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#it might be cheaper to do that instead

you-can-be-what-you-want-to-be · 1 year

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I think the reason trans girl mob goes off so hard is because… the show is inherently about a kid who’s an outcast learning to be his best most happy self. Like people always say be yourself yeah but that usually doesn’t actually mean anything.

Mob psychos thesis statement is you are NOT special, and that is beautiful because it means you can be anything. Just because you’re a good artist and a shit singer doesn’t mean you should do art instead of singing, you should do what makes you happy and strive to be as good at it as you can, because mediocre is an achievement when you aren’t special, it’s about self improvement, not being the best.

And then you get a kid, who’s constantly terrified of his own emotions and how they effect others and is seen as naive, who doesn’t fit the stereotypical masculine world well (weak as hell, cares a lot about emotions, pacifist) and doesn’t fit the stereotypical feminine world well either (reserved usually, in the body improvement club, horrible fashion, not able to read a room) and you say part of being the best, happiest possible version of yourself is realizing your gender, and it’s not a sad thing, and it’s not about anyone else, it’s about being the best you possible.

I don’t think mob in show is trans or would be any better or worse at being a girl than he is at being a boy, because it isn’t about that. It’s about the idea that when people do the things that are important to them without regard for what other people might think and only focus on being who they want to be (not who they think they should be, not on who they are, who they WANT to be, who would be both a good person and make them happy) that that is the best, happiest, most successful version of them. And I think that’s beautiful.

#trans girl mob #trans mob #Trans Sheigo Kageyama #mob psycho 100 #meta thoughts #trans #just thinking about if everyone’s not special then maybe you can be who you want to be again #and you’re the protagonist of your own life #might be because I saw the episode with the depressed room and the cultural fair again #and how they thought the one guys problem was being unable to grasp his own life #mob and serizawa both having breakdowns about possibly wasting their lives and mob deciding he doesn’t want his age #to be the only thing that changes #and how mob worked really really hard on the costumes and the result was no one said anything good but no one complained #and how he got 70 in the marathon which isn’t a lot but is over TWO HUNDRED places further than before #and body improvement club in general #the beauty in you don’t have to be special and aren’t and that’s fine because everything is still beautiful and impressive in its own way #like yeah I might be living in one room and sharing living space with people I don’t know #instead of my own apartment or house #but I’m still fucking doing it and I’m happy and it’s cheaper than my last place #it’s important to hold onto and chase what matters to you #without clinging to things just because you always have and it feels safe or like you want it bc it used to be important #and to not want soemthing so bad that what you have now doesn’t matter #but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still reach for something better #anyway I’m rambling if you haven’t watched mob psycho go do it it genuinely changed my life for the better

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mctreeleth · 1 year

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Big Dice Update:

The metre tall dice is very good but it is difficult so say that is bigger than some of the other “biggest” dice I have seen, and now that the technique has been worked out it isn’t that hard to do the math for the next size up, and the sewing is not technically challenging it is just slow, so like, I may as well go for broke in my attempt to make the biggest roll-able D20 there is.

I found some $4 a metre light grey canvas at Spotlight while I was home over the long weekend but they only had 5 metres of it and I needed 10. Fortunately the one up here in the city also had some, so I now have the 10 metres required to make both the 135cm (bigger than the biggest roll-able dice I have found record of online) and 70cm (can fit through a door - just) D20s.

I have ordered a pack of rainbow dyes to colour it (I just want big random rainbow splotchy batik) which hopefully gets here by this weekend, so we can get some spray bottles and make a day of it. I still need to order a hundred+ dollars worth of zipper and twill tape, and then go back to Spotlight for about $30 of the cheap poplin for the tubes.

As always, the noodles will be the last bit bought, because these two will require another 20 of them, and my apartment is quite small.

Oh, and I would like to take the real big one to the medieval fair, which is in less than 4 weeks.

I make such good choices.

#if you have been playing along with the math you will have realised that these two will have a combined cost of about $300 #and yes it would have been a lot cheaper if I had gone with a whatever fabric instead of deciding to custom dye it #but I had a vision with the original one that I set aside so that it would be more cost effective when I wasn't sure that it would work #and while it is very cool I can't help but think that the complexity of the print really distracts from it #so this time I am doing it in my big rainbow untied dye and no-one can stop me #I gave myself a $100 fabric budget and managed to find a cheap enough canvas that even with spending $50 on the good dye it came out under #and the colours might be slightly darker but that is a fair trade off to be using a stronger canvas instead of sheeting for the same price #then I will have the very impressive one and the one that I can get in and out of my apartment without having to disassemble it #although the changes I have planned for the inner tubes should make it much easier to assemble and disassemble #I will have the big one for being impressive and the little one for being small enough that I can photograph the process #oh I have just remembered I need to buy some round spring clips too because the ones I have were a bit finicky

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kuromochimi · 3 months

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baby I’m nothing like your broke ex

gojo satoru, nanami kento

Content warnings: mentions of past toxic relationships, not proof read

🔜 suguru geto, kamo choso, higuruma hiromi

Gojo Satoru

Satoru was rich. Like rich RICH. You first noticed this the moment you met him when you spilled coffee on his shirt then offered to buy him a new one instead. Instant regret when you realized that his shirt was worth more than your entire closet combined.

Being in a relationship with him was… well it was an adjustment. You lived a fairly simple life before you met him. It wasn’t a bad life. You still got to spend on your wants here and there but you had to budget such things much like any other common person had to. On the other hand, the word budget was non-existent to satoru especially when it came to you. He quite literally gave you everything. A few weeks into the relationship though, he had noticed how reluctant you were to accept his presents. You didn’t seem uncomfortable, just.. reluctant. He toned down a bit after this realization. But god he just couldn’t figure out why you were almost unwilling to accept anything at all from him, even food, even a ride home, even his hoodie which he already said you could keep. “Baby” he called to which you responded by looking his way. “Why do you never want to accept my presents?” He asked before he got up to approach you, immediately hugging you from the back as soon as you were within reach. “Hmm it’s not that I don’t want to.. it’s just.. you have to let me get used to these things first, okay?” satoru raised his brow “baby I know that shitty ex of yours can’t come close to how much I spoil you but was he that stingy?” at first satoru was only joking but your silence meant it was probably true. “So he was?” He asked as his chin was resting on your shoulder. “Come on satoru, he’s a thing of the past. He doesn’t matter anymore, ‘kay?” You tried your best to steer away from having to tell your boyfriend in detail but he’s right. Your ex was stingy as hell. It’s not like you ever asked for anything too much in fact, you don’t ever remember asking for anything at all. All the times he had to pick you up, he asked for gas money which seemed fair enough but it wasn’t just that. The man loved going on and extravagant dates but was never willing to fish out more than gas money. He adored receiving presents from you but could never be bothered to get you even the cheapest flowers. He used to say that he was just saving up to be able to give you the life you deserve but 8 years of having to sustain the luxurious lifestyle of a bum just made you snap hence, the break up. Satoru’s tightening embrace woke you from that little flashback. “Okay baby, I’ll make sure to spoil you but don’t hesitate to tell me if I go overboard hm? Love you” he gave you a kiss on the cheek and god, you felt so lucky to have found such a good man.

Nanami Kento

It quite literally took years of yearning for nanami to be finally able to date you. He was your junior in university and your junior at work as well. All that time, he had to witness you be head over heels for your then boyfriend, another one of his seniors. He thought the man might have put a spell on you because for the love of god, he could not see what kept you with the jerk for so long. Having observed your relationship from when he was a college freshman up to when he was a work colleague, your ex never even tried to mask how selfish he was with you. The man dawned expensive watches and drove a not so cheap car, he loved going to expensive places with his friends but with you? He wouldn’t hesitate to pass you the bill (like 85% of the time) whenever you went on dates, bought you nothing but cheap jewelry and quality reject flowers just because they were cheaper. Even worse, he also let you take the crowded train home everyday despite him driving to and from work everyday. He just couldn’t be bothered to pick you up because your workplace was “too far” and gas was expensive. If he really was struggling, it wouldn’t have been a problem but any person could see that he was more than capable of treating you better. He just didn’t want to.

Dating nanami was like a breath of fresh air. It’s not like you were materialistic in the first place but receiving pretty flowers and having someone make sure you’s comfortable and safe felt so heartwarming. On top of that, nanami didn’t make it feel like he was obligated to do any of that. He just genuinely wanted to care for you. It was all new to you that you even had to ask him to stop spoiling you too much, you felt bad accepting all that he was giving. “I know you don’t need them and I know you’re capable but let me do these things for you, hm?” Was what he’d always say and despite bot being able to voice it out to him yet, there is so much love in you knowing that it was possible to be treated this way. With so much care and love and concern.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami fluff

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dragongirlsnout · 9 months

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Go Badge-Free: Tumblr is a multimillion dollar company that doesn't need your loyalty!

Some users ("many" by Tumblr's own unsourced metrics) might want to support Tumblr with something similar to regular donations. Great news! You don't need to, it's a multimillion dollar company, and its parent company, Automattic, was valued at around 7.5 billion dollars in 2021 as stated by none other than Tumblr's Elon-Musk-wannabe CEO himself! Tumblr isn't going to go broke any time soon, and any money you waste on it will just convince staff that the garbage fire they're currently tossing the site into is profitable!

Enter the power of not giving a fuck about useless badges and shitty merch of stolen memes. Everyone with a brain knows auto-renewable subscriptions aren't the way to a "user-led business model", and again, you don't need to show your support for a massive multimedia platform despite whatever their embarrassing ad campaigns that just want money may tell you!

How it works—or doesn't:

Tumblr doesn't care about the users, whether you're giving them money for nothing or not! So take the initiative yourself. Send them negative feedback about the pointless UI updates. Give Tumblr a 1-star rating on the app store or play store. Disable your badges. Block intrusive ads (and potentially dangerous flashing ones). Style the dashboard to look less like a 1 : 1 clone of Twitter. Install additions to fix basic site functionality.

Seriously, who is buying subscriptions besides staff:

The subscription badges do nothing. Nada. Zero. That is, unless staff decides to lock basic functionality behind a subscription in the future, so make so to make it flop before then.

Pricing:

A year's subscription for a useless cosmetic badge costs you $30 USD. Cheaper than Twitter Blue, sure, but it sure does a whole lot less! Meanwhile, fixing your own user experience and complaining to staff is permanently on sale for the low, low price of free. Spend your money on a nice treat instead!

More details:

I don't know how else to put it. This subscription service sucks ass.

That's all for now. No idea who exactly would buy a badge subscription of all things in the first place that staff probably designed in 5 minutes. Maybe someday Tumblr's will figure out how to interpret actual human behavior and user desires, but that day has yet to come. Stay weird, and Tumblr is not your quirky friendly hellsite company <3

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caesium-55 · 2 months

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—seven days [ epilogue ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

warnings: mentions of death and suicide.

author's note: here's the epilogue and the end end of the seven days series. thank you everyone for showing love to this fic! i was honestly so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of all of you. also, i apologize for all the broken hearts i caused after posting chapters 4-7. stay safe yall! i'll rest my fingers for real now. my doctor wasn't very happy with me. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal @landorris @onecojg @leclercdream @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @spookystitchery @0710khj @strollnstroll @justab-eautifulmess @ssrcsm @seasonswinter @kravitzwhore @mycure156 i hope i didn't forget anyone

masterlist.

Julio [Name] was not an ambitious person. He didn't have dreams or concrete plans in life. But in 1985, his first dream was born. He wanted to be an F1 racer after reading about the Portuguese Grand Prix in a local newspaper where he saw a Brazilian racer even younger than him participate in it and winning it. Ayrton Senna was the racer’s name, twenty-five years old. At that time, Julio [Name] was the same age.

He immediately searched for the nearest karting track. He brought his then girlfriend, Sally Kingston, a dental student in USC, to the kart zone for their date. It was safe to say that driving was not exactly his forte. He crashed his rental kart and had to pay the damages. He was afraid that he made himself a loser in front of the Sally Kingston, the richest, prettiest, and nicest girl from L.A., and that she wouldn't wanna go out with a bumpkin like him anymore, but she had only laughed at him—her eyes turning into little crescents, showing too much teeth and gums—and from then and there, he knows he’s going to marry Sally Kingston one day. He might not have become a F1 driver, but he ended up marrying the girl of his dreams.

Him and Sally welcomed a son in 1991. They named him Damiano and he turned out to be a carbon copy of his beloved wife, not that Julio was complaining. When Damiano turned five, Julio brought him in the kart zone and let him try driving the kart. Damiano adored it so Julio signed him up for racing school. Three weekends later, Damiano got sick of driving around in circles so he stopped. Sally gave birth to a daughter in the same year—1996.

Five years later, he brings [Name], his mija, into the kart zone. He expected that you’ll be like Damiano, too, getting sick of the thing after three weekends or so. You didn't. You loved karting and going fast, almost dangerously so. You lasted five weekends so Julio signed you up for the kart zone’s junior racing school and you were their first female member. You won your first race when you were six, only seven months after you officially joined.

“She was born to race,” the team head told Julio. Julio then decided that he’d do whatever it takes so you could become a F1 driver.

Like his initial dream, his dream for you couldn't be brought to reality. When you were nine, you had to stop karting for financial reasons. Damiano was in high school, Rafael had leukemia, and Dominic had just been born. When Julio told you the news, you were sad but you understood why the decision was made so you never complained. You learned how to play billiards instead and your Abuelo was the one who taught you. It's cheaper than karting so Sally and Julio gave you their full support.

Julio [Name] was pleasantly surprised when you told him that you got accepted in USC’s engineering department years later. He half expected that you’d be like Damiano, who took an interest in dentistry, and was attending dental school. He was going to be a dentist like his mother. He was a perfect copy of Sally.

“If I can't be a racer, I’ll become a mechanical engineer,” you declared, head held high. Julio couldn't be anymore proud. You were living his dream.

If you asked Julio [Name] if he had lived a happy life despite not reaching his dreams, he would say yes without hesitation. He married the love of his life, Sally Kingston, now Sally [Last Name]. His first son, Damiano, had topped dental school and followed in his mother’s footsteps. His daughter, [Name], graduated with flying colors, a mechanical engineering degree under her belt and entered the motorsports industry, the first in the family to do so. (You even got him Fernando Alonso’s autograph! That's his second favorite driver!) Not only that, she volunteered at the LAFD during her college years and competed in a billiards tournament in Vegas, Australia, and the UK. You had the potential to be an international-level pool player but you didn't pursue the sport because you wanted to be an engineer. Rafael didn't let leukemia beat him and now, he’s finishing up his last year in CalTech, pursuing mechanical engineering like his older sister. A research team in Sweden had been eyeing him for a while now. Dominic, on the other hand, is steadily building a career for himself in volleyball. He was offered a sports scholarship in Harvard so, despite the fact that he’s going even farther than his siblings with no relatives near him like in L.A., Julio pushed him to pursue what he wanted. His children are his pride and joy. He spent every single day bragging about his children to his colleagues. The others had expressed their envy to him. Did Julio save a country in his last life to have such great children?

Furthermore, he’d been promoted to be the captain of Station 131 in Austin. Julio may not have driven an F1 car but he wouldn't even trade this family over anything in this world, not even the life of luxury and thrill of a Formula One Driver.

(What Julio didn't know was that Damiano had serious depression in dental school that he carried even after graduating, that you weren't accepted as an engineer in F1 and was stuck in a managerial position for the last five years, that Sweden found a better researcher than Rafael so he’s stuck suffering physically and mentally in a degree with his future unclear and cloudy, and Dominic was slowly losing passion in volleyball but it's the only thing putting him through college right now so he grits his teeth and put himself on court. No one told Julio. Julio got enough of his dreams broken already.)

Truthfully, despite working for Red Bull for half a decade, you never liked its taste. You were always the Monster Energy type of girl. It's the one drink that kept you functioning through all the all-nighters you pulled in engineering school. However, you kind of lost the palate for Monster Energy so now, here you are, standing outside a gas station mini mart in the middle of the dusty highway that leads to El Paso. You hold the chilled can of Red Bull against the side of your neck, satisfied with the feeling of something cool pressing against your skin. The temperature in Texas is going absolutely crazy this time of the year. In your other hand, two cigarette sticks balance in between your fingers. You crave the deadly nicotine. Desperately. But you're not stupid enough to smoke at a gas station because of your cravings.

Your phone vibrates and you pull it out of your pocket to see who messaged you. You snicker when you view the barrage of pictures from the Austin Grand Prix that Leo sent. A stolen shot of Logan, meme faces of Alex, the air show, a selfie with THE Fernando Alonso, and a Tiktok video with the other Williams mechanics.

You watched the race from the stands today and truthfully, you prefer watching the race in the garage than on the stands. It's unbelievably boring to be there. People pay thousands of dollars to sit under the excruciating heat of the sun and catch a glimpse of very fast cars for a nanosecond. You wouldn't even catch sight of if you blink. Nevertheless, you're happy that Leo is having the time of his life. You wish you share the same shoes.

leo: so so sad that u have to go

you: id be flattered if u actually mean it

leo: *rolling eyes emoji*

leo: i hope you choke on your beer

you: i hope you choke on the celebratory champagne

you: and i dont drink and drive

leo: good to know ur not stupid

leo: on a serious note make sure to drive to el paso safely

you: aight aight

leo: u know i have something to confess

you: if it's something stupid, don't bother

leo: ur stupid

you: fuck u

leo: shut up

leo: just wanna say i didn't break up with u bc u gave max too much attention

leo: i know that's what i said but i only said that bc i knew that u needed max to achieve ur dreams

leo: and idk i just thought max wouldn't give it to u not when im still dating u

you: that's stupid

you: max isn't like that

leo: hes in love with u

Your heart stutters. You ignore it.

you: liar

leo: i could tell u lil shit

leo: idk he looked like someone who’d hold a grudge

you: he does hold grudges

leo: and i cant allow myself to stand in between you and the one person who can give you your dream you know?

leo: i loved you enough to let you go to him

You choke on your saliva. You don't love Leo romantically anymore and you are sure that the feelings are mutual but his abrupt confession is enough to bring back the pain of loving him and letting him go all over again.

leo: u sure u won’t stay to see him?

leo: he’s the one who wants to see you the most

you: his ig messages makes me think otherwise

You're a fucking coward. A pussy.

leo: you didn't see the man [name]

leo: you don't know how empty he looks now

A shadow of guilt darkens your eyes. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your jacket. You open the Red Bull and take a large swig, almost draining the entire can. You exhale loudly after drinking, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You stare at the vast expanse of the dry earth before you, starting to understand the appeal of aimless road trips in the southern roads.

The world seems to be turning in slow motion now.

Ever since your father died, time feels like it was moving too fast. You arrived at the hospital half an hour after Julio was officially pronounced dead. At that time, you felt like the world was ending. Your knees gave out in the middle of the hospital hallway. Your mother’s wail echoed in your ears. Damiano and Dominic were trying to console her, both of whom were crying terribly. You stare at them, face empty despite the hurricane brewing within you. Rafael wrapped his arms around you and you held onto him as he cried uncontrollably.

Your mother possessed a weak heart. She’d grown weaker and weaker day by day after your father passed. Your father’s station held a ceremony for him to pay tribute to their fallen captain. You were the one who carried his helmet all throughout the ceremony because the entire station knew you were his most prized child. When you flipped the helmet, there was a photo taped on it. A photo of the entire family at your graduation ceremony in USC. You maintained that tired and empty stare during the entire procession. In the middle of the ceremony, your mother collapsed.

Your father’s death was the first domino to be tipped. Your mother’s collapse during the funeral was the second. From then on, everything turned to shit. Your mother had always been frail and prone to sickness so it didn’t surprise you when she had grown so weak in a matter of days. She couldn't sleep. She didn't want to eat. She lost her will to do anything else. You took her to the hospital after a week because you were afraid she was beginning to become malnourished. Damiano suggested moving your mother to El Paso, to your Abuelo and Abuela’s farm, so your mother could recuperate there, and you agreed. The entire family moved to El Paso quickly, leaving the house in Vista Del Pueblo empty and celebrated the New Year there.

You opened your phone for the first time since you landed in ATX on the 30th and a barrage of messages had been sent to you. From Daniel, Logan, Leo, Kendall, Julia. You freeze when you see Max’s name. Your finger hovers above it, hesitating. Your mind trailed back to the five years you spent in Red Bull, to all the memories with Max in it, to what happened inside his penthouse in Monaco, the jet, the night you spent in his sheets, the shoes and—

Fuck.

“Kelly,” you mumbled to yourself, typing her username in the search box. You began typing up a message. You're not mentally equipped to write a long message of apology. Your mental dictionary was not ready to use so you decided to half ass the entire message and hope for the best.

you: sorry about the breakup

you: i didn't know about the shoes

you: i didn't take it

you: im so sorry

you: i hope you're not too hurt

In truth, you loved Kelly for Max. You never had problems with her. At first, you were concerned about the great age gap between her and Max as she was even older than Danny but then you figured that you did not have a say because Leo was also younger than you, born in the same year as Max. Then, you saw how she was so caring to Max, so patient in dealing with his misplaced anger, so supportive. You saw how Max transformed into a better version of himself, something you are not even capable of doing, because of Penelope and Kelly. How he became the world's most massive girl dad without trying. You ignored every bitter feeling that sprouted on your chest because you saw Max was happy and his happiness always came first. And now, you’re here, apologizing to Kelly for taking Max away from her.

kelly: i think i’m the one who’s been taking him from you

kelly: take care of him for me

you: thank you for loving him

You can't imagine how hurt Kelly was. Imagine dating and preparing a man so he could be perfect for another girl.

you: but i can’t do what you're asking

you: not anymore

“Not anymore,” you whisper to yourself, as if uttering it to the wind would cement it as the truth.

Not anymore, Max. I’m sorry.

Rafael and Dominic told you that they want to drop out of college to help you out with Mama a few days after New Year’s. You quickly told them no, to finish college and that you could handle taking care of two senior citizens and your sickly mother and help out on the farm since you’re essentially jobless at the moment.

The third domino is Damiano. You were always aware he’d been clinically depressed, taking medications to help him get better. Whatever he went through in dental school, he carried it with him until he was working. You believed he was getting better. He was seeing a therapist for years now and you were checking up on him every day. Then, like Mama, he just…. became worse. Rafael found him submerged in the bathtub in his apartment, red painting his wrists. Had Rafael not been there at the right time, Damiano would have followed Papa Julio.

The fourth domino is Dominic. He ruined his hand in March. The doctor told him it was dangerous for him to continue playing volleyball competitively. It was either he learned how to set with only his non-dominant hand because his dominant hand is partially crippled or he stopped playing all together. He’d choose the second option with no hesitation as he had lost his passion for the sport but if he’s not playing for Harvard anymore, no one would be able to pay his fees until graduation. Not when Julio died, not when Sally was too sick to continue working, not when Damiano was currently unstable, not when you’re the only one who had been supporting the entire family through your entire savings account. Red Bull must have paid you a lot of money because you’ve been keeping the entire family afloat for months now.

The fifth domino is Rafael, who got his entire thesis overhauled so now, his graduation was out of the picture. It sucked. He’d always been expected to follow his older siblings’ footsteps, both of whom are academically excelling individuals and Rafael had been studying and studying and studying. So why was this happening to him? Why was this happening to his family?

The sixth domino was yet to be tipped over.

You refuse to fall.

You blink, suddenly back in reality when you hear a loud caw of a bird flying above your head. You shake your head, tossing the Red Bull in a nearby trash can and returning inside the mini mart. The amount of caffeine in a Red Bull isn’t enough. You need more. You need fucking coffee.

Gas station coffee sucks but you’re never the type who complains. El Paso is still eight hours away and you’re sure you're going to be driving your motorcycle the entire night just to reach the farm the next morning.

You walked towards the Yamaha XSR 155 parked in front of the mini-mart, a styro cup of coffee that’s as black as your soul and as bitter as your life in your hand. Hypnotizing swirls of steam rise from the cup. In each step you take, the key that is attached to your hip jingles.

It's a little past four in the afternoon but the darkness of the sky makes you think it's around six PM. You pocket your cigarettes and stand beside your motorcycle, hand on your hip while the other brings the cup of coffee to your mouth. A car suddenly arrives, coming to a screeching halt in front of you. You flinch in surprise, almost spilling your coffee in your hands. You hiss loudly, brows furrowing, a curse sitting on the tip of your tongue. You hear the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut and when you look up—

“Max.”

He’s still in his Red Bull overalls, drenched in sweat as if he ran to the gas station instead of driving. His hair is windswept, sticking out in multiple directions almost attractively so. He looks simultaneously distraught and relieved when your eyes met. The longing in his eyes. God. You unconsciously take a step back and turn around—a flight response—when he charges in your direction.

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, stopping you from your tracks and causing your coffee to spill and fall down pathetically on the floor. You avoided the puddle, hands reaching behind you to guide Max away from the steaming liquid. But it’s too late. You saw the hot coffee touch his skin.

“Max!” you exclaim, eyes going wide. Your hand wraps around his forearm, pulling it but his grip on you tightens so you resort to tapping his arm in hopes that he’ll let go and you can inspect his injured hand and make a quick run for the mini mart for first-aid supplies.

“Max, let go,” you say, panicking. “Your hand—”

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracks.

“I won't go, okay? Let go and I’ll—”

“No,” the hug tightens and you suck in a breath. “You’ll leave again. I know you’ll leave again.”

“I’ll fix your hand. You can’t burn your hand—”

“I can endure it. Let me have this please,” he pleads. You pull his hand but Max remains stubborn. Resigned, you sigh. It turns out that you’re still the same, giving whatever Max wanted.

“I’m sorry for getting angry,” he begins. “I’m sorry for stopping you from going to Renault. I’m sorry for promising that I’d talk to Christian. I’m sorry that I didn't. I’m sorry that you had to break up with Leo because of me. I’m sorry that I realized that I fell in love with you while dating Kelly. I’m sorry for the shoes. I’m sorry for getting drunk. I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for not considering you. I’m sorry for loving you. I’m so, so sorry, [Name]. For everything.”

His words come rapidly and frankly, you don't want to hear Max like this. Max rarely apologizes. You're not used to hearing him apologize.

“Max—”

“I called, [Name].”

You freeze.

“I called so many times. Not once have you answered. Not once—” a loud sob erupts from his mouth, interrupting him. “You always come when I call.”

You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

“I sent you a message,” he continues. “To wait for me. I know I’m selfish but can I have five minutes please? Just….five?”

A pause.

“Okay,” you whisper. Max’s body trembles against yours and you stand still for a few minutes,

“Hey,” you say gently, suddenly reminded that you're standing in an open space and Max is still in his Red Bull overalls and he doesn't even have his usual cap on and this compromising situation you're both in was going to be bad for Max’s online reputation once the wrong pair of eyes manage to catch sight of you. You can already imagine what the headlines would be.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND HIS FORMER MANAGER CAUGHT HUGGING IN A GASOLINE STATION AFTER AUSTIN GP.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND FORMER RED BULL MANAGER IN A RELATIONSHIP?

FORMER RED BULL MANAGER POTENTIAL REASON FOR BREAKUP BETWEEN KELLY PIQUET AND MAX VERSTAPPEN?

MAX VERSTAPPEN CHEATED ON KELLY PIQUET WITH FORMER MANAGER?

MAX VERSTAPPEN, FULL-TIME WORLD TIME CHAMPION, PART-TIME CHEATING ASSHOLE.

God. You can already imagine the headache splitting the entire PR team’s skulls. The world already hates Max because of how good he was at his sport. You can’t allow people to shit on him more because of you.

“Max,” you try again, tapping his forearm so he can loosen his hold on you and you can turn around. “Max, baby, cooperate with me for a bit, yeah?”

You tug on his wrist and you can't help but sigh in relief when his arms loosen a little. He’s beginning to choke you a little bit. With his arms still around you, you pivot on your heels so you’re face-to-face with his broad chest.

When you look up to Max’s face, your heart shatters into a million pieces. His tears continue to flow and violent sobs wrack his entire body, robbing him of the ability to speak and barely allowing a breath to be drawn. He’s going to hyperventilate. Fucking dammit.

“Max,” how many times have you said his name in the last few minutes? “Hey, breathe with me.”

Your hand cradles his jaw and your eyes focused on his blue ones and fuck, they’re as insanely beautiful as you remembered.

“Breathe.”

You perform exaggerated inhales and exhales so Max can match your breaths, his hands settling on your shoulders. His palms feel heavy against your shoulders and his fingers dig deep into your skin.

“I’m here, Champ. I’m here,” you assure him. “I’m here now.”

You wait until he calms down a little and when he does, your right hand searches for his, intertwining your fingers together to assure him that you’re not going anywhere just yet. Your other hand comes up to hold the area below his neck and you slowly guide him back to his car. It’s a little difficult, Max obviously has no intention to let you go, but you know how to make things work.

Max sits on the driver's seat with you standing outside of the car. He's still clinging onto your hand and you use the other hand to hold the roof of the car for support. Max stopped crying now, staring blankly at you with a sad pout on his face. His tears are now dry, staining his cheeks.

“You okay now, Champ?” you ask, never failing to sound gentle. That's what Max needs now. Gentleness. God forbid you pull a Jos Verstappen.

Max shakes his hand, making you sigh deeply. Your eyes trail to the hands, the pale skin now an angry red.

“Max,” you call his attention. He looks up at you and you have to avoid his gaze because if you look at his face, your heart hurts. “I’ll get something from the mini-mart for your burn, aight?”

He shakes his head and his grip on your hand impossibly tightens. If he keeps this up, he’s going to break your bones.

“No.”

If you were the same person that you were in 2023, you would have let Max do what he wanted. What Max wanted, what Max shall get—that’s the philosophy you lived by. But things are different now. Leo told you that you’re allowing Max to take too much from you and Max needs to learn to actually listen to you.

You’ve been taught to treat even the most minor of burns as if it’s a major burn. That's what you are planning to do right now.

“Max,” you say, a little firmer now. “Gonna grab somethin’ in the mart real quick, you stay here, aight?”

“No—”

“Not askin’, Champ,” you interrupt him. “I'm not leavin’ yet, not goin’ anywhere until I make sure you’re okay. So stay here and wait.”

You swiftly remove the key attached to your belt and force it into his palm, “Here are my keys. I’m not goin’ to drive off and leave you here, aight? Do you trust me?”

You have a feeling that this anxiety of his might have stemmed from that one incident in his childhood where Jos left him at a gas station. Fucking son of a bitch that man was.

Hesitantly, Max says, “I do.”

“Good,” you ruffle his hair, dampening your palm.

You can see he does not like what you're doing now but he does not have any choice so he sits in the car, looking as pitiful as ever. You jog up to the mini-mart, immediately going to the beverage section to grab a bottle of water and passing by the hygiene shelf to snatch a handkerchief. You go to the counter and the middle aged guy manning the register obviously does not look impressed that you’re in his shop for the third time in the same hour, which is stupid because he should be glad that he has a customer. You put everything on the counter, pulling out some bills from your back pocket.

“You happen to have neosporin?” you ask.

“Do we look like a drug store?” he retorts. You roll your eyes, toss the bills to the cashier, and grab your items without even waiting for the guy to wrap them all up in a paper bag. You jog back to Max’s car.

“Excuse me,” you lean inside the car, opening the compartment to search for a burn cream you left inside there last year. Your eyes land on his keys, stiffening when you notice that Max kept every single gift you gave him. The bead keychain from 2020, the bottle opener keychain from 2021, the clay figure keychain from 2022, and the bracelet from 2023 sway slightly, staring back at you. You shake your head and resume doing your original mission. You find the burn cream and you immediately search for the expiration date. January 2025; it’s still good to use.

You straighten, take hold of Max’s wrist gently, and roll up his long sleeves up to his elbows. You open the water bottle and tug Max’s hand towards you so he won't get water on his car as you pour water on his burn. Once the bottle is nearly empty, you apply the cream on the reddened area of his skin. Then, you use the handkerchief, which you dampen using the leftover water, to dress it.

Max is silent the entire ordeal, watching you work your way meticulously and carefully around his hand. The same meticulousness one can expect from a former firefighter paramedic volunteer.

You step back to inspect your work, but Max’s hand stretches out towards you, grabbing the hem of your jacket.

“Sorry,” he says and yet you see his knuckles slowly turning white, which makes you unsure if he truly is apologetic or not. “Just…yeah, sorry. Can you stay for a while please?”

“Have to leave soon,” you say. “El Paso’s still hours away. I have to be there by morning.”

He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, “Okay.”

“Thirty minutes, Max,” you decide. “Thirty minutes.”

You pull out your phone from your pocket to check the time and see the multiple notification bars. You type the password and direct to the message app to see the flurry of messages Max sent earlier. You have not noticed them.

max: i heard you came

max: where are you

max: please

max: can you give me ten minutes

max: just

max: please

max: wait for me

max: i’m not angry anymore

max: im begging you

max: or five minutes [name] im okay with just five

max: or even less

max: i just need to see you

“Who told you I was here?” you question, brows knitting together. There are currently two names in your head. They both start with the letter L and they both work at Williams.

“Leo called me and told me you were here.”

“Of course he did,” you roll your eyes. Logan will never dare betray you like this. You made Leo promise not to tell Max where you were in El Paso and the bitch told him where you were the moment you stepped out of El Paso. He didn't break his promise technically, but it's still a very bitch move for him to pull. You're going to have a lengthy conversation with him later.

“So you’ve been in El Paso?” he asks.

You nod.

“My grandparents’ place.”

He nods.

“Sorry about Julio, by the way.”

You sigh. God, you want to cry.

It's truly unfair how God decided to take away Julio [Last Name]. Death should happen to assholes and shitty people. To people who abuse their children every day. To people who waste years of their lifespan on nicotine and alcohol. To people who kill people. Death shouldn't happen to heroes, who risk every single day of their lives to save other people. Death shouldn't happen to Julio [Last Name], a firefighter who died saving a kid in a burning building. At least, not this early. Not until you fulfilled his dream for him.

(His last words: I don't regret doing what I did. I have kids, too. I want someone to save them the same way I did that kid if they ever get stuck in a situation like this.)

“Did Leo tell you that, too?” you hope that he didn't notice that your voice slightly wobbled.

“No,” Max shakes his head. “We—Logan and I came to Vista Del Pueblo in December. Your neighbor told us that…”

He doesn't need to finish his sentence for you to know what he’s trying to say.

You nod, “So that's why there was an article that day…”

You remember Damiano showing you the news article in his phone—AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP: MAX VERSTAPPEN OF RED BULL RACING AND LOGAN SARGEANT OF WILLIAMS RACING SPOTTED DRIVING AROUND AUSTIN. You shrugged it off at that time.

“How are you?”

You turn to Max, raising a brow at his question.

“How am I?” you echo, sounding a little bewildered.

You see, Max has never asked this question. You're used to “Are you okay?” but not this. Not this question. You can easily lie to an are-you-okay. You can say yes even if you’re not, and you won't give yourself away because you only uttered one word. But with how-are-you, it’s different. It's not a question that is not answerable by yes or no. You actually have to explain how you feel. That's why Papa Julio only asked, “How are you, mija?” rather than “Are you okay, mija?” Papa Julio wants to know how your day went even if you're okay or not.

Yeah. You're definitely going to cry at this rate.

“How have you been after Julio?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wanted to be there for you at that time,” Max confesses. “When I learned that Julio was gone, I wanted to go to you. But Leo stopped me. He said I was not what you needed at that time and I agree. I was too angry at you for leaving me. I’m glad he didn't tell me where you are, despite how painful it was. I was selfish and immature that I cared about my grief and forgot to consider yours. I reflected on my actions a lot. I am not sure how different I am now from that version of me but I think I changed a bit. So yes, [Name], I want to know, because I want to know how you felt and help you in any way I can.”

You stand there, stunned at what Max has said. And perhaps it was his sincerity or the way his determined blue eyes stare into your soul that caused the sixth domino to tip. You break into tears, a raw cry escaping your mouth. You are so fucking tired of carrying everything on your shoulders.

Max is quick to engulf you in a hug and you don't hesitate to pull him into you, pressing your face against his shoulders as you let everything out. You claw his back as if you're trying to mold himself into you. Your nose turns red, snot drips out of your nose. You sob too loud and too heavily that you can hardly draw a breath. You don't cry pretty and this is the first time you allowed yourself to cry with another person bearing witness to your fragility.

When you calmed down, you found yourself sitting beside Max, shoulder to shoulder, in the backseat of his car, playing with the drawstrings of your jacket.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“Sorry, I was just so tired,” you tip your head upwards. You can feel Max’s eyes on you. “Things have been hard since Papa died.”

“Do you want to talk? I’ll listen.”

You chuckle humorlessly.

Jesus, what did Leo feed this guy?

It feels like the roles are reversed now.

“Everybody's been takin’ it pretty hard so I'm trynna to be strong for them, you know? But I’m not that strong,” you begin. “I’m just as lost as everyone else and it's hard pretendin’ like I’m not. I’m not really sure what will happen with my life now so I wander around and do car repairs for a few folks in El Paso.”

“What happened to your dream? The job?”

“Well, it's gone,” you say, making Max’s eyes widen. “Not my time yet, I suppose. Or rather, I’m never supposed to have time. I guess I’m just not meant to be an engineer.”

“No,” Max turns to you, clasping your hands in desperation. “No, no, no. You always wanted to become an engineer. You can't just—I’ll think of something. I’ll ask Christian. I’ll ask the other teams. Renault isn't in Formula One right now but I can—”

“Max,” you smile sadly. “Let it go.”

“But—”

“Do you know what my Papa’s dream was?” you interrupt. “It’s to be a Formula One racer.”

You smile, remembering all the times you’ve seen your father watch the races on the television since you were younger. He’d wake up even in the ass crack of dawn just to watch them live. He’d be so tired after a 24-hour shift at the fire station but he’d refuse to even catch a wink of sleep until the Grand Prix broadcast is done. He always received a beating from your Mama because of it.

“He saw Senna in the newspaper and decided that he wanted to be like him, too. Sadly, Papa never vibed with a steering wheel so there was no future in that industry. He's always so disappointed in himself, sayin’ he can do the most unhinge shit at work but can't even drive a car. When Damiano and I turned five, he brought us karting. I could tell he was disappointed that Damiano didn't share his love for racing and I hated seein’ him sad so I learned to love karting. He signed me up and I did my best to win. I think I was good. Good enough to make him proud of me. Papa looked so happy when I won my first trophy. He cleaned it every week.”

You smile fondly at the memory.

“Then, shit happened and I have to stop. Papa looked even more disappointed than me that I had to stop. It hurts. Disappointment from your parents, I mean, even if I know that it's somethin’ beyond my control. I figured that if I can't be a racer, I’ll work in a pit stop. That's close enough. When I told him that I got accepted into USC and how I wanted to be an engineer, it was the proudest I have ever seen him since I won my trophy. I was livin’ his dream. I applied for Red Bull and Renault because those are Papa’s favorite teams and the rest is history.”

You pause.

“He’s never got to see me become an engineer,” you choke out, wiping the stray tear that fell from your eye with the back of your hand. “It was his dream. He always had his dreams broken and I was gonna reach his dreams for him but he’s gone before I can do so. Now, I’m so lost because I realized that I was shapin’ myself to become an extension of Papa and now that he's gone, I am an extension of no one. I was reaching for dreams that I don't own. I’m so tired and I’m so lost, Max.”

Max stares at you sadly.

“I should have talked to Christian sooner. Fuck, I hate myself for not talking to Christian. Fuck, why was I so selfish?” he presses the ball of his palms against his eyes in frustration. You chuckle, shaking your head.

“That’s okay,” you say. “I’ll find my way.”

You look at the scenery outside of the window. Night has fallen. You should have left for El Paso by now.

“I need to go,” you say, heart heavy.

“So soon?”

Max is panicking again.

“Jesus, Champ, calm down,” you pat his shoulders.

“Will I see you again?” Desperation laces his question.

“Dunno really,” you shrug.

“Can you wait for me?”

Your brows furrow.

“I’ll retire by 2028. No, that's still long. 2027. Ah no—2026? Can you wait for me? I—” Max’s hand trembles. “I love you. I love you, [Name]. I—I love you even before Kelly. I can’t. I can't lose you.”

The world stops.

“I am stupid, I am selfish, and I think I’m asking too much. If you can just wait for me, I’ll—I can even retire next year if you think it's too long—”

“Hold up right there, Champ,” you stop him. “You're not retirin’ early.”

“If you want me to, I will.”

You sigh in exasperation.

“Max,” your voice is low. “That’s your career. I’m not gonna—Jesus, Max don’t retire, okay? Not even for me. Retire only when you want to.”

This man is just…

You don't know if you want to choke him or kiss him.

“I want you to have me, [Name]. I… I want to be with you, to love you, and if retiring is the only way I can do that then I will,” he says. “I love you.”

You purse your lips.

“I love you, too, Max,” you confess and now, your chest feels lighter now that you've said it out loud. “But not now, I can't love you like this. I’m too… I can't pursue a relationship with you right now. Not when…”

“It's not our time,” Max nods. “I understand.”

He really did change.

“I want to find my way through life first," you tell him.

Max smiles and he pulls you again in a hug. He has tears in his eyes again and he sniffles, chuckling at himself for crying again. He pulls away from the hug slowly and hands you your keys.

“See you around?"

“See you around.”

You exit the car and you notice that your heart feels lighter now compared to the time you left Monaco even though you are doing the same exact thing—leaving Max to go home.

At the end of 2023, you grace the paddock with your presence—your signature YSL heels is back on the tracks. You wear pants now, instead of the corporate pencil skirts, matched with a Prema Racing polo shirt. The label at the back indicates: AERODYNAMIC ENGINEER. By the end of 2024, you are promoted to the strategy team. By 2025, you become a race engineer of an up-and-coming racing superstar and you kept the job position until now.

The world didn't end just because your Dad died. It took you a while to realize that your Papa didn't own your dreams. It was always yours to begin with. He just played a part in inspiring them.

Max Verstappen became the 2024, 2025, 2026, 2027, and 2028 WDC, marking history as an eight-time consecutive champion. He retired after the 2028 season and disappeared from the face of the Earth. He had stopped going home to his penthouse in Monaco, had put his private jet on sale, and had cut ties to his father, Jos, who was very disappointed that his son had retired too early in the sport. Max retired willingly—he had achieved more awards than most of his seniors and it's time to give room to the younger ones. Rumors say that he had established a racing program somewhere in Belgium. Charles Leclerc, Max's friend, refuses to update the media regarding Max's whereabouts and only says: "He's happy. Don't worry."

Years later, a thirteen-almost-fourteen year-old girl named Emiliana Julia Verstappen, racing under the American flag, become the youngest driver in history to join the ranks of the F1 academy and later, she becomes the youngest driver to ever drive a Formula One car, racing for Scuderia Ferrari as second driver, at only seventeen and a hundred and fifty days old, overthrowing Max Emilian Verstappen, retired eight-time F1 WDC, whom the world has not seen since his retirement, from the list.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #fanfic #manager!reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 x reader

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cy-cyborg · 9 months

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Writing and drawing amputee characters: Not every amputee wears prosthetics (and that's ok)

Not every amputee wears prosthetics, and not doing so is not a sign that they've "given up".

It's a bit of a trope that I've noticed that when an amputee, leg amputees in particular, don't wear prosthetics in media its often used as a sign that they've given up hope/stopped trying/ are depressed etc. If/when they start feeling better, they'll start wearing their prosthetics again, usually accompanied by triumphant or inspiring music (if it's a movie). The most famous example of this is in Forest Gump, Where Dan spends most of the movie after loosing his legs wishing he'd died instead. He does eventually come around, and him finally moving from his wheelchair to prosthetics is meant to highlight this.

The thing is, it's not that it's unrealistic - in fact my last major mental health spiral was started because one of my prosthetics was being a shit and wouldn't go on properly, despite fitting perfectly at the prosthetist's the day before. I'm not going to use my legs when I'm not in a good headspace, but the problem is, this is the only time non-prosthetic using amputees ever get representation: to show how sad they are. Even if that's not what the creator/writer necessarily intended, audiences will often make that assumption on their own unless you're very careful and intentional about how you frame it, because it's what existing media has taught them to expect.

But there are lots of reasons why someone might not use prosthetics:

they might not need them: this is more common in arm amputees because of how difficult it can be to use arm prosthetic, especially above-elbow prosthetics. Most folks learn how to get on without them pretty well. In fact, most of the arm amputees I know don't have prosthetics, or only have them for specific tasks (e.g. I knew a girl who had a prosthetic hand made specifically for rowing, but that's all she used it for).

Other mobility aids just work better for them: for me, I'm faster, more manoeuvrable and can be out for longer when I'm in my wheelchair than I ever could on my prosthetics. Youtube/tik tok creator Josh Sundquist has said the same thing about his crutches, he just feels better using them than his prosthetic. This isn't the case for everyone of course, but it is for some of us. Especially people with above-knee prosthetics, in my experience.

Other disabilities make them harder to use: Some people are unable to use prosthetics due to other disabilities, or even other amputations. Yeah, as it turns out, a lot of prosthetics are only really designed for single-limb amputees. While they're usable for multi-limb amps, they're much harder to use or they might not be able to access every feature. For example, the prosthetic knee I have has the ability to monitor the walk cycle of the other leg and match it as close as possible - but that only works if you have a full leg on the other side. Likewise, my nan didn't like using her prosthetic, as she had limited movement in her shoulders that meant she physically couldn't move her arms in the right way to get her leg on without help.

Prosthetics are expensive in some parts of the world: not everyone can afford a prosthetic. My left prosthetic costs around $5,000 Australian dollars, but my right one (the above knee) cost $125,000AUD. It's the most expensive thing I own that I only got because my country pays for medical equipment for disabled folks. Some places subsidise the cost, but paying 10% of $125,000 is still $12,500. Then in some places, if you don't have insurance, you have to pay for that all by yourself. Even with insurance you still have to pay some of it depending on your cover. Arm prosthetics are even more expensive. Sure, both arms and legs do have cheaper options available, but they're often extremely difficult to use. You get what you pay for.

they aren't suitable for every type of environment: Prosthetics can be finicky and modern ones can be kind of sensitive to the elements. My home town was in a coastal lowland - this means lots of beaches and lots of swamp filled with salty/brackish water. The metals used in prosthetics don't hold up well in those conditions, and so they would rust quicker, I needed to clean them more, I needed to empty sand out of my foot ALL THE TIME (there always seemed to be more. It was like a bag of holding but it was just sand). Some prosthetics can't get wet at all. There were a few amputees who moved to the area when I was older who just didn't bother lol. It wasn't worth the extra effort needed for the maintenance.

People have allergies to the prosthetic material: This is less of a problem in the modern day, but some people are allergic to the materials their prosthetics are made from. You can usually find an alternative but depending on the type of allergy, some people are allergic to the replacements too.

Some people just don't like them.

There's nothing wrong with choosing to go without a prosthetic. There's nothing wrong with deciding they aren't for you. It doesn't make you a failure or sad or anything else. Using or not using prosthetics is a completely morally neutral thing.

Please, if you're writing amputees, consider if a prosthetic really is the best mobility aid for your character and consider having your characters go without, or at least mix it up a bit.

For example, Xari, one of the main characters in my comic, uses prosthetics unsupported and with crutches, and uses a wheelchair. They alternate between them throughout the story.

#disability #disabled #id in alt text #writing #writing disability #disability representation #authors of tumblr #write #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writer #creative writing #writing tips #writing resources #writing help #writing advice #writing disability with cy cyborg

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risuola · 2 months

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▶ ONE BEDROOM? — short memory about how you found yourself sharing a bed with two of your best friends.

contents: college+roommates!au, fluffy, silly Satoru, caring Suguru and all that jazz — wc. 916

a/n: feel free to send me suggestions for entries of this series! any specific situations you think might be funny? any topics that sound interesting to you? let me know!

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

“Alright, I found one,” Satoru informed, a grin of mischief tugging on his lips and both you and Suguru knew immediately that there are some gears turning below the mop of white hair of your best friend. “Near our uni, rent’s cheaper than any other we looked at, it looks nice, and there’s even a balcony for the addict. Available anytime.”

It sounded too good to be true, really. You’ve been looking for weeks now, desperate to find the right balance between the price and quality and it turned out to be the hardest thing you had to face in your lives. It was honestly a nightmare, turned out that you were way too late to find a rental with three rooms in the college area – everything was already taken and you were forced to scratch the idea of all having separate rooms. Two bedrooms, turned out, were just as hard to find. You were slowly coming to terms that you’re gonna have to either spend three hours in metro every day just to get in and out of uni or pay an unreasonable amount of money just to live even moderately close. In your head, you already saw yourself searching for the second job.

“Where’s the catch?” Suguru’s raised an eyebrow, his mind analytic as always and his questioning tone matched your thoughts perfectly. He wrapped one arm around your waist and reached with the other to snatch a phone out of Gojo’s hands, but the snow-whites grin grew even wider as he dodged the attempt. You could feel your friend taking a deeper breath behind your back, you were seated next to him, resting against his body whilst Satoru was on the floor, with his head comfortably on your thigh. “Is it one of those ‘rent a room along with ten other students’ kind of deal?”

“Nah, it’s a separate apartment. It’s not big, by any means, but as far as I’m concerned, it should be more than enough for us,” you reached your hand, but instead of giving you his phone, Gojo put his chin on your palm, smiling with the typical amount of cat-like mischief. “In fact,” he said, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth with a loud pop and threatening to lick you. The trail of sticky sugar covering his lips in a reddish tint from the cherry, his favorite, flavored candy. “I already sent a message to the renter.”

“Toru, spill it,” you pushed, pinching his cheek and with a theatrical roll of his pretty blue eyes, he put his phone into your hand, sticking the candy back into his mouth. You leaned back against Suguru’s chest again and with his head on your shoulder, you swiped through the pictures of the offer. “It… does look nice?”

“Sus,” the brunette mumbled, reaching to swipe over the screen with his own finger. “Very sus. What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Satoru said in fake offense and got up to his knees to peek on what you two were doing, sticking his nose in front of the screen so aggressively that you had to push him away. “But—”

“Wait, is there one bedroom in this apartment?” You noticed. The pictures you were analyzing all showed the same room and the living area with joined kitchen, the bathroom, and again the same room, and some weird kind of storage? and again the same room.

“That explains a lot,” Suguru laughed lightly and leaned back again.

“We can see the place in an hour” Satoru showed off his pearly whites. “Come on, let’s at least see it, yeah?”

“I guess we can see it,” you gave it a nod. “The price is really nice.”

“Alright… so let’s get going.”

And so, all of you hopped on the bikes, you behind Satoru, and took the ride to see the apartment. Turned out, it really was perfect. Despite the apartment having just one bedroom, it was spacious enough to fit all three of you. The bed was so big it could easily fit five and during the many years of friendship, you and two of your friends shared way too many single person mattresses, sandwiched and squished together to think twice about it. The odd storage room seemed to be a perfect candidate to become a guest room (later called: a fuck room).

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Satoru grinned, looking at both of you as he was bouncing his ass on the bed, testing it as if he was already the owner.

“It is nice, I’ll admit,” you said, looking at Suguru to hear his opinion, but the man seemed to be thinking still. “Sug?”

“For me, it’s perfect. But,” he looked at you, a concern clearly written in his eyes, “is it alright with you?”

Geto has a way of constantly reminding you why you love him. He doesn’t look like it, in fact, he looks quite intimidating to anyone who doesn’t know him, but to you he’s just the sweetest, most caring friend you could ever wish for. If anyone was to worry about your comfort, it was him because it is true that all three of you slept together already, sharing sheets and being as close and personal as it was possible, but a random sleepover doesn’t equal sleeping with them every single day.

“It’s fine with me, don’t worry,” you reassured him, squeezing his bicep playfully.

“If it’s fine with you, then I guess we have a place.”

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moineauz · 2 months

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જ⁀ 𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒 , various !

synopsis: when you bring your friend to ikea to help you pick furniture for your new apartment. Pinning ensues amongst other flustering events.

including: zhongli, childe, diluc, kaeya, thoma,

side comments: pure fluff! also, please buy your furniture second-hand and support small businesses! avoid fast furniture when you can (ikea) and make mindful purchases. let's briefly imagine a perfect world where ikea is ethical and sustainable.

extra: mentions and implications of marriage, gn reader, favourites: zhongli & kaeya word count: 1,784

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈

Being the friend he is, Zhongli would happily accompany you.

He is the type to have his hands behind his back as he follows you around. Lingering close yet respectfully enough.

If you ask him for consolation, he will be honest in the most tender way possible:

"Ah... perhaps this colour will be more suitable considering the lighting."

"You did need a new couch, right? I believe you will like this one."

You blink and then your cart is full.

Zhongli's advice is acutely precise, however, expect to exceed your original budget by another ghastly $500.

Not that he suggests buying unnecessary items, rather, he suggests quality, material and construction.

Begins speaking a tad excessively about colour coordination and lightning.

He will help you lift any furniture parts if need be!

Gradually, the trip would become a joint effort by the two of you. As if you've been shopping and living together for years.

"Look at the dining table ( Name )," Zhongli commented. The lighting of the room glittered above, illuminating your face slightly as your hands glide over the wood varnish. "It's wonderful, isn't it? You'd be able to hold all the dinner parties you wanted."

You smile gingerly, and soon you are standing next to him by the kitchen sink. "Definitely, Childe would no longer have to sit on the floor."

Zhongli chuckles and you share a teasing grin. "At least we picked out a table already- much cheaper."

Zhongli raises an eyebrow, "Oh? Perhaps we can consider this one instead?"

"Personally, I think you should agree with him," spoke an employee- a soft-spoken elderly woman- "I remember when I first bought my fiancee's dining table- fun times!"

"Oh ma'am we're not-"

"Yes, my fiancee and I do agree," Zhongli gazes towards you're slightly flushed figure and smiles gently, "Yes dear?"

You blink for a few moments; gaining your footing before replying smoothly, "Why of course, how could I not love?"

You don't notice it, however, Zhongli shares a faint blush as he later pretends to cough in his fist.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄

Childe has zero taste in furniture.

His mom would choose the furniture while he used his card.

Browsing through the showrooms and picking furniture is not how he would choose to spend his afternoon, however, he'll try for you!

In this case- it's the thought that counts.

If you need help reaching or lifting anything he'll do it readily.

Don't have a cart or bag? (There were lots) Childe will hold it all for you!

It becomes an inner competition to some extent to cover up for his obvious lack of skill in furniture and home design in hopes of impressing you.

“Excuse me young man, can you please reach the duvet covers for me up top?” asks a elderly man, an embarrassed smile gently plastered on his lips.

Childe turns his head towards the man and flashes a hearty grin, “Of course.”

With ease, Childe grabs the duvet set and hands it to him, “Ah, thank you,” the man pauses before speaking, his eyes in thought, “might I ask something?”

Childe blinks and replies, subtle curiosity beneath his lighthearted tone, “Go on.”

“Have you asked your partner out yet?

Childe fumbles a bit and the elderly man heaves a near boisterous laugh. "I'm taking that as a no, ay? Ah, young couples! I might not have the sharpest eyes anymore, but you've been lookin' at them since the kitchen showroom!"

Before Childe could express a response, the man pats his back and smiles. "Best of luck! I'm sure they'll say yes."

The man then ambles away and from a distance, Childe can see his small figure fade into the throng.

"Hey Childe! Are you alright?"

"Oh... um yeah!" prompted Childe, "Is there anything else you need?"

You shake your head, your fingers scrolling through the list you made, "That should be it. Are you sure you're okay? If you'd like I could hold the vase?"

Childe smiles while his bright blue eyes pool into yours, "No I'm good, let's head to check out."

The two of you saunter to the check-out counter side by side; bantering with each other. Childe's gaze never leaving yours.

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐑

Diluc is not well-versed in design and colour. However, he has a keen eye for both style, price and functionality, unbeknownst to him.

You were hesitant to ask him if he could accompany you as it is without a doubt that Diluc Ragnvindr is a busy man.

Diluc himself shared hesitancy for opposing reasons.

Diluc has lived with himself and has found his dwelling to be dull in comparison to the liveliness and hospitality your former apartment held. Thus, Diluc wondered if he could be of any help.

Nevertheless, you reassured him that you wanted company regardless of his skills.

Contrary to his words, Diluc was quite valuable, especially when navigating the place.

"I found the blanket you were interested in earlier, do you still want it?"

"The colour is rather flattering... but it is your choice! Um... please don't mind me."

"Do you need help?"

Diluc doubted his opinion, however, you found yourself agreeing with him several times.

You and Diluc were currently sitting by the opposite edge of a bed, your hands inches apart.

"A comfortable bed isn't it?" you bounce on the bed a little, a smile reaching your lips, "And the mattress is only $200, a king too! I can't believe you found this deal-"

Diluc does not hear your voice, it faded just as the lights mellowed and the sensations of the blanket against his calloused hands grew fuzzy.

"... Hey Diluc?"

"Ah, yes," Diluc coughs before asking, "I'm sorry what were you saying?

You smile, "It's all good! I was just explaining how I wouldn't need such a large bed for myself."

Diluc conveys a slightly puzzled expression, "How so? If you're worried about how to carry it into the apartment then you do know that I'll assist you-"

You shake your head fervently before replying, "Well thank you Diluc! But really you don't have to-"

"Oh no, I insist."

You smile winsomely before carefully replying, "It's just... me in the apartment. I'd understand if I was living with someone- but it's not worth it in my opinion."

Diluc pauses, contemplating before replying steadily, "I believe you deserve the mattress..." There is a tentative gap between his words before he follows up, "Perhaps I... ah never mind, let's get going. You wanted to eat at Chef Xianling's restaurant for dinner right? My treat."

𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇

So you invited Kaeya?

Expect relentless teasing and a carefree-complacent attitude.

However, as much as Kaeya is there for fun, he will readily assist you- not without a tease, however.

"Oh ho? Need my help?"

In regards to style and class... Kaeya can pull himself together.

However, similar to Diluc, there is a dullness to his home.

In fact, Kaeya rarely spends time in his own home: he bounces from place to place. Never lingering longer than is needed or comfortable. It is like an ever-present itch.

Yet, your home has become Kaeya's home too. Unbeknownst to you however.

It is natural for both of you.

Your home has become the longest place he has spent in. He has his space in your home, he even has a toothbrush holder and resident blanket; removing Kaeya from your home would cause an ineffable void.

Regardless of the previous facts, you genuinely invited Kaeya to come for help and company.

Kaeya makes the process entertaining! Instead of contemplating the price tags incessantly, Kaeya will smoothly subdue your worries by toying with the utensils and playing hide-and-seek in the mirror section all while slipping the item you wanted in the bag.

The two of you let loose; unwinding like children who innocently play in the kid's bedroom showhome despite being strangers to each other.

"Kaeya... do we really need this mirror?" you question dubiously.

Kaeya shares a winsome grin. "Why of course," he then gingerly places his hands on your shoulders and leans in slightly, "It holds a rather charming reflection, does it not?"

You gaze at him and sigh, "Charming? You always find ways to flatter yourself."

Kaeya merely smiles. The two of you peer into the mirror: the reflection of two souls gazing back all while Kaeya surmises.

It wasn't himself that he was referring to.

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀

You're in for a treat!

You will (quite literally) get ice cream afterwards.

Thoma possesses all the skills in the "art of making a home."

Need deals or a lower price? Thoma already has a list. What about colour and style? He has a magazine and Pinterest board ready. What about functionality and material? Don't fret! He knows all the washing labels and what goes best with your lifestyle.

Tell him the night before and he is packed and loaded.

Thoma is absolutely thrilled that you invited him.

Shopping for any household items is delightful for Thoma, even more so when the two of you are browsing through all the showrooms and inspecting each countertop.

His favourite section is the kitchen.

If you have a specific budget in mind, Thoma will ensure that not a dollar goes beyond it and he will keep you accountable as well!

However, staying within the budget while scouring the store takes a significant amount of time.

Hence, instead of another $100 added to the receipt, expect another three hours.

The two of you will heave a big sigh when you finally sit down in the car.

Nevertheless, it is all lighthearted and relaxing as the two of you reenacting imagining a space together.

"We'd set the tables over there-" remarked Thoma as he pointed his finger towards the dining table, "And we can house our pans here- it would be so since to have them hanging instead of in the cabinet."

"Browsing through the kitchens is always fun," added a mother, her arms cradling her baby, "Are the two of you living together?"

You chuckle and Thoma's cheeks grow rosy. You then reply amused, "Oh no, he's a friend of mine who I asked to come along."

The mother then shares an embarrassed smile, "Oh I'm so sorry! That was so wrong of me... if the two of you are looking for a hanging pan rack then I remember seeing an installation piece down in the marketplace."

"Thank you," replied Thoma, a smile pressed on his lips, "We'll be sure to check it out!"

As the mother saunters ambles away, Thoma mutters under his breath, "Maybe we should live together..."

"What was that?"

"Oh ah! Nothing," Thoma scratches the back of his neck before responding brightly, "Do you want me to write the rack on the list now?"

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