#people were so mad about everything so much

[revelboo]

GUESS WHO CAME IN THE MAIL FROM THE EBAY PEOPLE U RECOMMEND. MY FAVE MY DARLING 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

I love him so much I want him in my pocket and take him everywhere. I want him to see the world. I'm so happy. I think I might be done now. Atleast for a bit so I can see who comes next. Might get some TFone guys or the new defender ones(? The tiny tiny ones) but I'm so happy I found this blog, your amazing works and blokees 💕💕💕💕 thank you !!!

Soundwave! I'm glad you enjoy my stories! They’ve given us so many Megs variants… I need some more Soundwaves and Starscreams now

Pretty much 🤣 Megs was an oops, though to be fair

Everything Is Alright Pt 118

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Servos lightly trembling feeling your stress and anxiety soaking into him to mingle with the almost manic fury radiating from Megatron and Starscream’s own outrage until he’s nearly overwhelmed, Soundwave swallows a growl. “No,” he says, voice calm and unyielding. Wrapping his servos around you, he opens his cassette compartment and gently eases you inside. Shielding you from what he suspects is coming with how volatile Megatron’s thoughts are right now. And it's a comfort to have you tucked safely inside him, helping ease the ragged hurt of that severed bond. It had felt like having his spark ripped out of him. Had known the Seeker wasn't happy that he'd tried to bond you, but hadn't realized the other mech would go that far.

• Did he really just nope and hide you? Sitting down, illuminated by his biolights and surrounded by the thrum of his spark, a part of you is thankful for the respite from the madness. Because your hands are shaking, just overwhelmed and you really want some alone time to try and process. Maybe cry at how ridiculous your life is. And it’s warm and safe inside Soundwave. “Thanks,” you whisper, unsure if he can hear you in here or not. Can still feel that jangling wrongness where Soundwave's bond had been as you press yourself into a corner of his cassette compartment. Letting yourself grieve that loss with no one staring at you.

• “Give me back my mate,” Starscream growls. Optics narrowing, he checks his wing to make sure that big brute didn’t bend it dragging him and to distract himself from the worry clawing at him. Had felt your pain echo through him and hadn't been able to do anything. Had been helpless to save you or himself and that can never happen again. Needs to be able to hold you in his servos, reassure himself that you're really okay. Doesn't even want to think about the fact that Megatron stole his sparkling and bonded you while you were helpless even if it was to save your life. And his. Doesn't want to owe that mech anything. Denta gritting when Soundwave just folds his arms across his chassis and stares him down. And he can pry that stupid cassette door open if he needs to. Starts forward only to hiss when Megatron seizes him by a wing. Again.

• Pulling until the Seeker leans so far one leg kicks out for balance, Megatron smiles down at Starscream. Because all of this is his fault. His selfishness. He’s sparked because the Seeker had severed Soundwave’s bond and hurt you. “Leave our pet alone. I think we need to have a little talk anyway. Just the three of us.” Ignoring Starscream's furious expression, he releases him and sits on Soundwave's berth. Trying to get his temper under control when he just wants to wring the Seeker's neck. Rip his still pulsing spark from his chassis. And he can't. Can't lay a servo on the mech to do any real damage. Killing Starscream might kill you. And because he's fully bonded to you, him as well. Maybe you'd fully bonded to him on purpose as a way to ensure he couldn't hurt your other mate. Wants to be furious, but he hadn't felt any scheming when he'd been tangled in you. "No one is to find out that we can spark a human or that I'm sparked." Not until he can figure this out. Because yes, it's a chance at saving their race slowly declining race, but if it gets out, there's the question of who the sire is and the Pit will freeze over before he lets it get out that he has Starscream's sparkling. Still can't understand humans and their alien weirdness. You're the carrier, you were supposed to stay sparked. Not pass it to him.

• Servos pressed protectively against the door to his cassette compartment, he croons softly to you, trying to soothe away your turmoil. Lulling you like he would a cassette. Aware that they're both staring at him when he lifts his head and he stares them both down defiantly, daring them to say anything. "Hurt our mate instead of protecting," he says, attention fixing on Starscream. Tries so hard to be the one in control, to be calm and rational, but he'd lost it when the Seeker had torn through his bond. And why? Because he was jealous? Didn't want to share you? Just callously lashing out without realizing there would be consequences. "Keep hurting our mate."

• "Our mate," Starscream hisses, angry and upset at the truth in that accusation. Because he had hurt you trying to free you. And even now, he's not sure if he'd done it to protect you or to keep you to himself. Because you were supposed to be only his. To love only him. You're all he'd needed or wanted. So why hadn't he been enough for you? "You're not my Trine. Not my brothers. You seduced my mate." And Megatron had stolen his future. Denta bared, his wings flare out before dropping. "I was happy."

• Servos pressing to his head, Megatron looks from Soundwave to Starscream. "At this point, it doesn't matter who screwed up the worst. You're fully bonded. I'm fully bonded. Soundwave will be, too." Snarling when Starscream opens his mouth to protest, he looms over the Seeker. "Soundwave, too. Primus, knows our poor pet will need a calm voice in all this. Safety." Pointing at Soundwave when Starscream hisses, Megatron thumps him in the chassis with the end of his cannon. "Where is the human right now? Hiding from both of us with Soundwave. And I swear to Primus if I could blast you in the face for getting me involved in this stupidity, I would without hesitation." Thumping him again to make the Seeker stumble back, Megatron's servos curl into fists. "It's divine comedy that I'm now tied to you for the rest of my existence."

• "Or our mate's. Humans don't live that long, Lord Megatron," he blurts, trying to hurt the other mech. And Starscream freezes as Megatron's optics narrow. Because it's something that has occurred to him more than once. Bond mates bond for life. One following the other in death and he'd known how short your life was when he'd claimed you. Willingly made that sacrifice to spend what time you have with you. But Megatron didn't know and a petty part of himself is almost gleeful about the blank expression on the warlord's face up until Megatron grabs him by the jaw, servos squeezing. 'How short?' Megatron snarls.

Previous

I finally gave up and did an inbox cleanse… but I kept quite a few still as drafts. I just discovered the TransArts Tarantulas figure and he's so pretty. And so, so out of my price range lol

[formula-ghost]

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You’ve reached your breaking point with Oscar, but an unfortunate grand prix changes everything you thought you wanted. 

WORD COUNT: 10.3k

WARNINGS: Conversations about sex and but no actual smut, degradation, angst. Mentions of cheating. Oscar is literally horrible. Mention of unhealthy family dynamics. Lots of cursing. Pain, so much pain. Mention of injury. I’m so sorry for all the emotional suffering this chapter will cause. 

TAGLIST: @at-a-rax-ia @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans @czennieszn @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles @mimiastroos @mrs-reeves-17 @milkysoop @amalialeclerc @starksztony @llando4norris @ginsengi @angxlzinthesky

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Accept message request from Lando_Norris?

Your fingers hovered over the “accept” button, nervous but curious. What would Lando ever want to talk to you about?

He had avoided you like the plague since that night in Italy, and you hardly blamed him. But as far as you knew, no one except you and Nicole knew that Lily was no longer in the picture; still, what would have changed to cause Lando Norris, of all people, to be messaging you at night?

“Who are you texting?” 

You jumped, not having noticed that Oscar had turned over to face you, seemingly unable to sleep.

“No one,” you said. “Just scrolling.”

Oscar confirmed your suspicions. “I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” you said, short and annoyed. 

Oscar didn’t respond, instead just moving on top of you, holding your chin in his hands to force you to look at him.

“You can’t even sleep until I fuck you like the little whore you are, huh?” He leaned down to kiss your neck, lips grazing over where only hours before he had left dark marks in the supple skin.

“Get off me, Oscar,” you said, and he immediately pulled back.

“You okay?” he asked.

You weren’t okay. In fact, you were furious. “You realize that you never even asked me if I was okay with you talking to me like that?”

The look in his eyes said only two words: Oh shit.

“YN, I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think of it like that. Shit, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you to treat me with respect.”

“I thought you liked it?” he said, running his fingers through his hair out of nervousness.

You sat up, the anger burning within you. You hadn’t planned to confront Oscar so soon after what you had overheard, but now that you’d gotten started, there was no stopping you. 

“That’s not the point. Maybe I’m tired of feeling like your personal sex toy, Oscar. Oh, but I forgot. My feelings aren’t your problem.”

Oscar exhaled angrily. “Is that really what this is about?”

You just looked at him, bewildered. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked.

He began, “Look, I don’t know what you think you heard—”

“I heard you talking shit about me on the phone to your own mother.”

“It wasn’t like that, YN.”

“Then what was it like? What’s your excuse now?”

Oscar tried to begin, his mouth opening with no words coming out. He truly didn’t know what to say. “It’s been a hard time.”

“I know. I’m well aware, Oscar. Because I made your feelings my problem for years.”

“I know, and I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore.”

“I’m not making excuses. I’m just trying to explain it to you.”

“Of course, you want to talk now that I won’t give you sex anymore,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

“Oh my God,” Oscar huffed, and it took every ounce of your strength not to curse him out then and there. “You act like I’m some fucking villian. You can’t get mad at me for fucking you when you wanted this too.”

“But how do you know that, Oscar? How do you know what I want? Have you ever asked me what I want?” Tears began prickling at the edge of your eyes. “You haven’t, because you don’t care.”

Oscar looked at the wall, his jaw tense. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Am I not even deserving of an honest conversation?” you said, the tears now flowing down your cheeks. It had been years since he’d seen you cry, but Oscar wouldn’t even look at you. 

You got up from the bed and started changing from your pajamas to your regular clothes. “If you don’t want to talk, fine. I can’t make you. But I’m going home.”

“YN—”

“Leave me alone,” you said, grabbing your purse and exiting the bedroom. You heard him call for you again, but you ignored his pleas, walking ahead out of the apartment and to your car.

When you slid into the driver’s seat, you finally broke down, resting your head against the steering wheel. No thoughts went through your head. You weren’t much of a crier, so when you finally gave in, it was more of an act of your body giving up.

So you took a few minutes to compose yourself before driving the short distance home through the streets of Monaco, a place you’d grown to love. But his presence was everywhere. The car. The streets. Your apartment. Oscar was inescapable.

And when you felt your phone buzz as you sat with a cup of tea on the balcony an hour or so later, this reality was confirmed. He was calling. 

You didn’t answer the first call, or the second. But by the third you knew that your only options were to turn your phone off, block him, or answer.

Well, what did you have to lose?

“What do you want?” you asked upon picking up the call. 

“I’m sorry, YN. Can we talk?”

“Say whatever you’re going to say.”

He paused. “In person? I’m in the hallway.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please?” he asked. You sighed. Why could you never say no to this man?

“Fine. Give me a sec.” You hung up the call, took another deep breath, and opened the front door before immediately turning around to go back to your balcony. You couldn’t bear to look at him, and you welcomed the sound of the soft waves lapping at the harbor as a buffer.

He sat down beside you, and even before any words were said, you felt the tears returning. Something about this felt…final. And your intuition had hardly ever been wrong before. 

“YN, I’m so sorry. When I get frustrated I say things I don’t mean. I was really out of line earlier.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, unable to truly accept his apology.

He continued, “And you’re right. I shouldn’t have just assumed that all the rough stuff was okay. And I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

You waited a moment for him to continue speaking, but he didn’t. “Is that all you have to say?”

“I just…don’t know what else you want me to say.” You looked over to him. His head was hung low, like a child in trouble at school. Not like a man who was taking accountability for his actions.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

“What?” he asked. 

You just stared at him for a moment, gathering the courage to ask your question.

“Did you talk to Lily like that?”

“Huh?” he echoed.

“Did you call her all those names? Degrade her?”

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s…personal. I don’t think Lily would appreciate me talking about it.”

“She didn’t appreciate me being in your life, either. But look how that turned out,” you said, the malice lingering on every word. 

Your statement cut a little too deep for comfort. But Oscar finally relented, answering, “...I would, sometimes. She didn’t care for it. But I just…get frustrated a lot. It helps me get all that pent up energy out. Half the time I don’t even think about what I’m saying.”

You hummed. The implication of his words hung in the air; you were a relief for his frustration, a thoughtless passtime. 

When you didn’t respond, he got nervous. “Did I…hurt you?”

“Not physically, no,” you answered, your eyes never moving from the sight of the harbor in the distance. “But I don’t think you really care.”

“Of course I care.”

“No, you don’t.” Your lip quivered. You tried to swallow the tears that came up, but you couldn’t.

“No, don’t cry,” Oscar said, reaching out to embrace you, but you avoided him, getting up to lean on the railing. He followed you, this time not offering any comforting touch. 

“What the fuck are we doing, Oscar?” you said, barely able to get the words out. He grasped for words but wasn’t able to find them before the flood of emotions spilled from you. 

You began, “I used to think that the fabric of our lives was…like, sewn together. Like we were destined to always be in each other's lives. But ever since the breakup I’m so afraid that everyone who ever warned me about you was right. I feel like all these years you’ve just been using me, stringing me along so you could have someone there when things don’t work out. Like I’m just your backup plan. Like I’m not even good enough for you to treat me like a human being.”

“You really feel like I’m using you?” Oscar asked, his surprise horrifically genuine. “Was I just using you when I went out of my way to call you every week for 4 years when I was away in school, even during exams and races? When I got you this place because I wanted to live close to my best friend?” His tone went from gentle to frenzied—not angry, but desperate, like he couldn’t even fathom it. “I mean, YN, what, did you want me to cheat on my girlfriend with you?”

You looked up at him, and he realized again that he had messed up again.

“No, that’s not what I wanted. I’d never do that to Lily because you know it’s been done to me.”

“I know, and was I not there for you when you needed me?” In a way, Oscar was right. When you had broken things off with your unfaithful ex, Oscar was the first to your rescue, staying with you for days while you could barely even function. “YN, what else do you want from me?”

“I want you to be honest about what’s going on between us.”

“We’re…. hooking up, I don’t know.”

“Is that all I am to you, a hookup? A friend with benefits?” Your soft tears became full on sobs now. “Oscar, I am in love with you! You are the love of my life. And you can’t tell me that you haven’t known exactly how I felt, for years now.”

“Of course I knew,” he whispered. 

“Then why would you do this to me? Why would you take advantage of me like this?”

Oscar had started crying now, too. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“This isn’t fair, Oscar.”

“I’m sorry.”

A thick silence fell over the balcony. You knew that the conversation should be over now. There was nothing else you needed to say. But you couldn’t stop yourself from continuing the pointless hurt. 

“Do you even love me?”

“Don’t—”

“Can you even look me in the fucking eyes and tell me that you don’t love me?”

“YN—” 

You didn’t even let him complete his sentence, instead walking back into your apartment and slamming our now cold mug into the sink. “Just go,” you said, your voice stern.

“YN, please—” Oscar said, following you inside the apartment. 

“Go!”

“You want the truth?” Oscar said, raising his voice to you for the first time since you’d ever known him. His eyes now flooded with tears, staining his cheeks. His hair was tousled, his under eye bags puffy and pronounced. He looked like a mess. 

“All I’ve ever wanted is the truth.”

“The truth,” he began, swallowing, his voice cracking as he spoke. “The truth is that I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen.”

“No—”

“Yes, YN,” he said, his voice raising again.

“No, fuck you, Oscar, that’s not true!” You were both sobbing messes now. 

“Yes it is,” he begged, his voice ragged.

“Then why would you do this?”

“Because…” he paused, taking a deep breath and sniffling, trying to regain his composure. “Because we were best friends, and you lived with us, and I was so scared of fucking things up.”

“So you went and just found a girlfriend instead?”

“No, it…” he looked away from you and took a sharp exhale. “It wasn’t as simple as that. You…” He let out a frustrated sigh. “It was just…complicated. You were the girl who lived with us, like another sister, I mean, I couldn’t have feelings for you of all people. So I was so scared.”

He looked at the wall, scarating his neck, and continued. “And when I met Lily, it was all just…simple. Everyone liked her, she was nice, she’s smart. When I brought her home she fit right in, the fans loved her. She was everything I needed her to be, y’know?” He exhaled. 

His gaze fell to the floor and lingered as he continued. “I didn’t love her at first. I mean, I liked her, she was great, but it was more about just…filling a need, I guess. But I did fall in love with her later. I tried to love her with my whole heart, I really did. I thought that what I felt for you would just go away but obviously it didn’t. And then she fucking left me. As she should, honestly.”

Oscar nervously looked around the room until he could no longer avoid your piercing gaze, face frozen in disbelief.

“You’re horrible, Oscar.”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“You used me. You used Lily. And all of this from the very beginning was about… my family? I’m sorry you all had to take me in because no one else would. I’m sorry I didn’t go to a fancy boarding school in London. I’m sorry that my parents are two pieces of shit that didn't want to take care of me when I was a literal child.”

“It’s not that—”

“But it is. That’s what you said.”

“It’s not you, YN. I mean, it was, but we’re not kids anymore. I love you. It was just… awful circumstances.”

“And now? What’s your excuse? I cut off my parents. And Lily fucking left you. So why are you just using me now?”

“It’s just too much right now. The breakup, the championship…I know if I try, I’ll just fuck it up. I lost Lily, I can’t lose you too.”

“Why? Because then you’ll have no one to warm your bed when you’re sad?”

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone that you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with!”

“You’re right, I don’t. Because the person I want to spend the rest of my life with is you, Oscar. But you don’t want me. You never have. I’m your backup plan until something better comes along. That’s all I’ve ever been. I’m not good enough for you, you don’t love me. I don’t even know who you are any more.”

“You said I was the love of your life,” Oscar said, his voice lowered now. 

“You are. But I’m not yours. I don’t care what you say you feel. If you really love someone, you don’t treat them like that.”

“I’m so sorry. That’s all I can say.”

You let out a shaky breath, exhausted of all energy from the fighting. You didn’t even have it in you to be angry anymore. 

“We shouldn’t do this. We should just go our separate ways and be done with it.”

“No, YN—”

“You have a championship to focus on, don’t you?” you said. 

“You’re my best friend,” he said through his tears. “I need you.”

“I’ll finish out my employment contract through the end of the season. You can sell the apartment. I’ll pay back Mum for anything she had to spend on me when we were younger.”

“YN, please,” he begged. 

“Don’t, Oscar,” you said, your voice soft now. “Just let me go.”

“Can I kiss you?”

The correct answer should be no. You should have told him to get the fuck out of your apartment and never come back. But it was Oscar. 

You didn’t answer him, instead just walking up to him and embracing him, letting him hold you in his strong arms as his lips met yours one last time. His lips were salty with tears, but for once his touch was soft and gentle.

When you pulled away, he stayed close to you, pressing his forehead down to yours. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Go home. You’ve got a flight to catch in the morning.”

You could call in sick to the United States Grand Prix in Miami; Oscar could not. 

Well, theoretically, he could. God knows the reserve drivers would be happy to take his place and show off in front of the teams that were always scouring for new blood. But he couldn’t back down now. Not with a trophy looming so ominously over his head.

And especially not in Miami. Everyone hated Miami. Everyone except Lando, that is. 

And as Oscar mindlessly paced the paddock back and forth, praying to God that no journalists would pester him for an interview, he couldn’t escape the reminder of his teammate’s victory. 

“Well, things seem to be heating up here in Miami! The race continues between McLaren teammates Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris in this early battle for the World Driver’s Championship. Piastri is putting in a valiant effort, but who can forget Lando Norris’ first victory here last year? It’s incredible to see how far he has come in such a short amount of time—”

He really needed to stop walking past the commentator’s box. 

This is usually when Oscar would try to find you in the paddock, or send you a text from halfway across the world. But he couldn’t do that anymore; you hadn’t quite barred him from communication, but what could he say?

He just needed to focus. Perform. Drown himself in the work. That’s what he told himself as he made his way back to the McLaren garage, away from the prying eyes of the media and the haunting words of the commentators. That’s what he told himself as he slipped on a set of headphones and nodded along as his race engineer spoke, acting as if he was paying attention. 

That’s what he told himself as he climbed into the car, took a deep breath, and pressed his foot to the gas. 

Thousands of miles away, in Monaco, you were supposed to be having dinner. Actually, you were supposed to be in Miami, taking photos of Oscar in all his glory.

But you couldn’t face him. You couldn’t eat. You couldn’t even sleep.

In the corner of your living room sat a box with Oscar’s old stuff in it. You stared at it as if it had the eyes to stare back. Your hand mindlessly swirled your fork around your remaining food, now cold and mostly uneaten.

Why did this feel like a breakup?

You wanted to scream, but you’d already gotten noise complaints from the fight days prior. So instead, your apartment was deadly quiet. 

You sighed, moving to your bedroom and collapsing in the soft covers, having decided to give up and indulge yourself with a night of bed rotting. But even your bed felt empty. The sheets held a faint trace of Oscar’s scent. It would come out with a simple wash, but laundry was the furthest thing from your mind right now. 

You needed a distraction. You grabbed your phone and immediately went to social media to mindlessly scroll. 

But in your notifications was one you had nearly forgotten about: that message request from Lando. 

You opened it without even thinking, unfortunately sending the read receipt even though you weren’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now. 

Hey, not to be weird but do you know if anything’s going on with Oscar? He’s been acting odd recently.

You groaned in frustration. You couldn’t escape your best friend. 

The message was sent a while ago—when the pair were in Bahrain, actually. You should have just deleted it and acted as if you never saw it. But you felt horribly awkward leaving Lando on read. 

Yeah, he and Lily broke up :(

Was the frown really necessary? Should you say more? You didn’t have the energy to think, sending the message without much fanfare. You locked your phone and put it back on your nightstand. 

But only a few moments later, it buzzed. Another message from Lando.

But…Lando was in Miami? At the circuit? He should be driving, not texting you. You opened your phone and clicked on the notification. 

Damn, that’s rough. I thought they were endgame. You in the paddock?

You raised an eyebrow. Why would Lando Norris, of all people, want to know where you are?

No, I’m back in Monaco. 

Another nearly instant reply. Ah, I was hoping to make a cameo on Oscar’s Instagram haha. You’ll be at Imola though?

This whole interaction felt…weird.

I will! I’ll be sure to get some good team shots lol

You tried to match his energy with your reply, but you couldn’t shake the odd feeling that this wasn’t right. But as you finally did put your phone down and retire for the night, your mind kept racing, coming to wildly different conclusions.

Maybe Lando did want to be friends. Maybe, now that Lily was out of the picture, he felt more comfortable around you. Maybe he was just trying to smooth things over with Oscar in the championship battle. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Or maybe you were so used to Oscar’s lying and manipulation that you couldn’t imagine someone talking to you just for the sake of friendship. 

You huffed to yourself as the thought crossed your mind. You pulled your blanket up and buried yourself in it, as if the thoughts were something physical you could hide from. You fell into a tense sleep.

Oscar couldn’t sleep, though. He could barely sleep back when he had you at his beck and call, let alone when you all weren’t speaking to each other.

How had he fucked up so badly? He brought his hands to his face and roughly exhaled. Like you, he had resigned himself to spend his night scrolling, until he too noticed an unanswered message. 

Except it wasn’t from Lando. It was from Lily. As if things couldn’t get any worse. 

She was brief and to the point.

I just wanted to let you know I’ll be at Imola for a company event. I doubt we’ll run into each other. Hope you and YN are well. 

Her words stung. The professionalism where there once was warmth and love. The perfectly petty dig at him and you, assuming that he had already moved on (though, she wasn’t exactly wrong). 

He wanted to throw his phone off his hotel room balcony. From the slight crack in the blinds, he could see palm trees, and the ocean far off in the distance. And he knew that back in Monaco, you’d be staring at the same moon, hearing the water in the distance as it lulled you to sleep. The miles between you during race weekends had always been numerous, but the distance wasn't—not until now, at least. 

He slammed his phone on the nightstand and took yet another sleeping pill. 

It was going to be a horrible week. 

And, unfortunately, the morning wasn’t much better. Another oh so friendly interaction with his teammate. 

��Hey, Oscar, wait up,” the Brit called, jogging to catch Oscar as they both entered the paddock. Oscar slowed his pace but didn’t stop, hopeful that this would be a clear sign that he wasn’t here for conversation.

When he did catch up, Oscar just gave Lando a small nod as a greeting. 

“Hey, I, uh, heard about you and Lily. I’m so sorry, mate.”

Oscar turned, making a confused and irritated face. “Who told you?”

“YN. Well, I asked her if you were okay.”

The Aussie made a small grumbling noise. 

“I was just worried, you know. You just seemed like you were going through some stuff. You know I’m always here if you need me, right?”

“I need to beat you,” Oscar said, but his words had no bite to them. There was no snappy anger anymore, just exhaustion. 

“Of course,” Lando said, smiling, as if he thought his teammate’s championship ambitions were nothing more than comic relief. “But for real, man, I’m sorry and I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said, though he didn’t really mean it. He just wanted to be alone.

In Monaco, you were breaking your first cardinal rule of a breakup (even a friendship breakup) and turning on your TV to watch Oscar drive. 

You had managed to go without watching the free practices and even quali, but you couldn’t bring yourself to not watch the Grand Prix. 

And it was good that you tuned in, because he won. 

You nearly threw your phone across the room when he finally passed the checkered flag. You had been practically holding your breath since he secured the lead in a masterfully timed pit stop mid race, beating out Max Verstappen to bring home his second win of the season. 

So, maybe he wouldn’t hate Miami as much anymore. 

Your phone—secured now on your nightstand to prevent any race-related breakage—loomed in the distance as you debated sending him a congrats text. It wasn’t like you all had gone through a true breakup; you weren’t even together. But you knew you couldn’t let yourself end up in his bed again. You knew that he was a broken man, and you couldn’t fix him. 

So your friendship had come to occupy this odd liminal space in which neither of you knew exactly where you stood. At some point, this would have to be discussed, but clearly neither of you had learned your lesson on healthy communication. 

You wanted to tell your best friend that you were proud of him. Was that such a bad thing?

It wouldn’t be, if you could ignore that voice now echoing in your mind.

Since when are her feelings my problem?

You nearly gagged at the thought. Yeah, you weren’t texting him.

And back in Miami, Oscar anxiously awaited a text that would never come. 

“Oscar, mate, quit staring at your phone and let’s celebrate!” Lando teased, patting his teammate on the back. 

Oscar just sighed, opening his phone again to find no messages from you. 

“She’s not coming back,” Lando said. “So either you get drunk enough to call her, or you get drunk enough to find someone to replace her. Either way, you’re getting drunk tonight.”

“Really, Lando?” 

“She destroyed a five year relationship over some stupid shit, and you just won another grand prix. So yes, I think you should get fucked up with me tonight!”

“Don’t talk about Lily like that, mate. And besides, I’m not even waiting on her.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Then who are you waiting on?”

Oscar’s defenses were wearing down, even while sober. “You know who.”

“And you still want me to believe that you two aren’t hooking up?”

“It’s…complicated.” 

“Spill.”

Under normal circumstances, Oscar was never the type to discuss his personal life at work, much less with his rival for the championship. But as the plan of going out was abandoned in favor of a nice bottle of Cuban rum ordered to the room, Oscar found himself spilling his secrets like a teenage girl at a sleepover.

“And then I just…” he hiccuped, “I told her everything. And she didn’t believe me, and I don’t blame her, but it fucking hurt, you know? And we were just screaming at each other, she said we should go our separate ways. What am I supposed to say to that? And I still haven’t heard from her, but her and Lily are gonna be at Imola. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“Mate,” Lando said, slurring his words, “You fucked this up worse than I fucked up the championship last year.”

The two drivers laughed—otherwise, they’d have to cry at the peril poor Oscar had put himself in. 

But the time flew by, and soon enough Oscar found himself on a flight to Italy, which he secretly prayed would crash so that he could avoid this entire charade. 

Of course, on all your respective flights, the feeling was mutual; neither you, Oscar, nor Lily really wanted to be there. But duty called, and you were nothing if not professional. 

It was an odd place to be; on one hand, you loved this job. It was fun getting to explore the world with your best friend and get paid to take pictures and make silly videos. The electric atmosphere of the paddock was one that had always felt like home, like you belonged there.

On the other hand, every time you thought about seeing Oscar again, you wanted to puke. 

Thankfully, when you did inevitably see him again, your lunch did not resurface. You operated like a robot; no banter, no friendliness, just stark professionalism. 

And Oscar didn’t know what was worse; not having you there, or seeing you act like a stranger. 

The one silver lining, at least, was that Lily was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t handle those emotions too. 

So, again and again throughout the weekend, he repeated that manta to himself: Just focus on work. Just focus on work. 

He said it to himself one last time before he hopped in the car for qualifying. Just focus. 

But he just couldn't. From the seat of his car, the chaos of the pit lane and the gaggles of photographers were just blurs, unidentifiable blobs. I had always comforted him to think that one of those was you, watching him. Now it was haunting. 

And somewhere, buried away in the paddock, Lily was there. Oscar could imagine it; her polished and professional demeanor, almost perfect, as she schmoozed up to that one executive from the company that he swore always had a thing for her. 

He wanted to scream. Instead, he had to pull the car into the garage as the session was stopped due to an accident. It was raining heavily. Extra caution was advised, his engineer explained, but Oscar couldn’t focus. Not because of his thoughts—although, those certainly didn’t help—but rather because of what he saw across the garage.

You were chatting with Lando. 

“Hey, YN!” Lando greeted as he hopped out of his car, seeing you in the back of the garage taking photos. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You too,” you said, though it wasn’t particularly true. 

“Looks like we’re going to be a while,” he said looking over his shoulder at the storm brewing in the distance, “want to walk the paddock with me and get some candids?” 

“Sure,” you agreed, though the request confused you. 

The two of you left the garage and Oscar felt like punching the wall. 

At first you walked in silence, your only emitted sound being the soft click of your camera. It was kind of pointless, though, since you were supposed to be getting shots of Oscar. You knew this. Lando knew this too.

“Can I ask you something, Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there any reason that you’ve been pretty…friendly lately?” you asked, controlling your tone so it came off as genuinely curious rather than suspicious.

“Honestly,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck with nervousness, “I felt really bad about everything that happened on the trip. I was afraid I might’ve scared you off.”

Well, that didn’t make much sense. Lando was the one who had been avoiding you since the trip. But, after dealing with Oscar, you had simply accepted that men in general made no sense. 

“You didn’t,” you said. “And, I mean, the only reason we ended up like that is because Lily was trying to get rid of me. But, you see how that worked out.” 

“Really? She didn’t have the balls to tell you to leave her man alone?”

“Not until after you left,” you said, exhaling in exhaustion.

“Damn,” he said, looking away from you. You snapped a few photos of his candid side profile, admiring how the light hit his curls just right. “You know, the only reason I ran off in the club that night like that was because I didn’t want to get involved in all that? I mean, I wasn’t about to steal Oscar’s side chick.” He laughed.  “But from what I hear, things have changed?”

You laughed. “Oscar’s side chick?”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t sleeping together?”

“Why do you want to know?” you laughed. Was Lando…flirting with you? No. He couldn’t be. He was Lando Norris, the most notorious playboy of the 2025 grid. 

“Aw, c’mon. I want to know the drama!” he teased, flashing his boyish smile. 

“Well, what if I want to know your drama?” you teased back, taking the opportunity to snap a few photos of him as you continued walking. 

“Psh, I’ve got no drama. Just keeping to myself, trying to win.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You’re avoiding the question, YN,” he said, smirking. Holy shit, he was flirting with you. But did you really mind? It felt nice to have that playful banter, to see a man who wanted that back and forth more than he just wanted your body. What was wrong with having a little fun?

You sighed and told him the most technical version of the truth. “Oscar never cheated. But you really thought I was sleeping with Oscar and you didn’t say anything to Lily?”

“Wasn’t my business. Besides, I thought it was pretty obvious.” His comment left a bit of a sour taste in your mouth, especially knowing the fears that Lily had confessed to you so long ago.

“No, I wouldn’t do that to Lily,” you said, and it was true. After all, you were both women. 

“And what about Oscar?”

You rolled your eyes. Having a nice conversation with Lando helped you remember how not nice your time with Oscar had been recently. “Oh, fuck him,” you said weakly. 

“Well, did you?”

You paused, unsure of whether or not to confess. “I already told you that he didn’t cheat. Is what, or who, I do in my spare time really any of your business?” you playfully teased.

His lips curled upwards. “I like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

The double entendre wasn't missed on you. You glanced over your shoulder, scanning the crowds to ensure that no one was paying too close attention. “You don’t have to worry about me and Oscar. But you know I run his social media, right? So I see all the gossip pages, all the shit you get yourself into. It’s a bold claim to say you’ve got no drama.”

“Oh, darling, they don’t even know the half of it,” he smirked. You all had turned around by now, walking back in the direction of the paddock. The crows were thinner now. 

He continued, “But what about you, huh? You’re all bored with Oscar and now you want some real fun?” He let out a small laugh. “No, you’re not like that. Too much of a good girl.”

“You think I’m too good? I’m here flirting with my best friend’s rival for the championship.”

“Are we flirting, is that was this is?” he asked, as if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. “I thought we were just having a pleasant conversation, catching up on the gossip.” Unbeknownst to you, Lando had gotten all the gossip from Oscar after their drunken celebration in Miami. But he wanted to see exactly how much you’d reveal to him. 

“Well, sure then. I’m sure you get tired of race talk all day, anyway.”

“You say that like you think race talk is boring. But I’ve seen you at enough races to know better. Don’t play coy, you love it, don’t you? You know more about racing than most of the drivers’ girlfriends.” 

It kind of unnerved you, the way Lando knew exactly how to push your buttons. The subtle you’re not like the other girls implication; both you knew it wasn’t a compliment, but rather a statement meant to rile you up and see how you’d react. And it worked.

Your voice lowered, steady yet quieter. “It’s a bit sexist to assume that women don’t know anything about racing. And knowing more about racing doesn’t make me any better than anyone else.”

“I never said that, love.”

“Hmm, but you thought it.” 

“Are you in my head now?” You playfully rolled your eyes. “So tell me about all the race talk between you and Oscar.”

“Is that a euphemism for something?” you chuckled.

“D’you want it to be?” he smirked. “No, no, really. Tell me what groundbreaking F1 opinions are inside that pretty little head of yours.” Yeah, he was definitely flirting with you. 

“I’ve got nothing groundbreaking,” you said as your smile loosened, contemplating how you wanted to arrange your words. “I think Oscar has a good shot at winning the WDC this year, if he can get out of his own head.”

“And what about me?”

“I think you’ll give him a run for his money. But you care too much about what random people on the internet think,” you said, ending the statement with that on the nose jest.

“You’re probably right,” he smiled. “God, you sounded like my PR manager for a sec there.”

“Not exactly dirty talk, is it?” you joked.

You arrived back at the McLaren garage. Lando walked in first, seeing that Oscar’s back was to you, and positioned himself so that when Oscar looked around, he’d see him instead of you. You were none the wiser. 

He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “You still haven’t answered my question. How was he?” Lando’s face was plastered with a mischievous grin. 

You playfully hit his shoulder. “Don’t ask me that!” you cooed, though you didn’t mind his closeness, the warmth of his breath on your ear. 

Oscar didn’t like it, though. And when he turned around and saw your back to him, Lando leaned down next to you, and smirking, he wanted to run him over with his car. 

Lando looked up for only a split second, but his eyes met Oscar’s, as if to acknowledge what he was doing. Or, as if to say, yes, I’m doing this, and you can’t stop me. 

Oscar couldn’t handle the audacity of watching Lando flirt with you in front of his own eyes. Thankfully, you were tapped on the shoulder by none other than the new guy, who had broken his extremely expensive camera, and you were called away to help him figure it out. 

Oscar crossed the garage to face Lando, never breaking his line of sight. 

“Oh hey, mate, what’s up?” Lando asked, innocently.

“Why are you talking to YN?”

“Oh, she wanted to take some photos—”

“Don’t talk to YN,” Oscar said, his voice plain but stern. 

“Mate, we were just having a chat. It wasn’t like that. Don’t be so paranoid.”

“I’m serious,” Oscar reiterated. “Don’t cross that line, Lando.”

“Okay, my bad,” Lando said, nervously laughing and carelessly throwing his hands in the air. Oscar still wouldn’t shift his gaze, even as both drivers were called to get back in their cars to resume the qualifying session. 

There was something up about Lando, he could tell. But it’d have to wait. Now, he had a pole to get. 

Well, he tried, but only managed to come in fourth. Lando got pole. Of fucking course. 

Another sleepless night passed with no messages from you. 

And the next morning, there you were as usual, staring at him only through the eye of your camera lens. 

But then, across the garage, you had no problem chatting it up with Lando. He threw you a glimpse of his award winning smirk and Oscar felt violent. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. 

You were doing it to spite him, that was obvious. You’d never be interested in a guy like Lando; too much of a playboy. And honestly, Oscar knew deep down that he deserved this. But it still made him sick to his stomach. 

The feeling only dissipated when it was replaced by that primitive need within him to win. The lights before him went out and reason gave way to instinct. 

Lando bottled the pole, losing the lead to Max after the first corner. Oscar fell back one place, narrowly avoiding a collision between Charles and Lewis, before overtaking them as they struggled to reorient their cars. 

So it was just him, Max, and Lando. He could do this. 

His body moved automatically. He could hear the roar of the engines, the chattering of the radio, and the screaming of the fans in the distance, but in his mind all was quiet. Laps blurred as he sped along the track, pushing inch by inch closer to overtaking Max. 

Eventually he did, getting DRS and flying past the Redbull driver, pushing hard to get a good lead over him. 

All that was left now was his own teammate. 

“Okay Oscar, you’ve got enough space between you and Verstappen,” his race engineer said.

“I want to overtake.”

“A 1-2 is our goal right now—”

“Then he can be 2nd. I want to win.”

Silence befell the radio channel for a moment. 

His engineer returned. “Okay. Papaya rules.”

Papaya rules. The phrase that haunted his dreams. 

There was really no need to use the coded language anymore. The world knew what it meant—race, but keep it clean. Put the team above yourself. Don’t do anything reckless. 

But Oscar was sick of being the good teammate, the one who always let Lando win for the sake of the team. He was tired of being gifted wins. Team orders were bullshit. This wasn’t about McLaren anymore. This was about his pride. This was everything. 

So he pushed harder than he should have. He was wearing his tires out, he knew, but Lando just coasted along, as if nothing was amiss. As if his teammate wasn’t out for blood and gaining on him with every lap. 

Lando glanced in his mirrors and saw Oscar behind him. 

“Oscar’s getting close,” he said to his engineer. 

“We told him papaya rules. Remember, our goal here is a 1-2.”

“He’s gonna wear out his tires.”

“Let’s just focus on keeping P1.”

But Lando knew it wasn’t that simple. This was no longer impersonal racing, just the best of the best competing against each other because it was in their nature to do so. 

No, this was personal now. 

Lando rounded the corner, feeling Oscar hot on his heels, but managed to defend his position. He knew that with DRS enabled at the next stretch, he wouldn’t be able to hold him off. 

But in front of him, he was already close to lapping the backmarkers of the grid.

Oscar could see them in the distance; the familiar teal of Lance Stroll’s Aston Martin, and an even more familiar fumble as he drove erratically due to some mechanical issue with the car. 

Lando slowed down, but Oscar couldn’t react. He swerved, hitting the barrier. 

Back in the garage, the breath left your lungs. 

You couldn’t resist the temptation of watching. You’d slid the headset on after Oscar had driven off, and you’d planned to leave before he got back to the garage and discovered that you’d ever been there. No harm, no foul. The allure of the purring engines and adrenaline-fueled racing was just too much to resist.

But now, hearing the violent scrape of carbon fiber against metal as Oscar’s car screeched along the barriers, your heart sunk into your chest. 

“Are you alright, Oscar?” you heard his race engineer ask, his voice filling your ears. 

But the silence afterwards was deafening. 

“Oscar, can you hear us? Are you alright?” 

All that came through was a metallic gargle of noise, a sign that the radio had been damaged in the impact. There was no way to know if Oscar was hurt or not.

A hush fell on the track as the safety car was brought out. Lando had effectively secured his win, with so few laps remaining. 

Your eyes were glued to the screen, praying to whatever God would listen that Oscar would be okay. You watched as the marshalls rushed to the site of the car, huddling around the lump of broken parts that stood still on the sidelines. 

Because of the force of the crash, the medical car had been deployed as well. You were frozen in place.

You had never been much of a believer in God, but all you could do now was beg.

Please, God. Please let him be okay. If he’s okay I can forgive everything he’s ever done. If he’s okay I will never let him out of my life ever again. Please, God, please let him be safe. 

You chanted the prayer over and over again to yourself as the seconds ticked by like hours. 

Finally, after an agonizingly long wait, you saw the marshalls carrying along an orange-clad form into the medical car. 

You didn’t even think. You just reacted, taking off your headset and booking it towards the medical tent. 

You weren’t the only one there, though. The tent was already swarmed with media, all craning their necks to see Oscar. You pushed your way through to the front, only to be stopped by security, since you had your media pass instead of your usual VIP pass as one of Oscar’s friends. 

You panicked—to the eyes of security, you were just another reporter who was rudely trying to cut through the crowd to get to the injured driver.

“Please let me by,” you pleaded. “I know Oscar—”

“You can wait at the media tent.”

“C’mon—”

“Ma’am, we need you to leave.” You groaned, and you were about to leave before you heard the voice of your savior from out of nowhere. 

“Hey!” he called. You turned your head to see who it was—the familiar, friendly face of Zak Brown. 

He was on the other side of the barrier, but Oscar was still nowhere to be found. 

“Oh, YN, am I glad to see you!” He turned to the security officer. “Let her in.”

“Sir, media personnel are not authorized—”

“She’s VIP, not media.”

“Sir—”

“Do you know who I am?” he said, an unusual sternness in his tone. The security officer glanced down at his pass and silently let you through. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Zak said, his boyish grin returning as he patted you on the back and led you along to the private area where they’d be bringing Oscar any second now. 

You sighed as he pulled the medical curtain closed. 

“Boy, was that a nasty crash,” he said.

“Is he okay?”

“Well, he’s alive. That��s as far as I know.”

Your heart sank again. But as if on cue, you heard the rumble of camera shutters and reporters chattering outside the tent as the marshals escorted Oscar into the tent. When he came up, the room was flooded with medical personnel, pushing you and Zak back to the edge of the curtained-off room. 

A nurse rushed in. “Who’s his emergency contact?” she asked Zak.

“Her,” he said, gesturing to you. You were confused. Since when had Oscar made you his emergency contact? 

“Stay here,” the nurse instructed, but even if you wanted to, you couldn’t move an inch. You resumed your prayers as Zak blabbered on and on, mainly to himself. One thing that you’d learned very quickly about Zak Brown once Oscar had gotten to McLaren is that he really liked to yap. 

As the doctors and nurses filtered in and out of the room, you caught a brief glimpse of Oscar in the hospital bed, his eyes rolled back into his head, slumped over into his shoulder. 

You wanted to wail. 

But it was only a few minutes before everyone began to filter out of the room, creating enough space for you to finally see your friend. And when you did lay eyes on him, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you feared. 

His eyes were closed; an attempt to rest, rather than a state of unconsciousness. 

A nurse at his bedside turned to you. “Don’t worry. He’s going to be fine. We’re going to sedate him and transport him to a hospital, but he’s not gravely injured. He just needs some tests done that we can’t do here.”

You nodded along, not once taking your eyes off Oscar. 

“And, yes, you are his emergency contact, so we’ll need you to come with us. He’s authorized you to make decisions in the event that he's unable to. But that is unlikely, of course.”

“Is he…?” you asked, gesturing towards him. 

“He’s still a little shaken up. The best thing right now is to get him into a calmer environment.”

You nodded. “I’ll make sure that new guy doesn’t lose all your stuff,” Zak quipped, and you threw a smile out towards him. “I’ll meet you all there when we’ve wrapped up here.”

Ah yes, the grand prix was likely still going on outside, and Lando would have to climb the podium and take his P1 trophy home. 

But as you sat in a hospital room in Italy next to your best friend, the podium was the last thing on your mind. 

Oscar was still completely out of it. The doctors had come and gone, confirming that all of his tests had come back normal. No broken bones, no concussion, nothing major. Just a shit ton of bruises and a shock to the system that left him too exhausted to stay awake for more than 15 minutes at a time.

Outside, the sun was setting, but you couldn’t sit still. You held Oscar’s limp hand in your own, tracing patterns into the cold skin. You hadn’t held his hand since you were kids—no, Oscar had held your hands above your head as he pinned you to the wall only weeks ago. 

You flung the memory away. Now wasn’t the time. Besides, you promise you’d forgive all that. 

Either way, you couldn’t focus on that now. Oscar’s eyelashes were fluttering open, his eyes squinting at the fluorescent light above him. 

“Osc!” you said, truthfully too energetic for the occasion. You dropped his hand, got up, and turned off the overhead light, leaving only the swiftly fading daylight from outside the window to illuminate the room. 

He groaned as you sat back down, but still mumbled a small thanks. 

“Where am I?” he asked, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes.

“A hospital in Imola.” 

“Shit,” he sighed. 

“Yeah. You had a pretty bad crash.”

“I remember that,” he said, his throat dry and cracked. He took a sip of water. “Lando brake checked me.”

“Is that what happened? I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah. Fucker,” he cursed, his voice dripping with contempt. You didn’t know what to say. 

“How are you feeling?” you finally said, tired of the lingering tension. 

“Awful. Everything hurts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m just glad you’re here,” he said, reaching for his call button to request painkillers. “I’ve missed you.”

It was bold, doing this when he knew you couldn’t exactly be cruel to him. So, instead, you were honest. 

“I’ve missed you too. I’m just glad you’re okay,” you said, reaching forward to smooth his hair away from his sweat-stained forehead. Your touch felt better than any painkiller. “We were really scared.”

“Nah, you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon,” he joked as the nurse arrived and wordlessly administered his meds. He let out a sigh as he felt the painkillers enter his system. “I run on pure spite. A little wall isn’t gonna take me out.”

You gave him a small smile. “You didn’t say anything after the crash,” you said, your voice just a quivering whisper, giving away the true depths of your fear.

“I had the wind knocked out of me. And then, everything just went black, I was fading in and out.”

“I was praying you’d be okay. It was so scary.”

“Hey, I’m okay. A little busted up, but I wasn't exactly a looker anyway, huh?” he joked, a feeble attempt to make you laugh. You sniffled and smiled.

He continued, “Can I use my near-death experience as an excuse for us to make up?”

Your smile dropped and you bit your lip.  “Osc…”

“I just want my friend back,” he said, cutting you off. “Look, I can’t be the boyfriend you deserve. Not right now, at least. And I think, after all the shit I did, you wouldn’t want me to anyway. But I miss my friend.”

“I miss my friend, too.” 

Your heart to heart was interrupted by a knock at the door. The same nurse from before poked her head in. “Excuse me?” she asked in an Italian accent, and you looked up. “There is a visitor asking to be let in. She said her name is Lily?”

You couldn’t help the face you made. What on God’s green Earth was Lily doing in Imola?

“Um, yeah, let her in,” Oscar said. He didn’t react, though you scooted away and sat at the edge of your seat, ready to leave at any second. “Stay,” he whispered to you, and you did. 

A few moments later, you saw her walk in, and the atmosphere was thick. 

“Hi Oscar,” she exhaled, grateful to see him okay. He greeted her back, but she didn’t even look at you. You got up to give them a moment, but Oscar reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Don’t go,” he said, and the look in his eyes was impossible to refuse. You tentatively sat back down. 

“How are you feeling?” Lily asked, and the two exchanged pleasant conversation back and forth. You wanted nothing more than to jump out of the window that now showed the sunset over the trees. Normal visiting hours would be ending soon. 

“Well, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay,” she said, getting up to leave. “I’m glad you’re doing well. You too, YN,” she added on the end, but you didn’t believe it. You gave her a flat but polite smile. 

“Actually, YN, could we have a word?” she asked, cocking her head in the direction of the hallway. 

The look on Oscar’s face told you that this was a horrible idea. But one of you was confined to a hospital bed, and the other wasn’t. You ignored him and followed Lily into the deserted hallway.

She turned to you, voice full of venom. “How long have you been sleeping with Oscar?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, plain as day. 

“I’ve told you before, Oscar never cheated on you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You turned your head in confusion. “What are you getting at?”

Lily angrily sighed. “You think that you can just waltz around the paddock talking shit about me with Lando, and that I’m not going to hear about it?”

Had Lily been at the paddock? Or even worse: had she somehow heard you?

“Well, if you actually heard my conversation with Lando, you’ll know that I stood up for you.”

“I thought you were a girl’s girl,” she said, deflecting from your defense.

“I am.”

“Then why were you in bed with my boyfriend 4 days after we broke up?”

“Your ex boyfriend,” you said, meeting her level of venom. “You left him.”

“I just thought, after all that talk, you’d have the decency not to prove me right.”

“Lily, I was honest with you. If you’re mad at Oscar, don’t take it out on me. He’s the one who suggested it. I told him it was a bad idea.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“And I felt horrible about it. So I stopped.” Your voice was sharp. “Who told you any of this?”

“It doesn't matter. I hope you’re happy.”

“I hope you are, too. Genuinely.” You lacked the words to say what you really wanted to. He treats both of us like shit. He used us. I am not your enemy. She wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. She wordlessly walked away, scoffing and mumbling to herself. 

You didn’t say anything either as you walked back into the hospital room and slumped in the chair.

“I’m guessing that didn’t go well?” Oscar said.

“Nope.”

“Well, we were in the middle of something…”

Oh, right. The conversation where Oscar was trying to get back in your pants. 

“I’m not going to fuck you, Oscar.” 

“I’m not asking you to.”

“We can let anything lead to that. Not again.”

“I understand,” he said. “I just want my friend back in my life. Like all of that never happened.”

“Could we even do that?” you asked. It felt like a line had been crossed, moving your friendship in a way that couldn’t be undone. 

“I promise. And I know my word doesn’t mean much, but really, I promise. Never again.”

Haven't you promised that you’d forgive him?

“Okay,” you said, “Okay.”

Oscar smiled at you, showing off his bunny teeth. You still loved him. You couldn’t help it. But true to form, you could never stay away.

“Oh, and by the way, congrats on Miami.”

You fell asleep in the chair, having refused to leave Oscar’s side. He’d be discharged in the morning to make his flight back to Monaco, though it was questionable whether or not he’d be able to race in the iconic Grand Prix. 

True to his word, though, Oscar got one final set of visitors in the dead of night.

The first was Zak Brown. 

“Oscar!” Zak yelled, before Oscar shushed and pointed to your sleeping form. You stirred but didn’t fully wake, and Zak placed his hand over his mouth and raised his eyebrows as Oscar let out a quiet laugh.

“Hey Zak,” he said, his voice hushed.

“Glad to see you’re doing better.”

“Yeah, I made it,” he mused. “Hey, what did the FIA say?” Oscar’s phone had died since you had fallen asleep, and his charger had been left at the track.

Thankfully, Zak had brought his (and your) belongings, and he placed the bag at the foot of the hospital bed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, the penalty, from the crash?”

“No one got a penalty.”

“But, Lando brake checked me.”

“Lando barely avoided a crash with Stroll.”

“I know, but he didn’t swerve, he slowed down. He had room to swerve, I didn’t. How did no one get a penalty?”

“That's just racing.”

“He intentionally slowed down to stop me!”

“Oscar, I highly doubt that that’s what happened. It was a crowded track, and you all had to react in a split second. These things happen, you know this.” 

Oscar wasn’t at all pleased with this answer, and it was worsened by the appearance of his second visitor: Lando himself.

“Ah, there’s our grand prix winner!” Zak said, giving him a hearty pat on the back. 

Lando smiled, and Oscar wanted to throw up. 

“Had to bring it home for the team,” he said, smiling at Zak. “You doing alright, mate?” he asked. 

Oscar was already tired of people asking him how he was feeling. “I’m fine,” he said.

“Lando gave Stroll an earful after the race.”

“Oh yeah, probably getting fined for that one…”

“Why? I didn’t crash because of Stroll. You brake checked me.” The pain was making Oscar more irritable. He’d need another dose of meds soon. 

“No, Stroll was driving like an idiot out there, I had to slow down.”

“No, you had to move. You’re not stupid. You just didn’t want me to overtake, didn’t you?”

“Okay, boys, let’s save this for the track,” Zak interjected. Oscar just grumbled. “I’ll meet you outside, yeah?” he said to Lando, who nodded but stayed behind. 

The Brit glanced at you, still fast asleep in the chair by Oscar’s bedside. “D’you tire out your babysitter?” he smiled. 

But Oscar was relentless. “Don’t talk about her.”

“I thought you all weren’t on speaking terms?” 

“Lando, mind your business.”

“I don’t know what your problem is, mate.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“I’m not up to anything. I’m just trying to be a good teammate. Jesus, Osc, they should check that you didn’t hit your head too hard, you’re so paranoid.”

Truthfully, Oscar was bluffing. He had a horrible feeling about his teammate, but no evidence to back it up. But his intuition was hardly ever wrong. 

“I ran into Lily after you left,” Lando said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I told her you were here.” His tone of voice was so gentle that Oscar began to wonder if maybe he was being too paranoid.

“Yeah, she came by earlier.” 

Lando’s eyes glanced back to your sleeping form, and Oscar felt his anger rise again. He didn’t even want Lando to look in your direction, let alone be speaking to you. 

“Your heart rate is up,” Lando said, gesturing to the monitor that now showed the physical effects of Oscar’s anger.

“Look, Lando,” Oscar said, shifting to sit up in bed. “Stop acting like we’re friends. Stop talking to YN, stop trying to play this buddy-buddy game. We’re here to beat each other.”

“I was just trying to be kind, but I guess if you really don’t want to be friends, I can’t make you.”

“I’m serious. Leave YN alone. Don’t even go there.”

“She’s an adult.”

“And she’s mine.”

Lando laughed. “Seriously? That’s not exactly what she told me.”

The monitor beeped again as Oscar’s heart rate continued to rise. “I don’t care what she told you.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“Try it. See what happens.”

A nurse gently knocked on the door, and Oscar was grateful for the distraction and relief of pain meds. 

“Well,” Lando said, leaning on the door, “I guess I’ll see you all in Monaco.”

[thefallenangel2008]

OK, SO I HAVE A VISION: Autistic Sea Grunkles. They have spent YEARS masking their quirks and stims to the people around them, and now that they're in a small boat with eachother in the middle of the ocean, they don't have to anymore. They're twins, they know everything about eachother. So what if Stan sometimes might walk around doing the "T-Rex hand thing" as Mabel calls it? He doesn't even seem to notice most of the time, but Ford doesn't bother commenting on it. And what if sometimes Ford starts to flap his hands when he gets frustrated with his research. Stan won't comment on it either. Well, ok, tbh he will make a joke out of it such as "if you keep flapping your hands like this you might even fly away" and then he'll tell him to take a break. Because that's what brothers do. They tease and take care of eachother. What if they get mad and go nonverbal on eachother? They might even spend DAYS not talking to eachother (or just in general) until they forget why they even got mad with eachother in the first place and start talking again like nothing. What if when it was one of THOSE days for one of them (the ones where the second you wake up everything is too much and you would rather stay in bed all day, yk?) and the other made sure he was fine. It didn't matter if they were feeling under the weather, they're in the middle of the ocean, no big deal. What if while Stan is cooking he starts making random noises with his mouth? What if Ford starts doing his own after hearing Stan? They will end up laughing and going all like "you sound ridiculous!" "As if! You look even more ridiculous" Anyway, on a completely unrelated note I need a fanfic out of it.

[shadow211e]

Satan's Madness

Sister Catherine was one of the newest nuns to be assigned to the post. The rectory was in the middle of a city, the city for the last 50 years or so had been slipping into vile disrepair. No one was blaming the rectory or the church, but they should have. No one was aware of the dark secret held within in the small building. Sister Catherine wouldn't have accepted the assignment had she been aware. Upon arriving, Sister Catherine was given a room and basic cleaning duties. She would see people coming and going, not just nuns or priests but a few times Bishops and Cardinals, she was amazed by the amount of higher ranking clergy that would be here. It wasn't until the 4th month of service when she was brought in on the reason there were people like that here. She was told about the artifacts in the basement of the rectory. That the clergy and the sisters were part of a barrier to protect the city and humanity as a whole. She watched and only when they felt she was ready and would be able to handle it would she be let in on the nature of this place.

She was trained in the routines of the basement vault, taught what to do in case of hearing things, feeling things, or even smelling things. She thought they were nuts until her first shift there, when she smelled sulfur, heard a man calling to her. She ignored it. She did what she was trained to and the voices and smell lessened.

Just over a year from her posting here, a few Cardinals from the Vatican arrived, they opened the vault, collected the 3 cases that were inside and left under guard with them to return to Rome. They said they would return within a fortnight and to have the vault cleaned and sanctified again. The sisters went to work cleaning up the vault, there wasn't anything in there but 3 tables with some etchings that looked like holy seals, some faded writing on the walls and dust. The cleaning took only a day, then came the holy water, the vault had to be cleaned with it 3 times a day for a week. Only then would the priests and cardinals come in and redo all the writing on the walls again. At just before midnight, Sister Catherine was finishing up the last cleaning of the room for the day when her foot hit a small stone on the wall, and something dislodged from behind it. She turned to look worried the damage of the room would cause issues. When she went to put the stone back into place, she saw something small inside. She pulled it out and looked at it, thinking it was something left inside the walls, she picked it up to report it to her superior.

The rosary was old looking, black and with a gothic feel to it. She looked for any writing on them but only saw small notches in the beads as if they had been used for counting for years. Running her fingers over the beads, she felt an odd feeling, one she hadn't thought about since she was a teenager, lust. She zoned out a bit, rubbing the beads in her fingers, feeling the lust wash over her, she only snapped out of it when she heard the vault door open. One of the other sisters looked at her. "Have you been here all night?" Panicked Catherine looked around "no of course not, I just came down to make sure everything was dry, it didn't seem to dry last night." The other nun nodded, but gave her a weird look, like something was different. She slid the rosary into her pocket without thinking and headed upstairs. She had not slept the night but didn't even feel tired. Walking up the halls, she passed an office, she overheard Mother Superior and one of the Bishops talking to the Cardinals. "What do you mean it was fake?" "We carbon dated it, one of the objects was fake." "Which one?" "The one belonging to one of the brides of him." "Are you kidding me? Those were those, they were rumors, he was never on Earth." "My dear sister, there are many things the Vatican keeps secret, knowing too much could lead to temptation," the cardinal said on the speaker, "keeping the rosary of one of the brides of Lucifer has always been one of the most important jobs for your rectory, and the fact that over the last 50 years, your rectory has had 3 of his brides objects is amazing, but it also seems the rot of the city has stemmed from the fact the corruption of all this evil was in one place." Mother Superior says "Lucifer had 13 brides correct?" "Yes." "And the Vatican has found how many of those objects?" "9. And you had 3 under your care, and the original decree from the Vatican was no one place would have more than one for more than a month. Too many in one place was deemed dangerous. If a place had one and another came into possession then the Vatican was supposed to move the second quickly to another vault, but with all the closures and whatnot, it was overlooked for far too long." "Anyway back to the matter, you checked it and it was fake?" "Yes, we have to figure out if it was stolen or swapped out." "Cardinal, I have been here over 35 years, none here would do such a thing, we don't enter the vault, we stand by it and pray, as is our orders. So if it was a fake, it was a fake when it came to us." "That is a possibility, which is why some cardinals are coming back to go through the records to find out where it came from in the first place to try to figure it all out. Please be watchful for anything a miss." "Of course, thank you." The call ended and Catherine moved quickly down the hall so she wouldn't be found. Getting back to her room, Catherine pulled out the rosary, "it couldn't be these could it?" Rubbing them in her fingers she felt that same feeling, an euphoric lust washing over her. Looking out across from the rectory was a new apartment building, all modern, lights on all over the place. Progress was encroaching on the older parts of the city. She saw an apartment, it was always dark, no one lived there. She wondered what it would be like had she not become a nun. Suddenly she felt something pull at her, she gasped as darkness surrounded her and she suddenly appeared in the apartment. She gasped, she was dressed but not in her clothes, it was stuff that was more stylish more modern. She gasped looking around.

She looked down, her chest looked bigger, she felt hot, more alive. "What the hell just happened." She heard a whisper, the man's voice she swore she heard by the vault. "You wanted to experience this, why not try it for a night, no one will miss you, and you can return to your nice little cloister in the morning."

Catherine knew this wasn't right, the rosary, the voice, she put it together, it was the voice of Lucifer and she was in possession of one of his bride's rosaries. She should go back to the rectory and turn it in, allow it to be locked away. To be rid of it. BUT Was there harm in one night, she was already like this, already here. She could go out to a nice restaurant, have a meal without being looked at as some virgin freak that nuns were often seen as. A quick meal and back here, and then back to the rectory before morning. The simple choice was more than enough for the seed of corruption to plant itself within her. Before when it was the lust she was only reacting to the rosary itself, but by not going back right away, allowing it to take root within her was the worst thing Catherine could have done. She was doomed the second she did it.

One night out was fine, but she got back after feeling so incredible and in her mind she thought about going back to the rectory and appeared there. She slept the night and woke up feeling so good. She did her daily tasks but that night when she got back to her room, she thought about the apartment again. Appearing it again she felt the thrill of being able to go out again. Another night led to another night. The next night led to another night, she was becoming more daring, more bold. Going to a club, a bar, seeing people in the streets moving around. She could almost taste the lust in them now. She might have been afraid but something was becoming comfortable inside her, this was more fun than being trapped in a habit and walking around like someone looked down at, all because she wanted to live the word of God. Thinking of God, it had less meaning to her, less of an awe. One night she didn't return to the rectory, keeping herself in the apartment, feeling joy of waking up in a massive soft bed. She woke up and found food to eat and she prepared a rich meal instead of the slop she was used to. A few more days turned into a few weeks. She barely thought about what was going on across the street. She didn't notice the cars pulling up, the groups of clergy, the cardinals showing up more. The search parties for the missing nun that was happening. Months went by, she was at a club, the rosary having fully corrupted her at this point, not that she saw it as corruption, she saw it has she had been freed. One of the Vatican Special Clerics found her and approached her.

Kat as she went by looked at him, she licked her lips, feeling the lust starting to grow from him. "Can I help you?" "Sister this isn't you, this.." She barked in laughter, "please are you going to say the Devil made me do it?" "Yes, he has corrupted you, let us help you." "How about I help you, I can feel your lust, your desire, why not break a few vows yourself, experience my holy water, believe me Father, let me sit on your face and baptize you and you will be a whole new man."

[omarsbigsister]

like yall still don't get it. do you not remember the lead up to 2020 and all the presidential Dem candidates that were VERY MUCH way more liked than biden? do you not remember the jokes about "being forced to vote for biden"? do you not recall how it was really really strange that they all dropped out and endorsed biden WHILE calling him out for being a less than stellar candidate? how it was very obvious the DNC/establishment chose him for us?

the democrats accomplished their goal of shutting down the growing progressive/leftist movement in their own party and across the country (in official orgs and stuff, we're not talking grassroots). the truth of the matter that NO ONE wants to address is that everything post-2020 was a backlash to the political awakening and demands for a more progressive society from 2012-2016. MeToo, BLM, Occupy Wall street, and the general growing awareness of systemic violence and demands for systemic change. and the democrats SUCCEEDED. nothing else about their actions makes sense other than the realization that they lost on PURPOSE. that they are IN ON IT.

oh my god, people! neoliberalism ALWAYS leads to fascism. of COURSE we have to blame the democrats. they are the ONLY OTHER POLITICAL PARTY in this country with power. it is quite literally THEIR JOB to uphold people's human rights and hold the president accountable when he commits FEDERAL CRIMES. THEY DIDN'T DO THAT. the SECOND biden got into office he said something like ~"lets put all that behind us and work on bipartisanship".

so yes, elon did a nazi salute. the republicans are outright fascists. this country is literally over. and all that could have and should have been stopped on day fucking 1 of biden's term back in 2021. he didn't do that. the democrats sold us out. you should be mad as FUCK at them.

[imsofreakingtired]

sevika missing date night angst/comfort‼️

thanks for the request!

not sure if this is what you had in mind, but hope you enjoy :)

know it's for the better

“and when broken bodies are washed ashore who am i to ask for more, more, more? but you’re breathing in my open mouth you’re the gun in my lips that will blow my brains out”

~~~

content: light angst, fluff if you squint ig..?

~~~

The candles are lit. You watch them burn steadily, casting long shadows on the walls, making the peeling paint and cracked plaster look like some sort of lost art from ancient times, better times….

You’re wearing the only fine piece of clothing you own—a black jacket made of real leather, something swiped from a Piltover flea market long ago, before the bridge became a battle zone. Your lips are painted with precious red lipstick. The clock ticks, every second mocking you, and the bottle of aged wine sits between two empty glasses.

Sevika told you she would come by eleven. It is now nearing twelve.

You know people do not have the luxury of dating in the Undercity. They don’t have the leisure to spend long hours in each other’s arms, in the glow of each other’s company. Not when there was barely even enough food to go around, when children’s hungry cries filled the nights and innocent people were arrested from their beds without even a warrant, snatched away to Stillwater. You know that in all likelihood, Sevika was still with Vander and Silco in the Last Drop, plotting and arguing about the revolution, the reformation of Zaun.

But she had promised tonight she would be yours, and Sevika never made promises she couldn’t keep.

You don’t want to be angry yet. Nor do you want to be worried. And you don’t want to feel selfish, either—sitting up in an empty apartment without any heating or running water, lipstick on your mouth when others didn’t even have clothes for the winter, a full bottle of wine on the table. Waiting for a lover you have no right to have.

When the clock ticks twelve-thirty, you stand up with a sigh and blow out the candles. No use wasting precious wax. You hesitate at the table, eyeing the glasses. You think, fuck it. You fill one of the glasses and drink the wine slowly, bitterly.

Sevika always said that you were the only reason she fought for Zaun. That you made it all worth it. Well, if you were so important to her, was it really too much to ask for just half a night to see her face?

You take off your jacket and drape it over your chair, then you take the glass of wine to your bed and kick off your shoes before lying down. The wine fills your head with sleep and resentment, and the thoughts come and go in waves. Before long your annoyance melts and you are only filled with a deep shame. Sevika will never love another person, you think, as nearly as she loves the cause. She will always be happier straining her body, giving everything she has, to the fight, than she would be living a quiet life. A quiet life with you.

Your eyelids feel heavy, but you keep watching the door drowsily, in a stupid half-hope that Sevika will come after all. You feel the tension drain from your body, a defeat. Sevika will always choose to fight. And you will always choose to wait for her. You would wait for her all through the night, all through the day, if you had to.

~~~

You don’t know when you finally fell asleep, but it seems like both an eternity and only a few seconds before you feel a warm calloused hand cupping your face, hear a familiar deep voice in your ear.

“Baby,” Sevika says softly.

You stir, not quite awake, force your eyes open to stare at her blearily through the darkness.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you mumble.

“Are you mad?” Sevika asks.

You aren’t mad. You can’t be mad. For one thing, you’re dead-tired, and you aren’t even quite sure whether or not you’re dreaming all of this. But you can see the beautiful outline of Sevika’s face, and it’s enough to feel her hand on your skin, her voice so close to your ear. You reach up and take her hand, holding it against your face.

“You gotta leave again?” you ask.

“No.”

“Then stay with me.”

She gives a low chuckle. “That’s what I was hoping to do.”

You move over to the side of the bed so Sevika can lie down beside you. She slips an arm under your head, wraps the other around your waist, and pulls you close to her, spooning you in her body. She kisses the crook of your neck. She doesn’t say it, but you can tell by the way she holds you that she missed you.

“You better still be here when I wake up in the morning,” you murmur.

“Count on it,” she says, her voice already thick with sleep.

You smile and let yourself drift away into your dreams.

Dreams of a quiet life, a sunlit life.

With Sevika.

[lesbianalanwake]

Severance S2E2:

--holy shit. I see why the season is 10 episodes instead of 9. two episodes to resolve the S1 finale and wind up to the pitch. there was so much legwork in this episode, and so much tension that I could barely sit still.

--I hope they paid Milchick a big overtime bonus in addition to his new salary!!! man did all that in 48 hours!!!

--Mark and Devon.... Mark being in denial about the possibility that Mark S could have been talking about Gemma, when we later see that it's been weighing on him heavily and he needed to talk to Cobel to confront it. it's such a small, small hope.... if he believes in the possibility that Gemma is alive, and it turns out that she is not, it would destroy him completely, and he's already come so close to destroying himself while grieving the first time. but Devon! Devon is so sharp! she knows her brother, and she glimpsed a younger, lighter version of her brother that she hasn't seen in a long time, and she clocked his tone and body language and everything about the situation correctly! and she can't live with the unanswered question of whether Gemma could be alive, because she misses her sister-in-law and misses who her brother used to be! she can't stop thinking about it while Mark is doing everything in his power to not think about it! aaaaah!

--Cobel bookending this episode by being as unhinged and mysterious as ever. we don't even know if she accepted the advisory council position! what is she up to! the final scene is so fucking good because I was like "I bet she's thinking about hitting Mark with her car," and then she screams like a bat out of hell and almost does just that LMAO. and she's still telling him to quit, even though Lumon is doing something significant with Gemma and "Cold Harbor," enough that they need Mark back to finish it, and Cobel knows what it is and wants something from it, and now Mark knows for sure that Gemma is alive because he needed to look Cobel in the eye and ask. I love their weird fucking dynamic. she's so fucking mad at Lumon, but maybe cares about Mark in her own unhinged way?? and his feelings were HURT that she lied to him because he went straight for the only thing that could maybe hurt her feelings a little bit in turn ("I ate your shitty fucking cookies").

--makes me hope that Cobel gets a "villain turned weird ally" arc, and that Milchick is right behind her, because he's already getting a taste of how thankless the severed floor manager position is, getting no guidance beyond "let Kier guide your heart" and having to defend the feat he managed to pull together in 48 hours.

--which brings me to: HELENA. HELENAAA. class traitor arc INCOMING. the "behind the scenes" bit reinforced this too: she is living in a gilded cage (the shot of her on the top floor with the windows acting as bars!) and seeing that her innie of all people gets affection and respect in a way that she never has, and she is enthralled. you can do it baby! I hope you kill your dad!

- I'm glad they clarified that the correct term for complex innie/outie romantic dynamics is "throuple" because Mark/Helly is finally compelling. by itself = eh. as part of Helena's development and possibly some kind of villainous fixation that can't possibly end well no matter how you slice it because Mark/Mark S is also going through a throuple thing with his dead wife who is actually alive, and don't think I've forgotten whatever thing that Helena and Milchick had going on in S1 (which is the only thing I was missing from this ep and hope they revisit) = now we're cooking with gas. not to mention Burt spying on Irving! throuples for days.

--tentatively believing that it really is Helena down there, and they sent her to play the part of Helly R to keep Mark complacent so that Cold Harbor gets finished, because Helly is too much of an unpredictable wild card but Helena is controllable (for now!). which would add another juicy flavor to Mark/Helly. they really did it, they really made the ship pop.

--it is so, so compelling how innies/outies are opposites. Helly is bold and rebellious, Helena is calm and subservient. Mark S is sweet and mild-mannered, Mark is cold and sarcastic. Dylan G is confident and driven, Dylan George is nervous and hesitant. Irving B is obedient and proper, Irving Bailiff is defiant and unconventional. and yet! bits of the other shine through, and we see it more and more, and they're slowly but surely on a collision course.

--the Good Doors interviewer says "you remind me of myself" and looks like Dylan, and I love this show because I can't tell if it's to continue the visual motif of doubling/reflections and show a "what could have been" path for Dylan, or if it's because there is truly something FUCKED going on across this whole town. or both.

--Lumon is in such a precarious position. they're a major global corporation, and they have politicians in their pocket, but there is also a lot of hostility and mistrust from the general public, enough to make a severed employee unhireable. (which further entraps their employees and keeps them dependent on Lumon.... Dylan. 😭) Lumon has to walk a fine line to continue, uh, whatever it is they're doing, without turning the public against them in a way that they couldn't recover from, hence the placating attempts at damage control. but all it would take would be a sufficiently strong spark to light that powder keg.

--because like, man.... I hope Helena and Cobel and Milchick all get their "fuck you Lumon" arcs. god. so many threads poised to unravel out of control and snap with the right push because the line that Lumon is walking is THIN. they do the most to try to control their severed employees, but they seem to take their non-severed employees for granted, and I'm wondering if that will be their undoing.

[songmingisthighs]

[4.38] mafia!hongjoong × reader

⇀ boisterous and loud is one thing, but a couple who dare fight in public? madness

⇁ honestly i'm so much into this type of hongjoong

wc : 1.3 k

rating : mature; strong language, disruptive behaviour, basic premise of illegal lifestyle

warning : cussing, violence, depiction of criminal life, unsavoury language and actions

discretion : the author does not support any and all depiction of criminal activities in this story, anything and everything written is published for the sake of fantasy. read at your own discretion.

"YOU MISERABLE SON OF A BITCH!"

A whack echoed the pristine corridor of a hotel, accompanying the sound of a woman fighting with her husband in public. "Ow! You-" Hongjoong was about to scream back at you but you swung your purse once again towards him but missed as he ducked just in time. "Come on you big baby, you can get a gun shot or two but God forbid your wife smack some sense into you with a Birkin," you scoffed, dusting imaginary dust off of your custom dyed Birkin bag that became your choice of weapon that night.

Your husband glared at you and huffed, "Do we have to do this right now? You're acting like a crazy bitch when we are in PUBLIC!" He spoke the last part so loudly that people around you jumped in surprise before slowly trying to disperse in fear because they knew who you two were. How could they not? Everyone in the top social class knows all about the suave "businessman" and his wife who controlled not only the commodity trading market but also the government. Some people called Hongjoong a mafia but he called himself an entrepreneur. But at that moment, Kim Hongjoong was just a husband. Well, YOUR husband.

"You call me a crazy bitch one more time Kim Hongjoong and I will give you the beating your mother should've given you all those years ago," you huffed, challenging him. Hongjoong laughed sarcastically as he clapped his hands, "Oh I'm sorry your majesty, what would you prefer? Hot head? Lunatic? Psycho?"

It was a common knowledge around the people around you that you and your husband butt heads A LOT and neither one of you cared where you two were when an argument broke out. While some people were initially concerned, it was later revealed by the two of you that it was through arguing did you two fell in love with each other. So all the cussing and name calling and dragging ancestors and family members only amplified your passion for one another. Which was why Hongjoong felt the need to grab an antique vase from a display and smashed it to the ground.

Almost immediately, a person rushed over with his face all red and breath huffy. "Hey asshole, did you just smash that vase to the ground?" He had the audacity to ask and Hongjoong barely gave him a glance over with an eyebrow raised, "Yeah I did, so?" The answer only made the man frustrated because he suddenly waved over for the security guards stationed nearby to come before he glared at you two with his arms propped on his waist. "Are you fucking kidding me? That was a VERY expensive antique that my dad, the OWNER of this hotel got at an auction in London. Do any of you know what London is? Of course you don't what with your fake Birkin and cheap outfits. Go back to the dingy mannerless hole you're used to, filthy animals,"

The man whom you identified as the son of the hotel owner, which is ironically one of your husband's business partner as he had a share in the property, barely finished his words before he too got a good smack on his shoulder by your Birkin. As he recovered from the impact, he was met with your fiery glare and even with only one step forward, you seem to tower over the taller man in protection of your husband's honour. "Don't you fucking talk to my husband like that. Who the hell do you think you are?" The man glared at you and opened his mouth as he was about to answer, you beat him to it by slapping him across the face, "Think first and think well before you answer me, little boy, or I'll use your nutsack as a pin cushion." Seeing you so mad from seeing your husband being treated so disrespectfully by a Chad wannabe, Hongjoong sighed and tried to step in, "Honey, let's just go have that dinner, okay? He's not worth all the huffing and scolding," He put his hands on your shoulders gently but you turned around and pointed at him, your glare now directed at your husband. "Your nutsack is already mine by law Kim Hongjoong, don't make me exercise my legal rights," you warned.

All of the commotion and audience gathered (rather far away from the three of you because people were scared) managed to catch the attention of the Hotel Manager who jogged over with a smile on his face. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim, how are we doing?" it was a stupid question but one portraying his anxiety. You raised an eyebrow at him and nodded to the now silenced asshole, still recovering from being slapped by a stranger, "Do you know this little bitch?" you asked, the vulgarity of your language did not phase the Manager whatsoever.

"Little bitch? Who the fuck are you calling a-" he was about to grab you by the shoulder, taking advantage of your momentary shift of attention like the coward that he is. But before he could reach you, Hongjoong, having been trained in self-defense, easily grabbed the asshole's wrist and twisted it around before pushing him to the ground, causing him to scream in pain from the position. "Ow! What the fuck!? Let me go! Don't you know who my father is!?" the man screamed which only made Hongjoong smirk in something akin to satisfaction.

The manager stepped in close to Hongjoong, almost in a pleading way, "Mr. Kim, please excuse the young Mr. Son here, he doesn't really know any better and I will see to it that he will be educated on our esteemed patrons myself," he pleaded. You scoffed at him incredulously and your eyes rolled with annoyance, "Esteemed patron? My husband invested for the majority of the development project, my husband is not just an esteemed partner, my husband is the only person who can call himself the damn sultan of this place if he wanted to." "R-right, my apologies Mrs. Kim, I will educate myself and young Mr. Son here so would you please let him go so I can escort him out myself, Mr. Kim?" The manager added, reaching to grab the still whimpering man from Hongjoong's grasp.

Luckily, Hongjoong got bored from listening to his pathetic noises so he just let him go and stepped over him to stand next to you, allowing the Manager to immediately get the man up. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Kim, I hope you two have a pleasant evening and I will let the kitchen know to prepare you a special dessert. On me," the man said as he hurriedly ushered the now weeping boy off before he could face another round of your wrath.

"You know," Hongjoong smirked as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, "You look so hot when you're defending your husband, Mrs. Kim," he said before he leaned to peck your cheek. You rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance but the satisfied smirk on your face completely gave your truth away as you wrapped an arm around Hongjoong's waist, "You better not doubt that your dear wife will defend your honour, Mr. Kim," you pointed out, kissing him back on the corner of his mouth.

"So can we do it in the ass?" he added.

Your smile hardened and Hongjoong got his first response when your elbow dug into his stomach, causing him to sputter. "You can take that offer and shove it up your own ass, fucking prick," you spat before you walk away to the restaurant by yourself, swaying your hips intentionally to make a point to your husband.

Though in pain, Hongjoong couldn't help but chuckle as he stared at you, feeling his heart thump when you turned around slightly to give him a once-over. People called him crazy for "letting" his "old lady" "disrespect" him like how "she always does" but what they could never understand was that the "disrespect" was your fire, and your fire was what tied Hongjoong to you. Your fire was what made him so addicted to you. And he had no plans on letting that go anytime soon.

networks :

@sandsofire @kflixnet @pirateeznet

permalist :

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[pipinpali]

33 and 15 for all!!!

THIS TOOK SO LONG IM SORRY

TYSM FOR THE ASK💥💥💥

"[33] What are one of their fondest and most treasured memories?"

Clementine and Erie's a little obvious,,, But when they met eachother!! Ofc,,,,first meeting wasnt the greatest when one was kinda covered in blood— but this is the happiest either has been!! Clementine already has many good times , but she never felt anymore comfortable with someone other than Erie. And for Erie , Clementine is the only person that understands her struggles and pains even though she couldn't have experienced it herself.,

Brute's happiest moment is also fairly recent (in their little story timeline) but it's when they became friends with Whistle — a little alien girl they were in charge of. Since Brute is pretty much disliked by everyone in the facility they guard , she's the only one who actually considers them as a friend,,

Jone really misses when he was memorable and a perfect kid. Since his parents had another kid and they had pretty busy jobs , Jone never got much attention. But during these times he made friends and was pretty popular,,,until he was just sort of forgotten and became a "typical guy" (gifted kid struggle 😭/hj)

Randall's most treasured moment was when his father was still around , he wasn't necessarily the closest, but they had a good bond. Everything was still calm, normal— at least for him— when his father was there.

"[15] How do they act around people they don't like?"

It takes quite a bit to make Jone mad — and once he is, he's petty. Jone won't say anything about it to the person's face, but he holds a hard grudge and mostly gets back with a couple of "accidental" jabs either verbally or physically. Usually his annoyance is noticeable in his tone of voice or when he bounces his leg,

Erie just kinda,,,,stares at people she dislikes, not that she could say anything really. It really depends on who it is when her annoyance gets to a boiling point— either ignoring them entirely or threatening them violently .

Brute is pretty much programmed to threaten people when they get too upset— both through learned spoiled behavior and the genuine nature they were created with. They like to tease and make fun of those they dislike .cOf course, though, if someone of high authority told them to stop , they would (begrudgingly). They don't really like anyone at the lab.

Clementine is also pretty direct. If she dislikes someone, she'll make it known. She wouldn't really harm anyone though if it wasn't bad. She usually goes for ignoring the person and insulting them .

Randall also takes that approach,,,,,a little more rudely and blunt though. It kinda depends on who he's around but it's usually the same except if it's who hired him . He doesn't like to start fights — even though he's been through more than many .

[mindless-existence1]

Shadow x fem or gn reader thats sonic’s sibling but they don’t mention it until they get together, how would Shadow and Sonic react? Thought this idea was funny (oneshot)

Idk if ur requests are open, but take your time !

I didn't realize I finished this so I was scrolling through my writing app and found it finished and girl I was shocked. Sorry it's gone so long without being posted 😅😅

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shadow wasn’t the type to meet many people unless it was absolutely necessary. So when you brought up introducing him to your brother, he raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, hed do anything if you said it nice enough.

The two of you had yet to start officially dating, you wanted to wait untill he at least knew your family. You spent nearly every day together, and it was clear to anyone with eyes that there was something deeper than friendship between you.

Still, you hadn’t exactly told Shadow everything about yourself. Not because you were hiding anything—far from it—but because, well, some details just never seemed relevant. Like the fact that your brother was none other than Sonic the Hedgehog.

You didn’t think much of it. Shadow never really talked about Sonic, and you didn’t bring him up often either. It wasn’t until you arranged for the two of them to meet at a local café that you realized the glaring oversight in your plan.

---

You arrived first with Shadow, finding a cozy table in the corner of the café. He sat next to you, arms crossed, his usual stoic demeanor firmly in place. “So, your brother,” Shadow said, glancing at you. “What’s he like?”

You smiled. “Oh, he’s great. Kind of cocky sometimes, but he’s got a good heart. You’ll like him.” Shadow raised an eyebrow at that, but before he could respond, the door jingled, and you turned to see Sonic stroll in, his signature confident grin plastered across his face.

“Hey, there you are!” Sonic called out, making his way over to your table. His eyes flicked to Shadow, and his grin faltered slightly. “Oh. It’s you.” Shadow’s expression darkened immediately. “Of course. It’s you.”

You blinked, looking between the two of them. “Wait... you two know each other?” Sonic chuckled dryly, crossing his arms. “Know each other? Yeah, you could say that. Shadow and I have a bit of... history.”

Shadow scoffed, glaring at Sonic. “History? Is that what we’re calling it now? I’d call it a series of your insufferable antics.”

“Insufferable? Please,” Sonic shot back, smirking. “You’re just mad because I’m better and you're supposed to be "the ultimate lifeform".” Your mouth fell open as the two of them glared at each other, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Okay, hold on,” you said, holding up your hands. “I feel like I’m missing something here. How do you two even know each other?” Sonic blinked, glancing at you. “Wait... you’re telling me you never mentioned me to him?”

“I didn’t think it was important!” you said defensively. “Why, exactly, is this such a big deal?” Shadow narrowed his eyes at Sonic. “You didn’t tell me your brother was him.”

“Well, you didn’t tell me you hated my brother!” you shot back, exasperated.Sonic snorted. “Hate’s a strong word. It’s more like... mild irritation.”

“Mutual disdain,” Shadow corrected, his tone dry.You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Okay, look. Can we all just... start over? Shadow, this is my brother, Sonic. Sonic, this is Shadow. He’s... someone very important to me.”

Sonic’s eyebrows shot up, and a sly grin spread across his face. “Oh, very important, huh? Didn’t realize you had a thing for dark and broody hedgehogs.”

“Don’t start,” you warned, shooting him a glare. Shadow, for his part, simply crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. You shush himbefore he can let out the remark you could sense about to come from him, “You two are going to get along if it kills me. Sonic, stop being a smartass. Shadow, stop being... you.”

The two of them exchanged a glance, and for a moment, it seemed like they might actually listen.Then Sonic grinned again. “Fine. But only because I like you more than I dislike him.”

Shadow sighed, his expression softening slightly as he looked at you. “I’ll tolerate this... for you.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. It was going to take some time, but you had a feeling that, eventually, these two might just get along—or at least not fight on sight every time they were in the same room.

[expertfool]

Why do you think Ford abandoned Arthur in prehistoric Earth?

hi! thank you for the ask, i love talking about h2g2!

firstly, i don’t think ford really abandoned arthur—or that wasn’t ford’s intention. throughout all the books, ford’s actions speak louder than his words (which is great bc ford’s words are not usually kind lol); he always makes sure arthur is where arthur wants to be (or, as per my last wall of text, where arthur thinks he wants to be). so, from this, i can only assume ford’s explanation for why he left arthur pre-life, the universe and everything is really bc ford went mad. i think ford probably doesn’t do well with hopelessness and futility quite like arthur does. arthur’s curse is that he can maintain relative normality during all the horrible events while ford’s is that he can’t cope at all. it’s a part of why ford drinks so much (i’m sure part of why ford drinks is for fun, but he pushes himself to extremes that other characters who drink for fun, like zaphod, won’t stoop to). also, ford had just spend fifteen hopeless, horrible years on earth thinking no one would come to save him. he then learns that someone could’ve saved him (zaphod, when he went to that party) but chose not to, which is terribly upsetting information. but life on modern earth wasn’t so bad. there were loads of little creature comforts—alcohol, good food, social functions, people. but now ford’s been doomed again to an exile on earth even more hopeless and endless than before. he hates the golgafrinchans, and ford’s only company is arthur. while i think they were fine during that first year on prehistoric earth (ford did choose arthur out of everyone he could think of to save, and he wanted to travel the galaxy with arthur), i don’t think ford does well with forced stability. he probably needs it, but he can’t handle being forced into it.

so, ford is in a perfect hell. something that feels like it was created just to tortured him. earth, again, only worse this time. no alcohol. probably going through withdrawal. a group of people whom he despises. arthur whom he failed to adequately save. and most likely hundreds of years in front of him before someone saves him.

i think also that ford is scared of watching arthur die—although this idea spans over more than just this one moment in the books—arthur and ford’s lifespans are not compatible, and i think ford is afraid of acknowledging this which is one of many reasons he disappears from arthur’s life between so long and thanks for all the fish and mostly harmless. but in the context of prehistoric earth, it’d be very difficult to watch your friend slowly die after you said you’d save him while you remain more or less the same for the next hundred years or so.

[a-little-monotonous]

man it's genuinely nice to rewatch su without all the. gotdam drama in between waiting for new episodes

[bacchuschucklefuck]

space sweepers but they're delivery people and are at no point on screen through the entire movie

[lesbiansforeddiediaz]

The Diaz parents are shitty parents but they aren't shitty in an exaggerated or caricatured way. Ramon wasn't trying to make Eddie into anything specific, there wasn't an expectation of perfection, he was just trying to raise him to be a man in the way that he perceived what being a man meant. Helena was not consciously trying to make Eddie into her pseudo husband/coparent/whatever but she still put those expectations onto him. Even now with them taking Chris and alienating him from his own father they are not doing it as a deliberate way to hurt Eddie but because they have convinced themselves this is the best solution. It's awful in a way that's so difficult to come to terms with because on the surface it just looks like a genuine effort, despite the hurt and damage it caused (and is still causing). But what they are doing now (and what Helena has been doing always) requires for a genuine cruelty and callousness towards Eddie even if it isn't conscious.

[zevranunderstander]

number #1 tactic that people use to not sound as racist as they are when they talk to black people: 'uhh so you AMERICANS need to stop pretending everything is about YOU. why should i know this im not from the us :/' (= is talking about like. a phenomenally internationally well-known black artist)

[piosplayhouse]

Honestly the more I think about it the more I really think the sun and moon dew mushroom rlly should've been an amorphophallus instead

- extremely rare and take an immense amount of expertise and tedious care and special conditions to bloom (to the point where one blooming is an incredibly proud event for gardens and often publicized to draw visitors nationwide)

- on average take 5-7 years, sometimes even 10 for some varieties, to reach maturity

- human sized

- called the "corpse flower" (because it smells like rotting flesh)

- weird penis shape

- variety called amorphophallus yaoi