#Whose Winning Chance Today

[hussyknee]

Trying to explain what the fuck just happened in Lankan politics today.

The leftist party has won 159 seats out of 218 in the Parliamentary elections. The single biggest landslide win since we broke from the British and achieved universal franchise in 1948.

Any party achieving a super majority in the executive and legislative is, objectively speaking, bad. It disables checks and balances, which is a catastrophic thing for any democracy, and the only two other times it's happened for us has irrevocably eroded the fabric of civic rights and democratic freedom. Also, the reason the NPP won the North and East is that the colonized, genocided and subjugated people there have no faith in electoralism anymore. The way this government has engaged minority issues has been utterly abysmal and now they've been rewarded for it.

On the other hand:

The winners. Are all. Grassroots. Candidates.¹

We have voted out every single career criminal that's been barnacled into the Lankan political arena since before I've been alive. The fascist party has only three seats.² The other fascists didn't win a single seat. The neoliberal legacy party won none. There are only forty people in Parliament that represent any sort of dynastic political legacy. After 76 solid years of nothing but political dynasties.

This is barely five years after the Rajapaksas swept in and absolutely glutted the Parliament with their family members and cronies end to end.

This is the illegitimate interim government we had for most of the last 18 months. We literally, physically, chased the Rajapaksas out of the country and this fucking demon set up a puppet government just so he could finally sit in that goddamn chair and be the despot he'd always dreamed of in exchange for letting them all come back. He's now gone. His entire circle is gone.

THEY ARE ALL FUCKING GONE.

In US terms, just imagine that, five years from now, when Trump's GOP has control of everything, the entire GOP and the worst of the Dems are all purged from Congress and Senate, the Green Party in control of all three branches of government under a pro-union left-wing President and an unmarried female LGBT rights activist Vice President, and the Dems reduced to barely 20% of the House.

This is my anthropology professor. She joined politics from the small nascent leftist coalition to help keep the government accountable. She's now the Prime Minister and the most popular Parliamentary candidate in the nation's history. (Edit: She was knocked off first place by a dude in the final result. Boo.)

(On the other hand— the woman who helped make me a radical anarchist and literally helped write a book on political dissent and resistance...now is the state. Uh.)

But there are so many women in Parliament! We had the lowest female representation in a South Asian Parliament and some of them were from the list of seats reserved for parties rather than elected ones. Most were either anti-feminist conservative embarrassments, widows and daughters of elite politicians and neoliberal shills. It's still only an increase of a few percentage points (Edit: from the previous 5% to 10% in the final result!) but now we have elected academics, feminist advocates, activists! There Is a representative for Malaiyaha Tamils in the Central Province for the first time in history and it's a young woman! (Edit: now it's two female Malaiyaha MPS!!) This is the plantation community that still live in conditions closest to the slavery the British forced upon them two hundred years ago!

I'm like. Completely mindfucked. To be very very clear, the NPP coalition formed around the nucleus of the JVP that used to be communist but haven't been in 30 years, they're now just social democrats who are left of places like the US and UK, whose "left" is now center-right. They're only threatening to the Western mainstream media for some reason who can't stop bleating about how we have a "Marxist" government now. In reality, the actual chances for radical reform are still quite low, and the opportunity for further erosion is quite high with a super majority government regardless of affiliation.

On the other hand:

What the fuck.

Sometimes living through historical events is really damn amazing.

---

¹ Well, nearly. There are a few career politicians and a nepo baby but they aren't so bad either.

² Goddamn it, Baby Rajapaksa and Sri Lanka's answer to JD Vance have wormed their way in using the list of Constitutionally reserved party seats for non-elected members. FUCK the National List.

[landossnorriss]

i see you | ln x she.

Pairing: lando x she.

Summary: a new voice appears on the radio to get lando through the end of the hungary race. part 2 here.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning: we've taken some liberties on whose allowed on the team radio ok? i'm in mourning. this is also my first time writing for f1 or lando so >.>

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

the small crackle in his ear was a sure sign that someone was about to patronise him again. for years, for years he had bled for mclaren. he'd turned down calls from horner and the men in red, he'd turned his nose to them every single time and now he finally had a chance to put a closer dent in his gap on the world championship and they just wanted him to give it up. it wasn't fair, oscar couldn't even keep up he was the fastes-

"lan?" the quiet voice that appeared in his ear shocked him, his frown forming in his helmet.

"love? now they're using you to get to me?" he scoffed at the thought, his foot on the throttle a little harder as he made his way around turn 11. fuck the team orders, they couldn't do this to him.

for her part, his girl could feel the guilt eating at her chest. "i think so." she'd wanted to smack will when he had looked at her pleadingly from the garage. "but you tell me right now, if you want this win and i'll fight will for the radio for the rest of the race, i'll be out of here so quick and i'll cut them off, give you the time you need." she offered and lando knew she meant it. his girl was quiet, preferred to stay out of the lime light and would always pick his jolly over the flash cars he had, but when it came down to it she was scrappy.

a small smile appeared on the racers face as he thought about the sight, honestly he hoped she managed to trip will and cause some momentary damage. noting he had gone quiet she let her head drop a little, eyes closing as she tried to imagine was going through his head. "my love...can you look at him in the morning if you don't let him past now?" she asked quietly, ignoring the glares that were surrounding her in the pit wall.

"it's a win baby, i need to prove that i can win on my own after miami and i need...i need those points for the championship."

"so drive, put your throttle down lan, drive and don't stop till the flag if you can live with being that man, but i know you and i love you and i'll love you regardless of what you chose right now but i also know you and this won't be winning on your own merit, this will haunt you my love and he'd do it for you, you know he'd do it for you."

lando paused again, swallowing as he rounded the corner. "you'd love me even if i took the win?"

"even then." and now she was pretty sure will was going to murder her if she ever surrendered this radio, at the very least, andreas was never letting her back in the garage.

"you'll love me more if i give osc the spot back?" he hated how unsure his voice sounded as he asked the question and her heart broke for him over how much she knew he would tare into himself later.

"no lando, my love for you isn't based on what you do in that car, not ever, its the man that comes home to me i care about." chewing on her lip she let her gaze flicker to the monitors. "the pit lane straight is coming up..." the comment hung in the air between them and she watched as it happened, 6 seconds, 5.3 seconds, 4 seconds - lando was letting him past.

"you're my winner lando." she whispered softly into the radio, silently wiping the tear that fell at his act. the look of relief around the pit wall was enough to make her guilt grow even more, at what they had cost lando today, what they had made her do. if they could just get their damn strategies right he wouldn't have been put in this position in the first place, he'd had been free to race as he came out behind oscar but instead she would piece together the pieces they threatened to break again as she took care of him tonight.

"i love you so much." lando urged as he watched oscar fly past him, his heart stopping for a moment before his foot found the throttle again. he didn't want to hear wills voice again, not right now and they could make it through two more laps without his help anyway. "will you stay with me for the rest of the race?" he asked because wins and races could come and go so long as he had her.

her eyes flickered to andreas on the wall from where she knew he was listening, watching as he nodded. "confirmed norris, i'm with you till the end." they didn't say much as he finished his race but she kept the line open with him. if the rest of the world would have something to say about the lovers simply existing together for the next two minutes then let them, she was the only one who saw him sometimes she was sure, the only one who knew what he had just done would be doing to him inside.

the chequered flag came and she checked the screens once more before making the call. "that's p2 baby, p2, you know what to do from here." sliding from her chair she didn't bother to take the head set off as she made her way through the garage and out through the pit lane to where she knew lando would soon be parking. she was easy to spot with the bright yellow merch she wore, forever a lando girl over mclaren and her eyes shiny as she watched her man move to congratulate oscar. it left a bitter taste in her mouth, that the win would be tainted by shitty team orders but she'd get to celebrating with oscar later once she knew her driver was ok.

she continued to chew at her lip as lando removed his helmet, the green eyes she knew so well looking around for her and she let her smile return at the way his shoulder visibly relaxed at the sight of her. lando was slow to move, not wanting to risk any more hate that he already knew he was going to get but there was only one thing he wanted right now. the hands he felt cupping his face, an instant sanctuary for the male. "i see you lan." the soft words that meant more to him than even love would.

leaning forward lando let the gap between them close, his lips find hers softly for a moment. normally she would pull away and scald him, knowing just how many cameras were in this pit lane to capture the moment but he needed her more now than she needed to shrink into the shadows. "i'm so damn proud of you." she whispered against his lips, fingers finding the damp curls at the back of his head and her chest settling now that she could hold him once more.

he'd never been as good with words as she had, always seemingly saying the same thing but he wanted to try, for her. "you mean more to me than all this you know?" he could already hear the people calling his name for media duties and as tempting as it was to just face the fines, grab his girl and vanish, lando knew that it would be better for the team if he saved them face. all the blood he'd lost for them still had to count for something right? taking a final second to lock in her face, lando lent forward for a final singular kiss. "i'll see you in my drivers room." he promised before he stepped away.

with a small nod she moved back, eyes filled with tears once more as he stepped up to take the mike from nico and he demonstrated once more why he was the man she adored. racing could continue to test him all it wanted, but she would be the anchor whilst he weathered any storm for as long as he needed her.

[lezbianz]

i don’t know how to feel about all these anxious posts talking about how trump’s shooting is going to be a rallying point for the right & how they’re going to use it to win the election. because while yes, i’ve already seen people making a martyr of a living man because of this, it’s been obvious for months — if not well over a year — that biden is not winning this fucking election. it was obvious before tonight; it was obvious before the debate: biden’s ass is losinggg!!!!

and even if it hadn’t been obvious, even if biden actually had a fighting chance in this upcoming election, please be honest for a second: would it matter either way? 200 palestinians were killed just today in an ongoing genocide funded and supplied directly by joe biden, which has killed — in the course of only nine months — well over 180,000 people. and if you seriously believe trump would be worse for gaza than biden, just look at where gaza is now: hospital bombings are routine and un-newsworthy, just as is children as young as a day old being shot at, bombed, or buried under rubble. how much meaningfully worse can it be?

and if you are somebody who only cares about domestic issues, — a cowardly and remarkably selfish political standpoint to have in the united states, the most powerful country on the planet whose fingers are in the affairs of every other country on earth — be clearheaded. biden has done nothing but further push the democratic party right. more police killings have happened under his tenure than trump’s; roe v. wade was overturned during his administration; and he has done absolutely nothing to stem the tide of reactionary transphobic bills being passed in state after state.

it’s joever. it’s been joever. if you don’t see that now and you’re still seriously campaigning for this man, i think you are naïve, stupid, selfish, or all three.

[fictionadventurer]

I have to talk about Chester Arthur. His story makes me go crazy. A mediocre president from the 1880s who's completely forgotten today has one of the best redemption stories I've ever heard and I need to make people understand just how cool his story is.

So, like, he starts out as this idealist, okay? He's the son of an abolitionist minister and becomes famous as a New York lawyer who defends the North's version of Rosa Parks whose story desegregates New York City's trolley system.

Then he starts getting pulled into politics and becomes one of the grimiest pieces of the political machine. He wants money, power, prestige, and he gets it. He becomes the right-hand man of Roscoe Conkling, the most feared political boss in the nation, a guy who will throw his weight around and do the most ruthless things imaginable to keep his friends in power and destroy his enemies.

Because Arthur's this guy's top lackey, he gets to be Controller of the Port of New York--the best-paying political appointment in the country, because that port brings in, like, 70% of the federal government's funds in tariffs. He gets a huge salary plus a percentage of all the fines they levy on lawbreakers, and because he's not afraid to make up infractions to fine people over, he is absolutely raking in the dough. Making the rough equivalent of $1.3 million a year--absolutely insane amounts of money for a government position. He's spending ridiculous sums on clothes, buying huge amounts of alcohol and cigars to share with people as part of his job recruiting supporters to the party, going out nearly every night to wine and dine people as part of his work in the political machine. He's living the high life. Even when President Hayes pulls him from his position on suspicions of fraud, he's still living a great life of wealth, power, and prestige.

Then in 1880, his beloved wife dies. While he's out of town working for a political campaign. And he can't get back in time to say goodbye before she dies. Because he's a guy who has big emotions, it absolutely tears him up inside, especially because Nell resented how much his political work kept him away from home. He has huge regrets, but he just moves in with Roscoe Conkling and keeps working for the political machine.

And then he gets a chance to be vice president. The Republican Party has nominated James Garfield, a dark horse candidate who wants to reform the spoils system that has given Conking his power and gave Arthur his position as Port Controller. Conkling is pissed, and he controls New York, and since the party's not going to win the election without New York, they think that appointing Conkling's top lackey as vice-president will pacify him.

They're wrong--Conkling orders Arthur to refuse--but Arthur thinks this sounds like a great opportunity. The only political position he's ever held is Port Controller--a job he wasn't elected to and that he was pulled from in disgrace. Vice President is way more than he could ever have hoped for. It's a position with a lot of political pull and zero actual responsibilities. He'll get to spend four years living in up in Washington high society. It's the perfect job! Of course he accepts, and Conkling comes around when he figures out that he can use this to his advantage.

When Garfield becomes president, Arthur does everything he can to undermine him. He uses every dirty political trick he can think of to block everything that Garfield wants to do. He refuses to let the Senate elect a president pro tempore so he can stay there and influence every bill that comes through. He all but openly boasts of buying votes in the election. He's so much Conkling's lackey that he may as well be the henchman of a cartoon supervillain. On Conkling's orders, he drags one of Garfield's Cabinet members out of bed in the middle of the night--while the guy is ill--to drag him to Conkling's house so he can be forced to resign. He's just absolutely a thorn in the president's side, a henchman doing everything he can to maintain the corrupt spoils system.

Then in July 1881, when Arthur's in New York helping Conkling's campaign, the president gets shot. By a guy who shouts, "Now Arthur will be president!" just after he fires the gun. Arthur has just spent the past four months fighting the president tooth and nail. Everyone thinks he's behind the assassination. There are lynch mobs looking to take out him and Conkling. The papers are tearing him apart.

Arthur is absolutely distraught. He rushes to Washington to speak with the president and assure him of his innocence, but the doctors won't let him in the room. He gets choked up when talking to the First Lady. Reporters find him weeping in his house in Washington. Once again, death has torn his world apart and he's not getting a chance to make amends.

Arthur goes to New York while the president is getting medical treatment, and he refuses to come to Washington and take charge because he doesn't dare to give the impression that he's looking to take over. No one wants Arthur to be president and he doesn't want to be president, and the possibility that this corrupt political lackey is about to ascend to the highest office in the land is absolutely terrifying to everyone.

Then in August, when it's becoming clear that the president is unlikely to recover, he gets a letter. From a 31-year-old invalid from New York named Julia Sand. A woman from a very politically-minded family who has been following Arthur's career for years. And she writes him this astounding letter that takes him to task for his corrupt, conniving ways, and the obsession with worldly power and prestige that has brought him wealth and fame at the cost of his own soul--and she tells him that he can do better. In the midst of a nationwide press that's tearing him apart, this one woman writes to tell him that she believes he has the capacity to be a good president and a good man if he changes his ways.

And then he does. After Garfield dies, people come to Arthur's house and find servants who tell them that Arthur is in his room weeping like a child (I told you he had big emotions), but he takes the oath of office and ascends to the presidency. And he becomes a completely different man. His first speech as president mentions that one of his top priorities is reforming the spoils system so that people will be appointed based on merit rather than getting appointed as political favors with each change in the administration. Even though this system made him president. When Conkling comes to Arthur's office telling him to appoint his people to important government positions, Arthur calls his demands outrageous, throws him out, and keeps Garfield's appointees in the positions. "He's not Chet Arthur anymore," one of his former political friends laments. "He's the president."

He loses all his former political friends. He's never trusted by the other side. Yet he sticks to his guns and continues to support spoils system reform. He prosecutes a postal service corruption case that everyone thought he would drop. He's the one who signs into law the first civil service reform bill, even though presidents have been trying to do this for more than ten years, and he's the person who's gained all his power through the spoils system. He immediately takes action to enforce this bill when he could have just dropped it. He becomes a champion of this issue even though it's the last thing anyone would have expected of him.

He oversees naval reform. He oversees a renovation of the White House. He still prefers the social duties of the presidency, but he's respectable in a way that no one expected. Possibly because Julia Sand keeps sending him letters of encouragement and advice over the next two years. But also because he's dying.

Not long after ascending to the presidency, he learns he's suffering from a terminal kidney disease. And he tells no one. He keeps going about his daily life, fulfilling his duties as president, and keeps his health problems hidden. Once again, death is upending his life, and this time it's his own death. He's lived a life he's ashamed of, and he doesn't have much time left to change. He enters the presidency as an example of the absolute worst of the political system, and leaves it as a respectable man.

He makes a token effort to seek re-election, but because of his health problems, he doesn't mind at all when someone else gets the nomination. He dies a couple of years after leaving office. The day before his death, he orders most of his papers burned, because he's ashamed of his old life--but among the things that are saved are the letters from Julia Sand, the woman who encouraged him to change his ways.

This is an astounding story full of so many twists and turns and dramatic moments. A man who falls from idealism into the worst kind of corruption and then claws his way back up to decency because of a series of devastating personal losses and unexpected opportunities to do more than he could have ever hoped to do. I just go crazy thinking about it and I need you all to understand just how amazing this story is.

[joonsytip]

Withering for You || Seungcheol- Part 4

Pairings: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, CEO! Seungcheol au, Husband! Seungcheol au, Wife! Reader au, Music Teacher! Reader au, Arranged Marriage au, College Sweetheart au, Exes to Lovers au

Synopsis: When you are arranged married to the man, whose heart you had broken years ago, even dreaming about mending things seems next to impossible when he has been holding grudge for all these only to return it to you tenfold.

Warnings (specific to this part): drama, crying, profanities, everyone is hurt and sad, everything is on rocks, mentions of infidelity (doesn't happen to though), mention of alcohol consumption, betrayal, italics represents occurrences in past

Word Count: 6.3k

TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES IS CLOSED!

Banner credits to my baby @hoeforhao <3

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

They say betrayal is worse than death if you taste it from someone you trust, someone you love. It's stingy, it's sickening, it's scathing.

You have always believed in soulmates, entitled Seungcheol to that word since you've known him, even wanted to make promises of eternity with him. But you should have seen the signs, should have never crossed the lines. Must not have tried to slip into the loopholes.

But you got blinded by greed, a hopeful stance of getting back together. Was it so wrong to wish a happily ever after with the one you have loved selflessly? Apparently it was.

"Sit.", you tell Seungcheol and the later obeys.

And as he does so his eyes fall on a very familiar document kept on the table. Instantly, he goes numb.

You observe him for a moment and play the recordings Jiah had given you. Midway, a panic stricken Seungcheol runs to you and pauses the recording.

He grabs your arms and says in desperation, "I didn't do all this Y/N. I admit I had planned all this because I wanted revenge but please trust me, it wasn't me."

"Unhand me.", you command him coldly, "Your touch disgusts me."

Seungcheol looks at you alarmingly before freeing your arms. He thinks of ways to convince you because in actuality, like he said he had planned it all but something out of scope happened. He fell in love with you again so long gone were all of those thoughts and schemes.

"What goes around, surely comes around.", you let out a chuckle, "Maybe that's why, I'm going through this. I get that you wanted to trample me upon. It's fair, to think about what you've been through because of me, I could have understood.", you look at him, "You could have handed me the divorce papers on our anniversary. Could have had other women and it would have wounded me. But-"

The tears pooling at the corner of your eyes are streaming down, "But how could you stoop so low? Knowing how much this academy matters to me, knowing what music means to me, you went out to attack my soul."

"No Y/N, I was a fool, please please", Seungcheol is crying as well, choking on his words, "It was wrong of me but I would never--"

"They are calling me a thief. Because of this incident those out there are questioning my whole career. The career, I've pursued after fighting the odds, after struggling for years. The one thing that is entirely mine.", your eyes turn darker as you say, "You could have rather killed me, Seungcheol."

Seungcheol gasps and shakes his head frantically.

"Even if I clear my name today, there will be people who'll still doubt my ability. Some out there would assume that I might be guilty and just because I belong to an influential family, I must have pushed everything under the rug with money.", you are hurting yourself with every word you utter at this point, clutching your chest, "My image is tainted, my career is ruined. They will never look at me the same way."

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry Y/N", he gets on his knees and clasps his hands, pleading, "I would do anything to clear your name. I'd do anything to win back your trust just give me one chance--"

You take his hands off you saying, "I have always loved you, Seungcheol. Back then, even now, I have chosen you. But none of that matters now. You have stabbed me in the back but I'll be one to pay the price. I thought you'd be different but these genes run in your family. I can't even blame Jiah. You Choi's are no different from her--", you halt.

"What do you mean?", Seungcheol asks confused.

"As I said none of that matters now. You are so petty that you acted out the whole thing. You don't love me and from today onwards I won't either.", you answer him, taking out the wedding ring from your dress pocket, "Here, I'm giving you what you wanted.", you take his hand and place the ring on his palm, "Congratulations! This marriage didn't get through it's first year. But I have a present for you. I have filed for divorce, the papers will be sent to you as soon as they're ready."

Seungcheol is at loss of words. He's unable to comprehend the situation. He wants to stop you but on what ground? The irreversible damage is already done.

"I have all of my belongings sent over.", you inform him, "And if you're planning to create a fuss about the divorce and what's gonna happen after the conference, head on. I won't be giving up like last time. I'll see through the end of it."

"It's happening again", he tells himself and sounds so broken when he speaks through his wavering voice, "Please don't leave me again."

"I had no choice, I was forced to leave you back then", you mutter under your breath, making it impossible for him to hear, "I was willing to stay this time but I have to leave, this time for my sake."

While you gather the rest of your belongings, Seungcheol stands there helpless. And as you walk out of the house, he watches you take away the life of his adobe with you.

Seungcheol numbly tunes in to watch the press conference. He sees you on the screen, out of his reach, out of his life. He listens to each word you say. How sad you look as you address the matter. Even though your legal team briefs the journalists, his eyes are glued to you. He observes how you don't explicitly mention him or the Choi enterprise but throw sublte hints to catch on.

But you make it obvious at the end of the conference by announcing your divorce to Seungcheol.

"I have filed for divorce against Choi Seungcheol and I would like to refrain you all from associating me with the Choi's in future."

Seungcheol is immediately thrown under the bus. People who were coining you as a thief are now praising you and busy portraying him as the villain.

But mopping won't do him any good. His mind reel backs to every word you have said before leaving. He needs to get answers to some questions. Most importantly, he has to get you back.

The next few days goes by Seungcheol handling the legal charges against him which are minor because he digs out enough evidence to prove that he wasn't involved in the slander and Jiah is the main culprit, adding exceptional charges to the list that would nearly ruin her and damage her company's reputation.

The Choi enterprise faces reputation loss as well which results in their stock plummeting and the board of directors complaining about the situation. But being humungous in business, the impact isn't uncontrollable and since Seungcheol is mentally exhausted his father lets him loose taking matters into his hands for the time being.

Everything is manageable or bearable except for the divorce papers which he has received on your first anniversary, that sits coldly on his office table.

"The house I bought is an hour drive from here and I'm planning to stay there for some time, just to take my mind off of things." you say fishing out your car keys, "I have saved my new contact number to your phones."

"But are you sure you don't want us to be there with you?", your mother asks worriedly.

"At least let us help you shift--"

"Dad, I have lived alone before as well. Plus Chan and my friends are gonna help me with the unpacking.", you move over to hug both of your parents, "Visit me after it's done. Plus I'm planning to throw a cozy house warming house, not soon though."

"We're proud of you.", your mother says patting your head.

"I'm sorry for all the troubles and stress you've been through for the past year.", you mumble, quickly wiping your tears, "I'll be fine, no looking back promise."

"We have always trusted you, just take care of yourself and call us.", your father says kissing your forehead.

Chan waits for you by the car and he doesn't let you drive throughout the time it takes to reach your new house. As your friends help you settle into your new home, you are grateful to them for keeping you distracted and not bringing up Seungcheol.

"I'm sorry, Kwan. The academy had to face such an incident because of me.", you say hanging your head low in shame because you don't want anyone to see your tears, the can of beer in your hand remains unsipped, "I have decided to take some time off, please handle the academy and it's okay if you want me to backout. I'll transfer my shares to you."

Seungkwan blames the atmosphere for the tears in his eyes. He wipes them and sits beside you, "I couldn't have done it alone. The reason the academy exists is because we both had given it our all. So take all the time you want but you'll have to return."

You lean onto him and it's your brother who comes to wipe your tears.

"I'm so sorry Chan.", you speak through the tears, "I should have listened to you. I never thought that Seu--", you go quiet because it pains you to even say his name.

Everyone in room goes silent. It's not haunting rather comforting. But the successive ringing of the phones cause a mild commotion.

"Wonwoo keeps on calling us.", Eunsoo mutters, switching off her phone.

"Just tell him that I'm fine.", you tell her, "I'll give him a call later. I haven't visited Wonseok lately so I need to talk to him anyways."

It's amusing, how the night changes.

Seungcheol is distressed. He realises you are not the only one he has lost, he has lost Ms. Oh's empathy, he has also lost precious friend Wonwoo as well.

Wonwoo is back to his stoic self, the version he was when Seungcheol met him first. Only talks business with him, leaves as soon as he's done with assigned work. No more late night drinks, no more taking shots, none of the banter.

He watches you laugh as Wonwoo tells you something animatedly. He watches how your eyes are dull even though your lips are stretched.

Seungcheol had overheard Wonwoo talking to someone on the phone about his brother so he decides to visit him seperately just to check on him. He didn't expect to see you there, making him question since when you knew about Wonseok.

Your face falls when you're suddenly interrupted by Seungcheol's presence. He stands in front of you wordless, you don't bother to strike any conversation with him either.

"I'll get going, let me know if you need anything else.", you tell Wonwoo and turn around walk away.

"Y/N", Seungcheol says, "Can I please talk to you?"

You crane your neck to meet his gaze, "I don't think we have any business with each other. Do me a favour and just sign the divorce papers."

"I can't.", Seungcheol speaks out without missing a beat, "I need you Y/N, please give me a chance, let me make things right. I promise I won't let you down anymore."

"Enough with this act, don't assume you could fool me twice. I'm done with you.", you move around so now you're facing him again.

"You've changed your number.", he says meekly, "I don't get to see you anymore. That house haunts me, it's not the same without you."

You step in, closing the gap within you two, "You're facing the consequences of your actions. Stop acting like a fucking victim.", you spat out before walking out.

Wonwoo is torn. He doesn't want to take sides, it's even more difficult to see both of his dear friends grieving and suffering but there's nothing he could do.

"Wonseok is going through a series of surgeries because his condition had worsened and Y/N has been paying for them.", Wonwoo informs Seungcheol and before he could ask, Wonwoo adds, "You're already paying me more than I should be so I didn't want to burden you more. She had accidentally found out about Wonseok one day and decided to help me out even though I wasn't ready to accept it. She was determined and I couldn't stop her."

Seungcheol isn't surprised rather he is confused. This version of yours is what he was habituated to when you were dating until you convinced him it wasn't on the day you broke up. Something isn't adding up. Something about your nature and the way you act to what you had said that day are contradicting. You aren't mean-hearted, you are a giver so why did you years ago do something so bizarre, the thought is unsettling.

"She has been taking some time off from the academy, no one knows when she'll be back. She is so affected by the incident that she was ready to give up on the academy. The one she had built from scratch with her blood, sweat and tears." Wonwoo speaks disappointedly, "Do you realise what you have done?"

Seungcheol is ashamed, there's an unhealing pain in his heart thinking about you, about how he should be the one aiding you in your tough time but he can't because he's the reason you're in agony.

"As you know, I had also hated Y/N for what she had done. And now that you see me being friends with her is not because she's paying for Wonseok.", Wonwoo halts and takes a breath, choosing his words carefully, "It goes far beyond that. You have always been heedful, I think it's time for you to be vigilant as well. The truth might be far from what you've believed it to be."

Wonwoo doesn't spare another second on his watch as he walks away ignoring the desperate calls of his name.

Seungcheol's mind is not in place anymore.

Your thoughts are everywhere. Peace and happiness are some of the things you haven't gotten to feel lately. Though you've decided to spend time alone at home, the loneliness is caving you in.

Maybe tonight you're feeling a little more lonely than usual. Maybe you shouldn't miss the person who had pushed you to the edge of the cliff. Maybe you shouldn't be good with dates. Maybe you shouldn't trace your thumb on the calendar reminiscing about the day, you both had made it official years ago.

The damned tears aren't stopping, your heart isn't healing.

The bell rings and you are surprised because no one is supposed to visit you today. Quickly wiping your eyes and cheeks you don't bother to check the monitor and open the door.

At the other side of the threshold stands Seungcheol. Your red eyes gape at him as he looks at you shivering from driving all the way here in the snow.

"What are you doing here?"

You know getting your new address and number wouldn't be a big deal to Seungcheol given his network runs deeper.

"Can you let me in atleast, I'm freezing."

You cross over your arms and step aside. He saunters in and wanders off to have a tour of the house. He stops when he senses the glare you're sending him.

"If you realise that this house too plain for your taste you can always contact me. We're best in the business.", Seungcheol says as his lips purse in a line.

"I wonder from where did you get the audacity to come here?", you ask plainly.

"Just wanted to see you", he admits, "I miss you, Y/N."

You scoff at his words.

"Also, there's something you left behind, I found it while going through the drawers.", Seungcheol fishes out a notebook from his inner coat pocket.

You immediately recognise the object, raising your hand flat for him to handover it to you.

"I instantly got reminded of you always carrying it and scribbled down if anything came to your mind. Seems like you had kept this notebook from prior to university days.", he hands over the notebook and touches your hand gently in the process.

His touch turns to strong grip and he doesn't let go.

"Thanks.", you say trying to free your hand, "You should leave now."

The wedding ring on his finger feels cold on your skin.

"I know you remember what day it is today.", he says pulling you closer so that now you're colliding into him, your faces an inch apart. Your eyes are wide and the notebook falls as you're grabbing onto his shoulder out of reflex.

He has an undeniable look of longing in his eyes. You should just push him away, even kick him out but you find yourself frozen.

"I still remember falling in love with you, every moment of it.", he whispers, his gaze switching between your eyes and lips.

"So I do, Cheol.", his nickname slips out of your mouth so casually, there's a pause before you speak, "Why did you have to ruin it all?"

"I regret it all.", he gently holds your face, "But I realised that I never stopped loving you otherwise why would I despise you if I hadn't been in love in the first place."

"You could have broken my heart but you went after my soul."

"You did the same to me years ago. You took my soul away and I became just a shell.", he isn't complaining, just letting you know how difficult it was for him as well, "I planned everything to get back to you but what wasn't planned was my feelings resurfacing, falling in love with you all over again. I had forgotten all the schemes, had forgotten the reason why I hated you in the first place."

When he rests his forehead against yours, you close your eyes basking in the moment. What he did was definitely beyond any excuse but Seungcheol isn't entirely at fault. The fact that he was ready to start again with you after how you had treated him years ago proves the truth behind his words. The difference is you were forced to act out but he wasn't. He chose to destroy you.

So your eyes snap open and you're pushing him away.

"Leave Seungcheol.", you step away, "And never come back again."

Seungcheol sighs, "What should I do for you take me back? If you want I would never show myself in the vicinity of the academy. I wouldn't even ask you anything remotely related to your works or the academy. I'll stay all out of it, I promise."

"Nothing you do would make me go back to you.", your words taste bitter in your mouth, "We are not meant to be, we're not good for each other."

That is basically you firmly rejecting him, letting him aware that he has axed the mended fence.

Seungcheol smiles sadly, "Only if I could show you my heart and mind."

He then leaves with a heavy heart.

The next few days goes by Seungcheol racking his thoughts to make up his mind. Every time he thinks about you wanting to desperately cut ties with him, he relents. He laments on himself for what he has caused. At nights when he deliberately stays late, he mentally prepares himself to sign those papers because that's the only way to atone for his sins.

But those divorce papers get through every night without getting signed. Because when Seungcheol thinks he's ready that's when the realisation gnaws on him that he's actually not, that he'll never be.

And it gets harder each time he tries.

So one night, he lets his intrusive thoughts get the best of him and he ends up calling you.

"I'm trying but I can't bring myself to sign those papers", he speaks into the phone clutching it hard followed by a shaky breath, "I really want to give you what you want but whenever I think about not having you in my life, my willingness deters."

You stay quiet.

"Sorry to disturb you. Don't know what I was thinking. Please take care of yourself, bye.", he hangs up and collapses back on the chair.

Wonwoo watches through the blinds and he isn't new to this. Years ago Seungcheol had gone into a spiral, had almost given up on living post the breakup and now it hurts Wonwoo to see the history repeating itself.

So this time he promises to intervene for both of your sake, specially Seungcheol.

He has two things on his to-do list and though he isn't sure what the outcome will be, he's going to do them. He gathers everyone and let's them know of his plan.

"Mingyu, Eunsoo, Seungkwan", his gaze sweeps on the three, "You're gonna go and convince Y/N."

"I'll go to uncle and aunt.", Wonwoo says.

Eunsoo looks at him questionably, "We get our part. But are you sure your friend's gonna be okay?"

"Most importantly, I'm not sure how this will end because both of them are unpredictable as fuck.", Mingyu adds.

Seungkwan who was silent the whole time, speaks, "Guys, let's go for it. We will handle the aftermath.", he looks at Wonwoo, "You'll have to take care of Seungcheol because he's gonna hurt the most."

"It's better to be over it, Seungcheol deserves to know."

"What's wrong with you guys?", You ask absolutely astonished. All of your friends have suddenly busted into your house and are now advocating you on something that is supposed to be out of their box.

"Why are you suddenly siding with Seungcheol?", you say with a frown, "I'm feeling betrayed. I'm gonna call Chan now."

Eunsoo and Mingyu break into cold sweat knowing how scary your brother can be. Seungkwan sighs looking at the other two and gets that he has no other way but to sort down to what he's best at. He says, "Y/N, do you think we'd ever think ill of you? Do you think we'd be at your door because suddenly we felt emphatic towards Seungcheol? That's how lowly you think of us?"

The look on Mingyu and Eunsoo's faces are absolute comedic. They didn't expect Seungkwan would pull out his trump card.

Your gaze is unwavering when you say, "This won't work on me you know right?"

Seungkwan smiles, "Of course I know but we also know that you love Seungcheol and won't be happy without him. So we're saying all this just for your sake, not his, not anyone else's."

"You're wr-"

"You had 7 years but you couldn't get over him, even accepted his family just to marry him.", Seungkwan continues, "You had come across so many good men all these years but no one piqued your interest because you only had Seungcheol in your heart."

"Y/N, I did believe him when he said he fell in love again. I had seen the way he looked at you, the way he was protective around you. The way his eyes were always on you, radiating love. It may have started as an act but at some point it became real.", Eunsoo smiles at you, "He loves you."

"But Soo--"

"If you really loathed him, you wouldn't have waited for him to sign those divorce papers, you would have upsurged everything. You have the power to ruin the Chois wholly but you're just buying yourself some time.", Mingyi adds and immediately shifts to hug you, "What Seungcheol did was incredibly wrong, wait he didn't even do it. It was Jiah."

"Are you not getting Jiah did all just to separate you both again?", Seungkwan ask and you look at him wide eyed.

"She had done the exact thing years back and was successful. Please don't let her win again. If she can't have Seungcheol, she has planned all this for you to not have him as well.", Eunsoo voices out her concerns, "Don't let all these heartbreaks, tears and sacrifices go in vain just because of some misunderstandings. Don't do something you'd regret because you didn't mend it when you had a chance."

Your heart sinks at their words.

"Take your time but choose what you think is the best for you.", Eunsoo rubs your back gently, "Rationality shouldn't always take the stance, sometimes hearts should be listened to."

You take a deep breath and say, "Fine guys, I'll think about it."

The smile on their faces are unmatchable.

Seungcheol is worried when he receives a call from his mother asking him to urgently come to their house. Wonwoo is already waiting by the car and though Seungcheol asks if he knows anything he stays tight lipped throughout the ride.

"I'll be waiting for you right here. Call me if you need me.", Wonwoo says with an intone and for some reason it doesn't resonate well with Seungcheol.

He is led into his father's study where he sees both of his parents waiting. They are heartbroken seeing their only son. Seungcheol has lost weight, accumulated bags under red eyes, appearance unkempt.

"Take a seat.", his father says, "I have something to tell you and it's regarding Y/N."

Seungcheol immediately perks up at your mention. An eerie silence falls upon the room. Seungcheol's anxious gaze searches for his parents'.

"Y/N was forced to break up with you years ago. I had made her do so.", his father admits.

Seungcheol freezes. He thinks he's hearing things that are not supposed to make any sense.

"Ever since I had started the business I had been diligent to it. Dedication and honesty does account for success but so also being money minded and cunning. As years went by that consistency and success made me cling to riches, fame and status that came along with it.", his father says as he takes a seat gesturing him to do the same. "You must be remembering that we were facing financial crisis because one of our major investor had withdrawn. It had affected us greatly."

Seungcheol nods, "We were on the verge of facing bankruptcy."

"Since Jiah's father runs a finance company, we had made small sort of deals previously but that time the amount required was large and no one was willing to help us not even her father. But later Jiah came to me and offered me a deal."

"W-What deal?"

"That she would convince her father to provide us support only if", there's an ominous pause before Mr. Choi looks at him and says, "I remove Y/N out of your life."

A tear falls from his eye, as he hears the tale of betrayal from none other but his father.

"I have never liked Y/N, the reason was basic, she didn't belong to our circle. Initially I thought she was just a fling but so I agreed with Jiah."

Seungcheol is numb at this point, he just sorts to listening.

"One day I had brought in Y/N to let her know that she needs to find her way out of your life.", Mr. Choi's gaze falls, "She instantly refused. No matter what I said she wasn't willing to leave you. One meeting turned to two, two turned to three but she was hellbent on not letting you go."

"With Jiah constantly pressurizing me, threatening to nullify the deal if not taken action soon, I became desperate.", he confesses, "So I resorted to one thing I should have never done. I can never forgive myself for that."

You say in utter disbelief, "Why don't you tell your son to breakup with me instead? Stop pestering me, you know we both love each other and Mr. Choi let me make this clear, this is the last time I'm meeting you."

Mr. Choi gives you a sickening smile. He casually says, "Your brother is currently studying in Australia, if I'm not wrong."

You pale instantly, "W-What about him?"

"You're right, this is gonna be our last meeting. If you don't breakup with my son, I'm not sure what I'll do with your brother. What if you don't get to see your dear little brother anymore?"

"Mr. Choi, you can't do this. Please--"

"I'm not here to negotiate. I think you're smart enough to make the right choice. So tell me Y/N, what did you decide?"

You are crying and begging but there's no mercy reserved to spare for you. How are you supposed to choose between your brother and the love of your life? You will have to so you choose what's best for all, you choose both.

"Fine, I'll breakup with Seungcheol. So stay away from my brother."

Mr. Choi smiles in mirth, "You made the right descision. Rest assured."

With job being done, he is walking out of the hall when your call of his name reaches his ears.

He turns with an incredulous look on his face as he waits for you to speak.

"Promise me that you'll never tell Seungcheol about this incident.", comes your strained voice.

"I wasn't planning to anyways.", Mr. Choi says, "Even better for me, I promise to not tell Seungcheol about any of this."

Seungcheol runs to his father with the intention of doing something unspeakable but he stops right in front of him and collapses on the ground.

"How could you do this?", he sobs uncontrollably, "How could you stoop so low?", he balls his hands into fists and channels the anger on the floor, hitting it again and again that's when his mother steps in to stop him.

He looks at her and say, "How could you not tell me? How could you tolerate your husband even after knowing all this?", he then swats her away.

Getting up, he's gasping for air, unable to comprehend with the pain in his chest and head. Restlessness engulfs him but he doesn't let both of his parents to even touch him.

"I'm ashamed to call you both my parents.", he spats out, "I'll never forgive for ruining our lives. I hope all of this was worth it."

Then he's running out of the house ignoring the calls of his name. Wonwoo is immediately grabbing his friend, making him sit and drink water.

"You also knew but didn't tell me?", Seungcheol asks as fresh tears stream down his face.

"I only came to know recently and Cheol even if I had known, it's not my story to tell.", Wonwoo answers.

It takes Seungcheol over an hour to calm down.

"You don't need to attend me, I'm fine.", Seungcheol says stoicly, "You can go, I have somethings to take care of."

Though Wonwoo refutes but Seungcheol is adamant, leaving no choice for him but to obey his boss.

As soon as Wonwoo gets out of the car, Seungcheol drives off.

You are extremely tired, mentally and today for some reasons are you feel thinned out physically as well.

Staring at the cello, ominous thoughts fill in your mind. Because no matter how hard you try, you are unable to produce anything. There are no notes or no tunes, it's all blank.

And you're scared, what if music doesn't choose you anymore? What if you can't produce anything for the rest of your life? All these possibilities scares you enough to spend sleepless nights. It has disturbed your appetite as well.

Tossing and turning, as you've been doing for nights with minimal sleep at dawn hours, you sit up startled when the doorbell rings.

All the exhaustion is now replaced with concern when you see Seungcheol who continuously weeps at the door.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

Just a shake of head and he keeps on crying.

It's been about twenty minutes since he arrived crying and you're seriously considering about calling Wonwoo.

The way he's visibly hurting, hurts you too and you resort to hug him, patting his back, "If you're hurting because of me, please don't.", you say softly, tears pricking at your eyes subconsciously.

Seungcheol pulls away, looking at you. His sobs stop and the first thing he does is hold your face and kiss you. You're surprised, his lips graze yours but you don't kiss him back. Your hands push his chest and he's detaching himself mumbling a string of apologies.

"It was all for nothing.", he sounds so heartbroken when he speaks, "All those years spent in pain, hatred and resentment towards you, you didn't deserve any of it."

You have an inkling and it doesn't settle well in your bones, "Whatever you're saying is making no sense. Why are you here?"

Seungcheol looks dead in your eyes, "Because I know now. I know what happened all those years ago."

Your soul leaves your body at his words. You never wanted him to find out because you knew it'd tear him apart.

"W-Who told you?"

"Does it matter?"

And your very first instinct is to grab your phone and make a call to his father but Seungcheol doesn't let you. The phone gets snatched from your hands and thrown away somewhere.

"Why did you do it?", he asks and his questions irks you.

You scoff, "Are you seriously asking me why I did it after knowing everything? Seungcheol, I was threatened with my brother's life, what did you expect me to do?"

Seungcheol shakes his head, "No that Y/N. Why did you make dad promise you about not telling me about this?"

"What could I have done Seungcheol?", your voice cracks, "I loved you so much and trust me, I tried everything I could to be with you, to not hurt you but-- it killed me to lie to you. I went through hell and back trying to stop myself from telling you 'no I'm lying, please don't leave, I love you as much as you do'.

"That day I took your heart away.", You exhale sharply, "I didn't want to crush your soul as well, didn't want to make it anymore difficult for you then it already was. I knew how much you looked upto your father, how much you cherished your parents. I didn't want you to fight your family", your heart twinges as you continue, "Though it wasn't possible for me to love again, I prayed that you would move on, meet someone who'd make you forget all the sorrows I gave you. I wished for you to fall in love again and live happily."

You chuckled through your tears, "Won't lie, it would have hurt me but if it assured your happiness I'd have hurt myself all over again, all of the times."

Seungcheol observes you quietly, he absorbs your words to his heart.

"What does that make me, Y/N?", he asks defeated.

"You weren't at fault, Cheol. I chose what it seemed the best for all of us."

"I hated you, married you and plotted revenge. Hurt you and now indirectly lead to something that almost ruined your career.", he speaks as if he's narrating a monologue, "I kept wounding the wounded and siding with the foes."

"Stop blaming yourself. What you did was indeed wrong, you should have never attempted take a blow at my career. But years ago, even after all that you were ready to start again.", you remind him.

Seungcheol completely shuts himself out.

"Till yesterday, I was in a dilemma. They say if you love someone you should let them go. Call me selfish but I couldn't even think of parting ways with you. I wanted to fight for us. I'd have courted you until you got bored of me. I would have waited for a lifetime, even if you'd have moved on.", he avoids eye contact so that his resolution doesn't deter, "But how could I tie you to the people who tried to harm you, harm your family?"

"I won't beg for forgiveness anymore. Honestly, I don't want you to forgive us. If you're having second thoughts about us, discard them. Please just discard me.", he voices out in desperation, "Be selfish and choose yourself this one time."

He takes out a paper from his coat pocket which you recognise very well.

"Till yesterday signing these papers seemed impossible for me but it's surprising, how events turned out to be.", he takes your hand and places the paper saying, "I have signed them. This time I chose what's best for you."

There's a sickening churn in your stomach that makes you realise that there's nothing you can do.

"I love you, Y/N."

The weight of those words fall heavy on you as Seungcheol closes in.

"For one last time, please.", he says holding your face.

You incline towards him and instantly his lips are on yours. One of his hands now settle on your neck firmly as your lips dance on featherly. His other hand is gripping your waist to hold you in place. The saltiness of his tears burn on your tongue, making you suck in a gasp. His kisses you till his heart's content because it's a kiss of goodbye before resting his forehead on yours.

"Don't go", your strained voice whispers, "Please don't go."

Seungcheol whispers back, "I have to. Please don't stop me, I'm not strong enough to refuse you."

The tears stream down your face, "Would nothing I do be enough to stop you?"

"Y/N, please", he pleads, "You were right when you said we're not meant to be because I have only hurt you. I don't deserve you."

"Cheol..."

He steps back and you're suddenly engulfed by coldness.

"The chapter named Choi Seungcheol in your life ends right now.", he balls his hands, grits his teeth, does everything to not let those tears spill, "Since you might not submit the divorce papers, I have already handed over a copy to your attorney."

He turns back, rubbing his chest, the pain is unbearable.

"Cheol, please..."

"It's snowing so don't follow me outside, you'll catch a cold. Goodbye Y/N."

Then he leaves, from your house, apparently from your life.

And you realised not all stories have a happy ending, there's not always a happily ever after.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[captainkirkk]

A quick review: The Goblin Emperor

I binge-read the last of the The Goblin Emperor today and my brain is still buzzing. Everyone knows that I'm a big fan of stories about people in power choosing consistently to be kind, especially when it's hard and it does not benefit them, and this book DELIVERED.

I loved reading about Maia choosing, over and over again, to be compassionate, even though he was miserable and overwhelmed and it would have been easier to be cruel. Maia felt like the purposefully isolated, abused teenager he was, overwhelmed and powerless when he first came to court, but I adore that we saw the slow, hard-won changes that hebrought about: winning allies simply by being kind and honest, making REAL change for the betterment of his people

Maia has only been ruling for a less than a year (I think) but already the world is benefiting from the care of Emperor Edrehasivar the Bridge-Builder (and what a title!!!). All the birthday messages Maia received - not just platitudes but warm gifts from people whose lives he'd changed - made me tear up

And I also really liked all the hurt/comfort scenes with Maia being surprised by being liked and treated nicely, and winning the loyalty and affection of so many just by virtue of being himself :'))

Anyway if you haven't read The Goblin Emperor, you should definitely give it a chance!! Especially if you also read and enjoyed The Hands of the Emperor

[earthtooz]

rin kiss cam absolutely a masterpiece, i loveeee it so much <3 but i got an opposite idea. since you are very damn talented writing for sae, perhaps where you and sae had an argument which upset you so much, you have been ignoring him. then the following day, sae has a football match. after the match which of course they win, all the cams are on you and he said “please give me another chance to fix this, us” THEN THEN he held a massive bouquet of roses DJOWJDOSHDJSJDJ

for @limitlesshq - changed up the storyline a little, anon, sorry! your ask gave me inspiration for this, i'm sorry if you don't like the alterations, but i hope you enjoy nevertheless! this is VERY unedited.

sae, who has a sharp tongue and an even sharper attitude to match with that blunt personality of his. sae, whose words burn and singe your skin, leaving searing pain behind that you try not to show, especially when the venom drips onto your skin and brands you with shame, humiliation, and wrath. sae, who has never talked to you like he had in the argument you had two nights ago.

since then you hadn't talked to him, cringing at the thought of messaging him and reaching out. your friends tell you that you should try and mend whatever has happened, that knowing the two of you, sae's probably feeling the same and misses you too. your heart agrees but your conscious is still a little scarred, wincing when you recall the words that were thrown around.

sae had sent you a few posts here and there- like he sometimes does on instagram (they're hardly funny and you're still trying to find a way to tell him that), and you would only respond with a double click of the message instead of a proper response. other than that, he hadn't reached out in any other way.

the problem was that tonight you had a match to attend, with tickets that sae personally booked for you so it'd be a little harsh to not go.

just because you were still... upset at him doesn't mean that you didn't love him.

but did he want you there? what if he doesn't want to see you? what if he's still mad? that's probably why he hasn't made any attempts to try and talk it out and lord knows that you're still too busy fighting your own thoughts to make the first move.

pathetic really, it is, but when itoshi sae is your partner and the person who you have to apologise to... it's a little hard...

nevertheless, you go. your eyes lingered on the jersey he had given you, debating on whether or not you should wear it.

you decide against it, walking out of your apartment with a sinking feeling that it was a decision you'd regret. at least you still looked cute.

arriving at the stadium, you occupy your seat quite quickly especially since you were watching solo today. it's always daunting to be alone, especially in an environment like this, but you don't want any of your friends to witness how rocky you and sae are right now, so just purchasing this one ticket was a good idea.

even if that meant you had to cure your own boredom by scrolling on your phone whilst waiting for the match to start.

despite your indifferent front, your stomac was doing somersaults from where you jittered with anxiety. was showing up the right move? what if he didn't want you here?

then the stadium announcers begin talking, shushing everyone almost immediately as the teams are introduced. each running onto the grassy field when it's their turn, basking the roars and screams of the crowd that came to support them.

when real madrid comes out, your eye immediately lands on the figure of your boyfriend. although you can't see him all that clearly, it's not hard to identify him from his magenta hair and build; one that you see practically all the time (excluding the last three days).

he's scanning through the crowd, whipping his head around as if in search for someone, and when he finds the vip section for real madrid, his eyes land on you. you can't see him clearly, but there's a shift from his figure, his aura darkening as he slows his steps a little, falling behind from his team.

a fellow teammate has to push sae a little to snap him out of whatever funk he was in and a part of you twists uncomfortably at this weird behaviour of his.

all because he saw you. maybe it wasn't the right choice to come tonight. what if you impact his play?

the kickoff begins before you can think too much about it and the match officially starts, the players scrambling around the field.

90 minutes are over before you can count, the victory going to real madrid (to your relief because thank goodness you didn't affect their precious midfielder).

however, where you thought you would head home immediately after the match, it seems like sae has other plans as he runs towards the barriers separating the audience and the field, eyes locked on you the whole time. he beckons for you to come over and with a little hesitation, you do, weaving through exiting crowds in anticipation for what he'd need.

"congrats for the win," you say in greeting, plastering on a smile to give him the false perception that you were okay. he didn't need a victory to be soiled. that'd be a rough way to end such a pleasant event.

he doesn't meet your smile. instead, his eyes seem troubled, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he looks you up and down again and again, as if his eyes are deceiving him.

"you're not wearing my jersey," he says finally, looking back up at you with turmoil clear in his eyes.

"oh," you look down at your own outfit. "yeah. i decided not to."

"why?"

"well after our argument i didn't know where we stand," you confess shyly. he frowns further before stepping back.

then he takes off his jersey- the one he was wearing, and fiddles with it until it's facing a certain way. he had a long sleeve shirt on underneath but without the jersey, you can see that he's wearing the couples necklace you got for your anniversary.

he then threads the jersey on over you and despite being shocked at his abrupt actions, you comply nevertheless, weaving your arms through the holes.

sae hums in approval and you feel a little gross wearing his sweat-sopped shirt, but he looks content and happy. a stark contrast to the troubled expression he was wearing previously.

you open your arms for a hug. he accepts it, winding his arms around your torso as yours go around his neck. the athlete breathes you in, relishing in the feeling of being so close to you after so long.

"are we okay?" he asks, voice muffled as sae hugs you a little tighter.

"yeah," you respond. he takes his head out of your shoulder, indifferent eyes glossy. you think they're tears, but you're not going to give yourself such high credit.

"missed you. i hate it when you're mad at me."

you chuckle, pressing a kiss to his nose, causing him to scrunch his face at the sensation. "i wasn't mad, sae. i thought you would be."

"me? why?"

"i don't know. you're kind of scary, y'know. especially to those who have wronged you or you don't care about."

he softens before bringing his head to your shoulder again, finding solace in your touch. "but you're neither."

"noted," you laugh, running your hands through his hair. everything feels okay again.

you only find out after the match that sae was hoping you'd come all along and that he even brought gifts for you as a way of apologising after the match.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Interviews

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your Momma and Morsa sometimes have to talk to people on a screen for their job

Sometimes your Morsa and Momma don't play football for their jobs.

Sometimes they had to sit at a table with a computer and talk to people on the other side of it.

It was pretty boring so you like to sit under the table and play with your toys, leaning back against Momma's legs to let her know that you hadn't disappeared.

(You had done that once and Momma had burst into tears when she found you at the vending machine with Caroline Graham-Hansen.)

"Of course, you're both role models for girls individually and as a couple but also to working mothers as well. I know that your daughter was living in Germany with you, Pernille, but how has the move been for her?"

"It has been good," Pernille replies with a smile," y/n is still quite little so she's adapted pretty well to everything. I think Magda is the one that was thrown for the first few weeks."

You vaguely hear your name, muffled from where you're hiding under the table. You shuffle closer to Momma on your bum, peaking out from your hiding spot.

Both Momma and Morsa are smiling at the computer.

"As Pernille said, it is good," Magda continues," It is nice to be here, together as a family. y/n is getting to that age now where everything is new and shiny and she's just beginning to understand that Momma and Morsa get to kick a ball around for ninety minutes and win medals."

The interviewer laughs. "And is she a big Chelsea fan?"

Magda laughs as well, shaking her head. "We have only just got her to stop calling it 'Not-Wolfsburg'."

You hear Morsa say 'Wolfsburg' and your interest is renewed. You shuffle out from under the table, on your hands and knees.

The table your parents are sitting at is very tall and you're very small so your forehead barely peaks up over it. You stand in the space between Morsa and Momma's seats and lean forward on your tiptoes - just about tall enough now to be able to peer over the table.

There's a woman on the screen with a microphone. She looks nice but she's speaking English and she's a stranger (Morsa always tells you to be careful around strangers) so you don't really like her on principle.

"Oh, hello there. It looks like you have a little visitor."

Your English has gotten a lot better now - you understand everything she tells you.

(Momma always says you are like a sponge with languages because sometimes at home you flip between Swedish, Danish, German and English when you forget a word in one of your languages).

Morsa turns to look at you, smiling. Her big hand comes to rest on your head, ruffling your hair. You smile back and pass her your favourite stuffed swan before you clamber up into Momma's lap.

She grabs a hold of you securely, moving the chair so you're both tucked in properly and there's no chance of you falling.

"That's a pretty jersey," The woman on the screen says.

You look down at yourself, pinching the emblem.

Momma bounces her knee up and down as she rests her chin atop your head. "What do you say, princesse?"

"Thank you," You say shyly," S' Momma's Not-Wolfsburg jersey."

The adults all laugh and you frown.

You're not entirely sure what you said was funny.

Adults are weird sometimes.

"Is it a competition? On whose jersey she ends up wearing?"

"Usually, yeah," Magda says, looking at you and Pernille fondly," We have had to start dressing her in normal clothes so we don't argue but it's media day today so we thought that she should probably represent the team."

"And how did you decide today?"

"Rock, paper, scissors," Pernille replies.

"Pernille cheated!"

"I did not!"

"She did. She distracted me with y/n before we played."

You giggle as your Morsa pulls a funny face at you and makes your stuffed swan kiss your face. Momma presses a kiss to the top of your head as another peal of laughter escapes your mouth.

"Now, before I let you all go. y/n what's the best thing about living in London with your mums?"

You cock your head to the side for a moment. "Er...Morsa does my hair all pretty and Momma makes nice breakfast! And-And they have a big bed! Sometimes, Momma gets me up in the morning and lets me sleep in the big bed with Morsa!"

You continue to ramble on, more than happy to talk about your favourite subject, only tapering off when your tummy grumbles.

Momma checks the fancy watch Morsa got her for their anniversary.

"It looks like it's lunchtime for the princesse. Can you say goodbye, y/n?"

"Bye!" You smile at the woman on the computer and wave, allowing Momma to place you back on the ground and Morsa to hand over your toy.

As they log off, you grab Morsa's hand.

"We have lunch now?"

"Yes, princesse, we'll have lunch now."

[ddarker-dreams]

Idée Fixe.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Warnings: Some not SFW elements, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, emotional manipulation, depictions of general & social anxiety disorder, depictions of a panic attack, mentions of anxiety medication, Chrollo administers medications to Reader without her consent, and mentions of religion. Also Chrollo just really, really sucks. Word count: 12.3k.

You met a strange man at the arboretum today.

Perhaps you aren’t in a position to describe others as ‘strange’, considering your latest proclivity for expressing earnest thanks to any honey bees you happen across for their service. After much contemplation, however, it’s ultimately the word you arrive at. ‘Strange’ not in a disconcerting sense that inspires fear, but just being out of the ordinary enough to exude an undeniable allure. A raised panel on the floor you stumble over yet suffer no serious injury from. 

Well-kept gardens might be the closest imitation to heaven on earth. That’s what brought you to this little oasis hidden in the desert that is urban life. It’s the type of day romanticists wax poetic about: baby blue skies, puffy clouds, and moderate temperatures with a light, forgiving breeze. 

You situated yourself strategically, so you’d be beneath the shade of a magnolia tree whose pink petals kept fluttering down as if in greeting, and near a patch of daffodils that matched the shade of your gingham dress. Blades of grass tickle your legs, but not unpleasantly so, they scratch an itch found only in nature’s loving reprieve. There’s no thought of upcoming assignments, what to eat for dinner, or if buying that purse you thought was a steal at 30% off was a good idea or not. 

It’s just you and your book. 

Until it isn’t. 

Every woman is connected in the experience that is trepidation whenever a man randomly approaches. There’s no telling his intentions, if he has any. You’re left to smile awkwardly and temporarily realign yourself with religion by praying to a higher deity for his hasty departure. You map out potential escape routes and recall the pepper spray situated in your impulse-bought purse. He gently calls out “Miss”, confirming that he hopes to speak with you. 

At least he has the propriety to stop a few paces from where you sit, electing not to intrude on your personal space. This causes your shoulders to relax. In the few seconds you’ve been made aware of his existence, you recognize his appealing features. He has loose, dark hair, along with wide and seemingly unassuming eyes. His outfit of a dark gray turtleneck accompanied by a black jacket and pants somewhat strikes you as odd, considering spring is in full bloom. Two other details steal your attention away from this; those being the beige wrapping around his forehead and his spherical, turquoise-colored earrings. It’s like he was caught undecided between wanting and not wanting to attract attention. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he begins. You try not to think about how pleasant his voice sounds. “I’ve been trying to make sense of the directory, but I’ve never been the best with directions. Do you by any chance know how to get to the Starling House?” 

You nod. It’s a quaint, centuries-old mansion, maintained by the non-profit that oversees the flora here. Getting over the initial apprehension from his approach, you try verbalizing the most efficient path to get there. This proves more difficult than you expected since the arboretum is vast and has few waypoints that can be used for reference. Still, throughout your explanation whose unhelpfulness you grow painfully aware of, he patiently nods and makes no attempts to rush you through. 

This willingness to put up with your scattered description wins over your sympathy, pushing you past your sheepishness. 

“I guess I’m not good at giving directions. I could just show you the way, if you’d like.” 

“I’d hate to disturb your reading, but… if it isn’t a bother, I’d certainly appreciate it.” 

You’re already setting your bookmark into place. “It’s no bother. This is my second time reading it, anyway. So don’t worry. I’m not being left off on a cliffhanger or anything.” 

He smiles at that. When you’re preparing to stand, he extends his hand, a gesture that gives you a momentary pause. Well, you are wearing a dress. You suppose it’s the polite thing for him to do. You accept his unspoken offer and he hoists you up without the least bit of exertion on his part. His hand is warm and bigger than yours, slightly coarse too, surprisingly. His immaculate presentation gave you the impression of a trust fund kid or something in that vein. He’s tasteful in ensuring his touch doesn’t overstay its welcome. 

Your heart pounds in your chest. 

You catch a hint of his cologne. Sandalwood, amber, and leather blend together to form a delightfully woody fragrance. As amazing as he smells, you create a little distance, walking ahead motioning for him to follow. His longer legs have no trouble catching up, yet he never creeps too close. 

The short journey that you expect to only be accompanied by the sounds of cardinals chirping and house finches singing is interrupted by the man speaking up again. Oddly enough, you don’t mind. 

“Do you find your thoughts on Prince Myshkin’s initially endearing simple heartedness changed, knowing how the book ends?” 

You pause, taking a moment to realize he must be familiar with the work. This revelation fills you with a tentative giddiness. It isn’t often you have a chance to delve into your literary thoughts to a willing audience. There’s plenty more you could say on the subject, but you try to exercise restraint nonetheless. 

“I thought I might, but I found myself more critical of the other characters instead.” 

“Oh? And why is that?” 

He appears genuinely interested, otherwise, you would’ve kept it at that. 

“Ah, well, maybe it’s that they serve as proof that innocence is never meant to last. Or if it does, it’ll inevitably be punished. There are moments where I feel frustrated with the Prince’s naivety… but then I stop and wonder why it’s so bad to want to see the best in people. Does that speak to a flaw in his character, or to a flaw in the character of others? Maybe it’s both. I can’t help but feel the Prince’s case is more sympathetic.” 

His eyes never leave yours while you give your answer. Heat rises to your cheeks and you internally groan over the prospect of making a stranger listen to your ramblings. He was probably just looking to make casual conversation, not everyone wants an existential crisis on a Saturday afternoon. 

“You must be someone who wants to see the best in people as well,” he surmises. There’s no hint of mockery in his tone — he’s oddly sincere. He says it with a hint of bittersweet nostalgia. 

Before you can hazard a response, you come across a sign displaying information for an event at the Starling House. The building itself lies in waiting atop a hill less than a quarter of a mile ahead. He stops to read it, as do you, operating under the assumption he came here for the event. It seems that they’re displaying historic artifacts from around the area. You suppose this will be where you part ways. You’re about to wish him well when he sighs, the miffed noise stopping you. 

“I got the time wrong,” he frowns, staring at his wristwatch. 

The sign says the event begins at 6:00 p.m. and a quick tap of your phone reveals it’s 4:00. 

“If you’re looking for a way to burn time, there’s a nice garden behind the House that’s always open to the public,” you explain. This piques his curiosity. “If the sage is in bloom, you might get lucky and see some hummingbirds.” 

“That does sound lovely,” he says. Then, his lips quirk up, promising the start of a smile. “Would you care to join me, Miss…?” 

You give him your name and he nods, as if deciding it fits you. 

“[First]. I understand if my tour guide wants to get back to her reading, though.” 

Bashfulness creeps up your back and threatens to sink its fangs into your neck. Your heart’s rhythm takes an erratic cadence. He’s posing the proposition in such a lighthearted way, offering an easy out if you want to take it. You internally weigh your options on a scale that’s worn from overuse. He’s being friendly, you tell yourself. That’s all it is. 

“Well, I guess I’d be a shabby tour guide if I didn’t show you where the gardens are.” 

On the brief walk to the gardens, the man introduces himself as Chrollo. You both situate yourselves on the same stone bench. You sit on the right, he sits on the left. Once again, he leaves you plenty of space, never testing boundaries. The scent of nascent sage wafts in the air. While you scan your surroundings for hummingbirds, he tells you that his work often necessitates travel, hence his unfamiliarity with the area. 

“Does it ever get lonely?” You ask, not thinking much of it. He gives you a look you can’t quite place, so you elaborate. “Traveling all the time, I mean.” 

He tilts his head, more inquisitive than offended. “What makes you think it’d be lonely?” 

“I just think I’d get homesick after a while, always being in an unfamiliar place. I’d miss my family and friends.” 

When he continues staring at you in silence with those unreadable eyes, you swear you want to slam your head repeatedly against a wall. Not everyone has a good relationship with their family or people to call their friends. The weight of your potential insensitivity comes crashing down on you like a tsunami. 

You move your hands around wildly, rushing to correct your discourtesy. “Uh, I mean, that isn’t to say you need those things!” 

“You don’t think I have any friends?” 

Your face must be radiating more heat than a furnace. Still, the embarrassment doesn’t reach a point where you’re unable to notice his omission of the word family. “I didn’t—” 

Contrary to the reaction you were expecting, Chrollo laughs. Not a little chuckle, but a genuine laugh, hearty in a way that stands in stark contrast to his otherwise reserved demeanor. The smile it imprints on his face somehow feels different than what he’s displayed before. Those were always so well timed, lasting as long as necessary and never a second more. It hits you then just how handsome this man is. Alabaster skin, soft and glossy hair, lips as rosy as the blush on his cheeks from his outburst of laughter. 

It doesn’t last long, he’s quick to school himself. The speed he does so is almost unnatural. “I apologize, I’m only teasing. You’re very expressive, [First].” 

You let out something between a huff and a sigh. “God, I felt so awful…” 

“I can tell,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender when you send him a non-threatening glare. “To answer your question… I’ve never thought about it much. I suppose it is lonely at times.” 

This revelation pours a bucket of ice-cold water over the embers of your indignation. Your face softens and a stinging pain shoots throughout your body. You can’t bring yourself to remain miffed when you’re the one who dredged this topic up. People use humor as a means to cope, that may be what Chrollo does. 

“Enough about me, though. I’m far more interested in you.” 

You shift in your seat. Did it always feel so warm out? 

“Here, let me guess. You’re certainly a student. Hm… of the humanities, perhaps?” 

“You got the student part right,” you agree. “I’m majoring in criminal psychology.”

There’s something like a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh? Is that so? You want to catch criminals, then?” 

“Er… not exactly. It’s more that I want to help them.”

He blinks. “Help them?”

“Not, like, as an accomplice,” you earnestly reassure, to which he smiles, “How do I explain it… take the city around us, right? It’s considered one of the most dangerous in the United States of Saherta.” 

As if on cue, a cacophony of police sirens begins blaring in the distance. 

“In the 80s and 90s, there was a surge of incarceration, yet crime as a whole set higher records each year. The policy at the time was ‘build more prisons, give longer sentences’. Obviously, that didn’t work out very well for anyone… except for private prisons maybe… that’s a whole different beast. Anyway, you reap what you sow. Crime rate is going down, but communities were gutted by these policies. There’s still a lot of work to be done. I want to understand ‘deviant’ behavior so I can see what safety nets would benefit them the most.” 

Chrollo is such an excellent listener that unlike before, you no longer feel the pressure to remain succinct and have little qualms completely delving into your passion. His body language suggests total engagement. 

“Ah, so you view crime as a result of societal shortcomings.” 

“It’s more nuanced than that,” you shake your head. “Hell, even when there were only four people on earth according to the Bible, Cain went ahead and committed murder anyway. That’s like… killing 25% of the population… how messed up. Wait. If there were only four people on earth, who did Cain go on to marry? How does that work…? Asexual reproduction…?” 

“The Quran says Cain and Abel both had twin sisters,” Chrollo offers. 

“Alright, that makes more sense than asexual reproduction. Okay! Enough about theology! Back to crime. There’s no totally eradicating it, but there is circumventing it. That’s what I want to help do.” 

You’ve been so preoccupied with verbalizing your thoughts, you failed to notice he’s scooted slightly closer to you. There’s enough room for decorum yet you can’t help feeling slightly flustered. Why this cute guy is still hanging around despite the fact you casually mentioned asexual reproduction not once, but twice, is a phenomenon that transcends human reason. 

This is so going to be one of those interactions that haunts you periodically at three in the morning for the rest of your life. 

“It’s a noble pursuit,” Chrollo comments. Then, he places a hand to his chin. “Forgive me if this comes off as pessimistic, but… what if you put in all that work, only for nothing significant to change?” 

You shrug. “I’ve considered that plenty, trust me. It’s fine if I don’t kickstart a utopia. So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.” 

“One person, huh?” 

It seems more like a rhetorical musing on his part, so you allow yourself to be momentarily distracted. In your peripherals, there’s a flash of colors, shades of green and red bleeding together. A low buzz accompanies the sporadic sight. The blur moves erratically, high to low, then low to high. 

You cover your mouth to stifle a gasp, then whisper to your companion, “Chrollo! Look! A hummingbird!” 

The thrum of nature is a wonder you’ll never tire of. It inspires awe that reflects in your eyes like a mirror, enchants without needing to cast a spell. You wrongly assume that Chrollo must be partaking in the same miracle that has stolen your attention. He’s fixated, yes, but not on the right subject matter. He’s still staring at you. This disruption of your expectations can only be explained away by the possibility he hasn’t spotted the creature yet. To remedy this, you slowly point in the hummingbird’s direction. Finally, he breaks his gaze from your form, acknowledging what it is you find so fascinating. 

By then, it’s too late. Your newly made acquaintance departs as swiftly as it arrived. 

“Aw, that’s a shame,” you lament. The disappointment you’d feel if you were in his shoes would be immeasurable. “You didn’t get to see it for very long.” 

You have no concrete proof, but you swear every smile he wears is different than the one before it. 

“It’s alright. I saw something far better.” 

Curious, you glance to your right, searching for whatever it is. You must’ve misinterpreted whatever he was looking at before. “Something better than a hummingbird?” 

“You could say that.” 

The remainder of the time you spend together is relatively uneventful. Chrollo asks you a great deal about yourself, ranging from your hobbies to book recommendations. You try to return the favor — as is only polite, in your opinion — yet the conversation never lingers on him long before circling back to you. It isn’t until you say you feel vain talking about yourself so much that he offers some morsels of knowledge. Aside from traveling for his occupation, he’s something of an antiquarian, hence his interest in the Starling House’s event. He also reveals he has colleagues coming into town soon, the aforementioned ‘friends’ you questioned the existence of. The way he teases is so devoid of malice, you can’t bring yourself to be upset. 

The hour flies by. Good looks aside, he’s a remarkable conversationalist. There’s never an awkward silence or social misstep. One could even call him perfection incarnate. His steady cadence, command of language, meticulously formed ideas… they’re reminiscent of cogs in an automaton turning together in complete harmony. Paradoxically, this immaculate image speaks to some underlying defect in his character he mustn’t want anyone to see. There is such a thing as being too perfect. 

For whatever reason, this draws you in closer rather than repelling you. 

Chrollo’s disappointment is palpable when he glances at his watch. It’s then you’re reminded that all good things must come to an end. 

“I—” 

“It—” 

You both start and stop talking at the same time. When it’s made obvious you intend to stay silent until he speaks his piece, he motions to you with his hands, insisting you go first. 

“It was very nice meeting you, Chrollo,” you say, your voice softening. It’s amazing how you can feel your previously discarded sheepishness returning in real-time. Amazing and annoying. “I, uh, hope you enjoy the event.” 

“Please, I should be the one thanking you,” he insists. Then, for such a well-spoken man, he goes uncharacteristically quiet. Deliberating on some issue you’ll never be privy to. “You’ve already helped me a lot, but could I possibly ask for one more thing?” 

You give a nod.

“May I have your phone number?” 

You stare at him.

He stares at you. 

You continue staring at him.

He continues staring at you. 

His request echoes through your head like it was spoken in a vast cavern. Phone number… phone number... you have one of those. He is asking for it. He wants to remain in touch. Indeed, that is what the statement normally means. Ah, it must be in a platonic sense! It’s nice to have someone to talk to, especially since you both share many interests. Not many of your friends are chomping at the bit to discuss if obtaining the philosopher’s stone was a literal practice or meant to be interpreted metaphorically. 

Whoops, you left the poor guy waiting for a response. 

“S-Sure!” 

He hands you his phone without delay. You put in your contact info, then hold it up for him to take. His fingers brush over yours when he picks it back up and you shiver. 

Well, that was certainly nice. You’re forming a blossoming friendship. You love making new friends. The word repeats in your head as if it were a broken record. Friends, friends, friends. Don’t look too into this. Put your magnifying glass down, brain. The stupid three pounds of gray matter delight in tormenting you with outrageous ideas and conclusions. There’s nothing flirtatious happening here. 

“Also, I hope you don’t mind my saying so…” he trails off, weaving a web you willingly allow yourself to get trapped in, “But you are very beautiful, [First].” 

… 

Ohhhh, he’s been flirting with you this entire time, hasn’t he? 

-

Going on a date is a harrowing experience. 

For some unknown reason, your traitorous amygdala regards going to a café at noon with the same severity it would if a lion were actively chasing you down. Your flight or fight response raises the banners of war. The army it amasses digs its trenches, readies the cannons, its matches lit to fire off the artillery on standby. Who is the dreaded opponent, one may ask? No one. Absolutely no one. Incredibly enough, you can actively recognize this fact, and still, your physiological response claims it knows better. 

Social anxiety is so stupid. You thought you and your body were supposed to be on the same team. Whatever inspired this mutiny, whether it be serotonin deficiency or some other science-y term you can’t pronounce, you most certainly don’t appreciate it. 

To be fair, your parent’s reaction didn’t inspire much confidence. Your dad was asking for information on Chrollo you’re 90% sure could be used to conduct a background check, whereas your mom posited the idea he’s a human trafficker. You felt like a lawyer trying to plead your case for why it’s okay that an adult such as yourself may go on a date (sacrilegious, you know, premeditated murder would be more excusable). With some solid arguments and a few instances of stretching the truth (this sounds far nicer than the word lying), the tempest was dissipated. If Chrollo ever were to meet your parents, you’ll have to tell him he’s actually a sensitive, poetic soul that donates to orphanages and saves kittens from burning down buildings. He’s also celibate. More important than any of those things, though, he’s a political centrist. 

Suddenly everything in your closet either felt prudish enough to befit a woman entering the convent, or raunchy enough you’d need to wear a trench coat to leave the house unobstructed. In the end, you find a skirt that’d pass your middle school fingertip test and a cute blouse that shouldn’t land you in purgatory. 

Your hands are shaking when you go to do the winged eyeliner on your left eye. Then you sneeze while applying mascara, granting a raccoon appearance you could’ve done without. You feel wound up so tight there a mere poke could shatter you into millions of pieces. This is great. Millions of years of evolution led up to this. That selfish, inconsiderate fish should’ve never grown legs and stepped on land. Everything’s gone wrong since then. Fuck that fish. 

Ultimately, you succumb and take one of your ‘stage fright’ medications. If it’s doing anything to help, you can’t tell yet. 

You have to beg your dad to stop staring out the window with a pair of binoculars. 

Eventually, a sleek black car pulls in front of your house. 

Following the theme of the day, you almost trip over yourself walking out the front door. Your phone buzzes — no doubt it’s Chrollo telling you he’s here — but you decide to just go to the car rather than text him back. He must’ve spotted you, for he exits and gives you a wave. You’re grateful he did that while a considerable distance away. There was a time a guy waved at you and you thought he wanted a high five. Needless to say, that was a traumatic incident no amount of therapy could help alleviate. 

“You look absolutely lovely,” he compliments. Your Broca’s area temporarily malfunctions at this bold declaration. Fortunately, you gather yourself fast enough to stop yourself from saying “you too”. 

“Thank you,” the phrase comes out as smooth as butter. You silently congratulate yourself for your immaculate delivery of two words. “Wow… you have such a nice car. And here I thought you were a fellow member of the middle class. Am I allowed to touch this?” 

Chrollo chuckles, having gotten used to the peculiar way you word things after all your electronic communication. No matter how you expressed yourself, he still texted you back, so you figured he must be okay with whatever it is you’re doing. He would’ve blocked you by now otherwise. 

His reply comes as he holds the passenger side door open. “Ah, don’t worry. There was a bit of a mixup at the car rental place. I wasn’t expecting something of this quality either.” 

You tuck this piece of knowledge away for later, should any sugar daddy-esque allegations be thrown your way. One can never be too prepared. 

Sinking into the leather seat is a luxurious experience, although it's cold against the exposed area of your thighs. Chrollo slides into the driver’s seat not long after and sets the car into drive. You silently wonder if your neighbors think you’ve gotten into an Uber. 

The short trip to the café soothes your electrically fried nerves. You’re once again reminded of how good he is at making you forget your anxiety, he could put SSRIs out of business. Or maybe the propranolol is finally working. Whichever it may be, by the time you both order your drinks, you feel more giddy than nervous. Is it a good idea to drink a caffeinated beverage when anxiety threatens to drag you into limbo at any second? Probably not. Does that mean you’re going to wisely choose a different beverage? Nope. 

The sunlight is harsher in the afternoon, but you find this is offset by an occasional breeze. No one else is present in the outdoor dining area except for you and Chrollo. You choose the seat facing a row of bushes so you can observe the house finches and house sparrows fluttering about. One little fella is helping itself to a dirt bath in the freshly spread-out mulch. You coo at the adorable display, pointing it out to Chrollo who admits it is a precious sight. You’ve made it your raison d'être to convince him that every bird is equally fascinating, whether it be a rainbow lorikeet or a common pigeon. 

He takes the first sip of the drink you recommended. 

“Well? What do you think?” 

“It’s good,” he decides with a smile. “I can see why you get it so often.” 

“Right? I’ve thought about conducting an Ocean’s Eleven type heist to get the ingredients they use to make it.” 

“Oh? Do you grant a moral exception to thievery?” 

Despite how lightheartedly he phrases this, his eyes have a certain intensity to them. You mull over the question for this reason. 

“Hm… it depends, I guess? Some people need to steal to survive. I probably wouldn’t care if a rich person or mega-corporation got stolen from either,” you say. He quirks an eyebrow at your last statement and you hastily add, “A-As long as no one gets hurt, of course.” 

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his amusement. “Your reasoning is very cute.” 

You groan and shrink back into the garden chair. “I know, I know, that probably came off as terribly naive and self-contradictory… the issue is complex. Giving a one-size-fits-all type of consensus feels impossible. How about you? What do you think?” 

“Coveting is mankind’s original sin,” Chrollo begins. He’s using a tone that tells you to prepare for an in-depth explanation. “It’s a theme that’s recurrent throughout history. David and Bathsheba, Hades and Persephone, Heathcliff and Catherine… we always want what we cannot have. This dilemma never leaves us entirely. We either ignore it, despair in it, or succumb to it. The desire to steal is as involuntary as the diaphragm contracting for us to breathe or the electric signals that cause our heart to beat.” 

A house finch begins its soulful serenade in the background. 

“Wouldn’t you say that calling it involuntary implies we can’t control it, though?” You query. 

“The only way to exercise total control over it is to kill it.” 

“Some parts of us are better off dead,” you decide. “Getting what you want doesn’t guarantee satisfaction. The examples you listed… maybe they were happy for a time, but ultimately, their transgressions caught up to them.” 

“Is a moment of bliss not worth a lifetime of anguish?” 

“Maybe, if I was a sensualist.” 

He rests his chin on his fist, the skin beneath his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Is that what you’re saying I am, darling?” 

Your eyes widen and you almost choke on your drink at the unexpected pet name. Warmth floods your cheeks and you take a long second to recompose yourself. Your blatant display of embarrassment further fuels his amusement, he actually chuckles. You consider kicking him under the table, but decide that isn’t very ladylike. Then you remember it's the twenty-first century, and to honor your feminist ancestors, you scrunch up a napkin into a ball and fling it at him. Although the aerodynamics of your makeshift projectile are questionable, it almost hits him. Until he catches it with admittedly impressive reflexes. 

“You have a good throwing arm.” 

“And you should consider retiring from your white-collar job to join a baseball team,” you take a sip of your delicious drink. This is definitely the most memorable date you’ve been on. “But no, I don’t think you’re a sensualist. I honestly don’t know how I’d classify you. You’re jaded… almost misanthropic. You acknowledge the world for what it is, but it’s like you once thought it could be better. You don’t care to be proven right or wrong about it anymore, you want something else.” 

“Ah… when put that way, I must seem pathetic,” he muses, his casual air hardly matching the severity of the words spoken. 

“Not at all!” Your passionate outcry appears to momentarily take him aback. “If you’re still looking for something, that means deep down, you have hope you might eventually find it. To me, that’s admirable.” 

He regards you for a few moments, before closing his eyes, his countenance strangely content. “You’re a very interesting woman, [First].” 

“Pfft, not really.” 

“I’m afraid this a point I’ll have to insist on,” or so he says, but you both know he secretly relishes his contrarian ways. “I have to wonder, though. How is it you came to gather any of this about me?” 

“Your opinion on books.” 

He blinks. “Pardon?” 

“We interpret media through a lens that’s formed by our experiences, so… I dunno. You can just infer a lot from what a person gets caught up with in a story.” 

In Chrollo’s case, what he doesn’t pay attention to is equally telling, although it took you a while to notice his unique display of apathy. He’d brush on certain themes while giving a rather surface-level commentary. Playing it safe, almost. He still had such an excellent way of weaving his words, that telling it came from another person's loom was difficult. It wasn’t until you hit on a subject he truly cared for that you could tell the difference. He’d give insights so particular to him that they must contain the true essence of his character. 

Even if it is a mere glimmer. 

He speaks your name.

“Hm?” 

“About what I’m searching for…” he unwraps the napkin you unceremoniously threw his way earlier, smooths out the wrinkles, then returns it. “I think I may have found it.” 

-

Everything has a way of escalating faster than you anticipated. 

You’re about thirty minutes into the movie Perfect Blue. For some time now, you’ve been praising its merits to Chrollo, who recently said you should watch it together. This begged the question of where. In the months since you’ve begun dating, while your parents have taken a liking to him, you didn’t think the subject matter of the movie should be proudly displayed in your living room. 

To remedy this, Chrollo suggested watching it in his hotel room. 

You couldn’t fully explain your initial apprehension if you tried. You felt comfortable around him and have been alone together plenty. Yet for some reason, being alone with a man in a hotel room produced this mental image you weren’t sure you were ready for. He never pushed you or asked why you seemed hesitant to take things further than kissing and some light petting. His lack of questioning had the unintended side effect of birthing different doubts. 

Does he not want anything else? Is he only acting like it doesn’t bother him? Will a day come when he tires of your squeamishness and simply moves on? 

It’s this taunting mantra that haunted you in the lobby, the elevator, then the long, impersonal hallway to his room. 

Your chest feels heavy enough that you wonder if lead has filled your lungs. 

When he sat next to you on the couch, you barely registered his presence, much less his question if the temperature in the room felt agreeable. At some point, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Then his hand began to meander, although his attention never left the screen. He played with your hair. Gently stroked your forearm. His hand wandered down, down, down, to the hem of your skirt. He straightens the lightly bunched fabric out. Your heart pounds. 

Chrollo’s fingers stay there, seemingly placated. 

During the scene where Mima sees her reflection as her idol persona, his hand creeps onto the exposed skin of your thighs. He gives it a gentle, tentative squeeze. A soft gasp leaves you and your attention turns to him. Immediately, your eyes meet his in the dark. The side of his face is lightly illuminated by an array of cool tones. He uses his free hand to cup your chin, the pad of his thumb rubbing your lower lip. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

He speaks the question with such rapture, low and quiet. 

Your heart violently hits your ribcage like it’s trying to burst free. 

Silently, you nod. He tilts his head to the side and slots his lips against yours. There’s a pleasant buzz that tries so hard to overpower the frantic adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your body is at war with itself; indulgence or indignance. It’s a conflict that’ll never have a winner. You want to enjoy it — and you are, you think — so why does your biological makeup hold you as a prisoner without ransom? He tastes nice, feels nice. He did everything right. You don’t want to tremble at what’s a normal aspect of a relationship as if it were death itself hanging over your head. 

It’s this mounting frustration at your condition that spurs you into action. 

While maintaining the languid kiss, you situate yourself on his lap, a gesture that causes him to inhale sharply. He may be as surprised at your boldness as you are. You snake your arms around his neck and intensify the kiss. Humming, he reciprocates your ardor. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips and you grant him entry. He tastes of dark chocolate and mint, a combination you wish you could get drunk on, if only to put your tense body at ease. 

One hand squeezes and massages your thigh, the other cups your feverish face. In this position, you’re afforded no modesty. You can feel your skirt hiking up, exposing more of you. His fingers explore the new territory. They venture dangerously close to your panties, though he doesn’t go beyond there, as if respecting an invisible barrier. The cocktail of emotions this invokes is impossible to properly sort through. 

Can he feel the heat emanating from your body? Your pulse which finds new highs every minute? You want to lose yourself, but you can’t, your anxiety always drags you back kicking and screaming. It is an unforgiving warden that thinks you’d be better off in a cell. 

Chrollo admires you when you pull back, in desperate need of air. You’re starting to feel dizzy and you don’t know if it’s the right kind. There’s something hard forming beneath where you sit. His lust for you is apparent, and you want to please, want to be normal. It should be fun. Your friends regale you with stories of taking strangers home and never feeling more than butterflies in their stomach. That’s what you want. Not this contortion of the aforementioned organ that makes you think your insides are slowly liquifying. 

You still haven’t fully caught your breath, each one growing more shallow, more panicked. He finds other ways to entertain himself, namely, by lavishing your clammy skin with kisses. Your jawline, neck, then collarbone. He’s so calm you think you might be envious. Finally, he works his way back up, teasing your earlobe with his teeth, his breath warm as it fans against you. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

“[First],” his voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. Garbled, distant. “Should we take this to the bedroom?” 

You break into too many shards to fix. 

You get up. Straighten your skirt. You think you mutter something about needing a moment. Your legs don’t feel right. They move anyway. The bathroom’s door knob is like ice. You grab a hand towel. Turn on the faucet. Soak the towel until it drips water down the sink basin. Sit on the floor. The tiles are almost as cold enough to help. You place the towel around your neck. Your ears are ringing and you wish they’d stop. You hug your legs to your chest. What is it you’re supposed to do? Breathe? 

It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass. 

It always does. 

Just hold on a bit longer. 

Feeling comes back in your hands first. It spreads throughout your body, though the antidote is far too late. Exhaustion is the next thing you register. The kind that seeps into your cells, makes your limbs feel like dead weight. Cognition returns as well. You remember where you are, who you’re with, what you’ve done. 

It’s been a while since you’ve experienced one of these. Somehow, it’s worse than you remember. Infinitely worse. 

A shiver runs down your spine. Has it always been so cold? You wonder what temperature your body was running at for you not to have noticed sooner. 

How nice it is that your homeostasis decided to return. Is your sympathetic nervous system giving itself a pat on the back? Celebrating and popping champagne bottles at yet another job well done? We’ve done it successfully again, folks, you imagine it cheering. We’ve stopped her from doing something completely normal and harmless! 

You’d laugh, but this time, you can’t bring yourself to. 

As tempting as it is to stay here and pray for the tile floor to swallow you whole, you sincerely doubt that’ll happen, so you’re left with the far less appealing option of being an adult and facing the predicament you’re in. Getting back up, you’re treated to a glimpse of your reflection. 

The change in your complexion would make any onlooker think you’ve seen a ghost. 

Abruptly, you’re fourteen again, trying to get your mom’s attention so you can beg her to take you home because the social gathering of ten or so people is just too much. Next, you’re fifteen, talked into some weekend youth getaway because saying ‘no’ makes you feel guilty and the car ride has another two hours remaining. You feel sick, terribly sick, but you don’t want to get sick, because then your peers would think you’re strange, so you sit there and endure. Then you’re sixteen, locked in the stall of your high school bathroom, trying not to pass out because you think it’d be an inconvenience to anyone that happened upon you. 

You thought you were over this. You’ve done the therapy, read the self-help books, and taken your medication every day like clockwork. 

What’s left for you to do? 

Why does it always come back? 

Chrollo asks if everything’s alright when you walk back over to the couch. You say yes. He then asks if he can get you anything. A glass of water, please, is your reply.

You can tell he’s examining you when he hands the glass over. Your face warms — not in a fun way. The television screen is dark and yet you’re fixated on it like it’s the most intriguing thing in the world. Going from feeling as if you’re a stranger in your own body to being hyper-aware of everything never fails to give you whiplash. You can hear the low thrum of the air conditioning, footsteps coming from the hallway, the steady drip of the sink he filled your glass from. You think to rub your eyes then stop yourself; that’d smudge your mascara. It’d be nice if he could at least think you’re pretty as you struggle to hold yourself together. 

“Was it something I did?” Chrollo questions. He almost sounds… curious, a concept you furiously scrub from your head. You’re exhausted and your brain is waving the white flag. Attributing false interpretations to his words is not going to help. 

“N-No, not at all, I, um,” you have the words, you just don’t want to say them, so you opt for taking another drink instead. The glass runs out of water, your safe haven disappearing with it. “Just… a panic attack. It happens… sometimes.” 

“Entirely unprompted?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. “Kind of…? It— nothing about it is exactly logical. I can know I’m fine, believe it too, and still, that doesn’t matter. It’ll happen anyway. I guess I have some reservations about that level of physical intimacy, but what my body decides to do is completely overkill.” 

“You always minimize the role your anxiety plays in your life,” Chrollo points out. You’re grasping the glass tight enough that your knuckles hurt. “You can’t mention it to me without making light of it in some way. Is there a reason for that?” 

Well, he’s got you there. 

You’re about to joke and ask if he’s the one studying the behavioral sciences, when you realize that’d just be proving his point. 

So uncharacteristic acrimony bubbles to the surface instead.

“A reason? I can give you more than one. It’s stupid, it’s annoying. The most simple things become like a fucking life or death experience for me and I can’t stand it,” you feel tears gather at your lower lashline but you’re too far gone to care. It’s a good thing your mascara is waterproof. “And then I… I think sex sounds nice, but when it actually gets to the moment, I feel so guilty and anxious and wrong that I leave my partner frustrated or thinking they’re some sort of monster.” 

Usually, Chrollo's countenance is difficult to read, but there’s this raw emotion that makes itself known. Understanding? Relief? You don’t know for certain. It disappears without a trace, leaving you no way to confirm or deny your intuition. It’s probably too fried to be reliable, anyway. 

“Hm… you must think all this would put me off, then. Make me want to move on to someone else.” 

A knife stabbing you in the gut and twisting its blade until your viscera turned to mush would hurt less. 

“Sweetheart, I was already aware that it was worse than what you let on,” his voice sounds so kind and near, you marvel at it, the gravitational pull drawing you in. You barely realize he’s brought you into an embrace. Your cheek is against his chest, right above his heart. His has a calm, steady rhythm, whereas yours is picking back up once more. “Your avoidance of talking on the phone, how soft your voice gets when interacting with strangers, the way you act like you’re an inconvenience by asking for the slightest assistance.” 

The tears you tried holding in break free, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. 

“I find these qualities of yours very endearing. You can go from passionately speaking about your interests over dinner to going shy the second the waiter walks over. You care so much, feel so much… it’s a wonder to me. You experience this life in the exact opposite manner I do.”

With the hand he isn’t using to keep you secure against him, he rubs your back up and down. 

“Ah, my poor, sweet girl. What a tender heart you have,” he whispers. His grip on you tightens. That’s when you hear it — the undeniable sound of his heart beating a bit faster than it did before. “I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not after all the effort I put into stealing it for myself. No, I’m almost hurt you entertained the thought. Have I ever treated you with anything less than the utmost care? Hm?” 

Chrollo starts to pull you away from him, yet you refuse, clinging adamantly to his torso in an attempt to hide your face. He ignores the way you shake your head and by exerting the slightest force, achieves his original goal. His fingers find purchase on your chin, which he tilts upward, allowing himself an unobscured view of your puffy eyes and runny makeup. He smiles, wiping away your tears with such gentleness, he must think you’re made of porcelain. 

Sniffling, you remember he asked you a question, and attempt cobbling together a coherent response. Such is the polite thing to do. “I guess not.” 

“And why do you think that is?” 

“... The once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to conduct an in-depth case study for your future dissertation on GAD and SAD?” 

His visage lands somewhere between mild bemusement and exacerbation. “I know you’re smarter than that. Try again.” 

“My winning personality, once you wade through all the mental illness?” 

“That certainly plays a role.” 

“I know I’m cute, too. I suppose that helps. Otherwise, I’d be completely and utterly fucked.” 

“Yes, yes — you are terribly cute.” 

Sensing your hesitancy to land on a definitive answer, he decides to spell it out himself. “I’m fond of you, to a degree I previously thought myself incapable of. I have a… callous disposition, for lack of a better word. Yet for whatever reason, this doesn’t seem to bother you. I’ve never cared for subjective terms like ‘good’ or ‘evil’, but… if there is goodness in this world, it’d be found in you.” 

Chrollo’s knuckles brush against your cheekbone as he speaks, seemingly bewitched by the glittering stream your tears left behind. Tangible proof of your emotions that tumult like a tempest, whereas his often remains an unmoving body of water. 

You take his cheeks in your hands and glare at him. This time, when your lower lip trembles, it’s with righteous anger, not sorrow. “Why do you always talk about yourself like you’re the world’s biggest villain?” 

His eyes slightly widen — you’ve never used a tone like this with him before, or anyone else, for that matter  — though his composure doesn’t wane for long. 

“So what if you don’t think everything is sunshine and rainbows? You aren’t heartless; you just know the dangers of putting your heart on display for everyone else to see. I can’t blame you for that, from what you’ve told me.”

He’s never been particularly forthcoming about sharing details from his past. What you do know is that he grew up in extreme poverty, without parents or a guardian, scraping by with some other children in a similar situation. You never pushed to learn more. There was this quiet melancholy that possessed him in the rare moments he shared glimpses of his childhood. The specters that haunted him could almost be felt lingering in the atmosphere, turning the air heavy and thick. 

“You lost a precious friend in such a cruel way. That loss of innocence, it’s unforgivable, it’s completely unfair…!”

This time, your tears aren’t for you, they’re for a little boy you’ll never know and a girl that you couldn’t if you tried. “I don’t get why you’re so harsh on yourself. You act like you’ve done something unforgivable.” 

He parts and closes his lips. Whatever he intended to say, he must’ve decided against it. Instead, he pulls you back against him, almost greedily. He presses kisses atop your head then murmurs a few words you can’t quite catch. Your body is deprived of energy, having flickered through almost every major emotion a human being can experience. If your parents wouldn’t have fussed over the act, you could’ve fallen asleep on him for the night. 

The person who inadvertently caused your blistering anxiety is also the best balm for it. 

It’s unexplainable, teetering on the edge of delusion, this sentiment that he could shield you from all harm. He’s always so sure of himself when you remain plagued by indecisiveness. He can talk you out of any irrational thought, anchor you when a stressful situation is beginning to be too much, and understand you almost eerily well. He’s able to piece together your chaotic thought processes with next to no context. He listens to you, remembers everything you say (and you mean everything), and genuinely values your input, even if he disagrees with your opinions. 

This level of an intimate connection is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

“No one’s ever cried for my sake before,” he thinks aloud. He’s stroking your back again, almost mindlessly. You swear there’s something magical about his touch. 

“Do you think I’m weird?” 

“There are a lot of words I’d use to describe you,” he decides. As always, he’s clever at avoiding questions he doesn’t wish to answer. “Currently, the one that stands out to me the most would be…” 

You feel his lips curl into a smile against you. 

“Warm.” 

-

The arboretum is far different in autumn. Green leaves have transitioned into rich auburn and golden shades, hesitant buds nowhere to be seen. The grass beneath your feet is crunchier, the foliage dry and scattered, almost as if it were trying to form a protective sheath for the earth. No longer can you hear the melody of grasshoppers and buzzing from busy bees. The wind whistles when it blows, the underlying frostiness biting at your cheeks and ears. 

“Ah, would you look at that, it’s a junco,” Chrollo points out. You cover your mouth to muffle a gasp. Thanks in part to your guidance, he’s gotten better at identifying different types of birds. While you’d like to think it’s because he appreciates them too, you’re convinced he finds your excited reaction far more interesting. 

The little blob of black and white hops to and fro, using its feet to rummage for anything edible. You silently lament your lack of birdseed. You’ll have to settle for cheering the tiny friend on from afar. 

Hand in hand, you both traverse the area of your original meeting. Sweet nostalgia swirls in your chest. You’ve always found it befuddling how a single chance encounter can permanently change the trajectory of your life. In the moment, you have no idea how your actions will go on to form ripples that influence the future. Whether this is chaos theory or some other fancy metaphysical-sounding concept, you haven’t the slightest clue. 

What you do know is that meeting Chrollo was a catalyst for something greater. 

A wave of chills cascades over you.

“Are you cold?” He inquires, his tone having this ‘I told you so’ quality to it that you don’t appreciate. You’re wearing a light beige, plaid fitted blazer, that while chic, doesn’t have much insulation. You waved off his initial concern by saying you’ll warm up once you both get to walking around. So much for that. 

“Cold is a mindset,” the chattering of your teeth doesn’t do much to help your cause. He raises an eyebrow. “Mind over matter… mind over matter…” 

Chrollo shrugs his coat off and drapes it over you. “I wouldn’t want you to get sick, dear.” 

“You sound like my grandma.” 

“The one who tried taking my head wrappings off, or the one who kicked me?” 

“A combination of the two that coalesces their tendency to fuss over me.” 

“You’re very easy to fuss over,” Chrollo chuckles at the face you make at him. “You’re absolutely precious. It’s a mystery to me how you make the smallest acts endearing.” 

At this, you strike a dumb pose, winking at him all the while. “Aha, it’s no mystery. You have my irresistible charm to thank for that.” 

He sighs wistfully. “Indeed I do.” 

Although the sage gardens behind the Starling House are no longer in bloom, you decide to swing by anyway. The plans for the remainder of your day follow a similarly simple yet pleasant precedent. You’re going to go window shopping in a quaint commercial district, grab something to eat at a pub, then end the night off with a movie. Chrollo’s trying to convince you to watch some indie flick that’s in black and white and uses a 1.19:1 ratio. You want to watch Alien, a classic he’s never seen like the weirdo he is. 

The walk isn’t long or monotonous. It’s so idyllic that you could believe you’re the only two people in the world. 

However, that isn’t the case. Upon entering the garden, you’re quick to note the presence of another.  

A young woman is kneeling down, murmuring under her breath. She’s acting as if she’s lost something and can’t find it. Frowning, you detach yourself from Chrollo, approaching her with the intent to offer your assistance. She doesn’t lift her head upon hearing the obvious sounds of your footfall. She just continues blindly grasping at the ground. 

“Miss?” You ask, to which her entire body freezes. “Did you drop something? I could help you look for it.” 

She mutters another incomprehensible jumble of words. 

“Hm? What was that?” 

You lean over in an attempt to hear her better. 

Then, much to your confusion, she enunciates your full-given name. Even while doing this, she doesn’t spare you a single glance. 

“Have to… have to…” she’s back to being difficult to make sense of, “I have to…”

 A strange sensation possesses you.

Have you met this woman somewhere before? You do a quick mental scan of her disheveled appearance and come up with nothing definitive. Her hair is matted, her complexion sallow and her cheeks sunken in. Her disoriented state stirs concern within you. It’s a good sign that she’s still conscious and exhibiting motor functions, but the longer you examine her, the more you can tell she isn’t in a proper state of mind. You don’t want to leave her out here alone in such a vulnerable state. You try to push aside the uncanny feeling that came from her apparently recognizing you when you’re certain you’ve never met. 

Chrollo speaks your name. Turning around, you face him just in time to catch a surreal expression forming on his countenance. His eyes widen slightly, his lips part, then he’s reaching out for you. 

The passage of time grinds temporarily to a halt. 

And then there is a visceral burst of energy. 

It’s as if a blizzard manifests from the direction the woman is hunched over in. There’s this thick, harrowing tension that causes your legs to buckle at the knees. Swirls of negative emotions wrap around you in shadowy tendrils. Grief. Hysteria. Rage. Bitterness. Most notable, however, is the sickening yearning to inflict harm. How can a human being produce and project such raw feelings? It’s like hatred itself has been given a palpable form, submerging you in a swamp of mire. 

You don’t understand what’s happening to you, but you do have this primal foreboding that the longer you’re exposed to it, the more endangered you’ll be. 

In the millisecond it takes for you to blink, Chrollo is no longer in your line of sight. 

It’s strange, you think. There are no knives, guns, explosives; or anything that could hurt you in the traditional sense. In a way you could understand and reliably assess the threat level of. 

And still, despite this uncertainty, you have this unshakable premonition that death isn’t far away. 

-

You wake up in a bed that is not your own. 

Your body is drenched in sweat, your muscles sore, and your head feels as if it’s being clamped in a vice-like grip. Trying to get up proves to be a poor decision. Nausea and dizziness force you to lie back down. You take shallow, frantic breaths, wincing at yet another wave of throbbing coming from your temples. Your senses aren’t reliable either. The first few times you open your eyes, dark spots dot your vision. Then there’s your hearing, or lack of. There’s this distant ringing that while slowly fading, isn’t replaced by anything better. Your hearing grows so muffled you almost think earplugs have been jammed in your ear canal. 

Groaning, you manage to lift yourself off the mattress with trembling arms. The dark spots fade away enough for you to make out your surroundings. 

You’re in Chrollo’s hotel room, lying on his bed. 

It’s nighttime. The digital clock sitting on the bedside table reads 3:40 a.m.  

The next thing you do is feel around for your phone. It should be in the back pocket of your jeans, but it isn’t there. 

The brisk air takes your breath away when you tug the comforter off. Your body groans with protest at all the movement, yet you ignore its request to lay back down, the situation at hand far too perplexing. Your outfit is the same as the one you put on this morning, aside from your boots, which sit together near the wall. You then assess your body for any physical injuries, finding nothing visible to explain your current malaise. Are you hungover? Frowning, you dismiss the idea. You know your tolerance well and never try pushing it. 

Taking small steps and using the wall as leverage, you make your way over to the adjoined bathroom. You fill a dental cup with water and down it instantly. After satiating your thirst, you call out for Chrollo, your voice gravelly with sleep. 

No response. 

Sighing, you slink over to the closed bedroom door. Your equilibrium steadies itself enough that you only need to grab onto something every few steps. The handle doesn’t budge. You try again, exerting more force — still nothing. The subsequent attempts end in the same manner. There’s no denying it, it’s been locked. That begs the question of why. Safety, maybe? It’s possible Chrollo stepped out for whatever reason and wanted to ensure no one could get to you. Then again, that’s what the deadbolt on the door leading to the hotel hallway is for. 

You don’t want to start rattling the door and making a scene when you’re certain there’s a solid explanation for this. He has to come back eventually, his stuff is still here. Although, you can’t help noticing how sparse his personal belongings are. The book he was reading no longer sits on the bedside table, the framed picture of the two of you gifted by your parents isn’t on the wardrobe either. Next, you check the closet, finding it in a similarly desolate state. You once pillaged a shirt of his when you grew tired of wearing a dress, so you know its usual presentation. The hangers remain on the rack yet everything else is gone.

Chrollo told you his job had placed him in this city indefinitely. Is he planning to move to another hotel? 

Not knowing what else to do, you sit on the edge of the bed. The former pounding in your head has soothed into a far less egregious dull ache. You must’ve been asleep for a decent chunk of time, this initial grogginess is what you experience upon first waking up in the morning. You hope you weren’t unconscious for too long. It's an unsettling thought, being in that vulnerable state, totally shut off from the world. 

A few minutes of absentmindedly admiring the twinkling lights that make up the city skyline’s pass. 

Then you hear the door handle jingle. 

Chrollo silently examines you. It’s almost as if he’s gauging your entire being, anticipating what is to come. His mouth is set in a straight line and he’s standing unnervingly still. There’s this intensity to him that has you breaking off eye contact. Your mouth goes dry and you temporarily forget how to form words. You had so many burning questions in his absence, why is it that they've been wiped clean from your head now that he’s here? 

When you find the courage to look up at him again, there’s not a vestige of his former expression. The grave lines have smoothened out and you no longer believe you’re face to face with a stranger. 

“How are you feeling?” He’s quick to close the distance. The mattress dips, adjusting to his presence by your side.  

“Oh, uh, not the best, but… I don’t think it’s anything serious,” you say. Silvery moonlight shines into the room, illuminating him in an otherworldly veil. Goosebumps line your skin when he takes the side of your face into his hand. He’s cold. “I’m mostly just confused. Is— is everything okay? Why am I here?” 

“How much do you remember?” 

Remember, remember… that’s right, you hadn’t given that much thought. You pick through your hazy memories aloud. “Well, we were at the arboretum, just walking around. I remember heading to the gardens behind the Starling House. Then… um…” 

You squint and furrow your eyebrows together. It’s as if your recollection was a film reel that had been trimmed after that point. You try piecing together a mental image of the garden. Hummingbirds? Sage? No, that isn’t right, you’re thinking of its spring appearance. The colors would be more muted, there’d be less shrubbery. The image grows sharper.

Then there’s a shadow. 

Vaguely human-shaped, situated right in the middle of the mosaic you’re trying to form. Their outline isn’t solid, it’s splotchy, like water paint left to run on a canvas. 

Finally, something clicks. 

“That woman!” You exclaim. The corner of his lips twitch downward. “That’s right! Is she okay? She seemed so out of it.” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“How is that possible? You were—” 

“Let’s focus on you for now,” he cuts you off. There’s a finality in his voice you can’t bring yourself to challenge. “Can you tell me what symptoms you’re experiencing?” 

“Um, some disorientation and a headache.”

“I see. I’ll get you some painkillers, then.” 

You grab his wrist to stop him when he starts getting up. “I’d really prefer you told me what happened first.”

When he doesn’t immediately acquiesce to your request, you quietly add, “Please.” 

His eyes soften at your gentle, uncertain timbre. He intertwines his fingers with yours and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“Earlier, when we arrived at the garden, you grew lightheaded and fainted.” 

You take a moment to process the information. It seems plausible enough, yet the more you mull over it, the more little details start to catch your attention.

“Okay…” you trail off, pursing your lips. A vengeful throb from your head causes you to wince. He notices — frowns — then places a featherlight kiss against your forehead. The thoughtful gesture doesn’t invoke any pleasant warm fuzzy sensations. “So I fell unconscious for over ten hours and you didn’t… call an ambulance…?” 

“That is correct.” 

You shuffle in your seat, momentarily taken aback at how easygoing he’s acting about the entire ordeal. “Why?” 

“I’ve been monitoring your vitals,” he reassures. Sensing your growing apprehension, he adds, “I can promise that you were never in serious danger. I would’ve acted accordingly if you were.” 

The phrase ‘acted accordingly’ doesn’t tell you much either. What does he mean by that? Is there some threshold you needed to enter for him to have taken you to the hospital? Your various volunteer experiences with the city’s vulnerable communities taught you that if a person is unresponsive for over a minute, an ambulance should be called, just to be on the safe side. Besides, isn’t that just common sense? Chrollo is an intelligent man. You can’t fathom any line of reasoning that’d justify not erring on the side of caution. 

You glance at the clock again. 4:03 a.m. glows in the dim light of the room. It’s late. You wonder what your parents—

Holy shit. 

“Do my mom and dad know?” You glance around as if expecting to find them. There’s no way they wouldn’t have insisted on calling emergency services if you were unconscious for that long. 

“I didn’t inform them, no.” 

“What?” You make no attempts to tone down your incredulity. “Then— they must be out of their minds with worry! My phone, where’s my phone? I need to tell them I’m okay!” 

You shoot up off the bed too fast and your body doesn’t take kindly to the rushed movement. Debilitating lightheadedness causes you to lose your balance. Chrollo steadies your swaying form and helps sit you back down. You scoot away from him as far as you can, your thoughts an absolute mess. Nothing here is making sense. It’s not even a puzzle that’s missing a few pieces, there’s almost nothing to work with at all. 

He’s staring at you in that strange, anticipatory manner again. It makes your stomach churn. 

“My phone, Chrollo,” you hold your hand out. “There’s no way you don’t have it.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t give it to you,” he sounds apologetic too, which makes your subsequent temper flare up even worse. 

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, exasperation winning out. You were trying to be reasonable, but that is over and done with. “You’re acting like— like there’s nothing weird happening! Can you please take this seriously? You’re really starting to freak me out.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I knew this wouldn’t be easy for you, so I wanted to remain calm for your sake.” 

Your tongue couldn’t properly form words if your life depended on it. Sure, remaining calm in a crisis is helpful, but he isn’t acting like this is a crisis. He’s treating it as if he was burdened with sitting you down to relay bad news that no one else had the heart to share. 

You’re starting to think you don’t know the person you’re talking to. 

“For my sake,” you repeat in a wry deadpan. “If that’s true, then tell me what’s actually going on, Chrollo. Because I know you’re bullshitting me.” 

Not calling the ambulance or informing your parents, withholding your phone… then there’s the matter of how he got you here in the first place. Did he carry you through the lobby? No good samaritans thought it was unusual to see a man carrying an unconscious woman up to his room? Hotel staff these days are trained to have a vigilant eye for these situations too. Not one person thought it might be a good idea to ring up law enforcement over such a blatantly suspicious act? 

Nothing is adding up. 

“I’m being more forthcoming than you think,” Chrollo says, as if he’s doing you a favor. He tries reaching out for your hand again, only this time, you don’t allow him. “Everything I’ve said and intend to say is the truth, even if you don’t particularly like it.” 

That’s a hell of a creative way of putting it!

“Who was that woman earlier? What did she do to me?” 

“I have someone ironing out the details, but from what I’ve gathered, she was sent with the intention of killing you. I don’t believe she was aware of the fact herself until you entered her vicinity, triggering the necessary condition for the true culprit’s ability to activate. Otherwise, I certainly wouldn’t have allowed you to get so close.” 

Someone was sent to kill you? You? A run-of-the-mill college student who has no enemies to speak of? It’s not like you’re a part of the fucking mob. That can’t be right, not to mention the bizarre jargon he’s using. There’d be no plausible motive. If he says she was sent, and you choose to believe he isn’t making this all up, that implies it was premeditated. Not a spur-of-the-moment decision. That’d almost make more sense. 

That is, unless… 

You stare at him, eyebrows knitting together. 

“If you’re telling the truth — and right now, that’s a big fucking if — does this have something to do with you?” 

“That’s my clever girl,” he praises, entirely devoid of condescension. The pure fondness in his voice makes you sick. It’s almost as if he’s delighting in watching you piece this nightmare together. “Yes, you haven’t deliberately done anything to earn the wrath of the wrong people. They simply know getting to me is near impossible, hence their decision to go for the next best thing instead. That’d be you, dear.” 

“Oh my god,” you bury your head in your hands. “Why… why am I not freaking out more? I should be hysterical, or, or— I don’t know…” 

“Beta blockers,” he reveals. You look at him like he’s speaking another language. “In anticipation of how… touchy this conversation was going to be, I thought it might be best for you to be in a good headspace while receiving this information for the first time.” 

“You drugged me?” 

“If that’s how you want to look at it.” 

“Because that’s how it is!” 

A lump forms in your throat and lodges itself there. Are you stuck in a hellacious dream? Or hallucinating, perhaps? Visual hallucinations aren’t supposed to be this cohesive or clear. There has to be another explanation. Something you’re missing that’d make this all go away. The beta blocker admission certainly holds weight. Your heart rate, while slightly elevated, isn’t anywhere near as chaotic as it should be. It’d explain the general malaise, fatigue, and lightheadedness too. That, and you doubt you’d be able to think this clearly if there wasn’t something heavy pumping through your system. 

Your eyes hesitantly settle on Chrollo, who sits there perfectly still and almost relaxed. He’s observing you like a hawk. 

“Listen,” you try using a mellower voice. He raises an eyebrow at your drastically different approach. “You had ample opportunity to hurt me and you didn’t. That must mean you have my best intentions at heart, right? Why don’t we try to work something out, because this isn’t sustainable. My absence isn’t going to go unnoticed.” 

Chrollo sighs, heavy if not unsurprised. “Sweetheart, I’m not suffering a break from reality, although I’m sure you’d prefer to rationalize it that way. I assure you I’m lucid and everything I’ve done is intentional. You’ll come to accept it eventually.” 

It isn’t going to help, yet you feel your remaining grains of patience slip through your fingers. 

“What’s this talk about a ‘condition’ and ‘ability’, then?” You challenge. 

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d mention that,” he doesn’t sound like you landed on a reason that’d prove him wrong. “How to explain it… you once told me you think there are phenomena in this world that can’t be explained by empirical evidence. Consider this an example of that. I’m sure you must’ve felt it before you fainted. An intense, concentrated sensation that awoke your primordial fear. Bloodlust.” 

You want to argue until you run out of breath, but this description does strike a chord. Reality itself feels as if it’s drifting further and further away. In an awfully cruel twist, Chrollo and his collected disposition is the most grounding factor you have to latch onto. 

“I’m sure it’s a lot to take in,” he finally replaces that matter-of-fact tone with something resembling compassion, “But know this: you’re not in any danger. Neither are those you care about, so long as you act sensible.” 

Shivering, you hug your arms around your chest. “How can you say that to me so easily? I thought… I thought you…” 

He’s enveloping you from behind. You didn’t even see him move. Weakly, you struggle against his hold, but you’re not in any condition to put up a fight. In the event you were, it’s doubtful it’d make much of a difference. He’s strong. It goes beyond physical strength, into some esoteric realm you’ve become forcibly acquainted with. He’s exerting this slight pressure that makes your heart skip a beat, despite the medication. It isn’t comparable to what you experienced in the garden — there’s no malice — it feels more like a warning. 

“You’re surprisingly sensitive to Nen,” he murmurs, humming contentedly when you go limp against him. His chin rests atop your head and his arms ensnare your midriff. “How interesting. No matter. Whatever your fascinating brain concocted is still true. You may think me merciless, but if you knew me, you’d find this to be my greatest act of mercy yet.” 

“I thought I did know you,” is your weak reply. You don’t recognize the sound of your voice. 

“The parts of me I wanted to show you, yes,” he moves your hair aside so he can press a kiss to the nape of your neck. “And a few glimpses you gleaned in your own way. Really, you are such a sweet girl. Willing to overlook discrepancies to see the ‘good’ in me.” 

Heat rises and ignites on your cheeks. “I-I could scream, you know.” 

“You could.” 

That’s not the reaction you were expecting. 

“You’re… not going to try and stop me?” 

“No,” he responds. “I’ve always found experience to be the best teacher.” 

“You really,” you heave a humorless laugh, uncertain of what else to do, “You really don’t see anything wrong with this?” 

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, marveling at how your pulse remains steady, thanks to his intervention. 

“‘So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.’” 

“What?” 

“It’s what you said the first day I met you,” Chrollo explains, nostalgia evident. “I’ve thought about those words often. Your effulgence, your desire to do right by others. It made me wonder if there could ever be anyone more perfect for me than you. You, whose pretty neck I could snap before you’d ever realize what happened, stirred up a sentimentality in me I thought myself incapable of.” 

Sandalwood, amber, and leather. His scent is the same as that day.

Are his intentions? 

Is this a prophecy he himself ordained and always intended to see fulfilled? 

“You stole my heart, and as recompense, I will steal you. Think whatever you want about me, dear. Just don’t think I’m selfless enough to ever change my mind.” 

[leclercsredhelmet]

The Alchemy ♛ Charles Leclerc

A/N: Hi! I'm back after being away for a bit but I come bearing a gift! I was so unbelievably happy after Charles's Monaco win and inspired to write about so here it is!

“Honestly who are we to fight the alchemy?” 

Monaco is known for being the playground of billionaires among many things. This is the ideal destination if you want to see multi-million dollar supercars and yachts. If you are a fan of the pinnacle of motorsport then you know that the Monaco Grand Prix has been rewarded as the crowning jewel of Formula One and for great reason.

To you, Monaco was much more than a playground for the rich or the crowning jewel of your favorite sport. Monaco was home, the principality held half of your heart. You had not intended to stay here while on a trip fresh out of grad school but by fate’s hand, you now called this place home. As a formula one fan, you always dreamed of seeing the principality and walking its streets. When the opportunity arose you decided to take a little detour to visit the principality. 

Little did you know that the detour would turn into more than one visit during the summer. You were wandering the streets when you ran into your now boyfriend Charles Leclerc. Just now after a few months of dating it still sounded crazy but it was true, your favorite driver had turned into your best friend and love of your life. 

Flashback

Your camera was in hand as you marveled at Casino Square, after taking some pictures you decided to find someone who could point you in the direction of the Princess Grace Japanese Garden. Turning around you found the closest person to you, whose back happened to be facing you, and asked for directions using what little French you knew. It just happened that Charles was that person and once he turned around realization dawned on you. He looked at you and he swore he had just seen the most beautiful girl on Earth. 

He stuttered a little as he gave you directions and you were a little confused so you were just nodding along. “It seems that my French isn’t as good as I expected,” you said with a chuckle. Charles laughed, “It’s okay my English isn’t the best either which makes us even,” he said. “Considering that  I have nothing better to do and could use some peace and quiet, please let me take you,” he said kindly. 

His offer earned him a kind smile from you and a nod, smiling you decided to follow his lead. Surely he had taken you there as he offered and ended up walking through the garden with you while you chatted. “Had I known it was you I wouldn’t have disturbed you,” you said a little embarrassed. Charles looked at you and lifted an eyebrow, “It’s no trouble really, for what it’s worth I’ve had a great time, how long are you here for?” he asked. “Just today, I took a little detour from the group trip which means that I’ve got to head back soon to pack,” you said.  Charles felt his stomach drop, there was no way he was passing up a chance with a girl as beautiful as you. “Let me invite you to lunch before you leave,” he said. He looked at you and dreaded your answer but a grin spread across your face, “Consider your invitation accepted,” you said with a wink. 

He’d bought some pizza from his favorite place and invited you into his apartment where you kept chatting well into the late evening and he walked you to the train station. Unbeknownst to him you had left your number written on a napkin pinned to his bathroom mirror. 

When he found it he couldn’t help but grin and he called you, before leaving Europe you took the train and met up with him for a few hours. Weeks later you were talking and had started your early stages of dating which had to be long-distance. You decided to fly out and surprise him for the Monza Grand Prix. Once the season ended you decided to spend it with him while you waited for news of your job application to arrive. 

Charles was next to you when you found out and had been approved and you mentioned looking for a small apartment in Italy that was within distance from Monte Carlo but he asked you to move in with him instead. 

End of Flashback

“Mon amour, we have to head out!” Charles called out from somewhere in the apartment and you smiled. “Just a second! I’m almost done,” you called out as you slipped on your sandals and grabbed your bag. Meeting him by the front door he kissed you sweetly and you slung Leo’s carrier on your shoulder grabbing his leash on the other. “Who’s an excited boy!” You said as you bent down to pat Leo who was happily barking. “He represents us both,” Charles said with a smile and you grinned. “You got this chérie,” you said reassuringly, he smiled before replying, “I hope so mon amour, we can’t lose this,” he said. “And you won’t,” you added. 

You had to part ways once you left the apartment because Charles needed to get into the motorhome once he arrived. Before parting he pressed his soft lips against yours and kissed you sweetly. As he usually did he kissed your forehead making you giggle and kissed Leo’s head. 

Walking into the hospitality you were instantly greeted by Pascale, “You look gorgeous as ever darling!” Pascale gushed. “You look great as always!” You replied. Pascale kissed your cheeks diverted her attention to Leo and took him from you so you could greet Lorenzo and Charlotte. You stayed there and went down to the garages to wish Charles luck and get the headsets you were always provided with. “I love you, you got this chérie, now go bring that trophy home,” you said after you kissed him and helped him with his gloves, he squeezed your hand three times before leaving to head on track.

Arthur was going to be watching the race from the garage so the rest of you went back up to the hospitality and sat down at the table. You let out a steady breath when you saw that he had finished the formation lap and said a silent prayer as you waited for the lights to go out. Pascale automatically reached for your hand and your eyes were trained on the screen. After the accident on the first lap, the start had to be delayed while the barrier was repaired and the cars were taken out of the track.

Once the race started again you found it difficult to calm your anxieties so you talked in hushed tones with Pascale, Lorenzo, and Charlotte. The entire team he was leading and you could not wipe the grin from your face, on the last five laps you were finding it hard to contain your excitement and the cameras had panned in to show you and you smiled. On the last lap, you were fidgeting with a bracelet while looking at the screen you could feel the cameras on you but you were so focused on the screen. 

The moment he crossed the line and the checkered flag was waved you all erupted in cheers and hugged each other while wiping the tears that were starting to fall. Your thoughts drifted towards Charles and you knew how happy and proud he must be feeling. This win meant everything to him for various reasons and you knew his thoughts had undoubtedly gone towards his father. 

You all gathered under the podium next to the Ferrari mechanics who were holding flags. All of the people standing there were so proud and you had texted his friends who had gathered in the balcony to watch him win and were sharing how proud they were of him. You looked around and smiled knowing that his family, friends, and all those gathered here were so unbelievably proud of him. You clapped once Carlos and Oscar made their way to their podiums, when Charles walked out you cheered as loud as you could and saw Prince Albert crying as well.

Seeing Charles at the top step of the podium, with the flag draped around his shoulders brought you to tears, you knew how much sentimental value this win had for him and his family. Winning this had been Charles and Hervé’s wish and after the previous events in which Charles was close to winning this race and not getting it, you knew that this victory felt a million times better for him and it meant everything.

Your eyes met and you smiled and waved, Charles’s eyes crinkled as he looked down 

at you standing next to his mother and brothers. 

When the anthem started playing you were all singing and you lifted a hand to wipe your tears as you used the other to film. Pascale put her arm around your shoulders and you leaned into her a little, a proud smile spread across her face as he watched her son on the podium he so dearly loved. 

The Italian anthem was up next and you sang along with the mechanics who were waving the flags around. The city that had seen him grow was now watching him win and the pride could be felt on every single corner, chills ran up your spine as you thought about it. Clapping once the podium was over you moved to join the rest of the team who was waiting for him. 

“Where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me” 

Charles came running towards everyone with the trophy in hand.  “You brought it home!” you exclaimed. “I brought it home!” he shouted and you laughed. Handing the trophy to Lorenzo, Charles placed both hands on your cheeks and kissed you. 

His lips tasted like champagne but they were soft as always, pulling him closer you kissed him again and pulled away to look at his sparkly eyes before pressing your foreheads together. “I’m beyond proud of you, we all are,” you whispered and he nodded and kissed your forehead. 

Lorenzo, Pascale, and Arthur hugged him and you took a picture of the family with a fond smile on your face. Charlotte congratulated him with a hug. The team celebrated the win by hugging him and patting him on the head. The mechanics were singing and you smiled at the joyous scene. 

After the round of pictures and more champagne sprays, you accompanied Charles and the team to the harbor. Everyone cheered when he pushed Fred in and dived after him, you laughed at his perfect diving form and knew he’d ask you later if he had done it right. 

His eyes sparkled every time he smiled and the smile never faltered all through the night. This type of happiness was one of your favorites and you adored to see him like this. It was the time of happiness that you would love to see every single weekend, it was worth every single aspect that came in to make sure a moment like this would happen here of all places. Nothing tasted better than a home win with a deeper meaning.

Charles had endured so many ups and downs to get to this moment and after countless hours of work, and every single amount of passion poured into it the moment was finally here and it was his to celebrate. You couldn’t have been prouder of him and never faltered in telling him the truth. 

The trophy might’ve been in the room but the real trophy had come running over to you and had been next to you all night smiling from ear to ear.

(all photo credits go to the respective owners)

[scientia-rex]

I got home from work today sneezing my head off with a right eye that won’t stop watering, took a hot shower, climbed into bed, and I haven’t climbed out since. I’m grumpy and I have a headache and if I’m not testing positive for COVID or debilitated by symptoms tomorrow I’ll still need to go to work because that’s twenty patient visits that would need to be rescheduled, usually with someone else, and that’s twenty people I’m letting down. Today I did one of my patented 45-second Pap smears (if it takes longer than that, your doctor needs to get better!) for someone with vaginal atrophy from menopause (it is both very common and very treatable) and she was in disbelief. (This time it was more like 30 seconds.) I saw a suicidally depressed patient who’s clinging to life with both hands and I changed their meds last week and I am not making them wait to see me. I cleaned a wound no one else gave a shit about and I saw a bitter pissy Republican Party bigwig who has terrible anxiety and depression she doesn’t tell anyone about, who’s alienated everyone but who I can still convince to try treatment.

I do my job on hard mode on purpose. I like being important—who doesn’t? I like being legendary, I like that when people move to town and ask for doctor recommendations on Facebook so many people mention me that other patients feel compelled to tell me about it. I got nominated for best doctor in our local region last year. (I didn’t win, out of 5 nominees.) But when I’m sick, when I’m the kind of sick that can be hidden easily, the kind of sick I was always expected to go to school and rotations and residency with, it’s so hard. I hate exposing patients, even to a cold, but the benefits of receiving care are probably enough to outweigh the chance of transmission. I wrestle with myself: if I call in, it starts a ripple effect. Can they get a per diem from their “pool” (of three) to come in? Can they reschedule my patients with me? I don’t have any open spots for five weeks. Can they open same days? None available for three weeks. Can they open blocked spots? That’s going to make my life hell when I come back from being sick. That’s clinic staff calling twenty patients, trying to reach them. That’s twenty patients who feel abandoned. They can know intellectually that doctors get sick too, but they don’t believe it. They take it personally. I have seen this over and over again, until I had to believe it.

It is so EASY for people who don’t do this job to tell me how I’m doing it wrong. “Just stay home!” Oh, okay, you want to tell the person whose chronic opioids I’m supposed to write for that I can’t? You want to put the nurses through getting the on-call to write a bridge prescription? I write more ADHD meds than most of my peers—usually a lot more. You want to tell my colleagues to write meds they’re uncomfortable with? How about tell my suicidal patients (which is a lot of them!) that the provider they know and trust after months or years will be replaced today by a 70-year-old white man who still thinks they should pull themselves up by their bootstraps? Tell my queer patients that they have to wait until I’m better and back to get their hormones and their STI screenings, reschedule a Pap someone was dreading. Every day is a kaleidoscope of opportunities to make a real connection with “difficult” patients. I’m good at it. I may be the best at it at my clinic.

I don’t hate calling in sick just because the clinic manager is a judgy bitch, though that doesn’t help. I hate it because of what it does to my patients. And it’s not simple. Pretending it is does all of us a disservice. I am not a widget. I am not easily replaceable. You can’t plug any of our per diems (all men, 2/3 white, 2/3 old, 1/3 a Bitcoin bro) into my place and call it an equivalent, and my schedule is already so packed that if I call in sick, patients will be guilt-tripping me about it for months. I’m not kidding. That happens every single time.

Christ alive, I wish it was true that doctors never got sick.

[diorsluv]

casual , part 2

“ ‘cause i’m still hanging around ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

vivianliu

liked by yourusername, adamfantilli, and 66,824 others

vivianliu spending time w my girlfriend while she’s still my girlfriend 🫶

tagged: yourusername

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edwards.73

liked by adamfantilli, mackie.samo, and 94,168 others

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→ edwards.73 you never sit in the back anyways you’re fine

→ markestapa I WAS SITTING IN THE BACK WHAT THE FUCK

→ edwards.73 😱

→ markestapa i’m gonna shower for a week what the hell

username47 IS THAT THE LAKE????

username33 bro really dropped the biggest bomb on us like we wouldn’t notice tf?

luca.fantilli notice how the clock says 4 am. I COULDN’T SLEEP FOR 4 FUCKING HOURS

→ edwards.73 STOP EXAGGERATING it wasn’t even that bad

→ luca.fantilli it wasn’t that bad MY ASS

→ edwards.73 we were quiet 😪

→ luca.fantilli yeah when you two were finally passed out 😒😒

dylanduke25 ethan i have two very important words for you

→ edwards.73 go ahead say it

→ dylanduke25 thin. walls. THIN. FUCKING. WALLS.

→ edwards.73 that’s 5 words duker

→ dylanduke25 fuck you

→ edwards.73 there we go now we’re at 2

→ dylanduke25 😒😒

username57 that is a hughes if i’ve ever seen one

vivianliu 🤬

→ edwards.73 why r u beefing w me 🙄

→ vivianliu is this supposed to be a soft launch

→ edwards.73 you could call it that yeah

→ vivianliu then tf r u launching bc it sure as hell isn’t a relationship last time i checked mr “i don’t do labels”

yourusername nice very nice

→ edwards.73 whats nice?? im gonna need u to specify

→ yourusername the heart it’s nicely drawn 🤗

→ edwards.73 mhmm cuz the windows got foggy af

→ yourusername oh really? doing what?

→ edwards.73 that’s a good question maybe we should test shit out to see what gets the windows so fogged up like that

username26 it’s a whole hughes-a-palooza up in here

username80 sunset 😁😁

lhughes_06 eddy since when did you get a girl??

→ edwards.73 since before u left 🙄

→ lhughes_06 AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME??

→ edwards.73 my girl wanted to keep it a secret so we kept it on the dl 🙏

→ lhughes_06 but everyone else knows.

→ edwards.73 we’ll tell you eventually!

→ lhughes_06 😓

username24 tell me this aint the girl he’s been flirting w for the past three months

→ username5 i think it’s been longer than three months 😭😭

username78 name drop rn

mackie.samo 🥀

→ edwards.73 🥴

→ vivianliu is this the boy verson of code names

→ rutgermcgroarty fuck no

→ adamfantilli we use initials cuz we’re not weird???

→ colecaufield this shit is too obvious

jackhughes 🤨🤨

→ edwards.73 😰😰

→ jackhughes ur a little risky for that one

username66 does jack know or is everyone clueless

username32 are we just gonna ignore the fact that ethan called her his girl in one of the threads??

username87 this shit freaky asf 😭

trevorzegras oh 👀

→ edwards.73 yes

→ _alexturcotte z stop acting like you know more than we do

→ trevorzegras I DO

→ luca.fantilli go ahead keep lying to yourself

adamfantilli 😲

→ edwards.73 🫣

→ vivianliu 🤫

→ colecaufield 🫠

→ rutgermcgroarty 😏

→ markestapa 😫

→ yourusername 🤭

→ jackhughes 😧

→ dylanduke25 🫢

→ trevorzegras 🤪

→ luca.fantilli 😃

→ _alexturcotte 🙃

→ mackie.samo 🤓

→ _quinnhughes all of you are like the definition of brainrot

next chapter notes ) like stated in the description under the au on the main masterlist… EXTREMELY SUGGESTIVE so let this be your warning 😭 yall r freaky bitches tho bc I REMEMBER THAT ONE CHAPTER IN FEATHER 🤨🤨 the influx of notes i had on that chap was insane also this chap’s a short girlie butttttt hell week is incoming so im either gonna have more short chaps or less longer chaps 😓😓

tags: @dancerbailey3 @hughesfein @loveforaugust

[billboard-hotties-tourney]

The Billboard Consolation Prizes

It's that time again, folks! We're about to hand out some more prizes, mostly to those who didn't make the finals. Some were predetermined, some were voted upon by you, the viewers! Cue the theme music.

Let's start off with our first award, The Powerful Mane Award. Sadly, we couldn't do the Powerful Mustache Award for this tournament, considering there wasn't a single powerful mustache in the bunch, but we had some wicked heads of hair this time. But the lady who took the prize this time was...

Chaka Khan! Tell me that you like her, you really like her.

Next up, the "Stop, She's Already Dead!" Award. This one goes to the hardest ass-kicking of the whole tourney. I almost considered calling this The Elvis Costello Memorial Award in honor of last tournament's hardest ass-kicking, but as it turns out...this girl was defeated even harder:

June Richmond! June lost in round two to Billie Holiday, receiving just 5.5 percent of the votes. So...you may not have won the battle, but you won this little graphic.

Up next: The "She's Still Got It" Award. As we said before, there were a lot more nominees this time around that were born...a long time ago, meaning there are a lot of nominees who are no longer with us. But let's hand out an award to the absolute queen who's the oldest-living woman out of 100+ living nominees...

Leontyne Price! Miss Price was born in February of 1927, narrowly beating out Cleo Laine for this spot, and she's still here today. She's been around so long that you could say that sliced bread is the greatest thing since Leontyne Price. Keep it up, girl!

Next is a voter's choice award: The Strong and Silent Girl Award. Named after Mike Nesmith, the original strong and silent girl, this award goes out to a contestant who made it to round five without any written propaganda. Since there was a four-way tie for who made it farthest without any written words, I had you lovely people vote on which was the hottest of the four. You said it was...

Marlene Dietrich! There's a non-zero chance she starred in a silent film or two, so I suppose that's fitting.

As has become tradition, we at Billboard Hotties Tourney present The Who? What?? Award. This one goes to the most obscure nominee in the bunch, the one whose presence confuses (not because of their looks, but because...who??) Last time it was awarded to Louis "Moondog" Hardin, but this time it goes to...

Ethel Smyth! Not the kind of nominee I'd ever expect to see here, and we probably never will again.

Next is the Failure to Launch Award, granted to the nominee with the most submissions...who then lost in round one. The starting pistol went off, they took a few steps, and tripped and fell. This time, the winner of this esteemed prize is...

Debbie Harry! Deborah had eleven nominations, and initially had a lead in her poll, but lost to Joan Jett by a small margin.

Here's a new one! Thanks to our more diverse cast of characters this tournament, we had enough nominees to introduce the Eurovision Queen Award. This one was voted upon by you, and went to the hottest nominee who participated in Eurovision. This one goes to...

Françoise Hardy! Miss Hardy represented Monaco in Eurovision 1963, competing the same year as fellow round one casualty Nana Mouskouri. She ultimately tied for fifth.

Up next: The Band Assassin Award. This one goes to the nominee who defeated multiple members of one band. When I realized that most of the nominees this tournament could qualify as "solo," I knew this one was going to be a little tough. However, there was one lady who was able to do it...

Grace Slick! Grace's first two wins were against Anna Mae Winburn and Carline Ray of the International Sweethearts of Rhythm.

So let's move on t

God, every time. So let's move on to the Spanish Inquisition Award, for the nominee that nobody expected to make it as far as she did. Be it a pleasant surprise or a "Pearl beating Trixie Mattel in that lip sync" gag, it's for the person who exceeded expectations. The winner of this prize goes to...

The Godmother of Rock 'n' Roll, Sister Rosetta Tharpe! Rosetta soared all the way to the quarterfinals before she was bested by now-finalist Nina Simone. Love you, Sister, nothing but respect for my president.

Our next award was a voters' choice, The Crossover Artist Award! The Crossover Artist Award goes to the hottest contestant who was also featured in this tourney's inspiration, @hotvintagepoll. This one comes from the original tourney, too, but this one was...very different. Last time, we had, hmm, five or six nominees, but this time we had a whopping twenty-four that participated in both tourneys. Some ladies, like Eartha Kitt and Diahann Carroll, were also competitors in the @vintagetvstars tournament! Is it a commentary on how women have to be able to do more in entertainment to be seen as a success? Who knows? What I do know is that the winner of this award is...

Eartha Kitt! Beating Marlene Dietrich by about five percent, you guys picked Catwoman this time...and since she won both the movie and television brackets, it only felt right that she at least get a consolation prize, right?

Here's another OG tourney award: The Robbed Icon Award. Here's where you guys get to gripe, and I love it. This one goes to the lady with the most controversial loss in the game, and the winner this time was...

Debbie Harry! Considering that she overwhelmingly won the Queen of the Shadow Realm election, this win came as no surprise to me; you guys were pissed.

Next is the Renaissance Woman Award, voted on by you! This one is meant as a companion to the Multi-Instrumentalist Award for the men, but since there were so many ladies that do more than music here, I decided to expand the title. Does she sing? Play an instrument or two? Write or produce? Act? Dance? Volunteer at the nursing home on the weekends? Probably not the last one, but you, the voters, decided that the most accomplished or well-rounded woman here was:

Dolly Parton! Singer. Songwriter. Actress. Businesswoman. Activist. What can't she do?

Here comes the Popular Kid Award! This one goes out to the nominee with the most nominations, and this time, we have a tie. Our winners are...

Cher and Linda Ronstadt! Each of these singers received sixteen nominations, a record for this blog.

Our penultimate award is the Miss Congeniality Award. I award this one to the nominee with the best/funniest fanbase. This one was a little bit hard, since the engagement was admittedly not as strong as the men's tournament (I get it, though) but when I looked back at all the propaganda, I couldn't help but pick...

Dolly Parton! Those who submitted her had such an outpouring of love for her that really couldn't compare. Wear your title with pride, Dolly, and do good alongside Mr. Congeniality Clarence Clemons.

It's time for our final award...The Not Just a Pretty Face Award, where we celebrate the thing we love these ladies for in the first place--their music. This one has a little bit of a long story. It was a write-in, just like last time, but unlike last time, the voters could not come to a consensus. We had a five-way tie for first place between Kate Bush, Aretha Franklin, Joan Jett, Stevie Nicks, and Nina Simone. A two-way tie? Sure, I can let that slide. But five? No. I had to consult the council...and by "council" I mean "my parents, my two sisters, and my half-brother." I had them vote from the final five to see who would take home this coveted prize. In a 2 to 1 to 1 to 1 vote, our winner is...

Aretha Franklin! Show her some RESPECT.

And that's it for this tournament, folks! I hope you've enjoyed participating thus far, and I can't wait to see how the finals go. Finals begin on October 1st around midnight PST.

[msmargaretmurry]

Hi! This isn't actually a ship question but in light of your comments on sid/ovi and geno/ovi I'm now extremely curious. How DO Caps fans see Ovi? What is the vibe on him when he's YOUR captain? signed, someone who is new to hockey and extremely sad to have missed bulk of the Ovi years.

hello anon, i'm sorry it took me a while to get to this, i had a super busy week! but okay let's get into it! under the cut, because this of course got really long 😂

i feel like really important context and something someone who's new to hockey very understandably might not know is that the way that mainstream hockey media talks about ovi now, after the 2018 caps cup, is wildly different from how they talked about him for most of his career. the non-local coverage of ovi for most of his career was wildly insulting and xenophobic. idk if you remember when i was talking about sid/ovi i mentioned how people just liked the idea of soft canadian golden boy/big loud russian brute, but that narrative was there because the narrative pushed by the media was good canadian golden boy vs big loud russian brute. it was billed as sid vs ovi but the underlying message was always that it was protagonist sid vs his antagonist ovi.

obviously the penguins (and sid individually with team canada) had the early success that bolstered this narrative, and the fact that it took the ovi and the caps so long to win their cup means that the many years leading up to that, they got to double down on the narrative that ovi was: lazy, selfish, showboating, stupid, disrespectful, a locker room cancer, the reason the caps couldn't win, a one-trick pony, a bad captain, lazy, selfish, lazy, selfish, lazy, selfish. they really loved to go hard on lazy and selfish. and yes, other players have been called these things by the media before, but it's important to understand when they were talking about ovi the implication was always that he is these things because he is russian. and their guy, crosby, the guy who actually wins, is not these things because he's canadian. (n.b. i am fully aware sid had to deal with plenty of his own shit esp around his captaincy and concussions; i'm just talking about in the specific context of this rivalry. like, none of this is actually crosby's fault, but one can understand my disinclination to engage with anything penguinsy after all this.) (n.b. #2 you can see this treatment of ovi mirrored quite blatantly in the treatment of nail yakupov, who was not lucky enough to land on a team and in a media market that would close ranks around him instead of letting him get ravaged by it. see also geno very much getting a pass in some ways because he's loyal sidekick to the good canadian boy, which does not challange the great canadian hockey narrative.)

(sidenote honestly getting into hockey with a team whose main stars were russian and swedish was such a weird and interesting crash course in the hierarchy of whiteness in the nhl which culminates in the best thing you can be is a white center from anglophone eastern canada and everything else slots into tiers beneath that, affixed to various stereotypes, especially about nordic and eastern european countries. but we're not getting deep into that today)

and like yeah of course they would praise him for individual great plays or great games and use him in marketing as an exciting player to watch (while turning around an insulting him for many of the things that made him exciting) but this was the narrative overall. the tsn and nbc talking heads gleefully jumped on any chance to talk shit about him. i spent a chunk of february 2014 in edmonton, which means i watched a lot of the sochi olympics on canadian tv, and i will never, ever forget the sheer mind-blowing experience of sitting there watching them fill time between events, cutting to the rink where one of the hockey teams was practicing. the russian team had already been knocked out of the tournament, and ovi was sitting in the stands watching the practice, and the commentator said about this, i shit you not, "i guess he doesn't want to go back to his washington capitals yet."

first of all. the nhl was paused while the olympics were happening. second of all. it was already public knowledge that ovi would be staying in russia a little longer than expected because his father had just had a heart attack. dc media has already reported on this. and tsn decided it was a good moment to make a snide comment about his dedication to the capitals instead.

after the capitals won the cup, the turnaround in a lot of the media as they decided to be publicly happy for him was so abrupt it was actually comical. but nevertheless, that is the soup we were swimming in for the height of the ovi years.

and it was really frustrating! because to caps fans, that was our guy! he's playing his heart out for us! we would hear the shit the non-local media said about him and just be like, are they watching the same player as we are?? he was so exciting and fun (still is!), and, if you actually paid attention, sneakily funny and smart. (one of my favorite ovi moments will forever be in 2013 when mike milbury said his career was in the toilet and a couple weeks later after a wildly impressive stretch of games ovi said "maybe they forgot to flush me.")

"selfish" was probably their favorite thing to throw at him ("lazy" a very close second), and we'd just be like ??? this is a guy who celebrates his teammates' goals harder than he celebrates his own. and he celebrates his own pretty damn hard! he always took time for community events, got involved in local charities, has a program to donate season tickets to underserved local kids, has a close (and extremely cute!) partnership with the american special hockey association, is out here quietly donating tons of stuff to orphanages in russia. a guy willing to make himself into a clown at the all-star game trying to win a car for a dc-area special needs hockey team, without telling anyone that's the reason he's making himself into a clown, and making sure they get the car afterward even when he doesn't win it.

and on top of all that, his teammates love him. part of the joy of being a caps fan (as with many hockey teams!) is getting to be witness to the amazing friendships on the team. and why would his teammates love him so much if he was just a selfish, lazy asshole?

another thing you need to understand is that he pretty much single-handedly turned hockey around in dc. when they drafted ovi, the caps were languishing. hockey was not a popular sport in the city. then ovi came, and everything changed, because he was so exciting and he made the team better around him and suddenly caps hockey was so fun to watch. over the course of his career, an incredible caps hockey fan community has grown up around the team. i've made some of my best friends through the caps. that wouldn't have happened without ovi. youth and rec hockey participation in the dc metro area exploded — they literally call it "the ovechkin effect." man, i'm literally getting teary-eyed sitting here thinking about it. he has had such an incredible impact on hockey in the dc area that it's literally hard to quantify.

he has always been a joy to watch not just because he's a generational talent, but because of the unbridled joy he brings to the game. certain members of the media would call it showboating or disrespectful to the game or whatever. to us it's always just been joy. and on top of that it's been such a joy to watch him grow up from this wild, sometimes reckless kid into a determined, media-savvy (still joyful! still full of personality!) adult to now a gray grizzled veteran married father of two (still joyful! still full of personality!) chasing one last record and trying to help usher the new young caps players into a new era of the team.

i guess one way to put it into context would be to say that around the time in 2013 that mike milbury was saying ovechkin's career was in the toilet was also the first time i sat down and did the math as to how long he would have to play and how many goals he'd have to reasonably score per season to break gretzky's goal record. and i decided right then that yeah, he was probably going to do it as long as he didn't get badly injured. i didn't hear anyone in the mainstream hockey media even suggest it as a possibility until many years later.

and like, man, i'm not saying that ovi's always been perfect or anything. and i'm not saying he never had media members praise him or be on his side, and i'm not saying there was never a small but annoyingly loud contingent of caps fans in the early/mid-teens who hopped on the "trade ovi" train, because there was and i hope they all feel very stupid now. and trust me, i've spent more time mentally wrestling with the problematic russian politics of it all than probably the vast majority of hockeyblr has spent doing the same with their maga faves, and i really have no desire to discuss that with anyone On Here except to say everyone is allowed to draw their own lines to maintain their peace and joy.

i'm just saying that man, i feel fucking blessed to have been a caps fan in dc during the ovi years. he has been a great captain, a great teammate, a great member of the community, has been great to the fans, and we will probably never see an athlete quite like him again in this city or even in the nhl. he's not a crosby or mcdavid type player, and he's never needed to be. he's his own thing. he's the greatest goal-scorer of all time.

[cheritzteam]

[The Ssum] <The Ssum: Love From Today> Second Major Update Schedule Information

Hello, dear lab participant.

Today, we are bringing our lab participants news you’ve been waiting for!

With this notice, in addition to a more detailed update schedule,We would like to inform you of the identity of the “New Ssumone” who appeared in the surprise teaser updated two days ago.

<The Ssum: Love From Today> v2.1.0 Major Update Day

March 27th, 2024 (Wed) KST

As many lab participants may have already noticed, the new Ssumone in The Ssum v2.0 is Henri, who was already in June's story!

Henri, a doctor with a mysterious smile whose true intentions are unknown.

Check out his story through this update.

Also, as always, we are holding a teaser event on X and Instagram.Take the OX quiz about Henri and have a chance to win Aurora Batteries🥰

📍 X Event Link: https://tinyurl.com/yjmxuyrr

📍 Instagram Event Link: https://tinyurl.com/5z3cjhxz

📅 Event Period: ~March 13th, 2024(Wed) 12PM KST

We'll be coming back with a new teaser every week until the update.

We ask for our lab participants’ continued support💕

Thank you.

Cheritz

[acesofspadess]

This Is The Voice

a/n: everyone needs some more Niall

summary: you're the mega mentor, and Niall doesn't know that

“This is the last knockouts ill ever get to coach and im really excited because our mega mentor this season is one of the greatest singers and people of all time.”

“Shes a legend in the industry.”

“She is an EGOT”

“So the mega mentor this season is……… Y/N L/N! Or Horan to Niall”

BLAKE

“Well this like a full circle moment for me. You were here as Adams advisor in the first season and now you are mega mentor in my last season.” blake looked down at 29 year old you who was reminiscing. “What does that say about our relationship.”

“That whenever you're here I lose.” you laughed at him as he shook his head. “You let yourself lose to an 18 year old Blake.” his eyes widdend at that, “Oh man, i forgot you were only 18. I feel so old. And now your married too.” he shook his not wanting to think about it any more.

—-----

KELLY

“You still havent seen Niall yet?” Kelly and you had a moment to chat before the artist came in. “no and I feel so bad. I've been super slow on my answers to his text. I just want to hold him.”

I've know Y/N since she was around 18, we got to perform together in Vegas almost 12 years ago.

“Im so glad it's Blake’s last season. Hes just had a very good vibe.” Kelly filled you on some behind the scenes.

“Oh thats good, he really can be a pain sometimes.

And I've also been able to work with her and tour with her and learn from her. Shes so young and has taught a lot of artist with singing and being on stage. I love that all these artist are gonna get that same experience today.

—---------

CHANCE

There was a knock on your dressing room door and you opened it to see Chance. “Y/N!” He cheered as he opened his arms up for a hug. You laughed and thanks the heavens you werent wearing heavy makeup as he was wearing white. 

Y/N… shes a legend in the industry. Grammy award winning artist.

“And when was the last time i saw you?” you laughed at his question. “Probably Grammy’s 2020…?” he shook his head, “how could i foget miss album of the year.

Her being a top tier artist for so long and having so many experiences is something that we could all grow from. 

After Chance had run down his artist for you, you waited for them to come in and laughed at whispers you heard. “Well hello there, I love your hair.” you told Nariella whose hair was similar to your ginger colour. “I actually got the idea from you.” you both laughed and whispered an ‘i like you already’. 

I just think its so amazing for her to be here and represent black women and girls. Shes definitely someone i look up to.

—---------

NIALL

It was finally time to see your love. Niall was supposed to be meeting Riley… but you didnt let that happen. You were facing the camera, your back facing the direction Niall would walk through. 

“Riley Tate-”

You turned around at the sound of his voice and he immediately stopped talking. “Hi love.” you  were smiling so hard at his reaction to seeing you before he scooped you up in a hug and twirled youn around.

“Why are you here- wait. Your da mega mentor?” his accent was thicker because of the surprise and you loved it. 

I mean to work with Y/N L/N the queen of pop… im getting goose bumps thinking about it now, its just amazing being in her presence 

Thats your wife Niall

Say it again 

“Well now that your here i was going to ask you if you wanted to come to a golf course with me.” Niall had his head on her shoulder and he could feel the laugh that came from her at his words.

Shes an absolute legend, and she teaches me something everyday, i cant wait for her to teach my team.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright love, Gina, shes really shy, reminds me of you when you came to write for the band.”

Niall laughed his beautiful laugh as you hid your face in your hands. “Don't remind me.”

“You might have to tell her to speak up.” you nodded at the information and were ready to see her. “And then she sings, and a different person comes out, a lot like you.” you cooed at his comparison seeing how much Gina meant to Niall.

“Now Kates kinda got the jazzy, Amy Winehouse-y vibe.” you ‘oo’ed’ at the information. “Lets see what they got.”

You watched as they walked around the corner and saw them subtly freak out at seeing you. You got up from your seat with the help of Niall(not that you needed it but he always held his hand out for you).

“Look who ive got!” Niall cheered from behind you as the girls gave you hugs.

I saw the ginger hair and Niall leaning on her and was like- please… ITS Y/N”

“How are you?” you asked hugging them both.

I was not expecting Y/N to be in the room with Niall. I was very starstruck.”

“Im gonna sing ‘somebody that i used to know’,” Gina shared her song and you marvelled at the softness of her voice. “Im very close to my dad, and he was a DJ and that was a song he always loved.”

“Thats beautiful Gina truly.”

Listening too her sing brought chills to your skin. 

You cheered as she finished and let Niall say what you know hes been holding in.  “And that sass that youve got this week.” Niall admired with a little laugh. “Really?” you loved how she went from this marvellous singer to this soft spoken girl. “I wasnt expecting that.” Gina thanked Niall before she looked at you and you shook your head.

“You gave me chills seriously, the only thing is ‘for lack of better wording’ understanding your words.” you watched as she took the advice and applauded her silently knowing if you were in her possician you would have certainly started crying.

“Yeah keep those words separate. Its very easy to go-” and you watched as he broke off his words in example. “You know what I mean. So give your self a bit of space.”

“I like that bub. I like that a lot.” 

You listened to him sing the words slowly and closed you eyes in sereness. “That staccato.” you pitched in. “her first audition to right now,” he looked at you threading his fingers with yours, “completley diffrent person.” you laughed softly squeezing his had. “I was just like you when i started, you can ask him.” he kissed your temple lightly in admiration, “she still is. Cant give her a compliment without her hiding away. Huh, beautiful?” you did as he knew you would and tucked your face into his neck. “See.” 

You turned your head to watch Gina and Kate play fight as theu swapped places. “I really wish you guys liked each other.” you joked sitting up properly. “I know so much hatred in here.” Niall joked back with you adjusting in his seat. “Its just awful.” Niall lost it, throwing his head back in laughter, letting you hear his laugh again. That would always be your favourite song. 

~~~

“Ooh we've got a guitar.” you saw the shaped guitar and immediately fell in love. “Its my baby.” Kate spoke. “Gonna have to get me self one just like that,” you all laughed before Niall looked at the gap between your seats and pulled your seat closer to his. You grabbed his hand and kissed it before looking back up at Kate. “what song are gonna sing love.” you asked as Niall sat back in his seat. “Im singing ‘Call Me’ by Blondie.”

“Oh lets hear it.” 

Kate had the stage presence of a lifetime. “Very good!” you clapped proudly. “Thank you.” you smiled as Niall began to speak. “My favourite parts are when its chilled.” You agreed with him softly as he continued to speak. “Dont stay with the-” Niall sang in a high pitch for example and you nodde your head. “Towards the end it gets a bit crashy for me. I wonder if there's a way of toning it down?” he looked to you for advice. “Tone down the crashing for more like ‘TOMS’ or something like that?” you offered and he took it. “Yeah so we can offer some more jazziness.” he agreed while drumming in the air, “you wanna come back up Gina?” You smiled widely hearing the softness and joy in his voice when he talked to her. “Im thrilled to pieces. I asked a really close friend of mine when were younger, who is now very successful, what is the best piece of advice you can give me. He said ‘have fun’. So i hope your having fun and getting to meet people that youll remain friends with forever.”

You watched Gina and Kate turn to each other and you hugged yourself. “Awwe that makes me so happy.” Niall grabbed your hand and held it in the air. “And one day you might marry them.” you all laughed before Niall spoke up again. “You're the best ladies.” you watched as they walked away and Niall rested his head on shoulder again. “I love you. You're amazing.”

“I love you too Ni.”

`````````````````````````````````````````````

Niall taglist:

@youcan-nolonger-run @ravenclawdirectioner

@luxiorchive @maeflowers653