#this is your fault jorge

[reya-eats-art]

If you're new hereeee,,,,, welcome to the fridge!

Anyways,

Listened to EPIC while drawing this for the whole 3hrs,,,, hm.. i have come to the realization that maybe this is what EPIC does to people...

[psychicbluebirdmiracle]

Considering the fact clock ticking noises freak me slam out love in paradise is amazing at giving me a heart attack

[bendita9-6]

Epic What ifs

Okay so I posted this on my YouTube, but I came up with the weirdest idea, Epic the Thunder Saga, but instead of “Mutiny” Odysseus, Eurylochus and the rest of the crew sing a parody of “Your Fault” from Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods, which ultimately ends with everyone agreeing that the one person to blame for everything that has happened is Paris of Troy. He’s responsible he’s the one to blame it’s his fault!

[popcornzippy]

I know that nobody watches motogp but fuck Jorge Martín for not even bothering to check on the rider he crashed out before bawling about losing a championship due to his own hubris

[a-dargon]

WHY DOES THE MUSICAL ABOUT THE ANCIENT GREEK TRAGIC EPIC HAVE TO BE TRAGIC DAMN IT

[helen-with-an-a]

You Hate Me

Hiiiii - so I thought I'd have a little break between requests and so I wrote this. It's angsty and I probably won't have a part 2 cos I like the way it ended and I'm not even sure where I would take it to be honest. Anyways, I hope you like it <3<3<3

Lucy Bronze x sister!Reader

Description: Lucy has always hated R and she just wants to know why

Word count: 7.2k

You felt like an outsider in your family your whole life. You were the youngest sibling by quite some way. Lucy was 12 when you were born. She didn’t really want another younger sister. She was happy with the way things were. She was the middle child - crazy and reckless with a passion for sport that would take her all over the globe.

Her parents already struggled with money. She and Jorge already had to do jobs around the neighbourhood to help out wherever possible. Sophie was thinking about what she could do when she moved up to secondary school. They couldn’t handle a baby. They couldn’t handle the extra costs you would bring. Would she have to give up football? She knew it was selfish to think of that, but football was her life. She couldn’t … wouldn’t … give it up without a fight.

For Lucy, football wasn't just a pastime; it was her escape, her freedom, and the one thing in her chaotic life that she had complete control over. On the field, she could be anyone she wanted – strong, fast, unstoppable. The thought of losing that terrified her. It wasn't just about the sport itself; it was about the future she had envisioned. Scouts had already begun to take notice of her, murmurs of potential scholarships floated in the air, and dreams of playing professionally, of leaving this small, suffocating town behind, had started to take shape.

But now, with a new baby on the way, everything seemed uncertain. The baby meant more bills, more attention diverted away from her, and likely, more sacrifices to be made. The prospect gnawed at her, a constant weight in the back of her mind. She didn’t want to be angry at you – after all, it wasn’t your fault – but the resentment was there, simmering beneath the surface. Every time she laced up her boots, the fear that it could be for the last time haunted her.

The pressure at home only seemed to increase. Her parents were stretched thin, their arguments about money becoming more frequent and more intense. The once-occasional requests for her and Jorge to contribute had now turned into expectations. It was no longer about just helping out; it was about survival. Lucy found herself picking up extra shifts at the local café, babysitting for the neighbours, and doing whatever odd jobs she could find, all while trying to keep up with her schoolwork and football practice. She was exhausted, but she refused to let it show.

At night, when the house was quiet and the weight of the day settled heavily on her shoulders, she would lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. She couldn't stop thinking about what might happen if she was forced to give up football. It wasn’t just a game to her – it was her way out, her shot at something better. Without it, she feared she would be stuck in this life forever, trapped by the same financial struggles that had plagued her parents.

As your arrival grew closer, the tension in the house became palpable. Her parents tried to reassure her that things would be okay, that they would find a way to make it work, but their words felt hollow. Lucy could see the worry in their eyes, the strain in their voices. They were trying their best, but their best might not be enough. And that terrified her.

Lucy made a silent vow to herself: no matter what happened, she would find a way to keep playing. Even if it meant waking up before dawn to practice on her own, even if it meant working twice as hard to make up for the lost time, she wouldn't let go of her dream. Football was more than just a sport to her; it was her lifeline, her hope for a future that didn’t involve the same struggles her parents faced.

She knew it would be a battle, but Lucy had never been one to back down from a fight. If keeping her dream alive meant fighting harder than she ever had before, then so be it. She was ready for whatever came her way, even if that meant taking on the world with the weight of her family’s struggles on her shoulders.

There were complications. Mum had felt something was wrong. You were born too early. That’s what her dad had said one Thursday afternoon when they got home from school. Lucy could see the strain on her parents' faces as they tried to stay positive, but the cracks were beginning to show. The early birth meant more than just an unexpected arrival – it meant weeks, maybe even months, of additional stress. There would be doctors' appointments, hospital visits, and possibly medical bills that they wouldn't be able to afford. Mum and Dad would need to take more time off work, and that meant even less money coming into the house. They were already stretched thin, barely making ends meet, and this was another blow they couldn’t afford.

For Lucy, it felt like the family was being pulled even further apart. She knew what more time off work for her mum meant – less money for groceries, fewer new things, and more unpaid bills piling up on the kitchen table. The thought of how this would affect them all was overwhelming. Dad’s tired eyes and Mum’s forced smiles told her everything she needed to know – they were worried, really worried.

And as much as Lucy tried to focus on her own life – school, football, friends – she couldn’t shake the growing sense of responsibility she felt. She saw how hard her parents were working, how much they were sacrificing, and it made her want to do more, to somehow lessen the burden that had fallen on their shoulders. She picked up extra shifts at her part-time job and offered to help more around the house, even though she was already stretched thin. She stopped asking for new things, for trips, for anything that might add to the growing financial strain.

But no matter how much she tried to help, the reality was inescapable. The early birth meant more than just financial strain – it meant that your health would be a constant concern, at least for a while. The house became quieter, the usual buzz of activity replaced by a tension that Lucy couldn’t ignore. Conversations were hushed, and there was a heaviness in the air, a kind of unspoken worry that everyone carried with them.

She remembered how, before all this, her parents would talk about the future with cautious optimism – how they would make it work, how they would find a way to manage. But now, the future seemed uncertain, clouded by the reality of hospital visits and medical expenses. The joy that had once been associated with your arrival was overshadowed by the fear of what might come next.

You had turned out fine. You were discharged from the NICU six weeks later. You were a little small, a little underdeveloped, but you were fine. The doctors’ visits still happened regularly until you were about three years old, but then you were declared fit as a fiddle. A perfectly normal, healthy child.

Except you weren’t, or at least you didn’t feel like it. From an early age, you could sense that something was off. You couldn’t quite understand it back then, but you felt it in the way Lucy would close her bedroom door just as you toddled over, eager to join in whatever she was doing. You felt it in the way she would snatch things out of your hands, things you just wanted to look at, things she was showing Sophie and Jorge without a second thought. The sting of rejection was something you became all too familiar with, even before you could fully comprehend what it meant to be unwanted.

You didn’t understand why Lucy seemed to dislike you so much. You were just a child, desperate for her attention, for her approval. But no matter how hard you tried, you could never seem to break through the wall she had built between you. You remember watching her from a distance, her laughter and excitement as she talked about football with Sophie and Jorge. You wished you could be a part of that world, but it always felt like there was an invisible barrier keeping you out.

Your parents, older than those of your friends, were tired. You could see it in their eyes, in the way they moved through the day with a sort of weary determination. They did their best, you knew that. But their best often wasn’t enough. They were stretched thin – between work, bills, and keeping up with the demands of raising four children, there wasn’t much left over for you. The attention you craved, the affection you needed, was often redirected elsewhere – toward Lucy’s burgeoning football career, Jorge’s new hobbies, Sophie’s interests.

You lived in hand-me-downs – clothes that didn’t quite fit right, toys that had lost their newness long before they reached you. You quickly learned to ask for little, to keep your wants and needs to yourself. Birthdays became a delicate dance of low expectations. You remember the time you asked for that big Barbie dollhouse when you were five. You had seen it in a catalog and had imagined how much fun it would be, but when you shyly mentioned it, the reaction was swift and harsh. Lucy shouted at you, her voice filled with anger and frustration. “Are you kidding? We can’t afford that! Stop being so selfish!” The words hit you like a slap, and you learned that day to make your wishes smaller, quieter, more manageable.

It wasn’t just the material things, though. It was the sense that you were always in the way, that your presence was more of a burden than a joy. The more you tried to blend in, the more you felt invisible. Your parents were simply too tired, too overwhelmed to notice the small things – like the way your face lit up when you finally mastered riding your bike, or how proud you were when you brought home a picture you had drawn at school. There was no one to share those victories with, no one to tell you that you were doing well.

Lucy’s disdain only seemed to grow as you got older. She was focused, driven, her eyes set on her future in football. Every spare penny went toward her training, her gear, her travel expenses for matches. And you, you were just there, existing in the shadow of her ambition. It wasn’t that she went out of her way to be cruel; it was more that she simply didn’t have the space in her life for you. You were the uninvited guest, the afterthought.

You remember the looks – the ones she would give you when you tried to talk to her, or when you reached out for some connection. They were cold, distant, as if you were a stranger in your own home. It made you feel small, insignificant, like you didn’t belong. You tried to be helpful, to stay out of her way, but nothing you did seemed to change how she felt about you.

It was confusing, the way you were treated differently. Sophie and Jorge seemed to get along just fine with Lucy. They had their own interests, their own ways of bonding with her, and you were always the odd one out. It hurt, more than you could put into words. You wanted to be close to them, to be part of the sibling camaraderie you saw in other families, but it always felt just out of reach.

As the years went by, you withdrew into yourself. You learned to entertain yourself, to find comfort in solitude, because trying to fit into their world was too painful. The isolation was lonely, but it was safer than risking the rejection that had become all too familiar. You built your own little world, where you didn’t have to worry about whether or not you were wanted, where you could be yourself without fear of being turned away.

You were thirteen when you were gifted something that changed your life. It came at a time when the house had finally quieted down, the once chaotic energy of your siblings replaced by an unfamiliar stillness. All three of them – Lucy, Sophie, and Jorge – had moved out, each one carving out their own path, their own life away from the confines of your childhood home. Lucy was about to move to Lyon, Sophie had landed her dream job in a bustling city, and Jorge was travelling, always chasing the next big adventure. They were all living their best lives, while you were left behind, navigating the echoes of their absence.

With them gone, the purse strings had loosened a little. The financial pressures that had always weighed so heavily on your parents seemed to ease with each sibling's departure. There were fewer mouths to feed, fewer expenses to cover. For the first time, there was a little breathing room – a bit of space for something more than just the basics. And in that space, something unexpected happened.

On your thirteenth birthday, your parents handed you a small, neatly wrapped box. The excitement you had long suppressed bubbled up cautiously, a mix of anticipation and doubt. You had learned to keep your expectations low, to shield yourself from disappointment, but this time, something felt different. As you carefully peeled away the wrapping paper, your heart skipped a beat. Inside was a camera – an old, second-hand one, but to you, it was a treasure beyond measure.

Your parents had saved up for it, they explained, seeing how much time you spent doodling and drawing, how your eyes would light up whenever you saw something beautiful. They wanted to give you something that was just yours, something that could help you express yourself, to capture the world as you saw it.

The camera became your constant companion. You took it everywhere, eager to capture the beauty you saw in even the smallest things – the way the light filtered through the leaves of the trees in your backyard, the subtle smile on your mother’s face when she thought no one was looking, the old, weathered buildings in town that seemed to whisper stories of a time long past. Through the lens, you began to see the world differently, noticing details and moments that had always slipped by unnoticed.

But more than that, the camera gave you a voice. It allowed you to tell your own stories, to frame your own experiences in a way that was meaningful to you. It was your way of processing the complicated emotions that had built up over the years – the loneliness, the longing, the sense of not quite fitting in. With each click of the shutter, you were able to capture a piece of yourself, to express feelings that had always been too difficult to put into words.

And as you delved deeper into photography, something else began to happen. You started to see yourself differently. The shy, withdrawn girl who had always felt like an outsider was slowly transforming into someone with a purpose, with a passion. The camera gave you confidence, a sense of control over your own narrative that you had never felt before. It didn’t matter that you had grown up in the shadow of your siblings, or that you had often felt neglected and overlooked. With your camera, you were finally able to step out of that shadow and into your own light.

Your parents noticed the change in you. They saw how the camera brought you out of your shell, how it gave you something to look forward to, something to be proud of. They encouraged you, in their own quiet way, to keep going, to explore this new passion. For the first time, they seemed to truly see you – not just as their youngest child, but as an individual with your own dreams, your own talents.

At fifteen, you were asked to participate in the local exhibition. You had won a competition for the local paper, and this was the prize. ‘Alnwick by the Locals’ – it was to be put on display up at the castle. You had asked Lucy if she could make the trip over from France.

Lucy had been away for so long that you weren't sure if she'd even come. Her life in France was a whirlwind of training and matches, and the little requests you made felt insignificant against the backdrop of her bustling career. Still, you hoped – hoped that this time, she might see things differently.

When the day of the exhibition arrived, you could hardly contain your excitement. The castle was adorned with your photographs, each framed image capturing slices of life in your small town. You stood by your display, anxiously scanning the crowd for any sign of Lucy. Your heart raced with a blend of nerves and anticipation.

As the afternoon wore on, there was still no sign of her. You tried to push the disappointment aside, focusing instead on the visitors who stopped by to admire your work. They complimented your eye for detail and the way you had managed to capture the essence of Alnwick. Each positive comment felt like a small victory, a validation of the passion and effort you had poured into your photography.

You were losing hope fast. She wasn’t coming. Of course she wouldn’t come. She hadn’t responded to your text message asking her to come and giving her a date. She hadn’t responded to the email you had sent with her ticket attached. All she had to do was book the flights. It had been luck that it landed on a free weekend for her. You wouldn’t have asked otherwise.

As the afternoon stretched on, your excitement began to wane, replaced by a creeping sense of disappointment. Each passing minute seemed to amplify the absence of the one person you had hoped would be there to witness your moment of triumph. You forced yourself to stay positive, engaging with the visitors who complimented your work, but the empty space where Lucy should have been felt like a physical ache.

You wandered through the exhibition, making small talk with guests and answering their questions about your photographs. The praise for your work was a small comfort, but it couldn’t fully compensate for the gap left by Lucy’s absence. The castle, once a place of eager anticipation, now felt like a grand but empty stage, highlighting the solitude you felt.

By the time the exhibition was winding down, the weight of Lucy’s no-show had settled heavily on your shoulders. You packed up your things with a mix of resignation and sadness, feeling the sting of what could have been. Your parents, who had come to support you, tried to lift your spirits with kind words and encouragement, but their efforts fell short of erasing the feeling of emptiness. Your other siblings had turned up. Your sister-in-law had appeared, holding a bunch of flowers and looking around the space in wonder. Why couldn’t she have been your actual sister?

In the quiet of the car ride home, you tried to focus on the positive aspects of the day – the success of the exhibition, the connections you had made with people who appreciated your work. But it was hard not to remember that Lucy hadn’t turned up.

Back at home, you retreated to your room, muttering something about being tired and disappearing upstairs before anyone could stop you. Your room was covered in photographs. You didn’t have many of you as a child – a downside of being the youngest of four to very tired parents you supposed. There was one that you kept pinned above your bed. It was the day you were brought home from the hospital. You were in Jorge’s arms as Lucy and Sophie stood either side of him, all of them beaming brightly. You were fairly sure it was the only photo you had of Lucy smiling at you. The rest of the photographs were taken by you. Jorge and your father. Sophie and your mother. Your parents in the stands waiting for Lucy to play. Narla chasing a ball. Your grandparents looking out to sea.

You knew opening social media wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was the third picture you saw. Lucy, sitting next to Keira and Georgia – wide smiles and happy faces. She was in Manchester. She had made the trip over to England after all. Just not to see you. The image was a punch to the gut. Lucy, in a casual outfit, her hair pulled back, was surrounded by her friends, their joy on full display. You could almost hear their laughter through the screen, see the ease and comfort of their togetherness. The pain in your chest grew even more.

You hadn’t been told she was moving back to Manchester. Mum had mentioned it in passing, commenting that she was so excited to finally be able to see her daughter play with comparative ease. You had lied when she asked you why you looked confused – making up something about homework you had remembered you needed to complete. The pain was something you were so used to by now, that you were surprised it still hurt. The last time you saw her at home was Christmas. She had missed your birthday completely – again. But that was fine. You could play happy families for a few weeks whilst she was back. You had been to a few football matches for hers – only the big ones. The Champions League finals mainly. The rest of the time you made up excuses. Homework was a reliable one. You were just too busy. Exams were around the corner, you couldn’t afford to take the time off, even for just one weekend.

You had become adept at masking your feelings, but the truth was, each time you saw Lucy’s life in the media, each time you heard about her successes and adventures, it reinforced the distance between you. It was as if she existed in a different world, a world where you didn’t quite belong. Even when she was physically present, her mind seemed to be elsewhere, her focus entirely on her career and her own life.

You hadn’t been told that Lucy would be moving to Barcelona either. Another thing she failed to mention. You knew that Lucy and your parents met up in Manchester regularly – it was easier for them to make the trip to watch her games that it was for her to travel to you. But you would have thought she would’ve mentioned it at the Euros. The night after they won was the longest you had spent in her presence since you were about twelve. She had willingly drawn you into a side hug as your parents snapped a photo of all their children. Looking back, it was clearly the alcohol in her system, and the adrenaline high she was still running on.

You had been dragged over to Australia too. Not that you let your parents know about your distaste in going. You couldn’t do that to them. They knew that Lucy and you had a strained relationship, but not how deep the cuts ran. You would not be the one to tell them that either.  It would break their hearts to find out that their favourite daughter, and their youngest child barely co-existed together. No, you were more than happy to put up a front for them. They had given you everything, it was the least you could do.

“Hi, I’m Ona, it’s nice to meet you.” She smiled amicably, a bit nervous perhaps, but she seemed nice enough.

“Hola, Soy la hermana de Lucy … o la llamas Lucía?” She blinked, startled by your Spanish.

“Tú hablas español?” she asked impressed.

“Un poco, hice español A-level en la escuela. Pensé que sería una buena manera-” You joked, ignoring the strange looks from Lucy.

“Ona, c’mon, I think your parents want you.” Lucy’s voice cut through yours, effectively cutting you off.

You had been so hopeful, so eager to make a connection, but the moment had been abruptly cut short by Lucy’s interference. At the time, you had shrugged it off, thinking it was just Lucy’s usual impatience. Now, however, it seemed like yet another piece in the puzzle of Lucy’s world that you never fully understood.

The news of not-quite-breakup with Keira, and her new relationship with Ona reached you indirectly, through snippets of social media posts and the occasional mention by your parents. They were often caught up in their own busy lives, struggling to balance the constant demands of work and home. Conversations about Lucy's new life was interspersed with discussions about their own challenges, leaving little room for deeper insights or personal connection.

Ona, who you had briefly met in the whirlwind of the World Cup, was now a fixture in Lucy’s life. The contrast between their lives and yours felt even starker. While Lucy was jet-setting across Europe and building a new chapter in Barcelona, you were back in your small town, navigating the complexities of your own world through the lens of your camera.

It was the biggest day of your young life. You had been asked to put up ten photographs on display in London. Your photographs were going to be seen in London. By paying members of the public. The significance of the event was almost overwhelming. You had worked tirelessly to curate the best of your collection, selecting pieces that told a story, captured emotions, and showcased your unique perspective.

The morning of the exhibition, you arrived at the gallery with a mixture of nerves and excitement. The building was impressive – an elegant space with high ceilings and large windows that let in natural light, perfect for showcasing art. You were greeted by the curator, who showed you to your designated space and helped you set up your work. It was surreal to see your photographs hanging on the walls, each one carefully framed and lit to perfection.

You had only met Ona a few times, when she had been brought to England to meet your family. She was kind and sweet. Maybe it was because you were relatively close in age, but you couldn’t shift the familiar sting. Why couldn’t she have been your sister instead? It was the summer, the Olympics in full swing, so you knew it was too much to ask for her to be there. But you couldn’t help the small bubble of hope that Lucy would turn up.

You had it on good authority from Keira, Leah and Georgia that she had agreed to go. Ona’s game was due to finish at 4 pm the day before opening night. The journey would probably be tiring for Lucy, but she had promised her friends she would be their. If not for you then to see them before pre-season started up again.

The day of the exhibition arrived, and you were enveloped in the excitement of seeing your work displayed in such a prestigious venue. The gallery buzzed with activity as people streamed in, their voices a mix of appreciation and curiosity. The atmosphere was electric, and you tried to focus on enjoying the moment, even though the small, nagging hope that Lucy would show up lingered at the back of your mind.

Hours passed, and as the evening drew closer, you began to accept that she might not make it. The crowd was engaged and appreciative, and the positive feedback was reassuring, but the absence of your sister was a constant ache. You tried to push it away, concentrating instead on the connections you were making and the compliments you were receiving.

Your parents had come, and their pride was evident in their smiles and the way they spoke about your work. They marvelled at how far you had come and how talented you were. Their support and encouragement were the best comfort you could have asked for, and you felt a sense of accomplishment in sharing this achievement with them.

Just as the event was winding down, you were approached by Keira, Leah, and Georgia, who were all beaming with excitement. They had come to show their support and to catch up with you after the event. Why couldn’t Lucy do the same thing? Did she really hate you so much that she couldn’t even fake it for a few hours for the sake of her sister?

“We told Lucy about the exhibition,” Leah said, her eyes twinkling with excitement as she looked around the space.

“She said she would come back for it.” Keira added, her tone warm but carrying a hint of concern.

Keira had always been the one who was more in tune with the undercurrents of relationships, and she knew how complicated things were between you and Lucy. She was the only one who truly understood the depth of the tension that simmered beneath the surface. She had offered to take you and Lucy out for lunch – letting your parents rest after the long day of travel.

During that lunch, Lucy’s walls were visibly up, and her responses were curt and distant. The conversation often felt forced, with long pauses and polite but empty exchanges. It was strange Keira had watched with a mix of frustration and disbelief as Lucy struggled to engage, offering only grunts and monosyllabic words in response. She had never seen Lucy like that. She was usually great with kids. She usually revelled in making them laugh and enjoy their time with her. She had watched you sink further and further into yourself, until she was the only one speaking, a far cry from how dinners with Lucy’s family normally looked.

When the subject of family came up in conversation, Keira’s knowledge of the strained dynamics between you and your sister was never far from her mind. Keira’s attempt to mend the gaps had been a sincere effort, but it usually just ended in a fight between Lucy and her girlfriend. You often wondered why you couldn’t have had Keira as a sister instead.

“But … we haven’t heard anything from her today.” Georgia confessed; her voice tinged with concern.

Keira, ever the perceptive one, gave Georgia a sharp nudge, a silent reminder to tread carefully. She glanced over at you, who had been trying to mask your disappointment with a forced smile, though the tightness around your eyes betrayed your emotions.

“I’m sure she’s just caught up with something,” Keira said, trying to sound reassuring. “She’ll be here soon, I promise.” Her words were meant to comfort, but Keira couldn’t shake the worry that Lucy’s absence might be more than just an oversight. You knew otherwise, Lucy wouldn’t be coming.

Leah, sensing the shift in mood, quickly changed the subject. “Your photos are absolutely stunning,” she said, her enthusiasm genuine.

“Thanks, Le,” you smiled back at her. “Did you see the one of you guys?”

“What? I’m … we’re in here?” She clearly hadn’t made her way to the back of the room yet.

“Yeh, it was after the Euros.”

Leah and Keira were standing together on the makeshift dancefloor, a vibrant space that had been hastily set up for the occasion. Their laughter and the rhythm of the music filled the air as they danced with uninhibited joy. Wrapped around their shoulders were colourful flags, their bright hues fluttering with every movement. The flags added an extra splash of festivity to their energetic performance.

Amidst the swirl of movement, Georgia bounded up to them with infectious enthusiasm. She launched herself into the scene, her head playfully peeking out from between Leah and Keira. Her excitement was palpable, adding a new dimension of liveliness to the group. The trio's shared joy and friendship were evident in their spontaneous and carefree expressions.

“Wow,” Leah breathed. She was in genuine awe. She remembered that day like it was yesterday, she remembered the moment she saw the camera being aimed at her, a quiet but smiling you behind it.

Keira joined her, leaning in to get a closer look. “You really captured the energy of that moment. It’s like I can hear the music just looking at it.”

You smiled at their reactions, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over you. “I’m glad you like it. That was one of those moments where everything just felt perfect, you know? The music, the people, the atmosphere. It was one of those nights that you just want to hold on to forever.”

Georgia nodded, her smile widening. “And you’ve done just that. It’s not just a photograph; it’s a piece of that night.”

Keira looked around at the rest of the exhibition. “Seriously, all of your work is amazing. You’ve got such a unique perspective. It’s like each photo has its own story.”

“Thank you, Kei. Coming from you … that means a lot.” Keira was the closest thing you had to a sister that cared. Not that Sophie didn’t care, but she had a similar indifference that Lucy had. It wasn’t as bad, but you only really saw her on the holidays and if she ever came home for a weekend.  

As the night came to an end, you couldn’t shake off the lingering disappointment. The exhibition had been a success, but the empty space left by Lucy’s absence felt like a heavy shadow. Another milestone in your life had come and gone, and once again, you hadn’t been important enough for her to show up. You couldn’t fathom why she hated you so much. She showed up to Sophie’s things, and Jorge’s. Why not yours?

The weight of this realisation grew heavier with each passing moment. As you the taxi took you back to your hotel, the quiet of the car only seemed to amplify your sadness. By the time you arrived, you were in no mood to face the evening alone with your thoughts. Maybe ordering a bottle of the strongest thing they had from the hotel bar wasn’t your best idea. But you were alone and sad after what should’ve been the best day of your life.

The hotel room was big and expensive – your one treat to yourself in congratulations. A luxury suite in a five-star hotel in London. The alcohol burned your throat, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to sit with your emotions any longer. You wanted to stop feeling. Anything to numb the pain that had been a constant your whole life.

You weren’t sure when the idea came to you. One minute you were on the hotel balcony, wallowing in your sadness with the bottle in your hands, the next you were pulling out your phone. You weren’t expecting her to answer. You weren’t even sure she had your number saved.

When her voicemail finally picked up, the sound of her voice – a cheerful and upbeat recording informing you she couldn’t make it to the phone and to leave a message for her – felt like a final slap in the face.

“Luce … Lucy … Lucia Roberta. It’s me,” you giggled, the alcohol making you feel oddly detached from the situation. “By me, I mean your sister. Not Sophie, your other sister. Y/N … you’re probably not even going to listen to this, so I can probably say what I want to.”

You took a deep breath, struggling to keep your words coherent. “I don’t know why you couldn’t make it tonight. Actually, no that’s a lie. I do know why you didn’t come tonight. You hate me. That’s why.”

Your voice wavered, and you wiped a stray tear from your cheek. “Remember that time you said you’d come to my year 6 school play? You didn’t make it. And the Alnwick Castle exhibition thingy? And my GCSE results meal? And my A-level party? And my uni send-off? I know you didn’t want another sister. I don’t think I even appear on your Wikipedia page. I know ‘cos I use it to keep updated on your life. You never tell me anything so.” You took another shuddering breath and a swig from the bottle.

“What was it this time? Did Ona need you? I know you’re at the Olympics for her. I like Ona. She’s really nice. And funny. And pretty. I wish she was my sister instead of you. Or Keira… Keira was good… is good. She actually cares about me. She showed up today.” A bitter chuckle escaped your lips, and you shook your head, trying to push away the tears.

“I don’t know what I ever did to you, Lucy.” You stared at the dark hotel room around you. “I don’t know why I even bother sometimes. Maybe I should just stop pretending that you’re ever going to be there for me. Maybe I should just stop hoping for something that’s never going to happen.”

Your voice softened, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I’ve tried to be understanding, to see things from your side. I know you’re busy, and I get that life doesn’t always align. But it’s like I’m always on the outside of your world, never really part of it. It’s exhausting, waiting for something that never comes.”

A long silence followed as you struggled to gather your thoughts. “Anyway, I don’t expect you to call back. I don’t expect you to make any grand gestures or anything like that. I really need to stop expecting anything from you. I just needed to say it. I needed to get it off my chest, even if it’s to your voicemail.”

You let out a long sigh, feeling a strange mix of relief and sadness. “Take care, Lucy. I hope things are going well with you, even if I’m not a part of it and you hate me for the rest of your life. I really do.”

It was another hot day in France. The sun beat down on Lyon, the heatwaves fogging the horizon. The cobblestone streets shimmered in the intense light, and the usually bustling markets were quieter than usual, with vendors seeking refuge in the shade of their awnings. The air was thick with the scent of fresh baguettes and ripe fruit, but even these familiar aromas seemed to waver in the oppressive heat.

Outside, the rhythmic clatter of a bicycle's wheels on the pavement was one of the few sounds cutting through the heat. The cyclist, a young woman with a wide-brimmed hat, pedalled slowly, her face glistening with perspiration. She was on a mission to find a place where the heat was more bearable, perhaps a hidden garden or a cool courtyard where she could rest and escape the relentless sun.

Ona looked back towards Lucy, who was still in bed, her dark hair splayed out over the pillow like a cascade of midnight. The room was filled with a soft morning light that filtered through the thin curtains, casting a warm glow on the walls. Ona smiled, feeling a sense of contentment that she hadn’t experienced in weeks.

Last night had been exactly what they needed. The weight of the Olympics had finally lifted, if only temporarily. She had underestimated how exhausting the Games could be – Lucy had been right when she described it as a marathon. The endless competition and pressure to perform had taken their toll, and last night’s reprieve from it all felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air.

She leaned over and gently brushed a strand of hair from Lucy’s face. Lucy stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She gave Ona a sleepy, contented smile, her hand reaching out to rest on Ona’s.

“Morning,” Lucy murmured, her voice thick with sleep but warm with affection.

“Bon dia,” Ona replied softly, her heart swelling with the simple joy of being beside Lucy.

Ona let her fingers dance across Lucy's face, across her brow and down her nose before delicately tracing the outline of her lips. The soft morning light filtering through the curtains painted a serene glow across the room. Everything felt calm and intimate, a stark contrast to the intensity of the past weeks.

Just as Ona leaned in to place a tender kiss on Lucy’s forehead, the piercing ring of her phone shattered the quiet. Ona’s eyes fluttered open, and she sighed, glancing at the screen with a frown. The phone buzzed insistently on the bedside table.

“Mmmm, who, who is it?” Lucy grumbled sleepily.

“No n'estic segur,” Ona muttered back.

“Too early for Catalan,” the Brit groaned, twisting away to pick up the phone

“Oh,” her demeanour changed abruptly.

“Who is it?” Ona asked, her voice laced with curiosity and concern as she reached over to peek at the phone.

“Just a voicemail,” Lucy said, her voice distant and troubled. She rolled over in bed, clearly unsettled by the message.

“From who?” Ona persisted, her brow furrowing. She was trying to understand the sudden shift in Lucy’s mood.

“My sister,” Lucy replied, her voice flat and weary. The mention of her sister’s name seemed to weigh heavily on her.

Ona’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why would Sophie be phoning you now? It’s only 6 am in England.”

“It’s not Sophie,” Lucy clarified, her tone tinged with a mixture of frustration and resignation. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes as if trying to wake herself from a troubling dream. “It’s Y/N.”

Ona’s expression softened with empathy. She was aware of the strained relationship between you, though the reasons behind it had always eluded her. She had heard bits and pieces about their complicated dynamic but had never been given a full explanation. She wasn’t even sure Lucy had a definite answer for her.

“Maybe you should listen to it?” Ona suggested gently, her voice filled with concern. She reached out and placed a comforting hand on Lucy’s shoulder.

“No,” Lucy’s answer was abrupt and to the point. She seemed almost angry with herself for letting the voicemail disturb her morning. She threw the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her movements sharp and restless.

The movement managed to throw Lucy’s phone off the bed as well. She must not have locked it properly. Before they could react, your voice filled the room.

The voicemail had begun to play on speakerphone, and Lucy’s heart sank as your words echoed around them. “Luce … Lucy … Lucia Roberta. It’s me,” your voice slurred slightly, you were clearly drunk. “By me, I mean your sister. Not Sophie, your other sister. Y/N … you’re probably not even going to listen to this, so I can probably say what I want to.”

Ona’s eyes widened in surprise, and she looked at Lucy, whose face had gone pale. The voicemail continued, your words growing more emotional and raw. “I don’t know why you couldn’t make it tonight. Actually, no, that’s a lie. I do know why you didn’t come tonight. You hate me. That’s why.”

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3

[herstarburststories]

The Cage (Joe Goldberg x Reader)

Pairing: Joe Goldberg x reader

Summary: Joe puts you in the cage after you've seen him in an incriminating situation. He comes back to check on you, and ends up facing a pleasurable situation: you, masturbating in the cage.

Warnings: masturbation, kidnapping, sexual thoughts, smut, unhealthy behavior. It's YOU, ya know what to expect.

A/N: My 1st YOU story! It had to be messed up smut. No specific season here.Please reblog and comment. Hope you guys like it!

You used to have a bird when you were younger.

A parrot. His bright colors seemed to speak under the sunlight when he landed next to you. His wing looked funny, what was later discovered to be broken. That small detail was the perfect excuse to convince you dad to keep the bird.

You named Jorge and took him home.

Jorge was so little, so helpless.

You never put him in a cage, even when your dad brought one because housebirds are meant to be caged, or so he said. — which wasn't much of a surprised. He thought the same about your mom or any housewives. Their cage was just different.

But, you didn't let him get his way. You stomped your feet and threw the prison away. Birds were supposed to be free.

Plus, you related to Jorge in that sense. Everyone, the whole planet seemed to believe that women should be put in cages, in boxes, in any place that could contain them, patronize them. Because the patriarchal cry babies thought that they were too savage, too emotional. A danger to society.

Those people never seem to notice that every single disaster was orchestrated by men's hands.

Colonization, religious intolerance, wars, pseudo prophets, and so it goes.

Anyway, you didn't let the tiny bird get caged, and asked him to promise to take you and fly you away if someone ever tried to do that to you.

It may seem childish, irrational even, but you can't help looking around and hoping Jorge would appear and save you from the cage.

Joe's cage.

Alright, yes. You had many feminist criticism towards how men attempted to force women into fitting their irralistic, many times porn guided caged vision of feminiality. But this wasn't what you mean by that!

Joe Goldberg had a fucking cage! And you were in there: trapped like a hopeless animal.

What did he plan to do with you? Were you going to die? How long would he leave you there without food or water? How were you going to do your basic needs? How would you survive this?

''How did I end up here?" you asked your reflection on the glass. ''You know how, idiot.''

You groaned, hitting the wall in frustration. It wasn't your fault, you knew it. The old cliché, wrong person at the wrong place during the wrong time, all the wrongs in the world wrapped in a pretty lace. Although, the guilty for not knowing better held you tight, it was like you couldn't even breathe.

You needed some relief.

Joe's POV

He sighed, unlocking the door with his free hand whilst holding your meal with the other one. Joe closed his eyes as the door opened with a loud noise, preparing himself to hear your scream and shout. He didn't want to do that! Not to you at least. Joe just wanted to take care of you, to make you see him how he saw you: entirely.

But really, what else could he have done? You saw him with blood on his shirt and a huge bag.

When the man didn't hear your voice, he opened her eyes and arched his eyebrows.

Maybe you understood why I had to do this, Y/N. Always knew you were different, my love.

Joe locked the door again and kept the keys in his pocket, taking the stairs to meet you.

Or, I could be wrong and you could've managed to get out of the cage and be just there, waiting to attack me. You're smart, I wouldn't put it past you.

The closer he gets, the quiet it sounds. The only music is the own stairs crackling under his steps.

But, you know me, Y/N. I'm a true hopeless romantic. What can I say? I still believe. I believe in us. And you'll too, baby.

And then, just like the first flicker of dawn, he heard the most beautiful song coming out of your mouth, a melody that could put Beethoven to shame.

Wait. Are you? Y/N, are you moaning?

He walked faster towards you until he saw a blissful scene unrolling right in front of his eyes: you, laying in the mattress that he put in there, your eyes shut and legs spread open.

Is this a little show you are putting out for me? Well, you got all my attention now, Y/N.

He placed the food on the floor, captivated by the look on your face. There was pleasure in every corner of the cage, your whiny moans increasing as you rubbed your clit.

This what happens when I leave you alone, Y/N?

Your other hands is also occupied, teasing your nipple and squeezing your boob as a finger enters your wet pussy. So needy, pace increasing at each second.

Fuck. You look so hot. I want to get in there, take care of you, touch you, make love to you.

Already used to living in delusion, Joe easily loses his mind in the fantasy: picturing himself in there with you, memorizing your body, fucking you open, hearing your moans directed to him, coming inside you.

You just needed a way to ease your racing mind. There were too many questions, too many deep high fears. Everything was too much in this small place. Similar to animals in cages that go crazy in attempts to get out there and run back to nature. You didn't want to go this far, not to touch you in here as it's a sort of motel and not a hostage situation. Still, masturbation was very proficient to blow off some esteem and get you thinking straight.

Extreme situations call for extrame measures.

Nonethless, you didn't expect to open your eyes to see Joe, also masturbating in front of you.

There's no denying that you that you used to find Joe attractive. Tall, strong jaw, pretty smile, gentle, and dark hair. You thought that this perspective had gone away once he knocked you out with some drug in napkin and you woke up here.

Apparently, it didn't. Not even when he left you there during hours because now he came back.

And he's glancing at you, his hand moving up and down on his erected length.

How long was he there?

Doesn't matter.

A moan escapes at the sight. His hard cock with precum on the tip, while he thrusts in his tight hold and glares at you like he could eat your soul.

You don't doubt that.

There's more than just excitement, there's horror and danger and woe and fear and anxiety laced together in burning red. You want to scream at him in both anger and need, but right now you add another finger to your core, fucking yourself as he tries to get his own liberation. Yearning, yearning.

When Joe howls your name, you can't help but to cum as you glance into his eyes with no shame, too caught up to do anything but to get turned on.

He comes right after you.

His twisted mind whispers that's the most romantic act.

[theceaselessidiot]

It basically boils down to this:

Just a heads up,

If the lionesses win tomorrow, it puts the women’s game on a stage it’s never been on before.

If Spain wins, it puts us 10 years behind and sets a precedent that it’s okay to be an abusive coach in the women’s game and that women’s safety, security, working conditions and mental health do not matter.

And before people start saying I’m anti Spain, just know that supporting England when I bleed Blaugrana is the worst thing for me to do and the hardest choice because the girls of Spain deserve better.

[spellbound037]

Who wants a rant on why Eurylochus (in Epic) did nothing wrong? No one? TOO DAMN BAD!

SO! 1.) The wind bag. See, Odysseus did NOT, in fact, tell them what was in the bag. In the Odyssey, Odysseus tells no one what the wind bag is. In Epic, he tells Elpenor and Perimedes. None of that would matter, though, because Odysseus is also a well known liar. If the guy who lies constantly, including at points where there is literally no reason to lie, tells you the bag which is almost certainly full of treasure is actually full of air, that bag is full of treasure.

2.) Circe's island (with relation to his reaction to Scylla) Suggesting they leave the 14(?) men who Circe had taken is not the same as outright sacrificing six men. Circe is an extremely powerful spellcaster, much more powerful than anyone Ithaca had to offer. That meant that, if they got the men back, they would very likely still be pigs. Only Circe and a handful of other extremely powerful spellcasters could turn them back into men. meaning that they wouldn't actually be saving the men at all, they would be acquiring pigs. These pigs would be pigs until they died. It would be much better to simply leave the pigs with Circe and her nymphs, knowing they'd be taken care of, than to bring them on a perilous journey by ship when they knew they were being hunted by Poseidon.

3.) The mutiny. Valid crash-out, outright. Jorge has said that Eurylochus acts as the voice of the crew, and the crew has just lost six members. They're tired, they're angry, and the main things they probably remember right then are Scylla and Polyphemus. Whether or not any of this is Odysseus' fault, they (very fairly) blame him. If your boss is willing to fire you to get home a little earlier, report him to HR. If your captain is willing to kill you to get home, mutiny.

4.) The cows. By this point, the crew haven't eaten in days. This is inevitably leading to a Donner Party style situation, and looky here, there are a bunch of cows. And look again, LYING MOTHERFUCKIN ODYSSEUS says that you CAN'T eat these cows! Why? He won't say! (he doesn't in the song. He does in the myth, I think, but again, LYING Odysseus.) Hunger rewires your brain chemistry to do things that are utterly illogical for food. The other important thing to remember is that Eurylochus quite likely does not believe they're going to survive at all. They can't, actually. If they leave the island and the cows, they'll likely starve to death. As a demigod of sorts, Odysseus will take a somewhat longer time to starve to death, but the rest of the crew will very likely be dead in a week. If starvation doesn't take them, Poseidon is still trying to kill them! If Poseidon doesn't kill them, these men are still aging. If it takes them another year, even another six months to get home, they're not young men. More of them will die on the journey. They can't fight or run like they could 12 years ago, any danger they encounter will kill more of them. Dying here, with full stomachs on nice grass, very likely seems like the best option to the starved minds of the crew.

5.) The final, all encompassing, important point. Odysseus is familiar with the gods. His great-grandfathers are Hermes and Zeus, he was trained by Athena. This means that he likely has a much more grounded, personified idea of the gods. Eurylochus, and by extension, the rest of the crew, do not. Poseidon's wrath is not something to be avoided, it's the unquestionable end. Circe's curse isn't something to be undone, it's permanent. Helios' grief isn't something to be a little wary of, it's the very welcome grand finale to their journey. It will leave them as a tragedy, but it will end them, finally.

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

I love reading Eurylochus analysis but I don’t see people mentioning the beginning of Puppeteer all that often.

Eurylochus starts that song by immediately trying to tell Odysseus about what he did. Immediately. I know we like to characterize Eurylochus as cowardly (mostly because that’s how Jorge describes him and how he’s described in the Odyssey), but I think it says a lot that Eurylochus didn’t try to hide or pretend as if this hadn’t been his fault. He didn’t wait for Odysseus to confront him about it or try to avoid taking responsibility. It’s rather brave imo that he tried to say something and only didn’t because his captain ordered him not to.

I think a lot about the timeline of EPIC and how entering the lair of Scylla likely wasn’t that long after Puppeteer. Odysseus says they’ve been away from home for “about twelve years or so” and then there’s the obvious discrepancy of Odysseus telling Circe the same thing— explained away by it being a simple mistake on Jorge’s end. If we go by the likelihood that it hadn’t yet been twelve years when they met Circe and that Ody was lying, there’s a rough two-ish year period before Eurylochus actually tells the truth.

To some, this might be indicative of his cowardice, a show that he wouldn’t actually tell the truth and would prefer to hide away his greatest mistake for as long as he can manage.

I disagree. I think this could indicate a couple other things, though; namely that this is proof Eurylochus changed his perspective and decided to listen to Odysseus. Mutiny could only happen because Eurylochus realized his mistake in not believing Odysseus not just once, with the windbag, but twice when Odysseus went to save their men on Circe’s island. Three strikes, you’re out and Eurylochus is not that kind of man— side note: it isn’t hypocritical to change your viewpoint and then criticize someone for adopting your old one btw, it’s just how people function.

Different Beast does imply this a bit, but I think the fact that Eurylochus waited so long to tell Odysseus about the windbag is much more blatant. After all, Odysseus told him to wait, and he did. To me, it seems like Eurylochus read between the lines of Ody’s order (go make sure the island is secure, there’s only so much left we can endure) and took it to mean “wait to tell me when things have settled and we aren’t on the brink of dying”.

Which leads to the second implication, why did Eurylochus choose this moment? Obviously, he didn’t know the nature of Scylla or the danger that they were in, but what about this moment in particular left Eurylochus feeling secure enough to tell Odysseus? Well, the obvious answer is the ruthlessness Odysseus showed in Different Beast showing that they’ve reached that point of power and being able to defend themselves even from monsters that have slain so many sailors.

But another option could be the idea that Scylla was their “last stop” before going home. It’s a bit unclear if this remains true in EPIC, but in the Odyssey, Scylla and Charybdis are right next to each other and the trick is that you have to pick your poison— do you want to die to the whirlpool monster or the six-headed one? What is clear in EPIC is that Ithaca is just past Charybdis, meaning that Scylla, in theory, could’ve been their final stop before reaching Ithaca had Mutiny not happened. There is a very real possibility that they might not have gone to the first island they found if Odysseus hadn’t been knocked unconscious. They still might have just because they were hungry, but it can be difficult to tell which is fate and which is the result of man’s actions.

Either way, I think that a lot of people tend to gloss over the fact that it’s very apparent Eurylochus was going to tell Odysseus what happened as soon as he could and only didn’t because Odysseus told him to wait. It’s a very interesting aspect of his character to me and I think it reveals a lot in terms of his character motivations and how it contrasts to Odysseus’ perception of him throughout the show.

[pitchsidestories]

New Romantics (2) II Grace Clinton x Bronze!Reader

part 1 I masterlist I word count: 2485

summary: England looses at home and you feel like it's your fault, but your girlfriend Grace Clinton and your older sister Lucy Bronze are there for you. Despite that you've a decision to make which could change your life.

a/n: Hi, quite a few of you wanted to see a part 2 of this, we hope you enjoy it just as much as part 1. Plus, the oneshot was written before the announcement of Lucy Bronze leaving the club. 💔

The last bit of energy left your body once the game ended. You had been on a high with the English national team so this result was more than just disappointing. You felt deflated. Angry and sad and everything in between.

It was an important game that you just lost against France. It was in front of a home crowd and in front of your whole family. You wanted to disappear, not talk to anyone for some time.

Grace approached you when you were still standing on the pitch, scenes from the play replaying in front of your inner eye again and again. You losing the ball in a dangerous situation right in front the penalty area. Why did you not pass faster? Why did you not play a long ball out?

“Y/n? Your family is over there, let’s say hi to them…“ Graces voice was soft next to your ear.

She pointed to the stands but you refused to look. Tears welled up in your eyes at the mention of your family.

“I can’t. I disappointed them, Grace…“, you sniffed.

Grace gently took your hand into hers, rubbing circle with her thumb: “You didn’t. They’re your family, they’ll want to see you.“

You pulled back from her: “But I don’t want to see anyone right now.“

“Y/n.“, she said but you were already headed towards the changing rooms so you missed your Lucy approaching Grace with a frown.

“Where’s my sister, Grace? Our nephew and niece wanted to say hi to her.“

“She went to the changing rooms already.“, the young midfielder replied truthfully, but slightly hurt.

Without missing a beat, Lucy walked determinedly towards the players tunnel.

“Y/n!“ You winced as she called your name and slammed open the door.

You knew what would follow. And you really did not need a lecture right now.

“What?! Leave me alone, Lucia!“, you yelled at her, standing up from the wooden bench that you had been sitting on.

“No!“

You glared at each other for a moment until you finally gave in first. You sighed and whispered: “I can’t go back out there…“

“Our family is waiting. Mum and Dad want to see you.“

“They want to see me? After this game? The second goal for France was so my fault…“ Scepticism outweighed the disbelief in your voice.

Lucy rolled her eyes: “Can you calm down? This is not your first football game. Mistakes happen, there are ten of us on the field who are supposed to help you in these situations.“

“No but… It was in front of our family. And what if Sarina doesn’t call me up anymore after his?“, you asked. Your thoughts were running wild with your greatest fears.

“That’s just football, y/n.”, your older sister shrugged. In a more uplifting tone, she continued:” And Sarina was talking to mum earlier about how happy she was with your debut.”

“She did? Really?”, you looked up at her surprised.

“Of course she did. You played great except for that one second.”, Lucy answered, there was a softness to her voice now which wasn’t here before. The older defender knew what she was talking about, her career had a lot of highs and a few lows too and mistakes were made along the way. They were a part of the beautiful game.

“A second which mattered.”, you whispered heartbroken.

“This is like arguing with a wall.”, Lucy rolled her eyes.

Your brother entered the changing room, glancing at her amused:” Weird, she reminds me of your younger self.”

“I wasn’t like this at all!”, the Barcelona player protested.

“Yes, you were and are bad at loosing games.”, he reminded her.

“Lies.”, she spat out.

“You know it’s true.”, Jorge argued. The older sister wouldn’t agree to it, but her silence was enough for him. Lucy and you were in some ways more similar than you would admit. Sometimes it scared her how much you reminded her of her younger self she thought she let behind. The defender saw your insecurities, and ambition and saw her young adult reflected in your behaviour.

Right behind Jorge were your nephew and niece.

The little girl came to you, her face beaming:” Look auntie Grace gave me this.”

“What’s that?”, you asked her irritated.

“It’s for you. Gracie said to give it to you.”, she declared.

“Thanks. That’s sweet of her.”, you sighed.

“And she’s waiting.”, your niece stated seriously.

When she and her brother were born you were relieved because it meant you weren’t the youngest in the family anymore. But you also felt a responsibility, to be more grown up, be a good example for them.

“Uhm little one? Are you very sad that we lost?”, you questioned her cautiously.

“No, next game you’ll win.”, the little girl shook her head fiercely. There was a certainty in her voice which warmed your heart.

“The next game is against them again.”, you remembered.

“Then you can try again.”, she grinned at you.

“Hi, you two.”, Grace stopped in front of you nervously.

“Grace, hi.”, you greeted her.

“Can I give you a hug now or is it too early for that?”, your girlfriend wanted to know.

“No, I’m ready for a hug.”, you told her. A relieved smile was on her lips while she bent down to kiss you, before wrapping her strong warms around you.

“Thank you, Grace.”, you muttered gratefully, as you inhaled her familiar scent of warmth and home.

“You’re welcome.”, she replied.

“I think I needed that.”, you acknowledged.

Your girlfriend studied your face with worry: “You can always come to me, not only for hugs you know? I hate when you’re too hard on yourself.“

“I know. But it just feels like shit when you’re partly responsible when your team loses… during your debut too.“ You tried to avoid her gaze by looking down at your shoes.

“You already played once for England so it’s not really your debut, love…“

You sighed, obviously she was right. “You know what I mean. Playing from the start… at home.“

Grace nodded slowly: “Sorry, of course.“

“But everyone’s been nothing but nice to me and it feels all wrong!“, you complained. You blinked back a few tears.

Lucy appeared on your side again with a deadpan expression: “No, that’s just how a team sticks together.“

You slowly started to get frustrated with your sister. It seemed like she refused to understand your point of view.

“I just feel like I don’t deserve it, you know?“

“Oh I know.“, she replied and you paused for a second, surprised.

“Luce…“

She rolled her eyes once again: “Also Jorge had to remind me.“

“I’ll let you two talk alone, in peace.“, Grace said quietly, almost ducking out of the conversation.

Gratefully, you squeezed her hand: “Thank you, Grace.“ Turning back to Lucy, you continued: “He had to remind you of…?“

“That I was just like you when I was younger. I still hate losing obviously but I don’t dwell on my mistakes that long anymore.“, Lucy revealed reluctantly.

You considered your sister for a moment: “How did you do it?“

“Losing and losing and losing again.“

“What? Really?“, you asked.

Lucy nodded solemnly: “Yes, one day you’ll get it.“

With a small smile you noted: “Also Graces hugs are helping.“

“Of course they are.“ Another eye roll, a defense mechanism as you knew.

You grinned: “Hey, do I have to remind you of Ona comforting you after the lost World Cup Final?“

“Shut up.“

“Never.“

Lucy grimaced, sticking out her tongue: “Be nice or I’ll make you rewatch your failure again!“

“Nooo.“, you drawled with a laugh.

Bickering with your sister always made you feel better.

“Don’t fight. I already missed her smile.“ Grace had reappeared with a kiss on your cheek.

Lucy shrugged: “That’s how you show love in the Tough-Bronze household, Grace!“

“That doesn’t sound very pleasant.“, Grace wrinkled her nose.

You took you girlfriends hand in yours: “Let’s leave, Grace.“

“Okay.“, she complied happily.

“Fine, but say hi to our parents!“, your sister called after you.

“I’ll!“

“Good girl!“

“Hi, everyone.”, you waved at your mum and dad, unsure what else to do.

“Hello y/n. We’re so proud of you.”, your mum hugged you, and pressed a kiss to your heated cheek.

“Thanks, mum.”, you answered quietly.

“The next time you’ll win against the French, I can feel it in my bones.”, your dad winked at you, he hoped this would make you smile, because he hated to see his children especially his youngest sad.

“Your granddaughter thinks so too.”, you responded with a small smile.

“And she must know it, trust me.”, your brother hummed.

“We’ll see next week.”, you said earnestly.

The next day you felt nervous. Sarina Wiegman has asked to have a conversation with and even though you remembered Lucys words from yesterday where she said that the England Coach was full of praise about you in front of your mum, there was a little voice inside your head telling you it must be bad news from her.

“Ah, thanks for coming y/n, sit down.”, Sarina looked up delighted, nodding into the empty chair opposite from where she was sitting.

Like you expected the Dutch woman came straight to the point, leaving all the nice English necessities at the door:” When you were involved in the own goal, you were not mentally in the game, right? You seemed distracted for a second.”

“Yes, I promise this won’t happen again. To be honest I was thinking about an offer I got.”, you promptly confessed. There was no use in being dishonest in front of Sarina who with her glasses seem to look straight into your heart.

“I see.. if you want to talk about it.”, she offered kindly.

“Sorry, I haven’t told anyone yet, first I thought it was a joke.”, you continued, feeling the weight of your shoulders getting a little less now that you were speaking the truth.

“I think you haven’t seen how much you’ve improved over the past few months. I’m sure whatever offer it’s, it wasn’t a joke.”, she remarked thoughtfully.

“It’s Barcelona.”, you retorted hastily.

“This is a big step.”, the Blonde observed.

“It’s but I’m not sure if I’m ready for that yet.”, you admitted truthfully.

“I trust that you’ll figure out what’s best for you, you’re still young.”, the Dutch reminded you warmly.

“But my family, friends and girlfriend are in England.”, you listed your personal reasons for a stay in London.

“Maybe you should talk to them about it. You need to get this out of your head.”, Sarina suggested.

“I’ll start with Grace and then Lucy.”, you decided.

You wanted to talk to your girlfriend about it as soon as possible, so when you both were getting ready to got bed, you chose to open up.

“Gracie?“

“Yes?“, she replied, slipping into her PJs.

“Can we talk? You might want to sit down for it…“ You grimaced, this sounded unnecessary dramatic.

Grace paused for a moment, taken aback but she quickly caught herself.

“Oh, sure. What is it?“ She sat down cross-legged on the mattress.

You could not look at her. “Barcelona offered me a contract.“

“Oh, wow. That’s amazing for you, babe.“, you heard your girlfriend say happily.

You looked up at her in confusion. Did she not hear you? Or did she not understand what that meant?

“Yes, but… you wouldn’t mind?“

Your girlfriend watched you with soft eyes: “We’re both football players, I know what it means to be able to play for Barcelona. If you want to go, I’ll support you. We can make it work.“

It was hard to find words for what you were feeling after hearing these words from her.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat: “You’re the best, Grace.“

“Don’t even worry about it.“, she smiled.

“I love you.“

“I love you too.“

After your surprisingly successful talk with Grace, you decided to keep the conversation more casual with your sister.

You were on your way to the stadium for the second match against France when you dropped into the seat next to Lucy: “Luce?“

She gave you an annoyed look, she was currently in a video call with her girlfriend.

“Since when are you sitting next to me? Scared of the game?“, she teased.

“Not about the game, it’s about an offer I got…“

Your sister perked up, ignoring Ona on the screen. You knew she was silent to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“An offer, huh?“

“Yes, Grace said she would support me going there.“, you smiled innocently.

Lucy frowned: “Where is it?“

“Barcelona…“

“What?! Of course you’re taking that offer!“, she commanded, her voice a bit too loud.

You grimaced uncomfortably: “What if I’m not good enough, Lucy?“

She shook her head with reassuring calmness: “They wouldn’t want you if you weren’t.“

“True… so you wouldn’t mind me joining your team?“

A smirk appeared on your sisters face: “I would force you to if I could.“

“Alright but I might have move in with Ona and you for a couple of days until I have an apartment.“, you smiled at her.

“Don’t worry, we’ll survive.“, she shrugged.

Ona called from Lucys phone screen: “My favourite Bronzey will move to Barca?! I’m so excited!“

“Me too, Oni.“, you grinned back at her while Lucy angled her phone towards you.

“Excuse me?!“, Lucy asked her girlfriend in mock offense.

“Can’t wait to see you again and meet the team soon… but we got a game to win now.“, you told Ona.

Lucy took the phone back and with an apologetic shrug said into the camera: “You heard her.“

“I did. Waiting patiently for your return, amor.“, Ona waved her goodbye through the phone.

You wrinkled your nose, looking at your sister: “Disgusting.“

Lucy just elbowed you in the side for your comment and told Ona: “I’ll be back before you know it. With or without my sister.“

She warningly raised an eyebrow, making sure you understood her threat but instead you just burst out in giggles.

The relief you felt after your talks lasted throughout the game. This topic stopped weighing your game down, your were back to your usual self and profited from a change of tactics.

It was a much better game that you won 2:1.

You jumped into Grace arms once the game was over. “We won, Grace!“

“You had an amazing game!“, your girlfriend cheered, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You basically vibrated with excitement. Wrapping your arms around her neck, you kissed her on the lips in front of the whole stadium.

Lucy stood to the side, watching this display with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She smirked at her coach who stood right beside her: “Young love, eh?“

“She’s not staying, right?“, Sarina asked.

“No but their love can handle this.“

Your feedback is always appreciated. <3

[fans4wga]

[ID: tweet from WGA member Jorge A. Reyes @/JorgeCoolReyes that says, "Lastly for our @sagaftra sibs: trade press will TRASH your deal, in an effort to make you think a strike wasn't worth it. THAT IS A TACTIC to discourage labor from striking.

Horseshit. You wouldn't have won the gains you you did w/o WHAT YOU DID. So take a bow. Ignore the bs." end ID]

Remember that the trades like Deadline, Hollywood Reporter, and Variety will try to spin the strike narrative negatively in the coming weeks and months. They'll say things like it's WGA/SAG-AFTRA's fault the strikes were dragged on; that the unions are responsible for the California economic downturn; that unions are bad for the workers.

But just look at the results of their deals—from unparalleled minimum wage increases to historic AI limitations. Strikes work. Unions work. Counter the false narratives whenever you see them.

[ray935sworld]

A letter from the past

Pedrenzo

Dani was just doing some cleaning. Nothing more.

He lifted a handfull of books out of the shelves to scoop the dust away, when he shifted his hand slightly backwards.

They fell down with a crushing sound and Dani flinched involuntary. He hated loud sounds.

He sighed as he kneeled down to gather them again. One. Two. Three. Four. And then - then he saw it.

A scruffy looking envelope was half falling out of one of the books, only revealed after falling to the ground like this. Curiously he lifted that one up, after placing the rest on the shelf again.

The book was one of Jorge's. Jorge already had it when they moved on together, the older was sure. Dani couldn't remember every looking into it.

But apparently there had been an envelope hidden in it.

Dani couldn't help but pull it out in between the pages. He turned it around and froze when he saw his own name, written on the front.

'Pedrosa' was written in a scruffy way.

He recognized that writing everywhere. It was the same writing as on their shopping list. It was the same one scribbling down important dates on the sticky notes. At least for their marriage license he had made an effort.

Dani bit his lips. A short moment of hesitation hold him back. Technically he shouldn't open it. The letter was clearly hidden. If Jorge wanted him to see it, he would have given it to him, wouldn't he?

But the letter was addressed to him. And the two were married. And a look on the paper, the edges clearly already haven taken a toll, made clear the letter was old. Really old.

So he decided to just go for it.

By then he was sitting down on their living room floor. The letter wasn't even sealed properly. It didn't take any effort to open it and slowly fold the paper open.

"You fucking asshole. You asshole. You asshole. You asshole"

Dani laughed out loud when he read that. His eyes scanned the page again, finding a date set at around 2003. 2003 Jorge calling him an asshole was very much on point.

He smiled at the memories. Jorge playing tough and pushing him away. Himself not backing down either. They hated each other with a burning passion and now they loved each other with an even stronger, more fiery burning passion.

"I hate you. I hate you so fucking much. I wanna yell at you and curse at you. You are so fucked up and I don't even know what's your fucking problem. I never did anything to you but you keep fucking me up."

Slowly Dani's face fell. He blinked in confusion as he read the words. He seriously couldn't even remember what he had done. But apparently it had hurt his future husband deeply.

A pang of guilt hit him. He hadn't meant to hurt him, even back then when they couldn't stand each other.

Nag him? Yes. Annoy him? Yes. Make fun of him? Yes. But seriously hurt him? No. Never.

"This is all your fault. You did this to me. It's not me. It's you. You're the problem. I had everything sorted. I packed my feeling away. I didn't give a fuck about you anymore and then you asshole break your ankles. BOTH EVEN."

2003. His broken ankles. This was after he won the championship.

"I had to drive past you while you lay there with BROKEN LEGS. You couldn't move and I couldn't help you. And I thought I wouldn't care. I thought I didn't care."

Dani swallowed. What he thought would be a fun letter suddenly turned more serious than he had expected.

He remembered the moment Jorge described. It had hurt like hell. He couldn't remember where Jorge was at that time. It wasn't impossible he was behind him at that time, driving past him in tbe practice session.

"You already left me in the class. And I'm okay with that. You leave me with fucking Stoner and Dovizioso and I don't give a fuck. I don't give a fuck. I'll see you anyways and I'll join you in 250cc faster than you want. You just wait and then I'll beat your fucking ass!!"

Dani chuckled. Jorge's rookie season in 2005 had been his last 250cc season.

"But you laying there was cruel. You not getting up was an asshole move. I thought you may never could get up again and you scared me. You scared the living crap out of me you fucking asshole"

Dani felt tears in his eyes. The kid that wrote this - only 16 years old - had so much anger and love in his heart that there hadn't been a separation.

Every word felt like a punch to his guts.

"I wanted to help you. I wanted to ditch my bike and help you get back to the pits. I wanted to carry you even... I wanted to make sure you're okay. I would have even stayed with you in the hospital which terrifies me. I don't give a fuck about you but you make me want to look after you, you stupid asshole"

The love and the hate had mixed and somehow this had been the result. Dani stared at the words. He tried to imagine what Jorge must have felt in that moment.

His words seemed to be entangled in hate and love, caring and wanting to stay unaffected.

The kid that wrote these words about an 18 year old Dani, would grow up to marry the boy he was now cursing and worrying about.

"So?! Why? Why Pedrosa? Why did you doing that to me? Why do you keep worrying me with you stupid tiny, hot body! No! Wait. Fuck. I'm not gay! I just you know what? Fuck this shit. What am I even doing here?"

With that, the letter ended.

Dani kept sitting on the floor, rereading every word.

He looked at the words, seeing the young boy that had stolen his heart when he was barely older than him.

He was overjoyed things turned out the way they did, but reading those words once again lit worries in him.

It reminded him of all the long late night conversations they had. It reminded him of all the times Jorge mentioned concerning behavior off handed, as if they were normal facts. It reminded him of every time Jorge had been drunk and talking about things, that made a shiver run down Dani's spine.

The boy that had written that letter was still in all those moments. He had still been trapped in a burning house. He had still fought against demons. His heart had still been filled with hate, that he had embraced without a choice while it was holding him with an iron grip.

But still, there was signs of love. There were glimpse of the older Jorge visible, the one that had managed to charm Dani. The man he ended up marrying.

And he was grateful for that.

He was hurt for the boy Jorge used to be big he was grateful for the man he turned out to be.

Without a second thought, he grabbed his phone and opened the chat with his husband.

"I love you so incredible much <3" he texted and got an "I love you too. So so much <3" back within a few minutes.

Dani looked at the letter again, unsure if he should tell Jorge about it ask him or if he should put it back without saying a word.

That night, Dani hold Jorge a little bit tighter than usual. The younger one just smiled, kissing his head.

[fall0utmind]

Maybe I had a really funny idea for a Rosquez Fic

IF in 2019 Marc's teammate wasn't Jorge Lorenzo but Valentino Rossi?

No stop because could you imagine the carnage?? Would it end up ruining them more, or would it fix them? Rossi wouldn't like to lose. Even worse on equal machinery. I can't imagine it working out in any way, shape, or form. Especially after Argentina 2018...

How would Honda handle their two champions? I also feel like they're so protective of marc, so how would that sit with Valentino? Santi would be a protector in my eyes, always watching Marc's back.

Maybe, actually, being Marc's teammate means that Vale sees a different side of marc, makes him feel softer?? Like marc Post Race debriefs, marc when he's upset, when he's happy, and when he feels guilty.

God there's so much to unpack??

This is how it would start in my world

-----------

Marc scowled.

This couldn't be real, and yet Valentino rossi was standing across from him at the Honda headquarters.

He didn't know who's idea this was. They were an idiot, whoever it was. It was like putting a cat and a dog together and expecting them to be friends.

Valentino hated his guts, and nothing would ever change that. He'd made it abundantly clear. Making them teammates? Certifiably going to end in disaster - and probably at least one broken heart.

Valentino sneered at him, before he turned and walked into the building, not sparing marc a second glance.

He sighed, rearranging the jagged edges of his heart inside his chest, repeating the same old mantra which had dragged him through the past four years.

You do not need him.

He is not worth your time.

He doesn't determine your worth.

It wasn't your fault

Marc groaned. It was going to be a long year.

[moonshynecybin]

sorry what exactly happened in Argentina?

repsol-ariel did two gifests about it here and here and the race is actually online 4 free HEREE but as vale says in that podcast, marc made a stupid tire choice and vale passed him, then marc got a lil overzealous tryin to catch him again and crashed out pretty hard. now where vale and i disagree in terms of interpretation of these events is uh. notable. because vale seems to think that marc gunned it on the inside (not pictured in the gifsets but they DO make contact right before that, 45:37 is the timestamp on youtube) so he could divebomb vale and knock him out of the race on purpose. like a nascar bump and run. which um no i dont think that is correct my man. in fact i think that is somewhat unhinged ! like the contact/crash is marc's typical slightly criminal overeager bully-on-track behavior and IS marc's fault imo but like marc is being the same bitch he's always been. brother it happens. vale's statement also. interestingly 2 me. sounds a lot like what pecco said about alex a couple weeks ago. funny, that !

but fr its essentially the first sign of on-track tension between them for the 2015 season, and also pretty emblematic of marc's season as a whole. The 2015 honda had a difficult, unforgiving chassis and marc crashed a lot more than normal (part of which was him trying to override it), which along with some injuries pretty much took him out of title contention for the year (the yamaha was also just really good ! vale and jorge were slayingggg). but vale being like YEAH marc tried to KILL ME and then KISSED MY ASS for the rest of the year despite HATING ME for the rest of the season is like. a really crazy thing to say to me because the NEXT RACE was jerez 2015, where he made a bunch of tongue in cheek gay sex jokes about him + marc AND was just generally VERY sweet the whole time ! like he was pretty concerned about marc's hand injury! (links HERE and here and here and theres more i cant find but crucially its all initiated by VALE. not marc) so i think there's some realllll confirmation bias coloring his memory here because as we know if vale hates your ass he'll just cut you the fuck out. and he demonstrably hadnt done that yet. like look at this image. look at the person fujoing out in the back. this was two weeks after argentina !!!!

[zer0brainc3lls]

Newtmas headcanons perhaps?

Ik my requests are closed but I got this awhile ago and I just decided screw it and ima answer it (sorry I’m so late) but srsly my requests are closed ☹️ also this post is RIDICULOUSLY LONG. BE WARNED.

- when they were in the scorch newt struggled with all the walking and running because of his leg, Thomas would call for breaks saying he’s tired when really he’s fine and just noticed Newt was having a hard time

- Thomas has leg strength, Newt has arm strength

- they silently communicate ALL the time, glances, body language etc. they don’t need to be vocal to know what the other wants to say and it’s extremely annoying for everyone around them 😭 example:

Jorge: *proposes plan*

Thomas: *looks at newt*

Newt: *looks at Thomas*

Jorge: what are you two doing?!

Thomas: yeah ok we’re in

Jorge: what do you mean we? Newt can speak for himself-

Newt: no I’m in?

Thomas: yeah Jorge he’s in what are you talking about?

Jorge: what are YOU talking about??

- Thomas loves to read, Newt loves to write. Newt rarely writes anything fictional, often only writing about his day but likes writing poetry and Thomas loves reading Newts poetry ☹️

- when Newt got the flare Thomas wrote down any symptoms he knew about it and asked Brenda about it as well, even taking posters that were hung up for his own reference.

- when Newt got the flare he would sometimes try to start arguments over petty things that didn’t matter, not realising his anger wasn’t his own and Thomas would just look at him with a sad smile :( example:

Newt: your a bloody idiot sometimes you know that?! WHY would you-

Thomas: *looks away*

Newt: … sorry, I didn’t mean-

Thomas: I know. it’s okay, it’s not your fault.

- Thomas often looks for pain medication on supply runs for Newts leg, he tells Newt he just found it when really he spent ages searching for it

- sometimes leading the group is a lot for Thomas, he turns to Newt to make decisions sometimes. Newt gives suggestions on what to do and how to say it since he was second in command for so long and saw how alby ran the show.

- Thomas LOVES Newts hair, any chance he gets he’s constantly touching it, burying his face in his hair, if it got kinda long he would plait small bits of it.

- despite Thomas’s leg strength he’s a TERRIBLE swimmer, never learnt how. Newt however? Despite he’s leg he’s surprisingly good, he learnt in the lake at the glade and when they got to the safe haven he INSISTED that Thomas had to learn, for his safety of course. (He really just wanted to see Thomas in board shorts but he never told him that)

- Thomas is an absolute SUCKER for Newts freckles/moles, in the glade Newt wore lots of tank tops and shorts since he was out in the sun all day gardening so he developed large freckles and moles alllll over his body and Thomas CANNOT get enough!!! Thomas kisses them all the time and Newt pretends to be annoyed (but he secretly loves it)

- how they got together was a whole gay mess 😭 example:

Newt: *staring longingly as per usual*

Thomas: *catches him and stares back*

Thomas: uhh-

Newt: *kisses him*

Newt: so uhm.. are we-?

Thomas: YES. YES PLEASE.

- they aren’t super massive on nicknames, but they have a few!!

Newt: Tommy, my love (if they are alone), love

Thomas: babe, honey (if they are alone), hun

- they both love their slight height difference, TO THEM ITS NOT SLIGHT OK!!

- in the scorch (after they got together but they hadn’t told anyone yet) they held hands. All. The. Time. If they were outside in the and Thomas would say “I’m just helping Newt through the sand” and if they were inside Newt would say “Tommy here is just helping me with my bum leg, isn’t that right Tommy?” (Everyone knew but said nothing, they thought they were soooo sneaky)

- before they got together they would insult eachother (never going over the line of course) ALL THE TIME. Like playfully, example:

Newt: your a shuckfaced idiot y’know that Tommy?

Thomas: oh really? Well you’re a hotheaded shank!

Newt: me?! Hotheaded?! Oh please- we both know who’s the hotheaded one!

Thomas: I hate you so so much

Newt: I hate you more!

Brenda: do you two need a minute or..?

- I have said this once but I’ll say it again, Thomas is so atrociously down bad for Newts accent. Like DOWN. BAD. Newt is unaware of this because Thomas has made it his own personal mission to hide it but Minho knows and uses it against him all the time 😭 example:

Minho: THOMAS PLEASE!!

Thomas: NO. I WONT DO IT.

Minho: I’ll tell Newt.

Thomas: … wait no-

Newt *walks over : tell me what?

Thomas: NOTHING BABE!!!

Newt: … ok then… bye love :) *walks off*

Thomas: *red in the face* … fine.

- another thing similar to this, Thomas blushes super easily but Newt has no clue for awhile and thinks he just has naturally rosy cheeks, Minho ofc exposes him example:

Minho: Thomas doesn’t have rosy cheeks

Newt: what? Yes he does? *holds Thomas’s face to show Minho, totally oblivious* see! Right there!

Thomas: *mouthing to Minho* Don’t. You. Dare.

Minho: *LAUGHING HIS ASS OFF* Newt.. take your hands off his face and look again!

Newt: *takes his hands off Thomas face and watches as his face goes back to normal* … *LAUGHS WITH MINHO*

Thomas: SLIM IT BOTH OF YOU

- Newt is obsessed with Thomas’s hands, his hands are almost to big for him and don’t fit his proportions but are scar free and much softer then Newts, Newts hands are the right size but covered in scars and calluses and Newt constantly traces along Thomas’s knuckles, palms, fingers you name it. Soft hands are a rarity in the glade and the scorch. Newt tells him how nice his hands are constantly 😭

- Newt is very confident, and is the more flirty one and is a lot more sarcastic Thomas however is a fucking sap but SOMETIMES he matches Newts flirting and Newt is just stunned to silence

- if Newt got the cure he would’ve gained some of his memory’s back, and Thomas still has some of his memory’s from the changing so they piece together story’s that are incomplete in each others heads :) they write it all down in the unlikely case of them forgetting

- picnic FANATICS. Picnics to them is serious business in the safe haven to them and they do NOT PLAY. They have multiple blankets they bought/made made, baskets, they reserve afternoons/early mornings to have them and secret spots they go to

- Newt hates sleeping in a room alone. Absolutely hates it. Like his whole life he’s always slept near another person: in the bunker as a toddler to young child, the massive shared room while with wicked, everyone sleeping close by in the glade etc. so when they made it to the safe haven and he had the option of privacy he was STUNNED. Thomas let Newt share a hut with him and they have lived together ever since

- When Newt got the flare Thomas never changed how he treated him, everyone else got sorta wary but Thomas never doubted his abilities or judgment. Never.

- when Minho was taken Newt and Thomas clung to each other for support, Newt lost his best friend and Thomas learning how to lead on his own and also losing a friend. They’re bond became unbreakable and they learnt to depend and trust each other

- Newt trusts Thomas but as we all know he jumps into plans or ideas with little to no direction and Newt will sometimes have to make Thomas take a step back and think about what they are doing 😭

- as the months went on Thomas got more and more stressed about finding Minho, feeling that it was his responsibility to find him. Often pulling all nighters or not sleeping for days without even realising, example:

Thomas: *in the map room muttering to himself, deep purple eye bags from not sleeping for almost 2 days*

Newt: *walks in* hey Tommy.. do you know what time it is?

Thomas: uhm.. *doesnt answer and continues to do whatever he’s doing on accident*

Newt: What day is it.

Thomas: uhhh Monday? *turns to face Newt wobbly* why are you up so late? Its 1am?

Newt: Tommy it’s Wednesday, and it’s 4am. Come to bed, now.

Thomas: *stunned for a second before turning away* I’ll be there in a minute babe I just need to-

Newt: Thomas. Now. *pulls him out of the map room and forces him to sleep*

- Thomas is Newts human calculator, any math problem ever Newt will just go “hey tommy what’s ——?” And Thomas will answer without hesitation because he’s just used to it by now, Newt could absolutely do it if he paused and took a second but Thomas doesn’t need to pause or think about it he just answers 😭 it’s effortless for him

- Thomas is the worlds biggest book worm, in the glade they didn’t have many books and in the scorch books were a rare find but in the safe haven they had a bit of selection and he was ECSTATIC. Newt got him a bunch of books one time and a week later he had finished most of them

- Newt is super flexible, Thomas forgets this a lot until Newt can fit himself into tight spaces with ease meanwhile Thomas is in no way flexible and Newt also forgets this so Newt will go into a vent or something with no effort meanwhile Thomas is STRUGGLING

- Thomas and newt get into petty arguments (they aren’t actually fighting) on how to say things/spell things 😭 example:

Newt: it’s COLOUR. C O L O U R.

Thomas: ITS COLOR?!

Newt: says the boy that spells mum as m o m

Thomas: THATS HOW ITS SPELT?!

- if they are ever going up onto high places, Thomas always gives Newt a boost and then Newt will pull Thomas up

- Newt makes fires, Thomas gathers the wood and stuff to start it

- Thomas covers for Newt all the time, often forgetting to cover himself and the only reason why he hasn’t gotten hurt is because Newt does exactly the same thing for Thomas

- don’t get me wrong, they are both extremely strong and capable alone but TOGETHER?! ABSOLUTE UNIT. They know each others fighting styles, weaknesses, preferred weapons and where they keep they’re back ups 😭 they both steal eachother back up knives all the time

- they share most of they’re weapons but Thomas never takes Newts machete, it’s from the glade and very important to him and he keeps it on top shape and doesn’t like other people using it

- they aren’t huge on PDA but they 100% gravitate towards each other subconsciously, walking next to each other and holding hands, sitting next to each other, falling asleep on shoulders/laps etc they are almost always within ear shot of each other to the put of people asking one of them “where Thomas/Newt?” Instead of just trying to find them themselves because there’s a HIGH chance they both know where the other is example:

Jorge: Thomas do you know where-

Thomas: he’s getting food from frypan why?

Newt: *walks back over with two plates of food and passes a plate to Thomas* hey Jorge you need me?

- Newt loves giving words of affirmation, loves receiving physical touch, Thomas loves giving physical touch, loves receiving words of affirmation

- Thomas 100% opens and closes doors for Newt, and holds his hand getting out of cars :3 at first it was a joke and sorta teasing but it became a habit over time

- Newts the type of guy to sit as close as humanly possible to Thomas, if they’re with close friends their legs will literally be squished together and Newt will be holding his hand, god forbid they are alone 😭 legs fully draped across Thomas’s lap, tracing lines across Thomas’s palms while absolutely YAPPING. Thomas is just staring at him with big heart eyes going “uh huh” “yeah”

Anyways I hope you enjoyed my yap session