#tech is alive and he’s a dad

[writer-reader-skater]

I am by no means an artist but decided to try to draw a scene from my fanfics. Introducing Tech and his older child Kenza. Her name means treasure.

He’s probably trying to figure out how two full term twins fit inside of Phee. Nat borns are weird.

He is also wondering where her curls are. Just wait a few weeks then they’ll have little Afros.

Maybe one day I’ll learn how to color.

[archivewriter1ont]

10 Favorite Films...(And A Few Shows bc I'm a TV Show Person)

Thanks for the tag @leapingbadger and @littletroggo! I'm more of a TV show person so I included some of those too.

(Gosh what has this done -- now I need to write the rest of my Librarians and Leverage WIPs! And I need to post more about the Mentalist, Leverage, the Librarians, Grimm and TFP. All great shows, IMO. I kind of hated the ending of Grimm but the first few seasons are my favorite anyway, because of all the monsters we got to see unveiled from the most benign-looking sources.)

These are some of my favorites in no particular order... (Also, hot take: the Hobbit is better than the LOTR)

(⬆️⬆️all of these movies. Can't get enough of the LOTR and the Hobbit!)

So that's ten favorite shows and movies.... but I CANNOT fail to mention these last three

If this dude looks familiar....Yeah I like both Jacob Stone and Eliot Spencer. (Kind of love the fanon that they're twins who both lead secret lives! or that Eliot loses his memory and goes to fight monsters with magic and ninja moves!)

[busysavingtheuniverse]

i think all those fantasy authors who r like. "magic is the undercurrent of the universe it's the way everything works but it's a mysterious and powerful force far beyond our understanding" and make it so that nobody seems to be Trying to understand it and/or everyone who tries is a hermit in the woods or whatever are the people who failed high school physics and were SO salty about it they wrote a whole entire book just to replace it with a new, cooler force which using doesn't also force you to understand math

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, so much fluff, strong language

Notes — This is my favourite chapter so far. Out of all 32. It's also a long one, so grab a snack and send me your thoughts!

2023 (Belgium — Japan)

The light in Nice always felt soft, like it was passing through a filter of sea salt and old stone. The sun hadn't reached its full height yet, and the market was still in that gentle hum of mid-morning, not too busy, not too still. Just alive enough.

Lando walked half a step behind Amelia, letting her pace guide them through the maze of stalls and awnings. She wasn't a talker in the mornings, not really, and that suited him just fine.

She stopped at the long flower stand, fingers trailing over a bunch of pale yellow ranunculus. He didn't say anything, just watched her examine the petals with her usual precise sort of softness. Then, after a pause, she looked back at him and tilted her head slightly.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a crumpled bill, handed it to the vendor without a word. Amelia's lips curved just a bit.

Two stalls later, she passed him a tiny basket of sliced figs drizzled in honey. He didn't ask where she'd gotten it or how much it cost. He just took it and pressed a kiss to her temple, because of course she would know he was hungry before he even had a chance to say anything.

They moved like that; in orbit, but in sync.

At one point, a vendor selling lavender soap called out to them in a thick accent, something about being a "cute young couple." Lando smiled, striking up a polite conversational exchange. Amelia didn't say anything. After they passed the stall, she reached down and laced her fingers through his, without looking.

She didn't do that often — didn't like to be the one to initiate physical contact, especially in public.

He felt it in his heart every time she did.

They stopped near a stall selling fresh olive bread, and Amelia pulled out her phone, tapping something into her notes app. Lando leaned over.

"What's that?" he asked, voice low and warm.

"List of food I like," she murmured. "Reminding myself."

He nodded. She paused, then handed him the phone wordlessly. There were twenty-seven bullet points. He scrolled through them.

"You liked the brown seeded rolls yesterday too. With the chilli jam," he said. "I'll add that."

She didn't reply. Just looked at him for a long second, then blinked, slow and deliberate. That was the silent Amelia version of I love you — subtle, but unmistakable.

They wandered on.

At the end of the market, they sat at a chipped café table and shared a small tart filled with goat cheese and roasted tomato. Amelia leaned into his side without thinking, her head resting on his shoulder as she chewed, still watching the crowds drift by.

Lando let his hand fall into her lap and tangle gently in the fabric of her skirt. Hers moved to rest over his without needing to look.

They didn't speak much.

And that was the thing with them. It wasn't just that they loved each other — it was that they understood how the other one loved. In gestures. In silence. In half-smiles and shared fruit and shoulders leaned into shoulders in beautiful, morning-sleepy cities.

—

The MTC sim room was cool and quiet, lit by the blue glow of monitors and the soft hum of tech. Amelia stood with her arms folded, watching the data stream from Oscar's run, her expression intensely focused. She didn't speak until the run ended and the rig slowed to stillness.

"Turn 7's still sloppy," she said bluntly.

Oscar pulled off the headset and blinked at her. "Define 'sloppy.'"

"Four degrees too aggressive on throttle reapplication. You're losing rotation mid-corner, which is fine when tyre life doesn't matter, but it will in Spa." She passed him a tablet with the graph already up. "Look."

Oscar studied it. "You memorise this?"

"I don't memorise, per se. I just... know it." She paused. "I'm pattern-oriented. You keep breaking the pattern. It's very irritating."

Lando, seated cross-legged on the floor beside the second sim rig, laughed. "She's not wrong. You are driving like a goat on ice in that sector."

Oscar shot him a look. "You crashed in Miami trying to out-brake a Williams."

"Shut up, mate." Lando stood, brushing imaginary dust off his joggers. "Alright, my turn. Fix me, genius wife."

Amelia arched a brow. "You want feedback?"

"I'm asking for it, yeah."

"Good luck," Oscar muttered, climbing off the rig.

They traded places, and Amelia slid the headset onto Lando with surprising gentleness, muttering something under her breath that only he could hear. Whatever it was made him grin.

Lando's sim run was cleaner, smoother — but not perfect. He clipped a curb on Lap 3, losing the rear slightly. Amelia exhaled loudly through her nose.

"You always hit that curb," she said. "Every year. Just lift earlier."

"I'm trying. The curb keeps coming at me," he groaned, throwing her a grin through the screen.

"Don't be stupid," she shot back.

Oscar snorted. "She's brutal today."

"She's always brutal." Lando sighed. "But it's helpful, so..." he shrugged.

Eventually his run ended. Amelia crossed to his console and tapped a few notes in; suggested setup tweaks, minor aero preferences. Lando watched her hands work.

"You're so smart, baby. How do you do it, hm?"

She didn't look up. "I watch. I notice things. I write them down. Easy"

He smiled. "You're like a high-functioning racetrack AI."

Oscar added dryly, "That occasionally hits things when she's angry."

"That too," Lando agreed, with a lopsided smirk.

Amelia looked up at both of them, expression unreadable for a beat. Then she said, very softly, "You're idiots."

Oscar grinned. "That's a compliment from you."

Lando moved to nudge her shoulder, but she stepped out of reach — except not out of irritation, just anticipation. She knew exactly what was coming.

"You're going to try to gang up on me now," she stated.

Lando blinked. "Why would we—"

Oscar pounced first, grabbing her wrist and lightly jabbing at her side. "We would never," he said with mock innocence.

Amelia shrieked and jerked away, but Lando joined in, carefully — always mindful of her reactions, but not holding back so much that it felt patronising. His fingers found her ribs, tickling just enough to get her laughing — real, loud, unfiltered laughter.

"Stop! I hate this!" she wheezed, kicking at the air as she twisted out of reach.

"You're smiling," Oscar said.

"That's involuntary!" She yelped, breathless.

They finally relented, letting her drop onto the padded bench near the wall, still catching her breath. Her face was flushed, her hair askew, and she looked... radiant with happiness.

"Jerks," she muttered, but her voice was light.

"You love us," Lando said, crouching beside her.

"Only sometimes," she said flatly.

Behind them, just outside the glass-panelled door, Zak stood watching.

He hadn't meant to intrude. He'd only come by to drop off a briefing packet. But when he'd seen the three of them — his daughter, laughing and safe, surrounded by two young men who not only respected her mind but held her heart with equal reverence — he'd stayed where he was.

He didn't move. Didn't interrupt. Just watched for a little while longer.

Amelia, who'd grown up unsure of where she fit. Amelia, who used to hide in closets with puzzle books. Amelia, who didn't make friends easily but somehow had forged these bonds — raw, steady, honest — with Oscar and Lando. A best friend and a husband.

Zak blinked hard.

When Lando looked up a few minutes later and spotted him, he just gave a little nod. Not a word passed between them.

Zak nodded back and slipped away.

Inside the sim suite, Amelia stood again, brushing herself off.

"Back to work!"

Lando and Oscar groaned in unison.

"Fine," she said. "But if either of you miss apexes like that in Spa, I'll point and laugh at you on live television."

"You'd love that," Oscar said.

"She would," Lando added. "Humiliation. She likes embarrassing us."

Amelia just smirked, already queuing up the next run. "Well. I'm not ruling it out."

And as the next session loaded, the screen filling with the digital outline of the track, she brought her hand up to apply a heavy load of pressure to her hip.

Grounding. Safe.

—

Later, much later, the sim rigs had powered down for the night.

Amelia sat alone on the low bench, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Not in discomfort; she wasn't overwhelmed. She was just... processing.

Oscar had ducked out a few minutes earlier, mumbling something about protein bars and his "cramped spine." Lando had promised to bring back coffee. That left her here, in the comfortable lull, with space to think.

Oscar.

It had taken her a while to really begin to understand Oscar Piastri on a personal level. He was quiet, like her. Dry, like chalk. Flat-voiced in a way that people often mistook for aloofness. But Amelia had recognised it immediately �� that instinct for silence. The calm observation. The way he didn't try to fill air that didn't need filling.

He had become somewhat like a younger brother to her — not in the way people throw that phrase around when they mean someone's simply "less experienced," but in the very real, familial sense. She worried about him. Checked his telemetry obsessively. Snuck 'drink water/have a snack' notes into his strategy folder. Looked for signs of overwork in his eyes before every qualifying session.

And he, in the way Oscar was able, quietly looked after her too.

He never flinched at her directness. Never called her intense or difficult or cold when she snapped out instructions without pleasantries. In fact, he appreciated it. He understood that when she called something "icky," it wasn't a personal attack; it was an opportunity for precision.

After a race where she'd gotten particularly sharp with him over comms, he'd found her in the engineering room, dropped a packet of salted pretzels on her desk, and said, simply, "You were right. I just wasn't ready to hear it in the moment."

And that was all.

That was the kind of person Oscar was. He saw her and he didn't need to explain that he did.

And then there was Lando.

The loud to her quiet. The warmth to her ice. The one person on earth who could decipher her entire emotional state by the mere shape of her shoulders, or the angle of her fingers curled around a water bottle.

They were married now, still new enough to feel surreal when people called her "Mrs. Norris" in emails, but the foundation they stood on had been built long before the vows. He was the only person she could touch when her skin physically hurt from overstimulation. The only one who could joke with her during a meltdown and have it feel safe instead of cruel.

Lando understood her chaos. He never tried to change her, only to interpret.

Like when they were in the grocery store, and she couldn't bear the way the overhead lights buzzed, and he just... squeezed her hand once, without saying anything, and then diverted them to the sunglasses section and slid a funky pair onto her nose.

Or tonight, when she'd needed the sim session to be productive, and he'd let her lead, followed her notes, asked questions only when her tone said she was open to them.

And then — when she was finally starting to relax, he'd poked her ribs and made her laugh until she curled up on the floor.

Lando gave her a kind of emotional mirroring she'd never thought possible. Like her feelings were real and reflected, but never judged. He loved her not just in spite of who she was, but because of it. Bluntness, hyper-focus, sharp tongue, and all.

Very quickly, Lando and Oscar had become one of her safe zones.

One was home. The other had become family. Both made the world feel a little less jagged.

She rested her cheek against her knees and exhaled.

They didn't tiptoe around her needs. They didn't act like they were noble for understanding. They didn't talk about her like she was a puzzle or a pet project. They just treated her like Amelia; sharp, driven, autistic, brilliant, flawed, enough.

It was rare to feel seen. Rarer still to feel seen and protected.

The door eased open then, and Lando returned, holding two takeaway cups. He handed her one wordlessly, sat down beside her, and bumped her knee with his.

"Hey, baby. You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah." Her voice was soft. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

She smiled. "I'm just feeling grateful, actually."

Lando tilted his head. "For?"

"You," she said simply. "Oscar. All of it."

He didn't tease her this time. Just leaned his head against hers for a second, warm and grounding.

"You're my person," he murmured. "My wife. My love."

She nodded. "I know." She whispered. "And you're mine."

—

Spa

The rain hadn't started yet, but it always smelled like it was about to in Spa. The mountains curled thick and green around the paddock, clouds hanging low. Amelia tugged her Quadrant hoodie sleeves over her hands and squinted at her tablet. Oscar's long run data looked steady, rear temps maybe a touch high, but manageable.

She heard the approach before she looked up. Soft-footed, deliberate. Someone in flats, not heels.

Oscar appeared first. Then, behind him, a woman with the exact same eyebrows and the same unbothered stillness in her eyes.

"Amelia," Oscar said, ever direct, "this is my mum."

Nicole Piastri smiled. warm and unfussy. "Nicole. It is so lovely to finally meet you."

Amelia didn't immediately move. Not because she didn't want to, but because her brain caught on the sudden shift in social rules; the expectation to greet, to be personable, to be human-shaped instead of work-shaped. She blinked once, then reflected the woman's smile as best as she could.

"Hi," she said. "Sorry. I was looking at tyre deltas. My brain's still... there."

Nicole just smiled. "Oscar warned me."

Amelia turned her head. Furrowed her brows. "Warned you?"

"He said you'd be brilliant but a bit intense. That I'd like you." Her tone was easy. No condescension, no forced warmth. Just observation.

Oscar folded his arms. "Didn't say 'a bit intense.' That was Mum's addition."

Nicole raised a brow. "You said she made a Ferrari engineer cry once."

Amelia blinked again. "He ignored my pit safety brief three times."

Nicole laughed, not unkindly, and that was the moment Amelia relaxed, just a fraction.

"I like your son," Amelia said simply.

"I'd hope so," Nicole replied. "You're guiding him."

Amelia nodded. "He listens. He understands things without needing them repeated. He's good."

Nicole gave her a look. "He's also stubborn and sometimes pretends he isn't tired when he absolutely is."

Oscar made a wounded sound. "Mum."

"True," Amelia said, folding her arms. "I've started watching for the eye-rubbing thing. It's his tell."

Nicole grinned. "Exactly."

There was a beat. A moment of quiet. Amelia stepped back slightly, giving herself a little more breathing room from the interaction. Nicole didn't follow, didn't press. She just let the silence exist.

That, more than anything, made Amelia feel at ease.

"You're welcome to come sit in for the long-run review," she said. "If you want."

Nicole's eyebrows lifted. "You'd let a driver's mum sit in?"

Amelia shrugged. "If it were any other mum, maybe not. But you raised Oscar. And he doesn't let nonsense slide. So I assume neither do you."

Nicole beamed, warm and wide. "You really are as blunt as he said."

Amelia nodded. "I'm autistic. Directness is safer for everyone."

Nicole, without missing a beat: "Well, I'm Australian. Directness is our native language."

Oscar looked between them, then shook his head with a half-smile. "This is going to be terrifying."

"Don't be dramatic," Amelia said, already turning back to her screen.

Nicole patted Oscar's shoulder, but her eyes lingered on Amelia with quiet gratitude.

She saw it.

Not just the brilliance, but the care.

And for a mother watching someone else guide her son at 300 km/h, that mattered more than anything.

—

It had rained sometime during the night — Amelia had heard it, soft and steady against the hotel room window, the kind of sound that settled right into soul and lulled her into deeper sleep. But now the world outside was damp and quiet, and inside, everything smelled like Lando: clean cotton, a little citrus, faint cologne lingering from yesterday's press outfits.

She was already awake. Always woke up earlier on race days.

Propped against the headboard, hair still messy from sleep, she had her iPad balanced on her knees — telemetry overlays already pulled up from FP3, tyre strategy notes highlighted in orange and blue.

The bed shifted as Lando stirred beside her.

"Mm... it's so early," he mumbled, voice rough and slow. "Why are you working already?"

"I'm not working," she replied, glancing down at him without shifting her hands. "I'm just reviewing."

He cracked one eye open. "That's working."

"I'm not writing anything new," she said. "I'm checking the data I already have. That can't be classed as work."

Lando groaned dramatically and rolled onto his side to face her. One arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back down into the pillows, iPad and all.

She made a small protesting noise, stiff in the unfamiliar position, but didn't push away.

"You're not a robot," he murmured against her shoulder. "You're allowed to spend your morning being sleepy and stupid—like me."

"I know," she said. Bbut being still had always been difficult. There was always something to check, a variable to account for. "But I always feel better when I've gone over it one extra time."

He was quiet for a moment. Just breathing. Then he kissed the bare slope of her shoulder, soft and deliberate.

"Alright," he whispered. "One more time. And then you let it go for an hour. Just long enough to have breakfast. With me."

She didn't answer straight away. He felt her fingers tap lightly against the back of his hand — the same rhythm he'd learned years ago. The one that meant she was thinking. Processing.

Then, finally, she turned her head and nudged his forehead with hers.

"Okay," she said. "One hour."

He smiled, satisfied.

They stayed like that for a while. Her eyes flicking between data points. His thumb tracing lazy circles against her hip beneath the blanket. They didn't need to speak — didn't need to fill the air with reassurance. That was the magic of it, really. They understood each other in silences too.

Eventually, Amelia closed the iPad with a decisive click.

"Tyre data's solid," she said quietly. "Oscar'll be fine. Track temps are stable. We're good."

Lando pressed a kiss just beneath her ear. "You always say that. And you're always right."

"I'm not always right," she replied, voice flat but self-aware. "But I am today."

He laughed and leaned up on one elbow, eyes crinkling. "God, I love it when you sound like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you believe that we're going to win."

She blinked, then tilted her head a little. "You are going to win. Or close to it. I can feel it."

"Feel it, huh?"

"Yes. Based on my extensive logic and my faith in both of you."

"That's a dangerous combo." He grinned, then leaned down to kiss her — soft, not rushed. The kind of kiss people only share when they've been through everything together and still feel like choosing each other again in the quiet moments.

When he pulled back, her hand was resting lightly against his jaw.

"You good?" he asked. "Like... really good? For today?"

She thought about it. Then nodded. "Yeah. I'm regulated. My head's clear."

He smiled at that — the way she named her emotional state like an engineer running diagnostics. He loved that about her. Loved that she'd learned to say it, and that she trusted him with the truth.

"Then let's go race," he whispered, forehead pressed to hers.

And for a few more seconds, they just breathed, tangled together in a warm, sleepy cocoon, before the noise and chaos of race day swept them back into the world.

But for now, in this tiny window of stillness, they had each other.

— The air was heavy. Dense with mist, thick with tension, and wet enough that Amelia had already pre-loaded five different strategy trees before the lights went out.

Oscar had out-qualified Lando again.

She was laser-focused on Turn 1. Always Turn 1. Always La Source.

Amelia's fingers hovered over her tablet. Not touching—just tapping in the air beside it in a rhythm: four slow, one sharp. Then again. And again.

She didn't have to think as she walked Oscar through the formation lap. It came to naturally now, like a dance you couldn't forget.

Lights out.

"Oscar launch good," came one of the spotters in her ear.

She blinked. Tracked the orange blur to the inside line.

Then a flash of red, Sainz's Ferrari. sweeping across far too aggressively.

The sound in her headset crackled with team chatter, voices overlapping. She tuned most of them out and locked in on Oscar's feed just in time to see his onboard camera jolt. Not a bump. A collision.

The screen stuttered. Then black.

"Yellow flag. Incident Turn 1. Piastri, Sainz. Debris."

Amelia didn't speak.

"Amelia?" It was one of the performance engineers. "Oscar's saying steering is compromised. Damage right side—maybe suspension."

Still, she didn't speak. She tapped once against her palm. Hard. Her throat clenched. The pads of her fingers tingled like they did when she short-circuited.

She hit the comms.

"Oscar. Talk to me."

"Yeah—um—something's broken. I can't turn right properly. Think it's done."

And it was. Less than a lap.

She closed her eyes, just for a second, trying not to fall into the spiral. Not here. Not now. There was a job to do, Lando was still out there, but Oscar was her driver. Her ducky. He trusted her implicitly. And now, for no fault of his own, he was crawling back to the garage with a wounded car and nothing to show for it.

The red mist tried to rise in her chest—anger first. Not at Oscar. Not even really at Carlos. Just at the sheer waste of it. The injustice. The gut-punch of preparation ruined by recklessness. The voice in her head hissed, He finished the sprint in P2 yesterday. He deserved better than this.

She pulled her noise-cancelling headset tighter. The extra pressure helped, grounding her in physical sensation. She curled her toes in her shoes and focused on her breath.

Lando's voice broke through on the other channel, calm despite the chaos.

"Hey—did Oscar retire?"

Will gestured for her to respond.

"Yeah," she said, quietly. Then louder, "Yes. First corner damage. Focus up."

"Copy." A pause. Then softer, "That sucks."

It did. It sucked.

But Amelia didn't get to crumble, even though every part of her was fraying. She was still on the pit wall. Still working. Still leading.

Oscar's car was pushed back into the garage. She caught sight of him from across the paddock—helmet off, jaw clenched, walking quickly past the media scrum with his shoulders stiff. She didn't call him over. Not yet. He needed a minute. So did she.

By the time Lando crossed the line in P7, she was steady again. Not okay. But functioning.

—

Oscar was sitting on a flight case, race suit peeled to his waist, water bottle tucked under one knee. Amelia sat beside him without asking.

"You alright?" She asked.

He gave a dry laugh. "I made it fifty seconds. New record."

She didn't try to make him feel better. That wasn't her way. Instead, she said, "You made the right decision boxing the car immediately instead of dragging a damaged car around the track. Steering arm was shattered. You did everything right."

He nodded, but his mouth was tight.

She nudged her elbow against his.

"Still proud of you," she said.

He finally looked at her. "Even after I didn't finish a lap?"

"Especially then," she replied. "You stayed calm. You brought it back safe. You're my driver, Oscar. One racing incident that ends badly for us doesn't erase that."

His eyes softened, just a little. "You're getting sappy."

She rolled her eyes. "No I'm not. I don't even know what that means."

That made him laugh, a small honest noise, and she counted that as a win.

—

They had a brief respite in Monaco before heading to Zandvoort.

They looked at a few apartments. Didn't like any of them.

When they arrived at Max's place for dinner on the Wednesday, he took one look at their downtrodden expressions and laughed. "It is always more difficult the second time."

—

Zandvoort

The race at Zandvoort was marked by unpredictable weather. Lando finished P7, while Oscar managed to finish just inside of the points — P9.

Amelia saw it all unfold from the pit wall, her eyes scanning the monitors. The intermittent rain was a nightmare.

After the race, she found Lando in the garage, reviewing data.

"You did well," she commented.

He looked up, surprised. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "You adapted to the conditions very well."

He cracked a smile, pulling her into a brief embrace. "Thanks, baby."

That night, as they lay in bed, the sound of rain tapping against the window, Amelia whispered, "I'm really, really happy, Lando."

Lando tightened his hold on her.

—

They escaped to Lake Como for a short break between race weekends.

On the first morning of their mini vacation, they took a boat out onto the lake. Amelia sat at the bow, the wind tousling her hair.

"This place is so beautiful," she said. "Everything looks like something you'd see in a movie. Or on Pinterest."

Lando was steering the boat. He glanced at her and nodded toward his disposable camera, "Take some pictures, baby."

She picked it up and brought it up to her eye, squinting through the mini viewfinder.

He watched her fondly.

—

Monza

At Monza, Lando finished P8.

Things didn't go so well for Oscar.

Amelia let her head fall into her hands as the confirmation of the penalty came from the FIA.

"Shit," she muttered.

Her dad gave her a sympathetic grimace.

—

Japan

Amelia's fingers were a blur. Tip of her pen flicking rapidly against the plastic corner of the radio console. Three taps, pause. Three taps, pause. She hadn't even noticed the motion — her go-to stim when her body couldn't contain everything pressing up behind her ribcage.

Oscar was crossing the line. P2. Behind Max, of course; but ahead of Charles, ahead of Lewis.

And Lando... Lando was P3.

"Piastri, across the line — that's P2! Double podium for McLaren!"

The garage exploded; engineers leaping into the air, radios dropped, shoulders clapped, bodies turned into celebratory chaos.

But Amelia stayed locked in her seat at the pit wall, still staring at the screen, her breath stuck like static in her chest.

She couldn't move. Not yet.

Oscar's voice cracked through her headset, just the barest edge of disbelief in his normally even tone.

"Holy shit. Amelia. We did it."

She exhaled sharply, finally, a sound like relief and triumph tangled together.

"You drove it," she said, her voice clipped but shaking. "You followed every direction. Managed the tyres well in every stint. Well done, ducky."

"Wouldn't have got here without your mad plans." He was laughing, light and breathless. "Tell me I wasn't hallucinating this whole race."

"You weren't," she said, and suddenly her throat closed up, emotion catching on the edges of her usually flat tone. "This is real."

Will's hand landed on her shoulder, not jarring, just grounding, and she blinked up at him, eyes wide and wet.

"You can go," he said softly. "Garage's already heading to parc fermé."

She stood on instinct, legs shaky. Her hands were flapping now — the stim automatic, rapid-firing like her brain needed somewhere to put the excess. Pride, relief, noise, lights — it was too much. And it was perfect.

—

The second she caught sight of them — Lando and Oscar, helmets off, both laughing like kids who'd just stolen something valuable, it hit her like a gut-punch of joy.

They'd done it. Both of them. Her husband. Her driver.

Oscar caught her first, jogging toward her as the crowd swelled behind the fences.

She barely got a word out before he threw his arms around her.

It wasn't their usual style; they weren't overly physical, weren't the sentimental type. But she folded into it with a small, shocked laugh, her hands fluttering uselessly against his back.

"You really are mine now," she mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm not letting anyone else engineer you ever again."

Oscar pulled back with a crooked grin. "No complaints here."

And then she saw him.

Lando, weaving through the throng, his eyes locked on hers even before she noticed he was moving.

He reached her in four long strides and didn't say a word — just pulled her in, full-body, sweaty, burning fuel smell and all. His arms wrapped around her waist, grounding, safe. "You did this," he whispered into her ear. "You did this."

She shook her head, face pressed to his shoulder. "No. You and Oscar. You drove so, so well."

His hand was in her hair now, warm against her scalp. "You made the car better. You kept Oscar calm. You brought us here. You're the one who held it all together."

And suddenly, she couldn't stop the tears.

Not loud or dramatic — just silent, uncontainable release. Her body started rocking a little, barely perceptible — a comfort motion, side to side, tiny and rhythmic. She pressed her face harder into Lando's shoulder, hiding it the way she always did when the emotions got too big.

Overwhelmed. Elated. So proud she could barely breathe.

Lando didn't flinch. He just held her tighter and whispered, "I've got you, baby. It's okay."

Oscar was still hovering nearby, giving her space now, but watching with a half-smile, the kind that said he understood. And in a small way, he did.

Because Oscar had learned her tells. Her voice drops when she's overstimulated. Her stimming when she's overwhelmed. Her flinch when unexpected noise hits too hard. And still, he trusted her implicitly. Trusted her to guide him through a Grand Prix like Spa, where one mistake could end everything.

And now they were here.

P2. P3.

Double podium.

Amelia finally looked up, eyes shining, flapping her hands once more to bleed off the weight. Lando caught one, laced their fingers, and kissed the back of it without a word.

Zak was there too — in the background, watching. And for a moment, he didn't see his driver or his race engineer or the numbers on the screen.

He saw his daughter, overwhelmed but alight with joy, held safely between two young men who'd become her fiercest allies. Her husband, her teammate, her family.

He smiled to himself. He didn't say a word.

She didn't need him to.

—

The post-race buzz was elevated. Team shirts were drenched in champagne, and the McLaren hospitality tent was buzzing with an electric excitement.

Amelia didn't usually do broadcast interviews, that was more Lando's territory. But this time, after this race — a double podium, both drivers flawless, Sky had requested her by name.

The paddock mic stand felt too tall. She adjusted it twice.

"Amelia Norris," the reporter began brightly, mic held between them. "First of all, congratulations. Double podium for McLaren — Lando second, Oscar third — how are you feeling right now?"

Amelia blinked. Twice. She hadn't stopped moving since the chequered flag. Still hadn't properly eaten. Still had telemetry fragments dancing in her brain. She opened her mouth, paused, and then nodded slowly.

"I feel... good," she said honestly, voice low and a little clipped. "A bit overwhelmed. But proud. They both drove amazingly today. Especially Oscar. He nailed every brief."

There was something endearing about her calmness — like she was one breath away from shutting the whole operation down to explain exactly how Oscar had maximised delta windows through Sector 2.

The interviewer smiled. "And fans have been picking up on your dynamic with Oscar, especially from the radio. You called him 'Ducky' today — again. Can you talk us through that? Where did the nickname come from?"

Amelia blinked again, then huffed, not irritated, just... caught slightly off guard.

"I give people nicknames when I trust them," she said simply. "'Oscar' is what everyone calls him. 'Ducky' is mine."

There was a beat of silence, the reporter briefly stunned by the directness. But it wasn't defensive or awkward — just the truth, laid bare like everything Amelia said.

"Well, it's clearly working," the reporter recovered, grinning. "Because his defending against Perez and Charles today was phenomenal."

"Yes," Amelia said. "Because we planned for it. He did exactly what I asked of him."

"Did you expect a podium today?"

"I expect possibility," she said, quick. "Expectations are dangerous. But the data said we could be there. And then Oscar delivered on it. So did Lando. That's why I build cars. That's why I stay up all night running simulations. For this."

Her hands moved a little as she spoke — stimming subtly, thumb flicking against her palm. But her voice was steady.

"Would you call this the best day of your season so far?" The interviewer asked, lowering the mic slightly.

Amelia took a breath. Looked out toward the pit wall, where orange and black were still gathered like a tide of fire. Lando was being hauled in a bear hug by one of the engineers. Oscar was still helmeted, leaning back against the barrier and grinning in that quiet way he always did when something mattered to him.

Then she turned back to the camera, deadpan:

"Yes," she said. "But I plan to beat it."

The interviewer laughed. "Love it. Thank you, Amelia. Congratulations again. And give our best to Oscar and Lando."

She cracked a tiny smile, adjusted her headset, and turned back toward the garage, already thinking about what she'd tweak for Quatar.

—

They were supposed to be taking a break from apartment hunting.

It was a quiet, post-race Monday. The heat was clinging to the Côte d'Azur like a second skin.

And sure, their little two-bedroom near the Port had started to feel a touch claustrophobic. Not because it wasn't nice — it was. It had been their first proper home. But between Lando's racing gear, Amelia's engineering schematics, and the six different pairs of shoes he was tripping over daily, the place was bursting at the seams.

Still, they weren't in a rush.

Until Lando had said, offhandedly over breakfast, "Should we just go see that listing from yesterday? The one with the big balcony and the weird layout?"

She had blinked, then nodded. "I did like that one."

"And?"

"Okay. Sure. Let's go."

So they did.

They ended up viewing three places that day. One was too sterile, the kind of cold marble and glass aesthetic that made Amelia feel like she'd been dropped inside a very expensive hospital. Another had a stunning view, but a persistent echo in the living room that made her skin crawl. It was the kind of sound most people didn't even notice. Lando did — but only because he noticed her the second she tensed up.

Then came the last one.

The agent had apologised in advance. "It's a bit... odd," he'd warned, as they stepped into the building.

Amelia, eyes scanning the corridor, shrugged. "So are we."

Lando grinned.

The apartment was on the top floor — a penthouse. A strange little split-level with slanted ceilings and sun that pooled in lazy patches across the wood floors. Amelia felt it first — not a lightning bolt, but a quiet hum under her ribs. She wandered through the kitchen, into the living room, and paused.

There was a swing.

A proper sensory swing — heavy canvas, anchored securely into a ceiling beam. It was suspended just off the floor in the corner of what looked like a reading nook, draped in soft light from a low window.

Lando stopped just behind her.

"Oh," he said, voice going quiet.

Amelia didn't speak. She walked straight to it, ran her fingers along the reinforced ropes, then sat down slowly. She shifted, testing the weight, and the swing gently curved to cradle her. The instant pressure across her hips and lower back was like flipping a switch in her chest — her breathing slowed, the tension in her shoulders eased.

It felt like being held.

Lando crouched in front of her, hands braced on his knees. "You like it?"

She nodded once. "It's perfect."

He didn't need to ask why. He already knew.

Amelia rarely explained her sensory profile to anyone. But Lando had learned it like a second language — not because she asked him to, but because he wanted to. He knew the way certain fabrics made her retreat, how sharp noises cut through her thoughts like glass. He knew the difference between her shutting down and zoning out. And more than anything, he knew what it meant when she found something that made her feel safe.

He tapped the side of the swing gently. "We could put a second one on the balcony. So you can stargaze."

She blinked. "You sound like you've already decided that we're moving in?"

"You decided," he said, standing up and offering her his hand. "You just didn't say it yet."

She took his hand. He pulled her up slowly, kissed her temple, and added with a smile, "You did say you liked this one."

—

They got home late. Amelia lay on the sofa, bare feet tucked under a throw blanket, Lando stretched out with his head in her lap. Her iPad was open beside her, a checklist of questions about the new apartment left half-ticked. But neither of them were talking.

They didn't need to.

Amelia was stimming softly, tapping the curve of Lando's shoulder in a light rhythmic pattern. He hummed when she changed tempo, like he could feel her thoughts moving.

"It felt right," she said, finally.

"I know."

"I don't mean just the swing. The light. The acoustics. Even the flooring. It was all right."

"I noticed," he murmured. "Your hands didn't twitch once while we were there."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "It felt like it was built for me. Which is statistically improbable. But still."

"Maybe it was waiting."

She looked down at him. "Places don't wait, Lando. They're inanimate structures."

"But what if this one did?" He said, eyes half-lidded. "What if someone built it weird on purpose so that one day a very particular girl with a very particular brain would walk in and go oh, this feels like home?"

Amelia blinked. Her mouth twitched. "That's not how architecture works."

"It's how love works, though."

She blinked again, slower this time. Then leaned down and kissed the side of his head.

When she pulled back, she whispered, "Let's make it ours."

NEXT CHAPTER

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬

Parings → Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Warnings → teasing, fluff, flushed! Peter

Summary → You ask Tony for an Iron suit, but when denied, you requested for Peter as your boyfriend instead.

The compound was quiet for once, the hum of technology and occasional clanking of robotic arms the only sounds breaking the stillness. You were sprawled out on the couch in the living room, lazily flipping through channels on the TV, while Peter Parker, your best friend, sat cross-legged on the carpet floor. His head was bent over his web-shooter, fingers deftly adjusting tiny components with a screwdriver.

"Anything good on?" Peter asked without looking up, his brown curls bobbing slightly as he worked.

"Not really," you muttered, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. "Unless you count reruns of Downton Abbey as good."

Peter snorted softly, his focus still on the device in his hands. "Hey, don’t knock it. Aunt May loves that show. I think I’ve accidentally memorized most of season two by now."

Before you could reply, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. Tony Stark appeared, dressed in his usual casual yet somehow stylish attire. He strolled into the open kitchen that overlooked the living room, heading straight for the coffee machine.

"Kids, don’t burn down my tower," he said casually, glancing over his shoulder.

"Can’t make any promises," you quipped, sitting up slightly.

Tony smirked as he grabbed a mug. "You, I believe. Peter? Not so much. Last time he touched my tech, I had to rewrite an entire AI script."

"Hey!" Peter protested, looking up with a sheepish grin. "That was one time! And I fixed it!"

"Sure you did, Underoos." Tony poured himself a cup of coffee, the aroma wafting through the air.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help grinning at their usual banter. Then, as an idea struck, you sat up straighter. "Hey, Dad?"

Tony raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee. "Uh-oh. That tone always means trouble."

"When am I getting my own Iron suit?" You asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably as excitement leaked into your voice.

Tony nearly choked on his drink, coughing dramatically. "How about never?"

You frowned. "Oh, come on, Dad! You gave Peter a suit, and you let him use your tech all the time, and he’s not even your kid."

"Exactly why he gets it. Less liability if something goes wrong," Tony shot back, smirking.

Peter, who had been quiet, mumbled under his breath, "Wow, I feel so safe."

Tony raised an eyebrow, shooting Peter a pointed look. "Hey, you're still alive, aren't you?"

"Debatable," Peter muttered, earning a small laugh from you, though you quickly crossed your arms and muttered, "Still not fair."

Tony leaned against the kitchen counter, giving you a pointed look. "Look, you can ask for anything else, and I’ll consider it. But no Iron suit. End of story."

You tilted your head, pretending to think hard. "Anything else?"

"Anything within reason," Tony clarified, narrowing his eyes.

"Hmmm..." You paused dramatically, your gaze shifting to Peter, who was back to fiddling with his web-shooter. A mischievous smile spread across your face. "Can I have Peter as my boyfriend?"

Peter froze. His screwdriver clattered to the floor as he looked up at you with wide eyes, his face rapidly turning as red as his suit. "W-what?!"

Tony blinked once, then twice, before setting his coffee cup down with exaggerated calm. "What color suit do you want?"

"Seriously?!" You deadpanned, throwing your hands up in disbelief.

Peter, still struggling to breathe, looked between the two of you. "Wait, wait, what’s happening? Did you just—did she—?"

"Relax, Spiderling," Tony said, waving him off. "I’d rather build her a suit that might destroy half the city than deal with the emotional turmoil of a teenage romance."

You groaned. "Dad, you’re so dramatic."

"And you’re my kid, so genetically you're dramatic too," Tony quipped, grabbing his coffee again.

Peter, still red-faced, finally managed to find his voice. "Uh, just for the record, Mr. Stark, I wasn’t—uh—I didn’t—"

"Calm down, kid," Tony interrupted. "I’m just messing. Sort of."

You rolled your eyes, nudging Peter with your foot. "Breathe, Parker. It’s not like I proposed or something."

Peter let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, right. Totally. Just...friendly teasing. Haha."

Tony smirked at Peter’s flustered state, then turned back to you. "Alright, joke’s over. No Iron suit, no boyfriend. Anything else?"

"Fine," you grumbled. "But this conversation isn’t over."

Tony chuckled, heading toward his lab. "Oh, I think it is."

As soon as he was out of earshot, Peter turned to you, his face still a little pink. "Why would you say that?!"

You shrugged, a sly grin on your lips. "What? I thought it was funny."

"Funny?!" Peter hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know how terrifying your dad is?"

"Relax, Peter," you said, leaning back on the couch. "If anything, this proves you’re in his good books. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have joked about it."

Peter groaned, covering his face with his hands. "I’m never coming over again."

"Yes, you are," you replied confidently.

And, despite his embarrassment, you knew he absolutely would.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[nineteenninety-six]

Would you consider writing for the Pitt one where Jack abbot is like a widower and his wife had a daughter and now she’s like 16, and she’s also at the Pitt fest, she gets shot but doesn’t notice until she sees her father in the er, maybe her friend got shot and they both rush over while she keeps her friend alive and then when he hugs her, blood gets on his gown, she’s also been shot

Maybe happy ending this time..you could do friend dying if that helps with your want for angst

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader

TW: Pittfest, inaccurate medical stuff, injuries via bullets etc

AN: Midway through writing this, I realised that I strayed from the request, I apologise.

Your phone buzzed incessantly in your pocket as you jumped off of the back of a pickup truck in the ambulance bay of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center but you paid it no attention. Your focus was solely on your friend still laying in the bed of the truck, your once pale pink jacket, now discoloured by blood, pressed against their upper chest.

The buzzing stops as your friend is pulled out, a red snap band wrapping around their wrist before a doctor directs the techs and nurses moving them to where the triage doctors tell them where they should go.

The triage doctors turned to you next and a wave of relief washed over you at the familiar faces. It was Shen and Parker, two doctors who worked with your father on the night shifts.

Parker sends you a warmth comforting smile, her glove covered hand coming to rest on your arm, “I’m so glad to see you kid, you have no idea. You okay? Any injuries?”

Your shoulder hurt but you’re pretty sure that’s from when you face planted into the ground during the panic earlier. You had tried to catch yourself but you weren’t very successful and so you were sure you had scrapes and bruises across your face. If you were otherwise injured, the adrenaline coursing through your veins numbed it to you.

“I’m fine, I think.” You shake your head at Parker’s question, “What’s going to happen to her?”

“Your dad’s there, he’ll help her.” Shen tells you before steps closer to you, a suspicious glint in his eye as they catch something you hadn’t realised, “You’ve got a head lac.”

“Are you sure you’re fine? You’ve got blood all over you.” Parker’s brows are furrowed as she looks at you in concern.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not mine.” You say.

A yellow band is swiftly snapped around your wrist before you’re being shuffled into the ED. Since you felt fine you decided to find your friend amongst the chaos of the emergency department. You ignored the cries, screams and the overwhelming stench of blood as you looked around but you didn't get far before a hand wrapped your arm and tugs you around.

It was your father.

He pulls you into a hug, arms tight as he wraps them around you, “Oh thank God.”

Your dad pulls away just enough to see your face before he’s pulling you into another hug, “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I was worried sick.”

“I was a bit busy.” You murmur into his shirt.

Your dad’s presence was comforting and just what you needed at that moment. You melted into his hug as you felt your eyes burn with unshed tears,

“I’m so glad to see you dad” You whimper, “I was so scared.”

“I know kid, I know but you did so well.” Your dad steps back, his eyes falling to your wrist, “Yellow band. What’s wrong?”

“Shen said I have a head lac.”

Your dad tips your head down and nods as he looks at it, “Yeah c’mon, let’s patch you up.”

“Wait, don’t you have more critical people to help? Also, where’s my friend?”

“Your friend is fine; they’re in the OR. Looking like a full recovery.”

You let out a sigh of relief before your legs buckle and you feel the room tilt around you. You’re caught before you collapse to the floor by your dad as you pass out.

Jack curses as he settles you down on the floor, calling out for help as he searches for any wounds. Shen had sent you in with a yellow band but Jack had an inkling there was more hidden.

He pulled up your shirt and sure enough, a bullet wound stared back at him.

“Someone call surgery!”

Walsh hurries over, falling to her knees opposite Jack, “What do we have?”

“Bullet to the navel,” Jack spits out, “Please tell me there’s an OR free.”

Walsh shakes her head, “The last one just got taken. Can we stabilize her?”

“If we found out about the wound earlier then maybe but she’s gone untreated for too long. It’s now or never.”

“Jack, we don’t have an OR or even a damn sterile room.”

“Please!” Jack’s voice wavers as he looks over at the surgery attending, “She’s my daughter…we have to help her.”

Walsh’s expression changes at the information and Jack recognises the new one that appears on her face, it was the one he had worn many times before. It was the one he wore when he told people that their loved ones died.

“P-Please...you have to help her.”

Like an angel from heaven, Garcia ran over to them with a gurney, “A OR just opened. We’ve got to go now.”

Jack springs into action, immediately moving to your head, hands moving under your shoulders as someone grabs your ankles and together, they lift you up and transfer you onto the gurney. Jack doesn’t waste another moment, pushing you down the hall to the elevator along with Walsh and Garcia.

He doesn’t get any further than the OR doors, Walsh stopping him with a hand on his chest, “This is as far as you go. You’re a great doctor Abbot but you’re not a surgeon.”

Jack knows that protesting will just delay your care so he steps back with a nod and watches as the door closes behind Walsh as she rushes in to get sterilized.

Jack doesn’t go back down to the ED; he’s in no state to help anyone right now but he also can’t sit down and wait for news so he settles on pacing in front of the OR. His prosthetic chafes at him, rubbing with every step he takes and he can hear your voice in his head chastising him, reminding him what happens when he ignores the signs and over does it, creating more pain and problems later on.

He's not only worried about you but for your friend too. You two had been friends since elementary school and Jack had lost count of the number of sleepovers, mall trips and vacations you had done together over the past decade. If you lost your friend, you’d lose a part of you as well and so Jack hoped both of you came out alive.

[bet-on-me-13]

Desperate Villain Danny AU

(this is a 17 yr old danny)

It started out slowly.

First, a few of Danny's less active Rouges stopped showing up at all. He didn't really notice, and just assumed that they had finally had their Fill of their Obsession for a while and would simmer down for a bit.

Then, some more of his Rouges stopped showing up. No big deal, but he is getting a little concerned for them. They had definitely not had their fill of their Obsessions yet, why did they stop?

Then, the worst started happen. All of his actual Ghost Friends start to disappear. Ember, Kitty, Johnny, even Amorpho, they all start to not show up at all in the Living World.

He goes looking for them in Realms, but he can't find any of them whatsoever. He tries asking around, but everybody else noticed the disappearances much earlier than him and began to hide away from whatever was taking all of the strong Ghosts. He can't find anybody, and the ones he does find won't tell him anything (or don't know themselves)

It takes weeks of searching, but eventually he gets his answer.

The GIW show up in Amity again after a period of absolutely no activity. They have stepped up their operations HARD. Advanced Ghost Hunting Equipment, Much more Competent Agents, and most worrying of all, they seem to know that Phantom is friends with Sam, Tucker, and Danny Fenton.

The GIW comes to his house for a Meeting with his parents, where he overhears them offering his parents a position in their Organization as Head Scientists. While there they also manage to plant Bugs in Danny's room somehow. Although he finds them quickly enough and destroys them.

And then, one night during dinner while his parents are ranting about the GIWs Labs, they mention something that cinches it for Danny.

"And today we even got to Dissect one of the Spooks! It was that Mind Controlly one, you know the one with the blue firey hair stuff that sang a bunch! We're going back tomorrow to continue our Study, this time we'll see how long it'll pretend to experience pain before it decides to give up on tricking us!"

That night, Danny packed up all his things, destroyed the Ghost Portal alongside everything else in his parents Lab, and left his house.

He tracked down the GIW Base, saved Ember from her Cell, and decimated the surrounding Area. No survivors, none of the research is preserved, and he left the Site Director alive to question him.

Turns out, the GIW had managed to Reverse Engineer the Ghost Portal from that brief period of time where they had taken control of Fenton Works. They had been using their own Portal to kidnap any Ghost they could get their hands on. Using the research from those subjects, they perfected their Ghost Hunting Tech and started going after the bigger fish.

"But good luck finding it, Ecto Scum! The Portals location was hidden to everybody, even me!" He said.

"Where are the others!" Danny cried. He was losing control of his appearance by this point. After seeing what they had done to Ember, he was too angry to maintain his Humanoid Form successfully. Even now, with most of his control, he could hear the Static in the air around him, and see the Glitching of his hands as they clenched this Monsters clothes.

"Scattered!" He said with a crazed laugh, "We knew we couldn't contain all of them, so we send them to all of our sites across the Country! You'll never find them!"

Without another word, Danny plowed his arm through the man's chest.

He turned around, picking up Embers weakened Body, before beginning his long flight to Wisconsin. Vlad still owed him a few Favors after all, and honestly his mentorship offers seemed VERY Tempting right now.

(Why reject him if you don't care about keeping your dad alive anymore?)

...

The JLA had recently received a distress signal from somewhere in the middle of some random Forest in Illinois, but when they got to the location, all they found was a crater filled with the ruins of some kind of Military Base, and so so many Bodies.

They had managed to figure out that this was a Government Site owned by an organization called the GIW. A Paranormal Investigation Wing of the Government focused on the study and capture of Supernatural Beings called Ecto-Entities, otherwise referred to as Ghosts.

As it turns out, an Ecto-Entity that had been terrorizing the local town for a few years now had made a drastic change in normal behavior and had attacked the GIW Base that had been posted there.

They would have destroyed it years ago, but this one was unnaturally powerful. It had eluded their capture and terrorized the Town for years, but they had too much pride to contact the JLA and admit that they needed help. And honestly until now, they didn't really need it. The Entity had been entirely confined to the singular town, and had not strayed from that behavioral Pattern in the 3 years since it's inital sighting. They had made the difficult choice to leave it there, sacrificing one town in exchange for the rest of the country.

But now they did need their help. This Entity, this Phantom, was one of the most powerful beings that had ever recorded, maybe even The Most Powerful. The fact that it had left the Secluded town it usually frequented meant that it was loose to wreak havoc across the rest of the world.

The JLA Needed to Find this thing, and Fast.

[itsmebytch001]

PILOT:

Angel had noticed Alastor had barley moved from his frozen stance awaiting by the door like a statue looking off into the distance clutching his staff with an unusually tight grip.

Angel: "Hey Husk, what's got Al all frozen like that?"

Husk looked up from his rag shining his glass and glanced over to Alastor still frozen and unblinking.

Husk: "Ugh, His kids coming to visit, they don't see each other often but whenever they do see each other, Al makes a whole big thing of it, stressin me out" He grumped out.

Angel: "His daughter? How is that possible? Ain't me like, Asexual or something? How you gonna have a kid if you won't bone?"

Husk: "I dunno, maybe she's adopted, she got his eye's though"

Angel: "Huh, so you've met her?"

Husk: "A couple times"

Angel: "Is she like him...with the radio and the tentacles?"

Niffty: "Nah"

Angel: "Ah! Niff Jesus we gotta but a bell on ya, you can't just run up on a guy like that jeez"

Niffty: "She's more into modern tech, and no tentacles, none that Ive seen" She said caressing her knife slowly.

Angel: "aha, well why she coming in now? it's been like five month's I ain't never heard him talk about her"

Husk: "No idea, last I heard they fell out after she brought a TV"

Niffty: "The guy hates Tech" She said, scratching her knife into the wooden table front of the bar.

*knock Knock*

Alastor's already strained smile expanded to reach his eyes as he strides to the door swiftly opening the door to reveal...

Alastor: "Y/N! So very good to see you my dear, Oh how I've missed you" He said pulling her in to the foyer in a tight, unnatural embrace , Angel leered over to get a proper look at her, from across the room little could be seen her face squashed into her fathers torso as she pushed herself away he squinted to look at her face, and indeed he did have his eyes, but little else, except the yellow teeth.

Y/n: "Good to see you to Dad, I've missed you too i guess" She said under her breath.

Alastor's eye twitched, you had just walked in the door and already you are testing him.

Alastor: "I heard that My love, keep your snide little comments to yourself, m'kay?" He asked, snapping his neck to the left.

Alastor: "Chum's! come greet my dear Y/n won't you?!" He bellowed pushing you towards the bar by the small of your back.

Y/n: "Dad, I already know Niff and Husk I-"

Alastor: "OH! but you haven't met Angel Dust, oh he's such a character" He said practically shoving you onto a stool across from Angel.

Y/n: "Hey Husk"

Husk: "Hey Y/n...you want me to make you something?"

Y/n: "Yeah, Gin and Tonic please" You said slumped over the bar.

Alastor: "She'll take a strawberry lemonade"

Y/n: "Dad I'm too old for thi-"

Alastor: "She'll take a strawberry Lemonade" He said again sternly looking you in the eye.

Alastor: "Now my Dear, where oh where are you belongings'?"

Y/n: "Just outside the door" You answered as Husk poured you a Strawberry Lemonade passing it over to you.

Alastor: "Good good, Husk go take them to Y/n's room won't you?"

Husk: "I'm a bartender not a bags boy Al"

Alastor: " I said go get her bags"

Husk lowly exhaled and dragged his sorry self towards the door.

Alastor: "right well, Angel this is my daughter Y/n"

Angel: "Daughter aye? And how exactly did that happen?"

Alastor: "Why what ever do you mean dear Angel?"

Angel: "Ain't you asexual? Can't exactly have a kid if you ain't boned someone"

Alastor: "Oh! well I made her of course"

Angel: "What?"

Y/n: "He made me, as a precaution"

Alastor: "Oh no dear we've been over this, I made you because I wanted to raise you"

Y/n: "Uh huh"

Angel: "Wait wait, I'm confused did you make her as like, a Frankenstein while you were alive or like..?"

Alastor: "No no, I bared no children when I was alive I made her down here"

Angel: "Okay but HOW?"

Alastor: "with some gold dust, an old voodoo doll and a rib of mine. It doesn't hurt to to supplied with a sum of power and magic of course"

Angel: "...uh huh" he watched as Husk dragged your bags up the stairs.

Alastor: "And my lovley creation will be staying with us for some times"

Y/n: "A month, that's all"

Alastor: "Oh a whole month! we have so much catching up too do, shame you won't ever answer any of my messages"

Y/n: "maybe I would if it weren't in the form of a telegram!"

Alastor: "Oh you young people, with your phones and TV's, whatever happnded to radio"

Y/n: "oh god please don't start" He patted your head as you slumped even further down the bar.

Alastor: "Yes well, while you chat with Angel I'll be sure to arrange the others I'm sure they'll be dying to meet you"

Y/n: "Yeah, okay Dad" you said dismissively sipping on your straw, Alastor of course saw this as his body tensed forcing himself to walk off following Husk up the stairs to corral the other tenants.

Angel: "So, Toot's you don't seem all that happy to see your pop's why is that?"

Y/n: "I didn't want to come here, It's just till extermination day since that dates been moved up"

Angel: "Oh, so your coming here for safety? well this place get's attacked every other week so I'm not sure if that's a great idea"

Y/n: "Oh no, I don't want to be here, It's just my Dad is convinced my place isn't safe enough, and he goes on about how we barley chat (mainly because he refuses to get a phone) and like 'how would I know if you were slain, am I just supposed to go looking for you sliced corpse' and besdies it's not like I have a choice so here I am, until the end of this month and then I'll finally go home again and not talk to the fucker for another seven years"

Angel: "Damm, if you hate the guy so much why not just not come, technically your Hell born so I'm sure you could leave the city, go on down somewhere like Pride, or Lust he can't come dragging you back"

Y/n: "Oh, but he can"

Angel: "How? Guy can't leave the ring"

Y/n: "You've seen that keyring of that little doll on his staff?"

Angel: "Yeah?"

Y/n: "That's me. He shakes that thing a couple times and BOOM and back where he wants me, coming 'voluntarily' just feel's less shit I guess"

Angel:" Oh...Damm" he looked over around the bar awkwardly tapping his foot waiting for Al to come back while you sipped on your god damm strawberry Lemonade.

Pt 2 anyone?

[uhhhj13iguess]

rick sanchez x (gn)!reader blurb

okay i fear i've rewatched rick and morty like five times now and I've gotten a little too into rick sanchez fics. sue me.

this isn't written out in a full-on story format, it's too humbling to write a fully-fledged story with proper grammar and plot development about fucking rick and morty, okay, so you get bullet point blurbs

summary: you're a family friend and space beth brings you home for the holidays. you've heard across the multiverse about the asshole known as rick sanchez, but for some reason he's... different with you?

wc: ~1.6k

i made a part two!

masterlist and taglist!

✮ you're beth's best friend from high school, a version of them anyway, and one day while out exploring, space beth stumbles upon you, and the two of you grab a drink or fourteen

✮ you and space beth go on a bunch of adventures and you end up learning a lot from her, both about the universe and tech. you partner up for a lot of missions against the federation (definitely has a bit of a rick and birdperson sort of vibe to it)

✮ anyways, she brings you home for the holidays to stay with the smiths, and everyone falls in love with you, especially domestic beth (obviously). the kids love you, and you guys spend the whole day hanging out, playing games, and sharing stories

✮ you've heard a lot about rick from beth, and honestly from a lot of people around the universe, but you get an earful once you're in the smith house. you gather upon his 'i'm god' mentality and notice it in the few times you see him around the house during the day. conclusion: rick is an asshole, just stay clear of his path. but something about him piqued your interest. after all, someone who referred to themselves as the 'smartest man in the multiverse' had to be quite the character

✮ eventually, the night turns to early morning and you're all pretty drunk, so everyone starts to part ways to bed. you start to curl up on the couch when beth speaks your name, pulling you out of your haze. she offers you rick's room with a shrug, "it isn't much more comfortable than the couch, but at least you'll have a door. plus, he'll be in the garage all night anyway"

✮ you slur out a thousand thank yous, stumbling down the hallway towards the door she was leading you to. the room wasn't much bigger than a closet and tucked against the wall seemed to be nothing more than a military cot. you smirked as you took in your surroundings, quite the palace for the smartest man alive

✮ basically, you pass out pretty instantly. while all this is going on, rick is tinkering away in the garage, trying to busy his mind. he furrows his brows as his rough hands work anxiously with the metal in front of him, and memories of earlier in the day flash through his drunken thoughts. he took another swig of his flask as he recalled when he first saw you, playing downbeat with the family. your laugh had been the most innocent sound he had heard in decades, and something about you made his chest feel weird. he immediately pulled morty away without an acknowledgment towards you, hearing beth sound a 'that's dad' as he portaled out of the room

✮ anyways, rick gets an alert that someone's entered his room and he flips to his surveillance to see beth offering you his bed, a smile plastered on your face. his lips almost curl in the same fashion. almost. instead, he lets out a belch and swigs his flask again, turning back to his work. he notes how you quickly fall asleep and he lets you be for a while, continuing whatever the hell he's up to

✮ he eventually needs to get a tool from his room and he grumbles as he makes his way into the house, not understanding why he was feeling so hesitant about waking you. he didn't let anyone in his room, let alone strangers. he hadn't even talked to you yet, what about you had him so pussywhipped?

✮ so he opens the door, seeing you asleep soundly on his bed. again, part of him almost wants to smile. what the fuck

✮ he turns the light on and stares at you. he hates people in his personal space. he should be angry. but instead, he's... curious? to have you in here? he lets out a belch, "w-what are you d -bleeuuughgghhh- doing in here," you startle upwards. your eyes go wide at the sight of him and you start to trip over your words, definitely still tipsy

✮ "oh my god, i'm so sorry! i just, beth let me crash in here and said you'd be in the garage, and i know you have a thing about your personal space but she said you'd be in the garage all night so i just didn't think about it. I'm sorry, let me grab my shit and I'll go back to the couch, i'm-" "no, its fi -bleuuehghghh- ine."

✮ a beat of silence passes and you're so confused. "i just n-needed a tool, I'll be in and, in and out", and then he's gone. and he... turned the light off and shut the door on his way out? this didn't seem like the rick that had been described to you

✮ but you brush it off and go back to bed. and the next day, you carry on with your activities until you're met with the sound of rick storming into the house and yelling with a bad taste in his mouth. "what the fuck morty? wh-wh-what are you doing in my room? what the -bleuugghghh- actual fuck do you think you're doing?" "oh jeez rick, I was, i-i-i was just trying to g-grab that thing y-you were asking for. i thought I saw it in-" "ge- get the fuck out, morty. you know how i -bleeuugughh- feel about people in my s-shit"

✮ and suddenly, you can't brush it off as easily. why didn't he yell at you like that?

✮ time goes on and everyone is definitely starting to pick up on how rick is acting towards you. and just like rick, they're all confused as fuck. no one's ever seen him be so weird or so... passive with someone. nothing specific happens for a couple days, but anytime you cross paths, the vibes are WILD and everyone knows it

✮ on christmas eve, beth makes a huge dinner for everyone and you're helping set the table, and eventually she just looks at you with such a sigh and goes "okay, i have a favor to ask. i need you to go ask rick to come out for dinner," and you go to protest and be like ?? why me?? but she cuts you off and goes "listen, I don't know what the fuck his deal is right now, but I think you're most likely to survive asking him to participate in a family activity"

✮ so you make your way to the door leading out to the garage and knock hesitantly, letting out a soft, "uh, rick?"

✮ there's a beat of silence as you hear mechanics stop whirring, and you go to walk away before you're burned at the stake for interrupting him when you hear him quietly: "garage, disen- bleughgh- disengage 'family time' protocol." you step back as you hear a lot of shit being deactivated, like, an impressive amount considering a simple deadbolt would've sufficed, and eventually you hear said deadbolt being unlatched followed with a faint "come in"

✮ you walk in slowly with a light "hey", earning a grunt in response as he continues to fidget with whatever gadget he is working on this time. you walk over to his workbench and begin to let him know about dinner and how beth really wants him out there. "I think I can guess the answer already, sorry to bug you too much rick, beth just would've killed me if I didn't ask," you let out with a soft chuckle

✮ a moment passes and he's so lost in thought, and not that you could read him before, but right now you definitely can't. so you offer him a smile and go to push yourself off of where you'd leaned up against the counter before you hear him speak, "c-could you hand me that -blleugeghhgh- screwdriver over there?"

✮ "oh my god yeah, o-of course, yeah," you grab the one rick's pointing at and turn to hand it to him, and as he reaches for it from you, your fingers graze each other for what feels like a lifetime. butterflies absolutely flood your stomach and overpower your senses. you let go quickly, trying to get ahold of yourself because this is fucking rick sanchez, he isn't going to give the time of day to whatever little crush you're developing

✮ the second your hands touched, rick also got a rush of butterflies. he of course wouldn't ever refer to them as that, but his heart sped up and his mouth went dry in an instant. he hadn't felt this feeling in... jesus, like 40 years? fuck. he needed to get a grip on himself. seriously, what is his problem? you've been around him for all of three days and he's acting like a teenager experiencing his first hard-on. jesus, rick, get your act together. what the fuck is your problem?

✮ you pull back and he averts his gaze from you, turning back to his work. he clears his throat and mutters a soft 'thank you'. you're immediately bashful, smiling at him and turning to head out of the garage. just before you're fully out, you hear him speak up, "I'll b-be out in a minute"

✮ and you smile. beth was right. for some godforsaken reason, you got him to join christmas eve dinner. you exit the garage, almost running into morty and summer who's jaws are nearly on the fucking ground. you hadn't closed the door behind you as you went in, and they watched the entire scene unfold before them. morty's eyebrows contort into confusion, "what the fuck?"

i fear i have so many more thoughts and ideas so lmk if you want more because I am a deviant and a freak, thanks

[toastyrobos]

Omega with her other overprotective dad. I’ll always love Hunter being the dad like figure to Omega, but dad Crosshair is great. His line, “I’m worse”. Yup that got me.

And that assassin that we kept seeing….I don’t know..I’m holding out hope that it’s Tech, or that he’s alive somehow!

[moonlightmornings]

hannah's buddie fic recs || pt. 9 💫

happy wednesday!! thank you tumblr tech support, the devil works hard but you guys work soooo much harder <3 <3

as always, if you're the author of one of these please reply and i'll tag your tumblr! and check the tags and warnings before reading!!

<- PART EIGHT: hannah's buddie fic recs

with you by my side by @starlingbite | 10.2k words | GA Not long before Eddie rejoins the 118, Frank gives him some homework: some tasks to complete. When Buck finds out about the list, he wants to help. They have until Christmas to tick everything off and somewhere along the way, Eddie realizes something very important.

anywhere that you are by rando_ghost | 19.3k words | NR Evan Buckley offers to stay with Eddie while Christopher is gone in Texas to keep him company. Eddie Diaz works through his issues and comes to some important discoveries.

you get the best seat in the house by @thatbuddie | 2.0k words | teen+ Eddie spends too much time dreaming about sitting on Buck’s lap for someone who tries to convince himself he is not in love with his best friend... but it’s just that it’s such an appealing lap, okay?

high tide came and brought you in by saintsnames | 8.5k words | GA The Diaz boys take Buck home with them after the tsunami.

kiss it better (drink your tears) by buckleys_girl911 | 8.9k words | mature Eddie discusses his feelings about Bobby's "death" but Buck won't, so Eddie finds another way to help him.

the comfort of touch by @lunasquared | 2.2k words | teen+ For some reason Eddie is touch starved. Well maybe not completely but for some sort of physical touch from Buck specifically and he would find a way to get it.

the sound of love astounds me by @shitouttabuck (fleetinghearts) | 1.8k words | teen+ There’s not a lot Eddie wouldn’t do for Buck.

some day i'll fall into you by @littlespoonevan (allyasavedtheday) | 13.4k words | teen+ A look at how Eddie deals with his recovery post-4x14.

never wished for you to go by @paranoidbean (shyaudacity) | 5.7k words | teen+ Buck pushes the door open as quietly as he can, poking his head in just enough to see. It doesn’t take long for him to spot the Eddie shaped lump in bed, or the way that he seems to have all the blankets pulled up to his face. From here, Buck can see the way that Eddie’s shoulders shake with every passing second, his eyes clenched shut... (A 5B spec fic)

i get on my knees, i get on my knees by kryptonian | 4.3k words | explicit Eddie sucks Buck's dick for the first time. It's a religious experience if nothing else. Good times all around!

home's not home unless you're there by allthatsleft | 20.5k words | explicit Buck is a great roommate. And then he starts kissing Eddie.

storm through by @aashiqeddiediaz (tawaifeddiediaz) | 7.0k words | mature The one where Christopher and Buck take care of Eddie in their own ways.

and it's alright by seykadaydreams | 4.9k words | teen+ Eddie has a rough day dealing with chronic pain, and Buck, as always, is there to take care of him. Somewhere between painkillers and exhaustion, Eddie blurts out a proposal.

to watch the world spin without you by saddiaz | 9.5k words | mature The 118 is called to the Hotshot set for an emergency and sentimental chaos ensues, Bobby is everyone’s dad, the boys yell at each other and Chris saves the day. Not particularly in that order.

i pray the race is worth the fight by allthatsleft | 6.3k words | explicit Buck huffs, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Maybe it’s an inopportune time, but Eddie can’t help but feel lucky to see him this way. Unguarded. Real and alive and looking at Eddie like he’s hearing him for the first time. “You make sense, though,” he says, quietly, like a secret, “even when you’re not here, not speaking to me—you make sense.”... Eddie has always wanted to stay.

[vorbarrsultana]

i finished rereading the first four vorkosigan books (+ "the flowers of vashnoi" because ekaterin!!!), and you really have to feel for piotr vorkosigan because what a nightmare life, truly.

imagine you are born just in time for your world to be unified by dorca vorbarra and rediscovered by people from wider galaxy. things are finally looking good, for the first time in 600 years of isolation there is no more feudal infighting, and the promise of galactic medicine and technologies being available lightens everyone's perspectives. sure, your grandpa is called count pierre "le sanguinaire", but who doesn't have terrible relatives?

then you are 15, and suddenly your planet is attacked by the aggressive eugenecist space empire hell-bent on subjugating your people and turning them into disposable material for unethical genetic experiments. you flee into the mountains, away from your family, and create guerrilla forces from locals sworn to your dad, and it's really terrible for a very long time. you have no high-tech weapons and no food, you sleep in a cave in the dead of winter, and the cetagandans try everything (from carpet bombing to chemical weapons) to murder you.

but hey, at least you now have your bff ezar vorbarra, and (from the bff's words on his deathbed) it sounds like you two had so much fun between unimaginable horrors and despair, and it's not surprising, since no one really believes in death after life at 20. then the emperor makes you a general at the tender age of 22. fortunately for him, you & bff make a frighteningly competent dream-team, and the joke's on cetagandans.

then, several years later, you ask the emperor for weapons, because you still sleep on the bare cave floor, there are little resources, and every ghem on the planet is trying to murder you. he offers you the hand of his granddaughter instead, like it's some sort of twisted fairytale, but you grow to love your olivia more than anything, and the tide of war is finally turning, and you allow yourself to entertain the idea of peaceful life, and then...

the space eugenecist empire nukes your hometown, killing your mom, dad, surviving brothers, and two hundred thousand of your people. plus your bff (ezar) gets a radiation doze large enough for it to cause severe cancer thirty years later. great.

but you win! your district is in shambles, your capital is an irradiated crater, your castle is in ruins, but you win! the old dorca dies, and yuri ascends the throne, but politicking is secondary to the fact that you are alive.

yes, you are probably not entirely sane, and you've long forgotten what the peaceful times look like, but you are alive, just under 35, and your entire life is ahead of you. olivia is alive too, and ezar, and you now have three wonderful children, and the extended vorpatril-vorbarra family that hosts regular get-togethers. sure, your mom-in-law is a betan with all sorts of crazy ideas in her head, but she is not pierre vorrutyer. small mercies.

but then the new emperor goes mad, and decides to murder your entire family overnight. your brothers-in-law are gone, one of your sisters-in-law too, and all your nephews and nieces except little padma. but all of this pales in comparison to the facts that olivia is murdered, and that your heir and daughter lay dead beside her.

all you have left of her, of your house, of the family you've lost in vashnoi not a ten years ago, is aral, whom you keep by your side throughout the bloody civil war to put your bff on the throne.

but you win again. you are 43, and ezar vorbarra is now the emperor. you are responsible for the imperium's entire ground forces. you are also responsible for a severely traumatized boy of 13, and the only children you've interacted with without olivia's genle guidance were little messengers of guerilla companies.

what a mess.

[rapunzelbro]

Imagine if Alastor had to tolerate a young, tech-loving (all tech, new and old) demon but accidentally became fond of them. And then one day the demon's tongue slipped and they accidentally called him "Dad".

Imagine Alastor with a young tech loving demon

Sorry if this isn’t the best but I shall try my best🫡

Masterlist Taglist form

When you showed up at the Hazbin Hotel ready for a chance of redemption you didn’t think you’d meet the one and only Alastor

You almost screamed but of course you had to keep your cool you definitely didn’t

He definitely noticed and mentally noted it

whether that was a good or bad thing again you don’t know. More like embarrassing

You often helped set up anything tech wise that came up in the hotel!

Angel dust coming to see you multiple damn times because his ‘toy’ wasn’t working only for it to be out of batteries

He knew that he just loved fucking with you

Alastor was asked to get you for something while you were in your room with an assortment of old broken radios

Watched in the shadows in the slightest fascination of you fixing them before making himself known

Lowkey thinking his voice was coming form the radio before you realized it was him indeed in the room to begin with and it scared the shit out of you

If Alastor asks what one of the radios are, you will 100% go on a rant about it

He won’t admit it but he is fascinated in the slightest and will occasionally share the radios and tech he used while he was alive and had his own studio

You listened so intensely to everything he said like if you missed one thing it would be over for you.

You two often bonded over tech and he definitely asked what changed since the time he died since you were so young

Months would go by before accidentally calling the Radio Demon of Hell ‘Dad’

You wouldn’t even really think about it all that much when you asked Alastor if the radio system was working in the upper bedrooms after it broke

“Hey dad is the radio working now?”

Absolute fucking silence after that sentence stg dude gets whiplash from how fast he turned his head around

“Pardon me?”

You apologizing profusely while you almost trauma dump his ass about your issues with your previous life and your father who caused your death

Him shutting you down instantly before you could trauma dump

“… I’ll let it slide, if you see me like that.. it doesn’t quite bother me”

Dude just leaves with that?? He is honestly super thrown off but he doesn’t mind it,

Lowkey was happy you did ngl he is a softie towards you

Hope this was good! Thank you for requesting

[yanderemommabean]

i'm sorry, you survived WHAT?

I've almost been shot and killed in my own house, like, i dunno, four times?? More???

One time it was because i had the audacity to come home at 9:30 pm from a Walmart run that needed to be done, and i was met with my step dad holding the barrel to my forehead, before he realized who I was, and yelling at me - "Well don't come home near fucking midnight then!"

Then another time my grandma was high as fuck on her meds and was just muttering to herself that she felt she was in danger before pulling her gun out and aiming it at me and my brother in the kitchen, and we had to duck. Nothing went off, we got it away from her, but like, Jesus Christ.

“She should’ve been put in a home" We tried. Or, well, I tried. We'd have to pay like a few thousand a month and did not have that money, we barely had any money for food let alone something to get her out of the house. Not only that, when i kept pushing for something more like, affordable, or just standing up to her, I was met with "what's the point" and "No we'll be fine."

The reason I quit uploading so much was because the abuse was nonstop for YEARS. I created the blog when we moved out but when 2022 came around, we had to move back and I was just depressed and sick and lowkey not wanting to be alive anymore.

At the time I had a BF too and he was just...Yuck. I can get into him later on, I'm with someone much sweeter, but I was not in a good place and was near skeletal compared to how I am now. The fight that happened the day before i was to be picked up made me so stressed out I passed blood and had another stress induced clot.

Like, I was not ok. I was going through some of the worst treatment and made to be the scapegoat. Constantly. On top of starving and having to ration my own insulin, deal with a man baby of a partner, and try and study for pharmacy tech school even though that was never a passion of mine.

I haven't even been away for a full year yet. It's wild how much better everything is. Not that i'm healed yet, but I'm definitely no longer being hurt.

-Mommabean

[woundedsoul12]

Did someone say... Thursday Bangers?

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

This week's Banger brought to you by @fiberpunk027 who suggested on of my favorite songs for use.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met - Lord Huron

No pressure tagging @himluv @thedissonantverses @mythals-whore @serensama @whispersleo @tarasmom @hedwigoprah @becausedragonage @kindlyfeline @davrinsleftpectoral @fenrelmercar @plasticfreckles @kai-dimir @teamtakagi @a-mumbling-nerd @fiberpunk027 @larknnightingale @jenn2d2 @hyperions-light @tkwritesdumbassassins @feelslikepants @trash-nerd @cute-ellyna @brennacedria @lottiesnotebook @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @operative-arrow @librivore42 @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @fireheartedpup @mikylechase @bonesandivy @vime5 @notyourmamasdeerbat @griffongrey @master-of-the-elements @chaoslifeforme @carrieing0n @serstolas @beachhotdog

Reminder if you want to be added/removed from the weekly tag list just let me know. Also please tag me when you post your bangers I love to read and share them (though I also browse the tag)

Yes I know it's still Davrin week. And while these lyrics work perfectly for the Veilguard's mightiest hero, I am celebrating EMS week with @amlusa. This is in response to Caffeine, Nicotine, and Spite one of the best AUs I have ever read. So have a little Lenashur. A little Ashurook that's sad

“Medic one to med control over…”

Lena's face went pale as the radio buzzed before her. She knew that voice. Would recognize Luca's clipped accent anywhere.

For fucks sake. She had known it was going to be a bad night when she stalled out on I95. But this… this was something she wasn't sure she was ready for.

Thankfully, Lorelei appeared at her side and smashed the receiver as she grabbed a pen. “Med control to medic one. Go ahead over.” Her fellow nurse shot her a wink as she wrote down whatever was coming in. From the lazy way she rolled her eyes, it wasn't anything serious. Though Lena couldn't process the report over the rushing sound building in her ears.

It had only been a few months since she returned to her charge position in the ER at Minrathous General. She had been doing well so far. Going to therapy. Taking her meds. Actually sleeping most nights.

But now it was all rushing back. That night. The trauma. Luca calling in. His voice breaking through the static on the line.

“Lena, I'm so sorry. It's Ashur-”

Her mama always said don't marry heroes. Of course, her dad had been a Marine. And just like her Ashur, he was KIA. A nice flag in a case to press against her chest when she sobbed into the darkness. Haunted by the ghost of him everywhere she looked. Even here, at work, she was reminded of the night they met.

And the night she lost the only man she had ever loved to the duty he held above all else. Nurses and EMS. The best of the worst combo.

“Are you gonna be alright, Mercar?” Tarquin asked as looked across the nurse's station at her. He was trying to act tough, but there was a similar paleness to his face as memories flooded him as well. Ashur had been his best friend. They went through fire academy together. Hell even had matching medic tattoos. And he had been working PRN as a tech that fateful night.

She wasn't sure if she hated or loved that he went through the same hell she did. Maybe if he would have been with her love, Ashur would have made it out alive.

Or she would have just lost them both. And Maker, was she thankful to have his presence right now.

“Yeah I’ll be ok. Gotta leave the baggage at the door yanno.” She shook her head as she tried to focus once again on her work. Her nurses needed her to get her head out of her ass. There were patients to save. Docs to wrangle. Admin to appease. The usual shit.

No time for her to dwell on her broken heart.

But as a heavy hand fell on her shoulder and she looked up to see Tarquin's reassuring smile, the world seemed to still. He brought her a calmness. A peace she only knew when he was near. He had been the only reason she survived these last few months.

And she didn't know what she would do without him.

[akq96618]

it's never too late for boonboom OC !!!!!!!!!

---

Vee

-Based from HMMWV/Humvee

-The one who's in a good term with byundi and sakito.

-They helped byundi gathered information across the universe. Includes that time when they tried to know about genba's dad condition at prison. (yknow, when byundi said he'd contact another hitman? it's them!///i lied)

-Younger Sakito used to call them 'tenshi-san' (angel) since they stood out with their all-white-platinum shining metal body. Even when he's older sometimes he still use that nickname.

-Used to be human, but they abandoned their humanity and move their consciousness to mech they made with the help of other planets advanced tech, so they live a long life unlike sakito.

Nobody knows that they used to be human, not even byundi or sakito. Perhaps been alive as long as the tirenoids, or even older, who knows

They know byundi and sakito for a long time, and took a favor on them a little bcs it's been a long time since they met other human.

-they venture the universe alone, gather informations and doing their disposal and hitman job all by themself.

-at some point they met enji and start to work together with her as a hitman and procurer.

-since they're not a tirenoids, they can't morph into vehicles like byundi and bundorio, neither can turn into giant form.

Enji

-based from engine (enjin)

-Adopted by brakecircuit. she met them when she's around 12-14 yrs old (human age)

-she's the sole survivor from her family of the burekian annihilation at her village, she escaped with her family's spaceship and hide her burekian identity

-she called genba "wakadanna" just like sakito-and called sakito just " Saki"

-agile and calm like genba but full of energy like sakito

-instead of lollipops, she maintained her human mimic by eating konpeitos (star-shaped hardened candy)

-Enji, refused to go back to planet bureki and decided to stay on earth with byundi and sakito while the boonboomgers still on their Big Bang Grandprix

-she aims to be the best procurer in universe!