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likeumeanit9497 · 24 days

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yale pt. 2 | c.s |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

read part one here!

summary: to commit or not to commit; what will chris and y/n decide? and how will they prove to one another that their mutual decision was the right one?

warnings: smut, oral (m/f receiving), hand stuff (m/f), p in v, unprotected sex (BAD), more fluff than i usually write, 18+

notes: again i'm sorry ab the wait but part two is finally finished! it's a bit longer than my past one shots (almost 6000 words eek) because there's a lottttt of fluff before the smut. i hope ya'll enjoy!!!

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

Two out of my three final exams were finished, and I was about ready to throw in the towel on my last one of the week. It was Thursday, and tomorrow was my Biology II final, which had been the one that had been stressing me out the most. As soon as I had got back to my small one-bedroom apartment that day, I had buried my nose in my textbooks in an attempt at cramming some last-minute miracle study session into my day.

That was around 3:00, and as I walked into my kitchen to make myself my fourth cup of coffee for the day, the clock on my stove read 9:26. I wanted to cry from exhaustion. Yale finals were no joke, and I had to do well on all of my exams in order to keep my scholarship for next year. On top of the stress caused by all of that, I was having an even more difficult time because my brain had been consumed by something else. Every moment of every day — whether I was trying to get some rest at night or trying to focus on answering the questions correctly on an exam — I was thinking about the last time I had seen Chris.

It had been less than a week, but my mind had replayed every moment of our time together so many times that it had begun feeling like a dream. That, in addition to the lack of proper rest I had been getting, had made me genuinely begin to question whether or not I had imagined everything that he had said before I ran out on him.

I hadn’t heard anything from Chris since then, which really wasn’t that uncommon. We typically only texted when I was back in Boston and we could meet up, and he knew that I would be busy with my finals this week and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. But regardless of how usual the lack of communication was, I couldn’t help but feel like there was a mutual tension between us even from miles away; and the shortage of interactions between us just felt like confirmation of that.

Since the last time we spoke, I had felt nearly every emotion possible regarding the situation. Guilty, happy, sad, angry, hurt, disappointed, excited, and confused. Very, very confused. There had been so many times where, as I was studying, or showering, or walking to class, I became completely consumed by the urge to text him; sometimes with the intention of telling him that I feel the same way about him as he does about me, other times my intentions were to cuss him out for making the one thing that was easy in my life so complicated. But every time I opened my phone and began typing out a message to him, I got ahold of myself and would hurriedly delete the paragraph.

Frustrated and lost in my own mind once again, I leaned onto the kitchen counter and rested my forehead against my crossed arms. The last thing that I wanted to do was go back to my desk and continue studying, but I knew that I needed to spend at least a few more hours on it if I wanted to secure at least a 90%. But my eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and the cool sensation that came from leaning on my counter was helping me calm down. Maybe I could stay here and collect my thoughts for just a few more minutes…

Four loud knocks at my front door caused my eyes to shoot open. I felt disoriented as I took a moment to take in my surroundings, glancing quickly at the clock I realized that I must have somehow dozed off in my position at the counter. Three more knocks rumbled through my small apartment, these ones more urgent than the last. As my brain finally woke up completely, I was hit with a mini wave of rage. Brad was in the same Biology II class as I was. He must be trying to study for the exam super last minute, and when he realized that he hadn’t even started taking study notes, he decided to show up unannounced at my place to get his hands on mine. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time.

I stormed toward my front door, beside myself in fury and stress. As I unlocked the door and began turning the handle, I opened my mouth to begin my crazed rant.

“Brad I swear to God I’m not-” My mouth clamped shut and I froze once the door was completely open and the identity of the person on the other side was shown.

“Hi.” Was all he said, his voice tentative and wavering slightly. His bright blue eyes were filled with uncertainty, his slouched shoulders were covered in a light dusting of snow, and held by his hands in the space between us was a bouquet of sunflowers.

“Chris.” His name fell breathlessly from my lips, and I immediately walked toward him and embraced him in a relieving hug. I felt both of our bodies relax as soon as they connected, and we stood in my doorway for what could have been hours; both of us taking a moment to relish in the comfort that came from us finally seeing one another. “What are you doing here?” I finally asked, pulling back from him and taking a good look at his beautiful face. He shifted on his feet before responding, “I just needed to see you.”

His body language showed that he was feeling incredibly vulnerable. I wanted to do everything I could to reassure him, but not yet; it was too soon. So instead, I guided him into my apartment and closed the door behind us.

“So,” I began as he stood awkwardly in my kitchen, “Have you just decided to start carrying those around as some sort of fashion statement or what?” I gestured towards the flowers still gripped firmly in his hand. He blinked quickly before looking down at them as if he had forgotten they were there, and nervously giggled. “No. Uh, I brought these for you?” His voice rose at the end of his sentence, making it sound like a question and I let out a small laugh before gently removing them from his grasp. “I was joking, thank you for these. Sunflowers are my favourite.” I replied before turning my back to him to search through my kitchen cabinets for a vase. “I know they are.” He said in a quiet voice, and I turned back to look at him quickly.

“How’d you know that?” I kept my tone light, partially because I felt like it might make him more comfortable and partially to keep my nerves at bay. “Your lock screen on your phone. It’s of you and your friends in a sunflower field. I asked you about the picture that first time we met when you went to put my number in your phone and you told me that they were your all-time favourite flower, even though you thought they were a bit cliche.” He explained all of this to me while looking down at his feet, and I felt a ripple of shock travel down my spine. How did he remember that seemingly mundane part of our very first interaction, eight months ago?

I cleared my throat as I felt my emotions begin to get the best of me, and finally found a vase hidden deep in one of my cabinets. “Well I do love them,” I finally responded once I regained control over myself, “And look at how beautiful they are! The brighten up my entire kitchen.” I showed him the bouquet, now tucked into their vase, and felt my heart flutter at their vibrancy. “Thank you so much, Chris. I mean it.” I walked over to where he was standing beside my kitchen island, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I playfully brushed my nose against his a few times, before planting a light kiss on his lips. “You have a very good memory.” I added, before moving my lips to his jaw, down to his neck; leaving wet thank-you kisses along the way. His breath hitched once I reached his collarbone, where I spent extra time suckling his delicate skin.

I brought a hand down to his jeans, where I palmed at his semi-hard member. His hands stayed still at his sides, but I could feel his increasing pulse against my lips as I moved them painfully slow back up to his. When my lips made it back to his, I pressed my body against him in an attempt at deepening our movements. His hands finally moved to grab onto my waist, giving me a moment of satisfaction, before he used his new grip to pull me away slightly. “Y/n, wait,” He started, his gaze fixed on me, “I’ve really been needing to talk about last weekend.” My stomach sunk as I began to feel the too-familiar pit of anxiety that had been haunting me for days grow once more. Not wanting him to pick up on how terrified I was to have this conversation, I planted a faux smile on my face and gave him a quick nod. “Me too. Let’s sit.” I replied before walking over to my couch.

“So…” I began once we were both seated on the couch facing each other. Even though I had spent days mulling over every detail of what I might possibly say to Chris once this inevitable conversation happened, I really had no idea how to go about this. And by the unusual silence and bouncing leg coming from Chris’s side of the couch, it was pretty evident that he didn’t know how to either.

“I thought we had agreed that this conversation wouldn’t happen until after I had written all of my finals.” I finally got the courage to speak first, before immediately noticing that my tone came across pretty passive aggressive. “I just mean — sorry, Chris. I’ve just been really stressed out.” I attempted to correct my first sentence once I noticed that his face was riddled with anxiety. Placing a soft hand on his forearm, I continued, “I just mean I’ve been really needing to talk to you, too.” A nervous smile flashed across his face at my words, and I watched as he took a deep breath. “You have?” His tone sounded unsure, and I nodded firmly. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else.” I added, slightly embarrassed by my own admission. “Neither have I.” He added, turning his body slightly so he can face me better.

“I know I told you that I would wait until after you were finished your exams, and I really tried. But I’ve been going crazy these past few days and I really couldn’t wait anymore. I’m sorry.” He confessed, and I scooted closer to his place on the couch. “Don’t be. Trust me, I’ve felt so crazy these past few days too. I’ve gone through every possible emotion whenever I thought about the whole situation, it’s like I can’t get control over my mind. It’s been hell.” I reassured him with the truth.

“Well, how are you feeling about the whole thing?” He asked tentatively, as if he was afraid of my answer. I allowed myself to contemplate for a few moments before answering, so that I could say the right thing. “Well, at first I was scared. It was just so out of the blue Chris, and my brain couldn’t process it all.” I watched him watch me as I spoke, “Then, I felt really angry. I was so mad that after all of this time you decided to drop that bomb of a confession right before I had to start my most stressful week of the year. That, along with the simple fact that I am in a relationship, no matter how toxic, and you went and made things even more complicated.” His gaze dropped to the dead space between us, clearly having a difficult time hearing how upset I had been.

“But,” His eyes met mine again as I continued, “I almost felt relieved? Like, it kind of felt like this was how it was always supposed to end up, if that makes sense. It was like some part of me knew that the universe was planning something like this to happen in a way, and that all of our sneaking around was just the build up.” I felt my heart in my throat as I spoke of feelings that I hadn’t even known I was feeling before; shocked by my own confession. By the expression on his face, I could tell that he was just as confused.

“Wait, what?” Said Chris, his eyes widening slightly. I stared back at him in silence, terrified that I might have said too much and gotten this whole thing wrong. Oh God, what if he came here to back out of what he had said last week? What if his jealousy had just overpowered him in the moment, and he was here to backtrack. Even more, what if he was here to end things between us completely? I began to feel myself panic at all of the thoughts flying through my head at rapid speed, before he finally spoke.

“Are you — are you saying that you might want this too?” Chris asked, his voice one of hesitant optimism. Immediately, I felt my initial wave of dread vanish and a new, almost excited anxiety take its place. I bent forward, resting my arms on my knees, and groaned into my hands at the feeling. “I…do.” I finally said, my voice muffled by the concealment of my face behind my fingers.

The room stayed silent for what felt like forever, my last words sat heavy in the air between us. I was so anxious I couldn’t bear to look anywhere, so I scrunched my eyes tightly shut and made every attempt at calming my nerves.

“Come here.”

Chris’s voice was so soft and calm — a refreshing contrast to the racing thoughts in my own mind — that it caused my eyes to snap open and fall on him. He still looked a bit nervous, but the genuine smile that shone across his face allowed me to release the deep breath that I wasn’t even aware I was holding. I scooted even closer to him, and he immediately wrapped his arms around me. With my head tucked into his neck, I breathed him in; allowing my nervous system a moment to relax.

“We’re really doing this then?” I finally asked as he rubbed gentle circles on my back. He let out a soft chuckle. “Looks like it.” I pulled away from his embrace and brushed his hair out of his beautiful face. “I’m gonna have to end things with Brad tomorrow after our Biology final.” I sighed, dreading the inevitable conversation that was I was sure would be made more difficult by Brad and his disrespect. However, Chris’s pleased expression brought me some joy, because at the end of the day he was who I really wanted.

Feeling like I was on cloud nine, I wrapped my arms around Chris’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Right as my lips barely grazed his, however, he mumbled something and pulled back. “No,” he began, shaking his head firmly. “We gotta do this right. Things are different now and we’re not just sneaking around, so it feels wrong to just kiss you behind everyone’s back like we had to before. Take your exam, have a conversation with Brad, and then we can start from the beginning.”

My jaw physically dropped, shocked at the maturity of Chris’s words. I wish he wasn’t but I knew that he was right. Now that we were headed in the direction of something more serious, it would be so much more meaningful to wait until all of the wrinkles of our situation had been ironed out. I gave him a smile and nodded softly, letting him know that he was right.

“So, how did you get here?” I asked, stretching my arms behind my head to work the kinks out of my sore back. “Matt dropped me off. I had to offer to do the laundry for a full month for it though.” I laughed at his response, but was also touched by the idea as I knew that Chris despised laundry more than anything. “Jesus, no kidding, that’s a long drive just to turn right back around and go back to Boston.”

“Well, no. He should still be downstairs. I told him to wait outside for a while just in case things didn’t go so well up here.” He rubbed his neck awkwardly at this fact, but I understood what he meant. “Well, if you want you can tell him to head back and you can spend the night here. I was already planning on heading back home tomorrow night so I can just take you with me.” I offered, glancing quickly at him through my eyelashes as I did to gauge his reaction. Immediately, a smile flashed across his face and he shot up from the couch as if he had been hoping I would say that. “I’m down. Let me just run to his car and grab by duffel bag.” I laughed at his reaction, and the fact that he had clearly intended on staying the night if he played his cards right.

Before walking to the door, he leaned over my figure and planted a quick kiss on the top of my head. “I’ll be right back. Maybe once I grab my stuff I can quiz you for your exam or some shit. Don’t want you to not be prepared tomorrow just because I’m here.” My heard fluttered from the sensation of his lips on my skin in combination with his thoughtful words, and I had to fight the urge to pull his face to mine. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

Once I finally made it back to my apartment, I slammed the front door shut and slid against it down to the floor. I ran my hands through my snow-covered hair as I tried to catch my breath and wrap my head around what I had just done.

I finally broke up with Brad.

As suspected, he didn’t take it well. To be honest, it had been a bad choice of mine to do it as we were walking towards the exit of the exam building, but I hadn’t expected him to break down into tears and get down on his knees in front of countless other students and professors, begging me to reconsider. I could still hear the echos of his wails as I literally ran away through the double exit doors of the building, and I continued to run as fast as I could until I reached the lobby of my apartment complex.

And now here I was, feeling everything all at once and trying to make sense of all that has happened over the past twenty four hours. As I mulled through everything, the sound of my shower turning on caught my attention. In all of my stress from writing my exam to breaking up with Brad, I had nearly forgotten what all of it was for.

Chris.

I stood up and slowly walked towards the bathroom. Putting my ear against the door, I smiled as I listened to him quietly sing along to a Ken Carson song playing from his phone as he showered. Checking the door knob, I realized that he had left it unlocked and I decided to enter the humid washroom. The room had already begun to fill up with steam, but I could still see Chris’s back through the glass shower door. He was facing away from me, and the music was loud so he clearly had no clue that I was there.

Quickly and quietly, I began to take off my clothes from the day; keeping my eyes on him the entire time to make sure he still hadn’t noticed my presence. Once fully unclothed, I took my hair out of my messy bun and began walking towards the shower. Standing at the glass now, I brought my knuckles against the cool surface and gently knocked.

At my knocking, Chris’s body jolted and he quickly turned his body to face me. When he saw that it was just me standing there, his body visibly relaxed and a smile crossed his lips. “Hey.” He said as his eyes travelled across my naked body. “Hey.” I returned as I opened the shower door and began climbing in. I stood in front of his naked figure, the stream of water from the shower head beginning to mist my hair.

“Did you talk to him?” Asked Chris, his eyes searching my face; clearly trying to gauge my expression. I tilted my head to the side and smirked slightly. “I did.” He continued to just stare, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly. “I ended it.” I added, causing a smile to immediately cross his face. “So we’re really doing this, huh?” Chris asked as he brought his hands to my hips, pulling my body towards him directly under the shower head. Now getting completely rained on, I squeezed my eyes shut and chuckled. “What, you getting cold feet already kid?” I asked jokingly, opening my eyes to look at him and standing on my tip toes so that I could bring my face closer to his.

“No, obviously not, it’s just,” He paused when I brushed my wet lips against his softly, before whispering, “It’s just a bit scary.” I brought my hands to the back of his head, where I mindlessly twirled my fingers through his curls. “What’s scary?” My hushed tone now matched his as I spoke. “I’ve just never been in a relationship before, and I don’t want to screw anything up. I’m really really out of my realm here Y/n.” He confessed, his tone somber and his eyes fearful.

I grabbed my bottom lip with my teeth, completely understanding what he was saying but not wanting to unintentionally confirm his fears by agreeing. So instead, I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him against me. After a moment of relishing in the feeling of his skin pressed firmly against mine, feeling our hearts beat as one, I spoke.

“Let me show you that you don’t need to be scared of anything.” I gazed up at him as he looked down at me, and after a short while he nodded his head. Rubbing his back delicately, I spoke. “Things aren’t going to be much different, you know,” I began placing soft kisses along his collarbone, “Sure we won’t be sneaking around,” More kisses along his shoulder, “And there will be a certain level of accountability and loyalty that wasn’t there before,” My mouth moved to his jaw, “But those are all good things because,” Finally, my lips were hovering in front of his, so close to touching that I could feel his anxious breath against them.

“They mean that I’m all yours.”

At that, Chris crashed his lips against mine. Our mouths moved in sync as his tongue swirled against mine. I gasped as Chris suddenly pressed my back against the cool tiled wall where he continued to dominate my mouth. I felt his quickly growing member press against my hip, and reached forward to begin stroking it slowly. A soft moan fell from his mouth, and I began to move my hand up and down quicker along his hard shaft. He bucked his hips slightly at the sensation, and moved his lips to leave deep kisses along my neck, down to my nipples. He gave my left nipple one long drag with his tongue before engulfing the entire thing in his mouth. He sucked hard and bit tenderly on the tip of my nipple the way he knew I liked, and I couldn’t help but release a small whine at the building need in between my legs.

“Let me make you feel good.” Chris mumbled against my tit, grabbing my ass firmly with both hands. “Me first.” I replied, a smirk on my face with his cock still tight in my grasp. Slowly, I dropped to my knees on the shower floor and was face to face with his swollen cock. Gazing at me as water dripped down his entire body, Chris watched as I placed my lips around his red tip; swirling my tongue to lap up the salty pre cum that had begun to drip from his slit. I watched his erotic expressions as his body shuddered from the sensation, and slowly began bobbing my head up and down the length of his cock. I began pumping my hand along his last few inches that I couldn’t fit in my mouth, and had to stifle my own anticipatory moan from how turned on I had made myself just by knowing that it was my mouth that was allowing him to feel this pleasure.

Not being able to take the painfully aroused state I was in, I brought my free hand between my own legs; gently massaging my own clit to relieve just a bit of the tension. The immediate satisfaction caused me to moan on Chris’s cock, which in turn caused him to press his hand against the shower wall to support his weakened frame. As he watched me pleasure both of us, his jaw slacked and his eyes glazed over with pure lust. I continued to vigorously bob my head, though I was beginning to get distracted by my own heightened arousal as my fingers maintained their pressure on my swollen clit. As tears welled in my eyes I swallowed the entire length of his shaft and began deep throating him, watching his face as his eyes squeezed shut and his free hand moved to grab my hair.

“Fuck baby, I might cum.” His words came out gravelly through his bright pink lips, and I hummed in response as I continued to swirl my tongue around the base of his dick. Suddenly, Chris released a throaty moan before pulling his hips back and detaching my lips from his member with a pop. Instinctually, I tilted my head up and opened my mouth; sticking my tongue out with a slight smirk. I watched as Chris pumped his cock with his own hand a few times before his warm fluid coated my expectant face. I quickly swallowed the few drops that had landed in my mouth, and smiled softly up at Chris as he watched. He brought his thumb to my lower lip and swiped delicately; collecting a drop of his cum that had landed there before placing it on my tongue. Tauntingly, I closed my lips around his thumb and sucked it gently as his breath hitched.

He took his thumb out of my mouth and helped me to my feet. Wrapping an arm around the small of my back, he guided me directly under the stream of water before tilting my head back so that his seed could wash off of my face. After a moment, he pulled me back out of the water and pressed me into his chest. His hands travelled across my back and down to my ass, where he began massaging softly. As he massaged, the tips of his fingers grazed my slit from the back and I began to feel the urgent need to be touched. I nibbled at his skin and subconsciously arched my back in an attempt to give his hands better access to where I needed them most.

He ran a finger through my slick folds and my heart rate quickened against his chest. “You think you can manage to go again?” I breathed as he continued to tease me. I felt his body shift slightly as he chuckled. “Yup. Just give me a minute.” The words barely left his mouth before he dropped to his knees and backed my body up against the wall in one swift motion. Before I had a moment to process anything, his mouth connected to my bundle of nerves. To grant himself easier access, he grabbed my right leg and put it over his shoulder as I moaned out at the sensation that the new angle provided. His mouth moved rhythmically as his tongue swirled around my clit in the way that he knows drives me crazy, and I already began to feel the early whispers of an orgasm in my lower stomach.

After a few moments of bliss, my body was suddenly jolted into reality when he removed his lips from me and stood up. Keeping me pinned to the wall, he attacked my mouth with his own. Deep and carelessly, our lips moved in sync with one another as Chris simultaneously hooked my leg around his hip to press his body even closer to mine. Suddenly, our kiss was cut off by my open-mouthed gasp as Chris slammed his cock deep into my core. Without giving me a moment to adjust to his size, he began driving into me with quick strokes. I struggled to continue to stand — both because of the slippery shower and the velocity of his movements — so I dug my nails into his back for grip; sure to leave deep scratches by the time we were finished.

“Fuck Chris, you’re so big.” I moaned out, feeling my core stretch out with each of his thrusts. “Oh come on baby, you can take it.” His tone was mocking, but it came out breathless as he relentlessly pummelled into me.

His face was pressed against mine, and my view of his feverish gaze and tightened jaw was interrupted periodically only by his sloppy kisses along my jaw. As his pace began to grow more careless, my vision began to grow blurry from my approaching orgasm. “Chris, please keep going I’m so close.” I begged, fearful that his second orgasm would come quicker than my first.

He brought his hand to my throat and squeezed it delicately, his eyes on mine. “I’ll wait for you, princess. Want to cum with you.” His hand moved from my throat down to my clit, where he began rubbing it fiercely. The additional contact from him instantly sent a jolt of electricity down my spine, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before I was going to reach my climax. “C-chris, I’m — oh God I’m cumming.” I practically screamed as the wave of overwhelming pleasure hit me. As my walls pulsed erratically around his cock, Chris released a raspy moan — a clear indicator that he had also reached his own orgasm. His movements slowed tremendously as we both rode out our highs; both of our fluids and slurred profanities in harmony with one another.

Chris’s hips stopped moving completely as we both leaned our heads against the shower wall, catching our breath. His hand that had previously been on my clit was now resting on my inner thigh where it was thoughtlessly rubbing up and down my soft skin. The thick steam in the shower was making it even harder for me to catch my breath, so I turned the temperature down before stepping under the stream of water to begin cooling myself down. Chris followed suit, and squeezed some shampoo into his hand before lathering my hair with it. Humming at the relaxing feeling of his hands massaging my scalp, I leaned back against his firm chest.

“See, at least you know that part of our relationship didn’t change.” I said jokingly as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair. “No, it definitely did.” He responded, and I froze. Once again I was worried that he had changed his mind; that maybe he thought the sex might start to be boring, or that sex with emotion was too sappy. Just as those insecurities began to rear their head, Chris’s eyes softened with a big smile as he pulled me towards him. “It got even better.” I felt my body relax in his arms at those words, and I beamed up at him. “I agree.” I pressed a soft kiss to his collar bone.

“Now let’s hurry up, I want to get back to Boston before it gets dark out.” I said as I hurriedly lathered by body with shower gel. Chris moved from his place under the shower head to give me space to wash off before exiting the shower. “Stay at mine tonight? We can watch Christmas movies!” He exclaimed as he grabbed a towel to dry off. I rolled my eyes with a smile. “You’re such a cornball. But unfortunately I think I might be too because that sounds great.” He giggled at this before poking his head back into the shower to plant a kiss on my nose. “I’m really happy we’re doing this.”

“Doing what? Getting excited over watching Christmas movies?” I asked with a chuckle. “No — well, yes. But no. I meant I’m — I’m really happy you’re all mine now.” His words made me melt a little inside, and I brought an affectionate hand to his jaw and brushed my thumb against it. I took a moment to really admire his perfect features — in awe of my current reality where a man as beautiful as him could feel the way he does about me— before responding, “Me too, Chris. I’m happy I’m all yours too.”

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

taglist:

@chrattstromboli @sncstur

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

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youreverydayfangirl · 9 days

Text

the man

pairing: pierre gasly x doctor! reader

summary: after taking over the clinic y/n meets a cute patient, or in which pierre meets a cute doctor

warning: injury

a/n: i might make a pt 2

mathersonclinics has posted

liked by yourusername, yourbsfusername and 3, 985 others

mathersonclinics We are thrilled to introduce our new Chief of Medicine Y/n Y/ln. Doctor L/n first began their journey with our clinic at the young age of 16, displaying and extraordinary dedication to the field of medicine. Over the past ten years, Dr L/n has contributed countless hours of hard work and commitment, shaping the clinic into what it is today. Their experience and passion for patient care is what makes Dr L/n perfect for the role and we look forward to seeing the continued growth and success of our clinic under our new Chief.

tagged: DoctorY/Ln

DoctorY/Ln Very grateful for this opportunity.

yourbsfusername that's my bestie and I'm proud

DoctorY/LN has posted

liked by yourusername, yourbsfusername and 24, 568 others

DoctorY/LN It is such an honor to be presented with this oppurtunity.

yourbsfusername 😭😭

yourbsfusername after seeing how you've put your blood sweat and tears into this i could not be prouder

user1 i still remember when she was a baby 😭

user2 how old is she??

→ user3 shes 26. she finished highschool when she was like 11.

→ user2 OMGG???

→ user3 i know shes like a geniur

yourusername 🔒 has posted

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yourusername 🔒 literally freaking the fuck out

yourbsfusername your so fine

→ yourusername yourbsfusername thx pooks

yourusername 🔒 has posted five stories

caption 1 only way to start your day off is with a healthy meal 🥗

caption 2 morning run + gossip

caption 3 healthy snack ✅

caption 4 beach day

caption soaking in the sun rays

liked by yourbsfusername and 13 others

yourbsfusername never going running with you again

yourbsfusername you aren't human

liked by creator

__________________________

When Y/N and her best friend arrived at the beach, they set up their gear close to a volleyball game. The smell of the ocean brought a sense of calm that Y/N hadn't felt in a while. Although she loved being a doctor, it could be very stressful at times. Her eyes focused on watching the waves, the dark blue that seemed so inviting. Her gaze drifted over to the group of men playing volleyball. They were all very attractive, but one caught her eye in particular.

"You should ask for his number," her best friend whispered, nudging her shoulder. A blush crept up Y/N's cheeks at being caught.

"No, we're here to relax."

"No better way to relax than to flirt with a hot man," her best friend said, shrugging her shoulders. Y/N just chuckled, shaking her head as her eyes drifted over to the group once more. This time, he seemed to catch her stare. She felt her cheeks flush but kept eye contact with him until he got pulled back into the game.

Y/N got up, brushing the sand off as she reached into the cooler she had brought. "Water?" she asked her best friend, but she just shook her head, gesturing to the beer bottle she was holding. Y/N grabbed a water bottle and some of the fruit she had brought before sitting back down, opting to read the book she had brought, her eyes occasionally flickering to the loud group of men.

The group caught her attention when they seemed to give up on volleyball, with a smaller group of them opting to go surfing. Her best friend nudged her, but Y/N ignored her, looking back down at the book she was reading.

A while later, loud shouts caught Y/N's attention. She looked up and saw the group pulling one of their friends out of the water. Shit!

Her best friend nudged her again. "Y/N, go help," she said, tension and worry in her voice.

"Yeah- Yeah, okay," Y/N said, her voice slightly shaking.

She sprinted over to the group. "What happened?" she asked, her eyes focused on the man who she now realized was the attractive one she had been eyeing earlier. She looked up at the man standing closest to her. "Well?"

"Um, not sure, I think he might've hit his head on a surfboard or something," the man said. Y/N could hear a thick accent in his voice, but she was too focused on the injured man to decipher it.

"Okay, okay, shit, where are the lifeguards?" Y/N looked up and around, but the sun had begun to set, and the lifeguards had packed up. She could feel her brain going a million miles an hour, thrown off by the unexpected situation.

The men seemed annoyed, not understanding what she was doing. "Focus, Y/N," her best friend said.

Y/N looked up at her. "Can you get a towel? There should be an emergency first aid kit in my bag." She then turned to the men, the whole group having moved closer. "Can you put him down gently over there, please?"

"I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?" one of them asked.

"I'm a doctor. Just listen to me, okay?" she snapped, her brain suddenly switching on. Her best friend came back, handing her the towel and kit.

Y/N folded the towel and slipped it underneath the barely conscious man's head. "Can you hold his head, please? It's important that he doesn't move too much to protect his spine." She then slipped off her t-shirt and pressed it gently against the wound, trying to minimize the bleeding. She checked his airways to make sure he was breathing properly and that there wasn't anything obstructing his breath. "Can someone keep holding this against his head?"

She went through the kit and grabbed what she needed. "Okay, the bleeding should have slowed down now. I need to clean it, so can you take that off gently?" Once the shirt was peeled back, she gently wiped the wound. "The wound isn't too deep; it should be fine," she noted, more to herself. She then grabbed a gauze pad and placed it against the wound. "Hold this," she said, grabbing the medical tape and securing the gauze with it. The boy was now more awake and aware of his surroundings.

"Does anything else hurt?" she asked the boy, looking down at him. He tried to shake his head, but she quickly stopped him. "Be careful, you might still be concussed," she said. She looked up at the group, who were watching her curiously. "Does anyone know when the ambulance will get here?" she asked.

"Oh shit, forgot to call them," one of them said, a thick Australian accent creeping out. She sighed exasperatedly. "Don't bother now, an ambulance will take too long." Her eyes flickered over to her best friend, who was looking at her expectantly. She sighed.

"Come with me, you still need proper medical care, not just a makeshift gauze," she said, talking to the boy who had first spoken to her. He raised a brow, and she sighed. "Look, I'd rather be relaxing and celebrating than whatever the hell we're doing right now, but your friend needs proper medical care, and I can't do that on the beach, okay?"

Y/N ended up taking the men—who she had found out were named Charles and Pierre—to the clinic in her car while the rest drove in their own. Her best friend couldn't come as she had to work.

"How old are you?" an unfamiliar voice spoke up from the backseat of her jeep. Y/N's eyes flickered up to make eye contact with the injured man. "Hmm?"

"How old are you?" the man repeated.

"Twenty-six," she replied. His brows furrowed in confusion. "You aren't even old enough to graduate med school."

"Special case," she said firmly. He picked up the hint that she no longer wanted to talk about it.

Soon they arrived in front of the clinic. "You two stay here, I'll grab a nurse to help get you inside. I'm not having you walking," she said firmly, about to head in before becoming extremely conscious of the fact that she was only in her bikini. "Here." The boy groaned, passing her a shirt with a logo on it. She smiled softly, muttering a small thanks before heading inside.

"Doctor Y/Ln, what are you doing here?" the receptionist asked, noting her attire. "No time, could you grab a wheelchair, please?" The nurse quickly picked up on the seriousness in her voice and hurried around to where Y/N was. Y/N led her outside to the car.

"Sit down," she said, gesturing to the wheelchair. The boy groaned. "You can't be serious."

"Now," she said firmly. He put his hands up in mock surrender and got into the wheelchair. The group of four then made their way into the clinic.

Everyone looked over at them, and nurses began whispering to each other, which Y/N brushed off. "Greta, can you take them to a spare room while I go get changed?"

Y/N headed back out once she had changed, still picking up on the glances thrown her way. She entered the patient room, tying her hair up. The two men looked up at her as she entered, Pierre's gaze lingering slightly longer, an unusual feeling rising in his chest. "Okay, Charles, I'm gonna get you to fill this form out while I check on our patient here." She passed him the clipboard and then instructed Pierre to sit on the patient bed.

"So, how did you become a doctor?" He sent her a look before focusing back on the bandage on his head. "What? It's a valid question. Okay, when did you become a doctor?" She sighed, knowing that he would continue to press for answers.

"I got my Doctor of Medicine nearly ten years ago, and I've been working here ever since." Pierre's brows furrowed in confusion.

"You must've been-"

"Sixteen? Yeah."

"That means you would've graduated at-"

"Eleven? Also yes," she said, checking for signs of a concussion. Pierre just looked at her in wonder.

"How?"

"Child prodigies do actually happen," she said, taking off his bandage.

They talked for a while longer, mainly Pierre asking her questions and her deflecting or straight-up ignoring him. "So, do you-"

"Done," she remarked, pulling away from him suddenly. Right before he was about to say something, a knock cut him off, Charles jumping from his spot where he had fallen asleep.

"Chief, sorry, I know you're busy, but can I get you to sign off the papers for the Anderson file?" Pierre's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Yeah, can you just put them down, and I'll have them for you tomorrow," she said, grabbing Pierre's file from the bench.

"So, Chief?" he asked once the nurse had left.

She smiled slightly, turning around to face him. "I guess I never introduced myself. Y/N Y/Ln, Chief of Medicine."

yourusername 🔒 has posted

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caption 1 getting spoilt rn

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caption 3 i was talking about the food guys obviously

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___________________________________

a/n: a bit short but ill probably make a pt 2 guys. idk if this is good.

#formula1 #pierre gasly #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly fanfic

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writingquestionsanswered · 2 months

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"Probably one of my biggest writing-related takeaways of 2023 was the brain science behind being overwhelmed by writing. So often, we put so much pressure on ourselves to meet goals, and get so frustrated with ourselves when we fail, that we end up making writing time something that fills us with anxiety. So our brains perceive that activity as a threat, which makes us want to avoid it."

I'd love to learn more about this cause it's my biggest problem when it comes to writing. The avoidance of the task, but it also manifests also as feeling overwhelmed by writing a long story/novel.

Some Brain Science Behind Avoidance

I encountered this idea of fear-based avoidance in a few workshops and summits over the past year, but I have to give a shout out to author/coach Monica Hay whose "Overcome Writer's Resistance Bootcamp" explained it the best. I can't find my notes so I'm going from memory here, but the gist of it was that our brains are hard-wired to avoid things that make us feel fearful or uneasy. This is an evolutionary throwback to when those instinctual feelings helped us steer clear from danger. As I remember Monica putting it, "Don't go that way, there are cheetahs there that will eat us."

So... how does this apply to avoidance of writing?

When we heap unreasonable goals and deadlines on ourselves, and berate ourselves for falling short of them, we inadvertently turn writing into a stressful activity. So, when we sit down to write, our brain picks up on that stress and says, "Don't go that way, cheetahs will eat us," and your gut instinct tells you to avoid this stressful activity at all cost. And then it becomes kind of a vicious cycle because you feel even worse because you're avoiding writing, and that makes you feel more overwhelmed and makes writing more stressful, and well... you can see the problem.

The solution? De-stress the writing process for yourself as much as you can. Start by de-stressing yourself when you sit down to write... take a relaxing walk first, do some yoga or a meditation exercise, or try some grounding techniques. See if you can do some things to make your writing environment more relaxing and inviting. Put on some soft lighting and relaxing music, use your favorite method to lightly scent the air, grab your favorite drink and snack. Then, just try to move the needle forward in any way you can.

My suggestions: try editing a sentence. Maybe see if you can add a paragraph or two. Don't think about deadlines or word count or what others are doing. Just focus on adding something to the page, even if it's changing a word or adding a sentence. Don't push yourself. Congratulate yourself on whatever progress you made. Ultimately, if you do this every day, the stress should start to melt away and writing becomes an activity that your brain no longer tells you to avoid.

Another suggestion: try to avoid setting arbitrary deadlines, or if you have to set a deadline, take a look at your schedule/calendar and be really honest about how much time you actually have to write. Because so often what happens is we say, "I want to finish this 80k word draft in eight weeks..." but the reality is we're not going to write all 56 of those days. In fact, when we take an honest look...

-3 days per week for days with both class and work = 32 days -5 days for a cruise next month = 27 days -1 day for bestie's birthday celebration = 26 days -Sundays because that's hiking day = 18 days Suddenly, that eight weeks is actually only 18 days... and that's not even taking account things that come up unexpectedly. But, let's say you do get to write all 18 days, and let's say you know you can commit three hours a day to writing but you'll probably take two ten-minute brakes... so 48 hours worth of writing. But here's the problem: you know on a good hour, you're probably only going to write 1200 words. And guess what: 1200 words per hour over 48 hours is only 57,600 words... far short of your 80k goal... and that's assuming you get to write all 18 days and hit 1200 words every hour you write. In other words... you've set yourself an impossible deadline, and when you fall short of it without understanding why, you're going to be disappointed in yourself. And that's why it's so, so important to be honest about the time you have and how much you can reasonably accomplish within that time. Also: just don't be hard on yourself. It will never make you write faster, more, or better.

I hope you can use this to overcome your own resistance to writing! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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wingsoverlagos · 2 months

Text

Lewisohn vs. Shepherd

I'm still at work on the whole Kim Bennett thing, but here's a quick Lewisohn vs. post to spice things up. Actually, the book from which I was cross-referencing was due at the library, so I started work on this, quickly realized the source was also readily availble online, but decided to finish it anyway.

The source at hand is Jean Shepherd’s October 28th, 1964 interview with the Beatles, published in the February 1965 issue of Playboy. You can find a transcribed version here or a scanned copy here. It’s a great, quick read - seven pages sparkling with Beatles wit and a concerted effort by George to convince the interviewer he's in love with Ringo. Small tw for transphobia in the form of a tired pronoun joke at the expense of April Ashley.

Tune In pulls three quotes from Shepherd's interview. Two of them are below the cut - their are minor changes (one exceedingly minor) to those quotes, but the first quote I'll address is taken wildly out of context. It's not the most offensive distortion of history that Lewisohn has put forward, but its maddeningly blatant - and pointless.

Tune In 26-20 vs. Shepherd 1965, p.54

The quote of interest is highlighted in green, but I included the preceding paragraph because the context matters greatly here. The Beatles & Brian were down in the dumps, having struck out with every record company with any semblance of artistic merit. Lewisohn highlights that John and Paul in particular were down in the dumps, but that “their young friend George stayed optimistic. He rallied them, he showed them that while they might be thinking the worst, he was remaining hopeful.” His evidence for this is the quote highlighted in green, in which John says Brian and George knew they would make it big.

Well. Let’s check the source.

If you look at the quote, once again in green, it’s almost correct—Lewisohn drops “our manager”, but it’s close by Tune In’s standards. Take a look at what’s around the quote, and you’ll see it’s taken wildly out of context. John isn’t talking about George’s confidence in the Beatles ability to score a record contract in 1962; he is unambiguously referring to George’s confidence that the Beatles will succeed in America in 1964. And that confidence didn’t stem from “the Beatles’ mantra” that “Something’ll turn up”—George thought they’d be successful in the states because he was aware of their U.S. record sales.

The thing that gets me here is that it’s so unnecessary. As a historian writing for a general audience, the Beatles must be a dream: you have a core group of four complex, interesting, musically gifted people whose personal and artistic growth played out in the public eye, exhaustively documented. They were surrounded by a supporting cast of vibrant characters to root for or revile, who all played a role in a story brimming with friendship, romance, rivalry, wit, and tragedy. There's no reason to rewrite history for the Beatles - their story can be both factually correct and narratively compelling, yet Lewisohn joins a storied list of authors who have felt the need to gild the lily.

What does this add to the Beatles story? How does it benefit the narrative to portray George Harrison as a plucky kid from an afterschool special, cheering on his elders with unflagging optimism when things look bleak? It’s trite, and it’s fake. It's not the Beatles.

This isn’t the most earth-shattering act of historical revisionism Lewisohn has committed to print, but its brazenness is galling. In the introduction to Tune In, Lewisohn states, “I’ve wanted a history of deep-level inquiry where the information is tested accurate, and free of airbrushing, embellishment and guesswork, written with an open mind and even hands, one that unfolds lives and events in context and without hindsight, the way they occurred…” And yet we get this. He knowingly took this quote two years and a whole Atlantic Ocean out of context, and he had the audacity to tout his book as “tested accurate, and free of airbrushing, embellishment and guesswork.”

He's pissing on our feet and telling us it's raining, folks.

Tune In 29-4 vs. Shepherd 1965, p.56

An impressive number of little deletions and changes for such a small quote.

Tune In 33-1 vs. Shepherd 1965, p.54

This one almost isn’t worth mentioning. The only change is the emphasis removed from Ringo’s “them” in the original quote.

Sources:

Lewisohn M. 2013. The Beatles: All These Years Vol. 1: Tune In. New York (NY): Crown Archetype. [ebook]

Shepherd J. 1965 Feb. Playboy Interview: The Beatles. Playboy 12:51-60. Accessed online 2024 Mar. Available from: https://imgur.com/a/HY2Ji

#mark lewisohn #tune in #the beatles #lewi-sins #jean shepherd

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tossawary · 4 months

Text

Okay, I haven't finished "Episode 5: Rise From The Ashes" of "Ace Attorney" and I'm not very far into it, so please, no one spoil it for me. (I want to try and worldbuild out of this with the information that I have.) But Lana Skye being the Chief Prosecutor is... weird to me. (As is Miles Edgeworth being the "High Prosecutor", honestly, whatever that means exactly.)

I had been under the impression that the Chief Prosecutor was corrupt, due to an interaction with Redd White in "Turnabout Sisters". I'll put the relevant dialogue from that episode under a cut. It's not clearly stated, but I think it's heavily implied that Redd White has something on the Chief Prosecutor. Maybe it'll be revealed that Lana Skye is corrupt and/or was being blackmailed by Redd White, or something like that? That would be fine. I'm not against it turning out that Lana Skye was actually committing crimes.

I mainly think that Lana Skye is... WAY too young for this position. Like, this is breaking my suspension of disbelief a little. Miles being a fearsome prosecutor at 24 is already pushing it, but I'm familiar with the Teenage Genius trope, so I'll go with it. But a CHIEF PROSECUTOR at, what, 26?! No. Lana Skye could be 36 and I would still think that she's pretty young for her position. Even if Lana Skye finished law school at 20, on a similar timeline as Miles Edgeworth, she would have less than 10 years of experience, and she's been put in charge of the entire department?!

I'll believe that Lana Skye might be incredibly intelligent, hard-working, and ambitious. Maybe because of the whole "absurdly accelerated court timelines" element, she's already worked an impressive amount of cases. (But her seniors would have also done this?) But this still stands out to me as a premature promotion and I think it can be connected to the previous case with Redd White.

My current headcanon is that there was a different Chief Prosecutor during the Mia Fey murder case, who was being blackmailed by Redd White, and that Redd White's trial underearthed evidence of corruption that caused several scandals for both the prosecution office and the police. That Chief Prosecutor and several others were forcibly retired or even arrested, reducing the number of more senior prosecutors, causing both Miles Edgeworth and Lana Skye to be promoted beyond their years and their management experience. Possibly even because someone else is setting Lana Skye up for a glass cliff fall here when further corruption comes to light. In this scenario, she's only been the Chief Prosecutor for a few months at most, and it's not unreasonable that Phoenix Wright wouldn't recognize her.

Alternatively, perhaps Redd White arranged for the early retirement of some senior prosecutors and Lana Skye was promoted out of that mess, and she was (recently, because she's in her damn 20s) the Chief Prosecutor at the time of Mia Fey's murder. Maybe Redd White provided Lana with (fabricated?) information to win some past cases, in order to create some dirt that he could hold over her, and now Lana is at the very least stuck with the guilt of having accepted help from a man who later murdered Mia Fey, if she wasn't actively being blackmailed. Maybe Mia Fey only started investigating Redd White in the first place because she noticed something was wrong / off with Lana!

Alternatively again, maybe Redd White didn't have dirt on Lana Skye at all, but simply knew how badly she wanted the Mia Fey murder case solved, because as an information broker, he was aware of the past connection between Lana and Mia. Or maybe Lana has no significant connection to Redd White and this is just a minor continuity error (in my opinion / interpretation) on the game's part. Which is fine, I guess. I'll just think it's a lost opportunity on the game's part not to try to tie everything together in an emotionally compelling way.

To reiterate: no spoilers on what the actual situation with Lana Skye is, please. I'll get there when I get there.

Dialogue from "Turnabout Sisters" in which Redd White has a phone conversation with the then-unknown Chief Prosecutor:

White: We won't be needing an escort for Mr. Wrong. Instead, please connect me to the public prosecutor's office.

Interphone [Of course, sir. One moment please…] … [White? That you? What are you doing calling me at a time like this!?]

White: Hello. Chief Prosecutor? I've changed my mind. I want to testify tomorrow.

Interphone: [What's this about?]

White: The Mia Fey case. I witnessed the murder, you see. And, thus, as a very important witness, I would like to testify.

Interphone: [What? Why now? I thought you said you didn't want to go to court?]

White: Quietude…! I told you I changed my mind, didn't I? Oh, and one other thing. Send the police over here right away. The man is standing right in front of me. He looks dazed but could be violent!

Interphone: [What? What man?]

White: Are you even listening? The executioner! The hatchet-man! The liquidator… The killer, man!

Phoenix: What!?

Interphone: [Mr. White… this isn't another one of those…]

White: Chief Prosecutor. I do not believe you are in a position to freely offer your opinions to me, correct? I'm telling you to send the police, now!

#tossawary ace attorney #spoilers #long post #lana skye #redd white #mia fey #miles edgeworth

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nyanggk · 2 years

Text

🌷 DEAR, JUNGWON — y. jw [ 📞 ON HOLD ]

PAIRING enhypen jungwon x female reader

FEATURING enhypen, new jeans, txt

SYNOPSIS you've been in love with jungwon for longer than you can remember. initially, you made no plans to make your feelings known, but with something tugging on your heart and putting you on a deadline, you're pushed to say "yolo," and ask him to date you for 90 days. after that, you'll finally leave him alone. for good.

GENRE collage au, angst, romance, crack & comedy, slow burn

WARNING ⚠ each chapter will contain its own set of warnings—

( ♡ ) — profile 1 ! profile 2

chapter 1 - dear diary, its almost winter break

chapter 2 - dear diary, i have a secret that even i won't tell you

chapter 3 - dear diary, what th3 fuck????????!!!!!!!!!(&[£,÷[?×(]×?!

chapter 4 - dear lord, what the fuck is wrong w me

chapter 5 - dear diary, let's win!

chapter 6 - dear diary, match cancelled (written)

chapter 7 - dear diary, remember that

chapter 8 - dear diary, im back!

chapter 9 - dear diary, that was supposed to be our little secret

chapter 10 - dear diary, wonyn cult

chapter 11 - dear diary, what kind of f*ckery is this

chapter 12 - dear diary, i want a picture of him <3

chapter 13 - dear diary, j-j-jung—jungwon oppa?

chapter 14 - dear diary, uhm, shocking!

chapter 15 - dear diary, i have a date?

chapter 16 - dear diary, so THAT just happened

chapter 17 - dear diary, nom nom

chapter 18 - dear diary, it's a match!

chapter 19 - dear diary, boba pearls are disgusting

chapter 20 - dear diary, why can't he just read my mind?! (written)

chapter 21 - dear diary, the moon is prettier with him

chapter 22 - dear diary, park jongseong will be pronounced dead tomorrow and i just want to say that i am not at fault

chapter 23 - dear diary, did i do the wrong thing?

chapter 24 - dear jungwon

chapter 25 - dear folks! another night at the frat house part 1

chapter 26 - dear folks! another night at the frat house part 2

updates. . . . ? (no specific schedule)

NOTE ! ik I'm pretty much the last person everyone expected to make an smau with all the nsfw shit I've been doing lately. wait, also, not to mention the fact that it's almost my biases' birthdays?!?!?! holy shit what am I doing. anyways, I'm too committed to back out now blep

I'm releasing the masterlist rn and a teaser will be out shortly so stay tuned but before this smau truly begins, I'll be finishing for sale first. hopefully it won't take too long.

🌷 — CURRENT TAGLIST [ OPEN ] !

BATCH 1 @amarillyis @peachysunooooo @meowmeowhoon @wonswondrland @axartia @heesflor @caty-catts @enhacolor @donghoonie-3 @artstaeh @thaliese @kuleo26 @heestart @kyanmeai @seung-scrittore @avbie @palajae @alex-is-sleeping @love-4-keum @lumiseung @jaylaxies @kimmchijjajang @brownsugarbaybee @yangrdn @gobighee @lunabean @notsimpingforbangchan @urszn @stinkoscope @lihee-blog @bubblytaetae @minjidrafts @enha-cafe @astrae4 @fictional-waste @xiaoderrrr @ckline35 @enhapocketz @4lythe @woncloudie @s7noo @ethereallov3 @haeyoui @cha0thicpisces @chaechae-23 @donghyckl

. . . 🔎 find BATCH 2 !

send an ask to be added to the taglist ~! ♡

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umlewis · 3 months

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Hamilton: Ferrari F1 move wouldn’t have happened without Vasseur

Lewis Hamilton has confirmed that his move to the Ferrari Formula 1 team in 2025 wouldn’t have happened without the presence of team principal Fred Vasseur.

Hamilton drove for the Frenchman’s ASM F3 team in 2005, winning the European title. The following year he graduated to GP2 with Vasseur’s rebranded ART GP outfit, again winning the championship, before moving into F1 with McLaren. Inevitably, when Vasseur joined Ferrari at the start of 2023 there was speculation that he might attempt to leverage his good relationship with Hamilton in order to lure him away from Mercedes. That’s what eventually transpired, with the pieces falling into place early this year and Hamilton opting out of the second year of his contract. "I've got a great relationship with Fred," said Hamilton when asked by Autosport if Vasseur was the only person who could have convinced him to join Ferrari. "Obviously I raced with him in F2 and we had amazing success in F3, and also in GP2. That's really where the foundation of our relationship started. We always remained in touch. I thought that was going to be an amazing team manager at some stage and progress to F1, but at the time, he wasn't interested in that. It was really cool to see him step into the Alfa team. Then, when he got the job at Ferrari, I was just so happy for him. I think just the stars aligned. I think it really wouldn't have happened without him, so I'm really grateful and really excited about the work that he's doing there."

Hamilton stressed that when he first re-signed for Mercedes in August, he was still fully committed to staying with the team for two further years; however, he changed his mind over the winter. "Obviously in the summer I signed, and obviously at that time I saw my future with Mercedes," he said. "But an opportunity came up at the end of the year and I decided to take it. I feel like it was obviously the hardest decision I think I've ever had to make. I've been with Mercedes, I think it's like 26 years they've supported me, and we've had an absolutely incredible journey together. We've created history within the sport, and it's something I take a lot of pride in, and I'm very proud of what we've achieved. But I think, ultimately, I'm writing my story. And I felt like it was time to start a new chapter." Shortly after the news was announced, Hamilton said on social media that it was a "childhood dream" to one day drive for Ferrari. Expanding on the appeal of the team, he said: "For every driver growing up, watching the history, watching Michael Schumacher in his prime, I think probably all of us sit in our garage and see the screen pop up and you see the driver in the red car and you wonder what it would be like to be surrounded by the red. You go to the Italian GP and you see a sea of red Ferrari fans, and you can only stand in awe of that. It's a team that's not had like huge success, really, since mostly from Michael's days, but since 2007. I saw it as a huge challenge. Without a doubt, even as a kid, I used to play in [computer game] GP2 as Michael in that car, as my foot in that car. It definitely is a dream, and I'm really, really excited about it." Hamilton also confirmed he has never been to Ferrari’s Maranello base. "I have not," he said. "I bought my first Ferrari in 2010 I think, as a present to myself. I don't have it anymore. But I didn't get to go during that time. Being with Mercedes, I didn't think it was a good look to go at the time." Asked if he was planning to learn Italian, he said: "In all these years, I've not managed to learn any other languages, but of course I will definitely try. I do remember when I was karting in Italy, and I was able to pick up a few lines, and so hopefully that will come back to me pretty quickly." Hamilton was also keen to point out that he remains committed to Mercedes for 2024. "Just to go back to the new chapter, this chapter is still not finished," he said. "I'm still 100% focused on delivering for this team this year and trying to finish on a high. That's a big, big goal for me and the team, and I have absolute faith in everyone in the team. What we've done so far I think is great, so I really hope that we are somehow able to close the gap to the Red Bull."

#lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #fic ref #fic ref 2024 #not a race #2024 not a race #pre-season #pre-season 2024 #testing #testing 2024 #bahrain

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karizard-ao3 · 8 months

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Drabble 1- Eremika dancing in Marley

I'm mining my social media followers for drabble prompts today (9/26/3) because my kid is sick and I'm home with him and I think it would be fun to write some short things that I can actually finish to counteract the long slog of chipping away at my current two wips. Here's the first one! (Also Drabble 2 is ready and can be found here)

Prompt: Drunk Marley Eremika where Eren summons the courage to extend his hand for her to take it and dance with him and the ensuing conversation

Eren licks his lips and looks into his cup. The alcohol was harsh with a licorice bite. Each burning sip spread through him, warming him from the inside out and softening his brain into a slurry. It feels good not to think, he reflects as he tilts the cup into his mouth and takes another draft. Drunkenness is a welcome respite from his constant ruminations on the horrors he is going to visit upon the world.

He looks around at his friends, all here inside this tent at the refugee camp, and he can’t help but smile at this unintended and impromptu celebration. They don’t know it’s his going away party. From tomorrow onward, they will all be walking a different path.

Sadness slices through his drunken haze like torchlight through fog and he chases it away with another sip, his head nodding along to the warbling twang of instruments he does not recognize. Not far away, he catches sight of Mikasa sitting on a pillow with her eyes closed, drink in hand, swaying back and forth in time with the music. The tiniest smile curls at the corners of her mouth. His heart aches as he studies her. How can he leave her behind yet again? But, how else could he possibly keep her hands clean of the atrocities he has yet to commit?

He sighs, watching her with glassy eyes, too drunk to notice or care if anyone sees him staring. This is going to be the last chance he has to really look at her.

The musicians finish their song and, after a brief, murmured conversation, they strike up another. This time the notes are soft and slow and yearning. Mikasa opens her eyes, a wistful expression settling over her face like the spring mist that lingered above the meadow near their old home in Shiganshina in the mornings when the night sky began to lighten into day.

Eren stands up and crosses to her, looking down at her as she lifts her face and smiles at him. He smiles back and extends his hand. “Dance with me,” he says.

She takes his cup and sets it down with hers beside the cushion, then he helps her to her feet, lacing their fingers together and resting his other hand on her waist. She lays her remaining hand on his shoulder. “Just like when we were kids,” she says as he begins to lead, turning them in lazy circles, navigating around the other partiers gathered in clusters around the tent floor, drinking and laughing. They are the only ones who are dancing and she is right. It’s just like when they were kids, when his parents would return them home from the festival nights early, before the revelers started turning rowdy, but the music still played out on the square, drifting through the open windows on the warm summer breeze. Eren’s father would sweep Eren’s mother into his arms and waltz with her around the kitchen and Eren and Mikasa would mimic them, orbiting around them like dual moons before everyone switched partners and the dance continued. Eren and Mikasa are grown up now and his parents are gone. It is just the two of them, bumping into the pillows on the floor and giggling, red-faced from the alcohol or maybe because Eren is holding Mikasa so close, his hand creeping from her waist to her lower back, drawing her in so that there is no more distance between them.

“I wish we could go back to those days,” says Eren. Everything had been so simple back then. Back then, it had been enough to be her family. Back then, he had believed he could be at her side forever.

Mikasa rests her cheek on his shoulder, nodding her agreement. He cranes his head to look at her and she tilts her chin so that their eyes catch. “I would relive any day I spent with you,” she says.

Eren blinks back the sudden sting of tears and smiles at her, dipping her low— her favorite of Grisha’s dance moves when they were children. Just like back then, her eyes explode in firework sparkles and she laughs, clinging to Eren so he doesn’t drop her. She is breathless when he rights her, gripping his suit jacket and beaming. He begins to twirl her around the floor again.

“Do you remember when we had the picnic?” he asks. “When we stopped by the canal because I wanted to catch a fish to eat with it? But I fell in?”

Her fond sigh steams the air between them. “And then the neighborhood dogs ate all the sandwiches I had so carefully packed while I was getting you out.”

“And so we just went home. You were so disappointed. Would you relive that day?” Eren says, steering her around one of their passed out hosts.

“I would,” says Mikasa with a soft smile.

“Do you remember the time we baked a cake with salt instead of sugar?” He wants to revisit each moment of their lives, to do it all over again one more time before he leaves her to go where angels cannot tread.

“We ruined your mother’s birthday,” says Mikasa. “Her last one.”

They share a sad, nostalgic smile.

“But…” says Mikasa. “Oh, how she laughed.”

From the corner of the tent, the song comes to an end and starts back up again, the musicians exchanging knowing grins as, unaware of the extra time they have been given, Eren and Mikasa hold each other and dance.

#eremika #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #dancing #eremika fanfic #fanfiction #Marley Eremika #light angst #romantic #canon compliant

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dragonshoardofworks · 4 days

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DannyMerMay 2024

Day 1: Insect/Anchor

The return of Little Baby Moth! (From last year DannyMay)

Something happened since last time the two of them met, so LBMo is reasonably surprised to see Little Baby Man Mer's new form... or is this just an alternative dimension iteration of LBM (by @tourettesdog)? 🤔

(Keep reading to find the answer!)

@pikakaistudios Little Baby Mer inspired me in doing my own, so Kudos and credits where are due!

More fanarts and lore under the cut because it was getting long...

(^～^;)ゞ

Prompt for DannyMay by @dannymayevent and MerMay by @vladdyissues.

〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

Since I'm a serial procrastinator and I wanted to be sure the art pieces were at least decent/accurate, I was almost late (but thank CW that I did, because some of them had the wrong orca-pattern and I would have brought disgrace upon myself if I published anything not done right since orcas are one of my favorite animals).

That being said, let's continue the DannyMerMay journey!

Day 12: Time Travel/Seafood

My poor Mer-boy got yoinked temporalily into the past when he was still Danny (so even before the "normal" LBM-fication) and he's feeling reeeaaally distressed at the act of practically cannibalism that his past-self is committing...

(≧∇≦)

Day 2+4+29: Wish/Starfish + Wander/Night + Fireworks/Bioluminescence

Wandering in the night, some interesting encounters are bound to happen...

I wonder what would happen if you wish upon a(n alien) star(fish)...

(≧∇≦)

Day 19+20: Iron/Pearl + Pitch AU/Abyss

LBMer found a his rightful Crown (of Fire) sunk into the depths of the ocean!

But since it was rusty and forgotten, what better way to restore it than ghostly mother pearl?

(Works like ghostly ice, but it's an exclusive power of LBMer.)

(The Crown got bigger than canon, but he smol!)

Day 26: Shoes/Camouflage

They say that imitation is one of the best form of flattery, but when you don't want to get caught by a certain dimensional hopper (and be mistaken for one of his foes), it's the best way to blend in!

(Octopi can camouflage in ways that make you think that magic is real...)

ฅ^≧ﻌ≦^ฅ

(Little Baby Terror unfortunately got caught in the same "accident" that LBM did, so they generally prefer to stick together-ish in case they need help.)

Day 16+22: Glowing Veins/Courtship + Song Lyrics/Songs

I couldn't help myself and sneaked in some Everlasting Trio for the soul.

After all, LBM (and therefore LBMer) is still Danny, even if he has new form(s) and instincts.

They do incarnate the "Would you still love me if I was a worm?", don't they?

(◡̀_◡́)

Song: A Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay

(It feels such a Danny song to use, plus I checked how orcas court and while there's some posturing, they also sing! It felt only natural from there... >:3c)

Day 11: Mutation/Shell(s)

And finally: the answer!

LBM found this weird shell on the beach while they were on vacation, but when he checked it (read: nibbed it), it reacted and tooted a magical cloud that mutated our Little Baby Man into a Mer!

(The same fate happened to Dani/Little Baby Menace and Dan/Little Baby Terror, changing them into a Seahorse Mer and Octopus Mer respectively.

I've got a lineart done of them for another prompt, but I didn't manage in time to clean and color it yet, along with a couple of others... ( ≧Д≦) )

This has two versions because I couldn't decide which was better. @teacupsandstarlight suggested the first because of the transforming smoke around our boi, but since I saved both, I told myself: why not upload both?

For now, that's all! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

I still have some linearts to finish/digitalize/color, but at least I contributed to these two fantastic events, hope y'all enjoyed them and my works!

Hope to type ya soon! ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

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knockyasocksoff2022 · 5 months

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More Than You Know \\ soukoku

TW ⚠️: topics of depression and suicide. I don't really like writing that kind of stuff so there won't be too many details but these things are mentioned a bit.

-SUMMARY-

Chuuya and Osamu go to Kafka Academy together. Osamu is from a rich family, the Moris, who owns the Yokohama Port Corporation. Chuuya is a scholarship kid from the slums with anger issues. He thinks Osamu is annoying and pretentious and they fight a lot.

Then one day Osamu commits suicide.

Because Kuoyou is Mori's secretary, they attend the funeral where Chuuya receives a CD and a locked notebook, with a clue to the key only Chuuya would know, these objects appaently having been willed to him by Osamu.

After a month Chuuya realises he misses the other boy and that school isn't the same without him. Then as the month ends, he wakes up the week before Osamu commits suicide. Chuuya realises he has seven days to save the boy.

----------

(A/N: Right now I'm posting each chapter individually, but once the story is finished I'll post them all together on one post to make it easier to find. I'll probbaly reblog this post and put them here.)

(A/N: original/canon ages are first followed by the age they are in this fic)

Yukichi: 45 - 41

Ougai: 40 - 36

Koyou: 26 - 22

Yosano: 25 - 21

Osamu & Chuuya: 22 - 18

Kunikida: 22

Aku: 20 - 16

Gin: 18 - 14

Kyouka: 10

Atsushi: 18 - 14

Junichirou: 18 - 14

Naomi: 17 - 13

Q: 13 - 9

Elise: 10 - 7

#More Than You Know // soukoku #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #soukoku #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #osamu dazai #bsd dazai

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onboardsorasora · 8 months

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Congratulations Maxy!

I wrote this last night because I'm a fluffy sap and I couldn't help myself

Part 1 | Part 24 | Part 26

Part 25

Daniel stood at the back of the garage watching the eruption of the mechanics as Max crossed the chequered flag.

There was one mechanic running around in a cape marking everyone's cheeks with the Dutch flag.

There were two media handlers opening a large box and handing out tshirts. Blake received a few and passed one off to Daniel; Max Verstappen 3X World Champion

He smiled fondly at the navy shirt, so so proud of his boyfriend. The mechanic with the stamp stood before Daniel, face cracked open in joy. He held the marker of the Dutch flag up in question, and Daniel presented his left cheek to be marked.

The mechanic skipped off, continuing to mark everyone similarly– as Max's.

A hand descended on Daniel's shoulder and he turned to see Christian beaming at him like the proudest dad in the world. He was already wearing Max's 3x world champion shirt and had both his cheeks marked with flags.

"He did it." Daniel grinned and Christian pulled him into a bear hug.

"He did! Come!" Christian patted the back of Daniel's neck in a very paternal gesture and led him along to the barriers at parc ferme.

Daniel had never been this close to the podium before, normally if he's here at the track, he'd stay in the garages and see Max in his driver's room after he was finished with all of his commitments. Today of all days, Christian wanted him front and center. Who was Daniel to deny them?

The mechanics clapped him on the shoulder as he passed them, Adrian threw an arm around his shoulder and settled him between himself and Christian at the barrier. He hurried to pull on the T-shirt as Max pulled up into parc ferme and onto the LED platform that declared him the 2023 F1 World Champion.

Daniel grinned and cheered loudly with the rest of the team when Max alighted from the car and threw up his fingers in celebration. Daniel found himself throwing up a three in response. He didn't feel like his body was his own, he was vibrating out of his skin in excited, love and joy.

Max threw himself bodily into the pile of his mechanics. They patted him happily and he hugged GP tightly.

He ripped off his helmet and smiled at his team, his family. He was so overwhelmed. He fucking did it. He was a 3x champion of the fucking world!

He continued down the line, hugging and high-fiving until he got to Christian who hugged him tightly and spoke words of pride and adoration into his ear. Max couldn't stop grinning if he tried.

He stepped away from Christian and locked eyes with Daniel, who stood there looking at him as if he hung the moon and the stars. He stood there in Max's championship shirt and had Max's flag marked on his body. Declaring to the world that he was Max's.

Max felt his grin softening unconsciously to his Daniel smile.

His helmet fell to the tarmac as he threw both hands around Daniel's neck and he pressed their lips together happily. He didn't care that there were hundreds of cameras trained on them. He didn't care that he was essentially announcing their relationship to the world.

He was just so happy and the man he loved was right there. And they were both happy and in love and Max couldn't hold it in if he tried.

"You did it baby." Daniel grinned against his lips, Max pressed their foreheads together while the team cheered extra loudly around them. There would be so many more questions in the media pen tonight but Max could hardly care. He was a 3x world driver's champion and his boyfriend was proud of him.

#tennis au #maxiel #max/daniel #tennis player!dan #tennis!dan

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arofulboyfriend · 2 months

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on the future

When I was in my last semester of my associates, one of the classes I had to take was either public speaking or communications. I chose communications because fuck talking to the public.

It was a fun class, and my professor is great, and we still hang out and get lunch together a lot, even though I graduated in 2022 and will be going back to a different college soon.

But something in our textbook has, as dramatic as it may seem, almost haunted me ever since I read it.

It said that once a couple gets married and decides to have children or otherwise fully integrate their lives together, that they are statistically nearly guaranteed to steadily drop their single, non-partnered, not child-rearing friends, and only make friends with other married parents.

And... reading that made me sad. I have no desire to get married even if it's a platonic marriage of convenience, and I will never, ever, have children. But I don't want to live alone, even if one day I do finish my doctorates and get a job that pays me more than enough to do so, because I'm a social, cuddly person. And it didn't make me just sad, it basically confirmed in confident, scientific terms that my worst fear of ending up sad and alone and unsupported were going to come true.

You see, my aroace journey has not been a fun one. I've rushed into relationships romantic and sexual, had sex I hated, dated people I didn't like, and even now am in a relationship I'm not truly ecstatic about, just agreed cause she wanted to label me her boyfriend to feel comfortable things I'd 100% do platonically given half a chance. (She's a great friend and I adore her and she's aware I don't feel romantic feelings towards her, our relationship is fine, it's just not a thing I went into with that goal in mind, if that makes sense.)

All because I have a really deep seated and hard to shake fear of abandonment.

There are many reasons for it, but nearly all my friends from childhood and primary school, of which there weren't a lot to begin with, haven't just faded away or grown apart, they've, from my perspective, deserted me, usually to fulfill and commit solely to a romantic relationship. My best friend when I was 14 ran off one day, saddling me with her roleplay forum, so that she could get married, all because her then-fiance said he didn't want me rping with her, because he said it made him jealous. (Nevermind that she was 26, straight, christian, and I was a girl at the time, and also 14, especially 14.)

Ever since then, and especially when compounded with other abandonment even by less close friends, I've been terrified of being replaced, forgotten, cast aside in favor of someone who will kiss them. Logically, I know the experience I detailed above was far from the norm, I shouldn't have been the best friend of an adult woman over 10 years my senior at all, there's no reason her fiance should have seen a kid as a threat especially over SFW wolf roleplay. But it happened regardless, and I started to notice that it was becoming a pattern.

So, I panicked, relentlessly pursued a boy who ended up abusing me, pursued a girl who assaulted me, forced myself to be sexually available to my partner, all for the security I was told a romantic sexual relationship was supposed to have that they wouldn't leave me if I was just good enough. For already obvious reasons, it didn't work, and I lost friends, and then I graduated high school and didn't speak to anyone except 2 people, who ARE still my friends, ever again.

So ever since then I've been wary. A bit more cagey with my trust. My current roommate flirted with me a week after we'd met and had spent that week texting for hours a day, and I snapped at him in a blind panic that I had done something to lead him on, and oh god, this nice boy I want to be friends with is going to leave me.

And he didn't? And now I live with him? And we're still friends, even as the nature of our relationship has changed?

And he introduced me to his other friends! And I'm dating one! And another got me into cosplay! And they accepted my best friend without batting an eye! And we've all been together since just before the pandemic hit, and we're each others confidants and homies hand in beautiful hand together.

But... while I had been able to safely ignore it for nearly 4 years, since the breakup with my ex boyfriend and only sexual/romantic partner since, the fear came back, and stronger, despite all the therapy and self help and building of my self confidence, and then I read that paragraph and panicked.

Because my friends and I are in our mid 20s, and while three of us are aroace, the other five aren't, and they want to form relationships and build families - my roommate wants to do so as fast as possible so he can get citizenship and stop worrying about the status of daca.

And I don't know what I'll do if I lose this group. I remember that stupid fucking paragraph on a single page on a textbook written for and by a small public college in the midwest, and I panic. What if they all get married, move out, have kids, and decide the rest of us aren't worth the effort to stay in touch? What if my roommate kicks me out before I'm ready, to go settle with a fiance? What if, and how will I survive it? The first experience already nearly killed me.

But I was relaying these fears to my grandma last night when she stopped me and asked me how many people in my family have gotten married.

Well... you and grandpa, nano and pops, nano and uncle frank, pops and eleanor, mom and dad, mom and ex step dad, mom and step dad...

I have a much bigger family than that.

My paternal aunt is partnered for 30 years and never intends to marry him. They live separately.

My dad has never remarried and has had unrelated, unromantic, unsexual roommates.

My two maternal great aunts have never been married and never dated and live together.

My half brother is still single with no plans to marry.

My unrelated uncle never married or partnered.

My unrelated aunt never remarried after getting divorced.

If wikipedia is accurate, my cousin hasn't remarried since 1997, and was only married for 7 years.

All my life, I've been fed the idea that damn near everyone settles down, marries, has kids, and this is the natural order of things, and what I must do too. I didn't realize until I laid it out that more of my family have been happily single and/or unmarried for most if not all of their lives than have been the opposite.

What the paragraph failed to mention, and what I failed to realize until last night, was that that statistic can only be even mostly accurate to a time that has already come and gone. It can only be accurate to the generations that birthed the rest of us, and even then, still has another few decades to go before anything will be confirmed.

The rest of us? The rest of us that put the internet's global spotlight on the next generation of the queer community? We're already breaking that trend wide open and proving the statistic wrong and outdated. We're actively choosing to reject the institutions of marriage and of home ownership among a world that ruined both for us. We're prioritizing friendship and shared love over exclusive romances, we're building and supporting communities and challenging the biases of white colonial rule and the relationship to marriage to 2.5 kids and a dog is little more than a soundbite of scorn and mockery.

So... maybe it won't happen, that thing I fear the most. Maybe I can continue to live with my friends, and come home to a lively house or set of apartments each day. Maybe, even if they marry and have 2.5 kids, it'll be a set of goblins we share. Maybe I've found my personal fulfillment, I just have to wait and find out.

I hope I have.

I'll try and hold onto that.

#seren yaps #sex ment cw #abuse ment cw #assault ment cw #suicide ment cw

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incorrectpicka · 2 years

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hey! mobile otome fan!

waiting endlessly for the ssum? getting bored grinding in obey me? just finished your 1000th playthrough of mystic messenger?

play picka: 30 days to love!

picka is a mobile game for both ios and android that takes place in a series of chatrooms that unlock a chapter at a time: usually a day or two in game every 24 hours, across about a week in total. in that way, it's similar to mystic messenger, but without the intensive time commitment of mysmes.

in picka: 30 days to love, you play as yeonwoo ha, a university student and artist taking part in TDL, a dating reality game in which 4 men and 4 women are placed in chats where they all get to know each other, play games, and earn opportunities to talk 1 on 1 with their love interests or even take them on dates "irl"!

over the course of 30 in-game days, participants in TDL send gifts and anonymous messages, go on group and individual dates, and eventually begin to pair off based on your choices. as yeonwoo, you're able to pursue all 4 of the male love interests, 3 of which have both normal and best endings. no spoilers, but i will introduce them under the cut at the end. the girls are great too, btw, even if you can't date them </3.

the game translation is excellent, even down to each character having their own distinct typing style. all the characters are distinct and feel like a group of real friends in every chatroom!

it's not a long game, but it has a lot of replay value, since so many of the chats are specific to each route - there are also several side stories, a secret ending, and 3 after ending stories for the best ends!

i'm not being paid to say any of this, i just really love this game, which isn't very well-known yet. so come on!!! give it a try!!! and in just 30 days you too could fall in love...!!!!!

jooyul won, 24: a playful, outgoing university student who loves to cook. jooyul works together with yeonwoo to make TDL the warm and fun environment that it is, looking to make friends as much as to find love!

euntae cha, 27: a reserved, warmhearted veterinarian taking a step out of his comfort zone. though he occasionally comes off as aloof, euntae is a romantic at heart and willing to be vulnerable with the one he loves.

dennis miley / doha seo, 26: a translator and interpreter for an international corporation, doha is a citizen of spain, half spanish and half korean. easygoing and mature, doha is a daring person and thrill-seeker, despite his laid-back personality.

chunsung ki, 23: the owner of a popular café, chunsung is a man who knows exactly what he wants. polite but distant, his single-minded focus is dedicated to earning the heart of his chosen lover.

#long post #mystic messenger #the ssum #obey me!#mobile games #mobile otome #picka 30 days to love #picka tdl #picka #Hii. I'm advertising for picka now.#Come date these boys please. Lol

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clatoera · 9 months

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Always Remember We're Burned for Better Chapter 17: What Doesn't Kill Me Makes Me Want You More

Heeeeey guys. I feel like I apologize a lot for delays. Full transparency is that as we enter the final act of this fic we are also entering my application season. Things are going to be irregular until October when my apps are submitted. At the same time I expect thats when I'll be starting the sequel so! Exciting things ahead! Thank you for your patience and understanding and love. I appreciate and love every one of you.

I quite literally went on a mission to revisit every thing Jack Quaid has ever done to get an idea of how I wanted Marvel to sound. I'm posting this 26 minutes before I see oppenheimer the third time.

The title is from Cruel Summer (tswift)

AO3

Masterpost

As always, thank you to my friends. @ohhowwehavefallen who quite literally is the reason for the very last scene. IT was her. Give her credit for it existing. @kentwells for literally letting me bounce EVERY idea off them (I literally the other day said I just want people to be happy and had to be reminded I cause the suffering), and @crookedlyniceperson who keeps me going with the thought of memes.

Thank you as we enter this last segment of chapters, where we end the war and start the rest of their lives.

“Do they ever stop looking at you like you killed their dog?” Johanna is the one who asks, glancing around half heartedly at the dozens of wary stares being sent their way at any given moment.

In perfect, offhanded unison, Cato and Glimmer give a resigned “No.”

They had grown used to it. The distrustful looks, the pitiful side glancing, but frankly there was not as much fear or respect one would think these once great victors would garner.

Then again, they were quite a sight to behold these days.

Johanna, with hair like a peach fuzz and various track marks from IV after IV for that Morphling hit.

Clove, who had flayed more than one man alive on television, with skin like violets and nightlock berries from her neck down, bruises blossoming on every inch of that pale canvas.

Cato and Glimmer, who they had long since deemed as crazy and unstable, but now less of a threat with the return of the carrot they had dangled on the stick before them.

Really, the only one who even resembled his old self was Marvel. And what threat was he, anyway?

Finnick did not grace them with his presence, nor did Annie, as they were playing peacekeepers between Katniss and Peeta across the room after his attempt on her life not all that many weeks ago. After all, someone had to keep Miss girl on fire’s embers glowing. Without the supervision of Finnick, Gale likely would have taken Peeta out by now just for his own opportunity to get ahead in the name of protecting Katniss.

“We kinda did kill their dogs. Well. We killed their kids.” Glimmer reminds her, back to her earlier habits of pushing food around on a tray, slipping hard and fast into her old ways.

She sits directly next to Clove on the opposite side of Cato, across from Johanna. Next to Johanna is Marvel who still cannot look at her for longer than a second, so far as Glimmer knows at least.

It’s Clove, of course, who catches him looking when Glimmer is not.

“We didn’t kill their kids, they weren’t in the games.” Clove rolls her eyes, but stabs her blunt spork into the overly-cooked but under-seasoned green beans. She couldn’t even raise her shoulder parallel to the floor, but they were still unwilling to give her (or Cato, for that matter) a knife. At least someone in this godforsaken place was still scared of her and didn’t see her like a bird with a broken wing. “The twelves mostly finished themselves off every year anyway- for fucks sake would it kill someone to get some salt down here?”

“I would commit a literal war crime for a pizza right now.” Marvel admits, and the tone of his voice sounds like maybe he’s only half joking, that maybe he really would dig a knife into the president of District 13 in exchange for extra pepperoni.

When the eyes around them firmly land on him, and some of the armed guards tense and take a step forward he puts up a single, defeated hand. “I’m joking. I’m not here to take out the rebellion for a stuffed crust.” When the guards step back and the weary looks turn away, he does cock an eyebrow and gives a slight nod of his head. “Extra cheese on the other hand..”

Glimmer gives a quiet giggle, though she does not look up from the swirls she makes with the potatoes before her.

Cato actually laughs, though, in a way he had not in the many months of separation of him and Clove. It was like something in him had come back to life, and it clearly had something to do with the dark haired girl he currently had his arms draped around the shoulders of. “If you’re going to get us shot over pizza we may never have again, at least make it something good. At this point I’d lead this fucking war if it would get me back to a burger.” He gently nudges Clove, who is furiously attempting to stab at whatever they were trying to pass off as a balanced meal. “Come on. What do you miss?”

“What don’t I fucking miss? Our bed. Fabric softener. The use of my arms..” Clove starts to complain, but she looks up and catches the teasing shine in his blue eyes and can’t help but play along. “...half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the peanut butter half. And an orange. If we make it out of this, I never want to go a day without real fruit ever again.” She nudges at Glimmer’s knee with her own, before doing the same with her free shoulder. “What about you Glim Glam? What’s your death row choice here?”

How is she supposed to say, oh, nothing, I wasn’t allowed to enjoy food, the thought of eating makes me nauseous? How is she supposed to say that she isn’t quite sure there's anything out there in the world that she’s interested in these days. There’s a memory, though, of a night before Clove became victor officially, of late night snacks in a bed that was not her own but belonged to the man across from Cato. Back when there was still potential and love in her world, that little bit of good that she had had taken from her yet again.

“...those little cake slices, not cupcakes, but the individual slices so you can try the different flavors. They have them at the parties all the time. And maybe fries?” Glimmer smiles to herself at the memory of salt between bed sheets and frosting on the tips of noses. “And there was this pasta, with like…cheese sauce and It was so so good but I can’t remember what it was called but it was just so good I’d kill to have it again–”

“...mac’n’cheese. That’s what it’s called. You like it with the toasty little breadcrumbs on top of it.” Marvel finishes for her, briefly lifting his head and giving ever so slight of a nod. “I remember it from when-”

“Yeah. I do too.” Glimmer agrees, and is the one to break eye contact as she refocuses down at the scraps of borderline dog food they’re being fed.

A heavy, powerful silence falling over the table full of victors, a haze no one quite wants to break. Cato taps his thumb on Clove’s shoulder, and she settles into his side contently. Marvel clears his throat and looks around the room awkwardly, not quite focusing on any point or face in particular.

“...well!” Johanna announces, finally breaking through the silence that permeated their shared space. “I don’t know about you, but the first thing I want, is a fucking drink.”

—————

“Where’s Cato? I haven’t seen you two apart…actually at all, since you got back?” Glimmer invites herself to the foot of Clove’s bed, hands full of bed sheets and thread. “Off in that silly little meeting of boys?”

“Finnick showed up and practically begged him to go.” Clove confirms, pulling herself to a more proper sitting position and tucking her feet back to sit criss-crossed underneath her. “I don't know if it was actually a meeting or if he was just trying to make him go get his allotted thirty minutes of fresh air.” As she sits she tugs at the newly replaced IV in her hand, bringing forward the poll that was attached to the long bit of tubing in her hand, reminded of the inconvenience she thought she had escaped.

Glimmer reaches out a hand to brush over the back of Clove’s, immediately calling attention to the new intrusion. “Clove! I thought you were done with these?”

“Eh. A small setback. Turns out part of my lung just like..collapsed when I was trying to throw this morning. It was filled with blood, it got pretty nasty. I guess I still have some internal bleeding and bruising.” She pulls down the top of her hospital pajamas, showing the literal tubing coming out from below her clavicle, which is filled with fresh ruby blood. “Shoved this in me, the IV is for the pain. I don’t think I need it but–”

“Your lung collapsed. You have a literal piece of plastic sewed into your skin. And you don’t think you need the pain meds?” Glimmer cocks a blonde eyebrow, before mirroring Clove’s cross legged posture. “You’re stronger than anyone else I know, Clove. Stubborn, but strong nonetheless.”

She offers Clove a bit of thread and one of her stitching needles, along with the upper half of some shredded fabric. It had started off handedly– a story of how Clove used to stitch up Cato, how they had been taught in the academy and how she didn’t want to lose that skill too when people were here to baby her. Someone, Primrose Everdeen maybe, had suggested it may be a good therapeutic exercise for her to use the fine muscles and tendons in her hands, to work on stitching and maintain her fine motor skills.

Really, though, it was more of a therapy for Glimmer, who desperately needed to feel needed, who desperately needed a friend to distract her brain for a few hours a week.

It worked out for both of them.

“Any other injuries you wanna admit to, Clove?” Glimmer inquires, absentmindedly beginning to run a new type of fabric stitch on the opposite end of the fabric from Clove. “You know I have no one to tell.”

“Nope. Just the usual. Broken ribs. All my major joints are useless. A lung that gave out. Oh, some internal bleeding…” Clove tries not to reveal her frustration when she cannot thread the needle, cannot keep the intrinsic muscles of her head steady enough to connect the two pieces. The shaking of her right hand betrays her as she drops the needle, grip strength so diminished she can't even keep hold of it for long enough to throw an anchoring stitch in the fabric. Clove throws down the fabric in defeat, running her hand now over her face instead.

“But hey. My skin is coming back together. Just ugly fucking scars for the rest of my life–” Clove reveals the skin of her thigh to Glimmer, the puckering of stitches and the greenish-yellow hue of a bruise starting to dissolve under her skin. “Just fucking great, Glimmer. I’m just great.”

Glimmer drops the fabric, and immediately pushes up the sleeves of her District Thirteen issued henley shirt. Her own scars are not as angry red or freshly bruised, but rather a raised, pink granulated tissue in rivulettes from her elbows to right where her wrist meets her hand. “We all have scars now, Clove. No more magic Capitol tricks to take them away. I clawed my way out of handcuffs, using blood to lubricate my way out.. We all have scars now that we’re going to carry for the rest of our lives. You are alive. You have Cato. By all standards, you’re dong pretty fucking great compared with the other option here.”

Glimmer picks up the little fallen needle and wordlessly threads it for Clove, saying nothing nor expecting any gratitude from the other woman for the act. “You have Cato. Who will not leave your side, who shoves into a twin-sized hospital bed with you somehow–”

“We slept in a twin sized bed at the academy when we were sixteen until he won. We’re used to it, is all.”

“It’s still sweet. How he is so insistent on being near you all the time, all he thought about that whole time was you Clove, I’m shocked they even got him away from you now.”

“Yeah well.. I made him go with Finnick, too. It’s not good for him to sit here and treat me like a porcelain doll all the time. For either of us.” Clove takes Glimmer’s offering with no words of thanks, as the exchange would prove too embarrassing of a hit to Clove’s fragile confidence.

Her confidence being the only truly fragile thing about her, may she add.

“He sleeps with me and he is always touching me but it’s like he’s scared to touch me, you know?” Clove explains, hoping it is not too much information for what had become her closest friend. “He thinks I'm fragile.”

“He doesn’t think you’re fragile.” She nearly scoffs, giving a half hearted laugh. “He thinks you’re anything but. He just doesn’t want to hurt you.”

It’s Clove’s turn to scoff and laugh at that. “He has never given a fuck about hurting me. He broke my collarbone the day we met. After he won, he used to push me so hard at training that I couldn’t walk the hundred steps to my room at training. One time he picked me up by the throat and slammed me against a wall until I could escape myself. Our entire lives have been hurting each other–”

“Well you’re not the one getting choked against a wall now, are you?” Glimmer deflects, and a wicked smile floods Clove’s face at the realization of the lighthearted change in topic.

“I wish I were getting choked against a wall in a different way, you know?” Clove teases, laughing as they fall into a comfortable silence as they work on different types of stitching– human skin or low thread-count sheets.

“You know Marvel is going to come around, right?” Clove offers out of the blue, seemingly coming from nowhere with the topic change. “You said that all Cato thought about was me, well, that was him too. We shared a wall. Lots of conversations were had through six inches of concrete and all….he’ll come around. He just needs time to remember–”

“Clove, he won’t even look at me. He won’t come around, because he remembers it all just fine. Do you know what he said to me that day? That I used him, that he was just another client to me. He said that…that..that I just picked him because he was there! He doesn’t believe that I love him, Clove. He thinks I just..faked it all.” Glimmer catches the skin of her finger in her needle, and quickly brings the blood drop to her lips to staunch the bleeding. “I didn’t fake a thing. Not with him. He is the only person it was ever real with and I just- I just…I miss him.”

“He loves you too, Glimmer. He never stopped.”

“Yeah, well, he shows it just like every other man I’ve ever met, now.”

—————

“There's my favorite cellmate!” Marvel’s voice pops out, a goofy grin on his face as he lets himself right into her room.

“Let me guess, it’s your turn to babysit me?” Clove slams shut the book she had been reading, some silly novel from long before the dark days in a language that was English but also so much more complicated. The only type of enrichment activity she got these days was mental, it seems.

“Huh? No, no of course not, no...yeah, actually. Yeah. But! I came because I wanted to see you, not because It’s my turn to keep you supervised.”

Clove swings her legs over the side of the bed, placing her feet firmly on the ground before pushing herself to a standing position. She had quickly discovered if anyone was going to let her get away with something it was going to be Marvel– he was not going to keep her in bed with crafts or insist she not move too much at risk of re-angering an existing injury or worse, making a new one. Maybe it was because he had been there when she was at her absolute worst in the Capitol, right alongside her, but he didn’t quite treat her like her skin was made of glass. “Let me guess, another meeting of all the victors but us?”

“The privilege of being the special ones who got pulled out of the arena apparently comes with a security clearance.” Marvel shrugs, nodding his head enthusiastically towards the door. “Peeta bread down the hall is in therapy, Johanna went backwards today in terms of progress with water, and Annie is..well she’s Annie. Oh but us, we’re the big scary careers remember? We’re the little captiol plants, that's why they tried to kill you, makes it more believable you know?”

Clove hops off the bed and practically scurries towards the door, at the chance to escape her sterile prison at any slight opportunity that arises. As she gets closer to her chaperone she notices the permanent marker writing on his arm. “Look at you, you got slave to district thirteen privilege, what are you blowing off right now?”

“History of Nuclear Defense. It’s pretty cool, but I can’t look at that guy from twelve for more than fifteen minutes-”

“Well you are the one who threatened to stab him for cheesecake, Marvel.”

“I was kidding! Mostly!” Marvel gestures to the left to turn out of the hallway, the long way away from the fellow prison (hospital) cells of their friends and fellow victors. Other than Annie, he has had the hardest time accepting what has happened to them, and even more so why he was left without the physical scars of his friends. “Apparently Cato and Glimmer have both gone after him, I think our turn is long overdue.”

They take their government mandated stroll up and down the hall, back and forth, as they do any day that Marvel gets assigned Clove duty. It’s the most exercise anyone will let Clove have, the most autonomy, even.

“Have you heard anything about back home? Noone will tell me shit, and I don’t know if they don’t know or if they’re trying to spare my feelings like I'm a child who can’t handle the reality of war.” He half whispers, all too aware (and maybe even a little paranoid, after their time in the capitol) that someone is always listening for something even the littlest bit treasonous to slip their lips so they can be hung in the proverbial town square.

“Glimmer knows nothing about Gloss and Cashmere. They can’t tell me anything about Enobaria. I thought asking every day would break them but-” Clove gives half a shrug, kicking her feet along the concrete floors. “Noone can tell me anything about her. We don’t know about Brutus, either. All Cato wants to know is about his sister. I don’t think anyone knows. Or if they do, they’re keeping it from all of us.”

He doesn’t respond, just gives a nod at the reality of their situation. If anyone knows anything, it is well hidden from all of them. “You know, I’m not glad you’re still in the hospital, but I’m glad Cato sleeps with you, he’s supposed to be my roommate. We have fucking roommates, what is this, war boarding school? Between this and the classes, I feel like they left some gaps in our education in the districts. Who knew we should know how to do nuclear fission by eighteen.”

“I literally don’t even know what those words mean.” She half-laughs, shaking her head in disapproval. “Other than the games and then, you know, the capitol, I have barely spent a night away from him since we were sixteen. I think you’re safe to push the beds together to make yourself one big one, because he won’t be there anytime soon.”

Clove supposed that meant that Glimmer was meant to be her roommate when all was said and done. In another life, they probably would have switched in the dark of the night, Clove and Marvel or Glimmer and Cato, rearranging the sleeping arrangements in a way that would scandalize the upper-administration of thirteen and they would not have cared. All they would have cared about is having been together, at whatever cost. Things are different, now, though.

“You need to talk to her.”

“I don’t want to talk to her.”

“Marvel I do not know what they said to you in those last couple of days before we got out, but a week before all you wanted in the entire world was to see her again.” Clove reminds him in a voice that can only be described as lecturing. “All you have to do is talk to her, you’ll know she meant it all.”

“I just can’t get it out of my head, Clove. That all along she was just using me. Over and over and over again, I just hear them telling me that it never would have been me. Why would it be me?” His eyebrows are just slightly knit together, and there's a hesitation in his voice that Clove can recognize as doubt.

Doubt. The strongest force in the world, like a spell that needs no more than a drop to permeate every inch of your being, to consume you. To burn you to the ground.

“Because you’re you. And she’s her. And I’m Clove, and he’s Cato. It makes sense just because it does. Some things just…are. And this is one of them.” She has nothing better to say, because there is no stronger answer.

Somethings are just meant to be because they simply are.

They pace in a peaceful albeit tense silence, for about five more minutes before the overhead alarm signals to them that a change in activity will happen in exactly five minutes, and her other supervisors will return.

“...you know that Glimmer and Cato got to go to the armory, right?” Clove informs him with a heavy, heavy sigh. “Cato gets target practice and I’m barely allowed out of bed. How’s that fair? I’m going fucking crazy, Marvel.”

“You almost died, you psycho, I think they’re just being cautious. Besides, you were already crazy.”

“I’m not made of porcelain or glass or ceramics. I trained in the best training academy in the country for ten years, I won the fucking Hunger Games.” Clove slams her hand into the door, blocking their entrance back in. “Do you think I'm some little broken winged bird?”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Clove. I was there. I know what you survived. I wouldn’t have. I don’t think anyone else would have.” He gently nudges her hand out of the way so he can make sure she actually goes back to her room. “You know, it probably wouldn’t have been so bad if you had just given them the screams they wanted.”

Clove scoffs. “That's rule number one. Never show weakness. That gets you killed. And besides, I only scream for one person.” She gives him a playful nudge with her shoulder as she pushes past him.

Who would have thought. At one time she saw him as one of the most annoying victors she had ever met, and now, he was the only person treating her like she had her own two legs to stand on.

Damn. Maybe trauma bonding is real.

“I don’t need babysitting, you know, Marvel.”

“Trust me, I Know that. Convince everyone else.”

—————

“It’s okay, Clove, you’ll get it back–”

Clove lets out a frustrated scream, throwing the knife to the ground. Finally, finally, she had gotten a knife back in her hand in the training room, a moment she had been working toward for weeks. She had expected it to be muscle memory, truly her second nature, and come back to her as easily as it had back when she was five years old and threw for the first time.

Apparently muscles lose their memory when they are severed.

“No, Cato, it isn’t fucking okay!” She grabs another one of the knives– albeit not the best quality, but she cannot blame that. She could kill with a plastic butter knife, before– and as soon as she raises her arm she nearly drops the knife from the sharp pain that runs through her shoulder. “This is all I fucking have, this is all I am, and I can’t do it. I could do this when I was five.”

The couple of throws she had managed to succeed in executing failed in other ways, each three feet away from even hitting her target. A failure, by academy standards.

“Baby, this is not all you are.”

“How would you feel? If the only thing that has ever made you remarkable was just..gone? This is all I have, yes it is. This is as close as I’ve ever felt to my mother, who chose the games over me, this is the only thing that kept my grandmother choosing to keep me alive, the hope that i’d actually win. I was tiny and frail looking then but I was good. I was the best. This is all I have, Cato. This is all I am, and now I'm not.” Clove tries, again, to bring her arm past parallel with the floor, and the pain is nearly unbearable. She does not cry. She does not show it. But god, god does it hurt deep in her bones.

“If this is hurting you, you need to stop, Clove.” Stupid Cato. Stupid Cato and his ability to know even the slightest change in her face, to be able to notice even her slightest tells. “You just need time and that's okay.”

“And what the fuck got into YOU Cato? What the fuck is this ‘you need to stop’ shit?” Clove snaps, stepping forward to grab him by the center of his shirt, pulling him forward with a jerk of her arms. “What happened to the person who broke me, and ran me until I threw up, and never once, not a single time, took fucking pity on me? What happened to the person who wanted to make me a better tribute, who wanted to make me a better fucking victor even when we were going to kill each other? I’m not broken, Cato, don’t treat me like I am.”

Cato shakes his head, and drops his hands to his side, before very very gently grabbing her upper arms. “Clove, I don’t want to hurt you, it’s not worth it.”

“Oh since fucking when don’t you want to hurt me? Pick me up by the throat and make me fight my way out, Cato!” Clove practically begs, deep eyes searching his face in desperation, pleading for understanding,

“That was to make you survive, Clove, not fucking kill you.” He tries, gently tightening his grip on her arms. “This isn’t all you are, Clove, not anymore. Not ever.”

“Cato, stop! Treat me like your fucking partner. Treat me like me, Treat me like you’re Cato and I’m Clove and we have spent our entire lives making each other better. I am begging you, treat me like me.” Clove sees the hesitation in his face, in the way he looks from her eyes to her nose to avoid the desperation in her eyes, and knows she has him. She grabs his right hand and pushes it up to the top of her shoulder. “Brace my shoulder, and do NOT let it go. If I cry or scream. Do not let it go.”

Something snaps in Cato, or maybe something reawakens, but he gives a firm, hard squeeze at the junction of her arm and her shoulder, feeling the tendons separate and slip underneath his fingers. Clove’s legs nearly give out, and it takes all she has not to whine in the true agony at the feeling of her joints sliding over each other again. He does not let go, or loosen the grip he has on her swelling shoulder joints. Cato twists her in his arms, facing her out towards the targets. “Go. Throw.”

His other arm is wrapped around her waist, and holds her up as her legs beg to give out and bring her to the ground. As her throws hit closer and closer to the target, Cato doesn’t comment on how he can tell exactly how hard she is struggling to breathe, or how he can feel her other hand shaking at her side.

“I have an idea.” Cato begins, finally letting go of her arm and her body and trying to ignore the soft whine that she lets out when he does. “Not that they’re letting us anywhere near a war but,”

He reaches for the same deep silver gun he had picked up all those weeks ago, when he and Glimmer had been given free range for an hour with Beetee taking pity on them. “Easier to hit with this.”

Cato slips it from his hands to hers, and notices the way her hand nearly falls at the weight of the weapon. Before the frustrated look can even befall her face, he has her back in front of him, with both of his hands on top of hers. He raises her hands in his, holding them out infront of her. “You’ll like it, at least until your arms are better.”

“Easy now, baby.” Cato whispers in her ear, “You’ve got it.” He promises, and when she finally pulls the trigger, he catches her back against his chest when the kickback reverberates through her and sends her a few inches backwards. “There you go,” Cato kisses right below her ear, just before she twists in his arms to face him.

The smile stretched across her face is worth it all in that moment, the wicked, dark energy she is so known for all but painted in her eyes.

“I knew you’d like that.” Cato teases, only slightly off guard when the metal falls to the ground with a loud cling and he feels her pulling him back. It’s effortless when he naturally lifts her by her waist onto the armory table, in a spot between the guns and knives and various weapons of choice for the assorted victors in thirteen.

Clove threads her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and oh she is alive, alive alive again. As she pulls him down on top of her, she pauses only for a moment before catching his lips with hers.

“Remember, I’m not broken.”

“I know, Clove.”

#arwbfb tag #the hunger games #clato #cato and clove #clato fanfic #cato hadley #clove kentwell #glimmer thg #marvel thg #always remember we're burned for better tag #the hunger games fanfic

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