#that may have been me pushing through a few episodes in one sitting

[chthonic-kids]

DEPARTURE by Alan Wake

[donatellawritings]

NEED NEED NEED NEED NEEEEEEEDDDD sweetheart latina calming rafe down from an episode !1!1!1!1!@!@!@!2!2 i just know for a fact that he would avoid her to hide it

honestly, you’re so right lol - lol i may have gotten a bit excited

you had to give rafe credit: he hadn’t had one of his tried and true blistering breakdowns for the past few months, in fact, he hadn’t even punched a hole in the wall, since he met you. he’d been hyper fixated on you since the moment you first looked up at him through your wispy doll lashes, your dreamy eyes glazing over his strained baby-blues. you were sickeningly sweet, your cheesy smile clashing perfectly with his locked jaw and stoic frown. i mean, rafe had even decided to drastically cut down on his drug intake - seeing the way your swollen lips pulled into a displeased frown, overcoming him with shame and guilt. it was clear that you made him a better man, a man that could even make his family proud — possibly.

it was crystal clear that rafe was on edge, from the moment you woke up, you found him sat at the edge of the bed, his back muscles tense as he held his head in his hands, “hi baby,” you cooed, your lace white panties peeking from underneath the borrowed north carolina panthers t-shirt that you’d found sleep in as you crawled over to rafe, placing your delicate hand on his feverishly bouncing leg.

rafe blinked slowly, shaking his head as he curled an arm around your neck, hastily pulling you into his side as he pressed his lips to your forehead with a loud smack of his lips against your skin, “y’should go home today, i have shit to take care of and i don’t want you around to see that, yeah?” he decided, his voice low and stern as he kept his eyes focused on the polished hardwood floor beneath his sock-clad feet.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you pulled your hand away from his leg, sitting back on the heels of your feet as you ignored the sudden swirl of nerves in your stomach, “you want me to go home?” you asked, your voice lightly breaking as you stared at the side of rafe’s face, a pout now tugging on your lips as you reached to grab his face, “babe, just look at me-”

rafe was quick to catch your wrist, his grip tight as he finally brought his eyes to meet yours, his pupils blown to hell as you closed your mouth, “i said, go home, i don’t want to repeat myself, a’ight?” he rasped, forcing his gaze forward as you snatched your wrist from his grip.

rafe understood your behavior, he even blamed himself for it. he spoiled you, gave you anything and everything that you wanted, the moment you asked for it. you were spoiled and stubborn, you never took not getting your way lightly.

with an unimpressed scoff of a laugh, you pushed yourself off of the bed with a roll of your eyes as you grabbed the nearest pair of your bedazzled light grey boyshorts, sliding them on swiftly as you reached for your phone. your pearlescent acrylic nails tapped furiously against the glass screen as you texted kie, warm tears clouding your vision as you snatched your gifted dior bag that sat on rafe’s dress to sit over your shoulder. crouching before rafe, you ran your fingers through your hair.

“don’t call me,” you sniffled, before pulling away from rafe who licked over his dry lips, maintaining his gaze to remain at the wall over your shoulder, “and don’t look for me, either,” you wiped your eyes with the sides of your index fingers as you grew frustrated with rafe’s silence, sliding your pedicured feet into your sandals before exiting his bedroom, allowing the door to slam behind you as rafe remained seated on his bed.

you knew that you were pushing the limits with rafe, but you needed him to feel even a fraction of the hurt and embarrassment that came from him sending you away. he was mean and you hated that cold side of him, you hated how well it got under your skin, you hated how it never failed to make you cry. your top teeth dug into the fat of your bottom lip as you waited at the door, hoping that maybe, just maybe he’d chase after you, wrap you in his arms and tell you that everything would be okay - you didn’t even care if he’d be lying, you just wanted rafe.

hot tears stained your puffy cheeks as you made your way downstairs, your lashes heavy and wet as you fought to blink your tears away. why did he have to be so mean? why did he have to push you away? your bottom lip quivered as you stood on the front porch of tannyhill, giving kiara a small wave as her car approached the residence. your cousin remained silent as you entered the car, her hand reaching over the console to cradle yours as you sobbed.

kiara was fully aware as to just how much you liked rafe, much to her extreme dismay. she was privy to, and oftentimes witnessed rafe’s violent mean streak, as well as his icy demeanor and it bothered her to know that of all people, it had to be you, her sweet cousin and best friend that fell in love with the only son of ward cameron. even though, she had to admit that even she had noticed his slightly improved behaviors, thanks to you, yet her disdain for the young man was quickly reignited at the sight of your usually bright eyes, now bloodshot with stinging tears.

she’d decided to wait until you’d calmed down a bit, before nudging your side with her knuckle, “give me your phone,” kiara asked softly, a wave of relief crashing over her as you complied with ease, setting the phone to silent mode as you slid the phone into her hand, “wanna go to the beach?” she offered, placing your phone into the glove compartment.

now fiddling with the diamond ‘R’ initial that hung from your dainty chain, you nodded weakly, leaning your head against kiara’s arm as she drove father away from the cameron residence.

ྀིྀ

it didn’t take long for your sad tears to subside, once you were on the beach, the warm and inviting sun, drying your tears and burning your heartbreak as you took a sip of the smooth mango juice that kie prepared for you. a low mewl of satisfaction left you swollen lips as you let the juice glide down your throat. you boyshorts and borrowed t-shirt were swapped with a pink triangle bikini set, your layered hair pushed back by your sunglasses as you walked along the shoreline, damp sand tickling your painted toes.

of course, you had found that your mind would flutter back to wondering about rafe, secretly yearning to see him, but you remained strong, mostly thanks to your cousin and friends who’d made it their mission to at least distract you for a few hours.

“��sup mama! y’gonna get in with us, or …” jj beamed, pulling you in for a short hug, the hyperactive blonde nodding towards the water, cocking his head to the side as you shook your head.

“i don’t want to mess up my hair,” you whined, taking another sip of your juice as jj’s exaggerated sigh caused you to let out a breathy laugh around your paper straw.

“kie, she doesn’t want to get her hair wet!” jj announced with a playful roll of his eyes as your cousin approached the two of you, a face of annoyance wearing on her features, “woah, what’s wrong?” the blond asked, nudging kie’s chin with the side of his finger.

kiara huffed, before locking her eyes on you, “rafe is here,” she forced a smile, before swallowing thickly as she took a quick glance over her shoulder towards the opposite side of the beach.

you stomach sank as you followed her gaze, the sight of rafe walking out of his black pick-up truck causing you to freeze still. you ignored the small part of you that found excitement in the fact that he’d decided to find you, yet the sudden well of tears that glazed your vision proved otherwise. he’s the one that told you to leave, you didn’t do anything wrong.

blinking away your threatening tears, you adjusted the strings of your bikini to sit comfortably on your hips, “i don’t want to see him,” you mumbled, your eyes silently pleading with kiara’s as jj pressed an innocent kiss to the side of your head, before making his way into the water, avoiding any contact with rafe altogether.

“i’ll try to stall him, okay?” she shrugged, pacing backwards for a few steps before turning to walk towards rafe.

you locked over your supple lips, lowering your sunglasses to conceal your eyes as you watched kiara block rafe’s direct path to you. a small pang of guilt flashed in your chest as you watched him run his hands through his buzzed hair in frustration.

“kie, i don’t have the time for this shit right now, just let me see her,” rafe raised his hand, shaking his head as he walked around kiara, his knuckles swollen as he ran his hand over his face. an annoyed huff left his lips as kiara grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks with wide eyes.

“you told her to leave, don’t forget that,” kiara spat, snatching her hand away from his arm as she walked away from the taller man, hastily making her way towards jj who sat on his surfboard, carefully watching kiara’s interaction with rafe.

a silent cry hummed within you as rafe’s eyes met yours. your heartbeat quickening with each step that brought you and rafe closer. you’d become overwhelmed with anxiety as you suddenly found yourself spinning on your heels, walking away from rafe, and towards kiara.

“wait, baby, please, just-” rafe jogged up to you, softly grasping your arm as you turned to face him, sliding your arm away down his grasp as kept your head down, “c‘mon, mama, let me look at you, please,” he pleaded, bringing both of his hands to either side of your face, before softly lifting your sunglasses, revealing your reddened and damp eyes.

with a sniffle, you pulled away from rafe, “i don’t want to see you, right now,” you squeaked, taking a few steps backs from your flustered boyfriend.

“stop fuckin’ walking away from me!” rafe shouted, before grabbing your waist and holding you against his front, his chest heaving for a few breaths, before he let out a childlike sob, “m’sorry, princess, i just had a really bad fuckin’ day,” rambled, his tear-stained face tucked into your neck as you were quick to face him, a pout on your lips as you cradled his face in your hands.

“rafe,” you sighed, nudging his nose with the tip of yours, “que te pasa?”

wordlessly, rafe pulled you into his chest, his long arms wrapping around your waist as you both lightly swayed from side to side. you weren’t used to rafe being so emotionally vulnerable, he was usually the one who would calm you down from crying fits and panic attacks, so this was new territory for you. and, it broke your heart to pieces to watch your man break down in front of you.

“m’just waiting to fuck things up with us, i know m’gonna fuck up,” he ranted.

standing on the tips of your toes, you wrapped your arms around his tense neck, “no, papi, everything’s okay,” you cooed, pressing you lips to his cheek as you held him just a wee bit tighter, “let’s go home,” you kissed rafe’s lips, a pillowy soft kiss.

“let’s go home,” he mumbled, terrified that if he let go of you, you’d find a way to slip away from him.

and so, you’d found yourself coaxing rafe into a peaceful sleep, your nails scratching gently at his scalp as he laid between your legs, his face smushed against your stomach. the dangle of his chain tickling you as he shifted in his sleep. you could see the gnarly imprint of his knuckles impacting the wall, as his inflamed knuckles laid against your waist, the chill of your seamless shorts easing the dull throb of his hands.

“i love you, okay,” you whispered.

“i love you,” rafe mumbled into the skin of your stomach.

[pampushky]

ive been watching him for my entire life

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader - chapter 1 - 6.1k

TW: Scene of attempted SA, and the abuser never referred to by name. Sexism (but in the A/B/O sense). Self-harm and depressive episodes.

Themes: Exploration of what disabilities, PTSD, and chronic pain look like in the A/B/O world. If you have input about what that may look like, dm me. Slow burn. So much so you're not sure if it's even burning at times.

also yeah Loscar is canon it's my au I can do what I fucking want

Leave your feedback in the comments/feel free to dm me about that shit if you don't feel comfy dropping an anon or comment.

next part | masterlist | series masterlist

Mid January. 2024 Paris.

The hallway outside the trial room in the FIA headquarters is deceptively calm. Silent, save for the voices in the room behind you. You’d given your statement. Explained everything that had happened during your past two years at Williams, first with Nicholas Latifi, and then with Logan. Trying to do something with a car that was, in the kindest words, a tractor. Logan sits beside you, with a similar thousand-yard stare, just disassociating into space. Trying to trace the pattern of the carpet. 

“I should have been more— more perceptive,” Logan croaks, and you squeeze his hand, and shake your head. “Jesus. I— I tried to tell them everything. Everything I remembered from before–-”

“Thank you,” your voice is faint. Weak. Unlike you.

“Of course,” Logan squeezes your hand. You squeeze it back. “Always.”

You still remember the pit wall. Having to brush against his elbows occasionally. Knowing he did it on purpose some days, trying to provoke you. Going so far as to send you things coated in his scent when you were in heat, to try and provoke a bond sickness. Saved only by your brothers, curled close to you, letting you sleep in their arms as your fever raged. You were lucky your heats weren’t— weren’t consistently like that. More so just like a terrible fever and migraine, thanks to your medication. 

One pill to keep you from entering a real heat, morning. Two pills to help ease the brain fog from your head injury, morning and night. Another single pill to be taken whenever the pain gets too bad for you to function, any time of day. Anxiety medication, morning. Hormonal amplifiers to make up for the scent glands damaged by the fire all those years ago, morning and night. Scent blockers to mask your scent, morning. In total eight pills a day at your worst, perhaps nine.  

You croon nervously, despite knowing you’re safe here. That just inside the room behind you, past the heavy oak doors, are your grandfather and your uncles brothers. They’d never let anything happen to you. Not again. 

His elbow brushing against yours during the last lap of the race, encouraging Alex, despite his pace and his spot on the grid. Logan thanking you for being his engineer and friend during everything. You sit along the pit wall, silently, as celebrations rock the grid, and he appears in front of you, trying to make small talk, before following as you try to escape it, not wanting to talk to him, even as he looms behind you. His grip on the back of your neck, smothering the only bond you had, to Niki, to your pack. 

The near-toxic scent smothers you because of how close he is. Pushing you behind a stack of tires as you try to fight back, baring your teeth and thrashing while he manages to shove a need into your upper thigh, right through your pants. You yelp, and kick, trying to get any attention towards you, while most of the garage is empty. You feel him tearing at the collar of your shirt, ripping at it, pushing you into the tires. You bring your head into his nose, feeling the gush of blood against your face as he squeals and falls backward a few steps. 

You can’t smell anything besides his blood on your face, the metallic scent making you gag. When he turns to look at you, his face stained red, you growl, your lips drawn back over your teeth, trying to edge along the wall to get away from him. 

With a snarl, he leaps at you, pinning you to the wall, both hands wrapped around your neck, cutting off your airway. You thrash, and just as you think you’re going to pass out, the weight of his hands disappears from your neck. You stay where you are, leaning against the wall. Watching as Logan snarls furiously, pinning the other Alpha to the ground with ease, his long canines bared and coming close to the man’s neck, threatening to tear and rip and end whatever pathetic life he lived—

“I should have done more,” Logan leans down, his head in his hands. 

“You almost killed him,” you whisper, and that seems to startle the driver even more. “You almost killed him. I think that’s enough.”

The two of you sit in silence until Logan’s lawyer and his manager leave the room, closing the door softly behind them. For the brief moment that the doors are open, you hear him screaming his voice hoarse as the judgment comes ever closer. 

“The FIA won’t be pressing any charges,” The lawyer says softly while Logan continues to keep his head down. “Neither will—”

“Don’t say his name,” Logan looks up, interrupting the lawyer before he can even say something. There’s a fire in his words, a rare fury. “Don’t. I don’t— she doesn’t—”

“I apologize, I forgot about that.” The lawyer says, glancing over to look at you. You look presentable now. Nothing like the blurry images the paparazzi had gotten of you without any of your makeup to hide all the burns. Your skin looks more even, the uneven bumps and indents from the mottled scarring across your jaw partially hidden by concealer and foundation. The scars get more severe as they cross your upper cheek and the top of your nose. That’s the only part that’s harder to hide, even when you’ve covered it fully in makeup. 

“It’s time to go, Logan,” 

He looks at you with uncharacteristic panic. He’s the opposite of most alpha stereotypes. You’re glad Oscar’s found his way back to him, and that you’ve gotten to witness the sweet courtship start. He pulls you into a tight hug, and that’s when you finally crumble.

“You’re gonna be okay without me,” You whisper, voice shaking. “You’re gonna be fucking fantastic, Lo.”

“I’m so sorry,” Is all he can murmur, practically folding over you and holding you closer. “Maybe if I—”

“It’s okay. I’ll still be on the grid.”

“But it won’t be the same,”

“No. It won’t,” You choke out, as Logan pulls away. Both of you newly aged by the experience. You won’t be there to defend Logan from James. Logan won’t be there to understand the odd homesickness for a country you only partially remember, stuck between European and American. 

You feel small as Logan is led away by his manager and lawyer. His scent fading as the seconds turn to minutes, and then suddenly an hour has passed. Leaving you alone in the hallway until your brothers can get there. By the time they do arrive (two hours later), you’ve been chewing on your fingers and palms enough to make them bleed. Mathias and Lukas know you well enough to have already brought bandages and towels to help clean and treat the new wounds. Before this, you’d not been chewing or clawing at yourself for nearly a year and a half. Your therapist had looked devastated when you’d turned in the little chip she’d given you for not self-harming. 

There’s screaming from inside the room, before Niki bursts out, snarling a remark over his shoulder before he catches your eye, and softens. Your sire, despite his age, despite the fact that he has been told by his doctor many times that he needs to calm down, to be kinder to his aging body and new kidney, despite everything that should be holding him back, bends to knock his forehead against yours. One of his hands comes to the nape of your neck, softly rubbing the paternal bond he’d left there, claiming you as his child rather than a descendant. 

“Maus,” The feel of his scarred hands is familiar, comforting. His scent is even more so. Like spruce trees and slightly burnt sugar. Looking at you with red-rimmed irises that show his designation, his secondary sex, while he looms over you protectively. He sees the new bandages around your hands and the new bulkiness of your sleeves. 

“Oh, Maus…” Niki leans down, and croons 

If he wasn’t in active recovery from the kidney transplant, he’d likely be curling around you in his wolf form, just as he had done when you were little and first placed in his care after—

“You’re safe here. You’re safe.” 

It’s moments like this that you’re glad that your sense of smell was so destroyed after the fire. You’re grateful that you could only catch the faint scent of those within a small area around you. Because all you can smell is your father, your sire, who would burn the world down for you if it meant making you smile. That Mathias and Lukas— your brothers, not uncles, never uncles, too close to be considered just uncles to you— mark a silent guard beside you, Lukas in canine form, letting you hide your face in his dusty blond-brown fur. Mathias stands silently beside you, but with his hand held tightly in yours.

Memories of your first moments with them. The terror. Sleeping in the pillow forts and nests you’d built up until this very point in time. Always your guardians. Always by your side. In the hospital and beyond. 

You’re chewing on your thumbnail, claw extended, and Niki looks at you with a worried gaze, before softly reaching over and squeezing your shoulder.

The door opens again, and you hear shouting in a voice that haunted your dreams from within the room and then more of it, very quickly coming in your direction. Not the exit that you’d been told he would be made to use when the judgment was finally placed. 

You can just barely catch a whiff of the scent— overpowering and choking you as you tried to work, tried to examine all of the strategies that could help Logan succeed in last year’s car while the scent makes it hard to think, to breathe— before it’s nearly upon you entirely, with the Alpha who had made your past two years with Williams utter hell staring down at you, enraged, trying to push past your brothers to get to you, snarling and snapping at you as Niki shoves you forcefully behind him. 

“Tell them— tell them you accepted my courtship! You wanted this—”

Two officials start to drag him away. But you can still remember his scent. How weak he’d made you feel when you were trying to work on the car. Hating how he had purred and crooned with your every movement. Making sure you were always choking on his scent. Lukas rumbles in anger beside you, rising to stare down the man, hiding you from further view with his giant body. But of course he continues. 

“You accepted my gifts! You wanted this—”

No. You hadn’t wanted any of this. You’d just wanted to work on the cars. To help your friend grow and achieve. 

“As if anyone else would have you—”

Mathias snarls, and you can only pray that your grip on his hand is enough to stop him from lunging at the offending man.

“— you useless, crippled omega—”

Niki lunges this time, snarling, the old man’s frankly colossal canine form pining him to the ground with ease. Your sire's teeth just millimeters from tearing his throat out, stopped only by your panicked whine. Such a rare noise from you. You won’t have those you care about kill this man, this weak excuse for an Alpha. You don’t want to think of the heavy scent of his blood when you’re near them, seeking comfort from your family.

“Get him out of my sight,” Niki groans, when just a second later, court officers charge from the room. His canine form melts away, and he huffs, sitting down in one of the stiff chairs with a wince that you are hyper-aware of. Mathias looks at you with deep worry in his eyes. But you’re numb. Watching him get dragged away. Your thigh twinges from where he’d stabbed you with the needle. Part of it had broken off inside of you, removed at the hospital while the FIA officials tried to smooth things over. 

It twinges again when the verdict is read as you’re gently shuffled back into the room. He’s not allowed back in. It’s been shown he can’t control himself. 

“—Guilty on all counts, and shall be henceforth blacklisted from employment by all motorsports under the jurisdiction of the FIA. Omega Lauda shall be awarded a sum off—”

All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears as you hold your arms tightly. Claws slowly sinking into the fresh bandages and redoing all the damage your brothers had worked so hard to fix.

Early February 2024. Woking. 

Lando knows he’s a big deal. He’s one of the most popular drivers, with a rabid fanbase that was willing to go to bat for him for just about anything, even when he was the one at fault. Edits were made when he so much as breathed. All that he doesn’t have is that elusive first win, but he has a feeling this season will be different. Be it how refreshed he feels after spending some time back in his childhood home with his parents and siblings, just to spend time as a pack for the first time in several years, all six of them together. 

His family is perfect. An alpha and omega set of parents, with two alphas and two omegas for pups, all rather successful. His brother, a former world champion in kart racing, now with a loving mate and the cutest pup in the world. His sister, a showjumper quickly rising through the ranks. All successful and perfect and beautiful. Lando can’t help but puff his chest out a bit, because that’s his pack. 

There’s an odd buzz in the air when he arrives, and through the giant glass windows, he can see how many people are gathered in the building, all wearing bright orange. As he comes closer, the overflowed parking has been filled. He parks his car in his specific spot, right next to Oscar, who’s already there, just not by his car. He’s just about ready to head to the on-site cafe when Andrea pops out of nowhere to drag him by his arm somewhere, cursing slightly.

“Mate— what’s got you in such a mood—” Lando whines, already feeling like the team principal is doing way too much this early in the morning. 

“Did you not read any of your emails or texts?” Andrea hisses, the Beta turning on his heels to grab Lando by both his shoulders, looking straight into the young driver’s eyes with a fury only seen when he’d been messing around in the garage and nearly broke the experimental back wing during testing in the summer. “Lando Norris, I could gut you right now—”

“What did I do?” Lando whines again, high-pitched and childish, and Andrea runs his hands down his face, cursing fluently in Italian, while also asking the Virgin Mary for patience, based on how many times he hears a hail mary tumble past the team principal’s lips. 

“You’re late. An hour late. Oscar, Zak, and I have been calling you for nearly that entire time and you’ve been silent.”

“...Late for what?” Lando utters. His phone had been dead, constantly forgotten to get plugged into the charger. Today had been no different. 

“O Maria, dammi la pazienza e la forza— your new race engineer is being introduced? Today?”

“What?! But I don’t even know who he is—”

“It’s a she, first of all, and maybe you’d know if you checked your emails—”

The conversation must be attracting attention, because soon, Oscar is also by his side, looking mildly disappointed in the older man. The omega’s scent has just the hint of rotting oranges, but other than that, it’s normal, like seasoned salt, charcoal, and oranges. 

“Wonderful first impression, really. She’s already thrilled to not have gotten to talk to you yet,” Oscar chimes in, and Lando groans, sending a withering glare in his direction that just bounces off of the Australian. “Now you just get to improvise your way through a panel about how excited you are to be working with her.”

“I don’t even know who she is!” Lando finally barks, his scent turning a bit panicked. It’s like a thunderstorm and a hot, dry heat, smelling how burnt food tastes.

“Mate, you’re fucking kidding me—,” Oscar starts, only to be interrupted by a polite cough behind Lando. 

“She is right behind you, Mr. Norris,” The voice is monotone. Icy. Damn near robotic. And he knows it immediately because you’re the current star of most engineering circles around the grid and the damn talk of every single person they’d interviewed to replace Will when it became clear Lando needed a change. You’d managed to pull decency and consistent points into Williams of all teams. It baffles him, honestly. How you’d managed that, he has no idea, but he assumes it’s through pure spite and fury.

You’re styled elegantly, with a tailored set of pleated, pale gray slacks and a cozy-looking, chunky knit black sweater, tucked into the top of your pants. Black dress shoes. Somehow, the slacks don’t even look bulky, cinching high on your waist, and it’s flattering how slimming the entire outfit is, despite all the known laws of fashion saying that this shouldn’t be such a flattering look. The neck of the sweater is in a mock style, clearly giving the statement of a private individual, hiding any possible claiming bonds. Your hair is in a perfectly messy but neat braid down your back, with two long pieces pulled from the top to slightly frame your face. 

So plain. But elegant.

Everything about you sets Lando off a bit. And he doesn’t know why. But you just tilt your head at him. As if he’s some puzzle for you to fix. It doesn’t help that he can’t get even a trace of your scent. Only the sterile odor that came with cleaning supplies and medicine. Almost like you’re on heavy medications or that you sleep in a hospital. It unnerves him. Lando’s heard a few rumors that you’re an alpha, and that you simply want to smell that way so as to not be assigned a certain stereotype or intimidate anyone.

After all, word on the grid was you left Williams because of how they’d handled the situation between the other race engineer and the anonymous omega colleague who’d been assaulted. 

So you at least had morals. 

“Oscar had mentioned you were…. A bit lax.” You murmur, icy eyes flicking up and down his form, your tone impassive and your stance closed off. “I hadn’t imagined you would be this bad, though.” 

“I’m actually quite good, normally.” 

“About checking your email and phone? Or should I put a tracker on you?” 

“Hilarious.” 

“I’m aware I am.” You say so dryly, so bluntly, that Lando feels one of his eyes twitch as a stylist manages to help pull him together to look somewhat presentable using the wardrobes saved. You just talk softly with Oscar the entire time, a fond look in your eyes as you talk to the Omega driver. 

Right. Logan. Oscar. You’d been Logan’s engineer before. You’d probably gotten to know Oscar through that. When Lando’s finally presentable enough, the stylist makes a final adjustment to your outfit by quickly weaving an orange ribbon around the end of your braid. 

“...I will not be wearing this when I am working,” you examine the ribbon, frowning. “You’re lucky to have me in this now.”

“What, don’t like papaya?”

“No. Red is better.” You just murmur, still frowning at the ribbon, before letting it go. “Vati won in red. All three times.”

“Well, change is inevitable,” Lando fakes a sigh, and this makes you scowl. “I like the orange better, anyway.”

“You’ve yet to win, anyway,” You dismiss his comment with a simple wave of your hand, and go to follow Zak out onto the stage, leaving Lando a bit baffled. Oscar just snickers, patting him on the back and leaving the Brit scrambling to follow the both of you. 

The press conference goes immaculately. You’re the darling of the media, who seem to love how dry you are with every single answer. Just like Niki had been, even when you border on insulting most of the journalists asking the question. You look about ready to choke yourself with the wire of the microphone in front of you when someone asks you your opinion on Rush. 

“She thinks McLaren looked better in red,” Lando grins, looking at you with a mischievous grin. 

“McLaren had more wins in red.” You say bluntly, causing laughter to erupt. Lando’s ears turn pink. “We shall see if that is to change.”

He’s quiet for the rest of the press conference, until…

“Any statement on why you left Williams?”

You go rigid. Just for a second. And from where you sit beside him, Lando catches just the tiniest scent of anxiety on you, under all the sterile, medicinal odor that permeates the air around you. 

“....I thought that was obvious,” You mumble into the mic, before clearing your throat. “I, ah, don’t take kindly to anyone— especially someone who was considered my partner— trying to take advantage of someone. So.” 

There’s a tremor to your voice, barely detectable. And under the table, you’re squeezing your knee. Your hand shakes as the question repeats in your mind. Any statement on why you left Williams? The crowd is suddenly not safe. As he looks at you from every face, every set of eyes now staring at you, even when you know he’s not there. There’d been heightened security, Andrea and Zak had promised that. Oscar was here, already with a nest in his private suite at the factory, prepared for you to crash in when the press conference was over. You try to speak, to play the part of the stoic Alpha the grid has assigned to you, but your tongue is dry in your mouth. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement in the back of the crowd. Your hindbrain croons, and you feel yourself fighting off the urge to turn canine, to simply burst from the stage and run towards where you know is safe. He’s not there, Zak promised. He will never be anywhere near you again. 

You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe—

“What a stupid fucking question,” Lando blurts out, a snarl in his voice. “It’s obvious why she left. She has morals and doesn’t tolerate that kind of shit. Ask a proper question or fuck off,” 

Zak calls an end to the press conference quickly after, and you make your way off stage quickly, retching into a trashcan the moment you’re hidden from the cameras and watching eyes. Oscar is beside you, stroking your back, trying to comfort you, as he had that first night, curled beside you in your own nest while Logan sits on guard at the entrance to the room. Making sure that he won’t be there to find you. Even when he is being held by the FIA and local authorities for investigation, and Niki is already on a private jet to make sure you’re okay. You’re not in the hotel room in the UAE, you’re in Woking. 

“Fucking stupid twats,” Lando spits, as he walks off stage, and nearly misses the fact that you’re puking. It’s almost comical how he does a double take, and scrambles over to you. “Shit, are you good?”

“No,” you say dryly, head still in the trash can. “But— thank you, for your defense.” 

“Yeah— I— I’m assuming you knew, the omega. The one affected, I mean.” Lando babbles, and it dawns on you briefly that Lando doesn’t know. 

The only people who do know are just Zak and Andrea— it’d been a big part of the negotiations around you being hired— and of course, Oscar, who you’d called the first night after presenting. You’re partially thankful for that, because then it means that even fewer know your designation. He really hadn’t checked any of his emails. 

“You could say that.” You mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Oscar’s partially frozen, until he just continues to comfort you, wordlessly understanding that you don’t want to tell Lando. “We— we were close.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Please pass the message on that what they experienced— fuck, man, it’s fucking inexcusable—” Lando runs a hand through his curls, clearly stressed by the entire incident that had just happened at the press conference. So you keep your mouth shut, and clap him on the shoulder. Trying to act like the Beta or Alpha he thinks you are. 

“Enough about that. They’re— they got rewarded enough money to retire. They’re doing fine. Good therapist. Good house. Service dog to keep them safe.”

Your voice sounds so empty, but it’s not a lie. You’d been given enough money to quit nearly three times over. And you’d used it to start the search for a service dog that could help you with deep pressure therapy and watch your back in the garage. You’d needed a new one anyway, after your old dog had to be retired around a year ago. You’d needed one, doctor’s orders, to help you with you nearly-destroyed sense of smell, and the fact that you’re now deaf in one ear. 

“That’s—that’s good, at least,” Lando mumbles, but he doesn’t look convinced. 

An awkward silence stretches between you and the driver for what feels like hours, but is likely only seconds. He’s unconvinced. You know it. Oscar knows it. But frankly, Lando seemed to understand that questioning you right now is the least of his concerns. 

“What about a tour of the factory?” Oscar buts in, killing the silence just when you feel like you have to say something. Always the peacekeeper. Always the savior. “It could— could give you time to get to know each other.”

“No time for that, unfortunately,” Zak interrupts softly, uncharacteristic of his normal behavior. He refrains from touching you at all. Which you can’t help but be thankful for— already so different from Williams, and the disconnected behavior of the board. 

Had he heard the conversation? Did he understand what you were trying to pass off to Lando, at least for the time being? A glance in his direction as you brush yourself off reveals nothing. 

“Time for… a quick meeting. Just to get to know everyone better.” 

“I want to be there,” Oscar looks at the CEO, just as Andrea rejoins the group, looking a bit exhausted, after dealing with what would likely be a bit of a PR issue. 

“You were going to anyway.” Andrea sighs, rubbing his temple. “Shall we?” And you're whisked into a spacious conference room, decorated with the portraits of champions and drivers all around you.

McLaren is…. Interesting. Leagues different from Williams, as you’ve come to realize. It seems that every step further into the orange-hued team leads you further to this conclusion. It’s mostly discussions of the next month’s schedule, as it heads into the new year of testing before the season starts. You look at the calendar, making notes varying from calling Lando to be sure he’s awake at least two hours before anything starts, to avoid any issue like today happening, to then buying a mini fridge for your office to keep your food. 

“And about this morning,” Lando says bashfully, smiling at you in a way that shows he’s used to getting away with things like that, “Won’t happen again. My phone was dead, and—”

“Correct, it won’t happen again.” You say bluntly, and look at him over your laptop, before closing it. Inadvertently, your claws come out, and you start to pick at the edge of the table. An old nervous tick you've never gotten rid of. “It was unacceptable, and shows a severe lack of discipline on your part.” 

The table goes silent. Oscar is clearly trying not to laugh. Andrea and Zak look surprised by your chilly tone. 

“I mean, I suppose,” Lando says, frowning a bit at how blunt you are. 

“There is no ‘I suppose’, there is the truth.” You lean forward over the table to look at him. “Do you want to be a world champion, Lando Norris?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then start acting like it. You’re not the youngest on the grid anymore.” Your claw scratches against the edge of the table again, leaving a faint mark. “I’ll talk to your trainer after this. You’re going to do extra conditioning for every tardy arrival to a meeting, practice, whatever, starting with this morning.”

“That seems a bit much,” Andrea starts, but Zak lets out a low whistle. Almost impressed. 

“You’re treating him like a football coach would.”

“I’m treating him as he should be. He is an athlete. He represents a team. Such actions can reflect poorly.”

“It was one time!” Lando protests.

“Was it?” You challenge, raising an eyebrow. Lando has to stop himself from growling, reminding himself he must be civil. “Was it just a one-time occurrence last season, Andrea?”

Lando bites his lower lip. You’re much stricter than Will had ever been. Andrea just holds up his hands, looking back at him with an apologetic gaze while you prompt him to answer. 

“I admit… things have been a bit relaxed as of late,” The team principal scratches the back of his head, and you make a little tutting noise, before turning to look at Lando again. 

“Then we’re fixing it.” 

A long pause settles. And you start again.

“I do have… issues, with the way you run things here,” you scratch your claw into the wood of the table, a low rumble in your throat. The scent blockers you have on are distracting to Lando. He wonders, briefly, what your scent is like when it’s not so medicinal. “You need more discipline. Less media. It makes you seem… soft.”

“Soft?” Lando leans forward, tilting his head. You look back at him with your constantly blank stare, a slight frown on your lips, and icy eyes that challenge even the famous death stare of your sire. “What do you mean?”

You hesitate, looking to Zak and Andrea, who both gesture for you to continue. You then look at Oscar, who bites his lip and makes eye contact with you, and shrugs softly, as if permitting you to say what you were going to say.

“....you will take offense to what I’m about to say, I’m warning you.”

“Please, I’ll be fine,” Lando waves it off, grinning lazily. His nose twitches. The medicinal smell of your scent blockers is getting to him. Do you truly need to cover your scent that much? Are you worried that he’ll act aggressively because you’re also an Alpha?

“.... no. You won’t. I’ve seen your interviews.” You say dryly, and fold your arms. Lando balks. 

“I beg you pardon?”

“You don’t take criticism well.”

“I take it just fine!” Lando shoots back, feeling himself starting to get frustrated. Why did you have to wear them? Even if you are an Alpha, the medication provided by the FIA should be more than enough to keep anyone’s tempers from flaring.

“Then you won’t throw a hissyfit when I list out all my problems with the way you work?” 

Your tone is icy. Even. Perfectly calculated. 

“Oh, you know I want to hear about your issues with me,” Lando slams his hands down onto the table, and you just raise an eyebrow at him. He’s down to his undershirt, his fireproofs hanging at his waist as you stare at him. “So say it! Don’t hold back!”

Andrea just massages his temples as Zak looks like he wants to be anywhere else. 

“Only if you don’t throw a tantrum when I’m right.” You state, examining your nails from where you sit, as though this is boring for you. Monotonous and icily calm. 

Lando hates your voice. Specifically how robotic and monotone it sounds. What little he knows about you— which is as much as the rest of the world, with how private the Lauda family is— is that you apparently have some vocal chord and brain damage. Nothing substantial enough to impede your thought process or speaking to make you mute, but enough to have caused the monotonous way you speak. A small enough problem that Lando doesn’t feel like a total dick for what he’s about to say.

“Oh, just fucking say it, you robotic bitch!”

That gets your attention. You pause, slowly bring your hand down, and look at him. With that classic, terrifying Lauda glare. Your eyes pierce his soul, and for a second, just a second, Lando considers apologizing. Tucking his tail between his legs, his ears folded back. But then, he remembers who he is, and he meets your glare with his own, lips drawn back to bare his teeth. 

“Fine then.”

You push yourself up easily, and stand, looking down at him. 

“Firstly, you are incredibly arrogant. You take risks without properly considering the chances of failure. Whenever you do inevitably end up in a lower place than your high-and-mighty ass thinks you deserve, you then take it out on everyone but yourself, when it’s solely your own decisions getting you there.”

You take a deep breath in, and he can hear the rattle of it in your throat as you start to walk around the table towards him as if you’re stalking your prey. Glaring all the while. Eyes glowing in the light. Andrea has his head in his hands behind you.

“Furthermore, you’ve yet to win a single race. Just one. You are not a world champion because you’re a fan favorite and show extreme promise. Everyone is here because they showed promise at one point or another. You’re a brat of a driver with an ego boosted by all of the people who want to get into your pants and the fact that these fuckers,” You snarl when you whip your hand out to point to Zak and Andrea, who at least have the decency to look a bit ashamed, “…don’t discipline you enough.”

And then you stop, and pull him up by the collar so fast that he gets whiplash, looking you right in your eyes, and can see the angry, mottled skin of severe scarring just hidden under the concealer on your face. Zak still seems to be reeling from the comment you made about how soft they are on Lando, and the way that you’re bristling for a fight.

“Thirdly. You’re a fucking jackass who’s mad someone got called over here to stop your ass from having another hissyfit while being interviewed. I hope the food from the races this year gives you explosive diarrhea from all the spices.”

With that, you let go of his collar and storm out of the room, screaming in German the entire way out, while slamming the door behind you.

Andrea only groans, looking at Lando from between his fingers, while Zak has his head against the table. Oscar has his hands tightly threaded in his hair. But then you come storming back in, with something in your hand. Lando just barely manages to swat it out of the way, and listens to it hit the ground, sounding like an empty can.

And you throw your hands in the air. “Oh, so you can react when a Red Bull is suddenly coming at you! Now do it with the fucking car, dipshit!”

Lando feels his eye twitch once. Twice. And then he’s throwing the crinkled can right back at you, the two of you screaming at each other in two separate languages while Andrea pushes himself between you two, with Zak trying his best to mediate the situation. Oscar looks like he would rather be anywhere else than between the two of you, eyes straight to the center of the table when you’re both finally separated. His scent is sour and awkward. Lando’s smells of burnt rubber. Your teeth are still bared, scent hidden. And that somehow makes Lando angrier.

“Never insult my voice again,” You hiss at Lando, eyes burning as the Brit sits in the chair while you stay standing. Oscar is holding tightly to his shoulder, the omega’s fingers digging into his skin. “I’ll gut you like a fucking fish if you do.” 

The faintest trace of an American accent makes Lando’s head spin, as he watches you leave, stalking out of the room. And Zak looks at Lando, jaw hanging loose. “Uh. I think… I think we need a five-minute break.” Zak mumbles, looking a bit disturbed, before leaving to go talk to you. Lando just stands there, feeling his anger fade as Oscar slowly approaches him. Andrea has gone after Zak.

"Mate," The omega's voice trembles, with shock or rage, he isn't entirely sure which one, "What the fuck?"

tags: @the-holy-trinity-l @laura-naruto-fan1998 @amalialeclerc @st0rmzi3

[pedge-page]

Baby Sarah and Joel playing tug of war over the tv remote has to be the funniest thing ever , Joel watching tv one night and the remote is resting on the coffee table and the channel randomly changes and he turns to see Sarah just pressing buttons then joel immediately takes it to change the channel back and the brat fusses and tries slapping Joel’s hands and biting even having to get reader involved in the mix

Joel Dealing with Sarah: Theatrics

warnings: none :)

- - - -

Joel is fucking exhausted. Yeah he says that a lot, but damnit, that’s what happens when you have a pregnant monster for 9 months and then a whole ass baby monster for the next year!

You had gone to bed right after dinner with little Sarah. There may have been a debacle about Joel buying the wrong flavor of chocolate chip cookies despite you specifically saying regular chocolate chip earlier. He grabbed the raisins by mistake, and now he’s condemned to the couch (for the next hour or so till you’re out cold and won’t remember whether he was in bed with you or not).

It works out, though. He sighs heavily, propping  one foot then the other over the coffee table with his cup of decaffeinated tea. The house is quiet for once. He gets alone time for once. 

Scrolling through the saved tapes on the DVR, he finally finds the last home renovation episodes he’s missed these past few weeks. He chucks the remote somewhere, sits back, and turns his brain off for some quality Joel time.

The poorly acting woman goes on about the gorgeously boring white paint they’re gonna splash over the entire kitchen when suddenly the Jigsaw puppet creepy thing jumps on the screen and nearly sends Joel over the couch with a heart attack.

He looks around for the damn remote he must have nudged with his thigh when he spots his diapered one year old sitting upright next to him, the remote the size of her entire arm sitting in her lap with both hands on the bottoms. 

“Jesus—fuck kid. Where did you come from???” He whispers, looking around wondering if you put her here mysteriously without being noticed.

Sarah smiles with her gummy mouth like she’s not at all disturbed by the contents of the TV.

“Aight kid, gimme the remote, it’s not a toy—“ as he reaches for the devices, she yanks it back furthest away from him.

“Hey! Listen to me right now—“ he leans further, his arm outstretched in front—when she clamps down with her little gums.

“AY! SARAH! NO bitting!” He grits his teeth and reaches again but Sarah whines and slaps his bitten hand repeatedly with the remote. He manages to push a button, but she snatches it right back and hits another. The TV flashes between channels, volumes and mute, and different inputs like its having seizure as Joel and Sarah loudly grunt and whine at each other, tugging it back and forth.

Joel’s partially amazed at the incredible gripper strength she has on the remote, refusing the let it part from her tiny fingers that are latched on law claws. That, and the fact that she’s pulling enough strength that he isn’t sending her flying over his shoulder is making him wonder what kind of muscle milk you must be feeding her.

“Let GO!” He shouts, his arm straining with one hand on the remote, but she puts that big back in it and is yanking back towards her way with both of her baby paws tightly secured around its middle.

The TV is at full volume now, as are their angry growling at one another. So much that neither of them realize you had gotten up and were standing right behind the couch, rubbing your eyes viciously at the scene.

“WHAT—“

Joel and Sarah stop and turn, frightened by mom-zilla, who’s at her worst when she’s prematurely awaken. 

“IS. GOING. ON.”

Joel opens his mouth, ready to get the little brat in trouble and have a shout when sneaky little Sarah immediately lets go of the remote and launches herself back, crying loudly. She makes heavy eye contact with you through tears and her pained wailing while rubbing her chunky arm, squeezing her little lids shut so that the tears fall fat across her puffy cheeks. All while Joel’s got the remote tightly gripped in his hand.

“Joel!” You rush to pick up your baby and cradle her to your chest, which she totally nuzzles into.

“I didn’t do anything!” He shouts incredulously, and perhaps a little too off tone because there’s no way you didn’t see her just fake her injury by pretending he hit her. “She’s faking it! You saw!”

On cue, Sarah screams harder into your shoulder, huffing up and down like she can’t catch her breath. 

You wave your hand over to shush him. then you point to the couch. “Rest of the week. You. here.” 

He bites his tongue hard as the two of you walk back to your bedroom. He catches the minx give a little glance back over your shoulder with a toothless grin. 

If he could wring that child, he would. But he knows he’s gotta wait before he can start cooking her for real.

The theatrics of Sarah Miller are strong enough to rival your own.

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow

[delusional-fantasising]

I Do Love You P2 (Soldier Boy x GN reader)

Okay this originally wasn't supposed to have a part 2 so it's may seem a bit clunky. The first part was just supposed to be how I see Soldier Boy's healing process and how it should go if he were to get a new love interest since I don't believe he would be able to move on from his traumas. I wrote something that I'm not the most proud of but if I wrote it the way I do want and envision I would have to write a multi chapter fanfic. Something I don't got the motivation to do since I am writing a few at the same time for other fandoms.

Summary: Reader tells him 'I love you' weeks ago and after a therapy session he decides to make the first few steps to overcome his trauma

Warnings: Mentioning of trauma, PTSD, clunky writing, and a different view on Soldier Boy (More vulnerable and softer version)

Word Count: 1181

________________________________________

“Benjamin, I want you to explain how you feel this way. Explain what happens.”

Soldier Boy was quiet as he tried thinking of all the feelings coursed through his brain when you told him ‘I love you’

His therapist was trying to help him find solutions to cope with his trauma of the betrayal that led to 40 years of torture. The supe was lying on his back staring up at the ceiling, a calculated stare that was emotionally distant. It’s been a month since the incident.

“I just feel… overwhelmed like when I’m going to have an episode. I- this is stupid,” He said as he got up and grabbed his coat, his therapist asked, “Do you love them too or is this a way of you avoiding your problems? If you do this you may distance yourself to try helping them but you will hurt them if you try pushing them away.”

Soldier Boy froze, his hand hovering above the door knob. Close enough to leaving but he remembered how much The Boys were making him go to therapy to cope with trauma in ‘healthy’ ways instead of just getting stoned all the time.

“Just after Crimson Countess, after her I don’t feel safe in a romantic space anymore…” He muttered, lowering his hand turning away from the door. Forcing himself to look in the eyes of the therapist. They questioned as they scribes notes about how Soldier Boy felt, “If you are so scared of loving or being loved why are you dating then? Do you think it’s a good idea leading someone on if you don’t love them?”

“No! It’s not that I don’t l-l0- you know the L-word. It’s just that what if they betray me like-”

“But they aren’t Crimson Countess though. Why not give them the benefit of the doubt, let them in. Talking about how you feel to loved ones helps many people,” His therapist spoke calmly, making him think of the possibility of opening up to you but he didn’t like being vulnerable not again. But he had to remind himself that you are your own person, you are nothing like Crimson Countess.

…

You were baking a surprise for Soldier Boy as a way to apologise for triggering him, you felt like you crossed one of his boundaries with the whole ‘I love you’ incident. Remembering how much he complains that the Apple Pecan pies today are too sweet and back in his day they tasted amazing, you did some research and found a recipe that was made around the time he was a teenager. The pie was almost down, you were squatting down in front of the oven watching through the window at the rising pie. The smell filling the air, making your stomach twist and growl. It was that strong urge to take the first slice made you feel guilty to want to indulge. Self control…

Soldier Boy entered the base not expecting the sweet smell of pie, freshly baked and he had stopped by a small flower shop to get a few of your favourite flowers while rehearsing a phrase over and over again in his head for you. His therapist told him that if he wants to show you how much he cares and likes you romantically he can’t be avoiding the 3 big words. He entered the kitchen and he froze when he saw you. You were sitting on your haunches staring at the pie slowly yet eventually rising like how he used to when he was younger before all the trauma. The immature unbridled joy in your eyes as you still haven’t notice him watching you till he let out a cough into his fist.

“OH!” You yelped as you spun around to face him, you start rambling and going on but he wasn’t paying attention he was in his own world. The world where he spent time just staring at every small feature like it was going to be the last time he will ever see you. His gaze unusually soft and he knew that this was no longer time to be stuck in the past but explore whatever the present and future throws at him because you were never anything like Countess.

“I just want to say what I said awhile back was going over a boundary and I am sorry. I understand if you hate me-”

“I don’t hate you though,” He stated abruptly as he knew what he had to do, he walked over. The sound of the plastic covering on the flowers crinkled as he tightened his grip. He never wanted you to hate him, ever since what happened to him he became more aware that if he gives a person a reason they will abandon him or stab him in the back.

Paranoia and the muscle tension going taut coming it’s to the peak till acceptance came over.

“Benjamin I just know that I want too far though and you probably felt rushed at the time. I understand what she did to you and I know that you are still struggling with that trauma,” You rambled, fidgeting with your fingers and your eyes dropping to your floor. He set the flowers onto the counter, grabbing your hands standing close to you. “It’s alright, I just want you to listen to what I need to say. Please…”

You went quiet to listen whatever he needed to say. The look of vulnerability peaking through, something rare that he has never done in awhile ever since an altercation with his son before the death of his only son.

“I know I can be an asshole. I know that I say shit that may hurt you or my actions hurt you but I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t mean to come off that way when you told me what you did… but I don’t hate you. It’s hard for me to love you but I do, I do love you but I need time. I need time to go slow,” Soldier Boy blurted out as his voice quivered when he admitted his feelings for once as if finally coming to terms. His eyes refusing to meet yours for the whole confession till the silence hung in the room for a painfully long time.

The silence was cut by the egg timer.

…

Soldier Boy is a man of his word…

-

Most of the time.

Billy and Hughie came back from a tiring mission, Hughie smelled pie and followed the scent. The kitchen was playing some old tunes from the 1940’s, he stands and pauses in the doorway wondering if he should just come back later.

Soldier Boy had his arm wrapped around your waist and his lips pressed against your forehead, slow dancing with you in the middle of the kitchen while the pie was cooling from being taken out of the over a few minutes ago. The soft swaying and him talking to you lovingly like how couples in old movies spoke to each other.

In love.

______________________________

@spnfamily-j2 @red22wolf

[mythserene]

Call him “Epstein” – How far is Mark Lewisohn willing to go to force a false narrative?

 “I don’t care what you think of Klein, call Klein something else. Call him ‘Epstein’ for now, and just consider the fact that three of us chose ‘Epstein.’”

John Lennon to Jann Wenner, Rolling Stone, May 14, 1970 

I keep asking “Why do you want me to believe John —(or George or Paul or or or)—said this?” And I keep asking because that is the question that keeps coming out of my mind, my mouth, and my keyboard.

It's the obvious question. (Spoiler: audio below of Lewisohn answering it for this quote.)

When you’re going to so much trouble to quote shop and quote twist, you have a purpose that you are torturing all these words to back up. You are trying to prove a point and there’s no real quote to support your position, so instead of changing your position, you act like Beatles’ words are appetizers in a buffet.

THREE OF US CHOSE EPSTEIN.

This premeditated and purposeful OBSCENITY has been sitting there for ten years. Two ladies with a podcast found it.

However, John remembered Paul’s attitude to Brian being very different. John was always emphatic that Paul didn’t want Brian as the Beatles’ manager and presented obstacles to destabilize him, to make his job difficult … like turning up late for meetings. “Three of us chose Epstein. Paul used to sulk and God knows what … [Paul] wasn’t that keen [on Brian]—he’s more conservative, the way he approaches things. He even says that: it’s nothing he denies.”(72)

I will never—NEVER— get over this one. There may be more shocking things to come, but it was this revelation that made me look at every one of Mark Lewisohn’s “author interviews” differently.

This is when I realized that there is nothing I would put past him.

Listening to that part of Episode 7 is so funny to me now. Daphne and Phoebe kept trying to stick to the outline and ask “Does this quote back up Lewisohn’s thesis?” but it was very difficult because they were in such total disbelief at Mark Lewisohn’s deception. (My label, although it’s a pretty inarguable one.) It is genuinely almost unbelievably dishonest. AKOM had a whole show filled with whoppers to get through, and they kept trying, but it took them awhile to move on because air-quotes-Epstein was like a magnet that kept pulling them back. So yesterday, to get out of editing some of my own mess, I put together a few of the times that the shock sucked them back in.

“I find that kind of shocking, really.” Tiny compilation of Phoebe and Daphne in disbelief over Mark Lewisohn’s purposeful misrepresentation of a quote of John Lennon talking about Allen Klein to attempt to show that John thought Paul was trying to thwart Brian Epstein. (Episode 7)

And most of us strongly suspect where Mark Lewisohn is going with this. He wants to rehabilitate Allen Klein because John can literally never be wrong—or perhaps an even stronger motive—he wants Paul to be very, very wrong. But whatever his motives, we can see what he’s doing. And we don’t have to just suspect, because he has already told us that he is going to use some of his most unforgivable lies to shape that narrative.

And there’s only one reason to do that: because there are no real quotes to back up the narrative he wants to push.

It tells us, in no uncertain terms, that the narrative he wants to push is quite literally unsupportable.

To make it work, Lewisohn has to lie about what John Lennon actually said.

*This post was first going to be about both the “quotes” that Mark Lewisohn references here, but in the end I couldn’t not give “call him ‘Epstein'” its own post. Which means I have actually shortened a post. (Please clap.)

Every ‘quote’ in the “spanner in the works” section is bullshit. Every. Single. One. I’m not going to the thesaurus for a fancier word. They are bullshit. Complete and utter, doctored, twisted, bullshit. The man is lying. And what really chaps my ass is that he is flat out telling us that he is going to use those same lies to push his bullshit narrative of the breakup. Like damn, that takes a lot of nerve.

Here is Mark Lewisohn telling us, straight out, that it’s these same bullshit quotes that he plans on using again to fool us. And he should be a laughingstock when he does. Not in some quarters. In all.

He must think we are such dupes. Although he’s gotten away with it so far, so up until now he hasn’t been wrong.

(There’s a bit more to this part of the Q & A and it’s all bad, but for this post I decided to leave it at Mark Lewisohn telling us that he is going to use the exact same sources he used for the “spanner” section to push this lie in the upcoming books.)

Fool me twice…

Would John and George have seen the parallel between Epstein and Klein in 1969?  LEWISOHN: ❝Yes. I’m sure the answer to that is yes, because John mentioned it in interviews, probably in Wenner’s, maybe the one with McCabe and Sconfeld— Schonfeld. Yes.❞ (📍Nothing is Real)

Transcript:

Q. In Hornsey Road you were talking about the three-to-one Allen Klein split, and I was saying to you that it seemed to me that it paralleled what is mentioned in Tune In about, uh, the appointment of Brian Epstein. That- that Paul was sort of holding back or was not keen to move forward with Brian Epstein. And I suppose my question was, is there a direct parallel there? And would, in 1969, John and George in particular have been conscious of that parallel?

LEWISOHN: Yes. I’m sure the answer to that is yes, because John mentioned it in interviews, probably in Wenner’s, maybe the one with McCabe and Sconfeld– Schonfeld. Yes. John recognized that.

Nothing is Real Podcast • October 16, 2019, Episode 15 • Mark Lewisohn, Part II

---

And just remember that this is only one half of a hellacious Frankenquote.

(But I kept it short. 🎊 )

----

Even though I have given you zero reason to go there, it's also on my blog.

[velaryqns]

REPEAT HISTORY,

Derek faces the repercussions of his stupid decision when he returns home after the case to his girlfriend — you.

Derek Morgan x female! reader

Set after season 4, episode 1; mayhem

Warnings: mentions of bombs and death, angst, criminal minds themes

Derek silently walked into the apartment, expecting the lights to be off with how early it was in the morning. He dropped his go bag to the floor and began to remove his shoes, body aching from the stunt he pulled on the case. One of which almost earned him a suspension but did give him a long scolding from Penelope Garcia about pulling such a move.

But Derek would quickly learn that Penelope’s rage was nothing to the person he was returning home to.

Derek made his way down the hall, pausing at a door before he pushed it open. He smiled at the small figure curled on the bed, then turned his head toward the room he shared with you. The light was on — likely the lamp — and he felt more regret wash over him as he thought about his apology.

He pulled the door shut and finished his walk down the hall, pushing the door open. You were propped up on the bed, your lap desk over your legs as you graded assignments. It wasn’t rare for you to grade papers well into the night, however to do it in the mornings made Derek know that something was truly on your mind.

“Honey —“

“I’m glad you made it home safe,” you muttered, not bothering to look up from the papers. At least your students would get their assignments back sooner.

Not hearing one of the affectionate nicknames you had made for him confirmed that Penelope had already called you. Derek had no right to be mad about it — Penelope thought he was going to die. It only made sense for you to know, especially when you had a child with him.

“Close the door, would you?” Your voice was level as Derek shut the bedroom door. You lowered the pen to your desk and leveled your eyes with Derek’s, “What the hell was I supposed to think when Penelope called me about your heroics? Especially when Aaron had already been caught in a vehicle with one.”

He could hear your voice crack and walked toward the bed, grabbing the desk and setting it aside. Derek sat beside your legs, taking your hand, “Baby you have no idea how sorry I am. I never wanted to put you in a position like that. But I couldn’t let so many more people get hurt, we had already lost one person today.”

“I can’t lose you,” you whispered, shaking your head as you finally let tears fall, “I know you want to honor your father, and I support you in every way possible. But when I get a call like that from Penelope…I was scared shitless. I don’t want to go through that again.”

“Are you asking me to leave the BAU?” Derek questioned. It was a conversation you two had at the start of your relationship, and then twice after that; the last two times revolving around your daughter.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking of you,” you shook your head, eyebrows furrowing as you adjusted how you were sitting on the bed. You were now on your knees beside Derek, your chin on his shoulders while he lazily wrapped a warm around your waist — knowing you may still be upset based on the events that led to this discussion, “I’m asking for you to use that damned brain I know you have. Stop being stupid. We have a daughter, and I don’t want her to lose you. I don’t want a repeat of history.”

You knew the last words hit Derek hard, and it pained you to say them, but he needed to hear it. You were met with reluctant silence, his brown eyes glued to the floor. You gently rubbed his back, leaning to press your forehead against the side of his head, a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Derek, I’m sorry,” you whispered, regretting your words as he turned to you, tears clearly filling his eyes, “I know it crossed a line, but — “

He silenced you with a soft kiss and gentle head shake, “I understand.”

Derek Morgan looked apologetic, holding you closer. You remained tangled amongst each other for a few moments before he sighed; “I’m sorry for not thinking, baby. I don’t ever want something to happen to me that would hurt my girls.”

“I know you don’t, baby,” you assured him as your door creaked open, your daughter standing the doorway with eyes that matched her father’s watching the both of you.

You quickly wiped Derek’s tears away and then smiled at your daughter, “Come on in.”

She rushed in, jumping into her father’s lap and holding on to the both of you:

“I’m glad you’re home, daddy!”

The next or so was filled with her asking Derek questions about the case, he of course left out the bomb mentions, before she drifted off to sleep beside the both of you. You watched her for a moments before you glanced to Derek.

“I love you,” you whispered to him, and Derek grinned.

He kissed your daughter’s head, nodding, “And I love you. Both of you.”

[waitmyturtles]

HYPERBOLIC SPOILERS FOR THE PHENOMENAL SECOND EPISODE OF OS2 x BBS x ATOTS

Can I feel so much in just one sitting?! Besides the UTTER giddiness of yesterday’s episode, at least for today, I think I have some actual, sensible, legible analysis to offer. I’m really moved, almost to tears.

I mean, as I blogged just a few minutes ago, part 4/4 of this second episode WILL go down in history in my heart as OBVIOUSLY some of the BEST, most STUNNING content in the HISTORY of anatomical and muscular analysis filmmaking. Yes. 

I’m seeing on Twitter some grumpiness for the comedy of this all (the girlies want more woop woop?! I mean?!), but I seriously think this whole crossover set up and the way it’s been written is brilliant. And I don’t think this is just for fun. 

But first, regarding the comedy and some other one-off points -- I mean, I knew that all four of these guys would be great, but their comedic TIMING, with the writing, is spectacular. They clearly had a FANTASTIC time filming this, and you can see it -- while they didn’t have much time to actually film it, it’s so well done.

I really want to call it, I really want to see it, I wanna see more subverting of the ships, and I wanna see these guys do more with each other separately -- I’m excited to see the implications of OhmEarth and NanonMix next week, and I think that Aof might be making a huge point by separating these guys, pairing them up together with others, and mixing shit up, because that’s what he does (especially while I have He’s Coming to Me on the mind soon on my OGMMTVC watchlist). 

Another one-off point: like I wrote yesterday, we’re getting a double-dose of nostalgia, and I also wrote that I haven’t had to wait NEARLY as long as most of y’all for the return of BBS and ATOTS. But that being said, even though I only watched ATOTS last fall, I actually literally nearly cried when I saw the ATOTS flashbacks and heard the music. Because the way that show was designed in 2021 (I got so much OGMMTVC on my mind) -- those motifs WERE designed to imprint themselves in our memories as remarkable for a kind of cinematic, bildungsroman BL that we weren’t used to seeing back then. That show was nostalgic not JUST for the damn ship, but for Pha Pun Dao, for Chiang Mai, for the Thailand that Aof celebrates vis à vis EarthMix in ATOTS and Moonlight Chicken. 

It’s gorgeous, and he knows what he’s doing by putting PatPran in that mix -- another couple at a different stage of their relationship, with a background and shared struggles that are different than TianPhupha’s, but that still offer both freshness AND nostalgia to the backbone story of ATOTS.

What’s moving me about these first two episodes reflects on what I just wrote -- this is no longer a story about Bad Buddy or ATOTS. This is a story about two couples going through their shit. Pat and Pran have ALWAYS been about going through their shit. We went through a A LOT of SHIT with them, including forward flashes after they graduated and seeing how they were faring in their long-distance relationship. 

Remember: we haven’t spent ANY time with Tian and Phupha in their relationship yet, ABSOLUTELY NONE. They smooched once on the hill, we saw them cuddle, and Oishii sent us off. So we’re JUST finding out, NOW, how they’re faring, and we get thrown in a fight.

A fight that’s similar to the kinds of struggles that Pat and Pran have already shown us and are showing us now. Tian wants Phupha to see a slice of HIS life in Bangkok. Tian wants Phupha to yield a little, to stop being so stubborn. 

Pat wants Pran to open up more. Pat KNOWS why Pran keeps everything so close to the chest. Pat is SO USED to being the balancing effect of their relationship, to push forward, to pull back, but to ALWAYS HOLD PRAN DOWN AND REMAIN AS PRAN’S ROCK, because Pran has not had the same kind of large family structure as Pat could rely on in his childhood and doesn’t know how to take emotional risks. Pat knows this and works hard on balancing it out.

But Pat can go overboard, right, and that’s partly why Pran drove away to Pha Pun Dao -- to prove to himself that he could complete this project on his own, but also, flirtingly, knowing that Pat would ultimately be by his side, and to play the competitive games that these guys always play with each other, because they’re still college dudes with bones to pick. 

What we’re seeing is BOTH COUPLES FINDING THEMSELVES IN THEIR MATURING GROWTH STAGES OF THEIR RELATIONSHIPS. 

Hello, mic check, there’s something happening here in Our Skyy 2. WHAT HAPPENED IN THE ECLIPSE EPISODES?

Same damn thing, the same damn thing that pissed the girlies off before. WE’RE SEEING AWLLLLLL THESE GUYS IN THE GROWTH STAGES OF THEIR RELATIONSHIPS. Akk was frustrated by all the expressions of care that Ayan is overabundant with. Ayan WANTS Akk to RECEIVE the care, because the RECEPTION OF CARE IS the signal, the trigger, the MEANING of the relationship for Ayan -- it tells Ayan, when I care for you, Akk, I AM SHOWING YOU MY LOVE FOR YOU, and that’s how *I* DEMONSTRATE IT.

Tian: Phupha, come with me to Bangkok.

Pran: Pat, let me do this by myself.

Akk: Ayan, I don’t need as much care as you’re giving me, it’s too much.

Phupha: You’re making only about me being madly in love with you.

Pat: I want to help you, my boyfriend.

Ayan: This is how I show my love for you, Akk. 

Y’all. Aof, Golf, these filmmakers. QUEER RELATIONSHIPS ARE RELATIONSHIPS THAT DESERVE THE INVESTMENT AND RESPECT OF EMOTION AND GROWTH IN ART. Not all queer art/BLs need to be about the thrills and frills of the first kiss, of the first sex, of the first whatever. We’re expecting these guys to live together forever in fiction, right? Aof and Golf and the other homies are saying -- kk, girlies, we’ll give you the fan service, alright, but we’re going to show you HOW WE, AS THE QUEER COMMUNITY, DURING PRIDE, GET THERE IN OUR OWN RELATIONSHIPS, TOO, messy details and all. Shit.

Here’s something from reality. I’m the youngest girl of my Indian family -- I was not equal to my older siblings at all, expected to fail, treated as if I didn’t know how to function in society. Y’all can predict what happened. Your gal got a great career, a great family, a husband, the whole thing.

So when I first met my husband, I’m riding my life on my own -- paying my own rent, my own bills, everything. I had already proved I didn’t need my birth family for anything.

But what I didn’t consider during those first years of the relationship was the following: my future husband’s love language was dependence. He was certainly IMPRESSED by dating a woman who had her shit together. BUT. He WANTED me to DEPEND on him, AT LEAST emotionally, if not for other things. I wasn’t going to like, quit my job for a relationship, but -- I was ALSO having REAL trouble DEPENDING on him emotionally.

Like Pran, maybe. I didn’t trust trusting anyone emotionally, because that was a paradigm already created by my family in my upbringing. I had TRAINED myself to NOT need emotional feedback from ANYONE romantically, because I learned to survive in other ways.

Of course, with great communication AND TIME (TIME), I came around and learned to lean on him and trust him.

Aof and Golf are giving their couples the benefits of growth and time to make the relationships better, and stronger, and working, and functioning, and I can’t emphasize enough how REAL THIS IS. 

That’s what these episodes are giving me. I WANT TO SEE MORE BLs with established relationships (@bengiyo, @lurkingshan, @wen-kexing-apologist: WHAT DID YOU EAT YESTERDAY FTW). I want to see contextual heartache. I want to see fights. I want to see tears. I want to see snottiness and shittiness and passive aggression, because all of that is worth examining in human emotional art. 

That’s real, that’s worth reflecting in art, and I see Aof and Golf doing this on purpose to give RESPECT to the emotional structures that they’ve created in their work. 

I’m having so much fucking fun with these episodes, but I should have expected this, I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN, that Aof would already render me an emotional mess as well. It always happens. That it’s happening to our BELOVED COUPLES, AT THE START OF PRIDE, I’m just like. We’re just so blessed to have this art to enjoy.

[hwljpg]

So, I just finished watching all 9 episodes of Smiling Friends in one sitting.

I dunno why, but I just have a bit of a natural aversion to immediately diving into like Internety things that blow up really quickly. I still need to watch the pilot episode for The Amazing Digital Circus, I have no clue what the game Content Warning is about, I know I got into watching videos on Lethal Company late and such.

One of those things was Smiling Friends. I had seen it blowing up originally, and so naturally, I just drifted away from it. I had subsequently seen it in like some memes or stuff afterwards, but besides that, not much.

It doesn’t help I’ve not really gotten into Adult Swim cartoons at the moment. I love random, but Adult Swim cartoons can be really cynical in a way that makes me wary of them.

Then, I saw you post some art of it. Then some more. Wow, more! What about this show makes this person I consider a good Tumblr friend like it so much to dedicate so much time to doing at about it? Well, you said in an ask that it wasn’t as cynical as other Adult Swim cartoons, especially when it came to Pim and Charlie. Huh, okay, I think I’ll go watch it!

I procrastinated on it for a few days because I was busy. But, finally, I decided, “You know what, I’m just gonna watch it!” I watched the first episode. Honestly, it is my least favorite episode. (Weirdly, just like how the first episode of the Sam and Max TV show is my least favorite.) I didn’t like The Boss breastfeeding, I didn’t like how Desmond kept the gun pointed to his head, I didn’t like the spinning baby. That all felt too jarring for me.

Of course, maybe I wasn’t properly acclimated with the show yet. Besides, there was good with the bad. I thought Pim and Charlie’s dynamic seemed funny, the ending was great, and I liked Allan and Glep as the other two Smiling Friend workers. So, I pushed through.

I ended up really enjoying my time watching the show. There was a lot more I liked than I disliked. My main thing: You were right, it definitely wasn’t as cynical as I thought it would be. Sure, the world still is cynical and messed up at points, but I felt an authenticity to the reoccurring characters and how they dealt with the situations they ended up in. Plus, for every single episode, I didn’t see the ending coming AND felt super satisfied by the resolutions! My favorite episode is probably the Salty’s one.

So, I guess this is a really long way to tell you: Thanks for getting me into Smiling Friends!

ooouuu i’m glad you enjoyed it!! surprising i’ve gotten some people to start the show because of my fanart.. wuohhh

Completely understand the parts that felt jarring; i could only look past it or at times find the humor in it mostly because of how my friends and i perceived and translated it into our own funky little brains. And i don’t necessarily feel as if adult shows need to step away from that very random/jarring humor/gags but more of Figure Out How To Do It Right and that’s what I feel smiling friends does perfectly. But some people are gonna be left with a bad taste in their mouth anyways and that’s completely fine yk.

What I like is how they mix those very jarring elements in their show + the characters world and contrast it with simply how realistic the characters are. They typically converse as if most of this stuff is normal and it only adds more to the joke when they actually freak out. Like i’ve said before i adore the mixture of extremely realistic dialogue that sounds so similar to real life conversations we’ve very have had before with people in everyday life. (that’s why i especially love the trip to brazil episode)

And obviously the lack of cynicism. I’ve been avoiding most adult animated shows for YEARS because i genuinely just can’t stand the cynicism and it’s constantly negative fanbases it always brews. And i’m very heavy on looking to the fanbase to get an example of how good of a media may be or simply how much it may appeal to me. I remember telling a friend that the difference between the rick & morty fanbase to the smiling friends fanbase was just one fanbase is known for constantly having a negative outlook on life and saying shit like “you need to have a high IQ to understand this show” while the smiling friends fanbase just DESPERATELY wants to make out sloppy style with Charlie. There’s no tasteless misogynistic, queerphobic, or racist jokes. Hell they have two fat characters as the main characters and we have not heard a single fat joke. It’s a breath of fresh air and with its inclusion of having many youtube/twitter/online creators be part of the show (and RUNNING the show) i feel as if we’re hopefully stepping into a new age of adult animated media.

hopefully one with a more positive outlook on adulthood.

aaaa enough of my rambling you literally watched the show!! feels so odd i used to be influenced by fanart and now my fanart is influencing others. i will do everything to use this power for good 😭 just happy to see people start and enjoy things im really fond for.

hope u having a good morning/evening/night tumblr friend 🫶

[artdivadej]

Survivor's Remorse (XVII)

Part one

Part 11+ 

  Peeta 

"Peeta look, I need you to understand something about your gal...and you need to keep an open mind", Haymitch sighed scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"There's not much that would surprise me at this point"

"He says that now", Johanna snorts with a wicked grin.

"Shut it Johanna", Haymitch hisses, before turning back to Peeta "Good to know. But ummm. Shit", Haymitch fumbled.

"Haymitch is it some big secret or something I'm not supposed to know about?" Peeta asked looking back and forth between him and Johanna, knowing you regarded her as a sister and told her everything. "Is it why she's been avoiding me?"

"It's not that. It's just really personal and I thought...what with you two actually getting on the way you were, it wouldn't be a problem. I didn't think she'd be going through this anymore"

"Is it an episode? Is she alright?", Peeta asked quickly, his voice cracking with fear.

"Not...exactly? It's an episode of sorts. Do you remember her explaining about the splicing that Snow did to her?"

"Yeah. How are they related?"

"The way she asked you to bite her ass before, aint gonna be nothing compared to what she does to you this week", Johanna snickers.

"She can't help that this happens to her, ok boy?", Haymitch growled before pushing on, bringing his flask to his lips.

"Haymitch what's happening to her!", Peeta began to panic in his desperation, his voice rising.

"About twice a year, the feline DNA takes over. She goes through what Beetee calls 'heat'. Before, she'd have to sit in the house for a few weeks to just sweat it out and suffer through it alone. But now...since she's got you back", Haymitch begins, his lips twisting with distaste and discomfort.

"Hey I helped! I sent plenty of toys"

"Heat?", Peeta's brow raises with confusion, not quite understanding the meaning behind the simple word, or why you'd need toys from Johanna.

"Sex boy! Her body forces her into a concupiscent state where she has to copulate. Because she couldn't do it before, she just had to suffer through it. Try and get it out herself. But it's practically a breeding instinct that she can't control"

Peeta felt the blush start from his collar, before it flared up to his hairline. Oh. Johanna's wicked grin only deepened as she watched him realize what he'd be dealing with for the next couple of weeks.

"Now you're getting it boy", Haymitch sighed with exasperation as he took another swig.

"Is it bad?"

"She produces a pheromone that drives her and us wild. People can smell it within a 500-yard radius. It's why her home was sheltered off at the far end of the Victors Village. Its disorienting and raises the testosterone levels of anyone who gets a whiff. Even I can't get near her without affects and I don't find a damn thing about her womanly", he spat with revulsion.

"Hell, I do. I don't mind it. It's gonna make my sex life even hotter!", Johanna smirked.

"Which means?"

"You'll be out of the public eye for the next week or so. It may go faster since she has what she really wants. We'll all keep you both supplied with food and water, but I doubt sweetheart'll let you out that room until it's gone down some. Like I said before, she can't help it. You're all she's ever wanted and I'm sure the heat will only amplify that when she gets a whiff of you. I'm taking a room on the other side of the manor so I can't hear a damn thing I know will be coming out that room. You two are the worst at keeping quiet. And keep that damn window closed! Or else the whole of the damn Justice Hall will be able to smell you two!"

"I'm staying in the same hall. I plan on using you two to make this week pure debauchery with Onyx and Gale. They'll both be showering me in every slutty fantasy I've ever dreamed of. He and they are going to put their names all over this hot bod", Johanna grinned wickedly. "We thank you for your service"

Peeta felt like he would combust if they said another word but, he had one more question.

"Is there a way to stop it? Or at least dull the sense so she can function? I don't like the idea of her suffering"

"You'll be doing your part to stop that all week. In the meantime, here", Haymitch grumbled shoving a familiar thick red notebook into Peeta's hands. He'd seen you with this when you scurried away from him two days ago. "Aurelius wants you to write. As much as you can, when you can. Whether you're clear headed or not. About everything you feel, see and think. The same goes for her. Snow had her file destroyed so she'd have to find all the answers to the splicing that he did by herself. Beetee and Prim have been working hard these past few years to help figure it out. A lot that we've learned has been because of her impulses and responses to things, but this could really help answer a lot of those questions"

"I will"

"Get going. She's been suffering for two days already. Come get me when she's better", He grumbled turning on heel and stomping down the hall. "Say bye bye to that back boy!", he snarked before disappearing around the corner.

"Yeah she's definitely gonna shred your shit", Johanna giggled pushing Peeta towards the hall. "I filed and styled her nails 3 days ago so you shouldn't be too bad. You're welcome loverboy. Now get going. Nothing worse than needing to cum and you can't get your rocks off"

Peeta groaned but made his way towards the bedroom. The idea of being locked away with you for weeks on end, just drowning in your passion wasn't the problem. Everyone in the building knowing about it was. It felt like such an invasion of a world the two of you had always held so private and sacred. Peeta was glad the staff was minimal right now.

Excerpt from Survivor's Remorse ch 17. Heated

Now available on Wattpad

Maddink0318

[call-me-casual]

@salmonthecat messaged me asking for GWash headcanons so here we go:

1. This is probably contradictory to real life but I’ve decided in LK he’s a somewhat picky eater. Some textures and tastes just don’t sit with him, and there’s been many a time Washington has lied to Lafayette about liking some French food as to not hurt his feelings (and proceeded to throw up in the bushes when alone)

2. Less of a headcanon but I could totally see him in a modern au as a forester. People usually make him a lawyer or a ceo or something, but I think he’d do something more lowkey

3. He’s been near-kidnapped more than he’d care to admit

4. He is OBSESSED with his horses. He coddles them as often as he can, and more than a few aides or stable hands have walked in on him baby talking Nelson or Blueskin. He’s also 100% gushed over horses with James before. The situation is similar with dogs

5. He’s tried learning French, staying up early into the morning reading books, but he’s never been able to grasp it. It’s a source of embarrassment for him

6. He may potentially be dyslexic, and uses every opportunity he can to not read letters himself. He doesn’t want anyone knowing

Okay time for slightly more angsty ones:

7. I’m pretty sure it’s confirmed he likely had a fear of being buried alive in real life, but for LK I’d amplify this. Nightmares about being trapped underground, either suffocating inside a coffin or choking on dirt aren’t uncommon for him. Typically they proceed or follow a particularly bad battle or time of suffering. He isn’t claustrophobic but can grow distressed if there’s something on top of him. Sometimes his night terrors are so bad he will refuse to go anywhere near any trenches to inspect them.

8. He’s the kind to hide injuries from others, or try and push through even when it only does more damage. He’s a total hypocrite.

9. He’s absolutely petrified of any doctor that isn’t his own. Won’t go near them. If he’s ill? Tough shit he’ll wait until his surgeon can come

10. Last one: It’s suspected by historians that Washington was infertile, probably sterilised by disease. Personally I’m taking this as canon in the LK universe for the reason why he never had any children biology (note that Martha does exist in LK universe even if she never makes an onscreen appearance: she’s mentioned during the episode “An American in Paris”). The fact he likely wouldn’t know why it’s not working makes it more sad. Washington wants nothing more than children of his own, looking out for his aides - all younger than him - is good, but it doesn’t fill the void inside him. It’s why he took such a shine to the journalist trio and was so tolerant of them from the get-go, living vicariously through them, maybe in private moments being able to imagine, just for a moment, that these are his children. On nights following their departure back to Philadelphia, if soldiers happen to hear soft, mournful weeping, they don’t say anything about it.

[black-arcana]

JINJER Releases New Song 'Someone's Daughter'

Ukrainian modern progressive metal icons JINJER have released a brand-new, blistering single, "Someone's Daughter". The song arrives with a thrilling music video, and is now available on all streaming services worldwide.

JINJER singer Tatiana Shmayluk comments: "'Someone's Daughter' is an artistic attempt to cast the light on the inner world of women, who in various scenarios and circumstances have had to choose a path that was historically made by men.

"In a world where women are often underestimated and overlooked, they are still powerful heroes who navigate hardship with strength and resilience, unapologetically becoming themselves and breaking barriers in the face of the challenges that face them.

"'Someone's Daughter' celebrates transition from naivety into wisdom, weakness into force, unwavering determination and fearlessness as our mothers, sisters, daughters and wives walk through adversity and fight for better change. These women are often forgotten but they have earned respect. They've earned mine, that's for sure!"

JINJER recently completed recording the follow-up to the 2021 album "Wallflowers".

During an appearance on a recent episode of Knotfest's "She's With The Band", Shmailyuk spoke about the progress of the songwriting sessions for JINJER's new LP. Tatiana said: "My purpose is just to write lyrics and sing them. I'm so behind right now with the writing lyrics. And I warned my guys. We were at least to get a really rough draft, rough sketch or a demo of one song, like maybe first single from the new album, at least get this, but nope. [Stress and creativity don't] work with me. Well, but when the deadline's coming, and everybody knows that — I've been talking, like, every single time we release a new album, I say that, I say this — deadlines push me. So I just have to write, so I get this stream of consciousness, basically. I write down whatever the bullshit is in my head. And then you build it. At least you have to have bricks to build a poem or whatever it is, just lyrics."

Regarding the musical direction of the new JINJER material, Tatiana said: "It's gonna be different, first of all, because I feel that the music differs a lot. And to my mind, the whole — I won't say how many songs are there; I guess 12 or even 15; let's say 13; I don't remember — but they all have… not all of them, but half of them, at least, they have a similarity in them. They're similar to each other or they remind me. They have this concept within — without any lyrics, they still sound like they belong to one box. They are a set of songs. And I already think about all the… I'm not even thinking about like the lyrics — I think about the topics and stuff, but I think about the booklet or the cover or even the music videos and what I'm gonna wear there. And it has a certain flavor to me that… I feel like it has this flavor of 19th century. It's very romanticism from the 19th century. If you listen to it, you will think, 'Oh.' You know, when you listen to MUSE, you feel he was inspired by a lot of classical composers — obviously. So our new music has this flavor. And I'm so excited."

JINJER will embark on a North American tour in the fall. Support on the trek will come from fast-rising Japanese metalcore unit HANABIE and progressive metalcore mainstays BORN OF OSIRIS.

JINJER released its first official live DVD/Blu-ray, "Live In Los Angeles", on May 17 via Napalm Records. Recorded and filmed on December 22, 2022 at The Wiltern in Los Angeles, this offering is intended to celebrate not only getting through the last few years in one piece, but also the band's 15-year career.

"Live In Los Angeles" was a spontaneous decision by the band, recorded as raw as possible, to emphasize the passion that can come from a live show. This release is an explosive mixture of JINJER's discography — featuring fan favorites like "Sit Stay Roll Over", "Home Back" and the game-changing "Pisces". The live album contains 16 songs in various audio formats, with some strictly limited: the deluxe digipack features not only a DVD, but also two more songs, "Wallflower" and "Disclosure!", recorded in Paris in 2023.

JINJER is:

Tatiana Shmayluk - Vocals Roman Ibramkhalilov - Guitars Eugene Abdukhanov - Bass Vlad Ulasevich - Drums

Photo credit: Lina Glasir

[ffxiv-f13ndish]

return to sender (and deliver) Collab. drabble w/ @ro-valerius [Tofu] !

Virgil hadn’t put much thought into how strange it may be that he was going to go visit Tofu. He wasn’t necessarily close to Tofu, and perhaps could even scarcely say they are friends. Nevertheless, a few days after Virgil had heard of Tofu’s state following the pirate ventures, the elezen was knocking at the door of the Flower house with intentions to see how he was doing. 

“Might I come in? There is something I insist on bringing to Tofu,” he said when the front door finally opened. Virgil held up a basket. “And I brought bread.” 

Blomma blinked in surprise at their guest, and her confusion grew as he spoke. She hadn’t been under the impression that Tofu and Virgil got on, let alone that Virgil would go through the trouble of a journey to see Tofu. She tilted her head, but opened the door wider for him to enter, her brow still knitted together. 

“R-right, sure thing. Thanks…?” she managed in her confusion.

Virgil said nothing as he entered and walked past Blomma. He set a wrapped up parcel on the counter. 

“Sourdough. Break it, if you will. Or butter. Whichever,” he blandly explained before walking off to look for where Tofu was staying. 

“St-straight on from the stairs, through the first door, then the second door on the right,” Blomma called after him as she stared at the bread in confusion.

Virgil continued on as instructed. He reached out to knock on said door, only for it to open before his hand could make contact.

Miyu nearly jumped several feet back. 

Virgil gave them a blank look, then squeezed past them to step inside.

“Yeah, that’s fine, you can come in – how nice of you to ask,” Miyu called out sarcastically. Rather than stepping out, they leaned up against the wall to monitor as Virgil went to approach Tofu. 

At Miyu’s response to the visitor, Tofu looked over to see Virgil. He furrowed his brow, but pushed himself to sit up regardless, wincing heavily as he did so. 

“You…are the last visitor I would have expected,” he managed, offering a tense but well meaning smile.

“It is not a very long waitlist. I was certain that you were aware of the fact that outside of your family, you don’t have many who would venture to visit you to see your condition. At least… not many with the best intentions. I presume it’s fair to say I am not the last person you expect to see,” Virgil frankly responded. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the aggravated flicking of a tail, but paid no attention to it. “Albeit, I’ll admit that this is something beyond my comfort zone. But considering the severity of your condition, it mayhaps would be unwise to be the last person to visit.” 

Virgil’s eyes narrowed a fraction as he examined Tofu. He stepped a bit closer to the foot of the bed.

“You look terrible. And this is after healing magics have been utilized, hm?”

Tofu looked away sheepishly. "I suppose there's no waitlist at all, huh?" he murmured before clearing his throat. "Healing magic, uh… doesn't go well with me so…" 

As if on cue, a slight pain flared up briefly, bringing a slight wince across his features as he pressed a hand to his chest; it wasn't bad this time, but the small episodes were generally a prelude to a bigger one on the horizon. He certainly hoped Virgil concluded his business before then… The elezen was the last non-enemy person he wanted to witness the extent of his condition. 

“I’m aware. But with the extent of your injuries, I presumed that some sacrifices were made.” Tofu’s grimace wasn’t missed by him, nor was it for Miyu. Virgil heard hasty footsteps behind him out the door as Miyu went to retrieve something. 

“Your guards are gone. Briefly, I presume. Do you intend on doing anything foolish?” Virgil spoke dryly, despite how he was only making a light jest. He opened up the basket, taking out what appeared to be a target, with several darts affixed to it in a small baggy.

“If you do survive this, don’t let it be that your skills rot in lieu of your body. Hang this up in here, and perhaps you can still proceed with some form of training while you are bound to bed rest,” Virgil suggested, placing the board down for Tofu to look over. 

“You think me so weak that a simple scratch is enough to undo me?” Tofu remarked flatly, turning his gaze away almost carelessly. “I’ve had worse and survived, though your concern is…surprising, and appreciated?” 

His words were immediately undermined by a more intense flare up. He clamped one hand over his mouth to minimize the amount of blood that hit the blankets, but several drying spots indicated this was not the first episode of the day, nor would it be the last. His other gripped the fabric of his shirt over his chest tightly. He had managed to bite back a cry of pain this time, though his breaths still came out ragged as he tried and failed to not react to the intense pain. After it subsided, he cracked a weak smile at Virgil. 

“Let’s…keep that one between us, yeah?” he said sheepishly as he grabbed an already bloodied rag off the edge of the bed, beside the pillows, making sure to wipe as much blood off his hand and face as he could before Miyu returned. 

Virgil’s expression didn’t shift, though he gave a little tilt of his head and leaned down to get a closer look at Tofu as a more severe episode took hold of him.

“Not nearly so. But recognition of magic applied to others is among one of the more rudimentary principles for casters,” Virgil matter-of-factly responded. He eyed the bloodied rag, noting all the splotches of both fresh and old blood. “But if there was a chance of someone to get you now… scratch or not… that would be enough to undo you. You are not invincible, and it's foolish to act as such. Do carry on as you wish, but to whom does your behavior benefit? Because it's not you.” 

Virgil’s head tilted in the other direction, a nondescript hum sounding from him.

“I have no intention to. They’ll all see this again anyways. Your efforts to hide it are, frankly, a waste of energy. You have people eager to help you, I suggest accepting it in your condition.”

“I-it’s not to hide it, or to not accept help. I just…want to minimize the worry, at least a little, or as much as I can,” Tofu said softly, nearly a whisper, though he still didn’t look over at Virgil.

“Nonsense. People who love will worry either way. If that is really your goal, you’d break it off now and go far away,” Virgil remarked rather coldly. “If anything, your feats to protect all of them at the expense of your own being could perhaps even be cruel. And you care for them, so you should drop it, save if you are to leave.”

Tofu’s hands clenched into fists in his lap, tightening at each word. 

“I just need to be stronger. Just need to be faster, so that I can protect them better… If I run away, I can’t protect them. I am looking for a balance between protecting them and minimizing their worry,” he said, jaw tense. “But right now, I’m not strong enough. I need to be better.”

Virgil grabbed Tofu by the collar, shaking him as he pulled him up closer. Tofu winced as the motion jostled his injury.

“I am dying, Tofu. Rotting. My being rips apart day by day in increments. For the sake of becoming better. Is that what you wish to do? Because you will be just like me. Look at me and see what your future will be,” he hissed into Tofu’s face. “I-”

Virgil was cut off as something hard and cold smacked his cheek. 

“What in hells is wrong with you? Back up now,” Miyu snarled, already flinging another ice cube from the bowl in Virgil’s direction. 

With a narrow of his eyes, Virgil let go and took a step back. Miyu briskly walked over, squeezing in between Virgil and Tofu. 

“Mere chatter. I was just about to leave.”

"Wait, before you go…" Tofu picked up the small bell Ro had left on the pillow he wasn't using and rang it almost gently. With a flurry of sparks and a flash of bright light, Daen Lad twirled into the space between Tofu and Virgil. 

"Oh, ew, the stinky aether man is here-"

"Don't start, Daen Lad, please. Can I ask you to retrieve what I had you hold for me?" Tofu asked, his tone more patient than Virgil probably deserved. 

Daen Lad huffed and crossed their arms, stubbornly turning away from Virgil and snapping their fingers before returning to their crossed arms stance. A book dropped into Tofu's waiting hands. He lifted the book slightly, then looked at Virgil with an even gaze, holding out the book properly. 

"I'll take your words into consideration. Rest assured I do not intend to go so far as to fall apart or lose myself in the process. It is a simple matter of training, nothing extreme. I, uh, didn't plan to give this back, but… Something in you has shifted. It led you here, in this moment, with no ill intent. So…sorry for lying about it being gone," he said, his expression neutral with a bit of softness around his eyes. 

Virgil shot Tofu a pointed look when his book appeared.

“Procured straight from the fireplace, hm?” Virgil grumbled, unenthused. He gave a curt nod at Tofu’s words, also taking them into consideration. Virgil tucked his book into an inner pocket of his jacket and turned to leave. Daen Lad stuck their tongue out at Virgil before twirling and disappearing in a shower of lights.

"Understand, you were a threat until things got hectic," Tofu said evenly. 

“I am aware. Your biggest threat right now is yourself,” Virgil dryly joked back in response.

Miyu only stared, uncertain if he was joking, and not just egging Tofu on more. They reluctantly sat down beside Tofu, wetting a cold rag and holding it to the side of his neck to cool him down as they continued to side eye Virgil.

“Well, I’ll be off. Good luck caring for your ward, you will need it,” Virgil called out over his shoulder as he exited.

"See ya, do try to stay out of any more chests, yeah?" Tofu called back, going with the poorly indicated jest.

Miyu stared in confusion. 

“That… that was weird, right?” Miyu mumbled, briefly questioning if they were going insane while they dampened the rag again before they dabbed it against Tofu’s temple. “So what was that all about?” 

Tofu shrugged. "Weird that he came to see me, yeah. Maybe he started to suspect that I still had his book after all?" he said with a tilt of his head. "After all, he had a point. There's not exactly a waitlist to check on me." 

“Or maybe he has a little crush on you now, and he’s just being a weirdo about it. Either way, I hope applications are closed,” Miyu grumbled. Tofu rolled his eyes and shook his head at the thought.

A faint scowl formed across their features as the words of Tofu’s last statement sunk in. With their free hand, they gently tilted his face in their direction with a single finger. 

“Not everyone has the fortune of seeing a rare gem. That is what makes it a treasure. Part of what makes you a treasure,” they insisted, sternly. Their stare held, only to be interrupted upon a glimpse of speckles of blood on Tofu’s shirt. Their hand lowered, smoothing out the shirt as they examined it to see if it was really fresh blood. 

Tofu didn't have time to blush before he realized they had noticed the blood. There was a soft 'ah, fuck' as he looked away again before he plastered a smile on his face and brought his eyes back to them 

"It wasn't that bad," he murmured gently.

Miyu brushed their fingertips against his cheek. 

“I’m sorry. I should have been faster to help,” they quietly apologized with a kiss to his temple. They reached out for the nearby talismans they had retrieved in preparation, in case another swell came. There was a pause, Miyu freezing as a memory of healing following the events on the ship struck them. 

“It’s fine, it’s far from the worst condition I’ve ever been in,” he said, his smile taking on a more soft edge. 

He couldn’t tell what they were thinking, just that they were distressed about it, and did the only thing he could think to do; he placed his hand on their far cheek and gently leaned them towards him so that he could place his lips softly on their forehead. The motion still felt foreign to him, but he wanted to start trying, for Miyu, and for Kore, to return their affections.

Miyu’s eyes softened, their tense limbs relaxing as they leaned in towards him. A faint smile tugged at their lips.

“Hey. It’s my job to distract you, not the other way around.”

[gubes-sweaters]

Fire on Fire

Summary: Spencer’s post-prison therapy session doesn’t go quite as planned. While discussing the ghosts of his past he becomes spacy, thoughts lingering on what could’ve been.

Content Warning(s): Talks of Spencer’s trauma, addiction, allusions to what cat did to spencer, brief mentions of Maeve’s death, a brief mention of what happened to the unsub from season 5 episode 12 ‘uncanny valley’ aka the living dolls episode. (I think that’s all but if there’s any more let me know) !ALSO ANYTHING THAT THE ‘THERAPIST’ SAYS IN HERE IS NOT ANY SORT OF SOUND ADVICE, IT JUST USED AS A PLOT POINT!

Word Count: 1.7k

Chapter 1: Maybe it’s all That i’ve Been Through

“Now Spencer, have you made any attempts to contact any of the people you’d like to reconcile with? At least the ones we wrote down last session,” the woman asks as she closes his patient file. She pushes her wide glasses up her nose with her nimble fingers, shifting in her seat before looking up at him.

“Yes, I um, actually got to everyone, except for one, but I don’t think I’m going to reach out to the one I scribbled off,” he says, trying not to fidget much in his seat. 

Despite the relaxing room equipped with a white noise machine, dim lights, along with the comforting smell and crackling sound of a candle, Spencer found it nearly impossible to do just that. It may be because these therapist seasons were the last step before he could fully return to the BAU. His anxiousness to bury himself in his work once again was clawing at him. 

He’s not used to having the watchful eye of a professional to pick apart his behavior at all times, at least while he’s in this room with her. He feels intimidated and paranoid, but those feelings aren’t as strong as they were while he was in prison. Which is the whole reason why he’s stuck in this room right now.

“Why was that?” The older woman inquired as she stares at him, her head cocks to the side as her wavy gray hair that frames her face shifts with her.

“I didn’t realize how many people there were that I wanted to connect with,” he says, looking out the window thinking of the difficult dinner he had just last night. They were the second to last on the dreaded list. As if she can hear his thoughts his therapist pipes up.

“Now I know you had a few people you wanted to speak to. There was a distant relative of a man named Tobias Hankle who was…” she trails off to let Spencer fill in the gaps.

“An unidentified suspect, an unsub. It’s what we call the people in our criminal investigations.” Spencer says.

“Right, and he was the reason for your addiction. Correct?” She asks in an attempt to keep him engaged in the conversation.

“Mhm,” is all Spencer musters up.

He looks out at the view from the therapist's office. There’s a park right across the road with large willow trees, casting shadows down at a happy family. ‘That could've been him,’ he thinks to himself. A dad playing with the older child. The kid bopping along happily in the lush grass. A woman sat at a park bench, not too far from the other two, with a baby happily gurgling on her lap, clapping along to the antics of the two in from of them. It pains him to know he has no memories of his own like that. Not from his own childhood and none from a family of his own.

“Spencer?’ The woman sitting across the mahogany coffee table asks him.

“Yes?” he responds, not even realizing she was still speaking to him.

“I asked you about the others on the list. Both of your parents, Derek Morgan, Stephen Gideon, Elle Greenaway, Mary and Joe Donovan, and one last one that’s scribbled over. Who’ve you reached out to?”

“Um, I sent Tobias Hankle’s cousin and letter, then I talked to my mom, but there’s not a lot to talk about with her. She hardly knows who I am anymore. I sent my dad an email and he sent one back, but I don’t know if I can bring myself to read it quite yet. I talked to Morgan. I actually had dinner at his house with his family and it was nice. Stephen Gideon didn’t pick up any of my calls and he didn’t email me back. Elle called me back, it was nice to hear her again,” he says before he cuts himself off. The last two, Maeve’s parents, that was the terrible dinner he had the night prior.

The memories were still so fresh and it hurt to think about for too long. The actual memories themselves were not terrible, they were content and happy, but something about seeing that Maeve came from such a happy family hurt even more. She was pure sunshine and now he knows where she got it from. 

“And?” She pushes.

“I talked to my ex-girlfriend's parents last night. After everything they’re been through I didn’t think they would’ve wanted to talk to me, but they did. They welcomed me into their own home. I think hearing them talk about everything made me blame myself a lot less,” he says trying to choke back tears. The lump in his throat seemed to swell.

He thinks about the tight hug her mom gave him. How she commented about how tired he looked as she dished out food for him. It was the first really good home cooked meal he enjoyed since before prison, other than at Morgan’s house the week prior. He thought about Maeve’s dad talking about Maeve when she was younger. It made his empty heart clench, sitting there imaging Maeve sitting next to him at the table, giggling along to her fathers stories. A shiny diamond ring on her finger, that catches the light from the delicate chandelier that hung over her parents' dinner table, as she lifts a glass of wine to her lips. The thought of that never happening made Spencer’s loneliness all the more soul crushing. He longed for that feeling of domesticity.

“That was progress. We talked about you alleviating the blame that you pile on yourself. Now, I would like to know who this is on the bottom you scribbled off?” she asks, pointing her pen to the writing at the bottom of a notebook. 

“I’m not too particularly keen on reaching out to her.”

“Why is that, are you afraid of rejection from this mystery person,” she inquires.

“No, everything with Cat Adams was very recent, and I know the investigation just stirred up her life. At least that’s what I heard from my team. I’m not sure if I want to do that again,” Spencer replies with a shrug of his shoulder before chewing on the inside of his lip. He knew he was partially making excuses.

“Well, this is your time to be a little selfish when it comes to your healing. We’re also supposed to be growing some more empathy for people like Tobias Hankle and Cat Adams. We’re not washing them of any wrong doings but,” is all she gets out before Spencer cuts in.

“I know, the bureau wants me to still feel bad for unsubs and in a lot of cases I do. Samantha Malcom is one that sticks out, sure she kidnapped women and basically turned them into living dolls, two of them she even accidentally killed, but she had also been physically, sexually, emotionally, and mentally abused by her father her entire childhood. Part of my heart hurts for her. There’s too many to count in all honesty. I look at them and it’s like looking in the mirror,” He says quickly.

“Spencer, I know you have a good heart, but after all you’ve been through in prison and your wrongful conviction I think it’d be best to speak with someone who knew Cat Adams and was going through similar things to her in order to not look at this all so… clinically. We can look at these peoples actions as monstrous, but we can’t paint everyone incapable of changing their lives. Abuse victims aren’t a monolith and if you think of what Cat has been through and think that her way out is justified, or any person's way out was justified, then we can’t have you working in the field with that mentality, given everything you’ve been through,” she says, trying to give him the softest, empathetic smile.

“I didn’t say that people seek vigilante justice or everyone reaches a tipping point. I never said those things were a healthy reaction either. I just,” this time it was the older woman's turn to interrupt him.

“You just poisoned men while in prison in the name of vigilante justice, or framed a man for assault, or told your unit chief Emily Prentiss that you would’ve had no problem murdering Peter Lewis a.k.a. Mr. Scratch. Spencer I know how your brain has been scrambled by being put in such a dog eat dog environment like that prison is. I just want you to exercise empathy by reaching out to her. I’m not asking you to ever justify any of Cat Adams’ behavior and I’m never going to ask you to forgive her for anything. You have a right to feel hurt, violated, and angry. I just want you to look at Cat Adams and see where her life went when she was hellbent on revenge. Then look at this family member of hers and see how she’s healed. At least I presume they’re a family member.”

“It’s her half sister. On her dad’s side.” he says shortly, feeling like a child who’s just been scolded by a parent. He knows she’s right in the effects of how it could help with healing, but a part of his heart that holds that hatred and content for Cat wants to project that onto her.

“Great, when you’re comfortable, reach out to her and simply ask to talk in a location that has brought you comfortability in your life other than your house. So you can feel a bit more relaxed and ready to open up. All of this is about doing what you can to improve your quality of life and your mental health. I care about you Spencer, I really do,” when she finishes her statement offers up another soft simple before opening his patient file backup once more.

“Alright.” he says with a gentle sigh.

“Well, that’s all for this week. Unless there’s something else you’d like to talk about. If not I’ll see you in two weeks,” she says, preparing to stand up.

When Spencer shakes his head no, they both wordlessly standup as he exits the room. He knew he already had the next appointment booked so he leaves with a polite wave and a tight lipped smile. Once he reaches his car, he takes a deep breath before cranking up his car. The warm August air causes him to shed his cardigan before pulling out his phone. He hovers over a number Penelope gave him. Dread fills his stomach once he hits the button to call her. Spencer once again looks at the happy family, now packing up their stuff as the line picks up.

“Hello?”

A/N: AHHHH! So I fell in love with writing again. Part of my burnout was caused by not wanting to pick up my series “unexpected turns” again because I didn’t plan it all out ahead of time, which was the worlds biggest mistake, but I digress because in my free time I’m going to rework that series while I put out this one. This one is already fully planned out and all of the rough drafts are done for it. So, the only thing I have left to do is polish this series, while reworking the other one. Any who I hope you enjoy the start to this series, if you do please like, comment, and reblog my work. Any engagement is much appreciated!

Taglist: @striving4averagegirl @measure-in-pain @tvandfanfic @haylaansmi @rexorangecouny @sophiario

[queeniesrose]

This is inspired by a post that was done a few years ago on a friends blog where they did for the Pokémon universe where the SWSH leaders were reacting to thirsty tweets. Some of the terms I am using maybe new to some of you. I will not be explaining what they mean. This post will read like it is for a youtube video. The host of the video will be the reader. The responses here will be somewhat shorter than for the Pokemon post.

Master Post | AU Information

Warning: This is NSFW so if you’re under the legal age or uncomfortable with content like this, please skip over this one!

NSFW Thirsty Tweets: Middle Earth

As soon as the video starts playing, the viewer can see the host on screen. It wasn’t long before you said in the video, “On today's episode of Celebrity Thirsty Tweets, we have fashion royalty, the men of Durín’s Folk, and more! Sit back, relax and enjoy the video!” The screen fades to black with a rendition of ABC by Jackson 5 playing. Soon the first person and their corresponding tweet is on screen.

I want @Thrandaddy to simba me. No, I will NOT explain to those who don't understand.

Thranduil lets out a hearty laugh, "It has been some time since I last been asked to Simba someone. Both in a safe for work and a not safe for work context." He shakes his head as he pushes the naughty thoughts away for a moment. "But that is something that would be doable.... With someone special" He gives the camera a knowing look.

@DurinsFolkDwalin can angry moose me whenever he so pleases.

Dwalin shifts back into his chair, stroking his beard. In a low, gravely voice, he says, "Well, someone is a kinky little thang. Maybe you'll get lucky one of these days..." His voice trails off as he sinks a bit lower into the chair. "Or maybe not. The world may never know."

I need him soooo bad. I woke up thinkin about him dicking me down. @DurinsFolkThorin

Thorin scoffs a little bit, "You need me? You need me to 'dick you down'." He says putting air quotes around the last part of the sentence. A smile slowly creeps onto his face, "You certainly are a bold one to say that on the internet. Unfortunately, the only person who would get 'dicked down' by me, as you so eloquently put it, would be my significant other." He lets out a low chuckle.

I would hold his ass as if they were shiny jewels. Mans has a nice phat dumpy. @L.Greenleaf

Legolas immediately gets a mischievous look on his face. "Phat dumpy? What phat dumpy?" He asks as he stands up, turning around far enough to where his ass would be in frame and lifting up his shirt and jacket. Effectively showing off his ass. "Do you mean this phat dumpy? This is you wanted to see, right! It best be Greenwood's ass!" He burst out laughing after that.

Can I bite his butt? @DurinsFolkFili

Yes, you can. Don't forget to do a drive by ass slapping for @DurinsFolkKili. Just wind up your hand and then smack that ass so hard it makes a crack sound. Then BOLT.

It took Fili and Kili several minutes to get through reading their respective tweets. And even longer for them to calm down from laughing. Kili smacks Fili in the stomach a few times lightly, motioning him to speak first. "Oooooooooh boy! This is simultaneously the funniest and kinkiest thing that has been said to us as a pair. If you truly do want to know if you can drive by slap Kili's ass." He pauses for a moment, "Yes. Yes,you can. Don't let him know it's happening. Keep him on his toes."

Kili's eyes widen at that, before exclaiming, "Hey! Hey! No you can't! Not without doing the same thing to him, that is." He bursts out laughing again at his thoughts. "If you manage to bit his ass too...."

I just want @RangerStrider to hate fuck me so I can growl at him and never to him again. I hate him so bad.

But soft Aragorn? OH NO MY MUSCLES INVOLUNTARILY FLEX!

Aragorn lets out a low growl, before smiling. "I'm flattered, but I don't think I'd ever hate fuck someone." He gets closer to the mic, softening he voice, "Soft, you want to see soft me, huh? Be good for me and maybe you all will be able to see a soft Aragorn."

Horny on main again for @K9DadHaldir.

Haldir looks into the camera with a slight confused look. "On main? What does that mean? Some of these young people slang confuse me." He says, scratching the back of his neck. "Is it like, the same thing as, or similar to being feral? If it is, thanks. I guess? I sure hope that's a good thing."

The camera fades to black, before you appear back on screen. "And that's all for today folks! This has been today's episode of Celebrity Thirsty Tweets! See you next time!" You say before your video outro plays.

[jb2856]

Hello lovely! I may be a wee bit too high but I just got a very good idea maybe? Din Djarin x reader but Viking AU maybe? I might just be listening to too much Peyton parish but i thought of din while hearing Valhalla calling and it conjured up something wild lol

Hmmmm let’s see….

Viking!Din Djarin x Gn!Reader

Tags/Warnings: 16+, “enemies” to lovers, use of you/you’re, slightly smutty, slllliiightttt body description (just Din being taller/bulkier), Din is a little out of character tbh kind of seems like a younger version?(characters are over 18!!), AU

AN: listen, the only things I really know about Vikings is a single book I read called, Sky In The Deep, a partial playthru of Assassin’s Creed Valhalla and some random episodes of Vikings. (Plus some easy Norse Mythology lol) So everything in this is based on GOOGLED things, NO clue if they’re actually correct sorry 😂. If you want to call me out on things If they’re wrong…definitely do please!

Requests are OPEN, ask away!

Summary: You and Din hate eachother, after he wins a bet you have to kiss him. Reluctantly?

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You glare, ticking your jaw as he sits across from you. He’s spread out in his chair, his legs wide open, his body leaned back in the chair. Taking a huge chuck out of a loaf of bread, he chews obnoxiously, a smirk planted on his plump lips.

He’s fucking smug as shit.

Bastard.

You’d slap that fucking smirk right off his face right now if you could, too bad attacking the jarls son would get you killed. Nevermind the fact you are close family friends, your parents would still punish you both, for acting like children in public.

As if he can hear what you’re thinking he huffs a breath through his nose, widens his smirk, and knocks his fur stuffed boot against your own.

“Enough!” You hissed quietly against your teeth.

He chews, still fucking smirking. “Don’t be upset.” He shrugs his stupid…strong, broad…shoulders.

“You’re a child.” You insist, as you scuff your chair back against the stone floors of the Hall and push your plate. He quickly rises with you and follows you out into the snow. It almost gives you pleasure to know that even though he’s an asshole and you hate him, and he hates you, he’ll still follow you like a lost dog.

“Leave me.” You grumble.

“No, you lost,” he says gruffly. “You have to pay up.” You roll your eyes as you continue walking to your home

“No.” You stated, “I don’t.”

You had been training in a group, and you two had been pit against each other. Before you began, he had whispered to you, bet you that if he won you had to kiss him, and believing in yourself a little too much, apparently, you took him up on it.

You lost. Obviously.

It had been in sword combat. He had arced his blade, and taken you off guard, knocking your own from your hand. He had then kicked at your stomach, effectively knocking you on your ass. He’d ridden you to the ground, pinning you down. His body was bulkier than yours, the weight leaving your lungs unable to expand. the embarrassment of losing so quickly and being trapped under him caused heat to redden your face and heat your entire body. You’d tapped. He’d won. You’d lost.

He had jumped up, leaving you there prone on the muddy frost bitten grass. You were huffing, watching slightly stunned as he slapped hands, and patted backs with a few other guys.

You grumbled as you brushed yourself off, and retrieved your sword, your face still burning.

Stupid Din and his stupid shiny silver armor, most men and women here don’t wear it, putting their faith in the Gods instead. But he doesn’t care. He’s arrogant. He likes the look, likes to be intimidating. You knew who he really was though, you saw through it. You’d witnessed his facade’s creation.

His helmet is brilliant, you will give him that one. A polished silver helm with a T visor cut out, the middle line stopping around the arch of his nose. His eyes and mouth just barely visible underneath.

Looking at him sometimes causes a pull in your stomach, a feeling that heats your entire body. Something like what just happened.

Gods.

Fuck.

Fuck, no!

Asshole.

Despite…that, you do admire him, his skill is severe. He works hard, helps around. You notice often he worries over the incapable women and children, he had a love for the people. For their safety and well-being.

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. Arriving at your home, quickly opening the door you try to close him out, but a large, wide hand stops it from closing. Din then shoulders his way in and instead closes it behind him, effectively isolating you inside. Together. Alone.

Trying a little too hard, you glare at him, your hands on your hips. You swallow thickly.

He steps closer, causing you to shiver slightly.

Why are you excited? He’s an asshole.

One more step, and he’s in front of you.

Your lashes flutter, refusing to move your eyes up to his. He’s taller, by at least half a foot.

“Look at me.” He practically growls. You bite your lip, your chest filling with anticipation.

What will he do? How will he kiss you?

Will it be quick and chaste? Or deep and passionate? Will he use his tongue? Gods you hope so…

You shift your eyes up slowly, meeting his deep brown ones. He shifts his hands to his sword, removing it from his person, setting gently on your table. Then he reaches and does the same to yours. You just stare as he does it, not preventing his actions, all the while staring into his eyes.

He’s only become more beautiful as he’s aged, the fine lines growing on his face often mesmerized you. You grew up together, you’ve always picked on eachother. You used to be snot nosed kids who ran around the village, now you’d both aged into fantastic deadly warriors.

His hand comes up to cradle your face, the gentle touch strange compared to his rough, calloused hands.

Have you always felt this deep longing for him?

Din’s smug smirk widens, clear amusement shined in his eyes. Now glancing between your own eyes, his tick down quickly to your lips and back up again.

Never mind you still hate him.

But you also ache for him, you want him so bad. You want his mouth on you, yours on his. Him inside you, Gods.

Does he feel the same?

Finally his lips brush yours, your lids falling closed at the sensation. He pulls away slightly with a quiet smack. Hesitating only for a second before coming back in and meeting your lips once again, deepening the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, you moan at the sensation. His hands start to wander, feeling anywhere he can manage. Your neck, your sides, your ass. Then he’s pushing you backwards across the room, your back hitting the ladder to your loft. Your hands are brushing through his hair, gripping his neck when he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Fuck..” you choke out at the sensation, as his scent surrounds you.

He captures your lips once again, pulling back slightly. You’re both panting, breaths mingling.

You look into each others eyes, silently agreeing to continue.

You slide down from his hips, turning quickly to climb up the ladder, his hands grabbing your waist.

A new excitement blossoming in your chest.

You make it maybe two steps before you both hear the blaring of the raid horn, instantly you’re both on guard. Your village was in a hotspot for raids.

You slide back down the rungs, your battle mentality slipping in. You both rush for your weapons, luckily only having taken one off. Before you open your door, his hand brushes yours, catching yours. He looks at you sharply, expressing every emotion he possibly can.

We will continue this later.

I don’t actually hate you.

Be careful.

Stay safe.

I love you.

“To Valhalla!” He shouts.

You nod once, sharply. Thinning your lips, your mouth setting in determination.

“To Valhalla.”

P.S. I hope you enjoyed anon! Thank you thank you thank you for paying attention to me!! 💚💚💚