#so if there's any typos just

[turbo-tsundere]

An AU where technically nothing’s changed, except everyone knows Tsumugi is the mastermind, and that they’re trapped in a show: but not only they're still helpless against her and cannot escape (neither can Tsumugi herself) - they also have to deal with her contractualy obligated sponsorship announcements during trials and investigations... including 30-second-long unskipabble ads before the monitor presents voting results and the blackened.

What dignity? What respect? Everything is a commercialised farce, and everyone, including Tsumugi, is perpetually oscillating between exasperated apathy and resigned frenzy.

Their sanity is doing fine, they tell themselves.

The Show Must (Not) Go On.

I’ve kept this thing in my drafts for uhhhh...

This long.

Over 2 yeaarrrsssss. Because I felt self-consciouss about posting drawings in this style. But idgaf anymore it’s part of my soul. Enjoy.

[binisainz]

does this feeling go both ways ? ⸻ lando norris x reader ⋮ part four .

part  one,  two,  three,  four,  epilogue. word  count.   4.9k a  study  on.   non-linear  storytelling,  childhood  friends  to  strangers  to  lovers,  stem  girlie!reader,  mechanic!reader,  the  happy  ending  i  promised. author's  note.   OH  MY  GOD  IT'S  FINISHED  !!  this  behemoth  of  a  fic  is  just…  thank  u  all  for  following  me  on  this  insane  journey  that  literally  just  started  because  i  had  a  shower  thought  about  lando  in  an  amylaurie  au.  no  other  reason  except  that  !!  but  god.  thank  god  it's  finished  !  here's  the  happy  ending  i  promised  you  :) the  ending  actually  surprised  me  because  half  of  it  was  already written  to  be  included  in  chapter  3  before  i  sent  a  snippet  of  it  over  to  kae  (  @tsunodaradio  )  that  made  me  realize…  wait,  this  should  be  for  the  last  chapter.  so  muaaahh  special  thank  u  to  kae  especially  for  that  ! but,  yeah,  thank  you  all  for  being  here.  all  the  reactions  to  this  fic  have  genuinely  made  me  feel  like  i  got  on  that  podium  myself.  i  have  so,  so  much  to  say  about  this  fic,  but  i  guess  i'll  save  that  for  the  epilogue  :)  bc  surprise  !!!!  there  is  one  :D mixtape.   do  i  wanna  know  cover  by  hozier,  all  my  ghosts  by  lizzy  mcalpine,  true  blue  by  boygenius,  this  love  by  taylor  swift,  garden  song  by  phoebe  bridgers,  everywhere,  everything  by  noah  kahan,  love  you  for  a  long  time  by  maggie  rogers.

NOW, 2024.

woking, in the summer, is still… well, woking. still grey, still muted in that distinct way that woking always is, except now the air is thick and humid, and the sun hangs just a little too high in the sky for comfort. still, it’s better than winter, better than the biting cold, better than the way february felt like a graveyard of things you didn’t know how to bury.

time heals all wounds, eventually, they say. you don’t know if you believe in that, but time has made them scab over at least. maybe that’s enough.

the mclaren headquarters hums with activity, voices overlapping, cameras flashing, the faint buzz of machinery somewhere in the distance. business as usual. you like it here, more than you thought you would. your laptop and phone are heavy with the weight of a job offer, a future you hadn’t fully considered, not really. it sits in your inbox, waiting. you have until sunday to decide.

it should be a nice day today. it should be fine. it is fine. except it isn’t, because he’s here.

you don’t know why nobody told you. maybe because they didn’t think it mattered, because it shouldn’t matter. and it doesn’t. not really. it’s just— what the everloving fuck? you thought you’d have more time.

but no, there he is, all too familiar, in his team kit, half-zipped hoodie hanging loose around his body, curls unkempt. you can hear his voice even over the ambient chatter of the media crew, see the way he moves, how he carries himself with easy confidence.

his co-driver sees you first, looks at you with a knowing expression, like he’s in on a joke you don’t find funny. your mind moves too fast, filling in the blanks of, oh god, he told oscar fucking piastri about me. about the girl who turned down a formula one driver. kind of.

fuck. great. amazing. splendid, even. that’s just what you are, aren’t you? a story, a joke, something whispered in locker rooms and motorhomes. maybe lando didn’t even mean it in a bad way. maybe he just said it offhand, absentmindedly, because that’s what happened. but still, the thought makes your stomach churn. makes your hands itch to leave.

so you do. you mutter some half-hearted excuse to the nearest person— something about needing to check something, maybe, you don’t know, you just need to go.

it’s not cowardice. not really. it’s just— well, self-preservation. you know the way your pulse picks up when he looks at you, how your breath catches, how the world narrows down to nothing but the space between you. you can’t do that today. not now.

but of course, lando follows.

the hallway is long and white and empty, and it kind of reminds you of hospitals, of clean sheets and beeping monitors and the fluorescent lights of a summer ten years ago, when you broke your arm and he sat by your bedside, legs swinging off the chair, promising he’ll take you to the lake when you’re all better.

(he never did, though. and maybe that should’ve been your first clue.)

he says your name.

you don’t turn around. just cross your arms, stare down the glossy floor. “i think we’ve talked enough, actually, norris. go back to your fans.”

there’s a beat of silence, then: “okay, but i want to stay.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. breathe. in, out, in, out.

when you turn to face him, he’s already watching you. eyebrows drawn together. his expression is unreadable, but his presence isn’t. it’s loud, takes up too much space, even though he’s just standing there, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets.

your throat feels tight. you don’t know what you were expecting, really. an apology? an explanation? none of it matters anymore. still, the words push past your lips before you can stop them. “did you do this?”

lando’s brow furrows. “do what?”

you exhale sharply, frustration creeping into your voice. “don’t play dumb, lan, it doesn’t suit you. did you pull strings? talk to someone?”

his face shifts, confusion flickering before something almost sheepish takes its place. “i mean… kind of? i orchestrated the whole media day here because i wanted to see you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

your breath catches, your fingers tighten around your phone, your whole body locks up like you’ve been caught off guard. because it’s not fair, the way he says it so easily, so plainly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like of course he’d do all this just to see you.

so you swallow hard, shove it down, focus on what you really meant to ask in the first place. you shake your head, press your lips together, steady yourself. “no,” you say, voice even. “i meant the job offer.”

his expression drops, realization hitting all at once. “oh.” his head jerks back slightly, eyes scanning your face, searching. “no. i— i didn’t even know you applied.”

and for a second, just a second, you can breathe again. because his eyes widen a little, mouth parting like he’s about to say something else, and you can see it— the genuine surprise, the way his expression shifts into something close to excitement, something proud.

“you applied to mclaren?” he asks, voice almost… hopeful. like the thought of you here— with him— is something good. something worth smiling about.

and for a second, just a second, you think: maybe it is.

maybe you’re not a fraud. maybe you did this on your own, maybe you’re actually good enough, maybe all those nights spent hunched over your laptop weren’t all for naught, maybe—

but no. your mind doesn’t let you have that. not yet.

lando shifts on his feet, glances away for a moment, then back at you. he takes a breath, “can we talk?”

you hesitate. then,  “okay.”

his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to agree, like he was bracing for another rejection. but then he grins, slow and wide, something warm creeping into his features.

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms again. “after you finish on the podium on sunday.”

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head, his grin growing impossibly wider. “that a promise?”

you shrug, feigning nonchalance even as your heart is racing, hoping, praying that he doesn’t comment on how red your face has gotten. “just stating facts.”

and— god, he’s smiling so hard now, like you just handed him the goddamn moon, like this— you— are something he wants to hold onto. something worth waiting for. and it’s unbearable, the way he’s looking at you, like you’re something precious, like you’re something he wants.

he lingers for another moment, watching you, and you can see it in his face— he doesn’t want to leave. he’s scared you might disappear if he does. and fuck, part of you wants to tell him to stay, wants to reach out, wants to pull him back in like muscle memory, like instinct. but you don’t. you can’t.

instead, you nod towards the end of the hall. “you should probably go.”

he nods, but doesn’t move. then, finally, “yeah. yeah.”

he takes a step back. then another. still smiling, before he finally turns, walks back into the crowd.​​you exhale, half-expecting the breath to feel like release, like something you’d been holding in all this time— but no. you’d been breathing just fine.

NOW, 2024.

your parents’ house still smells like it did when you were ten— laundry detergent and motor oil, the sharp tang of vinegar from the pickled onions your mum keeps in jars by the kitchen sink. the walls are the same too, yellowed from age and the heat of too many summers, though your dad swears he’ll get around to repainting them. he won’t. it’ll be fine.

home is home. it always has been.

it’s familiar. more than anything, more than woking, more than the mclaren headquarters. this is home. and for the first time in a while, you let yourself sink into it.

you don’t watch the race live. your da is still at the garage, sorting through a backlog of clients before the grand prix weekend floods the town with people who suddenly remember they need their cars fixed. your mum has just locked up the laundromat, and maggie is watching her five-year-old, daisy, try and fit her entire fist into her mouth.

you’ve been on your phone exactly twice today. the first was at noon, when you schedule-sent your job acceptance email to mclaren, because somehow tricking your brain into thinking future you was responsible made it feel less like an impending life-altering decision and more like a minor errand. the second is now, as the silverstone race rerun plays on tv, your inbox confirming the email has, in fact, been sent. future you is now present you’s problem.

hamilton finishes p1. lando takes p3. a podium.

you should be happy. and you are, kind of. proud, even. you ignore it, busy yourself with clearing up the empty bowls of crisps and the half-finished drinks on the table, the chatter of your family filling the space around you. you don’t even hear the knock at the door at first.

but then daisy is waddling over, tugging at your sleeve before you can reach the kitchen. “someone’s at the door.” she announces, with all the confidence of a five-year-old.

you glance at the clock. past eight. weird. but whatever. you set the bowls down, brush your hands against your jeans before walking over, unlocking the door without much thought—

and then you freeze.

lando stands outside, looking like he’s either just finished a race or sprinted from the gate to your front door in record time. his race suit is gone, replaced with something more comfortable, but the helmet marks on his cheeks remain, deep and red and criminally distracting.

before you can even begin to process the sight of him, daisy walks over, gripping the hem of your shirt and staring up at lando with wide eyes. “holy shit,” she says. “it’s the guy from the tv.”

a full-body cringe overtakes you as maggie barrels in, already mid— “daisy, what have we said about swearing—” only to cut herself off when she sees lando standing there. she blinks. “holy shit,” maggie echoes. “it’s the guy from the tv.”

lando, menace that he is, has the audacity to laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. you, on the other hand, are actively considering whether it’s possible to spontaneously combust from secondhand embarrassment alone.

“we’re trying to have daisy unlearn some words,” you mumble, staring at the floor.

“no, no, it’s fine,” lando says, grinning. then he hesitates, glancing between daisy and you, before gesturing vaguely. “is she…? is there a reason why you didn’t…?”

you register what he’s implying exactly two seconds too late, and the sheer embarrassment slams into you like a freight train. “oh my god, no,” you blurt out, voice an octave too high. “jesus. she’s maggie’s.”

maggie, the fucking traitor, giggles before ushering the rest of the family back inside, leaving you alone with lando at the doorway.

and just like that, you’re thirteen again, standing in your parents’ garage while lando tells you he’s going to be a formula one driver someday, and you tell him— with all the confidence of a preteen who thinks she knows everything— yeah, i know.

you don’t know what to say. and he, apparently, doesn’t either, shifting on his feet, hands tucked into his pockets. the silence stretches, almost unbearable, until he clears his throat.

“i think you owe me a conversation,” he says, and you hate the way it makes your heart stutter.

you force yourself to shrug, crossing your arms. “we didn’t schedule it.”

“i can wait.” he smiles, small but certain. “i’m good at that.”

you don’t know what to do with that, with him standing there like this, earnest and real and so painfully him. you lick your lips, then take a step back, gripping the edge of the door. “i'll be back in woking tomorrow.”

his eyes flicker down to your lips, just for a second. then he nods. “okay.” another pause. “okay. i can wait until tomorrow.”

he looks like he means it.

you don’t trust yourself to say anything else, so you nod, once, and then— because you physically cannot take this any longer— you shut the door, maybe a little too quickly, pressing your back against it as if that’ll stop your heart from racing.

it doesn’t.

when you finally look up, still pressed against the door, you’re met with five sets of expectant eyes staring right at you. your mum, your da, beverly, maggie, even daisy, all watching like they’re waiting for you to do something, say something.

“what?” you say, voice a little too defensive, a little too high.

your mum speaks first, leaning against the arm of the couch, eyes narrowed at you like she’s trying to work out how she ended up with a daughter this emotionally repressed. “are you seriously turning that boy away?”

you sputter. “i— i didn’t— turn him away, per se, i just— he said tomorrow. we’re talking tomorrow.” you wave a hand vaguely, like that explains anything. “besides, it’s not—”

“oh my god,” beverly groans. /

               /     “you absolute idiot,” maggie says at the same time /

  /     — to which daisy gleefully echoes with an, “idiot! idiot!”

“oh my god.” you rub your hands over your face. “you guys are so annoying.”

but then— another realization creeps in, and you glance down at yourself, at your family. your dad, wearing the mclaren quarter-zip you’d gotten from the internship. maggie in an oversized orange long sleeve, beverly with a cap, your mum with the logo on her t-shirt. even daisy’s little socks have a bright orange trim.

oh.

oh, god, no.

that’s why he was laughing.

if you were embarrassed then, you’re mortified now. “i can’t.” you say, groaning. “this is so embarrassing.”

“what’s embarrassing,” maggie says, dead serious, her daughter looking up and mirroring her expression, “is that you’re still standing here.”

daisy gasps dramatically, like this is the most romantic thing she’s ever witnessed.

“i’m not—” you start, but maggie is already moving, pushing you toward the door, and beverly is right there with her, yanking it back open before you can resist.

“go,” maggie hisses.

“before it’s too late,” beverly adds, way too theatrically.

you hesitate for half a second, but then you see lando— still lingering by the gate, walking slower than he normally would, like maybe, just maybe, he was hoping you’d do exactly this.

and your heart lurches.

so you do the only thing that makes sense.

you run.

⸻  𐙚  ⸻

you don’t think about it, don’t hesitate, don’t let yourself overanalyze the sheer fucking absurdity of it all: you just move. shoes hitting against the pavement, wind tangling in your hair, breath coming in short, uneven bursts, and you see him, just barely, lingering by a car parked on the curb.

for a moment, your brain doesn’t register it beyond an obstacle, something to swerve around, something that shouldn’t matter.

but then it does.

and oh. huh.

it’s not his usual car. not the one he takes to woking, not the flashy sports car, not the kind of thing lando norris is expected to be seen in. it’s old, a little worse for wear, the once-sleek paint job now dulled by time and familiarity, fitting in all too well with the rest of the street.

and then it clicks.

“you still have this thing?” you ask, breathless, as you come to a stop beside him.

lando startles, blinking at you like he hadn’t expected you to actually chase him down, even though he’d slowed down just enough to let you. his gaze flickers from you to the car, and there’s something almost sheepish in the way he shrugs. “thought the sports car would draw too much attention.”

he’s right. it would. but that’s not the point.

the point is— this car. this exact car.

you remember the first time you saw it, back when your dad spent weeks fixing it up for a client. you were six, a little too nosy, a little too eager to be involved, peering over the open hood like you knew what the fuck you were doing. and then there was lando— smaller, scrawnier, grinning wide as he told you he was going to be a race car driver one day.

it’s been years since then, but the memory is so visceral you almost feel like you could reach out and touch it.

lando, squints at you, his gaze snagging on the oversized hoodie you’re wearing. he frowns. “seriously?”

you blink. “what?”

he gestures at the bright orange mclaren logo on your chest, then at the number 81 printed just below it. “piastri?”

you look down at yourself like you hadn’t been wearing this hoodie all fucking day. “they ran out of yours.”

lando stares at you, mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to find the words to properly convey his offense. “they ran out— i’m literally on the team.”

“right, and piastri isn’t?”

lando groans, dragging a hand down his face, but he’s smiling, the kind of soft, reluctant smile that makes your stomach twist.

and then the moment stretches, lingers, because you’re both just standing there, not quite sure what comes next.

so you get in the car.

you don’t ask where you’re going, don’t even think to, because it doesn’t matter. the whole world could be talking about lewis hamilton right now, about his win, about the way he’s just broken a streak of bad luck with a masterclass drive, and you should care— you know you should care— but right now, it’s just lando.

lando, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear stick, fingers twitching like he wants to reach out, like he wants to touch. lando, glancing at you between streetlights, expression unreadable but eyes unbearably soft.

“congrats on p3.” you say, because it feels like you should.

he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “kind of hard to care when everyone’s just talking about lewis.”

you offer a weak smile. “i care.”

his fingers twitch again.

the car slows, then stops, and it takes you a second to realize he’s parked.

“you were right,” he says, suddenly.

you blink. “about what?”

lando turns to face you fully, fingers curling around the steering wheel. “february. i put you on the spot. i shouldn’t have done that.”

“lando—”

“no, i mean it,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “you were right. i didn’t think about how it would feel for you, how it would look. i just— i was selfish. i wanted you there, and i didn’t stop to consider how much pressure that would put on you.”

the way he says it, so genuine, so sincere, makes something crack inside of you. you swallow past the lump in your throat. “it wasn’t just you,” you admit, voice quieter. “i didn’t think i deserved it. still don’t, sometimes.”

lando’s jaw tenses, his grip on the wheel tightening. “you do.”

you open your mouth, but he doesn’t let you argue. “you do,” he repeats, softer this time, like he’s willing you to believe it. “you’re fucking brilliant, kit-kat, and i don’t know why it took me so long to say it, but you are. i meant what i said back then. i see you, i do.”

it’s not like he fixes you, not like the years of doubt just suddenly disappear— but maybe, just maybe, the cracks in your armor get a little bigger, letting the truth seep in.

you don’t think.

you just move.

you lean over the center console, seatbelt digging into your ribs, and press your lips to his.

it’s dizzying. it’s years of something bottled up so tight that the second it spills, it nearly drowns you.

it’s lando, warm and solid, his lips soft, but still so insistent, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, for all the moments that could have been, should have been, all the moments that weren’t.

you’re realizing how uncomfortable the position is, seatbelt straining against your shoulder, but you don’t particularly care— you don’t care about anything except the way his hand slides down, fingers pressing into your waist, holding you there.

he exhales against your mouth, shuddering, and it makes your head spin. you scrape your nails against the base of his neck, threading your fingers into the curls at his nape, and he groans— actually groans, and oh god you’re hoping you can hear more of that later— low and breathy, like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him. it shoots straight through you, heat pooling in your stomach, and you feel drunk on it, on him, on the sheer fucking magnitude of it all.

when you pull back, breath uneven, lando is staring at you like you’ve just upended his entire world. he exhales, then grins. “is it presumptuous of me to ask you to tell your family not to wait up for you tonight?”

your brain short-circuits. so you say the only thing you can think to actually say: “i accepted the job at mclaren.”

lando blinks. then, “why do i find that so hot?”

you don’t realize how much space there still is between you until he moves again, his fingers tracing a slow path down your spine, and then—

click!

the seatbelt snaps loose, and before you can react, his hands are on you again, tugging you properly into his lap, so seamlessly smooth you almost don’t register what just happened.

“did you just unbuckle my seatbelt?” you ask incredulously.

lando hums, utterly unbothered, leaning up to close the distance between you. “mhm.”

“without looking?”

he grins, teeth scraping against your bottom lip, and it’s so unfair, how effortlessly he makes you lose your train of thought. “thank you, driver reflexes.”

you scoff, but it comes out breathless, and before you can come up with something sarcastic, something that might actually wipe that stupid smug expression off his face, he kisses you again.

he pulls back just enough for his lips to brush against yours as he speaks, breathless and wrecked and so fucking lando. “okay, i can't wait to get you out of this hoodie.”

you huff out a laugh, still trying to remember how to breathe. “okay, now that’s presumptuous of you.”

he startles, blinking, and then— “i mean, it’s my teammate’s number,” he says, a little too quickly, like that’s what he meant all along, like he wasn’t just thinking about peeling it off of you. “it’s— i’m just saying, it’s—”

you know.

you know, and you grin against his mouth before kissing him again.

THEN, 2010 … which blurs into NOW, 2025.

the toaster isn’t working.

this, in your opinion, is a grave offense.

it’s been sitting on the kitchen counter for weeks now, abandoned and replaced, but you can’t stop thinking about it. you hate when things break. it doesn’t make sense to you— how something can work perfectly fine one day and then be completely useless the next.

it’s not fair, really, that your parents replaced it already. the new one is shiny and red and stupid. you could fix the old one. you know you could.

so you’ve taken it upon yourself to fix it. of course.

the toaster is in pieces. a dozen little metal parts scattered across the floor of your bedroom, lined up in careful, meticulous order so many little pieces, all clicking and moving together like a puzzle. you love puzzles.

your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth as you grip the tiny screwdriver in one hand, twisting, tugging, wedging the tip under a stubborn screw that refuses to budge. your fingers ache from prying at things that don’t want to be pried at, but you’re close— so close to figuring out what’s wrong, to fixing it. 

you love figuring out how things work.

you’re so focused you don’t even hear your sisters leaving. you don’t notice when the house empties out, don’t register the hurried voices, the sharp slam of the front door. you don’t realize you’re alone.

not until the doorbell rings.

you jump. huh. you weren’t expecting that. you wipe your hands on your shirt, nevermind the grease and dust, carrying the toaster and your toolkit down to the kitchen.

where is everyone?

the house eerily quiet now that you’re aware of it. no footsteps. no murmured voices. no maggie bossing josie around. no beverly humming some stupid song under her breath. a strange, twisting feeling settles in your stomach as you make your way to the door, stretching up on your toes to look through the peephole. and then—

lando is standing on the porch.

you blink at him.

he blinks back.

“hi,” he says.

“hi.” you frown. “what are you doing here?”

“josie called me,” he says, holding up his phone like it explains anything. “she said they’re at the hospital with beverly. asthma attack.”

your stomach twists.

beverly gets bad asthma sometimes. you know that. you’ve seen it before, seen the way her face crumples as she gasps for breath, the way maggie and josie move fast, faster than you’ve ever seen them move, scrambling for inhalers and car keys and coats.

you swallow hard. “oh.”

lando shifts on his feet. “your parents are there too. josie asked me to come over. to, uh.” he scratches at his nose. “keep you company.”

you’re not sure what to do with that. you cross your arms, eyeing him carefully. “do you have anything better to do?”

he shrugs. “not really.” then he grins. “besides, you’re great company.”

you squint at him, trying to gauge if he’s making fun of you. you’re used to people making fun of you. you’re the smartest kid in your class— actually, you’re the smartest kid in the whole school, probably— and sometimes people don’t like that. but lando doesn’t look like he’s teasing.

which is… fine. whatever.

you step aside, jerking your head toward the kitchen. “well, i was busy.”

“yeah?” he kicks off his shoes, follows you inside. “doing what?”

you gesture to the counter, where the toaster sits in pieces. lando stops, tilts his head. “uh. you know you guys have a new one, right?”

“obviously,” you say. “but this one’s not working. so i’m fixing it.”

he hums, wandering closer. “you sure you know how?”

“of course i do.” you scowl at him. “i’ve read like, ten manuals. and i looked it up. and i’ve fixed other stuff before.”

“like what?”

you open your mouth, then pause. “well. nothing yet. but i know i can.”

lando just grins, like he finds that funny. you don’t get what’s so funny about it.

but then he holds the pizza box he brought, setting it on the table. “you wanna eat first?”

you hesitate, glancing back at your toaster. it’s important, obviously. but your stomach is growling, and lando did bring food, and— well. it’s not like you can’t finish later.

so you nod, dragging the toaster pieces toward the kitchen counter while lando opens the box. he slides a slice onto a plate for you, then one for himself.

you eat while you work, half-focused on the toaster, half-focused on the conversation.

lando’s been karting for a while now, long before you even met. he talks about it sometimes, but not as much as you’d like, because you want to know everything. not about the racing, really— you don’t care that much about that— but about the karts. about the mechanics of it, about how they work, about what makes them faster than normal cars.

“aerodynamics,” he answers, when you ask.

you scoff. “yeah, obviously. but what kind?”

he blinks. “the fast kind? what do you know about aerodynamics?”

you huff, setting down your pizza, wiping your hands on a napkin before grabbing two of the toaster’s metal panels. “okay. see these?” lando nods.

“pretend they’re wings,” you say, holding them up at an angle. “if a car is going really fast, air hits the wings, right? but if they’re tilted down like this, the air pushes against them, which pushes the car down. that’s downforce. more downforce means the car stays on the track better, but too much can slow it down.”

he watches, amused. “what about drag?”

you pick up a wire, twirling it between your fingers. “drag is when air pushes against the car in the opposite direction. good aerodynamics means less drag, so the car can go faster.”

lando watches you, eyebrows raised.

you huff. “you should know this already.”

“i definitely should,” he admits, grinning. “but it’s more fun when you explain it.”

your face feels warm. you pretend you don’t hear that.

after dinner, you pick a movie. you let lando choose, because he did bring the food, after all, and he picks something you don’t totally hate. you sit side by side on the couch, chewing absently on the crust of your last pizza slice, eyes half-focused on the screen. at first, you keep your arms crossed over your chest, but after a while, they loosen, and your head tips back against the couch cushions.

the toaster sits in pieces on the counter. beverly is in the hospital. your parents and sisters aren’t home. but none of it feels as heavy as it did earlier.

your eyes slip shut. just for a second.

when your family comes home, the front door creaks open, footsteps shuffling in. your mum pauses, standing in the doorway of the living room, watching.

you and lando are curled up on the couch, the tv still playing, the glow flickering over your faces. your head rests against his shoulder, his cheek tipped slightly against your hair.

she exhales, soft. “oh, how cute.” then reaches for her camera, snaps a picture.

later, it gets printed, tucked into a photo album, slipped between birthday parties and holiday dinners and old school plays.

(you don’t find it until years later, flipping through old pictures on a trip home, fingers pausing on the slightly worn edge of the page.

"oh, that’s a sweet one," your mum says over your shoulder, like it’s just another picture.

you slip the photo out of its plastic sleeve, take it back to your flat, left forgotten as you toss your bag onto the counter, too lost in the flurry of work and groceries.

later, someone else finds it. picks it up from where you left it on the counter.

“we were always like this, weren’t we?” a voice says, and when you look up, he’s already smiling.)

fin.

[loonyloopylupin96]

Theme: Deer | @moonwater-microfic | Words: 282

"So, you guys are finally doing the patronus stuff?" Remus looked up from his book to see Regulus taking a seat beside him, bearing a haughty expression.

Remus carefully placed his bookmark and nodded. "We are - wait, what do you mean 'finally'? You've not got it for another year yet."

"You think the Noble and Most-"

"You can just say 'family', Reg..." Remus muttered, though the small smile on his face betrayed him.

"-of Black," Regulus finished, pointedly, "-would send me off to school without a firm grasp on a few advanced spells?"

"Um... are you expecting to encounter many dementors in your time?" Remus quipped, unable to help himself but also genuinely curious about why this of all spells would make the cut.

Regulus just rolled his eyes. "I had a choice. I wanted to know what my patronus would be - what was yours?"

Remus hesitated. "Wait, how did you know we've been doing that today?"

"Overheard Potter going on about Evans also having a deer, or something. I wasn't really listening but that guy is so fucking hard to ignore sometimes. He sits two damn tables away!" Regulus replied, testily. "So, you?"

"Oh, um. Mine was a snake-" Remus began, taking care as he unravelled the loose thread on his robe sleeve.

He looked up as Regulus snorted in response.

"Bollocks," he laughed. "Sneaking around with me for three months, does not a snake make."

"Four-"

"Four and a half, actually. I just wanted to see if you were counting too-" Remus watched as the left side of Regulus' mouth turned up in a playful smile. "Like I said, you're not sneaky, Lupin."

Well, he couldn't argue with that.

[beanjang-draws]

Plague Ponies - Girls' Night

CONTENT WARNING: None!

Masterpost | Previous | Next

Summary:

Two sisters spend the night in together when Rarity forgoes a Canterlot fashion show to care for a sick Sweetie Belle.

Sweetie Belle is struggling with feelings of guilt, so Rarity includes her in her new project.

Transcript below:

Title Page:

Girls' Night

Two sisters spend a night in together when Rarity foregoes a Canterlot fashion show to care for a sick Sweetie Belle.

Content Warnings: Cozy update!

Title art description: A side profile of Sweetie Belle laying in her covers below a thermometer. She is looking towards an image of a distorted Rarity standing amongst several clocks. The whole image is cast in a sickly green light.

Comic Start:

Sweetie Belle: *GASP*

Sweetie Belle bolts up in bed after an unpleasant dream.

Rarity: Are you awake, Sweetie?

Rarity raises a bottle of medicine and a spoon full of the stuff. She turns to produce a bowl.

Rarity: Just in time for your medicine! I know it tastes just dreadful, so I made you some soup to wash it down!

Sweetie Belle falls back onto her pillow with a *plop*. She is in Rarity's canopy bed in the Carousel Boutique.

Sweetie Belle: Rarity...

Rarity: Hm?

Rarity: What is it, Sweetie, are you nauseous again? Oh, but I just changed the sheets last night...!

Sweetie Belle: No, I'm okay!

Sweetie Belle: I just...I'm sorry you're stuck here taking care of me.

Rarity turns back to face her sister, now armed with a tray of soup alongside the cold medicine. She comes up to the bedside.

Rarity: I-it's alright, Sweetie, there will be other shows--

Sweetie Belle: NOT IF I KEEP ON GETTING IN YOUR WAY!

Sweetie Belle cries out suddenly, surprising Rarity.

Rarity: Sweetie, where is this coming from? You are NOT in my way.

Rarity wipes away Sweetie Belle's tears with a handkerchief.

Rarity: All this languishing alone in bed is doing you no good. I know, you can help me with something right this moment!

Sweetie Belle immediately perks up, much to Rarity's relief and amusement.

Sweetie Belle: Really?! How?

Rarity: You can help me with my new line!

Sweetie Belle's eyes light up.

Sweetie Belle and Rarity sit in bed together, pages of various sketches laid out on the blanket.

Rarity: Twilight asked me for vintage nurse uniforms, and you have a good eye for this sort of thing.

Sweetie Belle: You remembered I like vintage things?

Rarity: Of course!

Shortly after, Sweetie Belle is fast asleep. Rarity has one arm around her little sister, holding her close.

Rarity, thinking: You were this tired and you still wouldn't take a break...where do you get this workaholic streak from?

End Transcript.

[postazkabansiriussupremacy]

Why? Sirius Black x Reader

Sirius is starting to feel a bit desperate to cum inside you again.

CW: Breeding kink. NSFW (obviously). Use of pet names. AFAB reader. Maybe a bit of coercion if you squint.

Sirius never put much thought into having children of his own. There were always more important matters taking over his mind: school, running away from his family, war, the Potters’ safety, being sent to Azkaban, a Potter’s safety, and then war again.

So, it’s probably safe to say this is the first time in Sirius’s life where he’s been able to settle down and focus on himself.

If you ask him, he’d say he’s doing pretty well so far.

He lives in a comfortable home adorned with plenty of windows. After spending so many years of his life stuck in dark and cramped spaces, natural lighting and a sense of openness is a must-have for him.

He spends most of his days working with the Weasley boys at the joke shop. Coming up with fresh and profound ways of helping the newest generation cause mischief is a good way to pass the time.

He has people he loves, and people who love him in return. Including you, of course.

For the first time in a long time, Sirius has roots. He’s comfortable and happy.

And maybe that’s why it’s becoming increasingly difficult for him to pull out when he’s fucking you.

It started a few months ago. You were casually complaining about the side effects of your birth control, and Sirius convinced you to stop taking it.

He promised he’ll pull out. He won’t penetrate you during your ovulation week: oral and hands only. Sure, it won’t be ideal, but he’ll do it if it means easing your pain.

So you stopped taking your birth control, and Sirius stuck to his word.

…for a little while.

Without your contraceptives in the way, it seems your libido shot up ten fold. Especially during your ovulation week. Sirius needn’t even track your cycles. He can tell what time of the month it is just by how often you’re pawing and grabbing at him.

The ‘oral and hands only’ rule didn’t last two months. The first month wasn’t too difficult, but by the second month, it just seemed too tedious, really. Why limit yourselves to certain body parts when Sirius can just pull out before cumming inside you?

It’s not rocket science.

It was a bit hard for Sirius to stick to his word, but he did it. Moments before he could shoot a load as deep into your pussy as he could reach, he’d force himself to waste it by releasing it over your tits and stomach.

It felt…. disappointing to see his ropes of cum littered all over your skin, rather than watching it drip out of your tight cunt. Even the idea of filling you up made Sirius hard again, but he couldn’t risk it.

Neither of you were ready for pregnancy, no matter how much the thought of seeing you with a newly rounded stomach made Sirius’s cock twitch and ache.

But Sirius stuck to his word. Every time he fucked you, he made sure to pull out. And it worked; you didn’t get pregnant. Sirius couldn’t help but grit his teeth and roll his eyes when he discovered you’d gotten your period that month.

Which leads us to now.

Sirius—for the third time today—sloppily making out with your cunt. His mouth feels incredible, your hands tightly gripping the bedsheets, but it feels empty. It isn’t enough.

“Sirius?” You breathe, opening your eyes and lifting your head to look down at him.

“Hmm?” He hums, circling his mouth around your clit and sucking lightly.

“Fuck—!” You gasp quickly at the small change, back arching. “Fuck me—please?”

Normally, Sirius wouldn’t need to be asked twice, but he’s feeling strangely agitated at the moment. He raises his head from between your legs, tightly gripping your inner thighs with his long fingers. He sits up on his knees, looking down at you irritably.

“Why?” He asks.

Your brain spent and foggy after several orgasms and on the brink of another one, the question confuses you. Your mouth opens and closes, not quite knowing how to answer that. It’s such an obvious answer, so what does he mean ‘why’?

Seeing your bewilderment, Sirius’s jaw sets. He isn’t sure what kind of answer he expected. Rather than explaining himself further, he aligns himself up with your cunt and pushes in. He gives you very little time to adjust, opting instead to completely bottom out inside you in one swift motion.

It’s quite easy, given that you’d already came on his mouth twice prior, but it still catches you by surprise. It’s a big change—going from being cruelly empty to achingly full.

Once inside you, Sirius rocks his hips slowly, leaning down until his lips are next to your ear. He murmurs lowly, “Do you miss me cumming inside you?”

“Miss when we’d go rounds and you’d be so full, it was practically spilling out of you?” He continues, his breath tickling your ear. “I know I do.”

“S-sirius, we can’t—I’m not-” You stutter, protesting weakly, barely believing your own words. Your fingers grasping at him, nails digging into the skin of his back.

“Why?” Sirius asks again, his voice hoarse and words sincere. “I love you. I dream of seeing you out and about, a little round stomach, knowing that I did that to you. That you’re carrying my baby.”

“A-ah!” You gasp out. Your legs wrap around his torso as he moves slowly in and out of you, the head of his cock continuously hitting that gummy sweet spot within you.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Sirius whispers, his voice intense as he can sense your fading hesitation. His hand cups the side of your face. “Tell me to fuck a baby in you.”

Breathing heavily and desperately grasping at him, you nod, giving him the go ahead to do as he pleases with you. The idea doesn’t sound half bad, after all.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter Warmers Day 28: Lactation + Day 7: Omegaverse. Maxiel (omega Max, alpha Daniel). About 2.6k words. Yes you read that number right. cw: mentions of mpreg (but not actual mpreg happens).

The doctor tells him it's just hormones, a combination of this stressful season finally being over and of the mating, and that he can't do anything about it, it will just go away on its own. Max tries his best to not roll his eyes at that, feeling like this was just an embarrassing waste of time.

The doctor tells him to keep hydrated, and that being close to his mate might help. And that a pump might help as well.

Max is not going to buy a milk pump, thank you very much. No matter how sore and full his chest feels, it's not going to happen. He's going to grit his teeth through it until his body remembers that he's not pregnant, and stops this lactation nonsense.

He gets out of the doctor's office in a worse mood than he went in with, which is made even worse when he realises halfway home that he's leaking through his shirt, the damp material rubbing against his already sore and swollen nipples.

Embarrassing, is what it is.

He's always prided himself with the fact that he's not a normal omega, he doesn't let his hormones and instincts control him, has never panted after an alpha. He's always wanted Daniel because he is Daniel, not because of his designation. He doesn't do silly omega stuff, like begging for pups, or getting pregnant.

Not that there's anything wrong with it, he loves pups, he just isn't that kind of omega. And yet here his body is, betraying him by producing milk that isn't even needed, just because he is finally mated.

Embarrassing.

When he gets home he has one email from Christian, one from the doctor's office, and three missed calls from Daniel. He wants to deal with exactly none of those things, so as soon as he's inside he strips off his top, glaring at the wet spots on the front as if they're personally offending him, which they are, grabs a towel because he is still leaking, and climbs into his nest.

Even with the comforting scents of home and Daniel wrapped around him, and the cats purring near his legs, he's still in a terrible mood when his phone pings again, with yet another call.

He knows that if he leaves Daniel without an answer for much longer he'll just worry him, and as upset as he is, he doesn't want to do that, so he forces himself to reach over and grab the phone, taking a deep breath before answering.

It's good, to hear from Daniel. Even when he's feeling like this, hearing his mate's voice is always good, especially since he's been in Los Angeles for more than a week, and Max misses him.

Misses him, but not enough to not feel horrified when Daniel tells him he's coming home early. Tomorrow.

"Tomorrow?" Max asks, hoping he doesn't sound as choked up as he feels. Tomorrow is not enough time to make his stupid problem go away. If Daniel really comes tomorrow, Max will have to tell him, and explain, and it will be embarrassing and horrible and...

"Baby? Are you okay?"

Max takes a trembling breath, blinking tears out of his eyes, realising he must have missed Daniel's question. He doesn't even know why he feels like crying now, yet another omega thing he doesn't want. Stupid body. Stupid hormones.

"I'm fine, just...the cats are fighting and jumping on things." It comes out weak, and Max doesn't blame Sassy for blinking up at him from where she's curled up with her brother next to his hip, perfectly calm.

It makes Daniel laugh though, and it gives Max an excuse to wrap up the conversation more quickly, even as guilt eats at him. He hates lying, hates it especially when it's to Daniel, but he just...he can't deal with everything at the moment.

As soon as he hangs up, dropping his phone somewhere in the nest, he feels more tears track down his cheeks, unable to stop them, as his chest throbs, heavy and painful.

He hates this. It's not fair. He wants to be happy to know his mate his coming home, he wants to enjoy the feeling of being freshly mated, he doesn't want to feel like this, sore and all over the place.

If at least he was pregnant...he doesn't want to be pregnant, but at least it would make sense, to be such a mess. But he doesn't even have that excuse. He's just fucked up.

--

Max doesn't go get Daniel at the airport.

He had half heartedly suggested it, but Daniel had told him not to worry, his voice a bit weird, and to just wait for him at home.

So that's what Max is doing, curled up in the nest, purring softly and tugging at his own hair, trying to self-soothe. His chest really hurts today, nipples sore and oversensitive, sending sparks of pain through him every time he moves and the material of his shirt drags over them. He has thrown one of Daniel's hoodies on top, one of the thick ones that are actually way too warm from him, hoping the added material will stop any damp patches to show through.

He knows he should get up, go to the living room, at least try to look normal, but he's upset, and he's hurting, and he's...scared. He's scared.

He doesn't know how Daniel will react to his body being so fucked up, doesn't know if he'll be disgusted, if he'll leave again, if he'll leave forever. He knows how much unmating hurts, he doesn't want to go through that. He doesn't want Daniel to leave.

He loses track of time, cuddling a towel against his chest, under his shirt, trying to breathe, and he jumps when he hears the door clicking open.

"Max? I'm home!" Daniel's voice rings through the apartment, and Max feels torn. A part of him wants to jump out of the nest, run to him, let his alpha fix this, but the other wants to hide, burrow further into the nest, curl up in a tight ball until nothing hurts anymore.

"Max?" Daniel calls again, and this time his tone is different, worry clear in his voice.

Max is not wearing any blockers, and he knows the stench of distressed omega must be sticking to every corner of the house by now.

He knows he won't be able to hide.

The bedroom door opens slowly, and Max looks up, feeling himself flush, knowing how he looks, curled up in his nest. A weak, scared omega.

Embarrassing.

"Baby," Daniel breathes, concern and confusion mixing on his face, "what's wrong?"

Max blames on the hormones the fact that he feels himself tear up again, sharply bowing his head to try and hide it, without much success if Daniel's punched out sound is anything to go by.

"Maxy, talk to me. Can I..." Daniel takes a step forward, stopping right next to the bed. "Can I come into your nest?"

Daniel usually doesn't ask.

He used to, because it was the polite thing to do, but he stopped after Max made it clear that he was always welcomed, in any nest, at any time. But he asks now, and it makes Max whine, feeling shaken and out of place.

He nods, and a moment later Daniel's arms are around him, humming deep in his chest, trying to soothe him.

"Your scent is different," he murmurs after a second, nose dragging along Max's neck, lips brushing over his mating bite, making him whine. "Are you sick?"

And Max could lie, he could make up an illness, send Daniel out of his nest, but he's just. Tired. And scared, and so so done with this.

So he shakes his head, gently pushing Daniel away.

He knows he will have to tell Daniel, and sooner is better than later.

"I am not sick," he whispers, hating how his voice trembles, "but there is something wrong with me."

He watches as Daniel's frown deepens, his hands twitching like he wants to reach out for Max again.

"I went to the doctor, and he said it will pass." The words taste bitter in his mouth, but he needs to say them anyway, needs to make sure Daniel is not feeling forced to stay. " I understand if you want to not be here until it's over."

"Max, baby, if something is wrong I will be here with you. Why would I leave you? You're scared."

Max closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the love and confusion on Daniel's expression. Daniel doesn't know what he's saying, but Max can appreciate it anyway.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" Daniel asks, hesitant.

Max nods, but then he shakes his head. He can't say it. He doesn't know how to say it.

Instead, he just pushes further away, and takes off his hoodie and t-shirt in one move.

For a second, nothing happens.

Daniel looks at him like he's trying to figure out what he's supposed to be looking at, eyes moving back and forth between Max's face and his naked skin.

And then Max feels the now familiar feeling of liquid swelling in his nipple, and slowly trickling out.

He stops breathing, watching as Daniel's eyes, huge and unblinking, follow the drop as it tracks down his chest.

When it reaches the waistband of his sweats, disappearing there, Daniel looks up again.

"You're...pregnant?" his voice sounds hollow, all color drained from his face.

"No," Max manages to choke out, swallowing around the heart beating in his throat. "It's just...my body is fucked up."

Daniel just blinks at him, mouth still half open.

"The doctor," Max rushes to explain, feeling like he's running out of time before Daniel will just get up and leave, "he said it's just hormones. And it will go away. I swear, it's not...it will pass."

He knows he sounds like he's begging, a whine making its way into his voice, but he can't help it. He doesn't want Daniel to leave. He doesn't want to lose him.

"Max..." Daniel starts, but then he seems to not know how to continue. Max can't blame him.

He feels more liquid, milk he forces himself to think, dribble out of his nipple, and he instinctively brings his hands up to cup his chest, trying to alleviate some of the ache.

"Does it hurt?" Daniel's voice is rough, and Max can't bring himself to look at his face anymore, feeling already too close to tears to be able to bear any disgust.

"They are very sore," he nods, no point in hiding anymore.

"The doctor couldn't help?"

Max can just shake his head, shrugging a little.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." he doesn't know how to apologise properly for this. What do you say when your body betrays you?

Daniel shifts, and Max closes his eyes, not wanting to see him leave, but instead of moving away, he feels him come closer, his scent rich with something Max can't quite place.

"Can I?" Daniel asks, hushed.

Max nods, not really knowing what Daniel is asking for but knowing he would say yes to anything right now.

And then Daniel's cold fingers are on his chest, cupping it like...like tits.

Max shivers, but doesn't move away, feeling himself flush, unable to sort through everything he's feeling.

"Fuck, you are so swollen," Daniel says, his fingers still careful on Max's skin.

"The doctor said," Max swallows, shaking a little as Daniel's hands shift, "that a pump might help."

It's embarrassing to admit, to say it out loud, but Daniel makes another little punched out sound, breathing out another curse.

"Yeah, I bet it would. You're so full, baby."

Max swallows again, more shivers traveling down his spine. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if he has any word to describe what he's feeling.

"Would it help if I..." Daniel doesn't finish his question, but cups one of Max's tits with his hand, bringing his index and thumb next to his nipple, and then squeezes.

Max jolts like he's being electrocuted, milk spurting from his nipple with the motion, and it feels so good he can't help the moan that falls from his lips.

"Shit, does that feel good?"

Something in Daniel's voice makes Max's eyes snap open, and he shivers again when he meets Daniel's, his pupils huge. His scent is deep with arousal, and with a start Max realises he's getting wet too.

It's overwhelming, going from being scared to being so turned on, and he'll blame it on the relief, or on the hormones, but he just wants Daniel to do it again.

"Yes, I...please," he whines, bringing his trembling hands up to Daniel's wrists, pressing them harder into his chest.

"Fuck, I got you, baby. Shit."

Daniel shifts slightly, and then he's squeezing both Max's nipples, and the feeling is so strong he moans again, so loud it's almost a scream. He can feel his chest getting more and more wet, and the ache that has been plaguing him for days is less severe now, relief mixing with pleasure.

Then Daniel leans forward, taking a nipple in his mouth, tongue gentle on his oversensitive skin, and sucks.

And Max comes with a shout.

It curses through him, quick and violent, leaving him shaking and panting, dazed and confused. He's never come so fast in his life. He didn't even know he was close to coming.

Daniel is still sucking at his nipple, liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth, and all Max can do is writhe on the blankets, clumsy hands reaching for Daniel's waist, dragging him closer.

"Fuck," Daniel chokes out, letting go of his nipple. There's a sheen of milky white on his lower lip. Max feels like he's going to shake apart.

"You taste so good, fuck, Max."

Max moans again, tugging at Daniel's clothes, trying to get rid of them, wanting Daniel closer now.

"In me, Daniel, alpha, please," he's whining, babbling, torn between wanting Daniel to go back to his nipples and wanting him to get naked already.

Daniel solves the conundrum for him, getting rid of his clothes and tugging away Max's sweatpants too, moaning at the sight of the wet patch in his underwear.

"You're going to kill me," he groans, bowing down to bite at Max's thigh, making him jump again, hips grinding against nothing, before taking his underwear off.

"Inside. I need...inside, please," Max begs, feeling half crazed. His chest hurts again, and he is too empty, and he wants Daniel to fix it.

And Daniel does.

Daniel snaps his hips forward without teasing, sinking all the way inside in one smooth stroke, and then he gets his mouth on Max's nipples again.

Max doesn't know what to focus on. Daniel's dick inside him, grinding in an irregular motion, all his attention somewhere else. Daniel's mouth on him, sucking, his milk dribbling down into his beard. The pleasure and relief of finally having his breast emptied.

He doesn't know what sounds he's making, doesn't know if he's crying, or begging, or moaning, or everything at the same time. He feels like he's coming, over and over again, or maybe only one never ending time.

He feels it when Daniel comes, knotting deep inside him, and when he doesn't have any more milk to give. He feels light, for the first time in days, floating somewhere above himself, lost in a daze.

When he comes back to himself, Daniel is mouthing along his collarbone, his scent sweet and satisfied.

"We will have to talk about this," he says, voice slightly hoarse, "but I promise you, I will not be leaving until this goes away."

Max laughs, tired and spent. Yeah, he sort of figured that out already.

[iamirhen]

The Midnight Suns rock Band AU literally nobody asked for.

Lore dump under the cut.

The AU in which Robbie never died at that race because the people who cornered him in that alley were actually the police. He managed to get lucky for one single time and narrowly managed to avoid jail by getting sentenced to do community work instead and assisting mandatory sessions in Blade's therapy group for troubled youth at risk. He met Nico, Wanda and Illyana there and ended up begrudgingly befriending them. Blade considers this kids both one of his biggest achievements and biggest sources of headaches.

Nico still get on Robbie's nerves sometimes and in the rare ocasion that he fights with Illyana it usually gets so bad that Wanda needs to mediate because neither of them will put their foot down otherwise. He still makes an effort to keep them in his life, because when he's too tight with money Nico will "accidentally" order too much pizza when they meet and he'll end up going home with leftovers afterwards, so he doesn't complain too much when she asks him to drive her places; and Illyana once showed up to take care of Gabe when he had the flu because Robbie had to work and didn't want to leave him alone, so when she mentioned that she was going to have to sleep in her van for a few days while she searched for a new flat after her former landowner kicked her out, he let her crash at his couch instead. They take care of each other in small ways, even if they dont' mention it.

Starting the band was Nico's idea so they would have an excuse for regular meet ups. She was also the one who got Robbie a second hand battery and insisted that he at least tried. It turned out that he was not half bad at it, he had a good sense of rithm and good coordination, and was surprised to find out that the gigs they eventually managed to pull out were starting to become a very welcome source of extra income. They meet for practice at a community center located in an old church, regented by a couple of old ladies: Sarah and Agatha. Gabe is their number one fan (and Piotr Rasputin is a close second, much to Illyana's dismay), so he's the other reason he hasn't dropped out yet despite being tight on time. After going for several provisional names, the last of them being Scarlet and the Witches, which Robbie was not very enthusiastic about, they ended up setting for Midnight Suns after Hunter's incorporation.

After Wanda was involved in a car accident that left her badly injured and put Agatha in a coma, their band was left without their main singer and guitarrist. It was then when Hunter, Sarah's niece, who had been raised by her aunt and her partner, temporarily moved back to the state after receiving the news about the accident. Hunter's relationship with Sarah became strained after she dropped out of college and started studying to become a tattoo and piercing artist instead. She's covering for Wanda and her stay is only temporary, or at least that was the original plan, but it seems that after her incorporation the band is doing better than ever before. Robbie's not so thrilled about having a new person joining his inner circle, and specially not one that's such a cocky little shit, but better gigs means more money, and he doesn't want to have to go back to work two jobs now that he can manage to live with the money he gets from his work at Canelo's AND the band.

Thanks @moosemonstrous for helping brainstorm ideas.

[solariex]

Animation Vs Addiction: how this could go REALLY well, or REALLY horribly

a ramble on the upcoming episode

PLEASE NOTE: i am not an expert on addictions, nor storytelling or writing, these are just my thoughts! you are free to your own opinion, take what you want, leave what you don't. also note, im writing this at midnight, excuse any typos or anything of the like.

so, to put it bluntly, i feel as if everyone is worried for how this episode is going to go, and that concern is rightfully valid !! topics like this, if not handled with the care they ensue, can go really horribly, and considering a majority of Alan's youtube fanbase is primarily children, this could leave either a positive or bad impression to them.

with things like these, there's the fine balance of "informative" and entertainment. arguably, steering too much one way or another could result in this not doing too well, in terms of the takeaway. id even like to argue that this steering too much towards informative could even be bad. lets start with that first.

WHY IS LEANING MORE ONE WAY THAN THE OTHER BAD?:

TOO ENTERTAINING: this one is the more "obvious" of how this could be bad, if the video is more in favor of being entertaining, the main takeaway wont be anything actually sustainable, blue's addiction will continue to be a running gag, and the younger audience will see it as a silly thing. this is one of the worst case scenarios

TOO IMFORMATIVE: now, you may be wondering, "why is being too informative bad ??", and it all boils down to what the audience's takeaway will be, after the video. being informative ISNT bad, but with how alan's channel is set up thus far, with storytelling animations, if its, lets say just facts on a screen, the information will be useful !! but you'll leave the video just thinking "wow, i just know facts". you won't leave with anything to make you think, or any actual connection, because the information was handed to you on a silver platter, you wont reflect on an actual story of why addiction is bad, to give you that perspective to think about. you'd just have the top 10 reasons you see when you google "why is addiction harmful??" our brains learn by doing, and experiences, even others, even in storytelling, make you empathize and connect with the character, and arguably, can be more effective than being told facts straight up. this is a reason why myths and fairytales exist, to teach a lesson without spoon feeding it.

SO, IF TOO ENTERTAINING, AND TOO INFORMATIVE IS BAD, WHATS THE BALANCE ??:

like i mentioned near the end of "too informative", the animation, for it to work well, needs to give a perspective, not facts

perspective will make the audience THINK, therefore learn, "oh, THIS is bad", showing rather than telling will help the audience make their own conclusions instead of spoon feeding it to them, which is what most of alan's channel has done with storytelling anyways.

arguably, green's influencer arc can be a decent example of this

it didn't tell you, "be careful of social media addiction" rather it showed the slow progression of green, being influenced, and how it slowly tore him apart from his friends and eventually started messing with his own wellbeing and how he ended up isolating himself, in order to prioritize content

i wouldn't say it perfectly fits the balance between informative & educational, as of how it ended with the third episode, but it definitely struck close in my opinion, at least for the second episode.

and thus, your takeaway from that is, "wow, that sucks for green, this is because he got addicted to social media !!" rather than just being told that. you got to learn alongside green as to the actual effects that can have.

ASIDE FROM THAT, WHAT ARE OTHER CONCERNS ABOUT HOW THIS COULD BE HANDLED ??

my other main concern is how its been treated in the past with the jokes, and how that might affect this upcoming video. can they turn around and turn it into a serious thing? absolutely that's possible, and there's no telling that netherwarts will even be involved in this video, it could be something entirely different, as this community post explains, blue is arguably prone to addiction in other ways than just netherwart, so it wouldn't be completely unordinary if it wasn't involved here.

HOWEVER, in my personal opinion, netherwarts or not, i do feel like however this video may go, if it resolves with blue overcoming addiction (as it most likely will), i do have the concern that blue would have this arc, and then the channel would go right back to including the netherwart addiction gag as a joke, as if the video didn't happen. does this mean i think blue shouldn't touch netherwarts after this? no, but i do feel as if there should be SOME difference in their intake of them after this, or else its just an arc for blue's character, that repeats as if it didn't happen, just for gags.

SO, HOW COULD THIS GO WELL, AFTER EXPLAINING ALL THE "WHAT-IFS" ??

if done right, this video could go well, and spread awareness, alongside expanding on blue's character. i think its great that Alan and his team are willing to tackle topics like this, and they have shown that they're able to do so, similar to green's influencer arc. i am hesitant on how it will be handled, but not in a way as to where i doubt the team's ability to portray this, moreso just due to how delicate a topic like this can be

but, overall, if they balance entertainment & education, and really implement this into blue's character instead of returning to a full force gag afterwards, i feel like it could be a good video :)) once again, these are my thoughts, my opinions, your free to your own & free to disagree with my points and ideas take what you want from this, leave what you dont !! :))

[traumawhomst]

So Vampires, I won’t lie I love a platonic yandere vampire sire so much.

(1,250 words)

He sees you at your minimum wage job and at first just brushes you off as just another boring human. Then he notices the colors on your bracelet, school colors for a very expensive and exclusive school, a few (human) businesses partners he knew sent their children to that school and none of them worked for minimum wage on their free time. Between the bracelet, the callouses on your hands, and the way your eyes seemed dark and sunken, he knew everything. He left without much thought, telling himself that he didn’t care about some random human and their poor tragic life.

He told himself it was just curiosity when he looked up the current class list, (you can find anything with enough time and money) and found your name. Even in just the school photos you stuck out like a sore thumb, a wildflower in an otherwise perfectly manicured garden. A little further digging revealed you were an amazing student, even if your grades weren’t always perfect. You clearly had talent and a strong work ethic.

It’s just curiosity that makes him dig further, finding your admissions essay, in his office, finding himself smiling at some points, quietly charmed by your choice of words and styling of your essay. It had been a risk that had clearly paid off. He liked those willing to take risks, reminded him of himself when he was younger.

He might as well look further, finding your freelance writing which he poured over in chronological order a growing sense of pride in your progress over the years. Finding your work made him stumble upon your personal life.

Family, but not close, which seemed to be the theme for everyone in it. Did they know about your accomplishments? Did they even care?

He’s not very surprised when he follows you home and sees you living in a studio in an apartment with paper walls, living on a diet of instant noodles and whatever soda was cheapest for that week. How could you study living like this? You seemed to only ever work or study, taking every shift you could just to make enough to afford something a little filling than instant noodles. Surely you’re not at your best, he can’t help but wonder what you could produce given proper resources.

His colleagues laugh when he defends it all as just curiosity, and he decides to approach you in person to finally get over this little, inquiry to rest.

But you look so tired when you smile at him, you’re trying so hard to maintain the smile and he’s wondering when the last time you smiled and he realizes then, as he nods along to your explanation about whatever item he picked up, that he hadn’t seen you smile once in a week of watching you.

He could smell your blood and did his best to hide the scrunching of his nose. Wildly anemic and deficient in every vitamin and mineral that a human needed to stay upright. It set him on edge, wondering about the strain on your body it must have. Humans were so fragile already, how long could you live like this?

The thought of you dying sent a bolt of panic through him. You were young, talented, and hardworking you deserved time to flourish and grow.

It would take a few months for all the necessary paperwork to be complete and in that time he slowly builds a sort of friendship with you.

On your end an older man, (whose eye color you could never remember) started to come in at least once a week. He was sweet in a way you hadn’t expected, happy to talk about any book he or you had brought. That’s when you really noticed him, when he came in holding your favorite book. He hadn’t read it yet, and was happy to hear your small preview and talk about the major themes in it. He always managed to come in when it was slow and for some reason no one ever approached you when you two talked.

He’d said he owned a bookstore, (more than one you imagined from the amount of first editions he causally walked around with) but was visiting here for business. He told you that when you refused to take one of his very expensive first edition he tried to give you. He only relented when you explained that your apartment was rather damp and you knew that it would only degrade the book over time. Next week he showed up with the newest edition, and refused to leave with it. Really you’re doing him a favor, he’d love to hear your thoughts on it.

He wasn’t scary either, he always had this air about him that was calming. Something that made you relax and trust him, and in the few months you met him he’d never done anything make you doubt your trust in him.

He’d brought you a book to read with an immortal character in it, and asked what you’d ever take the chance if offered. The thought of being stuck in your life forever or any life really made you sick to your stomach. No you’d rather accept that your life would be finite and told him you thought life would be meaningless if you were immortal.

And for the first time, something new quickly twitch across his face. Anger? Disappointment? After months of friendly banter and discussion it was almost a slap in the face of the reality of it all. You didn’t know him, or his motives. The look only lasts a moment, before shifting to his pleasant neutral again, but you still saw it. You pretended for the rest of the conversation until he leaves. You request to a new work schedule when you finished for the day.

He on the other hand was practically spinning about it. He should have been ready for this sort of answer, but he wasn’t. He’d had the conversation played a million times in his head, and you always agreed on it being a gift. He rationalized that you simply couldn’t understand it, given time you could be persuaded to see differently.

He showed up, ready to talk with you only to find out (through a heavy layer of compulsion) that you’d changed your hours to avoid Him. Time to move forward with the plan it seemed.

He found you one late night as you walked to your apartment and something about him made the hairs on the back of your neck stand-up.

He offered to walk you home, and you finally put your foot down and told him to leave you alone, as politely as you could muster. But you couldn’t seem to actually speak any of the words. What were you trying to say again?

He happily chatters on about how excited he is to show you your home, one arm around you steering you to some place you didn’t recognize. But every time you tried to say something you’d forget a little more of what was going on.

He didn’t really want it to do it this way, he told himself as he guides you in the deep state of compulsion you’re in. He wanted to win you over with the idea, to gladly accept his offer, to see it as the gift it was. But he could also admit to himself watching you try and fight the compulsion and fail, it was adorable to see the stubbornness that you had, it’d serve you well in your new life.

[redo-rewind-if]

Redo; Rewind Demo Update - Chapter 3

This update adds: Over 140k words (including code)!!

Features:

Go clubbing and run into a very familiar face.

Or, you could head over to the local music festival instead! Why bother tracking down your hitman. Unless...?

Attempt a little breaking and entering, just for fun.

Plant a listening device and hope for the best.

Head home and plan your next steps.

Possibly use your new time travel abilities to fix your mistakes. Or don't. It'll probably be fine.

As you can see, the update is finally here! I'm sorry it took me so long, I really wasn't expecting it to. Alas, writing and coding are rather time consuming. And 100k words is basically a novel's worth.

Despite the word count, if you're only playing one route, it may not take you that long to read. Unfortunately, that is a problem with writing IFs, it feels like a lot when you're writing it but then when you go to play it...

On the plus side, there's many different routes you can try! I'd highly recommend using multiple saves to check out other options.

Regardless, I thank you all for your patience and support, and hope you enjoy it!

[Link] - Demo Update, Available Here!

(Make sure to start with a fresh save to avoid possible bugs caused by the old ones!)

[yuri-is-online]

Hi hi so can we have an expansion of middle school Floyd completely being his unfiltered self around yuu (maybe even octotrio going like "Oh please don't believe that merculture is like this" because middle school Floyd is embarrassing them in front of their crush) PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Hmmm

So Floyd says morays are cowards right, but my experiences with little kids tell me that they don't always have the best sense of self-preservation. I picture little Floyd as one of those kids on crack. He thinks this human is cute! Especially because they don't have the sense to be afraid of him at all and are calling him cute, that's real funny. What if he just takes a big chomp outta ya, will you still think he's cute? As for the embarrassment, well...

Azul

It comes from how blunt little Floyd is.

He's got even less patience for Azul's plans than big Floyd does, and the complete inability to see the value of waiting for the pay off. He's actively getting angry at him and throwing temper tantrums every time Azul tries to smooth things over with Yuu.

"No you can't get the ability to breathe underwater from kissing a mermaid Floyd is making that up. And no not all merfolk are obsessed with legs that's just a him thing-"

"Nah Azul really likes your legs and pretty much everything you do with them!" Little Floyd is loud enough that other people than just you are looking at him in confusion (Azul is convinced it is overwhelming judgment) because he's choking on a mixture of spit and air because how did he pick up on that already?!? Azul thinks he's so subtle when he admires you, he's got to be so you don't think he's weird.

He can't wait for this to be over, he can handle being made fun of by the twins now since they've got a good rapport and he can give as good as he gets but little Floyd is like a sea otter with a clam, he just won't let this go because he thinks octopus courtship is boring and he's not above saying that. Outloud. In front of you.

Jade

It's from how willing he is to throw Jade under the bus.

Floyd knows Jade pretty well, even if it's a younger version of him so he knows just how down bad stupid Jade is within 15 seconds and he is determined to "help."

Said help is mostly just humming a very specific song while swimming around you in circles and doing little tricks to "set the mood." Or asking you what you think about Jade when he thinks he's out of earshot, something he's never once been since little Floyd got summoned.

He thought this would be fun, Floyd is always so delightfully unpredictable and now there's two of him! But instead of bothering Azul he's decided to torture Jade and ruin his carefully cultivated image instead. He sort of gets why Azul was so determined to get rid of all his childhood photos now, you're never going to look at him the same after this.

When his efforts don't work because Jade is too much of a coward little Floyd starts just telling you a bunch of stuff they got up to as kids in an effort to embarras him. It clearly works from how quick Jade is to shove him to the side but you're polite enough to keep the laughter to a minimum. For the most part

Floyd

It comes from how much of a coward he is.

Floyd is waiting for the right time to speak with you, when he's extra sure that you feel the same as he does. When he knows you'll accept everything he wants to give you and more.

But no. Little him has to say everything that comes into his mind. "Are your legs soft? Why are you leaking seawater? Do all humans really only have ten toes and can I count them-"

If you find this funny, I think it might depress him somewhat. He wants you to see all the ways he's smart and not brush him off as an unserious joke. If you think it's cute, well that's a mix of emotions. He doesn't want you to see him as cute now, but it's ok if you find morays cute, and even nicer if you find baby morays cute. That thought alone perks him up.

Until little Floyd starts telling Yuu he thinks they're cute. Then he gets possessive and starts competing with himself like a looser. Probably by picking Yuu up and carrying them away since his legs are longer and he can get away faster.

[catscidr]

dottore lowkey teaches u how to dissect a dead body to preserve and sell study the organs but make it romantic and weird and im tired cw; gn!reader, descriptions of blood and organs, tension, confession? sorta

His hand is atop your dominant one while your fingers hold onto your scalpel tightly, making sure your grip is steady and precise. Slowly drawing incision after incision, you watch blood seep out of the cuts you make. The flow of it is so slow and serene it nearly brings you peace, as you observe it slide across the corpse’s skin silently.

(plus, you’re doing a decent job cutting it up since there are no surprise blood geysers, so the slow trickle of blood almost counts as a reward for your good work.)

It trickles down the dips and indents of the body, leaving a faint trail of crimson down, down, down until it reaches the cold vivisection table. You watch it form a small pool of ichor, and only when Dottore hums a soft, low 'focus' do your eyes snap back to the cadaver’s torso, where your blade rests.

After you lift the scalpel away from the skin, he slides a swift hand beneath the cut to push the flesh and sinew aside, bearing organs to the cold air of the operation room.

Watching him work so fast and casually after taking the time to teach you how to do something as simple as cutting skin makes your body run warmer than it should when faced with such a gruesome sight. His bloodied hands gently pry the scalpel from your hands, and you do nothing but observe as he works.

Slicing, pulling, prodding, tearing. You subconsciously lean over further, eyes focused on the way his hands and fingers pry apart the deceased’s organs from one another. If you didn’t have a problem disrespecting the dead, you would say that the Harbinger was doing so almost elegantly.

The previously empty metal platter fills with what looks like bloody chunks of meat as Dottore places each organ in it one by one, hollowing out the upper body. The incision might have been a pinch too small, you think, because you notice some streaks of blood that had already oxidized on the bare skin of his forearms from where he had to reach under the skin to take… whatever it was he grabbed.

You weren’t really paying attention to the organs anymore.

You’re pulled out of your musings when Dottore snaps his fingers to grab your attention. Looking up at him for the first time in what felt like hours, you spot a twinkle of amusement in his carmine gaze.

“Apologies, but I’ve called your name twice and you didn’t react. Is something on your mind?” You blink, swallowing down the embarrassment from catching you red-handed, daydreaming about him—not that he knows that’s what you were thinking about, anyways.

...well, maybe he does.

“No, sir. I was just studying your, um... technique," you cough. "Did you need me to do something?” You feel sweat bead at your temple, nervous that he could somehow see your thoughts.

He nods, the corners of his lips curling up into the faintest smile. “Yes, actually.” Turning his back to you, he shields your sight from the carcass on the table. “Hold your hands out, palms facing up and close your eyes.”

Setting hesitancy aside you follow his instructions, keeping your eyes firmly shut. Now unable to rely on your sight, your ears pick up on the tiniest of noises; you hear the sound of a particularly obscene squelch, followed by a quiet, seemingly irritated hum.

You hear the sound of clothes shuffling mixed with a similarly grotesque, squelch-y noise; as soon as the room fills with silence again, warmth spreads across your palms. You bite back the urge to open your eyes to take a peek. Dottore watches your face carefully, examining every twitch and shiver of your skin with rapt attention.

"You can look now," he hums, a smile hiding beneath his tone.

...Your eyelids suddenly feel super glued shut. Pushing through the nerves, you crack your eyes open, gaze immediately focusing on Dottore's face. He scoffs, amused at your sudden demure change in demeanor and glances down at your hands in silent encouragement.

Slowly peering down, your eyes widen as you gawk at the fresh, large organ in your hands, staining your disposable azure gloves a deep scarlet. You're almost unsure of what you're even looking at—all previous anatomical knowledge having flown right out of the window the second your eyes fell on the wet, goopy mess in your hands.

There are no arteries jutting out from the organ, so a heart is out of the question; it was too big to be one, anyways. It can't be the pancreas either, so maybe a stomach? Or—

"Good thing this isn't an evaluation, huh?" Your gaze snaps upwards to the sound of the Harbinger's mocking but light tone, shoulders squaring in pathetic defense. "You're putting me on the spot," you huff indignantly.

(Thank the Archons the only light in the room was the obnoxious overhead light above the table so the fine changes of your features can go unnoticed.)

Taking a step forward, Dottore swiftly invades your personal space as he brings his hands up to cup your own, not unlike how he held your hands a while ago to guide them. He looks down, and your gaze follow his, hand in hand.

You imagine a pulse. Blood flowing through, hundreds, billions, trillions of cells traversing lobes and segments—imagine that it's part your own body in the palm of your hands, held together by the man before you.

(The horrible, irredeemable man before you. Standing, observing, waiting oh so patiently. And he would wait an eternity if need be, for you have been safe from his hand the moment he shared a part of his humanity with you.)

Ridding your throat of the lump that had formed, you crack a nervous smile. "Is this supposed to be a test, or are you trying to be romantic?"

Returning a ghost of a smile, Dottore raises a brow. "Do you really think this is how I flirt?" he asks with uncharacteristic softness. Bloody, gloved fingers trace mindless patterns along your hand, and goosebumps bloom beneath your skin.

"The liver is often thought of as the source of one's passion," he murmurs. "It is also said to be the seat of life and the soul. While I can't prove nor disprove these claims using scientific research, I have come to understand why people view it as such."

Your hands feel slimy even with the latex barrier between your skin and the large liver in your palms, but with this discomfort comes elation.

"It only took me losing my own to comprehend," he continues quietly. You feel his breath grazing your forehead—it makes you itch and burn with the urge to look up, but you abstain yourself.

Dottore's hands slide up, cupping the sides of the organ, containing it solely to your hold. Long ago had his sights left the mound to gaze at your features. Looking at you wasn't all that dissimilar, after all.

(Thinking hard on his words, you want to ask him to teach you how to give him a liver of your own, next time.)

[thegreeninyoureyes]

Caleb helping you with anxiety

dont mind me just putting some thoughts out here as a coping mechanism lmao

[gender neutral MC/reader]

expect a lot of back rubs if you're comfortable with them, especially when you're in private. if you're lying down, he'll be in front of you, slightly pulling you a bit closer as he reassuringly rubs your back. in these moments, caleb will whisper words of reassurance to you, or caress you slowly as if to guide your breath with the way his hand moves up and down on your back.

knows exactly what to ask and how to be simple with it. the least he wants is to overwhelm you even more with his will to help, so he'll look at you attentively and clutch onto any word, boundary or need you express to him.

talking about attention, you got caleb's for yourself (although when don't you, really?). he wants you to know how much he cares, how important being there for you is to him, how important you are to him. anything you need from him at that moment, you can have it.

"hey, honey. I'm here, just focus on my voice. you're doing so well. this will be over soon, and I'm gonna be here through all of it, alright? there's no way you can scare me off."

but's don't work with him. of course you deserve his time. of course you deserve to stop, take a break and bring him with you. of course he's making dinner for you tonight and you can't do anything about it. of course he has faith in everything working out just fine for you.

wouldn't take his eyes off you when he tries to help you through some breathing exercises. if him looking straight at you feels uncomfortable at the moment, he'll focus on your hand. you don't have to hold his but, if you do, he might as well bring it to his chest so you can let his own breathing guide you and calm you down. it'd be an honour for him.

if it happens at night and you can't fall asleep because of it, he'll rearrange your bed and let you get comfortable against him even if it means lying down in the most unusual positions ever. as long as it helps distract your mind, you could fall asleep anywhere and know he's got your back, pulling the blanket to make sure you stay warm and keeping an arm around your shoulders so you feel protected from any harm.

"I'm gonna be here for you, I can remind you of it if you ever doubt that. you just gotta ask, and I'll answer. do you really think there's anything else that could be more important than this, than you, to me right now?"

might chuckle after some of his words if said teasingly, but he's taking the situation very seriously and his worry goes deep. if there's any meds you need to take to feel and get better, you can bet he knows where to get it for you, although he probably has some at his place just in case, too. anything you let him know is needed to take care of you, he'll never forget.

"just rely on me, please. you're as alive as I am, and we're gonna get through this together, pipsqueak."

[tommysbignaturals]

Bucktommy for 12!!!!!!! I'm a glutton for suffering

Thank you for the ask! I hope you enjoy!!

--

Tommy laughed as Evan smooshed his face even closer into his chest. "Babe you can't live in my pecs. You have to breathe sometime."

Evan mumbled something that sounded like, "Nuh-huh. Live here forever," but Tommy wasn't 100% sure either and just laughed as Evan's movements tickled him.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Time for sleep."

Evan brought up his face and pouted in the way Tommy knew he wanted a kiss.

Tommy rolled his eyes and laughed as he said with no bite at all, "Brat." He felt Evan smile into the kiss as he gladly gave in. "Okay, but really we both need to sleep."

Evan rolled his eyes but laid his head down on Tommy's chest and closed his eyes.

Tommy closed his and rubbed at the small of Evan's back with his thumb as he heard and felt Evan slowly relaxing into sleep.

Suddenly, the old familiar fear that all of this was going to go away soon because he wasn't good enough for it to stay filled him with dread. He tightened his hold on Evan just a tiny bit not enough to wake him but enough to make Evan feel real.

He hated this. When his mood swung to despair for no reason at all.

He breathed in deep slowly and held it for as long as he could before letting it out trying to calm his nerves and the swirling spiraling thought of "He's going to leave you" that sounded like his father echoed so loud in his brain.

He knew it wasn't true. He knew that Evan wanted him and wanted him to stay because they talked about it. Out an embarrassing amount of times that Tommy started to actually believe that those talks weren't just to make him feel raw and exposed.

But right now he was trying so hard not to choke on the familiar feeling of loneliness and failure.

Tommy hid his face in Evan's hair and in a moment of weakness softly begged into his hair, "Please don't leave me."

Tommy froze. His eyes flew open and his face heated in shame as he waited to see and feel Evan stir.

It took him a while to finally relax but once it felt like Evan had slept through his comment Tommy closed his eyes and tried his best to focus on centering himself and grounding himself with the familiar and loving weight of Evan laying on him.

--

Tommy walked into the kitchen with a big yawn as he scratched the back of his head.

"Morning," he mumbled at Evan as he went to his dining room table and sat down at his chair and plopped down on it willingly himself to feel more awake.

If he would hazard a guess he's slept maybe two maybe three hours. He was off, they both were, so it didn't really matter but god was he tired.

Waking up to Evan cooking was something he wasn't expecting, he was usually the one to wake up early to make breakfast (one of the one meals he could cook anyone under the table), but it was a pleasant surprise.

Another pleasant surprise was when he heard the sound of a cup coffee and then the confirmation of said coffee as he got a whiff of it and opened his eyes to see Evan had made him a cup just the way he liked it.

"Aw babe. You didn't have-," he stopped as the look Evan gave him made his words stick in his chest.

"I heard what you said last night Tommy."

Tommy flushed and opened his mouth to lie but Evan brought his fingers and shushed him as they lay against his lips.

"Just listen".

At Evan's wide earnest eyes and nervous posture all Tommy could do was nod.

Evan took in a deep breath before licking his lips nervously before saying, "I know you're still scared even after all the work you- n-no, we've put into this. I-I know because sometimes I get still get scared to."

Tommy felt his stomach swooped as Evan stopped and took in a shaky breath. Tommy loved how brave Evan was. It was what gave him strength to be brave back.

"But I need you to know that I won't leave you." And Tommy's heart breaks a little as Evan seems to grow smaller as he says quieter, "As longer as you don't leave me."

Tommy needed to feel Evan. He brought his arms up and wrapped them around Evan waist as he brought Evan closer. He let his chin lay on Evan's stomach as he took a deep breath in.

"I'll stay if you stay. Deal?"

Evan smiled and cupped his face in one hand and pushed his hair back with the other. "Promise?"

Tommy nodded. He would have promised anything to Evan, but this he could easily give. "Promise."

Evan smiled brightened as the took a moment just be before Evan leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head then pulled away as he started to walk back towards the stove.

Evan pointed at his coffee and said, "Drink that before it gets cold," before he started stirring and turning things in pans.

Tommy nodded mostly his own benefit before taking his coffee. He stared the contents of it for a moment then took and sip as the coffee warmed his physical body and their talk warmed the rest of them with reassurance.

[starlit-soothsayer]

So what's your issue with Sai? /genq

I have issues with plenty of people. The internet is full of obnoxious individuals, and for the purposes of my main accounts online I quickly block them (it's what those tools are for, after all). That doesn't mean I don't enjoy watching from a distance, however.

Sai is just one on a long list of internet people that wreak havoc wherever they go. Most just don't seem to notice that because she often targets (or tries to target) people that the internet masses are likely to frown upon. Lily Orchard is ideal for this. A vast majority of the internet dislikes her or doesn't care about her. To me, though, it's about the same as watching any United States election since 2016. It's not about getting something good anymore, it's about taking the side of the guy who sucks a little less.

To put it simply, Sai and Lily are two sides of the same coin.

Lily just so happens to have done much worse things by comparison and Sai just so happens to have opinions on media most agree with and internet history that hasn't been picked clean. At the end of the day though, their personalities and way of interacting with the web at large are incredibly similar.

Both of them, despite repeatedly claiming the opposite, are hopelessly obsessed with each other. Both of them use what little amount of minority status they have as a shield against critics. Both of them love to argue, to the point where it seems it's the only form of communication they can navigate. Both are quick to cry cowardice when someone decides an argument isn't worth having and walks away. Both of them must get in the last word, always. Both of them feel that they are in the right all the time, and that anyone else is either stupid, immature, or both. Both of them often label others as sensitive until it's their own feelings that are on the chopping block.

The best thing that Lily could do, if she really wanted to hurt her critics and make them leave her be, is to simply disappear from the internet entirely and let the people leeching off of her starve. The communities based entirely on making fun of her would dissolve overnight. Lily would never do that of course, because she has the same problem as Sai (one also pinpointed by CrimsonEnder): she simply can't let things go.

Neither of them will ever have the ability to walk away from something unless they have the final say, no matter how small it is. I've seen them both revive petty squabbles that have already long since simmered down for the sake of just wanting to argue.

It's not exactly difficult to put together why Sai has so many "haters" when almost every public interaction she has is a argument. It's not always about some form of homophobia or sexism or difference of opinion. Pardon my French, but sometimes your personality just fucking sucks.

[u3pxx]

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Abort! You clearly have not thought this through. You won't like what you will see there -- and you will never *un-become* it.

watching an lp where they didn't continue to look in the mirror, so just brain-empty playing around with that idea