#and this isn't even to say you can't ever watch them with a critical eye

[fernacular]

Sometimes I wonder if the people who get extremely up in arms about kid shows and hyper critical of things that are easily explained by them being shows intended for children have, perhaps, themselves outgrown kids shows and are just unwilling to admit it.

[kinascum]

CHARMED ᯓ★

Austin Butler x Reader

wc: 1.7k | summary: y/n, an interviewer at Variety, scores an interview with Austin Butler. | nav - taglist

FLUFF. no major warnings.

You sit in the quiet of the Variety office, surrounded by the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional clack of a keyboard echoing through the open-plan space. Your heart beats a little faster than usual today as you prepare for the interview of a lifetime. The email with the subject line "Austin Butler Interview: Confirmed" still sits open on your screen, a stark reminder of the excitement and nerves you've been juggling since you read it. You've done this before, of course, but something about Austin feels different. Maybe it's the way his blue eyes seem to look right into your soul in every magazine cover, or the way his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine when you watch his interviews. You're a journalist with a knack for making even the most guarded celebrities open up, but you're not immune to the charm of Hollywood's golden boys.

The clock ticks closer to the scheduled time, and you stand, smoothing out the wrinkles in your blouse and taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. You've spent hours researching his career, from his early days on the small screen to his breakthrough performance as the king of rock 'n' roll. You've rehearsed your questions, honed them to perfection, and now all that's left is to wait for the moment when he walks through the door.

When he does, it's like the air in the room shifts. He's taller than you expected, with a presence that seems to fill the space around him. He's dressed casually, but it looks like he stepped out of a magazine spread, his jeans fitting just right, and a leather jacket thrown over a simple white tee. His eyes scan the room, and when they land on you, you feel a jolt of energy. He smiles, a genuine, warm smile that reaches his eyes, and you can't help but return it, feeling a little bit like you're melting.

You extend a hand, and he takes it, his grip firm but gentle. His skin is warm, and for a second, you're lost in the sensation of his touch. "Y/N," he says, as if he's known you for years, not minutes. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." His voice is like a caress, and you blush, hoping it's not too obvious. You've always been a little shy around the people you admire, and the fact that he's looking at you with such kindness isn't helping your nerves.

As you lead him to the interview set, you notice the way his boots scuff the floor, the quiet confidence in his stride. He seems to be at ease in his own skin, a stark contrast to the flurry of activity around you. You offer him a seat and take yours opposite, placing your notebook and pen on the table. You've done this a hundred times before, but today, your hand trembles ever so slightly. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a nervous habit you thought you'd outgrown, and try to remember to breathe. The cameras start to roll, and you're aware of every little detail: the sound of the film crew moving around, the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the background, the way the lights cast a gentle glow on Austin's face.

He leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. "So," he begins, his voice like a purr. "What's the first question you've been dying to ask me?"

You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat. You clear it, hoping he doesn't notice, and glance down at your notes. But as you look back up, you realize that the question you've so carefully prepared isn't what you want to ask anymore. There's something about the way he's looking at you, something that makes you feel seen in a way you never have before. And in that moment, you know that this interview is going to be unlike any other.

You take a deep breath and dive in, asking him about his preparation for his latest role, one that's earned him critical acclaim and a slew of award nominations. His eyes light up, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he thinks back to those intense days and nights spent becoming someone else. He speaks slowly, thoughtfully, his voice deep and resonant as he recounts the hours of research, the months of practice, the moments of doubt and triumph. You're captivated by his dedication, his passion for his craft shining through every word.

As you listen, you find yourself leaning in, hanging on to every syllable. His words paint a vivid picture of his journey, and you're drawn into the story as if you were there with him. You ask follow-up questions, eager to learn more, and he responds with the same thoughtfulness, never rushing, always choosing his words with care. His honesty is refreshing, and you can't help but admire the way he's handled the pressures of stardom with such grace.

But then his gaze starts lingering on you a beat too long, and when he smiles, it's a smile that says he's not just talking about the movie anymore, and suddenly, the air in the room feels charged with electricity. You blush, your cheeks grow warm, and you feel your heart race in your chest. Your hand fidgets with the pen, and you realize you're playing with your hair again, a nervous habit you thought you'd left behind in high school. But with Austin, you're feeling anything but professional.

He leans closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and asks you a question about your own work, your favorite stories, your dreams. And you find yourself opening up to him, sharing things you never thought you'd say out loud, let alone on camera. His voice is a gentle coax, drawing you out of your shell, making you feel as if you're the most interesting person in the world. And maybe, just maybe, you start to believe it.

The conversation flows like a river, twisting and turning through topics of art, life, and love. His stories are peppered with laughter, and you find yourself smiling more than you ever have in an interview. His hand reaches out, resting on the arm of your chair, and you feel the warmth of his touch seep through the fabric as he pulls your chair closer to his. It's a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt through your body, making you aware of every inch of space between you as you catch a glimpse of how his muscles flex under the studio lights.

You notice the way his fingers tap against the chair, a subtle beat that matches the rhythm of your heart. His eyes, so blue and deep, seem to see right through you, and for a moment, you wonder if he can read your thoughts. You realize you're not just asking questions anymore; you're exchanging glances, sharing silent moments filled with understanding. The chemistry between you is palpable, and the crew seems to have melted into the background, leaving just the two of you in the spotlight.

The interview comes to a close, but the energy between you and Austin doesn't dissipate. As the crew starts to pack up, he lingers, his hand still resting on the arm of your chair. "Thank you," he says, his voice sincere. "That was one of the best interviews I've had in a long time." You blush, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was an honor."

He stands, and you follow suit, the space between you closing as you exchange pleasantries about the weather and the traffic. His eyes never leave yours, and you can't help but feel like there's something unspoken hanging in the air. He's charismatic, down-to-earth, and thoughtful—everything you've read about him, but seeing it up close is like experiencing the gravity of a star for the first time. His words come out measured and deliberate, each one chosen with care, as if he's afraid of saying too much or too little.

As you walk him out, the quiet of the office seems to amplify the sound of your shoes on the floor. The lights seem to dim, and the world outside the glass walls fades away. You find yourself lost in the depth of his gaze, the way his eyes seem to dance when he smiles. He pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob, and looks at you with an intensity that makes your knees wobble. "Y/N," he says, and the way he says your name feels like a secret shared between the two of you. "Could I interest you in a drink? To celebrate a successful interview?" His words are followed by a cheeky grin as he addresses you in an overly formal manner.

You're surprised by the invitation, but something in his tone tells you that it's more than just a professional courtesy. You hesitate, your heart racing as you laugh nervously. You've never mixed business with pleasure before, but the way he's looking at you, the way his thumb brushes against the back of your hand as he holds the door open, makes you want to throw caution to the wind. You nod, trying to sound casual. "Sure, I'd love that."

The bar he chooses is dimly lit, the kind of place where whispers are the loudest sounds and secrets feel safe. He orders a whiskey neat, and you ask for a glass of wine. As you sit across from him, you can't help but notice the way the light plays with the shadows on his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. He talks about his love for music, the way it's shaped him as a person and an actor, and you listen, enraptured. His passion is contagious, and you find yourself sharing stories from your own life, things you rarely speak of outside of your closest friends.

The conversation flows as easily as the alcohol, and you realize that you're not just talking about work anymore. You're laughing, sharing, connecting in a way you never have with an interview subject. His hand reaches across the table, and he takes yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. It's a simple touch, but it feels like a promise, a question, a door opening to something new.

A/N: kinda in a love-hate relationship with this one yall

tell me if yall want to be added to this masterlist's taglist !!🩶🩶🦫

[krisdreaming]

Baby Fever

Pairing: Miya Atsumu x f!reader

WC: 1.2k

Summary: Osamu and his wife just had a baby. Now Atsumu sees them everywhere.

A/N: This kind of took a very different direction than I was originally planning and tbh, I kinda hate it now, but I spent over two hours writing it, so I'm gonna roll with it anyway. Maybe when I re-read it in the morning, I'll hate it less 😅

There's a term for it. Atsumu isn't sure what it is, but he knows that as soon as you're exposed to something new, you start noticing it around you more and more. That must be why, ever since Osamu's son was born, he's been seeing babies everywhere. They're at the grocery store. They're at the park. Suddenly, half of his teammates have been expanding their families like it's some kind of competition.

Suffice to say, Atsumu has seen more than his share of babies over the past few weeks. Sure, they're cute, or whatever. When a baby smiles at you, you can't help but smile back. When they grab onto your finger, you let them hold it for as long as they want. When they engage you in a staring contest across the grocery store aisle, you only put up a little bit of a fight before giving them the satisfaction of winning, flashing a sheepish smile at their mom or dad as you turn the corner.

The sight of the little monsters has started to trigger a strange twinge in Atsumu's middle, which he chalks up to the fact that he's an uncle now. There's a brand new member of his family, and he's really happy for Osamu and his wife. Seeing the babies everywhere reminds him of that. That's all it is.

See, the two of you had talked about this. You aren't ready for kids right now. He's in the prime of his volleyball career, and you love your job. You're both happy as just the two of you, spending your free time together doing the things you enjoy and getting a full eight hours of sleep each night. Having a baby would change everything. Your last discussion on the topic, right after Osamu and his wife had shared their pregnancy with the two of you, had ended on that exact note. He's pretty confident that's still how you feel. He's relatively confident that's still how he feels, too.

Of course, the longer it goes on, the harder it is to explain away. He watches Osamu doting on his son, snuggling him close and kissing his cheeks and smiling bigger than Atsumu's ever seen before. He knows his brother is tired, but he doesn't seem to care. He watches the way he looks at his wife, and the way both of them look at their son, and it softens something inside him. He sees you cradling your nephew close, cooing down at him with a soft smile, and his heart turns over in his chest.

Finally, one day, he comes to Osamu with a question.

"What's it like?" Osamu is wiping down the counter at Onigiri Miya, clearly trying to disguise his surprise and mild consternation at seeing his brother show up out of the blue, five minutes before closing time.

"What's what like?" He grunts, scrubbing at a ground-in glob of rice.

"Y'know," Atsumu gestures vaguely, "Being a dad."

"Ah," Osamu hums, grasping that quickly what this is all about. "It's incredible. I mean, don't get me wrong," He chuckles, "It ain't easy. It's way worse than whatever ya try to imagine based off a' everybody's helpful advice," He lifts his hands in air quotes. "But somehow, it's also worth it, in a way ya never could've imagined it would be. The way ya feel every time ya look at 'em - ya can't even put it into words."

Atsumu isn't sure how he's supposed to respond to that, so he just nods. Osamu smiles, looking him up and down with a too-critical eye. "Any special reason yer asking?"

"No," Atsumu says with a quick shake of his head, "Just curious, 's all."

Osamu nods, not saying another word, but the smirk on his face is more than enough to make Atsumu want to knock it clean off. Osamu's answer is exactly what he'd been afraid of.

It comes to a head one sunny Saturday afternoon when the two of you meet up with Osamu and his wife and son to visit a festival. The afternoon is starting to wind down when Osamu unceremoniously dumps the baby into Atsumu's arms. "Hey, mind watching him while we go to the bathroom quick?"

"Ah, sure," Atsumu says to his brother's already-retreating back. You poke at the baby's irresistibly pudgy cheeks, giggling along with him when your attentions illicit a bout of laughter.

"Oh my, what a sweetheart!" The elderly woman seems to appear out of nowhere, something Osamu is constantly describing but which Atsumu hasn't experienced until this moment. "Such a happy baby," She grins. "How old is he?" She looks expectantly at you, and after you gather your wits, you answer her.

The woman nods knowingly, as if she'd predicted as much. "Are you having a fun day with Mommy and Daddy?" She asks next in a goofy voice, completely oblivious to the way Atsumu chokes on the breath he'd just been inhaling and you shoot him a wide-eyed glance.

"Ah, well, actually-" You stammer out, at the same time Atsumu blurts, "We're not his parents."

"I see," She says good-naturedly, "Well even so, he looks very happy with you." With that, she goes on her merry way, and you and Atsumu share a bewildered look. Osamu and his wife return from the bathroom, and neither of you mentions the awkward encounter. It doesn't come up until later that evening, when the two of you are lying in bed.

"That was really somethin' today, huh?" Atsumu asks, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach is suddenly in knots.

"The old lady?" You chuckle weakly. "Yeah, 'Samu's right, they really don't have any shame, do they?"

"Yeah," Atsumu says, then takes a deep breath. "Do ya think, maybe, it's time to have that conversation again?"

You're silent for a few moments, and he can't quite place the emotions that cross your face. He doesn't have to explain which conversation he means.

"Maybe," You finally agree in a low voice. "Are you saying that your decision might be different this time?" It could be his imagination, but Atsumu almost thinks that you look hopeful.

"Maybe," He says carefully. "Would yours?"

"Maybe," You echo him, but there's a smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

"There would be a lot of changes," He says softly, fingertips tracing aimless shapes up and down your arm.

"Maybe we're ready for those changes," You murmur back, catching his hand in yours and letting him twine your fingers together.

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. "As long as I've got you, I think I might be."

"Me too," You say, leaning in slightly to nudge the tip of your nose against his. When he kisses you, he hopes the pressure of his lips can convey even the things he can't put into words. He can't imagine living this life with anyone else.

[httpiastri]

PERFECTLY FINE – CHAPTER FOUR (MONACO)

genre: fluff, angst, etc.

warnings: heartbreak as usual

word count: 5.3k (like, exactly 5.3k. on the word. 😭)

author's note: it feels so wrong to say that im posting this to celebrate ollie's graduation to f1 because... this is such a sad chapter.... pain pain pain for everyone involved (especially ollie) 💔 but yay happy ollie f1 announcement day!!! hope you're all doing well & hope you enjoy <3 (also i wrote a lot of this chapter back in february? and proofreading it today nearly brought me to tears bcs of ollie-)

series masterlist

the career of a racing driver is a roller coaster for everyone involved.

if your name is max verstappen, then you've got more ups than most others. that roller coaster seems pretty fun.

but if your name is y/n harper, then your roller coaster isn't as fun these days. but if there’s ever a place to turn things around, it's monaco.

even just the track walk is enough to bring up your mood after a bad week like last. walking along the monegasque streets, almost getting hit by cars as you sign autographs and take pictures with fans... it's an experience you just can't find anywhere else.

coincidentally enough, ollie is done with the track walk just as you are, which means that the two of you can make your way back to the f2 paddock together. your boyfriend has always loved monaco – he pretty much doesn't ever shut up about the track and it's history unless you tape his mouth shut when you're in the country. that's why it's surprising that he not only brings up another subject, but also that he chooses a quite sensitive one – your father.

"he's going to be here this weekend, right?" ollie asks, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. he seemingly doesn't quite understand just how tense things are with your dad yet. to be fair, it isn't really his fault, since you haven't told him and since he isn't a mind-reader. but still, something in your chest tightens at the way ollie brings him up so casually.

you nod. "you know how much he adores monaco," you say with a sigh, before putting on your best impression of your dad. "the most iconic track ever, the only track to ever... blah blah blah."

having your dad along for races was always a given when you were younger. he was your best helmet carrier, your number-one supporter, and the first person you went to when celebrating or complaining.

but somewhere along the years, having him around started to become more problematic and anxiety-inducing. his support turned into criticism, and it became far more common for him to tell you to "go apologize to the engineers and ask them what you should do to perform better tomorrow" rather than give you any constructive feedback of his own.

at first, it was rough; the man who had always been your pillar to lean on, your main source of support, your safe haven, was seemingly gone. you continued to perform well, though you weren't sure if that was because you wanted to make him proud or if you were terrified of making him disappointed.

"let's have dinner with him someday, then," ollie suggests as the two of you come to a stop right outside the prema garage for the weekend. "maybe sunday, if we have things to celebrate?"

"let's hope so."

pepe calls your name once, twice, thrice, before he resorts to shaking your shoulder gently. his touch, along with the sound of the spaniard's raspy laughter, makes you finally wake from your slumber. you blink up at him, eyes droopy and mind empty. "what?"

"why are you sleeping?" pepe asks, shaking his head. "quali starts in... about an hour."

you begin to slowly push yourself up from the couch you've been lying on, yawning loudly. "i was supposed to just rest my eyes," you start, rubbing your eyes with your hands. "i didn't mean to fall asleep..."

"did you not sleep well last night? were you up late again?" pepe asks as he sits down next to you, watching you stretch your arms over your head with yet another yawn.

what are you supposed to say? yes, i was up until four am because i couldn't find any peace of mind at all? i've been dreading every second of this weekend because i never know when my dad will appear from around the corner? i'm scared he's going to be so mad over my performances that he disowns me?

pepe may know a lot of what's going on with your father, but he doesn't need to know this much.

you did, in fact, meet him earlier today, right before practice – if greeting him briefly and then instantly bolting in the opposite direction counts as a "meeting" – but since then, he's been nowhere to be seen. not even around dino or ollie when you last saw the two of them.

pepe takes your silence as an answer in itself, and he lets out a hum. "well, i'm quite nervous myself," he says frankly, pulling a hand through his hair.

"you did so well here last year, though." you nudge his shoulder with yours. "you'll be great again, i'm sure of it."

"dinner with the prince on sunday? both of us?"

you nod, shooting your friend a smile. "of course." but despite how much you wish it would become a reality, there's not even the slightest trace of faith in you. the only thing you can think about is how likely it is for this round to go in the same footsteps as your recent ones.

a great attitude to bring into a race weekend.

p9.

a top ten placement, sure. second in the reverse grid, sure. but other than that, there's not much positive in it. it's a step in the right direction, but in some way, it feels like a step that's way too short.

the sprint race starts with an incident right by you on the track, which is extremely unlucky for you since you get pretty much blocked and have nowhere to go. after being passed by several cars, the safety car finally comes out, and you find yourself in p7.

of course your father's words echo in your head all the way through the safety car period. "starting p2 means a free podium," he had told you when he stopped by right before you were getting into your car. "don't mess it up."

you're so focused on that expression on his face, the way he tilted his chin up and his head slightly to the side as he spoke, and the way it felt like your heart stopped beating for a few seconds, that you don't even realize that your engineer has told you about the safety car being about to end. you don't even acknowledge the fact that the race leader has taken off, nor that the rest of the field starts pushing again before it's too late.

some blue car tries to overtake you on the outside, and with another car on your inside you have no chance of giving either of them space – and you manage to crash into them both. not only did you ruin your own race, but also two other drivers'.

and of course, one of the cars buried into the wall next to yours is a silver hitech with a big number 17 on it.

climbing out of your car, you can hear several voices calling out for all three of you from the grandstand nearby, and you consider throwing them a wave as you climb through the metal fence to get off the track. but then, you hear one voice that's more familiar – one that belongs to the last person you want to talk to right now. "are you alright?"

you almost don't look at him, but the little glance you shoot him is enough to take in every single bit of disappointment in his eyes. what are the odds that your dad was sitting in the grandstand right where you crashed?

a nod is enough of an answer you reckon, pulling your helmet off your head and beginning to walk the way towards the paddock again. "do you want me to carry that?" your dad asks, having gotten past the security guards after showing his pass, now jogging to catch up with you.

"i'm not ten anymore," you groan. "i can handle it on my own."

"i wasn't saying you can't-" he cuts himself off, placing a hand on your shoulder. "you looked really out of it out there."

you keep your gaze forwards so he won't see you rolling your eyes at his words, determined steps carrying you forward quickly as you shake his hand off. "oh, you could see through my visor? that's cool."

"what's gotten into you lately?" your dad pushes, and you flinch slightly at the harsh tone in his voice. "what's wrong with you?"

"what do you mean?"

"well, frankly, your driving had been shit recently." your eyes snap to him when he speaks, eyebrows furrowed. "it looks like you're not even trying."

you stay silent for a long while, trying to navigate your way back – and to a place where your dad hopefully won't be allowed – but you can't help but scoff. "thank's a lot."

"what? am i wrong?"

"yes, you're wrong!" you finally stop in your tracks, fully facing him by now. a hand goes up to your hair, pulling on it to relieve at least some tension. "i'm trying my best, i-"

"is there something going wrong with ollie?" your jaw drops. "i'll talk to him, i'll settle it with him."

"don't you dare!" you exclaim. "there's nothing wrong with ollie, okay?!"

"then what is wrong with you? why can't you score ten points in nine races?"

that's it – you're going to completely lose it if this goes on for even one more second. "leave me the fuck alone," you tell him, turning your head away so he won't get a chance to see the tears beginning to form in your eyes.

the worst part of it all? the fact that you agree with him. the fact that you can't even argue against it; nine points in five rounds is not a good result at all.

surprisingly enough, he doesn't follow you when you hurry away, allowing you to get to the paddock alone. the silence doesn't mean you can hold back from crying, however; it doesn't take long before your cheeks are stained with your tears, your breaths growing quicker and quicker for every step you take. navigating the paddock with blurry vision is hard, and you're basically just relying on muscle memory to take you back to the right part of the garage. just as you're rounding a corner, you bump into someone – someone whose white suit and broad, muscular shoulders are easy to recognize even through your tears.

the other last person you want to talk to right now.

"hey there," he says, a hand coming up to your shoulder to keep you steady as you stumble a little upon the impact with his chest. "are you- woah, are you crying?"

"leave me alone, paul."

he lets out a little chuckle, one he regrets in hindsight because it makes him sound like he thinks the state you're in is funny. "i can't just walk away when you're this upset, can i?" he asks, having to use all of his willpower to hold back from wiping away a few tears from your cheeks. "is it about the crash? i'm not mad at you, and i don't think victor is either-"

"i couldn't care less about the stupid crash!" you explode, a few sobs following your words. "i'm just- i can't-"

paul's eyes widen in surprise at your outburst, hand on your shoulder slipping further along so he's got his arm draped across your shoulders and it's easier for him to force you to walk with him. now it's your turn to have to hold back, wanting nothing more than to lean into his chest and just let out all of your tears. he pushes you with him into the hitech truck, looking around the lounge area to make sure no one's there before guiding you to sit on one of the sofas there. "what's going on? did something happen?"

"i'm a bad driver, that's what happened." paul slumps into the seat right next to you, eyebrows raised when he hears you speak. "i don't belong here, i don't know what i'm doing, i-"

"hey hey hey," he cuts you off with a shake of his head. "what have we said about this?"

you look down at the floor, wiping away a few tears from your cheek as you continue to sniffle in the silence that fills the area. a burning feeling spreads through your chest at his words, the familiarity of it all making your head spin. it isn't the first time you've been like this in front of him; through the almost entire year you dated, there were quite a few times when he'd have to console you after a breakdown. paul knows your issues like the back of his hand, he knows how hard it can be to convince you that you do belong. but he also knows to never give up.

"you are a great driver," he starts, hesitating for a moment before letting his hand rub your shoulder. the action makes your breath hitch in your throat, but not because it's wrong – it's because you've missed his touch, probably far more than you've admitted to yourself before now.

"even my lousy dad thinks i'm bad," you finally get out in-between sniffles, resting your face in your hands.

"and since when do you care about his opinion, huh?"

he's right. at least partially. but still, you remain hunched over, shaking your head. "i may act like it doesn't matter, but… him calling me all kinds of things…" paul allows you to gather your thoughts, his touch remaining gentle over your racing suit. "it hurt. a lot."

he hums understandingly, letting out a sigh. "when is that stupid little brain of yours going to understand that you're doing well?" his words should bring a smile to your lips – a few months ago, they would've. but now, you don't react at all. "no matter what he says, no matter what the critics say. you're a good driver."

after another few moments of silence, you drop your hands to your lap and look at him. there's a hint of curiousity in his eyes, surprised by your sudden eye contact. "why do you even care?" you question. he's been acting like a complete idiot these past few months – and after you literally cursed him out in melbourne, you haven't spoken a word to each other. and yet, he's taking time out of his day to comfort you like he would a year ago.

"come on…" he presses his lips together in a firm line, shaking his head. "no matter what happens between us, i'll always look after you."

his words, and maybe especially your emotional reaction to them, take you by surprise. despite the anger and frustration you've built up over the last few months, there's an undeniable warmth in his gaze that softens your defenses. the feeling of nostalgia and longing is so strong it's almost painful, as if he has reminded you of a connection you thought had been lost forever.

it's quite strange, considering everything that's happened. but you're not opposed to it.

"how are you feeling after the crash?" paul asks to break the silence as you reach up to dry away the last of your tears from your cheeks. "that was a big impact you had. i got away lightly in comparison."

for the first time since the crash, you stop to actually think about it and allow yourself to feel through your body. the adrenaline from the race has worn off by now, and there's a throbbing in your head that seems to just grow stronger by the second. "i think… i'm alright…"

"do you want me to go get ollie for you? the race should be done by now," he says, checking the clock on the wall in the truck. "he can take you to go see a medic."

you shake your head instantly. "please, don't. for real."

paul shoots you a strange, confused look, though he gives you a slight nod. "okay, but you have to tell him," he says, pausing a second before continuing. "i know that head of yours, you're going to combust if you keep hiding this. you can't go through it alone."

"i promise."

you don't end up going to the medical center.

you do, however, go find ollie yourself – but you don't tell him about your chat with paul. instead, you hope he doesn't take notice of the not-so-subtle signs that you've just had a complete meltdown.

it's easy to break promises to people who you don't need to stay truthful to, you realize. last year, you wouldn't even think about breaking a promise to paul – but an ex boyfriend is much easier to lie to.

your current boyfriend wraps his arms around you the second you step close enough. his lips press to the side of your head, his arms giving you another squeeze before pulling away.

ollie has gotten used to your red eyes.

he's gotten used to the sight of your tearstained cheeks, the slight pout on your lips, the heaviness in your sighs.

he's gotten used to the sinking feeling in his stomach, the pain in his chest, the guilt.

but he's also gotten used to not asking, because he knows you won't tell.

when you wake up on feature race day, something is different. it's like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders after talking to paul; like the air is suddenly much easier to breathe, and the whole world seems a little lighter. you're much more excited for the feature race of the day than any race so far this season.

in today's race, it's ollie's time to crash out. it isn't his fault, though; he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and got squeezed up against the wall by a trident car. there was nothing he could do.

as soon as he's deemed free of injuries, he makes his way back to the prema garage, joining the team in watching the rest of the race. it's a good one for you; choosing to go with the opposite strategy has really worked out for you so far, with you and zak o'sullivan being the only two drivers in the top who haven't pitted yet.

ollie follows your car intently on the screen in the garage, secretly hoping for a safety car to come out and help you out with your strategy as it's nearing the last few laps. he almost doesn't pull out of his trance even when a hand lands on his shoulder. "she's doing great," dino says from behind him, the brit nodding along to his words. "especially considering... well, she must've told you about yesterday, so i won't repeat it to you."

yesterday?

ollie looks dumbfounded for a moment before he composes himself, though he has no idea what the swede is talking about. "of course."

dino lets out a chuckle, patting his friend's shoulder. "paul said she was a complete mess when he found her," he continues, not realizing he's giving ollie more clues to help figure out what in the world he's talking about. "her anxiety was all over the place, apparently. but she's recovering, she's strong. she won't let this affect her."

ollie hums agreeingly at his words, eyes still glued to the tv in front of him. "certainly," he finally gets out. "she'll get through it with ease."

and so you did – at least for this particular race.

the virtual safety car was incredibly lucky, but that's racing sometimes. with both you and zak changing your tyres in the last lap, you both managed to end up ahead of the rest of the field, and secure a podium each.

unlike in jeddah, seeing paul's car pull up right next to yours on parc ferme isn't all that bad. after yesterday's heart-to-heart with him, you feel like at least part of this podium is thanks to him. if it weren't for his encouragement, you likely would've stuck it in the wall again.

you don't ignore him this time. you don't scoff at his words, you don't feel frustrated at his mere presence. this time, you give him a tight hug when he comes over to congratulate you, arms around his shoulders forcing him close.

"thank you," you can't help but whisper, and paul is grinning from ear to ear when he pulls away from the hug.

"don't," he answers with a quick shake of his head. "you could always pull this off. you just needed a little reminder."

and not only do your shoulders and mind feel a bit lighter as you step onto that monaco podium, but most importantly, your heart.

"i'm exhausted," you huff as you shrug your bag off your shoulders, leaving it by the door as ollie, too, makes his way into the hotel room. "thank god this weekend is finally over."

you dive onto his already-made bed, landing face-down between the pillows and blankets. the bed is huge, probably over two meters in width, and unbelievably soft. it's the first time you feel like you can truly relax since you got to monaco, and every single cell in your body thanks you for allowing them to rest a little.

"and i don't even have any sim sessions scheduled in over a week. i'm the luckiest person ever." ollie lets out a chuckle at this, his own bag crashing to the floor with a thud before his feet carry him deeper inside the room.

you turn your head and watch as he picks out a water bottle from the mini fridge, but he doesn't drink from it. instead, he makes his way to the bed, choosing to just stand next to it at first. you can't really read his expression, so you speak up – but he beats you to it. "ollie-"

"can we talk?"

you press your hands into the mattress, sitting up properly. "of course," you say, a look of unknowing dejection spreading across your features. "what's wrong?"

"that's... what i wanted to ask you, actually." ollie finally sits down on the bed, but on the opposite side of it, far from you. "what's going on? what happened yesterday?"

"oh, well..." you pause for a second, eyebrows rising as you try to find an explanation. "i just had a bad day, i didn't realize that the safety car-"

"i don't mean the race, i mean what happened after the race." his eyes are piercing into yours, not missing even the slightest movement of your face now. you've got his full attention. "with paul."

your breath hitches in your throat and you instantly look away. your voice is as low as a whisper when you speak again. "i can't believe he told you..."

"he didn't. it was someone else, but that's beside the point." you don't know if you should feel relieved that paul didn't tell ollie, or furious that he told someone else who then told ollie, but you don't have any time to think before his voice infiltrates your thoughts again. "i heard you were... i'm not going to use the same word he did, but i heard you were really upset. something about anxiety, or..."

he hopes you'll pick up where he trailed off, and despite how you're really not in the mood for this conversation right now, it feels unavoidable. "i guess... yesterday's race was really rough on me. and my racing has felt really bad recently, the anxiety has been through the roof, and..." your eyes land on your hands, watching as your fingers tremble slightly in your lap. "i don't know. something about yesterday just triggered it all again."

out of the corner of your eye, you can see ollie nodding understandingly. "how long have you been feeling like this?"

"since always, basically." a single teardrop rolls down your cheek before you even notice that you've started tearing up. you hurry to wipe it away with the sleeve of your shirt. "my mom likes to tell this story about how i used to cry if i performed poorly when i was jumping rope in kindergarten. or about how one time, i came home sobbing over the fact that i thought i was getting kicked out of kindergarten because my drawings weren't as good as the other kids'." the old stories bring a soft smile to your lips, one that soon disappears when you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut. "it's not usually this bad, but…"

you sigh.

"it's like... imposter syndrome. i'm one of the very few women in motorsports, and i can't help but think that i'm just here because the fia wants to make the sport more equal. or because my sponsors think it's funny to have a woman among the men. or if i'm just here as eye candy. i don't deserve this, i don't have enough talent."

your little rant makes him speechless – both because he didn't expect it at all, and because to him, you're so wrong.

"you're here because you do deserve it and because you consistently perform good results, unlike most other drivers. that has nothing to do with your gender." ollie pauses for a second. "if you didn't have enough talent, you wouldn't be performing this well in a series this hard."

you can't hold back the little smile that slips onto your lips. "this is all very sweet, and i really appreciate it. but it's not that easy for me to just accept what you're saying."

yet again, he nods. "i understand." his voice is so calm, so gentle, so patient. it makes your heart soften. "i'll make sure to remind you of it more often, so that maybe it sticks."

"thank you, ollie."

a long silence follows, and you take the time to brush away a few more tears that have left your eyes. you don't know what to say or how to follow up on this heavy subject, but you don't have to think much more.

"why did you go to paul instead of me?"

your eyes dart to him at the sudden question. he's sounded so composed and calm, but he actually looks quite... nervous? his fingers are fiddling with the lid of the water bottle in his hands, and his entire upper body looks like it's trembling slightly as he breathes. "i didn't," you tell him simply. it's not a lie, per se. "he just happened to walk in on me crying."

"but why did you tell him?" ollie questions, looking up at you from the bottle. "i thought you two weren't even talking these days? ever since that fight you had?"

he is right. you don't even know why you confided in him yourself – it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. you didn't even try to deny his help; you welcomed it (and him) with open arms.

"we talked about my struggles last year," you finally say, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. "so he knew already. and… i don't know, i guess it felt nice to talk to someone who really knows me."

"but i want to know you." he takes a deep breath before continuing. "i want to know more than your birthday and your favorite color. i want to know it all; what makes you feel good, what makes you anxious, what keeps you going, what slows you down..."

the physical distance between you two may only be a mere two meters, but you feel much more separated than that. you totally understand where he's coming from – he might be exaggerating a little, but your conversations with him are never really deep. though not sure whether it's because you just don't trust him or because you just have a hard time opening up, you can understand the despair he must be feeling.

when ollie notices that you aren't too keen on saying anything, he keeps going. "i want you to trust me. i want to be the person you tell these things to." he scoots closer to you on the bed, one of his hands landing on top of your knee. "i really want to make this work between us. my feelings for you are so strong, just..."

the pain in his eyes is so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, his gaze cutting through you like a knife. your own eyes begin to well up again, but you can't look away now.

"i really want you to give this, give me, a chance."

you've never seen him like this before. hopeless, desperate, practically begging. and in an instant, the guilt comes creeping back into you.

you're the one who's making him feel like this; it's all your fault. and how cruel wouldn't it be to not at least give him an honest chance?

"of course." your voice is weak and shaky, but you nod. "i want that, too. really."

ollie drops his water bottle to the floor before opening his arms wide for you. "come here."

it's easy to climb into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he holds you close. it's easy to lean into him, to inhale his sweet scent, and it's so easy to relax.

you wish it was as easy to open up to him. oh, how badly you wish it was as easy as a-b-c or do-re-mi. you really want to let him in; you, too, want this to work.

the silence that follows is a comfortable one. the air feels thick with unspoken emotions, a heaviness of the previous conversation still lingering, but there's an unspoken understanding between you and ollie. the previously well-known weight of the world on your shoulders seems to lift, if only momentarily; his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back is like a silent reassurance that he's there, he's present, and he's willing to wait for you to open up in your own time.

after what feels like an eternity, ollie breaks the silence. "let's do something. let's go on a vacation together."

you lean back slightly, just enough to look at his face but stay in his hold. "…what?"

your reaction isn't exactly what he had hoped for, but he goes on. "i'm going back to italy this week, you should come with me." he reaches up with a hand to your face, thumb softly massaging away the frown you hadn't even noticed had formed. "we'll travel around, go see the national parks, hike in the mountains... swim in the sea, eat at good italian restaurants..."

your features soften at his suggestions; it all does sound very sweet. still, you can't hold back from asking, "but why?"

"we have almost a month until the next race weekend, and you said that you don't have any sims this week. this could help take your mind off racing, and..." a sheepish smile appears on his face. "maybe it could make us get a little closer."

uncertainties and conflicting thoughts continue to cloud your heart, making the decision harder than it should be. on one hand, accepting the offer could offer a much-needed reprieve from all the pressures of the racing world. on the other hand, your unresolved feelings for paul still hold you back. spending a romantic holiday with ollie sounds like a dream, just as much as the mere thought of revealing yourself to him makes you nauseous from the fear.

but you want to be brave. and maybe to let go of paul, you need to just forget about your worries and dive head-first into ollie.

"it sounds perfect. let's do it."

yourusername just posted!

yourusername we're back baby!! leaving monaco with some good points. 🔜 barcelona and the team's home race, let's go 😁

show all 78 comments

user finally back on the podium! ❤️💙

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user great drive today !!!

→ user it was just luck 😭 without the vsc she would've never gotten that podium

→ user okay and??

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olliebearman what's up with the hair dinobeganovic_

→ yourusername it's called fashion

→ dinobeganovic_ it's called waking up at 5 for a feature race

→ user you're still gorgeous dino 😚

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

redbulljuniorteam 💪💙❤️

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

sebasmontoya58 pepe don't punch the girl, she did nothing wrong

→ yourusername i did nothing wrong!!!

→ pepemartiofficial tell him what you did

→ yourusername never

→ pepemartiofficial sebas check your whatsapp

→ yourusername YOU WOULDNT

→ pepemartiofficial i totally would

[thefallenangelsgang]

Fuck it, I'm throwing my hat on the ring about the Emil announcing Nate from Fallout 4 is the bystander Soldier in the Fallout 1 opener.

First and foremost, it was a stupid thing to say. As he backtracks to later, the conceit of Fallout's protags is they are supposed to be anyone (and that issue is precisely why some people hate the extensive prewar character background given to you in Fallout 4). For the lead writer to pull a JK Rowling (why would you do that? None of those went over well) is such a major marketing misstep that it wouldn't surprise me if Emil gets reprimanded for it before we even get into the implication of what he said.

Emil your voice is as good as God when it comes to the canon. You can't just say shit like that and expect it to go well. Especially considering the implications.

Speaking of the implications, I'm not mad about Nate being a war criminal. It's a coloring I actually would welcome if the games discussed concepts like Capitalism, Racism, and War in any meaningful way anymore. And if Emil also didn't say this.

Fallout's canon is rooted in reality. That is part of its whole thing. It's fun to do goofy shit like becoming the Silver Shroud and having a make believe superhero fight with the Mechanist or write a woman obsessed with Nuka Cola so much she traverses two games to basically kidnap the CEO's cryogenically preserved head so she can talk to him for all eternity, but the setting is very much rooted in reality.

You aren't dealing with fictional countries, you aren't dealing with fictional races, you aren't dealing with fictional hypotheticals. That is The Elder Scrolls job. You are dealing with actual countries, actual racism, actual history, and actual fucking politics. You have to be mindful of what you are doing and saying. You can't just do things because it's an interesting plot device without first thinking about the implications.

Fallout's world is a heightened version of our own, a path we seem to stumble towards with ever passing year unless we do something about it. It fucking sucks. I'm sure writing it feels like prophesizing the future and eats your soul a bit. It would mine. But that doesn't mean Fallout can just take a sharp left in terms of story and reality and get away with it.

To have Nate be the bystander Soldier and then meet him when he has a very good thing going for him (an expensive house during an inflation crisis, a robot butler, he gets into a vault for free for fucks sake) very much speaks to life rewarding him for his crimes. There is no hatred in his words when he looks at the flag of the country that made him kill innocents. His speech is speaks of remorse for leaving his family and the cycle of war, it does not speak of the horrors. Of watching you comrades bleed out in the Anchorage snow. Of the scream of shells overhead. Of the fear in civilians eyes as your buddy puts a bullet between them.

You all have to see how it looks like the man is fine with what he had to do during the war, right?

Not interacting with these concepts enough paints a picture of apathy and acceptance. In this day and age where being keeping the government honest and responsible for their actions is so important, that isn't going to slide without it being EXTREMELY purposeful, which it is not. It's tone deaf and lazy.

I respect a lot of what Emil has done in the past, but I am not above keeping him culpable when he has something so delicate in his hands. I hope this situation is what he needed to get his head on straight, or is the light bulb moment where he realizes he needs to pass the torch onwards. There is no shame in subject matter becoming too much as time goes on. There is shame in letting a previously critical series become the very thing it was criticizing.

He is going to keep getting dragged until he realizes that or he manages to convince the fans to be complicit in the degradation of setting. In doing so he is going to lose Bethesda most of its biggest fans who well and truly love the series and what it stands for.

But that's just my take, and I'm just a kid who studies polisci and history and can't shield myself from the inherent horror of nuclear war no matter how much I try.

War really never changes

[chibinightowl]

Today has been a day. Just a lot of hospital stress this week between my mom and my husband's surgeries and this is how it's coming out (they're both fine and are recovering well).

~~~

Dick finds Tim in a waiting room at Gotham General, slumped in a faded blue plastic chair that's seen better days. At some point during the day, his brother had been immaculately dressed for the office. But now, his blue pin-striped suit is wrinkled, his collar is unbuttoned, and his shirtsleeves have been rolled up. There was a tie somewhere as Dick knows Tim never leaves home without one on an office day, but it's anyone's guess as to where it currently is.

"Hey. I got here as fast as I could," he says, taking the open seat beside Tim. He did too, calling Wally as soon as he got the news from Barbara. "How's Jason?"

Tim opens his eyes, giving him a look that is more dead than alive. "Still critical."

Pain lances through Dick at the two words. He'd lost Jason once before and the guilt from being off world when his Little Wing needed him the most still ate at him in the darkest parts of his psyche. And now, here he is sitting with another brother he never thought he'd have, one who's been through so much trauma and loss of his own--and who is on the verge of possibly losing another loved one.

A car-pedestrian accident. The gall of something so normal and mundane having the potential to take out the Red Hood--or any of them for that matter--is enough to make Dick want to punch the taupe wall of this dreary waiting room.

To be honest, he's rather surprised none of the others are here yet. Well, expect Bruce. He's off world with the JL and...

Oh.

Oh.

"Do you think Bruce knows yet?"

Tim's shrug is so minute Dick might have missed it if he wasn't watching closely. "Can't say I care right now. He and Jay got into another of their big fights before he left. Said if Jay can't clean up his act, then don't bother coming back."

Dick winces and easily reads between the lines of what Tim isn't saying given their semi-public place. Even in Bludhaven, he'd heard about the execution-style murder of a known pedophile--and that it was the Red Hood who'd done it.

"He didn't do it, Dick," Tim whispers, catching his gaze as tears build in his eyes. "I was there. I know he didn't. But Bruce didn't listen to either of us, said I was covering for him because he's in my pants." Those last words are practically spat out. "I think this is the first time I've ever felt like I hate him. He just doesn't listen!"

That's a feeling Dick knows all too well. He also knows now why the others aren't here--that Barbara called him first because Tim doesn't need just comfort.

He needs his big brother.

Dick slides from the chair to kneel on the floor in front of Tim. "Now that is something I know a lot about." He takes Tim's hands and squeezes them firmly. "I'm not going to tell you it'll get better. I'm also not going to say you need to be the bigger person and forgive him. What I am going to tell you is that I believe you and that I believe in Jason."

Tim's breath hitches and he falls into Dick's open arms sobbing. Thank yous fall from his lips and into Dick's jacket. Tears fill his own eyes as he remembers another time where he didn't believe this little bird, his first Robin.

Time hasn't necessarily dulled the guilt, but it has given him perspective. He'd done what he thought best at the time and owned up to it when he'd been proven wrong--a trait not shared by their mentor and father-figure.

"We'll get through this together," Dick soothes, running a hand up and down Tim's back. "You, me, and everyone else. We're all here for you and we're all pulling for Jason."

As he speaks, he glances up and spots Alfred hurrying down the hall with Damian and Duke in tow. Both boys are still dressed in their school uniforms, so Alfred must have pulled them out early. Behind them are Cass and Steph, hands held tightly.

"We're all here," he repeats, nudging Tim's chin to make him look up. "And we're not going anywhere."

[moronkombat]

okay so I’ve never done this before 😭

but can I request a nsfw work on Tomas being frustrated over how Bi-Han treats him that he sleeps with Bi-Han’s wife who also loves Tomas 👀 like Tomas is so frustrated and Bi-Han’s wife offers him leverage even if it’s cheating on Bi-Han?

decided to take some creative liberties with this prompt and made it into tomas is frustrated with bi-han and decides he's going to take his frustrations out on bi-han's sweet little wife

tw: afab pronouns and anatomy, dub/noncon, breeding kink/pregnancy mention unprotected sex

Tomas had known her since he first came to join the Lin Kuei family. She had been the daughter of a close family friend and someone Tomas had become rather fond of her. She sweet, kind and always very understanding. The very opposite of Bi-Han and yet his eldest brother had been the one to capture her heart. When he saw the two of them embrace each other, Tomas felt as if nothing in the world would ever go right for him.

No matter how hard he tried to win her favor, she always had eyes for the cryomancer. Yes, she and Tomas spent time together but it was never anything more than a cordial and friendly chat between friends. Tomas wanted so much more than just friends. Yet she remained with Bi-Han and when he heard word of their proposal Tomas truly felt lost.

For years he has kept these envies to himself, watching from just the corner of his eye when Bi-Han and her were together. She smiles so sweetly with him. Never did she smile like that around Tomas. Though, this beautiful flower always kind, no matter the occasion. He treats Tomas with grace, respect and care. Did her husband share this trait? No.

Whatever Tomas seemed to do, Bi-Han was critical and disapproving. They do not share blood. They are not brothers. Tomas could never change that, he never could hope to. This day no exception as Tomas had been reminded of his commoner status yet again by his eldest brother. His only option to stand there and listen to this verbal lashing, waiting to be dismissed.

Upon his dismissal, Tomas had sought refuge in one of the dojos. There he stands, hand covering his brow, as he ponders all the failures Bi-Han saw him as. It isn't fair. It isn't right. Why is Tomas always met with such contempt when all he tries to do is receive acceptance?

"Tomas?" her voice an instant calming flow, "Thought I would find you here?"

A hand slides down the length of his face and he turns to look at the one who has always accepted him. Eyes softened, lips curved and offering a smile...she always so divine, so perfect. Tomas finds himself sighing and relaxing into the wall. Footsteps approach and her warmth radiates close. There's something tingling up his spine while she stands with him. So close, so close.

"'My husband giving you trouble, again?" Comes her inquisition and Tomas need not even answer her. Her posture and overall demeanor softens. "I'm sorry. It isn't right for him to become so upset with you."

His heart hangs heavy. It always her apologizing for Bi-Han behavior for his mistreatment of others. It is enraging to know that someone so sweet takes on the burdens of a brother most vile. Tomas can hear her voice, the words she says always so lovely, but he is unable to listen. No, his grey eyes merely watch her plush and tender lips move. Are they soft? They must be...they be so soft and comforting. Eyes continue their path...such a slender neck, smooth and warm skin.

Tomas can't stop himself not when eyes fall upon her chest. How unfair seeing the fabric stretch like that. Large breasts hide beneath it, just begging to be revealed. Fingers twitch as he imagines what it's like to hold them against his palms. What else could his hands do? That waist of hers...so tight and begging to be grabbed and pulled. Push and pull against his body again and again.

Shit...why does she have to do this? How can she be so cruel to taunt him with her body that so forbidden to him. It's not fair. It's not right. Nothing ever has gone right for Tomas, why does she have to rub it in by standing there looking so...tempting?!

Desire, so much of it, how is expected not to drown? Hands that flinch and wince now spring to life. They grab, they shove and he hears her shriek. Bodies pressed together, she trapped and ensnared and Tomas holds the key to escape. Large hands encompass her wrists, holding her against a wall. She struggles, squirming and writhing against him. Feels good...it feels so good!

Tomas pressed himself as close as he can to her, hot breath dancing against a slim neck. A stiff erection begins to burn and Tomas is so desperate for relief while she continues to move against his body. A tongue so damp licks at her skin and shaking hands begin to roam uncharted territory. The fabric of her dress so pretty against begging palms. He hears her pleading with him, asking him what he's doing and why but Tomas can only hear how delicious her voice sounds like this.

Hips begin to buck, rutting up against her to establish some sort of friction for his growing arousal. None of Tomas can remain still when he has her captured like this. He gropes and caresses all the curves he can. Pulling at her dress to better reveal secrets he could have never dreamed of revealing. Yet here she is, supple breasts exposed that Tomas quickly latches himself onto.

There's a new noise at his ears then, something very dangerous and it shoots right down to Tomas' desperate cock. She's whining, it feels good? He's making her feel good. Invigorated, Tomas begins to luck and suck at perked and blushing nipples. So easily his lips encompass such a beautiful little bud and how perfectly his tongue swirls around it. There's more of those pretty sounds from her and Tomas uses an unoccupied hand to bring her hand to his hard erection.

He can feel her wrist attempting to pull away. How dare she. Doesn't she know he's like this because of her? Because she is always walking around flaunting that lewd body of hers. This is her fault. There is only her to blame for what's happening. Tomas' grip on her wrist steels and he begins manipulating her hand so that she caresses him through his trousers.

"T-Tomas...!" Words are finally coherent again. "Please, you don't mean to do this!"

It is her attempt to reason with him, to still he the very good in him that Bi-Han could never see. Tomas groans and moves his lips from her breast torrid and wild. "Tom-!"

He can't hear her again, lips are pressed onto hers so rough and desperate. Even as she tries to resist, his tongue and hers still collide so gracefully.

"So pretty, you're so pretty." Tomas whines against her in that moment of breath. "I gotta taste you. You're making me go crazy. Fuck, you're always teasing me."

Panicked, afraid, she looks to him. "Tomas, I don't know what you're talking about! Ple-!" She screams, her world spinning as eyes come to witness the wall.

There's a gasp, hands are pulling her hips and soon she feels herself being bent over. She has no choice but to place her palms flat against the wall if she did not want to tumble. Her legs are moved apart and a dress is hiked up around her waist. Over her shoulder she is met with the wild and drunk gaze of her dear friend Tomas.

Bending down, he can feel himself shaking and trembling as he looks at her soaked panties. She's wet, so wet, practically dripping and she knows it too. There is a great shame within her, knowing she's been turned on by someone other than her husband but her body cannot deny pleasure no matter who gives it.

"You're so wet here." Tomas muses, pressing finger against the warmth of her panties. "So sticky...fuck, I gotta taste your pussy."

Her mouth parts to protest but there is only a moan as the flat of his tongue lays against her clothed pussy. Such a betraying moan, she bites her lip to keep herself quiet but Tomas does not stop. His tongue tangos against her nectar stained panties, pushing and sucking. Nails claw at the wall and thighs shake that he teases her like this. Why does it feel so amazing? She loves her husband so much but...this just feels so good!

Teeth slip and her moans are freed into the empty air. Such pretty music she makes for him and Tomas is only fueled to keep going. "You like this, baby? You like me teasing you pussy like this?"

No, this is so filthy. Bi-Han has never talked to her like this. No, Bi-Han always so sweet with his words but Tomas...so cruel and yet why does something within her twist and turn so tightly?

"Ah, you're getting even more wet. You must be really perverted, huh? So fucking hot..." Tomas breathes before continuing. He not even touching her core directly and still he has her moaning like this. "S-Shit, you just can't keep quiet. I'm gonna end up cumming just from listening to you."

That would be her salvation, wouldn't it? If he came now, then nothing could progress further. Please, please just finish! But there is no salvation awaiting her. No, instead her panties are pulled away and cool air greets her. No, no! Tomas could cum from just the sight of her pretty little pussy. Such a lovely color...Tomas quivers, fuck he needs to take her now

Sounds of clothing shifting and Tomas holds the base of his hard and thick length. The tip slides against her pussy, coating it so sticky in beautiful glistening wetness. She gasps and begins to beg. "No...! No Tomas don't! Please!"

Her pleas fall so silent, Tomas will not be denied that which should have always been his. His hands grab onto her hips, pushing into soft skin. "I'm gonna fuck you now, okay? I just gotta fuck you. I've always wanted to so...you'll let me, right?"

Words are spoken yet Tomas seems not to be interested in a response. Eyes captured by madness, there is no shred of hesitation left within him now.

"No, wait! Stop!" She tries again but she should have learned that there is no happy ending for her. Tomas' length rubs against her wet pussy, coating it in all her slick and warmth. She can hear him panting just from this, she knows he is excited to fuck her. He's so eager, desperately rutting himself against her in an attempt to enter her.

"S-Shit, it won't go in..." Tomas breaths as he rushes to penetrate that which does not belong to him. He moves a hand to stabilize himself and finally the bulbous and engorged tip spreads her apart. Eyes fly open and a back in bending. No...No! Walls are pried apart as his cock makes its shaky way inside her. Further and further those spongy walls are pulled apart but oh do they cling and wrap around him.

Tomas is moaning, watching as her greedy pussy swallows up his cock from tip to base. Hips slam together and now he is fully nestled inside. The warmth, the comfort, there no better bliss than to be engulfed by her. Tomas lightly swivels his hips, this length moving so snugly against her insides and she cries out.

"You're so tight...sucking me in like that. Such a great pussy. Damn, babe, I can hardly move you're clinging to me so much." She hates that he is right. She hates how her pussy so quickly wrapped around his cock as if he were her dear husband. Tomas can only move his hips shallowly, allowing her pussy to adjust to the foreign intrusion. Her mind knows this is wrong, that she only wants to ever do something like this with her husband but the body wants what it craves. Right now it craves the maelstrom that is Tomas.

Brows pinch together and fingers bruise tender flesh, Tomas can't tolerate this pace any longer. He needs more, he will have more. Skin against skin, the slap of it such a beautiful symphony that fills the room as he begins to fuck her tight little cunt raw. Each thrust brings forth a moan from both of them.

"So good, you feel so good." words slip between breaths as Tomas continues to ravage her. "Your cunt is so fucking tight. It feels like you're suffocating me, babe. Shit, your pussy is the best."

The words have her sick yet his body has her reaching divinity more and more. His cock stretches and fills up all of her, she can feel him so deep inside.

"T-Tomas...please..-" words cannot continue, the moans and mewls leave no room for them.

The sound of his names coming from her lewd and plush lips has Tomas throbbing and straining inside her. "Y-Yeah! Say my name again! Fuck, say my name again, babe!"

She resists, biting her bottom lip and sucking it in. No, she can't. She mustn't moan the name of another man. Her silence is infuriating and Tomas grits his teeth. A hand raises only to come down upon the flesh of her round and shapely ass. The skin there like rippling waves and her entire body tensing and Tomas feels every little bit of it.

"S-Shit! You're squeezing my dick so much! Fuck, you like that? Fucking dirty bitch...!" So horrible, so wonderful. No, this can't be.

Once again his hand punishes her and she can only whimper and shake under him. Her body responds the same, with lust and treachery. She thinks of Bi-Han and her eyes close. Apologies ring in her head over and over again. They compete with the corruption that is pleasure and all of its temptations.

"Such a good slut. God, I love you so much. You feel amazing!" Words from him begin to strain as colors so unspeakable begin to rise into view. "I just can't stop fucking you."

Her body never wants him to stop. The sex he gives so brutal, so feral. They like animals mating with the way they move and moan. Her head is dizzy, her pussy is wet and dripping, it's so good, it's too good.

"T-Tomas..!" A bond is broken, a name is said. "Tomas! I-I can't...!"

She can and she will. Tomas slams himself into her abused cunt again and again, the sounds of their sex so mind numbing. "That's it! Say my name again! S-Shit...I'm not gonna last...!"

Horror, terror, the realization. He's going to cum, he's going to finish soon. No! No! Please not that! "N-Not...inside! You can't!" Those the only words she can manage but they are not the words Tomas wanted.

"Inside? Yeah, Imma cum inside you. I'm gonna cum inside your slutty pussy." Tomas steels himself, he will have no other option. It is his right to do so. She always belonged to him. "Fuck that...idiot Bi-Han. Stealing you from me like that. You should be my wife."

The heat, it is rising it is coiling. Her walls tremble to match his throbbing length. Together they dance, together they reach the sky. Such beautiful rhythms around his cock she provides as her orgasm overtakes her into the pits of calamity.

Her undoing only fuels Tomas and the twisted thoughts within his head. "Yeah, yeah that's right. Cum on my cock! You fucking love it. You love when I fuck you!"

It should have been him. It should have always been him. What would Bi-Han think now? What would he think if he saw his wife having sex with his inferior brother? The thought drives Tomas to manic raptor.

"I'm gonna cum in you. Gonna fill you up real nice. Hey..." wicked thoughts become villainous. "How about I cum inside of you and get you knocked up? Yeah, I think I'll fuck a baby into you. That'll show Bi-Han."

Bi-Han, her husband, the love of her life. The man who she promised herself to but now here she is being fucked by another and cumming around his cock. Her thoughts are ripped away as Tomas sharply pulls on her arm, forcing her back to curve and bend.

A craned neck, moans cannot hide themself and go birthed into the warm air. Tomas groans, Tomas grunts, driven now by a sinister purpose. He'll fuck her so full. He'll paint her insides until there will be no choice but to remember him forever. He loves her. He loves her so much.

Strings of white pearls erupt within a warm and welcoming home. So painted, so tarnished. His cock so buried inside her, he's cumming so much. It's never ending, there's too much! Tomas pulls from her cum stained pussy, spurts still releasing and sticking to her now reddening ass. So sticky and sweet he has made her, watching over her body as she falls to the floor, spent and used.

Tomas pants, enjoying the masterpiece he has created. She lays so cold, eyes filled with tears and pussy so filled with seed that didn't belong to her husband. She cannot move, she cannot bring herself to do much of anything.

Behind her there is movement and the youngest Lin Kuei brother is fixing his clothes, getting himself ready to depart.

"That was really great!" so casual, as if nothing had happened. "We'll have to have fun like that again. Fuck you were just as good as I always thought."

Now he would never have to only imagine it. Now he has the experience to relish in and return to. Turning to leave, Tomas pauses before opening the door.

"Oh and you won't tell Bi-Han, right? Hah, what am I saying, of course you won't tell him!"

Why is he right?

[merakiui]

Imagine being bullied by dilf Azul's kids, so to bully them back you sleep with their hot dad >:)

bonus points if yandere👀

- Azuzu's tentacle anon🐙

OOOOOOO OMG imagine being his secretary and when he can't find someone to watch his kids while he's at work he just dumps them on you. T_T Azul's so busy and your entire job essentially revolves around him. Looking after his kids for the day is just part of that, or so he tells you with that classic, persuasive smirk-grin of his. You didn't mind it at first because it wasn't a recurring thing, but then his kids start to complain that you're boring and never let them leave the office. :/ you just don't want to risk them running off or getting lost if you take them outside. Besides, "babysitter" isn't in your job description and you're by no means a professional. You're not sure what Mr. Ashengrotto would do with you if you couldn't watch his kids for one workday. >_< the last thing you want is to get fired, so you sternly explain that they should just wait in here until their papa can come and see them.

His kids are ruthless. Of course they're absolute angels when Azul's around, but the moment it's you and them they're wanting to trash your office so you'll let them outside or they're interrogating you about how you know their dad and why he seems so close to you. It's so very exhausting, but you manage it because you have to. You're not a vindictive person, but it does annoy you each time his children bully you outright. One of them even criticized your lunch, saying, "Papa has a private chef and the meals he serves us are always gourmet. Your lunch looks yucky and poor!"

Great Seven, you are a hair's breadth away from going insane. They are so spoiled. You'd feel bad about calling them brats, but that's what they sound like when they complain and pout and throw tantrums. In a way, their bad attitude reminds you of your boss when he doesn't get his way in a business negotiation. He sulks and complains for all of a few hours before getting his head back in the game, sharper and more cutthroat than ever.

Azul offers to take you out for a fancy, five-star dinner as thanks for always looking after his kids. You agree to it right away because he said he'll be paying, but in the midst of your greed you fail to regulate just how much expensive champagne you drink. And by the end of the night, you're being brought back to Azul's penthouse because he doesn't trust you to be on your own when you're this intoxicated. One thing leads to another and the two of you are kissing in the hall. It doesn't go any further than that because a series of horrified gasps resound from down the hall and the both of you whirl to face his children, all of them wearing the most obvious expressions of betrayal.

"No way... Dad's kissing a commoner!" they exclaim in unison, eyes blown wide.

T_T he's going to have to teach his kids about manners. And they'll have to get used to seeing you more often because their papa is so whipped for you. <3

[crmsnmth]

Hello

Version 5.5

Introductions Are stupid.

Hey. How goes it?

I'm 36. Caucasian male. Goth-punk. I live in a small-town of 2000 people right in the center of the drunken state of Wisconsin. It is not even close to as fun as that sounds, and it doesn't sound all that fun to begin with. For work, I am a kitchen manager at one place and a line cook at another. I work seven days a week, because I've really got nothing better to do. Forces me out of the house. Makes me be social. And I actually really like what I do. I've been working in the industry for twenty odd years.

I listen to all music, and I'm not just saying that. I actually do. You can go through my main playlist, and you'll find everything from Slayer to Britney Spears to Alan Jackson to The Casualties to Katy Perry etc.… My favorite band of all time is the Descendents. But standing tall in second place is Amigo the Devil and Frank Turner rounding out my top 3. But you should tell me your favorites song, or one that means something to you, I need new music to memorize.

I'm mentally screwed and quite medicated. I have come to peace with this fact. I've been as stable as I can get for a good four years now. So that's neat. I am a raging cynic. I am a recovering addict, long-term. 8 Years. I am sober a little over two. I am a major cinephile, especially when it comes to the glory of the 80's slasher movie. I absolutely adore weird movies. The last film I watched that I really liked was Kinds of Kindness. I thought it was brilliant. My favorite movie of all time is Tommy Wiseau's masterpiece "The Room." I mean that 100%. That movie is the best thing to ever be put on film and I will fight and die upon this hill. I write more than any sane and healthy person should write, but I'm far from sane and I'm far from healthy. I post at least once a day, but sometimes I can post over ten. My notes app on my phone is scary looking.

I do not write for anyone's actual approval. Not even my own really. I do this because it's the only addiction I have that isn't actively trying to kill me and is actually trying to better me as a person and get in touch with unresolved feelings and places that will never have closure.

I will always love constructive criticism. But please, for the love of all the love in the world, don't just tell me I suck. I get that. It's a massive part of my whole gig. Please, give me a reason why I suck, what I'm doing wrong in your eyes. Help me to better this craft I play with. Seriously, I love it. But if you can't give me a reason, maybe it's best you keep that food-hole shut, and stop trying to be a dick, dick.

So since, I write some much, what topics to a tap dance to the grave with? I'm pretty predictable. So, this stuff: The Girl with the Ocean Blue Eyes, Kid, The Broken Mirror Girl, My Junkie Angel, The Girl from California, The Best Friend, The Drunk*, love, lost lovers, hopelessness, isolation, drug addiction, alcoholism, depression, forgotten acquaintances, mental illnesses, rage, hate, rejection, joy, insignificant moments, slices of life, laughter, beauty, self and self-reflection, self-hate, art, other writers, panic, infatuations, obsession, therapy, group homes, rehab, jail, grace, nature, loss, hope, fear, grief, anguish, philosophy, anarchism, nihilism, religion, god, the devil, ugliness, politics, serial killers, cults, suicide, death, destruction, chaos, music, validation, closure, memory, enemies, friends, rock bottom, sex, violence, rock and roll, sin, self-exploration, bipolar disorder, schizoaffective disorder, pain, self-destruction much more.

Consider this little spot your trigger warning.

I make music as well as the writing gig. Go tell me I suck at it.

I know about the typos. I am very aware. You don't need to tell me, because I'm probably not going to fix them anyway. Besides, you can figure it out.

There's bare bones about me and what I'm about and where I stand. If there is anything else you'd want to know for some godforsaken reason, go ahead and message me. I may not be real good at it, I do enjoy having fifteen second conversations.

*NOT REAL NAMES

[thewertsearch]

AG: You can do it, John. 8e the hero! AG: Just like in one of your movies a8out sweaty, rugged adult human males. EB: ah HA! EB: so you did watch that video I sent.

Lest we forget, John's a little responsible for Vriska's development, too. What goes around comes around!

AG: 8y the way, John, have you ever considered growing your hair out? AG: I 8et it would look fa8ulous. EB: no, it would look so stupid!

I'm not so sure. I mean, I couldn't see John with Cameron Poe hair, but I do think he could rock a ponytail.

EB: before i fell asleep, i was about to prototype something really ridiculous to make jack weaker. EB: i am pretty sure that it would have made jack lose both eyes, both arms, and give him silly blue hair, and possibly also make him be a girl?

Could I take a dip in the kernel, actually? HRT is slow as fuck.

EB: but instead, it was prototyped by jade's first guardian dog lusus. EB: and now he is unstoppable! [...] AG: Of course I realized that would happen. AG: It was pretty much the whole point, you goof!

Oh, boy.

AG: No matter what you or I or any of us did, Jack's here now. That's the reality! AG: And if I didn't stop you, it wouldn't have changed the reality for us here. We'd still 8e hiding on this rock, and he'd still 8e out there, sniffing around for us. [...] AG: All that REALLY would have happened is I would have allowed you to do something you weren't supposed to do! [...] AG: And then you and all your friends would exist in a splintered timeline. And you wouldn't even 8e a8le to talk to me anymore! ::::(

...alright. If I take my brain, and turn it Vriska-wards, I can kind of see how she'd be able to rationalize this to herself. Jack's ascension is already baked into the Alpha Timeline, so it can't really be 'her fault', even if she consciously, deliberately caused it to feed her own ego.

There is, however, one major problem with her line of reasoning.

Vriska didn't know that she was responsible for Jack - not until just now.

Before that, she'd have been able to see him falling asleep at the critical moment - but Vriska isn't the only source of Player narcolepsy in the Medium. For all she knew, her powers could have interfered with the actual reason John fell asleep - for example, some event involving his dream self, which she can't see.

She couldn't know for sure if she was fucking something up, by doing this - but she did it anyway.

AG: I did it 8ecause I wanted to 8e the one responsi8le for cre8ting him.

And she did it because she wanted to.

This is, I think, the most important point to drill in on. Everything else - all that equivocation about doomed timelines - it all adds up to nothing but justification after the fact. She wanted to do this, it was fully in line with her established attitude towards John, and she did it for selfish, but entirely genuine, reasons.

Vriska isn't a Paradox Space P-Zombie. She's fully in control of her actions, and the existence of the Alpha Timeline doesn't absolve her of their consequences.

.... and no, I don't care what Doc Scratch says. That's just a rhetorical trick he uses to get people - Vriska, usually - to do what he wants.

I'm half convinced that Vriska is only fated to do all this bad shit because she'd want to do it anyway. Maybe if she grows as a person, the Alpha Timeline won't be able to encode any more Vriska Incidents, since it could no longer maneuver her into a position where she wants to perpetrate them.

And if that's true, people like Doc Scratch have a vested interest in keeping her the way she is. Food for thought.

[emiliaalonsosainz31]

Weird but warm evening - carlando x reader

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Lando Norris X reader

warnings: maybe kissing?, alcohol (know your limit pls)

Summary: Y/N meets Carlando at her friends party and it starts to get a bit weird between these three.

This is my first thing ever to put out on here, soooo please be kind (But I am absolutely open to any kind of ideas and critic!) English isn't my first language and ist not proof read so please have mercy with me! THX <3

I'm usually pretty good at talking to new people and blending into groups, but right now, I'm in that awkward phase between being completely sober and slightly tipsy. Unlike Martin, I get a bit shy in this state, which is why I've been sitting almost completely silent between Martin and his longtime friend Lando for the past two hours. I know Lando – well, I don't really know him, but I know who he is. We've seen each other a few times at Grand Prix weekends where Martin competes, or at other parties. But we've never really had a proper conversation.

Next to him is his boyfriend, Carlos Sainz. We had d a short conversation a view weeks ago when Lando was joining martin at his festival gig. At first I was kinda scared about talking to him but when he opened up our conversation I learned that he is a really nice man.

I lean back, take another sip of my vodka lemon, and take a closer look at the couple next to me. Carlos has strong facial features, warm brown eyes, full lips, a dark stubble beard, and equally dark, perfectly styled hair. His hand rests on Lando's knee, lovingly stroking it. Lando's hair is a bit lighter than Carlos' and a bit curlier and wilder. He has a small gap between his teeth and green eyes. His features are softer than Carlos', and he has a small beard on his chin. Both are very attractive. I can't blame either of them for falling in love with each other based on their looks.

I study them more closely, and as I try to get a better look at Carlos' face, I find his eyes. They look directly into mine, and he starts to smile. I smile back and notice Lando looking at me too. Embarrassed, I quickly look away and stand up. My God, how embarrassing. He caught me staring at his boyfriend. Great job, Y/N. And who knows how long Carlos had already noticed.

I walk out to the terrace and lean forward against the railing. Martin really has a beautiful view here. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale. When I open my eyes and turn around, I see Lando and Carlos both looking at me with smiles on their faces. They turn their heads toward each other and start kissing. First tenderly and gently, then more passionately. My eyes are frozen as I watch them. My heartbeat quickens, and my breathing becomes more intense. I feel warm, and my tongue starts to feel dry.

They pull away from each other, snapping me out of my trance. I seize the opportunity to escape this very unusual situation for me and head back inside, straight to Martin, who was sitting in front of me earlier.

“Hey, I'm heading out. I'm not feeling well, and I have to get up early tomorrow. Sorry!” I say softly, touching Martin on the left shoulder. He looks at me with concern and offers to drive me back to my hotel, but I politely decline. I grab my bag that’s next to Martin and go to the cloakroom to get my jacket.

As I leave the house and head to my rental car, I see Lando and Carlos leaning against a sleek black McLaren. I unlock my Mercedes with the key, glance at them one more time, get inside, and just before I close the door, I hear Lando say, “We hope you enjoyed the little show earlier, baby.”

My heart skips a beat as I quickly shut the door, my cheeks flushing with warmth. What a weird evening.

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕦𝕥𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕣 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕙

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴛᴇᴄʜ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʜᴇʟʟᴀ ᴀᴅʜᴅ (ɪᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ ꜰʀꜰʀ)

⋆ ★ ɪ ɢᴏᴛ ᴍᴀꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴇᴄʜ ʙʀᴀɪɴ ʀᴏᴛ 24/7 ꜱᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴅɪᴅ ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ? ᴍᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʜ ʙᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ!

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Tech is a hardcore nail-biter. 

A fiddler too.

If his other hand isn't preoccupied while one curls around his datapad or the wheel of the ship, it's by his mouth, absentmindedly tearing at his nails and the skin surrounding it.

The habit isn't due to anxiety; perhaps it did come to be from it when he was a young cadet still trying to navigate his role and purpose as a defective clone, but now it is just a simple habit he isn’t able to break.

You fuss about it all the time, the second you see him raise his fingers to his lips you slap them away.

“What was that for?” He asks softly yet critically. 

You click your tongue, flashing him a look of mutual understanding, but he still feigns confusion. You roll your eyes.

“You know damn well it’s bad for you,” you say. “You gotta break this habit."

He turns away, looking down at his datapad again, and responds rather nonchalantly,

“What else am I supposed to do while I work?”

You pout, shrugging as you lean in closer to his side where you both lie on the couch.

“I can get you some sort of toy to fiddle with. One of those little stress balls, magnets…”

“Hm…” Tech hums, interrupting your train of thought. You gaze up at him in curiosity; his eyes still haven't strayed from his datapad. “Perhaps you could be my fiddle toy," he continues.

You're almost completely taken aback; your eyebrows raise and smile bewildered. What does he even mean by that?

“What?” You say under your breath.

“Here,” He says.

Quickly, the hand not holding his datapad wraps around your wrist, gently holding it up. While he’s still completely transfixed on whatever was so fascinating to him on the blue screen, you watch as he maneuvers the two of your hands around until they interlock softly.

"Like this," Tech tells you. His finger grazes offer the soft skin of your knuckles, softly rubbing patterns over it. Your heart swells and you lean into him closer, squirming in your spot ever-so-slightly as you're unable to contain your giddiness; you can't take your eyes off of the view. You really do have the cutest boyfriend.

"Now, is this more suitable?" He then asks you. You giggle into his solid arm and lower your hand to rest on your lap. As his head finally turns to look in your direction, you lean up and leave a soft kiss on his cheek, biting back a grin.

"Definitely."

tags: @pb-jellybeans

[windswept-phoenix]

Alright, the first oc piece that I’m planning on posting, and likely my favorite! It's a drawing of the Little Hare watching starflies outside his window (as you can probably tell, starflies are similar to fireflies) I actually wrote a bit of a short story that included them a good while ago, so I'II include it down below, even though the drawing isn't really depicting that exact scene! As I’m kind of a beginner writer, I’d love to hear any constructive criticism y’all might have!

The Little Hare leaned on the windowsill, staring into the moonlit forest outside.

"Look! There's starflies!" the Little Hare gasped, sitting up in excitement.

"Mmm?" The Fox King replied.

"Yeah, they're right outside!" The Little Hare leaned in even closer to the window, nearly touching his nose to the glass. "They're so beautiful! I love how...um...uh." The Little Hare glanced at the Fox King, his ears falling to his back. The Fox King was intently staring at the papers on his desk. He certainly wasn’t interested in the little bugs outside. The Little Hare was probably just being a nuisance.

After a few seconds of silence, the Fox King looked up from his papers. "What were you saying kid?"

"I, uh, no, it wasn't really important. Sorry."

"Rigel, we've talked about this. You can't just stop mid sentence, especially when it's something that you're obviously excited to talk about."

"Um. you're sure? It really wasn't all that important. I don't think you'd be interested"

The Fox King set his papers aside. "Try me."

"Um, ok. Well I was just saying how I love the way they move and flash." The Little Hare smiled and looked back at the starflies. "We had a lot more on the plains. They would swarm across the grass and and sky and make really pretty patterns! They were a lot less green than they are here though.”

"Really? I thought they all looked the same."

"Nope! The ones we had were yellow!"

"Well, if you want, you can grab a jar and go catch some."

The Little Hare whipped his head back, dismayed. "Oh, no! They're a lot prettier out there! And they wouldn't be happy in a jar. They belong outside." The Little Hare hesitated, glancing back out the window. "At least, that's what Ma always said...”

The Fox King got up from his desk and walked over to stand beside the Little Hare.

"You're probably right about that, kid. Not much room to flourish when you're confined." The Fox King stared out at the dancing lights of the glowing insects. "How about tomorrow night after I've gotten done with all the work, we go out together and look at them closer?"

The Little Hare looked back to the Fox King. "Really?"

"Sure. It doesn't seem like I've ever quite seen them like you seem to. Perhaps you can help me gain a new appreciation for the little insects.”

The Little Hare grinned, eyes gleaming as bright as the starflies outside. "I'd love to!"

[rust-painted-fingers]

Day 2 ... Full Moon

Techno's finger's glided over the keys, touch quick and playful. His shadow danced and flickered, following the rhythm of the music.

It was half past three, and Phil has yet to arrive home.

A dissonant chord echoed through the house, Techno's accompanying sigh hidden.

"I swear if you come back with an open wound…" Techno murmured, gaze enraptured by the flickering flame.

Phil was having a very bad, no good, terrible fucking shift.

12 hours till 3 am:

"You ready Phil?"

He met Niki's eyes and they shared a sigh.

"I swear to god I'm never taking this shift ever again, I'll fucking transfer if I have to," Phil grumbled, going over inventory.

"That's what you say now, but then you'll start feeling like a hare in a colony of bunnies soon enough," Niki quipped, scrubbing down the inside of the truck. "If I couldn't stand three hours what makes you think you can?"

Phil ignored her.

"Uhh, what are you talking about…"

Ranboo jumped at the sudden attention from the two of them.

"Shit this is your first time, isn't it?"

Niki bulldozed through Ranboo's spluttering, "Ignore him, he's just grumpy his and Techno's schedule never align." She waved her, now ignoring Phil's indignant 'Hey!' "All you need to know is everything's about to be more chaotic."

"Chaotic…?" It was clear Ranboo had no clue what was going on.

Phil sighed, "The full moon is here and its about to make every patient ten times more difficult."

"I thought that was just a myth," Ranboo said, fingers fidgeting with the box of supplies Phil asked for.

Taking the box, Phil called over his shoulder, "Believe it or not, be prepared for the worst."

10 hours till 3 am:

"How do you cut your finger off with a pumpkin scoop."

Phil looked up from his stretch. "You alright?"

Ranboo lifted his head, wonder shining in his eyes, plus some speck of pumpkin guts. "It was a kid kit."

21 year old male, helping his nieces carve their first pumpkin. Overeager and began carving the pumpking before all of the guts were scooped. Wanting to clean it up a little more, he grabbed ahold of the pumpking bowling style and lobbed his ring finger off.

Phil shrugged, "You've seen worse."

"Yeah, and somehow a pumpkin full of blood is still more disturbing."

"Ok it wasn't filled—"

"Alright boys, we can worry about Ranboo's mental state later, can you reach the top? I think I saw some guts fly up there."

Phil watched as Ranboo sweeped pumpkin innards into a bucket, already tired.

8 hours till 3am:

"Oh my god Jason you fucking asshole!"

"Ma'am we need you to step aside."

"You know I get scared easy, why would you—"

"Hey I know this is a lot, what's your name?"

"Jessica," the young woman sobbed, tears and blood streaming down her face.

"Ok, hi Jessica, I'm Ranboo. I need you to follow me outside, I promise you my team is doing everything they can to help— Jason was it?"

"They named him after that stupid fucking movie, I know!"

"Hey this is not a judging zone, promise, let's get you…" His voice went distant, escorting the distraught wife outside of the kitchen.

Phil locked eyes with Niki.

"On three, one, two, three—!"

30 year old male, father. Wanted to surprise his wife who was preparing dinner. Instead, he got a surprise slash to the chest, inches away from his neck.

"Well there goes our scary movie nights…" Jason groaned. Phil and Niki were careful but speed was critical and a few bumps were unnavoidable.

They passed Ranboo and Jessica. "I can't fucking believe you did that on our anniversary." She seemed more composed, her wobbly voice the only sign of distress.

"Ranboo."

"Ready."

5 hours till 3 am:

"I thought firefighters were the ones who helped people stuck on trees."

"They do, but our patient isn't stuck in a tree anymore," Ranboo said. Phil was more preoccupied cleaning his hands once more with a wipe. Blood always got tacky and settled inside the skin. It was a feeling Phil grew used to but even he could only tolerate it so much.

Niki glanced over to the front. "Hey Ranboo, are you sure they gave you the right direction? The city doesn't have any trees, at least not this far in."

"Didn't you guys know, they installed a new sculpture downtown," Ranboo grimaced, eyes on the road.

A beat.

"You're joking."

"Honestly would've thought you knew, Phil, didn't Techno mention it?"

Phil didn't answer the question, because Techno did mention it. In fact, he talked about it in great detail, and Phil already knew the scene awaiting them was going to be bloody as all hell.

"Niki, get double of everything ready." Because the tree they were headed to was an installation that featured spikes surrounding the trunk. Phil can still remember the excited way Techno spoke of the symbolism, how there was a birds nest that the cuckoo chick basically took hostage. It wasn't meant to last long, there was a numbered amount of normal eggs the cuckoo was meant to push out.

Phil wondered if Techno would be fine missing that particular date night.

4 hours till 3am:

"You alright there mate?"

Niki nodded, as if there wasn't a huge black eye forming on her right side.

Ranboo was a little too quiet for his taste, so Phil let her organize the remaining inventory to check up on him. She was used to the frenzy.

Taking in a deep breath, he released it as he knocked shoulders with Ranboo. He really was too tall, sitting down and yet he only barely reached his chin.

"It's not my fault you're short."

Any and all good will left Phil as he captured Ranboo in an elbow lock.

"It's not a matter of short or tall, Ran," Phil gritted, "It's about the abnormaility that is your femur being longer than our entire torso."

They grappled for a bit, with Phil as a clear winner because Ranboo may be over two meters, but his limbs were gangly and a trip hazard more than anything.

"Ok ok! I'm fine I promise!"

Phil let him go, but left his arm resting on his shoulders. "Yeah?"

Those shoulders shrugged. "I mean, you were right. I'm used to seeing worse. Honestly I don't think anything will ever beat that time with the maggots." Phil suppressed the urge to gag. He managed to block that memory.

"I get the feeling there's more."

A chuckle, "I don't know man, it's just weird. Usually the worst of worst gets spaced between shifts, but we just came back from a scare actor punching Niki, and that's the tame part."

Three highschoolers, ages 16 and a 17 year old, excited for a haunted house promoted as free for students. The cost came in the form of unsafe practices and two electracuted teenagers. The seventeen year old sported broken knuckles for getting into an altercation with an actor right before they arrived. Niki was mistaken for the teenager and got sucker punched.

"You gotta admit, it was pretty funny seeing the guy fly through the air."

He got a laugh, and Ranboo wheezed in between breaths, "I keep forgetting she has a black belt in Brazilian Jiu Jistsu."

"And you better not anymore after that demonstration."

Both Ranboo and Phil jumped, Niki cooly leaning against the truck.

"Aye aye, captain!" They chorused.

Niki grinned and went to sit next to the driver's seat.

2 hours till 3am:

"How ya holding up," Niki chirped.

Phil looked at her questioningly.

She rolled her eyes. "We're close to done, did you and Techno have any plans?"

"No jinxing! I am so close to saying goodbye to the mortal realm and you are not taking that from me!" Ranboo chimed in.

"You just had to ask en route?" Phil grinned.

Niki shrugged. "Can't really ask after, can I? The minute the clock strikes and you're gone," she teased.

Phil conceeded. "There's nothing planned, maybe I'll listen to a new piece he practiced." He laughed at her pout. "What do you want me to tell you? We're old and I can hear our bones crack in the morning."

She blew a nonexistent strand of her off her face — Phil didn't want to mention the tightness of her bun in case of causing unecessary stress of balding— and snapped a new pair of gloves. "Well I'm going on a picnic. It's going to be romantic and I'll have LED candles to set the mood."

"Can I come."

"I thought you were leaving this mortal realm?"

Phil just smiled, and against his better judgement, hoped this would be the last call of the night. Maybe he could surprise Techno.

30 minutes till 3am:

"I swear to gods if they don't count this as overtime—"

"Are you kidding? I'm pretty sure the director is afraid of you."

"Ranboo bring the truck around, I don't think we can move any further without making the injury worse."

Long legs disappeared around the corner before Niki finished her sentence.

"At least it isn't too bad, we should be able to get back to the hospital just before clock strikes three," Phil said, patting the man's pocket for a wallet.

Unknown adult male, heavier with height and weight, a sliced achilles heel on the right leg. Currently unconcsious.

"It's kinda weird, they didn't tell us how he got hurt… Did you find a wallet?"

It was strange, even more strange how there was nothing, not even a social security card or anything. "No, did they say anything about his mental state?"

Niki hummmed, hands busy with bandages, "Not that I remember, but they said the line cut after he provided the address, maybe he got mugged?"

The male wore a typical business suit, four pant's pockets and nothing inside them. He checked the jacket's inner pockets and yielded similar results. "This is weird, he doesn't have any further bruising or lacerations—"

"Uhm, guys…" Niki and Phil looked up, and froze.

Ranboo, with shaky fingers and a trembling lip, said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring them to you."

Aimed at his head, a man pointed a gun.

Bored of waiting, Techno abandonded the piano in search of Carl.

"There you are, I guess you're waiting for him too huh?"

The tortie looked up at him with wide unblinking eyes, curled in a cute donut shape on the couch.

"C'mon, let's watch something while we wait. We'll make Phil jealous that he can't join the cuddle pile until after he showers." Techno scooped up Carl, and as predicted, he began purring up a storm.

Techno wasn't paying attention all that much when he turned on the TV. Really, he just wanted some background noise while cuddling Carl so it opened on the news channel.

So focused on the soft fur beneath his hand, Techno barely caught the next words.

"—hostage situation that is using three EMT workers and an unknown civilian. Currently the hostage taker speaks of religious affiliation and requests to, quote, 'let the ritual commence without interruption—"

Techno's chest got felt heavier as he drowned out the noise of the news anchor because suddenly he was meeting Phil's gaze. It was his word ID, the one he always complained about because he looked like a sleazeball when in reality he was caught mid blink.

"Mrow."

Techno barely noticed Carl leaving his lap, his head full of static. No fucking way. It couldn't be. There would always be weird shit that happened but never did Phil get caught in a fucking hostage situ—

"Techno, hey woah—"

Before he could think beyond 'danger' his fist swung. A hang grabbed and pulled him forward, but he caught their foot to unbalance them. As gravity pulled them down Techno met Phil's eyes and only had a proficient 'fuck' fly through his head before they hit the ground. Hard.

"Ah, mate, I just got out of a hostage situation, I don't think I can spar anymore without a warmup at least."

Techno was still speechless at several realizations at once. And then he grunted as he felt Carl's 15 pound body put all his weight onto his shoulder. "Carl why are you doing this to me."

"It's called karma, Tech."

"And you!" Techno shouted, surprising Phil, "Why the hell didn't you call me! Why did I have to endure five minutes of pure adrenaline before your pasty ass got home."

Phil spluttered, choking out a laugh. "If I called you would've been even more of a wreck, what are you talking about!"

"But it would have been a controlled nervous wreck instead of an unrestrained catastrophizing spiral into—"

"Techno we're still on the floor."

"— a future where Carl would be raised by a single father—"

"Can I please shower before reassuring you I'm ok."

"I'm not letting you anywhere out of my sight from now on," Techno sniped, pulling Phil up.

Phil scritched Carl from where he curled around Techno's shoulders. "I really wasn't hurt, Niki had the worst of us and the black eye wasn't even from the guy."

It took a few minutes of patting Carl before Phil looked at Techno's unimpressed face.

"And Ranboo?"

A wince. "We pushed for him to take a break but the kid doesn't know how to stop. I think he would go insane if he actually took it."

Techno sighed. "I'm organizing a tea party and you're all expected to attend."

Phil laughed, taking off in the direction of the bathroom.

[henrysglock]

your posts about Will and El in lenora really got me into thinking about them, and while i don't agree with everything you've said i still think you're more right than wrong about it. so, i guess thank you for opening my eyes lol, and making me actually think about it. there's so much going on there

(and all i can think about the whole thing of why Will didn't help El re bullying is that it kinda doesn't matter. like i do think he didn't act because he froze and not because he wanted that to happen to El - but for El it's like. yeah i'm sure she was sooo grateful he was being super empathetic in his thoughts... while he just stood there and watched) ((and what do i know but imo it's saying something that she didn't even hint to Will that she's been lying to Mike (she doesn't trust Will)))

Man (gender neutral), I respect this so deeply. I don't ever expect everyone to agree with me completely—all I really want to do is make people think a little more critically about the content they're consuming, so this really made my day <3

There is SO much going on in the Cali/Lenora arc, and I feel like no one ever really talks about it without glazing Will into a "so true queen, get his ass" sassy gayboy stereotype OR turning him into a pitiable victim of miIeven. I really really appreciate anyone who's willing to look at it through a critical lens, because it's one of my fave non-supernatural arcs to discuss. Will contains multitudes, if you're willing to acknowledge all sides of him.

all i can think about the whole thing of why Will didn't help El re bullying is that it kinda doesn't matter. like i do think he didn't act because he froze and not because he wanted that to happen to El - but for El it's like. yeah i'm sure she was sooo grateful he was being super empathetic in his thoughts… while he just stood there and watched

Hard, hard agree. This is exactly what I meant in my Newby vs Byers family post when I said "Impact > intent". Will has all these internal thoughts that he never voices. He never tells El anything in the vein of "I'm sorry I didn't do anything, I froze up". She just sees her "brother" standing there doing nothing while she's tormented. Will could have wanted to do something, but if El never feels that? Then it doesn't really matter. It doesn't matter if he looks over with big sad eyes from all the way across the courtyard. He didn't help, and he made no mention of wanting to help until after the situation had been resolved by a teacher. If a character can't break through their instinctual responses to defend a loved one who's being harassed, or if they can't get past their petty resentment to do the same, then that's something they need to work on. It's a flaw, even if it's "justified". It's an area for growth, and its an area of the relationship that needs to be mended by that character (see: Bob's apology to Patty).

and what do i know but imo it's saying something that she didn't even hint to Will that she's been lying to Mike (she doesn't trust Will)

SAY THAT!!! God, I hadn't even thought of that end of things. El doesn't trust Will, and we see precisely why she doesn't trust him in 4.01 with him leaving her to fend for herself at school...only to turn around and make pointed jabs at her when Mike, her one confidant, finally shows up. She doesn't think she can open up to Will about anything he isn't seeing at school, and he doesn't open up in return (ex. he won't show her the relatively tame painting, he won't open up about how being bullied has affected him even though they've both been bullied, etc). El opens up to Mike far more than she ever does to Will.

There's very little basis for a close, trusting relationship between them, which is why I'm so steadfast in my opinion that "WiIIeI wonder twins" is purely a fanon concept.

If anything, it's El and Mike that have a closer, more trusting relationship in my eyes. I sound like a broken record saying it, but at least Mike spoke out in favor of her safety in ST3. Will was ready to send her girlbossing into a fight against the Mindflayer that she was not at all prepared for���when he was the one who could have been offering knowledge of the Mindflayer from his firsthand experience less than a year prior. You'd think Will would have been the scared, cautious one, but nope! It's Mike who's looking out for El's safety. That's all generally unsurprising, though, considering that Will was ready and willing to send Mrs. Driscoll to certain doom to track down the Mindflayer without a single word of consideration for her safety...even though everyone had banded together to save him when he was a late-stage flaying victim. Not a great look for him.

Alas, I digress.

At least Mike seemed to be helping El with her spelling and grammar. At least Mike was making active moves to stop the incident at Rink-o-Mania. At least Mike went to check on El the next morning, even if he didn't do a perfect job. El at least felt comfortable enough to spill her guts to him a little since the jig was up.

I didn't see Will going up to talk to her like that, not even in the way Jonathan talked to him at SBP/reassured him he wasn't alone. The parallel would have been perfect! It would have cemented Will and El as siblings, and it would have been a death sentence for miIeven.

Will and El just don't open up to each other! How is anyone going to call them CLOSE siblings when they don't even comfort each other verbally? We don't see Will show much concern for El until she's quite literally being arrested and put into the government system—a risk to her life. Meanwhile El is constantly putting her life on the line for Will (who doesn't do much outside of touching his neck with big scared eyes...but like...who said that lol........)

I'd say Mike and Nancy are comparably close to Will and El. Outward concern when lives are on the line, talk about "no more lies", but otherwise? Nothing of substance. Everyone agrees that Mike and Nancy need to grow as siblings, but where's the same energy for Will and El?

Anyway, thanks for this ask Anon <3

[9amartt]

What are you compared to them?

They have been exhausted by prisons, burned by the sun of the desert, and their sides have been worn down by its rocks and sands. The caves and caverns have sheltered them in their pursuit of preserving and establishing the Deen and combating the nations of kufr in their entirety. They were able to do all of this and you weren’t able to even stay silent?

Have they ever supported a tāghūt?

Have they ever praised a criminal?

Have they ever asked Allāh to have mercy upon a kāfir?

Have they ever praised a Rāfidi?

Have they ever slandered an Imām?

Or have they abandoned the life of luxury that you enjoy, left behind the luxurious houses and apartments you live in, and parted from family and loved ones for the sake of establishing the religion of Allāh?

By Allāh, aren’t their weapons drawn against the Rāfidah and the Nusayriyyah? Aren’t their spears working against the Crusaders and atheists? Aren’t the planes of the nations of kufr watching them day and night, and the armies of kufr worldwide have a watchful eye over them?

Let’s suppose they are Khawārij, or let’s suppose they are ghulāt, how are you able to excuse those who commit blatant kufr and fall into clear riddah, and ally with those whom you have all agreed upon their enmity to the Ummah and the Deen, yet you can't excuse a mistake you saw from them here and there? Is this a fair judgment?

Isn't one of your principles "unifying the Ummah"?

So does the one who causes fitnah to the Ummah by allying with Iran and calls the heads of kufr in it—those whose hands have been deeply delved into the blood of Muslims—imāms and leaders of this religion and martyrs of Al-Quds, not cause discord in the Ummah?

But the one who tells people to direct their worship solely to Allāh and renounce the enemies of Allāh does stir up and divide the Ummah?

Aren't they part of the Ummah, or is this Ummah “your father’s store” where you let in whomever you want and exclude whomever you want?

Is this the "methodology," the "centralization of fundamental matters," and the "beacons of thought"?

Or is it the love of appearance, aligning with the desires of the sponsors, and caring about the feelings of followers?

In the end, O slave of Allāh, your slander and betrayal do not harm them, nor do they care about you. Their fierce war continues against the head of kufr, America, with its might and weapons and allies.

The sound of bullets, guarding the Sharia, fighting disbelief, spilling blood, and digging trenches keep them too busy for social media, which you have taken over from your luxurious couches and the embrace of your wives.

Indeed, your slander and betrayal harm you and those like you. So, calm yourself, for you are responsible in your grave and before your Lord.

Mu’āwiyah ibn Abi Sufyan, may Allāh be pleased with him, said: I heard the Messenger of Allāh ﷺ  say: "There will always be a group of my Ummah steadfast upon the command of Allāh. They will not be harmed by those who abandon them nor by those who oppose them until the decree of Allāh comes while they are in that state." [Sahīh Muslim 1920]

Minimize your speech on them, O fatherless one. Either reduce your criticism or fill the gap they filled.

O Allāh, grant victory to Your soldiers and servants and grant relief the oppressed Muslims everywhere.

________

Shaykh Muslim Al-Qahtāni حفظه الله

17 Dhul-Qi’dah 1445