#people will always be better than you. people will always be worse than you.

[isa-ghost]

Maybe this is extremely incorrect or narrow of me to think in some way, but

When you learn about Hitler's takeover in school, I feel like you always imagine it being so much bigger, even bigger than it already was, like more... I don't know how to explain it. Like it stopped every single other aspect of life for everyone ever. Because like. Y'know, gigantic historical event. Like unfathomable degrees of impact on a global scale, even if that was only the case after years of damage.

And yet here we (Americans) are, living through something that has terrifying amounts of parallels to the start of all that, and like... Nope. Life doesn't freeze, not everyone feels an instant tangible change for the worst. People are still living out their daily lives, doing whatever their version of mundane life is, whether it's working for less than minimum wage at a shitty retail job, doomscrolling on the toilet at home, seeking out somewhere to stay warm and safe, etc.

Like no matter what life is like for them, everyone is acutely aware one way or another that this is happening and ongoing, but chances are it probably isn't completely derailing their average day (I'm having a hard time wording this in a way that emphasizes there's an element of privilege involved in this and keeps the people who will be impacted ASAP by things like ICE raids and such in mind but the sentiment is there, sorry).

Like. This is the next 4 years of our lives. I'm a poor, queer, neurodivergent woman. And I'm still more privileged than some people despite being quadruple disadvantaged (for a lack of better term). But I feel like I'm living a death sentence despite that privilege. And you'd think that, given I feel that way, what's happening today and will be happening for the next 4 years would feel more real than it does right now? Like I wouldn't be sitting in my home completely objectively fine, casually posting here on Tumblr feeling existential and spending an embarrassing amount of time trying to word what I'm thinking in a way that isn't/doesn't feel ignorant in some way.

But no. We're on the precipice of god knows what and it's not consuming very single American's life including mine in every single conceivable way like how you (or at least I, I guess) imagine it was for every single person back before/during WWII.

I dunno, I guess I'm just really feeling like this meme right now.

And it's all only made worse by the fact that like. The election was rigged (said by Trump himself btw) and there are a million other blatantly obvious reasons this shouldn't be happening. And yet it is. Like not only do we have to endure unimaginable amounts of dread for years to come, but we have the knowledge that this should not be happening to begin with but everything is so fucked up and the people that could do something to stop it are so fucking stupid and only out for themselves that it's happening anyway.

Edit: Can't believe I have to add this, but zionists and neo-nazis get the fuck out of here. Please choke to death, actually.

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon - chapter five | formula one imagine

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

one big car launch with every driver in attendance - what can go wrong?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | SERIES MASTERLIST

whatever bright spark decided that formula one needed one big, fancy car launch must want y/n dead. here she stood in one of the many green rooms in a black dress that’s a little too tight and an absolute pain to sit down in.

on one side of the room george sits in his dressing gown being doted on five different people while he talks down the phone in a tone too loud for the crowded room. kimi, on the other hand, sits on the couch on the other side, having waved off all of the people trying to smear yet another cream on his face.

“are you just going to be haunting me all season?” george said as he hung up the phone. glaring at y/n through the mirror.

“if i’m haunting you, does that mean you did something wrong?” y/n gasps, “am i the skeleton in your closet, georgie?”

the mercedes personnel in the green room were still, almost waiting for it to hit boiling point and all spill over. george and y/n stared each other down, waiting for someone to make the next move. george steadily looked y/n up and down, not being subtle at all. y/n raised her eyebrow at the brit.

“i could get used to you in my colours,” george said with a smirk.

“bore off russell, i don’t wear anything for you. these will be seen as kimi’s colours before you know it.”

a knock on the door signalled the start of the show. george stood up and took off his robe, revealing the new mercedes racesuit for the season. the brit made his way to the door but before he left, he turned to y/n and said, “don’t get too comfortable, i have my eye on you”

“oh georgie, you always have,” y/n flirted before schooling her face, “and how has that worked out for you?”

the brit pointed to his racesuit, “better than it has for you.”

that was a low blow, but y/n was prepared to play it that way if that was the game for the season. george looked at her again, as if to challenge her, but y/n stayed silent though her stare was unwavering. she had said a lot worse about herself to herself after the crash.

with that george turned and left, calling out to alex down the corridor.

“i really don’t understand him,” kimi said, “it was only like a week or two ago he was cussing you out in monaco, then today he checks you out but then threatens you like two seconds later?”

“first lesson of the year, kimi. do not trust a word that man says to you.”

the pair linked arms and made their way out of the green room. there was a gaggle of drivers at the end of the corridor, all decked out in their racesuits except the ferrari boys who were in normal suits. the group fell silent as they all turned to see the new arrivals.

“i didn’t know it was bring your mum to work day?” alex called out as they neared the group, smiling as he came to hug her.

a french-accented voice hollered a ‘milf’ from the back of the group, y/n suspected it was pierre, but paid no mind. an offended squeak followed as y/n looked up to see max delivering a slap to the back of his head.

“i’m just dropping him off, i gotta get to my seat before i’m roped into an interview. i had to sneak in this afternoon, i swear sky sports are like stalking me!”

the group watched along as y/n leaned in to whisper into kimi’s ear, “remember what i told you. smile, be likeable and tell jokes. these people are underestimating you, let them. we’ll do our real talking in the car. good luck and try and have some fun.”

the pair did their ‘handshake’, which really was just a pinky promise, and broke apart. y/n looks back at the group one more time, smiles at max and takes her leave. just a couple paces down the corridor, a voice called out her name.

“y/n, hey!” lewis called, catching up to her quickly, “i didn’t think i’d see you back here tonight.”

“i wasn’t planning on it, to be fair. kimi is technically an adult now, but i still didn’t want to leave him on his own here of all places.”

lewis laughed as the pair looked back at the group. kimi had nestled himself next to ollie, quietly talking to each other with esteban looking over both of them. y/n caught the gaze of esteban and the frenchman gave her a quick nod before inserting himself into the conversation. the height difference between kimi and esteban was comical, but y/n was happy knowing esteban would look out for him in places she couldn’t be.

“i didn’t think you would like the whole mentor role, being so young and everything, but you seem to be doing a good job.”

“thank you lewis, but honestly he makes it very easy,” y/n looked at the group again with a fond look on her face.

lewis brought his hand to her face and made her look at him, “i thought i’d never see that look on your face again.”

y/n looked down and blushed, shaking lewis’ hand off. “i am happy. a lot happier than i expected to be, anyway.”

“i’m happy that you’re happy. i’m happy you’re back, i won’t keep my distance this time, even if you’re in the home of the enemy now.”

y/n laughed, “well i thought it was bad going back to your ex, and look at me now. so maybe they’re not as much as an enemy as you think.”

an announcement from further down the corridor cute the conversation there, lewis tries not to look bothered, but y/n can still tell.

“looks like you’re needed elsewhere, superstar,” y/n said with a wink, “try not to let charles outshine you too much.”

“he wishes.”

y/n watched him walk away and was confused. lewis had never expressed interest in her before, platonic or romantic. even when she was a young rookie with stars in her eyes, she was never on his radar. was she now? the visit in london had been weird and the way his eyes had been fixed on her since she arrived today was even weirder.

y/n didn’t really have the time to be grappling with that struggle today, not with everything else going on. the audience seemed like enough distance between her and lando, but after monaco, there was no real knowing what could happen. george was just as confusing as his compatriot, with harsh words but also a glimmer of something else too.

she needed a glass of champagne pronto.

max watched the interaction between y/n and lewis like a hawk, so focused that he didn’t realise that he had formed quite an audience. nico hulkenberg, kimi, ollie and esteban watched him try and conceal his feelings, but his face showed every thought.

“you want to make it any more obvious that you’re jealous?” nico said, nudging max to break him out of his daze.

“i’m not jealous, i just wonder what they actually have to talk about…”

“you’re not jealous you say? you didn’t even glare at him this much during 2021.” esteban chimed in.

max furrowed his brows and forced himself to look away. he already felt guilty for harbouring these feelings for y/n and now he’s faced with a curious look from kimi, making him feel even worse. he did not want to make the same mistake as lando and george had in the past. he meant it when he said he just wanted to exist with her.

“kimi, how would you feel about having max as your dad?” ollie said, hiding slightly behind esteban.

“he’s very good with the cats?”

“thanks, that’s such a glowing recommendation, kimi, thanks!”

kimi held up his hands in surrender but max couldn’t be angry at the italian - plus he did take very good care of his cats and brando. in fact, he had nearly thrown his back out, much to red bull’s chagrin, building a new cat tower so brando could watch the birds from his preferred spot. the cat had settled in well in his place in monaco while y/n had been staying, the dutchman didn’t want to think too much about what it could mean, but it was on his mind.

“i just mean i caught you googling how to make sure your cat is getting enough vitamin d because you were worried about how cloudy it’s been in monaco?”

kimi tried to backpedal, but his anecdote was overheard by more drivers, bringing them into the conversation.

“are you being for real? vitamins are just pseudoscience dude,” pierre said but isack popped his head into the circle to say, “vitamins are real? and vitamin d deficiency is actually a really huge problem.”

“thank you isack!”

“as if i’m taking health advice from a rookie,” pierre laughed. yuki took his turn to pipe up next, “i saw you eat a whole jar of peanut butter in one sitting last winter break? what do you know about health?”

“why is it gang up on pierre hour? why aren’t we focusing on the real issue here? like how pathetic max is about y/n?”

max sputtered as even more drivers joined the conversation.

“i am not pathetic. brando is practically my son. kimi back me up, doesn’t he love me?”

“he does -” kimi started defending max before charles butted in with a: “calling for help from the other son? we see how it is verstappen.”

this was a losing battle. max just hoped it stayed this light hearted but he saw lando and george approaching the group.

“max is not my dad, but i wouldn’t mind. he drove all the way to nice to pick up my parcel because i didn’t understand monaco postal charges!”

poor kimi was trying to help, but he was just making it inadvertently worse.

“this is making your pseudoadoption last year look like child’s play, oscar,” alex said, earning him a whack from charles.

“kimi is not my son, but that doesn’t mean i won’t look out for him. this is a horrible place to come when you’re already disliked. some people, not naming names, have made it clear they have a problem with him and y/n, so it’s simply my moral duty to look out for him.”

the group quietened down, looking amongst each other.

“why am i so out of the loop, who is bullying this literal child?” nico said, pulling kimi into his chest, the italian letting out a squeak as the german petted him. “so? do tell.”

for two people who were very eager to call y/n and kimi every name under the sun just a week ago, they were very silent in that moment.

“oh! we’re talking about the lovely cocktail party i threw that was ruined by lando and george!” charles blurted out, he grabbed fernando’s hand, “it was so nice, i even brought olives, but they came in spouting all this shit about y/n and kimi and seduction and older women?”

both brits scratched the backs of their necks. the cocktail party drama was not a good move from them, especially so close to the start of the season.

“it wasn’t quite like that?” george hurried out.

“you accused y/n of trying to sleep with me?” oscar said.

“you said that i was going the max verstappen route of getting with an older ‘problematic’ woman?” kimi added from nico’s side.

“you also kinda implicated yourself in y/n’s crash?” alex heaped on for good measure.

“alex!?” george and lando shouted, “whose side are you meant to be on?”

“i’m not on a “side” because i’m not fucking five, but i will point out hypocrisy and stupidity and that’s both of you. come on, it’s 2025 and you guys are still stuck in like 2017.”

“right, i feel really stupid because what the fuck are you people talking about and why wasn’t i invited to this party?” fernando said, a confused look on his face.

“lando and george are still hung up on y/n years later even though she never actually expressed interest in them, max has the best odds on actually sealing the deal and i don’t know, kimi is getting shit because he brought her back and none of them can actually regulate their emotions!” charles said, exasperated, “keep up grandpa, you’ve been here the whole time!”

“i do not have the ‘best odds’ because y/n isn’t a horse, you don’t bet on women?” max bit back.

“actually i bet on women all the time,” yuki said but when he saw how the group were looking at him he added, “ufc, duh!”

even as they were herded towards the backstage, the group continued bickering like children.

“all i’m saying is that your crush is super obvious and you need to be careful! y/n will know and will use it against you, just look at what happened with me and george!” lando hissed at max.

the dutchman glared at the brit, this really had gone too far. “can you like actually give me an example of where she ‘led you on’ i am genuinely curious,” max snipped, “quickly.”

lando immediately looked at the floor and bit his lip. max began tapping his foot with an impatient look.

“well she would be super flirty with me in the videos the team would make us film?” lando didn’t sound convinced, and max didn’t buy a single second of it.

“if that’s what you think flirting is i feel sorry for all of your ex girlfriends, you must be a horrible boyfriend - ouch!” charles was cut off by a shove from george.

“stay out of this charles!”

“i won’t stay out of this, y/n is actually a friend of mine. yeah that’s right she doesn’t hate me because i don’t assume that any girl who is fractionally nice to me is in love with me.”

“lando you basically tortured that girl her entire formula one career, do you need to do it now as well?” max said, “i think this season will be a lot easier for you if you drop this now.”

“is that a threat?”

“it’s a promise.”

all the bickering surrounding the pair ceased, tension rising in the air. the call for the mclaren boys drew lando out of his stare down with max. the brit joined oscar at the front of the queue and painted on his PR smile.

y/n had found her way to her seat, flanked by natalie pinkham on one side and jenson button on the other. there goes her plans for a quiet evening.

“so the rumours are true,” jenson said before jumping up to give her a hug, “i’ve missed you, rocky”

y/n flushed at the nickname. since her first ever race in formula one, jenson had crowned her his ‘pocket rocket’ which had eventually been worn down to just rocky. she hadn’t heard it in so long, jenson’s appearances being relegated to messages via sara or flowers that only gave away his identity with the use of rocky.

“did sky set up this seating arrangement? are you going to ambush me for an interview?”

“i can’t believe you’d think so low of me,” jenson clutched at his imaginary pearls, “and as if you can say no to me anyway.”

the pair took their seats as the show started. natalie handed her a glass of champagne and whispered in her ear, “you might need this.” well that doesn’t bode well.

the two mclaren drivers made their way out onto stage, joined by zak and andrea. y/n leaned into jenson, “i don’t understand why he insists on being everywhere, have we not suffered enough?”

jenson tried to stifle his laugh, “are you sure you don’t want to work in commentary?”

“i think it’s best i keep my opinion on these men to myself.”

the mclaren spiel followed the closely the same scripts they used when y/n still raced for them, though a healthy dose of constructors champions boasting had been added. a second questionable decision from formula one reared it’s head when nico rosberg asked his first unscripted question:

“so boys, how do you feel about the return of former mclaren driver y/n y/ln to the paddock? excited to see her?”

y/n swore she could see lando’s eye twitch from her front row seat. there was an awkward pause and y/n could feel the rest of the audience tense. even though the general public didn’t know the ins and outs of the fall out, there was definitely rising suspicion.

nico found y/n in the audience and gave her such a shit-eating grin that she almost didn’t care about the situation he just put her in.

“we’re of course over the moon to see her back in the paddock. i know i’ve harboured a lot of guilt as to how i ended up with my seat, so i’m happy that y/n can see me in action and hopefully i can continue to make her proud!” oscar said with a genuine smile, the only convincing one from the men clad in orange.

“continue to?” nico asked, “have you had confirmation of this?”

y/n’s eyes snapped to oscar who despite receiving glares from his boss, continued on.

“we spoke at charles’ cocktail party. i’ve always been a fan of hers and it was great to finally set the record straight. she was a lot more graceful than i would’ve been in her position. to be honest i was a bit of a weepy mess, but she was very supportive. i’m only slightly jealous of kimi…”

“very nice. did you get any insight on her opinion on hungary?” nico pushed, only to be cut off by zak.

“if you so desperately want her opinion on everything, you can wait until you’re on sky’s dime. this is a car launch, no? we’re confident in our car for this season and intend on winning both championships. and do you know how we’re going to do that? with the two drivers on stage right now, not one who was a flash in the pan four years ago.”

you could hear a pin drop in the venue. even lando had a shocked look on his face as he and oscar exchanged a look.

“that’s fighting talk from the man who ended her career, but what do i know?” nico said sharply but then turned to the audience, “ladies and gentlemen, mclaren!”

there was tentative applause from crowd and when y/n and oscar made eye contact she gave him a small smile. this was only the first team…

nico looked for y/n in the front row and gave her a thumbs up to which she shook her head violently. jenson burst out laughing, “well, i don’t think we’ll be having this as the car launch format again.”

“i don’t know about you but i’m throughly entertained,” natalie said, “if nico was like that with mclaren, i can’t wait for ferrari!”

the next few teams were decidedly less dramatic. y/n could see kimi and george lining up next to come on stage and she hoped the italian remembered her advice.

george walked on stage with confident strides, followed by toto and finally kimi. the italian looked out at the audience, squinting from the harsh lights but calming his features when he saw y/n. she gave him a thumbs up and got a smile in return.

“you’re loving this mum role aren’t you?” jenson said.

“you’re making me feel old, stop. but yes i would kill myself if anything happened to him, so i guess so.”

back on stage, nico had started his interview. first toto was being grilled about the hopes for the season and how life at mercedes would be without lewis hamilton. the german was clearly trying to bait his former boss into giving him a juicy soundbite.

“kimi, let’s come to you now. you’re first season in formula one and you’ve already brought in the big guns? y/n y/ln as your mentor, that’s a big statement.”

kimi looked startled and his eyes snapped to meet y/n’s. she nodded to him, urging him to answer.

“why wouldn’t i want a legend of the sport like her as my mentor? she still knows what she’s doing, and if it ruffles some feathers in the paddock at the same time, what’s the harm?”

she was so proud of her protégé. jenson choked on his champagne at kimi’s answer, “kids got balls.”

“well, well, well. you’re not beating around the bush are you? but do tell me, kimi, what’s so special about you that y/n would come out of retirement?”

“i’ll save that answer for australia, nico,” kimi said, surprised by the laughs from the audience, “but maybe i’ve just got a charm the rest of the grid doesn’t?”

“holy shit,” natalie said, “was this the strategy, y/n?”

“i told him to make them like him? are you not entertained?”

nico, for once, was speechless on stage. george huffed next to toto, waiting for his turn to talk. the german clocked onto this and a devilish smile broke out on his face.

“so george, you and y/n grew up together… do you not have charm? as far as we can tell, you haven’t spoken to y/n in years?”

y/n’s mouth dropped open. jenson was right, there’s no way this format, at least with nico hosting, was ever happening again.

“i have more than enough charm, thank you nico. are you going to ask us anymore questions about the season or is it all just tabloid questions from you tonight?”

“tabloid?! well, now that makes me think you’ve got something to hide… but as for your 2025 season, are you afraid that you might lose to an 18-year-old rookie?”

george sputtered in response, “i have no fear of losing, i just beat a seven time world champion, a rookie, no offence, has no bearing on my season.”

“that’s a big claim, george. you better hope you stick to it. it’ll be your sixth season in formula one, do you think you’ll finally be able to claim the number one driver role?”

george’s face was getting redder and redder as he tried to remain calm. he made eye contact with y/n briefly, giving her the subtlest glare he could.

“i think i made a very good case for myself for the last two seasons and toto has faith in me to lead this team back to where they should be.”

nico had a wolfish grin on his face, he was enjoying this psychological torture a little too much.

“you don’t think toto has more faith in kimi, a driver he allowed to skip an entire step on the junior ladder and is giving his formula one debut at just 18? and straight into a mercedes rather than say… a williams?”

george’s shiny mask was starting to slip. this was meant to be a fun event for fans but had descended into a nico rosberg masterclass of making everyone suffer - and for once y/n was enjoying it.

“classy as always, nico,” george said.

“it’s what i do best,” nico laughed to himself, “back to you kimi, are you intimidated at all by your senior teammate? do you think you can make a case for yourself as the number one driver?”

the italian paused for a moment, thinking to y/n’s advice - he needed people to like him.

“i’m more than happy to play a team game to bring mercedes back to the top,” he smiled to toto, “but make no mistake i’m here to win and i won’t just step aside without good reason.”

“well, this is a duo i’ll be watching closely this season. mercedes!”

the trio shuffled off of stage and y/n let out a sigh of relief, she could throw back as much champagne as she wanted now.

another couple of teams made their way past nico’s questioning, but as nico hulkenberg and gabriel bortoleto made their way off of the stage the audience held their breath. next was ferrari.

charles, lewis and fred vasseur made their way on stage, and as has become classic fashion, lewis situated himself as far from nico as possible.

“welcome, welcome. a different line up this year and much to think about, do you think you can finally bring the championship back to italy?”

fred started on what was likely a pre-written script and y/n tuned out for a second. the ferrari boys looked nothing short of glamorous in their tailored black suits with the yellow of the ferrari logo popping on the left breast. both men looked assured, no nerves, just pure confidence - the type of confidence that draws you to a person.

y/n caught lewis’ eye and he gave her a quick wink, something that did not go unnoticed by jenson beside her.

“what was that all about, rocky?” jenson whispered. y/n kept looking forward, ignoring jenson’s stare burning into the side of her head. the brit kept poking her, “i’m not going to stop until you answer me!”

y/n batted his hand away, “i don’t know what you’re talking about old man, leave me alone!”

“i saw that, hell, the whole place saw that! you are aware that is a man 14 years your senior!”

y/n downed her champagne and whispered to jenson, “listen, i don’t know what the fuck is happening! he came to my apartment and he’s being really nice? i don’t know?!”

jenson looked between the two and grabbed his own champagne. “i was teammates with that guy! you might be a grown up now but he’s really old!”

y/n slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her laughing out loud. jenson did have a point. was lewis actually flirting with her or was he just being nice? was she falling into the same headspace that lando and george were in with her?

“i am not going to get with lewis, jens. he’s just being nice, that’s all. now shut up i want to see if nico makes the brocedes breakup all of our problem.”

nico had finished his interrogation of charles and set his sights on his former teammate. y/n grabbed jenson’s hand in anticipation.

“so lewis, new team, new you? how do you feel coming into a team where charles has dominated for the last five years?”

lewis gives nico a forced smile, “i am excited for the challenge. there’s a lot of changes coming into this season, people leaving and new faces. it’s best to face a challenge head on rather than running.”

“you didn’t run from mercedes? you didn’t want to stick it out and retire with the team that gave you so much success?”

“you’d know all about running wouldn’t you nico?”

y/n dropped her glass of champagne and the rest of the audience gasped but nico did not look phased at all.

“i am happy with my decision, time will tell if you’ll be happy with yours. charles dealt with sebastian, don’t think he’ll roll over for you.”

charles looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but on stage and fred’s face would tell you he’s at the gallows rather than a car launch.

“was in your brief today to make the vibes in here as rancid as possible? as i said i am excited for the season ahead and nothing you can say today will change that.”

lewis took the lead and left the stage, leaving nico alone with a pleased look on his face. the german found y/n’s gaze again and wiggled his eyebrows. if there was ever a man you need to take the heat off of you, he was the one.

there was one final team to go and this entire nightmare of a night would be over. the final team was none other than red bull - nothing could possibly go wrong here could they?

christian, like the other team principals, started with a long-winded spiel that said a whole lot of nothing. y/n smiled widely when she caught max’s eye and he responded with an eye roll directed at christian’s rambling. the dutchman, for a second, had forgotten he was in fact on stage in front of thousands. the pair stare at each other and bite their lips to keep the laughs in.

jenson leaned in again, “not to keep questioning you, but what is happening here? and don’t lie, i know he’s the only one you kept in contact with and who you have been staying with in monaco.”

“it’s nothing! it’s something? i don’t know what it is? we’re just existing together. i think romance in the paddock is the worst thing for me right now. i need to be fully focused on kimi.”

“first of all - we’re exisiting together? that’s so fucking gross. and two - you’re still allowed to have fun?” jenson wiggled his eyebrows.

“not everyone can be the playboy of formula one, stud.”

“true. i’m not sure you have the devilishly good looks to be a playboy - hey”

y/n snatched his glass of champagne and turned back towards the stage just as max took to the microphone.

“so max, do you think there’s a chance of a fifth title in a row?”

max laughed in his signature way, “here i thought you’d gotten all of your aggression out with lewis. we’ll have to see how we line up against the other teams, but you always have to believe you can win every single race, so that’s what i’ll continue to do.”

a quick glance from nico told y/n that her peaceful night hadn’t started just yet.

“you’ll finally have your best friend back in the paddock, are you still excited even though she’ll be in mercedes uniform?”

“i think toto has another thing coming if he thinks she’ll be wearing that ugly uniform,” max said, “but it makes no difference to me what garage y/n is in, we’re like magnets, you can’t keep us a part for long.”

nico hummed, “is that why you were the only one she kept in contact with after the crash?”

“yes? it’s mostly because we’re best friends but also because i’m a decent human being.”

oh fuck.

“how do you mean, max?”

christian tried to butt in, “i don’t think we need to go into that here.”

“oh i’m more than happy to, and nico has been stirring all night, what’s just a little more to add to the pot?”

you could almost hear the audience shuffling to the edge of their seats and for the first time that evening, y/n felt some of the cameras on her. she gave them a small wave and hoped they would pan back to the actual action.

“all i’m saying is that there are a lot of victim complexes in the paddock, it’s full of people who would rather say ‘i don’t know why she doesn’t talk to me?’ rather than do some actual introspection. y/n will talk to you if you’re not an asshole, just as kimi.”

“so you’re saying there’s a truth to the rumours?”

“which rumours? you know, since your employers like to report on so many?”

nico chuckled, “well, the rumours that perhaps the brits in the paddock didn’t get on as well as we were led to believe?”

max smiled, “well, that’s not my story to tell, but i’ve found that if you ask them, they’re more than happy to give you the scoop.”

for a moment, y/n’s heart stopped, fearing that nico would take this as the chance to bring her into the fray. max seemed to sense this as well and added, “but as for me, i’m just happy she’s back in any capacity. i’ve missed my partner in crime.”

“have you spoken about formula one in her break at all? you won all four of your titles in that time?”

“i know she watched it, but we haven’t spoken about it. i respected her boundaries at the time, but i knew she was watching based on some suspiciously timed texts.”

nico laughed, “i’m not sure we can ever stay away from this sport for long.”

“i’m glad that is the case,” max said, more to himself than anyone else.

the red bull boys were ushered off of the stage as nico delivered his closing remarks and announced the musical guests.

“he’s glad that’s the case? oh he’s in deep,” jenson gasped, “you can’t tell me that’s nothing, i rebuke it right this second.”

y/n sighed, standing and heading to the backstage bar. “i really don’t want to think about it jenson.”

“but you’re staying at his house, he’s building shit for your cat and gushing about you on stage!”

“i am well aware, but i don’t really know what you want me to do about that?”

“i want you to get your man and let him treat you how you’re supposed to be!”

y/n picked up another glass of champagne, talking the biggest sip before replying to jenson.

“you’re just as bad as the girls on twitter sometimes.”

kimi bursts through the doors, back in his comfy clothes, and rushes over to y/n. she wraps the italian into a hug.

“i’m so proud of you!”

kimi blushes, rocking back and forth on his feet, “thank you, y/n! i’m so glad we’ve got this out of the way i’m ready to race now!”

jenson laughed along side them, “an eager one, this one. i remember when i had that much energy.”

the rest of the drivers flooded into the room, grabbing drinks or just taking a seat. max, much like kimi, made his way straight to y/n, also pulling her into his chest. he whispered in her ear, “i’m sorry i got carried away talking about you, i just can’t help myself.”

y/n can’t help but feel the butterflies in her stomach at the confession. she was really trying to keep her feelings out of her return to formula one, but seeing max like this was putting a real spanner in the works. the dutchman’s protective nature along side his intense respect for her made her feel special for the first time since the crash.

“i take no offence, maxy. i’ll never say no to a compliment, especially from you.”

the group moves away from the bar and as they settle into their seats backstage, max’s arm wraps around her waist. y/n knew she shouldn’t do it, not here in front of everyone but that’s what her heart wanted. the first few weeks into her return and all the drama was wearing on her and they hadn’t even made it to the paddock yet. she snuggled into max’s side, letting the dutchman brush her hair out of her face.

“y/n?” kimi said from the other side of her, “i’m really happy you’re here, and i hope you’ll let yourself have this,” kimi motioned to max, who was deep in conversation with jenson.

“don’t you worry about that, kimi.”

“you’ve punished yourself for years, please don’t keep telling yourself that you’re not allowed this. also don’t wait up for me, i’m going to crash at ollie’s”

kimi said as his departing gift as he went to catch up with ollie and watch some of the music. y/n let herself relax back into max’s hold and her eyes close, all of the pent up stress of the evening rushing out.

“are we really that boring?” jenson asked.

“do you want to get out of here, y/n?” max asked, when y/n flopped further onto him, he took that as his answer.

grabbing her bag, max took y/n’s hand in his and pulled her from the seat. the pair exchanged hugs with jenson and made a quiet exit from backstage. they tried to be as subtle as possible, but nothing is ever secret in formula one.

jenson slid in beside lewis at the bar.

“you want to tell me what your plan is with her?”

lewis looked at his former teammate in confusion.

“i saw that wink and i know you were flirting with her when you went to her apartment. what’s the plan, you’re 14 years older than her?”

“i don’t have a plan? i felt bad about how i was when she was in formula one, i’m just trying to make her feel welcome again.”

“and winking at her at a televised event is definitely going to help?”

lewis scoffed, “i don’t really like what you’re implying.”

“i’m implying that you need to watch your step, seriously. the vultures are just waiting for her to make one wrong step, don’t give them an excuse to call her a gold digger or anything along those lines.”

“and what if i said i did like her?”

“i’d ask you if you actually know her? you didn’t speak to her after the crash, you didn’t speak to her when she was in the sport so i’m confused to where this would have come from?”

“you can drop the dad act jenson, i’m just being friendly. it looks like max got in there first anyway.”

jenson hummed, “not everything is a competition.”

y/n and max climbed into max’s hire car for the weekend and finally let themselves breathe.

“that was a lot,” y/n said, slipping off her heels, “nico really was out for blood.”

“i found it entertaining, but that usually is a death wish for anything in formula one.”

the pair laughed, and as max turned the ignition, y/n’s taylor swift playlist crackled into life.

“are you heading back to your hotel or do you want to crash at mine?” y/n asked as she put her address into the gps, despite max knowing nearly every route across london to her apartment.

“a chance to avoid team duties for as long as possible? count me in!”

“so you don’t want to spend more time with me? just want to avoid your team?”

max placed his hand on her thigh, “you know i always want to spend more time with you.”

the streets were relatively clear at this time with the event still in swing. max weaved through traffic as they entered west london. the dutchman nestled his car in y/n’s spot for her pink cadillac that was still in monaco. y/n started to fiddle with her heels to put them back on, but max stopped her.

he walked round to her side of the car and picked up her up bridal style. y/n giggled and wrapped her arms around max’s neck. the pair made their way up to her apartment as fast as possible, but made sure to say hi to frank who not so subtlety gave y/n a thumbs up and a wink.

the apartment was quiet without the meows of brando who was also back in monaco with jimmy and sassy. max stopped in the kitchen to pour two glasses of water but y/n went ahead to the bathroom to wash off the grime of the event.

she slipped into bed dressed in her pjamas that consisted of some old gym shorts and one of max’s toro rosso shirts. the dutchman knocked on her door.

“come in, maxy.”

max made his way into the room, placing the glass of water on her beside table. he sat on the edge of the bed, “good night, try not to dream of me too much.” the dutchman leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead before moving back towards the door.

“max?”

“yes?”

“will you stay with me?”

“always.”

max got under the covers and tentatively reached out to her. sensing the apprehension, y/n turned over and tucked herself under max’s chin. his arms snuck around her waist and for the first time in three years, y/n finally slept peacefully without the images of her crash.

fin.

note: sorry this took so long, i've been a bit of a writing rut but i'm back!

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn@blueberry648579@dog-and-cat-person230@fastandcurious16@obxstiles@cosmicwintr@becca388510@savagittariuspy@tibadi @thisbitxhs-blog @finn-dot-com @scenesofobx @moofilms @alilstressyandlotdepressy @nana-love-bugzzz @mayax2o07 @obsessed-fan-alert @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @jajouska @poppysrin @mimimarvelingmarvel @jiyumie @heeseungthel0ml 

[the-oblivious-writer]

Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at The Twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

-----------

A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.

[coralearei]

Yandere MBTI: Mydei

Notes:

Based on the Yan!MBTI system made by @/ddarker-dreams

MDNI -- NSFW mentioned (nothing too explicit)

Word Count: 1,032

GN! Reader

Cruel - Aware - Honest - Lenient

Cruel vs. Reverent

Mydei’s cruelty sometimes comes in the form of verbal threats candidly describing what he has planned for you if you don’t acquiesce to his demands. These menacing remarks are clear, concise, and typically quite graphic— often he’ll threaten to fracture your ribs in the composed, casual manner he uses to comment on anything else. Many times, these threats will also accompany a smirk that doesn’t try to hide his exhilaration at the thought of pushing your limits.

That isn’t to say that he isn’t all bark and no bite… Mydei tends to enact physical affliction unexpectedly, without any sort of warning. He revels in your startled movements as he wills scarlet crystals to poke their keen vertices out of the ground, watching you skittishly flinch away just for another to take shape barely centimeters in front of you. He doesn’t particularly like letting the crystals impale you— a jolt or so is reasonable—  but Mydei prefers to do anything more severe with his own two hands. His touch isn’t much worse; his gauntlets feel just as solid against your skin as the crystallized blood you’re subject to on a regular basis.

Unlike the jagged gems, however, Mydei himself is far more rough with you, sadistically poking and prodding your pleading, shaking body. You can’t do much more than beg him to have mercy, to stop, and promise that you won’t make the same mistake twice. Whether or not you learn from situations like this doesn’t matter— whenever Mydei puts his hands on you, it’s not only punishment— you become a rather fine source of entertainment.

Aware vs. Delusional

Mydei doesn’t pay much attention to your own love for him— that isn’t what he wants out of you in this relationship. He also happens to be someone who harbors feelings of hatred deep within himself, and he can’t blame you for doing the same. Nevertheless, Mydei will tear down any sort of defiance on the surface level that you direct at him— that sort of behavior can be quite inconvenient and untoward to deal with. What really matters to him is your ability to follow orders and your willingness to obey.

Not unlike a lot of other people, you’re quite terrified of Mydei. This is something he not only knows, but uses against you. But he doesn’t only rely on intimidation, he’s also prone to enjoying the threats he gives you in order to force you to submit. You always do. That’s Mydei’s favorite part of your personality, or so he claims. The way you never defy him in the end might make him less of a lover and more of a predator— which he indifferently accepts. Mydei is all but used to hatred and strife anyways.

Manipulative vs. Honest

Mydei approaches you head-on, with no hesitation whatsoever. When you first catch his eye, he decides you'll be a pretty thing to keep around-- and he wants to have you. Your willingness to cooperate with Mydei is won over as a result of his adroitness, which you know better as his ability to humiliate you. He isn’t afraid to threaten you in public, and when he does, you never turn down his demands in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. When Mydei does win you over, he makes sure to treat you accordingly, like the good little trophy you ought to be.

Regardless of the torment his behavior causes you, Mydei isn’t guilty in the slightest about what he does to you. Verbally, he isn’t quite upfront with you about it, but Mydei’s actions speak louder than his words. He was born to rule a city-state that glorified battle and bloodshed, which is what led him to brutally murder the former king of Castrum Kremnos. Mydei doesn’t justify the way he treats you, unlike the case in which he killed his father— but he doesn’t need a reason to. His hands have already been stained with so much blood, both literal and figurative, so what’s one more instance of the suffering of another that he causes?

Ultimately, Mydei feels utterly indifferent towards your happiness, though he does tend to take a great amount of pride when your suffering is caused by his own hands. When he’s done with you, he’ll admires the wounds and welts that decorate your pretty skin, knowing that your every imperfection is the product of his handiwork.

Strict vs. Lenient

Though Mydei gives you some semblance of freedom while he’s away, you know that there’s so much more on the line if you do anything that might ignite the spark of his fury’s flames. And although Mydei is easily annoyed, there isn’t a lot you can do to truly anger him.

For the most part, he doesn’t have a problem with leaving you to your own devices. You aren’t plucked apart from your own life when Mydei decides he’s going to make you his; he inconveniently inserts himself into yours instead. In the early stages of your abruptly-begun ‘relationship’ with him, he’s around you as much as possible, which is quite often for someone who spends so much time on the battlefield. Even so, in many cases you don’t exactly see Mydei, but he’s sure to constantly make his presence known. It’s almost like you can almost feel him near you, though you can’t quite place exactly where.

Soon enough, he has to go to war again. You almost feel a sense of relief knowing that you really all alone now— assuming you are, of course. However, it’s not as if you’re completely let off the hook during Mydei’s campaigns, which can span up to several months at a time. He’ll find time to visit you more than a few times, much to your disappointed surprise. Mydei’s sporadic visits do not only serve as a method to keep you in check. They’re also for his benefit; brashly fucking you helps him release some of his pent-up anger. If you happen to be out and about when Mydei returns, he’ll find you regardless— you’re never able to get far. And when he does find you and return to his residence with you in tow, you always know to expect much worse.

[fear-is-truth]

dare i say ur the best squid game writer?? the namgyu hcs was def the most accurate depiction of his character ive seen ! showed his insecurities so well. chefs kiss. speakinggg of if ur taking requests from him. what abt reader finally breaking up w him? like tired of all the toxicity. how would he react?

BREAKING UP WITH NAM-GYU / PLAYER 124

a/n. omg tysm for the kind words !! i loved the idea for your request, and i hope i did it justice ! thank you again for trusting me with it ♡

at first, nam-gyu’s reaction would be pure deflection. he’d scoff, roll his eyes, and act like he doesn’t care. “fine, go,” he’d say, his tone dripping with venom. “you think i can’t live without you? watch me.” his pride wouldn’t let him admit how much it hurts, so he’d lash out, throwing barbed words your way in an attempt to make you second-guess yourself. it’s a classic manipulation tactic—turning the blame onto you, acting like you’re the one overreacting or being unreasonable.

but as soon as you walk away, he’d start spiralling—anger would segue into panic. he’d start analysing on all the moments he pushed you too far. there would be some level of guilt, but instead of owning up to it, he’d try to convince himself it wasn’t his fault—or worse, blame you for “giving up on him.”

when hours or days pass without a word from you, he’d start calling or texting, alternating between anger (“don’t you dare ignore me”) and desperation (“just tell me what you want me to do”)

when he realises you’re serious and not coming back, he’d oscillate between two extremes. on one hand, he’d try to manipulate you into staying by pulling every card he can think of: guilt-tripping, love-bombing, even reminding you of the good times to make you question your decision. he’d say something like, “you’re just gonna throw all of this away? after everything i’ve done for you?” or, “no one else will care about you the way i do.” not because he doesn’t care (he does care. a lot) it’s because he doesn’t know how else to express his desperation.

on the other hand, he’d also act like he doesn’t give a fuck to protect his ego. he’d put on a front, telling you to go and that he’s fine without you. he’d go to work, or use loads of drugs, just to prove (to himself more than anyone else) that he doesn’t need you. but deep down, he’d feel hollow. every time he numbs himself, it’d just make him think of you more.

if he’s really desperate, and you’ve been ignoring his attempts to get your attention, this might be the moment where he shows an almost childlike side of himself. he’d show up at your door, completely disheveled, and beg you to stay. he’d get on his knees if he thought it’d work, his pride be damned.

after the breakup, if you don’t take him back, he’d probably spiral even worse. he’d rely heavily on unhealthy coping mechanisms—drugs, drinking, or surrounding himself with people who don’t actually care about him. but no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, his mind would always drift back to you. he’d fixate on what he did wrong, though he wouldn’t know how to fix it.

if you did give him a second chance after all this, he’d try to be better, but it’d be a slow, messy process. nam-gyu doesn’t know how to handle his emotions or build a healthy relationship, so even his attempts at improving would be kinda flawed. but the fear of losing you again would drive him to at least try—though whether or not he can actually change is another story.

[flaxen-phoenix]

I used to work as a self checkout attendant for a certain Sammy's Bargain Bastion Boutique during the pandemic in 2020. Because no one was spending cash, we eventually went into a coin shortage. To compensate for this, we turned all the self checkout registers to card only. Now, the thing about SBBB's self checkouts is that when they're card only, they have two key differences:

1: they say "CARD ONLY - NO CASH PAYMENTS - NO CASH BACK" in big, bold white letters on a dark blue background on the title screen. I'm nearsighted to the point where my computer screen, less than elbow length away from my face, is completely illegible. Even I could read it without my glasses, from the opposite corner of the self checkout bullpen.

2: When you scan your first item, it doesn't go right to the item-scanning screen. Instead, it pops up with a dialog box warning you that the register is card only, and the narrator asking "Do you wish to continue?", and you can't scan your second item until you acknowledge the dialog box.

I swear to god I got so many people asking me "Why won't it let me scan my items?", and I had to point them to the dialog box preventing them from scanning any more items. It got to the point where they actually removed the dialog box because nobody would read it.

Naturally, that was even worse.

I had so many customers who didn't read the title screen, would go up to a register intending to pay with cash, and then they get to the payment screen, only to find that it doesn't accept cash.

In most cases, this was a simple fix: I could suspend the transaction and send them to a staffed register, which always accepts cash. The terminal would print out a suspension slip with a barcode on it, and then they could scan it to pick the transaction up at another register, exactly the same as where they left off.

However, I couldn't do this for transactions where part had been paid already.

Cue one customer pulling me aside and asking why he couldn't pay. I tell him the register he's at was card only. He had already paid partially with EBT, so I couldn't suspend the transaction, and there was a line forming for the ONE (1) register that still accepted cash. He only had six items, so I aborted the transaction, and he got in line. He was pretty pissed by that point, but then, four items into his transaction on the new register, he pulls me aside again and asks why his peppers aren't scanning. I scan them properly, first try, and he says "You wanna be a smartass, we'll take this outside".

My boss, meanwhile, was standing at another register, filling it with cash to try and clear the line up. On his way out, he turns to her and says "This place looks like shit, you better clean it up." Once he was out of earshot we both had a good laugh at his expense, though.

never forget the universal rule of the order of things: People Will Not Read It

[777bae]

PERFECT IMPERFECTIONS LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: You finally open up to Luke about a long-standing insecurity of yours

Warnings :: Insecurities (dark circles)

Word count :: 1.4k

The evening has a quiet, gentle rhythm to it, a calmness that feels almost sacred. The kind of quiet that can only come from being comfortably wrapped in the presence of someone you love, knowing that the world outside can wait for a while. You and Luke are on the couch, the soft light from the lamp beside you casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The glow dances across his face as he scrolls through his phone, the familiar sounds of his movements grounding you in the present. You’ve always loved these quiet moments with him—when nothing else matters but the fact that you’re together.

But tonight, something’s different. The sense of peace you usually feel when you’re near him is heavy, weighed down by an insecurity that’s been gnawing at you all day. You can feel it pressing on your chest, slowly tightening with every passing second, even though you’re trying your best to push it away.

You’ve always had these dark circles. As long as you can remember, they’ve been there. When you were a little girl, you’d stare at your reflection and wonder why your face looked so tired, even when you hadn’t done anything to earn that exhaustion. As you grew older, it became something you learned to live with—something you tried to hide, tried to mask. No matter how much sleep you got, no matter how many “miracle” creams or makeup techniques you tried, those shadows under your eyes were always there. They became a constant companion, something you never quite got used to, but had learned to accept.

And yet tonight, they feel more pronounced than ever. Maybe it’s the exhaustion that’s built up over the last few weeks—too many late nights and early mornings, trying to balance everything, trying to keep it all together. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been staring at your face in the mirror all day, looking for signs of something different, something better, and all you’ve found is the same tired reflection you’ve always seen. Your eyes look heavy. You look drained. Like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it’s written all over your face.

As you sit beside Luke, curled up on the couch, you find yourself unconsciously shrinking away from him, trying to hide the way you feel inside. You pull your knees closer to your chest, folding in on yourself as if to protect the parts of you that are exposed—the parts of you you wish you could change. You try to make yourself small, hoping he won’t notice. But Luke, being Luke, notices everything. He always does.

“Hey,” he says gently, his voice a soft anchor in the quiet of the room. He looks over at you, his gaze immediately softening as he notices your change in posture. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet.”

You try to offer him a smile, but it’s thin, insincere. It feels like a mask that doesn’t quite fit. You don’t want to burden him with your feelings, don’t want to sound trivial, but the words escape your lips before you can stop them.

“I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot about my dark circles,” you admit, the words hanging in the air between you, heavier than you’d intended. “I’ve always had them, you know? No matter how much sleep I get, no matter how much I try to fix them, they’re always there. And today, I just… I don’t know. I feel like they’re all anyone would notice when they look at me.”

The vulnerability in your voice surprises even you, and you immediately feel a wave of embarrassment, as though admitting this out loud somehow makes it worse. You brace yourself for the usual reassurance—the empty kind of comfort people often give when they want to make you feel better but don’t truly understand what’s going on inside. You’re so used to hearing it, to hearing people say, “It doesn’t matter to me,” or “You’re beautiful no matter what.” But you’ve always wondered if they mean it. If they can really see you, see the parts of you that feel broken, and still love you just the same.

Luke doesn’t say anything right away. His gaze softens, though, and you can feel his presence shift. It’s almost as if he’s studying you, trying to understand the quiet storm brewing behind your eyes. He moves a little closer, his body turning toward yours. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing over your arm, sending a ripple of warmth through you. But it’s not just the touch. It’s the way he looks at you—as if he’s trying to read every part of you, to reach the parts of you that you don’t even know how to express.

“Let me see you,” he says softly, his voice low but firm with the kind of gentleness you’ve always known him for. He doesn’t push you, doesn’t force you to explain yourself, but his words are a quiet invitation. An invitation to be seen, to be understood. “Look at me, babe.”

You hesitate, unsure if you’re ready to meet his gaze, unsure if you’re ready to let him see all the insecurity swirling inside of you. But when you do, when your eyes finally meet his, something shifts. There’s no judgment there. Only love. Only understanding.

“Those dark circles, the ones you think make you less beautiful? They don’t make you less, anything,” he says, his voice unwavering. “They’ve always been a part of you. And honestly?” He smiles gently, the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “I’ve always loved them. I think they’re beautiful.”

You blink, your breath catching in your throat as you try to process what he’s just said. “What?” you ask, your voice a mixture of disbelief and surprise. “But they—”

“They’re a part of you,” Luke interrupts, his hands now gently cradling your face, his thumb sweeping softly across your cheek, where those dark circles sit. “They tell a story. A story of you—of everything you do, everything you are. They show your strength, your effort, your heart. They’re not flaws. They’re part of what makes you, you. And I think that’s beautiful.”

His words are simple, but they sink deep. So deep, in fact, that you feel a tear slip down your cheek before you even realize it. You hadn’t even known you were holding it in, but the floodgates open, and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by the wave of emotion rushing through you. You’ve never heard someone speak to you this way before, never felt so seen in your entire life. It’s as if the parts of you that you’ve always hated, the parts of you you’ve always tried to hide, are suddenly being accepted without question, without hesitation.

Luke’s hands move to cup your face more securely, his eyes never leaving yours, and his forehead presses against yours, as if grounding you in his love, in his belief in you.

“I love you. And I don’t just love you despite those dark circles. I love you because of them. They’re a part of your story, and they make you, you. And there is nothing in this world that I would change about you.”

The warmth in his words wraps around you like a blanket, melting away the harsh edges of your insecurities, leaving behind only peace. You close your eyes for a moment, taking in his words, letting them sink in. When you open them again, you feel lighter, freer, like a weight has been lifted from your chest.

Luke leans in, his lips brushing against your forehead in the softest kiss, the kind of kiss that speaks volumes without uttering a single word. You let out a breath, a shaky laugh escaping your lips as you finally feel the truth of his words sink deep into your bones.

And in that moment, with his hands gently cradling your face, his heart open and steady, you realize something profound. The dark circles under your eyes, the tiredness that’s always been with you—they no longer feel like something to hide. They’re not a sign of something broken or wrong. They’re a sign of your resilience, your humanity, your capacity to love and work and care.

And Luke loves them. He loves all of you, dark circles and all. And for the first time, you can finally say that you love them, too.

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

WHISPERS OF TWO FREAKS KISSING

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!reader Summary: with no memory of the party, Monday rolls around and it seems like a lot of people do. Warnings: rumours? talks about kissing, underage drinking, getting high. brief mention of being a pornstar (imagination)

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You groggily open your eyes, sunlight filtering through your curtains, making your head feel like it’s been hit with a hammer. You blink a few times, trying to adjust, but the familiar surroundings of your room only make the confusion worse.

You stretch, wincing at the headache that flares up. A groan slips from your lips, your hand instinctively reaching for your bedside table for your water bottle. It’s then that you notice how dry your mouth is, the taste lingering, unpleasant and sharp.

You tug the blankets off your legs, slowly sitting up. The floor feels like it’s shifting under your feet, and you grip the edge of your bed to steady yourself. What happened last night?

There’s a lingering fog in your mind, moments, flashes, some you recognize, others are completely foreign. You know you were at Mike Lewenski’s party last night, but beyond that, things blur.

You rub your eyes, feeling a sense of dread, but you can’t put your finger on why. Did something happen?

You shake your head, the ache only intensifying. It’s probably nothing. Just a little too much to drink, you tell yourself. Still, your stomach churns as you try to piece together the night. But for now, the headache’s enough to keep you from thinking much more.

You just wish you could remember.

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Monday rolled quickly and probably for the better, the hangover you had was a killer and you're glad that it's gone so you can actually focus.

a few things came back to you here and there, but it was mostly you just dancing and wondering around.

you hated not being able to remember what happened, because every time you get drunk, you always get the feeling you did something to embarrass yourself

and the stares people gave you as you walked into the school made you wonder if you really had.

everyone had turned to look at you with judging eyes. making the hairs on your arm stand up in nervousness.

The weight of their stares presses on you, a flush creeping up your neck as whispers follow in your walk. Your stomach twists, and you can’t shake the feeling that everyone knows something you doesn't, their judgment lingering in the air like a cloud you can't escape.

but they couldn't be looking at you. you realise that when you turned around and watch as the couple everyone makes fun of behind you, hickeys all over their necks as they walked hand in hand together.

you visibly relaxed, knowing their judgy eyes were aimed at them and not you. their whispers were aimed at them, who you now remember were kicked out of the party due to almost having sex on the Livingroom couch, in front of everyone.

now that was relieving.

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You walked to the lunch table where all of your friends sat, your tray full of gross but tolerable food in your hands as you approached your table.

You felt the atmosphere shift as you passed a few tables. The usual noise of the cafeteria felt muffled, like someone turned the volume down. Your friends were sitting there, their heads turning just slightly when you arrived, their expressions too guarded to be comfortable. It wasn’t like how it used to be. You tried to ignore the knot in your stomach and took your seat, setting your tray down with a little more force than necessary, smiling despite the weird feeling swarming in the pit of your stomach.

But as you sat, you felt the weight of their stares. They didn’t greet you like they usually did. The silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d missed something, if you were being paranoid or imagining the tension in the air. You looked around, but everything seemed the same, except for the strange shift in your friends' demeanour.

"Hey," you began, trying to break the silence, your voice almost too loud. "What’s up? Why are you all so quiet?"

You awkwardly laughed as you picked at the pasta salad with your fork.

One of them, a girl you’d known for years, glanced at the others and then back at you. Her eyes darted away quickly, and she cleared her throat before responding, her words sharp and almost rehearsed.

"You can’t sit here," she said flatly, like it was an established rule, one you should already know by now.

You blinked, confused, looking at her, then the others. "What? What do you mean?" You glanced around as if maybe you missed something.

You were met with silence, and the smile on your face fell as you looked around the table.

"Did I do something wrong?" Your stomach churned a little, the unease sinking in deeper.

She looked away, and another friend spoke up. "You’re just... We can’t be seen with you anymore."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" you asked, the words slipping out too quickly. "What did I do?"

"Everybody’s calling you a freak... so... you need to go," the one on the end said quietly, like she was saying a secret.

Nobody in the group even liked her; she was always getting talked over and pushed away, which is why she earned a few eye rolls at her comment.

The first girl’s gaze shifted awkwardly, like she was unsure of how to continue. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, shaking her head. Finally, she sighed, resigned.

"You were making out with Eddie Munson at the party on Saturday," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but it still felt like it was echoing in your mind.

You froze, the air thick with confusion. You felt your heart race for a second, and you shook your head, your pulse quickening. Eddie Munson? The Eddie Munson? No way. That didn’t make sense. He didn’t even go to the party. Did he?

You racked your brain, trying to piece together the hazy fragments of the night, but there was nothing, nothing that connected you to him like that.

"That’s not true," you said, your voice firmer than you felt. "I wasn’t making out with him. I don’t even remember him being at the party." You tried to convince yourself, your words coming out too fast, too defensive, but they sounded hollow even to your own ears.

They just looked at you, blank, unfeeling. One of them even let out a short, bitter laugh, like it was obvious. "Everyone saw you," she said quietly, not meeting your eyes. "With him. Everybody's talking about it."

her hands crossed over her chest, and she looked at you like you were nothing, like a piece of filthy garbage.

you looked around the cafeteria to avoid your friends' harsh gazes and were only met with even more of them from all of your peers, staring at you and gossiping.

you shrunk in your seat, looking down and turning back in your seat, not daring to look back up at your friends as you stared at your food.

you were so confused

"That’s not... I-. I didn't. I mean, come on-" you stammered, the confusion growing with each passing second. Your stomach twisted into a tighter knot, the unease turning into something heavier, like you were sinking into the ground. You didn’t know what to say to them. You couldn’t even explain yourself because you didn’t understand what happened yourself.

"Doesn’t matter," the other friend muttered, pushing her tray aside and crossing her arms. "You’re not one of us anymore. You’re different, and we can’t hang out with you if you’re going to be a... freak."

Your chest tightened, and the room suddenly felt too small. You stared at the empty space between you and them, unsure of how to even respond. You wanted to scream that they were wrong, that they didn’t understand, but it felt like you were speaking a different language altogether. You never signed up for this, never imagined they’d turn on you like this.

They all avoided looking at you, each of them turning their attention back to their food or to whatever excuse they could find to keep from meeting your eyes. You didn’t know how long you sat there in silence, your body numb, your mind too full of questions to think straight. All you wanted was to sit with your friends, but now everything felt wrong. You never thought one stupid night at a party could change everything. But here you were, sitting across from people you once trusted, and everything was different.

"How could you think I’d do that?" you asked quietly, your voice shaky. The words tasted bitter as they left your mouth, like you were being forced to swallow something terrible. "I don’t even remember any of it."

But they didn’t respond. They just kept avoiding your gaze. You didn’t know what else to do, so you stood up, your legs shaky. You glanced back at the empty seats, the ones that used to feel like home. You didn’t know how it all got this twisted, but as you turned away, you felt the weight of it, how much had changed, how quickly everything turned upside down.

They wouldn’t even look at you as you walked away, the space between you and your friends feeling colder with each step.

you didn't know where to go, you looked around, your eyes still hung low as you searched

you had no other friends.

Then, your eyes drifted to Eddie’s usual spot. His table was empty. His friends were there, laughing, talking, completely unaffected by his absence. But Eddie? He wasn’t there.

he did it, didn't he? he wanted some kind of revenge, for what? you're not quite sure, but he must have told everybody.

which is why you stormed out of the cafeteria in search for him.

Frustration bubbled up inside you. Without thinking, your feet moved on their own, carrying you out of the cafeteria and outside, towards the bleachers. Your breath came faster now, your heart racing. you only had one location of where he'd be, because if he's not at his table, he's here, and you needed to see him, you needed to understand why he’d done this, why everything had suddenly turned upside down.

You wandered through the forest, your feet crunching over the dry leaves beneath you. The cool air did nothing to numb the knot in your stomach or the burning frustration in your chest. Your thoughts were a chaotic swirl of confusion, anger, and hurt, but one thing was clear- you needed answers. You needed to know why Eddie did this, why everything changed so suddenly.

The trees loomed above you, casting long shadows across the uneven path as you walked aimlessly. The further you got from school, the more your thoughts began to settle, but only enough to make room for the ache of betrayal to creep in. You bit your lip hard, determined not to let the tears fall. But every step you took felt heavier, as though the weight of the entire situation was pressing down on your chest.

Eventually, you came to a clearing, the sounds of the world fading as you spotted him. Eddie. He was sitting at the rundown table, the one you’d seen him at before when he did his deals. His fingers curled around a joint, the smoke curling lazily into the air. But what made your heart sink was the fact that he was alone.

His dark hair hung loosely around his face. He didn’t seem to notice you right away, too wrapped up in whatever was floating around in his mind. You stood there, just outside his sight, staring at him as the reality of the situation settled over you.

Your friends had turned their backs on you, your reputation trashed, and you couldn’t even remember what had happened that night. But Eddie? Eddie had known exactly what was happening. And now here he was, sitting in silence, as though everything was just fine.

You swallowed hard, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. Your heart ached in ways you didn’t even know were possible. Taking a deep breath, you finally stepped forward, a crunch of the dried leaves under your foot echoing throughout the clearing

Eddie’s head snapped up as he heard your footsteps, his expression shifting from a daze to surprise. His eyes were a little glazed over, the effects of the joint still lingering, but there was something in them that flickered when he saw you standing there, tense and uncertain.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice slow and a little rough, as if he wasn’t fully sure of what was happening. He took another drag from the joint, exhaling slowly as he looked you over, his gaze scanning your face for any sign of what was going on.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just stood there; the words tangled in your throat. The anger, the hurt, it all threatened to spill out, but you weren’t sure how to even begin. The confusion swirling around you was too much to process.

“What happened?” Eddie asked, his voice softer now, his eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion. “Why are you... why are you looking at me like that?”

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to keep your composure.

“You told everyone, Eddie. that- that we...at the...Party,” you said, your voice shaky, but trying to remain firm.

“You told everyone we made out at the party on Saturday, and now I’m just... I’m a freak like you.” The last part came out bitter, the resentment you hadn’t realized was building inside you finally spilling over.

Eddie blinked at you, his expression still clouded with confusion. He took another drag from the joint and paused, clearly trying to piece together what you were saying.

"Wait, what? I... I didn’t tell anyone anything.” His voice was slow, uncertain, like the words didn’t make sense to him.

You felt your chest tighten.

“What do you mean, you didn’t? Everyone’s talking about it, Eddie. They’re all looking at me like I’m... some kind of joke. They’re calling me a freak.” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of everything still made it feel like the air was thick, suffocating.

“How could you do that? How could you let everyone think that?” you stormed up to him, snatching the joint between his fingers as he goes for another hit and puts it out on the old wood he's leaning on

Eddie shook his head, his face filled with genuine confusion. He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he couldn’t process what you were saying, looking at the waste of a joint now smushed on the table

“I didn’t... I didn’t do anything like that. I don’t even remember... what happened at the party. I was drunk, and... I don’t even remember being there half the time.”

You stared at him, a cold feeling creeping into your chest. His words didn’t make any sense, but it was clear from his expression that he wasn’t lying.

“What do you mean you don’t remember, the story you're telling people makes it out that you remember a lot?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded slowly, his gaze softening as he stood up, the joint slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground.

“No. I don’t. But I swear, I didn’t tell anyone anything.” He took a step toward you, his voice more sincere now, the distance between you two suddenly feeling much smaller.

You shook your head, not trusting your voice enough to say anything more. The hurt was still there, but now it felt more complicated. Was it possible that Eddie wasn’t the one who caused all of this? But then, if he didn’t say anything, who did?

Eddie stepped closer, his hand hesitantly reaching out, like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Everything was a blur, your thoughts, your emotions, but his words, his apology, felt like something you hadn’t expected. You’d been so angry, so hurt, but now you just felt... confused.

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to think that maybe, just maybe, Eddie hadn’t been the one to cause this mess. But you didn’t have the answers, and the truth was, you were too lost to figure it out. So, instead of saying anything else, you simply took a step back, your heart still aching, but your mind too clouded to make sense of it all.

Eddie was silent, wondering why you've jumped straight onto his back.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence heavy and uncomfortable. But then, Eddie broke it, his voice quieter than before, almost too soft for you to catch at first.

“What’s the worst part of this?” he asked, his words hanging in the air. “Is it the thought of... kissing me? Is that what you’re upset about? Or is it that now you’re known as a freak...like me”

The question hung in the air, like a challenge, but it wasn’t harsh. It was just... sad. His eyes searched yours, trying to make sense of the mess, trying to understand what you were feeling.

you frowned, because what kind of question is that?

he shook his head, knowing what you're thinking

You stood still, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. Eddie's gaze was intense, like he was desperately trying to figure out where things went wrong. There was a flicker of hurt in his eyes, hidden behind a mask of confusion and a hint of defensiveness.

He leaned against the table, his grip tightening around the joint as he looked at you, his voice strained but sharp.

"So, what is it then?" he asked, the words coming out more accusing than he meant. "Is it that the idea of kissing me is so repulsive to you? Or is it just that you're embarrassed to be associated with someone like me?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold back whatever feelings bubbled beneath the surface. He was trying to figure out what was going through your mind, but in that moment, it almost felt like he was accusing you of something. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t, it was hard to tell.

"don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about, because why would you be acting like this?" he added, quieter now.

"You told me a while ago that you didn't think I was a freak, that you didn't want to be like them...but...your kind of sounding like them right now, so... why?" His voice cracked slightly at the end, and though he tried to mask it, you could see the hurt starting to creep into his features.

The frustration in his tone made you pause, unsure of how to respond. Was this about him being upset you didn't want to kiss him? Or was it something deeper, something more personal?

“What?” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

The weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said, the mixture of emotions on his face, hurt, confusion, and something you couldn’t quite name, only making it harder.

but Eddie was freaking out inside, how could he ask you that? that wasn't fair to you.

but he wants to know. would you say because you hated the thought of kissing him, but didn't care as much to what people think than that?

or you don't want to be a freak. would that mean you would be fine with the thought of kissing him

no- why does he always have to resort back to kissing you?

it's weird and creepy.

maybe he was a freak...but all he wanted to know was if you'd push him against the table and kiss him.

he wanted to know what your lips felt like on his.

Eddie what the fuck are you doing?! he thought, mentally slapping himself

Eddie’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he looked away. "Forget it," he muttered, his tone low and guarded now, like he regretted saying anything at all. "Doesn’t matter."

But it did matter. You could feel it. His words, his tone, the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes, it all mattered.

you didn't know what to think, you don't want to kiss him. you just cant help but think about it, you know? that doesn't mean you want to.

it's like how you think you could probably be a Porn star, but you'd never actually do it. that would be crazy, just like kissing Eddie would be crazy, right?

so, you don't hate the thought of kissing him as much as being known as a freak, but you'd rather not be called that.

and you definitely would never kiss him.

that's what's the worst part of this situation, you'd never do that, but people thought you did.

the worst part of this situation is that you are being accused of something you didn't do

but...now that you think about it.

you don't remember what happened...neither does Eddie

and if people saw it...

maybe it did happen.

maybe you did kiss Eddie.

cause where else would they get that from if they weren't told about it

you looked down and rolled on your ankles, not knowing what to say.

Eddie cleared his throat.

"Not to assume, or anything but uh- y'know if you have no one to uh...sit with. you'll always have a seat at hellfire...though I'm not sure you'd want to..embrace..being a freak or anything." he spoke. a light bite in his words as he packed up his metal lunch box with his 'stuff'

he walked back up to you and sighed "sorry..by the way..trust me...I know what it's like"

You stood there, watching him, his face still filled with regret and uncertainty, but he didn’t say anything as he turned and walked away. The words you needed, the comfort you hoped for, it all seemed so far away now, lost somewhere between the haze of the party and the mess that followed.

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ahhhh. sorry. I'M MAKING THESE SO QUICK I NEED TO SLOW DOWN BUT I CAN'T. but it's farrrr from done dww

taglist:

@exploding-bonbon @xlostitx @pupwrites @carolineesnell @foreveranexpatsposts @itsmadamehydra @thedoubleexposurephotography @g3n3zshack @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @emxxblog @nubedeoctubreval @bimboshaggy @sheneedsrocknroll92 @callmytherapistplease-blog @ifeelbadbutimhot @littlemissholy @sammybrrr @alastorssimp

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[thelov3lybookworm]

Journals (part 2)

Part 1

Summary: new realisations and hauntingly beautiful words

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Word Count: 2059

Warnings: heavyyyy angst, mental health issues, depression, feeling unworthy of love, panic attack, self harm (alluded to), self hate. thats all i can think of right now, but let me know if i need to add anything

A/n: based on old poetry by @garden-of-runar 🤭i had reblogged them to my drafts on a side blog that i dont use at all, so i couldnt reblog them on my main, but i have put them in the fic, so ig that works🤷🏻‍♀️ also, if i ever write a part 3 (which i might based on feedback) azzie would be the love interest <3

ALSO MY GIRLIE IS SO TALENTED DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED I LOVE THESE POEMS 🥹

(im also tagging people who asked for a part two hope u dont mind <3)

anyways, enjoyyyy!!

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Lying on the ground, despite how it hurt her joints sometimes, was one of Y/n’s favourite pastimes. Maybe because sometimes she did not have the energy to crawl into her bed, but that was not the point.

They hate you.

The hardness of the wood panels was oddly comforting, the way the grains sometimes raised enough for her to feel them with her fingers, the soft creaking when she stepped on them. It reminded her that she was here, that she was alive. That she was getting what she deserved for being so pathetic.

The soft mattress did not give her the same level of comfort. Sure, it was warm and cozy, but did she deserve it?

No.

You deserve this.

You deserve the worst.

Y/n sniffled, lying on her side as she lifted her hand higher next to her, dragging her nails down the planks, the feeling overwhelming in itself but better than not feeling anything. She watched her fingers jerk with the motion, pale and bloodless.

She could feel her tears collecting in a pool and seeping under her cheek. She glanced at the foot of the bed in front of her.

It looks so majestic from down here.

Do people who are worse off think the same way about me?

I don’t want them to. Because I am not worth being thought of like that.

I am nothing. I am pathetic.

It became harder and harder to take in a breath from her nose, as it continued to grow clogged from all her sobbing.

It was one of her least favourite things about crying.

Pathetic.

Stop it!

You’re pathetic. Crying over nothing.

You don’t deserve anything good.

The thoughts kept echoing in her head, louder and louder. She couldn’t breathe any longer.

And it was not because of anything physical.

Her chest began to constrict, forcing her lungs to let out precious air. She tried to breathe it back in, desperately wishing to cling to any remnants of oxygen like a child clinging to its mothers skirts.

Please. Just one inhale.

Her throat tightened.

Just one.

She gasped, futilely trying to breathe one last time to breathe before she knew she would collapse, faint because of the lack of air in her body. It gave her some reprieve, and her eyes focused back to the bed.

The longer she stared at it, the more drowsy she became. Her eyelids were drooping, and she finally, finally decided that maybe letting herself submit to her body’s needs wouldn’t be too bad, if it meant that the thoughts would stop. Maybe if she gave in to the tiredness in her bones after hours of sobbing, her mind would stop being so cruel.

Maybe it would take pity on her.

Maybe.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

"We should go out tomorrow!"

Y/n smiled a little. A rare smile that only recently had begun showing on her face.

It wouldn’t be considered a real smile. But it was still there on her face. The tilt of her lips.

We. Not me. We.

They wanted her to be present too.

Cassian jumped up, looking at Y/n with a grin. "I always wanted to take Y/n out to Rita’s."

Her smile grew.

The other members talked, making plans for tomorrow. Slowly, the conversation spiralled, as it always did between them all.

Azriel leaned close to Y/n, whispering jokes in her ear that made her giggle. Rhysand sat on the same couch as Cassian, fighting like children. Mor sat next to Amren, amusement shining in her eyes as she added fuel to the fire, while Amren looked like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

They talked well into the night, politics, food, court gossip bleeding into one another as the time trickled by.

But the moment the conversations wandered into their future, Y/n’s smile faded. She wondered, would they want her to stay in their life?

She didn’t have to wonder long, as the words they uttered were enough to give her peace.

They talked of vacations, of parties and new traditions. Of getting married, of being with their partners. Of celebrating lives and years and months, of celebrating ends and new beginnings.

They talked, and included her.

They talked in ‘we’s’. Not in ‘me’s’.

And that was enough for her little heart to be happy.

For it to heal, for the blood to return to her face.

For her to smile, free and unbidden.

But then, time passed. And just like the sand in an hourglass trickles away, so do all good things.

As she watched, the scene changed from only housing six people in the living room, to adding three more members. And slowly, she was pushed out.

And they began talking in ‘me’s’.

Some ‘we’s’, but it never meant Y/n.

No, it meant them. Them and their partners.

It meant Feyre and Rhysand. Their new lives and baby.

It meant Cassian and Nesta. Their new mating bond and blooming love.

It meant Azriel and Elain. Their growing infatuation.

Y/n doubted the infatuation had ended, as Azriel no longer sat next to Elain at dinners. Lucien’s visits to Velaris had increased too.

But everyone’s visits to Y/n and their thoughts about her had decreased. No one seemed to remember her existence.

And she deserved it.

They chatted among themselves, and the armchair she sat on vanished from under her, leaving her standing knee deep in the freezing snow. Watching from the outside as the warm interior that had seemed so welcoming just a moment ago turned into a nightmare.

Her worst nightmare.

It left her whimpering, leaving her to curl on the cold ground.

All alone, just like she deserved.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

It was almost sunset, and finally, Rhysand had built up the determination to read the damned journal.

He walked downstairs, peering into the living room before stepping in front of it.

Mor had departed after Y/n had left, tears in her eyes. Azriel and Cassian had been sitting in the living room for the whole two hours since then, staring into space, looking haunted and horrified at the way they hadn’t realised what was going on with their friend. Amren too, sat in an armchair in the corner, looking as unbothered as ever. But Rhys saw the cracks. The shifting eyes, the too hard hold on the book she held in her lap, the downward tilt of her lips more pronounced.

"I think it’s time we read the journal."

Four sets of eyes shot up to his figure.

"Are you sure, Rhys?" Cassian mumbled, standing up uncertainly.

Rhys nodded. "It is the only option we have."

Azriel sighed, mirroring Cassian’s movements and moving closer to Rhysand.

Feyre perked up. "What is going on Rhys?"

He clenched his jaw, guilt and regret festering in his gut. He had been so busy in his newfound happiness, so wound up in enjoying every moment with his mate that he had forgotten family. He had forgotten her to the extent his mate didn’t even know what the slight tang of copper in the air meant.

"Nothing, Feyre." He mumbled, turning away.

"Elain was asking-"

"Tell her to stop asking, then." Rhysand froze at the coldness in Azriel’s voice, his eyes going wide. Azriel never used that tone of voice with anyone outside of work, let alone Feyre.

Feyre stepped back, her calves hitting the couch as she stared at her friend in shock. "Az?"

Azriel pushed past Rhysand, making his way towards his study where the journal sat, looking as frustrated and unapologetic as ever.

After a shared glance, Rhysand and Cassian followed, Amren hot on their heels.

Azriel was already seated in one of the chairs at Rhysand’s mahogany desk, his eyes fixed on the journal that lay in the middle, his jaw clenched. He seemed to be the most affected, and Rhys only had the faintest idea why.

The four of them sat in waiting until Mor finally arrived, shutting the door behind her. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she sniffled lightly as she came to stand next to Cassian.

"Rhys, do we really have to read it? It will be an invasion of privacy."

Rhys swallowed. Thought it over. "We don’t really have a choice, do we? We need to figure out the root of this. She won’t tell us if we ask, we know that. Plus, she might already be way down the path of another breakdown after what happened today."

"That is why I think that instead of sitting around on our arses," Azriel ground out, "we should go and check up on her."

Rhys raised a brow, though concern festered in his gut. "Azriel, we’ve been through this before. She will feel worse about herself, thinking she inconvenienced us."

A muscle feathered in Azriel’s jaw, but he said nothing.

And so they began reading.

Rhysand opened a random page, his breath catching at the sudden tang of copper, and began reading. As he stared at the words before speaking them aloud, he remembered seeing the exact poem in a book he recommended to Y/n over fifty years ago.

Forgotten.That is my nameThat is the path I walkIt has been so longI don’t remember what it is like to be seenAnd I spill, my tears lining the path to the woods where my body lies,Forgotten.- from GardenofRunar

Instantly, Rhysand’s blood ran cold. He leaned back, exhaling. The pages were decorated in flowers and hearts, tiny little clouds and doodles in the margins so at odds with the thoughts spilled onto them like a hauntingly beautiful scenery.

At this point, Cassian and the others had moved to peer over Rhys’s shoulder. Rhys watched as Cassan reached over to turn the page with a shaky hand, pulling it back almost instantly as if the page had burned him. There, just above the words was a small handful of doodles, and he knew the small figures resembled the inner circle before Rhys had been taken under the mountain.

The poem was more a letter than anything, except it contained so few letters but thy hit everyone with a guilt so hard it was almost like a mountain fell onto them.

So like Y/n, to say so less yet still make an impact.

I didn’t forget about you.Can you say the same for me?Don’t bother.I know the answer.-GardenOfRunar

Under the poem, were a few words.

The poet is so talented. Every poem of them I read, it makes me want to sob.Maybe because I relate to these. Maybe that’s why.

Quiet sniffles came from Mor, but Rhys turned another page. It was the first page where blood began dotting the corners, a few drops on the center of the page veining out towards the edges, as if trying to exit but being unable to.

The almost poeticness of the sight was not lost on them. The blood droplets were almost like Y/n, trying to escape a cruel mind but unable to.

My friends are living lives, and I’m trudging through a million little days,Wasting away.- GardenofRunar

A hand snaked towards the book, slamming it shut. Rhysand jumped, his eyes flying to the owner of the scarred hand that appeared.

"Enough." His voice was still, quiet, but so cold it could freeze even the summer court over. And Rhysand knew. He was blaming himself for not paying attention to Y/n.

Rhys nodded, feeling guiltier by the second.

Everyone went back to their places, sitting in silence. Contemplating.

Wondering how they had become so oblivious to the point that they couldn’t see what was right in front of them the entire time.

The regret, the sadness was heavy in the air. It was getting hard to breathe it in.

Finally, Azriel stood, grabbing the book.

Then he turned, and walked out the door without a word, his wings pulled tight against his back.

And Rhysand wondered again.

Was this just some friendly concern, some self blame, or something else entirely?

Needless to say, suspicion took root. But guilt and hate overwhelmed it once more, and the family was left to sit and roil in it.

To wonder, how could they have been so busy that they ignored such an important part of them?

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

(ps. the first part in the memories/dreams Y/n has is based off this poem

You talk in ‘we’s’ Not ‘me’s’ And it heals my heart, just a little. Puts a smile on my face, just a little. You talk about a future One with me in it And I feel the color Return to my face. Just a little. - Runar

)

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[starrygazers]

cross my heart (hope to die)

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ haiii :3 I only write like once a year but that won't stop me from yearning for these new characters. I love Amphoreus because I was a Greek myth nerd growing up and this new update tickles me in aaaall the right ways.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ tags : angst, established relationship, mentions of character death

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ featuring : Mydei; minor spoilers for 3.0

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Mydeimos, the Crown Prince, has no fears. He tossed away his humanity when he embraced immortality, the tool that he needed to trek on this god-slaying journey. There was no room for fear, not when he had to fight the Titan of Violence. A man such as this was not capable of human emotions; or so he thought.

"So," you hum in a sing-song tone, draping your arms around Mydei's shoulders. "When will you take me to that new restaurant in Marmoreal Market?"

Mydei huffs, but makes no effort to peel your touch off of him. He turns around to meet your eyes; you're so close to him. If it were any other person, they would have faced the wrath of the Undying Lion.

You detect no change in his expression, so you start pouting. "Mydei! You promised me you would."

Mydei shrugs. "Did I?"

You roll your eyes, finally letting go of him and sitting on the empty spot next to him. "Dying doesn't exempt you from the promises you make, you know?"

The Prince can't help but crack a smile at this; you're the only person that he can comfortably joke about his immortality with. With you, it doesn't seem like the big deal everyone makes it out to be. Not the heroic Chrysos Heir trait that Phainon envies him for, or the source of worry for Aglaea and Tribbie. It's just another part of him that you've accepted.

Because you accept all of him.

You cross your arms and look away from him, mumbling about how the restaurant's been open for a month and it's not new anymore so there won't be as many people and why do you always have to go on such long expeditions, but Mydei shushes you by taking a strand of your hair and tucking it behind your ear.

A whisper of apology.

"It's okay," you mumble, extending your pinky. "Just promise again, for this life."

"I'll make a thousand promises if that's what you want," he says, and it comes out rough, like he's doing it to get you off his back. But you know better, you know him better.

He raises his own pinky finger to entwine it with yours. "How does the saying go again?"

"You're so forgetful," you laugh, and it's the most melodious tune he knows.

"Cross my heart..."

Mydeimos knows that he must suffer a thousand deaths, and a thousand more. He's content with this destiny, because he knows he is not given the privilege to choose. He must lay down his god for the glory of what little humanity he has left within him. He will trade a thousand lives for peace, and he will enter a losing battle with only his faith in the infinite lives that he has.

Perhaps this is what made him forget how flimsy a life really is.

In his usual boredom, Phainon once riddled him. "How heavy do you think the world really is? Like, a thousand Dromas?"

Mydei's response, in typical fashion, was to huff and call Phainon's musings irrelevant. But now, he thinks he can answer that question.

The world is really light in his arms. The world is pale, cold, and losing a lot of blood.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you manage to say before your last breath. Your voice is hoarse, but Mydei would beg Oronyx to loop it forever because he still thinks your voice is his lullaby.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He promised to take you to that restaurant, and many more. He vowed to bring peace to this world to one day crown you as his queen.

Mydeimos knows that he must suffer a thousand deaths, and a thousand more. But this was worse than death. For you, he would trade it all; his status as Crown Prince, his pride as the Undying Lion, his immortality.

A thousand life for yours.

"... and hope to die."

[thecreelhouse]

anxiety attack(ing me in real time)

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: The high of your shared love confessions becomes buried slowly over the following weeks, all thanks to your spiraling thoughts mid-flare up. You begin to believe you’re just not meant to be loved, but Steve has no problem challenging that absurd thought.

This is a follow-up to just a lover. could be read on its own, I guess, but you might be a bit lost. Read on AO3 here.

WC: 2.6k

Includes: hurt/comfort, some very brief smut, language, discussions of painful vaginal sex/anorgasmia, moderately detailed descriptions of some LS symptoms, angst, happier ending

A/N: yesterday (1/17) was lichen sclerosus awareness day, and this fic is a way to cope with quite honestly the worst year of my life with LS, but also a request for a fic with a reader who deals with anorgasmia. I hope it’s alright I combined the two— it helps for me to write about what I know, but I hope this still brings some kind of visibility and comfort to any readers with any sort of vulvar conditions and/or painful sex. love y’all <3 (divider from @/saradika-graphics, and title is from anxiety in real time - the maine)

Of all the torment your body drags itself through, nothing is as devastating as forcing yourself to keep distance from the one you love most.

It’s been weeks since Steve touched you— because you won’t let him. It took one severe flare up, starting a whole new treatment— even discussing surgery with your doctor, as a last ditch effort for your health and sexual wellness— for you to crawl back into yourself.

Beyond embarrassment, the way your body betrays you is isolating. Always has been. Always will be, it seems. Despite finding love in the one person you trust most, the one you’ve always felt safe with, this illness is still merciless. 

You had some hope, maybe, just maybe, after those first few times together— never fully having sex, only what your body could handle— there was a loophole to it all. That it just took being with the right person to be comfortable enough to actually feel pleasure, and genuine love, rather than agony and shame.

This body, though, had other plans. It always does.

Slowly, you drifted away; even if your rooms were across the hall from one another, it felt like you were miles apart.

Steve’s been empathetic from the start, checking in on you and your pain level, taking it day by day, keeping his promise of sharing “lazy days” with you, comfy clothes and all. Sex wasn’t a priority, nor did you believe he was ever that kind of person, but it was destroying you from the inside out that you couldn’t have that intimate connection with him. Not in the way you’d want, without caution beyond protection, losing yourself in the heat of the moment.

It’s as if the emotional wounds from this disease, with all of its life-altering symptoms, continued to get worse alongside your physical health. You used to be able to turn the thoughts off, float away in bliss with your partner, but the negativity only festered, rotting away a corner of your mind to make a permanent home.

Humiliation triggered erosion at the simple concept of only cuddling with Steve, or hugging him. The belief of becoming a disappointment to him seeped into your confidence; maybe you should push him away, so he finds someone better. Someone who won’t be such a let down, or distraught over their body destroying itself.

Your body wasn’t just destroying itself, it was destroying your relationship with your partner, your best friend, too.

Once the spiraling thoughts held strong enough, they were hard to shake. Even the mere thought of Steve holding you made your chest ache. An ache full of want, full of self-disappointment. You wanted to let him hold you, and you wanted to hold him, too.

But it didn’t stop the one prominent thought, driving you further away from him each day:

Some people are built for love— to love, to be loved— and maybe that just wasn’t you.

“That’s it, honey…” Steve murmured, forehead pressed against yours as he pumped a digit into you slowly, gently. You shuddered as a familiar sting drew itself up your slit. “Doin’ okay?”

“Mhm,” you lied, eyes scrunching shut with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. You were losing the tender moment, rather than losing yourself in it, feeling the pleasure slip through your fingers like sand.

“So good for me, so, so—“

Steve’s praise was cut off by an involuntary hiss from the pain; his hand stopped completely, frozen, afraid to move incorrectly and hurt you more.

“Hey, s’okay, we’re stopping—“ He’d cautiously pull his hand away, eyes flickering between his touch against you, and your expression. “… You don’t have your period, do you?”

Your eyes snapped open, falling to his hand; faint streaks of blood tinged the skin of his finger red.

“I’m sorry, I thought—“ Your eyes became glassy with tears, threatening to fall as you shook your head wildly. “I was hoping if I kinda… powered through it, maybe it’d feel better.”

Steve sighed, murmuring a “hang tight” as he slid off the bed, retrieving some clean, warm towels, and a first aid kit. It’s one he decided to make, full of things either of you needed, mainly for your flare-ups during intimate moments; back-up medication and all.

“Why didn’t you say something was wrong?” He kept busy with a tender touch, cleaning off remnants of blood on you. Shame began to swallow you whole, and the tears finally broke. “Hey, I’m not upset with you. I just wish you said something. I hate hurting you.”

“N- no, it’s not you, I promise!” This is where the whirlwind of panic usually tied to these flare-ups begins. “I’m sorry, I was— it’s— I didn’t mean to—“

He gently shushed you, hands warm as they rested on your thighs. “Lay back for me, angel.” You complied, conflicted by how sincere he was caring for you, and how mortifying it was for him to see this part of you. “Be honest if anything hurts, okay?”

With patience and love, Steve applied medication to your agitated skin with a feather-light touch. In time, the sharp sting and inflammation’s throbbing heat began to subside; it wouldn’t go away completely, not for a few days, maybe even a week, at least. This was better than minutes ago, though.

Though you were grateful through the guilt for his help, you hated whenever he had a close look at how fucked your anatomy had become, scarred over time from a majority of your life without a diagnosis, without treatment. The unkind thoughts began to convince you that you must look grotesque to him.

He cracked an instant ice pack, wrapping it in a washcloth before handing it over to you. “Your bed, or mine? Or do you want space?”

Ice pack held to your core, you croak out, “Yours, please.”

Minutes later, you were tucked in next to him, in fresh, loose clothing, physically feeling calmer, but mentally, you were a wreck inside.

“Talk to me,” he gently commanded. 

“It’s- sometimes it’s hard to—“ you huffed in frustration, eyes welling up with tears again. “Sometimes it still takes me longer than I’d like to finish… sometimes I don’t, at all. I thought maybe it was different now that we’re together, but it’s— I swear it’s not you. You know that, right?”

Steve rested his hand on your neck, fingers brushing along your jaw, behind your ear, in slow, soothing movements.

“I know. It’s out of your control. We don’t ever have to do anything.”

“But I want to—“

“And I want you to be safe, and not suffer more than you already do.”

There was no arguing that, not with Steve; you kept your mouth shut, trying to settle into the shared quiet before falling asleep.

Instead, your racing thoughts kept you awake; if you’d ever reach remission, finally feel something other than pain when Steve would touch you, or would he eventually become fed up and leave? You wouldn’t blame him.

Couldn’t hurt to give him some distance… right?

A knock echoes over the shower’s running water, but you don’t react. Instead, you stay curled up on the shower floor, knees pulled to your chest as you sit under the shower head. Body quaking with heaving sobs, you don’t hear the curtain as it’s pulled back, and it takes a few seconds to register arms around you, embracing you with extra care.

“Oh…” You look up to find Steve, leaning into the tub to hold you close, concern written all over his face. “Steve… you’re gonna get your shirt wet,” you mumble, hiccuping in between sobs. 

He laughs lightly, but it’s forced. “I can wash those, it’s— that doesn’t matter. What’s going on?”

You shrug.

“Angel, c’mon, talk to me,” he pleads. “Robin called me, said she could hear you crying from down the hall.”

Well. That’s a pathetic new low.

It hits you Steve’s still in his Family Video vest. “Oh my god— you— why did you leave work?”

He scoffs, exasperated that it’s not obvious. “‘Cause I love you, and you’re way more important than some stupid movies.” Pulling back, he peels his damp shirt and vest over his head, kicking his pants off too. He flounders around on the floor comically, struggling to get his pants off before realizing his shoes are still on.

You snort through your tears, curling his own smile just a smidge.

“Make some room, I’m coming in to bother you.”

That pulls a weak giggle out of you. “You’re never bothering me.”

Steve climbs in next to you, wiping water from his eyes as it hits his face. It’s a snug fit, in this tiny bathtub, but you make it work. He takes one of your hands in his own, gently kissing the back of your hand.

“Will you tell me what’s going on now?”

“Are you happy with me? With us?” It comes out like word vomit, surprising you, and it doesn’t stop there. “Because I— I don’t want you to feel like you have to be with me, if you feel bad, or you’re worried it’ll fuck with our friendship, and the fact we live together, and—“

“Where’s this coming from?” Then he begins to connect the pieces. “Is this why you’ve been so distant?”

You nod reluctantly, adding, “It doesn’t bother you that we can’t have sex?”

“If anything were to bother me about that, it’s the fact that I wish I could make you feel good when you want to.” His hand cradles along the side of your face, molding to your jaw as he sweeps his thumb along your cheekbone. You hesitate from leaning into his hold. “This is all out of your control… and even if it wasn’t, and you just didn’t care for sex, I’d still love being with you.”

Your bottom lip curls into a pout, afraid to let your eyes meet his own. “You’re not just saying that, right?”

“Are you kidding me? I loved you before we started dating, back when the most we did was cuddle. What makes me happy is spending time with my best friend, being in love with my best friend.” Not a shred of doubt lies in his expression. He maneuvers around you awkwardly, but eventually, he’s got your back to his chest, resting against him in the tub.

It’s soothing to have his skin flush against your own; intimacy and compassion without it becoming sexual. As much as you’d like that, it’s good to feel this, that it’s something he’s more than okay with.

“We’ve survived so much, that I’m just happy we’re both here. We’re both alive. I’m content spending time together however you want to, as long as you are.” He kisses your cheek, arms winding around your waist. “Has this been the same flare-up this whole time?”

You nod, sighing. “I kept getting… frustrated that I couldn’t finish, and eventually—“ Pausing, you remember he assured you in the past the gory, unappealing details don’t bother him; he’d rather you talk about it than downplay it. “I’m so mad I can’t experience what I did the first few times we got together. I’m angry I can’t connect with you in this way. It’s not everything, but I’d kill to feel…  normal when it comes to this shit.

“Thought maybe if I tried some toys again, I’d work myself up to do more with you, but that— I just… I’m only making the scarring worse. My skin has been tearing so easily lately. M’close to saying fuck it and getting surgery, ‘cause I can barely feel my clit under all the scars, and I’d really like to just… exist, without my skin tearing and fusing, and infection risks.”

Steve rests his head against the back of yours, asking softly, “What’s the ‘but’ here?”

“… But, there’s a chance it can fail. Worst that happens is… nothing.” Sniffling, you mirthlessly laugh over it all. “I go through surgery, I heal, just for my skin to completely fuse back together… but it’s gonna continue doing that anyway, even with treatment, it seems. So… might as well take the leap, I guess.”

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you, every step of the way.” He turns his palms upward over your lap, and you take the hint, lacing your fingers between his. Squeezing gently, he sighs softly in your ear, tickling your skin, earning a faint smile. “If you ever decide you wanna fool around, you have to be open with me. If you don’t feel good, there’s no point in continuing. And if you decide you never want me to touch you, even outside of sex, I can respect that, too.”

A small sob leaves your lips, shaking your head quickly. “No, I— give me time. If anything, I still wanna cuddle and kiss and all that… maybe more if this flare-up ever fucks off. Just kept thinking maybe if I stayed away, it’d be easier for you.”

“It wasn’t, but I understand you’re hurting. Like I said, I’ll respect whatever you want, but I hope it’s alright to say I missed this, being close like this. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. We’ll take it one day at a time, okay?” Steve runs a thumb over the pad of your own, grimacing. “How long have you been in here? You’re practically a raisin at this point, babe.”

“Oh, shit. I’m probably using up all of the hot water—“ You scramble toward the faucet, killing the water flow, cringing as you turn back to Steve. “Oops.”

He snorts, helping you up as he stands, too. “C’mon, let’s get in comfy clothes, then we can do whatever you wanna do.”

“Lazy day?” You softly suggest, earning a sincere, half-smile from your partner. He pulls a towel off the nearby rack, draping it around your shoulders before grabbing his own.

“Lazy day,” he affirms, enveloping you back into his embrace.

Though the thoughts try to creep back, it’s easier to shove them aside in his arms. Everything feels certain here. Safe.

While the two of you get changed, your gaze wanders, taking in Steve’s figure before he’s covered up. He’s just so… pretty. Even all this time later, your stomach still flips when you admire how gorgeous he is.

Steve throws a sweatshirt on, catching your less than sneaky stare. You clear your throat, rushing to toss a shirt on while rambling out,  “I really am okay with kissing, though. Like… really, really okay with it. Very okay. A-okay.”

He breathily laughs, pulling you back against him, only to hold you. “If you’re okay with it, I am, too. And if you change your mind, that’s also a-okay.”

“Well…” your hands grip his hips, glancing up with a tiny smirk, feeling more at ease than earlier today. “Just ‘cause I can’t do certain things, doesn’t mean I can’t make you feel good still.”

Blushing, Steve’s eyes widen. “I- I don’t— you don’t have to do anything, that’s not fair to you—“

“What if I want to?” Your question comes out sweet, and it’s genuine; you still love making him feel good, at least. There’s ways to go about that without worrying about your health. “Would that be alright with you?”

“Uh-huh,” he breathes, hyper-aware of your body against his. You lead him over to your bed, gently pushing him back onto it.

“Good.” Crawling up over Steve, it’s satisfying enough to watch how dazed he’s already become. It’s a compromise you’ll gladly take. You brush your lips against his, speaking softly, “‘Cause I got a lot of time and touch to make up for.”

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

They say a meteor is going to crash into Texas. Buck turns away from the TV – not even Taylor can deliver such news without a shocked face – only to be met with a satisfied expression on Gerrard's face.

“God’s punishment,” says the interim captain.

Unfortunately, he doesn't mean himself, because if you ask Buck, Gerrard is definitely a punishment from God. Bobby has to undergo what is supposedly a routine operation, and as if that weren't stressful enough – for Buck –, Gerrard has once again taken over the helm. Is that guy really the only available fire captain in the whole LAFD?

“We're far enough away from Texas, don't wet your pants, Buckley,” he says, patting Buck’s shoulder before he leaves to annoy somebody else. 

It's hard to escape such news, though. It seems to be the talk of the town; most of the people they're helping today seem eager to be putting their pain and problems on hold for a moment. 

“There's always someone who's worse off,” says Hen, ”it helps people to relax.”

“Sure, I'd rather be in a car accident than be squashed by a meteor,” Chimney remarks.

Buck doesn't want to imagine it, which is why his thoughts go into overdrive, and he's still somewhat agitated in the evening.

“Statistically, around 20,000 meteorites fall to Earth every year,” he explains to Tommy while they’re preparing dinner. 

“You mean those that are bigger than 3.5 ounces,” says Tommy casually, peeling the carrots. “Small ones happen almost every day, but you don't notice them. And big ones are rare anyway.”

Buck, who shouldn't be surprised by anything Tommy does, almost cuts his finger and puts his knife down.

“How do you know?”

“You think I haven't seen the news?”

Popping a slice of carrot into his mouth, Tommy grins. “A meteoroid is a piece of rock that is usually knocked out of an asteroid by a collision. When the meteoroid enters the atmosphere, it sometimes causes a luminous phenomenon, a meteor. And only when it touches ground it’s a meteorite.” 

“Y-you looked that up because you knew I was watching the news.” A somewhat embarrassed expression crosses Tommy’s face, scrunching his nose in that adorable way. 

“Too much?” he asks.

“What? No! You knew I'd spiral over the news, and…”

“Just because you have a very compassionate heart,” says Tommy with a wink, taking his hand. 

“Right,” Buck huffs in amusement. 

“Of course,” Tommy replies, while his hand squeezes Buck's, ”it's certainly not because you're worried about Bobby, or because Gerrard is constantly breathing down your neck, or because everyone has probably told you that a meteor will definitely not hit L.A.”

Maybe the man is a clairvoyant. Or maybe he just knows him too well by now, which is a much more heartwarming explanation. Because in fact, it wasn't just Chimney who – with the best of intentions – told him that an earthquake is statistically more likely than a meteor strike. 

“You're right,” says Buck, wrapping his arms around Tommy, ”but do you know what actually fueled my anxiety? One more natural disaster, what does it matter?”

Tommy raises a brow, but he doesn’t object. Because that’s another thing he knows by now: when it’s necessary to speak up (oh, they’ve worked on this, together), and also when it’s better to remain silent. 

“I was thinking about where I would want to be when something like that happens. I was thinking of all the people who’d not be able to make it to their loved ones in time, who would have to say goodbye over the phone. I couldn't help but think of those who would lose everything, not just their own lives.”

“That's dark,” Tommy breathes into Buck’s hair. 

“Maybe. But it was also somehow reassuring, because I knew where I wanted to be.”

“Right here,” Tommy says, holding him close. 

“Right here. And do you want to know something else?”

“Hmmm?” 

“The fact that you learned all this facts for me is extremely sexy.”

Tommy looks at him, “Oh?”

“Yes, oh,” Buck replies, laughing. “Disasters can wait, kiss me.”

[scrubbinn]

Mimic HRT: month ??? “Fulfillment”

“Alright, see you later, Grace.”

 Floating in the void, Mayday waved as another headmate floated away into the ether. She had made a habit of communicating with her others during her time here. It was surprising how many there were here, how long she had been suppressing them. But here, with no one else to talk to… it was nice. Pleasant even.

“You like her, don’t you?” 

Laborer rested next to Mayday, the first one of them to reach out, Often getting into fights with her, but always trying to steer her onto a better path. Laborer didn’t really fit them anymore. More like a navigator.

“N-no! I mean… She’s cool, I guess… Shut up you nerd!”

Definitely like a sibling.

“So. What now?” They asked. “You've met all of us. At least, everyone that I know is here. You still want to stay here?”

Mayday thought for a moment. The image of a doorway back home came to mind. There probably was one somewhere, but it'd been so long since she stuffed herself in here. What was the outside world even like? Did anyone look for her? Did anyone ca-

“You're spiraling.”

Her mind halted as she processed the words. It still wanted to continue her thoughts, but there was something about the words coming from them that made her reconsider. They carried the tone of “of course I know what you're going through.” She decided that maybe she could just rest a bit first. 

“Does it ever get easier?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.” They spoke with a cheerful tone despite the topic. “Maybe for some, but not us, that's why we're here. To help ease the burden. But I know staying here, just because it's what you're used to, isn't helping. You know that too, don't you?”

“It's where I should be. I'll be a burden to everyone else if I leave. And you won't be there with me.”

“We will though.”

Mayday could feel the presence of her headmates grow closer. Her attention turned to the warmth of those around her. The friends and family that had always been there. Now finally visible to her. Despite such physical impossibilities of the void, it felt like a big hug from so many people. She found it hard to imagine this many people actually wanted her. She wanted to cry, but she had no tear ducts to show her joys and sorrows. Maybe she wasn't meant to stay in the void alone. Maybe she would come back here, but it wasn't nearing anytime soon.

“Maybe sounds like Mayday, that's probably why I'm so wishy-washy.”

A voice next to Mayday starts laughing. “Where the hell did that come from? That's the lamest attempt at sounding clever.”

Mayday laughs too. “I felt like being a bit silly.”

This was a new feeling for her. Completion? No. It was just happiness. Not the kind you have by playing games or going shopping, but the kind you're aware of, the kind you can hold onto and bring it close to your chest. The blanket of joy that lets someone sleep well at night. It was like sitting In a sunbeam.

“What if I end up doing something bad and hurting someone?”

The navigator spoke “You won't.”

“But what if I do something stupid, or I mess up, or I get worse and I end back here?

“You won't.” They chuckle at the reassurance.

“But how can you be sure!? I'm a monster, I might decide to abandon all of you.”

“You won't, and we won't leave you, we've been here. We've always been here. I don't know why we're here, or how long we'll stay, but we won't abandon you.”

“But, but… You could handle things so much better than me.”

“Mayday. This stopped being my story so long ago. It's yours. You're doing amazing.”

When Mayday opened her eyes, she was sitting in her room at THEMS, right in the middle of a sunbeam. She was back in Hyper city. At first she was terrified. Where were the others. Would she never be able to talk to them? But faintly, she heard the words in her mind. She calmed herself, breathing slowly. She checked her phone. Three months had passed since her trip. This was going to take some explaining to everyone.

Mimic HRT: Month 27 “The End”

“That's quite the story.” Dr.Gates spoke softly as the mimic in front of him had finished recounting her tales.

She had been appointed a therapist by Erian and Alexis after her runaway vacation. She didn't mind. It was probably about time, and all her previous doctors sucked.

He spoke again in a soft tone. “So, do you feel better recounting everything?”

“Yeah,” she spoke, matching his tone automatically. “It's helped us come to terms with what we are. Sort of.”

“Do you still have those nightmares?”

“...Yeah… I, don't think they're ever going to go away, but they don't panic us like they used to. Still the same dream: halfway through eating my friend's bodies, and any wounds start shapeshifting back into healthy flesh, then suddenly Miller, or Erian, or Abi crawls out of one of the bodies. I wake up eating my bed frame. At least they're over quick.”

Dr.Gates writes something down before speaking. “Abi appearing alongside Miller and Erian is new. Did something happen between the two of you?”

Mayday bites off a part of the couch she sat on. Dr.Gates didn't seem to mind.

“We broke up a while ago. Mutual. And we're still friends. Besties, even. But, between our transition, and explaining our plurality. She said she stopped recognizing us after a while. I guess I get it… Let's talk about something else, please.”

“Of course. Is there something else you wish to speak on?”

She sat and thought for a while, she didn't actually think of something else. Her confusion and frustration became apparent.

Dr.Gates interjected into her thought process. “How is your work with Erian going?”

Mayday perks up. “It's going great! I mean, we're still looking for new clients, but besides that, we're looking into new ways to support therians with detailed timelines of what their treatment will look like, and actual documents with guides, procedures, and resources for those starting their journeys. There's a lot. I, er, we want to create the tools we never had for everyone that comes after us.”

“That's quite a noble task, I look forward to hearing your progress on it.” 

He quickly checked his watch after a small beep came from it.

“Our time is almost up, one last thing before you go though. I want to ask for your progress on what we've talked about last time, with how you see yourself.”

Mayday couldn't help but let out a sigh. That's what most of her journey was, slowly accepting what she was, all of the struggles that came with it.

“I think…” She spoke softly. “I think it's really easy to blame yourself when things go wrong for being who you are. Although some of my problems were my fault. But… maybe that's what therapy is. Learning to not blame everything on yourself. It sounds like basic kid's morals, when I put it like that. I think we just lose sight of it easily… I'm a mimic. What that says about me, how I act, how I see myself, how I see the other parts of me, it doesn't matter anymore. I like being a mimic. Faults and all.”

The polar bear smiles. “A very nice thought, Mayday. I think that will end today's session. I'll see you next week.”

Mayday smiles back. “See you around.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Start - Prev

Thank you to @ashen-vulture for letting us use the character of Dr.Gates

So yeah, This is the final chapter of Mimic HRT. It was originally going to be posted on Friday, but after hearing about Dragon HRT, we decided to wait until now. What does this mean for this blog? Well, you might have noticed it took about a month between the previous chapter and now. We've been busy. With friends, work, studying, and learning to draw and code in RenPy, we've been busy.

So here's the new project! We're going to start working on an Animal HRT visual novel. Obviously this projects will take a while, but we will still be writing smaller stories for this blog in the meantime.

Hope all of you enjoyed Mimic HRT. Thank you for all sticking with this series. Love yall lots, and see you for the next project.

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Mention list: @a-shramp, @calliecwrites, @be702, @respectfulevil, @hyacinthdoll1315

@aster-is-confused, @bloodandbrandywyne, @glitchgloop, @nyxthewary, @lunadook

@celestemysterios, @i-am-trans-gwender, @reliablegal, @bookmothic-dyke, @fluffytransfemkittykatwitch

[moontheoretist]

Better yet. I met people who claimed he is not mean, that he actually respects you and that you have I quote "adult consenting relationship with him" and maybe he does after the changes devs made after all those Ascended Astarion girlies complained, but it doesn't change the fact that he is not himself anymore, that he sacrificed himself for the power and that any relationship you have with him is just an illusion of equality. You will never be his equal and he will always see you as his possession rather than the person who is an equal partner to him. If that was removed then maybe I'd believe that you can have an evil x evil ending with him, but otherwise you are just his favourite toy.

And it's not just Astarion.

Gale, Shadowheart, Lae'zel and hell even Wyll. All of them can make a bad choice that they think they need to make until you show them it's not the case. Three first need to reject themselves for the sake of the power and security that is offered to them, while the last (Wyll) needs to lean into his prejudices and misguided notions in order to reject his own values for the sake of fulfilling the contract with his patron and not only gaining power but becoming the fake hero who condemns rather than listens, that he never wanted to be. If not for you Karlach would be dead as Wyll would not question and just assumed Karlach was evil. Same for Shadowheart and Lae'zel. Without you neither of them questions Shar / Vlaakith making them play into their abuser's hands. While Gale without you would just simply blow himself up just as Mystra told him to at first opportunity, or just like Astarion he'd just reject himself in favor of something that will never be him - a God.

Still Bad versus Good ending is not necesarily about morality.

In dating games this is simply a distinction between outcomes. The character in question may even enjoy the outcome despite it being virtually worse than the Good Ending version they would get instead. Still, it doesn't mean that people can simply just say that Bad Ending is actually a Good Ending simply because they say it's a better choice because no matter how happy or fulfilled character may seem, at the end of the day it is a bad outcome for them. The one that often ends with them harming themselves deeply in a way that can't be healed.

And player is often the one who let that happen.

The lack of media literacy in the baldurs gate fandom is astounding. There's a good ending for Astarion and a bad ending for him and people keep picking the bad ending for him and being shocked when he's mean to them LMAO.

[torturedpadfootdepartment]

Prongsfoot Bingo 2025 Prompt: Love Letters

TW: implied/referenced child abuse

—

Dear Prongs.

Sirius never sends the letters.

He just writes them.

It starts after his first summer away from Hogwarts. He doesn’t like to go back to 12 Grimmauld Place. Something happens to his mind when he goes there. He forgets what it’s like to be around people who like having him around. He forgets what it’s like to be heard.

So he writes these letters to remind himself of who he is outside this house.

Away from a mother whose dark eyes probe his appearance for something to find fault in—his windswept hair or misbuttoned shirt or the anger always curled underneath his skin. Away from a father who can’t be bothered to know him. Away from a little brother he can’t seem to stop disappointing because Sirius can’t hold it inside like Regulus can, can’t stop himself from saying how he thinks or feels because to do so would be to feel like he isn’t alive, like he’s burying himself in the ground and can’t breathe under the dirt.

Even if it means their mother will scream, and oh, she screams, both her and Sirius do, until their throats hurt and Sirius worries they’re more alike than he lets himself believe.

You’re nothing like them, James always tells him. Sirius isn’t sure he believes it, but he wants to, wants to be the version of himself James sees.

Maybe that’s why he always addresses the letters to James.

They weren’t supposed to be love letters.

I know you’re in love with Lily, that you always have been. Just like I know that one day she’ll figure it out, what she’s missing out on. She’s perfect, and it’s inevitable, and I don’t mind it, not really.

And maybe it does hurt, sometimes. A little bit. To know his feelings will never be reciprocated. But this crush, these feelings he has for James…they feel like this beautiful thing. They’re a reminder that he still has a heart, that it still works even though the people who brought him into the world showed him they don’t deserve it.

You showed me what it is to find home in another person. So why would I ever not want you to find the same?

James was never supposed to read them, the letters. But when Sirius runs away, he clutches them in his hands. His body’s still reeling from a curse. The letters feel like a light guiding him back to his mind. He can’t bare to leave them behind.

He doesn’t mean to pass out once he passes through James’s fireplace. He doesn’t mean for James to read them.

Can I tell you a secret?

I fought with my parents before I ever got to Hogwarts. Not because I thought they were wrong, but because I liked it, the thrill of fighting back.

It was meeting you that made me want it. To be better. To be good.

When Sirius comes to, he’s in James’s bed. James is on a chair to the side, his body folded over Sirius as he snores. In a sleepy stupor, Sirius fondly runs his fingers through the curls of his best friend. He doesn’t quite remember what happened, nor is he sure he wants to.

But then Sirius sees the letters on the bedside table and freezes. He feels a tug at his wrist and sees James peering up at him. “Don’t go back,” James says, as he moves to sit on the bed. “Ever. Promise?”

Sirius’s throat catches. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Instead, he watches his own hands twist the bedsheets. “Did you read the letters?”

James nods. “They were addressed to me.”

Sirius can’t bare to meet James’s gaze. He’s afraid of what he’ll find in the familiarity of brown eyes that remind him of firewood, of warmth. Anger, maybe. Or worse, pity. Disgust.

“Any chance you can forget what you read?”

James shakes his head and hands Sirius a piece of parchment. Is James seriously going to make him read his own humiliating love confessions back to him? But when Sirius sees the handwriting, it isn’t his own.

Before Sirius can think about what the note means, James is tilting Sirius’s chin. His eyes aren’t angry or pitying or disgusted. They’re something else, something Sirius doesn’t dare to name.

“I’ll write you more letters,” James says. “I mean, they’re not really my thing, but if that’s what it takes for you to realize that I love you back, that I have for a while, then that’s what I’ll do.” There’s a cheeky grin on his face, and Sirius doesn’t understand, can’t understand.

“You can’t—”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Siri.”

It’s a stupid nickname, one used to stop Sirius from using his favorite pun and one only James is allowed to call him. That doesn’t stop Sirius from opening his mouth to protest its use, but then James’s mouth is meeting his. It’s a mouth he’d only ever thought that he’d get to kiss in his dreams, but if this is a dream, it’s the best one he’s ever had.

It’s a kiss that lights his skin on fire, a kiss that makes him whimper for more, more, more as his hands pull James closer. It’s a kiss that feels a lot like destiny, that tastes a lot like cosmic dust and whatever soulmates are made of. It’s a kiss a love letter would never be able to describe.

Dear Padfoot, you’re my home too.

Crosslisted on Ao3.

[transmutationisms]

like there is a (usually subconscious) perception among medical professionals that any degree of patient self advocacy is a threat to their expert status & simultaneously in psychiatry specifically it's ultra important that everyone toe the line because these aren't diagnoses that you can like physically document even.

hgkgj3m i was diagnosed by a psychiatrist with "cluster b" in the psych emergency for patient self advocacy and not backing down on seeing a pain specialist after years of jumping through hoops to no avail... also said the opioid epidemic was a result of gross medical neglect in overprescribing and was now resulting in gross medical neglect the other way w underprescribing

diagnosed with Extra Not A Disorder, i think they literally couldnt decide which "this person is manipulative and sinister" disorder to give me, for undermining their expert status and that of doctors everywhere by not accepting being patronised and pathologised (tried to blame it on hrt, Maybe i would Change My Mind™) and suggesting doctors could be responsible for causing harm ^_^

this patient thinks she knows so much and is better than Me she must be a narcissist... but shes manipulating me she must be evil hysterical woman... but she's icky trans so maybe she's a sociopath (male coded)... but she's making such a big deal out of this maybe she's histrionic... eh it's not like these disorders have quantifiable symptoms lets just say it's the whole category

alright so i generally think this isn't an issue of overprescribing per se (i think drugs should all be legalised and available lol) but one of lying about the risks—whether or not someone 'needs' opioids for a broken ankle, they do need to be told that opioids have addiction potential, and that is information that the sacklers were massaging out of their trial data and that doctors in turn were not telling their patients, even after it was very obvious to anyone doing followups that the risk existed. & like i say this as someone who did start doing opioids because they were around the house lol. i don't think the answer here is that doctors magically become able to determine with pinpoint accuracy who actually 'needs' the drugs—there is no way to eliminate human error from that process, for one, and anyway i think people should be able to make their own decisions on substance use in general. but you have to be doing that with actual full information. but i do certainly agree the underprescribing is an issue—this has always been a problem for people with chronic pain/illness, and media coverage of the 'opioid epidemic' (scare quotes bc i think the epidemic framing is a bad one) has certainly made this worse.

anyway though. this is funny cause i initially got shuttled to psychiatry because i was trying to get my chronic fatigue diagnosed, and i definitely think asking for pills was a factor in the psych deciding i was bpd or hpd or bipolar or whatever he even said lol. you always have to do this little song and dance with them where you showed up to the office of the prescribing professional but now you have to pretend you're not looking for a prescription becsuse if you want it too much that's Bad obviously. and then because PDs in particular and psych diagnoses in general are vibes based, it's literally just the psych announcing in medicalese that they don't like you. if you look at the criteria for some of the PDs they even explicitly include points for how the patient 'makes' the doctor feel akajaksajs like literally i diagnose you with im doing transmisogyny to you