#anyway this was a nothing post of nothing I made for myself

[sxaymz217]

I have related heavily to everything that has been said on this post. I myself am a late diagnosed auDHD adult, and OP I think you are on to something with the communication angle. For my experience, there have been many times in my life when I rapidly came to the conclusion that I do not possess the ability to do, what appeared to me when I observed others, a simple task. There were/are several overlapping problems that made/make asking for assistance difficult.

One, there's been a delay in processing new information for me. When I was a child, or new at something, people would take a moment to teach me. For me though, even if I got it right away, I definitely need someone to repeatedly teach me until it becomes memory I can recall on my own. And of course, if I dont get it right away, I'm going to need quite a bit more assistance. This excess repetition of instructions, teaching and education, requires a great deal of time and patience. Things I learned very early in life, most people do not have in abundance. "Of course I'll be able to figure out this math equation Ms. Stewart, I just need you to explain it in as many forms as possible, and help me practice a dozen times until I can do it myself," which leads to the second problem.

Two, communication. I have rarely ever been able to choose the right words, the right order, the right cadence and tone of voice to get assistance. Or somehow even worse, I can't get the right timing. Say I needed help with that math problem from earlier, even if I chose different words, was incredibly polite, and managed to refrain from using my regular sarcastic tone of voice (read social armor I built for myself as a child), I could very easily still choose the wrong moment to ask the question. My early memories of raising my hand in class are blurry, but I remember quite a bit of laughing from the other students and things like "we already went over that," "God aren't you paying attention," and of course, "why in the world would you even ASK that question."

For me at least, it's almost like I was punished for not learning fast enough or asking questions that were too obvious. But it's more than just how other people react that makes me hesitate to ask for assistance. Not only do I need to keep track of how a specific person who has the information I need, communicates, I need to know how they respond to questions, what their teaching style is, and how to translate that into information I will understand and be able to repeat. I need to know how to construct the conversation in a way they will interpret positively so I can come back again, when I need more help. All of this is damn near impossible for me to keep track of in my head, and already pretty stressful, to say nothing of whatever it is I am asking for assistance on in the first place.

Depending on the level of emotional attachment I have to the task I need help with, that emotion alone can heighten my struggles with communication.

For example, learning how to fold clothes on a slow day in my retail job was easy for me to ask questions and learn. I had an established rapour with my manager, she was lovely, I mean she was also scary, everyone was afraid of her, but I'm afraid of everyone so it was easier for me lol. Anyway, I knew how to talk to her and learn from her, and the task itself was already incredibly repetitive so it didn't take long before I was self sufficient.

But asking for help when the task itself is already terrifying? Such as running the registers during a rush? Much more difficult to even begin to articulate specific questions about the technical aspects of a transaction when the customer is impatient and angry. Even if they're not angry and a very lovely person, I'm nervous and it's a lot for me to keep track of, I made way too many mistakes. It even occurred to me in the moment I needed help, that I absolutely could not do this alone, and even with an established rapour with teachers I was comfortable being ignorant around, I could not even formulate the questions in my mind. It's almost like, even in perfect ideal circumstances, the social and communication side of the task were insurmountable obstacles or outright distractions that made the technical side of the task impossible.

When asking for help, I worry. Afraid I'll get the words wrong, or somehow mess up the way I'll communicate it. I worry I'm overtaxing someone else's patience. If the task is too important or terrifying on it's own, asking for assistance becomes that much more challenging because now I have ignore not only the fear of having the conversation but also the task itself.

And well, like OP said, it's just easier not to watch TV no matter how badly you want to, than to have to deal with asking about the weird remotes 😕.

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[lukolathoughts]

Miss Nicola - supporting LGBTQI rights

Dearest gentle reader,

I have been itching to write a blog post now for a few weeks, but not really knowing where to begin. There have been frenzied weeks and days of activity, but then silence and the fandom meanders like a lost boat at sea. We are often rudderless without the reassuring presence of our ship captains - Luke and Nicola. This also tends to get the sub fandoms spouting nonsense claiming to have seen Nicola in Birmingham or some ridiculous crap. I didn't want to bother her by asking for a photo! No photo, no proof my friend.

I'll talk about me for a moment. I had a week from hell last week. There was something so upsetting for me to deal with, I couldn't go into work as I was crying that much. Try to explain this to your manager: that nasty comments on YouTube made you late for work. Luckily, she is an understanding person and I have told her about my YT channel. Saying some things out loud to real life people make me sound barking mad. But it is the price you pay for being public on YouTube. It also makes me an easy target. I am used to online trolls and people who hate me for saying that Jake is gay and believing in Lukola, but when the stab in the back comes from a supposed friend, it really is the ten of swords. My phone blew up that much, I opened my eyes that morning genuinely thinking Lukola had launched. My hope turned to ash, when I saw what was really happening. I share this with you all because, I have had to have a reckoning with myself the last week. My online life and my real life are not the same. My real life is way more important and I actually need my job, so messing it up because I've got people I don't really know online saying mean things about me, that are not true, shouldn't matter. But it still hurts. But I also realise, they are trying to stop me sharing and trying to ruin my credibility and reputation in order to send me off into my discord crying never to return again.

Well think again. No one tells a Sagittarius woman what they can and can't do. I am made of stronger stuff. Love will always conquer hate. No one puts Baby in the corner, and I will not stand for it. I have scaled back most of my online life now. It had helped me cope with the last year and losing my friend, but sometimes you have to go back into reality. I'm never leaving the ship though. You'll have to chuck me overboard and I'll still jump back on like Rose from Titanic. "I couldn't go, Jack! You jump, I jump, right?"

Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about Nic. I love Nicola by the way and nothing I say here is a criticism of her or her choices. I see what you're doing though, miss Nicola. I said in my last blog that the shit would hit the fan when Jake has to start press for his new upcoming BBC3 drama What it feels like for a girl. I will admit I have not read the book. Regardless of who Jake is playing, it is reportedly an all queer cast, a queer director and at least one queer writer that I know of. Why would the director of an all queer cast hire a straight man in a homosexual role? If this show is as big as It's a Sin, that aired on Channel 4 a few years ago, then there will be press and a lot of it. There will be press from queer magazines also. Jake is currently in an awkward position, because some press believe he is in a romantic relationship with Nicola Coughlan, a woman who is also 14 years his senior. So, what will Nicola and Jake do?

Jake is holding onto his cash cow with both hands and Nicola needs Jake to continue to pose as her boyfriend to stop the media digging. But honey, they know. It was clear all the press at the SAG awards knew exactly what was going on and they were not afraid to say it. The 'happy ending' comment levelled at them directly by a reporter, had Nicola stunned and Luke smiling like all his Christmases' had come at once.

Nicola knows what is going on. She knows there is a deadline and she knows if she doesn't extricate herself from the narrative she is dating a gay man, she is screwed basically. What is she doing? She's getting out her, I love gays!! T-shirt, hats, scarfs, sunglasses, whatever. She is doing it. Look at me, I love queers! I love her for this and I already know she is an advocate for LGBTQI rights. She has a ton of gay friends. The fandom knows this of course, but do the general public?

At the Neutrogena event on 27th March 2025, there was a very tall drag queen doing some MCing. We know Nic loves drag queens and has been to many shows, so this is nothing new to us. I'm not being overly cynical that the drag queen might have been there for a reason, right? Neutrogena is a product that is targeted at women mostly for their skin products. What has that got to do with a drag queen? I just found it odd.

Next up we have Nicola's Pink Pony Club Post that she shared to both her Instagram stories and grid last Thursday 10th April. The song by Chappell Roan is synonymous with the gay community and one that Jake danced to at her concert last year in a pink cowboy hat. "You guys, remember when my old flat was a gay hotspot!" Nicola, posts 4 polaroid's of her looking fabulous in pink and lays them on a pink blanket. What made you feel so nostalgic, Nic? Or are you sending a message? Look at me, I have loved my gay besties for donkey's years. Prominent gay friends such as JVN and Jack Rooke commented all in agreement, that indeed, Nic's flat was the place to be. And, no I do not think Nicola is coming out herself as gay. Get real, she is supporting her friends and peers.

Then there was yesterday's selfie of Nicola wearing her black - 'I just wanted to say if you are trans and reading this, I love you and so do all my mates' T-shirt. There a few other details in that post that other bloggers such as @toriaaniin have covered beautifully, so I won't go into it here. My eyes sprung wide when I saw this post. I know she advocates for the charity Notaphase.org and I commend her for doing this, but two queer posts in a few days seems to be a lot for Nic, when lately she hasn't been posting at all.

There is also the male hairdresser Halley Brisker in her Opalex video on her Instagram, They make a big deal of letting us know he flirts with male makeup artists. Nicola is clearly good friends with Halley and it is an endearing watch. But to me this seems like a lot of overkill in the last few days for the general public to look at her Instagram and instantly know, yes Nicola does love the girls, the gays and Luke Newton. (FYI Halley Brisker is married to a woman and has children, but to the general public this conversation is implying Nic is comfortable with these conversations).

This, in my opinion, is setting the stage for the final act. I can see Nicola doing some sort of article or interview where she clears a certain narrative up. If you notice, Douglas has also been quite forceful again in implying certain things about Jake and Jake himself does not stop others from posting suggestive posts and videos of him. Nicola must remove herself from this mess in order to move forward with her own career and life. Hanging onto old connections are no longer serving her personally and professionally. Her engagement on Instagram is down by a lot, so I'm told and she is losing followers. She has done all she can career-wise for Jake now, he has to make his own way.

If this does not happen and we remain in this weird heteronormative bubble, I fear the press for What it feels like for a girl, will be a shit show. The truth will come out eventually and it will drag both Jake and Nicola down with it.

[formulaonecrumbs]

thirteen days and my thirteenth reason ✍️

Lando Norris x depressed!reader

summary: she’s drowning under exam pressure, but lando stays beside her through it all.

warnings: established relationship, depression, burnout, academic pressure, comfort

A/N: this is the most self-indulgent fic i have EVER written. it’s based off my exact situation so if it seems specific uhhh that’s why. i literally only have 12 days till these exams start (most imp of my life i think) and i haven’t began studying for a single subject KILL ME. ADHD paralysis is real asf 😔😔 i originally wrote this only so i’d feel motivated to actually study but it didn’t work so now i’m posting it so it doesn’t go to waste ☺️ embarrassing to say but i will be coming back to read my own fic. i need it rn 😕 anyways enjoy lovies!! ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the curtains hadn’t been opened in three days.

the floor was a mess—scattered notebooks, a few balled-up tissues, a hoodie half-hanging off the edge of the bed. her laptop sat untouched on the desk, still open to a study schedule she’d typed up with shaky hands three weeks ago. color-coded. hopeful. delusional.

it was thirteen days until her final exams. the most important ones of her life. everyone kept saying that. like she didn’t already know. like the weight of it wasn’t the reason she could barely lift her head off the pillow.

she’d meant to start studying two weeks ago. then one week ago. then yesterday. then this morning.

and now the sun was setting again, and she’d done nothing. absolutely nothing. just stared at the ceiling and tried not to cry. or did cry. she honestly couldn’t remember. it all blurred together now—hours and hours of feeling like she was stuck underwater while the world kept going on without her.

the front door opened.

she didn’t move.

“baby?”

lando’s voice was gentle. careful. like he already knew what kind of day it had been.

he was home earlier than she expected. that or her time perception was fairly off (it was. she thought it was sunday, it was tuesday). she heard the shuffle of his sneakers being kicked off, the clink of his keys on the counter, and then quiet footsteps down the hallway. the bedroom door creaked open slowly.

there was a pause.

then the bed dipped beside her.

she didn’t look at him.

lando didn’t say anything at first. he just lay there beside her, head propped up on his hand, eyes studying her profile in the dim light. she looked so small. in a pathetic i-can-barely-hold-myself-up kind of way. like the duvet was the only thing keeping her together.

finally, he spoke. “have you eaten?”

she shook her head. barely.

“studied?”

another shake.

lando sighed softly, but not in a disappointed way. more like it physically hurt him to see her like this. like the girl he loved—his girl, the one who once made him laugh so hard he spilled water out his nose—had been replaced by this quiet, heavy version of herself who barely spoke anymore.

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. his fingers lingered against her cheek.

“talk to me,” he whispered. “please.”

her throat tightened.

“i can’t,” she said hoarsely. “i don’t know what to say.”

“say anything.”

“i feel like a failure.”

lando’s chest ached.

she blinked up at the ceiling, eyes glassy. “i have thirteen days. and i’ve done nothing. nothing. i’m so behind. i’m going to fail. and i don’t even care. that’s the worst part. i don’t care. i should care, but i just… don’t. and then i hate myself for not caring. and then i just lie here and do nothing again.”

her voice cracked on the last word.

lando didn’t try to fix it. not yet. he didn’t offer solutions or motivation or some inspirational quote he found online.

he just reached for her hand under the covers and held it tightly.

“you’re not a failure,” he said quietly.

she shook her head, tears slipping down her temples.

“you’re not,” he said again. “you’re burnt out. you’re exhausted. you’re scared. you’re human.”

she didn’t respond. just squeezed his hand tighter.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmured. “you don’t have to be okay.”

“i’m not.”

“i know.”

they lay there for a long time. eventually, he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest. she didn’t resist. just let herself fall into him, cheek pressed against his hoodie, fingers gripping the fabric like it might anchor her back to the world.

“i’ll help you,” he said into her hair. “we’ll figure it out. we’ll make a plan. we’ll break it into little pieces. you don’t have to do it all at once.”

she shook her head weakly. “i don’t think i can.”

“then we’ll start with something small. just one thing.”

she didn’t say anything.

“we’ll do it together,” he promised. “and if all you can do today is brush your teeth or drink some water, that’s enough. you’re enough.”

she exhaled a shaky breath.

“i’m so tired,” she whispered.

“then rest,” he said. “you’re allowed to rest.”

he didn’t leave her side. not for the rest of the night. he ordered takeout—her favorite. he brought her a glass of water and sat beside her while she drank it slowly, like every sip was a mountain climbed. he helped her brush her hair when she couldn’t lift her arms without trembling. and when she finally crawled out from under the covers to shower, he waited outside the bathroom just in case.

the next morning, he woke her with a soft kiss to her forehead and a sticky note stuck to the lamp that said:

baby steps.

she sat up.

she opened her laptop.

and for the first time in weeks, she tried.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

four days in, she was already starting to fray at the edges.

it wasn’t that she wasn’t trying. for the first time in a while she was. she’d stuck to the plan—lando’s plan, the one he’d helped her make with gentle hands and sleepy morning kisses and a color-coded spreadsheet that didn’t feel like it was out to kill her. one subject per day. built-in breaks. kind reminders written on sticky notes in his handwriting like: you’re doing amazing and five minutes of dancing > five minutes of crying.

but trying didn’t mean it was easy.

especially not tonight.

she’d been sitting at the kitchen table for two hours now, blinking at the same paragraph in her textbook without actually reading a word. her brain was buzzing, her back ached, and the weight of everything—every page she hadn’t read, every topic she didn’t understand, every second slipping by too fast—was pressing against her chest like a vice.

her eyes burned.

her fingers curled into fists in her lap.

and then, just like that, it snapped.

a single sob cracked out of her like a warning shot, and then the floodgates opened.

she pushed the textbook away with trembling hands and dropped her head onto the table, tears slipping fast and hot down her cheeks, shoulders shaking. she didn’t even try to stop it. she couldn’t. all the pressure she’d been holding in for days, weeks—it came pouring out like it had been waiting for this exact moment to break her.

“fuck,” she whispered. “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“hey—hey, hey.”

lando’s voice was soft but immediate.

she hadn’t even heard him come in.

he crossed the room in two seconds, dropping to his knees beside her chair and cupping her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears even as more fell.

“what happened?” he whispered.

she tried to talk, but it came out in a choked sob.

“breathe,” he said, gently. “deep breath. c’mon, baby. with me.”

he inhaled slow and deep. she tried to follow. couldn’t quite get there. tried again.

“that’s it. good girl. again.”

a few breaths later, her chest started to ease—just a little.

“i can’t do it,” she whispered, voice shaking. “i can’t—i don’t know anything, i’m so behind—“

“hey,” he interrupted, rubbing her arm. “no. don’t say that. you’ve been doing so well. i’ve seen you.”

“but it’s not enough—there’s too much—and i’m so tired, lando. i can’t think straight. i feel like my brain is broken—”

“it’s not,” he said immediately. “you’re not broken. you’re overwhelmed. you’re exhausted. and you’ve been pushing through it like a fucking warrior.”

she sniffled.

“you don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he added. “not to me. not to anyone else. not even to yourself. you’re already enough, just like this.”

“but the exams—”

“will come. and we’ll face them. one question at a time. one hour at a time. but not like this. not when you’re this close to burning out.”

he pulled her into a hug—tight, grounding, real. she clung to him like a lifeline.

“you’re not alone, okay?” he murmured into her hair. “you’ve got me. always.”

they stayed like that for a while, her tears slowly soaking into the shoulder of his hoodie.

eventually, she pulled back just enough to whisper, “i’m sorry.”

he frowned. “for what?”

“for falling apart.”

“baby,” he said, brushing his nose against hers. “falling apart doesn’t scare me. not when it’s you. not when i love you.”

her lip trembled.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered. “sometimes being strong is letting yourself break and asking someone else to help you pick up the pieces.”

she nodded, barely.

“come on,” he said softly, standing and tugging her up with him. “no more tonight. you need rest.”

“but—”

“i’ll quiz you in the morning,” he promised. “i’ll make flashcards and everything. but right now, you need to lie down. cuddle quota’s running low.”

she cracked the tiniest smile through the tears. “that’s not a real thing.”

“sure it is,” he said, leading her to the couch and pulling a blanket over the both of them. “mandatory. doctor’s orders.”

she curled into his chest, still aching, still overwhelmed—but held. safe.

and for the first time in hours, her breathing slowed.

lando pressed a kiss to her temple. “we’ll get through it, baby. together.”

THE END :>

[jo-com]

₊˚🍰₊ ⊹ ➛ Voicemails

Lando Noriss x Ex!Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: A series of voicemails Lando left in the quiet aftermath of your breakup —

୨ৎ Genre: Post- Breakup, Angst

୨ৎ Note: Been wanting to write again so here it is! Not proof read and there are some grammatical errors. Hope y’all enjoyyy

ARCHIVES

Voicemail 1: Hey baby…i uhm just wanted to check up on you. I know that we agreed on not calling or texting each other but fuck i miss you so much, I regret ever hurting you like that.. please call me back, love you always.

Voicemail 2: Sooo, i was buying these snacks for me and then I saw your favorite food and just.. it reminded me on how much you like eating them and out of habit I picked it up and bought it hahaha… Just wanted to share this, sorry for disturbing you.

Voicemail 3: I know i promised to stop doing this and just move on, you've just been on my mind lately... [sigh] why am i doing this to myself.

Voicemail 4: Hey… I drove past your street today. I wasn’t planning to, it just… happened. Funny how everything reminds me of you, even when I’m trying not to look. Anyway… I hope you're okay. That’s all.

Voicemail 5: It’s late. I couldn’t sleep again. I keep reaching for you in my dreams, and waking up to nothing. I know this is selfish — I’m sorry. I just needed to feel like you were still out there, even if you’re not mine anymore.

...

A long and deep breath left pass your lips— hearing his voice and the things that came out of it made your heart ache even more. The hurt and feeling of loneliness was still evident from the way you've isolated yourself from everything.

You wanted nothing more than be freed from this torment of hearts and just block him all together but at the same time you were holding onto something that you knew was never going to be the same again.

The tears you never even noticed was now sliding down your cheeks, "Fucking hell" you mumbled under your breath.

You quickly wiped it away— not letting yourself show any vulnerability or any kind of weakness.

...

Voicemail 6: I saw your favorite movie on TV tonight. I almost texted you to tell you, like I used to. It’s stupid, I know. You’re not waiting for my messages anymore… but I guess some part of me still is.

Voicemail 7: Do you ever miss me? Even for a second? I keep asking myself that, like the answer will change something. I don’t even know why I’m leaving this. I just— I miss who we were.

...

After hearing the last message he sent, every being in your whole body was screaming to just answer him, but like they say “The heart wants what it wants, but the mind knows what it needs.”

...

Voicemail 8: I saw this coffee place you would’ve loved — all moody lighting and weird art. I almost took a photo to send you. [chuckles] Old habits, I guess. Anyway, I didn’t. Just thought you’d find that funny. Or maybe you wouldn’t. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.

Voicemail 9: Do you ever feel like you made the right choice, but it still hurts like hell? That’s where I’m at. We ended for a reason... I just wish reason didn’t feel so empty.

...

You've contemplated for a while now and decided to call him back. With shaky hand you went to your contacts and saw his number that was pinned at the top— you forgot you ever did that, it was a long time ago but i guess you just got used to it and forgot along the way.

Every cell of your body was now filled with adrenaline, heart beating so fast, hands shaking abruptly and your chest heaving like crazy, as if you were but to explode with this overwhelming feeling.

The long silence filled your empty room, it was defining to say the least.

With a deep sigh, you finally gathered all your strength and pressed the call button. Your legs bouncing of the ground as you waited for him to pick up.

"Y/n?" he spoke— answering on the first ring.

You hesitated on speaking and was just focused on his voice that was calling out to you. You can practically hear the excitement and confusion on his tone.

You let out a lengthy cough that hid your shaking voice and finally answered him. "Hey..uhm I just called to say that you should stop with the voice messages."

Everything became silent for awhile, it was eating you up to say those words but you two needed to stop torturing one another and just move on.

Lando sighed deeply, "oh okay sorry to bother" and hanged up.

It left you broken— hearing his voice crack from your words. You never wanted this but was for the best.

Or so you thought.

You spent your whole day reliving the conversation, it just bugged you that it crushed him. You’ve decided to just go with the flow and fuck whatever your mind says— your heart clearly belonged with his so what the hell.

...

NOTIFICATION

1 Unheard Voice Message from My girl💞

"Hey Lan… I don’t even know if you’ll listen to this. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I need to say this. I know we ended things, and maybe we both thought we were doing the right thing at the time. But looking back, it feels like we got caught up in something we didn’t fully understand. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t care. That was never the case. I’ve heard every voicemail you left. Every word. I couldn’t help it. I just needed to hear you, even if it was through all that distance between us. I miss you, Lando. I miss what we had. I don’t want this misunderstanding to be the end of us. If you’re willing, I want to try again. I want to fix this. I just need you to know that. Call me back, Okay?"

[star-5truck]

A letter to you

Sypnosis:The final letter Dabi Touya sent you before the final battle.

Pairing :T. Todoroki x Reader

Two posts in a day? Its a miracle lowk

Dear [Name],

    By the time this letter reaches you, I’ll probably be dead. I plan on making sure this arrives unscathed at your side, since I’m aware you’d still be in a coma when it arrives. I’m a little disappointed I won’t get to see your pretty face on the battlefield, but it’s better than you getting hurt. To start off, I ask you to forgive me for everything. I know I wasn’t the one who put you in your state, but I still apologize for that nonetheless.

Now, this letter isn’t for me to apologize like some beggar. I just want you to know my thoughts. I’d rather I not die without giving you a clear conscience. I know when I left that night without a word it hurt you. You really shouldn’t forgive an asshole like me, I hurt you in ways words can’t describe when you’ve been nothing but understanding towards me. So, I hope that through this letter, you get to understand me more. Because in the one hundred thirty-six days, three minutes, and five seconds we’ve known each other, I never really opened up to you.

The first time I met you, I thought you were a lunatic. I was injured, on the brink of death, and about to pass in peace but then I saw you. I thought that ‘this is it; I die to the hands of some hero without putting up a fight.’ Yet my demise never came. You took care of my injuries, brought me to your home and treated me like a human being.

What hero tries to talk it out with a villain? Newsflash, you, apparently. I’d like to inform you that you have not changed my views on heroes at all. I still believe they are all self-serving assholes that don’t care about anything other than themselves. I loathe them all… except you. If anyone is going to make the hero society a better place, it’s going to be you.

I don’t think the hero commission took it well when they found out we were having rendezvous’, eh? I always told ya we’d get caught one day. I knew that if I stayed, you’d be in bigger trouble than you already were. I truly believe it was for the better good when I left you that night. Yet with that being said, I’ll never regret meeting up with you every now and then.

You were definitely one of the good things in this hell. I haven’t found myself enjoying someone’s company in a long time. You’re some sort of blessing- to me and the world. I’m not super religious myself, but if there is some God out there, I’m real grateful they made you a part of my life. I haven’t been good enough for the God’s to respond to me, but for some reason they sent me you and I don’t plan on letting you go.

But that’s a lie and we both know it. Technically- I am letting you go. I’ve done it multiple times, actually. Kept pushing you away again and again but you kept coming back. Why is that?

I don’t deserve a soul as kind as yours. You were my light in the darkness, or however the saying goes. I think somewhere along the way I dimmed that light. There are times where not even the brightest of lights work. It’s not your fault, anyway. Because you did get rid of the emptiness I’ve always felt. I ruined myself on my own terms. I’ve always been fucked from the start.

You almost succeeded with your goal on changing me. When you told me to hide away with you? I almost caved in. To tell you the truth, I could never say no to you. You’re everything to me, minus the L.O.V, but they aren’t important right now. You are the one place I’d call home.

It is incredibly selfish for me to say that I’d like to keep you at my side forever. I bring pain wherever I go, and you- dear hero, are too kind to be treating a villain like this. I’d rather you hate me than going off and trying to save me. We both know I’m too far gone. Nonetheless, I appreciate the fact you thought I was capable of change. At some point, you made me believe it, too.

You’ll be the only thing I’m going to miss after I’m gone- that and crashing at your place. The time I’ve spent with you is something I’ll cherish, which we know is rare coming from me. You’d be the seven minutes before my death. I would’ve loved to run away and hide with you, [Name]. You saved me in every way possible. But I am driven by hate that even I can’t escape. I will do anything it takes to take down Endeavor, even if it means bringing down myself with him.

So, for the first and the last time, I love you, [Name].

Love, Touya Todoroki.

[monstersandgenderqueers]

Little Gifts (Part Five)

You find Loki, and you decide that perhaps the best gift would be honesty. But really, he should appreciate your gifts more.

Pairing: Loki x neurodivergent!reader

Word count: 2950

A/N: The fluff returns. Maybe. It's somewhere in the middle, really. There's a bit of an awkward jump between the two segments in this part, but the last portion wasn't enough to post on its own, I feel. I'm also now over 12.6 k deep into this. I may have to get myself a little treat or something.

Divider credit @/saradika

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

You sit in your usual seat at the far end of the dining table, the horse plushie held tightly to your chest with one hand as you pick at your food with the other. It's just Nat and Steve eating tonight, and their whispers seem far too loud for your ears right now.

You've come to expect his presence at the table, even though you definitely hated it in the beginning. You've even started to become comfortable eating with someone directly across from you. For a while, it was nice to listen to someone talk and actually know what they were saying instead of just nodding and pretending.

You sigh, wondering where Thor is. Is he really still looking for Loki? 

You hope not. You hope Thor already found him hours ago, shortly after you holed yourself up in your room. You hope the reason Thor is not here eating three full plates is because he's with Loki right now, trying to convince him to come and eat dinner. You hope Loki agrees, and sits across from you, and taps your foot with his to get your attention. You hope that when you finish the part of the meal you enjoyed the most, you'll look down and see more of it on your plate, and an almost shy smile on Loki's Face.

Devastatingly, nothing you hope for comes true.

You force yourself to keep eating, knowing that Nat has been keeping an eye on you today. Worse, by the way Steve glances your way, he's probably aware of what happened. Or, at least, what Nat thinks happened. After finishing your meal, you whisper goodnight to the two, not knowing whether they heard you or not. Since you don't want to repeat it, you simply stand and clean up after yourself.

On your way back to your room, you notice that Loki's door is ajar.

Is he back?

Shuffling toward it, you knock on the door lightly. When there's no response, you whisper-shout, "Hello? Loki?"

You hear nothing, just your own breathing. Holding the horse plushie up higher on your chest, you decide to walk in and do a little investigating.

The first thing you notice is how empty it is. With the exception of the bed, topped with boring white bedding, and the equally uninspiring white cube nightstand, there's nothing.

You know what would liven this place up? A fern! You think, feeling a bit snarky.

Your frustration is short-lived, however, and you feel a wave of fatigue. It seems as though you're way past your emotional limit, and already the ache behind your eyes and the sting in your nostrils is making a reappearance.

Not wanting to cry in Loki's room, you turn around, only to find yourself inches from Thor's chest. You back up, your cheeks warming from getting caught.

"S-sorry, I just saw the door open…"

He waves it off, obviously not bothered by your snooping. Not that there's much to snoop around, anyway.

"Did you have any luck in the training room?" He asks, his stiff stance telling you that maybe he hasn't made any progress finding his brother.

"No… Nat took me to my room, remember?"

He frowns and puts his hands on his hips. "Lady Natasha? Did she say anything?"

"Huh? No, I mean, she escorted me to my room because she thought I was having a, uhm, a meltdown, but I wasn't. And no, I didn't tell her. Did you find anything?" Your hands get clammy as you continue, "I know you couldn't say anything in front of her when we passed by, but…"

He scrunches his brows and opens his mouth a bit, confused. "I don't recall that happening."

Oh.

Ohhhhhh.

You both seem to come to the conclusion at the same time.

A few minutes later, Thor is busy charming the security guards in the surveillance room, taking advantage of the fact that they seem to be big fans.

"Forgive me, but I believe my brother is masquerading as me. As a prank, you know." He laughs a bit, playing it off as a silly joke rather than the more serious truth. "May we see the recordings from earlier this afternoon?"

It seems to work, and you make a mental note to yourself to bring up that these agents are really bad at their jobs the next time you speak with Tony or Nick. You might even tell them that having people watch screens that an AI designed by Tony is already keeping track of is a bit of a waste, really.

But since their lack of awareness works in your favor, you let it slide and stand next to Thor as they pull up the recordings from around the time you and Nat walked down the residential hallway together.

You watch as 'Thor' rounds the corner and speaks with the past you, with great concern on his face. For the next thirty minutes, you trace Loki's steps as he wanders the compound under the guise of Thor. The odd thing is, he doesn't seem to be doing anything particularly strange. It appears as though what Thor had speculated is right—Loki was just looking for a place to be completely alone, and using Thor's identity to search the compound with little interruption.

"Uhm, can we go back to when Loki passed me and Nat in the hall?" The screen resets, back to where the three of you are standing in the hallway. "Can we go back further? See where he came from?" The footage plays backwards, keeping 'Thor' centered on the screen as he comes from down the hall near your room. Further back it plays, until it shows him leaving your bedroom.

A horrid mix of feelings boils in you, and as much as you'd like to sit down and dissect each one, you dash out of the security room and bolt all the way back to your quarters. You slow down a few yards in front of your door, keeping your steps light as you quietly unlock the door.

You don't know what you're thinking, your thoughts colliding head on at full speed and essentially cancelling each other out.

There's no way he'd be in here. I mean, I saw him leave as Thor. Still, I need to know what else he did in my room. Did he leave a note? Was he trying to talk to me, but I wasn't there? Why didn't he come to me sooner? 

What did I do?

He's not there, of course, and neither are any stray papers or strange items that he could have left behind. Still holding on to the horse in a choking grip, you pace the length of your quarters, feeling absolutely foolish.

"What a jerk. Sending me and his brother on a… on a wild goose chase!" Your voice raises in volume as you rant to yourself, and the words keep coming out like there's a leak. "Like Thor and I have all the time in the world to just play hide and seek, like we have nothing better to do!" You feel it boiling hotter in your veins. "Ah! What an attention-seeking asshole! Making me scared and worried and he's just out there lollygagging about, probably enjoying the fact that I've been crying over him!"

You're furious. It's a feeling that hardly ever fills you up. You're used to the constant nagging and gnawing of disappointment or annoyance, but hardly anything makes you this mad.

You have half a mind to just tear up the stupid horse in your hands, but you think better of it, remembering the last time you let yourself give in to anger and destroy things that didn't deserve your rage. Instead, you toss it at your book stacks, the plushie bouncing off in a very unsatisfying way.

I hate this. I hate him. I want to go back to before he moved in and everything sucked in a completely different way but at least I knew how to navigate everything that sucked!

Crossing your arms tight over your chest to hold yourself together, you keep pacing and turning, needing to work off all the energy that's fighting to free itself in an explosion.

You grab the plushie that normally rests on your bed. It's heavy and solid, so you hug it tight and then tighter, filling in that hole in your chest that the anger burned through as it coursed through your body in a tidal wave.

The little black horse plushie moves on the floor just barely at the corner of your vision, drawing your pacing to a halt. Rather, it is moved by Loki, who sits with his back against the wall amongst your towering stacks of books. He holds it on his lap almost tenderly, petting its back.

"You know, that sort of language is very unbecoming. I didn't think you had it in you, little one." He smiles, and it's neither soft nor a smirk. It just is, and you're struggling to place it.

Nervous. He's nervous.

"But it's true."

He laughs, "I agree. It wasn't very kind of me to do that to you."

"Or to Thor."

He snorts, "I can and will do worse to Thor, little one." His eyes meet yours and you know he can just see the questions tumbling around in your head. "As you've likely guessed, I needed a moment alone. Thor's been pestering me endlessly, and as you're aware, there aren't any places in this trash heap that one can be truly alone in."

You sigh and sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Loki while still hugging the other plushie, mirroring his position. He smiles again and this time it seems warm and it makes you feel warmer. 

Desperate to know what he's thinking, and even more desperate to know what he's feeling, you wonder if you have to be the first to share something like that. He might be more willing to share if you give something, first.

You look down at your lap, finding it difficult to hold his gaze, "I used to hide a lot. Whenever I was scared, or confused, or made a mistake. I'd hide in the smallest place that I could possibly fit in."

You know you're being a bit of a hypocrite. You complain all the time about how people imply things without stopping to check whether you understood or not, and then get upset when you don't.

But some things are too hard to say outright. You look up, not sure what to expect. He just looks at you, his head back against the wall and his eyes just a little watery.

"Why did you stop hiding?"

"I don't know. I think I just got too big to hide." You rub the plushie on your lap, crunching the beads inside. "Why did you want to be alone?"

It takes him a minute to speak, like he's unsure if he should say anything or not. His voice is soft and velvety as he answers, "Like you, I have… difficulty with my feelings. Not in the same way as you do, but I…" he fidgets with his hands, rubbing his cuticles. "I'm well aware of what I feel, but I loathe having to feel at all. The… emotions that have been running amuck in my heart feel like they aren't mine to keep." He laughs dryly, "I'd sooner destroy the world than succumb to what I feel right now."

You scoot closer until your knees touch his. "What kinds of feelings?" Your heart flutters with nerves as you wait.

"Things I haven't felt in a very long time, darling." He twists the plushie in his hands, talking to it rather than you. "Fondness. Worry. Endearment. I… I don't remember how to deal with these things any longer. They're more foreign to me than the ever-evolving Midgardian 'smart' phones."

You stare at him blankly. There's no way he's talking about me… right?

As if sensing your self doubt and wanting to redirect your thoughts, he tilts his head and smirks, "It was amusing to see you and that buffoon run around. I believe I saw Thor berate a chair before he sat down. A bit paranoid, if you ask me. Turning into a piece of furniture is beneath me."

This makes you giggle, the sound surprising you as it bubbles out of your throat. Loki smiles again, and you have no choice but to look away, because it almost makes you dizzy.

He sets the plushie aside and stands, adjusting his clothing before reaching down to help you up. You feel warm and tingly when his hand engulfs yours and tugs, bringing you to your feet effortlessly. He takes in your expression, his own ears tinged pink.

When he lets go, you almost cry out, but you hold it in and tuck your hand against your chest.

He opens the door and asks before he leaves, "Do you think there's any chance there's still a portion of dinner left, or do you think Thor's already gotten to it?" You follow him out, wanting to see for yourself, floating on your feet with a lightness you haven't felt in forever.

A few days later, Tony sits you down in one of the labs. He holds a device to your ear, lasers mapping out the contours of your ear canal.

You cringe when he turns it on, "Why are we doing this?"

He tuts, "You'll see. Now hold still, or we'll have to start over again."

You huff and cross your arms, "But it tickles."

"It's just lasers," he sighs, "you shouldn't be able to feel it."

"Well, I do, so hurry up," you whine, definitely not in the mood to feel something tickling your inner ears.

"What's the big rush? You don't have an assignment."

"I'm not in a rush. This is just icky."

"You certainly are fidgety." He's right. You're kicking your feet a little like dogs do when you hold them above water. He moves on to the other ear, poking your shoulder when you keep moving away.

"Ugh. Just get it over with." You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that'll distract you from the sensation.

Soon, Tony's gathered all the data he needs and within seconds the 3D printer whirs to life, creating something that looks like a pair of hearing aids. You look at them, confused, "Uhm… I don't really need those, so…"

"They're not for your hearing."

"Uhm.. then what are they for?"

He plucks the finished devices and hands them to you. "Just put them in."

You sigh, fitting them over your ears. "Are they earbuds, or something? Why aren't they, like, smaller?" you ask, referring to the tiny little ones that are often used on missions.

"Your comfort." He does something on his tablet.

A little voice chimes in your ears. "Conversation Extractor is online."

Conversation Extractor? "Uhhhh what is this?"

"Something for your audio processing issues."

"Amplifying sound won't help…"

"It doesn't amplify sound, unless you want it to. It uses the direction you're facing to pick up voices coming from that direction, then muffles the rest. At least, it should."

You start shaking a bit. You need to try this out now.

"It's a busy day today, so there's plenty of people in the lounge. See if you have an easier time following a conversation even with other people talking all around you."

You're excited, and you have to keep thinking walk, walk, walk to keep yourself from sprinting all the way there.

Even so, you make it there faster than you thought, the doors sliding open to reveal nearly two dozen people inside, Avengers and agents conversing and making so much noise you'd probably cry if you hadn't gotten so good at keeping them in. Hopefully, you won't feel the need to cry this time.

Since everyone seems like they're really engaged with… well, whatever it is that they're talking about, you sit in a corner, facing the center of the room, and decide to wait for a good opening to join in. You look around and see Loki sitting in an armchair with his arms crossed, and Bucky leaning on the opposite chair. They're definitely too far away to hear, but you find it hard to look away from Loki's clear annoyance and amusingly complete lack of interest.

"...never felt that?" Bucky's voice fills your ears and you almost squawk in surprise. It's working! A little too well, but…

"No. I have no clue what you're rambling about," Loki says, staring at his nails.

"Seriously? You've never once felt the urge to just squeeze something really tight because of how adorable it is? Like puppies?" Bucky sounds offended. You snort a little, wondering how on Earth the conversation they were having led to this.

Both of them must be awfully bored, and equally awful at small talk.

Loki looks at you, then, making eye contact, as if he heard you across the room and through half a dozen animated conversations. You freeze, trying to act casual.

Count to two and then look away. Then look back after two. Look away, look back….

It takes half a dozen heartbeats for him to respond. "No," he repeats, his voice less tense now. He's still looking at you. "I have not ever once in my life wished to 'squeeze' a living creature for that reason." He looks away when Bucky notices that he's staring at you. You look away, too, hoping that the heat that prickles your cheeks isn't as visible as you know it probably is.

You take out the devices. That's enough eavesdropping for today…

Tag list:

@princess-ofthe-pages  @blaze-the-idiot @anxiousskylar @athyend @cosmicstxrdust @the-ultimate-librarian @ceeisatlumon @webpage-loading @xxashes-rebornxx @mischeveousscamp @lilredpanda-1999 @booksooks

Let me know if you want to be removed/added 💚

[shuastar]

KISS 'ER UP (HVC) - pt. 2 excerpt

pairing: baseball player!vernon x fashion designer/fan!reader wc: ... warnings: nothing (my procrastination) a/n: hi!! erm so part 2 is taking longer than i thought because i refuse to work properly ig... so im taking it up for myself to post the first excerpt of part 2 and I PROMISE PART 2 WILL BE UP BY THE END OF THIS WEEK.

anyways thank u always for reading <3 taglist form here!!

In 3 weeks, you go to 6 home games. 

Which, in retrospect, is absolutely crazy because that’s averaging two (2!) games per week in the brunt of design finalizing and fashion week scrapbooking and planning with your team. 

And now, the one you’re sitting at seems to up your count from six to seven games in 3 weeks. Which means that your assistant will be calling you sometime next week asking if you ever finished finalizing the fashion week scrapbooks and tulle selections (only one of which you’ve actually finished. The other…. Well, let’s just say that it won’t be seeing the light of day for a while). Which also is part of your explanation to why you are busy multitasking between texting Yena, your assistant, on the last flap stitches for your fold-over bag for the F/W collection, gluing pieces of fabric and drawing cut-outs and print outs and colors down onto your scrapbook, and watching the actual baseball game and participating in half-assed and quarter-minded fanchants that seem to have no soul in it. 

All in that exact order. 

And it’s even harder to balance (especially your phone that teeters precariously off your knee because your actual table is too full of food, beer, and your scrapbooking trash pile) when your phone chimes with a familiar notification. 

new message from vernon⚾️🐈

You almost choke on your beer that was travelling half-way down your esophagus, coughing violently and trying not to get drops of Cass onto your scrapbook. 

For the first time in almost fifteen minutes, you raise your head, swiveling to try and see where the hell Vernon is texting you from because not only is it the middle of the seventh inning but it’s also the middle of his game. 

And he never goes on his phone during games. 

vernon⚾️🐈 yo u see that last play?

You roll your eyes at his text. Yo? Really? But also, typical Vernon. Almost three months – texting, calling, showing up to games, post-game chicken runs, and the occasional late-night movie theater run at Coex – made you accustomed to his rather nonchalant way of saying hi. Those including (but definitely not limited to) yo, hey, bro, dude, whats up, lol, and show cat now as in your actual feline pet, not your pussy (which you thought at first was what he was implying and almost blocked him before he clarified with a photo of his own cat that you were too scared to open for the first three minutes, thinking it was an unsolicited dick pic). 

You pause before you reply, placing the glue stick down. 

you yea obv

It’s a lie. A blatant one at that. But you feel bad telling Vernon hahaha no lol was too busy working on my pfw scrapbooking and model calls to be focused on ur game im at. 

So yeah. You lie.

But Vernon texts back in record time. 

vernon⚾️🐈 no u werent

You roll your eyes. 

you i was watching

vernon⚾️🐈 liar!! too busy lookin down @ ur sketches to watch me hit that ball outta da stadiummmm

you ur such a child and literally lying

vernon⚾️🐈 no im not but u wouldnt know bc ur too busy

you i have pfw stuff to sort out sue me

vernon⚾️🐈 ah so u admit that u werent paying attention

You don’t get a chance to reply before the speakers above your head crackle to life, stadium static breaking over the announcer’s booming voice:

“Now up to bat, our very own number twelve, VERNON CHWE!” 

All of the vowels in his name are stretched way too long but most of the call of his name is drowned in the thundering cheers and applause of the Diamonds fans crowding up the stadium. 

You jolt at the sudden screams, blinking up from your stupid silly grin at your phone. 

And just like that, the messages stop. 

: ̗̀➛ ​🇰​​🇮​​🇸​​🇸​ ❜​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇺​​🇵​ @astrobebba ; @ayupfrogg ; @steamyjaehyun @chwenott ; @toplinehyunjin ; @syluslittlecrows ; @itsclda ; @luminouskalopsia ; @kiachiako ; @81evermore

[flowercrownsandherondales]

Against the Odds, Pt. 12

And welcome back to hell! This one should be fun. As always would love to hear everyone’s thoughts. Thanks for sticking around!

XII: You Do It To Yourself. 

Winter always brought an influx of peacekeepers. 

People were desperate. In the spring and summer the warmth and smell of wildflowers could distract people from the gnawing hunger in their stomachs. The games would put them on edge, worried about their children. In the fall we had the festival to look forward to, some kind of celebration after the pain of the games. 

But in the winter? Nothing. 

The chill of the wind made my bones ache as I pulled my coat tighter. Haymitch and I had been doing our gentle dance for 6 months now, and we’d fallen into an easy rhythm. Most of my nights were spent at his house rather than mine. I was perfectly fine with that, the memories of Wiley, ma and pa threatened to overtake me when I was there alone anyways. 

Still, I made sure I spent at least a night or two a week at the shack, waiting for Burdock or Katniss to show up and check if everything was alright. 

He hadn’t asked any other questions about Haymitch and I. Their friendship and the eventual dissolution of it was still a sore spot, one that probably would never be repaired. He acknowledged it in one small way, silently dropping off whatever he’d shot or plucked with a little muslin satchel. I’d furrowed my brows at first, little seeds falling into my palm with a note tucked into it. 

Take 1 carrot root seed for 7 days after intimacy. 

I exploded into a blushing mess, silently thanking Astrid the next time I saw her in the square. She’d waved me off when I tried to give her money for it, simply saying that it was good to see me with color in my cheeks again. 

Each day I was feeling just a smidge settled, but nowhere close to healed. I knew I probably would never feel good again, I’d spend the rest of my life similar to Haymitch, clinging to the past while it haunted my every move. 

Still, life with the alcoholic victor wasn’t the worst thing imaginable. If I was being honest with myself, it was the opposite. If only I was comfortable with the truth. 

I walked through the hob, picking up a new pack of cigarettes, a bottle of white liquor I shoved into my coat, and two hand pies Sae had made with a mystery meat I didn’t want to think about. I spent the walk through the seam trying to convince myself it was some kind of deer Burdock had shot and sold. 

The square was busy today, a crowd of people standing around as my boots led me through it to Victor’s Village. I was planning on ignoring it, focusing on getting back to Haymitch and out of the cold as quickly as possible. That was until I heard the ear piercing scream of a child. 

I shot around, pushing through the group of people surrounding the temporary whipping post that had been set up in the past few weeks with the new arrival of peacekeepers. They’d made a big show about it, calling us all down to the spot we stood now and lecturing on the punishment for stealing, distributing and hunting illegally, and a plethora of other made up charges. 

People around me parted slightly so I could get a good look at who was strung to the post today. 

A thin little girl cowered below the peacekeeper, her hands strung up in cuffs as he read the charges of petty theft to her, assigning 12 lashes for her crimes. A loaf of bread laid discarded near her feet, no doubt shoved in her coat pocket, which had been torn off her and thrown to the ground. The girl struggled in her cuffs as he reached for the buttons at the back of her dress, no doubt about to rip one of the only articles of clothing she owned so he could gain access to her skin for the whipping. 

Her gray eyes were wild, frantically trying to find anyone in the crowd to save her. She begged and pleaded, kicking her broken and barely patched boots on the gravel as she screamed. I looked around for a minute, giving the crowd of emotionless people a horrified look. 

All I could see was Wiley. She was about the same age as he was, shivering and terrified. I could imagine my boy, strung up on a pole and begging for someone to help him. My boy, laying in a pool of his own blood, light long gone from his gray eyes. 

Before the peacekeeper could get the last button undone I stepped in. 

“Let me take her punishment for her.” I begged, my face hardened at the older man in white. His brows furrowed, scoffing at my act of martyrdom. 

“Please. She’s a child.” His eyes narrowed at that. When has Panem ever cared about children?

The little girl sobbed while she watched the encounter from the corner of her eyes. The peacekeeper huffed, motioning for his partner to let her go. 

“Fine. It’s all the same. Strip off your coat.” He said, pointing the whip to the ground where the little girl scrambled to get her own coat, not bothering with the piece of bread. I gave her half a smile and mouthed “Go home now.” This was the last thing she needed to see. 

She didn’t get very far before the other peacekeeper snatched her arms, holding her still in front of me. 

“Your punishment is to watch. Every inch of her blood that spills is on your hands.” He whispered gruffly, ignoring the tears that streamed down her face. 

A boot landed on my back, shoving me to the ground as the cuffs locked around my wrists. He ripped my shirt with a knife, splaying the cotton open as he readied the whip. I closed my eyes, taking a shuddering breath as it sliced through the air and down onto my freezing skin. 

The first few were tough, but manageable. 

The blood hadn’t started until the fourth strike, flesh ripping open and starting to drip onto the pavement. 

I held strong onto the poll until he hit the seventh strike. The sounds of the little girl sobbing and screaming became background noise my ears could barely register. My body slumped forward, forehead thumping against the metal. 

More ripping, more blood carried out the last five hits. 

I was barely hanging on once it stopped. The peacekeeper folded the weapon, flicking off the blood before he shoved it in its holder and motioned for her partner to cut me free. The little girl was released, whimpering apologies before she took off in the direction of her home. 

I had no ability to support my body weight, crumpling forward and hitting the ground. The blood that pooled off of me coated my dress, seeping into the fabric. That’s going to be impossible to clean. 

The peacekeepers left after a warning to the crowd, people starting to clear off. The smell of herbs and coal hit my nose, soft hands tapping on my cheeks to try and wake me from my stupor. I moaned, full of agony. 

“Katniss, go tell your mother.” Burdock barked. I didn’t even see the little girl with him, half sobbing as I was rolled into his arms. 

“I know. It’s awful. Astrid has the morphling ready.” He cooed, trying his best not to jostle me while keeping a steady pace to his home. He didn’t say anything after that, or I didn’t hear it. My head lulled back and forth as he walked, pushing his door open with his boot as Astrid braced herself. 

“It’s bad.” She murmured, stroking my hair as he laid me down on my stomach. I wasn’t aware of the sounds I was making, but I could only imagine they were inhuman from the look on Burdock and Astrid’s faces. 

The blonde woman ordered her two daughters around, pointing out different disinfectants and bandages she needed. I felt pinpricks directly into the wounds, morphling flooding my system and taking the edge off the blinding pain. My head was coaxed up lovingly, Burdock grimacing while he placed his belt between my teeth. “Here we go.” He whispered, grabbing both of my hands to hold me to the table. 

The bliss of morphling only lasted a second before disinfectant was poured into the gaping slashes on my back. 

I clenched against the leather, screaming and thrashing in Burdock’s grip. Fire exploded through every nerve in my spine, every tendon and muscle soaking up the alcohol and lighting it up. 

Burdock turned his head to look at Katniss, who was shell shocked behind him, trembling hands nearly dropping the gauze and bandages. “Go to Victor’s Village, tell Haymitch what happened and that he needs to get down here.” 

She barely moved, eyes wide and threatening to cry. “Go.” He repeated, voice harsh and set. I’d never seen him talk to her like that. She snapped, nodding over and over again before setting the bandages beside her mother at my back and taking off in a sprint. 

Prim seemed to have a steadier stomach, carefully handing her mother a needle and thread as she asked for them. I was numb to the stitching, drifting in and out of consciousness as Burdock held my hands tight, letting his wife work in silence. 

I didn’t feel the belt slip from my mouth, my body going slack just as the door opened and Katniss led Haymitch in. He stopped abruptly, eyes landing on me in horror. 

“Sor-sorry” I mumbled, head hitting the table, my body finally giving out. 

I woke to the feeling of water dripping down my hips. 

Ice was packed on top of the bandages, cooling down the fire from earlier. My fingers hung limply off the table, tangled in my hair. 

I groaned, the noise alerting the figure in front of me. 

Haymitch looked wrecked, tracking me as I stretched out my arms. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands together in front of his lips. 

“What possessed you to do something like that?” his voice was wicked, filled with a barely contained fury. I huffed, looking at the table below me as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

“She was just a kid. You saw what 12 lashes did to me, imagine what it would have done to her.” My voice could barely reach above a whisper, throat raw from screaming. 

He sighed at that, knowing as well as I did how disfigured it would have made a small body like that. She was so thin, the lacerations surely would have broken skin and bone. 

“Being a martyr will get you killed, Y/N.” His voice was full of fear, eyes shining with unshed tears. 

“Everything will get you killed.” I retorted, my eyes closing, the effort of staying awake hitting me all at once. 

He didn’t argue with that, only took my hand and squeezed as if I was his only lifeline. In a million ways, I was. 

Somewhere in the haze of sleep I was rebandaged, shot with more morphling, and was taken into Haymitch’s arms to be carried to his house. Astrid gave him instructions and another roll of gauze, stroking my hair again and placing a sweet kiss on my forehead. I was wrapped in blankets that smelled familiar, whiskey and musk that made me think of home. I faintly recognized them in my haze, the same soft yarn that held me after the autumn festival. 

I fully awoke in a bed I wasn’t familiar with. Light filtered through the drawn curtains, pillows stacked behind me and a chair pulled up beside me,  as if someone spent the night fretting at my bedside. 

The door creaked, heavy steps peering in to see if I was awake, and frantic once they realized I was. 

Haymitch held a bowl of soup in his hands, his eyes bloodshot and the smell of alcohol more prevalent than it had been for the last few weeks. He sat softly, as if he was trying his best not to disturb me. The bowl was set on the bedside table, his hand taking mine instead. He brought my knuckles to his lips, leaving gentle kisses littering my hand. 

“Didn’t know you knew how to cook.” I said, eyeing up the steaming broth and fighting off a stomach growl. He let out a watery chuckle, kissing my hand again before picking the bowl back up and picking up a bit on the spoon. He blew on it before pressing it to my lips, which I greedily accepted. 

“How do you think I fed myself over the years?” He muttered, all his focus on spoon feeding me the most basic broth I’d ever tasted. 

“Figured you used all those winnings and convinced some poor soul to cook for you.” My lips broke into a soft grin, accepting spoonful after spoonful. 

He ignored my jab, setting the bowl back down once I finished it off. His hands went to his trousers, wiping them and releasing a heavy sigh. His eyes just studied me for a moment, tracing the bandages wrapped around my chest like instead of a shirt. 

“Oh sweet pea…” he murmured, his voice cracking at the end. I reached for his shaking hand again, cradling it in mine, listening to his heavy breaths catch. 

“I’m okay. We’re okay. I’m here, safe in your bed.” I left a kiss on his palm after each affirmation, searching his eyes to see if my comfort was hitting home. 

He slumped forward, a contained sob slash wheeze leaving his lips. What it must have brought up for him, seeing me laying on that table unconscious. The one thing he’d allowed himself to have, nearly gone. 

It took Haymitch several minutes to soothe himself.

Once he did, I patted the side of the bed as I had a few months ago. 

“I shouldn’t. You’re still healing.” He muttered, his brain working overtime to stop himself. 

“You aren’t going to cause more damage by sleeping next to me.” I rationalized, still pleading with him. He shook his head, reigned to the fact that I wouldn’t give up until I won, and stripping himself down to lay beside me. 

There was no pulling me close, no heavy kisses to my neck. We both yearned for it, but the stitches in my back begged to differ. Instead we settled for holding each other's hands, letting the sweet feel of warmth travel from our palms to our chests, a lullaby of I’m here. I didn’t die like the rest rocking us both to sleep. 

In the morning Haymitch would find a single white rose left at his doorstep, a tag attached to the stem. Wishing her a speedy recovery. 

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

Had this Headcannon that when Multi-Lingual Dick and Jason get drunk they start singing Ballads in Spanish. Yeah some classical shit like Vicente Fernandez but also the most wild Selena you've ever heard.

[buglaur]

wanted to make a render to get back into the hang of things

[nenoname]

stan twins the canon cptsd brothers i will always think about all your unaddressed issues that would make perfect plot fuel for your spinoff

and also the whole 'stan getting that poem by bill via a website which contrasts with bill getting one from the axolotl via a website' foreshadowing thing

like idk i would love something like su future but like more optimistic, aka not an accumulated breakdown that has to be mostly resolved off screen at the end :/// but something thats being kinda addressed throughout? (although would love to see one of them turn into a monster thats always fun lol)

stan having severe issues from his dad and those years of being homeless that we keep on getting more info on but never really getting confronted on (the drifter catalogue and tijuana incident...), him being completely alone for like twenty years when running the shack before soos comes along to the point that 1998 is noted as his low point, and him not really learning about bill+what he did to ford until ages after he killed him if he ever did get the full context

while i think amnesia and everyone seeing him as a hero actually helped with stan's 'i'm a worse version of my brother' thing its still a lingering issue too and we now got him being insecure over his own hands

ford being immediately thrown from 'being tortured by bill' to 'being stuck in the multiverse and being chased by bounty hunters constantly', him fully expecting himself to die when destroying bill, and him only now being safe for the first time in 30 years ....relatively safe, he's still in constant danger because of course he is

idk in the end the series wants them to be happy and they deserve it, its why i wasn't too worried about the book being like 'ooh bill is back!! and the book is haunting ford' thing cos i knew they'll be ok

[emily-e-draws]

catventurers meowlphabet (first half) 😽✨

[beargregor]

Chef greg delivery just for you. it's a wonder I hadn't bearified him yet, he's my fave greg too 🔪

gays literally only want one thing (to be chopped up and eaten by a depressed man) and it's fucking disgusting

[sayakxmi]

Saiouma Puella Magi AU, but Kokichi takes Madoka's role and Shuichi takes Homura's.

For one, Kokichi's too naturally distrustful to just hear "I can grant you any wish :)" and not think ok where's the hook. So he just does what no one ever has & essentially interrogates Kyubey, so he knows it all even before he gets to make a contract. So, some of his classmstes are MGs & he won't become one himself BUT he still ends up tagging along to just protect them in his Kokichi ways. (Though I'm entertaining Kokichi lying about being a magical girl, because, well, it's Kokichi).

(I also got a small idea of Gonta being a magical girls and Kokichi originally tagging along him into labyrinths, Gonta also makes him a magic gun from the toy one he had, and at some point witches out & Kokichi manages to kill him with that gun. So he always has that spare Grief Seed on himself, bc it's still his best friend & he can't handle the idea of just giving it away or using it himself (he does anyway in the end).)

Shuichi prolly ends up being a new kid & it isn't like MadoHomu, the ppl who reach him first are Kaede & Kaito, classic. Kokichi's there, too, but he's his usual sus self. He's actually discouraging ppl from making a contract when they find out magic and miracles are real, which absolutely includes Shuichi. He's very vocal abt it, but he won't explain stutf, bc 1) he's a liar, so who'd believe him? and 2) he doesn't want them to witch out upon finding out the truth or, idk, murder everybody Mami-style.

Anyway, fast forward, bad things happen bingo & by the end of the run most charas are dead, there's Walpurgis nachting, and he makes his wish to bring back the ppl who died notably not as magical girls. Contract signed, he fights & fails, rip. I also thought it was similar to how he thought he could end the killing game by himself - he though he could finish Walpurgisnacht by himself, too. And he failed in both times. Whatevs.

Shuichi doesn't actually make his time travel wish for Ouma specifically, he wants to save all his friends. Timelines are messy esp at first bc he either tells then or it backfires or just makes himself look very sus bc he's trying not to tell them. He also realizes why Kokichi hadn't told anybody aby witches at some point, bc, yeah, it messes them a lot, assuming they believe it.

Still, Kokichi ends up one of the few people who are nearly always giving him a chance, not necessarily out of belief, but out of pragmatism - bro can stop time & knows the truth, that's just too useful. So they often work together & Shuichi grows closer to him but still we ain't there yet. But the thing is, Shuichi's time travel still makes Kokichi more & more powerful with each timeline, bc Shuichi usually goes back after Kokichi dies, so the universe figured out this guy's life's important. Anyway, another notable thing is the iconic Homura kills Madoka scene, but it's Saiouma with guest stars of Kaito & Maki. It's Walpy, it's not defeated yet, but the training trio are spent & just kinda accept their fate of turning into witches together. And then, boom, Kokichi appears & steals their Soul Gems for a sec & he's like did u know you can cleanse your Soul Gem with a darkened one? But it's a lie & he quickly tells them so, he just had a spare Grief Seed after cleansing his Soul Gem & he needs them to do some stuff. Shuichi can travel back in time & fix things, and Maki & Kaito are needed to fight Walpy here. He actually questions what happens to the timelines Shuichi leaves behin, and ofc he doesn't know. There's a chance they remain, so Kokichi needs Maki & Kaito to fight Walpy here.

Kaimaki leave, and Shuichi finally looks at Kokichi & realizes sth is Wrong. Kokichi struggles to hide how he's trembling & grimacing, and it's Kokichi, so obviously it must be extremely bad. Shuichi dreadfully realizes something worse, and he weakly asks Kokichi why aren't his wounds healing. And Kokichi just falls, laughing weakly, and Shuichi catches him & searches for his Soul Gem and, God, he knew it. It's nearly completely black. Kokichi laughs & admits he lied abt having two Grief Seeds, he only had one he never wanted to use. But they'll have the second one soon, so no need to worry. He asks Shuichi to maybe destroy his witch form as it's hatching, so he'll have the Grief Seed without any fighting… and he admits that he hates fighting, he hates this magical world and all its violence. He says that Kaito was right in calling him a coward, even here he just can't handle the idea of fighting any longer, he's so sorry. And Shuichi tells him he ISN'T a coward. He was scared, but he always followed everybody, trying to help, and when push came to shove he would always make a contract for the benefit of others rather than himself. He's a lot of things, but a coward isn't one. Kokichi actually tears up hearing that, and Shuichi promises he won't let him fight ever again, and especially he won't let him turn into a witch and hurt anybody, because he knows it's the last thing he's ever wanted. Even now he only accepts turning into a witch to help them fight to keep others safe. So Shuichi won't let him. Kokichi probably apologizes and thanks him and then he dies.

Keeping Kokichi from fighting starts off as a side quest that gains importance with time, bc it's something Shuichi won't compromise on (ah, trauma), which leads him to occassionally neglect others a bit, which makes them more likely to get hurt & ironically Kokichi more likely to make a contract, especially since he gets more powerful & Kyubey is more interested in him with each timeline. And that also makes him witch out super quick. Shuichi's paying more attention to him & over time grows resentful of others for how they're treating him. To Shuichi it's no question that Kokichi cares & is just doing his best to help, but nobody realizes that.

But the biggest obstacle in keeping Kokichi from fighting is actually Kokichi himself, bc he's too smart and nosy, lmao. Even if he knows nothing, he will find out quickly. Doesn't help that Kyubey wants him to make a contract.

Also, obviously Kaito is Sayaka-coded and Maki could be Kyouko-coded, so that's a thing, BUT it's usually Maki that witches out. Kaito is usually pretty close, but Kokichi intervenes & he survives, but Maki later cracks on her own (and since in the new timeline Kokichi isn't there, Kaito's the one to die, so he's still the secretary). So it's Kaito who gets the dramatic sacrifice. I imagine he genuinely hoped you could bring somebody back if you tried Very Hard & Kokichi called him a moron bc obviously it's not possible. If it was there'd be far less witches that there are. But it's Kaito, he doesn't listen to reason. So, Kokichi follows him to the labyrinth. At first Kaito's mad cuz what if Kokichi being there ruins the plan? Maki hates his guts! But eventually he gets hit pretty hard, and Kokichi is near immediately by his side, trying to help him get up, which kinda makes Kaito short circuit a little bc wait Kokichi's trying to help? But witch!Maki attacks them & Kokichi pushes Kaito away & gets caught himself (and choked until unconsciousness, naturally). Anyway, Kaito gets him away, Shuichi catches Kokichi & Kaito makes up his mind about going down with Maki & asks Shuichi to tell Kokichi that he's sorry. He doesn't get him, but he got hurt trying to protect him, so he'll believe in that if nothing else. F.

As for The WishTM, in the last timeline Shuichi lashes out at Kokichi for his willingness to just become part of the system. In no timeline has his wish actually helped, it did NOTHINHG, which OUCH but it also makes Kokichi think out of the box more & he becomes the Law of Cycles. And Shuichi realizes what is happening & freaks out bc Kokichi's doing it bc of what he told him & like Homura they end up having a momentTM in space & Shuichi remembers. He feels a lot of guilt even tho he also questions whether anything was real, but if it was, he pushed somebody he far too realized he loved into erasing himself from existence.

[deoidesign]

My mental health is bad but I don't think that's reflecting in my work at all. Why do you ask.

[fallenwhumpee]

"An Hour."

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Hospital settings, aftermath of captivity, mentioned death.

Medic, despite what their job would suggest, wasn't a caregiver. They were just a mechanic working on circuits, not who carefully kept the whole mechanism running. They could fix people, but it was that. Someone would have to take over the aftermath.

Much to Medic's relief, Leader was a caregiver. A good one, even.

Too good, they lately noticed. Too good that it was starting to make Medic worried. But just like every other day, Medic knocked the infirmary door in exactly same time, before opening it fully. Youngest was asleep in the hospital bed - Medic had said Leader that it was unnecessary, but Leader  brought one anyway - and at last drops of their IV.

"An hour," Leader muttered. At this point it felt like a ritual. So, without a word, Medic moved and changed Youngest's IV to antibiotics as Leader deserted the room silently. Probably to sleep.

Good, Medic thought. Leader needed it.

Medic made their way to the armchair, only to see Leader's office keys on it. For a moment, they considered giving it back. They respected privacy, but they were also curious. For the last one month and a half, all Leader did was looking for Youngest, caring for Youngest or staying in their office. The first two was understandable, but the third...

Now Medic could learn whatever Leader was doing in their office.

Medic hesitated. They shouldn’t invade Leader’s privacy—Leader had done nothing to earn suspicion, at all. And Leader never broke anyone's boundries, so Medic doing it to them was just wrong. But something had been gnawing at the back of Medic’s mind for weeks now, something beyond the usual worry for Youngest. Leader’s behavior, so single-minded, so intense, felt wrong. So wrong for someone almost obsessed with making the future better. And if there was something in that office that could explain it...

Steeling themselves, Medic turned and walked down the hall to Leader’s office. The key slid into the lock with an ease that almost felt too simple. "Where's Leader?" Medic shouted. Leader's room was wide open and Leader wasn't there.

"Went for a quick walk," Right Hand shouted back.

Medic took a deep breath. "Okay," they muttered. With a simple twist, the door creaked open. Medic slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind them slowly. The room was dim, the only light filtering through the half-drawn blinds, casting long shadows across the walls. At first glance, it looked like any other office—neat, organized, professional. Just like how Leader liked to keep everything. Medic opened the lights.

Notes. Dozens of them, pinned to a board on the wall, scattered across the desk, and even taped to the edges of the bookshelves, almost creating a wallpaper. Most were in Leader’s precise handwriting, detailing locations, names, dates, and other pieces of information that, together, painted a picture out of a detective's office. Medic’s gaze was drawn to a map on the wall, marked with pins and red string connecting various points. They moved closer, recognizing the locations as places where incidents had occurred—break-ins, disappearances, attacks. All related to Youngest.

Their heart pounded as they picked up a file from the desk. It had a picture, the person's face partially obscured, but there was no mistaking who it was. Medic had seen that face around Whumper—one of the underlings of them. The person had been found dead two weeks ago, the cause still under investigation. There were detailed reports about them, autopsies, locations, biographies... informations that Medic doubted Leader had the authority to kno let alone storing.

They set the file down, their hands trembling slightly. Leader had been gathering evidence, but it wasn’t just about finding Youngest. It was about something more.

Another photo on the desk caught their eye. Medic took it, revealing more photos, more notes underneath. Some were crossed out, others highlighted. A list of names—people connected to the kidnapping—each one with a note beside it: confirmed dead, under surveillance, possible lead.

Some of these people were no longer a threat because they were dead. Was it coincidence, or had Leader...?

The sound of footsteps in the hallway snapped Medic out of their thoughts. They hurriedly closed the folder and placed thr picture back on the desk, glancing around to make sure everything was as they’d found it. The door clicked shut just as the office door opened.

Leader stepped inside, looking tired but alert. They froze for a moment, eyes narrowing as they stared in the sight of Medic standing in their office.

“What are you doing here?” Leader’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning.

Medic tried to keep their expression neutral, forcing a casual shrug qs if they weren’t digging through the room for the last ten minutes. “You left your keys on the chair. Thought I’d drop them off.”

Leader’s gaze flicked to the keys in Medic’s hand, then back to their face. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Leader crossed the room, taking the keys with a nod.

“Thank you,” they said, their tone polite but distant. “Please wait for my return next time.”

Medic nodded, feeling the tension in the air like a physical weight. They turned to leave, but couldn’t help one last glance at the desk, at the folder now lying innocently on the surface.

Leader didn’t miss the look. “Is there something else?”

“No,” Medic replied quickly, shaking their head. “Just... take care of yourself, okay? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Leader’s expression relaxed, a smile so soft and tender taking over. “Don't worry. Byt you should get some rest too.”

How could Medic be suspicious of them when all Leader did was worrying and caring for the team? Shoving the guilt down, they forced a smile and left the office.

-•-

Later that day, Medic was in the break room when the news broke. The television mounted on the wall buzzed with static before the anchor’s voice cut in, somber and urgent.

“We interrupt this program with breaking news. Henchman, a key figure in the recent string of criminal activities linked to the late terrorist Whumper, was found dead earlier this evening. Authorities are investigating, but details remain scarce at this time.”

Medic’s blood ran cold. Henchman—another name on Leader’s list. Dead. Just like the others.

They stood frozen, the room spinning around them. The timeline didn’t add up. Leader couldn’t have done it—they had only left the office for ten minutes, not enough time to cross the city and back. But the coincidences were too many, too pointed.

When Medic next saw Leader, they couldn’t help but study their face, searching for anything. But Leader looked even more drained than the last time, still trying to hold it together desperately. When Medic mentioned the news, Leader’s response was calm, almost indifferent.

“Tragic, but not unexpected,” Leader muttered, shrugging slightly. They weren’t even focused— they looked like they could just collapse and take a twenty four hour nap. “Agency was after them. It was only a matter of time.”

Medic nodded slowly, but the uneasy feeling in their gut only grew. There was something, something that was beyond their understanding. But as Leader walked away, Medic knew one thing for certain— Leader was doing something wrong. It was either their sleeping habits or the team had a huge problem.

-•-

Soo, have another random one. This is standalone, but I wrote this with "A Score to Settle" in my mind. Not quite part two, but I began writing with that intention.