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so-long-soldier-writes · 5 months

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One of Those Days

poly!mikaelsons x reader | request

summary: between the constant fighting and city clamor, you're overstimulated from the minute you wake up. you try to isolate until you feel better, but sometimes, that only makes things worse. luckily, your loving vampire partners are always there for you.

tags: sensory issues, mental health, overstimulation, arguing, mild emotional hurt / comfort

word count: ~2.6k

a/n: requested by @asexualaromosafezone - i am SO SORRY this took me literal months to complete. a couple days ago, i suddenly remembered i never filled it and finished it asap. i hope you like it, and again, so many apologies!

Sometimes, you wake up, and can immediately tell it’ll be a hard day. The sun has barely risen, yet there’s already a million noises coming through your window. Chatters of people having their morning walks, car horns from those too impatient to let them cross, the distant clang of a dropped pot, and-

“REBEKAHHH!”

-Klaus, yelling for his sister. At seven in the morning.

“What the bloody hell are you shouting for?! I’m right here!”

You sigh, glad that mystery solved quickly.

There’s probably a few more minutes until your alarm rings, so instead of getting up a little earlier, you opt to enjoy your last minutes of peace. Though you soon realize that’s impossible, given your circumstances. On top of the city sounds, there’s a bird right outside your window, and when you try to turn away from it, the tag on your blanket itches the inside of your thigh.

“Ugh!” You toss the blanket off.

Your alarm sounds not a second later.

With a slap to your phone and then another to your forehead, you decide to just get ready for the day. Luckily, not much is planned. Marcel still has control over the city, and with you being human, your Mikaelson hosts don’t want you outside at all.

See, you live with the family of original vampires. You used to be a Mystic Falls’ resident, but then after developing a close connection with the siblings, decided to move to New Orleans with them and get a fresh start. You were tired of the small town life, and while the big city can be overwhelming at times, you’ll never get sick of the culture it has to offer. Besides, living with the most powerful family makes you happier than you ever believed you could be.

As much as you love them, though, they can be a pain. Like when Klaus can’t find his sister, but forgets a whisper would summon her just as effectively. Instead, he has to wake up the whole quarter, and inconvenience you with a headache. When you reach the dining room that day, you slump your head on the table.

“Everything alright, darling?” Kol’s voice floats over your head, making you aware of his presence.

“Tired.”

“Is your bed comfortable enough? Do you need more blankets?”

You haven’t been in the city long, and his consideration warms your heart.

“Oh, I’m okay. I’m very comfy. Just haven’t gotten used to the city yet.”

“Ah, I understand.”

His attention drifts to his sister. You busy yourself with a plate of food and ignore how tired you feel. When Elijah sits beside you, you offer a smile, but don’t say anything. The man, polite as ever, does the same. Though while two of the siblings are quiet, the other two aren’t. Klaus and Rebekah are still on the same topic from earlier. They bounce off each other quickly, childish banter turning into an argument.

You try to eat in peace and ignore them, but it’s difficult. And it doesn’t help that you’ve been feeling down lately, anyway. It’s rather unexplainable, the way you feel. Some days you’d rather stay in bed all day than face the world. Your whole body could be begging for you to get up and get things done, but you just can’t. No matter how hard you fight your own mind, sometimes there’s no winning the raging war.

To make matters worse, you’re always hypersensitive when you find yourself in these low moods. Every little thing is overstimulating and there’s no pause button. This morning, you didn’t even get a chance to wake up before the sounds started. (Thanks, Klaus.) You roll your eyes in your head, annoyed.

“Hey.” A poke to your shoulder startles you, making you jump. “You okay?”

“Ooh, you caught me off guard.”

“Sorry,” Kol smiles, “you in deep thought, or rolling your eyes at Klaus’ statement?”

“Uh…” You bite your lip. You were rolling your eyes about Klaus, but missed whatever statement it was that he just made. “What did he say?”

“That he was on his way to have a little chat with Marcel. That will go swimmingly.”

“Oh.” You snort and decide to joke. “Both.”

Kol grins at you, but then, thankfully, leaves you alone again.

After breakfast, you retreat back into your room, not in the mood to face the day. If Klaus is really going to start shit with Marcel, it’ll be an intense day. You’ve never met the current king of the French Quarter, but Elijah’s told stories. Marcel and the family used to be close, but then, like all their other relationships, ties ended drastically.

“But not with you, of course,” he had promised. “You’re our girl.”

You were skeptical for a moment. Who wouldn’t be, knowing the Mikaelsons? But then Klaus approached you from behind with a kiss to your hair and confirmed his brother’s words,

“As long as we have your loyalty, you’ll always have ours.”

You could see the truth in his statement. Everyone who ended up on their bad side had betrayed them in some way. So, as long as you didn’t repeat others’ mistakes; as long as you kept your trust in the family, you would be considered family. And ever since the day you first grew close, you have been their family.

You’re close with all of the siblings. Elijah, first, when you couldn’t take your eyes off him at Damon’s dinner party. Then Rebekah, and then Kol, when he undaggered. Even Finn, before his untimely death - thanks to Matt, your good friend now worst enemy. Klaus took the longest to trust you, and you can’t blame him for having trust issues, but once he realized how much his siblings adored you, he was quick to accept your place with them.

Now, the five of you live together, nine hundred miles from your hometown. It’s certainly a change, but every day with them is an adventure.

Like today, you suddenly think, overhearing Elijah’s footsteps in the hallway. Today has definitely been one of those days.

“Y/N?” He stops outside your door.

“Mhm?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Elijah opens the door, but doesn’t fully enter your room. He looks you up and down before smiling. “I just thought you seemed sad earlier and wanted to check on you. Is everything okay?”

“Oh!” You put on a brave face to mask the tiredness you feel internally. “Yeah, I’m just out of sorts today. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? Because if someone’s bothering you, that’s something we can take care of.”

“No, no, I promise. It’s all just me. Just having a day.”

“You’re positive?” He asks for confirmation again.

“Have I ever lied to you, ‘Lijah?”

He looks down at his shoes, embarrassed. “No, you haven’t. I apologize for doubting you.”

“It’s okay,” you step closer to him, resting against the door frame. “No need to apologize. But I swear, I just… woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something. New Orleans is a loud city. I’m still adjusting.”

“Okay. Well, call if you need anything. Even the smallest thing.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and be careful in the off-chance that Marcel storms in here. There’s a fight brewing in the quarter.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Better yet, stay inside for the day. So you’re not in harm’s way at all.”

“Okay, ‘Lijah.”

He smiles at you, then kisses your hand. “Now, I need to neutralize my brother. But I needed to make sure our girl was okay first.”

“She’s okay. Go deal with him.”

Elijah straightens his collar before speeding off to no doubt defend his brother in a fight. You love Klaus, but man, does he get angry. And then from anger, comes pure rage, then absolute chaos. Once situations escalate that far, the whole block better hide if they want to keep their hearts in their chest.

You sigh, thinking of the carnage that may come. You’re not sure you can deal with his anger issues today, especially not coupled with those of Marcel. Of all the days they have to fight, it’s the one that you might snap, too, if he raises his voice one more time.

Suddenly, your bed looks like the perfect oasis away from the mess behind your door. A good pillow over the ears might prevent an impending meltdown. You crawl into it at once and let your body melt into the mattress.

You hadn’t lied to Elijah, though you hadn’t given him the full truth, either. Yes, you are, in general, okay. Not necessarily today, but at that moment, you were. Also yes, you’re not feeling great today, partly because of all the city noise. And, finally, yes, most of it is just you and your body not in the mood to be awake. Though Klaus is contributing, just a little bit, to your mental distress today. Elijah would understand, of course, but then he’d have a talk with his brother about it, and you really didn’t want to burden either of them in that way, so you put on a smile and didn’t mention it. You’d bet Elijah knows the full truth, and knows why you won’t admit it, but he respects you if you don’t want to talk about it. That’s one of the reasons you love him so much.

You get a couple hours of rest until your slumber is interrupted by a new knock on your door. It’s not soft, like Elijah’s, so it must be one of the younger two.

“Oh no,” you mutter, wondering what it must be now.

“Y/N?” Rebekah’s voice comes from the other side. “Are you awake?”

“I am now.”

She opens the door as you reply. “Oh what the bloody hell are you still doing in bed?”

“Sleeping.”

“Obviously! Come watch a movie with Kol and I! We’d love your company.”

“An actual movie, or the public display of violence happening outside in the quarter?”

“We haven’t decided yet!” She grabs your hand. “Come on!”

You yawn. “I’m gonna pass today, I’m not up for it.”

“Awh, Y/N! It won’t be as fun without you!”

“I have a headache, Bex,” you fib.

“Do you want some blood for that?”

“Does that even work like that?”

She shrugs, “not sure.”

You cuddle into your pillow. “Another time, okay?”

The girl smiles, then leans forward to kiss your head. “Okay. If you change your mind, come find us.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Dinner’s at seven. Will you be there?”

“Yeah,” you promise, “I should be better by then.”

You are not, in fact, better by then. If anything, your foul mood progressed into an actual headache within thirty minutes of Rebekah leaving. Shouts throughout the city managed to penetrate the thin glass of your windows, and you could hear almost everything as Klaus heckled the current king. For hours, it went on, until the sun went down and they assumedly put it off for another day. By seven o’clock, you were able to sneak in another nap, but you still felt way overstimulated from the day’s events.

Not to mention the fact that you spent all day in bed. Sometimes, you’re overstimulated by too much going on, but today you partly did it to yourself by hiding away all day. The guilt of avoiding everyone weighs on your chest. Rebekah had invited you to a movie; Elijah went out of his way to check up on you, and you had more or less dismissed them both. A bitter taste sits in your mouth when you think about it. Water doesn’t wash it out.

Hopefully dinner will.

For the first ten minutes, the night passes peacefully. Most of the conversation is focused between the meal and the movie the two had watched. The events of the day, seemingly, are left in the past.

But then, of course, Kol has to make a comment on something he overheard that he thought was funny. And that set Klaus off into a spewing of anger. He’s pissed at Marcel, but now, also, at Kol for bringing it up. Elijah puts his face in his hands, and Rebekah sends both a huge eye roll.

What was a moment of much-appreciated silence is now a yelling match. After five minutes, you reach your breaking point.

“Why do you feel the need to comment on that, Kol? It was so insignificant, but you’ve felt the need to bring it up, and now I’m reminded of how much Marcel has done to piss me off!”

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, bloody hell! I thought it was funny!”

“It wasn’t funny to me when he was spitting in my face! I-”

“Oh my god! Are you ever not arguing?!” You suddenly shout.

The table goes silent and all eyes are on you. A needle could be dropped and it would be heard across the quarter.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize quickly, embarrassed.

“Love,” Elijah puts a hand on your shoulder, “are you alright?”

At his touch, you flinch. He retracts his hand quickly, but doesn’t move his body away from its proximity to yours.

Klaus, although upset at the interruption, notices this and calms a little. “Everything okay, Y/N?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“That little outburst didn’t sound like nothing.”

“I’m just stressed.”

“Darling, what’s got you all upset? Tell us and we’ll sort it out now.”

“It’s no one, Kol, I’m just not feeling well.”

“Still have a headache, sweetheart?” Rebekah asks.

“You have a headache?” Klaus butts in.

The assortment of questions makes you drop your head. It nearly hits the table, but Elijah grabs your frame before you can fall. Tears form in your eyes, visibly.

“I’m just really overstimulated today. I woke up weird and this city is loud, and then there was all the fighting all day long, and then I hid in my room all day, but then I felt bad about hiding, and now I’m making you all worried because I can’t get my shit under control!”

“And that’s your fault, how?” Elijah asks, “you cannot blame yourself for the way you feel.”

“But I need to handle my emotions better. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies necessary, love,” Klaus adds, “I certainly haven’t helped, fighting with children all day.”

“Niklaus,” Elijah warns, but Klaus doesn’t argue with him this time.

“I should’ve stayed with you when you said you had a headache.”

“Don’t blame yourself either, Bex. It’s not your fault.”

“But we could’ve cuddled,” she frowns.

“It’s okay. I got a nap, and it helped a little. I just need to get used to my life being different now. None of you are at fault.”

“Nor are you,” the eldest reminds, “it’s been quite a day for us all.”

Kol clears his throat, “say, after dinner, if you feel up to it, we could all watch a movie and cuddle around you? I think some comfort is much needed.”

“Sure,” you agree, “but I might fall asleep during it.”

“That’s quite alright,” he smiles. He then stands up to hug you, but when his arms wrap around your neck, you freeze.

“Not yet, please. I’m still a bit stressed.”

He gives you a wink. “Of course, darling. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Klaus flicks his napkin across the table. He’s folded it into the shape of a heart. “We love you. You know that, right?”

You take the heart, kiss it, and put it in your pocket. “I do. I love you all, too. Thanks for understanding.”

#poly!mikaelsons x reader #poly!mikaelsons #elijah mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #rebekah mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #tw mental health #i feel so bad for taking so long on this

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nico-di-genova · 22 days

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In My Mind, You are Safe

Chapter 3

Alternate link to read on A03 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“He knows?” Lance manages to ask the night after he wakes up, motioning with his head to his dad who slept snoring deeply on a leather couch in the lounge. “About us?”

“I did a bad job of keeping it secret.”

Lance thinks he maybe had too, what with the ass grabbing played as camaraderie and the way he couldn’t stop staring at Fernando during debriefs. His father wasn’t a dumb man, but rather a very observant one. He’d known Lance was smoking pot at fifteen not because of the bloodshot eyes and the smell, though those would have been the obvious giveaways, but because his reaction time during training took a hit.

‘If you’re going to smoke weed, you better do a damn better job of hiding it,’ He’d demanded.

Lance never touched the stuff again, he knew he’d get caught.

But with Fernando he thought he had maybe been a little better. They had rules about it. No kissing in the paddock, the garage, not even their drivers rooms unless it was a special circumstance – the circumstance always ending up being Fernando was needy and Lance was bored. They didn’t go to each other’s hotel rooms until it was late enough that no sane fucker would be wondering the halls. Nothing obvious could be left above the neckline, because Lance had already gotten looks from his father after the weekend on Fernando’s ugly yacht where they spent half the time naked and the other half sipping champagne. All those rules seem to have been thrown out the window the moment Lance ended up in intensive care.

Intensive Care

The word makes him shudder.

Fernando sees the movement and presses a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, “Cold?”

“Kinda.”

It’s not really a lie, the AC is set on Ice Box and he’s got nothing but a thin sheet, a stiff blanket, and bare legs beneath a hospital gown to protect him.

“Here,” Fernando pulls the Aston Martin sweatshirt from the back of his chair and helps work it over Lance’s head. It takes an extreme amount of maneuvering, and gentle tugging, and he can’t put one arm through the sleeve because of the IV in his hand. It kind of sucks at providing any actual warmth, but it smells like Fernando so that’s a comfort all on its own.

“Thanks,” He rasps.

“Of course, Lancito.”

“I missed you,” Lance blurts out, which doesn’t really make sense because he was just with Fernando in the paddock. Just with him in his driver’s room. But Lance also thinks he maybe remembers the dark. The emptiness. The distant voices that sounded like they were right beside him and yet a world away all at once. He thinks he remembers being scared.

“I missed you too. Stop talking, you will irritate your throat.”

Lance wants to make a joke about Fernando not wanting to hear him speak, but that would take too many words and he already kind of feels like he’s breathing around fire. Instead, he accepts the water Fernando offers him and sips slowly through the straw to draw out the soothing effect. He has to be careful with how much he drinks, and he can’t have solid foods yet, which Lance chalks up to normal post coma recovery, but might also have something to do with the abdomen injury as well.

He knows it’s serious because when he’d asked the doctor how long until he could get back to racing she hadn’t given him an answer. And Fernando couldn’t look him in the eye. They don’t lie to each other, brutal honesty has always been their forte. That, or steadfast avoidance.

“Careful,” Fernando chides when Lance sips too quick and chokes on the liquid, some of it escaping his mouth to dribble in a cool line down his chin.

Lance rolls his eyes. Fernando should be used to the sounds of his choking by now, he’s certainly gagged himself on worse than a few drops of water.

“Brat.”

Lance smiles around the straw, all innocence and fluttering eyelashes.

“You are lucky you’re in a hospital bed.”

Which, he isn’t, far from it, but for the moment things feel almost normal so he ignores the remark.

--------

There is an argument about who Lance will go home with.

Lance’s Switzerland apartment is out of the question, his agency being robbed by the injuries his body is still trying to adjust itself to. His dad knows he can afford better around the clock care, people to help Lance with everything from changing his bandages to holding his dick while he pisses. Fernando knows Lance doesn’t want that, knows the humiliation of it would probably kill him faster than his car in the wall should have. They don’t ask for Lance’s opinion on the matter though as he sits silently in the bed between them. Watching them fight for custody of him, it’s familiar, reminds him of being small and wondering if he was going to have to have two bedrooms after his parent’s divorce.

“He needs help Fernando. Doctors, nurses, staff – not just you.”

“I have taken care of him before. I know what he needs.”

Healing from a head wound and a piece of carbon fiber tearing through his body isn’t really the same as a cold, but Lance appreciates Fernando’s commitment. He doesn’t say this of course, because neither one of them seem to really notice he’s there, just continues sipping slowly from the cup in his hands and picking at the starched blanket over his lap. His throat doesn’t hurt anymore, swallowing doesn’t take as much effort.

“You think you know better than me? I’m his father,” his dad states. As if it needs stating. As if Lance wasn’t born with Lawrence’s name over his head and a silver coated thumb in his mouth. As if there were any injury out there that would make him forget who he belongs to, down to the blood and marrow of him, the very making.

“I am his-” Fernando pauses. They never really put a name to it. There hadn’t been much discussion about what he and Lance were before he started bleeding out in Fernando’s arms. Not that he would remember that of course, doesn’t remember much about barreling into the wall at top speed. The doctors say that’s probably for the better.

“Boyfriend?” Lance supplies helpfully around the straw in his mouth. He’s continuing his bad habit of gnawing on the plastic, the taste reminiscent of the tube he had woken up choking on, but also of the bottle he would carry around during race weekends.

Fernando motions at him appreciatively, “Yes. This. I am this.”

His dad’s scowl deepens, “This isn’t a fever and some rest. It’s physical therapy, cognitive therapy. He will need someone 24/7.”

He is sitting right here, and he doesn’t necessarily agree. Lance is needy in the same way a cat is, he craves attention only as long as it is wanted, too much and he will probably begin scratching at you. But there hasn’t been much in his control since he lost the wheel at Silverstone.

“Okay. I will do that.” There’s not a hint of hesitation in Fernando’s tone, when Lance knows there absolutely should be. Whatever unestablished thing is between them, it’s far from stable enough to rest Lance’s entire laundry list of medical issues on, or at least Lance thought it was.

“I can hire someone too, Lawrence,” Fernando pushes, “You are not the only man with money. Lance has not lived with you since he was a child, yes? He needs familiarity. Routine? That is not in your mansion. Let him come home.”

Home.

Is that what Fernando’s place is to him? Most of his memories there are the sort that speak less of a home and more of the flat you wake up in after a one-night stand. Strewn clothes and half-finished bottles of beer on the kitchen counter, The warm press of Fernando’s body along his bare back. Would he be healing on the same sheets they routinely fucked on? Propped up on the pillows that know the shape of his teeth?

Is home where you have a drawer and your PlayStation hooked up in the living room? Or is it the childhood space where you keep a collection of Pokémon cards and karting trophies to collect dust? Lance isn’t sure, mainly because he’s never stayed in one place long enough to really understand the feeling.

His dad throws the last card in his arsenal, the thing they all three have been wondering at.

“And what about the season? You’re done then?”

Fernando bites his lip, thinks on it.

“I go back when he does.”

No one wants to state the obvious, least of all his father. Fernando has played the winning hand, deploying the same dirty tactics he’s fond of utilizing when behind the wheel.

Lance stops chewing on the straw. He stops picking at the blanket. Instead, he just stares blankly at the fabric and tries to tune their bickering out. He’s getting a headache, the kind of stabbing pain that only comes when he tries to think too hard about a memory that has escaped him. It’s easier to blame the pain on the bright fluorescent’s, or the way Fernando’s voice is starting to rise, instead of the crack in his skull.

In the end, he goes with Fernando. He asks to go with Fernando, because as much as he loves his father, he cannot stand the thought of trying to make himself fit in a space that no longer knows the shape of him.

“We did get along, so you know,” Fernando says when Lance is buckled into his passenger seat, groggy from the meds they’d dosed him with. Supposedly, they’re supposed to help Lance with the nausea, manage it during the ride.

“When I was ‘sleep?” Lance slurs, still not calling his coma by its name. He’s got his head resting on the car window even though the nurses had warned him not to do that. He’s supposed to be focusing on stationary things within the car, like the warm weight of Fernando’s hand on his thigh, not watching the trees whip by outside while his skull rattles against the glass.

“Yes,” Fernando says, focused on the road with an intensity Lance has only ever seen him possess when behind the wheel, and therefore does not realize the implication of his answer. That he and Lance’s father could only get along as long as Lance was the unconscious white flag waving between them. He tries to backpedal. “No, that is not-.”

Lance shrugs, lethargic, “S’okay. Go back to sleep for you then.”

“Querido no, that is not what I meant,” Fernando actually sounds pained, the nickname rolling of his tongue with an ease Lance did not realize could be familiar to them. Lance just feels exhausted. Consciousness actually takes a conscious effort these days.

“Lance?”

“Hmm?”

“I did not mean that. You know I did not mean that, yes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He’ll probably forget the conversation by the time he wakes up anyway, memories leak out of him now the same way his blood had.

--------

Surprisingly, Lance has more at Fernando’s UK home than he remembers. Or, unsurprisingly, depending on how much you take his brain injury into account.

He’s got half a bottle of shampoo in the shower, a razor and toothbrush at the sink, most of his hoodies and a good chunk of his sweatpants. Somehow, his favorite pair of socks has even ended up here, thrown in with Fernando’s dirty clothes and discovered by the cleaners. He takes to padding around the place in the loungewear, hood pulled over his head and keeping his hands tucked into the hoodie pocket – subconsciously splaying a palm along his stomach as he always has, but now pressing at his healing abdomen with newfound curiosity.

Fernando will catch him doing it sometimes, grab him by the arm and then the wrist until he can pull Lance’s probing fingers away from the tender skin and entwine them in his own.

“It won’t heal if you pick at it.”

“Feels weird. Itchy.”

It also sometimes hurts so much that Lance finds himself crying silently into the pillow while Fernando sleeps soundly beside him. The phantom pain of an injury he does not remember. When Fernando checks that the healing is coming along nicely, Lance deliberately does not watch. He hasn’t actually seen the incision since he accidentally looked while a nurse at the hospital was cleaning the wound, and nearly lost his light lunch of applesauce and pudding at the sight. It’s ugly, disgusting, and Fernando seems completely unphased by it.

Fernando squeezes his hand, raises it so he can press a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, a quickly forming new habit for him, “I’m sorry, cariño.”

Apologies flow from him easily now. He apologizes for splashing Lance with water when they’re washing dishes. Apologizes for grabbing Lance when he slips in the shower. Apologizes for the simple way the words seem to flow off his tongue now. It’s strange to Lance, stranger than waking up choking on a plastic tube with your dad on one side and your long-term fuck buddy/partner/boyfriend/mentor on the other. Stranger even that it’s coming from Fernando Alonso of all people, who notoriously does not apologize.

Lance is used to arguments between them ending in mutual silence on either end of the couch, not Fernando pressing a kiss to the furrow between his brow and asking for forgiveness.

“Stop doing that,” Lance grumbles, for what must be the hundredth time.

“Sorry.”

“Fernando.”

“Sor- okay,” and then he kisses Lance’s cheek with the gentleness of atonement anyway. Lance misses when Fernando would just slam him against a wall, crowd him against the marble of the kitchen counters, and talk Lance into sinking to his knees. Not that it ever really took much talking to begin with.

Fernando doesn’t fuck him anymore, which he thinks is maybe the biggest travesty to come out of all of this. Instead, he trails careful fingers down Lance’s side, presses kisses to his neck, his shoulder, his jaw with a tenderness that should be considered foreplay. Then he pulls away, leaves Lance half-hard in his sweatpants, and pretends he doesn’t notice the pout on Lance’s lips. Lance doesn’t beg, at least not before Fernando has gotten him undressed, and he’s not going to ask Fernando to suck his dick while the man is on his knees making sure Lance’s abdomen is still healing properly. So it becomes another thing they just don’t talk about. Lance is worried he’s picked up his father’s habit for avoidance.

--------

Nearly three months after his crash, Lance’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him. His therapy is going well, all three of them. The physical therapy for his legs, because they’d gotten fucked up too, though on a much smaller scale, and for his hands and for – well, for every part of him, is almost familiar. He’d done a few rounds of physio for his wrists after his bike accident, though those had been high intensity because Lance actually had a deadline. The cognitive therapy is more of a challenge, because his memory is still shot to shit, but he can remember Chloe’s birthday again so at least there’s that. The therapy therapy is kind of annoying, only because Lance has never really seen the value of shrinks picking apart his mental state to begin with, but it’s easy. Sometimes they play Jenga, sometimes they talk about how Lance is scared he’ll never be the same again, sometimes Lance excuses himself to the bathroom and screams until his voice is as hoarse as it had been once the intubation tube was removed. It’s all a process.

But he still doesn’t remember the crash.

He can see the reflection of it in Fernando’s eyes sometimes, the fear, the shame. The guilt is the worst, usually brought on when Lance jerks awake from a dream he cannot remember and finds Fernando watching him in the dark with eyes shining.

“You okay?” He will ask, propped up on an elbow and tracing a finger along Lance’s spine. The touch sends shivers through Lance, want and need all bundled up in the foggy confusion as his brain tries to reorient itself.

“Fine.”

“You are sure?”

“Definitely.”

Talking was never their strong suit. But Lance has always been able to read people, an ability fine-tuned after years of rejection. He likes to know when people are planning to turn on him before it happens, doesn’t want to be blindsided by a journalist asking him some probing question only to see if they can get a response. He can see Fernando’s guilt, and eventually he caves and searches for the why.

F1 TV, or his father, or maybe the FIA have made a herculean effort to scrub the full footage of the crash from the internet. But Lance has grown up in the age of the digital, so it doesn’t take him long to find it on YouTube, under a video titled “Canadian Buries it in Wall – ’24”. Inventive.

What he remembers is this, sitting beside Fernando in the pre-race briefing. Both of them trying to listen to Mike explain the stacked pit strategy again, but also occupying themselves with each other. Lance, dick still aching from being teased in his driver’s room, was feeling particularly vindictive. He’d been inching his foot slowly up Fernando’s pants leg, his hand up the inside of Fernando’s clothed thigh.

Fernando hadn’t responded. Sat ramrod straight in his seat and kept his eyes glued ahead. Until Lance just barely brushed his knuckles along the bulge in Fernando’s pants and received a sharp pinch to his own thigh in response.

“Ow!” Lance had yelped, loud enough that a few engineers turned to look at him.

Lance had blushed, “Hit my- hit my knee, sorry.”

And then he’d woken up in the hospital. The irritation to his thigh replaced by the throbbing pain that occupied his entire body.

He wants to remember, and so he hits play. He watches himself drive like he’s analyzing onboards for where he can maybe improve, with the same detached feeling. There’s Fernando behind him, and Russel ahead, and Lance in the middle of it all holding his ground. Fernando’s given the order to back-off, told not to fight because Lance’s tire management has been better, and he’s got the speed and clean air for now. Their fight is with Russel, except that Russel was six ahead and Fernando wanted to play sooner rather than later.

The commentators say Lance is driving surprisingly well, he tries not to grind his teeth.

And then Fernando pulls out of the slipstream, makes a charge to overtake in the straight, and Lance sees himself move. Just a twitch of the car, a fraction of movement in an effort to defend, before Fernando’s front right tire clips his back left and Lance spins. He can see himself try to overcorrect, but then the car goes sideways, the tires leave the track when he skitters across marbles, and he’s flipping until there’s only the wall to stop him.

The red flag is immediate, so is Fernando’s stop when he pulls into the gravel and doesn’t even hesitate to book it to Lance’s on fire car.

“Lance. Lance are you alright? Lance. Respond. Confirm you’re alright,” Andrew’s voice comes through the broadcast, but Lance’s own response does not. It’s eerily quiet, especially in the empty space of Fernando’s house when the man isn’t there to bring life to it.

They play a message from Esteban who drives by, the Frenchman’s voice laced with worry as he asked, pleaded, for Lance to be okay. Lance understands now why Esteban had looked so pale when they’d spoken last. When Lance had been curled up on Fernando’s couch, shrouded in shadow because the lights hurt his head, and Esteban had been sat in the chair across from him. He’d thought it was maybe because they were in Fernando’s house, thought the strangeness of the setting might have just had Esteban on edge. He hadn’t realized it was because his best friend had seen his on fire car and thought for a moment he might not get out.

It's suddenly a little hard to breathe. He blames the tightness in his chest on his ribs, even though those have healed by now.

“Lance?” Fernando’s voice in the doorway, quiet, worried.

Lance jumps, winces when he pulls at something sore, and slams the laptop shut with enough force that he’s a little scared to open it again. His eyes dart to Fernando’s and-

Oh. The guilt. He’s drowning in it.

“Fer, I’m sorry, I- fuck. I just…I didn’t- I’m sorry,” and now he’s the one gushing apologies, wanting so badly to tear his gaze away from the tears building in Fernando’s eyes. He shouldn’t have looked. It was easier when he didn’t know the shape of his body in the wreckage, when he didn’t know it had been Fernando who ran to him, who crashed into him. Pandora’s box and all of its contents are spilling across the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says again, because Fernando still has not moved from the doorway and he’s not sure what else he could do. He can’t walk to him, his leg is still aching from physio, hence the whole curled up in bed watching his own life-threatening crash while Fernando was supposed to be out picking him up a ridiculously overpriced smoothie from his favorite place down the road.

“No,” Fernando chokes, “No. Lance. No. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I-“ Fernando chokes again and then he’s sobbing. Lance’s spirulina, coconut, gold flaked smoothie still clutched in one hand and his free one wrapping around himself as he doubles over in the doorway.

Lance does go to move then, sore muscles be damned.

But when he grabs Fernando, the man only sobs harder. He doesn’t pull away though, he needs Fernando for the support now. His thigh is killing him.

“Fer, Nano, baby, please. It’s okay. I’m okay.” He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, because Fernando doesn’t cry. He bottles everything up, ghosts Lance for a week, and then comes back as if nothing was ever wrong in the first place. Lance doesn’t know how to comfort him, and he doesn’t think that’s something to be blamed on the memory loss, he’s almost certain this is entirely new to them.

Fernando collapses against his chest, Lance stumbles under the weight of them both. His body protests the sudden movement, something sharp and hot spiking it’s way through him, starting in his leg and moving to the incision scar on his stomach.

He gasps, tries to breathe through the pain. It’s kind of like how his wrists were after a race, before he plunged them into a bowl of ice, he can manage.

“I’m okay,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound too tense. There’s sweat breaking out along his brow. He kind of wants his smoothie. “I’m okay, Fer. I promise.”

Fernando’s tears are soaking the fabric of his hoodie. Lance cradles the back of his head, and ignores the damp feel of them against his chest, ignores the warm heat of Fernando’s breath as he tries to find air.

“An accident,” he wails, “I swear, Lance, I swear.”

“I know.”

He saw, just now, could clearly see himself moving and see Fernando slamming the brake to try to stop it. He sees Fernando running. Running to him. People who hurt Lance intentionally are hardly ever concerned enough to check on him afterward, some of them think he deserves the knife twisted inside him simply because he can afford the medical bill. He knows Fernando would never try to hurt him, but he also knows nothing he says could absolve the guilt.

“I know, dude. And I love you, but could we maybe move this to the bed? My leg is killing me.” Fernando, thankfully, lets himself be maneuvered until Lance is sitting on the edge of the bed and Fernando resting solidly in his lap, knees bracketed on either side of his thighs. It’s the most contact they’ve had since Lance woke up, it’s making him a little heady.

Fernando rests his cheek against Lance’s shoulder, cries into the crook of his neck, and Lance tries to soothe him as he takes intermittent sips from his smoothie that he’d pulled from Fernando’s grip before it ended up spilled across the sheets. He rubs a hand along Fernando’s back, a pantomime of how his dad used to calm him down when he had a rough race and had to blow off steam in his driver’s room. It’s not working very well. Lance is maybe bad at this.

“I shouldn’t have watched the stupid video,” he grumbles. Knowing the how has not brought him any peace, only made him realize the true severity of his injuries. His therapist might have been right in saying to stop pressing at the wound, Fernando too for pulling his hand away.

“I could have killed you,” Fernando cries, “I almost killed you. You- you were-“

“I know, Nando, I know. Please, just- just stop. Please.”

It’s too much too fast. Fernando’s guilt, his own brain trying to process it all, the headache forming at his temples and the exhaustion crashing down on him. He’s tired all of the time now. And not in the lazy way he once was, like a big cat stretching in a patch of sunlight, more like someone who’s been crumpled in their car and extracted without all of the pieces smoothed back out.

He wants to sleep. He maybe wants to cry himself.

“Thought I would lose you,” Fernando mumbles, miserable and quiet, his stubble rough against the soft skin of Lance’s neck when he speaks.

“You didn’t. I’m safe. I’m right here.”

Lance hadn’t realized he was Fernando’s to lose, didn’t really put the pieces together until now that he maybe belonged to someone other than his family. He didn’t think anyone would ever actually want him. It’s a weird feeling, makes something beneath the scarring and the healing wound in his gut twist.

“You have me. I’m right here. I’m safe. I’m here.”

I’m okay, he thinks, and he starts to believe that it will be true.

#there may be a chapter 4 actually #I wanted to write more but I didn't want the chapter to be stupid long #strollonso #strollonso fic #my fic #lance stroll #fernando alonso

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coconut-cluster · 10 months

Text

Logan has never regretted his decision to move off campus after freshman year. He lived in a dorm that first year, by requirement from the university - something about finding a community and getting used the campus, i.e. paying thousands more in room and board on top of tuition to fill the university's pockets - and sure, he'd been excited about it, to some extent. He met Patton and Roman and Virgil from the experience, and he'd gotten lucky with a room that looked out over the forest that surrounded the campus, much to his delight. It certainly could have been worse. But he was an only child who grew up with an entire townhouse mostly to himself - he needed his space. One can only stomach communal bathrooms for so long.

He was on his own when it came to financing an apartment, but after rooming with Patton for a year already and crunching the numbers of his scholarship reimbursements, it was the only logical option. Patton's eye for decorating and his own proclivity for Excel-spreadsheet budgets made the transition smooth, almost comfortable. He's never looked back.

He does, however, regret getting an apartment so damn far from campus.

By the time he's finished with editing the latest batch of articles and desperately craving caffeine, it's late evening, the sunset hidden by trees and a storm rolling over the hills outside his window. He pauses at his desk and hears the distant crash of thunder - it's perfect weather for coffee in front of the window-nook Patton's carved out with pillows and bookshelves. He could brew a pot now and be cozied up before the rain starts.

Patton's in the kitchen, though, with a singsong medley of dishes and off-key humming to the radio that drifts down the hall to Logan's room. Patton never minds company, but Logan minds the loose-limbed energy of Patton's cooking. Too many potholders to the face would put anyone on high alert. Besides, it's Thursday.

It's Thursday, and Logan chose an apartment light years away from campus, so he has to start driving now if he wants to catch the end of the evening shift.

Patton shoots him a bright smile as he cuts through the living room, raincoat and umbrella in hand.

"Going out?" he calls over the radio. Before Logan can answer, he glances at the calendar hung by the breakfast nook, and his smile colors with knowing. "Oh, Solipsis night. Get me a hot chocolate?"

Logan grabs his keys with a nod. "Cinnamon?"

"Yes sir-ee. Be safe on the roads, it's gonna come down real soon." Logan gives another nod, and just before he closes the door, Patton calls out with that knowing grin, "Give Jan a kiss from me!"

Logan slams the door before he can react.

Solipsis is, in many ways, a college student's approximation of paradise. It's on the historic main street of the city, where all the buildings are entresol-style and made of old brick - the café sticks out against a row of random university offices, shedding golden light onto the street through a big window with its name painted in big, blocky letters. It's got two levels, connected by a winding metal staircase; the first floor stretches deep into the building, lined with big, oaken tables for study groups or impressive spreads of journals and textbooks and laptops. The second is a smaller loft, dotted with round tables where solo students hole themselves up for hours at a time in relative silence. The whole place is covered in hanging plants and warm bauble lights - it's ridiculously easy to forget how late it is when everything is golden and set to indie folk music. It's a genius business venture in a town full of exhausted college kids.

("It's pretentious," Janus insists, frequently. "Unfinished oak with iron stairs, I mean, Jesus, really? And calling it Solipsis- you can tell it's owned by some uppity philosophy student."

"You're an uppity philosophy student," Logan reminds him every time. He does not remind him that he willingly chose to work there in the first place.

Janus just rolls his eyes. "At least I've got taste.")

Regardless of taste (or lack thereof), Solipsis is a hotspot. Logan steps in just as evening thunder starts a steady beat outside, hardly surprised to see most of the tables occupied by students in various states of distress and exhaust.

Roasted coffee and rain mix as he takes a deep breath past the doorway. Behind the counter, a lone barista mans the espresso machine, pushing stray hairs out of her face and eyeing him like she'd rather he walk right back out the door than up to the counter. He pretends to read the sandwich board of specials and simply waits.

A moment later, the door to the back room flips open and Janus bustles over to the register, arms full of paper cups in neat towers. He ditched the black jacket he'd worn to class for the cafe's uniform apron, with the sleeves of his sweater - as they rarely are - pushed up to his elbows, baring his wrists, where the beaded friendship bracelet Patton made for him years ago sits. His face is set in a focused frown as he sets to restocking the counter.

Logan waits a moment longer at the specials board, giving Janus a minute to finish a stack before he ambles up to the register. Janus looks up - his hair is pushed back in a hurried swoop, a very Roman style that he's picked up in recent months - and the frown gives way to a familiar almost-smile.

"Oliveira," he sighs, grabbing two cups from the fresh stack and scribbling shorthand on their sides. "Come to harass me yet again in my place of work. Never a day's reprieve from your antics."

"I didn't say anything yet," Logan deadpans as he pays, "and I don't think ordering drinks at the ordering-drinks-establishment counts as harassment."

Janus tils his head with a saccharine smile. "You're so creative."

The barista working at the espresso machine takes the cups from his hands, pulling milk and syrups out with practiced speed, still eyeing Logan with thinly veiled disdain.

Janus joins her in mixing the drinks as Logan idles by the counter, with no one else lined up behind him to prompt movement. After a moment, Janus returns to his cup stacks, moving to restock the empty spots on the back wall. Logan eyes the clock above his head.

"You're here late," he comments, and Janus glances back before following his gaze to the time with a grimace.

"I agreed to stay a half hour longer," he says with an unmistakable air of regret. "They had a new hire close last night, and he majorly screwed up waste inventory- surprise, he wasn't trained before they stuck him on the shift, no clue how that happened." The other barista snorts. "Anyway, the manager opened this morning and lost their shit, said they're really cracking down on the closing checklist being done perfectly, whatever the hell that means. I stayed behind to get as much started for Freya as I could before I head out."

The other barista - Freya - looks completely dead-eyed at the prospect of closing, but she sends Janus a small smile regardless.

"Of course, the one night I stick around is the night it starts pouring," Janus huffs. It storms more than the sun shines here, but Logan just nods sympathetically, glancing out the window to find the rain has started up with a crack of lightning. He looks back as Freya slides two drinks across the counter to him, flashing a practiced, split-second smile in response to his nod.

He eyes Janus for a moment, blowing into the little hole on the lid of his drink to cool it down and listening to Janus' barely audible grumbling about his hair and his shoes and his forgetting an umbrella, somehow, until Logan pipes up, "Do you need a ride?"

Janus pauses - grumbling and stacking - and shoots a frown over his shoulder. "You drove here?"

"I always do, if I'm not coming from campus," says Logan. He gets a blank stare in return. "It's too far to walk from my apartment."

Instantly, cup stacking is no longer Janus' top priority. He turns to face Logan again, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Freya swiftly takes over his task, sending a furtive glance at them as Janus studies him. "You drive here every week?"

"Yes."

Janus stares at him, really stares. "There's, like, five coffee shops near your apartment."

"Six, actually." There's even one on the first floor of his apartment building. It's stuffy and the coffee is always burnt. Cheap, though.

"You could walk to any of those."

"I suppose."

"Why are you wasting gas to come all the way here?"

"It's not a waste," Logan frowns, and Janus' eyebrows shoot up.

"Our coffee's not that good, Oliveira. I promise you can get a mint mocha at the place on 3rd-"

"I like your coffee."

Freya, now refilling lids, shoots a very overt, smug glance over her shoulder at Janus, but he doesn't look away from Logan. The lighting in the café is dim near the counter; Logan must be imagining the pink flush on Janus' face.

"My coffee," Janus repeats.

"Your coffee," Logan says with a nod, and Janus gets that same blank stare as before, uncomprehending. "The way you make it. It's not the same at other cafes." He lifts his cup, pushing the sleeve down with a small smile. "And other baristas don't do this."

Janus' eyes fall to the heart doodled under Oli, and the pink on his face deepens to a pretty red.

"Well," he putters, uncrossing his arms to smooth his apron, then crossing them again, then picking at a loose thread on his sleeve that conveniently tears his attention from the cup. Logan holds it up still. "They might, if you spent all your time bothering them at work. It's not my fault you've chosen me as the target of your idle drivel."

"Oh, of course." Logan entertains the idea of teasing him - there is this barista at the café in my building, they asked for my number once, I guess I could bother them - but instead he just sips his drink and watches Janus with a little smile. "I just prefer Solipsis, I suppose."

Janus unties his apron with a huff. "You're annoying."

"Very creative."

"Shut up."

He disappears into the backroom before Logan can respond, emerging a minute later with his bag and coat in hand. Freya waves goodbye as he stalks out past the counter and up to Logan. Like every Thursday - every Solipsis trip before, coffee in hand and Janus off work and the walk to his apartment a trip Logan silently insists on making with him - he's acutely aware of the stray hair falling in Janus' face, the pink still lingering under his freckles, the smell of coffee and caramel on him.

"Driving here in a storm just to torment me is ridiculous," Janus says, significantly more composed than before, haughty once more, "but lucky for you, walking home in this weather would be more ridiculous. So I will grace you with my presence and take the ride home."

Logan raises his eyebrows. "Oh, but I thought I was annoying-"

"I will steal your car."

"...Come on."

(Living so far off campus, at least, gives him this exchange to look forward to.)

#loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #uni au #this isnt edited you just get it #not really a drabble. whoops #this was ten lines when i pulled it out of my drafts #logan gets to be a little silly in this one #fellas is it gay to drive 15 minutes to your rival's work to flirt then walk him home then walk back to your car and drive 15 minutes home #lexi writes #<< been a WHILE for that tag lmao

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journeywynter · 1 year

Text

Home

Pairing: GeorgeNotFound x Reader

Song Inspiration: Hey There Delilah - Plain White Tees

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 3,766

Warnings: Not proofread. Swearing, I think, really just the use of damn if that counts?

Summary: Take a look into Y/n and George's relationship between late-night calls and long-distance talks before George finally receives his visa and is able to meet the person he's loved through a screen all these years for the first time.

A/n: Timeline might not really match up but this is all fiction so it's okay. This isn't the fic I wanted to post but I wanted to put something else out there and the one I'm working on is a lot longer than I anticipated and taking a lot longer to work out than I thought. I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey there, Delilah, what's it like in New York City?

I'm a thousand miles away, but girl, tonight you look so pretty, yes you do

Time's Square can't shine as bright as you

I swear it's true

"How has everything been? Are you doing alright? Did you sleep enough?" George questions through the phone. Just barely did he let me get a simple 'hi' in before he began his assault. Not that I mind it much, it's nice knowing how much he cares. It makes up for the fact that I can never see him face-to-face. I've offered to fly out to him but he's refused time and time again. Something about not being sure he'd be able to let me leave if we met before he finally moves to the states. I think really he's a bit scared but I'd never push him if he is, so I just accept his excuse. Still, it doesn't make it easier, especially not with our five hour time difference. It makes catching each other difficult and sometimes I just miss his voice.

"I'm perfectly fine, no need to worry about me. How are you? You just got done recording with Dream and Sapnap, yeah? How'd that go? Have you gotten anything to eat or drink yet?" Listen, I never said I wasn't just as bad as he was, I could be far worse though. He gets so into his recordings and streams he'll go long periods of time without drinking any water or eating any meals, let alone a snack. I'd rather like it if our first time meeting wasn't because I'm rushing out there on a whim because the man doesn't take care of himself.

"Yeah, yeah, I took care of myself today, love. No need to worry about all that." He reassures me, which honestly does very little because I know his version of taking care of one's self, but I choose to trust him this once. "Have I told you that you look positively stunning today?" It comes from his mouth, smooth as butter, yet I imagine he spent some time rehearsing those words. I doubt it was to a mirror, but I find the image in my head hilarious so I don't bother with asking him how it was practiced.

"Really? I'm just getting back from a day out vlogging and I'm sweating and disgusting."

"You never look disgusting to me." He's quick to say, almost too quick, maybe I'm more predictable than I like to imagine.

"Oh yes, I'm sure," I muse with a smirk, "I don't doubt you would be saying that even if I was covered completely head to toe in mud."

"I don't think you ever could not look perfect to me. I'd stare at you over any shiny lights any day."

"Even Times Square?" I question him. Times Square all lit up has to be hands down the most beautiful thing I could fathom. The city itself is an entirely different situation. Though I love it, even with it being a bit run down, it tells a story and it's lived in. It's a mixing pot of all different types of people, all willing to share a chapter of their life with you if you dare to ask. The people you see, the places that are loved, the lights of the city are the definition of beauty.

"Times Square could never compare to you."

-----------------

Hey there, Delilah, don't you worry about the distance

I'm right there if you get lonely, give this song another listen, close your eyes

Listen to my voice, it's my disguise

I'm by your side

I've had a horrible week. The video I was set to put out tomorrow got corrupted, the files all got damaged somehow as well, something I can't seem to fix. The audio on my back up videos is gone. It's just not there at all and I can't exactly just do a voice-over for them. I promised I'd have something out and I know it's not a huge deal, I'm sure everyone that watches would understand, yet I can't help but feel like I'd be disappointing them.

I had a fight with my parents, they've never particularly liked how I make my living. They thought I'd grow out of it by now and gotten a 'real job' and I had thought after all this time, they'd see it's far more than just a hobby to me and at least start trying to understand. It's my passion, I couldn't imagine ever doing anything else with my life, this is where I'm meant to be.

And I can't even talk to George today to make it any better. Tommy is streaming and one of the people he originally had with him, Jack Manifold, had to drop out for some personal reasons. George being the friend he is, stepped in to fill the place. I don't blame him, obviously, it's so sweet that he'd drop all his plans to support his friends, it just sucks a bit.

That's why, instead of being productive like I should be and trying to figure out my problems, I decided to join the stream half way through. If I can't talk to him personally, at least I'll be able to hear his voice. It's always comforting. It's almost nice even to hear Tommy's obnoxiously loud voice accompanying him as well.

"So, George, I do have to thank you for coming. You weren't meant to be doing anything important, right?" He overplays it for the audience, almost like he's joking, perhaps even being condescending, like George has nothing going on for himself, but being friends with Tommy allows you to see past the ruse. He genuinely hopes he hadn't pulled George away from anything.

"It's good. I was meant to be talking to my girlfriend but she understood. She actually almost forced me to show up for you when I tried telling her if she needed me then I'm sure you'd be able to find someone else to step in."

"Ah, how's she doing? How are you guys doing? what with the distance and all?" We hadn't told anyone aside from from close friends, Tommy being one of them, that we were together. Everyone else knows that we're both in relationships, respectfully, but not a lot of information aside from that is known to the public.

"She's good, she's got some big plans coming up that she's excited about, been working on them for awhile now. I don't like to delve into anything but she's great. I really think she's the one. I haven't told her that yet, but I do think she's it for me."

And just like that, without even knowing it, he made one of the worst days I've had by far into one of the best.

Oh it's what you do to me.

----------------

Hey there, Delilah, I know times are getting hard

But just believe me, girl, someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar, we'll have it good

We'll have the life we knew we would

My word is good

Hey there, Delilah, I've got so much left to say

If every simple song I wrote to you would take your breath away

I'd write it all

Even more in love with me, you'd fall

We'd have it all

It's been harder than ever, recently, finding time to interact with George. Our careers are blowing up more than ever, we have more of a responsibility now and we're feeling the pressure of producing content like we're robots only programmed to push out video after video, stream after stream. I love this, it's what I've always wanted, but I think a break is in order soon.

It's weighing on my relationships, my family, my friends, and even with George. We send good morning and good night texts every day, yes, but it's starting to feel disingenuous when that's all we ever say. I just wish there was time to properly interact, have genuine conversations where we talk about our aspirations and not just surface-level fixations. I'd like to not talk about the next time we're scheduled for a video just this once.

It doesn't help that I started college, just as a fail-safe. Really a compromise to get my parents off my back for the time being. The classes have been adding to my never-ending pile of stress. I love the course I'm taking and I'm actually glad that I decided to go through with it, if for nothing other than it being something I'm interested in, but that doesn't mean the long classes with hours of homework haven't been hell.

Maybe I'm happy, for once, that all this has stacked up on me, otherwise, I probably would have missed the text that only proved that maybe, just maybe, all of this wasn't for nothing and proved that my relationship wouldn't crash and burn either.

Hey Y/n, we haven't really had the time to talk, not recently at least. I just wanted to remind you that I'm still here if you need me, I'm not leaving. I'm not good with talking about how I'm feeling and that gets in the way oftentimes, but I'm happy you're in my life. I love you.

Yeah, George and I will be just fine.

Oh, it's what you do to me

--------------------------

A thousand miles seems pretty far

But they've got planes, and trains, and cars

I'd walk to you if I had no other way

Our friends would all make fun of us

And we'll just laugh along because

We know that none of them have felt this way

"So, Y/n, seems like you've been spending a lot of time on the phone recently. Any particular reason?" Dream asked, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips. The same type of smirk that told me he knew damn well what was going on already.

Not like he doesn't know about George and me, it's just we have been spending more time talking on call recently. I think it's just because everything's finally slowed down for the both of us a bit. I decided to take a temporary break from videos. I do the occasional stream but since I just finished my first year of college, I think I just needed time to recuperate so I didn't completely burn myself out. It was taken extremely well by the public, everyone seemed so understanding. Of course, there are a few bad apples that felt entitled but the overwhelming positivity drowned that all out.

And George, while he hasn't gone on a break, has decided the rate at which he was shoveling out content was getting unhealthy and has reigned it in a bit. He's worked his schedule around so that he's not pushing himself to stream so much and he's no longer pushing himself to record so many videos at once, whether alone or for others.

It seems like we've finally had an opportunity to reconnect properly and it's been refreshing. Like the first breath of fresh air after being cooped up inside for weeks on end. Or the first sip of a hot drink on a day so cold you feel your face going numb.

"Oh Dream, don't you worry, I'm sure you'll get your boyfriend back soon. Can't go ruining our precious DNF, now can I?" I poke fun at their fanbases' favorite pastime, shipping the two creators.

"Oh come on, as if. It's like you're obsessed." He retaliated, jokingly/

"Yes, I'm obsessed. I'm head over heels, somebody please catch me, I might faint." I say monotonously, not that my statement is far off from the truth. I really have fallen for the brunette, more than I'd like to admit. I don't exactly do a very good job keeping it hidden from him anyway.

There's a silence for a moment, one where it feels like it's just teetering between deciding if it wants to be comfortable or not, before the two of us burst into our own fits of giggles. Nothing said was all that funny, but each time we'd go to calm down, we'd fall right back into laughter given the smallest glance at the other. Using the other as support, I straighten up from my hunch position on Dream's couch. The only reason I'm here is that recently he asked George, Sapnap, and me to move in with him. Sapnap was here the very next day, I had taken a little bit more time before deciding there was no harm in joining the, though nobody would know I'd moved in with them until George also moved in at least. Unfortunately, George is still waiting on his damn visa and it seems like he'll be waiting for a while longer.

"I'm happy for you," Dream suddenly sobers up real quick, a serious expression covering his typically relaxed face, "the both of you. I've known you both a long time, I don't think I've ever seen either of you happier than when you got together."

"Thank you, Dream. That means a lot, especially coming from you." I admit. "And don't worry, I'm sure you'll find someone else, too. As much as I love DNF, George is mine. You'll have to find a new boyfriend." I jab at him, effectively lighting the mood again.

Delilah, I can promise you

That by the time that we get through

The world will never, ever be the same

And you're to blame

-----------------------

Hey there, Delilah, you be good and don't you miss me

Two more years and you'll be done with school

And I'll be making history like I do

You'll know it's all because of you

We can do whatever we want to

Hey there, Delilah, here's to you

This one's for you

"How is college?" George and I have been on the phone for a little over an hour, having a video date night thing. We're watching the Harry Potter movies in order together like we've done a million times before, while in our pj's with some snacks. This is how a lot of our 'date nights' are and I wouldn't trade these moments together for anything other than being able to do this with him in person.

"They're good. I'm halfway done, about to start my third of four years." I reply, my attention only half on him as the other half is watching Harry as he's confronted with Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack, probably my favorite scene from my favorite installment of the movie series, "Two more years and I'll finally be out of there. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to have had this experience. I'm really glad that I went to college even if I'm not going to be using my degree any time soon, if ever. But it'll be nice to put my YouTube career back into full swing again. And then maybe I'll be able to really play a part in the history you, Dream, and Sapnap are making for the Twitch and YouTube platforms. You guys are making serious waves right now"

"I wouldn't say we're 'making history' per se, but I do realize how big we've gotten. It's crazy how fast it all happened, we all got so lucky. I appreciate all the support we've gotten, I really wish there was a way for me to show it the way I want to but everything feels a bit forced."

"Don't worry, if anyone will be able to figure it out, it'll be you. Just give it some time and I'm sure it'll work itself out. It probably feels forced because it is forced." I reassure him, trying my best to comfort him with just my words. He seems to lighten up a bit, which means I can only hope he'll take my advice.

For a while, we both turn back to our respective TV screens, we're at the part where it's just been revealed that Scabbers, Ron's rat, had been Peter Pettigrew all along. I still remember the shock that ran through my body the first time I watched the movie. Now, I just get angry knowing one of my favorite characters won't be set free and will remain a fugitive. Some say I get too attached to fictional characters, I'd say I'm healthily sentimental and I just think Remus Lupin and Sirius Black deserved better than they received.

Third Person POV

Y/n became so focused on the movie, the anticipation still eating her alive whether or not she know the outcome, that she doesn't even notice George had turned his gaze from the screen to her face on his phone. She's unaware of his thought, all of which revolve around the h/c girl. How he wishes to be there with her, how he wants to finally hold her in his arms and kiss her head when she gets worked up over Pettigrew's escape. How he wants to hold her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles soothingly when she tightens them too hard into a fist to control her anger over something as silly as a movie.

But that won't be happening, not yet at least. She hadn't realized it then, but that was when George decided he'd do whatever it takes to be there, in America, with his lover and his best friends. That's where he belonged. As much as he loves his where he grew up, no matter how much he loves London and the UK, he knows home is wherever they are.

---------------------

Two years later:

Oh, it's what you do to me,

Oh, it's what you do to me.

Y/n finally finished college, which had become easier over the past two years, believe it or not. She was currently getting ready for her graduation ceremony. She and George hadn't talked very much the past couple of days over both being mutually busy. He did know of her ceremony taking place today, she had told him a month prior when she found out the date herself, and he took time to call her briefly to wish her congratulations, making a poor joke about not tripping up while walking across the stage.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, George had gotten his visa, just about a week or so prior. Having known of her graduation ceremony was coming up, he decided he'd surprise her instead of letting her know he was coming. Everything had been extremely rushed, booking the flight for the day before her graduation to make sure he would arrive with enough time to actually be able to show to her graduation. Sapnap had picked him up last night from the hotel room and brought him to a nearby hotel to their house, to his soon-to-be home, while Dream kept Y/n occupied.

Now, he was rushing to get to the predecided spot that Dream and Sapnap chose to lure Y/n to for the big surprise. He was running shaky hands through his hair every few moments as he tapped his foot against the pavement. He'd say, usually, he's pretty good about concealing his anxiety but something about this girl just had him constantly falling apart in the best way possible.

Focusing on his breathing, trying to steady it into even breaths, he heard the sounds of steps growing nearer. Peaking his head up, he saw his two best friends body blocking someone from his view, though more so they were trying to block him from their view.

"Okay, seriously guys, what is going on? You barely gave me time to say goodbye to my friends and thank my professors one last time before almost yanking my arm out of its socket to drag me off!" He heard the voice his only ever heard over static phone calls before and his heart almost stopped. If it wasn't for the fact he could feel his pulse in his skull, he's sure he just might have dropped dead.

"Calm down, this was important. We're gonna step away now, the floor's all your's." Sapnap retaliated before he and dream removed their forms from in front of the girl, breaking their little human shield. Finally seeing the girl face to face, cap and gown and all, had his heart-stopping. It might be crazy but he swears she looks even better in person than she did over the phone, which he swore up and down to be impossible.

It seems like he wasn't the only one in disbelief, the only difference is her's was planned on his end, as all she could do was stare. Was this real? Had she just dreamt up everything she could have hoped for just to open her eyes and be disappointed?

"Dream, pinch me." The h/c haired girl spoke up after some beats of silence.

"What?!"

"I said, 'Dream, Pinch me.' Now do it before I wake up." She demanded, only half expecting him to actually do it so it completely caught her off guard when he did. "Ouch!"

"You told me to pinch you!"

"I know, and I appreciate it, thank you." She gently thank him before swiftly turning back towards George and flinging herself onto him. Her legs wrapped around his waist as her arms made their home around his neck, squeezing him almost to the point of suffocation, not that he minded.

"It's really you. Five years of being with you, many more years of being your friend, all online. Through a screen. And now you're here." She sobbed out into the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath of his scent, willing it to her memory as she was sure she would for everything involving him.

"I'm here, love. I'm not going anywhere not. I'm with you, I'm home." He reassures, whispering sweet nothings into her ear until her breathing begins to steady out and he can feel her wiping her face with the palms of her hands before pulling back, gently unwrapping her legs from his waist to touch the rough ground on her tiptoes, never truly leaving his hold.

"It's really you." She whispers once more, carefully cupping his face between her two hands, so soft you'd assume she was scared to break him like he was made out of porcelain.

"It's really me and it's really you. Just like it should be." He leans down himself, tilting his head a bit to the side, his lips stopping an inch or so from her own.

"Can I kiss you, love?" She swears she can feel her heart stop at his question, eyes shoot up to his excitedly before rapidly bobbing her head up and down.

"I've waited five years for this moment, if you don't kiss me now I'll go insane."

And just like that, their lips finally connected. For the first time in half a decade, they were in the arms of the person they'd loved for so long. The butterflies erupted in both their stomachs as the heat raised to both of their cheeks. George's blush is far more than noticeable to bystanders but neither has a care to give. Not when they're finally home.

Oh, it's what you do to me,

Oh, it's what you do to me.

#georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound x y/n #gnf x reader #gnf x you #georgenotfound #gnf

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transwicky · 4 months

Text

Wicky is always tired.

He tries to sleep. He really does. He even shuts off all electronics two hours before bed, and he only drinks one cup of coffee in the mornings and only so he stays awake for classes or games.

A few times he doesn't bother, and he still struggles to sleep.

When he does sleep - does passing out from exhaustion count as sleep though? - it's only for about an hour or two, three if he's lucky.

Ollie makes it easier, when they share a dorm room their sophomore year, almost a year since they began dating. He'll fall asleep in his boyfriend's arms, relief taking hold as he does.

He's still waking up in the middle of the night though, but he's already gotten more sleep than he did last year.

Coach Hall and Coach Murray worry - have since they found out his freshman year - but there isn't much to do for him. His doctor tried everything, and unless he starts becoming properly nocturnal, he's... Just fucked, he supposes.

Ollie buys a coffee pot, and some coffee and creamer - cheaper, Wicky's lover says, than buying coffee from Annie's or Jerry's every day.

Wicky's pretty sure his eyebags have gotten worse since starting college, but Ollie just kisses him, telling him he looks handsome.

Wicky certainly doesn't feel like it, especially when his teachers pull him aside and ask him if he's alright.

Insomnia, is what he says, and they simply sigh in sympathy, and he goes on his way.

Junior year is a bit worse.

That's when the nightmares start. Well, it's when they start again. He hasn't had one since he was sixteen.

Ollie's losing sleep now too, and he feels awful for it, constantly whispering I'm sorry when his lover is the one waking him up from the nightmare.

Don't be Ollie tells him, but he is.

Senior year, the team finds out. He's in the attic, a scream leaving him as he startles awake, Ollie holding him tightly, yelling it's okay, it's just a dream, just wake up.

Bitty starts trying to come up with recipes that help promote sleep (Dex passes out when he has it).

Nursey looks up alternative ways to fall asleep, like maybe meditation before bed.

Dex looks up scientific studies on it.

Chowder suggests maybe napping during the day.

The nightmares still wake him, but at least Chowder's idea worked for a while.

The tadpoles find out, and Tony makes a carb rich dish for him, going the food route like Bitty did.

Whiskey suggests wearing himself out with exercise.

Foxtrot looks things up with Nursey and Dex.

The Waffles try too.

Louis got close, with his weird lofi music.

Then Hops suggested white noise.

(He dreamt about the horror movie, and it was the worst nightmare yet, this one having him losing Ollie to death, and Ollie cried when he whispered it to him, promising he'd never leave him.)

Bully just suggests knocking him out for a few hours.

(He's fined the most he's ever been fined for that one, and the other two Waffles glare at him for it.)

Ollie makes him go back to the doctor. Maybe the one up where they're at will know more than the one in Wicky's hometown.

He's given a new drug that recently was approved by the CDC and FDA and all.

Wicky cries the next morning, when Ollie wakes him up, already crying too, and says it's seven in the morning, and they need to go before they're late to practice.

#listen i have a hard time sleeping #omgcp #pacer wicks

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scholastic-dragon · 2 years

Note

Hello

I had this on my mind all day and it’s just too good

If your comfortable with it could you do a rocket x Gn reader where his best friend is having a panic attack and he lets them pet him to calm them down (brownie points if you can get him to purr) thanks love the blog 😊😊

Aww thank you! Let's do this *cracks knuckles*

Rocket x Gn!reader

Not Alone

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: ⚠️ reader has a panic attack ⚠️ Rocket being nice, spelling mistakes, Quill being an asshole (he apologizes), fluff

Summary: after feeling like crap for over a month, your resolve finally breaks. Thankfully your best friend is willing to help.

You felt like shit.

No other way to put it.

You could feel your motivation and energy draining with every minute you spent in the wide dark abyss that was space and not on a planet with sunlight.

You'd thought your grandma was lying when she'd said sunlight was good for your health. You see now she wasn't.

It was always dark, and cold, and while you had friends on the Milano you felt lonely. As far as you knew, they didn't have anxiety like you did, they didn't overhtink or worry as much and when you did voice those concerns, you mostly got shut down.

After that you mostly kept it to yourself, which only made it brew and fester worse. You tried to push it down and down until you couldn't feel it anymore.

But instead, you finally broke and it all came crashing down.

Yelling, scraping metal, and the ship jostling woke you up. Your eyes felt heavy, wanting to glue themselves shut and go back to sleep. Your limbs felt like rocks, unable to move from your mattress.

The yelling continued, echoing through the ships ventilation system, you could clearly hear Rocket and Quill arguing again.

Rasing your hand, you glanced at your watch. 8:35 AM. You'd slept in: great.

Sitting up, you threw your blankets off of you, swinging your legs over your bed. Your body ached and hurt, feeling worn and tired.

Not bothering to change, you left the comfort of your room and left for the main lower area.

When you got there, Rocket was standing on the table yelling at Quill who was standing beside it.

Gamora was rubbing her temples, standing across from the both of them. Groot was quietly sitting and eating a bowl of cereal from his old plant pot. Drax was gleefully sitting next to Gamora with a smile on his face.

"It wasn't me, you dumb Raccoon!" Quill yelled, face getting red.

"Stop calling me that!!"

"I will if you just admit that you left the power converters on last night and that's why there's a big burn mark on my seat!"

Your stomach fell, you were the one who left the converters on. You were so tired and wanted to go to bed, you didn't think they could get that hot.

You quiety stepped more into the room, as tired and unstable as you felt, you wouldn't like Rocket take the blame for this.

"I left the converters on," Everyone's head snapped to you, surprised by your tired expression and late appearance. "I thought they turned off and didn't think they'd burn your seat,"

"See?" Rocket gestured to you, making an amused face at Quill. "I told you I didn't do it!"

Quill put his hands on his hips, sucking on his bottom lip. His eyes left Rocket and met yours, you could tell by his expression you were in for a lecture.

"That was really dangerous what you did,"

"I know that, but no one got hurt, and it was just a hole in your seat, you can replace it," you crossed your arms, feeling defensive.

"I shouldn't have to replace it, you should've known better!" Quill pointed a finger at you.

"Don't reprimand me like a child, I'm an adult, Quill-"

"You don't act like one!" Quill yelled over you, waving his hands around angrily. "Lately, you've just been moody and grumpy and it's going to end up hurting one of us. This is the second time this month that you've messed something up and someone could've gotten hurt. You almost took Drax's hand off because you didn't clean the generator!"

Tears stung your eyes, your chest felt tight, your fave felt hot and you could tell your face was red. Your arms tightened around your chest, your breathing picking up.

"I'm trying...I just-" You stuttered, feeling a lump forming in your throat.

"Just, be more careful, it's not that hard," Quill rolled his eyes, turning and walking away, seemingly done with the argument. Gamora gave you a look of sympathy before following him.

Rocket was looking at you, reading your expression, he wanted to say something.

As Quill's words echoed through your brain, you felt that horribly familiar twisting gut feeling. Your body got hot and sweaty, your knees trembling.

Without another second you rushed out of the room, climbing back to your bedroom and slamming the door.

Arms still tightly crossed you sat on the edge of your bed, your chest heaving with heavy but shallow breaths. Tears ran down your face, you sobbed softly, folding in on yourself.

After about 10 minutes of crying, you heard footsteps outside your door. A soft knock came from the other side.

"Hey, Y/n? You in there? You seemed kinda upset earlier, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," You voiced cracked, clearly telling him you'd been crying. You were best friends, but Rocket had a tendency to he brash and blunt and you didn't want to hear it right now.

After a moment of silence, Rocket opened the door, peering in before closing it behind him.

He quietly sat beside you, unsure of what to say, but knowing you probably didn't want to be alone.

"I'm sorry Quill yelled at ya, you didn't have to take the blame, I can take Quill yell-"

"It's not that I can't take Quills lectures or him yelling, it's the fact that he treats me like a child, you all do!" Your voice rose, you turned to face him, more tears rolling down your face. "You all treat me like a child or like I'm less than you because of my anxiety and I hate it, I'm not any less capable. Sometimes I struggle, but I'm not stupid and useless, I'm trying my best and it'd be nice if my friends would actually listen to my problems instead of brushing me off,"

Rocket sat silently as you ranted, your voice kept cracking as tears streaming continuously down your face.

When you stopped ranting and wiped away your tears he gently put his hand on top of yours.

"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like that, I never meant to, I struggle a lot to and I push people away. I promise from here on out I will never brush you off again,"

"Thanks," You murmer softly, taking his small hand in yours and squeezing. Your heart was still racing, the tightening in your chest still crushing your ribcage.

"Do you wanna talk about what's going on?"

"I'm tired and exhausted, I have no motivation and I miss the sun and warm breezes and being outside." You sniffled, using your sleeve to wipe away snot.

Rockets fingers gently rubbed against your hand, encouraging you to continue.

"What Quill said really bothered me and got under my skin and...and..." You trailed off, voice getting quiet. "... I'm having a panic attack,"

Rockets eyes went wide, he'd been on the nasty end of a few panic attacks and knew what you were going through.

Unlike him though your preferred love language was touch, you'd told him repeatedly about your fidget and stress toys.

He sighed, he'd do this for you, just this once.

"Do...do you want a hug?"

You simply nodded, he crawled into your lap, your arms wrapped tightly around him. It was strangely comforting to have him in your arms.

One arm wrapped around his waist and body and the other rested on his shoulder. The tips of his fur tickled the back of your hand. You slowly moved them, wanting to focus on the soft feeling rather than your anxiety.

"I'm gonna regret saying this but...but you can rub the spot between my ears," He grumbled, slightly uncomfortable but wanting to help you.

Your hand moved from his shoulder, right between his ears. Your fingers rubbed and smoothed out his soft fur, his ears moving to the side to give you more room.

Rocket relaxed against your chest, eyes closed, strangely finding comfort in the scratches.

After a few minutes, you were sure Rocket had dozed off, his breathing got heavy and his head was resting on your arm. Then the faintest purring sound started coming from him.

You bit your lip to stop from laughing. When Groot told you that Rocket could purr, you'd thought he was just messing with you to get under Rockets skin.

You inhaled deeply, the tight feeling let go of your chest, your body temperature cooled down, and your tears dried.

Exhaling you let go of all those horrible feelings you'd felt earlier, finally feeling your body relax.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Y/n? Y/n, wake up!" Your eyes blinked open, seeing your dark room again. It'd been a week since your panic attack and you'd felt a little better but still in the dumps.

"Y/n!" Rocket was knocking on your door, he sounded like he did when he finished a huge project. "You gotta get up, I got something to show you, meet me on the landing pad,"

His footsteps retreated deep into the ship. You sighed, sitting up, throwing your legs over the side of the bed.

This time you changed your shirt and put on a clean pair of sweatpants. Slipping on your shoes you walked out of your room and down the hallway to the landing pad.

The smell hit you before anything, it was sweet and warm. You knew it instantly: Sunlight and a warm breeze.

You jogged to the landing pad, exhaling sharply seeing a grassy field outside the ship. You stepped down the landing pad, feeling the warmth midday sun shining down on the field.

The Milano was perched on the top of a hill in a large open field, filled with wild flowers. The sky was a bright blue with little to no clouds, the sun was high in the sky.

"Y/n?" Quill approached you, awkwardly rubbing his palms down his side. "I want to apologize for what I said the other day," He cleared his throat, taking another step closer. "I was upset and took it out on you, which I shouldn't have done. Rocket told me what happened and I'm sorry that we made you feel like that, we'll- no I'll, it was all me- I'll be better at being a better friend to you. I'm sorry,"

You smiled softly at him, punching his shoulder. "I forgive you, thanks for taking us here, I needed this,"

"It wasn't my idea, it was Rocket's," Quill rubbed his arm, playing it off like it didn't hurt. He smiled again before walking back to the ship.

"Were only gonna talk about it once and then never again, got it?" Rocket appeared at your side, arms crossed, not meeting your eyes.

"Got it, I wouldn't dream of it," You raised your arms in defense, smiling softly at him. You reached down, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. "Thank you, Rocket,"

"You're welcome,"

Even if he acted like he didn't have feelings and didn't care, you knew he'd always be there for you. You'd never have to be alone again.

#guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy headcannons #guardians of the galaxy imagine #gotg #gotg headcannons #gotg imagines #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 headcannons #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 imagines #gotg2 imagines #gotg2 headcannons #gotg2 #rocket raccoon imagines #rocket racoon headcannons #rocket racoon x reader #rocket raccoon #rocket racoon and groot #rocket #thanks for the ask!

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slow-button-off · 7 months

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I'm completely with you. Taking into account his on track behavior, him stirring the pot in the media, his family spouting pure nonsense whenever they can, the absolute bullshit that comes from the spanish media, having him on the team has more cons than pros. Added to that Ferrari having to sacrifice their other driver to keep him/his family/his country happy on numerous occasions (both on track and in the media), it really begs the question "what does carlos sainz even do".

Anyway, I have come to the conclusion that unfortunately we'll still get a renewal for him, but it will work out worse for everyone involved. I don't think Ferrari will be able to justify dropping him, especially since he's their last race winner and will probably finish in front of charles in the championship again this year (knowing Charles luck, I can see another 2021 situation happening). If the car next year is better and a repeat of early 2022 happens (🤞) then maybe they can justify it, but if discussions happen before that, which they probably will, I really don't see them dropping him (if they do, I'm sure carlos/carlos snr will be spreading all Ferrari's dirty laundry plus some more in the media). I think Ferrari will be scared to drop him because they'll probably face a lot of criticism. So I think that they'll give him a contract, but not as good a deal as charles will get. And he'll be mad about it, and this behavior will only worsen. And he'll try even harder to be "number 1" and we'll have to put up with everything tenfold. I really see this happening, and it makes me scared.

The only hope I have is if audi or someone else offers him something better.

It's the impeding in quali, the borderline moves while defending that should've been a penalty especially in Monza where had they not been teammates it would've been a slam dunk penalty. But Ferrari isn't going to complain about that.

I also don't like that the spanish media and his dad are stirring the pot sometimes saying it out loud sometimes just implying that Carlos is treated worse and then he goes and gives interviews blaming the fans for that. It's weird.

Idk if he is getting a new contract. Charles has already signed one, and Carlos has been acting especially weird when he is asked about his contract lately. He clearly wants the same contract as Charles which is why his family friend was pushing for that in the media and claiming that Ferrari fans will not take it if they get different contracts. And lately his behaviour as gotten a bit worse so I am genuinely starting to think that it's not going well for him.

at max he'll get a short term extension and rumours say that Ferrari are for example somewhat talking to Alex (and probably others too).

I think his behaviour rn and how much his dad was talking about Audi really hurt his leverage for an extension. They were trying to shop him around to other teams back in Canada already.

Either he is out or he is getting a worse contract than Charles which will be fun.

#asks asks asks

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autisticgaycatman · 6 months

Text

Living in the Shadows: My Journey with Chronic Illness 🤒🥄

Hi, my name is Benji, i'm 21 and my physical health starting declining 6 years ago. In this post i'll just be talking about my health journey :)

My health started declining as soon as i got my first menstrual period when i was 15, ever since then my physical health has gotten worse and worse, along with my mental heath.

i am diagnosed with BPD, anxiety, OCD, social anxiety, C-PTSD, agoraphobia, a mixed eating disorder, depression, autism, dyslexia, and an intellectual disability. I'm in the process of getting a diagnosis for POTS and schizoaffective disorder or bipolar 2.

I started trying to get help for my physical health issues when i was 19 but have been unsuccessful as i had a lot of other issues that could be a reason for most of my symptoms, now most of those symptoms have been relieved and i'm still always medically gaslighted so i've been having to do research and try to relieve the symptoms on my own, if your interested in a post about how to manage your symptoms at home without a diagnosis i can make a post about that. :)

I have to use a mobility aid on bad days, last year i had a few really bad flare ups where i was fainting multiple times every day and i still have periods where i cant stand up or walk on my own.

Lately my chronic illness has been really bad, i've been bed-ridden, i'm booking a doctors appointment and i'm hoping my doctor will take me seriously since she'll be seeing me while i'm in a flare up.

It's hard trying to keep on top of my physical health, mental health, spiritual health, social life, my hobbies, and my relationships. I haven't been able to socialise much and i've been almost completely in-mobile, my bpm raises by 50-90bpm when i stand up, i want to get back to my life. Next week my goal is to leave my house every day as i know being in bed all day every day has made my fatigue even worse, even just going on a 10 minute walk daily will help me be more functional.

#chronic pain #chronic illness #chronically ill #spoonie #pots syndrome #pots #dysautonomia #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #orthostatic hypotension #flare up #health issues

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paintwizard · 8 months

Text

No one asked for this but I know I like reading about people's lives so here's my updates of lately: (warning for poop talk and irritated skin?)

Went to the doctor and got diagnosed with POTS!

Since my mom died (over a year ago) and I moved across the country to live with my sibling/bro in law (almost a year ago now) my appetite has gotten worse and worse and rn its at a low

Since my appointment where I got diagnosed I had to poop into a tub and scoop said shit into a test tube. That wasn't enough. They gave me two more tubes with liquid (poisonous) which I have to mix and shake my poop into... did I not mention to the doctors that one of my symptoms is nausea 😭

I was prescribed (?) A heart monitor to wear for two weeks to check my heart stuff, I can press it when I feel symptoms and then go to the app or little booklet they gave me and log my symptoms

Applying the heart monitor was hell. 0 out of 10.

Here's after applying it. You can see how red I am.

I had to use an abrasive pad (basically sand paper) in 40 strokes in all directions, then the most painful part where My SOUL LEFT MY BODY, I had to rub it with the alcohol wipes.

ooooh boy. It was so much worse than I was anticipating. And the average age of people who wear this product is 74... poor old people skin

My lack of appetite has caused weight loss, but I'm also starting back on my antidepressants so maybe those will help

#sammymadeapost #pots #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #heart monitor #cw poo poo talk

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crestfallercanyon · 1 month

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🛼🪐🦷

Ahhhh, thank you for the ask @incorrectcoldflashblog!!! These are fun (and some of them are tough! thanks for the ask!)

So the 🛼 -- describe my latest wip using five emojis. Ooh, that's not gonna be hard but it's going to make ZERO sense until you read it lol (and hell, even after reading it may be hard), so here we go

🪞🔫🚊📖❤️

(a mirror, a gun, a train, a book, and a heart). you'll have to read to find out!

Next the 🪐! three good things going on in my life right now

I'm moving out of my apartment! I finally can afford a bigger space, and it will be much safer (as my apartment has actually had some gang activity in it for some time now which has been concerning) so I'm excited despite being nervous. I am sure my cat will love it.

I've been running more often, and that's actually really helped with my mental health. I haven't been able to run as much lately and I do see how much it like helps in its absence, so I will be getting back on it, and I've really enjoyed running actually and I used to not. It's also just a good sign that my relationship to my body and food has gotten much better, so, yeah!

While work has been stressing me out because I am freaking busy, it is a much better job than my last job. I was desperately overworked and on a really bad team at my last job. This job does allow for flexibility and is just overall a much more positive environment -- also I really care about the work. So yeah!

And lastly, the 🦷! Personal wisdom or life hack.

Um, hm. I'll give both a personal wisdom and a life hack, because, hopefully they'll both be helpful.

I see a lot of talk about tackling things that you're bad at, and that's great of course. But I also want to remind people that you never have to stick with something just 'cause you're good at it. I was a "gifted child", I love getting academic/work validation, I really do, which can make this a really hard lesson for people like that, but you do not have to do something just because you are good or could potentially be good at it. Being good at something does not mean that you like it, and working to recognize whether you actually like what you're doing or you just like how you feel getting recognition for being good at it is important. I walked away from something everyone told me I could be really good at -- and I know I could be really good at it. But I liked the person I was much better when I was pursuing something else. I wanted to work on a skill that, yeah, I wasn't as good at, but I liked who I was better when I was doing that. I think it made me a better person, which matters to me far more in the long run. So yeah, that's my wisdom for you.

Life hack? If you're overwhelmed or just not feeling like yourself, it's okay to make things easier for yourself. For example, I use paper plates and single use pans for cooking when I can't handle the idea of creating dishes. I tend to start hating myself if I order takeout too much, and I have a hard time coming out of a downswing when I'm just eating popcorn for dinner or not eating, so a home cooked meal is kind of important. BUT sometimes the idea of creating plates and pots and pans to wash later and all that really overwhelms me -- so yes, I have paper plates and single use pans ready so that I can just get rid of it. If you have the money and can do compostable, that's great (and most of the single use pots and pans also double as storage containers). I find this really helps to not feel like "fuck, I'm just cooking to make more chores later, and if I don't do it my apartment will be cluttered and make me feel worse", it's just -- I make the meal and I can get rid of it all, and I'm at least back to square one but now with a good cooked meal I actually managed to make, which helps me get back to feeling more like myself.

These are from the Writers Truth or Dare Ask Game. Thank you so much for asking!

#ask games #writers truth or dare game #thanks for the ask!#ask box games

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moon-megami · 3 months

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New Neurologist

Today I had a very inconvenient auto-rescheduled neurologist follow up appointment. I've only seen the actual Neurologist once, but he didn't find anything 'wrong' with me other than "it's probably migranes", so I got shuffled off to one of his nurse practitioners. This time I got a new one since the old one was no longer there. If anything, the old NP was passionate and caring, which helped. But she was mostly making sure the headache that likes to shatter the base of my skull hasn't came back and that I'm using my CPAP. I've been using 500mg of Magnesium to keep that skull-shattering pain away, and it's working. No one is going to pry that supplement out of my cold dead hands.

She starts out with the broad question "How are you?". A loaded question for someone who has a thousand problems. How am I? For which part of me? I could only muster up that my POTS was acting up because I got a stomach bug last week and my body hasn't caught up. I could kinda tell she didn't really 'follow', not a great sign. I felt slightly dizzy when standing yesterday, I had to use the scooter at the store to get myself a birthday present. She looked at my BP and just said "It's normal". No shit shirlock.

She steers the conversation to my headaches. My regular GP gave me Topimax at the beginning of January to try, but I was really weary of the side effects. I had finally eluded to him the fact I was smelling and tasting cigarette smoke out my nose and it had gotten worse and worse since August (I experienced phantom smells for at least 7+ years), so he gave me a low dose of 25mg Topimax because it could be a migraine aura. Checks out I guess. I've always known I have painless headaches or at least non-conventional headaches. About a week ago I finally noticed the effects and the smell is mostly gone. But the brain fog is still there.

The brain fog. I've always had brain fog since I've been diagnosed with POTS and Dysautonomia 13 years ago. I was 22 when all my issues started. But recently, around August or so (along with the phantom smell), it has gotten so much worse. So much so, that I can barely do my job. I'm a web programmer, and I need my brain to work. I need to be able to write more than a few lines of code a day, and yet, lately, that's all I can muster. Following a few trains of thought has been hard for me the past few months. This is a different beast of brain fog. As I sit there pouring this out to my new NP, tears roll down my cheeks. She asks me if I'm "sure" it just didn't start happening with Topimax (because one of the side effects is cognitive decline and brain fog). I reiterated to her, no, definitely not. If only I could show her my git history, hah.

She says "Let's take a little test". She gets up and brings back a paper, saying it's a memory test or whatever. I thought to myself, ok, this is easy. I don't like being put on the spot but I put my best effort face on anyway. She gave me 5 words to remember at the start of the test. Easy. She put a timer on one minute and told me to list as many animals I can think of. Sure.

"Cat, fish, chicken, dog, ... bird ... lion .. giraffe ....... cat ....." before I knew it, the timer was going off and I was sitting there in a ball pulling my hair out practically. Ugh. Failed that one miserably. I've always been bad at pulling things out of my ass. Go ahead, ask me where anything is. I know exactly where it is, but don't get the word "dresser" out of me when I tell you "its on the thingy over there".

Next was a few math problems, took me longer to answer but I think i was still riled up from the last question. After that I had to repeat back numbers backwards in increasing length, easy.

Next, I had to put an X on the triangle. She hands me the paper. I go straight for the square and mark it and she's like "No... that's the square." FUCK. "oh.. uh.. oh yeah the triangle lol haha". She then tells me to draw the hands of the clock "ten til eleven". I re-read the sentence next to the clock to make sure I understood and drew the clock, perfect, yep.

Next she read me a short story at the bottom of a paper and I answer all the details she asked for after. At the end she asks me for the words at the begining of the test.

Oh yeah. Those.

2 of them I was certain of. Pen and Tie. 2 I wasn't sure but I tried to remember her gestures at the time, Ball and Shirt, surely. The other was a mystery.

She takes the paper and totals the score. She had a slight downturn in her smile as she looked at the answers and the score. She says to me "Perhaps we should refer you to a center for further evaluation.". I asked her what I scored, out of curiosity. She forced a smile and scooted her chair closer to me. I know a polite blow when I see one, and it was coming. "Well... I expected a little higher score for someone your age and education level". There is is. Boom.

I asked her what I scored and what I missed. She said I got a 20/30, which doesn't mean much to me. But apparently, I only remembered 2/5 words, and missed all the number backward questions except for the 2-digit one, she seemed to have forgiven me for the triangle mistake. I drew the clock wrong. WAIT. I DREW THE CLOCK WRONG? Damn, I'm really stupid. Yeah, I drew it as 11:55 and not 11:50. All I had to do was draw a straight line with 2 arrows. Ugh. At least I got all the details in the story right.

So she wrote up some labs I have to go get now, told me to stop taking Topimax, and wrote me a prescription for Qulipta, which, as you know, is a very expensive medication. CBC, TSH, Total T4, B1, B12, Folate, D 25 hydroxy. All will come back normal I'm sure, I've had most of them checked recently anyway. And that referral, which will probably also take months to hear back from. In the car, I was mad at myself and a little sad. What did the test mean for me? I have always had... difficulties in some departments. I know I had learning difficulties, but I've always conquered them. I have never let it define me or interfere with my successes.

As soon as I got home, I wrote my GP an email through my portal explaining that she wanted me to stop taking the Topimax and start Qulipta, and about my test result. I had mentioned the crippling brain fog to him on my last visit too.

He wrote back in the evening, I assume after all his patients for the day. The tone of his correspondence came off to me as slightly spiteful, and I don't know how I feel about it. I've been building up a great rapport with him for 4 years, trusting him with more and more of my symptoms as I went along, him listening to just about every one of them and offering is best knowledge.

"I only have experience with Topimax and not Qulipta, but it seems like they have convinced your insurance to cough up the money for the expensive drug by using your cognitive test to justify taking you off Topiramate."

So was I just... used? Was all that test for was to get a kickback for a drug? It didn't feel like it, surely she wouldn't have bothered with ordering all the labs and that referral for further testing to a completely unrelated center? Talk about knocking me down a few inches more, to how already diminished I was feeling earlier today after my appointment. I feel mad and betrayed, but did he really mean it the way I am taking it? Was he mad I went against his own recommendations?

Again my closest friend is no help, he tries to comfort saying he'd score the same as me. From my quick Google search, and I do mean quick, because I didn't want to scare myself, 'normal' educated people my age don't score that low, even if they try. I don't tell my husband because I don't want him to worry, he has anxiety and worries too much. I only tell him things I am certain about. I don't know what to do with myself but type what I feel here and cry.

I guess that's the point of a blog.

#health #neurodivergent #neurology #mental health #pots #dysautonomia #brain fog

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spiteless-xo · 7 months

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I LOVED THIS CHAPTER JUST BC THEY ADMITTED THAT THEIR RELATIONSHIP WAS REALLY ABUSIVE 👏🏻

Fr, I study psychology and rn I'm studying a case of an abusive relationship and the similitudes made me go like "omg, just like Jean and Reader at tbaw 💀"

Anyways, I have a question hehe In the hypothetical case that Jean actually hitted reader or was about to, Reader would've forgiven him?

thank you so much, i'm glad you enjoyed it!!

oooo, thank you for asking!! putting under a cut because it's a sensitive topic

i really want to say that reader would leave the second jean laid a hand on her. that she would lose all built-up feelings for him in an instant and completely end their relationship... but i don't think she would

even though she's already starting to lose/question her feelings about jean, i think she's still stuck in this cycle of being desperate for his love and making excuses for his behaviour. even when he scared her in the current chapter, she apologized to him for reacting the way she did.

i think jean would hit her and she would be upset, but then she'd try to rationalize it as being a one-time thing. she'd know in her heart that what he did was wrong and so she'd keep it a secret. she wouldn't tell levi, not sasha, and omg DEFINITELY not eren.

there's that quote about frogs in pots. where if you put them in a pot of boiling water, they'll jump out, but if you put them in cool water and slowly increase the temperature, they won't realize what's happening until it's too late.

that's kinda what's happening with jean and reader. his behaviour has been slowly getting worse and worse and she's just getting used to it :( as sad as that is.

i think if he acted this way back when they first met, reader wouldn't have gotten a crush on him. she probably would've hated him.

hopefully, this will be jean's wake-up call to actually be better and change himself 🙏

#tiff.ask #brilium #tbaw.fic #aot #cw domestic abuse #cw ipv

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nanogrem · 5 months

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Not a super happy post, TW? Vague mention of suicidal thoughts and self harm.

Making a little note of my mental health issues lately since I’ll be seeing someone about it the morning and I’m all kinds of nervous - I’m happy I’m having the chance to start treatment so soon though.

So for the last few years I’ve been in some kind of funk that has been steadily progressing. It started out as a weird brain fog that made it really hard to think and “hear” myself - like talking to yourself in your brain. I’d stutter, have to force words out, and sentences would run together and turn into an incoherent jumble of thoughts.

After that came physical symptoms that aligned with my anxiety getting worse; Feeling sick and nauseous all the time, chest pains, heart palpitations, and most noticeably - Vertigo and Hypoglycemia.

I don’t have POTS and I’m cleared for diabetes, my CT scans and EKG I got from my trip to the ER earlier this year we’re also clean so at least I know my brain looks physically alright.

Another thing was how much harder it’s gotten to do basic things; like laundry, cooking, simply getting out of bed and using the bathroom in the morning. I’ll just sit there fighting with myself for a few hours until my back hurts enough to get me moving.

I don’t want to talk about the worse stuff in detail but I’ve struggled with increasingly manic delusions that I struggle to get out of and can’t tell what’s reality and what isn’t, as well as more harmful thoughts towards myself and sometimes other people for many years, I used to be able to talk myself down and calm myself but it’s gotten harder and harder to do so. I’m not physically self destructive aside from mild dermatillomania, picking at existing areas of psoriasis that is on my scalp and behind my ears.

Another big thing was my emotions being all over the place, little things would stress me out so much to the point of tears like my mom having her phone on full volume while watching videos in the living room while I was there watching TV, and my friends not interacting with me directly. I’d get so upset over not being invited to spontaneous get-togethers online (meaning it wasn’t planned and just happened) as well as just people not talking to me frequently. I was aware of my feelings and I knew that clinginess was bad and that other people had their own lives and were not responsible for my happiness so in my head the only option I had was distance myself and self-isolate and remove any ability I might have that would result in me messaging people out of the blue either not thinking or by impulse. Even now I have removed all ability for myself to potentially message my friends from my phone, I still have access to group chats though and them directly from my computer - it’s harder to contact them that way so I do it only when needed.

For the most part my friends were not happy with that, I’m glad they didn’t let me try to cut them off completely because I don’t think that would end well for me at all. I’m a very lonely person and I’m very desperate for any human interaction I can get, which I hate. I wish there was an alternative that didn’t require me to have to go to my friends all the time just because I want to talk about my stupid little art projects or talk about the movie I’m watching. Hell my mom found a little anole in our house that I kept overnight so he had the sunshine to find another spot to Brumate in the morning and the very first thing I did was send them a picture of it to the group chat I have access to.

I want to try and be less annoying? If that makes sense? I made social media to share my art, projects, and even stupid things like fictional characters I like or what lizard I saw today. So I need to use that.

I don’t know how mental health treatment will go, most likely thing is either being referred to a therapist who will hopefully accept insurance or I’m going to be put on medication. Either by my GP or getting a referral to a Psychiatrist, the latter not being super likely though.

Fingers crossed I get lucky either way and that I find a good therapist/medication works well on the first try

#heavy vent - tread with caution

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thesoulesscollection · 1 year

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I wish you would write a fic where Quentin learned to love himself 🥺

Heya, I love this request 'cause I put this grumpy man through so much stuff it's unbelievable.

Down below the one-shot, consist of self deprecation, body image issues but some hurt/comfort & supportive partner Hershell Panzer cause I needed to write about my fav pair, Grumpy Old Men

Self love has never come easy for Quentin from then to even now. Back when he was a younger, more agile man he was able to pull off a confident front. Now in his forties, feeling both incompetent and undesirable, he knows in bitterly grim acceptance he's gotten old. Far from what once was in the good days, trim with lean muscle is gone, so he outright loathes putting any serious effort in his appearance unless mandatory for his job. Of course, he's far from a lazy slob since he does have some respect for himself in all seriousness, he keeps up in his looks.

It was just that he can't find himself to care anymore what he looks like from outsiders looking in. His outfits were plain, in simple one-colors and in his aggravation clung to the wrong spots, where only his worn, drab leather jacket helps him feel better. Again, who in the entire world is willing enough to take a second glance at him, maybe gawk and then whisper miserable truths to one another. How he was a despicable mess rotten to the core from the inside out, way too traumatized to handle, with ugly habits to cope with the trouble he caused solely on his own. So stuck in a restless state of self deprecating turmoil; there's no way to change it, he acknowledged, as he didn't deserve anything good.

"This is ridiculous. I don't know why you're doing this" Quentin snaps, already feeling his blood boil where his craving to pull out a cigarette was phenomenally high, "And I'm in no mood to be annoyed and babied by you"

The thick, muscled arms around his rotund middle further tightened as the bear hug on him hadn't the intention to ever let him go.

"Honey pot. There's no need to be grumpy here. I'm just checking up on you" Hershell somehow says it so light heartedly, gravel voice chipper it would've irritated him if it's someone else but with the man his heart flutters.

"Hersh"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply before his black eyes bore up at the man though the other appears to be unbothered by the harsh tactic.

"You look nice. Always do but you don't need me saying that?" Hershell chuckles, resting his head on Quentin's shoulder when nudging them towards a certain spot.

"Again, is any of this necessary? Cause I feel like it's not and I've got better things to be doing with my damn time"

"Don't be such a sour puss. I'm trying to give you compliments here"

Exhaling a drawn-out deep sigh through gritted teeth Quentin lit up the cigarette between thick fingers and brought it up to his pursed mouth. He could care less if it affects his health for the worse, he's been doing that for years already so why bother to change it now. Or at the very least, stop before the air will attract a musty smell that would push anyone sensible far away. So with a shaky inhale, as lungs slowly fill up with the toxic smoke, he stares off at the distance, "In front of the mirror?" Whatever Hershell was trying to get at he didn't want a part of, "... I really don't want to hear it. So just leave me alone"

"Not happening, grumpy. Under the direct orders from the major here you need some tender love and care and I'll be the one to give it to you"

Soon they stood in front of the body length mirror, feeling uneasy Quentin cuts in like a blunt knife, "Under orders, huh. That's a load of bullshit"

"C'mon now. I've seen how you've been lately…"

"Like what?" He growls in irritation.

"Like you've been tired lately. Depressed"

A futile attempt to not show his frustrations was shown anyways as he rolled his eyes anyways where the other simply continued on.

"And I feel like I don't tell you how much I love you. So here I'm gonna compliment you to my heart's desire and with this mirror, you'll see what I see"

Quentin was openly grimacing at the idea given and when he was going to detest so until Hershell interrupts midway, "I don't think this is necce-"

"For one, you're extremely handsome, so strongly resilient and charismatic" Hershell commented, slyly planting a soft yet deep kiss on the neck near the shoulder and pulling back with a loud pop to entice a startled squeaky reaction.

"That's all?"

"Nope. Far from done, baby. You know me, I love spoiling my dear," A gruff grunt from Quentin pushed the man to go on, "Black eyes that remind me of the night sky I can get lost in. A voice so soothing it lures me to ease"

"You're sounding awfully ridiculous right now. You know that?"

Another kiss, this one had been raised up to his cheek, leaving Quentin to feel warm under the collar, "You know it's true. I love every part about you"

Then forcing the inner strength to stare at his own reflection which Quentin was far from impressed.

"I don't know what you're seeing. I look awful. Shitty and ugly even"

"Quentin"

When made to turn around thankfully away from the mirror he stared up at his partner who appeared disturbed, almost close to being upset.

"You know that's not true" Rubbing at his sides with dry, calloused hands and going to squeeze the protruding squish, Hershell stares longingly with passion. "Is this what has been on your mind lately?"

"... Maybe. I feel old and useless" Quentin attempted to glance somewhere else when the man ahead firmly kept him in place.

"I'm older than you?"

"You still got it together. That's the issue. I don't. I'm past my prime and that grates me"

Hershell softened his expression, "We all get old and sometimes we aren't what we used to be. But that's okay. Nothing will ever stop me from loving you either"

As Quentin was about to say something, a snarky insult perhaps, his mouth snapped shut where the words instantly left him in an instant.

"I love you for you. That won't change as we're in this together" With a repressed sigh Quentin didn't break into a smile, still feeling uncertain though he leaned into the other man for comfort, "You know me. I'm a stubborn old man who won't quit since you're far too addictive"

"You're insufferable… I guess that's what I like about you too" He murmured, now gaining the needed confidence and he's getting touch starved taking a glance up with slightly pursed lips.

"Awe, I see. You can't get enough, I know it" Then bending down Hershell, grinning deviously as he went to press a kiss on Quentin's lips. "And stubborn as you are you better remember you're loved"

#Anon Ask #Ask Away #Thsc Fic #Grumpy Old Men #Quentin/Hershell #Hershell/Quentin #Quentin Alabaster #Hershell Panzer #Henry Stickmin Collection #The Henry Stickmin Collection #Hurt/Comfort #Angst #Body Image Issues #Self Love #It's an Uphill Battle #Supportive Partner

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