#i feel like i posted a lot but its not that much

[trashytracktales]

Hey! Please do a lando x ex!reader. They break up after a lot of arguments due to being away from each other so much and then they meet a few months later and hook up. Like angst in the beginning then lots of smut.

If it's meant to fall apart | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I was actually planning to write something similar for so long. Thank you for the request and I hope you like it 🤍

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── Surprisingly, months apart haven’t dulled the connection between them. After a night of passion and honesty on both sides, maybe there is a future where they can make all the right decisions, after all.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x ex!reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, lots of angst & back-and-forth, fluff & smut, teasing, praising, explicit language, unprotected sex, mention of alcohol and drinking, swearing, not the healthiest relationship I've ever written tbh (the toxicity is implicit tho), overstimulation, pussy-drunk Lando, Max F. & Ethan aka FEEFA cameo.

𐙚 word count ──── 10.6k (Thank you to everyone who voted on this poll I posted the other day, I didn’t expect to see so many 🥺).

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 27, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Guys, look. I know it's A LOT 🥴 I kinda let myself run with this one because I haven't posted anything in like a week or so. I still have 2 requests I'm working on, so don't give up on me yet 🤞🏻

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

SHE'S NOT ENTIRELY sure how long they’ve been dancing, but she hasn't finished her drink yet. Time feels like an illusion, blurring the edges of her vision with every new rhythm of the night. For the first time in months, she feels a little lighter, her friends’ energy pulling her out of her own head — and apartment, where she locked herself in after the break-up.

The club is packed tonight, bodies pressed together in a sea of drunken, sweaty chaos. Neon lights bounce off every surface, painting the room in vivid purples, blues, and pinks. It's not usually her style — not anymore — but she figured it won't hurt to let lose for a couple of hours.

It’s only when she steps away from the dance floor, her feet hurting and her head buzzing, that she spots him.

Why tonight, of all nights?

Why here, of all places?

Why him, of all people?

He’s leaning casually against the bar, a glass in hand, chatting with a few familiar faces. Faces that she can't help but miss.

She stopped talking to Max — well, Max stopped talking to her after ending things with Lando, too upset that she toyed with his best friend's heart for ‘no apparent reason’. Their friendship dissolved under pressure, fragile as a cheap plastic cup in the grip of sulfuric acid. But Max wasn't the only one who took it personally. That's why she needed to cut ties with everyone from her past. She needed new friends — her own friends —, she needed a new place and new clothes, and to rebrand herself from scratch. Which she did.

She thought she had made it through, but the past has its twisted ways of coming back when you least expect it.

Now, the sight of him, so vivid and real, makes her chest tighten.

She stops in place, hoping he doesn’t notice her, but then his eyes flick in her direction and, for a brief moment, neither of them blinks, the noise around them fading into a dull murmur.

He straightens slightly, his relaxed posture gone as his brows knit together. There’s something unreadable in his body language — surprise? Excitement? Confusion? Pain? She doesn’t know, but it mirrors the knot twisting in her stomach.

Her friends call out to her, pulling her attention briefly, and when she looks back, he’s still staring. Except now, he’s moving, weaving his way through the crowd toward her.

Oh, hell no.

Her heart starts to race, a mix of adrenaline and something far more complicated than fear, as she rushes to walk away; she's fought for far too long, and now her instinct is to fly as soon as she senses danger.

Unfortunately, she's not quick enough.

“Hey,” says Lando when he gets closer, his voice low but audible over the music.

Hearing him gives her goosebumps, hating the way her body is betraying her. It’s been months since she’s heard his voice, but it still hits her the same way: sharp and unrelenting.

She turns around, forcing a smile, “Hi, Lando,” she manages, her voice steadier than she feels, thinking she should try acting if she makes it out alive from this encounter.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his tone careful, yet extremely suggestive.

It makes her stomach twist again.

He used that line the very first night they met, his boyish grin lit by the dim, flickering lights of another club, in another city. Potentially another life, she's not sure. She remembers the way he had leaned in, so full of confidence and asked the same exact question with a mischievous glint in his eye.

It feels too deliberate now, too heavy with the weight of their past for her to ignore.

“All set,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended, as she raises her half-full glass in her hand. “Thanks.”

For a moment, it feels like they’re strangers meeting for the first time. Except they’re not, and their history is hanging heavily in the air between them.

Lando nods, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “How about this, let me join you for that drink?”

She takes a look to where her friends are dancing, then she turns back to him, “I'm here with my friends.”

It's a pathetic excuse, she knows that. But she has no time to think of something else. Not when her brain is suddenly all scrambled and can't form a single coherent thought.

Lando frowns, disappointed, but not willing to give up that easy. “Come on, just a quick catch-up and then you can go back to your friends. Mine won't mind,” he shrugs, pointing at the bar, where the others are following their every move like a bunch of curious minions.

She catches Max lifting his glass in her direction, and Ethan, waving frantically.

Against her better judgment, she nods.

“Okay,” she murmurs, “Let's catch up,” she spits the words, sounding a bit too sarcastic. Still, it makes Lando smile.

His shoulders relax slightly, relief softening the tension in his body. He gestures toward a quieter corner of the club, away from the pounding bass and the sea of bodies. His first instinct was to take her hand in his, but since that's over the line, Lando keeps looking back, making sure she follows him. And she does. Like a naive, lost puppy that hasn't learned a single thing in the past five months, apparently.

The crowd surges around them, chaotic and loud, and before she can react, someone stumbles into her, their elbow catching her arm. As a result, she's thrown off balance, her feet slipping on the slick floor. Gasping, she's bracing for the inevitable fall that… never comes.

Lando’s hand shoots out, catching her waist and pulling her upright. His grip is firm, grounding, and suddenly she’s pressed against him, her chest brushing his.

“Careful,” says Lando, his lips close enough to her ear for the voice to cut through the noise.

The spot where he's touching her is burning her skin. She looks up, speaking with a hesitant smile, “Thanks, I'm good.”

The club around them fades away, and all she can feel is the warmth of his hand on her waist and the familiar scent of his cologne — a smell she used to know so well. It is almost intoxicating, and it makes her mouth water. She realizes that's what she was missing the most.

Lando smiles faintly, his hand slipping away as if he’s reluctant to let go. “Always got you.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, sensing the double meaning behind his affirmation. So, she nods and lets him guide her the rest of the way.

They find a small, semi-private booth near the exit, far enough from the main dance floor that the music dulls to a manageable volume. He gestures for her to sit first, then slides in across from her.

She fiddles with the edge of her glass, feeling his eyes on her.

“So,” she starts, leaning back against the booth, “You're here.”

Here, as in back home.

“For a week or so, yeah. Got a bit of a break between Brazil and Vegas.”

She nods, emptying the rest of her drink in one go, “How’ve you been?”

Lando shrugs slowly, “Alright. Busy with work and everything,” he trails off, his gaze dropping to her lips for a brief moment. “It’s not the same,” he continues, his smile fading away. “What about you, what have you been up to?”

She needs superhuman powers to stop herself from scoffing in his pretty face. It’s such a simple question, yet it feels loaded, heavy with all the things they haven’t said to each other in almost half a year.

“It's been… peaceful. I moved to another neighborhood. Kept busy, distracted.”

Lando hums, his expression unreadable for some reason. “Yeah, I get that. You look great, by the way,” he states it as a fact, his voice soft but unwavering.

She hesitates, then looks up at him, really looks at him. His face is the same and yet… not really. The boyishness is still there, but there’s a weariness in his eyes that's somehow new. Plus some facial hair she always begged him to try out. It tugs at something inside her, something she’s not sure she’s ready to face. Because it hurts. Because it annoys her. Because, after everything, she's still not over it.

“Cheers,” she replies, hoping he won't catch the blush in her cheeks. “I kind of hoped you would look like shit when I saw you again,” she admits. “You know, I'm talking no front teeth and severely balding. But, oh well. You too.”

Lando's smile widens, making everything infinitely worse for her.

He wears a black shirt that clings to his frame in a way that highlights the muscles in his arms. His black cap is pulled low, worn backwards in that signature way he always did, giving him that effortlessly cool vibe. His eyes are still the same, though. Dark, piercing, the same ones that could make her heart beat faster even after everything that’s happened.

“I thought about you a lot over these months, you know,” Lando finds himself saying, chewing on his lower lip.

She shoots him a surprised look.

As if, she thinks. His Instagram feed would say otherwise.

“You did?” she ends up asking, curiosity getting the best of her.

A hint of vulnerability creeps into his voice, “Of course. I've missed you.”

She laughs dryly, “But it's been good for us, right? We just established we both look great, no constant fighting, no slamming doors, no smashed phones…” she says, looking at him intently.

He can't sustain that for long, so he looks down at his shoes, slightly ashamed, remembering how bad it used to get when the distance between them felt too much to handle. He remembers the frustration, and the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t reach her, because he couldn’t make things right. He did smash his phone once, in a fit of anger, because he couldn’t get ahold of her for hours — not his proudest moment, that's for sure.

Lando swallows hard, “Yeah, it has been nice to have some distance. I guess it makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“Hmm,” she hums, letting her eyes travel across the room, scanning random faces and wondering how life would be if she were someone else, “I don't know about that.”

She knows, in fact. But the words pause in her throat, too tangled up in memories. When he finally looks up, she's holding his gaze for just a beat longer than she should, and she wonders if he can feel it too — that familiar pull, like gravity, drawing them back together once again.

“I know—” Lando begins, not sure from which angle to approach. “I know it was the right choice at the time, but I can't help but wonder what things could have been if I'd fought harder for you.”

“Come on, Lando,” she laughs, unamused, giving her head a shake, “We would've ended up in another vicious circle, no matter what. It's always like that with us, isn't it?”

A part of him knows she's right. Still, “We'll never know.”

“Well, maybe it's better that way,” she manages, her voice lacking conviction.

“Or maybe it’s not,” he contradicts her, his words carrying a weight that presses on both of them. “You never think about us?”

Another sharp, dry laugh — it's either this, or she'll start crying. “I am actively trying not to,” she admits, her tone tinged with exasperation. “What’s the point, Lan? Thinking about what could’ve been won’t change what happened. You were always gone, and I couldn't spend my life following you around like a headless chicken. We had a good time, but it was never going to last,” she says the last part mostly as a reminder for herself. “Not in those circumstances.”

His jaw tightens. “You think it was easy for me? That it didn’t tear me up knowing I couldn’t be there for you the way you wanted me to?”

“I didn't say that,” her eyes snap to his, “We simply weren't working. We were too good at breaking each other.”

Lando leans back in his chair, frustration visible on his face. He hates that she's right, but it doesn’t stop the ache in his chest.

His jaw clenches, “I just… I don’t want to believe that’s all we were. Breaking each other.”

Her expression softens a little at his words, “Not all. But enough to make us miserable.”

For a while, the air between them feels heavier, the noise fading into the background. He wants to say something, anything, to counter her point, but all he can do is look at her and ask himself if they were, indeed, playing a losing game back then.

“Did you meet someone?” his question flies out of nowhere.

Lando looks at her with anticipation, sensing the hesitation.

“I did,” she replies, nodding slowly.

“And?”

She meets his eyes for a split second before looking away again, fixing her gaze somewhere on the table. “And we're happily married with twins on the way. What do you think? I just. Couldn’t.”

Lando's stomach drops, trying his best to remain calm, his hands clenching into fists. “You couldn’t what? Be with them?”

She shakes her head, her movements slow and deliberate, as if choosing her words carefully. “It was too soon.”

Her answer only leaves him with more questions. “So, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means,” she rushes to say, her tone tinged with irritation. It’s clear she’s as unsure as he is, but that only makes it harder for Lando to process her reaction.

He runs a hand over his face, his exasperation bubbling to the surface. “I’m just trying to understand,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Because I've also tried.”

She looks directly at him now, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And?” she challenges in the same manner, her tone carrying just a hint of defiance.

“They weren't you,” says Lando, the truth of his statement hanging between them like a heavy anchor.

They remain silent after that.

She wants to ask him why — why he still cares, and why it hurts so much to be in the same space again after all they’ve been through. Nothing comes out, though; she already has the answer to that. They didn't break up because they stopped loving each other. They had both been too caught up in their own worlds to find any kind of balance. That broke them up.

He wants her to speak. He needs to hear her speak. To react. But when she says nothing in return, there is a brief second when he feels like giving up for good; he can't do anything if she's already made a decision. He knows how stubborn she is.

Lando nods to himself while getting up and start walking toward the exit, his thoughts all over the place.

The night air greets them with a quiet, cooling embrace as they step out of the club. Of course she follows, and she hates herself for that. But she can't help it — it's instinct. Like a magnetic force he's always had over her.

On the other hand, it's how they always communicated, through gestures and actions rather than words.

The soft click of her heels against the pavement gives Lando hope. He slows down so she can catch up, and then they walk side by side, without talking. The background noise of the city keeps them company, and by the time she decides to break the silence, he stops abruptly.

His voice sounds so small now, like a child asking his parents why can't he eat his chocolate bar before dinner.

“I know it feels so silly looking back,” says Lando, as though afraid to shatter the superficial peace between them. “We did so many things wrong, but I think we also did a lot of things right.”

She hesitates, her eyes dropping to the ground where a patch of light from a distant street light catches the edge of her shoe. Her arms fold tightly across her chest, while trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Yeah, breaking up was one of the right things,” she says thoughtfully, though her voice has a trace of bitterness behind it. “Before that, we tried so hard to make it work that we ended up burning each other alive.”

It's crazy how simple words can cause physical pain so quickly.

“Yet we're still here,” he reminds her. “Knowing what we know now, maybe we wouldn’t burn so fast this time. And isn’t it worth it, even if it only lasts for a little while? We were so happy at the start.”

That’s what he clings to. The laughter, the stolen moments, the way they fit together so effortlessly — she can’t argue with that. Their beginning was a beautiful dream, but it’s the nightmare that followed that keeps her guarded now, even though all she wants is to crack his ribcage open and slip inside him so they will never be apart again.

Her voice shakes as she tries her best to make him see her side, the memories spilling out like water breaking through a dam. “I had to put myself back together, Lando. Piece by piece. And I was all alone.” She forces herself to meet his gaze, finally, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Turns out, our friends were actually your friends, and I had to go through the worst breakup of my life with no one by my side. I had to move, I had to build an entire life from pretty much nothing. And I had to do everything alone, because I didn’t just lose you. I lost everything the moment I made you the center of my universe.”

Her words knock the air out of his lungs, guilt clawing at his insides. “Look, I know I should have been there,” says Lando, his voice barely steady. “Fuck me. I wasn’t supposed to let you go in the first place, alright? I should’ve been a better boyfriend, and I should’ve fought harder to make it work, using what we had then. But you did fuck with my head, and I thought being away would help.”

The first tear spills down her cheek, and she wipes it away hastily, as if she could erase the vulnerability altogether.

“It did help,” she agrees. “I know I can live without it now.”

Lando freezes for a split second, then stepping dangerously closer to her. “So, you’ll be fine if we stay broken up?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

She nods, but it’s shaky. And when she takes a step back, trying to put distance between them, Lando decides he gave her enough space. Fuck that. He's not thinking anymore, not with his brain, at least. He closes the distance again, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close in one swift motion.

It’s impulsive, desperate even. But he doesn’t care. The moment he feels her presence in his personal space, the fire he’s tried to smother for months, roars back to life, more powerful than ever. And just like that, everything it's right again. The way her body fits against his, the familiarity of it all, makes his heart race in his chest.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn, baby,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice cracking under the weight of his own desperation. “Why can’t we at least try, hm? You told me it was too soon for someone else. Maybe it’s because it’s supposed to be me.”

Her breath catches at the sudden closeness, at the rawness of his voice. She's unsure of what to do with her hands, until they hover awkwardly by his shoulders.

“You're not fair,” she whispers, her voice slightly trembling. “You can’t just accidentally waltz back into my life and say things like that.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about being fair,” he says, his voice firm. “I just want us back. Simple as that.”

Her tears blur the edges of Lando's face when she tries to push him away, but his grip won't let her. Not this time.

“It's not that simple, and you know it,” she says. “We’ll only end up hurting each other again.”

“Then we hurt, so what?” he counters, his voice soft but sure. “At least we’ll know we tried until there wasn't anything worth fighting for. I'm not done with you, baby. Are you?”

Her hands finally move, trembling as they brush against his cheeks. They're not as soft as they use to be, his little facial hair scratching slightly at the pads of her fingers. The connection sends a jolt through them both as her touch lingers, trailing up to his hair. She pulls at his cap with both hands, placing it on her own head with a weak smile.

“It’s longer than you used to wear it,” she notices, her tears catching the street lights.

Lando’s heart clenches, managing to shoot a small smile in return, “I thought maybe I’d try growing it out. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she admits as she tries to messily style his hair with her fingers. “It suits you.”

For a little while, they’re trapped in their own bubble. Her touch feels like home, and all Lando can think of is that he can't lose it again.

“I’m not asking you to decide now,” he finally says, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her waist. “I just need to know I’m not the only one still holding on.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they're stumbling into her apartment. She knows it's reckless, and she's basically throwing away five months of progress, but it wasn't going to last, anyway.

Addictions are very hard to keep under control, especially when they have curly, dark hair and give you bed eyes.

“This way,” she says, her lips swollen from kissing all the way to her door.

Lando doesn’t have time to adjust, his head already spinning with hundreds of scenarios that fly tirelessly through his mind. However, the only thing that captivates him at the moment is her, and the way her fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans. She tugs him closer, her lips crashing onto his once again, their breaths blending in a frantic exchange of need and uncertainty.

He watches her fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, her movements clumsy but determined. His heart reaches his throat, swallowing hard, as his hands move from her waist to his belt, blindly unbuckling it before tossing it carelessly aside. The sound of leather hitting the floor barely registers over the erratic, overlapping rhythm of them kissing.

Then, he sees it. The spark in her eyes she used to have when she looked at him — it catches him off guard, giving him hope. He follows her as she moves slowly, her back toward the bed, her movements precise, like a cat's. She lies down, propping herself up on her elbows, while he takes cautious steps closer, his shirt hanging open to reveal his chest and toned abs.

But just as he leans forward, her high heel presses lightly against his chest, stopping him.

Lando freezes, his hands bracing on either side of her foot, tracing his palm up and down her leg, as his eyes dart up to meet hers.

“You can look,” she says, catching a glimpse of confusion in his eyes. “But for now, no touching.”

He frowns, clenching his jaw at her request. It would make sense for her to bring him to her place only to torture him, but she can't be that heartless. Right? The sight of her, stretched out on the bed with her foot holding him at bay, is almost too much to handle already.

“You're not fair,” he mutters under his breath, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I don't give a flying fuck about being fair,” she repeats his words from earlier, her foot staying firm against his chest.

The power is in her hands, and she's planning on using them properly tonight.

“No touching,” she repeats, determined.

Lando's hands fall at his sides.

Slowly, she slides her foot down, letting it drag across his chest, making a quick stop on his lower abdomen before settling on the bed. Her gaze locks onto his, a daring glint in her eyes as she spreads her legs, revealing the black lace panties. The dress she's wearing lifts up her thighs of its own accord, leaving Lando chocking on air for a brief moment. His lips part as she trails her fingers down her own body, teasing herself the way she’s done countless nights before.

Nights when he wasn’t there.

Nights when she was alone, chasing a high only his touch could give her.

“Wanna see how I got through five months without you?” she asks, her hands traveling way down, hooking her fingers to pull at the soft material.

His breath hitches, the sight of her undressing before him so painfully slowly making his chest ache with longing and guilt.

“I thought of you,” she continues, letting a small whimper out when the soft lace peels off with a little resistance from her already soaked pussy. “Your hands, your mouth… the way you sound when you're turned on,” she discards the panties at the foot of the bed, her breath catching in her throat as she glances at him through her lashes. “Such a delicious combination between your sleepy voice and that low octave you hit when you're drunk.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, his hands twitching at his sides, itching to lean over and collect the material off the floor to stuff it into his pocket as a souvenir. He’s never felt so powerless and yet so utterly consumed by someone before.

“Will you let me?” she asks, her lips curving into a smile that’s equally wicked and vulnerable, “Show you?”

Her name leaves Lando’s lips in a protest while he takes an instinctive step forward, but she stops him with her foot once again. It’s a punishment, and he knows it. She’s showing him exactly what he missed, and exactly how she wanted him for so long.

Lando's breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling as he watches her. Helpless. His every nerve is tuned to her, eyes following how her fingers slide so easily between her folds, spreading the wetness as she teases her hole. Of course she’s taking her time with it, only to make sure he registers every tiny detail, just in case he forgot.

Her head tilts to the side with a quiet gasp when she pushes slowly inside. The sound of her wet entrance is enough to make his knees weak, still, his body turns to stone.

On the other hand, his heart is a mess of pride and frustration — pride that she still feels comfortable to be this vulnerable and open in front of him, frustration that he has to see her like this, untouchable. That's why he's not even blinking, too afraid he'll miss a thing.

She starts to gently rock her hips against the bed, fucking her fingers in and out, her body trembling as her whimpers fill the room. It's too much for Lando, but luckily, she didn't say anything about moving. His legs finally give out, and he falls to his knees, the sound of his breath ragged and uneven as he gets closer to her.

Yes, she's in charge — for now, at least — but he can't stop his words slipping out. Quiet, yet demanding.

“Slower,” he says, fixing his eyes on the way her fingers slide over her clit. “Don't rush it, please. I want to see all of you.”

Her gaze meets his, and for a moment, neither of them says anything else. She sees the vulnerability etched into his features, the way his body betrays him, shaking with restraint, completely at her mercy.

He looks like a man unmoored, defeated. So beautiful.

“Lando…” she breaths heavily, her back arching against her own hand, that flattered slightly at his words, a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

She hates how much he still affects her, obeying him without questioning his ways. Like no time has passed whatsoever.

When they make eye contact again, it's like they silently agree to go with it; whatever tonight will bring.

“That's is,” says Lando with satisfaction as she resumes her movements. “You gorgeous little thing. So beautiful when you listen, yeah?”

She nods, feeling him leaning forward just slightly, close enough that she can feel his warmth on her skin, without him touching her in any way. The air feels electric, her breath stuttering as she keeps fucking up her fingers under Lando's careful guidance. He watches every motion, his jaw tightening, ignoring the ache in his boxers the moment she finds her sweet spot, crying at how good it feels. She tries to muffle the moan, but Lando catches the hesitation, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

“No, let me hear you. Please, let me hear you,” he implores, exhaling sharply. “God, you're perfect. I could watch you forever.”

Lando can't help but notice how receptive she becomes at his words, her body tightening at the way he's praising her. As a result, she presses her fingers harder onto her clit, feeling the pressure building inside.

“Mhm, Lan…”

“I'm with you, baby. Keep going,” he encourages her, his gaze fixating on the slickness dripping between her legs. “Fucking hell. You're already so close, aren't you?”

It's like every word gets caught in her throat, and the only way she can reply to him is with a pathetic, desperate whimper.

In hindsight, she's never came from her fingers so quickly before, but the wave that’s hitting her from every direction right now is too intense to process right away.

It happens too fast, and the next thing she's aware of is Lando's voice, bringing her back.

“Please,” she hears him beg, managing to give him a slight nod of her head in return.

In that moment, the lights go out. Even so, Lando wants to be patient, as his index finger lightly brushes against her warmth. She exhales, giving up control, her gaze locked on him as if he is the only one that ever knew her. Meticulous, Lando traces his long, rough finger through her wetness, causing a shock to run through her whole body as it moves up and down her clit.

She thought she already crossed her limit, but then he leans down to press his mouth on her — deliberately, unapologetically, thirsty.

Lando lets out a deep, guttural groan that reverberates against her, causing her hips to twitch slightly. His tongue is wet and warm on her pulsating clit, leaving her breathless while he tastes her like it's the last time.

“My sweet, sweet baby,” he whispers, his voice intimate and personal, the words enveloping her in layers and layers of honey.

Feeling his warm breath on her center causes a surge of tension within her, making her walls tighten as his tongue explores within. He can't help but smile just as she leans into him, her body responding naturally, and he grips her thighs, closing the remaining gap between them. At that, she instantly buries her fingers in his curls, her hips mimicking his head movements.

“Oh, fuck,” she exhales abruptly.

The rest is pure bliss — his tongue licking in deep strokes, his muffled moans between her thighs, and the way he can’t seem to let go of her, gripping her tightly because he’s been deprived of her taste for so long.

Just for a brief second, Lando raises his head and, as his gaze remains fixed on her eyes, his mouth sucks gently at her clit. She's never seen him so desperate before, the sight of him owning her like that covering her entire body in chills.

Gradually, his kisses become way too powerful, which forces her to quickly grab his messy curls and pull him closer, unable to control herself anymore.

Without any warning, she screams his name as her climax hits her like a tidal wave for the second time in a row.

His growling makes her thighs quiver in his grasp, the vibrations intensifying her pleasure as her body convulses with each new sensation, while Lando’s tongue continues licking her during every heartbeat and shiver.

Next time she looks at him, his lips shine, his cheeks are red, and his gaze so intense that it causes her heart to skip a beat, creating a connection that seems more profound than any physical sensation she's just experienced.

He didn’t try to give her the best she’s ever had, but attempt to remind her how well he knows her body — to show her she still belongs to him.

“You’re so pretty,” says Lando, keeping his eyes on her, while he presses one finger back inside her cunt to test how thight she is after her second orgasm.

“Lando,” she spits his name at the unexpected touch, still too sensitive, “What… are you doing?” she gasps softly, a mixture between a sigh and a moan, when Lando's finger pulls out and glides across her wet, delicate clit once again.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Lando murmurs against her thigh, his voice low and reverent.

He grins in her direction, while his thumb circles her clit with precise intention, like a wheel gripping the perfect racing line. Sure of himself, Lando continues his movements, realizing how overstimulated she is, as he gets up to hover above her. Her hips buck instinctively into his hand, a jolt of reaction she can’t control.

Seeing Lando on top makes her react on instinct, wrapping one arm around his neck, while the other hand travels down his chest. The heat pooling in her stomach rises fast, an apex she didn’t expect to reach so soon. It’s intoxicating, her body spiraling as her mind blanks out the world beyond him.

“Lan—” she gasps, her back arching as if trying to escape, though every fiber of her betrays that she wants more.

“Come on, baby,” he says, increasing the pace. “You can give me one more. You're doing so well, I know you can,” his voice is a blend of dominance and desire, while his fingers press into her, knowing exactly where to go and how to bend, “Like that, see? So easy for me to read you. I could fuck my fingers into your pretty hole all night long and you'd still come for me every single time, wouldn't you, baby?”

Shaking, she clings to his neck, crying out his name in spasms. He loops his free arm around her, gently kissing her cheek — a gesture so tender and innocent that makes her heart grow ten times in size.

She grips his shoulder with one hand, her eyes closing in pleasure. “I can’t—” she chokes, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.

In an attempt to get her power back, she tries to push at his wrist, but his arm steadies her, determined.

“Of course you can, love,” says Lando, his voice a gentle command, the firmness in his tone like a driver refusing to lift his foot off the pedal, curious to see how far he can take it.

Her hand clenches around his arm as his thumb presses against her clit with ruthless precision. She reacts on instinct, muscles coiling tight as she bucks against his hand, not sure what controls her body anymore, since her brain got disconnected long ago. The slik rhythm of Lando's fingers becomes too much, and she knows she's close when he starts curling them inside at the perfect angle.

“La— Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” her voice is a high-pitched cry now, laced with desperation. “I’m going—”

“I know, baby. So pretty. Look at you, making such a mess for me,” he urges, leaning in to kiss her neck.

Her body tightens as pleasure explodes within her, blinding and all-consumming — a full-throttle sensation, unrelenting in its intensity. She sobs his name as liquid warmth spills from her pussy, coating Lando’s fingers. He doesn’t stop there, though, his hand continuing its pace, coaxing every last wave of her climax as his arm holds her securely against him.

“God, I've missed you.”

When her breathing slows down, he falls down on top of her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Her legs shake slightly, and her fingers curl weakly into his bare chest as he cradles her close.

Lando presses a tender kisses against her temple, his voice filling the quiet. “It wasn’t acciedntal,” he confesses.

She blinks rapidly, tilting her head to look at him, confused, “What?”

“Earlier,” Lando clarifies, “You said I was accidentally waltzing back into your life — it wasn’t accidental,” he repeats.

“What do you mean?”

Lando places a few more kisses on the heated skin of her neck, sucking in a couple of bruises, the gesture meant to buy himself more time for the storm raging in his head to stop.

“Lando,” she pulls him out of it.

“Been trying to figure out how to do this for a while. I just… couldn’t stay away from you anymore,” he admits, looking up at her, his eyes pleading. “I had Max playing detective while I was away.”

She pushes him off her to sit up on the bed, pulling at the edges of her dress. “Seriously, what?” her tone is not defensive — at least not yet — but there’s a sharpness to it that cuts into him.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushes to explain, “Look, I didn’t stalk you or anything. Nor Max,” he continues, getting up to stand next to her. “I didn’t even know where you lived until you brought me here. I swear.”

She wraps her arms around her own body, needing something to ground herself, “What did you do, Lando?” the girl asks, her voice quieter now.

He swallows, “I just asked him to check in on you. To see if you were okay.”

“And how did he do that?”

“He saw you tagged in a pic on this girl's account, and then did some research on the people you were with, paid some dudes to find out if their records were clean—” he starts chuckling when her fist hits his shoulder, playfully, but still with intent.

“Don’t be a dick,” she warns, her smile giving away the fact that she’s still amused by his immature sense of humor.

“I just… didn’t want to simply appear out of nowhere if you were happy. If you’d moved on,” Lando continues, his tone more serious now. “But when he told me you seemed like you hadn’t, I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine. I'm really not.”

His honesty was always a breath of fresh air, but now it's suffocating. Hearing him admitting he's not okay, implying that she's the reason why, is simply heartbreaking.

Her arms drop slowly to her sides, her fingers gripping the edge of the bed, “Why now, Lando? And why not text or call?”

He scoffs, “Can you look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you would have picked up if I called? Especially given how we left things?”

She cups Lando’s chin in the palm of her hand, forcing him to look at her, “I'll always pick up if it's you.”

The admission makes his chest tighten.

Lando shakes his head, “I promise I’ve tried,” he says, “God, I’ve fucking tried. I threw myself into everything, and nothing worked. Racing, training, sim sessions, going out with the guys — no matter what I did, I was constantly thinking of you. Every night out felt wrong because I wasn’t coming home to you. And I know home is such a vague word for me, because I’m mostly away, but you made every single place feel like home, and that's why it didn't matter where I was at the time. I just needed… need you in ways I can't nor want to explain.”

His confession makes her head spin. The breakup had been difficult for her, but she hadn’t considered how Lando had handled the past five months. All along, she had assumed he wouldn’t miss her — that his life, always on the road and consumed by his own pursuits, was too busy to notice the absence of one small, insignificant detail: her.

She's now realizing how wrong she had been to think that way.

“So…?” she finally asks. “Do you think a few orgasms later can mend what was broken five months ago?”

“What? No, of course not,” he says firmly, leaning forward, his elbows digging into his thighs. “I swear, all I wanted to do tonight was talking to you. I didn’t plan on getting to this point, but I can’t say I’m mad about it,” says Lando, taking her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You still want me,” she shoots Lando a rapid look, studying his face, “Just like I want you. I see it, I feel it. Baby, I know it.”

Her heart pounds in her chest, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her defenses like a hot knife through butter. She wants to be angry, to accuse him of being selfish, but the truth is, she isn’t. Maybe it’s foolish to believe him, but one thing Lando never did was lie to her. He did worse, yes, but he never lied.

“Lando...” she starts, but her voice trails off, wishing her head would stop spinning so she could think.

“I know I hurt you,” he continues, his voice softer now, “You hurt me. We hurt each other. But we're too good together not to find a way to make it work .”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her mind racing with memories of their past — the good, especially the bad, and everything else in between. Her fingers toy with the fabric of her dress, her eyes flickering between his face and the floor. The room is heavy with silence and, just for a moment, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find each other again.

Otherwise, if it's meant to fall apart, then let it happen with them gasping for air, tangled together, connected in every way imaginable.

THE MORNING SUN filters shyly through the curtains, soft and golden, spilling across the bed where Lando stirs awake. He’s all alone, the sheets around him rumpled from where she had slept. He blinks up at the ceiling, a little disoriented. Then, he hears the faint sound of running water and realizes she’s in the shower. It makes him feel like everything went back to normal, but he can't be sure of what's going to happen next. He can only speculate and hope, but nothing more than that.

The quiet is interrupted by the persistent buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He reaches for it, still groggy from sleep, scrolling through a handful of texts from last night — banter in the group chat, some Instagram notifications, a few missed calls; nothing too important to catch his eye. He places the phone back on the smooth surface carelessly, and his hand knocks over something solid in the process.

Frowning, he sits up to put it back in its place, and that’s when he sees it — a framed picture of them, taken during a rare quiet weekend in Monaco over a year ago, right at the beginning of their relationship. She looked so happy back then, caught mid-laugh as Lando was gazing at her with an expression so tender that it makes his chest ache now. The weight of the memory hits him harder than he expects, pulling him fully awake.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes him turn, and he puts the frame back quickly. However, it's enough for her to catch his sudden movement, her eyes flicking to the photo and back to him.

Her cheeks flush a deep pink. “I meant to put that away,” she rushes to say, pulling the towel tighter around her body like it might shield her from the embarrassment.

“Carlos took this one,” his voice is soft, as his eyes shift back to the frame. He picks it up again, turning it in his hands. “You asked me why didn't I call, but… why didn't you call?”

She laughs dryly, crossing the space to take the frame from his and and placing it face down on the nightstand. She sits down next to him, shrugging.

“And tell you what, Lando? That I couldn’t stop thinking about you even though you broke my heart?” she asks, shaking her head, the embarrassment turning into something closer to frustration. “It’s just a stupid picture, anyway. We barely knew each other when it was taken.”

“It’s not stupid,” he contradicts her vehemently. His hand reaches out tentatively, brushing against her soft forearm. “It's nice to know I wasn’t completely crazy for hoping you felt the same.”

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. The towel slips slightly, and she clutches it tighter, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his hungry eyes.

“Lando…”

“Leave it there, yeah?” he says, pointing at the picture. “Facing your side of the bed, preferably.”

Seeing her suddenly deep in thought, Lando grabs her wrist and gently pulls her onto his lap, his thumb lightly brushing against her silky skin.

She looks at him, her emotions warring on her face. “If it makes me look less pathetic, it was face down most of the time.”

Lando laughs, his hands finding her waist, then her hips, steadying her on his lap, “I love you,” he says it casually, but it still freezing the blood in her veins.

Her fingers fly towards his mouth to cover his lips, “Don't,” she warns.

“You know I do. I was serious last night. You don't have to decide anything right now, but I'm not going anywhere. It sucks we needed to hurt for a while, we're both at fault, but I never stopped loving you,” he repeats.

“You're so unfair.”

“Don't care, say it back,” he teases, digging his fingers into her skin to tickle her sides.

She starts giggling, “Don't you dare.”

His grin widens, “Or what?” he asks playfully as her hands fly to his, trying to fend him off.

“Lando, I'm serious. Stop it,” her laughter blends with his while he leans in closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“I need to hear it, baby. Please. Just say it back.”

“It back,” she chuckles, feeling his fingers tickling her so mercilessly that tears form in her eyes. Their laughter bubbles over, loud and uninhibited, until she collapses against him. “Okay, fine. Fine,” her breathy voice stops him in place, catching his attention. “I love you, Lando.”

A simple confession; he asked for it. But none of them expected it to hang that heavily between them. It's not a lie — not in the slightest — and Lando knows it.

“Enough to give us a second chance?” he asks.

Her breath catches at the sudden shift in his tone, and before she can reply, his thumb traces her cheek gently.

“I'm so scared,” she admits, leaning into his touch.

Lando sighs, understanding too well where she's coming from, “I know, baby. But I'm even more afraid of losing us again. Losing this…”

His hand slides down her chest, tracing the curve of her breasts. With a gentle movement, he tugs at the corner of her towel, letting it drip smoothly down her body. Patiently, he runs his hands down her waist, moving back up to her chest as they leave goosebumps in their wake. Hungry, his hands rest on her breasts, squeezing them lightly until he feels her nipples in his palms, and she drops her head on his shoulder, whimpering softly.

Memories of last night make her body shudder, feeling the heat between her legs intensifying. Following his lead, her fingers start tugging at the waistband of his boxers, until they slip low on his hips.

Lando moves one hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. He groans against her mouth, his breath hot and ragged, before breaking their connection long enough to kick the boxers aside.

Skin on skin, their bodies align like two puzzle pieces.

She hovers over him, his hands on either side of her, “I wanna take care of you,” he speaks softly, closing his eyes when her forehead rests against his. “Please, let me take care of you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that twists something deep inside her. She's just learned how to be independent again. She can't throw all of it away. She can't let herself slip.

She can't.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

Her answer is all that Lando needs to hear. His lips crash back onto hers as he swaps their positions, lowering her onto the bed, his body pressing against hers, warm and solid. And so very real. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like a promise, a vow that he won’t let her slip through his fingers again.

And then, Lando takes control — not the type of dominance he's used to when he steers his car. It's more like devotion; his hands map her body all over again, like a driver learning every twist and turn of a new circuit, his lips following the trail his fingers blaze.

She arches into his touch, responding to him in ways she thought she’d forgotten.

But the body remembers.

And the remembering is, oh, so good.

Last night was just the warm-up, she reckons — an act meant to remind both of them how well they fit together. Lando was gentle, kind, and patient. But now, she sees the shift in him.

His eyes are darker, filled with lust, his touch greedier. She can't help but smile when she realizes that the Lando she knows all too well — the one who’s needy, insatiable, and unrelenting in his desire for her — is still there, and so ready to show off.

Her skin tingles in anticipation as she watches him, knowing exactly what he wants. And for once, she wants it just as much. Maybe even more, considering how her body is acting independently from her brain.

She wants him to give her everything, to burn through her until she’s left gasping and wet and ruined, and she’s ready to meet his hunger with her own.

But before that, “We're not done talking,” she tells him, breathing heavily against his mouth.

“Yeah, we'll talk. Stay with me and we'll talk all you want, baby.”

She wants to protest, but her air gets knocked out of her lungs and her fingernails sink into his shoulders when Lando nudges the head of his cock up and down her slit to collect the wetness. With a gentle kiss on her jaw, she closes her eyes, tracing her fingers down his arms as he pushes inside.

They both exhale, relieved that they're back where they belong.

Talking can wait.

Lando's hands grip her waist just as he pulls out, only to push back in, all the way to the hilt in one slow, but hard thrust. The feeling is almost too much for her, which is ridiculous since he just started moving. But she feels so full, and the sounds he lets out only make her open up for him even more.

“Wait, wait,” she can barely recognize her own voice, stopping Lando when their hips touch together.

She can't explain it, but she needs it.

“What's wrong?”

She looks down between their bodies, confusing Lando even more. “I…,” she begins, but she's not sure how she's supposed to voice her need.

“It's okay, you can tell me,” he assures her, bringing his hand to cup her face in his palm, tracing his thumb over her cheek.

“I—need a second to feel you,” she explains, pushing his hand away only to trace her palms over her face.

Lando chuckles, “Baby, don't hide from me. You're driving me fucking mad when you're blushing.”

“I'm not blushing,” she contradicts him, raising her hips against his, her walls hugging him tighter with every move.

“No?” whispers Lando roughly as if he lost his voice. “God, you're perfect. So good, so fucking sweet and perfect around me, baby.”

Her legs tighten around his waist, keeping him inside, while one hand moves to his lower back to push him against her even more. There is no physical space left between them, but she still wants more. It only makes Lando's cock throb inside her pussy, giving her a few more seconds to adjust to his length before he pulls all the way out and slides back, searching for the perfect pace.

“Fuck, Lando,” she whines, burying her fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Yes, I know,” agrees Lando, his eyes flicking over her face. His insides tighten at the sight of her parting her lips in pleasure, her breathing hot and irregular. “You're so beautiful from this angle.”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off, which makes Lando chuckle again.

“Why would I?” he asks, leaning closer to her ear, while thrusting a couple more times before pausing. “You look like a fucking goddess taking my cock so well.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of his voice, low and raspy, rocking her hips to find that sweet friction against her walls again.

“Keep,” she whines, “Keep going, then. Let me have it.”

Lando presses his lips on hers at the same time he resumes his movements, his hands roaming all over her body.

“You can have my cock, baby,” he groans into her hair. “All yours.”

She nods, wrapping her fingers around his biceps, “Yeah?”

“Promise you,” says Lando.

After that, he picks up pace, both falling into an agonizing rhythm. All this time, she had thought that familiarity might dull the edge of being with Lando, that knowing his moves would make it predictable and boring, maybe even ordinary.

Somehow, it’s the exact opposite.

It’s because she knows him, and he knows her so well, that every touch feels ecstatic, every kiss charged with meaning. He doesn’t need to guess what she likes; he already knows how to unravel her, how to leave her trembling and breathless. And she knows exactly what will make his breath hitch, how to draw out that low, desperate groan that ignites her own fire.

In a way, every time feels like the first, but it's always much better, because they know how to make each other fall apart like no one else can.

“Please,” she gasps, breathing wetly in his shoulder. “Harder.”

One thing about Lando, he's always been good at listening. Without thinking twice, he tightens his grip on her hips, fucking his cock inside her harder and faster than before. In an instant, her ears are blessed with the way his moans sound.

“God, I've missed fucking my pretty girl like this,” says Lando, his hands moving on her thighs to spread her more so he can slide in faster. “It's never like this, baby, fuck.”

Being with Lando is chaos, the kind of beautiful, consuming chaos that leaves everything around them in shambles. They are loud and messy, and everything is sweaty and wet and sticky. He kisses her like he’s starving, touches her like he’s desperate to memorize every inch of her skin, and she matches his fervor, meeting him with the same wild energy that pulls them under. Together.

“Lando,” she spits his name out of her mouth in short spasms. “Lando, Lan… Lando.”

It's almost like a cry for help, but she doesn't need saving. Not when he's fucking her so good, slamming against her over and over again, until the outside world fades away and all she remembers is his name.

“Lando,” she whimpers again.

“Keep me in, love. Like that,” she can barely hear him over the sound of skin slapping on skin. “Fuck. You're taking me so well, I won't stop fucking you, baby. I won't—”

She sucks in a breath of air, her body buzzing with pleasure. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she can feel how hot and sweaty his chest is. She moves with him for a couple more thrusts before she lets go, the sound of Lando fucking in and out of her while she comes so obscene that it makes her eyes roll.

“I'll never get tired of seeing you coming like that,” says Lando, pinning her to the bed, his cock feeling so fucking good inside of her that it makes him see stars. “So fucking hot, baby.”

Her nails scratch the skin of his back as her pussy clenches around his length, forcing another hiss out of Lando's mouth.

“Don't stop,” she manages to say, even though she feels her throat raw.

“Ah, look at you, now. Being so good for me,” says Lando with a smirk, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Letting me fuck you when you're sore and spent. And so wet, baby, you're dripping all around my cock. Fucking hell.”

Lando's jaw clenches, a visible battle playing out in his face as his breath hitches. She feels him moving deeper, hitting the sweet spot inside her, sending ripples of pleasure through her body with every thrust.

“Yes—fuck. Don't stop,” she repeats.

His eyes widen as he tries to hold on for as long as he can, but it's hard when he flashes his eyes in her direction and catches her already looking. It doesn't take long for him to realize there's a replica to her first orgasm. He nods, without saying anything else, bringing his hand up to her neck. She places hers on top of his, not to push it away, but to let it rest there as a sign that it's fine to claim her if that's what Lando needs.

And that's enough for him to lose it.

“Baby,” he breaths out, fucking her slopply, any sense of order dissolving under the weight of their eye contact.

She arches into him, her fingers trembling as they rise to cup his face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she demands, her voice a desperate need.

She pictured that face thousands of times in the past months, but nothing compares to this. Lando groans at the command, his hooded gaze staying on hers. The intensity of his expression nearly undoes her again — his pupils blown wide, lips parted as he lets out s string of cuss words.

“That's it, pretty boy,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over his cheek as he moves inside her, his pace faltering for just a moment before he snaps back into thay sloppy rhythm, chasing his release. “Want to see you when you let go.”

She barely finishes her sentence when his orgasm crashes over him like a tsunami; no one would be able to even tell where she begins and where he ends.

Lando looks so beautiful and wrecked, and she drinks in every second of his surrender.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

When his features soften, she sees how vulnerable he is, and it leaves her breathless.

Satisfied and content, her fingers still trace his face, wanting to remember the exact way he looks in this moment, when he is completely hers.

Unable to support his weight, Lando collapses on top of her, feeling his body as light as a feather, which is so far from the truth. But she doesn't mind; she loves the feeling, actually. She loves the heaviness, and the way he keeps his cock tucked deep inside her, wet and softening slowly, not allowing his cum to leak out of her.

Descending back down from their high, the only sounds in the room are their slowing breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets. It's hard not to notice the weight of reality when it begins to creep in around the edges.

She lies beneath him, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his back, but her mind is miles away.

“When are you leaving?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando tenses for a moment, then shifts to lie beside her, propping his head on his hand to look at her. The vulnerability in her eyes twists something deep inside him.

She swallows hard, suddenly flooded by all the reasons they had fought, all the late nights filled with misunderstandings and misaligned priorities. She remembers all the reasons why they broke up, and thinking how bad of an idea this has been. Because, how can she let go of him again, without feeling like she'll be losing both her head and heart in the process.

“On Tuesday,” says Lando softly. “But not how you think.”

Her brow furrows in confusion as she turns to face him. “What do you mean?”

Lando leans over, his hand caressing her cheek as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about us for months. Since you left, actually,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate. “I had a lot of time, and I managed to figure out why it didn’t work before, why I couldn’t give you what you deserved. So… I’ve talked to the team.”

She almost stops breathing, her eyes widening in his direction while she waits for him to continue. Months ago, she would've die to have this conversation, and now that it happens, she doesn't know how to behave.

“I'm working on a schedule. To have more time for us,” Lando explains.

Her heart skips a beat. “You’d do that?”

“For us,” he repeats, his voice firm. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you. I don't want to be okay without you, it's stupid. And I don’t want to keep coming back here, hoping for a second chance, only to mess it up again. I want to get it right this time.”

She stares at him, not knowing what to do with that information. This is not the Lando she knows. The recklessness and impulsivity got replaced by caution and planning the steps ahead. It's new, and exciting, and it makes her tear up.

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” she asks, her voice small.

He leans closer, his forehead touching hers. “It will.”

His tone is so definitive that she can't say anything else, letting the silence stretch between them as she searches Lando's face for any sign of hesitation.

There’s none.

“How... did you actually know where to find me last night?”

Lando smirks, studying her face with half-closed eyes, bringing his hand to her jaw. “That friend of yours posted on her story. Honestly, I didn’t know you were going to be there. But I hoped.”

She shakes her head, scoffing, “Stalker behavior.”

Lando shrugs nonchallantly, “I just happened to be nearby,” he chuckles.

“Lucky me,” she says, tracing the contour of his nose with her finger, stopping on his jaw.

“Lucky us,” he corrects, pulling her in for another kiss.

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[sinsinewave]

i think i posted about it before but this kid is going places if those art skills are allowed and encouraged to develop

like, the reason that looks so good is largely because of composition and colour

the background colours are such that they don't draw attention to themselves, not unnecessarily standing out, just kind of fading into the... background

the specific colours also neatly contrast the meowlk's clean white without being oversaturated and forceful, and the light, warm tones imply the idea of a safe and cozy environment; like a family home

---

as for compositing, the meowlk itself is positioned off-centre and off the focal point, which enhances the feel of mundanity and makes it feel more like just a normal object

that in turn sort of lets it speak on its own terms; the meowlk doesn't demand your attention like a screaming child, it exists there, letting the viewer's attention more naturally focus on it

---

i can also tell that a lot of that is most likely intuition, which is why i think this kid has potential to grow up a really damn good artist

basically, a subconscious, internalised understanding of composition and/or colours, making it so that you compose a scene in a certain way or choose certain colours because it just feels right, rather than by actively applying theory

that tends to lead to more genuine-feeling results than raw theory; letting the artist focus on expressing themselves rather than the framework on which to express themselves

the same intuition can be seen in a variety of fields; for example i have great spatial awareness and due to that do well at 3D modeling, while my mother (a painter and portrait artist) seems to have an intuition for contrasts and shades, at least from what i can see, and musicians often have it for harmonious sounds and melodies

and this kid seems to have it for colours and composition, along with a good imagination, as i said

---

and before anyone says anything about talent, this is the closest there is; and that intuition can be learned

some have it more naturally without much practice, but like, if you genuinely want to do art, you'll develop it over time; while it's developing things just won't be nearly as effortless, and a lot of people give up from that

for example, if while learning art skills you have to figure out colours regularly, your brain will slowly rewire itself to do that automatically

---

to get into a bit of psychological speculation there, because my view on the nature/nurture debate tends to lean towards nurture, i'd imagine having that intuition naturally is a result of what the subconscious mind pays attention to during development for whatever reason, be it genetic or something else

using my own intuition for 3D awareness as an example, i know for basically a fact that my (or, well, former host's) mind focused a lot on spatial thinking; partly as a result of being really into lego, but also just kinda naturally; and the memories i've recovered of that time include remarkable amounts of spatial data specifically

and then years later i end up being good at modeling because my brain is already pre-wired to handle spatial thinking

in this kid's case, i'd imagine for whatever reason their subconscious mind has focused on layouts and colours, which translates to the composition of that genuinely really goddess damned good artwork

[nerdykeppie]

Holiday Shopping that fights period poverty for college students? Yep! Read on. :)

After the success of our June/Pride 2024 sales goal, where we managed to eliminate a lot of the debt we accumulated while I was unable to work earlier this year & stock up cash so we didn't have to borrow for payroll during the fall lull and also donate to @queerliblib, we were considering where to focus on this year when a conversation I had with my mom pointed me in the direction of our charity for Holidays 2024: the East Stroudsburg University Warrior Food Pantry, and specifically, stocking menstrual products at the pantry.

Without getting too much into the weeds about the details - which I'll talk about under the cut for those of you who are interested - here's the pitch: we need to hit a gross sales goal of $45K in December in order to pay our bills and payroll basically until Pride starts up. Businesses like ours are very much feast or famine, and we've got to eat and we've got people whose paychecks depend on us having the cash to pay them.

If we hit that goal, we'll donate the equivalent of 1% of our net profit from the month of December in period products -- tampons and pads, specifically, by request of the food pantry, and possibly reusable pads and menstrual cups, if the pantry wants that from us. (At the end of the day, this is about taking care of people the way they need, and we'll listen to the pantry staff about what people are requesting.)

We've currently got our Bottoms & Tops sale going, too, so you can buy 2 tops or bottoms from the linked collection & get 69% off the 3rd item from that collection.

Okay, so for the long version whys and wherefores:

My mom taught math at ESU for 35 years, and she and Dad now volunteer running the food pantry along with a couple of other people. ESU is a state school, and as such is one of the few remaining vaguely affordable schools in Pennsylvania. A lot of its students are self-supporting for one reason or another -- many are "non-traditional"/adult students, have kids, or don't have families that can support them while they go to school. Mom & Dad have pushed to expand what the food pantry offers to personal care items, which has been difficult due to a bunch of boring stuff about money and state entities and also people thinking 'that's not food,' but Mom is stubborn about it, because -- to paraphrase her -- how can you focus on class when you feel gross? This struggle has been especially difficult for menstrual products, and way more so for tampons, because it's a rather conservative area and... yeah. People get weird about it.

I've been really broke, with a young kid, and reliant on food pantries, which rarely, if ever, have any menstrual products, let alone tampons. Period poverty is very real, and it sucks.

Plus, I gotta tell you, if we can send a bunch of boxes of tampons and pads to the food pantry, well... Rumor has it this will help my mom win an argument over whether those items should be carried at all, because what are they gonna do, throw them out? They're here! They've been donated! Wasting them would be terrible. :)

So that's the pitch, guys. Help me make a direct, measurable difference in the lives of people at the school where I went to winter swim team, the school that fed me growing up... and help my mom win an argument about making people's lives better... and get your holiday shopping done while you do. ;) We start counting sales from the minute I hit post. :P

[cozylittleartblog]

idk if I've said it before, but your portrayals of both Rouxls and Queen are among my favorites, and the way they are when you combine the two is the sole thing that got me to say "yes" to queenkaard. When I first saw it in the game and it started catching on as a ship, I was like "nooo I hc him as gay," but then after seeing your stuff I was like "oh nvm I totally see this now."

i think hearing "i didn't see this ship before, but after your art i understand it and/or even ship it myself" is one of the nicest compliments i get, because it makes me feel like i'm representing something meaningful and sweet about a pairing and having people understand what i think is so great and captivating about them. i've gotten a couple asks like this and sometimes i forget to respond but i always really appreciate them :) thank you very much

[jollyhunter]

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings! MDNI, explicit sexual content (light), fluffy smut, but also cuddling and lots of teasing, Dean being needy and touchy and soft!dom

EDIT: Whoa!! I just woke up to 100+ likes and I am speechless! I never found the courage to post any of my stuff, until yesterday. Thank you all so so much - you have no idea how much this means to me, especially since I just joined tumblr and felt a bit intimidated and lost. You’re all amazing <3

Now enjoy! …already sorry for the damn tease kishishi 🦊

A/N: Heya! This is my first fanfic post- woohzaa [throws glitter and anxiety across the post]. English isn't my native language but I tried to make up for it with spell-checking? Also, I'm sorry for the cliffhanger sweethearts! Let me know if you liked it <3

Word count: 1,700

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

The smell of musky sweat still hung in the thick air and the sheets around you looked like a strangled mess. So your sleep was deep, exhausted but also feeling all spent and fuzzy from the several rounds you and Dean had a couple of hours ago. Your breathing was serene, your nose nuzzled into Dean‘s arm which worked as a makeshift pillow. The other one was tightly wrapped around your waist, keeping you close, holding your back against his slowly moving chest, keeping you warm and save in his tight locked arms.

A sudden bump against your butt stirred you slightly, but you assumed Dean was just being restless again. His arm tightened around you when you pressed your body further into him in a reassuring gesture, your hand meanwhile untangling itself from the sheets to interlace your slender fingers with his calloused ones.

Then the broad shoulders that were glued to your back, suddenly shift. His breath against your neck coming in short little excited puffs. And his hips gently rock against your arse, slowly and almost testing. You grumble in response and give his hand a little warning squeeze. „You have to sleep, Dean…“ you remind him with a dozily slurred voice. He‘d have to get up in an hour or so, as he and Sam were going to investigate a case somewhere up in Nebraska. It would probably take at least a couple of days, and you already knew he’d miss you just as much as you’d miss him, because he was always especially needy and touch-deprived before he left the bunker for longer.

Another bump against your back. You curl up into a ball, not wanting to leave his comfortable warmth but still trying to get your point across without having to use your voice.

When you cuddled up against him like a kitten, Dean stilled his movements. And you left a soft exhale of something like relief, snuggling under his strong arm, loving the feeling of his shielding presence all around you.

But Dean was not done. And you curling up like a cat didn’t help either - if anything, it just made his hidden sly smirk widen. Just when you went back to dreamland, you felt something brush against your knee. Then your thighs. Dean snaked his leg over yours, trapping you against the mattress. „Dean…“ you grumble again, your eyes still shut and your face buried under his arm while you tried to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine. He doesn’t reply. Instead his foot slips between your knees and he now slowly pushes your legs apart, parking his thigh between them to keep them spread for him. He brushed his nose against your neck, taking in your sweet scent, his fingers slowly dancing down your body, tracing every curve like he knew them by heart. Another shiver went through your body and it became harder to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the sleepiness somehow just accelerating your arousal. You wiggle under him when you suddenly feel his hot breath waft against your ear, „uh-uh-uh…“ His gravelly voice earns him a little shaky exhale from your parted lips while he quickly pins you further down.

Dean traced the rim of your pajamas pants with his fingers, teasingly slow while his other hand tightened its grip around yours, to keep you from slipping away. „Just lemme take care of you, baby…“ he murmured with his lips pressed against your ear, his head keeping you flush against the mattress. He wanted you to keep your eyes closed, stay sleepy, just relax and enjoy.

Not sure anymore whether you were dreaming or not, you found yourself nodding against his side, and that quite eagerly despite your half-asleep state. Satisfied with your answer, he slipped his fingers under the rim of your pants, taking his sweet time as his hand traveled down between your legs.

Just when his fingertip brushed against your clit, a loud knock at the door made you startle from your half-sleep-half-needy state.

„Dean? Come on man- we gotta go. Get your arse moving!“ Sam called out from the other side of the door, knocking again just to make sure he’d not ignore him.

Dean’s finger still idly circled your clit, torn between ignoring him or getting out of bed. After a moment he groans, his arms and legs still tightly in position around you, as he opens his mouth to bark back - but then is cut short by your lips on his cheek.

He turns back to look down at your curled up sleepy form, your cheeks flushed and goddamn you‘re already wet between your legs. „’tis okay” You reassure him, although you had to really force yourself to not sound frustrated and needy.

Dean grunted, knowing exactly that you were just trying to get him out of bed and out of trouble for being too late. But man he could have kicked his brother in the arse right about now.

He gave you a quick peck on the forehead and with a reluctant movement pulled his hand from your pants and untangled himself from your body. When he kicked his legs over the edge of the bed and got up, he suddenly turned around again, his eyes darkening and his lips curling into a sly smile.

“C’mere” he said gruffly, making it sound like an order. But you just looked up at him with bleary eyes, blinking in confusion as your mind was still half asleep. “On your knees.” He patted the spot in front of him with an air of authority.

You weren’t sure where this was going but were curious enough to play along. So you sat up, swaying a bit as you scooted closer to the edge on your knees. “Uh-uh,” you stopped and tilted your head in confusion, giving him that befuddled puppy look. He circled his index finger, gesturing for you to turn around. “On your hands and knees.” He said with that iconic deep and firm voice.

You swallowed, a little shiver running down your spine again. Without any protest you did as you were told and backed up against the edge of the bed again, this time facing away from him.

“Wanna get a look again.” He began, while his hands suddenly cupped your arse, squeezing them. „Wanna memorize what I’ll miss.“ You bit your lower lip, glad he couldn’t see your needy eyes right now. With a swift motion, his fingers hooked under the rim of your pants and he pulled them all the way down to your knees. The moment the air hit your bare skin, you were suddenly fully aware of how exposed you felt, unable to see what he was doing, where his eyes were going and what his next move would be. Without a word his hands immediately went back to your hips, slipping up to the back of your waist and pressing you down with a certain strength that made you follow each of his movements like a tamed horse. He ran one hand up between your shoulder blades and pushed down there as well until your tilted head and your chest were flush against the mattress, drawing a small whimper from your mouth. God how he loved seeing you comply like this, exposed, open and vulnerable to him, filling his heart with pride.

He kept one hand on your back to pin you down while his other went to tug at your lowered pants. “Jesus… you’re dripping, sweetheart.” He mutters almost in awe when you felt his eyes roaming your wetted thighs and pants. Suddenly he slides his hand back up along your spine until each of them grabs your hips. He angles them so your butt would point more up for him, pushing you even further into the bed, just the way he wanted you. Then out of nowhere his firm hands grab your arse cheeks and without a warning he pulled them apart, getting a real nice look on your slick folds. „I want to remember this view…“ He mutters, spreading your arse even more while you felt him bend down, his hot breath hitting the inside of your thighs, „Want to think of that beautiful pussy when I‘m alone…“

And then you suddenly feel the tip of his tongue flick against your clit, the unexpected sensation almost making you buckle while a shuddering moan slips your lips. Dean chuckles, relishing the effect he’s having on you. „Hold still, baby.“ He ordered while his one hand trailed over your hip and to the small of your back, holding you down, and his other started to rub your arse cheek, affectionately and proudly. „God… you’re so beautiful… Want to remember your taste…“ He continued before his tongue flicked across your folds this time, wetting his lips with your sweet juice, followed by a deep groan, "God you taste so fucking good...". He pulled the stroking hand back, and then brought it down again with a sharp swat to your arse. You yelped and your legs trembled, which made Dean grin proudly that he managed to surprise you with that move. „You a good girl until I‘m back?“

He didn’t wait for an answer but swats your arse again, this time definitely leaving a red mark he knew you wouldn’t mind. „You be good?“ He asks again, his voice taking that gravely tone which always made you squirm.

„Mhm,“ you mutter against the mattress, trying to hold still for him. „I‘ll be good.“

„That’s my girl.“ He patted your red arse cheek, his lips widening into that cheshire grin of his, „Now you get some rest.“

Before you could protest, he wiggled the soaked pants up your legs and over your hips again. You stifled a soft whine but knew it was no use, he‘d need to go now. Dean chuckled at the needy sound that slipped your perfect cute lips and it took all of his willpower to not just take you right there. He leaned over you to kiss you on the neck, his lips lingering there for a little longer than usual before he whispered in a low rumbling voice, „We‘ll continue right here when I‘m back, sweetheart... and 'till then... I‘ll always think of you.“

[thoustanofthe7thkingdom]

I haven't posted before and I'm on very little sleep so big ol' pinch of salt buut, I think, especially in regard to quote at the end that what is considered in the canon of what art people are consuming is extremely narrow and not representative of what people are actually making and listening two within their respective niches. Personally I find my politics has been informed by the entertainment I've consumed more than anything else(I think) annd it makes me hopeful that blatant radical messages in shows r becoming more common like idk if the one of the biggest films (I don't think shows were much of a thing) wld call Nixon an outright nazi like full on call him a nazi, and it gives me hope that shows like the boys are doing this, at the same time I think this goes over lots of peoples heads or like the Instagram racists or 4chan types celebrate homelander as an 'ironic' or like meta-ironic hero and this gives me much less hope. also I would say that maybe I actually do agree with this were media can point to what a society was collectively (at least within its niches) thinking at a given time. Idk if this post makes any sense or if I've added anything but I feel like I wanna post anyway

actually more point I want to make:

I feel like artists shld not stop efforts to push radical messages into mainstream media but also shld not be that chuffed with themselves if they have and praxis is probably gonna make more measurable difference, alsooo while mainstream media is funded by companies such as Amazon I think for really mainstream stuff like the boys there is always gonna be a filter for anything that wld be that radical to motivate an audience to do something abt actual issues unfortunately, think this happened with the boys in the last season where it moved from away from the higher quality satire of like 2-3 seasons and become just poltics reference haha with no substance past ' republican b like I hate trans people'.

Concluding my first post here to Tumblr I think I have lots of thoughts on the boys which is maybe relevant to the post but who knows, not me, I haven't slept.

I bid thee adieu

Words from Toni Morrison, Audre Lorde, and James Baldwin about “the vital role that artists play in society generally, and doubly so in the face of authoritarian regimes”.

[theabigailthorn]

You know, it's a bit weird being a PT patron. I suppose that's more of a statement than a question.

Yeah? I think that's fair.

I think my Patreon is quite atypical compared to many. There's personalised rewards like the books and thank you cards that I do myself by hand, rather than just a merch store administered through Patreon, which other creators do. On the flipside, I try not to bother my Patrons too much with too many posts or being super active on Patreon - I always feel like I'm imposing on you by putting anything there! So it's simultaneously more personal and less?

I go back and forth on it a lot; I feel like I need to offer people some actual tangible rewards for signing up to the Patreon, but the process of doing the rewards and having it be a community seems so grubby? I genuinely feel like I am imposing on the people who give me money enough as it is so I'm anxious to even interact - in a way that I'm obviously not on tumblr! I just get bigtime imposter syndrome about it I guess.

And there's the balancing act I have to do with Nebula stuff, where I have contractual obligations to them to do certain content or put it there first. I've had a lot of conversations with the higher ups in both companies about that balance: it's a whole ongoing thing.

I think I'm gonna revamp the Patreon in the new year, maybe simplify it a little? At the very least I need to alter the 'Facebook and Twitter shout outs tier' cause I'm not even on Twitter anymore. But I'm terrified of changing anything cause the channel depends on the Patreon! Nebula + ads isn't enough to sustain it, not at the moment anyway. I've noticed people talk about "Disney money" or "HBO money" this year lol but to be frank with you, both of those jobs combined paid me less than I paid in rent that year. I'd like Philosophy Tube to be its own thing, self-sustaining, and for me to have enough from acting to live off that.

Anyway, I'll do the usual financial roundup post in December and see how the channel did this year, and plan my 2025 moves from there. Any suggestions are welcome! I recognise your name and I know you've been a patron for ages, so thank you!

[luxmainohno]

GF!jinx headcanons

A/n: i haven't posted forever here but arcane left me with a hole to fill so I wanted to come back and surround myself with ppl who like the things I do hahaha. Anyways if you like this plz like/reblog/share and feel free to send me some request for later! And happy Thanksgiving!

S2 arcane showed us that when Jinx is with someone she feels safe around she's very cool headed and rational. I'd assume she's the same around her partner

She has plenty of inside jokes with you, some you probably don't even know about and she definitely gets pouty when you don't get the joke.

Loves doodling you. They're bad and unflattering but they're drawn out of love and adoration

If she's a jinx you're the opposite.

She thinks you saved her and can fix or make better all her mistakes. She probably even is a little unhealthily attached to you

I love writing jinx bc she is just so mentally ill (me too) I really think jinx in a relationship is a study on its own!

At first i don't think she'd be too keen on physical intimacy and genuinely you'd have to initiate any touch.

In arcane the people she is physical with like hugging and closeness are silico and vi, touch is saved for her family. If she's touching you in anyway she means you're family.

So many random soft moments with her, she's genuinely not this manic awful person when she's left alone in a safe environment. She needs a safe environment to be herself, to be jinx and powder in one.

She loves private time between you two, its the only time she can take her time to be herself without any pressure, she's allowed to not think or worry about destroying something or someone

She's terrified of ever hurting you, so much so it'll be a genuine issue in the relationship. She's so scared of Jinxing this relationship, what if she makes you hate her? What if she accidently harms you or worse ?

You'd have to spend a lot of time reminding her she's not an awful person, and her existence isn't a burden. It will never be to you, you promise and she believes it. She holds on to it and to you.

Can be very paranoid about you. You're safety, loyalty, whatever it is she just has never had any sort of stability or constant, she will question everything, and you will have to be her rock

[ye4gerism]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

author’s note hi. happy thanksgiving. still writing the two final parts of good luck, captain. who knew writing smut could be so embarrassing? anyway, these headcanons take place in the world of good luck, captain. my requests are open - feel free to drop by

PRE - CRASH

• You and Curly had been talking about Thanksgiving for months. You had tried to convince him to come over to California but he insisted you come to Colorado to meet his maternal side

• You were really just trying to avoid this mom, who made it very very clear you weren’t the one for her son (in her eyes) and his weird roommate, Jimmy.

• You give in and months later you’re met by multiple cousins, aunts, and uncles. They’re actually pretty chill. It’s fun hearing their strong Australian accents going back and forth about if chicken or seafood is a better alternative to turkey

• Curly’s nieces and nephews are so in love with him and you fall even more in love with him when you see how much he cares for them

• “Isn’t he adorable?” Curly’s holding the youngest member of his family and you’re up against his arm, admiring the baby. “You two would look good as parents,” an aunt says.

• Okay, external family? Perfect. But his mom? Ooh…

• You try to extend an olive branch by presenting the pie you brought for dinner - she gives you a dirty look and goes on to greet another family member. You offer to help finish up with dinner - “You…don’t really look like you know what you’re doing.” You even breathing Curly’s air had miss girl fuming

• But your boyfriend, as usual, just smile nods and tells you that his “mumsie” will warm up to you

• This is the one holiday where you don’t run into issues with Jimmy because he’s fed - for free! You actually see him crack a smile once

• At the end of the dinner, you go up to Curly’s old room for bed. You’re cuddled up against him. “Can we do my place next time?” you ask, “Don’t get me wrong, the rest of your family’s nice…but I think you’ll like my Thanksgiving better.”

He looks back at you and chuckles. “I guess it’s only fair.”

POST - CRASH

• It takes a few years to get Thanksgiving on its feet in your home

• At the beginning, you’d both acknowledge the holiday and the hospital he was being treated at would send over a little Thanksgiving plate

• But when he could finally come home, you slowly started to integrate a lot of festivities in your lives, like Thanksgiving

• It’s really just the two of you - you rotate between turkey, chicken, and ham each year

• You watch a little bit of football before watching a Christmas movie on your couch before dosing off

[ausradfem]

Hot take but I wish there was a bit more discourse on here about the complex feelings one has intersecting their radical feminism with their attraction/subsequent interest in dating men. I think there's a lot of radfems on here who live lives that are completely absent of having to interact with men and be around men (and some who just don't seem to go outside much at all, lol) who will point the hard finger at anyone who dares to talk about their nigel, and claim that separatism is the ONLY way forward. Time and time again, we know this isn't true. I fully support movements like 4b! I think its valuable and imperative that women decenter men, have their own spaces, put women first, etc.

But we also ~live in a society~ and complete separatism is not only incredibly unrealistic to strive for, but it relies so heavily on moral purantism that many just find off putting as its unobtainable for them. What moral puranitsm doesn't factor in is that people fall in love! We have feelings! We're human! And if you're OSA that means you have the possibility of finding you feel a way about a man that's out of your control.

As someone pointed out in the comments, several radical feminists that we often all quote on here had husbands, boyfriends, life partners that were men. Were those men magically better than men non-feminists date? Probably not. They might possess a certain level of respect for women that a lot of men don't, because (let's be real) most men will simply not put up with a woman who has, and practices, radical feminist beliefs. I also believe there's a lot of young women on here who don't exactly practice what they preach, and on one hand may espouse many radical feminist views while never calling out their boyfriend when he uses slurs or says things that are misogynistic. But this isn't every radfem, and it's silly to lump every radfem on here into that category.

Maybe I should be more open about my OSA, and give some more nuanced views on it (especially as I come from a background of DV), but thats for another post in the near future.

Long story short I think we gotta be a bit more..... complex? When talking about radfems who continue to date and love men. It's a much more weighty, multi-facted topic than things like beauty standards, which were created as a direct tool of oppression, and serve no value to women's lives. Males often don't, but you'd be insane to say that no women get enjoyment and fulfilment out of loving men. Lastly, I think opening up discourse about staying strong in your radical feminism encourages standards!! I know I started putting up with a lot less crap from men the more I read into radical feminism. Simply saying "don't date men" doesn't teach other women how to appropriately navigate:

- standing up for one's self in a relationship

- accurately communicating your needs, and to hold men accountable when they aren't men

- being selective with who you date, what to look for and avoid

- how to recognise signs of abuse

- how to garner healthy sexuality and pleasure for yourself

- how to centre your pleasure and fulfilment sexually, emotionally and mentally.

I could go on, but it's late here and I think I've articulated my point alright enough (:

i’ve noticed that radfems with boyfriends have this unspoken belief that they just know how to pick men and therefore they feel better than women who end up with shitty men or that they could never be a woman on the news that just got murdered by her boyfriend/husband… girl just because you haven’t caught ur man watching porn doesn’t mean he’s a good guy. It’s another level of pathetic to be in a space where the actions of men and how they treat women is a very popular topic and then believe ur man is somehow different because you don’t want to be alone……i’m so sorry to the separatists that sit and watch this shit….

[molabuddy]

(MAJOR GGG SPOILERS)

I had some thoughts that I was told were good.... about like. the godpoke as their own character. and about them & King's postcanon friendship.

and how. during & after the events of the game, everyone else probably just sees godpoke doing its godpoke things and are like yup! that's just good ol' godpoke! (only communicating using other people's words and the occasional nod or shake, drifting around following orders & helping people, generally being the most perfect little mail carrier the grove could ask for with barely a complaint despite being having the role of godpoke literally dropped from the sky onto them)

and King is the first to vocally be like. hey. isnt that kind of really weird? this little cowpoke saved the entire world, but none of us know anything about them personally? ... nobody even knows their name?? We just call them godpoke???

(the rest under here i don't wanna giant post blast y'all ↓)

I feel like King would think of it as the least she could do after all the godpoke has done for the grove, for all the listening and learning they've done about all the grove's gods' and people's lives and problems, to try and learn at least a little bit about Them. (and also i feel like King is just generally the type of person who desires to understand the people she meets as much as she possibly can.)

So King starts trying to help godpoke communicate for themself. probably a lot of giving them pointers on using megapon, and a lot of speaking very deliberately to give godpoke the chance to twist her words into what they really wanna say. its probably a long and slow effort... megapon wasn't exactly designed as a full communication device, just a mail cannon. and maybe the godpoke is stubborn, too. maybe they refuse to use anything else but megapon. maybe they're hesitent to share themself. and of course, the two of them are both busy helping the grove heal from the almost-apocolypse.

But King is the Eloquent God now. and among all her other new responsabilities, she's found someone who might need her words to help communicate for themself.. idk

[bacchuschucklefuck]

caps from comic Im doing

[honeytonedhottie]

my favorite 90's fashion trends⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💕🐆

❤︎ animal print

i think that animal print is so so chic. specifically cheetah and leopard print for me. its like the perfect blend of chic and sultry and i absolutely LIVE for it.

as u can see in the two outfits that i made that incorporated leopard print im heavily utilizing the chocolatey browns and golds and blacks and blending that all together nicely. these outfits have the perfect amount of sexiness and fierceness which is why i LOVE them so much.

❤︎ cargo pants

❤︎ mini shoulder bags

a mini shoulder bag is always the perfect accessory even nowadays! they go along with literally everything and i always feel like such a barbie when i pair a mini purse with my outfit.

not only is it functional but its also super duper cute and has so many options for versatility. for example u can use a mini shoulder bag as a statement piece or a complementary piece. this is something that paris hilton knew how to do REALLY really well.

❤︎ corset tops

i adore corset tops cuz they're so sexy and cute and they go well with literally anything i think. you can wear them over a dress or as a top, and it pairs really well with any bottom i think. as u can see in the looks i styled i did it with a low-waisted pair of jeans and a mini skirt.

i see looks like these a lot even in our fashion nowadays so im super happy about that because its just such a timeless trend! as u can see eva longoria's corset top complements her purse and the low waisted jeans and sandals add such a cute touch. i love that the corset top has a structured center that kind of goes outward toward the bust and bottom, its almost princessy.

❤︎ fur coats

❤︎ slip dresses

slip dresses are such an effortlessly elegant look and when i did some research for this post i saw supermodels like tyra banks frequently wearing them which i thought was super cool.

it just looks so refined and elegant and feminine and CUNT so i absolutely love it! in the look in the middle i love love LOVE how she paired the pink dress with the lime green heels like the color coordination is SUPERB.

❤︎ kitten heels

[herinsectreflection]

I have been struggling with whether or not to talk about why I've not been updating much lately. On one hand, I know I don't owe anybody anything. This is not my job, I do this for my own enjoyment and I am entitled to post as often or infrequently as I like. On the other hand, I am addicted to Explaining Things, that's why I'm planning to write 300k words about an old TV show I really like. So here, here are the reasons. I'm hoping that by writing them down my brain will stop latching onto them as sources of anxiety. 1) I got a job that I care about. I won't tell you what I do, but I will tell you that I work in a hospital. It takes a lot of mental energy, and unlike previous jobs, I no longer have the time or inclination to sneakily write essays in my downtime. Which sucks. I hate caring about the thing I'm paid for. It leaves less care for the things I'm not paid for.

2) Speaking of getting paid - I cancelled my ko-fi a few months ago. As much as I truly felt supported and humbled by the people who gave my money, I think it didn't help. Writing began to feel like something I owed the people who gave me money, rather than something I was doing because I wanted to.

3) I got into a polyamorous relationship. You ever tried to have free time while polyamorous? 'Nuff said.

4) I introduced one of my (then) partners to Buffy, and we ended up watching S3 while I was also trying to write about S3. I ended up oversaturated on S3. The most fun I had writing the earlier essays was when new ideas would hit me as I was watching. S3 doesn't feel as fresh to me, and so I don't feel eager to get to it.

5) In regards to S3, I've definitely been putting a lot of pressure on myself to say something particularly interesting and unique about it, since it is, you know, The Faith Season, and I have been branded The Faith Explainer. It's a lot of pressure for something that objectively does not matter at all. But that's anxiety disorders for you.

6) I have started new hobbies, new sports, and regular therapy. Which is all wonderful and has enriched my life, but it takes up free weekends rather quickly.

7) Speaking of therapy - you know that tweet that's like "I started new meds and now I'm not obsessed with BTS anymore"? There's a little of that going on I'm not going to lie.

8) Hyperfixations change and apparently I have not been fixating on Buffy for a little while. It's a lot easier to sink hours and hours into something when your brain has decided that that is all it wants to sink its time into.

9) I had major surgery 18 months ago and that has not not been a factor.

10) This post, I got three paragraphs into the Consequences essay and then decided to start Posting. I don't control these things.

11) ANXIETY

[pbaz7]

It'll Always Be Her Chapter III

AN: I'm back with the next part as a few people requested that I post today. Let me know what you think and if you have any ideas of how things should or will play out next.

To say the last few days were tense would be an understatement. Paige had always thought she was good at compartmentalizing, keeping her personal life separate from the rest of her world. But Azzi wasn’t kidding when she said she was done with the hidden flirting. If Paige thought the quiet smirks and whispered comments were bad, Azzi’s new approach was downright audacious—and she wasn’t the only one feeling the heat.

The first instance came after their season opener. The team continuing with tradition celebrated their victory at Ted’s, a local favorite known for its lively atmosphere, privacy, and amazing drinks. Tonight drinks were flowing, the music was loud, and the energy from their win had everyone in high spirits. Paige had just started nursing her third drink when a group of fan girls approached her.

"Paige, right?" one of them asked breathlessly, eyes sparkling. "You were amazing out there! We were totally screaming for you."

Paige smiled, her polite, down-to-earth demeanor shining through as she graciously thanked them. The conversation dragged on, though, and she found herself stuck between answering their rapid-fire questions and trying not to let her eyes wander too much. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, her gaze kept drifting toward Azzi, who was leaning against the bar near their teammates with a devilish grin as if she knew something like this would happen tonight. 

Azzi met her eyes and raised her glass in a silent toast, the playful gleam in her eyes promising mischief. Paige could feel her cheeks warming even more.

It wasn’t long before Azzi decided it was time to make her move. She slipped away from her spot at the bar and strode over, moving with a confidence that made heads turn. The fan girls didn't even notice at first, too caught up in their excitement. Azzi, however, made sure to grab their attention.

She leaned in, her voice husky and warm, "Hey, blondie. You look like you need another drink.” 

Azzi’s hand lightly brushed against Paige’s arm, sending a surge of heat up her spine. But it didn’t stop there—no, Azzi was determined to make a statement. She leaned closer, her body subtly pressing into Paige’s as she slid into the space between Paige’s legs, standing far too close.

Paige’s heart skipped a beat as Azzi’s fingers lightly traced the top of her thigh, just enough to make her skin prickle. "Seems like you’re the star of the night," Azzi murmured, her lips only inches away from Paige’s ear. "But I think you might need a break from all the attention."

The fan girls stared, their wide eyes flicking between Paige and Azzi, but Azzi didn’t care. In fact, she reveled in it, loving that only her touch could make Paige’s breath catch in her throat. She placed a possessive hand on Paige’s waist and leaned even closer, her lips brushing against Paige’s earlobe as she whispered, "I could make your night a lot more interesting, you know."

The fan girls finally took the hint and began to shuffle away, clearly flustered. Paige could barely even process what had just happened, her mind racing with confusion and excitement.

As the last of the fan girls disappeared into the crowd, Paige leaned back in her chair, trying to act nonchalant, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. "Well, that was bold," she said, the teasing edge in her voice covering up her flustered state. "Not worried about the rumors you’re about to start?"

Azzi smirked, her fingers still lightly grazing Paige’s arm, and she shrugged with an air of total confidence. "Let them talk," she said, her voice playful yet low. "It’s worth it to see you blush like that." She leaned in just slightly, her lips brushing against Paige’s ear as she added, "Maybe next time, you won’t be able to resist."

Paige’s breath hitched at the suggestion, her mind reeling. Azzi pulled back, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You know I’m just getting started," Azzi teased, enjoying every moment of this. "You better keep up."

Paige laughed, shaking her head, but the truth was, her heart was racing. Azzi’s boldness was a challenge—and she knew that her counterpart always loved a good competition.

… 

The night was in full swing, the music pounding through the room and the mood light with laughter and a few too many drinks. Paige was feeling the buzz, her inhibitions loosening as the drinks went down. But there was something nagging at her—the sight of Azzi laughing and dancing, surrounded by people who were getting just a little too touchy. There was one guy in particular who kept lingering too close to Azzi, touching her arm, laughing just a little too loudly. It made Paige’s chest tighten with something unfamiliar, something she wasn’t ready to label yet.

But instead of stewing in frustration, Paige decided that it was her turn to be a little bold now. Her gaze locked onto Azzi across the room, and with a slight smirk, she made her way over to the crowd surrounding her. When she reached Azzi, she didn’t waste any time.

Azzi was holding court in the center of the group, laughing at something one of the guys had said. As Paige approached, she felt a sudden surge of confidence—alcohol and adrenaline mixing in her veins. She stepped right up to Azzi, cutting into the conversation with a playful grin.

"Well, well, look who’s the life of the party," Paige said, her voice a little louder than usual, enough to draw Azzi's attention.

Azzi turned, surprised at first, but her lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Says the campus superstar herself," she teased, her gaze flicking down to Paige’s hand, where she was holding a drink. Before Paige could react, Azzi took the drink right out of her hand, taking a sip as she looked up at Paige through her eyelashes with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

"Hey!" Paige laughed, a little taken aback, but the playful challenge in Azzi’s expression made her pulse quicken. "You gonna steal all my drinks now?"

Azzi shrugged, savoring the taste of the drink as she kept her eyes locked on Paige. "Maybe I’ll steal more than that," she said, her tone low and teasing, her lips curling around the rim of the glass.

Paige leaned in slightly, a flirtatious edge to her voice. "You’ve already stolen my attention," she said, her hand brushing against Azzi’s arm as she took a step closer. "What’s next? Are you planning on stealing my heart too?"

Azzi’s smile widened, and she placed the drink down on the table beside them, stepping even closer to Paige. "If I wanted to steal your heart, blondie," she whispered, her voice low and smooth, "I’d have to make sure you’re worth stealing."

Paige’s heart skipped a beat at the boldness of Azzi’s words. She hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, but the heat between them was undeniable now. "I’m not sure if you can handle me," Paige shot back, her eyes glinting with challenge. "But you can try."

Azzi chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver through Paige’s spine. "I like a challenge," she replied, her gaze never leaving Paige’s. "And you, Paige... you’re definitely a challenge."

Paige took a step closer, closing the space between them, her breath hitching at the way Azzi was looking at her. "Maybe I like making things a little difficult," she murmured, her lips almost brushing Azzi’s as she leaned in just slightly. "Maybe I want to see if you can handle me too."

Azzi’s eyes darkened, the playful glint now tinged with something else, something heavier, as if the air between them had shifted. She didn’t back away. Instead, she closed the gap a little more, her lips just barely brushing against Paige’s ear. "You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into P," she whispered, the words sending a thrill through Paige.

Paige’s breath caught in her throat, and before she could respond, Azzi pulled back, giving her a sly grin. "But that’s the fun of it, isn’t it?"

Paige, still reeling from the closeness, tried to keep her cool but failed. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. "Maybe," she said, her voice breathy but full of intent, "but you're not the only one who can play this game, Azzi."

Azzi’s eyes lit up with excitement. "We’ll see about that," she said, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. "But maybe we should just leave the game for later."

Paige nodded, a little breathless from the flirtation, but she wasn’t backing down. "Later," she echoed, her gaze lingering on Azzi as they both stood there in the middle of the dance floor. The tension between them was thick, and neither one was willing to be the first to break it.

…

As the night wore on, the energy in the room started to calm. The music had softened, the crowd thinning as people began winding down. Azzi found herself sitting with Caroline in a quieter corner of the bar, nursing a drink and watching the others slowly slip into their own worlds. Caroline, ever the perceptive one, couldn't help but notice the way Azzi kept glancing toward Paige across the room.

"Alright, I gotta ask," Caroline said, her tone teasing but curious. "What happened with you two? You’ve been practically attached at the hip tonight, eying each other across the bar and yet... here you are. Not exactly at her side, huh?"

Azzi smirked, her gaze following Paige for a moment as the blonde chatted with a group of friends. There was a softness in her eyes, one that Caroline had learned to recognize in Azzi whenever she was looking at Paige. "You’re right," she said, her voice quieter now, the playfulness dimming just a little. "We’ve been close tonight. More than usual, even."

Caroline raised an eyebrow. "So, why aren’t you at home in her bed? Seems like that would be the natural progression from here."

Azzi exhaled slowly, her smile soft but sincere. "It would be, yeah. But as much as I want to go there... it’s not the right time," she explained, her eyes meeting Caroline’s with a mixture of frustration and understanding. "Paige is with Jess. And we both know that... well, we don’t want to do anything until she ends things with her. Jess thinks she’s her girlfriend, no matter how clear things are for us right now and we’re not the type of people to just ignore that."

Caroline nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of her drink. "Yeah, but come on, Azzi," she pressed, her voice laced with amusement. "You two have been making it pretty obvious that something’s going on. I saw the way she was looking at you earlier. And don’t even get me started on how she’s been touching you all night."

Azzi’s lips curled into a wry smile. "It’s a game, Car. We both know what we’re doing. But as much as we can flirt and play this little cat-and-mouse thing... we’re not going to cross the line. At least not yet." She glanced back over at Paige again, her gaze softening as she watched the blonde laugh with her friends. "We’re both good people. And neither of us wants to hurt Jess. I want Paige. I really do. But we’re not going to let things get messy."

Caroline gave Azzi a long look, clearly understanding. "You’re being patient. I get it. But, come on. You’re not gonna let this whole thing with Jess drag on forever, right? You know you two are something. Don’t let it slip through your fingers just because of some messy situation."

Azzi nodded, her fingers tapping on the edge of her glass thoughtfully. "I know," she said quietly, a certain resolve in her voice. "I want this. I want Paige. But it needs to happen the right way. I don’t want to risk tainting something real with mess and confusion. If we’re going to do this, it has to be with everything in the right place."

Caroline leaned back, nodding approvingly. "Alright. I can respect that. But don’t let the waiting game become a trap, you know?"

Azzi chuckled softly, the playful edge returning to her voice. "For now, this game is enough."

As she finished speaking, Paige suddenly appeared at their table, looking a little tipsy but still as radiant as ever. She caught Azzi’s eye, and a smile tugged at her lips. "Hey," Paige said, her voice slightly more subdued now but still warm. "You ready to head back to my suite?"

Azzi’s heart skipped a beat at the simple words, and she couldn’t suppress the small grin that appeared on her face. She looked up at Paige, her expression soft and affectionate. "Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go."

The two stood up together, the familiar buzz between them still crackling in the air. As they walked toward the exit, their arms brushed slightly, a silent reminder of the tension they had been building for days. They didn’t need words. They were content, for now, simply being in each other’s company, the promise of something more hanging in the air between them.

They left Ted’s together, side by side, their shared glances speaking volumes, neither one of them rushing anything, but both silently acknowledging that whatever came next, they were in it together.

…

The next time this tension was undeniably high they were in the weight room the next day.

Paige had always considered herself a pretty disciplined person. She was serious about her workouts, always focused, always pushing herself. But lately, in the presence of Azzi, everything seemed to blur into a haze of tension and unspoken words. The weight room, usually a place where she could clear her mind, was becoming a place where she couldn’t stop thinking about the girl across from her. And today was no different.

They had been joking around all morning, laughing and teasing each other in between sets, but there was something in the air today—something that made the playful banter feel a little too heavy, a little too charged. The tension was so thick between them that it almost felt like the air around them crackled.

“Alright,” Paige said, a smirk tugging at her lips as she clapped her hands together, “time to show you how it’s done.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed, leaning back against the bench as she watched Paige with a confident grin. “You think you’re gonna impress me, huh?”

Paige chuckled and set herself in position, already feeling the adrenaline pumping. “You’d be surprised. You’ve been working with me for a while now. I think you know I’m full of surprises.”

Paige finished her set flawlessly and with a wink, she moved into position to spot Azzi for the bench press. The younger girl settled onto the bench, her focus immediately shifting to the barbell in front of her. But there was a tension in her posture, a sense that something was different today, even if she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Paige's eyes lingered on Azzi’s form as she settled, her muscles flexing under her shirt as she prepared for the set. There was something about the way Azzi moved that Paige had always admired, but today felt like the perfect time to tell the younger girl this.

As Azzi lowered the bar to her chest, Paige adjusted her grip, hovering just above her. Her tone was light, teasing, but there was a hint of something darker underneath. “You’re doing great, Azzi. Just like that. You know, you’ve got such a beautiful form… it’s hard to concentrate when you’re looking at me like that.”

Azzi’s breath caught for a split second as she looked up at Paige. She hadn’t been expecting that kind of comment, especially not with so many people around. But the glint in Paige’s eyes made it clear that this was more than just a passing remark. The older girl was baiting her.

“Is that so?” Azzi teased, trying to keep her voice steady, but there was an edge to it now, something that hadn’t been there before. “What, you think you can distract me while I’m lifting?”

Paige smirked, her lips curving in a way that made Azzi’s stomach flip. “I think you might like it. You seem to like when I’m close. You’re doing so good though, but I might need to help you a bit more. Want me to talk you through it?”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed playfully, but the challenge in her gaze shifted into something more intense. “You’re not shy, are you?” she asked, her voice dipping into something lower. She was starting to feel the pull too—this was the game they had been playing, but today, it felt like it was about to break.

Paige’s voice was soft but provocative, right in Azzi’s ear. “I don’t need to be shy when you’re so easy to read. It’s not hard to tell you like when I get close.”

The tension between them thickened, the playful atmosphere from earlier now giving way to something far more charged. Paige leaned forward, a hand brushing Azzi’s shoulder as she hovered close, not letting go of her spot. She could feel Azzi’s body react under her touch, her chest rising and falling with the exertion of the set.

“Paige…” Azzi’s voice was barely a whisper now, but there was no mistaking the heat in it.

Paige smiled, the teasing edge never leaving her voice. “You know, Azzi, you’re really good at keeping things under control. But I’m starting to wonder how long you’ll be able to do that when I’m so close.”

The younger girl’s eyes flickered, caught between a flash of amusement and a deeper, darker desire. It was as if a switch had flipped in her mind, and now, she was just as bold as Paige had been. Azzi’s breath hitched, her eyes meeting Paige’s with a mischievous grin. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” she said, a hint of defiance in her voice. She finished the set with an extra burst of energy, and Paige noticed the shift in her—the way her hands gripped the bar with more intensity, how her eyes never left Paige’s.

Paige couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at her lips. “Oh, I’m definitely going to find out. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to keep an eye on you. Wouldn’t want you to lose control.”

Azzi laughed softly, but the sound was almost a challenge in itself. “You think you can keep me under control, huh?”

Paige leaned in even closer, the heat between them palpable now. Her voice was barely a whisper, low and teasing. “I think I can handle it. I’m starting to realize I might enjoy watching you lose control better though.”

The comment was out before Paige could think better of it. Azzi’s eyes widened for a brief second, caught off guard by the directness of it, but there was a flicker of something darker in her gaze. Paige was playing the game differently now, and Azzi found herself intrigued, maybe even a little rattled.

Azzi took a deep breath, gathering herself before speaking, her tone laced with a teasing edge. “Well, you’ve got me curious now. Let’s see who loses control first.” She pushed the bar back up with a confident grunt, her body moving fluidly as she caught Paige’s gaze again. “But don’t think I’m the only one who can push boundaries.”

The words lingered in the air between them, and for a moment, neither of them moved, as if the world outside the two of them had disappeared entirely. The only thing that mattered was the heat that surged between their gazes, the pulse of their shared breath.

Before either of them could continue down the dangerous path they were on, CD’s voice broke through the haze. “Alright, ladies, let’s move on to the next rotation.”

The interruption was almost a relief. Almost. Paige took a step back, her chest still rising and falling rapidly, trying to steady herself. Azzi, on the other hand, exhaled slowly, a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips as she stood up, brushing off her shirt with a nonchalant air. But there was still that charged look in her eyes—the one that told Paige everything they’d just experienced wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

“Later, Paige,” Azzi said softly, her voice a teasing murmur as she turned to walk away, leaving Paige behind to wonder just how much further they could take this game before it consumed them both.

[rootspiral]

This is gonna be a long one so buckle up. And I’m going to apologize in advance if I repeat anything you said, I’ve had this saved in my drafts for a couple days now. The way this entire trial is set up makes me absolutely feral.

The way Agatha’s trial is presented as a teen sleepover with friends (and gf) and then all of them turn on her. The way they all immediately want to leave her behind despite the fact that it was Agatha who uplifted them and got them through the first two trials (despite any ulterior motives) because they buy into the story (half truth) that Agatha can’t be trusted. When it’s Agatha’s turn to be supported they fail her, let her fall.

The way Agatha reverts to something so vulnerable when Evanora shows up, saying classic teen lines (“gee mom quit embarrassing me in front of my friends”). How she reverts to begging and saying “I can be good” when she genuinely thinks she’s about to be abandoned again, something she told her mom right before her first coven tried to kill her for… wanting knowledge, because Evanora took one look at a baby and saw something wrong. Agatha is genuinely terrified, knows Evanora hates her so entirely. She is a lot of the reason why Agatha is the way she is.

It doesn’t matter that she knows the Road itself is fake, Billy’s magic has done the worst thing it could possibly do to her and put her at the mercy of Evanora and her new coven when she’s completely mentally, physically, and emotionally vulnerable. When she’s dressed as a teen at a slumber party being ousted and persecuted by “mean girls” and her closed minded mother. “Tie her up, humiliate her, leave her with her tormentor.”

Her only defender being her gf (wife) who refuses to leave Agatha with Evanora for even a moment, who refuses to even play along with the idea under the pretense of the Road having rules. Even as a joke, even as someone who acts like they’re just here for the chaos, real or not Rio refuses to let Evanora lay a hand on Agatha.

There’s also something to say of the queer context for this scene but I feel unequipped to properly dissect all that with any coherency.

haha coherency isn't my strong suit either, but I also really want to explore the parallels between agatha's upbringing and queerness. i see a lot of parallels this show can draw with race and mental illness too - in short, being in a marginalized group has its specific downfalls but some general patterns too, both in the way the outside world treats you and the way members of the group treat each other.

and yes, I agree that this trial was 30 minutes of horrible, senseless torture for agatha. I'll get to all that tomorrow and in the next entries, but I do belive - with reserve - that agatha wasn't in control. thank you so much for your contribution and for always engaging with my posts, I really appreciate it!