#did this make me extremely emotional about cover me up again?? YEAH

[almostfoxglove]

end of year bookends game!

tysm for the tags @burntheedges @guiltyasdave @sizzlingcloudmentality @sawymredfox <3 I'm late on this, but think it's such a sweet idea!!

Rules: Snip first and last line/paragraph/section/artwork you created this year - bookends, if you will 💖

first lines posted: COVER ME UP - chapter one

joel miller x ofc [series complete, 97k]

The rain comes like it always does: all at once. One moment is crisp; September sheer and striking through the fractaled canopy as spongy forest floor bows under your feet. The next—no amount of treetops can shelter you. The sky opens like a wound you don’t bother stitching. For a moment, all the world is a violent hush. Leaves shuddering in coded whispers. The hiss of pelted ferns. You lift your face to the shower and let rain pour over your cheeks, through your hair, down your neck. No use fighting—there’s no hiding from weather like this, not even in the woods.  You almost laugh when the storm cranks up, when raindrops become wet slaps. It’s the kind of weather that used to stop everything, that could scatter crowds from the sidewalks in five seconds flat. What did Merry used to say? Oh, right. Best rain’s the kind that kicks the breath right outta you. You open your mouth to drink the sky, because like always, Merry was right. Didn’t matter that she was younger; she had the whole world figured out by the age of nine. By eight, you hear her say. That closes your mouth, pinches your lips into a frowning bracket, and sends your feet back to stalking through the drowning woods.

last lines posted: ONE NIGHT EARLY - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

You don’t cut him off, jump to yes. Instead you lower your hands from their hold against your chest at last, letting the box sit in your lap, open to his regard. Evening lamplight makes ice of the clear stone set squarely on its ring, and the heat of his breath kisses your cheek as he leans in to mumble, “Y’gonna make me get down on one knee?”

I'm so late on this, probably you've already done it, but npt just in case (and so sorry if I missed yours!!): @yxtkiwiyxt @myownwholewildworld @gothcsz @gutsby @joelmillerisapunk

@jolapeno @perotovar @frannyzooey @whocaresstillthelouvre @chronically-ghosted and anyone else who sees this and wants in - tag me so I can come read & love on you!!

[f1fantasys]

uhm so i have an idea where Lando is working out alone to release his emotions, perhaps after a bad day or bad race. but suddenly, you enter the gym, which annoys him because he wanted to be alone right now.

however, as you start working out, he kinda ogling your 🍒 and eventually decides to approach you to talk and that led to the spicy part when he starts touching you and fucked you on one of the bench using you to let out his anger 🫣 tysm!!!

THIS!! I don't feel like I've done this INCREDIBLE request justice. So someone please write a better one and tag me in it! @ccsainzleclerc5516 you would do amazing at this!

POST RACE WORKOUT

Warnings - smut!! need i say more?

2.4 words. IDK why it's so short - feel like i have writers block.

The Monaco weekend was always a fun one. Fun, but extremely busy, especially being a Sky presenter. From the Monday leading up to the weekend you'd been in and out of meetings, events, and not to mention recording and being live on air for several hours a day. But you loved it, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

But now that the race and post-race shows were finally over, you still had a lot of adrenaline and energy to burn, which is why you currently found yourself walking up the stairs to the gym, wearing the tightest tights and a sports bra. It was well past midnight, but, having connections had its perks, so here you were.

You pushed open the door and stopped in your tracks. There was some distant music playing and as your eyes scanned the room you definitely weren't expecting to find Lando Norris who was currently lifting weights, shirtless, might I add. He stopped what he was doing and stood up, eyes shamelessly searching your body, but an annoyed look on his face.

''Uh, hey'' you greeted.

All he did was nod his head.

''You good?'' you couldn't help but ask at the way he was looking at you. You felt you own cheeks heat up as you gawked at his body that was riled with sweat.

''Yeah'' was all he said as he turned around and continued what he was doing.

You of course have had a lot of interaction with Lando - several interviews and social media videos which meant you'd spent quite a lot of time with him. Obviously, he was one hell of hot man, and yes, you looked, but you'd never touch. Your work was too important to get involved with any of the drivers. You'd also noticed him looking more often than not, but you never allowed your mind to go there.

As you stood there for a few minutes you couldn't help but feel bad for the guy. He'd had a shitty race - mclaren had fucked his strategy, once again, and he didn't get the win. So you totally understood why he was in the gym at the time - also trying to get rid of the adrenaline.

You dragged your feet to the treadmill and hopped on, setting a medium pace, trying to focus on something else and not the half naked man across the room.

After about 15 minutes you slowed your pace down a bit, grabbing your towel to wipe the sheet of sweat over your face and arms. As you walked over to do some weights, you looked ahead in the mirror and locked eyes with Lando. He was standing drinking his water, and you watched as his eyes left yours and shamelessly looked your body up and down again. To be fair - you were swearing the skimpiest gym clothes which left nothing to the imagination.

What you didn't know was that Lando had been eye fucking you the full 15 minutes you were running. He had wanted to be alone, let out his frustration, but that changed the minute he realized it was you who walked through the door. He licked his lips as he saw how your tights wrapped around your ass so perfectly, how your boobs were bouncing and threatening to spill out of your bra, how you back muscles flexed as you ran, and how sweat covered your body making you glisten under the lights. Lando had always found you attractive to say the least, and now he was painfully hard by just watching you workout. He wanted nothing more than to walk up to you and rip your clothes off, bend you over, and rail into you.

You tried your best to ignore him and focus on your task, so you sat on the bench and started brench pressing, heavy breaths leaving your mouth.

Suddenly, you saw Lando standing above you, staring down, and his own breathing just as heavy as yours.

Before you could react and say anything, he held onto the weights and pryed it out of your hands.

''Lan-'' you started, but he cut you off.

''Shh'' you said, before walking around and facing you as you sat up. He took a seat in front of you, legs on either side of the bench as yours were.

You swore you heart was beating out of your chest right now. He looked so heavenly. Bright green eyes, curls messy and sticking to his forehead. And not to mention his god-damn beautiful torso. Muscles taught and defined, with sweat dripping down, his own body shining in the lights.

''Eyes up here'' he said, smirking, catching you out for staring.

''Fuck'' you mumbled to yourself, before you looked up at him.

You felt as his hands found your waist and effortlessly slid you closer to him, and now your breaths were mingling, the heat in your body rising.

As you found yourselves in an apparent staring contest, Lando's hands started roaming your body He traced your arms up and down, your shoulders, you back, and your breath hitched as he suddenly slipped them under your sports bra, feeling up your boobs and fondling with them.

You closed your eyes and tried to calm your breathing, but that was impossible with the fact that he was sitting right in front of you and touching you. Now he was rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling at and tugging them, earning himself a moan from you.

''Lando'' you panted, needing more, almost grinding yourself on the bench.

''I know baby''

The nickname gave you goosebumps, and you couldn't help but open your eyes and smile at him.

Soon after, Lando tore your bra off of you, revealing your perky boobs. He lowered his head and latched his mouth onto your left nipple. Biting and sucking on it before using his tongue to sooth over.

Your hands found his hair and you pulled at his curls, edging him on, begging him some more. ''Lando, please'' you said, grinding down on the bench harder than before.

He lifted his head and crashed his lips to yours. It was eager and messy, tongues clashing and spit sliding down both yours and Lando's chin. He bit on your lower lip and you felt him slide his hands through your tights to grope at your ass. By now you were cupping his face, pulling him impossibly closer. While his one hand stayed on your ass, the other slid round to your front and cupped your cunt.

The action has you arching off the bench, breath increasing ever so much as he slid his fingers through your folds, which were soaking by now - something that didn't go unnoticed by him.

''Already dripping for me, love?'' he asked, voice thick and hoarse with his British accent.

''Uh huh'' was all you managed to say, biting your lips at the feeling of his calloused fingers rough against your clit, which he found rather quickly.

He captured your lips with his as he thrust two fingers through your entrance, the swift movement making you tremble in his arms.

''Ride my fingers y/n'' he said between breaths.

And so you did, you rode his fingers hard and fast, and just as he curled them at just the right time, feeling you soft cushiony spot inside of you, you felt a warmth begin to build in your stomach.

No word spoken and Lando added a third finger, sending you trembling over the edge as you latched onto his shoulder for support to ride you through your orgasm.

He slowed his fingers, eyes never leaving yours, before pulling them out and shamelessly licking them clean of you cum, moaning at the taste.

''Hmm, so fucking delicious'''he said, smirking, as you watched, mouth agape.

''Lando please'' you panted. ''Need to feel you in me'' you said, looking at him with longing eyes.

When you looked at him again, his whole demeanor changed. His eyes became ridiculously darker and the emotion he wore on his face was a mix of sudden anger and frustration.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he man handled you to lay down before he ripped your tights off of you and stood up to free himself of his constraints.

You watched as his hard cock bounced first then stood tall and angry.

''Fuck, he's big'' you thought to yourself as he placed himself between your legs.

Lando leaned down to kiss you as you took him in your hands and pumped him a few times, using your thumb to spread his pre cum around his tip.

The movement had him bucking forward, grunting into your mouth.

He pulled back and looked you in the eyes. ''You sure?'' he asked.

''Please. Please fuck me''

He lined himself up and wasted no time in slamming into you, bottoming out in one thrust.

''Shit'' you gasped. He was definitely the biggest you'd ever had, and the sting was intense. But this was Lando Norris, and you were determined to let him have his way with you.

He finally started moving, setting a pace that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your nails dug deep into his skin.

''So fucking tight, fuck y/n''

''Oh, Lando, yes, please, yes'' you cried out, unable to keep your moans at bay.

Lando continued to fuck into you while his mouth found your boobs and sucked hard at them, surely leaving purple bruises for tomorrow.

Within minutes you could feel your walls begin to clench around him, your orgasm approaching fast.

''Fuck, gonna cum Lan-'' you started but before you could finish he pulled out. You whined at him, an annoyed whine which you knew would edge him on further.

He scooped you up with such an ease, and suddenly you were flipped over and on your tummy, Lando sliding into your cunt with force again.

He bunched up your hair and pulled it tight, earning pornographic moans from your mouth straight to his ear.

''Can't win a fucking race but at least I got you begging for me'' he said through bated breaths, finally railing you the way he wanted from when you first walked in.

''Fuck Lando, you won. You won for me'' you moaned. You didn't care what the outcome of the actual race was - in your eyes, he was always a winner.

''Doing so well for me babygirl. That's tight.''

This time your orgasm gave you no warning. Hearing him call you babygirl pushed you over the edge, your body shuddering underneath him and your juices spluttering all over.

You moaned his name as you came, and if anything, he sped up his movements briefly before sliding out of you again.

This time he sat facing the mirror and pulled you up to sit down his lap, facing the mirror as well.

You immediately sank down on his now throbbing dick, setting a harsh pace as his hand snaked its way around you and settled on your throat.

''Want you to watch yourself fuck me'' he roughly whispered in your ear.

You kept your eyes on each other while you rode him, Lando's occasionally dropping down to watch how your boobs bounced up and down with each thrust.

''Fuck'' you hissed as you felt another orgasm approaching.

''Fucking me so good baby, go on. Be my slut'' he urged you to carry on.

Your movements were becoming sloppier, unable to hold yourself up and able to continue to thrust so Lando had to take matters into his own hands.

He was now fucking into you again, but at a relentless pace, clearly chasing his own orgasm as well.

''Together, yeah?'' he asked, his hand sliding down to toy at your clit.

You couldn't hold it in anymore. ''Fuck, Lando, now. I need to cum'' you said, as you felt his cock twitching inside of you.

The room now filled with grunts and moans, swear words flying everywhere as you both reached your climax, juices spilling out of you like the end of the worlds. Lando made sure to empty his load painting your walls white with his warm splutter.

You sank back down on him, letting your weight fall back leaning on him.

You locked eyes in the mirror again, both trying to catch your breaths, sweat dripping down the both of you.

Now that he got his release, Lando couldn't help but feel ashamed at the fact that he used you. Although this was the best sex he'd had in a long time, he felt he needed to apologize, and hope he hadn't fucked up a chance at anything more.

You could feel him softening inside of you, but neither made any attempt to move.

''Lan-''

''Wait. Fuck. I'm sorry if I was too rough'' he said, shyly.

''What?''

''I'm sorry i called you a slut. It was a complement, actually. I just had all this adrenaline from the race. And you were there. And...Fuck, i couldn't help myself'' he was rambling.

''Lando stop.'' you said firmer than you intended to. ''I didn't say I didn't enjoy it. Did I?'' you asked.

He shook his head.

''Really, it was so fucking good, and I'm glad it was me. I'm glad you used me''

''I-What?''

''Yeah, think I needed it as much as you did'' you said.

He wrapped his arms around you holding you tighter.

''Well then I'm glad you walked through the door. Thank you'' he cooed.

You smiled at him and slowly got up, letting him slip out of you, when something dawned on you.

''You ripped my clothes, Lando! literally'' you shrieked, eyes wide and a chuckle filling the air.

He stood up and pecked your lips.

''Well then, you'll just have to come home with me'' he said, smirking, but throwing his t-shirt to you to wear.

As he watching you put it on, he couldn't help but notice the stickiness dripping out of you.

''Fuck'' he mumbled, more to himself.

''What?'' you asked, as you didn't even release he was still watching you.

He didn't say anything, instead he bent down and licked your core, collecting the mixture of both of your cum.

The action had your breath hitching, not expecting it at all. You held onto his head as he did what he did, before he stood back up and let the juice slide out of his mouth and into your, before he kissed you roughly again.

''So fucking hot. Round 2 at mines?'' he asked.

You just smiled and walked to the door, opening it while gesturing him to follow you out.

REMEMBER - requests are open!

[jasmines-library]

Revenge Best Served Cold

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WHUMPTOBER DAY EIGHTEEN: PROMPT: revenge

This is PART TWO of I’ll Make This Up To You from whumptober last year. Please read this first so it makes more sense. - part 2: in which Jason gets his revenge on the Joker.

Warnings: previous torture, fighting, medical terms and recovery.

Word count: 1.2k

MASTERLIST * WHUMPTOBER 2024

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Your recovery was…slow. And Jason hadn’t left your side since the moment you had been brought out of surgery. They had managed to fix your punctured lung, but your list of injuries had been extensive: A punctured lung, four broken ribs, both shoulders dislocated, your left wrist was broken and you were covered in multiple lacerations and bruises across your body. The wound to your thigh was fixed up with stitches. It was deep, but luckily didn’t cause too much long term damage. Alongside all of that, you had lost a lot of blood and needed a blood transfusion. Luckily everything went well and you had been recovering in bed for the last few weeks. At first, you spend your days in the hospital wing. But after that you were allowed to move back into your bedroom. You were strictly on bed rest, which Jason took very seriously. And it was a good thing too, you supposed. Whenever you were up and walking for your physical therapy or to go to the bathroom your steps were accompanied by an awful limp, which usually ended with you clinging on to whoever was there to support you. Usually Jason.

He seemed to take your condition personally. He was completely and utterly guilt ridden at the fact you had risked your life to save his. It didn’t help that seeing the Joker had resurfaced his trauma. He didn’t sleep a whole lot anymore. But then again, neither did you. He was feeling a range of emotions. Fear. Guilt. But one of the feelings that over powered the rest was anger. A deep, seething anger. He was angry at the curcumstance. At the Joker for what he did you you. At himself for letting you get hurt. But right now he had pushed that aside to care for you, though his anger was likely to bubble over any moment.

You stirred, rising from your nap. You spent a lot of your time sleeping. The medication you were on did help you heal but also made you extremely tired, but the doctors had claimed that the sleep was good to help you heal.

“…..morning” you mumbled, turning you head to Jason. “…..you’re still here..?”

“Yeah, of course.” He responded, tracing a gentle circle on the back of your hand.

“You haven’t moved, have you?” You frowned. You knew Jason had a habit of staying by your side as the guilt ate him up.

“I have.” He lied.

You just gave him a look that immediately told him that you weren’t falling for his bullshit.

He sighed. “Fine. No I haven’t.”

“Jay.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just…..I worry about you, kid.”

“I know…” you tilted your head at him softly “but seriously, jay. You need to look after yourself too.”

“I do.”

“No you don’t.” You responded quickly. “You sit here looking after me all the time. And I appreciate it, jay, but you need to take care of yourself. Please. Take the night off? Get some proper sleep.”

“Fine.” Jason agreed. “If it’ll make you happy, Kid.”

You smile kindly. “Thank you, Jay. It would mean a lot to me.”

~

Jason did not take care of himself that night. Instead, he slipped out of the manor, ignoring the orders that Bruce had given him. There was news that the Joker had escaped Arkham once again in the few weeks of your recovery. He was aided by Harley, of course. Bruce had ordered Jason to stay away from him. He knew how the cogs in his head worked. He knew Jason would be out to exact revenge. And he was exactly right.

Angrily Jason slunk through the streets. He had been researching the Joker for years since he was killed. He knew his likely hiding spots. And sure enough he found him deep within the cauldron.

The joker hadn’t even turned around and acknowledged Jason’s presence before he was being slammed against the table in front of him. Jason was angry, and slammed him full force against the wood before picking him up by the back of his shirt and throwing him against the wall.

The joker grunted before turning around and reeling his fist back. Jason caught it and twisted his arm awkwardly. The joker grinned that insane grin.

“Jaybird! I was wondering how long I would have to wait before you showed up.”

Jason slammed him back against the wall. He hit his head with a sickening crack. “Shut your damn mouth, Clown.”

“Now now.” He grinned. “I just knew you couldn’t wait to get your hands on me. Not after what I did your poor little sister. How is she by the way?”

“Don’t you talk about her.” Jason snarled.

“Ooh. Feisty. Hit a sore spot did i?”

“Shut your mouth.” Jay spat, landing a punch to the jokers face.

He was relentless in his attacks, leaving the joker black and blue. He had half beaten him to death, and likely would have if it wasn’t for Bruce, decked out as the Batman, yanking him away.

“Back down, Hood.” The Batman ordered. His voice was stern. Angry. Jason was going to be in a lot of trouble when they got back.

Jason staggered backwards, frustrated that he could continue his assault.

“Back off.” The Batman reinstated.

Reluctantly Red Hood let up with a grumble.

~

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Bruce yelled at Jason. The two of them were back home now, just entering through the mouth of the cave. “I specifically told you that you were not allowed out!”

“He hurt her!” Jason hissed. He was still seething with anger. “He tore her up and then laughed about it. And you expected me to do what? To sit there and do nothing while he roamed free? No. No way.”

Bruce shook his head. “You could have been killed.”

“He’s already killed me once. So what’s once more? And he nearly killed her too!” He snapped.

“You directly disobeyed an order.”

“That man doesn’t deserve to live.”

Bruce was silent for a moment. “Look, Jason. I know you’re angry-“

“Tt. That’s one word for it.”

“But you can’t let your emotions get the better of you. You might think that we’re doing this to spite you, Jason, but we’re not. You could have been killed. And we can’t loose you again. She can’t lose you. She needs you right now. We nearly lost her. We can’t loose you too.”

Jason was stunned. “I….”

“Please. I know you’re angry. I know it hurts. But you have to let us deal with it okay?”

Although he wished desperately that he could take matters into his own hands, Jason knew that Bruce had a point. He had expressed his own vulnerability to his son. He was scared of losing his child again. And that hit Jason hard for he was scared of losing you, or any of his brothers for that matter. “….okay..” he breathed out softly.

“Good.” Bruce nodded. “Now go and get some rest. Proper rest. Tim is watching over her. She’s asleep and well taken care of. You need to look after yourself too, Jason. Like you promised her you would.”

And with that, Jason retired to his room. The anger still lingered in his veins but it was less so. It was now overcome by an overwhelming sense of compassing and belonging for his family. And he knew, that he was safe. That you were safe at home and on your way down the road of recovery.

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TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

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[holllandtrash]

6 to 1 | lando norris (part 12)

pairing: lando norris x leclerc!reader part 12 and final part to the 6 to 1 series (read part 1 here)

it's the first race you attend with Lando, the first time tensions are high before the race can even start, the first time your fears turn into reality because of course, it can never be easy. or can it?

word count: 6.5k tags/warning: mention of the 2022 hungarian grand prix, a lot of anxiety, alluding to driver!injury i think thats it

The end of July brought you to Budapest for the Hungarian Grand Prix. 

It was also the first time you attended a race weekend with the intention of showing up in the paddock with a driver other than Charles. 

You spent most of Friday and Saturday in the McLaren motorhome, but now it was the race. You weren’t going to hide behind the safety of the black and orange walls. You were going to be there, in the garage, to show your support for Lando. 

But you were not prepared for how extremely out of place you would feel.

You had never spent any time in any other team’s pit except for Pierre’s one time and even then it was because you lost a bet and had to wear Alpha Tauri merch for an entire weekend. You didn’t choose to be there.

You chose to show your support for Lando this weekend. 

He wanted you there, of course, but you also wanted to be there. 

You were standing in the booth at the rear of the garage when Lando approached you from the side, hand finding your back to give you a comforting touch before he reached for his balaclava. 

There were still a few minutes before the cars had to be wheeled out to their starting positions. Lando wasn’t in any hurry to get into the cockpit, nor did he like putting himself in a position where he felt rushed or uneasy.

You, on the other hand, felt uneasy. 

That wasn’t even the right word for it. You were stressed, anxious, paranoid, on edge, literally every single thing you shouldn’t be feeling before a race. 

Lando sensed it. Maybe it was the way you didn’t lean into his touch like you normally would. Or maybe he caught the way your smile was forced on his behalf, to make it seem like you were okay. Whatever it was, Lando knew you. In a very short period of time, he knew how to recognise what you were feeling.

“Talk to me,” he said quietly, discarding the white mask on top of the booth as he rested his arms on the surface. He clasped his hands together after dragging his fingers through his hair, but his worried eyes met yours. “You’re more scared about the race than I am.”

You were careful to keep your voice down. SkySports was standing just outside the garage with a camera and for some reason those mic’s picked up absolutely everything. 

“Scared’s not the word I would use,” you spoke through a heavy inhale. You wished Lando’s loving gaze was enough to calm your nerves, but he wasn’t the only driver on the grid who had an affect on your emotions.

Lando nodded, “Feels a bit odd not standing in the Ferrari garage, yeah?”

“It just feels wrong,” you admitted. And then your hand went to cover his, eyes going wide when you realised the strength of your words, “I do want to be here, really. It’s just weird, is all. Like I should be there to talk to Charles before he puts his helmet on and tell him good luck- not saying that it’s a pre race ritual but in a way, it sort of is?” You huffed out an exasperated breath, hoping that what you were saying was making sense. “I don’t know, I’m sorry. It’s just weird that I’m at a race and I’ve said two words to Charles. Hi and bye.”

Lando turned his hands over to connect them with yours, giving your fingers a squeeze. He glanced down at his balaclava and then up at the screen where F1TV was playing. When the image changed from a close up on Lewis to one of Charles standing in the back of the garage, in a nearly identical spot to where you stood in McLaren, you both noticed the way Charles’ normally calm demeanour was replaced with one that, again, was nearly identical to yours.

“You know, I never really thought you two looked alike,” Lando muttered, but in this moment you could have been twins. 

The agitation was clear on both of your faces. Eyes glossed over with guilt and uncertainty as neither of you knew what to say to the other but both finding your lack of presence in the garage to be way too noticeable and foreign for your own good.

Lando looked at you, nodding his head in the direction of the pit lane, “You should go there.”

“I want to be here,” you told him. You were certain about that. 

“You don’t need to stay there,” Lando reminded you. He took a quick look at the screen. “There’s still a few minutes before either of us have to get in the cars. I’m sure he’d appreciate you telling him good luck.”

That thought had crossed your mind, just stopping by and returning back to McLaren. But if you did that, how would Charles take it? Would he see it as a pity pop-in? Would he think that would be your version of an apology? Even though you had absolutely nothing to apologise for. You didn’t know what would go through his head, but you could count on him somehow turning it around and blaming your quick hello as the catalyst if he were to have a poor race.

Lando sensed your hesitation and instead of trying to convince you further to go and say something to your brother, he gave you the opportunity to look at it from a different perspective. 

“You know, maybe Charles is thinking the same thing?” He told you. “It’s probably just as weird for him knowing that you’re at the race but haven’t said anything. I’m not saying you have to apologise, you shouldn’t apologise, but-” he licked his lips, eyes darting up to the screen again. “If you’re the one who’s saying he shouldn’t bring his personal problems onto the track, don’t you think you should do the same?”

That thought hadn’t crossed your mind.

A sliver of a smile teased the corner of his lips. “You can be a supportive sister and still be mad at him. Just like you can be my girlfriend and his biggest fan. You’re not trapped in a box. None of us are.”

Your eyebrows raised, “Girlfriend? Did I miss-” you pointed at him and then around the general area. “-did I miss something? Did a grand gesture happen?”

Lando rolled his eyes, leaning forward to bump his elbow against your arm before he nodded towards the pit lane once more, “Go wish your brother good luck.”

You eventually gave in and nodded. Lando took the bright orange headset that rested around your neck and placed it on the booth, making sure to brush his thumb across your cheek as he did so. You agreed, no annoying acts of PDA in the paddock, but he couldn’t help but find any reason to touch you. 

“I’ll be right back,” you assured him and you grazed your hand across his back, another small but simple gesture to show that you also couldn’t keep your hands off him, before you used the rear doors to sneak out of the McLaren garage. 

There were anxious butterflies in your stomach when you pulled on the door handle to Ferrari. The same last-minute chaos was present in the garage like usual, but it didn’t take long for you to find Charles, standing next to his car, chatting with Xavi. 

Strangely enough, when he spotted you, it felt similarly wrong to be standing in that garage. Like you didn’t belong, and you had just experienced that same dilemma in McLaren. You hated that feeling, as though you didn’t belong anywhere. 

But Charles didn’t ignore you. He didn’t turn back to you and leave you with that sinking feeling in your chest. He excused himself from Xavi and walked towards you, fiddling with the racing gloves in his hands. 

“I just wanted to say good luck,” you blurted out, like ripping off a bandaid. You said it, now you could leave. And you started to, you stepped backwards, ready to head towards McLaren again. 

Charles stopped you.

“Thank you,” he nodded, smiling a little. “You’re ah- you’re at McLaren?”

It was your turn to nod, “Yeah it’s less chaotic over there, believe it or not. Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” When the end of your sentence flowed into soft laughter, Charles joined in, rubbing his lips to possibly try and hide that he found your words humorous.

You hated this, the awkward small talk with your own brother. 

His demeanour shifted, his shoulders tensed as he inhaled a sharp breath. Whatever was on his mind, whatever he wanted to say, he had been sitting on it for a while. Maybe since you left dinner so abruptly. 

And yes, you wanted to clear the air with your brother, but now was not the time to do it. Not when he was minutes away from climbing into the car. You both learned your lesson last time. 

“I’ll see you after the race,” You told him, preventing him from opening the door to a new conversation. This was the moment when you had to separate your brother from the driver and right now, he was a driver. 

Charles nodded as someone handed him his racing helmet. You wished him good luck once more and shared a smile before you made your way back to the McLaren garage, feeling much lighter now.

Lando noticed it, he noticed the lack of tension in your features as he reached for his helmet that was left on the booth. He gave you a thumbs up from across the garage and you reciprocated it before cupping your hand around your mouth and calling out a quick ‘good luck’ to him as well.

You were certainly feeling better going into the race, but it didn’t take long for the nerves to return.

As you watched the first few laps, you suddenly remembered why you gave yourself the no dating drivers rule. You were anxious enough as it was with your, somewhat, strained relationship with Charles, but as his sister, you still hoped for his success.

And now you were watching with caution every time Lando made a move as well. Everytime he locked up into a corner, every time he went in too deep, everytime his race was at risk. 

You didn’t like the constant back and forth, wanting to keep up with what both Lando and Charles were doing at the same time, holding your breath for each of them, feeling twice the amount of stress build up to the point where you thought you needed to vomit.

It didn’t help when at lap six, there had already been a yellow flag brought out due to a minor incident involving Yuki, but now you were watching the lap 12 replay of Nyck de Vries spinning out into the barrier. At first, you thought he’d be able to reverse and get himself to the pits but when the red flags were called due to the damage to the front portion of his car and all the drivers started to return to the pits, you felt even more anxious.

There would have to be a restart. 

Turn 1 at the Hungaroring stressed you out enough. You remembered the 2021 grand prix here when nearly six cars had to retire from an accident that took place at that first corner on the first lap. You thought that the drivers were all safe this time when no big moves were made and everyone made it through that corner without any damage.

Now they had to do it all over again. Elbows were going to be up this time, the drivers’ were undoubtedly going to make some risky, or dumb, moves. 

The red flag brought all of the drivers out of their respective cars. Lando sent you a thumbs up from across the garage, but that was about all he could give you at this given time. His attention went towards the mini impromptu briefing in regards to how to go about the last three quarters of this race.

You tried to tell yourself that, as horrible as Nyck’s red flag was, maybe it was the one incident this race would have. How likely was it that something else would occur? 

The twisting knot in your stomach told you not to get your hopes up.

You were watching the broadcast for a bit, trying to pass the time and not think about what could go wrong when you felt a hand on your waist. 

“Be careful,” you said, eyes filled with worry as you turned towards Lando. 

“Be careful?” he repeated with a chuckle, “It’s just a restart, everything’s fine. Car’s fine, I’m good, I just want to race.”

But you couldn’t explain it. Deep in your gut you just knew there was room for mistakes, that something was going to go wrong on this restart. These drivers were eager to get back in their cars and keep fighting and that’s when their margin of error grew. 

“Just be careful,” you repeated, pressing your palm to the side of his face, thumb brushing over the skin of his cheek. Lando knew better than to make a joke at this moment, seeing how paranoid you were and he just nodded before he was ultimately called away. 

That horrible gut feeling only grew when the drivers got back in their cars. You watched, holding your breath as they lined up in the starting positions, ready for the safety car to take them on a formulation lap.

When they were finally back on the grid, your heart was racing. Lando was starting from seventh. Charles in fourth. The red lights lit up one by one and then they were off. 

Max got off beautifully, even you could admit that, but that was maybe the only positive thing to take away from this restart. 

George nicked the back of Carlos’ car and sent him spinning. Lewis’ reaction time was fast and he avoided the Ferrari but he couldn’t avoid Checo who had locked up ahead of him right before turn one. Somehow, in this chaos, Lando managed to swerve to the side and narrowly miss the collisions. 

The same couldn’t be said for Charles. 

There wasn’t much he could do when the unfortunate series of events caused Checo to spin and block Charles’ Ferrari, colliding into the red side pod and sending car number 16 into the air before ultimately flipping upside down onto the gravel.

You watched with that painful, sinking feeling as Charles slid into the barriers. Very reminiscent of Zhou’s crash in Silverstone the previous year, but now it was your brother who found himself in this situation. Upside down in the cockpit.

And you had no idea if he was okay. 

It wasn’t like you were wearing one of the Ferrari headsets and could listen to Xavi’s radio message, asking Charles to confirm he was okay. You were standing in the McLaren garage, hand over your mouth and had to wait like everyone else. 

This was the moment you were referring to that night in Montreal. The moment when your world stopped.

You had to grip onto the booth, feeling your legs start to weaken beneath you. You just needed to know he was okay. For the love of god why hadn’t they broadcasted anything yet? Why hadn’t they announced he was fine? Why haven’t the marshals pulled him out of the car? Why wasn’t Charles climbing out of the seat?

These were the slowest seconds of your life. 

Your lungs were failing you. Your heart was pounding out of your chest. Your eyes were glued to the screen and all you wanted was to scream for someone to tell you that he was fucking fine. 

As you watched the broadcast, a close up on your face appeared in a square on the side of the screen. You had no idea you were crying, or that there was even a camera on you until Jolyon Palmer’s fucking voice pointed it out.

“...Leclerc’s sister watches on like the rest of us from the McLaren garage- oh and it appears one of the McLarens is also in the gravel, is that Lando’s car? I believe it is, but he’s not- he avoided the collision, didn’t he-”

Alex Jacques interjected, “He’s getting out of the car! Lando Norris is sprinting across the gravel towards the Ferrari of Charles Leclerc-”

His voice became background noise as you watched the scene unfold. Lando, who got away relatively fine with very little or possibly no damage, could have continued the race but he had gotten out of his McLaren and was now bent down next to the open cockpit of Charles’ car. 

Lando lifted his head, waving the marshals over who had taken way too long to show up, in your opinion. Or maybe you just felt as though they were moving slowly because everything else was. 

You saw Lando reach in and pull the steering wheel from the car and then finally, the black glove belonging to Charles grabbed onto Lando’s hand, needing his assistance to be pulled out from behind the halo. 

There was a collective sigh of relief from the entire McLaren garage, probably from the entire paddock honestly. Even as the marshals showed up, Lando refused to step aside. Even when Charles stood up, Lando kept his hand on the Ferrari driver's back and used his other hand to point to the safety car that was pulling up. 

Charles pulled his helmet off, even though he was most definitely advised to keep it on for the time being. As the camera focused on his features, it was impossible to miss how shaken up he was from that crash. He wasn’t angry that everything out of his control caused him to retire from the race, he was scared. 

His life flashed before his eyes, you couldn’t blame him.

He said something to Lando, nodding his head slightly and the tension lines in his forehead seemed to reside, just for a moment. 

Lando patted his shoulder, happy to see that a fellow driver was walking away from this incident with minor injuries. He’d have to retire, they both would. The second that Lando made the decision to get out of the car, he forfeited his race. It was one of the rules brought on by the FIA, one that didn’t even cross his mind. 

All he cared about was making sure Charles was okay.

Lando didn’t need to join Charles in the safety car, but he did and Charles was probably thankful for it, that a familiar face would be with him as he was being transported to the medical centre. 

You ditched the orange headset and sprinted out of the garage. The medical centre was just on the other side of the garages and you were certain you looked a little insane as you ran as though you were competing in a marathon, but you didn’t care. 

There was security outside the medical centre, of course there was. The drivers needed their privacy as they were being checked over, but you didn’t expect to be denied entry. Charles was your brother. 

“Oh come on,” you scoffed, sounding a bit frantic as you gestured to the doors. “He’s my brother! I need to make sure he’s okay, that he’s-”

And then the door opened from the inside and a very dishevelled Lando, still in his drivers suit, was standing there. He had heard you, it was impossible to not hear you with the way you were making a scene. He told the guard you were fine to come in and reluctantly, he stepped aside.

As thankful as you were that Lando was there to vouch for you, your attention was solely on Charles. You didn’t take a second to thank Lando for getting out of the car, you barely even acknowledged him as you ran down the hall to the examining room.

Before you could open the door you took a peek through the small window and saw him sitting on the edge of the examining bed. He was given the chance to change out of his drivers suit and opted for a baggy Puma shirt and sweats. He sat still as the doctor checked him over, answering the questions with head nods or quiet ‘no’s’.

You told yourself you had to be patient. The last thing he or the doctor needed was you barging in. 

You leaned against the wall and forced yourself to slow down, to really process what hell just happened in such a short amount of time. Raising your hand to your cheeks, you finally wiped away the last bit of tears that had been stuck in the corner of your eyes.

“He’s okay.”

Looking down the hall you saw Lando making his way towards you. His intention was to give you a few minutes alone with Charles before joining you, but when you didn’t go inside the room and instead slumped yourself against the wall, Lando couldn’t just leave you.

Lando reached for your hand and gently tugged you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

It was comforting and it was what you needed right now.

“He’s okay,” Lando repeated, hand moving to stroke your hair. “Everyone’s okay, he’s a little shaken up but he’ll be fine.”

Lando pulled back slightly and took hold of your jaw, titling your face up. He brushed his thumbs under your puffy eyes, forcing himself to smile in assurance despite knowing how traumatising this was, not just for Charles but for your entire family. 

Speaking of family, Arthur was the next Leclerc to run into the medical centre. Having been here this weekend as well for F2, he had seen it all as well. Not from the garage, he wasn’t there during the actual race, but he was still in the paddock and experienced the exact same feelings you had. 

Lando stepped aside, letting you embrace your brother, both of you taking comfort in knowing that Charles was going to be fine. 

“As-tu parlé à maman? Enzo?” Have you spoken to mom? Enzo? You asked, slowly feeling your trembling body start to settle itself. Enzo was somewhere in the paddock as well, usually he watched from the Ferrari garage but he was nowhere to be found now. 

Arthur glanced at Lando and then at you, “Enzo’s on the phone with maman. When he knew Charles was safe, he called her.”

“Good,” you nodded. Enzo was probably the best option to calm your mother down and assure her everything was fine. You were still struggling to come to your senses and Arthur seemed to be about as loss for words as you were. 

When the doctor stepped out of the room, she wasn’t at all surprised to see a whole family affair happening outside the doors. She simply told you he was all clear but needed to stay in the bed for the remainder of the afternoon just to monitor his symptoms.

All you needed was the go-ahead to see him and once you were given a thumbs up, you pushed past the doctor to tackle Charles back onto the hospital bed he was trying to sit up in. Arthur joined as well, arms going around both of your bodies as Charles patted you both, or at least tried to with his restricted movements. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Charles told you through a chuckle, “Je le promets, je vais bien.” I promise, I’m fine. 

“It was terrifying, mate,” Arthur said on your behalf when you both stepped back to give Charles some space to breathe. “Upside down across the gravel-” he shook his head, “You’re lucky, is what you are.”

Charles nodded, there was no denying how grateful he should be, being able to walk away with very minor injuries. 

“My radio disconnected, I tried letting Xavi know I was okay but nothing was going through.”

God maybe it was better you didn’t have a Ferrari headset on. If you had to listen to Xavi calling to Charles asking for a response and not getting anything back, you probably would have ran out to the track yourself. 

“Did the race start again? Who's still in?” Charles asked, of course he was concerned about the race. 

Neither you nor Arthur had an answer though.

“All I know is George somehow caused five drivers to retire, including himself,” Arthur said, and then he counted on his fingers. “You, him, Carlos, Lewis and Checo.”

“And Lando,” Charles added without missing a beat. His eyes went directly to you. You hadn’t said a word since you entered the room, but what was there to say? 

This was your biggest fear and it could have gone so much worse. You were too dumbfounded to hear that Charles was going to be walking away after this to even think about anything else.

And that included Lando. 

“Lando’s car is fine,” Arthur pointed out.

“FIA rules,” you said with a swallow. “If you get out of the car-"

"-you abandon your race," Charles finished, a sliver of guilt crossed his face. He didn’t ask for Lando to help him, nor was Lando even slightly involved. He took it upon himself to check on the Monegasque driver. 

“Is he out there?” Charles asked, glancing at the door.

Truthfully, you didn’t know if Lando had stayed. It wouldn’t have surprised you if he went back to the McLaren garage. But when you opened the door and saw him sitting out in the hall, foot tapping against the floor, you put your hand on his shoulder and encouraged him with a nod to follow you into Charles’ room.

Lando kept his hand connected with yours, or maybe you refused to release the grip you had on his fingers, but his attention went to Charles.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Lando said what everyone else had been thinking this whole time.

Charles could have nodded in response. He could have said ‘same’ or ‘thanks’ anything, really. One word would have sufficed. 

But Charles looked at Lando and asked, “Why’d you get out of your car?”

The question wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t by any means upset that Lando did what he did. It was more personal curiosity, why would another driver sacrifice his own race? Why would Lando, someone who could have continued on and had a pretty successful race following the multiple retirements, stop his car and climb out?

“I think the better question is, why didn’t anyone else?” Lando answered, squeezing your hand. “Yes, we’re drivers but at the end of the day we’re just people. If I had crashed like that and no one came to check on me, I’d question the integrity of the grid.” 

Lando looked at you and then looked between the Leclerc brothers. All of you were wondering the same thing.

Would Charles have stopped for Lando if the situation was reversed? 

You prayed they would never find themselves in that situation again, but it was a question you would all be thinking about. Charles, especially. 

Lando didn’t stop for your sake. Sure, you were most definitely on his mind when he saw the way Charles’ flipped onto the gravel, but his thought process was not ‘I need to check on him because I’m dating his sister.’ Lando, in the goodness of his own heart, knew what needed to be done. He knew how terrifying it would be for Charles to hang upside in the cockpit, alone, probably anticipating impact from another car. 

Lando didn’t care about the race. He cared about Charles. Just like he cared about you and Oscar and Carlos and every single person he ever interacted with, had even the briefest relationship with. Lando was a good guy. 

He didn’t need to prove that to anyone, but he did. 

And Charles finally saw that. He could separate the driver from his friend. He could see Lando as a rival on the track and at the end of the day, still respect him as the person you chose to go home to.

“I really am glad you’re okay,” Lando said, a smile curling up on his lips. “I should get back to McLaren though- let me know if you need anything? I’m sure we both have to fill out incident reports or some shit.”

They exchanged a laugh and Lando leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead before retreating out of the room. All of you waited until he was definitely out of earshot before Arthur was the one to break the silence, letting out the most exasperating breath ever as he gestured towards where Lando just stood.

“Are you still on your high horse or do you finally give them your blessing?” Arthur asked, earning a smile from you in response. 

Charles licked his lips, rolling his eyes in a very similar fashion to how you would, “They don’t need my blessing. They would have dated regardless.”

You nodded, agreeing with everything he had just said. Charles would not have been the one to separate you two. 

But it would certainly be nice to know he approved. It would be easier to breathe the next time you thought about inviting Lando to a family dinner. You didn’t want to have to fight with yourself when it came to choosing what garage to stand in during a race. You didn’t want there to be sides anymore.

As you stood there, waiting for Charles to say something that hinted towards him not having a problem with your relationship, it hit you that Charles was more stubborn than you gave him credit for. He would probably never give a verbal approval.

But his stare told a different story. The way he glanced at the door behind you. The realisation in his eyes when he thought about the way you leaned into Lando’s touch before he left the room. The look Charles gave you told you that he could see how happy that McLaren driver made you, that he knew there was no point in fighting it.

So he didn’t have to say anything, you knew. 

You stayed in that room for the rest of the afternoon, even though Arthur did tell you that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you went and found Lando. Charles didn’t even tense up when he suggested it. 

But you stayed seated next to Charles’ bed, Arthur on his other side as you watched the race restart for the third time. Enzo joined you not long after and he sat down next to you, nudging your side and asking where Lando was, as if it was odd that he wasn’t there.

“I’ll find him later,” you said, but later would turn out to be way after the race when you finally made it back to the hotel. 

Lando had texted you just before the race ending, asking if you were getting a ride back to the hotel with your brother. He also checked in on Charles, making sure he was still, in his words, ‘alive and nowhere closer to the drivers championship’. Charles rolled his eyes when he read that text over your shoulder.

Lando knew how important family was to you, even during the uncertain times. That’s why he wasn’t upset in the slightest that you spent the rest of the race with your brothers. He could separate you, the girl he was waiting to call his girlfriend, from the girl whose brother was a Formula 1 driver.

He knew what he was getting into when he looked at you differently all those weeks ago, he knew he’d have to share you, that this would only make all three of your lives a little more chaotic, but he still looked at you.

And god was he glad he did. 

You returned to the hotel and told Charles to call you if you needed anything before heading up the elevator to the room you and Lando were sharing for the weekend. As you looked into your purse to find your room key, something on the carpeted hotel floor caught your eye.

A white flower petal. Just one. 

And then another just a few feet ahead.

And then a dozen more that you didn’t pick them up, but you followed the wavy line of them all the way to the door to your suite, which had been propped open by a deadbolt lock preventing the door from shutting all the way.

You pushed it open only to see full daisies attached to their stems on the floor this time, also in a line that you followed down the hall and around the corner. You were starting to imagine what was waiting for you behind the bedroom door, but never in your wildest dreams would you have pictured this.

Lando standing at the edge of a bed, not in one of his own Quadrant t-shirts for a change but a form fitting black button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and just enough of his chest showing that you had to remind yourself there was more to look at. 

On top of the bed was a box of pizza, but it was flipped open and it was mouthwatering. It wasn’t some random box he picked up at a shop on the way back to the hotel, this gourmet pizza looked like it cost a pretty penny. 

On the side table were two glasses, wine glasses of course, but next to an unopened bottle of Perrier because Lando didn’t drink wine but you both had no complaints about sparkling water. 

Most importantly, in his hand was a bouquet of daisies, beautifully wrapped in brown paper. 

And it finally clicked.

“I thought I’d redo our first date,” Lando said quietly as you walked towards him.

The pizza, the flowers, the sparkling water. Everything that was in attendance that first night he came to your place, unannounced and unwelcome but somehow it ended up being the most beautiful start of these whirlwind couple of months. 

“That wasn’t a date,” you teased as Lando handed you the bouquet. 

“Agree to disagree,” same words too. 

Lando snaked his arm around your back, hand spread across the thin fabric of your shirt as he pulled you against his chest. You draped an arm over his shoulders, careful not to drop the flowers as two very similar smirks grew on both of your faces. 

Lando stopped himself from kissing you, instead letting his lips hover over yours as he quieted his voice, “Do I really have to ask?”

“Yes.”

He squinted, something he did when his smile grew. You loved the lines around his eyes, the creases in his forehead when he was undeniably happy. It meant so much more knowing you were the reason for his bright features.

Lando took a breath before your first and last name passed through his lips. His hand moved further up your back and even though you knew what was happening, your heart was still racing, in the way you wanted it to this time. 

“Will you-” he paused, rolling his eyes at how naive this all sounded, but he carried on because he knew it was what you wanted. “Will you, please, be my girlfriend?”

Your eyebrows twitched, “Oh, you’re begging?”

Lando turned his head, “Okay, you know what, I take it back-”

Before he could finish the rest of that sentence you cupped the side of his face and pulled his lips to yours. Lando’s grip on your back pulled you tighter against his body as the daisies slipped from your hand and onto the edge of the bed. 

“Of course I’ll be your girlfriend,” you muttered against his lips, kissing him quickly once more. 

Lando was blushing at your response, but his grin shifted into yet another smirk. One with an ulterior motive, one that had you slightly cautious.

“Would now be a bad time to tell you I only checked on Charles because I knew it would move me up your driver ranking?”

You pulled back and stared up at him, jaw slack as he held his hand over his stomach and laughed at his own words.

“I’m kidding!” He assured you, blurting that out before you could really question his motives. “I promise, I’m kidding. I really did want to make sure he was okay."

“Well now I don’t believe you,” you scoffed, but you only said it to get under his skin in response. 

You could tell when Lando was being honest and you could tell when he was simply making a joke. Granted, maybe now was not an ideal time to make a joke, but him being able to make you smile, even a little bit, after witnessing something as traumatic as Charles’ crash, was what you needed. 

Lando being there to support you, to be the shoulder you needed, to be someone who only had your well being, and apparently your brothers’ wellbeing, in mind, was all you ever needed. 

“I don’t think you’ll ever surpass my own brother on the ranking,” you admitted with a sly grin as he twisted a strand of your hair around your finger, tilting your face upwards again as he listened to your final ranking. There was some truth to it. Charles would always be up there, but there were never any rules against ties. “But you can share the number on spot with him.”

Lando licked his lips, “What about number one in your heart?”

Your head dipped forehead against his chest as you laughed at his words, more specifically how quick he was to get them out, like he was waiting for a reason to use that line.

“That was so cheesy,” you said, still laughing. “Like, horribly cheesy. I-should-walk-out-of-this-room kind of cheesy.”

And you pretended to, taking a step towards the door, careful of the daisies at your feet. But Lando didn’t let you go anywhere. His grip on your hand tightened and he pulled you back to him, where you both knew you belonged.

“You loved it,” he teased, his smile only growing at your eye roll. 

“I did,” you admitted quietly with a reluctant sight. “I loved it.” You took a breath, looking at the set up he had created in your absence. “I love this, I love-” and then your eyes darted up to meet his again. 

Lando Norris. The driver turned friend turned something more. In such a short period of time, he became one of the most important people in your life. His teasing, his jokes, his stupid driver ranking plan. 

He was someone, that from day one, you should have known you were going to fall in love with. Since the day he decided to make it his mission to move up your list of favourite drivers.

But it was okay that you weren’t there yet, that you looked up at him and choked on that endearing phrase, shutting your mouth instead. Saying those three words took time, trust, effort. This was still so new.

Besides, after working his way up from sixth to, a tied, first, Lando needed a new mission now anyway. 

And getting you to fall in love with him seemed like the perfect one.

-----

six months later

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, ynleclerc and 576,102 others

tagged: ynleclerc

landnorris happy 6 months to the girl who once said i was her sixth favourite driver

view all 16, 530 comments

ynleclerc i love u

charles_leclerc don't get too cocky mate you can easily drop back down the ranking

carlossainz55 remember when i was her second favourite?

pierregasly why is this the first i'm hearing about a driver ranking

ynleclerc because you were booted to last place landonorris just like the driver standings pierregasly 🖕🏼🖕🏼

danielricciardo i approve of this relationship

the end :')

thank u everyone for the support while this intended 6 part series turned in 12 parts ♡ i hope u all fell a little bit in love w lando norris bc i sure did - also make sure to check out my other work here (ps i cant wait to start a new fic hehe)

taglist: @moneymasnn@thotd-f1@masonspulisic @mcmuppet@f1-futurewag-16-3-4-63 @alilstressyandlotdepressy @themisric @happydazzz123 @moonxblossom @norrisleclercf1@scarlettisconfused@sbgal@e-lisa-bettan@harrysdimple05@ophcelia@alesainz@fandomxs1@majx00@sbgal@mehrmonga@themockingjayreader@f1mockingjay@topguncultleader@lclrnelliluvs@moonxblossom@dr3lover@andrewgarfields-girlfriend@tsarinablogs@noescapricho-essentimiento@f1mockingjay@xqueenslytherinxif i missed someone im so sorry

[dixons-sunshine]

Love your work it’s amazing and helps me with so much shit in my life🎀 been feeling so down insecure lately .could you write something about female reader being really insecure about her appearance and her mind and intelligence ,looking at herself in mirror and Daryl catching her do it. just pure fluff him feeling bad because he wants her to see herself the way he does

That's What Makes You Beautiful | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: While getting ready for the party at Deanna Monroe's house with the other women, old insecurities crept up again after being dormant for a while. However, Daryl won't have his beautiful girl thinking bad things about herself.

Genre: Kinda angsty to fluff.

Era: Alexandria, pre Saviour arc.

Warnings: Swearing, insecurities.

Word count: 1.6k

A/n: This was heavily self-indulgent. I struggle with body image issues, so this was easy and yet extremely hard to picture and write. But darling, even though I don't know you personally, please know that I think you're amazing and beautiful! I hope this fic portrays how much I love you, even if I don't know you personally. Daryl in this is me reassuring you that you are enough, and that you are worthy. 💜

(Also, Michonne is your hype woman in this because she is my queen and I need her to hype me up when I feel down.)

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Laughter filled the small room that you had found yourself in with Michonne, Rosita, Sasha, Tara, Maggie and Carol. All the women were having a mini fashion show as they tried on different dresses and shoes, having the time of their lives as they did something that everyone missed from the world before the dead started walking. However, the same couldn't be said for you.

You smiled weakly at Rosita as she showed off the dress she was wearing, eyeing the way the dress fit her curves perfectly. In fact, all the women looked amazingly beautiful in their dresses. Even Carol, who wasn't wearing a dress and instead opted for a flower shirt and a pair of jeans, looked gorgeous. You couldn't deny that they all looked like princesses, and that made you feel bad about yourself—your old insecurities crept up into your mind again.

The dress that Michonne had picked out for you was splayed across your lap. You had no intention of putting it on anytime soon, preferring to want to do so without any of these stunning women in the room. You wanted to be sure of how you looked before allowing anyone to see you in the dress, and when you more than likely looked terrible in it, you wanted to be able to handle your emotions without everyone present. You didn't need to see their disgusted faces when you wore it.

“Hey, you gonna get dressed and join us downstairs or just sit there and look pretty?” Michonne asked playfully, snapping you from your thoughts.

You winced at her words, but plastered on a small smile. “You guys go on ahead. There's something I need to do before getting changed,” you lied.

Michonne frowned slightly, seeing right through your lie but choosing not to address it in front of everyone. She'd pull you aside later and ask what was wrong. For now, however, she understood that you wanted everyone to leave, and she nodded at you.

“Okay, we'll see you when you come downstairs,” she replied, ushering the other women out of the room. She turned back to you before she left, giving you a questioning look. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?” you told her, not missing the way she sent you a disapproving look. You sighed and looked down, toying with the dress in your lap. “I'm fine. I'll meet you downstairs, okay?”

Michonne reluctantly nodded. “Okay,” she agreed, pulling the door closed behind her and leaving you alone in the room.

Sighing, you hesitantly got up and started undressing, refusing to meet your reflection in the mirror in front of you. You slowly slipped the dress on, the fabric covering your skin from your chest to your mid thighs. You adjusted the straps over your shoulders, not even trying to zip up the dress from behind. You reluctantly turned towards the mirror and physically recoiled at the sight in front of you.

You continued staring at your reflection in disgust, hating the way you looked. You started getting lost in your own self deprecating thoughts, so much so that you didn't hear the door open behind you, or the footsteps that abruptly stopped in their tracks.

“Wow.”

You flinched and spun around, locking eyes with your partner. Daryl stood by the bed, staring at you with wide eyes. He took a tentative step forward, his eyes trailing over your body.

Mistaking his wide eyes for disgust rather than awe, you crossed your arms over your chest. You tried to shield your body from his view, but Daryl walked over to you and held your arms in his hands, sending you a questioning look.

“Nah, why are ya doin' tha'?” he inquired, rubbing your arms with his hands. “Ya dun' need to hide yerself from me, 'specially not when yer lookin' so pretty all dolled up.”

Without meaning to, you let out a choked sob, tears starting to fall from your eyes. Instinctively, Daryl pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly to his chest. He didn't know why you were crying, but he didn't care. He would comfort you through it, just like you had comforted him through so many things, ranging from his inability to track down Sophia all the way to the guilt he felt over Beth's death.

“I look ridiculous,” you choked out, your cries muffled into his chest. “Everyone looks so beautiful in their dresses and I look like this. I can't—”

“Shh, s'okay,” Daryl whispered into you ear, rocking you from side to side. “S'okay. I got ya.”

He simply held you in his arms, allowing you to cry all your negative emotions into his shirt. When you finally managed to calm down, you pulled back and tearfully looked up at him.

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled. “It's so stupid.”

“Nah, it ain't stupid,” Daryl disagreed, taking your face into his hands. “But where's this all comin' from? Why do ya think tha' 'bout yerself?”

“I can't—I don't—”

“Please, peach,” he pleaded, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head, casting your eyes down towards the floor. “I don't know. I just... I grew up being bullied for my looks, about my intelligence, for just about everything. When everything went to shit, I guess those insecurities got buried, but now, wearing this dress, I—”

Daryl cut you off by pressing his lips against yours, but quickly pulled away again. He looked deeply into your eyes, keeping your face in place to ensure that you kept your eyes locked on him.

“Do ya trust me?” he asked.

You nodded your head. “Of course I do.”

“Then listen real close, sunshine,” he began softly yet sternly. “M'not sure wha' fuckin' assholes talked this shit into yer head, but yer not wha' ya think ya are. Yer so unbelievably smart, and ya've proved it a lot of times. S'cause of ya tha' we were able to save Hershel way back when. S'cause of ya tha' we found tha' store with all those supplies while we were on the run fer eight months. Yer such a badass, and yer so unbelievably beautiful. I wish ya could see yerself the way I see ya. Yeah, ya have yer flaws, but they're part of wha' makes ya beautiful. Nobody's perfect, but yer the nearest damn thing there is to it.”

You were flabbergasted. You felt like crying all over again, but from pure happiness this time. “You really think so?”

“I dun' think, I know,” Daryl confirmed. “I love ya so much, bunny.”

“I love you too,” you replied with a small smile on your face. You turned around and faced the mirror again, giving him a full view of the back of your unzipped dress. “Zip me up?”

“'Course,” Daryl nodded, gripping the zipper and slowly zipping up the dress.

You shivered slightly at the feeling of his fingers slowly brushing along your spine. When your dress was zipped up, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. He looked at your reflection with a small smile, staring in awe at how beautiful he found you.

“Damn, woman,” he muttered with a small chuckle. “Yer gon' be the death of me, lookin' all pretty in this damn dress. Pair it with heels and we ain't makin' it outta this room tonigh'.”

You giggled and shyly ducked your head. “That's too bad. I promised Michonne that I'd go to this damn party.”

Daryl groaned and buried his head into your shoulder. “Fuck,” he mumbled, successfully coaxing another laugh from you. “Now I gotta wait? S'fuckin' ridiculous.”

Before you could respond, Rosita and Michonne walked into the room, making you and Daryl withdraw from each other's hold. Michonne and Rosita looked at you, smiles on each of their faces.

Michonne let out a playful wolf whistle. “Look at you! You're putting us all to shame.”

“She's right,” Rosita agreed. “You're looking real stunning. Daryl will have to fight of the other men. They're all going to want your attention.”

“Hell, some ladies, too. Daryl might have to fight me off,” Michonne joked.

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Nah, I ain't lettin' anyone take her from me. 'Specially not ya, Michonne.”

Michonne laughed lightly. “Can't blame a girl for trying.”

As Michonne and Daryl bickered back and forth, with Rosita adding her own playful input, you couldn't help but feel happy. In a matter of minutes, your partner and two of your closest friends had managed to cheer you up. You doubted that your insecurities would ever fully go away, but with people you love there to remind you of your worth, you would be more than okay.

And, just to tease Daryl a bit that night, you did end up wearing the heels with the dress, and Daryl made sure you knew just how beautiful you were to him that night—by worshipping your body like the goddess you were.

[not-magdi]

-ucl nights / lamine yamal

Warnings: None, well the loss yesterday (I think that should be a warning to)

Words: 756

Reading Time: 5min 53sec

A/n

This story was inspired by yesterday, I kind of tried to comfort myself with it so yeah I hope you'll like it.

Love y'all Magdi

1:4, that was the end. Barcelona was out of the Champions League. They fought so hard, especially Lamine. That boy gives his heart and soul every time he plays, so a loss hits him extremely hard. But this one was different. After a period of losses, the last few wins made hope spark in everyone's chest.

It was also painful for you to watch. Being a barça fan since you were a little kid. But nothing prepared you for the emotions you would feel as you saw the player's faces when they walked past you in the tunnel.

As soon as the game ended, you rushed down the tunnel, wanting to see Lamine as fast as possible. Lamine and you haven't been together for such a long time, only 2 months. But over these months, you have become each other's safe place, with only being 16 years old in this crazy world.

You have been waiting for about 10 minutes now, greeting and comforting a few players you know as they passed you. Then, Lamine finally came into your view. His shoulders slumped, and his eyes brimmed with tears.

Your heart broke at this sight. Lamine tried to stay strong in front of you, but as soon as you opened your arms, he fell into them, holding you tight.

One of your hands went from his back to his head, stroking his hair. He buried his head deeper into your neck, letting out little sobs as you continued to hold him.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm here baby, I'm here."

The two of you continue standing there for a few minutes until you feel Lamine pull away. Opening your arms, you look up at him, kissing away a few tears that rolled down his cheeks.

"How about you get changed, then I'll drive you home, and we cuddle a bit on the couch." You whisper into his ear, kissing the side of his head.

"Y-yeah, I like that plan." His voice is still a bit croaky, but there's a slight smile on his face again, which was everything you wanted.

It was now 30 minutes later, and you were sitting in your car. You let Lamine take his time, knowing the time with his teammates is really important now.

To pass some time, you decided to open up Instagram, where you are instantly flooded with thousands of new videos of the game. One particular video caught your eye, though it was a video of Lamine sitting in a chair, his jacket completely covering his face to not see him cry. It broke your heart to see him like that.

You were lost in your own world when you heard the door opening. You looked at who it was only to see the familiar face of your boyfriend. He was wearing one of your favourite hoodies and a pair of comfy jeans.

"Hey, did I scare you?" Lamine asked you with a teasing tone in his voice.

"You could never." You answer.

Laughing, he gets into the car, holding his hand out for you to take.

With one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding Lamine's, you drive to Lamine's apartment. The drive was silent, which was unusual as you usually talked the whole trip. But you don't wanna pressure him into talking, knowing he needs some time to open up.

Arriving at his apartment, Lamine immediately flops down onto the couch facefirst. Giggling, you lay yourself on top of him, burying his head in the crook of his neck.

"You wanna talk about tonight?"

Turning his head to face you, he shakes his head, "Not at the moment, I just wanna apologize for disappointing you tonight."

Frowning, you sit up, "Disappointing me? Why would you ever disappoint me?"

Lamine now sits up, too. "You were so excited about the game tonight and I wanted to play good for you tonight so you would be proud."

Gasping, you grab Lamine's face to make him look at you. "You, my love are going to listen closely to me now, understand me? There will be not a single moment in my life where I will not be proud of you. You are one of the most passionate and hard-working players I know. You have come so far in your career already while only being 16! Every time I look at you I feel so lucky to call you mine."

You ended your speech with a deep kiss on his lips, laying your forehead against his afterwards.

"Thank you, Amor, I love you"

"I love you too Lamine"

---------

Don't forget to leave a note if you enjoyed it, feedback is always welcome!! ❤️

[bleedingcoffee42]

Speirton Drabble about shooting on the balcony and drunk Sparky. Maybe I'll make one of those 'Five times' fics, 5 times Sparky got drunk and the one time Lip did. IDK.

Lipton walks into the Easy Company headquarters and is almost run over by Floyd Talbert who is noticeably pissed and mumbling about ‘Dick would never’ and ‘fuck this job’.   He doesn’t explain and Lip’s here for other reasons. Dick can handle Tab, this job does not pay enough-even with the promotion- to deal with whatever drama Ron started with Tab today.

Moving through the nice house commandeered for HQ he hears laughter, drunken laughter, coming from a room beyond the main living area-–out by the balcony.  The door is ajar and he sees Gordy Carson leaning on the balcony railing, laughing.  A few more steps and Captain Speirs comes into view, holding his 1911.  Ron’s laughing too, has that soft and watery-eyed look like he’s been drinking.   The man can not hold his liquor and should not be holding a gun right now.

“Heeeeeeyyyy!” Ron says, wobbling a little, and taps Carson on the ass with the gun to get his attention.   

“Harder.”  Carson replies immediately, and gets a giggling, crying outburst from Ron who now is covering his face with his hands, gun included.  

Ron has to sit down as he’s laughing so hard he can’t breathe, not without tripping over some patio furniture on the way to the lounge chair.   Thankfully he’s still able to holster his weapon with precision and does so mid-fall into the chair.   “Lip….Lieutenant Lipton!”

“Busted.”  Carson snorts. “Again.”

“Shit, Carwood, sorry.  Forgot the noise ordinance.”

Lip raises his eyebrows.  “Your own orders? You forgot your own orders.”

“Yeah.”  Ron says and waves at the wine.  “You know what alcohol does to me.”

“Christ, Sparky, Nix isn’t the only one who has to have dick when he’s drunk.” Carson snorts. 

Ron loses it and just gives into the hysterical laughter and starts sniffling and choking on tears and snot as he’s laughing too hard.  

Lip gives Carson the look of disapproval and points to the open door.   Knowing he’s overstepped, the man beats a hasty retreat from the balcony.  Lip turns and sees Ron, a wide grin comes across his face.  He struggles to his feet and leans back against the railing. “Oh, Gordy and I were doing some target shooting because someone forgot his own noise ordinance order.”

Lip waits a beat.

Ron waves his whole arm like he’s captured a gun at Brecourt Manor and squeaks, “Me!”

Lip nods and Ron gives him a ‘get over here’ look. He walks up and he pulls him into him.  One hand goes around his waist, the other takes his hand and kisses it and then he puts it around his shoulder.   Then he pushes off the balcony railing and starts slow dancing a little, leaning heavily on Lip a lot.   “What can I do for you, Carwood?”

“We need to get you to bed.”

“Fuck me here.”  Ron snorts and tries to focus on Lip’s stern look, but can’t.  “I should be disciplined. I broke noise ordinance, and bottles.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed to sleep this off.”

“Coming with me?”

“I have to, you won’t stay put if I don’t.”

“MMmm…”

Lip narrows his eyes at him, Ron is a smart son of a bitch.  “Is that why you’re out here drinking?  Because I’ve been busy at Battalion?”

“Maybe.”

“We need to work on the extreme measures you take when emotional.”  Lip says and moves to his side and starts guiding him to the door.  

“I take what I want but I want you and I can’t….” Ron licks his lips, “Winter’s took you away to his staff.”

“And I hope by morning you have a better explanation for what happened here than that.  Tab is going straight to him to bitch.”

“They all do.  Fucking whiners. Don’t like my orders, run to DIck.”

“Some of your orders are insane.”

“Says the guy who was trained under Sobel.”

“Says the guy who mutinied to get rid of him.”

“Fair.”

[lovepersevering13]

Now could you elaborate on Michael's autism

Alright it’s Michael’s turn!

I want to preface this part the same as before: I’m not a psychiatrist, this isn’t how autism is experienced by everyone and let me know if anything is incorrect :) oh also I’m a little bit more educated on how Autism is shown in girls so this one is a bit of a mess.

Ok so for Michael I kinda had to think for a bit about some like concrete evidence because I didn’t have anything annotated for him like Tori but I think I’ve come up with a pretty compelling argument (also I thought I’d let you know that as I was doing this I started to realise Michael may have ADHD but I don’t really go into that too much).

Firstly:

Alice Oseman herself supports this headcanon so…. Anhahahahajaja omg I can’t explain how happy this makes me! Anyway, let’s get into what I found in Solitaire!

1. Masking

- “Do you get angry a lot?” I say.

“I’m always angry,” he says.” Solitaire, Page 213

Ok we know Michael generally is a very upbeat, positive person on the outside but as we get to know him we learn he’s only barely happier than Tori. When I think about this covering up of his anger with overly positive emotions it is clear to that he is masking (Suppressing Autistic traits). Pessimism is a common m trait of Autism and the way I see it, Michael is overcompensating for this by acting super happy all the time to cover it up.

2. Deficit in social understanding

- “Do you remember when he tried to get everyone to do a flash mob for the Year 11 prank?” says Nick. “And in the end he just did it by himself on the lunch tables?” Nick Nelson, Solitaire, Page 39.

This quote when Nick and Charlie are talking about Michael shows and extreme lack of care about social consequences.

- “Michael Holden has swooped into the restaurant.” Solitaire, page 46

Ok so this quote and the entire scene on pages 46/47 where Michael shows up unannounced because he wants to ask Tori something displays extreme impulsivity and impulsivity is a common Autistic trait. He also didn’t care about the lack of social etiquette displayed by crashing a hangout he wasn’t invited to.

- “Michael is helping himself to our leftover starters” Solitaire, Page 48

Again, lack of social awareness because you aren’t really supposed to crash someone else’s dinner and just start eating their food.

- “He races inside and, without bothering to let me leave or shut the door, he lifts the toilet seat and starts to pee.” Solitaire, (I forgot the page)

LACK OF SOCIAL ETTIQUITE. DUDE.

- “He’s the strangest person I’ve ever met.” Solitaire, Page 62

- “I know Nick and I said he’s weird - and he is weird -“ Charlie Spring, Solitaire, Page 177

- “He looks sort of out of place everywhere.” Solitaire, (I lost the page)

People with Autism are often described as being “strange,” “weird,” or “peculiar,” because they are different from their peers which can make them stand out and struggle to fit in.

- “I, er, didn’t get on too well with the people there. Not the teachers, not the students…” Michael Holden, Solitaire, Page 148

Because of the fact that people with Autism struggle with social understanding it can be very difficult to make friends and get along with other people.

- “I’ve never been good enough,” he says. “I get so stressed out, I don’t make friends - God, I can’t make friends.” His eyes glaze over. “Sometimes I just wish I were a normal human being. But I can’t. I’m not. No matter how hard I try.” Michael Holden, Solitiare, Page 376

Yeah, this quote hurts my heart. So many people with Autism feel as though they don’t fit in and that they aren’t normal. When you don’t have a diagnosis it can be especially difficult because you don’t know why. You know there’s something different about you, you know other people are doing and feeling things you aren’t and you know you’re doing and feeling things other people aren’t, but you don’t know why. It can be super isolating.

3. Challenging Authority Figures

- “…having that argument with Mr Yates during his mock exams!” Either Nick or Charlie, Solitaire, Page 40

- “I swore at Kent.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, Page 269

It’s very common for people with Autism to challenge authority figures. Generally this is because they often naturally assume equanimity and don’t understand why some people should get more respect then others if they aren’t seemingly deserving of it. This stems from having a heightened sense of justice and empathy.

4. Autism and Sexualtiy

- “I guess you could say I’m not too fussy about gender.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, (I forgot the page)

We know Michael’s canonically Pan and as we’ve previously discussed (read Tori’s part for more info) Autism and the LGBTQ+ community are heavily intertwined. I tried to look into Autism’s correlation to Pansexuality but couldn’t find anything specific.

I also wanted to add in a little fact about how Neurodivergent people tend to gravitate towards eachother and queer people tend to do the same so Michael and Tori makes a lot of sense.

5. Special Interests/HyperFixations

Ok so, Michael gets pretty into Solitiare. Right from the start he’s obsessed. Taking photos of the posts, insisting they go to the meet up. I’d probably say it’s a hyperfixation.

And DISNEY. Holy heck Michael loves Disney… and if you haven’t caught on already, yeah imma say it’s a special interest.

- “He gasps and grabs a third DVD, leaps across the room to the flat-screen and switches it on. “We’re watching beauty and the beast,” he says.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, Page 115

I mean look at how excited he gets over ‘Beauty and the Beast’.

6. School

- “Seriously. I haven’t gotten above a C grade in any subject since Year 8.”

“It seems almost impossible for someone like Michael to be unintelligent. People like Michael - people who get stuff done - they’re always smart. Always.” Solitaire, Page 188

- “When it comes to exams… I generally don’t write what they want me to write. I’m not very good at, well, sorting out all the stuff in my head.“

“I just don’t know what the examiners want to hear. I don’t know whether I just forget things, or maybe I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain it. I just don’t know.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, Page 118

- “Because I hate school!” This is quite loud. He starts to shake his head.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, (I forgot the page)

A lot of people with Autism struggle with school and like Tori points out, it’s not because they’re not smart, Michael is smart. It’s just that the education system isn’t fitted to benefit Neurodivergent children. So many things affect Autism in schools. The dreadful sensory environment, lack of control over what they can and can’t do and the difficult social pressures.

7. Emotional dysregulation

- “He clenches his fist and he snarls. He actually snarls at me.

“Maybe you are a manically depressed psychopath.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, Page 163

Emotional Dysregulation is the inability to control the intensity and expression of emotions. This is common in people with Autism and can result in overly intense emotions and lashing out. I think this is something that heavily impacts both Tori and Michael and results in a lot of their arguments. The aforementioned quote is just one example of how quickly and dramatically their arguments blow up due to this.

- “His face contorts into a kind of scrunched-up snarl, his fists curl, his skin drains of colour, and he storms past the man and tramps over to the benches. He reaches a row of lockers and looks into them, blankly, chest visibly expanding and contracting. With an almost terrifying malice, he throws a crazed punch at the lockers, wailing a subdued howl of rage. Turning, he hurls a kick at a pile of racing helmets, scattering them about the floor. He clutches his hair, as if trying to pull it out.” Solitaire, Page 211

Oh there is just so much to cover here. So this is a prime example of an Autistic meltdown. Autistic meltdowns can be caused by overwhelming emotions (In this situation that is Michael loosing his race) and result in an outburst which can include crying, screaming (“howl of rage”), aggression (punching the lockers and kicking the helmets) and self injurious behaviours (Pulling his hair). It’s probably worth mentioning that a few of the outbursts he has towards teachers that I mentioned earlier are probably also meltdowns.

8. Stimming

- “Michael starts whistling.” Solitaire, page 198

Whistling is a form of stimming, this particular quote is from when they are in Truham looking for Charlie, considering Michael’s disdain for Truham I can imagine it was a slightly stressful environment to be back in which would validly result in a need for stimming. I actually couldn’t find any other examples of stimming except possibly the hair pulling that was mentioned in the last quote.

9. Pattern Recognition

So pattern recognition is the autistic brains increased ability to recognise patterns and in Solitaire Michael is the first person to put together the fact that all of Solitaire’s pranks were related to Tori. I really can’t be bothered to find the quote where they talk about those

10. Safe foods

I think that Tea is probably a safe food for Michael because he is often mentioned to have a mug of Tea in his hands. (But I’m not British so maybe this is like normal? How much tea do British people actually drink?)

1. Miscellaneous Quotes

- Since when did you acquire a body temperature” Solitaire, page 112

I know it’s probably supposed to be related to figure skating but struggling with temperature regulation is very common amongst people with Autism.

- “Most of the time at school I can’t even decide what pen to use.” Michael Holden, Solitaire, page 149

Indecisiveness is very common amoungst people with Autism

Alright that’s a wrap on Michael Holden. I’m thinking of doing a conjoined part for Charlie and Oliver if anyone would be interested in reading that :)

Some of the resources I used:

https://livingautism.com/decision-making-problems-adults-asd/

Thermal Perceptual Thresholds are typical in Autism Spectrum Disorder but ...

https://sparkforautism.org/discover_article/managing-emotions/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7430467/

https://neuroclastic.com/autism-and-responding-to-authority/?amp

[colourme-feral]

Switched POV my beloved!! And thus, I am back with some translation notes for 25 Ji, Akasaka De / At 25:00 in Akasaka ep 7

To my mother, whether her son was beautiful or not was everything.

That guy's been saying behind your back that you can be used to bring in customers.

When we're sad, happy or angry; how to act and how it looks. I did a lot of research on that.

What stupid/meaningless thoughts.

Those pitiful people. Aren't they lying to themselves while pretending that they aren't aware of their own emotions? Despite the fact that if they do that, one day they'll end up not knowing their true selves.

The script is good the way it is right now. Changing it based on ideas that you suddenly think of will make the flow become unnatural.

Yikes, that kid has no consideration at all! Note: Nozomu is referring to how straightforward Yuki is when speaking to people, without considering how to phrase things in less blunt ways to make it more palatable for the other party.

Wow, that's unusual.

But Hayama, you are the type who wraps yourself with dozens of layers of wrapping paper, doesn't let people see what you're actually thinking or look into you.

Ah, I see... I'd wanted to act. Even I hadn't realised that. It was Shirasaki kun who let me realise this.

I was extremely nervous about meeting him again after 6 years.

I'm looking forward to acting as your lover.

Before I knew it, I'd started to run. Before I knew it, I'd kissed him.

What I've covered up, bundled up in wrapping paper and always kept away inevitably reveals itself.

Previously, you said "there's someone I can't forget", didn't you? So... that means you like them? Yeah, I like them. (Also used here @my-rose-tinted-glasses)

Then, they join/tie/bind themselves together for the first time. Note: Bind in the sense of having sex, not bondage.

I no longer know.

25 Ji, Akasaka De / At 25:00 in Akasaka language notes・Other language notes

[uptoolateart]

Thanks to @hailqiqi for tagging me about ten thousand years ago. I just have so much to do 😩 Anyway! The original post said:

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (except me because obvs I have done it). Spread the self-love ❤

Here we go!

Breaking Free - the whole series

I'm cheating here, because I'm listing a multi-book series, but I can't help it. I'm super proud of it. It started as a one-shot of Adrien and Marinette finding Gabriel's basement, and then it spiralled hard. It begins right after Strike Back. From there, it's a complicated, twisted and very bumpy ride.

'How did you think this up?' my BF beta has asked me many times. I don't know, guys. It just seemed obvious at the time 😆

This was my 'getting back into writing' book, after a lengthy creative hiatus / identity crisis. I churned out chapters because I needed to get back in the game and rediscover myself artistically. Then I went back and edited the whole thing a couple years later, to make it better (and expand it by about 20k words).

It became a series because I had requests for sequel scenes. Again, a couple one-shot ideas spiralled, and I merged them with another premise that had been kicking around in my head - Adrien, years later, trying to heal from everything as an adult and find himself as a father with his own teenage son.

That then spiralled again, and I ended up exploring Felix in depth, too, and pushing all the sentibeing stuff to extremes. The whole concept for Book 4 intimidated the hell out of me as soon as I thought of it. I was so worried I wouldn't be able to do it justice. Writing it was sometimes physical torture. But in the end, I think Book 4 contains what might be the best chapter I've ever written for anything in my life.

Still, the saga continues! Book 5 starts posting in 4 weeks. I've set myself another crazy challenge with that one, but I am determined to pull it off. I also have ideas for a few one-shots to collect in a volume I'm calling Book 6. The series is going to be like 700k words by the time I'm done. Maybe more. Will I ever truly finish this thing? I don't know. I fell so hard into the universe I created, and it's going to be hard to let it go. I fully expect to cry when I post the epilogue to Book 5.

Book 1 was also how I really got into this fandom and started making friends. Honestly, that book changed my life. Yeah...I'm gonna cry.

Dreaming Wide Awake

This was my follow-up to the S5 finale. The show is now going its own way, but I'm still so proud of how all the tension and emotions turned out in this fic. Again, the story is complex. It's also really surreal, and I think the battle scenes are some of my best. I was soooo nervous about the reader response to one of the big moments in it, but the unanimous reaction was everything I'd hoped for.

How the Heart Learns to Beat Again

A backstory from Nathalie's POV. It starts with her at age 25, as the sole survivor of an old magical order, going on extraordinary adventures seeking legendary artefacts. Then she meets the Agrestes, loses her magic, and gets roped into a new crazy world.

The story also explores Gabriel and Emilie, Colt and Amelie, and Adrien and Felix's creation / infancy. Book 2 (covering Emilie's death and how Gabriel and Nathalie start using the butterfly and peacock) starts posting on Monday. I think these fics are possibly the most mature writing I've ever done. There's a certain 'voice' to them that stands out from my other writing.

Finding a Way (Jurassic Park AU)

This is my most successful fic, so far. It's half goofy / romantic and half tense / action - with a lot of gore. I thought it would be total crack, but it took on a life of its own and became much more serious. There was something magical about how it all came together. I'm planning a sequel, but I need to get through a few other big fics first.

Voyage! Tales of the USS Miraculous (Star Trek Crossover)

This is so far from finished, but I'm having a blast writing it. It's basically all planned out and going to be mammoth when it's done. There's a little of everything in it, and you don't need to know Star Trek to understand it. I'm loving the reader speculations over what might be going on.

Okay! That's my list. Tagging @raspberrycatapult @kuromori4 @cardiac-agreste @mysticraven20 @trinketsinthesun @hamsteriffic @jigglypuff1994 @fandomofone

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Hey y’all guess what?!? :) it’s time for a new episode of Bedtime Stories With PCE!!!

Who ordered some old man yaoi? That’s right, this one is set right after If Heaven And Hell Decide, with a sick Kyle, worried Stan, the best little immortal cat of all time, adding injury to illness, two middle aged men being massive fantasy dorks, all that goodness. Very sorry to my favorite arthritic ginger it will happen again, very sorry to his extremely concerned husband.

And y’all. I’m dedicating this to the Sickfic Queen herself, @alwaysinstyle who consistently kicks ass and gets stoked about style taking care of each other with me. Ana I love you so much and I’m so proud of you. All the people in your corner, we have you covered.

Also OFC the rest of the RANT homies have been subjected to random snippets of this over the past 2 weeks or so (jesus my sadsack ass needs to get some motivation back how has it been two weeks) but hey I will always be obnoxious when the mood strikes me and this long ass monstrosity is FINALLY done!!! Thank y’all fr for putting up with me.

Here’s •Well, That Would Be Pretty Odd•

A subtle knock at the door drew Stan’s attention and Kyle from uneasy rest. His husband’s head lolled exhaustively in his hand, still drained of energy and, according to the screen displaying his vitals, running a pretty high fever. Stan kept one arm protectively over him and turned to the door. “Yeah?”

The doctor entered, shutting the door behind her. “Hey, guys, how are we doing in here?”

Kyle pulled up slowly, clearly emotional, like he always got when he was sick. “Can I go home yet? Moose needs me.”

“Our cat,” Stan explained. “He’s worried he scared our cat.”

“I did.”

“Scared the hell out of your husband, too, sick as you are. It says on the chart you guys filled out that your blood sugar was low enough to potentially trigger a seizure. If he hadn’t acted as fast as he did, you’d be even worse off than you are.”

Kyle slumped back into Stan. “He always rescues me,” he murmured.

Stan felt like crying. “I’m your knight when you need me, dude.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, what’re we working with here? Stomach flu, dehydration, complications because of the diabetes, all that, right?”

“Right. Kyle, we have you on antivirals and fluids via IV for now, and I know you’re eager to get home-“

“-he hates hospitals-“

“-I hate hospitals.”

The doctor smiled kindly, even after getting interrupted. Stan liked her. “We’re keeping you overnight at least, but if your vitals are still stable and your fever is less than 102, we can send you home.”

Stan knew Kyle appreciated being the one addressed about his own health. This doctor could read the room, that’s for sure. Kyle nodded tiredly, eyes closed.

“How about when we go home? What’s the plan?” Stan inquired, tired as fuck himself but making an exception for Ky, always.

“Fluids, rest, anything with nutritional value that can stay down. Your friend in the waiting room mentioned orange juice as you guys’ go-to when Kyle’s having trouble with blood sugar? And he said you’re always diligent about keeping an eye on his health.” She was definitely addressing Stan now, since Kyle had clearly relinquished responsibility for the time being, knowing Stan had him covered. Hell yeah he did. “Any further complications; if you catch the bug too and can’t take care of him, another bad sugar drop or fever spike, and you guys come right back here. But at this point, it’s looking like this is something manageable from home, fingers crossed.”

And Stan had every finger crossed. He’d take care of Kyle, just like Kyle took care of him. Even if he was kind of scared as fuck, not having seen him quite this sick since maybe college. Or even when they were kids and he needed kidney surgery. He bit the panic down. Kyle was okay.

“Gotcha. I can spend the night? Spousal rights and everything?”

“You won’t convince him not to stay if you say no,” was Kyle’s muffled reply.

The doctor laughed. “I won’t make you leave. The last thing I want is either of you worked up, especially you, Kyle. If you need your husband with you to be comfortable-“

“-mhm-“

“-that’s not a problem in my book.” She tapped her clipboard with long fingernails. “There’s a call button on the bed if you need anything between the nurses checks, and I’ll tell your friend he’s free to go. He isn’t allowed back here, I’m afraid, but I can also let him know he can be the one to pick you up in the morning, if that’s what you two want?”

Kyle mumbled something that sounded like “like a good neighbor, Tucker is there” to the tune of the state farm insurance jingle. The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, he’s pretty delirious, alright.” A couple quick checks to Kyle’s IV line and heartbeat monitor, and she was gesturing for Stan to lay his half asleep husband back down. “You boys get some rest. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks,” Stan whispered, letting Kyle nuzzle into his chest as she left the room. Once they were alone in the darkened space, he kissed him softly on the top of the head. Kyle was a space heater. But if the hospital staff wasn’t alarmed, they were okay. “I’ve got you, baby, just sleep.”

The next morning, Kyle improved enough to leave and discharge paperwork done, they faced the problem of actually getting the sick man home.

Stan waved off the nurse’s offered wheelchair and stubbornly picked Kyle up because like hell was he losing even a second of contact. That and he took pride in the fact that he was in his 40s and still able to carry his husband.

“Sir, there’s procedure…”

Kyle snorted from where his head was against Stan’s shoulder, coherent enough to be aware but still too weak to insist on, god forbid, trying to walk on his own. “Believe me, ma’am, there’s no way in hell you’re convincing this guy not to carry me. Losing battle, mark my worms- words.”

Someone needed to be home in bed.

The nurse sighed, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth argument. Thank God, because Kyle could out argue anyone normally, but he was fucking tired.

“Just sing me home again, Orpheus,” he murmured into his husband’s ear.

Stan laughed at the reference. “Alright, ma’am, so if we’re all set….”

“Yes, yes, you can go. Hope you feel better.”

Kyle only had a vague recollection of both Stan and Craig yelling at the hospital staff when they brought him in, which was kind of funny to think about. Craig didn’t get worked up about things easily, and Stan was as gentle as they came. But it was nice to know his friend and his partner were willing to act so out of character for his sake. He muttered a “hey, spaceman” in greeting when Stan lowered him into the back of Craig’s car, mid morning sun forcing him to keep his eyes closed.

Craig barked a short laugh, pulling from the parking lot when both his passengers were settled for the short drive. “Someone’s feeling better.”

“I’ll get him set to rights, kick the plague’s ass,” Stan said, softly kissing his husband’s still too warm forehead. “Thanks for picking us up, dude. And for last night.”

“No biggie,” Craig shrugged nonchalantly. “Someone had to keep a level head and it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be either of you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong there. Craig was probably the least prone to getting over emotional person Stan had ever met.

Craig’s husband, however, was the exact opposite. Upon getting home and getting up to bed, Kyle could faintly hear the frantic voice of Tweek downstairs, bringing Moose back from spending the night over at apartment two.

Kyle was nauseous, not to the point that he had been, but nauseous all the same, waiting for Stan to be done retrieving their cat and filling Kyle’s water. He felt weak as shit, and sweaty, which was probably a reasonably good indicator of his fever coming down, but it fucking sucked. And he was going to need some soup or something in him soon so his blood sugar didn’t get so bad again, which was another thing that sucked, because why do flesh prisons require so much maintenance? Why did his body require so much to function.

He didn’t realize tears were flowing until Stan entered the bedroom, hands full with the water, a KMBS, and one of those bottled protein drinks that tasted like chalk. Moose was quick to jump up and pad softly over to him, big blue eyes so worried and sweet as he curled up beside him. Kyle’s two blue eyed boys.

The second of whom was setting the drinks on the bedside table. There was a straw in each, so Kyle wouldn’t have to move as much to drink. It made him cry harder.

“Shhh, dude, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Stan climbed onto his side and grabbed the juice, holding it to Kyle’s lips. “I know you don’t feel good, that’s okay. I’ve got you. Go slow, okay?”

Kyle complied, the sharp taste of salted orange juice helping both physically and mentally. Plus, it’s hard to drink something and cry at the same time, so his breathing was a little less sporadic. A few sips were all he managed before his stomach started rolling, and he shook his head. Stan understood, setting the cup down and pulling Kyle’s face into his chest. “Just sleep, baby. I’m gonna have to check your temperature and levels in about an hour, but just sleep until then, alright?”

“Mhm.”

Stan would take care of him. Kyle would put up a fight, when he had the strength to, but Stan knew from experience that he’d be ‘secretly’ loving being cared for.

The husbands had a couple favorite positions to hold each other in. They’d hold the other from behind, arms wrapped around and poised to kiss an exposed nape or shoulder as a reminder of their presence. They would entangle themselves like they were doing now, they’d let the other’s head rest on their legs, Kyle would perch himself in Stans lap or Stan would drape over him like a blanket. Holding each other was safe. And in this moment Stan wrapped protectively around his sick partner like it was his sacred duty, one hand cradling Kyle’s head from underneath, fingers gently rubbing his hair, the other arm tucking him firmly against himself, feeling Moose’s purrs vibrating where the cat had claimed his place against Kyle’s back, right below the place Stan’s arm was wrapped around.

Stan glanced at the nightstand clock, keeping watch for the next time they’d need to wake up for a check in. About an hour and he’d get the thermometer to make sure they were still headed in the right direction, check Kyle’s levels, make them both something for, well, he supposed lunch at this point, and call the clinic to let his coworkers know that he’d be out a few days for a family emergency. He’d have to let Kyle’s work know too, before his husband tried to go into school still unwell.

Fitfully, Kyle dozed, sweating in his sleep, which Stan knew damn well he’d complain about when he woke up, but personally, he didn’t mind holding a miniature sun, because it was Kyle. Overheated, but still Kyle.

It hadn’t quite been an hour, but the warmth was starting to concern him. He gently kissed the top of his husband’s head, encouraging him to stir.

“Dude, hey.”

Kyle let out a tired whine as indication that he was awake.

“I know, baby. I just need to check your temperature and then you can go back to sleep.”

“I can check my own damn temperature,” Kyle protested, rolling over onto his back when Stan relinquished his grasp around his beloved. He scowled. “I’m all sweaty.”

Stan chuckled lowly. Was he right or was he right. “Gimme a second.”

Upon getting the thermometer and finding that they were still going in the right direction, Stan relaxed slightly. He let Kyle check both his temperature and blood sugar by himself, because it wasn’t worth the impending argument and the last thing he wanted was to make his husband feel helpless. Fever was down, but he definitely needed something to eat soon.

“Dude, do you think you can handle something solid, or you wanna keep sticking with drinks?”

Kyle hadn’t puked in a while, so he felt like maybe something simple, easy on the stomach, would be okay. As much as he wanted to keep going with the safe option of juice and a protein shake, he wouldn’t get better without something substantial in him and he knew it. “I can try. No promises.”

“You don’t need to promise anything,” Stan insisted, leaning down to kiss him on the way out of bed. “But I have an idea, if you’re okay by yourself for a few minutes.”

“Moose is with me. I’m not by myself,” Kyle remarked with a sleepy smile.

Stan snorted and went to change into jeans, last night’s pajamas not exactly ideal attire for walking to the BBQ place a block over. Kyle was weird about food sometimes, but Brendan’s mac and cheese was a simple, safe, Kyle approved bet. He’d probably want it to get cold first like he usually did (weirdo), but sick Kyle was sort of a wild card. They’d see.

“I’ll be back in fifteen, dude, drink some water.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Kyle heard the door close downstairs, slowly reaching for his water at the bedside, one hand resting on their cat’s head. Moose was stretched out along his side, fluffy tail dangling off the side of the mattress.

“You sleepy too, young nastyman?” Kyle asked, setting the bottle down and closing his eyes. Moose purred in response.

Apparently he’d drifted off again, waking up to the rustle of a takeout bag and a strong, smoky smell.

Kyle clapped a hand over his mouth. Ordinarily the smell of brisket and ribs wouldn’t bother him, but in his half asleep state, smelling meat on Stan of all people…

“…Dude?”

“FUCKING CHANGE!” Kyle screeched, staggering up to run to the bathroom, tears in his eyes because the bbq place smell all over his vegetarian husband was wrong and disorienting and he hated being sick and fevers made him sensitive and an asshole and-

Falling hard in front of the toilet, he felt his knee go out. The cherry on top of the fucking cake while his stomach tried to escape his body. Kyle cried out in pain, which was cut off immediately by a wave of sick splashing into the porcelain while he attempted to move and take the weight off his left leg, shaking and already crying because he was pissed and it hurt and he couldn’t catch a damn break. Dry heaving and spluttering, he collapsed tiredly into the alcove between the toilet and the cabinets, one trembling arm draped over the seat and the other hand clutching his knee, eyes shut tightly against the light and the nausea and pain.

“Ky, hey, hey, oh, fuck, baby, shit, did you twist your knee? Okay, you’re okay, hold on-“

Kyle leaned over to retch again, choking out “YOU SMELL WRONG” because that’s all he could manage between gasps.

Stan yanked his shirt off and threw it through the open door into the hallway, past where Moose was watching with wide eyes from the threshold. “Okay, I’m sorry, is that better? Here.” He gently eased Kyle’s hand away from his leg, carefully straightening it out. “God, yeah, it’s already swelling.”

“WHY do I have to LIVE IN THIS GODDAMN FLESH PRISON?!?” Kyle slammed his fist against the floor, frustrated beyond belief. Stan caught his hand before he could do it again.

“Shh, Ky, c’mon. You’re okay, it’s fine.”

Seeing his husband like this, sick, aggravating his bad knee mid vomit, broke Stan’s heart. But he had him. He had him and wouldn’t let go. Was that dramatic? Absolutely. But when the fuck was he not dramatic about Kyle’s health?

“THAT FUCKING STUPID ASS NURSE!” Kyle was yelling. “Sending me sick kids, thinking they were just trying to get out of class, that BITCH!”

“Baby, dude, calm down, man, breathe.”

“YOU’RE ONE TO FUCKING TALK!”

Alright, point to Kyle. Stan sighed as Kyle heaved over the toilet again, expelling nothing but water. They really needed to get something in him before he wound up needing the hospital again. Stan gently rubbed his husband’s back as he hiccuped and cried, clearly feeling betrayed by his body. A few minutes of heavy breathing, and Kyle was pulling back up. “I- I think I’m d-done.”

“Alright dude, I’m gonna get you up now, that okay?”

“Mhm”

Very, very carefully, Stan hauled Kyle from the floor, mindful not to move his knee too much and going slow in case of another bout of nausea. Moose trotted into the bedroom after his dads, obviously distressed seeing Kyle cry and immediately curling back up against the redhead when Stan set him down.

Stan was honestly a little nauseous himself, because Kyle’s frustrated tears never failed to make him emotional too. But he knew what to do here, he reminded himself. Fever was coming down, leg flare up was pretty routine, Kyle would rant it out if he had to and Stan would be his yes-man, and liquids were probably going to be the staple for the rest of the day.

He rolled up a throw blanket and propped it under Kyle’s leg, taking some strain off the irritated joint and kissing his husband’s kneecap when he did so. “You want ice, babe?”

“Yes I want fucking ice,” Kyle mumbled, arms draped over his eyes.

Stan could admit to enjoying taking care of Kyle when he fucked up his knee; pissed off Kyle was cute. “Aw, baby, I got you.” He grabbed the takeout bag from the nightstand too, not knowing if the bbq smell was lingering there too. “I’ll stick this in the fridge for when you want something solid, okay? How ‘bout another Ensure?”

Kyle grumbled something inaudible that Stan took as a yes. Poor thing was so upset. But he had every right to be, and Stan would never be annoyed at him for that.

Downstairs, he debated making his husband a smoothie, but the blender was loud, and his head probably already hurt from throwing up. Instead, he just grabbed an ice pack and a shake (strawberry, still gross but the flavor Kyle hated the least), taking the time to scribble out the nutrition information, just in case. That practice was pretty much habit at this point; he’d started ripping off or crossing out the calories on food for Kyle when they were fourteen, when his favorite person was recovering from his eating disorder, and even if he’d been more than fine for a longgggg time, Stan was prone to reverting to the past. When Kyle wasn’t okay, for whatever reason, food lore got crossed out.

“Dude, you up?”

“Mm”

“Shit, babe.” Stan knelt by the bed to carefully apply the ice, reaching a hand up to thumb away a falling tear. “You just mad?”

“Fucking pissed,” Kyle moaned. “It’s not enough that I have the goddamn plague?!? I have to have to fuck my leg up too? My parents are, like twice our age and even they don’t have fucking arthritis!” Kyle pointed two middle fingers to the ceiling as a ‘fuck you’ to god, which was actually pretty funny, but Stan didn’t laugh. That would only make his husband madder.

“Ky, c’mon.” Stan cupped under his head to kiss his cheek, relishing in the subtle smile that action brought. “And your parents didn’t shred tendons and refuse to do physical therapy.”

“I am damn well aware my goddamn arthritis is my own fault, Staniel.” But he sighed contentedly, adjusting the ice pack before leaning back against the pillows. “That helps. I’m sorry.”

Declaring the anger over for now, Stan climbed into bed beside him. “Don’t be sorry, dude. How’s your stomach?”

“I don’t fucking feel good.”

“I know, dude, can you drink a little water? We have to keep you hydrated.”

“It’ll just come back up.”

“Not necessarily.”

Moose crawled up between his dads, small furry head on Kyle’s shoulder, knowing he needed comfort. Kyle rubbed his face on the cat. “Babyman, did I scare you last night? I did, huh?”

“Dude,” Stan started, “he’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine. Drink something and don’t move your leg.”

“I didn’t shred my tendons, by the way.” Kyle protested. “I just tore some shit a little.”

“Enough that it’s a problem even now.”

“See, you get it.”

Stan laughed. “Quit being a dick and go to sleep, baby. You know you’ll feel better. I’m right here, dude, whatever you need.”

“I’m not being a dick, I’m being contrary.”

“Same difference.”

“Mm.”

God, poor Kyle, pissed off, sick, having a flare up on top of everything else. “Dude, what do you need?”

“Leg hurts.”

“We have a pack on it, dude. Maybe some ibuprofen? You should take some for the fever anyway.”

“It hurts.”

Stan started to gently rub his partner’s knee. “I know, babe. I know it’s hurting.”

“I hit it on the floor.”

“I know you did.”

“Fuck this shit.”

Kyle knew he was being a total dramatic asshole, but he didn’t care. God had fucked him over; he could be a dick. That made sense. “I’m mad, dude.”

“That’s okay.”

And no he didn’t have the right to be mad. Stan was being so sweet. Always. Any time Kyle’s meat suit betrayed him and he got upset about it, Stan was there, doting and adorable as ever. “I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep.”

“Something bad’s gonna happen.”

“Oh, dude.” Stan wrapped around him, carefully. “We’re not OCD spiraling. We’re not. A little rest, alright?”

In actuality, Kyle was too tired to argue.

It had to have been a few hours when Stan felt Kyle stir against his chest, swinging over to get out of bed… and promptly falling with a loud “FUCK!”

“Ky?”

“I FUCKING FORGOT ABOUT MY GODDAMN LEG!!!”

Stan sprang off the bed then too, getting on the floor beside his hyperventilating husband. “Dude, shhh, okay, okay, straighten it out.”

Sobbing, Kyle did. “D-don’t, freak, okay? I moved it weird, that’s all.”

“It’s fine, dude. Look at me. I’m not freaking out.” He was just doing a good job hiding it. Stan hated seeing Kyle cry, emotional, probably still feverish and nauseated, trying to get up in the middle of the night and falling on his knee, just the perfect storm of fucked up shit. But Kyle needed to stay calm, above all else. “What did you need, dude? Let me help you.”

“Water,” Kyle mumbled dejectedly.

“And guess what? You have me for that.” Stan carefully felt around his husband’s leg. “Can I turn a light on?”

Kyle responded by throwing up into the trash can, which had Stan gagging too. Fuck. Honestly, he was surprised he lasted so long without sympathy puking. “Hold on, baby.”

Stan rushed to the bathroom to empty his own stomach, somehow only just noticing that he still hadn’t put a shirt on from earlier. And Kyle hadn’t said anything about him wearing “outside pants” in bed, either, which was probably the best indicator of how sick he was.

Flushing down the panic induced vomit, Stan stood and glared at his reflection while he rinsed his mouth out, gulping a few handfuls of water from the sink. He had to keep it together. He needed a plan. Okay. Get Kyle back in bed, check his temperature and blood sugar, go downstairs to fill up his water and feed Moose, go from there.

Kyle had curled up on the floor back in the bedroom, and Moose had the zoomies. Stan sighed.

“Dude, okay, let’s get up.”

“Moving sucks ass.”

“I know it does, babe, but the bed is better than the floor.”

“Quit being right,” Kyle mumbled, allowing himself to be helped back under the covers. Stan snagged his readers from the nightstand, flipping on the lamp and grabbing the thermometer too.

“Okay, melmë, let’s see.”

Kyle smiled a little. “You look like a dad.”

“I am a dad,” he reminded him. Even if he’d bemoaned needing reading glasses and his body getting softer with age, his sentimental side was happy he had made it this far in life, especially with Kyle at his side. “Our son is bouncing off the walls as we speak. Open.”

Down to 100.3, thank whoever the fuck was up there. Maybe he should be thanking Kyle’s God, not having any attachment to one of his own. When he’d first started AA and found that part of the whole thing was putting things in the hands of a higher power, he had posed the question of what to do if you weren’t particularly religious to his sponsor. Mark had said “hell, put your faith in the doorknob if you want. Got you in here, didn’t it?”

“What’s the damage?” Kyle inquired.

“Definitely better. You want to check your levels or can I?”

Kyle slowly opened his eyes. “I got it, sweetheart, you’ve been doing so much.”

“Because I want to.”

“I’m difficult.”

Stan brought Kyle’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. “It so isn’t your fault that you got sick, or that you hurt your knee, or that you have diabetes. In sickness and in health, right?” Kyle’s fond grin only grew, and Stan decided to let up on the overbearingness. He snatched Moose up quickly on the cat’s next lap around the room. “I’m filling your water and feeding the dragon, okay? Be right back.”

So he had sweat out most of the fever, it seemed like. Judging by how sticky he felt, Kyle was fairly certain he was over the worst. At least in terms of the fucking stomach flu. His leg was a different story.

It was dim in the bedroom with only a sliver of moonlight slipping through the window, and the soft light from the lamp, but he could feel that he’d aggravated his knee pretty bad. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. The cartilage felt like it was grinding when he shifted. Kyle groaned in frustration, debating trying to hop over to the closet for his brace, but deciding against it, because Stan would flip his lid if he saw him standing. And considering what his blood sugar was at, being vertical was a bad idea anyway.

Said husband returned to the room. “I come bearing gifts for the king!”

Dork. Freshly refilled water, a KMBS, sleeve of crackers. Stan presented the juice. “Your elixir, melda târ. And-“ he beelined for the top of the closet, clearly having read Kyle’s mind.

“Thank you, my most dutiful and trusted of knights.” Kyle let him secure the knee brace, watching as those careful, strong, gentle hands worked, as Stan leaned down to kiss his leg when he was done. His Stan. His sweet Sir Marshwalker.

“Oh, shit, dude, are you crying? Does it hurt that much?” Stan was up by his face again. Kyle shook his head.

“It’s not that; I just- I really fucking love you,” he sobbed.

“Aw, baby, come here.” Stan climbed into bed and wrapped around him again, avoiding touching his husband’s stomach or leg. A little jingle of Moose’s collar announced their boy’s return to the bedroom, a tiny *prrrt* as the cat settled back at Kyle’s side. “You’re not as warm as you were, Ky, I think you’re getting better. That’s good, my love, you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Kyle murmured against him, damp eyelashes tickling Stan’s chest. “You still don’t have a shirt on.”

Stan laughed. So he had noticed. “You complaining?”

“You know I’m not.”

[alpydk]

So BPD/EUPD (my essay)

I said I'd make a post - Not BG3 related in any way, so ignore if you're not interested in that. - Warning it's long. -

Also TW (sui, s/h, MH...etc...)

BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) / EUPD (Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder)

I only got diagnosed in 2022 - late for most who get this, but looking over my life, there are a lot of big red flags that show I should've got diagnosed earlier. Going to be from my life with it, can't speak for the others with it, so hey, this is how it is for me. Like all illnesses - It's A sPeCTruM!

So I'm EUPD type Borderline under the DK rules. Some argue there is this 4 types things but there's no research at all here for it. They treat with meds (useless for me I've found) and DBT (basically used for mental illness, it feels like.) - I am raw dogging life thanks to circumstance which explain why I can be a little tetchy at times.

To be diagnosed, you must fulfil 5 of the 9 criteria below (which honestly feel so fucking vague and overlap with so many other conditions basically anyone could be diagnosed it feels like.) There are a number of people who find they're actually AuADHD / CPTSD etc and yeah, BPD can be a problem once it's on your file, so find a good doctor who knows their shit. This is not a fun condition to have. Around 10% of people with BPD are estimated to die by suicide, a rate far higher than the average. - Fun right!

The 9 criteria are:

Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment (Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behaviour covered in Criterion 5) - For me, I cut people off instantly or even before I get to know them. It is simply easier to be alone than risk being abandoned. Backwards isn't it? - If you've got into my circle somehow you're probably off the wall fucking nuts (like me). I will push people away to prove I'm right and that they will abandon me because that's easier to manage.

A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterised by alternating between extremes of idealisation and devaluation - When I had my break, I became obsessed with a guy I knew. His emotions dictated my emotions. If he was happy, I was happy (you get the picture.) - If he worried about me, I felt validated and so I spiraled. How worried could I get him to be? When he didn't answer or didn't reply in the way I wanted, he became an asshole in my world. (splitting) Instantly he'd be cut off, or he'd be goaded into speaking with me until I was happy with him again. This went on for months.

Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self - See Nana. This is a difficult one to explain without it getting depressing. I have no concept of who I am as a person. If you ask about core values, I don't know. If you ask about hobbies, I'll usually mirror what's being presented in front of me. I have been so conditioned growing up to hold back that I build no connection unless it is acceptable, and now I'm older, I'm basically lost playing in masks. Yeah, enough on that...

Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g. spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating) (Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behaviour covered in Criterion 5) - Binge Eating and spending are my big two. I did drinking when I was younger. Sex is.... a topic...

Recurrent suicidal behaviour, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behaviour - I have not S/H'ed in over a motherfucking year! Does that mean I don't want to? Fuck no. I just don't have access to it.

Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g. intense episodic dysphoria, irritability or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days) - Like a fucking seesaw. You'll see it on my feed. Major depressive angst and then I'm wanting to fuck Rugan and Gale in some sort of super masc sandwich, all in the space of 3-4 hours. When I say a mood will pass, I fucking mean it.

Chronic feelings of emptiness - yeahhh. Self explanatory, right?

Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g. frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights) - I lose my shit pretty often. I've learnt how to bring it down, like I'm not one for temper tantrums and public displays. It's all internal and brewing constantly. Take, for example, the other night. I lost my shit over something really minor (simple insecurities causing me to lash out. I have since blocked the offender like a mature moron, even though they probably don't realise or even understand why. I'm still angry at them though.) - Either way, gives an idea of what it's sort of like in my head.

Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms - This hasn't been as big a problem as it was during my breakdown. At that point, I'd travel to work and could not tell you how I got there. I still have moments of dissociation which are problematic, but it's manageable.

Anyway - That's the 9 and as you see, I get a nice big tick next to each one. People with BPD pretty much always have a nice trauma backstory to boot as well.

Personal things that bother me. Someone questioning my diagnosis. A big thing with BPD (at least for me) is validation. Having someone say my diagnosis could be wrong doesn't help me when my sense of identity is so fucked. I trust my doctors. They were thorough and they have so many more years of experience than google.

The other thing is the "my ex had, my MIL had..." Did they? Or are you just doing some arm chair psychology to explain why they were a jerk and as such preventing people like me from getting real help due to stigma? On this note - 7 psychiatrists I went through before one would even agree to see me, simply based on a potential diagnosis. Patients would be easier to work with if Drs didn't have preconceived ideas before we walked through the door.

Oh, one last thing of annoyance - FP's (Favourite person) - I fucking hate this term. You see, the obsession thing earlier - That's technically what this was, but thanks to tiktok and other social media sites some people like to RP mental illnesses now and FP's are their fucking lives. I just.... bug bear rage there.

So yeah, that's me. That's my essay on my mental health and over sharing for the week, and possibly an explanation for why things have been so erratic recently.

[alj4890]

One Night in Cordonia

Chapter 4: No Retreat, No Surrender

Series: One Night in Cordonia, a @choicesprompts Round Robin Event.

Fandom: TRR so far, but others could be added in

Pairings: Various

Word count 1,238

Rating: Mature

Warnings: talks about sex, innuendos, language

A/N I've had a blast with this, especially after the panic died down knowing it was my turn 🤣. Thanks for including me 😘

Next author: @karahalloway

The dealer once again crunched his snacks gleefully. “My dude, that is what we call sex pollen!”

*****************

Olivia coughed as she balled up more of her skirt to cover her nose and mouth. Her eyes narrowed upon the multiple sets of bodies writhing in ecstasy around her. While she side stepped her way around them, she tried to keep her mind clear of the powerful effects of the gas.

Someone in here has to still be in their right frame of mind, she kept repeating silently to herself.

She needed to find them and try and figure a way out without getting caught by the masked men. As she walked through Ramsford, she glanced back at the sight of Madeleine riding Riley's little press secretary. It was odd that after the first masked men came in, he'd followed a little while later wearing one too.

Not paying attention to where she was going, she bumped into a solid form and nearly tumbled to the ground.

"You okay?" Maxwell asked, grasping her around the waist.

"I'm fi--where are your clothes?!"

"It's a party." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "You know I always strip down by the end of the night."

"Right." She rolled her eyes. "But it isn't the end of the night yet."

"Everyone else started doing it." Maxwell shrugged. "I couldn't let them all get the drop on me this year."

"Nevermind." She involuntarily snuggled closer within his arms. "Did you notice the gas that was pumped in earlier?"

"Yeah. I had a fog machine set to go off at midnight. It must have somehow gotten triggered earlier." His dimples deepened with his grin. "I had the most epic strip tease planned where I come into the room at the beat--"

"It isn't fog!" Her cheeks heated with the thought of him stripping and dancing. "Look at everyone! Does this happen when fog rolls in?"

"Not usually." He mumbled, seeing that this had gotten completely out of hand.

"Whatever is in this gas, it is making everyone react like this." She brushed her body against his. "Why aren't you affected?"

"Huh." He scratched the side of his face while looking about. "I have absolutely no idea."

Maxwell grasped her arms to keep her still.

"Um, Liv? You're starting to act like them."

"I know!" She snapped, trying to get a grip on her baser emotions. "It's taking all my willpower to not knock you to the floor right now."

"Really?" His grin grew wider. "Then what would you do?"

"I would rip my dress off and then--NOW IS NOT THE TIME!"

"Seems like the right time to ask that." He teased.

"Dear God. Of all the people still in their right minds, why are you the only one?" Olivia cried out.

"I don't know. Maybe I'm immune."

He grabbed her hand to take her to a place without people copulating to distract them.

"Could you put some clothes on, please!" She pleaded, her eyes darting to his extremely toned backside.

He glanced over his shoulder and noticed where she was staring.

"We'll head to my room."

"Yes, please."

Olivia didn't know if she was begging him to take her there for his clothes or for an actual bed to begin to do all the wicked thoughts she was having.

You're having them about Maxwell Beaumont, she reminded herself. Maxwell, did dance really make his body this desireable, Beaumont.

Maxwell led her up the back stairs. They stepped over the few servants who had gotten hit with the gas, while also ducking under a rather adventurous noble and acrobat.

"You know?" Maxwell shut his bedroom door behind her. "This kinda reminds me of this one party I went to."

"What happened?" Olivia felt unusually hot in a room only lit by one lone lamp.

"I was in California and got invited by this group of hot models to come party it up in Malibu with them. It was some kind of rager."

He slipped on some silk boxers then searched for a pair of pants.

"Anyway," he continued, "this fog machine started up and the whole place just went full on orgy. It was wild!"

He turned around while pulling on a fresh button up shirt. His jaw dropped at the sight of Olivia standing in front of him completely naked.

"Then what happened?" She reached past him for a magazine and began to fan her heated body.

"Umm...well...the group I came in with kinda piled on me and we had our own orgy outside at the pool."

He stumbled back and hit his dresser when Olivia draped her arms around his neck.

"Did you ever discover what it was that triggered it?" She pressed her lips to his throbbing pulse point then trailed them down his body.

"Some kind of sex pollen, I think, is what the host said. Makes all your inhibitions drop but notches your sexual desire to like a thousand."

"That makes sense. Whoever pumped this in here must have used that. But why?"

She slid her hands along his abs, trailing her nails up and down his chest.

"Is that a hippopotamus?" She blinked at the unusual tattoo.

"Yeah."

Somehow that image of the baby animal made her mind clear for a moment.

"Oh god! Why didn't you stop me?!" She snapped, moving quickly away from him.

"You caught me off guard!" He jerked his shirt closed. "Plus we were talking."

"When have I ever caressed and kissed you while talking?!" She demanded, snatching up her clothes.

"In reality, never." He mumbled.

Olivia huffed as she tried to zip her dress.

"Wait a minute. Why did you stress in reality?"

"Umm. Okay." He ran his hands through his hair. "You may or may not be the source of all my fantasies."

"Maxwell!" She could feel the need to get undressed again taking over.

"What? You're gorgeous! We both like playing with sharp objects. You scare me just enough to where I know sex would never be boring. I've pictured us getting--" He confessed.

"STOP!" She slammed her hand over his mouth. "Not another word about what you've imagined."

"Sorry!" His muffled response was said into her hand.

"Damnit!" Olivia moaned over the feeling of his lips and stubble brushing against her palm. "Kiss me. But just once!"

Her hand slid up into his hair right when his mouth slammed down on hers. She was surprised at what a good kisser he was. His tongue tangling with hers made her want more. So. Much. More.

He clutched her close to him as they broke apart for a second. Every part of his body screamed he take advantage of the situation to finally live out his fantasies while she was unable to control herself. Then his conscience reminded him he wasn't that type of guy.

His breath was ragged as he reminded her they needed a plan of action.

"You're right." Her chest heaved with deep breaths.

She couldn't stop staring at his mouth, imagining all the delicious things it could do to her body.

"Liv?" Maxwell hesitantly asked.

"Right. Save everyone." She repeated to herself. "Then make you use that mouth of yours all over my body."

"Whoa." Maxwell breathed. "You want that too?"

"STOP TALKING!" She roared. "Or I will be forced to hurt you!"

"Oh yeah?" He grinned at her.

"Yeah." She gripped his arm. "Out. Now."

"Where are we going?"

"To see if there is anyone left who can help us." She propelled him out into the upstairs hallway.

[hetalia-club]

Finally i don't feel alone in thinking the fandom is toxic, because I had to deal with a horrible amount of ableism (for literal disabilities I have and apparently someone thought I was incontinent and basically compared incontinent people to diaperfuckers) and even still I have to hide behind anon due to the fact the fandom also has a problem with stalking too, since i have been stalked by people who made private accounts around me and screenshotting everything I said to the point I had to actually talk to someone from the Trevor Project because I genuinely did not feel safe

apologies for the rambling, this fandom isn't normal about disabled people

Honey I'm so sorry :(. Yes people are mean and something about this fandom normalizes it. Idk what it is exactly. People say it's 'always been this way' and while that's true it HAS gotten WORSE. mainly because the fandom is smaller and the assholes just sort of all form a cult together and thrive off each others negativity. They say the people with the worse opinions are the loudest and that couldn't be more true within this fandom.

Also the ability to go fully anonymous on this sight is both a blessing and a plague. I do feel that there SHOULD be a way to find out who the anon was. I myself have been consistently harassed by a Spain kin for almost 5 years. It used to really get to me and it doesn't anymore. I truly just no longer give a shit. I went on Hiatus for 2 years and they CAME BACK! Like they were waiting in the shadows and like a bond vilian just turned in their chair and were like "well well well...". It's just kind of funny if you think about it I live rent free in their dome and they don't even know me. An I can't block them because they are always on anon. So I just delete it and carry on with my life. Last year my therapist diagnosed me with Avoidant Personality Disorder and it answered a lot of questions I've always had about myself. Which means I am an extremely shy person chronically so. I take things to heart even if I shouldn't. I feel things very deeply for myself and for other people and animals. My therapist taught me some tools to try and help me deal and I got an increase in my meds. One of those was to not watch the news or actively sought out negative events because those destroy me. I just can't take it. It's a huge trigger for me and I wish it wasn't I don't like the idea that I make it about me' in some way. It doesn't really do much but it numbs me a bit and makes me care less. It still affects me sure but I feel too unbothered to care. My AI covers have been a HUGE stress relief for me and a good distraction from my feelings. But again it's just a distraction. They are little boosts of serotonin to make and it makes me happy and it makes me even happier when someone enjoys it.

The reason I tell you this is to help you understand that no one really gives a shit. That sounds harsh but please let me elaborate on that. I mean I have straight told people "I am legit too shy to function and I do not like to talk about certain things because it gives me major embarrassment that can last actual days. Can we find a new topic or maybe pivot." but they don't actually listen to me about it. And I understand that it's hard to remember everyone's little quirks but to constantly have to remind people and for them to just "Oh yeah sorry... anyway like I was saying" really stings. Because of my disorder you can imagine I have an extremely hard time speaking my mind and standing up for myself. I want everyone to like me I don't want anyone to dislike me to a fault. I will ignore my own feelings and emotions to let others speak about what makes them happy even if sometimes it does sting. So I actually very much do know exactly where you are coming from with that. Just please remember that these are strangers online. Yes they can say hurtful things but the second you close teh app they disappear. They don't actually matter. And YES I am fully aware that this is easier said than done please believe me on that.

This fandom does have a serious issue with ignoring and disrespecting others disabilities. Especially some that are not really heard about/normalized much like yours or mine. I 100% know everyone thinks I'm lying about my personality disorder being a real thing If they don't want to understand me I can't make them, which sucks but I have no control over that. I wish it were not that way but we can't change other people and the way they think/ act but we can work on ourselves and how we process harassment. I wish you luck anon, you're never alone on this bitch of an earth, love you <3

[wafflesinthe504]

The Rookie 5x22 Thoughts

Spoilers for The Rookie 5x22 below. If you've watched the episode or don't care about spoilers, please enjoy!

^ Me during this entire episode.

This was easily one of the best finales that I've seen. The only other shows that I've watched have managed to make feel this worried and anxious for the characters during a finale were Agents of Shield and Criminal Minds.

I've been excited for this episode ever since last week when they showed the promo and they exceeded my expectations for this episode. I was on the edge my seat the entire time.

Can I just say how heartbreaking the cold open was. Seeing Celina and Aaron just bonding and talking about DnD was cute and wholesome. Even though I sort of knew what was going to happen I wasn't prepared for how much it would hurt to actually see it. Seeing Celina cover Aaron's body with her own in an attempt to stop the bleeding was so emotional. Lisseth honestly did a great job in the scenes she was in and just portraying the grief and the guilt over what happened.

Everything from Celina fighting to give Nolan the riddle and then staying by Aaron's side as soon as he got out of surgery and trying to encourage him to wake by using DnD metaphors was extremely compelling to watch. Celina was desperate to help in any way possible and I felt like I was just right there next to her during those scenes.

Aaron flatlining at the end leaving him in limbo until the next season will probably be something that just continuously reruns in my head for the next few months until I know he's okay.

______________________________________________________________

When Leah was taken from Nyla and James my heart dropped. I couldn't breathe for a moment, when they found Leah by the tree I was so relieved. For a moment I thought that the Rookie was about go down a really dark path, but I'm glad that they didn't. I don't think my heart would have been able to take it.

_____________________________________________________________

I really enjoyed seeing the Luna, Wesley, and Angela team up tonight. It was a lot of fun and interesting to see the three characters together. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that we've ever seen three of them interact with each other at the same time and it was really great to see them all working with each other.

Angela really doesn't know what a break or vacation is does she? She's really over here trying to postpone giving birth in order to solve a case. Can't blame her though considering she managed to succeed with some help. Once everything calms down I would really like to see a chill episode where Angela, Nyla, and Luna all hang out together, enjoy some wine, (and maybe end up solving a case together.)

______________________________________________________________

The fights in this episode were amazing. John and Bailey's fight at their house was so freaking good. At first I was worried that they would make it so that they would just breeze right through the fight and not take any damage, but man I was wrong. I actually felt like John and Bailey were in real danger and that for once they might not make it out alright. It was a really solid fight scene.

And then of course Tim and Lucy's fight scene. Yeah, I will absolutely be going back to watch that over and over again. I for sure thought one of them was going to end being out for the count. They really fought like a dozen people and managed to make it out alive without getting any major injuries. There are just so many things that I can talk about in this scene. Lucy grabbing the shield and pushing the man down the stairs. Tim with the two batons and beating the crap out of people. Lucy throwing someone over the stairs. Tim ushering Lucy to safety.

Everything was just so good, I can't wait to see season 6 and how everything ends up playing out.

______________________________________________________________

Side notes: The Rookie writers are really good with call backs and there were quite a few of them tonight. Aaron getting shot in the back just like Jackson. And us being able to see Wade's reaction to Aaron being shot and how Jackson's death and Aaron's life hanging in the balance are effecting him.

Tim and Lucy's hug was probably a call back to the first time they hugged at Tim's place after Jackson's death. And then Tim saying 'you know me so well.'

(Also can we talk about that hug and the little kiss that Tim placed on Lucy's head. It was so cute and short reprieve from the rest of the insanity going on.)

Overall, I really enjoyed the more thriller/horror vibes of this episode. I wonder if the Rookie will end up doing more episodes like this in the future or if this is just a one-off. With how dark and serious this episode was I wouldn't be surprised that if the storyline ends up being one that lasts for a significant portion of the next season that The Rookie will end up leaning more towards its drama side than its comedy side for next season. At least for a couple of episodes where this storyline is at the forefront. But we'll just have to wait and see.

______________________________________________________________

Anyways that's it for now hope you enjoyed. If you want come chat with me in the comments about anything The Rookie related.

Until next time have a good day or night!✌🏾

[kinfanfiction]

Charlie Eppes x Fem!Reader - Chapter 6 - Morse Code

A/N: I am genuinely losing my mind. I really hope my writing makes that obvious. /hj

Credit to @iloaveanna for the initial idea for this chapter. I’m sorry if I took it in a completely differently direction than the one you suggested but hey hopefully you still like it!

If you’re reading this chapter and you’re thinking, “Wow this kinda sucks.” I swear I will come back and comb through it multiple times because I really want this chapter to be good. So essentially, if you want to see a better version of this chapter return in a couple days.

Slight TW themes of violence are involved in this chapter.

There’s no Charlie gif fitting for this chapter so here is him being pretty.

SOOOOOO THIS TOOK FUCKING FOREVER BUT I FINALLY FUCKING FINISHED IT???-

     “Something changed, Larry. I looked at her, and I felt something for her I never thought I would. I’ve always admired her, of course. I mean, she’s beautiful, and brilliant, and kind, and she makes me laugh, and feel safe. I mean, she’s perfect, but I’ve always known that, and still I’ve always seen her as my best friend. Not necessarily someone I was…” Charlie sighed, unwilling to finish his last sentence.

     “In love with?” Larry finished for him, grinning at his smitten friend.

     Charlie quickly shook his head. “No, no, it’s way too soon to assume I love her.”

     “Charlie, you’ve known her almost your entire life. It’s not abnormal that you love her.”

     “Larry, it’s far too soon to tell.” He insisted. Larry laughed abruptly. “I know we’ve known each other a long time, but these feelings have never come up until now. So to jump to the idea of love is too soon in spite of that fact.”

     Larry stopped arguing and nodded. “Well, have you talked to her about it?”

     Charlie looked down at the cup of coffee in his hands. “No. I can’t. She opened up to me recently, for the first time in years, and I don’t want to do anything to make her shut me out again.”

     Larry frowns at the suggestion that you are so easily chased away, doubting the concept entirely. “Well, it’s not like you can hide these feelings from her forever, wouldn’t that be you shutting her out?” 

     “You might see it that way, but I see it as a way of maintaining our friendship as it is. Besides, these feelings will probably fade eventually, so why should I destroy what we have for potentially fleeting emotions?” 

     “Yeah. Potentially.” Larry mutters. 

     Charlie had begun to feel extremely defensive at this point, “Look, what do you want me to say?”

     Larry shrugs. “Nothing, yet. You take your time, of course. I understand situations like these aren’t easy to navigate.” He says, putting his hands up to show he wasn’t going to fight Charlie on the matter. It’s his life, after all. 

     Charlie takes a sip of his coffee. “Thank you.” The two sit quietly for a little while, Charlie’s eyes drift towards the view beyond the cafe window. He thought over the conversation, and he thought about his last interaction with you. He thought about how you were in such a hurry to leave the dining room and pack your things. He worried that whatever subtle change in feelings for each other you had shared would continue to scare you away. “Maybe I’ll visit her apartment later, to talk. Not necessarily about any topic in particular, but just, to talk.” 

     “That sounds like a good plan.” 

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     When you had finally begun to regain consciousness, you slowly opened your eyes and took in your surroundings. You realized you’d been tied to a chair, and you were faced in front of a camera. In that moment, you remained alone, but you knew that wouldn’t be the case for very long. Still, you did everything you could to gather information about where you were. Through a pounding headache and overwhelming dizziness, you looked to your left to see a window covered by white curtains, so you could still see light streaming through them. The floor was carpeted, and the room was relatively warm. It wasn’t exactly the harsh environment you’d expected. You’d expected to be in a dark secluded basement where no one could hear your screams. 

     Finally, a tall man returned to the room. He had bright blue eyes, a brown and gray scruffy mustache and beard, with hair on his head to match. He looked old and tired. He himself was not too frightening, but the gun in his hand was. “Oh, you’re awake. Well, then we can get straight to discussing negotiations. I’m holding you for ransom, which means you have only one way out of here, just give me a number of any family members who would be willing to pay $500k for your life, and you’ll be on your way home in no time. Or of course, you can pay the money yourself.” The man spoke in a very professional tone, like this was just a regular business transaction. Meanwhile, your head was spinning. You could barely even process where you were, and now you had to take in what this guy was saying. 

     Then, you had to think. Don’t criminals usually hold people for ransom if they’re rich or they know their victims are connected to or possess something of importance? Was it possible this man knew you were connected to the FBI through Don and Charlie? Would he be suggesting you call family if he did? If there was any chance he thought he was getting any money from the FBI, he’d have to be either crazy, incredibly stupid, or both.

     Then it occurred to you, that’s exactly how you get out of this. Through Charlie, Don, and the FBI. You hated the thought of Charlie receiving a phone call like this from you, so you decided to go to Don first. You give the guy Don’s number, and he calls. “What’s your relation to this person?” He asks for clarification, and you think to yourself for a short moment. You decided there was only one correct answer to his question. 

     “He’s my brother.” Calling him your neighbor or childhood friend just didn’t seem right. He had always looked out for you like he had with Charlie. Growing up an only child, he was the closest thing you ever had to a brother. He might as well know that in case you couldn’t be saved. You could hear the muffled sound of Don’s voice answering the call. 

     “I have your sister, if you ever want to see her again, I need $500k within the next 24 hours.” 

     Don, on the other line, was immediately alert, but also a little confused. The man put you on the phone and demanded you speak. Your voice came out shakier than you’d wanted it to,“Hi Don, it’s Y/n. I didn’t want to call Charlie because I knew he’d freak out, and I know you’ll have to tell him yourself now so just tell him I’m okay right now, just uh, bring the money.” You say the last bit for the man holding you hostage, so he doesn’t think there’s any alternative to him getting what he wants. 

     “You heard her.” The man mutters, before quickly hanging up the phone so it could not be easily traced.

     After he left the room, you began to think about all the things you’d do as soon as you got out of the carpeted hellhole you were stuck in. You’d begun to realize that if you didn’t escape this, there’d be a lot you’d regret in death. Your first thought was that you hadn’t hugged your family members enough. You thought about the Eppes, and it hit you just how bad it would be if you died. It had only been a year since Margaret passed away, you hated the idea of you dying as well, and putting them through more grief than they’ve already faced. Especially with everything you had left to resolve between you and Charlie. You had just started opening up to him, letting him get close to you again, and you knew that there had been a shift between the two of you, but you were still trying to deny that there was a chance you might be developing feelings for him. 

     This wasn’t the first time you’d questioned your feelings for Charlie. The first time was when he came back from Princeton. He’d grown and matured in a way that caught you off guard. Here was this 16 year old guy talking like he was 25, and for some reason you found that strangely alluring. Still, you had no intention to express your feelings then, because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship, and instead you cast off your attraction to him as your teenage hormones acting up. For years you convinced yourself that you’d gotten over the little crush you’d had on him, and now that these feelings were beginning to reemerge, you could no longer cast them off like you had before, and that was beginning to terrify you.

     You began to think of what you would say to him if you made it out of your captor’s home alive. You weren’t coming up with much. You knew you had to be as smart as possible in your current situation, because you refused the alternative of your loved ones going through so much pain. 

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     As soon as the man hung up, Don dialed Charlie’s number and called him. Charlie halted his conversation with Larry to answer. Don let out a shaky, nervous breath as the weight of the situation had begun to sink in. “Charlie.. When did you last see Y/n?” He asks in as calm of a voice as he could manage. 

     Charlie furrows his eyebrows at the question, “The last time I saw her was at the house, she said she was going to pack up, so she might’ve gone back to her apartment by now, why?” He asks, now a little on edge. 

     “Shit.” He muttered. He immediately hung up and gathered a team of FBI members and directed them all to your apartment to search for any signs of who the man that had kidnapped you might be. When they arrived, they could see your car had been left behind, and when they see your bags in the back, it’s confirmed you never made it home before being taken. The team scanned the car for fingerprints, but only found yours. The guy had been careful not to leave behind any physical evidence that he had been there. Then, Don noticed that there were security cameras set up around the apartment, and he quickly checked with the main apartment office, only to discover that there was a lapse in recording from a few hours earlier that had been cut out. His last resort was talking to eye witnesses, which is always tricky. 

     Luckily, in one of the apartments near where you had been taken, an older woman recalled seeing a suspicious looking man sitting in his parked car in the same parking lot where your car was left behind. She didn’t get a good enough look at him to be able to say what he looked like, and she never saw you get kidnapped, but she made sure to note that he was in a black Sedan, and that when the man finally drove away, he seemed to be in a hurry. Don asked her what direction she saw him leave in, and she said he’d turned left on the exit out of the apartment complex. The whole team immediately headed in that direction, until they realized they didn’t have enough to go off in order to find you. 

     Defeated, Don knew he’d have to ask for Charlie’s help, and he knew that his brother would be incredibly scattered knowing your life was in danger. Hell, he was too. He looked at his phone to see about five missed calls from Charlie, and finally answered.

     Charlie was already panicked over the short phone call earlier, but the only reason the missed calls stopped at five was because Larry was there. They had left the cafe and went to Larry’s house so Charlie could attempt to stop overthinking. When he finally got a call back from Don, he answered almost immediately. “What was that call about? Did something happen to Y/n?” He demanded in a rushed tone. 

     Don sighed, “Charlie, Y/n was kidnapped. She’s being held for ransom. We have 24 hours to find her. She’s alive, and she’s alright, but we need your help to track her down.” Charlie’s breath hitched in his throat, and he quickly sat down. He went silent for a long time, overwhelmed with worry. He partially blamed himself for not talking to you more after you’d rushed to pack your bags. Maybe he could’ve kept you from leaving long enough to have prevented this from happening. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe. In the many conversations he imagined having with Don after his first call, Charlie had imagined this as one of them, but he never dreamed that he’d be right. He was always paranoid and overthinking, so he cleared his head, assuring himself that’s all he was; paranoid. Not right!

     Don was very silent with him, waiting for him to say something, but after about half a minute he really started to worry. “...Charlie?” He spoke, finally breaking the silence. 

     All Charlie could say was, “What?” In a breathless voice. 

     “I know this is a lot, but we need you to come down to the office and help us find her as soon as you can.”

     Charlie nodded, and Larry stared at him, feeling very confused and concerned. “I’m on my way.” He said, immediately grabbing his coat and walking towards the front door.

     “What happened? What did Don say?” Larry questioned, following after him. 

     “She was kidnapped.” He spoke, and just saying the words out loud hurt.

     “Let me drive you.” Larry insisted, since he didn’t want his friend waiting for public transportation.

     The two made it to the office, and Charlie immediately combed through the evidence, and he quickly came up with ideas on how to track the black Sedan that the guy was in. He checked all traffic light cameras near the apartment complex, and spotted a black Sedan leaving in a hurry just like the woman had described. He then continued following the car through footage of all the traffic lights that followed, until eventually they lost him. Fortunately, Charlie was a genius, so he had already used the data from the traffic cameras to narrow his location down to a specific area. Unfortunately, with that being all the information they had, the only thing they could look for was a black Sedan, there was no hint from anyone on what his guy looked like. The windows on his car were too tinted to tell. So, the team went searching for all black Sedans with heavily tinted windows in the area. They wound up empty handed. Garages are a tricky thing to avoid. 

     They spent the next few hours looking for anything they could find that could lead them to this guy, just kicking themselves over their lack of success. 

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     For you, the next few hours were excruciating. You had no food, no water, and no way to go to the bathroom. “Why does it always take so long for people to come up with $500k?” The man muttered. 

     “Maybe it takes so long because people aren’t made of money, jackass.” You mumbled quietly in return. The man shot his head up to look at you, rage apparent in his eyes. 

     “What did you just call me?” He said, standing up, gun gripped firmly in his hand. He put the gun to your head, practically seething with anger. “You better watch how you talk to me. Your life is in my hands now. I could kill you right now and kidnap someone else if you’d prefer, but if you wanna live I suggest you shut up and do your part until this is over.” He threatened. 

     Your eyes widen in fear. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I’m an idiot for saying that. I’ll shut up now.” You say in a panicked tone. The man removed his pistol from your head and sat down, still visibly pissed at your comment.

     “Actually, you know what? I’m getting tired of all this waiting, aren’t you? Why don’t we send a video over to your brother, show him just how much trouble you’re in so he’ll hurry up.” The man said, getting up to start recording on the camera that had been staring you in the eyes for hours. 

     As soon as the camera started rolling, he put his gun to your head again, standing out of frame. “It’s been six hours, we’re a quarter of the way to the hour when your sister dies, unless you give me my $500k.” As the man began to speak his threats to the camera, you quickly thought of a way to communicate with Charlie. When the two of you were in grade school, he taught you morse code. You used it often to communicate across the room during class, and now knowing it could potentially save your life. 

     As he talked, you began blinking in morse code, describing the man’s features, including specifics that would make him more easily identifiable, like any moles he had on his face, what he was wearing, the inside of his house, what camera he was using, what gun he had, any details that could help ensure you were found. You played the blinking off as blinking in fear of the gun to your head, and the guy was too wrapped up in his own fury and impatience that he didn’t catch on to what you were doing. You tried to hold it together, but soon enough the stress of the whole situation set in, and tears began to stream down your face. Of course, still trying to survive, you used your tears to help sell the need for such excessive blinking. You blinked away all your tears as they poured out, set on communicating everything you could to Charlie, Don, and the FBI.

     When the video was over, the man moved the gun away from your head and left the room. He was gone for a long while, presumably making sure his video was untraceable and sending it to Don. In the meantime, you calmed yourself down. You did all you could, and you hoped that as long as they did the same, that would be enough. You wished you had more definitive clues that could lead them to finding you, but you had been unconscious the whole ride over, so you had no street names or details on the exterior of the house to give.

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     After spending hours going over everything a thousand times over, trying to figure out where you could be, Don finally sat up as soon as he received an anonymous message, with the video of you in it. He connected it to his office computer, and immediately had another agent try to trace it, but there was no luck. Charlie ran over to see the video, and his heart shattered on the spot. Seeing you so afraid for your life shook him in a way no other case had. He hated seeing you like this. He wanted so badly to find you and take you home and make sure nothing like this ever happened to you again. He focused in on every detail of the video, the background, the sound of the man’s voice, anything that could lead them to you. Then, as he watched closely, he noticed how much you were blinking, at first he’d assumed it was because of fear, but then he identified a pattern to the blinking, and recognized the pattern as morse code. He scrambled for a piece of paper, and began writing down the words.

     He was so relieved they finally had an appearance description they could use to find the guy. One of the agents sketched out the words you’d used to describe the man as best you could with such limited time. After they had an image, they started looking for matches in the area Charlie had narrowed your location down to, and they found a guy with every feature you’d described, including a mole next to his nose. Then, Don checked his records to see if they could identify what car he had for confirmation, and sure enough, the man owned a black Sedan. That was all they needed to go down and find the guy. Don gathered a team of agents, and Charlie followed. Usually, Don would argue against him coming to the scene of a crime, but he couldn’t refuse to let Charlie come get you. He knew he needed to be there.

     The whole ride over, Charlie couldn’t stop fidgeting with his hands as he stared out the window. Even though the car was speeding the entire time, he felt so anxious that 90 miles per hour just didn’t seem fast enough. As they came up on the area of the man’s address, all cars slowed down to a normal speed and parked in various spots surrounding the house. They wanted to be as quiet as they could as they snuck into the man’s house to get you. They kept in mind that he was quite possibly still in the house, and that he had a gun. Megan went into the garage to confirm he was the owner of the black Sedan they had been searching for, and sure enough, as soon as she walked in, there it was.

     Don made sure Charlie wore a bulletproof vest before they went inside the house together, walking in through the back.

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     The man returned and stayed seated in the chair he’d set up across from you, next to the camera, making sure you made no sudden movements trying to escape. Then, the two of you both heard the faint sound of shuffling from downstairs. Relief ran through you, but not for long. As soon as the man felt that someone was in the house, he got up with his gun and put it to your head again. “Any sudden movements and you’re dead, got it?” He threatened. Your whole body tensed, and you dared not move, save for the fact that you had begun to shake involuntarily. 

     As soon as an agent knew you were in immediate danger, movement got a lot faster for the team. Three agents burst through the front door, then, running up from downstairs, Megan, Don, and Charlie all ran up to get you. “FBI! DROP THE GUN!” One of the agents yells. 

     “Take one step closer and I’ll shoot.” The man threatened immediately, attempting to continue holding his ground.

     “You try that, you die.” Charlie spat. Which wasn’t just a statement sourced in the rage he felt, it was true. There was a sniper outside waiting to shoot the second the man so much as attempted to pull the trigger.

     “Is $500k really worth it?” Megan questioned.

     Suddenly, the man burst into crocodile tears, realizing he’d lost. “You don’t understand, if I don’t pay that $500k, I’m gonna be in a lot of trouble.”

     Don shook his head, “You’re already in a lot of trouble, buddy. Now drop the gun and put your hands behind your back. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” The man considered defying him, but he knew even if he shot you and tried to run, he wouldn’t get anywhere. So, he cooperated, dropping the gun and letting Don cuff him. All the agents left to take the guy to the car, and Charlie rushed to untie you. As soon as you were free, you began breathing heavily with a deep sense of relief, knowing that the guy who had kidnapped and almost killed you was now in custody. 

     As soon as Charlie came around to the front of the chair to look at you, you wrapped your arms around him with such a force that it knocked you both back onto the carpet. He instinctively returned the embrace, and you swore he was shaking more than you were. You cried into his shoulder, and he let out a few tears himself. He was so glad he and the FBI had found you. “You’re okay now, I’ve got you.” He spoke in a shaky whisper. He had been so scared that his worst fear would come true so soon within your lifetimes. He thought he was going to lose you, but he didn’t. He gently pulled out of the tight embrace, his eyes wide, and he immediately started scanning you for any injuries, and, with the exception of a few bruises, you were alright. 

     You got a good look at him, and he got a good look at you. You stared into each other’s eyes, both glad you were alive and the two of you were finally together. Then all of a sudden, there it was again. That feeling in the pit of your stomach. Usually it made you want to run away and hide, but in this moment you just felt pulled to him in a way you couldn’t word. “I almost died today.” You said softly, just taking in the truth of the sentence, still in shock. 

     Charlie nodded, a tear sliding down his cheek, “Yeah, almost. But you didn’t.” He lifted his hand and moved the hair that had fallen in front of your face back behind your ear. For the first time in a long time, beyond everything that had happened today, you truly felt safe. “I think I should stay with you a little while longer.” You say quietly, and he smiled softly and nodded.

     “I think that’s a good idea.” He agreed. 

     “All my stuff is back at my apartment still.” 

     “I’ll see if Don can go get it for you, if you don’t want to go back there.”

     “That sounds good.” 

     Then silence fell upon you, and you still continued to feel that magnetic pull towards him. Through all the adrenaline you felt after everything you’d just been through, fear no longer seemed to be a hinderance. Before rational thought could take hold of you once more, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. In no way had Charlie expected that.