#and the content is divided into chunks and each chunk could be

[beneathsilverstars]

@eldragon-x #silver its always a whiplash to see your designs that started out as game-accurate edits drawn in your actual style i hope you know that

i LOVE when one Thing uses multiple styles and mediums... reminds me of homestuck <3

[pinkandgoldensoul]

CL#16 || Secret Motives || Oneshot

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If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.

pairing: charles leclerc x female f1 driver!reader plot: nothing in your life came easy, and so did f1: facing hardship in your first year at Alfa Romeo, you are met with a familiar face, Charles'. Supporting each other and spending time together will inevitably bind two souls that seemed meant to be or, as someone could put it, that were predestined. genre: friends to lovers, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: mention of death (not reader's), mentions of grief, dieting and struggles with self-image, car crash, swearing, insecurities If any of the things above might trigger you, please DO NOT INTERACT. Take care of your mental health and stay away from triggers, please ♥ other notes: set in an alternative-not-really-defined 2023 season word count: 19.1k (feel free to use dividers to split the reading into chunks!)

Hope you enjoy it ♥ If you do, please let me know! Thanks in advance to whoever will like, reblog and comment!

Black. Blank. Silence. Calm. After speed, tension and rush, after the chaos and the endless chasing of time, after the high-pitched sound of the engine pierced in your brain as a usual background noise, mixed to the incessant heartbeats dictating sharp breaths, at last, stillness came. A peaceful void.

The voices of the press, of other people's expectations, of your team’s, of yours, they dissipated under the heat of the Spanish sun and they flew away with the wind's gusts. They were nothing but an agglomeration of words, sounds without shape, content without form, thus lacking meaning. You weren't underwater, but it felt like it: floating, soft, every sensation coming to you muffled, delayed, lightened.

You blinked. Imperceptibly moving your fingers, you listened to the rhythm of your heartbeats slowing down, as adrenaline gradually decreased. Your heart was pulsing harder, compelled to pump more blood in a reduced pace. «...okay? Y/n, are you okay? Can you hear me?» You heard your engineer's voice without listening. He didn't sound that worried, to be honest. You didn't care that much either. «Y/n, radio check.» A warm flush radiated through your cheeks, a tickling feeling formed in your throat, and you let out a choked cry: you were suffocating. «Can you hear me?» You let out a cough, unable to breathe. Was it… it? Was that how it felt like to die? At the thought, your mind emptied once again, enjoying the kaleidoscope of light dots dancing before your eyes in a disorganized pattern.

A sudden yelp of the crowd partly awoke you. You'd had a crash. Your car had smashed against the wall at turn 14, probably at around 120 kph; your hands had immediately left the steering wheel before the impact and were now lying lifeless onto your lap, unable to move and possibly switch the radio on, in case you could talk. But you couldn't. Not a single word would come out of your lips, parted under the balaclava, either to speak or try to breathe.

Right as you gave up to the choking clench, expecting it to hurt, to release the pressure building up in your throat and drift into unconsciousness, you noticed a shadow protecting you from the intense heat of the sun. Something tugged your seatbelt and, as soon as it loosened, your whole chest took the most out of that freedom, spasming in search of air, while panting and coughing. Something turned into a pair of hands grabbing your shoulders and carefully squeezing them, probably to get a reaction out of you. Gasping for air, you finally raised your head and your sight welcomed a bright, deep red suit, occupying your entire vision; some muffled words came from the Ferrari driver and got mixed with your engineer's voice, who kept trying to assess your state. Then, in a moment of radio silence, you captured the message of the man screaming under his helmet. Are you okay? For a second, you felt the impulse sent by your brain which asked your muscles to smile. Dying inside your cockpit after a crash, staring at his sparkling eyes could've been... sweet. Your seat in Alfa Romeo would've never been questioned again; your career in F1 would've come to a stop not due to the media's opinion or the team’s decision; you would've been remembered, politics and discussions aside, female or not. Everything you had been wanting to fix in your life, every bad habit, regret, nostalgia and sadness would disappear. But after giving in to the idea for hundredths of seconds, you immediately swept the thought away: how irrational and terribly stupid to think death could solve anything. And the mere possibility it could be used to enhance the narration of "women cannot drive in F1 and y/n's death is a clear example of it" killed you more than G force ever could. The face of your mother covered in tears while watching the race, sitting on the couch and sniffling with a tissue in hand started haunting you without a break. And watching him, bent over, trying to rescue you, eyes wide in alarm, couldn't help but make you feel miserable and ridiculous for even considering such a scenario.

With a shaking hand, you gestured your difficulties in breathing, bringing it near the throat. FUCK! A yell of frustration from him, another pant of struggle from you. Charles needed to get you out of the car, but didn’t know whether you had trouble walking, if your legs were fine after the shunt towards the barrier, if you would pass out while he was panicking trying to decide what to do. He carefully placed his hands under your armpits, beginning to lift you up; he did it with ease as you matched the movement and his effort with your hands and feet. «Oh dear! We’re so glad to see y/n out of the car!» As you kept breathing erratic and frenzy, Charles frenetically reached under your chin to help you remove the helmet and got rid of your balaclava, so that you could have an easier access to fresh air. «And we can see that Leclerc is taking off y/n’s helmet with quite a bit of rush! Hopefully everything’s okay…»

You inhaled and exhaled quite harshly, brows knitted in the effort and the struggle of the task; Charles’ hands prevented your chest from bending forward and crouching down, keeping you up and steady despite your body’s will to cave in. «Right now, Charles Leclerc is… calling for some help from the marshals, I think.» «SHE NEEDS HELP, come on!» The visor of his helmet was lifted, so that you could see his eyes searching for reassurances, which you were unable to provide. His concern pained you and only made you hyperventilate more, trying to get to talk. «Does your back hurt? Is it your ribs? Your head?» he kept asking with insistence and worry. The lost and shattered look inside your eyes gave a simple answer: You had no idea.

«Yeah, he’s gesturing towards them, he wants them to come closer… And look, he’s talking to her, probably making sure she’s alright.»

«Try breathing slower and deeply, like this. Does it still hurt?» Your fingers gripped tight his arms, reciprocating the hold Charles had on yours.

«It was a huge shunt, and it’s not hard to believe she’ll need to undergo some checking at the medical center.» «Not hard to believe indeed, considering the great crash we witnessed at lap 18 of the Spanish Grand Prix…»

You didn’t notice the medical car had arrived until you saw two doctors coming out and jogging on the gravel towards you and Charles. One of them, against your will, moved you away from Charles’ reassuring grab and began talking to you; while his words blurred in the heat and merged with the loud cheers of the crowd, your eyes were fixed upon the Ferrari driver in front of you, who was busy discussing with the other doctor.

You vainly tried to focus on his suit, on the mark the balaclava had gently pressed onto his skin, on his lips moving to articulate sounds and sentences you failed to grasp: his sight cradled you, calmed you down and helped you slowly regaining control over your breath, as you noticed your body being guided towards the ambulance which had just arrived, reluctantly letting go of Charles’ presence. # «Miss, could you please tell me your name?» You crossed your arms, visibly annoyed. «I’m y/n, I’m okay and I know I’ve had a crash.» you replied, annoyed.

The doctor flipped a page of the results from the exams they had run and then sighed, almost amused at your stubbornness. «Miss, from the data the race control has sent us, you’ve had a 17G impact, and the driver who aided you reported you had problems regaining your breath right after the shunt. You might feel fine right now due to relatively high levels of adrenaline, but it is not something meant to be underestimated.» he smiled politely. «May I go on?» You lightly nodded, pensive. You had no measure of comparison when it came to G-force in accidents, but it had definitely been the worst you had got into. No questions. «Do you remember the dynamic of the crash?» You hesitated, staring into the void in search of those moments; as the scene unfolded before your eyes, you began speaking. «I was behind Cha- I mean, Leclerc. I think he made a mistake at turn 13 and I was quicker than him in the last corner, so I wanted to overtake him before the main straight.» Unsure whether you had to continue or stop the report, you glanced at the doctor, who simply waited, silent. «Uhm… Yeah. Since I thought Charles would keep the outer line, I tried to overtake him on the inside. It didn’t work, obviously.» you snorted, sarcastic and let down by your own move. What a stupid choice.

«I shouldn’t have been so daring and optimistic.» you added. «If it helps, Leclerc didn’t seem upset at you at all about that move.» the doctor smiled in reassurance. Reasoning on his words, your eyes went wide, since only at those it struck you. You had taken Charles out of the race. For some unexplainable cause, you hadn’t considered it; seeing him helping you out felt too good to be true, a fairytale dream in which Charles had pulled over and deliberately stopped driving his race to rescue you. Of course, you had dragged him into your mistake, potentially causing damage to his car and putting his life at risk as well. What a reckless, inconsiderate move.

«Is he okay??» you asked, urge laced in your tone. «Yes. His car stopped before impacting against the barriers because of the angle in which you two touched.» the doctor calmly explained. «He was a little bit slower than you as he entered the corner and he spun a little, so your trajectories towards the wall were different.» With lost eyes, you stared once again at the void. It was your third crash of the season. At the Albert Park’s circuit, a collision at the restart had ruined your race. In Monaco, well… It had been your mistake, in qualifying, and it had prevented you from starting in the grid on Sunday. And now Montmelò. The worst shunt out of the three, which would cost a fortune to the team. You closed your eyes, defeated. You knew it would be tough, you’d always known, ‘cause it had always been.

«So, now you’ll be taken to the nearest hospital just for some more routine exams we couldn’t take here, but you should be fine.» the doctor said, standing up. «Take care, miss.» You shook the hand he had offered you, a tad confused, and turning around you were met by your assistant’s worried face. She was in her first year at Alfa Romeo as well; you hadn’t had the time to bond with her deeply, but she probably was the only one you fully trusted in the whole team. Which wasn’t ideal. # «So? Any news?» «They told me they’re taking her to the hospital for further checks, but she seems to be fine.» «Are you sure? She had serious problems breathing…» «Well, all the drivers are breathless after a huge shunt. But you know this better than I do.» Charles sighed at his manager’s words.

He had walked back to the hospitality, got changed and contacted Nicholas Todt right after, in search of news from the primary source. Then, strolling towards the media pen for the routine mid-race interviews after a crash occurred, he had spent the last twenty minutes insistently asking himself what had caused such a contact: he needed to look at some on boards to get it clear, but he wanted to talk it out with you, still worried about your conditions and confused by your driving behavior. He didn’t expect you to try for an overtake there. He wouldn’t expect any driver to. It just… didn’t make sense, for a driver like you.

When he saw you arriving at the pen with your assistant, Charles couldn’t help but leave hanging the journalist who had just begun introducing her question.       His approach took you off guard, but you deeply inhaled, definitely not shocked to have him searching for explanations. «I thought you were doing some other checks at the hospital. Are you alright?» he asked, barely audible. «Yes, it was just… uhm… routine stuff. You know, for the deceleration of the impact.» «Thank God.» he let out, in a sigh, looking elsewhere. «Listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your race… And put you in danger, of course… It- I thought there was a gap since you were going a bit slower than me, but it was nonetheless a terrible idea, and-» «Don’t worry about my race, I was struggling massively with the tires anyway.» Charles smiled, half trying to calm you down, half downplaying his frustration. «But you’re right, I made a mistake. I should’ve paid more attention to you. You know, I’m not used to rookies going at the speed of light and not having any mercy.» His gentleman smile sparked some light inside of you as well, and you naturally mimicked him. Something… something about the look in his eyes reminded of a distant memory you couldn’t pinpoint. You just shrugged it off: your assistant gently touched your shoulder, suggesting it was time to feed journalists with well-crafted lies. ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ Ice cream wrapped around his fingers, he stood next to the fence watching Arthur’s kart speeding past him, waiting for him to jump off the seat and let him hit drive to the limit once again. It was Sunday, but it had rained throughout the night, so the track was green - little to no grip available for the small tires to hold on to - and, because of it, empty. No one had dared to show up in such conditions, except for, that is, two families: Leclerc's and yours. You had never properly introduced yourself to each other before that day, but you were well aware of the phenomenal performances of the fifteen years old guy eating ice-cream with his suit hanging off, ruffled hair, focused on the action. You had raced once against Arthur, his younger brother, but stupidly enough you didn't expect them to be related. Seeing the entire family at the track was unusual, indeed.

«How did the tires feel?» your father asked you. «Good, but…» «But?» your father prompted. «…but some corners are very slippery.» Undisturbed, your eyes didn't fall upon your dad's face once, lost in contemplation. It was only natural for you to miss the other question he addressed, since you were still staring at the white-suited boy, a hand gripping the metallic mesh of the fence. «Y/n?» «Uh?» «Are you listening?» he raised a brow, skeptical. «Sorry. What was the question?» you shrugged. Your dad, subtly, glanced at the point you had been staring, immediately noticing the spark of your interest. «I asked if… if you want to have a snack. It's almost lunch time.» he asked, glancing at his watch. «Yes! I'm hungry!»

You both came back with a sandwich in hand, chit chatting about the upcoming race and your latest performances. Before you could make it back to your van, heavy bullets of rain hit your skin and head: the dark clouds covering the track had turned into a waterfall without any warning. You both ran to your kart, trying to cover the seat so it wouldn't get soaked, putting two umbrellas over it, but depriving yourselves of repair. «Let's go in the trunk!» The air was humid and thick. You sat next to your dad, staring at the rain, him with crossed legs, you with a cheek resting on one of raised knees. He looked at you and laughed at your antics. «Don't be so sad, y/n. You put in a lot of laps yesterday.» «But I wanted to do more. Now we're stuck here and we can't do anything.» «That's not true. We can… enjoy the moment. Look up there, the clouds cover the treetops.» You turned your head towards the point he was showing you, but your eyes were soon caught by a figure walking towards the two of you, under a red umbrella. «Do you need help with the kart?» the man asked, with a thick French accent. You stared at your dad, only to see him indifferent to the offer. «No, thanks, we're good.» You almost rolled your eyes. He was a proud man. He had sacrificed a lot to make you enter the karting world and didn't want you to be considered less of a serious competitor because of money and facilities: you already had to face the prejudices of being a girl. He didn’t like getting help from others, since he had always provided you with everything, and wasn’t willing to give in, at all. «Uhm… I think it would be better to put the kart under our gazebo.» the man said, pointing at it. «It isn't big, but it's better than nothing.» While your father pondered the proposal, you enthusiastically smiled and thanked the man, running towards the kart and starting to push the cart. As you both placed the kart next to theirs, the man - Arthur's father - got near your once again. «We have some ice-cream, if you're hungry.» Your eyes sparkled, and your father knew there was no way of stopping you. Hervé, that was his name, called someone in French words and spoke words you were unable to understand. Your dad first smiled at you, enjoying the smile lighting up your face, then looked back at Hervé Leclerc. «Thanks for… all of this. But… Why…?» Hervé interrupted him. «I know what it feels like to give up everything for your child's dream. I respect you and your daughter a lot. We don't have a lot either, but I'm happy to share it with you.» Your father, stunned, at a loss of words, didn't get the chance to thank the man again, as Arthur and his brothers stormed with a box of ice-cream, yelling in thrill and joy as they chased each other.

A bit unsure, you waited for Arthur to serve himself first, then got near and looked at the flavors, indecisive. «Hazelnut is the best.» you heard behind you. Turning your head, you crossed a pair of big, bright, dreamy green eyes. Your heart was flinging towards them, and you felt so enchanted you wanted to show to everybody such a beautiful sight. «Don't you like it?» he asked, noticing your lost expression. «No, I love it!» you shied away, starting to fill your cup. You both sat down at a small table as Hervé and your father talked; you awkwardly smiled whenever that mysterious Leclerc's eyes would meet yours. «What's your name?» he suddenly asked, probably worn out by the silence. You played with the plastic spoon out of nervousness, flattening a curl of ice cream before answering. «Y/n. And yours?» you shyly said. «Charles.»

«Can I begin? Perfect. So, I think the first topic on the list that we need to tackle is today’s crash…»

Your lips twitched in a sarcastic smile filled with tension and hatred. «Y/n, you know this is your third crash this year and our budget-» «Thanks for asking how I’m doing and checking up on me at the medical center. Glad to see you place more value in money rather than in someone’s life.» As all the engineers slowly turned their heads to glance over at your crossed arms, your eyes pierced the wooden desk, deafening silence. «I’m pretty sure your assistant was there.» «So what? Do you think that’s an excuse? Even Charles, who drives for Ferrari, treated me better than my own team!»

You saw Alunni Bravi, Alfa’s team principal, snorting in annoyance. «Speaking of! If you two have to talk all lovey-dovey, please don’t do it in front of cameras… We’re full of problems as it is…» he said, rubbing his temples to soothe a heavy headache. «I… thought he was going to confront me about the crash.» you lowered your chin. He sighed, hid his face in your hands. «Y/n, listen… You know what we both need: results. The team needs points and the least damage possible, and you need that yourself, to prove you deserve your seat in F1. You see, we are heading toward the same direction, so why don’t we join forces instead of clashing against each other?» «Do you think I crashed on purpose?!» you asked, bewildered. «No, but you can’t afford to be too aggressive, otherwise you’ll get today’s result. It puts at risk your and other drivers’ safety, your team’s finances and gives the mechanics an awful amount of extra work.» The thought of the mechanics staying up late, not respecting the curfew, without receiving any raise for it reminded you of your dad doing the same back in the karting days, always working for you, with you. You swallowed hard your pride. Shifting on your seat to find a more comfortable position, you cleared your voice. «I’ll do better.» The team principal lightly lifted the corner of his lips. «I’m sure you will, y/n.»

Push. You’re worthy. Stronger. You deserve it. Until. You fought for this. You. It makes you feel alive. Make it.

The gym’s mirror reflected your mechanical, precise, controlled movements; you followed them with the sight, eyes and thoughts running wild across the room. The burn igniting your muscles, the sweat glowing in pearls under the neon lights, the skin wrapped inside loose-fitting clothes felt like heaven upon your body. «Okay, that’s it!» At your coach’s voice, you abruptly turned around. «What?» you asked, panting. «We’re done, you did all the reps.» she plainly said. «Already?» you asked, picking up from the ground your water bottle and taking a sip. «We’ve been here for two hours, y/n… Aren’t you tired?» she laughed at you. You shrugged, unable to perceive the weight of exhaustion. «I feel fine.» you replied. «Right, Miss Fine, let’s do a bit of stretching.»

After your coach had given you info about the diet and the workout plan for the next day, you waited for her to leave the gym before changing into a clean outfit. You removed the oversized shirt you always used and looked down at the waistband of your leggings, running the gap between the cloth and your skin with the thumb. You closed your eyes, both tasting the satisfaction of the moment and remotely despising the need for the achievement. But you couldn’t hide it: you were happy you had lost some more weight. You had been working so hard on improving your performance and proving you were putting your maximum effort into it.

It was sick, you felt it: you carried out the exercises like a machine, engaging your muscles and your core to extract all the potential benefits from the workout, convinced that it would automatically lead to better results. You struggled to define it, but it was such a self-consuming delight. ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ Being fifteen was difficult. Low self-esteem, identity crises instead of identity building, paranoia, confusion, hormones taking over, fear of the future, broken illusions. Things nobody at that age is programmed to deal with it anyway.

However, being a fifteen-year-old girl competing against pimply guys proved itself to be even more challenging than teenage already managed: more so, if those underdeveloped brains couldn’t spot anything that made you a girl to their eyes. Apart from social isolation and lack of friendships and acquaintances during karting competitions, that is. You had cut your hair short so that it would be easier to put your helmet on and no strand would get in the way; you were as tall as other drivers were, in some cases even taller; and you were thin, lean, light as a feather, dancing on your kart with grace. Clearly, they expected something different: they wanted to see more than a flat chest under the fire suit, more than a nonexistent bun; perhaps a soft and lost stare, the insecurity of someone who doesn’t belong the sport, the ingenuity of the newbie, the incapability of being a serious competitor. You let them down and proved them wrong, one by one. You spared nobody, killed them with obstinate tenacity, flashing smiles only whenever you stepped on the highest stair of the podium. Unluckily, they had another reason to crack jokes about you. Behind the fence, cheering for you, helping as much as possible with the kart setups, the tires, the engine, there was your mother. In the wide multitude of fathers, uncles and big brothers, your mother was the only woman getting her hands dirty and oily to help you out. Mistrust and envy were the inevitable dues to pay, every race, every time you two entered the track holding hands. # «There are too many people.» Charles said, grumbling. «C’mon, you’re doing it for Arthur!» «He’s a lucky brother.» he sighed. Lorenzo and Charles were walking towards the heart of the small paddock and searched for their younger sibling; an impossible task, since the entire place was packed with teens they were navigating through. Slowly moving past people, Charles couldn’t help but overhear a piece of conversation. «Did you see her mom?» «Yeah, they’re both ridiculous!» «Why, what’s wrong with them?» «Arthur!» Charles called, recognizing his brother’s voice. «Finally, here you are.» Without paying attention to the hand resting on his shoulder, the blonde driver still looked astonished at his mates. «Why does her mother come to the track with her?» he asked. «Because her father died.» Charles pieced the conversation back together and blinked a couple of times, making sense of it. As a reflex, like he already knew, he immediately spotted you in the middle of the crowd, holding your cup, hugging your mother. He struggled to make out your face, with the new haircut, but he still could tell it was you, the same girl eating ice-cream and often racing with Arthur, the same driver his father had told him about. He remembered you sitting in your dad’s lap, laughing with him, under the gazebo, surrounded by the sound of the pouring rain, as he spied on the two of you from inside the van, too scared to talk to you any further and ruin the special moment between a father and his daughter. A sea of people separating you, a sidereal space of loneliness and time creating an unbreakable wall: maybe you didn’t even remember who he was. However, Charles searched for thoughts of comfort to offer to you telepathically, not really able to find much; he didn’t know what he really meant to lose a parent and didn’t want to dwell too much on it.

Still, a few years later, looking at some pictures taken on that rainy afternoon, watching your fathers half hugging and smiling to the camera, the two of you sat behind them, being reminded of hidden memories and fears, forcing tears to run inside without showing, getting a taste of the same bitter loss’ cocktail you had tasted, sitting back onto the couch and staring at the void, he would.

«Alfa Romeo has announced some major changes inside the team. In the last couple of weeks some leaks hinted at the possibility of y/n y/l/n being replaced mid-year, during the summer break.»

«I don’t think there’s anything wrong with women in Formula One, but… they need to meet certain standards, you know? And I’m not quite sure y/n is doing that.»

«She's not going to stay in the sport too long without getting results... It's a simple equation: results equal money which equals contract.»

«A lot of drivers would die to have her seat and I’m sure Alfa Romeo has started looking around to see if someone has the right profile… Because let’s face it, it doesn’t seem like y/n does.»

You put down your phone and slowly stirred a cup of coffee the team had offered you. Tiredness crawled in every hidden angle of your body. News like those were filling up the internet since Barcelona; and as if luck hasn’t been abundant enough, you’d had yet another mechanical failure, the second in the span of three races. Some malevolent voices implied they were due to the previous crashes you’d had. You truly wanted to get angry, but you didn’t care anymore. You felt defeated. It felt so miserable to be following the race from the box, sitting there, helpless, either willing to scream or cry, watching the world go round in circles, without you. After all, that feeling wasn’t new to you. ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ The first time was tough. Arriving at the track, taking the kart out of the van, setting everything up; ignoring the foreign stares, resting your hands upon the steering wheel, driving the first lap. It was beyond rough. You weren’t as focused as you wanted to: you made a lot of corrections, went wide multiple times, missed the apex a couple of times. You inevitably felt frustrated by your own lack of pace and performance. That was only practice for what was to come; the first race was even harder to handle. A burden down your shoulders and chest made it difficult to breathe, your heart struggled pumping your adrenaline-fueled blood fast enough. You didn’t want to let him down. It was the secret promise you’d made with yourself without even knowing, something you’d always kept silent to others and to your own conscience.

After endless laps of chasing, constantly turning back to see how close your rivals were, examining the gaps and choosing different lines, you crossed the start and finish line and you felt hot tears wetting your skin: you had won the race. It was a strange type of happiness, a conflicting one, which you would get familiar with over time. You quickly wiped your cheeks, jumping out the kart: you just remembered running towards the podium, overwhelmed by that new brimming feeling pulsing inside of you, not capable of determining whether it caused tears to flow in joy or sadness. Proudly holding the cup you had been handed, you lifted it to the bright blue sky, and you looked at him.

With the little trophy in your hand and the helmet hanging off your fingers, you walked to the van and sat in the passenger seat, wrapped by silence. Lost gazing inside the golden reflection of the cup, you cried. Head tilted back, eyes shut in pain, you held your sobs in as much as you could.

It was tough, hitting the track for the first time after your father had passed away; but what hurt the most was that trophy, that unexpected win, which definitely meant you would have to – and could – go on without him, doing what you had always done. Your promise, your secret motive, you’d live for it: as if he watched you from the grandstands, followed you with his careful eyes, cheering for you, and driving you back home after every race, while you peacefully drifted away next to him. ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ You sat on a bench inside the paddock as it emptied of life, people leaving and walking around you as industrious ants crowding the space. «Y/n!» At the call, you naturally turned around: it was easy to spot Charles, still rocking Ferrari merch, approaching you. «Hi, Charles.» «Hi.» he said, sitting next to you and looking at the setting sun.

You secretly wondered what had brought him there, absorbed, in silence. He seemed peaceful, but you knew his race hadn't been particularly rewarding because of a grid penalty at the start, and you could almost see disappointment and dissatisfaction creating turmoil inside his irises. A small realization hit you, and it raised a pinch of embarrassment in you as it did: because, since Charles was enchanted by the sunset and you were intent on reading his expressive eyes, you were both caught staring at two beautiful sights.

«Your pace was really good.» he let you know. «Are you saying this because you struggled to overtake me after your pit stop?» you asked, a bit amused. «Well...» At his hesitation, you both laughed. «You had pace and your defending was annoyingly good.» he finished with a smile. «Without the mechanical failure, it could've been an easy P6 for you.» «But I had a mechanical failure, Charles. It doesn't matter what could've been, if it hasn't happened.» you bitterly remarked, staring back at the sky. «It does matter, instead.» he looked at you. «You made a lot of progress since the beginning of the year and I'm sure you'll score your first points very soon.» «If I'm not out by mid-season.» At your lapidary comment, Charles blinked, thinking, then looked at you again. «The team needs you. I know Zhou and he's a good driver, but in terms of pace... you're better.» «But he brings the car home and I don't.» «You've always out qualified him.» he reminded you. «How do you know?» you asked, shocked. You hadn’t even noticed it yourself, how could he know? He shrugged. «Overheard a conversation.»

Charles waited a few seconds before speaking up again, still thinking. «You've worked hard to get here. Don't bring yourself down because of what other people say.» You sighed and faced the sky, a shiver running down your spine as a gust of night breeze caressed your cheek. «They're trying to drown me, Charles.» you sadly reflected out loud, dropping your head down. Charles, looking at your hand gripping the bench, put his hand upon yours. «You know how to swim, y/n. I think nobody else in the grid knows the pressure of the sport better than you do, and since you made it this far it would be stupid to let go right now.» On his features, you read a feeling you didn’t expect: regret. It was all over him, in the way he searched for words, wetted his lips, glanced around, then stared back at you. «You can count on me. For anything, really.» he added. Regret was soon replaced by comfort; the weight of his palm's skin onto yours radiated a wave of calm, quiet, peace. And as the sun dived into the horizon, offering its last rays of orange gold, on that bench isolated from chaos, you felt safe.

As you crossed the start and finish line, your eyes flicked towards the billboard in the pitlane. A rush of excitement freed the breath you had been holding all along: the race was over. «P9! Good job!» «Y/n, congrats on your first points. Had a strong pace all weekend, well done!» «Thank you, thank you, guys.»

Switching off the radio, you screamed under your helmet: in joy and disbelief, because you finally got to the place you deserved to be; in frustration, because you knew the strategy had concealed the true potential of your form and the feeling you had found with the car, making it hard to fully appreciate the results without fantasizing about what could've been. Nonetheless, thanks to the adrenaline and the G-forces loosening their grip, you felt a small weight being lifted off your shoulders: you had achieved your first milestone in F1 and nobody could contest it. Nobody could take those points away from you.

Arriving at the pitlane, the team engineers seemed to react lukewarm to the performance; the mechanics, though, engulfed you in a group hug and clapped at you, visibly satisfied and content with yours and their work as well.

«Y/n! How does it feel to score your first points in F1?» «Well, of course.» you smiled, a bit nervous at the unusually welcoming question. «I’m satisfied with today’s race, but… I think there is more work to do. Our pace deserved more and better results are definitely within our reach.» «So hungry for points after tasting them for the first time!» the journalist joked, laughing. As you tried to shy off embarrassment with a smile, holding onto the barricade a bit tighter, you felt a soft touch brushing your back, halfway between a greeting and a request of permission; the light weight lingered a few seconds, before a figure dressed up in red reluctantly positioned next to you to be interviewed. His smile only made you smile bigger and redder. «Good job!» Charles spoke in a soft tone, his fingers still vaguely tracing circles on your back, unbeknownst to the cameras facing the two of you. «You did a good job too, with George. Some fair and hard racing!» you referred to a scene you had been able to see on the screens throughout the race. «Tell me about it.» he laughed. «But what did I say? Was I wrong about your first points?» he added, subtly tickling your back with his fingertips.

Lost in the bliss of the interaction, flustered because of the heat and the cameras pointing at you, the redness of your face lit up brighter as the journalist spoke. «What’s that, Charles?» she asked, intrigued by his words. «Did you tell her she would score points in this race?» He mildly smiled, getting closer to the fence – and to you – looking down to collect his thoughts. «No, I didn’t.» he laughed. «But I was sure she would end up in the positions that matters pretty soon and… here she is!» His body involuntarily leaned over to you to answer the question, combined with the kind and gentle tone he was delivering compliments with, made you glance elsewhere and forced you to suppress a smile. «So did you guys talk about it?» the journalist teased again. «We bumped into each other in the paddock and I told her, yeah.» «You seem to trust her skills a lot.» «I do. I mean, I’ve seen her race in karting and in minor formulas a couple times and I could see it with my own eyes. She was well-known for her talent and hard work, and now she’s proving it in one of the toughest and most competitive motorsport championships of the world. To be honest, I’m not surprised and I’m happy for her because she clearly deserves it.» «Y/n, how do you feel about these words?» the journalist finally addressed you once again, waiting for your answer with a grin. «Grateful. Usually people are complaining about my performances…» you laughed, a bit uptight. «So… hearing appreciative words from a driver I highly respect and look up to means a lot.»

Charles couldn’t help but grin in delight at your words: he had involuntarily kind of followed your career up to Formula One, and the idea you had possibly taken him as a point of reference flattered him deeply. He had always known you would make it. ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ Fidgeting with his Ray Ban sunglasses, Charles walked inside the paddock alongside Pierre. «The weather is so nice here.» «It’s Brazil, what do you expect?» the Frenchman snorted. «I’m just saying.» Charles replied, putting his glasses on. Not paying attention to the cameras taking pictures and videos of them as they casually strolled by, Pierre suddenly awoke from his silence and spoke. «I forgot to ask you something.» «What is it?» «You know the girl who races in F2 with Arthur?» Charles hummed, looking back at him. «Yeah, y/n. What about her?» At his best friend’s confidence, Pierre raised his brows. «Do you know her that well? I don’t even remember her last name.» «Well, didn’t expect much more than that from you.» The inevitable jokingly taps and protests Charles deserved for that comment caused laughter between the two of them. «So? What about y/n?» Charles asked, going back to the topic. «They say she’s racing for Alfa Romeo next year.» «Well, she’s leading the championship right now.» Charles said, matter-of-factly. «Yeah, but do you understand how big the news is? A woman in F1 after so many years…» Pierre lowered his head, in thought. «Alfa must be in a difficult situation if they’re doing this.» «Why?» Charles quickly inquired. «Because sponsors will court her, which means a lot of brand deals… and money to the team.»

Charles knitted his eyebrows together and walked looking at his shoes. It wasn’t possible that a talent like you would only get hired because of money. He had seen you drive, win against his brother and a lot of other good drivers, he had seen your determination every time he had celebrated one of Arthur’s podiums, because you were always in the top three. On the other hand, Charles couldn’t say he was a stranger to the financial difficulties Alfa Romeo was facing: the lack of upgrades, the never-ending waltz with sponsors and actionists, the upcoming renewal as Sauber and then Audi. Alfa danced in a sea full of uncertainty, so it probably represented the only team in the position to gamble and provide a seat for the first female driver after such a long time. Once again, his father’s words of appreciation towards you resurfaced: Charles hoped the rumor to be true, because he was sure you deserved it. # «Thank you, Esteban. Charles, I’m coming back to you: can you share with us your thoughts regarding the news too? We know your brother is racing in F2 as well and we’d like to have your piece of mind.» He raised the microphone, smiling to himself, sure he would be asked about it as soon as he had heard the question. «I’ve attended and watched some races because of my brother, as you’ve mentioned, but I think numbers speak for themselves. She’s leading the championship and from what I know she’s always performed brilliantly in minor formulas too.» «Right. We know that you and y/n share the same agent, Nicholas Todt. Were you ever introduced to one another by him?» Charles frowned at the follow-up question. «Uhm, no, we never met through him.» «Okay, thank you very much. Moving on to the next question…»

As Albon was addressed by the journalist, Pierre, sitting next to him, raised a brow and gave Charles a inquiring look, perceiving a lack of clarity in your answer. The Monegasque simply glanced over him and pretended not to see his confusion, keeping to himself that distant but lifeful memory of you. ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ «And this is the end of the tour.» your assistant said, gesturing with her hands to the hospitality hall. «Thanks, it looks… fresh.» you commented, still looking around. Exiting the building, you followed her steps, going towards the media pen for some brief interviews of that Wednesday. Your first ever week in F1.

Before you could notice, your assistant waved at a girl dressed in red, focused on her phone; greeting her as well, the two approached one another and engaged in a conversation. «Hi.» As you heard that unforeseen greeting, you finally noticed Charles, whose assistant was caught talking with yours. It was the first time you were seeing him after such a long time: the rubber smell, the oily hands, karts speeding on the track for hours. A pang of nostalgia hit your stomach like a punch, paired with those green eyes you’d never been able to forget and a tiny smile onto his lips. «H-hi!» you only managed to say. «I’m sorry I didn’t congratulate you before, but I thought I’d do it once I saw you on track. Really happy for you.» «Oh, thank you.» The contrast between the deep conversation running right next to you and the silence full of untold memories sharpened the veil of embarrassment trapping you: you both couldn’t stop glancing at each other briefly before diverting gaze as soon as you got noticed. The moment your assistants seemed to be over the intense chatter, you almost sighed in relief. «See you soon, y/n!» Charles greeted, walking away. With a small hand gesture, you reciprocated his kindness with awkwardness. It was hard to hide it: receiving such a pleasing treatment from another driver warmed your heart, as much as the thought of his young face and the few moments spent together did.

Sitting onto a leather couch, pressing your knees together, you peeked at the jewelry exposed onto the crystal table coffee in front of you. Lost in contemplation, you immediately raised your head as a pair of heels echoed through the room. «So… This is the winter collection we’d like to promote.» the woman said, sitting in front of you. «We’d like you to pose and take pictures with the bracelets first and then with the entire parure on. Then, if there is the chance, you’ll be joined by one of our biggest promoters for some overview photos of both the male and female collection.» «Of course.» you nodded.

You would’ve never thought being a female F1 driver could have perks… But it did. And one of them was that an endless number of brands wanted to be promoted by you. At first you had been reluctant at the thought of spending part of your summer break going through sponsors activities and promos, but at the sight of the building location chosen for the shoot and the fine jewels laying before your eyes, the laziness left room to placid enjoyment of the moment. At least you were sponsoring some good products. # «Raise the arm a bit higher, please… Perfect! Beautiful!» Enjoying the breeze onto the balcony, you glanced over at the sea behind you, caressing your arms’ shivering skin. The light reflecting upon the water made a mesmerizing scenery to stare at, joy filling the eyes. The blissful haze got suddenly interrupted by a bunch of steps, shuffling and chatter: it all quickly marched towards you, invading the space of the balcony and disturbing your peace. In confusion, you scanned the faces of the newcomers, only to be met by the graceful figure of Charles. A rush of electricity linked you both as you made eye contact. «Y/n, this is the person I was talking about earlier, Charles Leclerc.» said the woman who had given you instructions at the beginning of the shoot. Charles couldn’t help but laugh a little. «Oh, don’t worry, she knows.» he told her. «Oh, really?» she gaped. «We’re… we’re both F1 drivers.» you said, nervously chuckling. «Right! I’m so sorry! I feel embarrassed now… Well, I see no introductions are needed, then.» she blushed heavily. «It’s okay, there’s no need to apologize.» he reassured her.

He swiftly moved next to you and started whispering without looking at you, a courtesy smile plastered on his lips all throughout as he joined you scanning the surroundings and the staff moving around erratic. «I didn’t know you were a sponsor as well.» «Didn’t expect to find you here either.» you raised brows, to display surprise. Charles simply leaned his forearm onto the handrail of the balcony and gazed inside the living area, still smirking. «Well, let’s show the world how to do this properly.» One person from the staff came back to you with the jewels you had to wear, offering Charles some as well. # «Last but not least… We’d like to have a picture with this necklace.» As it was handed to you, you stared at it in awe: your eyes brimmed with the Swarovski’s reflection of the fine piece, delicate and bright as a snow crystal under the sun. «It’s beautiful.» Charles said, stealing the words you had in mind. «It is.» you remarked. Seeing your hands open the necklace and bringing it closer to your nape, Charles immediately halted your movements touching your hands, gently stopping them. «What… What if we take the picture while I put the necklace for her?» he asked, addressing the staff. Your wide eyes read excitement and appreciation in his proposal.

Without even acknowledging the fact those movements were mere acting for the shoot, you sincerely enjoyed the moment, getting surprised by Charles’ tenderness while brushing your hair away, while you were looking down at the charm and admiring it between your fingers, unconsciously smiling. You couldn’t help but quickly turn your head and look at him, too fast to think of how close that would bring your faces, your lips a few inches away. Green, gold and pink heavenly mixed on his features as colors on a canvas, taking over your senses. «Amazing! That was awesome. Thanks!» the photographer said, getting the attention of the both of you. With a silent sign of end of activities, while the staff moved around to bring all the equipment back inside, you turned around ending up between Charles arms, still spinning around the shining charm. «Do you like it?» he murmured, fingers brushing your forearms. «It’s… It’s beautiful, really.» you replied, eyes down on it. «And you? What do you think?» you asked, smiling. «It looks absolutely perfect on you.» Flustered, since your question wanted to refer to the collection and not on the way the necklace fitted you, you mentally thanked the sponsor manager walking up to you. «Well, thank you for your time. You did an extraordinary job and I’m sure the launch of the collection will be a success!» With a thanking smile on, you didn’t expect to hear the words Charles said right after. «Can she keep the necklace?» Almost choking on your own saliva, your eyes wide opened in shock; the manager hadn’t anticipated that either, at a loss of words. «I can buy it, of course.» Charles quickly added, afraid her puzzlement was caused by the impossibility of gifting for free the jewel. «No, there’s no need to! If… if you like it that much, we’re more than happy to gift it! There’s nothing better than sponsors who love our products.»

After the weird conversation, you both stared at her walking back inside the apartment, still standing next to each other on the balcony. «Why did you do it?» you looked up at him and asked. «Because I wanted to ask you something and I need to hear a yes.» he chuckled, while you mouthed a “What?”. «No, I actually think it looks good on you, so I thought you should have it.» «What’s the question?» you quickly let out, in order to shoo away his flattering comment which made you blush. «Why don’t you join me for the rest of the summer? To work out, go to the beach, spend time together, you know.» «I can’t believe you’ve bribed me with a necklace you didn’t even pay for.» you laughed. «So? Did I hurt your pride?» Charles asked, subtly encircling your waist. «Yes, and I’d like to avenge…» you said. «But unluckily I’ll need to come along with you if I want to.» «Oh, that’s bad news.» Charles raised his brows, mirroring your playful grin. «That sounds like a plan, then.» «It does.»

Sunkissed, you enjoyed the rays tickling onto your skin, eyes shut due to the light, propped onto your hands. Waves, iodine and freedom rocking you back and forth like a baby inside a cradle, your lips naturally curved upward, in bliss. «Hey, y/n!» Turning your head in reaction to the call, you noticed it was one of Charles’ close friends. «Do you want to play table tennis with us?» «Of course!» you chirped, quickly getting up from the deck chair you were sitting on. «Who is winning?» you asked, when you came close to him. «We’ve just started, but Charles is already losing somehow.» he laughed. «Good job!» you joined him.

The inside of the yacht was finely crafted, emanating comfort and luxury, but it didn’t feel cold: decorations and clutter clearly characterized it, added a personal and unmistakable touch that made it even more welcoming. Walking to reach the guys playing on the opposite end of the boat, you were caught by a picture on a shelf, which hit you like a freight train full of memories, nostalgia and tenderness all at once: looking at it, you struggled to recognize your father’s face, realized the sound of his voice was so hard to recall. You quickly diverted your eyes from the happy stare of your dad’s, focusing on two teens in the background, sitting onto plastic chairs: you were eating ice cream with a leg huddled and the other touching the ground, while Charles sat leg-crossed, looking at you.

You couldn’t believe time had flown by so fast, so destructive, so insensitive and so careless in pulling strings that crossed the years, only to bring you in that yacht and contemplate the beauty of destiny. «Good memories, huh?» Charles’ voice surprised you, making you turn your head abruptly to glance. «Came here not to feel the burn of defeat?» you asked, teasingly. «You wish. I’m winning, I think that’s obvious.» he said, overconfident. After the quick exchange, you both looked back at the photograph, incapable of ignoring it for too long. «I didn’t know they took a picture that day.» you said, more to yourself than really talking to him. «Arthur took it. And this is why we’re also in it, even though it should’ve been just them.» Charles said, unable to hold a smile at his brother’s poor skills. «Do you think it is possible to make a copy of it?» you asked, after a couple of seconds. «I think so, yes. Do you want it?» You hesitated, then nodded towards him. «I’d like to gift it to my mom, she really likes looking at old pictures. But cut us out, I’d prefer the photo with just the two of them.» you said, pointing at the younger versions of yourself. «What?! We’re so cute, why do you want us to be cut out?» Charles asked, infecting you with his laugh. «You can make a separate picture with the cutout.» you joked. «I will, for sure. I mean, we look too good.» You chuckled at his words. «Me wearing a suit dirty with engine oil and you eating ice cream like you care about nothing else.» «On plastic chairs.» you added. «On plastic chairs.» Charles remarked, nodding and widening eyes at the umpteenth funny detail. «But the fact that it’s ridiculous makes it interesting.» «I can’t believe the only photo we have together has me eating in it.» you laughed. «We can always take new pictures.» As you felt Charles’ eyes on you, you immediately searched for them, locking stares, a bit surprised by his offer. «Charles, where are you?» someone shouted from outside. «We should go.» you awkwardly said. «Yep.» he immediately turned around on his feet, embarrassed as much as you were. # You hadn’t played table tennis a lot before, but being Charles’ teammate didn’t help increasing your winning chances. You miserably lost. «I couldn’t see anything, I had the sun in my eyes!» you tried to protest. «Your complaints are music to our ears.» «Guys, come on!» Charles pleaded in frustration towards his friends. «Nope, you promised before starting the match.» «I promised nothing, I wasn’t even there at the beginning!» you contested. «But you joined, so now you’re in this together.» You threw a desperate look at Charles, who simply covered his face with his hands and scoffed with a smile. «I think we don’t have a choice, y/n…» The idea of jumping in the water fully clothed and going around all wet until dinner made you uncomfortable and annoyed already, but you hadn’t time to ponder the dare further as Charles quickly splashed into the sea. Carefully getting close to the edge, you looked down the boat: you had never feared heights, however the blue expanse below you seemed an endless abyss, the yacht being far and far away from the coast. «Are you scared?» Charles’ friends asked, half-way amused and confused by your reticence. «Of course not.» you tried to play it cool. Charles, moving his arms to stay afloat, could read the hesitation blocking you. «I’ll catch you, don’t worry.» he shouted.

The impact with the water was softened by the waterfall of bubbles following your body and lifting you up towards the surface. Before you were able to notice, resurfacing, your body slid onto Charles’, who had swum next to the point you had fallen. The friction of your clothes brushing against each other seemed to slow you down in re-emerging: you clearly felt his skin caressing yours under the soft texture of his shirt, his fingers quickly searching for your body gliding on his. When you came to the surface, gasping for air, his hands were already firm around your waist, and you couldn’t tell if you were breathless out of effort, fear or because of the unexpected and sudden closeness with Charles' striking stare. «Are you okay?» he asked you with a husky tone. You knew he didn’t mean to do that, that probably his voice had dropped in order not to be heard – as if the rocking sound of the water wasn’t enough to hide your breaths – but his words, his presence, the unexpected intimacy of the moment made you crave to drown back down. The contrast between the warmth he radiated and the ice-cold water surrounding you dazed you, your head going in tilt. «Yeah, I’m good.» you frantically nodded, still holding tight on to him. «Let’s go, then.»

Charles’ friends had a trip planned out for the week following your adventures on the yacht in Sardinia, so they left; you and Charles, though, kept hanging out, going back to Monaco.

The days you had with him were pure fun, shading momentarily your uncertainties and doubts regarding your future in F1; and if not bright enough to put them aside, Charles was always receptive to your needs, willing to discuss them and listen, since you were both navigating the same environment. You hoped that spending time with him could help you, somehow. # «Is it that bad?» he inquired, unsure of his cooking skills. «No, it’s pretty good.» Charles tasted it and hummed in delight. «Finally! Something that doesn’t taste like death.»

A lazy movie night had suddenly turned into testing Charles’ abilities in the kitchen: he wanted to order some food, you joked he could cook instead, he took it as a challenge and he decided it was time to finally improve at it. You had teased him all along, questioning his choices, his measurements, the ingredients he was using… and you both laughed throughout the process, until you sat down with steaming dishes. Charles saw you slowly moving the fork around the plate. «Aren't you hungry?» he asked, snorting with a laugh. «Not... not really.» His amusement turned into a serious expression, surprised at your lifeless response after all the laughter you had shared just some minutes earlier. «Is everything okay?» he inquired, a veil of worry weighing upon his brows. «Yeah, I've just lost a bit of appetite because of the new diet I'm following.» You looked down as you spoke, and he noticed. As soon as the topic was brought to the table, Charles subtly clenched his jaw a bit, poked his inner cheek with the tongue, then parted his lips as if to say something. He refrained the words he was about to use, opting for some cautious ones. «I see. I know I’m not the one in charge of it and shouldn’t… interfere, but you're the lightest driver on the grid, y/n. I don't think that's needed to improve your performance.» «It's not just about the weight, I'm trying to work on my strength as well and I... I had to readjust my diet a bit.» «Fine.» he said, shaking his head. The lies adorning the truth made it feel like a whole bunch of bullshit: deep down, you knew you were going way too strict about it, that it was nobody’s but your idea, though you thought that was, indeed, the only way things would get better, the only way you would get better, the only way people could see the best in you. The only way to prove you were worthy. «I don’t know what the diet involves, but as a guest of mine, you have to taste once again the first decent dish I’ve cooked in a very long time and deeply enjoy it.» Charles rediscovered playful tone managed to pull out a shy smile from you. # You both agreed on working out together, to make it more fun - and consequently see each other more. There was an intimate complicity between the two of you, a murmured comfort in the moments you shared: smiles, fleeting exchanges of glances, jokes and laughter. Neither of you could describe it, but in each other's company your personalities matched, merged as one. The fear, the weight of expectations, the voices and malice of the people around you would lose meaning, set aside for as long as you could stare at one another.

«Here we are.» he announced, coming off the locker room. «So classy! » you laughed, pointing at Charles' shorts. «Stylish, right?» he said, looking at them and laughing as well. «Isn't your shirt too big?» «I like being comfy.» you simply said. «I see.» he kindly smiled.

Throughout the workout, you did a few circuits, alternating at machines, adding a bit of challenge and variety to what would’ve been a quite repetitive activity, if done alone. Charles had a lot of fun, enjoying your presence, peeking at you during some exercises and smiling to himself. «Time to stretch!» Andrea said. You cackled at Charles protesting pleads, while sitting on the floor. «Turn on your side and hold your knee, like this.» your coach instructed you. Charles, told to do the same, pointing his head toward your lying body. The oversized shirt you wore had risen a bit in the movement, revealing a portion of your skin and showing some ribs. Charles quickly tried to divert gaze, not wanting to be caught in contemplation, a bit flustered by it.

«We're done, guys! You can go change!» Andrea said, with a clap of hands. «It was fun.» Charles stated, searching for confirmation. «Yeah!» you replied, a bit taken aback by his sudden comment. «Maybe... We can do it more often, whenever we have the chance...?» You turned to face him before entering the female locker room and pulled a small smile. «Of course!» Charles grinned as well as he very slowly headed to the door next to yours. # You opened your bag, searching for your clean shirt, then took off the one you had on. You halted. Don't, you said to yourself. But you did; you gave in to the quick impulse of reaching the mirror of the room and checking yourself out. It seemed... fine. And the idea killed you, because it still wasn't enough, it still didn't help your performance, it still didn't look as good as you imagined it to.

You turned to take a look at your profile: sucking your stomach in, you pulled the skin above your bellybutton to make it even flatter, hands gripping under your bra, to see what you wanted to see, what others wanted to see, the unreachable goal you had been chasing for years, setting yourself up for failure. So skinny, and still not successful on track. So skinny, and still everyone despised you.

As you watched, tantalized, your ribs showing, both proud and disgusted of what you had achieved after years of obsessive discipline, you didn't notice a silhouette appearing in the reflection of the mirror. «Y/n.» You gasped. Facing the mirror once again, you avoided looking at him, vainly covering the sight with your arms. You tried to ignore it. «What are you doing?» But you couldn't: the fear he would start thinking lowly of you, that he could be ashamed of what you were doing froze your blood.

Charles had been eaten by self-doubt for a while, but had finally decided to ask you if you wanted to stay at his place until the end of the summer break, since he had been enjoying your company a ton; during the small walk from his locker room to yours, he had been rehearsing the words he needed to say in order not to freak you out or be rejected, so he definitely wasn’t paying attention while entering. He didn’t expect to be met with the sight of your almost bare chest; and above all, under the loose fire suit or a t-shirt, he had never imagined to see such a thin, small-waisted and fragile looking body. Charles got closer with caution as you stood still, walking with hesitance, not entirely sure of what the real situation concealed beneath its surface. But those ribs, the same he had clearly seen while you were stretching, were marked in his irises, fear and confusion taking over him. «Please, look at me.» he pleaded, soft. As those words left his mouth, your mask fell off, dragging tears with it, and Charles swallowed hard as a realization started to set in. «What's this, y/n?» he whispered, hoping you would tell him off, somehow, maybe reassuring him it was all a dream, prompting an explanation that he failed to find. But you cried hard and you couldn't offer any word of comfort. Charles engulfed you in a hug, feeling his heart race faster to follow the thread of his thoughts, eyes scattered around the room in search of answers, while his fingers caressed your hair through the weeping. «Why are you doing this to yourself?» Words died against your vocal folds before they could turn into sound. Your weeps were low, inaudible at times, desperate. «It’s not enough.» you breathed. A sting hit Charles’ chest. «I… I don’t know what to do… It’s never enough, Charles.» As your voice cracked, new tears fell down to fill your abyss. «Enough for what? Enough for who?» Holding your face upward, he awaited your answer. But you froze. What were you doing all of this for? If you knew it was wrong, if you felt it was wrong, then you certainly weren’t doing it for you. Was it for your team? To prove your effort, your dedication, to show that you cared about the sport above anything, above yourself as well? Was it for the press to notice you deserved that seat, that opportunity?

And then, finally, like lightning cutting through the air and reaching land, shattering your entire world, a realization struck: it had started way before entering F1. The sense of control, impulsive discipline, always aiming for unreachable perfection had been your self-destructive coping mechanism for your father’s loss. That promise you had made to yourself, to never disappoint him, never let him down, prove yourself worthy of the love he had given you broke before your eyes like glass. The oppressing fear of not being enough, of not repaying the immense sacrifices he had done for you, the idea of all his life being wasted to chase your dream had triggered the guilt you’d been living with for years.

Letting it all go against Charles’ shoulder, holding onto him like an anchor, scared of being suddenly left broken and alone in such a vulnerable moment only made his hug brace you with a firmer grip, hand caressing your hair. «It’s not your fault.» he whispered to your ear, like a lullaby. «Whatever it is, it wasn’t your fault.» Loosening the hold a bit in order to look at you, he softly wiped tears off your cheek. «We’ll solve it, I promise. You’ll never have to feel like this again or do this to yourself.» «I didn’t mean to do it.» you sobbed, shaking your head in denial. «It’s okay, y/n.» Charles pulled you back into the hug. «I’m not leaving you alone.»

You woke up early, tiredness deep inside your bones. The initial plan was to go back home and spend more time with your mom, but after the day at the gym Charles had insisted you to stop by and stay at his apartment for a little while. You had hated seeing him so heartbroken and gutted for you, since it wasn’t his responsibility to take care of you; still, he had said multiple times he wanted to help you out, that he had ways, that he knew people, proving with facts that he genuinely cared. You quickly got up from bed and headed to the kitchen to have a tasteless breakfast, bitter thoughts taking over as you opened the cabinet. The cliff of uncertainty had always been your environment since the beginning, but you had never felt so close to falling as you did in that moment. You had never been that high either, so it was only natural to be afraid of stumbling down in such a position.

Putting the moka pot onto the stove, you then walked towards the window, catching a glimpse of the waking world, a thin layer of fog hugging the skyline. Your phone vibrating onto the table distracted you from contemplating. Seeing a big “Mom” written on the screen didn’t surprise you. «Hi, mom.» you greeted, with a smile. «Hi, dear! How are you doing?» You lightly nodded to yourself. «Good, I’m relaxing a bit before the final rush.» Your mom simply hummed, leaving the end silent for a few seconds. You hadn’t told her why you had refused to come back home. It was true you had simply accepted Charles’ offer, but on the other hand you were quite relieved you didn’t have to fake calm and inner peace with your mom despite being in a stressful situation. «Y/n, how is it really going? You know you can tell me anything.» Her regretful tone urged you to provide reassurances. «It’s fine, why wouldn’t it be?» «I… I’ve heard about your seat being at risk and… I don’t like to be nosy and I know that you want to be the only one worrying and being responsible for everything, but I can’t help worrying, y/n. You and your father have worked so hard for this-» «It’s just rumors, mom, don’t worry about it.» you interrupted her. «I’ve talked with the team and they’ve reassured me about the renewal of the contract.» Lie. «Really?! And you didn’t tell me?!» she almost screamed in joy. «I wanted to wait a bit because… because there’s actually a bigger team interested and Nicholas is negotiating.» Lies. Nothing but lies. «Oh darling, I’m… I’m so happy for you. I was sure people would notice your talent! You deserve all of it! Oh, I’m so glad…» «Mom, there’s no need to cry…» you said, tears forming in your eyes as well. «Of course, right.» you heard her sniff. «But thinking of everything you and dad did back then and seeing where you are now… It makes me emotional, you know?.» «Mom…» you kindly scolded her. «Okay, I’ll stop! I have to go anyway, the shop is about to open.» «Love you, mom.» «Love you more! Bye, y/n!» As you hung up, words finally started to weigh down on you, sinking your heart like rocks. You had no reason to play with your mother’s feelings only to postpone a disappointment that you couldn’t avoid anyway.

When did you become so shamelessly cruel? Which sick part of you could only imagine Alfa Romeo was willing to renew your contract and at the same time another team was striving for having you on board next season? Not even your wildest fantasy could be that delusional. How many other people did you want to let down? Why did you keep setting impossible expectations and standards? Where did your hunger of perfection stem?

The thud of a mug being placed onto the table made you turn around. Charles had woken up to the sound of your voice and followed it toward the kitchen, unintentionally eavesdropping on the conversation, and he had tried not to interrupt or make himself noticeable. After hanging up, he saw your hand reaching your temples, and he knew right away how you were feeling. Because he had done the same exact thing with his father. He knew, better than anybody else. But at the same time, you knew as well: for once in his life, Charles didn’t feel alone in his regrets, in his doubts and struggles, and could relate to someone else’s experiences and fears. The tension between the two of you had always been an invisible string pulling you close, uncovered but present, binding lives that still had to unfold and show their similarities.

Taking a mug from the cabinet in order to make himself noticed, Charles had waited for you to stare at him. You didn’t know he had been there all along, but the truth was already emerging from his expression, sweetly scolding you, as he moved a few steps towards the stove. «You know you don’t need to protect her from everything, right?» Charles said, pouring some coffee for himself. «It seems like the only option, at the moment.» You got close and served some coffee for yourself as well. «It seems, but it never is.» Charles sighed, opening another cabinet. «Do you want biscuits?»

You turned your head while walking in fast-paced steps, trying to escape his grab. Your laugh sounded like heaven, punctuated with light rain drops sliding onto Charles' tanned skin. Running to reach you, he fell in love with every detail of the moment: the chase, the heart filling up of pure joy, your teasing steps, as you stopped to let him catch up a little, only to sprint again away from him.

With the sand becoming more compact under your feet thanks to the gentle rain, Charles was gaining pace advantage over you, until he finally managed to stop the hunt, gripping your wrist; you both almost fell as you halted, laughing uncontrollably and senseless. Your breaths were heavy, but through your smiling lips they came out as a rhythmed symphony, eyes locked, matching stares brimming with happiness. Charles' hands roamed onto your arms, while yours rested upon his chest.  It felt pure, magical. Timeless. Charles was the first to break the silence, looking up to the grey clouds. «We should go home.» «Should we?» you asked, enchanted by the falling drops. «I really like it here.» I do too, Charles thought to himself. «We'll get ill, if we don't. But don't worry, I have an idea for when we come back home.» His words enlightened you. «Really? What is it?» «Follow me.» he said, taking your hand into his and locking fingers, while a smile lit his face.

Passing a hand through your damp hair, you eyed Charles entering the kitchen, away from your sight, so you decided to go change your clothes. Reponing the clothes back in the wardrobe right after, you saw Charles approaching, armed with two spoons, a can and a mischievous grin. «Is it ice-cream?» you asked, surprised. «How can it be a summer holiday without ice-cream?» «You’re right.» you smiled. Before you knew it, you were sitting upon your king-sized bed, crossed legs like two kids, bending over the can placed between the two of you. «Isn't it going to wet the comforter?» you asked. Charles hummed, in thought. «I'll keep it for us, then.» he said, grabbing it and taking off the lid. Without warning, he took the first spoon of it, leaving you speechless, but getting to taste Charles' smile while he watched your reaction. «Hey, bring it here!» you said, moving near with the spoon. Stuffing a mouthful of ice-cream, you were soon surprised by the flavor. «It's hazelnut.» you thought out loud. He grinned, looking down at the can like a little kid being caught red-handed, while he took another spoon of it. «You remember, right?» The sound of the rain falling down, you two sitting in front of the other, hazelnut ice-cream, lingering eyes. «I do.» Diving the spoon back again, you only took a few millimeters of ice-cream, observing it before quickly licking it away, in thought. And Charles noticed. «Don't you like it?» «It’s the best hazel-nut ice-cream I’ve ever tried, but… We shouldn't be eating so much of it.» «But today is cheat day.» he raised a brow, sure to win with a counterattack.

Since the night he had caught you staring at your fragile body and breaking down inside his arms, the wheel of change had been set into motion: Charles had promised to do anything to help you, and he kept up with the promise. You had dumped the coach who was supposed to follow and guide you and Andrea, Charles’ athletic trainer and dear friend, had suggested you a new one whom you had liked way better just at first glance. Without even realizing it, as you spent more and more time with Charles, you began opening up to him about it and started noticing thoughts patterns you were utterly oblivious to beforehand. His presence brought comfort, trust, support and clarity in your life, as much as fears regarding your future in F1 couldn’t be subsided completely. But Charles made life so easy. He could turn ice-cream on a rainy day into the most perfect and appealing way to spend time together. The idea he had thought through it, that he knew you’d be concerned about the diet and had chosen your cheat day on purpose so that you wouldn’t have to worry, so that you could both enjoy the moment, sparkled something inside of you, a kind gratefulness, a warm joy. You would’ve crawled closer to him, cuddled with him ‘til the daylight, either laughing or saying nothing, so that all your doubts would move away like rainy clouds. «You’re right.» you said, taking another small spoon of it. «Geez, it’s too good.» you complained, humming. Charles chuckled at your heartbroken expression, ice-cream melting in your mouth.

Spa never spared itself when it came to unpredictability. The few times you had raced there when you competed in minor formulas, chaos had taken over the results, crashes and crazy overtakes being the main characters of event-packed GPs.

The forecast had announced a small chance of rain throughout the weekend, pushing every team to choose a low downforce set up; indeed, in both free practices and qualifying only a few drizzles of rain sprayed the track, nothing crazy or unforeseen, and you had managed to earn a decent position to start at for the race. However, as you had learned over the years, Spa never ceased to amaze, playing the unexpected. # The rain falling down onto the dark asphalt, making your medium tires slide throughout lap twenty-four, after a lasting and on-going, strenuous defending against the DRS train which had formed behind you, felt like pure violence. «In sector two it's pouring.» you warned your engineer. «Copy.» «What's the forecast??» you encouraged, hoping to get them to consider the situation carefully. And get them to box, possibly. «It should rain for the next twenty minutes.»

Laps chalked up, wrapping around the tires, making them even more slippery, as every driver in front and behind you disappeared inside the pit lane and left you alone on the track, struggling with grip. «Can we box?» you asked, almost with a pleading tone. «Negative, we'd like to extend this stint.» How? Are they stupid? The tires were already quite worn out and in order to stay on track with the rain you were driving inevitably slower than everyone else, hence becoming prey of undercuts. «Guys, we're losing time! It's raining too much!» Unheard. Neglected. Nobody answered. You sighed, frustrated. «Thank you.» # The pale, yellow light of the panels installed around the track, reflecting through the thick layer of pouring water, struck Charles, who started gently braking, only to hear Xavi speak to him through the radio right after. «Safety car deployed, safety car deployed! Keep the delta positive.» Charles exhaled, relaxing a bit, as well as slowing down the car. «What happened?» he asked, more out of habit than really meaning it. As he carefully drove through Pouhon, his question was automatically answered: a car was smashed against the barriers, but he couldn’t even tell whose team the car was, due to the heavy rain. «Fuck, who is it?» Charles asked his engineer, thinking how bad the impact must have been, considering how fast that specific corner was. «I-it's y/n.» Charles didn't hear. His ears could suddenly capture the sound of the waterfall of rain crashing against the track, the engine and the power unit revving behind him, the cheers of the fans around the circuit. A piercing fear rummaged inside his bones, his stomach, crawling up his heart and clenching it, unable to process the information. Not in Spa. Anywhere, but there. Anyone, but you.

«Is she okay? Did she get out? Is she hurt?» «I will let you know.» his engineer answered, as calm as he could possibly be. Charles urgently pressed the radio button once again. «No, Xavi, I need to know! Please.» «Copy, she's still in the car.» «Is there any team radio or...?» «Not at the moment, but I'll keep you updated.»

Charles stared intently at the red lights of the cars in front appearing and disappearing before his eyes through the rain. He wanted to disconnect his brain, to forget everything, to focus on the race; but there was no way he could. # «Are you okay?» your engineer said, crackled. Breathing in and out your mouth, heavy, tired, full of fear, you looked around you, unable to see anything due to the rain. You pressed the radio button to answer, but you noticed the small activating light didn't lit up in the process. The radio was gone. Still breathing erratically, you bursted out crying. Unheard. Why did they leave you on slicks, aware of the danger? Neglected. The umpteenth race thrown to the wind, when you were fighting for good and well-deserved points. Frustrated. Your cries ricocheted inside your helmet, hoping someone would hear you, hoping someone would care, hoping efforts could be rewarded, sooner or later. # «She's out of the car, she seems to be okay.» «Was she still on inters?» Charles asked his engineer, as he drove into the pitlane after the race had been red flagged. «No, she was on mediums.» Mechanics placing a gazebo upon the car to shelter him from the rain, Charles reasoned Xavi’s words, trying to make sense of them. Everyone had stopped to put intermediate tires and, right before the safety car’s deployment, a lot of drivers already had boxed for full wets. How could she possibly drive on slicks with those conditions? What sick strategy was that? No, it could only be a joke. «Mediums? Are you sure?» Charles double-checked, hoping his engineer had got confused. «Yes, y/n hasn’t pitted since the race start.» Charles’ chest filled up with a wave of rage and deep frustration, so strong he thought he wouldn’t be able to control himself and would get out the cockpit, running towards Alfa Romeo’s garage in order to ask them what their plan was, if it was an attempt to kill you or if they were fucking blind and couldn’t see the track’s conditions. He couldn’t bear it at all; not after what had happened in Spa’s rainy days, not after losing already two of his friends on track. And Charles, while drops of rain were hitting the gazebo, indifferent to the mechanics’ movement around the car, sitting still with a downpour of feelings sliding off his hands, couldn’t even process that he had just risked losing you as well. ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ The fresh smell of grass and soil itched your nose, sharp and nauseous, fueling the tears gathering above your waterline. The sun was hidden behind the soft veil of clouds, casting a feeble light on the field. A valley of grey marbles cut open new wounds. Staring at it, you recalled your mother asking you to choose a picture you liked, but you immediately regretted seeing it plastered upon the grave: the happy memory behind it would've been forever merged with mourning, grief. Death.

Birds chirped from high above a tree, drowning out your mother's weeps.  How do I keep them quiet?, you wondered. How to fade out the inner noise, the chaos, the pain flowing out of your eyes? You walked out. Indifferent to the eyes pointing at you, indifferent to your mom crying louder, indifferent to her sorrow, you marched towards the gate out of Hell. How were you supposed to watch your father being buried? Your dad, the one who taught you how to walk, how to race, how to love? How could you do that? How did people cope with it? How did your mother keep her composure, holding the handkerchief close to her nose so that no feeling would run out? How didn't she scream from the bottom of her lungs, losing her voice, scratching her skin with the nails, tugging at her hair while doing so? Why was everyone seamlessly indifferent to him? Why did everyone stand his death like anything normal, a simple news to be heard and forgotten?  Did anyone but you love him at all? How come you were the only one devastated by it? Why did it amplify, ricocheting inside your soul, doubling, growing stronger and more unbearable?

Birds answered your sobs with a graceful melody, as a sudden ray of sun reached your shaking shoulder. ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ You managed to hold your tears before the cameras, pride poking your eyes. You wouldn't give in to provocations and feed the journalists with whatever they were trying to gain from you; Charles had told you a bit about his own press experiences, he had advised you and you had agreed with each of his reflections, hence followed his suggestion. You were stronger than that, and that was something you had learned from him: he had shown and proved it to you, how you didn’t need other’s approval and validation but your own.

Still, on the verge of falling down like glass and helplessly breaking in thousands of pieces, held back by anxiety and fear, you frantically looked left and right at the media pen in search of one person only. You had waited for him until the end of the race, your assistant long gone after your interviews, but you had felt incapable of facing the pouring rain and the walk of shame twice.

You had tried to enjoy the race from a small screen inside the pen but, to pretty much everyone’s dismay, Charles had been forced out of the track after the restart caused by your crash and had ended the race tenth after running third all along. It wasn’t fair.

As soon as he stormed inside the interviews’ area, Charles halted his steps abruptly at your sight, almost about to leave the journalists hanging and bring you far away from worries and guilt. His assistant’s hand, though, reluctantly convinced him to first get done with his duties, but not without  throwing a last glance at you, who still hadn’t noticed him and were searching for his appearance. Once you did, you never lost sight of him, holding onto his frustrated body language, his shrugs full of disappointment. And then it came sudden. His hurried steps, his pained eyes, the pair of arms skillfully grabbing your waist, anchoring light, firm but not too tight: it made your world crumble and shatter once for all.

You both stayed silent, as tears reached your twitching chin and Charles wetted his lips, frowning, frustration visible through his tensed features. In a matter of seconds, he was already holding your hand, guiding you far away from the chaos, dragging you out of the suffocating atmosphere. # Charles flung his room’s door open and left your hand in order to lock it. Founding yourself in a safe place, alone, you sobbed louder, letting your brows clash upward, face crumpling. As he turned and saw you, a pang to his chest, he waited for you to crush inside his embrace. What can I do?, he asked himself. What was there to say? How could he erase mistakes from the script of your life, of his own? How could he make it beautiful and happy so that no tears, no sorrow had to be shed inside your souls? «I gave everything.» you cried. «I know.» Charles said to himself, caressing your cheek. You drank in his touch, thirsty for love, but those words didn’t empty the box of sadness trapped beneath your chest. It didn't feel enough to you. «I gave everything for this, Charles.» you tried to say, voice cracking. «I…» At the sudden thought of your father, you stopped talking and cried harder, filling a deafening silence. «I know.» Charles struggled to prevent his thoughts and breaths from running, so he tried to point all his attention upon you; putting strands of hair back in place, wiping tears away, keeping your face upward and fighting against its natural tendency to drop down. But the more he looked at you, the more his own thresholds were being knocked over. «My father...» you bit your lip. «No, it's okay, y/n.» Charles immediately pulled you back into a hug. «It's okay, don't think about it.» He couldn't listen to it. He couldn't bear hearing from you to the thoughts he was trying to subside in his own mind. Every word was a stab, a crack through the wall, willing to create a breach. However, you couldn’t surrender and suffocate in his hold everything you needed to say, so you rebelled and loosened the grip. «It's not fair.» «Y/n...» he almost pleaded. «I don't deserve it. You don't deserve it, Charles! You...» you sniffed and sobbed before proceeding.  «You are worth so much more than that.» You saw his irises wavering. Then, finally, a lonely tear slowly began travelling towards the side of his nose, nestling onto his skin. «I don't know what to say.» In the way his voice dropped and trembled, you knew that was the last straw.

You sat onto the couch, both at the same time, with slow movements, hands cupping each other’s faces. You were so close you couldn't tell whether the tears falling onto the leathered couch were his or yours; there was something intrinsically intimate and desperate in crying that close, in receiving each other's sobs, foreheads touching, noses brushing.  There was nothing else to be said, words wouldn’t fulfill the purpose: a stronger bond, a deeper sharing replaced unsatisfying talking. Crying had never tasted so sweet and purifying. You didn't simply feel understood: you felt felt. It was two bodies and one soul, one shared fate. And as one, you both leaned in, lips connecting softly. As everything in your life, joy had chosen its place to spring amidst the storm, nurtured by the rain falling down, lacing sorrow and tears. «I love you.» Charles said. «I love you.» you said back, still crying. «I love, y/n.» Charles breathed, leaving a kiss onto the corner of your mouth. «I love you...» he kept repeating, as a prayer, peppering kisses all over your face and then sealing his words onto your lips once more, hands holding your face as the dearest and most fragile flower of the world. «I love you so much.» you whispered. A smile crossed his face broken by sadness and mended it, like trails of gold gluing splinters of a vase.

«We shouldn't do it here.» you said, breathless. Charles leaned in and stole another kiss from your lips, which you were completely unable to resist, hands unconsciously pulling him even closer. As he broke the contact painstakingly slowly, about to smirk, Charles stopped only a few centimeters away from your face. «Sure? You seem to like it.» You jokingly patted his shoulder as you both smiled at each other, getting your bodies the farthest they had been in ten minutes. Sat upon a chest of drawers belonging to Charles’ preparation room, you stared at him, tracing with the sight his perfect features, the fireproof shirt draping him and clinging onto his skin, fingers playing with his bracelets, while you twisted the charm of the necklace he had gifted you, and you then gazed at his rosy lips, so bright and tempting. He joined your hand and caressed the charm, only to close the gap between you two once again.

You had never made out with anyone so sweetly, so tenderly, going at a gentle pace, careful of vulnerabilities and wounds, lust being replaced by a soft yearning. A bloom of butterflies spread all over your body whenever Charles' hands unexpectedly moved, making you discover angles of skin you didn't even know you had, seeking refuge in the comforting warmth of his kisses. «We need to go...» you tried to dissuade him after he began leaving quick pecks from the corner of your mouth down to your neck. «Just five more minutes.» he moaned, still caught in his tantalizing kisses. «My mom is waiting for me, Charles...» you laughed. «Mine is too.» he briefly replied, without letting his lips stray from your skin. «Another reason to go greet them.» Charles looked at you, inhaling as to refrain from kissing you again. «Fine.» he sighed. «Let's go. I also have a gift for you.» «Really?» Charles wiped your cheek as your whole face lit in joy. «Yes. But let's get out of here quickly, please.» he pleaded, smiling. # «There you are!» your mom exclaimed, gesturing towards you and Charles walking in, a shy smile as you stood a little bit too close to him. «I thought you had forgotten about us.» Pascale teased, following with the sight his son, who reached a bag abandoned on the floor and approached the three of you once again. «Early Christmas!» Charles handed a package to your mom, who opened her eyes wide, one to Pascale and, lastly, one to you. «That’s so nice of you! Can I open it??» your mom asked, thrilled. «Sure!» Charles smiled. You watched her unwrapping the paper with excitement, gaping as soon as she recognized the jacket your father wore in the photograph she was holding. «When did you take this picture?» Pascale joyfully asked, staring at the same framed photo your mom had. «Must’ve been a long time ago.» your mom said, smiling, but voice low. «Thank you so very much, Charles!» «It was y/n’s idea to print a copy for you.» he added, willing to point out the thoughtfulness was all yours. Blushing a bit, you looked up at him, fluttered. «C’mon, open yours.» Charles gently encouraged you, speaking in a lower tone. But there was no surprise: it was, indeed, the cut-out picture you had talked about, with you two only. You had expected it to be funny, a photo you two would laugh at; however, as Charles’ hand joined yours in holding the frame and stared at the picture with you, out of the blue you sensed a soft and delicate aura you hadn’t perceived the first time, as if Arthur had caught you in an intimate moment no one should’ve seen or disturbed, inside a bubble of innocence and sweetness.

Pascale and your mother felt the same way looking at you two being lost in gaze, both holding the frame, so close to each other, and smiling like two idiots. «Can we see it?» Pascale asked after an awkwardly long silence. The spell being broken, you both tilted your head up at the question. «Of course!» you stuttered, handing it over. Your mom couldn’t help but flip her eyes between you and Charles, searching for the invisible string tying the two of you. «Who would’ve thought you would meet again…» Pascale commented, handing the frame back to you. Those words warmed Charles’ heart up, as memories of the last months played in his head: it was more than simply meeting again. It was bonding, connecting on a deeper level without really knowing why, the same way you had done that rainy day; taking care of each other, supporting through hardships and enjoying little, special moments together. It didn’t feel real. And deep down, recalling his feelings on that first time you met, he had known something was different about you from the beginning. He definitely hadn’t seen the beautiful ending coming, both falling in love with each other. But he loved every second of it. # As you walked back to the hotel in your mother’s company, she looked back at the pictures Charles had given you. «You seem really happy, y/n.» A bit taken aback by the statement, you glanced at her, trying to read into her words. «I am.» you smiled, genuinely content. «Is it because of Charles?» she asked. You diverted the gaze, pressing your lips together in an attempt to hide the grin that was about to light up your face. You had never felt so comfortable around anyone, protected by the harshness of the sport, free to be yourself, loving and loved. It didn’t feel real. For the first time in years, your mother didn’t fear leaving you deal alone with your life in the majority of your trips all over the world: she didn’t have to silently check over and worry about your health, both physical and mental, because she clearly saw happiness written inside your eyes, and she had acknowledged you weren’t alone. «Maybe.» you rushed, with a mischievous grin, shrugging your shoulders. «Does he make you feel good?» At the question, your father immediately came to mind: you overlayed the feelings you had from happy memories in his company with some of the ones you’d had with Charles, and a suffused bliss permeated the both of them, almost blurring into each other. You smiled, joyfully nostalgic. «Yes, he does.»

When you received the call on Saturday evening, the bubble of happiness you had been trying to live in for a while plopped before your eyes. In silence, staring at the void, you replayed Bravi’s words in your head over and over again, in search of the deeper meaning hidden beyond those. Talking about the contract the day before a race, and not any, but Monza, which was pretty much home for the team, put you on the edge more than it would’ve normally. It must be serious, you thought.

Exiting the hotel, you saw Charles still caught signing and spending time with fans after the stellar pole position he had taken in the afternoon; you tried not to get noticed, which you managed to do successfully, and sneaked out heading to the track. # «Hi, y/n. Please, sit down.» You never stopped looking at him, watching every movement, fathoming the desk for signals and signs onto eventual sheets of paper that offered clues. «There’s a race tomorrow.» «I know. What about it?» he asked, baffled. You deeply inhaled. «You shouldn’t make huge decisions before a race, since it could affect the results of it.» «Do you think I would do that if I knew it could deny us the chance to confirm the P5 you conquered in qualifying today?» «I don’t know.» you shrugged. Bravi backed down onto the chair and reached a drawer, picking up a folder from it and placing it in front of you. «Audi is scoping the surroundings to find drivers suitable for the team and have them experienced and ready for its debut in the 2026 season. As you can imagine, it’s hard to sign contracts with drivers who are still under other teams and whose futures are still uncertain, so… they decided to take a look inside their own garden and, apart from the mistakes you’ve done due to inexperience, they were pleasantly impressed by your performance as a rookie.» Gently smiling at your loss of words, Alessandro kept talking. «They would offer a three-years contract, so that you would be part of the team throughout the transition to Audi as well and would be driving, of course, in 2026. To be fair, the contract looks more like a 1+2, since they still need to evaluate you next year… But it’s an incredible offer nonetheless, y/n.» He moved the folder towards you with his fingertips. «You can examine the contract with Todt, but please note that you have two weeks to either sign or refuse the offer.» Here it was. The passport to your dreams, the chance of your life being renewed in ways you had never even dared to imagine. What had you done to deserve it? You stopped that trail of thoughts immediately: you had worked so hard, you had been on the edge for months, reaping success but failures as well, partly dictated by the stress of the situation you found yourself in. Still, you had learned from it, you had improved, and everybody knew it, Audi knew it. It was time to let go of doubts, to judge and see yourself the same way others did, without dwelling on the negatives. What did you need to do in order to prove you deserved it? How could you turn that news into grateful motivation? There was only one answer. «We’ll have it.» you said. «We’ll have that P5.» # «Good morn- fuck, it’s 9.20.» Charles growled, one hand still wrapped around your waist, the other one checking the time on his phone. «Good morning to you too.» you chirped, turning around to face him and greet him with a quick peck on the lips. You saw Charles slightly frowning with a smile. «You seem really happy.» «I am.» you admitted, looking down. Adjusting a strand of your hair, he took the opportunity to lean in and kiss you; then, tender, he brushed the tips of your noses in a slowly intimate awakening gesture. «Is it for the race?» he asked. You raised your eyes up, in thought, then shook your head with a pout. «Is it… because of me?» Charles smirked before bursting in a loud laugh, downplaying his own suggestion. «Partly.» you answered, coquettish. «Then what is it?» he asked, wrapping his arms around your body and bringing it closer to him, still grinning. You diverted your gaze, smiling both at the thought of Audi’s offer and Charles’ curiosity. «I can’t tell you yet.» Disappointed but playful, Charles gently loosened his hold on you. «Why not?» «It’s not official.» you giggled.

He studied your expression with challenging eyes, then suddenly got on top of you, placing his hands at the sides of your head, so that you were trapped down between his detective stare and the pillow. «So, now… What’s this unofficial thing that’s making you so giggly and happy?» «Charles, I haven’t even talked with Nicholas about it…» As he widened his eyes in surprise, only in that moment, you realized you had just slipped up mentioning you two’s manager. «Did Alfa renew you??» Charles urged, now more serious. «Kind of.» you replied, nonchalant. «Audi offered me a three-years contract. But, you know, they still have the chance to drop me at the end of next year, so…» «And did you sign?» Charles asked. «No, as I told you I still need to read the contract and evaluate it. But let’s be real, I don’t think I’m getting a better offer in two weeks…» you laughed. «I still can’t believe they’ve chosen me.» «They did it because you deserve it. You’re talented, hard-working and you managed to achieve results the team hasn’t seen in years.» he said. «Also, despite some stupid journalists, fans support you and love you because they can see how much passion you put into driving, and everybody knows you are so…» «So?» you waited for him to end the sentence. «… Lovable.» «This doesn’t seem like a very technical comment, Mr Leclerc.» you laughed, patting his chest. «Was I supposed to be technical?» he asked, slowly bending down to slowly press his lips at the base of your jaw, right under the ear. «No, you weren’t, but still.» you said, caressing his hair as he pulled away.

He took a few seconds to stare at you, trying to read your expression. «Does it add pressure for today’s race?» he asked, his tone low, gentle, almost careful. «No.» you answered, lost in thought. «They made the offer before today’s results, so that just motivates me even more for the race.» «I’m so happy for you.» he added with a smile, getting close to give you a proper kiss. «And for us.» Confused, you raised a brow as he settled back to your side. «Waking up with you before free practice, warming up together ahead of qualifying… Making out to get ready for the race…» As he ended the list smugly, you pat his shoulder, earning his heaven laughter. «Travelling the world with you and sharing the passion that brought us together. Doing life with you, going at the same pace. Quite literally.» At the pun, you couldn’t help but cackle. «Don’t laugh, you’re quick with that little Alfa.» he pointed out. «Little Alfa? Are we so insignificant to you?» you joked, still laughing. «Of course not.»

You laid facing yourselves, both your pair of hands brushing, tracing with featherlike weight each other’s features, insatiable of touching, of closeness, of intimacy. No words were needed: silence was enough for you to communicate and bond, while everything else cluttered a background you didn’t even pay attention to. You had never experienced anything like it, and it was the best feeling you’d ever had. «Should we get up?» you whispered, scared to break the dreamy atmosphere. «We still have a bit of time.» Charles said, caressing your forearm. «Okay.» you smiled, completely content with cuddling in bed for a little bit more. «Okay.» he murmured. # «Safety car in this lap, y/n.» «Copy.» Waving on the straight before the Parabolica in order to put your front tires into temperature, you mentally assessed the situation. Rolling start. Four laps ‘til the end. Still P5.

You’d been extremely lucky the safety car had been deployed: you had stopped to put hard tires quite early in the race and your rear had been slipping for the last couple of laps, facilitating the comeback of Russel, who had been behind you all along, but at a safe distance. Among the sea of information your engineer had provided, one thought prevailed: let’s bring it home. # Smoke.  All you were able to see was a whitish cloud of burned rubber, which entered your nostrils and made you inhale the smell of fear, danger but, most importantly, of victory. You quickly realized Perez had suffered a huge lock up braking towards turn 1: he ended up into Carlos’ rear, which caused the Spaniard to strike Verstappen as well, who was taking the outer side of the chicane to oppose Charles at the inside. An absolute carnage you didn’t expect, and that you managed to avoid.

Driving through Curva Grande, you checked your mirrors waiting for one of those cars to appear once again, to no avail. «Russel behind, at 1.5» your engineer warned. «What about the mess in turn one?» you asked, breathing heavily. «They are in the middle of the group, but they all have damage, so they’re either stopping or retiring. No need to worry about them.» «No red flag?» you questioned, scared of how big the risk would be for you if another restart was needed. «No, they managed to keep going, it’s okay.» your engineer tried to reassure you. But you couldn’t believe it. Charles’ car was ahead of you, leading the race, and you followed pretty close, despite clearly not having the same pace as the Ferrari did, in second place. # Time had taught Charles there were different tastes of happiness. To be fair, the one he had tried the most had the pinch of bitterness and loss in it, a much-demanded karmic price but probably not a sufficient reward for suffering. Whenever sadness laced joy, tangling its dark tails around the golden rush, feelings doubled and echoed louder inside Charles’ chest, a nostalgic symphony resonating all over, marking memories with the indelible sign, every time. But not that day.

He crossed the finish line waving in delight to celebrate his win in Monza, fans roaring strong enough to rock the world, a rude red awakening of passion. It felt right, deserved, earned: shared with the explosive energy of Tifosi. And shared with you.

Looking in his mirrors and seeing your Alfa made his beating heart swell in excitement and thrill, unable to fully process what was happening. Charles, being himself, would’ve loved fighting on track for the lead, in Monza, but he knew as well that his pace advantage was unfair and such a fantasy was unrealistic. Though, through the lap of honor, waving at the grandstands, he frantically searched for your car and slowed down in order to proceed side by side, grinning with his whole eyes, raising a thumb towards you with might. It felt like happiness lacing happiness, gold upon gold, far from being sickening, burning brighter than the sun.

Down the pitlane, he got out, standing on the nose of the car, throwing a fist to the sky as a loud roar followed his gesture in cheer. He ran, faster than he could, and threw himself inside the mechanics’ embrace and pats, sharing the rush and the adrenaline after achieving the dream win. His name, like a chant, echoed through the crowd, numbing his senses and unlocking the secret drawer of emotions to open and overflow, pour down as warm rain nurturing the soil of his heart. «Charles, here! Please, Charles!» the photographers asked for his attention. In vain. He had turned his head behind, searching for you, and he had found you: still sitting inside the cockpit, visor opened, hands reaching your eyes. It took nothing else for his feet to carry him next to you and lean down, touching your shoulder with love, and he smiled. You were shedding tears of happiness. «Congratulations for your first podium. You were amazing.» he tried to let you know through the helmet. You stared at him, incapable of speaking. You wanted to congratulate him as well, you needed to express your love and affection and pride so much, yet felt speechless. So, instead of talking, you started unfastening your helmet, and Charles involuntarily mirrored your movements. And as your balaclava freed your hair from its protection and you stood up gripping the halo with one hand, you did the only thing you were able to do: you pulled Charles close into a kiss. Your intention was for it to be quick, a simple and fast peck placed onto his lips in sign of gratitude; though, you didn’t feel surprised as you felt his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up, deepening a kiss which was meant to be brief.

You both didn’t pay attention to the loud whistles, you were too lost into each other’s embrace; foreheads tenderly touching, rosy cheeks after an intense race, you two couldn’t help but grin, catching breaths. «I love you.» you whispered. «I love you more.» he replied, not as whispered, almost aiming to be heard, willing to let the entire world know. And he showed. Offering his hand to help you get out the cockpit, after you had just put down your feet to the ground, adrenaline still running high, Charles lifted you off bride-style and twirled around, both giggling. Wiping off a tear and chuckling at the same time, you held your arms around his neck when Charles reached the interviews’ area and brought you back down.

Russel was still ecstatic and thrilled narrating his race while you and Charles faced each other, silently exchanging affectionate stares and speaking a few words. «I’m so happy for you, gosh… You won, Charles!» you said, unable to contain excitement. «It was hard, but it feels so good.» he exhaled, shutting his eyes in a tired and relieved motion. «And you don’t even know how special it is to share this win with you on the podium as well.» he added, caressing your cheek.

Up from your podium step, the sea of people flooding the track, the flags, the giant prancing horse pulsing in front of you was the scenery of a movie playing all years as a ritual, but you felt like it was the first time ever seeing it: the afternoons spent on the couch watching F1 with your father suddenly disappeared, leaving room for astonishment and the childish curiosity of toddlers before the amazing simplicity of the things. Once you were handed the cup, feeling everybody’s eyes on you, especially Charles’ next to you, you raised the trophy to the sky, the crowd cheering for you. Among the choir of chants, voices, screaming Charles’ name, in that ocean of faces, in the clouds above the track, everything reminded you of your dad, and you could hear him cheering in joy for you.

Champagne already flying up in the air and drenching confetti falling down, Charles knew exactly what you were thinking as soon as he caught you scanning your surroundings, a bit lost in the overflowing feelings. He raised the champagne bottle forward, waiting for yours to join in a celebration toast. Off guard, Charles started spraying champagne all over you, engaging in an endless war nobody could enter or halt, no chance to interfere or dissuade you. You had your secret motives to celebrate; and you would both keep dancing under liquid gold until your arms got tired of holding, until your eyes got tired of staring, until your lips got tired of kissing. Until your hearts got tired of loving.

I'm really sorry if there are typos or mistakes, but it was really hard to revise such a long fic. Hope you'll be understanding 🥺 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! ♥ I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU LEFT A NOTE FOR FEEDBACK, SO THANKS IF YOU DO! HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY! . · ˚✧

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[beansprean]

Queening the Pawn Act 3 Part 4

There is a lot of Guide content in this act which not everyone may vibe with but dw I promise it’s interesting and Nandor will return lmao

Acts 1-2

Act 3: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Series of darkening thin gray panels with some clanking and thunking noises and dialogue over the top. The Guide counts, “1, 2, 3… Ah, fuck. 1, 2, 3… Where are you, you son of a…“ with every count, there is a corresponding tap. 1b. Shot from outside a door labeled “boiler” in brass, with a paper sign tacked over it that says “Guide’s room”. The door is open, and inside we can see a plain concrete room with a wooden coffin sitting upright in one corner and the Guide kneeling on the floor fiddling with something out of sight. She continues, “Come on, I know it was in August… Maybe I should get a new filing cabinet for non-paper personal items that need to be found quickly! 1, 2, 3…” 1c. Close up on the Guide sitting in front of the open drawer of a filing cabinet as she lifts up a record with both hands and triumphantly exclaims “Ah-ha!” The record cover is labeled “taxes 1972” but this is crossed out. Other items filed in the drawer between Manila dividers include candles, some brightly colored plastic items, and what could be a dildo. Behind her in the room are an electric water heater and a poster from the film Van Helsing starring Hugh Jackman.

2a. Close up on the Guide smiling as she places the record on an old fashioned phonograph with a horn and taps the spindle thrice before she places it. 2b. Zoom out, the Guide plops down to the floor in a lotus position and closes her eyes as the record begins spinning and making sounds. 2c. Close up on the phonograph horn as a scratchy-looking speech bubble erupts from within, featuring a stoic-looking Laszlo with horn-rimmed glasses. He says, “Welcome to Dr. Cravensworth’s Self-Hypnosis for Easy Recall, side A. 2d. The record’s dialogue continues over an aerial shot of the Guide concentrating in her lotus pose, fingers pinches together at her knees, “Where we seek to remind all our patients, ‘don’t forget…to remember.’ Now…you are walking through the corridor of your mind…” The white Dias the Guide appears to be sitting on begins to splinter off, overlapping squares of glitching black swirling around the back and breaking off into chunks to reassemble as a curved gray hallway beneath her, lined on each side with closed doors. The lines are glitching and shaky, as if struggling to keep their form. Walking down the corridor is a second Guide, seen from above, hair down and glove-free, wearing a pitch black off the shoulder dress with a long train and sleeves. /end ID

[ryuzakemo128]

Birds of a feather flock together

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aelora Targaryen

Content Warning: Mature Themes, Sexual Tension, Pornographic Content with minimal plot. Established Relationship. Indirectly

Trigger Warning: Incest, Sexual Content.

Characters Mentioned: Ex-Wife Reader, indirectly/ directly.

Words: 2,819

Links: [Dividers] [Masterlist]

Summary: “You enjoy the thrill of it, don't you?” He smirked, pressing her wet naked body against him, soaking his white shirt. “You enjoy the thought of someone walking in.”

Aelora gasped as Aemond walked into her bath chamber as she was bathing in the bath milk, lavender essential oil and water consistently heated by a warm stone beneath it. The flickering of lavender scented candles around the bathtub, sitting on white plates around her like some kind of shrine to purity, created a warm, intimate ambience. Casting shadows that danced playfully on the marble walls, the rose quartz stone bathtub reflecting a soft glow.

Her eyes met his, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew he wasn't supposed to be here, but the hungry look in his eyes was impossible to resist. She bit her bottom lip, as he walked closer to her, as he gazed into her eyes and with his index finger traced her jawline. Like it was made of dragon glass, about to shatter at his touch.

Aemond leaned in, his breath hot against her cheek, her eyes fluttered in desire, “I have heard whispers of your beauty, yet they did not do you justice,” he murmured, into her ear.

Inhaling, his scent of leather and sandalwood clinging to him like a second skin. Mingling with the faint aroma of the lavender in the air.

“You know we can't keep doing this,” Aelora stuttered, “Someone will catch us or worse, hear us.”

Her protests were weak at best. She knew he would rather seek her out than some noblewoman from another house. Always knowing where to find her. No matter what corner of the keep she went to.

She leaned into his touch, she craved it, she wanted it. No matter how much she tried to deny herself.

This primal urge, this primal lust burning inside of her, remained. Eating away at her until she gave in to him. To his desires. To his touch.

Although, the excitement she felt at the thought of someone catching the two of them entangled with each other fair outweighed the fear inside her.

“You enjoy the thrill of it, don't you?” He smirked, pressing her wet naked body against him, soaking his white shirt. “You enjoy the thought of someone walking in.”

She whimpered, pouting as he continued to tease her with light touches.

“Aemond, please…” she pleaded.

Barely a whisper, barely a sounds uttered from her rose-coloured lips before she could bite her bottom lip again. He snatched her lips with his in an intense, passionate kiss.

She moaned into it, melting into his touch like a chunk of ice on a hot volcanic rock. As the kiss grew to be more demanding, as she slid her tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss more than she usually would have.

Her hands caressed his chest, every part of his chest, as she had done repeatedly.

His hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss further.

Her knees weakened as her hands reached up to touch his unshaven face, to caress his cheek. The warmth of his skin searing into her fingertips. Sending wave after wave of pleasure through her body.

Cum dripping down her thighs as she leaned against the edge of the tub. He broke the kiss, cooed into her ear, “Who said you could cum this early?”

“I can't help it,” she pouted. She wanted his cock deep inside of her, badly. She didn’t know how badly she wanted him. Until she saw him sauntering in her bath chamber. Looking at her as if she were an entire banquet, and he hadn’t eaten in months.

“I want you.” she breathed into his ear. Hoping he would just pick her up from the tub and just carry her to bed. A foolish hope. She had hoped he would notice, to feast upon like a ravenous beast. She had no intention of hiding the fact of wanting him carnally. Like a creature of lust.

Aemond, he had other plans, plans which teased her relentlessly, he stepped back gazing at every inch, every part of her body. The sudden wave of cold air hardened her nipples into pink pebbles.

Smirking as he watched the water droplets slide down her breasts. He reached for a crimson silk robe, draping it over her shoulders, revealing more than it hid. Fabric clinging to her curves, outlining her body within the robe.

The way she looked into his eyes for approval, fuelled his desire, his want, the need to slide his cock inside of her. Stepping further back, the robe remained open, a frontal view of her breasts, her stomach, and her cunt on display.

“Turn around,” he demanded in a low growl, his cock throbbed, erect, pressing against his trousers.

Swivelling her hips around, her hands on the edge of the bathtub, the water sloshed around inside the tub. Graceful like a dancer, feeling more like a mermaid than a human as he wrapped the silk around her body. His fingers tying it around her waist tight enough to cinch it. Pushing her breasts together, her cleavage, deep and inviting.

“Good girl,” he praised her.

A shiver ran down her spine, as he praised her, her cheeks felt warm. The tone he used, the low growl, a mix of hunger and praise, he used it whenever they were in bed together. Whispering sweet nothings into her ear. When he made her scream his name repeatedly until her voice grew hoarse.

He groaned as he slid his hands down the sides of her body, the silk robe felt more like a hindrance the more he touched her. Mentally kicking himself for not bringing something he would be able to tear open.

Mentally cursing himself for not picking something he could easily ruin without anyone getting upset or moderately upset for ruining. Taking a deep breath, he lifted her into his arms, “We better get somewhere more comfortable. Can’t have you slipping and cracking that lovely skull of yours.”

“It would be a waste, wouldn’t it? All those secrets would be gone in a moment.” Aelora murmured. More specifically, her secrets pertaining to secrets of both the forgotten and forbidden lore few others possessed.

Aelora with her secret hoard of books, tomes and journals few people knew of. Rare artefacts, tomes, most people would not have even heard of. Stored inside the nooks and crannies of her bed chamber. Things she had rarely shared outside of her inner circle of friends, confidants, and partners. Aemond was just one of her intimate partners lucky enough to get the chance to see any of it.

The rest of her room as dimly lit as her bath chamber, the lavender scented candles lit either side of bed. The thick purple candles on the end tables either side of her bed. The candlelight dancing on the walls as he laid her on the soft velvet sheets. The mattress as soft as clouds, swallowing her as he climbed in.

The residue of the bath water still clinging to her skin, her silk robe clinging to her body like a second skin soaking in the bath water from her nightly soak in her tub. She looked up at Aemond as he hovered over her. Her crimson robe looking more like the colour black in the dim light in combination with the water soaking it.

"You're so exquisite," he murmured with a light kiss on her lips, "beautiful," he said as he kissed her neck, "delicious," His voice thick with passion, devotion, and a hint of underlining mischief.

Leaning in, capturing her lips in another kiss, hot, burning kiss with the exchange of tongue in each other’s mouths. Aelora moaned into the kiss as his strong hands caressed her body, his fingers tugging the robe’s tie. Tugging it looser and looser until he finally managed to take it off. Falling open, each side of the robe tossed to each side of her curvaceous body. His eyes feasted upon on every contour, line, and curve.

Her bare skin revealed, the cold air nipped away at her sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Aemond took in the sight of her, his eyes darkening with desire. He had seen her naked countless times before, but every time was like the first. Her beauty never ceased to amaze him.

Melting into his embrace, his warm hands, his touch, her body begging for more. Her body felt like it was set alight, like a matchstick struck by his touch. Squirming underneath him, legs parting and slithering around his waist to pull him closer to her.

He whispered into her ear after giving her ear neck a gentle nip, “I want to taste you.” He breathed in her scent, taking a long breath, “All of you.”

Her eyes grew wide with desire as she felt his mouth leave a trail of fire down her neck, kissing and nipping as he went. Each kiss leaving her trembling, begging for more. Leaving her body quivering, her eyes grew wider in lust as he left a fiery trail down her neck. Kissing and nipping his way down to her breasts. Each kiss left her wanting more, begging for more.

His tongue traced, trailed along her collarbone in his descent down to her ample, heaving breasts. Aemond took one peak into his mouth, swirling his tongue around her sensitive nipple, while his thumb and forefinger pinched the other. Aelora arched her back, a silent cry escaping her lips as the pleasure grew more intense. She felt his teeth graze her sensitive flesh, causing her to grip the bedsheets tightly.

Offering herself to him fully. Offering her entire body to him like a sacrifice on an altar. As if she was the lamb. He was the beast devouring her. She felt like a priestess meeting her god. Her breasts were his to worship, to bite, to lick, to kiss, to suck. Her body his to claim, carnally, spiritually, entirely.

Spreading her legs wider for him, parting her legs to make room for him to insert himself between them far more comfortably. Instinctually, her eyelids fluttering as her eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he kissed down her stomach. Her hands tangled in his silver-gold hair as he descended further down.

Her breath grew shallow as she felt his warm breath against her clit. His mouth grazed the top of her pussy, the anticipation driving her wild. When his tongue finally touched her, she moaned aloud, biting her lip to prevent herself from moaning too loudly.

He tutted, “This won’t do at all,” His thumb grazed over her lips, “How will you ever moan my name over and over if your lips are clamped shut?”

He dipped his head stealing her lips, reeling them in for yet another kiss, her moans muffled by the intensity of the kiss, the sound of her moaning trapped between the two of them. As one of his remained at the headboard of the bed, his other hand travelled right down her body, grazing her inner thigh as he continued to venture towards her pussy.

She felt his thumb rub circles into her clit as his tongue explored her mouth, tasting her completely. Aelora’s moans grew louder, muffled by their kisses, as he teased and pleasured her with a touch which made her toes curl. Her nails dug into the sheets further, her legs tightening around his waist, urging him to go deeper.

He broke the kiss, with a smug grin on his face, spoke with a whisper, "Much better, Now I can hear every sweet sound you make." Her breath ragged as he spoke with a slight hum, “Look at you, all wet and ready for me, begging for my cock. Tell me, how badly do you want it?”

She mewled into his ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers down her spine, "I want you so badly, Aemond."

“How badly do you want me?” Aemond breathed into her ear. “Show me, Aelora. Use your words and make me believe it.”

Aelora whined, her voice thick with want, “I want you to fill me up, Aemond. I want to feel your cock deep inside me, stretching me, making me yours again and again,” her eyes half-lidded, looking straight into his violet eye.

The urgency in her voice made his cock throb even more. He growled into her ear, as he removed his hand from her clit, watching her whine at the loss of contact. He stood up, his eyes never leaving hers, as he began to remove his clothes. Each piece revealing more of his taut, muscular form, honed from years of training and combat. Aelora's eyes roamed greedily over him, her arousal spiking at the sight of his bare chest, the smattering of silver-gold hair that trailed down to his groin.

He smirked as he said, "I'll give you what you want, my sweet cousin," his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it gently as he climbed back on the bed from her ankles to her waist. She watched with hungry eyes as he stroked himself, her hips rising slightly to meet him, eager for his touch.

Aemond took a moment to appreciate the view, her slick pussy glistening in the candlelight, her body trembling with need. He whispered, "You're so beautiful." He leaned in, pressing his cock against her folds, teasing her with the tip.

Aelora's eyes closed, and she moaned, “Please, Aemond, don't tease me.”

His hands on her hips, his grip firm and demanding, Aemond didn't hold back any longer. He pushed into her with one smooth, powerful thrust had Aelora crying out in pleasure. She felt herself stretch around him, the sensation overwhelming and exquisite. He stilled for a moment, allowing her to adjust to his size, his gaze never leaving hers. Her eyes widened, a silent plea for more, and he delivered.

Her breasts bounced as he thrusted his cock into her slowly, he groaned as her pussy, tight, wet, and wrapped around his cock. Her eyes remained shut, breath hitching with each stroke of his cock. Her walls clenching around him, as if trying to milk him of his cum.

He groaned as he said, “Gods you are so tight, Aelora, warm, welcoming, like a glove made just for me, for my cock.” His voice was gruff, his breathing labored. The feel of her around him was indescribable.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving half-moons in his skin, urging him to go deeper, faster. He complied, setting a rhythm that made the bed frame creak and the candles flicker with each stroke. The sound of their flesh slapping together echoed through the room, mixing with their desperate, wanton moans.

His ex-wife, she didn’t know what she was missing out on, Aelora thought, ‘If she doesn’t want him. I’ll have him. She clearly doesn’t want him. Who would honestly discard such a beautiful specimen of a man? Her loss. She clearly doesn’t deserve him. Any part of him for that matter. I’ll have this moment with me forever and she’ll have to live with the fact she betrayed him.’

Her thoughts were cut off when he pressed his lips against hers again, teeth grazing against her bottom lip causing a whimper to come from her mouth. She would have to go back to that thought later. She would have to resume her thinking pattern later. If he knew what she was thinking right then, right now. Would he be hurt? Would he be offended?

Her eyes grew wide as she felt the head of his cock hit her cervix, a slight twinge of pain, he murmured, “Sorry, gevie, I got carried away.” He kissed the tip of her nose, his eyes searched hers for any signs of distress.

As soon as he didn’t spot any he continued, his strokes much slower, gently, like a serenade to her soul. His tongue traced the curve of her ear, whispering sweet nothings that left her trembling with need all over again. Aelora couldn’t hold back anymore, she had to tell him, she had to get it off her chest.

“Aemond, I’m going to cum again, please don’t stop,” she begged, her voice a desperate whine.

He grinned, his teeth sharper than ever in the candlelight, “Would I ever dream of stopping?” He said, his voice was low, a smoky whisper sending a combination of goosebumps and shivers right down her spine. He knew exactly what she liked, exactly how to make her moan and beg for more. He knew it all. Her secret, her weakness.

His ex-wife will soon be a long-forgotten memory as long as she is around, and she plans on sticking around him for the foreseeable future. She would have to learn that pulling him around every direction didn’t solve anything. It only pushed him away.

‘May she drown in her own tears,’ Aelora thought. ‘May she live with consequences of her actions. Now and forever.’

[kalikai]

Tepache made! 😁

Fermented pineapple softdrink!

You should make some too!

It's very yummy!

It's also probiotic I think!

You get to eat an entire fresh pineapple!

And then making this drink uses up the inedible parts of the pineapple that you don't eat!

And the yeast is just the free wild yeast that was already growing on the outside of your pineapple! (So don't wash the pineapple unless it's like, actually dirty, and also avoid buying one that's been pre-sanitized for you if that's a thing the shops near you do)

Production notes:

I don't have any fancy fermentation equipment. Just using empty plastic bottles that had mineral water in them - 1.25ml

Wrote labels on the outside of each bottle before beginning. Date and contents. Always important to do that when you're fermenting stuff, and I always do it at the beginning because it's easiest to do when the bottles are dry and empty. Just used a sharpie to write directly on the plastic: "16/11/24 tepache [variety]"

4 bottles per 1 pineapple is probably too much? Last time I made it I did 3 bottles, and there was plenty of rind/core for each bottle. Maybe I just used a bigger pineapple last time idk. Anyway, there's not a huuuge amount of pineapple rind in these bottles so idk how it will turn out. There's definitely enough yeast and sugar in there to get the fermentation going at least.

There's a bit over ½ a cup of sugar in each bottle? Couldn't find the measuring cups so I was using the liquid-measuring jug and just eyeballing it. Couple tablespoons of raw sugar and then topped up the rest with brown sugar. (Cuz there was the end of a package of raw sugar to use up, but plenty of brown, so I just divvied up the raw between the four bottles)

There's enough sugar in there for almost a litre of water to be saturated, and have some undissolved sugar fall out of suspension pretty quickly. Plus there's the additional sugars of the pineapple juice. Probably a little bit too much sugar, but it'll give the yeast plenty to eat so 🤷🏻‍♂️

Added a cup of so of water and gave the bottle a good shake to get the sugar somewhat dissolved:

Then I did the dry spices:

Half a stick of cinnamon in each bottle. This was comprised of one quarter stick of very old and very stale cinnamon that I found in the pantry, and one quarter stick of fresh brand new cinnamon that I bought yesterday. Should balance I hope 😅

Then some whole star anise, also pretty old but not too stale I don't think. Snapped them up into chunks and then put a bunch in each bottle. Like, enough to fill the centre of my cupped palm? Enough that you could pile into a single layer on a teaspoon? That much, more or less, per bottle.

Then cloves. Either 2 cloves per bottle if the clove was big & still had that little ball attached to the end, or 3 if it didn't and they were small cloves

Then some mace because I found it with the rest of my spices and had forgotten that I had it. Put, like, a thumbnail sized bit in each bottle.

Then a whole nutmeg which I crushed into big fragments and divided between the bottles

Then cubeb into the 'ginger' bottle and the 'ginger+chilli' bottle. I think like 3 seeds in the former and 4 or 5 in the latter?

Then red Sichuan into the 'chilli' bottle. Like 3 or 4 seeds?

And then a dried chili into the 'chilli' bottle. Idk which kind of chilli it is. It was red and the broken chunk I picked out of the package was about the size of my pinky finger (but the entire chilli would have been bigger than that). Still had its seeds inside.

Do your own spices however your heart desires, using up whatever you have at hand.

Then the wet ingredients:

Pineapple and water is all you actually need, but I was in the mood for experimenting so here's what I did

Zested a navel orange. One third of it into each of the 'orange', 'orange + ginger', 'orange + ginger + chilli' bottles.

Then fresh ginger into the relevant bottles. About the size of two bottlecaps worth for each bottle? Maybe a bit less? Sliced into thick chucks, which I scored and then crushed with the flat of the knife before dropping them in.

Then the star of the show: the pineapple!

Cut the whole thing into quarters so the amount per bottle would be measured out ahead of time

Working one bottle at a time, I further quartered the allocated quarter-pineapple, to make it easier to handle;

Sliced off the rind and the core, and put them into the bottles, first slicing the rind into strips (else it wouldn't fit through the narrow mouthes of the bottles!)

(Keeping the main of the flesh to eat on its own, of course (I have chemical burns on my tongue and the roof of my mouth from eating so much but it's just so good! ☠️))

(If you don't wanna eat that much pineapple, just chuck it in the tepache; it'll make it even better. Prolly good to slice it up or gently crush it or etc so that the juices can be more easily released from the flesh & into the tepache)

Then when all the bottles have their pineapple, you add the water! Filled up to the shoulder where the bottle begins narrowing; about 1L total I guess? Gotta leave some head space for the fermentation!

(And while you're filling, rinse off all the sticky juice from the outside of the bottle and its cap...)

Then put the cap on tight and invert the bottle and give it a good shakey-shake to get as much of the settled sugar dissolved as possible, and to get all the spices and plant materials and yeasts introduced to each other.

Then you switch the cap for a DIY MacGyver airlock so the bottle doesn't explode and make a giant mess of your kitchen. You make this using a balloon, a spare bottlecap, and a push pin; plus you will need a spare empty bottle to use as a handle during assembly (otherwise it's obnoxiously fiddly to do OR you squirt tepache all over yourself OR both) and it is assembled thus:

Stab some holes in the bottlecap

Rinse out the balloons with water just in case there's any schmutz in there

Poke holes in the balloons. Taking a deflated balloon I pushed a pin through it thrice, so there were six holes in it in total. That seems like a good amount to me but I'm just guessing.

Put the bottlecap on the spare bottle

Stretch the neck of the balloon over the bottlecap. You want to get it on there enough so that it won't simply pop off the bottle once the fermentation gets going.

Then you roll the mouth of the balloon back enough so that you can freely unscrew the bottle cap and transfer it to your bottle of tepache. (And then roll it back down onto the tepache bottle for a secure fit)

When the tepache is fermenting, its gases will inflate the balloon and it will look like this:

This setup is cheap, simple, and effective.

Releases the gas out while disallowing bugs in, and its easy to put on and off the bottle, and if the bottle overflows only a little bit then the mess will be mostly contained inside the balloon (unless it isn't), and finally it looks really cool because you can SEE how much fermentation is going on. (All you have to do is make a poster about it and that's an entire school science project right there, I tell you hwat.)

Then you just put the tepache somewhere dim to ferment. I always put 'em in a tray or something just in case the fermentation gets too enthusiastic for the perforated balloons to release and they overflow:

This is only a temporary home until I find a better one because bookshelf-with-electronics is not a happy place for very sticky fermenting liquids to reside, but anyway the colour coding here is:

Yellow = pineapple

Orange = pineapple + orange

Pink = pineapple + orange + ginger

Red = pineapple + orange + ginger + chilli

After 3 or 4 days of fermentation, you switch the lids from Ghetto Airlock Lid to Regular Airtight Lid, and give them another couple of days of secondary fermentation to carbonate the beverage, and then you put them in the fridge to slow the fermentation way down so they don't explode before you can drink them (and so the yeast doesn't eat ALL the sugar)

(OBVIOUSLY if the bottle looks dangerously pressurised and explody, then just pop the top every now and again to let the excess gas out! It's not hard!)

(It's not a dangerous hazard if you don't, cuz these are only plastic bottles after all, but it will make a giant sticky mess and you'll have much less delicious tepache to drink.

I really hate adding brain-dead caveats like these but if I don't then people will fall over themselves to "um, actually" at me, which is even worse 😒)

If you give the yeast loads of sugar and loads of fermentation, you'll get an alcoholic tepache.

If you don't give it loads of sugar but do give it loads of fermentation, you'll get a pickled pineapple vinegar (with or without the addition of whichever spices you felt like flavouring it with).

Both options are yummy in their own way, but regular, sweet, non-alcoholic tepache is the main goal here.

After you've drank a bottle of tepache, you can refill it with water and sugar and give it another round of fermentation for a second batch. To facilitate this, you'll wanna hold a strainer over the mouth of the bottle when you're pouring from it, to keep all the solid plant matter in the bottle and out of your glass (which you kinda wanna do anyway because obviously it ain't so nice to have all that schmutz in your glass regardless of your re-fermentating intentions)

I wouldn't keep re-fermenting beyond that tho. Loses its flavour and starts getting gross and you'll probably make yourself sick. Just get another pineapple. :)

[digitaldetoxworld]

How To Create Great Web Stories Stunning In 10 Easy Steps

What is Web Stories

Create Web Stories are a visually enticing, cell-first layout that combines brief, dynamic, and tappable content material elements which include textual content, snap shots, video, and animations. Similar to Instagram or Snapchat Stories, Web Stories allow users to eat content in chunk-sized slides, making them ideal for storytelling, tutorials, product showcases, or news updates. However, not like social media memories that live inside apps, Web Stories are hosted at the open net, because of this they may be discovered via search engines like google, shared throughout structures, and embedded in websites.

web stories are immersive, visually rich, and cellular - first review that combine brief videos, pix, animations and textual content to inform a tale or convey records in chunk-sized, without difficulty consumable chunks. They are designed to have interaction audiences thru tappable, vertical content material that customers can swipe thru at their personal tempo, similar to social media stories on system like Instagram, Facebook, or Snapchat.

Traits Of Net Memories

Visual Focus

It is prioritize awesome visuals, using photographs, movies, and animations to create an attractive narrative.

Short and Consumable

Each web tale is divided into multiple quick slides, frequently lasting a few seconds every. They are designed to be brief to view, making them appropriate for cell browsing.

Interactive and Tap friendly

Users can tap to move between slides or interact with elements embedded inside the story, making the enjoy extra dynamic.

Mobile First

We are constructed with cellular users in mind, providing a vertical format that fit the display of a smartphone flawlessly.

Hosted at the Web

Unlike platform specific testimonies on social media, Web Stories stay on the open internet and may be determined thru search engines like google, shared thru url  and embedded websites.

Content Versatility

They can cover quite a few subjects which include news, travel, recipes, product reviews, tutorials and more, permitting creators to interact their target market in creative and information method.

Why Web Stories Matter

Enhanced Engagement

The quick, visually captivating format keeps users engaged, that could lead to better retention and interaction.

SEO and Discovery

We  are indexable by means of serps, making them a fantastic tool for riding natural visitors.

Control Over Content

Unlike social media stories, offer more control over the content, design, and target audience reach considering they are hosted on a website.

Monetization

Best Web Stories are publishers and brands can contain ads or associate hyperlinks into Web Stories, providing opportunities for sales technology.

[sherrifdoggo]

Future plans for the Chicago Map

big talky one with only a couple pictures coming up

if i had to give a percentage of how done the map is it wouldn't even be in the double digits due to all i have planned for it.

here's that overview again after i john maddened it to break down how things are gonna flow in the next couple months.

the map's gonna be divided into these districts, there will probably be more once i'm deeper into development but i also have to keep in mind the small amount of map space i have available due to the source engine being the source engine

each district will have a unique identity to help players memorize the city and to make the map feel bigger than it'll end up being (which will probably not be that large because, source). each district will also have one or more rackets that players can rp controlling alongside some places for player houses and regular businesses.

District number one (and the most developed one) is the Prairie District (a.k.a. Little Italy). this is a more lower class area and will be likewise very full of grime and crime. it's home to the Unnamed Speakeasy, the last racket of the once mighty prairie district mafia. it's a lot less classy than the other two planned speakeasies for the map and is struggling to stay afloat. and since talk is that the city's gonna stop being dry if roosevelt touches office it's going to get worse for it if the last few prairie district mobsters don't find a way to diversify quick.

besides that, it also has two whole appartment blocks, one of them containing the speakeasy. though i plan on redoing the whole first floor of that appartment building to have a store on the first floor instead of a ground level appartment.

District number two is chinatown, home of the many chinese inmigrants of chicago, the place is a little nicer than the prairie district thanks to the amount of commerce that happens there and has a shining landmark in the middle, The Chinatown Hotel. the (soon to be) tallest building in the southern segment of the city. The Chinatown Hotel is the place to get all your carnal desires fufilled, yes even those ones.

besides that, it'll also be the hq of the new kids on the block, the triads. they're a gang formed more-so as a company that commits crimes who's looking to legitimize itself by associating with maybe... the prairie district mafia?

District number 3 (and the first one that has nothing but plans made for it) is Eastside, it's the economic powerhouse of the city, where all the industry is located. As you head north it does become a little more commercial as downtown kind of encroaches on it over there.

in eastside you'll find the abandoned distillery, which perhaps criminals could use as a hq if they so wished, or as a meeting ground for deals. you'll also find the construction site of next year's world's fair. it'll take up a big chunk of the district as it's a whole man-made island with a bunch of construction equipment strewn about the place.

Finally, District number 4'll be Downtown (and/or River North). This'll be the nice part of the city, with museums, vaudeville, burlesques and other such places that "i still have to much money to care about the great depression" types would hang around. here you'll find a couple assorted landmarks that i have planned, including the Chicago Theater (the place where you'll probably meet Jessie) and The River North Speakeasy, which'll be the fanciest underground speakeasy you'll ever see.

besides all that shit, i also want to do some outskirts for the city with some lightly wooded hills that people can do crime in, as well as a big waterfront towards the east coast of the city so you can have a nice dip in lake michigan, or even make people sleep with the fishes!

also, here's some news for those who only do it for her (like me)

here's some of the planned content for Jessie. once you find her, you can bring her to her room backstage at the chicago theater to select an outfit for her each outfit will share the same taunts minus one which'll be outfit specific. some of the outfits will even be locked until you complete a little map sidequest to get them.

speaking of which, you'll also have to do a real complicated sidequest if you want to turn her into a werewolf. if you can't handle her at her humaniest, you can't have her at her furriest.

also no i did not make Jessie up she is from... something.

i put her in the map because i like her, she's neat and she fits the setting.

[allsaeasonsvaleters]

How to Effectively Prepare for the SAT Tips for Success

Understand the SAT Structure

Before diving into preparation, it’s important to fully understand the structure of the SAT. The test is divided into two main sections: Evidence-Based Reading and Writing (EBRW) and Math. There is also an optional essay section, but many colleges no longer require it. The EBRW section includes reading comprehension and grammar questions, while the math section covers arithmetic, algebra, geometry, and some trigonometry. The SAT lasts about three hours, so time management is critical. Knowing the layout of the test allows you to structure your sat practice sessions more effectively, focusing on weaker areas.

Start Early and Make a Study Plan

It’s never too early to begin preparing for the SAT. Ideally, students should start preparing at least six months before their test date. Begin by taking a diagnostic test to assess your current level. This will give you an idea of where you need the most improvement. From there, create a study plan. Schedule regular study sessions each week, dedicating specific time slots to each section of the SAT. Breaking your SAT practice into manageable chunks over several months is much more effective than cramming in the last few weeks.

Focus on Your Weak Areas

While it’s essential to cover all sections of the SAT, focusing on your weak areas can yield the most significant improvement in your SAT scores. For example, if you struggle with math, spend extra time reviewing formulas, solving algebraic equations, and practicing word problems. Similarly, if reading comprehension is difficult, try to read more complex materials and practice answering related questions. Tailoring your SAT practice to address weaknesses will help ensure that you are fully prepared on test day.

Take Full-Length Practice Tests

One of the most effective ways to prepare for the SAT is by taking full-length practice tests. These practice tests simulate the actual exam environment and help you get accustomed to the test’s timing and structure. After completing each practice test, review your answers carefully. Identify patterns in your mistakes and adjust your study plan accordingly. Not only will this improve your understanding of the test material, but it will also boost your confidence, helping you feel more comfortable on test day. Consistent SAT practice with these tests can lead to a significant increase in your sat scores.

Use Official SAT Study Materials

The College Board, which administers the SAT, offers a range of official study materials that closely mirror the content and difficulty of the actual exam. These resources include practice tests, question banks, and study guides that can be invaluable to your preparation. While there are plenty of third-party resources available, the official materials are most reliable in terms of reflecting the true nature of the SAT. Incorporating these into your SAT practice ensures that you are studying with the most accurate and helpful tools.

Join a Study Group or Consider a Tutor

Studying with others can be an excellent way to stay motivated and accountable. Consider joining a study group with friends or classmates who are also preparing for the SAT. You can share resources, quiz each other, and work through difficult problems together. If you find yourself struggling despite your best efforts, hiring a tutor could be a worthwhile investment. A tutor can provide personalized instruction tailored to your needs, helping you focus on areas that can most improve your SAT scores.

Stay Consistent and Manage Stress

Consistency is key to SAT success. Stick to your study schedule, but don’t overdo it. Burnout can lead to decreased performance. Take breaks when needed, and engage in activities that help you relax, like exercising, meditating, or pursuing a hobby. Reducing stress is crucial for staying focused and maintaining a positive mindset. When test day arrives, be well-rested and approach the exam with confidence, knowing that your diligent SAT practice has prepared you for success.

Conclusion

Preparing for the SAT requires time, effort, and a smart strategy. By understanding the test structure, focusing on weak areas, taking full-length practice tests, and using official study materials, you can improve your SAT scores significantly. Stay consistent, manage stress, and remember that every bit of practice brings you closer to achieving your goals.

[createncodewebtechnologies]

Cost of Making a Website for a Business in India

Although an exact average cost of making a website for a business in India is hard to give, the following broad estimate is based on recent market patterns in India:

Cost for Simple Websites: ₹20,000–₹50,000 Websites for Small Businesses: ₹50,000 - ₹1,00,000 Websites for e-commerce: ₹1,00,000 to ₹3,00,000 Intricate websites: ₹3,00,000 and above

Maintaining your website on a regular basis is essential to its smooth operation. The following are examples of maintenance costs:

Frequent Updates: Security fixes, themes, and plugins for WordPress and other CMS platforms must be updated on a frequent basis. Security Measures: There is a monthly or yearly charge for security measures including SSL certificates and routine virus scans. Material revisions: Keeping the material on your website current and relevant calls for frequent revisions, which, if done outside, could get expensive.

Contact Forms: While basic forms can be implemented quite easily, more complex forms incorporating custom fields, validation, and third-party tool integration may incur additional expenses.

E-commerce Features: While they raise the overall cost of construction, payment gateways, product catalogs, shopping carts, inventory management, and shipping integrations are necessary for e-commerce websites.

Select a Domain Name

Relevance: Choose a domain name that is memorable and pertinent to your company. Availability: Use Google Domains or other domain registrars to check the availability of domain names. Keywords: Consider integrating relevant keywords into your domain name for greater search engine visibility.

Choose a Builder for Your Website

Google Sites: An easy-to-use, free platform for building simple websites. Google Workspace: Provides organizations with more sophisticated capabilities and customization choices. Alternative Platforms: Examine alternative well-known website builders such as Squarespace, WordPress, or Wix.

Selecting a Template: Pick a template that complements your business and sector. Personalization: Tailor the template by adding own images, fonts, colors, and brand. material Creation: Write interesting and educational text, photo, and video material for your website.

The average cost of website design in India might vary significantly based on a number of variables. Businesses are able to select a development partner who fits their needs and budget by researching various pricing models and comprehending the major factors.

Fixed-Price Model: For particular website kinds, some web design firms provide fixed-price packages. This may reduce flexibility but can offer a fixed upfront cost.

Hourly Rate Model: In this model, the developer's time is paid on an hourly basis. It can be riskier if the project takes longer than anticipated, but it also offers more flexibility.

Milestone-Based Model: This strategy divides the project into manageable chunks and assesses fees for each one that is finished. It offers some transparency and control.

CMS (Content Management System): The selection of CMS (such as WordPress, Drupal, or Joomla) might have an impact on the price because certain platforms may demand extra license fees. bespoke Development: Compared to using a pre-built platform, creating a website from scratch with bespoke coding can be more expensive.

Methods for Low Cost Website Designing in India

Make Use of Freelance Marketplaces: Sites such as Upwork, Freelancer, and Fiverr provide access to a large number of reasonably priced freelance web designers. Think About Outsourcing to India: The country is known for offering affordable, top-notch web development services. Investigate Website Builders: With their user-friendly interfaces and pre-designed templates, platforms such as Squarespace, WordPress, and Wix make it simpler to develop a website without the need to hire a professional. Select Basic Packages: A lot of web design firms provide more affordable basic packages that include with all the necessary features. Price haggling: To get the best deal, don't be scared to haggle with web designers or agencies.

Volume of Content: The total cost of the website will be influenced by the quantity of text, photos, and videos that are needed. material Quality: Professionally authored, high-quality material can be more expensive, but it's necessary to draw in and keep visitors.

[nithiyanantha]

Writing the Perfect Essay for IAS Mains How to write a perfect essay

for IAS Mains is the challenge every aspirant needs to excel in. The Essay Paper that is carried out in IAS Mains plays a great role in determining your final rank. Unlike other parts of the IAS exam, which are fact-based or theory-based, the essay paper would test one's ability to articulate thoughts, form opinions, and present them coherently.

In this blog, we would be taking you through actionable tips on how you can write a perfect essay, structure, and strategies for the IAS Mains exam to score good marks.

Why Essay Writing is Important for IAS Mains In the IAS Mains, the essay carries a total of 250 marks with two essays of 125 marks each. This forms a major chunk of the total marks that may act as a strong reason to excel in this paper and give you an excellent advantage in the final merit list. The essay is different from other papers because, in addition to your knowledge, you can impress upon the examiner your personality, clarity of thought, and style of writing.

However, many candidates find this paper a difficult one, because the paper doesn't simply need the expression of knowledge, but the same knowledge should be presented in a proper and coherent manner, keeping the interest of the reader awake. Here is when a strategy becomes highly essential for essay writing .

Essential Characteristics of an Ideal IAS Essay Clear Thinking Clear thinking leads to clear writing. Before starting to write, make sure you have clearly thought out what you are intending to do. Note down all the key points you wish to mention and record your ideas in the form of a logical map. This will help in avoiding unnecessary repetition or chaos in the essay.

Balanced Viewpoint The IAS examination is designed to test the ability of a candidate to present arguments that are balanced. You should, therefore, write on both sides of the argument when you write the essay particularly if the essays relate to issues that are social, economic, or political. An essay that is unilateral can be perceived to result from bias or ignorance.

Well-Researched Content Your essay should reflect that you have a strong grip on the subject. Quote data, facts, historical examples, and government policies to support your arguments. IAS aspirants must constantly stay updated about current affairs, which becomes all the more essential for writing comprehensive essays.

Flow and Structure The flow of a good essay from one point to the other logically. Never jump from one point to any other, which has no relation or connection with one another. Every paragraph must join the previous one to preserve the continuity in thought.

Structure of a High Scoring IAS Essay The structured approach is the key that will help write the perfect essay for IAS Mains. An effective structure could be as follows:

Introduction Objective: Your introduction is to hook the reader and build the pathway to the essay. Tips: The introduction should always start with a quote, fact, or anecdote which concerns the topic. Try to avoid long introductions because you want to get into the body as soon as possible. Example: Suppose you have an essay whose topic is "Impact of Social Media on Society." You can start something like this: "In the era of information, ignorance is a choice."

Explain what the quote means and shortly introduce what your essay will cover.

Body Objective: This is where you present your arguments, ideas, and analysis. The body will be divided into a number of paragraphs. Each paragraph should discuss only one aspect or subtopic. Tips: Headings and subheadings organize your content. Each paragraph contains the PEE format - Point, Explanation, Example. Discuss both sides of an argument - this shows balanced thinking. Example: The topic "Sustainable Development" could further be divided into the body as follows:

Historical Context of Sustainable Development Current Scenario in India Global Efforts and Their Impact Challenges and Solutions for Sustainable Development

Conclusion Objective: This needs to summarize your key points and provide a balanced view. Tips: Do not introduce new ideas here Reiterate the importance of the topic End on a positive or thoughtful note that encourages the reader to think further Example: While, on one side, social media has both revolutionized the basic communicative functioning and ways of information sharing, on the other hand, it is also presenting serious challenges. A judicious balancing between benefits and drawbacks will prove to be an essential factor in realizing its potential for societal growth.

How to Write the Perfect IAS Essay

Practice regularly. Obviously, practice is inalienable from mastery of IAS Mains essay writing. Practice writing essays on diverse topics such as social issues, governance, and current affairs. Your essays should be critically evaluated or reviewed by mentors to find out your areas of improvement.

Language and Presentation While your essay needs to be rich in content, it's equally important to pay attention to the aspect of language and presentation. Avoid using jargons and big words. Keep your writing simple and clear in meaning. Your essay must be neat and legible because, in the written examination, the presentation counts.

Time Management In the IAS Mains exam, essay writing requires only a limited amount of time. Practice your essay writing within that stipulated amount of time to bring up your speed-without losing quality, of course-typically 90 minutes per essay.

Keep Your Knowledge of Current Affairs Up-to-Date IAS Mains essay often reflects the current socio-political scenario. Keep yourself updated with recent developments in India and the world. Read newspapers, government reports, and magazines like Yojana and Kurukshetra, and you will get valuable insights and examples to use in your essays.

Understand the Depth of the Topic: Take 5-10 minutes before starting to write and brainstorm the understanding of the topic of the essay. Break down the topic to see if there are multiple dimensions, like social, political, and economic aspects you can address. This gives you a comprehensive essay touching on all different dimensions of the topic.

Writing Multiple Drafts Writing several drafts of the same essay is very important in your preparation. This is because rewriting enables you to streamline your structure, discard all irrelevant details, and ensure better flow in the essay. You can also compare different approaches toward the same topic.

Common Pitfalls to Avoid in IAS Essay Writing Lack of Structure A structured essay will always get more marks than a disjointed one. Plan your structure in advance, so that the transitions are smooth.

Sentences with Too Many Complications While vocabulary is important, do not use very complicated words just to sound intellectual. In IAS essays, clear writing is always preferred over pompous complicated sentences.

One-Sided Arguments Present a balanced point of view on every topic. Even for topics where you have strong opinions, the UPSC looks for a candidate who argues from both sides of the issue.

Conclusion Neglect A weak conclusion can snatch the effect produced on a strong essay. Make sure your essay concludes with an attractive and though-provoking conclusion.

Role of Coaching in Essay Preparation Although some candidates believe in self-study, enrolling with Bank exam coaching in Coimbatore or coaching for IAS will render organized guidance to the essay writing. Continual feedback from mentors, mock tests, and peer discussions will provide ample improvement to your essay-writing skills.

The aspirants get trained not only in banking exams but also in essay writing strategies relevant for different competitive examinations, including IAS, at the Bank exam coaching center in Coimbatore. The expert guidance through complex topics will help an aspirant increase his analytical aptitude.

Conclusion In writing essays for IAS Mains, one needs to master it through the combination of three essential elements: knowledge, practice, and strategy. Stick to clarity, structure, and balanced argumentation. Practice daily, evaluate critically, and be updated on current affairs. If structured guidance is what you need, then join a Bank exam coaching center in Coimbatore and get expert advice on how you can really develop your write-ups for competitive exams.

Following all of the above strategies and avoiding some of the pitfalls will take you towards writing the perfect essay for IAS Mains and always getting a good score overall in the examination.

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[oclock12345]

Navigating Complex Moves: Tips from O'clock Removals, Bondi's Experienced Removalists

Moving can be one of the most stressful events in life, especially if it involves complex logistics or sentimental items. If you're planning a complex move, whether within Bondi, across Sydney, or to a new city entirely, you'll need the help of experienced professionals like O'clock Removals. They have years of experience handling all types of moves and will ensure that your transition goes as smoothly as possible. Here are some expert tips from Bondi's best removalists to help you successfully complete your complex move.

1. Plan Ahead and Stay Organized

Meticulous planning and organization are at the heart of any successful move. Begin by creating a comprehensive moving checklist that outlines all tasks from beginning to end. Divide the list into manageable chunks and assign deadlines for each task. This approach prevents last-minute chaos and ensures that nothing is overlooked.

Key points to consider:

Inventory List: Create a detailed inventory of all your possessions. This aids in keeping track of items during the move and is extremely useful for insurance purposes.

Schedule: Create a timeline for packing, moving, and unpacking. Allow extra time for any unexpected delays.

Budget: Make a budget for your move, including expenses for packing supplies, professional movers, transportation, and any necessary storage.

2. Declutter Before You Pack

Moving is an excellent opportunity to declutter your home. Proceed through each room and decide what to keep, donate, sell, or discard. Not only does this reduce the number of items to move, but it also makes unpacking in your new home simpler and more organized.

Tips for Effective Decluttering:

Sort by Category: Sort items into categories such as clothing, books, and kitchenware. This makes it easier to see what you own and what you can part with.

One-Year-Rule: If you haven't used an item in the last year, think about whether it's worth keeping.

Sell or Donate: Hold a garage sale or donate usable items to charity. This can also help to cover some moving expenses.

3. Hire Professional Movers

For complex moves, professional removalists such as O'clock Removals are required. They provide a variety of services, including packing and loading, transportation, and unpacking, ensuring that your belongings are handled with care.

Benefits of Professional Movers:

Expertise: Experienced movers understand the best ways to pack fragile items, disassemble furniture, and move large objects through tight spaces.

Equipment: They have the necessary tools and equipment to safely transport your belongings, lowering the risk of damage.

Insurance: Professional moving companies offer insurance coverage, giving you peace of mind that your belongings are safe.

4. Pack Smart

Packing is both art and science. Using the appropriate materials and techniques can significantly improve the safety of your items during transit.

Packing Tips:

Use Quality Materials: Invest in strong boxes, bubble wrap, packing paper, and tape. Avoid using flimsy or previously used boxes that could collapse.

Label Boxes: Label each box clearly with the contents and the room to which it belongs. This allows movers to know where to place each box in your new home.

Pack By Room: Pack one room at a time to stay organized and facilitate unpacking.

Protect Fragile Items: Wrap each delicate item individually in bubble wrap or packing paper. To fill empty spaces in boxes, use cushioning materials such as packing peanuts or towels.

5. Handle Special Items with Care

Certain items necessitate special handling during a move. This includes valuable items such as artwork, antiques, electronics, and pianos. These items frequently necessitate custom packing solutions and extra precautions.

Handling Special Items

Artwork and antiques: For large or valuable pieces, use custom crates. Make sure they are well-padded and secure.

Electronics: Remove the batteries from electronic devices, wrap them in anti-static bubble wrap, and pack them in the original boxes if possible.

Pianos and Large Furniture: Hire movers with experience moving heavy and bulky items. They understand the best methods for disassembling, transporting, and reassembling.

Conclusion

Moving does not have to be a daunting experience. You can ensure a smooth and stress-free move by planning ahead of time, decluttering, hiring professional movers, packing strategically, and taking special care of valuable items. O'clock Removals in Bondi provides the expertise and services required to handle even the most complex relocations. Trusting experienced removalists can make a significant difference in your moving experience, giving you peace of mind and allowing you to focus on the next chapter of your life.

[rametarin]

Just a thought.

I was thinking about crystal used to archive data again.The digital system of dots and dashes to represent bytes of data that are then interpreted.

But that got me wondering on an alternative archiving system. What if you represented words as singular characters in a base 100 system?

English has about 250,000 someodd words of all sizes. Divide by 100 and you get 2,500. Divide by another 100, you get 25.

So safe to say you could boil every single word in the English language to a maximum of 4 characters in a base-100 character/number system, with each number representing a word in English and interpreted by a machine to correspond to what the code means.

Compare this to binary which uses eight places of two characters to correspond to strings of code interpreted. Even if you have to design the base-100 system to have slightly bigger characters to make them more readable,

And ultimately, why, you ask? What would be the point?

To make 5D data storage even better. If you can say more in fewer characters and still be understood, that’d be like replacing every letter in the english language with a single pictographic character. Now multicharacter words shrink to a fraction of what they used to be.

So even if upon reading these near incomprehensible chicken scratch, you get a PDF that balloons into a massive tome as you’d imagine in an ancient archive, you could have the equivalent of a fifty kilogram moldy old book in a chunk of crystal the size of a telescope’s sample slide.

Libraries could have exponentially more space for books that are utterly immune to the detrimental effects of rot, mold and corrosion, because.. fucking glass and crystal. Backup copies that virtually take up no space.

Being able to scan them with e-books means the level of mistreatment and mishandling can be mitigated by shielding them with plastic, for further protection, and the physical copies could remain largely undisturbed at the library.

Inflammable, their own shelves could serve as fire protection safes in the event of a fire. It would effectively be impossible for a little “oopsy doopsy” to destroy important documents. Rats and mice would have no reason to chew on them, insects no reason to eat them.

Thousands and thousands and thousands of tonnes of paper waste could be eliminated by melting down and recycling old 5d optical data storage records to... make them into NEW records. Thereby saving the need for wasteful pulp and paper for everyday paperwork and documents. Bureaucratic record holding could therefore be reduced in the size needed for necessary archives.

This would, of course, mean that books no matter how much content they had, would all effectively be the same uniform size. Those heavy assed dictionaries? A single glass rectangle. Little Golden Books of fairytales and nursery rhymes? A single glass rectangle.

I’d kind of like a personal library or study like this. Even the layman with the smallest apartment could have an EXTENSIVE, rich personal library of information and history and encyclopedic reference.

[thaylepo]

*SPOILERING INTENSIFIES*

Oh for sure! I seriously thought Alejandro Saab was also voicing Nines, it confused me for a hot second.

I don't think Nines made a deal, at least not in any context important to this storyline, aside from embracing chaos and all. But it seems he's been around since almost the beginning of the world, so who knows what he knows? Gònggōng was my first thought for "he" too, Nines' chaos-boss in the mythology lol. It's also possible it's Buddha? He's been an omitted chunk of JTTW in lmk pretty much this whole time. It could be Pangu, the entity who divided chaos into yin and yang and then pulled a Ymir and died so his body could become the physical world. I'm wracking my brain for anything previously mentioned in the show about a bigger, bigger big bad, but given we didn't get a mention of Nines by name or visual until the end of s5, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's a mystery!

(I love mythology and my favourite hobby is diving deeeeeep into the wikipedia rabbit hole on this kind of thing XDD there is SO much stuff, i'm always uncovering more layers.)

The pagoda definitely has the potential for some dark body horror, for sure. It's basically monster island, the worst of the worst left to wander in it. And Eyeballs was definitely feeding off those memories, specifically bad or repressed ones. Even Mo got eyeballed! XDD

Nüwa, looking over the world at the millions(?) of stone fragments scattered through each living thing: well now how the heck am i gonna get all *that* back in here in an eon when this happens again for real?

She's gonna need a bigger pillar lol

I feel glutted on good good Macaque content and yet. I want more. I need more XDD

I've put together some initial thoughts/prompts/questions/ramblings after watching Season 5 of LMK.

CW: SPOILERS FOR ALL OF LMK SEASON 5!

Ten Kings are no more - are they replaced? What happens to the Dìyù without them?

Wukong can't remember being friends/enemies with Nine - was it in a previous cycle or outside of it?

Nine (Xiāngliǔ) and his metaphor of leaving the cave. Of embracing chaos and choice, rejecting destiny and order.

What are Nǚwā's cycles like? Is it the same people making the same decisions over and over again? Or is it a clean slate? Who knows about this? Does anyone survive and retain their knowledge of the previous cycle?

Macaque's time in Lǐ Jìng's Pagoda. How long was he there? Does time move differently? How are basic needs met? Do you no longer need to eat once you're there? Is food provided? Does it create a demon eat demon environment out of necessity?

How was MK's life supposed to be? If he'd woken up at the "right" time would he have known exactly what he was supposed to be doing? Would he have head off immediately to gather the stones? Would he have even been much of a person? Was Monkey King still meant to train him so he would be ready to gather the stones?

How did MK get to Pigsy's? Nine? To what end? How much influence has he had on MK's life before the staff? He makes a big deal about choice so perhaps little after his initial move?

The ramifications of everyone (?) having some sort of power. What kind of powers does everyone have? One of the elements?

The five elements in Chinese mythology are Wood, Metal, Fire, Water and Earth. But that wouldn't explain how the dog at the end is able to fly (very cute reference that it is) so it could be possible that the element of Earth has been replaced by Air? Or perhaps just replaced with a vague sort of heavenly power owing to the fact it's guardian was the Jade Emperor? Or there could be more to the powers than pure elemental magic? (Or mostly likely it is elemental powers and I'm too focused on the dog)

If each stone granted a specific set of powers would this then cause lines to be drawn? Divisions made? Would those who received the blessing of the yellow stone, the stone of the Jade Emperor, start to think themselves better than the rest? Possible A:TLA sort of situation?

What would the dragon and tiger have tested MK on if they had time? What was their relationship?

Smaller personal themes to explore:

Pigsy's feelings about being a father and what that means, Red Son's developing relationship with his family, Mei's fears of not getting stronger and of getting left behind (she was understandably upset at her lack of MK time but it really did border on desperate), MK coming to terms with what he was made for and choosing differently, MK's fear of chaos.

There is so much food for thought this season and I've got loads of fic ideas brewing! I will absolutely be writing a fic about Mac's time in the Pagoda - that just has way too much golden potential - but there's so many themes big and small to explore.

Needless to say most of S5 won't make it into my Monkey Talk AU but there's so much good stuff to explore! So I can almost guarantee some standalone fics!

Now I need to go have a long hard think about the nature of chaos...

[subpar-ghoulfriend]

A Family Affair

Slasher AU CannibalFamily!EraserMicxReader

We’re going with the “strange family that lives outside of a small town” trope. After a few deliveries to the Aizawa household you get pulled in to an affair you never wanted to be a part of. 

Spooky season is upon us and I’ve already begun watching too many horror movies.  This fic will definitely be a two parter

Super Dark Content Warning!!! Literally do not read if you have any reservation and definitely no minors!

TW: cannibal themes, mentions of murder, mentions of corpse mutilation, kidnapping, unhealthy relationships

Part 2 is gonna include more of this and the smut

Growing up you were grateful for living in a small town. You didn't really relate to the coming-of-age stories told in the movies where the small town girl runs off to the big city for a whirlwind romance and a chance at some "big break." To you, small town life was more picturesque than any overcrowded city. You knew your neighbors, and watched a lot of their families grow and change throughout the years. A small town allows you to become a regular at several businesses, including the coffee shop and your favorite diner downtown. Going away to college was tough even though you didn't go far. The nearest city - a little over 40 miles away - had a great college with a program you were really interested in pursuing.

You went home every break and picked up delivery jobs at one of the local restaurants. It was winter break of your last year in college when you first delivered to the Aizawa residence. In all your years at the restaurant they never ordered delivery, one of the two men would always place an order for pick up. The thing about small town stereotypes is that small towns tend to self-impose said stereotypes. The Aizawa's were that family. The one that everyone whispered when they came to town and children would tell horror stories about during Halloween. They were the weird family that lived just past the outskirts of town.

You weren't entirely sure what either of the two men did. Everyone speculated that Mr. Aizawa was some sort of mountain-man-feral type and maybe did some mechanic work for the folks that tend to live in between towns. His husband, Mr. Yamada seemed like the stay at home trophy husband but you heard he did some sort of conspiracy podcast. They had children - reportedly, but no one has really met them - and other family members that live similarly further out into the middle of nowhere. The drive was absurdly long but they were loyal customers and the owners didn't want to turn their request down. Your boss handed you a chunk of bills to fill up your tank before heading out. That's no place you'd want to get stranded, he told you.

The paved road got worse the further you got from town. Forty-five minutes later you were pulling down the dirt road that led to the illuminated Aizawa home. A wall of cold air slammed in to you when you opened your car door and you grumbled about leaving your gloves at home. There was no doorbell, so knocked and did that awkward please-don't-let-me-freeze dance while you waited. Two unfamiliar faces opened the door, an apathetic looking teen and an adorable little girl. Must be their children. The older one called out for his dad before taking one of the bags you held and disappearing into the home. You looked down awkwardly and wave at the girl. She smiled shyly and reached out for the other bag.

"Are you sure?" You asked her, "It's a little heavy."

She nodded.

"Okay, but use two hands," You passed her the bag. "Oh jeez, you're strong. Don't tell your brother, but I think this is the heavier bag."

You smiled when she giggled and ran off.

Mr. Aizawa appeared in the door, "How much do we owe?"

He was just as terrifying up close and for a split second your mind went blank while your basic instincts were begging you go back to the car. He raised an eyebrow at you, looking irritated at your falter.

"Uh - forty-two."

He pulled counted out a chunk of bills and then you were off. You didn't even count the amount until you parked. Forty-two with a forty-dollar tip. They may be odd but apparently they're loaded. You didn't think much of it until the following week when you were heading back to their house with another delivery. You wished that they would order earlier but at least you could hope for another generous tip. You were taken aback when the little girl answered the door by herself, jumping up and down with excitement.

Was she old enough to answer the door by herself?

"Papa," She yelled. "The lady is here!"

She turned her attention back to you with a huge grin, "Shinsou got sore that you told me I'm the stronger one."

Before you could respond to her the other man, Mr. Yamada, bounced around the corner, "Eri, what have we told you about the door? Oh no, you must be freezing come stand inside while I go get your payment. Forty-two right?"

You wanted to protest, feeling uneasy in their entryway but the little girl tugged you by the delivery bags. So you stood there quietly while she ran back in forth so she could unload the delivery for you. Shinsou peered around the corner so you gave a small wave. Then it was just you and Eri once again. In the background you could hear Yamada asking his husband where the wallet went.

"I like your shirt," You smiled, trying to fill the silence.

"I wanted a Pegasus shirt but this was the only one my daddy could find."

"Well I think unicorns are pretty cool too."

You use to babysit for some of the families in town, no part of you could imagine doing that all the way out here.

The blonde rejoined you, giving you another lush payment. You heard the little girl whine about you leaving so quickly until her father appeased her by saying you'd be back.

Something about that rubbed you the wrong way; but you were back like clockwork the next week with their usual delivery. Once again you were brought inside while they went to get your payment. But on your fourth and what should have been your final delivery of the winter break you noticed something was off when you parked. Their truck was missing from its usual spot. Strange but they probably just moved it somewhere else on the property. You had become accustom Eri running to answer the door and telling you wait for her parents in the entrance of the house. You became suspicious after she had run back and forth to take the food to the kitchen.

"Eri, where are your parents? Or Shinsou?"

The little girl's response was nonchalant, "They had to go out, one of our cattle got out. But they gave me the money."

You stuffed the money into your jacket; payment was the issue here. In the back of your mind you though about how you never saw any cattle on your deliveries. A child her age shouldn’t be left alone.

"Oh, well, can I hang out with you while we wait for them to come back?"

The little girl lit up as she pulled you to the living room. There was a kid's movie playing on the TV and she had a coloring book out. Eri divide up her crayons and tore out a page for you to join her. You kept looking to the window, waiting for the truck to pull up.

Suddenly there was banging at the door, which elicited a cry from Eri. You reached into your pocket only finding the crumpled bills. Shit, your stomach dropped. You left your phone in your car. After all, this was just supposed to be a quick delivery. The noise stopped, only for a moment, before resuming.

"Eri, sweetie," You whispered to the stunned little girl. "Do your parents have a phone here?"

She shook her head.

A man’s voice tore through the door, "Let me in dammit, you have to let me in before they come back."

You held your finger to your lip, and Eri nodded, repeating the gesture. The living room light was on and you realized that if he came to the side of the house you'd be seen through the window, but turning out the light would draw attention. Maybe he was bluffing, maybe he didn't know if anyone was inside and turning off the light would signal your presence. You pointed to the kitchen, where the lights were off and the two of you tip toed to the safety of darkness.

"Eri, honey, can you go sit in the pantry for me and be really, really quiet? I'll be right out here and don't come out until I come to get you okay?"

She looked hesitant and tearful but you were surprised at her level of composure for a kid. Finally she complied. Once the pantry door was closed you began rummaging through the drawers, looking for something that could inflict the most damage. A meat tenderizer could work. The banging continued and you swore you hear wood beginning to splinter. Your grip tightened with every bang. Finally the door gave way and a man stumbled through the splintered wood. He stopped when he saw you holding the cleaver.

He was dirty, without shoes or a shirt and his skin was red from the cold.

You hoped your voice wouldn’t crack, "You need to leave-"

"Monsters, monsters," he blabbed. "They're gonna come back and we gotta go."

You decided to bluff, "Get out of here, I already called the cops."

"Good, good, good," He mumbled, “but we still gotta go. NOW."

There was one step forward from him, one step back from you.

"If you come near me, I'll make sure you don't get up," You warned. At the very least you had to keep him away from Eri. Even if that was all you could do.

There was a desperate look in his eyes; they darted from you to the keys hooked to your jeans, then back to the keys. Finally he smiled, "You have a car, man that's perfect. Listen I won't hurt you but we need to get in your damn car, now."

Sounds like something someone who wants to hurt me would say, you thought. Apparently you took too long to respond, the man lunged toward you and you tried to swing the meat tenderizer. The tool connected with his shoulder and he howled out in pain but still managed to wrestle you to the ground. The two of you struggled with each other and the man was yelling that you'd die if you didn't listen to him. You landed a weak hit to his jaw, splitting his lip. You even tried biting at him but he was persistent and struggling to get your keys. You were telling him he could have them that he just needed to let you go but he wasn't listening to you. Managing to grab his ear you had a flashback to the self-defense seminar you had to take in college, it should be easy to rip a human ear. So you pulled. Blood began to flow from the wound down his face and on to you. He got you off him before you got the whole ear by delivering a blow to your stomach. The air rushed from your body, is this what it means to get the wind knocked out of you?

There was a loud noise and fog lights flooded through the broken door. Then saw Shinsou and Aizawa pulling the man off you. You pushed yourself and back, clutching at your stomach. Your cheeks were wet. Were you crying or was that blood on your face? Probably both.

The trio wrangled the man outside where you heard more struggling, fighting, and groaning.

Eri.  You managed your way to the kitchen but realized you were covered in blood. Not wanting to traumatize the little girl any further you spoke through the door.

"Eri, can you stay there a little bit longer?"

"Can't I come out? I heard my daddies," She cried, tugging at your heartstrings.

"Not yet, okay? They're here and everything's okay, I'm gonna have them come get you okay?"

Thankfully, the door didn't open. As you shuffled toward the front door Mr. Yamada entered, wiping specks of blood off him.

You were shocked when he pulled you into a hug, "You're okay. Sho and Shinsou got everything under control. Where is Eri?"

You told him about her hiding spot and he sighed in relief and rushed to her.

The other two returned with bloodied knuckles that made your stomach churn.

"Yamada," The mountain man called, with his eyes scanning the home.

"Don't worry, Sho, I got Eri. She's fine. Our delivery girl is okay, she's got some bumps and bruises but she made the other guy look worse."

Aizawa ushered you to the couch, expecting your legs to give out at any moment.

"We need to call the police," You finally spoke.

Aizawa assured you he did. They were 45 minutes out but they'd work on getting here faster. Yamada brewed you a cup of tea, “for while we wait.” They finally calmed Eri down and Shinsou took her upstairs to get ready for bed. It felt weird for them to return to mundane evening routines so quickly after all that chaos, but maybe you were just the odd one out. Close to an hour later you were still waiting for the police to show up. Your tea was finished long ago and your nerves had calmed. You were even having trouble keeping your eyes open.

"You think they're almost here, babe" The blonde wondered, draping a throw blanket around your shoulders. "I'm sure she wants to this day to be over with."

---

It was still dark when you woke up. The blonde was fast asleep on the recliner next to you. The police must have come by now but there was no way you slept through the visit. Anxiety from earlier made it’s way back in to your chest. The clock read 4am; had they even called the police. All of the childhood rumors you heard came flooding back and you exited the house as quietly as you could, not realizing your keys were no longer with you.

When you made it outside you noticed dried blood on the ground, trailing toward what you assumed was their barn or storage shed. You were entranced. Looking back to the house, no one was awake; there was no movement, no light, just quiet. You shouldn’t follow the bloody trail, you shouldn't go near the shed; but your body moved on it's own accord and before you realized it you were at the doors. You gave a tug, expecting it to be locked, but the door swung open and inside you noticed the lock lay on the ground.

You should have turned around, got in your car, and drove away. Instead you stepped inside and found the bloody, broken body of the man who attacked you. There was a slight sway to the corpse that was hanging from a reinforced pillar. Nearly screaming your hand shot to cover your mouth.

You should've left.

You should've left.

You should've left.

Aizawa was watching you from the kitchen, cursing Hizashi for leaving the shed unlocked. His hand hovered over the secured cabinet drawer that stored a pistol. He wouldn't shoot you only scare you a bit. But you weren't running out in a panic. He didn't even hear you scream. Interesting. He went to join you, moving like any predator concealing it presence and leaving the gun safe untouched.

You should've left.

You should've left.

You finally came to your sense and whirled around only to run into your late night admirer. A terrified squeak escaped you as you jumped further into the confined space.

"Mr Aizawa! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have - I'm sorry."

He didn't look angry, although you wished he did. It would be better than the unsettling smile on his face.

"That's alright, I was heading out here anyway," He closed the door behind him and flicked on a dim light that lit up the room with shadows. "Can't leave it hanging for too long."

Your throat tightened, he stood between you and the only exit. If he noticed your terror there was no indication that he cared. He turned his back to you momentarily, rummaging through the clutter on the workbench. Now was the best chance you may get and you made a dash for the door. It was a futile attempt and part of you knew it but your nerves were ablaze with adrenaline and you were running on instinct not reason. There was a foreign tightness around your throat that kept you fighting to inhale. Struggling to breathe you didn’t even register the sharp pinch of a needle piercing your deltoid.

Aizawa pressed his nose to your hair, "Behave. Even if you get out of here, your tire has a flat, pesky nails tend to find their way on to the roads out here. A real shame."

He dragged you over to a chair across from the lifeless body cuffing both your wrists to the armrests. Stupid, stupid, he was grabbing out cuffs and I ran straight into him, you scolded yourself. You went to open your mouth and beg to be let go, but you were silenced.

"Keep it down or I'll have to find a way to keep you quiet."

Your heart was beating so hard it hurt. Once a friend said it was possible to die by fright, if that was true you wouldn't last much longer. Now that you were safely out of the way, Aizawa could make quick work dismembering the carcass. He donned his usual rubber apron and pulled back his hair. With his experience he could finish the job in less than two hours. Now was as good a time as ever for you to learn.

With a sigh he began his explanation and craft:

"Cannibalism has been around as long as we've existed: sacrificially, ceremonially, culturally, especially during times of plague, war, and famine. You can find documented accounts from pretty much every part of the world. And there's no one reason. Our family keeps it simple. We eat meat, animals are meat, and humans are animals. In times of famine and other hardships, this was a reliable food source. Of course now, there's not much of a risk for severe famine to effect people like us but it's tradition. This is how it's been for our family for years. And not just those of us around these parts but our relatives everywhere. It's important to keep old trades alive."

He paused, now splattered with blood, to take note of your dry heaving.

"Please," You gasped. "I just want to go -"

With narrowed eyes he continued:

"It's important for you to listen to our family history. Typically we don't reap a harvest until three weeks after the winter solstice and 3 weeks before the summer solstice. Twice a year is enough to get us by. Zashi and I are impressed that you managed to wrangle him in. Poetic in a way, don’t ’cha think? Consuming the flesh of someone who tried to overpower you. First reap of the harvest. Nice that it's a family affair."  

The room was spinning and you were fighting the sedative as hard as you could. There was no way any of this was real, maybe you were dreaming? Maybe you'd been knocked unconscious when that man rushed you. Or better yet, maybe you were asleep at home still. It was possible that this whole delivery fiasco was just a nightmare. Your stomach churned at the speech. There was sun peaking through the cracks in the wall by the time he finished separating the ... different sections. There was no more body, just pieces. You nodded off for a few minutes before being jolted awake by the door opening and letting in the bright morning light .

"Good morning, you two night owls," Hizashi beamed. Walking to his husband handing over a tall mug of coffee. He was completely unfazed by the scene he walked in on. In fact the only frown he made was when Aizawa said he put too much sweetener in the coffee.  "Anyways, grumpy pants, I called your sister. She's on her way to pick up Eri and Shinsou for a few days. To give us some time to focus on our little muse. Speaking of, I should go get her some water. Oh, plus we need to fix our door."

---

After you refused to drink anything they tried to give you they left you alone in the shed. The handcuffs were too tight for you to slip through and in your struggle you managed to topple the chair over, hitting the floor with painful slap. It was hard to ignore the buzzing of the flies swarming the space where the body once hung. You closed your eyes, your mind wandering to your family and what they would think when they realized you were missing.

Outside you heard a car pull up and were tempted to scream for someone to help you. Maybe it was the police; maybe someone realized you didn't go home last night and found out where your last delivery was. Your captors came out to greet whoever it was and you were glad you didn't yell, they sounded friendly. They were coming toward the shed but you were too defeated to react.

"Sho," Hizashi gasped, "She fell."

The response was sharp and sarcastic, "I hadn't noticed." He yanked you up with ease and the world was no longer side ways but the jolt paired with the exhaustion and drugs left the world spinning.

The woman must've been the sister they mentioned earlier. She squealed with delight, "Oh isn't she the cutest, lemme get a good look."

She resembled neither of the men and gave off cool-soccer-mom vibes. With a gentle grip on your chin she bore into your eyes.

"Please,” You begged, “I just want go home."

The sister didn't waiver, "Don't worry sweet thing, these two are gonna take such good care of you. Just relax and let them help you."

Help? You don't need help from them. You needed to get out of this hell.

"Okay," She bounced toward the exit, "Bring out my niece and nephew, we're gonna have a fun weekend. And take care of your girl, she looks like a keeper."

Finally you screamed in frustration. Brief, loud, and full of anger but it deflated just as quickly when the two men shot you a menacing look. How could all three of them show no display of empathy? You were again convinced this was an alternate reality when both children peaked their heads in to wave goodbye before they peeled away from the home, leaving you alone with Hizashi and Aizawa.

---

There was a hatch toward the back of the room where the two disappeared until they came back with a third body. They were dragging a woman up like a ragdoll and acidic bile burned your throat. If you had to guess you would say she was late middle age. It felt like they were setting a stage, Hizashi pulled you closer to where they stood while Aizawa managed to tie the woman down to the stained table.

"Why are you doing this," you cried. But they ignored you.

"Did you know there are people who pay for certain oddities and they’re willing to spend big bucks to get what they want? We keep whatever makes sense to eat and sell the rest. Ideally nothing goes to waste.”

The next hour and forty-seven minutes were excruciating. There were several “items” – as they referred to her body parts – that they removed while she was still alive; but finally Aizawa made the perfect incision along her thigh and a pomegranate wave gushed out. There was no way she would suffer much longer with this amount of blood loss.

"Please just let her die," You begged the universe. "Please let it end."

For the first time since starting they stepped back from the body, leaving it on the table to come over to you. Aizawa knelt before you and his bloody hand brushed hair from your face; his thumb rested on your lip and you couldn't even physically respond. Hizashi was behind him, rubbing his partner's shoulders.

"You're going to kill me?”  

Both men finally softened, coming down their endorphin high. There was something so satisfying about your question. Arousing, even. They made it clear that your life was up to them, which meant they had you where they needed you.

"Am I having a blonde moment? I don't recall saying we'd kill her."

Aizawa threw an incredulous look his way before addressing you, "We aren't going to kill you. We wouldn't've saved you from that terrible animal if that were the plan. We don't kill just anyone. We wanted to introduce you to our lifestyle and now’s the best chance. Eri’s wanted to keep you since day one, but if you can't behave that'll be an issue. Can you prove to us that you’re going to behave or do we have to get you down into the cellar?”

There was no other choice than to nod. Picking up a piece of the dissected woman Hizashi muttered something about starting dinner before telling his husband that you really need to get more rest. Aizawa agreed, and since it seemed like you were having trouble getting rest he decided to give you another little dose of medicine.

[potteresque-ire]

More ask answer about Word of Honour (山河令, WoH) and the so-called “Dangai 101 phenomenon” under the cut ~ with all the M/M relationships shown on screen, does it mean improved acceptance / safety for the c-queer community?

Due to its length (sorry!), I’ve divided the answer into 3 parts: 1) Background 2) Excerpts from the op-eds 3) Thoughts This post is PART 2 💛. As usual, please consider the opinions expressed as your local friendly fandomer sharing what they’ve learned, and should, in no ways, be viewed as necessarily true. :)

(TW: homophobic, hateful speech quoted)

The following are three opinion pieces published by state-controlled media re: Dangai and WoH:

O1) Published on 2021/03/04, in Shanghai Observer 上觀新聞

8.6分爆款武俠劇《山河令》背后，是90后愛看的江湖 Behind the 8.6-score Wuxia drama WoH is the Jianghu loved by those born after 1990

[Pie note: the 8.6 score refers to the score WoH got from the popular TV and film review site, Douban]

O2) Published on 2021/03/16, in China Comment 半月談:

國產電視劇掀起「耽改」熱：「腐文化」出圈，青少年入坑 The Rise of Dangai in C-dramas: “Rot Culture” exits Circle, Youth fell into the Ditch

and its related editorial:

「耽改劇」 盛行？警惕對「腐文化」進行無底線炒作和過度消費 Dangai Dramas Prevailing? Be alert to the Uncurbed Hyping and Excessive Consumption of “Rot Culture”

[Pie Note: “Exiting the Circle” (出圈) and “Falling into the Ditch” (入坑) are both fandom vocabularies. “Exiting the circle” refers to something being so famous that it is no longer contained within fandom (the circle) and instead, breaks into public consciousness, mainstream. “Falling into a Ditch” means to fall for a fandom so hard that one cannot crawl their way out it. For example, c-turtles commonly refers to their joining the YiZhan fandoms as ditch falling, followed by being “hammered to the bottom of the ditch” by Gg and Dd’s candies.

“Rot” 腐 refers to the same rot as in fujoshi 腐女 and “rot selling” 賣腐 described in PART 1.]

O3) Published on 2021/04/07, in 光明日報 Enlightenment Daily

耽美作品改编盛行带偏大众审美 Popularity of Dangai Dramas leads the Public’s Aesthetic Astray

To summarise first,

* Article O1 was very light on the characterisation of Danmei—the terms Danmei and Dangai never even appeared in the article. It focused, instead, on WoH’s Wuxia elements, including the beauty of its presentation—much like People Daily’s review of TU focused on the drama’s aesthetics, including its world view. The relationship between Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing was never mentioned, not even garnering a description such as 摯友 (“close friend”) as LWJ and WWX did. The article did point out that the drama was catering to a women audience.

* Article O2a (the opinion piece) and O2b (the editorial) are about Danmei and Dangai, collectively as the subculture they named “Rot Culture” (腐文化). No drama names are mentioned (in reading Chinese news, it’s important to note whether the critiqued target is named or not; the former (點名批評) is considered significantly harsher). The article, as hinted by the word “rot” in its title, leaned heavily towards characterising Danmei and Dangai by the traditional BL characterisation. Article O2a was also the only article out of the four that explicitly addressed  homosexuality. Rather than addressing the queer elements in Danmei/Dangai as queer, however, the article argued the genres could turn their young audience queer.

* Article O3 is also about Danmei and Dangai as the “Rot Culture” subculture, without the naming of any dramas. This article is notable for its association of the genres and the state’s concern with the “feminisation” of Chinese men.

Based on these op-eds, the state is characterising Danmei and Dangai predominantly as characterisation 2 — traditional BL, women’s fantasy. They recognised the psychological need behind the popularity of the genres among their (het) women audience, and the tone, is overall, of understanding and approval:

One of the cores of Dangai is the pursuit of “beauty”. The “double male leads” in Dangai dramas score sufficiently high beauty points to become the party to be defined, to be gazed, to be consumed. It is a counterattack to the male gaze. In addition, such “double male leads” enjoying equal relationship, admiring each other and fighting together shoulder-to-shoulder, also reflects the ideals of women towards relationships.

In the visual world of Dangai, two beautiful men respecting and treasuring each other, progressing together shoulder-to-shoulder, not only fits with women’s ideal model of  relationships, but also also create wide, yet-to-be filled emotional spaces for women’s unstoppable imagination to flex. Such relationships have less considerations of reality and self-interest, and thus appear to be more pure.

However, these opinion pieces have also made clear that the state saw the queer elements surrounding the genre, and its opinion of them is much more … reserved, especially when they cross the fiction / reality line and become the focus of the promotion of the dramas via the actors, who straddle that fiction / reality line.

Due to the lengths of these articles, I’m only translating the notable “chunks” in each of them—the “chunks” that connect the genres with queerness. I’m deliberately keeping these passages as “chunks”—ie, without removing sentences in the middle—to highlight the state’s logic in making the connection.

From O2a: 國產電視劇掀起「耽改」熱：「腐文化」出圈，青少年入坑 The Rise of Dangai in C-dramas: “Rot Culture” exits Circle, Youth fell into the Ditch

“M/M CP”, “Beautiful Men Economy”, topics surrounding this market—today, nobody bets an eye anymore at “selling the rot” being the industrial phenomenon. “Sell the rot” is to sell “rot culture”, with “rot culture” being the subculture for the audience’s imagination, of M/M (ambiguous) love stories for major content.

Such subculture, if confined within its fandoms, may be harmless. However, if it is to be adapted into TV dramas in significant scale, if it is to break through the subculture circles and enter the realm of general public entertainment, then one must take caution of its bad influence, especially to inexperienced youths.

With the established review system for web and TV dramas, production teams often remove the “romantic plot line” between the two male leads in the original Danmei canon and display “brotherhood love” in the TV drama, while “playing edge ball” to provide their audience with room for imagination. In the subsequent promotion and marketing, however, the two male actors may have to “sell the rot” as well.

[Pie note: I’m translating 打擦边球 literally as “playing edge ball” as this is a very commonly used term in discussions of China’s censorship. It means to step as close to the forbidden line as possible without crossing it, to take advantage of loopholes.]

Author of the article “On the Danmei-ization of Chinese Dramas” believes that, in recent years, CPs “selling the rot” , the practice of which is rooted in Danmei culture, have become a hit in the Chinese TV industry. TV dramas with Danmei elements entice their audience to create CPs around the leads of the dramas; they make use of the fervour generated by the discussion topic to achieve high viewership.

In recent years, academics have already expressed concern and investigated the influence of Danmei culture on the youth’s gender awareness, their opinions of marriage etc. For example, the article “Sexual Orientation of Some Youths in Hunan Province and Analysis of their Potential Causes” investigated the sexual orientation of 1,260 youths in the province and discovered that: among males, 2.9% self-identified as homosexuals, 4.9% bi-sexuals, 12.4% unknown; among females, 2.4%, 12.4%, 14.3% respectively. 37.5% of the people knew about Danmei or Doujin (同人; fandom), among which 32.3% indicated they “liked” it. 11.9% indicated that they longed for the homosexual romance in such works.

The author of the article analysed that, students who knew about Danmei or Doujin were more likely to report bisexuality or unknown sexual orientation. This demonstrated the influence of such culture on the sexual orientation of youths.

( Cartoon from O2a, titled “Learning to be “cool” 學酷 )

From O2b:「耽改劇」 盛行？警惕對「腐文化」進行無底線炒作和過度消 Dangai Dramas Prevailing? Be alert to the Uncurbed Hyping and Excessive Consumption of “Rot Culture”

Not to be overlooked is this: the severe reality of “Rot culture” exiting the circle and becoming immensely popular is urgently awaiting the entire society’s alert and attention. Objectively speaking, many Dangai works are not aspiring to positively, proactively guide and display Danmei culture, but only to set up attention-grabbing gimmicks, the purpose of which is solely to “sell the rot”. Not a small number of Dangai’s plots are illogical. Worse, in order to attract attention and satisfy the “taste” of fans, some production companies are forcibly selling “M/M CPs”,  conducting “bound” promotion [Pie note: as in bound by CP pairing] and embarrassing interactions [Pie note: as in, getting the actors to interact in a suggestively romantic way] , “playing the edge ball” [Pie note: as explained above] to generate personalities, consuming “Rot Culture” without a bottom line. These poor marketing tactics not only hurt the interest of Danmei audience, but interfere with the online environment and its order. The indulgence of radical language, moreover, challenges and affects mainstream values. These bad influences must be paid attention to and supervised.

From O3) 耽美作品改编盛行带偏大众审美 Popularity of Dangai Dramas leads the Public’s Aesthetic Astray

In addition to the explosion of the number of Dangai dramas, many dramas that are not originally Dangai are attaching themselves to the Dangai genre, by setting up double male leads, by playing up the suggestive atmosphere between male characters in their plot lay out. Some variety shows make use of the plot setup, the post-editing, the promotion of topics etc, to forcibly pair up their male guests for the purpose of hype and attention. This vulgar custom of “playing edge ball” as a means to tempt, to lead the audience into indulging in fantasies [Pie note: sexual fantasies implied by the idiom 想入非��] have spread from visual media production to the areas of promotion and marketing. Some interviews, magazine photoshots, short video production have also joined the bandwagon of borrowing the popularity of Danmei culture. They use all sorts of sensitive topics to tease and excite the public, tirelessly, happily guiding the fans to overanalyse Dangai dramas and even, the relationship between the actors of Dangai dramas. With the push of such gimmicks, Danmei is reaching the public through multiple channels, gathering popularity and turning into a phenomenon.

From O3) 耽美作品改编盛行带偏大众审美 Popularity of Dangai Dramas leads the Public’s Aesthetic Astray

Men with delicate looks, with traditionally feminine (soft and reserved) quality, are often sought after by the rot women (fujoshis). There has been a recent, popular saying in the industry: to find out if a male star is popular or not, find out if there are fans calling him “wife”. Artists with a tough image often do not make it big, but explode in popularity once they switch to a soft beauty style. Netizens have teased “Ten years as a tough man known by none; one day as a beauty known by all”. This take on aesthetics is influencing visual media creation and entertainment production to a certain extent. Watching from a distance, more and more traffic-generating stars look like “cream young men” [Pie note: 奶油小生, from 奶油 “cream” + 小生, “the role of young men in traditional Chinese opera”, is an old-fashioned term traditionally used to describe young, good-looking actors who often presented as pale, mild-mannered, scholarly]. Some entertainment venture capital picks “flower men” as their choice for leads regardless of the TV dramas/films’ subject matter, follows the young (male) idol path. Commercial products and ads extend their offers to “little fresh meat” [Pie note: 小鲜肉 is the nickname for young (male) idols]. Even cosmetics, which have conventionally been thought of as women-only products, are no longer asking only women stars to be their spokespeople. Feminine beauty can exist, but all things shouldn’t be taken to the extreme. As “flower men” overflow on screen, masculine, tough men are reducing in numbers. This may counter the basic rules of art creation, and disrupt the development of diverse social aesthetics.

Any product produced by the mind, in the process of production, is also producing minds that will accept it, consume it. Audience of Dangai include not only adults, but also not-too-mature youths who pursue “Rot Culture” as a fashionable trend. In particular, as the aesthetics of men in the eyes of young women turn even more feminine, such change can indirectly influence the cognition of young men, cause the young men to subconsciously shift their own gender expression closer to the feminine beauty anticipated by women. Most Dangai stories are far removed from reality; some young audience nonetheless mix them up with real life, develop biased understanding such as “only love that doesn’t treat matrimony and reproduction as destinations is true love”. Although Daigai is often made “Danmei-less”, in that the romantic relationship between the two male leads are re-written as brothers and zhiji (confidants), the canon and the Rot Culture behind it still hides large amounts of pornographic, violent content, including biased, unhealthy perspectives on gender, and un-scientific, even wrong biological knowledge. If such content isn’t given restrictions, it will seriously mislead the values and self-fulfilment of the young.

PART 1 PART 2 <-- YOU ARE HERE PART 3

[worldbuildguild]

THE REDLINESTATION UPDATE:

Hello, chums and chummies!  So here’s the update I promised you guys some days ago.  As the title says, the RedLineStation has had a small update to both the team and the look of the blog as well ( on top of some changes to our ToS which I will cover beneath ).  We are now a few years into this blog-endeavour, and as such, things needed a bit of optimizing to make sure that the blog could run as smoothly as possible. We’ve been through so many submissions, asks and whatnot with you guys in the past, opened new ventures, and closed some again. So for the sake of overview: here is the rundown of what’s been happening behind the curtains. 

The RedLineStation staff is now divided into two teams, working on two different platforms. 

As some of you may know, we have had a discord up and running for a while now. This discord is a community-hub for our followers, where they can give and recieve feedback from each other. There has also been a few fun events going on in there lately. You can find an invitation link to this discord in our navbar at the blog! 

As such, this new division has meant that an update to the staff-page was needed. Now, you will find that the page is divided into two subsections. One displaying the staff of the blog team ( the team that runs this particular blog ), and one running the discord server. 

If a mod is listed on one team however, it does not mean that they can’t appear on the other platform in some capacity. But, at large it means that they are more likely to be “guesting” said platform, rather than being a fixed member of staff on the specific team. This has been done to seperate the teams in terms of agency. Meaning that one team of staff can take adminstrative action independently from the other. Preventing that one team will have to wait for another in decisionmaking. 

At large, the platforms share the same values and ideas, however, rules for each platform is different from the other, due to the differing contexts. So please, when you join your discord, or if you happen to bleed from our discord onto our blog -  READ THE RULES and the ToS attached to said platform before use. 

Right now, we are not that many running the blog, and as is - I am the one most involved in the progress, though, we need more hands to keep functioning the way we do - which is why staff applications will probably open soon! So stay tuned if you want to be part of the RLS blog staff. 

F.A.Q. has been updated!

In lieu with updated guidelines on tumblr, and generally in regards to our usual faire - the F.A.Q. has been updated.  Particularly, you’ll find that we now have a TUTORIAL VAULT. In here, you will find a collection of all the material we have made as answers to asks in regards to artistry. This page will be updated as we go, but probably in larger chunks, so make sure to check in every once in a while to make sure that your potential ask/question hasn’t been asked before. 

As is with the depressing turn of events that was tumblr’s porn-ban we’ve had to update our rules about the likes of nudity and NSFW themes. None of us are particularly happy about the ban, but unfortunately, as it stands; if we want our content to stay and our blog to remain unfettered by the strict bots, we have to comply with the new guidelines. Therefore, it is crucial that you get familiar with tumblrs guidelines for NSFW content before you post to RLS. If we recieve content that does not comply with the guidelines of tumblr itself, we are - regretably, forced to delete this submission. As publishing it will lead to censorship. 

However, like a tiny candlelight at the end of the tunnel - our discord server offers a little less strict moderation of NSFW content. Here, artistic nudity is allowed, for one.  I recommend you guys pop into the server and take a look at the rules there if you want advice for a potentially NSFW piece of work. 

SUBMISSION RULES UPDATED

As part of optimizing the workflow for our staff, the submission rules has been updated. You can find them in our F.A.Q but particularly on the BEFORE YOU SUBMIT! page.

As per the new update: submitters can only specify one(1) thing that they wish to have critiqued. This is in large part due to the workload that one submission demands. Some of our artists make a passes on a submission for each point of critique, which means that multiple points of critique will result in multiple passes - which then in turn means that said artists ends up spending a whole lot of time on certain pieces, while some, those with much fewer points of critique, take much less.  Cutting time on the individual RedLine will help us get more efficient in handling our submission-loads, and hopefully make the critiques more focused than they would have been otherwise. 

The feedback blog wants feedback! 

As we’re entering a new era for RLS, the multi-platform era: This tumblr-blog is running under the management of fewer people. This, while perhaps a bit chaotic in the beginning, has given us a new chance at defining the content that comes up on the blog, and how we - through the blog, will interact with you guys.   Asks and redlines are of course still part of the faire here on RedLineStation. But we’re looking outward to you guys, hoping you’ll let us know if you wish to see anything particular on the blog. Be it events, mod appearances, particular ressources or the sort. Let us know what you think the RedLineStation blog needs, and we’ll take it to discussion! 

What happens now?

The team will be focusing their attention on getting the askbox and drafts emptied. You will probably see new content crop up soon enough as we clear up the things we have sitting around, waiting to be published. This means that it might be a while before we open up for submissions again. Additionally, it also means that any asks that partake to art-advice coming in as of tonight, will be deleted. We will make a statement when we’re ready to take in new material. For now: only questions about the mods, the blog itself and feedback for the blog from you guys is allowed in our inbox! Please have patience as we work to prepare for a new submission-launch, thank you! 

We hope to see you on RLS!  And we hope this update will launch us into a new, reinvigorated era of RedLineStation. 

Stay tuned for staff-calls to open up soon!

- Mod Wackart and the RLS blog team.