#and that's it. just. 48 hours. which is bullshit)

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

ADHD Brain Moods™ (Derogatory Edition)

well, i got uuuuh four (4) sentences written of my ~Revisions~ today (i’m straight up not having a good time over here), but i DID jot down some classifications of the ADHD Brain Moods™ (Derogatory Edition), so have those instead internet:

>> “My brain is full of static” -- There’s nothing going on in there but ineffective Noise and it’s hell; I’m halfway to dissociated and everything is stupid and I Don’t Want To Be Here.

>> “My brain is full of spiders” -- Altogether too many legs; jerky, predatory, and agitated; itchy but can’t find the right spot to scratch for relief, Generally Irritated and Irritable

>> “My brain is full of crickets” -- Superficially seems quieter and level in there, but out of the blue we’ll SPRING to something totally unrelated and unexpected and we won’t get our scheduled shit done (or: Impulsive As Fuck)

[comradecorvus]

A confused Tumblr user's guide to r/196

In the coming weeks, many of you may notice posts containing the tags "r/196" and "196", so to avoid any confusion, I would like to explain what it is, what is going on, etc.

r/196 is a subreddit that can best be described as "condensed tumblr but a tiny bit more horny". Honestly, half of the posts are just tumblr screenshots. So the general vibe, sense of humor, and political slant are the same as Tumblr's.

As for why its all suddenly crossing over here, Reddit's dipshit CEO has been going after third party reddit viewer apps that are better than the official app for no reason at all, even going as far as to lie about one of the third party apps' developers threatening him. He is planning to put reddit API access behind a paywall at a pretty steep fee. Apparently for some of them it would run them like $20 million a year, which obviously, no third party app dev will be able to afford.

In protest, thousands of subreddits are planning to stage a blackout on June 12th, many of them some of the most popular subreddits on the site, and countless others. Such blackouts and mass protests have worked before, and as such, most subreddits plan on doing just a 2 day blackout where nothing can be done on the subreddits, which completely destroys any ad revenue and other such financial activity.

However, many are coming to realize that a mere 48 hours might not cut it, and some plan to go on hiatus indefinitely until the ceo backs down on his bullshit.

r/196 is one of those subreddits, I myself realize that this has the chance of resulting in no impact on the outcome and a dead subreddit, but its a gamble worth taking, in my opinion.

This is just a general primer on r/196, if you want to get into deep lore like "Spronkus" and the "Wasp Discourse", seek out someone who is more seasoned in the subreddit's history than I am.

[librarycards]

I have never loved my mother more than I have when she was willing to show me her full humanity. If it's my job to set an example for my kids – and I believe it is – then part of that example is modeling humanity without shame. This idea that children shouldn’t see their parents as vulnerable/human/constantly growing is bullshit. There is a difference between venting to one’s children and sharing with them, unloading on them and allowing them to witness you as a person who is having a very human experience just like they are. People have a hard time differentiating the two and subscribe to this very antiquated notion that it is our job as parents to be robotic and inhuman as not to traumatize – or worse – try to relate—to our children.

Back in January my now 14-year-old daughter and I went through break-ups 48 hours apart. I was devastated but kept my breakup to myself because I didn’t want to overshadow hers. Of course I could only hide it from her for so long so when she caught me breaking down in the kitchen and was like… “Mom? What happened” I told her. An hour later, she invited me to a concert in her room. She had taught herself all these break-up anthems on ukulele and told me, upon entering to sit down, this one’s for you. We spent that entire week making each other break-up mixes and watching shitty rom coms together in my bed. It was a defining moment in our relationship. A real ‘I got your back, thank you for having mine’ moment which I think a lot of people would frown upon because I AM HER MOTHER. HOW DARE I RELATE TO MY CHILD.

But I did. And sometimes I do relate to my kids. And/or they relate to me. Because we’re all humans. And I love that for us.

A human experience is a human experience regardless of age. And I believe that I have the kind of relationship I do with my kids because I have always treated them like people who just happen to be my children and not the other way around.

Rebecca Woolf, in conversation with Amanda Motei.

[ponyosmom35]

fighting with price and ghost

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Liability series chapter six!

summary: reader gets herself into yet another mess, Price has had enough.

warnings: cursing, angry price, blood, angry ghost, Johnny is a sweetheart

Liability masterlist:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

Two days after her concerning dream things had been quiet. 141 had been on a mission and for a measly 48 hours she wasn’t being tortured with Ghost’s presence. Emma had been correct, there were rumors spreading amongst the other soldiers that she was sleeping with Ghost, which was why she never got in trouble for her behavior. They also speculated that Ghost was the reason she was on the base to begin with. She was fortunrate enough to overhear a couple people discussing her in the bathroom. She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but of course, she didn’t.

“Exactly why the fuck is my name in your mouth?” she asks emerging from the stall, watching as their faces contort in shock. “What did I ever do to you?”

“You seem to have a fucking halo on your head, you get away with everything! You’ve got Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost somehow wrapped around your finger!”

“Jesus what is with you people! In case you didn’t know, Ghost hates me! He’s been pushing to get me off of the base since I got here! Soap and Gaz are friends” she defends 

“And Price?” the girl asks 

“It must be his dick that she’s sucking” another sneers 

“Fuck you!” she says as she pushes her back

“No fuck you bitch” the brunette responds, shoving her to the ground “unlike you, we’ve had to earn our place here!” 

“Soldiers what is the meaning of this?!” a loud voice roars, they all turn their faces falling at the sight of Price standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. “Thought I heard trouble” 

The two soldiers stand up stragight and she scrambles to her feet, staring at him, waiting for his words. He was livid, angrier than she’d ever seen. “Ladies I want you to give me ten laps, once you’re finished come to my office. You, come with me now” 

The girls hurry out of the bathroom and jog outside, not without sparing her with death glares. Price nods his head to her and leads her into his office, he shuts the door behind them and pulls out the chair for her to sit in. 

“Captain-” she starts 

“Stop” he responds, holding his hand up. “Why is it that you are the center of every fucking mess on my base?”

“I don’t know sir”

“Listen kid, I’ve given you a pass, that’s more than most. I know this has been an adjustment for you, but I will not tolerate that behavior from here on out, you wil be treated and punished just as anyone else”

“I understand sir”

“I like you kid, you’re good at your job and you’re a valuable asset to us, but I can’t understand why you continuously start issues?” 

“Do you want me to be honest?” she asks crossing her arms 

“I do”

“People think that I’m here because I’m sleeping with Ghost, they all talk behind my back”

“Fucking hell, of course they’re gonna talk about you! You walk around this base like you own it, like your shit doesn’t stink and you think that you’re gonna be miss popular? This is the fucking army! You are here to do your job not make freinds! I could give a damn if every person on this base hates you! This petty bullshit has no place here. I won’t tolerate it, this is your last warning. One more incident and I’m calling Laswell, do you understand me?” Price asks, staring at her intensely. 

“Yes Sir”

“Fucking hell” he shakes his head “Ghost was injured on our mission, get out of my office and patch him up” he snaps 

“Right away sir” 

She scrambles out of his office with tears stinging in her eyes. She knew he was right, she needed to stop entertaining the bullshit. Despite his harsh words, she knew that he meant well. Maybe it was just what she’d been needing to here this whole time. It was true, she’d someone survived two instances with Ghost without punishment. All of it was catching up to her now as she tried to mentally prepare herself to deal with Ghost. If Price was in such a sour mood, she couldn’t imagine he’d be much happier. Phoebe sighs and grabs her kit from the med bay, walking over to Ghosts office. She knocks on his door gently waiting for a response. 

“What?” he snaps 

“Medical, can I come in”

“You’re not needed!” he growls through the door. She takes a deep breath and twists the knob, peaking her head in. 

“Captain Price sent me -”

“I don’t give a fuck who sent you”

She frowns at his harsh words, feeling the lump in her throat return. She swallows and moves over to his desk, setting her things on it. “Did you not hear me the first time? You are not needed!” 

“I can see that” she responds sarcastically, staring at his bleeding arm, which he was clearly in the middle of working on. “Let me help you” she says softly 

“I don’t need medical, even if I did I sure as fuck wouldn’t let you touch me!” he yells as he throws her kit on the ground, all of the contents splattering to the floor. She flinches at the sound and stares at him as she processes the situation. She was scared to move, worried that it might make it worse. 

“Fucking get out of my office” he growls 

She bends down and begins picking up her supplies, her hands shaking and making it hard for her to put her things back. She slopily throws it back inside her case, feeling the intense burn of his eyes on her, examining her every move. She stands to her feet and hurries out of the room, shutting the door behind her. She stumbles and drops her things once more. She curses herself as she bends down and picks her tools up once more. Her eyes blurring as tears fall down her face. 

“You alright lass?” 

She looks up to see Johnny walking towards her with a large wound on his face. He bends down and helps her pick up the fallen tools and offers his hand to help her stand. “Johnny what happened?”

“LT and I got cornered, no biggie” he responds nonchalantly, he places his hand on her shoulder looking at her in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“nothing” 

“Obviosuly it ain’t nothin if you’re cryin” he says before pulling her into his arms. He pats her back gently as she hugs his middle. Neither of them aware of the lieutenant’s gaze on them. Ghost clenches his hand and punches the wall. He knew he shouldn’t have treated her like that, he felt awul. She’d managed to catch him at the worst time, nothing he hated more than looking vulnerable. Now Johnny was the one to pick up the pieces. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much to watch her cling onto his sergeant. The sight made his stomach twist. Ghost stomps over to the window and shuts the curtains aggressively. He yanks his mask off and throws it against the wall, gritting his teeth as his arm throbs. 

Johnny pulls away at the loud bang and keeps an arm wrapped around her shoulder, he leads her away from the office, carrying her kit. She wipes her tears, and pulls herself together in an instant. 

“Lets get you to medical, don’t want that to get infected” she responds as she leads him to an empty bed. 

“I’ll take it that the mission didn’t go well” she comments as she washes her hands and puts gloves on. Johnny nods, impressed that she was abel to snap out of it so easily, never would he have been able to tell she was just crying if it wasn’t for her red eyes. 

“You could say that” 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks as she begins to clean out his wound 

“Nothing major, just got cornered. Didn’t think we were gonna make it out but Ghost saved us, even with a bullet wound to the shoulder. Probably wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him” Johnny explains. 

“I’m glad everyone made it out”

“Yeah… listen I don’t know what Ghost said in there, but don’t take it to heart. He ain’t a bad guy, just under a lot of pressure, him and Price”

“I don’t blame him, often times the person whose trying to help is the one who takes the brunt of the anger. Something I’ve gotten used to working with soldiers” 

“We’re not all so bad” he smiles cheekily 

“We’ll see how you feel when I put this spray on your cut” she responds, earning a chuckle from him. Thankful for the man who always seemed to be able to put a smile on her face, just when she needed it. 

chapter 7:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/752479625563815936/apologies?source=share

[op81s]

the one comment that will always piss me off more than any other, especially when it's coming from so-called legitimate fucking journalists, is the argument that lance doesn't deserve to be in formula 1 because he doesn't care. which first of all, i'm sorry, i didn't realise we had created mind reading technology, that small bit of news must have slipped past me. secondly, it's clearly bullshit.

two weeks before the bahrain gp last year lance had a biking accident where he suffered a fracture and displacement in his right wrist, a fracture in his left wrist, a partial fracture in his left hand and another fracture in the big toe on his right foot.

after which he was told he would be missing the first few races of the 2023 season. but 48 hours after his accident he had surgery to insert pins in his right wrist to help it heal and the doctor who did the surgery told him that with some luck and dedication to his rehab, he could be back for jeddah, maybe bahrain if he worked hard. he clearly wanted to race because 14 days later, he was back in that car in time for the bahrain gp and ended up placing p6 despite being in tremendous pain and feeling like his "wrists were on fire".

does that genuinely sound like someone who doesn't care about the sport to you? especially, as all the lance haters likes to point out, he's fucking rich and doesn't actually need to race. he could have waited until baku like his doctor first suggested and saved himself a whole lot of pain but he wants to race just as much as the other 19 drivers on the grid. the difference between him and the other drivers isn't the fact that he cares less, it's the fact that yes, he is very rich and as such can choose to not cater to the whims of the media if he doesn't want to. the suggestion that him being disinterested in doing interviews is because he doesn't care rather than because he's a private person is just so fucking dumb.

[missmielyhoran]

Second

in which you always stayed being second...

[Warning- ANGST, Unrequited love, unplanned pregnancy, cheating?, jealousy, death, accident, Harry giving his kid daddy issues, accident, heart attack]

Masterlist

*****

You were 19 when you met Harry.

He was bright, beautiful, and soft like a cloud. He was always high up in the air, so beautiful to see but soo far to touch.

Everyone wished to touch the clouds, and only some could do it.

You met her when you were 20.

At a college party, Harry introduced her to you. She was beautiful, smart, and elegant just like him.

People like her were meant to touch the cloud.

And she did. Much to your dismay, you watched them flirt, kiss, and do all those adorable bullshit rom coms show. While you watched, waiting for a drop of his attention.

Which he gave you but after she would leave.

They got together when you were 21.

You cried yourself sick for a week, but no one bothered to check cause the two people you had were loved up in their love cocoon.

It wasn't until she had to go back home for some family emergency that Harry realized he hadn't seen you for a week. When he asked, you just put on a smile and told him it was a flu, which he knew wasn't true, somewhere he knew why you were sick but didn't press on cause she was texting him.

But the honeymoon period came to an end soon after, and it followed fights, lots of fights, and arguments.

Every time they would break up, you would find him at your doorstep. It was wrong, so wrong, but you couldn't resist when his lips would find yours. When his hands would roam on your body, when he would whisper sweetly in your ears, when you would hear his soft snors beside you in bed as you would run your fingers through his hair.

As good it would feel in the night, mornings were just as hard cause every time one of them would apologize and they would get back together.

What could a bouquet of flowers and apologizes couldn't fix?

The cycle went on and on until you also found someone.

He was sweet, not him but sweet.

And he was only yours.

But fate was never in your favor. He wanted to study abroad, and long distance was not in books for either of you.

You were 24 when she got into accident.

It was a drunk driving case. The driver got off with a fine while she fought for her life for a whole 48 hours before losing.

It was hard for both of you. You were jealous of her, but you also loved her. She was your friend, but nothing could compare to Harry's devastation.

You were 25 when he finally came to you.

"After her, you are my only one. You are the only person I love after her," He said. It should have made you happy and some part of you was but the other sticked to the key word after her.

Even dead, she was first.

But you settled for being his even if it was secondary.

You were 26 when you got pregnant.

It was accidental. Both of you didn't plan it cause you didn't even know what your relationship with him was. He loved you but he wasn't your boyfriend or anything.

You were scared for yourself, yet you went to him asking if he wanted it or not. Some part of you hoped he didn't cause you wouldn't, but of course, he wanted it. It was so long after her that you saw him genuinely happy.

You were 27 when your baby girl arrived.

She was beautiful, with his green big eyes and blonde hair which neither of knew where it came from but he said it was from her. "She knew I was lonely, so she said an angel like her"

He named your daughter after her.

Every time you would call your daughter, there was a painful realization of him loving you second, which might have been third or forth after the kids.

You were 29 when he proposed.

With her ring.

It was supposed to be for her, but it ended on your finger, and every time you looked down at your hands, there would be that pain again of you being the second.

Was it wrong to be jealous of dead?

Was it wrong to hate someone who never meant to cause you pain, but was the reason for it always?

You were 31 when you got pregnant again.

He was happy but not much cause he had your daughter.

You had your baby boy, but in Harry's books, your daughter stayed first.

As he grew up, you could see how much it affected your son. How he would hesitate to ask Harry for anything or how he would be jealous of his sister or how he would avoid either of you all together.

You wanted to talk to him, tell him that you were there for him and you to some extent you did but you couldn't take a dad's place.

He would see how Harry wouldn't bat and eye if your daughter would do something, but he would get the punishment for being simply late from school.

Now your son and you both came after her.

You were 49 when your son stopped talking to both of you after moving out.

It hurt it shattered your soul, but you didn't do anything.

Like a coward, you were for the whole life. You just sat here mute and stayed second whole life, getting secondary gifts, kisses, love, and even wedding ring.

You could never be his first, and you lived with that.

You were 62 when you died.

It was abrupt, a heart attack paramedics said.

He begged you not to leave him, how he couldn't live if you also left him after her but it was too late.

He would get flowers every Wednesday and Saturday to the graveyard for you but not before leaving one on her.

Even cold in your grave, you were second to her.

*****

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @jvsgnjrtpdar5stkd-tv-m @sunshinemoonsposts

I'm sorry for this, I'm just really sad today:(

[sunflowersandsapphires]

With your steady hand

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 3

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Matt and Foggy go head to head in a prank war, much to your dismay.

warnings: Swearing, fluff, descriptions of homesickness

a/n: Did I mean to make everyone cry in this chapter? No. But here we are. (Honestly, from what I can remember, crying was a popular pastime my first semester of college.) We get a little Foggy vulnerability as a side dish for the Matt and Reader vulnerability. I had a great time with this chapter so I hope everyone enjoys!

w/c: 5.6k

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you pushed the food around your plate indifferently. Your stomach balked at the idea of eating, but you were aware that you needed to. The only thing you’d eaten in the past 48 hours was dry cereal, and that had to be bad, right? 

“You ok?” The quiet, concerned voice of Matt from beside you made you jump. In your groggy haze, you’d completely forgotten he was next to you, and, honestly, that you were out in public at all. 

“Yup. Fine. Just not hungry.” Was the bland response you gave. It didn’t appease either of your friends, both of them frowning with worry. You’d been acting…off for over a week now. The cheerful, silly personality that Matt had unwittingly fallen for retreating into a worn out husk of a law student. Though he couldn’t see, Matt would bet dollars to donuts that the bags under your eyes were prominent given how sluggish you’d been recently. Not to mention that you hadn’t spoken up in any class the past few days, which was extremely out of character. 

Though Matt was too afraid to admit that he could tell, he knew your blood sugar was extremely low right now. Oddly enough, you weren’t lying when you said you weren’t hungry.

“Are you sure you’re feeling ok?” Foggy prompted, seemingly following the same train of thought that Matt was currently on. “You didn’t eat much. Did you catch that flu that’s been going around?” 

You shook your head, giving a thin smile. “Nah, just not hungry. I’m ok, guys, promise.” 

But neither guy was convinced by your lackluster argument. After studying quietly in their room, and neglecting a plate of takeout, you muttered something about having chores to do and headed home—much to the dismay of your friends. 

“Ok, what the hell is up with her?” Foggy scoffed, feigning annoyance despite the obvious worry in his tone. 

“I wish I knew.” Matt affirmed, falling backwards on his bed and throwing his arms over his face. 

“She said she wasn’t sick. Did something happen?” Foggy questioned. 

“She might be stressed, midterms will do crazy things to people.”

“Yah, but when she gets stressed about school she is usually all…ramble-y and stuff. Not like this. It’s like she’s not even here.” The air in the room swished as Foggy gestured wildly, his passionate concern aggravating his already violent hand movements. 

“I know, Fog.” 

“You should try talking to her. She’s more likely to tell you.” Foggy accused, rolling his eyes. 

Matt just snorted in disbelief. 

“You laugh, but we both know it’s true. You have a ‘special connection.’” The blond’s voice swayed on the last two words, as if he were a middle schooler pointing out Matt’s crush. 

“Bullshit.” Matt snarked. 

“You wound me, Murdock. You think the heart eyes you two are always making at each other can escape my powers of observation?” What?

“How on earth does a blind man make ‘heart eyes’ at someone?” Matt chuckled, trying to cover up the way his chest was pounding at the thought of his feelings for you being returned. 

“Uh, you tell me, dude! It’s goddamn unbearable. Not only are 90% of the women on this campus ogling you at all times, but you’re too infatuated with our mutual friend to even notice, and you refuse to date her. How am I even supposed to flap my wingman wings?!” 

“I told you, Foggy, she deserves better than I can treat her.” Matt groaned at his roommate’s insistence. 

“Yah, yah, lie to me all you want, Murdock, I’m taking notes for my best man speech at your wedding.” Foggy shook his finger at Matt who smirked. “Seriously, though. If anyone is going to get to the bottom of whatever’s going on with her, it’s you.”

“Hmm, I know she works tonight, I’ll see if she’ll talk to me about it during her shift.” Matt plotted aloud. 

“Keep me updated, man. I worry about that little jitterbug. She’s too sweet for this cruel world.” Foggy sighed, running a hand through his long hair. 

“Unfortunately, I think you’re right about that.” 

Breathing shakily, you ripped the elastic out of your hair and began massaging your temples, to no avail. The pounding ache that had settled over your skull remained, increasing the likelihood that you’d burst into tears from ‘pretty likely’ to ‘it’s a miracle the breakdown hasn’t started yet’. Feeling a lump build in your esophagus, you turned to Jen, who was working at the bookstore with you as you slowly fell apart. 

“You ok, babes?” Your roommate prompted, attentive gaze not missing your glassy eyes and choked inhales. 

Not trusting your voice, you shook your head, looking at her pleadingly as your lip quivered. 

“Aw, love!” Jen pulled you into a hug, siphoning tears from your eyes almost immediately. “What’s wrong? Still missing your mom?” 

“Mmm hmm.” You choked out around a sob. Squeezing you tightly, she hummed in understanding. 

“Why don’t you go sit in the back for a little bit? I’ll be fine holding down the fort.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive, babes. Go watch a movie or something. I’ll yell if I need ya.” 

Nodding dolefully, you rubbed at your damp eyes and padded to the closet-sized employee break room in the corner of the bookshop. 

Twisting his cane in his sweaty hands, Matt blew out a breath before entering the quiet store. His walk over from campus had been tumultuous despite the short distance. It had quickly occurred to him that cornering you at work might not be the best plan of action, unless alienating you whilst ruining the beautiful trust you currently held for him was the goal. 

Against his better judgment, he shoved open the door, trying not to wince as the bell chimed to signal his arrival. Hesitating for a moment, Matt realized it wasn't you at the counter, but your roommate. 

“Hi Matt!” Jen greeted him. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too, Jen,” Matt smiled, though the knot of nervousness in his stomach was expanding after hearing your soft cries coming from the break room. “Is, uh, is she working tonight?”

The older girl hummed knowingly, “Yah, she's in the back.” Matt thanked her but she called after him before he could find you. “Just, be gentle with her, ok? She's having a tough week.”

Nodding in understanding, Matt gave what he hoped was a comforting 'I promise not to spook our mutual friend' thumbs up, setting off to keep you company. 

Knocking on the open door lightly, Matt heard you sniffle and scrub at your face in an attempt to look put together before responding. “I'll be right out, Jen—”

“Not Jen.” He answered simply. “Just a friend who thought you might want some company.”

Your muffled footsteps wandered towards him, pulling the door ajar when you reached it. 

Matt's confidence stumbled, your salty tears and wavering breaths immediately setting him on edge. “Tell me to fuck off and I'll leave. I just thought—” His words were interrupted by a grunt of surprise as you fell solidly against him, arms winding around his waist. 

“Hey,” His hands slid up to anchor you, one sprawled over your shoulders while the other stroked your hair to offer succor when you began to tremble with renewed sobs. “Hey, you're alright, I gotcha. I gotcha.”

Wiping your face with one hand, you stood up, removing your arms from around him.  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry all over your shirt. Shit, I'm so sorry, Matty.”

“Don't worry about that, sweetheart.” Matt's hand drifted to your clammy cheek, swiping a stray tear away when it fell. “That's why I'm here. You…” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “You seemed like midterms were weighing on you, and I thought you could use some extra support. Let's go sit, yah?” Tenderly taking your hand, he let you guide him to the musty couch, closing the door behind you. 

As Matt collapsed into the ancient cushions, he could feel the plumes of dust rising from the impact. Scrunching his nose against the resulting tickle, he eagerly enveloped you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your head when you settled against his chest. “Did you want to talk about what's going on? You had Foggy and I quite worried when you ran out on us this afternoon.”

Exhaling shakily, you unconsciously arched into his touch, his hands rubbing slow circles into your lower back. “I don't know, Matty. I...it's a long story, I'm sure you don't want–” 

Feeling you tense up beneath him, Matt could practically hear your thoughts as you distanced him from the root of your vulnerability. “Don’t shut me out, sweetheart, please. Anything you want to share I will gladly listen to.” 

“It’s stupid. You’re going to think I’m a baby.” You murmured, tracing the buttons on his shirt. 

“I would never, bubs, you know that. You’re the strongest girl I know, that’s why I’m so worried about you.” 

“You don’t have to worry about me, Matty.” 

“Well, tell me what’s up with you and maybe I’ll stop.” He smirked at you and you groaned, though your lips twitched marginally.

You muttered something under your breath and, though he could hear you just fine, he scrunched his brow dramatically. “You’re going to need to speak up, dear, I didn’t catch that.” He cupped a hand around one ear, grinning when you rolled your eyes and shoved him. 

“I said…I really miss my mom.” You admitted feebly. 

“Aw, sweetheart, that’s not stupid at all!” Matt’s expressive face pinched in sympathy as he waited for you to continue. 

“I’ve been talking to her over the phone pretty frequently but it’s not the same. She’s all I had growing up, I’m not used to her not being…here. God, that’s so childish!” 

“No, it’s not. I may not be homesick for the orphanage, but I haven’t had the easiest time adjusting either.” 

“Really?” 

“Yah, bubs, really. There are things about this new freedom that I enjoy, of course, but I do miss the familiarity of my old routine. It’s not childish, I promise.” Running his hands over your arms, he smirked. “You know what is childish?”

“What?” 

Bending at the waist, Matt drew his cane from the floor and turned it to display the two plastic circles that had been haphazardly slapped on the black foam handle. Taking the cane from him, you traced a finger over the new decorations and giggled. 

“What the fuck?” Disbelief and humor slowly halting your tears, you looked eagerly to Matt for an explanation. Two standard googly eyes, placed at a lopsided angle, wiggled at you as you passed him back the item in question. 

“My thoughts exactly.” Matt chuckled. “Foggy bought a bag of googly eyes at the dollar store and has been sticking them to everything in our room. I had to pull a pair off of my glasses before coming over here.” 

“You should’ve left them on. Let everyone know what a serious law student you are.” You snickered, snuggling against Matt’s chest again. “Why, exactly, did he choose to do this?”

Matt chuckled, “I think it was his idea of a prank. Pretty minor offense, though. He’s told me horror stories about the things he and his brother used to do.” Shuddering, he bit his lip to keep from purring as you began rubbing his back. “It’s kind of…sweet though? I think it’s his way of showing me I’m like family.” 

His throat clenched as he spoke that realization. You smiled, squeezing him tightly. “That is sweet, Matty. I hope you realize how much we care for you.” 

“We?” The dark haired boy can barely contain his tease as he gave you the most innocent glance he can muster. 

“Shut up, trouble. You know I care about you. Even if I’m not putting googly eyes on all your stuff. To be fair, though, I don’t think I’ve ever pranked anyone.” 

“Really?” Chuckling incredulously, Matt was surprised that you’d never played a practical joke, given your adorable goofiness and slight pettiness. 

“Not that I can recall. Is that weird?” Your mind was quick to plummet back into anxiety, worrying that Matt would be alarmed by your lack of a normal childhood. 

“Of course not, bubs. It just seems like something you’d find funny, is all.” 

“Aren’t they…mean?” The hesitation in your voice didn’t surprise him, his heart suddenly swelling with an intense desire to shelter you from anything harmful. 

“Sometimes, but not the ones I’m planning.” He assured you. 

“What did you have planned?” 

“Well…” Matt eagerly divulged his schemes, egged on by your renewed giggles and steady heart. If pranking Foggy would make you happy, he’d gladly involve you in it. 

A few days later, you were practically glowing with excitement as you “studied” beside Matt. Echoing footsteps in the hallway outside the door sparked a gasp and you spun towards Matt eagerly. 

“Is that him? Is he here?” You nearly squealed. 

Chuckling at your darling, albeit very caffeinated, display of giddiness about a terrible prank, Matt shushed you. “That’s not him, sweetheart, but you have to keep your game face on.” 

Raising your arm in a mock salute, you jested. “Sir, yes sir.” 

Dutifully returning to the book on your lap, you took a few inadequate notes on the chapter before the door unlatched, Matt threw you a grin. “Act natural.” 

Foggy traipsed into the room, immediately picking up on the unusual vibes in the air. 

“Hey…” Looking between you and Matt skeptically, he dropped his book bag to the floor unceremoniously before crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t know we had a study group meeting today.”

“Oh we don’t, I was just bored so I called Matt to see if the two of you wanted to hang out.” You shrugged nonchalantly, turning a page in your Civil Procedure book. 

Matt was absolutely floored when the lie slipped between your sweet lips with sincerity. Given all the energy you’d exhibited before, he’d assumed you’d reveal the prank far too early. Trying not to look at you with the surprise that overtook his mind, he added, “I told her that I was studying for CivPro and invited her over. Is that a problem?” 

Foggy narrowed his eyes at the pair of you, clearly not convinced something fishy wasn’t afoot. But his disbelief didn’t save him. Vaulting himself onto his semi-lofted bed, an inglorious noise shattered the tense silence in the room. 

As you burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, Matt was forced to continue to prank on his own. “Oh my god, Foggy, we have company.” 

Turning beet red, the blond spluttered in response, “That wasn’t—I mean, I…SHUT UP!” Ripping back the covers, Foggy found the culprit instantly and hurled it towards Matt. 

With a smug grin, Matt tilted his head towards the scrap of thin rubber. “What is this, Fog?”

“You know damn well what it is, you ass!” Foggy scowled, hopping off his mattress to point at Matt accusingly. “A Whoopie Cushion?? What are we, five??”

Still in stitches, you were leaning against Matt who was holding you up with a single arm. Foggy was unamused. “You know, I expect this childishness from Murdock, but you?” The long-haired law student bit out your last name as if he were a teacher scolding you for distracting the other students. “I expected better of you. Fuck this, I’m leaving.” 

That broke you out of your state of humor. Launching yourself off of Matt’s bed, you stumbled towards your sulking friend with less grace than intended. Your over caffeination and extended time sitting had quickly drained the blood from your head. “Foggy, wait—Woah…” You swayed on your feet. Thankfully, Foggy caught you before you could hit the carpeted cement with your entire body weight. 

“Christ, jitterbug, you don’t have to pass out on me to keep me here.” He sighed, handing you gratefully back to Matt who pulled you into a seated position at his side once again. 

“Sorry,” You apologized sheepishly, “Got light headed. But please don’t leave! Matt was just teaching me how to prank someone.” 

“She’d never pranked anyone before.” Matt explained further. 

“Never?” Foggy whistled. “Fuck. Guess you’re forgiven then. Murdock, you’re still on my shit list.” 

“For a Whoopie cushion? I’m sorry, are you not the roommate who covered a blind man’s stuff in googly eyes?” 

“Et tu, brute!” Laying a hand across his chest in mock offense, Foggy’s eyes glimmered as he continued to play up his innocence. “I’ve already told you. That was our mischievous ghost roommate, Steve.” 

“Ah, right. Then I guess we can blame him for the Whoopie cushion too.” Matt raised an eyebrow, silently challenging his roommate. 

The blond mirrored him, accepting the challenge with an even tone. “I guess we can.” 

Looking between the two of them, you felt a lick of apprehension roll up your spine. This was far from the end, that much was clear. 

Dashing up the musty staircase, Matt fumbled with his keys. Slamming open the door, he ran his hands along the spines of books beside his bed, snatching the correct one. The book was tossed haphazardly onto the bed as Matt stripped out of his rain-drenched shirt. 

Last night had quickly gotten away from him. Originally planning to stay up late and study for his final midterm, he’d parked himself in the library with a thermos of coffee and his American History textbook. Given your tendency to unwittingly distract him, and his roommate’s constant foghorn-like snoring, alone in the library was the most appealing option if he wanted to pass this exam. However, his sex drive was not as devoted to his academic success. A bubbly girl from his history class had greeted him, offering to help him cram for the looming test. He’d gratefully accepted, but they’d only made it through a single chapter before she’d invited him back to her room. 

Exhausted from his strenuous activities and the resulting lack of sleep, he’d inevitably overslept. His internal clock was apparently not as effective as the blaring alarm that he normally used. Sprinting home through the deluge of rain, he had mere minutes to change and get to Legal Methods.

So here he was, relinquishing his soaked through button up to the floor as he plucked the first shirt from his dresser. Flinging on the shirt–which had short sleeves for some reason–and his raincoat, he flew out the door and towards his class. 

He was barely late, but you still looked at him smugly when he finally plopped down beside you, eliciting a few laughs from other students in the classroom. 

“About time you showed up, trouble. How was your night?” You murmured, trying not to draw any more attention to the two of you. 

He didn’t need sight to know you were dramatically wiggling your eyebrows at him. “You heard about that, huh?” He asked, blushing furiously. While he was depressingly still hung up on you, the raw animalistic desires that composed his Id could only be suppressed for so long. 

“Oh Foggy spared no detail when we got coffee this morning.” 

Trying his damndest not to feel miffed that you’d had coffee with only his roommate, he aimed for a nonchalant tone. “Coffee with Fog, huh?” 

“Well, it could have been both of you if you’d answered your phone.” You chuckled softly, shaking your head at the subtle pout on Matt’s face. “Don’t worry, trouble, you’re still my best guy.” 

For a moment, all Matt could feel was the stutter of his heart. “Oh–uh, that’s,” He stammered, face glowing with a crimson blush. You giggled at his response.

“So is the raincoat a permanent fixture or did you just forget to take it off?” 

Matt rolled his eyes, “Well, someone started talking to me and I got distracted.” Unzipping the vinyl jacket, he began to pry it off when a choking sound from you halted his movements.

“What?” He muttered, with feigned exasperation. 

“Is that a new shirt?” You bit your lip to keep from laughing, already speculating just who had purchased that garment. The button down looked nothing like the simple ones Matt usually donned, and he usually dressed more conservatively in longer sleeved garments–there was no way he had purchased this fabric of his own free will. 

Unlike the dark sweaters and monochrome shirts that made up the rest of his wardrobe, this shirt was…colorful, to say the least. The pattern was a horrendous combination of flames and hawaiian style flowers. A ring of scarlet cartoon hibiscus blossoms sat atop Matt’s waistline, composing a base for the flames, which looked like they’d been pulled off of a racist’s motorcycle. 

Matt ran a hand along the hem, tilting his head in confusion. “This isn’t my shirt, is it?”

Stifling another round of giggles, you shook your head. “I don’t believe so, no.”

“You’re laughing. Fuck, what does it look like?” 

“Um, it’s got flowers and…fire on it? Definitely not your style.” 

“Shit!” Matt hissed, zipping up his coat as quietly as he could. “Foggy must’ve put it in my dresser.” 

You bit back a smile, turning your attention to the professor who had begun looking for students to pick on. 

After a few hours of legal jargon flowing in one ear and out the other, Matt could barely sit still—his mind already planning the trip home to inspect the rest of his clothes, which he assumed had also been replaced. Though he’d been willing to beg for your assistance, he’d only needed to ask for you to come with once before you agreed sincerely, clearly pitying him and his ugly shirt. 

Sure enough, when they’d returned to his dorm and examined the contents of his dresser, it was filled with clothes that were most certainly not his. The textures were all wrong and you confirmed that they were all garishly patterned. 

With a low growl, Matt slammed the drawer of his dresser shut, making you jump. 

“Hey, it’s ok, we can just ask Foggy to put your stuff back!” You reasoned, placatingly. 

Shaking his head with a snarl, he clenched his fists. “Oh no. This means war.” 

You gulped, not finding an ounce of sarcasm in his words. If you were Foggy, you’d be begging for forgiveness about now. 

The next couple weeks passed in an agonizing blur of lengthy readings and lonely work shifts. Matt and Foggy had doubled down on their efforts to out-prank each other, and it was beginning to take its toll on their relationship.  

As the weather turned chilly and fallen leaves began to carpet the ground, you were finding it difficult to be in the same room with the two of them. After the wardrobe incident, Matt had sulked for two days, refusing to hang out with Foggy until he'd had his revenge. Armed with a box of hot pink hair dye and a few permanent markers, Matt was sure he'd be able to make Foggy look as ridiculous as those shirts made him feel.  If your shocked reaction was any measurement, he'd say the effort succeeded. 

Of course, Foggy rewarded this behavior with a prank of his own. Finding and removing his formerly pristine school supplies from mounds of loose Jello had been a horrendous sensory experience that Matt NEVER wanted to repeat. That was approximately 4 days ago and Matt was STILL finding dried bits of lime jello in his pen caps. 

The two continued to trade practical jokes, currently locked in a battle of removing each other’s furniture. He was still working on his most recent prank at your next study group session. With the help of a floormate, Matt had been able to move Foggy's desk, chair, and mattress to the roof of the dorm. Sweating profusely while he heaved the plastic covered mattress up the last flight of stairs, he didn't hear you approaching. 

“Whatcha doin'?“ You asked cautiously, taking in the manic determination on full display. 

”Pranking...Foggy.” He managed. Fuck he needed to hit a gym. 

“Well, that was a given. Do we think that this is still within the realm of friendly teasing? Or...” 

“He can sleep on a bed...when my stuff...stops smelling like it's made of fucking fruit.”

“Hmmm. Ok. I'll be in your room then.” You replied, your words tinged with a disappointment that Matt wasn't anticipating. It irked him, pulling at his stressed consciousness uncomfortably. How come you hadn’t shown the same reaction when Foggy had moved his things across the hall a week ago? Shrugging off the guilt he felt, he mustered up the strength to shove the mattress up to its destination.

Huffing breaths as he shuffled down the stairs to you, he couldn't shake the lingering irritation that your tone had implanted in his psyche. You were sitting on folded legs in his bed, textbook open in your lap. 

“Ready to study?” You questioned, not glancing up from the text. 

“Depends, am I going to get a lecture?” 

“On intentional torts? I'm not an expert, but I can definitely try--” Your innocent tone did nothing to soothe his growing frustration. 

“That's not what I meant and we both know that.” He bit out, “If you have a problem with it, you can just say so, I'm not made of glass.”

“There's no problem, Matty.” Your heart stuttered and his anger sparked. 

“Bullshit.” He scoffed, pacing in front of you. 

“I don't know what's up with you and Fog, that's your business, this just seems...extreme, Matt.”

“He took my clothes, that wasn't 'extreme' to you?”

“I didn't say that! I'm just saying this isn't an effective way to communicate that you weren't comfortable with him touching your stuff.” 

Rolling his eyes, Matt yanked the door open. “On second thought, I think I'm good with this chapter of torts. I'll see you in class next week.”

“Matt,” He couldn't bear to focus on you, your rapidly crumpling body language, the lump of emotion in your throat. 

“Please. I don't want to lose another friend.” He pleaded.

Sighing in defeat, you closed the book and left without a word. 

Matt breathed shallowly, matching his inhales to the pattern of your retreating steps as he cursed himself for turning you away. Setting his jaw, he swiped away a drop of moisture from his cheek and set off for the stairs. 

It was hours before Foggy got home, out with a group of students from his Modern Dance class. Walking carefully into the dark room, he flipped on the lights and hunkered down on his bed, stripping off his dirty socks before opening his Property textbook. 

“Hey Matt, have you started on the Property essay yet?” He asked the stiff lump of a man who lay in his own bed facing the wall.

“No.” Came the gruff response of his surly roommate.

“Shit, I was hoping you'd have started with our jitterbug so I could mooch some tips off you two geniuses.” 

Matt didn't so much as snort in response to the bad joke. Instead, he abruptly rolled over and snatched his cane from its place beside the door. 

“I'm going for a walk.” Matt remarked, icily.

“Oh, uh, ok did you want—” 

“No.” Shutting the door firmly on his way out, Foggy blinked at his shadow as it disappeared. 

“Goodnight to you too, I guess” He scoffed, turning back to his assignment with a roll of his eyes. 

Setting your jaw, you blew out a breath and knocked on the door. When you received silence in return, you rolled your eyes and knocked with more vigor. “Matthew, Franklin, I know you’re in there!” 

A very apprehensive Foggy appeared as the door slid open. Shoving past him and into the room, you gave a furtive smile. “Hello, how are you, I'm also well, thanks for asking.” You rattled off, collapsing into Matt's creaky desk chair. 

Foggy was still hovering nervously by the door, avoiding your stern gaze, while Matt courageously pretended not to notice your presence--fingers running over lines of braille in a thick book. Folding your hands together, you plastered on a sardonic grin. “Now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way, I would like to kindly request that you two get your shit together.”

Your blunt words and brash tone ignited defensiveness in them both. Foggy spluttered and Matt turned to face you with a look of indignation. 

“What are you–” “We weren't–” 

“Cut the crap.” You interrupted the pair, leaning against the frame of the chair and crossing your arms. “You want to fight with each other? Let a stupid prank war drive our group apart? Fine. But the least you can fucking do is grow some balls and tell me that yourselves. I'm tired of the sulking. So, what'll it be? Are we done?” 

Both boys sat sheepishly in their own silence. Foggy kicked his feet as if he were a toddler on a swing, Matt looked like a kicked puppy—crimson blush glowing on his cheeks as he pushed up his glasses. 

After several moments of hesitant silence, Matt spoke up. “We aren’t done.” 

Nodding in relief, you jerked your chin at Foggy, “Fog, you agree?”

“Course I do! There’s no way I’ll graduate without the two of you. It’s in my best interests to keep you happy.” It was clearly meant to seem like a joke, but the way Foggy’s voice trailed off at the end made you tilt your head.

“Hey, you know that’s not true right? You’re plenty capable of doing this on your own!” Frowning, you watched as Foggy’s face crumpled before your legs were moving of their own accord, carrying you to his side as he turned his glossy eyes to his bedspread. “Hey, Fog, I’m serious!” 

Running a hand along his shoulder, your heart split in two as fat tears slipped down his face. 

“Fog, buddy, you’re so smart!” Matt chimed in, crossing the divide between the two beds and settling on the blond’s over side. Tugging Foggy to rest against your shoulder, Matt’s head stacked against yours atop Foggy’s blond hair–the three of you melding together into a stressed heap as the heightened emotions of the past week culminated. 

“It’s true, don’t deny it.” Foggy lamented from his place on your shoulder, strands of his thick hair sticking to the glistening trails that ran across his blotchy cheeks. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I shouldn’t be here! Maybe my parents are right and I should drop out to work in the family store instead.” 

“The hell you should! You’re just as capable of this shit as we are.” You assured him, rubbing a hand up and down his sweatshirt clad arm. “And you’re not the only one worried about passing. I freak out about that every day!”

“Yah, but you’re not the one who failed the Civil Procedure midterm.” The long haired boy sobbed. 

You froze, second-hand anxiety rippling through you like a stiff breeze. Matt’s head lifted from yours and cocked towards his roommate. “Oh Fog, why didn’t you tell us?” 

“You were mad at me and we weren’t hanging out anymore and–and–” The poor kid was bawling, fists clenching around the worn fabric of his pajama pants as feelings of terror and embarrassment welled up in his chest. 

“It’s ok, bud, just breathe.” You soothed shakily, trying to model steady breaths for him. Sensing your intentions, Matt smiled encouragingly. 

“That’s it, dude. You got it.” When the blond’s breathing evened, Matt nudged his shoulder gently. “I’m really sorry that I pushed you away. I was acting like a fucking middle schooler instead of being honest with you. Just know, you can always always come to me, even if we’re fighting.”

“Same here.” You added, studying Matt’s blank eyes for a moment, “That goes for both of you.”

“Can we go back to being best friends now?” Foggy sniffled, pulling back to look between you and Matt warily. 

“We never stopped being best friends, silly,” Pulling Foggy into a tight hug, you huffed a chuckle as he sighed in relief. 

“Well, ya could’ve fooled me.” The words were muffled as Foggy continued to press his face into your cardigan. 

The bed stirred underneath you as Matt shifted uncomfortably. Clearing his throat, you could see him building up the courage to confess, “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never really had…friends before.” Matt’s words were calculated, trying not to reveal too much anguish as he spoke. “I had a mentor for a bit, at the orphanage, but that was it. So, I’ll admit, I’m not the most…practiced at this.” 

“That’s ok, Matty. We can teach you. Right, Fog?” Taking the raven-haired boy’s hand, you waited for the other’s assent.

He nodded viciously, swiping a hand over his damp face. “Of course.”

Squeezing Matt’s hand, you giggled. “You’re stuck with us now, Matty.”

With a satisfied grin, Matt threw an arm over Foggy’s shoulders. “Thank god. Who else will put googly eyes on all my stuff?”

Foggy smiled as you giggled, but his face quickly fell as you brought up studying again. “As for that test Fog, we can go through it together. There’s plenty of time until the end of the semester and we have two other exams. You can do this.” 

“You think so?” Biting his lip, Foggy glanced between you and Matt. 

“We know so, bud.” Matt promised. “We’re in this together. Right, jitterbug?” 

“Ok, where is this ‘jitterbug’ nonsense coming from.” You scoffed, biting back a smile at Matt’s hearty laugh. 

“Don’t ask me, Foggy started it!” Matt chuckled.

“Sure, pass the blame to the crying kid!” Rolling his eyes, Foggy elbowed Matt in the chest.

“You’re not even crying anymore!”

“You’re both deflecting!” You butted in, earning new excuses from both boys. 

As the three of you argued, you remained a knot of limbs–shadows and pink rays of light dancing across your smiles as the sun set.

Bonus Content: the shirt referenced in Foggy's second prank!!

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe @abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @jadeunstablexx @spider-murdock @0ctober-writes @danzer8705

[monzamash]

the good, the bad and what could’ve been — lando norris (part one)

summary – nine years. an age gap that you didn’t know would cause so much heartache. you tell yourself that it’s fine, he tells you that he could give you the world but this was a cautionary tale of what could’ve been if you just let love win. pairing – lando norris x you (female reader) chapter rating – mature (sexual references, language, age gap/older woman) word count – 7k inspired by charlie puth's song called boy. masterlist

part one | part two | part three

Drenched rat was the only way to describe your appearance as the late evening downpour rained all over your parade. It had been one of those days that seemed to go on forever and there was nothing you wanted more than to see that last client waltz out of the studio and into those glorious Friday night shadows. Thank god it was the weekend.

"Any plans for the weekend, lovey?" Rae, your friend and closest co-worker asked from across the room, cleaning up her station for the last time this week.

You shrugged, not really having the mental capacity to even respond but she was being polite and the least you could do was answer.

"Maybe... My little brother's turning 21 and has reluctantly extended an invite my way so just loose plans at this stage. You?"

Rae went on to detail her jam-packed weekend with her husband, who like her was the life of every party. They were freshly married – only 3 months or so but they had been endgame since their college days apparently, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. Positivity exuded them wherever they went and you hated to admit that there was a pang of envy whenever they rocked up to after work drinks together or he dropped off her lunch that she'd left at home. Smitten by each other even after all these years.

All those little things festered away and created a small pit of jealousy in your stomach that you resented. You were happy, right? You had a successful career, a cute apartment and suitors 'round the block waiting for you to make up your mind and just fucking pick one of them. Anyone.

What Rae had was a once in a lifetime kind of love, you thought as the overhead lights were turned off and Patrick motioned for you to grab your shit and go home. The studio was cloaked in darkness as you squeezed through the small door, locked and loaded with an umbrella and a backpack filled with sketchbooks and diaries. And all you could do was pray that they were waterproofed enough to make the journey home.

"See ya Monday – and try to be on time, yeah?" Patrick arrogantly jabbed your way before disappearing out of sight and hopefully out of your life for the next 48 hours – or longer if you could get your shit together.

"Fucking arsehole," You muttered as Rae huddled under your umbrella, brushing your back with understanding.

"He doesn't know how to treat you because you intimidate him," She shook her long, black hair and rubbed her hands together, attempting to generate enough heat to keep warm as the thick fog rolled through the streets.

You shrugged, knowing that she was just trying to lighten the mood and send the week off with a positive – something she always liked to do for you, especially after a week filled with the same old bullshit. You were overbooked, overworked and wishing you were anywhere but here.

"It's nothing a really expensive bottle of wine can't fix," You half-joked and made sure Rae was sheltered before bidding her goodbye, "See you in hell on Monday."

Rae sent you a sullen wave, no doubt wishing she could've cheered you up just a little before going home to her seemingly perfect life. There wasn't much point trying when all attempts fell on deaf ears – nothing could pull you out of the perpetual cycle of drink, sleep, work, repeat. That was how it was and how it would always be and you had come to terms with that.

The short walk home from the studio was a miserable one, which was to be expected strolling the streets of London in the middle of December. But the glimmering lights reflected in the evening downpour and the smell of food cooking – sizzling kebab if you had to really hone in on the smokey, chargrilled scent wafting through the cool air, made it a little more bearable than usual. That didn't mean much considering nothing had brought you joy for months. Not even the discreetly packaged vibrator your best friend had left in a box on your doorstep with a sticky note saying, 'you deserve it'. Tragic.

You grumbled quietly to yourself, noticing a nosy neighbour standing beside the entrance to your building, waiting for either you or a cab. It was always hard to tell. She was an older lady who loved to pry and nothing gave her more pleasure than to bundle people up and have a chat. She was harmless and meant well but the last thing you needed tonight was an ambush.

"Sorry Effie, I have to get upstairs and get out of these wet clothes."

You got in first with the excuse and she simply smiled and waved. Effie knew the trials and tribulations of a London winter since she'd lived here all her life, simply wishing you a wonderful weekend and making you feel bad for brushing her off.

The apartment was cold and dimly lit as you flicked on the kitchen light and chucked your backpack down on the couch with a huff. You hoped it would feel better being home after a long day but you knew you had no food, no company and a cold bed waiting for you upstairs. All things that made it impossible to look on the bright side.

"Fuck. My. Life," You groaned into the fridge and slammed it shut, internally wishing past you had organised something for dinner.

You did as you told Effie and went upstairs to change into something comfier and less wet – a tracksuit set, combat boots and new beanie to cover the bird’s nest you called a "hairstyle". The floor length raincoat you should've taken to work was waiting for you at the front door – almost taunting your never-ending brain fades. You scooped up your keys and scarf and headed downstairs again, hoping that Effie had left to wherever the hell she was going on a Friday night. The fact a 70 year old woman had more of a social life should've worried you more but you were too tired to care.

By now it was a quarter to midnight and there was really only one option to get anything resembling food this late since the closest Waitrose was a 10-minute walk away. You had already burnt your bridge there by rocking up at closing time, forcing them to keep the tills open so you could buy emergency ice cream. You couldn't show your face there ever again.

The bright blue and red lights spilling into the puddles that were still filling from the rain was a welcomed sight. It was the only sign of life for miles, besides yourself and you were grateful having a 24-hour Tesco Express right around the corner. Capitalist convenience was in working order. The florescent lights were not as pleasant as you walked in and triggered the bell hanging over the automatic doors.

A familiar voice sang out your name, greeting you from behind the counter with a half-arsed smile adorning his kind face. You grabbed a basket and gave him a wave.

"Hi Kev," You meekly returned and continued on your way down the aisles, hoping to find a few things that would tide your hunger over until the sun came up.

You stopped at the confectionary section and perused for a second, debating whether a sugar hit this late in the night was the responsible adult thing to do. Your mum's authoritarian voice rang in your ears as you reached out and grabbed a bag of skittles, smiling to yourself as you dropped them into the basket. That smile had been the first of the day, maybe even of the week and it felt nice for a split second to feel the weight lifting from your shoulders.

"Late dinner?"

The voice came from a few steps away and belonged to a smirking stranger. He was taller than you, even hunched over the bargain bin he was rifling through. His hair was curly and sopping wet and it was hard to tell if it was just dark because of that or naturally, but your confused gaze connected with his and the smile that had just been on your cold face had disappeared.

"Excuse me?" You quietly asked and stared into his icy blue eyes, prepared to strike with a snarky comeback or two.

"The skittles," He pointed to your basket, "That used to be my evening meal a few years ago until I realised I was an addict and had to get help."

The kind smile on his face softened your stern expression, "Oh, right... Well I'm glad you found the help you needed. Maybe I should too," You tried to muster a joke and he laughed – loudly.

Nobody laughed like that at anything you had said lately because most of the things you did say were either dripping in sarcasm or laced with self-deprecation. Both weren't cute or endearing the longer it became apart of your personality. But he liked your joke enough to give you a boost of serotonin and your smile was back –even brighter than before.

"I did but you should definitely level it out with something else – maybe something chocolaty," The mystery man nodded towards the rows of chocolate bars lining the racks in front of you, now openly encouraging your bad habit.

His accent was different to what you were used to – British, kind of upperclass, kind of not but laced with something else and you were intrigued. Maybe even a little mesmerised by the way he stood his ground, making small talk to a complete stranger in the middle of the night. He looked cozy too, tracksuit clad like you, giving zero fucks about how you fashionable you looked, or really what anyone thought. Comfy, friendly, warm – he was different.

"Great suggestion but I think this will do enough damage," You replied, making him chuckle again.

"I'll live my junk food fantasies vicariously through you," He said before he turning on his heel and making his way to the register at the front of the store, humming to himself.

You could hear his boisterous yet kind voice as you grabbed a pre-mixed salad and lined up behind him, "Thanks man – have a great night," He said to Kevin who no doubt appreciated a friendly face this late in the night.

The stranger sent one lasting smile your way and said 'hope you do too' before he exited with his bag of almonds and a coconut water. Simple and nutritious – which was more than you could say about your late night dinner choices.

With a genuine pep in your step and your items safely tucked under your arm, you left the shop feeling a lot lighter than you did when you walked in and that was something unexpected. A polite run in with a stranger was an unlikely mood-booster but you were clinging to it while it lasted. That was until you noticed a shadowy figure walking up ahead as you rounded into your street and slowed down, but the person heard your footsteps loud and clear.

Internally cursing yourself for wearing the loudest boots you owned, you relaxed a little when you realised it was the man from the store, who had thrown a thick puffer jacket over his orange hoodie. There was a short pause as your eyes met and a puzzled look flashed across his flushed face, wind blown.

"I'm not stalking you," You said in hopes of easing his confusion, "I live here."

You pointed to the large wooden door that led into your apartment building as you tugged your jacket closed, trying to trap any warmth left in your body. The man turned around and looked to where you were pointing before spinning back with a soft chuckle, "And I live there."

He gestured to the building across the small side street you were both standing in, looking as bewildered as each other. It was your turn to laugh as the penny dropped – you were neighbours.

"Small world," You humorously replied and took a few long strides past him. As cute as he was in the darkness, you were frozen solid and needed to thaw out as soon as possible otherwise you'd be asking him for a ride to the hospital.

"See you around?" He asked more as a question than a statement and you nodded with a small, chattering smile.

"Yep," You simply replied and buzzed yourself into the building, shivering beneath all the layers you'd put on before leaving. Even though you were smiling through gritted teeth and feeling warmth from the fleeting conversation, the several layers of clothing and a genuine smile from a stranger weren't even enough to keep you from hypothermia. You couldn't wait to get upstairs and sit by the heater, wishing you were in some quaint country cabin far, far away.

"Yep... Just keep the peel on until tonight and then wash your thigh with that soap I gave you... Yep, warm water is perfect and make sure you put on a thin layer of cream after that... It’ll probably be a little red but I promise you’ll heal perfectly so don't stress," You reassured your client who had gotten her first ever tattoo yesterday.

Your work was rewarding in so many ways but the pressure of working for someone else came with it's unique challenges. There was nothing you wanted more than to open up your own little tattoo shop with Rae and live your life the way you wanted to – not the way some washed up muso envisioned. With a few more words of encouragement, you managed to reassure your client and begin your Saturday, doing a whole lot of nothing.

The sun was shining at least and you figured you might as well enjoy some of what the day had to offer before your night out later this evening. Your brother had given you strict instructions on when and where his birthday drinks were going to be and you knew then that making an appearance at this thing was now a non-negotiable. You couldn't be seen as the flaky older sister again and you didn't want to let him down – that relationship was one of very few that were sacred in your life and turning 21 was a big deal.

It wasn't long until you were strapping on your heels, sticking a couple more bobby pins into the messy bun you were trying to tame and trotting down the staircase, ready to mingle. You had been single now for much longer than you would've liked and although there had been moments of weakness, nothing had amounted to more than a shitty one-night stand. And it was infuriating.

A complete exodus from dating apps hadn't helped your cause but you couldn't handle another ghosting, especially not from some grubby dude who had no right being anywhere near you. You had standards that were high and there was nothing wrong with that – until a couple of gin and tonics are consumed and you forget you were even human. All of a sudden your standards have left the building along with you and said grubby dude.

"Hey!" A voice echoed from across the street as you closed the building door and glanced around with furrowed brows, wondering who was calling out your way.

That's when you spotted him – the man from last night who you couldn't stop thinking about, even if you didn't want to admit it. He looked different in the daylight and definitely lived up to parts of the vision you'd conjured after your random meeting in the street. The curls were there, as were the light blue eyes that caught your attention but he was younger than you first thought, a lot younger which was an important detail that you'd missed in the darkness. One you wished you had of noticed before summoning those late-night thoughts.

"Hi again," You greeted with crossed arms, trying to cover the somewhat revealing dress underneath your jacket.

You quickly clocked his athleisure wear and concluded that he was probably going to the gym with his friend who was trailing closely behind him. They were both full of smiles as you crossed the road, figuring you had to wait for your cab anyway so you might as well have company.

"I realised after I went in last night that I didn't even introduce myself – I'm Lando," He said and held out his hand for you to shake.

"Well in our defence it was super late and my brain was definitely mush," You replied and grasped his warm hand, introducing yourself.

You'd be lying if you didn't say there was a small, flash of something resembling a spark as you shook his hand. A little buzz of excitement that in the moment you chalked up to being super alone and outrageously horny. Desperate didn't even begin to describe the mess that was your sex life and with that in mind, your snap reaction of having undeniable chemistry with him was probably not accurate. But whether it was a figment of your imagination or not, it was still a valid feeling and you were going to have to bury that shit.

"Nice to put a name to the face," Lando smiled and turned to his friend who up until this point had remained quiet, "This is my father, Carlos."

You knew he was pulling your chain, or at least you hoped he. His friend shoved him in the side, fervently shaking his head, "Clearly not his father but Hola," He sheepishly greeted, voice laced with a thick accent and a smile that would make any sane individual with two eyes and a pulse melt in place.

"I was gonna say that's a little suss but I don't judge without context."

You glanced between the two men with a smirk and held your hands up – making them both chuckle quietly. They also eyed each other, a silent nod following that you couldn’t quite decipher. It was fleeting, almost so much so that if you blinked, you would’ve missed it. Maybe you wished you did because now you were cursing yourself for not taking that body language class at university all those years ago. Pointless and too bohemian for your liking, you thought at the time but now, standing on a rain gutter, you regretted passing such haste judgment. Their unspoken conversation infuriated you internally as Lando looked back at you with an awkward smile.

"Nah, I'm an appropriately aged guy and definitely not a child..." Lando trailed off and clumsily scratched the back of his neck, "Don't know what I mean by that but um yeah, not his son obviously." He was fumbling, frantically trying to change the subject but instead looked down at his dirty white sneakers with a grimace, internally face-palming himself.

You bit down on your mauve coloured bottom lip and tried to conceal the smile threatening to reveal itself. He was cute. Awkward? Absolutely. A little dorky with his oversized hoodie and boyish grin? You could say that but he was still kind of cute nonetheless.

"Obviously," You replied sweetly and noticed your uber pulling up outside your apartment building, ready to take you somewhere you could drown your shitty week away.

"Nice to officially meet you and your dad – see you around." You winked and maintained eye contact with Lando before strutting across the street and jumping in your uber.

You wondered what they said once you were gone and whether you looked better in broad daylight or in the shadows of the night. Your intrusive thoughts were quickly pushed aside when you realised he was more than likely taken, or not interested. Or more importantly, way too young for you to even be having these thoughts about. The good ones never were right for you – there was always something. It was like a curse that you'd picked up somewhere along the way – a curse that forbid any man with a job and their shit together to look your way twice. You were invisible to those men lately and you couldn't help but blame yourself.

With a mission to find someone to take your mind off those negative thoughts, you ordered your first drink, and then your second drink and you guessed it – your third and fourth in quick succession. You swore the dance floor was falling out from under your feet as your brother and his girlfriend scooped you up and called you an Uber. The night was over before it had even begun and you knew you'd be filled with regret in the morning. But right now, you were just lucky to be standing upright.

"Will you be okay?" Your brother asked as you flopped into the back of the car, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Pfft, I'm a professional drinker," You hiccupped and covered your mouth, "I'll be fine – driver, take me home!"

The uber driver mumbled something under his breath and punched in the address your brother had given him, no doubt sick of trashed girls on the brink of vomiting, flailing around in the back of his car. You were a mess and attempting to cover that up by drinking wasn't doing you any favours. In fact you knew it was only going to make you feel worse – especially tomorrow.

"Alright, you're home," The driver said loudly, waking you up from the quick nap you decided to take in the backseat, blaming the warmth for lulling you to sleep.

"Make sure you grab everything."

A scoff slipped past your lips as you gathered your bags, "I know what I'm doing," You retorted, not realising that you were probably slurring every word and most definitely making absolutely no sense to someone who was stone-cold sober.

You closed the door and nearly fell forward over the gutter doing so, trying to balance in the heels that had caused your feet to go numb. The black car drove off and you waved like a maniac, thinking you were hilarious before rummaging through your handbag for your keys. You could barely see through blurry vision and the cold air made every inch of you exposed skin tingle as you stumbled into the brick wall of your building. At least you were home.

"Fuck," You hissed to yourself as you dug through the bag and saw nothing but a dark void. It was an impossible task without the flash on your phone to light the way.

The sound of a car door slamming shut across the street startled you out of your intoxicated rage, causing a few items to tumble from your handbag, including your phone. And there he was again, dressed smartly this time – the mystery man who's name you couldn't quite remember in your drunken state. You turned away and frantically started looking for your keys again, hoping to God he wouldn't come over and see you looking like a complete mess. Famous last thoughts.

"Early night?" His innocent question echoed through the empty street and you closed your eyes, knowing there was no way you could avoid him now – especially since you were locked out of your apartment with nowhere to go.

You bashfully looked up through your fake eyelashes and sent him a lazy smile, "Yeah, didn't quite uhm, end up – end up the way I expected," You managed to stammer through your sentence, hoping he could understand some of what you were saying.

"Well we've all been there... Do you need help?" He asked and looked down at your hands that were full, "Because you've dropped a couple of things in the gutter..."

You looked down and realised you'd dropped not only your phone but also your purse, a powder compact and a small sketchbook, "I'm – I'm a real fucking idiot and I've lost my keys... I think... I think I left them in the uber," You confessed and conceded the obvious. You were locked out of your apartment in the dead of an English winter, dressed like an expensive escort. A disaster.

"Ah, crap. Have you given anyone a spare key?"

The glimmer in his eyes as you looked up from your bag made your heart skip a little in your chest. He was handsome, the curls you’d clocked falling onto his forehead as he stood up, and you couldn't stop staring until he snapped you out of your trance, your name falling effortlessly from his chapped, shivering lips, breath causing a thick fog to form in front of your confused face.

"Oh... uhm, my – my friend... ah shit what's her name?... God, what is wrong with me," You grumbled, breath mingling in the cold air as you rubbed your face, "What's your name again?"

"It's Lando," He kindly replied with a soft chuckle and tucked away the objects he’d picked up for you, knowing there was no way you would be able to do any of that in the state you were in.

“Lando,” You repeated quietly, “Like the star trek dude? I’ve never seen it but… that’s right, right?” Even you could hear your incoherent mumblings, making yourself physically cringe because he was too polite to correct you, “Just stop talking, idiot.” You whispered to yourself, or at least you hoped he didn’t hear you. He did.

"Definitely named after the dude in star trek,” He chuckled softly and scanned the empty street, wondering what the hell he was going to do with a drunk, helpless woman.

He couldn’t leave her like this but he also had plans – a blind date that had been sprung on him and set up by Carlos at the gym. Sure, he had been regretting saying yes to it but he hadn’t been out on a date in months, maybe longer and he was sick of the late night hook up that had become too much of a regular occurrence, though completely random. He wanted more than that, something worth his precious time and he didn’t need the drama that came from the one-night stands. It didn’t even matter how good it felt in the moment. Occupied sheets and empty promises didn’t keep him warm at night. It made him physically ill.

But now he was faced with what was obviously a challenge – a beautiful mess of a rescue mission. 

“Look, why don't you come in out of the cold and we'll call your nameless friend who has your spare key?"

Your eyebrows furrowed and you blinked a couple of times before looking at the locked door beside you, "I can't go inside because *hiccup* I've lost my keys... I think I left 'em in that uber... But he was just here, I swear..."

Lando stifled a giggle again and slowly nodded, "Yep, we've been over that but I meant my place. Not sure if you remember this but I live over the street from you... Right there," He gestured towards the opposite building and you rolled your eyes.

"I know that, buddy," You sarcastically retorted, "I'm not stupid." You were slurring up a storm and he simply smiled in response – his patience was commendable.

"My apologies... But I'm freezing and you're turning blue so come on – I promise I'm not a weirdo," He held out his hand and nodded towards his building, blue eyes glimmering under the dim streetlight.

You sighed and linked your icy fingers with his, "You better not be a weirdo..." You rasped and let him guide you over the road, silently enjoying clinging to his muscular bicep and watching his ringlets blowing in the wind.

As you let your entire body weight brush against his arm, you felt something sharp digging into your ribs, a foreign object that you swore wasn’t there before. You stopped in your tracks, leaving Lando confused as you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a set of keys – "Wow."

“Oops,” You grimaced, goofy grin instantly sweeping across your face when Lando looked down at your hands, chuckling at you as you stumbled out of his grasp, “Guess you don’t get to murder me tonight, Lawrence!”

“Not even close,” He shuffled back with a smile and observed your every move, ready to swoop in if you did stack it in the middle of the street. You were like a baby giraffe, clomping across the damp asphalt in your heels, giggling to nobody. “You know where I live if you need anything.”

“Yeah, yeah!” You shouted back, trying your best to smoothly exit the situation and from your perspective, you were killing it.

But reality was a cruel, unforgiving beast – and you were failing miserably to play it cool as you toppled through the building door and nearly face-planted into the couch nestled in the foyer. It was a miracle that you didn’t fall, Lando thought as a smitten grin surfaced on his frost bitten cheeks while he walked upstairs to his own apartment, drafting the dreaded ‘sorry I can’t make it' text but feeling no regret at all.

You were all he could think about for the rest of the night – a beautiful hurricane rolling through his life for the briefest of moments, a burst of long wavy hair, trench coat fluttering in the wind and for a second he wished, deep down that maybe you had lost your keys. As quickly as that thought crossed his mind, he shooed it away – knowing already that you were out of his league, hell, you weren’t even playing the same sport. What the fuck was he going to do if he did get you up here, away from civilisation where it was just the two of you? God help him.

From a distance, you seemed sophisticated, witty, chaotic fun – all traits that had him staring at his ceiling, soundlessly wondering when he would see you again. Soon, he hoped.

“Six tequila shots, Jen! We’re celebrating!” You yelled over the loud EDM music blasting through the club, the smell of testosterone and Acqua di gio aftershave mixing in the already thick, humid air.

“Of course, girl! What are we celebrating?” The bartender asked smiling from ear to ear. Jen, who by day was a barista at your local café, had become one of your closest friends in the city and was always cheering you on from the sidelines while serving you the best coffee in London.

“I quit my soul sucking job and told Patrick to shove it up his arse!” You shouted, waving your arms in the air along with your best friend who had insisted on helping commemorate this magnificent occasion, “I finally bit the bullet and did it, Jen and I feel bloody amazing!”

Jen leaned over and grasped your forearms, “Super proud of you, sis. ‘Bout fucking time you did something for yourself.”

You couldn’t argue with that. She was right.

It had been a week since your drunken run in with your neighbour. Humiliating was the first thought that came to mind, head thumping for days following. You hadn’t seen him since that ill-fated night and there was a small part of you that searched for him whenever you left for work, eyes quickly glancing across the street in case fate was working your favour and he was leaving too. Happenstance.

But you were never that lucky and the week had gone from bad to worse at work – your boss had finally lost the plot and you were done, once and for all. No amount of love for your craft was worth being berated by a self-righteous, egotistical arsehole. He’d pushed too far and you were out of there, rucksack haphazardly slung across your shoulders and a smile bigger than the moon on your face. You were free – until the reality of unemployment hit.

London was your home and it had been for the better part of a decade, working at different tattoo parlours, building a solid client list along the way until you’d reached the top and now, finally opting out of the cruel, unrelenting torture that was working under Patrick. Life was too short and your thirties were well underway, that biological clock forever ticking while everyone else seemed to be settling down, buying that dream house with a picket fence. That wasn’t for me, you told yourself so you could sleep at night.

So much of your life was based around career goals and aspiration, so many of those things had been ticked off before your thirtieth birthday last year and it left you wondering where the time had gone. Your twenties had whizzed by faster than your teens and it made that hole in your heart, where you presumed personal goals were supposed to live feel emptier than ever. Especially when those friends you’d stayed in touch with since high school were having their second or third baby, getting married, some for the second time. Where had the time gone?

It was passing you by and even though you gave yourself that pep talk late at night, looking up at your ceiling, questioning whether you would ever find someone to share it all with or if you even wanted that, time continued to tick. Fleeting memories, first dates, and awkward one-night stands – they were all you really had in terms of a love life. The term ‘love life’ was probably over reaching, because if it was a life, it was fucking tragic.

But it was all you had. That and a kickass group of friends who had your back, setting you up with their husbands cute friends, until they turned out to be misogynistic arseholes, or worse – secretly married. In a population of 9 million, you would think there would be a plethora of kind, sweet men but you couldn’t seem to find one. And that led to the one question that did keep you up at night – maybe it’s me. Am I the problem?

“Babe, you’ve got it all. A gorgeous apartment, a beautiful puppy, you’re going to accomplish the dream you’ve had since you were 14 years old! There’s so much going for you that having a guy means nothing. And fuck men, honestly. I’m so glad we’re out here doing this because I’m one wet towel away from killing Jamie,” You couldn’t help but laugh at your best friend, Winnie.

“I’m serious!” And she was, the deadpan expression never faltering as you put your hands up for protection.

“I got you, I’m with you,” You defended, “I guess I just see everything else falling into place, even though my career path is a little murky right now but I’ll work that out… Love is the one thing I can’t figure out. What am I doing wrong?”

Winnie laughed and gripped your shoulder endearingly, “You are hot, like super hot. They are the issue, not you! Okay…” She trailed off and pushed another shot in your direction.

“Tonight’s the night. We are going to find you a cutie, someone fun. And it might just be a meaningless fuck like the rest but let’s deal with that in the morning,” She hiccupped, already tipsy from the shots.

You smiled and sweetly nodded, knowing that her intentions were coming from a good place but stomaching empty promises had become a regular occurrence. You’d lost count of how many guys she’d set you up with or found through dating apps when you went to the bathroom and came back to find her scrolling through, squealing every time a guy she liked matched with you. It all just felt pointless – and a little desperate. Okay, maybe a lot desperate but you appreciated her trying to help.

So you let her pull you through the crowd to where the rest of your friends were standing, all pouring shots down their throats and getting “wild”. A group of women in their early 30s, most with a kid or two or hadn’t been out to a club in months, some years. It was carnage but you appreciated them all coming out to celebrate you. It gave you something to hold onto even when the rest of your personal life was slowly sinking like the titanic, no safety boat in sight.

Until – you heard your name, loud and clearly from behind your friend. The voice was familiar, oddly so, like you’d imagined it somewhere along the lines and it wasn’t real. Lando’s face bobbed up from the side, smile adorning his sweet face, enthusiastic wave quickly followed and you returned it, the same smile too. His cheeks were flushed and eyes slightly bloodshot. You could tell he was tipsy.

“Hello stranger,” You greeted shyly, not knowing how to approach and apologise for the shameful display you showed last weekend. But before you could even get another word out, you were being pulled into a hug, a loose, one arm kind of hug but a hug nonetheless.

He was warm, perspiring ever so slightly as your cheek brushed across his damp neck, no doubt caused by the high humidity inside the club that was pumping. The lingering scent of Dior Sauvage mixed with a woody scented shampoo were notes you picked up on as your arm slipped around his waist, gently giving him a squeeze before you pulled away, half-heartedly.

“Glad you’re alive and well!” Lando shouted over the loud music, still beaming as you leaned in a little closer, “I am so, so, so sorry about last weekend… I’m not usually – well, no sometimes I get a little too heavy handed with my good friends gin and tonic but that was next level and not at all who I am typically… Just yeah, super embarrassed!”

Lando nodded empathetically, “Don’t be. You were, and I mean this is the nicest possible way; you were the most entertaining part of my week… So you’re drinking gin and tonic, yeah?” He asked, glancing down at your empty hands before turning to the bartender and hailing him over.

“Just a gin and tonic and a corona, please mate.”

Lando swivelled back your way, still grinning while he took in your surroundings, “Girls night out?” He asked, curious as to why you were out with your friends.

“Sort of,” You began to explain before graciously accepting the drink he had bought you, “I quit my crappy job and they insisted we celebrate – but between you and me, I think they’re just bored of their husbands and kids." Your whisper made him laugh, that serotonin boost lighting up your senses again, just like it did a week ago when you first met. Sparks flying.

“Makes sense," He nodded with a furrowed brow, looking serious before cracking a smile, "Congrats on quitting your shitty job, I’m sure your boyfriends here celebrating with you too, no?”

There was a glint in his eyes as they scanned the room and landed back on yours, eagerly awaiting your response. You didn’t give it to him straight away, letting him stew on that question for a couple seconds longer than humane, until he took a sip of his beer, finding something to occupy himself with while you left him there hanging.

“No boyfriend.”

Your answer was simple – to the point and Lando appreciated that as he let go of the deep sigh rattling around in his chest. Was he being nosy? Absolutely but he was also hedging his bets, knowing that if you did have a boyfriend and you looked like that then he wouldn’t have his two front teeth by the end of the night. He had to know for certain before he bought you another drink. And definitely before he asked you to dance.

There was barely a millimetre, if that between your body and his, only losing the warmth of his embrace when he twirled you around, giggling like teenagers who were superficially falling in love for the night. Your friend was the one who broke up the party, insisting that she said goodbye to you before leaving to relieve her babysitter.

“Everyone’s gone home and I think I’m gonna head off too,” She yelled before tugging you closer, “But have fun with your boy toy,” She whispered into your ear, her smirk telling as you pulled back and rolled your eyes.

“Stop it. It’s just a bit of harmless dancing,” You scoffed in return, but she’d known you since you were knee high to a grasshopper, practically experiencing all of life’s milestones in tandem – until she found her prince charming and had his babies, a betrayal like no other.

“Sure, sure,” She winked because she knew that there was a 90% chance that you wouldn’t make it home, or if you did, it was only because your place was closer than his, “Call me tomorrow morning when you get home.”

The cheek, you thought as she strutted off into the crowd, disappearing into the stormy London night. You were at a crossroads, standing in the middle of the club and searching the room for Lando. He’d given you space to speak with your friend, a subtle sign of respect while he rushed to the bathroom and splashed his face with water.

Get it together, he muttered, cursing his rosy cheeks and uncooperative curls, the bundle of ringlets gathering like a nest on the crown of his head. He didn’t want to look shabby in front of you, especially since he'd identified your expensive perfume and had noticed the red-bottomed heels adorning your feet. You were the uptown girl they were talking about in that song, the tune now on the tip of his tongue as he pushed through the bathroom door, whistling along to the silent song stuck in his head.

And there you were, lost in the crowd, searching. He wondered for a second whether you were looking for him or if your friend had just come over to tell you something and she was coming back. But when your eyes met, you smiled big. Grinning and relieved to see those bright blue eyes drawing you in from across the room, a familiar face to ease your nerves. You glided to him like a magnet magically pulling you both to the halfway point, hands immediately reaching, needy to feel the others touch again.

Winnie’s words rang in your ears, so sure of herself and what she knew about you. Your bad habits. You wanted to spite her and bid Lando farewell but when you watched his tongue swiping across his pouty bottom lip and that boyish smile tug at the corners of his mouth again, you were done for – hook, line and sinker.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

click here for part two

a/n – i really hope you enjoyed the 7k word introduction *facepalm* to this mini-series – it got away from me a little bit but i'm excited about exploring long form writing on tumblr so follow for updates and lmk what you think so far!

[pathetichoney]

[Image ID: A drawing of a selfie taken by Sam Manson with Damian Wayne. They are both dressed up in formal attire, Damian in a black/dark grey suit with a red tie, and Sam in a purple topped off the shoulder dress with black straps. She is wearing a variety of jewelry, a necklace with a bat pendant, a black choker with a star of david in a circle pendant and cartoonish spider shaped earrings. Her hair is reminiscent in her half-up hairstyle, but with two ponytails rather than one. The background is a dark wall, a white collumn and white tile flooring. There is a window in the back, with green curtains, and outside the window is a cityscape of Gotham at night. There is a watermark of the artist’s username in the top left corner @pathetichoney​. End ID.]

i am back on my bullshit this time with a v special new way that i’m drawing bc i got a new phone that i am paying out the wazoo for, however i can draw on it so my art has gotten significantly better. though of course i had to test myself and do both 1. a full background 2. a character who wears lipstick which i always struggle with unless their mouth is in a particular position and 3. a character that i have never ever tried to draw.

so like. rip me lol.

anyways i am back on my bullshit bc this is fanart of fanfic!!!! i always feel exactly in my element when i do this, it’s just always so good??? and fun?? and when i first read this fic, i mean oh god i just fell for it so hard. i ended up rereading it again like barely 48 hours after i’d finished reading it the first time lol

the fic in question is a damian and danny are twins au! it’s called Leap Before You Think by TourettesDog and i just-- the characterisations are just so well done it all feels incredibly natural especially with the merging of the two different universes into one cohesively and seamlessly it’s wonderful. there are a few faults with this pic i think, however i am still incredibly proud of it. as a bonus, here’s a better view of the window scene because i’m still really proud of that one:

[luvforemikai]

Bitch i might be

summary ~ just a regular day with the cullens, except the cullens have to deal with your bullshit. Not taking your adhd meds you're extra... active today. Enjoy!

warning ~ cussing and talk of pills

Quotes mentioned -

"Bitch i might be" - Gucci Mane

Music mentioned (in order) -

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"PINK WIG THICK ASS GIVE EM WHIP LASH, I THINK BIG GET CASH MAKE EM BLINK FAST, LOOK AT WHAT YOU JUST SAW THIS IS WHAT YOU LIVE FOR AHHHHHHHH IM A MOTHERFUCKIN MONSTAA" - "Y/N KEEP IT DOWN UP THERE!" rosalie yells, absolutely tired of your mess. You ignore her though and keep rapping while jumping on your bed, which causes your dad, carlisle, to come up and ask you himself. "I know you like to sing or rap or whatever it is that you do just please try to keep it down" he says softly. "Okay!" You say, but continue to rap your nicki minaj playlist until esme yells for a snack. You run out of your door aggressively, heading downstairs towards the kitchen singing beyonce. "DONT YOU EVER FOR A SECOND GET TO THINKINNNN YOU'RE IRREPLACEABLE!!". Jasper rolls his eyes while altering your mood , making you wanna stop singing and sit on the couch watching one of your favorite movies playing, "rush hour". Carlisle scolded jasper for what he did but he didnt care, he just enjoyed the peace and quiet while you ate your burritos esme made.

When you were finished you did an awkwardly flexible flip off the couch to go bother your parents carlisle and esme. "Can i have a friend over?".. "no, not while you're off your meds" esme says "okay but like the doctor said himself i should wait 48 hours to take my meds again because of that weird thing that was going on with my heart so i think I'll be alright.".. esme gave in "fine, which one"..."Nat?" Esme shakes her head "no absolutely not" "whyyy???" You say disappointed " i dont like her, so no. Pick somebody else"... "fine, uh, jasmine?"... "sure." Esme says while giving you a look of suspicion. "AAH thank you!" You say while hugging her.

Its 12pm and Jasmine comes in. everybody welcomes her and you go up to your room. You stay in your room with her for a few hours til you guys go downstairs to get something to eat. She's sitting on the couch singing.. "rock it dont stop it everybody get on the floor. Crank the party up we about to get it on .." while you bust out in dance moves, pulling from all those hiphop rehearsals you went to when you were little. You guys bust out laughing after a minute of it considering how random it was. She goes home a little while after.

Its 8pm and esme makes dinner for you. In return you play music on the television. "Baby boy you stay on my mind fulfull my fantasyyy i think about you all the time i see you in my dreamsss" you sing loudly while whining your hips. "I think she's going crazy without her meds" Edward says jokingly "Bitch i might be" you say quickly after while carlisle tells you to watch your language.

The food is done and its finally time to take your meds. Those 48 hours were rough. You slept a whole day and was active the next, you were more than ready. You still had trouble taking pills because of your borderline fear of choking so you took them with some icecream and was out like a light the next hour. You had Jasper to thank for that along with the crushed up melatonin Emmett put in your food. "Goodnight y/n" is all you heard when you were dosing off in Carlisle's arms while he took you up to your room.

[rcubens]

Southern Hospitality

TASK 2— A Eulogy by Reuben Sharpe

So he had finally found a tie. Did it fit with his outfit? He wasn’t exactly sure and with the compounding weight of a White Russian hangover and an impending funeral, he couldn't care less. He was grateful that Angus had given him a heads up about the eulogy, he spent the entirety of his night restless staring at the ceiling of his second childhood bedroom trying to string a cohesive sentence together. Nothing sounded right, it was either too sappy, or too vindictive, or too guilt ridden. As Mrs. Tristan read out the order of proceedings to the small group he almost asked if he could be excused; the cue card in his jacket pocket burning a hole in his side.

Reuben wasn’t well versed in funerals— something he used to be grateful for but, currently regretted. The whole weekend had been an exercise in time-travel. The same rooms, the same halls, the same bickering and same ridiculous thing they called a family. And to Reuben it seemed as though nothing had changed. He wanted to remain there forever. Sell his DC condo, quit his job and just roll out of bed and into the kitchen where breakfast was already prepared. Walk around the grounds, drink the wine cellar dry, bother all of his siblings daily. In DC, he was an island— well, there was Angus but, still he was alone. A solo office, a one bedroom off Columbia, an only child.

Hyperaware of his own presence and looking to the other wards for guidance, like he was thirteen again. This time he walks through the cemetery without his mother by his side, but rather, in his breast pocket. He needed her strength today, thinking about her for the first time in a long time. Today, he might very well be orphaned. There are too many people here for his liking, people he doesn’t recognize. Rich philanthropists, local politicians and other old geezers that probably knew Richard back when his dad did. Red rimmed eyes dart around, maybe his aunt was here. Or perhaps she moved her practice back to Georgia, or maybe she was dead. Maybe Reuben was orphaned long before Richard left.

As he sat listening to the other eulogies, he’s fidgeting with his father’s cufflinks. The smooth gold beneath his fingers reminds him of his father. He’d know how to do this. How to wrap your venom in niceties, Southern hospitality or some bullshit. Before he knows it, someone is nudging him and motioning him to stand. Suddenly, his attention seeking efforts don’t feel so brave. It’s like that reoccurring dream you have when you’re walking down the hall of your high school stark naked and everyone’s laughing at you. His cheeks are hot, and he’s trying not cry, to not deceive these people into thinking he cares.

He stands at the pulpit, hands gripping the sides so tightly his knuckles are white. He can’t look out at this crowd and say the things he wants to say. He looks down at the worn wood as he slips his notes out of his pocket. Looking up for a beat through blond curls at Mrs. Tristan, her face says Reuben is on very thin ice…or maybe that’s what mourning looks like on someone who did all the work and received none of the credit.

He stands a little taller and takes a deep breath. “For those of you who may not know me, I’m Reuben Sharpe— my father was Senator Benedict Sharpe and my mother is Evangeline Louise Marston Sharpe, and after the death of my father I was brought here to Woodrow House.” He pauses to chew the inside of his cheek, which is raw from all the nerves of the past 48 hours.

“Richard Woodrow was not a good father—” a wave of anxious energy floods every vein in his body. But no one rushes to silence him or chalks it up to Reuben just being Reuben. Fortunately for him, there’s a captive audience. “A good father loves unconditionally— there’s no favouritism for the smartest, or the ones who could charm the birds out the trees or the one’s that mirror those he’s lost. No, a good father is there for them all, not his money or the people he hires to stand in but, the man himself.”

While it feels like an opportune moment to cry, Reuben feels the absence of feeling at all. Like he was slowly floating upwards like a rogue balloon that escaped the hands of a small child.

“But I don’t blame Mr.Woodrow, he wanted to do the right thing— shit, we all do. It’s not like they write a manual on how to raise 16 kids at once. He did the best he could and delegated all the harder tasks to Mrs. Tristan, whom I don’t think likes me very much right now but that’s nothing new—” he smiles sheepishly, mostly to himself.

“I spoke to Mr.Woodrow last week and said some things I don’t exactly regret but ,would take back if I knew it was the last time I’d ever see him. If I got to speak to him one last time, I think I’d say something along the lines of: thank you for being the next best thing. You did your best, and now I think I understand.”

Whatever tension he’d been holding had rapidly dissipated. If he didn’t get horizontal quickly, he might pass out. He raps his notes against the pulpit before stepping down and walking out of the ceremony.

[doonarose]

Hello fam,

Here's some TMI that I've spent the entire day spiraling over on the reddit chat but may as well therapize myself here too. Wait is therapize a real word... I did not know that.

Anyway - teaching week from absolute hell. Hours and hours and hours of on my feet labs and workshops. And then getting myself in a position where I had to mark prac write ups - 88 of them - in about 48 hours. Reckon it took me about 16 hours and it's mind numbing exasperating work because this is their first one - a quarter of them failed, some of them wrote the most incoherent bullshit...

That means my brain has been frazzled and fried since sometime Tuesday and by some oversight I neglected to put in my calendar that my parents were dropping their dog off at my house today to mind for a week. Probably because it's no big deal and not something I really need in my calendar.

Except I completely forgot. 100% out of my brain, gone, no idea it was happening until I got a text at 10.30 saying the dog had been dropped off and they were on their way to their airbnb where they've got a few nights away or whatever.

Now, worth noting, they did need to go into the house to drop the dog off, because this is the dog that, famously, escaped this same house a bit over a year ago, got smacked by a truck, was 50/50 on surviving for a long while, and cost them $6k to fix... so yeah, of course let yourselves in, dump the dog and lock the doggy door.

So a few things to know:

I live in a messy house at the best of times. Dishes in the sink, last night's plates still on the table, a bag of used tissues next to me on the couch, socks on the floor, etc. Like it's not gross rotting food or anything, but it's not the standard I like to show my parents (or anyone else). So that's a bit embarrassing.

Last night, because I pulled a 12 hour day of admin and prac marking, I fell into the too-often-fallen-into habit of having a decent slosh of vodka over ice with soda as soon as I got home at 8pm to turn my brain off so I could sleep before midnight. I left the half empty bottle of vodka on the table in the living room.

Also when I got home last night I took my bra off in the living room and left it draped across a chair.

Also, in a particularly lazy moment, I had left the eski full of water from almost two weeks ago sitting in the same spot in my kitchen which, yeah, okay, gross of me, but I intended to clean it up before anyone fucking saw it.

And you're probably reading this and thinking that it really isn't that bad so here's the real main source of mortification. Because I live alone and because no one would ever just drop in and because I've been busy and lazy and whatever. I also left my bright magenta sex toy besides the bathroom sink this morning. Where it had been since the morning before. Because that's a fine, logical place to leave it. And when I got the text I immediately remembered that because I saw it this morning when I was getting ready to go into work at 7.30 for an 8am zoom to the US, and kind of vaguely thought 'I should put that away' and then didn't. And didn't close the door to the bathroom because i only do that on hot days and it's been mild, finally, the last few days. And then when I got that text I tried to convince myself that my parents would have no reason to go into my bathroom, even though they would have obviously gone in the house and seen the above bad shit. And then I tried to convince myself that even if they had seen it, we would never speak of it and I would never know.

Anyway, I got home a half hour ago and my toilet door is fully closed, it's next to the bathroom door that remained fully open, magenta fucking rabbit in full view. I never, ever fully close the toilet door because it jams.

So anyway... may never wank again. Will, at some point, report on how I handle my face and soul next time I have to speak/see my parents.

If I die tonight, my COD will be mortification.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I just read sea glass garden and its so good. I cant stop thinking about the whole Shoko, Yuta, Nanami talk because its both entirely hilarious (i want the buzzfeed unsolved shoko episode so bad) but also just purely highlights how fucked everything is rn. Yutas saying some of the most concerning things, Shokos intensely aware of the concept that this kid is absolutely going to be continuously offered drugs to keep him in check in jujutsu society and thats now an issue, Nanami’s first 48 hours of legal guardianship has been going in all possible directions.

I cant help but wonder about the worst case scenario in which they managed to give Yuta like cigarettes and were like yeah its so you dont have to hurt people to practice and get better and hes hearing this drug talk knowing that Shokos about to lose her shit (even more).

She would have lost her shit.

Shoko doesn't talk about it, but she has a lot of messy fucked up feelings and more than a little anger around what happened to her. Getting addicted to drugs and having to get clean again was one of the hardest and most painful things she has ever been through. She feels a lot of guilt for taking the drugs to begin with and falling for the higher up's bullshit about how she could heal any damage they did to her, so she couldn't be hurt by them. At the same time, she knows she was a fucking kid who was vulnerable and had just lost a lot of friends and who didn't have a real parental influence in her life. She's fucking pissed that they saw her vulnerability and used it to hurt her. She's heavily protective of Yuuta as a result, even if he doesn't know it. She's never letting that happen to anyone ever again. If Yuuta pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket like "oh by the way" she'd have gone after the higher ups with the power of Gun.

Nanami, 48 hours ago: I can be Okkotsu's parent. I've basically already raised two children already. How difficult could this be?

Nanami now, with one of his children in a hospital bed and the new one medically obsessed with him in a concerning sort of way: Okay okay okay okay okay

Nanami is being Tested.

Shoko's Buzzfeed Unsolved episode popped off I'm telling you that. One of the best buzzfeed unsolved episodes released. There was merch made for it and both Gojo and Shoko owns said merch. She was a goddamn icon as a child.

[wearelondonhq]

Time for another Meme Week! To take part, simply reblog the post and then post in the meme channel on our Discord. Remember if you reblog, you must send them out to EVERYONE who also does. Members have 48 hours to reblog the meme and until October 6th to send out and react. Meme lasts from today (Oct. 1st) to October 10th.

SYMBOLS: ↳ Use “↪” to reverse the characters where applicable!

🎃 - To carve pumpkins with my muse

🍬 - To trick or treat at my muse’s door

🎬 - For our muses to watch a scary movie together.

👻 - For our muses to spend the night at a haunted house together. 🐺 - For our muses to hear a howl when camping in the forest on a full moon.

🍎 - For our muses go bobbing for apples.

✨ - For our muses to try a magic spell they found in a book in the attic.

🧥 - For my muse to show/tell your muse about what costume they’re wearing for Halloween.

🎉 - For your muse to arrive at my muse’s Halloween party.

SENTENCES:

“You know, I think [ he / she / they ] might be a vampire.”

“Did you hear that?”

“I’m all set, I’ve got skull-themed cups, decked my house out in fake cobwebs, found some Halloween tinsel which is apparently a thing, I’ve got these ornaments on the deck, what do you think [ name ]? I think something’s still missing..”

“I don’t really do Halloween, it’s a bit silly really.”

“Magic is real you know? You shouldn’t just mess with it like that.”

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

"Why the hell would [ she / he / they ] walk off like that, I never get it, [ have they / has she/he ] watched a horror film before?”

“I tried to carve a pumpkin, but in the end it looked like a hot mess."

“If you tell me another bullshit story about how I’m going to die again [ name ] I’m never going to let you read my cards again.”

“The whole month of October is Halloween to me, bring it on!”

“Can you help me pick out an outfit for the Halloween party? "

“Is the corset too much?”

“I don’t really want to watch something [ scary / gory / light-hearted spooky ]."

“OK, spill, what’s your plan for the zombie apocalypse?”

“What’s your favourite kind of sweet?”

“Oh there is not going to be a power cut in the middle of this stormy Halloween night, come on ghosts, be more original!”

"We are not going to a cemetery just because it may or may not be haunted."

“Ooh! A pumpkin patch! We have to stop.”

“A ouija board on Halloween: what could go wrong?”

All credit goes to @goodvibesandmemes. We reposted to tweak them for our group.

[peterlorres21stcentury]

unpopular opinion: mods should enhance a game, not make it suck less

also sprach Lorrethustra, the endlessly reincarnated

And yet here I am, making some desperately needed improvements to a game that, while fun at first, needed some serious thought and maybe another year in development.

So far I have made the following changes to Starfield with the help of the amazing Bethesda modding community, because I don't have a fucking clue how to create my own mods so I offer naught in return. Notice how entirely simple these problems are:

-Doubled the experience gained from any action (thanks to a second mod, having the well-rested perk from sleeping will quadruple it!)

-Multiplied the amount of credits for each vendor by 10. Because enormous, interplanetary juggernaut corporations of the future only trust their vendors with 5k in virtual monies in a 48 hour period. 🙄 Seriously, it should be 100x that, but I'm trying to be reasonable here.

-Made it so that random quests are not shoved into my mission log just because some guard made a passing comment while I was near. I always hated this method of quest-giving. It felt invasive and annoying even in Skyrim, as it assumes that every character would be willing to delve in that cave or join the Thieves' Guild or make deals with a daedric prince or whatever, but in Starfield it is an absolute plague. If I want your quest I'll ask around for it!! Stop force-feeding your players this bullshit!!

-Furnished the Starborn ship with such extravagant luxuries as: a few chairs on the bridge, and one (1) bed. Because even though I don't use the ship that often, it's still part of my fleet, so I might as well make it a livable space instead of the iphone store-looking, sterile white void we got (seriously, the modder just added some decorative assets that were already present in the game files and intended to be used on the ship. Bethesda CHOSE NOT TO USE THEM WHYYYY

That's about all for now. I was thinking of finding something that increased the storage capacity for outpost containers from 600 units to... something a lot MORE THAN THAT. Why would you make outpost extraction rates so high if you can barely store it all? How can I realize my dreams of becoming an interstellar freight/resource tycoon if my base is nothing but walls of stupid shipping crates (which don't share inventory automatically and need to be connected through a mess of wires even when they, you know, snap together and ought to logically share inventory?? but that's a separate issue)? If the dev team understood their player base at all they'd understand that we are greedy rapacious loot goblins who need moooooooaaaaaaar, damn your hide 👿

I don't know if these decisions were intended as some kind of meta commentary on the nature of your character or what (the Starborn is reborn into new universes chasing their fruitless quest for some vaguely defined power, therefore the meaning of life is suffering and so the player gets diminishing returns on their repetitive journey? Is that what they meant?) but as *cough* deeeeeep and philosophical as that may be, good game design it ain't.

To think I wrote this much all because I wanted a way to level faster than the default pace of "not at all." Because despite the game having no level cap, the game literally does not offer you enough activities to grant the necessary ~500,000 cumulative xp points to reach level 100. Even going through a new game+ multiple times and repeating every single quest will not be enough unless you have literal days of free time. I never felt so starved for perks in Skyrim or Fallout 4, ever, despite the xp rewards being roughly similar. But you spend higher levels in Starfield so very hungry for xp because the curve of points earned per level is, as far as I can tell, near exponential. And the rewards do not scale with your level, nor with game difficulty. A level 90 enemy will always grant something like 120 xp, and you have tens of thousands of xp points to go.

Sorry, but this especially is truly boggling my tiny mind. Not to rant about something so trivial; I am only too keenly aware that this world is filled with actual pain and suffering, but I'd really love to know what they were thinking when they designed such an abominable leveling system. A grindy MMO this ain't, my friends. That next perk point should be a rewarding goal, not an impossible waste of time. It's like one team carried over the xp rewards that would be comparable to Fallout 4 (you get about the same per average enemy, anywhere from 50 to 200 points per kill, I think) and then a separate clueless team said "I mean, it's one level, Michael. What would it cost? A hundred thousand xp?"

I could go on, but I have other things to do today. I want to make it clear: I do not hate this game! A lot of it is incredibly absorbing, and I wish there was more to it (outpost building, crafting, surveying planets). But there should never be this many annoyances and pointless barriers to make these mods a necessity.

[incorrectskyrimquotes]

you are officially the strongest person alive for not just closing the askbox after some of the trash you've gotten from idiots on this site. gdspeed and good luck holy hell

I've received a lot of asks like this one so I wanna respond and clarify

I actually love getting asks and even anon asks. I prefer having anon on bc yk big boy blog and all that but also so that people can send me their silliest things.

I really do truly genuinely enjoy having this blog and especially interacting w it. I've made a lot of friends recently and it's just fun to be able to talk ab the cringe failgame from a decade ago. Both for myself and in front of such a large audience.

Ever since I became aware I'm literally in the top 10 on skyrim blogs (at #9 but still) some of my anons started making a lot more sense. The power of anonymity makes people braver, which is good for things like funny headcanons and such.

I don't really like having to turn anon off and god I hope I don't have to shut asks off entirely. Fortunately once I turned anon off my inbox became a lot more peaceful. Funny that.

If I were to compare the two I'm sure I've gotten much more love than hate, but hate is much louder than love. And I know me giving it attention doesn't help much of anything but on the other hand people can and do throw around serious words about an unserious video game on unserious posts from an unserious person.

Even if I ignored all of it, just having to see it can feel so draining. And it isn't just in my inbox. It's also in the tags. I've repeatedly tried to express how deeply uncomfortable I am, AS A JEWISH PERSON OF COLOR, with people throwing words like racist and genocide around all willy nilly over video game characters.

It trivializes those real world issues, that have affected me, my ancestors, and people like me, down to fucking. Skyrim discourse. It's extremely frustrating. And from what I can see I don't think anyone is doing it maliciously or to get a rise out of me. But I think the sheer weight of those words has gotten lost.

And not to pull another race card, but this is especially upsetting from white people. I'm not thrilled about the fact white people keep talking over me and other people of color in the fandom about what is and isn't racist.

But I do also see the love. I see the cats in my inbox and the lovely asks and people writing paragraphs to defend me (when tbh I haven't done anything wrong anyways but. Eh.) and it's genuinely very touching and sweet and even if I don't reply to it (there's a lot to reply to!) I do see it and I appreciate it.

And for the poll, I fully plan on seeing it through. Round 2 closes tomorrow after which I'll set up round 3/the semi finals and then we go to the championship!

I started this poll, also this blog, for fun. I want people to have fun. I want to have fun. And most of the time I do have fun! But with the uptick in activity that brings *gestures vaguely* what it does.

Tumblr is one of those very few websites with true anonymity. This and reddit are the only ones I can think of where it's not expected to have your name, face, or other info about you anywhere. Which is a rare blessing on today's internet but it makes people very audacious about what they can and can't say to me.

I think because of that anonymity it's easy to forget I'm a human person. I very much doubt some of things I've had said to me in the last 48 hours would still be said if it was face to face. I truly don't think someone would look me in the eye and tell me to kill myself over skyrim bullshit.

And the funny part of that is if they did, I'd probably laugh in real life. For the sheer ridiculousness of the statement. "Hey. You. End your life because of video game drama" spoken to me at the local Target would be funny to me. But with the anonymity it feels just as hurtful as I'm sure it's supposed to be.

Thanks for letting me ramble and such. I'm not really even sure what I'm trying to say with all this. Other than I'm human, you're human, we're all humans, and we'd do well to remember that. Please just be nice to each other..

And be nice to me.