#important reminder for everyone who needs it

[burrowkit]

Okay, I just used google translate and just kind shrugged and said "well, for a cute thing, this'll do, but someone who knows Latin might be annoyed" so anyways. Enjoy!-

(Edit: In transparency, I googled supernatural creatures that protect humans. Google gave me a list, I saw the creature I saw and was like "oh absolutely, I can incorporate this, this'll work for me. I like this". Obviously, this list of suggestions was google's ai overview, sorry about that. I seriously need to save up and buy some supernatural encyclopedias)

"I already told you, I have no idea why my co-worker's car suddenly fell apart in the middle of the highway!" My palms slam on the table top between the detective and myself.

He narrows his eyes at me, so sure that the evidence he provided, yet another person I've fought with in the last month passed away, was his smoking gun.

He slams his palms on the table, standing tall but leaning close to my face. He's furious, this I can tell.

I'd say he's probably the only one who's survived to tell the tale. For a minute there, I swear, his eyes change, but I blink and...

Nothing. Back to the same deep, brown eyes, staring into my very soul.

"Everyone knows women are prone to picking less... direct approached when dealing with conflict," the detective reminds me. A Detective De'aur. "You could just as easily have picked an assassin of some sorts! Or talked to the mob!"

I stare at him, horror sinking into my skin. I slowly sink into my chair, trying to remember every ill thing I've said before. I shake my head, terrified. Because...

What if I accidentally was friends with someone who could do this? Who would do this?

"I-I," I begin, shaking all over, shaking my head once more. "It's not me," I force myself to look at the detective. "It's not," I insist sternly.

He stares me down for another moment, then he, too, descends into his chair. He runs his hands through his hair, shaking it out ever so slightly. I swear, gold seems to glimmer in the very strands of his hair as he moves under the awful light. "Miss Rose, do you have any contacts that might be interested in... guarding you, in return for any favours?"

"No," I shake my head. "No, of course not, I would know, wouldn't I? But I don't so-"

He holds out a hand, cutting me off. "It's alright, Miss Rose. It's possible that maybe this is an enemy? Maybe hoping we'll throw you in jail, and you'll be dealt with once and for all? Or a jealous ex?"

I shake my head. There's absolutely nothing important about me. Well, except being a teacher. I spend my days helping to teach the next generation of children how to handle the world.

I like to think I do a good job.

And when I'm not doing that, I tend to my garden. Primarily in the summer months when not at school, of course.

I even try and help protect the wild life.

"Any..." the detective trails off, glancing around the space. He leans in closer, dropping his voice. "Any um... strange occurrences around your home? Like... like scales?"

Scales?

I start to shake my head, then I pause, thinking it over. "Why... yes, there have been a few, pale pink scales lately. I just thought... I just thought they were flower petals. They are just flower petals, aren't they?"

The detective hums for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to tell me. He doesn't pull away. "I fear, Miss Rose, you may have picked up a dragon."

"I'm sorry, what?" I demand, pulling away.

How does that seem more plausible than me accidentally having ties with some nefarious people?

How does that explain Josephine, my next door neighbour who hated my attempts to save the planet?

Or Louise and her previously-mentioned car?

Or sweet Camilla, having a piano dropped on her head?

I mean, everyone knows in fictional stories, a piano falling on ones' head is usually a sign of a faction working in the area.

And an anvil! I mean, who drops an anvil!

I laugh, because what else am I supposed to do?

Detective De'aur continue watching me carefully as if... as if this wasn't a joke.

"I think I need to meet my cousins," he informs me, quietly. "And remind them not to make themselves known."

Cousins.

Themselves.

Oh.

Oh.

I stare at him, noting the small features that, for the better part of a month, made me think he was younger than his age. But instead...

He's likely so much older than any one here!

"Dragons... protect people?"

He nods, slowly. "It's a rarity, Miss Rose. Although, you seem to be kind. Your neighbour, Josephine, attempted to attack your garden. I assume that's what kicked this all off?"

I nod, remembering the night. When Josie came over, raving about how I was throwing the neighbourhood to the dogs. She even tried to destroy the various bird nests I kept protected in my backyard!

And with horror that that night... was the last night all the nests were there.

I had thought she came back, managed to destroy them after all.

I was wrong.

Your harassing neighbor dies. Then a bullying coworker dies in a crash. Within a month, people you’ve had bad blood with start dying. The police are watching you closely—but you haven’t done anything… at least, not that you know of.

[softtdaisy]

hiii ! I love your writing, you are very talented ❤️

Could I please request a dad!spencer fic where he and reader comfort their daughter after her first heartbreak?

heal the heartbreak / Spencer Reid

summary. when your daughter gets her first heartbreak, Spencer and you are here to remind her that love can be beautiful

words count. 2 241

what to expect. sweet, Spencer is super in love with reader. I chose to not name the daughter and I tried to make her ex as neutral as possible (you can tell me if I made any mistake!)

a/n. I'm sorry for the little wait on this one but I loved the idea a lot, dad!Spencer has my heart honestly I want a family with him too!! thank you for your kind words it means a lot to me 🫶

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

Spencer loved a routine.

For years, he didn’t even realize he needed one. He loved being a profiler; he loved working at the bureau. He loved knowing that every day would be a new one, a new experience, something new to experience and to remember—even if sometimes he wished he could forget some aspects of it.

Spencer's life was fine until the day he met you. With a job that was an overwhelming surprise every day, he realized how important it was to have a pillar to rely on. Someone to meet after work, someone he knew and that knew him. Someone that made him feel like his life had another meaning other than just being Dr. Spencer Reid.

You were that someone.

And for years you gave him that. The hug when he came home, the comfort discussion over dinner, the cuddle in bed. The phone call when he was away, the “I love you” text when he had to stay over at the office. 

And then you gave him more. 

A family.

Spencer couldn't help but smile at the picture on his desk. You, him, and your daughter were all laughing because he made a stupid dad joke in front of the photographer. That. That was all Spencer needed. The relief of knowing that no matter what happened at work, at the end of the day, he’ll have you both.

Even if your last text was quite…confusing.

“Code red. Can you bring ice cream from David’s friend? Love you x.”

Spencer stared at it for a minute. Whatever this code red meant—he would remember if you had chosen a code name for the situation, right?—he texted that friend to order everyone’s favorite ice icecream. He didn’t even need to give more info apart from that it was for you three. You had ice cream night anytime he would come on from a case that lasted multiple days. 

Spencer couldn’t wait to know what the emergency was. So, he finished his file quicker—nothing too difficult for him. And ran to hand it to Hotch. Who was very much surprised to see his agent this early? “Already?” he asked.

“Well, we have a code red at home.”

“Code…red?”

Spencer shrugged. “I don’t know what it means either, but I have to pick up some ice cream before coming home.”

And Hotch’s face lit up. He wasn’t a stranger to this type of situation. And the look he gave Spencer was the expression of a dad who knew what a code red could mean. “Sounds like your daughter needs you. You can go.”

After a 20-minute trip and a visit to the shop where David’s friend told him, “Good luck”—why” does everyone seem to understand the situation except him?—Spencer was finally home.

And the least that can be said was that nothing screamed emergency. The TV was on, with your favorite rom-com playing, and you were in the kitchen making dinner. Humming a familiar melody that sounded like home.

“What does code red mean?” was the first thing Spencer said when he entered the kitchen. 

It wasn’t until he spoke that he realized he could have scared you. But he didn’t.

The love you shared meant that you could feel him entering any room before hearing or seeing him. You knew the love of your life was here, and you welcomed him with a sweet smile.

“First, a kiss,” you asked. You noticed the confusion on Spencer’s face out of the corner of your eye. You bit your lips, trying not to laugh when he approached to give you the quickest kiss on the lips. Because there was one thing Spencer wasn’t laughing about.

Well, two. 

You and your daughter.

And so when he wrapped his arm around your waist, something he did so casually that he didn’t question it, and put his head on your shoulder, he appreciated the moment for a second. Just one second when he thanked the universe that it brought you into his life.

But he didn’t waste another second. “What is going on?”

You turned down the tomato sauce before turning to face your husband. “Your daughter had her first heartbreak.” 

You brought a hand to his chest and caressed it softly while he swallowed the whole situation. “Wait a minute.” Spencer finally said. “There was someone who could break her heart in the first place?” He had a little menacing tone in his voice, something you haven’t heard in a long time. 

The caress turned into soft taps. “See,” you laughed softly, “this is the reason why you didn’t know about it.” 

But you explained in the big lines that yes, your daughter had been seeing someone from her high school. Someone you didn’t know much about, so you couldn’t answer any of Spencer's questions. All you knew was that they were in the same class and same acting group. And that, apparently, it has been over since…a couple of hours now.

“What did she say?”

If you weren’t convinced already, Spencer’s worrying look was the last proof you needed to know this man was the love of your life. And the greatest father a child could hope for.

“That she was going to die alone, that all lovers are shit, but to tell Daddy that she loves him.” 

Spencer’s cheek got pinker, and you couldn’t resist giving a small kiss on his nose. He was always so adorable any time you or your daughter would share your love for him. Like after so many years, he still doubted that you truly loved him. 

When you would give your whole life just for his smile. 

As an answer to your kiss, he put one on your forehead before asking, “Should we go see her?” 

“I was waiting for you,” you replied, taking his hand.

You checked your sauce one last time before following Spencer to your daughter’s room. You watched as he took the lead, walking in front of you and knocking at her door with a melody that he created with her. It started when she was a kid, a way to protect her from his work and make sure she wouldn't open the door to anyone but you and him. You honestly thought the habit would die once she became a teenager, but there is nothing that can fight the link between these two.

And you weren’t surprised to see her open the door a few seconds after that. Nor were you when she immediately went into his arms and grabbed your hand to not make you feel sidelined. Yes, that was 100% Spencer Reid’s daughter, someone who would always make sure nobody felt rejected around her. Even when she was the one with a broken heart.

After a moment, Spencer took her little face in between his hands. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

She shrugged but still guided the both of you inside. When she sat on the rug, her back against the bed, you did the same. Each one by her side. And soon she had her head on Spencer’s shoulder and her hand still in yours—there was nothing like a hand massage from her mom. 

“I hate love,” she mumbled. You and Spencer both looked at each other, knowing pretty well how it felt. You both went through some shit moments in your personal lives before meeting each other. “Why does it have to hurt? It sucks.” 

Spencer felt it right in his heart. He remembered thinking something similar years ago. Probably when he was his age, more certainly later. He had never been a lucky teen with love. And most of his young adult life wasn’t successful when it came to relationships. Failed date, ghosting, difficulty dealing with his job and his partner… yes, it wasn’t as great as he wished it was. 

But the difference with his daughter was that Spencer didn’t have anyone to complain to. He couldn’t talk about it with his mom, sadly. He didn’t have many friends back in school, and certainly some that he couldn’t trust with his feelings. And at the BAU…he was just being selfish. Most of them would have listened, for sure. But he imagined their reactions and provoked his own insecurities.

Spencer didn’t want your daughter to go through the same thing.

“You know,” he started, caressing her back softly. “Love is definitely not an easy game.” 

“You’ll fall for people that won’t love you back. You’ll fall for people that will be unreachable. You’ll fall for people that you thought would never hurt you but will hurt the most. And you will probably believe that you can’t fall in love again more times than you can count.”

You couldn’t stop looking at Spencer while he said all this. Knowing most of these stories, remembering each thing he had told you. And his words echoing in your own memories. 

“It will hurt, sweet pie. But it will be worth it, you know why?”

And if your daughter barely moved her head, just simply to look at Spencer, he moved his eyes to put them on yours. He gave you a look that lost your heart many years ago and still does every single day since. 

“Because one day you’ll find the person made for your heart, and love will make perfect sense.”

You couldn’t contain the smile that grew on your face. And it became even harder when he gave you a smile back.

But the silence was short-term.

“Ugh, did you just make a love confession to Mom over my broken heart?” she complained. But she moved her head just a little to look at you. “No offense, Mom.”

“None taken,” you replied with a laugh. “But your dad is right. I can’t tell you how many times I was in the same position, crying after a breakup, thinking I could never get better.”

“But you have something that this idiot doesn’t.” You added, brushing some hair away from her face in a lovely mention.

And you met two confused faces: your daughter, who couldn’t see what she could have when she was only counting the pieces of her broken heart. And Spencer, who couldn’t see where you were headed to.

So you moved your face closer to her to whisper, still loud enough for Spencer to hear, “A dad, uncles, and aunts that can make a body disappear.”

And you knew you won when you heard her laugh. 

“That’s not the FBI’s job!” Spencer replied, pretending to be shocked when it wasn’t the first time you actually mentioned this. That was probably the first thing Penelope said to your daughter when she was born. So it seemed logical to remind her that she had a whole support group ready for her.

“Oh, come on,” your daughter said, turning to her dad again. “You wouldn’t do that to me? Your daughter? Your sweet pie? The most precious thing in your life?”

You bit your lips at her reply, and you knew what Spencer’s look at you said. This is your fault. And you couldn’t blame him—it was indeed your fault.

“How about we stop discussing the whole murder thing?” Spencer suggested and brought the bag he had taken in the room in front of you two. “And start eating ice cream.”

More than the ice cream you had after rough cases, you had ice cream for dinner some time when it was necessary. It was something you started with Spencer when adult life was just too exhausting to follow the rules. And yes, you did get sick more than once after eating only ice cream. This explained why you still made dinner in case any of you three needed a real meal. 

But tonight was a night where being an adult was too much. Your daughter had a brief view of what it looked like, and it seemed like it was too early for her—and Spencer could say it was definitely too early for her to be heartbroken.

So you each got your bowl with your favorite flavors and toppings, and you toasted with your spoons.

Soon you were reminded how much your daughter was a copy and paste of Spencer when she asked for his silly facts and stories about cases or…basically anything that was on his mind. You watched as they argued about some scientific things you couldn’t understand.

But mostly as she hugged her dad when she finished her bowl. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She gave you the same treatment before getting up and saying she needed to take a shower to “wash this whole day away.” 

It was just the two of you sitting on the floor of your daughter’s bedroom—echoing some of the sleepless nights you had when she was little. “We did a great job,” you laughed, even if you meant it. 

But when you turned your head, Spencer was looking at you. With no fun, no. With love.

“I love you,” he simply said before leaning in to kiss you. A sweet and short kiss that didn’t even last, but his hand on your neck did. Enough so you could say you love him back right against his lips.

“You know she’ll kill us if she knows we kiss in her room?” You also said, against his lips. 

And this time, Spencer’s face was all fun. 

And happiness.

Oh, how happy he was with his family. 

[letsgobarbs]

a lot of my friends and a few people who are a lot more eloquent than me have rightfully pointed out the growing racism in the tlou fandom. and usually i would've reblogged one of their posts. but i find that whenever those posts get traction or notes or agreement, all those amazing people get absolutely swamped by tone policing, scathing, dismissive hate anons and racist vitriol at worst. this is a reminder that if you think BIPOC creators are "doing too much" or they need to "relax" and "just don’t engage, instead of ruining everybody else's experience", then you need to take a step back and think about why your entertainment is more important than their shared painful experiences.

The few posts you've seen floating around are not because people called out the racism and zionism within the tlou— BIPOC people aren't out here for funsies trying to snatch toys. Many wonderful blogs kindly shared informative, educational, well formed resources to better understand the last of us and the harm it was inflicting on minoritised communities. They never asked you to not engage with the content or to stop watching, they only asked that you consume it with awareness and without letting it inform your worldview in a way that could be harmful. and MANY blogs decided to take issue with that by vaguely posting about it:

which then grew to overtly posting about how everyone was ruining your fun:

Being so utterly dismissive of the experiences and labour that BIPOC creators have performed to educate you and help you is wildly insane and at the end of the day immensely racist. They didn't owe you the hand-holding, spoon-feeding experience, but i've seen them go above and beyond in their efforts to connect and explain. And if they are short, angry, and upset then they have every right to be after you called them 'losers with dog shit takes'. They aren't butthurt over uwu fandom community things, you've been directly racist to them.

They called out the harmful themes in a media we all consumed. You took that as a personal assault. And decided to shit on them because you didn't know how to deal with feelings of guilt and being wrong other than to be viciously defensive. This is something that was unsurprising and we see it almost everyday. But don't you dare claim yourself or your blog as a safe space for nobody if you can't sit with the fact that sometimes we're wrong about things. All some of y'all had to do was say, "damn that's crazy, not gonna line their pockets but can't help reading these great Joel Miller fics." Or "Yikes, i know this stuff is problematic but that guy looked so hot." And call it a day. You can't tell me that show is SO life changing, so sublime, that amazingly written and shot, that you guys are going down fighting for it. So, at this point, you're just fighting for your privilege to place your comfort, your entertainment and your enjoyment over the trauma, experiences and labour of the BIPOC community.

[suliigwp]

I DESPISE MY ROTTEN MIND AND -HOW MUCH IT WORSHIPS YOU

Oscar Piastri x Mean!Reader

SULI: Reader is the daughter of someone powerful in McLaren like a co-owner or sm idk go along with it please🫶 (ignore my obvious love for lando here) this is my first fic be nice ; I plan on part two ; I tried to speak around her name to not say y/n ; Olivia Rodrigo I bow down to you - stream 'Lacy'!

Warnings: reader is straight up a horrible person (kinda - this is my guilty pleasure), Toxic?, smoking, he just can't stay away, English is not my first language.

Lacy, oh Lacy, it's like you're out to get me.

Oscar Piastri was never one to particularly like audience. He didn't mind company, but preferred the comfortable whispers of silence of whom he learned calmness from. He tried to keep reminding himself that what people thought was not important, and what he did with his time was, but it was different this time.

Having just signed a contract with McLaren, he stood in a big room in his new dress-shirt, glass in hand, speaking to people involved with the team at a 'get-together' before the season started. Zak Brown and Lando Norris taking it upon themselves to introduce him to everyone. He had to make a good impression.

Eventually they introduced him to the small group of people owning the McLaren Formula 1 team and shaking their hands he cursed at himself silently for forgetting to wipe his hand on his pants, hoping his palm wasn't sweaty.

"I like how calm you are. Gives the sense of stability." Chuckled the man, taking a sip of the drink in his hand. "That's good. A driver making you feel steady straight on is exceptional."

"Thank you, Sir." He kept his answer short as he glanced down.

Oscar knew the truth. If anyone in this room was exceptional, it was Lando Norris. The teammate he needed to keep up with, the one he wanted to outrun, he didn't want the second seat, he wanted the first one and Oscar knew that wasn't an easy point to get to.

"I think it's time to change our driver dad. Really, how many times do I have to be late?"

Said a woman's voice behind the man, Oscar watched as the grey-haired man's face twisted into a warmer smile as he turned around.

"Darling!"

Some feeling went down Oscars frame. Warmth? Or was it freezing cold? He couldn't tell. Only thing he knew was that it wasn't a good feeling. The girl now in front of him shined off a feeling that he could only call whimsical. Dark but comforting, heavy but so easy to breathe in. Like something was warning him, stay away.

She nodded to everyone when they greeted her, smiling an off smile, eyes glancing at everyone and then landing on him. His consciousness shook.

"Darling, Meet Oscar Piastri. Our new driver." Oscar gave a soft smile and a nod, offering his hand.

"Pleasure to meet you."

She took his hand and shook it slowly, looking him up and down, darkly painted lips twitching upwards. "I've heard a lot about you, Oscar."

Oscar blinked away, slowly taking his hand from hers, offering another soft smile, not knowing what else to say.

As the talk around them picked up again, he never lost that heavy feeling. The weight of her eyes pushing down on him as he continued trying to breathe.

...

"Breathe Man, you're doing fine." Landos voice comforted him as they got away from the scariest circle in the room.

Oscar took in a large breath as he put down his finished cup on one of the small tables around the room. Looking at his teammate as he laughed. "Shut up."

"Sorry, sorry, I would be this sweaty too if she looked at me like that."

"What?" He turned to the curly haired man.

"What? You're kidding right? You caught the eye of one of the most scary people here." The man chuckled, leaning on the table.

"Scary?"

Lando raised a brow at him. "Do you only know how to ask one word questions?" And shook his head teasingly when Oscar gave him a deadpan look. "Depending on who you ask, She's not a very pleasant person. That's how dumb people think, I think she's awesome." He smiled.

Oscars brows furrowed, that feeling came back. "Why would people think that?"

"Ah, long story... To say it short she was an intern at some event, she leaked a private recording of some executive making corrupt comments. She didn’t go to the press. She posted it herself with zero warning. It exposed real corruption—but it also broke dozens of NDAs, compromised trust with an entire network of professionals, sparked a scandal, you know? People got fired. Security got tighter. She didn't really care but... A lot of people lost their jobs so..." He trailed off.

"...oh" Oscar muttered, looking back at the glowing figure behind him, he couldn't really tell if that glow was white or as dark as a black hole.

"That's the main thing, she doesn't really like staying quiet about things, she's brave, I could never." Lando muttered the last part under his breath, bringing a drink to his lips.

Oscar watched her as she ran her fingers through her hair and looked at him, the dark pencil around her eyes pulling him in. She smiled and looked back at the men in front of her.

He felt dizzy.

...

"Too pretty to be caught up in all of this, don't you think?"

He jumped a bit when he heard her voice, whipping around to face her, and for a second, he's speechless.

"I'm just... trying to enjoy the night." He muttered, trying to gather himself.

"I'm sure you are... Don't worry about my father, he likes putting a lot of pressure on everyone but, he really likes you." She said, smiling as she looks over him again.

Oscar cleared his throat, not knowing what to say. She chuckled "See you around." She called out as she walked away.

...

2023 BAHRAIN QUALIFICATIONS

She was reviewing something on her tablet, tucked into a far corner of the garage where no one would bother her. The usual flurry of team personnel moved around like clockwork—headsets, data, tires, noise. She liked the noise. It drowned out everything else.

Oscar had spotted her, but only because she looked like a fixed point in a sea of chaos—calm and sharp. He froze 'she's here?' He almost starts shaking. He wasn't trying to bother her. Just grabbed a bottle of water and stood near her, needing a quiet corner himself.

She glanced at him smirking to herself and going back to her screen, thinking he didn't see her.

"Oscar!" Someone shouted out suddenly, carrying out the garage. Oscar, startled, whipped around—smacking his water bottle right into the edge of a tool cabinet.

The cap flew off. The water went all over his shirt.

Her mouth dropped open.

He looked down at himself. Wet shirt. Clinging fabric. Silence.

She raised an eyebrow.

"...well," he said, monotone. "This is deeply unfortunate."

That did it. She laughed. Not loud, but real—like something cracked in her, like she'd been holding it in for years. It startled her more than him. She even looked away like she hadn’t meant for it to slip out. Holding a hand over her mouth.

He grinned slowly. That heavy feeling when he looked at her was gone. That voice. Her laugh. God, was she casting a spell on him? He hoped she knows a million spells “Is that my reward for humiliating myself?”

She didn’t respond. But she didn’t go back to her tablet, either.

...

It was after qualifying. Chaos had simmered down in the garage. She hadn’t meant to linger—but she did. Arms crossed, sitting on a crate that clearly wasn’t meant for sitting. Watching.

Oscar was standing alone for a second. Helmet off, suit unzipped to the waist, undershirt damp with effort. He was flipping through something on a monitor, lips pressed, jaw tight.

She studied his side profile. Pretty. So pretty. She spoke before she could stop herself. “You looked pissed after Q2.”

He turned, brows lifted, clearly surprised she was talking to him. “Did I?”

She hummed. “You stomped past the cameras like they insulted your mum.”He laughed softly, quiet. Gosh, is he testing her?

“Guess I need to work on that poker face,” he said.

“No,” she replied coolly. “It was entertaining.”

He gave her a look, half amused, half curious. She's fun to be around. People don't know what they're talking about...right? “You always hang around garages just to roast drivers?”

“Just the ones with weak qualifying laps,” she said, then smirked.

He blinked, taken aback for half a second and then grinned. “Okay, now I know you’re flirting.” immediately regretting it, heat rising up his neck.

She raised a brow, surprised at his boldness “I don’t flirt.”

“That’s what all good flirts say.”

She rolled her eyes but chuckled. For a few moments, they just stood there in the humming silence of the paddock. Not much said. But she noticed how his fingers tapped against the table. How he kept glancing at her like he was trying to figure her out.

He's so soft, so quiet, beautiful... And oh, did she love breaking pretty things. They start talking regularly after that day.

...

Oscar hadn’t meant to find her.

He was just looking for some quiet during the chaos of a post-qualifying press circuit. The hotel was packed, the lobby was louder than the paddock. So he slipped through a door that led to a narrow balcony, needing a breath.

She was already there.

Leaning on the railing, cigarette in hand. The night was velvet dark and gold-lit, and the glow of the cherry cast her face in an almost cinematic silhouette. She didn’t look at him right away. Just exhaled slow, smoke dancing around her like flames. He froze for a second.

Everyone had whispered things about her. Harsh. Cold. Dangerous, even. But standing there, her shoulder blades rising and falling with each breath, she looked more like someone who’d built her armor carefully and wore it heavily.

She finally glanced over her shoulder. “Lost, golden boy?” He blinked, not sure whether to answer or leave.

“You can stay,” she added after a beat, tapping ash off the side with a flick that said she didn’t really care either way.

He leaned on the opposite end of the railing, giving her space. “Didn’t know you smoked.” He muttered awkwardly, tapping his finger on the glass.

“You didn’t know me,” she said. Not cruel. Just matter-of-fact.

He looked at the skyline instead of her. “Guess I still don’t.”

She smirked, finally looking at him. “Smart boy.”

The silence hung, comfortable and strange. That feeling is back, he thinks, but it's different this time, it doesn't bother him, maybe he's gotten used to it. Then she offered the pack toward him without looking. Not really asking. Just holding it in his direction.

"No, thank you." He didn’t take one. But he didn’t leave either.

And she didn’t say a word about it. She just smoked her cigarette and let him share her quiet, the way someone might hand over a piece of themselves without even knowing they did.

She lit a second cigarette. Oscar watched her. “I don’t smoke often,” she said suddenly, voice quieter now. “Only when I feel like I’ll explode otherwise.”

He glanced at her, brows pulled slightly. “Bad day?”

She laughed, low and bitter. “Bad life, maybe.”

He didn’t smile at that, didn’t make it a joke. Just nodded like he understood. Like he wasn’t afraid of that edge she lived on. “I get it,” he said. “I don’t smoke, but… I’ve had days like that. Where it feels like if one more person asks how I’m feeling or tells me to smile for the camera, I’ll just—” He made a vague exploding gesture with his hands.

She looked at him. Really looked. “You don’t seem like the explode type.”

He shrugged. “I hide it better than you.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. Oscar lost his breath for the way the lights from the hotel hit her “So there’s a version of you that screams and throws things?”

“Maybe not throws. But I’ve thought about it,” he said, smiling now.

She grinned, soft but surprised. “Huh. Maybe you’re not as boring as I thought.”

He blinked, she's been thinking about him? He gave her a look. “You thought I was boring?”

“I thought you were safe,” she corrected, a little too honest. “And I hate safe.”

“Maybe you just don’t trust safe.”

That landed a little too hard. She went quiet, fingers tightening around her cigarette.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “That was... too much.”

But she didn’t get mad. She just looked out at the skyline again. “No. You’re not wrong.” putting the poison to her lips.

A long silence stretched between them, something warm and brittle. A truce.

Then she glanced sideways and muttered, “Still not taking a cigarette?”

He shook his head.

She exhaled smoke toward the stars. “Golden boy.” And she didn’t say it like an insult.

...

After that night on the balcony, the air between them shifts just a little. Next race week, she walks past him in the paddock. Doesn’t say anything at first, just shoots him a knowing look. He offers a tiny smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes unless he means it. This time, he means it.

As she's about to turn the corner, he calls after her quiet, but clear.

"Hey."

She stops. Looks over her shoulder.

He walks up, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. The golden baby hairs at the nape of his neck catching light. “I figured... if you ever need someone to talk to. Or not talk to. Just… stand around and keep quiet next to you.” A soft laugh. “I’m good at that.”

She eyes him, chin tilted, unreadable. Then, after a pause, pulls her phone from her back pocket and hands it to him without a word.

He takes it, surprised but not stupid enough to question it, and enters his number first name and a little racecar emoji. Hands it back.

“What should I save you as?” he asks.

She smirks, plucking the phone back. “Don't worry golden boy, you'll figure it out.”

That night, he gets a text.

New contact added...

...

The garage had quieted, the roar of engines long since faded, replaced by the low mechanical murmurs of winding-down systems and the occasional clang of tools being packed up. Overhead lights cast long shadows, soft and golden against the cool gray of concrete floors and carbon fiber. Most of the team had cleared out, only a few stragglers remained, their voices echoing faintly from the far end.

She sat on the edge of a workbench, one leg crossed over the other, ankle bouncing lazily. Her lips were parted slightly, gloss smudged from biting the inside of her cheek. She was dressed sharply as always, but the sharpness dulled in this quiet hour, jacket shrugged halfway off, strands of hair falling messily from where she’d tucked them behind her ears.

Oscar was leaning against the wall opposite her, helmet in hand, still suited up. His curls were messy with sweat and humidity, cheeks flushed faintly from the day’s heat. He looked tired but content, relaxed in a way she’d only seen when no one else was around. They’d been talking for a while, longer than either of them intended.

He'd made her laugh. Really laugh, something startled and unguarded, a sound that cracked out of her like lightning. It silenced them both for a moment. She blinked at him, stunned, as if she'd just let something important slip out.

"What?" he’d said, smiling crookedly.

"You made a joke," she replied, feigning horror. “I thought you were the serious one.”

“I have layers.”

“Like an onion.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

And she laughed again, quieter this time, but closer to him. The distance between them had been shrinking all evening, physically and otherwise. Every time she leaned in to say something, her perfume wrapped around him like a whisper. Every time she pushed his shoulder or smirked at him, he had to fight the instinct to reach back.

Now, the air between them hung heavy, still. She stared at him. He stared back.

Then she uncrossed her legs and hopped lightly down from the bench, stepping closer, too close. Her chest brushed his arm, her fingers lightly skimming the fabric of his sleeve, a touch so casual it felt intentional.

“You’re not as boring as you look,” she said, voice lowered just slightly, eyes darting to his mouth for the briefest second.

He huffed a laugh, lips curling up, but his heart was thudding in his chest. “You always flirt by insulting people?”

“Only with special ones."

The words landed between them like a strike. His gaze dropped to her lips. Hers flicked to his. He leaned forward a little. She tilted her head, fractional movements, both of them holding their breath. Her hand was still on his arm, nails lightly brushing the fabric.

It would take nothing, just one more inch, one more second, for them to close the distance.

And then—

“Oscar!”

They flinched apart like they'd been caught. He stepped back, blinking fast. Her hand dropped. The moment splintered like glass under pressure.

She tried to brush it off. “Guess they still need you,” she said, recovering faster than he did, but her voice was quieter now. Her walls didn’t go all the way back up, but the door was closing.

He nodded slowly, trying to smile but not quite managing it. “Yeah… I guess they do.”

She didn’t move. Neither did he.

Until he turned away, slow and heavy-footed. And even as he walked toward the voices calling his name, his mind stayed behind, with getting the taste of her so close he could’ve sworn he still felt her breath against his cheek.

...

You poison every little thing that I do

“Watch out for her, mate. She’s not someone you want to get too close to.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a little surprised by the caution in Lances voice. “What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely curious. He’s seen the way her boldness and confidence have always left him on edge, but he’s never really thought of her as dangerous, at least not in any serious way.

“She’s... got a reputation,” the driver says, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. “People say she’ll use anyone to get what she wants. Doesn’t care who she steps on. And the rumors she spreads? She’s good at making people believe them. She gets inside your head, makes you question everything.”

Oscar feels a knot tighten in his stomach. That feeling is back. The warning stirs something in him. He’s seen her as this intriguing force, someone who’s always had a way of challenging everyone, pulling him in. But this doesn’t sound like the woman he’s been getting to know.

“Who exactly is saying all this?” Oscar asks, trying to keep his tone light, but there’s an edge of doubt creeping in.

Lance looks away, his expression turning serious. “It’s not just one person. Ask around, Oscar. You’ll hear the stories. She’s not someone you want to be mixed up with.”

Later that night, unable to shake the warning, Oscar starts digging. He asks a few more people, cautiously at first, but it doesn’t take long before the whispers start pouring in. Everyone seems to have an opinion on her. some avoid her entirely, others just don’t trust her. But the more Oscar hears, the darker the picture gets.

Rumors swirl about her—how she manipulates situations, uses her beauty to get people to do what she wants, and how she’s torn apart friendships and relationships in the past. Stories about her spreading lies and causing chaos are repeated again and again. It’s clear now: She isn’t just a woman who plays by her own rules; she plays with people’s lives like they’re chess pieces.

Oscar’s heart sinks as the weight of the reality settles over him. He thought he saw something good in her, something worth fighting for. But now, it feels like he’s been blinded by his attraction to someone who’s far more dangerous than he could have ever imagined.

The realization hits him hard, and as he stands in the middle of the paddock, the buzz of the race weekend around him, he’s left with a choice: walk away from this whirlwind he’s been caught in... or keep going, despite knowing the truth.

...

He’s lying in bed. Lights off, the room silent except for the low hum of the hotel air conditioning. But Oscar can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, it’s her face he sees.

The way she looked at him on the balcony. The softness in her voice when she said his name. The smirk when she caught him staring too long. But now all he can hear is “You don’t want to get too close to her.”

He turns onto his side, frustrated. Grabs his phone off the nightstand. Just a peek. Just something to quiet the noise in his head.He types her name into the search bar.

Big mistake.

The results hit like a slap: headlines from glossy tabloids, anonymous gossip blogs, F1 forums with threads full of theories and rants. And then… videos. Short clips from events, shaky footage of her arguing with someone in a VIP lounge, walking out of a gala, stone-faced while a woman behind her is crying. Tweets calling her manipulative. Reddit threads filled with speculation and story after story from “insiders.”

“She said I was irrelevant to my face.”

“She told my friend she wasn’t pretty enough to date an F1 driver.”

“She leaked that PR scandal before the team could control it. I know it was her.”

He scrolls. He reads. He watches. Each new click feels worse than the last, but he can’t stop. He’s consumed.

And then he finds a post -long, detailed. An anonymous user claiming they knew her personally. It’s brutal. Cold. A timeline of friendships destroyed, opportunities taken by force, people she "exposed" for things no one was ever supposed to know. Some things might be exaggerated. But others… they line up.

He sits there in the dark, lit only by the glow of his screen, the sick feeling in his stomach growing stronger. He should block her. Forget her. Walk away. But he doesn't. He still wants to see that smirk again.

...

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. They weren’t even officially friends at first. Just two people orbiting the same space, brushing past each other between interviews and paddock chaos, trading a look here, a quiet nod there. But something shifted slowly, then all at once.

It started with the laughing.

It wasn’t loud or wild. Just soft moments, shared glances, little jokes muttered under their breath when no one else could hear. Oscar had a way of drawing out a laugh she hadn’t used in years. Not the sharp, cynical kind she usually wielded like a weapon, but something warmer. Something reluctant. Genuine. She started looking for him, tracking the way his shoulders shook slightly when he tried not to smile too wide.

He made her feel… human again.

And somehow, despite her walls, despite the rumors and the carefully sculpted exterior she showed to everyone else, she started letting him see her. Really see her.

Late night texts turned into voice notes. Voice notes into video calls. She sent him songs without lyrics that said everything she didn’t know how to. He sent her blurry photos of the sky, his cat, his face half-hidden by the sun behind him, each one followed by a soft, “Thought you’d like this.”

In the paddock, he walked a little slower when she was around. She leaned closer when he talked. There were days when their shoulders brushed and neither of them moved away. Nights when they found each other on balconies, sharing secrets like confessions, smoke curling through the quiet between them.

He never pushed. Never asked for more than she was willing to give. And she hated how much she liked that.

There was a moment, a stupid, tiny moment, when she realized it had gone too far. He had made her laugh so hard during a rain delay that her eyeliner smudged, and she’d reached to gently wipe her eyes, when she looked up, he was already watching her with that look. The kind of look that says, I’d follow you anywhere even if I knew I’d get hurt. And I don't know why.

She had to walk away then. Pretend it didn’t matter.

But it did. Every little thing mattered now.

The way he waited for her after media duties without ever saying why. The quiet way he’d ask if she was sleeping okay when her her eyes looked darker than usual. The time he wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and didn’t make a big deal of it when she didn’t give it back.

And she let him in. Slowly. Recklessly.

He saw her, and she let him.

So when things changed, when his texts became shorter, his eyes colder, his laughter quieter around her, she felt it like a knife to the chest. She knew something had happened. Someone had told him something.

But before the silence, there had been this... almost. Like they were standing on the edge of something real, something wild and sacred. Like they were about to step into something neither of them could undo.

And now? Now he was slipping away.

And the worst part? She was starting to realize she cared.

More than she should have. More than she wanted to.

...

Lacy, Oh Lacy, I just loathe you lately

2023 JAPANESE GRAND PRIX

He was pulling away. She could feel it.

Oscar didn’t say anything outright, he was too polite, too careful for that. But she had always been good at reading tension, and lately, he’d been a damn novel of it. Shorter glances. Polite nods. No more waiting for her after interviews. No more inside jokes muttered under his breath.

It infuriated her.

Not because she needed his attention, she didn’t need anything. But because she let herself want it. Want him. And now he was acting weird. Distant. Like someone had whispered something in his ear that made him look at her differently.

So what did she do? She burned.

She stalked through the paddock like a storm cloud in heels. People whispered again when she passed, just the way she liked it. She leaned too close to Lando during a pre-race briefing, laughed too loud at something Charles said just as Oscar walked by. And when she caught Oscar’s eye across the garage, she tilted her head and smirked, sweet, dangerous, knowing. As he looked at her like a kicked puppy.

“You’re being horrible again,” Lando muttered, watching her from the side.

She popped her gum and said, “Am I?”

He wouldn’t say what was wrong? Fine. She’d make it worse. She showed up in the garage when she didn’t need to be there, lounging on the pit. She didn’t even look his way, not until he had to pass her. And then? A slow, calculated look up and down. One brow raised. Her lips curled like she was enjoying a private joke at his expense.

It was driving him insane. She knew it.

Every time she got a little too close to someone else, every time she smiled at the wrong guy for a second too long, Oscar's jaw clenched tighter. She caught it all. He never confronted her, never said a word—but she knew he was watching.

Good. Let him. Let him stew in whatever guilt or judgment he was choking on. If he wanted distance, fine, she’d give him a show. But underneath it all—beneath the smirks and the chaos—she was fuming.

Because he was pulling away And it was starting to hurt.

...

Oh, how he hates her lately.

He hates the way she smirks at other drivers, all flirt and fire and nothing left for him anymore. Hates how she doesn’t look at him like she used to, not with curiosity or teasing challenge, but like he’s a pawn that disappointed her. Like he’s beneath her now. A momentary lapse in her otherwise flawless taste.

He hates that she’s everywhere.

He hates that she leans too close to Lando, that her laugh rings out sharp and loud like a damn warning bell. Hates the way she struts into the paddock like she owns it, sunglasses hiding the eyes that used to meet his in stolen glances. Hates that she gets under his skin without even trying, because she’s not trying anymore, not with him.

But worst of all, He still wants her. Maybe even more now. This boiling need to touch her. This angry, uncontrolled want.

Still finds himself glancing over his shoulder in case she’s there. Still hears her voice echo when he tries to focus. Still checks his phone at night, half hoping, half terrified she’ll text.

He told himself to back away, convinced himself he had to. After everything he heard, after everything people warned him about her... he believed them. Tried to listen.

But she didn’t make it easy. She never did.

She’s turned cruel again. She’s turning heads and twisting knives and pretending he never mattered. Oscar is unraveling.

Because he can’t stop wanting the girl who now acts like she never wanted him at all.

...

And I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you

She’s laughing again. Louder this time. Her hand grazes the arm of someone else - he can't remember who, he doesn't care, she's touching someone else. Just to tempt him, make him snap. And it works.

Oscar doesn’t even realize he’s walking toward her until she turns around, and raises a perfect brow at him. Her smile freezes.

God how she missed looking into those eyes. “Can I help you, golden boy?” she asks, sugary venom dripping from every syllable.

He grabs her arm and pulls her away, not harshly, but firm. Behind the garage. Out of sight. He's breathing heavily. Her heels clack on concrete until they’re alone.

Letting go of her hand, he turned to her, chest rising and falling “Are you done?” he asks, voice low, sharp.

She leans back on one hip, lips curling as she takes in the way he's shaking. “With what?”

“With whatever the hell this is,” he snaps. “You being a nightmare to everyone and making it my problem.”

Her eyes flash, face falling. “I’m not your problem anymore, remember?”

“You never were my problem. You were-” He chokes on the words, throws his hands up. “You were something else. And now I don’t know what you are.”

“Oh, poor Oscar,” she mocks, stepping closer. Her voice dropping to a whisper, darkly painted lips casting a spell, he feels. “You get scared off by some rumors and now you can’t handle the consequences?”

“I trusted you!” he breathes out frustrated “And then you flipped a switch and started acting like I’m nothing.”

“You made me nothing first,” she snaps, suddenly too close, fire in her eyes. “You believed them. All of them. You didn’t even ask me.”

His jaw tightens. “Because I thought if any of it was true, even a little... I had to get out before..."

“Well,” she says, lifting her chin. “Guess what?"

The silence between them crackles. Breathing heavy. Hearts pounding. His eyes breathe her in. His head is buzzing, the world is is too light, or maybe she was too dark. He can't breathe, only breathe her.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters.

Her face holding a hidden pain only he notices “Took you long enough.”

And then, like fire catching on gasoline, he kisses her. Pressing his lips to hers harshly, her lips were so soft he needed to press harder to feel her, or maybe that's what his mind was telling him to rationalize wanting to get closer. More. More. Like he’s furious. Like he’s starved. Like he hates himself for it. His big arms come around her, one gripping her side and she melts into him, she kisses him back, just as angrily. Teeth, hands, a silent war with no winners. Her hands sliding into his hair, those golden strands she couldn't think about, the strands that had seamed her heart together without him even noticing. She pulled on it, bringing him closer, drawing out a soft groan from him and he pressed her body closer. She caught his lips between her teeth and pulling away, catching their breaths.

She watches him as he kept his eyes shut, creases on his face making him look so desperate, little whispers between breaths escaping him-

"-hate me. Why do you hate me-"

She grabs his face with her palms, her dark eyes sliding along his face, painting this image onto her brain.

"If there's anything in the world I don't hate, it's you, Oscar."

He lets out a shaky breath at her words and dropped his head on her shoulder.

...

Yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you

Before the champagne, before the podium, before the trophy touched his hands - Oscar was already gone.

The second he crossed the finish line, engine cooling, helmet still on, the world around him exploded in cheers. His team was rushing over the barrier, pulling him into hugs, clapping his back, yelling his name into the chaos of victory.

But he wasn’t really there.

Helmet off, breath uneven, hair a mess, he turned. Eyes scanning wildly, past the cameras, the pit crew, the flashes.

There. Just out the garage. Arms crossed, watching him, expression unreadable.

But he knew her. Knew the tension in her jaw. Knew that if he got close enough, he’d hear her heart hammering under her calm.

He can't wait. He pushed past the clamor, weaving through people shouting his name. Someone tried to stop him, probably PR, but he brushed it off like static. None of it mattered. Not when she was there.

When he reached her, he didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just pulled her into his arms like he was starved for her. She stiffened only for a moment before melting into him, fingers tangling in the back of his suit. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, body trembling, not from exhaustion, but relief.

“Podium.” she whispered.

He nodded into her neck. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

And in that quiet moment, hidden in plain sight, before the cameras turned their gaze, Oscar Piastri let himself fall. Not from the high of victory, but into her. He can't stay away. He can't.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Yelena fic where she comforts depressed reader please 🙏🙏🙏

‘You’ve been in there a while.’ Yelena says, having came to your room to confront you on how you’ve been the past couple of days, everyone could see that something was wrong as they had their own bad days and so the signs were easily recognised amongst your group. Ava, John, Bob, Yelena herself and Alexei were all worried about you but Yelena was the only one who was standing in your doorway, seeing you stare blankly at the wall covered in pictures of the team across from you.

‘It’s my room. I’m allowed to stay here as long as I want.’ You replied barely giving her a glance, almost as though you couldn’t muster up the strength to do so, as though you were better off staring at nothing then looking her in the eye and giving her a glimpse into your mindset. ‘You’ve stayed in here too long. I made mac and cheese.’ Yelena continues as she moved into your room, taking note of how you barely let any light in, the closed curtains snuffed any chances of it coming through and your light looked as though you had intentionally shot it to bits; acting as if the light was personally mocking you for being so bright despite it’s purpose to be made to illuminate a room.

‘Not hungry.’ You say but Yelena wasn’t about to give in and walk out because of your short responses. ‘You’ve been ‘not hungry’ for a couple of days, everyone is starting to get concerned.’ She tells you as she takes a seat next to you but also being conscious in keeping some space between you two, not wanting to make you feel more suffocated than you already were. You were stubborn when it came to admitting to what was wrong- just like the rest of the Thunderbolts- but surly Yelena knew that you could open up to any of them but yet you didn’t and that in lies the issue, an issue of which Yelena wanted to get to the bottom of.

You shrugged unbothered, staring at the picture of yourself, Bob, Ava and Alexei having an unprompted self care day with face masks and everything, a moment you loved but yet as you looked upon it now you felt nothing but a void where your feelings should be. ‘I’m worth no one’s concern, whatever happens to me is by my own hand and no one should feel accountable for not knowing,’ you then finally looked at Yelena who looked at you with worry and concern. ‘it’s something I decided on my own, so the accountability for what happens to me is my own, for good or for worse.’ You added and Yelena felt as though she’s heard this all before, from her own mouth but hearing it come from yours only made her sick to her stomach at the implications.

‘You’re not alone in this, I thought we talked about that.’ Yelena said, looking into your eyes and seeing nothing but a darkness that you had allowed to be consumed by, to be overwhelmed with the longer you isolated yourself from the other’s warmth, from her warmth to pull you back from the ledge. ‘Everyone here needs you.’ Yelena continued as she points to the pictures on your wall as though to get it through your thick skull of the rag tag team that she knew you’d trade your life for in a heartbeat and they’d do so tenfold. ‘Alexei, Bob, Ava, John- Me! I need you!’ She cries as she grips your hands in hers tightly, holding onto hope that she wasn’t going to lose you like she had lost everything else.

Yelena couldn’t imagine anyone else wrangling the others together than you, someone who she could count on and trust to have her back on countless missions, bringing a sense of normality to the Thunderbolts that they sorely needed. She needed you to be that grounding force for them but for her and more importantly yourself, she couldn't let you go now that she was gripping you so tightly, silently and outright begging you to stay here with her and the others. And while you might not view yourself important to the group but you didn't see how she and the rest of the group saw you, they saw you as their heart, their glue and their valued teammate who reminded them that they were all human with flaws darker then most but still worthy in their own right.

She had seen how the team would look over your empty seat in the living room, missing your warmth and laughter that filled the room, uplifting them that if they could make you smile then everything was okay and going to be okay. You were her reminder that she could never be so bad, not when you hold her and smile at her like it was instinct to do so, like you could see her for her ans not the blood on her ledger. Now Yelena wanted to do what you've done countless time for others, not becuase she felt like she had to but becuase she needed to so deeply, for loosing you would make her feel as though another important part of herslef was taken unfairly from her and a part that was incredibly integral to her.

'i need you.' she echos, her grip on your hands tighening as though she was scared you'd slip through her fingers like sand. 'You are so much more then what your mind tricks you into thinking you are, for to me you are a ray of hope for better tomrrows, someone i could only to become more like each and every day i get to see just how brightly you shine and you shine.' she adds as she moved closer to you.

'i don't know what you mean-' you began

'then let me tell you.' Yelena cuts you off, feeling as though she was gradually pulling you away from that all too tempting ledge when you allowed her by squeezing her hands in a wordless response. 'You are our heart, our glue and the one who holds us all together despite knowing how difficult and impossible it all is, and yet you make the impossible seem possible with how effortlessly you can get us to be agreeable on something as silly and small. It's like your gift to bring people together, reaching your hand out with empathy and understanding.' Yelena lists off as you watched her closely for lies.

You felt the weight upon your chest start to lift, allowing room for belief to flood in and let her words sink into you, casting away any shadows of doubts that you would have regarding Yelena's words and start to see the worth you withheld on multiple levels. You looked at the picutres on your wall and instead of feeling that void that you had felt for a long while now, you felt hope and a warmth upon looking at the images of pranks played on john with Ava, book club time with Bob, making mac and cheese with Yelena and doing silly shit with Alexei.

They were your family that you fought with and foought for tooth and nail to protect, you knew you couldn't leave them just yet when you needed them as much as they needed you.

'You're all capable of being that in due time.' You tell her. 'im merely showing you the way to do so and letting you all take your own paths in getting there.i'm not that perfect.' you added, giving her a smile, letting her know that her little speach was having it's effect.

'perfect is over rated.' Yelena replied, nudging you playfully with her shoulder, happy that something was taking affect within you, lifting that fog within your mind and moving it elsewhere since while depression can go for a bit, it will always come back but Yelena would always be there to combat it alongside you. 'besides who's going to help me keepall of them together from doing something stupid?' She rhetorically asks you as you couldn't help but laugh as the questionable desicions that you've all made in the past on missions, all of them just being as memorable as the last.

'remeber when Alexei insisted on me using you all as a makeshift ladder, just to get through some vents and open the door that we thought was locked?' you asked. Yelena laughs, tilting her head back at she too recalls the memory. 'only for Ava to open the door and all of us to collapse into a pile, with John on the bottom ironcally? Yeah not our smartest move.' she says as you both calmed down from laughing, a welcoming warmth and lightheartedness filling the dark room, thew weight further lifting from your chest as you felt yourself able to breath and smile once again in thanks to Yelena.

'I feel like i can't leave you to your own devices sometimes.' You said after a moment of silence. 'i fear what you lot will do without me to either join in our of boredom or get us all back on track.' you added as Yelena shuffled closer to you, your sides pressed into one another as her thumbs caressed the backs of your hands, where you could feel all her callouses agaisnt your own and using them as a reminder that this was all real.

'Then don't.' Yelena says straight forwardly, resting her forhead agaisnt yours, looking into your eyes. 'stay here, stay with me and stay with them,' she gestures to the photos on your walls once again, 'stay being our heart and our glue that keeps this group together, we're here for you no matter what okay? you'll never be alone with us for your stuck with us and you'll never be rid of us even if you want to somedays.' She finshes and you pushed your head futher against hers, feeling that last of the weight lift from your chest, freeing you from the cage you had found yourself prisoner within; feeling the ability to fly freely again with your teammates and friends that you once wouldn't defend but would now knowing they'd return the favour.

'How unfortunate of a fate that i'm stuck with all of you losers.' you joked lightheardly, knowing you never wanted to be stuck with another group of people that weren't going to make you feel apart of something, like you could lean on them and have them lean on you, never left to feel like a burden who can't do anything but instead reminded of the person you were in their eyes.

'how unfotunate indeed,' Yelena jokes back, 'but i know you're not complaining. you love us.'

'tragically i do and that is my achilles heel.' you both lingered there for a good while, feeling the others presence and being content with not being okay, being content with having people who were also not okay and knowing that you can accept not being perfectly happy all the time with them without judgment. You accepted that you'd all go down with the ship together becuase you were all stubborn and refuse to leave one another behind, rather risking loosing it all then lossing one another.

'and we love you too, now come and get some mac and cheese before John or Alexei hog it all to themsleves.' Yelena stats as she stands up, holding out her hand to you like you did to her a long time ago when the team was first formed, smiling when you took a hold of it and allowed her to pull you out of the darkness of your room and into the light of the hallway where you could hear your teammates and family calling from a distance.

[apricustar]

just had a thought what if—in trying to feel close to bobby—buck is the one who goes to confession and meets with father brian?

what if buck walks into that church—not out of faith, not in search of god—but because he’s trying to find bobby?

buck has never been a church guy. has never been a religious one, either. but bobby was. everyone knows how important bobby’s faith was to him.

in the early days, confession was almost a compulsion for bobby—when he was still caught in that spiral of guilt and trying to claw his way out. but later? it became peace. quiet. a routine of sorts; time for him to just be.

and now we have buck who is full of all these feelings. we haven’t seen him express any of them beyond 8x15 when the disbelief cracked him open and the grief poured out, raw and animal and real. ever since then he’s been holding everything in, stretching himself incredibly thin to show up and be there for everyone else because that’s what he took bobby’s final words to him to mean.

and the firehouse—the place that used to be representative of home, safety, comfort—is just full of reminder of what’s gone. bobby’s seat at the head of the table. bobby’s office. bobby’s apron hung in the pantry. his absence is everywhere. it’s heavy. grief with a name but nowhere to go.

and buck—he can’t walk through a single room without feeling it. without seeing bobby’s shape outlined by what’s no longer there. it’s not just loss. it’s presence, inverted.

so that’s why he goes to church. it’s not about praying or finding god. i think, really, it’s about needing somewhere to put the ache inside him. a place to feel close to bobby in a way that doesn’t feel haunted the way the firehouse does. this is grief trying to make sense of itself. this is buck stepping into a space bobby once held sacred, hoping maybe he’ll feel something.

maybe part of him is hoping for forgiveness—not for something he did, but for what he couldn’t stop. for not being able to save him. for still being here when bobby isn’t. for feeling like he isn’t doing enough for the team. but more than anything, he just wants to feel close to bobby. in any way possible, even if he doesn’t feel like he deserves to.

and maybe, without even planning to, he ends up in the confessional.

sits with his colt legs awkwardly folded underneath him. it smells like dust and old incense and something faintly like cedar. not unpleasant—just old, lived in. he has no idea what to say. no idea how to start. but he blurts something out like i’m not religious! or is there a correct way to confess?

and father brian simply says you don’t need to be or you don’t have to be religious to seek comfort here or there is no right way to start. just start.

and buck says the only thing he’s been holding in since bobby died: i miss him

at the end of the day, it’s not about belief; it’s about missing someone so much that you’ll sit anywhere they once felt whole, just to feel a little less empty.

it’s about finding the one place that still feels like theirs, and hoping—just hoping—that’s enough to feel close again.

[blanketfortmotel]

I blacked out and started typing what I saw like I was having a vision.

——

Beach Episode//Mermaid Siren would have instantly become a favorite for everyone. Ima let myself get lost with this one for a minute, hear me out y’all:

Sam finds a case where men are mysteriously disappearing off the shores of the Outer Banks and Dean bolts out of the room before Sam can finish pitching the details, running back in 5 minutes later in swim trunks and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, towel over his shoulder, sunglasses on his head, clapping his hands as he enters, “Let’s hit the beach, Sammy!” Rapidly rubbing his hands together, like he’s warming them up to hold onto Baby’s wheel til he sees white sand and waves.

“Dean, it’s a 12 hour drive to the outer banks, you really wanna wear that the whole way there?”

Dean’s looking down at his outfit with his lips pursed, eyebrows furrowing—sunglasses falling off his head onto the end of his nose.

“Did you even pack a bag?” Sam adds.

—

Bonus (where we diverge from what the CW would do, cause they’re thieving cowards):

Cas had walked into the room and was talking to Sam about the hypothetical case before Dean’s dramatic and tropical reappearance.

Cas doesn’t know what to focus his eyes on, the whole sight is making his ears ring pleasantly… Cas doesn’t feel warm as an angel, but there’s definitely something buzzing in his skin. “Bees” he mutters to himself, no one notices. He’s not even sure why he said that.

He’s screwed when they make it onto the actual beach and Dean strips his shirt off. The moment freckles touch sunlight Cas’s vision has gone completely white and out of focus. It takes him several minutes and spaced out blinking to tune back into reality. Dean is a distance away walking in the shallow tide by the time Cas can use his eyes again.

—

BONUS bonus:

“I’m a celestial being, Dean, why do I need a swim suit?”

“Cause I don’t wanna be seen with the weird guy on the beach wearing a full suit and trench coat in the middle of summer! If you were human you’d have goddamn heat stroke within an hour. People will stare.”

Oh, he’s right, they will stare, but it will have nothing to do with the presence of a trench coat and everything to do with the lack of one.

They had to stop somewhere an hour from the beach because it occurred to Dean that the only time he’d ever seen Cas do anything close to swimming was when he walked into a lake and instantly dissolved… can he even swim? Safe to assume he doesn’t own a pair, especially considering Dean only had the one pair of trucks he’d bought when he first got the idea for a beach trip—YEARS ago.

Now they’re debating over the importance of it all through a fitting room door, and Dean is trying to act like he’s not taking this as seriously as he obviously is. Hey, it’s better than him accidentally admitting to himself or Cas how much he wants to see him in nothing but trunks. Maybe the tie can stay, though, he’d get some odd looks on the beach… Maybe the trench coat could stay—no too hot looking— not HOT LOOKING- like it LOOKS HOT like- TEMPERATURE—“WARM”— THAT’S the word, Jesus. Someone get Dean to the beach before he combusts in this dressing room, all while giving Cas SUPER straight opinions on each pair of shorts the angel tries on.

Now Dean’s the one who doesn’t know what to focus his eyes on. He finds the carpet to be a rather intriguing pattern all of a sudden. The thick threads weaving in and out reminded Dean of waves crashing and rolling. He swears he can smell salt in the air and hear the strong, rolling ocean like it’s in front of him. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is blue, but it’s not quite the sea.

It’s his absolute favorite blue.

What do you think Team Free Will's go-to thing is when they're stressed?

GIVE TEAM FREE WILL A BEACH EPISODE

I swear, if SPN came out with a single 10 minute short about Team Free Will 3.0 going to the beach, they would make millions in day

I NEED to see the boys in shitty old man howaiian shirts, getting burned by the sun.

I need Dean to make fun of Sam for drinking a cocktail while sipping a margarita

Hell, throw in the Wayward sisters playing beach volleyball and surfing if you wanna keep up the "macho man show" ficade

But I will be DAMNED if you don't give me Castiel being buried alive by Jack because Claire told him that was what humans did with their parents at the beach

The beach is a safe space. It's a fun space

Let them fight a fucking mermaid

[hellyeahscarleteen]

We are often told that conflict is a sign of unhealthy relationships or relationships that are doomed to end. We're here to help with the unlearning of that - conflict is very normal and resolving conflict in relationships can actually help us grow together, foster stronger bonds, and deepen our connections. We know dealing with conflict can be hard but you don't have to do it alone. We're here to support you and give you some things to keep in mind for those tough conversations:

Take a minute or two: Sometimes whether we react doesn’t even feel within our control — but it is. When conflict arises, center yourself for a sec: take a few breaths and remind yourself of who you want to be at your best.

In before out: Try and internally process before you speak or act. Do a check-in with yourself and what you’re feeling. Remember you can always ask someone to give you a minute and/or space to process.*** If anyone tries to force you to stay in conflict, they aren’t ready — or don’t want — to resolve conflict with you. It’s time to run, then, not walk, to get the space and emotional safety you need.”

Use “I” statements: It’s important to own and express our experience of things rather than to put our focus on the other person. Sometimes conflict is one person not getting the impact of their behavior on someone else, so now and then an “I” statement can solve the whole issue.

When and where: Resolving conflict is often thorny and requires energy and focus from everyone involved. Choose mediums of communication⁠ where no one has to shortcut or multitask. Set things up so everyone has the time, energy & ability to pay close attention to each other.

Patience, grasshopper: When a conflict requires negotiation, or when someone involved is really struggling, resolution is an ongoing process. Instant forgiveness isn’t realistic. Resolution takes time and mutual work.

Be accountable: Taking responsibility clearly and earnestly for our own stuff goes a long way. Acknowledging ways we may have intentionally or carelessly created conflict, or how we can handle conflict better, are kinds of accountability that create space for resolution.

Know that practicing these six tips may feel awkward or clunky at first, but like with anything else, the more we practice resolving conflict together, the more natural it will feel. Trust in the process.

These six tips are from the Rebel Well Series: a Starter Survival Guide to a Trumped America for Teens and Emerging Adults by Heather Corinna and s.e. smith.

[visiblesneker]

As fun as monster Kai is I feel like it’s important to remind everyone that no matter what happens kai is not a monster, as in he’s not a super bad person.

He may believe he is such that’s true but we as an audience need to keep in mind that he was put in a situation where he had to do what he could to survive. Obviously that does not give him a 100% pass on everything. But that’s much different then something like the forbidden five just killing people for fun.

He’s never going to be at the lengths of the f5, who are actual real monsters, even if he believes he is. That’s simply just not who he is. At the end of the day he never deserved to be sent to the nether space

[trrenchertrash]

I was thinking about “I am the dirt under your nails” and first of all I don’t think it can be ignored that the title of e9 is derived from this line. Considering that, this line is evidently not meant to be a cutesy throwaway line between Cait and Vi, it has huge thematic weight and implications. If you think about the title “The Dirt Under Your Nails” in this context, it’s clear that it’s meant to refer to the fact that all of our characters have dirt under their nails. As in, their hands aren’t clean. They’ve all committed wrongs, because they’re all human, which is obviously a major theme of this season/show. The second part of this dialogue is “nothing’s gonna clean me out,” which fits with what Caitlyn says about how no amount of good deeds can undo those wrongs. This line is about accountability.

And there’s a reason why it’s Vi who says this line to Cait. The most obvious is that Caitlyn has wronged her, but it goes deeper than that. In e8, Vi asks Caitlyn who gets to decide who gets a second chance. There are multiple ways to interpret how this idea impacts the narrative. I’ve seen it said that Caitlyn allows Vi to free Jinx because in giving Jinx a second chance she also gives herself one, and that’s an important point for Caitlyn’s character, but I think Vi would’ve found a way to free Jinx no matter what. Cait just made it easy for her. What the narrative shows us is that Vi is the one who gets to decide who gets a second chance by having her decide to give one to both Jinx and Cait. I’ve seen people talk about how’s Vi’s role is that of the witness — to be the constant that observes all the change and corruption that happens around her, and to be burdened with the memory of all that has transpired. And that’s true, but there’s more to it as well. Remember this promotional poster? It has 3 different titles/captions associated with it (that I saw):

1) Horrors I’ve Seen

2) Everyone is Guilty, Vi

3) It’s Too Late to Point the Finger Now

The first one obviously reinforces Vi’s position as the witness. But the second two are about accountability. It always struck me that the second caption brings the collective guilt of our cast to Vi’s attention specifically. Now it makes sense: she is both witness and judge. The character with the “good heart,” the only one who remains largely uncorrupted/unchanged by the end. Who is motivated purely by her desire to protect while the vast majority of the characters around her are twisted by revenge and ambition. It’s absolutely intentional that she is the one who says that line.

[yuwuta]

I LOVE UR BRAIN SO BAD 😭😭😭 YOU ALWAYS POST THEBBEST HEADCANONS AND THOUGHTS LIKE. WORK HUSBAND GOJO. AND JUST HAVING A WHOLE IMAGINATION OF THE OFFICE W NANAMI AND HIGURUMA AND TOJI I?????? I WANT TO LIVE IN YOUR BRAIN

TEEHEEEE you’re so sweet <33333 the work husband to actual husband to househusband gojo pipeline is so so real to me and the office au that comes with it truly does take up space in my brain, so here’s some more loosely established points 

satoru has been your work husband since you got your first job in undergrad. you two met in your dorms, and became friends, and eventually you thought a job would help with your time management skills, so you got a very low-maintenance position at the front desk of the library. satoru applied right after you and schmoozed the two little old librarians into giving him the same shifts as you. that was probably the first moment satoru knew he was a little bit in love with you—because he had no reason to have a job while in school, but this small change in your schedule made him miss you so much that he was moved to get his very first job, probably ever, just to spend more time with you. 

he wasn’t bad at his library receptionist job, but he technically wasn’t good at it, either. if a student asked him for a laptop charger or to check out a book or something, he could do that, but anything else he’d just smile and say, “oh, you’ve gotta ask the pretty girl right there about that, she knows way more than me,” and bat his eyelashes at you. except, then, when you did need to get up to grab something for someone, satoru would just spring up instead, and tell you he’s got it. it’s like… he was incapable of helping anybody else unless he got to flirt with you, and then help you out to help them out……… strange boy 

anyways, satoru makes it a habit to assist you through your student jobs throughout undergrad, and then follows you to the same law school and repeats the process there. (also not to elle woods-ify him a bit but his father heavily questions him going to law school btw because satoru has never showed any interest in working, let alone following in his footsteps to be a lawyer, and now he’s going to law school? his mom is a bit sharper though, because when satoru tells his parents he’s going to the same law school as you, she just smiles and sips her tea and wonders if her son has already made a trip to their family jeweler). 

the firm is large, but the floor you work on is a pretty close knit group. there’s hiromi’s office at the tail end, which is the largest because he’s managing partner and he practically lives in there. on the other end, both you and nanami have decently sized offices. satoru doesn’t like hiromi at first because he thinks he’s mean. then satoru watches him play a little prank on kento, and suddenly the two of them are best friends. it would be a surprisingly wholesome friendship if their common denominator wasn’t irritating kento, and acting as guard dogs for you. 

kento’s office used to be just the bare necessities—law books, his degree, basic furniture, maybe a fancy paperweight, until satoru got his hands on it and decked it out. which is not something kento asked for, nor he thinks is necessary, but that doesn’t stop satoru from continually adding little trinkets and decorations and art to his office to make it livelier. when kento first meets you, he’s surprised when you tell him satoru gojo is going to be your secretary because kento interned for satoru’s father for two summers during law school, but when kento sees you and satoru together for the first time, it answers all of his questions. satoru couldn’t be more of a lovesick fool if he tried. 

listen the ex-convict to single father to janitor to lawyer toji pipeline is so real to me. while toji is working as a janitor at the firm, satoru slips once and then jokes that toji shines the floors too aggressively on purpose to make him slip, toji tells him to fuck off and he can sue for harassment. they truly don’t like each other at first, but once satoru steals toji’s masterkey to get into your office one night after you’re gone to leave flowers, and handle some paperwork to lighten your load in the morning, toji is sort of impressed. he still almost hits him with a broomstick, but even someone as gruff as him can see that satoru had pure intentions. toji is a lot of things, but he’s not immune to or devoid of love or passion. so, eventually he and satoru develop a weird sort of banter and respect for each other. one day someone actually tries to accuse toji of not putting the wet floor sign down and how it’s gonna be a lawsuit because some lowlife janitor fucked up his $3000 suit. satoru catches the argument as he’s heading upstairs and recognized the schmuck as the stuck up lawyer on the other side of kento’s case. satoru’s ready to jump in, but toji’s displaying an impressive amount of physical restraint and legal knowledge that when the dust is all settled, satoru asks him if he ever considered being a lawyer. toji laughs at it at first, but after a month of serious consideration (and megumi becoming a college freshman), he figures it can’t be all that bad. and turns out, toji’s a half-decent lawyer—once you’ve spent so much of your life skirting (or blatantly breaking) the law, you become pretty good at getting people out or around it, too. and with his life experience, he’s a pretty good judge of character; so when it comes time to lock up the bad ones, toji makes sure they get the maximum sentence.

except he has a bad habit of sending out emails with “URGENT: NEEDS ATTN” in the subject, which prompts you, kento, and hiromi to rush to his office, just to see toji with his feet up on his desk tell you that, “the emergency is i hate the opposing counsel, and now that i work on this side of the law i’d really like to not kill him, so somebody else should take this case.” 

anyways back to work husband secretary satoru. he pulls you out of boring meetings under the guise of an urgency, just for him to admit that the emergency is that he missed you, and you two were gonna be late for your lunch reservation. because he’s actually a licensed attorney, he can actually carry out duties an associate otherwise would, which saves you a lot of time and trouble; and it means that satoru gets to work even more closely with you, which is always an upside for him. sometimes you ask him to hand you documents and instead he just hands you his hand. and then pretends to blush and preen like a schoolgirl which always draws way too much attention to the two of you, but there’s no way to stop him either. he takes your coat off of your shoulders when you arrive in the morning, and helps you put it back on in the evening. when you tell him you’re looking for an apartment closer to the firm, he has eight places lined up for viewing, and one surprise at the end which happens to be the other vacant penthouse suite in his apartment building; which, conveniently, would make you satoru’s neighbor. he claims that it’ll be just like in college, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way when you finally move in and satoru can now loudly and proudly proclaim, “see you at home!” in the halls at work now. 

[crescentfool]

having the hc that minato is ace is incredibly funny sometimes when you think about how ryoji is oh so very bi because it's like. "ah. death stole my ability to be attracted to people," in the same way that ryoji stole minato's eye color and energy level. like wow, thanks ryoji, you just keep finding things to steal from minato!

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

if dorian didn't show up, do you think louis would have shot minnie?

I do. I know some people think either he wouldn't have or he would've missed so that's why the writers had him shoot Dorian instead, but mmmmmm no, I don't personally think so. I like to think that if he had taken the shot, his shaky hands would've caused him to shoot her fatally.

Mostly because I'm already so normal about the fact that of the Ericson crew, Marlon and Louis are the only ones with a body count. Well, that we know of, but shown to us in the game, at least. Plus, we know it's Louis' first kill.

Like yeah, Clementine and AJ become part of the crew and they have bigger body counts, and if we're counting indirect kills caused by actions, then Tenn has a count... and I guess everyone has blood on their hands for blowing up the boat... but I'm talking about killed directly with a weapon like....... I lied, I'm not normal about that at all, Louis and Marlon are the ones who have killed someone in Louis' route. I'm also not normal about the fact that Louis kills Dorian and then even as he's clearly in shock, he tries to go with Clementine to get AJ, and then later on when they talk about it, he says it feels like bile but not quite and he's glad he has it in him to do it.... listen, listen, listen... I'm obsessed with that.

Anyway, so if Louis shot Minerva, I think he would've accidentally killed her and can you imagine? He's already enough of a mess after killing the woman who pinned him down and tried to cut his finger off [or succeeded] but he knew Minerva, they were friends before the twins were taken. Even Violet couldn't kill her even though that would've been the smarter thing to do, and we know thanks to meta knowledge that killing her would've saved lives, but Violet couldn't, and I don't think Louis would intentionally either.

Speaking of Violet, if Louis killed Minerva, I hate to think about what that would've done to Vi. I think she might've actually left at that point, like what was planned before it got changed to her being burned. I don't think she would've attacked Louis over it, though, like yeah she attacked Clementine in the cell but Louis? I don't know, but I don't think so just because it's Louis and he'd be a mess about it anyway.

Though if he did kill her, it would be a neat parallel to draw... y'know, because Louis forgave AJ for killing Marlon even though he was pissed and heartbroken, and Violet was annoyed with him the entire time... but could she ever forgive Louis for killing Minerva? Y'know? We already have a similar parallel with AJ shooting Tenn, but still.

If Clementine killed Minerva in that moment, though, then I could see Violet attacking her since in her eyes, Clem proved her right.

So yeah, I get why they added the Dorian kill to his route. It adds another compelling element to Louis as a character, but we also need Minerva alive for episode 4; Louis can't kill her, he can't miss, and he's not going to stay with her because we need Violet to stay on the boat and him to be on shore for all routes.

[gerandor]

I haven't watched the new episode yet but ive seen posts about how Guillermo forgetting his mom's bday is the height of tragedy and everyone's angsting over it and im here like...uhh. I forget my mom's and my dad's and everyone's including my partner's and MY OWN bday every year and it's just sth that happens? And no one's upset? Maybe there's sth wrong with me. Or birthdays are really overrated lol

[ferromagnetiic]

Body hair headcanon

Most of the time, Kid is pretty damn hairy. His legs, arms, shoulders, and torso are covered by patches of thin, delicate red hairs. They're more fine, soft, and fairly straight, as opposed to being wiry and curly, but there is a lot of them. Also has them on his forearm and the back of his wrist and hand.

On occasion, he might shave or wax his chest if he's wearing a lot of mesh shirts because he thinks it looks stupid when they poke through, so he does go through periods of being smoother.

Additionally, he grows facial hair really easily, but shaves it off because it draws attention away from his make up. He wouldn't have any problem growing a full beard if he wanted to, and he could get it decently long, too. He also shaves his eyebrows because he thinks that's punk.

[comicedit]

With Captain America: Brave New World releasing tomorrow, we at comicedit wanted to remind everyone of the ongoing boycott against this film for the character Ruth, aka Sabra's inclusion, which despite numerous reshoots hasn't been removed from the film.

For more information on Sabra's history as a Zionist propaganda character, @imperiuswrecked has written a guide here.

Instead of buying a movie ticket, we urge you to instead donate to the Gaza Soup Kitchen, which is trying to give survivors of the genocide warm food, and to donate to one of the many fundraisers that still need help rebuilding their homes. Gazafunds chooses a random vetted fundraiser if you need help choosing one.

And as a reminder, every actor's decision to be in this film is a choice they made. You do not need and should not be justifying their decision to work with a woman who actively chose to join the IDF despite being exempt. A boycott does not mean "pirate but create fan material as usual", it means no engagement. It is important that this film exist in zero conversations that aren't about its Zionism.

Free Palestine.