#I mean I was just thinking this in a funny way

[tiramissyoucake]

Escape attempt gone wrong (not clickbait)(my husband gets pissed?!?!)

Viltrumite Mark x fem reader, forced marriage, the whole shabang, I know nothing about Viltrum♡ word vomitted, lame fade to black scene because idk how to end this

You see a few ships zip by your windows on some days, you know they don't need ships, so a lot of them were dormant in landing zones.

"What're you thinking about?" Your husband's hands snaked onto your shoulders as his voice reached your ear, a small smile on his face.

"... nothing, I'm just wondering why you have ships since Viltrumites can fly." You noted, Mark hummed. "... honestly? I can't tell you either, maybe it's for longer journeys or cargo." He kissed your cheek gently. "Why? Planning to take one on a joy ride?"

The idea was tempting. "Don't be ridiculous," you scoffed. "I can't fly those."

Later that night, a formal meeting between a few powerful Viltrumites you didn't care about busied Mark and a majority of your guards have turned in for the night, you were left to your own devices in a big bedroom stockpiled with gifts from every corner of the galaxy.

You tossed and turned, sleeping early didn't help. You were restless, you've been restless since you've been demanded to remain in one building and one building only. It infuriated you, your supposed husband most likely saw you as a reward for decimating a planet and not a living being with autonomy.

You sat up, glancing aside to the empty space next to you. He had some nerve, locking you up then leaving to play emperor like this, anywhere else in the galaxy would be better now.

... 'anywhere else' wasn't impossible.

. . .

"You need to mind your manners," Nolan scolded as Mark left the room the 'conference' was held in. "I know you're doing a good job in power, but that doesn't mean you can disrespect your seniors."

"I don't respect those who don't respect me." Mark spoke, his tone grated through gritted teeth. "All I want to do is get this stupid cape off me and see my wife."

Nolan restrained an eye roll, the human pet. "You're too attached to that human, what do you see in her anyway?"

"Everything. She's kind, interesting, she sees me beyond my strength, it's like..." he let out a sigh, holding back a shiver from showing, the sigh almost sounded lovesick. "It's like she sees right through me to my core, sees me for who I am, not what I am."

Gag. His father ignored the romance ramble. "You'll learn to see her as a tool for the good of the empire."

Mark rolled his eyes, parting ways at a hallway. "I'm going to bed, I neglected her enough." He didn't wait for a 'goodnight' or any last comments from his father as he left.

The grand doors to the bedroom creaked open, nothing changed. Your body under the sheets, gifts untouched and floors clean, he let out a sigh of relief as he threw aside the cape, loosening the collar of his clothes. "Are you awake?" His voice was soft compared to the usual commanding tone. "I missed you, dear.."

He came to his side of the bed. "I've been waiting to—"

Pillows. Not your peaceful sleeping figure. A stack of pillows. Confusion flooded his head as he got up.

"... oh, oh! Haha! very funny, love." He looked around. "You can come out now!" He waited for a beat, eyes glancing around for any movement.

None, nothing, not even a shuffle. Panic tingled at his fingertips, as he tugged the sheets off the bed, rapidly looking under the bed his eyes darted around the room. His heart raced, looking in any and every compartment that you could possibly squeeze into.

The room grew into a mess but he couldn't care less, sweat coated his forehead from the frenzy of pure panic. "You're not here." He finally admitted to himself, his heart pounding.

Silently cursing the meeting in his head, he sped off to collect whoever he can from guards or staff to form a search party, you couldn't have gone far. Humans were weak, vulnerable, he'll find you. He'll find you. He'll find you.

. . .

You held the cloak you found in the back of the closet close to your chest, you didn't know if Viltrumites recognised you but you wouldn't risk it, but your feet hurt as you ran through the unfamiliar structures.

The hallways were empty, the doors were loose. It was a miracle. You got a chance to leave this nightmare of a marriage, you had no clear idea on where you'd be headed, but you heard stories of galaxy nomads and travellers making ends meet and surviving! You're a smart person, you've got common sense. How hard could it be..?

The landing zone. You just needed to get to the landing zone.

A gasp escaped you, you heard a few barks of commands. "Spread out! She couldn't have gone far!"

You needed to get to that landing zone.

Keep low, keep hidden. You repeated that in your head as you ran, you thought you'd never get there or that you may have gotten lost, then the landing zone came into view, you saw a few ships and suddenly, hope seemed within your reach.

The search party seemed too focused on the buildings and structures, you thanked whatever architect decided to put that place outside of populated areas, the shouting dwindled, turning more distant as you got closer.

You tossed the hood off seeing a few Viltrumites guarding a gate, spotting you as you closed in, they grew confused. "Your imperial majesty? What happ—"

"Open the gates!!" For the first time, you commanded them. "Open them, now!!"

They had no choice but to listen, the gates opened and your heart almost pounded out of your chest. The ships lined up and their states were clear, maintenence, maintenence, offline, maintenence, offline, reserved, offline, reserved.

Finally, 'Ready'.

You could hear the shouting return, but you didn't care, the ship took you in so easily and you could see a new life for yourself outside of this miserable planet, now you just need to learn how to get the controls to listen to you.

It was quiet inside the ship, save for the rapid button clicking and switch flicking from you, everything was coming to life in the ship's mechanics, you held onto the yoke of the ship as you saw the landscape shift, it would levitate off the ground soon.

. . .

He saw it in the distance, hovering high over the empire he saw a ship start to levitate, he knew about every ship, item and living being that entered and left Viltrum.

"No. No. Nononono." His body moved, launching him to the landing zone area with his fists clenched ready to tear through metal.

Mark mumbled to himself as he closed the distance quickly, angered at your audacity to try to escape him.

. . .

Freedom was on the horizon, you were out of here, out of this nightmare. Your hands readjusted repeatedly on the yolk as the ship moved.

A booming sound caused you to whip your head to the back of the ship, your heart dropped seeing an indent in the metal.

"I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" You never heard Mark's voice reach that level of volume, the pounding continued. "COME OUT!"

You stood your ground, even as the fear of what he might do if he gets you caused your hands to tremble and your heart to race quickly, you repeatedly tapped a few buttons, didn't this stupid ship have thrusters or whatever?!

An alarm blared, one meant to let a pilot know the ship wouldn't listen, you had a feeling it had to do with more rumbling from below, curse his monstrous strength, you heard a piercing noise, followed by a grating, screeching noise. He was peeling the metal with his bare hands.

"You'd rather DIE in the cold of the galaxy? You despise me to THAT extent?!" He screeched at the top of his lungs, the ship sparking after he destroyed its engine from the outside and it's structure being torn apart.

Your hands rapidly tried to find any button that could reverse or override the damage. "Please," you mumbled as if the ship could hear you. "Please work, please! I can't stay here..!"

"(NAME)!! TURN THIS SHIP OFF!! NOW!!"

His yelling scared you, you gripped a lever and before you knew it, a flury of sparks flew from the control panel, so powerful it almost knocked you out, but the ship being pummeled back to the ground beat the sparks to it, the tilt of the ship causing you to fall out the pilot's chair and hit your head on the way down to the ship's floor.

Your head hurts, your heart hurts, are you going to die on this ship? You didn't want to succumb to the pounding in your head, you were scared you'd wake up chained or worse. A burning sensation collected at the point of impact on your head.

The ship was useless now, Mark made sure of it, the engine being destroyed in an instant, tugging the metal back until there was enough of an opening for him to slip through, he bent his head down to enter the ship. its lights flickering off, he looked up with a piercing glare, a scowl on his lips and eyebrows furrowed, his knuckles were reddened from the sheer force of his strikes against the metal.

It was quiet for a moment as he watched the consciousness slip away from you, his footsteps that approached you quiet compared to the powerful banging of his fists from seconds ago.

"You've got some nerve." He started, a look of anger, sadness, frustration and heartbreak in his eyes. "You think it's that easy, don't you?"

Black spots formed in your vision, your expression was one he couldn't dissect, it pissed him off more, and he knew he'd still take care of that bump on your head after bringing you back home.

It doesn't matter, he'd indulge in his win for now and seethe about the insolence after. And right when he thought you were becoming more obedient too.

"I'm not letting you go." Mark stated to make the situation clear to your fuzzy state of mind, "Not now. Not ever. I'll make sure of it."

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Yeah, the whole "ask the autistic kid a pointed question to get a funny answer with which to demean them" thing was a real motif for me too, back when I was growing up. Actually, I think it's part of a wider trend with bullies. They're not clever, but they possess the low, animal cunning of rat, or maybe a ferret. They'll find the thing that seems trivial to the authority figures in your life but which matters SO SO MUCH to you, and that's what they'll use to get at you. I do think being the kid on the receiving end of that has one thing to be said for it: it gives you a really good sense of what humans are. I went through a lot of bullying - most of it baiting me to see how long it would take me to blow my top and go beserk, but quite a bit of physical abuse, too. I don't consider myself traumatised as per the original post, but I think I have a very fucking clear idea of what the human animal is when you peel off its mask of civility and sophistication. When people see you as a victim- as someone who can't defend themselves- they get very comfortable showing you who they really are. And more often than not, who they really are is a mean-spirited scumbag with the IQ of pond-slime. The good news? They're mean-spirited scumbags with the IQ of pond-slime, so sooner or later your life is going to be much richer, more interesting and more fulfilling than theirs, just because you're capable of joys and sorrows and passions that their invertebrate minds could never aspire to. Consider this the inspirational part of the blog post: you will love more fully than they will. You will live with less compromise. You will not be defined, as they are, by the miserable cycle of work, consumption and recouperation that capitalism has made of human existence, because you will have a developed and complex inner life denied to those insensitive blocks who seek to torment you. And, because you have seen what humans are really like, you will have an easier time identifying the people who aren't like that. One day, you will find your tribe in a way that they cannot, and belive me: you are mighty with your tribe. Yes, while you're going through bullying, it feels like they're predators and you're prey, but here's the thing: being predators is all they have. It's the only thing in their pointless, empty little lives and if they ever experience happiness, it's only because they're too dumb to realise how miserable they ought to be.

Now for the less inspirational bit. Yes, things do get better, but you've still got to get through the bullshit first. My advice? I don't have any, but I know what worked for me: violence. I think a lot of the reason I'm not wholly traumatised by my childhood and why I'm so much less bitter than I might otherwise be is that I defended myself in the most literal and primal sense at the time. That counts for more than we're willing to admit to in this neutred fucking age. Not every time (I was smart enough, even then, to realise that getting a reputation as a violent person could be a serious problem), but often enough that I can look back fondly on those rare, wonderful occasions when I just stopped taking it and lamped a cunt with the nearest blunt object instead. I can look myself in the eye (well, if there's a mirror handy, anyway) and say "I gave as good as I got and acquitted myself well". Doesn't do jack-shit in the short-term, because bullies are usually too fucking dumb to fear physical reprisal, but years later it helps keep the wolf from the door. I know that violence can backfire. I know that it can get folk institutionalised and that I was, in some ways, very lucky to grow up with a family who understood its uses and value on some level. I know that it can lead to escalation. But I also know that I've never regretted throwing a punch at someone who earned it and do regretted quite a few missed opportunities to throw one.

So yeah. Take that or leave it.

the thing that always gets me ESPECIALLY about autistic representation in media is that we are universally portrayed as happy-go-lucky, whimsical children, completely oblivious to the fact that the world constantly judges and scorns and HATES us.

We notice. I noticed. The reason I am as messed up as I am today is because i spent 20 LONG years in an environment where every day i was subjected to that. To noticing.

what an absolutely neurotypical view of us. Coddling themselves, getting to act like the way they treat us is fine because we don't understand that our peers dont respect us. Why would we? We're so subhuman to them, it's like asking if your cat notices you playfully insulting it.

Every autistic person I've ever met is on some level bitter and angry and TRAUMATIZED at their upbringing. Of having to go through school as the laughing stock, as the weirdo with no friends who no one wants to talk to, as the animal in the corner you can make do cheap tricks so they can experience some Simulacra of what genuine human connection is.

Now tell me, does it sound like I didn't notice?

[iqxatlantic]

" LOVE IS (NOT) EASY ! "

it's easier to say we're just friends, our generation made us that way.

mmm multi chara drabble(s)/hcs/imagines

ft. michael kaiser . itoshi rin . isagi yoichi . reo mikage . karasu tabito . pretty much v ooc! characters . desperate! reader + characters . fwb situation . suggestive . aged up! characters !! . fluff (?) . confessions . mentions of sex . these men r highkey losers . uni/college au! . gn! reader (slightly implied afab! reader) . unreliable narrator .

wc : 1.7k

it just happened... you replied to his story on instagram (or vice versa) and then bam! you two were talking. it's odd in this day and age. we all crave love like it’s a lifeline, yet when it finds us, we pull away as if it’s a trap.

isn't that funny.? these men... they're quite charming. you're even thankful that he replied. days go by, texting, texting n texting. don't you get tired?

those days became a month or two. you've gotten pretty close with him. remind me — how'd texting him daily become being in his bed?!

itoshi rin is someone and something. he may seem cold and blunt but, under that demeanor he's the sweetest guy you've ever talked to. took a little while to have him warm-up to you. it was worth it.

for a while you've been sleepin' with each other. this night in particular — the atmosphere was different. the usual pull of lust was tangled with something unfamiliar, something raw and real.

weird. it's never been like that before. i mean, you were just friends with benefits, right? "rin?" you'd softly call out. "yeah?" rin would reply.

"uhm. i think i have a confession." you sheepishly muttered, clutching his shirt towards your chest a little firmer. "oh. me too." he once again, replied.

"oh you go first-" "nah, you go first." "c'mon rin, just go first. mine's a little embarrassing..!" "mine is as well!" "yeah but you're-"

with that, rin took a sharp inhale. bracing himself for the worst, he let the following words slip out, "[name], i think — mmm. no. i know i've got feelings for you. i actually really like you. i dunno if we should continue this or not — not the healthiest." (RIN?? YOU'RE TALKING HEALTHY R WE FR.)

"rin!" a small laugh slipped out your mouth. guess you braced yourself for nothing. you were afraid, well not anymore. you replied, "i have feelings for you as well! maybe we should have something else as a relationship, just not this."

"[name], let me be yours."

reo mikage is a man who knows what he wants and gets what he wants. (lmfao daddy gets what daddy wants ahh energy) so why was it one night, after having an emotionally crazy night with you, he realized something? why'd he realize that he genuinely likes you? why?

"reo?" your sweet voice softly mumbling. he'd turn to you, replying in a disgustingly raspy voice in return. "yeah, [name]?" "nothing, got scared you left or something."

reo couldn't bear suppressing his feelings and emotions anymore. hell, he constantly did so! taking a fat breath in, he exhaled. preparing himself to confess.

thing is — reo found himself unable to speak up. shit. he was getting a little upset. why weren't things going the way he wants it to? finally pushing himself out to say what he's been dying since day 1.

"uhm, [name]. i jus' hope you know-" you cut him short. "what happened to mr. confident?" you smiled, playfully. he rolled his eyes at you sassily, "hush, let me finish." "waiting."

"okay. i hope you know i genuinely like you. you're gorgeous, sweet, passionate ... you're not boring at all. i actually have to try and get you. that's why you're so interesting. that's why i want you." (wow reo what a confession *claps hands*)

you looked at him, jaw DROPPED. never in your life did you expect to have THE mikage reo confess to you. i mean, sleeping with him was one but CONFESSIONS?!!?! good god, you were on cloud 9.

problem was, reo knew his parents would never approve. ah, whatever. worth a shot.

"give me a chance, [name]."

mmm, isagi yoichi. this man has PURE intentions. he never expected himself to be able to sleep with someone as lovely as you are. hell, he never expected himself to even be able to TALK with you!

truth be told — this silly little guy STRUGGLES... constantly trying to subtly impress you. he's failing, but you find it cute. he's shy, let him slide!! (i can see the pain in ur eyes...)

laying in his bed after the night, you turned to your side to face him. "yoi, you're so cute. y'know that right?" you're killing him with your words.

isagi's flushed. he's bright red. what a contrast between his dark blue eyes lmfao. caught in the moment, he let a few words slip out. ones that weren't in his current favour.

"[name], the only cute one is you — i- oh my god." he's fumbling. he's FUMBLING. (he aint we all love loser boys heh... what is this moischaracterization isa arent u trying to cook for eng wtf is going on) you were intrigued. you kept listening. you really freaking like this man too lmfao.

"gosh, fine. i'll just say it, i like — no. i love you, [name]! you're so pretty n admirable and gosh..." let the poor guy talk, why are you suddenly so bold? he's staring at your plush thighs. remembering how they were around his waist and and...

"[name], can i be your boyfriend?!"

michael kaiser, let's see. he's deathly terrified of love. i personally see him as the lyric of "typa friends to fuck but when they fall in love they're too afraid to stay." (holy coew this ones rlly ooc! bro)

hear me out, kaiser suffered a traumatic childhood. yes — thought basic/common, nonetheless traumatic. he's constantly being told over and over again that he was never supposed to be born — born unwanted.

hence why, he's afraid of love. he can't even love himself. he's afraid to turn out just like his father. he's afraid to turn out like his parents. he's afraid of returning to who he was before.

he doesn't know how to love. he wants to he swears! so were those "i love you's" when you to got intimate lies?

propping his head on his hand, he stared at you. admiring you and your beauty. "ugh...mihya? what are we?" you asked. "i know yeah, friends with benefits but... i feel like theres more to it than lust.."

at that moment, kaiser froze. his throat went dry. "ah, um." he coughed, trying to get his composure. "quite a question to ask, liebling." he thought about it. he's thought of this multiple times. answer them.

"uh- ahem. well..." kaiser couldn't get himself to speak. what a question to ask after having him in between your legs huh.? those deep azure eyes staring straight at you.

whilst the emperor pondered, kaiser's gaze trailed over you—slow and deliberate. oh, the moonlight kissed the thin sheen of sweat on your skin, making it glisten in such a way that had his thoughts straying far from innocent! (kaiser my guy calm down u j got freaky..)

his tongue clicked as he took in every slick curve, every rise and fall of your breath. he couldn't help but let a small whistle out. "mihya. snap out of it. answer me."

"listen. uhm." he mumbled. that's odd coming from such an arrogant and cocky man. what happened to that demeanor? "ugh, it's easier to say we're just friends, okay?" a frustrated sigh came out of the both of you.

"well, fuck." you replied, turning onto your back. "wait, [name]. i'm sorry." kaiser apologized. "i'm scared, okay? i'm terrified," he confessed. "i'm horrified if i hurt you if i-"

"shut it, michael." you demanded. "it'll hurt the both of us if you don't tell me the truth." you continued.

with a reluctant sigh, he agreed. opening his mouth as if the words were stuck, fighting their way out. his gaze softened, and for a moment, there was something vulnerable in his eyes — almost like he didn’t want to say it, but knew he had to.

"scheiße, i can't hide anything from you can i? fine. i like you. ich liebe dich sehr." he mumbled sheepishly. you cringed a little. "german? seriously? say it in english."

"needy as hell, sure. i love you a lot." kaiser slipped out, his pride slipping with the words LMFAOOO. kaiser didn't expect you to say anything — he didn't even expect you to accept his feelings.

"hey, mihya. i like you too. sorry. i love you a lot as well," you smiled softly at him. "i'm afraid of love too but-"

"[name], let's be afraid together. let's overcome this. together. can i be yours?"

ah, yes karasu tabito. my glorious king. don't let his horrible habit of looking down at people as mediocre get to you. trust me, he thinks you as everything BUT mediocre. kinda weird for him since, he only found one person intriguing.

he's confident with himself, or so he pretends to be. you see through that demeanor so quickly. snap of the fingers and you have him figured.

laying in his sheets, you took in his appearance. noting the mole under his left eye, how hair looks ungelled... it was so messy after you kept tugging and pulling on those soft, dark purple locks.

"hey, tabito.?" you cautiously opened your mouth. "y'know how you always think you're mediocre deep down.?"

he gulped, fixing his gaze onto you. "what makes ya think that?" he denied, laughing nervously. you stared at him like 'are we serious? i know what you are.'

the assassin sighed. the moment he was going to speak, he was cut off short. "you're not mediocre at all, by the way. i think you're genuinely a really cool guy and you should live up to your actual confidence."

"but one problem, what are we? we definitely are friends with benefits but..." you mumbled, remembering that one first love theory. you realized there's a good chance you'd never compare to marisa </3 (MARISA GIRL ILY)

"y'know i can tell what yer thinkin' of right? yer pretty easy to assess, [name]." he uttered. before you could grab a handful of his hair, you were stopped.

"truth be told, i'm madly in love with you, 'kay? i can't find myself to genuinely be with you other than sleepin' 'round with ya. i don't think i'm worthy."

"i'd love to be yours though, [name]."

— ©iqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025

tags !! : @narcjsistx (get ur man reo..), @kxsagi (GET UR MAN EESAGI !!)

a/n: ya ik lots of mischaracterization and fawking ooc! writing let me OUTTTT. bro i literally dk how to write half of these characters bye. i locked in too hard on kaiser ts what happens bruh. also before u come at me I HAD TO WRITE ISAGI AS A LOSER OK. heh... guess who my fav is...! anyways um yea no we aint even surprised this work is not proofread isa 💔💔 anyways i love love is not easy super fire song i say as i go crazy bc i had this on loop hen i was talking to that atrocious creature of a man... anyways hope u enjoyed ! ill try posting more consistently! i comment as my psych and english assignments stare at me ready to spread my cheeks </3

[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ THE BREAKUP

cw. fratboy isagi, so so so angsty, isagi really gets his feelings hurt :(

“i think we should break up.”

isagi gives a slight huff, “it’s not funny when you say things like that.”

you breath in, “i’m not joking, isagi.”

he turns around to face you, currently sat on his bed with your brows pinched together slightly. it was clear you had been thinking about something.

“what’s going on, baby?”, he asks, his tone more concerned.

you debated telling him the truth, making yourself look like a fool and having isagi so easily convince you that you’re wrong. he’s too reassuring like that.

ever since you heard everyone say you weren’t good enough for him, that you were too mean, too much for someone like isagi, it just kept playing on your mind like an endless loop, causing you to second guess yourself over and over.

because as much as you hate to admit it, they were right. you were mean, way too mean for a guy like isagi. he’s so sweet and genuine with not a nasty bone in his body. he deserves to be treated like a king, to have a girlfriend adore him just as much as he adores you.

but were you really that? are you really giving him everything he truly deserves?

“i just don’t think.. we’re really working out.”, you sigh.

he frowns, “you don’t think that at all. why’re you saying this?”, the hurt evident in his voice.

and that hurts you.

“isagi, stop.”

he doesn’t.

“no. tell me why you’re saying this. you’re not throwing our whole relationship away because in your eyes we’re suddenly ‘not working out’.”, he explains with air quotes, “you don’t get to say that without some explanation, it’s fucked up.”

you wish he just made it easier for you, to just accept this. but now having to rip the bandaid off you say, “fine then. i just don’t want to be with you anymore.”

there’s a long pause where isagi just processes what you say, “you don’t mean that.”, he whimpers, his eyes glossy.

of course you didn’t mean that. god, the look on his face hurt you more than anything, your own heart heavy. that’s when you knew you had really hurt his feelings and that’s the last thing you ever wanted to do. but, this was in isagi’s best interest.. right?

“i do.”, you whisper, you eyes down as you fiddle with your fingers, sat cross cross on his bed.

“why? what did i do? i can fix it, baby. whatever i did, i can fix it.”, isagi pleas frantically, scurrying closer to you by sitting on the edge of his bed, “please, just tell me.”

“you can’t, isagi. just stop it, okay?”, you sigh, getting up from his bed before grabbing your bag and packing up the few essentials you had in his room, “we just aren’t working, that’s it.”

“no- i just, i don’t understand what i did.”, he swallows, “i thought- i thought you loved me. i love you.”

you feel your bottom lip tremble. this felt like kicking a sweet puppy who kept running back to you.

you don’t say anything, in fear of losing composure and crying your heart out. so, you carry on packing your things, muting out isagi’s frantic pleas and breaking voice despite how hard it was, before rushing out of his room to get back to your own dorm, leaving him alone where everything felt too silent besides his thumping heartbeat.

and that’s when he felt the tears fall from his eyes, and down his cheeks. isagi wasn’t a crier, not at all. but, here he was, crying over you as you leave him with no closure, no nothing. without the answers you couldn’t give him, all he could do was wonder what the hell went so wrong. what the hell made you leave him so suddenly?

with all of his thoughts going rampant in his mind, isagi mutters, “fuck, man.”

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[chryso-poeia]

If you think, feel and act habitually according to your past. You will only experience the past cyclically. If you think, act and feel according to the opinions of people that have only achieved average results, you will only have average results.

To experience a new reality, you have to think, feel and act greater than your reality, greater than your enviournment. You have to challenge your limiting beliefs.

The only job of your mind/brain is to keep you alive. Your happiness is your job. Fear is the most basic and fundamental aspect of being human, it’s like hunger, like thirst. Listen to it, ask if you can control the source of it or not, act accordingly. Then you can audit if your survival is threatened or not, yes it sounds absurd but that’s how the primal mind works. Make it funny, something along the lines of: ”yes i’m so in danger, crocodiles will fly through the window and feast on this gorgeous body hunnnyyy”. Then forgive yourself and see how adorable you are when you believe your old mind.

Open up your conscious mind by seeing that the negative and positive is always equally available, it’s only based on whether you only wish to survive or actually wish to live an extraordinary life. How would you look back on a life lived despite the fear, at the end of this life? Now come back to the present. That potential is a potential is NOW. It’s always about what you do in every present moment, how you nourish yourself, how you work on yourself, how you grow by doing what you are afraid of first.

So the foundation of what enables you to function is the primal mind. But we have the evolutionary advantage of consciousness. It’s not just some woo woo new agey bs, this is the actual truth. Really feel into it, take a moment. Who do you want be? How do you want to feel? Think? And behave? DO THAT NOW, START ACTING ON IT RIGHT THIS SECOND!

Model yourself after someone that has already achieved what you want.

Immerse yourself totally and repeat it consistently.

Use discipline as your relief.

Let your vision of the future pull you toward it, let your reasons by stronger than your fear.

If you fail, get excited, learn from it and restrategize. Never ever giving up will secure the future you want.

Never giving up, is the key aspect of manifestation the way i see it.

So now finally, as you work towards your dream life having redefined success as progress. Micro wins daily. Daily goals, 30 day goals, 90 day goals. That stack up overtime, if all you can do is crawl, start fucking crawling you beautiful being, you fucking deserve it. But as you do it, audit what fulfills you, really fulfills you. And excites you. Do it daily. Audit what a ”good/perfect day looks like”, repeat it.

Also, this is one of the most potent ”hacks” ever: state management. Use your body as if you were the dream version of you, speak like it internally and externally. Use your voice like it.

Make everything mean that you are progressing towards your dream reality. Make everything mean that you are learning and growing. Make everything mean that you are whole, loved and have everything you need within already. Use yourself like a tool, like a divine instrument. Tune it. Do it without fear within, feel how good that feels. Disobey your past, disobey your enviournment, disobey the people around you because they just have the same patterns that you have. Because when you do, you’ll be able to give back to them, endlessly eventually.

You can escape the patterns you are stuck in. You have the ability to change.

[azzibuckets]

letters from dallas part 1

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: in which i neglect all the other series and fics im supposed to be writing to send more angst ur way <3

lfd masterlist | main masterlist

May 1, 2025

Dear Azzi,

It fucking sucks here.

I know I’m supposed to be thankful for this opportunity. And I am, I swear. My teammates are nice. Arike’s been showing me around downtown. Nai and Lyss are funny. They’ve adopted me, called me their child. They remind me of us.

My therapist said it’s good to write down my feelings. Not sure how she’d say if it was letters, letters to you, but hey, something is better than nothing.

I saw a trailer for Frozen 3 last week and I thought of you. I hope you’re doing well. I called KK the other day. She was so excited - I felt bad. I haven’t been as good as I wanted to be with talking to our team - well, your team now - but it hurts too much knowing that they get to spend every day with you and I can’t. I asked her about you. She seemed hesitant to tell me. But I kept nagging her and she told me you’re good, spending a lot of time reading and stuff. Said they finally got you off Colleen Hoover. She wants me to move on, I can tell. It’s killing both of us, how I can’t let you go. But I guess writing these letters and stuffing them in my closet are how I’m trying to get my closure and deal with my feelings, so maybe this will help.

You’re on my fucking mind all the time, and I wish you weren’t. I miss you so bad sometimes it hurts to exist. If you saw the amount of melatonin I take every every night just to avoid you in my dreams, you’d probably yell at me.

Love,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 7, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Have I mentioned that Drew hasn’t been talking to me? He blames me for our breakup, and he misses you like hell. I do too.

I played like shit in the game yesterday. I can’t believe we lost to the Sparks. It was nice seeing Cam again though. I don’t know if you remember, but it’s our anniversary. I saw that you were at the soccer game with the girls. You looked really good, really happy. I guess it doesn’t affect you like it affects me. And I know that should make me like, mad, or jealous. But I’m glad at least one of us is healing?

Honestly? it sucks having to see your face all over social media. It sucks even more whenever I go on my Instagram page and you’re all over it too. I could be salty and delete all of it, but that would start too much drama. Besides, that would mean deleting like half my posts

I wonder how Jose and Jon are doing. Jon unfollowed me the other day. That one hurt pretty bad. I miss my little brothers, and I miss your parents.

Love,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 28, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Yesterday was a fucking shit show. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to even show up when I heard you guys were coming. It was weird, seeing you in the audience. It was everything I’d always imagined, you coming to my games, but it also made me feel sick, knowing this is what could’ve been. What should’ve been. I was nervous the last quarter thinking about what to say to you after the game, but god, Azzi, you couldn’t even look at me. I tried to talk to you after the group pic but you disappeared.

Maybe it’s a good time to tell you that Katie and Tim were at my game last week, against the Mystics. I’m gonna be honest, when I saw they were there, I avoided them, and I’m not proud of it. I ran to my car straight after the presser but somehow they found where I parked and were waiting next to it?? If this was a different circumstance I would’ve laughed.

All they told me was great game before I started crying. I don’t even know what came over me. But your mom hugged me and that made me cry even harder. They told me I was their daughter no matter what, and they loved me. I wrote it down as soon as I left because I didn’t ever wanna forget.

Azzi, we didn’t even marry each other like we promised, and I still feel like we left a broken family. I didn’t mean for this many people to get hurt, for this many relationships to shatter because ours did.

It makes forgetting you so much harder, and that’s what pisses me off. That I’ve injured my knee and gone through months of rehab and moved across the country to a brand new city, yet this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 2nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I was calling KK again and I didn’t ask about you this time. I think I’m making some progress.

Arike keeps trying to get me with some of her friends, but it still doesn’t feel right. I think I need a little bit more time.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 20, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I turn 24 today. Damn I feel old. I’ve spent a third of my life now loving you.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 22nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I just got your present in the mail. You didn’t have to. I love it. Thank you.

- Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November 11, 2025

Happy birthday big head. I think you probably received my gift by now. I debated on writing a card, but you didn’t write me one, and I’ve decided to leave the cards (haha) in your hand. So I’m just following your lead. I hope you enjoy 23.

- Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December 7, 2025

Azzi,

Hell of a game yesterday. Proud of you. National player of the year performance

- P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 5, 2026

Az,

LET’S FUCKING GOOOO. Shit, man. Two peat natty champs??? Unbelievable. My hands are tweaking out, I can’t even read my own handwriting. I knew you could do it, Az. Thank you for not forcing me to wear irish merch..I never look good in green like you do

- P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 13, 2026

Azzi,

Drafted to the Sky????

See you so fucking soon

Nice fit at the draft btw

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

May 16, 2026

Dear Azzi,

Fuck, the way you smiled at me after that game. Maybe I’ll have the courage to finally text you. I know it’s probably not the best idea but…I still regret everything. It’s been a little bit more than a year and it still hurts as bad as it did the first day. Is this normal?

Love,

Paige

[petrichormore]

So I’m watching Ros’ pov and I’m taking notes because tr!Ros’ mindset interests me and I just want to point out a few things.

(Bad and Ros are my main realm povs btw, I have watched almost every single one of both of their streams, but Bad moreso than Ros. The following is about tr!characters obviously)

(THIS IS KIND OF LONG)

So Ros tells Pangi and Aimsey what happened with Sneeg and Lukey. She clearly doesn’t want to, she tries to avoid saying it. When she finally admits it, she severely downplays it - she describes it as Sneeg “tapping” Lukey on the head. She tries to make it seem like it’s not a big deal. She says that Foolish resolved the situation and that everything is fine. Neither of these things is correct, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s trying to deceive. She’s downplaying it for Pangi’s sake, and Bad used an advanced wartime technique known as lying to convince Foolish he had prevented war when he’d actually made everything worse - Foolish passed that mistaken belief onto Ros.

Pangi, and then later Ros, and then later twitter, immediately draw a parallel between this incident and Pangi killing Pili which happened the day before. Pangi is the first one to make the connection and it’s because he’s trying to be understanding. He’s trying not to get angry, he’s reminding himself that he hurt Ros in much the same way.

But there’s a difference in how Ros handled it versus how Pangi handled it. Pangi did not try to downplay his actions nearly as much as Ros does - he admits to killing Pili, he says he isn’t trying to justify his actions (he brings up Pili’s behavior towards him as his motivation but he doesn’t try and make the argument that yellow faction shouldn’t be upset by it) and he says he is sincerely sorry for putting Ros in a difficult position. Ros also apologizes, and I think this is where Ros (and twitter) is having a misunderstanding:

Pangi is obviously upset that Ros and Sneeg tried to kill Pangi, but him bringing up Pili proves that he understands he did the same and is trying to take that into account because he cares about Ros. Ros thinks it’s unfair - why can he can attack Pili but she can’t attack Lukey? But listening to the conversation, Pangi seems to be more upset because he thinks Ros is purposefully misleading him about the situation. She says Sneeg only delivered a warning which purposefully didn’t do lethal damage, and then Lukey (more accurately) tells him that no, it definitely could’ve killed him, Sneeg just missed - and Bad later confirms this (Lukey calls Sneeg incompetent for missing by the way, which is funny). I don’t think Ros is purposefully misleading him, though, I think it’s a combination of her not remembering the event perfectly and her clinging to any explanation that will put her faction in the best light possible, even if that explanation is shaky at best.

She also complains to Aimsey, after Aimsey (correctly) points out that Ros killing people will, in fact, lead to them disliking her. She responds by saying she only does it “once in a while” and that “there are people more evil and more full of hatred than her”

This is interesting because it’s… not actually a response to Aimsey’s statement. The argument here is… what? That Ros personally believes she is not evil and therefore Lukey and Pangi don’t have the right to hold her actions against her? That if someone kills for a reason that is ‘righteous’ (I’m coming back to this later), and if they do it less frequently than someone who kills for unrighteous reasons, that it’s different? Are they not both murderers? Ros evidently believes she deserves leeway in this category, from Pangi and Lukey anyway.

And the way she brings up this concept of people “more evil than her” in response to being told to accept that murdering people will stir up resentment. She is right, there are people more “evil” by most people’s definition of the word. People like Bad, who Ros seemingly implies Lukey is wrong not to hate more than her. But… Ros doesn’t hate Bad either. She is actually pretty unique in that respect, with the way she has always treated Bad with respect and kindness even as his kill count rose. She hates Owen, of course, but Owen has not caused nearly the same amount of damage that Bad has - to yellow faction or to the realm in general. Owen’s largest crime so far, that Ros is aware of, is that he’s been absolutely horrid to her. That’s not good, obviously, but if this was really about morality, if this was really about who’s evil and who’s good - then Ros should by all accounts be ranking Bad lower than Owen, and definitely lower than Lukey. Except Bad is her friend. Her friend that she calls evil and thinks deserves to die. But still, somehow, her friend?

So I think that’s where this interesting dissonance is coming in. Ros thinks of herself as good, of her actions as righteous. She wants the freedom to be “a little silly” and “hateful and evil, for once” like other murderers on the server are, but she doesn’t want to align with the ideology that allows them to behave that way so freely. She thinks of herself as separate from that nebulous, undefined Evil, which she and her faction are strictly Not. Except when they want to be, then it’s okay and everyone should accept it. Because at least they’re not Evil all the time. In Ros’ opinion, anyway.

Ros’ moral compass is tearing her apart, spinning in all different directions, pulled by a million different motivations - some of which crumble to stress and overwhelm under scrutiny. She has named the compass ‘Righteous’ and wherever it points must be the right direction. If Bad kills people (even yellow faction!) he is still a friend, but if Owen is cruel to her specifically he is not a friend, and he is worse than Bad the serial killer. Slowly, her compass breaks away from this ‘objective’ morality that she tried so hard to follow in the past, but she cannot bear the mental strain of this realization and so she ignores it. But even if she ignores it, others do not, so what is Ros to do? The yellow faction might reinforce her beliefs, but Owen is the one who claimed befriending people from outside factions is wrong and harmful, and he is Evil. So she reaches out to others, but they look at her compass’ name and they ask “are you sure?” and they don’t realize it will break her to realize she isn’t.

[sports-on-sundays]

Hello hello, I am back with another request! It's with Oscar again but friends to lovers. Hear me out, the most cliche thing ever. Oscar loves her, she loves him but both too dense to realise it. They are out and about and another dude corners her and tries to make out with her, Oscar saves the day (make him protective and violent pls, make him punch the guy (side note: I would pay money to see Oscar actually punch someone, don't ask me why idk🙈)). So then he comforts her, takes her home and she asks him to stay. I will leave the rest of the convo to you🤗. Let there be a first kiss and cuddle I beg I am the biggest sucker for those bcs Oscar seems like the best guy to have your firsts with.

Holy hell that's a long ass request haha. Thank you for reading all that🤣 have fun with it and feel free to change things up a little bit if you want to!

be / OP81

Summary: Oscar x female!best childhood friend!Australian!reader - You and Oscar are finally forced to realize your feelings for each other.

Warnings: panicking, someone forcing himself onto another person, blood, crying, i did change up the request a little bit 🤏, feeling sick

Requested: Yes! And don't worry about the long request, I really liked it, and thanks so much for requesting! Long requests are better sometimes anyway.

Author's Note: Guys I'm starting to think I seriously need my very own Oscar Piastri....

"It wasn't even that funny-"

"It wasn't even that funny!"

Both you and Oscar look up to who it was mockingly imitating Oscar's friendly teasing, and your eyes set themselves upon Lando Norris, smirking obnoxiously.

"What's your problem?" you demand, crossing your arms, most of the laughter from Oscar's joke that he made fives minutes ago (yes, you were still laughing your head off at it) gone.

"What do you mean? I'm just kidding. It's just funny how your boyfriend can make the most dumb joke, and send you both into a ten minute laughing fit-"

"Boyfriend?" you and Oscar seem to ask incredulously in sink.

The smile falls off of Lando's face this time, and is replaced by a look of surprise and confusion. "Waaaait... So you're trying to tell me you guys aren't dating?"

Oscar blinks a few times in confusion. "Y/n and I are just friends. We always have been."

"Yeah," you add quickly, nodding. "I don't know why everyone thinks differently."

Lando's eyebrows raise in amusement. "Maybe because you guys act like you're mad in love...? Like, all the time? Or maybe the fact that you come to every single one of our races? Or maybe it's the way you look at each other with heart eyes, like the other one is the only one in the room? I mean, I don't know. It could be the way you're always giggling and talking and yapping to each other... But, oh, what do I and everybody else know?"

"Good question," Oscar deadpans. "What do you know?"

Lando shrugs, rollings his eyes, and struts away. As soon as he's gone, Oscar turns back to you with a little shrug and says, "Sorry about that. I guess nobody gets that two people can love each other as friends without feeling romantic feelings..."

You nod, shrugging. It makes sense to you, simply because that's how it's always been with you and Oscar, forever. The two of you practically slept in the same crib (not literally!). You always just assumed he's like a brother or something, and it doesn't pay to consider anything else. So you haven't. Too risky, and besides- that's not worth it to waste your time thinking about. You like things just the way they are, no need to change them.

"-Y/n?"

"Hm?!" you look up, snapping out of your pondering.

Oscar smiles at you, his brown eyes soft, like they always are when he looks at you. You smile back, eyes equally as warm as he says, "Did you hear me?" in amusement.

You chuckle, "No, sorry."

He nods, giving your shoulder a little pat as he stands up. "I've got to go now get ready for the race. First of the season. Wish me luck!"

"Luck isn't needed," you say with a little grin. "You've got enough skill alone to win it."

He grins. "I guess. But luck never hurts, does it?"

"Not at all." You stand up with him and give him a quick half-hug, saying gentler, "Drive safe, and bring it home. I'll be cheering you on."

"Like always?"

"Like always."

"Hey, Y/n?"

You look up from your phone, shutting it off. You're sitting alone, long after the 2025 season opening race, the Australian Grand Prix, has ended. You haven't seen Oscar since the race ended, and have just been sitting around, not wanting to go home until you have a chance to talk with him. And there he is, standing there, back in his regular clothes: a black sweatshirt, sweatpants, and sneakers, looking thoroughly sleepy.

You immediately stand up, smiling, saying simply, "It was a great drive."

"Well, I-"

"Hush. You scored points after what happened, and that's enough, for goodness' sake."

He smiles softly, and though his eyes say a lot more, he just nods and says simply, "Yeah, yeah, you're right. As always."

You nod promptly and say teasingly, "I know!"

He just rolls his eyes and says, already in a better mood just by talking to you, "Mum wanted you over tonight for dinner."

You grin, "She did, did she?"

"You know she always does, whenever I'm around, want me to bring you over. She adores you."

"She's the sweetest," you chuckle. "Well, I wouldn't mind one of your mum's home cooked meals."

Oscar nods, grabbing his coat, and saying, "I agree; that would hit the spot right now. C'mon."

You two make it to the car and get in, before you start heading to Oscar's mother's home. The car ride is mostly silent, but neither of you really mind. It's a comfortable, good kind of silence.

Towards the end of it, though, you ask simply, "So, that's the end of the first race week of the season. How're you feeling?"

Oscar shrugs, thinking for a few moments, before saying, "Hmm... I guess I'd have to say tired, but very hopeful."

You smile. "Good. You just need your beauty rest, huh?"

He glances at you with a cute little smile. "Right."

Dinner is nice. Warm, and reminds you of home, and your childhood, and everything good. And it's perfect for a rainy day like today.

Once he's finished eating, though, Oscar stands up, stretching, from the table, and says, "Well, I should be off to bed..."

"Oh, Oscar, you will give poor Y/n a ride home won't you?" Oscar's mother asks.

He looks over at you with a little smile and nods, saying, "Oh, right, of course."

You walk to the door together, but before Oscar opens the front door to leave, you gently grab his arm and say simply, "Osc."

He looks up from unlocking the door, meeting your eyes. "Hm?" he asks gently.

"You don't need to drive me home. I could get a cab or take the bus or whatever. It's all good. You've had a crazy week, as it is, much crazier than mine-"

"I mean, I was thinking maybe it'd be fine if I didn't drive you home, too, but you don't have to get a cab. I'm sure if I asked, my mum would be fine with you just staying the night or something."

You blink in surprise, but smile at the suggestion. "Oh. Well, I'd hate to bud in-"

He smiles. "You're family, Y/n. Don't worry." He takes your hand, tugging you back towards the dining room, calling, "Mum! Would it be fine if Y/n just stayed the night? We've both had a long day!"

"Oh, of course, honey! Tell her she can make herself just all nice and comfy and at home! Y/n's such a sweetheart, anyways. She's always welcome!"

Oscar smiles, looking at you. "You heard that, right?"

You smile back up at him with a little laugh. "Yeah, I heard that."

He nods, saying, "C'mon, let's go to my room."

The two of you head there, both of you knowing the way to Oscar's childhood bedroom from all the years you used to spend in there together. When you walk in, seeing all the dressers in the same place they always were, and all Oscar's old decorations from his karting days, memories seem to flood back, just like that, and both you and Oscar feel it. You crawl onto his bed, just like you always used to do, flopping down against his pillows, making yourself at home.

Oscar smiles and crawls in next to you. Just like he always used to do, too. "Last time we were both here was..."

"...right after you joined McLaren, right?" you smile at the memory.

"I guess so." He smiles down at you.

"I remember distinctly, one time, you had been gone so, so long, and I asked your mum if I could surprise you when you got home..."

Oscar starts laughing, clearly remembering it to. "Ohhh yeah. I threw open the bedroom door and flopped on my bed, even though you were on it. By the time I saw you and yelped, it was too late."

"Yeah, and I wrapped my arms around you and started tickling you," you say giggling.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. "I remember. By the end of it, I was gasping and near tears. God, Y/n, you know I was tired."

"I know. But I made you laugh and smile, didn't I? And I made you feel better, didn't I?"

"I mean, I was just happy to see you," he says, his gaze comfortably resting on yours.

"I was happy to see you. Do you know how much I missed you those months?"

"You miss me if you don't see me for a week, Y/n, still."

"Why do you think I come to every race that I can?"

"Because I pay for you to?"

You roll your eyes at that, crossing your arms, "I mean, yeah, but that's not the sentiment I was going for!"

He laughs, giving your shoulder a little playful tap. "I know, I know."

You sigh deeply, the sweet silence settling between the two of your for a little while, before murmuring, "And I hope you remember after that tickle attack, when your face was red and you were nearly crying from laughing, I gave you the biggest hug of all time..."

Oscar's face warms at that as he leans a bit closer to you. "Yeah... Yeah, I remember. You wanna know why that moment was special to me?"

"Why?"

"Because that was the moment I realized that there are some people in my life that never truly will leave me. Even if I leave them. And you're one of the best of them. That was when I learned what family is."

You nod slowly, thinking about that for a few moments, before saying, "That's... so sweet. I like it."

Oscar smiles. "Me, too. I like it too. I'm so lucky to have a best friend like you."

"And I so lucky to have a best friend like you."

Oscar smiles at that, nodding, satisfied, before letting out a big yawn, reminding you if a sleepy cat, before folding his hands up into fists and rubbing his watery eyes.

And, as if it's contagious, you let your own yawn, a few moments later.

Oscar smiles, this time more sleepily at you, before slipping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you a little closer to himself. You flop your head to lean against his shoulder, and murmur, "Time for us both to get the much-needed rest our bodies are begging us for?"

"Mmm-hm. Yeah. Whatever you said," Oscar murmurs as he drifts off, the hint of a smile still lingering on his mostly relaxed face.

And you both drift off, surrounded by that perfect warmth and tranquility that feels just like home.

A little under a week later, you're sleeping against Oscar in a very similar position, feeling like you're just as at home in China than you are in Australia, simply because of the person you're resting against, when you're awakened by the painful claims, "I ship it, the mechanics ship it, the other teams' drivers ship it, the fans ship it. My God, even my mum ships it! Literally everyone can see you're mad in love except you and her!"

You stretch, your eyes fluttering open, and murmur before you're even sure it's Lando's unwanted yapping torturing your ears, "Landooo shut uppp..."

Oscar gives your shoulder a squeeze, groaning to Lando in his perfectly alert awake state (contrary to yours), "Look at that, Lando, you made her wake up!"

"Oh, yeah, 'cause you'd hate for her to stop sleeping against y-"

"Lando, stop, it's not like that."

"How come every time a girl and a guy are friends, everyone ships them? I think that's society's problem," you comment as you rub your tired eyes.

Lando snorts, saying, "It's not every time. You guys are just obvious. And oblivious. You just need to admit it to each other."

"There's nothing to admit to each other, Lando," Oscar comments as he watches you slowly lean off of him, slipping his arm off your shoulders.

"Yeah, we're, like, brother and sister."

"Well, I wouldn't say that-" Oscar begins quickly.

"I mean, yeah, like-"

"We're more like just really close friends," Oscar finishes confidently.

"Yes, that's true, I agree," you say quickly, looking up at him. "We're family, but not brother and sister."

"Ah, so you're family, but it's not like siblings. What else could you be other than mad in love but just too dense to realize it?" Lando asks.

You just glare, crossing your arms, and Oscar comments, "I don't know, but it's not like that."

"Maybe it's just not like that simply because you both refuse to admit what you really want."

"Lando, I don't need you of all people being my psychologist. Could you just leave it?" you comment, feeling Oscar's eyes watching you.

Lando sighs (overdramatically), shrugs, and says, "Suit yourself. I'm just saying, you guys have got to get together soon, or else you'll drive yourselves and everyone else insane. We can all tell you guys just need to kiss already." And with that, he once again struts away.

As soon as he's gone, you whine, leaning your head into Oscar's shoulder, "I hate Lando!"

"Don't say that. He's just kidding," Oscar says gently.

You sigh. "I know... it's just..."

"Hm?" Oscar prompts gently.

"I don't want people thinking something that's not true."

"Who cares what they think? We both know how we feel about each other, and that's all that matters." But do we? Oscar's brain echoes.

"Yeah, you're right," you murmur, nodding, comforted by his words, not even picking up the way he stares forward, eyebrows knitted together, deep in thought.

You've heard what you think you want to hear, and that's all that matters to you.

The moment you see Oscar after his podium, after he stood on the first step, winning such a solid race as that, you run into his arms, causing him to laugh as he hugs you back, saying, "Hey, Y/n."

"I'm so proud of you!" you say excitedly. "Amazing drive- amazing!"

"Thank you, Y/n. It means a lot. I'm so happy you were here to cheer me on."

You grin up at him. "Me, too, Oscar. Me too."

He celebrated with his team after the race, you staying in your hotel, since Oscar promised you he'd like to bring you home with him to Monaco, and have a more low key celebration, without as many people. Besides, you'd like it that way better anyway. And this way, you can get some extra sleep and try to avoid some of the jet lag from the long flight to Monaco.

Now you stand in Oscar's bathroom back in Monaco, gazing at yourself in the mirror in your white crop top and silver skirt, knowing that when you step out of the bathroom, all you need is for Oscar to tell you it looks nice, and then all your worries will vanish.

And once you do, of course, he stands up from the living couch and says, "You look really pretty. Ready to go?"

You smile softly, sighing in relief, and nod. "Yes. I'm ready to go celebrate with the winner of the 2025 Chinese Grand Prix." You laugh a bit, and add as you head out to the car, "Oscar, you know I'm so incredibly proud of you."

He grins. "I know, I know." You know he loves your lavishing, even if he wouldn't admit it. He's never gotten enough of it; you're one of the people that appreciate him the most, you think, at least. You appreciate him a whole lot, anyways.

Soon you get to your destination, and the night starts off really fun, you and Oscar just sticking with each other, laughing, singing, drinking, and dancing. But after too long, the air becomes stale, the noise becomes too loud, and the drinks turn bitter. You're tired, and Oscar's off somewhere, swept away with his other friends. You sigh deeply, leaning against the wall, running a hand through your hair.

It's then that you feel a hand on your shoulder, and it makes you flinch. It's unfamiliar.

It's not Oscar's hand.

You look up to see a man around your age with tangled overgrown curly brown hair and dark, cold eyes. He's wearing a gold chain around his neck and a football jersey. It's then that he shows you his unflattering smirk and says in a thick French accent, "I'm Jordan."

You just kind of nod, showing a fake smile and crossing your arms, not really in the mood for any antics with any strange guys.

His eyebrows raise as he says, "Do you have a name, or am I going to have to give you one?"

Your lip immediately curls up as you look at him from the corner of your eye, still not tilting your face directly towards him. "You're not smooth. My name is Y/n."

"Pretty name for a pretty girl. A sassy girl, too, at that. I like that."

You bite your lip, rolling your eyes in utter annoyance at this guy 'Jordan.' "Good for you..." you murmur, trying to send him the message that you really don't want to talk with him.

Jordan just hums and steps closer to you. You glance up at him for the first time, really, feeling a bit sick from how close he is to you. You murmur awkwardly, "Could you please step away?"

"No, I don't think I will. I'm enjoying your reaction too much."

"Please, stop."

He roughly grabs your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. You swallow deeply.

"I really like your skirt..." he purrs, leaning in closer to you, completely ignoring your protests. His hand slips onto your thigh and grips it tightly.

"Stop... I don't care-"

"You don't, don't you? Well, what a shame... I reckon there's not much you can do about that..."

"St-"

He lips meet yours in a nasty, rough kiss. Your head pounds and spins as your knees begin to shake, panic of what's happening sinking in, your thoughts raging with anxious thoughts at the same time as your head being completely empty. You push at his chest, but he pushes his whole body up against yours, pinning you to the wall, further into a shadow.

You gasp, the panic sinking in deeper, and hardly register what happens next.

Oscar's familiar voice in all the chaos says in one of the angriest, coldest tones you've ever heard from his mouth, "Get your fucking nasty hands away from her."

Jordan tears his lips away from your mouth as Oscar grabs him, Jordan turning his head to look behind him, but before he has a chance to react, you watch as a fist comes flying across and hits him square across the face. He stumbles back and as blood begins gushing from his nose. For a moment, his eyes meet yours in shock, as if he expects you to help a dog like him, but it's then that you watch Oscar grab him by the collar and murmur in the darkest of tones to him, "I told you to get your nasty hands away from her, and you didn't. That's my girl, and no one dares to touch her like that. You better not think you can go on like this, and I hope this can be a reminder for you not to." And with that, Oscar throws another punch, hitting the guy in his eye. You slowly slip down the wall, still watching in shock as Oscar finishes him off by handing one more punch to him on his bloody jaw, before letting go of his collar, letting him fall to the floor, finishing with a yell, "The pain you're feeling right now is nothing compared to the pain you deserve!"

You watch as Jordan scampers up and, just like that, without even considering a fight, stumbles off, out of sight.

And then, everything hushed, Oscar turns, and his eyes meet yours. His hair is a little sweaty and messed up, falling over his forehead. For a moment, you see that remaining burning anger, but as soon as he takes you in, that vanishes, and is replace by the familiar warmth he seems to always look at you with.

And the moment your eyes lock, the tears start coming, and you break down.

Oscar is immediately by your side, pulling you into his arms, sitting on the floor next to you and holding you in his lap, gently stroking your hair. After a while, you hiccup, slowly leaning away, your body still shaking, and murmur, mopping up your eyes with your hands, "Os- Oscar... That was scary. I'm scared."

He gently takes your hand. "You don't have to be. I'm here. Are you ready to go home?"

You nod slowly, and Oscar helps you up, leading you out back to his car, his arm around your back protectively the entire time.

Once back in the car, as the events of what just happened replay through your head, you hiccup, more tears threatening to flow. Oscar gently takes your hand, murmuring in the dark of the parked car, "Tell me what I can do for you, and I'll do it. I hope you know I'll do anything for you to feel better."

You sigh shakily and just lean into him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you for a few minutes, before you lean away again and murmur, "Let's just get home..."

Oscar nods. "Good idea." He turns the car on and begins driving, and as soon as he does holds his hand that he's not using to drive out to you. You put your hand in his, letting the warmth from it fill you and comfort you.

As he drives, you suddenly say in the empty silence, "'That's my girl.' That's what you said."

Oscar just nods a little. "I know. I did mean to say that, you know."

You swallow, thinking for a few moments, before murmuring the simple question, "Why?"

"Because you've always been mine and I've always been yours, haven't I?"

You swallow. "I don't know what that means."

"Forget what it means. You're the most important girl- the most important person- to me. You're my girl, and I'm not going to let anyone be messing with you."

That feels right to you, and good to you, to hear that. And you're glad, in a way, that he's so confidently figured that out. It frees you to say back, "Well, yeah, then... I guess that makes you my boy, then..."

Oscar smiles very softly, giving your hand a little squeeze as you arrive at his home. Once you're both inside, before you have a chance to start worrying, Oscar says gently, putting a hand on your shoulder, "I want you to be comfortable. What do you need? I could get you something to eat, run a bath for you, get a change of clothes, all three, whatever else you need-"

"Oh, uh, don't worry about it-"

"Hush," Oscar suddenly interrupts, shaking his head. He moves to stand right in front of you, before gazing down into your eyes, and saying in all sincerity, "Look, I want you to be honest. I want to take care of you if that's what you need. I want you to be comfortable."

You swallow, nodding a bit, before murmuring, "A bath and a change of clothes might be nice... I'm not hungry, though."

Oscar nods, putting his hand on your back, leading you to his room. He opens his closet and says, "You can wear whatever you can find. I'm going to go run that bath for you; I'll call you when it's ready. I'll get a towel for you in the bathroom, too."

You nod, find one of his bigger McLaren T-shirts and a pair of black sweatpants, and head to the bathroom just as Oscar is calling for you.

Oscar smiles at you gently when you walk in and say simply, "Anything else you need?"

You shake your head 'no,' saying, "Thank you."

He nods. "Of course. I'll just be in the living room, you can come there when you're done. Call me if you need anything. And take your time, too."

You smile weakly, nodding. "Alright. Thanks, Osc."

He nods, leaving you to have your bath. You peel off your clothes and sink into the water, feeling its warmth surround you like an embrace. You let out a long sigh of relief as the water touches your sore, tense muscles, soothing them. After the night you've had, it feels good to just be. To just experience something genuinely good and calming, knowing Oscar is just in the next room.

Oscar. The way he stood up for you, was so protective of you, and beyond that, has been taking such good care of you... You know Oscar a good man... He was always a really sweet boy, and he's grown up to be a really very upright and sweet man. It was crazy- crazy- to see him go off on that stranger, and beat him up the way he did.

But somehow, it felt right. It was just proving he's good. That he cares so much about and for you, he won't let anyone hurt you without knowing the consequences of it from him.

How much does he really care about me?

The question almost feels good to ask, because you have a feeling the answer is one you like.

And then the way he so confidently called you his girl.

'That's my girl.'

Just looking back on it, for some reason, it makes your heart skip a beat. It's that chest-tightening nervous affectionate feeling you get often when Oscar does or says little things. Although this time, it's not little, and every new thing he does seems to make your stomach flutter a little more. It's a familiar feeling that you're sure you've gotten hundreds of times before with Oscar, but for some reason, you're only realising it now. Why, you have no idea, and what the strange feelings could mean, you have even less of an idea.

Soon, you finish your bath, and after drying yourself put on Oscar soft, comfortable clothes, no matter how over sized they are on you. Besides, you don't care in the slightest about that as soon as you inhale his familiar, comforting scent when you put them on. You go to the living room and see Oscar laying on the couch on his phone, now in a T-shirt and sweatpants, just relaxing. As soon as you walk in, though, he looks up.

"Osc...? Do you have a brush I could use for my hair?"

He nods, hopping up from the couch, and says, "Yeah, I do. Wait here, I'll be right back. Just get yourself comfy."

He leaves, and you shrug, taking his advice, and curl up on the couch, waiting for him to come back. He takes longer than you expect him to, but soon enough, he walks back in and sits next to you, saying, "Why don't you just relax, and I can brush it for you?"

"Seriously? You don't have to," you say immediately, secretly wanting badly for him to brush your hair for you. You love the feeling of other people playing with your hair- and if it's Oscar, even better.

He smiles at you. "I know, but I want to." And with that, to both of your delight apparently, begins gently brushing through your hair. When he's done, he slowly start running his fingers through it, starting from the bottom and going up to the top. You sigh, leaning back into him, and Oscar just simply loves it. After a while he says, softly amused, "You just seem to melt when my hands are in your hair."

You shrug, smiling a little, and say, "What can I say? It feels really good."

He chuckles that low comforting chuckle that feels just like home. "I can tell." After a few more minutes he says, "I found a hair tie I think you must've left here at one point. Do want me to braid your hair or something?"

You smile, glancing back at him, and say, "You can do that? I don't know if I can trust you."

He just smiles back at you. "You should. I'm good at it. Remember, I grew up with three sisters."

You shrug again before saying, "Well, alright..."

He chuckles softly again, before he gently begins braiding your hair, his fingers gently weaving through your locks, slowly, until he finally finishes and ties it on the end. Once he's finished, you turn around to face him.

He smiles at you.

You smile back, taking his hands in both of yours.

"You're beautiful," he suddenly says, looking right into your eyes. "I don't think I've told you that enough. Because I think it all the time, whenever I look at you."

For some reason, your friend saying that makes you blush. There are a few moments of silence, before you look down at your joined hands and murmur, "Crazy that the hands that beat up that guy are the same hands that just gently braided my hair."

Oscar shrugs, smiling a little. "They have different uses in different moments. And I don't regret what I did for a moment, not any of it. I would do the exact same thing if I had to do it all again. In fact, just thinking about it makes me really angry. But what matters most is that you're okay."

You sigh slowly, nodding, your head a bit dizzy at the thought of it all. "I'm just so thankful for you, throughout it all. You, like, saved the day..." you chuckle wryly.

He shrugs, nodding a bit. "I guess." A little laugh.

More silence.

You stare down once more at your joined hands. "But Oscar..." you begin hesitantly.

"Yes?" he prompts gently.

"...I'm sorry."

"Y/n... for what? You did nothing wrong-!" Oscar begins somewhat incredulously.

"It's just... You were celebrating your win..."

"Oh, Y/n..." Oscar begins, his tone softening. "Come on, now. Look up at me, will you?"

You sigh, doing so.

"It's not your fault, what happened," Oscar says. "It's that idiot's fault, and we both know that. What happened happened, and there was no preventing it. And if you're worried about me, don't be. I had a perfectly good time celebrating in China with my team. This was more that I wanted to do something with you, for you. But look at this right now. Here we are, sitting together, anyway. Isn't that what matters the most anyway; isn't that the point? So why don't we just make the most of this moment, right now, hm?"

You sigh again, nodding slowly, before saying, you heart almost feeling like it's being squeezed, "Okay."

"Hey," Oscar murmurs, his hand touching the bottom of your chin. "You're looking down again. Talk to me." He gently raises your chin.

You swallow, and suddenly, words that you hardly knew you even thought start coming from your mouth, and only now as you hear them in your voice do they even begin to make sense: "I guess it's just that... You're so caring and gentle with me, and protective. And we like each other so much and get along so well and we've known each other for years and... I guess sometimes I wonder about us... You know, our relationship, like, what even is it? I mean, I think we'd both readily admit we most definitely love each other, but I guess... well, I don't know..."

Oscar nods slowly, before whispering, as if it's some long kept secret, "You guess you just wonder in what way we love each other?"

You swallow, nodding. "Well, yes, exactly. Because... well, I don't know."

"Can I tell you how I feel about you?"

You study his face for a few moments- his handsome face- and nod.

"I feel about you the most deep feeling I've ever known, deeper than I ever thought I could experience. The love I have for you is beyond anything I could describe in a physical sense- it's beyond a romantic love or and family love or the strongest kind of named love I could think of. All I know is that when I look at you, I see fulfillment, and happiness. I see everything I've ever needed, plus everything I've ever wanted. I see a priceless jewel- the sort of thing that anyone would honor and protect with their life. I see beauty herself, on the inside and out. I see my best friend, my favorite person, the one I would spend any and every moment with, if I could. I see comfort, I see love. I look at you and know the great lengths I would go for you. I know it's all so cliche, but it is a love beyond words. It is. I just..." he trails off, before leaning in and whispering, "Are you crying?"

You sniff, looking away, your heart pounding. "No..."

He smiles gently, his hand leaving yours to reach up and wipe a tear away off your cheek with his thumb, "Don't cry."

"That's just so... sweet... and... everything I exactly feel, too, put into words..."

"Y/n..." he hums gently with a little chuckle. "I don't want you to cry, though."

"Don't worry," you say with a little hiccupy laugh. "They're good tears."

He smiles a bit, grabbing your hand again and giving it a squeeze. "Okay."

You swallow, before daring to ask, "What would the difference be, if you were my boyfriend instead of my best friend?"

Oscar eyes seem to light slightly at the question, and he says simply, "Nothing at all, except for one thing: we would be able to express that deep love for each other in different ways."

You nod slowly, swallowing.

Oscar leans in closer to you. "How does that sound to you?"

"I... I think it could be just what I need."

Oscar smiles softly. "I mean, I feel like... it would be nice to not just have to use my words to tell you how much I love you. You know, to be able to kiss you, or something, instead."

You find yourself smile a little at the words, nodding as pinkness gets to your cheeks. "Yeah... that doesn't sound so bad."

Oscar smiles, just gazing into your eyes. "Yeah?"

"It's just that... with tonight, with what happened..."

"Oh, I wasn't meaning we had to do anything tonight- just to think about. You know...?"

You nod slowly, before muttering, "But maybe... Just maybe tonight is the night to do it." You pause, before continuing, "You know, with all that happened, maybe if we just decided... tonight, let's just take a little step... it would help me to leave that. You know, it wasn't my fault... and I have someone who really does love me."

Oscar smiles. "And I really do."

You smile back, looking back up into his sweet brown eyes.

He slips his hand out of yours and gently brings it to your cheek, muttering, "Well, is it okay if I kiss you? Just a little kiss?"

You smile wider, feeling your stomach flutter at the sincere question. Nodding, you reply, "Yes, I reckon that is okay."

Oscar nods, his thumb stroking your cheek a bit as he leans in, his other hand gently touching your waist. His hand on your cheek shifts to cup the side of your neck, and he whispers, his warm breath on your ear, "You still okay?"

You nod.

And with that, he leans in, and, pulling you closer to himself, kisses you in the most perfect way. His adoration and love for you flows through the kiss, while still keeping it short and gentle. When he leans away, he whispers, "How was that?" with a little adorable smile.

You just sigh shakily and murmur, "I think you should do it again."

And he does without a second more of hesitation. His lips meet yours as he pulls your body closer to himself, lost in the kiss, lost in his emotions. When he pulls away again, he's pulled you onto his lap, but neither of you seem to care, both too swept up in each other's gazing eyes.

"I didn't realize for how long I needed to do that..." he whispers gently.

You smile a little. "I didn't realize how long I needed that from you."

He smiles back. "We'll call that both of our first kisses, okay?"

You nod. "Does this mean I'm your girlfriend now?"

"I like the sound of that."

You smile and throw your arms around him in an embrace. He pulls you closer to him, leaning back so that you can lay your head on him, and rubs your back, whispering, "I love you so much, Y/n. So, so much. To the moon and the stars and all the way back."

You smile up at him. "I don't know about the moon and the stars for me Oscar, but I'll tell you this: I love you enough to want to spend my life with you. I love you enough to want to grow old with you."

At those words, Oscar's arms tighten around you, and he chuckles, "See how sappy we suddenly get as soon as we decide to just give it up and kiss? My God."

You grin into his chest. "Yeahhh... But I don't mind it."

"Oh, trust me, I don't either." He shifts, moving you with him, making you both comfortable, so that you're laying together, cuddling.

"I really like this."

He hums. "Me too."

"You know we'll never hear the end of it from Lando if he finds out."

You feel the vibration of his laugh in his chest. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let's just relax. I just want to be. Be with you."

"I think that sounds like exactly what I was made for. To be with you."

He smiles, and you shut your eyes, content to listen to his heartbeat and just be.

Just be with him.

[binisainz]

does this feeling go both ways ? ⸻ lando norris x reader ⋮ part four .

part  one,  two,  three,  four,  epilogue. word  count.   4.9k a  study  on.   non-linear  storytelling,  childhood  friends  to  strangers  to  lovers,  stem  girlie!reader,  mechanic!reader,  the  happy  ending  i  promised. author's  note.   OH  MY  GOD  IT'S  FINISHED  !!  this  behemoth  of  a  fic  is  just…  thank  u  all  for  following  me  on  this  insane  journey  that  literally  just  started  because  i  had  a  shower  thought  about  lando  in  an  amylaurie  au.  no  other  reason  except  that  !!  but  god.  thank  god  it's  finished  !  here's  the  happy  ending  i  promised  you  :) the  ending  actually  surprised  me  because  half  of  it  was  already written  to  be  included  in  chapter  3  before  i  sent  a  snippet  of  it  over  to  kae  (  @tsunodaradio  )  that  made  me  realize…  wait,  this  should  be  for  the  last  chapter.  so  muaaahh  special  thank  u  to  kae  especially  for  that  ! but,  yeah,  thank  you  all  for  being  here.  all  the  reactions  to  this  fic  have  genuinely  made  me  feel  like  i  got  on  that  podium  myself.  i  have  so,  so  much  to  say  about  this  fic,  but  i  guess  i'll  save  that  for  the  epilogue  :)  bc  surprise  !!!!  there  is  one  :D mixtape.   do  i  wanna  know  cover  by  hozier,  all  my  ghosts  by  lizzy  mcalpine,  true  blue  by  boygenius,  this  love  by  taylor  swift,  garden  song  by  phoebe  bridgers,  everywhere,  everything  by  noah  kahan,  love  you  for  a  long  time  by  maggie  rogers.

NOW, 2024.

woking, in the summer, is still… well, woking. still grey, still muted in that distinct way that woking always is, except now the air is thick and humid, and the sun hangs just a little too high in the sky for comfort. still, it’s better than winter, better than the biting cold, better than the way february felt like a graveyard of things you didn’t know how to bury.

time heals all wounds, eventually, they say. you don’t know if you believe in that, but time has made them scab over at least. maybe that’s enough.

the mclaren headquarters hums with activity, voices overlapping, cameras flashing, the faint buzz of machinery somewhere in the distance. business as usual. you like it here, more than you thought you would. your laptop and phone are heavy with the weight of a job offer, a future you hadn’t fully considered, not really. it sits in your inbox, waiting. you have until sunday to decide.

it should be a nice day today. it should be fine. it is fine. except it isn’t, because he’s here.

you don’t know why nobody told you. maybe because they didn’t think it mattered, because it shouldn’t matter. and it doesn’t. not really. it’s just— what the everloving fuck? you thought you’d have more time.

but no, there he is, all too familiar, in his team kit, half-zipped hoodie hanging loose around his body, curls unkempt. you can hear his voice even over the ambient chatter of the media crew, see the way he moves, how he carries himself with easy confidence.

his co-driver sees you first, looks at you with a knowing expression, like he’s in on a joke you don’t find funny. your mind moves too fast, filling in the blanks of, oh god, he told oscar fucking piastri about me. about the girl who turned down a formula one driver. kind of.

fuck. great. amazing. splendid, even. that’s just what you are, aren’t you? a story, a joke, something whispered in locker rooms and motorhomes. maybe lando didn’t even mean it in a bad way. maybe he just said it offhand, absentmindedly, because that’s what happened. but still, the thought makes your stomach churn. makes your hands itch to leave.

so you do. you mutter some half-hearted excuse to the nearest person— something about needing to check something, maybe, you don’t know, you just need to go.

it’s not cowardice. not really. it’s just— well, self-preservation. you know the way your pulse picks up when he looks at you, how your breath catches, how the world narrows down to nothing but the space between you. you can’t do that today. not now.

but of course, lando follows.

the hallway is long and white and empty, and it kind of reminds you of hospitals, of clean sheets and beeping monitors and the fluorescent lights of a summer ten years ago, when you broke your arm and he sat by your bedside, legs swinging off the chair, promising he’ll take you to the lake when you’re all better.

(he never did, though. and maybe that should’ve been your first clue.)

he says your name.

you don’t turn around. just cross your arms, stare down the glossy floor. “i think we’ve talked enough, actually, norris. go back to your fans.”

there’s a beat of silence, then: “okay, but i want to stay.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. breathe. in, out, in, out.

when you turn to face him, he’s already watching you. eyebrows drawn together. his expression is unreadable, but his presence isn’t. it’s loud, takes up too much space, even though he’s just standing there, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets.

your throat feels tight. you don’t know what you were expecting, really. an apology? an explanation? none of it matters anymore. still, the words push past your lips before you can stop them. “did you do this?”

lando’s brow furrows. “do what?”

you exhale sharply, frustration creeping into your voice. “don’t play dumb, lan, it doesn’t suit you. did you pull strings? talk to someone?”

his face shifts, confusion flickering before something almost sheepish takes its place. “i mean… kind of? i orchestrated the whole media day here because i wanted to see you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

your breath catches, your fingers tighten around your phone, your whole body locks up like you’ve been caught off guard. because it’s not fair, the way he says it so easily, so plainly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like of course he’d do all this just to see you.

so you swallow hard, shove it down, focus on what you really meant to ask in the first place. you shake your head, press your lips together, steady yourself. “no,” you say, voice even. “i meant the job offer.”

his expression drops, realization hitting all at once. “oh.” his head jerks back slightly, eyes scanning your face, searching. “no. i— i didn’t even know you applied.”

and for a second, just a second, you can breathe again. because his eyes widen a little, mouth parting like he’s about to say something else, and you can see it— the genuine surprise, the way his expression shifts into something close to excitement, something proud.

“you applied to mclaren?” he asks, voice almost… hopeful. like the thought of you here— with him— is something good. something worth smiling about.

and for a second, just a second, you think: maybe it is.

maybe you’re not a fraud. maybe you did this on your own, maybe you’re actually good enough, maybe all those nights spent hunched over your laptop weren’t all for naught, maybe—

but no. your mind doesn’t let you have that. not yet.

lando shifts on his feet, glances away for a moment, then back at you. he takes a breath, “can we talk?”

you hesitate. then,  “okay.”

his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to agree, like he was bracing for another rejection. but then he grins, slow and wide, something warm creeping into his features.

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms again. “after you finish on the podium on sunday.”

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head, his grin growing impossibly wider. “that a promise?”

you shrug, feigning nonchalance even as your heart is racing, hoping, praying that he doesn’t comment on how red your face has gotten. “just stating facts.”

and— god, he’s smiling so hard now, like you just handed him the goddamn moon, like this— you— are something he wants to hold onto. something worth waiting for. and it’s unbearable, the way he’s looking at you, like you’re something precious, like you’re something he wants.

he lingers for another moment, watching you, and you can see it in his face— he doesn’t want to leave. he’s scared you might disappear if he does. and fuck, part of you wants to tell him to stay, wants to reach out, wants to pull him back in like muscle memory, like instinct. but you don’t. you can’t.

instead, you nod towards the end of the hall. “you should probably go.”

he nods, but doesn’t move. then, finally, “yeah. yeah.”

he takes a step back. then another. still smiling, before he finally turns, walks back into the crowd.​​you exhale, half-expecting the breath to feel like release, like something you’d been holding in all this time— but no. you’d been breathing just fine.

NOW, 2024.

your parents’ house still smells like it did when you were ten— laundry detergent and motor oil, the sharp tang of vinegar from the pickled onions your mum keeps in jars by the kitchen sink. the walls are the same too, yellowed from age and the heat of too many summers, though your dad swears he’ll get around to repainting them. he won’t. it’ll be fine.

home is home. it always has been.

it’s familiar. more than anything, more than woking, more than the mclaren headquarters. this is home. and for the first time in a while, you let yourself sink into it.

you don’t watch the race live. your da is still at the garage, sorting through a backlog of clients before the grand prix weekend floods the town with people who suddenly remember they need their cars fixed. your mum has just locked up the laundromat, and maggie is watching her five-year-old, daisy, try and fit her entire fist into her mouth.

you’ve been on your phone exactly twice today. the first was at noon, when you schedule-sent your job acceptance email to mclaren, because somehow tricking your brain into thinking future you was responsible made it feel less like an impending life-altering decision and more like a minor errand. the second is now, as the silverstone race rerun plays on tv, your inbox confirming the email has, in fact, been sent. future you is now present you’s problem.

hamilton finishes p1. lando takes p3. a podium.

you should be happy. and you are, kind of. proud, even. you ignore it, busy yourself with clearing up the empty bowls of crisps and the half-finished drinks on the table, the chatter of your family filling the space around you. you don’t even hear the knock at the door at first.

but then daisy is waddling over, tugging at your sleeve before you can reach the kitchen. “someone’s at the door.” she announces, with all the confidence of a five-year-old.

you glance at the clock. past eight. weird. but whatever. you set the bowls down, brush your hands against your jeans before walking over, unlocking the door without much thought—

and then you freeze.

lando stands outside, looking like he’s either just finished a race or sprinted from the gate to your front door in record time. his race suit is gone, replaced with something more comfortable, but the helmet marks on his cheeks remain, deep and red and criminally distracting.

before you can even begin to process the sight of him, daisy walks over, gripping the hem of your shirt and staring up at lando with wide eyes. “holy shit,” she says. “it’s the guy from the tv.”

a full-body cringe overtakes you as maggie barrels in, already mid— “daisy, what have we said about swearing—” only to cut herself off when she sees lando standing there. she blinks. “holy shit,” maggie echoes. “it’s the guy from the tv.”

lando, menace that he is, has the audacity to laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. you, on the other hand, are actively considering whether it’s possible to spontaneously combust from secondhand embarrassment alone.

“we’re trying to have daisy unlearn some words,” you mumble, staring at the floor.

“no, no, it’s fine,” lando says, grinning. then he hesitates, glancing between daisy and you, before gesturing vaguely. “is she…? is there a reason why you didn’t…?”

you register what he’s implying exactly two seconds too late, and the sheer embarrassment slams into you like a freight train. “oh my god, no,” you blurt out, voice an octave too high. “jesus. she’s maggie’s.”

maggie, the fucking traitor, giggles before ushering the rest of the family back inside, leaving you alone with lando at the doorway.

and just like that, you’re thirteen again, standing in your parents’ garage while lando tells you he’s going to be a formula one driver someday, and you tell him— with all the confidence of a preteen who thinks she knows everything— yeah, i know.

you don’t know what to say. and he, apparently, doesn’t either, shifting on his feet, hands tucked into his pockets. the silence stretches, almost unbearable, until he clears his throat.

“i think you owe me a conversation,” he says, and you hate the way it makes your heart stutter.

you force yourself to shrug, crossing your arms. “we didn’t schedule it.”

“i can wait.” he smiles, small but certain. “i’m good at that.”

you don’t know what to do with that, with him standing there like this, earnest and real and so painfully him. you lick your lips, then take a step back, gripping the edge of the door. “i'll be back in woking tomorrow.”

his eyes flicker down to your lips, just for a second. then he nods. “okay.” another pause. “okay. i can wait until tomorrow.”

he looks like he means it.

you don’t trust yourself to say anything else, so you nod, once, and then— because you physically cannot take this any longer— you shut the door, maybe a little too quickly, pressing your back against it as if that’ll stop your heart from racing.

it doesn’t.

when you finally look up, still pressed against the door, you’re met with five sets of expectant eyes staring right at you. your mum, your da, beverly, maggie, even daisy, all watching like they’re waiting for you to do something, say something.

“what?” you say, voice a little too defensive, a little too high.

your mum speaks first, leaning against the arm of the couch, eyes narrowed at you like she’s trying to work out how she ended up with a daughter this emotionally repressed. “are you seriously turning that boy away?”

you sputter. “i— i didn’t— turn him away, per se, i just— he said tomorrow. we’re talking tomorrow.” you wave a hand vaguely, like that explains anything. “besides, it’s not—”

“oh my god,” beverly groans. /

               /     “you absolute idiot,” maggie says at the same time /

  /     — to which daisy gleefully echoes with an, “idiot! idiot!”

“oh my god.” you rub your hands over your face. “you guys are so annoying.”

but then— another realization creeps in, and you glance down at yourself, at your family. your dad, wearing the mclaren quarter-zip you’d gotten from the internship. maggie in an oversized orange long sleeve, beverly with a cap, your mum with the logo on her t-shirt. even daisy’s little socks have a bright orange trim.

oh.

oh, god, no.

that’s why he was laughing.

if you were embarrassed then, you’re mortified now. “i can’t.” you say, groaning. “this is so embarrassing.”

“what’s embarrassing,” maggie says, dead serious, her daughter looking up and mirroring her expression, “is that you’re still standing here.”

daisy gasps dramatically, like this is the most romantic thing she’s ever witnessed.

“i’m not—” you start, but maggie is already moving, pushing you toward the door, and beverly is right there with her, yanking it back open before you can resist.

“go,” maggie hisses.

“before it’s too late,” beverly adds, way too theatrically.

you hesitate for half a second, but then you see lando— still lingering by the gate, walking slower than he normally would, like maybe, just maybe, he was hoping you’d do exactly this.

and your heart lurches.

so you do the only thing that makes sense.

you run.

⸻  𐙚  ⸻

you don’t think about it, don’t hesitate, don’t let yourself overanalyze the sheer fucking absurdity of it all: you just move. shoes hitting against the pavement, wind tangling in your hair, breath coming in short, uneven bursts, and you see him, just barely, lingering by a car parked on the curb.

for a moment, your brain doesn’t register it beyond an obstacle, something to swerve around, something that shouldn’t matter.

but then it does.

and oh. huh.

it’s not his usual car. not the one he takes to woking, not the flashy sports car, not the kind of thing lando norris is expected to be seen in. it’s old, a little worse for wear, the once-sleek paint job now dulled by time and familiarity, fitting in all too well with the rest of the street.

and then it clicks.

“you still have this thing?” you ask, breathless, as you come to a stop beside him.

lando startles, blinking at you like he hadn’t expected you to actually chase him down, even though he’d slowed down just enough to let you. his gaze flickers from you to the car, and there’s something almost sheepish in the way he shrugs. “thought the sports car would draw too much attention.”

he’s right. it would. but that’s not the point.

the point is— this car. this exact car.

you remember the first time you saw it, back when your dad spent weeks fixing it up for a client. you were six, a little too nosy, a little too eager to be involved, peering over the open hood like you knew what the fuck you were doing. and then there was lando— smaller, scrawnier, grinning wide as he told you he was going to be a race car driver one day.

it’s been years since then, but the memory is so visceral you almost feel like you could reach out and touch it.

lando, squints at you, his gaze snagging on the oversized hoodie you’re wearing. he frowns. “seriously?”

you blink. “what?”

he gestures at the bright orange mclaren logo on your chest, then at the number 81 printed just below it. “piastri?”

you look down at yourself like you hadn’t been wearing this hoodie all fucking day. “they ran out of yours.”

lando stares at you, mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to find the words to properly convey his offense. “they ran out— i’m literally on the team.”

“right, and piastri isn’t?”

lando groans, dragging a hand down his face, but he’s smiling, the kind of soft, reluctant smile that makes your stomach twist.

and then the moment stretches, lingers, because you’re both just standing there, not quite sure what comes next.

so you get in the car.

you don’t ask where you’re going, don’t even think to, because it doesn’t matter. the whole world could be talking about lewis hamilton right now, about his win, about the way he’s just broken a streak of bad luck with a masterclass drive, and you should care— you know you should care— but right now, it’s just lando.

lando, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear stick, fingers twitching like he wants to reach out, like he wants to touch. lando, glancing at you between streetlights, expression unreadable but eyes unbearably soft.

“congrats on p3.” you say, because it feels like you should.

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “kind of hard to care when everyone’s just talking about lewis.”

you offer a weak smile. “i care.”

his fingers twitch again.

the car slows, then stops, and it takes you a second to realize he’s parked.

“you were right,” he says, suddenly.

you blink. “about what?”

lando turns to face you fully, fingers curling around the steering wheel. “february. i put you on the spot. i shouldn’t have done that.”

“lando—”

“no, i mean it,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “you were right. i didn’t think about how it would feel for you, how it would look. i just— i was selfish. i wanted you there, and i didn’t stop to consider how much pressure that would put on you.”

the way he says it, so genuine, so sincere, makes something crack inside of you. you swallow past the lump in your throat. “it wasn’t just you,” you admit, voice quieter. “i didn’t think i deserved it. still don’t, sometimes.”

lando’s jaw tenses, his grip on the wheel tightening. “you do.”

you open your mouth, but he doesn’t let you argue. “you do,” he repeats, softer this time, like he’s willing you to believe it. “you’re fucking brilliant, kit-kat, and i don’t know why it took me so long to say it, but you are. i meant what i said back then. i see you, i do.”

it’s not like he fixes you, not like the years of doubt just suddenly disappear— but maybe, just maybe, the cracks in your armor get a little bigger, letting the truth seep in.

you don’t think.

you just move.

you lean over the center console, seatbelt digging into your ribs, and press your lips to his.

it’s dizzying. it’s years of something bottled up so tight that the second it spills, it nearly drowns you.

it’s lando, warm and solid, his lips soft, but still so insistent, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, for all the moments that could have been, should have been, all the moments that weren’t.

you’re realizing how uncomfortable the position is, seatbelt straining against your shoulder, but you don’t particularly care— you don’t care about anything except the way his hand slides down, fingers pressing into your waist, holding you there.

he exhales against your mouth, shuddering, and it makes your head spin. you scrape your nails against the base of his neck, threading your fingers into the curls at his nape, and he groans— actually groans, and oh god you’re hoping you can hear more of that later— low and breathy, like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him. it shoots straight through you, heat pooling in your stomach, and you feel drunk on it, on him, on the sheer fucking magnitude of it all.

when you pull back, breath uneven, lando is staring at you like you’ve just upended his entire world. he exhales, then grins. “is it presumptuous of me to ask you to tell your family not to wait up for you tonight?”

your brain short-circuits. so you say the only thing you can think to actually say: “i accepted the job at mclaren.”

lando blinks. then, “why do i find that so hot?”

you don’t realize how much space there still is between you until he moves again, his fingers tracing a slow path down your spine, and then—

click!

the seatbelt snaps loose, and before you can react, his hands are on you again, tugging you properly into his lap, so seamlessly smooth you almost don’t register what just happened.

“did you just unbuckle my seatbelt?” you ask incredulously.

lando hums, utterly unbothered, leaning up to close the distance between you. “mhm.”

“without looking?”

he grins, teeth scraping against your bottom lip, and it’s so unfair, how effortlessly he makes you lose your train of thought. “thank you, driver reflexes.”

you scoff, but it comes out breathless, and before you can come up with something sarcastic, something that might actually wipe that stupid smug expression off his face, he kisses you again.

he pulls back just enough for his lips to brush against yours as he speaks, breathless and wrecked and so fucking lando. “okay, i can't wait to get you out of this hoodie.”

you huff out a laugh, still trying to remember how to breathe. “okay, now that’s presumptuous of you.”

he startles, blinking, and then— “i mean, it’s my teammate’s number,” he says, a little too quickly, like that’s what he meant all along, like he wasn’t just thinking about peeling it off of you. “it’s— i’m just saying, it’s—”

you know.

you know, and you grin against his mouth before kissing him again.

THEN, 2010 … which blurs into NOW, 2025.

the toaster isn’t working.

this, in your opinion, is a grave offense.

it’s been sitting on the kitchen counter for weeks now, abandoned and replaced, but you can’t stop thinking about it. you hate when things break. it doesn’t make sense to you— how something can work perfectly fine one day and then be completely useless the next.

it’s not fair, really, that your parents replaced it already. the new one is shiny and red and stupid. you could fix the old one. you know you could.

so you’ve taken it upon yourself to fix it. of course.

the toaster is in pieces. a dozen little metal parts scattered across the floor of your bedroom, lined up in careful, meticulous order so many little pieces, all clicking and moving together like a puzzle. you love puzzles.

your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth as you grip the tiny screwdriver in one hand, twisting, tugging, wedging the tip under a stubborn screw that refuses to budge. your fingers ache from prying at things that don’t want to be pried at, but you’re close— so close to figuring out what’s wrong, to fixing it. 

you love figuring out how things work.

you’re so focused you don’t even hear your sisters leaving. you don’t notice when the house empties out, don’t register the hurried voices, the sharp slam of the front door. you don’t realize you’re alone.

not until the doorbell rings.

you jump. huh. you weren’t expecting that. you wipe your hands on your shirt, nevermind the grease and dust, carrying the toaster and your toolkit down to the kitchen.

where is everyone?

the house eerily quiet now that you’re aware of it. no footsteps. no murmured voices. no maggie bossing josie around. no beverly humming some stupid song under her breath. a strange, twisting feeling settles in your stomach as you make your way to the door, stretching up on your toes to look through the peephole. and then—

lando is standing on the porch.

you blink at him.

he blinks back.

“hi,” he says.

“hi.” you frown. “what are you doing here?”

“josie called me,” he says, holding up his phone like it explains anything. “she said they’re at the hospital with beverly. asthma attack.”

your stomach twists.

beverly gets bad asthma sometimes. you know that. you’ve seen it before, seen the way her face crumples as she gasps for breath, the way maggie and josie move fast, faster than you’ve ever seen them move, scrambling for inhalers and car keys and coats.

you swallow hard. “oh.”

lando shifts on his feet. “your parents are there too. josie asked me to come over. to, uh.” he scratches at his nose. “keep you company.”

you’re not sure what to do with that. you cross your arms, eyeing him carefully. “do you have anything better to do?”

he shrugs. “not really.” then he grins. “besides, you’re great company.”

you squint at him, trying to gauge if he’s making fun of you. you’re used to people making fun of you. you’re the smartest kid in your class— actually, you’re the smartest kid in the whole school, probably— and sometimes people don’t like that. but lando doesn’t look like he’s teasing.

which is… fine. whatever.

you step aside, jerking your head toward the kitchen. “well, i was busy.”

“yeah?” he kicks off his shoes, follows you inside. “doing what?”

you gesture to the counter, where the toaster sits in pieces. lando stops, tilts his head. “uh. you know you guys have a new one, right?”

“obviously,” you say. “but this one’s not working. so i’m fixing it.”

he hums, wandering closer. “you sure you know how?”

“of course i do.” you scowl at him. “i’ve read like, ten manuals. and i looked it up. and i’ve fixed other stuff before.”

“like what?”

you open your mouth, then pause. “well. nothing yet. but i know i can.”

lando just grins, like he finds that funny. you don’t get what’s so funny about it.

but then he holds the pizza box he brought, setting it on the table. “you wanna eat first?”

you hesitate, glancing back at your toaster. it’s important, obviously. but your stomach is growling, and lando did bring food, and— well. it’s not like you can’t finish later.

so you nod, dragging the toaster pieces toward the kitchen counter while lando opens the box. he slides a slice onto a plate for you, then one for himself.

you eat while you work, half-focused on the toaster, half-focused on the conversation.

lando’s been karting for a while now, long before you even met. he talks about it sometimes, but not as much as you’d like, because you want to know everything. not about the racing, really— you don’t care that much about that— but about the karts. about the mechanics of it, about how they work, about what makes them faster than normal cars.

“aerodynamics,” he answers, when you ask.

you scoff. “yeah, obviously. but what kind?”

he blinks. “the fast kind? what do you know about aerodynamics?”

you huff, setting down your pizza, wiping your hands on a napkin before grabbing two of the toaster’s metal panels. “okay. see these?” lando nods.

“pretend they’re wings,” you say, holding them up at an angle. “if a car is going really fast, air hits the wings, right? but if they’re tilted down like this, the air pushes against them, which pushes the car down. that’s downforce. more downforce means the car stays on the track better, but too much can slow it down.”

he watches, amused. “what about drag?”

you pick up a wire, twirling it between your fingers. “drag is when air pushes against the car in the opposite direction. good aerodynamics means less drag, so the car can go faster.”

lando watches you, eyebrows raised.

you huff. “you should know this already.”

“i definitely should,” he admits, grinning. “but it’s more fun when you explain it.”

your face feels warm. you pretend you don’t hear that.

after dinner, you pick a movie. you let lando choose, because he did bring the food, after all, and he picks something you don’t totally hate. you sit side by side on the couch, chewing absently on the crust of your last pizza slice, eyes half-focused on the screen. at first, you keep your arms crossed over your chest, but after a while, they loosen, and your head tips back against the couch cushions.

the toaster sits in pieces on the counter. beverly is in the hospital. your parents and sisters aren’t home. but none of it feels as heavy as it did earlier.

your eyes slip shut. just for a second.

when your family comes home, the front door creaks open, footsteps shuffling in. your mum pauses, standing in the doorway of the living room, watching.

you and lando are curled up on the couch, the tv still playing, the glow flickering over your faces. your head rests against his shoulder, his cheek tipped slightly against your hair.

she exhales, soft. “oh, how cute.” then reaches for her camera, snaps a picture.

later, it gets printed, tucked into a photo album, slipped between birthday parties and holiday dinners and old school plays.

(you don’t find it until years later, flipping through old pictures on a trip home, fingers pausing on the slightly worn edge of the page.

"oh, that’s a sweet one," your mum says over your shoulder, like it’s just another picture.

you slip the photo out of its plastic sleeve, take it back to your flat, left forgotten as you toss your bag onto the counter, too lost in the flurry of work and groceries.

later, someone else finds it. picks it up from where you left it on the counter.

“we were always like this, weren’t we?” a voice says, and when you look up, he’s already smiling.)

fin.

[baurutruffle]

Let's go!

1. I'm a therian.

2. Crocodile, torn between Mugger crocodile and Siamese crocodile.

3. The most common shifts are mental and phantom shifts. My phantom shifts include tail, snout, the "horns" (which basically are ears), hands/feet, belly and the general flat shape when laying down on my belly. My mental shits often mean the urge to bask in the sun with my mouth open, do the death roll or make sounds like hissing or the like. Occasionally, I have the urge to turn around and snap or slide back into water, too. My oddest cameo shift? Wings. They make no sense but they're funny and feel nice.

4. I sometimes imagine my body to be a crocodile on two legs, interacting with other animals rather than humans. Sometimes, I'm just constantly tired and need to recharge by simply laying around or sitting in the sun. Sunlight is extremely important. Despite me being a mammal - a human - in this life, I sometimes feel like I depend on the warmth and the UV light of the sun more than anyone else. When I choose my meal, it gotta include good meat and veggies (yes, crocs eat veggies and fruits). While most women (and many men) see a sharp jawline as crucial for beauty, I like a slight double chin which I think might come from my crocodile self where we all have a kind of a double chin. A good trait of my body is the robust build. I'm not chunky or something but on a healthy side with small stubby hands which resemble my crocodile hands. And this makes me feel very comfy at times. Guess I had some luck there to look a bit crocodilian in my human body. c;

Though, what makes me feel weird at times are my boobies. They're... big. As a reptile, I often look down and think: "Wth, what's this? Oh, yea... right." Reptiles don't have such. The same goes with other things which I won't talk about here for the safety of the minors on this platform.

When someone's annoying the hell outta me, I have the urge to either retreat in a water body or chomp them or hiss at them. Usually, I'm very disciplined and can avoid following my urges in a social setting but sometimes a deep rumble leaves my throat either way.

Those are just a few slight insights. But I'll happily talk about more of my experiences in my everyday life, if you're interested.

5. I've been part of the community for over a decade. It should be 16 years soon. Over the years, I witnessed a lot. I really like the side where we all peacefully talk about our experiences and discuss about terms and the usage of those etc. The downside on the other hand looks way deeper. Gatekeeping, unwanted grilling, excluding young alterhumans, hate and more. After all, I think if we focus on the positive sides of the community, it's a fairly nice one. We should build up some more of the neutral, peaceful side. We're all sitting in the same boat - nonhumans living a human life and trying to make the best of it. Following the construct of self-care to not lose our minds in-between all these humans where a big part still sees us with despise and hatred. The community has its potential for the good and the bad.

6. Inclusion. I'm most euphoric to be able to say that I'm not alone and not mentally ill simply for identifying as something nonhuman. For believing in having been a crocodile in my past life and still carrying this part of me with me. I am a crocodile and that's completely valid. As a rational person (by law) who grew up not showing too many emotions and letting go of feelings and the like, I tried to find a reason for all these experiences and thought I was just mentally ill for seeing myself as a crocodile. I read plenty of books, went to a couple psychologists and tried to "treat" away this side of me. But the community took me back on the ground and helped me understand what was actually happening. Now I'm 29, have two jobs (social worker and firefighter), pay taxes and all these weird human things and I can still say I'm myself. I gained so much self-confidence and became more self-conscious over the years. I did have my downfalls in the community as well but it still caught me and helped me back up on my feet. Now I can say out proudly that I'm a crocodile. Thank you for that, dear alterhumans!

7. I experience species dysphoria a lot after all. While most four-legged mammals can simply walk on all fours and feel at ease doing so, it doesn't feel that right for me. I can't do this slumber walk and have a heavy tail being dragged over the ground. I can't eat like a crocodile with this weak human mouth and this weirdly shaped face. If a tooth is broken, it won't just fall out and grow back but has to be repaired and treated carefully afterwards. My boobies, which I mentioned above. I have no scales and can't swim like a crocodile. I don't have a third eyelid. My claws are weak and soft.

Many many things make me feel species dysphoria. Though, it's fine. I accept those feelings and do my best with that. I got to the nail manufacturer and let them make me grey relatively pointy nails. I have the possibility to get tattoos. I can swim and dive as a human just as fine. You name it.

8. Don't rush it! I made this mistake which left me in an identity crisis for 11 years! Let it go, live your life, embrace your existence. If you're like me, a journal can help as well. Keep track of your experiences. And don't compare yourself to others. You might not know what you are right now and it might take years to find out for sure but this is what you have in advance. You're able to learn so much about yourself and educate yourself more on many levels which those who know what they are since they can think don't most of the time. Take the part where you have to read about so many animals and dive into zoology so hard that you can consider yourself a little nerd (lovingly). Take the patience that you need. Or maybe learning about many facettes and their correlation to your nonhumanity. Of course, those who know their true self since the very beginning can learn about these as well but you still do it on an absolutely different level. Enjoy it! And if you need help, don't hesitate to ask for help.

9. I don't have any gear yet but would love to have some. Though, I wouldn't know what I could get. Maybe you have some ideas.

10. Theoretically, such experiences and self-portraying as animals or other nonhuman creatures takes us back to the first humans with the spiritual and religious side. We have evidence of humans from the Paleolithic time to self-portray as animals, that's been about 40,000 years ago. Zoologic art has been found that may represent the earliest known form of anthropomorphism. I like to see that as the beginning of nonhuman identities. And maybe humans were identifying as nonhuman even before that or at least have very special connections to animals which could be seen as otherhearted or even as an identity already. Several religions, thelogies and spiritual beliefs practice animal related rituals and the like way before civilization. I think we could root alterhumanity there already.

11. I don't tag individuals but let everyone decide for themselves, if they want to partake in such fun things or not. So, go ahead!

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[goshikisbaee]

Haikyuu Characters Taking Care Of You When You’re Sick ♡

Contents: Fluff

———

Hinata - Panics at first, but quickly gets into “caretaker mode.” He insists on bringing you anything you need and will sit by your side, even if it means he catches your cold too. When he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll whisper, “Get better soon, okay? I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Kageyama - He’s awkward but deeply concerned. Kageyama follows instructions to the letter—if the medicine says “every four hours,” he’s setting an alarm. He quietly watches over you, his usual scowl replaced by an intense look of worry. If you thank him, he’ll grumble, “Just don’t get sick again.”

Asahi - Is so worried he almost calls an ambulance when he sees you feverish. He overcompensates by bringing every possible remedy—tea, soup, medicine, and warm blankets. He’s extra gentle when talking to you, his voice softer than usual. “I just want you to feel better,” he says, brushing hair from your forehead.

Daichi - Captain mode activated. Daichi ensures you eat well, take medicine, and get enough rest. He has a very dad-like approach, staying calm and collected but fussing over you constantly. “Rest up. I’ll take care of everything,” he says, tucking you in.

Sugawara - The ultimate caretaker, always knowing exactly what you need. He’s the type to play soft music and tell you funny stories to distract you from feeling miserable. He makes warm tea with honey, insisting, “This always works for me, so it’ll work for you too!” He also sneaks in extra cuddles.

Nishinoya - He’s super dramatic about it, acting like you’re on your deathbed. “Noooooo! My love is perishing!” But beneath the theatrics, he genuinely takes care of you, bringing you warm blankets and hand-feeding you snacks. He makes it his personal mission to make you laugh at least once while you’re sick.

Tanaka - He tries to act chill but is totally panicking inside. “You’re sick?! Do we need to go to the hospital?!” Once you convince him that it’s just a cold, he does everything he can to make you feel better—including binging your favorite show with you, even if he secretly hates it.

Tsukishima - Pretends not to care, but he’s constantly checking on you when he thinks you’re not looking. He quietly places a water bottle by your bed and makes sure you have medicine. If you whine about feeling miserable, he’ll sigh and say, “Yeah, yeah, just rest,” but you catch him sitting by your bed, watching over you.

Yamaguchi - He’s so sweet and attentive, making sure you’re comfortable at all times. He writes reminders for your medicine schedule and brings warm soup. “I read that drinking honey tea helps!” he says excitedly, offering you a mug. He gets really flustered if you thank him too much.

Oikawa - Takes such good care of you, constantly checking your temperature and making you tea. He dramatically complains about how worried he is. “If you don’t get better soon, I might collapse from stress!” But really, he’s sitting by your side, rubbing your back and whispering, “Please feel better soon, okay?”

Iwaizumi - A bit gruff but takes care of you in the most reliable way. He makes you food, makes sure you’re hydrated, and physically forces you to rest. If you try to get out of bed, he crosses his arms and says, “Lie back down. Now.” But he’s also incredibly gentle when wiping your forehead.

Kindaichi - He’s nervous but really wants to help. He brings you a ton of blankets and even awkwardly pats your head, saying, “Uh… just rest, okay?” He googles every symptom and freaks out when he finds the worst-case scenario.

Kunimi - Acts indifferent but won’t leave your side. He casually hands you medicine and lets you sleep on his shoulder while playing games. If you say, “Thank you,” he’ll mutter, “Don’t mention it,” but his ears are red.

Kyoutani (Mad Dog) - At first, he gets frustrated because he doesn’t know what to do. But once he figures it out, he’s surprisingly gentle. “Tch… just take your medicine, idiot,” he mutters, tucking you in with surprising care. He gets really quiet and serious whenever he sees you struggling.

Kita - Calm and practical. He brings you nutritious food, fresh tea, and keeps your space clean. “Take your medicine and sleep,” he says, pressing a warm towel to your forehead. He stays until you doze off.

Osamu - He makes you homemade comfort food and insists it’ll make you better. “Eat up, sweetheart,” he says, setting a tray on your lap. He doesn’t hover, but he’s always within reach if you need anything.

Atsumu - He whines about you being sick but takes care of you anyway. “Babe, why’d ya have to get sick now?!” He stays up late watching over you, though, even if it means he sacrifices sleep.

Suna - Doesn’t say much but is surprisingly attentive. He hands you medicine, tucks you in, and plays your favorite show. When you fall asleep, he stays close, just in case you need anything.

Tendou - He acts goofy to keep you entertained but is also super doting. “Sick little gremlin, I shall nurse you back to health!” He plays dramatic music while feeding you soup.

Ushijima - Treats it like an athletic injury—he makes sure you rest, hydrate, and eat well. “Your body needs proper care,” he states seriously. He sits beside you in comfortable silence, occasionally checking your temperature.

Shirabu - He lectures you for getting sick but takes excellent care of you. “You should’ve been more careful,” he says, handing you tea. He secretly watches over you all night.

Bokuto - Bokuto is so worried but does his best to help. “BABE, YOU’RE BURNING UP!!” He gets extra cuddly (even if you protest that he’ll get sick too).

Akaashi - Calm and efficient. He makes sure you rest and brings you comfort items without being overbearing. “Just relax, I’ll handle everything,” he assures you.

Kuroo - Flirts with you even when you’re sick. “You still look cute, even when you’re dying.” But he also takes care of you, making sure you’re warm and comfortable.

Kenma - He lets you rest on him while he plays games. He doesn’t say much, but he makes sure you have water and medicine. “Don’t move too much,” he murmurs softly.

Sakusa - He’s the most careful, wearing a mask and disinfecting everything. “I told you to be careful,” he sighs, but still holds your hand when you need comfort.

———

💋 💋 💋

[erinwantstowrite]

what do you like to hc about tim drakes childhood? like I remember you mentioning something about him stalking the bats at night being fun (I think) but what about his parents and stuff? And like just tim hc in general I guess:)

i loooove the hc that tim was stalking the bats as a kid. Mostly because it's funny as hell, and that it makes sense for his character. With how he shows up in their lives, i wouldn't doubt that he had been watching them or keeping tabs on them somehow.

HOWEVER... I'm gonna be a little controversial... I don't like his parents being majorly abusive towards him. For starters, it's not canon and feels like a cop out sometimes for the way Tim is. He is a freaky little genius, and he's just Like That. I honestly don't think his parents had much imput on that part of his behavior. He just turned out Like That.

But!!! I also recognize that Tim was, in fact, abused. It was a while back and so i don't remember exactly which comic it was, but i'm pretty sure at some point after his mother's death, Tim and Jack started getting into arguments a lot and it felt pretty emotionally abusive with how Jack acted. And in canon, the fact that Tim was able to get away with like, literally everything he did, is because I imagine his parents weren't keeping an eye on him

That's not to say he wasn't taken care of- Tim had friends, he went to a boarding school (at least i'm pretty sure he did), he regularly interacted with people and he wasn't physically neglected in any way. Emotionally? That's where Tim wasn't getting his needs met. They were gone a lot for their archaeology studies and etc, and so I hc that Jack and Janet really only had a kid because they felt like it was the most natural progression for their marriage, not because they truly wanted one. They love Tim, don't get me wrong, but they were pretty distant with that love.

I also hc that Janet was closer to him before she died. I think her having health problems and being tired a lot would make it harder for her to connect with Tim when she's actually home, but she would make an effort and keep an eye on how he's doing at school and with his friends. She has the healthier relationship with him, but Tim might not know if it's because she was that good, or if it was because she was never around to have fights with.

Jack also loves Tim (as evidenced by the fact that when Jack is finally seeing Tim on a daily basis, he takes notes of Tim's behavior and schedule, and he figures out Tim's identity as Robin. AND the fact that he sent a search party for Tim during that time Gotham was blocked off from the rest of the world and etc). I also think he takes pride in the fact that Tim is so smart and good with people. But I give him that flavor of father that doesn't exactly know how to put that into words or actions, and just expects Tim to know it. There's also the fact that when Jack was alive, there was some emotionally manipulative conversations about Robin, Tim's life, etc. Jack might have been doing these things as a scared parent and wasn't aware that this was what he was doing, but it was in fact still pretty fucked up and I'm sure it left a lasting mark on Tim

So in Tim's eyes, they never really talk about "I love you" and stuff, because his parents didn't really feel the need to say it out loud. I think they're not the mushy type or overtly affectionate.

But, you know. Tim's a kid. And as smart as he is (we'll get to that in a second), a kid who doesn't hear "I love you" often might... wonder. Because they're never home and he's always at school, and he only really gets validation from them when he excels at school or with higher society. (I'm pretty sure in the comics, Tim wasn't as high society as fanon makes him out to be, but I like the idea of Tim being a little higher up there because it adds to that air of distance and reputation.) Him learning "I love you" means "I love you, but from over here", makes sense for how Tim is. He loves his people, but unless prompted to say it, he sort of assumes people get what he means, sometimes. Not all the time, because Tim has had interaction with friends (I'll say it again, fanon lovers: Tim has friends both as a vigilante AND as a civilian, he is not isolated from the world), he's not oblivious to the fact that sometimes it needs to be said. He's probably much better at it than his parents.

That goes to say, though, that I think Tim also isn't the type to delve really deep into his emotions. Not outwardly, anyway. He's just like his parents, after all. I'd think he HATES being vulnerable. ANY sort of expression of weakness or failure gets amplified in his mind and he takes that on like "I am now the worst." He sees his love for both friends and family as something to give, to offer, and likes being useful in that love. "I love you, from here, and loving from over here means I have to give things." I think he hates crying in front of people, and if Tim is crying in front of you it's either REALLY, REALLY bad, or he just trusts you THAT much. In the comics, Tim says that he doesn't know his worth outside of being Robin. (More proof DC needs to let him MOVE ON FROM ROBIN!!) He sees himself as being his most useful, and most cared about, and most able TO care about others, when he is Robin. That's why he's so confident in his role as Robin, why he told Jason (not a direct quote) "I actually am better than you, bitch" when they fought at Titan's Tower. Robin is the best of Tim, someone who can't make failures, who was taught by Batman and seen as useful by people he respects a lot. (He also wouldn't dare make any besmirch on Robin's name for Dick's sake. Because that's his hero and big brother.)

And now to get to how smart Tim is, and why I love the hc that he stalked the Bats as a kid so much:

All of these headcanons for his family history helps fit into the most canon version of Tim, imo, and doesn't dull the fact that Tim is clever as hell. Tim was neglected by his parents, for sure. But he still was watched. He had supervision, they have rules at these boarding schools. Tim is the type to get around those rules and sneak out whenever he wants. Maybe it started as something to do to get his parents attention, but no one ever caught him because Tim was so good at escaping. And then he starts seeing the Bats and the hobby evolves from there. He goes Batwatching and no one at school is any the wiser about it. He gets photos and knows their patrol routes, he gets good at parkouring around Gotham and ups his stamina (I think while Tim might not be the strongest or the most flexible of the Bats, he'd the one with the most stamina and therefore, is the fastest fo them). No one even suspecting that Tim is gone at night, especially at a pricey boarding school with security and probably someone in charge of making sure kids at the dorms aren't doing anything stupid, makes Tim look a lot more clever and sneaky than a kid who just has to get around a camera at his family home.

And if you personally like Tim being at home more than at a school, and he actually is neighbors with the Waynes and therefore would have a pretty big house, his parents would 1000% have staff at the house. Bruce Wayne is strange for having only ONE staff member, Alfred, for a manor. The Drakes are well off CEOs that get to gallivanting around the world for their hobby, they know how to hire a whole bunch of people to take care of the big house they bought and "modernized." For large houses like that, you definitely need more than one person keeping an eye on it. So in this case, yeah, Tim would also be very clever to get around someone there at the house where there entire purpose for being there is watching the kid.

Tim stalking the Bats also just... Makes sense. Because I think Tim 1) broke into Titan's Tower BEFORE ever meeting Dick, 2) found out where Dick lives and met Kori there who was like "What???" 3) knew where the circus was when Dick went there to visit and investigate it, 4) figured out their identities in the first place. People often forget that with detective characters, you're gonna have one of their biggest traits be curiosity. You're telling me a really smart kid just found out the identities of Batman and Robin and he did nothing about that information until later? Baloney! For sure he was doing shit he wasn't supposed to! Tim Drake's biggest trait is also the fact that he has no self preservation instincts and is likely only still alive because 1) it'd disappoint/make Batman and Nightwing sad and 2) he's lucky as hell. Tim is a clever kid who likely thinks he's invicible based on survivor's bias or something like it. "Well of course I got out of that pickle, I'm not an idiot." Is probably his catchphrase

[crimsoncandy04]

It's ya girl. Back at it again with the smut no one asked for but I'm doing it anyways because the world needs my thoughts.

Anyways since we're not selfish lovers here and I already wrote about Wanderer and his variants eating your cunt and making you scream...

Here's how I think it would go if you said you wanted to suck their dicks in return.

Kabukimono (my baby I love him he's so sweet and he's not gonna survive)

He’s the most innocent of Wanderer's variants, so he’d blink in confusion at first, honestly not understanding what you mean and why that part of him seems so special to you.

He'd let you but would be hesitant and nervous.

"Okay. If you really want to."

Then he notices the way your lips curl into a sly little smirk. You kneel down and start trying to undress him. And then? Immediate panic.

Because now he realizes that you're serious and weren't just joking. (He's excited but also this is a first for him so the poor guy is just a mess. Be gentle with him)

His face erupts into red, and he nearly faints once he feels your lips around his cock.

He is NOISY too. Moaning wildly at just the slightest touch and maybe even tearing up and crying a bit when you take more of him in your mouth and start to move a little faster.

Don't tease him. You might make him malfunction somehow. (Kabukimono.exe has stopped working)

Wanderer (he likes playing hard to get so you'll have to beg a little for it)

He’s not letting you off easy. His gaze flicks up from his clothes dick, and his smirk is dangerous. He slowly, deliberately reaches a hand down into the confines of his shorts and strokes the length of his manhood, watching your reaction the entire time.

“Oh?” he muses, voice dripping with mock innocence.

“That’s funny, because you look like you want something else instead.”

(He's actually very excited at the idea but he's not really as vulnerable as he used to be so he's going to try and distract you rather than just admitting he's kinda nervous. You'll have to be sweet but adamant)

He'd tease you and maybe try to drag things out but once he's balls deep in your mouth? He'd start to lose it. He'd groan softly and maybe whimper a little but at some point he goes completely feral and grabs your head before starting to thrust into your throat and fucking your mouth.

(He's still careful not to hurt you though. And if you make any sign of discomfort or sound like you're distressed he'd stop immediately.)

Scaramouche (Bro is hella quiet. And he's not moaning for you in a million years. It sucks but his actions speak of his secret desperation and honestly maybe getting him off could calm him down a little?)

Do you want to die?

Because you’re dead. Absolutely dead. He stops mid thought, narrowing his eyes at you with a look that’s equal parts suspicion and amusement.

Then, ever so casually, he leans in his lips brushing your ear.

“Say that again.” His voice is low, dangerous, daring you to repeat yourself. If you do? Oh, he’s making you regret it. He’d smirk, slow and taunting, before undressing himself and exposing his hardened cock to you before forcing you onto your knees and ordering you to pleasure him.

If he sees you hesitate after his response he'd taunt you.

“Hah. Not so bold now, are you?”

And he's rough too. Grabbing your hair and forcing his entire dick deep into your throat as he makes you take it as far as it can go. He loves watching you suffer. If your eyes start tearing up or he hears you make any kind of noise, it'll just arouse him further. He wants to see you slobbering and sucking on his cock in the filthiest, most obscene way possible just to make you suffer for wanting him in such a vulnerable position.

You played with fire. And now you’re burning. But the flames have never felt so good.

[elbiotipo]

I mean, I do think that AI art (or should I rather say, AI tools for art) will change things drastically in a way that perhaps photography and synthesized music haven't, in the way that it is actually capable of producing a lot more, faster and easier. And we are already in the loop of "writer AI creates prompt, image AI creates images"

But there are still human decisions behind that process. Just like when I saw the other day the AI made ads in TV Pública and said 'that's shitty', because some human took the decision to put that. The same as I saw some people go really creative and funny with AI prompts and guess what? Instead of shitty crap, they got creative and funny stuff.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this but I think we forget there are humans, and sometimes human organizations (FUCKING ADVERTISERS) behind what an AI outputs. AIs aren't conjuring shit from nowhere; they are trained from human art, given human guidelines, fed human prompts and from that they output stuff.

Even the admittedly very interesting exercise of making an "infinite art machine", an AI making prompts and another one making images (or maybe many crossing each other) still has human decisions to it. Someone said, instead of using this for costumer service or shitty ads, let's see what kind of cool stuff it does. That's where the "art", as much as the whole thing makes sense, is.

[gammija]

genuinely, it's so funny to me when jon.elias shippers hate j.mart for the specifically stated reason that "martin isnt good for jon". Yes, the guy with realistic flaws and traits that occasionally create conflicts with Jons own flaws and traits is bad for him, so jmart is toxic. Jon deserves someone who treats him right.

In fact, you know who's good for Jon? The person who effectively used him as a puppet, made a plan centered on scarring him for life 13 times and executed it without remorse, then used his body to end the world, an experience so horrifying that Jon would rather literally kill everyone on earth than risk someone else feeling it too. Now that's a guy Jon deserves!

[wigglesdtuff]

what’s your basis behind shipping frobin? not trying to hate on it or anything, it’s just that i’ve never really felt particularly compelled to it as a ship, so i’d be curious to hear your thoughts behind it!

absolutely love your fankid designs btw, olive and tommie are so so cute !!

I really love both Robin and Franky's stories and how they're interwoven throughout Water 7 and Enies Lobby, and I think their narratives really lend to a very beautiful poetic pairing. Their moment on the train was electric, it's hard for me to really explain why that is haha. He's building the foundations for the future and she carries the voices of the past. They've both been broken - both physically and mentally to some degree - and had to put themselves together on their own until they couldn't anymore, and they found a home that they literally get to live their second lives together. Ship or not, I find their relationship very warm and comfortable with one another and that's. Super sweet. Their banter is always funny - her comments never come off as mean or angry, just blunt or playful in her own way. It reads to me like they're very not traditionally married but basically married. They for sure match each other's freaks. Other things like the fact that Franky is kinda built like Saul is some pathological level of sweet to me. Idk, the woman who was called a weapon her whole life and the man who turned himself into one because he loves them so much speaks to me more than a lot of ships can.

None of them are canon obviously and I doubt any will be, but I cannot deny the connection these two have even if we're just talking ancient weapons and void century stuff.

They're also just really fucking hot! What can I say!