#I have to get it out of my brain at some point or my brain is gonna pop like a lil. those popper thingums. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astonmartinii · 2 days ago

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i still miss the smoke | ollie bearman social media au

pairing: ollie bearman x fem singer ex reader

where there’s smoke, there’s fire and maybe we miss the warmth

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

y/nfanpage

liked by kimiantonelli, user1 and 102,309 others

tagged: yourusername

y/nfanpage: folklore is finally out and i say for everyone: thank you y/n!!!! another banger i believe, what did you guys think?

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user2: my ears have been BLESSED

user3: she really looked inside my brain and created the exact thing i needed

user4: and THIS is why i have a parasocial relationship sorry!

user5: you can tell she's been writing this a long time because she still sounds so in love

user6: i don't want to be that person that makes all her music about the men but like she's so obviously still in love with ollie

user7: she put the songs invisible string and the 1 on this record and didn't think we would see that she's so in love still

user8: maybe she's hoping that he'll listen and call her?

kimiantonelli: HE BETTER FUCKING CALL JESUS CHRIST

this comment has been deleted

user8: why did an account with over a million followers just reply to me and then delete his comment?

user9: babe that was soon-to-be mercedes f1 driver kimi antonelli (he's ollie's current teammate)

user8: WHAT?

user10: surely this is a sign?

user11: mum come pick me up they've made up yet another conspiracy about y/n and ollie getting back together

user12: 1. they're still in love argue with the wall 2. fuck ur mum

user11: excuse me?

user12: i said what i said, kimi commenting has proved the fact ollie clearly misses y/n as much as folklore proves she misses him

user13: as an f1 fan it still actually boggles my mind that ollie was actually with Y/N Y/LN

user14: no it's crazy because when he got called up in saudi arabia the first thing charles said to him was 'why didn't you bring y/n we wanted to meet her'

user15: also like the way the viewer count spiked for saudi with all the y/n fans watching

user16: well some of us didn't leave so now i have another expensive hobby and an unhealthy attachment to both of them

olliebearman

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 409,300 others

tagged: kimiantonelli

olliebearman: back to the action this weekend

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user17: thank you for my daily dose of bearnelli

user18: i can't believe both will be on the f1 grid next year 😭

user19: i hate that they won't be teammates

user20: you can't separate them they're like bonded cats

charles_leclerc: so when are you growing some balls and calling y/n?

olliebearman: huh?

charles_leclerc: answer me quickly oliver or you're not getting my car in FP1

olliebearman: i don't think you can do that?

charles_leclerc: do you wanna find out the hard way?

olliebearman: i know we have this cool father son thing going and i love that but STAY THE FUCK OF MY LOVE LIFE

charles_leclerc: i don't appreciate your tone young man

charles_leclerc: and i loved folklore and want my vinyl signed :P

olliebearman: go to a meet and greet like a normal person?

charles_leclerc: JUST CALL HER FOR FUCK SAKE

user21: so everyone lost their minds over the summer break i see

user22: well i hate to say it but they have a point - y/n is in the likes

user23: they're feeding my delusions i fear

kimiantonelli: we look like a couple here.... which reminds me ... you could be in a relationship ... if you just PICKED UP THE DAMN PHONE

olliebearman: do you fucking mind?

kimiantonelli: don't speak to me like that :(

olliebearman: this is my instagram page?

kimiantonelli: you keep fucking moping and it's bringing the mood down so do something about it for the love of god

olliebearman: stop airing me out online? I SAW UR TWEET

kimiantonelli: and yet she's still in your likes THERE'S STILL TIME JACKASS

user24: we're trusting these fools to drive f1 cars?

yourusername: i can see all of these comments?

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f1insider

liked by user25, user26 and 21,843 others

tagged: olliebearman

f1insider: ollie meeting fans this weekend - one fan has stated that when she asked ollie to sign her y/n y/ln shirt he was more than happy to and said that his favourite song from the new album is invisible string and said "i'm still holding my end"

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user27: so he's freaking out about charles and kimi airing him out in public when he's spouting poetry to random f1 fans

user28: I WAS THE FAN and let me tell you bro was GOING THROUGH IT

user29: how so?

user28: well first of all he did a double take when he first saw my shirt and took time to properly look at it before signing - he knew in less than 5 seconds what his favourite song was and had this far off loved up look when he said about the invisible string

user29: oh he's so down bad

user30: the way i just know kimi was there groaning up a storm

user28: you would be correct

user31: someone needs to get that dude some compensation for real

user32: bro is coming into his f1 career known by the wider community as the guy who is the eternal third wheel to a couple who have been broken up for six months

user33: i'm sorry he can't say he's still holding onto the invisible string and just expect us all to be normal about it ?

user34: you can tell he's been with y/n though because before that the most eloquent thing he's said is when he sent carlos his condolences like he DIED

user35: we can't even say he's doing it for her attention because how did he know that the fan would run to social media

user36: based on how kimi is right now i'd put a lot of money on him going on like this at all times

user37: all this to say i hope they get back together because i think seeing y/n at an f1 race would send me into cardiac arrest

user38: she'd be up there for best ever wag i won't lie

user39: i do think she'd be the best but that's also because arguably ollie is more her wag

user40: they've mastered the lovestruck look of watching the person you love doing what they love

user41: we're all going to look so dumb if they never get back together

user42: SHUSH

yourusername

liked by kimiantonelli, olliebearman and 3,209,577 others

yourusername: you thought i was done? my bonus track 'the lakes' is out now!

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user43: STUNT ON THEM HOES

user44: this is such a funny comment in the context of how the music actually sounds

user45: okay well she's stepping on the girls' neck and hearing the snap like autumn leaves on the ground

charles_leclerc: amazing song once again y/n!

yourusername: thanks charles :)

charles_leclerc: now, what are we doing about this heartbroken son of mine?

yourusername: excuse me?

charles_leclerc: don't play coy with me miss, i know you're just as pathetically sad as him so why don't you get ur head out of the sand and call him up !!!!

yourusername: you know i saw all of your comments shouting at him to do the same thing

charles_leclerc: i'm standing on business - he was the one who deleted the post

yourusername: does he know you're doing that on my post as well then?

charles_leclerc: don't be stupid i know that fool still has your notifications on i can hear his phone buzzing every time you reply - he's trying to play it cool in the engineering meeting

yourusername: and you don't have to?

charles_leclerc: i told them it was a family emergency

yourusername: charles ????

charles_leclerc: whether you like it or not you are my grid daughter in law and so it does personally pain me when you IDIOTS don't see what is right in front of you - it's not like you have to use messenger pigeons, you can make it work

user46: i know ollie is going to have a heart attack when he finally reads this comments

charles_leclerc: he just snuck to the toilet and i could hear him drop his phone from the meeting room

olliebearman: STOP ARE YOU INSANE

olliebearman: also this is not "family drama" i was genuinely worried something had happened :/

yourusername: come on ollie you should know not to trust that man by now

user47: i know ^^ this is crazy but like bro THE LAKES ??? i swear in an interview y/n spoke about it was her and ollie's dream to spend christmas by the lakes?

user48: WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK

user49: plus the replies??? basically remarried

user50: genuine question for everyone in the comments talking about her getting back with this mystery man - why did they even break up?

user51: ollie was starting his f2 season that was going to secure him an f1 drive and y/n was starting an album cycle and finishing a tour so they broke up because of distance :(

user52: NOT FOR LONG :P

olliebearman

liked by charles_leclerc, kimiantonelli and 1,204,377 others

tagged: yourusername

olliebearman: i took her to the lakes where all the poets went to die (i didn't let her die)

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user54: WE HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE BACK

user55: shout out to kimi antonelli, you survived king

yourusername: you're such a cutie pie

olliebearman: just for you

yourusername: thanks for pushing me in the water and insisting on giving me mouth to mouth .... i think it might have been a front to kiss me tho

olliebearman: sue me, i've missed it :(

yourusername: you'll never be without it ever again

olliebearman: yay 🥳 🎉 😀 !!!!!!!!!

user56: why is he such a fucking nerd when his gf tells him she loves him

user57: he's so fucking real

charles_leclerc: FUCKING FINALLY

kimiantonelli: don't pretend you were on the front line old man

charles_leclerc: old man???? i'm 27

kimiantonelli: okay grandpa do you need directions to the nursing home

charles_leclerc: coming at me when fernando exists is a choice

kimiantonelli: i don't see fernando here complaining up a storm ?

fernandoalo_oficial: i am not taking sides here but the one time i have had a full conversation with ollie this season was during the pre-race parade and he spoke about y/n the whole time

yourusername: awwwww that's so cute bear :3

olliebearman: i told you i am obsessed with you

kimiantonelli: you don't say

olliebearman: just because you can't make references to bearnelli being real now

kimiantonelli: it's not real /??????????

yourusername: ???????

user58: just got her boyfriend back and is immediately has to battle his homoerotic situationship with his teammate

yourusername: i will never be free

olliebearman: he's just a funky lil guy babe, it would be rude to leave him out

kimiantonelli: yeah i'll take it!

kimiantonelli

liked by lewishamilton, olliebearman and 731,044 others

tagged: olliebearman, yourusername

kimiantonelli: WAR IS OVER

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user59: the way this man will never let them forget anything about this

user60: i know he's getting his evidence for his best man speech

kimiantonelli: you make a great point

olliebearman: that's a bold assumption that you would be my best man?

kimiantonelli: do not piss me off this morning oliver

yourusername: you can be my man of honour kimi :)

kimiantonelli: score !!!

olliebearman: how did we get here?

yourusername: i am weaponising your homoerotic tension against you

olliebearman: sure, you got me there

user61: are these people ever normal?

user62: nope!

user63: i know the merc and haas PR teams are shaking in their boots

user64: tbf i think haas will be welcoming it - i mean all the y/n fans will probably get the ollie merch next year ?

haasf1team: WE LOVE YOU Y/N 🥰

haasf1team: new wheel guns here we come - thanks y/n fans!

yourusername: thanks for being our lil messenger pigeon for these rough six months, we love you kimi <3

olliebearman: we're so lucky to have someone like you in our lives, forever grateful

kimiantonelli: i know i complained the whole time, i love you guys and i'd go through this weird three way conversation all over again

charles_leclerc: okay now this is all done @yourusername when are you coming to the paddock i have a lot of vinyls for you to sign!

yourusername: you've been very loud throughout this whole situation, why should i?

charles_leclerc: BECAUSE I LOVE YOUR MUSIC

charles_leclerc: and plus i do really want the best for both of you so i let kimi play nice cop

kimiantonelli: you were NOT in on this?

charles_leclerc: YOU'RE WELCOME 😉

olliebearman: let's all smile and wave

yourusername: 😃

kimiantonelli: 😃

yourusername

liked by kimiantonelli, charles_leclerc and 4,298,400 others

tagged: olliebearman

yourusername: i knew you were still the 1 for me x

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user66: back to flexing their love on us again

user67: i am cripplingly lonely but i am so happy for them

user68: honestly i think i've been through this breakup with them i also deserve compensation

yourusername: i only got so many hampers i'm sorry gal

maxverstappen1: is now an okay time to ask for tickets to the tour?

yourusername: yes! i'll grab you at a race and we can discuss what shows you want (spoiler alert it mostly lines up with the f1 calendar)

yourusername: also @charles_leclerc take notes on how to ask for things

maxverstappen1: schooled again bozo @charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: EXCUSE ME I AM NUMBER 1 Y/N FAN ON THE GRID I AM ALLOWED TO BE INSANE ABOUT HAVING YOU IN THE PADDOCK

olliebearman: .... you're the biggest y/n fan on the grid?

charles_leclerc: you of course don't count

yourusername: you know what? sure! i'm just confused at this point

user69: i think this six month breakup rotted all of our brains at this point

user70: charles being a y/n fan makes a lot of sense tbf

user71: at least he didn't do the corny thing of just pretending his gf is a fan

olliebearman: i did say i'm still holding onto the end of the invisible string

yourusername: and if i told you i never let go either

olliebearman: then i know we were always meant to be

yourusername: ugh i love you

olliebearman: i love you more

kimiantonelli: i love you guys too :D

yourusername: 😭 😭 😭 we love you too kimi

olliebearman: we love you kimi :3

fin.

note: my ass finally finished a draft GOOD LORD and a first one for OLLIE !!!!!!!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #ollie bearman #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman imagine #ollie bearman instagram au #ollie bearman social media au #ollie bearman x you

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elsa-fogen · 2 days ago

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Yep. Yeah. That's me. Almost all of it, except, i sleep well (if i manage to fall asleep) Reblogging because maybe some of you didn't know (i also didn't know)

Story time!

Too long don't read: used to sleep on private math lessons because i hate math; it takes hours for me to fall asleep WHEN I SUPPOSED TO, and my sister does it in 3-5 minutes.

I was studying at university and we had MATH there I've always had problems with it. since 5th grade i think (well, i hated math before too but real problems started there) when i changed schools and the new class was behind what I've already studied and i didn't pay attention, until i realized that at some point I was behind. I said "welp, i guess it's to late to try, so fuck it"

So at university we had this very high level math and i just couldn't understand a thing (and we had an awful teacher who was saying evvvvery time something like "yall getting expelled, we're all gonna die") so i decided "if i don't understand, fuck it then, i will not even try" and started skipping math classes.

But i STILL had to pass an exam, we were getting 3 tries and if you fail you're getting expelled. I failed first two what a surprise (i don't know how i managed to pass it after all, i can't remember SHIT, only that i is fucking non-existing number which is square root of -1. Why on earth would you need it i have NO fucking clue.

So i had personal teachers who tried to make me understand at least something to pass the exam. And there was one i remember very well, i even remember that we paid her 10$ per hour (for us that was quite a lot). And i remember her because i was SLEEPING. I just COULDN'T keep my eyes opened. She explains something about deviding by zero and my brain draws the fucking universe collapsing in front of my eyes. She gives me some task, I'm trying to write something and I'm falling asleep and DREAMING about writing, then ahe wakes me up and i see that i didn't write SHIT. It all ended when in the middle of lesson she just kicked me out.

And, what a miracle, I'm leaving her apartments and suddenly, all the sleepiness just wanishes! I'm walking home, thinking about some another AU of mine, roleplaying it with myself in my head, full of energy again.

That's not the only case of this, but it's the strongest i ever felt. But that like happens all the time, EVEN WHEN MY MOM OR MY GRANNY COMES TO ME AND START TALKING ABOUT SOMETHING I'M NOT INTERESTED, IM YAWNING AND FEEL URGE TO FALL ASLEEP. But the moment they leave, It goes away! I was calling it work allergy LMAO

I was diagnosed with adhd in my early childhood (there was also something about epilepsy, but it's ok now so it doesn't matter), not long ago i brought this fact back into my active memory (thanks to Jaiden animations ADHD video for that xD) i kinda used to myself by now and now I'm trying to catch and analyse all moments of adhd kicking in. I know my own tricks and buttons, how to make myself do the thing or just how to force myself into doing something. Because i know if i start, I'll probably lock in and won't get up until it's done (well, if i have at least a tiny bit of interest in that thing, or else i won't), and i hate it when someone interrupts me in the middle of the process. No mom, i can't come right now, i can't finish it later, because i either spend few more hours forcing myself to go back to the task or just forget about it.

But i didn't know that this sleepiness was a legit symptom! I just thought that it's exaderated boredom, that's it, had a joke name for it. That's... Funny to know that this thing is actually also adhd moment.

Also, about sleeping. I have problems falling asleep. I may lie in the bed for hours without even my phone, just rotating my stories in my head, and when i don't have a story to think about, this is just the name of my current hyperfixation with different tones and in different random dialogues that doesn't even make sense. I have no idea how to fall asleep, except when i didn't sleep for like 48 hours (EVEN THEN IT MIGHT BE A PROBLEM AND I START THINKING OF THAT CREEPY PRION SICKNESS AND SCARE MYSELF AGAIN). And my mom told me that it have always been like that with me. She and my dad had the whole ritual to make me fall asleep. Dad would hold me in his arms, his head with me covered with a blanket that i could only see his face (or else I would look everywhere and never fall asleep), and rock me for HOURS while i was SCREAMING and CRYING the whole time like i was tortured. But when I'd finally fall asleep, they could be as loud as usual and didn't have to whisper, because wake me up is a whole different story. And my mom was SHOCKED when all it took to make my sister fall asleep was just pet her back for 3-5 minutes.

I don't think of myself as... Sick or ill. That's how i was all my life, i don't know anything else. That's not a sickness to me, that's just part of my personality. Maybe sometimes some parts of it bite me in the ass and make my life harder, but i don't know other life. That's the only one I've got, and i guess I'm fine with that (tho now that i think about it, i need to pay more attention to how i write the characters, and don't make them all ADHDshers LOL i need to study neurotypical people under a microscope 🔬🔍)

bro im gonna CRY i didnt know this 🥺

#reblog #adhd #adhd things #adhd story #text post #storytime with elsa

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darlingdaisyfarm · 3 days ago

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texting Stan and Ford headcanons

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ Stan is the kinda guy who thinks emojis are a scam, but somehow, he figured out how to use the "thumbs up" and "money bag" emoji. so, expect a lot of those in your chats.

✧ his text tone is rough, a little misspelled, typed like he's yelling even when he isn’t. Half of his texts are in all caps, and he absolutely does not care about grammar. but he gets the point across, always.

✧ you’re getting messages at 3 am about some ‘brilliant’ scheme to make a quick buck. he’ll send, “LISTEN, doll, what if we made... GIANT… glitter-filled eggs for easter? Tourists'll go NUTS." you reply, half-asleep, with “Stan, ily but go to bed." and all you get back is a “🤬 YOU GOTTA THINK BIGGER!”

✧ Stan sends those weird chain messages he swears are from some “hotshot businessman” that’ll make you rich in a week. and when you don’t respond immediately, you get a: “Fine, Miss Doubtful, see you when I’m rolling in gold.”

✧ there are whole days where he just floods your phone with random, blurry photos of some new Mystery Shack "artifact" he found. It’s usually junk he picked up at a garage sale, like a “haunted” ashtray or some knock-off painting that’s “probably ancient.”

✧ If he’s feeling sappy (and tipsy): you might get a rare “thinking bout you, sweet thing” at 2 am. but if you try to call him on it the next day, he’ll just be like “Didn’t say that. You’re makin’ stuff up.”

✧ when he’s really riled up about something, though? then his messages are just. . . a stream of caps-lock curses, mixed with misspelled attempts to describe whatever nonsense he just got himself into. you just sit back and let him rant; he’ll cool off eventually.

✧ and the voice messages are something else. they sound like he’s talking through a fan half the time. one minute, he’s rambling about how tourists are “the dumbest suckers on the planet” and the next, he’s ranting about how “bigfoot definitely broke into the shack last night!"

types of messages Stan texts:

"So… whatcha wearin’? 😏"

“Hey doll, I just found a penny on the ground! Maybe today’s my lucky day… hint hint ;)"

"I’d say somethin’ romantic, but I think my brain just shorted out. You’re a little too cute for a guy like me."

"Just tried that new café downtown. Ordered coffee… tastes like they filtered it through someone’s laundry. You’d hate it. Wanna come mock it with me?"

"Not gonna lie, I miss that face of yours. So what’re we doin’ about it, huh?"

“Again missin’ that cute little smile of yours… maybe you could send me a pic to remind me?”

"Wanna help me scam the tourists today? I’ll split the loot with ya… maybe ;)”

"You wouldn’t believe what I caught Ford muttering in his sleep. Man’s like a walking encyclopedia, even when he’s unconscious."

“Got any plans later? Thought maybe we could… y’know… not have plans together."

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines

✧ hehehehe he’s like an old-school emailer who’s just now getting the hang of messaging apps. texts in complete sentences, full punctuation, like he’s drafting a dissertation.

✧ He sends you whole paragraphs at random hours, talking about some discovery he’s made, like he’s reporting directly to NASA. you’re like, “Ford, it's just a weird-looking squirrel." and he's already typing another essay about its "possible interdimensional origins."

✧ once in a while, he’ll send you a message that says, “Are you awake?” at, like 3 am followed by a string of thoughtful yet completely bonkers hypotheses. you find it cute, though, his mind never stops, not even for a second.

✧ If he’s feeling bold, you might even get a “hypothetical” confession out of him: “Hypothetically, if one were to develop... strong emotional attachment to a certain person... how would one proceed?" You tease him about it the next day, and he gets flustered, “It was purely scientific curiosity."

✧ Ford isn’t big on emojis, but he likes the brain and alien ones, using them poetically. he’ll sign off texts with a single brain emoji, like it’s his version of a little goodbye wave.

✧ on really rare occasions, he’ll send a voice message. they’re always way too long, and it’s usually him whispering so he doesn’t wake Stan up. he goes on about cosmic rays or “gravity anomalies,” his voice dropping lower when he gets excited. you live for those moments

✧ and if he ever texts you a “good night,” you just know he’s been up thinking about it for hours, trying to figure out if it’s “appropriate.”

types of messages Ford texts:

“It’s been approximately 3 hours, 12 minutes, and 23 seconds since our last conversation… not that I’m counting or anything. Just… miss you."

sends a meme about science nerds “Us. But mostly me.”

“My hands ache from writing… though perhaps if it were writing about you, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you think about me too, or am I the only one utterly ruined by this… whatever this is?”

“I’ve been thinking about that book you lent me... 🤔 It’s honestly so much more interesting than I expected, thank you for recommending it."

"I don’t know how to work this... But I managed to send a meme! It’s not the worst thing I’ve done, I suppose?

“I did it. I fixed the telescope. Finally. Now we can actually look at the stars like we’ve talked about. :)"

"I hope you’re feeling okay today. I noticed you seemed a little stressed the other day. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. :) It’s important."

"If I could rearrange the periodic table, I’d put U and I together. :( Sorry, nerdy joke... :’D)”

ps - I CANT THEYRE SO CUTE BOTH I WANT TO SMASH THEM AGAINST THE WALL

lmao if someone wants, i can write some spicy types of chatting with them :)))

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls smut #ford pines x reader #ford pines smut #stan pines smut #stan pines x reader #stan pines x oc #stan pines x you #ford pines x you #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls headcanons

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screamlet · 2 days ago

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08x06 fix-it fic: break and be mended

not connected to that excerpt i posted before, just something completely different. 4.5k, read on the ao3

---

Another hospital room. Buck takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again, letting it out and hoping he gets back to sleep. It doesn't happen, though, because his brain catches up to his eyes:

Maddie, wearing a yellow paper hospital mask, a hand anxiously on her belly, sitting in the chair next to him with that too-familiar oh-thank-god-you're-finally-awake face… and Tommy leaning in the doorway.

He takes another deep breath and opens his eyes again.

"You're okay," Maddie says patiently, slowly, as Buck tries to slam the door shut or set the doorway on fire with his brain. "It's just the turkey flu, it hit you hard."

That breaks Buck's concentration. "Wait, is this a dream? Another coma dream? Turkey flu has to be something I made up."

Maddie raises her eyebrows and looks over her shoulder at Tommy before turning back to Buck. "Another one?"

"No, no, don't look at him," Buck interrupts. "He's not supposed to be here, not when I have turkey flu, not ever. He broke up with me, remember?"

In the doorway, Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He's wearing the dark blue LAFD t-shirt and pleated pants, a special Air Ops patch on his shirt sleeve. They always lurked under his flight suit, under his turnouts when they were on the same scene, but Buck didn't get to see them often. It was for the best, he thinks now, because the shirt fits perfectly across Tommy's chest and shoulders, the pants belted low. His shirt is tucked in better than Buck's ever is. He almost never got to see him like this so it feels like some new Tommy he's seeing, a Tommy that hangs around Harbor long enough to take off his flight suit but doesn't peel the rest of his work self off. He doesn't get off his shift, put the pilot away, shower and go home.

Buck looks away. He's looked too long.

"I'm actually here, you know." Tommy raps his knuckles on the door like that's proof of anything except a very strong poltergeist. "I can hear you."

Buck watches something that he hasn't seen in years sweep across Maddie's face (mostly her eyebrows, because of the mask).

She turns around and snaps, "I let you come within ten feet of my brother and you think bitchy fun Tommy was invited, too? He was not." Tommy looks shocked and abashed; Buck loves her so much.

"Why was he invited at all, Maddie?" Buck asks. "And you're both real, right? Like I'm not hallucinating both of you. Is that a turkey flu symptom? Can I have my phone? I need to look up turkey flu."

"It's a strain of avian flu, you just happened to get it from a turkey farm. Hen said you had a call to one of those last week," Maddie explains. "And you kept giggling when I said the words turkey flu so, you know, why not?"

"It's pretty funny," Buck admits. "Hey, why's he here?"

Maddie turns around and looks at Tommy expectantly. Buck still knows his face, still knows him, and can see the quip that wants to escape past his lips. He can see the work it takes to hold it back and look sincere, really sincere, for them.

"You collapsed at a scene and I flew you over," Tommy says. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Buck stares at him as he presses his lips into a fine line. "I'm okay. Thanks."

Tommy nods, then asks, "Can we talk? Alone?"

It's taken four months, almost as long as they were together, but Buck's finally hearing the words he's wanted to hear since Tommy walked out his door. I'm sorry, I was scared, I love you, yes let's take the next step together, from now on let's take every step together—that was Buck's first choice. Can we talk as a jumping off point for all those other things—that was Buck's second choice. Was.

Buck glances at Maddie and knows his face does something dumb. "I'll be outside," Maddie says. "And I'm not far, if you want me to throw him out." She looks over her shoulder at Tommy. "I'll do it."

Tommy nods. "Wouldn't doubt you for a second."

She squeezes Buck's hand and lingers for a beat, one long look at him like she's waiting for him to say actually, wait, don't, stay, but he doesn't. He hates that he doesn't. He hates that he wants to hear what Tommy has to say.

She and Tommy swap places; he takes the chair next to Buck's bed and she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Tommy doesn't see the way she passes by the window like a shark, watching, but Buck laughs. When Tommy looks back, she's gone.

"Your sister's changed a little," Tommy says casually. "Her sense of humor, I mean."

Buck licks his lips. "Yeah, well, when you were my boyfriend, you were her friend. Now you're neither."

"Yep, got it," Tommy says. He sits back in the chair, but looks so uncomfortable that someone would think he'd never sat in one before.

"Are you okay?" Buck asks. "Why are you here?"

"This chair is so weird."

"Tommy, what do you want to talk about?"

It startles Tommy, and it should. He only got soft and smitten, totally-in-love (even if he couldn't admit it out loud) Evan Buckley, cute and bratty Evan Buckley. He doesn't get that Evan anymore. No one has.

Tommy sits with his feet flat on the floor and his hands folded in his lap. He takes a minute, a long minute, of staring at the floor before he looks up and stares at Buck. "You asked me to move in with you."

Buck blinks. "I did."

"You asked me to move in with you."

"You said that. I mean, I said that, but you—"

"Evan," Tommy interrupts.

"I thought I was Buck now," Buck interrupts.

Bitchiness lurks on Tommy's tongue, but he holds it back. "You asked me to move in with you. Into the loft."

Buck tilts his head. "Yeah?"

Tommy shuts his eyes hard and shakes his head before he looks at Buck again. "Evan, I own a house."

"... okay?"

"Did you ask me to move in with you and expect me to give up my house?"

"What, no—" Buck says, then stops himself. "I don't—I didn't think—"

"Did you even think about that?" Tommy asks. "Like when you talked about moving in together, getting married, the future, all of that—did you even remember that I own a house?"

"You know," Buck interrupts. "Four months ago, you could have said, haha, wow, that's moving pretty fast, also I own a house, maybe when we're ready, we could move into MY HOUSE and make it OUR HOUSE, but you needed to run out the door so why would you say any of that?"

"Yeah! I was freaked out! Because here was this guy I—this guy I really liked, and he asked me, a 40-year-old man, to move into his loft?"

"What's wrong with it? Why do you keep saying it like that?"

"It's downtown! Downtown is loud and filthy and did I mention it's noisy? It was hell sleeping there in the summer because even with your central air, heat rises and it rises right into the bedroom. I saw your electric bill, Evan, it was unforgivable."

Buck wants to throw something at him. "And we could have been at your house, quiet and with better temperature control, but we weren't because…?"

"I'm just saying," Tommy continues. "Yeah, all that's true, but I realized you wanted me, wanted a future with me, and you didn't even remember that when I wasn't working or with you, I was at my house."

"I get that," Buck says. "Now how many times did we hang out at your house?"

Tommy sighs. "It's out of the way, your place was always closer to the 118 and to Harbor, and I kept—I was going to, okay? Like maybe after our anniversary, we'd take a week off together and we'd actually be at my house, or take a trip somewhere—"

"You got me basketball tickets," Buck snipes at him.

Tommy stops completely.

"For our six month anniversary, remember?"

"How the hell am I going to forget that?"

"You got me tickets to see the Lakers. Really good tickets."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Alright, well, that's the last time I call that guy I know in the press office for anything."

Buck thinks he's getting closer to setting something on fire with his mind. "I hate basketball."

Tommy stares at him. "What the hell are you talking about? We met because of basketball."

Buck sits up so quickly and angrily he starts wheezing and that turns into a coughing fit. Tommy's immediately there, sitting on the edge of his bed with water, getting him to take a small sip as he rubs his back. When Buck realizes what's happening, he covers his mouth with his blanket and shoves Tommy away, coughing even more.

"Sorry, I was just—"

"I have turkey flu!" Buck yells through the blanket covering his mouth.

"The doctor said you're not contagious anymore."

Buck points at a small paper box across the room. Tommy, so put-upon, grabs a pale yellow mask and slips it on before he sits in the chair again. "Sorry."

"It's—" Buck halts because Tommy had grabbed two masks and was holding one out to him expectantly. Tommy motions to it again and Buck can see how he wants to make a bitchy comment about not having this conversation through a hospital blanket, but he doesn't. That's what makes Buck reach out and put the mask on. The icy fist around his heart thinks about melting.

"We didn't meet because of basketball, we met because of Bobby and Athena and the cruise ship," Buck corrects. "I wanted to see you again after that tour at Harbor but I couldn't think of another reason—"

"I gave you the widest of openings," Tommy interrupts. "Hello? Flight lessons? When you finally offered to buy me a beer, I almost dropped to my knees right then and there."

"But you never called me! You're the one who left to hang out with Eddie!"

Tommy throws up his hands. "Ball was in your court! Speaking of basketball."

Buck sighs, exasperated. "We weren't, like, running into each other, I didn't have a reason to call you—don't say the beer—so finally I saw Eddie was going to that pick-up game with you and I dragged Chimney along."

"Right," Tommy says. "And you played basketball with us. We kicked your ass in a way that made me think you were pretending to be bad at it to make me feel good or something? And then there was the whole thing with Eddie's ankle."

"I hate basketball!"

"You brought your own ball!"

"I same-day ordered a basketball so that when I showed up you'd be like, wow, that guy's ready for basketball, what a cool guy!"

"So you're mad that your basketball ruse worked on my dumb ass, and worked so well for six months that I got you Lakers tickets for our anniversary."

Buck's so annoyed that he put it like that. Maybe that's true, but he didn't have to say it. "I don't like basketball! It was a ruse but I didn't hide it after. You watched games with Eddie and I never came along because I don't like basketball."

"You said you wanted us to have our Eddie-Tommy friend time!"

"Why do you make me sound and feel like a five-year-old? Eddie-Tommy friend time? Seriously?"

Tommy folds his hands together like he's in prayer and shuts his eyes. "Okay, listen, I just. I wanted to get the house thing off my chest, alright? Because it's—it's bothered me so much."

Buck could argue about the basketball thing for about another 500 years, except that Tommy has said what he said. "Has it?"

Tommy puts his hands in his lap again, folded politely as he looks at Buck. "I meant what I said. You were so swept away in how new and exciting everything felt, that I felt like you forgot who you were talking to. Like… I'm not a guy who's going to move in with you. I'm a guy who has a house with a home gym and a car lift, and—and the winter was so mild that I put in this little patio space in the backyard. I bought furniture for it. I took this corner of my front lawn, too, and started to plan a pollinator's garden because they sounded really interesting after those three days of bee hell. Evan, I have a house."

"You keep saying that," Buck says. His ears are burning, but he's listening too intently to feel embarrassed about it (much).

"I freaked out, alright? Because I heard: give up your house to live in this downtown loft with a couch that has a faded but GIANT blood and placenta stain on the other side of the cushion, and then the words engaged and married got thrown in there, too? All in the same breath?"

Buck stares flatly, then nods. "Yeah. I get it. Sorry." He clears his throat and grabs his water before Tommy can offer it to him. He takes a sip, looking at Tommy before he nods at the closed door. "Are we done here?"

"And I'm not a gay rights hero," Tommy adds. "You said that, too." Tommy looks away, and looks so miserable. "I'm just a guy, Evan. I've been burned before by younger guys who thought I was everything that their first gay boyfriend should be, and then—and they didn't see who I was. It's always—" Tommy holds out his hands like he's balancing scales. "Not straight enough to fake a life with a woman, not gay enough to have a real life with a man."

Buck hasn't done this in so long that his throat almost aches with it. He sighs, pained and breathless, the word crinkling against the mask: "Tommy." He swallows again and asks, "Did you really think that was me?"

Another long pause. It ends with Tommy saying, "I thought you were too good to be true."

"I'm not, though, I'm—I'm just me," Buck says. "And I did have a lot to figure out, but not about you."

Tommy laughs suddenly. "Really? Because you forgot I was a homeowner and I didn't know you hated basketball. Did you even go to that game?"

Buck coughs. "I gave the tickets to Karen and she took one of her brothers. They're nuts about the Lakers."

"Huh," Tommy says. "Well. I'm not mad about that."

The two of them are quiet until Buck says, "Seems there's a lot of things we don't know about each other."

Tommy glances at him; Buck can see the shape of his smirk beneath the mask, and the very specific way it makes his eyes crinkle. "And just when we thought we knew everything about each other."

"Yeah, I thought that, too, and then you dropped that you were engaged to my first serious girlfriend at our six month anniversary dinner." Buck raises his eyebrows. "Do you land helicopters that smoothly, too?"

"I got you here, didn't I?" Tommy bites back, then catches himself with a laugh. "Okay. Fair point."

It's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy and Buck hasn't had it easy for months. He hasn't had these quips, this back-and-forth, this person who got him until he didn't, who—Buck rubs at his eyes. Tommy made it easy. He made everything easy. Not perfect, not effortless, but easy. Easier.

"So, uh." Buck fusses with the blanket in his lap. "What have you been doing for the past four months? You, uh…"

"Am I seeing anyone?" Buck nods. "I was, yeah. Didn't last that long."

Buck can't help himself: "Neither did we."

"Ouch." Tommy looks back. "And you?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "I liked them but I broke up with them because it just—it wasn't going anywhere."

"And what's wrong with that? Staying in one place? Isn't that what you wanted for us?"

It's not, but Buck can't articulate it, so he says, "Do you think that's the same?"

A beat, and then Tommy says: "No. No, I don't."

"Tommy," Buck says quietly. "How many people do I have to be with before you decide I've figured it out?"

Tommy's eyes widen. "What? I never said that."

"Tell me what you said, then." Buck swallows painfully, that turkey flu kicking his ass harder than he thought. "Tell me what you meant when you said I didn't know what I wanted. Because I told you what I wanted. I told you I was ready for something and all the things we did together, I thought that you believed me. I guess you didn't, so tell me how many bodies it'll take before you believe me."

Tommy doesn't say anything.

"God, and you know what really sucks?" Buck asks. "That we were together long enough to talk about who we'd been with so we could get tested and be safe. We talked about all that, but I never told you how many times I'd had my heart broken and you never told me yours."

"Three," Tommy eventually says. "Shawn, who was like… all of 25. He was all-in, knowing for sure that the first time was the charm, and I was old enough and steady enough to be That Guy. I believed the hype even though I was barely out of the closet. I shouldn't throw stones at Abby's House of Himbos when I set up my own on the other side of town. And then there was Raúl, my Army buddy who came out to his family and immediately moved to LA to get away from them. Everything felt like a fresh start for him, but… not quite for me."

Buck thinks to ask, but Tommy beats him to it. "Do I need to say the third?" Buck shakes his head. "What about you?"

"Abby, and you." Buck looks at Tommy as he says, "It's not just ending things with someone because it doesn't work. It's heart break. Something's gotta break and be mended."

"I don't think I did that part. You've one-upped me there."

Buck wouldn't have believed that 20 minutes ago, but he believes it now.

"So Bobby's been there, watched me since I was Abby's himbo and helped me to grow into the person who wanted that stuff with you. Once he, kinda, told me that if I care about how people see me, then I haven't learned a damn thing," Buck says. "And that is and isn't true, here. I can't live hoping I meet people's expectations of what they think I should be. I want people—I wanted you—to see me as I am. I thought you did but you didn't, and I didn't either because I didn't see how scared you were. I've made my peace with that. We had something really special and made each other feel really good but, in the end, I guess we were saying all the right things to people we didn't know."

Tommy listens, considers, and nods. "Whole lot of past tense, there."

Buck glances at him and doesn't want to look away, but he does. He doesn't meet Tommy's eyes. He's scared, too. He's done enough today: said a lot of things he's been thinking about for four months and said them very calmly and thoughtfully, but this is gonna hurt. It hurt Buck to realize it and it's gonna hurt Tommy to hear it.

"You got what you wanted, right?" Buck asks. "You got to keep your heart, and I don't feel new and excited anymore." Buck inhales deep; it hurts. "I feel like I did before, like I'm short one piece of being whole. Now the ocean I have to search is so much wider and deeper. So thanks for that, I guess."

"Evan—"

"I let you into my family," Buck interrupts sharply. "Because I cared about you and because you fit. I fit because they're mine and that's my family I made, and you fit there right next to me. With us."

"You're absolutely right."

Buck watches him, tries to see behind the sunshine yellow and white mask on his face, but all he sees are his eyes that, like always, make Buck feel too much, like laser beams disintegrating him.

"Were you really that scared?" Buck can't help the way his voice cracks. "You were that scared of me?"

Tommy looks up again, lasers in place. "I was that in love with you." He shakes his head like he did that last night in the kitchen, and looks up like he'll tip the tears back into his eyes. "And those heartbreaks—you'd leave them light-years behind if I let you. You'd leave me light-years behind."

Buck nods, then says, "Could you leave, please." His wet breathing crinkles grossly in the mask. "Thanks for telling me all this, thanks for the closure, but I don't need to see what someone looks like after they've walked away from me."

"You collapsed at a scene three days ago and I was the closest pilot to medevac you here," Tommy says slowly. "You were delirious and told Shreya, Don't tell Tommy I'm sick, he doesn't care anymore."

Tommy clears his throat. "I do care. I never stopped."

Buck sits back in his hospital bed and pulls the blanket up to his neck, the only comfort he's got right now. "If this is a turkey flu dream, I'm gonna be so pissed at you, real you," Buck says.

Tommy laughs quietly, sadly, then hesitates for a moment. "Can I ask you something? Can I ask you the scariest thing I've ever asked anyone in my entire life?"

Buck doesn't move, doesn't breathe. "What is it?" he finally asks.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

Buck, hearing what he's quietly dreamed of hearing for four months, doesn't feel the euphoria he thought he would. He feels something else, though: a strange kind of wonder that someone wants him again. Again. He swallows hard, feeling the pain right in his turkey-flu-ridden throat. Someone knew him. Someone left him. Someone came back—came back for him.

Tommy left. Tommy came back. Tommy wanted him then. Tommy wants him now. Tommy's wanted him all along.

Buck asks, "Will you invite me to your place more than once every six months?"

Tommy's half-smile is still wide enough for Buck to see behind the mask. It falls, though, back into something serious. "Will you forgive me when I'm not a paragon of queer virtue?"

"Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Tommy raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Buck thinks he smiles a little behind his mask, but it doesn't stay. "Are we gonna break up again?"

"I don't know," Tommy admits. "But maybe next time we can stop each other and hit the brakes. I love romcoms, but maybe we don't do that again: you don't propose fixing a problem with marriage and a baby, and I won't run out the door."

Buck raises his eyebrows, too. "Who said anything about a baby?"

Tommy sputters. "I mean, you were the one raising the stakes before."

Buck laughs. "Right, right."

The quiet stretches out between them. They look at each other and don't look away. The stubborn, proud, cocky side of Buck feels annoyed that this feels like—like he can't get out of this. Like all roads lead back to Tommy, like he doesn't have a choice. Like if he wants to be happy, it's with this person.

A part of him wants to run and throw himself into the hunt again. He wants to thrive in the search for someone who makes him feel that euphoria and fondness and love that he felt with Tommy. He tries to imagine someone else, some vague smoky figure that isn't Tommy's height, Tommy's build, Tommy's arms crossed over his chest and that tilt of his head. The problem is that Buck feels more looking at that furrow and arch of his eyebrows than he's felt for anyone he's met in the past four months, maybe even longer.

Not all roads lead to Tommy—only the ones he wants to take.

"Say it again?" Buck asks.

Tommy nods ever so slightly. "I'm in love with you." He pauses and a smile reaches his eyes. "I love you."

Buck can't help the way his eyes water; neither can Tommy.

"Ask me again," Buck says.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

"Yeah." Buck wonders if his own smile reaches his eyes. He hopes it does. "Yeah. Will you?"

Tommy chokes out a laugh behind his mask. "Yeah, god, of course. Of course. You sure?"

"About you?" Buck asks. "Yeah. I mean, I want to be. Don't make me regret it."

"Don't make me give up my real estate."

"Don't make me go to any sports events."

"Seriously? Not even baseball?"

"God," Buck moans. "The sleepiest one of all."

"Hockey's good."

"You hate the Kings."

Tommy scoffs. "Of course I do. You always hate your local teams—you just hate visiting teams more. Can't let management get comfortable."

Buck attempts to take a deep, exasperated breath, but he forgets that he has the fucking turkey flu. He chokes and starts to cough and wheeze, but Tommy's there again. He freely, lovingly pushes Buck further to the other side of the hospital bed so he can sit and take care of him: water, tissues, hand on his chest to steady him, eyes worried and on him.

"It's not official until you kiss me," Buck says. "I'm not contagious."

"I mean, not with turkey flu," Tommy says. "Your Buckness? That I'm not so sure."

"Don't call me that anymore," Buck says.

Tommy puts his cup of water on the table next to Buck's bed, then shifts so he and Buck are closer, face-to-face, head on looking at each other. "How'd you get even brattier in only four months?"

"How'd you forget I was this bratty?"

"At my age, well, everything's starting to go."

Buck laughs, then coughs and wheezes. "Stop making me laugh."

"How'd you forget I was this funny?"

Buck tilts his head. "I didn't. I didn't forget a thing."

Tommy searches his face, then cups his jaw with one hand. Buck doesn't lean into it, just lets Tommy hold him as he tips Buck's chin up ever so slightly.

Then Tommy kisses his forehead and his birthmark, and wraps his arms around Buck. It's the warmest Buck has felt all winter. It finally feels like spring.

---

read on the ao3

#911 fic #bucktommy fic #bucktommy #fix-it fic #tevan #tevan fic #tommy kinard #evan buckley #maddie han #my fic #screamlet #this may as well happen

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delusionaldeadgirl · 1 day ago

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Adore Me

Spencer Reid x famous singer!reader

Summary: Spencer takes his friends to see his girlfriend at her live show in DC. He didn’t realize she was going to play a specific song about him that has him blushing and his friends joking about it

a/n: This is a random draft based on Juno by Sabrina Carpenter. It’s not chronological with the other one I posted. Nice comments are appreciated lol.

Spencer sat in the dimly lit venue next to his friends. The buzz of excitement filled the air as the crowd eagerly awaited performance of famous singer Y/N—who just so happened to be his girlfriend.

As the lights went down, the audience erupted in cheers. His heart raced as he looked at his friends. They were genuinely excited, especially Penelope. She had been talking about this ever since Spencer asked them all to come.

When Y/N stepped into the spotlight, wearing a stunning outfit that sparkled in the stage light, Spencer was left speechless. Her voice flowed through the crowd, captivating the crowd, mostly filled by young women. He couldn’t help but smile watching her interact with her fans.

Then she started singing one of her newest songs, one Spencer was surprised by when it started playing. One of Y/N’s most suggestive songs, obviously about him.

“Don’t have to tell your hot ass a thing. Oh yeah you just get it.”

“Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit. God bless your dad’s genetics”

Spencer blushed. Side eyeing Derek already knowing the look on his face and the playful banter that was to come. It was obvious to the whole room what the innuendos implied.

Derek leaned over, grinning. “Your girlfriend is something else, Reid. You sure you can handle all that?” Spencer stuttered trying to form a rebuttal but he like Emily always said “And just like that, IQ 187 is slashed to 60”.

The song progressed. Getting more and more suggestive making Spencer more and more bashful.

“I know you want my touch for life.”

“If you love me right then who knows? I might let you make me Juno”

His colleagues kept looking at him, trying to suppress their laughter at his reaction. “Looks like someone’s blushing” Emily joked.

“You make me wanna make you fall in love.”

“Oh, late at night I’m thinking ‘bout you, ah”

“Wanna try out some freaky positions?”

Y/N gets down on her elbows and knees looking directly at Spencer with a suggestive smile on her face.

“Have you ever tried this one?”

Spencer immediately buried is face in his hands. His friends hooting and cheering before they turned to look at his reaction. It was both thrilling and mortifying watching his girlfriend exude such confidence on stage. Thrilling because of how talented she is, mortifying because of how his friends were looking at him right now.

The song started to slow down a little, getting to the bridge. The most direct lyrics about to be sang. He was not mentally prepared for this.

“Adore me. Hold me and explore me.”

Y/N began to slowly walk over to the side of the stage facing Spencer.

“Mark your territory.”

“Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one”

She sang making direct eye contact with him. He was so done. The team’s genius swore he was brain dead by how entranced he was by her.

“Adore me. Hold me and explore me.”

She sang again as she got down on her knees once more. Laying on her back suggestively.

“I’m so fucking horny.”

At this point the whole audience could tell who she was performing this song for.

“Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one”

She sang one last time before getting back on and proceeding with the rest of the show.

Not only were Spencer’s friends speechless, but for what felt like the first time ever, so was he.

When the show ended, the crowd erupted in cheers once more as Y/N bowed, her eyes searching for Spencer in the crowd. The moment she spotted him, her expression softened, and she smiled excitedly.

After the show, Spencer approached her, still flushed. "You were amazing," he managed to say, his voice slightly shaky. "Thanks, babe! Did you enjoy it?" she asked, a teasing glint in her eye. “Uh yeah” he stuttered. “Maybe a little bit too much” Derek interjected with a laugh.

Y/N laughed, stepping closer. “You know, I was thinking about that song…”

Spencer swallowed hard, antsy to figure out where this was going. “Yeah?” he asked. “Maybe we can recreate it later” she whispered, winking at him.

His heart raced at her suggestion, and he felt both flattered and flustered. "I'd like that," he replied, unable to suppress his cheeks blushing even harder.

“So how about some after show drinks?” she suggested to the group. They all erupted in cheers of agreement.

As they walked out of the venue, Derek whispered to Penelope “I didn’t think Spencer watched anything but documentaries. How does he know what Juno is?” She just laughed shrugging her shoulders.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #spencer reid x y/n #spotify

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curiousorigins · 2 days ago

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As someone who had Chronic Pain for the first like 25ish years of my life... Abled people literally do not understand the concept of a pain that never goes away.

They literally can't.

It's impossible. It even felt impossible for me because my pain was so early and so consistent that my brain literally just ignored it until one day I was doing physical therapy for a different injury... and it was just gone.

I felt it's absence and I felt the best I've felt in 20+ years.

I hadn't had a particularly good meal that day. Still had my stomach issues. Slept badly. My back hurt. Probably dehydrated. Definitely had tooth pain. But that was literally the best I can in memory, had ever felt.

The closest experience I can describe to it, is when you've got an abscessed tooth and they relieve the pressure and the pain is just gone and it's wonderful.

If there is no absence of pain... there is no relief. You can't just sleep in and feel better. You can't just drink water and feel better or get a new pillow etc. That's just your new default.

Now as someone who had previously considered myself abled who now has had an official disabled tag on me and all that... (I for the most part lucked out with a temporary disability. But know that plenty disabilities are chronic, permanent or get worse the longer you go.) I felt I was educated that I was an advocate but absolutely nothing prepared me for my body failing me so consistently. I listened to disabled folks and tried to amplify their voices.

I 100% was the person to go to bat for people who were in pain on my team. The problem is that for many people, pain is temporary. With rest, it goes away. With healing it gets better.

Most of those folks are sadly not educated. And conceptually it's a hard concept to work on despite all the empathy in the word.

The bigger the chain, the less likely that the person making the schedule can just hire another person and of course we all know companies have been understaffing on purpose for decades. This is definitely a Worker Rights issues. We've got a toxic working environment almost everywhere and the majority of the Working Class that's still working literally does not remember it being any better. You absolutely deserved better. And You definitely could use the support of an Advocate. I got in multiple fights on the behalf of co-workers all the time for these kind of issues. And when I was temporarily injured on the job, I had co-workers who fought for me too. The problem is people don't understand that we must stand together for this. For the abled folks, this is a temporary problem... just like their managers have been telling them understaffing is a temporary problem.

Look at your disabled co-workers folks and realize... one day that's going to be you. We literally all will at some point most likely be classed as disabled in some way. Sometimes permanently and sometimes not.

What you stand for TODAY is what might be left for you when it's your turn. Your managers/middle manager answer to a higher power then you and that is the greed of a very rich guy who literally sees you all as EXPENSES not VALUE.

DO NOT sacrifice YOURSELF on the Alter to Someone else's greed.

I understand the job market is tough and there are crappy work places that reveal themselves as crappy slowly. But YOU help create the CULTURE at WORK. ANYTIME I overheard management complain about such and such an employees issue with scheduling or with their ability. I ALWAYS spoke up.

I mentioned what a hard worker they were. How we'd been short on people for a long time. How we all deserved to be staffed enough that every one of us should be able to leave for 2 weeks and not have the store fall apart. I made people team lift. Reminded them that Corporate could not give them a new spine.

I trained most folks to speak up. And the more I did it, the more of use who would speak up.

And United We Bargain Divided We Beg.

The primary thing a manager is supposed to do is keep us compliant enough to work. Disgruntled rumblings are powerful when echoed.

Speak Up. Speak Up about TEMPORARY PAIN caused by WORK. TEMPORARY PAIN becomes PERMANENT PAIN if allowed to CONTINUE. PAIN is your body's FIRST attempt to get YOU to STOP doing something THAT IS HARMING YOU.

They decided that our anti-fatigue mats were a hazard. (It was actually the fact that our Stockroom was too small for the Stock they sent us and our Staff couldn't clear it with no space to work.) And tried to remove them. Every one of us had our shoes wear sooner and we all had greater back pain. I made sure to voice how weird it is that I hurt more now that we didn't have those mats. Sometimes I'd even sit down when we were unloading the truck to give my back a rest. I'd tell my other co-workers to do as well.

If a manager had the power to bring them back came in when I was sitting... I'd interrupt their telling me off for sitting that I literally hurt and what the cause was. That I'd probably be going to the doctor soon.

(Be sure to document your work pain by texting (not work but also work) other people about it. About how you hurt because blah blah at work. You might need it to prove that they should be paying to fix you if you ever need doctoring or disability pay.)

We got the mats back.

I would like to see more people talk about how jobs treat disabled employees.

I used to prep, wash dishes, and cook at mellow mushroom. I had chronic pain that wasn't NEARLY as bad as it is today, but it was still very debilitating. I told my employer "i cannot stand more than 4 to 6 hours. I CANNOT do shifts longer than this due to my illness." And even though i made my boundaries VERY clear, everyday i worked it was 8 hours at the least and 10 or 12 at the most. I would go up to my manager and say "look i really need to leave, my shift is over, my chronic pain is killing me." And he'd say "we really need to here, you HAVE to push through." And so i did, and after one, ONE month of that job my crps got incredibly worse to the point where i could no longer walk my dog around the block which was .5 miles. I quit, and that was FOUR years ago, and ever since that day I HAVE BEEN BEDRIDDEN AND HAVE TO USE A WHEELCHAIR. It is my biggest regret in life.

My best friend who has seen my whole journey has recently developed undiagnosed chronic pain, and she is in the EXACT same scenario i was 4 years ago. Busting her ass at a pizza place with extreme pain that hurts her so much she tells me "im in so much pain i don't even feel like a person." She doesn't feel LUCID. And her manager and coworkers are saying the same thing "if you don't help us you will let us down, we'll be in the shit."

That job thats hurting you isn't fucking worth it. I promise you no money is worth losing all your physical abilities and never getting them back. Your coworkers and boss do not give a shit about you, so don't you dare suffer for them. They will never understand your struggle and they will never try. They truly think being understaffed is worse than whatever pain you experience. They would rather you permanently damage yourself than inconvenience them. FUCK THEM. DON'T FUCKING DO IT!

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thezombieprostitute · 2 days ago

Text

What's Mine

Summary: Bucky pushes you too far and decides to explain how your situation works. Or doesn't.

Word Count: ~2.3 k

Warnings: Dark Fic, Implied dub/non con, Power imbalance. Please let me know if I missed any.

Previous Part

It's been a few months since Bucky "claimed" you. He followed up on his promises of taking care of you. You frequently woke up to some surprise gift or another. One day it was a fully stocked kitchen. Another day it was the leak in the bathroom sink getting fixed. More than a few times it's been jewelry with his initials on it.

And all it cost was letting him use you. You swear a piece of your soul dies every time he makes you cum. Every time he coats you in his semen. Every time you match his fervor. It might not be so bad if he didn't gloat every time. That damn smirk haunted your dreams. Or was it nightmares? What was the difference anymore?

It had definitely affected your standing in the community. People were scared to interact with you. Fewer parents brought their kids to the library when you were there. Ruth and her friends had no problems calling you all sorts of degrading things under their breath. You definitely caught them giving you the evil eye more than a few times.

Part of you suspected that if you'd quit trying to fight him he'd lose interest. He liked when you were in a fiery mood. If you could just give in, give up, he'd likely stop using you. But you couldn't help yourself. You hated him. You hated yourself for enjoying the pleasure he gave. That hate needed an outlet.

You pull into your driveway, no longer surprised to see Bucky's bike there as well. You sigh, wondering if you can talk him into to leaving. You're exhausted. Walking into the house you don't even have a chance to take your jacket off before Bucky is on you.

"Bucky, please no. I'm just too tired."

He chuckles, "don't worry. I'm just really happy to see you. We're going out tonight."

You sigh, "I'd rather stay in."

"Then that means you have the energy for me all night."

"Ugh, fine. Where are we going?"

"I've got you an appointment at the tattoo parlor."

"WHAT?! I hate tattoos! I can't get any!"

He smiles as he growls at you, "you're going to get a tattoo just for me. No one else is going to be able to see it, but we'll know it's there."

"Isn't the jewelry enough of your 'ownership'? You even got me a brooch for my cardigans with your initials!"

Bucky licks his lips, "it was just the beginning, Doll. So far everything I've done to mark you are things that can wash away or heal up. This is the next step."

"I refuse," you declare, crossing your arms.

"Fuck, Doll, you're getting me riled up." He puts his arms on each side of your head, boxing you in against the wall. "And you're getting that damn tattoo. We can either go now, while you're still cleaned up, or after I've fucked your brains out and you're a cum covered mess."

"Fine," you drop your head. "Let's go to the tattoo parlor."

"Not yet." He grabs you chin and makes your look at him. "You need to thank me, first, Doll."

Bile rises at the back of your throat. "Thank you for letting me preserve my dignity."

He laughs. "Give me another," he taunts, using the same voice as when he's telling you to give him another orgasm. You hate yourself for the involuntarily clench your pussy does.

"Thank you, Bucky, for...for introducing me to Bunny. It is nice to have a friend." A friend who understands how fucked you both are, you think.

That gets a more sincere smile on his face. "It is important to me that you know my best friend and his girl. I'm glad you're good to them. Bunny is gonna need you when she's pregnant."

"What are friends for," you dryly reply.

"That's my good girl, Doll."

The tattoo is pretty much what you expected. His initials, right over your heart. If you wore anything low cut, it would be obvious. You were sure that was the point: can't even show a hint of skin without reminding everyone who it actually belongs to. At least it wouldn't be a problem at work, given you always dress conservatively.

By the time you're home Bucky is practically salivating at the memory of the tattoo on your chest. He might be eager to see this permanent mark of his claim on you but at least he's willing to follow instructions for proper care so it doesn't scar or make you sick. You made sure to thank him for that, knowing he likes to hear it, and he reiterates, "I take care of what's mine."

"Any chance I can just get some sleep tonight? I wasn't lying when I said I was tired."

"I'm all worked up, Doll."

"I thought you take care of what's yours," you snap back. "How is keeping me awake, not letting get good sleep, taking care of me?"

He grips your chin and gives you a thoughtful look. "I suppose you're right," he admits. "Even a vibrator's batteries gotta recharge every so often, right?" You roll your eyes and he grins. "But I'm going to hold you all night and when you wake up, it's on. I know you don't work tomorrow."

"Is that why you helped with my budget? So I'd have more free time to be your personal toy?" You can't fight the fire in your voice. You're tired, yes. Tired of being so angry all the time.

"Aww, you admit you're mine," he teases.

Unable to hold back any longer you smack his face. "I have never been so angry or tired as I have been since you showed up. You want to take care of me? You want me to be yours? Treat me like a fucking person!" Tears are pouring out of your eyes, the stress and frustration of the months finally finding a kind of release.

Bucky glowers at you and grabs your throat with his metal arm. "You shouldn't have done that, Doll."

"I don't care anymore," you croak.

That seems to catch him off guard as his hand loosens and his face softens.

"Oh, Doll," he shakes his head. "You really should've said something sooner." You squeeze your eyes shut as more tears start falling. He removes his hand from your throat and brings you in for a hug, causing you to cry even more. He pats your hair and coos, "there, there," until you can't cry any more.

"Let's get you to bed," he says quietly.

"I...I don't...I don't understand."

He gently lifts your chin, "you know, before Bunny ran, I tried to warn Steve he was being too controlling. That she was going to bolt. He didn't listen and, sure enough, she escaped. Wouldn't surprise me if she continued to try because he hasn't learned to loosen his grip. I don't plan on repeating his mistakes. Yes, you're mine and you'll never be rid of me. But that doesn't mean I can't be benevolent."

You sniffle as your brain tries to comprehend the sudden change in his demeanor.

"Now lets make sure that tattoo is properly cared for," he says with a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I...I hit you," you stammer.

"You're over-stressed and tired," he shrugs. "If I thought you were doing it just because you wanted to hurt me, yes, there would be repercussions. But I've apparently been overworking my poor Doll, so I'll forgive that one smack." His tone at that last part implies any more attempts to lash out at him will be punished.

"Thank you, Bucky," you murmur as you hang your head.

"Mmmm. That's more like it. Now let's get you to bed and tomorrow we'll work on your communication skills."

You wake up feeling like you're hungover without having had any alcohol. The delicious smells of breakfast lure you out of the bed, even though you dread meeting the cook.

Bucky's shirtless and smiling as he works. If you were in anything close to a healthy relationship you'd smile at how happy he is. Instead you keep your head down, trying not to think about that metal hand wrapped around your neck. About how those muscles feel pressed against your back, or on top of you.

He sees you and gestures for you to sit at the table. He brings you a plate of breakfast, a mug of coffee and kisses the top of your head before sitting across from you. You don't eat right away like he does, lost in your confusion about this change in behavior.

"Eat, Doll," he orders. "I didn't stock your kitchen and cook this up just for you to let it go cold."

"What is going on?" your voice is barely above a whisper.

"I'm taking care of my girl," he answers, nonchalantly. You look at him like you've never seen him before and he sighs. "Eat, or I will force it down your throat."

You grab a slice of the toast and start chewing. "Thank you, Bucky," you grumble and he nods in his approval.

"One of the differences between me and Cap is that I know I'm a monster," he tells you between bites. "He likes to think we've done all of this to keep his girl safe and give her the life she always wanted. I know better. But we've been best friends since we were kids. Ride or die, you know? So I'm always going to have his back. I've just made peace with the fact that it means ruining lives."

"You never tried to talk him out of it? Out of taking over an entire town?"

He shakes his head. "Steve's the kind of guy who can never be talked or distracted from his goal. One of the things I find endearing about him."

"So, he gets you all to take over everything here and you, what? Enjoy the spoils?" Feeling the bile rise at the back of your throat, you go for another slice of toast to try to settle your stomach while keeping Bucky happy.

"It's a balance," he grins. "We take over and just start doing whatever the hell we want, a lot of people are going to die trying to get rid of us. So we set up some rules for our men. People will remain upset, of course, but they're less likely to 'rise up' so long as we have a level of restraint. It's, honestly, the biggest part of my job as Cap's second."

You think on this for a minute, mindlessly eating. "I get why the town, but why me?"

He shrugs, "I needed the stress relief. It ain't easy keeping a crew in line and I was initially just hoping for a quiet spot to read to calm down. Then I started watching you. Saw you expertly handle all kinds of difficulties. When you snapped at me, I figured, like me, you could use some stress relief."

"Stress relief?!" He gives you a look that has you clamming up.

"And fuck you were so good," he muses. "That first photo is still the background on my phone." Heat rushes to your face. "I decided to go ahead and keep you as mine. You're not only a good fuck, but you were quick to befriend Bunny. Everyone else who sees her with Cap has decided to avoid her. Something I know you've been experiencing, even though you haven't told me." You look down, unable to say anything. "I honestly thought you liked the rough treatment and was happy to give it, but I'm guessing we hit a limit for you."

"You branded me," you snarl.

"No, I got you a tattoo. Branding is something else and would've hurt you a lot more." His tone is stern and you return your attention to your food. "You've played a critical role in helping me keep things under control. Plus, since you're my girl, you get some privileges and protections. You think Steve would've beaten up Walker for some random librarian? No. But for his best friend's girl? That's another story."

"So, you're just going to keep using me?"

"Yes," he nods. "And now that I know more about your limits, I'm less likely to get stabbed in my sleep."

You look at him, aghast, "that's why you never stayed the night before?"

Bucky chuckles, "so smart. I love it. And now that you have more information, hopefully you're smart enough to put the rest of the pieces together."

"If I hurt you, Steve drops everything to find and kill me. Probably painfully." He nods. "If I make you angry, you're likely to take it out on someone who doesn't deserve it or you lose control of your men for long enough that they hurt someone who doesn't deserve it." He nods again, smiling at you. "And if I stop playing along like everything is okay, it's another sign to the townsfolk that might set them over the edge and have them shooting, getting hurt, or worse."

Bucky finishes his breakfast, nodding at your conclusions. "God, I love that you're so smart. Makes a lot of this so much easier." You start sniffling and he reaches across the table to gently grip your chin. "I get that this is a lot to take in, Doll. But I know you'll make the right decision. If you really didn't care about this town, you'd have left when you only had a skeleton budget. You're willing to work yourself to the bone to take care of these people, you're willing to be mine to keep them safe."

"I can't say 'no'," you whimper.

"But it doesn't have to be all bad. Remember, I take care of what's mine."

Previous Part

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

#biker!bucky barnes x librarian!reader #dark!bucky barnes #biker!bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x librarian!reader #dark!bucky barnes x librarian!reader

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centrally-unplanned · 3 days ago

Text

Let's see if I have one more election take in me:

I am deeply sympathetic to Sam Kriss's rage against the Democratic corpo-political shibboleth, and not just because we are both deeply enmeshed in the grand tradition of dissident Oxbridge-style cantankerous internet rants. He is right that Kamala was a weak candidate, for one. But more importantly, I still feel what he feels deep down. I remember the starry idealism of my halcyon youth, of believing that conviction, that vision, that the zeal only a platform birthed from authentic principles, tempered by struggle and sweat, would carry the day over crass, paint-by-polling-numbers incrementalism. When he describes Harris thusly:

"She’s a machine politician. She wants power, but not for any particular reason. It’s just that life is a game, and the point is to reach the highest level."

I see my own reaction to her when she first stepped into the 2020 limelight, and low-key hating her for it. I feel his heart, for it is my heart.

But it is not my brain. Because I am not a teenager anymore, and his critique is fucking bullshit.

He says all this stuff like:

The reason Kamala Harris lost is the same as the reason she was the candidate to begin with: the Democratic Party is allergic to democracy.

And how the electorate is seen as but ants from inside the towers of the Machine, like the Dems just invented "not running a primary" this time as a lark. As opposed to neither party in America ever having primaries against incumbent presidents! Because they are normally popular, and it would be a waste of everyone's time to do that! Could you imagine, launching a real primary against Obama in 2012? And possibly sabotaging his brand a bit for absolutely nothing? It is a reasonable policy, particularly when incumbents used to have an advantage for being so. Now they clearly don't, Biden was unpopular and too old, and the Dems took too long to realize it. A costly mistake, but it is a purely strategic error. Big orgs have inertia, and the Dems fucked up. It has nothing to do with an "allergy to democracy".

And Kriss can go off summarizing how the Harris campaign was offering voters nothing:

But for some unaccountable reason, among the general public, ‘Kamala: You Already Like Her!’ was not the brilliant pitch it seemed to be. [...] Another option would be to actually offer something to the voters.

Which sounds neat, but he made it up! I remember Kamala's actual campaign speeches, ads, and platforms, which she repeated so monotonically in her tightly-scripted campaign appearances: protect abortion rights, expand the welfare state, provide better child care support, lower the cost of housing. And most importantly, she ran on Biden's record of a strong economy and promised to deliver more of it. What does even mean for this to not be a real platform? Beyond not having some synthesized, totalizing "Critique" of modernity that packages it all into a beautiful, systematizing little box.

Because I promise you, voters synthesize jack shit. None of this is why Harris lost - voters have made that pretty clear:

You can find other data ofc, this or that point varies, but the story is not opaque. They didn't like Biden! They didn't like his inflation. They didn't like immigration, or they didn't like his liberalism, and they thought Kamala was too similar. She had too much policy baggage. And she wasn't charismatic enough to dig herself out of that hole - no disagreement from me on that front.

Though even then, by that we mean she lost an election by ~3-4% margins after getting subbed in at the 4th quarter while down by ~8% in the polls. That ain't bad!

None of the voters who matter share Kriss's sensibilities, and he cannot hide his disappointment in that. So he pretends that Donald Trump, the guy who promised 20% tariffs on everything to fight inflation, is giving them a real vision:

That’s what Trump did: he offered an enemy to blame and the prospect of doing violence to them

I don't know man, I think swing voters just don't like the last four years and think 2019 was better. I don't think the promises of orgastic violence against democrats are why Trump won! Actually a bit of an unforced error on his part.

But since Kriss presumes to value democracy, that thesis can't hold - so the lack of reality delivering on what his vision for democracy should be is displaced onto Harris's mistakes. The voters can never fail you. You can only fail to elevate them with the right candidate. Which, tactically? Sure, why not. But you can leave the moralism at the classroom door.

This ties into our dreaded media discourse debate, so it is time to bring in another explainer, by Michael Tomasky:

The line-by-line isn't interesting here; instead I want to focus on this quote:

Weren’t they bothered that Trump is a convicted felon? An adjudicated rapist? Didn’t his invocation of violence against Liz Cheney, or 50 other examples of his disgusting imprecations, obviously disqualify him? And couldn’t they see that Harris, whatever her shortcomings, was a fundamentally smart, honest, well-meaning person who would show basic respect for the Constitution and wouldn’t do anything weird as president? The answer is obviously no—not enough people were able to see any of those things. At which point people throw up their hands and say, “I give up.”

To which the immediate reply is: my dude, what are you talking about??

A 56 percent majority of Americans say Trump is probably guilty of a criminal conspiracy to overturn the 2020 election results through false claims of voter fraud, including 40 percent who believe he is “definitely guilty.” Republicans are less united than Democrats. Nearly 9 in 10 Democrats believe Trump is guilty, while nearly 7 in 10 Republicans think he is innocent. Among independents, nearly twice as many think Trump is guilty as think he is innocent.

You know how when you ~13 years old, and you have that friend who is just old enough to start taking Dungeons & Dragons books filled with splash art of succubi into the bathroom with him, but not yet old enough to get that "talking to girls" is an acquired skill? And they are blatantly, openly salivating over the first chick in the 7th grade class who discovered what power the combination of a camisole and a push-up bra holds over the male gaze? And she just completely ignores his faltering attempts at ~casual conversation~, so his brain script-cycles through its backlog of tween sitcom plots until it lands on, "Hey, what if I confess to her? Then she will know about my feelings!"

And you have to pull him aside and gently explain that, bro. She knows. That is not your problem.

Kriss is too intelligent a thinker to not understand this, but our dear Tomasky - and so many like him - has stuck his 14-year-old head in the sand over this. Swing voters know Trump is a scumbag! They know he lost the election, they know he raped a few women in his day, they know he is a serial fraudster. Even a bunch of those Republicans who, in polls, go "oh it's all a Dem conspiracy"? They know too; they just have the decency to lie about it. How could they not? Every media outlet in the country has been repeating it for a fucking decade! I might think voters are morons but even I won't stoop this low; they have eyes and ears, they aren't illiterate.

They just don't care.

Not enough at least, not enough to make it the only thing they consider. And here is the rub, here is the grand mistake Kriss & Tomasky are making - they are at least somewhat right to not care. The height of the Democratic privilege is that they get to play this card because they don't have to deal with it being turned against them. Kamala is a political chameleon but she is a decent person. She would never take a bribe from a foreign government, she would never assault a coworker, she would never, ever, deny a free and fair election.

Which means you don't have to choose between voting for a rapist and voting for someone who is going to shove a bullshit interpretation of the 14th amendment down your throat via a stacked court to ban abortion nationwide, forever. Pro-life people think abortion is genocide against babies! Why are you surprised they aren't voting for the pro-baby-genocide person because she is nice? How sure are you that you would do the same when that is reversed? I guess those boycott-Harris-because-of-Gaza people got some cred, but I think we all agreed they were dumb, right?

This is the rub of why outsiders always have so much difficulty understanding how people like Berlusconi, Trump, Le Pen, etc, get so much vote share - they have no stake in the political struggle beyond the vague idea of democratic norms. It is easy to say "Italy, choose a non-crook!" when you don't have to live with the policy programme of the other guy. From the inside the price of those principles is far, far harder. It isn't shocking that most choose not to pay it.

This isn't to give voters like a moral pass - Trump's conduct is truly disqualifying, I would vote Republican if the shoe was on the other foot in this case. My point instead is that they generally won't as a simple fact of life, and blaming them is futile. If you have wound up in a situation where the political system has taken its pool of hundreds of millions of potential candidates and narrowed it down to two for the voters, and one of them has "launched a coup but will say go to hell to the inflation guy" as a bundled package, someone fucked up and it isn't the voters.

You need political elites to do their part in the system - Republicans never should have let Trump be their candidate in 2016. Open primaries with no organizational thumbs on the scale are a mistake, actually, allowing arbitrary minorities to generate subpar candidates. The decision to let Biden run again was, fundamentally, born from the same impulse - the Democratic Party had no leadership capable of telling him no, because they outsourced that job to "primaries". The Dems are not "allergic" to democracy; democracy is allergic to too much of itself.

But the cat is out of the bag now! These changes happened for a reason after all. Which I won't dig into here - I will keep my point as focused as something as sprawling as this can be. Voters will not save you, and you should not be disappointed when they don't. It was never their job.

#That's right it was a 10% less democracy bitchfest all long!! Get tricked fools

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xoxo-sarah · 2 days ago

Note

Do you think you could do a darylxreader where he takes it upon himself to teach her bushcraft skills bc her fire making skills are absolute trash despite her eagerness to prove they aren't. -❌️⭕️❌️⭕️

Patience

↝a/n: rushed but I hope you still like it! 🩷 Thanks for requesting.

↝pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 11.9.24

You tried ignoring the eye on you, but that didn't do much to help. If anything, it frustrated you more. The whole day was already too much. When you had agreed to go with Daryl, everything was fine. You were in a decent mood.

Then, a buck showed up. It was beautiful. The horns stood strong, the south twitching. It was looking around, glassy eyes shining. After admiring it, you reached back, right into the quiver on your back. Your fingers fumbled, and the arrow fell onto the crunchy leaves below. The buck was quick to run in the opposite direction.

As if on cue, your stomach growled. You threw your head back in frustration.

Daryl watched, brows furrowed. “I saw a squirrel over there.” He pointed to the left of where the buck had been standing. You stomped your way over, not saying anything to him.

Daryl carried the squirrels over his shoulder, thoughts running through his mind, thanks to the silence. You hadn't said a word since you two had left. He could see the gears turning in your own head.

“Stop right here. It's gettin' dark.” He hung the squirrels up on a nearby branch, sliding his bag off his shoulder. Shrugging the thin jacket off, he laid it on the ground, offering a little more comfort than the twigs and leaves of the wood floor.

Sitting down on the edge of the fabric, you shrugged your own bag off.

Scrounging up some leaves and twigs, you put it in a circular shape. Next, your hands were working quick to make a flame. Maybe too quick.

The frustration was growing on your brow. Again, Daryl silently watched.

Grumbling, you threw the sticks a few feet away.

You huffed, the twigs refusing to catch fire despite your best efforts. The frustration was boiling over.

Daryl watched for a moment before kneeling beside you. “Here, you're goin' too fast.”

You scoffed, “No I'm not.” He ignored you.

He took the flint and steel from your hands, demonstrating the proper technique with practiced ease.

You watched closely, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping in. “I know how to do it,” you muttered, though your tone lacked conviction.

Daryl smirked slightly, “Ain't about knowin'. It's about patience.” He handed the tools back to you. “Now, try again. Slow this time.”

Taking a deep breath, you followed his instructions, striking the flint with more control. This time, a small flame flickered to life, and your eyes widened with triumph.

“See? Told ya,” Daryl said, a hint of pride in his voice.

You smiled for the first time that day, the warmth of the fire matching the warmth spreading in your chest. “Thanks.”

He nodded, settling back against a tree. “No problem. We'll make a survivalist outta you yet.”

Your mood changed for the better. The frustration from before wasn't warranted. Truthfully, you couldn't remember why you were mad to begin with. Usually going into the woods with Daryl was relaxing. Today just wasn't one of those days, at least, not at the beginning. Now, you were willing to talk, even ask questions about survival tips and tricks.

“Do you ever get frustrated out here?”

Daryl looked at you, considering the question. “Yeah, sometimes. But that's part of it. Ain't always easy, but it's worth it.”

You nodded, taking in his words. “I guess I just need to be more patient.”

He chuckled softly. “Patience ain't somethin' you just have. It's somethin' you learn. And you're gettin' there.”

You felt a sense of relief wash over you. “Thanks, Daryl. For everything.”

“Anytime,” he replied, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Now, let's get these squirrels cookin'.”

You and Daryl made quick work of skinning the squirrels, bellies grumbling with hunger.

You felt something fall in your left hand. Stopping your movements, you looked up.

Another water droplet fell on your face, sliding down the side of your nose. Soon, more droplet fell between the tree leaves, sizzling on the fire. The frustration was quick to come back, “What the fu-”

Daryl glanced up at the sky, then back at you. “Looks like it's gonna pour.”

You sighed, feeling the frustration bubble up again. “Great, just what we need.”

He stood up, grabbing a tarp from his pack. “We gotta move fast. Help me set this up.”

Together, you worked quickly to rig up a makeshift shelter, the rain starting to fall more steadily. The fire sizzled and spat as the droplets hit it, but you managed to cover it just in time.

“Guess we won't be cooking those squirrels tonight,” you muttered, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

Daryl shook his head. “We'll find a way. Always do.”

You couldn't help but admire his calm in the face of yet another challenge. “Doesn't any of this get to you?”

He shrugged, adjusting the tarp. “Been through worse. You learn to roll with it.”

As the rain continued to fall, you settled under the tarp, feeling a strange sense of peace despite the situation. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to understand what Daryl meant about patience and rolling with the punches.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

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fanboyoff1 · 1 day ago

Text

Landoscar College Fic (2.4k words)

Inspired by this post. It was supposed to be a little drabble but it spiraled

@complementaryhalves Hope I did it justice. It’s not really a meet-cute since they both know of each other (or maybe that counts, idk how meet-cutes work) but I tried my best lol

Oscar really needs to set a second alarm.

He’s several months into college, so you’d think he’d have figured out a good sleep schedule by then. Unfortunately, that has not happened, and Oscar wakes up to sun on his face.

“Ughhh,” he groans, rolling over and pulling his sheets up over his head. It takes him a few seconds to realize there’s no annoying beeping that usually greets him in the morning.

“Shit.” He grabs his phone from the bedside table and jolts up when he reads 8:25 on his lockscreen. “Shitshitshit.”

He tosses his sheets to the side, the old mattress creaking loudly as he stands, rushing because his bus is literally about to leave. Why did he sign up for early classes? Why, why, why? Even his professor Mr. Webber told him it was a bad idea once he’d heard about it, but he’d insisted that it would be fine.

Right now, it’s definitely not fine though. He brushes his teeth at lightning-speed in the communal bathroom, and throws on a navy blue sweatshirt and pants, nearly forgetting his watch. He’ll get a bagel or something for breakfast at school.

Thankfully, he likes to pack his backpack the day before, so all he has to do is put it over his shoulders, rushing down the stairs and out the door into the parking lot to see… His bus rolling away down the road without him.

Oscar drops his hands down from his backpack straps to his side in defeat. He curses the ground and his stupid clock under his breath, kicking at a loose rock. What is he gonna do now?

Well, he could call Logan, ask if he can give him a ride. Or maybe Charles drove today? He glances across the parking lot, but there are around three other cars that look just like Charles’, so that won’t be very helpful.

He’s about to pull his phone out when he hears a car pull out of the lot, wheels making a grainy sound against the asphalt. Oscar quickly backs away from the middle of the road and goes back to his quiet crisis.

“Hey, you need a ride?”

Oscar looks up to see the car that had been leaving stopped in front of him. The person behind the voice is a handsome guy with dark curly hair and tan skin, sitting behind the wheel with one hand dangling out the window. There’s a small flicker of recognition in Oscar’s brain, he must have seen the boy around campus before.

The driver seems to have taken Oscar’s silence as hesitancy, starting to talk again. “I-um, I saw your bus fuck off into the distance, and I figured you could use some help. I live right over there.” He points vaguely to another one of the student campus buildings behind them.

Oscar opens his mouth to politely decline immediately, but stops himself. Does he really for certain have another way to get to school? He remembers how he knows this guy now, he’s friends with Charles. Anyone who’s friends with Charles gets an automatic thumbs up from him, but being in a car with them…

“Yeah, I could use a ride,” he finds himself saying, not totally sure the words are coming from his mouth. The curly haired guy seems equally surprised, but masks it quickly. “O-okay. Just come over to the passenger seat.”

Oscar walks out in front of the car, and opens the door. Any move to sit down is paused by the fact that there’s a football in the seat. The boy turns when Oscar opens the door, looking through his eyelashes at him, and his eyes are really blue from up close. A bit of green too- okay, stop analyzing his eyes, he tells himself.

The driver- Oscar decides to coin him Car Guy- notices Oscar’s predicament and grabs the football, promptly chucking it into the backseat and patting the now empty seat for Oscar, who sits.

He twists his body to face the back of the car. “Do you think you damaged anything with that throw?” he asks, trying to find the football amongst the clutter of the car. There’s a few random clothes, a cardboard box on the right.

“Eh, it’s fine,” Car Guy says with a wave of his hand. Oscar turns back to the front, buckling up. Car Guy notices what he’s doing and buckles up himself with a guilty smile. Oh God, Oscar’s totally going to die.

“Just college campus, I assume?” Car Guy asks, adjusting his rear-view mirror that has a car freshener and a necklace hanging from it. The necklace has a big 4 hanging by the end.

“Yeah,” Oscar sets his backpack down between his legs, and braces when Car Guy starts to drive away. However, he actually seems like an okay driver, despite that seatbelt incident that may haunt Oscar’s nightmares.

After a few streets, he chills out enough to get a proper look at who’s driving him. He has a Texas Bulls shirt on, a hoodie under it, and to top it all off, a green letterman jacket with the number 4 on it. Huh. 4 again. Maybe the number 4 has some kind of significance to him.

He’s really pretty as well, especially up close. His long lashes, his freckles, his hair that looks like it's attempting to be a mullet.

Don’t you dare fall for a jock Oscar, he tells himself. Because that’s what he has to be, right? He has a Bulls shirt, a sporty jacket, and a freaking football in the passenger seat. There’s nothing else he could be.

And he’s still terrified about a stranger driving him somewhere, pretty or not. He takes out his phone and pulls up his messages, finding his last conversation with Dad 2.0 (an inside joke the two of them have.) He frantically texts Charles, asking, ‘Is curly haired boy a serial killer??’

A moment later, he gets a response back, a lot of question marks. Oscar sighs, running his hand through his hair and trying not to let his thoughts spiral into how he may or may not be getting kidnapped.

# # #

Lando’s trying to be cool. He really is. But Oscar’s in his car. He wants to squeal and kick his feet and giggle.

He’s had a crush on the Australian-born boy for a while now, ever since he’d seen him actually. They’d just been passing by each other while walking across campus, but it felt like a world-changing event for Lando (okay, he may be overreacting just a little, but have you seen the man?!)

Once he learned that Oscar was friends with Charles, he came out to his friend as bi and proceeded to spend his entire time with Charles ranting about how pretty Oscar was, or what Oscar was wearing today, or could he get some pictures of Oscar pretty-please?

Needless to say, the Monegasque was tired of his pining fairly quickly. “I don’t understand why you do not just talk to him,” he’d said one day during their lunch break.

“I can’t just talk to him, Charles.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s weird!”

“How? It’s just talking,” Charles had retorted, biting into his protein bar. “You can say it’s because you are both friends with me or something. There are ways.”

“Well, it- it’s complicated.” Charles raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have a good argument for that Charles, but just know that you’re wrong.”

So Lando had just watched Oscar from a distance (not in a creepy way or anything, just in an adoration way.) Until this morning, when he saw Oscar miss the bus, which was admittedly a little funny, he’d gotten the courage to ask if he wanted a ride. He hadn’t been expecting him to say yes, but he was ecstatic that he had.

Now they’re in the car together, and Lando’s tongue feels like lead whenever he attempts to make small talk. Oscar’s aggressively texting someone, and Lando has had to stop himself multiple times from looking at Oscar instead of the road.

Oscar sighs, running his hand through his swoopy hair. Now’s his chance. “Everything okay?” he asks, drumming a finger against the steering wheel as he waits behind a stop sign.

“Hmm?” Oscar looks up, raising his eyebrows, and Lando might die on the spot. “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I was just texting a friend. You know Charles, right?”

“Leclerc?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, letting out a breathy laugh. “I was gonna ask him to drive back and pick me up but… Well I don’t know if you know this, but Charles likes to jog to school sometimes. I wasn’t sure if he had today or not.”

Lando barely processes what he’s said, which feels extremely rude even in his head. But Oscar’s smiling and it looks so cute, and the way his voice changes as he’s trying to stifle a laugh is addicting. “Oh, I think I’ve heard him talk about jogging to class sometimes. One time he texted me at like 6 am, I was so confused when he told me he was at school already.”

Oscar laughs again, and Lando tries to stop the butterflies growing in his stomach. “Ha, yeah, he’s like that. I think he just likes to be early.”

“I know, but 6 am??”

“I’m not defending him!” Oscar says, throwing his hands in the air, the two of them laughing together. Lando feels joy spread through his chest, because Oscar seems more comfortable, he’s smiling and laughing and blushing and he looks so cute.

“Oh my gosh, I have this selfie of Charles he sent to me when he was on a run,” Oscar turns on his phone and started to scroll through his photos, eyebrows furrowed in determination. His hair droops down on his face, and Lando fights the urge to reach out and push it back.

After a minute or so, Oscar bursts out laughing. “Did you find it?” Lando asks. Oscar nods, shoulders shaking, and holds his phone out for Lando to see. It's perfect timing, they're stopped at a red light, so Lando turns his head to inspect the picture.

Charles has a headband and glasses on with no shirt. He must have been running when he took the picture, everything’s blurry and the background is just a mass of green and gray. The most noticeable thing is his face. He’s trying to wink, but it’s more like a squint, and his eyebrows are high up on his forehead. He looks partially like he ate something sour, and like he’s getting chased by a wild animal.

Lando snorts, and Oscar pulls the phone back. “I know right? Apparently, he took the photo and sent it to me without checking what it looked like, so now I have this treasure saved in my phone forever.”

# # #

They spend the rest of the car ride in silence, and Oscar regrets thinking Car Guy was someone scary or a jerk. He seems really sweet and funny. And he’s attractive. But that’s besides the point.

Charles had been blowing up Oscar’s phone ever since his vague text about Car Guy, most of it consisting of ‘who the hell are you with’ and ‘answer your phone, you’re freaking me out.’ Oscar replies to his flurry of messages with nvm. It's fine. I’ll explain later

“Is this a good place to drop you off?” Car Guy asks him, and Oscar’s head jolts up. He parked just a few minutes away from his first class.

“Oh yeah, this is perfect,” Oscar grabs his backpack and opens the car door. “Thanks for this,” he says, turning back.

“No problem,” Car Guy says with a smile. He’s got a little gap between his front teeth. “See you around?”

Oscar gives him a thumbs-up and steps out, walking down the winding sidewalk to Mr. Webber’s class in room 222.

Epilogue

Oscar still needed another alarm. He just kept forgetting. And now he was running late again, this time far too late to even try to catch the bus.

He sits on the parking lot curb, about to call Charles (he’d taken his car today,) when a familiar voice calls out to him.

“Dude, you really need to wake up earlier.”

Oscar gives Car Guy a withering glare. He leans back in his car in response, a look of barely concealed fear in his eyes. “Well, do you want a ride or not?”

Oscar sighs and stands, getting in the passenger seat. “No football this time,” Car Guy says with a grin. Oscar can’t help but smile back.

This car ride is a lot less talkative than the last one, a playlist of Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus from Car Guy’s phone playing loudly. Oscar puts on an excellent act of pretending his ears aren’t bleeding from the music.

“Thanks again,” he says once they arrive at his stop. He gets his backpack and is about to leave when Car Guy speaks up.

“Hey um, I was wondering if maybe you could repay me by going on a date? With me?”

Oscar blinks once, twice. Car Guy obviously takes this the wrong way, his face reddening. “Never mind. Just… forget I said anything.”

“No,” Oscar says. “I don’t want to forget that. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?” Car Guy says, his eyes lighting up. “Okay, here’s my number.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a folded Sticky-Note, pressing it into Oscar’s hand. Oscar wonders if he feels the electricity when their fingers touch too.

“Uh, this is gonna sound weird,” Oscar says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But can I get your name?”

“Oh. OH. My name’s Lando.”

“Lando,” Oscar says, testing the word on his tongue. “I’m Oscar.”

“I kinda already knew that,” Lando giggles, and now it’s Oscar turn to blush. “You look cute when you blush.” His face gets a thousand times more red.

“OkIgottagoI’lltextyoubye,” he says, almost stumbling out of the car. Once Lando’s car drives away though, he allows himself a bit of a victory dance, before walking to class with a skip in his step and only one word in his mind. Lando, Lando, Lando.

Okay I kinda hate it 😭 But I don’t really wanna work on it more, so *tosses fanfic at the Tumblr gods and runs*

#lando norris #oscar piastri #f1 #landoscar #f1 fanfic

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lostintransist · 2 days ago

Text

I can't keep doing this to myself...

My brain spit out an idea at me that I don't want to lose so you get to suffer with me under the weight of this idea until I have the time space energy ADHD hyperfocus to start on it.

This is not edited. Goal is to get the thought out of my head, not to make it perfect.

So imagine for me if you will that in some version of the stories for whatever reason I can bullshit into making sense Simon is selected to undergo a new and experimental form of trauma therapy. Used she/her here but when I write it pronouns will be you/yours

He hates it but orders are orders and after losing Johnny (his best mate, his lover, the other half of his soul) he would do just about anything to crawl from under the weight of the grief and guilt. Accepting the assignment means being put under sedation regularly for anywhere from six months to a year. During the sedation your active mind will remian awake and will begin to interact with a simulation that will help deal with the traumas exisiting in his body and mind.

Simon, not 100% on board, accepts the assignment but when he wakes up in some of his worst memorires ignores the woman following him from scene to scene, offering help. Every time he cowers as a child she offers a hand. Each time he bites back the fear flooding his system on a battlefield she offers to take the bullet instead.

For months he ignores her, trying to defeat his demons on his own. This was his mind and his body dammit, he could do this.

She stops offering help but doesn't leave. Trailing behind him in his memories Simon always finds flowers strewn in his footsteps. He never bothered to learn her name. When her laughter starts to haunt his dreams he watches her instead of his memories.

Whoever had programed this simulation had taken great care in creating a realistic interaction point. She makes ugly faces before she sneezes in the barns he has hid in, always complains about hayfever. Her ring finger on her right had been broken before, he can tell from the slight bend between the second and third knuckle. Every time he entered the simulation she wore something different, sometimes tugging on pants as if they wouldn't stay up.

"What should I call you?"

"Mmm?" She looks up from a book she had pulled down from a shelf in a dilapidated kitchen. "Oh, I'm not real so you can call me whatever you want."

He stared at her, frustrations mounting.

"Back to the silent treatment? Okay, this recipe looks actually really yummy," she turns to look back to the book.

Simon stalks up and snatches it from her hands. There is actually handwritten recipes. For some reason this makes Simon's rage double. How? How could this be real? He never opened a book in this kitchen. All that happened here was patching his wounds while waiting for exfil.

Their pattern continues like that until his brain finally spits out Johnny's death. He had been so, so careful to never let that memory come up. When it does Simon is so blindsided that when she offers to help he finally accepts.

Not knowing what to expect from this interaction did not prevent Simon from being surprised at how she handled it. She started to hum as she froze the memory, touching and moving pieces and people until everything had rewound a few moments.

"You have to sit it in, this pain. Talk to him. Tell him everything you didn't get a chance to. The longer you can sit in the agony the sooner it will find peace." She takes him by the hand and pulls him to his love.

Simon cries, like the young boy who needed safety and only found hate or indifference. Through blubbering sobs he tells Johnny every word he regretted hording. When Johnny hugs him back, mouth moving and voice saying things Simon had only dreamed of he found a semblenece of peace.

When his heartrate returns to normal and the only proof this interaction happened is the hollow space in his chest where Johnny will continue to exist his compaion steps back from Johnny, appearing as if from the dust.

"I think that is enough today. You did good." Turning on her heel she walks away, disappearing into the folds between memories.

Simon had never seen her leave before, he always ended the sessions before she had a chance.

He lets her help then, this nameless woman. They conquer every memory and the vaguest notions of memories that bother him. This intensive work paired with his weekly therapy leaves his with the skills to deal with the nightmares, the PTSD, and the trauma that still manifests from time to time.

Can one fall in love with a figment of imagintion? Simon thinks he might have. The final session he confesses, brushing his lips against hers as she sobs.

"But I'm not real. Simon, you can't love me I'm not real."

"Johnny's not real either anymore. I still love him. I'll keep you in my bones next to him, both of you keeping me safe."

She runs then, between memories and fears until she disappears and ends the sesion.

Simon, upon requesting more sessions, is informed that he has completed the program and all his care is being turned over to the non-intensive team that his therapist is a part of. Oh she shouldn't have argued with him or cut off their sessions. Now he knows she is real, the woman the knocked around his brain and fought back the demons for him.

Now all he had to do? Find her.

For anything I am currently working on check out my masterlist. This is getting dropped into my drabbles for later.

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod

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