#but like. old dumb sports car

[widowshill]

VAMP ROGER AU QUESTION! how would he and barnabas interact together (if they ever interact)? :3 💜

tagging @tortoisesshells because she's my co-conspirator <3

excellent question! this family and their sharp-toothed men will be the death of ... well, several community members of Collinsport, i suppose.

to start — Barnabas gets out of the box slightly differently than in canon, which colors his relationship to Roger and the rest of the household. Roger kills Willie after his attempted assault on Carolyn and Vicki (who is, by that point, his wife); Willie's mysterious disappearance and Roger's suspected involvement makes Jason that much more panicked, desperate, and correspondingly aggressive. Liz goes searching for the lost family jewels in a last-ditch attempt to buy Jason off, and, inadvertently, lets their ancient family sin out of the tomb.

ergo she's made Barnabas' thrall instead of Willie, but this goes unnoticed for a while — even though her brother would, in theory, recognize the signs, and his suspicions are raised, but she's already acting so much unlike herself with Jason around that he doesn't suspect anyone else of doing her harm. yet.

at the start, he and Barnabas get along very well, even before they discover their shared affliction: they're both relatively sophisticated, well-traveled, intelligent people, and for all that Roger decries Liz's emphasis on the Collins name, he leans towards familial connections instinctively (Roger hasn't got much in the way of friends outside of the house even in canon, and he's even more isolated as a vampire).

after he finds out Barnabas is also a vampire, things get a little more complicated, but overall, they're still friendly. Roger doesn't have much sympathy for Barnabas' relentless self-pity and decrying his doomed fate to live as a monster, because Roger on the whole enjoys his vampirism and has made a decent un-life for himself out of it (thanks in no small part to Vicki). but having someone like him around is a comfort in ways he wouldn't have expected, he's no longer solitary or uniquely monstrous out of the Collins family, he has someone else around through the night, and someone who understands the sufferings of bloodthirst and being shut out of the sun.

furthermore, Roger's very much interested in his family history and stories of the past, the building of Collinwood, Jeremiah's ships – and Barnabas was there. there's potential for some very interesting conversations about the past, and the arc of the Collins family history to the present, not to mention literature, travel, fashion, politics and the rest. Roger's his cousin's mirror in modernity in many ways, and that's something potentially interesting to explore: the world changes around them, but Collinses do not.

as an aside, they both have a funny sort of relationship to Burke. Barnabas hates him for his resemblance to Jeremiah and envies his friendship with Vicki and thinks he's crude, and Roger ... well. it's complicated. it's closer to antagonism than not, and Burke has tried to kill him once in this au, and Roger resents his flirting with Vicki, but then there's everything else with their past. so I don't think Barnabas' treatment of him would sit particularly well with Roger, he'd take the attitude of hey, only I can be a dick to Burke >:(

the definite fracture point is Barnabas imprinting on Vicki. Roger's already jealous and possessive by nature, and it's amplified by the supernatural nature of his relationship to Vicki (being closer, bodily and mentally; being necessary to each other; being, quite literally, sustenance) so he's already a little on edge when Barnabas starts paying attention to her, giving her presents, and appreciating the scenery — Barnabas doesn't, exactly, tend to have much in the way of moral inclination to leaving women alone when they have prior engagements, but it's fair to point out the irony of everything Roger was doing with his bloodbag governess when he was still very much a married man.

anyway: Roger finds foreign bite marks on his wife's neck, and he's understandably immensely upset by this. partially out of territorial sentiment, but he also knows Vicki, and he knows that she wouldn't have invited another vampire willingly — which means that she was forced, or hypnotized, or attacked in secret, and there's only the one potential suspect. this is already enough to lose his good will, but he might have been willing to let Barnabas go with a "hands off," had this discovery not lead to finding out what he'd also been doing to Liz. the combination of the two is unforgivable, and it's Barnabas' error to have made an enemy who is very personally aware of all his vampiric weaknesses, and Burke's already carved a stake.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Not just a pretty face

Part 2 Part 3

Word count: 696

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: At a Grand Prix, influencer Y/n overhears Lando Norris dismissing her as a clueless, fame-chasing “dumb” influencer.

________________________________________________________

The roar of the engines vibrated through your chest as you stood in the paddock, the scent of burnt rubber and fuel filling the air. Your grandpa, dressed in a vintage Schumacher cap and an old Ferrari team shirt, stood beside you, his eyes twinkling with the excitement of being back at a race in person.

“Ach, this takes me back,” he murmured, gripping his paddock pass like it was a golden ticket.

You smiled, squeezing his arm. You had been invited to the Grand Prix as a VIP guest—your status as an international influencer granting you exclusive access—but you knew the real reason you were here. This wasn’t just another event to post about. It was the sport you had loved since childhood, the one your grandpa had introduced you to with hours of race footage and stories about legendary drivers.

No one knew how much you adored Formula 1. Your brand online was all about fashion, luxury, and travel, and you had never bothered to share this side of yourself. Maybe you liked having something that was just yours.

That, of course, was why Lando Norris’s words stung so much.

You had been passing by the McLaren hospitality when you heard him talking with his team. You weren’t eavesdropping—he wasn’t exactly being subtle.

“Yeah, she’s hot, but you know how these influencers are,” Lando scoffed. “She probably doesn’t even know what DRS is. Here for clout, like all of them.”

Your steps faltered.

“Dumb as rocks, too,” he added.

You clenched your jaw. Excuse me?

Taking a deep breath, you turned on your heel and stepped into the McLaren area, ignoring the surprised glances of the team members. Lando, seated casually on a couch, looked up just as you stopped in front of him.

“Wow, so rude and wrong,” you said, crossing your arms. “First of all, I went to university, so I’m not dumb—as you so eloquently put it.”

Lando blinked, caught off guard.

“And second,” you continued, tilting your head, “I’ve probably been watching Formula 1 longer than you’ve been racing in it. I know what DRS is, I know about tire degradation, I know why McLaren’s been struggling with drag lately, and I even know that your qualifying performances tend to be better than your race pace because of how the car handles over long stints. So maybe next time you assume a woman is just a brainless influencer, you should actually check your facts first.”

Silence.

The McLaren team members suddenly found their phones and coffee cups very interesting. Lando stared at you, mouth slightly open, the first flickers of embarrassment flashing across his face.

You gave him one last unimpressed look before turning on your heel and walking away.

Your grandpa, who had been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, chuckled. “Well, that was fun.”

Lando’s Redemption Arc

Lando couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The second you walked away, he knew he had screwed up. He had made assumptions—stupid ones, at that. And the way you had put him in his place so effortlessly? It was… annoyingly attractive.

That night, he found himself scrolling through your Instagram, going beyond the polished luxury photos and clicking on every story, every caption. And that’s when he noticed it—the subtle clues that you were more than what met the eye.

A throwback post with a Schumacher documentary in the background. A tiny Ferrari charm on your bracelet in an old photo. A blurry shot of an F1 race from the grandstands years ago, hidden among travel content.

You had been a fan all along.

Lando groaned, running a hand through his hair. He felt like an idiot.

He wanted to see you again. Not just to apologize, but because now he was intrigued. You were gorgeous, yes, but you were also smart. Passionate. And clearly not someone who tolerated nonsense.

So when he spotted you in the paddock the next day, laughing with your grandpa near the Mercedes garage, he hesitated only for a moment before heading your way.

Time to fix his mistake.

And maybe—just maybe—make you see him in a different light, too.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

I wanna dance with somebody

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 22

Prompt: Sports

Rated: T

CW: some vague mentions of Eddie’s boner

Tags: No UD AU; Meet cute; Good neighbor Eddie Munson; Dancer Steve Harrington

Notes: @thefreakandthehair, @sourw0lfs, @devondespresso - SPORTS! GO, SPORTS!!!

Wanna see dancer!Steve stretch (and Eddie have a horny meltdown)? Check out the artwork done by @house-of-the-moving-image!!

It’s still half dark and freezing outside as Eddie parks the van in front of the dancing school.

“Shit, we’re running late,” Max curses and bends down to straighten her neon-colored leg warmers for the twentieth time. “Just because you couldn’t find your stupid car keys.” 

“That all you gotta say?” Eddie huffs, but all it gets him is that bewildered brow quirk she always does when he’s being dumb. “How about Sorry for waking you at ass o’clock, Eddie? Thank you for driving me, Eddie? You’re the best neighbor in the world, Eddie?” 

She scoffs at him. “Ew, are you always that desperate for validation? Pathetic.” 

Eddie gawks after her as she opens the passenger door and gets out to retrieve her duffel from the backseat. That little gremlin! He should’ve closed the door in her face, left her standing out in the snow. 

Except, it all rang a little too close to home. The way she huddled on his porch, arms wrapped around her too-thin jacket, face set in a disappointed scowl. The way she barked at him to drive her to dance class because her mom had been home late and wouldn’t wake up. He knows she’s been taking odd jobs around the trailer park to pay for the classes, knows it's the one thing during the week she looks forward to. Also knows that her mom is too out of it to care half of the time. Knows how that feels. 

There’s no way he could’ve denied her. 

The problem is, she’s perfectly aware of that. 

“You coming?” 

She’s eyeing him expectantly through the open back door of the van. Eddie waves her off, fumbles for his cigarettes in his pocket. Realizes he forgot them. Shit. 

“‘s okay, I’ll just wait out here in the car.” 

She rolls her eyes so hard her entire head sways with the motion. “Don’t be a moron, they have heating and a lounge inside. C’mon.” 

*

The inside of the dancing school is basically just one long hall with a floor-to-ceiling mirror front at one end. There’s a counter in one corner and two mismatched sofas with a pile of old magazines opposite that. Max makes a dash for the gaggle of girls doing warm-ups on the dance floor, even though there’s no instructor in sight yet. 

“Oh hey, can I help you?” 

Eddie blinks. A guy has just materialized behind the counter - though the truth probably is that he was crouched out of sight to retrieve the boombox in his hands. He puts it on the countertop, cocks his head at Eddie, which makes a few strands of floofy chestnut hair fall in front of his wireframe glasses, and oh fuck, he’s cute! 

“Adult classes don’t start until noon, but-” 

Eddie barks a laugh and saunters closer. 

“Yeah, no. I’m just here to drop off little Red.”

He jerks his head at the dance floor. Cutie follows the movement and his face breaks into a smile so full of genuine delight, Eddie wants to cuddle him. Or maybe bite him. Maybe both. 

“Oh, Max,” says Cutie. “You her brother?” 

Eddie snorts. “Nah, just a neighbor. Her mom was … indisposed.” 

“Huh,” Cutie says. Quirks an eyebrow. Somehow manages to put an entire unspoken verdict into that little noise and gesture. “She’s real talented, y’know?” 

Eddie shuffles in his place, unsure about what to do with that information. “Um, yeah?” 

Cutie nods, eyes darting over at Max, who’s dropping into a painful-looking split in front of the mirror, and shit, when did she learn that? 

“Yeah. I think she’s got potential. Plus, she’s really come out of her shell these past few weeks. So thanks for driving her.” 

“Oh, erm …” Eddie makes, pulls a strand of hair in front of his face to hide his incoming flush. “No problem, dude, not like I had-” 

“Steve!” Max hollers, and they flinch apart. Eddie didn’t even notice how they’ve both drifted into each other’s space, Cutie’s elbows bracketed on the counter and himself just swaying ever-so-slightly closer. “You done flirting, or what? We should’ve started three minutes ago!” 

Cutie - who’s name is Steve, apparently - takes off his glasses and winks at Eddie. Fucking winks at him. It goes ridiculously well with the pretty pink blush that’s blooming high in his cheekbones. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, raising his arms over his head and bending at the hip, does a silly little stretch. “Duty calls.” 

Then, he smoothes his hair out of his forehead and steps around the counter, pressing the Play button on the boombox. 

“Okay, ladies, here we go! One song for warm-up, just move around the room however you like, feel the music.” 

Some atrocious, boppy pop number starts to blare through the room, but Eddie hardly processes it. He’s too preoccupied by the sight in front of him. 

Legs. 

And an ass. 

Legs and an ass in fucking tights. They hug Steve’s form like a second skin, bringing out every muscle, and Christ, there’s a lot to bring out! Guy looks like one of these ancient Greek marble statues - if marble statues wore fucking Tears for Fears shirts and could balance on their tippy toes and do leaps and spins in perfect sync with the music, all with flawless core tension and a seemingly effortless smile. 

Eddie thinks he may need to step out. Take a breather. Throw himself crotch-first into the nearest snowdrift, maybe. 

Instead, he takes two shaky steps backwards and collapses on top of the nearest sofa, grabs a random magazine from the pile and fans it open in his lap to hide his very unfortunate predicament. 

It’s Good Housekeeping. 

Steve spins by, catches his eye and winks again. 

Eddie turns back to the magazine. Cool, fine, he always wanted to know about the ten best apple pie recipes to delight your loved ones with. 

He does hope this magazine is sturdy, or he might just tear through it.

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Gurwinder

Published: Aug 8, 2024

Across the West, protests are getting larger, more frequent, and more disruptive. Over the weekend, the UK saw nationwide anti-immigration riots in which cars were flipped over and buildings set aflame. A few days before that, Just Stop Oil activists sprayed orange paint in the world’s second-busiest airport, Heathrow. The week before, as Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu addressed the US Congress, pro-Palestine activists rioted in Columbus Square, vandalizing memorials and releasing a swarm of maggots and worms in his Washington hotel.

These are just the latest examples of a growing trend of shock-activism that combines political protest and public nuisance, and which has this year seen activists across the West spray-paint Stonehenge, squat on university campuses, block access to roads and bridges, occupy museums and government buildings, storm sports events and movie premieres, attack priceless artworks and historical artifacts, and even desecrate war memorials and holocaust monuments.

Ostensibly, these “nuisance-protests” are carried out by distinct groups motivated by a particular cause, such as the environment, Palestine, trans-rights, or immigration. In reality, however, all are animated by the same, self-destructive ideology: neotoddlerism.

This movement has its roots in the digital revolution of 2009, when use of smartphones and social media reached a critical mass, allowing strangers to easily unite and mobilize around shared views, which led to a rapid increase in the size and frequency of protests around the world. But protests didn’t just become bigger and more frequent, they also became more outrageous.

In infants, the chief causes of outrageous behavior — impulsivity, grandiosity, attention-seeking, and a sense of entitlement — are considered normal, but in adults they’re key symptoms of the “cluster-B” personality disorders. All four such disorders — narcissistic, histrionic, antisocial and borderline — are characterized by overemotionality and a need for validation. They’re also associated with heavy social media use, likely because dramatic cluster-B behaviors, such as playing the victim and catastrophizing, excel at getting attention on such platforms.

The ease with which dramatic behavior gets attention online has convinced many political activists that a better world doesn’t require years of patient work, only a sufficient quantity of drama. Many activists on both the Left and Right now hope to bring about their ideal world the same way a spoiled brat acquires a toy they’ve been denied: by being as loud and hysterical as possible. This is neotoddlerism: the view that utopia can be achieved by acting like a three-year old.

It’s an ideology for an age of instant gratification, activism for the attention-deficit generation. Just as convenience culture has led us from hours-long films, to half-hour-long TV shows, to minutes-long YouTube videos, to seconds-long TikTok clips; so the same dumbing-down is happening to politics: the arduous process of discussion and debate is giving way to the instant hit of shocking outbursts and other viral moments.

Instead of trying to produce the best arguments, neotoddlers try to produce the most outrageous video clips, which typically involves vandalism, desecration, or some other kind of public meltdown. Thus, they outrage others by embracing their own outrage and lashing out at the world. This surrender to their own impulses makes them first-order thinkers, meaning they consider immediate consequences but not consequences of consequences.

This chronological myopia was starkly illustrated after the October 7 terrorist attack by Hamas against Israel. Many pro-Palestine neotoddlers publicly celebrated the massacre because, trapped by their emotions in a perpetual present, they couldn’t think far enough ahead to realize that Israel was going to retaliate, and that its wrath would be catastrophic for the Palestinians. When the inevitable retaliation came, the neotoddlers’ joy turned to horror as it dawned on them that actions have consequences.

One young pro-Palestine activist, Riddhi Patel, learned this lesson the hard way. In April, she addressed councilors at a Bakersfield City Council meeting in California, and, outraged by their refusal to pass a motion calling for a ceasefire in Gaza, proclaimed to the councilors that she’d murder them, adding: “I hope one day somebody brings the guillotine and kills all of you motherfuckers.” Later, she appeared in court on 16 felony counts, sobbing uncontrollably as she was confronted by the second-order effects that her first-order thinking had failed to foresee.

Unfortunately, it’s unlikely she’ll learn much from her punishment. Not only do neotoddlers lack impulse-control, they also mistake their lack of impulse-control for morality, and mistake the impulse-control of others for callousness. “Where is the outrage?” they commonly yell, demanding everyone be as irrational as them. For the neotoddler, impatience is a virtue.

The Civil Rights movement succeeded because it was guided by leaders who had clear, specific, and realistic goals, and were able to negotiate to achieve them. Since neotoddlers “organize” mostly on social media, they’re decentralized, and don’t have leaders that can guide them or negotiate for them. They are therefore ruled by their loftiest ideals, in service to their basest impulses, and they don’t have the means to create, only to disrupt.

And so they disrupt, with the goal of spreading awareness. Yet their attempts to do so are misguided because, for all the issues they protest about, the problem is not a lack of awareness; it’s a lack of solutions. We don’t need to be told that war, crime, and pollution are bad, because we learned such lessons in primary school. What we need are clear, specific, and realistic plans of action. And the neotoddlers, being impulsive short-term thinkers, have only broad demands but no rational way to achieve them.

Anti-immigrant activists chant “Get them out!” as if there weren’t a host of legal and logistical challenges to doing so. Pro-Palestine activists chant “ceasefire now!” as if such a ceasefire wouldn’t quickly be broken by Hamas (as happened on October 7th). Climate activists chant “Just stop oil!” as if that wouldn’t cause Western civilization to regress technologically backwards into an age of famine, war, and superstition.

Neotoddlers are so shambolic they even try to disrupt attempts to meet their own demands. Many pro-Palestine activists call for peace in Gaza and yet support Hamas, the main obstacle to peace in Gaza. And many eco-warriors oppose fossil fuels but also try to stop viable alternatives such as electric and nuclear by, for example, storming Tesla factories and atomic energy conferences. And recent Right-wing protesters in Sunderland, who claimed to represent the unheard, burned down a citizens’ advice center, one of the few places to offer an ear to the unheard.

Unsurprisingly, nuisance-protests often end up alienating ordinary people. While the public supports climate action, it has a negative opinion of Just Stop Oil. And while the public supports a ceasefire in Gaza, it has a negative opinion of the campus protesters. The same is true of Right-wing nuisance protests: while the public generally believes immigration should be curbed, it overwhelmingly opposes the recent riots, which have achieved little except convince the public that Right-wing extremism is a serious threat. So, though nuisance-protests do get attention, little of that attention is converted to sympathy and a lot to spite.

But if nuisance-protests are counterproductive, why are they spreading? Because protests are usually motivated more by emotion than reason. Take the recent Southport riots. These have been driven not by any rational plan but by the frustrations of Right-wingers and ordinary working-class people that their communities have been forgotten and their concerns about immigration are not being taken seriously by politicians. These frustrations, stoked by fake news, have led them to engage in infantile actions like vandalizing mosques and setting fire to police cars, all of which hurts their cause more than help it. It does, however, make them feel good for the moment, and they live mostly for the moment.

As for Left-wing neotoddlers, their motivations tend to be more complex (but no less childish), because they’re generally much more affluent than Right-wing neotoddlers. For instance, an analysis by the Washington Monthly revealed that the Gaza campus protests were largely confined to the most expensive and elite colleges. And Just Stop Oil members are themselves quick to admit that their movement is “privileged” and living in a white middle-class “student bubble”.

This is no accident: it’s often the prosperous, not the downtrodden, who have a greater motivation to protest. As the philosopher Eric Hoffer explained in his 1951 book, The True Believer:

There is perhaps no more reliable indicator of a society’s ripeness for a mass movement than the prevalence of unrelieved boredom. In almost all the descriptions of the periods preceding the rise of mass movements there is reference to vast ennui; and in their earliest stages mass movements are more likely to find sympathizers and support among the bored than among the exploited and oppressed.

People need struggles. If their supply of problems dwindles too low, they begin to embellish the problems they already have, or invent completely new ones. As Hoffer writes:

Passionate hatred can give meaning and purpose to an empty life. Thus people haunted by the purposelessness of their lives try to find a new content not only by dedicating themselves to a holy cause but also by nursing a fanatical grievance.

The young and privileged are particularly prone to this. They don’t have to worry about money, nor do they have homes or families of their own, so they have nothing to lose, and nothing to conserve. This gives them both the need to find struggles and the luxury to be radical.

Overall, Left-wing neotoddlers and Right-wing neotoddlers tend to come from different demographics — with the former being younger, richer, more educated, and more female than the latter — and this gives them different motivations, and different modus operandi. For instance, research suggests that the cluster-B trait of narcissism takes a different form in the two groups. In Right-wingers, it mostly manifests as a sense of entitlement, while in Left-wingers it mostly manifests as a need for exhibitionism.

This is born out in the different approaches Left-wingers and Right-wingers take towards their public tantrums. The nuisance-protests of right-wingers are primarily attempts to relieve their frustrations at not getting what they want. As such, they typically take the form of straightforward thuggery and hooliganism: starting fires, overturning cars, and hurling bricks.

In contrast, Left-wing nuisance-protests tend to be less about relieving frustration and more about getting attention directly. As such, they’re usually more calculated and creative: throwing soup over paintings, releasing insect-swarms into hotels, or, most recently, painting the hands of a statue of Anne Frank red.

Generally, the Left-wing approach is more effective at getting attention; it took mass destruction by hundreds of Right-wingers in Southport to make news headlines, but it only took two Just Stop Oil activists with orange paint at Heathrow to achieve the same.

Left-wing nuisance-protests are also treated more kindly by the mainstream. Right-wing protests tend to be roundly condemned by polite society, firstly because they tend to be more violent, and secondly because upholders of mainstream culture — such as liberal journalists, academics, and entertainers — are culturally programmed to dismiss concerns about Islam or immigration as “far-Right”, placing such concerns outside the bounds of polite discourse (and into the hands of actual extremists).

In contrast, Left-wing neotoddlers are generally viewed by Western cultural elites as well-meaning. When Left-wingers recently flooded the streets of Walthamstow to counter-protest the Right-wingers, they were lauded by many Western outlets — from the BBC to NBC — as spreading peace and unity, even though the Labour councilor Ricky Jones used the protest to demand that his fellow Left-wingers slit the throats of Right-wingers.

The West’s mainstream knowledge-producing institutions, from academia to the liberal media, tend to be populated mostly by Left-leaning people who see Left-wing neotoddlers as a force for good because they’re broadly ideologically aligned with them and judge them by their perceived intentions rather than their results. For this reason, the mainstream treats Left-wing neotoddlers as its golden child, always seeing the best in them, while Right-wing neotoddlers are treated like the red-headed stepchild, worthy only of scorn.

This is particularly true at universities, where conservative speakers are routinely shouted down, and students are overtly encouraged to campaign for Left-wing causes, while also being taught that speech is violence and it is therefore acceptable to shut down speech they don’t like by making loud noises. The universities’ decades-long encouragement of cluster-B infantilism reached a tipping point this summer with the campus protests. We saw the students put everything they’d been taught — exhibitionism, catastrophization, and hysteria — into practice. The protests quickly came to resemble a LARP. Whenever the protesters occupied a new part of the campus, they hung banners and declared it liberated. All this liberating eventually made them feel hungry, but when they demanded refreshments from university officials, and were denied, they claimed they were being deprived of “basic humanitarian aid” and might die of starvation.

This kind of grandiose fantasizing is emblematic of people with narcissistic traits because it makes their struggles seem bigger than they actually are. As such, we commonly see similar kinds of catastrophization among other flavors of neotoddler; every flood or forest fire is an omen of “climate catastrophe”, biological facts about sex are “erasing trans people” and immigration is “white genocide”. Such histrionics, whether propagated in error or with intention, serve to manipulate other hysterical people into becoming neotoddlers.

And the grim irony is that, by believing the world is worse than it actually is, neotoddlers make the world worse. Their disruptions and vandalism exert a huge economic and social cost on society, and they prevent ordinary people from getting to work, attending funerals of loved ones, and meeting vital medical appointments.

Unsurprisingly, the harm neotoddlers cause to liberal democracies has endeared them to foreign dictators. The Ayatollah developed a soft spot for the Ivy League campus protesters, cheerleading them on X, and even writing them a letter of support. It also recently transpired that Iran has been funding and directing neotoddlers across the US, and that they even masterminded an anti-Israel protest at McGill University in Canada. Meanwhile, the fake news that sparked the Southport riots was amplified by pro-Kremlin Telegram channels and even Russian state TV.

So how do we end this age of neotoddlerism? The simplest way would be to cut off its main source of support. And that isn’t the Ayatollah or Putin, or even the universities. The neotoddlers’ main source of support is, in fact, you and I.

Neotoddlerism endures because it’s much more effective at making news headlines and going viral than traditional forms of protest. As a case in point, on 22 June, celebrity environmentalists like Emma Thompson and Chris Packham led a huge march of over 60,000 people through London, to raise awareness of habitat destruction and wildlife loss. It received little press coverage. Around the same time, a handful of Just Stop Oil protesters squirted orange paint on Stonehenge; it made the front page of every major UK newspaper and received coverage in the global press too.

Likewise, last week in London, there was a generally peaceful march against mass immigration, involving tens of thousands of people of all ethnicities, and led by figures like Tommy Robinson and Laurence Fox. It was ignored by most of the press. One week later, when Robinson embraced his inner-toddler and stoked violent riots, they made global headlines.

At a time when competition for attention is fierce, it makes business sense for the press and social media platforms to boost stories that outrage people into clicking and sharing. Such platforms naturally form a symbiosis with people who seek to outrage their way to fame: demagogues like Robinson; vandals like Just Stop Oil “poster girl” Phoebe Plummer; and more bizarre figures still, like the “performance artist turned political activist” Crackhead Barney, who wears little but a diaper and seeks to save Gaza by being as obscene as possible.

By giving these figures platforms, we’ve not only allowed them to proselytize to huge audiences, but we’ve also turned them into idols — living testaments that you can get what you want by acting like a baby. Imagine how horrifically a toddler would behave if his every tantrum made world news?

And we can’t blame the media for this; they’re just showing us what we want to see. It is ordinary people who have made being a public nuisance pay. Neotoddlerism needs nothing more than attention to thrive — it is physical clickbait — and we just keep clicking.

The more we share and comment on clips of people throwing soup over paintings, or graffitiing on memorials, or vandalizing mosques, or blocking roads, or spraying orange paint at airports, or pitching tents on university campuses, the more we’ll see such events recur in real life.

The solution to neotoddlers, then, is the same as the one to regular spoiled brats: to ignore their outbursts and deny them attention. The media will stop reporting on their meltdowns when we stop engaging with them. They’ll stop amplifying — and thereby incentivizing — the neotoddlers when we do.

If we gave less attention to those who outrage us, and more to those who inspire us, it would incentivize young people to invest their idealism in, and derive their purpose from, finding practical solutions instead of merely restating the problem in ever sillier ways. So we should learn to react more slowly to news, to pay attention to what we pay attention to, and give more of our attention to behaviors we wish to encourage. It’s not just the neotoddlers who need to be less impulsive, we do too.

And if we take the time to consciously focus our attention, we find there are many people in this world who actually deserve it. While Greta Thunberg became world famous by yelling and blocking entrances to public buildings, the Dutch inventor Boyan Slat has been quietly removing plastic from the oceans through his startup, The Ocean Cleanup. His project recently hit a milestone of 15,000,000kg of trash removed from oceans and rivers worldwide, but it’s hardly been reported by the press.

We don’t yet have any start-ups to clear the oceans of rubber dinghies, but such a thing is possible, if addressing illegal immigration can be made more palatable to polite society. And that will only happen when the people who wish to “stop the boats” refrain from acting like the violent thugs they’re often stereotyped as, and start supporting practical, adult solutions.

Every child begins life throwing tantrums. And every good parent learns to ignore them, because they know that acknowledging attention-seeking behaviors validates them, and prevents their kids from outgrowing them. If we wish to stop seeing good causes ruined by bad actors, we must stop rewarding immaturity. If we wish to usher in an age of post-toddlerism, we must stop making neotoddlers famous.

[kinsey3furry300]

A fanfiction experiment: does not knowing which fandom you are reading make a good twist?

I love fanfiction.

But I also love suddenly discovering new things when reading a book. I like being surprised by shifts in tone, genre or style when reading. And the tagging and filtering systems used on AO3 and fanfiction dot net are so very good at letting you know exactly what you’re getting before you start reading, that it’s almost imposable to get pleasantly surprised like that. It's a great system for avoinding stuff that mught be triggering or just not your jam, or for finding what you like, but I miss the suprise sometimes.

So, as an experiment, I’m going to post the following Poll, and a short fic underneath the “keep reading” with nothing in the tags to let you know which fictional world this is set in. This is fanfic, but you won’t know which fandom until you start reading.

Does working it out in real time what fandom you’re in make for a fun twist?

CW for swearing and one obloquie reference to what might be offscreen sex.

Tagging a bunch of my mutuals that I think are involved in fanworks from several different fandoms to see if they enjoy the twist or if this is dumb. Sorry. Feel free to share for a wider audience.

@rain-droplet @zarohk @myheartisbro-ken @thejakeformerlyknownasprince @moonlight-fox @jewishpangolin @sarifel-corrisafid-ilxhel @abigfuzzybear @sillycourtjester @nazguldivorce @natalieironside @eom-02 @flamingswordofdoom @ghost-avian @thisfuckingdork @nice-is-neat @gaykarstaagforever @noeudspapillons @kabukiaku @bunjywunjy Edit: Also than you to the user who pointed out the rather embarrassing spelling error that both me and my beta missed. Once again the dyslexia is gunning for me.

Unpaved road. Barbed wire fence. Montana cattle country, high summer. Car.

The man in the grey suit stood in the road looking at the open hood of the car, forlorn. He took out his phone for the third time and checked. No signal. His expression did not change at this.

Upon hearing hoofbeats, he stepped over and looked, shielding his eyes from the beating sun with both hands.

“Can I help you?” asked the woman on horseback from the other side of the fence. Early or Mid 20s, black, handsome. Blue jeans, Gillingham shirt, scuffed work boots, straw cowboy hat. Faint California accent.  Rifle slung over back, old military surplus canteen dangling from the pommel of the saddle.

“Umm, yeah.” Said the man. No accent. East coast, maybe. “My rental has died on me. Do you have a phone?”

“No signal.” Said the woman, sliding off the horse and resting one foot on the barbed wire, before vaulting over, one hand on her shoulder to stop the rife swinging. “I keep a satellite phone in my truck, but that’s over the far side of the ranch. Here.” She said, tying the reigns to the fence. “I’ll take a look. What seems to be the problem?”

The man looked nervously from the rifle to the car for a moment. “Honestly? Dammed if I know. Darn thing just died on me. You out hunting?” He asked. The woman snorted.

“No, I don’t approve of hunting for sport, and I don’t eat meat anymore. I carry this for defence. Coyotes, more than people. I’ve got foals in the far paddock, and that attracts predators.”

“So you shoot them?” the man asked, sounding surprised. The woman shook her head.”

“I don’t plan to.” She said, moving to the car and resting the gun against the front bumper. The man moved out of the way and down the road a speck, giving her some room to work. “Usually I go for organic controls, this is just for last ditch emergencies.”

“Organic controls?” said the man, confused. He patted down his pockets, then pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He then took off his suit jacket, a remarkably human gesture in that heat. “What’s that?”

“Oh, coyotes and wolves are territorial. You get a large wolf to mark the edges of your land, and the rest of them generally stay away. Doesn’t work on bears, but bears are more likely to spook a horse foraging than actually hunt one. They need to be run-off, but they generally move when a large stallion charges them. We don’t get many grizzlies here, and the black bears wont normally bother a full grown horse.”

The man snorted. “You have a tame wolf, like, a pet? Just to piss on the fenceposts?” the women laughed. “No, that would be ridiculous. You can order pellets online. Wool soaked in wolf urine, wolf or tiger dung pellets, scares off the Coyotes or Cougars. Fresher is better, but thankfully I know someone at a zoo, they sort me out.” She said, looking over the engine.

“Ah? So this is your land then, I take it?” he said, moving to stand in the road, directly behind her, five paces back. Where she couldn't see.

“Yep. Nearly a thousand hectares, half horse ranch, half re-wilding program, down by the national forest. I’m partnered with fish and game. We’re reintroducing bevers next spiring, and I’m very exited about it.” She said, frowning. It honestly didn’t look like there was anything wrong with the car at all.

“Ah. Nice place. Said the man, putting an unlit cigarette to his lips. “A little hard to find.” He added, lighting up with a smile.

The woman paused. She, and there was no other word for this, twisted. Not like she was moving, but like something had suddenly gone very wrong with her spine, just for a second. Then it was over, and she calmly put one hand on the gun.

The man smiled. “Organic controls, so I see. You know, for a moment I thought I had the wrong person, but when faced with a clear threat, you reached for the gun second.”

“There are snipers.” She said, calmly. “You should know I’m being watched by the government, so if you try any crazy fanboy bullcrap-”

“Private first class Macerson and Lance-corporal Evens, USMC scout snipers, seconded out a military unit that doesn’t officially exist, yes, we knew you’d spotted them. You took the time to wait until they were replaced with the night shift, Cooper and Mackie, and then drove into town and went straight to the same bar they always hit up when they’re off duty. I presume you’d been trailing them for some time? Honestly, just confronting them would have spooked them enough, did you really need to pretend you didn’t know who they were and hook up with Evens? The poor boy is quite stricken with guilt, so I’m told. You didn’t have to twist the knife. They watch you, and we watch them. Something in Latin, ect ect. ” Said the man. He offered the cigarette to the woman, who was now standing there facing him, fists balled by her side, looking furious.

“You’re government.” She said. It was not a question.

“Yes.” Said the man smiling sweetly thought the smoke. Menthol, she noticed.  “But not yours. Although I am here with their permission.” He took a long drag.  “You know, I’m not joking when I said you were hard to find. Honestly? I thought the bird would have been the hardest to contact, but Fish and Game have an entire team dedicated to tracking his movements. I was as close to him as I am to you, if you’re wondering. He was about there” he said, pointing to the road “Pecking at roadkill. Not chatty. Marco now, Marco has a fucking press-agent and to be honest, you can mostly find him by heading to the right nightclubs and aiming for the mirrors, and poor, poor Jake, well… if you have the right security clearance, you can not only find him but make him call you ‘sir’. This spot, this spot now… properly of the radar. I had to pull a lot of strings at the state department to even find out about this place.”

“Good for you. Fuck off. I’m not interested.” She said moving to the fence and untying her horse. “I’m over it, and even if I wasn’t I don’t take kindly to strangers coming over and-”

“We’ve met before.” He said, calmly. “Back in the war.”

She hesitated “I- I don’t recall.”

The man laughed. “Well, I did look quite different then. Hork-Bajir host. You ripped my throat out. Worst thing was, I was already in the Yeerk Peace Movement at the time, just had the bad luck to draw guard duty right before the famed ‘Andalite bandits’ raided. Got off lucky, all things considered: Rachel was crushing heads that day. We need you, Cassie, the peace movement.”

“And? We’re at peace, more or less.”

“More.” The man said, sighing, “Or less. The empire is collapsing, Cassie. You’re out of the loop but I imagine you still follow the news. Balkanizing, infighting, the remnants re-militarizing, and there are some very nasty rumours starting to appear form the far edges of the empire about gods-knows what. Members of the peace movement like myself who spent years working our way up the government to key positions now find there’s hardly a government left anymore, and those of us who made allies in the Andalite and human governments, and those of us who keep in touch with the Notlith community have started to disappear, right here on earth. It… it’s falling apart.”

The young woman sighed. “It always does. What’s it to do with me.”

The man looked upset. “You founded the peace movement, we had hoped-”

“You’re not going to find peace by pulling me, specifically, into another war. What do you want? Spit it out.”

The man narrowed his eyes, took a deep pull on the menthol, glaring at her through smoke, and then continued.

“Some of the Yeerk Nothlit community here on earth have, ah, some regrets about choosing to Nothlit themselves. Their dissatisfaction makes them prime recruiting material for yeerk nationalists who want to re-build the empire, some of them are working with organized crime in Brazil… and there is a rumour that Andalite medics have found a method to cure Nothlit syndrome. Worse, the rumours are true: having looked over their findings from my contacts in the Andalite military, it looks like they are either there, or very close to it. You see the implication?”

She sighed. “Thousands of angry Yeerks who want to re-build the empire running amok in the amazon? Yes I can see the problem. Why is it my problem though? What do you want me to do? Go and make a PR appearance advocating the merits of staying a snake? Wiggle a dead rat around for them so it still looks alive?”

“No. Our initial plan was to just assassinate the Andalite scientists that were working on the cure, oh, don’t give us that look. The Andalite military refused to look the other way, so the best we could manage was to get them to evoke Seerow’s Kindness and not share the cure with us Yeerks.”

“I sense a but coming.”

“But, someone sneaked a copy of the research notes out, via the Skrit Na, and they made their way to earth. The Yeerk Peace movement and the governments of the Unites States and Brazil agreed that on the balance of probability this was a bad thing, and we sent a team into to recover or destroy the data.”

“I’m not doing it. Not getting involved. If some yeerks want to un-Nothlit themselves, that’s their choice.”

"Oh, no… we’ve already destroyed the data, we believe, the mission was a success. That’s not the problem.”

“So what is?”

“The team didn’t make it out.  We need someone morph-capable to go into the amazon on a search and recue-”

“Fuck off.” she said, re-mounting the horse.

The man sighed. “I could have gone to Jake, I have the authority to just order him to do it. I could have tried to leverage Tobias, he has… personal stakes in this, but I think he’s too far gone for this. I could even just appeal to Marco’s ego, or request the Andalite military sends a war-prince and some special forces. This is time sensitive, so do you know why I’m wasting time with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.” She said.

“Jake, the Andalites, the US government, all told me the same thing: it’s not worth it. The probability of getting them out alive is too low. We’d lose more people trying to pull them out than we’d save, plus the collateral casualties… They all looked at the maths, and decided it wasn’t viable. I need someone who doesn’t look at the maths. Someone who cares about the lost lives… someone who will feel bad if this goes wrong, and hold back as a result. We have a Chee contact in place to run intel and support the op, we have a backup team, but what we don’t have is anyone I’d trust to do it right. Someone is killing our people, ma’am. The Nothlit yeerks that refuse to join the New Empire, and no doubt killing a lot of innocent anacondas in the process.  They’re dying. And I need some who is sane, functional, and cares if that stops or not. You’ll be compensated for your time: 2 million, donated to the wildlife charities of your choice, we already know your usual ones-”

“No.” said the woman, wrestling the horse around to leave.

The man pulled out a Dracon beam. The woman cussed and reached for her rifle.

He turned, and quite calmly used the weapon to burn a number onto the nearest fencepost.

“Modulated beam, the latest tech.” he said. “My phone number. I’d try my business card, but I imagine you’d rip it up dramatically. Call anytime.” He said, dropping the hood and climbing into the car. It started first time.

“Why in the hell would I call you?” she yelled.

“Because tonight, when you’re done running around on all fours marking fence-posts or seducing your minders or whatever you do on a weeknight, you’ll wonder just how many people will die if you don’t.” The man said, calmy, driving away. *****

Cassie lay in bed looking at the ceiling for a long time.

“Fuck.” She said, after some time.

There was a noise. Coyotes. You couldn’t blame them, for being killers. It was just what they did.

They didn’t choose to kill others.

She sighed, walked to the window of the ranch-house, and focused for a second, morphing her vocal cords. It took barely ten seconds.

She slid the screen off her open window, stuck her head out, and howled.  The Coyotes got the message, and left.

There. She didn’t have to shoot them, sometimes you could just scare them off, so long as they knew who the top-dog in this neighbourhood was.

Sometime the threat of force worked better than force itself. Sometimes you needed a nuanced touch to your violence, if you wanted to spare lives.

She sighed, and ran her fingers through her short buzzed hair. 

“Shit.” She said, eventually.

Cussing the whole way, she stomped downstairs to the house phone. She did not own a cell phone. No point. This was one of the last spots in the lower 48 with no cell signal of any kind. Every time they tried to build a tower here, an increasingly ludicrous succession of rare birds would be seen trying to nest on the exact spot they had picked. Never a pair, but always a single highly endagered bird trying it’s damnedest to build a nest. Eventually the government had got the fucking hint and intervened with AT&T on her behalf.

Hating herself, she picked up the phone.

He answered on the second ring.

“How many lives?” was all she asked.

“At least eighteen, more if it goes badly. Three morph-capable humans and one morph-capable Hork-Bajir, four yeerks, ten regular humans who just got caught up in this mess.  They’ve been gone 24 hours, so we’re looking at Kandrona starvation soon, if they’re not executed first.

“I… morph capable controllers?!” she said, surprised.

He laughed. “Not every Yeerk on earth took your offer to become a Nothlit, Cassie. The US government captured some portable Kandrona’s during the war. You’re smart, and attuned to social issues: if the US military wanted morphing special forces, did you not think the CIA would want the ability to finally puppet someone after years of Manchurian candidate MK Ultra bullshit? Sadly, some Yeerks just switched one empire for another. Plus, Jake’s toy-soldiers only have so many hours of training per day: if they spend all their time running around with guns and practicing morphing, that’s no time to learn languages or technical data. Four Operatives, each with a Yeerk co-pilot to round-out their skillset. All volunteers from the yeerk peace movement: went in to try and stop the killing of Nothlits and the un-Nothlit-ing the radicals. Captured. Human organized criminals aiding the Yeerk Ultra-nationalists. Voluntary controllers, Narco’s with Dracons and an axe to grind, and a bunch of very pissed-off snakes. Absolutely the worst-case scenario.”

“Fuck. Location?”

“Brazilian-Venezuelan boarder. We have a bug fighter on standby. We can get you to the approximate location to meet your team in…. seventeen minuets.”

She digested this information, drumming her fingers on the phone.

“Is this a trap?” she asked, finally.

“Certainly. But not one I’ve laid, or it would be better fucking organised. They are suspecting we’ll send someone in, they are not suspecting you, or a Chee. That gives us some hope.”

“Okay, and one more thing before I decide: You said you thought you could get Tobais involved, but he was too far gone. Personal stakes, you said. What did you mean by that?"

Pause. Crackling phone static.

“The Morph capable Hork-Bajir is Rak Hamee, Jara and Ket’s son. Younger brother of US congresswoman Toby Hamee, and they are being held hostage by Yeerk nationalists to try and leverage us into giving them the Nothlit cure.”

“Fuck.” Said Cassie. “Land the Bug in the south paddock. I don’t want you spooking the horses.”

[littlelamy]

𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓵𝔂!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

author's note: so excited to show introduce you guys to holly!reader. also HUGE credits to @rafesplaymate for inspiration. i read her glamourmodel AU and became obsessed to say the least.

holly!reader has everything the kook life offers—money, power, designer everything—but honestly? she can't stop thinking about the pogue life. it's messy, it's chaotic, and it's fucking free. she loves the way they don’t give a shit about all the fake crap she’s surrounded by. she craves the simplicity of living in the moment, without having to worry about her daddy’s expectations or some fancy-ass gala. the pogues are wild, and that's exactly what she wants. it's her dirty little secret, but she's obsessed with it.

whenever holly!reader’s old man is off doing his bullshit corporate stuff, she knows it’s her time to escape. she doesn’t need anyone else but jj. he's always ready to ditch whatever he's doing just to pick her up, and she loves that. no questions, no bullshit—just him, her, and a car ride to wherever the hell they feel like going. she doesn’t have to play the perfect kook when she’s with him. it’s just fun, no strings attached. and let’s be real, jj’s exactly the kind of guy she needs to get out of her head. sure, it’s john b’s beat-up van, and the thing probably smells like a mix of saltwater, beer, and whatever they dragged in from their latest adventure, but it’s still the best fucking ride. it doesn’t matter if it’s not a shiny sports car—whenever jj’s driving, everything else fades away. he’s the only one who can make her forget about her fake-ass world, even if it’s just for a little while.

though the kook is very popular on the island, she has a special place in her heart for the pogues. holly might be the golden girl in figure eight—always smiling, always looking flawless—but deep down? she's tired of the fake ass smiles and shallow conversations. yeah, she’s got a crowd, but it’s the pogues who really get her. they don't care about appearances or how much money she’s got. they just... live. no masks, no games. she’d trade all the glitz and glam for a night spent with them in a heartbeat. but of course, she'd never admit that to anyone, 'cause that’d be a hell of a confession.

holly!reader is a definite tease. let's be real—holly knows exactly what she’s doing. whether it’s that flirty little smile or the way she twirls her hair when she’s talking to someone, she’s always got people on edge. she’s got the looks, the charm, and the attitude that drives people insane. but she’s not dumb—she knows how to use it. keep them hanging, keep them wanting more, but never give them what they want. it's all a game to her, and she’s winning.

holly!reader gained the nickname ‘playmate.’ it didn’t take long for everyone to start calling her 'playmate.' it's that mix of innocence and sex appeal, that perfect balance between the girl next door and the one you wanna fuck. holly owns it. she’s got that glamour look down to an art, posting sultry shots of herself in the most random spots—like, by the marina, on the beach, or even in her daddy’s mansion, just looking effortlessly hot. people talk about it, but hell, she’s the one getting all the attention. it's not her fault they can’t stop staring.

holly!reader is known for her glamour photos. you know the deal—holly!reader is always posting something. she's the queen of Instagram on the island, with every photo making people want to drop everything and come meet her. she's got the glamour shots, the beach shots, the “casual” shots of her looking like a fucking goddess no matter what she’s doing. you know she’s not just posting for fun—each shot is her way of saying, "look at me, fuckers." and honestly? it works. the Cut’s her playground, and she's the star of it all.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @auroramadelyn

[seat-safety-switch]

A lot of people these days talk about how vacuum tubes are "warmer." This is preposterous nonsense. That is, unless you talk about the sheer amount of waste heat they crank out. That is actually quite substantial. Hey, don't get your fingerprints on the glass. You'll fuck it all up.

Recently, one of my friends got into vintage stereos. And if you know anyone into vintage stereos, you know there's no such thing as being "just a little bit" into them. His basement went from reasonably empty to being stuffed to the brim with sick Pioneers, ailing Sansuis, and even something that I think might be a crude Soviet-Polish knock-off of a Marantz. None of them work, but all of them are beloved treasures. Coincidentally, the purchase of them all also sent a bunch of scrapyard owners' kids to college.

Obviously, this is an unnatural state of things. Nobody can listen to all these stereos at the same time. If you tried, you'd go insane, like that guy who robbed the Piggly Wiggly on the interstate because his car was tuned into two Top 40 stations simultaneously. Saucy British pop starlets only tell you to commit horrible crimes in your dreams, buddy. Not speaking through your car stereo. I wanted to help my friend before he became one of these dire statistics. I knew that I had to return his basement to the natural state of being, but how?

At once, I hit upon it. I would simply take some of my excess car parts, and store them in his basement. That's what everyone is supposed to store in their basement: primo speed parts that are "waiting for the right project." I left his place that night with a smug sense of satisfaction. Once he woke up in the morning, saw that he had a bunch of turbos, and maybe a couple axles for an indeterminate Italian sports coupe, he'd stop worrying about dumb old radios and start getting obsessed about what really matters: accumulating car parts.

Unfortunately, I hadn't counted on what would happen to my basement as soon as a square inch of space was cleared. The reason why I hadn't been caught by my snoozing buddy when I was over at his place was simple. He wasn't snoozing at all! The motherfucker was in my basement, filling the now-vacant space that used to contain Miata differentials and Detroit Diesel superchargers with stereos!

I don't think I can complain too much. After all, it is free storage, and if my house burns down, at least some of my hoard will be safe over at his place. Plus, fiddling around with the unresponsive tuner on this rusty ol' Onkyo has been a nice departure from having to carry around heavy car parts.

Hey, that's funny. Come here, check this out. If I hold it just like this, I can get both of the Top 40 stations at the same time. What's that, Katy Perry? You want me to rob the Piggly Wiggly?

[bloodbrown]

Could you make some headcanons about what Carlo and P x reader would be like in a modern AU? Pleasee 😭💖

P x reader and Carlo x reader Headcanons (Modern AU)

• So I absolutely love the idea of P and Carlo as brothers in an AU like this (also because I can't explain how Carlo and P could exist in the same time frame otherwise?) but what I love more is the idea that P was adopted and just happens to style his hair so that he looks like Carlo, so people assume they're actually related. Carlo is older but not by much, maybe 2 years.

• I think Carlo is probably the one that gets more attention in the dating scene. He's confident, funny and outspoken (and also a little dumb, but it's charming.) Having a wingman on-call in the form of Romeo also helps. I think they briefly dated in the past, ended up breaking it off amicably and remained good friends into adulthood.

• Obviously Pino is also quite good-looking, but he's strange, quiet, and fidgety, which tends to put people off at first glance. He doesn't have the charm or social skills of Carlo. Also most of his friends are women, so... green flag.

• If you're attracted to Pino, first of all, when you express interest in him he would assume you're actually interested in his idiot brother. He'd think you're just trying to get Carlo's number or something. Pino doesn't get much real romantic attention from others (outside of people complimenting his looks) and isn't used to someone being wholeheartedly interested in him.

• Part of this is because P is so guarded and hesitant in his personality, but also because he tends to lie, so most people aren't aware of his real feelings. I'd think this is probably because he was used to hiding how he felt and what he thought in his home life.

• If Carlo is more your speed, I think what you see is what you get with him. He certainly wears his heart on his sleeve. When he hates someone, when he loves someone... you will know immediately. (which is also why you end up in the loop about his daddy issues quite soon in the relationship. Geppetto neglected the both of them, and especially ignored Carlo, to the point where Carlo thinks his old man only adopted another son to try to fix his parental fuck-ups)

• Anyway, Carlo would probably take to dating you right away, especially since he has had prior experience. His perfect first date idea would be taking you to a festival or festival(s) and walking around for hours trying food, other new things and trying to find dogs to pet.

• 2nd date idea would be something insane, like urban exploration in the most dangerous building he can find. I think 3rd date he'd want to take you shooting at a gun range. For some reason I just feel like he'd be a gun guy who likes it for the sport of it

But if you're not interested in that, he'd be down for the most sexual-tension-laden game of laser tag in the universe. You'll probably make out in the car afterwards.

• Carlo is the sort of person who starts out quite blunt and initiates relationships on almost entirely sexual interest, but becomes a tad softer and more affectionate the longer the relationship goes on and he gets a bit more comfortable. Also, the sex is absolutely amazing.

• Long-term Carlo probably isn't really down for you meeting any of his family, except maybe his brother, but only in specific environments. I think he wants to leave behind anything that reminds him of his upbringing (even Pino, even though Geppetto's behavior isn't his fault) and you have to accept that in a relationship. No Christmas with the in-laws.

• Pino for a 1st date would want to take you to dinner at a nice restaurant, then to a movie theater to see a film. And he wants to *actually* watch a movie, not sit through 1/3rd of the movie and then start touching on each other. He literally just wants to see something with you and enjoy it together.

• 2nd date would be a museum date. Pino is deeply fascinated with natural history, and if you'll accompany him to a museum he hasn't been to before, it would mean the world to him. Since he's new to dating, if you want to do anything like hold his hand as you walk through, you'll have to initiate. He's a bit twitchy and awkward.

• A 3rd or 4th date with Pino is something sweet and personal. I think he'd compose a song specifically for you and play it for you on piano. He's so sweet and considerate that you just want to kiss him. And make no mistake, if you want to kiss him you need to take the initiative to let him know that it's okay. Then he'll be more comfortable to kiss you.

• Long-term, Pino will only become more comfortable and loving with you. Sometimes he will still struggle with moving first with acts of affection, but he gets better about it, giving you pecks on the cheek or a firm hug whenever he sees you. It may take quite a few months until he's comfortable enough for sexual activity (and he's also a virgin.) Pino's serial lying over small things might also be a problem until his barriers are broken down (He probably needs therapy.)

• I also think that he'd be the first to bring up engagement or marriage between the two of you. He has a very idealized view of marriage and wants to spend the rest of his life with the one he loves. It's something to consider but discuss it honestly and openly. He will accept your feelings if you don't want to talk about marriage as soon as he's bringing it up.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 8

part 1 | part 7 | ao3

He finds himself on Cherry Drive by muscle memory alone. Quarter mile past Maple Street, take the third left, the second right; drive straight through the next stop sign and suddenly the Hagan house is coming into view around the bend, bathed in dim yellow light from a flickering street lamp. A 50s era ranch house, painted brick with a detached one-car garage, weeds sprouting through the crooked old stones of the front walkway and leaves scattered across the lawn in mushy browns and orange-reds.

It's not as nice as Steve's place is.

Was.

Whatever.

Steve blinks, shakes himself fully awake; feels a jolt of fear at the idea that he just drove here in some kind of fugue state because he doesn't know what he's doing here. Tommy left for college, and fuck Tommy, anyway.

He pulls up to the house. Slows the car to a crawl.

It's dark inside, all the lights turned off except for a single table lamp in the entryway window; shaped like a sea turtle, its belly full of blue-green light. Mrs. H. loves the sea.

He wonders if they're out of town or if they're just asleep.

The Hagans go to bed early, he remembers. He spent so many nights talking in a hush in Tommy's room; 8:45pm and they'd be lying side by side on the floor beside his bed, reading comic books or sports mags and whispering about nothing. Tommy'd always thank Steve for coming over because he knew his house was a little boring; he was the kid with old parents who went to bed early and kept the radio turned down and wouldn't let them have sugary snacks even on the weekends. Steve would always just knock their shoulders together and smile 'don't mention it' because he'd hang out with Tommy anywhere.

"Anywhere?" "Yeah, anywhere." "What about in a cave?" "Sure." "Under a bridge?" "Don't see why not." "In the belly of a whale?" "Now you're just being dumb." "Am not!" "Are, too." "Oh, yeah? Well- shut up!"

That was usually the part where they got in trouble for making noise, caught red-faced and laughing while they wrestled on the floor.

There's warmth in his chest at the memory, and that part, he expects.

But also...

Something about it makes heat flare in his gut, shameful and feverish as it flashes through his mind: the phantom press of Tommy above him as he pinned his shoulders down; the way the flush on his cheeks made Tommy's freckles pop; the breathless smile he gave, so close their noses almost brushed...

A light turns turns on in the Hagans' hall.

Steve hits the gas.

He drives for a long while, feeling like an asshole for burning through their precious gas money, but too— too something to fully care. He's alone on a highway with dark pastures blowing by, with the heat on and windows down, and he's circling back toward home when Bruce Springsteen starts to play, all croaky static over the spotty radio.

Born down in a dead man's town. The first kick I took was when I hit the ground.

Steve cranks it up and sings along. The song is cheesy, and he feels stupid, but he also feels free. Like there was a shackle around his throat and he didn't notice until it was gone. He shouts along to the chorus and then just shouts in general; long, guttural screams that feel like poison being purged. Tommy, his dad, the Russians, his mom. All of it, all of it spewing out of him into the cold night air.

He misses Carol suddenly. Her acidic attitude. The way it always ate through the worst of his sullen moods.

He can picture her now: perched on someone's lap in the crowded backseat, no seatbelt, manicured hand braced on the ceiling. She'd be smacking bubblegum and twirling a lock of her hair, and she'd roll her eyes at Steve's dramatics and ask whether he was done untwisting his panties yet. Steve would say something dumb and pervy in response, like, "Too busy dealing with girls' panties to focus on my own," and she'd roll her eyes harder and go, "God, you're fucking gross."

Carol's not here, though, so he just screams about her, too.

When he get back to Forest Hills his voice is hoarse. His body is tired; his soul is light. He's thinking, like: maybe he'll be okay. He'll channel his inner Claudia or Joyce and soldier on. Resilience, and all that shit.

He's almost smiling to himself when he turns into the park.

And then he sees the flashing lights.

There's an ambulance on his lot.

—

part 9

just gonna start tagging whoever commented the day before (if your settings will let me) bc i have the memory of a goldfish @a-little-unsteddie @slowandsteddie @pennyplainknits @thesuninyaface @hotluncheddie @messrs-weasley @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @blackpanzy @disrespectedgoatman @i-have-three-feelings @sirsnacksalot @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium

[emrikae]

aot cast modern au jobs in my head:

eren: cybersecurity specialist. i feel like erens one of those kids that suck in subjects like lang-lit or fucking geography but have an impressive talent in anything techi. i think growing up eren was a competitive gamer and i imagine him being pretty rich in the sense where doctor daddy grisha and also big bro zeke are always spoiling his brat ass with the latest technology. he gets so good, he initially goes into uni wanting to become a game designer but after a brief fallout with his dad when he dropped out and eventually had his allowance cut (a period where i think eren dips into underground hacking and also modelling?) he falls upon the sexy salary in cybersecurity (and saw how thrilling- and damn easy !for him! - the job is) he changed course. i think eren eventually builds his own successful company and becomes one of those rich folks who say that school aint shit.

mikasa: president of a major sports team. mikasa takes over pretty young (like early 30s) after old uncle kenny was involved in some ‘reiss scandal’. initially mikasa was labelled ‘princess’ (derogatory) by dumb angry hooligans who thought a woman would curse their current standing, jokes on them cus that same season the club broke their 20 year curse by reaching the championships. i also think old pictures of gothkasa gets leaked on the internet but it only brought her more praise. but i actually dont think mikasa stays in this job for very long, shes always wanted a quiet simple form of income anyway so when her baby brother comes of right age and maturity she passes the baton to him and lays back as just a shareholder before shes even 40. i also believe mikasa in another universe wouldve loved to be an archivist.

armin: celebrity marine biologist/activist that went viral online during lockdown. he gets his own fanbase and is termed ‘biologist bae’ cus of his cute looks. a tv producer who fell into his corner pretty much fell in love with him after seeing armin deliver a spiel about endangered dugongs. invites him to a bunch of talk shows and the viewership goes so high (a large portion of it being teenage fangirls who want to ‘save the ocean’ too!) he manages to score his own show where he eventually meets his future wife.

annie: senior tv writer who got with armin after working with him on his show. she usually works on sporty reality shows and competitions even though shes a big time introvert. known for her sharp dont fuck with me work ethic, annie gags at how easily she fell into ‘biologist baes’ charm, hates how shes just like the 14 year old fangirls who try to sneak into their shoots. but anyways, annies the ace at her job been going hard for about 15 years but ultimately decides to retire early after having her second child and really liking how ‘biologist bae’ was making enough dough for the whole family.

sasha: influencer cus shes so pretty and fun. was a design major so all her vids have a ‘aesthetic’. now she prettily promotes lifestyle hacks for all the girlies. she also has a set of vids called “what my chef husband cooked for me today” . i think also further on she ends up being one of those moms who shoots vlogs and reviews with their kids.

jean: jeans a classy guy with artistic talents so i imagine him being a successful automotive designer for a luxurious car company. a mommas boy, he used his first fat pay-check to buy his mom a sleek ride thats a little too fast for someone her age. dudes insta page is what you’d expect from a posh car enthusiast with flashy posts of either him, his car, his mom or all 3.

connie: real estate party man. he really climbed his way up and becomes a man of many stories, friends with everyone and plenty of connections. the old hustle got him familiar with the best locations in the city, and now with his excellent salesmanship dude manages to sell at least 3 huge properties a week. i also feel like connies one of those dudes to finally settle down in his 40s -50s (with someone half his age).

historia: i believe queenbee was made for wedding planning. she has her own company before her first job ever but damn is she good at it. being brought up filthy rich, historia is familiar with the highest quality of things, knows whats on the market that only the small percentage of rich people know and will get clients their dream wedding to a t. moreover, she also loves to play cupid (canon!) and is always up to planning her friends weddings (and baby showers, and birthdays parties, and…)

ymir: i imagine ymir being on the board of directors for a bunch of ngos. she had a tough upbringing, was probably moved around from one home to another and could see how hard life is for anyone working at minimum wage. she grew up to be a little spitfire in school, hadnt taken it seriously until she reached senior year and bonded with a school staff named Ms Ymir Fritz. With the wisdom and kindness she learnt from her old teacher, ymir wanted to pay it forward and decided to make a living helping those in need.

reiner: idk why, but i feel like reiners a softie at heart and i imagine him having a nice cozy candy shop. probably fighting old childhood demons and the parental neglect he faced, his cute little shop comes as part of his healing journey to compensate what he missed out on in his youth. its sweet (but a little heartbreaking) that reiners favourite part about his job is getting to witness and be a part of the joy that emerges between families when they enter his shop.

bertholdt: a nurse just cus i think bertholdt would know how to be gentle with the patients. hes got a soft way of speaking that makes vulnerable people feel safe and comfortable. hes also wildly knowledgeable in flexibility and keeping your muscles in good shape that he conducts morning stretches and sometimes yoga in one of their recreational halls.

[ilovejeongintoo]

𝔸 ℝ𝕚𝕤𝕜 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Fantasy, Rich man Yunho x Thief Reader, Warnings: Handcuffs, implied mafia?, implied yandere behaviour, unprotected sex(smh), slight praise, name calling (dear) Wordcount: 3353 Not proofread

Yunho drives me mad, he's just so...ugh, there aren't words that are worthy enough to describe him. Also I wrote this at like 2 am.

Summary: A thrill-seeking burglary, driven by a craving for adrenaline, you break into the grand Jeong Estate to steal a priceless necklace. Equipped with skills from past heists you're dressed for stealth, the owner unexpectedly decides to make an appearance and punish you in his own way.

Out of all the things that you would do, this one was probably the craziest, no this is the craziest idea ever. Sure, you've done stupid things before but this one was going to take the cake, even if you were fully prepared.

Your mother had always told you, this hobby of yours would get you in trouble. For her you were a "normal" kind of adrenaline junkie, bungee jumping, paragliding, rock climbing, something that was in a controlled environment but would still get your heart racing. Your blood pumping. When that didn't satisfy you anymore though, you turned over a different leaf, starting with cliff diving and some urban exploring, graffiti, crimes that's what this hobby of yours turned into. Especially little crimes that involved stealing something, from a store, a jacket, a purse your hands were quite skilled at the task and the feeling you got from it was just too addictive to stop.

And after a stupid night with an even more stupid idea from your friends you were here now, a block down from the biggest estate in the city. The Jeong Estate.

The idea was stuck in your brain like gum on your shoe and you wouldn't leave until that itch inside of you was cleansed. The worst thing was, this was completely solo, from the planning, to going through with this.

It was simple really, sneak around the cameras, hopefully find some open entrance, if not you'd get entry in some way. You learned a few things about security systems from rich homes like these, they all worked the same, so you'd be able to deactivate it, you just didn't know for how long, that's why that was as a last resort.

You honestly looked like a burglar, the dark leather jacket, black jeans with an old black t-shirt and a black cap. In case you were somehow caught, they wouldn't recognize you.

You just had to get in, find something worth taking and then get out. And that undetected.

Interesting enough the whole layout of the mansion was on the internet, you guessed they like to brag about their wealth and how many bathrooms one could possibly need.

There were multiple interviews taken in the house, pictures of the outside, inside, around it, with a little bit of smart thinking you'd be able to sneak past any cameras where they wouldn't be able to detect you.

Because of their huge security set up, they didn't think to have any guards, the place completely empty, anyone that was going to try anything had a death wish. And you wouldn't pass up on the thrill of escaping that mansion with a little souvenir that you'd pull out and brag to your friends about.

You could already imagine the dumb, shocked faces they'd pull when you got back. You stepped out of your car, combat boots hitting the ground, you only got a small bag, as to not make your form any bigger. You decided the back was safer to gain entry, less cameras more blind sports as well, with the huge maze-like garden blocking your silhouette from everything, combined with the darkness of the night, this was going to be a walk in the park. your heart was racing though, not even inside yet. You checked various doors and windows hoping someone left at least one open with a house this big, poor luck.

You guess that meant plan B was officially going to commence. You whipped out your phone connecting with the security system in a matter of minutes with the closeness, there seemed to be a manual lever hidden just close to you, that was the only thing you couldn't find amongst the endless photos taken of this place. You opened a small metal box being faced with a control panel, thankfully each button had some words on them, not making you guess what each does. You clicked one and then another to confirm it, the cameras immediately losing their red recording light, and the alarm presumably being off now.

You grabbed a rock off the expensive looking assortment next to a little pond and smashed it against a glass door. Sliding your hand in and turning the knob, it slid open, and you were officially in. No going back. You gulped the nerves hitting a little harder, but your excitement burnt even more. Turning the lamp on your flashlight, you snuck around a little, figuring out which hallway you were in, looking at a few vases, might take one of those.

But you were actually on the lookout for a particular door, leading to a secret treasure room. The Jeong family apparently liked collecting stuff a lot, paintings, statues, jewelry. You were going to go for a specific necklace, only one in the world and it was here, so close to you. You moved further down, passing high chandeliers and a set of stairs. The doors couldn't be missed, big embroidery and golden accents making it stand out even more than everything that you've seen here yet, however that was possible. You pushed it open, startled of it not being closed. There wasn't anyone inside, thank God.

You looked around the room, in awe. It was filled to the brim, to each treasure a sign explaining it was from or what it symbolized. As you watched each one with interest your eyes landed on the glass in the middle of the room, encased in it was the necklace you were here for. What you would be taking home. You walked up to it, your boots squeaking a little on the oak wooden floor.

You pressed your gloved fingers onto the glass, admiring the piece inside. You would obviously have to break it and then sneak out again. You brought some equipment just for this, obviously they didn't have normal glass around these national treasures. You got a laser cutter for a pretty dime, and you'd leave with something worth every coin spent on this device. You put your bag down, going through it, setting up the little machine, turning on the flame and testing it a few times. You were just about to cut it when you heard some noise.

Which wasn't you for sure. You immediately panicked a little and turned the thingy off reaching for your bag and pulling it behind the counter of the necklace, hiding behind it. There wasn't any reason that someone would just come in here. Or was there?

You were mentally going through every scenario that was about to happen. Your palms sweating, heart bursting out of your chest. You had to calm down a little or you'd make stupid decisions right this second. The racing of your little heart was promptly stopped by the door creaking open, the clanking of shoes evident in the spacious room. Definitely dress shoes, definitely someone that lived here. It was okay. They didn't know you were here. They were probably just having some weird midnight museum tour here. This was probably just some rich person behavior, going to your own treasure haven at the dead of night, yeah, must be it.

The steps grew closer and thus louder. You prayed they wouldn't walk around the counter and see you, briefly you regretted ever coming here but you did get what you wanted, a thrill.

You held your breath when the sounds of those shoes stopped. Listening intently for what was about to happen and staying alert. Just when you were trying to get ahold of your breathing again, there was some fast movement, a click, a shove, and you were on the ground. Looking up, you saw your one hand cuffed to a bar embedded into the counter. And some very shiny looking shoes, that were now directly in front of you. You moved your gaze slowly up, black slacks, further there was a simple shirt and a black tie. Who the hell wears those in their own home? And finally, a rather young-looking dude, you'd have expected a man in his fifties by the clothing choice. The black-haired man didn't looked like he was in his mid-twenties, slightly older than you.

Your bows furrowed at that. His deep voice was the next thing that shocked you as he leaned down, setting himself on his haunches.

"Now what do we have here? A little mouse lingering in my house." There was no way that this was the Jeong Yunho, he was just way too… young, for a successful multi-millionaire. You didn't realize that you haven't responded.

"I was wondering what crawled in when I heard some noises, you ought to be more careful than that." He smiled mockingly.

You were trying to keep your gaze away from him, not wanting him to catch even a single glance of your features, he might just let you go. Who are you even kidding? Fat chance, you were lucky if you made it out of here alive now, genuine fear setting in.

He kept trying to move his face to yours, obviously wanting to look at the intruder that snuck in, but you just turned in the other direction. Having enough of your attitude he gripped your jaw in his hand, your free one trying to pry him off of you. He turned you to him and knocked the hat off your head.

You stared into his eyes, not wanting to get intimidated no matter how much money this guy had. You wouldn’t be intimidated by a pretty, rich boy that was born with a silver spoon.

"Happy now?" You questioned. His hand left your face.

"Oh, so she does talk, and she's got some fire." That grin just wouldn't leave his face, it was so goddamn punchable even if it was a shame to ruin.

Maybe violence was next on your hobby list of crimes. If looks could kill, he would be buried six feet under, your glare was burning a hole through his face.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of you visiting my home?" Any words that came out of his mouth made you want to shut him up. If it was with a fist or a kiss you honestly didn't care.

"Why don't you take a guess?" You wouldn't answer anything with a guy like this squeezing you into a little corner. Which was risky to say the least.

"Well… judging by the get up and the fact that I found you here, means you were planning on stealing something." No shit sherlock, for what other reason do people break in.

You gave him a deadpan look.

"Oh, come on, this is the most interesting thing that has happened here in a while, usually, people get caught by the alarm or cameras before even making it inside."

"Makes me wonder how you made it this far." He looked you over, studying you, analyzing.

This was probably the best time to convince him of letting you go, somehow. "Look, I'm sorry okay, this was stupid, I'll pay for the broken glass and just leave."

"See now, that just won't work. I can't just "let you go", that'll just make me look bad if it comes out that I just let little thieves like you come and go."

"I have to set an example." What the fuck does he mean by that?

You hadn't even thought about what kind of people lived here, for all you could know this was some secret mafia family that built their empire on corpses. Sure, sounded like it.

"I promise I won't talk; I won't do this again."

"You really expect me to believe that?" He raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"Trust me, I'll make sure you won't." Now that sounded like something a killer would say, you were fucked, so fucked.

"Please, look, I have family, friends, please just let me go." You looked at him a little pleading, fuck your pride and not getting intimidated. This was beyond anything.

You shook the cuff slightly, trying to slip your hand through it in any way. "Look I'll pay or whatever, j-just don't kill me." He seemed in thought about something, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek and then he stood up, your eyes following his long, slim figure.

"No." He curtly replied.

Okay fuck him and fuck reasoning with this asshole.

"I'm gonna cave your face in when I get out of these handcuffs, I swear." You glared. His smile grew again, this fucker was getting some sick satisfaction of seeing you seething in anger.

"Ouuu there's that fire that I was beginning to miss, you were begging so nicely a second ago." He twirled a stand of your hair. He grabbed at the cuffs unlicking it from the bar, getting your hopes up of being free when he clasped the now free shackle to your other hand. Your hands now cuffed in front of your body, he pulled at the chain holding them together.

He stood up, dragging you with him. "Girls like you only learn the hard way, don't they? Lucky for you, I know just how to handle your type." Anything he said sounded so suggestive, you don't know if the fear was activating some hidden side in you, or if his attractiveness eliminated any red flags in the situation. He tugged you along, crossing room for room way too fast for you to keep track of where you were and therefore not making you figure out where he was taking you, until he hauled you into a dimly lit room. A bedroom, okay woah, this was turning into one of your fantasies real fast.

"I'm feeling generous today, it's not every day where a pretty thing just turns up at my doorstep, so I'll even remove these." The restraints from your wrist fell to the floor, your hands massaging your wrists. "I'll let you off the hook" But? There had to be some twist. "You'll spend the night here, after all you wanted to be here." Yeah, to steal something, not to fuck a loaded dude.

You did consider it, he wasn't bad looking. But that fucking attitude was just so aggravating. "And what makes you think that I would just agree to that?" Your arms crossed in silent protest.

"Maybe the fact that you wouldn't land yourself in jail."

"You kind of interrupted my work so It's only fair that I get a little bit of a compensation for being so nice."

Oh, hell to the no, not this guy, nu uh. He looks like someone that would brag about this for centuries to come. You whipped around ready to leave; "I'll just turn myself in."

"Come on, didn't you notice the tension between us, are you that oblivious?"

Of course, you had noticed, from the first second you realized his hands were way bigger and that he was towering over you, had you thinking dirty. Like if he had just bent you over the glass in the other room. Or the hallway wall, or this bed. God there must be something wrong with you. Some adrenaline induced arousal that activated since you were caught.

You didn't notice yourself stopping nor did you notice Yunho moving up behind you until his warm breath hit your ear.

"Right, you did notice. I'll even gift you a little something to take with you, or you can leave with nothing right now."

He brushed the hair from your neck, kissing it slightly. You could just leave now, but his offer was too tempting. You whipped around, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him in for a kiss, before you could second guess your decision making.

He pushed you against a nearby wall, caging you in. He was so fucking big it felt suffocating in an intoxicating way. Like all your senses were filled with Yunho only.

The movements were rushed buttons falling off, his tie almost getting ripped apart. Your shirt and jacket being discarded in a matter of seconds. You called his name in between kisses, desperate to get him to move faster.

Only one of your legs was out of your jeans when he stuffed you with his fingers, you were hoping that your legs kept their strength, and your knees wouldn't buckle. It was getting increasingly difficult, the more fingers he added, the harder he thrusted, the deeper that he hit. You tried your best to hold onto his shoulders. You took notice of the large bulge pressing against his slacks and slipped your hand in. You stroked him making him bite his lip a bit, his brows furrowing in pleasure. Groans were the only things you could hear besides the wet squelch of your pussy. When your knees were going to give out, he pulled his hand from you, reaching over, grabbing a familiar object, clicking it onto you again but lifting your arms making you wrap your cuffed hands around his neck, your hands holding onto him. He lifted one of your legs getting closer to your body while his other hand moved down and pulled his length out of his pants.

A pretty thing from top to bottom, with just the perfect curve. Fittingly big for his stature. Your favorite part was when he started rubbing it against you, getting it wet, a vein that ran along his cock brushed your clit at the perfect angle. It made you cry out just a little louder for him.

"I might just keep you in my treasure room dear, you just make such cute noises."

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, not that you cared at this moment. When he slipped himself inside that's when you almost came on the spot, your insides were clenching so much around his length. Wrapping around him, it was so so warm. And when he started moving it was even better, the drag of your ridged walls pulling him back in when he pulled out.

"Yunho, Yunho, god ah."

His thrusts reached deeper than your fingers every could, than any man before him could. Yunho kept thrusting while alternating between playing with your boobs and circling your clit with his thumb.

"You're gonna kill me, you know that? o-my fucking god." He groaned after each thrust. Your stomach became so warm and tingly, it was only a matter of seconds before you'd cum all over his cock. It was after a particular calculated thrust up into your g-spot that had you seeing stars, tightening your arms around Yunhos neck and letting out a pornographic moan. The squeezing of your pussy had him coming just a moment after, not giving him the chance to pull out, not that he wanted to.

He spilt himself into you, driving aftershocks from your orgasm out of you. His thrust slowing down, to ride out his own, until his hips stopped.

He pulled back, your hole opening and closing a little and making cum dribble out of you.

"Can't have you waste that." He pushed some of it back in with his fingers. You moaned in hypersensitivity. Your legs completely gave out after that and he picked you up, carrying you over to the bed that would have been the more ideal place.

He untangled himself from you, you grumbled at the loss of contact. You just heard the click of the cuffs, your eyes closed in contentment, too tired.

He continued staying at your side, bringing you a glass of water, and pulling the blanket over you, making you fall asleep faster than you'd ever think was possible. Considering you were still in a stranger’s house, said stranger was inside your guts just a moment ago, so couldn't really call him that.

This definitely wasn't part of your masterplan, but you wouldn't change a thing.

When you woke up in the morning, Yunho peacefully sleeping next to you, you quietly dressed yourself and excited the mansion. Not forgetting to take a price, in the form of his ring and a note that read: "If you want your souvenir back, call me."

[harryscherrypie]

It's been a long time coming.

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summary ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Charles and her are childhood best friends. His win in Monaco proves that some promises are worth waiting for.

triggers - mentions of underage drinking, y/n (ugh)

౨ৎ౨ৎ౨ৎ౨ৎ

She watched his every move on the track. It was Monaco, the most important race of the season to him. As if on purpose, everything went to shit, dampening his mood and spirit in the upcoming weeks before the race. Leo had gotten sick and needed to stay out of the paddock with his compromised immunity. His girlfriend had broken up with him, saying she didn’t feel the passion she thought she did in the past few months. He didn’t particularly care; it was just too much hustle with the media and their constant meddling in his business. His car wasn’t performing as well as he would like, and he barely got P1 in qualifying. Now, Piastri was almost up his ass as he kept the lead for the 45th lap straight.

She remembered when they were kids; it was his favorite play pretend. Running down the sidewalk of the famous first Monaco corner with their fake carton steering wheels, Charles always had the lead. She ran as fast as her much smaller legs could carry her, but in the end, the advantage of one extra year of growth always helped him to cross the finish line first. She remembered crying to his parents and them scolding him for getting too carried away. He would sulk a little before coming to her and mumbling an apology as he wrapped his arms around her.

She watched from the Ferrari garage, as usual. She hadn’t been to a lot of races these past few months, mainly wanting to avoid his, thankfully, now ex-girlfriend. The girl didn’t like her at all, and (y/n )didn’t mind. She would be definitely doing something wrong in her life if a girl like that would like her. She was just another bleach-blonde stereotypical dumb girl, wanting to live the WAG life while she didn’t even understand the basics of the sport. It was laughable to (y/n).

He dived into the tunnel. She remembered being nine and sitting on their balcony, their feet stuck through the railing as they watched the cars zooming below them, leaving behind the stench of gas and rubber. She never liked the smell. Charles reveled in it. It was clear, even when he was ten, what his desired career path was. She admired it—him knowing what he wanted to do. She didn’t. She liked sleeping in and watching cartoons. She supposed it was in the way he had to act more mature. By that time, he was slowly racing in the big local leagues, being on the track almost every week. She hoped he wouldn’t leave her behind when he made it into F1.

Another lap passed, and she could feel the desperation and hope radiating from his onboard. She started pacing, praying to whatever was up there to let him make it. She couldn’t handle seeing him disappointed at a home race again. She had seen enough of that in the past few years. Coincidentally, he was always single when he raced in Monaco, his relationships never really reaching this milestone of his girlfriends seeing him race on the home soil. She knew she would be the one to console him if this didn’t work out. They would skip the celebrations of whoever won, and he would lock them in his apartment, taking both Leo and her into his bed and holding them tightly as he worked through the bitter taste of resentment and feelings of inadequacy. Some prior years, his hands would wander, taking her closer and holding her in a way friends shouldn’t do. But she allowed it. Just this one misstep if it would make her soothe his racing mind. She hoped it would be different this year.

She remembered them getting drunk in the bar overlooking the last corner of the track when they were teenagers. He was freshly 18 and snuck her 17-year-old ass in. His old classmates dragged him there, and he didn’t want to spend his birthday night without her. He had never done it before. They didn’t like it there. Even though it was an under-the-radar local bar with prices catered towards the locals and not the millionaire visitors, he still found it quite expensive. He was finishing up F2 and talking of an F1 contract. The whole group pregamed, as young people do, and already came into the bar more than slightly drunk. She didn’t have as much, nervous about her parents finding out she was sneaking into a bar. As his friends announced another round, Charles and y/n looked at each other knowingly. They bought one beer to split and keep the buzz going and snuck out.

They found themselves on a rocky beach. In most places, it was very uncomfortable to sit on and quite dangerous if the wind picked up. They liked it there, though. It was October, and cold enough for them to be wearing jackets and long pants. He popped the cap with his keys and offered her the first sip. She took the bottle with a thankful smile. They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to talk. There was an unspoken understanding and never an awkward moment of silence between them. He took her hand into his and placed it in his palms, trying to keep it warm. She was always freezing. As the minutes went by, they got closer to each other, intertwining their limbs.

It was long after both of their curfews when they were turning the corner to her street. He was holding her hand as he led her to her front door. He turned to look at her and he already found her staring at him with a knowing look on her face. His drunken haze was long gone, but the alcohol confidence stayed as he stepped closer and ducked his head to place a gentle kiss against her lips. They parted soon after and smiled at each other sadly.

“I know,” he softly whispered and kissed her forehead. He knew she just wasn’t ready. And it was alright; he understood.

“Ask me again when you win a home race in red,” she whispered with a slight smile playing on her lips, masking just how sad it made her.

He only nodded as he pressed another kiss to her forehead before he took a step back and watched her get inside her house. Once she waved at him from the window of her room, he was comfortable with going back home.

Tears streamed down her face as she watched him drive past the checkered flag. She could feel Pascale wrap her arms around her as she shook with sobs, watching her son achieve something he and his father wanted for so long. She was pretty sure she dissociated. It was an out-of-body experience watching him get out of that car and pull his helmet off. His eyes were crinkled as the biggest smile he had possibly ever sported made its way onto his face when he saw his entire team behind the metal barricades. She was thankful everyone in the team was mindful because she was sure she would be squashed against the railing in front of her. He made his way to the team. She thought he would jump into the crowd of the Ferrari workers, but he simply stood in front of her. It was another one of those knowing moments. They didn’t have to say anything as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. She could feel him trembling and knew he probably needed some emotional grounding.

“I won in red,” he whispered into her ear, a hopeful look in his eyes.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. He was a Monaco race winner, something he wanted since they were kids. Her hands traveled from his shoulders to the nape of his neck and to the back of his head where she tangled her fingers in the slightly sweaty hair. She didn’t care. He looked at her tenderly. They both knew.

“A promise is a promise,” she whispered teasingly before she guided his head down to her face and pressed a loving kiss on his lips.

She felt a tear down his cheek, and she discreetly wiped it from his skin. She knew he waited for a long time. She did too.

[vallification]

connie springer headcanons!!!

notes: au/noncanon oriented, some apply to canon too, maybe a few mature themes!!!

let me know your thoughts!!!

connie’s eyes are a light yellow-green (#bfbd70)

his sense of style is casual y2k, not to the extreme but he loves baggy pants and sports jerseys

he played basketball through high school

connie’s got olive undertones like eren but he’s already quite tan

connie wears small diamond studs in both ears

he loves making stupid/funny tiktoks with sasha

he spends almost all of his time with his friends (sasha, jean, eren) and is rarely alone

connie’s a social butterfly. he knows everyone AND all of the gossip

he hates taking himself too seriously and is annoyed by people who do

he loves 90s-00s action movies, the fast and furious and transformer movies are his favorite

he’s a serious stoner but refuses hallucinogenics after a bad acid trip

he’s a streamer with a small audience

connie loves building things; he built his pc, he loves legos, and he loves jdm cars

speaking of jdm cars, he drives a modded mitsubishi lancer that he bought cheap from an old woman off of facebook marketplace

he’s a huge gym guy and often goes with jean, reiner, and bertholdt. sometimes he convinces eren to go too!

he wears polo blue cologne

he’s the buffer of the group when things get too serious (same with sasha)

he wears a silver chain that his mom got him for his thirteenth birthday that he never takes off

he has a belly button piercing that was done for a dare but he thought it was way too cool to take out

connie’s a huge foodie just like sasha, it’s not just the munchies

he has several tattoos, some big, some small, and some stupid. life’s too short to not do dumb stuff

jean bought him an arcteryx windbreaker and a pair of pants for his eighteenth birthday and he wears either one at least three times a week.

he’s a night owl and it’s hard to wake him up, he sets a MILLION alarms and sleeps through all of them

[gaymurdersalad]

Hey Jack! I think Dave is.. looking for you. You should probably check on him-

>Looking for me?

>The bastard practically wanted me dead on Monday when I refused his little kid-killing scheme. Straight up left the restaurant and didn’t show his face again, he was so mad.

>Why in the hell would he suddenly be looking for me?

>Even if he was, I wouldn’t know the first place to fucking—

>Mmmmyyy body lies overrr the ocean, my boooody lies over the seaaaaa—

>I’mmm no gooood at astraaaaal projectionnnn, so brrriiiing back my bodddyyyyy to meeeee!

>Oh, holy fuck, I’vvvve nevvvver felt ssssooooooo… Un-Coporeal. Wuwuuuuugghh, what issss… Within it me is outside o’ me… And whaasss inside of mmmmeeeee is SOOOOOOOO much LSD.

>Hooooow’d I even ennnndup here? What the hell did you get yourself int’, you big clown? I’m not surrrre, I just woke up out hereeee, again… What would Henry think? Who cares! He hates mmmmeeee!! He pushed me aside he did, he did! How’d he do that, then? He says “Get ouuuuutta here, you purple menace you, and leave me the hell alone for as long as your pitiful life stays clinging to this wretched Earth!” Why’d he say such a thing? I duunnoooooo! Was it something you did? You’re always getting yourself into trouble, you. Please leaaaave me alone, leave me to rot here, you… Yew… Schtewpid bastard, you caaaan’t stop bothering me, both you AND him…

>I’ve never done nothing to warrant this! I’m yer friend, Davey! Yer nothin’ but some bassard keepin’ me angry, you rotten fuck you, I wish you’d both fuck off hand ‘n hand and go… Go stuff yourselves in a waterlogged springlock suit, fuck you!

>A VISSSSITOR. Who— Who arrives?!

>… Dave?

>Sportsy! Old Jack! Whateerrr yoooouuu doin’ here?! You smell different. Yer wearin’ that coat!

>… Jesus Christ, dude. I’ve never seen you this bad.

>Aannnnnd I’ve never seen yew so good lookin’, handsome.

>Alright… Let’s… Let’s get you up, it’s freezing out here, man.

>Ohhhh, yer sooooo warm, Sportsy… I juuuusssss wanna crawl inside yer skinnn and wear ya as a jacket… Heh! Jack-et!

>… Thank… You…? I’m going to ignore you for a bit, is that alright dude?

>Yew can do whateeeeeever yew want, cowboy, I juss love ya soooo much…

>We’re gonna go back to my place, okay buddy? Get you under some covers and make sure you don’t accidentally… Hurt yourself. Let you sit the rest of this out someplace comfortable.

>Yer… Yer takin’ care of me, baby?

>Only ‘cause I know you won’t remember it.

>Yer… Yer sucha nice boy, sucha sweet sweet tangerine, you…

>Y’know, I wus… I’ve been… feeling preeeety rancid lately, Sportsy. Henry… Kicked me to the curb again, said I don’t wantcha here, and I wus… wanted… spend time with ya, Sportsy, like old times, I wanted t’… I missed… yew. ‘Nd yer dumb stupid clementine face, that schtewpid beard— If… If Henry don’t want me, then I know… I wus always thinking, I thought— Sportsy’s there! There’ll alllllways be Sportsy! B— Because there ain’t Sportsy, it’s just me, and just me makes me wanna die. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die when yer holdin’ me.

>I’m… It’s pretty fuckin’ radical… that yew still care. Still the… same rotten orange I knew and loved.

>…

>… I…

>I still care. It’s okay.

>It is?

>It’s okay.

>… Let’s… Get you home. Try and relax, we’re only a block away from my car. You can sleep when we’re on the road.

>Gnnaaaaarly… Road trip with Old Sport!

>Yeah, man, sure. Gnarly.

[jaylaxies]

bike racer jaemin who bends you over his motorbike to fuck you after a race. doesn't matter if he wins or loses. it's either gonna be a celebratory session or to let out his frustration on you. either way, he'll have you wobbling on your feet 🫶🏼

god you wont let me live istg

WORD COUNT: 1354 words

CW: smut, illegal racing, fingering, degradation, nicknames and unprotected sex.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

you had no idea that the quiet kid from your class would be into racing, nor did you ever expect to see him in a leather jacket which hugged his toned body perfectly. it almost felt like a joke when your best friend, hyuck, told you about illegal racing that he participates in and you didn’t believe him, which is why he took you there himself as his personal cheerleader.

yet your eyes deviated to none other than na jaemin, who flashed his cockiest smirk to cameras which displayed the whole race on the screen of an old stadium, which was used for illegal races now. he was the king around here, at least that’s what you had heard as you stood by the sidelines, giving a thumbs up to hyuck as you felt out of the place in your pink skirt while everyone sported black and leather. maybe that’s what caught jaemin’s eyes as he looked your way, the eye contact sending shivers down your spine before he broke into a devilish smile, winking your way before he put his helmet on and got on the bike.

you have to support hyuck! your mind kept on reminding you, but your focus was solely on the guy with the red bike, jaemin, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him, watching the race with such interest as if you were actually interested in the sport. you were only interested in jaemin, your subconscious spoke, making you shake your head and search for your best friend. it almost felt like the race got over a little too soon for your liking as jaemin won it with ease, your best friend coming a close second.

it almost felt like a scene straight out of a movie when jaemin removed his helmet and shook his head, your eyes capturing that in slow motion as he ruffled his hair, a smug expression on his face as he grabbed the price money which was shoved in the trophy cup before you diverted your attention and ran to hyuck, who got the silver cup, and hugged him, which piqued the interest of jaemin to the point he walked to hyuck to congratulate him as an excuse to talk to you.

his eyebrow rose up in the most attractive manner as he looked your way from your head to toe, “seems like you’re new here,” he chuckled, eyes fixated on your skirt before he stared right in your eyes, hyuck rolling his eyes, “don’t worry, i’m not here to stay,” you rolled your eyes, walking away with hyuck as jaemin only chuckled, shaking his head.

he caught you right on time when hyuck left to change into his usual clothes in the changing rooms, as you waited at a secluded spot, jaemin approaching with an amused smile when he saw you sitting on the hood of hyuck’s car. “good girls like you don’t belong to such places,” he mutters, grabbing your attention.

“and what makes you think i’m a good girl?” you challenged, heart beating fast when he stepped closer and in between your legs before he pulled you closer by keeping his big hands on your lower back, almost so your legs wrapped around his waist while you sat on the car. “your pretty little skirt, your innocent eyes, the way you look at me as if you want to be fucked and how your heart beats fast whenever you see me even though it’s been only two hours since we met, it makes me think you’re an innocent little kitten,” he purrs, making you squirm as butterflies erupt down your abdomen.

you leaned down, your lips close to the shell of his ear, “that’s where you’re wrong,” you chuckled, “i’m not innocent,” you whispered and he grabbed your chin, making you look at him, “just say you want to be fucked dumb, darling,” he’d whisper, your noses brushing and you’d scoff, “if you think i’ll let you fuck me then you’re wrong.”

jaemin was beyond amused by your behaviour, almost as if he never expected you to put up a challenge, “let’s make a bet,” he says, “if i win the race, same day next week, then i’ll get to fuck you. if not, then you can go and ask your pathetic best friend for his cock,” he smirks, “he won’t be as big as me though, sweetheart,” he’d mutter, sending a shiver down your spine and you looked at him with dark eyes, “bet.” you confirmed.

jasmin wasn’t the one to lose, and you knew it too. maybe you wanted to be fucked by him, maybe you wanted him to ruin you and that’s exactly why you found yourself in the same place next week, wearing another one of your skirts but this time, it was white, making you look angelic. and just to be a menace, you opted for crotchless panties, knowing it would drive jaemin crazy. you had seen him, his eyes never left yours during the entirety of the time he was getting ready for the race, but you were with hyuck, of course.

his smile oozed confidence, and he winked before leaving for the race as you opted to watch him from the closest sidelines. it happened all too fast, jaemin getting on his bike, jaemin covering the laps with ease, jaemin crossing the finish line, jaemin winning and getting the trophy but he didn’t wait to do the fan service, rather, he smirked as he drove the bike your way while you got off the stands and climbed on his bike, wrapping your arms around him while he focused on driving you away to a private spot.

“we both knew i was gonna win,” he says, getting off the bike and pulling you closer by the waist, his lips dangerously close to yours, the warmth of his hands gave you goosebumps while his lips brushed against yours as he said, “guess you just wanted to be fucked dumb by me.” with that, he smashed his lips on yours, groaning into the kiss with how good your strawberry flavoured gloss tasted before he bit your lip to shove his tongue down your mouth.

his fingers travelled down and under your skirt to find that your cunt was exposed through the crotchless panties, making him scoff, “such a slut, you couldn’t even keep your pussy covered, huh?” he muses, giving it a slap, making you gasp out with pleasure as you supported yourself on his bike.

“so pathetic, can’t even hide your wetness,” he says, rubbing his finger on his thumb which was coated with your wetness before he gave your pussy a few more slaps, finally opting to listen to your pleads and moans as he stuffed you full of his fingers, inserting two digits as your walls clenched around him, even more so when he curled his fingers in you. he continued his ministrations as your knees buckled, and almost gave out, causing him to chuckle and bend you over his bike.

“jaemin, please,” you whimper, feeling empty as he pulled his fingers out. you could hear the voice of a zipper and before you could think further, he thrusted into you from behind, stuffing you fuller than ever as your eyes rolled back with sheer pleasure, moans never stopping and your wetness allowed him to bottom out, smacking your ass as he muttered profanities, talking about how tight you were, like a fuckdoll.

your cunt barely takes his cock, making you cry out with how good it feels. jaemin was right, he was big and also wild with how he snapped his ass into yours, to the point you could feel the imprint of his cock on your lower abdomen, his speed increasing as he bit your neck, sucking on it and thrusting till he twitched inside you, your stomach tightening before you shut your eyes, falling apart on his cock the exact second he started filling you up with his warm cum, grabbing your neck and whispering in your ear.

“same bet, next week. can’t wait to ruin you each time, kitten.”

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[dedeinthewild]

paul aron x reader, no labels

“So, like, how fast do I not want to go in this thing?”

summary : A girl drives her dream car for the first time, filled with excitement and nerves, as she makes sweet memories with the best teacher she could ask for by her side.

She liked Estonia, and so did wearing a hoodie she had borrowed from Paul and wandering around the neighborhood, whether it was to walk his brother's dog or grab a treat around the corner. And when they took the car, it was even better, because she loved it when Paul got behind the wheel and made everything he did look so easy, having fun with her in a sports car that reflected him in every way. They had spent the morning together preparing everything for the surprise birthday party they would organize for the Estonian's father, goofing around in the large family house, cooking, and being silly while decorating the walls and wrapping gifts.

“We have no champagne,” Margit then said, turning to the two of them, the most beautiful and chaotic couple there was, knowing they would already be with the car keys in hand. “You two are on it.”

And so, she and the driver quickly put on jackets and stepped out the door, with no fear in the world, his hands in the pockets of his vest, hers wrapped around the wallet and a small shopping list Margit had written for him. The girl had just gotten her driver's license and had only had the time to drive a few times with someone who had experience before she returned to driving. But it just so happened that she had a race car driver by her side for quite a while, and this made her think that, if on one hand, she was scared to drive next to him because of his judgment, she could also give him a run for his money.

Paul had promised her that one day, they would go to a place he knew with a car, and she would finally take his seat behind the wheel. And judging by the smile on the Estonian's face, that was the right moment. She was super curious, her head filled with imagining how it would feel, what kind of teacher Paul would be, and what kind of driver she would become.

“Alright, you ready to give this bad boy a whirl?” he asked her, finally opening one of his big hands and showing her the keys to his favorite car, the one parked just a few meters away from them, before the driveway that led to the entrance ended and they hit the main road.

“Wait, you’re actually asking me to drive that?” She knew full well that this car was Paul’s favorite, the one they always took on their little trips, so much so that she knew the sound of its engine and the smell the seats had taken on by heart.

“Hey, you’re licensed now, right? You’ve got this.” He reassured her, amused, placing the keys in her hand, with all the keychains jingling with every movement, almost condemning them to certain death or a police checkpoint and a hefty fine.

“I’m not even used to being a passenger in there, why would I drive it?” She asked, shocked that he seriously wanted her to drive a car worth more than two hundred thousand euros, with a speed she didn’t even want to think about at that moment. And Paul looked at her as if she were being too dramatic, as if driving a sports Porsche was the same as driving her mom's old family car.

“It’s a Porsche, not a potato. You can’t mess it up that bad.”

“You know I could mess up even a potato, don’t play dumb,” she said, looking at the car as if she were scared of it, while he playfully approached her, their elbows touching and Paul bending down slightly to speak to her at her height, his blonde curls moving in the gentle wind.

He placed a hand on the base of her neck and pulled her close, reaching for the car while keeping his other hand in his pocket, opening the driver’s side door, making her slide into the seat, then doing the same on the passenger side, crossing his arms. He had placed his phone in the cup holder between them, the spot she usually used, and had done the same with his wallet, leaving the space that she usually used for her things. It felt like a ritual of sorts, perhaps accidental, but it made her smile.

“Maybe I should’ve brought my helmet,” the blonde said, looking at her to catch a reaction, which came not long after, with an expression halfway between angry and amused that took over her sweet face.

“Just keep it straight and don’t go all Fast & Furious on me, okay?” He smiled at her.

“Oh, no worries. I’m totally chill. Definitely not freaking out at all.” She looked at him, bewildered that she was the one holding the steering wheel and not his big hands, which were sitting next to her, equally happy at the thought of seeing her finally in action. In fact, Paul was probably the one most excited about teaching her how to drive, something he had dreamed of ever since he found out she didn’t have her license. The fact that the moment had finally come was special. Being the youngest sibling, he hadn’t had the chance to mentor one of his brothers on the road, and it would be many years before his nephews were old enough to sit behind a wheel.

“The car’s gonna do most of the work anyway, just steer and look cool, alright?” The engine started with a roar, bringing all the graphics on the car’s screens as she took a deep breath and thought of the names of all the video games she had played that involved cars.

She left the parking lot, navigating the driveway with agility, then took the main road, trying to be as smooth as possible so Paul wouldn’t make fun of her, who was playing with the shopping list and chewing his gum with a grin on his face.

“So, like, how fast do I not want to go in this thing?”

“Depends. Are we talking ‘speed demon’ fast or ‘let’s not get caught by the cops’ fast?”

“I’m just trying to make sure I don’t, you know, accidentally launch us into space or something.” Paul laughed, noticing that for a normal Friday, the roads were very empty, and the sun was shining down on Tallinn.

“Maybe you’ll get me a sponsorship with NASA, I’ll give you the credit obviously,” the driver joked, thinking about the lack of sponsors that had made him give up another season with Hitech GP, a decision that had led him to become a third driver for a team in the queen of categories.

Meter by meter, amidst the trees and perfect roads, the girl was getting the hang of it, feeling the sensitivity of the car after a few too-sharp turns or excessive braking, realizing that maybe he was right, and it wasn’t so difficult to drive a car like that, especially on a clear road with him next to her, chatting to calm her down. She was gaining confidence, and despite him never missing an opportunity to tease her and dramatically clutch at the seat, the fear was replaced by a pleasure in driving that she had only experienced with a few people in the car.

“Alright, alright. I’m starting to feel like a pro now,” she joked, signaling to take a side road to reach the shopping center they needed to go to, while her passenger hummed a song stuck in his head.

“That was definitely a pro move. I’m pretty sure the car’s thanking you for the smooth ride.” Once they got to the side road, she had perfected the technique for taking a sharp turn, which made him smile.

Every time she seemed too confident in taking a turn or thought about overtaking a slow car, Paul would put his hand on his chest and contemplate the idea that maybe he had made the biggest mistake of his life letting her drive his favorite car, and she smiled playfully.

“I’m just preparing for the worst. But you’ve got this. You’re a freakin’ genius behind the wheel.”

“Well, obviously. I’m practically a race car driver. You just didn’t know it,” she joked.

“I’ll call Oliver later and let him know we’ve got a natural talent on our hands,” he looked at her, trying to memorize the difference between her and him sitting in the same seat. He usually kept one hand on the upper part of the wheel and the other on the lower part or his leg, while she held both hands at the same height, on opposite sides. She was a bit less relaxed than him, but that would change over time. He then lingered on the cup holders, realizing that maybe that car was as much hers as it was his, knowing that if he opened the glove compartment, he would find her favorite snacks and a note she had written him when he switched from Prema to Hitech. And with all the times she had been in it, the seats had also taken on a bit of her scent.

“And I’m the proudest teacher in the world. Let’s see you hit the gas one more time—don’t actually hit it though, we’re not going to jail today.”

The girl also passed the parking test at the shopping center, getting out of the car and feeling her legs become solid again, not admitting they had been jelly throughout the ride, while he approached her and handed her everything she had with her.

“You’re the proudest teacher, huh?” she smiled at him.

He didn’t answer, just looked ahead, but she could read those beautiful blue eyes and knew exactly what they were saying. They walked into the store side by side, playfully nudging each other every now and then, trying to navigate through all the aisles and find what they needed. She then stopped in front of the wide selection of wines, crossing her arms and shifting her weight from one foot to the other, biting the inside of her cheek as she thought about which type of champagne would be best for the party, not understanding the Estonian writing on the sign next to her. Paul came up from behind, placing the basket with the other items on the floor and resting his chin on her head, his hands making their way through the hole in her vest where her arms were poking out, bringing her closer to him in a sweet and intimate gesture, highlighting their difference.

“Should I get the fancy one, or should I get something that'll make your dad wonder if I’m secretly a millionaire?”

“Get the fancy one. I don’t need my dad thinking we’re trying to impress him with expensive champagne, but it’s his birthday. We’ll keep it classy,” she said, pointing to a bottle on the shelf.

“As if you weren’t just waiting for the cake,” she teased, knowing him like the back of her hand.

They left shortly after, having fun browsing the store, getting back in the car and returning to Aron’s house. This time, the Estonian had hooked up his phone to the car and started playing their shared playlist, resulting in an even sweeter ride than the first, as they tried to sing along and he improvised the lyrics to the song. He found himself thinking that maybe being the passenger wasn’t so bad. And maybe in that moment, he even understood why she loved driving with him, watching him behind the wheel. But he wasn’t ready to put it into words. So, he just kept going with the songs, telling her stories about each piece of road they were on and watching her as she focused on the road, a little more relaxed and happy with every meter they passed.

They then reentered the driveway of Aron’s house, and she was about to park where they had picked up the car that morning, but Paul stopped her.

“I’ll clean it tomorrow, park in front of the patio,” he looked at her. “If you feel like you can.”

She nodded, her hair tied in a bun at the base of her head, the strands framing her face and her sweet features that made her stand out, while she pressed lightly on the accelerator and moved forward on the driveway. And after a few meters, she realized what Paul had done. Through the windshield, she saw the whole Aron family on the patio, the kids on her older brother’s shoulders, Anna leaning against her mom, and the father, the birthday boy, looking at them with a proud smile as she slowed in front of them and stopped the car.

“What if I messed it up?” she asked the blonde, who looked at her with the same gaze as his father.

“They’d have been proud of you anyway.”

They fist-bumped like always, lingering while their gazes were locked, and outside the car, the Arons were chatting, eager to hear everything from the two kids.

“See? Told you you were a natural.”

“But next time, you’re taking me for a ride in something really fast,” she joked.

“Deal. But only if you promise not to race me.” The blonde got out of the car, bending over to talk to her while she stayed seated, resting his arms on the roof of the vehicle.

“Can’t make any promises there.”

this is based on an ig story carmen had posted, where george wanted to teach her how to drive on a g-class mercedes, and this seemed so cute to me! also, a big shout out to blue 'cause our chat this morning made me want to write :)