#i posted already but didn’t like the way i had it so sorry not sorry

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem! Florist!Reader

Chapter Four: Poppies - Imagination

Summary: You finally get to visit Andrew at his workplace, and he discovers a not-so-new way to handle his feelings.

Word Count: 2711

Author's note: Hope you're all enjoying! Sorry again for having such a splotchy posting schedule, between holidays and getting the flu I was... preoccupied. Anyways, have a chapter of your favorite tattoo artist yearning his heart out as compensation 🖤

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @padfootblackswh0r3

fic below the cut <3

It had been three days since you had gotten coffee with him, and all Andrew could think about was you. It was getting a little concerning. Concerning to him, at least. He was a grown man, who was he to have — for lack of a better word — a crush? Let alone one he was too embarrassed to express his feelings for?

It was close to torture, but he had no right to complain. He had brought this upon himself, and he accepted it. He asked a woman, particularly one he thought was beautiful, to get coffee with him, paid for her, and still ended the whole affair with their relationship being at most friends and at the very least acquaintances. Stupid idea, and the definition of a missed opportunity. Alex had already berated him over this decision (“What do you mean you bought her coffee, just the two of you, and you didn’t even attempt to drop a hint that you like her?”). And it’s not like he didn’t torture himself over it, thoughts randomly popping up telling him what he could’ve or should’ve said or done. The regrets he had, no matter how minuscule they were, ate away at him when he had nothing else to think about. All because of a choice he made and a label he refused to give. What a way to self-sabotage.

Everything about you, from how you met to how easily your conversations flowed, was magnetic, pulling his thoughts (and him) towards you. The serendipity of it all was like he had been transported into one of those overly saccharine romantic comedy movies he would sometimes catch his mother watching. What was the term she had used once? A meet-cute?

The slight vibration of his phone in his pocket brought him back to his reality. A call from an unknown number. Usually, he would hang up, or at least ignore it. But he was in between clients, and more importantly, a little bored. So he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Y/N. From the florist.” Andrew let out a sigh of relief at the sound of your voice. “That end of the world you were warning me about last time never happened, so I had enough time to finish your bouquet.”

He chuckled at that, a lighter sound than he intended.

“That’s fantastic. Both the world not ending and the bouquet being ready.”

“Is it alright if I swing by soon?

“Yeah. I’m on my lunch break in between clients, so I’m free.”

“Perfect. See you in…” you paused, which he surmised was you mentally calculating how long it would take you to get there before continuing, “about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

He grimaced as you hung up the phone, and true to his word, he waited. His time was occupied with sketching a design for an appointment he had in a few weeks, Alex hanging around with him. Immediately, everything was put down when you walked in. Fifteen minutes later, just like you had told him, he heard the bell above the door ring. He watched as you opened the door, tightly gripping a vase containing the flowers, letting in a beam of sunlight with your entrance.

“I’ve got one order of a chrysanthemum arrangement for Andrew?” You announced, feigning not knowing who he was.

“Great, you're here. Let me take that off your hands.”

He rushed over and grabbed the bouquet from you, and in a moment he had to remember to thank the gods for later, his fingers brushed yours, making his heart rate spike so suddenly he almost had a medical issue.

God, he was pathetic.

“Thank you so much for this. You never fail to amaze me.”

“Of course. You can keep the vase, by the way. Free of charge.”

He looked down at you, his brows furrowed but a smile still on his face.

“You are physically incapable of not being nice to me, huh?”

“Please. I do this for all of my orders. You're not special,” you joked, and he scoffed in reply.

“Wow… and I thought we were friends!”

“I’m just humbling you a little. Besides, I can't let other customers think I have favorites. It's unprofessional.”

“Favorites? Plural? Do I have competition?”

“Yes. It's you and a little old lady that orders centerpieces for her dinner parties. Don't go beating her up for the top spot.”

A beat passed before a mischievous smirk came across your face.

“Though, I am a fan of a guy that would fight in my honor.”

Not being able to sense your tone, Andrew swiftly changed the topic, unsure and unwilling to think about how he'd throw a punch for you.

“So, you used flower language for this, right? What's it all mean?”

You smiled, and the way your face lit up gave him a rush, a sudden burst of butterflies in his stomach. He listened intently, despite his urges to focus on you and not the words you were saying.

“Alright, I’ll give you a quick rundown of the meanings. Chrysanthemums are joy, of course. There are some sunflowers, specifically dwarf sunflowers, because they represent pride, like how you’re proud of your work, hopefully. Orange roses for fascination. And last but not least, calla lilies for magnificence and beauty, like what you create here. Hopefully you and your colleagues like it.”

He couldn't help the incredulous laugh that cane at the end of your statement.

“Are you kidding me? It's beautiful. Of course I like it,” he reassured. You didn't verbally reply, but the new warmness of your features was all the response he needed.

He paid, making a comment along the way about how he almost left his wallet at home this morning, but caught himself: “I promise I’m not forgetful, just… all over the place.” You listened, seemingly actually invested, and took the money from him once he offered.

“Thank you. You are single-handedly keeping my small business afloat.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, both out of confusion and concern.

“Are you not doing well?”

“I mean, we're making sales, meeting the quotas we should be. Barely. But we're not exactly a hotspot anymore. It's not common for people to get flowers, and if they do they get cheap bouquets cheaply made at a grocery store or online. People these days don't bother to make an effort.”

He observed you as you thought for a moment, a pause only he could have read into. He could’ve sworn you looked him up and down, though his hopeful imagination could have tricked him. There was more optimism in your tone this time around.

“You do, though. Make an effort, I mean. I appreciate it. You might be the only guy I know that does.”

Your words were taken to heart, but he deflected your compliment, fearing he'd become too flustered if he let it linger.

“Is the bar truly that low?”

“That's not low! These days, finding a guy who tries is like winning the lottery.”

You barely gave him time to react before pulling out your phone, which had just vibrated in your pocket.He could already see the disappointment set into your features.

“Crap. I have to get back.”

He offered an understanding nod, knowing as much as he wished he could stay in this moment, reality had to set back in.

“I hate to say goodbye, but it was really nice to see you. And your place of work. Keep me posted on if the flowers help raise people’s spirits.”

“Goodbye. Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

“Quoting The Bard at me? So you’re an artist and a nerd. Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I am. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find out more soon enough. I’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye.”

The door closed behind you, leaving Andrew feeling a bit emptier now that you were no longer there. Finding the right time, Alex made his presence known again. Andrew was so focused on you he had almost forgotten he was in the room.

“So… that's the Y/N you keep talking about?”

“That's her.”

“The one you platonically took to a coffee shop?”

“The very same.”

Alex gave him a look: a squint accompanied by an oddly pensive expression, like he was trying to make the situation make sense.

“Is something the matter? Do… do you not approve?” Andrew asked. Alex replied slowly, cautiously.

“No, she seems wonderful. No complaints here. In fact, that’s the issue.”

“How so?"

“Maybe because you took a woman, an amazing one at that, on an outing that was a date in every aspect but its name. You essentially blocked yourself off from you two being romantic. It doesn’t make sense to me! How are you the same lad that would write love songs in college?”

“That was a decade ago! I’m more cautious now.”

“Oh, yeah. You're so cautious, in fact, that you started liking your florist. A woman that you've only met four times, including one time where you basically went on a date!”

Andrew felt a shame as if he had just been yelled at by a parent, though most of the sting came from the truth of his words. Only after he exhaled a deep sigh did Alex speak again.

“Listen, I don't mean to scold you. I’m only saying all this because I care about you. That being said, if you don't take this girl out sometime soon…”

“Alex!”

“I’m being serious! I was standing right there. I saw how you look at her and you're… enamored of the poor woman. If you don't do something about the way you feel— doesn't have to be soon, just eventually— then the only person that will regret it is you.”

Andrew gave a slow nod as he processed the other man's words. He hated how wise he could be sometimes.

“I… I need to find the right moment. I need to take my time.”

“Then take it. Just don't bottle up your emotions for too long. You don't handle it well. Plus, after a while of you blabbering on about the same person, it starts to get annoying.”

For the first time since you left, Andrew laughed, Alex joining in a moment afterwards.

“Alright,” he said, slapping a hand on Andrew's shoulder. “Let's get back to work.”

Andrew ruminated on his friend’s words on the drive home, his grip tightening on the wheel. As much as he hated to admit it, Alex was right; he did need to do something about what he felt for you. But he never did specify what.

It had been a while since he felt like this towards someone, so he wasn't lying when he said he needed to take his time. If he were to ever make a move on you, he would have to make sure he was certain. He didn't want to ruin your newly-labeled friendship, run the risk of throwing away something just starting, and something good. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t use an alternative method to handle these feelings.

He stepped into his flat, and for the first time in recent memory it felt… empty. Not necessarily from the absence of friends or family, just absence. The empty seats at his table, on his couch, in his bed, they almost screamed at him. He had never realized that the silence of being alone was so deafening.

What better way to fill the silence than with music?

He got straight to work, his craving to create overriding any hunger for actual food he had. Despite his own better judgement, Andrew had written down the lyric he had absentmindedly created a few days ago in his phone. He considered continuing from there, but preferred to do things the old-fashioned way. So he grabbed a pen, sat down at his kitchen table, opened his notebook, and began to write.

I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me…

He hadn’t opened himself up to this creative vulnerability in so long, so he was admittedly a little rusty. Words were crossed out, rearranged, and substituted with synonyms if the amount of syllables didn’t fit the rhythm. Eventually, after he had eased into it, it felt no different from when he sketched a stencil or tattooed a client. Oddly enough, the more he wrote and the more effort he put in, the more the lines continued to blur until he felt just as comfortable as he did at his job. Whether it be a tattoo gun or a ballpoint pen, Andrew was always in his element when he had ink.

There was also the added factor of what inspired all of this fervor to write: you. You kickstarted something in his brain, subconsciously flipping a switch. that made him more musical. Before you he would turn on the radio or shuffle his Spotify and merely admire whatever song was playing, but after you came into his life, his thoughts strayed more towards you: I could write something like this. About her.

Should he consider you his muse? He’d decide later on.

Time slipped away from him, to the point that he was shocked to look at the clock and find less than an hour had passed.

One last similarity between the two was discovered. He harbored a similar sense of pride after he had finished— or, more accurately, stopped himself after writing a verse and a chorus. Not a finished verse and chorus either, simply a rough draft to remind him how to get back into the mindset.

The only difference was the audience, or lack thereof. There was no way Andrew was letting anyone see this or even know about it. He would maybe, maybe, consider showing you one day. Even then, he could only imagine he’d want to shrivel up in a corner as you read it, or God forbid, as he sang it to you. He couldn’t dare to think about that now, even though the guitar resting against the wall in his bedroom was almost calling his name. He had to leave it there for now. He could barely handle writing for the day, let alone singing and playing. For now, he was taking baby steps.

Even if he could muster up the courage, there was no chance anything he wrote would be leaving the eyes of his friends and family. He was no poet, and no star. He already had a job that let him express himself and make meaningful pieces of art. For that, he was grateful. He could be happy with keeping the songs for himself, writing for only his own eyes, and letting what he created at his job be for the whole world.

The notebook — funny how such a small object now held a power over him — was closed and stuffed in an empty shelf space in his closet, an attempt at keeping it out of sight and out of mind. His attempt was semi-successful considering every step of the rest of his day was accompanied by the thought of it. Not the shame, just the knowledge of knowing he had written something. The shock of actually having the strength. It stuck with him until he went to bed that night, not even nearing sleep being able to offer him solace. He tossed and turned well into nightfall, until it got to the point that he was getting restless. And desperate. So he picked up his phone. To avoid simply doomscrolling until his eyes began to flutter, he found some website that detailed flower language and started to read.

He willingly went down a rabbit hole, keeping a separate tab open to search for flora he didn't recognize by name. He made mental notes of meanings he found particularly interesting. The last flower he read of before falling asleep was the poppy. It meant eternal slumber, coincidentally what he was longing for at the moment, but also imagination. It was almost perfect how poppies represented the day he had. This was his last coherent thought before he drifted off.

There was a third definition, one that also summarized his day, that Andrew’s eyes didn't stay open to read.

Oblivion.

[joelsprettyprincess]

Taming of the Shrew - Part 2

Pairing: dark!Arthur Morgan x f!reader Summary: Although you've ended your relationship with Arthur, he gets you to agree to one final rendezvous. Series-wide tags: Toxic relationships, manipulation, obsessive behavior, smut, secretly unprotected piv, babytrapping, pregnancy, canon-typical violence, slight canon-typical misogyny. Wordcount: 3.7k A/N: I was not expecting that much love on part 1! I'm so glad yall enjoyed! Here's part 2 and where things get juicy 🤭. And before you ask, yes they had condoms in 1899!! They just weren't very good.. Also, I do not profess to be an expert on pregnancy, I just looked things up and hoped for the best. 😭 Sorry if anything's inaccurate. This chapter contains smut. And as always MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Tags: @dandelion-ranch @i-will-give-you-love @amaranth-writing @heloixe @buneio @warmsideofthepillow03 @thoughts-of-bear @luzzbuzz

Part 1 Part 3

Several days had passed since you told Arthur to never speak to you again.

You didn’t mean it. You couldn’t have. Your love, though short, had burned like a phoenix: though it was currently snuffed, Arthur knew it would soon rise again.

He knew better than to approach you again, though. So he wrote a letter.

My love.

My darling, my princess. I am in pain while writing this. Not because of any physical injury, but because I miss you badly indeed. My heart burns for you, for your touch, your skin on mine, even just one last time.

I am certain you feel the same way. If you do, please meet me at our spot near Ringneck Creek at noon next Monday.

I swear this will be the last time I will contact you. If you don’t show, I’ll know your decision is final. However I know you will. I know our love was something real. Please don’t make a fool of me.

Forever yours,

Arthur

Arthur posted the letter on a Monday, giving you nearly a full week to make a decision. He was on edge after that, wondering if you would actually show. Would you bring your father, or even a bounty hunter, to capture him? Or would you just not show at all?

Thankfully most everyone in camp left him alone; the news of your loud departure had spread fast. There was the occasional ribbing from Micah, but he was like a mosquito buzzing in everyone’s face. Arthur paid him no mind.

Dutch told him it was a waste of time. 

“Women are a complete mystery, son,” he told him Sunday night, puffing on his cigar. “Trust me, you’re better off being single forever.” He didn’t seem to care that Molly was behind him in the tent, hopefully sleeping.

But he didn’t know the inner workings of Arthur’s mind. Didn’t know what he planned to do.

Monday morning, he bathed and trimmed his beard. As much as he hated to admit it, Arthur was nervous.

He scoffed. Headshotting O’Driscolls barely raised his heart rate, but the thought of seeing you again had him jumpy like that Kieran boy.

Arthur rode over to the spot early. It was a good isolated spot a little ways away from the creek, where you two had slept together a couple times.

He spread down a blanket and cleaned his guns while he waited for you.

About half an hour later, he heard the crunching of leaves and turned around. Your familiar form entered his field of vision; suddenly, Arthur was breathless.

You were here. You’d actually come. And you appeared to be alone.

You hitched your horse next to his, then came down to the blanket. “Hey,” you said, smiling softly.

“Yes, well.” You smoothed your skirts. “Just can’t help m’self, I suppose. But listen, Arthur…this is the last time I’m seeing you. Seriously. I don’t even know why I came here–”

Arthur pulled you down beside him. “You came.” He cleared his throat. “I knew you would.”

“Alright, shh,” Arthur interrupted, taking your hand in his and softly pressing his lips to yours.

“Mm,” you sighed, immediately melting into his touch. He might be rough around the edges, but Arthur surely knew how to treat a woman. You’d already forgotten what you were gabbing on about.

Arthur wasted no time in deepening the kiss and pushing his tongue past your lips. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured, one hand cupping your cheek and the other on your hip.

You spent a few minutes exploring each other’s mouths and letting your hands wander. Eventually your positions shifted so Arthur was nearly laying on top of you. He spoke again.

“Come back,” he whispered. “I can’t live without you.”

That voice. It was sweet as honey. It made you want to follow him to the ends of the earth.

You avoided his gaze, pursing your slightly swollen, glazed lips. “Arthur, I can’t–”

“You love the bloodshed,” he spoke in your ear. His hand went under your skirt and ghosted over your bloomers. “You crave it. Stop actin’ like you don’t.”

“No–”

Arthur silenced you with another kiss, capturing your lips and claiming them as his, as he had done so many times before. Yet it never got old; the lusty looks and burning touches lit you on fire.

You whimpered as he slipped his hand inside your bloomers.

“We both know this doesn’t lie,” he murmured, barely grazing your folds. He kept his bright eyes steadily focused on you while he used just one finger to tease you.

A quiet moan escaped your lips.

Arthur seemed eager to get on with it. He lifted your skirt and removed your underthings, carefully setting them beside you on the blanket.

“Did my pretty girl miss me?” he breathed, massaging your thighs. You whined just a little, already anticipating his touch.

Arthur traced your bare cunt, enjoying watching you squirm.

“Arthur,” you whispered in a choked voice. 

He shucked off his pants, then laid down between your legs. 

Arthur was gentleman enough to service you first. He put your legs on either side of his face, and breathed in the natural scent of your pussy, again barely grazing the already soaked lips with his finger.

“S-Stop teasing me, dammit,” you moaned. He smiled. It was almost fun to see how quickly he could get you to come undone, begging for his touch.

Arthur started with small licks on the inner parts of your thighs. Your legs immediately tried to come together, but he held them apart and kept licking. Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to stay still. 

He traveled up your thighs and paused just before he got to your cunt. Taking two fingers, Arthur spread your lips apart, marveling at the amount of slick already coating your entrance.

“Ah- ah, d-don’t- mmgh,” you cried. His touch was so depraved and satisfying. 

Arthur dove in, pushing his tongue into your warm, sticky entrance. He gripped your thighs with his hands and held them up as he fully ate you out. He got messy with it very quickly, suckling on everything he could get a hold of.

You cried out and gripped his hair hard, bucking your hips. This kind of pleasure was completely unheard of and forbidden for girls like you, and that made it all the more filthy. You loved it. You loved every second of it. No man had ever touched you like this before, and you doubted any man ever would.

He removed his mouth for a second and rubbed circles around your sweet spot. “You’re lovin’ it, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

You breathed in and out loudly. “Yes,” you whined shamelessly. 

Arthur pushed his tongue back in, appreciating how your walls tightened around him. He swore he could feel your heartbeat, pulsing in time with his.

You grinded against his face, spreading your juices everywhere, going crazy at the lewd noises being produced.

“Arthur– oh, Arthur, yes, please–”

You were getting close. It never took long for you to cum, but apparently you were touch starved right now.

Abruptly, Arthur pulled back from your pussy, breathing heavily and licking his lips.

You panted too. “Why’d you stop?”

He paused, then quickly pulled off his boxers. Oh.

Arthur pushed you down again and rubbed his girthy, veiny cock up and down your soaked pussy. 

The thick mushroom head was poking at your entrance, and you wanted to let him in, but…

“Do you have…protection?” you whispered.

He nodded. “Course.” He pulled a condom packet out of his pants pocket. A primitive thing, to be sure, but it was part of the plan.

Arthur pulled it on, then nosed his tip so it was just breaching your entrance. You sighed loudly, spreading your legs a bit more.

He pushed in. A creamy noise was produced, but even louder was your pained moan. It was a stretch to fit him in, even when he had prepped you first.

This was only the second time he’d gone all the way like this. There was no reliable way of avoiding pregnancy, so you simply didn’t allow him to do it. But this was a special occasion. After this, you were done with each other, forever.

Arthur sighed and pushed into you even further, watching your pussy lips greedily suck in his cock.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Letting me in so nicely.”

He started to thrust in and out slowly. You threw your head back and panted, whining loudly and mumbling his name.

His cock repeatedly filled you to the brim and you squeezed your tight walls around him. Your juices quickly coated the condom, allowing him to more easily push the rest of his cock in.

Soon he was pushing in and out, all the way to the burst of hair at his base. Arthur groaned lowly, biting your shoulder and holding onto your hips with his big hands, kneading your ass.

After a few minutes of bliss, he shifted positions; Arthur pressed your legs almost to your chest and held them there, hitting deeper and deeper into your sticky cunt. 

You moaned loudly, finding his hair again and holding it tightly. His full balls slapped against your ass.

“Like that?” he muttered. “You like that, you uppity little–” He groaned loudly, going faster and rougher.

“Arthur, Arthur,” you sobbed, curling your toes. “Please, I’m g-gonna–”

With a muffled cry, you came undone on his cock, toes curling, legs shaking, cunt spasming and letting out more of your juices all over his cock and the blanket.

“That’s right, let it out, sweetheart,” he gasped. “I’m close too, baby, shit–”

Arthur pressed himself into you and stilled, panting, eyes tightly shut. You could feel his cock twitching as he rode out his orgasm in your soaked through cunt.

His lips collided with yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss, and he slowly thrusted a couple more times before pulling out.

The condom was smeared in your juices.

Arthur sighed. “Hopefully it didn’t break. I tried to get a good one.”

You chuckled nervously. “Hopefully not.”

He helped you clean up, wiping you down and putting your clothes back on. You hoped his smell (it wasn’t a bad one, just distinct) wouldn’t cling to your clothes.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” you told him as you prepared to remount your horse. “But if you ever decide to stop being an outlaw…you know where to find me.”

“I love you,” Arthur said simply.

You flushed, and looked away. 

“Goodbye, Arthur.”

You rode off.

Arthur waited till you were out of sight to smile.

You were really gullible. A condom, seriously? Even pulling out was more reliable. These things broke more easily than a cheap lock. Even if it hadn’t, he’d cut a small hole into the tip that ensured he’d painted your walls white. If it dripped out, you would probably just assume it to be your own juices.

Now it was just a waiting game.

Two months later.

Your maid, Elisabeth, stared at you frightfully as you bent over a bucket for the 3rd time this week, vomiting horribly. You breathed heavily, then vomited again. There was nothing even in your stomach, which made it so much worse.

“Are you alright, ma’am?’ she squeaked, standing by with a towel.

You were too nauseous to answer. You clutched your stomach, head spinning and mind racing.

Your stomach had been in shambles this week and the last, and it was getting concerning.

After a few labored breaths, you grabbed the towel and wiped off your mouth. “Let's visit the doctor.”

Elisabeth gave you some cool water to sip, which helped a bit but not much. You could hardly stand to get on the carriage, and then it was like you were on a merry-go-round with the way it was hitting every bump in the road.

You leaned over the side and emptied your stomach yet again.

It was possible this sickness had a terrifying explanation, one that you couldn't even begin to imagine. Lord, protect me, you prayed despairingly. 

One agonizingly slow and nauseating ride later, you pulled up next to the doctor's office. Elisabeth had to coax you down, and she was clearly scared you would projectile vomit on her. The world was swimming around you and had a hazy feel.

You stumbled into the office and leaned against the cool wall.

“You alright, ma'am?” a voice asked. It was Dr. Williams, an older gentleman who'd been in Rhodes for years.

“I-I think I have a fever,” you whispered, fanning yourself. “Been throwing up everywhere.”

He quickly escorted you to a room in the back, and you collapsed into the chair. 

Dr. Williams examined you, looking inside your mouth and pressing various points on your body.

“Any symptoms besides vomiting?” he inquired.

You shook your head. “Don't believe so.”

“When did they start?”

“I'd say…maybe two weeks ago.”

He hummed and thought for a bit while examining you. “Is there a chance you could be with child?”

You started, then stopped, then froze.

No…

“Err,” you stuttered.

He waited for your answer.

“I-I-...well, I suppose it ain't impossible,” you admitted fearfully.

Dr. Williams nodded. “Unless you have some strange fever, it is my opinion that you're suffering from morning sickness.”

Your heart dropped to your feet and started beating like a jackrabbit's. No. No. Lord, please.

“That can't be true,” you said desperately. “It-It- was so long ago…I don't…”

“It takes a bit for symptoms to present,” the doctor explained.

“B-But I can't, I can't be,” you cried, panicking. “You don't understand, my life is over if I'm with child. Over!” You stood up and started pacing around.

“Admittedly it’s still too early to tell for certain,” Dr. Williams allowed. “However, I have seen this many times before. There are options–”

“No! There are no options!” you snapped. “I am the daughter of an oil baron and a society lady! J-just imagining the shame, the disgrace–...my mother will kill me. And if she doesn't, I'll be sent away to the corners of the earth.” 

You burst into tears at this declaration, falling to your knees and covering your face in shame. Dr. Williams hung back, perhaps sensing that you needed a minute.

After you collected yourself and stood up, you said in a quiet, cold voice: “There is no way I am pregnant. I thank you for your expertise, Dr. Williams, but in this case you are incorrect. I simply have a fever. Good day.”

You swept out of the building with your head held high, collecting your maid and getting back on the carriage. 

The two of you had barely left the town borders before you broke down and started crying again. Pregnant? A child? You? It could not be true. It could not. 

And…and definitely not by Arthur, of all people. He was like a firecracker, burning hot and dangerous, the exact opposite of a…father.

Even that word burned acrid on your tongue.

“Do you need somethin’, miss?” Elisabeth asked tentatively.

You sighed, wiped your face, and shook your head sadly. “No…no thank you. I'm alright.”

The ride back home was silent save for your sniffles and forlorn sighs. You refused to accept this possibility.

You felt you would rather be tarred and feathered than even think about telling your mother about your condition. Your outburst at Dr. Williams had barely covered it; your parents were continually telling you to act perfectly, to never step out of line. Even though they were far from perfect.

Your mother was the biggest hypocrite you knew. She thought you didn't see her inviting the help in for "tea". Well, you did, not that you cared much. It was just sickening that she set expectations for you that she herself had never reached.

She'd threatened you with the nunnery before, after catching you with one of the stable boys. Said that “wicked girls were destined for the deepest pits of hell.” Hmph. She was definitely an expert on the subject.

As for your father, well, he wasn't much better. Though he didn't verbally abuse you like your mother, he viewed you more like a liability among his property. You were certain he would marry you off if it would benefit his emerging empire. He would see this…predicament as something that could damage his reputation. If your mother chose to send you away, you doubted he would make much of a fuss.

Thankfully, the churning in your stomach faded on the way home, and only your mind remained in shambles. 

You tried to avoid your mother when you arrived at the manor, but of course she was in the front room, waiting for you.

“What did the doctor say?” she inquired as you put down your things.

“Just a mild fever,” you replied shortly, then power walked to your room. But she followed.

“Are you sure? Do you have a temperature? Did he give you any medicine?” she pressed, following your impatient footsteps right up to your bedroom door.

“Mother, I'll be fine. It's not serious,” you said angrily, then closed the door behind you firmly.

You waited until her heels clicked away down the wooden stairs, then collapsed on your bed and sobbed some more.

My life might be over.

A month and a half later.

Your life was over.

Completely and utterly.

The nausea had not stopped, and in fact it got worse the week after you went to the doctor. That had been the peak of pain, but it still remained for another two weeks afterwards, lurking like some shadowy beast.

Your dresses, tailored exactly to your measurements, had become just a little bit tighter. At first you had brushed it off as an indulgent diet, or just stress weight, but even your mother had commented on how your dress was pulled tight over your torso.

After that, you took care to hide your body under the heaviest dresses you could manage. But it was summer by now, and staying out of sight was a tall order.

Your mother repeatedly asked you to go to the doctor again, and perhaps seek out a second opinion, and you refused, insisting that it was just a fever. But you could tell she wasn’t believing you. She gave you strange looks when you said you felt nauseous yet again.

It was a stormy day in June when you finally had the courage to take off your clothes and examine your body in the floor-length, gilded mirror in your boudoir.

A mistake.

Your blood turned to ice as you saw the unmistakable bump that was forming.

Your breathing accelerated along with your mind, thoughts racing and jumbling and colliding, coming to one stunning, awful conclusion:

I’m pregnant.

You were pregnant. With child. An expectant mother.

What a joke.

You? A mother? What a ridiculously absurd notion. You would sooner be a clown in a traveling circus.

And…that man was the father. The man that haunted your thoughts and your dreams, the man whose scent still clung ever so faintly to one of your riding dresses. The man whose mere name sent shivers down your spine.

Arthur Morgan.

-

You put your clothes back on, then left the room, intending to get a snack, but before even making it to the stairs your mother pounced on you.

“Alright, I simply must insist that you tell me what is really going on,” she declared. “No fever lasts this long, and you have no temperature at all.”

You tried to dodge her, but she blocked your path, clearly dead set on getting an answer from you.

“It’s nothing, Mother, I told you before,” you said, irritated. It absolutely was not nothing, but you needed time to plan your strategy. 

“If it’s nothing, why have you been nauseous for the past…” She paused, then narrowed her eyebrows. 

Before you could step back, she poked your stomach with one finger. You of course involuntarily jumped back.

“What- What are you doing?” you gasped, nervous.

“Let me see your stomach.”

“What?”

She pushed you towards your room. “I said, let me see your stomach, girl. Lift up your skirts.”

You scoffed, heart pounding like a drum. “Why would I do that?”

You were forced back into your bedroom, and your mother closed and locked the door behind her. “I just want to look at it.”

This was quite a pickle.

“I- I really don’t think that’s necessary, Mother-”

She grabbed at your skirts, impatient. You jumped back. “Stop it! Fine, I will.”

She was going to find out eventually.

Your mother crossed her arms and waited with anticipation as you slowly lifted your skirt. The blood was rushing in your ears and you prayed to God that you would survive the next five minutes.

Eventually your skirt revealed the still developing but definitely noticeable bump you had.

The room was dead silent. Your mother stared at your belly in shock, lips slightly parted. 

Then her mouth closed and formed a hard scowl. “Would you care to explain the meaning of this?”

You blinked several times, trying to find your voice, but it was lost and long gone.

“Are you-” She swallowed hard. “Are you…with child?”

She stared at you. Her glare kept you still and pinned you down like a bug on display.

You eventually nodded, wordless and terrified.

“And who is the father, pray tell?”

You just stared at the ground.

“Answer me, girl,” she said sharply.

There was no way you were going to tell her that. It would genuinely be better for her to assume you were so loose you couldn’t even pinpoint the father.

Your mother pinched her nose, and sighed, shaking her head. “We’re going to have a little talk with your father when he comes home. Remain in your room; I have no desire to see you anymore.” With those pleasant parting words, she stomped out, slamming the door behind you.

Once her footsteps faded away, you sat on your bed, numbly thinking of what to do. 

Your father was sure to agree with any punishment your mother dreamed up. He was more like a manager than a father, and he had no qualms about letting a bad employee go.

Or…or maybe he wouldn’t? Perhaps his indifference would work in your favor, and he would tell your mother not to bother? Maybe he’d even pay someone to take care of it.

These were all hypotheticals. There was no telling what would really happen until it actually occurred.

Your father was due home soon. It was just your luck that he was taking a half-day in the office.

Ugh.

End of Part 2.

[pedriache]

anything joão please 💗 i love you you’re my favorite writer

Like real people do 𖦹 João Félix !

summary. spending a warm, raining night with joão was everything and anything you could ever ask for.

word count. 510+

disclaimers. fluff!! + kiss

authors note. for my pooks @joaoflms <3 and thank you anon loves youuu sorry this is lowk ass

The rain splattered softly against the window, creating a soothing rhythm that filled the apartment—aside from the soft music coming from your record player. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, staring at the storm that raged outside. João walked in from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. His hair was still slightly damp from the rain he’d walked through earlier to get inside the apartment complex.

“Looks cozy in here,” he spoke, voice warm and soft as he handed you one of the mugs.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking it from him with a smile. Your fingers brushed, and you felt a light flutter in your chest, even though you’d been together for months now.

João had a way of making your heart race without even trying.

He eased onto the couch beside you, his body instantly radiating warmth. “Move over!” The brown haired man teases, nudging your knee gently.

Your eyebrow quirks, “there is plenty of room.” Your protests were followed by a short laugh, but João only furrowed his eyebrows further.

“Not if I want to sit next to you,” João replied, already moving to lift your blanket so he could join in on the comfort it provided.

Shifting slightly to make room, he settled in beside you, draping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. The scent of rain mixed with your boyfriend’s cologne filled the small space, adding an extra sense of comfort for you.

“You didn’t get too cold out there, did you?” You ask while laying your head down onto his shoulder.

Dark brown eyes found yours and he spoke, a small smile gracing his lips, “No. Not when I knew I’d be coming in to this.”

Raising an eyebrow, your lip curls into a smirk. “To this? You mean to hogging my blanket and personal space?”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes flickering across your features, his expression softening into something words couldn’t quite capture.

“No,” He starts slowly, “I mean, you.” Your breath catches in your throat as his words sunk in. He really did have a way with words, always has.

Regaining your composure, you hide your flustered state by quipping, “you’re such a sap.” Lifting the warm mug to your lips, you take a sip of your hot cocoa, hiding your smile.

“Oh, whatever! You love it.” He shot back, his grin playful despite how right he—and you—knew he was.

You couldn’t even argue with that. Instead, you set your mug on the table beside you and rest your head on his shoulder once again.

“I do, I really do.” You admit softly, voice barely above a whisper.

João doesn’t respond. He simply sets his mug beside yours, eases his index finger under your chin and lifts it. Your chest tightens as his head dips to yours, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

He only pulls away for a short second so he could mumble a small, “I love you”, before his lips were back on yours.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @joaoflms @sakashq @be11ingham @spidybaby @piastri-fvx

[sseulforgii]

I'll Call You Mine

Myoui Mina x Reader

a/n: a little post-holiday girl in red inspired fluff for @keervah just because 🤭 I’m sorry it took so long and I hope you’ll like it 🙈

“Rainy days and bad luck come in my way. I look for you when I’m lost so I don’t go insane”

“Aw fuck!”

You curse at the sky as you feel huge drops of rain fall on your face. You grumble to yourself. Of course it’s today of all days that it rains! 29% chance of rain this week and it’s when you’re already late, tired, and cold. You’re already halfway to the bus station and you can’t risk going back home to get an umbrella ‘cause you’re already running late.

You brisk walk all the way to the bus station as the patter of rain starts to pick up. You glance at your watch, five more minutes before the bus arrives, and you heaved a sigh. Everywhere looks so festive, it’s Christmas eve after all and people are enjoying the holidays. You watched them miserably because today you have been called to report to work because your co-worker had an “emergency” and your supervisor was either stupid or favors your co-worker that they didn’t say anything and called you over.

You honestly could’ve said “no” since it was a last minute notice, but you work in healthcare and also needed the extra cash because you’ve been eyeing a cute sweater and a lego set you wanted to buy for your longtime crush, Mina. You smiled as you thought about your adorable introvert. You weren’t officially dating but you’re sure there was something between you because of the way Mina’s eyes shine when she sees you or how she lets loose her cute laughter and her gummy smile just for you. You’ve been going on cute little dates for months now and you remembered Mina’s kid-like excitement when you both saw that humongous Hogwarts lego set at a store you passed by. You secretly took note of that because Mina and legos and Mina building legos and Mina’s little happy dance - you were full on smiling now and felt warm because of the thought.

A loud honk shook you out of your reverie as the bus stopped in front of you and you can feel yourself slipping to your previous bad mood once again. You sat near the window and looked out in disbelief. Of course the rain stopped when you’re finally inside. It’s like the universe is testing your patience today. You decided to text Mina, just to lighten your mood a bit even though you have to inform her that you can’t spend Christmas eve together because of work. Mina, bless her beautiful soul, replied in an instant and you just about melted. She sent you a photo of her in a Christmas sweater holding a yule log with a text saying “Let’s eat this together when you get back and go to the Christmas market after.”

You were restless at work and you catch yourself glancing at the clock almost every few minutes. It’s pretty late and you’re sure Mina’s having dinner with her family already. Your goal was to go straight to the store after your shift on Christmas morning to buy that lego set and spend the rest of Christmas day with her. You’re in a brighter mood just thinking about how happy it will make her and you used that thought to fuel you for the rest of your shift. You received a text from Mina a few hours before midnight, “Merry Christmas, y/n. I wish you were here so tonight. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow morning!” She was so cute and it got you all giddy! You sent her an apology and told her you’d want to spend Christmas eve with her too but you assured her that tomorrow will be a fun day for the both of you. Her swift reply came, “I can’t wait! Good luck with the rest of your shift. I’ll see you tomorrow,” with a kissy face photo of her attached. You felt your cheeks heat up and you were trying to suppress a giggle. She’s the most adorable person ever! Now you’re more determined and happy thinking that this extra shift was all worth it when you see her tomorrow.

Finally, an hour left before your shift ends. You send the store a quick message asking to wrap up the Hogwarts lego set and sent them the payment. This way, you just need to drop by to get it and save you time. You can’t wait to spend your first Christmas with Mina! A few minutes passed and you received a text from your supervisor and your mood darkened incredibly. The employee assigned after your shift could not make it and there isn’t anyone else available to take over so you need to stay for their shift, which unfortunately for you is a double shift.

You can feel your temper rising. You wanted to scream and curse at someone but you really had no choice, it’s not like you’d be able to just leave your work and leave your patients to tend to themselves. You were in a very terrible mood as you counted the hours and realized you’d be missing the Christmas market when your shift ends because it closes early for their last day. You type out a message to your supervisor begging them to find someone to at least cover half the shift you’re forced to do. You had plans today and you feel like everything is ruined and you don’t even know what to tell Mina.

Your heart was heavy as your supposed shift ended and the new one started. As if on cue, Mina texted you good morning and that she couldn’t wait to see you. You were devastated and the festive mood long gone. You were disappointed at yourself for promising so much and not being able to make good on it, especially since this is Mina. You sent her an apology and an explanation not really in the mood anymore. Of course, because this is Mina, she understood and told you she’d still be waiting to spend Christmas with you no matter when your shift ends. You send out a halfhearted reply and another apology before burying your phone deep in your pocket not wanting to send more false promises. You informed the lego store of your predicament and the store owner asked if you’d want to pick it up at their residence instead if you don’t make it before the store closes. You say yes and thank them, thankful that their address is close to Mina’s. At least you can pick it up along the way.

The rest of the day was a blur. In the end, no one arrived to split your shift with you and it made you feel numb. It was already dark when the next person came in for the shift after yours. You sluggishly got ready to leave and sent both the store owner and Mina that you were on your way and apologized for how late it was. Thankfully the travel back was uneventful although you were really devastated as you watch people heading home with smiles on their faces.

Only a few more hours ‘til Christmas was over and you feel salty for only having that amount of time with Mina. You knew yourself well enough that you might end up ruining this night with her because you really are in a terrible mood and didn’t wanna see her disappointed face. So as you walked towards the store owner’s house you contemplated on just giving your Christmas gift and heading home.

You thanked the store owner as he gave you the huge box and apologized for the trouble. He was still all smiles and wished you Merry Christmas before you went on your way. A couple of houses before Mina’s you stopped and texted her that you’re almost at her door and wanted to give her something. You kept walking afterwards even after you felt your phone vibrate from her reply. You spotted her sitting at the foot of their porch. All wrapped in an oversized sweater and an elf hat sitting atop her head. Your heart warmed at the sight but guilt kept you from being truly happy to see her.

But Mina, known for her introverted and calm demeanor, just about beamed and ran when she spotted you. She enveloped you in a hug before dragging you to the door. You smiled halfheartedly and stopped her. You wanted to say you’re just there to give her a Christmas present and leave, but before you can even get anything out she looked at you sternly and said, “Nope. You’re staying. I prepared a bath for you and warm clothes and a surprise. So you’re staying. Got that?” You looked at her and can’t decide whether to smile or get scared because she looks so adorable with her elf hat and furrowed brows. All you were able to do was nod and utter a small “yes, ma’am” before she gave you a gummy smile and pushed you inside the house.

Mina just realized you were holding a gigantic box when you’re finally inside the house and gave you a questioning look. You chuckled lightly, “This is your Christmas present and I wanna see you open it.” Mina smiled at you widely, “Okay but first a warm bath! I know you’re really tired so take your time and relax. The clothes are in the bathroom, go” she pushed you towards the bathroom as she dragged out the last syllables. You were surprised with what you saw inside. The bathroom smells like peppermint and there were candles that cast a warm glow. An assortment of Christmas themed bath bomb were by the tub and a pair of fluffy pajamas and sweater were by the counter. You can already feel yourself relaxing and your mood lifting as you take in the scene before you.

You took your time in the bath as you were trying to shake off your bad mood because Mina has been trying to cheer you up. You got dressed and was drying your hair when you stopped and stared at the mirror. You didn’t notice it at first but the sweater you’re wearing has a huge penguin wearing a Santa hat. You can’t help but giggle now and hugged yourself thinking of how this is the sweetest gesture you’ve gotten. Finally in a better mood than when you first arrived.

You excited the bathroom and made your way to the living room to see Mina in a similar outfit placing two mugs of what smells like hot chocolate on the table. She looked at you and cooed at how adorable you are in your outfit. “I knew it would suit you!” She said as she straightened up and you saw her sweater has a huge black cat with a red scarf looped around its neck. “It’s me and you,” she said shyly as she saw you looking back and forth at her sweater and yours “Do you like it?” She asked as she batted her eyes at you. You smiled a genuine smile for the first time that day and enveloped her in a hug. “I love it so much!” You said against her hair and she giggled.

She made you sit on the couch and gave you a mug of hot chocolate with little marshmallows on them before disappearing into the kitchen. She returned with the yule log and a couple of forks in her hand and placed it in front of you. “It’s still Christmas after all,” she said as she picked up her own mug and sat beside you placing her head on your shoulder. You put your mug down and held her. “I’m sorry I was in a bad mood earlier,” you started “I just really wanted to spend our first Christmas together the best way. I know how much you wanted to see the lights and decor around the Christmas market and we weren’t even able to go.” She looked at you lovingly then and cuddled closer, “But we are spending the Christmas the best way. It doesn’t matter that it’s a little late, at least you’re here now. And besides, I have another surprise for you!” She suddenly stood up and placed her mug on the table before putting her hand out to help you up.

She dragged you to her bedroom door, mischief dancing in her eyes as she looked at you. “I knew you were sad that we didn’t get go enjoy the pretty Christmas scene so….” She then opened the door and you stare at everything in awe. “I just brought them here for you.” She finished quietly. You took in the whole room as you entered. Christmas lights were strewn on the ceiling and a small Christmas tree sat on her dresser decorated with cute ornaments and fake snow. Fairy lights cascaded over the shelves, the window, and her headboard. Everything looks so magical that it took your breath away. “Mina…” you let out her name in a whisper, words failing you with how sweet and wonderful her surprise is. You look at her beside you and her eyes were shining and expectant as she looks at your glowing face. You held her close, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “Thank you. This is the best Christmas ever.” She giggled and hugged you tightly before pulling back a little. She stared at you shyly this time and pointed upwards.

You look up and saw a mistletoe and you felt your face heat up. She was so adorable with her mischievous eyes and her shy smile that you can’t help but giggle and give her a small smirk. She hit you playfully before standing on her tiptoes, you pulled her in for your first kiss. It was chaste and warm and perfect. Just like your Mina. “You’re what I want for Christmas, y/n. And I hope you want me too,” she said with so much love and adoration that you thought your heart was gonna burst. You leaned in for another kiss as words are not enough to tell her how much you want this too. You stopped to catch your breath and rested your forehead against hers. “You’re mine.” You said against her lips and she giggled.

“Now how are you gonna top my best Christmas gift ever?” She playfully teased and you lit up, excited to give her the lego set you bought. “Come see,” you smirked at her, “I’m sure you’d love it” you said as you took her hand and led her out to the living room again. You moved the small table to make way and sat on the carpeted floor before placing the box in front of you. You gestured for her to sit on the opposite side and told her to open it.

You can’t decide which was better, her heartfelt confession earlier or how she was squealing like a little girl right now. Like you imagined, she was as excited and as giddy as a little kid on Christmas morning. You were beaming as you watch her take out the pieces and tried to hug the huge box against her. “BEST GIFT EVER” you heard her muffled exclamation. You laughed and pried the box off of her hands before teasingly said, “better than me being yours?” Her eyebrows shot up so fast, eyes wide but also teasing. “Nope! I’ll always call you mine.” She said with a grin.

You spent the rest of the night drinking hot chocolate and building the lego. You can’t help but think then that there isn’t any other way you wanna spend Christmas.

[lighttailoring]

SYRIL DAY! SYRIL DAY <3 MY TERRIBLE HORRIBLE BOY

I really wasn’t sure what to post but eventually I have settled on a list of things that I think are cool. I don’t think anyone reading this won’t have been subjected to at least a little bit of this already so for this I’m sorry. But this is my moment to shine!

NO JOKE CHARACTERS

This is the #1 thing I notice and appreciate about Syril’s arc, honestly. I’ve seen far, far too many shows set up characters like this in other media. Mean, Pathetic Losers whose only role in the plot is to be repeatedly humiliated over the course of it – and of course, it’s always all their fault. Why don’t they realise that nobody likes them, that everything they do is terrible, that they should just go away and leave the normal people alone? When he first showed up on screen I was genuinely watching through my fingers. Just kill him off already, I thought. Please. Just kill him off, so I don’t have to watch him be used as a punching bag while you point and go “Ha, funny right? It’s funny to watch freaks like this guy suffer, isn’t it? Aren’t you glad you’re not like him – wait, you’re not like him, are you?”

But then they… didn’t do either of those things? Syril doesn’t win, sure. He can’t win, at least on the path he’s currently going down, because this is Andor. I will leave the entire post that I could write about how Andor’s narrative *will * fuck you for Timm &/ Nurchi Appreciation Day – that’s coming, right? But tl;dr: God is real on this show and his name is Tony Gilroy and he hates fascism lol.

But he also isn’t treated like a joke. There are no joke characters on this show. His stroppy little attempts to be taken seriously are laughable but they’re also given depth, just like everybody else’s shitty decisions. Real motivations, real consequences.

And then after they didn’t kill him off in Reckoning, Andor heard everyone making their cute little Mommy Issues jokes and went “OK!” and sent him home to his actual mother and we all had to sit there and watch -

THE OPPRESSIVE REGIME AS THE ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP WRIT LARGE

“It’s easier to hide behind forty atrocities than a single incident,” says Nemik, and in the same episode we see Eedy Karn – a woman whose first interaction with her only son, who she’s not seen in years, is to slap him across the face – repeatedly needle Syril. The kitchenette is small, cramped, lit only by grubby artificial lighting. It feels like an interrogation room. It basically is an interrogation room. Eedy berates Syril for every single thing he does or says – a brown suit triggers a particularly insidious wave of insults disguised as concern, but we know as well as he does that he could have worn any colour and gotten the same reaction. In the same show we also watch Mon Mothma struggle against a constant onslaught of bullshit from her dreadful husband, and we see the same tactics being used, albeit in slightly different ways. It just never lets up, for either of them – if they try to ready themselves to fight back against even one barb, they’ll find themselves with ten more lodged in their backs that they haven’t been able to dodge, so they just… endure it.

Fuck it - this isn’t an academic essay. What I’m trying to say is fuck I love Andor for holding up a picture of an abusive relationship and a picture of an oppressive regime and waiting for us to figure out that they’re the same picture. Undermine your target at every turn – convince them that they can’t win. Then when you actively harm them, they won’t even bother to fight back.

A SHADOW, A TENANT, A STRANGER

So yeah there’s that. But Syril’s arc in specific really focuses on what it’s like to live in a panopticon – to know you’re constantly being monitored. “I have ways of knowing,” Syril says to Eedy. But he doesn’t seem to have ways of preventing her from snooping on him. And really, what good does knowing that you’re being watched do, if you can’t stop it?

How do you grow, when you’re constantly being monitored, and when – as it’s been demonstrated – there is no possible way to please the person who’s monitoring you? How do you develop a personality? How do you do anything?

We see so many times just how stunted Syril is – from his absolute inability to think in shades of grey, his need for order because he doesn’t have any idea what he wants (“I want what you want,” he says – does he mean I think I know what you want, or does he mean Whatever you want is what I want?), the way he looks like a little child in his sad pyjamas sitting at that plastic table, his bizarre little friendship with Mosk that’s more like two kids on the playground than two fully grown men. He doesn’t have his own desires because he hasn’t been allowed to have them. He wants the rigidity and facelessness of the Empire because then he doesn’t have to deal with the fact that he doesn’t have a face of his own. He’s so nothingy. I love him so much you guys.

TAILORING

BUT the one thing we do see Syril actively doing is… tailoring. Well, we don’t see him do it, but Kyle Soller has confirmed in interviews that Syril is doing it himself, which I think most of us suspected. In a show that keeps bringing up salvage and ‘fix it yourself’ and how we’re pushed towards the pre-packaged and mass-produced precisely because it keeps us reliant on the supplier, it’s… it itches, to see this guy taking in his shapeless Pre-Mor uniform to flatter him (hi Kyle Soller slutty waist fans), to see him raising the collar of the brown suit that his mother hates so much (and someone pointed out that the collar is a slightly darker brown than the rest of the suit, and that he’s then clearly used that same material to add to the cuffs, so that it looks intentional). Where’s that post about how the reason influencers and celebrities look so great in clothing that you look dreadful in is because they’ve had all of their clothing tailored to fit, where you’re expected to just make do in stuff that’s designed to fit someone who doesn’t even exist.

The fact that you’d THINK he’d be so wedded to the idea of Following The Rules that he’d insist on not making any alterations to his uniforms at all???? (First person to say “It’s Because He’s Vain And Selfish” is getting a little kissy on the forehead because I know that will annoy you more than anything <3)

THE SUN…

You’re still reading this, so you’re getting my favourite, most brain-itching thing YAY

The opening scene of The Axe Forgets is the moment that cemented Syril in my head as My Blorbo Forever. Two seconds. I timed it! Two seconds of sunlight. And he’s been waiting for it, sat on his bed like a dog waiting for its master to come home – and there it is, the sun on his face – and then it’s gone. He’s left all alone in the darkness again.

(and THAT’S on a sunny day... and what happens when another block is built, or someone puts up a billboard, or runs an expressway through that little sliver of sky? Fuck you, is what).

It’s implied that Syril and his mother are pretty solidly lower-middle-class. They’ve Worked Hard All Their Lives, and have probably been ‘calling in favours’ their whole lives, also. I’m half convinced that Syril was sending money home from Pre-Mor to help pay the rent (otherwise why the immediate need for Syril to get another job? Wouldn’t Eedy love to relish in her son’s unemployment, and have him at home 24/7 to boot?) And this is what all that hard work gets them – two seconds of sunlight a day.

It’s like… OK the reason they made a TV show instead of writing an essay is because I can write all of this out, but when you see that shot, you feel it. The fucking SUN. Even the sunlight is out of reach. Coruscant is Hell I stg

BUT WAIT I HAVE MORE THINGS TO SAY. Luthen says “I burn my life to make a sunrise I know I’ll never see” and there is of course a supremely ironic comparison to be made there with Syril’s own hubris handing Ferrix to the Empire and leading him back to that childhood room where he literally will never see the sunrise – but. The sunrise.

The problem with sunrises is that you sort of can’t stop them from happening. I think it falls into the wider (and perhaps faulty!) concept in Andor that the success of the rebellion is inevitable – that “one single thing will break the siege”.

Why did they give Syril these scenes with the sun? Nothing in this show is accidental. I’ve been turning it over and over in my brain ever since the show aired. Why is this character, who’s so browbeaten and curled in on himself and willing to debase himself in service of an Empire that hates him because he doesn’t know anything other than being hated – why does he get the sun, the sun that will always rise no matter what

Drives me crazy. Anyway

Character Appreciation Friday - Syril Karn

Name: Syril Karn Played by: Kyle Soller Appearances: Kassa, That Would Be Me, Reckoning, Aldhani, The Axe Forgets, Announcement, Narkina 5, Nobody's Listening!, Daughter of Ferrix, Rix Road

Happy Friday, fam! We're really getting to the meat of it for Appreciation Friday from here on out, starting with our number one sad cereal boy, Syril Karn.

Love him or hate him, there's so much to appreciate about this little weasel of a character. So let me know what you think in a reblog, comment, or ask! (and remember, do not be an asshole if you don't like him. learn to say it in a respectful way or don't say it at all)

Next week: Kleya Marki

[riversidekid]

[crookedfivefingers]

3.13 | ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅꜱ

link to the post I accidentally wound up prattling endlessly about in the tags 💀

[viktorgf]

—OCS AND VILLAIN SONGS

hey what’s up you guys welcome back to my channel— i did this post on my old blog ages ago which is unfortunately lost to time now and i wanted to do it again. so this has gotta be like, the third time some of y’all are seeing this but. fuck it we ball.

born from a post made by @unholymilf a loooong time ago that as more or less a question of if ur oc was a boss fight, what song would be playing and it struck me so here is ALL of my brain worms, including some new ones from the last post!

ANDIE— le soleil est près de moi; air.

POV: you’re bleeding out as andie is standing over you, burning white hot, hotter than the sun setting behind her. she is passionate and… reckless, and will swear this was self-defense. even if she struck first. even if she didn’t blink. even as she watches the life leave your body.

BIANCA— tricycle express; gaspard augé, mr. oizo.

POV: bianca is white knuckling her steering wheel, swiping her car against the side of your own for miles down the freeway. she is gonna run you off the road. she absolutely will; it’s unavoidable, and she’s gonna laugh while she’s doing it. this is the song she’s listening to.

CELESTE— vision; m83.

POV: “you will die soon. sooner than you were supposed to, now.” celeste deadpans as she hovers her hand over your forehead and waves. she makes a show of it, though her clairvoyance doesn’t require as much. you wish you had listened to her and thought better of asking in the first place. “it will be violent, and painful. give ares my best. leave my temple.” but you didn’t, and now it’s too late. your fate is sealed.

ELVIRA— old river; orville peck.

POV: you’re stiff, hairs on the back of your neck standing up. you’re being watched. this is a different kind of observation than the one you’re used to— the seeds constantly run surveillance on you, but this doesn’t feel as passive. you’re being hunted. and when you dare to turn on your heels to see elvira standing behind you with a crossbow bolt nocked with your name on it, you almost wish jacob was here to kill you instead. somehow, you know it would be more merciful.

OSLO— pennsylvania furnace; lingua ignota.

POV: oslo isn’t the deputy anymore. they’re the judge. eden’s gate is up a member who is worth a million and the resistance mourns a million more.

FAUSTINA— beyond the horizon; olivier deriviere.

POV: faustina is the last line of defense between you and the mother church. she’s a penitent, too, you must understand. the consecrated red ribbons she’s wrapped in are suffocating her the longer she takes to excommunicate you and she will try every prayer at her disposal to stop it—to stop you.

JEN— krack; soulwax.

POV: jen is chasing you through the fib building after she snitches on your whole operation to the iaa. you are an enemy of the state, but more importantly— you’re an enemy to agent jennifer daniels. she wants you dead, and you will be soon enough. especially if it’s up to her. and as of right now, she has you cornered in an interrogation room with nowhere to go and a gun to your head.

LOTTIE— arsonist’s lullabye; hozier.

POV: hawkins is ablaze, and lottie is at the scene of the crime staring into the flames.

LINDY— señor (tales of yankee power); jerry garcia.

POV: there’s barely anyone left to call a gang, and dutch knows as much. but he won’t admit it— that would require him admitting guilt for the losses, too. and he should be so lucky he’s still breathing; lindy wants to empty an entire revolver clip into his thick skull but knows she wouldn’t live long enough to feel the satisfaction. so she does the next best thing, and turns her back. there isn’t anything left for her, anyway. she would risk a lifetime of looking over her shoulder over having to look at him.

MAGS— change (in the house of flies); deftones.

POV: you’re being experimented on in an umbrella sanctioned lab and in walks mags— who you thought was on your side. after all, well fed devils behave better than famished saints. but not this one, she’s much worse.

MILDRED— god unbounded; uboa.

POV: you have just returned from the dead because some weirdo with a god complex and a proficiency in reanimating corpses decided that she needed the practice. and now that’s your problem, because you definitely have come back Wrong. but you’re back! surprise!

NICOLE— heart in a cage; the strokes.

POV: you’re witness to an absolute bloodbath as nicole goes crazy on the field. she’s completely lost herself, she isn’t in control anymore. she was always dangerous but now she’s lethal. she’s already gotten some of her own killed, and somebody needs to take her out before it gets worse. she’s a wild animal. and to her, you’re fresh meat.

SIBYL— summit song; nicole dollanganger.

POV: she drowns you in her scrying pool and you are never heard from again. it’s your own fault, really— anna henrietta told you to leave her be and you didn’t listen.

ROSALIND— goodbye; soap&skin, apparat.

POV: she begs mike for the coordinates of where it happened and he doesn’t budge. he never will. he doesn’t trust her not to take a shovel to the earth and dig him up. so in her state of delirium, she walks through the desert and screams and cries and repents. and becomes her own biggest villain.

ODETTE— graveyard; midnight syndicate.

POV: odette quite literally haunts her family estate, left to fall into disrepair. she’s a grief stricken wraith born of despair who brutally attacks anyone who dares step into her tomb. she’s a master illusionist even in death, so if you choose to fight her instead of just leaving, just make sure you first remove the mirrors from the wall.

okay whew that was a TASK but i’m gonna make this a tag game cs i wanna see Y’ALL make ur ocs evil and give them a soundtrack so hehe @florbelles @unholymilf @shellibisshe @ghostfvcker @benwishaw @loriane-elmuerto @leviiackrman @jackiesarch @rosayoro @statichvm @teamhawkeye @bloodofvalyria @red-nightskies @confidentandgood @simply-jason @scalpelsister @devilbrakers @lxmbert and you!

[alwayshappyhoursomewhere]

Cup of China 2023 - Adam Siao Him Fa and Shoma Uno during the men’s victory ceremony

[crossbackpoke-check]

I have to ask about good dog bad dream <3

🥰🥰 oh i was HOPING for this one. ok so y’all may actually know a little bit already because it exists in the tags as tyler borzoituzzi but! good dog bad dream is the working document title/notes compilation for a fic that started with the premise of “well you see that’s actually not a dog that’s my blorbo from my hrpf shifter wolf au—”

and, because i have never formally addressed it or put it anywhere other than the tags, three important details about this fic:

this IS a semi-au fic about the detroit red wings, set vaguely in the 2018-19 season, because the wings sucked that year (but not as bad as 2019-20)

this is ALSO a fic that is mainly about tyler bertuzzi and dylan larkin, with some other wings thrown in because i've never met an ensemble i couldn't shove into a love story

this 100% exists because of mickey redmond calling tyler a junkyard dog every chance he gets and me every time going "okay but what if literally though" -> 🐺

[httpiastri]

Hi! I just read let's knock everyone's hats off and i loved it ❤️ just as someone who identifies as non binary, i just wanted to let you know that reader is described as daniel's girlfriend which is fine but the title saying it was a gender neutral reader, it caught me off guard so i was wondering if you could change it to fem!reader? I don't mean to be rude or cause harm and I really hope you won't read it like that because it isn't my intention at all, it's just a bit discouraging to think that i finally found a gender neutral fic for my fav driver and then to realize that it isn't really a gender neutral fic 😅 again I don't want to upset you or anything I just thought I'd let you know but you're of course free to delete this, I really hope you won't be offended, I assure it isn't my goal. Also sorry if english is a bit off, it isn't my first language 😭 anyway i did enjoy your writing and I hope you'll keep on writing, it was great ❤️

hello! thank you for your message. i’d like to say that i am really sorry for my mistake. i was really tired when i posted the danny blurb yesterday, and i had no energy to even come up with a title nor a summary (it still has no summary…..), so when i was gonna write the genre, pairing and such i just copied the one from another blurb. i must’ve forgotten in the moment that i had mentioned the reader as his girlfriend, so i just didn’t change it… you’re not rude or offensive or anything (and your english is great, don’t worry about it!), thank you pointing out the mistake so that i could fix it. again, i apologize!

thank you for your sweet words, hope you have a great day ❤️

[5sospenguinqueen]

Tantrums | Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: After 10 years together, Lewis keeps pushing back the date on when “forever” can start. Realising that forever applies to her job and not their relationship, she makes it clear that she’s had enough. 

Warnings: slight age gap, reader is 32. angst, heavy on the angst. 

Requested: @madelynn-sienna (sorry it took so long. i didn’t think i was gonna do it ngl to you because i don’t really write for lewis)

F1 Masterlist

next.

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

yn_ln just posted

liked by carmenmmundt, alexandrasaintmleux and others

yn_ln when he feels bad that he’s on the other side of the world for your birthday 

4,444 comments

lewishamilton happy birthday, love. i’m so sorry i’m in australia and not with you but i promise i will make it up to you when i’m home. roscoe promised me he’d spend the day spoiling you 

→ roscoelovescoco yes i’s did’s 

user1 oh to be loved the way yn is loved by lewis 

user2 no one makes me feel as single as lewis and yn do 

carmenmmundt @/georgerussell63 take notes

→ yn_ln you tell him, hun

→ georgerussell63 i buy you flowers all the time! 

f1 we’re sorry that a race fell on your birthday. we’ll ask the fia to fix the calendar next year so this doesn’t happen again

mercedesamgf1 we’d give him back if we could. happy birthday, yn

georgerussell63 hang on a second. you’ve not left us yet. that’s not the right car

→ charles_leclerc that’s the perfect car 

→ yn_ln i didn’t buy the car. i just jumped behind the wheel

user3 not me hoping she’d be getting a ring for her birthday 

→ user4 we’ve been waiting for this for the past 8 birthdays

→ user5 it’s been 10 years. we were expecting two rings and a few kids by now

→ user6 i mean, he just bought her a sports car. not very kid friendly 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

lewishamilton just posted

liked by francolapinto, sebastianvettel and others 

lewishamilton happy 10 years to the love of my life. every moment with you is an adventure i never want to end

9,448 comments

yn_ln forever with you ❤️ mainly because i can’t be bothered to train some new guy to photos that good of me

mercedesamgf1 can’t believe it’s been 10 years already. it feels like only yesterday yn was making her paddock debut. here’s to another 10 

→ user7 not mercedes commenting like they’re a part of this relationship 

→ user8 well he’s been with yn almost as long as he’s been with mercedes so they practically are at this point 

user9 my favourite f1 couple

user10 i love their rich money vibes

roscoelovescoco happy’s anniversary’s mum and’s dad 

→ yn_ln my precious boy 

→ user11 now she needs a real baby 

danielriccairdo i can’t believe she’s managed to put up with you for ten years 😂 huge love to you both

→ yn_ln ngl, it’s been tough

→ lewishamilton i’m taking the ferrari back 

user12 wedding and baby when? 

georgerussell63 happy 10 year anniversary. yn is my favourite part of you being my teammate 

→ carmenmmundt can we keep her when you go to ferrari?

→ charles_leclerc no. it’s my turn now 

→ lewishamilton i think you’re all forgetting that she’s mine 

mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and others 

mercedesamgf1 GET IN THERE, LEWIS 🏆🥇 LEWIS HAMILTON IS YOUR BRITISH GRAND PRIX WINNER 

23,441 comments

yn_ln my love. i honestly have not stopped crying since you crossed that line. i’m so proud of you. you deserved this and proved to everyone why you’re a motorsport legend

→ lewishamilton couldn't do it without your support 🩷

→ mercedesamgf1 it’s true. the mechanics were uncomfortable when they realised they couldn't just keep giving her tissues

georgerussell63 you deserve it, mate

valterribottas well done champ

user1 can’t believe he won silverstone the same weekend he celebrated 10 years with yn 

→ user2 she’s always been his good luck charm. he performs so well when she’s watching

→ user3 they’re the dream team together 

user4 the fact that yn is the only one he responded to

user5 she’s getting it good tonight

skysportsf1 posted a new interview

user6 oh no, lewis…

user7 lewis, she was asking what was next for you and yn, relationship wise

user8 oh, that’s not quite

user9 i hope yn doesn’t see this otherwise i fear lewis might be in the doghouse tonight 

→ user10 i hope she does see it so that she knows he’s not thinking of her future in the same way 

user11 i always thought lewis loved yn as much as yn loved lewis but now i’m not sure

user12 it’s the fact that the poor interviewer looked upset at his answer as well. like she hoped for better

→ user13 we all hoped for better 

user14 it’s the fact that she’s always talked about wanting kids and getting married but has always said they’re waiting until lewis is ready

→ user15 the fact that every year passes and he never indicates that he’s ready for any of it though 

replies to @/F1Wags

user1 lewis still follows yn

→ user2 and still has all of his photos up, including their anniversary post 

→ user1 i’m hoping this means he’s in denial and is still trying to win her back

user3 i can’t believe this is real. she went all the way back and deleted everything related to him in 10 years. even edited posts to delete slides he was in

→ user4 dedicated queen

user5 just fell to my knees in walmart

user6 i’m devastated but i also hope this means she finds a man who will be prepared to give her the life she wants 

→ user7 well, more fool her for staying this long

→ user6 not really. ever think she wanted those things because she wanted them with lewis

→ user8 don’t break my heart like this please  

replies to @/WeDon'tThink

user9 okay but your pen was on fire when you wrote that 

user10 he literally had the best weekend of his life with a 10yr anniversary, winning silverstone and then clearly messed it all up somehow in the end 

user11 if sir lewis hamilton can’t even do right, what hope do the rest of us have in finding a decent man

→ user12 no because they looked just as in love as they did 10 years ago and he still fumbled

user13 i saw rumours it was because he gave her an ultimatum and she didn’t take the path he wanted 

→ user14 what do you mean?

→ user13 apparently “close sources” said that he told her if she wanted kids, she couldn't have him and so she left 

→ user14 wtf!!! good on her for dumping his ass

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

calvinklein and yn_ln just posted

liked by nicorosberg, fernandoalo_official and others 

calvinklein @/yn_ln is stunning in calvin klein underwear. shop the collection now 

5,533 comments

yn_ln oh okay. i look goooood 

→ alexandrasaintmleux i would let you take me home

→ carmenmmundt me too

→ georgerussell63 excuse me, i don’t agree with this

user1 aha, nico we see you 

→ user2 and fernando

landonorris oh so he fumbled bad 

→ oscarpiastri they’re going to take your social media off you again

user3 is this her version of a revenge dress?

→ user4 more like undress

user5 not sure why you wouldn’t want to marry and give a baby to a woman like that 

→ user6 okay, ew

user7 can we appreciate how she’s handled this with class. instead of speaking out against lewis, she’s been booked and busy and flitting about europe on modelling jobs 

→ user8 just further proof that he managed to lose the best woman ever 

roscoelovescoco you’s look’s nice, mum

→ user9 i know lewis hires someone to run this account but what are the odds that he’s actually behind it now so he can stalk yn 

yn_ln please can we all focus on the clothes and support how hot i look by buying some! 

→ danielricciardo don’t even have tits but you convinced me to buy a bra

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

lewishamilton just posted

liked by valterribottas, scuderiaferrari and others 

lewishamilton mixed feelings about today. obviously happy for a win but very disappointing for george and the team missing out on a 1-2

7,744 comments

georgerussell63 we put up a good fight today

user1 not really a deserved win though, is it

user2 you fumbled yn and now you’re fumbling wins. you only got this because merc screwed over george 

roscoelovescoco well’s done’s dad

user3 see what happens when you play a good woman, you get a dirty win

user4 man needs to act his age. can’t believe at the grand age of 39, he strung along a girl who loved him more than anything for 10 years

→ user5 destroyed my faith in men for real 

user6 robbed a win from george like you robbed 10 years from yn 

(comments on this post have been limited)

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

I wrote this out and was really proud of it and then when I was adding the other driver’s versions on, I realised it was the same principal as Daniel’s so I’m so sorry for the repeated plot

Baby Fever Angst Masterlist

requests are open

[street-smarts00]

in omnia paratus

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer's been on the fence with his feelings for you. Due to his past traumas he’s decided to keep his feelings hidden. Until you’re caught in a dangerous situation at work

WC: 3.5 k

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long. I’ve been sitting on this for two months because I was being a perfectionist and had writer's block. Thank you so much to the person who requested this idea and I hope ya’ll like it! beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Protective!spencer, Friends to lovers, age gap (25 and idk 33 or 34), during season 9 (sadly no post prison Reid, I refuse to watch the show after Derek & Hotch leave), Maeve is implied 

Warnings!: mentions of murder, stalking, gunshot wounds, hostage situation and incorrect info about hostage situation cause Idk I'm not in the FBI

Everyone knew Spencer Reid had a soft spot for you. Well, everyone except for you. 

Since the moment you met you’ve been on his mind. 

“Do you know how old she is?” 

“No, how old is she?” 

“25!” Penelope squeaked before being shushed by Rossi. 

“Wow, she’s gotta be the youngest person to ever be in the BAU. Well, second to genius over here,” JJ commented while pointing to Reid. 

“That’s if she gets the job,” Morgan added. 

They were all crowded around the desks in front of Hotch’s office. The blinds were cracked and they could just barely make out the woman seated across from their boss for an interview. 

Due to the increase in caseload after Alex joined, Hotch made the request to add an additional member of the team. After interviewing a few people that didn’t pan out, he heard quite a bit about you from your supervisor saying how well you’ve done with the FBI and you’d be an exceptional fit for the team.

Then of course Penelope looked up everyone who was interviewing with Hotch. You being her most recent victim. 

“How long has she been with the FBI?” Alex questioned. 

“Three years,” Penelope answered 

“What? Did she join right after college?” 

“Not right away. She graduated early and got experience with law enforcement first.” 

Spencer sat at his desk quietly while everyone was peering into Hotch’s office. Not to say he wasn’t nosy as well. You were already behind the blinds when he arrived for work. 

“Oh they’re shaking hands! That has to be a good sign,” Penelope cheered. 

Morgan turned to the window, “It’s definitely not a bad one.” 

Her eyes widened before loudly whispering, “Oh no they’re leaving. Disperse.” 

She scurried off in her heels towards Derek’s desk while he followed behind with a grin. JJ, and Rossi averted their eyes from Hotch’s office and found Alex’s desk far more interesting. 

All while Spencer’s attention was brought to the woman led down the stairs by his boss. It felt like his heart stopped beating when he saw how beautiful you were. He was brought back to earth as Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he gestured to the man sitting at his desk. 

You offered him a small wave and a kind smile, “Nice to meet you.” 

It became quite obvious you two would get along very well. From very early on conversation flowed incredibly well between the two of you. There were very few people that he felt were easy to talk to because of his niche interests and the way he would ramble spitting facts left and right. 

But he never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or talking too much with you. You often were a content listener or you would even match his passion on certain subjects. Most were topics Spencer already knew about. 

When you first met Spencer you didn’t know the Dr in his name meant he held 3 PhD’s or that he was quite literally a genius. 

So you were often telling stories or facts you found interesting that he already knew. In fact, almost every “fun fact” you brought up, he knew about already.  

But he never interrupted you. He always was listening intently to what you had to say. Like he was hearing about it for the first time. 

At some point you learned of his eidetic memory and how vast his knowledge was. It was during a case where you found out and mentioned it to him. 

“Reid, remember when we were at the harbor and I mentioned that thing about sharks?” You hesitated, “did you know that already?”

“Yes,” he guiltily admitted. 

You partially deflated suddenly feeling that the whole tangent you went on was pointless. “Why did you let me go on and on if you already knew?” 

His eyes softened, “because I wanted to hear you talk about it.” 

That was when his feelings started to peek through. As the months went on it only grew and grew. And you were none the wiser.

To the average person, it might not seem like much. Perhaps you were just good friends. But to a team of profilers (and best friends) it was painfully obvious. 

It was almost painful the way he looked at you with a longing in his eyes. Or when his gaze immediately turned to you to catch your reaction or smile. 

It was obvious by the way he found any excuse to bring you up in conversation. Or how in conversation with you he would mirror your mannerisms and lean closer to you. 

As well as the things he remembered about you or the little things he did for you. Like the countless coffee cups he bought for you from his favorite coffee shop before work. And when he saw you struggling to find something or open something he was always right there to help. 

Spencer Reid had feelings for you. Feelings so deep that he couldn’t pull the roots out even if he tried. 

He didn’t know what to do with his feelings exactly. He hadn’t felt this strongly for someone since … well for a while. He was terrified of history repeating itself. 

He couldn't lose you. He’d seen first hand what this job did to him, what it did to Hotch. Their loved ones ripped away from them too soon.

So for now at least, he kept his feelings to himself. 

Well, until your last case. 

The BAU was called in on a case that just turned serial. They found the unsub to be a man named Mark, who started killing because his girlfriend cheated on him. The first two victims reminded him of the man she cheated with. When that didn’t satisfy him, he hunted down and killed the other man. 

Now the team and SWAT was stationed outside a bus that Mark was holding hostage. He stalked his ex-girlfriend and tracked down the new city bus she took. 

The officers couldn’t get a clear shot of him because of where he was standing and he kept using the passengers as shields. Rossi was currently on the phone with him trying to make negotiation terms and get some of the people off the bus. Mark however was incredibly stubborn and didn’t want to let his leverage go. 

So Rossi asked about the children on the bus and if Mark would be willing to let them off. They were met with silence on the other end of the phone, contrary to his previous behavior where he loved to hear himself talk. 

After a short pause the phone spoke. “I’ll only send out the kids if you send in an agent.” 

Rossi shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Are there any other circumstances you’re willing to send out the children for?” he asked. 

“Nope,” he said with a pop at the end of the word. 

A look of concern was quickly exchanged between Rossi and Hotch. While their faces didn’t reveal much, their eyes spoke volumes. 

“How about this,” the unsub continued. “I’ll send out their moms too.” 

Rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the eagerness to comply from the criminal. “You’ll send out the children and their mothers if we send in one of our agents?” 

“I promise.” 

Rossi returned his eyes to Hotch who stood rigid and tall with his arms folded. He was met with an approving nod before returning to the call. 

“Alright, we can agree to those terms.” 

“Oh and agent Rossi?” Mark perked. 

“Yes?”

“Send in a girl.”

There was a tension that quietly branched out between the agents listening to the phone call. 

“Why do you want a woman?” Rossi asked, clearly changing the dialogue used.

“I’m losing too many ladies sending out these moms. I want one back,” he replied with a cockiness to his voice. 

Ross confirmed they could send in a female agent. Almost immediately after the unsub hung up, you volunteered to be the agent going on the bus.  

“I’ll do it.”

Spencer’s head shot in your direction. “No you're not.” His voice was laced with concern and a hint of demand.  

“Reid-”

“He specifically asked for a woman. We don’t know what he’s planning, he’s devolving.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk to make sure those kids are safe,” You defended yourself. 

You turned to your boss waiting for his thoughts. Hotch knew you’d been exposed to enough high tension scenarios to know what you were doing. But just like any member of his team, he silently hesitated, worrying for your safety. 

He took a breath before meeting your eyes again. “Send her in.” 

Right before you were led to the bus, Hotch took off the holster on his ankle and handed it to you. “Some extra protection in case something happens.” You couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, but you saw it clear as day in his eyes. 

You made your way to the bus and saw through the window Mark holding a gun to the driver and telling him to open the door. You stepped on and the doors closed quickly behind you. The unsub took a long look at you, panning up and down. 

“Well how about that. Aren’t you a beauty? He said with a cheeky grin. 

You tried your hardest not to look disgusted with him. Instead you kept your composure and spoke with courage and a confident demeanor. 

“You this flirty with all your hostages?” you asked plainly.

As he gazed down at your legs his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He bent down and with the gun in his hand, pushed away the bottom of your pants leg. When he saw the gun in the holster, he tsked. 

“You always carry this much dead weight on you?” 

He stood back up and put his hand out, “hand it over, I told them no weapons.” 

You reluctantly took off Hotch’s holster and placed it in the unsubs hand. Your one line of defense was gone. 

The longer you were on the bus, the more anxious Spencer got. He knew you were an exceptional profiler, and you had enough experience and skill to handle yourself in situations like this. 

But that couldn’t stop the ache in his stomach or the fact that his heart rate could power a car by now. 

He stood closer to the bus now to get a clearer view of the windows. They managed to successfully get the children and moms off and to safety, but you weren’t safe. Spencer figured you were trying to negotiate with the unsub, but that was going nowhere. This was confirmed when Rossi tried calling him again but every call was ignored. 

This unsub was stubborn as hell. He knows he trapped himself, but didn’t want to back down. At least he didn’t want to go quietly. 

Spencer was talking with the rest of the team trying to devise a plan when the gunshots were fired. The team immediately ran back to the cacophony on the bus. 

More shots were fired, he didn’t know where from. He didn’t care. 

He just needed to get to you. 

When he got a decent view through one of the windows that hadn’t shattered he saw you. Your hand over arm in pain but still standing in front of the civilians to protect them. The unsub stalking over to you, gun in hand and smacking you over the head with it. You slammed against the chairs and fell to the floor. 

Spencer's face paled. He swore he was going to throw up. 

Through the fog of his mind Spencer saw Morgan escorting Mark off the bus, his hands now behind his back in cuffs. 

He rushed past them, clambering through the door and up the stairs to get to you, calling your name. 

“Reid?” he heard your small tired voice through the crowd. 

He followed it to you, laying on the ground struggling to open your eyes and clutching your left arm. 

He crouched down to your level with a gentle hand on your uninjured arm. 

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” he comforted. 

“My head hurts,” you mumbled.

His eyes softened, “I know. I think you might have a concussion, you need to go to the hospital.” 

You slowly started to fade out of consciousness. Spencer’s heart dropped and his hand moved from your arm to your face. 

“No no no no stay with me okay?” he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he consoled.

Your eyes stopped struggling to stay open and finally made their close. His other hand rushed to your pulse point as he called for a medic.

Time seemed to stand still while Spencer sat next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. He couldn’t leave your side. He didn’t want to. 

You were okay. You were laying in the bed in front of him. But of course in his mind he ran through all the possible scenarios of how things could’ve gone worse, how things could’ve gone better. What would’ve happened if you didn’t have your gun taken away, or if the unsub got angry that you tried to bring a gun in. What if he didn’t lose his cool and start firing. What if you never went inside in the first place. 

And with all of those possible scenarios, the same thought plagued him. 

He was wrong. 

Before he was too scarred from past traumas to reveal just how much you meant to him. Not wanting to repeat the past and lose yet another person he loved cared for. 

But now, after seeing you in danger right in front of him, now he was terrified at the thought of you never knowing. He was now more scared you would never know how much he loved the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. How he thought the sound of your voice could cure any ailment he had. How he admired your strength and desire to protect others. How you could light up anyone's mood by just being you. How he could listen to you for hours, even if you were lecturing him on things he’d known like the back of his hand.

To him it was a whole new experience hearing it from you. 

Spencer was pulled from his thoughts as you stirred awake. He saw your eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights ahead. He quickly got up to dim the lights for you. 

When he returned to his seat you smiled at him, “hi.” 

“Hi,” he smiled back.  

“How are you feeling?” 

You sighed. “Like shit,” you complained with a hint of humor. 

“The doctor said you have a minor head injury, bruised ribs, and the shot to your arm thankfully didn’t break any bones.” 

“Fun,” you said sarcastically. 

A moment of silence passes between you two. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. How do you casually tell your friend and coworker you have a crush on them? 

There is no casual way. 

“You called me sweetheart,” you broke the silence. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

You fidget with the blanket, “earlier, when I passed out on the bus. You called me sweetheart.”

He searches his mind for the memories of the day. When he finds the memory he realizes in the heat of the moment the term of endearment slipped out. 

He wasn’t aware you heard it. 

“I did,” he confirmed as his ears flushed.

“Why?” you asked curiously. 

He didn’t know how to tell you that he’s wanted to call you that for weeks now. So instead he settled with-

“It just … felt right.” 

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

Spencer tensed up at your response. 

“If I crossed the line-“ 

“No. Of course not,” you interrupted with a comforting voice. 

The corners of your mouth lifted and cheeks dusted pink. “I thought it was sweet. You don’t normally say stuff like that.”  

His heart warmed at your confession and a smile spread on his face. 

“You thought me calling you sweetheart was sweet?” he lightly teased.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

Your laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in your abdomen. You bit down on your lip and gripped the side of the bed in pain. 

The reality that you were injured on the job was rushing back to him. 

He licked his lips, his nervous unconscious habit. 

“I was really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he interjected. 

“The entire time you were on that bus I was sick to my stomach. Terrified that something bad was gonna happen and it did,” he started to ramble. 

You leaned closer to him. ”But I’m okay Reid.”

“You still got hurt. He shot you for christ sake!” his voice raising in pitch and volume. 

“Reid-”

“He lashed out at you! You could’ve died!” 

“Spencer,” you said firmly, pulling his attention towards you. 

He never heard you say his name before. No matter how many times he said you could call him Spencer, you still called him Reid. Hearing his name fall from your lips was like the consistency of honey.

You placed your hands on his face caressing his cheek. His golden eyes meet yours. 

“I’m alright. I’m still here,” you consoled. 

“But if-“

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s important.” 

You nodded your head, signaling for him to continue. He gently grabbed your wrists and brought your hands in his. He took a deep breath before he decided to spill the thing that had been eating away at his heart. 

“I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Almost as long as you’ve been at the BAU,” he started. 

With your hands in his he started tracing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“If we don’t have work I count down the days until I can see you again. When I do see you I desperately want to see you smile, see you happy. And if I’m the one that causes that smile, it makes my whole day. That’s why I never interrupted when you talked about something I already knew. The way your face lit up when you talked with such passion was the highlight of my day.” 

“For months I was scared of my feelings and I kept them to myself. I was too scared to admit how much I liked you because I-” his hold on your hands tightened.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone. This job takes so much from us; I never wanted it to take you.” 

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“Today I realized it would be more painful if I went the rest of my life not telling you, than having even a fraction of a moment with you.”

A moment of silence danced between you two. Your head reeling from his confession, heart beating so hard you could feel it in your bones. Your palms sweaty from holding onto Spencers, but still neither of you let go. 

The silence was deafening, plaguing him. 

“Please … say something,” he begged. 

Your lash line was collecting tears that you simultaneously tried blinking away. Your eyes found his tie less intimidating than his gaze.

“I never thought you would like me back,” you said with a soft tone. 

Spencer's cheeks turned red as his heart started melting. “I do.” 

You brought your eyes back to his. That precious smile on his face was infectious. 

“Listen,” you squeezed his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. So you have as much time with me as you want.” 

Spencer's eyes softened at your words. He raised your hands and placed a loving kiss on your knuckles. 

The two of you were too lost in eachother to notice the footsteps towards the room. 

“Hey, I found some Jello for her if she-” Alex abruptly stopped once she noticed what she walked into. 

You both awkwardly pulled your hands away from each other; you fiddling with the hospital blanket, him rubbing his palms on his slacks. 

“So, feeling better?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Much,” you answered, still a bit flustered. 

“Good, good to hear,” She tried not to sound too smug, but the small smile on her face said otherwise. 

She raised and shook the jello container in her hand. 

“I’m gonna leave this here,” she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“Thanks Blake,” you thanked as she left. 

Once she was gone you quietly giggled and mumbled “oh my god,” under your breath. 

“You know, she kept teasing me asking when I was going to ask you out. And don’t even get me started on Morgan,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

Your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed. “Did everyone else know but me?” 

He pressed his lips in a thin line, “pretty much.” 

“I must be a shitty profiler,” you half joked.

“Absolutely not,” he said in the most comforting voice. He brushed the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. 

“You’re an amazing profiler.” 

You smiled that smile he loved so much. The one where you couldn’t hide your joy and your nose crinkled. 

“So, how do you think you’ll spend all those moments with me?” you inquired with a bit of a teasing tone. 

“Doing anything sweetheart,” he answered seriously. He looked at you with awe written all over your face. “I'm ready for anything with you.” 

“in omnia paratus” - ready for anything

Tag asks: @adrienneleclerc @ladybirdbeetle7

[bakudekublogblog]

i hear you and I agree with everything you’re saying and I also miss izuku’s thoughts about kacchan but also izuku also looks at kacchan like this

It's horrible to be utterly convinced that Katsuki is in love with Izuku without really being able to say definitively that Izuku is in love with Katsuki...aghh there's so much to say about certain hints and very overt things for Mr. "Kacchan Bakugou" but I feel like I haven't seen...or more accurately heard how Izuku feels. I know he loves him but Is he in love with him? Can I say that without thinking I could be wrong? No I don't think I can...but damnit! The parallels to other straight and gay couples in media is so interesting like the Berserk ref in cover 37...or the pretty constant references to taro cards...Izuku the devil in between togachako's lovers ((WHAT DOES THAT MEAN SERIOUSLY)), the three of swords in the blackwhip explosion...the "WAH--CCHAN!!" ref to a romance trope as well as to Blue Flag...the "share a crepe with" line also potentially Blue Flag..."TROY" and the battle being referenced OUT THE WAZOO with Achilles and Patroclus playing out almost exactly as the Illid described ((Literally THE most famous couple of gaybos in all historical literature--they are well known for being speculative lovers! It's mentioned in English classes when you read it))...Katsuki's parents...Katsuki's parents...the way other manga like "name I can't remember..." where they would reference MHA outright with the girl falling down and then refusing to take the male lead's hand to get up. It feels like so much but also nothing at all because all of it (( no matter how overt)) is STILL being read into from subtext. idk I think I just needed to vent.

[luveline]

Just re-watched the prison Reid arc and whew! Can I request post prison Reid getting to meet his new baby for the first time with a civilian reader? Like he was arrested while reader was still pregnant and she gave birth right before he got out? Maybe have a Diana cameo cause I just love her🤭

ty for requesting! fem, 1.6k

“Do you want me to take him?” 

You give Diane a grateful smile. “Is that okay?” 

Diane is reedy like Spencer, tall and skinny, but strong, too. She treads the carpet in her moccasins and holds out her arms for the baby, shushing him softly as you pass him over. You’ve had to look after her these last few weeks in a way you weren’t prepared for, but she’s looked after you in turn.

She’s almost completely lucid today. The good news has its hooks in her. 

You look out of the window again. The baby coughs in Diane’s arms, a clearing sound after feeding. If she’s gentle with him he’ll fall asleep before Spencer gets home. You aren’t sure what to do, let him sleep or wake him. What would Spencer want? 

I want to come home, he’d said, choked up over the phone, so badly. I’m so sorry. 

“Are you sure you won’t call him Walter?” Diane asks. “Spencer likes that one.” 

“I’m sure, Diane. He liked Jasper, so…” You bite the tip of your tongue until it aches, refusing to cry again. “So I went with Jasper. I hope he doesn’t mind.” 

That morning when Emily told you he was coming home, you cried like you’ve never, ever cried. So hard that Jasper woke up in his cot across the room and cried with you. 

You’d cried a lot after Spencer was arrested, and worse when he was imprisoned. You cried like a baby the day you went into labour because you knew you’d have to do it alone, when Spencer promised he’d be there with you, that you wouldn’t have to do any of the scary parts alone. 

It didn’t take long to stop. You’d grabbed Jasper with your cheeks soaked in tears and rubbed his back, that small stretch of warmth under your hand like a lifeline. In a way, Jasper being Spencer’s has made this easier. You’ve had a part of him. It just wasn’t enough to get over missing him. Every bit of joy —you have a baby now, your beautiful boy— has been swiftly followed with an aching sort of grief. Spencer missed his first cry, first bath, the very first time he opened his eyes. You can’t go back. 

“They said three.” 

Diane doesn’t seem concerned. She’s missed Spencer as much as you have, and you know her worry for him has made her more poorly than she’d otherwise be most days, but the baby helps. “I’m gonna find his bear,” she says. 

You bend down, trying to see the corner of the street through the window. Then you remember the last time you left Diane alone in the kitchen and flinch. “Hey, Diane?” you call. 

She’s checking the drawers for the bear. You’re not sure why she thinks the bear would be there, but perhaps that’s where she put it. “Can I make you a cup of tea or something?” you ask her. 

“You’re spying on me.” 

“Spying implies you don’t know what I’m doing.” 

She pats the baby’s back. “I can see why you and Spencer get along.” 

It’s a little more than getting along. 

Diane finds Jasper’s bear atop the bread bin, sitting at the kitchen table with him, the bear sat across from him, though Jasper’s already sleeping again. 

You put the stovetop kettle on to boil and realise with a start that you can make Spencer a cup of tea at the same time. Your smile is unfailing, then. He really is coming home. The kettle begins whining while you recover his favourite mug from the cabinet, untouched the entire time he was gone. 

“How many sugars today, Diane?” you ask. 

“Was that the door?” 

“What?” You’re putting the mug down before you can compute. 

“Angel?” 

You feel a rush of emotion all over at the sound of his voice. You try to call back to him, but you don’t manage anything more than a catching gasp as you push out of the kitchen and find him at the door. Right there at the end of the hall. 

Pale, tall. Arms already opening, half a step as you run at him. He doesn’t complain when your chest knocks against his. He doesn’t say anything at all. 

“Hi,” you breathe, pressing your nose to his shoulder. Your eyes stay open —it’s like panic without the fear. He’s really here in your arms. 

He squeezes you tightly. So tight you can’t breathe for a second. Then he gentles, his hands rubbing up and down your back out of sync, face falling into yours. 

In the kitchen, Jasper makes a croaky crying sound, a stirring Diane calms immediately. 

You attempt to pull away. Spencer will want to see Jasper, of course. He hadn’t met his own son. It was all he could talk about for weeks before he went away, and yet—

Spencer just rubs your back. After another half a minute like that, he asks, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” You clear your throat.

“Yeah? No one would tell me anything specific, I was worried you might not be alright.” 

“Everything went fine.” He holds you to his chest. He smells like cheap soap. “I didn’t– it was really okay. He was easy, like he knew I couldn’t handle any complications.” 

“And he–?”

You recognise the undercurrent in his voice. It’s the same thing you felt when they put Jasper on your chest for the first time. “He’s perfect.”

“All ten fingers?” 

You pull away. Immediately, Spencer’s taking your face into two hands, his eyes pouring into yours with an intensity that worries you. “He has all his fingers and toes,” you say quietly, “how about you? How’s your leg?” 

He doesn’t seem to be able to answer. Jasper makes another noise and Diane’s chair creaks. You turn with Spencer’s hand on your side, watching as Diane brings Jasper to the door. 

“Spencer,” Diane says, like she just saw him yesterday, “you’re late.” 

“Sorry, mom.” 

He always sounds younger when he talks to her. 

“Will you take the baby? I was just making some tea,” she says. 

Spencer nods but doesn’t move. 

“I’ll take him.” You kiss Spencer on the cheek. Remember you haven’t for weeks and kiss him again. “It’s okay.” 

You hold your arms out and take Jasper against your chest. Spencer takes a hesitant step forward, stops, hesitating, but when you turn to him with a comforting smile the band holding him back snaps. He crosses the room, breath pulled like he’d stopped as he cranes his head to see his baby. 

“Three weeks old today,” you say softly, tipping Jasper back so Spencer can see his face. “He missed his daddy, you know.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

“Of course I can. I’m his mom, Spencer… And who wouldn’t miss you?”

Spencer shakes his head gently, reaching out to caress Jasper’s full cheek. 

“Jasper,” Spencer says. 

“He’s been a great baby so far. Doesn’t give me much trouble. He cries all night, of course… but all babies do. He goes down after a while. I’ve–” You swallow the heat of missing Spencer like a barb dragging against the inside of your throat. “Told him you’re coming home. I told him every day, I promise.” 

“M’sorry,” he says, pained. 

“I know, Spence.” You nudge him. “Time to hold him, honey.” 

He’s more eager than you thought. It’s almost like he’s worried you won’t let him have the baby, but it’s like you told him on the phone: Spencer made a stupid mistake, and you still love him. He never should’ve been going back and forth like that, but you get why he did. Wouldn’t you want Jasper, one day, to care about you in the same way Spencer loves his mother? You forgave him the moment he apologised. 

“It’s alright,” you say, slotting Jasper from your arms to his, guiding his hand behind Jasper’s delicate neck. “Just hold him. He missed you.” 

Spencer sniffles. “I missed him too,” he says. 

“I know.” 

Diane realises eventually that Spencer being home is a big deal. It’s not her fault, not understanding, but the new baby, her relocation again, her nurse barely gone, and Spencer’s sudden homecoming, it’s probably too much to deal with. She finds you, Spencer, and Jasper on the couch in the living room and frowns at him heartily. “You won’t hug your own mother?” she asks.

“You’ll have to hug me around the baby,” he says, sorry. 

Diane agrees to this without fuss. She caresses his cheek as he’d done for Jasper as she pulls away. 

“Thank you for helping out, mom,” he says. 

“It was all Y/N, Spencer. You know mothers. We’re strong.” 

Spencer looks at Jasper, still sleeping, and then to you, a shade of adoring in his eyes you’ve never seen before. “I know,” he says. 

You curl into his side and take a breath. For the first time in weeks, you let your body relax, finding it sorer and angrier than you’d left it the last time you had the chance to check in. 

Spencer brings the side of your face to his lips to kiss your weary cheek. 

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST | FC43

an: guys i’m so sorry for the atrocities i’m about to cause by posting this, i’m especially tagging @obxstiles to make sure they don’t miss it and that they cry muahaha there MAY be a part two to this

summary: for as long as she’s remembered she’s loved franco, wether those feelings were ever reciprocated she doesn’t know.

wc: 4.4k

She remembered the sound of wheels against gravel. Even as a kid, Franco was fast—kicking up dust and stones as he went, all edges and adrenaline. They grew up on the same street, a road that was more dust than pavement, cutting through a small town nobody had ever heard of, deep in the countryside of Argentina. Back then, he raced down that road on a beat-up go-kart that rattled and threatened to fall apart with every turn. But he didn’t care. Even at eight years old, Franco could talk of nothing but cars and speed and the shimmering, impossible promise of a life far from here.

She was the one who stood at the end of the road, cheering him on as he came barreling toward her, heart in her throat every time he cut it too close. She told herself that’s just what friends did—waited around to see the other one make it back in one piece. But there was more to it, even then. She’d never told him, of course. Franco had always been too focused on the next race, the next finish line, to notice much about her that wasn’t familiar. It was easier that way. They were friends. That was enough.

Years passed, and with them, his childhood kart became a racing simulator, then an actual car, then a series of wins that only proved what she’d always known—that Franco was going somewhere.

Last year, his parents sold their house so he could go further, could reach another level she couldn’t quite see. He moved in with her and her family when he wasn’t racing, and for a few months, it was as if they were kids again, laughing late at night, plotting his future as he spilled out every dream he’d ever had. That was the year she started imagining he might finally see her the way she saw him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Franco saw everything she wasn’t: the girl from another world, polished and magnetic, with a face and laugh that gleamed like the trophies he’d already started to collect. She caught him, snared him in a way that didn’t even seem real.

It was this girl—her name slipped off his tongue so easily when he let it—who went to the big events with him, who stood beside him when photographers crowded around after his races, a reminder that he’d already begun to belong somewhere else. She wanted to hate her, this stranger who was everything she wasn’t, but what good would it do?

It was easy to tell herself she was Franco’s friend. His best friend. The one who’d been there since the beginning, the one who stayed up with him on those late nights when all his dreams felt heavy enough to drown him. She’d learned to wear it like armour—the friend, the constant, the steady hand on his shoulder when his voice cracked and his confidence faltered.

No one else knew the small things about him, the things that made him human. Like how he had a superstition about not putting on his helmet until the very last second before a race. Or that his favorite thing in the world was the sound of tires on wet pavement, a soft hiss of rain and speed. Or that he used to dream of buying back the house his parents sold and giving them something better.

The nights she couldn’t sleep, she’d replay those memories to herself, like scenes from a film she’d seen too many times. They were pieces of a person she’d built up in her mind so completely, so painstakingly, that she sometimes forgot he wasn’t hers. Not really.

Now, Franco was leaving again, but this time it was different. The call had come last night, and she’d been there when he answered it, watching the way his face shifted, lit up with something she hadn’t seen since they were kids. He’d been invited to join a Formula 1 team—a chance to race against the best, a dream finally realised.

And she’d been the first person he told. “I’m in,” Franco had whispered to her after he hung up, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “I’m actually in.”

He’d pulled her into a hug, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe this moment was for her too—that she was a part of the dream. But when he finally let go, she could already feel him slipping away, his mind racing miles ahead, far beyond anything she could reach.

And now here they were, standing on the same dusty road they’d grown up on, only this time the road was empty. She could almost see his silhouette against the horizon, an outline that belonged to no one, not even her.

“So… this is it, huh?” she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets. She knew this was her job now: to be strong, supportive, even as she felt her chest tightening with everything she’d left unsaid.

Franco glanced over at her and smiled, that careless, easy grin she’d fallen in love with a thousand times. “Yeah. This is it.”

There was a part of her that wanted to say something, to tell him what it felt like to lose him, to have spent all these years beside him only to watch him walk away. But she didn’t, couldn’t. Because he needed her to be his friend, his rock. And that’s exactly what she would be, until the moment he disappeared from sight.

“You’ll be amazing out there,” she said softly, swallowing hard against the ache in her throat.

“Thanks,” Franco replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon, to whatever was waiting for him. He didn’t see her watching him, didn’t notice the way she tried to memorise every detail of his face, the way she gripped the fabric of her jacket so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Because that’s what she was: the person who stayed behind, the person who would cheer for him no matter how far he went, even if it took him far beyond her reach.

His first race was in Monza.

And Franco had made sure she’d be there.

The roar of engines echoed across Monza, the air thick with the metallic scent of fuel and adrenaline. She stood just outside the paddock, watching the mechanics scurry between cars, drivers in their fireproof suits weaving through a sea of engineers and cameras. It was Franco’s first Formula 1 race, the one he’d been chasing since the days they’d spent on that dusty street back home. He’d called her a week ago, saying he’d arranged for her ticket, that she had to be there, that it wouldn’t feel right without her.

She glanced down at her pass, fumbling with it between her fingers, her eyes darting over the crowds, wondering if she’d see him. But instead, she saw her—Franco’s girlfriend, standing just a few paces away, a beacon in the busy paddock with her polished, perfect smile.

She thought about turning around, slipping into the crowd where she could cheer Franco on from a distance, as she’d always done. But then Franco’s girlfriend caught her eye, waved her over with an easy, welcoming smile, and suddenly it was too late.

“Hi! You’re Franco’s best friend, no?” she said brightly, as if she’d been waiting for this meeting. “Franco’s told me all about you.”

She managed a smile, trying not to let her surprise show. “Nice to meet you,” she replied, her voice steady but her heart churning. This girl looked so effortlessly perfect—too perfect, really. She wanted to find something in her to resent, a crack, a flaw, some hint that would make her presence easier to bear. But the girl’s smile was warm, even gentle, and there wasn’t a hint of cruelty behind her eyes.

“You know,” she continued, turning to look at the track where the cars were being readied. “Franco always talks about how you’ve been there from the start. He says he wouldn’t be here without you.”

It was a sentiment she’d waited years to hear, but hearing it now, coming from someone else, made it feel empty, hollow. She nodded politely. “He’s worked so hard for this. I just… wanted to support him however I could.”

The girl looked at her, a spark of admiration in her eyes. “That’s really special. I think it means a lot to him, having someone who’s known him for so long.” She hesitated, her fingers twisting a ring on her hand. “I think he’s planning to introduce me to his family soon.”

A prickle of something sharp and painful settled in her chest. She managed to keep her face composed, even as the words sank in. “That’s great,” she said, injecting her voice with encouragement. “That sounds really important to him.”

The girl smiled, her gaze drifting as if she could see the future taking shape right in front of her. “Yeah… he said he wanted to wait until we’d been together for a year. He’s so thoughtful like that, you know? He really wants things to be right before introducing me to his family.” She looked at her, a touch of gratitude in her expression. “I think he got that from you—from seeing how much his family means to you.”

It was a kind thing to say, too kind. She wanted to hate her for it, but she couldn’t. There was nothing false about the way this girl looked at her, no jealousy or possessiveness. She was just… nice. The kind of nice that made her ache with the unfairness of it all, because it made it impossible to hate her, even though she desperately wanted to.

“Well, his family will love you,” she said, meaning it even as the words felt like they were tearing something fragile inside her. “He deserves to be happy.”

The girl gave her a soft, almost sympathetic smile, a smile that made her wonder if maybe she already knew—if she could see right through her, if she understood the look in her eyes, the one she tried so hard to hide.

As the engines started up in the distance, the girl reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she said, her voice warm. “For being there for him, for being his friend. I can tell he’s lucky to have you in his life.”

She returned the smile, feeling a heaviness settle deep within her. Franco was lucky, that was true—but not in the way she’d once dreamed he might be. He had everything now: the career, the future, the love of a woman who deserved him in ways she never could.

And as the cars roared to life on the track, she stood there beside his girlfriend, feeling like a silent ghost on the edges of his new world. She would cheer for him, just as she always had, but now she knew exactly where she stood—at a distance, a quiet fixture in his past, cheering him on from the shadows as he sped toward a future that had no place for her.

The race had ended hours ago, and the hotel was hushed, the lights dimmed in the halls. She was alone in her room, her suitcase half-packed, clothes folded neatly on the bed. She’d changed her flight back to Argentina; she would be gone by morning.

The evening had been a whirlwind—Franco finishing in P12 on his debut race, his crew and his girlfriend embracing him, his face beaming in a way she’d only ever dreamed of seeing up close. She’d stood in the background, clapping politely, just another face in the crowd, happy for him but feeling her heart splinter with each cheer.

A quiet knock broke her thoughts. She looked up, heart catching in her throat. Franco was standing in the doorway, his face lit with a warm smile.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside, his hands in his pockets. “I was hoping you’d still be up.”

“Yeah, just… packing,” she murmured, glancing at the clothes on her bed. “I’ve got an early flight back.”

He frowned, like he hadn’t expected her to be leaving so soon. “I thought you’d stay a bit longer,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It meant a lot to me that you were here, you know. I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

She swallowed, trying to muster up a smile. “I’m proud of you, Fran. Really. You deserve all of this.”

He gave a modest shrug, his usual humility shining through. “It’s crazy, right? Like, it still doesn’t feel real.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say next, her hands clenching as she watched him, the words fighting to break free. But before she could speak, he went on, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Oh—and I wanted to tell you. Over the summer break, I’m planning to bring my girlfriend—” he gestured to the wall, where his girlfriend was probably just sitting in their shared room—“back to Argentina. She’s going to meet my family. I think they’ll love her.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She felt herself unraveling, her heart breaking open. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why her?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Franco blinked, looking at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Why her, Franco?” She repeated, her voice trembling, louder this time. “Why not me? What is it about me that you don’t find appealing? Am I too loud? Too… different? Do I not fit into your world somehow?” Her voice cracked, the weight of her words finally spilling out. “What is it about me that you don’t love, that you love about her?”

For a moment, he just stared, taken aback, as if he was seeing her for the first time, really seeing her. But his eyes were filled with confusion, like he was trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Wait—” he started, his voice halting, uncertain. “I… I didn’t know you felt—”

She cut him off, her voice fierce, raw. “I loved you first, Franco.”

He went silent, the words settling between them like stones in water, sinking deeper and deeper.

“What?” he whispered, his voice almost as quiet as hers had been.

“I loved you first,” she repeated, her voice shaking. She could feel the tears gathering, but she didn’t want to cry, not now, not here. “Since we were kids, since you were that crazy kid racing down dirt roads, I loved you. I’ve been there every step, every race, every victory, every failure. I was the one who held your dreams when they felt too heavy to carry. I loved you first.”

She watched him, waiting, hoping for some sign of understanding, some glimmer of the love she’d imagined so many times. But his eyes were wide with shock, his face torn between pity and discomfort.

He shook his head slowly, the words seeming to catch in his throat before he finally managed to say them. “But… I love her.”

The words were a knife, sharp and relentless, cutting through the last fragments of hope she’d held on to.

She let out a hollow, broken laugh, her vision blurring as she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you do.” She took a shaky breath, her voice trembling with a rawness she couldn’t contain. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of years pressing down between them. She could see the guilt etched into his expression, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something to make it better. But there was nothing he could say—nothing that could change the reality that he had chosen someone else, someone who wasn’t her.

“I never meant to… I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but she stepped back, her arms wrapping around herself protectively.

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing the words out, feeling them scrape against her throat. “I… I just needed you to know. I needed you to know that I was here, that I’ve always been here. But now…” She trailed off, her voice breaking, the words she’d held for so long finally running dry.

She looked at him one last time, memorising the shape of his face, the boy she had loved and lost long before he ever realised. Then sat back down on the floor and continued packing, folding each piece of clothing and putting it away in silence, each one a silent goodbye.

When she noticed he still hadn’t left, that he was just watching him, she looked up at him. “I hope she makes you happy, Franco,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Really. I hope she gives you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

She looked back down not wanting to catch Franco’s look of pity and closed her suitcase as he walked out of her room.

Walking out of her life for what felt like forever.

It was the peak of summer, the air heavy with heat and the scents of wildflowers and sun-baked earth drifting through the open kitchen window. She was sitting at the table, picking absently at a bowl of sliced fruit, half-listening as her mother hummed while tidying up, when her mother paused and gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I almost forgot to mention,” her mother said, wiping her hands on a towel, “Franco’s coming back to town soon. Said he’ll be here next week with his girlfriend, so they can meet his family.”

She looked down, letting the words sink in, feeling a familiar tightness bloom in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to Franco in weeks. Not since that night in Monza. Not since she’d finally let herself say all the things she’d bottled up for years, only to walk away feeling like she’d left a part of herself behind.

“Oh,” she murmured, keeping her tone as light as she could. “That’s… that’s good. His parents will be thrilled to meet her.”

Her mother looked at her carefully, her gaze soft but probing, as if she could sense the ache that lingered beneath her daughter’s casual words. “I thought maybe you’d be excited too,” her mother ventured, her voice gentle. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him.”

She forced a small smile, looking down at her hands as she fiddled with her napkin. “Actually, I was thinking about going to Buenos Aires for a bit. Just a week or two with Tía Blanca. I’ve been meaning to go see her.”

Her mother tilted her head, her expression somewhere between sympathy and exasperation. “You can’t keep running from this, mi amor,” she said, her voice tender but firm.

Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She knew her mother was right; every time she thought about seeing Franco, the old wound seemed to ache again, still raw, still fresh, no matter how many miles or weeks lay between them. But she wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not when the sight of him with someone else would only reopen everything she’d been trying so hard to let go of.

“I know I can’t keep running,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap. “But I can now. And I can cope with that.”

Her mother sighed softly, reaching out to place a warm hand over hers. “Mi amor, one day, you’re going to have to stop protecting yourself from the things that hurt you. It’s the only way to truly move forward.”

She nodded, her throat tight, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. She knew her mother was right. But all she could think of was that moment in Monza, the echo of Franco’s words—But I love her. Words that still stung like salt on an open wound, even now.

“Maybe one day,” she whispered, more to herself than to her mother. But for now, Buenos Aires felt like the safest place to be—far from the memories, far from the impossible hope she still carried in her heart.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently before letting go, her silence filled with understanding. “Then go,” she said, with a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll know when it’s time to come home.”

And as she sat there, her heart heavy with everything she couldn’t say, she only hoped her mother was right.

A few days later, everything was sorted and she was ready to go to her aunt’s place.

She swung her bag over her shoulder, taking a deep breath as she stepped out of the house, the warm morning sun casting long shadows across the familiar dirt road. She was just two steps away from the car when she spotted it—Franco’s car, parked at the edge of the drive.

Her heart lurched, her mind scrambling, and she muttered under her breath, “No, no, no… please, not now.” She moved quickly toward her own car, fumbling for her keys as if speed alone could make her invisible. But before she could open the door, she heard his voice behind her.

“Oye, there you are!” he called, a wide, relieved smile on his face as he jogged over, his voice bright with the kind of joy she hadn’t heard from him in years. “I was hoping I’d run into you before you left. It’s been too long.”

She barely managed to keep her face neutral, clutching her bag as if it could shield her. “Yeah, well, I’ve got to get on the road. Don’t want to get stuck in traffic,” she said, opening the boot to toss her bag inside. She avoided looking at him, focusing on the small tasks—closing the boot, brushing off her hands, reaching for the door.

He took a step closer, his hand resting on the car door as if to keep her from leaving. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his tone softening. “You… you didn’t answer my calls after Monza. I didn’t know if… I just wanted to see you.”

She swallowed hard, glancing away as she forced herself to stay calm, the last words she wanted to hear sitting heavy between them. “That’s great, Franco,” she said, barely meeting his gaze, her words quick and mechanical. “But I really should get going.”

“Wait—” He looked at her, his expression slipping from surprise to concern. “Can we talk? Please?”

But she was already climbing into the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she turned the ignition. She couldn’t bear to stay, couldn’t bear to let him see her break again. “Take care, Franco,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she closed the door.

Before he could say another word, she pulled out, the tires kicking up dust as she drove away. In the rearview mirror, she saw him standing in the drive, watching her go, his face a mix of confusion and something close to sadness. She looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat as she focused on the road ahead.

But the further she drove, the harder it became to ignore the weight of all the memories tied to each familiar street and turn. Every signpost, every curve of the road reminded her of him—their childhood spent racing bikes and kicking up dust, lazy afternoons wandering these streets, dreaming of the future he was now living.

Tears blurred her vision as she drove, the memories rushing in like floodwaters, filling her mind with images she’d tried so hard to push aside: Franco at fourteen, laughing as he beat her in yet another race down the hill; Franco, younger still, sharing a quiet moment in the field just beyond town, his eyes bright with the dreams they’d both carried.

She wiped at her eyes, her heart aching as each memory pulled her further into the past, a past where they’d been inseparable, a past where she hadn’t yet realised what loving him truly meant. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his presence beside her, as if he were still the boy she’d known, before life had pulled them down different paths.

By the time she reached her aunt’s building in Buenos Aires, the weight of the drive had started to lift, the city’s pulse a welcome distraction from the quiet countryside. She parked and took a moment to gather herself, feeling the ache from earlier settle into something softer, something that no longer felt as urgent or raw.

Just as she opened the car door, a familiar voice called out.

“¡Mira! Is that really you?”

She looked up, startled, and felt her heart lift slightly. Standing by the curb was Angelo, an old friend from summers in the city. He had the same easy smile, his hair a little longer, his build a little broader, but his presence felt exactly as she remembered—warm and solid.

“Angelo!” She smiled, the weight on her shoulders easing just a little more.

He walked over, giving her a friendly hug before reaching into the car to help with her bag. “Let me help. You’re here for a visit?”

“Just two weeks,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she glanced up at the familiar apartment building, a place that held a lifetime of summers, laughter, and memories untouched by the pain she’d left behind.

“Well, then,” he said, grinning as he hefted her bag easily, “we’ve got time to catch up.” His tone was light, but there was something else in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made her feel unexpectedly hopeful.

She followed him up the steps, comforted by his familiarity and the steady, unhurried way he moved, like he knew every corner of this building as well as she did. As they reached her aunt’s door, she felt her pulse slow, steadied by his presence.

The door opened before they could knock, her aunt’s familiar face breaking into a radiant smile. “There you are, mi niña!” She hugged her tightly, then turned to Angelo with a knowing smile. “And look who brought you all the way to the door! Angelo, you’re a sweetheart.”

He grinned, shrugging. “Anything for your family, señora.”

They all laughed, and for the first time in months, she felt a genuine ease settle over her, as if she’d left more than just a town behind—she’d left the weight of everything she’d been carrying.

As she glanced between her aunt and Angelo, the ache that had gripped her chest all day faded. The streets of Buenos Aires were bright outside the door, warm and humming with life. She breathed it in, feeling herself begin to let go of everything that had haunted her on that long drive.

Because maybe now that she was here, she could forget Franco.

to be continued…?