#because you suddenly realized they're a problem
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you can absolutely make a character who was formerly a racist fuck-wit sympathetic and compelling, but ONLY if you (the narrative) and they (the character) own the wrong and the growth.
i mean, look, you tell that kind of story in the hopes that life will imitate art, right? there's gotta be a path out of the darkness. you can illuminate that path, but not if you lie about where the journey started. it's only compelling if you own it. don't shy away from the hurt and the sharp edges—cut yourself on them. bleed.
#like idk#stop worrying about being problematic#stop hand-waving away things that happened earlier in a story#because you suddenly realized they're a problem#you can't fix the problem unless you acknowledge there's a problem!!!#anyway the phenomenon of mediocre men who COULD be better#if the people they surrounded themselves with were better#but unfortunately they're forcibly surrounded by utter garbage human beings...#it's well documented#i've seen it#would be cool to see art acknowledge it or whatever#a la my problem with the loki tv show and every marvel movie after phase one#(this is about whatever strange ship war discourse is going down in the copaganda show)#(i'm following it disinterestedly)
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#not a vent just a journal entry (feel free to scroll past; there is no snz here and this is also not that interesting)#realizing now that i never thought of myself as#someone whose absence would register to others in any other way than just neutral/detached recognition?#phrasing this really badly and i am truly going to delete this later bc it is embarrassing LOL#i think when i was young and posting all this fic into questionable places (the f*rum) i was like#(@ an unfinished work of mine) no way anyone could be bothered by these cliffhangers 👍 they can just imagine the ending#even though i would frequently be bothered by other people's cliffhangers. that exact same principle just wouldn't apply to me in my head#and when i did not respond to people i was like.. i'm sure i wasn't really an important part of their lives so they won't mind it#if i stepped away?#i never really entertained the concept of people missing me or looking forward to my responses 😭 i never thought of myself as someone worth#missing... so when i disappeared it was always with little to no sense of guilt. i think even now i struggle with#seeing myself as someone that inhabits like a tangible enough space in other people's lives that my absence would be felt#(and i don't mean that in a morbid way. and i do recognize that it's quite hypocritical)#on the flipside of things i frequently miss people and look forward to their responses. and sometimes i wonder like#do they all know? do they all know that i miss them because they somehow understand this aspect of human nature better than i do?#or are they in the dark like i am? are these things assumed or are they only known when they are said... 😭#i am a little bit of a coward so i am not saying anything (also because can you even say this kind of thing to someone??#i would probably die of embarrassment) but#how strange it is to have someone suddenly inhabit a space in your life that is substantial enough that#when they're gone you feel that space open up and you miss them#the few times in my life people have conveyed that sentiment to me i remember feeling puzzled that my presence could have that kind of#weight to them. i think my problem is that i purposefully do not read between the lines if the conclusion is something favorable towards me#because i don't want to bank on something good that might or might not be true 😭 anyways this is way too long already. if you read this#then good morning or goodnight
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i think a lot of people don’t always realize the difference between “this is how i interpret canon” and “this is how i want to write it because that’s what’s fun to me”. a lot of times the latter is all headcanons or AUs are, not an indication of what the writer thinks “is” or “should be” canon
more power to those who are super tuned into actual canon and know these details like the back of their hand, but sometimes people just wanna use a series as a sandbox, not a ruleset. genuinely nothing but respect for people who ARE that knowledgeable, but i and a lot of other people are just here to have fun with characters we enjoy—and want to put them in more accessible settings
#this isn't meant to be grandstanding or anything i'm just thinking aloud. i know i've said stuff like this before it just hit me suddenly#thinking about those weird anons from a while back who were really getting on my case about this#and i could not wrap my head around what the problem was because it’s like. that’s why it’s an au?#why are you mad about details of an au not lining up with canon#that’s the whole point of it being. an au#like of course shadow would normally be able to visit certain places. of course he should already know omega.#but there is a deliberate reason why second chance shadow can't/doesn't#and now i realize it's probably because they were seeing my posts entirely out of context#but still don't go attacking people for out of context posts either??#i'm shocked no one's seriously gotten on my case about aruna's hive yet because it's a prime example of 'intentionally nowhere near canon'#and like overall just don't be a penders and you're fine#lord knows i've got plenty of 'characters who have strayed so far from canon they may as well be OCs' in my pocket#but i still acknowledge they're not by definition OCs yknow#sometimes you just wanna use a funny lil guy as groundwork and then do your own thing#sea talks
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tha terf paradox of promoting acceptance of oneself's biological nature and not changing it for societal ideologies but then turning around and criticizing any person that has a different perception of their biological nature that doesn't immediately enter the "male or female" binary hmmm,,,,
#berry.rambles <3#does this make sense#like#ok cool. lets remind women that just because they're gnc doesnt mean that they have to transition (which isnt a malevolent idea at all imo)#but then the second a gnc woman (that's consciously aware that society sees her as a woman) decides to go by she/they or anything else#she's suddenly the woke version of not like other girls???#HUH#what does that even mean#do you people realize that some women just dont really care about the language used when they're talked about#like its not a “distancing myself” from femalehood (??) thing its literally coming to terms with the fact that language is not rigid#i go by any pronouns because i literally dont care#im a girl i know that#but im not gonna flip out if you call me he or they or she or it#like i have bigger problems didya think about that for a second!!!#this idea that any kind of personal uniqueness/individualism is ALWAYS patriarchy-related is so???? yes the patriarchy doesnt care but#why shouldnt we care about what the women feel too???#its so insane how they'll talk about eliminating the patriarchy/distancing themselves from it to weaken it#but then the second a woman talks about her unique experiences as a female and how it differs from other women's#they jump into her comments/reblogs talking about “yeah sure whatever but remember you'll always be seen as nothing but a female”#“men don't care about that so you might as well not even view yourself as unique or different from other women”#“patriarchy doesn't care about (insert gnc/trans thing) cause you're still female”#literally using the patriarchy as an excuse to lump all women into a monolith#i dont wanna be with other women#some of you are dumb!!!#traditionalists. conservatives. zionists. religious women. liberal women. libertarians. nationalists. some of you are vile im not gonna lie#some women reject class consciousness as women#thats on them#some women think that their societal condition is natural. thats on them unless they change.#you'll never get everybody on your team#which is why instead of yapping about this nonbinary person or that he/him lesbian
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AU Where the Justice League forms as usual except for one slight difference where Bruce just so happens to have been the one superheroing for the longest. (Excluding Diana, who got up to it in World War 1 and then mostly didn't while she learned about Man's World)
Bruce helps form the Justice League, ignoring all of the comments as they come to the sudden realization that Gotham's baby cryptid story is actually a man in a very intimidating armored suit who can and will break your arm if you cause problems for him. They are unaware that this is not the first team he's led, and actually he's used to teams full of mostly teenagers who also happen to be his children. This should be easier, this team is primarily adults.
He realizes rapidly that he doesn't understand these people.
His kids take bonding activities to mean learning a dozen different ways to break someones leg. That doesn't fly with these people. And that is most of Bruce's ideas, hell when he was a kid Alfred took every opportunity to get him out of his room and mostly that was with the agreement that Alfred would teach him how to defend himself. He's come by it honestly.
This team is not easier. They have more drama than when his house was actually full of kids. It's insane. He doesn't know what to do with it, usually he just sent the kids to their rooms or grounded them from patrol. That doesn't work here.
He comes to a strange crossroads. That falls apart when he forgets who he's working with and snaps at Hal with a full room of heroes that the next person to throw a punch or an insult without a reason too will be sparring with him.
A long standing rule in the batcave that worked two fold to prevent infighting between the kids and too ensure that they were well and truly trained.
It works wonders. No one says a word out of line for the rest of the debrief. Bruce becomes the unofficial mediator of the league over Clark because anytime he walked in on a fight it suddenly became 10 times more civil out of sheer terror of what he'd do to them in a sparring match.
Eventually they actually meet his kids. Well, one kid.
Half way through a mission (one of the rare ones in Gotham) the Bat comes to a complete stop at the edge of an alley. Every single league member on the team comes to a stop behind him. Slowly from the shadows of the alley a man in a red helmet stalks out to greet them.
"You don't call, you don't write"
"Red Hood."
"Don't Red Hood me! We've been worried sick!"
"I was at the cave last night."
"You didn't answer my texts B. You always answer my texts."
Somehow it ends with big and scary following them through the rest of the mission with a running commentary of how much Bats has let him down in his failure to respond in a timely manner to a text send less than an hour before he ran into them in the alley. It only ends when Red Robin shows up.
And even then it only ends because Hood can't keep himself from throwing a punch and Bruce has to snap at him that if he throws another one they're sparring when they get home.
And by god is Jason giving up the chance to punch his brothers.
#the psychic whiplash when the league realizes#that the pit fight tactic is from dealing with his children#also that he has children#batman#dc#bruce wayne#red hood#jason todd#red robin#tim drake#batfamily#clark kent#justice league#superman#nightwing#timothy drake#batfam#fic ideas#wonder woman#diana prince#diana of themyscira
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"the other ravens didn't know jean's age!!!"
think of any 16 year old boy you know. does he look like an adult to you? would you call him a whore if you'd found out he'd gotten into five different men's beds in less than a week?
no?
then think of a scrawny, underfed 16 year old boy. his face is bony, but not quite sharp. his nose is crooked, and a part of you thinks that maybe he just hasn't grown into his own face yet, at least until the bruising makes you want to look away before you can think about it any harder. none of his clothes fit him quite right, and you can always hear his joints popping in and out of place. he has the thickest accent you've ever heard, and you still don't quite know what he's saying most of the time, even if he swears it's english and looks close to tears if you insist it's anything but too loudly (he's only been in america for two years and it's hard to grasp much when all you have to develop your language skills from is cruel insults).
he's not as tall as the rest of the court yet — actually, he's far from it. he's not spared enough to build any muscle, even throughout the relentless practices, and he always looks five seconds from passing out by the time the drills even start. he's sweating, panting, and there's a rattling in his chest when he does... has he broken a rib? why is he even here? he's not as big, not nearly as strong, and the other ravens zero in on him until he's a puddle on the floor. he can barely keep his own racquet steady in his hands, and when he props it up to lean on, you realize he isn't much bigger than the damn thing itself. the captain is always dragging him around, sometimes by his wrist, sometimes by his hair. you think it's just messy hazing for a while, and maybe you dare to spare him a pitiful nod and hope for his sake it'll end soon, but months go by and it never does. he's doubled over one day, then running laps the next, and god, why does he always reek of blood? you start to notice his fingers as they change colors, once bony and milky pale, now bruised black and blue and crusted over with scabs. they're misshapen... broken, almost every one. he shouldn't be playing like this, but he tugs his gloves on with his teeth and plays through the pain.
you pass his room on your way to bed, door wide open. he sleeps curled up in a ball, back pressed so hard against the wall, knees into his chest. you can hear his shaky breaths, how his lungs rattle uneasily, even in his sleep. he shakes himself awake from nightmares, gripping the sheets, dry heaving as he forces his own face into the pillow to muffle the sound... but he does not scream. he does not cry. poor kid, you think, because what else could you call him? he's far too beaten down to even think to consider an adult. a puppy kicked one too many times.
the captain calls everyone into a room, arms folded over his chest, face smug as if he'd come up with a solution to the entire world's problems. but there's something strange about the meeting. only backliners. gigantic, sneering, male backliners. he asks for volunteers, a few good samaritans to "fuck some sense into him," and you watch as five greedy hands fight to be the first in the air. riko makes his pick, makes his promise, and for the next week it's all you can hear at night. you wouldn't call it moaning, but... screaming. fighting. teeth and claws and fickle words. "please. please stop. please stop. please—" and then silence. the last night all you hear is defeated silence.
and suddenly it's the child's fault, isn't it? everyone else is saying it, that he slept his way onto the lineup, that he's nothing more than a braindead whore. if everyone's saying it, though, does that make it true?
or is it just easier to stomach?
#aftg#all for the game#jean moreau#aftg trilogy#the sunshine court#tsc#jean yves moreau#riko moriyama#the golden raven
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Imagine this scenario: you are stuck in the trolley problem but the lever is gay. You don't want to touch the gross gay levelr (he might have jerked a nother man's penis with those hands) but you desperately want to kill the one guy on the one guy track because he got you fired from twitter (X) and now you're destitute. suddenly, the lever speaks to you: I know your a homophobic down on your luck guy, but I have news for you. Your mom was a lesbian and she only married your dad who was a nice enough guy but not her true love because of social convention. She came to care about him as a friend and eventually he figured out what was going on and they're on good terms, they've never spoken about it but that's why he had debra from work around so much when you were a kid, it was an affair and your mom basically knew about it but there was no hard feelings because ultimately by that point your mom and dad had figured out that they didn't feel romantic love for each other and that was ok, their relationship worked for what it was and they both wanted to be around to be in your life. anyway, that's what happened, and your mom eventually started dating another girl named jackie that she never brought around the house because ultimately she was never able to accept her homosexuality as ok. that's sad but it's a product of her generation. anyway, anyway, your loving mom that you care about was gay, and so, can you really be homophobic? can you really be so afraid to touch me (trolley lever) because I'm gay, when your gay mom held you as a child and stuff? and you start to cry and realize that your homophobia was misguided, and with newfoun d strength you pull on the lever and kill the fucker who got you fired from twitter (X) and left you destitute, and it's a little fucked up to pursue revenge like that but ultimately it's probably better than letting the five people on the other track die.
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37 With Oscar Piastri? 🫶
37: not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out I got this twice so i'm combining them k thx 🥹
also this is really for @maxlarens bc she helped me craft something similar to this idea
Oscar's...different. Not in a bad way, just...different. He's not loud or obnoxious like the other guys in your classes at uni, he just comes in, takes his seat, and then...
Well honestly you don't know. Since, you know, you're paying attention to the professor. But you assume he's paying attention as well.
He's just quiet. Or so you thought.
"Your grandma sounds nice," you say, truly smiling as he finishes telling you about the treats his grandmother sent from back home.
He grins, blushing a little. Maybe from embarrassment, maybe from the drinks. "Yeah... She's strong too, you know."
"Is she?" you ask.
"She's got the heart of a lion."
"Oh wo--"
"And a lifetime ban from the zoo."
Your jaw drops and you let out a giggle while he grins again. "Stop, that was terrible," you insist, taking a sip of your drink. But you're still giggling a little.
His face creases and you realize that the weirdly quiet guy from maths isn't weird.
So naturally he needs you to become his friend. Right? Right. Probably not but you take up the task anyway, happily dragging him along to parties and clubs on weekends. He goes along with it, longsuffering and looking miserable, but always ends up cracking jokes that have even your most judgmental friends liking him.
Oscar's like that, you realize, watching him cringe over the house music playing. He pretends not to care but he does. He cares more than you, sometimes. Especially about people he loves, like that American guy that follows him around like a lost puppy, and the super posh guy that you and your friend joke is actually a serial killer
His friends and your friends become a group. Neither from either side have anything in common other than attending the same university. None seem to really like the others really but put up with them because Oscar makes it worth it.
You've all been studying for exams, gathering in the posh guy's off campus flat because it's the biggest and has the best furniture and the best food, and you're in the kitchen fixing coffee when Oscar finds you. There's chatter in the dining room, your friends arguing over a minute detail in some show you haven't watched yet.
"Are they getting rowdy?" you ask, taking down another mug - they all match, George is third year and all his dishes match - and pour him some coffee.
"No more than usual." Oscar murmurs a thank you, leaning against the counter as the arguing turns into laughter.
"You hate that I've dragged you into this hysteria don't you?" you murmur.
"What?"
You smile against the rim of your mug. You like the way he says what, all exaggerated and so very Australian. What does that even mean? You have no idea. You just know you like it. "They're a bit..."
"Loud?" Oscar asks, his face dead serious as absolute silence comes from the dining room.
"You," you mutter, lightly shoving at his shoulder before leaning against him, dropping your hand.
"They're alright," he promises. "They keep George and Logan bonkers."
You laugh, because your friends do love tormenting his friends. And vice versa. "Come on, let's try to get them to focus on work."
Back in the dining room you're working your way through the problem that you've been struggling with when you notice Logan keeps giving you weird looks after he comes back from the toilet. You ignore him because, well, it's Logan, and he tends to always give people weird looks.
There's rustling and whispering around you and then George looks up from his laptop and you freeze, suddenly feeling everyone's eyes on you and Oscar.
"What's all this then?" George asks.
"You sound just like my grandad," your friend groans before turning to you. "When did this story arc happen?"
"Yeah, I thought you two were still stuck on ew that's my friend," Logan chimed in.
"What?" This from Oscar.
George points a pen at you both. "That."
And then you feel it. Your hand in Oscar's - his thumb tapping yours, the calluses from his love of the gym, warm and comforting and—
"Well?" your friend demands.
You know you should drop his hand. That's my friend, my quiet black cat that I adopted and drag around to keep the weirdos away only I'm the weirdo and he can't keep me away. You look down at your clasped hands.
There's a freckle next to his thumbnail and all you can think is how fucking endearing that is.
"Just because no guy wants to hold your hand doesn't mean I should suffer," you find yourself saying.
Next to you, Oscar throws his head back and laughs.
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When MC Needs Surgery
Featuring: The Demon Brothers, the Dateables (most briefly/vaguely mentioned) + gn!Reader
Content/Warnings: Mentions of unspecified health problems, surgical procedures and medical devices. Relationships with the cast are intended to be platonic but may be interpreted as romantic in nature (friendship was the focus here rather than romance). Word count: 3.2k.
A/N: This is dedicated to surgery!anon who requested something for their upcoming surgery. Based on the vague details mentioned to me, I assumed there might be some overlap with my own experiences which is what this is loosely based on. I guess I wrote what I would've liked to have read before my own procedures. I hope this provides some comfort to you as well.
PRE-OP
Some of the demons might wonder why they can't just find some spell to fix what's wrong with you, because how tricky can human anatomy really be? But after Satan does some research and helps you explain to the others (in easy to understand terms while being sensitive of the private details you might not want to share), they realize that perhaps your medical care is best left to the professionals after all.
Lucifer, Diavolo and Barbatos handle the logistics of your care before and after your surgery. Details from your appointments with your medical team help them get a better idea of how long your recovery will be and where you should stay once you leave the human world hospital.
There is some disagreement about whether you should stay at the House of Lamentation or the Demon Lord's Castle. There are pros and cons about staying at the House of Lamentation.
Pros: all of the demon brothers are there to help you when you need assistance.
Cons: all of the demon brothers are there.
One of the concerns – and it's a reasonable one, if you ask anyone but the brothers themselves – is that they might be too demanding of your company in your condition or inconsiderate of your privacy, and possibly neglectful of your need to rest comfortably and quietly.
As the other alternative available to you, the Demon Lord's Castle has spacious rooms so that you'll be able to have everything you need. Your friends are welcome to come and go within reason, but their visitations will be limited to prevent you from being overwhelmed. Ultimately, the choice is left to you.
When you start attending your pre-op appointments, Lucifer goes with you if you don't ask one of the others to go in his place. He's one of the best choices despite his unfamiliarity with the medical ordeal you're about to go through. He quickly picks up on the details of your procedure and the types of support you'll need during your hospital stay and once you're discharged. He helps you prepare a list of questions and concerns for each appointment; the doctors and nurses can't brush your questions aside easily, not when Lucifer is there to ensure that the answers you're given meet his satisfaction.
Later on, Lucifer provides updates to his siblings and your other friends who are keeping tabs on these developments. It's best that they're all aware of what to expect and so that they can help you prepare for what's to come.
In the days leading up to your surgery, everyone does their best to ease your nerves but do a poor job of hiding their own anxieties. It doesn't really register as a real thing that's about to happen until you get notification that your surgery is only a couple days away, and suddenly it feels very, very real.
Lucifer prepares for your long-term absence from RAD and makes sure that any of your obligations – your clubs or student council duties or your part-time job – are dealt with. He buys anything and everything the doctors recommended for your recovery once you return home. If any modifications are required for your bedroom or private bathroom, he plans to have those completed during your hospital stay. (He's grateful your room is already on the first floor of the house, although he would've built one for you if he needed to.)
Mammon and Levi spend as much time with you as they can when they're not busy with other things they try to keep secret: Mammon's new job so he has extra money to buy you get-well presents (bigger and better than all his brothers) and the games and movies Levi has been ordering since he anticipates your recovery will be boring. What better way than to pass the time (hopefully with him?). Satan wanted to go to your appointments with you but he kept grumbling things like, if someone cuts you open, I'm going to cut them open. He's been focusing his efforts on researching which sorts of potions, elixirs or spells might help you recover faster and obtaining the materials he needs for them.
Asmo took you shopping (more than once) to pick up the items on your pre-op checklist of things to bring with you to the hospital: comfortable loose-fitting clothing, slippers, basic toiletries like your toothbrush. Everything he picked for you wouldn't fit in three overnight bags, let alone the single duffel bag you planned to take with you. He just put everything in your dresser and closet and insisted they'd be useful once you were discharged and allowed to come back home.
Beel was curious about your diet recommendations when you come home and he realized that the spicy Devildom foods you like are probably going to be too difficult for you to eat for the foreseeable future . He spoke to Lucifer and Barbatos about his concerns, and they plan to stock the fridge and pantry with all the recommended foods that would ease your recovery and reduce the risk of complications later. Beel took you out for dinner one evening, as a sort of last hurrah. He felt guilty that he didn't realize how serious this was and he admires you for being so brave about something he can't imagine going through himself. He offered to follow your post-surgery diet with you as a show of support because he doesn't want to be insensitive and eat all the delicious foods you won't be able to.
Belphie gets a bit irritated that his brothers take up so much of your time leading up to your surgery date. If you've been feeling tired or unwell leading up to your surgery, you put on a brave face for their sakes but he knows better. He can't take away your pain or discomfort, and he certainly can't fix you the way these human world doctors claim they can, but he can help you relax after a long day of appointments and preparations and pretending you're not as nervous as they all are. He can sense your anxiety rising as the date of your surgery draws near: you're not sleeping as well as you used to, tossing and turning into the late hours of the night and showing up to breakfast looking worse than you did the morning before. Fortunately, that's something he can help you with. He leads you to the attic to sleep and tries not dwell on how long it'll be before after your surgery when you'll be able to climb those steps again. He lulls you into a comfortable, dreamless sleep so that you can as much rest as possible leading up to the big day.
The evening before your surgery, the brothers are practically vibrating from nervousness. Everyone seems on edge and distracted. Asmo ruins his eye makeup from getting teary-eyed and he's especially clingy. Dinner is awkward when the brothers remember that you can't eat your regular diet anymore. You're limited to bland fluids in addition to the jug of prep you need to drink. You drink the powder mixed with ice-cold water and gulp it down – after the first pouch, you disappear into your bedroom. Eventually you come back and rinse and repeat, drinking and refilling that jug until its as empty as you are. (Beel was curious and drank a bit of it despite your warning that he probably shouldn't – his stomach made the strangest sounds the rest of the evening.)
When it's time for bed, you expect to collapse onto your mattress and toss and turn until your early-morning alarm goes off. What you don't expect is for Lucifer and his brothers to lead to you his room with the giant bed that happens to be big enough for all of them. The mood feels somber and you can tell they're as nervous as you are – even Cerberus spends the night in Lucifer's room, lifting his heads up once in a while to check on you while he keeps guard at the foot of the bed. It's the Devildom's most awkward cuddle pile, but eventually you fall asleep surrounded by seven very worried demons who can't manage to sleep themselves.
THE HOSPITAL
Your alarm goes off early that morning – far too early for your liking, but you're eager to get this entire thing over with. Most of the brothers are already awake and finalizing preparations to accompany you to the hospital. You have time for a quick shower and toss on a comfortable shirt, sweatpants and slip-on shoes – you don't need to look good where you're going, and you won't be wearing these clothes for very long.
The others arrive so Barbatos can summon a portal for everyone to take. Despite your many reminders, everyone insists they want to come and support you, including your friends from Purgatory Hall and Diavolo himself.
(What you suspect but don't know for certain is that Diavolo arranged for your care in the human world hospital you'll be staying at. There were concerns about visitor limits and securing the largest and best private room for your recovery, but a generous donation from the Hotel Corvo corporation helped ease some of those administrative hurdles.)
You're only allowed one support person to accompany you to the surgical unit, so the others grab coffee and pre-packaged muffins and slowly make their way down to the waiting area. Lucifer – or whoever you asked to accompany you instead – sits with you while you wait for your name to be called.
Time passes in a blur. You put on a starchy hospital gown and housecoat while you tuck your belongings into a plastic bag and carry it with you. The nurses direct you to a chair and go over the standard medical questions you've answered a million times before. You look away when the IV goes in, and on the other side of you, warm fingers squeeze your hand.
You're tired and nervous and there are too many thoughts racing through your mind, but you sit in silence while the clock ticks down. You shuffle awkwardly down a sterile hall with too-bright lights when it's finally time, and you hope the smile you shoot over your shoulder at your companion is convincing. (It's as unsteady as you both feel when you disappear with the nurse who leads you to the operating room.)
Maybe it's the exhaustion or the empty, upset stomach distracting you while you sit on a table and ignore the cool fingers and pinching sensation in your back while they prepare the epidural because you barely feel it. You lay on a narrow table with a blood pressure cuff on one arm and your IV in another, and when the medications quickly pull you into a dreamless sleep, you feel a last-minute sense of comfort knowing that your friends are waiting close by and they won't let anything bad happen to you.
While you're in the OR, your friends make themselves comfortable in the visitor's lounge and they wait for news. Four hours, six hours, eight hours later – none of them want to leave until they can see you're alive and well with their own eyes. You warned them all it would be a long and boring day and they insisted they wanted to come no matter what.
Some of them fidget in their seats and pace when their nerves get the best of them. Levi's handheld beeps and the buttons click noisily as he plays his game, and Satan tries to focus on a paperback he picked up in the gift shop. Mammon spends way too much money buying Nevada tickets from a vendor in the hospital lobby (“It's for charity, ain't it?!”) and rubs it in Lucifer's face when he actually wins something. Asmo frets with embarrassment when he sees the SCENT-RESTRICTED FACILITY poster on the wall and covers the scent of his expensive fragrance with a dampening charm to avoid upsetting the staff (and makes note to skip the heavily-scented body products for future visits). Belphie accompanies Beel to sample the cafeteria's food, multiple times.
Throughout the day, small groups take turns leaving the waiting room to grab fresh cups of coffee or sandwiches to snack on. Diavolo and Barbatos confirm with the hospital staff that your private room is ready with the special amenities they requested for you, including a cot that an overnight guest can sleep on. You chose your preferred companion in advance, and none of the others dared voice their petty disappointment that they weren't chosen instead. What matters most is that one of them is with you at all times to assist you in your weakened state (they called it protecting you, but you tried to reassure them without success that they were being too dramatic). The others are free to visit as much as they like, as long as you're comfortable with it of course.
It feels like eternity before news reaches your friends as your surgery ends, and then another update a couple hours later when you're moved from PACU to your hospital room. The nurses have already gotten you settled into your accommodations by the time the first visitors hesitantly step inside to see you. Despite the preparations and expectations and warnings, they're still not prepared for the machine humming and beeping at your side as it pumps various medications through your IV. There's a remote looped around the bed by your arm that lets you administer more pain medication through your epidural.
It's gotten late and the surgical ward is quiet except for the ambient sounds of nurses chatting quietly at their station or other machines beeping in nearby rooms. Against the standard-issue hospital linens and the thin gown you wear, you look more vulnerable than they've ever seen you, their perfectly imperfect human who’s gone through so much in such a short amount of time. Perhaps it's a good thing that you're overcome with exhaustion and only have fleeting memories of your friends' worried faces when they each came to see you before bidding you goodnight with a promise to come back in the morning. Some struggle to contain their emotions more than others, and there's a collective understanding between all of them that perhaps they've taken you for granted because they never want to see you like this again – not if they can prevent it.
Your nighttime companion sits at your bedside most of the night and watches over you in case you show signs of discomfort or pain. They pull the cord to alert the nurses when you wake up queasy and you request something for your upset stomach with your scratchy voice and dry throat. You can't eat or drink yet, but the nurse leaves a small plastic cup of ice chips at your bedside – it's enough to remove the cottony feeling from your tongue and throat, and you can sleep once more.
Your demon friends aren't familiar with modern medicine and none of them know what the bags of fluids hanging next to your bed are. RINGERS scrolls across the screen of the IV pump but it’s anyone’s guess what it means. All they know is that it seems to be important as it’s one of the last medications you stop taking before your IV is eventually removed. Tonight and throughout the days that will soon follow, the machine beeps loudly – and often – when the bag runs dry. They remember which button to hit to turn off the awful alarm so that the disturbance doesn't wake you while they wait for a nurse to come with a replacement.
RECOVERY
The first few days are some of the most challenging, but all of your friends are there to support you as much as they can. At least one of them is present when the surgeon and his residents make their early morning rounds. You can't bear to look at the staples and incisions hidden under the thick dressings that cover a large part of your lower belly, but the surgeon and nurses all claim that things look fantastic. You can't help but snort at the odd feedback, and Asmo reminds you that there's plenty of creams that can help with minimizing those scars later, if you want them. (He prefers you exactly the way you are, scars and all, but he keeps his opinion on that subject to himself.)
Your post-surgery diet is severely restricted until you're able to tolerate basic fluids again, and solid foods are introduced slowly too. Beel reads over your daily menu selection and glares at the abysmal tray of hospital food that is delivered to your room. He tastes some of the dishes and wonders how they can make something as simple as broth or cream of wheat so unappealing. Barbatos sips the lukewarm mug of tea on your tray that you ignore with each meal; you warn him that it's not good, and the pain in your stomach is worth it when you shake with laughter at the offended grimace that sours his expression. He promises to bring you drinkable tea from now on, and he and Beel both bring acceptable alternatives to your hospital fare in accordance with your current meal plan.
One of the most challenging things you didn't expect – and it catches your friends off-guard too – is how difficult it is to get up and walking again. After a few days in bed with the epidural numbing you to the worst of the pain and being mostly stationary aside from some breathing exercises, it's time to get up and take the literal first step towards your journey home.
Your friends scoff at the idea of a physiotherapist coming to help you, until they hear the first cry of pain when you sit up on the edge of the bed and breathe heavily like it's the most ardious feat you've ever accomplished. It's another reminder that this was a tremendous thing for your delicate human body to go through, and even though they can't just take away your pain or fix things magically (no matter how much some of them might want to), they'll do what they can to help.
They don't tease you when they slip your shoes onto your feet, and they don't stare or ask about the various bags of fluids hanging from the IV pole you lean on for support while you shuffle your way around the ward one lap at a time. They match your pace and are ready in a moment's notice to support you if you lose your balance, and as soon as they sense you're pushing yourself just a little too hard, they help you back into bed where you fall asleep not long after.
Things carry on that way until the surgeon announces tentative plans for your release. By now, you're bored out of your mind and eager to be anywhere but in that bloody hospital room. Your friends are eager to have you home again, and the air is charged with excitement for the first time since your surgery. Everything you need for your recovery at the House of Lamentation – medications and supplies and your diet plan and anything else you could possibly need – are ready for you.
On the day you're finally discharged, they help scan your room to make sure all of your personal items have been packed away for the trip home. One of them carries your duffel bag for you while a couple others carry boxes filled with the numerous gifts, cards, and vases of flowers that filled nearly every available space of your room. (The human world flowers have started to wilt, but the arrangements from the Devildom and the Celestial Realm, including the bouquet you received one day with a note signed only with “M”, are still blooming flawlessly as ever.)
#obey me#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me lucifer x reader#obey me mammon x reader#obey me leviathan x reader#obey me satan x reader#obey me asmodeus x reader#obey me beelzebub x reader#obey me belphegor x reader#obey me diavolo x reader#obey me barbatos x reader#obey me x reader#obey me headcanons#tw medical#tw surgery#gn!reader#x reader
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"DEATH COMES RIPPING" - SPOOKY ISSUE
'THE BLACK PARADE, THE TRIUMPHANT NEW ALBUM BY MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE MAY HAVE A TRAGIC STORYLINE, BUT IT'S NOTHING COMPARED WITH WHAT THE BANDMATES ENDURED TO BRING THE DISC TO LIGHT
PHOTOS BY JON WIEDERHORN PHOTOS BY JUSTIN BORUCKI
STANDING ON A BALCONY nine floors above the teeming streets of New York, Gerard Way overlooks the city in which My Chemical Romance began assembling their ambitious new album, The Black Parade. The newly peroxide- blond frontman takes a deep drag from a cigarette and exhales with a sigh. He knows he shouldn't smoke, but it's his only remaining vice.
"If I hadn't been sober, I think The Black Parade surely would have killed me," says Gerard, who climbed on the wagon in 2004. "We were going insane the whole time, and I had to cling to my sobriety to stay even a little lucid. The album became like this beast that was consuming us."
Following up a release as successful as 2004's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, which sold 1.4 million copies in the U.S. alone, is never an easy task. And the various scares the band experienced as they worked on the new record-drummer Bob Bryar had a near-fatal staph infection, Gerard seriously injured his foot, and some restless spirits at the studio where they recorded kept them all on edge-did not help matters. And neither
did MCR's decision to make The Black Parade (Reprise) a concept disc. Together, Gerard and his bandmates-Bryar, guitarists Frank lero and Ray Toro, and bassist Mikey Way (Gerard's younger brother)-decided to craft a record about a dying young man who is visited by a cast of strange characters that help him examine his short life.
But diving into the conceptual deep end proved well worth the hassle. The Black Parade is not only MCR's most realized offering; it's also one of the most eclectic, enjoyable rock records of the year. One listen to tracks
like "House of Wolves," "The Sharpest Lives," and "Dead!" makes it clear that My Chemical Romance can still rip a good metallic punk tune. But the bandmates are now equally influenced by epic albums like Pink Floyd's The Wall, David Bowie's The Rise & Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, and Queen's A Night at the Opera.
"A lot of bands from the scene we came from try to strip down their music to 'keep it real," Gerard notes. "But the real you is what you've always had inside you and what you strive to be. So when we started compiling the material we had written, we were like, You know what? This has to be a huge, theatrical record."
MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE started working on ideas for The Black Parade in the back of the bus while on 2005's Warped Tour, after which they flew to New York and rented a rehearsal space for two months. And that's when things started to get weird.
"I was living in Queens, and I had to commute on the subway every day," Gerard says. "I was suddenly very scared and paranoid. I felt more like an outsider than I ever had, and I had no confidence, which is bad when you're trying to work on a record. And I had no anonymity because there were a lot of teenagers on the train." In reaction to the young fans he encountered on the underground,
Gerard wrote "Teenagers," a T. Rex-style romp with the chorus line, "Teenagers scare the living shit out of me." "The song came directly from commuting when school let out and being so terrified of them," the singer says. "I was like, Wait a minute. These are the same people that listen to our band. Why am I scared? And I realized it was because they're scared, too. Teenagers are made to feel like they can only solve their problems with violence. They lash out at each other in a really volatile way." After several months experiencing the joys of mass transit, MCR had completed only a handful of songs and felt like a change of scenery (and climate) might do them some good. "I couldn't keep working in New York," says Gerard. "We wanted isolation."
id: Gerard leads the way to what will likely be the band's second platinum record
So the group relocated to Paramour Mansion, outside of L.A. Nestled high in the hills, the deluxe estate overlooks the trendy Silver Lake area and boasts spacious rooms, a gorgeous pool, lush gardens, a state-of-the-art recording facility-and a few special guests.
"The place is definitely haunted," Gerard says. "Doors would slam, and the faucets would turn on. You'd get a bath drawn for you of freezing-cold water in your room, and you wouldn't know why." As unnerving as its mischievous spirits could be, the Paramour was also inspiring, and contributed to the haunting vibe of songs like "The End" and "This Is How I Disappear." More important, it led Gerard to come up with the bleak, surreal concept for the record. "I would have these night terrors, where it would feel like someone was choking me, and my heart would stop and I would stop breathing," he says. "I would wake up in the middle of the night and write these notes to myself, and one of them read, 'We are all just a black parade.' So I started thinking about how this band is kind of a black parade, like a funeral-procession rock thing. And I used that idea to piece together this story about the idea that when you die, death comes for you however you want." Gerard molded his concept into a narrative about a character he dubbed the Patient, whose strongest memory from childhood is of his father taking him to the city to see a parade. Two songs into the album, he dies, and the black parade comes for him.
"During the rest of the story, he meets this entity of death and all these characters, like Mama, who represents anyone who's ever lost their son in a war," Gerard explains. "It's almost like these Canterbury Tales, where he goes along on this journey, and at the end he decides whether he wants to live or die." With the concept in place, My Chem made the songs as sweeping and theatrical as Gerard's lyrics. They accomplished this, in part, by combing through their own eclectic record collections and pulling choice elements that would set them even further apart from other melodic punk bands.
The first two minutes of "Welcome to the Black Parade" stemmed from Gerard's love for Broadway musicals, the horns in "Dead!" came from Mikey's interest in Blur and Britpop, and the jaunty feel of "Mama" was informed by Tom Waits and Nick Cave. But the most poignant moment on the record, "Cancer," was (unlike its morbid moniker) something of a pleasant surprise. "I was very upset about something in my personal life, and that's when that song came out," Gerard says. "It was really spontaneous, and it was recorded pretty much live with Rob [Cavallo, the record's producer] on the piano and me in the vocal booth. Then we added layers of drums, which gave it a certain urgency. It's the song I'm most proud of because it was the most pure emotion we've ever captured, and it gets such an immediate response. You can't shake what the song is about."
As the CD approached completion, some members of the band began to show signs of nervous exhaustion. The group was scheduled to fly to England to play the Reading Festival, and as the date grew near, Toro, who has a fear of flying, got noticeably agitated. Then, after the band tracked "Welcome to the Black Parade," which was originally called "The Five of Us Are Dying," the guitarist lost it.
"I thought I had this premonition," Toro explains. "I was flipping through the TV channels, and on the news. there would be something about a plane crash, and every time I woke up in the morning, the clock would say 9:11. I was playing Tomb Raider the night before the flight, and on the level I ended up at, there was this whole flashback to a plane crash. So right before the flight I was like, 'That's it. I'm not flying."
Despite his misgivings, Toro boarded the plane, and when My Chemical Romance returned to L.A. (all of them still very much alive, thank you very much), The Black Parade was completed without further incident. Listening back to the record, the band members were in awe of what they had achieved and eager to share it with their fans. "There was a real confidence that came to us," Gerard explains. "Having survived it, we felt like we were changed forever. I feel different as a performer now, and I think we really finally discovered who we were as a band." But just because MCR were done with the record didn't mean that it was done with them. About a month later, the band was shooting a video for "Famous Last Words" with director Samuel Bayer (Garbage, Smashing Pumpkins) on a set featuring walls of flame, when-seized by the moment-lero grabbed Gerard's throat from behind and wrestled him to the ground. The singer rolled one way; his foot went the other. "It bent completely backwards, and I heard a crack and felt this agonizing pain," Gerard recalls. "I tore all the ligaments in my foot, but I got up and continued to perform." "I didn't know what I was doing," says lero, shaking his head. "I wasn't trying to hurt him. I felt awful. I still do." Gerard's injury was serious, and he still walks with a cane, but it paled in comparison to what happened to Bryar. At the end of the shoot, the pyro was so intense, the drummer could feel his leg burning, but he stuck it out for the rest of the song. By then, he had a nasty third-degree burn. And the misfortune didn't stop there. Bryar didn't take his antibiotics regularly, and he failed to keep the wound clean. By the time the band got back from a brief tour of Japan, the burn was severely infected. Then Bryar's face swelled up and, after doing the MTV Video Music Awards preshow telecast and a special club show, stumbled into a hospital emergency room in intense pain. "I thought I'd be there for 10 minutes, but as soon as they saw me, they got all serious and gave me an IV and said they had to do a CAT scan," recalls Bryar."They did all these blood tests and kept me there for 14 hours." Doctors discovered that Bryar's leg infection had spread to his blood and caused an abscess in his face that was creeping dangerously close to his brain. If it had been left untreated for another two days, he could have died. "The whole thing was such a nightmare," Bryar says. "This doctor stuck my cheek with a needle about six inches long and the width of an IV tube. Then he went in and out of the inside of my mouth with the needle about 10 times. Fortunately, the treatment worked, and Bryar left the hospital three days later. With tragedy averted, My Chem are now focusing on touring for The Black Parade. They'll be in Europe for most of November, and when they get back at the end of year, they'll start rehearsing for a U.S. arena tour that starts in February. "We want to put on a full show with props and staging like The Wall," Gerard says. And MCR plan to keep the Patient alive long after they're done touring for the CD. "I would love to see the story turned into a play or a musical, and it could easily be a movie," enthuses Gerard. "Making this record, we cut ourselves open every day, pulled out every organ, and lay them on a table so it would be something we're completely happy with. We want The Black Parade to exist for a long time." "The whole hole thing nightmare. This doctor stuck my cheek with a needle about six inches long and the width of an IV tube." -BOB BRYAR
"I felt more like an outsider than I ever had, and I had no confidence, which is bad when you're trying work on a record."
-GERARD WAY
12/2006 revolver - mcrhollywood on flickr
#a spooky mcr for spooky year#sleep lore#black parade production#the paramour#the paramour 2006#black parade era#12/2006 revolver#mcrhollywood.blogspot.com#my chemical romance#gerard way#mcr#frank iero#ray toro#mcr scans#scans
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alastor x reader where they already have kids and it connects with the headcanons about reader being insecure about their stretch marks but this time it's after she starts loving them and when they're alone, alastor is just like "how about we have another baby?" over and over again and reader constantly gets flustered because she/they knows what he wants to do
Alastor having MORE kids???
Alastor X Reader Headcanons
✅️Romantic
❌️Platonic
TW: Suggestive, Husband and wife are NOT properly communicating IMPORTANT topics
Description: ☝️⬆️
Being a mother was difficult but definitely rewarding, it was something you had wanted for so long and now you have it
All because of your wonderful husband who fought against the impossible just to make you happy
And you like to think that Alastor is happy with his life too, he certainly seems happy
Well, he's always smiling so..
He's always doting on his babies, practically beaming with pride at every little thing they do
And he doesn't neglect his duties as a husband either 😏
Your confidence is higher than ever and you're living out your dreams with Alastor by your side
You thought your husband would be content with two adorable babies, seeing as the second one was a surprise
Apparently not, he wanted more, your greedy husband
He springs the question on you while you two are alone, enjoying your uninterrupted time together
You barely have time to catch your breath before Alastor is kissing and biting at your neck
His claws scrape ever so slightly against your stomach, caressing your marks and reminding both of you of your miracle pregnancy
He pulls away to admire how disheveled you look now, the happy gleam in your eyes as you stare back at him
"Let's have another baby, darling~"
"What?"
He doesn't answer you, instead going back to kissing the life out of you and leaving your knees weak
The next day, you almost think you imagined it, wishful thinking and all that because Alastor is completely normal with you
You almost believe that all the way up until lunchtime with your babies, you're feeding and cooing at them when Alastor comes in
You can feel him watching you from the doorway as you try to get your little boy to take a few more bites of a new food
His sister is, of course, devouring her own food with no problem
Your husband slinks around behind you and wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder
"Mm... they're such beautiful children, aren't they?"
You're so blissed out by the presence of your husband and children that you don't realize where he's going with this
His hands are creeping down to your stomach, rubbing soothing circles into your sides
"Wouldn't it be lovely if we had another one, my dear~?"
Before you can even turn around to ask him if he's serious, Alastor is picking up his daughter and cooing at her
You're left flustered and confused, picking up your son who was getting fussy
You go through weeks of this bizarre ambush tactic of his, your husband never just sitting you down and talking with you
You're in the shower? Alastor slips in, turns the heat up between you two then asks for another baby
You're cleaning up after your babies? Suddenly your husband is there doing all the work and helps you relax afterwards before bringing up more kids
You're not even safe when shopping with him, he brings you tiny baby socks and clothes while lamenting that the twins don't fit in clothes this size anymore
All his little tricks are starting to work on you though
You're definitely getting a second round of baby fever, especially whenever you bump into your husband
You honestly don't know who's jumping who at this point, you just know that you both simultaneously have decided you want another baby
Alastor has you blushing and following after him with just a look
You have him stumbling out of his pants to get to you with just a few curls of your finger
You put the babies down for a nap? Your husband is suddenly right there pulling you into the bedroom
You go into a closet for cleaning supplies? He's locking the door behind you both, and it's a suspiciously long time before you two walk out
Alastor is up in his radio tower? Guess who's strolling in and interrupting his show
Nobody is shocked to find out that you're pregnant again, you two haven't been subtle
But it would've been nice if you guys had asked the rest of them first-
GAH I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG-
#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor hazbin hotel x reader#alastor hazbin x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin x reader
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𝐌𝐫. 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞: Stucky x F!Reader
Part Two Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader | Daughter of Thaddeus Ross (Red Hulk) Words: 5.4K Themes: Forbidden Reader, Love Triangle, M for Mature, 18+ , Post-Endgame, AGE GAP (24y/o reader). Summary: Bucky Barnes expected another typical therapy session, but the moment he meets Y/N, a sharp and unflinching therapist who doesn’t back down, everything changes. Used to keeping people at arm’s length, Bucky finds himself intrigued by her resilience and the way she sees right through his walls. A/N: I am also obsessed with Bucky ok? I can't leave him out. I will not use "chapter" for now because IDEK how long this will be. Let me know if you want to be tagged. Ciao.
Bucky entered the therapist’s office, expecting the usual routine with Dr. Raynor. But when he saw a younger woman sitting on the couch, legs crossed, glasses perched on her nose, he froze. She was scribbling in a notebook, completely absorbed in whatever she was writing. His eyes swept over her—pencil skirt, white blouse with the top two buttons undone. Definitely not Raynor.
Raynor was a pain in the ass enough, but now they're throwing this at me? Bucky thought, his jaw tightening as he watched her quietly scribble in her notebook. He wasn’t sure if this was some kind of test or another attempt to “catch him off guard.” His whole life had been one test after another, and this—this felt like just another trick up their sleeve.
Great, he thought bitterly, as if I haven’t been poked and prodded enough. Now I’m supposed to open up to someone who probably just finished med school.
The calm way she sat there, so sure of herself, made him itch with irritation. He couldn’t figure her out, and he hated that. Was she here to push him harder than Raynor? Or was this just another bureaucratic move to switch things up, like changing therapists would suddenly crack him open?
What’s next? A therapy dog? His mind was racing, constantly searching for the next hit, the next blow. He felt like they were always trying to break him down bit by bit, like he was still their weapon.
But this? This is just insulting. He didn’t know what to make of her, or what she could possibly do for him, but his instincts were already screaming to keep his guard up, to watch her carefully. There was always something more to these situations. Always a catch.
"Did they lose my file or something?" Bucky raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You don’t look old enough to be out of med school, let alone help me with… this." His words came out dripping with sarcasm, testing her right from the start.
Y/N didn’t look up immediately, taking her time as she finished writing something in her notebook. When she finally met his gaze, she adjusted her glasses slightly, then pointed to the couch with her eyes.
"I assure you, Sergeant Barnes, you’re in the right place," she said, her voice calm and even. "If you’d like to sit down, we can get started."
Bucky paused, the smirk still playing on his lips. He scanned the room, as if making sure he hadn’t walked into the wrong office, then sauntered toward the couch opposite her. He dropped down, stretching out his legs lazily, crossing his arms over his chest, still eyeing her with playful suspicion.
"Right place, huh? Are you sure about that?" He chuckled. "Didn’t realize they sent kids to do the hard jobs these days."
"Lucky for you, I’m not a kid. But if you’re hoping for someone older, I’m sure you can take it up with the front desk. Or we could just get started, your call."
Bucky’s smirk widened slightly, impressed by the way she shot back at him. He leaned back on the couch, arms crossed. "Alright then, since you’re apparently the expert. What’s the plan here? Gonna wave a magic wand, make all my problems go away?"
Y/N raised an eyebrow, meeting his sarcasm head-on. "No magic wand. Just work. But something tells me you’re not afraid of a little hard work, are you?"
That caught him off guard. He was used to deflecting with humor, but she wasn’t backing down. In fact, she seemed perfectly comfortable in this verbal sparring match.
"Hard work, huh?" He leaned forward slightly, his tone softening but still sarcastic. "And here I thought you were here to hand me a quick fix."
Y/N smiled ever so slightly, just enough to show she wasn’t intimidated. "I don’t do quick fixes. That’s for amateurs."
Bucky stared at her for a moment, genuinely impressed despite himself. He had expected someone more nervous, someone he could easily rattle. But this woman? She wasn’t having any of it.
"Alright, doc," he said, nodding slightly, acknowledging her stance. "You’ve got my attention. What’s next?"
Y/N adjusted her glasses, flipping a page in her notebook. "Next? We talk about your progress. Or, we can sit here in silence while you continue throwing sarcastic remarks at me. I’m good with either option."
"You think I’m just gonna spill my guts? It doesn’t work like that."
"I didn’t expect it to.”
"I’m fine with silence.”
Bucky muttered, his eyes flicking to the window as if contemplating an escape. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about himself. Especially not with someone like her—someone so young and… focused.
Leaning forward slightly, his playful look faded into something darker—a cold, calculating stare. His blue eyes locked onto hers, hard and unblinking, as he gave her the same menacing look that had unnerved countless soldiers and enemies. It was the stare that said he wasn’t someone to mess with.
Most people would have flinched by now, maybe glanced away or shown some kind of discomfort. But Y/N didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. She met his icy stare head-on, calm and unwavering.
Seconds ticked by then into minutes. Bucky’s gaze bore into hers, daring her to crack under the pressure. But she didn’t blink. Didn’t shift in her seat. She held his stare, unshaken.
As Bucky realized she wasn’t going to back down. He clenched his jaw tighter, leaning in even more, his menacing stare intensifying. And still—nothing. Y/N just stared back at him. After what felt like an eternity, Bucky scoffed, the sound low and begrudgingly amused. He leaned back into the couch, letting out a breath.
"Well, I’ll be damned," he muttered, clearly impressed. His smirk returned, but this time, it was less mocking and more intrigued. "You didn’t even blink."
"I’ve seen worse," she shrugged.
"Most people can’t handle the stare," he said, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice. Bucky stared at her for a moment longer, still processing that she hadn’t buckled under his intimidation.
"I’m not most people," Y/N replied, her gaze still locked on his.
"You’re not, huh?” Bucky let out another short scoff, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them gradually easing. Bucky leaned forward, rubbing his hands together as if contemplating his next move.
"Alright," he finally muttered, his voice quieter now, the edge of defiance softening. "Let’s get started."
× × × ×
Bucky walked down the street, hands deep in his pockets, his mind still stuck on the therapy session with Y/N. He couldn't shake the image of her holding her ground against his menacing stare. Most people crumbled under that.
He was impressed. Hell, maybe even a little thrown off by it.
He reached a small café, the door chimed as he walked in. He’d been coming here for weeks, liking how quiet it was. Bucky slid into a booth in the corner, the furthest one from the entrance, his usual spot. The place was small, quiet—barely anyone noticed him here. That was what he liked. No eyes following him. No whispers.
As he sat down, he glanced at the menu out of habit, though he already knew what he wanted. He tapped his fingers against the table, feeling the hum of anxiety still coursing through him. His thoughts wandered back to Y/N’s. Her refusal to let him dictate the session. It had been a long time since someone had stood their ground with him.
“Same as usual?” the waitress asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. Same.”
The door chimed again, and out of reflex, Bucky glanced up. His eyes landed on her—Y/N. But she was different now. She was dressed in a casual sweater and jeans, her hair down, and the serious, composed demeanor was nowhere to be found. She looked relaxed. For a moment, Bucky frowned. Was this the same woman from earlier?
She hadn’t noticed him yet, busy ordering her coffee at the counter. As she turned, their eyes met, and for a split second, surprise flickered in her gaze. Then she smiled.
It wasn’t a polite, professional smile like the one she had in the office—it was real, warm. Bucky had to admit, she was even more beautiful when she smiled like that. She made her way over to him, her expression soft and light, a stark contrast to how she’d been before.
“Sergeant Barnes,” she greeted with an amused smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Didn’t expect to see you either. You got a twin or something?” Bucky leaned back, trying to hide the fact that her smile had thrown him. He gave her a skeptical look, still trying to wrap his mind around the shift in her demeanor.
Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Nope. Just me.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You sure? Because you’re not exactly giving off the same ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe as you did earlier.”
“I save that for the office.” She laughed lightly, the sound catching him off guard again.
Bucky blinked, still half-convinced she had to be a different person. “You’re… different outside of work.”
Y/N smiled again, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice how that smile completely transformed her. The serious, no-nonsense therapist was gone.
“Therapist mode can be intense,” she said, settling into the seat across from him. “Gotta decompress too, you know.”
“Decompress, huh?” Bucky muttered, still eyeing her. “I wasn’t sure you even knew how to.”
“Oh, trust me, I do,” she said with a grin. “You think I’m a robot in the office?”
“Was starting to wonder. . .”
She laughed again, shaking her head as she took a sip of her coffee. “Nope. Just human.”
Bucky stared at her for a moment, taking in how much more approachable she seemed now. The difference between the Y/N sitting across from him now and the one who had held her ground in the office was stark. He hadn’t expected to see her like this—relaxed, smiling, laughing. It was almost disarming.
“You’re hard to figure out,” he said, still trying to process the shift.
She shrugged lightly. “That’s part of the job, isn’t it?”
They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the café filling the space. Bucky glanced at her again, her soft smile lingering in his mind. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing her like this, outside of the serious office atmosphere, made him feel… at ease.
Eventually, Y/N glanced at her watch. “I should get going. Got other plans.”
Bucky nodded. “Yeah, same.”
She stood, grabbing her cup. She paused for a moment, then gave him one last smile—a sweet one, the kind that lit up her whole face, making her seem even more different than the woman who had stared him down earlier.
“See you at the next session?” she asked.
Bucky chuckled, half-joking, "Hm, I don’t know."
Her smile didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened, her eyes holding him with a quiet confidence. "I will see you, Sergeant Barnes," she said, her voice more insistent this time, not leaving room for doubt.
Bucky raised an eyebrow, shaking his head slightly, "What’s the point of asking then?”
As she walked out of the café, Bucky leaned back in his seat, shaking his head with a small smile. She had completely thrown him. Her smile, her relaxed demeanor—it was all so different from what he’d expected. For a moment, he wondered if she really did have a twin. But then again, maybe she was just someone with more layers than he’d first realized.
And he found himself eager to know more.
× × × ×
Steve Rogers wasn’t sure how he had gotten talked into this. Well, actually, he knew exactly how—Sam Wilson had dragged him along to this party, claiming Steve needed to “loosen up” and enjoy life more. But standing in the middle of a loud, flashing room with music pounding in his ears, Steve wondered if he should have pushed harder to stay home.
"Come on, Cap," Sam had said with a mischievous grin as they walked through the entrance earlier. "You’ve been in retirement long enough. Time to see what the world’s been up to while you were busy saving it."
Steve stood near the bar now, trying to blend in, his eyes scanning the room. People were dancing wildly, laughing, and having fun in the swirling haze of strobe lights. It was a far cry from the kinds of parties he had attended back in the 1940s—those had been calm, slow, and filled with small talk and jazz music.
This? This was chaos.
Steve shifted uncomfortably. He had barely touched his drink when Sam elbowed him from the side, laughing. “You look like you’re plotting an escape route. Relax, Cap. Have fun.”
Before Steve could respond, Sam was swept into the crowd by some friends, leaving Steve standing alone by the bar. Even in the anonymity of the darkened room, Steve still attracted attention. His broad shoulders, strong jawline, and quietly confident presence drew glances from several women who were passing by. The strobe lights occasionally highlighted his features, and more than a few curious eyes lingered on him as he stood by the bar.
“Hey there,” she said, leaning in slightly, her voice loud to be heard over the music. “You look like you’re way too good-looking to be standing here alone.”
Steve smiled politely, keeping his distance. “Just here with some friends,” he said, not giving much away.
She stepped a little closer, her eyes lingering on him. “Well, maybe I could keep you company?”
Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Thanks, but I’m good. Just enjoying the night.”
She looked a little surprised but shrugged it off with a casual smile. “Your loss,” she said with a wink, before disappearing back into the crowd.
Steve let out a small breath, his shoulders relaxing as she left. He wasn’t here for that kind of attention, though it seemed inevitable. He glanced around, hoping to spot Sam or Bucky, but before he could move, another woman approached.
He was just about to step away from the bar when another woman, a petite brunette with a mischievous smile, appeared beside him.
“I’ve seen you reject at least ten girls in the last ten minutes,” she said, her voice teasing. “Either you’ve got impossibly high standards or you’re just too shy to admit you’re having fun.”
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Neither, really. Just here with some friends. Trying to keep a low profile.”
She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “A guy like you, keeping a low profile? Good luck with that.”
Steve smiled, nodding toward the crowd. “Seems like it’s working so far.”
The woman laughed, but before she could say more, the crowd surged again, and someone bumped into Steve, almost spilling his drink.
“Sorry about that,” a voice said, half-shouting over the music.
Steve turned and caught a glimpse of another woman, this one different from the others. She was barely recognizable in the strobe lights, her features blurred by the darkness, but something about the way she carried herself caught his attention. She didn’t linger too long on him, and didn't try too hard. Her smile was brief but real.
“No problem,” Steve replied, raising his voice to be heard over the music.
“Not your scene?” she asked, leaning a little closer to be heard.
“Not exactly,” Steve admitted, putting a finger in to cover one ear.
She laughed lightly, stepping closer, her eyes catching the light for a brief second. “Same. My friend dragged me here. I’m pretty sure she thinks I need to ‘loosen up’.”
“Guess we’re in the same boat,” Steve said, feeling a bit more at ease. She had a warmth in her voice, even amidst the chaos.
Before either of them could say more, a group of partygoers surged by, and one of them grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her toward the dance floor. She was caught off guard, stumbling a bit before turning back toward Steve, her hand still caught in the wave.
“Come on!” she shouted over the music, her face lit up with a playful grin.
“No—I don’t think—”
Steve hesitated. He wasn’t much of a dancer—especially not in a place like this—but before he could protest, Y/N grabbed his hand, tugging him into the crowd. The pulsing rhythm of the music pounded in his chest as they were swept into the moving mass of people. The lights flashed wildly, and before Steve knew it, he was dancing, caught up in the infectious energy of the room.
Y/N laughed as they moved, her hand still in his, and Steve found himself smiling despite the overwhelming atmosphere. The strobe lights flickered, casting everything in flashes of light and shadow, and for a moment, it was easy to forget who he was, to forget the weight he usually carried.
Steve didn’t have time to react before he found himself right behind her, the sea of people pushing them closer together. The music pounded through the room, the heavy bass vibrating under their feet. Steve felt her back press against his chest, her body swaying in time with the beat.
The lights flashed, casting her in and out of shadow, but Steve was caught in the moment. She moved to the music effortlessly, her hips swinging in rhythm, her back brushing against him with every movement. He felt the warmth of her body through his shirt, the closeness sparking something inside him he hadn’t expected.
The lyrics of the song echoed through the room: “I, I, I, I just want to watch you when you take it off, take off all your makeup, baby, take it off. . . I just wanna watch you when you take it off, take off all your clothes and watch you take them off.”
Y/N's body moved in perfect sync with the music, and Steve, despite his hesitation, found himself falling into the rhythm. Her hips pressed against him, swaying seductively in time with the beat. He hesitated for a moment before resting his hands lightly on her hips, unsure but drawn in by the intensity of the moment.
The crowd pushed them even closer together, and Steve’s grip on her hips tightened instinctively. She didn’t pull away; instead, she leaned into him, moving her body against his, teasing, playful, completely in tune with the energy of the music. Her head tilted slightly, her hair brushing against his neck, and Steve felt his pulse quicken.
She bit her lower lip, glancing back at him through the lights, a playful spark in her eyes. Steve’s breath caught, his hands sliding up slightly from her waist as their bodies continued to move together. The energy between them was electric, like nothing he’d ever felt before. The music drowned out everything but the pounding of his heart and the feel of her body so close to his.
Suddenly, the crowd pushed them even closer, and in the heat of the moment, Y/N turned her head slightly, her lips brushing against his cheek. It was a brief touch, but it sent a shock through him. His grip tightened on her hips, and before either of them could think, their movements slowed, the tension between them peaking.
“I just can't wait to see it all I'm so turned on”
Y/N turned her head fully, her lips finding his in a fast, unexpected kiss. His lips were unexpectedly soft. They parted-in surprise, she thought and then she slipped her tongue inside. It had been forever since she'd done this, never had she done this, but it came to her like breathing. It was electric, quick, but charged with the energy of the moment.
Steve’s world narrowed to just the two of them—the music, the lights, the crowd—all vanished as her lips met his. He stopped her, just for a moment, then flipped it, deepening the kiss with a flick of his tongue and a firm grip on her hip. Now it was him kissing her, her soft sigh filling the space between them. He responded with heat, his desire matching the unexpected pleasure he found in her.
The kiss only lasted a moment, but it left both of them breathless. Y/N pulled back, her eyes wide with surprise, like she hadn’t expected it either. They were still close, her breath mingling with his as they caught their bearings.
Before either of them could speak, Y/N's friends found her and pulled her with them unaware of Steve, and she was swept away, disappearing into the throng of dancers. Steve stood there, frozen for a second, his heart still racing from the kiss, his hands still tingling from where he’d touched her.
He blinked, trying to steady himself, but she was already gone, lost in the mass of people. The music still pounded around him, the lights still flashed, but all Steve could focus on was the ghost of her lips on his and the wild, unexpected energy of the night.
Steve shook his head, still trying to process what had just happened. The kiss, the way her body had fit so perfectly against his—it was all too new, too different. The way young people dance these days, he thought, he can’t believe he allowed himself to be dragged like that. It was nothing like what he was used to. He exhaled slowly, needing a moment to collect his thoughts. Pushing through the crowd, he scanned the room for Sam. He was going to get an earful for this.
Steve spotted Sam by the bar, laughing with a couple of friends, and beside him was Bucky, nursing a drink and quietly observing the room. Steve made his way over, still feeling the lingering heat of the moment and trying his best to shake it off.
Sam noticed him approaching and immediately grinned, raising his drink in greeting. “There he is! Our man of the hour!” Sam shouted over the music, his voice laced with amusement.
Bucky raised an eyebrow, his expression more reserved but no less curious.
“I don’t know about that,” Steve rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the slight flush still creeping up his neck.
Sam’s grin widened as he leaned in closer. “Come on, Cap, you’ve got that look on your face. What happened?”
Steve hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to tell them. But Sam already knew him too well, and Bucky… well, there was no escaping his sharp gaze either.
“Nothing,” Steve said with a shrug, hoping to play it off.
“Uh-huh,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes.
“Nothing, huh?” He took a sip of his drink, but the teasing gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. “Didn’t look like ‘nothing’ when I saw you on the dance floor with… what’s her name?”
Steve’s eyes widened slightly, “You saw that?”
Sam burst out laughing, slapping Steve on the shoulder. “Oh, I saw it. The whole room probably saw it! You were practically glued to her!”
Steve groaned, rubbing his forehead. “It wasn’t like that.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “Oh, really? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were having a little too much fun.”
Steve shot him a glare, but the way Sam wiggled his eyebrows made it impossible to stay serious.
Bucky, still quiet, finally smirked. “You’re not exactly blending into the background there, punk.”
“It just… happened, alright?” Steve admitted, his voice trailing off as he tried to explain. “We were dancing, and the crowd kept pushing us together. And then…”
“And then you kissed her!” Sam finished for him, laughing again. “Oh man, Cap, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I didn’t kiss her! She kissed me! It just happened—like in the heat of the moment.”
“Yeah, because ‘heat of the moment’ sounds nothing like you.” Bucky chuckled, finally downing his alcohol.
Steve shot him a look, “Who's side are you on?”
“The ‘heat of the moment’? You mean to tell me you got caught up in the lights and music and had your little dance-floor moment? That’s priceless!” Sam was practically doubled over with laughter now.
“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t even know her.” Steve couldn’t help but crack a smile despite the teasing.
Sam straightened up, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Doesn’t matter, man. That’s what makes it even better! You don’t know her, and you still ended up in some steamy dance-floor kiss? That’s wild for you.”
Steve groaned again, but the smile tugging at his lips was undeniable.
“Well, I’ll say this,” Sam said, leaning in closer with a sly grin. “You’re full of surprises, Cap. I thought you’d be sitting in a corner all night, but instead, you’re out here stealing kisses in the middle of a crowd.”
“Okay, fine. It was… unexpected. But I wasn’t exactly complaining.”
Sam raised both eyebrows in mock surprise. “Unexpected, huh? Is that what we’re calling it when you’re practically glued to someone in the middle of a party? I mean, the way you two were moving—if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were auditioning for a music video.”
Steve sighed, but a part of him couldn’t help but feel amused at the whole situation. He never expected to get caught up in something like that.
“I didn’t even get her name,” he said, almost to himself.
Bucky tilted his head. “Classic.”
Sam’s grin softened into a knowing smile. “Well, maybe that’s the universe telling you it’s time to loosen up a little. Enjoy the ride.”
Steve smirked, shaking his head. “Maybe.”
Sam clapped him on the back again. “Look, Cap, you’ve spent your whole life saving the world. You deserve to have moments like that. Maybe even more than most people.”
Steve couldn’t argue with that. The memory of her lips on his, the way their bodies had moved together—it wasn’t something he was likely to forget anytime soon.
Sam raised his glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to Captain America, finally letting loose.”
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” Steve chuckled and clinked his glass against Sam and Bucky's.
“You’re doing just fine, Cap,” Sam said with a wink. “Just fine.”
+ + + +
Y/N’s heels clicked against the smooth marble floors of the mansion’s foyer as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The security system beeped, and she casually entered the code, the familiar beep fading into silence. The house was large, quiet, and pristine—almost too quiet after the chaos of the party.
She kicked off her heels, phone pressed to her ear as she continued her animated conversation with her best friend.
“I’m telling you, it was insane,” Y/N laughed, still buzzing from the energy of the night. “I don’t even know how I ended up on the dance floor, but there I was, dancing like I had no care in the world. And, oh my god, there was this guy...”
She paused, biting her lip at the memory of the mysterious man she’d danced with. The lights had made it impossible to see him clearly, but the way he moved, how his hands had felt on her hips—it sent a thrill through her just thinking about it.
“I didn’t catch his name,” she continued, flopping onto the plush couch in the living room. “But we were so close, and when we kissed... girl, I don’t even know what came over me.”
Her friend gasped on the other end of the line, clearly invested in every word. “Wait, you kissed him? Who are you right now?”
“I don’t know!” Y/N laughed again—almost squealing, “It was one of those wild party moments, you know? The music was loud, people were everywhere, and then—boom—his lips were on mine.”
“Omg, didn’t you get his number?”
“No.” She frowned then she smiled to herself, enjoying the carefree thrill of the memory. “Honestly, I thought I’d regret it, but no. Imagine that? My dad would kill me.”
As she continued recounting the night, a slight rustling from the other side of the room made her pause. Y/N looked up, her heart skipping a beat as she realized she wasn’t alone. In the doorway stood Thaddeus Ross, her father, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.
He cleared his throat loudly, the sound cutting through the excited chatter still flowing from her phone. Y/N froze for a moment, her eyes widening as she realized she’d been caught mid-party recap in her usually reserved father’s presence.
Her friend’s voice buzzed in her ear, still going on about the party, but Y/N quickly pulled the phone away, muttering, “I’ll call you back,” before hanging up. The excitement drained from her face, replaced by a nervous smile.
“Dad,” Y/N greeted, forcing a casual smile. “Didn’t know you’d be home.”
“Apparently, you didn’t. Sounded like quite the party.” Thaddeus Ross narrowed his eyes slightly, stepping further into the room.
Y/N stood, suddenly aware of how much she’d let herself unwind. She straightened her clothes and tried to appear nonchalant. “It was just a party with some friends. No big deal.”
Thaddeus arched an eyebrow. “Friends?”
“Yeah, friends. You know, just... normal people.” Y/N shrugged, trying to downplay the whole thing.
Thaddeus studied her for a moment, his eyes sharp, as if trying to piece together the details she hadn’t given him.
“I see,” he finally said, his tone unreadable. “It sounded a bit more... involved than your usual nights out.”
Y/N swallowed, brushing off the heat rising in her cheeks. “It was just for fun, Dad. Nothing to worry about.”
He didn’t respond immediately, just gave her a long, assessing look.
“You know how important it is to keep certain parts of your life secure, Y/N,” he said in that familiar, commanding tone of his. “People might take advantage if they know too much about who you really are.”
Y/N gave him a playful smile, trying to brush off his seriousness. “Dad, I’m 24. I should be out there kissing strangers at parties by now, right?”
Thaddeus didn’t smile. He simply sighed, crossing his arms tighter over his chest.
“I wasn’t wearing a neon sign that said ‘Mr. President’s Daughter’ on it. It was just a party. I’m allowed to have fun.” Y/N rolled her eyes, her tone still light but more pointed now.
Thaddeus didn’t seem to be swayed by her attempt to joke. “Having fun is one thing, but keeping yourself safe is another. You may think these parties are harmless, but they aren’t always what they seem.”
“Dad, relax. I know how to keep myself out of trouble. I mean, come on, I live here, don’t I? No one’s getting past your fortress.” Y/N sighed, but her smile remained.
Thaddeus gave her a long, measured look, as if deciding how much more to say. Finally, he relented just slightly, his voice softening. “It’s not just about the security, Y/N. It’s about the people you surround yourself with.”
Y/N softened her tone too, standing up to face him. “I get it, Dad. I know you’re just looking out for me, but I’m not going to live in fear. I can take care of myself.”
Thaddeus didn’t reply right away, his eyes flicking to the security system panel before returning to her. “Just... be careful. Not everyone you meet at those parties will have good intentions.”
“I know, Dad. I promise I’ll be careful.” Y/N nodded, her earlier playfulness giving way to a more serious understanding.
Thaddeus gave a short nod, clearly not fully convinced but unwilling to push the conversation any further tonight. “Good. Just remember what I said.”
He turned and left the room, leaving Y/N standing there with the lingering weight of his words. As the tension dissolved, she let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “I’m 24,” she muttered to herself, smiling at the absurdity of the situation.
“I heard that!” Thaddeus yelled from another area of the house.
“You were supposed to!”
Despite everything, the memory of the night—the music, the dancing, the kiss—still played in her mind, and she couldn’t help but smile.
Next Chapter
#bucky barnes x y/n#steve rogers x y/n#bucky barnes x you#steve rogers x you#bucky barnes x female reader#steve rogers x female reader#bucky barnes x reader#steve rogers x reader#stucky x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#steve rogers fanfiction#bucky barnes imagines#steve rogers imagines#stucky x y/n#stucky x you#chris evans x you#sebastian stan x you#chris evans fanfiction#sebastian stan fanfiction#the winter soldier#the winter soldier x you#the winter soldier x reader#captain america x you#captain america fanfiction#captain america imagines#winter solider x y/n#winter soldier x you#winter soldier x reader#captain america x reader
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The fact that radfems spread this post around is actually really interesting--infuriating, but interesting. Because what they've really done here is tell on themselves.
This is the shrimp guy story:
From an anonymous green text called "shrimp saved my life" [emphasis mine]:
>be depressed, suicidal xanax- addicted incel >one day I go to my /aq/fag uncle's house for some shit >he has pet shrimp, never seen anything like it before >he offers to get me some 53 KB JPG >throw them in a barely cycled tank with some shitty rock >several shrimp die >realize that I killed them with my apathy >realize I need to take responsibility for once in my life >do research, learn about water parameters and so on >eventually I have a beautiful planted tank with no more deaths >notice a female shrimp carrying eggs >haven't felt this excited about anything in almost a decade >the eggs disappear and I once again think I fucked up >a few days later I see a tiny transparent baby shrimp >l suddenly know how the shepherds felt as they gazed upon the newborn Christ >by this point I live and breathe shrimp >all my spare time is spent on shrimp research and watching shrimp videos >l spend most of the money I had saved from my last job on shrimp products >quit the Xanax to support shrimp spending >start putting effort into college in hope of getting a good job for my shrimp >grades improve, no longer facing the prospect of dropping out >relationship with parents improves since I am finally passionate about something and applying myself >l see genuine happiness in their eyes when I talk excitedly about my shrimp >for my birthday my mom makes me a shrimp cake >it even has fondant legs and little chocolate eggs >cry like a little bitch when I see it >mom hugs me and tells me she's always been proud of me >college dorm neighbours demand to see my shrimp >shit they're gonna think I'm autistic >they actually think my shrimp are really cool >they start inviting me to their social events >start interacting with girls, get told by girls for the first time in my life that I'm fun and smart >l think my shrimp would be proud of me if they knew >We're gonna make it bros. Even if you can't do it for yourself, do it for the animals that depend on you.
He did address his relationship with women. By finding a hobby and passion and working on himself--"touching grass"--he stepped away from the echo chamber that filled him with all this rage and convinced him women were to blame for all of his problems. As someone once wisely observed, "the cure is going offline and realizing it's just. really not that big a deal."
And that is what radfems have not done, so of course they didn't spot the quiet flashpoint of shrimp guy's personal development within his story.
Edit: it's been brought to my attention that the version of the greentext post I lifted the text from was censored by someone else. My bad for not realizing that, tbh it was done so well I thought shrimp guy had done it himself, but that's an important part of the post. I've gone back through and un-censored it. The reply which was spread around with the original post addressed the words themselves well, I think; however distasteful and fucked up the incel rabbit hole is, it doesn't diminish his growth.
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I have a very smutty request 🫣
Noah X Reader - they're best friends who tell each other everything. One night they're talking and she mentions whenever a guy gives her oral she can't finish. She doesn't know if the problem is her or the guys she's been with. Noah being a huge munch and helpful friend is like "let's find out" 😏
Oohhhh goodness me...... okay, here we go....
Let's Find Out
Tag list: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lacy1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @missduffsblog @bngurngheart @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @dizzylmwahh @Youlookforultraviolet @kenjipepsi1 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @blackveilomens @chey-h
"Come on, y/n, you can tell me. We always tell each other everything." "No, you always tell me everything because you have no filter, Noah. I don't always tell you everything."
Noah sat next to you on the couch in your apartment, thinking and realizing after a moment how right you actually were.
"Ok, well, that's besides the point. Whatever it is, has got you all riled up. So, what is it?"
You were about to tell Noah, feeling bold enough to, but when you went to open your mouth, you couldn't, instead hiding your face in a pillow.
"I'm afraid to. I'm scared of what you'll think."
Noah was silent. Slowly, you pulled your face away from the pillow to look at him. He was staring at you with an amused look on his face.
"What?"
Noah scooted closer, turning his body to face you.
"It has something to do with sex, doesn't it?"
"Oh my god, Noah," you squealed, throwing the pillow at him.
Noah's laughter filled the room.
"It does! I knew it."
You folded your arms over your chest, pouting, while Noah gloated.
"Oh, come on, y/n lighten up. It's not like we're kids. We're grown adults."
Noah rubbed your arm, running a finger down your cheek, but instantly noticing your sadness.
"Hey, what is it? Come on, tell me. I don't like seeing you upset."
One look at Noah and those sweet, sympathetic eyes of his convinced you.
"Okay, fine, but promise me, please, that you won't think differently of me when I tell you."
Noah grinned but silently nodded.
Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes for a minute to process where to start.
"Okay, so you've had sex before, and so have I. Have you ever, you know," you trailed off to stare at your fingers.
"Have I ever what?" Noah asked, confused.
You ran your hands down your face, frustrated.
"Fuck it. Have you ever made a girl cum just from going down on her?"
You could feel the heat wash over your cheeks, as you watched Noah's eyes widen in surprise.
"Wow! That is not at all where I saw this conversation going," he chuckled, running a hand through his hair.
"See, I knew it! I shouldn't have said anything." You jumped up off the couch, ready to run and hide from the embarrassment.
"No, no, no, wait," Noah jumped up after you, grabbing you by the arm.
"It's not like that. That's not what I meant."
You refused to look up at him because of your embarrassment.
"I just meant that, well sex has never been a topic of conversation for us. I never thought you'd be coming to me for advice. That's all."
You raised your eyes, meeting Noah's. They were soft and full of sweetness, promising he was trying to be gentle with you.
"But yes," he answered quietly. "I have made a girl cum just by going down on her."
The air around you two suddenly shifted, the dynamic going from calm and collective to hot and a little nerve-wracking. You cleared your throat, swallowing hard when Noah moved closer to you in a way that he'd never had before.
"And I love it. I'm gonna be honest with you because you're my best friend, y/n.”
You looked up at him finally, noticing how dark his eyes had suddenly gotten.
"Honest? About what?"
Noah smiled gently.
"I love eating a girl out."
It was your turn for your eyes to widen now.
"That was a little too much information, Noah," you huffed a light laugh.
"You asked."
"Yes, I did. Anyway," you continued, taking a step back to create some space between the two of you.
The dampness between your thighs and the tight clenching of your sex made your heart start to race. Your panties were soaked, something that had never happened around Noah before. But because of the topic of conversation and the way he was looking at you, something between the two of you had quickly changed.
Noah was hot as fuck and everything about him drove you crazy, sexually. But he was your best friend and you were his. There was no way he felt the same about you.
"Okay, so, anyway, was it difficult for you? Getting her to cum?"
Your voice was shaky, giving away just how nervous you were to be having this conversation with Noah.
"No, it wasn't. When you know what you're doing, it's quite easy, actually. You just have to find that right spot on her pussy, right between her clit and her entrance; rub that while using a mix of your tongue and finger, and bam, you have her."
Noah smirked, arching a sly brow and watching the way you responded to his words. Your body was tense, and your palms were sweating. What the fuck was happening to you. It was just Noah.
"Why are you asking me this, y/n?" Noah narrowed his eyes.
"I um, I," you were nervous as fuck. Noah had somehow gotten under your skin with his teaching and all you could think about was his tongue and long, tattooed finger doing the same thing to you.
"I've never finished when a guy has gone down on me, and I, shit... I don't know if it's me or them."
You let out a long breath.
"Wait, what? Are you being serious?"
You nodded.
Noah's face went deadpanned, blinking a few times.
"Soooo, you've had sex before, just the clown you slept with never made sure you finished before him?"
You nodded again, unable to look Noah in the eyes.
"Fuck, y/n. That's heavy. How is that even possible?"
You shrugged.
"It has to be a them issue, not you."
You raised your head, checking to see if Noah was joking. But he wasn't smiling; he was serious.
"Why? What makes you think it's their fault and not mine. What if I'm the problem?"
"Wow, okay," Noah said, taking you by the shoulders. "You are definitely not the problem, y/n, trust me. It is a hell of a lot harder for a girl to have an orgasm than it is for a guy, oka? Plus, you're beautiful. Any guy that’s with you should want to make you happy first.”
You were so consumed with embarrassment that you didn't notice how close Noah was. He was only a few inches away from where you could smell his cologne mixed with the warmth of his body heat. You sucked in a breath as he cupped your face, bringing you closer together.
"How can you be so sure, Noah?" Your voice barely above a whisper. "Unless you're willing to test that theory, I've got nothing else to base your claims on."
Noah's lips were just a few inches from yours.
"Then let's find out."
"What?"
"Let me test my theory. Let me go down on you. I know I can make you cum."
You felt the light brush of his lips against yours as you took slow shallow breaths.
"Noah, I can't. If we do that,"
"Then we can't go back to how things are the way they are between us right now?"
"Exactly," you told him.
"Good, cause I don't want them to. I want more," he confesses. “I want more of us, not just as friends, but together.
A small smile spread over your face. “Me too.”
"Then let’s find out. Let me make you cum the way you deserve to."
Your best friend, the one who had been there for you through two break-ups and the death of your cat, gently laid his lips on yours. At first, it shocked you, knocking you back a little from the sheer force of his greediness, but the moment Noah pulled away, leaning back to look at you, you knew that you didn't want to be "just friends with him anymore".
"Okay."
A lopsided grin swept quickly over Noah's mouth before he carefully led you back over to the couch.
"Sit," he ordered, and you did, looking up at him.
You didn't know what to do with your hands or how you should keep your legs. The once neutral feelings and normalcy were no longer between you and him, replaced only by fear of what to expect running through your nervous system.
Noah removed his shirt before dropping to his knees. Yeah, you've seen him shirtless before, but the circumstances were completely different. This time, it was because he wanted to fuck you, not because he was hot.
"First, you need to relax, okay? You won't be able to reach your climax if you're anxious and tense, okay?"
You nodded.
Noah leaned over and kissed you again, making your insides flutter. As he looked down, you watched his eyes trail over your lower body, slightly licking his lips.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this y/n."
Your forehead puckered.
"Really?"
"Hmm, really," Noah confessed, giving you a confident smile.
His fingers found the waistband of your leggings, and he slowly slipped them under."
"Can I?"
His respect for you made you grin.
" Yeah, you can," laughing lightly.
Like a kid on his birthday, Noah slipped your leggings down as you raised your bottom so he could slide them all the way off. He stared at your middle, eyes darting everywhere.
"Secondly, one way to stimulate yourself is to watch."
"Watch," you lightly croaked, swallowing and licking your dry lips.
"Uh-huh, watch. Watch as I eat you out," Noah confidently smiled at you.
"Watch as Ienjoy the taste of you, how I dive between your folds and licks every part of you. Watch as I slide a finger or two up inside you, trying to tear down your inner walls."
Pulling you closer to the edge of the couch, Noah ran his hands slowly up your thighs, leaning down to kiss them. The feeling made you gasp, and you felt his warm breath spill over your skin from his chuckle.
"Has anyone kissed your thighs before?"
"No."
"Shame on them. Such pretty thighs. I'm glad I'm the first, though."
His touch aroused every feeling for him you had suppressed all this time. Your skin prickled, sending shockwaves of a tingling sensation straight to your pussy. You were so wet, the dampness in your underwear proof of how much Noah was turning you on.
Parting your thighs, Noah sunk down and ran his tongue over the skin of your inner thigh. Your body twitched, hands digging into the couch cushion.
"Mmm, your skin is so soft and warm, baby," he praised.
Looking up at you, Noah paused.
"You good?"
You nodded, but really, you weren't. You were wound up so tight, your pussy so stimulated, that you were on the brink of tears.
"Tell me if you're not, promise?"
"Promise." Your jaw was clenched out of pure desperation to feel Noah go further.
Hooking his fingers around your panties, Noah looked up once more and your eyes locked as he slid your panties off. You quickly closed your legs so he couldn't see.
"Relax," Noah said gently, kissing your knees. "We can stop if you want to."
"No, don't stop. I just, it's just weird to know that after all of this time together as friends, we're actually doing this."
" Y/N, we're still going to be friends. Just with benefits and more."
You nodded, relaxing your legs.
Noah parted them, sighing a low "fuck" as his eyes beheld your treasure.
Your pussy was thriving. It was the perfect shade of pink, glistening with your pre-cum that Noah could wait to taste.
"Oh god," he groaned, pulling you all the way to the edge of the couch.
"Thirdly, you have to help me make you cum too."
"How?"
Noah couldn't take his eyes off your pussy. If you didn't know any better, you'd swear he was drooling. You cupped his face, lifting it so you could look at him.
"How do I help you, Noah?"
"Your hands," he stammered, "use them. And your thighs. Please, fucking use your thighs to hold me against you when you do cum."
You were so fucking turned on you didn't even think of how wrong this all was, what Noah was about to do. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered, not even the others who had failed in fully fulfilling you. You knew Noah would.
His fingers lightly touched you, like the feeling of a feather. You sucked in a breath, holding it as you kept your eyes on what he was doing. Taking his thumb, Noah found the spot right around your clit area and applied the right amount of pressure, slowly creating circles causing your entire body to ignite.
"Right there?"
"Mmmhmm, yeah, right there," I gasped.
The tip of his tongue protruded through his lips as Noah gently worked your clit, but pulled away after a few seconds. He trailed his fingers through your folds, smearing your wetness, that he caused, all over you, before easing one finger, knuckle deep, inside your entrance. You rutted against him a little, pulling a nice little chuckle from him.
"Noah," you gasped, throwing your head back from the stimulation he was showing your sex.
"Oh fuck yeah, y/n, it was defiantly a them problem. Look at you baby, look how fucking wet you are for me."
Noah pulled his finger out and showed you how wet his finger was. It glistened with your juice. Noah slipped the finger in his mouth, making you whimper.
"God, you taste so sweet." He looked at you, watching him lick you off his finger, lighting the fire deep in your abdomen.
"You like watching me, don't you? It gives you those right kinds of feelings right here, doesn't it?" Noah slipped not one but two fingers inside you, causing you to sit up. The new angle allowed him to go further in you.
"Fuck, Noah," your cry turning into a moan.
"Oh god yeah, there's your spot."
"Noah," you whine, your fingernails digging into his bare shoulders.
"Yeah baby?"
"Make me cum for you," you pleaded, watching the look of pure lust rush over his dark eyes.
Noah lifted your legs, causing you to lean back on the heels of your hands, throwing each one on his shoulders and spreading you open like his favorite book. He locked his arms around them, which allowed his fingers to work the top part of your pussy while his mouth took care of the bottom.
Without a word, he pulled your folds back and ran his tongue up your slit then back down groaning in praise as he did. The penetrating feeling of your best friend's mouth on you was a feeling you never, ever thought you wanted let alone needed.
"Oh, Noah," letting out a long, low moan as you watched his head move between your legs that were already trembling as every muscle in your body tightened.
"Jesus, baby you taste so fucking good. Fuck! So sweet and juicy" he cursed, diving back into you. His tongue entered you, probing your entrance over and over and lapping up your juices mixed with his spit, swallowing all of it.
"Fuck Noah, oh shit, don't stop, please," you whined grinding yourself against his mouth.
"That's it, baby girl, just like that. Work your sweet cunt on my tongue."
You brought one of your hands to his head, running it through his long hair, sighing at the feeling of it slipping through your fingers. Noah moaned against your pussy. The feeling he was putting you through was insatiable, completely indescribable. You couldn't speak anymore, just moan and whine the more he bit and sucked or licked and probed. Gripping his hair and tugging on it, you gasped, panting at the unfamiliar feeling coursing through you.
"You're so close, baby I can feel it, here," Noah rasped, laying his hand on your abdomen. "You're really tight."
"I know I am, I can feel it. Noah, please don't fucking stop," you begged him through a needy whine.
Noah's eyes stared at you darkly. He was loving the way he had you like puddy, in the palm of his hand. "Don't take your eyes off me."
"Okay," you whimpered.
Noah dived back into you, working your pussy thoroughly in and out. Your thighs shook as his tongue alternated between thrusting into you opening and messaging you clit, adding two fingers to the desperate need that kept building and building.
"Oh god Noah," you whined, panting desperately. "Oh god, don't stop. Fuck, baby, I'm almost there," you cried, gripping his hair and tightening you thighs around his face like he wanted
He ate you faster, fucked you harder, until your climax hit you hard, crashing into you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name, moaning as your inner walls clamped down on his fingers and he licked and sucked your bud. Without any shame, you rode his face, giving in to the sinful pleasure of the way his tongue forced you orgasm to spiral on.
"Fuck me, Noah," you exhaled breathlessly, when he pulled away.
"Can I?"
Your eyes widened, but you knew you wanted him to.
"Yes."
Noah stood up, pulling his joggers and boxers completely off and revealing his prized secret. Even though you were still dizzy and mind fucked from you first orgasm ever, you were still able to appreciate the size and length of Noah's dick. It was prettier than you imagined.
Without a word, Noah pulled you up and spun you around forcing you to bend over. Bracing yourself against the back of the couch, you felt the now familiar feeling of your arousal building up again.
"I know this isn't romantic, fucking you like this for the first time, but every time I've gotten myself off just from thinking about you, it's always been from me fucking you from behind. Are you okay with this."
You nodded quickly, looking over your shoulder.
"Yes, please, just fuck me, Noah."
And on that note, Noah grabbed your hips and slammed his cock up inside you, making you scream a string of choice words. He fucked you hard and fast, the only sound being your moans and skin slapping against skin.
"Fuck! You cunt it so fucking tight around my cock, y/n," he growled. "I wanna fuck you like this every day. Goddamn it!" It only took Noah a few more hard thrusts before the tension snapped in him and he managed to shove your shirt up before pulling out and coming all over your lower back.
"Holy fuck!"
Noah leaned over to you, completely out of breath. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulled you up and into his chest soaked with sweat. Together, you collapsed on the couch, tangling yourselves up in each other.
"I really need to shower," Noah said.
"Me too. I'm a little sticky."
Noah looked at you raising his eyebrows, that same gleam in his eyes from before.
"Round 2?"
"In the shower?"
Noah pulled you up.
"Absolutely. Shower sex is my favorite."
He shot you a cocky wink, grinning like the devil before lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder.
#noah sebastian#noah sebastian fanfic#noah sebastian fan fiction#bad omens band#bad omens cult#bad omens
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Buona Fortuna
pairing: Mercedes F1 Team! Kimi Antonelli x F1 Academy Driver! Reader
word count: 5500
trying out some new stuff, but chat i fear i cooked a little too hard. also if you like this tell me (i might make more parts to it), and sorry for the sudden change i just wanted it to be all in one part instead of two.
The Mercedes F1 hospitality area was nearly empty at 11 PM, save for two figures huddled at a corner table. Kimi Antonelli, still in his team polo despite the late hour, sat across from Y/N, who was surrounded by engineering textbooks and a laptop displaying race telemetry data.
"You know," Kimi said, sliding a fresh cup of coffee toward her, "most people would think I'm crazy for spending my free evening watching someone study thermodynamics."
Y/N looked up from her calculations, offering a tired but genuine smile. "Most people would think I'm crazy for studying thermodynamics between F1 Academy practice sessions."
"That's why you're you," he replied with a soft smile, a familiar warmth of admiration in his voice.
Their friendship had always been like this – comfortable silences, shared understanding, and mutual support that went beyond their racing careers. It started back in their Prema days when they were both trying to navigate the delicate balance between racing and high school.
While Kimi had treated academics as a necessary obligation, Y/N approached it with the same passion she showed on track. He remembered watching her in awe as she'd switch seamlessly between analyzing racing lines and solving calculus problems during their breaks.
"How do you not get burned out?" he'd asked her once during their Prema days.
"Because I love both," she'd answered simply. "The racing helps me understand the physics, and the physics helps me understand the racing. They're not separate things in my mind."
That response had stuck with him, reshaping his own approach to racing. While he might not share her enthusiasm for academic pursuits, her words had taught him that true excellence came from understanding every aspect of what you do.
Now, a couple of years later, he found himself gravitating toward her study sessions whenever their racing schedules aligned. Sometimes he'd ask questions about the engineering concepts she was learning, genuinely curious about how they applied to their cars. Other times, like tonight, he'd simply keep her company, finding inspiration in her unwavering focus.
"Remember when you posted that congratulations message when we graduated?" Y/N asked suddenly, looking up from her textbook.
Kimi grinned. "How could I forget? 'Proudest teammate award goes to @KimiAntonelli,'" he quoted the replies that had flooded in. "I meant every word of it, you know. Still do."
"You always have been supportive," she laughed, but her eyes showed deep appreciation.
"You know, I joke about you being a nerd all the time, but..." he paused, gathering his thoughts. "Watching you excel in both worlds, it made me realize I wasn't pushing myself hard enough in some areas. When I'm tired after a long day of practice and all I want to do is sleep, I think about you studying after equally long days. It makes me want to be better, to understand more, to push harder."
Y/N set down her pencil, touched by his honesty. "Kimi..."
"I mean it," he continued. "Everyone in F1 asks me about my rapid rise through the ranks, but they don't see what I see. They don't see my friend who's working twice as hard, not just winning races but understanding the very science that makes these cars work."
A comfortable silence fell between them as Y/N returned to her studies and Kimi started reviewing his own race data on his tablet. This had become their routine whenever their race weekends coincided – her studying, him working, occasionally breaking the silence to share thoughts or ask questions.
"Another win for Y/N L/N!" the commentator announced as she crossed the finish line. "The F1 Academy sensation continues to dominate while pursuing her mechanical engineering degree..."
After Y/N won her F1 Academy race, Kimi was the first to reach her in parc fermé. As they hugged in celebration, he whispered, "You always make it look so easy."
She laughed against his shoulder. "Nothing about this is easy."
"That's what makes it impressive," he replied, pulling back to look at her. "And don't worry – I saved you a spot in the hospitality area. You've got that fluid dynamics test to study for, right?"
"You're not sick of being my study buddy yet?"
Kimi's expression softened. "Never. Besides," he added with a playful grin, "how else am I going to learn why my car does what it does? My engineers would be proud of how much engineering I've absorbed just from listening to you study."
That evening, as they settled into their usual spot, Kimi watched Y/N dive straight into her studies despite the exhaustion of race day. Her dedication wasn't just about achieving good grades or winning races – it was about pursuing excellence in everything she did. And while he might joke about her being his inspiration, the truth was far deeper than any joke could convey.
Because in Y/N, Kimi saw what true passion looked like. It wasn't just about being fast on track or smart in class – it was about the relentless pursuit of understanding, the dedication to growth, and the courage to chase multiple dreams at once. Her drive pushed him to be better, to learn more, to dig deeper into his own craft.
"Hey," he said suddenly, making her look up from her books. "I know I tease a lot, but you really are an inspiration. Not just to me, I know so many others out there that really look up to you."
Y/N's face softened into a smile. "And you're the best study buddy a racing driver could ask for."
"Even though I still don't understand half of what you're studying?"
"Especially because of that," she laughed. "Your confused face keeps me entertained during the boring parts."
As they settled back into their comfortable routine – Y/N with her studies, Kimi with his race notes – he couldn't help but smile. Some might find it strange that a Formula 1 driver chose to spend his free time watching his friend study engineering, but to Kimi, these quiet moments were as valuable as any time spent on track.
Because it was in these moments that he was reminded of what real dedication looked like, what true passion meant, and how the pursuit of excellence in one area could inspire growth in another. Y/N might joke about him being her study buddy, but in truth, she was teaching him something far more valuable than engineering principles – she was showing him what it meant to never stop pushing, learning, and growing.
And that, more than any podium or pole position, was why his admiration for her only grew stronger with each passing day.
The Mercedes garage buzzed with pre-qualifying preparations, but Kimi's eyes were fixed on his phone screen, watching Y/N's F1 Academy race. He was supposed to be reviewing track data, but he couldn't help himself – her racing style had always captivated him.
"Antonelli!" Ollie Bearman's voice cut through his concentration as his friend poked his head into the Mercedes garage, Haas race suit tied around his waist. "Let me guess – watching Y/N's race?"
Kimi didn't even bother hiding his phone. "She's in P2, fighting for the lead."
"When are you going to admit you're in love with her?" Ollie teased, settling beside him to watch.
"I'm not—" Kimi started to protest, but his words were cut short as Y/N executed a perfect overtake into Turn 1. His involuntary smile said more than any denial could.
"Sure, sure," Ollie laughed. "You've only been like this since our Prema days. 'Y/N's so dedicated,'" he mimicked. "'She's so inspiring. Did you know she got another perfect score?'"
Kimi felt his cheeks warm. "She's my friend."
"A friend you can't take your eyes off of," Ollie pointed out. "A friend whose races you watch while you should be prepping for quali. A friend who—"
"She's through! She's won!" Kimi interrupted, jumping slightly in his seat as Y/N crossed the finish line. Without thinking, he immediately opened his messages.
Kimi: Incredible drive! That move into T1 was pure class. Good luck with studying later - FaceTime after quali? Need to hear all about that overtake 👊
Her reply came quickly:
Y/N: Thanks Kimi! 🏆 Those racing lines finally making sense 😂 Absolutely yes to FaceTime - I'll be watching your quali! Show them how it's done ❤️
The heart emoji made his own heart skip a beat, though he tried to ignore it. His phone buzzed again:
Ollie: I saw that smile when she texted back. You're not fooling anyone 😏
Kimi rolled his eyes, but couldn't completely suppress his grin. His race engineer called him for the final quali briefing, and he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Yet as he slipped into his race suit, he found himself thinking about how Y/N would be watching.
The qualifying session was intense, but knowing Y/N was watching somehow made him push even harder. As he crossed the line to secure P3 in Q3, he could almost hear her cheering.
The moment he parked in parc fermé, he was pulling out his phone, FaceTiming Y/N while walking to his media obligations.
Her face appeared on screen, beaming with pride. "P3! Kimi, that last sector was incredible!"
"Not as incredible as your overtake earlier," he replied, unable to stop smiling. She was sitting at her desk, engineering textbooks already spread out around her, hair still damp from her own podium celebration.
"Are you seriously doing this interview while FaceTiming?" she laughed as he positioned himself for the post-quali interviews.
"You're more important," he said without thinking, then quickly added, "Besides, you can help me with the technical questions about car balance."
A Sky Sports reporter approached, amused to find him on FaceTime. "Kimi, fantastic qualifying! Who are you talking to?"
"Y/N L/N," he answered proudly, turning his phone to show her. "She just won her F1 Academy race today."
"Kimi!" Y/N protested, embarrassed by the attention, but he could see her trying not to smile.
The reporter, well aware of their friendship, played along. "Any advice for him, Y/N?"
"Remember what I taught you about apex speeds," she teased. "It's just like solving differential equations – all about finding the optimal solution."
Kimi laughed, his expression softening in a way that made Ollie, watching from nearby, shaking his head knowingly. "Always the engineer, even on race day."
As he moved through his media obligations, he kept Y/N on the call, their easy banter and shared joy making the tedious process enjoyable. She occasionally chimed in with technical insights that actually impressed the journalists, making Kimi's chest swell with pride.
"You should be studying," he finally said, once he was heading back to the team motorhome.
"I am studying," she protested, holding up her thermodynamics textbook. "I'm just also watching my favorite Mercedes driver crush it in quali."
"I'm the only Mercedes driver you know personally," he pointed out.
"Still my favorite," she winked, and Kimi felt that familiar warmth spread through his chest.
Maybe Ollie was right. Maybe these feelings went beyond admiration and friendship. Maybe the way his day felt brighter when she smiled, the way he looked forward to their study sessions, the way he felt proud of her achievements as if they were his own – maybe it all meant something more.
But for now, he was content to walk through the paddock, phone in hand, listening to Y/N explain her winning overtake while flipping through engineering notes. In that moment, with hundreds of miles between them but their connection as strong as ever, Kimi realized that some feelings didn't need to be admitted out loud to be real.
"Hey," Y/N's voice softened. "You went quiet. What are you thinking about?"
Kimi smiled, watching her juggle her textbook while trying to maintain eye contact through the camera. "Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you in my corner, even when we're racing so far apart."
Her expression melted into something tender that made his heart race faster than any qualifying lap. "Always, Kimi. We're a team, remember? Even when we're not teammates anymore."
And if Ollie happened to catch him later that night, still on FaceTime with Y/N as she studied and he reviewed race data, both of them fighting sleep just to stay connected a little longer – well, maybe his friend wasn't completely wrong about those feelings after all.
The F1 social media landscape exploded one Tuesday morning when Prema Racing announced their 2025 Formula 2 lineup. Among the names was Y/N L/N, making history as she stepped up from F1 Academy after a dominant season.
Within minutes, Kimi's notification feed was flooded as fans tagged him in the announcement. He didn't hesitate to share his excitement:
@KimiAntonelli: From studying engineering between races to fighting for the F2 championship - this is what dedication looks like! So proud of you @YN_LN! Time to show F2 what you're made of! 🏎️📚
The tweet quickly went viral, but it wasn't just the announcement that caught fans' attention. Within hours, racing fan accounts began sharing compilation videos:
"KIMI AND Y/N: FROM PREMA TO F1/F2 🥺❤️ (a thread)"
The first video showed them as young teenagers at Prema, Kimi helping Y/N carry her textbooks to the engineering room while she explained race strategy concepts. Another clip featured their podium celebrations, where they'd always find each other first for a congratulatory hug.
@F1Moments: "The way Kimi BEAMS when talking about Y/N's achievements? We're not okay 😭❤️"
The clip showed various interviews where Kimi praised Y/N:
"She's not just fast on track, she understands these cars like an engineer..."
"While we're all focused on racing, she's getting perfect grades in mechanical engineering..."
"Y/N shows that with enough passion, you can excel at anything..."
@MotorsportEdits had created a masterpiece: a split-screen montage of their parallel journeys. On one side, Kimi's rise through the ranks to Mercedes F1; on the other, Y/N dominating F1 Academy while pursuing her degree. The video ended with their recent FaceTime sessions during Kimi’s post-quali interview, Kimi turning his phone to face the Sky Sports camera.
#KimiAndYN started trending on racing Twitter.
@RacingNews: "Remember when Kimi brought his phone to post-quali interviews just to stay on FaceTime with Y/N? 🥺"
@F1Academy: "From study buddies to racing's power duo! Congratulations to our champion @YN_LN on her promotion to F2!"
Quote tweeted by @MercedesAMGF1: "Our boy @KimiAntonelli's biggest cheerleader is moving up to F2! 🙌 #KimiAndYN"
The social media storm reached new heights when an old video surfaced from their Prema days:
"Can someone please explain the physics behind this overtake?" Kimi asked in the clip, while Y/N drew diagrams and equations on a whiteboard, both still in their race suits.
"Every time I explain physics, you somehow turn it into a racing question," Y/N laughed in the video.
"Because you make it make sense!" young Kimi protested.
@PremaRacing decided to join the fun, sharing a collection of photos: "Buona fortuna e buon viaggio! #KimiAndYN"
The photos showed their journey: studying together between practice sessions, celebrating podiums, Kimi and Y/N's high school graduation, Y/N watching Kimi's first F1 test from the pitwall while highlighting her engineering notes.
Ollie couldn't resist commenting:
@OllieBearman: "If I had a euro for every time @KimiAntonelli talked about @YN_LN during our Prema days, I'd be richer than Lewis Hamilton 😂"
Y/N finally responded to the chaos with a photo of her and Kimi from their Prema days, both asleep in the engineering room, textbooks and data sheets scattered around them:
@YN_LN: "Some things never change ❤️ Thanks for always believing in me @KimiAntonelli! 📚🏎️"
Kimi's heart skipped when he saw her post. He was in the Mercedes simulator when his phone exploded with notifications, but he immediately took a break to respond:
@KimiAntonelli: "From helping me understand physics to making history in motorsport. Proud doesn't even begin to cover it. Can't wait to share the paddock with you again ❤️"
Later that evening, during their regular FaceTime call, Y/N couldn't stop laughing about the social media storm.
"Have you seen the edits? They found clips I didn't even know existed!"
Kimi grinned, watching her sort through her F2 contract papers while simultaneously organizing her study materials. "My favorite is the compilation of every time I've talked about you in interviews. Apparently, I'm not subtle."
"When have you ever been?" she teased. "Remember when you brought me up during your first F1 press conference?"
"Because they asked about inspiration! And you're..." he paused, his expression softening, "you're the most inspiring person I know."
Y/N's cheeks turned pink. "Keep saying things like that and these fans might get ideas."
"Let them," Kimi said softly, watching her juggle her racing dreams and academic pursuits with the same grace she'd always had. "They're not entirely wrong."
The hashtag #KimiAndYN continued trending well into the night, with fans sharing more memories, creating new edits, and celebrating their journey. But for Kimi and Y/N, it was just another evening of FaceTime study sessions and race discussions, their bond stronger than any trending topic could capture.
@F1Community: "Find someone who looks at you the way Kimi looks at Y/N when she's explaining engineering concepts 😍 #KimiAndYN"
Attached was a recent photo from the paddock: Kimi leaning over Y/N's laptop, completely absorbed as she explained some complex engineering principle, his expression a perfect blend of admiration, affection, and awe.
Some things really never did change.
The Italian summer sun painted long shadows across the Antonelli family's garden as Kimi watched Y/N from the kitchen window. She was curled up in her favorite spot on the outdoor sofa, engineering textbook balanced on her knees, hair gathered in a claw clip. Even on break, some things never changed.
Last summer had been at her family's house – he smiled remembering how her mom had fussed over both of them, making sure they took actual breaks from racing and studying. This year, it was his family's turn to host, and his mother was equally determined to fatten them both up with endless servings of homemade pasta.
"She's still studying?" his mother asked in Italian, appearing beside him with fresh bread for dinner.
"Always," Kimi replied fondly. "But watch this."
He grabbed two glasses of fresh lemonade and headed out to the garden. The moment he sat beside her, Y/N automatically shifted, making space while never taking her eyes off her thermodynamics equations. It was a practiced movement, born from countless study sessions across years of friendship.
"Mum's making that pasta you love," he said, setting her lemonade within reach.
"The one with the pistachio pesto?" Y/N looked up, eyes brightening.
"Of course. She says you're too skinny from all this studying."
Y/N laughed, finally closing her book. "Between your mom and mine, we're never going to go hungry during these summer breaks."
It had become their tradition, these shared summers. Between the chaos of the racing season and now Y/N's university schedule, these precious weeks were their chance to just... be. No pressure, no cameras, no podiums to chase – just them, family, and the Italian summer stretching endlessly ahead.
"Remember last summer when your dad tried to teach me proper Italian, Tuscan?" Kimi asked, settling deeper into the sofa.
"And you kept mixing up your words?" Y/N grinned. "And the look on his face…"
"Hey, I've improved! Besides, you're one to talk – you still use engineering terms in Italian."
"That's different! Those are technical terms!"
Their laughter mingled with the sound of cicadas and the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Y/N's textbook lay forgotten as she tucked her feet under herself, turning to face him fully.
"I love this," she said softly. "How even with everything changing – you in F1, me heading to F2, all the craziness – we still have this."
Kimi's heart warmed at her words. He knew what she meant. These moments were precious: the quiet afternoons studying, the family dinners where their parents swapped embarrassing stories about their karting days, the late-night gelato runs in his dad's old Fiat.
"You know," he said, watching the sunset paint her face in golden hues, "I was thinking about our first summer together, back in Prema. Remember how you made me help you study for physics?"
"You mean how you used every physics problem as an excuse to analyze race strategy?" she teased.
"It worked, didn't it? I understood downforce better after your explanations."
Y/N smiled, reaching for her lemonade. "And now look at us. You're living our F1 dream early, and I'm..."
"Being absolutely incredible," he finished firmly. "Racing, engineering degree, and still finding time to spend summers with me and my crazy family."
"Your family is my family too, you know that. Plus," she added with a mischievous grin, "your mum's cooking alone is worth the trip."
As if on cue, his mother's voice called from the kitchen: "Bambini! Dinner!"
They shared a look – they were hardly children anymore, but to their families, they'd always be those two kids from Prema, dreaming big dreams between study sessions.
"Five more minutes!" Kimi called back, not ready to break this moment.
Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder, a gesture so natural it made his heart ache with familiarity. "Your mom's going to come get us out here if we're late."
"Worth it," he murmured, watching the last rays of sunlight fade. "Besides, you need a break from studying."
"Says the one who spent three hours analyzing race data this morning."
"That's different!"
"How?"
"Because..." he paused, smiling. "Okay, maybe we're both workaholics."
"Maybe that's why this works," Y/N said softly. "We understand each other's drive."
The garden was growing darker, fairy lights automatically twinkling to life along the pergola. From the kitchen came the warm sounds of family life – his mother singing along to the radio, his father setting the table, the rich aroma of dinner wafting through the air.
"Ragazzi!" his mother called again, more insistent this time.
Y/N laughed, standing and offering him her hand. "Come on, before we get in trouble."
Kimi took her hand, but didn't immediately get up, just holding it for a moment. "Thanks for choosing to spend summer here again."
"Always," she squeezed his hand. "Where else would I want to be?"
As they walked toward the house, Y/N's textbook tucked under one arm and their empty glasses in hand, Kimi felt that familiar surge of gratitude. For all their success on track, for all their dreams coming true, it was these moments he treasured most – the quiet evenings, the shared laughter, the simple joy of having her here, making his family home feel even more like home.
"Race you to the table?" Y/N challenged, eyes sparkling.
"You're on, F2 driver," he grinned, both of them breaking into a run like they were kids again.
Some things changed – their racing categories, their achievements, their growing dreams. But this – their summers together, their understanding, their connection – this remained constant, as reliable as the Italian sun and as sweet as his mother's lemonade.
And as they collapsed into their seats at the dinner table, breathless with laughter while his parents fondly shook their heads, Kimi couldn't help but think that of all their victories, all their podiums and poles, this might be his favorite kind of winning.
"And crossing the line to take pole position in, Y/N L/N with a stunning lap!"
Kimi's celebration in the Mercedes garage was immediate and enthusiastic enough to draw knowing looks from his entire team. He was supposed to be preparing for his own qualifying session, but his eyes had been glued to the timing screens.
His phone was already in his hand: Kimi: POLE POSITION!! That sector 2 was absolutely insane! Call later? 🏆✨
Her reply came seconds later: Y/N: Learned from the best 😉 Good luck in quali! I'll be watching between engineering lectures ❤️
"Antonelli!" George Russell called out, grinning as he passed by. "Tell your girlfriend congratulations on pole!"
"She's not my—" Kimi started, but George was already walking away, laughing.
@GeorgeRussell63: Caught our rookie watching F2 quali instead of prep 👀 Wonder why? 😏 @KimiAntonelli @YN_LN #Busted
The tweet immediately went viral, with fans cooing over Kimi's obvious pride in Y/N's achievement. The F1 paddock's collective teasing had become relentless since summer break ended.
Later that evening, after both their sessions were done, Kimi settled into his hotel room for their nightly FaceTime call. Y/N appeared on screen, trophy visible in the background, textbooks already spread around her.
"There's my pole-sitter," he beamed.
"There's my Q3 hero," she countered. "P4! Kimi, that was incredible!"
"Thanks to your tip about the kerbs in turn 9—"
A notification interrupted them: @LandoNorris: @KimiAntonelli mate your face literally lights up every time you talk about @YN_LN 😭 Remember when you made us all watch her F1 Academy race during the drivers' briefing?
Y/N burst out laughing. "You did what?"
Kimi's cheeks reddened. "It was an important race! And they all wanted to watch anyway..."
Another notification: @OscarPiastri: Can confirm. He gives us daily updates about both her racing AND her engineering degree 😂 #Whipped
"The whole grid is against me," Kimi groaned, but he was smiling.
"At least Ollie has backup now," Y/N teased, adjusting her laptop so she could better see him while highlighting her thermodynamics notes.
"Speaking of Ollie—" Kimi started, but was cut off by yet another notification.
@OllieBearman: Throwback to Prema days when these two would "study" together but really just stare at each other for hours 👀 #IveBeenSayingItForYears Attached was a photo of teenage Kimi and Y/N in the Prema engineering room, books open but clearly lost in conversation
"We did not stare at each other!" Kimi protested.
"No, you just watch me study every single day," Y/N smirked.
The notifications kept coming:
@CharlesLeclerc: Remember when @KimiAntonelli asked for restaurant recommendations in every city because he wanted to "surprise a friend" during race weekends? 🤔
@CarlosSainz: The friend: @YN_LN 😂
"You asked Charles for restaurant recommendations?" Y/N's expression softened.
"I wanted to make sure you had good places to eat during race weekends," Kimi mumbled. "You forget to eat when you're studying..."
@MaxVerstappen: Called it! Pay up @SChecoPerez - told you he'd watch her quali instead of prep 💰
@SChecoPerez: Next time hide your phone better @KimiAntonelli 😂
Y/N was fully laughing now. "You've got a betting pool on us?"
"The whole paddock apparently," Kimi sighed, but couldn't help smiling at her joy.
@AlexAlbon: POV: You're trying to discuss race strategy but @KimiAntonelli is texting @YN_LN Attached was a video of Kimi smiling at his phone during a strategy meeting
"I'm never going to hear the end of this," Kimi groaned.
"Poor baby," Y/N teased, then her expression turned more serious. "Hey, did you see the analysis I sent about your sector 3? I think if you adjust the entry angle—"
Kimi's heart swelled as she launched into a detailed technical explanation, seamlessly switching between race engineer and student mode. Even with an ocean between them, she was still looking out for him.
@LewisHamilton: Y'all leave them alone - it's sweet 🙌 Some of us remember what it's like to be young and in... racing 😉 @KimiAntonelli @YN_LN
Their phones buzzed simultaneously with a message from Ollie: Group chat "Prema Days" Ollie: LEWIS KNOWS 😭 Even the 7-time champ sees it! Just kiss already!
Y/N rolled her eyes, but Kimi caught the slight blush on her cheeks. "We should probably study," she said, clearly trying to change the subject.
"Of course," Kimi agreed, already pulling out his own notes. "But first - that move into turn 1 for pole? Walk me through it?"
Her face lit up as she began explaining the technical aspects of her qualifying lap, and Kimi found himself smiling softly, completely absorbed in her enthusiasm. In the background, their phones kept buzzing with notifications, the entire F1 grid apparently determined to point out what everyone else could see.
@ValtteriBottas: Taking bets on how long until they officially announce... their "friendship" 😏
@MercedesAMGF1: The way @KimiAntonelli watches all her races from our garage when we're at different tracks 🥺
@ZhouGuanyu24: Don't forget how he explains her engineering projects to us during track walks! Never seen someone so proud 😂
But for Kimi and Y/N, wrapped up in their own little world of race analysis and study sessions, the teasing was just background noise. Their connection, whether across the paddock or across continents, remained as strong as ever – even if the entire F1 grid seemed determined to turn it into the paddock's favorite love story.
"Hey," Y/N said softly, interrupting his thoughts. "Earth to Kimi?"
"Sorry, just thinking."
"About how the entire F1 grid is never gonna let up on you?" she teased.
"About how lucky I am to have you in my corner, even from far away."
Her expression melted into something tender that made all the paddock's teasing worth it. "Always, Kimi. Distance doesn't change that."
@OllieBearman: I've been watching this romcom live since Prema and let me tell you, it only gets better 🍿 #KimiAndYN
This time, neither of them bothered to protest.
The blue light of the laptop screen illuminated Y/N's face as she finished highlighting another passage in her thermodynamics textbook. A soft snore made her look up at her phone propped against the desk lamp - Kimi had dozed off during their FaceTime call, his face peaceful in sleep. The sight brought an involuntary smile to her face.
It was typical of their study sessions these days. Between his F1 schedule and her F1 Academy races, late-night calls were often the only time they could catch up. He'd insist on keeping her company while she studied, claiming he was reviewing race data, but more often than not he'd fall asleep to the sound of her pen scratching against paper.
She closed her textbook quietly, though she knew the sound wouldn't wake him - he could sleep through anything after a long day at the track. As she started her bedtime routine, her mind wandered over their relationship, this comfortable space they'd carved out for themselves between friendship and something more.
The paddock gossip was relentless these days. Every shared smile, every supportive tweet, every time he watched her races from the Mercedes garage - it all became fodder for speculation. Even Ollie, who'd known them since their Prema days, wouldn't let up with his knowing looks.
Standing at her bathroom sink, Y/N caught her own reflection smiling at the memory of Kimi's proud face when she'd explained a particularly complex engineering concept earlier. He'd leaned closer to his camera, completely absorbed, that familiar warmth in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat.
The truth was, she knew how she felt about him. It was there in the way her day felt brighter when his name lit up her phone, in how naturally they'd gravitated toward each other since their junior racing days, in the comfortable silence of their study sessions. But timing was everything in racing - they both knew that better than most.
They were both chasing their dreams at full speed. He was making his mark in F1, living up to the immense expectations placed on Mercedes' youngest driver. She was balancing her engineering degree with her F1 Academy campaign, working toward her own F1 dreams. Adding another variable to that equation felt risky.
Climbing into bed, Y/N glanced one last time at her phone. Kimi had shifted slightly, his features soft in sleep, Mercedes team jacket still on. They had something special - something that had grown organically from shared ambitions and mutual understanding. Maybe that was enough for now.
Racing taught you patience, after all. Sometimes the best moves weren't the boldest ones, but the ones you waited for, setting them up carefully until the moment was just right. For now, she was content with their late-night study sessions, his proud smiles after her wins, the way he'd listen intently to her engineering explanations even when he was exhausted.
"Goodnight, Kimi," she whispered, ending the call. Whatever they were, whatever they might become, it was worth protecting. Some things didn't need to be rushed.
Her phone buzzed with a text from him, sent automatically when their call disconnected: Sweet dreams, engineer. Proud of you always. ❤️
Yeah, Y/N thought, settling into sleep with a smile. They were just fine exactly as they were.
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let me know if you want to be added to the list :))
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At some point I have to unpack and describe the specific intersection of factors that led to my specific experiences with food shaming (and all related topics like sizeism, ableism, neurobigotry, healthism, ageism, etc).
As a a fat, autistic, ARFID-ite who's consistently been treated as younger than I am, and with scandalously non-abusive parents (how dare they vaguely accept me as I am without beating me into submission!), a lot of the food shaming I've experienced in my life was based on treating me more as a "spoiled child" than as a "fat woman," even after I was clearly the latter.
Food with my extended family or parents' friends or anyone older than myself was always a site of shaming how spoiled I was, how overly permissive my parents were, how rude I was for not eating what I was served (specifically for that -- I wasn't actually doing any "rude things" like commenting negatively on the food, demanding alternate food, or anything like that! But simply not eating what I was served, as a Young Person, was "rude".)
I was also heavily desexualized and somewhat degendered, so it wasn't "You're an unsexy woman because you're fat and ugly, not thin and sexy like a woman should be," it was "You're a spoiled brat picky eater who needs a spanking." Up through age. Like. 24.
And I realize, please believe me, I am very well aware of what an incredibly privileged problem this is. I was stigmatized because my parents weren't abusive? What kind of problem is that? Everyone else was dealing with actual problems, like actual abusive parents!
So my point isn't to complain about my problems, it's to say that food-shaming takes many forms. I was reminded of that when I saw an otherwise good, innocuous post about getting along with family at Thanksgiving, that included something about "Don't ask teens if they have a boyfriend/girlfriend, ask them about their hobbies, or what they're most looking forward to on their plate!" and I was suddenly filled with anxiety, because, no, don't do that. If you had asked Teenage Me what I was most looking forward to on my plate, I would have assumed that you were admonishing me for only having two foods on it, lecture me about how I can't have dessert if I don't eat my vegetables, nagging me to "Just try it," and possibly throwing in some remark about "Back in my day, if we didn't eat what we were told, we got a whipping!" Questions about my nonexistent love life would have been comparatively less fraught.
Don't comment on people's food choices. Don't comment on kids' food choices. Don't comment on teens' food choices. Don't comment on adults' food choices. Don't comment on people's food choices.
Don't ask teens if they have a boyfriend/girlfriend either, although, if that tradition must continue, I'd at least like to add age balance to it. If you ask a 15 year old if she has a boyfriend, she should legally be allowed to ask you how your divorce is coming.
#cw food#food moralizing#food shaming#sizeism#ableism#neurobigotry#healthism#actually autistic#actually arfid#cw child abuse
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