#she does call out rachel a lot

[boltgunkiller-archive]

it’s so irritating that everyone likes santana for the wrong reasons 🫤 i mean she is funny and i like the mean girl trope but the whole idea of “haha she’s so mean she’s saying the stuff everyone wants to say” ?? amazing job you fell for exactly what she wants to convince you of

[longmaxsilvarg]

will forever have a soft spot for chloe cause yeah dawg i get it we can try to avoid becoming attached out of the overwhelming fear of being abandoned again but miserably fail together

[maxlarens]

I got a lot to say so it might be long,

starting with, thank you for the Charles smau and the Lando fic <3

it took me time to choose an emoji lol but I've been doing an internship and time goes by way too quickly, but I decided to go for the strawberry one 🍓

and since you said you wanted to write for driver! reader, and that she was very intense about driving, maybe you can write something about her racing while she's sick/not feeling well but she still wins the race

woo hi again!!! literally no big deal! i hope ur internship is going well, it’s awesome that you’re doing one!! but yeah literally real life is always the priority as much as i’d also like to spend all my time on here lol. but anyway yay the strawberry is super cute 🍓🥺

and YES lol driver!reader is consuming my thoughts right now. i have other things i should be writing instead of this but i smashed this out in a few days😭 i decided not to make it a win because i have a thing brewing for driver!readers first win and i didn’t want to use up all my ideas for that. anyway!!! as usual thank u for the ask and pls enjoyyy 🤗

OP: extraordinary machine

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: you push yourself to your limits. (also sorry i simply don't know enough technical terms about racing for this to be fully accurate but i hope it works)

word count: 3.4k+

Here is a fact— you’ve got a fever of 39.4 degrees.

Here is another, indisputable fact— you’re racing in Imola today.

The fever had come on overnight after a persistent tickle in your throat all weekend. A mildly sore throat had turned rapidly to a snotty nose, full body chills and sweat pouring off you like you’d just run a marathon. You’re wearing a puffer jacket over your racing suit and it’s twenty-nine degrees out. You feel freezing, you feel delirious, and you’re eating Sour Patch Kids by the handful to keep the sugar rush going. Your race engineer, Rachel, keeps telling you that it’s okay if you can’t race. George can step in, I promise. You keep telling her I’m fine. I’m fine. I can race. But the expression on her face says she doesn’t believe you.

You’re telling practically everyone who’ll listen that you’re getting in that fucking car today. Rachel, George, your mum who keeps calling. Lewis keeps looking at you like you’re about to keel over and die and you want to scream at him you did this! Brazil 2015. You had a fever. You got on the podium. If I can’t do this and you can, what does that mean? But you don’t because that’s your 39.4-degree fever talking and this isn’t about being better than Lewis. It’s about knowing without a doubt that you can still get in that car and race your ass off.

Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from Susie that reassure you that you’d be disappointing no one at all if you had to let George take over this race. You’re not letting down women everywhere and you’re not letting down the team. I know Susie, you keep saying, but I’m still racing.

You know you’ve got to convince Toto when Rachel starts a hurried conversation with George and he starts grabbing his fireproofs like it’s a sure thing he’ll be driving in your place. Bundled up in your coat like it’s the middle of winter, you stomp over to Toto’s office and barge in.

“I’m racing,” you tell him without any preamble.

His head snaps to look at you, expression only mildly surprised— not that you would even notice if you didn’t spend so much time around him. He gives you a once over, eyes lingering pointedly on your jacket and then he raises his eyebrows, “It is twenty-nine degrees outside.”

You suck your teeth in frustration, “I know. The car will be hot. I can race.”

He frowns.

You plead, “Toto. Do not take me out of that car. I can do this.”

He shakes his head, “I can see you sweating from here. You’re not well.”

You shake your head frantically, ignoring how your vision starts spinning, “Let me race. If I fuck up you can put George in the car for Monaco. If I fuck up you can even replace me. I don’t care. Just let me drive today.”

Toto’s face pinches in the way it does when he’s considering something, you can see cogs turning in his head as he evaluates what you’ve said and decides if he should listen to it.

He sighs, “I am not putting that kind of ultimatum on you,” your heart stutters and stops in your chest, and you hold your breath, “Okay. Against my better judgement, I will let you race today.”

You let out an audible breath, it edges out into a sob that makes your aching body curl into itself. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment to suppress the urge to give in to your fever. It would be easier to give up, it would be easier to let George take your seat for the race so you could crawl into bed and cry the fever out. But none of this has ever been easy for you. You’ve fought tooth and nail to get here, you won’t forfeit a race and let people say you took the easy way out.

You look up. Toto looks concerned.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.”

You practically stumble onto the asphalt before the national anthem, passing your coat off to Rachel while your trainer wipes your forehead with a towel as if you’ve just finished a full-body workout. Your shoulders feel tense, you can’t stand up straight without shuddering so you’re hunched over awkwardly hoping it doesn’t come off looking too strange.

People are still milling about, setting things up while the drivers assemble. You don’t really notice on account of the fever state you’re in, but you end up standing between the McLaren boys. You must brush against Oscar because he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a line and his eyes wide like a puppy dog. You get lost in them a little— because of the fever. Definitely.

“Dude,” Oscar says to you, “You’re really hot.”

On your other side, Lando breaks into a fit of laughter. You frown, your brain trying the puzzle through the sentence. You feel foggy, your eyes feel heavy. You need more Sour Patch Kids, or a shot of espresso, or five Red Bulls. Max could swing it for you.

Oscar leans past you and swats at Lando’s shoulder, “She’s burning up, stupid.”

Lando’s laughter pauses, and he says seriously, “Oh shit.”

Suddenly, you’re being twisted around and you’re wincing at the contact on your shoulder that makes it ache even more. Lando puts a hand on your forehead and then immediately rips it away.

“Eugh. You’re sweaty.”

The back of Oscar’s hand replaces it. You twist away, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a fever,” he tells you, his voice thick with concern for you, “Have you told anyone? Does Toto know? Lewis?”

Instead of answering you press a hand over your eyes and crack your neck, trying to work through some of the stiffness in your back. You roll your shoulders and stand up as straight as possible, pushing through that aching, sickly feeling that runs through your whole body. When you finally drag your hand from your face— a thin sheen of sweat coming with it— Oscar is staring at you with a deep-set frown on his mouth. At his shoulder, Lando looks at you with a markedly less severe, but still concerned, expression.

“I’m fine, Oscar,” you insist.

You’re not. He knows you’re not. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to seem weak. Not barely thirty minutes before the race. You can’t have either of them thinking you’d be easy for an overtake or that you’ll back out of a fight first. Off the track, fine— you’ve been vulnerable and honest with both of them at times. On the track is a different story. This is Formula One. You’re not here to make friends. They are not here to make friends.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “Pretty sure you’re not.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Lando adds, “Can see it from here.”

Something white-hot and pissed off flares up your spine. Oscar is not this kind of person, even on track; but the suspicion that he’s just trying to eliminate you as competition rises anyway. You think it because if the situation were flipped, you’d be weighing the pros and cons of having a sick driver on the track. Their weaknesses, what it means if they’re distracted. It doesn’t make you a good person, but you’re already pretty sure you aren’t one.

“I am fine,” you bite.

Oscar’s expression drops. Into something not quite offended… accepting, maybe? Resigned? It closes off to you, is what you mean. That’s fine, you’re trying to close yourself off to him. You’re re-drawing a line that you’ve been crossing without a thought for at least two years now. You’re not here to make googly eyes at Oscar and let him put his hand on your fever-ridden forehead and have him reprimand out-of-line, so-called professionals for you. You’re here to get in that car every Sunday and put your life on the line for a shiny trophy and fucking glory. Even if you’ve got a fever. Even if you’ve got a weird crush on Oscar Piastri.

“I’m racing,” you add in a different tone, feeling as if you’ve been a bit harsh on a well-meaning Oscar, even if you mean what you’re thinking.

Oscar nods, and says, “Okay,” in a way that really means, ‘If you say so, then it is’.

In the car, on the tarmac, sitting in your starting grid position, you’re shitting bricks.

Your cheeks are squeezed tight into your helmet, you can feel sweat, slick and soaking through your balaclava. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your ass hurts where it’s pressed into the seat. You’re not crying, but your mouth— hidden away by your helmet— is open like you’re about to. Set into a grimace that you breathe raggedly out of. Toto says something over the radio before the lights go out, you don’t hear it. You’re too busy regretting how earnestly you’d begged him to let you race. It would have been better if George had taken over. It might have been better if you’d passed out during the national anthem so you really had no choice but to sit it out. No one could say you weren’t committed to this sport if that had happened. They’d have plenty to say about women and their weak constitutions though.

You’re on autopilot when the lights go out. One second you’re freaking out like it’s your first time in a car, the next second everything is fading into background noise and you’re fighting a Ferrari and a McLaren for your original grid position. Twenty of you tear down the straight to turn two and you find yourself slotting easily into what you think is P4. Ferrari— not the same one— in front of you. Your mirrors reveal the McLaren behind you. It’s Oscar, you’re sure. You can tell by the way he sticks to your ass. Every nudge of the car you make he makes with you.

You press the radio button, “That Piastri behind?”

Crackle, “Yeah.”

“Knew it. He’s up my butt, Rach.”

“Okay. Go faster then. Not sure what to tell you.”

You make a face. You weren’t looking for sarky advice, you were trying to commiserate. You press the button and make a vaguely mocking neh-neh noise that gets a laugh and then radio silence because you’re supposed to be fucking concentrating. Which, okay, fair.

You press the throttle, done with trying to manage your tyres for the moment and taking Rachel’s comment as permission. You tear away from Oscar, stopping his fight to overtake you through the chicane in its tracks. You start slowly gaining on the Ferrari in front of you, its red rear wing growing closer and closer.

“Sainz in front?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Rachel confirms before rattling off some lap times when you ask for them.

By lap thirty-something, you’re on Sainz’s ass like Oscar was on yours. You’re fighting him through every chicane, threatening him on the straights and generally behaving in a way that you know for a fact is putting him on edge. But Carlos isn’t giving up P3 without a fight.

A safety car goes out around lap forty, and you pit. Everyone ahead of you does as well. Oscar doesn’t, Oscar is lucky to have gone in earlier. Rachel tells you he’d made up four places after being forced to box for some tyre issue. You feel a strange mix of pride and jealousy swirl in your chest as you all file into a discordant line behind the safety car.

Verstappen leads the pack, as per usual. Then Oscar, Sainz and you. Leclerc is behind you, then Lando. You’re in P4, right where you started and right where you’ve been fucking sitting the entire race so far. twenty-five laps to at least make it onto the podium. Then you’ll be happy. Or not quite happy, you’d need pole for that. Content. You’d be content.

Max starts weaving. The safety car goes off and Max keeps you all ready and waiting until the exact millisecond that he decides the race can properly begin again. You hate when he does this— you know that’s exactly why. Eventually, finally, he gets going.

You have to run defence like crazy for a few laps to keep Leclerc behind you until everything is warmed up. The gap widens as you drive. At some point, you stop worrying about the Monégasque so much and focus your attention on car fifty-five like your life depends on it. The laps fly by as time ticks on. Twenty-five to go, twenty, fifteen, ten. You’re back on Sainz’s rear wheel, a gap of 0.2 to 0.3 that’s been consistent throughout this last stretch of the race. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of. Somewhere you can push, somewhere he’s weak. It’s hard— he’s covering all his bases. Not giving you an inch so you can’t take a mile.

You’re closing in on sixty-four laps— with only three to go— when he gives you that fucking inch. It’s in the first chicane. His wheel locks up, and he jerks the car slightly the wrong way, something like that. You get in his space and you push and he backs out first. You press down on the throttle and rocket past him, shouting FUCK! FUCK YES! to yourself.

P3. P3. God, you hope it’s P3.

You press the talk button, “Rach?”

“Yes, P3,” she barks, “Fucking, focus. Three laps to go.”

Those last three laps of Imola are some of the hardest of your life. Defending against Carlos is a task, of course, but it’s not even that. The sickness starts to creep back into your awareness as the adrenaline that had hit its peak during the overtake starts to subside. Two laps to go and you’re remembering the fever again. The sweat soaking your hair and streaking down the back of your neck. Your whole body is on fire and it aches everywhere. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of your skull. You want so badly to close your eyes and drift away to sleep, but the car is flying through the air demanding your attention with the way it thuds against the track. You’ve got one lap to go and Carlos is on you like white on rice. You can’t afford to make a mistake until you’re firmly over that finish line.

So you don’t. You grit your teeth and you refuse.

Carlos is downright reckless in the last chicane, he tries to bait you by moving to one side and pushing but you’re not going to fall for something like that even if you’re near delirious from the 39.4-degree fever. Though surely it’s higher now, the car temp can’t be helping. You hardly realise you’ve crossed the finish line because you’re thinking so hard about how lightheaded you feel. On instinct, you slow down to a safe speed as Oscar’s McLaren enters your vision, but you think your toes have pins and needles and there’s some feeling tingling up into your shoulders. You blink hard and take a long sip of water so you can make it to the pits before your head starts to spin.

Crackle, “Where are you going? That was P3.”

“Huh?” you realise you’re following the other drivers instead of heading into the pits where you’re supposed to go, “Shit. Sorry.”

You edge back as carefully as you can, avoiding other cars that pass by, lucky you’ve not overshot too far so you can turn into the pits and park your car in front of the P3 sign without going around the entire track. That would be embarrassing. Or that would be more embarrassing than how disgusting you’re going to look when you take your helmet and balaclava off.

Toto, Rachel and a few of your engineers are there to meet you at the barricade when you clamber out of the car, unsteady on your feet. Rachel’s eyebrows are furrowed as she tries her best to smile at you, trying to put on a brave face even though you can tell she’s concerned you’re going to keel over. You brace yourself with a hand against the gate and tear your helmet off, then your balaclava. You’ve never been so fast to put a cap on your head, trying to cover the sweaty mess that is your hair right now.

“That was phenomenal work,” Rachel says, reaching to put a hand on your burning hot bicep, “You look fucking terrible, though.”

You suck in a ragged breath and you nod in agreement, trying to keep the black tinging your vision from taking over completely. 

“Get her something to drink,” you hear Toto bark, though it comes to your ears, muffled and staticky.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Until you’re not and your sweaty hand is slipping against the guardrail and your vision is fading into darkness and you’re falling face first into a metal railing. And, and, someone’s got their arm around your middle and you’re not on the ground with your face in the asphalt. You blink, hot tears— from what you assume is exhaustion— burning your eyelids. The arm around your middle is covered in something orange and black… Oscar. It’s Oscar who’s got you propped up, held firm into his body so your legs don’t collapse underneath you. The two of you sway and stumble for a second as you gain your footing back, your vision returning to normal, the buzzing in your ears going away.

“You’re good,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you attribute it to your current state.

You remember the cameras that are on all of you right now. You try not to look panicked as you step away from him. You try to do it calmly and not frantically like you so want to. Toto has some electrolyte drink held out right in your face and you take it, chugging half of it straight away while you swivel around to face Oscar. You nod, feeling slightly better, but gripping the guardrail tight so as not to repeat earlier.

“Thanks,” you try a smile, but it’s just turning into a grimace because you feel like shit.

Oscar shakes his head, “Don’t mention it.”

“Great driving out there.”

His eyebrow goes up, touching the curl of his hair that peeks out from his cap.

“You’re kidding?” he says, tone laced with amusement.

You frown, which is much easier, “No. You drove great.”

He makes a face like ‘yes, obviously’, but somehow does it in a humble and endearing way that you find you like a little too much. It leaves you confused as to his point.

“No,” he scoffs, “Okay, yes. What I mean is that you just got P3 with a raging fever.”

You purse your lips, countering, “You don’t know I have a fever.”

His tongue darts out to wet his top lip, hiding the small smile that threatens on his face.

He shrugs, “Bit obvious, unfortunately.”

You roll your eyes. You think what he means is it’s a bit obvious because you look like absolute death. There’s probably sweat rolling off you in buckets, your cap is jammed on your head and your hair is probably sticking out at crazy angles. There were dark circles under your eyes before you left for the track this morning, they’re probably ten times worse now. He might also mean it’s obvious from the way your skin is burning hot, like touching a radiator in the middle of winter. Or, perhaps, the way you’d passed out into his arms a few minutes earlier.

You suck your teeth, “Well. I told you I was racing today.”

Oscar nods, biting the inside of his lip, “Yeah. You did.”

There’s more that neither of you are saying. A conversation that you’re trying desperately to have with prolonged eye contact, small little smiles and breaths out through the nose. You think it might be ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘You’re very impressive and I’m going a little bit crazy about it’. That’s how you feel at least, somewhere in between the fever chills and the urge you’re suppressing to curl into a ball on the tarmac. This is okay, you think. You don’t have to be Oscar’s sworn enemy just because you’re both chasing the win. You can let him worry about you, but make sure he understands he can’t stop you from taking the things that you want. You can say things that mean other things and Oscar can smile at you like it’s something private for just the two of you.

You can be happy with that. Or not quite happy. Content.

🏎️ song inspo (fiona apple my Beloved) -> https://open.spotify.com/track/5h9Iek7Hp9wayRt7fBp7Ab?si=9PnuH5CDSC-qTurLPGiTwg

💫 fill out this form if you want to be added to my tag list: @clowngirlsstuff @leclercsluvs @c-losur3 @mael1pastry @papayamusha @mvk1ma

[23victoria]

𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝚂𝚎𝚝, 𝚂𝚞𝚣𝚞𝚔𝚊 ❀

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ �� ✿

𝚏𝟷 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚡 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚜!𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

✿ 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟾𝚔

✾ 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚢/𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚂𝚞𝚣𝚞𝚔𝚊! 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎...𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?!

❁ 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕

✿ 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝟷 𝚏𝚒𝚌! 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢! 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!! ꨄ

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟸

𝚏𝟷 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

The Suzuka Circuit buzzes with pre-race excitement. The paddock is alive with energy as teams make their final preparations, engineers tweaking last-minute details, and drivers mentally preparing for the grueling race ahead. You walk through the paddock with your helmet in one hand, exchanging smiles and nods with familiar faces. The Japanese fans are enthusiastic, their cheers a constant backdrop to the chaotic scene.

You spot Charles near the Ferrari garage, chatting animatedly with his mechanics. He sees you and waves, a friendly smile spreading across his face. "Hey, Y/N! Ready for today?"

"Always," you reply, matching his grin. "You better watch out on Turn 1. I’m coming for you."

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. "We'll see about that. Good luck out there."

As you continue down the paddock, you bump into Lando and Oscar, both engaged in a heated debate over something. "Y/N, settle this for us," Lando calls out. "Chocolate ice cream or vanilla ice cream? Which one is better?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "Oh that’s easy! The obvious answer is cookies and cream!"

Oscar stares blankly at you while Lando’s mouth drops. "I know you are lying right now, be so for real Y/N." Lando says. 

You walk away laughing, making your way to the Mercedes garage. The mechanics are busy with final checks on your car, and you take a moment to absorb the atmosphere. This is your sanctuary, your battleground. As you step inside, you’re greeted by George Russell, who gives you a friendly pat on the back.

"Nervous?" he asks, his eyes searching yours.

"A bit," you admit. "But it’s a good kind of nervous. It keeps me sharp."

George nods, understanding. "Just remember, you’ve got the skills. Trust yourself."

You give him a grateful smile before heading towards the Sky Sports interview area. The familiar setup greets you, and the interviewer, Rachel Brookes, waves you over.

"Y/N, it’s great to see you," Rachel says, microphone in hand. "The fans are excited, and so are we. How are you feeling about today’s race?"

"I'm excited," you say, the adrenaline already starting to course through your veins. "Suzuka is one of my favorite tracks. The fans here are incredible, so supportive and passionate. It’s an honor to race in Japan."

Rachel nods, smiling. "You’ve had a strong season so far. What’s your strategy going into this race?"

"To stay focused and keep pushing," you reply. "Every race is a new challenge, but I’ve got a great team behind me. We’re ready to give it everything."

"And how does it feel to have so much support, both from the fans and your fellow drivers?"

"It means the world to me," you say earnestly. "The fans' energy is infectious, and it really drives me to do my best. As for the drivers, we might be competitors on the track, but off it, there's a lot of mutual respect. It's like a big, sometimes dysfunctional, family."

Rachel laughs. "Well, we wish you the best of luck, Y/N!"

You thank her and make your way back to the garage, the race now imminent. Your race engineer, Amaria, is waiting for you by the car. Her calm demeanor is always a source of comfort.

"How are we feeling?" she asks, her eyes scanning your face for any signs of doubt.

"Nervous," you admit again, this time more to yourself than anyone else. "But ready. I want this win, Amaria. I really do."

Amaria nods, her expression serious but encouraging. "You’ve got this, Y/N. You’re one of the best drivers out there. Trust your instincts, trust your skills. We believe in you."

You take a deep breath, the weight of her words grounding you. "Thanks, Amaria. That means a lot."

She smiles, handing you your helmet. "Now, let’s go win this race."

You climb into the car, the familiar feeling of the seat and the controls a comforting presence. The world outside the cockpit fades away, leaving only you and the machine. You put on your helmet, securing it in place, and perform your final checks.

Amaria’s voice comes through the radio, calm and steady. "All systems are go. Remember, stay focused. You’ve got this."

"Copy that," you respond, gripping the steering wheel. The nervous energy has transformed into a fierce determination. You’re ready.

The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The formation lap begins, and you navigate the twists and turns, feeling the car respond to your every command. The nerves are still there, but they’re now a part of the thrill, a part of the drive.

You line up on the grid, heart pounding, every muscle tensed in anticipation. This is it.

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

The roar of the engines surrounds you as you race through the circuit, the familiar grip of the steering wheel steady in your hands. Lap 28 is in full swing, and you're driving your heart out for the win. You hear the crackle of the radio in your ear, your race engineer giving you updates, but your focus is ahead. The track is slick from a recent shower, and the competition is fierce.

You see Ocon in the Alpine ahead, and you're pushing hard, determined to overtake into P5. Albon is close by in the Williams, equally determined to overtake your position as well. It's a dance of danger and skill, every movement calculated, every second crucial.

Then, it happens. In an instant, the world tilts on its axis. Ocon’s car clips yours, sending you into a spin. Everything slows down as the car flips and flips and flips, the ground and sky exchanging places repeatedly. Sky. Gravel. Sky. Gravel. Sky. Gravel. The violent motion is sickening, disorienting. You can hear the crunch of metal, the shatter of glass, and the scream of tires.

The barrier looms too quickly, and then you're crashing through it, the fence crumpling under the force. You're thrown into a building, the car smashing against the structure with a bone-rattling impact. The world goes black.

The pit lane erupts in chaos. Over the radio, a distressed voice calls for a red flag. The race comes to an abrupt halt, safety cars deployed immediately.

"Red flag, red flag. All drivers return to the pits. Safety car on track."

In the Mercedes garage, the engineers and mechanics freeze. George’s eyes widen in horror as he pulls into the pit lane, the scene replaying in his mind. Amaria is calling out for Y/N, but there is no response.

In the Ferrari garage, Lewis’s face pales as he listens to the radio, his heart sinking with every passing second. Charles Leclerc feels a cold dread in his chest. He can’t stop replaying the image of your car tumbling, the wreckage of what once was a powerful machine. His thoughts are a whirlwind, concern for you overpowering everything else.

"Who was it?" Lando Norris's voice crackles over the radio, fear palpable in his tone.

"It’s Y/N," someone replies. The pit falls silent, the gravity of the situation settling in.

Verstappen stares at the monitors, the usual competitive fire in his eyes extinguished by worry. His jaw clenches from frustration and helplessness. He knows the risks and accepts them, but it doesn’t make this any easier. 

Oscar pulls into the pit, ripping his helmet off. "Is she okay?" he demands, but no one has answers. The tension is unbearable.

As the safety crews work frantically, cutting through the mangled metal to reach you, an eerie silence blankets the paddock. Minutes feel like hours. The world watches and waits, breaths held, hearts aching.

Lewis paces, unable to sit still. “Come on, Y/N. Be okay,” he mutters under his breath, his mind racing through the years of knowing you, racing alongside you. He can't lose a teammate, a friend, like this.

George sits in the car, head bowed, fingers clenched around the steering wheel. He blinks rapidly, fighting back tears. The sight of your crumpled car, the uncertainty of your fate, it's too much to bear.

Back in the Ferrari garage, Charles slumps against the wall, his mind is all over the place. He has enough scars from this circuit already, he can’t add more, he needs you to be okay. He was drifting back to the moments you shared. The camaraderie, the rivalry, the mutual respect. “She’s strong. She’ll pull through,” he whispers to himself, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 

Oscar and Lando exchange glances, both young, both terrified. It’s a stark reminder of the dangers they face every time they get behind the wheel. Their usual banter is replaced with a solemn silence, each lost in their thoughts, prayers for your safety.

The medical team finally extracts you from the wreckage, carefully placing you on a stretcher. The sight of your limp body, the blood, it’s almost too much to bear. You’re airlifted to the nearest hospital, the severity of your injuries still unknown.

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

The air in the paddock is thick, filled with tension, anger, and worry. Max stands near the Red Bull garage, his jaw clenched, his eyes scanning the sea of people for a familiar face. His voice, sharp and commanding, cuts through the chaos.

"Where is he? Where the fuck is Ocon?" Max's words echo with a mixture of anger and frustration, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri hear the yelling, their own frustration boiling over as they join Max's side. "Yeah, where is he?" Lando demands, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Doesn't he know how to drive? Look at the damage he caused out there, to Y/N."

Oscar nods in agreement, his expression mirroring their shared outrage. "It's fucking ridiculous," he adds, his voice rising with indignation. "He's a danger to everyone on the damn track."

As they push through the crowd, their eyes searching for any sign of Ocon, a commotion erupts from the direction of the Alpine garage. Lewis’s voice rises and echos through the pit lane, a voice of anger and frustration. George shouts joining him, a chorus of fury that pierces the chaos.

Max, Lando, and Oscar run to the garage, the yelling and commotion driving them forward. They reach the Alpine garage just as Lewis and George break free from the grasp of the engineers and mechanics, their eyes locked on Ocon with unbridled fury.

"Let me go! Let me go! I’m going to beat his fucking ass.” Lewis's voice reverberates through the paddock, his muscles straining against the hands that hold him back. 

George's shouts match Lewis's, “You bloody fucking idiot.” he angrily says as he tries to grab Ocons’ shirt. 

Lewis somehow manages to escape their grasp and lunges towards Ocon. Arm pulled back with a tight fist and powerful swing, he punches Ocon in the face, the force of the blow causing him to lose his balance and fall to the ground.

The scene is chaotic, a whirlwind of shouting and struggling bodies as engineers and officials rush to intervene. Max, Lando, and Oscar push forward, their own anger fueling their desire to confront Ocon.

But before they can reach him, security arrives, their presence a barrier between the drivers and their target. Strong arms grab hold of Max, Lando, and Oscar, pulling them back as they struggle against the restraint.

"Let us go! You fucker! Come here! You’re a fucking piece of shit!" Max's voice is fierce, his eyes burning with intensity.

Lando and Oscar echo his sentiments, their shouts blending into a chorus of defiance. “You bitch, if she dies it’s on you! You hear me! You don’t deserve to be a driver! How could you be so fucking reckless?!” they say as they try to get to Ocon. But their efforts are in vain as security tightens their grip, guiding them away from the Alpine garage.

Ocon is escorted away, the tension in the paddock reaches a boiling point. The drivers are told to return to their garages, the promise of further confrontation hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Lewis, George, Max, Lando, and Oscar exchange frustrated glances as they are escorted back to their garages, their desire and anger to get to Ocon are outweighed only by their shared worry for Y/N.

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

Hours pass in agonizing silence. The race, ultimately canceled. Updates on your condition are scarce, and the paddock is gripped with fear. Every beep of a phone, every whisper, sends a jolt through the waiting crowd.

Finally, news comes through. You’re in surgery, your condition is critical but stable. The relief is palpable, but the worry remains. It’s a waiting game now.

Lewis and George sit side by side in the hospital waiting room, their faces etched with worry. They care for you so much, your smile and energy lighting up any room you walk into. They’ve been through so much together, and the thought of losing you is unbearable. They talk in hushed tones, sharing stories about you, trying to keep the fear at bay.

Max arrives, his usual confident stride replaced with uncertainty. He offers a nod to Lewis and George, joining them in their vigil. There’s a silent understanding between them, a shared grief and hope.

Charles walks in, his face a mask of concern. He sits across from the others, his mind still replaying the crash. He remembers you on the stretcher, lying so still, and his heart aches.

Oscar and Lando arrive together, the youngest of the group, their faces pale and drawn. They sit quietly, their presence a testament to the bond forged on and off the track.

Hours stretch on, the waiting room is filled with an oppressive silence. The doctors come and go, their expressions guarded. Every minute feels like an eternity.

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

Amaria your race engineer enters, her face is grave but kind, understanding the emotional toll this night has taken on everyone.

“Hey,” she begins softly, “I know how much you care about Y/N and how difficult this is, but the nurses informed us that it’s past visiting hours. As much as we want to stay the hospital staff needs to do their work, and you need to rest. Her parents are on a flight here right now, they should be here by morning. The FIA decided we will have a meeting first thing in the morning to update you all on her condition.”

There are murmurs of protest, but they are weak, born more out of exhaustion and helplessness than actual defiance. The drivers know she’s right, but leaving feels like abandoning you.

Lewis stands first, setting the example. “We’ll be there bright and early,” he promises, his voice firm. 

The others slowly rise, their reluctance palpable. As they file out, each offers a lingering glance back towards the surgical doors, hoping for the best.

Charles stops by Amaria. “Please, make sure we know the moment there’s any change,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Amaria nods. “I will. Try to get some rest. She’s in good hands.”

Charles nods, smiling weakly, “You too Amaria.”

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

The atmosphere is heavy as all the drivers sit in the room waiting for news on your condition. You can see the tiredness and weariness on their face. Even though they were told to get some rest it’s obvious none of them could. 

Finally, Toto and Amaria walk in. “She’s out of surgery. She’s stable, but it’s going to be a long recovery.”

The room exhales as one. Relief floods in, but the road ahead is daunting. You’re strong, a fighter, and they all know you’ll pull through. But the scars, both physical and emotional, will take time to heal.

Lewis reaches out, squeezing George’s shoulder. “Thank you, Lord. She’s okay,” he says, more to himself than anyone else.

Max nods, his eyes brightening a little. “Yeah, she is.”

Charles leans back into his seat, his eyes closed, tears escaping as he says, “She's okay, she's really okay. She's alive.”

Oscar and Lando exchange a watery glance, a silent exchange of relief passing between them.

You're okay.

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟸

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

© 23victoria 2024 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate, or claim my work as your own.

[genericpuff]

i find it funny that one of rachel’s drawings of herself in the afterword that just went up is just fully persephone. is that something she does a lot?

Alright so I've been making it a general rule for myself to like, not harp on Rachel in any way outside of LO as much because frankly the horse is dead now and there's not much left to say outside of what can be analyzed in hindsight. I think despite everything I have to say about her and her work, she still deserves to get away from this nonsense and I don't wanna spend eternity hovering over her shoulder.

But the afterword was posted within the LO series and is clearly meant for readers of LO in the functioning of being an afterword so let's just call it fair game LOL

I will say, on the whole, it does feel very honest and sentimental and I can respect Rachel for taking the time to write out and illustrate her afterword in a way that was personal to both her and her fans. I can understand why she went at it from the angle that she did and I'm not gonna fault her for that.

But there's also something that feels deeply... disingenuous about her approach right from the starting gun. I will say, before I continue, that I'm well aware I am biased towards Rachel as a creator, and I fully acknowledge that I could very well be reading too much into things. This is just my opinion, take it with mountains of salt.

I can get looking back on your own childhood, your past self, whatever, and going "see! it all got better!" because sure! For a lot of creators like Rachel, it must be wild to look back on where they came from and there's a lot of sentimentality on expressing that through an afterword like this where she reflects on where she came from. Though she STILL didn't acknowledge her other comics outside of LO, I can understand if she wants to leave those skeletons in the closet.

But I feel like her drawing herself as a child who's being given an Eisner by her adult self and all that just feels like some gross attempt to disarm any criticism of her because "don't make fun of me, I'm just a sad lonely baby girl!"

She's not a child. Child Rachel didn't grossly misappropriate Greek myth into their own self-indulged vanity project. Child Rachel didn't claim herself a folklorist of a culture's works only to bastardize them completely. Child Rachel didn't create a hostile environment within her fanbase by bullying anyone who she perceived as a threat, sneaking into critical spaces to try and cause trouble, and writing her own clapbacks into her comic. Child Rachel didn't claim to be challenging misogyny and purity culture only to reinforce misogyny and purity culture through her own self-insert baby-virgin-gets-rescued-by-rich-tycoon power fantasy that regularly glorified abuse towards women and the lower class.

30-almost-40-year-old Rachel did though.

At best it comes across as really cringe sentimentality from a Greek-weeb (heh, greeboo) and goes to show how much Rachel inserted herself into Greek myth without ever absorbing its messages or cultural contexts, it was all about her and her feelings as a sad New Zealand girl with dyslexia who thought Persephone's story was about another sad girl being rescued from her "horrible childhood".

At worst it's an active attempt to play on people's heartstrings by drawing herself as a child who people will naturally not want to criticize. I don't want to assume she's doing it intentionally, I really don't want to leave her afterword on a bad foot, as I can definitely understand as both a creator and a person who struggled with learning disabilities in their own childhood how and why she wants to pay homage to her past and where she came from... but let's just say, as someone who's also gotten way too "lost in the sauce" concerning personal self-reflective projects, I think there's a lot to say about how this confirms that Rachel made LO entirely for herself, about herself, without any actual intention to respect the original myths, because she never truly separated them from herself when she was a child. And, in my humble opinion as someone who has Been There with the self-insert OC's and self-reflective angsty plotlines, I can fully attest to the fact that that's not fucking healthy. Even with personal projects, you NEED to learn to get your head out of the sauce, you NEED to learn to objectively separate yourself from the narrative so the story doesn't fall apart under your own hubris and ego, you NEED to learn to draw a line if you want to have any sort of identity as a human being outside of what you make for people. And that's with just normal original stories, this was a story based on Greek myth which doesn't belong to her.

And this goes for a lot of the things she's said and done in the past, so much of her own "sources" even are tethered to things that she read / watched in her childhood and only vaguely remembers, as if she never mentally left her childhood at all, which just... if the point was to highlight her past and the traumas she went through and how they contributed to her present, an Eisner isn't going to validate those experiences. And drawing attention to her past through the lens of her childhood self absolutely 100% does not absolve her of the negative effect her work has had on the modern Greek myth zeitgeist nor the things she's said and done as a 38 year old woman who should absolutely know better.

The community she entered and took from will forever remain changed by her influence and taking, in many ways not for the better. She has the privilege of walking away and never having to think about it again, with all the awards and accolades that were bought for her, the bravado that she built around being a "folklorist" with zero credentials, and the platform she was given over many other creators struggling to even be heard.

That "place" she claims to have now was built entirely on inserting herself into another culture's works and doing nothing but taking, taking, taking, while offering nothing in return but vanity and lip service. That "place" was paid for and brought to you by Webtoons.

[theblue6ook]

A Quiet Day

Summary: Bruce does not like celebrating his birthday. All of the pomp and circumstance was very “Bruce Wayne Bachelor,” but it wasn’t him. He wants quiet, he wants easy, he wants focus. So Y/N gives him that.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: I tried to add everyone who wanted to be on the tag list, but let me know if I missed you! [B (24) & Y/N (22)]

“Happy Birthday, Master Bruce,” he heard Alfred over the speaker system. 

Bruce couldn’t help but gaze at the digital clock built into his car console. Well, maybe a tank console? Lucious Fox said it was called the Tumbler, but the name just didn’t feel right to him. It was a birthday present he had told Bruce, and Bruce would call it what he liked... when he thought of a name. He was patrolling, as he does, except this time, he would take his new Waynetech Tank out for a spin. Nope, that name feels wrong too.

“Thank you, Alfred.” 

“Anything special planned this year, sir.”

“You know there’s not,” he chuckled.

“I wasn’t sure if you were getting bold with birthdays,” he could feel Alfred's grin, “considering what an extravagant time Ms. Y/N had.” 

“Just doing something nice for a friend, Alfred.”

Friend. That was nice to say. It’s easy to make friends when you’re a twenty-three - well, now a twenty-four-year-old billionaire. Bruce had never been low on friendships, but he had been low on real friendships. Of course, he had good friends. Rachel, Alfred, Lucius, and Jack Drake, to name a few, but that was all before The Bat. After he had left Gotham, he’d been through a lot. He’d been alone a lot. None of them would ever understand what he went through, who he was now. When he had trained, you’d be "assigned" friends. People you had to work with, save. He had met people who would and had died for him. How can you come back to trivial friendships after that?

And when you don’t water something, it dies. So, friendships slowly crumbled. Shriveled away. It wasn’t in a huge, dramatic way, but in a lost touch way. People didn’t want to deal with the Bruce Wayne he really was, a workaholic, stressed, easily annoyed, quick, and yet she didn’t care.

Y/N had come along, and he was used to the petty fights, people making up their minds, even leaving. They'd slowly given up on him. But she didn’t. They could fight all day long, and by the end, he’d be frustrated, grabbing his coat and announcing it was the end of the day for him. She’d look up at him and say, "See you tomorrow."

Once, he had questioned her about it, half joking and half not, “You’re not going to walk out and never come back?” 

She had looked at him strangely and scoffed, “Bruce, it’s fine if we argue and argue and move on. That’s friendship. That’s life.”

“That’s life?” he had asked sarcastically.

“Yeah. Now get over it and get out,” she had smirked at him.

So, they fight, and they move on, and they fight, and they move on, and Bruce doesn’t mind at all. At the end of the day, he knows he’ll see her the next, and then he does. It’s consistent, and god knows he could use some consistency. 

“A good friend gives back,” Alfred stated. “Maybe she’ll plan you a party.”

God, he hopes not.

-

Y/N had been conspiring. Bruce had made her birthday like nothing she had ever imagined, and even if her ex-finance had soiled the evening, she was grateful. So she wanted to do something special for him, except… he didn’t really seem like he wanted to do anything. Everyone in the office was talking about The Bruce Wayne’s birthday except for Bruce Wayne himself. 

Y/N knew she never typically saw his party side, aside from him hopping into the fountain at The Ocelot. The Bruce she knew was more reserved, quiet, and calculated. Plus, when it came to the topic of his birthday, it’s like he shut the complete conversation down. So, how do you plan something for the one person who wants nothing?

You don’t.

At least you don’t plan a party; you make the day itself special. Bruce hated meetings, so she moved them. He loved the bagel place she showed him down by Dorthie’s Flowers, so she scheduled a nice lunch. The last time she was in Dorthie’s, John had told her that violets were Bruce’s birth flower, so she put some in the office. Finally, for the last hour of their workday, she had a cake, nothing special, she had made it with Carrie last night, and a few birthday cards. 

She was nervous as hell. Giving something to the man who can afford everything is more nerve-wracking than she thought it would be. 

Bruce had arrived at his typical noon timeline. He stepped into the office with caution, just praying what had happened in the past years wouldn’t happen today. When he did occasionally come into the office years ago, past assistants and coworkers would plan some Bruce Wayne Birthday Happy Hour where everyone would get plastered, and he would sneak off annoyed. He knew Y/N knew him better than that. Or at least he hoped she did.

When he stepped into the office, there were no decorations, no music, and no surprises so far. He let out a breath. There was Y/N battling it out on the phone like she usually is. She waved at him and mouthed to him I can’t do phone calls anymore, rolling her eyes. He chuckled, stepping into his office.

Violets.

It wasn’t abnormal for Y/N to grab flowers for the office. She was dear friends with his florist, but violets made him think of his mother. Every birthday, his mother would go through the grueling tale of his birth just to tease him. 

“Thomas, you don’t get to laugh. You were no help!” she squealed. “Anyways, my dear Brucie. I was in the worst pain of my life bringing you into this world. All I wanted was my ice chips when our doctor started going on about birth flowers to distract me.”

“It annoyed her to no end-”

“Stop interrupting me, Thomas,” she had giggled, and Bruce had done the same. “Anyways, I was trying to bring you into this world, and he tells me, ‘ma’am it sounds like your son’s birth flower will be a violet. I never cared for violets.’ And I thought, what a terrible thing to say to a mother. So I kicked him out, and the nurse and I worked hard for you.” 

“She’s not joking, son.”

“But now, every birthday I just have to douse the house in violets for my sweet Brucie.”

 Bruce stepped closer, touching the edge of the petals with his fingertips. It had been a while since he’d been given any flowers... but violets, he was sure he had only gotten them from Mama.

There was a light cough behind him, and he turned to see a bashful Y/N. “So, no meetings today, but we have some paperwork to go through.”

“No meetings?” he questioned. That would be a first.

“Yeah, this donator work really should take priority,” she tried to act casually. “Oh, and I was going to run to Upper East Bagel later if you want to come.”

“We’re not getting delivery?”

“Well, it’s nice outside,” she started innocently. Bad lie, she thought. It’s February. It’s never nice. “I figured I’d walk, but if you want me to go by myself I can grab something for you.”

Bruce scoffed, “You’re not walking by yourself in Gotham.”

She grinned. Bait taken. 

For the few hours before lunch, they worked on paperwork. The donator paperwork did take up a chunk of time. There were so many details like which benefits he needed to attend, which non-profits were approved for the Wayne Charity donation program, etc. He was whipped, and even worse, he was hungry. Stepping toward the door, he leaned on the frame. Y/N was digging through one of her bags, and he cleared his throat.

“Bageles?”

She grinned, “I’m literally starving.”

Y/N was excited, not just for the bagel, but because as soon as they walked down to get their lunch, Alfred was going to come and help her set up Bruce’s office. Again, nothing crazy, a cake, cards, and maybe a balloon. It was nothing that should take long. She even had everything in a tote bag under her desk. 

The bagel line wasn’t long, and they didn’t have any issues other than a few people recognizing Bruce and wishing him a happy birthday. When they did, he’d look at her curiously. While Y/N had no reaction, Bruce was suspicious. So, she knows it’s my birthday, and she hasn’t said anything. Not that Bruce cared about things like that, but Y/N wasn’t the type to forget or be silent on the subject. She had only glanced at him innocently, batting her lashes, “Should we eat lunch in the park?

Bruce humored her, so they sat in Gotham Park and ate their lunch. While the bagel was great, it was fucking freezing outside. Y/N looked over at Bruce, pleasantly eating his bagel. It didn't look like the cold had bothered him at all. Despite not being cold, the whole ordeal had Bruce's mind moving. God, please no office parties when we get back. 

He was on edge stepping back into the office, waiting for some insane ordeal… but nothing. They took the elevator straight up to his office, and walked in by Y/N’s desk and… nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she forgot and didn’t want to say anything. Y/N walked casually over to her desk and set her purse down while Bruce put the code into his office door and stepped inside. There was a balloon attached to his desk chair, a cake that was clearly not from a bakery, and cards. 

He chuckled, looking through them. One from Rachel and Harvey Dent, one from Alfred, one from Lucious, one from Jack Drake (who he hadn’t spoken to in so long), and one from Y/N. Except it wasn’t just from Y/N; her brothers had signed it with little notes and doodles, and Carrie had signed a nice message as well. 

It was so simple, so homely, and wonderful.

“Happy Birthday,” Y/N appeared behind him with a couple of paper dessert plates.

He looked at her but said nothing. In the best way, he didn’t know what to say, and suddenly she became nervous.

“I know it’s not much, and you probably have friends planning something crazy, but,” she paused, unsure of herself, “it’s just… you didn’t really seem like you wanted a party.” 

Bruce chuckled quietly. “I don’t,” he said honestly. “I’ve had friends plan a few insane things over the years, and I’m grateful, but I never really felt like celebrating my birthday without-” He stopped, a little embarrassed. “I sound like a child.”

“You don’t,” she stepped over to him, bumping his shoulder with her own.

“Yeah, I do,” he mumbled.

“After my mother left, I tried to make birthdays special for my brothers, but my dad didn’t really celebrate, and neither did I,” she wasn’t sure why she was whispering. Maybe it was the close proximity between them, or maybe it was because she had never admitted what she was about to say aloud. “John, Carrie, even Russ, they all tried to make things special for me, but… I didn’t want to celebrate. I’d always leave early or fake a headache.”

“I didn’t know your mom left,” he replied back.

“I don’t really talk about it. It’s not like it’s a secret, but I don’t know. It feels so awkward to mention.”

“It’s awkward to mention your dead parents too,” he looked over at her, grinning. 

“At least you know they loved you,” she cringed like she regretted what she said. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

“I get it,” he said honestly.

“So, cake,” she quickly diverted the topic.

Bruce smiled. A real true smile, “Cake.”

@pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @mariadvorak @100520s @st0rmyt

[berzahoes]

sing a song for you | tom blyth

summary: reader is on tour with hozier as his opening act and debuts a new song that tom helped write

an: yes this was because i am listening to hozier right now.

tom had taken some time off from doing interviews to finally attend one of your shows, well your opening act since you were on tour with one of your favorite artists, hozier. thankfully the show was near his brooklyn apartment so he didn’t have to drive far. he messaged you a couple of times but he knew you wouldn’t respond since you were busy preparing for the show.

when it was finally time to leave, tom made sure his apartment was locked and drove to the venue. as he parked his car, he quickly texted the cast group chat that he had arrived since rachel, josh and hunter were also attending. rachel texted back saying they were getting merch and that she had bought him one of your shirts.

before he could put his phone away, you called. “hey, i just arrived. rachel, josh and hunter are getting shirts.” he spoke into the phone.

“i could’ve given them free shirts. remind me to send them stuff later. sorry i didn’t text back. i just had the best conversation with beth about fleabag.” beth was your best friend and also your guitarist.

“you will take any opportunity to talk about fleabag and i love it.” tom smiled as he walked to the venue. he saw multiple people wearing homemade and official merchandise with your lyrics or logo and it made him happy.

“so i actually have a really important question.” you said.

“yes, love?”

“remember the song we made when you were filming billy the kid? i talked with the record label and it’s going on the next album,” you continue. “but i want to sing it tonight and the band said it was okay. and i want to ask you permission if it’s okay for me to sing it.”

“love, it’s your song. you don’t have to ask.” tom chuckled.

“yeah, but this song is half you half me. you’re getting writing credits on album, not just the song, tom. you helped a lot.” you reply.

“so does this mean if you win a grammy for the album, i will too?” he teased. “sing our song, i would be honored to hear you sing our song for the first time.”

“i love you.” you said then hung up.

“hello all of you lovely people!” you spoke into the microphone. the crowd cheered, tom being one of the many people that yelled the loudest. “you’ve been such a great crowd that i thought it would be a good time to sing a song that has never been heard by anyone other than me and the love of my life. he’s here tonight by the way along with our friends.”

you could feel yourself blush as tom yelled “i love you!”

“i love you more,” you replied. “he and i wrote this song in a day on the set of his show. thank you for being such a great crowd and i hope you all love this song as much as i loved writing it with my husband.” you smiled. you and tom would often call each other husband and wife even though you weren’t legally married. it was just a habit.

“that’s my wife!” tom yelled. rachel had gotten her phone out to record the performance and, of course, tom’s reaction.

watching the video that you sent me. the one where you’re showering with wet hair dripping

tom was amazed at your talent. he looked around the venue and saw how everyone was so focused on you. he then started to mumble the lyrics. he liked how you two were the only ones who knew the lyrics. it was your special moment. rachel had turned the camera from you to tom and noticed how in love tom looked. it was clear that you and tom were soulmates.

[lovelyjj]

Hii okay wait hear me out you know Rachel and Ross when he finds out she likes him then he goes to the coffee house at end with the rain kiss reader and jj fic like that

The One with a Happy Ending

jj maybank x reader

wc: 2,078

a/n: thank you for requesting! hope this is alright

JJ was happy. He was carefree and content. He had a wonderful girlfriend, Jessica, who he loved. His relationship was thriving. Everything seemed to be going his way.

You on the other hand were miserable. Watching JJ with another girl was painful. You wanted to be with him more than anything. It was tearing you apart.

So, here you were on a date trying to get over JJ. You thought the date was a good idea but now that you were here it wasn’t going so good. All you could think about is how happy JJ was with his girlfriend.

“What does she have that I don’t?” You wondered out loud.

“I beg your pardon,” your date Nathan replied.

“I mean like I’m pretty right? I’m smart and have a good sense of humor.”

“I mean sure,” Nathan was confused.

“So, what’s wrong with me?” You asked.

“I don’t think anything is wrong with you,” Nathan was being nice.

“Well something must be wrong with me,” you sighed, “Never mind.”

“I’m sorry let’s talk about you,” you redirected the conversation.

“Ok well I just had a nasty breakup so sorry if i’m nervous I haven’t been on a date in a while,” he nervously chatted.

“Oh i’m sorry to hear that,” you replied.

“It’s fine.”

The waiter came with a glass of wine and you took it right away and started chugging it.

“Um cheers,” Nathan put forth.

“Right, clink.” You held your glass out towards his a little bit not close enough to actually clink the glasses.

Majority of the night you talked about JJ and his girlfriend. You didn’t even notice your date was annoyed. You also were drinking a lot of wine. You finished a whole bottle by yourself and you were getting drunker by the second.

“She does not deserve him,” you slurred.

“Any dessert for you two?” The waiter asked.

“No! No dessert, just the check… please,” Nathan loudly replied.

“Oh no. You’re not having fun are you?” You asked.

“No I am. Only because I’ve been playing last nights hockey game in my head over and over.”

“Oh, look at me. Look at me. Oh, I’m on a date with a really great guy and all I can think about is JJ and his Jessica,” you stated bitterly.

“I just want to get over him.”

“God, I just wanna, why can’t I do that?” you questioned.

“Look, I’ve been through a breakup. Trust me. You’re gonna be fine,” Nathan encouraged.

“You just can’t see it now because you haven’t had any closure,” Nathan continued.

“Oh. Closure. That’s what it is. That’s what I need. God you’re brilliant.”

“Why didn’t I think of that. How do I get that?”

“Well, there’s no, you know, one way, really. It’s just, you know whatever it takes so that you can finally say to him ”I’m over you.” Nathan explained.

“Over you,” you repeated.

“That’s what it is. Closure.”

“Can I borrow your cellphone?”

“Sure,” Nathan handed you his phone.

You dialed JJ’s number and got his answering machine. So you left a message.

“JJ, hi. It’s Y/N. I’m just calling to say that… um everything’s fine. And i’m really happy for you and Jessica. And I want you to know I am over you. I… am over… you. And that my friend is what they call “Closure.”

Then you hung up.

That’s the last thing you remember of your date. You don’t even know how you got home. It was safe to say you were wasted. You don’t think there is gonna be a second date.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

With a hangover you made your way to the château the next morning. You and the pogues had plans but JJ was the only one not going. He had a date with his girlfriend. You were in the kitchen taking some ibuprofen.

JJ saunters in, “Hey Y/N/N, how was the date?”

“Um it was good,” you lied.

“Well Jessica is picking me up for our date, I just came by to change,” JJ told you.

“Ok.”

“Wait did I talk to you last night?” you asked.

“Um no,” JJ responded.

“Why do I feel like I had a dream about you last night?”

“Oh I don’t know did you?”

“I don’t remember. Did you call me?”

“No I stayed at Jessica’s last night.”

“Actually I haven’t checked my messages lemme do that real quick.”

You got up to go to the living room when you herd JJ call out to you. “Hey Y/N, I got a message from you.”

You turned back around and entered the kitchen. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god. No JJ. Hand up the phone. Gimme the phone gimme the phone.” You said as you rushed towards him.

“Gimme the phone gimme the phone,” you got on JJ’s back and threw his phone in the sink but it was too late.

“You’re over me?”

“Oh, God!” You got off JJ’s back and started walking towards the couch.

“You’re you’re over me?”

“Oh my god!”

“When… when were you… under me?”

“Y/N? Y/N, do you… I mean, were you, uh…”

“Uhh.”

“What?” JJ asked.

“Okay, Okay.”

“Well… basically, lately I’ve, uh… I’ve, uh, sort of had feelings for you.”

JJ felt his heart drop. He couldn’t believe his ears. He has liked you for so long but he was convinced you didn’t feel the same way so he moved on. And now he’s dating a really great girl and this couldn’t have been at a worse time.

“You’ve had feelings for me.” JJ repeated.

“Yeah? What? So? You had feelings for me first.”

“Whoa! Huh! You know about my.. I mean, you know I had.. you-you know?” JJ stuttered.

“John B told me.”

“John B. When did he, when did he, when did he?”

“When you first went out with Jessica.”

“Jessica, Jessica!” JJ remembered she was in the car waiting for him.

“That’s… oh, God.”

“Jessica Jessica. Right. Okay, I need to lie down.” JJ breathed.

“No, you know, I’m going to stand.”

“I’m going to stand and I’m going to walk.”

“Now you’re over me?” JJ asked.

“Are you over me?” you responded.

JJ’s phone started ringing. It was Jessica.

“Hi,” JJ answered.

“Hi honey i’m here.” You could hear her through the phone.

“I’ll be right there.” JJ replied.

“Wait So you’re going?”

“Well I have to.”

“Okay. Okay.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The coffee shop you worked at was fairly small. It was a cute little place and you liked working there. It was raining and you were closing up shop. What you didn’t expect when you were closing was JJ to come in.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

“I wanted to see you,” JJ responded.

“And you had no right to tell me you ever had feelings for me.” JJ angrily spat.

“What?”

“I was doing great with Jessica before I found out about you.”

“Hey, I was doing great before I found out about you. You think it’s easy for me to see you with Jessica?”

“Well, then, you should have said something before I met her!” JJ yelled.

“I didn’t know then. And how come you never said anything to me?”

“There was never a good time.”

“Right, because you only had a year and we only hung out every night.”

“I tried but there were always something in the way. The point is I don’t need this right now. Okay? It’s too late. I’m with somebody else. I’m happy. This ship has sailed.”

“Okay, so what you’re-you’re going to just put away feelings or whatever the hell it was that you felt?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay well you go ahead and you do that JJ.”

“Fine.” JJ walked out the door. You got up and you locked it. Then you sat down and started crying. When you were done crying you wiped your tears and stood up and saw JJ was at the window of the door.

You slowly unlocked and opened the door. You looked into JJ’s eyes and he looked at you with so much adoration it made you dizzy. Then JJ surged forward and his hands were on your waist in an instant.

JJ’s mouth landed on yours in a heated kiss. Your lips were devouring each other. The kiss was hungry yet tender. You were excited that JJ was kissing you. JJ was confident and eager. JJ nibbled down on your lower lip and then swiped his tongue over it to sooth it. Then your tongues danced together in a messy make out. His hands went from your waist to cradling your face. The rain in the background added to the ambience and you felt like you were floating.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“JJ kissed me.” You excitedly shared.

“No!” Kiara put her hands over her mouth.

“Oh my god! oh my god! oh my god!” Sarah babbled.

“It was unbelievable,” you expressed.

“Oh my god! oh my god! oh my god!” Sarah exclaimed.

“Ok alright we wanna hear everything!” Kiara requested.

“Y/N, does this end well or do we need to get tissues?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, it ended very well.”

“Okay, alright. Let’s hear about the kiss. Was it like, was it like a soft brush against your lips or was it like a. you know “I got to have you now” kinda thing? Kiara spoke.

“Well first it was really intense and then we sorta just got lost in each other.”

“Oh.” Sarah and Kiara both sighed.

“Oh, so okay was he holding you or-or was his hands, like on your back, you know?” Kiara asked.

“No, actually, first they-they they started out on my waist and then, they slid up and then they were holding my face.”

“Oh.” Kiara and Sarah both responded.

When JJ was telling John B and Pope about the kiss he wasn’t that detailed.

“And then I kissed her.” JJ nodded.

“Tongue?” John B questioned.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You were over the moon that JJ kissed you. You thought everything was fine and dandy until you saw him the next day. The six of you were at the château hanging out.

When JJ walked in Sarah said, “So how’d you make out last night?”

“That’s painfully funny. No that’s just painful.” JJ replied.

“Wait a minute. I thought last night was-was great.” Kiara pondered.

“Yeah, it was, but… I get home, okay? and I’m thinking to myself, “Oh, my God what the hell am I doing?” I mean, here I am, I’m with Jessica this incredible, great woman who I care about and-and who cares about me and I’m, like, “What, am I just gonna throw all that away?”

“Wait a minute this is Y/N we’re talking about here. You and Y/N.” Kiara countered.

“Trust me I’ve been dreaming about me and Y/N for a long time but I’m with Jessica now.”

You walked up the porch and opened the door and walked into the group of your friends in the living room.

“Y/N, Y/N.” JJ called.

“Hey, you.”

“How are you?” JJ asked.

“Good. How are you?”

“Good.”

“Hi honey,” Jessica says as she enters the room.

“Hi Jessica, Hi… Jessica. Um how are you?”

“Good.”

“Good. So everyone is here, everyone is good.” JJ confirmed.

To say it was awkward was an understatement. JJ was feeling very nervous and conflicted. He knew he had to choose and he knew that Jessica being here made you feel bad and he hated that. He knew he needed to make a decision soon.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

JJ decided to break up with Jessica. It was horrible she cried even. But she wasn’t you so JJ knew it was a no brainer. He chose you.

JJ was with the guys on the beach. Then you and Sarah and Kiara walked up to them.

“Oh hi,” you said to JJ.

“I just got back from Jessica’s.”

“Oh,” you frowned.

“No It’s not like that, I broke up with her.”

“Wait really?”

“Really.”

“It’s always been you Y/N/N,” JJ explained.

“That’s good that’s so good.” You embraced JJ in a hug and then you kissed him out of pure happiness.

“You want to take a walk in the beach just us?” JJ asked.

“I’d love to.” You grinned.

So hand and hand you and JJ walked on the beach and all was right in the world because you two could finally be together.

[spectersgirl]

what if harvey specter’s wife worked from home and has a last minute work emergency, so harvey had to take their daughter to work? hope that made sense 😭.

I loved this prompt! I changed it eeeever so slightly but it doesn't affect the overall product. I'm working on making these longer which does mean that it'll take me longer between posts but I'm hoping length makes up for it?? Or maybe this is too long. Idk. I've been writing it for daysssss. I think I don't love the end quarter or so, but I wanted to get it out there. Also I decided to name the daughter, I'm not sure how I feel about doing that versus just using Y/D/N so let me know what you all think? I'd use a different name each time I wrote something with a daughter in it so that it doesn't feel like a series or the same character in different universes.

-----

Work with Dad

Harvey Specter x Reader (except you're barely in it lol)

You rolled over at the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand, fumbling for it and answering sleepily.

"Hello? Oh shit, okay I'm on my way." Immediately, you got up and began rushing around to get ready.

"Who's that?" Harvey mumbled, having woken up to your call.

"Work, there's an emergency and I have to go take care of it. I know you have to work but, I can't take Olivia with me to the restaurant and my parents work today... Do you think you could bring her with you?"

Harvey sighed, knowing you were right. It would be easier for him to bring the four-year-old with him to his office as opposed to the very high-end restaurant you ran. Normally on the days you worked away from the house Olivia was in preschool, but today wasn't a school day for her.

"Yeah, that's fine. I have a pretty easy day today, and it's been a while since she's seen everyone anyway." He said, getting out of bed himself and heading to take a shower.

You quickly yelled to him before you left, thanking him for taking one for the team.

Once Harvey finished his shower, he pulled a suit from the closet and put the dress shirt and pants on, opting to leave his suit jacket off for now, knowing he'd likely have to do some wrangling of a certain toddler. As he had this thought, tiny footsteps sounded down the hall toward the bedroom.

"Hi Daddy" Said the tiny voice of his daughter as she ran toward him, arms in the air.

"Good morning princess! How'd you sleep?" He asked, lifting her with ease and kissing her cheek.

"Good, where's Mama?" She asked, knowing the two of you normally got ready together each morning. She was pretty damn smart for her age, and Harvey knew this fact would get him into trouble someday.

"Mama had to go take care of something at work, but guess what? You get to spend the day with Daddy at the firm!" He told her excitedly, raising his eyebrows.

Olivia was hesitant at first, she didn't know exactly what it was that her dad did every day, but she saw him on his computer a lot, and that didn't seem very exciting to her. She was about to protest this, but then she remembered some of her most favorite people worked with her dad.

"Can we see Mike and Rachel?" She asked.

Harvey laughed, nodding.

"And Donna?"

"And Donna." He confirmed with a smile. "You wanna get dressed so we can go see them?"

Immediately, she began squirming to get down from his grasp. Harvey obliged, following the girl to her room to help her pick out an outfit. She eventually elected for her favorite pink dress with flowers, and Harvey approved, finding her a pair of shoes to match.

A short while later, Harvey and Olivia were headed up to the Pearson Specter offices. She couldn't stop talking about how excited she was to see everyone, and Harvey had to keep reminding her that they had work to do and that they might not be able to be with her as much as she had hoped. Harvey had packed a day's worth of activities in a backpack to keep the little girl occupied in his office, and hopefully out of everyone else's business.

The elevator doors opened, and Olivia nearly pulled Harvey's arm out of the socket trying to get to her favorite people as fast as she could. He scooped her up into his arms, foiling her plans. She adorably crossed her arms in frustration, making Harvey chuckle as he walked toward his office.

"We just have to drop our stuff off in Dad's office first, then we can go see your friends, okay baby?"

She agreed, understanding that the quicker she cooperated, the quicker she got what she wanted.

Harvey put all their stuff down in a small pile on the couch in his office, telling himself he'd deal with it later. He knew Donna wouldn't be in for a little longer as he was earlier today than he normally was, but Mike and Rachel were more than likely already hard at work.

"Alright princess, wanna go see Mike?"

Her eyes went so wide Harvey thought they'd pop out of her head. He laughed and opened his door, pointing down the hall and following as she ran ahead of him. She nearly missed his door she was going so fast, but stopped herself when she noticed him seated at his desk.

"Knock before you go in, Liv" Harvey reminded the girl, grinning when her tiny fist tapped the glass of Mike's office door.

He looked up, not seeing her at first and waving Harvey in and looking back down at his stack of papers.

"You're in early, something wrong?" "MIKE!!!" Olivia yelled, startling the junior partner before realizing what was going on.

"Livi! How's my favorite Specter?" He asked, getting out of his chair to lift her into a bear hug.

She giggled uncontrollably until he set her back down.

"Well, I'd be offended but she happens to be pretty cool, so I'll let you have that." Harvey said, grinning as he watched his daughter run in circles around Mike's office while he chased her. There wasn’t much space in the junior partner's office, so the chase didn’t last very long.

"Where's Rachel?" Olivia wondered out loud. Mike kneeled down to her level.

"Rachel has school in the mornings, so she won't be here for a little bit longer." Mike explained, but this only confused her further.

"But... isn't Rachel a grown-up?" She asked, making Harvey and Mike smile.

"She's in law school, baby. Some grown-ups go to extra school so they can do their special jobs. Daddy went to law school too, and Mama went to business school and cooking school." Harvey explained.

“Did Mike to go extra school?” Olivia asked

Harvey and Mike share a look before looking back at Olivia.

“Mike’s a long story.” Harvey said.

Olivia seemed to be satisfied, or she stopped caring about his answer. Either way, she nodded and continued laughing and playing with Mike while her dad stood off to the side, only a little offended that she hardly even remembered he was still standing there.

He looked down at his watch, noting the time and figuring Donna was probably at her desk by now.

"Liv, do you want to go see if we can find Donna?" Harvey asked, and the little girl screamed like she was at a Taylor Swift show, jumping up and down with pure glee.

"Did she get this excited to see me?" Mike asked. Harvey chuckled, shaking his head.

"Not even close, sorry Mike. C'mon kid, let's go" Harvey said, lifting Olivia high in the air and onto his shoulders, holding tightly as he walked.

"Oh Donna, I have a surprise for you," Harvey said over the sounds of his daughter's laughter.

"Well, I wonder what the surprise could be! Hmmm, is it a pony? Oh a pony wouldn’t fit in the elevator… Maybe you should give me a hint." She said facetiously, acting as if she had no idea Olivia was there.

"It's me!" Olivia yelled, unable to keep the ‘surprise’ of her presence in any longer.

"Oh it’s Olivia! Hi beautiful! That’s a way better surprise than a pony!" Donna exclaimed. "How'd you get so lucky to come to work with your dad?"

"Her mama had a work emergency so daddy got to take her in with him, huh Liv?" Harvey explained, and Donna nodded in understanding.

Olivia nodded, smiling down at both Donna and her dad, still up high on his shoulders. She reached her arms toward Donna, so Harvey lowered her to the floor. Donna quickly scooped her up and placed her on her hip, giving the girl hugs and exaggerated cheek kisses.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, who let you get so big?”

Olivia pointed at Harvey, smiling happily.

“Umm no ma’am, I specifically told you to stop growing, if it were up to me you’d still be my tiny little baby.” Harvey said, poking her side playfully. She giggled, pushing his hands away with her tiny ones.

"Have you had fun so far Livi?" Donna asked, and Olivia smiled and nodded profusely.

"I ran down the hall soooo fast and Mike chased me in his office and then me and Daddy found you!"

"Wow Olivia! That sounds like a really cool morning!" A voice said from behind. Everyone turned to see none other than Jessica strutting down the hall.

Harvey knew Jessica wouldn’t particularly love the idea of his four year old daughter hanging around in his office all day, but he also knew there was nothing else he could do. He was a parent above anything else, so he was going to do what he had to do.

“Livi, do you remember Jessica?” Harvey asked.

Olivia nodded, a bright smile on her face.

“It’s great to see you again cutie” Jessica said with a smile of her own.

“Look I know you’re probably mad but-“

“Harvey relax, I’m not mad. Just as long as she doesn’t get into anything she shouldn’t, she's welcome here." Jessica stated, easing Harvey's mind. He nodded in understanding and watched as she walked back to her office.

"Alright Liv, I've got some work to do in my office and I brought you some fun stuff to do while I work. Maybe later we can come back out and see Donna if she's not too busy, alright?"

Olivia huffed in disappointment, but she knew better than to fight with her dad. He placed his hands out to grab her from Donna, who regrettably handed her over. She had known the little girl since before she was even born, and she loved her like she was her own blood.

Harvey was actually able to get some work done, and Olivia enjoyed her time coloring in her coloring books and playing with the toys her dad had packed for her. Soon enough, she was hungry for lunch and Harvey took her into the kitchen to retrieve the lunchable he had brought her. Eventually, she grew tired and ready for her nap. When Harvey looked over at his couch after a suspiciously long period of silence, he saw her fast asleep. He smiled, standing and taking his suit jacket off, draping it over her small frame. She napped this way for about an hour, and when she woke up, she was overjoyed to learn that Rachel had finally come to the office.

"Rachel!!!" Olivia yelled in the doorway of Rachel's office, and she was quick to run in for a hug.

"Livi! Hi cutie! I heard you were here today, I couldn't wait to get done with school so I could see you!" Rachel said as she scooped the little girl up for a big hug. Olivia wrapped her arms around Rachel's neck happily.

"Do you have fun at big girl school?" Olivia asked.

"Law school is very different from normal school, so it's a lot harder, but it's what I love doing so that makes it fun!" Rachel explained.

"Do you get to color there?"

"No, theres no coloring. There's lots of reading and talking to other students and learning though!"

"I think I like my school better, we get to color and play and sing!"

This made Rachel laugh, and nod her head.

"Keep it that way as long as you can girly." Rachel said.

"Liv, it's almost time to go home. You wanna come say goodbye to everyone?" Harvey interrupted from the doorway.

Olivia nodded sadly, crossing the room to take her father's outstretched hand.

"Bye Rachel, have fun in big girl school."

"I will, bye Livi"

Harvey led her back through the office, stopping at everyone's offices so she could say her goodbyes, stopping at Donna's desk last. She gave the red-haired woman the biggest hug she could, Donna was her most favorite person after all.

When Olivia got home, she was thrilled to find her mom was there waiting for her and Harvey with dinner in the oven. She couldn't resist telling her mother about every last detail of her thrilling day at her dad's job.

"Well that's exciting! It sounds like you were a good little employee for daddy" You mused, looking up at Harvey with a grin.

"She's the best damn paralegal I've ever had. Might just have to hire her" Harvey joked.

"Does that mean I have to go to big girl school? That sounds really not fun."

You and Harvey laughed.

"Baby, if you don't want to go to big girl school we can talk about that when you're older." You reassured.

"You think with that attitude she has she won't want to be a lawyer like her old man?" Harvey said, smirking.

"Oh, she'll want to be in debate before she hits high school."

[ewingstan]

Going into Ward, one of the things that interested me is that pretty much everyone who read it, no matter what the felt about it as a whole, seemed to like what it did with Tattletale and incorporate it into their understanding of the character. To a certain extent this makes sense, outside of Amy people's problems with Worm usually aren't that characterization had been changed. But few other aspects of Ward have been talked about with so much relative positivity, or influenced so much retroactive analysis of Worm.

After reading her interlude, I'm starting to understand why.

From the bat we're given blunt and effective portrayals of how alone Lisa feels. Half of her descriptions of other characters focused on how they reminded her of people she's lost. The Heartbroken are primarily described by the ways they do and don't resemble Alec. Aiden by how he does and doesn't resemble Taylor. Imp and Rachel get mentioned but don't get to make an appearance at all, furthering the effect—reminders of her closest connections are everywhere, but the connections themselves are nowhere. She's left with the "expanded Undersiders," and is painfully aware of how they either dislike her or will never form a close connection with her.

There's a lot more emphasis here on how her power is a separate entity than there was in Lisa's Worm interlude. She's snarking at it, talking about it as something that interjects, drawing a clear divide in her head between what it figures out and what she figures out. Is that her knowledge of its nature developing, or simply a new way of looking at how it always worked?

The framing in the passage above seems to suggest that its encouraging her to distance herself from others, pushing her to interact but specifically feeding her information that will prevent close connections. Questions of agency and identity aside, I do like this as an aspect of powers-as-coping-mechanisms: she was triggered by failing to save someone she was close to, not recognizing the signs that he was unwell. Her power helps her see the signs she couldn't before, but it also seems to try to prevent those close connections from forming so she can't be hurt the same way. Not that its successful. Can't stop betting on losing dogs and all.

What she calls people internally is interesting. I figured she had been calling Sveta "Garotte" earlier to needle her, but she continues to call her that in her own thoughts, as does her power. Valkyrie gets to be "Valkyrie," and Vicky isn't called a cape name at all. There's a few ways to interpret this; I'm tempted to say that Lisa sees Victoria as a relic of pre-Gold Morning days, and sees Sveta largely in that context. Though I also feel like there's some refusal to see her or Rain as people who are separate from what they've done in the past. A lot of the comments I've read while reading the last few chapters are people debating whether she should've gone "white-hat," and I get the sense that she sees something dishonest in that. Leaving behind the things you've done isn't something she can do—even Lisa Wilbourn can't leave behind the failures of Sarah Livsey.

That might be something to think about in the context of Victoria claiming Tattletale is awful because she represents "giving up on something better." Its kind of baffling in that context; many people have pointed out that cutting the number of overdoses in half was way better than anything the heroes ever did, but Victoria resents that TT saw merely halving it as acceptable. She prefers methods that highlight a certain attitude towards a problem over methods that are effective at dealing with a problem. Having zero tolerance for overdoses and being able to do fuck-all about it becomes preferable to halving it, because not giving up on an ideal world is better than actually making the world better. As little regard as I have for Victoria's position, it seems that the text is giving it some credence by positioning Lisa not just as pursuing the methods that will make an actual difference, but also as rejecting the idea of "something better." Sveta can't be more than Garotte, overdose rates can be halved but not lowered further. Its weirdly reifying of Victoria's position, making Lisa a foil to it rather than a reflection of an entirely unrelated worldview.

There's a few team leaders in the parahumans-verse who get characterized as encouraging and benefiting from chaos within their ranks. Jack Slash had a self-image of himself as a master manipulator who knew just how to keep the Nine at each others throats to keep them in line, though of course his power was pulling heavy duty there. Trickster exulted in sowing chaos, but while he could use it to his advantage when working alone it explicitly got in the way of the Travellers as a whole during their operations. Lisa incorporates aspects of both; she seems to be cultivating a "this chaos is all part of my design" air for Faultline and Victoria while actually always being on the cusp of losing control of her own team. It seems less like something she's doing deliberately and more like something she has to deal with, even if she later frames it as part of preparing Aiden or something similar.

Man, her relationship with Aiden. First explicit mention of Taylor we've had since the beginning and its for a blunt confirmation that she sees herself as failing Taylor in the same way she failed Rex, and is terrified of doing with Aiden. It feels both like she's holding him at arms length and that she's desperate for a close connection with him.

[merrybloomwrites]

I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 4)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: After battling the symptoms of touch deprivation for weeks, Y/N sees Harry again in Chicago and he helps her deal with the worst of it.

Previous Chapters: Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3

Word Count: 4.9k

Y/N POV

“You haven’t had a nightmare in 4 days?” Rachel asks.

“Nope!” You reply happily, taking a sip of your iced caramel latte. You and Rachel both have a free afternoon and decided to meet at a local cafe. You feel so much better than you had for the last few weeks that you felt confident to order a different drink. No tea that reminds you of Sarah, no hot chocolate that makes you think of Harry.

“And you’re not using those coping mechanisms you mentioned?”

“Haven’t needed them in days.”

“And you’re still not going to tell me what they were?” You blush at this question, embarrassed by the truth.

“No, that secret may come with me to the grave,” you joke.

Rachel looks at you, slightly worried and says, “It was safe right? You weren’t like, drugging yourself to sleep were you?”

“Oh God no!” You reply with a laugh. “Nothing like that, I swear.” Though you think to yourself that Harry’s scent in its direct form would probably be so delicious that it would act like a drug to you.

“Okay, I trust you,” Rachel says. “So, have you heard from Harry?”

You sigh, slightly disappointed by the answer you have to give. “Not since the night of the concert. I’m sure he’s been busy.”

“Maybe you should text him first.”

“And maybe you are out of your mind. No way. And before you say anything, it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm the girl or he’s the alpha or any of that sexist bullshit. It has everything to do with the fact that he’s Harry Styles.” You whisper the last part, aware that you’re in public and anyone around could hear the conversation.

“So what if he’s Harry Styles?”

“What would I even text him?”

“You could start with ‘Hi, how are you?’”

“Very funny. I mean, I guess I could. Maybe. I’ll give it a couple more days.”

“Waiting for him to leave the area?”

“Something like that,” you reply.

“Speaking of procrastinating things,” Rachel says teasingly, “have you called your doctor yet? To find out why that alpha knew you’re an omega even though you’re on suppressants and scent blockers?”

“Okay, that I did not procrastinate on. I called her but I can’t get an appointment until November.”

“Seriously?”

“Yea. I mean there aren’t a lot of doctors who specialize in omegas, so they’re always booked. Anyway, she said that my body has probably just developed a resistance to the pills. She’ll try to change my regimen after the appointment and told me to use the spray on neutralizers until then.”

“That sucks.”

“It does. I am so not looking forward to changing meds. It takes awhile to find the right combo and then there’ll be all new side effects. But it’ll be worth it.”

“I wish omegas didn’t have to hide who they are.”

“Me too. But that’s just how it is now.”

From there the conversation turns to lighter topics until you part ways to continue your day.

Another week passes and you still haven’t heard from Harry. On top of that the bad dreams come back, along with the restlessness, and chills. You’ve started using the old coping mechanisms again, which barely work this time around.

The morning after his final show in New York City, your social media is flooded with videos of him receiving his banner at Madison Square Garden. If there was any time to reach out to him, now was it. He said he wanted to be friends, right? A friend would absolutely congratulate him on this achievement.

It still takes you forever to type out the message, and ever longer to find the courage to press send. It’s nearly noon by the time you text Harry, “Congrats on the banner!”

It’s a simple sentence, just four words, and you still find a way to overthink everything for the two hours it takes Harry to reply. You’re taking a walk, grateful once again that you work on your own schedule and can take a break when you need one. And right now, you need one. Because you texted a celebrity and he still hasn’t answered and you for sure made a complete fool of yourself.

You stop dead in your tracks when your phone buzzes and Harry’s name appears on your screen.

From Harry Styles: Thank you! Can’t believe I got such an honor. How are you? What are you up to?

There’s a bench nearby and you sit to reread his message five times before replying.

To Harry Styles: You deserve it! I’m good, just out for a walk. How about you?

The next message comes in much faster.

From Harry Styles: I’ve been doing well. Took it easy this morning, currently enroute to Texas for the next shows.

You can’t help but feel disappointed that he’s no longer just a city away. You know it’s silly, but it was nice that he was so close by.

To Harry Styles: Enjoy Texas!

From Harry Styles: Thank you! Have you ever been?

To Harry Styles: Once, in college. Went to San Antonio with some friends.

From Harry Styles: That’s a great city, love the river walk there!

And so, you and Harry Styes became friends who text each other about random things. You talk throughout his flight to Texas, and sporadically over the next couple of weeks. It never gets very deep, all surface level conversations, but it’s nice. You feel like you’re getting to know the real him, and he’s getting to know who you are as well.

The texts from Harry are the high points. The low points are, unfortunately, very low. The hot chocolate, and roses, and forest smelling candles are no longer helping you. Bad dreams happen almost every night, you’re constantly cold, and there’s an itch under your skin that just won’t go away. The voice in the back of your brain is telling you it’s touch deprivation, but you refuse to admit that to yourself. You’ve never needed an alpha, and you refuse to depend on one now. So no, you do NOT have touch deprivation.

You’re checking your email, and you see that there are still spots open for a job training opportunity in Chicago. You rarely go to these, but it’s been a while, and you think maybe it would be good to go. There are always new types of data software, and you found the last two training courses you attended to be pretty informative.

Looking at the dates you notice the course is the following Thursday and Friday. In Chicago. You also notice that Harry will be doing shows there at the same time. You don’t admit that’s what seals the deal for you, but it totally is.

After registering and setting up your flight and hotel reservation you send a text to Harry. You casually mention that you’ll be in Chicago the following weekend. You’re surprised when your phone starts to ring, and Harry’s name is on the screen.

You answer the phone and he’s first to speak, saying, “You’re gonna be in Chicago?”

“I am!” you reply, matching his excitement.

“Can you come to my shows?”

“Which days are they again?” You ask this to try and seem like less of a stalker.

“I’ve got one Thursday, Friday and Saturday. You’re welcome to come to as many of those as you want,” he answers.

“I think Thursday is an all-day thing, so I won’t be able to come to that one. The training ends with dinner on Friday evening so I think I could make it just in time for the concert.”

“Ok great, and Saturday?”

“I am free all-day Saturday. My flight back home is Sunday afternoon.”

“Wonderful. I’ll have tickets for you for those two shows. That is, if you want to come of course.”

“Harry, I absolutely want to come.”

“Then the tickets are yours. All the details will come from Jada. I’d be a mess without that girl.”

“You paying her well?” you ask jokingly.

“She’s compensated handsomely, I promise,” he replies with a laugh.

“Happy to hear it.”

“I uhm- it sounds like you won’t be able to come before the show Friday, correct?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’ll probably get there right before you go on.”

“Forgive me if this sounds forward, but would you want to hang out after? It would have to be at the hotel, I can’t really be out in the city after a concert.”

“Totally understand that. And yea, I’d love to hang out after.”

“Great! I’m staying at the Nobu Hotel.”

You quickly look it up and see that your hotel is close by.

“No way!” you reply. “I’m at the Crowne Plaza like, two blocks away.”

“Well, that’s convenient. I’ll make sure there’s a car to take you to Nobu after the show Friday if that works for you?”

“Yea that would be great. I’d love to hang out!” You cringe, hoping that didn’t come off too strong.

“I’d love to hang out as well. Listen I have to go to sound check for tonight’s show. I’ll text you soon. And look out for the email from Jada, it’ll have all the info you need.”

***

Harry POV

“You’re extra happy today,” Elin says as Harry bounces around the venue smiling so big that both dimples are showing.

“I am!” He replies. “Thanks for noticing!”

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Sarah asks. “Because it’s definitely not how this sound check is going.” She has a point there. No less than a dozen things have gone wrong since they started, leading them to take a break while the sound techs work out a few problems.

“Just talked to a friend who will be in town next week.”

“Oh I see,” Mitch says. “So Y/N will be here?”

“Yes, and she’ll be coming to the shows Friday and Saturday. I can’t wait to see her!”

“Aw, someone’s got a crush,” Pauli says.

Harry ignores the teasing from his band members and says, “Honestly I’ve been a bit worried about her. I’ve just had this feeling that keeps getting worse.”

“Why do you think it has to do with Y/N?” NyOh asks.

“I mean, I don’t know for sure. But we’ve talked on the phone a couple times, and she always sounds exhausted.”

“I’m sure she’s alright,” Sarah says reassuringly.

“I know, I just can’t help it.”

“I completely get that,” Sarah replies softly, looking towards her mate.

“Fixed it!” One of the sound techs calls out, effectively cutting off the conversation as Harry and the band get back to work.

***

Y/N POV

The next week passes in what feels like slow motion. Every hour drags on. Your apartment building hasn’t switched from air conditioning to heat yet, so you’re constantly wearing layers of warm clothes and burrowing under blankets. The itch under your skin only gets worse, spreading to new areas each day until there’s a maddening tingle throughout your whole body.

Amelia drops you off at the airport Wednesday afternoon. You know she can tell that something is wrong, but you don’t offer an explanation, so she doesn’t pry for details.

You put on your mask before walking into the terminal. It’s a habit leftover from the pandemic, and also a great way to block out the potential strange scents. Alphas and omegas might be rare, but there’s always a chance a few will be around in such a crowded place. You’re extra sensitive to smells at the moment due to the touch deprivation that you’ve finally admitted you have. But it’s mild. Totally manageable. Not a problem.

The plane ride and subsequent train trip and walk to the hotel is exhausting. You stop and grab some food on the way. After checking in you immediately eat your quick meal, take a hot shower, and crawl into bed.

You’re almost asleep when your phone digs with an incoming text. You’ve already texted your family and friends letting them know you’re at the hotel, so you’re annoyed that someone is interrupting your sleep.

That is, until you see who the message is from. Harry’s name pops up with a text asking if you made it safely to Chicago. You practically melt at how sweet it is that he’s checking in on you. You send a quick reply before immediately falling asleep.

The first day of the training session is typical- informative, but boring. Harry’s show is still going when you get back to the hotel, so you watch on a livestream. You’re still exhausted and fall asleep before it’s over.

Waking up the next morning is difficult. Your body feels heavy, like your bones are filled with lead. The chills seem worse than ever and you’re grateful you packed yourself a heavy sweater to wear that day. Not only is it warm, but it covers up the marks from where you’ve been scratching at the skin on your arms due to the incessant itching.

You have trouble concentrating on the training throughout the day. There was one alpha there, and he was somehow in every single session you attended. He didn’t have a bad scent per se, but his presence alone became overwhelming.

By the time the sessions are over, you feel exhausted. You debate skipping dinner altogether but know you at least need some food before you can start your walk to the United Center. The alpha, whose name you’ve learned is Andy, sits next to you at dinner. He seems nice enough, you don’t feel threatened by him, but you still want to finish dinner and get away from him as quickly as possible.

Once dessert is over you grab your bag, ready to escape. Andy stops you before you go, asking for your number. Without thinking you quickly say, “I have a boyfriend,” and hastily leave the restaurant.

You’re not far from the venue, only a few blocks away, and you’re so out of it that you barely notice where your legs are taking you. It only takes fifteen minutes to get there, but you’re on edge the whole time. Glancing at your watch you see that it’s just before 8PM, meaning Harry should still be backstage.

You’re tired, and dizzy, and a little fuzzy, but knowing you’re so close to seeing Harry again has you moving faster than you thought possible. You’ve even built up a slight sweat, and you feel warm for the first time in weeks causing you to roll up the sleeves of your sweater.

As you approach the building you hear your name being called. You turn to see Jada running up to you.

 “I didn’t think you’d be here so early! Glad I was talking to one of the security guards, you walked right past the entrance,” she says.

You smile as she hands you your VIP badge and leads you inside.

“Harry has a few minutes before he needs to finish getting ready. He’ll be glad you made it before he goes on, I know he’s been dying to see you,” Jada says, causing you to blush.

“Well, I can’t wait to see him either,” you reply.

She knocks on a door which opens a second later. The first person you see is Mitch, who gives you a hug as he says, “Hey kid, good to see you again.”

“You too!” you answer, somewhat surprised by the warm greeting.

Sarah’s there too, pulling you in to a hug next. The moment her arms wrap around your shoulders, you’re overcome with a wave of dizziness. Black spots flash in your vision and you blink rapidly to try and clear them.

“You okay, love?” she asks as she lets go and takes a step back.

After a couple deep breaths you answer, “I’m good. Practically ran here from dinner, still catching my breath I guess.”

Harry, who’s been quietly watching you quickly walks to the fridge and grabs a water bottle. You reach out your hand so he can pass it to you, and see his eyes focus on your arm. There’s no way he missed the angry red scratch marks there, but you immediately pull your sleeves back down to hide them anyway.

“Can we have a moment?” Harry asks, causing Mitch, Sarah, and Jada to promptly exit and close the door behind them. He motions to the couch, and you’re reminded of the last time the two of you were in his dressing room together.

Like the last time, you sit next to each other, but he seems to be giving you more space. This confuses you. If he’s so excited to see you, why didn’t he greet you with a hug like everyone else? And why is he so far away now? And why does he seem so serious instead of happy?

“Y/N, I have a question, and it’s kind of personal, but I’d like you to answer honestly,” he starts.

“Okay,” you reply, taken aback by this turn of events.

He’s quiet for a moment, seeming to think of exactly what he wants to ask. Finally, he settles on, “Where did those scratches come from?”

“My arms were itchy,” you reply. Not a lie, though probably not the full truth he’s looking for.

“And the dizziness? Cause I don’t think it was from your walk. You seemed fine until Sarah touched you. Until an alpha touched you.”

You know what he’s getting at. He’s no dummy. Just minutes after seeing you he’s figured out what you’ve been hiding for weeks. Hiding from everyone, including yourself.

He watches you, and you know he’s waiting for an answer. But you can’t think of one to give him. So, he continues, “Y/N, I think you have touch deprivation. Is that fair to say?”

You let out a shuddery breath and nod. “Yea, that’s fair to say.”

“It seems pretty severe.”

You finally decide to open up, saying, “It’s been getting worse the past couple weeks. I don’t think my meds are working anymore, and the soonest doctors appointment I could get still isn’t for a couple weeks.”

“I’m worried you’re close to a drop. Like, any minute now. Or that you’ll go under if I touch you. You realize that you were close with Sarah, right? That if you’d stayed in contact with her, or if she’d released any pheromones you’d be in a full drop right now?”

Part of you wants to snark back, yell at him for going full alpha male and acting like he knows your body better than you. But the problem is, he’s right. It’s been so long since the last time you dropped that you forgot what it’s like. You forgot what the signs are.

But now that he’s pointed out the obvious, you really start to feel it. He sees as you deflate, starting to fold in on yourself. His hand reaches out, wanting to comfort you in some way, but he can’t. He can’t risk sending you into a drop, not when he has a show to do in just twenty minutes.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “I didn’t realize it. I thought I was handling it, that I could make it to my doctor’s visit and get new soothers and I’d be okay. I just don’t know what to do if I don’t have meds that work.”

“I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

You finally meet his eyes and see that he’s completely serious.

After a moment you nod and reply, “Okay.”

“Okay? You’ll let me help?”

“Yes. I don’t know what else to do. And uhm, I trust you. You’re a good person, Harry. A good alpha.”

He smiles at your words before glancing at the clock and saying, “I have to finish getting ready in a minute. I’d still like to hang out after the concert. I think it might be healthy for you to do a drop with me there, if you’re comfortable with that?”

“I mean, I don’t like dropping. It’s only happened to me twice before and I was alone each time, so they weren’t good experiences. But maybe it will be different if you’re there?”

“I can help you through it, if you’ll let me.”

“What would you do to help? Like, how do alphas help omegas through that?”

“It depends on what you consent to but ah, I would hold you, help you get the touch your omega needs. Most alphas will scent the omega. It lets them know that they’re not alone, that someone is there protecting them, keeping them safe while they can’t do so themselves. I’d also release calming pheromones to keep your omega relaxed.”

“Okay. I’m okay with all of that. I’d like that,” you answer. Truthfully you’re a bit nervous. Harry Styles has just offered to hold you, to scent you for goodness sakes. That’s incredibly intimate. But you’ve felt so awful for weeks, and there are still weeks to go before you can get new soothers. And this is kind of a dream come true.

“Do you want to stay here for the concert? You can hang in here or go to the VIP box. Or you can head to the hotel now and take it easy if you’d like,” he says.

“I’ll stay in here if that’s alright,” you reply.

“It’s more than alright,” he answers. “And if at any point you want to get out of here just text Jada. She can arrange a ride back to my hotel and I’ll meet you there after the show. Or if you change your mind she can get you a ride back to your hotel too.”

“Thank you, Harry. For everything.”

“Of course. I know I don’t know you all that well, but I care about you. Anyway, I uhm, need to get dressed so I’m just gonna step into the bathroom for a moment.”

“I can go in the hall for a minute, get out of your way-”

“Nonsense. You’re not in the way. I’ll be right back.”

Harry finishes getting ready, and you make yourself comfortable on the couch. A couple of people come in, touching up his hair and make-up and before you know it he’s heading to the stage.

You watch on the screen in the room for the first few songs. After a while Jada joins you and you ask if you can watch from the VIP section for a bit. It goes well until Harry and the band take a break. You’d been so focused on the music that you were distracted from everything else around you.

But now all you can hear are all the other people, and it’s overwhelming. It becomes difficult to breathe, and you start to see dark spots once again.

You turn to Jada, and she immediately leads you back to the dressing room.

“Do you want to wait for Harry, or do you want to leave now?” she asks.

“I think I should go,” you reply.

“To your hotel, or his?”

“Harry’s, please.”

“Okay, wait here, I’ll get the car and come back for you in a minute.”

You sit back on the couch, seeking out Harry’s scent to calm you, but it’s barely noticeable.

Jada comes back and you follow her to the car. It’s a quiet ride to the hotel, and once there, she goes with you to the suite.

His room is on the top floor. It’s big, basically a full apartment, and you stay in what seems to be the living room. Jada sits on the couch with you, and you say, “I feel like you have more important things to do than babysit me.”

She laughs and says, “It’s not babysitting. I like hanging out with you. And you’re a priority to Harry. Which makes you a priority to me.”

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence for a while until Jada’s phone buzzes. “Shows over,” she says. “Harry’s just getting changed and then he’ll be here soon. He said you can borrow some of his clothes if you want to get comfy.”

You hesitate and she adds, “I have no problem going through his stuff. I can grab you some clothes if you want.” You laugh at that and nod.

A short while later you’ve changed into a pair of Harry’s sweatpants, as well as a t-shirt and hoodie. They smell like him, and you shamelessly inhale the scent you’ve been craving for weeks. The suite door opens, and Harry walks in, looking incredibly cozy in his own pair of sweats.

“Thank you, Jada,” he says. “Get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

“Night guys,” she says as she leaves the room.

You’re left alone with Harry. It feels different, here in his hotel room, surrounded by his belongings, while you’re wearing his clothes.

“You left early,” he says.

“Sorry,” you reply.

“Don’t be. I’m just worried as to why you left.”

“I was just overwhelmed. Needed some quiet.”

“I understand. Y/N, are you ready for this? You still seem on the edge of a drop.”

“I’m ready.”

“And have you changed your mind about anything? Or is it okay if I hold and scent you through this?”

You pause for a moment, scared at how vulnerable you’re about to be. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want you to do that. I trust you.”

He takes a step towards you. “Thank you, for trusting me. We’ll probably be more comfortable in the bed.”

“Lead the way,” you say.

It’s awkward at first, the two of you sitting next to each other in his bed, backs resting against the headboard.

He turns to you and says, “Can I hold you now?”

You nod, and his arms wrap around you, pulling you until you’re tucked under his chin and resting against his chest.

Everything starts to get fuzzy, and you feel yourself losing consciousness. It’s an unsettling feeling, but you know that Harry is there to help you through this.

The last thing you hear before it all goes black is Harry calmly saying, “I’ve got you. Let go. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Harry can’t describe the helplessness he feels as you go limp in his arms. He doesn’t allow himself to stress, or panic, knowing that his emotions will impact you. Instead, he takes some calming breaths and thinks through everything he knows he needs to do in this situation.

He hears you whimper quietly as you start to shiver, and he doesn’t hesitate to soothe you. It takes some maneuvering, but soon you’re both laying down in the bed. He tucks his nose into your neck and begins to scent you, releasing calming pheromones until you relax.

It continues this way for the next couple of hours. Harry holds you, and scents you, his nose rubbing against the gland in your neck. During one moment when you seem particularly distressed he can’t help but place kisses there to soothe you faster.

Finally, you start to stir. It takes longer than Harry had anticipated, so he’s relieved when your eyes meet his after hours of being closed.

“Hey there,” he says with a soft smile.

“Hi,” you answer groggily. “How long?”

“Couple hours. Your inner omega needed the rest. Now you need some too. Go to sleep, I’ve got you.”

It’s the same words he said before you dropped. You wish you could hear that all the time. No one has cared for you before, not like this. It feels good, but you remind yourself not to get used to it. Still, you curl into his embrace, enjoying every moment of contact with Harry that you can get.

The next thing you know, it’s late morning. You’re still cuddling against Harry, and his deep breaths indicate he’s still sleeping.

You feel amazing. You’re nice and warm, your mind is clear, and the constant itch and restlessness are nonexistent. You’re extremely grateful, but at the same time, you’re annoyed that you need to depend on another person just to feel normal. But you don’t dwell on that. Because Harry is starting to stir next to you.

“Hey,” he says when your eyes meet his. “How do you feel? Sleep okay?” God, you could melt at the gravelly sound of his morning voice.

“I’m good. Feel better than I have in a long time. And according to that clock, I slept wonderfully.” The two of you laugh, seeing that it’s nearly noon.  

“I was hoping to treat you to a nice breakfast, but I guess I missed the window on that,” Harry says, continuing to laugh with you. “I do still have plenty of time before I need to be at the arena. Would you like to spend the afternoon with me exploring Chicago?”

“I’d love to,” you reply. His face breaks out in a huge smile before he leans down, once again running his nose along your scent gland. You go limp at the feeling, happily submitting to him.

You don’t think about the fact that this is temporary. That you leave to fly home tomorrow afternoon. That you’ll be without his alpha scent once again.

Instead, you think about the hours you have ahead of you, hours to spend with Harry. Nothing could be more perfect.  

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AN: Thank you so much for reading! This was one of the scenes I imagined when I first thought of the story and I'm so happy that it's finally shared with you all!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz @fictionalmensblog @buckybarnessimpp

[genericpuff]

The excessively passive voice when talking about Minthe being intended to have BPD is hilarious. "It was thought to have her written with BPD"? So weird

Honestly, once you start noticing this passive voice in how Rachel writes and talks, it's kind of hard to unsee.

Like, for starters, the BPD example. It's very non-committal, almost as if to sound like she never actually wrote her with BPD, it was just an 'idea' that she could neither confirm or deny as canon. But then you read the episode with the slap and-

It's- it's literally called "Splitting". It's about as subtle as a brick to the face. This entire episode showcases Minthe having an actual literal episode of splitting and it's plain as day to anyone who can read the title card and put two and two together. So for the wording to be so passive around her characterization... it wasn't "thought" to have her written with BPD, she was written with BPD.

Another example that sticks out in my mind of Rachel's passive writing is far later in Season 3, when Demeter reunites with Persephone and naturally expects her to come back home with her.

This line still fucking bothers me to this day. Besides the fact that it's just really poorly written dialogue, Persephone describes her being in love with Hades as if it's just some coincidental thing that happened to her that she can't avoid and not a deliberate choice she's making. "It would seem" my ass, Persephone is a coward for not being upfront and just talking to her mother like an adult by saying, "Mother, I love you, and I understand why you want me to come home, but I'm in love with Hades and want to stay in the Underworld with him." Instead the way it's worded is almost designed to absolve Persephone of any and all agency in her own decisions and active participation in her relationship with Hades by instead making it out to be just some circumstance that she can't get herself out of.

Again, this isn't quite as egregious as the aforementioned BPD scene, but it's still irritating because Rachel writes like this a lot throughout LO. And it's not just the dialogue either, entire decisions throughout the comic are flip-flopped and kept vague by Rachel so she can give herself plausible deniability over the narrative. I could come up with some of my own examples, but I think she managed to speak for herself just fine in the end-of-series Q&A that left both critics and fans of the series massively confused and disappointed:

LO is full of half-committed plotlines because Rachel herself can't commit to her own decisions. So the decisions she does make are left vague enough that hardcore fans are willing enough to fill in the blanks themselves, but anyone who asks her genuinely what her plan was, she just gives the same wordy "IDK it's up to your interpretation!" response. It's like she thinks people are asking her as just another reader who can only speculate, but she's literally the author, so why is she acting like her guess is as good as theirs?

Well, because that's how she wrote LO. That's how she's always written comics, with vague half-finished thoughts and just enough for readers to do the mental gymnastics of making sense of it all just to give her the credit for "smart writing" that she never actually did because she stopped paying attention after the first sentence. And that method of being vague for the sake of audience interpretation is fine for illustrations or anything that isn't trying to be a concise narrative, but LO did try to be that and it really shows how hard it failed in doing so when its own creator can't even come up with something slightly plausible to explain all the questions people had in the end. "There is some backstory there" but proceeds to not actually expand on said backstory. "I like to imply things without outright telling people", so do I, but the difference is that Rachel is using that as a crutch to not answer the questions she setup for her readers and then didn't resolve after five years. There's not wanting to spoon feed people the plot, and then there's literally refusing to explain your decisions when writing said plot, almost because you don't know any more than they do.

The entirety of LO is rooted in Rachel's passiveness, from her inability to answer questions concisely to every little plot point that was established and dropped throughout the comic's run. Writing a story is a series of decisions, deciding what to keep, deciding what not to keep, deciding what has to be changed, etc. and Rachel just... doesn't seem like someone who's ever been capable of making those decisions, especially when she's writing an actual long form story to the end and doesn't have the luxury of dropping it whenever it feels convenient for her like she did several times with The Doctor Pepper Show. Once she was actually held to a standard, once she was actually signed into a contract that expected her to make those decisions, she failed to and it culminated in one of the messiest conclusions to a story I've seen since Game of Thrones.

LO is kind of like Schrodinger's Cat - a plot point can be or not be whatever it needs to be so that Rachel can be either praised for smart writing she never did or absolved of bad writing that she did do. It's equally parts interesting and vague enough that whatever her readers give her credit for writing, she can give them a thumbs-up and go "you're totally right, champ!" and proceed to take all the credit of being a "good writer" from the efforts of her own audience who had to jump through a million hoops to make sense of her own messy writing.

But when she's put on the spot by those very same readers to answer for her own decisions, she can't.

Because she never made them.

Because there was never anything "deeper" going on, that's just what her style of "distraction writing" made you believe. The plot never lets you stop to think about what you just read long enough before zipping away to the next thing and distracting you with a new twist or a new character or a new plot point, and before you know it, you've gone weeks without reading about the last thing that was established you probably haven't even realized that those questions never got answered. Sometimes Rachel remembers to get back to those things and resolves them within a handful of panels, other times she forgets them entirely and just leaves them to rot in the hopes that no one ever calls her out on it. And when they do... she can just pull the get-out-of-jail-free "Welp, it's up to your interpretation!" card and get that credit all over again for being deep and insightful, meanwhile those who are rightfully dissatisfied with that answer are blanket-accused of "getting mad at Rachel for not writing the story they wanted".

To close out this ask that, per tradition, turned into an essay, I'd like to recall the famous words of fictional detective Benoit Blanc: "Look into the clear center of this glass onion... Miles Bron is an idiot!"

[echooefrost]

TGS MEDIEVAL AU :0

Is this Historically accurate? no. Does that matter? no.

Alright, This is gonna be a lot, so thou shalt be warned

In the Au, Robert is a prince and Lanyon Sr. is the King, they rule over a small kindom somewhere in England - name TBA (so not like real monarchies which rule over entire countries etc.) The premise is basically; The Lanyon's personal/private doctor recently passed away so they call in a new doctor/chemist from Scotland - did you guess? yep, It's Jekyll. Hyde exists before Henry/Edward meets Robert (I haven't worked out the exact logistics about it yet, but I will) Jekyll/Hyde are more Chemists/Alchemists than Doctors but they are both still very good doctors regardless (so they don't really wear the 'plague mask' thing) I aged only Jekyll, Hyde and Lanyon down to about their early 20's so it matches around the original timing of when J&H met Robert in TGS. There are other smaller reasons but they aren't to important, all you need to know is that it doesn't really change anything

Lanyon is betrothed to Everly from a neighbouring kingdom -this is where it differs slightly from TGS, it's a political marriage not a lavender marriage. Neither Robert nor Everly are happy about this however, they are both only children in royalty so they don't really have an option.

Hyde is essentially the local gremlin that has in-built eyebags and a sense to sell you things not very discreetly that he probably shouldn't be selling. His Cape is comedically large and has a very extensive collection of illegal powders, drugs, and other nefarious items. Almost everybody knows Hyde becasue at some point they have all needed some rare item from him. - this is where the blackfog comes in (yes it exists!) the Blackfog is basically the same but Hyde really wants to go so he can buy/sell lots of items for his little side-business he has going on, however Lanyon Sr. is opposed to it and it's existence because well... illegal.

*Hyde also goes by: The Spirit of [insert Kingdom's name] at night (soooooo original, ik)

Jekyll stays pretty much the same, He really cares about his reputation so he can move up on the social ladder and create his own Science business at some point, and I mean he doesn't want to make a fool of himself in front of the King of all people, that wouldn't be a very good look, would it?

In this universe, The lodgers are all citizens of the small kingdom and they all sort of have different occupations/roles in the town. They can't all be scientists, but do not fear because they still as equally crazy and chaotic as before. Rachel is the Lanyon's personal chef but she also helps run the bakery in town with Mr. Doddle. Jasper looks after most of the animals and creatures in the kingdom, he used to be a farmer but moved to get away from home. I am yet to work out how Jekyll and Jaspers relationship dynamic stays the same in this universe but I will figure something out.

There is A LOT of Jekyon and Lanyde going on here, so I've got something for everyone, (there may or may not be a masquerade at some point...) and it's not just centred around romance, there is lots of other plot stuff happening so do not fear my ace/aro friends (or just people who aren't a fan of romance)!

That's most of it for now... I'll draw some more stuff at some point and give some extra details, If you have any questions please ask (my asks are open) I'd love to hear from you all!!! Don't be afraid to offer any suggestions or other criticisms. Maybe I'll write a fanfic one day who knows, we will see.

Thanks for listening to my rant (*^▽^*)

*Footnote - I don't think you guys realise how hard it was to make hyde not look like either A.) a fucking elf or B.) Link. Did I succeed? not sure.

[alpacaroni-and-cheese]

Leah, Fatin and Choice.

Not to wax lyrical about a TV show that was cancelled over two years ago, but The Wilds is pretty good, actually.

All 8 of the main characters (yes, eight, the boys don't count) are some of the most complex, layered and interesting characters I've ever seen. Each of them, on a surface level, seem to be one-dimensional.

Shelby, for example, is the goody-two shoes Christian flawless pageant queen. But she isn't, not really. She's a closeted, anxious mess, who is about one or two mental breakdowns away from shaving her head at any given time. She cares far too deeply, leaving her heart exposed and vulnerable.

Or take Rachel; on the outside, she's hard on everyone, angry and resentful, and bound for diving for America in the next Olympics. But in reality, she's burnt out. She might be hard on everyone around her, but she's hardest on herself. She suffers from bulimia, brought on by a few ill-advised words from her diving coach, and isn't even on the team anymore. She is angry, and she is resentful, but I think she has good reason to be. So when she does release that anger, it's an inspiration for us all.

You can do this kind of analysis with all of the characters, but the two I want to focus on in particular are Leah and Fatin.

Leah, the boring, ordinary, average girl from the Bay, who thinks too much and leaps before she looks.

That doesn't even scratch the surface of who Leah is.

She's whip-smart, and not in the "knows the first 20 digits of pi" Hollywood style of smart. She notices things and tucks them away in her brain until she has a moment to herself where she can ruminate, drawing connections where maybe there aren't any, and draw conclusions based partly on evidence and partly on a near-infallible trust for her gut.

She analyses. Not in the (BBC) Sherlock kind of way where she just magics up the answer out of thin air, but in her own way. She sees something is out of place, and digs around in the rocks and dirt, bloodying her fingers and knees until she can figure out what's wrong.

She gets taken advantage of by a man far older than her, and lies about her age so he'd sleep with her. She's hopelessly, helplessly tied to this pathetic man, every aspect of her life tethered to him. So when he finds out the truth and removes every part of her from his life, she is left drowning in his wake. She clings to the book he wrote and the sick annotations he left for her like it's a lifeline, when it's actually pulling her further beneath the waves.

Leah broods, she ruminates and she analyses, until something gives way.

She runs headlong into walls until either they break, or she does.

Next, let's talk about Fatin.

Promiscuous, princess-y Fatin, who's never done a day's hard work in her life.

In 1x05, Fatin runs away from the group. In 1x04, she was (metaphorically and a little bit physically, albeit accidentally) mauled by Leah. Her soft underbelly exposed and prodded. The others have all made judgements on her character, and in their eyes she has come up short. So, she chooses to remove herself from the equation, and runs away, like a thief in the night.

She finds a waterfall, practically saving all of them from dying slowly of thirst. And Leah, who pushed her, shoved her, rejected her last episode, spearheads the campaign to find her, after a little encouragement and wake-up call from Dot.

Fatin is not used to forgiveness. We see her mother let things go, but her mistakes are not forgiven, and most certainly not forgotten. Her hurt is minimised and dismissed by her mother, so she turns to her father for support. He is her best friend and confidant. He always has her side.

But then she discovers the photos. Her father has been cheating with lots of women over a long period of time. He has been lying to and betraying their family for years. She lashes out and chooses to send his nudes to everyone in his contact list, not thinking it through properly. When this is inevitably drawn back to her, her father turns on her, and her mother just sits and watches.

She isn't familiar with forgiveness, so when Leah offers it to her the first time she chooses to willingly accept it, offering it back in turn.

Leah makes the choice to burn Jeff's book, severing the tether holding her beneath the water. She's free, and can breathe.

Fatin becomes her confidant, listening to Leah's theories about the island and offering reasonable explanations for what's going on, and it works for a while.

But Leah becomes obsessed with the island. She's convinced something is wrong, and works herself to the bone to discover the truth, at the expense of her own safety and sanity.

Fatin reaches out to her, tries to wade through the darkness clouding Leah's thoughts and pull her back into the light.

But she fails.

When Leah runs into the ocean, desperate to find a way out, Fatin can do nothing but watch. Rachel overcomes her fear of the water and drags Leah back to the beach. Dot wants to sedate her, just to be safe, but Fatin refuses. Leah's had enough choices taken away from her, so she lets Leah choose.

Fatin, who knows how damaging it is to have your autonomy stolen, gives Leah this choice. Fatin, who knows Leah had many decisions made for her in the past, lets her decide for herself. She lets Leah make the choice to live.

[ebsmind]

𝐥𝐨𝐦𝐥 ❀ tom blyth x fem!singer reader

summary : reader and tom break up so she does best and writes a new album

warning(s) : heartbreak 💔

a/n : IM BACK FROM A HIATUS 💃🏻 i know that the tom blyth love has died down but i love doing social media au’s so much so idc 😅

ALSO in this mini series, taylor swift never wrote TTPD! the read did but im changing a couple things up! like this takes place in december of 2024 and instead of the album being called “the tortured poets department” it’s called loml! you’ll see how it plays out but i just hope everything makes sense!

ynuser i love you, it’s ruining my life

view comments

user1 girl are you OKAY???

user2 oh no that’s not good

user3 so the breakup is confirmed?

user4 tom what did you do…

user5 the end?? GIRL WHATS HAPPENING

user6 NEW ALBUM NEW ALBUM NEW ALBUM

↳ user7 now is NOT the time to clown 😭😭

celebupdates looks like our favorite couple has called it quits after almost two years of dating! what are your thoughts?

view comments

user1 no no no

user2 this next album is gonna HIT

user3 poor y/n :( i knew she loved him a lot

user4 he’s been seen with a girl in new york and it’s NOT looking good

user5 rachel imma need you to talk some sense into tom bc WHAT THE FUCK

user6 i thought they were endgame 💔

ynuser i can do it with a broken heart out on january 3rd

view comments

rachelzegler lights camera bitch smile!

❤️ by creator

user1 oh she’s HEARTBROKEN

user2 isn’t that one of her tour outfits??

↳ user3 omg it totally is

user4 this is so about how they broke up while she was on tour

user5 someone give this poor girl a hug

user6 “even when you wanna die” GIRL WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU???

user7 she’s gonna announce an album on his birthday there’s no way

ynuser my new album loml comes out on february 2nd 🖤

view comments

rachelzegler i watched you put ur blood, sweat and tears into this album 🖤 so proud of you my little poet

↳ ynuser crying. i love you.

user1 there’s no way it’s love of my life…

user2 IT WAS UNNECESSARY????

taylorswift proud of you! you deserve so much love my sweet girl 🖤🪶✨

↳ ynuser ily momma 🫶

user3 she’s about to end tom i fear

user4 releasing this on his birthday is CRAZY

user5 it’s a smart marketing move tho

user6 i bet tom’s new girl is PISSED

user7 I WAS SO RIGHT OMG

sabrinacarpenter 🫂

tomblyth what the monkey on the wall said ❤️

view comments

user1 men ain’t shit

user2 so this the girl you left y/n for?

user3 he cheated on her there’s no way

↳ user4 she def knew about y/n too

user5 rachel hasn’t said a thing about tom im worried he fucked up real bad

user6 he loves her??? poor y/n

ynuser oh

user7 Y/N??!?

*post has been deleted

[snailvibes]

Stupid life is strange au I thought of based off the fact that I’ve seen a handful of swap au’s where something happens to Chloe instead of Rachel, but this is my variant where smthn happened to Max instead!!

Idk if I’ll do anything with it, if people are interested I might make stuff for it, but here’s some various ideas and thoughts I had below the cut

- Au is called the butterfly effect because I’ve always seen the blue butterfly as being Max’s animal imagery thing (the doe being Rachel and Ravens being Chloe’s) and also to show how much things would change with Rachel being alive still and Max being the one to die

- Rachel got expelled don’t ask me how cus idk and that’s how she avoided Jefferson and didn’t know about Max being back

- Max was still there for around a month, like a week before the first day of the game she gets kidnapped and is dubbed as missing. Warren and Kate were probably the ones primarily putting up missing posters

- Kate would be even more depressed and a wreck in this au than canon considering not only did the video stuff still happen but her one main support is just gone now

- Rachel and Chloe would probably find out about Max from being at the bathroom at Blackwell still to deal with Nathan. Chloe only lives because Rachel shoved Nathan off of her when he tries to shoot her.

- no one gets rewind powers but since I am a firm believer of Rachel having powers related to nature and her emotions in this universe she’d actually discover that about herself and they’d utilize them to solve shit somehow

- Rachel’s means of getting away involving Frank would definitely be a major thing as yknow Chloe would find this out with Rachel still alive to talk to her about it and a lot of the story would be dedicated to their bond and figuring out what they mean to each other