#Jumbo Haul

[mywritersmind]

SAVIOR - LN4

pt.2

summary : Y/n’s favorite place has quickly become her and Lando’s shared hallway. They grow closer and finally make it to the fresh air.

OG SUMMARY (When y/n’s absent neighbor shows up, causing her great annoyance with smoke and repetitive beeping, she marches over to tell the man off but is met with a handsome face and strong hands that are in distress.)

listen up : no warnings!! y/n is clueless abt f1. lando is silly. i’m craving strawberries now.

word count : 1878

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I haul my five grocery bags into the elevator, struggling to keep them all off the ground. I sigh when I finally still in the metal box, i’ve carried these at least two blocks and one had broken on the way.

The doors are about to close but a hand slides in between them, making them automatically open for him.

Hello my hot mysterious neighbor.

He looks relieved he made it, “Y/n!” He says cheerfully, like we’ve known each other for ages. It’s been a couple weeks since I slammed on his door and stomped through his kitchen.

The other side of the hallway had been quiet until last night when I heard keys rattling and the door opening. I can’t help but wonder what he does that keeps him from home so often.

“Lando, Hi!” I smile back as he slides beside me and presses our floor.

“You need help?” He eyes the bags as I bite my lip, not wanting to bother him. I don’t have the time to respond because he takes three bags out of my hands like it’s nothing.

“Thank you.” I sigh, “I’ve been struggling for like two blocks.” He laughs a bit with me as the numbers get higher and higher.

“I’m happy to help.” We finally reach our floor, Lando watches me go first and walk to my door, unlocking it and walking in.

Lando follows hesitantly, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“Thank you again! I put myself in a bit of a bind when I decided that my friends need fifteen types of salami and cheese.” I place the bags on the counter, Lando following.

I push back my hair and suddenly wish I had cleaned up a bit more. My friends are coming over tonight and I had decided to push back my cleaning. Looking around at the clothes and old popcorn bowls scattered around makes me want to slap myself.

“Really, I like to lend a hand! I never get to be neighborly.” He shrugs.

“What do you do for work? If you don’t mind me asking?” I start placing the cold items in the freezer.

He leans against the counter, his arms holding him up and looking alarmingly fit, “Uh… You ever follow Formula 1?”

I nod, “Kinda? I used to love it!” My mom and I would watch every sunday but I stopped in college so I don’t know any of the current grid, “So you work in the sport! That’s cool, pretty hands on?” I ask as he laughs a bit, looking awkward.

“Yeah, I work with the cars.” He looks around my place a bit, “So, why does one need this much food? I’m judging or anything it’s just… You don’t seem like the type to need a jumbo sized pretzel bag.”

I smile and snatch the bag from him, “I could definitely eat all of this by the way! But I'm having a bit of a party tonight. If anything’s too loud just let me know! It’s just old friends from college- actually.” I look up at him, a boost of confidence appearing in me, “You could join us. If you’re not busy.”

It suddenly sounds like a ridiculously stupid idea. I turn back to the fridge, placing a bottle of lemonade in it and cringing.

“I would love to.” I let out a sigh of relief, “But I've got plans…” I frown and turn back to him, finally putting away the last of my groceries.

“Aw.”

“It’s really nice of you to invite me.” I smile, a bit sad and confused why I'm disappointed. I mean I barely know the man. “What do you do for work?”

I lean against the counter so I'm across from him, “I’m a writer. Journalism right now but I really want to take a more bookish route…”

He genuinely looks so intrigued, more interested than anyone else who I've told I write articles about neighborhood drama.

He checks his watch, which I'm now realizing is incredibly expensive, and swears, “I gotta go. Have fun with your party tonight.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I definitely do have fun. My friends and I eat, drink, and play board games just like we’re back in dorms. I’m seeing my last and closest friend off when Lando comes up the hallway, As my friend's eyes go wide when she sees him, I shake my head.

“Goodbye!” I push her out of my apartment, “Love you!”

“Yeah love you too! Text me!” She walks past Lando, nodding at him before she turns behind his back and mouths ‘he’s hot’.

I roll my eyes at her, a smile still on my face as Lando looks at me. He’s in a full suit, holding his blazer in his hand.

“Fun time then?” God he’s hot!

“Absolutely!” I giggle, a bit tipsy, “How about you then?” I eye his suit.

“As good as I could make it.”

I slap my hand over my mouth, “God you aren’t coming from a funeral then, are you?”

He laughs at this, “No! No. A work banquet thing.”

I giggle a bit as he turns to his door, “Hey!” I say without thinking, “Would you want to come in? I have wine.”

He’s sitting on my couch thirty minutes later, a glass deep and talking about where he’s traveled too.

“That’s my dream!” I say, my feet tucked under myself as I tilt my head on the couch cushions, “Traveling. I mean- You’ve been everywhere!”

He shrugs, sipping his wine, his tie undone and shoes off, “It’s amazing but I'm not there for long so I don’t usually get to sightsee much. Honestly the most interesting thing that’s happened to me recently is this pretty girl came to save my baking disaster.”

I hum to his words, blushing a bit, “Sounds like a hero if i’ve ever heard one.” We both go silent, taking pieces of my leftover charcuterie board. “Should I start watching F1?”

“No!” He says it so quick that i’m taken aback.

“No?”

He laughs a bit, shaking it off, “It’s boring. I can’t have someone else in my life talk about it.”

I spin my wine around in the glass, “So I'm someone in your life now?”

He smirks, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

I pretend to contemplate this, “I’ve never had a friend who hasn’t gone to the strawberry market with me.”

He makes an odd face, “So we must go then.”

I sigh, “If you want to be my friend…”

The corner of his mouth pulls, “Tomorrow at 9?”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He’s at my door at 9:12. Thank god he’s late because I hop over to the door, pulling on my shoe and pulling down my jean skirt.

I open the door and stand up straight, smiling breathlessly. He, of course, looks perfect in jeans and an olive green shirt, “Morning.”

“Ready to taste the best strawberries you’ve ever had?” I grab my bag and keys.

“So ready.”

We make it to the market just on time. It’s my favorite neighborhood gem. Every Sunday people gather with strawberries. There are big and small, some covered in chocolate and some in honey.

I buy a box of chocolate ones, well Lando does. He insists that he still owes me. Handing one to Lando with an extra fork, he bites into it, his eyes roll, “Fucking hell.” I nod, excited that he likes them as much as I do.

“My favorite treat! Something you can’t burn your house down with.” I eye him and he eyes me right back. Being with Lando is like a breath of fresh air. I’ve never been so confident in my social skills.

He laughs with a shop owner as he buys his pack of plain strawberries. He's so nice and just listens politely as the woman goes on and on about her childhood on a strawberry farm.

He gives her a bigger bill than necessary and as she insists it’s too much, he just shakes his head and continues walking.

We settle at a park bench nearby, tasting all the pieces we’ve bought, “This is genuinely phenomenal.” He says while eating another, “How’d you find this place?”

“Had to write about something local and had total writers block… I was walking around one day and just sort of stumbled upon it.”

He smiles, I really like this smile. “You seem like the type to just stumble upon a strawberry market.”

I laugh, covering my mouth, “What does that even mean?”

“You’re just so…” His hands make these weird gestures, his fingers moving around as he laughs and gives up, “It just fits.”

I smile, meeting his eyes. They're so nice, a mix of blue and green. His gaze washes over me and I feel the need to smile even more.

“You’ve got nice eyes.” My stomach twists as he says it so calmly, “Real pretty.” I feel a blush on my cheeks and I turn away from him, looking at the park near us and being startled by the child looking up at us.

Lando follows my gaze, mumbling softly, “Shit.”

“Hi.” The kid says awestruck, I look to Lando who’s smiling and sitting up straighter. “Um- Are you Lando Norris?”

Lando scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah I am! What's your name?”

“W-William!” He says, swallowing and pulling a pen from behind his back, “Could you sign this?” I glance to what looks like his mother, she’s watching him with a smile.

Lando simply nods and takes the cap from his head, its bright orange. He signs his name and messes up the kid's hair, “Thanks a lot! My friends’ll never believe it!” The boy squeals and runs back to his mom who waves slightly and takes the boy's hand.

I raise a brow at Lando, still confused, “I’m sorry…” He looks embarrassed but I don’t even know what for.

“I’m going to assume you didn’t tell me the whole truth in what your job is?”

His cheeks get a bit red, “I do work with the cars… Just really close. Like I’m in them. One specifically.”

I nod, “Yours?”

“Mine.” He crosses his arms, his lips in a thin line, “I drive for McLaren.” I breathe out.

“Oh.” I can’t help but think I have a type because I grew up with Jenson Button posters on my wall.

He runs a hand through his curls, “I don’t usually get recognized around here- Thought we would be okay.”

“We are okay!” I reassure him, realizing he’s actually embarrassed, “That was sweet.”

He looks up hopefully, “You think? I’m sorry for lying- I just really liked that you didn’t know who I am or what I do.”

“Well, I sort of still don't. I know your full name now, that’s about it.” He smiles at this, I bite into another strawberry.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

He is yet to say something I'm not shocked at.

“Yeah.” I nod, smiling at him as he grins, “I’d really like that. Don’t you have to race soon though…? Singapore, isn’t it?”

The smirk that pulls at his lips is just plain mischievous, “I never said the date would be here.”

[infictionalwonderland]

PERIODS — harry lewis

pairing: harry lewis x fem!reader

warnings: periods… NOT REALLY A WARNING BUT YKKK, swearing, suggestive-ness, medication

Whoever said people your age couldn’t have sleepovers, could go and do one—because you absolutely fucking could, you and Talia proving said notion right now; your boys were off again, somewhere abroad for a sidemen shoot and leaving you and your best friend alone. Instead of getting all weepy and mopey (over a boy, never you) you and her decided to make the most out of the lack of testosterone—after you’d dropped your boyfriend off at the airport, all innocent smiles and pretty fluttering lashes, you’d zoomed off (probably breaking several speed limits) to get to your best friends new home.

When you got there, she’d opened the door with an excited screech despite expecting you and you returned it despite knowing she’d been the one to open the door. After of long embrace where she didn’t wanna let you go, you finally convinced her with the promised of pizza and brownies. Hauling your overnight bag in, you’d began your girly night—music booming, comfy clothes on, gossip upon gossip and so many laughs your whole body was in tatters as you made pizzas and brownies (admittedly, hers were better but she was literally Mario’s second cousin, it’s to be expected)

Food in hands and smiles never leaving your faces, you’d taken off into a race into a race for the living room (you won, obviously) and began your evening of movie watching—from 10 things i hate about you to It, then legally blonde and Tangled, and many more, . . .you had quite the night. However both of your highlights was when you discovered you both started your cycles on that particular day—before your boyfriends had left and around basically the same times: it had you both in tear inducing laughter for two minutes. You’d ended up taking a Polaroid of you both grinning while holding up Flow (the period tracker app) and showing you both having the exact same cycles.

Twins.

That was yesterday—now you were both lying in a miserable heap of pain and exhaustion in Talia’s king size bed, hot water bottles on your abdomens and remaining snacks being shovelled into your mouths as you both snuggled and occupied yourselves on your phones.

You smiled slightly when your boyfriends name popped up over TikTok but grimaced afterwards as your stomach turned horribly.

harry🤍

gd mornin xx yu okay luv ?

me

you’re actually illiterate

harry🤍

and you can’t punctuate, we all have are own flaws. anyway i hope ur good, we’re landing at 3, want me to pick u up anything?

You grinned wider, deciding to piss about.

me

yeah actually can you get me some jumbo tampons!! thank youuu x

harry🤍

what. they do JUMBO? i mean thats, at least their being inclusive. good on em 👍 wait bloody hell love, you’re on again already? swear i don’t know how you still have blood in ya

me

yeah it happens to be a monthly thing, harry. 😄😄😄😄😄 also im with my gf so you might have to whisk me away before me elope xxxxx

harry🤍

she’d get you a shitty ring anyway i’ll get in simons lift home then and you can drop us off. … i love you, gotta go, see you soon gorgeous

me

love you too smelly 😜

You looked over at Talia at, miraculously, the same time she looked up at you and when she wordlessly showed you her phone, showcasing messages of her asking Simon for XXL pads, you gasped laughingly and showed her your messages to Harry. She made a shocked face before meeting your eye and you both burst out laughing, only to groan as you ached all fucking over.

“I hate being a women.”

It was now half two and while Talia was effectively making your day better—you both were still in immense pain. You’d migrated to every living room (you loved it so much, you could cry) and both had a sofa to yourself, Mushu (their adorable dog) was nipping at some toy from where he was sat by the telly. You both were on your phones for the most part, last nights episode of Love Island that you’d absently recorded now playing on the TV as you both munched away on the breakfast Talia got delivered—McDonald’s breakfast for you and she had a spiced cheesy omelette from this little breakfast place.

“When do you think Harrys gonna ask. .?” Talia looked at you from her place on the sofa, wiggling her ringed finger mischievously with a glittering smile, one hand still firmly against her stomach.

“Probably never.”

“Bullshit!” She shot back instantly, sitting up and pointing firmly in your direction as she ignored the pain she was in in favour of reassuring you. “Babe, you have not seen the way that man looks at you when he thinks no one is looking. Like, seriously, he has literal heart eyes for you and don’t even get me started on how he speaks about you. It’s like your the best thing in this entire world to him, really. Like you’re some kinda goddess or somethin’ he always looks so awestruck by you.”

“. .probably cause I cook him dinner.” You offered with a shrug, smiling lopsidedly, and Talia snorted with a head shake.

“Or you are his dinner.”

“I mean, he does—“

“Ah! WAIT, NO. Stop, no more, please.”

You grinned at her, sparing a wink before cooing at Mushu happily and urging him to jump up on you, which he did. Your entire demeanour seemed to soften as you wrapped your arms around the large grey ball of fluff.

“He’ll probably ask you soon.”

“Natalia.” You threw her a mock serious look and she put her hands up in a surrender motion, finding herself all too funny.

“What—have you seen you?” Talia retorted, faking a dreamy sigh as she readjusted herself on the plush material of her sofa. “I’d kiss you, marry you and fuck you. Repeatedly.”

“Miss Mar. . .” You jokingly trailed off.

“Have my babies?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

“We should really do this more often.” Talia pouted at you, friendly love bright in her irises as she pulled her blanket more around her body. “I miss hanging with you, sexy bum.”

“Miss you more, baby cakes.” You winked at her dramatically, mouth falling open just like Fred Weasley and she giggled back at you, snapping a candid photo.

“Speaking of babies—“

“NATALIA HADDOCK.”

Approaching four o’clock was when your boyfriends finally rolled up—you and Talia didn’t actually notice at first, you were both laying down on the living room floor with Mushu next to you and a mediation video on the large screen, giggles slipping past your lips even as you attempted to be quiet. You would’ve sat up but considering your cramps. . .‘twas a no go.

“Keep your fake lips shut, Cruella.”

Talia squawked in offence at your comment but kept her eyes shut for the purpose of mediation, blindly lifting a manicured hand to swat at you.

In that moment, your boyfriends both walked through the door, trading odd looks at the silence in the home (if there was anything you and Talia were together, it was not silent). Simon lead Harry through the house, more confused than anything to where his fiancé was but when they heard whooshing sounds from the living room, they both stopped uncertainly.

Harry quickly picked up a random umbrella from where they were sat, just in case.

However, when you hesitantly stalked into the living room they didn’t expect to see both of their girlfriends laying sprawled across the floor in starfish position with a mediation video playing on the large TV. They both paused, trying to repress their amusement and Harry instantly got out his phone—zooming into you to take some photos.

“Feeling zen, yet?” Simon inquired.

“So zen.” You both confirmed, simultaneously.

There was silence for no more than a second before you and Talia both let out startled exclamations and sat up straight—immediately groaning out in pain after as your stomach cramped and ached (day 2 was your personal worst day for pain/cramps).

“Woah. Woah, woah.” Simon paused at the in sync groans of pain, “listen. . .I know you both have like, interlinked emotions but please don’t tell me you can feel what the other feels?!”

“Boy.” Talia gave him a deadpan stare.

“Help.” You urged your boyfriend, reaching out your hands expectantly and he rolled his eyes fondly as he walked over to you, large hands taking your smaller ones in his own and he tugged you up from the ground, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into him. “Hey stranger.”

“Hey.” Harry mumbled back, grinning widely as he pulled you flush against him, digging his head endearingly into the crook of your neck and leaving two swift kisses, your sweet aroma surrounding him and clouding his thoughts as you hummed, running your fingers through his short hair.

“No PDA in my house!” Simon exclaimed.

“Shush,” Talia tutted—unimpressed with her fiancé, “don’t listen to him. Harry, kiss my girl all you want just. . nothing more, preferably.”

“She’s not your girl.”

“Am I not?” You played clueless, faking a confused look at him before going to step over to your best friend, only for him to tug you back against him, large, muscled arms wrapping around your front to hold you back.

“Disgusting.” Simon blanched. “Do that in your own home, please.”

You and Talia both rolled your eyes in sync: you turned your head to smile up at your boyfriend, pressing a loving peck to his soft lips and then his bicep before gently tugging his arms off you, getting ready to say bye to your friends.

“Bye beautiful.” Talia grinned, her arms coming to wrap around you with a careful tightness. “I love you, let me know if you need anything—also, we should really really do this again soon. I love spending time with you.”

Feeling your heart warm, you smiled back at her genuinely. “I love spending time with you too, Lia. Next time we can make lasagna and cupcakes. . .the Tom and Jerry ones.”

Talia squealed slightly, pulling away from your hug to press kisses to both your cheeks and then your forehead.

“You’re the best. Miss ya’ already.”

“Missing you more.”

A few minutes later, you and Harry were finally out of the mini-mar household. Your boyfriend had finally resigned to carrying you when you had fully stopped walking and hunched over slightly in pain from your cramps—he’d sighed, like the tired boyfriend he was, then gently picked you up bridal style and ignored Talia’s obnoxious awes and how she took several pictures.

(She totally didn’t put them on her story)

“Spoiled princess, ‘s what you are.” Harry shook his head jokingly as he carefully put you down in the passenger side of your own car that he was driving cause you were in pain.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

He grinned at you, looking up through his lashes as he did your seatbelt for you, one of his large arms caging you in and the the other free arm reaching over your lower half to tug the seatbelt tighter. He looked similar to an angel in that moment—sun illuminating his features, those fucking blue eyes you were a sucker for and you felt a trail of sparks on the skin his hand purposefully brushed over.

“That tight enough?” Harry inquired, cheekily.

“So tight.” You responded with a snicker of your own and he rolled his eyes at you, tugging a strand of your hair briefly and you feigned a dramatic wince as he left you, shutting the door to your side and climbing in the drivers side.

You looked over, rolling down your window readily as you knew what was coming—when your car started to take off, Talia opened up the window closest to the driveway, popping out her head with a gorgeous gleaming smile.

“BYE BYE BEAUTIFUL, I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER SOON!”

“BYE GORGEOUS—SAME GOES FOR YOU, CALL ME!”

As you did the ‘call me’ symbol with your hand and gave her a dramatic wink, she giggled before ducking her head back indoors.

“Might as well date her.”

“Might just, y’know.” You smiled at him sweetly, turning on the radio for background noise like you always did, “Smells a lot than my current partner anyway?”

“He can’t be that bad!”

“No, really, he stinks of piss.”

“I beg you fu—“

He cut himself off, grin faltering as he heard you wince in pain, frowning softly as he looked over at you.

“Hanging in there alright?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, smiling tensely.

“I got you something.” Harry mentioned, peering over at you and when he saw you looking him with that adorably confused look, he nudged his head backwards and your eyes followed—landing on the Tesco bag in the backseat.

“My jumbo tampons?” You cackled to yourself.

“No—I did look though—“ Your laughter increased in volume, ignoring the aching pain overcoming you as best you could, “Oh—Oh. I see now, they aren’t a thing. You played me.”

“What? No, never.”

“I smell deceit.”

“I smell piss. Oh, wait, it’s just you.”

You giggled at yourself and while he tried to playfully glare at you, he couldn’t quite keep his smile at bay as he stared at you.

Curiously, you reach behind you and tug the Tesco bag from its space in the back, lugging it into your lap and opening it up—your mouth immediately pops open in an awww when you take in the two sets of cupcakes, your favourite chocolate bars, the sanitary products and some pain medication.

“Harry. .”

“Don’t mention it, I beg.” A sheepish crimson blush coats his pale cheeks at your tone and your evident heart eyes. Jesus Christ, were you pretty. He was so lucky to be able to call you his, that much he knew for sure.

“Thanks, handsome.”

“Yeah, yeah anytime man.”

You arch a brow.

“Anytime, love.” Harry corrects, flashing you an equal parts amused and sarcastic smile as you nod your approval to the changing pet name.

When you finally arrive back at your apartment complex—Harry’s already out of his side of the car as soon as it stops, and then he goes over to you, opening your door and looking down at you. He lets at a dramatic heaving sigh at your doe eyed look, scolding his skin for flushing and heart for picking up.

Effortlessly, he takes the bag off your hands with one hand and pulls you from the car with the other, once you’re out the car he lifts you up easily with one arm and you wrap your legs around his hips, arms around his neck.

“Hi.” You mumble, grinning mischievously as your acrylics scratch at his beard.

“My pretty troublemaker.” Harry huffs affectionately, squinting down at your bright smile fuelled by mischief. “Don’t you dare bring attention to us, this is embarrassing enough.” He nearly whines.

You merely smile, a kiss to his cheek to tide over his anxieties.

The walk was going pretty smoothly, but as soon as Harry stepped foot into the elevator, another set of footsteps followed and his eyes shut miserably, leaning down and sighing into your neck hopelessly.

“Hi Effie!” You immediately perk up at the sight of the older woman—Effie was this sweetheart fifty six year old who lived on the floor below you and Harry, a vast lover of plants and animals with a hatred for men (you loved her, Harry was scared of her).

Harry barely refrains for niping at the soft skin of your neck in reprimand. Of bloody course.

“Hello dearie.” The older woman, hair a dyed purple shade and silver septum hanging from her button nose, greets you with a calm smile. Effie was evidently unfazed by the scene in front of her—if anything, she was proud that you were putting your man to work. “How are you today?”

“Oh I’m grand, Ef.” You smiled so charmingly that as Harry stared down at you, he almost forgot he was even supposed to be annoyed. “How are you? How’s Tia, I miss her!”

“I’m well, thank you, dearie. Tia misses you too, I assure you. Perhaps you come down tonight, I can bake us some cookies just how you like them.”

Harry paused, bewildered. Did his girlfriend just get hit on by a grandma?!

“I—“

Before you could even get a word out, the elevator dinged open to your floor and Harry wasted now time practically sprinting out with his arms possessively entangled around your frame; you quickly exclaimed a startled ‘bye Effie’ over your boyfriends shoulder before the elevator doors shut.

You quickly distracted yourself with how you could feel your boyfriends muscular biceps as he held you up, your acrylics took to touching and tracing them as he bounced you up further on his hip. You closed your eyes, leaning further into him and humming at the delightful scent of his cologne, the soothing vibrations of his body as he quietly chatted away helping to dull the aches in your own body.

“You alright there, y/n?”

“Never been better.” You smiled up at him and he gives you an amused one back, kissing your forehead softly as he finally opens the door to your shared apartment—once inside, he readily manoeuvres the both of you to the sofa where he carefully places you down, handing you the bag of food and your favourite blanket he spots on the lone armchair. “Thank youuu.”

“Spoiled princess.” He names again, but the smile on his face is enough to melt you despite his words.

Harry then goes into the kitchen as you try and adjust on the sofa more comfortably, face screwing up as a particularly harsh pain washes through you—your abdomen clenching. To distract yourself, you search through the Tesco bag and smile to yourself as you take out the first batch of muffins.

You mindlessly click onto WhatsApp, taking a photo of the bag of goodies and sending it to the girls groupchat with a little ‘make your men do this for you, pretty ladies’ and instantly being met with gushing from them all.

“Showing off my expert shopping skills?”

You startle—gaze flickering to your boyfriend who smiles at you, that smile he saves just for you and it makes you feel so special and warm every time. Your eyes dart over him, noticing the hot water bottle he now clutches (you love that hot water bottle—it’s got this absolutely adorable cover of a lama).

Fucking hormones, you think, as you feel a wave of emotion hit you at how much he’s done for you.

“Hey,” Harry noticed the quivering frown you now adopted and internally panicked, did I do something? Hot water bottle in hand, he hurried towards you, kneeling down on the floor beside where you were laying and twirling a pierce of your hair around his finger. “Hey. What’s wrong, love, hm? You in pain?”

“Yeah.” You answer him shakily, that’s not why your suddenly upset. “I love you.”

If he’s confused—he doesn’t show it, he merely smiles at you comfortingly, leaning in to gently press a kiss to your lips.

“I love you more.”

You smile up at him and his face softens completely at you—he’s so fucking in love. And yes, these thoughts of his are incredibly soppy, but, he couldn’t help it. The girl of his dreams, the love of his life, the prettiest person in the world, was currently staring at him like he hung the moon and the stars. . . he’d never tire of your beautiful face, your radiant smile that flustered him every damn time.

When you move so he can slide in behind you, he eagerly takes the invitation. He slots in behind you on the sofa, pulling you atop him with your back against his chest; he takes the hot water bottle, your favourite one, and carefully moves up your shirt before pressing it against your lower stomach and keeping his hands there to hold it in place, pressing a thoughtless yet meaningful kiss to the side of your head and you snuggle back into him.

“Oi, give me a bite.”

“Fuck off, it’s my scran.”

“Yeah—and who’s card did it make a dent in?”

“Our card, handsome.”

“. . . Spoiled princess.”

And that’s how you spend most of the rest of your day—intertwined limbs, goofy grins, soft kisses and joking insults.

(He’s never been more in love)

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

As Art DiMarzio, Speirs’s old and ever-trustworthy subordinate from Dog Company, prepared to leave Europe, he was greeted by a surprise send-off. “I was going to southern France to get aboard a ship and come back home,” he explained. “By this time, Lieutenant Speirs had been made company commander of another company. I didn’t see him as often as I did before. I was in this boxcar they used to haul us in. As the train was pulling out, Captain Speirs ran up alongside the train waving at me yelling, ‘I’ll see you, Jumbo!’ ” “Take it easy, captain! I’ll see you later!” DiMarzio hollered. Over four decades passed before the two tested veterans reunited.

~ Jared Frederick & Erik Dorr

[twipsai]

its finally done! happy wsatw everyone <333

word count: 1,817

At 10:39 PM on Saturday, every single person anywhere on either coasts of the continent, and people looking to cross either border of the United Federation, felt a harsh gust of wind.

Commotion ensued, but Sonic, of course, didn’t stick around to see it. When he arrived back at Emerald Coast, he cut back into the city and zoomed past cars cruising along Speed Highway. He ran in front of a few of them, daring them to hit him before swooping away at the last second. Before the fifth exit whizzed by, Sonic bounced over the guardrail and took off through the bare-bones forested area, hopping up and jumping from rooftop to rooftop before he hit the ground running. He passed through lots more cramped neighborhoods on the outskirts of Central City until he made it to the Night Babylon district, where he ran up the side of some random building, speeding up to the top—

And tripped.

And fell.

He just laid there for a moment, before flipping himself over as rapid, shallow breaths racked his body.

Running didn't get tiring. Not normal running, anyway— when he had food in his stomach, water in his blood, and eight hours of sleep.

In the moment, though, with his limbs sore and shaking, he thought this must be like how it felt if the average person ran just a hundred miles. Or maybe even only ninety.

The world kept spinning. It always did, and it wouldn't wait for him to get over whatever funk he was in. He hit his fist dully on the concrete ground. 

He should go back to Mystic Ruins. To make sure Tails was okay, of course. Not to sleep or eat or anything, really. Then he would go back to running— patrolling. He was patrolling to make sure no one was causing trouble while everyone else rested. Of course. He pushed himself up.

Sonic didn't cry that day. Not once. Because if the only person who saw him cry was dead now, then no one had any proof.

And now, running back to his little brother's workshop, he could chalk the tears in his eyes up to the wind beating at his face.

The trip was just a bit slower than it probably would have been normally. It was like his body was protesting against moving his legs, one after the other. He almost collapsed on the porch once he reached it when a wave of exhaustion hit him upon seeing the home, but pushed through the door and shoved himself up the stairs. A chill shuttered through his body, forcing him to realize just how cold he was now that he was inside, and he made a quick pitstop in his room to yank his comforter off the bed and bundle himself in it.

Tails’ room was just down the hall, but he already knew the kit wasn’t in there. For one, the door was open, and Tails hates it when his door’s open. And for two, his self-imposed bed time when he thought Sonic wasn’t around was around three in the morning (but, more recently, it had started stretching to four). So, he begrudgingly hauled himself back down the stairs and through the Tornado’s hangar, giving her a pat on the wing for good luck, and arriving at Tails’ workshop door. A strange sweet smell emanated from the room. 

He gently pushed open the door, the sweet and somewhat nostalgic smell becoming stronger. The moment he stepped through the door, Tails’ ear flicked, and he spun his chair around, yipping in surprise. “Sonic! You’re back!” His face then morphed into a bright smile as he waved him over and spun back to continue his work. 

The plan was to just check in for a bit, maybe send his brother to bed, but now… Well, maybe he’d rest for a bit. Just a bit. He leaned over Tails’ shoulder. “For a bit, yeah. What’s that smell?”

“Oh, uh, blowtorch s’mores.”

“Huh?”

Tails held up a stick with a jumbo marshmallow at the end and a blowtorch. It was only then that Sonic noticed the graham crackers and chocolate bars where mechanic tools should’ve been on the workbench. “Blowtorch s’mores,” he repeated.

“Uh, yeah, I heard you, heh. What’s the occasion?” Sonic hopped up and sat on the workbench, blanket draping over the corner and barely touching the ground.

“Science.”

“Okayyyyy… Can I have one?”

“Sure! Here—” he picked up a second blowtorch that was haphazardly thrown under the table— “just click that button and it'll turn on, and release it to turn it off.”

Sonic yoinked a marshmallow from the package and stuck it on the end of one of the roasting sticks Tails had rested on the side of his workbench. “Ssso, whatcha—” He got cut off by his own throat spurring into a coughing fit. Turns out 24 hours without a drop of water in his system did some real shitty things. Tails immediately shoved a water bottle into his free hand that was about to pick up the blowtorch; he downed the bottle in all of 3 seconds and mumbled a quick ‘thanks’, wiping his mouth. “Whatcha been working on?” he finished.

“Well, before I got distracted by this,” Tails set his perfectly toasted marshmallow aside and turned to the graham crackers splayed out, lightly melting the chocolate laid out on top. “I was fixing up the Cyclone! She got really damaged yesterday…”

“Oof. How bad?”

“Not too bad, I think I did a pretty good job back there,” Tails said with a smug grin. Sonic mentally cheered him on. “But I have to fix up and replace a lot of her casing that got too dented to be safe. And some quick repairs to her engine, ‘cuz Eggman kinda busted it up with his bullets…”

“Wait, what? When did Eggman shoot at you?” He put the blowtorch to the marshmallow, letting the flame consume it until it lit up the entire room, burning so bright the fire’s image was seared into his eyelids.

He knew he didn’t have enough power to save him and fly the both of them back to the ARK. Had he succeeded in grabbing hold of Shadow, they both would’ve died that day. He reached out anyway.

“Maria, this is what you wanted, right? This is my promise I made to you…”

As his hand was waved away, his fingers accidentally curled around the golden bracelet. It snapped off.

The last glimmer of white faded from his fur, and he fell.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and clutched the bracelet close to his chest.

Sonic blew out the flame once it had charred the outside of the marshmallow.

“Yeah, after he tried to blow you up.”

“And did you show him what for…?”

“Hehe, maybeee…”

“Hell yeah!” He set down the blowtorch and ruffled the kit’s bangs as he constructed his s’more. “That’s how I know I raised you right!”

“Pffft— Sonic, stoppp!”

“Okay, okay,” he let up and took out his own crackers and chocolate, smushing the ingredients together and taking a big bite. Gaia, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was… “But,” he said through a mouthful of sugar gunk, “I’m still proud of you, little bro.”

“R– Right! Thank you!”

Sonic practically scarfed down his s’more and went in for another one. “But the Cyclone’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah! She’ll be okay, but I might take it easy on her for a little while… Those chaos drives got me thinking maybe I put a little too much focus on offense? I mean, it’s mostly for fighting, but if I took out the extra propulsions for rockets and slimmed down the auto-aimer, I could make some more room to add a holo-shield, plus I’d have even more room if I used just one chaos drive to power my ammo rather than what I have in there now!”

Tails rambled on, his explanations becoming more and more weird and sciency with terms spliced in that Sonic had no hope of understanding. A fond smile made its way on his face as he burnt his second marshmallow, looking at the kit.

“—But I think I can make it work! If I rework the leg hydraulics to be lighter, then the rocket boost can—”

“You know I love you, right, little bro?”

Tails stopped, half his s’more in his hand. “...Huh?”

“I said—”

“I heard you. Of course I know, hehe… I love you too, big bro!” Tails bonked his head against Sonic’s arm.

“Heh, just checking.” It was no use to dwell too much. His entire body ached with grief, but if he let it drown everything around him out, he’d never hear the wind when it called to him with the promise of adventure.

It hurt so much, but he had to keep going. For his own sake, of course, but…

But also because Shadow, in his brief time on Earth, didn’t get that kind of freedom. So he’d live for him, if that’s what it took to get him out of this weird funk.

“Hey, how about we hit up the Station Square Diner in the morning? My treat!”

Tails’ eyes lit up. Maybe not at the prospect of the food, but more likely at the suggestion to hang out. “Yeah, that sounds awesome!” Tails finished his first s’more, while Sonic finished eating his second.

“Then it’s settled! C’mon, let’s head to bed now so we can beat the morning rush tomorrow,” Sonic said, standing up and stretching with his comforter’s edge balled up in his fists.

“Aw, but I wanted to work on the Cyclone—”

“Nope! Sorry, but you’re under contractual obligation now, Mister Prower!”

“That’s not how contracts work— eek!”

Sonic grabbed him and bundled the two of them in the comforter, carrying the kit awkwardly on his hip as he struggled. “That’s why you gotta read the fine print, heh.”

“Stoooop! Let me gooo!”

“Nope! It’s sleepy time for geniuses and speedsters!” Sonic dragged both his aching body and the kit’s struggling one up the stairs to the house part of the lab and flopped down on the couch.

“Sonic?”

“Tails?”

“Are we sleeping on the couch tonight?”

“If you don’t mind, then yeah.”

“Hehe, I don’t mind. It reminds me of when we’d sleep outside.”

“Oh?”

Tails shifted so he wasn’t awkwardly pressed against the back of the couch. “Yeah, that’s why I was making s’mores, too. ‘Cuz, u– um. I kinda missed you just a little bit today…”

A small laugh managed to slip out of him. “Aw, bud… maybe I should give phones another try so we can talk while I’m on the go.”

Tails yawned. “That’d be nice…”

Sonic adjusted to make sure his neck wouldn’t hurt like hell in the morning. “G’night, little bro.”

“Good night, big bro.”

[frozenjokes]

PUSSY UP CUBFAN‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ cumbo cannibalism win💥💥💥

‘I’ve had an idea! Are you around?’

Cub got Mumbo’s message two days after the three of them brought Mumbo home. Given the length of time, neither he nor Grian was actually waiting in the moth ball anymore; everyone needed to eat and sleep among other obligations, so after day one, the two of them checked in for an hour or so at a time a few times a day. Apparently, Grian was not there now. Cub considered calling him, but from what he could tell from the tone of the message, Mumbo didn’t seem too fussed about being asleep for multiple days. Anxiety gripped Cub at the thought of responding- maybe he should call Grian- but Mumbo didn’t sound upset either, did he? The message was too vague to tell, but if Mumbo was in good spirits and wanted to tell him something, he should go, shouldn’t he? If he called Grian, would Mumbo be willing to say the same things?

Cub steeled himself, responding, ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ He could call Grian afterwards. So he set off, checking his communicator religiously on the way, but Mumbo only acknowledged him with a smiley face.

Cub didn’t even get to ask if Mumbo was okay before he was grabbed, hauled through the floor of the moth ball and nearly lifted off his feet until Cub thrashed and was let go.

“Cub! I had a thought. I have an idea.”

“I-yeah?” Cub stumbled back a little bit, half because Mumbo had unsteadied him and half because he didn’t particularly want to be touched, but Mumbo wasn’t bothered at all, Cub didn’t even think he noticed.

“I don’t have to hurt anyone, Cub, I don’t have to hurt anyone. I just have to kill them, right? I don’t have to hurt anyone. It’s just easier because I can control it, it’s consistent, but not necessary.” Mumbo was so bright and excited that Cub didn’t want to point out the oxymoron, but he was also entertained, amused maybe, and he did not have to ask Mumbo to continue, “So I was thinking right, people get upset on their own. It happens all the time! A build isn’t working out, spilled water on a redstone project, getting hit with a particularly nasty prank or just being plain upset with each other! I could take that. Truthfully, I don’t know how helpful this would be or if it’d even be close to enough, but I want to try! I think this could work. If I got frequent enough meals like the one you just gave me, I might be able to sustain myself on just that!”

Cub was starting to understand what Grian meant when he was speaking about the happier Mumbo; truly, he was radiant. Still, the content of what Mumbo was saying left Cub gaping.

“This. So you’re- Okay. Two hermits are really upset at each other, right? Hypothetically. They’re really tearing into each other, they are not happy. You want to get between them, break it up, then eat them?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t ask. Deescalating would take away from the pain, you know? I would just drop in and kill the two of them instantly.” Mumbo blinked, backpedaling at the look of disbelief on Cub’s face, “I mean, everyone would know! They’d know I’m not human, what I need to do to eat- I wouldn’t start doing this out of nowhere! I’d just be taking advantage of pain while it’s available. Do you not think-”

“Mumbo.” Cub stopped him, and Mumbo looked up, eyes wide and dark and startled, “This is the funniest fucking thing you could chose to do. This is awesome.”

“It- It’s not funny!”

“It is extremely funny. Just imagine it, right? You’re working on a build. You hate it. Everything is going wrong. You are having the absolute worst day. Suddenly you are dead. Just dead. You wake up in bed, extremely confused, then you look outside and there’s Mumbo Jumbo, swallowing your dead body whole. You go huh. Maybe I should take a break. That is hilarious. This is great. Please do this.”

“I-” Mumbo was flustered, waving his hands like this would stop Cub from speaking words, “I was going to! I was going to, but now I don’t know if I should!”

“It’s good! I think it's a great idea! I think it’s even better if you don’t tell people. You should just start doing it. Never address it.”

“I- no! You’re horrible!”

“No, it will be awesome. It would be hilarious. I bet they wouldn’t even care, they’d be so confused. Hey Mumbo, whatcha doing? Why. Why are you doing that? Doc would Lose His Mind. In fairness I think that would be particularly terrifying for him. That’s a whole- I- creeper? Goat? Big. Lots of limbs. That can’t feel good, swallowing something that big. Does it hurt? It looks like it hurts.”

“It- I probably wouldn’t- no, it doesn’t hurt, it’s just efficient most of the time. I don’t know what it looks like either, but-“

“You don’t know? It’s horrific! I have to show you.”

“Please don’t.”

“I just can’t believe it doesn’t hurt. Grian said you eat cows-“ and then before the mortified Mumbo could interrupt, “He knows everything by the way. Everything everything. Partially because he’s a pest and partially because he was there when I told Scar after you-“ Cub remembered suddenly, then shrunk in on himself, “I- I’m really sorry about that- just the whole debacle.”

Mumbo removed his head from where he had buried them in his hands, confusion gently furrowing his brow, “You left that note, didn’t you.. I couldn’t think what you were referring to.”

“You- Seriously? The whole last bit of our conversation?”

“What did you say?” Mumbo cocked his head, so genuine, but Cub still could not shake the feeling he was being majorly fucked with, though luckily, Mumbo filled the short silence on his own, “I.. Well, I remember most of it, and I’m sorry I kinda threw all that on you I guess. I wasn’t well, and I think you know. And I know you didn’t want to be there because I.. you know. And you kept working yourself up, and you weren’t speaking super clearly and I wasn’t paying much attention because the- it’s not a smell, fear isn’t a smell, but I don’t know how else to describe it to you. It was distracting, is all.”

Ah. Hm. Yeah. Mumbo was too busy salivating over him to realize what was working Cub up in the first place. That. Okay. On the one hand, he wasn’t sure how much he loved the idea that most of his friends took great pleasure in his discomfort. On the other hand. Cub had been so appetizing that Mumbo couldn’t think straight enough to hear about how that exact thing made his brain short circuit. Mhm. Yeah. Cub had normal feelings about that.

“Was it not okay?” Mumbo cut through Cub’s thoughts, suddenly distressed, “I thought- You were just so adamant about being eaten, but I didn’t ask and I really should have, I just-“

“No, it’s fine, perfectly fine, you don’t have to ask. I was just thinking.”

“Oh!” Mumbo blinked, then nodded, like this made perfect sense, “You think slow, I forgot.”

Cub snorted, laughing despite himself, “If you say so.”

“Well.. What did you say, then? What did I miss?” Mumbo asked, and while Cub probably should have seen this coming, while he wanted a second chance, he wasn’t expecting this to go down right now like the first chance hadn’t happened. Cub got the sense that Mumbo was seeing straight through him as his face heated up, anxiety prickling under his skin and raising the hair across his arms.

“Well.” Cub breathed, “I may have over exerted myself the day in the labyrinth, so I spent most of the two days after sleeping and-“

“Wait- Days? How long was I asleep?”

Cub blinked. Guess there was no way for him to know, was there. Had he not checked the date? “A little over forty-eight hours. Has this not happened before? Is it not normal for you to sleep like that after a big meal?”

“I- Well sometimes. It’s not uncommon with humans, but otherwise it’s not a frequent occurrence. I always assumed it was just a few hours though, not that I kept track of the time or would have done so if I had the means. I had no idea. Boy, that’s a little disorienting..” Mumbo looked back up to Cub, refocusing, “Sorry- Didn’t mean to interrupt. What was it you were saying?”

“Oh, I forgot.” Saved.

“No, no,” Mumbo furrowed his brow, “Something about you being tired, right? Sleeping a lot? And- and something else?”

Cub pursed his lips. This was his moment. This was it. No backing out. Time to impress. Say something sexy. Something suave. Be cool. Pussy up Cubfan.

“Masturbating.” God damn it.

“Uh,” Mumbo was clearly taken aback, a hand drifting awkwardly to the back of his neck, looking side to side like he was trying not to say something rude. “That’s awesome, mate. I.. I do that too, sometimes.”

“You what!?”

“Ah!” Mumbo startled hard, fright which turned incredulous, “Is this suddenly not a safe space!?”

“You- You think about me?”

“What!? That’s- No! That’s not what we were talking about at all!” Mumbo covered his face, “What- What are we talking about!?”

“I was talking about you!”

“Me what-?”

“You with your hands in my stomach and wrist in your mouth wanting to kill the hell out of me while I jerk it, man, that’s what I’m talking about!” Cub thought he might literally explode, every part of him red and molten under the surface.

“..what?” Mumbo practically squeaked, and it was Cub’s turn to bury his head in his hands. He was half convinced Mumbo would kill him right here and take the meal, or maybe Cub just wanted that, because being dead would be about a thousand times better than standing here like a blithering maniac.

“You said. You don’t do anything but hurt people.” Cub said, though not without a shake to his words, “And I said that isn’t true. Because I. Happen to find those parts of you. Incredibly attractive. And I think. Selfishly. It would be very sad if you never wanted to regroup in the labyrinth. Because I really want to. And while I’m digging a deeper and deeper hole for myself I’m dying to know if the flesh eating part of you also has a sex drive. For science. You don’t have to answer that. But. Yeah. I do think about you. In that way.”

“Oh dear,” Mumbo said, which seemed appropriate. He was normally so pale, it struck Cub how nice he looked with a little flush, though, this was definitely more than a little, “You know, I think I kind of remember that. You saying that. Yes. I think. Yes. I understand now.”

“You can say no.”

“I’m not saying no.”

“Please just say no.”

“You want me to say no?”

“I just want this to end. I suffer so much at my own hand.”

“Well.” Mumbo stopped short, and the two of them were suspended in a thick silence that lasted at least three thousand hours, “I,” and Mumbo continued to pause excruciatingly awkwardly between nearly every word, “tend to not.. I don’t. I’m not the kind of guy that ends things quickly, am I?”

Cub gaped at him. “Did you do that on purpose.”

“Do what?”

“Draw it out. Talk like that. Slowly.”

“Oh, no. I’m just nervous. Unless that’s the smart, hot thing to do, then yes, pun intended or- or whatever.”

“If I think about it hard enough, anything can be sexy.”

“Please do that then,” Mumbo looked genuinely relieved, and something about that was so sickeningly sweet it made Cub’s heart pound in his throat. He was at a loss for words then, though he was thinking an awful lot about Mumbo’s tongue, and maybe he was being a little obvious with his staring, because Mumbo did him a massive favor and let him taste.

The kiss was gentle and sweet, an awful lot like Mumbo himself, or the way he preferred to present himself anyway. Cub had quite a few ideas of his own on how this could go, but he did not chase them, far more interested in what Mumbo wanted this to be. Mumbo’s lips were chapped, likely from two whole days of mouth breathing in bed, but Cub’s were as well, typically in bad shape one way or another; he had a habit of picking he just couldn’t quite shake. But Cub had long retired the notion that a kiss was some angelic, butterflies and rainbows exploding out of your ears experience. It was nice, it was comfortable, and in a world of fast paced high energy bordering on desperate making out, Cub found he had forgotten what a kiss like this could be, that it didn’t have to be anything at all. He liked it. He liked how Mumbo held his hand. He would like very much to do this again.

Mumbo pulled away first, and Cub found himself satisfied, lingering, but only to watch. Mumbo chuckled, looking away, maybe finding Cub too intense, which was fair.

“Was that okay?” Mumbo asked, a little meek, fiddling with his mustache as if he thought it might have gotten in the way.

“I thought it was great.” Cub squeezed Mumbo’s hand, pleased that he hadn’t let go. “Now, I’m not in any kind of rush, but I would like to know what your thoughts on sex are, just so I can set my expectations.”

“Ah,” Mumbo said it in the way that made Cub think he probably should have waited, but he hated that lingering uncertainty between intimate interactions, he just wanted to iron things out now. But Mumbo looked thoughtful, if not a little nervous, “I mean, I don’t know if I’m looking for any commitments right now, but if you’re thinking something more casual, I would be open to a thing like that.” Mumbo stopped himself, amending, “Well- I guess it depends actually. I don’t- I don’t know all of what you’re expecting of me-”

“Casual is good, casual is better,” Cub agreed, “I’m not overly concerned about recreating fantasies, I have a perfectly active imagination to use in my own time.”

“Well what’s the point then?”

Cub snorted, caught off guard, “What do you mean?”

“You’re interested in me physically because of what I am, right? You like that.”

Cub stopped, shifting his weight as he thought how to answer. He hadn’t meant to give Mumbo that impression at all, but yeah, Cub could see how that had happened. “Well sure, but that’s not the only reason. I’m gonna work on wearing you down enough to get back in the labyrinth with me, but that’s not really about sex either, these are just things I do for fun. I have to get you in with Scar as well, or both of us at the same time. We could see who survives the longest, sabotage each other or work together, it would be incredible. I just also happen to think being hunted is sexy. These two things coexist.”

Mumbo grimaced. “I think I might just struggle to understand how being slowly tortured to death is a fun activity for you- for both of you.”

Cub shrugged. “I dunno. Sounds fun. If it’s not fun and you don’t need it for your health then I won’t do it again. But it will be. I can’t wait to try and stop you. You’ve seen Scar, he’s a lunatic. I’m worse. We also already do basically that in the labyrinth like.. all the time. Faster paced for sure, but that’s because we have to be, we know each other too well.”

“Well- I’ll think about it. How’s that?”

“Yes!” Cub pumped his fist. “You’ve made a man very very happy today, Mumbo. Someday soon I will take you home and thank you personally, but not now, because if I don’t call Grian immediately I will not live to see the light of tomorrow. However, you’d better believe I’d love nothing more than to bend you over my finest strap, got it?”

“Grian-? Oh dear, I know he- oh,” Mumbo finished processing, flushing prettily, then covering his hand with his mouth, a gesture that sparked a moment of violent cuteness aggression in Cub that he promptly forced down. “Oh dear.”

“Is that okay with you?” Cub couldn’t help a small chuckle, but the question was genuine.

“I- Yes. Perfectly.”

Incredibly pleased, Cub moved to open his communicator, finding Grian’s contact. He lingered for a moment, mildly disappointed, but called regardless, figuring he’d rather not be caught making out with Mumbo by a furious Grian who had just happened to check in at the wrong time. Cub hardly got two words out before Grian confirmed he was on his way, hanging up promptly. Cub sat down on a chest, sighing contentedly.

“To uh, answer your question..” Mumbo started, and Cub didn’t entirely remember what he was talking about, but was enraptured regardless, “I share most basic tenets of every species whose shape I take. Obviously, there are exceptions and spectrums in every place, though I usually fall somewhere in the middle everywhere. All this to say, I mean.. Yes. I have a sex drive. If I had my way, I would always be hunting, but there are moments of downtime where I share the same kinds of desires of whatever I am. Mice, birds, wolves, people. If I am a social animal, I want to be around others of my kind. If I am a dove, I’d like to find a mate, raise a family. These are passing desires, they fall below the need to eat, but they are still there, so. If things work out for me here on Hermitcraft.. If hunger isn’t so much of an obstacle, which I can’t promise it won’t be.. Well. Make of that what you will.”

Cub stared. He stared for a very long time. “I am making.”

Mumbo laughed, mostly out of concern, but Cub saw amusement there as well. He could live with that. He could very much live with that.

***

Cub’s shoes skidded on the honeycomb floor as he took a sharp turn, and he nearly wrenched his arm out of the socket as he grabbed Scar by the jacket, hauling him in the right direction. The hallway was long, the worst kind of way for it to be when it came to Mumbo; he got confused on too many turns, and if the two of them were smart, they could loop him around and continue without getting caught.

“He’s close-” Scar panted, “Nearly saw me around that last corner,” and indeed, Mumbo was very close, his footsteps louder than the sound of Cub’s and Scar’s combined.

“If we’re fast we can confuse him in the next part of the maze,” Cub tried, but Scar only scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“We are not that fast.

Indeed, just moments before Cub’s lab coat whipped around the next corner, Mumbo screeched, the surefire sign that the two of them had been spotted. No coming back from that. One of them was going down. Cub was in front right now, but Scar was faster, strong enough to shove ahead of him, though when he was alone, tended to lose time by paying less attention and making wrong turns. When Cub and Scar were together like this, Scar usually managed to squeak out alive, and it was no accident that they ended up together most days.

“One day,” Cub breathed, “He’s going to catch me. And it’s going to be in the sexy way.”

Scar snorted despite himself, “Uh huh, yeah, maybe today’s your lucky day?” Cub felt Scar’s breath on his neck, ready to push past Cub in the narrow hall, so Cub reeled around, shoving hard and catching Scar off balance. But Scar had too much momentum, tumbling forward instead of back, managing to catch Cub’s leg in both arms before Cub could slip away. Cub fell nearly flat on his face, unhelped by Scar yanking him backward and using the momentum to help himself to his feet. Dazed, Cub just barely caught Scar’s pant leg as he dashed past, but lost his grip when Mumbo’s weight slammed over him, crushing him flat to the ground. God damn it.

Cub felt Mumbo’s claws in his back, lifting him by the neck of his clothes before Cub could even struggle and whipping him into the opposite wall. His back cracked squarely against the deepslate, and beyond his daze Cub was immediately certain something was Wrong, though he couldn’t exactly place what that was as he crumpled to the floor. He couldn’t sit up. That was something. He couldn’t run either, which was mildly alarming, since he very much would have liked to. Luckily, Mumbo was the gentlemanly sort, lifting Cub into a sitting position when he couldn’t do it himself.

If Cub didn’t know him any better, he’d think Mumbo was angry with him. But no, Mumbo was definitely more irritated. Darn fragile human (-esc) body! So easy to break! Cub had to agree, he would much rather be running right now. He really got an edge up on Scar when they got to the parkour sections, though they rarely got that far. But even at the first one with the trapdoors, if Scar fell enough times, Cub could lose him in the key mazes, then he’d really get ahead.

Cub attempted to commiserate with Mumbo so he knew they were both on the same page here, but instead of actual words, mostly blood dribbled from his lips. Hm. Yeah, he might be dying. Mumbo was not the only person here who was disappointed, that was for sure.

And then Mumbo jerked forward, snatching something affixed at Cub’s belt and tearing it back, oh! He remembered! That was great, he didn’t remember the last two times this was a relevant issue. Mumbo was not gentle with the splash healing, shattering it into Cub’s stomach, which, with the glass, kinda ruined the point, but Cub suspected that was extremely on purpose. Cub heaved a shaky sigh, feeling the life bloom back into his limbs. Still trembling, Cub took the second and last splash healing potion off his belt, smashing it against the ground beside him. He needed it. Mumbo watched him carefully, those beady eyes narrowed in a scrutinous attention.

“What?” Cub mumbled, a hint of a laugh sneaking through despite the great ache that still wracked his back and limbs. Yeesh. If he hit that wall a little harder he might’ve just outright died. “Want some kinda reward?”

Mumbo snorted, animal-like, but he released Cub, getting back to his feet and turning away.

“No, no, wait. One second, I’ve got something for you.” Mumbo stopped, eying him suspiciously. Cub dug at his belt for his third and final potion, speed, one he’d been saving for the second part of the maze, though given he hadn’t made it out of the first section unscathed, he didn’t think he’d be making very good use of it. He threw it weakly, nearly missing, but Mumbo understood when the effect took place.

“Go get that bastard.”

Mumbo might have smiled. Either way, he didn’t have to be told twice. Cub got slowly back to his feet, taking a few deep breaths before he too plunged back into the labyrinth.

[avaylee]

Inspired (and jealous) of the current haul that @trashpandacraft acquired, I asked the spouse to make a thing. There was some fancy scrap wood around and some boredom, and somehow this showed up in my hands three hours after asking.

It has feet on it! It can be taken apart! And comfortably holds three jumbo bobbins!!

Thrilled is an understatement.

Not a TdF post, but wanted to share.

[wouteke]

Hi! I'm sending you Wouthieu and the word hot tub. Do with that what you want 😇

ik i said this last time BUT THIS TIME I MEAN IT THE NEXT ONES WILL BE SHORTER...also if any of these make it to ao3 in longer form ignore that <3

this one is explicit lol and some kind of established relationship IDK dont think too hard about it okay!!

Wout walks out of the bathroom, and Mathieu is gone.

His stomach drops for a second, before the rational part of his brain takes over. Mathieu’s not in bed where Wout left him—but he’s not gone. His clothes are strewn all over the floor, shoes kicked off by the door, bag lying open on the armchair. The windstorm Mathieu leaves behind takes longer to clean up than the couple of minutes Wout let him out of sight. 

And across the room, the sliding glass door is cracked open just enough to let some air in.

Mathieu’s in the hot tub when Wout walks out, sunk down far enough that only the tops of his shoulders are visible. Still, Wout can see how his skin is already turning pink from the heat, and Mathieu watches him keenly as Wout approaches the tub. 

“Jumbo splurges on you, eh?” Mathieu says. “You didn’t tell me there was a hot tub.”

“Next time I’ll give you the full tour beforehand, if you can wait a little longer to get my cock in your mouth.”

“Hey,” Mathieu says. “I could’ve waited.”

Wout snorts. “Sure you could’ve.”

The hot tub is really only big enough for one person—and Mathieu’s big enough on his own that Wout isn’t planning on getting in and risking overflowing it. He scratches through the short hair on the back of Mathieu’s head instead, and Mathieu leans into Wout’s hand like a cat.

“I’ve never fucked in a hot tub before,” Mathieu says. “This one’s a bit small, but it’ll do.”

“No,” Wout says. “I can’t believe you’re already thinking of going again.”

Mathieu pouts. “You’re no fun."

“Slut," Wout says, too affectionate to really be taken seriously. He tugs Mathieu’s head back lightly, although his hair is still too short to really get a hand in and pull. Still, Mathieu’s eyes go a little hazier. Wout wouldn’t be surprised if he was starting to get hard again.

“Really, Matje?” he says. “Already?”

“I didn't deny it, did I?" Mathieu says. "Of course I'm thinking of going again."

Wout’s not doing anything in a hot tub—they’re not going to fit, no matter what Mathieu thinks, and Wout’s doesn’t love the idea of dealing with the aftermath. But he reaches below the water to get hands under Mathieu’s arms, hauling him out and sitting him on the side of the tub, kissing him how he knows Mathieu likes. It's a strange sensation, touching Mathieu when he's all wet and warm and Wout isn't, but he's thankful that he at least had the foresight not to get dressed yet.

[qilingxiong]

Having a corpse laid out on your dining table has got to be against the laws of (most) human decency, food safety, and Wei Ying's landlord, but his apartment is too cramped to put the body of a six foot tall man anywhere else so the table it is. Unless he wants to try necromancy in his bed (too creepy), on the sofa (please don't), or the floor (Wen Ning doesn't deserve that). The table is good, actually. Close enough to the kitchen that cleaning supplies are nearby, and the raised surface means when Wei Ying bends down to work he won't worsen his probably already fucked up back from sitting in chairs like a pretzel.

Hmm. Speaking of pretzels. Wei Ying grabs another handful from the bag resting by Wen Ning's waist and crams them into his mouth. "Are you gonna be happy to eat again, Wen Ning?" he says through his food. "I feel bad every time I come back from grocery shopping, you probably miss your snacks."

There's a jumbo-sized children's drawing board propped up on a chair in the corner, one that uses a stylus and little magnetic particles. The stylus moves from its holder and begins to scrawl across the board seemingly on its own, forming shaky words.

Am I going to be able to eat?

They'd tried a variety of methods to get Wen Ning to communicate, back when Wei Ying moved in last year and found he wasn't the apartment's only occupant. Typing or writing with pencil and paper required too much finesse for a ghost. Whiteboards were out since markers rarely were unreliable, and chalkboards activated both Wen Ning and Wei Ying's sensory issues. The drawing board from Toys R Us has been the best solution. Wen Ning has other ways of getting Wei Ying's attention, if he has to, but those usually tire him out faster.

"If food doesn't work out for you when you wake up, I'll make sure it does," Wei Ying promises. His first priority is making Wen Ning's body capable of sustaining consciousness, speech, and motor coordination. The necromancy method Wei Ying has chosen bypasses the need for functions like breathing or having a heartbeat, though having those traits will probably help Wen Ning adjust. There's a whole list of improvements Wei Ying has, somewhere in his notebook pile.

He is entirely making this up as he goes, though, so who knows. Maybe when Wen Ning's spirit is set back in his own body he'll be completely good to go in every capacity. Wen Ning's corpse was in fairly good condition when Wei Ying brought him to his apartment, despite the fact he'd accidentally chosen a very rainy and muddy night to go rob someone's grave (with their knowledge and consent!) and he'd cracked Wen Ning's wrist off the doorframe trying to clumsily haul him in at three in the morning.

Okay, Wen Ning writes. On top of the bookshelf, the haphazardly placed radio clicks on, jumping through stations and songs to string together the words ~~thank~you~again~~ before shutting off.

The first time Wen Ning hijacked Wei Ying's music like that, he nearly scared him to death. Now that they have a better talking system he doesn't do it so often, only when he wants to place emphasis on his words.

"Aiyah, it's really not a problem for me," Wei Ying waves it away. Thank-yous have always made him feel weird. "Okay, bringing you back to life is a problem, but that just means I get to work out how to do it! Besides, you can't stay tethered to this apartment forever. I've had to rid haunted houses of some very nasty old resentful spirits when they were stuck there too long. But you're the nicest, most well-behaved ghost I've ever seen," he proclaims, giving Wen Ning's head a little pat. "And soon you won't have to be one anymore."

The decomposition and other damage on Wen Ning was minimal. It's only taken about a month of talisman application to reverse, and today, finally, his body is back to the state it was just after his death. There's just the hole left to deal with.

Wei Ying rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, yanks his hair away from his face with the frayed hairtie on his wrist. "Okay, it's time for me to sew you up," he tells Wen Ning. "I've had to suture wounds before, but it's been a while. I'll try my best!"

I'm sure you'll be fine. The shy reassurance from Wen Ning, when it's his own corpse Wei Ying is working on, makes him smile.

Wen Ning has been covered with a sheet up to his neck, while his body was restored. The clothes he'd been buried in were grimy and reeked of mold and earth, and Wei Ying needed to assess the quality of the body, so he'd had to strip and clean Wen Ning before throwing the bedsheets over him. Now Wei Ying carefully folds the fabric back to expose Wen Ning's torso, stopping just above his hips. The yellow talismans laid on his trunk and limbs have worked their spells well. If not for his unmoving chest and the pale pallor to his skin, Wen Ning could almost be sleeping.

Well, except for the gaping wound ripped through his abdomen. Wei Ying hasn't directly asked Wen Ning how that fatal injury was caused, as it's quite rude to do so, but based on the information Wen Ning has offered he's pieced together enough of the story. Family gang warfare and a surprise attack meant to send a message. The man had committed no crime other than being born with the wrong surname, and paid for it in this same apartment Wei Ying now resides in. There's a reason why the hallway carpet is obviously newer than the rest of the place.

At least Wei Ying now has a shot at changing Wen Ning's fate. "Here we go," he mutters, preparing needle and thread.

Suturing Wen Ning up requires a decent amount of Wei Ying's concentration. Though since he literally has to brace his forearms on Wen Ning's side and stare in the general direction of his abs, it's impossible not to notice how muscular and toned Wen Ning is. Really, it's unfair. His face is delicately beautiful, even in death with eyes closed, but Wei Ying had been in for another surprise when he'd divested Wen Ning's corpse of his burial shirt.

As an unavoidable part of the cleaning process, Wei Ying has also seen... other parts of Wen Ning. Which also look very nice. But he needs to focus and goddamn, not the time. Instead he thinks about who could have killed Wen Ning, and how brutally, for someone as sweet and built like him to have been stabbed and bled out like a pig. It makes Wei Ying shudder.

The old wound, at least, isn't too difficult to patch back together. Wei Ying doesn't tear anything, and the stitches end up relatively even. Wen Ning stays silent to let him work, although he does turn the radio on to something quiet in the background. Neither of them like long bouts of silence, they've found. It's easier to have something to fill in the empty space.

Once he's tied the thread and snipped off the extra, Wei Ying grabs a calligraphy brush and a mason jar from the fridge (the one that has a 'BLOOD NOT JUICE!!!' label taped to the lid) and scribbles out one last talisman to place on Wen Ning's torso. Dead bodies can't really mend themselves, so the talisman will heal him the rest of the way.

"You'll have a scar," Wei Ying informs Wen Ning, "but I can promise that your guts won't fall out now or anything."

Finding all the right characters and modifications to use for the talismans had been the most time-consuming part of Wei Ying's job. Fortunately, having a day job eradicating tough spirits and monsters gives him enough status to poke around rare and forbidden book collections, and Wei Ying's been inventing his own spells for years. The blood is outsourced from the Nie clan. They've returned to their butcher origins as a front for their cultivation, now that the Jianghu of old is a fantasy to the modern era, and animal blood works just as well as human for talismans. Some people are just dramatic.

The Nie are also among the least likely to ask questions, including whether or not Wei Ying is using demonic cultivation. That's a bonus.

"Now we wait, just a little longer," Wei Ying says. He gets up and stretches, feels his spine crack in about four different places. Ugh. Maybe he can make some healing talismans for himself. "It'll take about two days or so for your body to fix yourself up, and then we'll be at the big day." There's nothing else left to do, so he starts cleaning up the mess around the table. Wei Ying has always been a whirlwind when he works.

A dull wooden knock rings out from the table by Wei Ying's hand, as he's reaching for the pretzel bag. He looks up and watches Wen Ning erase the drawing board, followed by a new question.

Why are you doing this for me?

Wei Ying swallows. "Aha." He grabs the pretzels along with the blood, brushes, and extra talisman paper, and makes an escape into the kitchen.

He tries not to think about the reasoning behind his project, when it's easy to sink into the plans and details of it instead and ignore everything else. The answers that present themselves are never pleasant ones; at Wen Ning's words, the first voice to immediately enter Wei Ying's head is harsh and exasperated. You're using him just to see if you're smart enough to bring him back, Jiang Cheng snaps. What if you hurt him? What if it goes wrong and he becomes dangerous? Who's there to protect you?

Not you, Wei Ying thinks. Not anymore.

Another face takes Jiang Cheng's place. Are you lonely, A-Xian? Jiang Yanli murmurs. Is that why you're doing this, because you think neither Wen Ning or you have anyone?

Maybe.

I don't. I don't even have you, and that's on me, Wei Ying says to her. The voice in his head morphs into Yu Ziyuan, ever critical, ever biting.

Disappointment, Wei Ying.

He's staring into space in the middle of his kitchen. Wei Ying shakes his head out and dumps the things he's holding into the counter. I can do this, he tells himself firmly. And I'm not a disappointment. I won't be one to Wen Ning, at least.

There's another tap, this time on the cupboard near Wei Ying's head. Wen Ning won't give up on an answer, it seems.

"I already told you why," Wei Ying sighs. "I like you, and it's painful for spirits stuck haunting until they turn resentful. I don't want you to go through that. And it's a waste of eternity for you to be a ghost stuck in an apartment." He shoves the blood back into the fridge door, where there are about six other identical jars. "I mean, the ghosts in the old manors and castles get a killer aesthetic and local legends told about them. What's good about being forced to watch me eat ramen from the pot in the middle of the night, or binge Lord of the Rings for the hundredth time?"

The drawing board is in the other room. Wen Ning fiddles with the radio. ~~You're~here.~That's~a~good~thing~~, he says simply, in six people's voices.

"Soon you'll be here too, and that's better," Wei Ying says quickly. Wen Ning is so honest sometimes, in a way that makes Wei Ying want to hide.

~~I~hope~so~~.

"It is! I can't wait for you to be around.", Wei Ying winces internally at his tone. Jiang Yanli was always able to call him out on his emotional bullshit when he used it with her. "Maybe we can watch Lord of the Rings together? I'll make caramel popcorn."

~~That~sounds~nice~~. Wei Ying smiles, a little too widely.

Yeah, okay. He's lonely.

Hello there! So this was part of a WIP I started last year but, predictably, did not see through. I was going through some of my fic drafts and decided I'd release it here, as I liked the concept a lot but sincerely doubt I'll have the mind to pick it up again. Thanks for reading if you got to the end.

[sourcreammachine]

electric VTOL quadjet boom-abated hypersonic ultra-long haul ultra-jumbo airliner

fuckin awesome piece of speculative sci-fi. where it should remain #trains #sustainabletransport #awesomefictionhorriblereality

[az-cain]

Hey! I saw you were taking requests. And I kinda have two because I need some fluff in my life rn. I have been so sick and just need some relief. Could I get one Bob x reader where maybe his SO is an advocate and she is traveling all the time. So, it can be like her coming to visit after being overseas. And one Rhett Abbott x reader. Maybe him taking care of a sick reader. Or whatever you decide. ☺️ thank you so much.

thanks for the request!!! only thing i didn’t know/couldn’t figure out was what you meant by an advocate, so y/n is a professional pilot.

i hope you’re feeling better <333

tw for: idk being really tired? also being sick w like the flu. other than that, nothing.

The airport was always so damn loud. The clash and clamor of thousands of angry customers, grumpy fathers, and wailing children created a din comparable to a jumbo jet. When you emerged from your plane, having spent the last 15 hours manning a plane on a flight from Sydney, Australia, it was even worse. The contrast from the noise-canceling headgear and the occasional chatter with your copilot was nothing in comparison to this auditory hell.

Hauling a light suitcase, you weaved through the hordes, dodging children and parents left and right. Some smiled kindly at you, to which you sleepily nodded in return, but mostly you kept your eyes on the next doorway you had to pass through.

After about 20 minutes navigating the inside of the building, you finally emerged into the line of cars waiting for their passengers. After lethargically searching your pockets for your phone, you dialed Robby’s number and called him. Two rings sounded from directly behind you before you whipped around, only for his arms to wrap around you swiftly.

“I missed you, honey,” he murmured into your hair. Tears slid down your face, so glad to see him again after he’d been deployed for months. On top of that, the hard trip you’d just had only amplified your loneliness.

“Missed you too, Rob.” You whispered, squeezing him tightly. “Can we leave, though? I’m so tired.”

Nodding with a smile, he released you only to clasp your hand as tightly as he had your body. He guided you to the car that Jake had driven here and let you in before he walked to his own side. You’d buckled yourself into the middle seat so you could lean against him. The car shifted into drive after you thanked Jake, who responded only with a nod and a smile, and it remained silent for a few minutes as he navigated through the convoluted airport roads.

“They delayed us three times. Diverted us once.”

“Oh, god,” he murmured, looking down at you in disgust.

“Yeah. That was on the way out. On the way in, they just diverted us after about 30 minutes’ talk with ATC.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m sure you’re tired.” You nodded against him. “Get some rest. I’ll take you inside.”

You hummed quietly, sleep overcoming you. “You don’t h…”

—

Apparently he did have to, because all you remembered the next morning was a brief flash of light when the car door opened, strong, warm arms being wrapped around you, and a slight jostle as you were pulled from the car.

You found yourself in clean underwear and Robby’s Navy PT shirt, wrapped in his arms and surrounded by the scent of him.

His bed was warm, the sun shining onto the white comforter with all its morning might, but his body was warmer as you turned to face him. You found his eyes already open, the deep blue perusing your face like the two of you had all the time in the world.

Hell, maybe you did.

He kissed your nose and asked how you slept, and you melted. Absorbed by how much you loved him, by all of the thoughts, emotions, vows, and proposals running through your mind, you forgot to answer for a moment.

Realizing that he’d asked you a question when he leaned back to grab his glasses, you shook back to consciousness and responded with a kiss to his nose and an “I slept really well. You?”

He grinned lazily, those glasses pushing up on his cheeks, and told you that he slept better than ever.

—

The first thing Rhett heard when he woke up was coughing. Hacking, really. It sounded like someone’s lungs were coming out in pieces, being ripped to shreds. The second thing was groans. Maybe that person’s lungs were being ripped to shreds, by the sound of those groans.

You were sitting in the sun-decorated living room, haven gotten up to grab some water, convinced this coughing fit was due to allergies, and collapsed to the couch with a dizzy spell. And yes, your lungs were being ripped to shreds. Rhett sidled up next to you, arm around your shoulders, and cooed gently. “Oh, baby, why didn’t you wake me up?”

Glaring lightheartedly at him, you wheezed, “Apparently I did.”

“Not intentionally,” he nudged your side, “and you’re burning up. What have you taken?”

Mother goose Rhett was a rare treat that few got to see, but right now you felt that he was overexaggerating the needed response to a high pollen count.

“Rhett,” you paused to hack loudly into a tissue, “I’m not sick.”

“Well, then, I’m sure the doctor will say the same,” he raised his brows in question.

You leaned your head back against the back of the couch with a wheezing whine and conceded, “Okay maybe. But just drug me up, don’t make me go to the doctor.”

“Yes ma’am, now what hurts? Just the cough?”

You buried your face in his shoulder and shook your head. Muffled, you said “Head. And my throat. And also my bones. Everything?”

One hand rubbing over your back, he pushed you off of him slowly and stood up, heading for the kitchen. He returned with, you noted through one cracked eye, bottles upon bottles of medicine. “Open up, sugar.”

“Mm-mm.”

“Open uuuuup,” he poked you in the sides, trying to get you to laugh, but you just wheezed in pain and opened your mouth. Still, it accomplished his goal, because he stuck two pills in your mouth and you opened your mouth in distaste and beckoned for some water.

“What the hell was that?” You asked, throat dry only moments after drinking water.

“Tylenol and a decongestant,” he said, already grabbing something else. “And this is Vitamin C,” he said, handing you a little gummy.

Once you’d chewed it up and swallowed it, he settled in beside you and nestled your back against his chest. Pinned between his legs and reclined just enough to let yourself breathe, you laid against him. His hands came up to your head, rubbing at your scalp and temples. You moaned quietly, thanking him and taking his hum as permission to sleep. By the time you fell asleep, his hands were pressing into your aching temples and he was watching you silently, a smile on his face regardless of the fact that he knew he’d be sick by noon.

[flyingprivate]

“Queen of the Skies”

Nearly 55 years after Boeing started production of its jumbo 747 jet, the last model of the iconic airplane left the company’s factory in Everett on December 7, 2022 closing a chapter in aviation history.

Back in the 1960s, Boeing engineer Joe Sutter designed the 747, the world’s first twin-aisle airplane, to carry 400 passengers or more on long-haul flights. Production began in 1967, and the first plane entered service with Pan Am in 1970.

For decades, the 747 was celebrated as the “Queen of the Skies” — and it played supporting roles in movies ranging from “Airport 77″ and “Air Force One” to the 2020 sci-fi movie “Tenet.” More than 1,500 of the planes were produced.

But as the aviation industry came to focus on fuel efficiency and point-to-point route planning, the business model for the passenger 747 became obsolete. In recent years, the 747 has increasingly been used for cargo rather than passengers, and the baton has been passed to other wide-body jets such as the 767, 777, 787 and 777x.

Although it’s the end of the production line for the 747, it’s not yet the end of the line for the planes. Existing 747s, including the one that rolled out on Tuesday, are expected to stay in operation for decades. 

And the 747s are due for another turn in the spotlight a few years from now: Two 747 jets that had been built for a now-defunct Russian airline are currently being converted for presidential Air Force One service, with delivery set for the 2026-2028 time frame.

Courtesy: Boeing Photo / Paul Weatherman

[retropopcult]

The Last 747

After 55 years, the Queen of the Sky has reached the end of its runway.

At the Boeing factory in Everett, Washington, the very last 747 aircraft is scheduled to come off the assembly line this week.  The photograph above is from the ceremony for the very first 747 made at the same facility in 1967.  Flight attendants from all the airlines that purchased some of the first 747′s posed in front of the passenger jet.

Boeing says the plant where they are assembled is the largest building (by volume) in the world. It was built specifically for 747 production back in 1966, and would eventually produce 1,574 of the jumbo jets.

The massive 747 flew hundreds of passengers comfortably and efficiently across the globe — making long haul international travel more attainable to people around the world. Commercial versions of the 747 could easily transport over 400 passengers, with a range that could reach 8,000 nautical miles.

[lovingmsjane]

Now we are here...

A Nintendo Switch, a book, a laptop, a sweatshirt, a bottle of water, and a Redbull. What you are really looking at here is an attempt at patience... a thing I am not very good at.

I am not a "sit still in this chair and wait for three hours" kind of person. I am a "the lights are too bright," "too many people in here are talking," "that person is sitting too close to me," "dear God please don't make eye contact with me," "I'm bored," "it's cold in here," "if I don't pace this room I will need to crawl out of my skin," kind of person. If you don't know me that well, or haven't figured it out already, I am autistic.

My similarly neurodivergent partner is also not a "sit still in this chair and wait for three hours" person, which is usually wonderful, because we stay at home and avoid social interactions and unfamiliar places and routines like the plague, together.

This morning, though, I paced the house gathering things into my bag, my unnecessarily spacious bag that I bought to haul around my DSM-5 and other social work literature because I will definitely need those at any given moment in my life and they definitely aren't just a several-years-long special interest of mine, because I needed to be the "sit still in this chair and wait for three hours" kind of partner today. I will need to be that partner for now, and maybe, forever.

My partner was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in April 2024 after a myriad of issues worsened and arose following contracting covid two months prior. We met three and a half years ago, and since then I've heard minor rumblings of nerve pain and numbness, annoyances at frequent migraines and clumsiness, and phone calls to neurologists seeking answers that were so close to the right track, it's amazing they fell short. When her covid symptoms didn't go away with ease and the numbness, migraines, clumsiness, and nerve pain increased, my partner became more concerned. When new symptoms like distorted vision in one eye arose, she became panicked. Of course, Doctor Google came in handy for worsening that panic, but she was assured by her neurologist that it couldn't be that big, scary diagnosis, and she didn't need an MRI. She insisted one anyway.

That doctor called on a random Thursday evening following a review of the MRI, the one who said it was definitely not anything more than small fiber neuropathy, and diagnosed my partner, over the phone, with Multiple Sclerosis (MS). We were laying in bed when the phone rang, my head on her chest when she answered. I heard every word.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't you dare fucking cry, is the only thing that ran through my mind.

Unlike my partner, I knew about MS. I knew a lot about MS. My best friend, whom I call my sister, has a mother with MS. It is a disease I had heard about, time and time again, for years, from the mouth of a scared daughter, a future caregiver, a person who knew the ins and outs of that feeling I felt when I heard those words over the phone. I knew the power of that knowledge, the power to make that phone call scarier for her than it already was, by letting out a single tear.

She was told to contact an MS specialist, and without a shred of emotion, positive or negative, she said goodbye to the neurologist who should have caught this diagnosis sooner, and she hung up the phone. We just stared at each other for a while in silence.

When we finally did speak about it, she looked at me, tears welling in her eyes, and said softly, "What's going to happen to me?"

Then came her tears.

"I don't know, love."

And that's the thing about MS. You don't know. No amount of knowledge about the disease can tell you what your future with it will look like.

For now, I'll save the details of what I felt that day and in the days after for another post, and get back to what I feel today.

Suddenly, I understand a lot of medical terminology that I should hear as mumbo-jumbo. We have sat up late at night staring at so many brain, c-spine, t-spine, with and without contrast, MRIs that suddenly, I know what I'm looking at and what I'm looking for. I've watched my partner get an IV steroid administered on our living room couch, the couch I bought for my first apartment 5 years ago that traveled with me to the home we bought together a month before her diagnosis, that was suddenly surrounded by a nurse, an IV pole, a sharps container, and a bag of medical waste. Suddenly, I have a file on my laptop where I keep notes of each medical appointment, a running note of all appointments to date, and an excel spreadsheet calendar to keep track of all upcoming appointments. And suddenly, I have learned that I actually do have patience when it's for her, and was disappointed when her 4th MRI since April took half the time we expected, because I had hoped to read more of my book in the waiting room between our hour-long drive to and from the hospital with the special MS MRI protocols.

I also learned today that I forgot the most important resource a companion awaiting their partner at a long medical appointment could have in their bag... snacks.

I chuckled a bit at that when I realized it in the waiting room. I felt like an amateur. The husband pacing the room with his bag of chips, talking to nurses and techs he knew on a first-name basis, who didn't have to pay the $7 parking fee because he knew of a loophole, made me feel like today was my first day as a partner to chronic illness... because it was.

We got past the neurologist who swore it wasn't MS, the diagnosis, the first MS specialist who I'd have some choice words for if I saw again, the rescheduling of MRIs because our local radiology center can't keep their one and only 3T MRI machine in operation, the switch to a fantastic MS specialist at a big, fancy teaching hospital, the beginning appointments of reviewing imaging and setting things in motion and now we are here. We have arrived at the long drives and long waits for MRIs, labs, treatments, and who-the-hell-knows what else to come.

We got home tonight, and I made dinner. My partner accessed the report from today's MRIs on her patient portal while I was cooking and said, "Do you want me to read this out loud to you now or should I wait until we are done eating? If it's bad, I don't want to stress you out."

"I'm not stressed out. That report could say that you'll lose the ability to walk tomorrow, that you'll never fully regain your eyesight, that the numbness will never go away, and it wouldn't stress me out. I've got you... no matter what."

[courtney-deserved-better]

my fair lady - a gwourtney choose your own adventure!

this is part one of the gwourtney oneshot determined by polls! i've made it into a choose your own adventure (but you can also read it like a fic on ao3 here if you choose). there will be a poll at the end of this post where you vote on what happens next. without further ado, here is part one!

In economy class of Total Drama’s Jumbo Jet, Team Amazon and Team Chris sit dejectedly across from one another on benches.

“I usually don’t mind travel,” Cody says, “but I’m really getting sick of spending all my time on this plane.”

“I second that,” Noah says.

“Thirded,” Owen adds.

“I… fourth it?” Tyler says.

“Movement passed, meeting adjourned,” Gwen says.

Heather frowns. “You sound like Courtney.”

“Where is Courtney anyway?” Sierra asks. “She’s been gone way too long for a bathroom break.”

Gwen’s stomach drops. “Do you think she’s okay?”

“It’s Total Drama, none of us are okay,” Noah quips.

“I can look for her,” Alejandro offers, standing. “I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine on my own, cerebrito.”

Noah raises an eyebrow. “Do I want to know what that means?”

“Brainiac,” Courtney translates, marching into the room with a bucket of goop. “Or smart cookie. Or little brain.”

“…Little brain?”

Alejandro offers Noah a winning smile.

“What’ve you been up to?” Gwen asks, gesturing at Courtney’s bucket. “We thought you might be in trouble.”

“I was just whipping up a little something for your hand,” Courtney says. She plonks her bucket down next to Gwen. “This stuff is perfect for sunburns. It’s a special mix of green tea and bird guano.”

“Wow, that’s… really nice of you.”

“Give it a try!”

Gwen sticks her hand in the substance and the searing burn of her hand fades into a dull throb.

“Oh, that’s excellent! Thanks, Courtney.”

Courtney smiles. “Anything for you—and the team! Anything for you and the team. Because we’re all a team. And we need to be a good team. So we can win. I like winning. Yes. Good.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Alejandro says queasily, “but did you say there was bird guano in that mixture?”

“Yep!”

“Ah. I am going to… go to the confessional.”

“Need me to hold your hair back?” Noah calls after Alejandro, who scurries out of the room giving no response.

“Clingy much?” Heather says.

“It’s not that,” Noah says. “I think he’s up to something.”

Heather’s eyebrows shoot up. “You what?”

“I think he’s up to something. The guy’s slippery—”

“We’re having a chat right now,” Heather says, grabbing Noah’s arm and hauling him out of the room.

“…Okay?” Noah lets himself be dragged off, but not before looking back at the others with a deadpan, “Help.”

Owen waves. “Bye little buddy!”

“You don’t mind that it’s bird guano, do you?” Courtney asks Gwen.

“Are you kidding? That’s nasty. I love it!”

Courtney’s smile grows wider. “It’s the least I could do. Especially with Chris and Chef taking over first class—that can’t be good.”

“I’m more worried about Heather and Noah,” Gwen whispers. “What if they’re forming an alliance?”

“I dunno, seems like they just wanted to talk about Alejandro. He might be up to something.”

“I think we should form our own alliance. Starting with some reconnaissance.”

[caffeinated-chaos-bean]

Ohana Comic-con 2024

Con today was fun!! I would have had more pictures but... honestly, most of the booths this year unfortunately had signs saying "No Photos" so I couldn't take pictures of a lot of what was there... Aside from the few anime booths, there was a booth for both wooden and metal katanas/swords, at least 3 different Sanrio booths, a ton of custom legos and lego characters, an entire plushie booth, a ton of Funkos scattered around in different booths, a whole vintage section that included Marvel and DC comics, old toys and reproductions of vintage items, even G1 MLP toys that were in pretty damn good condition if I say so, $10 - $30 blind item anime merch bags, a veteran-run booth with custom pocket knives, swords, a real metal keyblade, etc. I had fun despite being too chicken to enter the costume contest, and I brought home a good haul to boot!!

I got a jumbo sleeping Bulbasaur plushie. Like... he's not as big as what the jumbo "life size" Arcanine plushies out there, but he's still a chonker!

I was able to get a 40th Anniversary Rainbow Brite reproduction doll and boooooooy I am so happy I got her, she was the only one there!

I also got the World Journey Miku QPosket. I couldn't pass up a 50s fashion-esque Miku!!

I got two Jojo Pt.5 posters too, with it them being $5 each but when you buy two then its a total of $7 for both!

Then there was the keychain I got that says "I'm too clumsy to be around fragile masculinity". My sassy, chaotic gremlin ass could NOT pass that one up.

Best part of the haul though?

I got the entire Stone Ocean trio as Nendos, plus Kars!! This brings my Jojo nendo collection to 6 total nendos! I have Pt.1 Dio, Giorno, Jolyne, Ermes, FF, and Kars!!

Can hardly wait for next year's Ohana Comic-con, and I'm super pumped to see what goodies I can find and bring home next time!!

[nicklloydnow]

“Traffic deaths of pedestrians are up by 70% in the last 10 years and pickup trucks are largely to blame, according to a story from The Hill that we ran this week.

The number of walkers killed by “light utility trucks” rose from 732 in 2010 to 1,773 in 2021.

The reasons are obvious. Pickup trucks have long since ceased to be the single-bench-seat, utilitarian work vehicles of my youth, and morphed into monsters. It used to be rare to see a large four-door pickup. Now, it’s practically impossible to buy anything else.

To make them look brawnier, manufacturers raised suspensions and put huge grilles on the front. The hoods are so hard to see over that one congressman has proposed requiring new trucks to have forward-facing cameras and sensors to reduce “frontover” accidents, which is running over people or things you can’t see through the windshield.

There’s a better way: smaller trucks. They exist. We just can’t buy them.

(…)

Every time I see that, I say to myself (or anyone unlucky enough to be in earshot) “There, that’s the truck I want” — minus the machine gun, which I’d only need if I were driving Kris Kobach in a parade.

But we can’t get those trucks here because of two reasons: profits and politics.

Profits, because car manufacturers make way more per unit selling jumbo trucks. And politics because of an antiquated trade policy levying a 25% tariff on imported light trucks, in retaliation for a European tariff on U.S. chicken.

(…)

According to an Axios study, shopping and errands are the No. 1 use of pickups, with 87% of owners reporting they do that frequently. Second was pleasure driving, 70%, and third, commuting, 42%.

Only 28% said they frequently use their trucks for personal hauling, and towing was a piddling 7%.

That same study showed that in 1985, mini-trucks were slightly more than a quarter of all pickups sold. By 2010, that had dropped to zero, and full-size trucks had over 90% of the market.

(…)

So if you want to try to make a dent in traffic fatalities, gasoline usage and global warming, call or write your congressperson and ask them to repeal the Chicken Tax.

That’s not as far-fetched as it sounds. U.S. trade negotiators made a deal in 2011 to allow Korean light-truck imports by 2021, but President Donald Trump, a big fan of trade wars, pushed that back to 2041.

Ditching the Chicken Tax might break the big-truck stranglehold on the market. If smaller import trucks sell, as I suspect they would, our domestic manufacturers might be led to retool and compete.

And then, when it comes to buying a pickup truck, we might once again be as free as the Taliban.”