made up of rainforests … it has the most plants and animals there which helps us” you smile.

“Why miss?” Connor calls out and you smile.

“The trees around us, even the ones here release something out of them that go into our atmosphere and it turn it helps us breath. That’s why trees are so important and it’s why when we use paper, we always ….” You pause waiting for them to finish your common phrase.

“Recycle it” they all giggle and you nod.

“That’s right!” You smile at them all.

“Okay now when you all have a cold what does you mum and dad give you to make you feel all better?” You ask walking around the room.

“Matt” you say seeing the boys hand raised.

“Medicine!” He cries out in joy.

“Lots of those medicines come from the rainforest, that’s why it’s important we preserve it!” You teach them, you could never be to young to teach about protecting the planet.

“What’s preserve?” One of them asks with their head cocked to the side.

“Hmmmm that’s a difficult word to describe. Okay so let’s pretend you guys are … the Avengers” you grin and they all gasp happily.

“I wanna be Captain America”

“I’ll be Thor”

“I want to be Black Panther”

“I’m Kate Bishop”

“Okay okay you can all be whoever you want! But you guys need to protect the environment from all the bad people out there!” You grin, knowing this was all just a bit of fun but still educating them on what’s important.

“Who are the bad people” one of them asks, just before a knock is heard on the classroom door. You look to the left seeing Oscar there watching you with a soft smile on his face. You hop up from your desk walking over to the door.

“Here is one of the villains you have to defeat” you say as you open the door to your boyfriend.

“He’s a bad guy!” One of the girls ask, and you know you’ve just potentially started her obsession with always crushing on the villains in future movies and books she watch.

“But Miss that’s your boyfriend” they all giggle at this and you grin too, Oscar just standing there confused as to why you’re now all of a sudden calling him a bad guy.

“Mmmm and why am I a bad guy?” He asks looking at you with his polite cat smile.

“Who knows what Oscar does for a living, do any of you like Cars?” You ask and they all gasp.

“Miss miss I know I know!” Ollie cries out.

“Yeah?” You asked.

“He drives race cars!” He says on his knees rocking back and forth.

“He does! And he travels all over the world to do it, meaning he doesn’t help the environment, he does the opposite!” You say knowing just how astronomically high your boyfriends carbon footprint was.

The kids then all started to ask Oscar questions about racing, many of them being Lightening McQueen related.

Eventually it was the end of the school day, Oscar kindly helped you pack up the classroom before leading you out to the car park where his McLaren was parked.

“Thank you for coming to get me baby” you smile and he takes your hand guiding it to the gearstick so he can keep a hold of you while he’s there.

“You’re welcome! How was your first fall day teaching them on your own?” He smiles rubbing his thumb along your hand.

“It was really good, we’re starting a rainforest project and so we’re going to make loads of charts for the board I created and at the end of term we’ve got a trip organised!” You explain and he can’t help but grin at how excited you seem.

“Woah, that’s really cool! Do you still think that you’ll be able to come this weekend?” He asks knowing that where you taught Monday to Thursday you had the perfect opportunity to spend GP weekends with him.

“Of course I am baby, I have my flight booked for Thursday night, I’ll get there Friday Morning” you admit and he smiles bringing your hand up of the gearstick and in front of him mouth. He kisses it lightly.

“So where are we going, this isn’t the way home” you ask once you notice your on a different main road.

“Somewhere Lando showed me, I wanted to take you there. I think you’ll really like it” he explains and you nod.

Eventually you come up to a little park, he takes a rucksack from the boot, taking your hand and walking through the afternoon sun with you to the edge of a large pond, that had a wooden bridge going over the middle of it.

“Wow this is gorgeous” you exclaim looking at the surroundings before taking some pictures. You get one of yours and Oscars feet and then a selfie of you guys with the lake in the background.

“I love this, it’s so peaceful” you breathe out a relaxing breath. You and Oscar walk and talk, both having a busy schedule ment that moments like these you could yap to each others hearts content.

He eventually started to lay out a blanket, it was getting a little cooler as the sun got lower and lower in the spring afternoon.

“I brought some wine, and some cheese and grapes. I know you’ve been wanting to go out for a while with the girls but you haven’t had time… so I brought girls night too you” he smiles sheepishly hating how busy both your lives were individually and with each other. You saw your friends maybe once a month at best, you were very lucky they were so understanding.

“I love you Osc” you say leaning into him, kissing his cheek, a blush forming across his nose.

“I love you too baby” he smiles.

You both sit on the blanket leaning into one another while continuing your previous conversation, and sharing chaste kisses every now and then, tasting the rich one on each others lips.

Intimate and personal time like this with Oscar would always be your favourite.

y/user

Liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

y/user: Oscar surprised me on my first day today and took me out afterwards on a date :) How sweet can he get!

View all comments

oscarpiastri: Love you ❤️

-> y/user: I love you more 🥺🌸❤️

ybff: omg you guys are so cute! Seeing you when?

-> y/user: soon for sure! After class coffee? Mrs Copani has gone for maternity leave so I’ll have this post for a while!

user: Billy raves about his new teacher in class today! Thank you for making it engaging!

-> user: I agree Madison came home with the biggest smile on her face today! Thank you Mrs Y/L/N

Instagram Story Caption:

First day on the job 🌸 Miss Y/L/N

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[anarchistmemecollective]

From the Bristol, UK, IWW Chapter:

“Uprisings in Bristol UK have been continuing since Sunday against the new Police and Crime Bill which would restrict peoples right to peacefully protest and would give 10 yeah prison sentences for people causing damage to statues (the usual sentence for rape in the UK is only 5 years).

The bill also includes many restrictions on traveler communities in the UK who throughout the covid lockdown have faced violence and illegal evictions. This Bill would institutionalise this violence and illegalise the lifestyle of a marginalised and regularly persecuted minority group.

This comes in a time when people are still mourning the death of Sarah Everard who was attacked and murdered by an off duty Met police officer while walking home. Women held vigils around the country for Sarah and some of these were broken up by the police and attendees arrested (by male police colleagues of the officer charged with the murder).

Here in Bristol the Black Lives Matter movement is also very strong and many people feel that the Police and Crime Bill is a response to the people of Bristol pulling down of a statue to Edward Colston, a slave trader who funded many of the cities major institutions.

Locally these struggles have intersected in the #KillTheBill movement and peaceful protests have repeatedly been attacked by the police, causing a revolt on Sunday where Bristolians lay siege to the police station and set several cop vehicles on fire.

Last night, an explicitly peaceful protest was again attacked by police and a number of people arrested and beaten with shield and batons, charged with horses and dogs. Travelers had come to hold space in a public park where they could make their voices heard but they were attacked in the night by the cops, arrested, beaten and their dwellings and property destroyed without consideration that some had nowhere else to go. Several protestors were hospitalised and many more suffered minor injuries.

When young people lay down in the streets shouting that it was a 'peaceful demonstration' the cops charged in, again beating people and arresting anyone who wasn't able to flee. This took place in the middle of a residential area where many of these folks actually live.

For several nights the streets of Bristol have become a physical and metaphorical battleground that may determine the rights and freedoms for all people living in the UK.

Kill The Bill has no official organisers and actions have been mostly autonomous and spontaneous, this includes a march of 5,000 people in support of the protests on Sunday.

Members of Bristol IWW have continually done what we can to support these protests, including providing first aid for protestors who have been injured by the police. While we know some on the British left may question why we have offered our support to this autonomous street movement rather than appealing to the parliamentary system and its antiquated processes. Some even question why we would take part in events that have seen the destruction of police equipotent and self defense used against the cops. We be believe our position to be clear and consistent as members of a revolutionary working class union.

"There can be no peace so long as hunger and want are found among millions of the working people and the few, who make up the employing class, have all the good things of life.

Between these two classes a struggle must go on until the workers of the world organise as a class, take possession of the means of production, abolish the wage system, and live in harmony with the Earth.””

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week

1. A branch of the flu family tree has died and won't be included in future US vaccines

A type of flu virus that used to sicken people every year hasn't been spotted anywhere on Earth since March 2020. As such, experts have advised that the apparently extinct viruses be removed from next year's flu vaccines.

The now-extinct viruses were a branch of the influenza B family tree known as the Yamagata lineage. Scientists first reported the apparent disappearance of Yamagata viruses in 2021.

2. Hospitals must obtain written consent for pelvic and similar exams, the federal government says

Hospitals must obtain written informed consent from patients before subjecting them to pelvic exams and exams of other sensitive areas — especially if an exam will be done while the patient is unconscious, the federal government said Monday.

New guidance from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services now requires consent for breast, pelvic, prostate and rectal exams for “educational and training purposes” performed by medical students, nurse practitioners or physician assistants.

3. Germany approves new law that will allow adults to carry up to 25 grams of cannabis for their own consumption and store up to 50 grams at home.

Germany's upper house, the Bundesrat, cleared the way to partially legalize cannabis on Friday. Adults aged 18 and over will be allowed to carry up to 25 grams of cannabis for their own consumption.

4. Tick-killing pill shows promising results in human trial | Should it pan out, the pill would be a new weapon against Lyme disease.

Tarsus Pharmaceuticals is developing a pill for humans that could provide protection against the tick-borne disease for several weeks at a time. In February, the Irvine, California–based biotech company announced results from a small, early-stage trial showing that 24 hours after taking the drug, it can kill ticks on people, with the effects lasting for up to 30 days.

5. Thailand moves to legalise same-sex marriage

Thailand has taken a historic step closer to marriage equality after the lower house passed a bill giving legal recognition to same-sex marriage.

It still needs approval from the Senate and royal endorsement to become law but it is widely expected to happen by the end of 2024, making Thailand the only South East Asian country to recognise same-sex unions.

6. French Revolution: Cyclists Now Outnumber Motorists In Paris

Official measurements have found that Paris is rapidly becoming a city of transportation cyclists. In the suburbs, where public transit is less dense, transport by car was found to be the main form of mobility. But for journeys from the outskirts of Paris to the center, the number of cyclists now far exceeds the number of motorists, a huge change from just five years ago.

7. 'Miracle' operation reverses blindness in three-year-old girl giving her 'promising' future

A three year old with a genetic condition that causes blindness is doing incredibly well after unique pioneering operation to restore her sight.

The UK is the only country performing keyhole eye surgery to inject healthy copies of a gene into sufferers’ eyes. It is being used to reverse blindness in children born with a rare condition which means they can only distinguish between light and dark. And it has given little Khadijah Chaudhry, born with Leber congenital amaurosis-4, a chance at seeing properly again.

---

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

[mulligans-tavern]

Dear K2,

If you're seeing this, it's probably because you're on Tumblr, and let's face it, you would be on Tumblr. So, here's a few things to know:

1. You're British. You live in England, which is part of the United Kingdom. People will give you shit for this, and it's because of a history you have no knowledge of, but that's not the point. The point is, you're very close to where King Charles is right now. It's gonna be hard to bring down the whole monarchy, but you do have your own magic now. Do your best.

2. If you get a positive pregnancy test, that is no longer just a thing that happens around you. That means something entirely different now.

3. Somewhere in this world is a man named Brennan Lee Mulligan. Some people will tell you he is your nemesis, or that you are his. This is... true, to an extent. You should get a Dropout subscription, actually. That might be helpful.

4. Along those same lines, the reason nobody can tell what part of the UK you are from is because your accent is entirely stereotypical, from the Most American member of the Fantasy High cast. This is something you're gonna have to work through on your own.

5. You're the first miracle worker on Earth in 2000 years, maybe. I'm not up to date on my religious history. Keep that in mind when you're casting spells around people, and also keep in mind that while you are getting magic from a goddess, that goddess was created at 3am in a warehouse by Ally Beardsley.

6. If you ever meet Zac Oyama in real life, know that he narrated your darkest moments with the gravity and honour they deserved.

Here's to you, kid. Hope you do okay out here in our dimension.

Blimey,

mulligans-tavern

[imagine-darksiders]

Transformers Prime: Optimus + Reader. Chapter 1.

So, I read @lovinglonerhybrid 's post here. And it absolutely had me in a chokehold, so this is based off that premise. I'm in the UK so please excuse my ignorance of American states lmao.

So, there is a part 2 to this, but I'm going away for 4 days and wanted to get some of it posted before then.

You've broken down fifteen miles short of Jasper's city limits in the dead of night. Deciding to hike in to town, you feel the earth rumble beneath you, and over the horizon, something enormous approaches...

Chapter 1: 9352 words.

-------

It’s a rare and covetous thing, to find even a single moment of peace in the midst of an intergalactic war.

The gap from one of those precious moments to the next seems to grow wider and wider every time, until their frequency is so negligible, it becomes hard to recognise them for what they are anymore.

For everything Earth could have offered Optimus Prime, he hadn’t been expecting it to relinquish the gift of peace so willingly. But he’s glad – more than glad – to accept them when they come, even if he’s only stealing glimpses of tranquillity on the sand-swept road leading out of Jasper.

Low-beam headlights lazily trace over the faded tarmac ahead of Optimus’s tyres as he trundles along Highway 49, one of only two roads that surround the small, sleepy city of Jasper. It’s a very routine patrol, one he obligingly excused Bumblebee from taking after his poor scout all but begged Optimus to give it to someone else, beeping out promises that he’ll take double shift tomorrow night, if need be.

All this on the back of Miko announcing another of her ‘slumber parties’ at the base, much to Ratchet’s noisy chagrin and Optimus’s private amusement. And, of course, when Bumblebee found out that Rafael would be staying the night too… Well…

‘You’re too indulging,’ their old medic had admonished from his workstation, the broad expanse of his back turned to the Prime, ‘He ought to learn he can’t always have his way.’

But it was a harmless indulgence, and Prime was more than happy to take over the patrol in this instance.

Besides, he had an arguably selfish reason for doing so.

If he’d admitted as much out loud, Ratchet would have scoffed and sent a pulse of chiding dismissal crashing into Optimus’s EM field. ‘You don’t have a selfish component in your body,’ he might say.

But this… Optimus muses, gazing skyward as he trundles down the highway in vehicle mode, letting the crisp, night air slide through his grill and cool his powerful engine… This is the appeal of a solo patrol.

Every now and then, there are times when the Decepticon activity goes quiet, Fowler has nothing to report, and Optimus can almost pretend that he’s just another Cybertronian enjoying a long, quiet drive through the Mojave wilderness. And while he remains ever vigilant, keeping every sensor poised outwardly in a constant surveillance of his surroundings, the old bot still permits at least one sense to wander.

Somehow, it’s always his sight.

Oftentimes he catches himself doing it. Other times, on nights that are quiet and still and clear like this one, there’s a wire-deep longing that overrides his logic gates, and the Prime won’t notice that he isn’t keeping his processor and his optics on the dusty road ahead of him. He’s too busy stealing long, pensive looks at the stars above him, scattered like a-hundred-billion souls sprawling across a curtain of crushed velvet.

It’s out there… somewhere… riding a lonely orbit on the furthest reaches of the galaxy’s Centaurus arm.

Cybertron.

Home.

Their first home, he amends gently, depressing his accelerator to speed up when he realises he’s starting to crawl. Earth is as much their home now as Cybertron ever was.

Sagging on his suspension with a low hiss, Optimus drags his hidden optics back to the road ahead, and all at once, he nearly lurches to a halt, his exhaust pipes sputtering out a hollow sound to betray his surprise.

There, parked several feet from the road a few hundred yards ahead of him, is a vehicle.

Prime’s senses sharpen to a startling focus.

Pumping his brakes, he slows down again, and the roar of his engine fades to a fluctuating hum.

A Decepticon…?

He doesn’t feel anything trying to breach his EM field, nor does he pick up on any resistance when his scanners hone in on the vehicle – ‘Ford. F250. A Pickup truck.’ Year….? Optimus’s focus narrows to a pinprick… ‘Eighty-seven.’

It’s red - a faded, dusky red like some of the sun-baked sandstone at Red Rock Canyon. As Prime’s massive form rumbles on through the night, looming closer and closer to the mysterious truck, his lights reflect off something situated above its rear bumper, the presence of which quells his flaring codes and eases his rigid frame.

A number plate.

Thick, black numbers and letters stand out against the white rectangle, though it isn’t the sequence that alleviates Optimus’s suspicion, it’s their mere presence.

No Decepticon he knows would ever suffer the ‘indignity’ of having a human number plate stapled to their bumpers.

Primus, even the Autobots have foregone the accessory after Fowler gave up trying to keep Bumblebee from losing his, Ratchet from ‘misplacing’ his, and Bulkhead from bending his irreparably whenever he transformed. Optimus had given it a go, for a time… mainly because he was growing worried that their overworked liaison would quite simply combust if he had to intercept one more phone call from ‘concerned civilians’ who were reporting a semi-truck driving through Jasper without its registration.

The Prime’s number plate came to its own crumpled end when he sat down on his berth one evening without removing it first.

One genuine, slightly sheepish apology to a very fed-up liaison later, and Optimus was informed that he and his team no longer needed to wear the plates.

So, the presence of one on this truck is a good sign. It’s less likely to transform and cause an incident.

That does, however, open up an entirely new avenue for concern to creep in.

A crash, perhaps?

Several dark skid marks indicate that it must have veered off the road after a hard, panicked brake.

He can’t pick up any biological signatures either. Even when he casts a wider net, all his sensors catch are the heat signatures of a few tiny, Earthen mammals scurrying about over the sand before they dart into various rock formations when he rolls by. But just because he isn’t picking up the presence of a living human, it doesn’t negate the possibility of a human being inside…

Frame suddenly taut, Optimus trundles to a cautious halt on the road alongside the truck, his engine idling like some great, murmuring beast in the quiet of the desert.

A throaty hum seems to escape his smokestacks as he peers down at the smaller truck, contemplative… considering… Then finally, relieved. There doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, judging by what his headlights illuminate through the cab windows.

What is it doing out here?

It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when he made the drive into Jasper. It isn’t a vehicle he recognises either, and he’s been doubly vigilant of late regarding all the civilian cars, bikes, trucks, vans, and even agricultural vehicles in and around the town.

Privately, he’s been compiling a catalogue of them all, for his own reference.

If there’s a threat to his human charges lurking about in their hometown, Optimus needs to know about it. A Decepticon disguised as a civilian vehicle would be an effective method of infiltration.

Casting one more, cursory ping out into the night to check that he’s definitely alone, he at last begins to unfurl himself into his bipedal mode. Metal plating slides away from his grill, pulling back and rolling along the body of the semi as he rises onto newly revealed pedes. The mechanical whines, whirrs and buzzes are terribly loud and alien amongst the desert’s natural ambiance, but soon enough, the air falls still once again, and a monolithic Cybertronian stands in the place where a Peterbilt used to be.

Soft, cerulean light spills over the abandoned truck as Optimus settles his optics upon it, easing his enormous frame down into a crouch and draping one arm across his knee with a ‘clunk.’

At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything especially odd about the truck save for its unexpected presence. Leaning sideways, he casts an optic over the front bumper and finds nothing out of place, no damage to indicate a crash, no broken headlights or crushed bonnet.

It’s the same story with the truck’s bed. Only when Optimus hauls himself upright and treads carefully around it to inspect the other side does he notices the glaring problem.

The whole vehicle is canting onto its offside front tyre, a tyre that sports a rather sizeable puncture, considering how flat it is. And from the looks of it, this one was only ever meant to be used as a temporary spare. A quick glance into the truck’s bed reveals what he assumes must be the original tyre, flat as well, with the silver head of a nail jutting from the centre tread block.

Optimus clicks his glossa softly for the owner’s run of bad luck.

Right away, he sends a ping to his team, advising them to be wary of stray nails along this stretch…

He receives several pings in return. Immediately comes Bumblebee’s frustration, buzzed over the airwaves like a sulking sparkling who’s been told his toy was broken. Given the Scout’s inclination to race at top speed all over these roads, Optimus doesn’t doubt he’s just vexed at the shuddersome notion of having to slow down.

Arcee and Bulkhead respond in kind as their leader absently moves his attention to something strange obscuring part of driver’s window, letting their concern wash over his field.

‘Popped a tyre, Boss?’ Bulkhead’s message hits his comm, informal and probing, but with the warmth of care behind it.

Optimus is quick to send a pulse of reassurance back through their shared channel. He’s fine. If one little nail was all it took to take a Prime out of commission, they’d all be in serious, serious trouble.

The channels go quiet after Arcee and Ratchet send their short, concise responses, and once again, Optimus is alone on the road, peering down at a small sheet of paper that’s been taped to the inside of the truck’s front window.

Gradually, he furrows his optical ridges until they almost click together into one, solid line, the apertures inside each optic whirring and shrinking as he reads the words scribbled on the paper.

He recalls the first time he encountered the languages of Earth as they were written. The looping letters, graceful and elegant, chasing one another across the front of the letter Agent Fowler gave him as part of an unofficial welcome to the United States.

Optimus had held the paper so delicately between two of his digits, blinking down at the dark ink soaked into repurposed cellulose fibre. It was beautiful.

When he remarked as such, Fowler made a noncommittal comment that you could tell a lot about humans from their handwriting.

Optimus would sometimes find himself glancing over the children’s homework when they left their books out unattended on the table in their recreational area.

Jack’s neat and sensible cursive. Miko’s chaotic, glittery script that rose and fell and ventured outside the lines because she was usually paying more attention to her music than the words she wrote in her textbook. And Rafael, of course, with his quick, almost frantic stokes of the pen as he tried to scribble his thoughts down as fast as his brain could make them, only to end up losing his confidence halfway through a sentence, doubled back, drew a single line through the words, and started again on a fresh page.

This handwriting though… written in blue, splotchy ink and stuck with a piece of scotch tape to the truck’s window, makes Fowler’s words ring true in Optimus’s processor.

He can tell a lot about the human who wrote it.

‘Please don’t steal/break into my truck,’ it reads. The word ‘please’ has been underlined several times. ‘Not worth much, it’s all I’ve got. Tyre is flat, spare tyre too, so can’t get far anyway. Walking to town to find help bcos phone died and I don’t have a charger. Be back soon. Thanks.’

The ink has run in several places and rendered some of the letters illegible, as if water has been dropped on them from above.

Optimus isn’t naïve. He’s seen the children cry, more times than he can bear.

Then underneath all that, in much smaller writing stuffed underneath the first message like an afterthought they forgot to leave enough space for…

‘P.s, if the truck is still here in 3 days, assume I’m dead.’

With a sudden groan of his metal frame, Optimus braces a servo on his knee and hurriedly pushes himself to his pedes once again, helm swivelling sideways to stare down the length of the road.

The truck’s nose is pointed in the direction of Jasper, but the town itself is still about a fifteen-mile drive…

Surely they wouldn’t make the journey on foot…

But if the note is any indication, then…

His processor flashes again to the children; Miko in particular, and the alarming disregard she has for her own safety. The boys are guilty of that as well, though to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there’s a very high likelihood that there might be a human wondering through the vast Mojave, alone. Worse still, Bumblebee had reported just last week that there’s been an increase in Decepticon patrols in the area around Jasper. No doubt Megatron has been ramping up his efforts to locate the Autobot base. Their growing presence in the vicinity of town makes these roads particularly treacherous…

Optimus ex-vents roughly, more troubled than frustrated.

Blue optics narrow at the road ahead, and once again, the peace of the desert night is filled by the sounds of living metal collapsing back in on itself.

A powerful engine roars to life. Somewhere nearby, a startled jackrabbit darts beneath the safety of a sagebrush, hiding herself amongst its silvery leaves.

Unblinking, her wild eyes stare after the great, thrumming beast as it moves on down the road.

—————-

You’ve had a lot of ideas in your life.

Some good. Some bad. Some that have paid off, but most that have gone nowhere at all.

Perhaps you were growing tired of going nowhere…

What else would have possessed you to up and move all the way to the middle of Nevada state on the back of a job offer that came from a man your uncle purported to know?

‘Oh yeah, Terry? Did a job with him a few years back for some cattle baron out in the sticks. ‘Course, Terry always wanted his own dairy… Want me to tell him you’re lookin’ for work?’

Turns out, Terry did end up getting that dairy he always wanted. And as it happened, he was looking for a farm hand.

Does it count as nepotism if you’re fairly sure your uncle had only met your future employer once?

Beyond a certain point, you simply couldn’t care less.

A job is a job, even if it is out here in the desert near a town you’d never heard of a month ago.

Dust-caked trainers trudge to a weary halt in front of a large, green road sign.

The moon, thankfully, hangs fat and luminous in the cloudless sky. So at least you don’t need a torch to see, not now that your eyes have had time to adjust the darkness cloaked over the desert.

With your run of bad luck, you half assumed the heavens would have opened by now and given the Mojave a nice, little dose of rain.

“Well,” you mutter aloud to yourself, peering up at the green sign with a grimace, “Could be worse…”

‘Jasper – 10 miles,’ reads like a slap to the face.

Still… It’s better than the fifteen miles.

You must have walked at least five already, dragging your legs behind you like extra baggage that doesn’t want to cooperate.

It has to be beyond midnight now. Well beyond, you suppose.

You’ve been walking for the better part of two hours, slow and sluggish and exhausted. The journey getting to Nevada had been tiring enough, then as soon as you crossed state lines, your tyre caught a puncture going over a particularly nasty pothole that had snuck up on you.

After an hour spent in the blazing sun jacking up the truck and changing to the spare, you set off again for another several hours of travel. Then, twenty miles out of Jasper, just as you dared to celebrate being home-free, the unthinkable had happened.

Who hits a pothole and drives over a nail in the same, damn day? Apparently, the same person who forgot to buy a charger adaptor for the truck.

No charger? No phone.

No phone…? No calling for help…

Your chest expands and deflates with a bone-tired sigh, turning your gaze back onto the long, dark road ahead of you. Tears sting at the inside of your eyelids, and for a moment, you consider letting them fall, if only to ease some of the pressure building up behind your temples. But crying hysterically about the unfairness of the world hadn’t un-punctured your spare tyre, so why would it help the situation now.

“Come on,” you coax yourself, hauling one leg out in front of the other. Rinse. Repeat. “Not far now.”

Just a few more hours…

The going is slow, tough, draining. Even the dark shapes of rocks start to look enticing as you pass them, letting your eyes slide over to them as you wonder just how safe it would be to fall asleep in the desert by the side of a road.

Ever since you broke down a few hours ago, you haven’t seen one, single vehicle out here.

‘Which,’ you hum, pursing your lips and tipping your head back to peer up at the bleary sky far above you, ‘Isn’t so bad…’

The stars are numerous, and startlingly clear out in the wilderness. The moon as well seems brighter here, unobscured by clouds. She makes for a quiet companion on your journey towards Jasper, her starry brethren endlessly stretching out to each corner of the horizon.

Suddenly, you feel very small. A hopeless traveller trying to find port in a sea of sand and rock.

Swallowing roughly, you hike your tattered rucksack high onto your shoulder and tear your gaze from the stars.

It’s quiet out here, save for the rustle of sage bushes disturbed by the warm breeze, and the skittering of rocks as night-time animals go about their hunts.

Perhaps that natural silence is why the sudden introduction of an entirely new sound unnerves you so much.

You jerk to a halt, ears straining to hear something approaching from the distance. Underneath the thin, worn soles of your shoes, you start to feel it; the road thrumming with gentle vibrations, growing stronger every second.

Lighting quick, you whirl around to face the way you’d come, hands flying up to grip anxiously at the straps of your rucksack.

You’d have thought you’d be excited to see those headlights rise up above the horizon line. At last! A stroke of luck! A potential ride! Potential help.

Instead, it’s as though the sudden appearance of two, dazzling lights blooming into view as they crest over the hill finally jar some sense back into your dizzy head.

The haze of fatigue lifts slightly, pushed away by little bursts of adrenaline as your brain fights to wake you up to an unconscious threat.

You’re alone out here. Defenceless, phoneless. You don’t know the area. Nobody knows you’ve broken down… You try so hard to think the best of people, but now that you’ve had one doubt, a hundred others start to scurry around in your brain, demanding attention.

You can see the vehicle, or their lights at least, but you doubt they can see you yet, this far down the road. You wonder what it is. Car? Truck?

… Alien spacecraft? Despite yourself, you let out a snort at that. Isn’t that infamous military base supposed to be in Nevada? The one hiding alien activity?

Right. Sure.

Despite your scepticism however, a thrill of fear rushes down the length of your spine as if to say, ‘Oh? But are you sure sure?’

 Gulping audibly, you take a few steps sideways off the road, stealing a glance at a cluster of large rocks that sit conveniently just several yards to your rear.

You have a decision to make.

Maybe you’ve been alone on the road for too long, and isolation has bred a paranoia in you that’s so deeply rooted, you can’t shift it at a moment’s notice. If the sun was out, perhaps you’d be less apprehensive, but the night, no matter where you are, makes everything seem so much more… treacherous. It hides things. People, motivations, monsters.

And though it pains you to do so, you swiftly decide to err on the side of personal safety.

The vehicle is closer now, and your blood trembles as the roar of a loud, formidable engine thunders over the tarmac. Yet you’re still certain it isn’t close enough to have caught you in its high-beams.

On sluggish legs, you haul yourself about and make a clumsy dash for the rocks, clenching a fist around one strap of the rucksack and using your other hand to grab the closest rock and swing yourself behind it. Dropping to your backside, you flatten your spine against the cool, solid surface, eyes wide, heart beating hard against the cage of ribs keeping it from leaping up into your throat.

‘Coward,’ a voice in the back of your head scoffs, sounding suspiciously like your father. You shake it loose. Now is not the time to be bothered by old ghosts.

The thundering engine draws nearer, rumbling in your chest as it seems to creep towards your hiding spot at a pace even a glacier would be impressed by.

Around the corner of the rock, you can finally see the glow of its headlights smoothing over the tarmac, illuminating the sand and brush all around you. Hurriedly, you tuck your toes right into the shadow cast by your rock, keeping a breath held hostage behind clenched teeth.

“Come on… Come on,” you urge it frustratedly, aware that every second you spend not moving is another second towards sunrise. If you’re not on the dairy ready for work by then…

The vehicle rolls to a stop.

It stops.

The temptation to let out a frustrated scream is only held in check by your tongue getting stuck to the roof of bone-dry mouth.

They saw you. They must have seen you. There’s no way they could have known you were here otherwise.

Idiot!

Wasting time on the decision has only taken it right out of your hands in the end.

A bead of sweat escapes your hairline and rolls down the side of your face, following the curve of your cheek. Should you run? Keep hiding? Did they stop by coincidence? If they meant no harm, they’d have seen you hide and kept on driving, wouldn’t they? Stopping is suspicious. It conveys a desire to engage.

And then something really strange happens.

“Excuse me?”

And… Well, you’re… not entirely proud of the choked gasp that jumps out of you, nor the way you flinch as if you’d been struck.

When did they – He? It’s a low voice, deeper than anything you’ve heard in a long while, full of bass but soft like distant brontide.

When did he get out of the vehicle? You didn’t hear a door open, nor close.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks again.

“I’ve frightened you…” Despite how gentle the timbre is, his voice is loud, like he’s speaking all around you, not just behind you. “I apologise,” the stranger continues, “That is the last thing I meant to do.”

What the Hell is he talking about?

There’s a long, unpleasant stretch of time until he speaks again.

“Was that your… Ford?” he asks, like he’s testing the word on his tongue, “Up the road?”

Shit. You’re starting to regret leaving that note. He must have read it and knew someone would be walking into town, alone and vulnerable.

The vehicle's powerful engine is still idling, strong and steady, buzzing along the ground and up through the soles of your feet.

It goes against your nature to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, but there’s still a part of you clinging to the hope that he’ll just give up and move on if you don’t respond or show yourself. Perhaps he’ll think you were just a figment of an overtired imagination…

Of course, instead, he persists. “Please.”

Jesus, he almost squeezes the word out, oozing dejection.

“You have nothing to fear from me… I’m a friend.”

A friend indeed. You huff quietly to yourself. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t know you. He’s trying to coax you out of hiding after watching you flee from his vehicle. Hardly the foundation for a good friendship. Still, you have to wonder why he doesn’t just come around the rock to stand over you if he’s so keen.

After another few seconds of stubborn silence on your part, the voice speaks again.

“Will you at least step back from the rock?”

What?

“There are scorpions on it, and I fear you’ll get-“

You don’t think you’ve moved so fast in quite some time. One moment you’re pressing yourself to the rock, and the next, you’re scrabbling to your feet with gusto, lurching away from your prior hiding space and spinning around, skin already crawling.

Sure enough, a pair of giant scorpions are scuttling around on the flat top, their tails held aloft, proud and large in the moonlight.

“-Hurt,” the stranger finishes.

Snatching your head up, you find yourself staring right into the vehicle’s headlights, and you instantly grunt with discomfort, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Oh.” There’s a pause, the vehicle’s engine skips, and the lights suddenly dim, plunging you into almost darkness save for the dim glow of residual light. “Forgive me. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks,” you respond automatically, only to turn rigid once you realise you’ve spoken aloud.

Well. He’s already seen you. No point pretending you can’t talk either…

Again, the stranger’s vehicle makes an odd noise, it’s engine hums gently, and as you lower your arm to seek out the man you’ve just opened a line of conversation with, you finally see what you’d been hiding from.

A monstrous Peterbilt sits squarely across the width of the road, entirely alien in the barren, rocky landscape. Smokestacks on either side of its cab reach towards the sky, glinting silver in the moonlight. It looks red under the meagre glow, with lighter panelling on the main body and dark, blue accents on the wheel trims and storage compartment. The grill is, in a word, massive, standing taller than you are, sporting a logo you don’t recognise on the front.

All in all, it’s a hell of a truck. Powerful, you imagine. Expensive too.

You try not to let your mouth hang ajar.

“Where-” Your voice cracks, still dry. “Ahem…! Where are you?”

Glancing around, your hackles start to rise. You can’t see the speaker anywhere. Which is why you let out an embarrassingly shrill yelp when his voice rumbles directly from the semi.

“I’m right here,” he assures you, polite enough not to show his amusement whilst you flap your mouth open and closed.

No, you shake your head. No, that is too weird. “What, are there like… speakers on the outside of your truck or something?”

There’s the tiniest of pauses, followed by a simple, concise, “There are.”

Oh. Well, then. That answers that burning question.

“Okay? So, um… Can I… help you?” you ask awkwardly, screwing one side of your face up.

The man seems to hesitate, allowing a pregnant pause to hang in the air between you before he replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Somehow, your expression twists even further south, and you begin casting your eyes over the semi, squinting through its dark windshield to try and catch a glimpse of what’s on the other side.

“I saw your truck on the side of the road,” the unseen man continues, “I feared you might have been hurt in a crash, so, I stopped to check that you weren’t still inside the vehicle. Then I found your note.”

He falls silent, and the air is dominated once again by the purring of his semi’s engine.

“Okay?” you prompt, still unsure of his motivations.

“It said you need help.”

He trails off, waiting. You’re promptly struck by the idea that he’s trying to guide you to some conclusion he hasn’t yet revealed. Finally, just as you start to grow restless, he forges ahead, “These roads can be hazardous for a lone hu-“

Suddenly, the truck’s engine revs, drowning out his voice for a second and sending you leaping backwards, startled.

“- A lone traveller…” he clears his throat just after the roar of its exhaust cuts out. Then, “Ah, If I may be so bold...”

All of a sudden, the passenger side door unlatches and swings open, and you’re presented with a clear invitation into the darkened cab. “May I offer you a ride into town?”

You wonder if he can see you turn stiff at his suggestion. Your body all but pleads on hands and knees for you to accept. What’s the worst that could happen, after all?

Well. You’ve watched several documentaries and movies that give you a pretty good indication of what ‘the Worst’ entails, thank you very much. You don’t like that he’s inviting you into his truck without showing his face to you yet. You’d like to gauge the person you’re speaking to. Get a bead on him. Is he big? Strong? Tall? Could you overpower him if it came down to it? Does he look like he’s hiding a weapon on him?

All these questions only serve to dry the moisture in your throat.

“I… That’s… very kind of you,” you admit, wringing your hands together as you take a small step away from the semi, “But I’m sure it’ll be okay, it isn’t that far.”

“At an average speed of three miles per hour, you will reach the outskirts of town in just under three and a half hours.”

You blink, caught off guard. ‘And they said we’d never need to use equations after we graduated.’

“Maths guy, huh?” you cock a hip, laying a hand across it and shooting the truck’s windshield a tentative smile, “Maybe I walk at four miles an hour.”

“Two and a half then,” he quips back just as smoothly, the door to his semi still hanging open. When he continues, you can’t help but notice that the cadence of his baritone voice rumbling through the speakers has turned to something a little more sombre, quieter, like he’s trying to impress upon you the gravity of a situation you don’t yet know about. “But time and distance aside, I do not wish to leave you to walk into Jasper by yourself, particularly at this time of night.”

He speaks like he’s been to elocution lessons. Every word seems to be carefully selected, every vowel and consonant articulate and refined.

It’s disarming. He’s disarming. But you’re still not convinced.

“Listen… Thank you, again. But…” It feels rude, like you’re committing some kind of faux pas in turning your back on the semi, yet you can’t shake the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you that there’s something not quite right about the man in the truck. Not bad, just… off.

“It’s a kind offer,” you tell him again lamely, turning on your heel. And so, you recommence your weary march for Jasper, tossing one last sentiment over your shoulder, “But I’m sure I can make it on my own. Take care, okay?”

You almost expect him to argue, but all you can hear is the now familiar drone of the semi’s almighty engine. For several paces, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you, scrutinising and pensive, if a little baffled by your short yet polite dismissal.

When you make it another ten feet, heaving your tired legs after you over the tarmac, your ears perk up to the sound of an engine revving.

Smokestacks chugging, the massive truck pulls out of its standstill, unseen behind you.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you keep your gaze fixed to the ground ahead and raise a hand, flapping it about in an apologetic farewell as you meander further off the road and onto the sand, giving him plenty of space to get past.

You start to frown when you make it twenty paces without being overtaken by the truck.

That frown only grows deeper when the engine keeps churring away behind you, rubber tyres crunching tiny particles of sand under their treads as it crawls along in your wake.

Is he…?

Tearing your eyes off the toes of your shoes, you send a fleeting glance over your shoulder, surprised – but not much – to find the nose of the Peterbilt creeping slowly along in your peripheral vision, keeping pace with you.

Your frown eases back, and you quirk a brow at him instead, calmly asking, “What are you doing?”

And just as easily, the voice returns, “If you will not allow me to drive you, I will happily escort you to your destination.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Ha! ‘Escort.’” The snicker jumps out of you faster than you can raise your hands to press your fingertips against an unbidden grin. “Sorry,” you immediately try to amend, “You just sounded so serious.”

“… I… am serious?”

Letting your hand flop back to your side, you give your head a shake, still grinning. You really do meet all sorts on the road.

“Regardless, I’m sure you have far better things to be doing with your time.”

How the truck matches your walking speed without his engine faltering or sputtering, you’ll never know.

A strange noise gurgles from its exhaust, almost perfectly reminiscent of a troubled hum.

“On the contrary,” the driver responds, pulling forwards a little until only the grill overtakes you, and for a moment, you worry he’s about to drive across your path, “There is nothing at the moment that concerns me more than getting you safely where you need to go.”

Huh. Of all the genuine, stubborn…

“Look.” Your shoes scuff up a cloud of sand as you draw to an abrupt and decisive halt, turning bodily towards the truck. Hands splayed on your hips, you glare at the windscreen, aiming approximately for the driver. A second later, he must have hit the brakes because the semi lurches to a stop as well, hissing noisily.

Still, he doesn’t step out.

“You seem like a nice guy,” you start, trying to keep your chin raised and your tone stern. You fail, of course. Your voice cracks nervously, but at least you try. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally elect to stop beating around the bush and just address the elephant in the room – or desert, as it were.

“But I don’t make it a habit to get into random trucks with strangers.” You make it a point not to directly accuse him of having ulterior motives, but you hope you’ve at least driven home your main concern. At best, he’ll grow offended that you’d think him capable of such a thing and – hopefully – move on. At worst… Well. You brace yourself for that, teeth grit so tightly, your jaw starts to ache as you flick your eyes over towards the truck’s driver-side door, waiting.

The truck in question does something odd then. It… sinks? At least you think it does, lowering on its axles by a few inches like the wheels have just deflated. It’s difficult to tell in the dim moonlight though, and it’s over so quickly, you can’t be sure you saw anything at all that wasn’t just a trick of the desert.

How long have you been awake?

You’re busy calculating the hours you were driving when the stranger’s voice is kicked out over the speakers again.

“You assume I mean you harm…” he utters.

And just like that, the stern, rigid scowl is instantly wiped off your face.

He sounds…

…sad.

Not offended. Not angered by your thinly-veiled implication.

Just sad. Dispirited, even. As if it’s only just occurred to him that you might have perceived him as a threat.

It’s almost painful when the pair of you dissolve into an uncomfortable silence that lasts for several beats of your rapid-fire heart.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, your brows drift apart whilst you try to think of something to say. Trouble is, you’re afraid that speaking again will only make things worse.

You have no idea what’s going through his head. What if his dejected tone is followed by something worse?

“I’m sorry,” you backtrack, pressing your lips together and chiding yourself for faltering, “It’s nothing personal, just… I-I should probably get going before I fall asleep standing up.” You give a stilted laugh, but it soon turns into an awkward sound made at the back of your throat, lips pulled over your teeth in a grimace.

Dipping your head, you swallow thickly and grip the straps of your rucksack again. But just as you make to turn away, the semi’s wheels abruptly twist towards you. It’s ever so slight, just enough that the truck rolls a few paces in your direction before it stops again, its grill pointed straight at you.

With an audible gulp, you go to take another step back, staring at the metal in anticipation. Your retreat is soon halted by the mellow rumble of his voice.

“I understand your hesitation. And I know that the word of a stranger may not hold much weight,” he begins slowly. The Peterbilt inches forwards again. “But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me…”

Shifting on your feet, you let go of your bag and clutch instead at your elbows, brows tipped up indecisively. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. He also speaks with a candour you’ve never encountered outside of a film or a storybook. Frank and forthright in a way you’ve never been privy to. Is that why you’re hesitating? Is that why he seems ‘off?’ Because his level of sincerity doesn’t have a place in your world?

Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time by yourself, it’s turned you distrustful. Maybe you’re just getting cynical. Looking back on your journey here, you realise that only other person who you’ve spoken to was a disinterested server who took your order at a drive-thru… That was four days ago. How long before that did you listen to someone who wasn’t the people on your truck’s radio?

Why is it so suspicious that this trucker wants to help? Hell, you’d be concerned as well if you saw some poor bastard hiking alone through the desert at night without a friend in the world.

Christ, you need some perspective.

The driver must see the conflict painted like a brand across your expression.

“Would it reassure you to know that this vehicle is operated entirely remotely?” he pipes up.

You blink once. Then again to wake yourself up a little more, pulled from your inner turmoil. “What?”

“This vehicle,” he tells you, “It is an unmanned vehicle.”

Curiosity overtakes suspicion faster than you can uncross your arms and stare at the grill dumbly, face opening up in surprise. “Wait. You mean it’s one of those self-driving things?”

“In a sense.” The semi’s engine rumbles softly, and the not-driver adds, “I am what you might call… the safety driver.”

Now that is curious.

You don’t even realise you’ve taken a step closer. “Really? But I thought that sort of tech was still in testing?”

“It is,” he replies, “We are, however, attempting to advance to field-tests, to see if these vehicles can autonomously haul freight in areas with sparser populations, to minimise the risk of collision.”

“Hence why you’re driving it out here in the middle of the night,” you realise aloud, raising an inquisitive brow at the windscreen, “So you’re really not in there? You’re driving it from somewhere else?”

“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asks kindly.

Your wide eyes flit to the passenger door when it eases open once again, though this time, it seems far less foreboding than before.

Tugging a loose piece of skin between your teeth, you give the silver steps leading to the door a scrutinising glance.

That does reassure you…

Slowly, still at least a little wary, you coax your legs to move, and they begrudgingly carry you onto the road. You approach the semi-truck with all the caution of a doe crossing an open meadow.

As you venture closer, its engine kicks up a notch, emitting a steady, gentle purr as if the vehicle itself is pleased with your acquiescence.

Suddenly, as you move along to the open door, you’re dazzled by a light flickering on inside the cab, bathing what you can see from this angle in a calm, golden hue.

From down here, it looks… just like an ordinary interior.

And lo and behold, as you stand on your tiptoes to see in, you find the driver’s seat is eerily devoid of its occupant.

You let out a breath that emerges shakier than you would have liked it to.

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed.

Maybe just a quick peek…

A vast chunk of apprehension breaks away from your chest and vanishes into the ether as you shuffle towards the steps, raising an arm and stretching your fingers across the space to the grab handle that sits invitingly just beside the open door.

This side of the truck is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s only now that you’re this close that you happen to notice something you hadn’t before.

You almost wince when you spot them.

Although shiny and speckled with only the lightest dusting of desert sand, the metal panelling on the semi is covered in signs of wear and tear.

Enough to give you pause, at least.

For a moment, you’re taken aback, turning bodily away from the open door and cocking your head at the myriad of scratches that criss-cross their way up towards the semi’s roof.

All the paint in the world couldn’t hide some of those shallow nicks and lines that have been scraped out of the metal. In any case, something big must have scuffed it. Perhaps another driver in their own Peterbilt? Or perhaps it’s all damage sustained in testing the vehicle’s automated capabilities.

Clicking your tongue, you absently raise a hand to stroke your fingertips gingerly along the length of a particularly prominent scratch by the door.

“Oh dear,” you tut softly at the side of the truck, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Without warning, the engine that had been buzzing so gently suddenly ramps up and starts to vibrate firmly beneath your fingers, so strong you can even feel it judder the ground through the soles of your feet.

Recoiling like you’ve been zapped, you whip your head around to peer through the open door, half expecting the driver to admonish you for touching his vehicle.

As swiftly as it started however, the thrumming engine dies down, and the truck returns to its soft, benign idling. “My apologies,” comes that gentle voice again through the speakers, “Just an overactive combustion chamber.”

“Is it... safe to ride in?” you retort, giving the back of the truck a sidelong glance.

“You will find very few vehicles safer than this one,” he tells you patiently, “I will not allow any harm to befall you, as I would not allow it to befall any of my passengers.”

Your shoulders jump with a silent laugh. “Befall,” you parrot, fighting a smile, “I love the way you talk.”

“… You do?” His speakers buzz with a pleasant hum.

Fingers flexing anxiously, you reach out once again and slide them around the grab handle beside the door, finding that it’s unexpectedly warm under your palm.

“So, I just… get in?” you ask, only to cringe immediately, realising you probably sound like a fool who’s forgotten how to get into a truck.

Before you can rebuke yourself harshly though, the absent stranger offers his response. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, no,” you rush out, placing one foot on the first, silver step and hoisting yourself up off the ground, bringing yourself level with the cab’s seats.

Your eyes grow wide with wonder as you take in the interior.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, suddenly hesitant to pull yourself up those last few feet.

“Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just… It’s so clean!”

Laid out before you is a perfectly ordinary truck cabin. Soft, grey leather covers the seats, with the same dark colouration on the roof, doors and most of the glovebox, interspersed by a rich, black steering wheel. The soft light, you discover, is emitted by multiple strips of blue neon LEDs that the driver must have fitted underneath the radio dials and dashboard, casting the truck’s interior in a cool, soothing glow.

But most astonishingly, for as much as you search, you can’t spot a single thing out of place. It’s absolutely immaculate. There isn’t one receipt stuffed in the door pockets, no traces of sand or gravel dirtying the footwells, no loose change tossed into the centre console…

Dumbfounded, you glance into the back, but all you find it a dark, grey panel and a shelf set back into the semi’s rear wall, meant for use as a bed, you surmise. It’s empty, unsurprisingly. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

Finally, your suspicions are put to rest. This truck doesn’t look lived in at all. He really is operating it remotely.

“God, it looks brand new in here,” you marvel aloud, suddenly hyper-conscious of the abysmal state of your old pickup. The scratches on this semi’s exterior play briefly on your mind but you brush your musings aside, too fatigued to consider the contradictions of a worn exterior but an immaculate interior.

Instead, you feel a frown crease the skin between your brows.

It really is immaculate in here…

Glancing down, you scowl disdainfully at your filthy shoes, the tank-top that’s stained irreparably by dropped food and greasy finger-smears, and trousers that are tattered and worn at their hems.

“Is everything all right?” the ‘driver’ asks again. His voice must emerge from the speakers on each door, low and warm, filling up the cabin.

“My shoes are dirty,” you admit out loud, your grip on the handle turning slack until you sink a few inches back to the first step, “I’m dirty. I-I don’t want to get sand and crap all over your truck.”

“I don’t mind.”

Spoken with more consideration than you’ve heard in a long, long time.

You pause at once, brows tipping up in the centre of your forehead.

A deep inhale through your nose brings with it the unobtrusive scent of leather, with the faintest undertone of adhesive sealers, giving the interior that ‘new truck smell’ that so many drivers try to replicate artificially.

Comparatively, it’s been several days since you passed a rest stop that had showering facilities. Those that did asked for a hefty charge. You’d glanced down at the handful of coppers in your centre console and decided you could go without. Now, you’re starting to regret that decision. Every now and then, whenever you raised your arms to stretch or flip the visor down in your pickup, you’d catch an unpleasant whiff of yourself wafting out from under your light, cotton shirt.

Embarrassed as you are to confess that you’ve been severely neglecting your personal hygiene, you swallow past a lump in your throat and croak, “I… haven’t exactly washed for a couple of days… I wouldn’t want to make your truck smell…”

And in a tone so kind it threatens to brings a tear to your eye, the stranger answers consolingly, “I think your scent is perfectly fine.”

It’s so damnably genuine, you can’t even find it in yourself to point out that he isn’t here to smell you, so his point is moot.

“I…” One more cop-out strikes you. “I don’t have any money,” you murmur truthfully, ashamed, “I can’t pay you for the fuel, or-“

“-I ask for nothing in return but your company,” is all he says, cutting you off as gently as his profound voice will allow.

And just like that, you’re out of viable excuses. Or perhaps your body has noticed the comfortable seats right in front of it and you don’t have enough fight left in you to deny it a sit down. Besides, any reasons you come up with to dip are likely to be met with a counterpoint.

Even so, you can’t help but hesitate for one more question, hand clasping and unclasping around the grab handle. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything am I?”

The next sound that hums through his speakers is so soft and rich, you think it’s the truck’s engine playing up again, at least until the stranger cuts the noise off by saying, “You do not look like trouble to me.”

If he only knew.

The sound prior, you realise, was a chuckle, the first one you’ve heard out of him yet. Something in the measure of it settles the last of your nerves, only slightly, just long enough to have you throwing caution to the wind. With a final heave, you pull yourself the rest of the way inside, sliding gingerly into the comfortable passenger seat. You never notice how the metal below your foot shifts microscopically, lifting you closer to the cab.

It takes a lot of restraint not to let your eyes drift closed, nor to slump backwards into the wondrously giving material on your spine.

Instead, you sit stiffly with your rucksack keeping you upright, legs pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. If you make any kind of mess in here, you’ll be mortified.

After a moment, you remember to close the door, but just as you turn and peel a hand off your thigh, you jolt, staring agog at the door as it swings slowly shut with a dull ‘click.’ All of its own accord.

“Full remote access,” the voice pipes up as the engine below you roars to life, and then you’re moving, and all you can do is stare through the window at the desert drifting by whilst trying to ignore the uninvited ache in your chest.

“Seatbelt.”

His gentle prompt spurs you to reach over and grab the fabric near your shoulder, tugging it across your body and fumbling a little to slot it into place. Suddenly, you feel an invisible pull on the belt, and the metal buckle finds its way into the socket on your next pass.

‘Must be magnetic,’ you muse distractedly.

“Are you comfortable?”

Blinking back the moisture in your eyes, you turn to glance at the empty driver’s seat. It’s bizarre, and more than a little unsettling to see the steering wheel turn itself around as the truck pulls back onto the road, driven by unseen hands.

When you don’t immediately respond to his query, the man continues just as patiently as before. “If it is too cold, I can turn up the heater. Or… perhaps you are too warm…” He hums to himself, thoughtful. “You have been exerting yourself.”

You instantly become aware of the light sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried on your forehead. Puckering your face up into a solemn smile, you shake your head and at last respond. “Not to worry. It’s very comfortable in here.”

What follows is a poignant moment of hesitation before the voice speaks again. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… You do not seem comfortable…”

The open-ended statement fades into silence, and you’re left casting nervous glances around the cabin again. “How do you-?” you start, tugging your shirt further down your arms, “Can you see me? Like… in here?”

Again, there’s a pause, barely longer than a second, yet long enough for you to notice it.

“Cameras,” comes his measured response, “Both external and internal. They’re how I spotted you on the road.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even considered that… Of course.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach up and begin to paw uselessly at your dishevelled hair, humming though a thin-lipped smile. “I must look a sight,” you half joke.

“You look tired…” he replies diplomatically, and there’s nothing in it for you to be offended by.

Rubbing a thumb over the wrinkle slowly carving a home between your brows, you heave a dreary sigh. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I can only imagine… And… Where does it culminate, if I may?”

“Terry’s Dairy?” you offer, “Uh, it’s this little farm just on the outskirts of Jasper.”

The truck beneath you gives a reverberating thrum. “I know the pastures, but I’m afraid you will find they lay beyond the ‘outskirts’ of the city.”

Letting out a groan, you knock your head back against the seat behind you, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. “Of course… How far?”

“Only a few miles, to the East of Jasper. We’re coming in from the Northwest highway. I can get you there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty- Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to do that,” you protest, shifting in the seat to frown at the empty driver’s seat in lieu of anywhere else to look, “Just drop me off in town and I’ll walk the rest. You’re already going out of your way for a stranger.”

“I am dropping you off at your destination and not a mile before,” he tells you steadily.

His uncompromising tone brooks no argument.

You stare at the spot a person should be for several, long moments, debating how much you could push an argument. He’s already coaxed you into his truck, his powers of persuasion are rather good. What chance do you have, sleep-deprived as you are?

Conceding sullenly, yet appreciatively, you let your back touch the seat, settling into it a little less hesitantly. “You won’t be taking no for an answer, I assume?”

He only lapses into a stubborn silence, an answer in and of itself.

That quiet is broken, however, when you suddenly let out all the air from your lungs, a smile growing across the width of your face as the breath escapes your nostrils in a sigh. “Thank you for this… Really. You’re saving me a lot of grief.”

The blue neons on his dashboard seem to flare a bit brighter for all of a second before they dim again. “I am glad to be of service,” he replies warmly.

“Oh my god,” you blurt without warning, leaning forwards in the seat and staring through the windscreen with wide eyes, “I’m so sorry, you’re being so nice and I’m so rude – I never asked your name.”

“Nor did I yours,” he points out, “You may call me Op-“

Suddenly, a burst of static buzzes through the radio. You shoot it a funny look.

“Optimus,” the stranger admits over the static with a hesitance you pick up on right away, drawing your gaze from the dash, “My name is Optimus.”

“Optimus?” you repeat incredulously, a small smile quirking at the edges of your mouth, “Wow… You must have had creative parents.”

“I appreciate that it might seem… an unusual name…”

“It is,” you agree pleasantly, “I like it. Makes you sound cool. Unique. My parents just stuck me with Y/n.”

At once, Optimus echoes your name, and you’re jarred by the sound of it coming from someone else’s lips, reverberating around the truck. It’s been a while since anyone used it.

“Y/n,” he says again in his velvety timbre, “It’s a fine name. I like yours too.”

[willowsnook]

Hello, 👋 Can I please order:

Gin, Lime, Wine glass.

Please and thank you.

lando norris x fewtrell!reader

Watch your fucking mouth

----------------------------------------------

Your brother truly believed that you were put on earth to make his life a living hell, and maybe he was right. He didn't understand what happened. How did you go from his sweet, innocent sister who would never do anything out of line to someone attracting the attention of every male in her vicinity, someone partying every weekend, and someone he had to bail out of jail.

In your defense...that bitch started it.

While he was confused by how much you had changed in college, you weren't. You had spent your whole life being Max Fewtrell's cute little sister. It gets cold in the shadows. When you went to college in the US, it was like a whole new world was opened. People didn't know who your brother was and if they did they didn't care. You became the star.

Now that you were back in the UK your brother got to witness the new you in person and it was driving him crazy. It was also driving his best friend, Lando, crazy. You had been head over heels for Lando while you were growing up and he had never given you the time of day. So you'd spent the first couple of months back torturing him. Tight, short outfits for whenever you knew you were going to be around him, always accidentally touching him whether it be a hand on his arm or squeezing in front of him to get by, and flirting with literally any man while you were out in front of both of them.

You'd seen how his eyes followed you around the room, how he stiffened at your touch, and the glaring at all the guys. But he couldn't do anything about any of that and you both knew it leaving him frustrated.

Today you were all headed to hang out on Charles's yacht, to celebrate his girlfriend Alex's birthday. You wore the skimpiest bikini you owned which immediately caused your brother to drag you off when you arrived.

"What on earth are you wearing?" He seethed and you gave him a sweet smile.

"I'm trying to get a tan Maxey," you said and he huffed.

"You might as well be naked," he said.

"Don't give me any ideas," you replied before slipping out of his grip and walking onto the boat. You gave Alex a big hug wishing her a happy birthday and the two of you went off to find drinks while catching up.

Walking back onto the main deck you smirked as you watched Lando start to stutter talking to Charles when he saw you. Following Alex over to the boys, you watched as his eyes never left your body and smirked.

"I think we're going to lay out for a bit," she told Charles, leaning in to give him a kiss.

"Can you help me put sunscreen on?" You asked Lando and he slowly nodded. You laid your stuff down on a chair and pulled out the lotion. Squirting a bit on your hands you worked on the front part of your body while Lando grabbed the sunscreen for your back. His hands were soft and diligent on your back and he remained silent. When he finished your lower back he hesitated.

"I don't want to burn my ass Lando," you said. He glanced over at your brother who was glaring daggers at him from across the deck.

"You're going to get me in trouble," he muttered before massaging the lotion into your ass and down your legs. "All done."

A little later you were all sitting around a table for a light dinner. Lando was sitting in between you and Alex with Max and Charles sitting across from you guys. Using this to your advantage you spent a lot of time leaning over Lando to talk to Alex, giving him a nice view of your chest. The third time you did it he laid his hand on your thigh, squeezing it hard. He didn't move it, even when you moved back and you knew you had him just where you wanted him.

Most of the day's attendees left after dinner and the five of you were left lounging around a fire pit, enjoying the night sky. Max and Charles were in a deep conversation about some sim racing streamer leaving Lando to eavesdrop on you and Alex.

"Are you still seeing that guy you met in Ibiza?" Alex asked and you shook your head.

"No, he was boring," you said. "You'll never guess who slid into my DMs the other day though."

Lando's head snapped towards yours as he heard you and Alex gave him a knowing look.

"Who?" She asked.

"Jack Hughes," you told her. "He's a hockey player in the US. And let me tell you, that man is fine."

You showed Alex a picture of him and she agreed.

"What should I message him back?" You asked an idea already forming as you saw Lando clenching his hands into fists. "Maybe I'll just straight up send him a nude, really set the tone."

Alex laughed catching on, especially when Lando abruptly stood up.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" He asked you, trying to keep his composure. You winked at Alex before following him inside the boat until he stopped.

"What are you getting at?" He said, anger simmering off of him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," You replied, giving him doe eyes.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he said. "Spending all day looking like that, touching me, and riling me up."

"And what are you doing about it?" You asked pretending to think. "Oh right, nothing."

"We both know I can't," he said stepping towards you, starting to lose his cool.

"Then don't say a word when I'm fucking a hockey player who can," you said.

"Watch your fucking mouth," he seethed coming within an inch of your face.

"Or what?"

Back hitting the wall behind you, his lips were on yours in an instant. Gasping at the sudden aggression his tongue slid into your mouth as his hand came up to your throat holding you in place. You dragged your hand down his abs landing on the hard bulge causing him moan into you.

Smirking you pushed him off and moved towards a bedroom, him hot on your heels. He climbed on top of you on the bed bringing his lips to your neck sucking hard. You had your fingers tangled in his hair as your head was thrown back on the pillows while he continued.

"Teasing me all summer hmm," he said looking you in the eye. "Just begging me to fuck you. What happened to sweet little innocent y/n?"

You flipped him over, straddling him and grinding down on his bulge.

"She's dead," you replied and brought your mouth down to his chest nipping at his chest hard making him groan out. He had just started untie your bikini top when someone knocked on the door causing you both to freeze.

"You had better not be in there with my sister Lando I swear to god," you heard your brother Max yell and you looked down at Lando who had gone pale.

"Your move."

[cassandraclare]

New publishing announcement!

Hi guys!

I know it’s been a long time since there’s been news about The Wicked Powers. I’ve actually been sitting on information for a long time because I was not allowed to talk about it. It was making me pull out all my hair, so I am super glad to be able to share the following announcement with you: The Wicked Powers is scheduled for publication, and will be published by Walker Books in the UK and Random House in the US.

There’s a bunch more about this announcement, including the announcement of a brand-new YA romantasy series I’ll be doing called In Fire Foretold. That will be published by Pan Macmillan in the UK (same people who published Sword Catcher) and by Random House in the US.

I know there will be a lot of questions about what my schedule is, why things are coming out when they are, whether I have anything coming out next year (Yes, The Ragpicker King, the sequel to Sword Catcher, and also for those who participated in the Kickstarter, those four books) and the overall future of everything Shadowhunter-related. So I will be doing followup announcements to address all that stuff, but first, here are both press release from my publishers in the US and then in the UK with all the info!

GLOBALLY BESTSELLING FANTASY PHENOMENON CASSANDRA CLARE TO PUBLISH  FINAL TRILOGY IN THE ‘SHADOWHUNTER CHRONICLES’  AND NEW DUOLOGY WITH ALFRED A. KNOPF BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS  First book in THE WICKED POWERS to release in Spring 2026

(New York, NY, April 5, 2024)—Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, will publish five new books from #1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cassandra Clare, whose novels have sold more than 40 million copies worldwide, been translated into 43 languages, and published in more than 60 countries. The new publications will begin in Spring 2026 with the first book in THE WICKED POWERS trilogy, the sixth and final series in Clare’s 23-book, young adult fantasy franchise The Shadowhunter Chronicles. Also slated for publication with Knopf is a brand-new YA romantasy duology, IN FIRE FORETOLD. The news was announced today by Melanie Nolan, VP and Publisher, Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers, who acquired North American rights from Suzie Townsend and Joanna Volpe of New Leaf Literary & Media in a highly competitive auction. Michelle Frey, Senior Executive Editor, Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers, will edit both series. 

Cassandra Clare mesmerized readers across the globe with the publication of City of Bones (2007), the first book in the Mortal Instruments series, and was quickly dubbed the “New Queen of Fantasy” by the Wall Street Journal. The Mortal Instruments became the basis for the far-reaching Shadowhunter Chronicles, an intricately drawn world that has seen global success and has been adapted into both a feature film and television show. The books follow the Shadowhunters, a secretive race of humans born with angel blood, whose mission is to eliminate the demons that plague the Earth. Knopf’s first publishing collaboration with Clare, THE WICKED POWERS (Spring 2026), will follow Kit Herondale, Ty Blackthorn, and Drusilla Blackthorn from The Dark Artifices series as they are drawn into the final massive conflict between the demons and the angels. 

IN FIRE FORETOLD is a pulse-pounding YA romantasy duology set in a new world with entirely new characters. The story centers a young woman who must learn to control her dangerous magical abilities in order to save her kingdom, all while finding herself torn between two brothers—the kingdom's princes, born to a cursed royal bloodline. The publication date for IN FIRE FORETOLD, as well as news of additional books to come from Cassandra Clare and Knopf, will be announced. 

Says Cassandra Clare: "I am delighted to have Knopf and Penguin Random House as my publishers for this last trilogy in the Shadowhunters world. They truly understand what it means—both for the story and for my readers—to wrap up such an epic tale that has been told over so many years. I'm also excited to be launching my next YA series — a kickass portal fantasy that contains a ton of things I love, from a bold and reckless heroine to a magical wasteland filled with terrifying monsters that must be fought, to a love triangle with two very unusual cursed princes. I can't wait for us to bring these stories to the world."

Says Michelle Frey: “Cassandra Clare is a beloved author whose work has a massive following for good reason: she sucks you into a fully imagined world and never lets go until the last, satisfying page. I have long admired Cassie and am thrilled to be working with her on both the delectable final trilogy in the Shadowhunter Chronicles and the heart-stopping new love triangle she has dreamed up with IN FIRE FORETOLD.”

Random House Children’s Books (rhcbooks.com) is the world’s largest English-language children’s trade book publisher. Creating books for toddlers through young adult readers, in all formats from board books to activity books to picture books, novels, and nonfiction, the imprints of Random House Children’s Books bring together award-winning authors and illustrators, world-famous franchise characters, and multimillion-copy series. Random House Children’s Books is a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

UK/AUS/NZ:

Walker Books will publish three new books, the final trilogy in Shadowhunter Chronicles, the first coming in Spring 2026.

Separately, First Ink will publish a brand new YA duology, introducing readers to a fantastical new world of Clare’s creation, filled with enticing new characters and heart-racing action. With sales figures for Cassandra’s novels exceeding 40 million copies worldwide, translated into 43 languages and published in more than 60 countries, these are exciting and major acquisitions for both publishing houses.

Walker will launch THE WICKED POWERS in Spring 2026 with the first book in the trilogy, The Last King of Faerie. THE WICKED POWERS is the final instalment of Clare’s 23-book, young adult fantasy series, Shadowhunter Chronicles.

THE WICKED POWERS (Spring 2026), will follow Kit Herondale, Ty Blackthorn, and Drusilla Blackthorn from The Dark Artifices series as they are drawn into the final massive conflict between the demons and the angels. The novel marks the beginning of the final trilogy in Clare’s globally beloved series.

Cassandra Clare Says about THE WICKED POWERS: "I’m thrilled to be taking this momentous step in the Shadowhunter chronicles with Walker! They published City of Bones in 2007 and now we will be bringing this huge epic to a close together. With their creativity and dedication, I know they’ll do it justice."

Denise Johnstone Burt says: “We at Walker are immensely proud to have been Cassie’s publishers from the very beginning, when City of Bones launched the Shadowhunters into the world. Since then Cassie has become one of the most beloved writers in YA fantasy all over the world, and with very good reason. Her world-building and character portrayal are absolutely second to none and her books never fail to mesmerise her fans. I am delighted that we will be returning to the world of Shadowhunters once again in THE WICKED POWERS, and know Cassie will bring the Chronicles to a conclusion with her trademark brilliance and consummate style.”

First Ink will publish IN FIRE FORETOLD, a pulse-pounding YA romantasy duology set to delight all fans of Cassie Clare. UK and Commonwealth rights were acquired by Samantha Smith, Publisher of First Ink and Macmillan Children’s Books’ Fiction, Non Fiction and Picture Book List, from Danny Baror and Heather Baror-Shapiro at Baror International.  The duology will be a super lead title for First Ink and will launch with a significant multi-channel communications campaign including national media, influencer and fan events [HBS1] and multimedia advertising.

IN FIRE FORETOLD sees the launch of a brand new world and set of entirely new characters for Clare. The story centres on a young woman who must learn to control her dangerous magical abilities in order to save her kingdom, all while finding herself torn between two brothers - the kingdom's princes - born to a cursed royal bloodline.

Cassandra Clare says about IN FIRE FORETOLD: “I’m so excited to be publishing IN FIRE FORETOLD with First Ink. This story contains so many things I love- it’s a portal fantasy that swings between worlds, where the gritty LA streets exist alongside a dangerous magical world filled with deadly monsters - and a uniquely tough heroine who’s ready to do battle on all sides. Not to mention some gorgeous princes with shady pasts. I know how much Pan Macmillan loves fantasy and how well they publish it so I’m thrilled for this partnership."

Samantha Smith, Publisher at First Ink, says: “Cassandra Clare is a phenomenon author who has delighted and surprised her millions of readers across the world for decades now. As a huge fan of both her YA Mortal Instruments series and latest adult fantasy Sword Catcher, I cannot wait for her to turn her formidable pen to a new, heart-stopping series in In the Fire Foretold and could not be more excited to welcome her onto the First Ink list”

Belinda Ioni Rasmussen, Managing Director at Macmillan Children’s Books, says: “ Welcoming Cassandra Clare to First Ink with a brand new fantasy world is very exciting - both for us and her fans.  Her storytelling is second to none and her new duology on our list is the perfect partner series to her brilliant publishing that sits on our Tor list at Pan Macmillan.”

About Walker Books

Home to books for all ages, Walker Books publishes many award-winning authors, illustrators, and literary franchisesincluding Anthony Horowitz, Angie Thomas, Cassandra Clare, Lucy Cousins, Anthony Browne, Patrick Ness, Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney and Anita Jeram, We’re Going on a Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen and Helen Oxenbury, and Where’s Wally? by Martin Handford. Walker Books is part of the vibrant international Walker Books Group that includes Walker Books Australia; Candlewick Press and Walker Books US in America and Walker Productions.

About Pan Macmillan

At Pan Macmillan we publish a broad and vibrant range of books for audiences of all ages, from dazzling bestsellers to influential prize-winners; books to inspire lifelong readers and listeners to enduring classics for generations to come. The fourth largest UK publisher, we pride ourselves on publishing successfully and sustainably and are committed to working together to positively impact culture and society at large.

[antifainternational]

Kirkcaldy reportback!

On Saturday the 18th of May 2024 a group of antifascist members of the community disrupted an event organised by Women Won't Wheesht in Kirkcaldy.

These people were workers, locals and members of the public. They were transgender, cisgender, gay and straight. They were unaffiliated with any organisation, group or political party. Their actions were their own and were organised on their own initiative. They acted to protect their community from an intolerant group who aim to plant a seed of cruelty, a seed of hate that would grow and overshadow everything around it, which would poison the earth and kill off wildflower and bramble and thistle alike.

"A community is made up of many different types of people," one member of the group said, "and what makes a community strong is celebrating the diversity of its members and standing in solidarity with those who need it most. Trans people are one of the most marginalised groups of people in society, and yet groups like Women Won't Wheesht seek to sow division in our local communities by painting trans people as a danger. Trans people are part of the fabric of our communities and groups like Women Won't Wheesht have no place in inclusive and safe communities. We all need to stand up against hate speech and protect our neighbours and friends."

Women Won't Wheesht is a hate group which peddles anti-transgender bigotry. Their events, veiled under vague 'concerns about women' have historically been attended by anti-abortion anti-feminist groups such as the Scottish Family Party, homophobes such as the Destiny Church, and members of the fascist Scottish Defence League. Their members also attended rallies organised by the neo-nazi Kelly Jay Keen.

Women Won't Wheesht's rhetoric calls for the elimination of drag queens, transgender and nonbinary people from public life. It is the same rhetoric which was used to murder members of the gay community during the AIDS epidemic. It advocates both social murder (murder by inaction from the state) and violence against transgender people. To achieve this, they bully and harass transgender people in society and online. They publicly share people's addresses and names. They accuse all transgender people of being sexual predators, thereby toxifying and dehumanising them so they are seen as less-than-human. They lobby politicians to spread their hate and appear legitimate.

The anti-transgender reactionary movement in the UK has been called explicitly genocidal by the Lemkin Institute for Genocide Prevention.

We, as proud members of our community, denounce all genocides and any who participate in them. We stand for a world where everyone has the right to speak their mind, where everyone has the right to be who they are. We stand for a world where gay, straight, brown, white, man, woman, and everything in between can live and love together. We cannot stand by and allow Women Won't Wheesht platform to spread hate and cruelty. We are fighting for a kinder, more caring world.

If the members of Women Won't Wheesht reach out to their local queer community, if they choose to talk, and listen, and learn, if they come with humility and gentleness, they will be greeted and welcomed with kindness and respect. We understand that many of those who come to join these movements have done so under a deception. They have been told that their alienation is not due to the United Kingdom's misogynist society and the social murder and violence of neoliberal capitalism, but due to transgender people existing. Many of us have been caught and deceived by such lies too. We have learned, and we have grown.

But if Women Won't Wheesht continue their campaign of violence, they will meet resistance. Their platform will be taken away, because it is by the grace of the people of Scotland that they have it in the first place, and the people of Scotland will not allow genocide of any kind.

At the action on Saturday, members of the public were overwhelmingly in support of transgender liberation.

One organiser said "People of all ages stopped to speak to the outreach team and expressed disgust at the transphobia from the Women Won't Wheesht incomers." Over one hundred trans flags were distributed to supportive people of Kirkaldy.

SOLIDARITY. LOVE AND KINDNESS.

ANTI-FASCISTS OF SCOTLAND.

[ceesimz]

Relationship Test

(this isn't gonna be the most description-heavy fic, it's mostly dialogue but I wanted to write this because I think the dynamic of 'gf asking stupid questions to annoy their partner' is really entertaining)

Realistically, Leah should have known from the moment the following question came out of your mouth that you were about to enter an incredibly annoying phase.

"Leah, if I was any supermarket, out of all the ones in the UK, which one would I be?"

She simply turned her head to look at you, completely thrown off by the question. A few moments passed by of her trying to suss you out, figuring out what on earth she should reply to that, before she paused the show you were both watching and took a deep breath.

"Is this a joke or is that a genuine question babe?" She finally replied.

You shrugged a shoulder, fighting off a grin, and looked expectantly at her.

"A genuine question."

Leah once again just stared at you. Where to even begin? Surely, there was no right answer here.

"What one do you think you would be?" She deflected the question, but you just shook your head.

"Good try, but I asked you."

She groaned and threw her head back.

"My love, I have absolutely no idea! I don't look at you and think, 'ah yeah, you are an Aldi', I don't know what you're trying to get at!" She cried out, eyes wide and hands gesturing wildly.

"An Aldi?" You gasped, dramatically feigning offence, even going so far as bringing a hand to your chest to give the full effect. "Leah, that's fucking low!"

"No, I didn't call you an Aldi, babe, I just used it as an example because it's a weird question to ask!"

"Yeah but that was the first one that came to your head! An Aldi, really? Unbelievable. I thought you would have valued me higher than that. Maybe a Tesco at least, but nooo, my girlfriend thinks I'm an Aldi." You sighed and refused to meet her gaze, turning to the paused TV screen and smiling to yourself as you heard her take a deep breath.

"Darling, you are a woman, not a supermarket. I value you higher than I value you myself, okay? It was just a silly question, let's not think too deeply about it." You shook your head once more and stood up from your place on the sofa, storming out the room. "No, babe, where are you going?"

Before you rounded the corner of the lounge, you sent her a cheeky grin and laughed.

"Just the toilet, Le, don't worry." You stated simply, then walked out.

That left the blonde sat stressing to herself whilst also being utterly perplexed at what had just occurred. When you walked back in a few moments later, she still looked visibly shell-shocked, which you couldn't help but giggle at.

"Earth to my girlfriend?" You teased, slotting yourself onto her lap and knocking on her forehead with a knuckle.

"You are something else, I swear." She sighed, a humoured smile on her face as she placed a kiss on your cheek.

Leah survived all of two days before the next one was fired her way, this time, on the drive home from Arsenal training. The pair of you were exhausted, having had a match the day before then being thrown into early morning training the next day. But that didn't stop you from exercising your newfound love.

"Hey Le?" You start, Leah humming. "If I died, would you fall in love again with another person?"

Leah's eyes almost popped out of their sockets at that one. She was still driving, so she couldn't even take a glance at you as she navigated through the London traffic.

"Sorry?" She choked out, sitting up in her seat.

"Would you move on and find another person after me?"

"Is this... a test?" Leah wondered, and it's so hard not to laugh at the hint of nerves clear in her voice.

"I'm just curious." You shrugged nonchalantly.

"I... well, that's a bit of a loaded question, babe." She breathed out, eyebrows furrowed down as she's overridden with countless thoughts. "I mean, first of all I'd be fucking devastated, my love."

"Not what I asked." You told her, to which she panicked more.

"I..." She stuttered over an answer. "I don't know, it would depend I guess?"

"Are you serious?" You begin to argue, Leah wincing and slouching her shoulders. "What do you mean?"

"I have no clue, babe! Sorry for not giving a valid answer, because I don't want to think about you dying!"

"Chill, Le, I'm just teasing you." She dropped her head back against the head rest and groans.

"You are gonna be the death of me." Leah grumbled, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

"But seriously though, would you?"

"I swear to f-"

That last one was indeed a bit loaded, so you gave her a week's respite before the next one came. This time? In the cinema, as the adverts played before your chosen film.

"Love?" You whispered, nudging her arm that held her phone. She put it down on the arm rest and turned to you with a soft smile. "I've had a thought that's been plaguing me a bit recently."

"You wanna talk about it here?" Leah frowned, gently taking your hand as you nod. "Okay, my darling, out with it."

"Do you prefer my face or my body?"

Leah stared at you for a solid ten seconds before her body deflated and she dropped your hand. She chuckled to herself and pinched the bridge of her nose, mumbling something under her breath.

"This is another one of those questions, innit." She sighed, turning to you to get confirmation. However, you offered no emotion or reaction. "Tell me, for this one, if this is a genuine... insecurity I need to tackle properly, or if this is another bullshit question."

"I want to know, Leah." You stated. She still couldn't tell if you were serious.

"I prefer your face, my love." She replied truthfully, because that was genuinely her answer.

"Why?" You challenged, still void of emotion.

"Because... that's what I fell in love with first. Your eyes and all the emotions you hold in them, not to mention how beautiful they are. Your smile that immediately makes me smile no matter what I'm going through. Your little freckles, your nose, your eyelashes that I'm still jealous of to this day. Your face was the first impression I got of you, my first glimpse getting to know you. So if you held me at gunpoint and told me to choose, I would say your face. Your body is absolutely beautiful and incredible of course, but you could have no arms and eleven toes and I'm almost certain I'd still love you." Leah answered.

To be honest, that is definitely not what you were expecting. You didn't think a stupid question found in a Tik Tok video captioned 'Questions To Start An Argument' could lead to such a heartfelt admission.

"Oh." Was all you said. "I was supposed to argue back at you."

"What?" She laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pecking your cheek.

"I was supposed to argue and say 'so you don't like this or that about my body' but you kind of took my breath away." You explained with a sheepish smile on your face.

"My love, you know I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world, both your face and your body, but if I could only have one forever, it would be your face. Zero hesitation." Leah admitted. You blushed heavily and hid your face in her neck. "Not to say I wouldn't miss your body. You would miss it too, I know you love when I-"

"Nope!" You slapped a hand over her mouth, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading. "Just because we are in the back row of a cinema does not mean you can start saying things like that."

Leah smirked behind your hand and shrugged a shoulder.

"Your loss, baby."

The next one came when you lay awake in bed with Leah one morning a few days later. You were both lay on your stomachs, your hand gliding over Leah's back under her shirt as you gave her the back scratches she demanded with the promise of paying for breakfast in return. Admittedly, you were more of a morning person than Leah was, hence why the following question came to your mind at 8am whilst she could barely think. Was it possibly a bit unfair to ask such a layered question at a time you knew her mind wasn't as sharp as it could be? Absolutely not.

"Leah, could we discuss a hypothetical situation for a moment?" You asked. She opened one eye and looke at you with a face of disgust.

"Too early." She grumbled, closing her eye again and sighing.

"Okay." You left it for a few moments, before asking anyway. "If someone offered you money to go completely non-contact with me for three months, what's the lowest amount of money you'd accept it for?"

"What?" Leah glared at you, resting up on her elbows as she pushed her hair back out of her face. You went to repeat the question, but she shook her head and interrupted you. "I heard you. I mean, what the fuck kind of question is that?"

"Just curious." You shrugged, shifting to lay on your back and look up at her.

"I wouldn't do that." She said, plain and simple.

"It's only three months. What if it was for like, a million? That's three months of doing nothing for a ton of money, babe. That's a life-changing amount of money." You commented with a grin.

"Would you accept that?" She asked, outraged.

"Of course!" You answered immediately. Leah shook her head and threw the duvet off of her, jumping out of bed. "Come ooooon! You'd accept that too, surely?"

"You are a fucking wind-up." She grumbled, stepping into her slippers and leaving the room.

You stayed in bed with an amused smile, settling back down and wrapping yourself up with the duvet, until a voice came from the other room.

"I'd do it for free if you keep up with these stupid questions!"

At that, you jumped out of bed and ran to meet her in the kitchen, an endless amount of colourful expletives leaving your mouth on the way there.

A busy few weeks followed that morning, so your habit took a backseat to focus on an intense set of games. It slipped your mind completely, until one night when some of the Arsenal girls were around at Leah's apartment, waiting to watch one of the men's champions league games. When a multitude of irritated groans echoed around the lounge at the announcement of the game being postponed for a short while, you grinned to yourself from your place on the sofa beside Leah.

"Girls, I know how to keep us entertained in the meantime." You announced.

"We can't do karaoke again, last time I almost got kicked out of the flat." Leah looked at you with a raised eyebrow in warning.

She was referring to an incident that occurred a few months back - a team bonding evening where you, Leah, and the majority of your teammates had a movie night that led to an intense karaoke session. Consequently, a few of the neighbouring apartments reported such event to the building's security team which resulted in a knock at Leah's door and a noise complaint letter being handed to her.

"Not karaoke, babe. Something better." You wiggled your eyebrows at the other girls and stood up from your seat. "Le, come on, help me get two stools from the kitchen."

"What are you planning?" She asked in a hushed tone as you led her to the kitchen.

"You'll see." You shrugged with a smirk, picking up one of the chairs and gesturing for Leah to do the same. Then, you wandered back to the lounge and placed your stool down in front of the TV, Leah doing the same. "Leah, take a seat."

Some of the girls whispered between themselves at the scene carrying out in front of them, getting a great view of what was about to occur.

"Babe, I swear-"

"Sit down, Leah Williamson!" You demanded, grabbing your phone from the couch.

"Oo, government name!" Beth teased, Leah glaring at her and doing as she was told.

You sat there in silence for a brief moment, trying to find the list on your phone that had been neglected for a little while. Once you'd found it, you looked at Leah across from you in her chair and cleared your throat.

"Leah, this is a relationship test." You stated.

Leah's face fell as the girls laughed loudly at her reaction, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish whilst she tried to find a response.

"Right now?" She replied, you nodding with a smug grin.

"Yep. I have a series of questions for you that you must answer. No cop-outs, no deflections, just the truth."

"This is gonna be good." Jen smirked, knowing what was about to occur. It had been her that sent you the video about it in the first place, little did she know she had planted such an entertaining seed in your mind.

"Ready?" You asked with an excited smile.

"No, I never agreed to this!" Leah cried out, looking helplessly at her teammates who simply laughed again.

"Suck it up, Leah!" Steph shouted, Beth grinning manically from beside her.

"First question!" You announced, the room falling quiet. "What is your biggest fear?"

"That's not a relationship question!" Kyra exclaimed, earning a smack on the knee from Caitlin.

"I don't know, dying?" Leah replied with a shrug.

"Wrong!" You respond.

"How's that wrong, it's my fear?!" She cried.

"The correct answer was: losing me." You revealed, the room bursting into laughter. You couldn't help yourself and joined in too as Leah groaned and covered her face with her hands.

"I know what this is gonna be now." She grumbled, looking back at you and waiting for the next question.

"Next question." You said, silencing the room. "If a genie offered you three wishes, but if you accepted them, there was a ten percent chance you lost me forever, would you take them?"

"Yeah because I would use a wish to get you back." Leah said with a shrug, thinking she had caught you out.

"Wrong. That's not possible." You shook your head shamefully at her.

"And how was I supposed to know that then?" She hit back, but you shrugged back at her.

"Not my problem." You stated as the girls laughed at Leah's eye roll. "Next. Would you rather never play football again or never have sex with me again?"

That one almost knocked Leah off her seat.

"How am I supposed to answer that?" Her cheeks were bright red as she argued, completely at a loss for words right now.

How had a quiet night watching the football, turned into her being the butt of the joke?

"You have to answer it, love." You lowered your phone and fixed her with a pressuring glare, everyone else in the room looking at her expectantly as they held in their laughter.

"Babe, I..." She stuttered, glancing around at her peers with a frantic look in her eyes.

"You're gonna be in the doghouse, Leah." Katie kindly reminded her, followed by a few muffled laughs from some of them.

"Never play football again." Leah answered in a nervous voice.

"Wrong!" You sighed, shaking your head.

"How is that- I can't fucking win." She groaned frustratedly and clenched her fists as everyone else once again laughed uncontrollably. "Please explain how that answer is wrong, my love."

"You shouldn't let your attraction to me override your career, my darling!" You told her with a dramatic pout. She couldn't help but chuckle at your reply, now starting to see the humour in this situation.

"Aren't you guys romantic." Beth rolled her eyes and waved you both off. "Move on, next question."

"Alright." You cleared your voice again, choosing your next blow. "If you learned that I had been hired to date you as part of a social experiment for research, would you be able to forgive me?"

"What the fuck!"

You couldn't help it anymore. You burst out laughing along with your friends and covered your face as you did, hearing Leah rant in the background of all the noise. A few moments passed of pure laughter before you sat back up straight and looked at your girlfriend who, if she was in a cartoon, would have literal steam coming out of her ears.

"Your answer, please." You asked impatiently, tapping your foot on the floor.

"Dating you is a social experiment, this is absurd, I mean-"

"Moving on." You ignored her rebuttal. "Would you rather kiss me for £100,000 or the prettiest woman in the world for a million?"

Leah took a deep breath, removing all previous irritation in her bones, before answering confidently.

"Prettiest woman in the world for a million." She stated, waiting for you to correct her.

"Wrong, how fucking rude. Why would you not kiss me?" You challenged with an angry scowl.

"Because you are the prettiest woman in the world." Leah stated simply with a soft smile, causing you to blush. The room was silent for a moment as you both gazed at each other, before the sound of someone jokingly gagging disrupted it.

"Get a room!" Kyra shouted, throwing one of the sofa pillows at you both. Everyone else followed her lead and started teasing you both, but Leah simply smirked and stood up.

"Get a room, you say? Alright."

She shrugged before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards her bedroom. The sounds of the others wolf-whistling and cheering followed you until it was shut out by Leah slamming the bedroom door closed.

"You done testing me now?" She asked with her eyebrows raised, pressing you back against the door and holding you in place by your hips.

"Guess so." You smiled uncontrollably at her, to which she laughed and let out a breath before hiding her face in your neck.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" She said, muffled by your skin.

"I know it, babe. You love me for it." You grinned. Leah lifted her back up and leaned down to press your lips together in a firm but teasing kiss, pulling back sooner than you wanted.

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't, right?"