#The next message you need is right where you are

[geddyqueer]

wip wednesday

thank you @screamlet @setmeatopthepyre @ambernotember! here's some tunnel fic. cw for out-of-context blood:

"Fuck," he says as he bleeds through the toilet paper. He grabs his phone so he can end the voice note because this is turning into a genuinely bad rough draft, but there's blood on his hand and now it's on the screen and he fumbles the phone and drops it right into the toilet. "Great."

He fishes it out. At least he flushed earlier. His phone screen is glitching out from the blood and the toilet water. He swipes at it, trying to wrest back control as every app opens and closes at once, and instead of doing anything remotely close to what he wants his phone decides to open his messages, where Evan's still pinned to the top.

"Do not," Tommy says to his phone, but it doesn't listen. Instead it types a string of gibberish and sends. Congratulations, he wants to say to himself: this is the worst anyone's ever done it.

His phone vibrates.

??

Tommy wipes the screen dry with some more toilet paper. Sorry, he types. Dropped my phone.

oh thought maybe you wanted to talk

He always wants to talk. That's the problem.

ive seen you bubbling me seems like you have a lot you want to say so say it

He sinks down to the bathroom floor and heaves a sigh. Evan, he types, and he doesn't know what to say next, so he just sends it.

tommy c'mon

Okay, he sends, and then he types I need you to know that I wanted to say yes to you so badly that night but I couldn't let your future to be held back by me, and then he goes to delete that and write something a little less incriminating but whether by his shaking hands or the scotch or just the whims of his stupid fucking toilet-addled phone, he doesn't know: it glitches out once more and he can only look on with horror as it sends those first three words.

oh wait this is a sext

Tommy chucks his phone down onto the floor and drops his head into his hands. He's fucked this up. He's fucked this whole thing up so immensely. He takes an excruciating deep breath and picks his phone back up. Sorry, he sends, and Evan texts back immediately.

its fine i dont have plans tonight give me 40 mins?

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tommy says to his bathroom.

---

tags bc i want you to post wips expeditiously: @alchemistc @beanarie @kinardtk @queermccoy

[willbyerssecretlover]

Milevens want marriage because they don't know how to make sure their "love" is real

I've seen it several times and in many places, and milevens are EAGER for a s5 wedding. And I saw a post a few days ago where a byler was laughing at it, saying that milevens want them to have a wedding at 16, and have 10 kids, while us Bylers just want them to hold hands and kiss.

And this, again, I've realized is because of the hetero normativity. Of course it is, because what more can you ask for? They meet, they fall in love, they get married, and they have kids. That's the whole purpose of a relationship, and especially a woman's life. Eleven has been raised in a laboratory and has yet to discover who she is, but that doesn't matter. She doesn't know how social norms work or how to understand a relationship since she doesn't even know what her own limits, likes or dislikes are? What does it matter! Let's marry her off to the first man she knew!!

Their relationship is obviously falling apart, and what milevens need to prove right now is that they still love eachother. And of course a wedding is the best option, because it would "prove" that they are soooo in love with eachother that... They... Just... Break with the principal message of the show for... their love?... A breaking down, messy, lie-builded "love"?

We bylers just need Mike and Will to do small actions like holding hands or kissing to show to the general audience that they are in love with eachother, because there's a lot of media that explains it itself. Everybody knows that Will and Mike understand, support, and love eachother unconditionally, we just need to prove that that's romantic. (Which is kinda easy)

On the other hand, milevens have the general audience. They have Mike and El kissing, and making everything romantic. But they don't have intimate scenes, proof that they understand or support eachother at any moment. Of course El and Mike love eachother a LOT, but it's also obvious that they don't have the chemistry that byler has. Mike clearly doesn't understand El in a lot of aspects, and El doesn't understand Mike in other ones. Their best scenes are platonic because that's when they are more intimate, but when you take it to a romantic path, it's weird and uncomfortable.

They want mileven to get married because they don't know how to prove their love is still real and romantic, so they force it into a "permanent" state like building a family.

Or...

They don't understand the subtext behind Mike's speech, and they think him and El are okay now, so their next step is marriage.

They are just following hetero normative rules and forgetting the whole "Stranger things" message (being yourself even if it's weird for other people).

Kinda sad in my opinion.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 138 (Ash In Captivity)

Ash Landgraab woke inside a small wooden shack. He was still wearing his winter clothes, but a warm sunshine was setting outside the small windows. His head hurt, but he thought he made out palm trees below clear blue sky. Did he smell the ocean?

He remembered being taken by a man in a hood and sunglasses, but the man stuck him with something sharp...and then he woke up here. Outside, he heard the voice of the man who grabbed him, his words muffled as he spoke to someone on the phone.

"How much longer are we supposed to wait? If we can't get back, who knows what we'll even make it back to? The longer we're here-"

The man grumbled, sticking the phone in his pocket as the door to the shack swung open. Ash kept his face forward to mask his fear, making note of the items in the room. An old fridge that smelled like rotting food, a few books, a camper's portable bed, and an old Grimophone.

Catching the boy's eyes glance toward the music player, the man sneered. Did he know what it could do? "It's broken. Don't even think about trying to play music. If you make so much as a sound-"

"You'll do what? Kidnap me?"

"Worse." The man sneered with a shake of his head. "You Landgraabs are all the same. Smart mouths, no sense. What moron convinced your family to let security take vacation during the Easter break? We'd never have gotten close to you, otherwise."

Ash frowned. "I...my Nan said it was a nice idea! How do you know Conrad, anyway? What other Landgraabs do you know?"

Ash's captor laughed. "So many questions! I don't have time for any of them. I need to go get someone; you stay here. If you try to leave, the whole place will blow. And if it doesn't, there will be two men with big guns guarding the door. Their orders are to shoot if you try to escape."

"You said on the phone you don't even know what we're waiting for. Who were you talking to?"

"It's rude to listen to people's phone calls."

"It's rude to talk about people behind their backs!"

The man clenched his fist with a glower. "If you weren't worth more alive then dead..."

He stopped himself, pulling out his phone again. The door slammed shut behind him, and he made a show of loudly turning a skeleton key to lock it behind him. "No bull, kid. Remember, men with guns will be here any second now."

(There is Landgraab in Ash, guys. It's not advisable to talk to your kidnapper like this at nine years old, but just because Ash doesn't talk to everyone this way doesn't mean he doesn't have that instinct when faced with someone rude! He's been raised - by the Landgraabs - believing he's special and his kidnapper all but confirms it.)

Ash slid under the covers in the small bed, waiting until he heard the man swim to an outrigger canoe in crystalline water, parked next to tall black rocks. He could definitely smell the ocean, but it didn't smell anything like the sea in Brindleton Bay.

When the man and his canoe disappeared behind the rocks under the rapidly setting sun, Ash moved quickly. He was familiar with Grimophones because they still had Bella Goth's from the time his parents' learned to make ambrosia. He knew Lavender loved dancing to music playing from the old machine, but he also knew it could be used to summon someone who didn't need unlocked doors to move around.

He'd never used it to call the Grim Reaper before, but he moved close, speaking quietly into the black and gold painted horn. "Excuse me, Mr. Grim Reaper, sir. I could really use your help if you're free right now."

He waited a few long, agonizing moments before the Grim Reaper appeared in the corner. "Ash Landgraab? I was just spending time with dear Bella! What are you doing in Sulani?"

"I...I'm not sure. Someone took me and I woke up here."

"Took you?" Grim peeled back in shock. "Are you hurt?"

"My head hurts and I'm hungry, but I'm okay I think...You're like a courier, right? Can you get a message to my parents to tell them where I am? The man said he had to go get someone and that more men were coming soon, and he said they'd have guns. I'm scared!"

Grim's hollow black face still emanated sympathy for the boy. "Will your parents have time to reach you? It's a long flight to Sulani..."

"My grandparents have a really fast jet," he offered nervously.

Grim nodded. "I'll do everything I can to get them here as fast as possible. When the men come, just try to stay calm."

Ash nodded in agreement as Grim disappeared in another puff of black smoke. His stomach grumbled, but he didn't want to eat whatever might be turning inside the fridge.

Grim reappeared moments later, but he hadn't landed in Brindleton Bay or San Myshuno. He stood before Felix, Lilith, Rafa, and Melissa outside the abandoned ship. Lilith grinned excitedly. "Oh wow! That's not just cosplay; you're the Grim Reaper!"

Felix cleared his throat. He'd avoided Grim for over a century, having taken somewhat personal their last unfortunate meeting on the day of Felix' death. "Hello, Grim. You're not here to reap someone's soul tonight, are you? We're quite enjoying our vacation."

"Speak for yourself," interjected Rafa. "You really won't give up no matter how many times I tell you I won't cooperate with you and Conrad."

"It really is in your best interests-"

Melissa stepped forward with a frown. "He said no. Can't you just leave him alone?"

"I can, most certainly. But Conrad's an officer of the law and I'm not so sure he can."

Grim shook his head, his deep, echoed voice reverberating over their own. "I'm not here to reap any souls no matter how much your bickering tempts me. I'm here for Conrad's stepson, Ash Landgraab."

"He's just a boy!" argued Felix. "You can't be serious."

"I'm not here for his soul; Ash asked for my help. He's been kidnapped, and they're keeping him on an island not far from here. His parents don't even know yet that he's missing. They'll find out soon."

Rafa shot a look at the hooded reaper before them. "You're really the Grim Reaper?"

Felix nodded, remembering his death as though it were yesterday. "Trust me, it's him."

"I don't trust you!" argued Rafa.

"Enough! Time is the only thing that matters and that boy is running out. The people who took him didn't fly him to Sulani on a commercial airline. When Ash called me through an old Grimophone in the shack where they're keeping him, I went back in time to find him."

Rafa's eyes bulged. "Seriously, what the hell is with you people?!"

"It's only a few hours difference. Just a little earlier today. But that just means it'll take his family a little longer to get here and he said there would be men with guns. You could help him before they even know he's gone."

"What men with guns?"

"I'd imagine they're connected to the same group of hitmen responsible for too many of my visits out here."

"So, you're saying a kid was taken by a time traveler and brought to hitmen in Sulani? Why would someone do that?"

"He told you why," Lilith said carefully. "The kid's a Landgraab."

Melissa's face fell. "Like the company? So they took Conrad's stepson for ransom money?"

The Grim Reaper shrugged. "I don't know anything else, other than to note he was headed to the tiki bar when I saw him on my way over here. He looked frustrated - maybe they were supposed to travel to a different time and place but something went wrong."

"What do you mean 'wrong'?"

He shrugged again. "I've been around a long time; I know plenty that can go wrong with time travel. If his kidnapper figures out what went wrong, they could be gone to who knows where, and who knows when, before his family has a chance to look for him."

Felix and Lilith stepped forward eagerly. "We're in," said Lilith. "I haven't met Ash's parents yet, but Felix owes them his life and I owe them for Felix."

Rafa grumbled, as good-hearted Melissa glanced at him cautiously. "You want to help them, don't you...Rafa, it's dangerous!"

"I have to, Mel. If I don't help Conrad's stepson and he knows I was asked, what would he owe me anymore?" ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Time travel?! Blame the new rewards event and the inherent weirdness of The Sims, but just like embracing my gameplay (mistakes and all!) and turning it into storyline, in keeping with the tradition of baking rewards events into the plot, we're going there and this is the gateway!

WCIF Shack Build? Lost Cave on the Sims 4 Gallery by ApollArtemisLuna. I thought it would be this cave-looking lot with big boulders, but when I placed it there were no boulders. If I read German I might have known this only looked like this in the screenshot because it was placed inside the Forgotten Grotto, presumably with TOOL. So I pivoted from Plan A and surveyed the lot I got. Definitely still fit the vibe of the location and -voila!- a Grimophone was included by the creator!

Ash definitely knows what a Grimophone is and what it can do since Heather and Conrad still have Bella's (it's theirs now, really), and the plot sprouted from the gallery build. I can't stress enough how much I love the Gallery and how it inspires my creativity in ways trying to build my own lots wouldn't do! Thank you builders!

[santaklausq]

01. meet your match

pairing: dean winchester (s1) x female oc

notes: first part of ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ series!

(fyi the name of the series is the cute little flower symbol… forgive me. i had no other ideas)

The door to the bar groaned as it swung open, its hinges protesting the movement. Only the moonlight filtered through the windows, spilling across the polished wooden floors in pale silver streaks. The place was empty, save for the silence that seemed to stretch forever.

Dean paused, his footsteps barely making a sound as he stepped across the threshold. “There’s no one here, Sammy.” he said, his voice cutting through the silence as he squinted into the shadows of the bar’s dim interior.

Sam sighed, stepping in after him and letting the door slam shut with a soft, final thud. “It’s two in the morning, Dean. Of course there’s no one here.”

Dean scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he surveyed the area. “Come on, isn’t this the kind of place that’s supposed to cater to the night-owls? The lonesome souls who are dying for a drink when the rest of the world’s asleep?”

Sam shrugged, “Not this one, I guess.”

Dean wandered further in, the creak of the floorboards accompanying his every step. His gaze landed on an untouched bottle of whiskey resting on the counter, the glass glinting faintly in the moonlight.

He reached for it — only to freeze at the sharp, unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.

“Move, and I will shoot,” a woman’s voice called out, cold and firm.

The darkness swallowed most of the room, leaving only a faint silhouette of a girl standing in the shadows, with the gun in her hands pointed straight at Dean’s head.

“Hold on, we don’t want any trouble. We just-” Sam started, his voice measured as he took a cautious step forward.

Shifting the gun towards Sam, she halted his movement, interrupting him. “Applies to both of you.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “Alright, message received. See, hands right where you want ‘em.” He wiggled his fingers in the air for emphasis.

“But sweetheart, there’s two of us and one of you. Not to mention you’ve only got one gun. You sure you can take us?”

“Dean!” Sam whisper-hissed, shooting him a warning look.

The girl didn’t so much as flinch. Tilting her head to the side as if in challenge, she asked, “You wanna find out?”

“Depends. You any good with that thing, or are we just putting on a show?” Dean pushed.

Letting out a quiet, almost amused scoff, the girl adjusted her stance, gun flicking back to Dean. “Oh, love, you won’t even have time to be surprised.”

Before he could respond, another voice cut through the tension. This time gruff and laced with authority.

“Woah, woah, woah! No one’s shooting anyone here.”

A sudden flood of light filled the bar, chasing away the shadows. Sam and Dean blinked against the harsh glow, their eyes finally adjusting to the sight of their would-be assailant.

A young brunette stood before them, her sharp blue eyes locked on them, unwavering as she kept her gun raised. Her dark hair was pulled back into a messy bun, loose strands framing her face, and her expression was one of equal parts defiance and irritation.

What stood out, though, was her attire — nothing but a fitted tank top and sleep shorts, as if she’d just rolled out of bed and grabbed the nearest weapon.

Dean arched a brow, smirking as he took in the sight. “Well, that’s certainly a new look for a gunslinger.”

The girl’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, her glare hardened. “Keep talking, pretty boy, and the next thing you know-”

“That’s enough. Put the damn gun down, kid.”

Behind the bar, an older man stepped into view. His gaze flicked between Sam and Dean before he let out a tired sigh.

“I know these boys.”

Sam exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders “Alec, we didn’t mean to cause trouble,” he said, his eyes briefly darting to the girl as she hesitated, then cautiously lowered her weapon. He looked back at Alec. “We were looking for you. We need some help.”

“It’s no problem, Sam.” Alec replied as he made his way towards the boys. He gestured towards the girl, “This is my niece, Azalea.”

Azalea crossed her arms over her chest, still watching the brothers with suspicion.

“And Azalea, these are Sam and Dean Winchester.”

As Sam talked to Alec about the brothers’ recent case, Dean sat perched on a barstool, elbows resting on the counter. His eyes followed Azalea as she moved across the room, busy wiping down glasses and rearranging tables and chairs with a quiet efficiency.

She didn’t acknowledge his gaze, her focus seemingly on the task at hand, but Dean didn’t miss the way her shoulders stayed tense, or the way she kept glancing toward him out of the corner of her eye.

“Also, Dean’s car started acting up on the way here.” Sam added, shooting his brother a pointed look.

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. Just needs a little tender loving care.”

Alec let out a chuckle before turning to Azalea. “Aza, could you help with Dean’s car, please?”

Azalea exhaled, tossing the rag over her shoulder before looking towards Dean. For a moment, she just studied him, as if trying to decide whether helping him was worth her time.

Finally, she nodded, grabbing her leather jacket hanging from the coat rack. “Sure. Show me where it is.”

Dean led the way, the night air crisp as they stepped outside. Their boots crunched against the gravel, the Impala coming into view under a little shed that Alec usually used as a garage.

As they walked, Dean shot her a sideways glance. “So, you always greet strangers with a gun, or are we just special?”

A ghost of a grin tugged at Azalea’s lips. “Depends. You always sneak into places in the middle of the night?”

Dean chuckled at that, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You caught me.”

They reached the Impala, and Azalea gave it a once-over, nodding in approval. “Nice car,” She remarked, running a hand along the sleek black hood. “A 1967 Chevy Impala.”

“Yeah? What do you say I take you for a spin in this nice car?” Dean suggested, shooting her a boyish grin.

Azalea huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Pretty bold offer for a guy whose car is currently broken.“

Dean placed a protective hand on the hood of the Impala. “Hey, she’s not broken. Just a little under the weather.”

“Uh-huh.” Azalea muttered, unimpressed, before popping the hood. A wave of residual heat rose from the engine bay, and she clicked her tongue as she took in the damage. “Alright, first off — your fuel line is leaking. Probably a crack or loose connection somewhere. Second, I’m guessing the smoking was coming from the engine bay?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, happened after I pushed her a little hard on the way here.”

Azalea reached into the engine, carefully running her hand along the fuel lines. “Could be a small rupture in the hose or a failing clamp. And given the heat, I’d say you’ve got either a busted valve cover gasket or a leak dripping onto the exhaust manifold. Either way, we need to get underneath.”

Without hesitation, she grabbed a flashlight and various tools from a nearby tool chest. “You got a jack?”

Dean rounded the car, pulling the jack from the trunk before handing it to her. Unable to hide his curiosity, he asked, “You do this often?”

Azalea slid the jack into place, cranking it up until the Impala was lifted slightly off the ground. “Not really. Alec just has me do it now and then to help the guys passing through. Earns him some extra cash.”

Dean raised his brow, impressed, watching as she slid under the car with a flashlight in hand. “Yeah? How’d you learn all this anyway?”

“My dad,” Azalea replied, her voice muffled from beneath the Impala. “He was a mechanic. Spent a lot of time in the garage as a kid.”

A moment later, she let out a small grunt of satisfaction. “Found your problem. Fuel line’s got a small rupture near the clamp, slow leak. Looks like heat and pressure wore it down.”

She reached for her multitool, tightening the surrounding clamps before cutting out the damaged section and replacing it with a temporary patch from her own kit.

“That should hold for now,” she muttered, sliding back out and wiping grease off her hands. “But that’s just a quick fix, so you’ll want a new hose soon.”

“Yeah…” Dean trailed off, his gaze lingering on her face. “You got a bit of grease there.” He nodded at her cheek, his hand lifting slightly as if to brush it off.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Azalea replied, swiping aimlessly at her face with the back of her hand and missing the spot entirely.

Dean chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Here, let me.”

Before she could protest, he reached out, his thumb grazing her cheek with a featherlight touch. He gently wiped away the smudge, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

Azalea froze, caught off guard. For a girl who had no problem staring down the barrel of a gun, she suddenly found herself at a loss for words. Her breath hitched slightly as she stared up at Dean, her usual sharp demeanour momentarily slipping.

Dean smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. “There. All good now.”

Azalea blinked, regaining her composure. She took a small step back, clearing her throat as she crossed her arms protectively over herself.

“Thanks.” she muttered, her voice a little quieter than before. Then, as if catching herself, she quickly angled her head towards the Impala, grasping onto the shift in conversation. “Anyways, you owe me one now.”

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Dean grinned. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. Question is, what’s the price?”

Azalea shrugged, leaning against the Impala with her usual confidence. “Haven’t decided yet. But don’t worry — I’ll make it something good.”

Dean huffed a laugh, his gaze flicking appreciatively to the Impala before locking back onto hers. “You know, I think I’m actually looking forward to it.”

Azalea shot him an incredulous look, but couldn’t quite hide the way her lips twitched upward. “Didn’t think I’d be running a full-service mechanic shop tonight, especially for someone who broke and entered.”

“Hey, to be fair, the door was open.” Dean countered with a playful grin. Then, a little more genuine, he added, “And besides, I didn’t think I’d be getting my car fixed by a pretty girl in her pyjamas, but here we are.”

Azalea rolled her eyes, only then remembering what she was wearing. She wasn’t embarrassed — her shorts exposed a lot of leg, sure, but she knew she looked good. Still, Dean’s lingering gaze didn’t go unnoticed.

“You usually win girls over like this? Flash a pretty face, throw out a few smooth lines?” Azalea arched her brow.

Dean smirked, leaning just a little closer. “Only the ones worth the effort.”

Feeling bold, Azalea pushed off the Impala, stepping into his space. “Yeah?” She whispered, her voice low, teasing. Her eyes flicked down to his lips for just a second before locking back onto his.

Dean’s smirk faltered — just barely — but enough for her to catch it.

“Good luck with that, love.” she murmured, her smirk mirroring his own before she turned away, heading back towards the bar.

Dean exhaled, running a hand over his jaw as he watched her go. Damn.

To say he was intrigued by this girl was an understatement. She was sharp, confident, and had just the right amount of bite to keep him on his toes. He liked that. A little challenge, a little fire. And yeah, it didn’t hurt that she was nice to look at.

Azalea glanced over her shoulder, amusement dancing in her eyes. “We should get back inside before Alec thinks I actually shot you in the head.”

Dean smirked as he followed behind her. “Yeah, wouldn’t want him thinking I lost to you that easily.”

Azalea chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, I know you’d lose to me that easily.”

Dean let out a laugh, holding the door open for her as they stepped back inside. “Guess we’ll have to see about that.”

Dean wasn’t sure what he’d expect when they pulled up to this place tonight, but it sure as hell wasn’t her.

(i don’t know much about cars so those stuff were googled. sorry if anything’s wrong or doesn’t make sense lol 😔)

pt2!

[4lexnilsen]

“a monster.   oh,  boo-hoo,  i’m a monster now because i don’t do as you say.”   daddy would be here if he only knew she needed him.   she simply didn’t have the time to send him an S-O-S.   he rolls his eyes,  biting the comment back when these dark brown eyes flicker up to meet his with an emotion that he can’t quite decipher…   rage?   betrayal?   train of thought lost on him as she delivers a mike tyson worthy punch,  nearly making him trip.   his hand immediately flies up to touch the sore spot,  the thick fabric of his puffer jacket served as a cushion,  an additional layer of protection,  but his muscles are still burning underneath.   nerve endings on fire.   his eyes well up with unwanted tears.   “what the fuck’s that for?!   i was just trying to make you look presentable.   right now you could pass for pennywise’s little sister,”   he sneers,  rubbing his arm and blinking away his tears.   “stop it,”   he mocks in a high-pitched voice,  shaking his head because she’s just too dramatic.   he hasn’t done anything to her.   

“i was just trying to help you,  you priss!”   he says loudly,  laughing when she grabs a fistful of his sweater and pulls him down to her level.   it’s only when she takes a hold of his other arm,  moving so fast that he can’t even react before it’s too late,  that he shuts up.   giggles turning into screams of pain.   electric current racing through his arm,  radiating from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder.   he begins to squirm and considers stepping on her foot to make her let go,  but she’s loosening up.   this time,  he just stays quiet,  rubbing his abused limb and glaring at her.   fucking bitch.   she could have broken his arm.   “you think you can just threaten me?”   he feigns confidence to save what’s left of his pride,  even if deep down he’s pretty intimidated.   “i’ll say what i want and we’ll see who gets to keep their teeth.”   what if he said that she’d been sleeping around with him?   yeah,  okay,  harry might try to punch him,  but he’s not really all that scared of harry…   besides,  something tells him that ugly boar would direct his anger at her rather than him.

lingering beside the raven-haired girl’s side as she lunges at one of harry’s idiot friends next,  alex can’t help but lift his brows and whistle at the revelation.   harry leaving with another woman?   what a surprise!   his arm is still burning,  joints sore where she’d twisted them,  and he should feel no compassion towards her but…   suddenly,  it all begins to make sense.   so harry really is cheating on her.   must be why she assumes she’s doing sarah a favor by exposing his behavior.   must be why she thinks he’s incapable of staying faithful.   it makes his heart feel all weird,  heavy and fluttery at the same way.   his stomach twisting when he catches a glimpse of her expression.   “give me that,”   he grumbles,  unceremoniously slipping his hand into the pocket of her coat,  pulling out her car keys.   it might be her father’s car,  but he refuses to trust her to get them to wherever harry’s having his fun at safely.   he’s not letting her drive.   “hey,  you!”   he calls out after the guy,  whatever his name is.   “where’d he go?   where can we find harry?   her father has some really urgent message to pass on to him.   it really can’t wait till tomorrow,”   he fibs,  unsure why he’s still here,  trying to help helena uncover her boyfriend’s infidelity when he should be on his way back home.   he doesn’t even have to say anything,  looks like their relationship’s about to get flushed down the drain.   there’s his payback.   too bad it doesn’t taste so sweet,  after all.

"is daddy here, right now, helping me deal with a monster? no." the raven haired girl snaps, eyes immediately become widened at gravity or alex's strength yanking her back. as if that wasn't enough to get her blood pressure sky rocketing– the material of his shirt is roughly digging into her skin causing her face to hurt and burn that she's shoving away with a quick turn of her face. at this point, believing he's trying to suffocate her. her fist balling, SLAMMING it into his bicep once they're inside the lounge blaring loud pop music that he's dragging her into by her arm. "STOP IT," yelling over top of it, eyes serious and angry as she seethes and stares up at him, "i'm not your rag doll you can just SHOVE around," hand clutches onto his shirt, yanking him down here. other hand grabbing his hand that's wrapped around her small arm and twisting his backwards, pressing hard on that sensitive pressure point she knows where to dig her thumb into thanks to a lot of time put into self defense to bring a lot of pain, "put your hands on me one more time and i will snap your wrist like a twig." it's already been thought about, no one else would've hesitated this long and she shouldn't even do so now after he had the audacity to put his grimy hands on her like that and jerk her backwards by her coat. "it would do you better to keep your mouth shut." still twisting hard, teeth gritting, "harry's not going to believe you anyway and if you open your mouth... you might lose a few teeth." when she rams her fist in his jaw, that's not a threat, that's a promise.

"hey helena! what are you doing heree?" a drunken slur of one of harry's friends gets her attention, having her quickly spinning on her heel. "wait. you are helena..." the blond points out and causes her confusion, "yeah?" what does that mean exactly? "oh, that's weird." he chuckles, holding his drink in hand, "why's that weird?" she questions, to which she earns hesitation before he finally comes back and blurts, "beee-cause. harry just left. some time ago. can't 'member... with another dark haired girl. juss' like you?" that causes her heart to drop, feeling the heaviness of it SINKING deep into the pits of her belly. "what do you mean? when?" then he pretends he didn't just unload that on her and starts to turn, to which helena reaches out and yanks her next victim by the shirt for the second time tonight, "when?" she demands this time. "ohhh jee-sus, okaay. okay. umm," swallowing, harry's going to kick his ass now, trying to squirm out of his feisty girlfriend's grip. her hands just grip TIGHTER. "ten! ten minutes ago but don't tell 'im okay? don'ttt." letting his shirt go now, he runs off and she's left silent with mixed emotion creasing her brows. calculating what to do next. after one more second of thought, taking her phone out of her jacket, contemplating if she should call, text or... another option.

[serapharua]

୨୧ 一 &TEAM WITH AN IDOL S/O . . !

&team ot9 — GENRE : imagines headcanon fluff — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : none — REQUESTED : yes. ☆ — &t masterlist

note : i apologize if it’s a tad bit repetitive.

K :

K understood the demands of being an idol better than most. The packed schedules, the pressure to always perform at your best, the scrutiny from the public—it was all something he had experienced firsthand. That’s why, as your boyfriend, he became your biggest supporter while also being the one who made sure you took care of yourself.

He wasn’t the type to shower you with loud praise, but his support was constant and unwavering. Whenever you had a big performance, he’d send you a message beforehand:

You’ve practiced hard. You’re going to do great. Just have fun out there.

And afterward, whether it was a huge award show or just a regular music broadcast, you’d always find another message waiting for you.

Proud of you. Get some rest.

If your schedules overlapped, K was discreet but attentive. He wouldn’t make things obvious, but his gaze would always linger on you during events, checking if you were doing okay. If he saw you looking exhausted, he’d subtly pass you a water bottle or make sure you had space to breathe.

When you were overwhelmed, K didn’t push you to talk about it right away. Instead, he’d pull you into a quiet moment, away from the cameras, the lights, and the expectations. “You don’t have to smile right now,” he’d murmur, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Just be here with me.”

On the rare occasions when you had a break together, K made it a point to keep things simple. No grand gestures, just the kind of peace you both rarely got in your busy lives. A quiet walk, late-night talks with soft music in the background, or just lying on the couch together, no words needed.

“I don’t need to do anything fancy,” he’d say when you apologized for not having much free time together. “I just want to be with you.”

Of course, K had a playful side too. If you ever acted cool and charismatic on stage, he’d tease you about it later. “So that’s how you talk to your fans?” he’d smirk. “Should I start calling you by your stage name too?”

But at the end of the day, he was the one who truly saw you—the version of yourself beyond the spotlight, beyond the idol persona. And no matter how far your career took you, K would always be the steady presence reminding you that, to him, you were just you. And that was more than enough.

FUMA :

Fuma was the perfect mix of supportive and teasing when it came to dating an idol. He admired your talent and dedication, but he never let you take yourself too seriously. While fans saw the confident and charismatic version of you on stage, he was the one who got to see the real you—the one who complained about tight schedules, struggled with choreography, or sent him ridiculous voice notes at 3 a.m.

He was always keeping up with your activities, even if he acted casual about it. He’d be sitting next to you, scrolling on his phone, and suddenly go, “Oh, so you had an interview today? You forgot to mention you called yourself bad at cooking again.”

“You watched that?” you’d ask, grinning.

“I have to keep tabs on you. What if you say something embarrassing?” he teased, ruffling your hair.

But beneath all the joking, Fuma was your biggest supporter. If you had a major performance, he’d watch it no matter where he was. You’d often wake up to texts like:

10/10 performance, as expected. I think I’m your biggest fan.

He’d even stream your songs casually, pretending it was no big deal. But the real kicker? He knew your choreographies. You caught him once, absentmindedly doing part of your chorus while waiting for coffee, and when you called him out, he just smirked. “It’s catchy, okay? You make it look so easy, I wanted to try.”

Whenever you were exhausted from practice or frustrated over small mistakes, Fuma was the first to remind you to be kind to yourself. “You don’t have to be perfect all the time,” he’d say, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “You’re already amazing.”

On your rare days off together, he made it a rule to keep things completely stress-free. No work talk, no schedules—just you two doing normal things like binging a show or grabbing food at a quiet place where no one would bother you.

“Bet your fans don’t know you look this cute in sweatpants,” he’d tease as you curled up on the couch.

“Shut up,” you’d laugh, throwing a pillow at him.

At the end of the day, Fuma never let the industry change the way he saw you. No matter how famous you got, to him, you were still the same person—the one he adored, supported, and would always stand by, both on and off the stage.

NICHOLAS :

Nicholas knew what it was like to train, to perform, to constantly be under pressure—so dating you, an idol, was something he naturally understood. He never pried when you were exhausted from schedules, never pushed you to talk when you needed space. Instead, he was just there—a steady, grounding presence in the chaos of the industry.

He never missed a comeback, even if he acted like it wasn’t a big deal. “Oh, your new song dropped? Guess I’ll check it out,” he’d say, scrolling on his phone. But the moment you turned your back, he was watching the MV again, analyzing every detail, silently feeling proud.

He had a habit of catching onto small things before you even said them. If your shoulders slumped after practice, he’d pass you a drink without a word. If you let out a frustrated sigh, he’d casually ask, “Want to rant or do you need a distraction?”

And speaking of distractions—Nicholas was the king of them. If he sensed you overthinking, he’d do something ridiculous just to make you laugh. Like attempting to mimic your choreography with exaggerated movements or suddenly rapping the fanchant to your song in the most monotone voice possible.

“Nicho, stop,” you’d whine, half laughing as he dramatically flailed his arms.

“What? I’m showing my support,” he’d say, smugly continuing.

He never failed to remind you how talented you were, even when you doubted yourself. “You’re you,” he’d say simply, as if that was all that needed to be said. And to him, it really was—because no matter how much pressure the industry threw at you, Nicholas always saw you as more than just an idol. You were his person.

And when you were with him, you weren’t just an idol. You were just you.

EJ :

Dating as idols wasn’t easy, but EJ made it feel effortless. He understood your struggles because he lived them too—early mornings, endless rehearsals, the pressure of always being “on.” But with him, there was always a sense of quiet comfort, like you weren’t going through it alone.

He wasn’t the type to be overly affectionate in public, but behind the scenes, he made sure you knew he cared. If you were exhausted after a long day of schedules, he’d offer you his hoodie without a word. If you had a comeback, he’d casually bring up your song during a live, subtly hyping you up without making it obvious.

“We’ve been listening to a lot of good music lately,” he’d say, glancing at the camera before adding, “Right, guys?” The members would snicker, knowing exactly what he was doing.

Whenever your groups overlapped at music shows, EJ always found a way to check in on you. Whether it was slipping you an extra bottle of water or shooting you a quick thumbs-up before your performance, his presence was a grounding force amidst all the chaos.

Rehearsals were another story. If you practiced in the same building, he’d peek into your studio between breaks, watching you with a small, fond smile. “You work too hard,” he’d say, leaning against the doorframe. “Take a break before I have to drag you out.”

Despite his own busy schedule, he never forgot the little things. If he knew you had an important event coming up, he’d text you before bed:

Don’t overthink it. You’re going to do great.

Also, if you’re nervous, imagine maki doing your choreography. That should help.

Dating EJ meant knowing you had someone who truly understood. Someone who didn’t just admire the idol version of you but loved the person behind it all—the one who got excited over late-night snacks, grumbled about dance practices, and sometimes needed a quiet hand to hold.

And in return, you were always there for him too. Because no matter how hectic things got, you were each other’s safe place.

YUMA :

Yuma was used to living in the spotlight, but dating another idol? That was something he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t the fame or the attention that fazed him—it was the little things, like how difficult it was to find time for each other between packed schedules and constant travel. But somehow, he made it work.

He was always the first to watch your new performances, analyzing every detail like a devoted fan. If you had a comeback, he’d be the one refreshing the charts, texting you updates as if you weren’t already aware.

Yuma: You’re trending. Again.

You: Is that your way of congratulating me?

Yuma: It’s my way of saying you’re killing it, obviously.

Despite his teasing, he was your biggest supporter. He’d secretly learn parts of your choreography just so he could dance along when your songs played. The members caught him more than once practicing your chorus in the mirror, though he’d deny it every time.

“You’ve been humming their song all day,” Fuma pointed out once.

“So?” Yuma said, acting nonchalant. “It’s catchy.”

If your groups promoted at the same time, he’d find every excuse to see you—even if it was just for a few minutes in the hallway. He’d stand beside you during group photos, subtly reaching for your hand when no cameras were looking.

And when the stress of idol life got overwhelming, he always knew how to bring you back down to earth. He’d invite you over to just be, no expectations, no performances—just you and him, wrapped in a blanket, eating snacks while he let you rant about your day.

“You don’t always have to be perfect, you know,” he’d remind you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I love you as you are, not just as the idol everyone sees.”

JO :

Jo might not always be the loudest in the room, but his support for you was as unwavering as it gets. As someone who is soft-spoken and gentle, he expressed his affection through quiet but meaningful gestures. You could always count on him to give you space to shine, but he would never hesitate to step in when you needed him.

When you were preparing for your performances, Jo was your calm in the chaos. Instead of rushing in with words of advice, he’d focus on making sure you were comfortable. If you were feeling stressed, he’d offer a gentle touch on your shoulder or a reassuring smile that made everything feel a little bit easier.

You look amazing. Don’t stress. I know you’ll do great.

He had an uncanny ability to read the mood, knowing when to keep his distance and when to step in. On days you felt overwhelmed, Jo would be your silent strength—standing by your side without demanding attention, just offering his presence, which you always found so soothing. He was great at reading the room too, often noticing when you needed to decompress or just needed a break from everything.

One thing Jo was great at was giving you a sense of normalcy amid the idol world. When you two were alone, he’d pull you into simple activities like watching a random drama, enjoying each other’s company in peace, and even cooking meals together when he could. The moments where you didn’t have to worry about being an idol, and you could just be yourself with him, meant the most.

His gestures of affection were sweet and small. He’d always find little ways to show you he was thinking about you, like leaving a post-it note on your mirror with something sweet or bringing you your favorite snacks without being asked. And when you were about to leave for a schedule, he would always take a moment to give you a soft hug or a gentle kiss on the cheek, making sure you knew how much he cherished you.

Jo might not have been the flashiest boyfriend, but his love was steady and constant. He had a knack for making you feel like you were the most important thing in his world, even on the busiest of days.

HARUA :

Dating Harua felt like having your own personal safe space amid the chaos of the idol industry. He wasn’t flashy about his support, but you always knew he was there—quietly cheering you on, paying attention to every little detail, and making sure you never felt alone in your journey.

Whenever you had a comeback, he’d be the first to watch your performance, his eyes glued to the screen as he took in every move, every expression. He wasn’t the type to bombard you with messages, but he’d send something sweet after every stage.

Harua: You looked amazing today

You: You say that everyday

Harua: Because it’s always true

If your groups promoted at the same time, he’d steal glances at you from across the room during music show rehearsals, his gaze soft but filled with pride. And if you passed by each other in the hallways, he’d give you the smallest, most subtle wave—nothing that would attract attention, but enough to let you know he saw you.

Whenever you were stressed, Harua had a way of making everything feel lighter. He’d invite you over for a quiet night in, playing soft music while you both just relaxed in each other’s company. No pressure, no expectations—just him letting you breathe.

“You don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time,” he’d remind you, his voice gentle as he laced his fingers with yours. “It’s okay to just be you.”

And when you were apart for long stretches, he’d send you little reminders of his presence—random photos of things that reminded him of you, or a simple “Take care of yourself, okay?” message that somehow always arrived when you needed it most.

With Harua, love wasn’t loud or overwhelming. It was steady, constant—like a quiet melody that played in the background of your busiest days, reminding you that no matter how hectic life got, you always had him waiting for you.

TAKI :

Taki was the kind of boyfriend who always made sure you knew how much he cared. Being in the entertainment industry himself, he fully understood the pressures that came with being an idol, so he was there to support you in every way possible.

When you were feeling the weight of the constant schedules and public scrutiny, Taki was your constant source of positivity and light. His approach was always energetic but never overwhelming—he knew just when to cheer you up with his playful attitude and when to give you space to breathe. Whether you were worried about a performance or something that happened backstage, Taki had a way of distracting you just enough to calm your nerves.

You got this! I believe in you 100%! And if you don’t, I’ll just have to steal all the spotlight next time!

There was something about his energy that made it impossible for you to stay upset for long. Even on days when you felt insecure or exhausted, his goofy sense of humor and constant smile would get you back on track. He wasn’t shy about showing you affection in public either. Whether it was holding your hand during press events or sneaking you little looks of admiration when he thought no one was paying attention, Taki was always proud to be seen with you.

But what made Taki especially special was how well he could balance being a doting partner and still respecting your boundaries. He was always there when you needed a hug or a few quiet words of encouragement, but he never pushed you too hard. He understood that as idols, both of you needed space to decompress, and he respected that more than anything.

In moments when it was just the two of you, Taki was a sucker for cuddles. He would pull you close after a long day of rehearsals or events, just to relax in your company. His way of showing love wasn’t always through grand gestures, but in the quiet moments—those little touches, his presence when you needed it, and the way he’d always make sure you were okay.

Taki made sure you knew that your relationship was a safe space—a place where you didn’t have to be perfect or constantly performing. He loved you for who you were, and he wanted you to feel loved and appreciated without all the pressure of being in the spotlight.

MAKI :

Maki’s world was filled with excitement and challenges, but when it came to you, nothing seemed to matter more. As an idol, he understood how difficult it could be to juggle fame with personal life. But he also knew how important it was to support you, and that’s exactly what he did, with a calm and genuine attitude that never wavered.

Maki was attentive, but not in an overbearing way. He had a knack for knowing when you needed space and when you needed comfort. He’d casually ask how your day went, but not with the usual small talk—he genuinely cared and was always there to listen to the struggles that came with the pressures of being in the public eye.

It’s okay to have days where you don’t feel 100%. I’m here for all of it.

There was something grounding about his presence. You could tell he wasn’t just saying things to make you feel better; he understood the emotional rollercoaster that was being an idol. Whether it was tough practice schedules or media expectations, Maki would always remind you to keep a balance between work and taking care of yourself. His gentle, supportive nature gave you reassurance even on the busiest, most stressful days.

When you both found moments to spend together, Maki was all about simplicity. He loved taking you to quiet places where the both of you could relax and forget about the world for a little while. He wasn’t into flashy dates or anything extravagant. For him, a quiet dinner in a cozy restaurant or spending time at home while watching movies was enough.

the world can wait. Right now, I just want to be with you.

One of Maki’s best qualities was his ability to respect your independence. Even as an idol, he never tried to control or push you into doing things you weren’t comfortable with. But when you did need him, he was there in a heartbeat—whether it was offering a shoulder to lean on or giving you an encouraging word before an important performance. He always seemed to know just how to calm your nerves.

What made Maki unique was the way he made even the most mundane moments feel special. Whether it was sharing a quiet morning together, walking hand in hand through the city, or just sitting in comfortable silence, his quiet affection made you feel like the most important person in the room. It was a subtle but deep connection, and you knew you could always count on him to be your steady support.

You’re my peace, you know? I never want you to feel like you’re alone in this.

With Maki, you didn’t have to worry about being judged or having to constantly be “on.” You could just be yourself—an idol, yes, but also a person who deserved love and care beyond the spotlight. And that’s exactly what he gave you every day.

Word count : 3361 | serapharua, 2025.

[cutieln4]

made it all look painless, man am i the greatest? | LN4 fanfic

lando norris x oscar piastri (can be read as platonic or romantic)

a/n: hi guys! i wrote an actual lando fanfic like no OC or self-insert or anything, and i also cross-posted it on ao3. it's really angsty but has a good ending so make sure to read the warnings carefully! and as someone who's gone through this stuff, this is in no way romanticizing it. if you are struggling please reach out for help, my DMs are always open!

summary: After Lando's first win, things were supposed to get better. But it only gets so, so much worse.

WARNINGS: suicidal thoughts, self-harm, eating disorders, panic attacks, suicide attempt

After Miami, Lando thought that things would get easier. He was no longer "Lando Nowins." He had finally proved everyone wrong and got that win.

But then, the season continued. It became clear that the Mclaren was consistently challenging for wins. He almost won again in Imola, he missed out on a podium in Monaco due to a red flag, and an untimely safety car lost him the win in Canada.

And suddenly, everyone was trying to conjure up a championship fight out of nowhere.

In Spain, he took his first pole position of the season. Maybe things were starting to look up. Maybe Mclaren actually had a chance this year.

But then he had to go and ruin it just like he always does by fucking up the start, and Max beat him again. He tried to choke down his disappointment during media, unconsciously biting and picking at the skin around his fingernails as the interviewers picked apart his mistakes.

And then Austria happened. He was faster, but he couldn't pass Max. He tried over and over, making silly mistakes as his frustration built. But then, they made contact. He had to retire, yet Max still extended his lead by 10 points.

Lando's chest was tight and he felt like he couldn't breathe as he climbed out of the car. He relished in the pain of ripping the skin off his fingers as he gave his interviews.

He skipped his dinner that night, the pit in his stomach making him too nauseous to eat anything. He spent the whole debrief focusing on not hyperventilating.

When he got back to the hotel, he had a few of the drinks in the minibar, just to help him fall asleep. The numbness he felt almost made up for the pain from the day.

The next day, he texted Max and then went on a run until his legs and lungs nearly collapsed. The burning pain in his chest felt better than the nauseating lump in his stomach.

Silverstone was next, and he finally got to see his whole family, which made the anxiety melt a little.

But then, he fucked up again. That might have been his only opportunity to win his home race, and he fucked it up because he couldn't pick the right tire. It was just like Sochi all over again. He tried not to let the disappointment on his family's face affect him.

There was finally a little break after Silverstone where he could spend some time not thinking about racing. Yet somehow, every time he tried to relax, he couldn't stop thinking about his mistakes, and his nails dug into his skin.

Hungary was even worse. He had to give up a 6-second lead on the second-to-last lap just because he was too stubborn not to switch positions right after he undercut Oscar and race him later on. So stupid.

The radio messages from Will haunted him. You're going to need Oscar, and you're going to need the team.

Then why did he feel like they were never there for him?

He ruined Oscar's first win. He tainted it. He only has himself to blame when Oscar looks disheartened during the tense debrief, but he can't bring himself to apologize. He can't even bring himself to look at him. It's all Lando's fault.

They go out that night to celebrate, and although Lando wants nothing more than to lock himself in his room and not talk to anyone, he feels like he owes it to Oscar to be there.

He ends up taking way too many shots way too quickly, or maybe it's the fact that he hasn't eaten all day, but he's drunk out of his mind as he sits in the VIP booth Mclaren bought out.

The table is spinning in front of him, and the euphoric feeling that the alcohol brings is enough to distract himself from his self-deprecating thoughts. He startles when someone slides into the seat next to him.

"Are you okay?" Oscar asks him, eyes wide as he holds a half-empty drink.

Lando just nods, looking down to avoid eye contact. "Good job, today," he says numbly, but he hopes Oscar knows he's being sincere. It's silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry–"

"Why are you apologizing?" he cuts Oscar off harshly. "I'm the one that didn't let you pass when they told me to. I'm the one who fucked up the start and put us in the situation to begin with."

"I know, but–"

"But nothing. I fucked up everything just like always, and now I've ruined your first win. 'M not sure how you still tolerate being around me, but you should probably leave like everyone else before I ruin your life too."

He didn't mean to say all of that, but the words just kept coming out. And now Oscar is staring at him with a look of shock. He opens his mouth to say something, but Lando quickly stands up and pushes his way to the bathroom before he can.

Once Lando locks himself in one of the stalls, he immediately slides down the wall, head buried in his knees as his breathing quickens. He doesn't know he's crying until his tears are soaking his pants.

Painful whimpers leave his mouth as he scratches at his throat, willing to allow himself to breathe again. His nails rip into his skin, clawing down his throat and his arms.

He stays there until his breath returns and his arms are rubbed raw. Then, he gets up, orders more shots at the bar, closes out his tab, and calls an Uber to take him back to the hotel.

The shots just start kicking in as he stumbles into the backseat of the car. He feels himself going numb again, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He stares out the window the whole ride, trying not to throw up as the world spins.

Finally, he stumbled back to his hotel room and went into the bathroom, and he just stared at himself in the mirror. He's so fucking useless. Everyone hates him. And if they don't, they will eventually.

Lando considers punching the mirror in front of him and imagine that he's really punching his face, but instead, he flops onto his bed and hopes his hangover the next day isn't too bad.

He's off to Belgium the next morning. His mum told him his grandma was getting sicker and it sounded like she didn't have much longer left.

She passed just before the weekend started. Seeing his mum cry had been one of the most painful parts of it. He at least got to see her one more time before she left. But of course, it had to be right before the Belgian race.

Winning here would mean so much after what happened. He wanted to do this for her and his whole family. He couldn't let them down.

Max was also taking an engine penalty, so this weekend should've been a good opportunity to gain points on him in the championship.

Yet he could only manage 4th in qualifying, and the race went even worse. He was stuck behind Max for several laps, but he just couldn't get past.

6th. 6th in a "rocketship," as everyone liked to call it. Why did Mclaren even want him? He couldn't even finish in front of Max, who started way behind him.

He disappointed his family, he disappointed his team, he disappointed his fans, he disappointed everyone. He didn't even want to see what people were saying about him online. He already knew that he was a fraud, he didn't need others pointing it out as well.

He let Max Fewtrell drag him around during the summer break, and he spent the whole time dodging Max's worried glances and acting like he was having fun. The only time it was bearable was when they went out and he was several drinks deep, too drunk out of his mind to even think about racing and his failures.

Nearly every night he got blackout drunk. He didn't see the problem with it, but it raised red flags with his best friend.

"How are you doing, really?" Max asked him when they went out to lunch, just the two of them.

Lando wrinkled his nose, looking off to the side to avoid eye contact. "I'm fine."

Max sighed, seeing right through his bullshit. "Dude, come on."

"I don't know why everyone is acting like I'm falling apart! This is the first time I have a chance at the championship, I think it's only reasonable that I'm acting a little different," Lando replied, exasperated. He was sick of everyone acting like something was wrong with him.

"Right, because getting wasted every night is a healthy coping mechanism?"

Lando laughed, dryly. "I'm on fucking vacation. If you're going to talk about feelings and bullshit the whole time I might as well fucking leave!"

And with that, he dug some money out of his wallet, slapped it on the table, and left.

Another relationship he fucked up. Just like always.

He spends the rest of the summer break alone in Monaco.

He's lost more weight by the time he arrives at Zandvoort. Jon asks how he was eating over the break, and he insists that he's been following his meal plan.

He just can't eat. There's a churning in his stomach that makes him want to throw up at the thought of food.

Lando gets pole on Saturday. It should feel good, but it doesn't, he knows he's gonna lose the lead on the first lap anyway, just like what everyone says.

He beats Max by 23 seconds, but his face is stone-cold as he poses for the cameras. He still messed up the start, if it wasn't for his pace, Max would've won again.

The interviewers point out his mistakes, the team points out his mistakes, and everyone points out his mistakes. And now people are giving him death threats and calling him arrogant and egotistical because he said 2 words after the race.

He thinks about what would happen if he were gone, if he did what so many people said and removed himself from this world. Perhaps everything would be better that way. He scratches his arms until they're raw whilst he ponders it.

He makes it to Monza. He pulls off another pole and gets a ring for it. It's even a 1-2 with Oscar.

Max is starting in 7th, which means this could be another good opportunity to gain on him in the championship.

His start is good, he's actually leading through turn 1, but then Oscar gets him in the second chicane. It's a good overtake, Lando can't deny, but it gets him out of sorts and Charles passes him too.

Neither Oscar nor Lando ends up winning. What should've easily been a 1-2 turns into a disappointing 2-3.

Some sick part of him feels satisfied when Oscar looks dejected after the race, but he immediately scolds himself for it, guilt flooding him.

When he gets back to his hotel room, he can't help but scroll on social media, and he sees the interviews from Andrea.

"We're only concerned about the constructor's championship."

"The future is Oscar's."

Oh.

The team doesn't even believe in him anymore. They don't think Lando can win the championship. He's only a year and a half older than Oscar, but they're acting like Lando's nearing retirement.

His chest tightens as his breath hitches. He can't breathe. He opens his phone and his thumb hovers over Max Fewtrell's contact, but he throws his phone on the bed instead of calling him.

He's gasping for air as he stumbles to the bathroom, his whole body shaking. They don't believe in him. He's a failure.

Lando scratches at his arms but it's not enough. Tears start forming in his eyes, blurring his vision. He still can't breathe. Why can't he breathe?

He grabs his razor and smashes it with one of his hair product bottles. The blades separate and with trembling fingers, he grabs one and holds it to his arm.

He presses the razor into his skin, then slowly drags it across. The stinging pain is welcoming. It's a different kind of pain than just scratching at his arms. He watches as the blood beads up, and his lungs open up just a bit.

He keeps going a couple more times until his breathing is almost back to normal, and he just stares at the blood. It feels good. He deserves the pain after all his mistakes.

He stays there until the blood is dried, and then he eventually cleans it up and collapses in his bed. He feels guilty. He feels lonely. He still feels like he wants to die. All he does is squeeze his eyes shut and hope he falls asleep soon. He doesn't.

He's scared Jon will see, but he's also scared that Jon will say he deserves the pain for messing up so many times. He wears long sleeves and is extra careful.

Then, an unnecessary yellow flag in Baku causes him to get out in Q1. If he had any hopes of the championship, it just died. He's confident he'll get in the points, but he still needs to get ahead of Max, and even just one place ahead wouldn't be good enough.

Oscar wins, and Lando only got 4th because of Carlos and Checo crashing. He was in front of Max, though.

He's happy for Oscar, but he can't help but imagine what it would've been if he'd qualified near the front like he was supposed to.

At least Mclaren was leading the constructor's championship now.

Lando can't help but feel ashamed. His teammate, who's only in his 2nd year, has tied his number of wins again. How pathetic is that?

Things start looking up in Singapore. Lando is immediately quick, and he gets pole by a large margin. However, he's starting next to Max. He doesn't celebrate too soon.

But, he manages to keep the lead the entire race, leading by nearly 30 seconds at one point. He's pushing, though, and the heat starts getting to him. Maybe he should've eaten before the race, because his focus slips, and he almost goes into the wall because of a lockup. Will tells him to cool it and take a drink after that.

He's still making silly mistakes, even when he's all alone on the track.

He feels nothing when he crosses the chequered flag and the fireworks go off for him.

They have a month off, which Lando actually wouldn't prefer with the momentum they've been having. It gives him time to get his mind off racing, though.

Yet the whole time, he couldn't get rid of the ache and constant nervousness in his stomach. All he could think about was the stupid championship and the disappointment he would give people if he lost it.

When he got to Austin, he just prayed that they would be quick.

Instead, they were immediately struggling. It was extremely bumpy despite the track being resurfaced, and they didn't do well in those conditions.

The sprint wasn't great. His start was good, for once, making up several places in the first corner, but the pace wasn't there. In the end, he loses out to Carlos because of a stupid lockup, and he nearly gets done by Charles too. Max still extends his lead in the championship.

He curses himself for his mistakes. He doesn't eat until after qualifying later that day, but it must've helped because he managed to get pole.

The race is disappointing. He messes up turn 1, again. The car feels like shit, his back is killing him from the bumpy surface, and he's getting frustrated.

He catches up to Max and tries over and over again to pass him. But Max is a great defender, he knows exactly where to place the car, and it just frustrates him more.

Max pushes him off the track, but Lando finally gets ahead. Will tells him that he's being investigated, but that he was ahead at the apex. But the stewards tell him he wasn't, and the penalty takes him off the podium, putting Max ahead of him so he extends his lead again.

The team tries not to look disappointed in him, but he can see it clearly in their faces. Lando was sloppy and careless with his overtake. He's too nauseous to eat, and he cut his thighs that night while he was staving off a panic attack.

He should've just given the fucking place back. Part of him resents Will, he's the one who told him it was fine, after all. But in the end, Lando knows it is on him.

They arrive in Mexico and Jon is starting to notice. His weight loss is "concerning," as Jon puts it. But he doesn't understand that Lando just can't stomach any food. He's already a picky eater, anyway.

It definitely has nothing to do with the fact that he doesn't feel satisfied unless his stomach is cramping in pain and he feels empty, but light.

Jon also comments on how exhausted he looks, and Lando tells him he hasn't been sleeping well. It's not a lie, after all. Jon gets him prescribed some sleeping pills that are supposed to help. Lando doesn't take them.

Carlos and Ferrari have been dominating the whole weekend, and now there's pressure with the constructor's championship as well as the driver's.

Lando qualifies third. Max qualifies in front of him, even in a shit car. Lando should feel a little consolation considering his teammate got knocked out in Q1, but he can't help but feel useless.

On race day, Lando is battling with Max again, and he does everything in his power not to repeat Austria.

When Max completely pushes him off the track, all he feels is rage. A part of him feels betrayed, but most of all, he is frustrated. He knows his relationship with Max off-track is thrown out the window on track, but it hurts when his friend completely violates the rules just to mess up his race and possibly cause him to crash out.

His pace is rapid at the end of the race. He gets past Charles, but he can't catch Carlos. He thinks that maybe this was Max's plan all along.

But a day later, he and Max are talking normally again, and sometimes Lando hates himself for how easily he forgives people.

Mclaren was supposed to be quick in Brazil, and Max was taking another grid penalty. The pressure was high. The result of this weekend would either make or break his championship hopes.

During the sprint, Oscar lets him through at the end to let him win. He should be glad that he gained points on Max, but all he can feel is the guilt coursing through him.

Maybe everyone was right, he didn't deserve the championship if he had to get team orders. He cuts that night after qualifying is canceled.

He gets pole early Sunday morning and Max is starting 17th. He needs to win this one, otherwise, the championship will surely be over and he'll let the team down.

But the race quickly unfolds into a disaster. An untimely red flag means Max gets a free tire change and starts in P3 with just the Alpines in the way.

Lando can't turn at the restart. He goes straight and runs off the track, and the disaster of a race gets worse for him. He spends the rest of the laps focusing on not binning it in the wall.

It's a relief when he crosses the chequered flag.

The debrief is tense and the air is filled with disappointment. Lando can see it in everyone's faces. He spots Oscar giving him looks of pity. He wants nothing more than to have the ground swallow him up and take him away forever so he doesn't have to face anyone.

He quickly returns to his hotel, and he can't hold it in anymore. The nausea that has become permanent in his stomach is even worse, and he rushes to the toilet as he gags up spit and stomach acid from his empty stomach.

Tears prick his eyes but he wills them back, he cannot be weak right now.

Once he's in bed, he hesitantly looks at his phone. He has a text from Max Fewtrell, who he hadn't talked to since summer break. Lando knows he needs to apologize to his best friend, but it's just easier not having someone who will nag about his emotions or how he's coping.

He opens Twitter. He never should've re-downloaded it, but it was too late now. Immediately, he sees a clip from his interview in which he said that getting to change tires under a red flag is luck not talent.

However, people are changing it, not including the question that literally asked about the red flag. They think he's talking about Max's driving.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he opens the comments.

Arrogant, talentless, egotistical, worthless.

Kill yourself.

There are several death threats and people telling him to kill himself. All of this over a comment that was taken out of context.

A wet laugh bubbles up in his throat. As if he hadn't already thought about it, killing himself. It would be so easy. Especially with the sleeping pills that Jon got him.

But, he can't. He can't let the team down, he still has a constructor's championship to win. At least give them a little something as payback for all their hard work to give him an amazing car.

Lando scrolls until he can't take it anymore, and he throws his phone at the wall, a pained shout leaving his mouth. He bites his sleeve to keep himself from sobbing. He can't breathe. His chest is tight and it feels like his lungs have closed up.

He stumbles out of bed and gets to the bathroom, slamming the door shut and grabbing his razor. He resorts to cutting himself again to make the pain go away. He doesn't sleep that night.

Jon drags him out of bed and to the airport so he can go home. He's thankful, even though he'd rather lay in bed all day.

When he gets to Monaco, it's nighttime there. Lando goes straight to his apartment, not bothering to unpack, and curls up in his bed. He hasn't eaten or slept since the race, but he just can't. The thoughts consume him.

How can I be better? Why am I so useless? Why did I fail?

After 40 hours, he'd tired himself out enough to finally fall asleep, but he still couldn't stomach anything to eat. His ribs poke out now, but he doesn't care. He just can't.

Las Vegas passes in a flash. The media beforehand was exhausting, but it was an incredibly mediocre race from him. P6, but nearly 30 seconds away from Max who was in P5.

Max's P5 also seals the championship for him. It's a bittersweet feeling. Lando knew the championship was pretty much over after Brazil, but now that it was official, it kind of felt like some sort of relief.

But soon, it was replaced with pressure to get the constructor's championship after Ferrari outscored them.

When they arrive in Qatar, it is not nearly as hot as last year, thankfully.

He qualifies on pole for the sprint and Oscar is in P3. He decides right there that if the chance arises, he's letting Oscar win. He's sick of the guilt that's been eating him up ever since that Saturday in Brazil. Oscar deserves it as well, after everything he's done this year to try to help.

The sprint goes as planned with Lando letting Oscar by right at the end, finishing 1-2. But when it comes to qualifying, they only manage 3-4. It's ahead of the Ferraris, though.

There's a knock on his driver's room door as he's packing up at the end of the day.

"Come in!"

Oscar peeks his head in, then lets himself in and closes the door behind him.

"Hey mate, what's up?" Lando asks him, stuffing a shirt into his backpack.

"Hey, um, thanks for earlier, during the sprint. I really appreciated that."

"No worries, it's the least I could do."

Oscar hesitates. "Um, I actually wanted to, uh, check up on you. We haven't really talked in a while and, well, you just seem a little distant lately. I just wanted to ask if you're okay? I understand if I'm overstepping here, but I've just been a little worried."

Lando averts eye contact. "Oh. I...I'm okay," he replies, digging his fingernails into his palms until it stings. "Just a lot of pressure with the season, y'know? I appreciate you for asking, though. Thank you."

"Yeah, of course. Well, I'm here if you ever want to talk, yeah?"

Lando looks at him, trying to find ulterior motives but only finding sincerity. "Yeah, the same applies with me, mate. Thanks."

With that, Oscars nods, says goodbye, then walks out the door. The conversation leaves Lando standing in his driver's room zoning out at the wall, contemplating what Oscar said to him.

The race is hectic, but once they get going again after all the yellow flags and the debris from the mirror getting picked up, Lando is right on the tail of Max, hoping to find a gap to squeeze through.

"We have a 10-second stop-and-go penalty," Will tells him on the radio suddenly.

Lando's heart stutters. What? A stop-and-go penalty? Everyone's bunched up after the safety car, he's gonna end up last.

"For what?" he asks, still stunned.

"Failing to slow under the yellow flags. We will serve the penalty this lap."

Lando doesn't respond. He's trying to rack through his brain to think of when that could be, but he can't come up with anything. He didn't see a yellow flag that he didn't slow for, and Will didn't tell him anything either.

His body is tense, partly with anger at the harsh penalty and partly with disappointment at himself.

"I'm sorry," he says after he crosses the chequered flag in P10.

He's met with silence, but that speaks for itself.

The debrief is tense. Everyone knows that the constructor's championship is on the line, and everyone is disappointed in him for potentially fucking up all their hard work. Oscar pats his back, but Lando knows he's just as disappointed.

He stays afterward and watches the onboard over and over again while ripping the skin off his fingers. There's no light on his dash, the lights on the side aren't lit up, there's only marshals waving barely visible flags while he's going 200 mph down the straight.

He watches Max's onboard. His engineer warns him about the yellow flags. He watches everyone else's onboards and their engineers warn them about the yellow flags. But Will didn't warn him, in fact, he told him to go even faster to catch up to Max.

He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, then he shuts the computer off and rushes to his driver's room to get his stuff. He feels like he's going to explode with anger.

He slams the door shut and punches the wall. The walls are sturdy enough so they don't break, but Lando's hand is aching and it feels good. He does it again.

He feels his breathing quicken as tears well up in his eyes. His legs give out on him as he collapses to the floor, curling up into a ball as he cries into his knees. Painful, distressed whimpers leave his mouth as he sobs uncontrollably.

Between the crying and the panic attack, he can't breathe, and that only makes him panic more, his chest heaving as he desperately tries to get air in his lungs.

His door opens abruptly. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Oscar rush in and kneel in front of him.

"Lando, it's okay! Shh, it's okay, please calm down. You need to breathe."

Oscar is looking at him with wide eyes, unsettled from seeing his normally strong teammate like this. Lando looks back at him with desperation, urgently trying to stop his crying.

When more of Oscar's pleas don't work, he hesitantly wraps his arms around Lando, letting Lando collapse into him as he cries.

It takes a few minutes for Lando to stop crying. When he does, he pushes out of Oscar's arms, scrambling to get up.

"I, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have seen me like that," Lando rambles on as he scratches at his wrist.

"It's okay. Do you want to, um, talk about it?" Oscar asks as he pushes himself off the floor, but he doesn't seem sure of it and Lando finds himself doubting the sincerity of the offer.

"No! No, no, I'm fine. Just the stupid penalty, s'all. I'm fine," he insists, mustering up a smile that doesn't meet his eyes.

Oscar looks conflicted, but eventually, he nods. "Um, okay. Well, if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

It's the second time Oscar has offered to talk within two days, and Lando curses himself for losing it like he did a few minutes ago. He needs to keep it together.

They're immediately off to Abu Dhabi the next day. Oscar doesn't bring up what happened but he keeps giving concerned glances toward Lando. Lando just really fucking hopes that they can pull off the constructors championship.

The weekend starts well. Charles will be starting P19 and they qualified 1-2 with Carlos behind them. All they needed was to hopefully maintain the 1-2 through turn 1, then it should be smooth sailing.

But, nothing is smooth sailing in Formula 1, and Oscar gets spun around by Max at turn 1, dropping him all the way to last. Then to top it all off, he gets a 10-second penalty for a separate incident.

So, the weight of the world rests on Lando's shoulders. No pressure at all.

But, Lando stays in the lead the whole race, driving flawlessly until he crosses the chequered flag after 58 laps. It feels like he can actually breathe for the first time in a very long time. He raises his fists to the sky as the fireworks explode for him and his team. He lets his head tilt back as he sighs in relief

The team is so ecstatic, and that manages to put on smile on his face. He and Oscar sip champagne together, bottles raised towards the night sky as their team surrounds them. For Lando, it's perfect. Just one perfect moment of satisfaction.

On his way back to Monaco, he makes a stop in England. He spends a day with his family, and then the next day he goes over to Max Fewtrell's apartment to see him.

"Hey," Lando simply says when Max opens the door to his apartment.

Max stares at him with a slight look of shock before letting him in. Lando greets Max's girlfriend, Pietra, who then excuses herself to Max and her's room, almost as if she knew him and Max were talking about something serious.

"Where have you been, mate? You haven't answered any of my texts," Max says.

"I know, I'm sorry. I've been a shitty friend. And I'm sorry for my outburst during summer break."

"I just wish you'd tell me what's going on."

"I'm fine, really. Jon has it all handled. He knows I've been going through some shit this year. I'm...getting better, I'll be better." The lie feels sour on his tongue, but it's for the better.

They catch up a bit, and Lando hugs him extra tight when he leaves.

When Lando gets back to Monaco, he gets his affairs in order, he cleans his apartment, and then he writes his letters. He writes one for each of his family members, Max F, Jon, and Oscar.

He puts the letters in a neat pile on his counter, then he grabs a bottle of vodka, drinking straight from the bottle as he heads to his bedroom.

He lays on top of the covers in bed, so there will be no hassle for whoever finds him.

He grabs the prescribed sleeping pills and starts swallowing whatever is left of them in groups of 5 or 6, washing it down with the vodka.

He gags as he struggles to swallow, but he pushes it down. He can feel himself getting more drowsy, and the vodka bottle bangs against his nightstand as he sets it down.

As his eyes close, there's only one thing Lando is feeling; peace.

~~~~~~~~~~

After Lando visited Max, Max had a feeling that something was off. He knew Lando was having a tough time, and there was just a feeling in his stomach that gnawed at him.

Eventually, he picked up his phone and made a call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Oscar, it's Max Fewtrell. Um, sorry, I know we haven't talked in a while, but, you live in Monaco, right?"

"Um, yeah."

"Okay, I have a really big favor to ask, and feel free to say no, but I was wondering if there was any way you could go over to Lando's and check up on him? He just seemed really off when I saw him the other day."

"Yeah, yeah, of course I'll go, it's no problem."

"Great, thank you so much! If he doesn't answer, his spare key is in the plant next to his door."

"Okay, I'll text you after."

Oscar had an unsettled feeling in his stomach as he made the short walk over to Lando's apartment complex.

He knocked on the door a couple of times and waited, but there was no answer. Maybe he was just out, Oscar tried to reason as he dug through the plant beside the door in search of the key.

With a deep breath, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

"Lando?" he called out, taking a look around.

The place was spotless. Nothing was lying around, the tables and counters were clear of everything besides a small pile of letters. Stepping closer, he rummaged through to find that they were all labeled with names, including his.

The blood drained from Oscar's face, a cold chill running down his spine as he realized what this meant.

"Lando!" he called more urgently, running through the apartment trying to find him.

He stopped at the bathroom, but he wasn't there. Then he spotted it, the bedroom door was closed.

Without thinking, Oscar slammed the door open, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight. Lando was lying on top of his covers, eyes closed. Next to him was a bottle of pills and a bottle of vodka. Quickly, Oscar rushed to his side.

"Lando! Lando, wake up! Please, wake up!" he pleaded as he shook the man, but he was unresponsive.

With violently trembling hands, he pulled out his phone to dial emergency services.

"What is your emergency?"

"Help, please! My friend overdosed, and he won't wake up!"

He quickly told the operator the address.

"Is he breathing?"

Oscar held his own breath as he leaned down to listen to Lando, a sigh escaping as he heard slow, weak breaths coming from the man, which he reported to the operator. Then, remembering his medical training, he took the man's thin wrist, taking his pulse. It was also slow, which he told the operator.

"Okay, emergency services will be there in about 2 minutes, are you alright if I hang up?"

"Yeah, yeah," he replied offhandedly, full focus on Lando.

Oscar put his phone back in his pocket and picked up the pill bottle. He didn't recognize the medication name, but the instructions implied that they were sleeping pills. The bottle was empty.

"Please, please, please, Lando. Please be okay," he whispered, tears falling down his cheeks as guilt started eating at him.

He knew something was wrong, he should've seen the signs earlier. He could've stopped this.

He kept his eyes on Lando the whole time until the paramedics showed up.

Everything felt like a blur, and suddenly he was in the waiting room, head in his hands.

Fuck, he had to tell Max and his family.

Hands still trembling, he got his phone out. He had Adam's number, and with sweaty palms, he dialed it.

"Oscar?"

"Hey, um, I, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but something happened to Lando. He tried to, to kill himself."

It was silent for a moment. "What?" Adam replied, voice sounding heartbroken and watery.

"He overdosed. He's stable, though, we're at the hospital in Monaco."

"We'll be there right away," Adam replied, voice cracking before he hung up.

He didn't want to know what Cisca's reaction would be.

One down.

Next, he called Max F.

"What's wrong?" Max immediately asked, knowing Oscar would've just texted if everything was okay.

"Lando um, he overdosed," he said, the words not getting any easier the more he said them.

Max inhaled sharply. "What? Is, is he okay?"

"We're at the hospital. He was alive, but I don't know anything else. His family's on his way, you could see if you could come with them."

"Yeah, I will. Oscar, thank you. I can't–" his voice broke off with a sob. "I can't imagine what would've happened if you hadn't checked up on him."

Oscar didn't want to imagine that either.

"You were the one who knew something was wrong," he replied.

"Still, thank you," Max said, then hung up.

After that, everything went silent. Oscar was still shaking.

It felt like hours until the nurse finally came out to talk to him, and he was still shaking then, too.

"Oscar, right? You're listed as his emergency contact, so you can come see him," the nurse told him, as he quickly scampered up to follow her.

They stepped into Lando's room, and Oscar felt the air leave his lungs. Lando was sleeping, wires connected to his body all over. He looked weak and vulnerable, it made Oscar's heart break.

"The EMTs administered the antidote to reverse the effects of the overdose and the doctor had to pump his stomach as well. But right now, he is stable, and recovery looks good. He should be awake soon, you can press the button if you need anything if you need anything."

With that, the nurse left. Oscar was zoning out the whole time while staring at Lando, so he knew they'd need to repeat that to his parents. When the door closed, he finally snapped out of it and took a hesitant seat next to the bed.

He took in Lando's appearance now that he was closer.

He was pale, so unusual compared to his dark tan. Wires disappeared under his hospital gown. An IV was inserted in his forearm, tape covering the area, holding it down.

The pit in Oscar's stomach grew as he raked his eyes further down Lando's arm. His breathing halted when he saw the scars on Lando's wrist. There was no mistaking that Lando did that to himself, and the thought brings tears to his eyes. He never knew Lando was struggling so much.

He scoots closer to the bed, not taking his eyes off Lando. It's not long until Lando's eyelids are fluttering and a quiet groan leaves his mouth.

"Osc?" Lando asks, voice hoarse, likely from the tube they had to stick down his throat while they pumped his stomach.

"Hey, I'm here, you're okay. Your family is on their way," he reassures, unconsciously grabbing the older man's hand.

"What–how did you find me?"

"Max called, he was worried about you, so I–I stopped by. You, you were barely breathing," Oscar breaks off with a sob, a tear finally falling. "I thought I was gonna lose you," he whispered.

"Oh, Osc," Lando's own eyes well up with tears, and his grip on Oscar's hand tightens. "I'm–I'm so sorry. Nobody was meant to find me," he said, looking down.

"Well I'm fucking glad I did, you would've been fucking dead if Max hadn't called," his voice cracks as more tears escape his eyes. "Why...why did you do it?"

It was silent for a moment. "I didn't want to keep letting everyone down," Lando whispered, voice barely audible. "I thought it would just be better if...if I was gone."

"Fuck, Lan, you know that's not true, right? You mean so much to so many people, you don't even know it. We've all been so worried about you because we care about you. Your family, Max, the rest of the grid, me. I wouldn't know what to do if you weren't here anymore. The world is a better place because you're a part of it."

And that seemed to be the breaking point for Lando because he then broke down in sobs.

"I'm, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he weeps, making Oscar's heart ache.

Oscar lowers the side guard and squeezes into the bed next to Lando, wrapping his arms around him while the older cries into his chest. Oscar rubs his back, whispering reassurances into his ear. It takes a while until he calms down.

"Just, promise me that you'll get better, that you'll get help. And talk to someone the next time you are struggling so badly. Me, Jon, your family, anyone. Just, please, don't do this again."

"I promise," Lando whispers back. And he means it.

[satureja13]

After reading the first of the Books, Vlad and Ji Ho called over the others to the bridge and wer just about to tell them how they felt about it... ... when they got a message and some tasks from time traveler Emit Relevart. There seem to be some uproars about vanished objects (I wonder if this has sth to do with the clutter objects that have been untraceable ^^') The Boys felt obliged to help, that book isn't going to run away and Vlad is quite happy about the delay, he's worried how Jack will feel about seeing Kiyoshi and Jeb Conny and Jett making out...

Sai did some research and they were able to solve the first tasks! (Editor's Notes: Without logging to a new save! Can you imagine? Knocking on wood it stays like that ö.ö)

Next task was to dig out a time capsule out of a pile of rocks. Here, in the middle of nowhere... Luckily they found an asteroid fild along their way and stopped the engines. Jack and Vlad volunteered to jump in their space suits and pay that asteroid a visit ö.Ö'

Ji Ho: "Please be careful." Jack: "Promised. I'll bring him back in one piece." Kiyoshi doesn't look happy about this adverture either...

Jack took some cool selfies and Vlad showed Ji Ho how they'd stay in contact over an app.

Vlad and Jack stepped into the airlock and made their way over to the asteroid.

Right into the little cave inside.

Ji Ho was stunned: "They are so cool." Sai, Jeb and Kiyoshi are more on the worried side, but they agreed.

(Editor's note: This really was cool! These screenshots are not edited. There is this endless black vastness around, the ship and the asteroid field, so awesome. I've built this so many years ago (2019!) and it's still so cool.)

They made it back with the time capsule and a few samples for Jeb. It went a bit wild though, when they accused each other of being a time traveler (or Dina Caliente? It is even possible that they are time travelers, according to their history, they appeared on the eve Bella Goth vanished? And they even have aliens in their bloodline! Huh ö.ö')

The next task was to mull this all over in the tub/shower. Jack got distracted as always...

And Vlad was occupied with thoughts about Ji Ho. And that he liked the book about Conny and Jett so much... But still, he wanted him. Later. To try out things they'd seen in the book?

When everything was set with the time travel tasks, they met again at the bridge. Vlad tried to talk some sense into Jack, but he was determined to read the book. But Vlad insisted they should all read it here - together. So if there were any insecurities, they could talk it out.

Jeb and Jack set up a little corner where they could sit and read together, but Jack decided to sit next to Ji Ho. Seems the others would read the book later... Jack was stunned how alike Jeb and Kiyoshi and Jett and Conny looked: "Wow - Jett has a beast down in his pants, just like you, Jeb!" Saiwa: "Omg, Jack!" Jack: "But Jett didn't hurt Conny! That's good news, right?" Saiwa: "Do not spoil!" Jack: "Sorry! It's just so weird seeing this. I mean, it's very clear they are not Kiyoshi and Jeb. That's a relief. Don't worry about me. Ah, I can't wait to read the other books! We should look out for them on our next stop. I wonder with whom Jet ends up. Hondo mentioned books about Jino and Master Ren and Conny and Val. Everything is possible! Imagine Jet and the Night Shadow! Hahaha" (Jet=Jack's look-alike and the Night Shadow is Sai's ^^') Saiwa: "Omg! Please don't let this come true!"

After Jeb, Sai, Jack and Kiyoshi read the book, they went back to their quarters and Ji Ho and Vlad stayed at the bridge and hoped they would take it well. No need to worry though.

Kiyoshi. "You sure you're fine with this?" Jack: "I am. I'm going to be honest, it stabbed in some of the old wounds. But that was the pre version of me. You know how much we've changed. And our relationship, hm? I can fully accept our fated mates thing. I feel totally safe with you, mate." Kiyoshi: "And I still wish you wouldn't call it like this ^^' " Jack: "'Fated mates thing'? But we are fated mates, and we are doing things!"

Jack: "You are going to do things to me, right?" Kiyoshi: "I so will." ... Jack: "So, Jett was the top, did you notice?" Kiyoshi: "Uhm, yes?" Jack: "We - never talked about this. Is this maybe something you want too? Because... I don't know if I could top you. I like you being my Alpha." Kiyoshi: "I like it too, don't worry, hm? I wouldn't want it any other way." Jack: "Make me yours, then?" Kiyoshi kissed him hungrily. That was all the answer Jack needed. (More about who tops whom and why -> here (below the cut))

Jack: "I love you." Kiyoshi: "I know." Skully: "Close that door!"

When Sai came out of the bath, he noticed the box with Kiyoshi's present on the nightstand. Sai: "Where does this come from now? Did... did you put it there?" Jeb: "No. What is it?" Sai decided it was time for the truth: "Kiyoshi gave it to me before we left Chestnut Ridge. It's - uhm... a wand and polish..." Jeb: "Why would he give you a wand? You can't use wands. You're not a spellcaster." Sai: "Oh, I can pretty use this wand. It's... eh - used to prepare me. For your wand, you know?" Jeb: "My wand? What... ohhhh ö.ö' "

Sai: "I already played with the toys from the monthly boxes from Ye Olde Magick Shoppe. It didn't hurt. We could play together? Jett is built like you and he didn't hurt Conny. Let's try at least. Please?" Jeb: "So that was what you were doing in the tub?" Sai blushed: "Yes. I'm sorry." Jeb: "Don't. Don't be sorry. I should be - for not being able to give you what you need..." Sai: "Let's not go down that road again and figuring who is not worth to be with the other. We've gone past that, hm? Come, let's play. We are going to use lots of polish and go slow. And if it hurts, we stop." Sai kissed Jeb's neck, licked and sucked a bit. Jeb hissed: "Vanië..." And then they played with the wand - and it didn't hurt.

'Imagine there's no heaven It's easy if you try No hell below us Above us, only sky

Imagine all the people Livin' for today Ah

You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will live as one'

John Lennon - Imagine

TMI: This song is 7 months younger than me :3

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter 'Goats in Space': starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Piglets in Space' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 35

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 700

Masterlist

———————————————————————

I was now walking toward my apartment. I hadn’t gone back to Lucy’s car.  

I wanted to be alone, to breathe, to think.  

I had poured everything out, without much thought. I needed it—the words were out, clear and unfiltered.  

Even though she hadn’t known how to respond, deep down, I felt relieved.  

It started to rain.  

Lucy called me several times, then sent me a message.  

  "Ona, come to my place. I need to talk to you."    

On my way to my apartment in the city center, still drenched in rain, I passed by Lucy’s house. I stopped for a few minutes. Should I go in?  

 "I need to talk to you."   

Those were her words. For once, I decided not to run away. I turned onto a path leading to her place.  

I arrived at the back of her house, slipping under a gate. I saw her through the large bay window, in her living room, phone in hand. At that moment, my phone rang. I answered.  

 "Hello?"   

 "Ona! Where are you?"   

 "Behind you."   

She turned around, surprised. When she saw me, she seemed relieved.  

She opened the sliding door and let me in.  

 "Ona, look at you—you’re soaked!"  she scolded.  

I was drenched from the downpour, shivering now.  

 "Go take a bath. I’ll bring you some dry clothes!"   

I protested:  

 "It’s fine, Lucy, it’s just water!"   

 "You’re freezing, Ona. Go on, you know the way!"   

The mere thought of a hot bath warmed me. I headed to the bathroom and ran the water. I slid into the steaming, foamy water, closing my eyes, trying to collect myself after the turbulent evening.  

I startled as Lucy entered the bathroom, holding a towel and clothes, which she set on a chair. She sat beside me, next to the bathtub.  

My throat tightened. I struggled to meet her gaze, which seemed kind nonetheless.  

 "Ona, I wanted to tell you..."   

I interrupted her.  

 "Lucy, we don’t have to talk about what I said. I lost it, and..."   

 "We’re going to talk about it, Ona, and you’re going to let me speak, okay?"   

She took a breath.  

 "I didn’t know what to say in the car after what you told me. It was intense. I was searching for the words, but none came. I struggle with this kind of thing, Ona. I can handle budgets, officials, angry residents, endless meetings—but this, I find hard... What I feel, what I’m experiencing..."   

She avoided my gaze, searching for the right words.  

 "It’s been a very long time, years, since I felt this way. Since you came into my life, I feel like I’m losing control, and that scares me."   

My breath quickened. She slipped her hand into the hot water, clasping mine. She was looking directly at me now.  

 "I want to see you more than once every three days. I want to be with you, to build something. But it’s complicated. I’m just asking for time—until the elections, in five months. After that, I’ll be free, at least from the media’s gaze. You said Alexia keeps pushing you to take a long vacation. So, come with me. Let’s go away for a month! And if we don’t drive each other crazy by then, maybe we can think about living together!"   

I smiled at her humor in such a serious moment. I didn’t know what to say in the face of her declaration. My heart was racing. Yes, I would wait for her.  

I leaned toward her, our lips meeting. We kissed, our tongues entwining in a delicious sensation. In one motion, I grabbed her hip and pulled her into the bath, fully clothed.  

 "Ona! Look at me—I’m soaked now!"  she exclaimed, laughing.  

I felt completely at ease, there, with her, against me.  

 "You know, your late-night messages made me laugh at first. Then, I imagined you drunk

, with her..."   

 "Shh!"  I kissed her to silence her.  

One by one, I removed each piece of her clothing, desiring her bare body against mine, wanting to kiss her all over, which I did—tenderly and passionately.  

I would’ve stayed in that bathtub with her for hours. But I left her house soon after, as the twins were due to return within the hour.  

As I headed home, my body, mind, and heart were all in turmoil, still carrying Lucy’s delightful scent on my clothes.  

The evening, which had started so poorly, had opened a new chapter in our story.  

Before falling asleep, I sent her one last message.  

 "That exhibition was magical!

[calebslittleapple]

fake dating

Caleb’s always used Emme as a means to deter anyone who’s interested in dating him, so when he calls her up and asks for her help, she’s ready. But this time, things are different. They’re not kids anymore, and the desire between them can’t so easily be brushed off. One moment, one touch, one soft bite changes everything, and quick as a flash, Emme realizes that being Caleb’s fake girlfriend… isn’t what she wants, and certainly isn’t what either of them needs. AKA: MC gets upset and marks her territory, making Caleb into her personal chew toy. Things go about as well as expected (he gets her back), and on a bright, spring day, everything changes.

Pairing: LaDS Caleb x MC (she/her)

Genre: This story is closer to a T than M, but let's say, this is good for 16+, just like LaDS.

CW: Codependency; JealousyFake/Pretend Relationship; Biting; Hickeys; University student Caleb; kabedon because i'm a sucker; complicated feelings stemming from their close childhood, trauma and feelings for each other; Pip-squeak as an endearment

Also on Ao3

Complete

Caleb has always been special to Emme. ‘Love’ isn’t broad enough to cover the whole scope of how she feels for him, especially as they get older and things go from scuffed knees and teasing to lingering looks and unresolved tension.

But when Caleb calls her up and asks his Pip-squeak if she’ll help him get rid of a particularly persistent girl at university, she doesn’t hesitate. They’ve been doing this for so long, it feels like second nature to her and, more to the point, it feels natural that Caleb would call and ask this of her.

Why wouldn’t he? She’s done the same to him plenty of times before! Of course, perhaps examining the why and how of that would be a bit too challenging for either of them, but they went on, playing pretend and doing their best not to examine why neither wanted the other to date anyone else.

Ever.

She dressed up nice for this encounter, with her hair swept up into a high ponytail, and her outfit matching the one Caleb had sent a picture of himself in that morning. At the very least, they’ll be able to get a couples’ deal out of this afternoon, right?

When he picks her up at the station, he’s even more beautiful than he is in her memories. Caleb greets her as he always does, with a tight hug, but when he goes to ruffle her hair, he tugs on her ponytail instead. He looks so good in his flight jacket and jeans that she almost forgets to say anything.

“Lookin’ good, Pip-squeak,” he murmurs, not sounding at all insincere about it.

She steps back and does a little twirl, the edges of her short skirt skimming high as she moves. “Look good enough to be your girlfriend?” she asks, fishing for compliments.

“Better, even. I’d be lucky to have a girl like you as my girlfriend.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

She’s a brat for pulling that admission from him, but she can’t help herself. Lately, Emme’s been feeling more and more jealous about their situation. She’s his childhood friend. He’s the boy she’s always loved and looked up to. He’s family. It would be wrong for her to want more from him, but she does. She does so badly that sometimes it keeps her up at night, especially on the nights that Caleb calls to chat with her.

The tone of those conversations has been changing lately as well. Caleb’s always done his best to keep in touch with her, no matter where he happens to be. While at Skyhaven University, he calls and messages often. And sometimes, late at night, when they’re both tired and not entirely thinking straight, he’ll say sweet things that make her heart race, and her body crave.

She beams up at him as he appraises her. Of course, she knows she looks good today. She dressed for him, didn’t she? Couldn’t look anything less than perfect while standing next to someone as painfully hot as Caleb, or she’d stand out.

Of course, Caleb would never expect her to be anything other than herself, and he’s certainly seen her at her worst—and nursed her through many sicknesses throughout their years together. But this is all Emme. She doesn’t just want to show up and stand behind him, she wants to show up and make a statement at his side.

He’s mine.

Even though, he’s not. Well, he is, but maybe not in the way she’d like. But that’s thanks to her heart, which sees fit to covet him and keep him all to herself, just the way he is, even though it is clear as the cloudless sky above that they both want more.

She doesn’t want to ruin what they have, but that comes at the expense of experiencing more. But these moments are starting to feel a little bit like a game that they’re setting themselves up to lose. Caleb doesn’t date because he is ‘too busy’ with coursework, and she doesn’t date because… she is ‘too busy’ with studying.

Those are the lies they tell themselves, and she knows it. She wonders if he knows it, too. Reality is such that Emme can’t see herself dating anyone because no one would ever compare to her Caleb. But taking things further with him means opening herself up to the potential that it could ruin all that came before or, worse, that she might lose him forever.

And she can’t lose him. She wouldn’t survive something like that.

The thought of Caleb not being in her life makes her sick to her stomach, so she pushes the thought aside and decides not to think about it. They don’t normally see each other much outside of summer vacation, but their time off managed to line up well enough that she’s free to indulge him in his quest to be single for all of eternity.

But why…? Why keep playing these games, when they could…?

She knows why, but she pretends the reason is dissimilar to her own. Pretends that Caleb doesn’t want her just as badly as she wants him, but is too afraid to bridge the ever-widening gap between them.

“You okay, Pip-squeak?” he asks, noting the shift in her mood.

“Oh, yeah. I like your jacket,” she deflects, though she does like the way the jacket looks on his body.

“Wanna wear it?” he teases. “Might be a bit too big on you.”

She gives him a look. “Just take the compliment, flyboy.”

He laughs and it makes her heart ache. She so desperately misses making him laugh.

“Flyboy? That’s a new one.”

“I think it works.”

“Sure, whatever you say, Pip-squeak. You hungry? There’s a great place nearby the university that I’ve been dying to take you to.”

So, he’s been thinking about her while at school, just the same as she thinks of him while she’s at home. Every day, in a thousand different moments, she’ll think of him. Wonder what he’d think or say or do, wonder if he’d like the new dish she cooked up—not as good as his, never as good as his—or whether he’d notice the important stuff, like how Gran is getting older and more frail, and how life feels like it’s pulling her in a strange, unknowable direction.

Caleb is right, though, she loves the restaurant. It’s a great little sushi place that’s filled with other students, probably since it’s tasty as hell and cheap.

“No cilantro on the menu?” she teases.

He makes a face. “’Course not.”

She snickers. “Baby.”

Caleb shrugs. “Not my fault it tastes like soap.” Emme picks up a roll with her chopsticks and pops it into her mouth while shaking her head. Caleb almost immediately reaches across the small table and brushes her lip. “Rice grain.”

“Oh.”

“Still such a messy eater.”

“Yeah, well. I’m hungry, and this place is great.”

“I knew you’d love it,” he says, chest puffing with pride as he leans back into his chair.

He looks good, she thinks. Relaxed, even. Sometimes, when they talk on the phone, Caleb sounds like he’s stressed and holding it back so that he doesn’t upset her. But now, he looks great. Better than great, even.

Hot, the word flitters through her mind, unbidden but not unwelcome.

When they finish eating and pay—well, Caleb pays, he insists—she asks, “Where to next?”

He shrugs. “The cherry blossoms are blooming at the Quad, if you wanna see. It’s pretty spectacular right now.”

She beams. “I love cherry blossoms, plus, you can show off your cute girlfriend there.”

“Yeah, yeah. Exactly, ” he laughs while seamlessly wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll show you the way.”

Caleb is a great tour guide, and he points out all the places where he has classes, and where he frequents. He tells her little anecdotes about his daily life, makes her laugh, and makes her miss him so fiercely that she almost feels a little afraid, as if something could pull them apart, even now, when he’s standing right beside her.

As if sensing her distress, Caleb tugs her around to face him. “What’s going on, Pip-squeak?”

And she’s just about to brush it off and ignore her stupid feelings, but someone calls Caleb’s name. The voice is high-pitched, a little nasally, and most definitely feminine.

“Shit,” he grumbles.

“Showtime?” she smiles up at him gamely.

“Please,” he murmurs while brushing back a lock of her hair. “She’s a whole problem just on her own.”

“Charlotte?”

“The one and only.”

Caleb’s spoken of this girl and how she just can’t take a hint, no matter how many times he brushes her off. She’s the specific reason that Emme is here with him today. Leaning into Caleb, she turns and looks as the girl crosses the Quad to see Caleb.

Even now, with Caleb’s arm around her, Emme can tell that the girl isn’t deterred in the slightest, and she understands where her confidence comes from, she’s an attractive woman… who completely ignores the presence of Caleb’s ‘girlfriend’ and talks to him without introducing herself.

“I guess you weren’t lying about being busy,” she says, sounding put out.

Caleb shrugs. “Gotta take care of my girl. This is Emme, by the way.”

The other girl gives Emme a disinterested look, “Charlotte.”

“Oh, nice to meet you. Caleb’s never mentioned you before. I thought I knew all of his friends,” Emme replies, and it’s a bit catty but she doesn’t care. This is what she’s here for. If Caleb doesn’t want this girl around, then Emme is gonna do her damn best to make that a reality.

But Charlotte continues talking as if Emme isn’t there wrapped up around Caleb. And it really pisses her off. Charlotte is talking about going to dinner with Caleb, as if he would ever, and he’s pretty clearly rubbing his ‘girlfriend’s’ back as he shakes his head and declines.

“I mean,” Charlotte huffs. “It’s not like long-distance relationships ever work out. Why want what you can’t have when I’m here.”

Emme can’t believe this woman’s gall and fixes her with a look. “Been working well enough for us,” she chirps, and Charlotte ignores her, leans close, and presses her whole hand against Caleb’s sternum.

“And besides, who wants to date a child when real women are everywhere at Skyhaven University.”

Okay… That about does it. Emme is seeing red now.

Caleb is halfway through backing away and telling Charlotte that there’s only one woman on the planet that he’s interested in when Emme gets her own ideas.

Who the hell did this chick think she was? Standing there propositioning her boyfriend while he holds her. Of course, he’s her fake boyfriend, but Charlotte doesn’t know that! Emme’s seething, and when she gets mad, she gets a little reckless.

Caleb’s always calling her out on it, but sometimes, her anger gets one over on her common sense. And this woman, who thinks she can just waltz over and treat her like she doesn’t exist, and touch him, is about to learn a thing or two about Caleb’s ‘girlfriend.’

Emme lets out a soft growl, gets on her toes, and presses against Caleb so quickly that he’s scrambling to hold her so she doesn’t tip over. And that’s exactly what she wants. Caleb will always be there to catch her before she falls. Her. And only her.

After throwing one scornful look over her shoulder at Charlotte, Emme leans in close to Caleb’s neck, and her breath ghosting over his skin is the only warning he gets before her lips press tight. A few moments more, and lips give way to teeth.

She can feel him struggling as her teeth rasp against the column of his throat. His fingers dig into her hip and back, and he’s completely stopped breathing. She should feel bad for doing this, but all she feels is incandescent with rage. Their games have never gone this far before, never needed to. But Charlotte needs to understand what’s going on here.

Emme slides her eyes over to Charlotte, whose mouth has fallen completely open.

With her lips on his skin, Emme very nearly snarls as she says, “Leave. My Caleb. Alone. Got it?”

And that is precisely too much for Caleb. With a quick sweep and a duck, he’s got her picked up in his arms and is stomping away to… Well, she’s not sure where, but she doesn’t care. She can’t even hear if Charlotte replies, all she can hear is the sound of Caleb’s shoes and the furious beat of his heart against her ear.

But it doesn’t matter. She made her point, and now, Charlotte, and anyone else in this damn school, will know better than to mess with what belongs to her. He walks fast, quickly retreating from the many, many curious gazes while Emme holds on tight.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private,” he hisses softly. “So we can have a chat.”

She nibbles her lip. He sounds annoyed, and he’s got every right to be. What she did was like… way out of line. But she’d just gotten so upset when Charlotte wouldn’t back off. And when she’d touched Caleb’s chest like that… Emme had never wanted to deck someone so badly before in her entire life. Who did she think she was, touching Caleb like that? Never mind what she said, too.

She’s still angry about it when Caleb takes her into an alcove and finally lets her slip from his arms. The smile she’s about to give him dies on her lips as she takes him in. Caleb is the one who is incandescent right now but with rage, or something else? His cheeks are flushed, and his ears are red all the way to the tips.

Oh… shit.

Swallowing, and feeling just the tiniest bit sheepish, she tries to apologize, but his fingers against her lips stop her from saying anything at all.

“What. Was. That?”

She scrunches her nose and tries to be as cute and innocent-looking as possible. It’s always worked before, and it’s probably not going to work right now, but it’s worth a shot, right? Finally, he pulls his hand back from her mouth.

“I was... playing pretend.”

“You bit me.”

“She needs to learn to back off.”

“And you?” he rasps while leaning in close, arms caging her against the brick wall. “What did you get from that encounter?”

Oh, she’d not really thought of that. All she’d been capable of thinking of was how badly she wanted to make sure anyone within a three-mile radius understood precisely where things stood between her and Caleb, only it wasn’t real. Not at all. This was just one of many elaborate games they played while dancing around the issue of their attraction to each other.

She pushed it too far today, didn’t she? Pushed him too far.

Emme looks down, only for Caleb to raise his hand, take her chin in hand, and redirect her gaze to his beautiful expressive eyes. “Explain.”

“I just wanted her to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Caleb, this isn’t… Come on…” she whines and tries to twist away, but his power shimmers across her skin, and soon, he’s got her right up tight against the wall. He’s gonna make her say it.

“Tell me, Pip-squeak.”

Taking a breath, she shakes her chin out of his grip and glares. “Nobody gets to play with my Caleb without my permission.”

His jaw clenches, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows tightly. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Who gets to play with you when I’m not looking?”

She frowns. “What, is this tit for tat?”

“Of course. You don’t get to bite me like that, in front of the whole Quad mind you, and not expect me to want something in return.”

“Are you saying you want to bite me?”

He takes a long breath, head dropping to her shoulder as he sighs, “Pip-squeak. I want to do so much more than bite you right now.”

Now, it’s her turn to swallow thickly. “Well, bite me back, then. I don’t mind,” she quips, but her heart is beating so fiercely in her chest, it’s almost painful.

“Oh, don’t you?” he replies, voice strained. “If you’re testing me, Pip-squeak…”

“Testing you, how? I thought you wanted me to make sure people know you’re not interested in dating. And, well, they know now!”

He pulls away from her shoulder and stares down at her. Has he always been so tall…? And big? And broad…? She’s not surprised that other women want Caleb. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if anyone was attracted to him. Just… look at him! Who wouldn’t be?

But Caleb doesn’t want other people. He’s dedicated to his studies, and flying and…

Me, comes the jealous, covetous thought, but it’s the truth.

She cut her teeth on Caleb’s heart, and now, it belongs to her. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but how can she not? Everything is changing so fast that her emotions can’t keep up with the truth of the situation, which is that they’re both holding back while wanting so much more.

Caleb shakes his head and she knows he’s disappointed in her, but she can’t quite tell why.

“Tell me,” he drawls while slowly leaning in again, his breath ghosting against the shell of her ear. “Did you get the reaction you wanted?”

“Out of Charlotte?”

“No. Me.”

She shakes her head. “Not really.”

“You weren’t expecting this?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Hmph. Typical.”

“Caleb…!” she whines softly.

“Don’t,” he says, nose softly brushing against her neck as he gets closer and closer. “You say my name like that, and I just don’t know what I’ll do.”

Emme lets out a shaky breath and tries to push at his chest, but he’s just… so strong, and so muscular. Her Caleb has always been fit and seriously easy on the eyes, but this Caleb is so tempting it’s making her a bit stupid.

And reckless.

Still, what he does next manages to catch her off guard. At the first, teasing press of his rough lips against her neck, she lets out a little yelp, which quickly turns into a soft gasp as his lips part and his teeth scrape.

Oh. Oh… Okay, so maybe she’s understanding just why Caleb is the way he is because she’s feeling and thinking all sorts of crazy, impossible things right now. And when he bites… when he bites.

“C-Caleb…!”

His teeth worry at her neck, his lips suck. She’s gonna have a hickey to match the bite mark on his neck. She twists against him, bodies brushing together in the tight confines of the alcove, as she digs her fingers into the fabric of his jacket and holds on tight.

He’s patient and dedicated to his task, and when he finally pulls back with a soft smacking sound, it’s finished with a laugh that’s dark and deep. It doesn’t sound at all like her Caleb’s laugh, but the sound matches the darkness in her own heart. She likes it. She wants more.

His lips are still against her skin, softly soothing away some of the sting of his bite as he murmurs, “Don’t… Don’t do that again. Not until you’re ready to handle the consequences of your actions.”

Biting her lips, she nods because she’s so breathless right now that talking would be a real challenge. But her nod isn’t good enough for him, not by a long shot.

His face gets close, forehead pressed against hers as his hand comes up and pulls her lip from between her teeth.

“I need to hear you say it, Pip-squeak.”

She swallows, clears her throat, and says, “Okay, Caleb,” but it’s so breathless and a little whimpery that she hardly recognizes the sound of her own voice.

What are they doing to each other? What’s the endgame for this? She can’t put her desires into words entirely, her fear of losing him is too acute for that, but can she be brave? Can she keep her Caleb, while also embracing the potential for something new and unexplored?

Caleb runs his thumb over her neck and seems as if he’s admiring his work. His fingers curl softly against the side of her throat, as he dips and presses another soft kiss against her skin.

“Can you behave for me now?”

Her eyes fluttered at his tone and his sweetly pleading words.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“That’s my good girl.”

And when he pulls back and holds his hand out, she’s glad, because her knees feel weak and she’s not certain she’d be able to walk without his help. Caleb tucks her into his taut body and guides her into the light for everyone to see.

She can’t hide the mark on her neck and, she finds, she doesn’t want to. Maybe she did get what she wanted from this interaction after all. And as they go on with their day, it doesn’t feel so much like playing pretend anymore.

Not with how he looks at her. Not with how he touches her. Not with how he leans in close, lips brushing against the top of her head as he chats as if nothing’s happened between them, but his raspy voice sounds ever so much like it has.

Everything is real now. Real, and terrifying, and brilliant.

When Caleb says goodbye to her at the station, it's with a lingering hug and a soft kiss on the corner of her lips, and it’s then that she understands completely that playtime between them is most definitely over.

And she’s greedy… so, so greedy, for more.

~~~

Author’s Notes:

Caleb talking about “testing me” and “consequences of actions” is paraphrased from something he says in-game when you give his chest a rub hahaha (go have some fun trying to get that interaction, whew the things that man says!!!). ANYWAY, as you can clearly see, I’m still completely utterly insane for these two, and this story is closer to a T than M, but there's still some marking, so I dunno what count's as "inappropriate for under 13." I'd rather pple who are mature just read my work so I don't have to worry because literally everything else i have on this acct is NOT appropriate lmao. Let's say, this is good for 16+, just like LaDS.

And if you are of age and interested, my feels like home series is more adult-minded, but still very yearny, which is my preference at the moment. This story could also fit into that universe, just earlier in the timeline. Thematically, this story less adult, so I'm gonna leave it on its own. Thanks for reading and have an awesome weekendish! Any mistakes are there because I am human and they keep me humble ❤️🍎

[remembertheplunge]

The next message you need is right where you are

May 27, 1993

Quote from Ram Dass (Richard Alpert) in the margin of page 37 from the book "As Above So Below".

“The next message you need is right where you are.”

I wrote my take on this quote below it in the margin:

“What this says to me:

Reality.

As much as possible, see it as is.

I like the words non judgemental and non expectant.

The formulas and the figures of your landscape then begin to come into view”

End of entry

[knaveofmogadore]

Your idea that a character has to self flagellate themselves and grovel and become meek to be redeemed and loved is very Christian coded and extremely boring

[underwhelmingalchemist]

Starting pride month with the pharmacy denying me my testosterone prescription until mid-June and my doctor saying she can't do anything about it because it's a controlled substance 🙃✌️

[queenangella]

.

[goliath-shop]

Choosing the Right Banner Stand for Your Next Trade Show or Event

When it comes to showcasing your business at a trade show or marketing event, the display you choose plays a vital role in attracting attention and engaging potential clients. Among the various display options available, banner stands stand out as an effective, versatile, and cost-efficient solution. Whether you're a first-time exhibitor or a seasoned pro, selecting the right banner stand can make all the difference in achieving a successful event.

In this article, we will explore the key advantages of choosing the right banner stand for your next trade show or event and how it can elevate your marketing efforts.

1. Portability and Easy Setup

One of the most significant advantages of Banner Stand is their portability. Designed to be lightweight and easy to transport, banner stands are perfect for businesses that need to set up quickly and move between different events. Many models come with a convenient carrying case, making it simple to pack up and head to the next exhibition without hassle.

Key Benefit: You can set up and dismantle your banner stand in minutes, ensuring minimal time is spent on logistics and more time engaging with attendees.

2. Compact and Space-Efficient

Banner stands are perfect for booths or spaces where you need to make a visual impact without taking up too much room. Their slim and vertical design allows for maximum visibility while keeping your booth neat and organized. Whether you need a banner for a small corner of your exhibition or a large backdrop for a prominent display, banner stands come in a range of sizes, including compact models that fit into smaller spaces.

Key Benefit: Banner stands offer a professional look without crowding your display area, helping to create a clean and spacious presentation.

3. High-Quality, Customizable Graphics

Your banner stand serves as a canvas for your brand message, so the quality of the graphics is essential. High-resolution graphics printed on durable materials ensure that your brand, logo, and messaging stand out. Banner stands can be fully customized to match your brand’s colors, fonts, and design elements, making it easier for you to create a cohesive look across all your marketing materials.

Key Benefit: Customizable banners ensure your messaging is consistent and visually appealing, reinforcing your brand identity and making a lasting impression on event attendees.

4. Cost-Effective Marketing Tool

Compared to other types of displays and exhibition equipment, banner stands are a budget-friendly solution without compromising on quality or effectiveness. Whether you’re hosting a one-time event or attending multiple trade shows throughout the year, banner stands offer a cost-efficient way to get your message across. Their durability and reusability mean that they can be used for many events, saving you money in the long run.

Key Benefit: Banner stands provide a high return on investment, offering affordable, reusable marketing tools for ongoing promotions.

5. Versatile Display Options

Banner stands come in a variety of styles, from simple retractable banners to more advanced modular systems. You can choose from single-sided or double-sided stands depending on your space and visibility needs. Double-sided banners are ideal for locations with heavy foot traffic, allowing your message to be seen from multiple angles. Additionally, you can opt for different sizes, from compact models to large banners, ensuring your display meets your specific event requirements.

Key Benefit: The wide range of display options ensures you can choose the best banner stand for your specific needs, whether you need a simple promotional display or a more elaborate exhibition setup.

6. Durable and Long-Lasting

When selecting a banner stand, durability is key. The best banner stands are made from sturdy, recyclable materials such as aluminum, ensuring they can withstand the wear and tear of frequent use. Quality banners are also printed on durable fabrics or vinyl that resist fading, curling, and damage, ensuring that your stand looks professional for many events to come. Some banner stands even come with warranties, adding an extra layer of assurance that your display will last.

Key Benefit: Durable materials and long-lasting design ensure that your banner stand maintains its quality appearance over time, providing you with a reliable marketing tool.

7. High Visibility and Impact

The primary purpose of any banner stand is to capture the attention of potential customers and clients. With large, visually striking graphics, banner stands are perfect for standing out in crowded trade show halls, conferences, and promotional events. Their vertical design and high-quality materials allow your messaging to be seen from a distance, ensuring that your booth grabs attention as people walk by.

Key Benefit: Banner stands are designed to be eye-catching, helping your brand stand out and attract the right audience at busy events.

8. Eco-Friendly Options

As sustainability becomes increasingly important, many banner stands now come with eco-friendly features. Recyclable aluminum frames and eco-friendly printing options, such as solvent-free inks, ensure your display aligns with your environmental values. Choosing sustainable materials not only helps the planet but also enhances your company’s green image, which can resonate well with attendees who value sustainability.

Key Benefit: Eco-friendly banner stands allow you to promote your business in an environmentally responsible way, appealing to conscious consumers and reducing your ecological footprint.

Conclusion

Choosing the right banner stand for your next trade show or event can significantly enhance your marketing strategy. From portability and easy setup to customizable graphics and cost-effectiveness, banner stands offer numerous benefits that can help your business stand out and leave a lasting impression on your audience. With so many options available, there’s a banner stand solution for every event and marketing need. Investing in the right one ensures that your display will make a strong visual impact, draw attention, and effectively communicate your brand’s message.

[thribby]

If youtube is getting past ublock origin and demanding that you turn off your adblocker, here is a solution from reddit which worked for me: https://old.reddit.com/r/uBlockOrigin/comments/1hir4z6/youtube_filtering_again/m30vhjh/ After you uncheck the "ublock filters - quickfixes" box, make sure to also click "apply changes."

if you recheck the "ublock filters - quickfixes" box and click "apply changes," youtube will be able to detect the adblocker again, so i guess for now don't do that.

Edit from one day later:

They removed the comment, here are the steps they gave: 1. Open uBlock Origin's settings. I click on the shield to the right of the url bar and then on the gear icon in the popup menu to get there.

2. Go to the "Filter lists" tab of the settings page. Not "My filters."

3. Find where it says "Built-in," underneath that it should say " "uBlock filters" with a number out of five. Next to that "x/5," there should be an arrow either facing to the right or downwards. If it's facing to the right, click it so it faces downwards and expands the list of Built-in filters.

4. In that list, you will find "uBlock filters - Quick fixes." Uncheck the box to the left of these words. When the box is unchecked, click "Apply changes" at the top of the page. Refresh any pages where youtube was whining about your adblocker, hopefully the message is gone and you're able to watch without any ads.

Yesterday when I first posted this, reactivating the quickfixes allowed youtube to detect the adblocker, but as of today it looks like they've updated the quick fixes so that you don't need to deactivate them to avoid youtube's detection. So, instead of deactivating and reactivating the quick fixes, you can probably just manually update them by clicking the clock icon to the right of where it says "quick fixes"