#would appreciate it if people could share this post !

[frehyun]

Cursed Eyes

Part 2

medusa!hyunjin x afab!blind!reader

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, petrification, possessive hyunjin, some violence

genre: some angst, fluff, smut

word count: 2.9k

author's note: well, lots of people really loved the first part for some reason, so I hope this is a satisfactory continuation! i had some brainrot about Medusa Hyune and had to write it out! also. I'm extremely nervous about posting this, my very first written smut, I'm sorry if it sucks </3 i appreciate any feedback, so let me know what you think! happy reading! (not really edited at all, again)

masterlist | Part 1

divider by @kawaii-lau

Being together with Hyunjin like this was truly something out of a dream. He took good care of you, sharing the food that was offered to him with you as well as the broken temple that he called his home.

Every day, Hyunjin would think of something new to show you around his home, be it his extravagant garden that housed small patches of earth where vegetables and fruits grew and an abundance of flowers amongst the statues or a nearby river where the two of you relaxed against the stones as you held each other lovingly.

Whenever you leaned close enough to him, the snakes that made up his hair snuggled close to you, resting their head against your shoulder or rubbing their scaly skin against your cheek. You soon found out, the snakes demanded your time as much as Hyunjin did himself, sometimes being silently scolded by him for being to overeager in their affections towards you.

However, you always giggled at the prospect of the man fighting against his own snakes to see who would win more of your attention. Most often than not Hyunjin won, but you think it’s kind of unfair, since he was the one parading the body they were attached to around, sometimes taking their side for fun just to have him dramatically sulk and complain, before planting a soft kiss against his jaw that would make him perk right back up immediately.

Hyunjin made sure to familiarise you with the layout of his temple, showing you where everything was so you could eventually navigate through the halls without his help, if that was ever needed. You reminded him to leave important things in the same places, so you could find them on your own and while he complied, you think he sometimes moves them to other places, just so you would need him.

You also learned that Hyunjin loved to feel needed, necessary. Whenever you asked something of him, even if it was something small, he seemed happier, reveling in the fact that he had a small task to fulfill for someone he cared about, his snakes flicking their tongues excitedly.

You really wished that every day could be spent happy like this, with no worry in the world, just you and him breathing each other’s scent in and falling deeper into a forbidden love. But wishes like that rarely become true.

One particularly stormy night, you reached over to Hyunjin’s side of the bed to pull him closer to you but found it entirely empty. You huffed and decided to wait for him to return but as the minutes passed and he still hadn’t returned, you grew increasingly restless and worried about your lover.

The storm outside raged on, trees whipping their branches, the wind howling loudly as you tiptoed your way through the cold temple, bracing one hand against the cool stone to not lose your orientation.

“Hyunjin?” – you called out, hoping he would make any kind of noise so you had an easier time finding him but to no avail. The only sounds you could hear were of the storm.

You had already checked your little makeshift kitchen and the altar room the two of you made into something of a living room but he was nowhere to be found.

Sighing, you pursued the last possible area where he could have fled to.

His garden.

As you reached the doorframe that led outside, you tried your chances again and called out his name over the sound of the storm.

You were relieved when you did hear him rustling about outside but what you didn’t expect was his broken voice answering, “please go back inside.”

You immediately knew something was wrong. He had never sounded like this before. An uncomfortable feeling settled in your chest as you shuffled another step outside.

“Are you okay, Jinnie?” – you hoped the softness in your tone was conveyed over the loud rain pouring down.

“I’m okay. You’re gonna get sick, please go back to sleep, my flower” – his voice sounded a bit more steady now but you were still unconvinced, resolutely stepping completely outside into the rain and towards his voice.

You quickly found him as you accidentally walked right into his side, not expecting him to be sitting on the cold and wet ground.

Your hands found his shoulders as you bent down to his level, but he stayed silent and didn’t seem to want to move even a bit to accommodate you. Yet the snakes nestled against his head were hissing in clear distress, writhing about against your hands, dragging their scaled bodies roughly over your skin.

Besides the uncomfortable feeling inside your chest, a new frustration bubbled up, cursing yourself for being born blind. You wished you could see him, wished you could tell what was going on with him with only a look into his face. Was he crying? Was he hurt? Why wouldn’t he talk to you, like he always does?

Blinking your momentary anger at yourself away, your hands glided to cup his face as your body moved in front of him. You guided his forehead against yours, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent in.

“Please tell me what’s wrong, my love, you’re worrying me” – you whispered against him.

Not being able to hold it in any longer, you were met with a heart-wrenching sob breaking free from his lips, shattering your heart. Frowning, you pulled him against your chest, cradling his head in your arms and rubbing soothing circles on his scalp and back as his body was wrecked with sobs. His snakes settled against your neck hurriedly, seeking their own comfort in your warmth and touch.

His hands found their way to the back of your tunic, holding onto the fabric like you were going to disappear if he were to let go for just a moment. His face contorted in pain as he cried into your chest for something you were still unsure about.

The two of you sat in the rain like this for what felt like hours. Hyunjin’s wails and whimpers bringing forth tears of your own as you held him.

His sobs died down momentarily as he sniffed, taking in a shaky breath as if there was still something weighing down on his chest, keeping him down and broken.

Hyunjin’s body left yours, his hands staying on your thighs as you were kneeling in front of him. He spoke, quiet and unsure, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, my love”, his fingers slightly digging into the flesh of your legs.

You didn’t know what he was apologising for and yet you had already forgiven him in your heart, not wanting for him to have any reason to cry anymore.

“They were trying to take you away from me… There was no other way”, he said with a hoarse voice, “I won’t let them take you.”

The uncomfortable feeling in your chest pressed on your ribcage, threatening to take your breath away if you let it linger for longer. The meaning of his words weighed down on your mind, alarm bells ringing, not because of the fear of them taking you but because you feared Hyunjin having to confront any of the warriors from your village again. Worried, your brows furrowed as you took his face into your hands, letting your thumbs glide over the soft skin of his cheeks.

“Are you hurt?”, came your voice, steady, focused on healing the cracks in his heart, on his body until he was whole again, emanating a happiness as warm as the afternoon sun.

Hyunjin was quiet for a while. What you didn’t see was his eyes widening at your words, unbelieving of the prospect of you being worried about him over everything else. He wanted to cry again. For entirely different reasons.

“I-“

“Please tell me where it hurts, Jinnie.”

“They nicked my side…but otherwise, I am just happy I still have you”, he sniffed.

You nodded softly at him, moving to slowly get up with him and out of the cold rain, willing to ignore the implications of Hyunjin protecting you. Killing for you.

The storm eventually quieted down as you meticulously took care of his wounds with his guidance, your hands stained with his blood when you were finished. You were aware of the lingering wetness on your hands, moving to wash it off at the nearby basin.

Hyunjin watched you curiously, eyes honed in on your smaller hands. He was glad it was his blood and nobody else’s. Not your own, not from any of the villagers. Just his. His blood could be spilled countless times over, staining the soil beneath him if it meant you were safe and healthy. He had never before disregarded his own safety and health this much until you stumbled into his life. Because what if he lost you? What did he have left? A garden full of statues and flowers that were meaningless if it meant you were buried beneath them.

His heart constricted uncomfortably in his chest at the thought, strengthening his possessive resolve to keep you close to him.

The next morning you woke up next to him, comforted by the warm presence beside you, legs entangled with his, your head resting on his chest listening to his steady heartbeat as your hand was splayed out across the other side of him, inhaling his scent. Your mind calmed at having him this close, feeling his touch, hearing his heart beating softly in his chest, as the feelings of last night’s aftermath still lingered in your tired limbs.

You remembered it took quite a while for your lover to fall asleep after everything had calmed down. While he was laying still, you knew he was still awake, lost in his head about what had transpired, so you whispered soft affirmations into his neck and kissed the skin that you could reach. The grip on your waist was firm before it eventually relaxed as he drifted off into slumber, taking you with him as your lips slowed their descent on his flesh.

Now in the morning the world didn’t seem so harsh and cold anymore, the soft rays of sunshine making their way through the window of your bedroom inside the temple. Even though your mind lingered on the question of whether you would find another statue guarding your garden, you were content in the arms of your loved one. Because what if you lost him? What did you have left? Your hometown too hurtful a place to return to if they so willingly made you act as a test subject, willing to kill the man that you loved without ever considering to hear him out and see him for the gentle soul that he is. There is nothing to return to, the temple meaningless if it meant you wouldn’t hear his giggles echoing through the halls anymore as you mapped his face with your fingers, memorising each dimple, the dip of his nose and the plush lips that you adored kissing whenever you were close enough to him.

A heavy sigh left your lips, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest as he slumbered beside you. You don’t think there were any possible futures where the two of you wouldn’t want to live with one another, having found true solace in this surprising love. A small smile found its way onto your lips as you pressed them gently onto his ribcage, still careful not to wake him.

After waking up and eating breakfast together in the morning sun, Hyunjin made sure that the newest addition to his garden was placed somewhere out of the way, not wanting you to bump into a new obstacle in the garden. He struggled to find a fitting place, nibbling on his nails out of nervousness.

This man hadn’t deserved a warm and protected place like the others in his garden. He was full of rage, spouting insults and vile things to him and about you, speaking about you like you were merely an object that was in the possession of the village. There was nothing but hate inside his eyes before eventually turning to stone, sealing that hatred inside a protective cocoon alongside the man it belonged to.

Hyunjin hummed, thinking that he could just drag him somewhere outside the temple, making use of him as some sort of scarecrow and hopefully keep away more attackers.

At the sight of the petrified man, his snakes began to hiss and squirm, remembering the night before. He softly patted his own head before rolling up the sleeves of his robe and taking ahold of the statue.

It was too beautiful a day to be reminded of the horrible things that were committed the previous night, birds chirping, the sun shining down comfortably and a light breeze flowing through the temple.

Once Hyunjin found a satisfactory spot, he trudged back to his home where you awaited him. Hearing his steps approach the temple, you scrambled to get to the entrance, grinning at his return.

“You’re smiling so much today, my love, did you sleep really well or did something happen?” -  he giggled at you throwing your arms around his shoulders when he was close enough to you.

“Just glad to have you”, you said, “last night scared me, which makes me appreciate moments like these even more.”

“I apologise for that, I would never want you to worry” – he grabbed you and lifted you up into his arms, your legs locking securely around his waist, letting him carry you wherever he wanted.

“I love you.”

“I love you, Hyunjin” – you grabbed his face and brought your lips together, melting into the kiss.

Kissing him still felt as magical as the first time, your lips locking together as if they were made for each other. He tasted sweet, reminiscent of the fruits you had this morning, as his tongue made its way into your mouth.

Your kiss soon turned from soft to hungry as soon as Hyunjin crossed the doorframe to your shared bedroom, the air around you shifting to something hotter and heavier, desperate to have each other after the scare of loss last night.

His lips attached to your neck in wet kisses and bites, his sharp canines dragging deliciously across your skin, never truly hurting you but sending down jolts of pleasure between your legs, as you tangled your hands in his soft locks, keeping him close to you.

“You are so beautiful” – he said against you as his hands slid down your body and under your tunic.

“I wish you could see yourself with my eyes only once and understand why I am so obsessed with you” – a particularly hard bite to your shoulder made you whine and buck your hips against his hand, desperate to get him to touch you where you really want him to.

“Please don’t make me wait any more, Jinnie” – you moaned, your own hand trailing down to the front of his delicate robe, grabbing at him through the fabric and earning a groan from him.

Impatient himself, he rid himself of his clothing, his already leaky length springing free. He slid your robe up your thighs, revealing you to him as he moved to grip your thighs and position himself between your legs.

“Nobody will ever take you from me, Y/N. You’re mine” – you whined at the feeling of him finally sinking his cock into you, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

Hyunjin let out a deep groan as he let you adjust to the stretch before pulling his hips back and fucking back into you.

You pulled him down to you to pepper desperate, sloppy kisses against his jaw, his snakes coming down to meet you halfway, butting their heads against you, desperate to get attention of their own amidst all the pleasure. Your hand fans out to caress them as well, stroking lovingly across their scaled bodies which spurned Hyunjin on even more, a strained moan coming from him. You know the two of you won’t last long when every movement is laced with desperation, chasing each other’s high to prove your love to one another.

“You won’t ever lose me, Jinnie” – you whimpered against him and that seems to do it for him, his thrusts growing faster and harder and his own whines getting louder.

It’s not long until you came undone beneath him, clenching around his length as he chases his own orgasm.

Hyunjin’s hips rutted erratically into you before letting out a loud whimper, cock twitching and filling you up. He rides out his high and you smile lazily up at him, bliss overtaking your mind, your hands running soothingly across his back.

“I love you” – you said once more as he slipped out of you and cleaned you both up.

“And I love you, my love” – he kissed you sweetly, cupping your face in his larger hands gently before leaning back to let you crawl into his loving arms.

You nuzzled your face into his chest as he lay beside you, arms around his waist and holding him close to your body.

Unbeknownst to you, an attempt at his life was thwarted by a statue that stood lonely and isolated nearby the temple, warning any of those approaching of what awaited them behind it, preserving the peace of your little sanctuary.

[wethotcrazy]

Buona Fortuna

pairing: Mercedes F1 Team! Kimi Antonelli x F1 Academy Driver! Reader

word count: 5500

trying out some new stuff, but chat i fear i cooked a little too hard. also if you like this tell me (i might make more parts to it), and sorry for the sudden change i just wanted it to be all in one part instead of two.

The Mercedes F1 hospitality area was nearly empty at 11 PM, save for two figures huddled at a corner table. Kimi Antonelli, still in his team polo despite the late hour, sat across from Y/N, who was surrounded by engineering textbooks and a laptop displaying race telemetry data.

"You know," Kimi said, sliding a fresh cup of coffee toward her, "most people would think I'm crazy for spending my free evening watching someone study thermodynamics."

Y/N looked up from her calculations, offering a tired but genuine smile. "Most people would think I'm crazy for studying thermodynamics between F1 Academy practice sessions."

"That's why you're you," he replied with a soft smile, a familiar warmth of admiration in his voice.

Their friendship had always been like this – comfortable silences, shared understanding, and mutual support that went beyond their racing careers. It started back in their Prema days when they were both trying to navigate the delicate balance between racing and high school.

While Kimi had treated academics as a necessary obligation, Y/N approached it with the same passion she showed on track. He remembered watching her in awe as she'd switch seamlessly between analyzing racing lines and solving calculus problems during their breaks.

"How do you not get burned out?" he'd asked her once during their Prema days.

"Because I love both," she'd answered simply. "The racing helps me understand the physics, and the physics helps me understand the racing. They're not separate things in my mind."

That response had stuck with him, reshaping his own approach to racing. While he might not share her enthusiasm for academic pursuits, her words had taught him that true excellence came from understanding every aspect of what you do.

Now, a couple of years later, he found himself gravitating toward her study sessions whenever their racing schedules aligned. Sometimes he'd ask questions about the engineering concepts she was learning, genuinely curious about how they applied to their cars. Other times, like tonight, he'd simply keep her company, finding inspiration in her unwavering focus.

"Remember when you posted that congratulations message when we  graduated?" Y/N asked suddenly, looking up from her textbook.

Kimi grinned. "How could I forget? 'Proudest teammate award goes to @KimiAntonelli,'" he quoted the replies that had flooded in. "I meant every word of it, you know. Still do."

"You always have been supportive," she laughed, but her eyes showed deep appreciation.

"You know, I joke about you being a nerd all the time, but..." he paused, gathering his thoughts. "Watching you excel in both worlds, it made me realize I wasn't pushing myself hard enough in some areas. When I'm tired after a long day of practice and all I want to do is sleep, I think about you studying after equally long days. It makes me want to be better, to understand more, to push harder."

Y/N set down her pencil, touched by his honesty. "Kimi..."

"I mean it," he continued. "Everyone in F1 asks me about my rapid rise through the ranks, but they don't see what I see. They don't see my friend who's working twice as hard, not just winning races but understanding the very science that makes these cars work."

A comfortable silence fell between them as Y/N returned to her studies and Kimi started reviewing his own race data on his tablet. This had become their routine whenever their race weekends coincided – her studying, him working, occasionally breaking the silence to share thoughts or ask questions.

"Another win for Y/N L/N!" the commentator announced as she crossed the finish line. "The F1 Academy sensation continues to dominate while pursuing her mechanical engineering degree..."

After Y/N won her F1 Academy race, Kimi was the first to reach her in parc fermé. As they hugged in celebration, he whispered, "You always make it look so easy."

She laughed against his shoulder. "Nothing about this is easy."

"That's what makes it impressive," he replied, pulling back to look at her. "And don't worry – I saved you a spot in the hospitality area. You've got that fluid dynamics test to study for, right?"

"You're not sick of being my study buddy yet?"

Kimi's expression softened. "Never. Besides," he added with a playful grin, "how else am I going to learn why my car does what it does? My engineers would be proud of how much engineering I've absorbed just from listening to you study."

That evening, as they settled into their usual spot, Kimi watched Y/N dive straight into her studies despite the exhaustion of race day. Her dedication wasn't just about achieving good grades or winning races – it was about pursuing excellence in everything she did. And while he might joke about her being his inspiration, the truth was far deeper than any joke could convey.

Because in Y/N, Kimi saw what true passion looked like. It wasn't just about being fast on track or smart in class – it was about the relentless pursuit of understanding, the dedication to growth, and the courage to chase multiple dreams at once. Her drive pushed him to be better, to learn more, to dig deeper into his own craft.

"Hey," he said suddenly, making her look up from her books. "I know I tease a lot, but you really are an inspiration. Not just to me, I know so many others out there that really look up to you."

Y/N's face softened into a smile. "And you're the best study buddy a racing driver could ask for."

"Even though I still don't understand half of what you're studying?"

"Especially because of that," she laughed. "Your confused face keeps me entertained during the boring parts."

As they settled back into their comfortable routine – Y/N with her studies, Kimi with his race notes – he couldn't help but smile. Some might find it strange that a Formula 1 driver chose to spend his free time watching his friend study engineering, but to Kimi, these quiet moments were as valuable as any time spent on track.

Because it was in these moments that he was reminded of what real dedication looked like, what true passion meant, and how the pursuit of excellence in one area could inspire growth in another. Y/N might joke about him being her study buddy, but in truth, she was teaching him something far more valuable than engineering principles – she was showing him what it meant to never stop pushing, learning, and growing.

And that, more than any podium or pole position, was why his admiration for her only grew stronger with each passing day.

The Mercedes garage buzzed with pre-qualifying preparations, but Kimi's eyes were fixed on his phone screen, watching Y/N's F1 Academy race. He was supposed to be reviewing track data, but he couldn't help himself – her racing style had always captivated him.

"Antonelli!" Ollie Bearman's voice cut through his concentration as his friend poked his head into the Mercedes garage, Haas race suit tied around his waist. "Let me guess – watching Y/N's race?"

Kimi didn't even bother hiding his phone. "She's in P2, fighting for the lead."

"When are you going to admit you're in love with her?" Ollie teased, settling beside him to watch.

"I'm not—" Kimi started to protest, but his words were cut short as Y/N executed a perfect overtake into Turn 1. His involuntary smile said more than any denial could.

"Sure, sure," Ollie laughed. "You've only been like this since our Prema days. 'Y/N's so dedicated,'" he mimicked. "'She's so inspiring. Did you know she got another perfect score?'"

Kimi felt his cheeks warm. "She's my friend."

"A friend you can't take your eyes off of," Ollie pointed out. "A friend whose races you watch while you should be prepping for quali. A friend who—"

"She's through! She's won!" Kimi interrupted, jumping slightly in his seat as Y/N crossed the finish line. Without thinking, he immediately opened his messages.

Kimi: Incredible drive! That move into T1 was pure class. Good luck with studying later - FaceTime after quali? Need to hear all about that overtake 👊

Her reply came quickly:

Y/N: Thanks Kimi! 🏆 Those racing lines finally making sense 😂 Absolutely yes to FaceTime - I'll be watching your quali! Show them how it's done ❤️

The heart emoji made his own heart skip a beat, though he tried to ignore it. His phone buzzed again:

Ollie: I saw that smile when she texted back. You're not fooling anyone ����

Kimi rolled his eyes, but couldn't completely suppress his grin. His race engineer called him for the final quali briefing, and he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Yet as he slipped into his race suit, he found himself thinking about how Y/N would be watching.

The qualifying session was intense, but knowing Y/N was watching somehow made him push even harder. As he crossed the line to secure P3 in Q3, he could almost hear her cheering.

The moment he parked in parc fermé, he was pulling out his phone, FaceTiming Y/N while walking to his media obligations.

Her face appeared on screen, beaming with pride. "P3! Kimi, that last sector was incredible!"

"Not as incredible as your overtake earlier," he replied, unable to stop smiling. She was sitting at her desk, engineering textbooks already spread out around her, hair still damp from her own podium celebration.

"Are you seriously doing this interview while FaceTiming?" she laughed as he positioned himself for the post-quali interviews.

"You're more important," he said without thinking, then quickly added, "Besides, you can help me with the technical questions about car balance."

A Sky Sports reporter approached, amused to find him on FaceTime. "Kimi, fantastic qualifying! Who are you talking to?"

"Y/N L/N," he answered proudly, turning his phone to show her. "She just won her F1 Academy race today."

"Kimi!" Y/N protested, embarrassed by the attention, but he could see her trying not to smile.

The reporter, well aware of their friendship, played along. "Any advice for him, Y/N?"

"Remember what I taught you about apex speeds," she teased. "It's just like solving differential equations – all about finding the optimal solution."

Kimi laughed, his expression softening in a way that made Ollie, watching from nearby, shaking his head knowingly. "Always the engineer, even on race day."

As he moved through his media obligations, he kept Y/N on the call, their easy banter and shared joy making the tedious process enjoyable. She occasionally chimed in with technical insights that actually impressed the journalists, making Kimi's chest swell with pride.

"You should be studying," he finally said, once he was heading back to the team motorhome.

"I am studying," she protested, holding up her thermodynamics textbook. "I'm just also watching my favorite Mercedes driver crush it in quali."

"I'm the only Mercedes driver you know personally," he pointed out.

"Still my favorite," she winked, and Kimi felt that familiar warmth spread through his chest.

Maybe Ollie was right. Maybe these feelings went beyond admiration and friendship. Maybe the way his day felt brighter when she smiled, the way he looked forward to their study sessions, the way he felt proud of her achievements as if they were his own – maybe it all meant something more.

But for now, he was content to walk through the paddock, phone in hand, listening to Y/N explain her winning overtake while flipping through engineering notes. In that moment, with hundreds of miles between them but their connection as strong as ever, Kimi realized that some feelings didn't need to be admitted out loud to be real.

"Hey," Y/N's voice softened. "You went quiet. What are you thinking about?"

Kimi smiled, watching her juggle her textbook while trying to maintain eye contact through the camera. "Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you in my corner, even when we're racing so far apart."

Her expression melted into something tender that made his heart race faster than any qualifying lap. "Always, Kimi. We're a team, remember? Even when we're not teammates anymore."

And if Ollie happened to catch him later that night, still on FaceTime with Y/N as she studied and he reviewed race data, both of them fighting sleep just to stay connected a little longer – well, maybe his friend wasn't completely wrong about those feelings after all.

The F1 social media landscape exploded one Tuesday morning when Prema Racing announced their 2025 Formula 2 lineup. Among the names was Y/N L/N, making history as she stepped up from F1 Academy after a dominant season.

Within minutes, Kimi's notification feed was flooded as fans tagged him in the announcement. He didn't hesitate to share his excitement:

@KimiAntonelli: From studying engineering between races to fighting for the F2 championship - this is what dedication looks like! So proud of you @YN_LN! Time to show F2 what you're made of! 🏎️📚

The tweet quickly went viral, but it wasn't just the announcement that caught fans' attention. Within hours, racing fan accounts began sharing compilation videos:

"KIMI AND Y/N: FROM PREMA TO F1/F2 🥺❤️ (a thread)"

The first video showed them as young teenagers at Prema, Kimi helping Y/N carry her textbooks to the engineering room while she explained race strategy concepts. Another clip featured their podium celebrations, where they'd always find each other first for a congratulatory hug.

@F1Moments: "The way Kimi BEAMS when talking about Y/N's achievements? We're not okay 😭❤️"

The clip showed various interviews where Kimi praised Y/N:

"She's not just fast on track, she understands these cars like an engineer..."

"While we're all focused on racing, she's getting perfect grades in mechanical engineering..."

"Y/N shows that with enough passion, you can excel at anything..."

@MotorsportEdits had created a masterpiece: a split-screen montage of their parallel journeys. On one side, Kimi's rise through the ranks to Mercedes F1; on the other, Y/N dominating F1 Academy while pursuing her degree. The video ended with their recent FaceTime sessions during Kimi’s post-quali interview, Kimi turning his phone to face the Sky Sports camera.

#KimiAndYN started trending on racing Twitter.

@RacingNews: "Remember when Kimi brought his phone to post-quali interviews just to stay on FaceTime with Y/N? 🥺"

@F1Academy: "From study buddies to racing's power duo! Congratulations to our champion @YN_LN on her promotion to F2!"

Quote tweeted by @MercedesAMGF1: "Our boy @KimiAntonelli's biggest cheerleader is moving up to F2! 🙌 #KimiAndYN"

The social media storm reached new heights when an old video surfaced from their Prema days:

"Can someone please explain the physics behind this overtake?" Kimi asked in the clip, while Y/N drew diagrams and equations on a whiteboard, both still in their race suits.

"Every time I explain physics, you somehow turn it into a racing question," Y/N laughed in the video.

"Because you make it make sense!" young Kimi protested.

@PremaRacing decided to join the fun, sharing a collection of photos: "Buona fortuna e buon viaggio! #KimiAndYN"

The photos showed their journey: studying together between practice sessions, celebrating podiums, Kimi and Y/N's high school graduation, Y/N watching Kimi's first F1 test from the pitwall while highlighting her engineering notes.

Ollie couldn't resist commenting:

@OllieBearman: "If I had a euro for every time @KimiAntonelli talked about @YN_LN during our Prema days, I'd be richer than Lewis Hamilton 😂"

Y/N finally responded to the chaos with a photo of her and Kimi from their Prema days, both asleep in the engineering room, textbooks and data sheets scattered around them:

@YN_LN: "Some things never change ❤️ Thanks for always believing in me @KimiAntonelli! 📚🏎️"

Kimi's heart skipped when he saw her post. He was in the Mercedes simulator when his phone exploded with notifications, but he immediately took a break to respond:

@KimiAntonelli: "From helping me understand physics to making history in motorsport. Proud doesn't even begin to cover it. Can't wait to share the paddock with you again ❤️"

Later that evening, during their regular FaceTime call, Y/N couldn't stop laughing about the social media storm.

"Have you seen the edits? They found clips I didn't even know existed!"

Kimi grinned, watching her sort through her F2 contract papers while simultaneously organizing her study materials. "My favorite is the compilation of every time I've talked about you in interviews. Apparently, I'm not subtle."

"When have you ever been?" she teased. "Remember when you brought me up during your first F1 press conference?"

"Because they asked about inspiration! And you're..." he paused, his expression softening, "you're the most inspiring person I know."

Y/N's cheeks turned pink. "Keep saying things like that and these fans might get ideas."

"Let them," Kimi said softly, watching her juggle her racing dreams and academic pursuits with the same grace she'd always had. "They're not entirely wrong."

The hashtag #KimiAndYN continued trending well into the night, with fans sharing more memories, creating new edits, and celebrating their journey. But for Kimi and Y/N, it was just another evening of FaceTime study sessions and race discussions, their bond stronger than any trending topic could capture.

@F1Community: "Find someone who looks at you the way Kimi looks at Y/N when she's explaining engineering concepts 😍 #KimiAndYN"

Attached was a recent photo from the paddock: Kimi leaning over Y/N's laptop, completely absorbed as she explained some complex engineering principle, his expression a perfect blend of admiration, affection, and awe.

Some things really never did change.

The Italian summer sun painted long shadows across the Antonelli family's garden as Kimi watched Y/N from the kitchen window. She was curled up in her favorite spot on the outdoor sofa, engineering textbook balanced on her knees, hair gathered in a claw clip. Even on break, some things never changed.

Last summer had been at her family's house – he smiled remembering how her mom had fussed over both of them, making sure they took actual breaks from racing and studying. This year, it was his family's turn to host, and his mother was equally determined to fatten them both up with endless servings of homemade pasta.

"She's still studying?" his mother asked in Italian, appearing beside him with fresh bread for dinner.

"Always," Kimi replied fondly. "But watch this."

He grabbed two glasses of fresh lemonade and headed out to the garden. The moment he sat beside her, Y/N automatically shifted, making space while never taking her eyes off her thermodynamics equations. It was a practiced movement, born from countless study sessions across years of friendship.

"Mum's making that pasta you love," he said, setting her lemonade within reach.

"The one with the pistachio pesto?" Y/N looked up, eyes brightening.

"Of course. She says you're too skinny from all this studying."

Y/N laughed, finally closing her book. "Between your mom and mine, we're never going to go hungry during these summer breaks."

It had become their tradition, these shared summers. Between the chaos of the racing season and now Y/N's university schedule, these precious weeks were their chance to just... be. No pressure, no cameras, no podiums to chase – just them, family, and the Italian summer stretching endlessly ahead.

"Remember last summer when your dad tried to teach me proper Italian, Tuscan?" Kimi asked, settling deeper into the sofa.

"And you kept mixing up your words?" Y/N grinned. "And the look on his face…"

"Hey, I've improved! Besides, you're one to talk – you still use engineering terms in Italian."

"That's different! Those are technical terms!"

Their laughter mingled with the sound of cicadas and the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Y/N's textbook lay forgotten as she tucked her feet under herself, turning to face him fully.

"I love this," she said softly. "How even with everything changing – you in F1, me heading to F2, all the craziness – we still have this."

Kimi's heart warmed at her words. He knew what she meant. These moments were precious: the quiet afternoons studying, the family dinners where their parents swapped embarrassing stories about their karting days, the late-night gelato runs in his dad's old Fiat.

"You know," he said, watching the sunset paint her face in golden hues, "I was thinking about our first summer together, back in Prema. Remember how you made me help you study for physics?"

"You mean how you used every physics problem as an excuse to analyze race strategy?" she teased.

"It worked, didn't it? I understood downforce better after your explanations."

Y/N smiled, reaching for her lemonade. "And now look at us. You're living our F1 dream early, and I'm..."

"Being absolutely incredible," he finished firmly. "Racing, engineering degree, and still finding time to spend summers with me and my crazy family."

"Your family is my family too, you know that. Plus," she added with a mischievous grin, "your mum's cooking alone is worth the trip."

As if on cue, his mother's voice called from the kitchen: "Bambini! Dinner!"

They shared a look – they were hardly children anymore, but to their families, they'd always be those two kids from Prema, dreaming big dreams between study sessions.

"Five more minutes!" Kimi called back, not ready to break this moment.

Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder, a gesture so natural it made his heart ache with familiarity. "Your mom's going to come get us out here if we're late."

"Worth it," he murmured, watching the last rays of sunlight fade. "Besides, you need a break from studying."

"Says the one who spent three hours analyzing race data this morning."

"That's different!"

"How?"

"Because..." he paused, smiling. "Okay, maybe we're both workaholics."

"Maybe that's why this works," Y/N said softly. "We understand each other's drive."

The garden was growing darker, fairy lights automatically twinkling to life along the pergola. From the kitchen came the warm sounds of family life – his mother singing along to the radio, his father setting the table, the rich aroma of dinner wafting through the air.

"Ragazzi!" his mother called again, more insistent this time.

Y/N laughed, standing and offering him her hand. "Come on, before we get in trouble."

Kimi took her hand, but didn't immediately get up, just holding it for a moment. "Thanks for choosing to spend summer here again."

"Always," she squeezed his hand. "Where else would I want to be?"

As they walked toward the house, Y/N's textbook tucked under one arm and their empty glasses in hand, Kimi felt that familiar surge of gratitude. For all their success on track, for all their dreams coming true, it was these moments he treasured most – the quiet evenings, the shared laughter, the simple joy of having her here, making his family home feel even more like home.

"Race you to the table?" Y/N challenged, eyes sparkling.

"You're on, F2 driver," he grinned, both of them breaking into a run like they were kids again.

Some things changed – their racing categories, their achievements, their growing dreams. But this – their summers together, their understanding, their connection – this remained constant, as reliable as the Italian sun and as sweet as his mother's lemonade.

And as they collapsed into their seats at the dinner table, breathless with laughter while his parents fondly shook their heads, Kimi couldn't help but think that of all their victories, all their podiums and poles, this might be his favorite kind of winning.

"And crossing the line to take pole position in, Y/N L/N with a stunning lap!"

Kimi's celebration in the Mercedes garage was immediate and enthusiastic enough to draw knowing looks from his entire team. He was supposed to be preparing for his own qualifying session, but his eyes had been glued to the timing screens.

His phone was already in his hand: Kimi: POLE POSITION!! That sector 2 was absolutely insane! Call later? 🏆✨

Her reply came seconds later: Y/N: Learned from the best 😉 Good luck in quali! I'll be watching between engineering lectures ❤️

"Antonelli!" George Russell called out, grinning as he passed by. "Tell your girlfriend congratulations on pole!"

"She's not my—" Kimi started, but George was already walking away, laughing.

@GeorgeRussell63: Caught our rookie watching F2 quali instead of prep 👀 Wonder why? 😏 @KimiAntonelli @YN_LN #Busted

The tweet immediately went viral, with fans cooing over Kimi's obvious pride in Y/N's achievement. The F1 paddock's collective teasing had become relentless since summer break ended.

Later that evening, after both their sessions were done, Kimi settled into his hotel room for their nightly FaceTime call. Y/N appeared on screen, trophy visible in the background, textbooks already spread around her.

"There's my pole-sitter," he beamed.

"There's my Q3 hero," she countered. "P4! Kimi, that was incredible!"

"Thanks to your tip about the kerbs in turn 9—"

A notification interrupted them: @LandoNorris: @KimiAntonelli mate your face literally lights up every time you talk about @YN_LN 😭 Remember when you made us all watch her F1 Academy race during the drivers' briefing?

Y/N burst out laughing. "You did what?"

Kimi's cheeks reddened. "It was an important race! And they all wanted to watch anyway..."

Another notification: @OscarPiastri: Can confirm. He gives us daily updates about both her racing AND her engineering degree 😂 #Whipped

"The whole grid is against me," Kimi groaned, but he was smiling.

"At least Ollie has backup now," Y/N teased, adjusting her laptop so she could better see him while highlighting her thermodynamics notes.

"Speaking of Ollie—" Kimi started, but was cut off by yet another notification.

@OllieBearman: Throwback to Prema days when these two would "study" together but really just stare at each other for hours 👀 #IveBeenSayingItForYears Attached was a photo of teenage Kimi and Y/N in the Prema engineering room, books open but clearly lost in conversation

"We did not stare at each other!" Kimi protested.

"No, you just watch me study every single day," Y/N smirked.

The notifications kept coming:

@CharlesLeclerc: Remember when @KimiAntonelli asked for restaurant recommendations in every city because he wanted to "surprise a friend" during race weekends? 🤔

@CarlosSainz: The friend: @YN_LN 😂

"You asked Charles for restaurant recommendations?" Y/N's expression softened.

"I wanted to make sure you had good places to eat during race weekends," Kimi mumbled. "You forget to eat when you're studying..."

@MaxVerstappen: Called it! Pay up @SChecoPerez - told you he'd watch her quali instead of prep 💰

@SChecoPerez: Next time hide your phone better @KimiAntonelli 😂

Y/N was fully laughing now. "You've got a betting pool on us?"

"The whole paddock apparently," Kimi sighed, but couldn't help smiling at her joy.

@AlexAlbon: POV: You're trying to discuss race strategy but @KimiAntonelli is texting @YN_LN Attached was a video of Kimi smiling at his phone during a strategy meeting

"I'm never going to hear the end of this," Kimi groaned.

"Poor baby," Y/N teased, then her expression turned more serious. "Hey, did you see the analysis I sent about your sector 3? I think if you adjust the entry angle—"

Kimi's heart swelled as she launched into a detailed technical explanation, seamlessly switching between race engineer and student mode. Even with an ocean between them, she was still looking out for him.

@LewisHamilton: Y'all leave them alone - it's sweet 🙌 Some of us remember what it's like to be young and in... racing 😉 @KimiAntonelli @YN_LN

Their phones buzzed simultaneously with a message from Ollie: Group chat "Prema Days" Ollie: LEWIS KNOWS 😭 Even the 7-time champ sees it! Just kiss already!

Y/N rolled her eyes, but Kimi caught the slight blush on her cheeks. "We should probably study," she said, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Of course," Kimi agreed, already pulling out his own notes. "But first - that move into turn 1 for pole? Walk me through it?"

Her face lit up as she began explaining the technical aspects of her qualifying lap, and Kimi found himself smiling softly, completely absorbed in her enthusiasm. In the background, their phones kept buzzing with notifications, the entire F1 grid apparently determined to point out what everyone else could see.

@ValtteriBottas: Taking bets on how long until they officially announce... their "friendship" 😏

@MercedesAMGF1: The way @KimiAntonelli watches all her races from our garage when we're at different tracks 🥺

@ZhouGuanyu24: Don't forget how he explains her engineering projects to us during track walks! Never seen someone so proud 😂

But for Kimi and Y/N, wrapped up in their own little world of race analysis and study sessions, the teasing was just background noise. Their connection, whether across the paddock or across continents, remained as strong as ever – even if the entire F1 grid seemed determined to turn it into the paddock's favorite love story.

"Hey," Y/N said softly, interrupting his thoughts. "Earth to Kimi?"

"Sorry, just thinking."

"About how the entire F1 grid is never gonna let up on you?" she teased.

"About how lucky I am to have you in my corner, even from far away."

Her expression melted into something tender that made all the paddock's teasing worth it. "Always, Kimi. Distance doesn't change that."

@OllieBearman: I've been watching this romcom live since Prema and let me tell you, it only gets better 🍿 #KimiAndYN

This time, neither of them bothered to protest.

The blue light of the laptop screen illuminated Y/N's face as she finished highlighting another passage in her thermodynamics textbook. A soft snore made her look up at her phone propped against the desk lamp - Kimi had dozed off during their FaceTime call, his face peaceful in sleep. The sight brought an involuntary smile to her face.

It was typical of their study sessions these days. Between his F1 schedule and her F1 Academy races, late-night calls were often the only time they could catch up. He'd insist on keeping her company while she studied, claiming he was reviewing race data, but more often than not he'd fall asleep to the sound of her pen scratching against paper.

She closed her textbook quietly, though she knew the sound wouldn't wake him - he could sleep through anything after a long day at the track. As she started her bedtime routine, her mind wandered over their relationship, this comfortable space they'd carved out for themselves between friendship and something more.

The paddock gossip was relentless these days. Every shared smile, every supportive tweet, every time he watched her races from the Mercedes garage - it all became fodder for speculation. Even Ollie, who'd known them since their Prema days, wouldn't let up with his knowing looks.

Standing at her bathroom sink, Y/N caught her own reflection smiling at the memory of Kimi's proud face when she'd explained a particularly complex engineering concept earlier. He'd leaned closer to his camera, completely absorbed, that familiar warmth in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat.

The truth was, she knew how she felt about him. It was there in the way her day felt brighter when his name lit up her phone, in how naturally they'd gravitated toward each other since their junior racing days, in the comfortable silence of their study sessions. But timing was everything in racing - they both knew that better than most.

They were both chasing their dreams at full speed. He was making his mark in F1, living up to the immense expectations placed on Mercedes' youngest driver. She was balancing her engineering degree with her F1 Academy campaign, working toward her own F1 dreams. Adding another variable to that equation felt risky.

Climbing into bed, Y/N glanced one last time at her phone. Kimi had shifted slightly, his features soft in sleep, Mercedes team jacket still on. They had something special - something that had grown organically from shared ambitions and mutual understanding. Maybe that was enough for now.

Racing taught you patience, after all. Sometimes the best moves weren't the boldest ones, but the ones you waited for, setting them up carefully until the moment was just right. For now, she was content with their late-night study sessions, his proud smiles after her wins, the way he'd listen intently to her engineering explanations even when he was exhausted.

"Goodnight, Kimi," she whispered, ending the call. Whatever they were, whatever they might become, it was worth protecting. Some things didn't need to be rushed.

Her phone buzzed with a text from him, sent automatically when their call disconnected: Sweet dreams, engineer. Proud of you always. ❤️

Yeah, Y/N thought, settling into sleep with a smile. They were just fine exactly as they were.

here are some of the tags: @floweringanna, @hiraethberry, @holendernik, @oooom4arie, @burnhampeaches, @dying-inside-but-its-classy

let me know if you want to be added to the list :))

[thedailydescent]

New update from Kareman!

On Oct 18, I wrote a post on behalf of my friend Kareman Dohan (@karemandohan1999), who wanted me to share her story with you:

I am Kariman Duhan, a Palestinian teacher and mother of a 17-month-old baby. My son, Ayman Alwan, graduated from the University of Business Administration with honors, but due to unemployment, he worked as a fisherman until the war came and destroyed our fishing boat, our source of livelihood. I created a donation campaign with the goal of helping us provide basic needs such as food, medicine, cleaning drinking water, and clothing, and to collect funds to evacuate Gaza. But the matter became complicated because of the lack of internet, and I cannot communicate with people to ask for donations, which is difficult. I had set a goal of 50k, but have now reduced it to 20k. We want to reach 20 thousand then stop the campaign. This will help us to repair our fishing boat, and revive the fish wealth in Gaza to reduce the famine. We are overlooking the beach and if we repair our fishing boat, we can eat and sell fish and provide for others. I really hope you can help me get my message across to people and help me, thank you ❤️

After a period of stagnation, within one week, we were able to raise almost $2K for her, far exceeding our minimum goal :)

But now Kareman has reached out to me again to encourage people to donate now that we have only a few thousand dollars left to raise.

We are currently at $16,344 / $20,000. There have been no donations for more than nine hours.

Kareman and her family have recently been able to obtain a small home to rent at $750 a month. With the income they hope to raise from fishing once they've fixed their boat, this will be able to cover the expenses.

However, we still need to get to 20K for that to happen!

If everyone could please chip in and continue helping Kareman as best you can, that would be greatly appreciated <3 By providing for Kareman's family, you are not only helping them, but the people of Gaza, who are currently going through a famine right now.

My previous minimum daily goal was $150 a day. I am setting that same goal again, but hopefully, like last time, we will go higher than that :)

I have donated $6. Can anyone match me?

This fundraiser has been vetted by 90-ghost and is listed at #6 on gaza-evacuation-funds's Vetted Fundraiser List from Sep 30.

@doublycharming-tetraquark @captainsaltymuyfancy @buttercuparry @claudia-de-lioncourt @ignitingthesky

@gadzooksvol1 @diasdelasombra @beserkerjewel @cuntylouis @anneemay

@maester-cressen @kyra45-helping-others @thatdiabolicalfeminist @mossbawn @dykesbat

[chewnotchoke]

in the warmth of your touch,

— boynextdoor with a s/o who feels cold

requested by anon <3 idk if a similar fic was written prior to this but pls do let me know if there is

comments are highly appreciated! also been a while since i last posted so i hope u enjoy this one!

sungho

𓍯 it was your first time sharing a bed with sungho. you snuggle into yourself, but you still feel an icy breeze along your back, and the room is colder than you anticipated. you know every inch between you and sungho, who is laying only on the opposite side, so you don't want to move too much.

it's not quite enough to have a blanket drawn firmly around your shoulders. you wonder whether he feels the same hesitancy because he hasn't said anything yet, likely in an attempt to settle in. but before you can say anything, you feel his arm extend and his touch lightly rest on your shoulder.

“i think it’ll drive me crazy if i’m not closer than this to you.” sungho says close to your ear. the softness of the moment, the way his hand rests on your arm, and the silent comfort in the gap between you are all that's left. under a blanket that is too tiny, the two of you are feeling warmer than ever.

riwoo

𓍯 maybe going on a walk on a cold night was a bad idea. you didn’t bring any sweater with you to warm you up, and your clothes were almost thin. the breeze was crisp and unexpected on an april night. worse, you were walking side by side with riwoo.

“you look cold. do you want my jacket?”

you declined, knowing it would be bad for him if he tries to make you warm. it’s been a while since you started dating but you still couldn’t help but get shy around him. his kindness makes you fluster, only because you like him that much. he noticed how you kept trying to bring your arms closer to your body to summon any warmth left.

before you knew it, like an embrace, his jacket was enveloped around your shoulders. the wind made it easier to smell his scent on the fabric. from behind, riwoo then wrapped his arms on your shoulders as he draws you closer to him.

“we could stay like this longer if you want.”

and both of you were giggling because he didn’t want to let go of you while walking. flirtatious glances accompanied every step, and your breath was audible in the cold air, fitting in with the playful conversation that seemed to revolve around you two.

jaehyun

𓍯 would be the type to make cheesy comments because he's actually shy about holding your hand and his cheeks are tinted with a faint blush. "you know you don't need to buy hand warmers because you already have me, right?" he says. your fingers are intertwined with each other and he adds, "other people can't find a hand warmer like me!" he grins. you'd laugh at his remark and say "so you're like my personal hand warmer then?"

"yeah, i'm yours only." both of you would laugh at each other's cheesy comments, warming up your hand even more like how much his laugh and smile warms up your heart. he loves playing with your hand, and makes more comments to conceal his shyness.

he doesn't tell you he likes it when you feel colder because then it's his chance to hold you closer to him. he'd ask you if your body feels cold too so you could snuggle together and wrap his arms around your waist.

taesan

𓍯 taesan gets more flirty because he loves the feel of your touch when you use his face to warm up your hands. on a study date you had with him, he reached out to your hands and noticed they were cold.

“can i make use of that pretty face to warm me up?” you asked, a smile crept onto his face. he was holding your hand and slowly bringing it to his face. you couldn't resist grinning as your palm touched taesan’s cheek and the warmth that radiated from him seemed like a soft sunshine.

taesan wasn't finished yet, though. he closed his eyes for a second, perhaps enjoying the sensation as he leaned into your contact and pushed your hand closer.

with a low voice, he whispered, "you don't realize how good this feels."

you move a few strand of his hair away from his face asking, “like it that much?” he opens his eyes to meet yours before replying “i love it so much i could fall asleep like this.”

leehan

𓍯 at a cafe, you were staying with your boyfriend leehan for food. "baby, it's getting a little colder here." you were slightly shivering from the breeze of the air conditioner despite being wrapped with a long-sleeved shirt and thick denim pants. leehan watches you while you barely couldn't smile from the cold freezing air.

"i told you to order something hot like coffee." leehan holds both of your shoulders, making you face him. he starts rubbing his palms in an exaggerated motion, trying to summon warmth.

he leans in as he cups your face with his hands, warm like a furnace as it dissolves the chill settled on your cheeks. being the playful guy that he is, he lightly squeezed your face, filling his expression with a teasing laugh. "better?" he grins.

"stop making fun of me."

"it's okay, you're cute."

woonhak

𓍯 woonhak would be the type to take your hand and put it inside his pocket. woonhak slowly pulls your hands apart as his fingers discover yours. he silently puts your hands in his coat pockets while keeping his own hands firmly in place. with his thumb making soft circles on your skin, he occasionally squeezes your hand. the subtlety of it makes you wonder if he even recognizes what he's doing.

a grin forms in your face, realizing how bold he is but his pink cheeks were still visible. he doesn’t let go, not even when you finally stop shivering.

there's a pleasant, familiar smell of his cologne that hovers between you. now that he's near enough, you can feel his soft breath and his presence enveloping you like an invisible blanket. the gentle curve of woonhak’s lips and the faint flush on his cheeks that intensifies when he knows you're observing him are visible when you dare to look up.

“like it so bad when i hold your hand like this you can’t even stop looking at me, huh?” he teases you

[istaricelebelasse]

Based on the post about the Fingon and Maedhros story being shared and edited by all the peoples of Middle Earth

If there was one thing that Bilbo enjoyed about Rivendell it had to be the Hall of Fire. It was grand to share and listen to tales and songs, and there was always an appreciative audience when he wanted to debut a new work.

Not that the tale he wished to share on this particular evening was one of his own. Instead it was a traditional tale, one normally shared around a winter’s hearth or underneath the Party Tree.

He readied himself to recite the words, as comfortable with the paths of the tale as he was with those of the Shire. His audience was a rapt and attentive as any group of faunts, for if there was one thing that Bilbo had learnt of the elves, it was that they adored new tales.

(He supposed that the same stories became boring after a few thousand retellings.)

A final puff on his pipe and he was ready to begin

—

Once, when the sun and the moon were new, there lived a fair maiden. She was as beautiful as she was kind, with long red curls she let tumble down her back. She was as apple cheeked and stout as any good hobbit lass should be, and every lad from miles around was enamoured with her.

But she only had eyes for one: a prince (for it was in the days when kings and princes still lived) who had once been her closest childhood friend. He was brave, and true, and could often be found speaking to all manner of bird and beast.

They planned to be wed, and their love was so great that even the flowers themselves bloomed brighter for joy.

Yet there was another. A wizard, cruel and jealous, who did not wish for anyone but he to set eyes upon the beautiful things in the world.

He saw the love shared by the lady and her prince and wished to hoard her beauty all for himself.

He sent his spiders and wolves to capture the lady one day as she gathered flowers, and they bound her up in ropes of silk to take to a tower. There she was locked away, away from the sun and the moon and the growing things of the world.

When his lady love did not return from the woods, the prince worried. He had heard the howls of the wolves and feared the worst.

He gathered up his fiddle and sling and ventured into the woods to find his lady, yet when he reached the glade she loved he found but her kerchief and basket.

The prince would have fallen to despair, but for a starling who had seen the spiders and wolves and shared this with the prince.

He followed the starling through the woods, the trees arching overhead.He called out to his love as he walked, playing his fiddle and listening for a response. But no response could be heard.

Deeper and deeper he ventured into the woods, until at last he came to a valley where the trees were ancient and hunched.

And so the prince called out to his love again, yet no response was there, until at last he started to sing a song. It was so beautiful that even the birds joined in, and finally so too did his lady love.

It echoed across the valley so sweetly that even the wind itself seemed to dance to it.

The prince followed the sound of the singing to a great tower, where his lady love could only be spotted by the shine of her red hair in the sunlight.

He hunted and searched for some way to reach his lady love, but to no avail. The walls were too smooth, the trees too short, and the vines too weak to support him, and with no way to reach her, the prince finally asked one of the birds for help.

First the robins tried, but they were too small. Then it was the doves, but they could not work together. Next a swan tried, but he could not fly high enough.

Finally an eagle stepped forwards. “Step on my back,” He said, “And I shall take you to your lady.”

And so the prince climbed onto the eagle’s back and it carried him up, up, up to the top of the tower where his lady love resided.

Their reunion was sweet, and neither could have said who was more glad to see the other. A final obstacle lay before them though.

A rope of silk bound her wrist so that she could not climb down the tower, so for all that he had reached her if he could not break the rope then all would be for naught.

First he tried to cut the rope, but it was too slippery and his blade would not work. Then he tried to untie the knot, but it would not be undone. Next he tried to argue to rope open, but it would not move.

Finally a tear slipped down his face and splashed onto the rope. Moved by the love between the prince and his lady, the rope untied itself and coiled into a neat pile on the floor.

And so the prince and his lady love flew away from the tower on the back of the eagle, back to their home. They were wed and lived happily ever after to the end of their days.

—

Bilbo leant back in his chair, content with the applause and compliments paid to him by the elves. His version would never be quite so good as that of the Old Took’s, but he did a good job of it if he said so himself.

In fact, the only one who did not seem utterly enamoured with his story was the Lord Elrond himself. His host had a queer look in his eyes that did not match the smile upon his face, it almost looked pained.

But then he blinked and it was gone, and Bilbo decided he must have imagined it.

After all, everyone knew the story was completely made up.

Didn’t they?

[risingsunresistance]

twitter is entering their "rts > likes" phase now that likes are private after they spent years calling us ungrateful for being demotivated by ratios lmao

[ehlnofay]

There is a pie on the table.

Not part of one – a whole pie, its crust flaky and steaming, one of its sides beginning to split, leaking its innards onto the serving plate. A whole pie. On a table set for eight. And Torr doesn’t think that Babette even eats.

A whole pie. And sliced turnips, baked with melted cheese, also hot enough to steam; a dish of them. Torr briefly considers stealing it – stupid idea, where would he even take it? What would he do with it? It would be difficult to explain later. Right now his main goal is to not do anything difficult, at least until he’s got more of a sense of the place, of its boundaries. What’s expected. What to expect.

And they’re immediately cocking up that goal, because when invited to a friendly welcome lunch they stopped dead in the middle of the floor to stare wide-eyed at the table.

Veezara, standing behind them, raps politely on their arm with his knuckles. “Do you want to sit?” he asks; Torr has no bloody clue what they want right now – shovel turnips into their face, face stuck into the dish like a pig eating from a trough, maybe, or alternatively to steal the pie and hide it somewhere it will be safe to come back to on a rainy day – but people are sitting (that is generally what is done at lunch tables) so Torr casts a quick glance over the lot of them and sits too.

(He doesn't want to make them wait.)

His chair is one of the ones closest to the doors. It’s quite far down the table from Astrid, who is smiling encouragingly; but Veezara sits next to him seemingly without a thought and sitting directly opposite him is Babette, and Torr's spoken a little to them both. He can't make any claim as to knowing either of them well, but Veezara seems even-keeled and open enough as to be a little reassuring, and Babette, at least has made him laugh.

Next to Babette is Gabriella, her dark hood pulled low over her forehead. She has a perpetually secretive look about her face – one brow slightly raised, lips slightly curled – as if she knows something no-one else does, and the way she looks at Torr makes him think of the way people look at bugs. Not in a bad way – she looks at him in the way people fascinated by bugs look at bugs – but still, he’d rather not be a bug. She catches their eye, half-smiles. “You brought your bag to the table,” she observes.

Torr glances at the floor, where his pack spills out from under his seat where he’s stowed it. Shit. They probably should have left it on the bed Veezara said was theirs, but they honestly didn’t think to; they don’t really want to leave it behind, besides.

“Yeah,” he replies, and nudges it further under his chair with his foot. He feels painfully and awkwardly observed.

(They're all watching; Torr's been here for less than a day, and he's trying to get a sense of the place, and until he understands how it works he needs to keep his head down.)

A tall man wrapped in red readies a gleam-edged knife over the pie platter. At the other end of the table, Astrid smiles. It’s a scimitar of a thing. “You’ve all met our newest Sibling, then?” she asks, in her molasses-rich voice, and the knife sinks into the flesh of the pie in a way that makes Torr want to wince. His stomach feels shaky.

There are various noises of assent from around the table. Torr’s met most everyone by now, all but the white-blonde man sitting silent and displeased by the head of the table, though he hasn’t spoken with most of them for more than a few minutes. Gabriella reaches across the table and levers a slice of pie onto her plate with the carving knife, already sticky with the juices leeched from the meat, torn-up flakes of pastry clinging to the side of the blade. It smells nice.

(It is, Torr tells themself, a normal-sized slice of pie. The same kind of portion sizing they’ve always seen in taverns busy enough not to kick them out. And realistically – based on the numbers Astrid showed them earlier – there’s plenty of room in the Brotherhood’s budget, for, what even are the ingredients of that, flour and meat? Water? It can stretch to cover the turnips no problem.)

“We’ve spoken,” says the man from the kitchen – Nazir, that was it. The tall one, with the gold in his beard. He sounds unimpressed. He does not seem like someone who is often impressed. Gabriella passes on the knife; Torr's eyes track its movement. It's an unconscious effort, but they're stuck – in this moment, breaking bread with a close-knit household of people whose only commonality is a predilection for violence, they cannot stop paying attention.

“Lovely,” Astrid says. Her eyes flash in the torchlight as she turns to face Torr. “Torr, do you feel like you’re getting to know everyone? Settling in?”

Torr manages a quick glance around the table, the room as a whole. They’ve learned most everyone’s names and feel reasonably confident nobody’s going to start screaming at them or start doing blood rituals or something; nobody's going to do anything unprovoked, which is enough of a comfort. They’ve mostly learned the layout of the Sanctuary, too – this bit of the cave opens into the dormitory sort of space just up above, and the big room a bit to the left, the kitchen tucked away in the corner. As cave rooms go, the dining space is quite nice; warm light, lots of room, a relatively even floor. It’s not damp in here like it is in the big room with the little pond. It’s nice and dry. Torr could probably do without a bed – they could kip under the dining table and be fine. (They’ll still take the bed if it’s offered, though.)

“Mostly, yeah.” Torr watches the sticky-dark knife getting passed around the table, the beautiful enormous pie disappearing at a rate that isn’t alarming and is in fact a normal speed for things to be eaten. His throat is dry. “Uh, Veezara showed me the beds and everything. It’s a nice place.”

The old man sitting up the other end of the table pauses, his fork stuck into a slice of turnip. “I hope you don’t think you’re being smart, boy.”

Like Torr’s fool enough to try to be snarky about this. Like they'd try to act smart now, of all times, when he's still feeling out the limits.

“Nah,” he says, tapping narrow fingers against the edge of the table. The ends of them are flushed red; scars from old chilblains, an irritated colour that never goes away. He is breathing evenly; a scraping breath in, one, two, three, a steady breath out. Cave or not – “It’s got a roof, hasn’t it?”

It’s warm – almost stiflingly so – and dry in parts. The rain and snow and wind can’t get in. There’s a whole pie served at the lunch table. Hundreds in gold if he does his job right. What the hell is he going to complain about?

There’s a nudge against his shoulder that is too surprising to make him flinch; when he looks, Veezara is holding out the knife, handle-first. “Oh,” he says; he takes it, because what else is he going to do?

There’s one slice left on the platter, rich and dripping, and plenty of the turnip dish. Torr’s stomach is folding in on itself. They ask Babette, “Are you going to have any?”

“Oh,” she says, “goodness, no,” and she smiles wide, vicious teeth pressing into her lower lip. “No offense to Nazir’s cooking, of course. But my appetites are a tad more discerning.”

Torr replies, “Well, that’s disturbing,” and Babette laughs, and Torr is left gripping the knife hard enough to turn red-flushed knuckles white and staring at the food on the plate. Clumsily sliced pastry, the meat and juices spilling out, running down the sides. Still steaming, just a little. There’s no one else to eat it – most everyone else already served and waiting for them. There’s no-one near who needs it more. But Torr doesn’t quite need it, do they? Not yet. But everyone’s waiting. And good first impressions and all that. And Torr really wants some pie – they just also want to shove it all away, or lock it in a box to save for later.

“Are you not hungry?” Nazir asks, something not unlike challenge in his voice, and Torr is supposed to be keeping his head down. He can't be pushing it already.

It takes Torr a few seconds to even realise that they were spoken to at all. They’re very busy staring at the platter, knife dripping onto their knuckles.

“No,” he says, “I am,” and then Veezara’s cold-scaled fingers are on his hand and he’s taking the carving knife from him, and Torr's shoulders lock in place, breath catching in the base of his lungs – he dithered too long and now they're taking it away – but Veezara lifts the last of the pie on the flat of the blade and drops it, rather squishily and without ceremony, onto Torr’s plate.

Staring at it, Torr says, “Thanks.”

Veezara shrugs and takes up his fork.

The pie is nice, though it takes Torr several seconds to work up to having a bite. He doesn’t know much about cooking, so he can’t pick out each individual taste – but the meat might be veal, or at least pretty similar to how he assumes veal tastes, and it’s good. It sticks in his throat when he swallows. He can hear all the clinking of cutlery around him, twitching at every sound.

Babette, the only one without a plate, leans eagerly over the table, fine dark hair puddling on the wood below her chin. “Astrid told us she pulled the old choose a victim gambit with you,” she says. “I love that one.”

Torr presses their lips together, digs their fork into the misshapen lid of their pastry. “The three innocents in the shack? I didn’t.”

“Innocents?” Gabriella echoes, tilting her head. Her hood slides back from her brow just enough that Torr can see the light playing off the ridge of her forehead; she takes a neat bite and adds, “Wasn’t part of that game that they weren’t?”

Nasty game. An unnecessary piece of showmanship. Torr doesn’t say so, of course. “I think the game was that it didn’t matter,” he says instead, and shrugs, fingers playing at the fork stuck in the pastry lid. His pie slice is warping, spilling its insides over the pottery of his plate. The conversation twists his stomach into knots. “It probably doesn’t matter much now. They’re dead, right?”

He’d specifically suggested that Astrid let the ones left alive stay that way, but she hadn’t seemed all too amenable to it. And from a practical perspective – well, letting them go would just be a liability.

Up the other end of the table, Astrid nods once, vague amusement pulling at the corner of her mouth. Torr feels, strongly, that he has made some very bad life decisions.

(But they’re very bad life decisions that have led to ledgers that record payouts of over a thousand septims and a whole pie at the lunch table. He’ll live.)

Torr looks back at their plate. “It was supposed to be about readiness to follow orders more than about who was and wasn’t meant to die. I think. But all it really proved was the lengths I’d go to to get out of a locked room.” The tines of their fork scrape against a chunk of meat. “And, really, that’s not surprising. I’ve probably done worse for less.”

They immediately regret saying it. Babette’s eyes light up, and they know they’ve opened up an uncomfortable topic. “Have you?” she asks brightly, and sits up straight, shaking out her hair. “For what?"

It’s not an easy line of questioning from anyone, but it’s particularly uncomfortable asked by a girl in a grass-stained kirtle, sitting in a chair too high for her feet to touch the ground. Torr sticks his tongue into his cheek, asks, “Is this dinner-table talk?”

“It’s shop talk,” Gabriella replies.

Babette smiles with all her teeth.

Torr doesn't want to talk about this. Torr's not a snivelling child, or some moralising grundy who assumes that they're in danger of being gutted like the game for the pie at a moment's notice – the worst anyone has been so far is taciturn, it would be absurd to extrapolate so hugely – but it would be equally absurd not to be wary, and Torr is well used to keeping a watch when an unfamiliar situation could begin to turn sour. They want to keep to safer topics, easier things to talk about; they also don't want to say no.

“It’s not exciting,” he hedges, twisting his fork between his fingers; Babette stares until he continues. “Guards, more often than anything else, when I got arrested or – or other people did. People who would've hurt us, or we just needed out of the way." It's as close to a non-answer as he can give while still complying, staring into the smooth filling of the pie.

“How pragmatic,” Veezara says, focused steadily on his meal.

“Well, yeah. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t need to.” The pastry lid of Torr’s pie slice is slowly shredding into little pieces scattered around their plate.

Babette tuts. "I suppose I can understand that," she says, fingers pressing into the table; the rest of them watch with unsettling attention. "I wonder – you're young. You must have started about when I did."

Torr shrugs, noncommital; makes a pitiful attempt at changing the subject. “This pie is really good – Nazir, right?”

Nazir does not blink. “That compliment would carry more weight if you’d actually eaten any.”

Torr presses his lips together; manages to scoop some filling onto his fork and spend several seconds chewing. Babette keeps staring at him, unblinking; when he swallows, he says, "Ten years old with a beard knife," because he doesn't want to say no directly and he hopes there won't be any follow-up questions.

Babette’s face lights up. “Oh, really? I was almost ten years old with teeth.” The torchlight is flashing off the points of her fangs. “What a delightful coincidence.”

Torr shrugs and turns his attention back to his plate.

“If we’re talking business,” Astrid says silkily, a much smoother subject change than Torr’s earlier half-hearted attempt, “then I should ask – Nazir, do we have any smaller contracts open that might suit our dear new Sibling?”

The torchlight flashes off the gold in Nazir’s beard as he tips his head, considering. “I’m sure we do,” he says, “though I’d have to check our records. There are a few that I don’t think anyone requested I assign them lingering.”

Babette knocks her foot into Torr’s shin under the table (with considerable effort; she has to slide down so far in her chair to reach them that they can’t see her chin.) “You’re getting the dregs,” she says sympathetically. Her gleaming eyes don’t look particularly pitying.

Nazir tuts at her, slicing off a bite of his pie. “It’s only fair. He’ll have to be here longer than half a morning if he wants the glamorous jobs.”

“I’m fine without the glamour.” They’re not particularly confident in their ability to kill with the stereotypical panache that may be expected with whatever jobs qualify as glamorous. They’ll take the simple work.

“Good,” Astrid says definitively. “You’d be surprised at how much of our work is correspondence. Cutting deals. You know, the boring parts. Not that you’d be assigned to do any of that just yet.” Her head snaps up, blonde hair rippling over her shoulder. “Oh, that reminds me – I got word from our contact in the Three Coins. New intel, hopefully. Any takers?”

Torr, who barely knows what she’s talking about, stays silent, pushing his fork around his plate and gathering a third bite of almost all pastry. It’s the white-blonde man in the seat next to Astrid who speaks up (bit of a surprise, that – Torr doesn’t think he’s even heard him talk yet), saying gruffly, “I’ll go. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Nottov.”

Babette grins, fingers pressing against the table. “How sweet. Reconnecting with your little friend.”

The man bristles; Astrid, smiling, says, “Don’t be mean, Babette.”

“Me?” Torr’s only known her for an hour and change but even so they’re already beginning to tell when she’s playing it up – leaning into the rounded, girlish bubble of her voice, opening her eyes as wide and childlike as they’ll go. “I would never!”

“She would never, Astrid,” Gabriella agrees solemnly.

The old man almost audibly rolls his eyes. The white-blonde one is glaring so hard he seems to be trying to set fire to the table with the sheer power of his unrestrained rage. Torr takes a fourth bite to stifle a laugh.

Then, as they all keep chattering, shifting from shop talk to inside jokes and strange banter, Torr released slowly from the vice of their attention, they take a fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth. At the tenth, they stop counting.

It’s not neat. Their slice of pie was a bit lopsided to begin with, and it’s spent a while cooling on their plate, slowly spilling its innards out onto the ceramic. They managed to shred most of the pastry lid with the tines of their fork. And it isn’t that Torr doesn’t know how to eat with utensils – it’s just that they’re a tad out of practice, let’s say. Even in the short time they spent living in Aventus’ house they never brought themself to eating off a plate. It felt too easy.

Torr’s a bit out of practice, and he rips the pie apart as he eats it, crumbs and sauce strewn over the plate and a little over the table space between the dish and the edge where he sits. A little over his lap. He eats it bite after bite after bite after bite, each one begun before he’s even fully swallowed the last, and when he’s done he runs a sticky finger around edge of the plate, collecting the scraps, licking them off. His throat aches. Veezara, who is at the time in the middle of the sentence, reaches out for the platter of sliced turnip without breaking the thread of his conversation and slides it all onto Torr’s now empty plate. Their teeth are stained with gravy; there's a lump growing abruptly in their throat. They dig in to that, too. They wouldn't want to be rude.

It's so warm down here, the fires in the braziers ever-flickering, the food fresh-cooked. Torr is left in surplus and in silence to watch the rest of them chatter and laugh. It's nothing like a house in frozen Windhelm, clutter-full of waifs and strays; but Torr's stomach isn't so tight, his lungs relaxing enough to take in a full breath. He could be in any bunkhouse, dining with any unfamiliar clan. His throat aches. He could be okay.

(An hour and a half later, Gabriella finds him throwing up into the dank, mossy corner of a dark hallway.

“Oh,” she says, her voice shaded with distaste. “Okay.”

Torr wants to reply – to beg some sort of pardon, keep his head down, soothe the anxiety twisting in the hollow of his chest – but he’s a bit preoccupied by retching up his entire intestines into the dirt. His vomit tastes of rancid veal. It’s not nice; he’d forgotten how gross this was. The last few times he was sick like this he hadn’t eaten enough for it to taste of much of anything.

He hopes this doesn’t put him off the pie. It was really good.

He catches his breath – yuck – wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, gasps out, “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Gabriella says, satin-smooth.

It’s not fine, though; this is a shit first impression. Or second, third. Whatever. “Sorry,” Torr repeats. They twist their head to try to take a breath that doesn’t smell of half-digested meat. “Didn’t mean to make a mess. Just – ate too much.” They haven’t gorged themself like that since – who even knows, actually? It was more at once than they’d normally have in a day. Even when they had that much food – well, there was always someone who needed it more, wasn’t there?

They’re about to apologise again, but their stomach spasms and they lean over their nasty little puddle again, gagging.

“Okay,” Gabriella says. She has a soothing voice. Her hand, placed calmly on the ridge of Torr’s back, is cool to the touch. “Maybe you should slow down at dinnertime, then?”

She says it like it’s an inside joke, but it grabs Torr by the throat. More food. More food again, today; more food any time they want it. It’s a concept understood only in the abstract. “Dinnertime,” he repeats distantly, half wonderstruck; and then he’s sick again.)

[trees-can-draw]

Hm.

[halfdeadwallfly]

me every other day almost accidentally posting my real name on this site because for some reason i keep forgetting that y'all don't know me irl and this is supposed to be a sort of anonymous blog

[cryley]

So like, do you think Matty is regularly lurking in his tumblr tags?

I love him so much but also in a “don’t perceive me” way??

[tutuandscoot]

x

[moreover-clover]

Tag yourself! I'm somewhere between F1 and F2!!

!!!EDIT!!! Plz read before sending hate:

Look, I genuinely get that this graph doesn't have every gender on it. I know that it is labeled weird, I know that female & male and nonbinary/genderqueer & agender are on opposite sides of the chart. I know that this isn't inclusive to xenogenders, bigender, genderfluid, and a bunch of other genders. I know that people are upset about male being blue and female being pink. I know this graph is not inclusive for every gender out there. I really really do. I never claimed that it had all genders. Hell, I didn't even say it was a great graph! This photo is a screenshot of someone's random Twitter post that I found on pinterest and thought was neat. It was my first time seeing a gender graph that was something more besides male and female and it made me excited. I just wanted to share it with others. If it doesn't fit you, just say so. If your gender isn't on there, just say so. If you want to say how it could be improved or critique it's flaws, then by all means please do so! I have enjoyed scrolling through and seeing all the reblogs and people educating me and sharing better graphs. I love the discussions! I love the battleship and bingo jokes/games that have started. But I would really really appreciate if people would stop sending hate and shaming me for a graph I didn't even create. I am really really sorry for anyone I offended or hurt, it was NOT my intention. That is never my intention. I genuinely didn't think this post would even get more than like 5 likes, I was just sharing something that I thought was neat....

[bureauen]

When @noor-alanqar shared her fundraiser with me, I wanted to help her Gofundme spread by drawing her three beautiful children. She, her husband, and their three children Rajaa (5 years old), Youssef (10 months old), and Hussein (6 years old) all need to rebuild and stay safe.

Here is Nour's campaign, she is halfway to her goal, with €20,558 raised of €40,000!!

If you cannot donate, I would really appreciate it if you could share her campaign. Let’s help her reach her goal!!

As I have messaged her, she has also asked me to mention the people below:

@timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe @rhubarbspring @schoolhater @pcktknife @transmutationisms @sawasawako

@feluka @terroristiraqis @irhabiya @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria

@deepspaceboytoy @post-brahminism @junglejim4322 @kibumkim @neechees

@mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @marnota @7bitter @tortiefrancis

@toiletpotato @fromiannah

@omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @evillesbianvillain

@aristotels @komsomolka @neptunerings @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts @ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez @communistchilchuck @dykesbat @watermotif @stuckinapril @violentrevolution @mavigator @lacecap

@socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayrug @northgazaupdates2

@papenathys @slicedblackolives @heliopixels @nimbooz @hiveswap

@irhabiya @feluka @anneemay @tumkaafiho @fleshdyk3

@balaclava-trismegistus @heritageposts @ripley-stark @paandaan

@itsfookingloosah @rooh-afza @shesnake @akajustmerry @himejoshikaeya

@rainbowsnowflake @saint-oleander @f4rfields @cassandragemini @fitzfunnymoments @skunkes @asharestupid @jonpertwee

Thank you for reading and sharing!

[the-sera]

My name is Sera, you may not know me but you know my past work behind the scenes here and there, such as the Mass Effect trilogy, Dragon Age, Silent Hills, and many others.

I am an agoraphobic indigenous Kanienʼkehá:ka (Mohawk) mixed lesbian who has fought for several years a worsening health condition that is currently killing me. The point of no return is not that far away. I have spent years exhausting any paths and means to get help, enduring extreme and near endless pain. I have sold all I have, spent every dime to my name. I have received various forms of help over the years in this battle, but I have reached the critical point I have feared all this time. And to make matters worst, the family responsible for inflicting a lifetime of abuse on me is stalking me very heavily online, which has not only exacerbated my agoraphobia, but has also made the efforts to build this harder than I could describe. Know that I share as many details as I can while seeking to avoid undermining my immediate safety, I hope you understand. This post is a highly abridged version of the content in the link, the unabridged and unedited version is available below the Read More cut ❤

If you have been following me for a while, you are familiar with my struggle and saw me talking about it throughout the years. There are no other options or help besides this, besides you. I need your help or I'm going to die, this is the last chance I have left. I'm afraid to my core, I still have a life in front of me, dreams to pursue. If you read this far, I know you may be inclined to share and move on, but I am asking you to pause and think if you have a dollar that could make all the difference. I know it can be troublesome to stop and actually do it, I am asking you to please consider doing it.

If you yourself have a health condition, I salute you for fighting your own battle. Regardless of whether you donate or not, if you read this far, know that you are loved.

A warm thank you to @transmechanicus , the kind soul who made this possible. I would be lost and doomed without your help. Erika did not believe thank yous were necessary, but they are. Attempting to save a human being's life is no small act. Whether it succeeds or fail, no thank yous will ever be enough. Even as the pain consumes my body, I am able to feel hope thanks to this. There are no words invented to express this level of thanks, but if I get to live, I will search for it.

(Please don't put tags on this unless it is to actually talk or comment something. As always, kind words are appreciated.)

My name is Sera, you may not know me but you know my past work behind the scenes here and there, such as the Mass Effect Trilogy, Dragon Age, Silent Hills, and many others.

I am an agoraphobic indigenous Kanienʼkehá:ka (Mohawk) mixed lesbian who has fought for several years a worsening health condition that is currently killing me. The point of no return is not that far away. I have spent years exhausting any paths and means to get help, enduring extreme and near endless pain. I have sold all I have, spent every dime to my name. The system, I feel, is indifferent to my situation. I have received various forms of help over the years in this battle, but I have reached the critical point I have feared all this time. And to make matters worst, the family responsible for inflicting a lifetime of abuse on me is stalking me very heavily online, which has not only exacerbated my agoraphobia, but has also made the efforts to build this harder than I could describe. Know that I share as many details as I can while seeking to avoid undermining my immediate safety, I hope you understand.

If you are reading this, you are one of the few people who can help save my life. A single dollar is enough to make a tremendous difference. There is no other options or source of help besides this, besides you. I need your help or I'm going to die, this is the last chance I have left.

The goal is a series of treatments and challenging surgeries that will remove small metal shards near vital organs and bones in my body. It is categorized as severe internal injuries secondary to a traumatic event. As medical professionals have put it, "the lack of immediate surgical intervention necessitates a comprehensive, multidisciplinary treatment approach aimed at mitigating the risk of disease progression and optimizing long-term outcomes."

My injuries are from a car accident which injured me immensely and took the lives of my two closest friends in the world. This page does not ask for the full amount of the procedures and treatments, since it is a very large sum of money that cannot be reached that quickly. The page only asks for enough to get me started in the process and access proper vital treatments in countries of the european union. Adding time to the clock, giving me a chance to fight this battle and launching an important part of the process towards saving my life.

I know you may be inclined to share and move on, but I am asking you to pause and think if you have a dollar that could make all the difference. You may be but a few clicks away from truly helping someone who desperately needs it. I know it can be troublesome to stop and actually do it, I am asking you to please consider doing it.

If this fails to reach its goal, I will die. I'm afraid and I need your help. I still have a life in front of me, dreams to pursue. If you read this far, you are the only chance I have left. Don't underestimate the difference a dollar can make, your dollar could be the one dollar we come short of. The expenses covered by this amount ranges from the medical consultations, medical treatments, surgeries and, of course, accessing said treatment, reaching the places where I need to go. I will have a true chance at fighting for the remaining amount myself.

As for cheaper alternatives, it is mainly temporary fixes that would not fix the issue and waitlists that I would die waiting on years before my turn comes. This is it, this is the only way I have that provides the care I need, in the timeframe I need it, with a success rate that gives me a chance to live.

Thank you for reading this and for persevering in the brutal system we all live under. If you yourself have a health condition, I salute you for fighting your own battle. May we all make it and may we all have the softest of epilogues. Regardless of whether you donate or not, if you read this far, know that you are loved.

I would like to thank Erika, a dear friend who has made this possible at all. Without her, I would be lost. I would also like to thank immensely Milica, who has been on this journey with me for so many years, almost since the beginning. Her medical knowledge and her kind heart, her support and dedication, have allowed me to survive long enough to get to this point. I would not be here still without her. I would like to thank the amazing and loving Dana, who has been here during the good days as much as the bad days. She has been a beacon preventing me from giving up hope. I would have abandonned before getting to this point had she not been there for me. And thank you to Oli, who has been my champion, it is thanks to his help that I can move around where I need to go. A great support and a great friend. I would like to also thank Bruna, a kind heart who has never failed to cheer me on, even when her life was not perfect, she never stopped cheering and supporting me.

I would also like to thank my tumblr mutuals, you know who you are, those who have been in my DMs offering me your kindness, laughter and support in these dark times. Your help has also saved me more than once. You are true blessings. Thank you for never giving up hope during the days I felt like doing so.

You have all carried the torch during the days I couldn't, and for that, I can never thank you enough. I have lived and survived because of you, your help in every form has made a difference in the world. I am ready to fight for my life, and whether I reach my goal and live, or fail and die, know that none of it was wasted. You have all made me a better person and that is the mark of true love transpiring from one person to the next. Thank you for believing in me when I could not. I love you all.

[cyprozombiegirl]

Help a trans girl recover from tumblr’s institutional and systematic transmisogyny

hey folks, so tumblr nuked my account (cypro-girl) and deleted most of the posts I had depicting me dilating (aka doing a medical treatment to myself) or talking about the joys of bottom surgery. They left up the photos of me pre bottom surgery hard as a rock though 🤔. Anyways I’ve tracked down and saved as many of my former posts as I could but there are a bunch that might still be circulating, if you find any or have any already on your blog can you please please send them to me?

I suspect, given tumblr under Matt (I miss David) has been infamous for destroying any attempt by trans femmes to think/talk about our own bodies or oppression, and the fact that it had been primarily my posts about bottom surgery that have been removed from the site, that it was this positivity that got my blog (and backup blog) deleted. This is the second time I got nuked, my old blog cyproterone-girl has 23k followers when it got destroyed. I’d just built back up to 10k and thought I was safe cause I was being a lot more cautious. I had zero flagged posts and my blog wasn’t labeled as explicit, so this was tumblr escalating its epistemic violence against me from 0 to 100.

If you could please share this post so new people and past followers can find my new blog I would deeply appreciate it. I’ve appealed the deletion but I highly doubt tumblr will act in good faith and restore it. So for now this is my blog. I’m also sorta considering launching a class action lawsuit against tumblr but we’ll see if I want to devote the time and energy to doing so. I guess that depends on how much more tumblr pissed me off. They even deleted my gf’s main blog (steadfastcr0w) their damn poetry blog. So I’m pretty livid. I lost a passion project of mine, and feel like tumblr is forcing my exhibitionist self into sex work, cause they won’t let me post about my body for free like I want to (and I’ll be damned to hell if I start using reddit or X).

Anyways yeah, please share this!

[girltomato]

sweet girl: the soft launch attempt

max verstappen x fem!reader

no warnings

max and his author!gf attempt to soft launch their relationship, but y/n's readers are amateur detectives and the orange army are just there for the ride.

fc: phoebe dynevor

liked by yourbff, harpercollinsuk and 30,281 more

yourusername quiet shh shh

( ♫ It's Oh So Quiet - Betty Hutton )

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yourbff missing u🤍🤍🤍 have lots of fun bb

⤷ yourusername i have so much to catch u up on🤭🤭

user1 congrats on being a nyt bestseller (again), bloodhound is insane

⤷ yourusername ty cutie💓

user3 the song... girl u aren't slick😭😭

user2 dear mystery man pls treat her like a queen she deserves it🙏🙏🙏🙏

user6 if all my books were million sellers i too would spend my free time on the beach with a hot man

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f1gossip Eagle eyed twitter fans believe they have discovered the identity of Max Verstappen's new girlfriend.

24 year old Y/n L/n is a 3x New York Times best selling author and is shortlisted for the Booker Prize Award 2023 with her second novel Swan Song. She released her third novel, Bloodhound three weeks ago to critical acclaim.

She was spotted spending time on a yacht in St. Tropez with Max earlier this week and fans connected an Instagram post shared by the author and a story posted by Max the same day.

Max has admitted to not being a big reader, claiming to have only read four books in an interview earlier this year - two of which where L/n's novels. He began following her in 2021, she followed him back in early 2023.

Could we be seeing a new couple in the paddock soon??

Share your thoughts and opinions below.

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user27 a wag with a real job, we have entered the glory days

user82 followed since 2021🤭🤭 max verstappen u simp

user49 let's see how the wannabe wags and gold diggers react to this😭😭

⤷ user20 i know some paddock regulars just started sobbing

user63 omg i love her books i never expected this crossover

user91 i'll believe it when i see it, max has always preferred the model type

⤷ user41 girl be serious have u seen y/n??

user58 max verstappen i was not familiar with ur game

user10 she's so pretty i hope this is true

my first post on this acc hi everyone. i have a few plans for the sweet girl universe but i am incapable of writing in chronological order sooo apologies. also working on a fem!driver oc who i love with my whole heart just trying to figure out how to format it. anyways i hope u enjoy.

likes and reblogs are always appreciated <3