#but still believing that i could have done this better

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 10. Duke is done

PREV PART trigger warnings: medical + physical + emotional neglect, secrets are revealed, (Name is barely in this chapter), talks about past medical fraud, Duke is so done with the batfamily (he cusses them out), guilt, swearing main m.list           series m.list

Bruce couldn’t believe it, the documents on his desks broke his heart, his baby almost died when they were a toddler and now they’re in unimaginable pain. Bearing it all by themselves, never letting anyone at home see. Oh, how scary it must be for you, all alone at those hospital visits, all alone for those treatments and researches. (Your friends don’t count, they’re also children, and their families? HAH, how could they’ve supported you like he could have?)

“My poor baby,” he whispers as he puts the last paper down. “I should have been there…”

His face in his hands as he tries to imagine the pain you felt, the anxiety that must have ran through your veins. And for a moment he’s glad that Duke stood by your side, that your friends stood by your side, even if he knows he could have done better. That he could have wiped away your tears and assured you everything was going to be alright. Perhaps he still could, just too bad you won’t let him.

Bruce knows that he cannot overturn this ‘medical emancipation’ without sending you to jail for medical fraud, so he’ll just gain access to your other files (that the hospitals didn’t turn over after a generous donation) as Batman. Sometimes being the world greatest detective is really handy, but sure doesn’t help with his guilt.

Because how can he be the greatest detective when he didn’t even realise that you went by your mama’s maiden name? That he didn’t even realise that Duke was only joining them for you, that he didn’t even realise that you were walking on the edge of death everyday? Using the trust fund account your mama left for you to pay for all your hospital trips and bills, it was nearly empty and Bruce wonders what you would’ve done if it ran empty? But don’t worry, papa will take care of it. You don’t need to worry about money as long as he’s around.

Don’t you know? He has a trust fund for all his children, sure he made yours when he went to set up Duke’s, but you’ll forgive him right?

You were always the forgiving kind, at least that’s what Alfred said. But that changed, and now they perhaps know why.

Chronic illness can change a person, don’t you know? Those who suffer can lose their innocence, becoming jaded to the point those around them can barely recognise them.

(But your friends know who you are, they know how your smile never truly changed. Sure your eyes became deader, you became more on guard, but you still held that innocence you always had. That careful joy that the world could change for the better, only you’ve become realistic now, and that’s by no means a crime.)

Bruce wonders if he finally gives you the care you need, if you’ll return to sweet yet sharp child he tried to bond with (what his oldest children dubbed) as Brucie. He wonders how his children will react once he gives them the summary of all he read, he wonders how they’ll act towards Duke, he wonders if Duke would be willing to give them any information that could help them.

He would rather die, he would rather step on their hearts and souls as they’ve done to you.

As Bruce continues to be lost in his thoughts Damian rushes into his office without knocking, how odd. “Father,” he says, his tone stressed and his posture tense. It brings Bruce back to reality in a second. “(name) said they were going to Maria’s house but the tracker I planted shows that they are at Cobblepot’s new restaurant!”

“I’m sorry you did what?” Bruce asks, his fist clenching as he tries to keep his breath steady. He knows his son meant well, but truly, this isn’t how they are going to win your trust back. But then it hits him, his child is working for Penguin. A man that shows no remorse, a man that only chooses for himself and a man that knows how to manipulate. A man that runs a whole criminal enterprise but is still basically untouchable. “Damian, don’t do anything with that information for now.”

Damian scoffs, but before he could say anything Bruce’s stare shut him up. “Yes father,” he grumbles. “but if their life is in danger I will intervene.”

“After I’ve debriefed all of you about the medical files I’ll send Nightwing over,” Bruce promises, a promise that relaxes his son. Something he barely does, but the relief on Damian’s face keeps him from saying more on the situation. “gather the others and Duke, it’s time to make a plan of action.”

Damian nods and when he leaves the office his father’s expression enters his brain. He had only seen that expression once before, when he almost killed Tim and you. He remembers the fear in his eyes, but also the raw desperation in yours.

It still surprises him to this day that the family never tried to involve you with their work, you clearly have the instincts for it. Perhaps even more then them.

Thoughts run through his head as he sends a text to everyone to meet in the bat-cave, calling Duke to make sure he’ll arrive. Stating it’s an emergency about (name), it basically sent him running out of the door, Damian didn’t feel guilty for exaggerating. Not when he’s hiding your secrets for you.

Just too bad that his little stunt will make Duke even more closed off. “Damian, you said this was a fucking emergency!” he shouts when he finally arrives, noticing (Name)’s medical files on the screens. “You guys reading through (Nickname)’s medical files is just creepy and weird.”

Jason rolls his eyes and Barbara hums in agreement but she does defend their actions. “It’s clear they cannot take care of themselves,” she says, turning her wheelchair around. “clearly this is the wrong way for us to gain information, but it’s our only way.”

Duke laughs, not in joy, but in amusement. “Wow, you bats truly are pathetic.”

“And yet you are joining us,” Damian hisses, walking up to him. Trying to intimidate him. “doesn’t that make you just as pathetic?”

“Awh, how cute,” Duke mocks him, kneeling until he reaches Damian’s eye level. “you should consider yourself lucky that I am joining you for (Name)’s benefit and that I didn’t decide to play the avenger on their behalf.” His words hold weight to them, he could have easily used (name)’s connection to them to destroy them. But Duke’s decided the kinder route, and they suppose they can thank (name) for that. “I am better than you fucks, for one simple reason. I still stand by my morals, you all forgot yours when it came to (Name).”

“So, you’ll take care of them?” Dick asks, pulling Damian to his side as he gets in Duke’s face. “You, an ignorant kid, who knows nothing about how difficult life will be for them?”

“Oh, and you will because Oracle is in a wheelchair?” Duke asks, stepping closer to Dick. He isn’t afraid of the first Robin. He doesn’t even need his powers to put this dick in his place. “You know nothing. You didn’t hear them scream as doctors put needles in them.” Bruce’s breath becomes irregular as Duke clearly relives some moment that scared him. “You weren’t there when they begged me to kill them, you were never there!”

He closes his eyes as tears falls down his face, and Dick takes a step back. Clearly shocked, but at least they’re getting information. At least, Bruce will be able to use Duke’s rant when they get the final records. “You should all be ashamed of yourself,” Duke says, his eyes making his contempt clear. “acting like any of you deserve information on (Name)’s life. How pathetic can you be?”

Or not, seems like Duke is great at controlling himself unfortunately. “If I find out any of you try to obtain more medical records I will personally enlighten (name) on how the hospital betrayed their trust for a simply donation.” he threatens, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am sure none of you want them to know, just like you keep this little cave a secret from them.”

This time Jason gets in Duke’s face, pit rage clearly trying to make an appearance. Something that just made him smirk. “Oh Jason,” he coos condescendingly, circling him knowing that he can put him on the ground in seconds if needed. “are you going to beat me like you beaten (Name)?” He fake swoons, clearly trying to piss Jason off more. “Try me bitch.”

Jason breaths, trying to calm himself. But Duke wasn’t it making easy, and Cassandra knows it. So she decides to step in by dropping a bomb; “I knew (Name) was in pain but I assumed it were just small injuries as I don’t see them often.” Well that got Duke’s and Jason’s attention. Fuck that got everyone’s attention.

“At least you have the common sense to look ashamed,” Duke comments with an empty laugh, he had stopped circling Jason. Standing still near the bat computer trying to dissect everything he’s seeing. He knew your family’s shit, but he didn’t expect them to be this shitty. “Jesus, I knew your guys don’t give a fuck about (Name), but still. Damn that’s just cruel, didn’t you realise after the first few times it was something permanent?!”

Cassandra tenses as she looks at her shoes. Shutting her eyes, as she tries to think about what she could’ve done differently… She’s used to feeling ashamed and insecure about her ability to read people like a book. But this is the first time she’s ever felt ashamed for not using her skills to help someone, but truly she had just made a bad judgement call. The others will forgive her, so why don’t you?

“I’m sure Cass had her reasons to not pry,” Stephanie defends her friend, but it sounds weak even to Cassandra’s ears.

“It doesn’t change that it’s cruel,” Duke says as his glare turns to Stephanie and her. “you’re all pathetic and selfish if you can defend Cain’s actions. I’ll be going, call me when there is an actual emergency.”

“When will you move in?” Bruce asks, trying to keep Duke to stay just a bit longer, he wants to know if Duke knows why you are in Cobblepot’s restaurant.

But he won't bite, he knows that that question is just meant to keep him in the cave longer, so he turns around to leave, making sure to keep his tone low and full of contempt as he says; “Soon, when my disgust towards you all becomes bearable.”

NEXT PART I know this chapter mainly focused on Bruce, but I really wanted Duke to make his dissapointment clear to the batfamily, in the next (side) chapters the others reactions will become clearer. But this month I'll be having my final exams and one final presentation, as in if I pass these three I wil get my degree as paralegal and then I'll prepare for my next degree which will basically translate to a bachelor Law. This means I will be focusing on school. And my grandpa got out of the hospital. May is being awesome so far, hope it's going this amazing for you guys too<3

taglist (closed): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[nathanbatemanfucker]

The Falcon & the Machine

summary: joaquin confronts you about your attempt to “protect” him.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!assassin!reader

contents: mentions of canon typical violence, angst, pining/longing, kissing, happyish ending

wc: 1,652

an: i just love the idea of joaquin and his lover being on the opposite side of things or having different morals. idk it makes their love that much better to me 🫶🏾🤭

danny ramirez characters masterlist

The car stops somewhere deep in the Virginia woods—far enough from the base to mean it’s not casual, close enough to mean someone wanted this private but not remote. It has your alarm bells ringing.

You narrow your eyes at Sam through the rearview mirror. “I thought you said this was a tactical meeting.”

“It is,” he says, his voice too casual and smooth. “Tactical for your emotional wellbeing.”

He’s out the car and your door opens before you can snap something back. You step out, instincts sharp even when you’re exhausted. The world around you is quiet, deceptively peaceful. The trees, the sound of wind stirring through the leaves, the birds distant but constant and everything feels still.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know how to feel still anymore. Not after everything.

You see Joaquin as you keep walking, and all of your practiced cold, all your walls fall away like a sheet of glass hit from the inside.

He’s standing in a clearing, arms crossed, Falcon wings holstered tight to his back. You can’t see his eyes yet, but you know he’s looking at you. You can feel that same raw tension in his gaze, the same pull between you that neither of you can ignore.

You haven’t answered his calls in three weeks, or let him near you since the mission in Turkey went sideways. Since the extraction turned into a bloodbath, bodies hitting the floor from your hands. That’s when the questions started to follow you—yes as always— but him too.

Questions that could ruin everything Joaquin’s shed blood, sweat and tears for.

The second hardest part of all this isn’t having to kill the people that come after you, the people they send to ask questions or torture you. Its the way you saw the fear in Joaquin’s eyes when he realized how far into the dark you were willing to go to protect him, and everyone else. He saw the worst of you. And still…he never wanted to walk away, he never turned away.

The hardest part? Letting him.

Because your file isn’t redacted, you can’t hide in the shadows while living this full life. People know who you are and what you do. You’re a fixer—not in the clean, shiny way that heroes are. You don’t wear the white hat, you don’t dawn the stars and stripes.

You’re someone who does the dirty work when governments, organizations, or even the Avengers themselves need it done. You erase people and trade lives like currency and manipulate systems from the inside out. You’re good at it, but it’s not who you are. At least, not the person you want to be—not when you’ve been given someone like Joaquin by the grace of the universe to stand beside you.

But the world isn’t kind to ghosts, to those who lurk in the shadows. And Joaquin… he’s everything you’re not.

He’s visible. He’s everything that is right and pure and true in the world. People believe in him and they believe in his future. Not in yours, not in the mess that’s followed you around all your life.

“Seriously?” you mutter, glaring at Sam, but he’s already slipping away from you, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Talk to him or don’t. But, if I hear either of you whining and brooding one more time, I’m putting you both in a room with Bucky. You know he’s tryna therapize everybody now that he has a shrink.”

You roll your eyes, but his words sit with you long after Sam disappears back into the trees. Talk to him or don’t…did you truly have a choice? He’s right, neither of you have stopped talking about the other. You turn toward Joaquin, who hasn’t moved an inch.

His face is collected, but it’s not just the expression—it’s the way he stands. There’s an edge to him now, something rough, jagged in his posture that makes your heart tighten.

You don’t give him the chance to speak. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you explain, your voice shaking under the weight of the tension.

Sam must’ve told him about the way you’d broken down earlier in the week, how much of a toll trying to do right by him took on you.

He lets out a dry laugh, one that starts to give away that he’s hurting too. You hear in the way his voice cracks. “You mean seeing you be real? Not that— that machine you become. Not worrying about who you are and who I am, just feeling it?”

You flinch, but he doesn’t look at you with judgment. It’s just the truth in his words—raw and impossible to deny. You’ve always tried to protect him from that. From you.

“I meant what I said, Joaquin,” you say, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat. “You have a future.

“We had a future.”

“Did we? You’re the Falcon– you’re Captain America’s right hand. People need you.”

His jaw tightens, and his eyes flash as they finally meet yours, the intensity there almost too much to bear. “And you don’t?”

“I’m one person. People believe in you. They trust in you.”

He already has a complicated relationship with the pressure of being a superhero. Could he keep something? Not his privacy or his image but you? Or would living his dream take everything from him?

“And they wouldn’t if they knew that I love you? That you love me too?” he asks, voice quieter but no less fierce.

You bite down on your lip, trying to steady yourself trembling under the depth of his words. Your own pour out of you almost frantically. “If they knew what I’ve done? If they knew what I still do? I torture and kill for a living, Joaquin. I’ve crossed lines you can’t even imagine. There’s so much that I can never tell you. If the wrong person finds out about me, about us, everything you’ve worked for could be gone in an instant. Your reputation, your team, your wings, maybe even Sam’s shield. I won’t do that to you.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Your words hang in the air, unspoken truths that neither of you wants to face.

He doesn’t look angry and he doesn’t look scared either. But he looks tired—in the way people look when they’ve spent too long running from something that was always going to catch up with them.

“I don’t care,” he says finally. The words come out rough, a quiet certainty threading through his voice.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“I said I don’t care what they say,” Joaquín continues, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, each word carrying weight, but with something else behind it—something real. Something charged that makes butterflies swirl in your stomach. “I don’t care about politics, or optics, or keeping it clean for the cameras. I care about you, I love you. What matters more to me is you. Not the job or the title. Not the wings—you.”

Your chest feels tight, the weight of his words pushing you down, making your breath catch.You want to pull away, to let the distance between you both grow to protect him but you can’t. Not when he’s standing there—when he’s been so damn sure about you from the first time he laid eyes on you.

“I’m not good for you,” you whisper brokenly, the vulnerability you’ve been trying to shield yourself from finally breaking through.

“Maybe,” he says, eyes never leaving yours, his voice softer, like he’s holding onto every syllable. “But I want you.”

Before you can respond, he’s there. On you, surrounding you. His lips are on yours, pulling you into a kiss that’s fierce and desperate, raw with need. Your hands find his chest, and then his arms, gripping onto him as if you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. The world around you becomes nothing but noise and movement. The distant rustle of the leaves, the pounding of your heart. The overwhelming rush of warmth, heat, and everything that makes this moment feel like it’s been years in the making.

He presses you against the rough bark of the tree, his body flush against yours, his hands moving over your skin with a care and hunger that makes you ache. His lips leave yours only for a moment, just long enough for him to speak, his breath warm against your ear.

“I’m not letting go,” he murmurs.

You don’t know how to respond but you don’t have to because he’s kissing you; no consuming you. The fear in your chest starts to melt into something else—that deep, raw desire that you’ve been trying to bury under the fear of ruining the one pure thing in your life. But the way he’s holding you, the way his fingers press into your chin and throat as he holds you, grounds you—he’s not letting go.

Not of you. Not of any of this. He’ll be damned.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, your voice breathless from the kiss, from how warm his mouth feels as it skates against the skin of your throat.

“I’ll show you how,” Joaquin says, his voice steady, confident between kisses. “One step at a time. Just trust me. You trust me right?”

“You know I do.”

“Then trust that I know what I’m doing. Trust that I know I meant to choose you. Can you do that for me?”

You nod and close your eyes, letting the sound of his heartbeat settle against your own. You don’t think you’re ready for this, for everything that comes with it. But maybe, you can trust him to help you figure it out. Because with him, you’re not a ghost, not just a handler or a murderer or whatever the contract names you to be.

You’re just you. Just his.

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @seraphibunni, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @zolassalgorhythm, @peacefangirl, @blackwomanchronicles

[tojihavoc]

Shaving Toji's beard

synopsis: You give Toji an overdue shave; not proofread

You were cooking pasta in the kitchen until you felt strong, muscular arms wrap around your waist. You let out a gasp as your back got pulled into someone's chest and you felt a peck on your cheek. "Baby you can't distract me i'm cooking." you let out a squeal as you scooped up a bite of past sauce and raised your arm so Toji could have a taste.

"Mmmm delicious. Wow chef" he let out a gruff licking his lips and patting you on the ass. You let out a gasp.

"Toji you can't do that!" you squealed as you put the lid on the pasta pan. You turned to face your giant hunk of a man and ran your hands through his usually shaven and soft chin, which was now pecked with stubble and hair all over it. He had a bit of a moustache coming in and he still looked like a complete god. You ran your fingers back and forth against his chin and you stood on your tippy toes to give him a little kiss as he lowered his face to make it easier for you.

"You didn't shave?" you asked raising your brows and rubbing his chin between your fingers back and forth. He let out a gruff.

"Didn't have the time. Y'know...been busy" he said with a sigh running his calloused, strong fingers runt through your hair.

"I can do it for you right now if you want. I don't mind and dinner's ready" you stated while smiling sweetly at him.

"You'd do that for me? You sure?" he questioned to make sure you really were serious.

"Anything for you my love, now come on" you said grabbing his hand and leading him to your guys' giant, shared bathroom. You took out his shaving kit and razor and sat on the white, pristine bathroom counter for better access. You ran your soft hands with a freshly done manicure through his stubble and chin and got to work. Toji just looked down at you letting out a couple grunts and hums as you meticulously applied shaving cream and worked the razor on his chin.

You were careful not to leave any cuts or draw any blood on his handsome face and got it all shaved off. In just 20 minutes his chin looked completely bare and he washed off all the excess hair in the sink, wimping over it with a towel. You cleaned up the excess hair as Toji admired himself in the mirror, running his rough, big hands over his chin and above his lips and praising how good of a job you did.

"I didn't know you could shave my face this well baby. It looks so professionally done I love it" he exclaimed as he kissed your lips gently and ran his fingers on your back. "You should shave it more often. And.....other parts of my body" he whispered winking slightly.

You let out a gasp and playfully smacked him in the arm letting out a laugh. "Toji! Behave yourself I can't believe you!" you replied getting off the counter while grabbing his hand. "Come on you have to eat the Alfredo I cooked or it's gonna go cold."

"Yes ma'am. I'm so ready to eat, you cook and look like a goddess" he stated following you out of the bathroom.

You two sat down on the table and ate together and then cuddled in each other's arms staying warm for the rest of the night <3

please consider liking or following if you enjoyed this read! Thank you!

[kathlare]

heatwave

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: In the middle of the sun-soaked chaos of race weekend, they share something intimate, soft, and grounding, all while something unspoken pulses between them, just waiting for the right moment to be said.

Wordcount: 7.5 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

May 3rd, 2025 - Miami, FL

Traffic in Miami could burn in hell.

Amelie had changed outfits three times, lost her earring once, and forgotten her lip gloss twice. She’d FaceTimed Lando in the middle of her chaos, wearing only her robe and asking which heels he liked better. He’d groaned at the sight of her, muttered something about her doing this on purpose, and picked the strappy white ones while calling her a menace.

She ended the call with a smirk, already twenty minutes late.

By the time she made it to the restaurant — a rooftop overlooking the glittering water and the chaotic buzz of pre-race Miami — the sun was starting to melt into the skyline. She spotted the table immediately. Laughter, wine glasses, and the unmistakable sound of gossip being passed around like candy.

—Jesus, I’m so late— she muttered, approaching.

—You’re always late— Lily Muni He chimed, eyes twinkling as she stood to give her a hug. —At this point, it’s your brand.—

—I had a wardrobe malfunction— Amelie defended herself as she kissed everyone hello, slipping between Carmen and Kika at the long table. —Also, I hate Miami traffic. I should’ve walked.—

—In those heels?— Alexandra Saint Mleux laughed, already pouring her a glass of wine. —We’d have to fish you out of the sidewalk.—

—At least I’d look hot.—

Everyone groaned.

—Anyway, tell me everything I missed— Amelie said as she settled in, brushing her hair over her shoulder. —Who’s crying, who’s cheating, who’s secretly eloping?—

—Honestly? No one’s cheating this week— Lily Zneimer shrugged, sipping her drink. —Kinda boring.—

—Pierre has been suspiciously nice— Kika raised an eyebrow. —That usually means he’s done something dumb.—

—Or he’s about to— Lily Muni added with a knowing smile.

—I swear to god, you all terrify me— Alexandra giggled. —If I were one of your boyfriends, I’d never sleep.—

—Who says we let them sleep?— Amelie said with a smirk.

That earned a round of gasps and laughter. Carmen nearly choked on her wine.

The conversation flowed easily after that. Talk of dresses, beach plans, who had the best hospitality suite (apparently Red Bull had an ice cream machine now?), and what the hell Charles had done to his hair this time. There was a warmth to these dinners — a kind of glittery solidarity only the WAGs really understood. Cameras, rumors, jet lag, late-night flights, early morning paddock call times — they got it.

And then, out of nowhere, Carmen said:

—I still can’t believe you’re finally moving to Monaco!—

Amelie blinked. —Huh?—

—I mean— Carmen continued, totally oblivious —it’s gonna be so fun to have you close. We can do beach days, wine nights, everything.—

—Wait, what?— Amelie’s voice went up slightly.

The table fell into a beat of silence. Lily Muni’s eyes widened. Alexandra pressed her lips together like someone holding in a secret. Kika looked at Carmen like she’d just stepped on a landmine.

—Oh my god— Carmen blinked, covering her mouth —you don’t know?—

Amelie tilted her head. —Know what?—

There was a long pause before Lily Muni He groaned.

—Fuck— she said softly.

—Carmen, you dumb bitch— Alexandra added, though not unkindly.

—Okay— Carmen whispered, eyes wide. —So like. Maybe Lando’s been… prepping a bit? Before asking you?—

—Prepping what?—

Lily Muni finally broke. —He’s been getting his Monaco place redone for you. Like, new closet space, skincare shelves, hair tools, new sheets you actually like—

—...a whole section in the kitchen for your matcha shit— Alexandra added.

—He made a mood board— Carmen said under her breath.

Amelie stared at them.

Her heart was doing this weird, skippy thing in her chest, as if it had missed the fucking memo.

—A mood board?— Amelie echoed, blinking. —Are you fucking serious?—

—Yes— Alexandra said, grinning into her wine glass. —And it was disgustingly cute. I saw it. He had, like, paint swatches and Post-its and photos of your kitchen in New York. There was a literal picture of your pink kettle, Ames. It had its own Post-it that said “non-negotiable.”—

—Shut up— Amelie whispered, suddenly feeling a little warm in the face.

—I’m not joking— Lily said, her smile softening. —He’s been asking us what makes a space feel like you. Like, actual questions. “What kind of lighting does Amelie like?” “Would she want a vanity here or here?” It’s been going on for weeks.—

—He even asked me to find the brand of those candles you love— Carmen chimed in, clearly trying to redeem herself —you know, the ones that smell like that fancy-ass hotel in Milan?—

—Oh my god— Amelie said again, quieter this time.

Her wine glass hovered in midair, untouched, her heart thudding against her ribs like it was trying to stage a jailbreak. Lando hadn’t said a word about this. Not even a hint. Not a single offhand comment. And now, here she was, in the middle of a table surrounded by half-drunk, glowy WAGs, finding out that her boyfriend had basically been quietly nesting.

For her.

—He hasn’t asked me— she said, her voice coming out a bit breathless, a bit shocked.

—Yet— Lily Muni said gently.

Kika leaned forward, both elbows on the table. —Honestly, I think he’s just nervous. He wanted everything to feel right before bringing it up. You know how he gets.—

—Obsessive— Alexandra muttered with a grin. —Meticulous. Slightly deranged.—

—In love— Carmen added, shrugging. —Let’s call it what it is.—

Amelie let out a laugh. A kind of stunned, disbelieving sound.

Her face was warm. Her chest was warmer.

Her stomach flipped. She reached for her wine, took a long sip.

—He’s such a little shit— she said eventually, voice fond. —Doing all this without telling me.—

—You love it— Lily Zneimer smirked.

—I do not love being ambushed with life news during dinner— Amelie said, narrowing her eyes. —But I might let it slide this once.—

The girls laughed again, and the conversation began to move on — someone brought up Hailey Bieber’s new weird baby name rumor, and Kika nearly spilled her drink laughing. But Amelie stayed quiet for a moment longer, her mind spinning a little too fast.

Lando wanted her to be there.

Not just in Monaco. With him.

And not in a vague, “you can crash at mine” kind of way. No, this was effort. Thought. Intention. He was making room for her in his world, literally and figuratively. He was building a place for her — and not just a physical one. A life.

God. He was so annoying.

So thoughtful. So annoying.

She was never going to recover from this.

-------------

liked by lanmelieorleave, f1gfdiaries, and others

amelieupdatee: Amelie Dayman via Instagram Stories — serving Miami heat in an orange dress on a balcony tonight 🍊🌆✨

She really said “Lanmelie orange core” and we’re eating it UP

View all 56,187 comments

lanmelie4life: orange dress??? miami??? balcony??? she’s not a wag she’s a WITCH → f1wagwatcher: @lanmelie4life she cast a spell on lando and ngl i support her

f1gfdiaries: amelie in orange is a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT → trophygfenergy: @f1gfdiaries lando’s fav color + legs out = global peace

gridsidegossip: she ate and left no crumbs… again → lanosexylando: @gridsidegossip crumbs? she burned the whole table down omg

pitlaneprincess: not her hanging out with the WAGs like she hasn’t been main character since DAY ONE 😭

landosdelulu: lando seeing this story and running home IMMEDIATELY

girlsontrackkk: imagine showing up to dinner and AMELIE DAYMAN walks in dressed like THAT → mclarenmama: @girlssontrackkk i’d simply evaporate

lanmeliebrained: this isn’t even an outfit this is a THREAT

gridgf6969: SHE IS THE MOMENT. SHE IS THE GRID WIFE. → lanmeliecore: @gridgf6969 realest orange flag i’ve ever seen 🧡

wagsuniteplz: can we talk abt how she walked into that wag dinner and everyone else turned grayscale??

lanmelieorleave: orange dress?? balcony?? miami skyline?? we are DEEP in wag era → formulaglam: she’s not just a wag, she’s THE wag

f1itgirlies: this isn’t a dress, it’s a cultural reset → ameliestrut: @f1itgirlies miami was not ready for this level of serve 😮‍💨

wagsupremacyy: amelie and the wag dinner is like avengers assemble for hot girls → pitlaneprincess: @wagsupremacyy someone get them a reality show PLSSSSS

chaoticlanmelie: if this is what she wears for dinner i fear race day is gonna END US → miamigirlhot: @chaoticlanmelie the paddock ain’t surviving tmrw i’m telling u

spicygridtea: rumors who?? she showed up glowing, giggling, and gorgeous → lanfan321: @spicygridtea that’s the “my man’s obsessed w me” glow

-------------

The sky had already gone navy when Carmen pulled up in front of Amelie’s hotel.

The drive back had been mostly quiet, the air thick with unspoken thoughts and Carmen’s subtle glances from the corner of her eye. Amelie had been staring out the window, the golden glow of Miami’s nightlife flashing against her skin, her mind still swimming in mood boards, candle scents, and the image of her stupid pink kettle being labeled non-negotiable by the boy she loved.

—I��m sorry,— Carmen finally said, fingers tapping against the wheel. —I really didn’t mean to say it like that. I thought he’d already told you.—

Amelie blinked, then smiled softly. —It’s okay.—

—I just...he’s been planning this for months. He’s so excited. Like, he keeps checking delivery dates like a maniac. He wants it to be perfect for you.—

—I know,— Amelie said, voice quiet. —And… you don’t have to worry, Carm. I’m not going to say anything.—

Carmen blinked. —Wait, really?—

—Yeah,— Amelie nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt. —I’m gonna wait until he tells me. Properly. Whenever he’s ready.—

—You sure?— Carmen asked. —You don’t seem like the ‘wait patiently’ type.—

Amelie smirked. —I’m not. But I don’t want to ruin his plans. If he’s doing this whole thing, then I want to see it through his way. Let him have his big gesture moment.—

Carmen stared at her for a second, then grinned. —You’re disgustingly in love.—

—Tragically,— Amelie said as she opened the car door. —Thanks for the ride, Carm.—

—Anytime. And… sorry again for spilling the beans.—

Amelie shrugged playfully. —I’ll just blackmail you with it later.—

She shut the door, tugged her orange dress into place, and began walking toward the hotel entrance. A few fans stood nearby — some holding phones, others hesitating like they weren’t sure if it was really her.

When she smiled, it confirmed everything.

She took pictures with the ones who asked, signing a few notebooks, complimenting earrings, and laughing at a shy boy’s awkward compliment. Her heels clicked elegantly against the marble as she finally stepped into the lobby, nodding politely to the concierge who greeted her by name. She looked like she belonged here — in this city, in this chaos, in this exact moment. Radiant. Steady. Buzzing just under the surface.

The elevator ride was quiet, save for the faint hum of pop music leaking from the speakers. When the doors opened to the suite floor, she stepped out and walked straight to their door.

Key card. Beep. Click.

She opened the door to their suite and stepped inside.

The low lights inside the suite cast a warm golden hue across the space. It smelled faintly like her perfume and something clean—Lando’s cologne, probably. Her heels clicked softly against the hardwood as she crossed the living room, slipping them off by the couch with a sigh of relief.

Then she padded toward the bedroom, fingers already tugging at the back of her dress.

And there he was.

Lando, propped up against the headboard, still in his Quadrant hoodie and sweats, a tablet in his lap. Data charts glowed on the screen, his brow slightly furrowed, hair fluffy from a shower and the kind of relaxed focus he only ever wore when he thought no one was watching.

He looked up at the sound of the door creaking.

His gaze snagged on her immediately—and his expression changed like someone had punched the breath out of him.

—Fuck,— he muttered, setting the tablet aside. —You look hot.—

Amelie tilted her head, smiling slowly. —I always look hot, darling.—

Lando grinned, biting his bottom lip slightly, eyes trailing shamelessly over her figure. The orange dress hugged her curves like it had been painted on, dipping low in the back, stopping just short of indecent. Her hair was tousled from the breeze, her skin glowing from wine and laughter and just… existing.

He held out a hand, and she crossed to him, turning around so her back faced him.

—Help me untie it?— she asked.

He was already sitting up straighter, fingers gentle as they worked at the delicate ties along her spine.

—You really do wear these to torture me, don’t you?— he murmured, voice low, warm against her skin.

—Maybe,— she hummed, tilting her head to the side.

Once the knot was undone, his lips found her back, soft and slow. A trail of small kisses up her spine. One on the nape of her neck. One on her shoulder.

She closed her eyes briefly. Let herself melt for a moment. Then...

—I’m gonna wash my face before I crawl into your lap,— she said over her shoulder, stepping away.

Lando let out a dramatic sigh. —Tease.—

She disappeared into the bathroom, flicking the light on and getting to work. The usual: double cleanse, toner, serum, the lavender moisturizer Lando claimed “smelled like sleep.” She changed into one of his old t-shirts, brushed her hair back, and took a breath before turning the light off.

When she returned, Lando was still there—legs stretched out, shirt slightly rumpled, that same soft look in his eyes when he saw her again.

She climbed into bed beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then she curled into his side, one hand splaying against his chest, the other dragging lazily up under the hem of his hoodie. Fingers tracing the faint ridges of muscle, the smooth skin just above his waistband.

—Someone’s handsy tonight,— he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

—I just missed you,— she said, voice quiet now.

But the truth thudded inside her louder than she could bear.

She loved him.

So much it almost hurt. She felt it in the way she touched him, in the way she couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t stop reaching. It was bubbling just beneath the surface, raw and bright and real.

And he noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Lando turned a little, shifting so he could look at her properly. His thumb brushed her cheek. Her lips. Her jaw.

—You okay?— he asked softly.

She nodded, smile blooming slow and real. —I’m really happy.—

His brows lifted just slightly, amused and tender. —Yeah?—

—Yeah,— she said, curling into his chest again. —I just… can’t believe we’re here. Finally. Like this.—

Lando wrapped his arms around her, his chin resting on the top of her head.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

She could tell him. She could say it right now.

But she didn’t.

Not yet.

Because this was enough. This closeness. This bed. This ridiculous hoodie that smelled like home. This love she hadn’t even fully spoken out loud yet but was already living in every day.

She could wait.

She wanted to see what he had planned.

She wanted to say yes to all of it when he finally asked.

But tonight?

Tonight she would fall asleep wrapped in him, heart racing, lips smiling, knowing she’d never loved someone like this before.

And that she never would again.

-------------

liked by chaoticwags, f1teaparty, and others

f1wagsupdates: Amelie Dayman has officially entered the paddock for the final time this weekend — and she’s ending it with a silk baby blue slay 💎✨

The long dress, the wind in her hair, the soft glam?? It’s giving Old Hollywood at the Grand Prix and we are obsessed.

gridgfmaterial: she said ✨final boss energy✨ and meant it

pitlanepeaches: someone get security she’s about to cause incidents on and off track → landosnumberone: @pitlanepeaches FIA needs to ban her from looking this good tbh

lanfanclubbb: baby blue silk??? miss girl really woke up and chose ✨wifey aesthetic✨ → wagsupreme: @lanfanclubbb she didn’t dress for the race she dressed for the afterparty 😮‍💨

chaoticwags: lando locking in p1 just bc he saw her walk in like that 😭 → norisimp: @chaoticwags he’s manifesting podium kisses and i support him

paddockbaddies: lanmelie forever got the paddock in a chokehold → daymanlvr: @paddockbaddies if this is her last look of the weekend she went out SWINGING

formulafairytales: i can’t even joke anymore like she’s actually breathtaking bye

lanmeliefanclub: baby blue for the baby girl 😭💙 → pitlanebaddie: @lanmeliefanclub lando’s gonna propose with that color in mind WATCH

softlaunchsupreme: she said “last look of the weekend” and SERVEDDDD → drsdiva: @softlaunchsupreme the other wags had to move aside sry

gridgirlera: lando when he sees her: “guys my engine’s overheating” → lanmeliebrainrot: @gridgirlera not the ONLY thing overheating

f1teaparty: “baby blue silk dress” is now my entire personality. thanks amelie. → ameliesimpact: @f1teaparty she’s the reason miami humidity spiked be fr

norrisbabywife: he’s 100% pacing in the garage like “do NOT let me fumble this woman” → gridgossipgirl: @norrisbabywife mclaren gotta duct tape him to the seat fr 😭

pitlaneangel: the dress. the glow. the hair. i just know lando’s breathing different rn

-------------

The Miami sun was merciless, but Lando didn’t care. Not today. He was still riding the high from the absolute chaos that was the drivers’ parade—LEGO cars this time, for some goddamn reason, and honestly, it had been hilarious. Charles had crashed into Carlos, Carlos had swerved into George, and Lando had done at least three unnecessary donuts just because he could. The fans were loving it. He was loving it.

Now, walking back toward the McLaren hospitality with Jon at his side and his bodyguard trailing just a step behind, he was still buzzing. Sunglasses pushed up his nose, hair sweaty under his cap, his suit unzipped halfway down his torso, Lando kept a grin on his face as fans called out to him from behind the barriers.

—Lando, can you sign my cap?— —Can I get a quick video for my brother?— —Landoooo, you're gonna win again, baby!—

He stopped here and there, signing autographs as he walked, never fully stopping, just doing the multitasking dance he’d perfected over the years. His team kept him moving, but he made eye contact, smiled, even complimented someone’s bucket hat that looked suspiciously like one he’d lost in 2021.

But then—he looked up.

And his whole mood shifted.

Amelie.

She was sitting outside McLaren hospitality, right in the shade of one of the massive umbrellas, legs crossed under the table like she belonged there—because she did—but it wasn’t her being there that threw him. It was who she was with.

Mick fucking Schumacher.

Lando’s jaw clenched so hard Jon noticed, shooting him a brief side glance, but didn’t say anything. Mick had his sunglasses perched on his head, leaning just a little too far across the table, laughing at something Amelie had said. She was laughing too—head tilted back slightly, hand to her chest, her golden brown skin glowing in the Miami sun, hair pulled up in a messy bun that Lando knew she hadn’t put any effort into but still looked unfairly perfect.

He felt it. That small, stupid, primitive flare in his chest. Jealousy.

He didn’t even try to rationalize it. He didn’t care that Mick had a girlfriend for ages, or that things never happened between them beyond that one date back in 2021, or that Amelie had never once said anything remotely flirty about Mick. All Lando could think about was how Mick used to beg him—beg him—to set them up, back when Amelie and Lando were just friends and Mick didn’t know that every time he looked at her, Lando wanted to rip the goddamn sky in half.

Now he was newly single.

And sitting with his girlfriend.

Fuck that.

He was supposed to go inside, back to his driver room, get water, debrief, whatever. But instead, he changed direction with zero hesitation, heading straight for them like a magnet being pulled. Jon didn’t question it—just kept up—but Lando heard the slight shuffle of his bodyguard adjusting position, aware of the trajectory change.

Amelie spotted him first.

Her face lit up the second her eyes landed on him. That smile—her real one, not the press one—spread slow and wide across her face like it couldn’t be helped, and her hand shot up to shield her eyes from the sun as she called out, voice teasing.

—You finally done crashing into your coworkers, Lan? Or are they still picking up the LEGO bricks you left behind?—

Lando smirked, his jealousy softening but still prickling beneath the surface. He came to a stop right by her chair, eyes flicking briefly toward Mick with a polite-enough nod, but all his attention honed in on her.

—Carlos started it, for the record,— he said, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head like it was nothing. Like it was normal. —I was an innocent bystander in the great LEGO massacre of 2025.—

—Innocent?— she snorted, leaning back in her seat with that amused glint in her eyes. —You literally did donuts in a plastic car, Lan.—

—They were strategic donuts. Psychological warfare.—

Mick laughed, but it sounded awkward now. Lando didn’t look at him again. He was already tugging a chair from the next table and dropping himself beside Amelie, legs splayed, one arm resting behind her on the back of her chair like he’d been invited to sit there—which he hadn’t, but she didn’t seem to mind.

If anything, she leaned into the arm a little.

—You looked good out there,— she added more softly, brushing something off the collar of his fire suit. —Sweaty. But hot.—

—You telling me you’ve got a thing for melted Brits in race suits, Ames? That’s your type?—

—Mm-hmm. Melting, dramatic, chaotic. And a little possessive,— she added, glancing sideways at him knowingly.

Busted.

Lando raised a brow. —Possessive? Me? Never.—

Amelie turned to Mick then, and bless her, because she did it with such perfect timing and casual grace that Lando could’ve kissed her right there.

—Mick, thanks for the drink. I’ll see you around the paddock?—

Mick looked between them—between the casually territorial arm draped behind her and the way she was looking at Lando like he’d just hung the moon—and gave a tight-lipped smile.

—Yeah, sure. Good luck today, mate.—

—Cheers,— Lando said, all polite teeth.

They watched him leave, Amelie sipping what was left of her iced tea, and only when he was far enough did she speak.

—You gonna mark your territory next by peeing in a circle around me?—

Lando tilted his head toward her with a dangerous smile. —Don’t tempt me, baby.—

She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to her temple without thinking. It was natural now. Normal. They weren’t hiding anymore.

—So… Mick, huh?— he said casually, but his tone betrayed him. He didn’t mean to sound like a jealous dick. It just slipped.

Amelie lifted her head, raising a brow. —Seriously? Lan. It was just a drink. He was already sitting there when I arrived. I was literally killing time while you LEGO-ed your way around the circuit.—

He made a face. —You two went on a date once.—

She narrowed her eyes. —In 2021. And it was one date. Nothing happened. You know why? Because I spent the whole dinner thinking about someone else.—

That got his attention.

—Yeah? Who?—

Her gaze dropped to his lips, then lifted again—slow, deliberate. Her voice dipped just slightly, teasing but honest.

—This British guy. Really annoying. Always made me laugh when I didn’t want to. Had a stupid cute smile and a god complex in a go-kart.—

Lando’s smirk returned, lazy and triumphant. —Sounds like a catch.—

—He was also really fucking oblivious,— she added, tipping her chin up. —Like, criminally dense. Took him three years to date me properly.—

—Oi,— he grinned, —I was playing the long game.—

—No, you were playing FIFA.—

He laughed, the kind that shook his shoulders and made her grin back just from the sound. God, she loved that sound. And maybe he knew it, because his hand dropped from the back of her chair to the small of her back, fingers splaying wide like he needed to be touching as much of her as possible now that she was there.

They sat there a moment, the Miami paddock buzzing around them, heat radiating off the asphalt, the scent of sunscreen and fuel lingering in the air. But for a second, it was just the two of them, tucked into this little pocket of calm.

Lando tilted his head to the side as he watched her. The noise of the paddock seemed to dim under the weight of her stare—the way she looked at him like he was the only one here, even in the middle of a Grand Prix weekend. He hated how much he still got butterflies when she did that. Hated it and loved it.

She leaned forward, fingers brushing his knee beneath the table. Her voice was quieter now.

—You okay? You’ve gone all serious on me.—

He exhaled through his nose, glancing toward the hospitality doors like the answer was hidden somewhere behind them.

—I’m nervous, Ames. Like... proper nerves. I know I shouldn’t be. Won last year, know the car’s strong, I’ve done the prep and the sim runs and all that, but... fuck, it’s Miami. It’s all eyes on us now. On me.—

Amelie didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded slowly, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit near his thigh like she could ground him with just that small point of contact.

Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Soft and lingering. Not rushed, not performative. Just... full of everything she didn’t need words to say.

—Lan,— she whispered against his skin, —no matter what happens out there today... we’re already so proud of you. You hear me? Not because of a trophy. Just because you’ve made it here. You’ve done all of it. And you’re still this good, this kind, this ridiculous little chaos man I love. So, yeah. We’re already proud.—

He closed his eyes for half a second, just breathing her in. Sunscreen and iced tea and the faintest trace of her perfume, like vanilla and orange blossom. It was grounding. Centering.

And then he kissed her.

It was quick, not because he wanted it to be, but because they were still in public, still surrounded. His hand found the side of her face, thumb brushing her jaw, and he kissed her like it was the only thing that would keep him calm.

She smiled against his lips.

But before either of them could say something cheeky—or worse, sappy—a familiar voice interrupted with full, theatrical volume.

—Oi, Christ, I leave you two alone for five minutes and now you’re snogging like it’s your last day on Earth. Again.—

Alex Wolff slid into the chair Mick had been in earlier, plopping his coffee cup on the table like he hadn’t just been gone for two hours on the world’s longest caffeine hunt. He smirked at both of them, dramatically adjusting his sunglasses.

—Honestly, you two are like horny teenagers. Have some shame.—

Amelie laughed, rolling her eyes. —You’re one to talk. You once made out with someone in a Starbucks bathroom, remember?—

—It was private property! — Alex pointed out, completely unbothered. —Also, you two were dangerously close to eye-fucking each other when I walked up, so don’t even.—

Lando groaned but smiled, standing up and brushing off his race suit. He glanced at his watch. Time to go.

He looked at Amelie one last time, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with that stupidly soft look in his eyes that still made her insides twist.

—Thanks, baby. For being here.—

—Always.—

He dipped down, gave her one last, quick kiss—this one to the corner of her mouth, because he knew it made her giggle—and then jogged off toward hospitality, heat still radiating from his cheeks, heart pounding not from nerves anymore, but from love.

And behind him, Amelie sat with Alex, watching him go.

God, she fucking loved that man.

-------------

liked by lanmeliecore, wagswithwifi, and others

f1gossipgrid: SPOTTED: Amelie Dayman & Mick Schumacher seen chatting one-on-one at the McLaren hospitality today in Miami. Fans at the paddock say the convo looked "very smiley, very friendly" — just old friends catching up? Or something more to it? 👁️👁️

View all 97,014 comments

f1loverr22: Omg Lando, we SEE you. Mick's gotta go, babe! 😂

lanmeliecore: i just KNOW lando saw this and teleported through 3 walls and 2 interns → mclarenjawn: @lanmeliecore he was halfway into an ice bath and SPRINTED → wifeyforlando: @lanmeliecore "mick. hi. bye." ☠️

lanmeliecore: not the 2021 one-date tension resurrecting in 4k 💀 → amelieslashes: @lanmeliecore lando better be breathing deep rn bc I would start a scene → gridgirlera: @lanmeliecore imagine ur bf walks in and sees u giggling w mick schumacher i’d fake an engine failure

tracksidegossip: be fr if lando saw this he’s in the gym lifting tractors rn → pitlaneclownery: @trackisdegood 😭 crying in creatine and jealousy → ameliesrings: @trackisdegood he already posted a thirst trap on close friends i just KNOW it

wagsupreme: ok but what if mick just wants styling tips like leave my girl alone 😭 → lanmelie4eva: nah bc she’s so mother she got mick in a side quest

debriefanddestroy: lando watching that convo like it’s VAR footage

lanmeliebrainrot: lando seeing this and suddenly driving 10x faster 😭 → gridgf: @lanmeliebrainrot bro’s fighting for pole and his girl 💀 → mclarenfeminist: @gridgf he got that jealousy boost 😭

micksbabyblueeyes: y’all it was ONE date in 2021 pls be serious 😭 → ameliedefensesquad: @micksbabyblueeyes fr and she never went back 💅

f1slayupdates: no bc why is this giving high school hallway tension → sydneyplsleak: @f1slayupdates tell me they didn’t just say “long time no see” omg

wagswithwifi: lando’s abt to “accidentally” crash into the mclaren hospitality tent 😭 → crashingforclout: @wagswithwifi mclaren gonna have to issue a statement 😭

lovewins24: anyway lando’s still the one going home with her soooo 💅 → chaoticblonde: @lovewins24 AND he got her name tattooed, mick could never 😭 → lanmeliedaily: @chaoticblonde exactly. that tiny “A” holds more power than my degree

-------------

The celebration was loud, chaotic, and bursting with orange and papaya pride. McLaren’s hospitality buzzed with champagne corks and team shouts, a sea of proud engineers and media swirling around Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris after a spectacular 1-2 finish. Cameras flashed, microphones were shoved in his face, and questions flew like sparks from a fire.

But Lando felt... nothing.

He smiled through it. Said the right things. Thanked the team. Congratulated Oscar—who had driven brilliantly, he couldn’t deny that. But somewhere deep in his chest, under the weight of his fireproofs and adrenaline crash, something had started to ache.

Because it wasn’t just today.

It had been happening for a while now—subtle, quiet moments where Oscar’s side of the garage got the newest upgrades first, where his setups were prioritized in briefings, where even the race strategies felt just slightly tilted. He was Lando fucking Norris. He’d been loyal. He’d bled McLaren for years. And yet... sometimes he felt like he was fading into the background.

Second place should’ve felt good.

But it didn’t.

Not when you were constantly wondering if you were second in more ways than one.

By the time he ducked into his driver room, the applause behind him was muffled. He shut the door. Locked it. Then stood there in silence.

Helmet still in hand. Jaw tight.

He didn’t speak. Just peeled off his race suit like it weighed double today, stepping under the shower with water so hot it bordered on punishment. The steam filled the space, fogging the mirror, hiding the disappointment etched into his face.

He didn’t bother styling his hair or fixing the towel properly around his neck. Just threw on a black tee, McLaren logo barely visible in the dim lighting, and jeans. Backpack slung over one shoulder, cap pulled low over his eyes.

When he finally stepped out into the paddock again, it was nearly empty. The Miami heat had cooled into a humid haze, the sun dipping low. The team had moved on to debriefs or bars. All that remained were a few F1 employees sweeping up confetti and folding chairs.

And that’s when he saw her.

Amelie. Sitting at a plastic table near the McLaren trucks, legs curled under her, hair in a loose braid. She was with Alex and Minnie, the three of them sharing what looked like leftover tiramisu and laughing at something on Minnie’s phone.

But a few meters away, at a nearby table, were Max Fewtrell and Pietra.

Lando’s stomach turned.

They hadn’t talked properly in weeks. Not since the Comporta gossip blew up. Amelie had kept her distance—polite, but distant—whenever Max or Pietra showed up. And now here they were, just... there.

Lando gave Max a small, stiff nod. Max returned it without a smile.

He walked straight to Amelie.

She looked up and instantly, her expression shifted. She saw it. Whatever this was on his face—quiet, low, off—she saw it like a flashing light.

—Lan,— she said gently, pushing back from the table. —Hey. What happened?—

He didn’t answer. Just dropped down beside her, letting his body fold into the chair like it weighed more than usual. She laid a hand on his thigh, rubbing small circles with her thumb.

Alex and Minnie made awkward eye contact across the table.

—You okay?— she tried again, quieter now.

Still, nothing.

She knew that look. He wasn’t angry. He was shutting down. Too many thoughts. Too many questions he wouldn’t say aloud. Maybe he thought saying them out loud made them real.

She leaned closer, tucking a strand of his hair back under his cap. —You wanna talk about it?—

Lando shook his head once. Barely.

—Did Oscar say anything? Or Zak?—

Another shake. His jaw clenched. Her thumb paused for a second, then kept moving. Gentle. Warm. Anchoring.

She glanced toward the nearly empty pit lane, then back at him. And her brain clicked into gear.

Fine. If he wouldn’t talk, she’d do something.

Amelie straightened up, a glint sparking in her eyes. She turned to Alex.

—Hey, Al, how fast do you think those stupid Lego parade cars go?—

Alex blinked. —Uh… fast enough to break a toe, slow enough to avoid jail. Why?—

Amelie grinned. —Perfect. Let’s steal them.—

—What?— Minnie said, already laughing.

—Come on,— she said, grabbing Lando’s hand and standing. —Let’s break every single FIA rule about off-track behavior and grand theft tiny automobile.—

Lando looked up at her, confused. —What are you talking about?—

—We’re going for a drive,— she declared, yanking him up. —Come on. You, me, Alex, Minnie. Max and Pietra too.—

His eyes flickered. —You serious?—

—Deadly.— She kissed his cheek. —You drive. I’ll scream encouragement. Maybe some Taylor Swift.—

Alex was already on his feet. —Oh, this is the best idea you’ve had since putting vodka in Capri Suns.—

Minnie cackled. —I still have a scar from that night.—

Amelie turned toward Max and Pietra’s table. Her stomach gave a little twist, but she shoved it down. Time for olive branches, even if they were made of plastic and racing decals.

—Oi, Fewtrell,— she called. Max looked over warily. —You two coming or what?—

Pietra raised an eyebrow. —Coming where?—

—To steal the Lego cars and drive them around the track like idiots. Let’s break something.—

Max glanced at Lando, then back at Amelie. A pause. Then he stood, brushing off his pants.

—Only if I get Red Bull. I’m not driving a Ferrari like a peasant.—

—You wish you were that fast,— Alex quipped.

They were moving before Lando could fully process it. Somehow, a minute later, he was sitting behind the tiny plastic wheel of the McLaren parade car, Amelie climbing in beside him and draping her legs over his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world.

—You okay with this?— she asked softly, hand on the side of his face.

He blinked at her. And then—finally—his mouth twitched.

—Only if I get to crash into Max.—

—That’s my boy.—

Max revved the Red Bull car beside them like he was in a Fast & Furious reboot, Pietra already filming him with her phone, hair whipping around. Alex and Minnie were arguing about whether the Ferrari had a working horn.

—Let’s go, papaya princess,— Amelie whispered, and Lando pressed the gas.

The electric motor made the saddest whirring noise. The McLaren inched forward.

—This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever done,— Lando muttered.

—But are you smiling?—

He looked at her. The wind pulled her braid loose. Her nose was sunburnt. Her eyes were nothing but warmth.

And yeah. He smiled.

They made it halfway down the straight before Alex tried to sideswipe them. Minnie screamed like she was in a rollercoaster. Max cut them off dramatically at Turn 4, yelling, —Eat shit, Norris!— before losing a wheel on a curb.

—YOU'RE PAYING FOR THAT!— Lando shouted back, laughing for the first time that day.

Amelie threw her arms up and yelled, —THIS IS FOR THE PEOPLE!!—

They looped the entire circuit. Hit barriers. Bounced over curbs. Someone lost a shoe. Two of the cars were dented. None of them cared.

And when they finally skidded to a stop at the finish line—Lando dragging the McLaren sideways just for flair—he dropped his head back, panting and grinning.

Amelie leaned over and kissed his cheek. Then his jaw. Then right behind his ear, where she knew it made him melt.

—Better?— she whispered.

He nodded, eyes closed. —Yeah.—

—Good. You’re not second to anyone, Lando.—

He looked at her. Really looked. Her smile, all mischief and moonlight. Her hands, paint-chipped nails and warm against his chest.

He leaned in and kissed her.

And for the first time that weekend, he felt like himself again.

—Still gonna run Max over on the way out though,— he mumbled.

—Please do. I’ll film it.—

She did.

-------------

liked by pinksuitlando, wagswithwifi, and others

lanmelieupdates: Lando and Amelie were spotted getting on her jet tonight in Miami 👀✈️✨ They’ve been inseparable all weekend and now off to who-knows-where… Lanmelie world tour continues 🧡💛

View all 37,810 comments

glamgridgirl: NOT THE LANMELIE JET OMGG ARE WE GETTING A MET GALA DEBUT??? → pitlaneprincess: @glamgridgirl if lando wears a tux next to her in couture i’m gonna combust → softielan: @pitlaneprincess manifesting her in custom Mugler and him just standing there like 😍

wagsupreme: they’re so unserious for being this hot together → lanfan69: @wagsupreme not a single ugly cell between them. criminal. → f1cupid: @lanfan69 lando be lookin like her security + #1 fan and i LOVE IT

metgalamegafan: IF LANDO SHOWS UP I’LL EAT MY SHOE → cheekypaddock: @metgalamegafan you better start boiling the water then bc it’s happening → paddockslut: @cheekypaddock we feasting fr

lanmeliehearts: imagine the fits. the hand holding. the chaos. → daydreamdri: @lanmeliehearts and the afterparty pics? my soul isn’t ready

lanielovr: he better not skip like last year i’m STILL healing → f1gossipmama: @lanielovr babes they’re literally teasing us i fear we’re NOT surviving this one

pinksuitlando: lando blinking at flashing cameras like a confused labrador while she eats the carpet up 😭😭 → gridwives: @pinksuitlando the duality of man and mother. iconic.

lanlover24: MET GALA MET GALA MET GALA I’M ON MY KNEES → gridgirlgc: @lanlover24 if he shows up in a suit next to her i’m gonna scream into the void → wifeydayman: @lanlover24 bro he’s gonna match her dress colors watch😭

f1hotgirlenergy: lando pls don’t fumble this MET MOMENT

pastelsinz: imagine the hand on her waist. the LOOKS. the PHOTOS. i’m not okay → paddockbarbie: @pastelsinz that man’s already halfway in love, met gala will finish him off 💅

lanmeliedefenseunit: ik damn well Lando would sit thru 5 hours of glam for her → bigdayformclaren: @lanmeliedefenseunit man would get a full facial

f1fangirl203: if we don’t get lanmelie at the Met idc cancel the whole event

-------------

The McLaren hoodie Lando wore was crumpled from sleep, the sleeves pulled over his hands as he slumped deeper into the jet’s cream leather seat. The Miami skyline had long since disappeared behind them, and the hum of the engines was steady, soft—background noise for thoughts too loud.

They were halfway to New York.

Amelie had changed into a baggy matching set—charcoal grey with the words I am so tired embroidered in cursive over her chest. Her feet were bare, curled up under her on the seat across from him. She sipped ginger tea slowly, watching him.

He hadn’t said much since takeoff.

Lando stared out the window, eyes unreadable under the brim of his cap. She knew he wasn't actually seeing the clouds.

His phone was face-down on the table between them, as if he couldn’t bear to look at it. She’d seen it though. Everyone had. The post from McLaren—celebrating the 1-2 finish. Oscar in the center, Zak beside him, mechanics with arms raised, a flood of papaya orange.

And Lando?

Not even cropped out.

Just… not there.

She hadn’t said anything at the time. Just took his hand when he wordlessly walked away from the airport hangar and let him curl up against her on the plane like the weight of his fireproofs had never really come off.

Now, miles above the world, she reached over and gently tapped her foot against his leg.

He glanced over.

—Still mad at the clouds?— she teased softly.

He huffed a laugh through his nose. Barely.

She set her tea down and pulled her knees to her chest, chin resting on them. —You want to talk about it now? Or should I distract you with conspiracy theories about Karlie Kloss at the Met Gala?—

Lando let out a dry, crooked smile. —How do you even know Karlie Kloss conspiracy theories?—

—I have Twitter. I’m terminally online. But I’d rather talk about you.—

His gaze drifted down to his fingers, fidgeting with the drawstring on his hoodie.

—It’s just…— He hesitated. Voice rough from not using it much. —It’s not just today. It’s everything lately. I feel like... I’m always the one getting pushed back. Priorities, upgrades, briefings. Feels like Oscar’s the shiny new toy and I’m just... comfortably average.—

She straightened, her brows knitting. —Lando, you’re not average. You’re the reason half of McLaren’s success in the past years even exists.—

—Yeah, but it doesn’t feel like that lately.— He looked at her now, properly. Eyes raw. Honest. —Yesterday I won the Sprint, held off Max in Quali, fought back to P2 in the race after being pushed off track. And I still didn’t feel like the story. Not once.—

She moved to the seat beside him, pulling his hand into hers. Her fingers found the grooves between his knuckles.

—Because they made Oscar the face of the win.—

He nodded. —And that stupid post just proved it. It’s like I wasn’t even there.—

Amelie exhaled, slow and controlled. Her thumb brushed over the back of his hand. —I saw it. I hated it. And I’m sorry. You deserve better. From the team, from the people around you, from the fucking internet.—

He gave her a small, tired smile. —Even from the social media interns?—

—Especially them.— Her voice sharpened. —You gave them everything. Loyalty, sweat, literal years of your life. If they can’t even acknowledge that, they don’t deserve you.—

He looked away again. Eyes unfocused.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, voice lower. —But I see you. You hear me? Every corner you fight for. Every time you bring the car home when no one else could. The way you lead that team without even realizing it. I see you, Lando.—

His throat moved as he swallowed.

—You’re not invisible. And if they start treating you like you are... then maybe it’s time to ask yourself whether it’s worth it anymore.—

That landed with a quiet weight.

She let it sit between them.

Eventually, he spoke again. —I’ve been thinking about that. About what comes next. What if they don’t see me the way I thought they did? What if I’m just... not part of the plan anymore?—

Amelie reached up and cupped his face, turning him toward her.

—Then you make your own plan. You're not a pawn on anyone’s board, Lan. You’re the whole damn game.—

A beat.

His eyes closed, just for a second. Like her words sank deeper than they were supposed to. Then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers.

—Thanks for stealing the Lego car with me.—

She grinned. —Always. In crime and in chaos.—

He laughed quietly, then leaned back in his seat, finally—finally—looking lighter.

And as the lights of the city began to blink beneath them through the clouds, Amelie curled into his side and whispered:

—You’re not in anyone’s shadow, Lan. Not when you shine this bright.—

And maybe, just maybe, he started to believe it.

[regretismyconstantcompanion]

Albus sat still, absorbing Harry's words, each one heavy with their own quiet truths. He could tell the boy had always been honest, even when it hurt, and Albus respected that more than he could express. But this moment, the complexities of what Harry had just said, made his heart ache in a way he hadn’t expected.

When Harry spoke of love, of selflessness and sacrifice, Albus felt a pang in his chest. This was the kind of love he had never truly understood when he was younger. The kind that gave without expectation, the kind that sought the well-being of the other above its own desires.

"I suppose," Albus began softly, his voice laced with quiet regret, "I once thought love was something you could control. Something you could shape to fit your ideals, your ambitions. But real love, Harry..." His words caught in his throat for a brief second, as if the weight of them was just too heavy. "Real love doesn’t work that way. It’s wild, unpredictable. It doesn’t ask for permission to take root, to change you." He exhaled a breath, shaking his head slightly. "I was young and foolish, caught up in a dream I thought would make me whole. I wanted to believe Gellert was the answer to all the loneliness and longing I had carried for so long."

He paused, looking at Harry with a certain gravity. "But as you said... that wasn’t love. Not the kind you described, and certainly not the love your parents had. I wanted to make the world better, yes—but in my own way. My vision of that 'better' world, one where power and control reigned supreme, was flawed. I see that. I've known it for a long time now." “If Gellert had truly loved me—selflessly—he would have ended it. Not to punish me, not to control me, but to free me. But that kind of love… that is not the love we shared. It was too wrapped in hunger, in ego, in fire and possession. Even now, I think he holds me here not because he wants me beside him—but because he cannot bear the thought of me being beyond him. Not even in death.”

Albus sat still for a long moment, Harrys words settling around him like a weight. There was a quiet sincerity in Harrys voice that stirred something deep within him. He had expected many things from Harry, but never this. This compassion, this unspoken understanding. The notion that Harry was glad Gellert hadn’t killed him, despite everything he had just admitted, caught him off guard in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

He was touched, deeply so, by the fact that Harry, despite all the pain and disillusionment he’d faced, could find it within himself to be grateful for Albus' continued presence. It was not something Albus had ever expected

A quiet gratitude filled Albus as he gazed at Harry, his heart softened by the raw honesty in the boys admission.

“You are a far kinder person than I deserve, Harry,” Albus said, his voice thick with emotion. “Even though you admitted that you might have done the same thing in his place. That you would have ended my suffering to spare me, you still wished for my survival. I can’t say how much that means to me.” He swallowed hard, eyes searching Harrys face.

Albus Dumbledore was sitting on the couch, staring into the fireplace that was across from him. The crackling of the flames was the only sound breaking the silence in the cottage that was nestled in the Scottish Highlands. It was isolated, miles away from even the nearest village. He had chosen it for that very reason, desperate for solitude even if it wasn't something that had been forced upon him. He had lost the duel against Grindelwald. He had known that had always been a possibility. There were equals after all and had known each other painfully well. They had spent that summer duelling, friendly but pushing each others boundaries. They had grown and changed and become more powerful but their tendencies had lingered. The fight had lasted well over an hour but in the end, Gellert had just gotten the better of him and managed to disarm him and send him flying backwards. His only minor consolation was the fight had left them both panting and injured. But it had been clear who the winner was. There was no backing out of the agreement they had made. His time in Nurmengard had been brief. A chance to recover from the duel before Gellert gave him an ultimatum. He could remain free if he agreed to leave Hogwarts and retreat from the Wizarding World. Albus had already known he would leave the school, for certainly he had lost that right when he had failed his students and the Wizarding World as a whole. He had agreed, knowing Gellert wasn't giving him a choice and not agreeing would result in either his death or being imprisoned in Nurmengard forever or the deaths of those he cared about. And so here he was, over a year after the duel. Staring into the fire, sitting beside a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Books had been removed from the overflowing bookshelves, scattered around the room. Some had been read, some he hadn't even yet opened. Plain parchment piled up on the desk. Few knew where he was and so letters came rarely. He had picked some of the fruit and vegetables he grew in a small garden he tended to. Perhaps he would make some jams and chutneys if he could find the strength and motivation. It came sometimes, mixed in with the heavy weight of despair that seemed to fill his waking hours. He had failed. He had let down the wizarding world and now he banished just beyond the world he loved so much. He knew what was happening there, of course. He did his best to learn of Gellerts ongoing plans and rise to power. Without him there, there was nothing to stop him. He knew the few Ministries that still existed moved against him but it wouldn't take much for them to fall. Everything would be lost then and Albus knew he was powerless to stop it. @johamfated

[herstarburststories]

The Cage (Joe Goldberg x Reader)

Pairing: Joe Goldberg x reader

Summary: Joe puts you in the cage after you've seen him in an incriminating situation. He comes back to check on you, and ends up facing a pleasurable situation: you, masturbating in the cage.

Warnings: masturbation, kidnapping, sexual thoughts, smut, unhealthy behavior. It's YOU, ya know what to expect.

A/N: My 1st YOU story! It had to be messed up smut. No specific season here.Please reblog and comment. Hope you guys like it!

You used to have a bird when you were younger.

A parrot. His bright colors seemed to speak under the sunlight when he landed next to you. His wing looked funny, what was later discovered to be broken. That small detail was the perfect excuse to convince you dad to keep the bird.

You named Jorge and took him home.

Jorge was so little, so helpless.

You never put him in a cage, even when your dad brought one because housebirds are meant to be caged, or so he said. — which wasn't much of a surprised. He thought the same about your mom or any housewives. Their cage was just different.

But, you didn't let him get his way. You stomped your feet and threw the prison away. Birds were supposed to be free.

Plus, you related to Jorge in that sense. Everyone, the whole planet seemed to believe that women should be put in cages, in boxes, in any place that could contain them, patronize them. Because the patriarchal cry babies thought that they were too savage, too emotional. A danger to society.

Those people never seem to notice that every single disaster was orchestrated by men's hands.

Colonization, religious intolerance, wars, pseudo prophets, and so it goes.

Anyway, you didn't let the tiny bird get caged, and asked him to promise to take you and fly you away if someone ever tried to do that to you.

It may seem childish, irrational even, but you can't help looking around and hoping Jorge would appear and save you from the cage.

Joe's cage.

Alright, yes. You had many feminist criticism towards how men attempted to force women into fitting their irralistic, many times porn guided caged vision of feminiality. But this wasn't what you mean by that!

Joe Goldberg had a fucking cage! And you were in there: trapped like a hopeless animal.

What did he plan to do with you? Were you going to die? How long would he leave you there without food or water? How were you going to do your basic needs? How would you survive this?

''How did I end up here?" you asked your reflection on the glass. ''You know how, idiot.''

You groaned, hitting the wall in frustration. It wasn't your fault, you knew it. The old cliché, wrong person at the wrong place during the wrong time, all the wrongs in the world wrapped in a pretty lace. Although, the guilty for not knowing better held you tight, it was like you couldn't even breathe.

You needed some relief.

Joe's POV

He sighed, unlocking the door with his free hand whilst holding your meal with the other one. Joe closed his eyes as the door opened with a loud noise, preparing himself to hear your scream and shout. He didn't want to do that! Not to you at least. Joe just wanted to take care of you, to make you see him how he saw you: entirely.

But really, what else could he have done? You saw him with blood on his shirt and a huge bag.

When the man didn't hear your voice, he opened her eyes and arched his eyebrows.

Maybe you understood why I had to do this, Y/N. Always knew you were different, my love.

Joe locked the door again and kept the keys in his pocket, taking the stairs to meet you.

Or, I could be wrong and you could've managed to get out of the cage and be just there, waiting to attack me. You're smart, I wouldn't put it past you.

The closer he gets, the quiet it sounds. The only music is the own stairs crackling under his steps.

But, you know me, Y/N. I'm a true hopeless romantic. What can I say? I still believe. I believe in us. And you'll too, baby.

And then, just like the first flicker of dawn, he heard the most beautiful song coming out of your mouth, a melody that could put Beethoven to shame.

Wait. Are you? Y/N, are you moaning?

He walked faster towards you until he saw a blissful scene unrolling right in front of his eyes: you, laying in the mattress that he put in there, your eyes shut and legs spread open.

Is this a little show you are putting out for me? Well, you got all my attention now, Y/N.

He placed the food on the floor, captivated by the look on your face. There was pleasure in every corner of the cage, your whiny moans increasing as you rubbed your clit.

This what happens when I leave you alone, Y/N?

Your other hands is also occupied, teasing your nipple and squeezing your boob as a finger enters your wet pussy. So needy, pace increasing at each second.

Fuck. You look so hot. I want to get in there, take care of you, touch you, make love to you.

Already used to living in delusion, Joe easily loses his mind in the fantasy: picturing himself in there with you, memorizing your body, fucking you open, hearing your moans directed to him, coming inside you.

You just needed a way to ease your racing mind. There were too many questions, too many deep high fears. Everything was too much in this small place. Similar to animals in cages that go crazy in attempts to get out there and run back to nature. You didn't want to go this far, not to touch you in here as it's a sort of motel and not a hostage situation. Still, masturbation was very proficient to blow off some esteem and get you thinking straight.

Extreme situations call for extrame measures.

Nonethless, you didn't expect to open your eyes to see Joe, also masturbating in front of you.

There's no denying that you that you used to find Joe attractive. Tall, strong jaw, pretty smile, gentle, and dark hair. You thought that this perspective had gone away once he knocked you out with some drug in napkin and you woke up here.

Apparently, it didn't. Not even when he left you there during hours because now he came back.

And he's glancing at you, his hand moving up and down on his erected length.

How long was he there?

Doesn't matter.

A moan escapes at the sight. His hard cock with precum on the tip, while he thrusts in his tight hold and glares at you like he could eat your soul.

You don't doubt that.

There's more than just excitement, there's horror and danger and woe and fear and anxiety laced together in burning red. You want to scream at him in both anger and need, but right now you add another finger to your core, fucking yourself as he tries to get his own liberation. Yearning, yearning.

When Joe howls your name, you can't help but to cum as you glance into his eyes with no shame, too caught up to do anything but to get turned on.

He comes right after you.

His twisted mind whispers that's the most romantic act.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Prove You Wrong

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Plus Size!Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: angst, implied smut, fat shaming, fatphobia, fluff at the end

Summary: With the hope of shedding a few pounds before your photoshoot, you head to the gym. There, you encounter a group of men who could have ruined your entire night if it wasn’t for the 6’4” muscled owner of the gym.

Square Filled: photoshoot (2020) for @spnfluffbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

It’s only a few months. If you work hard, you might be able to shave off a few pounds before the photoshoot. Your sister is a photographer and she’s looking for someone to model some new clothes. She is in college and has a class that requires it, and what better person than her one sister to pose for the camera?

The only issue is your insecurities. Over the years, you’ve learned to love your plus-sized body, but there are areas you wish looked different. Your family and friends have been nothing but supportive, always providing you with words of encouragement in a sea of bad comments. Most of the time, you’re able to ignore what others say about your body, but there are times when you become so vulnerable that their words cut you like knives.

The gym is one of those places.

Your belly isn’t flat, you have big arms and thighs, and your breasts spill over almost every shirt you wear. The photoshoot is in a few months, so you have until then to shed a few pounds in your problem area. Since you can’t afford your own machines, you have no choice but to get a gym membership. She’s not requiring you to lose the weight, it’s more for you. You want to be able to look at the photos and not hate what you see.

You walk inside the gym and check in at the front. The gym isn’t packed, but there is a group of rowdy gym rats where the weights are. You put one headphone in to keep yourself distracted while still being aware of your surroundings. The guys don’t see you at first, but when you grab the lighter weights, they notice you.

“You know what I’m hungry for?” the blonde asks. “Taco Bell. I bet you know where one of those is at, right sweetheart?”

You shift slightly to the left to put more distance between you two, but they just follow you.

“Hey, fatso, I’m talking to you.”

“Leave me alone, okay? I’m trying to work out in peace.”

“No point, darling. Your weight isn’t going anywhere,” one of the men snickers.

The first thing you’re going to buy when you get paid is weights so that you can workout at home. When you get embarrassed, you get red, and you look like a tomato right now. They continue to comment on your body and make you feel bad, but you try to use the music playing in your ear as a distraction.

“Do we have a problem?”

You look back and see a very tall and muscular man walk up. He’s nothing like the gym rats, and he must have at least three inches on the guys. His arms are as big as your head, and he’s nearly a foot taller than you. He’s what you pictured some of the book boyfriends to be, and you’ve definitely had some steamy nights to yourself picturing men like him.

“No, sir,” the blonde says.

“Really? From where I stand, you’re harassing this woman.” He turns to you. “Are they bothering you?”

You ignore the glares coming from the men. “Yes.”

“That’s what I thought. Gentlemen, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”

The man chuckles. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Sam Winchester.”

“Wait,” the darker-haired one says, “Sam Winchester, as in Winchester Fitness?”

“That’s the one,” he smiles. “Now, I believe you three were leaving.” The guys immediately leave the gym, and Sam turns to you with an apologetic smile on his face. “I am so sorry. They shouldn’t have ever done that. They won’t be welcome back here again.”

You set the weights down and shuffle awkwardly on your feet. “Oh, it’s fine. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“Still, you shouldn’t have to endure that in my gym, much less anywhere else.”

“Plus, I’m used to guys like you not wanting girls like me.”

Something possessive flashes across his eyes. “Guys like me?”

“Come on, you must be, what, six-three, six-four of pure muscle? You’re fit and, dare I say, handsome. I’m the complete opposite of you. I mean, look at me.”

Sam walks closer to you, and you look around at the other gym occupants. Not that you think Sam would hurt you after saving you. There’s two other people here that are on the opposite side of the gym, so you’re trapped. Your heart races not because you think you’re in danger but because you’re getting turned on.

It’s like a book scene come to life.

“You think I don’t want you?”

“I think you wouldn’t be able to handle me,” you challenge.

Sam nods as he thinks. He backs up and walks over to the hip thruster machine. He slides multiple weights on the side of it, well exceeding your weight. He straps himself in and smirks at you.

“Let me prove you wrong.” He starts thrusting with the weights hanging off his hips. He does it so effortlessly, like the weights weigh nothing. He does ten thrusts and adds another ten just to get his point across. “Does that prove it to you?”

“Okay,” your voice is breathless, “that proves you can lift me, but that doesn’t prove you’d want to.”

“Come over here, and I’ll prove that, too.”

It’s the way his voice demanded you to. You could leave and put this place behind you. If you said no, he’d probably back off and never speak of this again. He’d leave you alone if you asked him to.

You don’t.

You walk over to Sam and stop right next to the machine. His fingers twitch at the thought of sinking them into your soft skin, but he holds himself back. The second he saw you with those men, he knew something was wrong. The second he heard your sweet voice, he knew he had to know what you’d sound like moaning for him.

“Climb on, sweetheart.”

Your eyes slightly widen, but you’re not one to back down from a challenge. You swing your leg over his waist and settle right over his cock. His very big cock that is hard. The stretchy pants he’s wearing leave very little to the imagination. Sam grabs both sides of your hips to steady you and thrusts as easily as he did with the weights.

You bounce in the air and land back down on his cock. He hits your throbbing clit just right, causing you to gasp in pleasure. He thrusts again and again, and you keep hitting his cock over and over whenever you slam back down on him. If anything, he seems to get harder each time.

The last time, you can’t help but grind down on him. If you weren't horny before, you’re definitely horny now.

“So, does that prove it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“You came here to work out. I can think of another way you can shed some calories.”

“Yeah, whatever you want,” you say breathlessly.

Let’s just say that you two barely made it back to his office where he spent the next hour ravishing you.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[sentientgolfball]

Mushy May: "Better now that you're here"

More swisstom for you all because I'm actually violently in love them. Its about 900 words of Phantom being afraid of storms and Swiss being there with them

Thunder is not something new to Phantom. They have experienced many storms in their time in the Pits. But the ones in the Pits are quite different from the ones Topside. A crack of thunder Down Below is usually followed by a ravenous flock of air ghouls hunting for their next meal. It meant Phantom making themselves as small as possible so they could shrink into the shadows just to have a chance at seeing the sun again. 

So it is no surprise the first time since their summoning a gentle rain turns into booms of thunder and flashes of lightning that Phantom disappears. The rest of the pack tries to play it cool while they sit in the common room for movie night. They have only been Topside for a few weeks, it is not crazy to believe they just wanted an evening alone. 

But the easy explanation does not sit right with Swiss. He does not pay any attention to what is happening on the tv. All his senses are dialed in, just waiting for the first sign of Phantom coming to join them. They never miss an opportunity to be with the whole pack. The energy from the storm does not help either. He can feel all his elements humming and buzzing just below his skin as it rages outside. He needs to move. He needs to do something. And that something is finding Phantom. 

“I’m gonna piss.” He announces to no one in particular. Just a simple, quick explanation for why he stands and leaves so suddenly. 

He turns down the left side of the hallway, making a beeline for Phantom’s room. He can feel them in there, the buzz from their quint reacting to his tells him so. He knocks softly at the door, “Buggy? You okay? The movie just started.” 

He gets no response, but when another rumble of thunder shakes the den, he can hear a high pitched whine. His eyebrows twitch up, “Bug?” 

Still no response. 

“Alright, I’m coming in.” He goes to twist the knob and the door swings open. Good thing they have not discovered their lock yet. Once inside, he notices the curtains are drawn shut and their bat string lights are off. He also notices no distinct Phantom shaped lump anywhere in the room. But he can smell them. Gasoline and melted plastic so thick he has to swallow to not choke on it. 

Another rumble and a flash so bright he can see it through their blackout curtains. The scent of fear spikes and he catches their whine. He frowns as he makes his way towards their closet. Once again he knocks softly at the door, “Hey little bug. What’s going on?” 

To his surprise, the door pushes open. They stare up at him with wide eyes, lichtenberg figure scars alight as his quint struggles to contain itself. It only serves to highlight the tracks of dried tears on their cheeks. 

“Aren’t they done yet? It’s been hours.” 

Swiss slowly drops to his knees to be level with them. He grabs a hold of their hand and squeezes, “Who's done with what?” 

“Those air ghouls. Why are they still hunting?” 

Another rumbles makes them squeak, eyes wide as they look over Swiss’ shoulder as if something might pop out from behind him. It all clicks in Swiss’ mind then. His gaze softens even further as he gives their hand a tug, “There’s no air ghouls here buggy. None except for Cirrus and Cumulus. And Zephyr…and Aero. Not the point. I promise you none of them are hunting.” 

They look wholly unconvinced yet they still let him pull them from the closet. He smiles and brings their hand up to his lips, kissing a line across each knuckle, “Trust me?” 

They chew their lip but they nod. Their tail wraps tightly around one of their legs as Swiss slowly leads them across the room to the window. Their eyes go impossibly wide when another flash of lightning sneaks through the curtain. 

“It’s okay, buggy. Just. Look.” His voice is still soft as he pulls back the curtain to reveal the storm outside. Rain taps steadily against the glass. The clouds are so thick they blot out the moon and the stars, darkness only being broken by the occasional streak of lightning. Phantom squeezes his hand so tight he swears he feels something crack. 

But they do look. They press themselves to Swiss’ side and stare out the window. They flinch with each rumble, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. But it never comes. There are never any sharp talons or frigid blasts of air. There is only Swiss’ warmth and sporadic sparks of light. Slowly, very slowly, as they continue to watch the storm by his side they begin to shake less. Their grip loosens. Their tail finds its way from their own leg to Swiss’. 

He smiles at him, “Good?” 

They nod, “Yeah. Yeah. It’s better now that you’re here.” 

Swiss’ smile only grows brighter. He squishes them even closer to his side with an arm thrown around their shoulders. The two stand like that for a while, leaning against each other as they watch the storm light up the night. They are not seen again until Dew goes looking for the two missing ghouls. When he opens the door to Phantom’s room, he finds them curled up together on their bed. They are both fast asleep, Phantom’s nose tucked under Swiss’ chin. 

“I really hope he pissed before getting into bed,” Dew mutters to himself before softly clicking the door shut behind him.

[bambieyedoll]

⋆·˚ ༘ * ALEC VOLTURI HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

𐙚 alec proposes to you

alec had centuries of silence before you.

centuries of numb routine, of duty and shadows, of watching others fall in love while never truly understanding it.

and then you came along, and suddenly, forever didn’t seem so long.

he doesn’t believe he deserves you at first.

you’re warm in a way he’s never been. you smile like the sun has personally greeted you.

the volturi castle is cold, unfeeling marble—except when you’re there.

your laughter echoes in the halls like sunlight, and even jane, in her sharp-edged way, softens when you’re around.

when he finally accepts that he wants forever with you, it scares him—because he’s never wanted anything before.

he spends months watching you quietly—memorizing the way your hands brush over old books, the way you stop to smell flowers even though they hold no scent for you in the castle air, the way you lean against him like he’s a safe place.

the moment he realizes he wants to marry you is small: you’re brushing his hair out of his eyes after a long day, whispering, “you always look so serious, love.” and he thinks, i want to be hers in every way the world will allow.

alec doesn’t want a grand gesture—he wants intimacy.

he wants to give you a memory that only the two of you will ever hold. so he waits until you’re walking together at dusk, far from the volturi’s looming halls, where the sky blushes and the world feels softer.

alec isn’t extravagant.

he is quiet devotion wrapped in eternal stillness, but when it comes to proposing to you, his centuries-old heart can’t help but beat just a little faster—figuratively, of course.

he plans everything with precision.

he practices the words alone in the library—quietly, almost like a prayer. “would you—no. you’re already mine. that’s not… quite it.”

alec carves out a private space just for you in the gardens—far from the guards, from the politics, from aro’s looming presence.

a hidden courtyard where the moonlight pools in silver across the stone, where roses still bloom under your touch. that’s where he’ll do it.

he hides the ring in a worn leather book he noticed you reading once—pride and prejudice, because you laughed when you called him your “mr. darcy with a cloak.”

the ring isn’t overly extravagant—it’s elegant, timeless.

it has a piece of onyx in the center, smooth and dark like his eyes, surrounded by delicate silver vines, like the ones that crawl along the stone walls where you first kissed.

he doesn’t kneel. alec doesn’t need to.

when he holds the ring between his pale fingers and says, “i don’t remember what life was like before you, but i know i never truly lived until you touched me.” it’s more reverent than any tradition.

his voice doesn’t waver, but his crimson eyes are wide—like he’s still stunned that someone like you could love someone like him.

you start crying before he even asks.

he looks startled at first—worried he’s done something wrong—but then you’re nodding through the tears and pulling him down into your arms.

when you say yes, alec just exhales a tiny soundless breath, as though your answer has uncoiled some tightly wound part of him.

alec kisses your hand after he slips the ring on. not once—three times.

the base of your finger. your knuckle. and finally, the inside of your wrist, where your pulse beats warm against his lips.

he presses his forehead to yours. “you have given eternity meaning,” he whispers. “and i will spend every moment of it loving you better than the last.”

alec just holds you there like he’s trying to memorize the shape of this moment.

jane watches from a balcony above with the smallest smirk. “about time,” she mutters, before walking away.

that night, you lie in bed together, wrapped in soft sheets and one another.

his head rests against your chest, listening to the rhythm of your heartbeat like it’s a lullaby meant only for him.

he doesn’t stop touching you—fingers brushing your wrist, arm around your waist, knuckles grazing your jaw. he needs the reassurance that this isn’t a dream.

he doesn’t need sleep, but he lets his eyes close because it feels like a dream anyway.

when you start to drift off, he pulls you closer, whispering sweet things against your skin.

“if there is a soul in me, it belongs to you.”

aro insists on a grand celebration and alec barely tolerates it.

you make it worth enduring—especially when you hold his hand the whole time and whisper that he’s yours in front of everyone.

alec isn’t much for wedding planning, but he lets you do whatever you want.

if you want roses down the hall? he’ll find them. want a mortal ceremony? fine. want to elope in the middle of the woods under moonlight? even better.

he doesn’t care who knows. let the whole castle see.

he’ll stand by your side at every formal event with his fingers twined through yours.

if anyone looks twice, alec meets their gaze with that quiet intensity that says, she’s mine. and i would tear the world apart for her.

alone, he carves your initials into the wall behind your shared room—subtle, secret, but eternal. “now the castle knows you belong here. with me.”

[creatingblackcharacters]

re-posting this from a reply to your lessons , since want to be sure you get it.

/ had posted a reply trying to dismantle the ableism and ageism of claiming toddlers having "tantrums" isn't a major sign of bad parenting (plus use of the word itself), but figure is better to just plead with you to look into this Black youth liberationist's work; https://www.aiyanagoodfellow.com/about , and that of Black youth liberationists in general.

Childrens anger and sadness is no less valid than anyone elses, and treating it differently- let alone using a special word for it- is immensly harmful to them and to anyone seen as being like them or put in similar positions (such as many disabled people). /

though, please don't feel need to respond to this ask, i doubt we'd have strength to read anyway, given the subject. we've a lot of trauma around this. just felt, we should try and say something. . sry if was bad to.

"Think about this: toddlers have tantrums, right? The world is ending in a heartbeat, that’s just where they are mentally. You’re ready to leave the store, they aren’t: boom. Tantrum."

Hi. Okay. First, to be honest: This is at least the second time you've done this 😅 I do not think it's fair that you went so far as to post it in the comments and here so that I was pressured to see it, but then don't feel the need to reciprocate the energy of hearing my response.

My frustration aside, I do understand what you're saying. However, I did not say that toddlers having tantrums could not be a sign of bad parenting. That just wasn't what I was talking about in this example. That was not the scenario at hand! I didn't think I should have to run through an entire disclaimer for that to be a true, pre-existing statement.

Even if that was the discovered truth if we'd continued on in the scenario- which it very well could be- the end result would still be what I discussed in the rest of that paragraph on, which is that a Black parent of a white child would be seen far more suspiciously and believed to be harming that child than in the reverse situation.

I am sorry that the word 'tantrum' upset you, and I will take that into consideration in the future when writing.

I thank you for the links, and I will make sure to look at them for my future work.

[ardentpoppy]

The X-Files S1E2

- action sequence right of the bat, nice

- I think that guy messed up the count

- that rash is NASTY

- it's the meme music!!!!

- that is..... that is the shittiest, most low-budget ass title sequence I've ever seen I love it

- GILLIAN ANDERSON

- sir that is not how you approach a coworker

- "it's 2 o'clock in the afternoon Agent Mulder" these chuckleheads are flirting already

- (sorry I'm still thinking about that title sequence. It's oddly..... refreshing??)

- guy at the bar is sus

- ah yes, it was the Russians excuse

- don't corner people in the restroom. It's disgusting and violating and disgusting

- (like really, is anyone else tired of those highly specialised prestige TV intros? I'm getting worked up about something I didn't even realize was bothering me)

- Mulder gets in trouble bc he refuses to stop investigating..... and now he has tiny scary lady working with him. Worst Fucking Nightmare

- damn she pretty

- I refuse to believe this wet cat loser can coo- his phone is tapped!!! and he's being watched!!!

- HIS HAND ON HER BACK

- "the government is not above the law" HAHAAHAHAHHA (internal sobbing intensifies)

- that man is Gone (hope he gets better)

- alas some people deal with trauma by pretending it doesn't exist

- height difference

- SUCKER

- she's gonna have a damn awful crick in her neck

- oooh light show, also how many apple boxes is she standing on?

- spies? terrorists? nah stoned kids

- fed thosw dumbasses dinner and dropped them off at home? Mulder and Scully you have my heart

- Scully looks so cute when she's smiling her "you idiot" smile (that's what it's called now, no arguments)

- Roswell! Wasn't that also a show?

- Mulder's kinda gotta a point

- "Mulder you're crazy" no hesitation, none, love it

- please stop making women run in heels, also that smile. Why are you smiling like that at Mulder, Scully?

- 'came back wrong' is one of my favourite tropes, I love this

- it's not him. Clone? Brainwashing? Selective memory wipe?

- Mulder's kinda got a point again

- Mulder's got jokes

- Scully can't watch Mulder being hurt. Second episode, this is the second episode

- "something else?" She is so done with him

- this groundwork being laid as to how both their thought processes work is really well done

- Scully's face when she hears the car

- I can't decide if it's a good thing or a bad thing that the kids helped him. If a single camera caught them, they could be in serious trouble, I mean, look what they're doing to their own soldiers

- Scully misses the proof again

- no don't hurt the wet cat loser!!!

- they cut the phone lines didn't they?

- hey that actor that shows up in a lot of shows in bit parts. Get that paycheck sir

- so Mulder was right beat for beat. Experimental aircraft derived from UFO technology. The poor pilots were collateral damage

- reporter guy??? Dammit Scully left her gun

- he was the one in the car earlier! Also love it no hesitation from Scully

- get his ass Scully

- man those kids are so good. Came back to tell her about Mulder. I headcannon nothing bad ever happens to them and they live long happy lives

- they're wiping his memory

- wait the security guy wipes at his eye right after the scene Mulder is administered something in his eye (thematic parallel). Is this base keeping even it's own security on a tight memory leash? Sheesh

- Scully.... took an army security guy hostage.... to save Mulder..... in the second episode

- (screams)

- yeah he knows she'll shoot his ass. Keep cooperating asshole

- Mulder! What did they do to my boy?!

- shut up asshole

- dammit Mulder saw a UFO and they took that away from him. Y'all gonna catch these hands

- that poor woman

- I think Scully's scared, she can't quite look at Mulder for long

- she makes a point to mention in her report that she saw those weird lights too

- you walked all that way to conspicuously have that conversation in the middle of an empty football field??

- is this guy supposed to be the Deep Throat? As in THAT Deep Throat?

[fleurrypoet]

Okay let me start this by saying I was a big bobby is alive truther since 8x15 ended

Though I went into 8x16 believing he'd be dead because that's what I had to do. Was I happy with believing that no. There was a big part of me still hoping that he'd turn up alive.

Anyways this episode was just so so bad like worst episode of TV I've ever seen. (And I've seen bad TV)

I honestly don't even know where to start with this.

He was on the show for 8 years. 8 whole years and this is how you say goodbye to your main character and to Peter Krause.

The disrespect I've seen towards both bobby and Peter has been diabolical.

We got a 2 week time jump for what. Oh so you could skip over the shock everyone felt and skip over their feelings.

You scream realism but yet somehow 2 weeks after the person that meant the most to each one of those characters dies their somehow just okay with it.

This subplot of the mother thinking her son was kidnapped was cruel to do to the fans.

You took a story and had it metaphorically represent the fans the mother was the fans believing the child/bobby was alive.

Everything to do with that mothers storyline represented what the fans had been saying since the funeral bts leaked. The writers literally wrote the episode to laugh in our faces and be like fuck you.

Tim Minear said he stuck in the hotshots bit earlier on in the season (comfort captain scene I'm talking about) to foreshadow bobby dying (which I don't understand because Brad ended up making captain banner survive) but say this foreshadowed Bobby's death is another fuck you to the fans. He's like I see you guys find comfort in bobby as much as the characters of the show so guess what I'm gonna kill him.

I also agree that I think a lot of the characters were acting so weird in the episode.

●Chimney's survivors guilt was so choppy I couldn't follow it.

●Buck who literally said bobby was the father he never had barely showed any emotion (yes I watched the 8x15 I know bobby told him they were going to need him so people will argue that buck was suppressing his feelings) but like literally we barely got a tear at the funeral. THE FUNERAL OF THE MAN WHO CHANGED HIS LIFE FOR THE BETTER.

● Eddie only coming back the morning of the funeral like WHAT THE HELL this would not of happened eddie would of been on the first flight back to la once he heard the news. You know why because BOBBY CHANGED HIS LIFE TOO.

●Hen also barely showed any emotion like considering bobby was the first person to really accept her and chimney as part of the 118 and we barely got anything from her it was like she just accepted it.

● Ravi well cmon you spent half of 8x14 showing ravi contemplate his place at the 118 because he nearly got bobby killed to him telling bobby he would get the antiviral and that he was no longer going to quit and it basically looked like he accepted Bobby's death too.

●Before anyone says we have two more episodes to explore their grief yeh we do but cmon in an episode about their captain they could've showed more emotion. BOBBY CHANGED EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEIR LIVES FOR THE BETTER THEY WOULD NOT HAVE GOTTEN OVER HIS DEATH AND ACTED THE WAY THEY DID AFTER 2 WEEKS.

Gerrard showed more goddam emotion than some of them and he barely knew them.

If you really wanted athena to work a case that was one bobby had been called to years ago you could have done it without taking up the whole episode. Not to mention like it's supposed to be some story to help Athena to get out of the denial stage yet she was never in it. She was looking at places in the mosoleum she couldn't do much else seeing as the military still wouldn't release his body.

Like I saw the post episode stills and we missed out on scenes from athena's parents and bobbys mom and brother. Like I would have preferred to see them than some case you used to laugh at fans with. In the end all we saw was the side of Charlie's head.

The funeral itself got the last 5 mins dedicated to it. How is that an episode about remembering bobby only got 5 minutes to remember him. I would have preferred to have seen his full funeral and then them all together remembering Bobby. This would of also been a good way to use flashbacks and in whole made the episode better. Like the 118 sharing their memories of him.

In whole the episode was not a good send off for a beloved captain.

Peter krause also has been so disrespected in this whole process. Like firstly with both 8x14 and 8x15 a character who peter loved playing in overall got an average of maybe 15 minutes at most for his death and funeral. ONLY 15 MINUTES. Not to mention he didn't want to leave and this has been confirmed by Tim Minear himself that it wasn't Peters idea it was Tim's. How do you turn around to your lead actor and executive producer and tell him oh I'm killing your character off and all he's going to get is at most a 5 min (I think it was less) for his death scene and then his funeral and remembrance episode in totals if we include the times peter himself appeared in the episode maybe like what 7 minutes. 7 minutes to say goodbye I really don't understand it. (Also I know that doesn't add up to 15 mins but I'm giving and average incase I missed something)

The 9-1-1 page itself never even acknowledged Peter. Let me spell this out for you WITHOUT PETER THEIR WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BOBBY NASH. He doesn't even get a sentence thanking him for his commitment to the role.

Peter said last year he could do a 100 more episodes of 9-1-1 its like Tim Minear heard that and was like I'm gonna make sure that doesn't happen. Why? Idk

In regards to the rest of the cast I'm just so puzzled by all of them.

Angela has two different stories on how she found out one was by phone call and one was by reading the script.

Kenny has been the only consistent person making it know that he was against this decision.

Aisha and her multiple changing captions was just way to confusing.

Ryan has basically just taken the piss out of it again no real appreciation towards peter.

Oliver has quiet frankly pissed me off in the last couple of days. Firstly his goodbye post gets archived exactly three days before the episode. After talking so much in the past about his relationship with Peter it seems so odd to archive it, but also no one will convince me he didn't know what he was doing or that he was archiving it because it didn't match his aesthetic. BECAUSE THATS NOT WHY HE ARCHIVED IT. He knew he would set the fans crazy it would make them think oh he's not dead. And I think firstly it's horrible to do the fans (he knows what these characters mean to them) but also in ways it's disrespectful to Peter because he didn't even keep it up for a whole FREAKIN MONTH.

The script leaks by both oliver and Jennifer is also horrible towards the fans because firstly who has time to create a fake script but also how were they convinced to leak it. Like what do you mean you leaked a script about bobby being alive when you know he's dead. How do you do that to the fans. Why? It's horrible.

The funeral leaks themselves and Tim minear saying he didn't think that would happen what's he going on about he filmed it downtown on a busy street in front of the public like what??? 911 isn't a show no one knows about like. It was going to get leaked for God sake. The funeral should've been kept a secret.

This is long and messy af so sorry but my thoughts are messy I haven't processed anything I know for sure that killing bobby off will ruin the show. People don't watch for realism we watch for the found family and the escape from reality it provides.

This has taken me days to compile all together I've still been reading a lot on here so my minds still going back and forth between if he is or if he's not. But I'm just trying not to hold out all my hope on it because I have a feeling ill be so devastated if he's still dead by the end of the season. Though I'll probably always hold out hope that they'll fix their mistake and make him be alive.

I will say though and it kills me to say it (because up until this storyline I have loved this show with all my heart) if Bobby is truly dead come the end of season 8 I won't be tuning in for season 9. I honestly can not see a way this show can work without him.

Also I just saw the 8x17 still why do they all look like literally no one is dead and this whole team + Athena have just moved on.

Anyways I'm not sure how much more I'll post on hear I might just stick to reading but yeh...

[sparkriddledfever]

I am not sorry for this...maybe a twinge :)c

Old mech Rodimus, save the old mech Rodimus-

Warning: have them tissues on standby. Please excuse any incorrect grammar or punctuation.

Reader is loosely mentioned. Can be seen as human or cybertronian.

Rodimus was now understanding Kup straight down to the core. His joints hurt, they creaked each time he sat or stood for too long; he can practically hear the old sergeant bleating in his audials with a smug tone, "told ya, kid."

He could deny it all he wants but he missed him. Some nights, his processor made him stayed up late with the harsh need to remember what the mech looked like. He wished to see that old mech standing in front of him again. Nagging, smacking the back of his helm when he pushed it too far, patting his shoulder as a reminder to keep going and put up a good fight. Always believing in him when others didn't, trying to keep him above the waters of his own processor that threaten to drown him.

Rodimus could only remember bits and pieces of their last conversation before the sergeant passed away quietly. He really tried to be there and be present during the funeral but the death of Kup took a toll on him. He kept running, running far til the plating on his pedes became worn down, new cracks and chips forming on what was once his maintained frame. There was Drift- wait, who was Drift again? Ah, whoever the mech was, he must've been very important to him at some point in his life.

He counts every day a blessing to be able to wake up yet a part of him yearned for that peaceful darkness to welcome him. It felt like many pieces were missing from his spark; parts that he wanted to go differently if his own race wasn't so destructive. Faces come and go that's for sure though he knew deep down he had a family once. One he called with such pride before it was ripped away from his servos.

He shed many tears until they became all dried up when recognizing he still had a job to do. His race was responsible for almost all of the stars erasing, for the destructions of homes, tearing and ripping apart loved ones without a care. He's not a prime no more, he has no more bots to lead. Not after he took them all out. Both sides regardless.

He's tired, he wants to sleep. He wants to go home yet where was it? Nyon was gone so is the Lost Light.

"You alright there Rodimus?" He blinked rapidly to clear the haze that overtook his optics, shifting them down to the young blonde female sitting next to his pedes. He grins weakly down at her,

"I'm alright Shib, m'just tired is all."

"That's what you always say, Rodimus," her lips quirked that slowly turned into a frown, "you've been staring off into space for a while now. Is everything okay?"

He clicked his glossa, "don't worry too much about it. You think this old processor can't handle a few things?"

A unamused glance had him hissing a bit, "sheesh, tough crowd here."

"You don't have to-"

"I know. I know, Shib. It's just still feels a bit raw to me."

"Oh."

The sun began its descent on Donnokt. His spark clenched at the sight of the shadows growing bigger, the sky reminding him of Earth. He misses that planet and the memories it made both good and bad.

"I miss them," he began, "I miss...everybody. I miss my home, my friends and...them."

Shib glanced at him, "them?"

He huffed, "them. I was conjunxed or in better terms married. I had a partner, I can't remember quite well if they died peacefully or you know."

"Rodimus-"

"And yanno what's worse?" His voicebox crackled, "is that each time I power down. I wanted to go, they keep appearing to me. Waiting in a distance, asking if I'm ready to go. If I'm ready to see everybody. I could see my reflection and I looked young as I once was. I wanted to, but I kept telling them no. My job is not done yet."

"Roddy-"

"Please," he grits, "just...just don't call me that, Shib. I lost that privilege of being called that many years. I've done things I'm not too proud of. I'm fixing this, the mistakes my people done so you can all live without the worry of a threat."

"...I didn't say anything?"

"What?" He blinked in surprise. Shib stares at him warily, teasing lightly yet worry was etched into her features, "I think it's far past your bedtime, old mech."

He stared long. A tired soft snort left him, "might be and so for you kid."

He nudged her side with a digit, smiling shakily at the giggle she gave and smacking his offending servo away. Rodimus glanced towards the sky one last time before shifting to let Shib in, silently sending a prayer of sorts to whoever was listening.

'Not yet please. I'm almost done I swear then I'll come home to you guys. Not yet. Not yet.'

"Roddy, I miss you and love you. We all do. Please come home." The voice echoed in his processor, the sound of it sent his spark surging. Sorrow and yearning pouring through him.

"Not yet."

[sage-nebula]

For those who favor the "Friede is perfectly fine, he's just laying low to work behind the scenes" theory, I ask you to please do the following:

Think of someone you love.

I don't mean someone you just like a lot, or someone you are fond of. Think of someone you love. Someone you feel safe around, no matter the circumstances. Someone whose mere presence brings you joy. Someone who, even when they exasperate or annoy you, that annoyance is still tinged by fondness because yes, they are being annoying, but they're also being them, and you love them. Someone who has changed your life for the better, someone who makes your life brighter, better, simply by being in proximity to you. Someone who makes you happy, makes you warm, makes you safe, makes you feel that life is worth living because no matter how hard things get, at least they're there, being them. Someone you really, truly love.

Are you thinking of that person? Good. Now imagine that they've died.

Imagine getting the news that an accident took place, and that they are now dead. They're gone, forever, and you didn't even get to say goodbye. In a worst case scenario, you saw this happen, and were powerless to do anything to stop it. This person that you love with your whole entire heart, who made the world brighter for you, has been ripped away from you, violently and without warning. You will never see them again. You will never speak to them again. There is nothing you are capable of doing which will bring that person back into your life. You have to instead go on without their warmth, their laughter, their love.

As you sit with that, as you grapple with that pain, ask yourself: How would you feel if, after a year of dealing with that unyielding avalanche of grief, you learned that not only were they alive, but they could have contacted you at any time and yet deliberately chose not to?

I'm not sure if this thought exercise I have proposed is enough to get across the all-consuming agony that grief over a loved one causes. It has been ten years since my platonic soulmate died in my arms, and that still remains the worst night of my life. I still cry when I think about her. And she is not the only one I've lost; I lost a dear friend to suicide eight years ago, and that grief, too, still aches inside me, the "what if I had done [x]" sometimes skittering around my brain even though I know there's nothing I could have realistically done to prevent it. Grief is not just sadness; grief is life-altering, brain chemistry-changing misery. Grief is a form of trauma, and doubly-so if you were there to witness the event as Orio, Liko, Roy, Dot, and Cap were.

So we have to ask ourselves: What would it do to the crew of the Brave Asagi if they learned that the grief they felt for over a year was for nothing? That they grieved their dear friend, whom some of them thought they saw die right in front of them, for no reason? That Friede was alive all along, and he just chose not to tell them? He chose to let them grieve him. He chose to let them endure that misery? What would it do to them to learn that this person that they loved with all their hearts chose to let them suffer?

And what would it do to Friede's character, to say that he is the type of person who would do that?

Because there is no reason good enough to justify it.

"He was laying low because the RVTs are seen as Public Enemy #1" -- they are being seen that way regardless of whether he is alive or dead. The only difference is, now they are being seen that way without him by their side, and with the grief of believing that he is lost to them forever.

"There are things that he can only do on his own" -- This is an entire series predicated on partnership and friendship. It is not believable at all that there are things that he would only be able to do without the rest of the crew, at least to the level of "it's better that they endure the grief of my death than to let them in on the fact that I am alive and OK."

"He is getting help from Amethio" -- While it would be believable that he would ask Amethio to join the RVTs, and it is not believable that he would enlist Amethio's help and not also pull the RVTs into it -- or again, at least inform them that he is alive and OK.

"Well then why can Amethio be laying low" -- Because Amethio is a character who has been established to want to go solo in the name of protecting others previously (see: when he tried to fire Zir and Conia). Friede is the opposite. Friede brought the RVTs together in the first place and has been established to be a person who cares deeply about the feelings of others.

I agree that jokes about Friede appearing and saying, "Did I forget to mention I'm alive?" are funny. But they are funny as jokes, as shitposts. For that to happen in canon . . . in my opinion, it would be unforgivable. If I was made to feel grief over someone I loved, only to find out a year or so later that they were alive all along and just didn't tell me, I would not be able to forgive them for putting me through that. It's tantamount to stabbing someone in the heart and saying, "My bad!" afterward. It's callous behavior. It's a heartless action.

The only way they could pull off Friede being peachy keen this entire time is if he actually had notified everyone off-screen and we just weren't told . . . but even then, he presumably still wouldn't have notified the kids or Cap (or else Liko wouldn't have painful flashbacks to his "death", Cap wouldn't be with Roy), and it'd be a very hard sell to believe that the adults would leave the crew disbanded without him.

Since Friede has not contacted the RVTs for over a year, it has to be because he can't -- because he physically or mentally cannot do it. Otherwise, at least in my opinion, he'll be doing something unforgivable that truly assassinates his character, and it will honestly ruin the show for me.

[numberonetacostan]

long-time blog enjoyer, first time [of many, im sure] asker.. just wanted to say how much i loved your fics. i'm always happy to see more taco content, and i do believe your interpretation of her is my favourite!

as for an actual ask... season one taco headcanons, perhaps?

-📱🟪 [technically, my name is mepad, but i wouldn't mind getting one of your little nicknames ^_^]

Hi Mepad!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for sending in an ask!! :] Hm, usually when people offer a name I use either that or just add a little -y to it, so I could do that? Or you could be Tablet Tabloid if you'd like ;)

Thank you so much!!! <3 I'm really happy to hear you like my fics!! :D And oh my fennings my interpretation being someone's favourite!? :O!!!! Wow wow wow!!! Oh I'm so happy to hear that I'm so flattered!! :D Thank you!!! X3c

So, Taco presumably runs out of lemons in episode 14, yeah? But in the finale, multiple lemons come out of her. My thought is that her poor tongue was starting to hurt. If you eat too many lemons/consume to much lemon juice, it hurts your tongue a whole lot (I have experienced this, it sucks)! I like to think she'd just done a bit too much lemon-spitting and needed to give it a bit of a rest so her tongue could heal and be in good shape for the finale (she does use it to grab onto OJ, after all).

I like to think Taco still hung around in the woods a lot even before she'd revealed her actual personality. I can't imagine it being too hard for her to wander off, and the solitude and cover of the forest would mean it's a great place for her to take a break from acting silly and stupid. I think she could keep up an act indefinitely if she wanted to, but since s1 Taco is so high-energy all the time it might be nice for her to have a break.

I also tend to think that, for a lot of s1, Taco was on a sugar-high. Not for the purposes of making herself more hyper like I just mentioned, but because she's more or less on Pickle's diet the entire time. He'd want to get food for his best buddy Taco, and she can't be picky since that would be out of character for someone who regularly eats metal, lemons, and rope. I usually think that, even before he was depressed, Pickle lived on, for the lack of a better term, a hardcore gamer diet. Most snacks and sugary sodas, so that ends up being what Taco eats as well, though it's the opposite of what she'd prefer. In gijinka terms, it might contribute a bit to the baby cheeks she has in s1 and that are gone by the time she shows up again for season 2. She'd probably avoid soda for, like, the rest of her existence after that, she's had more than enough thank you very much, she'll have a nice cup of tea instead.

I like to think that Taco had always seen through what Balloon was trying to do. His own act in season 1. I think of her as almost always, if not always, being able to tell when someone else is lying in addition to her own deception skills, yeah? So while he's stumbling around calling OJ and Bomb stupid and useless while he's trying to get them on his side, she is internally both laughing at his clumsy attempt and face-palming at how bad he is at it.

I think it would be funny if one time, Pickle asked her to throw something into the trash can, and she genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. She'd never admit that it wasn't part of her act, but she did not know what a 'trash can' was. It's a rubbish bin to her! Mephone specifically programmed her British, so I like to think she has to learn the american english terms that the rest of the contestants use through context and prayers.

[velvet4510]

A few quick fixes to certain Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith dialogue off the top of my head: (please don’t come at me for this, I’m only an amateur writer, you can still enjoy your memes, I’m just trying to think of ways the dialogue could’ve been better)

Anakin: “I don’t like sand. It’s so course and rough and it gets everywhere. That’s one thing I don’t miss about Tatooine.”

Padmé: “Well then, you must be glad to be here now.”

Anakin: “I am. I love it here.”

Padmé: “Oh, do you?”

Anakin: “Well, it’s your home. How could I not?”

(kiss)

Anakin: “Believe me, I wish I could just get rid of these feelings. I’ve tried. But it’s no use.”

Padmé: “I don’t want to disturb you.”

Anakin: “You’re not.”

(Anakin confesses his slaughter of the Sand People not to Padmé, but to Owen - initiating Owen’s fear that will guide his future decisions toward Luke. Meanwhile Anakin intentionally does NOT tell Padmé about it, knowing he’ll lose her if he does.)

(instead of “I truly deeply love you”)

Padmé: “If this is really it, then I want you to at least know that I do love you. With all my heart.”

Obi-Wan: “Anakin has turned to the dark side.”

Padmé: “…That’s impossible. Have you lost your mind?”

(instead of “you’re breaking my heart”)

Padmé: “Anakin, how could you do this? To me, to our baby? To yourself?”

Obi-Wan: “Anakin, can’t you see that Chancellor Palpatine is evil?!”

Anakin: “No, it’s the Jedi who are evil! I see that now!”

(Anakin attacks again before Obi-Wan can reply)

(on the side of the hill)

Obi-Wan: “No more, Anakin! I will not fight you!”

Anakin: “You surrender? You’re afraid of my power.”

Obi-Wan: “Please. I don’t want to hurt you, please.”

(Anakin attacks him anyway)

Idk if any of that is any good but I’d rather have heard something like that then what we got… as an amateur writer, I do appreciate feedback if anyone thinks these have any merit, or if anyone has their own ideas or has done their own prequel dialogue rewrite, I’d love to hear about it.