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#i try just to reblog things because i can't stand making an effort but just this once i'll make an exception

russellsppttemplates · 1 month

Text

Straight from the heart (Lando Norris)

It takes a bad race for Lando to notice how much he has neglected your relationship, and he can only hope he can fix it

Note: english is not my first language. I was fighting the other piece I was writing so I jumped to this one and I did something a little bit different (* cough cough * longer) and see how it goes! I'm not sure how good this is (or how much you will want to kill me), but I promise this has a happy ending!! 🥹🫶

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: relationship struggles, curse words

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

The result on the screen was not the one you hoped. Lando had a wonderful race, but a mixture of bad strategy calls, dark rain clouds appearing on the sky with only a couple of laps left to finish the race and the wrong tire compound made him lose a good number of places, cars overtaking him in the last seven laps.

"Is the race over?", you mother asked as she stepped inside the living room, carrying the curtains she had left out to dry and proceeding to hang them back in their place.

"Yes, just now", your father said as he adjusted the volume on the TV, "let me help you, darling", he offered, getting up and standing beside your mum in case she got out of balance.

"Are you going to call Lando?", your mother asked once her squinty eyes read the position he had finished in. Even though the prescription glasses were on the table, she insisted she didn't want any mishaps after she accidentally dropped her last pair while she was gardening and one of your younger cousins found a rusty frame a couple of months later when he was over.

"I'm not, I don't think - he's flying back tonight and the timezone is so different, I don't want to bother him", you blurted defensively, making up excuses as you went along with your answer, "he's doing the interviews, and I'm sure the debrief will be long and torturous - he will need his rest to fly back", you stated as you got up, "I have to check on the project I handed in on Friday, the professor said he would post the grades around this time and if we want to appel, we have to do it right away - I'll be in my bedroom".

The subject was an open wound that stung everytime you so much heard a mention of it, let one having to seem completely okay with it when it ripped through your heart.

The calendar on your wall is full of stickers, both with notes, urgent matters and things you couldn't forget. It's the last stretch, you tell yourself, one more week and then it's done and you'll have a well deserved break.

A knock on your door catches your attention as you reply with the allowance to let whoever is on the other side in, "is something wrong?", you asked. Lately, the negative side of your mind was the first one to speak.

"That's what I want to ask you - that conversation we just had downstairs was not your usual self", she sighed as she pointed to the living room, "I've noticed you haven't mentioned him much, but I don't want to intrude or offer my help because I know you don't like meddling", your mother looked for your eyes before you could fully focus on the wooden floor.

"Things have been rough between us lately", you sighed, "Lando is keeping me at a distance, and I don't know the reason why, mum", you shrugged, "I don't know if it's because I've known him all my life and the comparison is so profound, but it seems he only cares about racing and his friends, and I'm nowhere in the mix. We rarely call eachother, no texting - I know the triple headers are intense, but all I got from him were reactions to my stories and a little video from Max where he's in it and said something to me", you recalled, "I can't be the only one making an effort, can I? Either he realised where this is going and we catch it while we can, or I don't know where this is going, I don't know where we're going".

Your mother's heart broke as she saw you allow the tears you had held on to fall freely, your sleeves bunched up on your hands to wipe them, "and have you talked about this? A long, grown-up and serious conversation?", she mused.

"We have barely been with eachother, mum!", you whispered shakily as more tears got caught on your throat.

"Couples go through phases, darling - do you think me and your father was all smooth sailing?", she tried to get you to smile as she brushed your hair while she hugged you, "you need to talk to eachother, seriously and let it all out, nothing is off limits because that's how you'll get to where you need to".

You kept your head on your mother's chest, accepting her comforting hold despite being an adult. A mother's hold was truly the best.

You hoped she was right and this was something that would pass. A rough patch that you and Lando would work through a look back on with a sense of accomplishment.

This wasn't how you and Lando end, is it?

Max and Lando headed for the plane as soon as they left the race track, having made prior arrangements to had their luggage there waiting for them once they arrived. Max was the first to sit down and get himself comfortable on the seat, texting his girlfriend to let her know they were leaving.

"Y/N hasn't called or even texted me, nothing", Lando mumbled, "didn't she watch the race? Doesn't she know that I need her?".

Max weighed in the good and the bad that his next few words could do. He could either be honest and encourage his best friend to finally come to his senses, or keep covering the lie and perpetuate the suffering and miscommunications.

"This is not how I wanted to do this - truth be told, I never wanted to have to do it", Max rambled off.

Lando was quick to notice that there was more to it than just this instance, "you know something - she's my girlfriend, Max, if something is happening, I deserve to know", he said in an antsy tone.

"Are you really so blind to it? Have you not noticed it yet? Damn it, Lando, I've been on your side, trying to clean it up and now I'm questioning it", Max declared as Lando only grew more confused.

"What am I missing Max?", Lando snapped, even catching his own self off guard at the reaction he had.

"Mate, think about the last couple of months and whether or not you have been a good boyfriend, or even the boyfriend Y/N deserves", Max offered.

Lando wasn't expecting that answer or point of view.

The last couple of months roll through his memory as if he's watching a movie and when he tries to select the moments he spent with you, he finds himself struggling to gather any at all. He can't remember any of the times you spent together, and considering his memory isn't that bad, it could only mean those moments didn't even happen. Thinking about it, he can remember the last time he held you in his arms, just the two of you.

"Fuck!", Lando shouted, punching the arm rest.

"Glad you figured that one out almost all on your own", Max tsked, "do you really think you deserve any interaction from Y/N? Thought so", Max muttered. He didn't like the situation his friends found themselves in, and he certainly didn't feel any joy in the words he told Lando, but the truth wasn't always easy to hear.

"Seems Y/N doesn't think so either", Lando mumbled, "do you know anything? Has she told you anything?".

He wasn't sure he deserved to know, but he needed to.

"The last time I spoke to her she didn't say anything - you know how Y/N doesn't want to bother anyone with her things and getting information from her is harder than solving the world's problems -, but P and her talk here and there", Max reasoned, "she obviously won't tell me all the details but from what I can tell, Y/N has really taken a toll because of this, P is always quite upset whenever it comes up", Max offered. Quite upset wouldn't cover it, so much so that, unbeknownst to Lando, the last couple of time Max's girlfriend couldn't join them for their plans was an orchestrated excuse from her to avoid being in the same room as the McLaren driver.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!", Lando groaned into his hands, "how could I not realise this was happening?".

"You want the honest, blunt truth?", Max asked and Lando nodded, "I know it's your job, but lately, it's all been about racing, and I think you've neglected Y/N ", Max offered.

McLaren had a one hundred and eighty degree turn lately. From struggling to get their cars in the points, the team had managed to turn things around to the point where P5 and P8 was considered a bad weekend for them.

With the new signings, Quadrant had grown exponentially and it had naturally drawn him to spend more time on it, and it seemed to have alienated everyone in his life that wasn't directly a part of those.

It wasn't intentional, but it didn't mean that it didn't hurt. And by the looks of it, the person Lando loved and cared about most was also the one he hurt the most.

They both sat in silence as the British drive thought about all of it. Things got so good that he didn't look back, he worked his hardest and gave every piece of himself to the cause and the new territory he was paving. Being on the podium was a common feature for him, and the race win was there, up for grabs and he wanted it. Yet, he had been dazzled by it and had let himself fly higher, his characteristic "both head and feet on the ground" posture no longer present and resulting in a degree of neglection for the things and people thay mattered to him.have always been important to me.

"How did I push away the most important person in my life and I'm just now realizing this?", Lando asked, not really expecting an answer, but rather to let out all the frustration that boiled inside him, anger soon following at his late realisation, "what's worse is that I've only come to realise this because you had to tell me - stupid, stupid, stupid".

"I don't know what you want me to tell you, mate, and frankly there isn't much I can, but look on the bright side: now you have a chance to fix it", Max tries to comfort Lando.

"What if it's too late? What if Y/N doesn't want to be with me anymore?", Lando voicesd his deepest fear. What if the anger had finally got to you and you wanted to call it quits?

"Wouldn't you be able to understand that? I don't think that is the case - I've never seen two people who love eachtoher more than you two, it's as disgusting as it it lovely most times. And even though she might feel angry or hurt, I believe she has it in her to forgive you", Max states.

"I hope you're right", Lando sighed as he tapped his phone, his finger hovering over your contact.

"I wouldn't do that", Max chirped, "you should rest before diving into anything about that topic, and today has had too many emotions as it is. Tomorrow is a new day for you to think about it", he advised.

With his head on the headrest, Lando went over everything that occupied his mind, allowing the heavy sinking feeling to settle in. To a degree, he deserved the discomfort he felt. Shame, guilt, frustration, remorse, embarrassment, overwhelm, sadness.

What if he had destroyed the thing that made him the happiest? If I managed to single out the person who loved him for him?

Lan 🧡

Hello. You were probably expecting a text or a call, but the last few days haven't been easy and I needed to ground myself a little. We really need to talk, Y/N. Do you think we can grab lunch today?

It irritated you how quick your heart was beating the minute you saw who sent you the text after you submitted all the projects that you had left. Battling an inner fight of whether or not you should answer it, you decided to so it. Rip the band-aid off, Y/N.

To Lan 🧡

Hello... We do urgently need to talk. I'm on my own today - where do you want to go?

Your tone was cold and unusual when you compared it to the older messages, filled with hearts and the pet names you had for eachother.

We can go to that café by the marina, the one with the paninis you really like.

Yes, we'll meet here at one pm.

Do you want me to pick you up?

No, I'll walk.

Your sunglasses are good enough to hide the nervous gloom on them as you walked to the marina. There is no script or guideline to go about this lunch other than honesty and finally admitting everything you were feeling. It could go either way and, truth be told, you believed it would go down the way it was supposed to.

Stepping on the wooden path to the small café's outside area, you looked for the boy whose arms were where you used to feel safe.

Lando chose a table that overlooked the water, the warm sun shinning and bringing out the blue of it. It would be a big conversation, and while the café wasn't crowded, he never knew how things could pan out so he went for the most demure spot.

When you take a proper look at him, it surprises you. His eyes are not shiny like they usually are - there's a dark hue surrounding them along with sadness.

"Hey", you utter out to grab his attention.

The moment he faces you, you feel naked despite the summery dress you have on. All vulnerabilities exposed for the person who knows you best and who can read you like the back of his hand.

"Hello, hi", Lando cleared his throat, "how have you been?".

Setting your bag on the chair, you shrugged, not ready to engage in casual chit chat.

"Do you already know what you are having?", he wondered.

"The italian panini and iced tea", you mumbled after looking at the menu he handed you, "have you ordered yet?", you mused before calling the waiter to do so.

The silence between you after the waiter left the table was painful and hard to digest. You avoided looking at his colourful eyes - once you did it, breaking down would be in an instant.

"We really need to talk, Y/N", Lando says.

"Do you want to go first? Or shall I?", you asked bitterly, accepting his silence.

The waiter comes back with your orders. The café doesn't have a big menu and it's mostly empty, so the service was quick, "I hope you enjoy it - Bon appétit!", he interrupted the tension filled moment.

"I recognise I need to apologize to you for all the things I did without realizing it an-", Lando was cut off by you.

"Let me stop you there before this derails", you stated, "I'm here to have a serious, grown up conversation, so I'm not going to sit here and listen to dusty and beaten up childish excuses".

If the ground could sink him into it, Lando would've accepted it gladly.

"It's a start that you have realised that something was wrong, but you can't excuse yourself like that, Lando. Not when this situation has taken proportions that you can't fanthom - you can't get away with being sorry for not noticing what you were causing", you argued.

Lando gave you a nod, "I'm still not sure about all the things that led us to this point and what it entails, and that's why I wanted you here. I don't want to be blind to it anymore - I want to get all of it so all the pieces make sense in my head. You probably won't believe it, Y/N, but I'm so lost in this. I feel like I've lived a parallel universe for the past couple of months", Lando added all in one go.

"When did your feet come back to the ground?", you mused, "when did you feel like maybe things weren't the way they should be?". The curiosity was killing you, and the answer could very well do the last stab.

"When I lost all of those places in the race", Lando gulped, "I expected you to call and to hear your comforting words, and they never came. Max was the one to bring my mind to the matter", he admitted and you could see he was the opposite of proud of his own actions, "How I've been the worst boyfriend in the world and how I deserved that you didn't call - hell, I'm not even sure if I deserve that you're here today and willing to listen to what I have to say".

It's difficult to maintain a tough appearance and pretend that his words don't affect you, but alas, you keep your armour on.

"That afternoon was a struggle for me, Lando. I wanted nothing more than to call you and hear your voice, silence your cornerns and negative thoughts, let you know that you're the best driver out there and that a bad race doesn't define you. That it wasn't your fault and that you shouldn't beat yourself up because of it, that I was still so proud of you and how you handled things and that nothing could keep me from shouting to the rooftops. But you didn't deserve it, my dignity has been punched by your actions day in day out for the past couple of months and I couldn't take it anymore".

"I need you to hear things from your side, I need to know your perspective so I can understand what I did wrong and if I'm able to fix it still", Lando asks desperately.

"We should start from the beggining then", you laced your hands on top of the table after taking a bite of your panini, "I think it was at the end of the last season - at the time it didn't seem like it, but looking at it now, it was the start. I even took some time off and travelled with you so we could enjoy your break, then I came back for university. It's never easy, I know, but up until then we never had any issues with it - even if it was a bloody run, we made time for eachother. Then, you barely texted, let alone call - but all relationships hit rough patches and I thought that it was ours. Then Christmas came around and we finally felt like us again, there were no work or uni commitments, and it was bliss. After that, life happened again and I couldn't find a way to spend time with you - there was always a Quadrant video to film or a meeting or some event. You, Max and Martin went to Bali, and despite the fact that I didn't have any exams and could easily do university stuff remotely - like I do everytime - you didn't even think to ask me if I wanted to go or if I had planned something for us in the first place. I just took it for granted that you would spend it with me, but when P showed me the photos I looked like a fool and an ungrateful friend and girlfriend because I stayed back, Lando. I never felt so humiliated. Max had his girlfriend and you didn't, you ignored me as if I didn't matter to you", you breathed out. Ruminating was one thing, talking about it out loud was another. The latter angered you less and hurt more.

"I'm sorry", Lando murmured and you were quick to shoot it down.

"I don't need you to apologize now, Lando. What I needed was for you to make a decision then, one that considered me and what I wanted", you sighed, wiping a stubborn tear that got out, "after that, I just watched you pull further and further away, and I tried to get closer, work things out, but you wouldn't let me in. You floated and floated and I stayed here, both feet glued to the ground as I watched you go higher and higher. You were never like this, letting things get to your head wasn't something you ever did, but it happened. You alienated me in such a way that for this triple header, I didn't hear your voice once unless it was from the TV or the McLaren social media. You only wanted to call when you needed comfort, and it hurts that it took Max to help you see things the way they are", you state as tears fell uncontrollably down your cheeks.

Apart from your earlier bite, both wooden serving boards look full and no one made a move to go further.

"You told me time and time again that you would always be there for me, but when I was the one needing a cuddle and reassuring words, I was all alone in my bedroom, crying because of you. When you said you'd be there for me, I guess you failed to account for the fact that you can't protect me from yourself.. Because what hurt me these past couple of months was you", you declared, sniffling and, finally, looking into Lando's swollen and tear-filled eyes.

The tears Lando has been holding back fell. He was angry with himself, at how he had done the one thing he promise not to do to you. He made you hurt, he was the reason you were in pain and he couldn't keep you from feeling it.

"I wish I could tell you there was a reason behind it and that it all has some justification, but there isn't and I can't lie to you. I was propelled from the results and the promise that this could be our year - my year - and everything else faded away. I know it's not any help, but I'm not proud of what I did, and definitely not proud of the way I made you hurt - I wish I could turn back time and do it differently", Lando confessed.

"I needed you, Lando", she bit back.

Lando couldn't find any words after that and once you began eating the now cold panini, he followed your movements, granting you the quietest meal you ever shared with him. Lando was playful, loud, cheery and giggly on any other day. As much as it nagged you that your words were the ones to dim that light, you had to put yourself first. Someone had to.

"Can we walk along the marina?", Lando asked once you finished eating, earning your nod to his surprise.

You both get up, Lando paying for your meal at the front before you left the establishment. You walked along, looking at the luxurious boats and yachts before you found a part of the wall that you was comfortable enough to sit on, remaining in silence as you watched a couple of people unlock their yachts and sailing away.

Lando wanted to say something, to prove to you that he was sorry and that he still loves you more than anything, but the fear of saying the wrong thing and hurting you even deeper was not something he wanted to risk.

"You're going to break up with me, aren't you?", Lando voiced the biggest worry on his mind since he left his apartment.

"I walked here, so I had time to think about all of this, and all I could think was that I was going to meet you there, be reminded of all the pain you made me feel, and then we wouldn't see a solution to this. And on my way here, it got harder because I passed by the shop where we always go for croissants, and then that park where I tripped and you carried me home because of my bruised knee even though I could walk just fine, the bench where that lady asked if Mila was our daughter when your brother visited. And when I arrived at the café and saw you, I knew there was no way I could do it", you half smiled.

"I struggled to see what was happening, and I didn't see what was clearly in front of me, and I know I can't undo all of the crap that I've made", Lando pointed out, "but I can say that I love you, Y/N. I love you even more than when I asked you to be my girlfriend, which I never thought was possible, but everyday I love you a little bit more. I know I won't be able to love anyone the way I love you and, honestly, I'm not sure who I am without you, because I've turned into a person I don't recognise anymore and I'm afraid that if I don't have you around, this is the real me, and I don't like it. You make me a better person - since day one! I'll love you forever, but I also understand that you don't need this pressure in your life and that you want us to be over. I deserve that", Lando mumbled.

As much as the idea of not being with you hurt him, he knew it didn't equate to the pain he caused you hence why he deserved it if you dumped him.

"You're making it so hard", your groaned rubbing your temples, "It would have been so much easier if you had told me that you didn't care about this, that you didn't care about me anymore".

"That's never going to happen, Y/N", Lando assured you.

"It would be so much easier if I told you to fuck yourself off, wouldn't it?", you chuckled and Lando got to see a small glimpse of the world's best smile, "but I can't do it - I do think, though, that we need to take some time, for both of us to work on our own things", you suggested.

"I get it, you can have all the time and space you need, Y/N", Lando nodded, "would it be too much to ask if I asked you for another shot?", he wondered as you quirked an eyebrow, "I know you just asked me for some time, and I'll give it to you, but I'm not going to let you entertain the thought that I don't care about you or that I don't love you any longer. I'm still the same person you met all those years ago and I want to remind you why you fell in love with me in the first place - if that's even the case", he blurted, "please".

"Slow steps, okay?", you mused with a small small.

"Is it still the case?", Lando picked up where he left off, "are you still in love with me?".

"If I wasn't in love with you and if I didn't love you, trust me, I wouldn't be here", you smiled, squeezing his hand in yours on top of the warm stone.

Over the last couple of days, you felt lighter. University was finally over for the semester and you could rest, and the whole situation with Lando was better. Even though it hurt to tell him all of those things and see his reaction, and even if Lando still had a lot to make up for, you had to admit you didn't expect to feel like this right away. The right path was being trailed and you couldn't feel more at peace with it.

So far, he kept his respectful distance, which didn't mean that you didn't know he was there. Two days after you met him in the marina, Lando sent you a bunch of flowers to your doorstep, your mother being the one to bring them up to your bedroom since she was arriving from work as the delivery man was about to knock on the door, smirking when she saw who it was from.

You were getting ready to go out for a picnic with Lando. The sunny day invited you to go out and Lando seemed to think the same, sending you a quick text with the location and plan ideas.

"Where are you off to?", your mother asked as she noticed you looking for your hat, "you look very nice, dear".

"Lando invited me for a picnic", you offered her a smile despite the butterfly feeling on your tummy.

"I'm glad you're working things out, Y/N - I know how much you care about him. And even if he hurt you, he's doing the work to get you back - a lot of men would just give up, but not Lando", your mother nudged. She always liked him despite her initial concerns when he moved up the racing ladder and the toll it would take on you. For a brief moment, she was upset that she had been right, but she never lost the hope that the young man dating her daughter would fight for them and for her. For you.

"I'm not sure how long I'll be out, but if I'm not home for dinner, don't worry too much", you added, waving at her before closing the door.

You drove yourself to the park, politely declining Lando's offer to pick you up. As you followed the directions, you spotted Lando under one of the trees, seemingly battling with the corner of the picnic blanket.

"Hey, need help with that?", you called as you approached him, noticing his flustered face at getting caught.

"Hey! It's fine, it's fine", he dusted off his shorts, "I didn't fold the corner properly, never mind iron this", he grumbled.

"We're going to sit on it, I don't think we needed it ironed", you smiled, setting your small backpack on the blanket and occupying the space that wasn't covered with glass containers and pape bags, noticing the logo of your favourite bakery and the sweets shop near Lando's apartment.

"So, I baked these - who knew my oven works, hm?", he joked as he pulled out some granola bars that smelled delicious, "Jon did give me the recipe, but I made them! He says they don't have any harmful raw ingredients in them so there's no danger if they're not cooked properly".

"You could've told me to bring something too", you sighed, "you had all this trouble and I'm just going to sit here and eat it", you reasoned.

"I think we've gathered that I deserve all this trouble, even though I didn't mind doing it - I think I finally get it when people say they find baking relaxing, even if I just threw some oats and syrup on a bowl with nuts and chocolate", Lando shrugged.

You smiled at his antics, "this looks lovely, Lan - thank you", before you grabbed a paper napkin to grab the food.

Lando's heart did a little backflip at the pet name - when he thought about it, he can't remember the last time you called him anything other than his name.

He wiped the thought away as he noticed you get one of the paper bags, "It was no trouble, but I did have to make sure the lady at the pastry shop knew I was the next in line because there was this lady, you should've seen her, she was, like, eighty? I don't know, maybe more than that, and she was very posh and very proper and she was trying to cut in line! Then she started saying something in French and I was like 'no can do, madam! I need to get these croissants for my girlfri- for Y/N because they're her favourites' - I bet she wanted to get them first but I did!", he dramatised the scene, earning your loud laugh. How much he missed that sound.

"Seems like it was a little troublesome, though", you teased. Inside your chest, your heart beat fast at his efforts.

"You're worth it", he smiled before taking a bite of the granola bar, "not to toot my own horn, but for someone who eats pre-prepared meals, this is amazing! Try these!", he offered, forming a shell with his hand before he brought it up to your mouth.

For anyone else, this would be just another set of cute behaviours, but for you, it carried a sense of intimacy you hadn't felt in a while. Taking a bite of it and chewing, you had to admit the balance of the nutty taste and the chocolate was on point, "it is good, Lan! You should make granola bars more often - might even make a side business out of it!", you smiled.

"Charles has some ice-cream, there's alcohol from the other guys too - me? Granola bars", he smiled, eating the rest of it and looking at you. He would never be stupid again. He would never take you for granted. Never ever.

The conversation flowed once you started eating, mainly pointing out the new swings in the park or the pretty blooms that were showing up, and even though you weren't acting like you would had it not happened, it was comfortable and Lando had definitely put some effort into this.

"Thank you for this, Lando", you smiled after you helped him clean up the supplies, making sure he wouldn't have any spills and trouble taking the rest home.

"It's alright, really", Lando mumbled as blood rushed to his cheeks, "it wasn't much, but I wanted to make sure you remembered I'm still in and that I love you more than anything", he smiled, closing the basket and getting up with it to walk back to the car, "which actually brings me to an invite I want to make you", he went back to mumbling again.

The invite was a risk, he knew it. After all, it was the reason that got your relationship here in the first place. Yet, he wanted you there and he thought it would be good. Adding to it, it would be the way that he could make sure he was able to see you as it would be a busy day.

"What is it?", you asked as you walked with him.

"The day after tomorrow, we're going karting - Max and P are coming over for a few days, they arrive tomorrow - and I was wondering if you wanted to join us", he invited, "I know it's not the best environment to be in given al-", he started rambling.

"I'd love to go, Lando", you assured, touching his arm confortingly, "I might need a ride though, if you don't mind doing the detour", you pointed out.

"It's fine, of course we'll pick you up!", he smiled, happy and excited at your answer.

"That's me", you nodded to your mother's car, unlocking it with the key, "thank you so much for this, Lan, I appreciate it a lot", you smiled, raising your stance so you could kiss his cheek, "will you text me the details when you know, please?".

"Yes! Absolutely!", he gave you a big smile again, "until then, Y/N!", he waved.

As Lando walked back to his car, there was an extra spring up on his step, a new found energy and a smile that insisted on not disappearing from his lips.

Little by little, he was slowly getting you back.

"Why are we going this way?", Max asked as Lando took the first exit on the roundabout, "isn't the track that way?".

Lando couldn't contain his smile, "we're going to pick Y/N up first".

Max and Pietra exchanged a look before rhe blonde woman spoke up, "you finally came to your senses?".

"P!", Max scolded.

"It's alright, Max - she's not wrong", Lando added, "but yes, I have, and I'm working on it, respecting her but making sure she knows how much I regret it, how sorry and how bad I feel that it happened and how I'm trying my hardest to make sure it does happen again", Lando turned around once he stopped at the red light, "Thank you for looking after her when I didn't, P. I know you have been a good friend to her, so thank you for that", he added.

"She didn't deserve what you did to her, but I'm happy you figured it out and that you're working on it - I don't say it too often, but if you two ever broke up, I would consider that true love isn't a thing, what you two have is something else entirely", she smiled.

"Excuse me?!", Max dramatised, "what did you just say?".

"Did I lie, Max? Who was it that came home in a nervous fit without any fingernails because they bit all of them off after Lando realised what happened? The same person who couldn't even sleep because of it? Who was it, hm?", she quesioned her boyfriend.

Lando chuckled at his friends, thinking that they really had been made for one another, "you two make me look like the sanest person inside this car", he shook his head, pressing the pedal and turning into your street.

There you were, the person he was sure was made for him too. Your outfit was simple, consisting of black jeans, black trainers, a shirt sleeve polo and a cardigan on your arm.

"Hi guys!", you greeted, getting inside the car and kissing Pietra's cheek before putting your seatbelt on.

"Why don't I get a kiss?", Max pouted.

"Because you stink, that's why", Lando chirped in, "all ready to go back there?", he mused, sending you a wink from the rear view mirror.

Blushing, you nodded before looking at Pietra again, accepting her hand in yours as she gave it a squeeze. For the whole drive to the track, you engaged light conversation, mainly listening to the plans they had for the clips they were filming before they raced eachother since you and P would happily drive around in the karts just to pass the time.

For the first segment, you stayed on the stands, watching the team get the equipment ready.

"How have you been, Y/N?", Pietra asked as she handed you a bottle of water she had gone to her and taking a sip of her own.

"I've been well - university is finally done with and I can actually have a thought that doesn't involve it", you giggled, "and Lando is home", you offered.

"Now, I wasn't going to be so blunt, but that is the subject I wanted to get at", she raised her eyebrows playfully.

"He's... Goodness, he's Lando again, my Lando", you sighed happily, "surely, it still stings a little and we need to work through our issues, but we're trailing our way through them. Learning our ways together - it's a bit like falling in love again and it's such a good feeling", you blushed at your admission, "it's doing us well and we're going with it, and not out of it", you smiled.

"Y/N", Pietra cooed, "you have no idea how make that makes me! It's so good to see you so happy and hopeful", she squeezed your arm, "I was ready to avenge you on him, by the way, Max did us both a favour in telling him, because I was sure what I wanted to do to Lando was considered a crime and I'm a good person", she raised her hands defensively.

Once the boys were done, Max waved at you to come down and meet them, giving them the time to get your equipment ready.

"Come here, I need to make sure you don't fly out of your kart this time", Max called his girlfriend after she was fully equipped to go on the single seater.

You finished the makeshift hairstyle before you looked for the helmet, finding it in Lando's hands, "come here, big head, I'll help you put it on", he smiled.

As you approached him, you could see his sudden nervousness at having you so close to him, hands setting the helmet on top of your head and then pulling in on, "Look who's talking", you mumbled quickly before it was all the way in, his fingers gingerly touching your neck as he did the strap buckle.

"All good for our speed daredevils?", Max joked, getting an instant slap from Pietra before he got up.

"Does it feel safe, Y/N?", Lando checked with you, making you wiggle a little to make sure you were strapped tightly enough, making you flash his two thumbs up.

"Ready, set, go!", Max yelled before you and Pietra went off, happily driving on the track despite not extracting the full potential out of the kart.

"You and Y/N seem well", Max offered as him and Lando took a break before they joined you back at the track.

"I don't think I'll ever stop feeling this guilt on my chest, it's like a weird weight that sits here and gets heavy every now and again", Lando explained, "but I think we're going in the right direction, and I'm going to spend every day of our lives making sure it never happens again. Y/N will never doubt my love or affection for her. I just want to make her happy now that she knows I know how much I screwed us up".

"I'm proud of you, man", Max tapped his back.

"You're what?", Lando asked, a little flustered at his bestfriends words.

"I'm proud of you, Lando - you're dealing with this in such a good way! I'm not saying I doubted you would, but seeing you actually do it and make it happen in such a grown up, loving and accountability filled way makes me proud of who you became. As much as I joke about it, what P said in the car was true - you and Y/N are it. Whenever I think about what endgame is, you two are the first thing that comes to mind", he admitted.

"Thanks, mate", Lando replied earnestly.

After a couple of laps from you, you saw the boys joining you in the track, making you assure that whenever they lapped you, you made a Mario Kart like noise, always managing to get a smile and a headshake from Lando and Max.

Once you were done, Max and Pietra volunteered to take all of the supplies back to the storage room.

"Did you enjoy your day, Y/N?", Lando asked as he approached you.

Surprising him, you nodded before you hugged him, "I haven't been this happy in a long time", you cuddled him, letting your head rest on his chest and letting yourself feel enveloped by his arms after the initial shock wore off.

"I'm glad", Lando uttered out before he composed himself, "I just want you to know that I could fulfill all your dreams and that there I'll never do anything to hurt you again. I'm well aware of all shit I've done and put you through, and how accountable I am for it. I just want to make you happy", he chuckled, "I don't want anything else in this world other than to make you happy, to show you how much I love you and that I want make this work, I want to make us work", he let out in such a serious and intense tone that you could feel a knot forming your throat, "you were my first love and I want you to be my last, Y/N".

"Lan...", you gasped softly, "I know it hasn't been good for you, but I just need a little bit more time to put it behind me, once for all", you added.

"I know, and that's alright", he mumbled against the top of your head, "I just wanted you to know that it is coming straight from my heart - everything I do, I do it for you", plucking up the courage to press a kiss there.

You closed your eyes and basked in the feeling, "two Bryan Adams references in the same sentence from the guy who used to DJ? You impress me, Lando Norris", you giggled and teased him playfully, feeling the rubble from his own laugh on his chest.

"I'll make sure to impress you everyday that we're alive, Y/N Y/L/N", he promised.

And he intended to keep it.

Lando invited you to his apartment for a cosy night in, thinking the plans over and over while he waited for you to arrive.

The delivery service was faster than he expected so he wrapped the takeout boxes in all of the kitchen towells he had so they would help retain the heat while you weren't there yet.

The whole apartment was tidy, he had your favourite blanket on the sofa and the TV had your favourite shows ready to stream in the background as you hopefully shared a comforting meal.

Your acceptance to come to his place made Lando feel very pleased with the way you were trailing in your relationship. He had been able to correct his mistakes and make you happy again. Even though there had been moments where he seemed to forget, he now knew that you had always been and will always be a priority in his life. He had never been in love with anyone else, and he was sure he would always be in love with you until his last breath.

A knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts, heading up to the door to open it, "Hello hello! Come in", he gestured as you stepped inside, pecking his lips on the way - a few days prior, you had kissed him out of nowhere when you went to the bookshop and you swore he looked like a cartoon, all wide eyes and blushy cheeks.

Lando assured you you wouldn't leave the house and it would be just the two of you, so you hadn't bothered to put together a proper outfit, opting to wear a pair of leggings and an old Quadrant hoodie.

"I wasn't sure if I should bring anything, so I stopped by the sweets shop to get some of these hard candies, apparently they're very trendy now", you giggled sweetly as you set the bag on his hands so you could take your trainers off.

"You didn't have to, but thanks! We'll do a taste test after dinner - which is here by the way", he guided you to the living room.

Unravelling the mountain of kitchen towells, he had you sit down before he opened the containers, handing you a plate after you chose a bit of each of the dishes he ordered, "thank you, Lan", you smiled, sitting criss-cross on the sofa and waiting for him to do the same before you started eating.

"These are really good, have you tried them? They're new on their menu and when the guy explained it to me, I thought you'd like it", he pointed to one of the bite sized pieces.

"They are! They're not too heavy on the seasoning and they're really nice when you dip them in this sauce - try it!", you offered him the small cup.

"Is this going to be like the time you made me dip my spring rolls in that other sauce you claimed was the best thing in the world?", he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Just try it, Lan!", you insisted, getting one from your plate, dipping it in the sauce and taking it up to Lando's mouth, your hand under the chopsticks in case some of it fell on his clothes.

Lando chewed it before nodding and humming in satisfaction, "is it good", he admitted with a smile after he wiped his lips.

Once you finished eating, you helped Lando bring everything back to the kitchen, saving the leftovers on his fridge, washing the plates and putting them away.

"You didn't have to help, I could've done it myself", Lando nudged before he laced your hand in his and pulled you back to the living room, "do you want to watch something?", he asked.

"There's this new Disney movie I haven't watched if you're up for it - or any of the shows we usually watch, I'm not picky", you answered quickly.

"Disney it is", he smiled sitting down and resting his arm on the back of the sofa, hoping you'd sit next to him and cuddle him.

You shuffled around before grabbing the fluffy blanket, pulling it over your legs and tentatively closing the distance between you, taking the plunge and taking a spot on his chest.

Once the movie was playing, Lando's arm dropped to wrap around you, lulling you closer to him and rubbing your arm.

"I can hear you thinking, and I'm sure you're not thinking about that little goat", you nodded to the screen.

"I'm watching the movie, I swear - and he's quite funny actually! He's also Mila's favourite character, at least he was last week", Lando chuckled, "but I was also thinking about us", he admitted.

"You were?", you turned to look up at him, wanting to know more.

"You do know I will apologize for what I did until the end of our lives, don't you?", Lando reflected out loud.

"Lando, stop it, it's forgiven and forgotten", you offered.

"Is it really?", he asked, a small smile breaking his way into his lips.

"It is, it's behind us now", you kissed his clothed chest.

"I will never forget it, though. It doesn't matter how many times you tell me to forget it or that you've forgiven me", he let out a shaky sigh, "I don't think I will, I hate myself for what did to you, the hurt that I caused you".

"Lando, let's not talk about it right now - not now, not ever. It's a part of our story, yes, and we learned from it, but I don't want to to remember every day. We are good now, and I don't want you to torture yourself with something that is out of your reach and that you can't change", you told him sternly, now sitting back against the sofa so you can face your boyfriend, "Promise me we won't mention this again, Lando".

"You're right", Lando agrees, "Okay, you're right, I promise, Y/N", he stated with a smile.

Your delicate lips peck his quickly before you go in for a second kiss, longer and more intense this time, and you both got lost in eachother.

You couldn't change what happened, but you could learn from it and work everyday to make sure it never happened again.

Lando was crazy about you, about who he was when was with you and how you made him feel, and you felt the same way about him.

"I love you, Lando", you smiled after you pulled away, resting your forehead in his.

"I love you forever, Y/N", he whispered, sealing his promise with a peck and bracing himself, "I'm never taking you for granted, and maybe this is a big gesture and I'm not sure how much this fits our new way - new patch? It's not a patch if we want it to last forever, right? - anyway, I would like to ask you to move in with me", Lando stated, "it doesn't have to be tomorrow or right away, we'll do it when you're ready! I just- I spend so much time of the year away as it is, and I don't want to cut the short time even shorter when it comes to you, so this way we'll be together for a bit longer - even if it's just at nightime and we can intertwine our legs or I can warm up the bed for you", he rambled on and you were sure he wouldn't stop anytime soon.

"Hey, hey! Lando, baby", you cupped his face with your hands, "look at me", you smiled as you straddled his lap, your thighs on each side of his and keeping you from fully sitting on him, "good now?".

"Well, since you're already there - sit, please", Lando added before he allowed himself to stress about your answer.

"I don't want to squash you", you mumbled.

Laying his hands in your thighs, he pulled you down, "I said sit down", he spoke sternly despite the playful glint on his eyes, "it's my home after all, I get to make the rules".

"Oh, I thought it was our home, but maybe I misread th-", your playfulness was cut short as your boyfriend flipped you around, your back hitting the soft sofa cushion with a yelp.

"You're moving in? For real?", he asked.

"Yes, baby, I'm moving in", you cupped his cheek, pulling him for a kiss, "I love you".

"My love, I'm going to spend everyday reminding you how beautiful, how strong", he started kissing your face with every word, "how kind, how amazing, how sexy, how hot, how smart, how kind, how incredible you are", he stopped just above your lips, "how all mine you are - I love you Y/N, forever", before he kissed your lips.

#lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris angst #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff #f1 angst #ln4 x reader

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ms-demeanor · 7 months

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Also I have to say "but bands are using AI art for their album covers" is not a winning argument.

That band wasn't going to pay you. That band was going to beg somebody's artist brother for a freebie or they were going to have the people in the band who can kind of draw draw something or they were going to use a moody photo someone took with their cellphone. Best possible scenario is "they were going to trade for something from someone in the scene," and this is still the most likely scenario for bands that *give a shit* about that kind of thing.

And I've been the one doing freebie artwork for my musician friends; I've made album covers and done promo shoots, I've drawn logos and I've got a standing offer to make buttons for the cost of materials for every band I've ever played a show with. The people who give a shit in the scene are already doing this because everybody knows that everybody's broke.

I'm certain that there's not *zero* overlap between "bands that can afford to pay artists and photographers to create album artwork" and "bands that are using AI art for their album covers" but if you think "indie musician" is a demographic that has money to spare on commissioned artwork, I'm pretty sure you're mistaken.

Like. Okay, I mean my *big* argument is that AI image generation is fair use, full stop.

But the secondary argument that I've got is that I'm not sure there's a market to have the bottom fall out of.

The person making shitty covers for their amazon romance novel was not going to pay you. They were going to pay someone on fiverr eight dollars *at best* and that's only if they couldn't find a way to DIY.

That band that's trying desperately to sell ten tickets so they can play a show at the cool venue was not going to pay you to do their cover art. Their last fifty bucks just went to covering those tickets because their friends aren't even coming to their free shows. They were going to stage a photoshoot with a cellphone and a timer and someone's sister's selfie stick.

That person who made an AI avatar was not going to pay you for a custom avatar they were going to take a screenshot of your work and use that.

The people who are able to afford to pay artists and who are interested in paying artists are not the people who are replacing artists with AI. The t-shirt dropshippers, the shitty book cover designers, the bland corporate artists, and the art reposting instagram pages were the ones who undercut your market.

If you're concerned that someone is going to use AI to make art that is materially similar to yours and sell it, you're just concerned that someone is going to make art that is materially similar to yours to sell. The concerns about AI doing it are functionally exactly the same as what happens when someone says "wow, I want that on a t-shirt" under your drawing. If someone were to draw a character similar to but distinct from yours with words similar to but distinct from yours and put a link to that on a reblog of your post, that person is not actually infringing on you. They're a shithead, but that's not actually art theft. If they used your character and your words, or if they directly copy the image, that's art theft and you can try to get their post taken down. It's the exact same thing with AI.

The people who care about art and can afford to pay for it are always going to pay for it. Your problem isn't with AI, your problem is with the fact that people don't value art and that's as true now as it was a decade ago.

You are trying to sell a complicated, crocheted sundress made with 100% hand-dyed alpaca wool on Etsy and are complaining that the loose knit acrylic sundress from walmart is undercutting your market. Some people are always going to make the effort to save up and pay for your work because they value the craftsmanship, but those people didn't want to shop at WalMart in the first place. And the ones who value your craftsmanship but just plain can't afford it were going to dig through the bins at a thrift store until they found a crocheted swim cover from the seventies that they could pass off as a dress with a few alterations.

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uyuartik · 3 months

Text

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part iii

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can’t wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three

enjoy!!!

word count: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight.

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say.

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan.

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered. You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention.

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence.

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.”

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing? “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn’t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

“I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

===

“I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning.

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.”

#star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi wan kenobi smut #obi wan kenobi fluff #obi wan kenobi angst

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dairyminki · 10 months

Note

this heavily reminds me of my san series ngl

✨️ part of my 300 milestone event 🪄

title: make it up to you

pairing: choi san x gn!reader

genre: established relationship, fluff to suggestive real quick

warning/s: use of pet names (baby, babe, kitten)

wc: 879

a/n: hello hello to one of my fave persons here! this is just one of the many pics u sent me sooo sit back and enjoy ig?? helpsksks i'm really thankful for that san series of urs btw cos it was the reason we both started talking hehet,,,anyway! i hope u like this one luvv <333 and yes the pic do be rlly reminding me of ur san im screaming this was not so nice of u

*reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated!

—

San chuckles, hearing the frustrated huffs that manage to escape your mouth every now and then. He could practically see from the vanity mirror, currently in front of him, the little pout on your lips as well as your arms that are crossed against your chest.

You were already in bed, dressed in your bluish sanrio themed pajamas and—he bets—you're absolutely warm and comfortable under the comforter right now. Although, your furrowed brows say otherwise.

"What's my kitten pouting for, hmm?" San coos, a hint of teasing present in his tone. He has his head slightly angled to the right as he eyes his newly moisturized face in the mirror, two fingers pressing on his lips.

The thing is, he's currently intently admiring his no makeup face and he's not trying to deny that because—damn, he does look great.

You always tell him this, and there are still times that he can't quite put himself to believe it—not tonight though, obviously.

"If there's someone who resembles a cat more, between the two of us, it's gotta be you, Choi San."

San stills in his seat and his self-admiration comes to a halt.

You…

You just called him, San. Not sweetie, not darling, not bubba, and most of all, you didn't call him, Sannie.

Rather, you referred to him with his government name, and this was enough to relay to him just how deep your growing annoyance with him is now.

"Baby…" San softly says, he briefly lifts his butt off the stool as he turns to fully face you.

But when you make no effort to reply and simply cover your face with the comforter instead, he stands up and makes his way over to the bed.

San keeps sweetly uttering the endearment until the mattress dips due to his added weight and until the very moment that he's already laying beside you.

A whine comes out of San's mouth when he sees that you've managed to steer clear of his not so subtle attempt of caging you in his arms. You avoided him by rolling towards your left and viola!—you're now a human sized burrito.

"Baby!"

"Don't baby me!"

"But you're my baby!" San whines even louder.

"Yeah? And you kept this baby waiting for an hour when you promised you'd be done for only a few minutes," You argue, prying off the comforter from your face—San takes note of your slightly red face with a smile—your movements, sharp.

"Babe, I had to make sure that I've wiped every ounce of makeup from my face. Plus, I wanted to be presentable enough for you since we haven't seen each other for like a week," San squeaks, and he sees that you're trying your very best not to roll your eyes at him.

Instead, you scoff.

"You're pretty handsome already, Sannie. I always tell you that."

Ah, now there's that nickname he loves hearing.

Now lying on his side, San musters all the strength needed to pull you towards him—though, he didn't really need that much to do so. This action causes your body to be unwrapped from the comforter and ends with your face flat against his rock hard chest. San laughs when he hears you mutter an 'oof,' and then wastes no time to wrap you in his arms and entangle his legs with yours.

You were now his prey, trapped, and if he's merciful enough, he might just be contented in giving you a few kisses to make it up to you—despite your cute whines—for just a few seconds and then release you from his cage-like embrace, and call it a night, afterwards.

"Ou shmell good." San hears your muffled voice, and he giggles because of the light vibration your voice just made against his chest. And then you're pushing yourself away from him at arm's length, staring up at him.

"Have you been working out more, by the way? Your chest is…" You pause to clear your throat. "...rock solid." You continue, blushing.

San does his absolute best to stay calm despite your comment and your now flustered face. Instead, he makes it a mission to tuck every stray hair that fell and covered your face, behind your ear, and not meeting your eyes while he does so. And he was doing great, very great.

Well, that was until one of your hands gripped his muscly arm, and the other started playing at the neckline of his black tank top.

It's safe to say that the tables have turned and San was now the flustered one.

He is now the prey as he finally locks his eyes with yours. The dark gaze you were wearing was a clear indication that it won't just be cute kisses tonight—but rather, a hot long night filled with further lingering touches and kisses trailing down—

"Make it up to me?"

But, oh—San is very willing to make it up to you, alright. In fact, he might just not show mercy after all.

San hears you murmur, which enticingly pulls him out of his reverie. And then it happens so quickly, with San barely having any time to blink, that now you're already straddling his hips. San's chest heaves at the sight of you on top of him.

#san x reader #cromernet #pirateeznet #k-labels #Hiraya-M #ateez x gender neutral reader #ateez x reader #san fluff #ateez fluff #ateez suggestive #ateez scenarios #dairyminkiwrites #dairyminki_atzsan #dairyminki's 300 milestone event #m: chokchokk #💌—dream.with.elle

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catcze · 8 months

Note

You said you were willing to start writing for other characters again, so would you mind writing something for Kazuha? I miss him :,((

I don’t have a specific prompt in mind, so you get free reign :]]

OH ?!?! A request for my original bb ?!??! Aight !! 👀👀 Prio-ing this for now because I'll be real i miss Kazuha too 💔

「 ### : 」 Modern AU, established relationship, Reader knows how to apply makeup (eyeliner, specifically) but no use of pronouns were used for reader. Domestic fluff! Reader puts makeup on Kazuha just because you can lol

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

"Kazuha!" you hiss, grabbing hold of his chin again when he tries to flinch away. "Fucking— hold still! You're gonna make me screw up the wing! Again!"

"Sorry, sorry," he says sheepishly. Blessedly, he doesn't try to open his eyes and just lets you guide him back into position. You squint critically at the work you've done so far. Thankfully, his sudden movement hadn't messed up the eyeliner job you've given him. It was still in tact and both wings were relatively symmetrical.

"Your breath tickles more than you know, I think," Kazuha chuckles quietly, eyes still closed and doing his best not to move. You still shush him, though, but his smile does not waver.

Even if he can't see you, you're just so cute when you focus.

The thin, tiny eyeliner brush brushes against his lashes while you fill in the wing, and against his best efforts his eyelid twitches. But you somehow manage to still power through, and eventually you're releasing your grip on his chin.

"Don't open them yet," you tell him— thankfully just before he had done just that. "Let me check if it's all good."

And gods, you're so happy that you decided to skip doing an eyeshadow look on the guy because with all the erasing and re-applying you had to do to get to this point, you think you would have gone mad if you had to deal with eyeshadow, too.

"Mm, looking pretty, babe." You don't even try to hide how proud you are of your skills. And Kazuha, bless his heart, just lets you preen with a noise of agreement even though he has yet to open his eyes. "Wings as sharp as mine. Hah! Not bad for a for-funsies thing, mhm."

"Can I open now?" Your boyfriend asks, amused.

"Oh! Right right, go ahead."

You turn him around in your little vanity stool so that he can see his reflection in your (overpriced) mirror and his mouth opens in surprise.

"You're right," Kazuha says, eyes not straying from his own reflection "I do look pretty."

"Damn right you do!" you crow, arms crossed over your chest. He stands and pushes his face up against the mirror, only closing one eye so that he can admire the clean, crisp work of your brush. He backs up, inspects it from differing angles, and never tries to silence his noises of awe. He's smiling, in part because you really did a great job and he absolutely does rock the eyeliner, but also because it's so cute to see you so proud of your work.

"You did great. 'Wings so sharp they could cut'," Kazuha quotes you from earlier before you started, and you laugh as you echo him.

"You better up your game, babe," he says, his smile turning into a mischievous little grin as he meets your eyes through the mirror. "If I look like this every time I put on some liner, I might just slay harder than you."

"Ha! I'd like to see you try!"

#astronetwrk #Kazuha x reader #Kaedehara Kazuha x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw gn reader #Kaedehara Kazuha #Genshin Impact

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yandere-daze · 2 years

Note

Hello! How are you? I hope you have been getting enough food, water and sleep! May I request a headcanon where Yan Riddle deals with Fem reader who is basically his boss? (They're a descendant of the Queen of Hearts and they're ruling The Queendom of Roses? It's up to you if this is going to be romantic or platonic 🥰)

Sure thing, thank you for the request! I hope you don´t mind but I´m going to do gn reader with they/them pronouns for this so more people can enjoy and because I don´t think the gender of the reader would change anything in this scenario

Also this assumes that while reader is a ruler, they are still of similar age to Riddle

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated!

gn reader

tw yandere, obsession

Yandere! Riddle with a reader that is a descendant of the Queen of Hearts

This is a pretty interesting situation for a yandere Riddle in my opinion! You being a descendant of the Queen of Hearts and the current ruler means that he has a lot of respect and admiration for you. It must take a lot of hard work and dedication to rule over so many people! He would know, as the dorm leader of Heartslabyul he´s well acquainted with the troubles that come with that sort of job

You being in a position of power over him and him having so much respect for you actually changes yandere Riddle's approach to getting his darling for himself significantly

Typically, his go-to would be making up rules to make you stay with him and you wouldn't be able to refuse him because who knows the rules better than him? If he says that's how the rules are then it must be true. Riddle wouldn't break the rules like that!

But he can't really do that in this situation. You're a descendant of the Queen of Hearts and so it's only natural that you know all the rules by heart just like him and so you would immediately be able to call him out if he tried to make up any rules that benefit him

It's just not something Riddle dares to even try. What if you thought he just messed it up, if he was sloppy with the rules and thus unfit to be your partner? He wants anything but that!

Instead, he wants you to see that there's no one more serious about the rules than him, he has all of them memorized and makes his dorm members obey them at all times, surely that must make Riddle stand out among all your other suitors?

At least he dearly hopes so but the longer his efforts at impressing you go unnoticed, the more desperate he becomes to prove himself

Life at Heartslabyul becomes hell whenever you decide to visit. On those days, Riddle is harsher and more strict with the rules than ever before. He wants to be 100% certain that everything is perfect when you come by and bless him with your presence

No one is allowed to step out of line if they wish to keep their head. There´ll be hell to pay if they try to embarrass their dorm leader in front of you and ruin his chances

He can't bear to be anything less than perfect because, in his mind, that's what he has to be to even have a chance of capturing your heart and maybe being allowed to be wed to you one day

With a darling like you, yandere Riddle is just much more focused on proving himself to you and impressing you rather than forcing you to be with him. He knows he's below you so even though he's so utterly obsessed with you, he can't act as freely as he may want to

There's no way for him to chain you down or keep you with him by force, you're a ruler and so there would be grave consequences if anything were to happen to you. His hands are bound and so all he can do is grovel and hope that you will show mercy and choose him

In the meantime, Riddle will forcefully remove any rival that dares to rear their ugly head. They aren't worthy of you anyway. They haven't worked for this as hard as Riddle has all his life

Sure, he can't make up any rules in your presence but that doesn't mean he can't try with his fellow students, right?

Oh? Didn't they know that they have to avoid eye contact with the current ruler in place?

How could they dare to try and strike up a conversation with you? Don't they know that it's against rule 769?

Did they forget that it is the dorm leader that has the responsibility and privilege to sit next to the ruler during an Unbirthday party?

It looks like those that dare to come between you two must simply lose their heads. They'll learn to stay away soon enough

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utilitycaster · 1 year

Text

GOD that post I just reblogged about how Succession is cracking something open on Imogen and especially the solstice lead up because it really is about how, once the words are out of her mouth and she says "well what if the Vanguard are right", there's a tension! There's a tension that wouldn't be there if she didn't have doubts, if she didn't have a pull - literally a blood tie in more ways than one - to the Vanguard, and so the choice she makes actually matters, and we as an audience can see her struggle with it and say "there is a way to decide to do what's right and stand by the people who made this possible rather than repeating the cycle (Liliana leaves her family/Imogen doesn't) and yet you still will feel a pull to that past. Maybe even a constant one and a strong one, at least for a while, and you'll wonder if you did the right thing." And all that disappears if you refuse that tension and believe it's impossible for people to make the "wrong" or "bad" choice!

And more generally it's why so much of the discussion about other flawed characters is so terrible. Who cares if Essek is a good or bad person in a vacuum, this isn't asking that, it's asking "what might make people change? What if you didn't ruin your life entirely and you can live it out, even if the consequences will always remain with you? What if other people like you believe the same thing? What if you could undo it? What if you didn't?" and both sides, those that jump to eternal condemnation of him for war crimes against pretend people, or the idea he is good because of some endless hypothetical journey of penance, miss out on that. That's why Percy is a good (in the sense of interesting and well-done fiction, not morality) character: because he's set up to answer the question "who would be so desperate as to introduce a horrible tool into the world, and what might that look like for them" and here's the thing, do you really believe that if Ripley hadn't got away that guns wouldn't have still gotten out in some way? That the secret would have died with Percy? But he's young and horribly traumatized and thinks he can control this and that also makes us think, and when he straight up asks a god if he's good or bad for doing it she says that's not the point. Redemption arcs aren't about who deserve them and that argument is moot. They're about who is offered them, and who takes that opportunity and who rejects it, and what might happen.

And to be clear I do like talking about the morality of characters - not in an abstract black and white This is Good and This is Bad, because those things are contextual, but in terms of harm to the other pretend people in the story, and intent, and efforts made, because that's fun. But god like. I have blorbos, I absolutely have blorbos, and I'll make my share of jokes about people who never did anything wrong in their life, but I think that's why I am so repulsed by the blorbo-ification that involves scooping up your special guy and sticking them in a mason jar terrarium and judging them solely on those qualities because they're part of the story. They're part of the story! They're here because (as I yelled in the tags of that post) it's really fucking hard to relate to the abstract concept of breaking the cycle, and very easy to relate to the person trying to escape. Characters are just part of the gedankenexperiments good fiction is setting up, which brings me to the other weird thing that's fueling all of this which is this excerpt of The Infinite Playground:

"Physicists, for example, contribute to a different aspect of our reality than, for another example, fiction writers. When physicists make an assumption, like the universe being a hologram, they know they can't prove it, but they can assume it and see what happens as a result. Fiction writers like to assume things and then pretend those things are real. Both connect us to through the imagination, but one must, out of the necessity of their mission, substantiate their work through their understanding and the observations of their peers; the others, the artists and planners and politicians, are not so much into substantiation as they are into becoming part of a shared belief, a community of believers, one might say."

Like the most important part about fiction is that you can prove things from the text, sure, and you should use evidence for inferences, but moral rightness isn't really a provable thing, and the point in the end isn't, well, to prove a point. It's to say I hope the poison doesn't drip through, I hope the venom in your veins is not inborn but can slowly wear off or even be purged, I hope the brokenness isn't irreparable or at least that it does not mean the building has to be abandoned and demolished, at least not for a while. And some stories exist to explore what happens when that hope is realized, and some to explore what happens when it isn't, and the characters are just the pins on which to hang it, and you're supposed to care about them in both of them.

#ANYWAY i'm normal about characters.#on fandom #(i mean there are other things that make you realize that moral rightness was never the point but this is the big one for me.)

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autisticgirliesbracket · 1 year

Text

What makes Clara Valac from Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-kun the autistic girlie ever of all time? Here's what the people have to say:

Clara-related asks/reblogs: x This post will be updated after each round!

Image ID in alt text and under the readmore.

[Image ID. White slide with a screenshot of Clara in a semi-chibified style. On the left are several text boxes which read,

"My main argument is: please. Resident weird girl who the people around her don't really get until she meets other weirdos who love her. She (and the rest of the main characters) are literally in the class at their school called "the misfit class" (and I could go off about how much I love them all but that's a different topic). Unapologetic about being unconventional, never really follows social cues, and I personally feel like she could have RSD and auditory processing issues. There's an episode where she's following a book's instructions on how to seduce someone (long story but I need you to know that she's trying to platonically seduce someone into hanging out with her more) and she's doing each step in a way that is technically what it says but does not follow the social nuances. I love her so much and would die for her and I want her to get the recognition she deserves."

"audio processing issues, trouble understanding personal space, uses sound effects in day to day speech, almost never still, a high schooler but still into "childish" things with bizzare twists, starts the series with the very relatable insecurity of feeling like nuisance and feeling that she has to make up for the trouble (in her case, using her family's special magical ability to give others snacks in hopes they'll play with her in return). Dislikes complicated things, has trouble making friends, has made being unpredictable a strength in several areas, terrible at remembering names (usually just gives people nicknames instead). Also I'm autistic and like her, of course."

"Her entire character introduction is about how people think she's overwhelming bc she constantly wants to play. She's isolated from her peers and they all avoid her because she's super hyper and overactive. The only people who "play" with her are a group of bullies who are basically using her for her special ability (she can recreate anything she's seen before from her pockets). They ask her for drinks and snacks and stuff and then tell her to count to 50000 for hide and seek and she does. But they're all long gone. Anyways Iruma the MC comes and because he can't say no to anyone, gets roped into playing with her and they become friends. From her wiki: Clara is one of the stranger students at the school, acting very much like an excited child. She has abundant energy that most students can't keep up with. Other students find her weird and hard to deal with, but are drawn to her because her inherited power is so convenient. Since she had no friends, she would give students snacks and drinks as "payment" for playing with her. Her immature nature makes it difficult for others to get along with her, so much that most of the class can't stand her and wonder how Alice and Iruma can tolerate her so much. Despite her childishness, Clara is fully aware of how people view her as an annoyance yet still gives in to their demands in an effort to fit in. After befriending Iruma and Alice she learned to stop letting students use her for snacks and embrace herself and learn to befriend others in her class." End ID.]

#autistic girlies bracket #autistic girlie masterpost #welcome to demon school iruma kun #clara valac

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like-wuatafauq · 7 months

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We need to keep speaking up, keep reblogging and posting and spreading information especially now that they are trying to take down "controversial posts" off social media. That is our freedom of speech our freedom of press. If you're in the U.S and you're seeing this happen, keep speaking up and posting. We need to be louder. Keep helping each other stay educated and teach each other the history and present of Palestine. There are kids having to report that their family and friends are gone. We can't lose faith, we can't rest. The ppl of Gaza who can't speak up need us. The ppl who were murdered, need ppl to remember and stand up for them. We can't just be like "oh they're not gonna make it" or "it looks like a lost cause" like what??? They are still fighting!! They are still trying to report and let ppl know!!! I don't give a shit if you're not Palestinian, you get to sleep more peacefully than they can, you get to wake up and be able to spread information easier than them!!so do it!!!!

It is absolutely insane that ppl don't want to help in any way. The "it has nothing to do with me or it's not harming me or it's not affecting me" phrases are complete bullshit. The fact that it's not affecting you is why you should put in effort, it's like looking at a kid fighting cancer and being like "they should be out in the streets asking for donations instead of being in the hospital and getting treatment" it's insane. It's fucking insane. And it's insane that I even have to give that example just so ppl can get the fucking idea of things.

"Oh but they're not my kid etc"

Be fucking glad

Be fucking glad and stand up and support and be fucking thankful that it's not you. Because I know damn well the ppl that say "it doesn't affect me or it has nothing to do with me" are the same fucking ppl that would not be able to last a fucking day with their loved ones gone, with necessities gone, and with the most powerful countries in the world disregarding their pain, funding their pain, mocking their pain, and not even seeing them as human beings.

Be fucking glad and stand up and stand with those ppl.

#txt #rant #signal boost #personal #free palestine #free gaza #gaza #palestine #freedom of speech #freedom of press #i stand with palestine #now would b a great fucking time to b able to log into my most popular social media acct but this is only like my 2nd one so #so no i will not shut up about it #this shit makes me so mad

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shadowmaat · 1 year

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Artificial Incompetence

The conversations around "artificial intelligence" are getting a bit bonkers. Not that they're really conversations so much as screaming matches. And not that we're talking about true artificial intelligence so much as algorithm blending programs.

I don't like the recent fad of ABPs. It has a lot of the same earmarks and defenders as NFTs had, and boy howdy did that not work out well for folks. I don't think ABPs have been tied to the fake currency market, but their current implementation is still going to do more harm than good, in my opinion.

I'm not gonna say that writing or art should be "hard" or that people need to "struggle" in order to create things. I do, however, believe that they need to do the goddamn work themselves. Feeding prompts into a content generator doesn't make you a writer or artist. Well, scam artist, maybe. It's taking words/brush strokes from someone else and claiming credit for it. Even if you mention you used an ABP you still didn't create the art yourself, you just fed a program some prompts or the name of some artists you like and it spat out something you claimed as your own.

That's one of the big hangups I have with this fad: taking credit for someone else's work. Reaping all the perceived benefits (kudos, reblogs, etc) without actually doing anything to earn it.

If I give someone a prompt and they write a fic based on it, that story isn't mine. Sure, they might mention I gave them the prompt, but they were the one to write the actual story. Not me. My name doesn't go on the author line and I can't boast to others about the fic I wrote. Because I didn't.

I'm all for accessibility tools to help people complete tasks, and if ABPs were being widely used to help make creative efforts more accessible, I might have a different opinion. As it stands, however, the vast majority of people currently using ABPs aren't using them to help with their own creativity, they're using them as a substitute.

The arguments about data scraping and plagiarism are important, especially if we want to make sure that ABPs stop doing that, but from where I stand it still all boils down to people trying to loophole past responsibility and effort.

It gets worse when you switch gears from fic writing to essays and articles. At least in fiction stuff is supposed to be made up, so, all jokes aside, if some details are wrong it doesn't really matter.

When students start submitting essays to their teachers that they didn't write or sites try using an ABP to write articles, facts become a lot more important. And ABPs are infamous for making shit up whole cloth, even to the point of citing imaginary sources for their facts. That is, quite frankly, dangerous.

You think the past few years (decades, centuries) of misinformation have been bad? It can get a whole lot worse. These programs can seed in just enough "real" information to sell their bullshit as legitimate, and if even some experts have to double-check stuff to figure out what's false, where does that leave the rest of us? Especially all the ones who don't fact check at all before reblogging/believing something they read?

I think the future of artificial intelligence- real artificial intelligence- could be incredibly cool, and when the first AI submits a fic to AO3 I hope I'm around to read it. Right now, though, it's less about exploring potential and all about exploiting it.

#soapboxing

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catfishofoldin99colours · 2 months

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re: that last reblog it makes me think of people as being. Highly impatient to reach deep connections in a way they don't realise those connections genuinely cannot happen over a long time???

Like I am also very impatient to reach the stage of 'trust you with every facet of myself' that I have reached with the friends I have known for over 10 years but. There's a reason we trust each other so deeply and it's BECAUSE we've known each other for over 10 years!! You don't get that deep connection from talking to someone for a couple months???

Even on a purely friendship level, I didn't feel like I had solid friends at university till I was about a year in, it took ages of trying and being nervous and talking about silly things and just fucking spending time around each other to feel comfortable with people??

The main ingredient to a long standing friendship is time and that is just not something you can fake, with anyone!

Like idk this is probably sounding very judgey and like I think I'm better than everyone but I promise I realise just how impatient I am with wanting to connect to people and how frustrating it can be to not know or trust someone that well because you only met in person once or talked like twice, even if you really really like their company and want to know them better it still doesn't change the fact that time and sustained effort and patience are the only things that will consistently deepen a bond like that

Anyway. Relationships of any kind take time to develop and you can't cheat your way into a deeper one just because you're impatient - that's called manipulation or a deeply unhealthy level of attachment and it's generally pretty bad for you, speaking from experience.

#catfish speaks #i am a Very lonely person so I have spent a Lot of time thinking about this #i want to date someone properly ant seriously and be really really truly deeply loved for who i am inside #unfortunately i cannot trust anyone with thay except the friends ive known since we were 13 #all my previous partners i knew beforehand and was pretty strong friends with already #its just. you really really cannot force knowing someone better until youve spent a good like 50+ hours with them #and that shouldn't be a turnoff!!!#whirlwind romances are not that good!!#the effort and patience it takes to get to kno someone SHOULD be part of tue appeal!!! hot take!!!!#like i know we're all lonely ant touch starved and want affection but jesus christ tryijg to force it will make it Worse

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emilykaldwen · 3 months

Note

Definitely issues within the different communities on here including the OC community in the past few years for different reasons like stealing ideas etc and having all these people come forwards saying they had been stolen from and they'd been saying it for a long time but they were constantly told to basically shut up because the instigator had a huge following and influential friends. The person in question was part of a group of people who held hierarchy here once but the thing is a good percentage of them were fine, they didn't act like they were the hierarchy. It was others who made them like that through perception and the way they treated those people wanting their attention etc. It was the minority who abused the position they found themselves in.

However I feel the OC community is now currently dead in the water because that hierarchy has been dissembled, and it shows how much we gathered around them as an epicenter. They dictated trends for fandoms and what we made OCs for etc. There is people trying to form a new hub by making challenges etc but it feels like flagging a dead horse. Plus some of them have bad rep for just courting so called popular people. You can't build community that way but I think they're making the effort now to be better and make a difference.

A few people in the hierarchy who I admired well their true colours show now like hate reading fic etc. I still can't believe they believed their own hype to the point they thought they were superior to other creators on here. Also the person who stole from so many people. That was really bad. Another person I admired would get upset if a new 'contender' emerged whose amazing edits and ideas would naturally get attention. They would openly say how upset they were at this, say they saw this other person as a rival and anyone who sent this rival asks was a backstabber and it was up to the rival to comfort and reassure them and downplay their own talents to be accepted. This person was then applauded for being vulnerable and open? Like what? You rip down this other creator passive aggressively resulting in them crawling on their belly to appease you and offer comfort, as if THEY did something wrong. Again this was a person I really admired once. But talent doesn't make them good people.

Fandoms are the same there is all these toxic elements. I would just love to enjoy the view and share my stuff and other people's stuff. But people only want to like stuff for some reason. I don't mind if it's to bookmark it but for real I wish they would goddamn disable the like button. If you like it enough to like them surely it stands you like it ro reblog?

You're doing the right thing keeping to your friends. Ignore people who call you a clique. They're the reason why we build walls around our friendship groups and ourselves. People are always on the attack or dictating or social climbing. If you find a good person then ofc you're going to protect that friendship and yourself.

Anon, first off, I just wanna say I'm really sorry you've dealt with all of this. The last majorly active fandom (fic wise) I was involved in was over two decades ago, but I have heard and seen the horror stories. I've had friends cry over having things stolen, of hearing the horror stories over people out there who want to rally up and drag anyone who dares call out the theft and bad behavior.

We are human, and we are creative human and wanting recognition and validation for our hard work is never a bad thing. We love being told good job! Well done!

I have dealt with a person like this last summer who I thought made friends with, but then twisted themselves into thinking everything I did in pursuing my own stories was a direct attack on them/in direct response. I had to have friends step in because I was so utterly fucking confused and frankly hysterical.

I'll say this: it's rarely ever just one person. It's the people around them who enable it, who don't call out behavior, because again, we like validation, we don't want to rock the boat. If someone is stealing, or being a bully, call them out. And if they don't listen, just dump them. You and everyone else will be better for it.

I'm in my mid-30s at this point. I've been around the drama friends before and I want no part of it. I'm not here to have a million followers. I'm here to make connection with people that feel meaningful. And others may see that connection as alienating. But I mean... I walked into this fandom and saw... a lot happening. A lot that I didn't want a part of.

Fandom is meant to be a place where we can support each other creatively. And if you're jealous, that is a you thing and it's nothing to be ashamed of feeling, but it is your responsibility to handle. (and I mean a general YOU, not specifically you, anon). This was the issue with the friend I broke away from last year.

There is, in fact, enough internet to go around. How often do we go searching for stories of the same trope and same pairings? No one is going to complain about more chocolate chip cookies at the bake sale.

As an OC writer, I don't know where I stand in fandom. I try to keep my nose out of it, but I do get heated when I see friends and otherwise chill people getting caught unfairly. I just want to write my fic that I'm working really hard on, and I'm sharing it because I want to reach other people and make connections.

#I don't know where I'm going with this #but I want you to know you're not alone #and I'm sorry this person is an asshole #I don't know what's happening over in that part of fandom #like I said I just stick here #but I'm really sorry for everyone involved in whatever is happening #and I just want people to know it's okay to just do your thing #everyone wants to belong #we all feel lonely

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eggmixercortex · 10 months

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omg I reblogged that without knowing it was an ask game!! here >:) pick three questions that interest you the most of the oc of your choice!!

whoops sorry for startling you :]

anyway i'm going to talk about my girl ORION because i've spoken about her here exactly One time and that is a crime and a tragedy both

(here is an old old doodle of her since i cant be fucked to make a new one)

2. How easy is it for your character to laugh?

Orion is one of those people who laughs as almost a form of punctuation, it's that frequent. she is, generally, a very outwardly positive person with a nearly permanent smile, and laughing just comes along with that. unfortunately for her, because she's 6 n a half feet tall and build like a brick wall on top of being a smuggler, this means most people think she's some sort of ruthless hunter type to be feared.

17. Are they easily embarrassed?

yes and no. Orion has trouble picking up on certain things in the moment - mostly people trying to talk around a subject instead of outright saying it - but she does notice later, and often gets extremely embarrassed after the fact. it's pretty upsetting to her when she feels like someone is unwilling to just say something they are thinking, particularly if she's the only one who doesn't pick up on it. on the other hand, if she DOES pick up on it, she feels no qualms ignoring or refuting whatever might be implied. she finds it easy to do "demeaning" things or put up with intentional embarrassment efforts but can't stand feeling like she missed a signal or failed a social test.

26. What is their preferred mode of transportation?

her beloved scrap-car Curbstomp (image below)! in Orion's world, advanced biomechanics mean that most cars and other locomotive machines have legs/arms/meat instead of wheels. Curbstomp is Orion's livelihood, pet project, and one true passion rolled into one - she's like a mix of a weird horse girl and a car guy. Curbstomp is modified to all hell and looks like the most nightmarish shitbox car you could imagine, but she actually runs incredibly well and would be a mechanical marvel if it weren't for the whole illegal delivery business.

(also an old image, i'm lazy)

I've actually had a lot of trouble deciding how much intelligence Curbstomp should have.... on the one hand having her just be a machine like a regular car is really funny, but having a more horse/rider relationship opens up more room for characterization and makes more sense given the biomechanics.

#thanks for the kind ask LOL sorry again #asks #worm whispers #worm ocs

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vermillioncrown · 2 years

Text

i want to say something adjacent to the post i reblogged, re: op's request and perspective for not wanting mdzs/cql meta tagged as 'worldbuilding' or 'lore'.

i almost didn't reblog it. not that i didn't empathize nor understand why that post was made, but it felt like... not my place to say since i didn't do meta.

but it made me realize the feeling it stirred up in me was the type of avoidance and deflection learned after years of growing up as diaspora, being treated as alien, learning how to laugh off and play ignorant to microaggressions and other off-color remarks just so i didn't 'rock the boat'.

first and foremost, if i was still doing that, i wouldn't have written dream before daybreak. i want people to know that no matter the humor, no matter the silliness, the inherent cringe and self-indulgence of writing an si: i wrote that because it made sense. the feeling of isolation, of being not quite right - isekai into something that didn't require handwaving to understand and survive because the culture should fit; and it doesn't. and it will never. it is analogous to my diaspora experience. no other piece of media ever felt quite right to write for - if you've seen my 'project: double bastard' tab, i've had naruto brain rot since middle school. that's nearly two decades. and yet it was this story that i found and immediately latched onto.

mdzs is a chinese story. sounds obvious, right? because a lot of us are writing in english, communicating with other english-speaking fans, you can say you know but your brain is very good at getting used to things. if this is not a conscious thing that you are looking out for, you will miss it if you're not chinese.

i am happy to interact w readers, write funny and absurd things, be a clown, make connections, all that. i also don't treat writing that seriously as a craft. i do treat the content of what i write with deliberation, though - no matter the spectrum of silly-to-serious, from an ask that's joking around to each chapter i publish. the cultural consideration is always there in everything i post for mdzs or svsss. it's overtly there for chinese-based media, and i can't hide even if i tried for everything else because that's who i am. i am diaspora chinese.

my writing can stand on its own without the cultural perspective (eh. maybe not with the bilingualism in dream before daybreak). you can still enjoy it. i've put it out there, it is free to read, no one can stop you. but this is from the mouth of the author: you will never understand or follow 100% why something is happening if you are unable or unwilling to recognize that the base media and my fanfics are chinese (chinese-adjacent) by nature. even in something as cracky as lorenz attractors resemble butterflies - especially for that fic. it's easier to forget because i'm not up in your face with the chinese phrases all the time. and it's the collective effort of all the readers willing to have fun with me, so it seems very light-hearted and for the lulz.

here's me telling you the effort it takes to write that fic, hell, the entirety of the 'endure through the night' series. every piece of dialogue is thought through for how it might sound in chinese. i need to carefully balance zyx's inner thoughts versus how they'd talk. mannerisms. how someone is thinking. i also can't help that i'm american, and have english essentially as my first language. i'm always catching myself through speed writes, editing my drafts, correcting my outlines because some shorthand or thoughts came out automatically from a western perspective.

i try to keep things civil and fun on my blog because frankly, i wouldn't have the energy to deal with a perpetual fight in something that's my hobby. however, this is an important fight, one that i'm part of regardless of choice. this post was written as-is, so it is likely not very concise and hard to follow. but i hope that if you took the time to read it, you guys can continue to have fun reading my work but also have more understanding of where it comes from. i believe that understanding can only lead to more enjoyment.

#redglyphs #no one has been overtly rude to me in this fandom #but living as someone 'different' doesn't require overt rudeness to feel unwelcome #and it gets fucking tiring #and moreso because of the fact you feel tired somewhere you should be able to call home #i will never become a meta blog #but am happy to provide my thoughts on a thing if people ask in good faith and are willing to learn #and also understand i'm not perfect and my voice is just one of many as well #... okay i think one weirdo was rude to me but that was more baffling than anything #opinionated verm

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inlocusmads · 1 year

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Hii, can I ask, do you plan on re-uploading your old works 🥺? If you're not comfortable with that it's totally okay you can delete this ask 💓

Hey Anon, thank you so much for sending this.

The short answer: I don't think I will be uploading my old works back here.

Here's a long answer:

The wonderful Lin from @ofmischiefandmedicine sent me several screenshots of my old work that I'd written before I, let's say, switched accounts. And it was such a thoughtful gesture. I believe others had also contributed to it but my memory failed me so if you have in any way helped me get through that very difficult time in my life, I'm very happy and I'm eternally grateful.

Unfortunately I won't be uploading my old works because of three reasons:

One -> my writing goals have drastically changed.

A lot of factors have shaped this, but I constantly aspire to improve. What I did before is still valid but I don't want it to be an albatross around my neck, pulling me down. There are a lot of works I am not proud of and some of my old stuff give me the yikes. I constantly want to change, improve and looking at my old works sort of confines me to this one box, if you know what I mean. The problem with that is, once you've found your home base or comfort genre, you'd seldom walk away from it. Me shutting the doors on the venomous stuff that is my past writing is a way for me to actually step forward, because the stuff I'd written in the past stemmed from things I am not too proud of. It feels like a good time to move on.

I know, I'd have wasted several hours trying to complete that project but I'm glad I left most of them incomplete. It was super hard to even make this decision, because I didn't know what I wanted. And though it might seem short-sighted, almost borderline inane, I can't think of a better way of dealing with the problem firsthand.

Two -> I can't retrieve them.

During that Rough Patch, I ended up clearing all of my Google Drive folders along with my blog and believe me, I've tried trying to access some of it. I can go down and track all the individual reblogs, see if I can copy-paste them but it just becomes too tedious of a job I don't want to engage in nor do I want anyone else to go through it. Plus I don't remember half of what I'd written in the past and I don't have a great enough starting point to look into. And to add to the aforementioned reasons, I just didn't want to go through it again and get into the mindset of someone who I was, a couple of months ago.

I'm sort of open about my mental health in small ways, but to sort of give away a short answer, I just can't go through it again. I know, they're just fanfictions, but they are some of the most tortured pieces of work I'd written. They might be happy but I wasn't always good when I wrote them down.

Three -> The fandom is getting smaller.

If I had only joined the Tumblr fandom a couple of years ago, I'd have struck gold with the target demographic I'd be writing for but nowadays, working long hours for a small crowd isn't worth it anymore and longform series are something people generally stray away from, at least in my opinion.

I know, it is bad enough to say that because I'm not entitled to reads, comments and notes, but at the same time, juggling uni and everything, it just gets to you and sometimes you don't want to put in all that effort. You don't want to painstakingly write every single word. You want to write what you want to write. For a long time my old works were things I assumed people would like and the pressure to stand out really got to me, because you have to have a driving theme for all of your work or people wouldn't find a reason to tune in. Then after a while I realised that was a terrible idea to follow through, with the fandom getting smaller by the day, etc, I just felt like actually writing what I want to is a lot better than dealing with this statistics and semantics and all that bullshit.

Writing is supposed to be fun. Reading is supposed to be fun. I just wanted it to be that way and draw the line when it got too much.

Thank you so much for this Ask, because I wouldn't have found another way to properly address this. I've promised things in the past where I said I'd get to working on my old stuff whenever I can, but now I'm happy I came to a realisation that that wouldn't happen and that's okay. I know a considerable amount of people loved it and were looking forward for more and I have nothing but a heartfelt apology to offer, but it just seems like the only way to actually help myself.

I don't want to revisit what I'd written before. I don't want to build on what I've written. I just don't want anything to do with that. And I hope this clarified a couple of questions. Thank you so much to Anon, thank you to all the people who've supported and I'm very sorry for leaving you guys on stand-by.

#blog announcement #personal stuff #anonymous #askboxed!

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