#someone else probably did this before but whatever

[suzukiblu]

Fourth 1k of the thank-you 5k I promised y'all behind the cut; “YJ packs up and gets pupped”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon bites his lip and kind of wishes–kind of wishes Red Tornado wouldn’t leave, maybe? But . . . well, the cape smells as much like him as anything does–as much as metal and wires and machinery can smell like someone, anyway–and it’s, like . . . Red Tornado’s leaving it with him. And he gave it to him. So it’s like . . . so he has it. Because Red Tornado just . . . gave it to him. 

He sniffles; scrubs the sleeve of his jacket across his face. Then he plays back the video again to figure out how to fold it up right and jumps around a bit to find the different ways the omega in it uses different things. He only used Suzie’s blanket as, like–a base or a lining, kinda, and Cissie’s towel wasn’t all that big and everything else was either clothes or scent blockers, so he’s not sure what to do with something this big. Like, he could just layer it over Suzie’s, but if he’s trying to fill up some space and really make a nest . . . 

The best thing she makes with a blanket in the video–which, like, obviously that’s the closest they’re getting to a cape, in this situation–the best thing is her folding a fluffy leopard-print blanket into a big squishy-looking heart, which he just thinks is fucking cool to be able to do. Like, he is definitely not putting anything heart-shaped in this nest, but it’s definitely cool. She also made some flowers and stuff like that, but those were all with little stuff like handkerchiefs and towels and, like, also not actually a shape he wants to put in his nest. That’s, like–decorative, or whatever. That kind of stuff’s for . . . 

Like, that’s what moms do so their nests are cute for their–pups, and all. They make, like . . . little folded animals and flowers and shapes to line the edge of the nest; stuff like that. So they can, like–nest with their pups. Make things, like . . . cute, yeah. Fun for them, and fun little things to teach them how to do themselves, if they’re, like–omegas too, or whatever. 

So . . . yeah. 

. . . he guesses sometimes also omegas who are inviting a suitor or datemate or whatever in make flowers or cool little shapes too, but . . . 

It doesn’t matter. Kon couldn’t even have pups, even if he, like–wanted to, or whatever, and he’s definitely not dating anybody or anything, so–yeah. Not relevant. 

He figures he’ll probably just, like–roll Red Tornado’s cape up, really. He remembers the omega in the video making a rolled pillow-thing with the edges tucked in so it wouldn’t, like, instantly unroll, and that seems like something that’d work pretty good. Definitely it’ll make a bigger pillow than any of the other stuff has, too. She also made a triangle and a donut-shape and, like, obviously a square and a rectangle, but the roll just seems like . . . he doesn’t know, just it seems . . . 

It–feels best, he thinks, and isn’t sure if that’s that whole “listening to your inner omega” thing the video was talking about or not, but it’s . . . it makes him feel kinda–good, thinking maybe it is. Maybe it’s, like . . . maybe he has a little bit of those . . . instincts, or whatever. 

He . . . did wanna nest, before he presented. He just, like . . . he just . . . 

He did wanna, he admits to himself. 

He rolls up Red Tornado’s cape and tucks the ends of it in like in the video, then carefully sets it against the side of the nesting pit opposite of everyone else’s “pillows” and tries to make sure it’s, like–kinda fluffed, he guesses, or at least as fluffed as a folded cape can get. Just–full, he guesses. 

It’s still pretty bare-looking for a nest, but Kon feels a weird twisty sort of . . . feeling, kinda. Like he did–something good, kinda. He really wants more stuff in it, though, but– 

The video’s still playing, and the omega in it holds up a denim jacket and then starts folding that into a pillow, and Kon realizes he’s a total dumbass. He is literally still wearing his jacket, for crying out loud, like–geez, how was his jacket not the first thing he used? He doesn’t need his own scent, obviously, but it’d still be another pillow’s worth of space and hell, he’s used it as a pillow before, even. Like, in the field or on the road or on set or just, like . . . wherever. And like–fuck it, even if he doesn’t need his own scent, he still likes it. 

Well, like–he means he still likes his jacket, but honestly the cream soda pheromones are, like . . . 

He just–it’s an omega scent. A really omega scent. One nobody’d ever, ever mistake for a beta’s or alpha’s. 

So . . . yeah, he likes his scent too. 

“I’m a moron, buddy,” he tells the Super-Cycle with a wry snort as he takes his sunglasses out of the pocket of his jacket to toss into the front seat with Bart’s weird cowboy boots and spurs and hat, because like, obviously those are not nest-friendly and he doesn’t wanna accidentally snap or crush ‘em. He goes through enough pairs as it is, seriously. Really he should ditch his own boots and probably his gloves up there too, but, like–later, probably. Once he’s built up his–nest a little more, with whatever Red Tornado’s gonna bring him. Because, like–Red Tornado said he was gonna bring him more stuff to use. 

Kon feels that weird twisty feeling again, like something’s good, and then huffs at himself and rewinds the video a little so he’ll be able to follow along with the omega on-screen. She’s got denim, not leather, but it can’t be that different a folding process, right? 

So yeah, that’ll work, he decides as the video resumes playing right before the jacket-folding and he strips his jacket off to–

–to–

Kon strips his jacket off and catches a trace of–a trace of a scent, just briefly, and remembers–

Superman touched his jacket, earlier. 

And his jacket still smells like . . . like Superman’s blockers, and the muddied not-really-there traces of pheromones that he’s never fully scented underneath them, and . . . 

His jacket smells like Superman. 

[ezrasxfics]

abstragedy fic where caine figures out zooble likes gangle and keeps pestering them about it? (like a parent would react to their child getting their first crush lmao) /nf :3

i’ve never been prouder…

-

abstragedy (ft caine)

-

zooble pov

it’s just another day in the circus, and by that i mean, another day of being surrounded by total DIPSH*TS. jax.. bubble.. and probably the biggest of them all, caine. hell, he’s harassing me right now. absolutely f*cking relentlessly.

“oh, zooooblee~!” he calls out, floating down the hallways in an attempt to find me. by now, everyone else had left for an adventure. i stay completely silent, praying that he doesn’t fine me. until—

he’s right in front of me.

“what do you want!?” i snap, maybe a little more aggressively than i meant to. it was just.. something about him. something that aggravated me to no end. that loud voice, that ‘can-do’ attitude.. it reminded me of someone, and i couldn’t put my finger on who.

“oh, zooble, i just wanted to talk to you!! have a little chat.. because i’ve noticed that you and gangle have been quite friendly recently - almost like.. what do humans call it.. you���re ‘down bad’ for each other!”

“….WHAT!? where the hell did you get that idea-!?” i stammer, unable to deny that he was absolutely right. but his wording..? “and don’t say ‘down bad’ again. my god…”

caine stares at me blankly for a few seconds, as if he’s buffering, before cocking his head to the side. “isn’t that what you are? when two humans love each other—“

“okay- okay, shut up- no- don’t finish that f**king sentence. we’re just friends, okay?? that’s it.” raising both my hands defensively, i take a small step back. “we’re just close friends, okay??”

“i hate to accuse you of lying, zooble, but that can’t be true! the way you look at each other, the way your voice deepens a little and hers gets higher when you talk to each other, the way your pupils dilate, it’s all key symptoms of human love!”

“…symptoms? love, or whatever, isn’t a disease—“

“moving onnnnn- i’ve developed a foolproof 5 step plan on how you two can finally admit your feelings to each other!!” he says, a wide smile on his face. or.. his teeth. how can teeth even—? whatever.

“no.” i say simply, folding my arms as if to display my disapproval. “no f**king way.”

“so, firstly, i’ll set you two up on a special adventu-“ he cuts himself off, before continuing. “what do you mean, no? you haven’t even heard my plan, zooble!”

“i don’t need to. caine, you’re an ai. you don’t understand.. feelings. they’re more complicated than just statistics and predictions and plans, you just.. nevermind. forget i said anything.”

“okay!!” he replies, but his energy faltered slightly. i almost felt.. bad for him.

“..fine. tell me the damn plan. no promises, though.” i mutter, after a small hesitation. he may be an ai, but i know that even caine has.. basic feelings. i wouldn't want to be an a** and hurt him.

almost immediately, that spark of joy in him returned as he began to relay the plan. “so, zooble, firstly, you’re going to go on a special adventure for just the two of you. then, she’s going to end up in some sort of.. sticky situation. and you’re going to save her!! once you’ve saved her, you’ll say a little speech you prepared.. and happily ever after!!!!”

“……that’s only four steps.” i say, entirely dumbfounded. he couldnt seriously expect me to go through with THAT, right?? then again, it’s caine we’re talking about…

“happily ever after is step 5!! so, what d’you say, zooble? i worked very hard on it, it would be a shame for my plan to go to waste-“

“FINE— fine, i’ll f**king do it. if you leave me the hell alone.”

“done deal!!!” he sighs, clasping his hands and bringing them to the side of his face. “i’ve never been so proud..”

-

thanks for the request!! i had a lot of fun writing this!!!

reblogs appreciated!!

[another-random-paradise]

hi hi hi! i was wondering if u could write headcanons for what it'd be like to date greaseball? <3 no stress!

Hello!! I’m SO sorry that this took so long, my life got really busy,, :(

You didn’t specify which version so I went with London 2024, I hope that’s okay - and I hope you enjoy <33

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

Dating headcanons

Characters: Greaseball

Format: Headcanons

Version: London - Wembley 2024

Warnings: talk of arguments (nothing specific)

-She LOVES validation, especially from you, she will purposefully show of her muscles or go extra fast, in hopes of a compliment or even just a gasp from you. It feeds into her ego, a lot.

-A bit possessive and jealous. She hates it when someone else flirts with you, especially if it's another engine. She'll be there in seconds, cutting them down to size. She'll probably never admit it, but it's because deep down she's worried you'll leave her for someone gentler; someone better at loving you the way you deserve.

-However if she ever sees you defending yourself/cutting the flirt down to size yourself, before she can? She'd find that incredibly attractive! She'd be all smug about it too

-She sadly doesn't take well to critique. Communication isn't exactly her strong suit, so when you try to tell her that she did something wrong/made you uncomfortable, she'll usually just stare at nothing specific, crossing her arms; you won't get much more out of her than an occasional annoyed "mhm"

-It's not that she doesn't want to, she just doesn't know how to. Nonetheless, she carries your words around with her for a good while. She'll try to subtly change, but her ego tends to get in the way. She tries she really does, but she was never taught how.

-however, usually a few hours or a few days after every argument, you'll find a small gift from her, or a bouquet of your favourite flowers waiting for you (either on your desk or your doorstep, depending on if you live together or not). Of course, it doesn't make up for everything, but it's a start

-She'd definitely want to race together with you if you aren't also an engine, no matter if carriage or freight. Racing is incredibly important to her, and she wants to share the experience with you

-She usually likes to show you off, always having a hand on your hip, or a small kiss on your head, just generally keeping you close. The one exception is when she's in an argument with someone, for example when Electra is once again egging her on before a big race, she doesn't respond well to anyone getting to close to her when that happens.

-Date nights are usually stay in movie nights, races, or simply whatever you two impulsively decide to do.

-She isn't big on fancy dates. You did go on quite a few ones when you first started dating, since she wanted to show off and impress you - but she seems to get pretty awkward during them. Not to mention that she doesn't like having to wait so long for food at the fancy restaurants.

-after a hard day at work, she loves coming home to you and fall asleep cuddling. She'd never admit it, of course, but getting to hold you is very comforting for her

Again, so sorry this took so long—

Hope you enjoyed nonetheless!!

Feedback is welcome, just be nice pls <3

Have a nice day/night!!

[kiragecko]

I decided to do this for the Batfamily. (Preboot version, because I disagree with DC's modern decisions.)

If the Batfam were queer, how would they talk about it?

Dick - awkward and tentative. No clue when he picked up the terminology he's using, but it's probably pretty general/balanced¹. He's not going to be using microlabels, but may have done a reasonable amount of research on whatever term he's accepted. Possibly the most ashamed out of everyone? Look, people haven't been very gentle with him about his romantic, sexual, or personal choices. And he's internalized that. I could see him EVENTUALLY being comfortably open about his identity, but that would be a long journey.

Babs - only talks to romantic partners, if she can help it. Clinical. Probably also prickly. Maybe dismissive. More focused on how it will affect their relationship than on how it affects her, or on specific terms. But also the most likely to explain the split attraction model, or pull up a graph? Possibly she'd shift tactics based on what her partner was comfortable with. Probably it would be to tactics her partner was LESS comfortable with? Babs, make things easier for yourself!

Jason - What flavour of fanon are we using here? Or canon? Using slurs that the people he grew up used for themselves could be accurate. Reading up on all the latest terminology so he can support the street kids seems in character for some versions. (He sounds like he's reading from a brochure, but like he's a counsellor reading from a brochure for your benefit!) Not having thought about it at all because he's been 'somewhat' distracted for most of his life seems VERY likely! Jason contains multitudes.

Tim - avoiding this conversation at all costs. Refuses to use labels. Might describe his experience, awkwardly, if he needed to, but would get distressed if you tried to give it a name. He might be able to accept BEING some flavour of queer, but openly talking about it in ways people can use against him? That might affect social standing and job opportunities? That might disappoint authority figures? No. Most likely to use a fake identity to explore. Has almost certainly done all the research, KNOWS current terminology, and will use it for other people. Just don't suggest he applies it to himself.

Steph - Would probably get extremely attached to language when first accepting it. Maybe to the point of policing things a bit. Because she's defensive and has spent her whole life being policed and judged! MIGHT sound like she was reading out of a college brochure. Possibly DID read it out of a college brochure!

Cass - summarizes complex topics into a 2 or 3 word sentence, and if you aren't following along, that's on YOU. Might like listening to someone else explain their extremely nuanced identity. Might be impatient. It's a toss-up, depending on how obvious she thinks things are, how much you seem to be overcomplicating it, and how much she's picking up from HOW you're saying it. I hope she figures herself out before she learns TOO much terminology, because later Cass respected words a bit too highly, and I want her to be able to understand the fluidity of self without thinking it NEEDS boxes.

Damian - okay, preteen Damian doesn't WANT to know about any of this, thank you. Many preteens do! Damian does not. Damian wants to join in on every rape and hate crime investigation, and also thinks kissing is gross. Wrangling and protecting Damian is a challenge. Older Damian would probably use microlabels, if any applied. (And he felt safe saying anything.) Accuracy is always to be desired! Also, they fit his worldview of exceptionality and isolation.

Duke - I think he'd be pretty comfortable with general, broadly understood, terminology. But he might struggle if that stuff didn't fit. Feeling compelled to explain the nuances of self seems like something he'd find really uncomfortable? So I can see him casually talking about himself if it was easy to talk about, but struggling to be open otherwise. Also, he might get pretty stuck on not being SURE about his identity. How can he talk about it if he might be wrong?? (Tim and Dick might struggle in a similar way, but it would be less obvious because of their other issues.)

Bruce - Extremely likely to used old-fashioned or clinical language, especially if it lets him sound like he's reading out of a psychology text-book. Most likely to accept the language without internalizing the identity. (It might be accurate, but that doesn't mean he needs to ACT on it.) Also most likely to have accept-ED some term 25 years ago and then just never brought it up again or acknowledged it in any way.

Alfred - wouldn't talk about it at all. Relationships are private. If it was important to do so, would use euphemisms like 'close to', 'cared for', 'did a small amount of exploration', etc.

-

¹ I kind of think of modern queer identities coming in 3 broad categories:

general - uses language like 'queer', 'LGBT', 'nonbinary' - commonly understood umbrella terms. Prioritizes fluidity of identity and connection with community over precise description

balanced - prioritizes connection with people of similar experiences, uses broad subcategories like 'gay', and 'trans', or combines broad terms together to suggest more precision, like 'nonbinary lesbian'.

microlabels - breaks down identities into more precise subsets like 'greyace', 'fem-aligned androgyne', 'genderfae', etc. Precise understanding of self prioritized over other people's understanding or connection.

'Microlabels' as shorthand is often used to mock people, so I thought it helpful to explain where I'm coming from.

he would not fucking say that but it’s he would not fucking talk about his queer identity like he was reading out of a college campus lgbt center brochure

[kathlare]

cost of fame

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: What starts as a casual shopping trip quickly turns into chaos as fans recognize Amelie, and the crowd outside grows larger by the minute.

Wordcount: 1.8 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

February 5th, 2025 - Barcelona, Spain

liked by f1gossipage, lanelienation, and others

amelienation: 👀 Looks like Amelie was out in Barcelona today, soaking in the sun and making new friends! Spotted taking photos with fans while strolling around the city with Lando, Oscar, and Lily. 🛍️ Seems like they're living their best life, enjoying a little downtime before the next big race! 🌟

View all 1,694 comments

sarahh_lopez23: I literally saw them at Passeig de Gràcia today!! They were so cute together 🥺💖 → mattsmithfan: @sarah_lopez23 I swear Amelie & Lando's energy just hits different!! 😍💫

f1fam: Lando's probably carrying her shopping bags too 😏 → alexa_17: @f1fam I bet he was! This man will never miss an opportunity to be extra cute.

katie_fan123: I love how Lando's always by her side 😂 like the definition of “ride or die” 💀🔥 → spencertracy: @katie_fan123 Yeah, he's definitely whipped, but who wouldn't be with Amelie? 😏

sarahsoulxx: Why is Lando so clingy though? Like can she breathe for a second?? 😭

mariayass: AMELIE!!! I am on my way to Barcelona!!! Hope I can meet her 😍

sashasoccerfan: WAIT. Did anyone else spot them at El Corte Inglés?? My friend said she saw them taking pictures. 😭😭 → juanita94: @sarahsoccerfan I swear I just saw them in front of the Gucci store. I'm not missing this. On my way now!! 👀

lilysbiggestfan: The papaya girls are BACK!! Let's goooo! 😍🍊💖

lilysweetheart: Just saw them in the city center! Lando was holding a giant shopping bag for her, it's like he can’t let her carry anything, lol 🥴💀 → lexxi_babe: @lilysweetheart omg same!!! Lando is literally her personal bodyguard and shopper 💅🏻

hater87: Ugh, they’re like... always together. Boring. 🙄 → f1fan88: @hater87 ...You’re just mad you don’t have someone like Lando, it's ok, we get it 🤷‍♀️

isabell_squad: I’m in Barcelona right now!!! Crossing my fingers to bump into them 😭💖 → juliaperez21: @isabell_squad Let me know if you spot them!! I’m already planning my way there 😜

kristin44: She's literally such an icon. I’m so jealous right now 😭

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

Lando had barely finished tying his sneakers when he felt Amelie’s hand slip into his, a familiar warmth shooting up his arm. He turned, flashing her a quick grin. The kind of grin that said he was happy to be on the road with her, happy to spend the last few days before their schedules took them in opposite directions.

Barcelona was sunny and busy, the streets buzzing with tourists and locals alike, the air alive with laughter and the clink of glasses from nearby cafés. Lando glanced at Amelie, feeling that familiar flutter in his chest. Even when they were just walking around like any other couple—holding hands, sharing jokes—it felt like a perfect moment.

Oscar and Lily had tagged along with them, their easy-going presence making the day even more fun. Amelie, as usual, was dressed effortlessly cool—denim jacket, black jeans, and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head. She looked stunning, but that wasn’t new.

They walked through the bustling streets of Barcelona, weaving through the crowd, as the sun bathed everything in a warm glow. Oscar and Lily, who had been quiet up ahead, suddenly slowed down as Lando’s attention was completely stolen by Amelie. Her head turned this way and that, scanning the shops that lined the street, and Lando couldn’t help but admire how naturally she fit in here.

—What do you think of this place?— Amelie asked, nudging him with her shoulder and flashing a playful grin.

Lando chuckled, looking up at the brightly painted boutique they were passing. —Looks good. I think you’ll look great in whatever you pick out.—

She gave him a sidelong glance, the corner of her lips twitching upward. —Flattery, Lan? Or are you just trying to get me to buy you more stuff?—

He shot her a cheeky wink. —Maybe a little of both, Ames. But mostly, I just want to see you looking even hotter than usual. Is that so wrong?—

Her laughter rang out, and just like that, a couple of people recognized her. One woman stopped in her tracks, eyes wide.

—Amelie Dayman?—

Before Lando could react, the woman had pulled out her phone, asking for a quick selfie.

Amelie smiled warmly, and though Lando noticed her slightly stiffening under the sudden attention, she agreed. —Yeah, of course!—

Lando took a step back, letting her do her thing. Fans were part of the deal, and Amelie had gotten used to it over the years, though sometimes Lando knew it could still overwhelm her. She’d been in the public eye since she was young, after all, and it wasn’t always easy for her to balance that with her personal life.

Oscar and Lily exchanged glances but made no move to stop, clearly used to this by now too.

As they stepped into the store, it became obvious that Amelie was a magnet for attention. No matter how hard the shop owner tried to keep the space calm, word had spread that the Amelie Dayman was inside. People lingered outside, peeking through the glass windows, hoping for a glimpse.

Lando raised an eyebrow as he watched a small group gather outside the store, their eyes fixed on the window. He knew Amelie was famous—hell, everyone did. But sometimes, it was easy to forget just how much of a spectacle her presence could cause. He slid a hand into his pocket, trying to act casual as he gave Oscar a look.

—This is gonna get out of hand fast, isn’t it?— Lando muttered.

Oscar shrugged, clearly not fazed. —You’d think we’d be used to it by now. I mean, we’re with her all the time, but it still catches you off guard, right?—

Lando glanced at Amelie, who was now examining a rack of clothes, blissfully unaware of the growing crowd outside. She was chatting with Lily, laughing at something, her shoulders relaxed as she flicked through the items on the hanger. But even without realizing it, the moment she stepped into the shop, she became the center of attention.

The shop owner, a frazzled middle-aged man in a pressed suit, had already instructed the staff to be discreet, but it was clear the situation was escalating. People outside the store had begun whispering, their phones out, trying to get photos from every angle.

—Amelie, we should go before it gets crazy.— Lando said softly, walking over to her.

She looked up, blinking in surprise. —What? Oh, no, I’m fine. We’re just shopping.—

Amelie’s eyes flicked up to meet Lando’s, and the smile on her face faltered. Her gaze moved past him to the glass windows, and she instantly saw it. The crowd. Phones were raised in unison, flashes popping like camera shutters, and a group of fans had gathered, pressing up against the storefront, their excited voices ringing in the air.

Lando’s warning hadn’t even fully registered in her mind before it became all too real. The sudden shift in her body language was almost immediate, her posture straightening, a hand instinctively pulling the strap of her bag a little tighter over her shoulder.

She let out a quiet sigh, trying to shake off the feeling of being trapped under the spotlight again. It was something she’d learned to live with, but it never failed to make her uncomfortable. Sure, she had chosen this life, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sometimes get overwhelming.

Amelie didn’t even know why it surprised her anymore. This was her life now. The crowds. The constant attention. The never-ending cycle of being watched. But even after all these years, she couldn’t help but feel that strange twinge of discomfort every time it happened.

—Shit, Lan...— she muttered, her tone low, as she tried to keep her face neutral, avoiding eye contact with the growing crowd. She didn’t want to appear bothered, but the reality was, being filmed and snapped without permission never sat well with her.

Lando stepped closer, his hand resting gently on her lower back. He noticed the shift in her demeanor immediately and, as always, went into protector mode.

—You okay?— he asked, his voice soft, but his eyes scanning the shop to see just how many people were outside. He wasn’t blind. He could feel the tension in her shoulders, the way she’d pulled away from the carefree air she’d had just moments ago.

—Yeah, just...— she trailed off, trying to push through it, but her smile was now a little strained, and she clearly wasn’t having fun anymore.

The sound of voices outside was getting louder, and it was clear the situation was spiraling quickly. Fans had started shouting her name, some trying to get her attention while others took advantage of the opportunity to snap photos.

Lando frowned, glancing at Oscar and Lily, both of whom had started to take a step back, clearly realizing that their quiet shopping trip had just turned into a spectacle. Oscar gave him a sympathetic look, and Lily raised an eyebrow, mouthing I knew this was gonna happen.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, a small sigh escaping his lips. He glanced at Amelie, who was now staring at the growing crowd with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. He could see it in her eyes—how she hated it. Hated being watched, hated being the center of attention when all she wanted was a normal day with her boyfriend and friends.

—Alright, Ames, let’s go, yeah?— Lando suggested gently, his voice calm but firm, trying to reassure her that they weren’t stuck in this madness.

But she didn’t move. Instead, her gaze stayed glued to the window as more and more people gathered outside. She was frozen, her hand subtly tightening around the strap of her bag. Lando could feel the tension radiating off her, and he didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed. He stepped forward, cupping her face with one hand and lifting her chin to make her look at him.

—Hey, you don’t have to do this. I’ve got you. Let’s go somewhere else if you want. Don’t let them get to you, Ames. You deserve a break.—

Her lips parted as if she were about to protest, but she closed them again, the fight draining from her face as she looked back at him. There was a deep sigh, and she finally gave a small nod.

Lando smiled softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek, and with a nod, he turned towards the door. He took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. He could feel her tension as they made their way towards the exit, her fingers tightening around his, but she didn’t pull away.

The moment they stepped outside, the noise hit them. A wave of people surged forward like a tide, the sound of shouting and phones clicking. Lando instinctively stepped in front of her, shielding her from the crowd as best as he could with his body. He kept his hand tightly in hers, pulling her closer to him, his other hand extended slightly to push through the throngs of people that had gathered.

Lando could feel the energy shift instantly as the crowd surged. Phones were in the air, like a swarm of bees, buzzing and snapping in every direction. People were shouting Amelie’s name, her face plastered on every screen as flashes went off, strobe-like, as if the paparazzi were out in full force. It wasn’t just a few fans anymore—it was a mob, and Lando was doing everything he could to keep them at bay.

He could feel Amelie’s grip tightening on his hand as she tried to move with him. She wasn’t panicking, but he could feel her anxiety radiating through their connection. He kept his hand in front of them, gently shoving people back as they came too close, his voice low but firm.

—Excuse me! Please back off!— Lando called out, trying to keep the space between them and the crowd. He was used to being in the spotlight, but he was well aware that it wasn’t just his name being screamed anymore. People had spotted Amelie and, just like that, the situation had escalated.

Amelie smiled at the fans who called out to her, doing her best to keep her composure as she posed for a selfie with one person, then another. She tried to hide the nerves in her eyes, but Lando saw it all—the subtle tension in her jaw, the way she was keeping herself just a little too composed.

As they inched forward, Lando kept leading the way, gently navigating through the crowd. Fans were pressing in, trying to reach out to touch her, snap photos, or just get close. A few even shouted her name, asking for an autograph, but Amelie didn’t seem to mind as much. She was used to it by now—smiling and laughing through the craziness, even though she would have preferred to be somewhere quiet, just the two of them.

—Hey, keep your hands to yourselves!— Lando snapped at one of the people who got a little too close. He wasn’t a fan of being rude, but he had to make sure they respected Amelie’s space.

Amelie’s eyes met his for a split second, and she gave him a grateful, albeit slightly tired, smile. —Thanks, Lan.—

They were so close to the car now. Just a few more steps. Lando could see the black SUV parked just ahead, the driver standing by with the door open, ready to whisk them away from this madness.

The sea of people in front of them seemed endless, but with every step, they got closer to the peace and calm of the car. Lando’s pace quickened as he tightened his grip on Amelie’s hand, moving as fast as he could without seeming too rushed. He was still holding his arm in front of her, trying to block out the people who were too eager to shove their phones in her face.

And then, as if a wave had hit them, the screams grew louder. More phones, more faces, more hands reaching. Amelie’s eyes flicked between Lando and the approaching vehicle, her breathing quickening slightly.

—Just a little bit longer, Ames. Almost there.— Lando muttered, and she nodded, though Lando could see the faintest trace of discomfort in her eyes.

When they reached the car, Lando opened the door and helped Amelie inside, his hand on the small of her back as he guided her in. She slid in quickly, her face flushed but still trying to keep it together.

Once inside, Lando closed the door behind them, and for a brief moment, everything went silent. It was like the noise of the crowd was suddenly shut out, and they were enveloped in a bubble of quiet.

Oscar and Lily got in the car behind them, and Lando quickly glanced at Amelie, who was sitting next to him, her hands resting in her lap as she tried to compose herself.

Before Lando could say anything, Oscar leaned forward from the back seat, grinning. —Well, that was a shitshow, huh? You’ve got quite the entourage following you now, Amelie. Remind me to never go shopping with you again.—

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

liked by amelienation, lando, and others

ameliegossipdaily: Honestly, what happened tonight in Barcelona was completely unacceptable. 🙄 While Amelie, Lando, and their friends were just trying to enjoy a quiet day, some people forgot that she's a human being, not a circus attraction. It's beyond disrespectful to invade someone's personal space like that—especially when she's clearly uncomfortable. 😤

Amelie’s kindness knows no bounds, and yet, people treat her like a zoo animal. When will we respect boundaries? Fans deserve to be able to appreciate their idols, but this was way over the line. 😳 We all saw the frenzy outside that store—the paparazzi flashing cameras, the screaming, the invasion of privacy. We get it, she's famous, but respect goes both ways, and the disrespect shown to her tonight is absolutely appalling. 😤

Amelie deserves peace, she deserves to live without feeling like she’s on display 24/7. 🌟 Everyone should take a moment to reflect on how we treat people we admire. It's not all about the chase for selfies and autographs. 📸 Respect her space, her comfort, and her friends' time too.

Let’s do better, folks. ✊💖 Amelie is a queen, and she deserves to be treated like one.

View all 20,583 comments

f1queen: Honestly, I'm just glad Lando was there to protect her. The way people just start snapping pics without asking? YIKES. 😤 → tiffytiff_23: @f1queen seriously, where's the respect for her privacy?? 😡

papayadreamer: I can't believe people turned a normal shopping trip into a freak show. Amelie deserves SO much better than that. 😔💔 → itsnicky44: @papayadreamer 100%. Like, leave her alone, it’s not that deep. 🙄

sarahh_rocks: Ugh, she looked so uncomfortable. Can we just let her live? 🤦‍♀️

sofia__carter: Lando looking like he's ready to fight the entire crowd to protect her, but honestly... it's necessary. 😂🛑 → itsme_alexx: @sofia__carter he was on full defense mode lol 😂 respect Lando tho. 🫶

ameliedailyupdates: That whole crowd thing was gross. No one should have to go through that, especially Amelie. 😤💔 → oscar__fan22: @ameliedailyupdates true. People forget there's a line between admiration and invasion. 😡

lucyheartthrob: Did anyone else see Lando liked this post? 👀 He knows we’re all on the same page. → f1life77: @lucyheartthrob Yesss I noticed too! He’s def not here for the crowd either!

gracie_luvs: Amelie deserves to shop without being hunted down. That’s so rude. 😡

stanamelie4ever: the way she was literally trying to leave and people kept blocking her path??? disgusting.

fan11: if Amelie never goes outside again, I fully support her tbh → fan12: real, I wouldn’t either after this mess 😭

[killerzys]

Should probably post this on my venting account..oh well

[DO NOT ATTACK ANYONE THAT WAS MENTIONED]

Tw mentioning of cutting, say kill yourself, and F1zzyst4r

Please don't center me around this drama I'm not the one who needs the support Wenni is they have been a victim of F1zzyst4r for a year now I just want to simply explain.. how this has affected me.. but please show some support to Wenni and not me

More in the undercut

So there has been a lot on my mind been gone a few days so it feels a little bit more clearer

I do not want to meet the situation about me since I'm not the one who's being harassed Wenni has and I don't want to make the situation about me even though I am also being affected by it. Just not the way Wenni has been, that's why I have been scared to talk about how I'm feeling about Skittles.. and everything but uhh just because I don't want to make it about me I'm not the let's say main victim.. yes I have been harassed I don't know if was one of skittle's friends that told me this in my ask box but someone recently told me to kill myself and it threw me off

And for a while I felt forced to be friends with him (Skittles) I texted him before I blocked him that hey I felt forced to be your friend and it's making me uncomfortable.. I didn't say this part but the tracing also made me uncomfortable.. especially when it was clear that you copied someone else's design and is tracing someone else's art without credit or say oh yeah I make expired by this person inspiration, and now don't come attack me and say oh there's a few times that you didn't credit someone but as soon as someone say hey by the way maybe credit the person that gives you inspiration you @ them and I have I go back and edit pic or post and @ the person there is just sometimes where I get so excited that I forget but Skittles even after being called out and you're saying hey dude by the way maybe just give credit to the person that you take inspiration from Skittles is like erm actually they're tracing me!!

That's my point of view of how I see it and those other parts but I don't want to make this really long and boring to read

But I just mainly wanted to say how I've been infected by everything, after becoming friends with Skittles I thought they were kind and sweet they were to me but that's before I knew the full drama I did follow wenni on Pinterest for a while and seen little glimpse here and there last time I seen before I became friends with Skittles is that Wenni and Skittles were on good terms.. so I thought it was all right to be his friend, this whole friendship started because I made my old reference sheet of nighty, based off of on of wenni's old ref.. Skittles was like hey by the way maybe not copy me and I simply told them that I took inspiration from someone else that I didn't even know they were on the board, we became friends on Tumblr and talked, then I started getting targeted not targeted that's not the right word to say involved in drama that simply I was just watching from behind.. never had any attention to get involved with any of the drama but with my luck I somehow got into it because I was friends with Skittles.. I'm no longer friends with him and I feel free I feel safer now but I keep seeing the excuse of like his friends in my inbox "he made art for you and everything, he thought you guys were friends" just because you simply made art for me doesn't really mean anything I'm sorry? Like I make art for a lot of people doesn't mean I'm their friend I just think whatever OC or design I did was really neat and I wanted to draw it myself.. in the friend part I did see each other as friends but we never really communicated like we were friends.. we would talk to each other about the drama and I remember at some point I said whoever is tracing needs to own up to it now so this drama could be over and no one can get hurt or go through more mental health problems... But it seems that he didn't take that advice but oh well but other than talking about the drama and stuff we vented it to each other, there were a few funny moments but it's wasn't really friends? It was like that one buddy you see crossing the hall and you talk for a minute before going back to your class and then you don't see them for the rest of the year that's how it felt and before everything that happened I will admit I had a tad of a crush on Skittles but over time it started affecting me not in the greatest way... And I just lost all feelings when I got with my partner... And then at some point he would call me dear or something ? And sweetheart saying I'm sorry I think someone hacked my account acting all flirty with me which made me uncomfortable...

But besides that uhh he has now decided to text my mutuals or get his friends to do it I believe he's doing it because they are all anonymous and him or he got his friend to send something one of my mutuals inbox say hi by the way uhh river faked being friends with Skittles like a few times something something quite frankly I don't think you should be mutuals with them no more

Ok ok Skittles I see I see going to my mutuals telling them, that they should stop being friends with me because I stopped being friends with you because you're traced someone's art and copied many people's designs and when I tell you that I felt forced to be your friend and felt so uncomfortable and I unfollowed you which is a valid reason saying that I was uncomfortable and blocking you you're going to resort to going to my mutuals and basically harass them saying you should stop being friends with River, river is a bad friend you shouldn't be friends with them

Okay buddy like what? I've been trying to stay serious but the more I text this sentence the more I'm getting mad and the more I'm realizing the red flags that I should have realized from before... Honestly Skittles I hope you get help I hope you get therapy or something I'm not going to wish upon your death because honestly that's against what I believe which is nothing but like I don't believe in telling people they should kill themselves just because of certain actions I feel like they should get help now let's say if you were a pedophile now I would say kill yourself but does drama could have been resolved a long time ago if you just figured out your own art style who you are and stop copying someone to the point of copying that Wenni saying you have anger issues and trust issues ?

Wet Skittles I do wish that you get some therapy help mental help hell go to a mental asylum I don't care get help...

Now onto more stuff that like other things I've been thinking about

So basically going to my friends and harassing them

Having people go in my inbox harassing me saying like why did you stop being friends with Skittle kill yourself

It feels like you're using the fact that I used to have a crush on you against me and saying that we were friends because sometimes we made art for each other?

That's really it? Uh yeah I don't know this entire situation has just had me stressed about everything.. to the point where I'm having a hard time even drawing.. communicating with people talking and everything...it's really unbearable.. a few days ago I lost my streak .. because of this. The stress got so much that I took it out on myself I was almost 2-3 month clean..

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

TIL Brissot had a child out of wedlock before the revolution

Your letter pained me, dear friend, and renewed all my embarrassments. I was just leaving the person's house when I received it. I suggested to her the course we had first decided on, that is to say, to remove him, to have him raised for three or four years in the countryside, and then to take him into my home. She seemed affected to me because I didn't want to leave him to her. My answer was easy, I couldn't take him home after one had seen him at her house. 

She asked me if she would be able to come and see him at my house, if, even after I married, he would stay, and if she would still be able to come. I told her that I believed so, because I hoped to take a wife generous enough to forget my fault, reasonable enough to make the child's fate happy and to be interested even in the mother's fate, especially if the mother was honest and sensitive. She seemed even more affected to me, told me that she did not consent to all this, because she knew women, and that besides, if I were married, she could not bring herself to come to my house. I asked her the reason, she told me: “It’s because I would never be able to see your wife”. I showed her how inappropriate such a motive was, how much, if she was interested in her child, she had to overcome this, how delighted I would be to be able to make her happy with him, if it were possible. I couldn't gain anything, she persisted. I told her my last word: “If you do not want to agree to the course I am proposing to you, you can take your child into your home, but he will never enter my home. However, when the time comes, I will do to him whatever fate is in my power” (je lui ferai le sort qu’il sera en mon pouvoir). I gave her the week to think about it and, after that, I will see her and return her papers if she wishes. 

By reading your letter, by seeing what motives he will make you take, I am assured of this proof of your love.  We must no longer count on it, his mother exists and will always have rights over him but, if he is well raised, if he does good, after my death you will still be able to be useful to him. 

What annoys me is that the mother's head is a little too light to raise him, I cannot doubt her good heart, I even believe that she still is attached to me, although I have thrown a thick veil over it, but this attachment will make her submit to anything I want. Certainly you could see the child before you leave but, if it did not mean receiving another stab wound, you could instead see the mother and gain an idea of ​​her and her character. She works with linen; the slightest trifle you have to give her would take her to Belle-chasse; I would send it to Miss [unreadable name] that you have probably let in on the secret, and you would see her at her place, because it would not, I believe, be prudent to see her first yourself. Whatever my fate may be one day, forget that this child was someone else's, and remember that he is mine.

Letter from Brissot to his fiancée Félicité Dupont, 1782

Did anyone else know about this?

[twiceeshy]

3% [Chapter 1/?]

Read and view tags on ao3.

Summary: Three percent was the chance that suppressants would fail to protect from pregnancy, if a fertile Omega had sex with an Alpha during heat. It was non-negligible, but low.

E, rosquez, 6.7k words.

--

Marc held a baby in his arms. Nurses bustled around to make sure everything was alright, but he knew he didn't have to worry. She was tiny and pink. He loved her, he realised, stunned.

He was, perhaps, blessed that a pandemic had befallen them so he could have her safely. His abnominal muscles hid the bump for months. In another world he might have trained and crashed multiple times out of complete ignorance and lost her. Would he be happier that way? It wasn't worth thinking about, and nobody would ever hear about these doubts except his brother.

Still, he had considered the prospect of not keeping her seriously before making a choice, knowing what a commitment it would be.

Deep his heart, as much as he fretted and feared and did not actually want to do this at all, he couldn't bring himself to lift a finger to do anything else. Not when the child would be a combination of himself and someone he once loved. He would never have this chance again.

When a surreal health crisis laid their season's schedule to waste, he was vindicated. All the stars aligned for him to commit to this tough choice instead of the other.

"I think she'll look like you," Alex said cheerfully, as though he hadn't been awake through the night. Labour lasted thirteen hours.

Marc thought that Alex made good company in lieu of a husband. In fact, Marc was fairly certain he would have kept his brother and kicked the actual father of his child out of the room about five minutes into delivery, if he happened to be around. He couldn't stand the thought of anyone else watching through this specific vulnerability, which was why he made his parents stay at home. He was filled with a complicated mixture of love and loathing that would be horribly unpalatable to anyone else.

Marc had squeezed his brother's hand to bits and tried not to make noise even though it hurt. Alex made no complaint either. Marc probably played too heavy a hand in raising him, but Alex turned out perfect so it was hard to feel guilty.

He was going to be the best uncle in the world. And Marc was determined to be a good mother.

He held her out to Alex, who took her carefully. She was tiny. If she was anything like him, she would be tiny for a long time. He wondered if he could make her take more after him out of sheer willpower.

"Do you think she looks like a Laia?" Marc asked. Laia Marquez Alenta. He'd drawn the name from a list of popular Catalan baby names, and still thought it fit. He enjoyed having the most common name for decades running, and there was an edge of rebellion in naming her as Catalan as possible. Her name carried ties to home, and the freedom to shape her own destiny.

Alex smiled at her with the warm fondness. "She looks like whatever you want."

Marc held his brother's arm appreciatively. For the millionth time since he found out about his pregnancy, he was unspeakably grateful for his brother. His family's love was a panacea to his unquantifiable amount of despair, as his body stretched and his toes disappeared from view. He used to easily bend down and touch the floor with the palms of his hands. He would get back there. He would get back on a bike too - soon, maybe even tomorrow - and he would return to winning again.

A few short moments later, a nurse took Laia away to measure her height. Something animal and new surged within him. He wanted her back, he didn't want her to smell like someone else. He controlled himself.

Alex dabbed stray tears from Marc's eyes with his sleeve. He hadn't realised he had been crying. His head was a mess.

"Congratulations," Alex said.

Marc gave him a wobbly smile. He felt unfit and horrible, and he regretted taking a break from his career from every fibre of his being now that the deed was done. But he'd done it, he was a mother now.

A thousand or so kilometres away, the paddock was just over a week away from their second race in Jerez.

--

Marc could pin down the day of Laia's conception to precision: 17 November 2019, when he had capped off a year of glory with a win.

He had been on the verge of a heat. It didn't matter - he'd raced through them before. When riders had their heads covered by helmets, scents were scarcely a distraction to everyone else. The only inconvenience was for himself, because his body temperature felt hotter and his stomach was prone to cramping, so he needed to ensure he had a different balance of water and electrolytes to keep the averse effects at bay.

It should have been a handicap for everyone else, and yet, he won with some margin. He simultaneously felt invincible and mortal, battered by the chronic weight of past and present injuries magnified by his heat. It was a terrible, foreboding mixture.

He was on top of the world. He was boiling alive in his own sweat and leathers.

He dragged himself to the afterparty anyway. His head was killing him. No matter how much water he drank, he couldn't shake off the dehydration. Once the adrenaline of the race had worn off, his dislocated shoulder throbbed painfully. He needed surgery soon to fix that again, as his arm felt to be one tough whack away from falling off.

After an hour, he bowed out. There were tests to be done in two days. It was early still, but there wasn't any reason to torture himself when his heat was surely already setting in. He only hoped he'd be able to get over the worst of it the next day and be fit for the tests. He couldn't imagine being off suppressants and having to suffer through three-day, full blown heats. This was bad enough.

He made it to his motorhome somehow. While trudging there, he caught a whiff of something forbidden through an open window. Despite his exhaustion, he ran.

During his two and a half years with Valentino, their heats and ruts had never coincided. Although couples' cycles tended to sync up with greater proximity, they hadn't been together long or frequently enough. And well, "couple" was a generous term to describe what they were.

He'd only been through two of Valentino's ruts before. Marc shared only one heat with him. Scheduling didn't permit anything else. They'd both been out of their minds for all three of those occasions.

Marc wasn't usually stupid in heat when he was alone. Impulsive and slow perhaps, but nothing like the mewling, horny mess he'd been reduced to during that one heat after his home race. He and Vale had been one-two on the podium in Montmelo, and he felt top of the world, untouchable. Hours later he was knocking on Valentino's door with his brain fried. There had been an embarrassing amount of whining involved while Valentino teased him. The memory was precious. He had been trusting and vulnerable then, but floating from his winning streak (how many in a row had it been by that time? Six or seven? He wasn't even done yet), and Valentino had taken care of him kindly. He couldn't believe his hero would take the time to do this for him. It had been so good, beyond a dream.

In contrast, ruts were bordered on violent. Valentino was brutal. He'd barely been able to speak before the knot formed, and when he was that way, it was impossible to reach him. Marc silently let him, let him, let him, because he was used to pain and he could cope with it, could be the perfect Omega if he needed, so what if it was too intense?

He was bruised by the end of it all, his limbs and his back and surely his insides, not wet or stretched enough to comfortably grip a knot in absence of a heat. These were the only times Valenino had ever offered him apologies, but he didn't need them. He had been kissed gently in compensation when Valentino came down, once the knot was in place, and he'd felt loved. Beautiful, brave, he remembered, and a soft kiss to his sweat-damp eyelid. Kisses all over his face until his cheeks were warm. He kept the compliments close to his chest.

This time, his body would be able to take it. Years ago, the thought of a cycle that finally synced up would have excited him. Now he hid and shut the door behind him. He wished again that Alex was around to stop the inevitable from happening. He hoped that Valentino was as desperate for self-control as he was, because this couldn't happen.

But even while he thought that, he knew it was not to be. He was on a knife's edge himself, and Omegas in sport were accustomed to containing their baser tendencies, both with their minds and medical interference. Alphas meanwhile, were encouraged to let it out, to be possessive and aggressive and greedy. It was good for the competitive spirit.

If Valentino smelled him at all, he'd be there soon. The rare sight of him at his best and his worst, fully unrestrained. Marc feared and yearned, and knew it was not to be denied.

Then came a knock on the door. Marc watched the knob twist from his vantage point in his own sitting area, unmoving. He could smell it through the gaps around the door - his Alpha, however long ago it may have been, and the other half of a mating bond that was broken before it could take hold.

He's should have thought to lock himself in. But he had gone stupid, and subconsciously he didn't want to spend another heat alone. He got to his feet to rush over and twist the lock shut. It was too late.

Valentino let himself in. The full brunt of his scent in rut punched Marc up the nose. It was pungent and human, mixed in with sweat. He shouldn't have been searching for it, inhaling it like he needed it. If he had clarity of mind, he would find that the scent was not pleasant, and he wouldn't want it all over him like a perfume. This wasn't the protective, sweet mating scent it once was.

But it was Valentino, and his body reacted. His hole clenched around nothing. He was wet already, and so hot it was frightening.

His eyes traced over the other man, tall and older and thin. Marc could take him in a strength fight, he knew, but there was no fight to be had. The heat wanted to be sated.

He refused to beg for it. Self-control was a deep well he could draw from even when surrender was nigh.

"Maybe you should go," he suggested quietly, the last barrier he was able to erect between them. It was flimsy, so Valentino acted as though he never heard it. It hurt Marc as much to voice it out as much as it stung to be ignored.

Valentino came to him (he was so fast - how was he so fast? How was it fair that ruts did this and heats made Marc dull), held his face, gripped his jaw, kissed him. Marc let it happen, fists clenched by his sides, teeth biting into the flesh of his own lower lip to keep the silence. The heat was unbearable. His palms were sweaty and searing in his own grip. Even the soles of his feet were burning.

He could tell that his lack of reaction frustrated Valentino, who made a noise of annoyance and maneuvered them onto the small sofa. His weight sank above Marc's, hot and heavy. He had sweat gathering on his temples and his nose.

In heat induced haze, Marc could still appreciate him. His lovely curls, lines on his face that showed his good humour, and his intense, light eyes. Marc swallowed a whine as Valentino clawed at the fastenings of his jeans, and felt his eyes flutter shut.

He knew he was wet. When Valentino tugged his jeans and his briefs down, he couldn't open his eyes out of shame. He had never felt shame over what was natural before, but his scent was overpowering, and unlike Valetino's it was still sweet. This was an admission he didn't want to give. The saving grace was that Valentino was too far gone to notice, lost in rut and years of anger.

Valentino didn't take the time to undress Marc or himself fully. Marc had his shirt and shoes still on (Alex would laugh so much about having shoes on during sex, he realised hysterically), and the jeans that pooled around his feet were too tight for him to move comfortably. Kicking in the air, he shucked them off - shoes, jeans, socks that caught on the rest - as Valentino worked on his own clothes.

It was easy for him. He was in an tracksuit with yellow stripes. Wildly, Marc wondered why he wanted him so much. But he did.

The thought crossed his mind that he really should have found some way to fuck Vale when he won in Misano back in September, so he wouldn't be in this situation. He had made it halfway to Vale's box in his unzipped leathers and his heat dildo in a bag before he caught himself acting like a prowling animal and turned back. He had been driven by the taste of victory on Vale's soil.

It would have made everything between them irrevocably worse. He should have done it anyway to gain a mental edge over this. Marc had the most unbearable urge to top that day and he was crystal clear that he would have succeeded, novice or not.

He would torture Vale one day. When he wasn't weak and pathetic in heat, he'd show Vale what it felt like to be held out on. He'd ruin him, he'd never let him come. He'd show him why it was so good, why Marc still waited and waited for him, and why Vale would never have this with anybody else. Anger and want mingled in a primitive corner of his brain.

Then Valentino freed his cock, and he crowded himself on Marc, and the complicated regrets flatlined temporarily. The heat demanded submission.

It was already happening. He should just enjoy it, given in to nature.

He couldn't.

He was supple, but even he found that the cramped sofa was less comfortable than the bed he was accustomed to. He didn't suggest to move.

Valentino pushed him down, so Marc's spine was curved awkwardly in the crook between the seat and backrest. He pulled Marc's legs apart and folded them back such that his knees were against his shoulders. Marc was flexible so it didn't hurt, but he didn't like it.

He was so wet, almost dripping before Valentino' eyes. There was no way he could sit back and allow this to happen. To do so would be pathetic, and Marc had never been pathetic.

He needed control. It was always certain that the person who kept their wits better had control if they played it right. It would be marginal victory in a war of attrition, but he was good at holding on to the winning edge in those.

Valentino held his cock and it looked like a fucking weapon. The lust of a rut was something to behold. His cock was swelling, not yet a knot, but red and painful.

Marc wanted it.

He didn't want it at all.

He twisted around to lie down across both seats. If there was a damn cushion somewhere so he could rest his head, he would be better off. It didn't matter - there was no position he couldn't fold himself into as needed.

With one swift movement, he kicked his legs up and bent wound his thighs around Valentino's shoulders, them forced him down with his strength. The Marc of 2014 would never have done this, but he was no longer so willing to roll over. Valentino was on his knees, head in proximity of Marc's weeping hole. It was a completely novel position to both of them. A smirk tugged the corner of Marc's lip. Surely Valentino would come to his senses soon and he would fight back, but by then he would realise that he had lost himself to his rut far more completely than Marc had allowed his heat to control him.

He still wanted Valentino to fuck him, knot him, have them fused at the front for hours, show them off to every other Omega who had stolen Valentino's ruts from him, scratch his fucking name bloody into Valentino's back so that Vale could feel how much he cared.

Time slowed down to molasses, which was a strange contrast to the acrid desperation in the air. Marc felt that he had a brief moment of time in control. It was like being on a bike, lining up a clever overtake while slowing down from 350 kilometres an hour. There was nobody better than him at this.

Marc quicky pushed himself up on his elbows so he could lean forward and watch. He swiped two fingers through his slick and touched them to the tip of his tongue, just to make sure that it was the same saccharine taste, sweet with affection, that Valentino used to go crazy for.

It was. Marc had always known that deep inside, he did not change easily.

Then he shoved his fingers into Valentino's mouth to remind him of the taste, and laid back to reap the benefits as Valentino attacked his hole with carnal hunger. His nose brushed against the hairless expanse of Marc's skin, his warm breath lit up every one of Marc's nerve endings. He pinched Marc's swollen, traitorous clit. Marc panted, his eyes fluttered shut, on the tenuous edge of control as Valentino stretched him out with his tongue, greedy for slick. Good, stay there, do it properly. Marc wouldn't hurt more, not today.

Marc moved a hand to the back of Valentino's head to hold him there, but it was slapped away with an impatient sound. He fisted his hands into his own shirt, grasping for purchase.

"Va-le," the name snuck itself out of his mouth without his permission.

His voice brought Valentino back to brief lucidity.

"You're the fucking devil," he said hoarsely, and it might have been true, but the words cut like a physical weapon. His lips were coated in a shiny sheen, and his hair was messy and sweat-damp. He looked throughly debauched. He would never have wanted this.

Marc should have defended himself. He could only whine and bring his thighs closer so Valentino would shut up with his horrible words and continue to stretch him out.

Valentino pulled himself free, scissored Marc's hole roughly with two fingers, and - too quickly for Marc's heat-weakened self to resist, he hauled himself up and sank his growing knot into Marc's swollen heat.

Marc felt tears well in his eyes and hated himself for it. It wasn't the pain, he knew pain like an old friend. It was the intensity of being fucked and being hated.

Under the heat of Valentino's sweaty, heavy body, Marc refused to buckle. He met every movement, grind for grind. He refused to look away. He stared without blinking. Let Valentino see him suffer. Let Valentino see him detach himself from this. Maybe Valentino would understand him better if Marc could haunt him in return for all of their past years.

He controlled his expression into something stoic and defiant. It was all wrong, so let it be obvious. Let him maintain his dignity when all other control was stripped from him. Let him come out on top.

The knot, heavy between his legs, pushed obtrusively into his slick cunt. There was no point in fighting it, as it would only hurt more. This was like crashing - if you tensed yourself defensively, you would die. If you accepted it and let the momentum take you, you might live.

He felt his slick change in consistency, turning grippy. He hated the body chemistry of an Omega in heat. Hated that when the knotting was supposed to take place, his body acted against him. This was new to him, with the heat and rut cycles syncing up.

Valentino continued to fuck him clumsily, his thickening knot going through the resistance of Marc's body, piercing back inside over and over again, until Marc locked him in for good, gripping the knot in a vice, the intrusion almost the size of a fist. They came in tandem, and while light behind his eyelids stole Marc's consciousness for a moment.

He was aware again shortly, and all of a sudden, the sound of their breathing was too loud. Their faces were too close.

The magnitude of how awkward the situation was revealed itself. They couldn't even run, locked into each other as they were. His cunt ached dully. His clit was oversensitive and wanted for attention it wouldn't receive. His scenting gland throbbed, but he was unmated. Marc felt cold, despite the heat they shared. He didn't feel beautiful or brave today, and his body felt worn.

His shoulder was crying for mercy, trapped between Valentino's weight and a sofa that didn't provide enough support. He wanted Valentino to flip them over, but he refused to ask. Could Valentino not smell that he was distressed? Was he distressed? Or was it that he had been distressed from the start, so Valentino couldn't tell the difference? Normally, he was at least sensitive to Marc's pain. It was only Marc's head that he wanted to mess around with.

What had they done? Valentino didn't even want him anymore. Marc didn't have to stop him from making the mating bite this time, as he had every time prior. The desire had evaporated.

Valentino spoke first. "We didn't use a condom," he said.

The world fell away beneath Marc. He gathered himself in an instance, anxiously. "I'm on suppressants. Three percent," he said, repeating an oft-mentioned statistic. Three percent was the chance that suppressants would fail to protect from pregnancy, if a fertile Omega had sex with an Alpha during a heat. It was non-negligable, but low.

Valentino accepted this with a nod. He looked tired, each of the fourteen years between them highlighted vividly. So unhappy was the occasion, so spent was his body, that Marc almost felt as though he was guilty of something. But of course, he was not.

They didn't attempt to converse. Marc remembered when Vale used to talk, and make Marc laugh through the tears.

The moment Valentino's knot had decreased enough in size, he wrenched himself out and put on his ugly trackpants. Marc gasped and clenched over nothing, but all he saw was the sight of Valentino's tense back as he took brisk strides away. Valentino let the door shut with a violent slam. Marc didn't call out for him.

Valentino was still in rut, despite the lull. Alphas in sports didn't take suppressants. Marc's heat had broken but where was Valentino going? Who was he going to? Marc couldn't help but wonder, thoughts spiralling into useless directions.

He tried so hard, but he didn't think he won this round.

Empty and hopeless, Marc dressed himself. He ignored the mess of fluids collecting inside his briefs. As a distraction, he made himself clean the sofa. The smell of antiseptic drove his heightened senses crazy.

It didn't matter. Alex and his father knew the moment they returned home. An incompatible mating scent was impossible to hide.

Marc hadn't even considered the possibility of pregnancy for more than a second. He cleaned himself out throughly with his fingers in the shower, unable to tolerate the thought of the remnants of Valentino in him. It was easy, he was sore but he was was still loose. That should have been the end of it.

--

The cruel irony was that Marc had highly specific plans for becoming a parent before any of this happened. He always assumed that he would become one in the future because he liked children and they liked him, and he was willing to temporarily give up his athletic body for that pursuit. However, the assumption also caveated that it would be a post-retirement affair.

He intended to collect all the accolades humanly possible first, then he would retire as late as he could. He wanted to be racing deep into his thirties, maybe even his forties. It was the most passionate love of his life, which he would cling to with bloodied fingertips until he couldn't. He gave his childhood and his life to it, so it needed to give back to him. He wanted to keep having fun and winning.

Somewhere in the middle of this illustrious career, maybe when he was in his early thirties, he would have enough wisdom to pick a good person and fall slowly in love. He knew, after years without Valentino, that it would not be him. A part of Marc would always feel affection for the Alpha that first laid claim to him, but he trusted that his heart was big enough to love again. He just needed more time to get over the hurt. Besides, Valentino would be far too old to become a new parent by the time Marc was ready.

Ideally Marc would find a gentle person who was proud of his accomplishments, and patient enough to wait for him to finish earning them. Marc wouldn't date a competitor - their ego would protest, and he understood completely. He couldn't stomach dating someone who made a habit of beating him either, when he eventually grew too old to be competitive. He would rather retire than face that reality, and maybe one day when he started to decline, he'd consider his fertility when he made his decision to leave. He would finally get to experience a three-day heat and carry a baby for the nice person he was going to find. Maybe he would be with a nice girl, for a change, and his mother would enjoy her company. His worry used to be whether he could catch this window in time.

He wanted someone good for him, who he could be good to in return. He'd always been capable of being generous and tender when he loved. It was just on track that he couldn't, which was why it was inadvisable to start a family with a rival. As a younger person, he lacked this foresight.

He knew that there had to be someone else out there for him who was perfect, and would want to be out in the open with him, cheering him on and waiting patiently for Marc's career to run its course. When he was done, they could be married, and his partner would follow Marc back to Cervera to have a good life together.

In the meantime, Marc hadn't been in a hurry. He was too young for any of this.

--

Two days after Laia's birth, Alex drove them home.

He wasn't in the most talkative mood. They both were tired, having squeezed onto Marc's bed to sleep while he was warded. Marc didn't care about the rules, he paid for a private room and his brother wasn't going to sleep in a chair while putting aside his life and his career to babysit him.

They then faced the conundrum of trying not to wake a newborn who only knew how to communicate by crying. The easiest ceasefire seemed to be staying silent.

Marc was free from holding her because she had to go into an infant carrier at the back, but he was fidgety. If he had to deal with awkwardness from the only person he had never been awkward with because of the baby, he was going to do something unpleasant.

Thankfully, Alex always knew what to do. "Open the glove compartment," he said, apropos of nothing.

Marc turned to him, puzzled. "Why?"

"Just open it," Alex said, so Marc did.

He found a folded paper bag, and pulled it out. It contained something soft. He emptied the contents onto his lap.

There was a soft onesie that looked like a bee, and a red ant plushie that was cuter than any insect had a right to be.

"I thought you wouldn't want her to be an ant, but she can hold you," Alex explained.

Marc looked down at the items wordlessly. He hadn't thought so far about what a baby girl would like. He was busy thinking about what she would need, and placing an insane number of online orders for baby things, thanks to the fucking pandemic. He had twenty milk bottles nozzles stockpiled now.

Alex smiled softly. "She'll be a bee if she's like you. Noisy."

"Of course she'll be like me," Marc said without really thinking. He fidgeted with one of the ant's fluffy red legs. It was soft, and felt more expensive than any of the toys they used to share. Or maybe this was what new toys felt like.

"She's very quiet now," Marc remarked, registering what Alex said.

"I think she likes the engine sound," Alex said.

Marc did too. A quiet hum. It had nothing on a bike of course, but it was calming. A balm of steady sound to keep the thoughts from crowding his mind.

He felt a longing that he blamed on hormones. An Omega on his lonesome, left to raise a child on his own, could only feel small and tragic. His chemistry wanted him to cower at the altar of his Alpha and lure him back so his baby would be well cared for. His mind tempted him with the echoes of strong hands against his thigh, fingertips pressing confidently under his briefs, whispers of reassuring warmth against his body that he no longer had access to, and no longer truly wanted.

Funny how it used to feel as though they had so much, when they always had so little. Stolen moments between commitments and no plans for their future.

It was sacrilegious to yearn for any of that in the vicinity of Alex, given that Alex hated Valentino with a cold fury. He harboured all the difficult feelings that Marc couldn't convince himself to sustain. All of that emotional labour, for Marc's sake. He was much more important to Marc than Valentino could ever hope to be, even if Valentino came to his senses and delivered himself with his metaphorical tail between his legs. And he wouldn't, so.

He centred himself on the sound of the engine humming. It was like what he was taught to do when his heats overwhelmed: focus on the other senses. What did he see? What did he smell? The soft brush of his fuzzy shirt against his bare skin. A plush ant in his hand. Sunlight in his eyes. The clean scent of their air freshener. Instrumental music in the background for the baby's sake, mingling harmously with the engine. Steady. He grounded himself.

Maybe he was being childish, but he placed the ant on Alex's hand that was holding the gear shift, then made it do a few hops to crawl up his arm. He just liked the contact. The ant was soft.

Alex laughed softly. "What is this, Marc?"

"We have a baby, you have to get used to it," Marc said loftily.

"She can't be worse than you," Alex said.

Marc turned his head to watch his daughter for several moments. She was too special to be worse than anyone. The blood of seventeen combined championships ran in her veins - which wasn't worth everything obviously, but it was worth something. And she carried a bit of the the other people he loved too; shared the encoding of his parents and his brother and his grandparents before them.

He wondered what Valentino would think of her. Marc was going to be the one who would take care of her all her life - clearly - but he wondered if Valentino could find it within himself to love her, even though she was Marc's. He wanted a family once, with a long-time girlfriend even before Marc came into the picture. Then with Marc, they never had a serious conversation about it. It was obvious that it was impossible, until it wasn't.

Laia was Valentino's family too, and Marc supposed that Valentino could love her.

He would love this girl. Marc just needed to work harder to make it happen. Valentino was constants and variables in an unpredictable fashion, except when it came to the people he called his. He didn't let them go.

"Are you thinking about him?" Alex asked plainly.

"Thinking about how to tell him," Marc lied, leaving out his doubts. It wasn't a complete lie. He now was thinking about how to tell Valentino. "I don't know what to say. I think I'll just send him a picture."

He decided to do just that during the car ride. The message was a simple photo of their daughter without a caption, reviving a chat that had been dead for two months. He picked the best photo, where she was sound asleep, dressed in baby blue and sweet little mittens.

Before that, there were only short exchanges. "Are you healthy?" from Valentino, who thought of him at two in the morning.

"Yes, don't worry," from Marc, who never knew what to say anymore, and always hated texting anyway.

Months before that-

"I'm pregnant and I'm keeping it. You don't have to do anything. You can't stop me." Followed by five missed calls, and a voice recording that Marc downloaded and replayed over and over again when he could bear to.

Every message mattered so much, and this one the most of all. Marc watched the file upload, and a single tick appeared in the corner. A second tick didn't show up. Maybe Valentino was busy.

When Alex pulled into their driveway, Marc finally locked his screen.

--

Marc's mother, Roser, cried when he came home. They were happy tears, she said.

She hugged him gently, the baby in his arms between them.

"I'm so lucky," she said, stepping away to wipe her eyes with a tissue. "I lived to be a grandmother."

"Of course you were going to be a grandmother," Alex said from behind Marc, carrying both their overnight bags. "Unless you thought none of us were going to have kids? I understand thinking that about Marc, but I always wanted a family."

"And where are your kids?" Marc scoffed. "All talk and no results."

Roser laughed wetly. "Boys, not everything is a competition."

Alex sighed with an air of long-suffering. "You tell him that."

"We know how Marc is," Roser said peaceably. She held out her hands towards the baby, who had alarmingly started to whine. Marc didn't know what he would do if she started full-on crying. This was why they had nurses at the hospital, even though he started freaking out inside whenever they took her away from him.

"She's beautiful. Let me see her," Roser said, and Marc was only too happy to comply. Laia was wailing before she left his arms.

Marc watched intently as his mother rocked his daughter gently from back and forth to calm her. He had so much to learn.

"She might just be hungry, darling," Roser said. "I made a nest for you on your bed. Why don't we take her there?"

She carried Laia for him, until Marc got into bed and she tucked the covers around him with one hand. It might have been approaching the height of summer but he didn't mind. Having parental care was nice.

They were her covers, he realised, and sank deeper into the scent of them. Her covers, and Alex's bolster, and his father's pillowcases that she must have driven over to retrieve for him. His parents had separated, but they made it as painless for their kids as they could, and Marc was always appreciative of it. His bed was a clutter of soft possessions of the people he loved.

He was surrounded by family. Family plus one more, who was experiencing the familiar walls of his bedroom for the first time. She would grow up around these scents, as he did. They had always been a comfort to him. What was familiar to him would become familiar to her, and she would feel the love of a Marquez Alenta through and through. It was a profound realisation.

Roser kissed his forehead and passed him his fussing daughter. "Shall I leave you two to it then?" she asked softly.

Marc nodded. He took his shirt off when his mother left, and held his daughter to his chest. She sucked on a puffy nipple, and he just-

He found it unsettling to be a food source. His body was made for different things; stalking his prey and hauling around a bucking beast of a bike more than twice his weight. He was horrifically far from his fighting physique. He didn't want to know how many kilograms of muscle he had to rebuild.

It hadn't fully sunk in yet that being a parent was a permanent state of affairs, that he would never not be a parent again. He kept realising the same thing, bit by bit.

He itched to check for Valentino's response, but he wasn't prepared to hear from him yet. He wasn't being a coward, so much as he didn't have the energy to spare.

It would have been nice for Valentino to like him enough to be here with him, maybe hold their child for him so Marc's wretched shoulder could take a break. Too much unnecessary risk to be under general anesthesia for non-emergency surgery, the doctors said. He'd pushed back his recovery by nine months. He would take even longer to be strong again.

He let the physicality of his exhaustion wash over him. He had known pain, but he had never been so tired before. The birth sapped his muscles and drained marrow from his bones. His insides felt out of place. His chest was sore. He wanted to go back to normal.

He closed his eyes and pretended to be twenty again, with these sensations. He would be happy, disbelieving, and in love, with the rest of his life ahead of him. And maybe he had a child who was an accident, maybe he felt too young to know what he was doing, but it was a happy accident. Back then, he would be young enough to be confused and cry about it, and seek refuge in his Alpha's loving arms. Vale would not let him think of himself as dairy cattle, he used to be able to say so many nice things.

Marc would have kept her even at twenty, he was certain of it. And maybe everything would have been different; maybe Vale would have kept him.

Since it made him feel better, in private, he gave in to this moment of weakness. He imagined that everything was perfect - that he had an Alpha who was out winning important races, but he would come home to be a family man. An Alpha who would never sleep with anyone else ever again, now that he was Marc's.

His daughter's small weight rested against his chest, swaddled in soft fabric. He exhaled slowly as she fed, trying to keep calm for her. He still felt like a cow - or no, perhaps a lion - caged and restrained in a place far too small for him. He still thought of the races and felt deep envy because there was no way for him to do what he was meant to do.

But this had to be worth it. If there was one seed of truth in to be harvested from his illusion, it was that his daughter had been made with his love.

[retromimic]

re: Astarion's age (and others)

I made a random post last week about Astarion's age and I have been thinking about it since.

I also realized that we do have other characters we can use to have a better idea of timelines and stuff.

And by other characters I mean Jaheira and Halsin.

More under the cut, tl;dr at the end

Jaheira

Jaheira is from the first two Baldur's Gate games, which both take place over 100 years before BG3 (1368 and 1369, so 123 before BG3, which is in 1492).

She's a half-elf, who age pretty much the same as human, but live longer, so she probably was in her 20's or early 30's in the first games, which would make her about 150 years old in BG3. This makes sense with her appearance, as half-elves live for about 180 years.

Note: Based on appearance only, it's possible Jaheira was older in the first games, but considering they were released in 1998 and 2000, I highly doubt they made the hot half elf lady an actual middle-age woman lmao

Side note: Minsc

Minsc is a human and also from the first two games, but there is a canon reason why he's still alive and doesn't look like he got older like Jaheira did. iykyk

Halsin

He just straight up says he's 350 years old. He's an elf.

He also does look old, but not that old.

Shadowheart

We know she is at least 40 years old (but not much older), and she doesn't look too old. It's subjective but to me she looks like a human late 20's, early 30's (I do think she looks older than Jaheira did in the first two games, but graphic quality and time does affect that). She's a half-elf, so that also checks out.

Recap so far:

Half-elves:

Live for about 180 years

40's: young and soft

150's: Mommy™

Elves:

Live for a long time (in game: at least 350 years, in DnD lore: about 700 years)

350's: Daddy™

Now onto the baby

Astarion

The information can be conflicting, so I'll try to break it down.

The tombstone

This is where it gets complicated because not only is it hard to read, but also is kind of contradictory.

It's written in the Thorass alphabet.

The initial dates are the easiest to read:

229 - 268 DR

Which would mean he was 39 years old when he died. Which a lot of people find it a bit hard to believe considering he looks much older, especially if you compare him to Shadowheart, who's not only older, but also only a half-elf.

I'll come back to it later.

What makes the tombstone complicated is the date Astarion adds. They are hard to read, the first one is barely readable and the numbers 5, 6, 7 and 9 can be easily mistaken for one another when it's someone who just had the most emotional moment of his life carving it in stone with a dagger.

The general consensus from what I've seen has been that it's 498 and that the dates on the tombstone are omitting the 1 (so the dates would actually be 1229, 1268 and 1498 DR), or that Larian made a mistake and should have made the dates in NR, not DR (which would bring the dates to 1261 and 1300 for his birth/death)

Both options have flaws because of the date Astarion writes should either read 492 (omitting the 1) or 460 (NR instead of DR). Neither are really plausible because the last number really doesn't look neither like a 2 or a 0.

The first option would also mean that Astarion died 230 years ago, which we know is not true. A lot of things in-game (not just Astarion) confirms it.

The second option would place his death 192 years ago, which is the most plausible.

But then how to explain the error in the date he adds?

Either he fucked up and doesn't know what year it is.

Or the first number is actually a 2, and he wrote 268, which is the year he died. We'll go with this one.

So, conclusion? Astarion was 39 years old when he died, 192 years ago, making him now 231 years old.

Physical appearance

Now, onto his look.

As mentioned earlier, Astarion doesn't look like he's younger than 40-something half-elf, so some people think the tombstone might be reading 129, giving him an extra 100 years at death, which would make more sense, but there is clearly more than just one dot on that first number, and there is a more plausible reason for him looking so old:

Vampire spawn appeared as they did in life, though their features were hardened and appeared predatory.

Source: Forgotten Realms Wiki

Add to that nearly 200 years of torture? That would make a man look a couple decades older.

And it's not really hard to imagine he was 39 years old at death when you see him, mostly post-Cazador, with softer expressions. (There is posts about it on here, sorry I can't link)

There is one last argument against this, which is the fact that elves reach "adulthood" at around 100 yeas old, and that Astarion already had a job and everything when he died.

But that's really easy to explain;

Elves physically reach adulthood at the same rate as humans, but their concept of adulthood is different, which is why "socially" they are considered adults only much later.

But also, this is socially, and socially, Astarion grew up in Baldur's Gate, a multi-cultural city, so he didn't grow up with elven mentality. Him having a job at 39 years old is very much plausible.

SO.

TL;DR:

Astarion was still pretty much a child when he died at 39 years old, 192 years ago.

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.

[raviliuz]

I've been thinking about it for a month... I'll go feral, it will be the cause of my death. It's so perfect

So let me use the idea for flintwood (honestly it might be more about Marcus and Terence than Marcus and Oliver but whatever)

Terence's special person switches throughout his life. First, it's his parents. He can't really decide which one, given the choice little Terry would probably pick the one who he spent the day with or who cut his apples that day. Then, it's his brother, he's so cool and Terry really looked up to him. Then, for many many years it's Marcus. Flint is his best friend and they went through so much shit together, figuring out who they are and what they want from life. Truly speaking, without Marcus in his life he would be a different person. It switches again after like 15 years, when Terence proposed to Adrian.

Honestly, Terence knew that he was always Adrian's person whereas he would still pick Marcus after getting together with Ade. He felt bad but couldn't lie to himself.

Marcus' person has always been Terence. Before meeting him, Marcus would probably pick his mother. Not out of love or even sympathy but he knew her, she was predictable so better than most other people little Marcus met. Then after meeting Terence at the mere age of 7 it's always Terence.

Terence who always has been there for him. Who never doubted him or lost hope even when Marcus himself did nothing else than doubt himself. Who accepted him before Marcus himself and shared his family so Marcus knew what family should feels like.

Whereas Terence without Marcus would be a different person, Marcus without Terence wouldn't be alive.

Oliver knows that. They didn't talk about that specific scenario but when Marcus got a tattoo relating to Terence, he explained that even if they went no contact now, it wouldn't change Terence's importance and influence on his life.

Oliver's person changes from his mom to Percy to his dad to Marcus, even before getting together but when their relationship became more civilised.

And honestly, Oliver isn't mad at Marcus for choosing Terence over him.

He's mad that he couldn't be Terence.

He's mad that for years he continued their stupid rivalry instead of doing something about it, he's mad he wasn't there for Marcus, he's mad that even if he was, he wouldn't understand it like Terence did due to the specific pure blood environment he wasn't a part of.

And rationally he knows it doesn't work like that and they wouldn't be where they are now without their history. And he really likes what they have become. And rationally, Oliver is glad Marcus had someone like Terence during that time and now.

But emotions aren't really rational most of the time and it stings when he doesn't understand Marcus (emotions, reactions, behaviour, whatever) and his best bet is to go to Terence Higgs to explain his own boyfriend to him.

If Regulus was in a room of everyone he'd ever met, he'd go to Sirius

If Sirius was in a room of everyone he'd ever met, he'd go to James

[altruistic-meme]

back on my bullshit: looking through and making edits to my doc full of Issues I Have That Haven't Ever Been Looked Into for the doctor. which may prove to be futile but i will not think to bring any of this up + will absolutely try and downplay it if i do not do this.

i still keep joking that i will hand them the papers and go "pick one and we can start there" as well as threatening to walk out if they so much as breathe the word "asthma" to me. hopefully i can actually do these things at the appointment.

and i know. i know that doctors hate it when you present possible diagnoses and that you should let them do it themselves but like. you don't understand. i have had 22 years of not having anything done when i had a health concern, to the point where i stopped even realizing that things were concerning until someone else pointed out to me that it may be a problem.

so im coming armed and prepared and if the doctor refuses to work with me like im an actual person, then i will leave and i will ask for a different doctor. rinse and repeat until i find someone who will actually help me.

[running-in-the-dark]

my niece is staying with us for the whole weekend for the first time. until now it's always been one night only, not two.

it's the second night now and I have already decided this is not happening again anytime soon. I'm so fucking exhausted. it'd be less exhausting if it was my nephew, I think - he's older and also doesn't need as much help (even when he was her age).

I love my niece but she just asks so many questions. like when we're watching a show or a movie, even if it's one she has seen before (even multiple times), she doesn't understand what's going on and constantly asks me to explain everything. I don't mind it, really, but it does take a lot of energy. plus tonight it took over two hours for her to fall asleep because she was scared by the noises of the house and the nearby road. I get it, but damn I'm so fucking tired, I just want to sleep 😭

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

my various mental issues make liking people so hard because i already put people on a pedestal to begin with if i genuinely like them so i am automatically laying myself at their feet like a dog but then i wrestle with the ego death of seeing that they're just a human being who is capable of being wrong and stupid and annoying me and it kind of makes me sick to my stomach not because i expect people to be perfect but because i know if i had like 5 minutes to sit down and talk to this person i would feel more secure in knowing where they stand on any given thing. but you aren't granted that when you just like some random guy who will never know you because you can't take the feeling of someone who could actually know you. or whatever.

[kayzero]

MIRAKANE CONTENT ... literally jumps up and down in joy fr fr

I was gonna answer this privately because I’m gonna delete the thing you’re referring to in a day or so, so this ask won’t make much sense after that happens, but I started rambling about something that Wasn’t That so I guess it can be public

but yeah! Mirakane! The murderest of lesbians that I’m aware of! and also one of them unequivocally hates the other for crimes committed in the past except she isn’t aware that those crimes were committed by this specific murder lesbian!

idk if Mirakane is requited in the “True End” Route of ZWG, i have no idea if my Akane is capable of separating The Person Mira from The Act Of Killing Sally Valentine and therefore Getting Akane’s Father Sentenced To Death. the attraction would have to be present in the first place for her to even put effort into trying to untangle that knot, but i suppose a world exists where Akane has enough distance to say “there’s no way Tiny Mira had the foresight to see past the immediate consequences of her murder, I should instead get mad at the American Court System for killing a man, who was not proven beyond a shadow of a doubt to have killed the woman in question, just because he himself was not American”

don’t know if that world is this world

but you know what, I will always support and spread Aromantic Lesbian Mira Propaganda

and i maintain that the only reason Mira ever attached herself to Eric in canon was because he attached himself to her first and she had enough self loathing to go “welp, this is probably the best I’m ever gonna get, even if I don’t like it I guess it isn’t unpleasant”

[crossbackpoke-check]

about to be sooo nosy so. my apologies. but. morgan frost? girlfriend? do share (or don’t! again this is so nosy i’m sorry)

for legal purposes i can neither confirm nor deny anything about morgan and his girlfriend but afaik i think he’s single right now? at one point (within the past four years 😭) he did for sure have a girlfriend and that is the extent of my wag knowledge