#I’m not tech savvy so.. be nice :/ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yanderenightmare · 2 months ago

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♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either.

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck.

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right?

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked.

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him.

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor.

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies.

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything.

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you.

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?”

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face.

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember.

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex.

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either.

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault.

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs.

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ INSPO

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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vincinnamontoast · 3 months ago

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⠂☆ Vi SFW & NSFW HCs

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ tws/content warnings: nsfw towards the end :) not rlly proofread, a bit more modern au, lowercase intended

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ a/n: I’m still working on the story I wanted to post today but I wanted to put something out. so here are a little bit of my vi head cannons! this is lightly proofread with no organization tbh :>

☆ SFW/NSFW MIX

˚. starting off very in it, she worships you and the very soil you walk on. she will quite literally do whatever you say with no questions asked, but of course you don’t take advantage of that

˚. she does in fact snore. nothing crazy heavy and loud. just a light snore with some heavy breathing.

˚. she isn’t the best at regulating her emotions. she is very shamelessly vulnerable with her partner, and she loves being safe enough to feel small sometimes.

˚. she is a very light sleeper. any sense of movement and her eyes slightly open to ensure you’re fine. If so, she goes right back to sleep like nothing. will not move at all, and honestly it concerns you. she has to be sleeping on or near you. if you move away from her, she goes right back.

˚. baby needs so much love. she is a sucker for being babied. wash her hair in the shower, make her little snacks, smushing her cheeks and kissing her nose, tucking her in, and kissing her forehead. call her baby and she’s done for. she will never admit, but you can see it in the way her cheeks turn a warm peachy pink when you baby her. she loves reciprocation, so you can bet you’ll get the same exact love and treatment back

˚. she gets pretty frequent nightmares. she’ll panic inside until she realizes you are asleep next to her, then she’s rolled up into you

˚. loves being both big and little spoon

˚. Is in love with you and everything you do. she will sit and listen to you talk for hours about anything. while you talk, she admires you. the way you move, your voice, how every syllable slips from your lips like honey. she feels so woozy and intoxicated when she is with you. you wipe her off her toes by simply breathing in her direction

˚. she listens so well. you stare at a new game or a nice jacket for too long and you’ll have it by the end of the week. mention how you’ve been craving anything and she’ll have it cooked for you and fresh or ready for take out

˚. she is actually very smart (makes me sad some people call her stupid). she enjoys learning new things but she does get a bit impatient. although it does seem like she jumps into her fights head first, she has strategy and technique.

˚. she is pretty tech savvy. Jinx and Ekko taught her a lot of what she knows. (I do hc that jinx is very tech savvy and into computer software :p).

˚. she always tells you that she loves you. she just wants you to stay aware of how much you mean to her. when you’re both off at work, she ends up always missing you tremendously. she wakes up dreading the moment you both seperate in the morning. you can definitely expect her to blow up your phone with cute messages and comments about her day when she can.

˚. I indeed hc that she has a staring problem. she’s just intrigued easily by little things. she analyzes and is never sure when to look away. she stares at you. A LOT. she admires every single thing about you. every quality, every imperfection, all of it.

˚. very observant and attentive

˚. terrible road rage. she definitely puts up that middle finger and spits profanities

˚. so headstrong and can be very stubborn

˚. follows you everywhereeee. she can’t help it, she loves you so much and just wants you to be right there. she decides stops to following you one day, because she feels as if she’s being annoying. you both were watching movies. kissing her cheek, you stood up. she flexed for a moment, forgetting her plan. halfway down the hall, you noticed you couldn’t feel her right on your tail. when she wasn’t there, you walked back to the living room. she was sitting on the couch with her head down, like a sad puppy. “come here, baby”, was all you said before she jumped up, running to follow you. In truth, you loved it (she’s so puppy coded)

˚. she does talk with her mouth open out of habit. she does it in public when she has to say something.

˚. I believe that she isn’t picky BUT she does like to critique food. she is a food critic and will be honest with you. she is not the greatest cook but she loves to learn and try. she hasn’t dissatisfied you with a dish yet :p

˚. very protective but she knows you can protect yourself. that doesn’t matter though, it won’t change the fact that she is a protector

˚. she is always there for you always, will straight up leave work or anything to be with you if you’re having a bad day

˚. she isn’t the best with wording how she feels but she shows everything through her actions

˚. will defend you in anything, even if you are wrong. she is the defend you in public, correct you in private type

˚. she is an over thinker and does need reassurance sometimes. she is afraid to lose you in any way, but struggles to reassure herself that you aren’t going anywhere.

˚. she actually begs you to get the vi tat on your hip. when you do, she’ll get something that resembles you or your initials on hers

˚. she is so funny actually. she will have you falling over laughing with a shit eating grin on her face. when you both laugh together * chefs kiss *. her laugh is so cute. she does cackle and react with her body when she’s really into it. does in fact think brain rot shit like rizz and skibidi is funny

˚. very very helpful. she can also build shit. bob the builder lesbian fr. truly such a sweetheart and will do anything to help around the apartment you share

˚. she loves video games, choice horror and lore games are her favorite

˚. she is a bit messy, will leave her clothes on the floor and forgets to put her dishes in the sink. she just forgets to clean up after herself sometimes (as we all do honestly)

˚. tends to eat fast because she never knew when she’d eat growing up. It’s just one of her many habits in adulthood. she always makes sure that you have food to eat before she does. just like she did for all of her siblings growing up. she is a nurturer at heart

˚. physical touch is a HUGE love language for her. She loves skin to skin. Quality time is also one of her biggest. has got to be near you or at least have you in her eyesight, but she can respect your personal space.

˚. get jealous easily but she isn’t toxic about it. she’s used to everything being taken from her

˚. has a very gentle touch despite being how strong she is

˚. she can sing. she plays with your hair and sings softly n your neck when you’re sleepy

˚. huge softie. she tends to portray herself as tough, (and of course she is) but she is truly a teddy bear at heart.

˚. best person ever to chill out with. days where you’re both off work, lazy, and watching horror movies, eating, and playing games all day >>>> she’s down for anything honestly. she makes everything so fun and she is such a light to be around. she has her moments as we all do but you’re her partner and you’re there when she needs you

˚. she can be very annoying (i love ittt). can be pretty loud and constantly makes stupid jokes at the worst times.

˚. type who teases the fuck out of you constantly but when you tease her back, she gets so flustered. you both get huge boosts of confidence with each other and will flirt back and forth. It always ends with your eyes in the back of your head and her face between your legs.

˚. you worship her tattoos and kiss her along them all the time. breathing and kissing her neck while dragging your fingertips down the big one on her back. kiss her down it grrrrrr. makes her weak

˚. eats you out like a mad mann. depends on how eager she is but she usually has a method. she puts work into it every time, pleasure for you is pleasure for her. the way she holds you during it, you’re so important to her. your comfort is everything. she’s either the crazy in it type or the brutally slow but you can feel every single swipe and curl of her tongue type. rub her undercut and play with her hair >>>>>> she definitely moans when she’s eating you out

˚. she’s got so much energy and stamina. will have you bent and taking it every which way for hoursss

˚. Is such a good kisser. she is the ‘eat you whole’ type kisser. wants every part of your body on hers when you’re kissing. her hands stay up and down your body. will grab you by the back of your hair, hold your face gently, and guide your mouth into hers. soul connection type makeouts 24/7. always stops to look at you as you’re both panting, admiring each other

˚. grabs your face and makes you look at her when she fingers you. and she’s so good with it too. it’s so hard to maintain eye contact with her, because she makes you nervous. feeling your vision fade in and out because of how good it feels. “look at me” makes you feel things you thought you’d never

˚. she has nipple piercings (canonnnnnnnnn)

˚. she is a moaner and pretty vocal, they’re so soft and smooth coming from her heart shaped lips.

˚. she dirty talks so bad. she’ll have you feeling disgustinnggg afterwards

˚. her body is so warm and soft honestly, those bandages save her from a lot of the scruff she’d get.

˚. seeing her soft pink hair laid everywhere on the bed as you lay between her legs. her pussy melts in your mouth like honey butter and the sounds she makes>>>>

˚. a switch. lovesss to have you between her legs. to keep it quick, everything is messy, and nothing is ever boring with her

˚. she is a very loving and supportive partner

a/n: hope you liked! <3

#vi arcane #vi x fem reader #arcane vi #caitvi #vi x reader #arcane #vi smut #vi x you #league of lesbians #league of legends #cinmntstwrites✮⋆˙

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cherry-leclerc · 3 months ago

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method acting ☆ cl16

genre: angst, yearning, humor, fluff, journalist!reader, established relationship

word count: 13.2k

There’s a lot of things you’d like to do differently in life. And the weeks leading up to that night is one of them.

inspired by this, this, and this !

cherry here!… hello there. sooo this was supposed to go up a few days ago, but silly me scheduled the wrong date, haha, so this is me formally apologizing for that. on a more lighter note: i’m so excited for you guys to read this one considering this is the re-written version of ‘method acting’ if you guys even remember the original version. love u all very much, and enjoyyy :)

From his boyish smile, to his dominant smirk—you knew it all.

The way it would slowly start to spread, but always ended with a dimple. You loved many things in life—many, many things—but nothing comes close to him. From the very start, he’s been gentle. A gentle giant, you’d sometimes joke with a teasing voice, to which he’d roll his eyes yet never deny.

The way he’d start every sentence with—honey—and end with—I love you. The way he’d cradle your face between his hands, kissing the corner of your mouth first before pressing down completely. The way he’d translate for you with all the patience in the world. Everything about him had been so easy to learn, so easy to love.

But here, in a room, staring at each other, you begin to wonder if you ever knew him at all. Because suddenly you don’t know what the frown on his face means. What the furrowed brows with the pinched expression interpret to. You don’t know any of it.

Why are you so surprised, though?

You caused this, anyways.

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you don’t know how to use a USB, Lis. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know—tech savvy?”

Lissie aims a harsh glare before tapping her nail against the computer screen as if that might make the process a whole lot quicker. “So what? I lied on my resume. Everybody does it.”

You chuckle. “Who even uses USB’s nowadays?”

“Apparently Grandpa Will. Oh, yay, it's done!” She shimmies. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” With that, she zips down the paddock without a second glance. You sigh, gathering your stuff and making your way down the busy crowd, heading straight towards Ferrari Hospitality.

He’s on his computer when you first walk in, keys clicking. He nibbles on his bottom lip, knits his dark brows like he’s in pain. As soon as you tap your finger against the wall, he perks up, all his interest suddenly gone. He grins. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Lis,” you respond, claiming a seat next to him.

The Monegasque hums, leaning in to kiss your lips swiftly. “Thank you, Elisabella.” You giggle, sneaking a quick peek at his open screen. “Whatcha’ workin’ on? Wait—let me guess. You’re getting your marriage license annulled?”

“To be with you, yes,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “How do you think Joris is going to take it?”

A playful shrug. “He’s just going to have to accept it, no?”

“I suppose.” Snapping the computer shut, he fixes himself, head pressed softly against your lap, closing his eyes. The sight of his even breaths and curved nose makes you smile as you start threading your fingers through his hair. He sighs, tense shoulders instantly rolling back. “Journling, and whatnot. It’s a habit that has a near expiration date, for sure, but is quite nice as of now.”

And though he can’t see you, your neat brows raise up in surprise. “Journaling on an electronic device? Why not an actual journal? You know—something authentic. I actually know of a place back in Portland where they sell some cute ones, ver—”

“I’m not looking for cute. I’m looking for security.” A beat. “I’d lose it in a week, and we don’t want that happening, now do we? My laptop works just fine. Plus, I feel more at peace knowing it’s not something I will just leave behind.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you declare, enjoying the way his lips twist with a childlike snarl. “Anyways, I’m glad you’ve picked up on a new hobby. It’s good for you, Charlie.”

“Learned from the best.” You blush. “By the way, media shouldn’t last longer than an hour? Wanna go out?”

“Aren’t you tired?” you question, forcing his eyelids open as he squirms, pushing your hand away.

“A little. But I still want to do something with you.”

A tired sigh. “Cute, but I can’t. Lissie and William are out for today, so it’s just me, which means I have to conduct all the interviews by myself.”

The brunette bats an eye. “Why?”

“She forgot she had a deadline—hence why I was busy helping her—and Will still has to look it over. They have to send it in by midnight and it’s—it’s a lot.”

“Why couldn’t she just email it?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you screech, causing him to flinch and squeeze his eyes. Sheepishly, you pat his head. “He insisted on a USB. Says he wants all work done like the olden days.”

“That sucks,” he mumbles. “And who even uses USB’s nowadays? They’re so outdated.”

“That’s what I’m—” You stop, mid-sentence, lowering your voice when he sits up and scoots away. “Saying,” you finish, whispering. You purse your lips, sending a slight grimace. “You get it.”

Charles nods, standing up and placing his laptop into his duffel bag. “I’ll come back and pick you up, yeah? Meanwhile, I can maybe cook something for us.”

“Honey,” you coo. “I love you, but please don’t.” His face drops. What the fuck? You giggle. “How about take-out?”

“How about,” he mutters, stiff as a statue when you press your lips down onto his jaw, but quickly melts. “Chinese?”

“Sounds good.” Another peck. “I’ll call you!”

If you remember—and you do remember—you fell in love with writing ever since you watched The Devil Wears Prada. It was a reset for you because before that you had seriously considered going to law. At first, you started with column writing in your school's newspaper. No one ever read it, you’d always find it on the floor after being trampled on, but you never cared.

Soon after, you started publishing smaller pieces here and there on your fashion blog that has since been taken down, but that was the moment you knew. Thing was, you wanted to nurture this into a career, you really did, but nothing to do with fashion, rather sports.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that every Sunday your Grandpa would beg for you to come over to his house and watch the races with him. They were extremely boring at first. Who willingly drives for roughly two hours in loops? Then, it clicked. Everything changed and you were enthralled.

After that, all you knew was that you wanted it bad. It was hard, studying over time in order to get done quickly and just start working, but it was well worth it. You met Lis the same year she started working with Formula One, so you both figured a lot of things out together, and for two years, it was just you and her, interviewing and writing about the drivers on the grid.

But he noticed you both years ago.

He first noticed the burn on the back of your left leg. He initially thought it was a band-aid by the way it healed, but later found out you had burned yourself with a curling iron back in highschool when you were rushing to get your senior pictures taken. Then he noticed your eyes and the way they always had a glimmer to them, even if something wasn't going your way. He respected the hell out of you after that.

How do you do that?

You freeze. Do what?

Stay so…so—optimistic. Happy, I suppose.

You laughed then, and he saw the way your hair fell over your shoulder like a silk curtain. He would have smiled if he wasn’t so stuck up on that. It’s all a facade. They way you see me—it’s not real.

Believe me, I don’t think you’re real.

You blush, looking back down at your journal where you’ve been too busy scribbling prior to his question. You just have to ignore them sometimes, you know? Remind yourself that they don’t know you and you don’t know them. Trust me, it helps.

And after that, you two never stopped talking.

Whether it was about work, or perhaps even the weather, you two always had something going on. Something everyone noticed, but never brought up. And at one point, you confessed your next dream.

Journalist of the Year, he repeated, a goofy smile slowly itching his skin. Yeah, I can see that.

It’s not that easy, though, you retort, exhaling heavily. I mean, I’ve been doing this for quite a while now and I haven’t even been considered once, which is fine, maybe I’m not good enough, but maybe it’s also time to…I don’t know—give up?

He kept quiet, kept his eyes focused on you, and frowned. If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.

Pft, you scoff. Nah. Not this. It’s nearly unattainable for someone like me. Even Lissie has won, and we’ve been here for the same amount of years. Now I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it, but that just comes to show that there’s always someone better. And I’m just here. You look up. It’s okay, you can laugh.

A beat. I could be a hypocrite to tell you that it’s not good to measure how talented you are or how talented you can be based on some award, but Jesus Chrsit, I do the same thing. I understand. And it’s because I understand that I’m telling you to keep working hard and prove yourself to them. You have it in you—I’ve known ever since we met. You smile. Your time will come, yeah?

And for the first time: you believed it.

A nod. Thanks, Charles. Yours will too.

About a month later, you two started officially dating. It almost seemed too good to be true at times, but wherever he looked for you in the crowd, you knew it just had to be.

But the start of your relationship was also the end of something else.

Interviews and articles?

He nods. Right. None of that.

You follow his actions, nodding numbly as you blink. So, no more working together? Because you want me to have a fair shot?

Yes, he confirmed. I just don’t want you to be nominated—because it’s only a matter of time, I have a feeling—and feel as if they picked you simply because of your dating status.

Who’s going to do all of that, then?

There’s plenty of other reporters. Lissie? Will? Maybe even Natalie. He took a step closer, grabbing your hands gently. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to feel accomplished. That what you did was simply because of your work, and not having to do with your connections because trust me, that doesn’t feel good.

But I love working with you. You give his hand a squeeze, tilting your head and smiling sadly. You’re my favorite person to write about and talk to…

And he genuinely seemed to be pained by your words, wincing.

But you suck it up because you know he’s right. I’ll always be your favorite?

Only the best.

A hum. Alright then. You take a step back, extending your hand for a professional handshake. He smiles, taking it and giving it a good tug.

It was nice working with you, Mr. Leclerc.

“I’ll never understand,” Lissie starts, pressing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and chewing on a licorice. “Why you two ever create such a stupid rule like that?” A hard chew. “All I’m saying is that it could have definitely helped you out a whole lot. You probably would have won by now.”

You roll your eyes, but not without thinking how she might be right. You’ve definitely wondered about a world in which you two hadn’t taken this approach, and while it would have been nice, you also know that it would have felt a little less special knowing that being a nepo to Charles had something to do with it. Which is most likely what would have happened, let’s be completely honest here.

“You came to this arrangement, what? Twenty years ago, maybe fourty? And it’s not to be rude, but you haven't been nominated, so was this really worth it if it hasn’t made much of a difference?”

“Okay,” you grunt, ripping the red candy away from her and throwing it into the nearby trash as soon as you step out of the elevator. She pouts, following along. “I think we get it, I fucked up, very funny.”

“No,” she hums. “I never said you did, I was simply thinking, that's all.” You scoff. “But whatever. I have a feeling this is it. You definitely have it in the bag. They’d be crazy not to add you for a fourth time!”

Spinning, you smile bitterly at the Brit girl. She gulps. “Thank you, Lis, your mild support is very much appreciated.”

You turn back around, walking faster.

“Sheesh, sorry,” she hisses, entering the familiar office with a lost expression.

Carly, your manager runs over, practically jumping onto you and hugging you tight. “Lis, close the door!” You groan at the loud sound against your ear, but she's none the wiser, already embracing you harder. “You did it!”

“I told you!” Lissie shoots smugly.

You freeze, heart racing. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying—”

“Why would she be lying?”

Letting go, Carly lets out a delirious laugh. “Everything—all of it—has finally paid off. You did it, you’re on the list!”

“Holy shit,” you whisper in disbelief, playing with your necklace as you pace the spacious office. Lissie and Carly both grin at each other from ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically. You come to a halt. “Are you making this up because I said I would kill myself if I didn’t make it this year because, for your information, I was totally kidding!”

“It’s not a joke,” the redhead squeals, jumping again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I am too!” Lissie shrieks, running and kissing you face as you try your best to swat her away even though you’re laughing. “Even after what I said in the elevator, I knew this shit was the real deal this time! Didn’t I tell you? Carly, I told her.” She twirls you, making you grin harder. “You won!”

“Okay, let's touch some grass, ladies,” Carly cuts in. “We can’t forget that this is just a nomination and that there’s still work that needs to be done in order to secure our best chances.”

“Right,” you respond, elegantly fixing yourself and nodding up and down. You freeze. “Wait, what work? I thought this was it?”

Carly shakes her head. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started.” A pause. “You have to write an article.”

“I am—confused. What do you mean by article?”

The Brit takes a seat in a nearby chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s their one and only requirement. Show them why they should pick you.”

Carly nods, red hair bouncing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re as talented as they come. Just do what you do, but…better!”

Color drains your face as you go back to pacing. “What do you mean better? This is all I got! There’s nothing left to show, oh God—”

“What are you talking about?” your manager yelps. “There’s always more!”

“Exactly,” Lissie hums, somehow munching on another piece of candy. “There’s always—that, yeah. More.”

Your eye twitches. “Okay, you already went through this and won. How did you do it?”

She pouts, tapping the licorice against her lips before clicking her fingers. “I wrote my piece on fashion and how it’s made its way into Formula One. Wasn’t even that hard. Well. Shouldn't be. Write what you know and it’ll come to ya, they say. Or maybe they don’t, but definitely still do that.”

Your shoulders drop, plopping down next to her and placing a pillow over your face. “Fuck. That’s genius.” It is, isn’t it? she mumbles, slowly chewing in deep thought. Screaming into the pillow, you feel the frustration you didn’t have a second ago finally erupt. “What am I going to do?”

“Sweetheart,” Carly starts, forearms pressed against her glass desk, and stern eyes trained onto you. “You have got to be one of the most raw writers I have ever worked with.” A beat. “Sorry, Lis.”

“Screw you,” she snarls, focusing on her phone now.

Your manager sighs, rubbing her temples. “And please take that as a compliment because it is. You don’t hold back, and you tell it how it is. That’s what makes you one of the best! And if it weren’t for you wanting this, I would have definitely sent an angry email on your behalf because you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Wow,” the Brit muttered, raising her dark brows.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, cringing. “But you’ve won already, Lis, and we supported you, and now…” She faces you again with soft eyes. “We’re doing this for you. You got it, m’kay?”

“But—” your voice cuts off as you blink rapidly, losing focus with the thought of failing, imprinting itself into the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know what to write about, which is weird because I always have an idea, at least. That’s simply a bad sign, that much I know.”

“It’s only bad if you think it is,” Lissie says, clicking her phone off and smiling gently. “But in all honesty, I think it’s actually quite good. That means you know what's at stake, and you know you have to make this the best goddamn article in your entire life.” A beat. “Write what you know, I’m telling you.”

“What she said,” Carly squeaks cheerfully, eyes crinkling as she starts pouring champagne and handing them one by one. “But just so you know, we have to get this in by October thirteenth because they make their decision by the sixteenth.”

“But that’s Charles’ birthday week,” you wail, rubbing your eyes harshly. “Fucking hell—”

“He’ll understand,” Lissie cuts you off, clicking her glass against Carly’s who shrugs, sipping neatly. “All of us know he will.”

“Okay then,” you whisper slowly. You curl your hand tighter against the glass. “Cheers?”

“Cheers, mate!”

Entering his Monaco flat, Charles lets out a tired sigh, taking his shoes off and flinging his keys to the nearby coffee table. The loud thud makes him flinch before running over hurriedly. A large scratch lays across the rich wood as he panics, kneeling down to inspect it carefully.

“Are you serious, Charlie?” he hears over his shoulder, jumping to find you with a frown on your lips and hands on your hips. “That was a gift!”

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “From your Grandpa, I know, I’m sorry!”

You let out a breath, shrugging. “It’s fine. How was your day?”

He eyes you suspiciously once before getting closer to you and kissing you hello. “Eh. Decent. Yours?”

Plump lips twist before flattening back out. “Decent.”

He squints, noticing the way you play with your necklace. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you answer quickly. Defensively.

His brows furrow deeper. “Blow me.”

“Blow you?”

“Yes. Right here, right now—blow me.” He demonstrates, letting out a breath as if taking a breathalyzer test.

You let out a sore laugh, rolling your heels as you stumble back. What? Your laughing stops, though tears run down your face as you try to get your words out. “You mean breathe out, not blow you.” Your giggles pick up once again, making him blush deep red. “God, you need to learn a bit more proper english.”

He looks away, cringing at the sound of his voice replaying, and then turning with a stoic face. “Don’t change the subject.” A pause. “Breathe out.”

You freeze. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions, just do it.” “I’m not going to do it.”

“Just do it,” he presses harder.

You glare. “No. I’m not.”

Taking one last glance, he leaps forward with zero warning and starts tickling you, making your squeal. Stop! “Breathe!” I am breathing, you twat! “Blow me—God damn it! Whatever! Blow! Breathe! Blow!”

“Fine, fine, just stop!” you screech, giggles coming to an end as he nods and stares down at you, which by now, you’re laid down on the couch with him towering over. You blush, breathing out lightly, nearly nothing. He rolls his eyes. Blow me harder. “Blow me harder,” you mimic, copying his accent.

He groans. “You get what I’m saying—”

“I don’t, though,” you joke, laughing harder. As soon as your eyes shut, he smiles down at you affectionately, but when they open again, he reverts his lips back into a straight line. Your lips wobble playfully. Letting out a big breath, he whiffs strongly. “Gross, Cha!”

“You smell like strawberry sorbet, relax.” A beat. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.”

“Okay, this is getting really kinky.”

He aims for a deadpan expression.

Rolling your eyes, you do as you're told and he lets out a scream. “What the fuck!”

“It’s red!”

“No duh, Charles!”

“Strawberry sorbet. The last pint. You ate it all, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So that's a yes.”

You frown.

“And we always share, but when we don’t it’s because you’re going through something and you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Okay, Sherlock Holmes, we get it,” you grunt, pushing him off as you sit up. He does the same, staring at you, concerned. “By the way, does that upset you?”

“The ice cream? Nah.”

You nod, then yawn. “Why do you have to be so attentive?”

“Because I love you.”

You smile. “I made it onto the list.”

“The list?”

“The list.”

A wide grin dances across his pink lips as he jumps onto the coach, up and down, making you bounce and stare up with a soft look. “The list! Thee list. Holy crap, congratulations, honey!” Landing on the ground, he hugs you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and kissing it over and over. “You smell nice—congrats—is that citrus—wait, this smells really nice—”

“It is citrus,” you giggle as he separates from you. “And thanks. It means the most coming from you.”

Silence takes over for a second or two before his brows knit neatly. “What’s wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” They raise up higher. “I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared.”

Tugging you closer to his chest, he drags so you two are laying back down. You close your eyes at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you like some blanket. “About what? You totally got this.”

“Hmph. It’s just that, I, uh. I have to write an article on a topic of my choice, and—I. Don’t know? I have no clue what to write about.”

Listening attentively, he doesn’t interrupt as your words begin to pour out like a prayer. He doesn’t even interrupt when you say something along the lines of being “at best—mediocre”, even though he really wanted to. You scoff. “It’s a silly problem to have, I’m well aware, but…it’s the truth.”

The Monegasque picks your breathing patterns, mindlessly copying as you cuddle him. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swiftly look up, cheek pressed against his heart beat. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

What do you want him to say? Your lips open aimlessly, then close forcefully.

He grabs a nearby blacket, covering you both and hugging you the same he’s seen you hug your teddy bear. “I think you need to have a little bit more faith. In yourself, that is. Because your mind…” Green eyes connect with yours as your breath comes to a strong halt. He tends to make your body react that way, quite often. He sends a simple grin. Dimples and all.

“It's the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

Abu Dhabi 2021.

It’s been talked about too much already.

Spain 2016.

You’re kidding, right?

Fine. Azerbaijan 2018—

You let out a muffled scream. “Pierre, no! I need something better.”

“Better than all that drama?” he dead pans, genuinely confused as to why his ideas are being shut down.

You exhale, hair flying outward. “I love it too, but I need something new. Unheard of.”

The Frenchman pauses, curling a brow. “I’ve gone blank.”

You bite down on your tongue, shrugging it off. “It’s okay. I should probably come up with my own topic, anyways.”

Getting up, you wave goodbye and make your way to the ice cream truck that’s been rented out for the weekend. Smartest investment, you think to yourself as you twirl your tongue around the lavender spoon.

“This time I really do mean it—blow me.”

Squinting up at the sun—which so happens to be behind Charles like a halo—you chuckle, feeding him a spoonful. “Good, no?”

“Delicious,” he hums, going in for another. “Have you tried the funnel cakes?” They have funnel cakes? you squeal, eyes shining. He nods. “Want one?”

You deflate. “Later.”

Watching the crowd walk by, you two sit there, switching turns and enjoying each other's company. It’s amazing how no one comes up to Charles, either. Not that he would mind, but it’s definitely a nice surprise. Glancing over, he hands the spoon back to you. “Come up with something?”

“I have a few ideas, but nothing solid yet.”

Pistachio ice cream melts away faster. “I told Pierre to leave you alone, I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“He’s actually the reason why I have these ideas. Don’t let him know, though, I would never live it down.”

Watercolor eyes go wide. “Really? Pierre actually helped?”

“Weird, huh?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Don’t stress out too much, honey. You still have time.”

You purse your lips. “But the sooner I figure it, the sooner I can start and just focus, and do the proper research and try and—”

“You have time,” he reaffirms with a knowing look. You cock your head and he sends a sly grin. “Plenty.”

“Plenty,” you copy as he nods along. Extending his arm, he signals to the spoon. You shake your head. “You can have the rest.”

“You’re the gift that keeps on giving.”

Write what you know. Write. What. You. Know.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Biting down on your pen, you’re spaced out, staring at the picture frame. In it, Charles and Carlos smile, you can tell, behind their helmets. While the Monegasque’s eyes crinkle sweetly, the Spaniards are dilated and wide. Both nice, but nothing beats those green eyes.

You can slowly feel your sanity slipping away, day by day. There’d be times where you thought you had it figured out, but then you’d bring it up and Lissie would smile and say—

“Yes! Stick to that one! Start it. Right now.”

It wouldn’t seem genuine because you know she just wanted you to get it done given it’s due in less than two weeks. And even though it was good, it wasn’t good enough.

“I’m just going to brainstorm a few more ideas.”

She’d given up, mumbling beneath her breath and grabbing her keynotes and headed to her meeting. Well, technically it was your meeting too, but again. Time crunch.

Hence, why you’re admiring the picture and thinking harder than you were a minute ago. The door slides open then, the two Ferrari drivers back from their media duties. You rip your gaze away as soon as they make their way closer. “How does one fake their own disappearance?”

“Oi,” the brown eyed boy warns, toothy grin expanding. “Good question, though.”

“Oi, you,” your boyfriend warns back, glaring at his teammate. “At this point, I’m sure she’d go through with it.” He turns to you. “Honey, you’ve got to decide already, it can’t be that hard.”

“I know that!” you burst out, ears burning as you avoid their eyes. “But there’s just so much! I don’t want to jump the gun and make a mistake, is all.”

Carlos juts his lip, then rolls his jaw. “If only you took someone’s very good proposition.”

A scoff. “I wasn’t going to write about Papaya Rules, Chili.”

“It would’ve been so good, though!” A beat. “What about—”

“Nor multi-21.”

His expression drops, along with his shoulders, and strolls away, flipping you off. I hope you figure it out, then! A low chuckle makes its way as you exhale loudly. “C’mon, what’s the problem this time?”

You bite your lip, brows drawn in together as you gaze back at Charles. “I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Honey…”

“A-and I know I’m running out of time, but I just want it to be perfect!”

He smiles, throwing his arm on your shoulder. “And it will be, but you need a topic.”

“Yeah…” You raise a brow. “What happened to having ‘plenty’ of time?”

The Monegasque wiggles his brows. “You can’t take up too much advantage.”

I’ve decided.

That’s the lie you settle with because quite frankly, you’re done with the constant questions. If you were going to come up with the best matter to write about, then you need to have a clear head. Carly is over the moon, Lissie is ecstatic, and Charles is proud.

Great! What’s it going to be about?

It’s a surprise.

At first, they were all as curious as can be, but later when you insisted that it’d be better that way, they nodded, though the interest was still there.

Now—with only a week and a half before your due date—you lay, plopped on your stomach, fingers teasing the keyboard as you watch Charles jump into his race suit. You sigh, sitting up. “I think I’m going to stay in here today.”

He fixes the zipper. “Yeah?”

You nod. “That way I can work and watch you.” You point to the T.V. hung up on his room wall. “Is that okay with you?”

“Whatever you need to do in order to focus, baby.” A wink. “It’s fine by me.”

They’re in lap sixty out of seventy-five, the last time you check, and your page remains as white as a ghost and as bare as a newborn baby. It’s both amusing and mind-boggling. Groaning, you hit your head with the back of your hand before running it down your face. Then, to make matters worse, your laptop dies.

Shit, you grit as you look around and spot Charles’ placed neatly on top of a nearby chair. Strolling over, you grab and open it, typing in his passcode and signing into your account. A few seconds later, the blank page resurfaces. Blinking slowly, you spot it.

Notes.

You take a look around, but really don’t know why since you’re the only one in his motorhome, and then click onto the App, furrowing your brows with concentration.

Turns out, you really like to read because one after another, you skim through his journal entries without a second thought. Eagerly, might you add. Some things you know, others you don’t, but nevertheless, you’re caught off guard. How sensitive he is and how it portrays in every word. Not only are you amazed, but you’re completely engrossed.

And it sparks something in you.

With a large grin, the brunette makes his way back to his room, trophy in hand and handshakes and pats on the back all around. Grazie mille, he beams as he makes his way closer, sending a final wave before opening his door. Finding you with his spare helmet over your head, he laughs. You giggle, opening the visor. “That’s one good looking winner!”

He laughs, placing the gold trophy down and enjoying you the way you struggle to take it off. You let out a loud gasp as soon as he assists you, tugging it off. “Shit.” Another gasp. “How do you wear that thing for two hours?” Fixing your hair, you pat it down as you send him a sheepish smile. “Give me a kiss!”

“No thanks. Too sweaty.”

Pouting, you pinch his ear tenderly before he gives in, pressing his lips against yours. “You were amazing out there, Charlie. You really were, I want you to know.”

Green eyes soften as he tries his best to savor this moment. “Only cause you say so.” You giggle, hugging his waist and he drapes his hands over your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head. “How far along were you able to get?”

A hum. “Quite far, actually.”

He lets out a whistle, making your cheeks glow. “Looks like we’re both having a good day.”

“Looks like,” you swoon. “Looks like.”

Tilting your head back, you match with his eyes as he sends a dimpled smile.

Write what you know, you think to yourself as he leans back down to kiss you. His lips greedily crash against your own as you let out a soft moan, playing with his hair, large hands making their way down to your ass. And you, my dear Charlie…

He groans, shuddering as soon as you grind back against his thigh. You smile, admiring his open mouth.

I know you very well.

You feel guilty when you start on your first page, but by the time you make it to your third, you’ve talked yourself out of it. You would explain. As soon as you’re done, before you turn it in, you would explain it all to him. Tell him that this is simply because you love him. How he’s your biggest inspiration, and how this wasn’t you using him, but rather you showing others how amazing he truly is.

He notices it right away—the determination. And he admires you for it because he hasn’t seen you like that ever since your writer’s block. So, he tries not to intrude in moments where you’re on a roll, and instead makes sure to have a bath ready for you. He joins you sometimes, too.

Cracking your fingers, you yawn, exhausted, and stretch like a cat. He chuckles, closing his book like a light thud. “Update?”

“Six pages.”

“Wow. You really got it going on.” You blush. “You deserve something sweet. What do you want?”

“But it’s so late, and you have to be up early tomorrow…”

He rolls his eyes, already grabbing your trench coat. “It’s a bit cold out right now.”

You smile.

It’s not that far of a walk, three miles. After buying you a hot chocolate—with extra whip—he takes your mitten covered hand and leads you out the small coffee shop. By now, not many people are out, so it makes for a calm stroll.

“Shhh—ah,” you hiss, tongue sticking out as your face twists with subtle pain. He laughs, eyes crinkling. Drink slowly, he says, voice laced with humor. “The cool air helps,” you murmur, blowing on the hot drink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

He shakes his head. “I just wanted you to unwind.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, enjoying the way his ears turn pink. You giggle. “Why do I feel like you’re thinking about something, though?”

“I am. You.” A gust of wind dances. “Always.”

You purse your lips, taking a slow sip, lipstick painting the white lid. “I’m serious, Cha. You’ve been quiet ever since you got off that phone call two hours ago.” Neat brows knit together with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he answers, but it’s too quick for it to be the truth.

Giving his large hand a squeeze, you send a knowing look. His breath hitches. “You can talk to me—”

“Are you almost done with your article?” he asks, obviously changing the topic as he stares up ahead, and if not, down at his shoes. Pink nose twitches. “I miss you, and call me greedy, but I was hoping you’d be done before my birthday, at least, that way we could…I don’t know—” He shrugs. “You’ve just been really busy—which I get why, and I understand—but I miss y-you.”

Wincing, you chew your bottom lip a couple times before letting go. “Almost, but.” His shoulders drop, making your stomach twist. You panic. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like the final bang in order for it to be…” A beat. “I’ll be done before your birthday, you can count on that.”

Round eyes finally flicker up as he nods, a more relaxed look evident. “This makes me sound so needy,” he says. “Which I guess I am, bu—”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off with a reassuring smile. “But please, tell me what’s going on…”

The Monegasque stiffens. Despite walking, you can tell. You can feel it. Also, it doesn’t take a genius to notice. “They’re not renewing Carlos’ contract for next year.”

You stop walking, making him stop too. He’s still holding onto you, rubbing small circles against cashmere. “W-why?”

“Guess.”

Your mind races. The rumors have definitely been swirling—everyone’s heard—but really? “They’re actually doing it?”

He nods.

“Lewis,” you whisper like it the first time you pronounce his name. “This is, uh…wow. I mean, wow.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Wow, for sure.” Letting go, he takes a small step back, but still faces you with an uneasy look. “They brought it up as a possibility, but I don’t know why I never thought they’d be capable of…” He grimaces. “I can’t even begin to imagine how Carlos must be feeling.”

“Weren’t they just praising him last time during your guys’ team meeting?” You curl the cup towards your chest. “That’s fucked up.” Charles sighs, pinching the tip of his nose swiftly. Your eyes fill up with concern. “What about you?”

“I got an extension.”

You let out a breath of relief, nodding. “O-okay, okay. That’s good, Charlie, that’s really good.” When he keeps quiet, you pause all movement and blink feverishly. “Why are you upset, then?”

“I’m not,” he answers. “Only worried.” Listening closely, you silently wait for him to continue. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, suddenly tired. “It’s just that…he. He’s Lewis,” he finishes like that’s enough explanation.

You curl a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A weak chuckle. “It means he’s better, and the team is going to favor him over me.” A timid shrug. “I get it, though. If anyone can bring a Championship home for the team, it’s going to be him.”

“It’s going to be you.”

“No.” The light in his eyes gave out, slowly and painfully so. “It’s not.”

Berry lips open, then close lamely, analyzing him like the world's biggest mystery. Sternly, you narrow your eyes down like knives. “World Champion?”

He flinches.

You click your tongue. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?”

“What?” he says, puzzled.

You nod. “Why are you giving up so easily, huh?”

Sharp jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s a former World Champion, and I’m not.” He chuckles sourly. “It’s really not that difficult to figure out. I mean, I’ve been working for it for so long now, and look at me! I’m nowhere close to being there!”

Silence. Chest heaves. You never let go of your gaze, and he has no other choice than to do the same. He’s not mad at you—not mad at anyone, really—but he’s frustrated. And yeah. Maybe he is giving up the fight, but anyone else who was in his position would too. No one wants to be the laughing stock, no one wants to be compared.

“Listen to me Charles Leclerc, and listen to me closely because I’m only going to say this once.”

He waits.

“If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.”

Pink lips turn upward as he tilts his head in the slightest of tilts.

Holding his face between your delicate hands, you raise your brows, shivering at the icy air. He can feel your hand vibrate against his skin as he grabs them, brings them up to his mouth, and blows hot air onto them. “I believe in you. Everybody does. Do you believe in that?”

And it takes a moment for him to answer. It takes a moment for it to register. He nods. Sure of himself.

“Only because you do.”

“A USB?” He frowns. “I thought you hated those?”

“I do,” you say, combing through your hair, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror. “But I feel like this makes it real. Physically turning it in, I mean. It’s dumb, but…” You check the time, shrieking and grabbing your things. “Carly is going to kill me! Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, and then we can go with your family for dinner, or I’ll meet you there, yeah?” You huff. “Red or white wine?”

“Sparkling water,” he ponders. “Maman is trying to get to ‘quit.’ Which is probably not the right way to put it because it’s not like Lorenzo, Arthur, and I are alcoholics.”

“Oh. Alright then, I’ll just get that instead.” Tippy toeing, you peck his cheek briskly, sweet perfume hitting him. “I love you.”

Adoration fills his watercolor eyes. “I love you, too.”

Who knew?

Who knew that’d be the last time you’d hear those words coming from him?

Entering the familiar office, you wheeze, crouching down to catch your breath before sending over a coy smile. Carly laughs, clearly amused, before signaling to the chair that sits right in front of her. “We could have done this any other day as long as it was before the deadline, you know?”

“No,” you pant, heart beat barely switching back to its regular pace. Well. Sort of. “I need to get this out of the way, I promised Charles I’d be free before his birthday. He said it was his one and only wish, could you believe that, he’s so cute, isn’t he?” She blinks. Pink dusts your cheekbones. “Anyways, here it is.”

Looking down at your extended hand, she almost lets out a snicker. “I get I’m older than you, but really? You emailing it to me would have been just as effective.”

“I didn’t want to risk it going straight into your spam folder.” That, and I don’t want to see when you actually read it because I have a funny feeling you’re going to disapprove, which is okay, fair. “Here.”

“Very well, then,” she mumbles, retrieving it. “Why don’t we proofread it together one more time before send—”

Horrified at the innocent suggestion, you leap up from your chair, pushing back. “There’s no need, I checked it about a thousand times.” She raises a sharp brow at your outburst, the defensiveness in it. You laugh nervously. “And I should get going, anyways. Pascale is cooking Cha an early birthday dinner, can’t be late.”

Placing her forearms against the table, she nods slowly, but still unsure. “I won’t hold you back any longer, then. Tell him I said happy birthday.”

Tight lips form a forced smile, uneven breaths expanding. “Of course.”

You’re expected in an hour, so when you should be up forty-five minutes early, Pascale is pleased, but a bit surprised. Hugging you hello, she opens the door wider, letting you in. “They’re out in the back. Dinner should be ready in a bit.”

“No worries. Do you need any assistance?”

She shakes her head, thin blond hair swaying. “I’ve got it all under control, chérie.”

Nodding, you put your things down and start making your way towards the sound, beers clinking. You let out a snicker. “And here you are claiming not to be an alcoholic,” you joke. Flustered, Charles turns to face your soft voice.

“It’s my first,” he squeaks.

“Third,” both Lorenzo and Arthur shoot, greeting you with a gentle nod.

“It barely even has any alcohol,” your boyfriend tries defending, but the crack in his voice makes everyone burst out with laughter. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Carly?”

“I was, but we got done pretty quickly.”

“What’d she think?” he asks, tugging you onto his lap. You giggle, meanwhile Arthur gags and Lorenzo blinks unbothered. “Bet she loved it.”

“I wouldn’t know. I left before she read it.”

He cocks his head. “Seriously?”

You nod. “You said you wanted my full attention.”

“I didn’t say it like that—”

“Well, now you have it.” You kiss his nose gingerly. “Happy early birthday, Charlie.”

The Monegasque smiles deeply. “Thank you.”

“Arthur! Lorenzo! Come help and set the table!”

Arthur groans. “Why just us? What about Charles?”

Poking her head out the window, Pascale aims a stern look, making him dash up. You laugh, ideally going to stand up, but gets tugged back down onto his thigh. You roll your eyes. “I should help, too. But you stay here and relax.”

“I will, but only if you stay with me.”

“Pascale needs my help—”

“Right, but she has both of them already.” He gives your hair a gentle tug. “Stay.”

Sighing, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder as he holds you. From here, you can see the breathtaking view of Monaco’s sunset. The ocean, the trees. Filled with satisfaction in life, you kiss the side of his neck, making him squirm slightly. “Carly says happy birthday. Early. Early birthday.”

A hum. “Make sure to tell her that I said thank you, the next time you see her.”

The sound of waves crashing sings softly. He traces shapes down your leg. “When will I be able to read it?”

You’re sure you stop breathing. “S-soon. After Carly gives me the green light, at least.”

A beat. “I’m excited.”

Your stomach churns. “You are?”

“Mhm. Very. Didn’t you know I was your biggest fan?”

Fixing yourself to look at him, you open your lips, feeling how dry they’ve become. “Charles—”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A sore laugh. “They’re calling you.”

You reach towards your back pocket, pulling it out. Carly Freeman. Clicking it off, you shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He wiggles his brows. “Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing. Answer her, it’s fine.”

“She’s going to have to wait until tomorrow,” you announce, standing up and dusting your hands off. “I’m here with you, and she's going to have to wait. Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than this.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He sends a worried look. “Are you sure? What if it has something to do with your article? You should pick up—”

“I said I’m here with you,” you affirm. “Tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Standing to his full height, he sends a gesture towards the house. “Let's go?”

His hand reaches out, waiting for you. You smile, taking it. “Let’s go.”

Your phone keeps buzzing and it doesn’t let him sleep.

That, and Carly is a terrible liar.

Shifting in the bed as quietly as possible, Charles reaches for your phone, trying his best not to wake you. “Hello?” he croaks. The line stays quiet, static rolling. “I know it's you, Carly.”

“Charles! How’s my favorite driver?”

You twist, unwrapping your leg that was draped over him. He freezes, soothing you a bit before you settle down. Climbing off the bed, he walks out, gently closing the door and heading towards the living room. “I know your favorite is Fernando, what’s up?”

She laughs nervously, cursing underneath her breath. “Is my little journalist with you?”

“She is.”

“Great! May I speak with her very quick—”

“But she’s asleep.” She groans. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well…”

Sitting down on the couch, he leans back, placing his feet onto the coffee table. Normally, he wouldn’t, but you weren’t here right now, and lucky for him, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He clicks his tongue. “Does this have something to do with your guys’ meeting today?”

“Yes. And no.” More static. “Do you mind waking her up for me?”

“Um…well I do. Sorry, Carly, but she needs to get some rest, she’s been working non-stop, and—”

“No, no, I get it!” she squeals. “I totally understand. Can you let her know that I need to talk to her as soon as possible? Like—urgent. Please and thank you and have a good night!”

“Wait,” he says, furrowing his brows and pushing the phone closer to his ear. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about. Too much,” she adds. “It’s just that I need a bit of clarification, that’s all.”

“Clarification?”

“Yup. On a tiny mistake of hers. But we can fix it together, she still has time, and if she hurries then we can still meet the dea—”

“She doesn’t make mistakes, though. Ever.”

A hiss. “It’s a tiny one, Charles—”

“Okay, tell me and I’ll tell her.”

“What? I can’t. I need to speak directly with her first.”

“Carly…”

“What now?” she grits.

“What’s the issue?” he presses harder. “I’ll let her know right now.”

The line goes quiet. For a moment, he begins to wonder if she’s hung up already, but when she clears her throat, he listens carefully, but can’t decipher her mumbles.

“She gave me the wrong USB.” That’s it? She groans. “Listen to me Charles—the USB she brought to be today only has her title written on it along with a few notes about what it’s supposed to be about. It’s the wrong one and I need the other one now.”

“Okay,” he mutters slowly, nodding. “I’m sure she’ll bring it to you once I let her know, but that’s going to have to be until tomorrow.”

She gasps. “You said you’d let her know right now!”

He winces. “I know I did, but it’s late! Trust me, though. I’ll tell her you called and I’ll even drive her myself tomorrow to drop it off. It must be around here somewhere right…” And it sure is. Sitting nicely on the coffee table, inches away from his feet. He sits up straight away, picking it up as if it were some sort of new discovery. Which in a way, it was. “Carly, why is this so important to you?”

“She’s my favorite client,” she answers without missing a beat. “I only want what’s best for her, and right now we need to fix this little mishap and get this article in as soon as possible.” A beat. “Also, maybe don’t mention the first part to Lissie, she’d totally kill me.”

Analyzing the black USB, he remains stoic, blinking only because he needs to. “Goodnight, Carly…”

“Yeah. I, um—goodnight, Charles.”

Once he hangs up, he’s quick on his feet, retrieving his laptop from the counter and sticking the drive in without a second to process what he’s doing. He shouldn’t. Probably. Definitely not. But the interest Carly clearly has was enough to poke his mind and for him to start wondering what on earth is so significant?

And it’s so obvious now why.

Charles Lecelrc: The Man Behind the Helmet

His eyes skim fast, narrowing sharply.

Like any other human being, he struggles with depression, though fails to admit. Many sleepless nights, many fights, many canceled therapy appointments, I begin to question: does every praise his fans give him make him think he’s above all these things? The truth hurts, but it's only because it's real. And Charles Lecelrc, you are nowhere close to being as perfect as everyone makes you out to be.

His heart stops, re-reading the last sentence. He wishes for it to say anything but that, but it never changes, and it only mocks him like a school bully.

Many assume that the death of his late-father, Hervé, and his late-godfather, Jules Bianchi, have made him stronger in a sense. That it has fed the drive in him to succeed. To be the best of the best, but what if that wasn’t true at all? Would any of you be surprised? Probably, but again, no one truly knows him the way I do. So, what feeds his determination?

The thought of failing the same way they did.

Anger bubbles up inside of him, grinding his molar until they crunch loudly against his temples.

But who can blame him for having that fear inherited down onto him? Tabloids also have a part in this, and so do unwanted changes. One way or another, we can relate with the latter, but never in the way he does. Reading and hearing rumors takes a toll on Charles, that much is true, but what can we expect when his next new teammate is a seven-time World Champion.

I guess the only question that stands in not only our minds, but also his…

Is he strong enough to come head to head with someone as talented as Lewis Hamil—

“Wake up.”

Groggily, you rub your eyes. “Charlie, it’s dark out, come on. Come back to bed.”

“Stop calling me that, and get up.” In a single movement, he rips the blanket away and yanks you from your wrist, forcing you to sit. You gasp, his change of heart sobering you up from your sleepy daze.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He laughs. “Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you serious right now or are you stupid?”

You flinch, taken aback. “Don’t talk to me like that, what did I do?”

“I won’t waste my breath explaining.” He drops his laptop on the bed, making you freeze as soon as you spot the familiar USB. “I'll let you re-read it.”

“Where did you get this from?”

“Really? That’s what’s important to you?” He rolls his jaw, rubbing it until his skin turns a light shade of red. “If you don’t want me finding it, then next time don’t leave it out.”

Your lips go dry, crawling to the edge of the bed, but as soon as you’re about to reach out for him, he grimaces, shaking his head and taking three steps back. “Charlie—”

“No,” he hisses, glaring at you with utter hatred. The sight alone makes your eyes well up. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me that ever again.” A cry rings through the air as you cover your hands over your face. “A-am I supposed to be impressed by what I read or what?”

“It’s no—”

“Did I do something to upset you or w-why were you talking about me like that?” he questions, genuine confusion taking over as he furrows his brows until they cause his eyes to pinch up too.

Sniffling, you get up quickly, shaking your head adamantly until you get dizzy. “It wasn’t supposed to come off across that way! Are you kidding me?” Grabbing your heart, you soften your eyes. “I’m your biggest supporter.”

“Yeah? Well, that,” he snarls, pointing at the open screen like it's the most disturbing thing. “That doesn’t make sense with what you’re saying…” A beat. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Do what, though?” you whimper. “Everything I wrote about you is based on what you told me!”

“Exactly!” he shouts back, making the distance between you smaller, making you shrink. “I told you! Just you! I never once asked you to air out my business, and quite frankly, I thought that was common sense.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “You called me crazy and troublesome among other things. Are you my girlfriend or wolves in sheep's clothing? I’m trying to understand your logic here.”

You push your hair back, breathing hard. “You can’t just say that, there’s context behind that, come on…”

“Oh. Okay. My bad. I’m crazy because I talk to my father’s tombstone and Jules’. It's troublesome because I used to do cocaine in order to de-stress. I’m in over my head because I actually think I stand a chance against Lewis—a chance you convinced me I had!”

“That’s not what I meant!” you squeak. “You’re taking it all wrong, Charles, I would never say that about you!”

“But you did,” he states firmly. “And you know? If I’m so unready to face a friendly competition against my future teammate, then maybe I’m unready to face a lot of other things, too.” You freeze, dreading his next words as you plead him silently not to say them. “Maybe I’m not as ready to settle down with you as much as I thought I was…”

That does it. That seems to cut the little oxygen you had, off. Stumbling back, you feel the tears start to form again. “You don’t mean that…” You smile weakly. “You’re just a tiny bit upset right now, okay, fine. That’s fine. But you don’t mean any of that.”

Glaring until it hurts, he maintains eye contact. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling, you don’t get to do that!”

You flinch. “I’m sorry.” A droplet slides down. “I’m sorry, okay?” More follows. “For all of it. For all of this. If I could take it all back, I would, you have to believe me, Charles, you know I would.”

His gaze lingers for a while longer, taking in your rosy nose. Your swollen eyes. Your wet cheeks. Everything that's supposed to make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “I really did trust you…” You breath hitches. “And I really did want you to win…” Pause. “And I still do.”

Strolling over, he disconnects the USB, making the screen go completely black, and hands it to you. Blinking down, you shake your head, too embarrassed to even look at it. “I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want it either…” Forcing your palm open, he places it down, instantly making your skin burn. “Journalist of the Year.”

You let out a wet sob, shoulders shaking. You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but what you do know is that this doesn’t feel good and that your heart breaks with every passing second.

Never in a million years did you think you would experience any of this, especially with Charles. The Monegasque cocks his head, curls following. “I’m glad you’re about to get everything you’ve ever wanted, I really am.” He chuckles softly, eyeing you intently. “I just can’t help but wonder what that must feel like.”

“I was going to tell you,” you whisper meekly. “And you were supposed to understand where I was coming from.”

And if any anger was gone, well fuck that, it all came right back.

“Understand where you were coming from?” he spits out, shocked by your choice of words. “You really thought I would understand? I planned my entire future around you, and this is how you repay me? You went behind my back to write an article I didn’t even know about! We made a choice years ago!”

“No, you did!” you retort, despair rising hard and fast. “You came up with that decision all by yourself, Charles, I never agreed!” You look down. “Not entirely.”

“Huh,” he scoffs, squinting his eyes. “I was simply looking out for the girl that I love given that the internet is a scary place and she probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it, for God sakes, I guess this is my fault now, isn’t it?”

“I would have been able to handle it, but you never gave me the chance!”

“Yeah, because reporting on a driver and driver who's your boyfriend are two completely different things that you can’t seem to comprehend!”

Trembling, you blink carefully, gulping. “I would have done just fine.”

“You think so?” he challenges, a sour smile forming. You nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” Closing the final distance between you two, your breath gets stuck as he sends a dirty glare, one that's meant to sting. “You’re not talented. You only have your position because of your dating status, when in reality, your work is utter shit. Everything is handed to you.”

There’s a mix of a whimper and a plea that comes out of you as you screw your eyes shut. “You’re being mean, Charles…”

He laughs, clapping his hands once with amusement. “That’s what the internet is! Maybe I was right, then—you can’t handle it.”

“I could…” you murmur, but it's no use.

The brunette catches himself wanting to comfort you. To apologize for everything. But then he figures—why? It’s not like he truly did something wrong.

“You’re the greatest disappointment of my life.”

Something ended the moment those words left his mouth—you both knew it. Sobbing hard, your shoulders vibrate violently as you seemingly gasp for air. He looks away.

“You know, our life could have been so good. So fucking good. But you went and ruined it.” Green eyes flicker back. “Why would you do this to us?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” you declare with wet lashes.

“You did a bit more than that,” he replies, wincing, blinking rapidly. He smiles. “If you wanted to write your article on me, you should’ve asked me. You should have talked to me. But no. And the thing is, I would have let you! God. I would have let you write whatever you wanted—but not like this. You stole an interview from me with no right, honey…”

Quickly, you flicker your gaze up at him, hoping to see any trace of love in that one word, but you’re not surprised when you don’t find any, deflating furthermore. He shrugs. Like what you did to him was no big deal.

“You took it from me. But I would have given it to you.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? You can always change your mind, babe, it’s totally fine!”

“No.” You fix your hair, posture straight. You smile. “I need to.”

Lissie shares a slow nod, nibbling on her bottom lip before handing you her keynotes. “Alright. Good luck.”

The idea first sparked when the Brit girl mentioned how she was the only one granted permission to interview Charles at this year's FIA prize giving ceremony. You had debated back and forth with what seemed like forever, both Carly and Lissie trying to talk you out of it, but you pleaded until they reluctantly agreed.

You haven’t seen him ever since that day.

It’s insane to think about, sometimes. You knew each other for two years, dated for three, and haven’t crossed paths for another two. And now, you’re here. He’d been upfront that day, didn’t even flinch with his one and only birthday wish, meanwhile you felt the last stab hurt more than anything.

I wish to never see you again.

Not long after, he grabbed his things and left. But not before turning around, sending you one last glance, dull, empty, and nothing like him anymore. You still recall.

Turn it in, he said, smiling warmly despite his better judgment. Despite not meaning it. Don’t let this all be for nothing.

Shaking your hands, you grin, fixing your silk dress. The Brit girl stares worriedly, but as soon as you wink, she hides it. Not that well, but enough. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” she jokes, but it’s probably true. He has a soft spot for her, and he only gave permission to her. No one else.

You wince, grabbing her hands delicately. “I really appreciate this, Lissie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Waving goodbye, you make your way to the private conference hall. It’s daunting, actually, the sight of the large table where he’ll be sitting and the small chair where you will. Quite the narrative. His picture is hung in almost every corner, from the beginning of his career to now. The latest one makes you smile as he lifts the trophy high up with a beaming grin, dimples poking out and eyes crinkled just the way you remember.

You thought about apologizing again. Better this time. Once things simmered down. You really wanted to, but as soon as Carly informed you that the article would need to be published in order for fans to engage with your content and for them to decide on a winner, you knew the gist of him accepting your apology was most likely never going to happen.

And you contemplated not posting it. Carly did too. Lissie did too. No one thought it was a good idea, but you still did it. Like he said—you couldn’t let all that be for nothing.

The hate came immediately, you expected nothing less. In their minds, you were a loyal girlfriend, but after reading your work, the comments came rolling in. You were honestly quite grateful because you know you deserved every last bit of it.

But somehow—somehow—you won Journalist of the Year.

You were shocked to say the least—bewildered. And you could see it in Lissie and Carly’s eyes too. So, while accepting the award with a forced smile, it hit you like a truck.

Did you truly earn this or was it all thanks to him?

Either way, does it matter anymore?

The door gently opens as he steps in, a loopy smile stretched onto his lips before coming to a complete stop. With your heart in your throat, you cough awkwardly, standing up and waving. You cringe, putting your hand down as soon as he furrows his brows, looking around.

“S-she’s not here,” you say, voice cracking. You blush. “You’re looking for Lissie, right?” Utter silence. He blinks, unresponsive and as stiff as a tree. You lick your lips. “I-I-I can leave if you want.” But you really hope he doesn’t want you to.

The Monegasque’s features strike with something familiar—something you knew not long ago. Then…

He smiles at you.

“It’s alright.” Carefully, he makes his way closer, scooting his chair right next to yours as you blink, sitting back down and staring with your plump lips slightly open. He cocks his head. “Y-you look the same.”

You giggle. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” When he fails to answer, you bite down on your lip hesitantly. “You haven’t changed much, either.”

He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but why are you here and where is Lissie?”

You flinch. Okay. This was expected. You practiced hours for this very moment. “Don’t be mad at her, okay, I asked her to let me do this. I wanted to…see you, Charles.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his heart stop because it's been so long since he’s heard it. Too long. A subtle blush. “I’m here to apologize.”

“Ah,” he winces, scrunching his nose. “Don’t. We’re cool.”

“Are we, though?”

He stiffens.

Exhaling, you place your things down, pursing your lips. He watches the way your knee bounces up and down. How you play with your ring before covering it neatly with the opposite hand. That catches him completely off guard as he blinks rapidly, thinking he must be mistaken.

“I know I don’t deserve any of this,” you say nervously. “By all means, I should have been kicked out five minutes ago, but you…” Round eyes soften, lashes batting slowly. “You’ve always been a kind and generous human being, Charles.”

“Stop,” he whispers. You frown. “Saying my name, I mean. You can talk—we can talk, but please, just. Don’t say it.”

“O-okay,” you mumble, stomach churning. “I won’t.”

He lets out a tight smile, tilting his head. Years ago, his hair was a tad bit longer, fluffier even. Now, it’s still the same, but somehow more mature. His eyes are still young and naive, but with a hint of wisdom. He usually would wear mismatching suits, but now it matches. A lot of him has changed, and you weren’t there to witness it.

“Congrats, by the way,” you add happily. “World Champion, eh?”

Pink spreads across his cheeks, slowly but surely. “Thanks. I was close to losing my mind.”

You laugh. “Seven years later, but it’s well deserved. I’m so proud of you.”

And for a moment, he goes completely numb. He’s heard plenty of kudos ever since winning his first title—and they were nice, they made him feel nice—but this. You? It’s the first time it makes him feel accomplished. And that feels more than nice.

Playing with his bracelet, he nods sheepishly. “How have you—how, um…God. I, um, how have you been?”

“Oh.” You let out a genuine smile. Soft. Angelic. And everything he wishes to find in any other girl that isn’t you. It’s not something he should notice. “I’ve been well.” You raise your hand. “Engaged.”

“You sure are,” he mumbles, finally acknowledging the silver band before flashing an easy smile of his own. And maybe it was real, or maybe it wasn’t, but he wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. Just a tiny bit bothered, is all. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You lick your lips awkwardly. “You remember Carly’s son?”

A tide hits him as he internally screams. “Grayson, right?”

You nod. “She, uh, set us up a while ago and we hit it off.” You wince. “I’m sorry, is that weird?”

“No. Of course not,” he replies, shrugging. “You’re allowed to build your life with whomever you want. What happened between us was…” He chuckles. “So long ago. I’m happy for you both, I really am.”

And he means it this time.

Admiring the oval-shaped ring, you swoon as if you’re thinking of the exact moment he proposed to you, and that’s the prettiest sight Charles thinks he might ever see. Even if it didn’t end up being him. Once you look back up, he looks away, feigning interest in anything else stupidly.

“Yourself?”

“Myself?”

A playful eye roll. “Are you seeing anyone?”

A retch. “Ha ha, no! No, that’s not—that’s not for me.” You frown. He winces. “Please don’t be offended, but after you, I sort of lost interest in meeting other people. Pierre calls it trauma, I call it precaution.” A sore laugh. “B-but maybe one day. Never say never, am I right?”

The lights reflect directly towards you, so that lets him see the rosy blotches beginning to hug your cheekbones as your lips wobble. He panics. “N-no! Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“I ruined your life,” you wail, throwing your hands over your face. “Oh my God, I wrecked it!”

“You didn’t!” he tries. “I’ve gone on a couple of dates, here and there!”

You’re tiny cries take a quick pause. Sniffling, you shoot him a look, shiny eyes beaming back at him. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, slowly relaxing against his seat. “Sort of. Kind of.” A horrified expression maps out against your face. He grimaces. “I-It’s just not my thing!”

“I’m sorry, Ch—” You pause, rethinking your words. “I’m sorry.”

The Monegasque shrugs, hoping that’d be enough for you to drop the topic. “It’s okay, really. It’s a decision I made long ago, and I’d like to keep it like that for a while, at least.” You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding halfheartedly. “But please, um, tell me, how far along are you? Heard from Lissie that it’s a boy.”

You let out a wet giggle, wiping your tears away to the best of your ability. “Nineteen weeks. I’m in my second trimester.” Gingerly, you rub your tiny belly before your eyes light up. “Give me your hand!”

“What?”

Leaning in, you grab his large hand and place it down on your stomach, looking up at him to watch his reaction. At first, he’s weirded out, you can tell. He makes a silly face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, but seconds later his features soften. His green eyes go round, no tension behind them. His brows lay flat, then knit together in amazement. He laughs, rubbing his thumb gently.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers. “When he kicks?”

You hum. “Sometimes it can. But I suppose it’s more discomfort than anything.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Cool?”

He nods rapidly. “Super cool.”

Pulling away, he can feel his adrenaline as high as a kite, and as fast as his car. He feels different, he notes, as if something has finally shifted inside of him. With this, he takes time to admire you in a way he hasn’t been able to ever since.

Your hair is cut into layers now, glossy and shorter than he remembers. Your lips, round, plump and berry tinted. Your eyes, doe, innocent, and pure in a way he can’t seem to wrap his head around. Smile, even, wobbly, and everything in between.

Your gaze flickers. “Question…”

“Answer,” he replies, studying your body language.

It’s harder than you had initially thought it would be, asking him what you’d been wondering for these past two years. Was it all that bad? The answer might be yes. Yes, it was. To him, perhaps. But it tugs your tongue, and it burns a bit, but you push through, focusing on him and his watercolor eyes.

“Do you—”

But he still knows you. He can still read you. Before you, it’s always him who understands your train of thought.

He shakes his head, dimples imprinting like a finger in sand. “No regrets.”

A peach seed forms as you let out a sheepish laugh. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in life,” you admit, cringing slightly. “Just yesterday, I bought the wrong plane ticket. Got stuck in the airport for three extra hours.” He chuckles. “Totally unnecessary.”

“It happens,” he comforts you, clicking his tongue.

“I guess so,” you say, sighing. “But betraying someone you love? Yeah. That’s got to be the worst mistake of my life.”

He flinches, an old wound suddenly opening. “Hey, you—”

You raise your hand, pleading with him. “Let me just…” So, he forces himself to sit there quietly, to not intrude no matter how much he really wants to. It’s fine, he wants to say, I’m fine now, we’re fine now, seriously.

A wince. “Do you know how guilty I feel whenever Grayson polishes my award?” A scoff. “He means no harm with his actions, but it makes me feel like shit everytime I walk past it. I’ve begged him to put it away somewhere in the attic, but he’s as proud as can be. Say’s an accomplishment like that deserves to be shown off. That it’s proof of all my hard work.” You smile. “Much like you and your trophy.”

You exhale. “You were right, though.” A hum. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I never said that.”

“Sure,” you give in quietly. “But you did say that if I won, I’d always wonder if I was truly respected for my work or if I was respected because of you.”

He bites his tongue.

You shrug lamely. “And that’s just something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life…” Steadily, you ease your eyes back towards him as you find him already staring at you, listening close and curious. “And I want you to know that I’m fine with that.” A beat. “What I’m not fine with is you being mad at me for the rest of your life.”

Charles opens his mouth, feeling his tongue as dry as the desert and his throat as dusty as the highest mountain. “I’m not mad at you…anymore.” He sits up straighter. “I said a lot of things to you that night that I shouldn’t have said, but you have to understand that you hurt me a thousand times worse.”

Tears well up your eyes as you nod shamefully. He continues despite feeling the need to reach out for you. “I just wanted you to feel what I was feeling, even if that meant—well. You know. And, um…I tried to forget all of that, but I, too, felt guilty, so—I’m glad you’re here. That way I can say…I’m sorry.”

“No!” you wail, raising your arms up. “No, I’m sorry! I broke your trust, and I was a God awful girlfriend.”

“You did,” he chuckles before scrunching his nose in deep thought. “But you were also the best I’ll ever have.”

A wet sob escapes.

“I forgive you.”

“S-shit,” you let out. “You don’t know how g-good it feels to finally hear you say that.”

A gentle smile. “You?”

You giggle, standing up. “I have nothing to forgive you for, but yeah. Okay. I forgive you, as well.” You open your arms for a hug. He blinks. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Tsk. “You used to do this all the time wherever we fought,” he says, a hint of sadness wavering in his eyes before disappearing into thin air. Extending to his full height, he towers over you before going in to close the distance. He halts, coughing awkwardly.

You snicker, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right. You're hugging two of us now.”

A wave of jealousy pangs his chest for a second. You’ve moved on, and he’s stuck in the year you were still in his life. Still his. He envies Grayson in every sense there exists, but he swallows down that pill because he’d always been a nice bloke the very few times he interacted with him. He needs to move on, too.

Even if it takes him his whole life to figure out how.

“The more the merrier.”

Your face has gone completely numb by now from how hard you're grinning from ear to ear. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he goes over your shoulders, you sigh contently as you catch the whiff of his cologne. His heartbeat quickened at the smell of your perfume.

“Question,” he whispered. You chuckle against his chest. Answer. He gulps, nose twitching. “Would it make me a bad person to say that you’re probably the only girl I’ll ever love?” Silence. He screws his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Why the fuck would he ever say that—

“I’d only say that I don’t deserve to be her,” you respond. “Anyone but me.”

A flinch. “O-of course. You’re getting married, you’re having a baby, what was I th—”

“Honey…”

He freezes.

You lean back, holding his face between your hands and smiling. “It’s not your name…”

His voice catches. “It’s not…”

A deeper smile. Nostalgic. “A piece of me will always love you.” A pause. “You know me so well. Better than anyone. You’ve seen me naked. You’ve dressed me. You’ve seen me with makeup. You’ve seen me without. And…well—you’ve seen my good side. But you’re also the only one who's seen my bad.”

His palms quickly get sweaty as he tries his best to not do anything he might regret. And not because he’ll wish to take it back, but because you would. Neat brows draw in together as you graze his stubble with your thumb. As nurturing as a mother, which he supposes you already are.

“I’d say that makes us pretty close, no?”

“Not as close as I’d like to be.”

“You’ll find someone.” A beat. “Someone who’ll love you right.”

“You didn’t?” he questions before he can stop himself. “Sorry—”

“My love for you was honest. But I blew it.”

I’m still here, he wants to yell out. If you still want me like I want you, then I’m still here.

But he refrains from doing so.

“You’ve never done me wrong,” he attempts, kissing your palm gingerly before softening his gaze. You send a playful glare. “Except for that one time.” You snort. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore because—because it doesn’t matter anymore…”

Maybe it's the hormones, you sort of wish it was, but you know it’s due to his gentleness. You don’t deserve his sympathy, you don’t deserve even a fraction of it. Crying, you kiss his cheek, hoping everything you feel transfers itself into the warmth of his skin. And you don’t know, but it does just that.

Closing his eyes, he prays to dream about this kiss forever. Have nightmares, who even cares. As long as he doesn’t forget.

You step away carefully, taking him in as his eyes flutter.

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…”

He smiles. You smile.

His dimples pop out. Your eyes crinkle.

He loves you. You love him.

And maybe it didn’t work out in this life.

But maybe in the next.

“May I have an interview with you?”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @emmaxdelicate

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razorblade180 · 5 months ago

Text

Streamer AU 6

Number 5 <-

Weiss:*rolls into view*….I’ve returned.

Yang:The bitch is back.

Weiss:Wow! Okay, rude. It’s not like I really left. I was in your streams all the time. I just don’t feel like doing my own after missions.

Yang:And yet somehow you still have more subscribers than me.

Photo Bunny gifted 30 subs

Weiss:Oh my gods! Velvet, thank you so much!

Yang:And the rich get richer!!!

Weiss:She says, knowing I’m not rich anymore.

Yang:And yet the money still pours in. Chat, make her play a horror game for being gone for so long.

“Yes!”

“PLEASE!”

“Alien Isolation.”

Weiss:Absolutely not. We have plans already. I’m just waiting for my co-host.

Yang:What am I then?

Weiss:A person who saw me hit the “live” button and immediately hopped into call to call me a bitch.

Yang:It’s in all in good love.

The Reaper: “Ayo! Look who’s back!”

Yang:Ruby, call Weiss a bitch.

Weiss:I’ll un-mod you. I’ve learned to do that recently.

Ruby: *enters call* Oh gods, chat, she’s learning computers. Tech savvy Weiss is dangerous. Who taught her such power?

Weiss:Your girlfriend.

Ruby:Oh, sorry chat. My girl can do no wrong.

Protector of Friendship: “💚”

Ruby:What’s the gameplan today? “Just chatting?” We can play Uno again.

Weiss:You hate teamwork. I swear you do.

Yang:Sends us on a life threatening mission where trust is needed, just to ruin it a day later.

Thunder Thighs: “How was mission? Everyone okay?”

Weiss:It was just bandits. Lots and lots of them. Unfortunately they ruined a village so most of the expenses went to rebuilding the town.

Yang:Chat, this woman is only on camera right now because her power bill is scaring her. This cute face has a price tag.

Weiss:Hey! I actually missed gaming. It’s oddly relaxing when I don’t listen to Ruby’s suggestions. Or Blake’s.

Ninja of Love: “League actually isn’t that bad.”

Ruby:That’s what I’m saaaaaying!

Yang:Don’t listen to them. They’re ill and can’t be cured.

Weiss:*looks at scroll*…Oh, I’ll be right back. Yang, you’re in charge. *gets up*

Ruby:Why not me?

Weiss:Because Yang doesn’t play League!

Ruby:You two lack vision. The four of us could be our own team! We could grab a few more friends and train for tournaments.

Ren: *enters call* Ruby, you are way too toxic for that. *leaves call*

Yang:Hahahahaha!

Ruby:You can’t just show up to say that!?

Weiss walks back into view rolling a second chair next to her. She’s then handed a coffee cup she gladly sips as she sits back down, all nice and cozy. Sitting next to her is Jaune, chilling in her merch hoodie as he waves.

Jaune:Hello…

“Whaaaat?”

“Oh it’s the guy.”

“Hi Jaaaaaaune!”

“Nerd alert”

“Co-host?”

Yang:I can’t believe you chose the other blonde over me. How cruel. What does he have I don’t?

Jaune:*holds up Kingdom Hearts*

Ninjas of Love: “FINALLY!”

Yang:..I would’ve bought it.

Ruby:Alright, maybe you chose better than Uno.

Weiss:Okay everyone, you can guess tonight’s game. It’s not like it hasn’t won several polls.

Ruby:Oh! Oh! Weiss, sub goal idea! 80 subs and you have to do a cover of the opening!

Weiss:I haven’t even heard it yet!

Jaune:You might like it more than the song from FFX.

Weiss:….

Yang:She’s setting you up for success.

Weiss:…We will circle back to that. Speaking of FFX, same rules apply. I don’t need back-seating from chat. My wonderful co-host here will help manage the stream and aid me with anything I ask.

Blake: *enters call* Jaune, what version is that?

Jaune:It’s from the 1.5 collection, so final mix. Post the patch.

Blake:You’re a good man.

Weiss:Do you want the camera on you or is that uncomfortable?

Jaune:I’m okay. This setup is nice.

Ruby:Questions like these wouldn’t be an issue if you got a VTube model. Penny could hook you up.

Weiss:I only recently learned how to fix normal PC problems. Don’t put that burden on me.

Yang:What does OBS stand for?

Weiss:I saved your life yesterday. What’s your damage with me?

Big Bags & Miniguns: “Is this the mystery boyfriend we’ve been searching for?”

Weiss:Cocoa, you’ve known Jaune forever. He’s always been around as a mod.

Thunder Thighs: “That wasn’t a no.”

Jaune:I literally showed my copy of the game. You all know why I’m here.

Cardinal Pride: “As if she’d date someone as lame as-

Message Deleted

Photo Bunny: “Please remember the chat guidelines before typing”

Ruby:I would’ve blocked him.

Weiss:He gets one more chance. I’m in a good mood.

Jaune:That’s the Kingdom Hearts spirit. *puts disc in*

Weiss:This won’t make me cry like Final Fantasy did, will it?

Blake:Oh….sweetie….

Weiss:*inhales* Great.

Yang:I already made a crude layout for the singing goal. I swear graphic designers should be thankful I like cars and fighting Grimm more.

Jaune:Don’t have any lower goals?

Weiss:I’m 20 away from having to cosplay a character from a game I’ve played. They also get to vote on an emote.

BB&MG: “How many subs for a boyfriend reveal?”

Weiss:…*rubs chin*

Ruby:You’re thinking about it!?

Weiss:I mean I’d have to talk it over with him to see if he’s comfortable with others knowing, but also that goal has to be high enough for Cocoa to be scared.

Jaune:….This game isn’t terribly long, and you have new followers. Personally I’d shoot for no less than 300.

The Monkey King: “Bleed her dry. 350”

BB&MG: “I thought we were friends Sun?”

Weiss:350 it is! After I discuss it of course.

“You’re on!”

“You underestimate our power!”

“I swear if it’s Neptune.”

“Just wait until payday!”

Yang:Like I said, the rich get richer.

#rwby #rwby au #streamer au #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #lie ren #nora valkyrie #velvet scarlatina #coco adel #rwby whiteknight

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purple-alien-ufo · 11 days ago

Text

who am I? Ch.1

Pairing(s): existing Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal, future Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x reader.

Summary: your best friend is missing. Weird visions. Parents are lying to you. You have lost memories. What happens when two gorgeous witchy women come into your life and want to help you sort it out? Will you get the truth for once?

Warnings: grief!!, weed use, dark thoughts

Word count: 3.5k

A/n: first time posting on. I’m getting used to the formatting. So bear with me if it looks like shit 😂

Enjoy ☺️💜

The air is crispy and cold as it fills the room from your open window. The chilly air enters your lungs. It's almost nostalgic. You feel your limbs are heavy, and your head is pounding. The cold is nice and soothing. You look at your alarm clock and it reads 12:12 pm. You try to hide under the blanket. The October autumn air is thick, and you just want to lay in bed all day. Forget all your troubles. But you can't, you annoyingly need money in order to survive.

You sit up and groan loudly, stretching your limbs, absolutely dreading the day ahead. You have to leave for your dead-end job as a barback at a gay bar in town in about an hour.

You had to move back in with your parents after losing your best friend who randomly went missing only last month—absolutely no trail. Every theory you had went cold. Your tracking skills are not that great. You are not very tech-savvy. You and Darcy were loners together. It seemed that you were the only person looking for her. Even the police were no help. They told you maybe you misremembered what day she was supposed to be home. You got home from work the night she went missing, your shared apartment to see everything was normal just for the fact your best friend, Darcy, didn't come home that night. She was supposed to come back from visiting her parents. You didn't ask where they lived nor have you been able to get in touch with anyone who knows any valuable information. No one knows where her parents lived. You only knew they lived far-ish away. And they had a rocky relationship, they had a problem with her being gay and all. This was the first time she went back home

You get up out of your bed, dragging yourself to stand upright. The rage of thinking about the situation is surfacing. Your skin feels hot to the touch. The grogginess is taking over as you take careful steps towards your dresser you grab out your black jeans and a random band t-shirt. Seems like you are going with Stevie Nicks. You feel like shit and think maybe a shower will fix it. You stop to look at yourself in the mirror. The lack of life in your face is abundantly clear, and so is the lack of sleep hanging under your eyes. Your broad frame is smaller than usual from the lack of eating. You were always muscular even from little to no activity.

Life has been unfolding terribly. Lack of desire, lost with zero direction, no motivation to finish your degree in history minoring in witch folklore which you were supposed to have already graduated from last year. Everything feels either too much or entirely a waste of time. Nothing is a big enough distraction either. You don't feel the flames of passion anymore. Merely out of reach of fulfillment. You have always felt out of place, never felt like you belonged even with your family.

Your parents are being weird as shit. Even worse than normal. They pushed you to go to college right after graduation, then since everything, they have been acting as if they don't want you back. You asked them what was happening, they would lie through their teeth saying nothing was going on. Everything they say persuades you into believing they are hiding something. The hesitation in their voice, the scrambling for words.

Lately, they seem to be avoiding you, they used to go on vacations when you have off time from school. They went as far as lying about a business trip when they just went to a town over. You only found out when you found a credit card bill. You don't even have enough energy to care to be real. They seem as if they are anxiously awaiting for you to do something. Your mother doesn't even make direct eye contact and your father tries to never be alone with you.

You realize there are holes in your memory. You can't remember part of your childhood, nothing from 5th to 6th grade, nor the winter of junior year. They are blank with no context. You have a feeling of longing missing something other than your memories. You haven't asked your parents because they will just lie to you.

You know that right now is a tough time. But it's not like you are going to do anything fucked up. You are about to turn 24 in a month, and sure this is not how you pictured your life but you’re not dangerous, right?—Why does your whole life feel like you've been left out living it? Like a side character labeled as a starting character in a movie.

Sighing you rub your face trying to wake up staring at the shower. You gingerly step in, As soon as the water hits you, your eyes close causing flashes of purple and green to flicker behind your eyelids, and your breathing picks up pace. You start to feel the sounds of the shower become muffled and your surroundings feel distant. There's a low humming in your ears.

You try breathing slowly trying to calm yourself down as you feel a panic attack coming along... You see a woman about 10 years older than you but she looks a lot like you but with scarlet hair, yours is brown from dyeing it, you hated the platinum blonde you were born with. You see flashes of her crying from various moments of just screaming and crying. Almost like clips in a movie. You feel her grief, her sadness, and the despair she holds as if it was yours. You feel the need to take it away. Every inch of your body feels like it was just covered in years of suffering and misery.

The Flashes of purple and green come back you now can see clearly. You are looking at the ground at first, hands gripping the dirt, but they are not your hands. Once you look up but you don't recognize where you are, you look around and see some red robot-looking human. You realize you have no control over your limbs whatsoever. Which means this isn't your body. You are just a viewer. Meant to observe what is unfolding in front of you right now. There to see. There too feel what she felt.

You look before you to see the robot kneeling in front of you. She is crying. Trying with all of her might to even stand right now. Maintaining her emotions as best she can.

“It's time,” he says

“No,” she says, trembling, the floodgate threatening to burst.

“It isn't fair that it's you but it is. You have the power to destroy the stone,” he says like he is stating a simple fact.

“It's okay my love you could never hurt me,”

Your hands rise trembling in front of you. Your hands blast red from your fingertips. Blasting right into his head. She feels like she is going to fall to her knees. But she needs to stay strong and do this for the greater good.

You can feel her feelings and hear her thoughts as if they are your own.

“It's okay,” he whispers sympathetically as the stone is breaking. She looks back at the people surrounding you, seeing them one by one get flung. She raises a second hand, blasting the stone.

He keeps repeating “It's okay” reassuring and comforting her that everything is okay, even though he knows he's going to die. He's worried about whoever's body you are in. He doesn't seem to be in pain. You look back and see the purple alien heading for you. Your arm shoots to hit him, splitting your power between the two.

A dark murky purple smoke circling your wrist and legs until it covers your body completely. You give into it as it grips you up in a warm embrace holding you, then your vision goes black, and you come to, blinking your eyes into focus. You are lying in a fetal position at the bottom of your shower. The once warm water is now ice cold. You spring out of the shower landing awkwardly on your hip. You hit the cold tile crawling back towards the door, ignoring the physical pain in your hip. You were scared about what just happened. Your chest hurts from breathing so hard. Your whole body trembles against the ice-cold tile as you stare blankly into space. The millions of thoughts rushing through your head begin to feel overwhelming. You feel like you are about to cry when... You smell a strong aroma of rain with the undertones of freshly chopped wood. It feels like the purple smoke from earlier, relief. It's almost like you are next to the source itself. A magnetic force, all while being comforted as if you are being held. Your breathing slows and you relax a bit but you remain still in the corner knees up to your chest. Your thoughts slowly fade almost completely.

You try to get yourself right. But it's not working sitting naked on this damn floor. You decide to just say fuck the shower get dressed and go to work.

If you sit here any longer you'll just end up sitting here spiraling. Trying to answer all the questions you don't even have yet. You would rather get paid for thinking than do it for free. For one what the fuck was that. And who was the robot she cared so deeply for? There was a deep, deep sense of agony, fear, and just- pain.

The purple smoke felt like home. Like it was going to take away all of your suffering. You couldn’t help but give in to it. You wanted to feel it again. The peace it gave you, felt like what a mother's hug is supposed to feel like. One that brings you false comfort, the world is a good place. Or cream you put on a burn. Gentle and Soothing.

You spring up off the bathroom floor throwing your clothes on your partially wet body. You feel like running away. You shake the thoughts out of your head. You gather your stuff for work. Grabbing your joint container.

═══*.·:·.★ ✦ ★･:･:*═══

Since you left early you have time to relax before your shift. You grab your joint container and light up one of the 4 joints you had. You don't smoke a lot just a couple of times a month. Or when things get to be too much. You recline your seat and turn on your music trying to center yourself. The only exception - Paramore starts to play. You feel the tears brim, your breath caught in your throat. You quickly change it. It is? Was? Darcy’s Favorite Song. She dedicated it to you when she told you she didn't hate you like she did everyone else. You have a strong feeling she isn't dead. You know she is in trouble but she can't be dead. You have to have hope. You skip it so ‘Where is my mind- pixies’ Starts to play and you feel your whole body relax. You lean your seat back, looking at the top ceiling of your car. The “visions” I guess you could call them? They keep replaying them in your head. Questions and thoughts flooding in, like.

What could they mean? Was it real? What is with the purple smoke and woody smell I can't get out of my head? Why can't I get the scarlet hair out of my head? Why am I itching to go to work? I hate my job. Today feels different. It feels as if something awaits me. Like my life is changing and I don't know it

═══*.·:·.★ ✦ ★･:･:*═══

Your day is achingly slow. You have cleaned everything that needs to be cleaned. You sit there and wish it would get busy. At least 5 tables or so. You just give up and sit down at a table pulling out your phone. You sit and scroll for a minute and people start flooding in. A ton of people out of nowhere just start coming in and being sat. You spring into action getting ice and clearing off tables. A small smile spreads across your face. Something to do something to keep your mind off of things.

All the tables start to order drinks and food. Giving you something to do finally. You get the feeling you're being watched as you are clearing this table off. You try to look without being noticeable. You see people eating and talking. Some tables are on their phones.

But there is one table that catches your attention, there sits two women, one has their back turned to you. a beautiful older woman. Brown wavy hair, fair skin that compliments the color, and pricing blue eyes staring right back into yours. She is smirking at you. Your breath catches. You feel nervous but drawn to her. You don't realize you froze under her gaze until you start moving towards her. Now standing in front of their table.

“Hey there cute thing, we would like the have a chat with you,”

“I am on the clock,” you say nervously feeling like a dear caught in headlights.

“When does your shift end?” the other mysterious woman to your left said leaning in closer. She is equally beautiful. Her skin is tan and her eyes are a rich chocolate brown. Her hair is dark brown loose wavy curls mid-length. You can smell her perfume wafting from her. Earthy and rich almost like you're standing in the middle of the forest on a rainy evening. It gives you a familiar feeling.

“Uh 8,” you hesitate. Under their gaze, you feel extremely warm but nervous.

“Would you be interested in going out with us tonight?” the one on your left says. Smirking. your ears start to ring. You think you miss hearing them but once you see women too your right lean in to see what you'd say. You rethink that. You have only just met them. Why do I feel scared to disappoint them? You feel the need for their approval.

“A little too forward?” the one on your right says. Her voice is smooth. Comforting “Don't worry, if you say no, you won't be letting us down. Or if you'd like you to. You can pick whatever we do, we just really need to talk to you ” Agatha says scooting towards you. They are sitting down on a high-top table. While she is sitting down she is taller, it makes me wonder if she is taller than you while she is standing too. Your knees feel weak.

You look at the one to your left.

“So what do you say, our little dove?” she says smiling

“I'd usually say no to strangers but tonight why not? Could we just go somewhere quiet?” you mentioned sheepishly, awkwardly standing there shifting on your feet. “You said you needed to talk right? Well, can I ask what it is about?” you say staring Agatha right in the eye. She seems hesitant, she glances at Rio, only for a moment her flirtatious expression faded.

“Great, well we don’t wanna get you fired. We’ll see you after your shift, you will get all the answers to your questions then,” the woman to your right said, winking at you and biting her lip. You nod, She avoids your question altogether. But how could you when Her piercing blue eyes are consuming you whole as she gives you one last good look over?

“I’m Rio by the way and that's Agatha,” the woman you now know as Rio said. Agatha’s eyes are dark and glossed over as she leans back looking you up and down still, now licking her lips.

“What's your name hon?” Agatha teasingly asked. Her voice sounds like honey. You feel the heat in your stomach churn.

“I- uhm y/n, y/n, O’Connor,” you stuttered like you were unsure of your name. You threw the towel you were holding over your shoulder, folding your hands in front of you. Shifting unsure why you feel so miniature under their gaze. Like you don't need the tough exterior. They seem to like you being unsure and awkward. They find it amusing.

“Hmm, y/n, that sounds beautiful,” Agatha said, smiling wickedly with a low chuckle. Your breath hitches and your movement stops. You start to blush at her praise. You hated your name, it didn't feel right.

“Honey behave, you are gonna scare the poor thing,” Rio said, slapping Agatha’s hand that was resting on the table, only for her to grin mischievously “Well we will see you in about an hour and 57 minutes,” Rio says, as she checks her watch. You smile and nod.

“Okay see you then,” you say smiling at them both. Agatha winks. Her arms folded in front of her, her one hand holding her chin up with her index finger with her nail poking into the skin, grinning, as she just watches you. Rio leans back in her chair as waves seductively waves each individual finger as you walk off. Your body is buzzing and feels warm. You don't even like eye contact let alone people looking at you. Why do you feel warm under their gaze? It makes you act unsure of yourself. You lack your usual I don't care attitude. You could have stood there for hours though talking to them.

You haven't dated since high school. You broke it off with the girl you last dated because you felt unenthused. As it drained you to have to pretend some you were not. You were expected to be normal to blend in. You couldn’t do it. To have always been told you were too much, or you are abnormal and deviant. Like you either couldn't fill their boxes or you over filled them. But it was especially at home with your parents because they made you feel it.

The only person who accepted you was Darcy. But she's gone. Or is she? It’s all too confusing. You have a significantly hard time admitting she is gone. Because it doesn't feel like it. You can still feel her if that makes any sense.

You have always known you were gay. It was obvious. But that wasn't what people were talking about when they said they didn't expect you. It's like they know something you don't. A secret about yourself is written across your body like a scarlet letter. But only they could see it. You sure get the humiliation from it though. You just want to know what it is so you can fix it. This is the closest you have felt to getting the truth. The subtle promise in their voices. Like they carry the elixir to your uncertainty. They barely said anything but it was all what they were not saying that led you to believe they knew something.

This day can't get any more stressful.

The rest of the time starts to drag. You’re excited for your shift to be over. What are they going to take you to do? Where are they from? Who are they? So many questions, and too much time in between getting answers. You feel panicked. Like you did earlier. Your breathing picks up. Your heart is pounding in your ears.

You get flashes of red in your vision. All of a sudden when you walk through the swinging door into the back of the house. You are transported into what seems to be a subdivision. You look around for anything to give away where you might be. No remnants of the bar in sight. Surrounded by houses and clean-cut lawns. Houses that look like they are straight out of a home good magazine You only see a woman with scarlet red hair–. This time she is on her knees, hands resting in her lap. Her eyes gazed far into space. She looks lost and defeated. You walk up and kneel to her level. Looking at her in the eyes. She looks past you for a couple more minutes. You were not expecting her to be able to see you but. Just closely observing her. She feels familiar like you know her not just because you look alike. You feel like this should be a reunion. But who is she? It's on the tip of your tongue. She has the same facial features as you, but older and more tired.

Then she blinks looking straight into your eyes. She looks at you horrified. Her bottom lip trembles. Rage spreads across her face. You stumble back, losing your footing.

“Who are you?” she says in a broken voice.

“I uh-, you can see me?” you said. Your hands start to shake in your lap

“Yes, now tell me where you came from, you shouldn't be here,” Her tone shifts. Her posture straightens. Her hand raises next to her. Her hand raises with a red ball of power in it.

“I’m uh-, I-I don't know how I got here. I swear.” said as you put your hands up defensively. Your heart is pounding in your ears. She is looking right at you with this angry but hurt stare so strong you swear you can feel it. “I’m not here to hurt you. I promise” You say gently. Sitting flat on the ground with your legs crossed

Who does she think she is?… I want her to leave. I can't deal with this right now.

You hear a distant voice say that sounds like her.

Is this really happening?

Let me know what you think. reblogs, likes, and comments are more than welcome. I don't mind constructive criticism either 😎

-Grey🩶

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha x rio #rio vidal #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda vision #eventual smut #grey🩶

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ineffable-suffering · 1 year ago

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Aziraphale, I love you. But you lied. And here's why.

Okay. I’m not gonna beat around the bush for too long. It’s time now for me to also throw my try at a personal Good Omens Season 2 Magnum Opus into the mix of already existing magnum op..i? Opusses? (Smited? Smote?)

If I’m honest, it isn’t fully my own magnum opus, as I read this meta not too long ago that made me go: „Oh! My God! That’s it!“ And I’m pretty sure a lot of other people have clocked this too by now. Of course I’m not saying it’s the objective truth but after having mulled it over for many endless nights and days, wading through the onslaught of coffee theories, body swap theories, The Metatron re-writing the Book of Life theories and many, many more, this is the one I think is most plausible and, if you look closely, most obvious.

And it goes as such: Aziraphale lied.

To all of us. All of them. And most of all, to Crowley. He lied to him. Well, he sort of did and also sort of didn’t. He certainly didn’t tell the truth. At least not all of it. I hear you ask: “OP, what the fuck are you talking about”. I answer you: Let’s start from the top and under the cut.

(Small note: this meta ended up being way too large for Tumblr, which is why I will redirect you to an external doc at the end of the post, where I have written it all down nicely and accurately. It's about 35 digital A4-pages long, just in case you want to save it for later.)

(Word count: 12.831 | Approximate reading time: 50 minutes)

Let’s start with a short recap of what happens before the Metatron crashes the bookshop party and everything goes to shit. The proper visuals for this are in my Tumblr post but I am absolutely convinced that right up until when the Metatron comes to take Aziraphale away and talk to him, the angel is fully ready to get into Crowley’s Bentley-chariot and finally ride off into the sunset (or Alpha Centauri-set or whatever). You can see it in his face and body language. You can see when the penny drops for him that a) Crowley loves him b) he loves Crowley and c) they can finally start their happily ever after. Aziraphale realizes this all throughout said Brielzebub reveal in the bookshop. And he’s such a lost cause once he does.

I mean, look at that. Look at it. This (very shitty recording, sorry, I'm not tech-savvy enough to avoid the Amazon Prime screen recording blocker) is the very second Aziraphale realizes hat Crowley loves him. When he hears him suggest Alpha bloody Centauri as a getaway for Gabriel and Beelzebub, as Crowley has done to Aziraphale for so, so many times now. He finally understands what Crowley was trying to tell him with that all those times.

Aziraphale realizes this all throughout the Brielzebub reveal in the bookshop. And he’s such a lost cause once he does.

Right when Crowley suggest Alpha Centauri as a nice getaway spot to the two, Aziraphale looks at him and he gets it. That Crowley has loved him, has been loving him for millennia. Truthfully, they've both known that for a long while now. But there's a difference between knowing, wanting, craving and actually being able to finally have something. And that's exactly what we see on Aziraphale's face here. This is it. This is where it all starts working out for Crowley and him. This is were they can start their eternity together.

So from that second on, Aziraphale only has eyes for Crowley. He keeps physically pawing at Crowley with complete heart eyes, as if to say „Look, look, that’s gonna be us too! Finally!" He’s actually so smitten that he doesn’t even hear what Crowley is saying when he asks Shax if he can have back his apartment now because he’s sick of living in his car. (Also, what way to drop that bomb right in this moment Crowley, lmao).

Once the Metatron comes in, the first thing Aziraphale says is that they don’t need to talk because „he’s made his position quite clear“. He doesn’t even want to talk to the Metatron, because in his mind, he’s already made the choice. Actually, he made the choice way before the bookshop showdown. For starters, I’m convinced that the Jane Austen Ball actually never was for Maggie and Nina but for Crowley and him (you can read more about that here). And apart from that, for this whole season we have seen Aziraphale trying to advance his relationship with Crowley romantically and domestically and move them to the literal next base (our car!). And after everything he just witnessed with Brielzebub, the final nail in the coffin of ethereal-infernal romance being possible, his choice is absolutely crystal clear: It’s Crowley. It’s always been Crowley and it always will be Crowley. And now it can be Crowley. They can be an us.

The whole of Season 2 is such a massive learning curve for Aziraphale’s character, with him remembering all those important pivotal points of his past, and this very moment is the peak, with him not only understanding that Crowley loves him (because he certainly knew for quite some centuries now) but accepting that love, letting himself have that love, being allowed to want that love and taking that love and starting their new and final chapter with it. Nevertheless, the plot clock ticks for them. The Metatron saunters into the bookshop, evil and stinky as Metatrons do, and urges Aziraphale to come with him with his whole Take The Coffee schtick, which I will get into later. And Aziraphale, immediately sensing there’s Something Up, does. Can’t really turn down someone as high-ranking as the the voice of God, after all. Even if you were currently already planning how you were going to elope with a certain red-haired serpent of Eden.

he next time we see Aziraphale on screen, it’s so painfully evident on his face that he is neither happy nor excited. Not even the slightest bit. We’d know if he was, thanks to Mr. Michael master-of-microexpressions Sheen. None of the usual “Aziraphale is happy”-signs are there. No blinding eye-smile, no giddy wriggling, not giggles and gasps. No, when the Metatron tells Aziraphale to „go tell your friend the good news“, his expression looks like this:

I’m gonna go out on an entire limb here and say: That does not look like someone who’s absolutely tickety-boo hyped to tell his demon soulmate that he just got the juiciest promotion and that they can both be angels and live happily ever after in ethereal eternity now.

This, folks, looks like someone who knows exactly that the news he has to break right now, are going to be tickety-shit awful and very upsetting to said demon soulmate. And already, from that very short snippet of conversation, we can tell that Aziraphale isn’t really given a choice by the Metatron. Because while the Metatron does tell him that he doesn’t have to „answer right away“, he immediately follows it up by: „Go ahead and tell your friend the good news!“ Very distinct and definitive choice of words here. It’s “good news” because it’s already been decided. Because it’s already a done deal. There is no “yes, no, maybe”. This is the only choice he’s giving to Aziraphale. Because it’s ‘Coffee or death’.

And he already gave him the coffee.

***

Tumblr won't let me continue this over a certain character limit and I am not even remotely done yet – so, I feel like this is a good moment to redirect you to the continuation of this insane meta before we're in too deep. You can do so right here!

I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions about this once you've fought your way through it. Hope you have a good time with it!

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #neil gaiman #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens predictions #i lost my mind writing this #it must be nice to be able to be a casual enjoyer of media #who doesnt spend 5 days writing a 22 page document on an angle and why he lied to his demon boyfriend #my own meta

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

Text

The Man 10

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Gah. You hate the taste. It doesn’t get any better and it feels worse on your skin. There’s something unnatural about human biology. Should that be so slimy?

You’re not a prude, not mentally, only experientially. The act itself, yeah, it’s kind of hot, but the finale. That’s too much. Not to mention, it wasn’t exactly mutual. None of this is.

It’s weird, actually. The more you think of it, sat naked under a desk, in the mess of his excitement, you can’t help but analyse the situation you find yourself in. This man articulated a strategic destruction of your life; he messed with your rent, your bank, your job, and now you’re sitting her in his house, perched on your heels like an orphan begging for more gruel.

You frown as you rub your chin again. Despite the single tissue he offered, you still felt the residue clinging to your skin. You need a shower. Or maybe some clothes. That would be nice. You scrunch up your nose and sneer.

“What the hell is that face for?” Floyd—Lloyd snips and you look up to meet his gaze through the glass top of the desk, his keyboard blocking out all but one of his blue eyes. Hey, he has nice eyes for a meanie. You’d never tell him because he’s not a very good listener.

“Nothing, I just...” you shrug and his eye flicks down to the jiggle of your chest. You cross your arms and tilt your head to the side, “can I go wash off or something?”

“Why?” He challenges.

Your lips part and a puff of air shoots out. Is he serious?

“I... I’m not saying it’s your fault or anything but semen smells and I smell like semen, so going by a very basic formula--”

“Oh my god, you don’t stop. Why can’t you just say anything straight out? Why’s it this nonsense?” He growls.

“Fair enough, but I’m still hoping to see a sink or maybe a washcloth--”

He rolls his eyes and closes them. He sits back and puts his hands to either side of his nose and exhales heavily. He clucks as he drops his arms and considers you as he leans against the leather cushioning.

“You don’t make the rules. Stay.”

He rolls back up to the desk and starts typing again. You look at the bottom of the sleek keyboard. He’s definitely an Apple guy, the iMac isn’t even the biggest giveaway. He just has that essence to him. He’s one of those guys who claims to be all about the best of everything but really he’s just buying into capitalism. He’s basic; mainstream.

What is he even doing? Typing, clicking, scowling at the screen. Is he working? What on earth does he even do? Well, if you account for the mustache, the tacky clothes, and shoes without socks, you might assume he’s some sort of salesman. Used cars if you were to go by looks alone and yet his house would suggest more than that.

He doesn’t look like a lawyer. He could be a tech bro, again, Apple everything. Still, the way he types doesn’t really seem savvy. He’s got the whole chicken peck down pat, jabbing each key with his index finger. So you’re at a loss. What the hell do rich people do? How do they even get rich?

“Would you stop staring at me like that?” He stops again, another glare through the glass.

You swallow and shake your head, shifting on your knees as you keep your arms across your chest.

“Sir, Mr. Jansen--”

“Hansen,” he grits dangerously.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hansen, sir, please, it’s cold in here, can I get a sweater or maybe you could turn off the air? This time of day, the rate must be ridiculous.”

His lashes flutter and his forehead lines. His hand closes to a fist then opens. His chest rises and he squares his jaw.

“You’re distracting me. I’m trying to work.”

“So maybe I could go somewhere else. It’s a big house--”

“My house,” he insists.

“A very nice house,” you offer, “I mean I’m sitting down here, my knees are killing me, I’m shivering, I can’t sit still. You’re not gonna get anything done. I’m agreeing with you. One hundred percent. I’m annoying. A real nuisance so let the leash go a little bit. Promise, I won’t touch a thing--”

He squints then his eyes flick up as he thinks. His lips thin and he huffs. He brings his fingertips together, elbows planted on the glass desk, and taps them as he hums.

“You’re lucky you can make me cum,” he grumbles.

“Ah, but sir, don’t give me all the credit. You’re a very good cummer. An expert, it seems.”

His nose crinkles and his mouth falls open, for just a second. His cheek dimples and he shakes it away, “what on earth are you fucking on about?”

“I’m just saying, sir, I don’t know much about the old sausage link but I’m comparing it to the hub--”

“The hub?”

“PornHub, I’m sure you know it.”

He lets out cluck but says nothing else.

“Anyway, you got what they would call girth,” you gesture with your hands. “Good job, although, maybe it’s more a genetic type thing. Not really something you did...”

He stares at you for a moment the pushes his knees wide. He takes a breath and slides slightly forward in his chair. You are keenly aware of the twitch beneath his pants. Please, not again. Are their calories in cum?

“You watch a lot of porn?” He asks, a genuine hint of interest in his voice. The furthest from spite you’ve heard from him.

“Eh, not as much as some people, I'm sure. I get curious,” you say. “but within discretion. Never wanna go too far down the rabbit hole.”

He taps his toe and gives a thoughtful angle of his chin, twining his fingers between each other, “what kinds?”

“Mm, well, I dunno. Usually, I just click something on the front page that doesn’t look too wild. Like creampie is pretty standard, I guess. Doggystyle is usually all over, but the stepdaughter stuff, ick. Not for me, sir. No way.”

He makes a clicking noise in his throat and slowly reclines in his chair, “you are way too honest for your own good.”

“Maybe, I guess. In this situation though, what do I get from lying? Besides, I see the stache,” you shoot him with a fingergun then quickly holster it. “You definitely are trawling around. RedTube? Xvideos?”

“You said you’re curious,” he ignores your question, “you don’t... do anything while you watch?”

You feel a subtle tickle in your thighs. The casual air turns thick. You’re starting to get worked up.

“Eh, well, you know... the fingers find a way,” you look away and giggle nervously. “I go on these women’s forums. They say you should know yourself best before you try with a partner. Obviously, I haven’t found my number two yet but I know my way around my captain's chair. I can get to warp speed.”

His lips curve slowly as you look back to him and you gulp. You’ve said too much. Again. The very reason you fell head first into this predicament.

“Sir, why are you looking at me like that?” You squeak.

He chuckles and brushes his fingertips over his bristly mustache, “well, sweet lips, show me the way.”

“Huh?” Your eyes round.

“Show me around your captain's chair, as you so eloquently put it,” he demands and wiggles two fingers at you.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #series #au #mob au #the man #the gray man

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avocado-writing · 1 year ago

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Yello! I want something fluffy but funny so I thought I’d request an aziraphale x crowley x reader where the reader is tech savvy, and by tech savvy I mean just basic knowledge of gadgets and such, but to crowley and aziraphale, tech savvy. Reader introduces them to a lot of gadgets and they’re both so amazed.

Bonus points for nina and maggie confused in the background because it’s literally just basic things but crowley and aziraphale act like it’s fucking magic (also ik crowley has a smartphone, but still!)

notes: I love this request so much. I really enjoyed writing it! (And don’t worry just because Crowley has a smartphone doesn’t mean he actually knows how to use it, take a look at almost any person above the age of 60)

pairing: aziraphale x gn!reader x crowley

rating: G

“Darling, the printer isn’t working.”

“Have you tried pressing ‘Control + P’, Aziraphale?”

“Yes. It’s not doing anything, devilish thing.”

You sigh, put your book down, and head over to your angel’s desk. He’s trying to print out a screenshot he’s taken of a picture you sent him the other day. It’s a cat meme. He’s rather taken with them, and likes to have copies to look at across the bookshop. You have explained he can just save the image itself but he doesn’t quite seem to understand that.

“Ah you see Aziraphale, the problem is that you haven’t actually turned it on.”

“Oh!” he exclaims as you reach over to the power switch. The printer lights up and begins to spit out a dozen copies of the image Aziraphale has now lined up in its queue. As you try to force it to stop, Crowley saunters up behind you.

“Can you help me get these to connect? They’re not—”

“Yes, one second,” you say, thumping the machine as it makes a sharp noise, and handing a pile of print-outs to Aziraphale. “Headphones again?”

Crowley nods, a little petulantly. You fish out the buds and put them in your ears, waiting until you see they’ve connected on the Bluetooth.

“Here,” you sigh. You wonder if any of this is actually worth it. Yes, it’s nice for the three of you to have a group chat, but having to constantly remind them that most of these devices have to be connected to electricity is grating on you a little.

“Oh, I’ve just got a message from Nina on my mobile telephone!” Aziraphale announces. You see him pause over the passcode screen and you brace for him to ask you what it is, again, but he remembers at the last second. “She asks if you can go over and help with the tills, she says they’re… well, I’m not going to repeat what she’s written here but in nicer terms they seem to have broken.”

“Aziraphale please stop telling her that I’m some sort of tech genius. I’m not. I just know how to press buttons correctly.”

“Come on, believe in yourself,” yells Crowley. You roll your eyes and take out one of his headphones.

“Crowley, I can hear you over your music! You don’t need to shout!”

He sniffs. “It’s a podcast actually.”

“I can tell her that but she might be disappointed,” Aziraphale says, looking at you with Those Eyes. He’ll win, he’ll always win, because you can’t say no to him. You groan.

“Alright. Tell her I’m on my way - but not to get her hopes up!”

Aziraphale beams at you. As you leave the shop, the printer tells him it’s run out of ink, so he goes about ordering an entirely new one off the internet.

taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @bdffkierenwalker @ilyatan @civil-groupie @foolishprincipalitee

#aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader x aziraphale #crowley x reader #good omens x reader #ineffable husbands x reader #request

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astermagne-but-genshin · 6 months ago

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More hcs as I procastinate work

That bird that hangs across the back of Dottore? Oh yeah, Dottore can use technology to see through the bird’s ‘eyes’. Like Bluetooth (although admit it it’s probably called BlueEye swhitedragon) , Dottore can pair things either to himself or his mask- no one’s going to be able to surprise attack him from behind (ignore the earlier screenshots of me sneaking up on him, that’s his blindspot shh )

Columbina sleep talks. Which is fine on its own.. if it weren’t for her responding to others and having ‘conversations’, where the other harbingers can’t tell if she’s sleeping or not. Her sleep talk is either misinformation, talk about other worlds, or ..very concerning, traumatizing, stuff.

Columbina cuts Dottore’s and his segment’s hair. Dottore sent a segment to her to get a hair cut as a punishment, it turned out really well , and the next day she found about 40 or so segments wanting a haircut as well

Pantalone will accept sudden hugs from Columbina.

Pantalone won’t accept sudden hugs from Dottore and will punch him in the face . Or he will side step and make him trip. He now has another reason to charge the other 10,000 Mora. 5,000 for an attempted hug.

Pantalone’s study is very comfy. He has those large Italian leather plush one- person couches, the ones where you just sink into. Columbina comes into his office to take naps occasionally. Arlecchino may have ‘rested her eyes’ once or twice for a few minutes. Pantalone doesn’t mind, they’re quite and don’t bother him. There’s no distractions.

Dottore is not allowed to sleep on the couch . 20,000 Mora per nap.

Some segments are not allowed to touch the couch

One or two segments are nice enough and on Pantalone’s good side, they are allowed to rest on the couch. They have Couch Privileges. For up to half hour, that is. (Though if one happens to fall asleep he won’t bother them 🤫😌)

Dottore is perfectly capable of creating machines, medicine, gods, and even life itself. This also means he is perfectly capable of replicating and reproducing Mora. However. None of the Dottores have come to that realization.

Some of the segments occasionally work as mechanics and handymen for the harbingers. The majority are tech savvy , and inadvertently make Pierro feel bad .

Capitano knits. Columbina takes in the occasional bird and Capitano makes hats for them.

Columbina does not like most cats. This is mostly due to either Sandrone or Dottore making a realisitc cat with laser eyes that acted strangely and dangerously suddenly without warning. However if she sees and watches a cat being very sweet and friendly with another harbinger , she might come closer, and maybe, just maybe, try to pet it. She loves how soft they are .

As someone who hums and sings softly when I’m very stressed or very sad / in mourning , I Hc columbina to be the same way

Pantalone is VERY good at throwing knives and darts. So is Pierro . I can see Pierro doing that one scene with Gomez Adams and the dart board.

youtube

Pierro does not find Columbina scary or concerning in the way other might do when she speaks. He just assumes this is how the younger generation speaks this way. Arlecchino feels the same way on occasion . Of course, this makes the other harbingers more scared of Pierro with his nonchalance when Columbina talks cryptically..

#genshin #genshin impact #pantalone #il dottore #genshin headcanons #pierro #Arlecchino #columbina #Youtube

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thyfleshc0nsumed · 28 days ago

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seconding ur frustration with hosting porn !! i have some good stuff in my personal archive and nowhere to put it :cc i’m nominally tech savvy but ive never tried stuff like neocities

It's so frustrating!! Especially cuz like, okay yes, hosting stuff on its own site is like, good, but idk it's nice to be able to have it integrated into an app people are already on rather than having to click out.

Idk, I might ask Sir Testimony about how the Sideshave site was set up and I can do the same thing but host a number of ppls stuff

#xoxo #also hiiiiii

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far-out-harvestman · 29 days ago

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Uhh… intro post!

Hey-o, sunshine! The name’s Harvey Hart, nice to make your acquaintance!

[Playlist]

I’ve just recently found out about all this Spiderverse (I’m not gonna say that long ass official name, sorry Mr. O’Hara, nothing personal, it’s a cool name, but hard to memorize) stuff, so, y’know, bear with me, I’m not from the most tech-savvy ‘verse. But, hey, I’m willing to learn, consider me an eager student.

I’m a twenty-something college student and photographer for the Daily Bugle, doubling as the one and only Harvestman when I’m not, y’know, navigating the more difficult elements of civilian life (or the less difficult, I dunno…).

Ask box is on! I’d love to get to know you all and talk about whatever you wanna!

Common Tags (Subject to expansion/change):

#far out harvestman - Self explanatory, posts from myself

#convos - Conversations, typically brief, usually answers to asks or reblogs where I say my piece

#harvestposting - My reblogs, yay

#ask game - Ask games!

#[mod art] -[Yeah.]

#[] - [Anything in brackets is mod talk, basically, and OOC.]

No hard rules, I’m gonna try trusting you guys. I’ll make hard rules if issues arise, but let’s hope the internet, in all its unfamiliar-to-me glory will throw me a bone and only send those with good intentions down my metaphorical street.

[He’s an internet virgin, guys. You can and should take advantage of this- BENEVOLENTLY OR PLAYFULLY MALEVOLENTLY.]

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princesskenny1998 · 3 months ago

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Ghostbusters | Trevor Spengler x f!confident!reader ~ Or both?, PT.1

Working in the Ghostbusters’ Engineering Corps was a dream come true for you. A blend of chaos and science, it was a playground for any tech-savvy prodigy with a love for engineering and the weird world of the paranormal. You spent your days building, fixing, and modifying equipment for the Ghostbusters—ghost traps, proton packs, Ecto-goggles, you name it. If they used it to hunt ghosts, you could build it, improve it, or, when things got intense, repair it on the fly.

Today, however, you were hip-deep in some particularly tricky proton pack mods when a voice broke your concentration.

"Uh, hey… Are you the engineer they told me to talk to?"

Looking up, you saw a tall, slightly gangly young man with tousled brown hair and eyes that looked both inquisitive and a bit shy. He wore the telltale Ghostbusters jumpsuit, the name “Spengler” stitched neatly on his chest. You’d heard about him—grandson of 'the mighty' Egon Spengler, and from what you’d gathered, something of a legend-in-the-making.

And, to be honest, he was adorable.

“Yeah, that’d be me.” You flashed him a confident smile, wiping your hands on your jumpsuit and stepping forward. “Name’s Y/N, Head of development and repairs. You must be Trevor.”

He seemed a bit taken aback by your forwardness, but he nodded, his hand reaching to rub the back of his neck, clearly a bit nervous. “Yeah, uh, Trevor Spengler. Nice to meet you.” He glanced around at your setup, the workbench littered with ghostly gadgets in various states of construction. “So… what are you working on?”

You glanced back at your workstation with a grin. “Just a little proton pack upgrade. The last one had a nasty feedback issue. Nearly fried me during testing. Which I can’t afford to have happen—again.” You watched him closely, enjoying the way his eyes lit up as he took in the equipment and the technical chatter. "I’m guessing you’re here to get yours tuned up?”

“Uh, yeah,” he admitted, chuckling a little awkwardly. “I think I nearly shorted mine out last week. Apparently, using it in the rain isn’t the best idea…”

You laughed, and Trevor’s face turned a faint shade of pink as you said, “Classic. Don’t worry, we’ve all been there.” You tapped a spot next to your workbench and waved him over. “Let’s have a look, then.”

Trevor shuffled closer, setting the pack down for you to inspect. You started running your diagnostics, aware of his gaze fixed on you. The silence between you felt charged, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“So, Trevor,” you said, grinning as you glanced up at him. “Ever seen someone dismantle a proton pack in under two minutes?”

He raised his eyebrows, a faint, impressed smile curving his lips. “No… is that even possible?”

“Stick around and you’ll see.” You winked, turning back to the proton pack and setting to work. You could feel Trevor’s eyes on you, watching as you moved with practiced ease, quickly unscrewing parts and inspecting the inner workings of the pack.

Trevor shifted his weight, clearly unsure of what to do with himself. “You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “I heard about you. They say you’re kind of a mad scientist. In the best way, of course,” he added quickly, his cheeks flushing again.

You laughed, leaning back slightly to catch his gaze. “I’ll take that as a compliment. ‘Mad’ is just another word for ‘brilliant,’ right?”

He grinned, a bit of his shyness melting away. “I think you might be right.”

The conversation continued as you worked, the two of you talking about the oddities and challenges of ghost-hunting technology. Trevor’s nerdy enthusiasm was infectious, and the way he awkwardly fumbled over his words at times only made him more charming. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d met someone who managed to be so endearing just by being himself.

As you finished up the repairs, you decided to push things a bit further. You turned to him, leaning in just close enough that he looked slightly nervous, his eyes widening slightly.

“So,” you said, your voice dropping to a more teasing tone. “You’re new around here. Got any plans to celebrate your first big catch?”

Trevor blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh, um, I… I hadn’t thought about it,” he stammered, his cheeks turning an even brighter shade of pink. “I mean, I’m not sure what people usually do around here for… you know, celebrating.”

You smiled, leaning back slightly but keeping your eyes on him. “Well, maybe you could let me show you around. There’s a lot to see in this city, you know.”

Trevor looked stunned for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Are you… are you serious?”

“Completely serious.” You handed him his now-repaired proton pack, a mischievous glint in your eye. “If you’re up for it, that is.”

He swallowed, clearly trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “Uh, yeah, I’d… I’d love that.”

You tilted your head, letting your smile grow just a little more flirtatious. “Great.” You grabbed a pen and scribbled your number on a scrap of paper, handing it to him. “Give me a call when you’re free. We can hang out. Or… hook up. Your choice.” You winked, adding, “Or both.”

Trevor stared at the paper in his hand, looking from it to you as if he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. “I… Wow. I mean, yeah. Definitely.” He finally managed a grin, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction at the dazed, happy expression on his face.

“Cool,” you said casually, resisting the urge to laugh at his adorably flustered reaction. “Just don’t blow yourself up before giving me that call, alright?”

Trevor chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck again as he tucked the paper carefully into his pocket. “No promises.”

You gave him a playful salute. “That’s the spirit.”

As he left, you felt a thrill of excitement, knowing this wouldn’t be the last time you saw him.

#trevor spengler x reader #trevor spengler #ghostbusters #frozen empire #x reader #series

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abbiistabbii · 6 months ago

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Hey sorry I saw your post about Linux being better/just as good as Windows for gaming PCs, and I was wondering which type you’d recommend downloading for a mid-tier PC? (I’m not super tech savvy tbh but I’m a fast learner and would rather download Linux at this point than Windows after all the shit it’s done lately). Also, did not know Android uses Linux that is cool!

If you're a beginner, either one of the Linux Mint flavours or one of the Ubuntu flavours, depending on how mid-tier we're talking about. Mint is based on Ubuntu but they're both ultimately based on Debian, which is the most stable and easy to use (in my experience) Distro. You'll find this a lot that a lot of distros are based on other distros, but if I were to talk about distros, the best ones tend to be debian based.

So Linux Mint is made to be as user friendly as possible and have most, if not everything, working out the box, and it's great, but it does use an older version of the Kernel so you need to bare that in mind (but as a beginner you don't need to worry too much, everything will still work). It comes in three versions: Cinnamon (using the Cinnamon desktop), MATE (using the Mate Desktop) and XFCE (using the xfce desktop). On a mid-tier PC any of these will work, even the heaviest of them has a recommended ram of 4GB but if you know your PC you might wanna try MATE (about 1GB ram recommended) or XFCE (512 MB).

However I would recommend Ubuntu (it's what I'm using rn). It's what Linux Mint is based on and is just as user friendly as Mint but with the big difference being it uses a newer Kernel version and has more flavors using different Desktop Environments and for different uses. The flavors however are on different websites but more or less work closely with Ubuntu itself.

Vanilla Ubuntu used Gnome as it's default which is okay, some people like it, but I don't and nor does a lot of my friends. Different flavors have different requirements and levels of usability but again, 4GB is enough to run any flavor. Other Flavors include:

Kubuntu: this is the one I use, and in my option it's better than Vanilla. It used KDE and it's suite of apps which are both user friendly, wide ranging and really nice looking. KDE is quite resource intensive (again that's not saying much compared to windows) but if you have a mid tier PC with more than 4GB ram, it should run fine and I recommend it. I'm a big KDE fangirl.

Xubuntu: This is one I used in the past. Xubuntu used XFCE which is designed to be lightweight without sacrificing functionality. It's not as flashy, but it's easy to use, functional, and great for lower-powered computers or just people who wanna save on computing power.

Ubuntu Cinnamon: This flavor uses Cinnamon (which the "main" version of Mint uses) but with Ubuntu as the distro. I used Cinnamon as my desktop when I used Mint and I loved it. It has all the functionality of Gnome with all the ease of use and flashiness of KDE, so if you try out Cinnamon on Mint but like Ubuntu, try it out.

Lubuntu: This is the lightest of Ubuntu flavors. It's light enough that it's ARM version can run on a Raspberry pi. This was designed for computers with not much power like those old netbooks (remember those?) and it's not as flashy or functional, but it's a good option if your computer is a potato.

Ubuntu Budgie: This is the one I know least about because I have never used budgie. I checked it out on distrosea but other than that all I know is from people who have tried it. Some like Budgie (which uses the Budgie desktop) some don't, but I think I might need to check it out before I pass judgement.

Each of these versions are distributed from their own websites so be sure to google.

As for gaming I would recommend that after installing it, if you have a separate graphics card, install the drivers either from the driver manager or from the website itself. Steam runs on Linux and follow the instructions from steam on how to activate Proton.

Happy nerding.

#linux #linuxposting #ubuntu #linux mint

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onomatopagu-et-cie · 1 year ago

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The Killing Vote (ep. 1-5 notes)

I’ve been enjoying this drama and I wanted to post some thoughts about it! This last week’s episode kept me on my toes! It’s a crime they only air a single episode per week, truly a crime aaaa

I don’t really know if people watching this drama are on tumblr but I’ll post here anyway!

Have a nice week!!!

(SPOILERS UP TO EPISODE 5!!!!)

I love Joohyun’s relationship with Kwon Seokju so far, the scene where she played for him Mozart’s Requiem (if I’m not mistaken) while we see her hanging Narae’s stuffed bunny was soothing! Seeing a different approach than Kim Muchan is nice!

KMC’s relationship with KSJ is really intriguing: we only get KMC’s (quite unreliable, that’s what makes it even more interesting!) pov in the first episodes with almost no dialogue between the two of them, and the recent episodes give us another side to their story through KSJ! I really wonder how their relationship got soured (especially from KMC) to the point KMC advises Joohyun not to get too close and get manipulated by KSJ: besides his own guilt for not being able to save Narae in time nor catch her murderer and the fact that the one he looked up to killed Byun Wootaek, something else must’ve happened for it to get THIS sour. What is going onnnnnnn? Or is it all an act? (and KMC/Park Haejin has some sad puppy eyes on par with Im Siwan's and Jung Haein's I can't haha) He affirms KSJ is arrogant and wouldn’t hesitate to take the law in his own hands if it can’t solve the problem while he himself pushes investigations with ways off the record to arrest culprits. He shows a bitter attitude in front of KSJ and Joohyun most of the time when he talks about him, but at the same time he also confided his guilt to Joohyun in private and seemed to regularly ask how KSJ was doing in prison during the past 8 years. I also get the feeling he was asking the warden if KSJ was regularly getting health checks by a doctor out of worry besides the investigation.

(This is some crack theory, but what if the one who murdered BWT was KMC and not KSJ? At this point, the narration is really unreliable so I wouldn't even be surprised!)

On that subject, I wonder if the drama will address KSJ’s health issue with his collapsed lung/asthma again ; his medical visit also seemed shot in order not to show the doctor’s silhouette at all, I wonder if this will hold any significance later on (it could be Jihoon’s grandmother, who knows!)? Not to mention Uhm Eungyeong, the culprit on ep2, was poisoned by Gaetal knowing she had asthma????

When the judge ruled Byun Wootaek’s acquittal (ep4), his gavel (a symbol of the justice) was shot struck right in front of KSJ’s silhouette, above his head, as if justice itself crushed KSJ. A similar symbolism is used in ep5’s Killing Vote:

The flashbacks are beautifully shot, ep4 was really moving. This scene’s lighting furthered the tragedy: it’s as though the orange light and the blood on Narae burn into KSJ and KMC’s profile as they find her, contrasting with Narae and the background’s cold tones:

Also when KSJ recalls how he murdered BWT, the same orange hue colors the shots.

In ep5, we finally hear the voice of a man who is thought to be Gaetal, when he’s talking to KMC over the phone. The opening shows the cast’s profiles, but there’s this one character we haven’t seen yet:

The man in question could totally be this character that wasn’t introduced yet! He’s probably the ‘executor’ of the Killing Vote, who was chatting with the teacher Lee Minsu.

I think Gaetal is definitely not the work of only one person: there’s at least the executor, tech-savvy people organizing the vote (the stream, the text messages, the hacking, …), the one on the stream (or maybe there’s more than one on the stream, a different one per case because the tone and attitude are never the same: agressive, vengeful, or bubbly, or caustic…) and perhaps someone in the police.

The teacher could be Fan no. 1 and/or Gaetal (if it’s not the same person/group): In ep4, we learn KSJ’s « Fan no. 1 » (1호팬, [ilho fan]) regularly sent him letters which would describe in details how the culprits subject to the Killing Vote would be ‘judged’. In ep3, the teacher talks to this ‘executor’ under the pseudo ‘justice15’: if 15 is read with the sino-korean numbers for 1 (일 [il]) and 5 (오 [oh]), the pronunciation would be close to ‘no. 1’, so this could not be a simple coincidence. Also ‘justice’ could be a taunt directed towards KMC’s vision of justice (he uses 정의 to describe his ideal of justice to KSJ) since he seems to deeply resent KMC.

Gaetal uses KSJ and KMC’s words (‘devils deemed innocent’, ‘rational justice’) and interestingly, another character who talks about rationality is the assemblywoman (‘rationality, moral sense and mothers are stronger than the law’)!

Also, this dude is on some twisted christian trip: in ep4, we get a glimpse of the teacher’s tattoo, a cross on his chest that reads… ‘My daddy My hero’… which was what Narae used to say to her father (her hero, making her safe because he’s always there to protect her) and a part of her room’s decoration…

Well, if he killed Narae and his mother made Byun Wootaek the scapegoat for every crimes he committed this far, something must have gone wrong this time for him (and his mother) to deeply resent KMC to the point of wanting to kill him: they managed to pull the strings of the police and judicial system, but KMC must have discovered Lee Minsu was the real culprit (perhaps after KSJ killed BWT) and tried to kill him, which might’ve worsened his heart condition somehow.

(And it’s interesting how the second screenshot shows the teacher discarding his now bloodied watch in disgust after hearing KMC saying ‘I was willing to break rules to catch this heinous criminal as soon as possible’ mmmmh…)

Just as Captain Oh completely denied his liability in ep5, he must have felt wronged, Narae’s case being the only one that 'sullied' him (and this must be why he changed names, from Lee Yunseong to Lee Minsu). Associating the accusations he must’ve faced because of Narae’s case and KMC to the Passion of the Christ in a sick, twisted way, he must’ve thought this tattoo as his own crucifixion leading to his rebirth/his revenge through the Killing Vote?

If the teacher is the mastermind behind the Killing Vote, choosing culprits involved in CSE, SA and CA so far for the votes could be: 1 — to mask his true identity, seemingly siding with true justice while he’s one of those he judges. Also, choosing keywords associated to BOTH KSJ and KMC could be to mislead the police to believe Gaetal is close to KSJ and both KSJ and KMC to suspect one another 2 — a sick way to play with KMC’s concept of justice and using KSJ's trauma (and KMC) ; 3 — to hide the final objective of the Killing Vote: since he gives the public a pretty convincing and sophisticated fact-check all the circumstances surrounding the culprits’ crimes (Gaetal even said in one of their streams that a culprit wouldn’t be subject to the vote if their crimes weren’t true), this could lead the public to believe every case would be exposed truthfully. Which means one of these cases could be fabricated and nobody would realize it at first. If the teacher organized the Killing Vote to get back at KMC (this also seems to benefit his mother’s campaign), perhaps the last vote would accuse KMC or KSJ of Narae’s murder (since no culprit was found guilty) or another crime.

At his final trial, KSJ accused ’the police who released BWT because they cared more about their performance’. We now know the police commissionner, KMC’s superior and the assemblywoman were all linked somehow to what happened 8 years ago. We also got a flashback of Choi Jinsu, KMC’s colleague who was also the detective in charge in both Narae and KSJ’s case, who gave KMC the hint of Byun Wootaek being the culprit. KMC, unlike him, ‘isn’t interested in politics’… He also recognized the teacher as Lee Yunseong, potentially his name before murdering Narae. In ep5, Joohyun automatically ruled CJS out of the suspect list because he’s not close to KSJ… If the premise that Gaetal must be close to KSJ is wrong, then his involvement could be possible: perhaps he was ordered to tamper with the procedure and the pieces of evidence during the two cases? Also, I wonder if KMC’s reputation will get addressed, his superiors must’ve pressured him to follow unofficial orders or he got to discover these orders (eg. maybe in Narae’s case?) and ever since he’s the man to ask for to do the dirty work? Or KMC could have deliberately gained his ‘Wipeout’ reputation to get closer to the truth of what happened 8 years ago?

In the first episode, the video test Joohyun found on Joomin’s laptop is named ‘Lrae091515’: if the drama takes place in 2023, the tragic events surrounding KSJ, KMC and Joohyun ‘8 years ago’ would have taken place in 2015! Could this refer to the final day of KSJ’s trial (or the day Narae was killed)? The pseudo ‘justice15’ could also be a reference to that date.

As for the ‘Lrae’… It could be a wild WILD guess but ‘Lrae’ could be ‘irae’ as in Dies Irae/day of wrath (capital i looks like a lowercase L), which is a sequence in Requiem mass!

The video test was only found on Joomin’s laptop when all the Internet cafe computers got the virus: the one who hacked the computers likely targeted Joomin or her sister, a police officer deliberately.

The tag in Narae’s room (‘the 13th was wrong’):

(It’s also a bit disturbing the tag was sprayed right on top of the ‘My daddy My hero’…)

— the narrative makes us think the tag refers to the 13th failed stab but it could be something else entirely (and perhaps KSJ is keeping this hint to himself?) — if the christian subtext truly exists in this drama (especially with the teacher’s tattoo), 13 is a number often linked in superstitions to the Cena, Judas (who betrayed Jesus, thought to have been the 13th guest to sit down to the Last Supper) and bad luck: whoever tagged this maybe wanted to signal KSJ the man he killed wasn’t the true culprit.

There is also a similar version in the norse mythology I found here:

« In his book “Extraordinary Origins of Everyday Things,” Charles Panati traces the concept of the cursed back to Norse mythology, when Loki, the god of mischief, gate-crashed a banquet in Valhalla, bringing the number of gods in attendance to 13. Deceived by Loki, the blind god Hodr was tricked into shooting his brother Balder, the god of light, joy and goodness, with a mistletoe-tipped arrow, killing him instantly. » And… we see the teacher communicating through the ‘Loki’ network (a wordplay for what would be Tor I guess, just as Apple would become a pear on laptops in media haha)!

(This is quite a reach, but for posterity in the opening, the 13th character shown is KMC, and in reverse order Jihoon haha)

The tag neither the news articles on Narae and KSJ’s cases weren’t in Gaetal’s video test:

idk how to explain, but I get the feeling that person A (who leaked the video), B (the Gaetal we see on the video), C (the Gaetal who’s now organizing the Killing Vote) & D (who tagged the wall and pinned the news articles about KSJ and Narae) could be different characters with respective objectives too. The drama highlights a bit too much the premise that Gaetal is one single individual that’s close to KSJ haha At the very least, whoever leaked the video knew someone else, especially KMC, would eventually be able to recognize its contents (‘devils deemed innocent’, Narae’s room and her stuffed bunny). Also for posterity, KMC was the one who ostensibly redirected KSJ’s attention to the picture of the tag on the wall.

The assemblywoman and the teacher both have a habit to touch their ear sometimes (eg. when she talked to him about KMC ; when the teacher was watching the student during PE). Jihoon also did it right after the teacher left: was it to try to reproduce what he did to understand what he was watching or is he linked to them?

At the very least Jihoon seems to know some things about the Killing Vote, the teacher as well as KMC:

— In ep1, he bumped into Joohyun as he went to retrieve one of the cups the teacher seems to make a collection of.

On the cup, there’s an ’S’ graved on it, just as the telltale sign of the Killing Vote is the character ㅅ/siot (시옷), the first character of 사형 (death penalty/capital punishment).

— He seems to know more than he lets on about the Killing Vote and keeps staring at the teacher (as though he knows his past crimes, eg. the closeups on the teacher grabbing/borderline groping Joomin’s shoulder, watching the students during PE etc.).

— He seemed startled when Joomin talked about ‘zombie PCs’.

— In ep3, Jihoon says: « I think [he] took it too far this time. » right after he saw KMC being alive and the man with the cap escape (which could totally be this character in the opening we’ve not yet seen). In Korean, the subject is often omitted and deduced from the context, it’s the case here: the drama keeps the ambiguity on whatever Jihoon meant here.

— Him being Narae’s friend would also make sense: as Narae was 8yo, she would be around Joomin and Jihoon’s age if she was still alive. There’s also Narae’s drawings that keep being showed, a boy/young man is always drawn on it.

As a child’s representation of adults and children could be inaccurate (the height, physical appearance, etc.), the characters we see on her drawings could be alternatively KMC (who was close to KSJ and given KSJ’s answer, also doted on her daughter), KSJ, a boy Narae used to play with (it could be Jihoon), the teacher or BWT, the son of the driver and the housekeeper who were also close to Narae and KSJ.

The assemblywoman asked her assistant to observe her son closely: I guess that refers to his health but it’s also to make sure he doesn’t commit crimes anymore. She also said to her son he definitely knows she’s ready to do anything to make Gaetal join her so that her campaign is successful: this + joking on TV how a mother is above the law suggest she definitely pulled strings to save their reputation (eg. using BWT as a convenient scapegoat ; tampering with the trials ; changing his son’s name etc.).

Joohyun thinks Gaetal acts like a hacker. That would also make Jodan (in ep5, he revealed he was arrested for hacking), Jihoon, the teacher and Joohyun herself suspects!

KSJ’s interest in Joohyun is curious: he even looked into her background once he met her & seems to focus on her habit to scratch her scar ; KMC’s comment on how unusual KSJ’s behavior was (specifically requesting Joohyun to communicate with ; negotiating his pardon — while he didn’t regret what he did at all) makes me think that: — in the letters or in some other way, Gaetal must’ve instructed him to obtain a pardon (perhaps they even told him to get rid of the letters to make him indispensable to the police) — Gaetal must’ve told him he would seek the truth to what happened to Narae: for someone who didn’t regret avenging her daughter, revealing Byun Wootaek was a scapegoat and the true culprit is roaming free out there would be plenty enough drive for him to find a way to get out of prison — whoever they are, Gaetal must’ve an ulterior motive to involve Joohyun, KSJ and KMC together

The first episode showed similar shots of KSJ and KMC (same backlighting, same low-angle shot, KSJ avenging his daughter and KMC lashing out on Bae Gicheol to stop him from abusing his wife):

I wonder if we’ll get to see KMC’s relationship with the woman on his photo (likely his mother), this is probably the only shot we get of him smiling not out of spite ;;

For Mu in Muchan, one of the hanja that can be given as a name is 橅, which means law, and it’s ironic given how the law failed him and KSJ ; sometimes characters are given names that will hold meaning in their development eg. Donghoon & Jian in My Mister ; Dongsik and Juwon in Beyond Evil.

For Ju in Seokju, there is 澍, which means timely/long-awaited rain ; rain has marked 2 important events in KSJ’s life: when he discovered his daughter’s body and when he was arrested by KMC after murdering Byun Wootaek ; there’s also 炷 which means wick, aligning with the OST lyrics (a fire burning in one’s eyes)

#국민사형투표 #the killing vote #tkv #kdrama

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