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nevadancitizen · 3 months

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-> CH. 6: SOME SORT OF SICK, SELF-INFLICTED SCHADENFREUDE

synopsis: amanda confronts connor about his growing attachments. hank is found near-dead on his kitchen floor and brings about conversations that drudge up bad memories.

word count: 3.2k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: i promise i have a life i just have nothing to do. so double update. possibly triple if i don't crash and take a six hour nap

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

Connor’s mind palace was, for once, a little turbulent. Usually, it was sunny skies and pleasant, not-too-balmy warmth, but today, it’s raining. Not a torrential downpour, but not a light drizzle, either.

He looks down and sees a closed umbrella in his hand. The rain doesn’t bother him, nor does the wet permeating his clothes.

Instead of opening it, he starts walking along the marble that makes up the main path. His dress shoes don’t slip on the puddles that collect on it. Droplets of water collect in his hair and run down the apples of his cheeks to drip off his jaw.

The strange stone glows before him, its reason for existing ever evading him. He kneels and reaches towards it, his skin peeling back in an automatic response. His hand just barely touches it, and it responds with a thrum of energy, as if alive.

He stands and takes a step back, heaving an artificial and unneeded breath. He turns his back on it and continues walking on the path.

Connor comes to a stop before Amanda, who is adorned in whites, greys, and a soft yellow. The bracelets that cover her forearms and the necklace that rests on her upper chest are fragmented white squares, contrasting against her dark skin.

“Hello, Amanda,” Connor greets.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Amanda says, her voice even and cool as ever. “Would you mind a little walk?”

Connor moves beside her and opens the umbrella, then swings it over his shoulder so that they’re both protected from the rain. They start walking, with Connor slowing his pace to match Amanda’s.

“Congratulations, Connor,” Amanda says. Connor turns to look at her just in time to see her faintly smile. “You managed to find that deviant. Tell me, what did you learn?”

“An Officer I’m working with found its diary, but it was encrypted,” Connor says. “It may take weeks to decipher.”

“What else?” Amanda prompts.

“The walls of the apartment were covered with drawings of labyrinths and other symbols.” His eyebrows furrow a little. “Like the other deviants, it seemed obsessed with rA9. The Officer suggested that it was mere superstition, but… I’m not so sure.”

“Hm.” Amanda hums. “You came very close to capturing that deviant. It’s a pity you let it self-destruct.”

Connor would be a fool if he missed the tone of blame in Amanda’s voice. There’s a tiny voice between the lines of his code (that strangely sounds like yours) telling him to snap back. To tell her that it had a revolver, and that it put the barrel to the soft part of the underside of its chin before he had a chance to stop it.

But he doesn’t. He holds his tongue and molds the words to be polite, like his program tells him to do. (And he blames himself, like his program tells him to do.)

“I knew deviants had a tendency to self-destruct under extreme stress,” Connor says. “But I didn’t expect it to use its last bullet to deactivate itself. I should’ve anticipated that – the Officer even told me that it still had a bullet in the chamber.”

“And you’d readily trust the word of a Soviet?” Amanda asks.

“Not any Soviet,” Connor responds. “Just this one.”

Amanda gives a disapproving hum. “You easily go against your instructions when in their presence. They told you to leave their apartment, and yet you insisted on staying.”

“My second-top priority is the safety of my partners, just behind hunting deviants,” Connor says. “There were no deviants present. The Officer was hurt. I simply offered my help.”

“They weren’t hurt,” Amanda points out. “It was just their prosthetic that needed repairs.”

“Like I told them, unsatisfactory repairs could possibly cause worse damage than the initial damage,” Connor says. He sets his jaw as his programming nudges him. “But you’re right. I should’ve listened to their instructions.”

Amanda nods, like she approves of Connor’s self-blame. “How are your relationships with your partners developing?”

“As I grow closer to the Officer, it seems I grow closer to Hank,” Connor says. “It’s like they come as a pair, as unlikely as that is. They don’t mind androids, but refused to elaborate on why Hank despises them. It seems some topics are off-limits, like that and the story behind their half-leg prosthetic. I’ll have to look into it on my own.”

When he looks to the side, Amanda’s stopped a few feet behind him. “We don’t have much time.”

Connor turns to face her fully.

“Deviancy continues to spread. And it’s only a matter of time before the media finds out about it,” she continues. “We need to stop this, whatever it takes.”

“I will solve this investigation, Amanda,” Connor promises. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Amanda glances away, then looks back to Connor. “The Officer just sent you a message about a new case that just came in. They’re asking if you want to find Anderson and investigate it.”

With that, she turns and walks away, her gown and flowing fabrics dappled by the rain.

“What purpose does this serve, Officer?” Connor asks, examining a little toy that dangles from your rearview mirror. It’s a little plastic figure, no more than three inches in height, of Soviet Boy – a little guy dressed politely in a blue shirt, shorts, and a red ascot stamped with a golden hammer and sickle.

“It’s just something I brought over,” you say, your eyes on the road. “It’s Soviet Boy. Don’t you recognize him?”

“He’s the star of many animated shorts geared towards children featuring themes of anti-capitalism and pro-communism,” Connor says.

You laugh and adjust your grip on the steering wheel. “You’re looking stuff up again.”

“I… I am,” Connor admits after a few moments.

“No shame in that,” you say. “I’m… I’m glad you’re trying to relate to me. Not a lot of people ask about the little bits and bobs I have scattered around.”

“Why not?” Connor asks. “You can tell a lot about a person from what they surround themselves with.”

“Please,” you laugh. “Don’t psychoanalyze me. Save it for Hank. Speaking of…”

You pull off the road and park on the side of the street. You put your car into park and switch off the ignition. “We’re here.”

Connor follows you as you walk up the path to Hank’s cute cookie-cutter suburban home. You ring the buzzer for a second, causing a harsh sound to go off inside the house.

“Hank!” You call. “It’s me and Connor!”

No response. You pull away and turn to the potted plants and start digging through the loose dirt.

“What are you doing?” Connor asks, almost incredulously.

“Trying to find his spare key. It was here last time,” you say. “Try the buzzer again.”

Connor holds down the buzzer for more than ten seconds this time. You laugh softly and wipe your hands of dirt.

“Try to find a key by the backdoor,” you say. “I’ll continue rooting around here.”

“Got it.” Connor disappears around the corner.

As you turn to another unsearched-through potted plant, you hear the shatter of glass. Your head immediately snaps up and you run around the side of the house.

You turn the corner just in time to see Connor launch himself through Hank’s kitchen window. You peek your head in and see Connor almost cowering away from Sumo.

“Ah – easy, S-Sumo!” He tries, holding up a hand. There’s obvious nervousness and a slight hint of fear in his voice. “I’m your friend, see?”

You stick a hand through the broken window to lightly tug on Sumo’s drooping jowls. “Hey, big guy! Don’t worry, you big baby. He’s fine.”

You glance away from Sumo and see Hank, sprawled out on the ground. Alcohol pools around him, and you can just barely see the handle of a revolver nearby.

“Check his breathing!” You bark, pointing at Hank. “Roll him on his side! I don’t want him choking on his own vomit!”

Connor runs over to Hank’s side and kneels. You brace yourself and clamber through the window awkwardly, landing on your back with a guttural groan.

“I’m fine.” You brush pieces of broken glass off your clothes, careful not to cut yourself. “How’s Hank? Is he okay?”

Connor looks up at you. “I suspect an ethylic coma.”

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” You snap.

“An alcohol-induced coma,” Connor says. “His heart shows no signs of trauma, but there is slight arrhythmia.”

You kneel by Connor and pick up the bottle of whiskey and the gun. You set them on the table, then look down at Hank.

“Oh, Hank,” you mutter, nudging him softly. “Что же ты наделал?”

“Lieutenant?” Connor says, almost in a sing-song voice. He lightly slaps Hank’s face, causing him to groan and sputter.

“Wake up, Lieutenant! It’s me, Connor!” Connor brings his hand down harder across Hank’s face, causing him to startle awake.

“We’re going to sober you up for your own safety.” Connor helps Hank up, similar to how Hank helped you on the roof. “I have to warn you, this may be unpleasant.”

“Heeey!” Hank slurs. “Leave me alone, you fuckin’ android! Get the fuck outta my house!”

You slot yourself under Hank’s other arm, helping Connor get him off the ground. “Come on, you goddamn drunkard. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“Fuckin’ liar!” Hank groans your name. “You’re – you lied to me! Half-android…”

He then fully turns to you (which seems to be a difficult task, as uncoordinated as he is). He says your name again, softer, but still slurred. “I… I lost your flask.”

“Don’t worry, Hank,” you say. The weight of his flask weighs heavy against your chest in your inner jacket pocket. “You’re okay.”

You look over at Connor. “Where are we taking him?”

“The bathroom,” Connor says. He starts to walk, and you match his pace.

“Sumo!” Hank shouts. “Attack!”

Sumo gives a full-bellied bark, but doesn’t move from where he’s parked on the floor. Hank praises him with a slurred “Good dog.”

You turn the corner in tandem with Connor. “The bathroom’s on the right. I’ll open the door. Will you be able to hold him?”

“Yes.” Connor steadies his grip around Hank’s waist.

You let go and open the door to the bathroom, ushering them inside. You move out of the way as Connor practically drags Hank along.

“Leave me alone, you asshole!” Hank slurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Connor sets Hank on the edge of the bathtub. Hank looks around, confused, then back up at Connor. “Oh, nuh-uh. I don’t wanna bath, thank you.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” Connor pushes Hank down so that he’s sitting in the tub. “It’s for your own good.”

As soon as Connor turns on the showerhead, Hank howls with pleas of “Turn it off! Turn it off!”

Connor lets the torture continue for a couple more seconds before turning off the water. Hank looks around, disoriented, then up at you and Connor. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“A homicide was reported 43 minutes ago,” Connor says. “We couldn’t find you at Jimmy’s Bar, so we came to see if you were at home.”

“Jesus.” Hank groans as he sits up on the edge of the tub. “I must be the only cop in the world that gets assaulted in his own house by his own fuckin’ android…”

Hank points at you. “And you! You didn’t do anythin’ to stop him?”

“You were drunk, Hank.” You shrug. “You know I hate seeing you like this.”

He looks away, shame painted clearly on his face. He tries to stand, but wobbles in place. Connor catches him as he starts to fall and sits him back in the bathtub.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” He eventually asks Connor. “Just go with them and leave me here.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot,” Connor says. “I’ve been programmed to investigate this case, and I can’t do it without you. I need both the Officer and the Lieutenant for maximum efficiency.”

“Beat it! You hear me?” Hank shouts as he pulls himself up to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Get the hell outta here!”

Connor looks at you with some kind of look on his face – the look that lets you know that he’s up to no good. He leisurely strolls toward the exit of the bathroom, slow and deliberate.

“I understand. It probably wasn’t interesting anyway,” he says. “A man found dead in a sex club downtown… guess they’ll have to solve the case without us!”

You hide a laugh behind a cough as Hank mumbles, “Y’know, probably wouldn’t do me any harm to get some air.”

He shifts on the edge of the bathtub. “There’s some clothes in the bedroom there.”

Connor picks up on what he’s asking for. “I’ll go get them.”

“I’ll go check on Sumo,” you say. “Make sure he has enough water and all that. Don’t choke on your own vomit while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try,” Hank mumbles as he drags himself to the toilet.

You wander to the kitchen. Sumo barks at you as you pass by, his tail thumping as it hits the floor. You squat in front of him, scratching behind his ear. He leans into your touch and one of his hind feet repeatedly taps against the floor.

“Oh, scratchy spot?” You laugh softly. “Feel good, Мишка?”

A voice sounds behind you. “What is a ‘scratchy spot’?”

You yelp, shooting to your feet and stumbling backwards. Your feet catch on Sumo and you can feel yourself falling –

Connor catches both your arms, pulling you to your feet. He pulls a little too quickly, sending you into his chest. You move away, not giving yourself time to savor the coolness of his body against yours.

“Are you okay?” Connor asks.

“You keep scaring me,” you say. “I should bell you. Like my cat.”

“I feel like that would be detrimental to the case,” he says. “It would give away the element of surprise that’s needed on some outings.”

You look over at him. “That was sarcasm.”

“I apologize,” Connor says. “I don’t… easily pick up on it.”

“It’s okay.” You turn back to Sumo and kneel down next to him. “You okay, boy? Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Sumo’s tail wags and he pants happily. “Good,” you coo. “I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I did.”

“Is Sumo… normally this docile?” Connor asks.

“Yeah.” You look up at him. “Wanna pet him? He’s soft.”

Connor kneels beside you, tentatively reaching out a hand. He repeatedly pulls back and reaches forward, as if wondering if what you said was true.

“You’re taking too long.” You take his hand and put it on Sumo’s shoulder, then move it in a petting motion. After a few strokes, you let go. Connor continues on his own.

You stand and smile to yourself. Connor looks nice like this. Like he’s a socially-stunted friend (which you immediately question, because – is he your friend?) and you’re teaching him how to interact with the world.

Connor looks up at you, still petting Sumo. “Am I doing it right?”

“Do you see Sumo complaining?” You laugh. “He’d be happy with any affection you give him.”

You look over at the kitchen. The revolver is still on the table. “I… I actually need to go check something.”

“The gun?” Connor asks. He stands, ready to follow.

“Yes.” You move over to the table and pick up the revolver. You flick it to the side, and the chamber opens. The bullet is in the right position to be fired.

“Ask him what he was doing,” you tell Connor softly. Your eyes never leave the bullet.

“Hank, what were you doing with the gun?” Connor calls.

“Russian roulette!” Hank shouts back, his words still a bit slurred. “Wanted to see how long I could last… must’ve collapsed before I found out.”

“You were lucky,” Connor says. “The next shot would’ve killed you.”

“We were all lucky,” you say, just quiet enough for Connor to hear. You pluck the bullet from the chamber and put it in your pocket, then put the gun down. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy cleaning brain-matter-confetti off the walls.”

“Is Hank getting help?” Connor asks. “Psychological help, I mean.”

“No.” You look at the face-down picture frame on the table. You already know whose photo it is. “Not for my lack of trying, though.”

Connor reaches for the small frame, and you catch his wrist. You hesitate for a moment, then let go. He needs to know this. Deserves to know this.

He picks it up, turning it face-side-up. It’s the photo that would’ve been used for Cole’s kindergarten graduation. Just seeing the picture causes a deep pang in your chest, so painful and real you’d think someone had actually stabbed you.

You grab the picture from Connor’s hands, your own shaking a little as you return it to its original face-down position. “Don’t talk about this to Hank.”

“I won’t,” Connor responds, his voice just as quiet.

You grab his upper arm, looking him in the eye. “I’m serious. Please.”

Connor lays a hand over where yours rests. “I promise.”

You bring your hand away and step back, forcing distance between you and him. You look over at the face-down photo. Even just the small frame, the one that holds the photo of that small child hurts to look at.

“Earlier, Hank said he lost his flask,” Connor says. You’re glad for the change in topic. “Why did he seem so apologetic?”

“It was a gift.” You pull out the flask from your inner jacket pocket, handing it to Connor. It still has whiskey in it. “A gag gift. One to make fun of him.”

He examines it thoroughly, running a thumb over the engraving that reads Anderson. “A lot of detail was put into the lettering. And the date on the bottom is November of 2031.”

“For when he turned Lieutenant,” you say. “He used to be really straight edge – only drinking on weekends, and only socially. It was funny because he’d never find a use for a flask.”

“But he did.” Connor looks up and meets your eyes. You look away, your face suddenly hot with shame.

“I should’ve taken it earlier,” you say softly.

“It’s not your fault,” Connor says, his voice soft and compassionate. You really hope it isn’t fake. “You gave it to him years before…”

His eyes turn to the face-down photo frame. You take the flask back, turning it over in your hands.

“Before everything happened,” you finish. “I still feel ashamed. No words will change that.”

“Just keep the flask away from him,” Connor says. “It won’t keep him from drinking, but it might make you feel better.”

“Maybe.” You run a thumb over the engraving. Anderson stares back at you, in neat Courier New. “God, I hope so…”

#riptide writes 🌊#head of false security #dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #dbh x reader #detroit become human x reader #dbh connor x you #connor rk800 x you #rk800 x you #connor x you #dbh x you #detroit become human x you #connor rk800

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deeppink-man · 10 months

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Main post

Good to see you! I Hope you have a wonderful day!

About me

She/Her (But don't care too much about pronouns)

I'm female, but my persona character is male (for no reason)

Adult

Korean (dependent on a translator)

Freelancer

An indie game producer (RPG maker VXAce)

Cartoonist

Animating as a hobby

Commission is always open (I have Paypal)

You can call me on discord (deeppinkman)

I have Cofi page (https://ko-fi.com/deeppinkman)

About My blog

Art blog (My oc and some fan art)

Blood warning

Some horror warning

liking middle-aged characters 😊

My anoter Art tip, Art meme blog [Link]

About my comic

Hitless man (Finish)

Friendly neighbor Mr. Smith (Ongoing)

Disillusionment Diary (Ongoing)

The barber (Preparing)

Chopstick March : Apocalypse Gentleman (remaking)

HUGO (work for a contest)

About my game

Aftermath

Noah and the Sea

Dear Unknown

Red

10 TIME

Resist

Deadsing night

The town of downpour

#main #notice

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monzamash · 2 years

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the good, the bad and what could’ve been — lando norris (part one)

summary – nine years. an age gap that you didn’t know would cause so much heartache. you tell yourself that it’s fine, he tells you that he could give you the world but this was a cautionary tale of what could’ve been if you just let love win. pairing – lando norris x you (female reader) chapter rating – mature (sexual references, language, age gap/older woman) word count – 7k inspired by charlie puth's song called boy. masterlist

part one | part two | part three

Drenched rat was the only way to describe your appearance as the late evening downpour rained all over your parade. It had been one of those days that seemed to go on forever and there was nothing you wanted more than to see that last client waltz out of the studio and into those glorious Friday night shadows. Thank god it was the weekend.

"Any plans for the weekend, lovey?" Rae, your friend and closest co-worker asked from across the room, cleaning up her station for the last time this week.

You shrugged, not really having the mental capacity to even respond but she was being polite and the least you could do was answer.

"Maybe... My little brother's turning 21 and has reluctantly extended an invite my way so just loose plans at this stage. You?"

Rae went on to detail her jam-packed weekend with her husband, who like her was the life of every party. They were freshly married – only 3 months or so but they had been endgame since their college days apparently, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. Positivity exuded them wherever they went and you hated to admit that there was a pang of envy whenever they rocked up to after work drinks together or he dropped off her lunch that she'd left at home. Smitten by each other even after all these years.

All those little things festered away and created a small pit of jealousy in your stomach that you resented. You were happy, right? You had a successful career, a cute apartment and suitors 'round the block waiting for you to make up your mind and just fucking pick one of them. Anyone.

What Rae had was a once in a lifetime kind of love, you thought as the overhead lights were turned off and Patrick motioned for you to grab your shit and go home. The studio was cloaked in darkness as you squeezed through the small door, locked and loaded with an umbrella and a backpack filled with sketchbooks and diaries. And all you could do was pray that they were waterproofed enough to make the journey home.

"See ya Monday – and try to be on time, yeah?" Patrick arrogantly jabbed your way before disappearing out of sight and hopefully out of your life for the next 48 hours – or longer if you could get your shit together.

"Fucking arsehole," You muttered as Rae huddled under your umbrella, brushing your back with understanding.

"He doesn't know how to treat you because you intimidate him," She shook her long, black hair and rubbed her hands together, attempting to generate enough heat to keep warm as the thick fog rolled through the streets.

You shrugged, knowing that she was just trying to lighten the mood and send the week off with a positive – something she always liked to do for you, especially after a week filled with the same old bullshit. You were overbooked, overworked and wishing you were anywhere but here.

"It's nothing a really expensive bottle of wine can't fix," You half-joked and made sure Rae was sheltered before bidding her goodbye, "See you in hell on Monday."

Rae sent you a sullen wave, no doubt wishing she could've cheered you up just a little before going home to her seemingly perfect life. There wasn't much point trying when all attempts fell on deaf ears – nothing could pull you out of the perpetual cycle of drink, sleep, work, repeat. That was how it was and how it would always be and you had come to terms with that.

The short walk home from the studio was a miserable one, which was to be expected strolling the streets of London in the middle of December. But the glimmering lights reflected in the evening downpour and the smell of food cooking – sizzling kebab if you had to really hone in on the smokey, chargrilled scent wafting through the cool air, made it a little more bearable than usual. That didn't mean much considering nothing had brought you joy for months. Not even the discreetly packaged vibrator your best friend had left in a box on your doorstep with a sticky note saying, 'you deserve it'. Tragic.

You grumbled quietly to yourself, noticing a nosy neighbour standing beside the entrance to your building, waiting for either you or a cab. It was always hard to tell. She was an older lady who loved to pry and nothing gave her more pleasure than to bundle people up and have a chat. She was harmless and meant well but the last thing you needed tonight was an ambush.

"Sorry Effie, I have to get upstairs and get out of these wet clothes."

You got in first with the excuse and she simply smiled and waved. Effie knew the trials and tribulations of a London winter since she'd lived here all her life, simply wishing you a wonderful weekend and making you feel bad for brushing her off.

The apartment was cold and dimly lit as you flicked on the kitchen light and chucked your backpack down on the couch with a huff. You hoped it would feel better being home after a long day but you knew you had no food, no company and a cold bed waiting for you upstairs. All things that made it impossible to look on the bright side.

"Fuck. My. Life," You groaned into the fridge and slammed it shut, internally wishing past you had organised something for dinner.

You did as you told Effie and went upstairs to change into something comfier and less wet – a tracksuit set, combat boots and new beanie to cover the bird’s nest you called a "hairstyle". The floor length raincoat you should've taken to work was waiting for you at the front door – almost taunting your never-ending brain fades. You scooped up your keys and scarf and headed downstairs again, hoping that Effie had left to wherever the hell she was going on a Friday night. The fact a 70 year old woman had more of a social life should've worried you more but you were too tired to care.

By now it was a quarter to midnight and there was really only one option to get anything resembling food this late since the closest Waitrose was a 10-minute walk away. You had already burnt your bridge there by rocking up at closing time, forcing them to keep the tills open so you could buy emergency ice cream. You couldn't show your face there ever again.

The bright blue and red lights spilling into the puddles that were still filling from the rain was a welcomed sight. It was the only sign of life for miles, besides yourself and you were grateful having a 24-hour Tesco Express right around the corner. Capitalist convenience was in working order. The florescent lights were not as pleasant as you walked in and triggered the bell hanging over the automatic doors.

A familiar voice sang out your name, greeting you from behind the counter with a half-arsed smile adorning his kind face. You grabbed a basket and gave him a wave.

"Hi Kev," You meekly returned and continued on your way down the aisles, hoping to find a few things that would tide your hunger over until the sun came up.

You stopped at the confectionary section and perused for a second, debating whether a sugar hit this late in the night was the responsible adult thing to do. Your mum's authoritarian voice rang in your ears as you reached out and grabbed a bag of skittles, smiling to yourself as you dropped them into the basket. That smile had been the first of the day, maybe even of the week and it felt nice for a split second to feel the weight lifting from your shoulders.

"Late dinner?"

The voice came from a few steps away and belonged to a smirking stranger. He was taller than you, even hunched over the bargain bin he was rifling through. His hair was curly and sopping wet and it was hard to tell if it was just dark because of that or naturally, but your confused gaze connected with his and the smile that had just been on your cold face had disappeared.

"Excuse me?" You quietly asked and stared into his icy blue eyes, prepared to strike with a snarky comeback or two.

"The skittles," He pointed to your basket, "That used to be my evening meal a few years ago until I realised I was an addict and had to get help."

The kind smile on his face softened your stern expression, "Oh, right... Well I'm glad you found the help you needed. Maybe I should too," You tried to muster a joke and he laughed – loudly.

Nobody laughed like that at anything you had said lately because most of the things you did say were either dripping in sarcasm or laced with self-deprecation. Both weren't cute or endearing the longer it became apart of your personality. But he liked your joke enough to give you a boost of serotonin and your smile was back –even brighter than before.

"I did but you should definitely level it out with something else – maybe something chocolaty," The mystery man nodded towards the rows of chocolate bars lining the racks in front of you, now openly encouraging your bad habit.

His accent was different to what you were used to – British, kind of upperclass, kind of not but laced with something else and you were intrigued. Maybe even a little mesmerised by the way he stood his ground, making small talk to a complete stranger in the middle of the night. He looked cozy too, tracksuit clad like you, giving zero fucks about how you fashionable you looked, or really what anyone thought. Comfy, friendly, warm – he was different.

"Great suggestion but I think this will do enough damage," You replied, making him chuckle again.

"I'll live my junk food fantasies vicariously through you," He said before he turning on his heel and making his way to the register at the front of the store, humming to himself.

You could hear his boisterous yet kind voice as you grabbed a pre-mixed salad and lined up behind him, "Thanks man – have a great night," He said to Kevin who no doubt appreciated a friendly face this late in the night.

The stranger sent one lasting smile your way and said 'hope you do too' before he exited with his bag of almonds and a coconut water. Simple and nutritious – which was more than you could say about your late night dinner choices.

With a genuine pep in your step and your items safely tucked under your arm, you left the shop feeling a lot lighter than you did when you walked in and that was something unexpected. A polite run in with a stranger was an unlikely mood-booster but you were clinging to it while it lasted. That was until you noticed a shadowy figure walking up ahead as you rounded into your street and slowed down, but the person heard your footsteps loud and clear.

Internally cursing yourself for wearing the loudest boots you owned, you relaxed a little when you realised it was the man from the store, who had thrown a thick puffer jacket over his orange hoodie. There was a short pause as your eyes met and a puzzled look flashed across his flushed face, wind blown.

"I'm not stalking you," You said in hopes of easing his confusion, "I live here."

You pointed to the large wooden door that led into your apartment building as you tugged your jacket closed, trying to trap any warmth left in your body. The man turned around and looked to where you were pointing before spinning back with a soft chuckle, "And I live there."

He gestured to the building across the small side street you were both standing in, looking as bewildered as each other. It was your turn to laugh as the penny dropped – you were neighbours.

"Small world," You humorously replied and took a few long strides past him. As cute as he was in the darkness, you were frozen solid and needed to thaw out as soon as possible otherwise you'd be asking him for a ride to the hospital.

"See you around?" He asked more as a question than a statement and you nodded with a small, chattering smile.

"Yep," You simply replied and buzzed yourself into the building, shivering beneath all the layers you'd put on before leaving. Even though you were smiling through gritted teeth and feeling warmth from the fleeting conversation, the several layers of clothing and a genuine smile from a stranger weren't even enough to keep you from hypothermia. You couldn't wait to get upstairs and sit by the heater, wishing you were in some quaint country cabin far, far away.

"Yep... Just keep the peel on until tonight and then wash your thigh with that soap I gave you... Yep, warm water is perfect and make sure you put on a thin layer of cream after that... It’ll probably be a little red but I promise you’ll heal perfectly so don't stress," You reassured your client who had gotten her first ever tattoo yesterday.

Your work was rewarding in so many ways but the pressure of working for someone else came with it's unique challenges. There was nothing you wanted more than to open up your own little tattoo shop with Rae and live your life the way you wanted to – not the way some washed up muso envisioned. With a few more words of encouragement, you managed to reassure your client and begin your Saturday, doing a whole lot of nothing.

The sun was shining at least and you figured you might as well enjoy some of what the day had to offer before your night out later this evening. Your brother had given you strict instructions on when and where his birthday drinks were going to be and you knew then that making an appearance at this thing was now a non-negotiable. You couldn't be seen as the flaky older sister again and you didn't want to let him down – that relationship was one of very few that were sacred in your life and turning 21 was a big deal.

It wasn't long until you were strapping on your heels, sticking a couple more bobby pins into the messy bun you were trying to tame and trotting down the staircase, ready to mingle. You had been single now for much longer than you would've liked and although there had been moments of weakness, nothing had amounted to more than a shitty one-night stand. And it was infuriating.

A complete exodus from dating apps hadn't helped your cause but you couldn't handle another ghosting, especially not from some grubby dude who had no right being anywhere near you. You had standards that were high and there was nothing wrong with that – until a couple of gin and tonics are consumed and you forget you were even human. All of a sudden your standards have left the building along with you and said grubby dude.

"Hey!" A voice echoed from across the street as you closed the building door and glanced around with furrowed brows, wondering who was calling out your way.

That's when you spotted him – the man from last night who you couldn't stop thinking about, even if you didn't want to admit it. He looked different in the daylight and definitely lived up to parts of the vision you'd conjured after your random meeting in the street. The curls were there, as were the light blue eyes that caught your attention but he was younger than you first thought, a lot younger which was an important detail that you'd missed in the darkness. One you wished you had of noticed before summoning those late-night thoughts.

"Hi again," You greeted with crossed arms, trying to cover the somewhat revealing dress underneath your jacket.

You quickly clocked his athleisure wear and concluded that he was probably going to the gym with his friend who was trailing closely behind him. They were both full of smiles as you crossed the road, figuring you had to wait for your cab anyway so you might as well have company.

"I realised after I went in last night that I didn't even introduce myself – I'm Lando," He said and held out his hand for you to shake.

"Well in our defence it was super late and my brain was definitely mush," You replied and grasped his warm hand, introducing yourself.

You'd be lying if you didn't say there was a small, flash of something resembling a spark as you shook his hand. A little buzz of excitement that in the moment you chalked up to being super alone and outrageously horny. Desperate didn't even begin to describe the mess that was your sex life and with that in mind, your snap reaction of having undeniable chemistry with him was probably not accurate. But whether it was a figment of your imagination or not, it was still a valid feeling and you were going to have to bury that shit.

"Nice to put a name to the face," Lando smiled and turned to his friend who up until this point had remained quiet, "This is my father, Carlos."

You knew he was pulling your chain, or at least you hoped he. His friend shoved him in the side, fervently shaking his head, "Clearly not his father but Hola," He sheepishly greeted, voice laced with a thick accent and a smile that would make any sane individual with two eyes and a pulse melt in place.

"I was gonna say that's a little suss but I don't judge without context."

You glanced between the two men with a smirk and held your hands up – making them both chuckle quietly. They also eyed each other, a silent nod following that you couldn’t quite decipher. It was fleeting, almost so much so that if you blinked, you would’ve missed it. Maybe you wished you did because now you were cursing yourself for not taking that body language class at university all those years ago. Pointless and too bohemian for your liking, you thought at the time but now, standing on a rain gutter, you regretted passing such haste judgment. Their unspoken conversation infuriated you internally as Lando looked back at you with an awkward smile.

"Nah, I'm an appropriately aged guy and definitely not a child..." Lando trailed off and clumsily scratched the back of his neck, "Don't know what I mean by that but um yeah, not his son obviously." He was fumbling, frantically trying to change the subject but instead looked down at his dirty white sneakers with a grimace, internally face-palming himself.

You bit down on your mauve coloured bottom lip and tried to conceal the smile threatening to reveal itself. He was cute. Awkward? Absolutely. A little dorky with his oversized hoodie and boyish grin? You could say that but he was still kind of cute nonetheless.

"Obviously," You replied sweetly and noticed your uber pulling up outside your apartment building, ready to take you somewhere you could drown your shitty week away.

"Nice to officially meet you and your dad – see you around." You winked and maintained eye contact with Lando before strutting across the street and jumping in your uber.

You wondered what they said once you were gone and whether you looked better in broad daylight or in the shadows of the night. Your intrusive thoughts were quickly pushed aside when you realised he was more than likely taken, or not interested. Or more importantly, way too young for you to even be having these thoughts about. The good ones never were right for you – there was always something. It was like a curse that you'd picked up somewhere along the way – a curse that forbid any man with a job and their shit together to look your way twice. You were invisible to those men lately and you couldn't help but blame yourself.

With a mission to find someone to take your mind off those negative thoughts, you ordered your first drink, and then your second drink and you guessed it – your third and fourth in quick succession. You swore the dance floor was falling out from under your feet as your brother and his girlfriend scooped you up and called you an Uber. The night was over before it had even begun and you knew you'd be filled with regret in the morning. But right now, you were just lucky to be standing upright.

"Will you be okay?" Your brother asked as you flopped into the back of the car, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Pfft, I'm a professional drinker," You hiccupped and covered your mouth, "I'll be fine – driver, take me home!"

The uber driver mumbled something under his breath and punched in the address your brother had given him, no doubt sick of trashed girls on the brink of vomiting, flailing around in the back of his car. You were a mess and attempting to cover that up by drinking wasn't doing you any favours. In fact you knew it was only going to make you feel worse – especially tomorrow.

"Alright, you're home," The driver said loudly, waking you up from the quick nap you decided to take in the backseat, blaming the warmth for lulling you to sleep.

"Make sure you grab everything."

A scoff slipped past your lips as you gathered your bags, "I know what I'm doing," You retorted, not realising that you were probably slurring every word and most definitely making absolutely no sense to someone who was stone-cold sober.

You closed the door and nearly fell forward over the gutter doing so, trying to balance in the heels that had caused your feet to go numb. The black car drove off and you waved like a maniac, thinking you were hilarious before rummaging through your handbag for your keys. You could barely see through blurry vision and the cold air made every inch of you exposed skin tingle as you stumbled into the brick wall of your building. At least you were home.

"Fuck," You hissed to yourself as you dug through the bag and saw nothing but a dark void. It was an impossible task without the flash on your phone to light the way.

The sound of a car door slamming shut across the street startled you out of your intoxicated rage, causing a few items to tumble from your handbag, including your phone. And there he was again, dressed smartly this time – the mystery man who's name you couldn't quite remember in your drunken state. You turned away and frantically started looking for your keys again, hoping to God he wouldn't come over and see you looking like a complete mess. Famous last thoughts.

"Early night?" His innocent question echoed through the empty street and you closed your eyes, knowing there was no way you could avoid him now – especially since you were locked out of your apartment with nowhere to go.

You bashfully looked up through your fake eyelashes and sent him a lazy smile, "Yeah, didn't quite uhm, end up – end up the way I expected," You managed to stammer through your sentence, hoping he could understand some of what you were saying.

"Well we've all been there... Do you need help?" He asked and looked down at your hands that were full, "Because you've dropped a couple of things in the gutter..."

You looked down and realised you'd dropped not only your phone but also your purse, a powder compact and a small sketchbook, "I'm – I'm a real fucking idiot and I've lost my keys... I think... I think I left them in the uber," You confessed and conceded the obvious. You were locked out of your apartment in the dead of an English winter, dressed like an expensive escort. A disaster.

"Ah, crap. Have you given anyone a spare key?"

The glimmer in his eyes as you looked up from your bag made your heart skip a little in your chest. He was handsome, the curls you’d clocked falling onto his forehead as he stood up, and you couldn't stop staring until he snapped you out of your trance, your name falling effortlessly from his chapped, shivering lips, breath causing a thick fog to form in front of your confused face.

"Oh... uhm, my – my friend... ah shit what's her name?... God, what is wrong with me," You grumbled, breath mingling in the cold air as you rubbed your face, "What's your name again?"

"It's Lando," He kindly replied with a soft chuckle and tucked away the objects he’d picked up for you, knowing there was no way you would be able to do any of that in the state you were in.

“Lando,” You repeated quietly, “Like the star trek dude? I’ve never seen it but… that’s right, right?” Even you could hear your incoherent mumblings, making yourself physically cringe because he was too polite to correct you, “Just stop talking, idiot.” You whispered to yourself, or at least you hoped he didn’t hear you. He did.

"Definitely named after the dude in star trek,” He chuckled softly and scanned the empty street, wondering what the hell he was going to do with a drunk, helpless woman.

He couldn’t leave her like this but he also had plans – a blind date that had been sprung on him and set up by Carlos at the gym. Sure, he had been regretting saying yes to it but he hadn’t been out on a date in months, maybe longer and he was sick of the late night hook up that had become too much of a regular occurrence, though completely random. He wanted more than that, something worth his precious time and he didn’t need the drama that came from the one-night stands. It didn’t even matter how good it felt in the moment. Occupied sheets and empty promises didn’t keep him warm at night. It made him physically ill.

But now he was faced with what was obviously a challenge – a beautiful mess of a rescue mission.

“Look, why don't you come in out of the cold and we'll call your nameless friend who has your spare key?"

Your eyebrows furrowed and you blinked a couple of times before looking at the locked door beside you, "I can't go inside because *hiccup* I've lost my keys... I think I left 'em in that uber... But he was just here, I swear..."

Lando stifled a giggle again and slowly nodded, "Yep, we've been over that but I meant my place. Not sure if you remember this but I live over the street from you... Right there," He gestured towards the opposite building and you rolled your eyes.

"I know that, buddy," You sarcastically retorted, "I'm not stupid." You were slurring up a storm and he simply smiled in response – his patience was commendable.

"My apologies... But I'm freezing and you're turning blue so come on – I promise I'm not a weirdo," He held out his hand and nodded towards his building, blue eyes glimmering under the dim streetlight.

You sighed and linked your icy fingers with his, "You better not be a weirdo..." You rasped and let him guide you over the road, silently enjoying clinging to his muscular bicep and watching his ringlets blowing in the wind.

As you let your entire body weight brush against his arm, you felt something sharp digging into your ribs, a foreign object that you swore wasn’t there before. You stopped in your tracks, leaving Lando confused as you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a set of keys – "Wow."

“Oops,” You grimaced, goofy grin instantly sweeping across your face when Lando looked down at your hands, chuckling at you as you stumbled out of his grasp, “Guess you don’t get to murder me tonight, Lawrence!”

“Not even close,” He shuffled back with a smile and observed your every move, ready to swoop in if you did stack it in the middle of the street. You were like a baby giraffe, clomping across the damp asphalt in your heels, giggling to nobody. “You know where I live if you need anything.”

“Yeah, yeah!” You shouted back, trying your best to smoothly exit the situation and from your perspective, you were killing it.

But reality was a cruel, unforgiving beast – and you were failing miserably to play it cool as you toppled through the building door and nearly face-planted into the couch nestled in the foyer. It was a miracle that you didn’t fall, Lando thought as a smitten grin surfaced on his frost bitten cheeks while he walked upstairs to his own apartment, drafting the dreaded ‘sorry I can’t make it' text but feeling no regret at all.

You were all he could think about for the rest of the night – a beautiful hurricane rolling through his life for the briefest of moments, a burst of long wavy hair, trench coat fluttering in the wind and for a second he wished, deep down that maybe you had lost your keys. As quickly as that thought crossed his mind, he shooed it away – knowing already that you were out of his league, hell, you weren’t even playing the same sport. What the fuck was he going to do if he did get you up here, away from civilisation where it was just the two of you? God help him.

From a distance, you seemed sophisticated, witty, chaotic fun – all traits that had him staring at his ceiling, soundlessly wondering when he would see you again. Soon, he hoped.

“Six tequila shots, Jen! We’re celebrating!” You yelled over the loud EDM music blasting through the club, the smell of testosterone and Acqua di gio aftershave mixing in the already thick, humid air.

“Of course, girl! What are we celebrating?” The bartender asked smiling from ear to ear. Jen, who by day was a barista at your local café, had become one of your closest friends in the city and was always cheering you on from the sidelines while serving you the best coffee in London.

“I quit my soul sucking job and told Patrick to shove it up his arse!” You shouted, waving your arms in the air along with your best friend who had insisted on helping commemorate this magnificent occasion, “I finally bit the bullet and did it, Jen and I feel bloody amazing!”

Jen leaned over and grasped your forearms, “Super proud of you, sis. ‘Bout fucking time you did something for yourself.”

You couldn’t argue with that. She was right.

It had been a week since your drunken run in with your neighbour. Humiliating was the first thought that came to mind, head thumping for days following. You hadn’t seen him since that ill-fated night and there was a small part of you that searched for him whenever you left for work, eyes quickly glancing across the street in case fate was working your favour and he was leaving too. Happenstance.

But you were never that lucky and the week had gone from bad to worse at work – your boss had finally lost the plot and you were done, once and for all. No amount of love for your craft was worth being berated by a self-righteous, egotistical arsehole. He’d pushed too far and you were out of there, rucksack haphazardly slung across your shoulders and a smile bigger than the moon on your face. You were free – until the reality of unemployment hit.

London was your home and it had been for the better part of a decade, working at different tattoo parlours, building a solid client list along the way until you’d reached the top and now, finally opting out of the cruel, unrelenting torture that was working under Patrick. Life was too short and your thirties were well underway, that biological clock forever ticking while everyone else seemed to be settling down, buying that dream house with a picket fence. That wasn’t for me, you told yourself so you could sleep at night.

So much of your life was based around career goals and aspiration, so many of those things had been ticked off before your thirtieth birthday last year and it left you wondering where the time had gone. Your twenties had whizzed by faster than your teens and it made that hole in your heart, where you presumed personal goals were supposed to live feel emptier than ever. Especially when those friends you’d stayed in touch with since high school were having their second or third baby, getting married, some for the second time. Where had the time gone?

It was passing you by and even though you gave yourself that pep talk late at night, looking up at your ceiling, questioning whether you would ever find someone to share it all with or if you even wanted that, time continued to tick. Fleeting memories, first dates, and awkward one-night stands – they were all you really had in terms of a love life. The term ‘love life’ was probably over reaching, because if it was a life, it was fucking tragic.

But it was all you had. That and a kickass group of friends who had your back, setting you up with their husbands cute friends, until they turned out to be misogynistic arseholes, or worse – secretly married. In a population of 9 million, you would think there would be a plethora of kind, sweet men but you couldn’t seem to find one. And that led to the one question that did keep you up at night – maybe it’s me. Am I the problem?

“Babe, you’ve got it all. A gorgeous apartment, a beautiful puppy, you’re going to accomplish the dream you’ve had since you were 14 years old! There’s so much going for you that having a guy means nothing. And fuck men, honestly. I’m so glad we’re out here doing this because I’m one wet towel away from killing Jamie,” You couldn’t help but laugh at your best friend, Winnie.

“I’m serious!” And she was, the deadpan expression never faltering as you put your hands up for protection.

“I got you, I’m with you,” You defended, “I guess I just see everything else falling into place, even though my career path is a little murky right now but I’ll work that out… Love is the one thing I can’t figure out. What am I doing wrong?”

Winnie laughed and gripped your shoulder endearingly, “You are hot, like super hot. They are the issue, not you! Okay…” She trailed off and pushed another shot in your direction.

“Tonight’s the night. We are going to find you a cutie, someone fun. And it might just be a meaningless fuck like the rest but let’s deal with that in the morning,” She hiccupped, already tipsy from the shots.

You smiled and sweetly nodded, knowing that her intentions were coming from a good place but stomaching empty promises had become a regular occurrence. You’d lost count of how many guys she’d set you up with or found through dating apps when you went to the bathroom and came back to find her scrolling through, squealing every time a guy she liked matched with you. It all just felt pointless – and a little desperate. Okay, maybe a lot desperate but you appreciated her trying to help.

So you let her pull you through the crowd to where the rest of your friends were standing, all pouring shots down their throats and getting “wild”. A group of women in their early 30s, most with a kid or two or hadn’t been out to a club in months, some years. It was carnage but you appreciated them all coming out to celebrate you. It gave you something to hold onto even when the rest of your personal life was slowly sinking like the titanic, no safety boat in sight.

Until – you heard your name, loud and clearly from behind your friend. The voice was familiar, oddly so, like you’d imagined it somewhere along the lines and it wasn’t real. Lando’s face bobbed up from the side, smile adorning his sweet face, enthusiastic wave quickly followed and you returned it, the same smile too. His cheeks were flushed and eyes slightly bloodshot. You could tell he was tipsy.

“Hello stranger,” You greeted shyly, not knowing how to approach and apologise for the shameful display you showed last weekend. But before you could even get another word out, you were being pulled into a hug, a loose, one arm kind of hug but a hug nonetheless.

He was warm, perspiring ever so slightly as your cheek brushed across his damp neck, no doubt caused by the high humidity inside the club that was pumping. The lingering scent of Dior Sauvage mixed with a woody scented shampoo were notes you picked up on as your arm slipped around his waist, gently giving him a squeeze before you pulled away, half-heartedly.

“Glad you’re alive and well!” Lando shouted over the loud music, still beaming as you leaned in a little closer, “I am so, so, so sorry about last weekend… I’m not usually – well, no sometimes I get a little too heavy handed with my good friends gin and tonic but that was next level and not at all who I am typically… Just yeah, super embarrassed!”

Lando nodded empathetically, “Don’t be. You were, and I mean this is the nicest possible way; you were the most entertaining part of my week… So you’re drinking gin and tonic, yeah?” He asked, glancing down at your empty hands before turning to the bartender and hailing him over.

“Just a gin and tonic and a corona, please mate.”

Lando swivelled back your way, still grinning while he took in your surroundings, “Girls night out?” He asked, curious as to why you were out with your friends.

“Sort of,” You began to explain before graciously accepting the drink he had bought you, “I quit my crappy job and they insisted we celebrate – but between you and me, I think they’re just bored of their husbands and kids." Your whisper made him laugh, that serotonin boost lighting up your senses again, just like it did a week ago when you first met. Sparks flying.

“Makes sense," He nodded with a furrowed brow, looking serious before cracking a smile, "Congrats on quitting your shitty job, I’m sure your boyfriends here celebrating with you too, no?”

There was a glint in his eyes as they scanned the room and landed back on yours, eagerly awaiting your response. You didn’t give it to him straight away, letting him stew on that question for a couple seconds longer than humane, until he took a sip of his beer, finding something to occupy himself with while you left him there hanging.

“No boyfriend.”

Your answer was simple – to the point and Lando appreciated that as he let go of the deep sigh rattling around in his chest. Was he being nosy? Absolutely but he was also hedging his bets, knowing that if you did have a boyfriend and you looked like that then he wouldn’t have his two front teeth by the end of the night. He had to know for certain before he bought you another drink. And definitely before he asked you to dance.

There was barely a millimetre, if that between your body and his, only losing the warmth of his embrace when he twirled you around, giggling like teenagers who were superficially falling in love for the night. Your friend was the one who broke up the party, insisting that she said goodbye to you before leaving to relieve her babysitter.

“Everyone’s gone home and I think I’m gonna head off too,” She yelled before tugging you closer, “But have fun with your boy toy,” She whispered into your ear, her smirk telling as you pulled back and rolled your eyes.

“Stop it. It’s just a bit of harmless dancing,” You scoffed in return, but she’d known you since you were knee high to a grasshopper, practically experiencing all of life’s milestones in tandem – until she found her prince charming and had his babies, a betrayal like no other.

“Sure, sure,” She winked because she knew that there was a 90% chance that you wouldn’t make it home, or if you did, it was only because your place was closer than his, “Call me tomorrow morning when you get home.”

The cheek, you thought as she strutted off into the crowd, disappearing into the stormy London night. You were at a crossroads, standing in the middle of the club and searching the room for Lando. He’d given you space to speak with your friend, a subtle sign of respect while he rushed to the bathroom and splashed his face with water.

Get it together, he muttered, cursing his rosy cheeks and uncooperative curls, the bundle of ringlets gathering like a nest on the crown of his head. He didn’t want to look shabby in front of you, especially since he'd identified your expensive perfume and had noticed the red-bottomed heels adorning your feet. You were the uptown girl they were talking about in that song, the tune now on the tip of his tongue as he pushed through the bathroom door, whistling along to the silent song stuck in his head.

And there you were, lost in the crowd, searching. He wondered for a second whether you were looking for him or if your friend had just come over to tell you something and she was coming back. But when your eyes met, you smiled big. Grinning and relieved to see those bright blue eyes drawing you in from across the room, a familiar face to ease your nerves. You glided to him like a magnet magically pulling you both to the halfway point, hands immediately reaching, needy to feel the others touch again.

Winnie’s words rang in your ears, so sure of herself and what she knew about you. Your bad habits. You wanted to spite her and bid Lando farewell but when you watched his tongue swiping across his pouty bottom lip and that boyish smile tug at the corners of his mouth again, you were done for – hook, line and sinker.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

click here for part two

a/n – i really hope you enjoyed the 7k word introduction *facepalm* to this mini-series – it got away from me a little bit but i'm excited about exploring long form writing on tumblr so follow for updates and lmk what you think so far!

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris smut #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #lando norris one shot #formula 1 one shot #f1 #f1 x reader #monzamashmasterlist #what could've been fic #monzamash #lando norris x you

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sunnytheopossum · 4 months

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Been here for a little bit now so I figured it’s probably time I make an introduction post!

Hi, I’m Harvey, but I also go by Sunny or just “Sun”. I’m currently 20 years old, male, aroace, and I’m most comfortable with he/him pronouns (but anything works tbh). I’m a digital artist from the states, but I’m currently stationed in the UK for school (majoring in Game Arts)! Please feel free to ask me any questions about myself, my work, or anything else, I’m always happy to respond ^^

The only major “disclaimers” that I think might be worth mentioning here are that I have ADHD as well as some undiagnosed (unmedicated) anxiety disorder of some kind, which means I might forget (or be too nervous) to respond to messages, DMs, or mentions. Don’t be afraid to ping me or message me privately if I left you hanging for whatever reason!

Also important: I have photo-sensitive epilepsy! I’m medicated, I have the proper tags filtered, and I’m usually in a safe place when scrolling through Tumblr, but while I do genuinely adore eyestrain in art and stuff like that, just keep that I mind that I might need a bit of a warning before you share anything with me that has untagged flashing/flickering lights just in case I’m not in a safe place to view it!

Current Fandoms: Marble Hornets - The Murderbot Diaries - Pokémon

Toyhouse: https://toyhou.se/SunnyTheOpossum

ArtFight: https://artfight.net/~SunnyTheOpossum

YouTube: https://youtube.com/@sunnytheopossum?si=clqSY12RTKxczsGj

Commissions: https://toyhou.se/21010083.suns-art-commissions

Main Tags:

#My Art - All my art (reblogs only if I contribute art)

#My Post - All of my posts in general, including art, discussions, etc (no reblogs)

#Discussion - Usually a reblogged thing where I have a back-and-forth with someone

#Fanart - my own fanart specifically, not including OCs

#OC - My kids!

#Amazing Art By Others - Reblogs of art that I think are exceptional and I wanna show to everyone; usually art that I had an extreme physical/emotional reaction to

#Asks - Responding to asks! Usually accompanied by a little doodle~

#Marble Hornets - My main fandom atm

#TOTHEARK DOWNPOUR - My WIP canon-compliant Marble Hornets fan comic that shows the founding, operation, and eventual downfall of totheark from their perspective.

#my art #my post #digital art #pinned intro #meet the artist

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libartz · 2 years

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Day 1 of Downpour

Big Sad. Even though I have completed both Survivor and Hunter, I've reset the game a couple times in the past while messing with mods so it doesn't acknowledge it. I can't play any of the new slugcats until I beat Survivor again :(

Fortunately I had a file saved from just before FP which still worked, and I just got through and down the other side, and about to enter CC. I did spot a few new things though just in Survivor

Already loving the remix features. That option for a gradient that shows what pits kill you is amazing.

Another new feature I like: tunnels into region gates now have a unique entrance marker.

There are some new achievements that go towards passages. One was called 'nomad', and it might be gained by sleeping cycles in a new shelter or region. Pilgrim is also now counted ingame

In the recursive transform array (bugzapper area), I found this weird new creature that I was not expecting. I'm calling it a hydra, it's a glowy green thing with multiple heads on long necks. I expected it to be dangerous so threw a spear when I got near it and it turned hostile, flashing red and chasing me. It ran into a zapper and dropped these cores kind of like big overseer eyes. I was going to grab one to take to LTTM for an explanation but then I died and I couldn't get it to zap itself again. It seemed interested in the spears floating around. It could be the garbage worm of FP.

Just before the systems bus there's one of a new collectible type, they show as red. It was either a map or a creature for safari mode.

In the room just below the echo on the wall appears to be a way into a new region, unless it's somehow a leftover from the region mods I had installed before. I couldn't go in and it had nine squares instead of a karma symbol. I assume it's restricted to the new characters.

Also it might be just me but I feel like there are more neurons in FP than there were before

#rain world #rain world update #lil talks #downpour diary #rain world spoilers #rain world update spoilers

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future-crab · 14 days

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I spent all day reading Laura Jane Grace's memoir and felt compelled to try writing something in that sort of non-fiction/memoir/personal essay style. I'm not really sure if this is worth posting, but you can blame @unusualshrimp for encouraging me.

Laura Jane Grace’s memoir has got me thinking about diaries, and about writing down important memories before they have a chance to fade too much. And honest to God, I think seeing her in concert might be one of the best memories of my life. Walking down well-lit Cleveland streets on a warm early-summer night, just barely cooled off from a sweltering early-summer day, humming fucking M*A*S*H to myself as I left the show – a song she wouldn’t release for another few months, and that I wouldn’t even especially like in its studio-recorded form – I was as happy as I’d ever been.

My cousin’s apartment was only a block or two from the venue, and despite the late hour, I had plans to meet up with them after the show. I wished, suddenly, that they lived farther away. I wanted this walk to last forever.

Have you had any suicidal thoughts today? Yes, I’ve had about seven or eight. A modicum of propriety kept me from actually singing it out loud, but it looped in my head, over and over, the buoyant, infectious rhythm of it setting the pace of my steps. I hadn’t caught the rest of the chorus, or if I had it hadn’t stuck, so I just filled in the space in my head with nonsense.

Have you had any suicidal thoughts today? Yes, I’ve had about seven or eight. La da da da da-di da da da da, So ba-da killing yourself today. The chorus ended, then began again. The verses hadn’t stuck either. Have you had any suicidal thoughts today? Yes, I’ve had about seven or eight…

My scuffed platform boots bounced against the pavement. I wondered if the people passing by could tell – from my outfit, from the stench of sweat and booze and weed drifting off me, from the Laura Jane Grace tee shirt tucked between my body and my bag because it was too hot to put it on, from the big, doofy grin on my face – that I had just come from a concert. As far as I was concerned, I was glowing like those big sodium-yellow streetlights overhead.

Have you had any suicidal thoughts today? Yes, I’ve had about seven or eight. La da da da da-di da da da da, So ba-da killing yourself today…

Was it “killing” or just “kill?” I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I couldn’t relate to the song at all, just then. Unhappiness was a vague and unconvincing memory. Life was joy and sweat and sticky heat, and shouting along to True Trans Soul Rebel in a packed, tiny room that smelled like tobacco and body odor.

The world didn’t feel real. The street, the lights, the air that never quite stirred into a breeze. I wasn’t used to such complete and uncomplicated hapiness. I had felt it after other concerts before – driving back to a crappy Long Island motel room after MCR, sprinting away from Mr. Small’s through a sudden torrential downpour after an unexpectedly excellent LS Dunes show, wandering the South Side with my sister after seeing the Crane Wives together, unable to make any conversation beyond Holy shit, that was a good show! – and I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but in that moment it still felt like it might.

I bounded up the three flights of stairs to my cousin’s apartment more loudly than I should have, and more quickly, too – I was out of shape and asthmatic, but joy had given me strength. I probably wasn’t very good conversation. I was still incoherent from the glow of the concert, convinced that such insights as, She played Black Me Out, and, like, obviously she was going to play Black Me Out, but holy shit Black Me Out was incredible! were not only interesting but important.

It turns out my cousin’s boyfriend knew her work. When I mentioned Against Me!, he went, “Oh, man, that’s her? I didn’t recognize her new name – I used to listen to them way back before she transitioned!” We chatted about the band, about the venue, about the show. I tried, probably without success, to impart what it had felt like, because it had felt incredible. I was hot and tired and miserable through both openers, because I’d had a long drive to Cleveland that morning and spent just about every minute since on my feet and in the sun. She took the stage at 10:00 pm, and at 9:59 I was wondering if I should just head home early, because even if I could stay on my feet through the entire set, there was no way I’d enjoy myself. And then the instant she stepped into view, it was like a switch had flipped. I was grinning from ear to ear. I must have looked insane, but I wasn’t about to care. I will never understand the kind of stage presence some people have – it feels like a magic trick.

Eventually I had to go back to my hotel – my cousin and her boyfriend were too polite to hint that I should leave, but I could tell that they, at least, needed to get some sleep. I was still too wired to even attempt sleep for another few hours, but I managed to resist the temptation to keep them up all night. As I stepped out into the stairwell – old fashioned art deco tiling spreading out in pretty black-and-white patterns down three storeys to the exit below – my radiant joy dimmed just slightly. The song in my head had lost some of its energy, but it looped dutifully on.

Have you had any suicidal thoughts today? Yes, I’ve had about seven or eight…

I stepped out into the hot summer night aware that eventually – not soon, but eventually – I would come down from this high. I’d fall asleep, the sun would rise – though not necessarily in that order – and the day I saw Laura Jane Grace perform would give way to just some Sunday in May. But for just a moment, it had felt like that night would never have to end.

#my writing #idk if this is interesting to anyone but me but i did want to get it down #laura jane grace #against me!

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placeholderurluntildeletionidk69 · 2 years

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#dear diary #rain world #downpour #I see different takes

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justforbooks · 9 months

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This is a book for readers of second world war history who like the Boy’s Own version of the conflict. The cast of characters could have stepped straight from a comic strip story. Yet the men of the SAS were real flesh and blood, “rogue heroes” as the title suggests. The organisation now famous for its derring-do, and as famously secretive, has opened its archive to the historian and journalist Ben Macintyre, so that he can produce the first authorised history of what the SAS did in the war.

Macintyre has made the most of the opportunity. The history needs scarcely any embellishment, though he tells it with flair: the simple facts of SAS activity make the “ripping yarns” of comic book heroes pale by comparison. The organisation was the brainchild of two officers posted to the war in Egypt, David Stirling and John “Jock” Lewes. Stirling was an awkward soldier, hostile to spit-and-polish and authority, charming, fun-loving and irreverent (“layer upon layer of fossilised shit” was how he described military bureaucracy). Bored by life in Cairo, he discussed with the ascetic, hard-working, serious-minded Lewes, his complete opposite in personality, the possibility of creating a unit of awkward men like himself, who wanted action, few rules and adventure in small hit-and-run assaults behind enemy lines. Astonishingly, Stirling persuaded the high command in Cairo that he could achieve something significant at low cost in men and materials. The chief of British deception in the desert war, Dudley Clarke, gave the unit its name. Already fooling the Italians with a bogus parachute unit, the First Special Air Service Brigade, he lent the name to Stirling, and the organisation has borne it ever since.

Macintyre uses the SAS war diary as the backbone of his narrative, and is candid about failure as well as the hard-earned successes. The SAS was an irregular unit, its members drawn from an extraordinary range of backgrounds – a spectacles salesman, a textile merchant, a tomato farmer, amateur boxer, and so on – with a range of motives to match. Some wanted excitement, some liked killing and made no pretence about it, some were escaping from their past, some were too eccentric for the ranks; all had to be fit, alert, crafty, ruthless if required and dedicated to the mission. Stirling was also aware that his outfit did not meet with approval in conventional military circles, which saw war as face-to-face, not behind the back. Churchill liked the force, and would no doubt have joined it had it existed in his youth. But through the campaign in North Africa, then Italy and Germany, the SAS had always to prove itself, in order to stave off disbandment.

The new unit nevertheless made a disastrous start and indeed had mixed fortunes throughout the war. The first operation, code-named “Squatter”, carried out while the handful of volunteers were still feeling their way, could not have gone more wrong. Poorly trained as paratroopers, the group nevertheless flew off into a desert storm trying to land at pre-planned dropping zones well to the rear of the enemy. They landed in the worst places, faced a Saharan downpour of biblical proportions, lost some of the troop to injury as they hit the ground, and were then unable to retrieve the parachuted supplies. With explosives so soaked they were worthless, uncertain about their whereabouts, short of food and water, the remnants of the original units made their way back to Egypt. Out of 55 men, 34 were killed, injured, captured or missing without a single achievement.

Macintyre makes the point that this was by no means the end of a madcap idea. Stirling recruited the Long Range Desert Group to take the SAS teams by Jeep or truck rather than risk any further parachute drops, and the second set of raids in December 1941 resulted in the destruction or disabling of 60 enemy aircraft. But Operation Bigamy, a series of raids against Benghazi shortly before the battle of El Alamein, was another disaster. It featured one of the most bizarre figures to emerge from the story: a Belgian textile merchant, Robert Melot. Fluent in Arabic, keen to get at the Germans, he volunteered for the SAS aged 47 as an intelligence officer. He used his range of Libyan contacts to glean information needed for the raids, but in this case Melot miscalculated. An Arab double agent alerted the Germans and Italians and the raids were a disaster. Once again a forlorn, bearded, hungry and damaged band straggled back to Cairo. Melot carried on his SAS career regardless, and died not from his many scrapes in battle, but from a Jeep accident on his way to a party in Brussels late in 1944.

The SAS came of age in the campaign in Italy, where it was used as a more conventional raiding party, the Special Raiding Service, under the command of Paddy Mayne following Stirling’s capture in Tunisia in late 1942. The Italian campaign was a particularly grisly one, and the SRS (with its core of SAS men) found collaboration with the partisans and rivalry with the Special Operations Executive (SOE) a challenge (unlike the SAS, the SOE always linked up with local resistance). Macintyre spares none of the details; the SAS fought a dirty war against an enemy they regarded as every bit as dirty. Prisoners were rare, but in return Hitler condemned irregular commando units to death if they were caught. Not all were killed by any means, but many were, just as the Germans killed all the other irregular, partisan forces ranged against them.

In October 1945 the army wound up the SAS and it continued to exist by subterfuge, a unit of war crimes investigators searching for evidence across Europe that SAS members had been murdered. In 1947, to meet the many crises of empire, the SAS was revived. What it did then and since can be guessed at, but until the postwar unit diaries are revealed, like the wartime diary used by Macintyre, the exact details will not be known.

What in the end did the SAS achieve in the war? Macintyre does not really say, leaving the narrative to speak for itself. It did not, as some of the book’s publicity has suggested, turn the tide of war. Its overall accomplishment, set beside those of the Commandos, or the SOE, the Chindits or other partisan groups, was strategically modest, whatever its tactical successes. But the SAS did bring to life the plucky, maverick, individualist hero of the comic strip, a very British way of making war. SAS: Rogue Heroes is a great read of wartime adventuring, in a long, grim war of attrition where adventure was hard to find.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #rogue heroes #ben macintyre #book review

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rabbitenn · 10 months

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Hello could I request imagines for a Tenn x Reader and momo x Reader with a Reader who has a crush on them but tries to deny it to avoid heartbreak (and struggles to talk to them)? Thank you🫶

OFF VOCAL.

Your feelings for him remain untold in the memories of your silent symphony.

ft. Kujo Tenn, Sunohara Momose x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, some angst.

Thank you for requesting, hun ! I’m sorry this is so late, but I hope you can still enjoy it, mwah <3

♡ KUJO TENN

The realization settles over you like the mesmerizing rays of an eclipse at dawn; you know you shouldn’t stare directly at the sun’s blinding daze, and yet, your eyes can’t quite avert from his light.

But this is normal, right?

Everyone was attracted to the rose gold light his imaginary wings always seemed to give off. A radiance in thaw; his otherworldly aura helplessly drawing you in, until the honey of his voice wrapped its sweet warmth around you.

Kujo Tenn.

Everyone’s angel.

Your closest friend.

And yet, obviously, you were not immune to his charms.

Every time his gaze found yours, no matter if it was in a crowded concert hall or in the privacy of one of your rooms, the world around you faded; white noise and the blurry background of a discolored picture were all that remained around you and Tenn.

Thus, you have to build a wall between you and the alluring image of the angel.

You can absolutely not reveal the emotions your heart beats in.

Tenn and you have been friends for so long… And he’s a famous idol on top of that… You can’t taint his wings in stygian ink just because of your foolish desires.

And so, you close off your own invisible wings, the freefall awaiting you, a slow, bittersweet agony.

For bites of tongue replace words you used to share with him, in the comfort of sugar scented bedrooms and the soft colors of glazed donuts.

And Tenn knows.

That something is weighing on your mind.

That the sunshine that usually filtered through the trees as he spent time with you is now dimmed; the first droplets of a downpour falling as perennial foliage decays.

You thought your silence would be the silver locket to keep your diary secret, but to him, it’s like breathlessness as a heavy feeling constricts your chest.

Thorny vines, opening your throat to ask for help.

And despite it all, you decide to stitch bloody thread over your lips, keeping them sealed, no matter how much your heart shreds.

Luckily, an angel’s halo just happens to shine upon you, healing the parts of you you’re self destroying.

“[Y/n],” Tenn calls you, as a few quiet seconds pass with no answer from you following. “Are you alright?” He asks, those beautiful maroon eyes of his regarding you with concern.

You stare at him with a confused expression. Then, you get back to your senses.

“Yeah… I guess I was just spacing out.” You utter softly, avoiding his eyes.

Fiddling with your fingers, you reach out for the plate of donuts sitting between you two.

The atmosphere feels tense enough around you, you feel you’ll suffocate if you don’t busy yourself with something soon.

In that instant, your hand is held by someone else’s.

His touch is tender, so gentle, as his fingers intertwine with yours.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Tenn prompts, thumb running over the back of your hand.

You stammer, eyes widening, heart pounding wildly against your ribcage, a telltale sound of the frenzy your mind is into.

“I-I… I’m… It’s n-nothing.” You finally manage.

The angelic idol gives you a knowing look, a smirk playing on his too tempting lips.

“Since when did you become so shy around me?” He asks, one of his hands brushing some strands away from your face.

You take in a sharp breath, heat flaring up on your cheeks.

“T-that’s not…” You try to turn your face away from him.

Because you know if you keep getting lost in his pretty quartz-like eyes, your lips won’t be able to keep away from his.

And, however, it seems that’s exactly what he wants.

Taking your chin in between his fingers, Tenn guides your face towards his.

“Why, [Y/n]?” He whispers, thumb running over your lower lip.

Your breath hitches, pupils dilating as your friend, who’s definitely more than that, holds your gaze.

You know what he’s referring to.

Your silence. The avoidance and pulling away from him you’ve been isolating in.

“I can’t…” You begin, as thick words lodge in your throat, the fear of ‘I can’t be with you’ ‘I can’t have my heart broken when you inevitably say no’, the silent chains constricting your throat.

Strands of hair weaved from wishes on a shooting star tickle your cheek.

Tenn’s forehead rests against yours, as his hands thread through your hair.

He utters your name.

Millimeters separate his lips from yours.

And the hardcovers of your secret diary seem to fall apart this close to him.

“I love you.” You inevitable breath, pupils blown wide, in the space between.

Your angel’s answer comes in the form of warmth and softness upon your lips.

His hands move to your waist, bringing you closer to him in the sunlit space of the room.

Against your better judgment, your arms wrap around his shoulders, your form melting into the sweetness of his perfect embrace.

You’ve longed for this.

So many days, so many nights, in which dreams came to a close with you wide eyed, as you came down from the daze of his pretty face appearing in your oneiric illusions.

And even if you want to believe it, but fear makes you deny it, he’s yearned for this too.

Because as much as Tenn strives to move the hearts of his fans and put bright smiles on their faces, you are always the first one he sings for.

And now, even if it’s in an unspoken way, the melody of him next to you is finally being relied.

Alas, seconds helplessly tick by, and one cannot exist without oxygen forever, as much as you can’t be without each other.

“I love you too, for a long time now, I have.” Are the words that follow your Tenn’s soft smile the moment you part.

There is no need for locked vaults between you and him anymore.

♡ SUNOHARA MOMOSE

You know you are a fool.

Both for even beginning to fathom your feelings could ever be returned, and for acting the way you’re doing now.

You’re just making yourself miserable and you know it.

And yet, you’re hell bent on denying it.

It’s so obvious to you now how he could never like you back in the same way you like him.

He’s one of Japan’s top idols, for crying out loud.

The fact that you just happen to know him since his college days doesn’t mean anything.

Therefore, you are determined to swat away any thoughts of infatuation that come your way.

No matter if that means entirely isolating from him.

Momo.

The friend that’s been with you for over seven years now.

You can’t ruin what you have; and what’s more: you don’t know what you’d do with yourself if you heard ‘no’ coming out of his lips.

So pulling away, being quiet… That’s what must be done.

You were always good at it, anyway.

And besides, what good would it do, if you ended up accidentally making your feelings known?

This is for the better.

You turn around in your bed, the city lights casting a dimmed glow around your room; dyeing it in shades of muted cyan.

Blue.

Quite fitting for the state you find yourself in.

Lying on your side, sheets rumpled, as numbness and doubt wrap around you.

Your eyes focus on your phone for a moment, carelessly thrown around your bed.

You’ve been ignoring all the messages today.

Especially the ones sent by him.

You just… couldn’t bring yourself to open them; it hurt seeing his enthusiastic typing and all the cute kaomojis. It’s as if… You were betraying him by being like usual, when it’s clear your feelings for him have shifted to another direction.

Not that you’ll ever reveal that to him.

And if you ignore it for long enough, it is sure to fade away.

A doodle in pink pencil, undoubtedly to be erased as paper yellows beneath the ticking of the clock.

You knew that better than anyone.

You have been wiped out too many times when you tried to speak from your heart, for it to become whole again.

Deep scars still remain, and they hurt enough as is to risk reopening them once more.

It’s better to wound the remaining untouched flesh of your choking heart, if you want to avoid shattering it completely.

Fuzzy thoughts turn into exhaustion, which leads you into restless dreams, under the light of a dimmed moon.

You awake to the strident sound of a ringtone blaring right by your ears.

Judging by the light around, it’s still early, and no sun is filtering through the curtains today.

Groggily, you pick up, if only to stop the annoying ringing.

“Yeah?” You yawn half asleep.

A second later, you pull the speaker away from you, the voice on the other side, on the edge of yelling.

“[Y/n]-chan! I finally got in touch! You haven’t been replying to my texts, ah I was so worried!”

“I…” You begin. “I’m fine, Momo, please don’t worry.” You reply, trying to keep your tone even.

On one hand, it really does warm your heart he’s been thinking about you.

On the other, you really do feel guilty for having worried him…

And besides, you’ve totally failed to avoid him.

“Are you sure, [Y/n]?” Melancholy is palpable in his usually perky tone. It makes you feel a pang of hurt on your chest.

“I… Yeah, I guess…” You trail off.

A few seconds of silence on the other end of the line.

Then:

“You know, if you’re not feeling well or there’s something worrying you, you can count on me.”

Why was Momo always so kind? It makes it so hard to keep denying what’s clearly love for him.

“I’ll figure it out.” You mumble, perhaps more to yourself than for him to hear.

“I know you will, [Y/n], but, you know, if you want some company… Just say the word.”

A nostalgic smile settles on your lips.

The truth is you would certainly like it, his company.

You let out a sigh.

“I’d love that.” You utter, truthfully.

One of Momo’s bright giggles can be heard on the other end.

A few fleeting ticks later, your doorbell rings.

“Open the door then, [Y/n]-chan.”

You can’t help the wide smile spreading on your face.

“What? Really? You’re here?”

You can practically see the nervous laugh he lets out.

“I… uh got worried when you didn’t reply and I thought maybe you were sick, so I… kinda bought many of your favorite snacks… yeah…”

He’s too cute.

With that same dopey grin on your face, you open the door.

Even if you can’t make your feelings known for now, you suppose it’s alright to indulge in the tight hug he gives you.

You certainly needed one from him right now.

#idolish7 #idolish7 x reader #idolish7 imagines #ainana #ainana x reader #kujo tenn #sunohara momose #i7 #idolish7 hadcanons #idolish7 scenarios #kujo tenn x reader #sunohara momose x reader #idolish7 fluff #momo x reader #anime x reader #anime imagines #anime fluff

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