#and the famous one of the final five left because she wanted to be a actress

[fancylala4]

Heejin and E-Z (and Miyoun to an extent since she was in the group the year they debuted) were so strong. They stayed in baby vox from the beginning to the end and dealt with DR bs for all those years. They don’t get enough praise for staying and dealing with all the issues the group had to go through.

[snoopyracing]

rivals // ln4 & op81

part one

pairing: lando norris X oscar piastri X reader

word count: 7k

warnings: cursing, alcohol use, slight suggestive content, lando X oscar content

summary: challengers!au.... when ferarri’s princess is forced to retire at the peak of her career she finds herself lost with no purpose. racing was all she had ever known and it was ripped right out from under her with no warning. feeling hopeless she pours her passion back into mentoring oscar piastri— mclaren’s reigning champion. old feelings emerge, rivalries reach their breaking point, and ex-teammates show up when oscar least expects it. yet all y/n wants to see is some good fucking racing.

a/n: so excited about this series omg!! please let me know what you all think!!

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The rumble of twenty V6 engines, pit crews and TV presenters talking, last minute checks over the car, fans roaring– it’s all background noise as you’re sat snugly in the cockpit of your race car, waiting for the formation lap to start. You close your eyes and take a couple deep breaths, grounding yourself as you try to prepare for the next heart pounding adrenaline inducing two hours. Your body relaxes and you allow yourself to enter racing mode, your senses are heightened, mind sharper than a tack. When you open your eyes you only see a clear track in front of you and a navy blue Red Bull to the left of you. 

It was time.

If the giant Rolex branded clock didn��t confirm it for you then that static in your ear piece followed by 30 seconds till formation from your race engineer Alice did. You’re second on the starting grid, with Verstappen in front of you and your teammate Leclerc right behind him, you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. Not to mention that you’re in Monza this weekend, so a Ferrari 1-2 is the ultimate goal. Your visor comes down and your hands grip the wheel as the formation lap starts. 

When you line back up on the grid you take one last final breath and wait for the famous five lights. The little red lights that let you know it’s time to unleash every ounce of talent, of wheel knowledge, everything you’ve got to be the first one to see the checkered flag waving. 

The lights go out and away you go.

It’s an amazing start off the line from you and you’re able to quickly get past Max and become the new race leader, an advantage that you’re glad to have had considering Monza isn’t the easiest track to overtake on.

Beautiful Y/N - your race engineer's soothing voice fills your ears and for a second you can breathe, but it doesn’t last long because you know you’ve got Max Verstappen behind you. The man who will make a move if he sees the slightest opportunity and you know you’ve got to defend this position with your life. It makes you feel a little better knowing he’s got Charles behind him to keep him busy, but this is Formula 1 and things could change in the blink of an eye. 

You’d held the lead beautifully for a quarter of the race, but on lap 15 of 53 you hear box box over the radio. 

Seriously? You question back, knowing this was not the plan you’d gone with in your meeting this morning– or the other five million that Ferrari insisted on having. You wonder if maybe you’d been pushing too hard and ate away at the tires, but you knew that wasn’t true. Tire whisperer was your middle name and from what you could tell you still had a good amount of laps left on these babies. 

Yes, box now. Alice’s voice is firm and the pit lane is fast approaching, so you obey orders and pull into the pit lane entry. It’s an insanely fast pit stop, but when you come back out onto the track and see that you’d been undercut by Max you’re immediately pressing the radio button. 

Real nice pit stop timing– plan C is what I want now. 

We don’t think that’s possible at this moment.

Well I’m making it possible.

Even though Max had undercut you, there isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’re not winning this race. You were leading this championship for a reason– you were the best and it was as simple as that. A little undercut wasn’t going to ruin this race, especially when these tires were going to last you for the remaining 38 laps. 

It was crazy, you know, but taking risks was something you had to do in the world of Formula 1. So, you grip the steering wheel, take a deep breath as best as you can, flip Max the bird as you pass him and become one with your car. 

On lap 45 of 53 you no longer see Max Verstappen in a Red Bull behind you in your mirrors, but the all too familiar red colored car reflecting back at you. As the laps wind down you can actually start to hear how loud the crowd is and when you’re the first to see the checkered flag you know tonight is going to be a night you won’t forget. 

The crowd is electric, actually it’s more than electric. It's indescribable as you step out of the cockpit and carefully onto the top of the car that’s parked in front of the P1 placard. Your pointer finger proudly showing off your number one position to the multiple cameras pointed in your direction. Waves and kisses are blown towards the crowd before you’re quickly running over to your team and jumping into their arms over the barricades that are set up. Praises fill the air and when Charles finally comes over to the team it’s an even bigger celebration. You embrace your teammate, both of you congratulating each other before focusing back on the people who make all of this possible.

The cool water that awaits you at your pedestal feels better than winning for a brief second, your helmet and extra gear already ripped off you as you chug it down like liquid gold. 

“You’re one crazy motherfucker you know that?” A familiar Dutch accent fills your ears as he pats you on the back. 

“Just a casual Sunday drive for me.” You shrug your shoulders at Max, a smirk splayed across your lips as the bottle of water hovers near your mouth. 

A team member directs you towards the area where the pre podium interviews will be held before you can discuss anymore with Max. A Ferrari cap sits atop your sweaty head as you speak with David Coulthard— your smile beaming as the adrenaline still courses through your veins. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say about your drive out there today. Was a one stop the plan all along or was that something you just ended up doing?”  

The crowd is so loud you can barely hear him, the massive Ferrari flag waving in the grandstands behind him only adds to the atmosphere. “Yeah, I mean it wasn’t anyone’s favorite plan, but I knew when I came back out onto the track that these tires were gonna last me till I saw that checkered flag wave and they did. So I think that speaks for itself don’t you?” 

He asks a few more general questions, but all you can think about is that podium and the feeling of the biggest trophy in your hands. “Always a pleasure talking to you and seeing you on that top step. Congratulations again Y/N.” 

You give him a kert thank you before booking it to the cool down room and preparing yourself for the impending celebrations. 

In the McLaren garage Lando watches the podium from the monitors. He knows he should be in the media pen, answering the same questions over and over again and he pretends not to hear his publicity agent holler his name. In his defense the TIFOSI are celebrating not that far away– it’s hard to hear anything over them and the Italian anthem filling the air. He’s experienced a podium in Monza once, but as a McLaren driver it’s never as special as if he were a Ferrari driver. The monitor that’s still playing the podium celebration is his only focus at this point and he doesn’t even notice Oscar coming up beside him. Lando’s too busy watching you get sprayed with champagne and the way you look with the said champagne dripping off of you. The way you look like you were meant to be up there with the thousands of fans screaming for you down below. The biggest trophy held high above your head as you smile out at the crowd. 

“She’s something isn’t she?” 

Lando jumps slightly at the sound of Oscar’s voice, yet his gaze never wanders from the screen. The Australian shuffles his feet to stand next to Lando, his eyes joining in on the spectacle on the monitor in front of them. 

“Yeah she is.” Lando mumbles. 

Truth be told you’re more than just something. You were a prodigy– a generational talent. People knew you’d be talked about as one of the greats forty years from now. It took blood sweat and tears and then some to become the first female Formula 1 driver, and you sure as hell weren’t going to be some mediocre driver who barely made it into the points every race.

You were here to win– to be the best and that’s what you are. Another twenty five points added to your championship lead and perhaps after you win the championship you’ll no longer be the Princess of Ferrari, but the Queen. 

Lando watches as you grip the champagne bottle by its neck, lifting to your lips and taking a long swig from it. “I’d let her fuck me with that bottle.” He doesn’t even realize he’s said that out loud until he hears Oscar scoff from beside him. 

“Of course you would.” 

Oscar would too– he just has a better filter than Lando. 

Charles, Max, and you pose for some pictures and then with a final wave to the crowd you’re off the screen and the cameras change to the season's stats so far. Lando turns to face his teammate with nothing shy of a serious look on his face. “We are going out tonight.” 

Oscar furrows his eyebrows, there was nothing to really celebrate tonight. “We barely made it into the points. Is that really worth going out for?” 

“We aren’t celebrating us you muppet. We are celebrating Y/N.” 

“Ah of course, because we are so close to her. She probably wouldn’t even let us near her section if we tried.” 

Lando rolled his eyes at Oscar– he could be so pessimistic sometimes. So what if Lando could count on one hand how many times he’d held a conversation with you that lasted longer than a minute. That didn’t mean you didn’t like him. In fact, maybe you liked Lando so much that you kept your distance to remain professional. Either way he was going to actually talk with you tonight and yeah it was unprofessional, but if things escalated tonight, he wouldn’t oblige. 

The sound of Lando and Oscar’s names echoed through the McLaren garage and in an instant both of their publicity agents were now standing in front of them, unimpressed looks on their faces as they dragged the two drivers towards their interviews.

“I’ll get the details from Carlos alright? Don’t sit around in the room tonight– live a little Oscar.” Lando says as they enter the chaos that is the media pen.

Oscar only nods at his teammate as his agent is already pointing him in the direction of his first interview. 

A perk of the McLaren boys being so late to do their interviews is that they get the privilege of being in the pen at the same time as the three podium placers. Max and Charles walk in first, but no one pays that much attention to them. 

When Y/N waltzes in– now that’s a different story. 

There’s an immediate surge of energy in the air. Your name is echoed through the air like a prayer and each press official wants to be the first person to interview the race winner– to interview you. Your smile lights up the room and you don’t even look like you’ve just been through a grueling two hours in a race car. You’re radiant and everyone’s eyes are on you, even the ones that were mid interview.

When you end up next to Oscar in the pen he feels the air escape from his lungs. He tries to act cool, like he didn’t even notice you next to him, or that he wasn’t freaking out like a fanboy right now, but he totally was. It also seemed that the person interviewing him was more focused on you than Oscar, their eyes glancing over towards you every few seconds, but Oscar couldn’t blame them one bit. 

He thinks he blacks out for a moment when you leave to go to your next interview and you smile at him. It wasn’t even a full teeth smile, just a small one that you’d give to a person in public on the sidewalk. Yet it made him weak in the knees– his hands gripping the barricade as he tried to collect himself. 

Oscar had talked to you even less than Lando, but he’d come to the conclusion that you smiling at him outweighed all of Lando’s conversations. And his previous doubts about going out tonight had suddenly vanished. He was a man on a mission and you were that mission.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The music pounds in your chest as you sit on the plush velour couches in the VIP section of this random club in Monza. Strobe lights move across the room and the faint smell of marijuana fills your noise while you’re sipping on what was clearly not your first drink of the night. Charles sat across from you with whatever girlfriend this was at the moment and a couple other drivers that you liked well enough to invite out. 

It was times like this that you thought that maybe you should be a little more outgoing in the friend department, but you weren’t here to make friends. Sure you talked to the guys– you weren’t rude, but it was always professional conversations– always consisting of racing.

You were close with Charles, purely because he’d been your teammate for the past two years, but other than that you didn’t pay much mind to anyone else on the grid. You were here to win races, not form lifelong friendships, but that didn’t mean you didn’t like to have a little fun every once in a while. 

Which was what you planned on doing tonight. 

Oscar and Lando seem like two middle school boys with no date to the Valentine’s day dance as they stand awkwardly near the bar. The music is deafening and Lando’s mad that Carlos, who was the one person who could have gotten them into your section, decided to bail on coming out tonight at the last minute. The last hour had been spent on trying to figure out how to get in without Carlos, but they both seem to be failing in the brainstorming department tonight. 

Lando’s ordering another drink from the bartender when he feels a sharp jab in his side. He turns his head to find Oscar pointing out towards the dance floor– his eyes follow Oscar’s line of direction and what he sees has his mouth agape. 

There you are on the dance floor– in a red dress that fits you perfectly and teases anyone who was looking. You stand out, like a beacon of light and Lando and Oscar were sailors lost at sea. The way your body moves along to the rhythm and you seem to get lost in the music. It’s a sight that neither of them can seem to tear their eyes away from. That is until you decide to head back to your section and before Oscar can oblige Lando decides their best option for tonight. 

“Let’s just go and talk to her.” He grabs Oscar by the hand, his shoes dragging against the sticky floor as Lando pulls him towards you. Oscar knows there’s no real plan in place and he fears they’re going to make fools of themselves. 

Once they make it through the sea of sweaty bodies a red velvet rope and a burly bouncer are all that separates the two McLaren drivers from you. The bouncer stares down at them– his expression stone cold as he crosses his massive arms over his chest, muscles bulging under his shirt. 

“Sorry. Invite only.” His Italian accent is thick as he speaks to them. 

“We know her. We’re drivers too– for McLaren.” Lando counters back, praying it’s enough for the man to lift the rope and let them pass. 

The bouncer stares at them, squinting his eyes like he’s trying to tell if they are actually who they say they are. For a brief second they think the man recognizes them, but their hopes were crushed as soon as they appeared. “Invite only.” The bouncer states again as he stands there like a brick wall. 

Lando cranes his neck around the man, looking into the VIP section, hoping someone recognizes him and Oscar, but the person who comes to their rescue is the last person either of them expected. 

The red dress is what catches Lando’s eye first and when his eyes travel up and land on your face he gulps. There you are standing behind the rope that’s been their main obstacle tonight and when you lean over towards the bouncer and whisper something in his ear the man seems surprised.

If Oscar was as good at reading lips as he thought he was it looked like the man mouthed something along the lines of are you sure back at you. You nodded your head firmly towards the man before sitting back down on the plush couches, your lips wrapped around the straw from your drink as you stare down the two McLaren boys. 

Oscar and Lando think they’re dreaming when they see the bouncer lift the rope and motion for them to enter. Oscar feels like his feet are stuck on the floor, he never thought they’d get this far tonight, especially after Carlos bailed on them. He feels Lando’s hands on his back, pushing him forward while mumbling something about hurry up before she changes her mind. 

They’re both stumbling messes as they hurriedly enter the VIP section. They hear some of the other drivers greet them, but their attention is lasered in on you. How you’re sitting there sipping your drink and looking like the sexiest and scariest woman they’d ever met. 

There’s a beat of silence for a moment between the three of you as you all just stare at one another– some rap song fills the silence as the bass vibrates in everyone’s chest. 

Oscar notices how your gaze lingers on Lando more than him and he realizes he needs to be the one to speak up first. “You were fucking incredible today.” 

Your eyes immediately dart over to Oscar and a smile creeps its way onto your face. “Thank you.” 

“No really. It was like something completely different to what everyone else was doing out there today. It was like it wasn’t even racing.” 

You simply nod at him, what were you supposed to say to him? You knew you were good. 

Oscar looks around his eyes identifying the other drivers who’d been graced with a prior invite into your section. Leclerc, Hamilton, and Albon, but no Verstappen. “Max didn’t want to come out tonight?” 

You scoff and shake your head at the Australian. “He only likes to celebrate when he’s on the top step, not the bottom one. He’s a sore loser– probably already on his private jet back to Monaco as we speak.” Someone comes over with a tray full of shots and sets them down on the nearby table. You grab one for yourself and motion for the boys to grab one as well. “Go on, have a little fun. You two did pretty decent for yourselves today didn’t you? You both scored points if I recall correctly?” 

Lando and Oscar both nod and grab a shot glass from the table, quickly downing it before setting the glass back down. They watch you as your lips wrap around the shot glass and you tilt your head back, letting the liquid burn as it goes down your throat. When you set the shot glass back down you notice the boys standing there like lost puppies. The awkwardness and nervousness radiating off them makes you giggle. You knew the power you had over men and oh was it such a fun game to play. 

“I heard through the grapevine that you’re doing Formula E next season. Did you lose your seat or what?” 

Lando’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head– he’d not spoken to another soul about it, besides Zak. “How did you even know about this? But no, I didn’t lose my seat. I wanted to explore other forms of racing. Trust me– my seat will be waiting for me when I’m done.” 

You nod at the British driver as your eyes flicker over to Oscar, who you know is thinking the same thing. No one who makes it to Formula 1 just decides to pursue other types of racing— maybe once you’ve left your mark, but not a handful of years into your career. You guess you all would see if he did still have his seat when the time came. “It’s Formula 1 darling. There’s no such thing as secrets in this career field. The paddock whispers and the majority of the time she’s never wrong.” 

The club starts to feel suffocating and Lando uses his need for fresh air to maybe get you away from the chaos for a moment. “Do you smoke?” 

You raise your eyebrows at him in surprise– a small laugh spilling past your lips. “Cigarettes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“No. Do you?” 

“Yeah. Do you wanna go outside?” 

You glance over at Oscar who seems less than impressed with Lando at the moment, but you’re intrigued to see where this goes. So, you stand up, smooth the front of your dress and let Lando and Oscar lead the way. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The fresh air feels amazing when it hits your skin, it makes you feel alive–awake almost. You’re grateful there’s only two people out here in the little smokers area, the last thing you need is for people to be shoving their phones in your face. You notice Lando pull a pack of Marlboros from his jacket pocket and then proceeds to pull a cigarette out before handing the pack to Oscar who copies his actions. 

You three sit at one of the little tables set up outside and you watch as they smoke their cigarettes. “This isn’t the eighties anymore. Do your trainers know you guys smoke?” 

“If the drivers back in the day could do it why can’t we?” Lando says as he takes a particularly long drag.

“Like I said it’s not the eighties anymore.” You taunt. Oscar quickly puts his out with the heel of his shoe before you start in on him. He never really liked cigarettes to begin with, but then he started hanging around Lando and well now everytime he drank he craved one. “See, this is your problem. You think racing is about trying to be like the ones who came before you or that it’s some image you have to fit into. That’s why you’re stuck fighting for P10.” 

“We don’t necessarily have the best car at the moment.” Lando counters back, flicking the ash off his cigarette as he eyes you. 

You shake your head at him. “Yeah, but having a good car is only a small fraction of the bigger picture. To be honest you’re not actually a Formula 1 driver. You don’t even understand what racing is.” 

Lando smirks as he takes another puff from his cigarette, the smoke billowing in your face. “What is it then?” 

“A relationship.” 

He scoffs at your answer. “Is that what gets you all those wins? Seeing racing as a relationship?” 

“It is actually. When you become one with your car, with your team, engineer, everyone that makes this whole thing run you’ll understand. You’ll feel it and it’s like you all understand each other. It’s some fucked up version of love, but it’s there. It’s like I’m sometimes not there in my body when I’m driving and the part of me that is in this relationship takes over and I just exist in that moment. Racing– being a Formula 1 driver is more than just driving a fast car and living a luxurious lifestyle. It’s a commitment and when that commitment is taken seriously the outcome is beautiful.” 

Oscar had never heard someone talk about racing like that before, but it made sense, especially coming from you. Everytime you got in that car your drive was like a piece of art. Every win of yours deserved to be in the Louvre. You truly were the face and epitome of what was Formula 1. 

Your phone lights up with a notification and when you see just how late it is you know it’s time to call it a night. “Well boys. It was nice to chat with you, but it’s time for me to head back to the hotel. See you at the next race.” You give them a small wave goodbye and head back towards the chest rattling music. 

Lando sits up in his chair, the night had just begun and he was far from done talking to you. “Wait!” You stop walking and turn on your heels to face the boys, an eyebrow raised in question. “Are you on Facebook?” 

You audibly laugh in Lando’s face at his question. “Facebook? Is this 2010?” 

Oscar speaks up for the first time since you three came out here. “I think he’s trying to ask for your number, which is what I’m also doing… right now.” 

Your eyes dart back and forth from Oscar to Lando. “I don’t doubt you both follow me on Instagram. Is that not enough?” Oscar and Lando feel their stomachs drop, they knew they shouldn’t have gotten so ballsy with asking for your number. When they don’t answer you realize how serious they are about it. “You both want my number– for real?” 

Oscar and Lando vigorously nod their heads at you, clinging onto the last little bit of hope they have.

“I’m not a home-wrecker.” 

“We don’t live together.” Oscar states as he watches your hair gently move with the night breeze. 

Lando doesn’t miss a beat with his reply. “It’s an open relationship.” 

“Also Lando has a girlfriend.” 

“I do not!” Lando slightly raises his voice towards his teammate. The asshole was clearly trying to get one up on him. 

You laugh at their antics, they were such desperate needy boys and you were loving this. 

Lando shuffles forward in his seat, his elbows resting on the table as he leans forward. “Why don’t you come hang out with us later? We’re all at the same hotel. We’re in room 231.” 

Oscar’s head whips around to look at Lando, he was not expecting to have a sleepover tonight. 

You laugh a little at his proposition. “Is money that tight at McLaren that they’ve got you two sharing rooms?” 

Lando and Oscar glance at one another, the answer was yes, but they weren’t going to say that. “No, it was a hotel mistake.” 

“You want me to come tuck you in?” Your tone is nothing shy of teasing. 

“No. We can just keep talking about… racing.” 

They were determined– you’d give them that. You had never paid much mind to the McLaren boys, but after your interaction with them tonight you were intrigued to say the least. A small smile stretches across your face as you bid the boys farewell once more. “Goodnight.” 

You know they watch you walk all the way to the door and you know they’ll be waiting all night for you to show up. 

It’s not butterflies that you feel in your stomach when you realize just how tightly you’ve got them wrapped around your finger already– no it’s something much stronger than that. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later the night Lando and Oscar wait impatiently in their shared hotel room for you to show up. The AC rattles and the TV plays some random Italian show that Oscar pretends to watch. 

“She’s not coming.” Oscar states after the end credits roll on what he thinks is the third episode of the show. 

“She might.” Lando’s lounging on his bed, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. 

Oscar glances over at Lando. “You made it sound like we wanted to fuck her in here.” 

Lando scoffs. “Well we do want to fuck her in here.” 

“What exactly was your plan with this invitation? I mean let’s say she did come over. We both keep desperately trying to shoot our shot and hope that she ends up making out with one of us? What’s the other person supposed to do? Go sit in the bathroom?” 

Lando shrugs, he hadn’t thought that far in advance, but it didn’t sound like a horrible plan. “Sure, if it came to that.” Oscar laughs at how unbelievable Lando sounds right now. Really he’d like nothing more for you to show up at their door and have your way with him, but Oscar was realistic– Lando not so much. “What do you think it’s beneath you? Is Oscar Piastri too good to take one for the team and wait it out in the bathroom?” 

“I think it’s beneath her.” Oscar had realized that The Princess of Ferrari was definitely taking pity on them earlier. And if you did show up at their room tonight then maybe Oscar would start to believe in a higher power. 

“What if she chooses you? You’d have no trouble sending me away.” 

Oscar rolls his eyes at his teammate. “She’s not coming, Lando.” 

Then as if the universe wanted to humiliate Oscar there’s a knock at the door. The boys halt their movements and lock eyes, wondering if they’d just heard the knock in their heads. Then as if on cue another knock sounds on the door and their both scrambling to straighten the room as quickly as possible. 

On the other side of the door you can hear them clambering around and shouted whispers echoing through the room. You smile as you imagine the undeniable chaotic scene unfolding on the other side of the door. You hear the door opening and you quickly step back, you didn’t want them to know you were eavesdropping.

When the door opens there stands Oscar and Lando, both with only boxers on, but Lando’s the only shirtless one. You can feel their eyes burning into your skin– you’d perhaps worn the shortest athletic shorts you own and a cute little jacket on purpose. 

“Hi.” Comes from both of them, but you only greet them back with a smile. 

You three sit on the carpeted floor and talk about dumb shit like what junior series you raced in and if Oscar’s boarding school experience was like the crazy stories you’d heard of. The mini bar was soon fully raided and combined with the prior drinks from the club– you were feeling a little out there with your questions. 

“How often does this happen?” You motion between the three of you with your almost empty seltzer can. “You guys going after the same girl?”

“Not as often as you’d think actually.” Lando states as he takes a swig from his drink. 

“Really?” You don’t believe him one bit. 

Oscar shakes his head. “We don’t usually have the same type.” 

“Are you saying I should be flattered?” 

“No… I mean you’re everyone’s type, aren’t you?” Oscar states like it’s a known fact. 

Which, in all honesty, it practically was a well known fact. You never had an issue in the relationship department. Men and women– they both loved you and wanted you, and well the feeling was mutual. You were comfortable with your sexuality, but you could feel the tension or unexplored tension between Lando and Oscar. They were both too needy and pathetic looking to not be at least a little curious and you were going to be the one to get the ball rolling. 

“What about the two of you?” You ask, your head spinning with endless possibilities. 

Oscar furrows his eyebrows at you. “What do you mean?” 

You don’t say anything– you just keep looking at them. Waiting for one of them to crack. 

“Oh. No… is that surprising?” Oscar’s cheeks start to turn pink when he understands just what you were insinuating. 

Yes it’s surprising you think– what F1 driver didn’t have a little fruitiness to them? 

Then you see Lando with a weird smile on his face and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. “What is it?” 

“Well…” 

“No.” Oscar is furiously shaking his head at Lando, he does not want you to know about this, but he can already tell his actions are futile.

“Tell me.” You straighten your posture, attention solely focused on them and what Lando’s about to spill. 

Lando keeps teasing and Oscar can tell you're absolutely chomping at the bit to hear this, so he concedes. Maybe you’re drunk enough to forget this in the morning. “Just tell her.” 

You watch as Lando’s eyes travel from you to Oscar and then back to you. The anticipation is killing you and just when you think you can’t wait much longer Lando speaks. 

“Oscar and I have jerked off together before.” 

The image of it flashes in your brain and it’s everything you could have thought of and more. “Like you helped each other or?” 

“No. We were always in separate beds.” Oscar explains but when your eyes widen he realizes what he’s said. 

“You’ve done it more than once?” 

Oscar’s scrambling to do damage control while Lando sits there with a grin on his face. “Twice! That was it and it was during a triple header both times… can you blame us?”

You put your hands up in defense. “I’m not judging.” Judging was the last thing you were doing– fantasizing was more like it. 

There’s a beat of silence between the three of you and when you down the last of your drink you realize what you had was the last of everything. “We’re out of drinks.” 

You all glance at one another– not sure where to go from here. Do you leave? Do you stay? Do you try to get more to drink? Then as abruptly as you decided to do a one stopper during the race earlier, you get up from the floor and take a seat on the end of one of the beds. 

“Come here.” You command. 

The boys look at one another and then over to you, neither of them moving. 

“Um– which one of us?” Oscar asks. 

Lando on the other hand doesn’t wait for you to answer. He’s up off the floor and next to you on the bed faster than the car he drives on Sundays. Oscar quickly follows suit– settling in on the other side of you. 

You feel both of their eyes on you, the anticipation killing them, and the fact that you’re fully in control at the moment. You look back and forth between the boys, almost like you’re playing eeny meeny miny moe with them. After what seems like a tantalizing few seconds you land on Oscar and you can feel the nervousness and desire radiating off of him.

You lean in and capture his lips in a kiss– it’s sweet and he kisses you with a softness that somehow had you craving more, but you knew you had Lando waiting his turn. So before you got carried away you broke apart from Oscar and turned to face Lando. He’s eager and wastes no time once you lean in towards him. His lips are rougher and kissing Lando is the complete opposite of kissing Oscar. Lando’s more passionate and rushed and he’s more handsy than Oscar. It’s like day and night with them. 

You pull away from Lando and then after a few seconds they both lean in at the same time to kiss you. It’s awkward at first– heads are bumped and giggles travel softly through the air, but eventually you make it work and you’re kissing them both at the same time. It quickly turns more heated, tongues dancing with each other, mouths moving in sync. It's messy and hot and none of you can seem to get enough– hands are everywhere and you all get lost in the moment. 

That’s until an idea sparks in your brain and you find yourself slowly backing out of the kiss and before you know it you’re leaning back on your elbows watching the show in front of you. 

For a moment Oscar and Lando get lost in one another. Their eyes are closed yet their mouths work together like they’ve mapped every inch of one another. It makes you wonder– hope that they’ve done this before. It’s like a work of art in front of you and you find yourself getting lost in the way they kiss one another, but you know you can’t be greedy if you want to make whatever this is last. So, you sadly interrupt the two drivers. 

“Okay.” They immediately break apart, eyes wide as they realize what they’ve been doing. “I’m going to bed.” You get up and head towards the door, acting like this hadn’t just made you feel crazy. 

Lando and Oscar are feeling fifty million emotions at the moment but when they see you head towards the door Lando realizes he hadn’t gotten what he asked for in the beginning. “What about your number?”

You’d just made out with them and they're still so hung up on your damn number? “I told you I’m not a home-wrecker.”

“Please.” Oscar knows he sounds desperate, but that’s because he is. 

You think for a moment, you could just give them your number, or you could make this a little fun. And with you fun is always going to win. “Alright. How about this? I would say whoever wins the race would get my number, but we know that's not going to happen. So whoever places higher up at the next race can have it.” 

Lando smiles, but Oscar feels the loss already. You notice how starkly different their reactions are and you focus your attention on Oscar. “You can beat him. You should beat him, actually.” 

Lando doesn’t know if he should take offense to what you’ve said or use it as fuel to beat Oscar tomorrow. Either way he doesn’t appreciate the sudden favoritism towards Oscar at the moment.

“Are you saying you want me to?” Oscar’s confused as to what you meant. 

“I’m saying you’re not going to get my number if you don’t.”

“Yeah, but what do you want?” Oscar asks and you all know he’s not implying what you want but who.

“I want to see some good fucking racing.” 

Silence fills the hotel room for a brief moment before you bid them goodnight and walk out the door. 

The boys sit there shell shocked, still processing what had taken place moments ago and your words still hanging heavy in the air. They both knew they had to lock in and do everything in their power to beat one another at the next race– and to them your phone number meant more than a trophy or points at the moment. 

Lando glances over at Oscar, but his eyes travel down south when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. “Need some help with that?” 

Oscar looks over at Lando and follows his gaze down to his raging erection. He punches the Brit in the arm before abruptly standing up. “Fuck off Lando.” He hollers as he heads towards the bathroom. 

“Maybe we can tell Y/N it was three times instead of two!” Lando laughs as he leans back on the bed with his arms behind his head. He was determined to get your number– come hell or highwater. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Two weeks later Formula 1 is racing in Baku. You haven’t spoken to Lando or Oscar since that night, but the whole weekend you’ve been catching their eye, fleeting glances are shared during media day, and when you stand somewhat close to them during the driver’s parade they both feel like they're going insane. 

Sunday arrives and you’re on the top step again and when the celebrations are over you watch the race in your hotel room that night. A smirk paints itself across your face the longer you watch, the McLaren boys didn’t disappoint. They put on a good fucking show from the midfield and when Lando sees the checkered flag before Oscar you’re pulling out your phone and pulling up his contact– a favor from Carlos. 

Your fingers type out the message– the intent behind it is clear as day and when you press send you wait for the knock at your door. 

you: congrats P8 winner. i think you deserve a more elaborate prize, don't you? 

A few weeks later Lando and Oscar are at the MTC doing some training, sim work, media obligations– all the fun stuff. They’re in the gym doing weights when Oscar asks the question. 

“You fucked her yet?” 

Lando sets the dumbbell down, surprised at what came out of Oscar’s mouth. “I’m not telling.” 

“What do you mean you won’t tell me?” 

“I don’t kiss and tell.” Lando shrugs. 

Oscar scoffs as he does a few more reps. “Since when?” 

“Since she told me she’d stop seeing me if I told anyone.” Lando says matter of factly. 

“Well she had to know you’d talk to me.” 

Lando stares at Oscar for a moment, amazed at how adamant he is to hear about him sleeping with you. “Isn’t this hard for you to hear? Do you like torturing yourself or something?” 

“I’m happy for you really.” Oscar replies, but his heart isn’t in it. “Just give me a sign to tell me. If you aren’t going to say it outloud give me a sign. At the next race if you two slept together, wave at me or something.” 

“You want me to wave at you while I’m driving a car at 200 miles per hour?” Sometimes Oscar was a freaking idiot and this was one of those times. 

“Yeah. It’s simple enough, but I’ll know what it means.” 

With a smirk on his face Lando shakes his head at the Australian, he knew this wasn’t going to end well, but he’s a man of his word. “Alright.” 

At the next race as they’re nearing the last few laps Lando manages to overtake Oscar and as he passes him Oscar sees Lando’s gloved hand sticking out as best as he can and the unmistakable action of waving taking place. 

He feels his stomach practically drop out of his ass and the sound of two more cars overtaking him doesn't bother him one bit. He knew they had to be hooking up, but the reality of it made him want to be sick. It should be him with you, not Lando. Anger courses through his veins and in the post race team meetings he won’t even look in Lando’s direction. 

The rest of the season is played out as civilly as it possibly can be. Oscar’s still bitter about losing you to Lando, but knowing that he’ll be gone next season heightens his spirits somewhat. Lando and you continue to secretly hook up and you wonder if you actually have feelings for him or not. 

Racing is still your number one priority of course and no one, especially not Lando, is a distraction to you in your pursuit of that championship title. The last few races you work your tail off training and honing your racing craft. It’s a close title fight between Max and you and when it comes down to Abu Dhabi you know this is what all these years of blood sweat and tears have been for. You’re pushing the car to the maximum channeling every bit of strength and knowledge you have to win.

And when you’re the first to see that checkered flag you don’t even feel like you’re in your body. It’s all a blur, it’s surreal, and when you’re holding that championship trophy with the biggest smile on your tear stained face you know you deserve this more than anyone. As the congratulations and celebrations begin you realize how addicting this is and you know that this is the beginning of a new era for you. A champion era. 

Yet some eras, though they are mighty, are shorter than others. 

[valeisaslut]

is joel married? 😖

who is ellie's mother? what happend to her? was ellie even planned?!!! 😭😭😭😭

Is her official name ellie miller? is ellie williams just a pseudonym?!!

WOW LIDDY I LOVED THIS QUESTION!!!! i've been waiting to REALLY unravel ellies past and i was wondering when were yall gonna ask ab it lmao

COLLIDE ROCKSTAR!ELLIE'S BACKSTORY: DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY EDITION!

so!!! ellie was the product of one of joel’s wild rockstar one night stands. very much not planned. her mom dipped super early on—like, didn’t even try to stick around—and basically left her with joel, who, despite being a complete mess of a man, actually did raise her. but ellie always knew she wasn’t exactly “wanted” by either of them. not in the traditional, soft-family-photo-on-the-fridge kind of way. she never knew her mother, never wanted to. didn’t feel like she was missing anything and just didn’t care.

but the pain of her mom’s abandonment still lingers, quiet and buried deep in her mind, like a bruise she never touched but never actually healed.

joel and ellie had a really good relationship when she was younger. as good as it could’ve been. he wasn’t perfect—not super affectionate or emotionally open—but he showed up. he did his best. he taught her to play guitar, made pancakes every sunday morning, and called her “kiddo” like it meant something deeper than just a nickname. and she loved him for that. still does.

ellie grew up inside a damn rock music museum. joel’s mansion was less “home” and more shrine to his own legacy—walls lined with platinum records, grammys catching sunlight, mtv moonmen posted up like they were part of the family. every room had a poster of him at some legendary venue: madison square garden, glastonbury, the o2.

his name in lights. the biggest of the biggest musicians scribbled messages on his guitars, which he had over fifty of—lined up like they were sacred artifacts.

and yeah, he was a legend. ellie would sit on the stairs at night, listening to him blast his old albums on the surround system like he forgot she lived there too. sometimes she hated it. sometimes she’d mouth the lyrics and pretend she wasn’t proud. but mostly? it just made her feel like she’d never measure up. like no matter how loud she got, she’d always be chasing a ghost with a grammy in each hand.

joel never really understood ellie’s world. or her pain. and as she got older, things shifted. she started the fireflies. she got famous. she felt the weight of being “joel miller’s daughter” and her own person.

people had opinions about her—too loud, too angry, too queer, too much. and that pressure? that scrutiny? it ate at her. she started numbing herself very early on—drinking, using, pushing people away. joel tried to talk to her, tried to help, but it always came out sounding like disappointment. like judgment. and she couldn’t take that. so she pushed back. harder. until eventually they stopped talking. not because they didn’t care—because it hurt too much to try and fix it.

there was no final fight. no door slam. just a slow fade. calls unanswered. messages left on read. it’s one of those heartbreaks that doesn’t look like a heartbreak unless you know what to look for.

and still—she loves him. god, she does. but she carries so much shame now. so much guilt. and joel? he’s scared. scared of what she’s become, scared of saying the wrong thing, scared that maybe he already did. figures to the prologue, chapter two, four and specially five.

and the last name thing? yeah. “williams” just sounded good. she liked how it looked on a poster. people always assumed it was her mother’s last name or something deep but it really wasn’t. she just didn’t want to walk into every room and be immediately tied to joel. didn’t want to hear the whispers of “oh, that’s joel miller's kid.” didn’t want to live in his shadow, even if she still carries all of his fire, his temper, his sadness, in her blood.

it’s messy. it’s layered. but there’s still love under all that wreckage. even if they don’t know how to say it right now. even if the silence is louder than anything they ever screamed at each other.

and for everyone asking, yes. joel will make an appearance on chapter 8.

[igotanidea]

Family rules: Damian Wayne x reader

Christmas bingo day 23 : midnight kiss

The first time she truly understood the meaning of the proverb heart over mind was on a school trip in September.

He was just standing by the wall, doing nothing except staring into space with those piercing green eyes.

Such pretty eyes

Such devilish, snake eyes.

Acting like he was who knows who.

Arrogant, cold, keeping his distant, rough, self-absorbed, not caring about anything or anyone.

Just like his father.

Damian Wayne.

***

Y/N had the misfortune of being born into a technological company family. Obviously she didn’t know it when she was a kid, but the word Wayne was inflected in her home on all occasions.

Wayne this, Wayne that...

 sort of spell or- more likely - a curse.

Damn it!

She was 12 when she gathered enough courage to ask her father what this was about. A mistake she only made once, cause even the mention of the Bruce Wayne and his famous, profitable company made her father see red.

That's how she found about the on-going competition between her father and Damian's one.

Obviously it was not like she was excluded from family rules and allowed to live in a bubble. Y/N was supposed to hate the entire Wayne family, the progenitor, his adopted kids and everyone who even came close to them. The only blood son included.

The only problem?

Said blood son was attending the same school, the same class as Y/N was. Which meant a lot of time spend together.

And you just command a teenager to do something and hope they'll listen. It's pretty much impossible, if not foolish belief.

***

In her defence - she tried.

She really tried to hate Damian.

But for five years, his name has been coming to her from every way on every occasion.

Wayne this, Wayne that.

Damn it!!

She could tear her hair out in utter desperation. How was she supposed to not think about him when all the world seemed to be dead set to remind her of his existence.

Of his stupid, unnecessary existence.

With his stupid, idiotic smile and his ridiculous handsome face and infuriating behaviour and the tendency to just be mean all the fucking time.

The internal fight between what she felt and how she acted made her clench her fist and grit her teeth every time Damian came into her view. The little bastard has been doing it on purpose just to see her flustered and enraged. It was like he was trying this best to show his superiority and just rub it into her face.

„L/N.”

„The hell you want Wayne?”

„Will you be attending this year’s New Year's Eve?”

„Will I what now?” she raised her gaze, unable to hide the confusion.

„want me to spell it out for you or something”?”

„Hm.” she muttered „I had no idea you knew how to do that Wayne.”

„I;m only telling you because I know you have problems with reading.”

„Clearly you have a problem with understanding simple things.”

„What I understand is that your father was left out when the invitations were being send. Are you finally going bankrupt”

„You little piece of-!” before she could stop herself her palm met with his cheek with a loud slap.

Shit.

He got exactly what he wanted. Provoked her and got the awaited reaction. She exposed herself, cause acting so dramatically only proved her contradictory, violent emotions he evoked in her.

„Nice one. Didn’t think you had it in you.” he wiped the little drop of blood she drew with her nails.

„Trust me I had it in me ever since you invaded the class.”

„I’ll let you make it even when you invade Wayne Manor for the party.”

„Though you said my family wasn’t invited?”

„It’s a charitable thing to open the door for the poor. I’ll see to it personally.”

„Such a generosity on your part, Mr. Wayne.” she rolled her eyes. „You can take your fake bounty and shove it up-”

„I can’t wait till you meet Todd. You two have so much in common.”

„Your older brother? Yeah, from what I heard you two have quite a rocky relationship. Maybe we’ll gang up on you.”

„Can’t wait.” Damian laughed dryly and with a mischievious glint in his eyes walked away not bothering to say another word.

***

„I;m not going.”

„You;re going.”

„I am so not going!”

„You don’t have a say in the matter!”

„Last year you said that new year’s party is not a place for kids!”

„You’re not a kid!”

„I’m 17! I;m a kid!”

„You ran away from home few months ago. You’re not a kid. You’re going. End of discussion.”

„If I’m not a kid then how come I can’t make a decision on this?” she smiled at her father with absolutely innocent eyes, pointing out all the holes in his logic.

Well-

He didn’t take her defiance in a good way.

Almost dragging her to the wayne manor, but dragging nevertheless.

***

Vomiting.

That’s how she felt entering the place,

Running away.

That’s how she felt walking up the steps and being thrown to the sharks when all the gazes landed on her and her father.

Hiding.

That’s how she felt when the gravity of being judged only based on her clothes and outlook sunk in.

Instead Y/N was forced to fake a smile, dance and do the rounds pretending to have fun.

All for the glory and good publicity of her father’s company.

Worst part?

He has been watching.

Like a predator in the darkness, waiting to strike when she was least suspecting it.

„Mr L/N.” Damian crept behind the girl and her father and she was sure he only did it on purpose to startle her. „Would you mind if I steal your daughter for a dance.

The tragicomic of the situation was truly poetic.

Her father went pale. Then red. His jaw got tense. Then loose. And then he smiled forcefully nodding his head, unable to say the dreaded yes. Apparently being torn between the devil (his daughter dancing with the son of his archenemy) and the deep blue sea (offending the host) was too much to handle.,

Too bad, Y/N had no chance to object or get away before Damian led her to the dancefloor.

„It’s not XVIth century Wayne, women can make their own decisions.” she hissed not really happy about his hands circling around her waist.

„Then run away if that’s what you want. I dare you.”

„I’m not going to make a scene here!”

„thought so.” he chuckled, capably leading her in the dance.

„what the hell is that supposed to mean!?”

„absolutely nothing.”

„I’ve known you for five years. There’s never nothing with you Damian.”

‘You used my name, Y/N.”

‘And you repeated my mistake.”

„Maybe it’s not a mistake?” he pulled her slightly closer, causing her to let out an involuntarily gasp. „I’m just saying-”

„I’m supposed to hate you.” she whispered making a turn and then a swirl

„So you don’t.” this was not a question but a statement, his hands trembling slightly. It was hard for him to keep the attitude while dealing with a whirlwind inside. He was 17 and liked a girl, having no idea how to behave to not make a fool out of himself, get embarrassed and lose in her eyes.

„don’t let it get into your head.” she whispered pressing herself closer to his body. They were dancing and it was only because of that.

„Me?” Damian smiled but it came unnoticed due to her head leaning on his shoulder „I think you’re the one who’s fantasising.”

„You sure you’re not hoping for a midnight kiss?” she mocked

„Are you?”

„no.”

„me neither.”

Bruce and f/n were carefully watching their kids.

Damian and Y/n couldn’t care less.

Family drama and conflicts seemed light years away at that moment.

 Future could be figured out later.

Part 2: moment of weakness

[axelsagewrites]

Jamie Tartt*Famous

Pairing: Jamie x reader

Word count: 1841

Warnings: mentions of football related hate but nothing graphic, angst/breakup but everything’s happy by the end

Masterlist Here

Dating a famous footballer was not exactly something you’d ever planned on. You were never into football especially when you saw what it could cause. You remember being five years old crawled up crying as your relatives gathered round the television shouting and swearing because their team missed the penalty. Then you got older and found out the even worse things some men did because of a missed kick.

But somehow you ended up dating ‘the’ Jamie Tartt. Though you didn’t even know who he was when you met him. He was just a boy, and you were just a girl both sitting alone in a bar. Jamie had been nursing a pint for an hour when you came in and his jaw about dropped. However, he’d sworn to himself when ted told him last night, he could come back to Richmond he’d fix his act so he didn’t pounce like he usually would.

“Can I get a vodka lemonade please?” He heard you from across the bar and he could practically hear the sweetness in your voice.

The bar however gradually got busier and when Jamie returned from the bathroom, he realised there was only one seat left and it was next to you. “d’you mind if I sit? Just someone stole my seat,” he asked, suddenly realising how nervous he was for no reason.

You turned around and smiled at him before nodding to the seat, “Yeah sure. It’s pretty busy,”

“Tell me about it. Hate crowds sometimes. Make my head feel all fuzzy,” he smiled at the way you giggled not even caring if you were laughing at him. “Watcha want?” He asked after ordering his own drink and you hesitated for a moment, “Cmon, no strings or nothing. Just a drink. Vodka lemonade maybe?”

You laughed lightly and nodded, turning to the lady, “Yeah one of them please,” you turned back to Jamie as she worked on your drinks. “Its nice to meet you…” you said, words trailing off till Jamie finally realised you were asking his name.

“Jamie,” he said, sticking his hand out for what turned into a half awkward half laughy handshake that then turned into you both chatting till last call and Jamie walking you home.

-

Somehow his job hadn’t came up. It was partially because you had made a joke about hating football on your second date but also because Jamie was enjoying the normalcy of it all. Even if it meant when he spotted a paparazzi, he would very suddenly drag you away to a random shop or restaurant, putting up his hoodie to ruin their shot.

However eventually he had to tell you. He hadn’t put his hood up quick enough and their plastered on a magazine was Jamie holding your hand walking through London. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, staring at yourself on the magazine in shock.

“You never asked?” He offered with a sorry smile, “I wanted to love but I just,” he sighed, “I didn’t want you to judge me or that. Cause I really like you,” he reached out to take your hand as you both sat on your couch.

You gave him a small smile, stroking your thumb over his hand, “So is this something that happens all the time? Pap’s following us around? Do people come up to you in the street and stuff?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged since to Jamie this was just life, but he didn’t know at this point what was normal, “I mean like they’re pretty easy to ignore most the time,”

“Its just weird. I mean I’m on a magazine,” you said, eyes wide as you gestured to the glossy paper, “I never thought I’d end up being just some WAG,”

Jamie scoffed, “Babe you’re way more than a WAG,” he said as he put an arm around your shoulder, “You’re my girl. That is if you’ll still have me?”

“Of course, I will Jamie. It’ll just take me some time to get used to,”

-

However now the press knew you existed the paparazzi weren’t exactly easy to ignore. It was one thing being followed around with Jamie but one of them was waiting outside your work last week asking if you were another fling or if the pregnancy rumours were true. His comments sent you into a complete spiral with Jamie coming over to try comfort you.

 “He was just rude Jamie,” you sniffled into his chest.

“I know baby,” he tried to comfort you as he stroked your back, “It’ll be okay. You get used to it really and they’re not all that bad. Promise,” he said as he kissed the top of your head.

“I just wish,” you sighed, “that you’d told me in the first place,”

“What difference would it have made?” Jamie asked however your lack of response made him worry as he pulled back to look at your face, “Would you have said no? When I asked you to be my girlfriend. Would you have said no if you knew?”

You opened your mouth to speak but you struggled to get the words out. “I don’t know,” you managed to choke out, “I just don’t know if I can deal with this. I’m not good with attention let alone paparazzi following me. I never asked for any of this Jamie,” you began to ramble. “I like you I really do. But it’s a lot, okay?”

Jamie sighed however he almost cried when you pulled yourself out of his arms, “I like you too, but football is my job. It’s my life,”

“And I would never want you to give that up,” you said instantly, reaching for his hand, “Maybe we should just take a break? That way I can I don’t ease into it? Or like I don’t know just wrap my head around it,”

Jamie felt himself freeze in his seat. He nodded slowly before standing up, “Okay if that’s what you need,”

“I’m sorry Jamie. I really am,” you said, standing to follow him as he headed for the doors.

Jamie nodded once more as he reached for the handle, “Its not your fault. I should’ve told ya,”

“Jamie,” you said but he’d already opened the door. “We aren’t over its just…”

“Just a break,” he said, nodding his confirmation before walking out the door but you felt your heart shatter as the door shut.

-

Even though the paparazzi had stopped, and two weeks had gone by you still felt absolutely awful. You hadn’t seen Jamie in real life but suddenly you were seeing him on the news and his name on the back of kid’s jerseys. You began to wonder if it was for the best but every reminder of him stung.

Neither one of you had texted the other. You’d not heard from him at all since you left. Until yesterday when you got an email confirmation from Richmond fc with a ticket reserve confirmation in the buyer’s box under the name Tartt. The game was tomorrow, and you spent the whole day and yesterday debating if you would go. Eventually you decided not to.

-

However today when you woke up the first thing you saw was an article about the match going on today. Richmond was playing some team you’d never heard of but then again you only knew who Richmond were because you lived a 15-minute walk away from the stadium. The game was supposed to start at twelve.  As your eyes fell to the clock that read 10:48 you finally made up your mind.

You’ve never gotten ready so quick in your life and you were practically running out your flat at 11:35 and half sprinting to Richmond. However, you had no idea how to collect the tickets and the ticket man at the counter looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, so you just bought a seat instead.

You were ushered inside alongside hundreds of rowdy football fans decked out in Richmond gear. You did your best to find your seat and thanked the gods when you saw it was at the end of the aisle. It was three rows up from the front and you quickly realised right next to the thing the footballers came out of.

You felt your smile almost split your face when you watched Jamie walk out of the tunnel in his uniform, but he didn’t see you. As they turned to wave to the crowds the whole crowd jumped up so there was no chance, he heard you screaming his name alongside everyone else.

As the game started you actually found yourself enjoying it as you screamed and cheered alongside the football fans as Jamie scored another goal. It was 2-2 thanks to Jamie and you’d never felt prouder. “Cmon Jamie!” You screamed but you weren’t even the loudest as he ran down the pitch with the ball.

He passed to another player. Him to another. Back to Jamie. Now to someone up the field and then, “GOAL!” The crowd began to cheer and a few seconds later the final whistle rung. Everyone began to jump up and down and you quickly joined them as you jumped up clapping as you did so. The team were all smiles, well apart from a really big hairy guy, as they headed for the tunnel. Jamie however wasn’t smiling as he wore a look of concern.

Your eyes however were locked on Jamie. He however was looking up at the buyer’s box waiting to see you. However, it wasn’t until his eyes fell, thinking you were officially over when he saw you. His smile suddenly appeared, beaming brightly as he stopped in his tracks.

“Woo!” You cheered, clapping even harder. You could never quite predict Jamie. No one could. Not even Jamie thought he was going to do what he was about to do.

He ran for the stands, throwing himself up and climbing over the wall. The crowd was going mental, but your cheers stopped but the smile on your face didn’t as he ran up the stairs, ignoring the fans trying to pat him on the back.

“Hey,” he breathed out with a wide grin.

“Hi,” you giggled right back at him as you stepped forward. You could hear his team yelling at him and a ref coming but neither of you cared as his arm wrapped around your back and his head began to dip.

God you’d missed these lips. Your hand went to the back of his neck as the crowd whooped and hollered. Jamie pulled back as a ref rang a sharp whistle in his ear. “Call me yeah?” He said just before the hairy guy from his team pulled him halfway down the stairs.

“Yeah sure,” You laughed as he was forced back down the stairs and out the tunnel, somehow only receiving a yellow card. It may not be how you planned it, but you were certainly never gonna let Jamie go again. Youd already made that mistake once.

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[dangerousconnoisseurdonut]

My cat woke me up after less than six hours of sleep so I want to share this bizarre thought with you all at last; I read a fic a month or so ago where Julian's augmentations were controlled or hidden because Julian had a cybernetic implant or something; he was a cyborg, and Data linked their minds so they could always 'talk', but a thought has been bugging me since then, and I want everyone's opinions on it.

At the internment camp, three Borg are placed as they are hoping to gain a foothold in one of the Federation's strongest and most deadly enemies. The experiment is a failure for obvious reasons and the three Borg are left to die without the connection but Julian, being Julian, refuses to let this happen and, taking what he's learned from Data, Julian links the three Borg to himself.

At first, they refer to him as their new Queen (Tain almost dies laughing from that but they manage to settle him), then 'Command Unit Julian', which is a bit better as they are in the infant stages of regaining their individuality. They are taking lessons in Cardassian engineering from Tain and converting it so Julian can understand it and work on the transmitter when Tain is too tired (the Borg didn't strike me as the most nimble of species when they debuted, so I don't see them crawling into that tight place and managing to work on it). The Jem'Hadar and Vorta don't know how the three Borg are still alive but they see it as amusing and, like Martok, pit their strength against the Borg.

Julian naturally names them. The strongest one he names Ian after Ian Flemming as, when he asks the Borg (and finally gets him to say I instead of we), he admits he doesn't like the name James but likes Ian.

The only female of the group is named Agatha after Agatha Christie sine Agatha (or Aggie as he sometimes calls her which gets a small smile), despite being a Borg, is good at blending into the background or staring into space and looking like she's regenerating on the pad Julian and Martok won for them, and she's instead listening to the Vorta or Jem'Hadar discussing things. Like Ian with James, Julian initially suggests Jane as in Jane Marple, but she responds that she wants a name with personality, hence Agatha.

The last one, Julian names Preloc as, instead of being human-looking like Ian and Agatha, Preloc is a Romulan convert and, when he first comes back online when Julian connects them, his first word comes from Julian's memories as he quotes Meditations on a Crimson Shadow, and seems to enjoy reciting poetry he remembers reading before he was converted. Preloc is the best at learning from Tain and helping Julian understand what he needs to know about the transmitter.

Eventually, Worf and Garak show up and don't know which to be more surprised over; the fact the Doctor they've seen on Deep Space Nine for the last five weeks, the one who delivered little Yoshi, was a Changeling, or the fact their Doctor is now the Queen of three Borg named after famous authors. They eventually escape, get back to DS9, and Sisko has to deal with three Borg who now see his CMO (who they hurt badly with their failure) as their mother (I can see Preloc saying that, and Julian is trying to shut him up as Miles and Jadzia smirk at him). He wants to get rid of them but Agatha mentions that it could be detrimental to Julian as well since they have been donating their strength to him over the last five weeks and, to suddenly remove it could cause backlash. Sisko gets the feeling they are manipulating him but can't prove it one way or the other and sends for the only other people who successfully detached a Borg from the Collective - Data and Geordi La Forge.

Ian: While we await the arrival of your experts, we must insist Command Unit Julian be allowed to regenerate properly.

Ben: 'Regenerate properly'?

Agatha: Yes, Command Unit Julian requires time to decontaminate the filth from the asteroid, take in hot nourishment that is not cold gruel, and regenerate for at least eight hours.

Ben: You mean he needs a shower, a hot meal, and a good nights rest.

Julian: I'm fine; I need to-

Preloc: Command Unit Julian, it is our opinion that you need the prior requirements Aggie and Ian suggested; if you are not performing at peak efficiency, you risk damaging yourself and therefore us. If you will not voluntarily regenerate, we have no choice but to ask High Command Unit Sisko to order you to do so; you kept us alive in the camp, we will not allow you to fall to pieces now.

Ben, begrudgingly smiling as he realizes the trio are protective of Julian: Not a bad idea at that; I suggest you follow your 'units' suggestion, doc- Julian, and, as a 'High Command Unit' - whatever that means - I am giving them permission to sedate you if you try to leave your quarters for anything other than some food you can't replicate.

Julian: But, but-

Agatha: Come along Command Unit Julian; if you are quick, we can try some milk and cookies before the proper regenerative cycle.

Julian: Hey, who's the Command Unit around here?

Ian: You are until you are no longer at peak efficiency, then Preloc is unless High Queen Sisko takes over.

Ben, Miles, Jadzia: High QUEEN?!

Preloc: Yes, the only one above Julian is one he has respect enough to call captain; if Julian is our Queen and he listens to you, you must be High Queen and above him, but we are Julian's first and foremost so we shall only listen to you if it is for his betterment.

Sisko as they walk away: I have no idea how I'm going to explain this to Starfleet.

Jadzia: If Julian is their queen, I wonder if Garak would be their king?

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Since you’ve talked about the secret between Adrien and Mari and how Adrien has no agency, back when the s5 bible leaked, there was a part where it said that „Adrien will never find out about his father being Hawkmoth“ or something like that.

Do you think the writers will actually stick with that rule? Because I just can‘t see how this is supposed to be narratively satisfying…

I have no idea and that's not a compliment. It's a condemnation. Adrien should absolutely find out about his father. The story isn't satisfying if he doesn't. But Miraculous doesn't seem to care about being satisfying. It cares about being shocking and that's a terrible thing. To explain why, let's talk about the topic of predictability in narratives and why it's generally a good thing.

We'll start with a quote from a famous George R.R. Martin interview where he perfectly explains why you want your stories to make logical sense with the final line of the quote being the most important part:

Before the Internet, one reader could guess the ending you wanna do for your novel, but the other 10.000 wouldn’t know anything and they would be surprised. However, now, those 10.000 people use the Internet and read the right theories. They say: “Oh God, the butler did it!”, to use an example of a mystery novel. Then, you think: “I have to change the ending! The maiden would be the criminal!” To my mind that way is a disaster because if you are doing well you work, the books are full of clues that point to the butler doing it and help you to figure up the butler did it, but if you change the ending to point the maiden, the clues make no sense anymore; they are wrong or are lies, and I am not a liar.

This is a writing rule that I believe in my soul, but that the Miraculous writers don't seem to care about. Miraculous will introduce things that should be important to the story, but they end up meaning nothing.

A great - and relevant - example of this is the Chat Blanc stuff. Chat Blanc comes near the end of season three, early season four sees Marinette have a nightmare about Chat Blanc, and late season four is all about Chat Noir feeling left out as Marinette trusts Alya over him. Many viewers looked at these story beats and went, "Oh, okay, so Chat Blanc is causing Marinette to push Chat Noir away. Got it." because it honestly was the only thing that made any sense.

But that's not what was going on. The official word is that Marinette was just stressed over her new role as the guardian even though nothing in the text really explains why that would strain her relationship with Chat Noir. It actively improves her relationship with Alya! Why wouldn't it do the same with her long-term partner? As we've discussed several times, he was fine with the status quo at the start of the season and didn't even ask for more responsibility until Kuro Neko so it's not like he was doing anything to stress her out until he randomly quit on her.

This begs the question: if Chat Blanc isn't haunting Marinette and Chat Noir isn't stressing her, then why doesn't she share things with Chat Noir? Why go with Alya when Alya's identity was revealed to the villain requiring Alya to go into "hiding" as Rena Furtive? There's really nothing in the text to answer those incredibly important questions. Question that are only incredibly important because the writers actively chose to have multiple episodes dedicated to Chat Noir feeling left out. Why that happened really isn't clear so there's also no clear resolution. What needs to change? No clue! Did that thing change? Once again, no clue! It's all set up with no pay off!

Or, at least, we don't get the kind of pay off you'd expect to see. Aka the big dramatic moment where Ladybug finally confesses what happened to her. Instead, Chat Blanc's big pay off is Adrien missing the season five fight because he just magically knows that Chat Blanc happened:

During the scene that leads to Adrien wearing the Alliance ring after being reticent to it, [the writers] say that they had a conflict when writing it as they had to find a way for Adrien to not become his superhero self, cataclysm the walls and go help his lady in Paris. The end result is that Adrien is reminded of the devastating effect of his power by the nightmare and would therefore do anything to avoid hurting people, and so he wears the ring. Mélanie says that he "could become Chat Blanc" and the others add that even though he does not remember and has never lived it, Chat Blanc still has an influence on his actions.

So Chat Blanc doesn't matter to the person who actually met him, but it does matter to the person who was Chat Blanc an alternate timeline even though this show has never once showed another akuma victim to be haunted by their akumatization. Does that make any sense? No, it's frustrating and confusing, but it does tell us the way these writers think and that insight doesn't bode well for Adrien learning the truth about his father. It's not enough for me to say with certainty that it will never happen, but I would not assume that it will happen. The show has an active pattern of avoiding these kinds of payoffs:

Example 1: Multiple Lila appearances had her claiming to be Ladybug's BFF and she was even interviewed for the Ladyblog based on this lie, but as soon as Alya learns Ladybug's identity, the show conveniently forgets about this ongoing lie because then Alya would be against Lila and the writers didn't want that.

Example 2: Marinette gave Alya the Fox without telling Chat Noir that they had a new full-time teammate, but Chat Noir never learns about this development. The most he gets is that Ladybug revealed her identity to someone, which is nowhere near as important as the Rena thing in terms of the ongoing fight against Paris' resident supervillain. The fact that Rena Rouge is now Rena Furtive is literally never revealed to him. He learns that she's active in the final fight, but the name change and her status are forever a secret. Alya being Rena Furtive also leads to nothing useful for the heroes. You could remove that from season four and it would play almost exactly the same same for a few minor tweaks.

Example 3: Luka learns Ladybug and Chat Noir's identities in Wishmaker, but this reveal is just used as an excuse to write Luka off the show in season five. The episode that gets him written off shows Monarch realizing that Luka knows the identities because of some mental connection that happens during akumatization. This is damning because Kagami was akumatized twice in season five (Perfection and Protection) and we later learn that Kagami learned Marinette's secret identity during Perfection, the first of the two episodes. In fact, Kagami learned the secret mere minutes before getting akumatized and she was akumatized because Marinette wasn't talking to her so Marinette being Ladybug should have been on her mind and yet Monarch didn't get so much as a hint of any of this!!!!!

That's not even getting into the issue of the fact that nothing in Perfection so much as hints that Kagami knows even though the episode is all about her relationship with Marinette or the issue of Marinette keeping her secret identity safe even though she was almost akumatized the freaking times! SOMEONE PLEASE MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!! WHY IS IT WRITTEN LIKE THIS??? How is anyone supposed to follow such shitty lore? The audience can't text appropriately if they don't know what the stakes are.

So, yeah, I'd put a small amount of money on Adrien never learning because that would be way too satisfying and Miraculous hates being satisfying or logical. The times we do get big reveals are generally terrible like with freaking Andre the Ice Cream Man being the one to tell Adrien about Marinette's crush or Lila being outed because of a plan Sabrina and Marinette made up off screen or Adrien finding out about Chat Blanc because magic. Watch Andre the Ice Cream Man be the one to tell Adrien about his dad for some reason. Nothing would surprise me at this point.

[miyuhpapayuh]

twenty-five

Having time to finally breathe without a job hanging on his back, Leon got around to doing the things he'd been putting off for almost a year or more.

Finally tossed his rickety wooden dining table and its rusty chairs, including the ones in his office, ordered replacements that fit his style much better.

Rearranged his office space, his room and living room, even his kitchen space got a makeover, especially since he'd be setting it up soon for his photography/videography endeavors.

Zora may have had a hand in decor, making sure to send him staple pieces and must haves whenever they came to her mind.

Curved sunset lamps. Neutral couches. Accent pillows. Abstract rugs. House plants that Zora made him vow to take care of, to which he crossed his heart in promise.

“Look at ‘em,” she smiles at the smaller plants in his windowsill.

“Growing, already.” He nods, smiling back at her.

“Like your following on tiktok! Have you seen??”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I wasn't expecting to have a couple hundred people watching me this soon.”

He'd posted a promotional video he'd been working on for months, adding pictures and videos of his savory and sweet creations, as well as giving a short introduction on himself and what kind of videos he'd be posting.

Thanks to his friends and family sharing, as well as Zora managing his social media for the time being, he was able to gain a decent sized following of food lovers, sending their well wishes for his journey and getting their virtual fork and knife ready.

“Come on, with that face, people will listen to you say anything! Besides, your talent is already speaking for itself. And, I told you that people wanted to see how you made that buttercream cake! Women love buttercream!” She says, throwing her hands up for emphasis.

He chuckles at her enthusiasm.

“That'll be the first video I make, I guess! Since it's most requested. But right after that, I wanna make my famous fries. I also need your beautiful face for that.” He winks, making her giggle.

“Two things on the menu, already. I love it! And I'll be there, just give me a heads up so I can make sure I'm totally available!”

“I got you. I think I'm going to post videos on Wednesday. The middle of the week is peak for lots of us, right?”

“Absolutely!”

“Right. So I think that would be great for engagement purposes. You get off work and tune in to ya boy, cheffin’ it up in the kitchen! Maybe do some cameos with vday, cause I wanna try a couple recipes on her, as well if that's okay.”

“She's your cat too, babe. Of course you can!”

“Great, cause I found this salmon dish and I think she'd be all for it!”

“Aw, you're so excited about all of this. I love it!”

He chuckles and moves away from her, rubbing the back of his hot neck.

“Aw, I made you blush! Com’ere!” She yells, laughing as she chases him down the hall.

“Cmon, Jean!” He laughs as well, throwing a pillow at her as he cuts into his room.

Catching it, she tosses it back on the bed and shakes her head, still poking harmless fun.

His face was entirely covered by his hands by the time she let up, falling over into a giggle fit as he wielded the heat away from his cheeks.

“You are so ridiculous,” he chuckles, poking her in her sides.

“Enough about me. What can you tell me about this event that's coming up?” He asks, playfully cutting his eye at her as she sits down beside him.

It wouldn't be Leon if he wasn't a little sore from being left out. But he understood how important it was for her to keep her journey to herself.

She had seen firsthand how evil people could be when they knew what her plans were, how those who were supposed to love her, instead prayed for her downfall.

He also understood that it was not a personal dig, just overall precaution. And he loves her enough to let it be.

“Well, it's like a gala of sorts! And because I'm taking Nique with me, she found me the baddest outfit! There's gonna be investors there, a couple of whom I've already met, which is kinda nerve wracking.”

“Why?”

“Ya know, I'm not entirely sure. It might be because I haven't had anyone critique my art since college? So it's just a little… intimidating?”

“I understand that,” he nods. “But, think of it this way. That also gives you leverage. They've already seen and loved what you're capable of, as they should, so let that speak for itself.”

Exhaling deeply, she nods. “I've got this, huh?”

Leon snorts.

“Duh.”

“Just for that, that's all I'm sharing.” She laughs, climbing underneath the covers to warm her cold feet.

“Cmon, cold feet, I was just joking!”

“I should put ‘em on you!”

Climbing right in behind her, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her back to him.

“I'm proud of you,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you, baby.”

“Of course. Now… this outfit,” he starts, making her giggle.

“Yesss,” she drags out.

“A dress? Pantsuit?”

“All I can tell you is that it's a bad outfit! Nique should be a designer cause, wow am I gonna look amazing!” She exclaims, cheesing as he looks down at her.

“Can I take your picture?”

“Of course, baby!! Just don't drop the camera cause ima be smoking hot!”

“Uh oh, tryna kill me early huh?”

“You'll live! Your blood pressure may never recover, though.”

—

“C’mere, I got something to show you,” Leon says to Zora, who just walks in the kitchen.

“What's up, chef?”

Smirking at her nickname, he turns his computer towards her and plays the video he'd just edited on how to make his world famous buttercream.

She watches in awe at the way it's beautifully put together.

“Av, that's really good! And look at that,” she giggles, watching them kiss on camera, “you kept it in there.”

“Of course, I did! It was too cute. And also thank you, for your support and help.” He smiles.

“Of course, baby. I'm so proud of you,” she leans over to kiss his cheek.

That toothy grin of his shines bright, as he grabs his phone to show her the reception that the video has gotten so far.

It had already gotten a thousand views and the same amount of likes, which is what pushes the video to the top of the viewing point.

“How does it feel?” She asks.

“It's nerve wracking,” he laughs. “But, it's also because it's not a warehouse job. I already know the ends and outs of that— this is new territory, like some shit I've always wanted to get my hands on, which makes me a little nervous but I'm excited, at the same time.” He looks over at her, still smiling.

“I'm very happy that you decided to follow your dreams, baby,”

“Thanks to you,” he winks.

“Me? What did I do?”

“You gave yourself another shot at following your own dreams, and that made me wanna do the same.”

“Really?” She frowns. “I had no idea that I did that,”

Reaching out for her hands, he closes the small space between them.

“You don't know the effect you have on me, poppy. I love watching you in creative mode, just as much as anything else you do. Seeing you so free, after caging yourself up for so long is so beautiful. Reminded me of myself and how I let my father’s words dictate who and what I became. I'm more than a blue collar worker. I wanted more for myself, but I never knew how to take that next step, til you came along,” he smiles up at her, “showed me that it's just a jump, hop, skip over!”

She laughs through the tears he's swiping away from her cheeks, then wraps her arms around his neck as he rubs her waist with his big hands.

“I love you,” he says, pecking her lips.

“I love you, back. So happy I met you and fell in love with you.”

“What a lucky man I am.” He smirks, closing his arms around her, pulling her closer.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm, who wouldn't wanna be loved by you.” He says, matter of factly.

“Says the sweetest man in the whole land! Them scallywags messed up when they threw you back, but I got ya now!” She cackles, making him damn near do the same.

“That's exactly what I'm talking about,” he says through his laughter, “you're something else, girl.”

“I know,” she says with a flip of her hair, pressing kisses to his lips. “And I'm right, too.”

“You got me,” he agrees, nipping at her bottom lip, “couldn't toss me back if you tried!”

“I— never mind,” she stops herself and laughs softly.

“What?”

“Nothing, just bein’ nasty,” she lowly speaks, lowering her eyes from his lips to the collar of his shirt.

“Mm, whatchu need, baby? Look at me.” He says, watching her wondering pupils find his steady ones.

“I uh, I need you.” She simply says, chewing on her lip as she feels how hard he already is against her belly.

Without another word, he carries her down the hall to his room, kicking the door closed just in case vday woke up early from her nap.

His buttery sweet kisses melt the little bit of clothes she had on to the floor, leaving her exposed and at his mercy.

Kneeling before the masterpiece that she is, he grabs her thighs to pull her closer to him and all but shoves his face between her legs.

Her hands rush to his grown out curls as his slippery tongue rolls through her wetness. Those breathy gasps hitting the ceiling above her.

“B-baby,” she whimpers, tossing her head back.

“Mmmmm,” he groans against her, flicking his tongue against her clit as she squirms in his grasp.

“I– I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!” She whines, mouth dropping open as he drags his tongue around and around and around and…

“Fuckkk!”

“Mmmhm, let it out baby…” he moans, far from done as he continues to make her leak down her ass and into his mouth.

“Okayokayokay!” She all but kicks him away after her fourth nut, pressing her hand to the thumping between her thighs.

“Mm-mm, c'mere girl,” climbing on top of her, his lips are back on hers, melting her into the mattress as he sinks into her warmth.

“I missed you,” comes from his lips once he comes up for air, laying his face in her sweet smelling neck.

“I missed you t-too…. fuck,” she whispers back, holding onto him for dear as he dives deep into her with every stroke.

The smell of sex lingers in the air, as they get more and more lost in each other, in a moment so intimate and precious.

Nothing but yes rolls off her tongue as the sensations rush through her, threatening to steal her soul right from her chest.

“Feels good, baby?”

“Yes, so good, yess baby,” she cries out, reaching down to grip his hips and pull him deeper.

“Ohh, like that?” He teases.

“Uh-huh, j-justtt like that!”

“Mmm, this what you needed, huh baby?”

“You.. have no idea,” she breathlessly responds, “p-please fuck me!”

“I got you, baby.”

Speeding up, he's damn near slamming his dick into her, stuck on the way the whites of her eyes are all he can see, those sweet moans getting caught in her throat.

His heavy hand wraps around and squeezes, making her return the gesture in between her legs.

“Fuck… wish I'd set my camera up, baby.. got you delirious on this dick,” he coos.

“It feels so– so good, babyyy!” She squeaks out, jerking forward.

“You cummin’?”

“Yes, don't stop!”

“Get that shit baby, I ain't stoppin’,” he grunts, staring down at the mess between them, salivating at the sight of her covering him in cream.

“Oooh, Leon,” she whines, her hands scanning his broad chest and shoulders, feeling the heat travel up from her toes to her head.

“Zora, Zora, Zora,” he groans, laying his weight on her, digging even deeper than before, his grinding turning desperate.

“I love you, baby,”

“I love you, I love you,” she whines, not even knowing what she was saying anymore. Whatever kept him right there.

“Right here? You gon cum with me?”

“Yes, yessss!”

Their breathing turns jagged as their peaks hit simultaneously, pulling them both under the tidal wave of pleasure.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿°•∘✿

“You look absolutely stunning! Damn, I feel bad for Leon,” Nique says with a snicker, strapping up her heels.

“Girl, leave my man alone!” Zora laughs. “You shoulda seen him this morning! Kept on peeking around the corner to see what I was up to! He's so funny.”

“Like the lovesick puppy he is,” Nique cackled, stopping in the doorway to strike a pose.

“How do I look?”

“You look so good, girl! I'm loving the fur cuffs!”

“Thank you, they're my favorite part! That, and this pony!” She says, flipping it for good measure.

“Gotta have whip appeal like Regine!” Zora agrees as they slap hands, moving out of the bathroom and into the living area.

“Alright, ima go show Leon how good I look and then we can get on the road!”

“Alright, no hanky panky! We got thirty minutes!”

“I hear ya,” she says, slipping out the door and back into her own apartment, where Leon was waiting on the couch, camera in hand.

“Uh oh, there she go!” He shouts, making her giggle up a storm and strike several poses as the camera ticks away, capturing her in one of her many golden moments.

“My god, you look amazing baby. Is this midnight blue?” He asks, running his hand over the velvet material of her dress once she comes closer.

“Thank you, sugar! And yes, it's gorgeous isn't it? Hits the light so pretty!” She squeals as he twirls her around.

“I hope you have a wonderful time tonight, my dear. I'm so proud of you.” He kisses her lips three times.

“I'm glad I put on just a little bit of makeup,” she frowns, wiping under her eyes, “thank you so much, Avery. That means so much to me.”

“Anything for my poppy,” he winks, making her swoon.

“Let me get outta here before I start something,” she laughs, watching Leon grab her clutch and hold out his free hand.

“Wouldn't let you miss out on your big night,” he smiles, walking her out to meet Nique at her car after she kisses vday goodbye.

“Come on lovebirds, we gotta hit the road!” Nique playfully shouts through the cracked window.

“I'll catch you later if you aren't too tired,” he says, kissing her once more.

“I've always got energy for you,” she smiles, adding an extra switch in her walk as they round the car, him helping her inside like the gentleman he is.

“You ladies have fun, call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, lank! Catch ya later!”

He waves them bye before heading back inside to check on vday, who's sprawled out in her car bed, her little purrs sounding.

He fondly shakes his head as he grabs his camera and goes through the pictures he'd taken of Zora.

She finally looked completely happy, and he couldn't be more ecstatic for her.

He didn't understand how her last man was jealous of such talent and beauty, because he was in complete awe of her, regardless of what she was doing.

He'd gotten an idea a couple days ago to make a study of her, through photos. Kind of like Masahisa Fukase, without the crippling obsession.

He was so in love with her radiance, how funny she is, her aura and how it drew any and everybody in. She was selective with herself, and he loves how he wasn't an exception to her rules. She stands firm on everything she says and does.

Uploading the photos to his folder, he clicks over to his digital photo album to figure out how he was going to place them.

He could be at this all night.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿°•∘✿

Zora and Nique were networking it up in the most lavish hall they'd ever been in!

Last minute jitters had faded with her second shot of rum, and she was feeling more confident about being on display, even on a small level.

She had gotten so used to being behind the scenes and tucked away, it was foreign to be thrown back into that world after so long, but she was doing better than she realized.

“Roni is definitely getting a thank you basket from me,” Nique says with a laugh.

“Having fun, huh?”

“Yes! If these white men keep eyeing me, ima make them pay for my tuition and pocket Darnell’s money, instead!”

“Now you know that's wrong!” She cackles at her friend.

“Like he wouldn't give it to me,” she says before making a face.

“Ladies! Don't you two look fantastic!” Fran practically yells over the jazz playing through the space, as she sashays over in her dark red ensemble.

“Uh oh, hot mama alerts!” Zora whistles as the rest of her art group rushes over, looking absolutely stunning.

Compliments are traded, while a server comes over with celebratory flutes of champagne.

“Cheers!”

“Aw cute! Little strawberries at the bottom!” Leia squeals, sipping the gold liquid.

“I kinda wish this was rum now,” Nique sighs, making the women laugh.

“My bad,” she laughs to herself. “Y'all ever had rum cake??”

“First time I had some, I was on my ass!” Roni answers.

“That stuff is strong! I haven't had any in years!”

“It's delicious, though!”

“Wild, wild times were had with that stuff!”

“Oh, did you guys see the investors? They're in wonderful, spending moods tonight!”

“I hope that means good things for us! They can lift my paintings up and out, I've got my originals!” Leia exclaims.

“Same! I'd love to sell something of mine this year!

“Did y'all offer up a painting for sale, tonight?” Nique asks.

“Actually, they went through our portfolios and picked from there. We're not even sure what the pieces are, yet!” Dina answers.

“Well, when do we figure that out? It's been like three hours of mingling, and if I can't catch a boyfriend, I would love to catch a check!”

“Frannie, you keep us young!” Roni laughs, “I'll go check in and see what's happening on their side.”

“Speaking of boyfriends, how's that hardworking man of yours?”

“He's doing good, still transitioning from routine to a more freeing pace, but it's like second nature from where I'm standing!”

“You think he's still up, editing?” Nique asks.

“Well, it's gonna be ten soon, so if anything he's wrapping it up.. maybe,” she laughs, “he can get carried away.”

And carried away with the wind, he was.

Built a whole separate portfolio just for Zora and her beauty. Spent the last three hours organizing them, titling each one with something too cheesy to read out loud.

He definitely had to take a screen break or his eyes were gonna crust over, plus vday was never not hungry. But he was still going strong.

He was literally the cutest boyfriend ever.

“Good news, they're about to make their selections for the evening!” Roni says as she rushes back over.

“Oh, good! My feet are killing me!” Trina exclaims, making them laugh.

“I told you not to wear ‘em!” Her sister said, shaking her head.

“Shut up,” she replied without missing a beat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please?” The announcer taps the mic as the music lowers and chatter ceases.

“I want to thank you all for coming out tonight and celebrating art and its creators. It means the world to us that we still have a place in this world to show our talents and appreciation for self expression. It takes courage to pick up a brush and paint the world as you see fit. So, congratulations to all of you.”

Applause fills the space as the mic is handed over to the group of investors, the lead being the same man they'd had the pleasure of meeting with a week prior.

“Yes, congratulations to everyone. Now, we've sat and mulled over which pieces to snag from this list and let me tell ya, it was not easy. There is some major talent in everyone's portfolio, we wanted to buy everything! But we definitely wanted to make sure that every last one of you got your time to shine, a moment we all deserve. So without further ado, we unveil our selection.”

Behind them, a curtain drops and fifteen prints stare back at the crowd, full size and in color. And it's as if time stood still.

“Oh my god,” Fran gasps, “that's my garden! My beautiful garden!”

“And my self portrait!” Roni adds.

“Oh my gosh, it's sunflower girl! Zora, look!!” Nique squeals, pointing happily at the picture.

“I… I haven't seen her in a while,” she smiles, blinking back tears. “I can't believe they bought my first baby.”

“I've always loved that piece! I'm so proud of you!” She squeals again, hugging her friend tight.

“Thank you! I don't know how to feel right now,” she laughs, wiping her tears away.

“Need another drink?”

“Or two!”

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿°•∘✿

Slinking into the house an hour or so later, Zora bumps around til she finds the light switch, illuminating her kitchen so she can dig around in her fridge for something quick.

Grapes it is.

She pops a couple rinsed ones into her mouth as Vday waltzes over and stops at her feet, her sweet green peering up at her.

“You are so cute,” she whines, scooping her up in her free hand and heading into her bedroom, where Leon is sleeping at her desk.

Thankfully his laptop wasn't still on, showcasing the hard work he'd put in all night. That was his surprise.

“Leon, I know that position isn't comfy,” she snorts, poking his shoulders, making him jolt up, startling both her and vday.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, clearing his throat as he looks up at his two favorite girls.

“It's okay,” she whispers back, giggling as he stretches and yawns.

“How was the gala, beautiful?”

“It was amazing! Something very emotional and exciting happened!”

“Can you share it with me?”

“I can!! They selected fifteen prints for purchase and they bought my first ever painting!” She squeals, sounding like Nique from earlier.

“Baby, that's incredible! I'm so happy for you!” He jumps up from the chair and wraps her up in a sweet hug, vday’s purring making them laugh.

“She's happy for mama, too!” He adds, swaying them from side to side once she jumps out of Zora’s hand.

“I cried like a baby!”

“I bet you did! That's huge!” He exclaimed, pulling back to look at her, her bloodshot eyes still burning from earlier.

“I'm proud of me,” she cheeses.

“You should always be proud of yourself, poppy. There's nothing you can't do.” He says, kissing her nose and then her lips.

“Thank you for believing in me. It's definitely something special when you have someone who sees you as everything you've ever wanted to be.”

“How many drinks have you had? You've gone sappy,” he jokes, making her cackle.

“Don't ruin the mood, Avery!”

“Nah, I'm playin’, but I'm always your number two fan, only cause Nique would cut me if I said number one,” he jokes again, still earning giggles from her.

“I'm glad you know how she gets down.”

“Mmmhm, I love my life,” he responds, making her push away from him, still laughing.

“I have to pee,” she says, scurrying down the hall.

He chuckles, before pushing the chair in and sitting down on the bed, searching the bed for his phone to check the views on his video.

It was steady climbing, which made him feel accomplished.

“Still got energy to burn?” She asks as she re-enters the room, her jacket and dress are now replaced by a deep green nightgown that stops above her thighs.

Locking his phone, he salivates at the sight of her. 

“Always, c'mere, girl.”

A/n: it's been a minute since I put out a chapter and some of yall actually missed this sweet ass story so thank y'all for fuel to finish this up! Enjoy!!

@ghostfacekill-monger @thegifstories @blackerthings @planetblaque @blowmymbackout @henneseyhoe @honestpreference @blackpinup22 @abeautifulmindexposed @nayaxwrites @twistedcharismaaa @kindofaintrovert

@sageispunk @soufcakmistress

@starcrossedxwriter @slippinninque

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 25

Damn. I actually hate seeing that number up there. Because that means it's done. Eight months, twenty-five chapters, 52895 words, and one hell of a ride.

I'll start posting the sequel on Tuesday, and will post Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays until it's done. I hope to get it done before October's end. But that's not looking likely at the moment.

But once it's done, I will post the epilogue. This was actually written first and was a way for me to flesh out the band members. Then I just wanted to dive right in to writing the full story. A link to the original idea here.

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 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

~

The rest of the American tour while it had its ups and downs was pretty much was uneventful. When Steve got back to Cali, he got some actual therapy from someone Gareth’s therapist, Dr. Sam Owens recommended to him. To not only deal with the abandonment issues left by his parents and Nancy but to help deal with the sudden onslaught of fame.

It was going well.

It was the therapist that had strongly recommended going on the vacation with his two best friends. That really helped put his life in perspective.

They were out celebrating Gareth’s one year of being sober and everyone had been invited. Jeff, Brian, and Eddie, of course. Even Vickie made it out. Dustin, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Ellie, Hopper, Robin, all the members of The Fallen, sans persona. Gareth had really become friends with all of them, yes even Steve. Gareth and Shane became really close. It was nice to see.

“Cheers!” Jeff said holding up their glasses of sparkling apple cider that they had all brought to share.

“Cheers!” the rest of them cried, clinking their glasses together.

They had rented out a nice surf and turf restaurant for the occasion and everyone was catching up. The owner was a friend of Jonathan’s, Argyle Rivera. He had gotten his start with a pizza food truck and it just exploded.

“So what did you and Mike decide to do?” Steve asked when there was a lull in the conversation. “I know you two weren’t sure the last time I was in Hawkins.”

Mike and Will shared a bashful look before Mike said, “I wrote a children’s book and Will illustrated it. We sent it out to a couple of different publishers so we’re just waiting to hear back.”

“That’s amazing!” Dustin cried. “You guys are going to be awesome.”

“Yeah,” Will said brightly. “I finally convinced Jonathan into going in to photography at the local community collage and he’s doing really well.”

“Nancy is going to school, too,” Mike said quietly, knowing how most of the group felt about his sister.

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? What is the once great Nancy Wheeler going to be studying?”

Mike perked up a little that someone had taken a interest in what he said. “She’s actually going into journalism. Especially to be a war corespondent. After everything rightfully fell apart after the incident with The Fallen and Corroded Coffin, she took a hard look at her life and decided she hated the person she had become. So she’s been in therapy and has gotten into her dream school of Emerson.”

“That’s good,” Steve said quietly. Robin gave his a hand gentle squeeze and he returned it with a grateful smile.

“What are doing next, Ellie?” Brian asked. “Designing more epic costumes for the rich and famous? I saw that dress you designed for Lupita Nyong’o for the premier of her new movie. That was a gorgeous shade of purple.”

Ellie’s face dimpled in the force of her wide, happy smile. “Something like that. I’m just glad the dress turned out so well. I’ll be heading back to New York, to stay this time. I got a job at a fashion house that I’m really excited for.”

“What about you and Dusty?” Lucas asked, tilting his head. “I thought things were going great.”

Both Dustin and Ellie share a blushing smile.

“We’re still together,” Dustin replied. “I’ll be in Boston and she’ll be in New York. We’ll going to try and make it work.”

Max nodded. “Long distance can suck, but if the other person is worth it you can make it work.” She nudged Lucas’s shoulder and he grinned back.

“So you didn’t get traded to Lakers like you wanted?” Gareth asked Lucas.

He shook his head. “Maybe next year. But in the mean time, Max has a couple interviews at Tony Hawk’s video game company as a mo-cap performer for the female characters in his games.”

Everyone oohed and ahhed and congratulated her.

“I don’t have the job yet,” she muttered, but happily soaked up the attention anyway.

Dustin turned to Steve and Robin. “When are you two going to do something with your lives?”

Eddie winced and Steve and Robin didn’t even have to glance at each other to be suddenly on the same wavelength of doom.

If this was an anime you would have have seen the dark waves behind their heads.

“We make good money doing what we do,” Robin said darkly. “Yeah, it’s a bit jack of all trades, but it’s fun. We’re never stuck doing the same thing. We get travel all over the world. We get to meet famous people and all the perks of fame with the drawbacks of having our privacy invaded on the regular.”

“Jack of all trades, but master of none,” Dustin said to be pedantic. “Don’t you guys want to do something specific, like a teacher or a doctor?”

Robin snorted. “No.”

Chrissy hand covered hers, and Robin gave her a squeeze back. She was fine, just annoyed.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “And I don’t why being a jack of all trades is bad thing. Focusing on one thing is great for the people who can do it, but I love the different jobs. Roadie one tour, PA another, then EMT the next. It’s great.”

Dustin frowned, stabbing his plate with his fork.

“My therapist says people are like plants,” Gareth said, “some people are trees and they grow up slowly. Some are bamboo and in the right environment shoot up super fast. But some people are like periwinkle and grow out sideways. Robin and Steve are like that. It’s still growth, just not the growth you want them to have.”

“I guess,” he huffed. He looked up at Steve. “Are you happy doing what you do?”

Steve and Eddie shared a glance. “Yes, for all its faults, I am very happy.”

He nodded and they went back to celebrating Gareth’s year of sobriety. But under the cover of the loud celebration and raucous laughter, Vickie and Simon chatted quietly to themselves.

~

Steve and Eddie lay on the bed in Eddie’s mansion curled up together after sex.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked Steve when he had curled up under his chin and held on tight.

“We were out celebrating,” he murmured, “and I couldn’t even tell them we were in a relationship.”

“Most of the people there already knew, babe,” Eddie murmured. But when Steve didn’t say anything it clicked. “You wanted to tell the kids. Especially after the bomb Mike dropped about Nancy moving on.”

Steve nodded.

Eddie scooted down the bed to look Steve in the eye. “Whatever you do or don’t tell them is entirely up to you I don’t care either way.”

“You don’t care that we’ll never get to go on dates or be seen holding hands or kissing?” Steve asked seriously.

Eddie shook his head. “Do you want to know why?”

“I guess,” Steve said with a half shrug.

“Because when I first got into the music business,” Eddie murmured, “I slept with anyone who would give a passing fancy.”

Steve looked up at him in confusion. “But I thought you already had a crush on me then?”

“I did,” Eddie confirmed. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart, do you know who’s partners get torn apart the most in celebrity relationships?”

Steve shook his head.

“Those with non-famous partners,” Eddie said. “If your partner is anything other than a C or B list celebrity when you’re an A-list, you get called out for ‘slumming it’ and their partners get called all sorts of nasty names, but especially ‘gold digger’. Which is the last thing I wanted for you.”

“Is that why you were okay with being with after you found out I was secretly famous?”

Eddie rose up and tackled Steve into the pillows. “You listen close, Steve Harrington. That was absolutely not why. I didn’t even show up with the flowers intending on confessing anything other than knowing your secret. It was like I suddenly saw all the facets of the diamond I’d been admiring for years and realizing any reason I had to not put myself forward were stupid.”

Steve blinked up at him in awe. “Oh.”

“Yeah, baby, ‘oh’,” Eddie huffed. “Continuing to protect you from the shame and humiliation of the slings and arrows of the media is my mission in life, okay? And if you ever decide to come out, either as bisexual as Steve or as Steve as Abbadon, I will be there for you. One hundred percent.”

Steve’s eyes welled up and he nodded. “Okay.” His lips quivered. “I love you so much. I just want you to be happy.”

Eddie kissed him fiercely. “I know you do and you make me very happy. The Fallen, Abbadon, being closeted? All that? That’s just a part of you that I love.” He bounced onto the bed. “In fact...”

He grabbed his phone and started going through it. “Eureka!” He turned the phone around to a paint of a night, shielding a maiden from the sun and a large crowd of people. This is us, babe. I am the knight and you are my maiden. I won’t get tired, or upset that you need protecting.”

Steve blushed. He sat up and pulled up his knees to his chest. “When we first started coming up with names for us, we didn’t originally all have the same letter.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Wait, really?”

Steve shook his head. “Spence was just Death. Shane was always Astraeus. Simon was struggling with finding a name that fit.”

“And did you have your name picked out?” Eddie asked gently, knowing where this was going.

He pursed his lips and nodded. “I didn’t think we’d make it this far. I really thought we would have crashed and burned by now.” He closed his eyes and hung his head. “Part of the myth with Icarus and the wax wings that people forget was that he was flying all over the place. That if he flied straight and true like his father suggested, he would have survived. But he flew too close to the seas as well as the sun.”

Steve sighed and then looked over at Eddie. “And that’s what I thought I was doing with the band. Flying too low with the fact that we were preps wanting to break into the metal scene and then flying too high with the personas and masks. I was going to not only wreck my life but the lives of people I cared about.”

He let out a low shuddering breath. “That maybe I should have listened to my father. To go to college, to get a degree in business, to fly straight.”

“So what changed your mind?” Eddie asked. “Other than Shane wanting everyone to have all the same letter as a middle finger to everyone trying to guess your identities, I guess.”

Steve let out a watery chuckle. “Shane reminded me of the beginning of Icarus’s story. That he had grown up in the labyrinth, never seeing the sky. How could his father had not seen that of course Icarus was going to play the second they were out? That, yes they were fleeing for their lives, but this was the first time his son had seen the sun, felt the breeze on his face and touched the waves on the sea.”

“But if Daedalus had played with Icarus instead of yelling at him, his father would have been able to keep him from getting too close to the things that would have harmed him,” Steve finished. “That he would have been there to catch his son when he began to fall.”

“So what was the lesson?” Eddie prompted.

“I wasn’t Icarus,” Steve said. “I was always free, I might have fallen from grace according to my parents, but that like God in the Christian story, they were cruel and cast me out because what they wanted for me wasn’t what I wanted.”

Eddie smiled. “So you became Abbadon instead. The one that fell but God still relied on to destroy the wicked. The opposite of Steve Harrington. The boy that rose up like a phoenix from the ashes to be better than his parents dreamed.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Icarus was the first to fall mythos wise, but Abbadon was the one people fear coming back.”

Eddie pulled him close. “Well, you’re my angel, now. Fallen or not, I’m not giving you up for anything.”

Steve kissed him softly. “I’m putting a lot of trust you, Munson. Don’t fuck this up.”

Eddie laughed and kissed him fiercely. Then he proceeded to show Steve all the ways loved him.

Steve knew he might always have doubts and fears, but now he had the support system he always needed.

It was more than past time to fly and in Eddie’s arms there was no limit to how high he could go now.

And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

[slafastri28]

It was and is You - CL16 - part 2.

Note: Here's part two, part one link-> part 1

Saturday

You had set an alarm that morning to make sure you didn’t miss your “morning coffee”. You had assistance from your three friends in choosing your outfit and helping you get ready. Allie did your hair, Liv did your makeup, and Mila chose your outfit.

“Can we please meet him,” Mila begged.

“Don’t ruin this for Y/N, you know how she is about guys,” Liv said. Your last relationship of three years ended in the middle of your last season putting you in a slump. It had been a year and now here you were with this guy who you clicked with instantly. 

“Yeah, but she needs our help, right Y/N?” Allie said slyly knowing her full intentions.

“Okay the last thing I need right now is you fan girling over him while we are just trying to get to know each other,” you said, “Maybe just maybe in like an hour after I’m down there you can possibly join me for breakfast when he has to go,” hoping to ease their eagerness, it seemed to work.

“Yes! See she does want us Liv,” Mila grinned. You rolled your eyes looking at the time seeing a message light up on your phone.

Charles: We are still good?

You: Yes heading out now 😄

“I have to go,” you said swatting their hands off of you. You took one last look at yourself in the mirror, grabbed your purse then dashed out of your room. You got on the elevator expecting it to stop on his floor and it did. You looked down then back up to see the brunette enter the elevator.

“Hello again,” he smiled.

“So you were the driver my friends are obsessed with, it was you, that explains the mystery,” you said.

“It is me,” he shrugged. The elevator door opened and you made your way to one of the tables in the lobby ordering your coffee and espresso. The two of you began talking, finally getting to learn more about Charles and about your shared interests. You both were athletes with crazy travel schedules, you both played an instrument, and you both agreed that after this weekend you would stay in touch.

“I want to make a deal with you,” he grinned.

“Oh what am I getting into,” you teased, knowing that it would end up with you being happy.

“If I place top five today we can do this again tomorrow, even though I prefer to take time to myself the day of a race, because I would like to see you again,” he said.

“And if not?” you trailed off. You were distracted hearing giggles coming from the elevator area, you looked up to see your friends watching you from a distance back. 

“Y/N?”

“Oh my god I am so sorry, I am so sorry,” you whispered over and over again as you watched your friends walk over.

“Hi Charles,” Mila said running her finger along his shoulder, “I’m Mila,” she said batting her eyes.

“And I’m Allie,” she said doing the same.

“And I’m Liv,” she said giving both of them a stern look.

“So this is the famous girl group I have heard about,” he laughed. You put your head in your hands embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” Liv mouthed to you. You rolled your eyes knowing this would happen. You watched Mila and Allie compete in trying to woo over Charles and he was nice about it he played along, but always continued to look at you and talk about what he knew about you. Your friends went to a different table waiting for you to join them once Charles left. He looked at the time and noticed it was time to leave for qualifying. His car would be outside in moments to pick him up. 

“So will I see you after again?” He asked standing up. You stood up with him,

“Yes definitely,” you blushed. He opened his arms to hug you, you wished him good luck with a hug and went back to your friends table to share only the important details of your date.

“So you agreed to the deal right, he has to finish in the top five it’s Monza!” Mila said.

“Can we please come again, but we won’t flirt,” Allie begged.

“Oh please, you can’t help yourselves,” you said. 

“Hey I held them back,” Liv said. You nodded at her thanking her for her efforts. You continued discussing and telling your friends to back off. You texted Charles under the table apologizing once again for what had happened.

You: I am so sorry again, they can be a lot sometimes 🫣

Charles: Stop worrying I’m fine, besides they could have done worse

You: I guess so, but don’t let what happened this morning distract you

Charles: If anything I feel more ready after talking to you

You smiled and your friends caught you texting.

“Y/N stop it’s girls time,” Allie whined. 

“Jealous?” you smirked. As time went on the four of you got ready for qualifying and made your way to the track. The drivers came on the track making their way around the track competing for times. At the end of the hour Charles had not only finished in the top five, but the top three. Your friends all jumped and screamed for joy rushing down to the spot where you would meet Charles after. After moments of waiting you saw him, once again your eyes met through the crowd, it helped that you were in the front this time. There were tons of voices yelling for him around you but you remained silent knowing he would make his way over to you. As he approached you, the butterflies bubbled in your stomach, you felt your face heating with each step he got closer to you. He reached out his hand to you over the barrier you were waiting behind. You took it,

“Do we still have a deal?” you asked.

“Oh we have a deal,” he said firmly pulling your hand to his shoulder, you hugged once again infront of this large crowd. You could feel the weight of all the pictures being taken of you by all the girls around you.

“Talk to you later,” you grinned pulling out of the hug. He winked and went on to signing and taking pictures with the other fans around you. You and your friends ran off shouting bye. The four of you went out for dinner once again debriefing.

“Y/N you have to see this,” Allie said flipping her phone around. You took her phone scrolling through seeing tons of pictures of you and Charles all over social media.

“Y/N your famous,” Liv smiled.

“Oh please remember us,” Mila laughed. You looked up this media on your own phone and sent it to Charles.

Charles: So they are calling you the mystery girl

You: It’s not going to take long before they figure out who I am, we exchanged medias they can find me through yours

Charles: Is that a problem?

You: No, but are we… well what are we?

Charles: You will have to wait until tomorrows deal 😏

You rolled your eyes putting away your phone for the rest of dinner. The three of you made your way back to the hotel, still discussing you being Charles’ mystery girl. You texted him a quick good night ready for your coffee date the next morning once again. You drifted off to sleep having a dream of tomorrow’s race outcome, little did you know it would be a dream come true.

[tarnished-butsogrand]

To Liam,

It's so strange that I just couldn't bring myself to create anything to honour the role you've played in my life. It's like I cannot allow myself to say goodbye to you, trying to push back the inevitability of it. This permanent goodbye that I don't want to speak into existence.

"Let's leave it unsaid, just one more second

If you don't say it, then it ain't true yet"

When I first 'met' you, I was newly thirteen and I saw your music video 'One Thing' on TV. I had excitedly texted my best friend at the time, gushing about five cute guys on TV that were singing, "Get out, get out, get out of my bed" which amused my friend to no extent. It was the start of a character defining moment in my life, and I didn't even know it then.

It was hard to keep up with you guys, our access to the internet was limited. Watching YouTube videos back then was a task. I would go to all lengths to do so anyway, because it felt like I had five friends who I could joke around with. That's the strangest thing. I so desperately wanted to be friends with you guys. Not date. Just friendship. Looking back at that time, I almost feel sorry for how lonely I was to depend on five guys who didn't know of my existence for friendship, but then I don't. I don't know what kind of person I would have become if I had been oblivious of your existence. Now, I have had so many friends that I have met/ talked to through you. I am not in touch with all of them, but I felt like a part of a community.

You'll never feel like you're alone

I'll make this feel like home.

You taught me to dream. For the longest time, I was adamant I would form a band myself, and be famous and meet you guys. I was so sure of it! I could never afford to buy albums, or the movies, the books even though I desperately wished to. Then, for my eighteenth birthday, I finally got my hands on your book and the This Is Us movie

It was my dream, to meet you guys one day, all of you, and have you sign this book. I would tell you how much you inspired me, helped this little girl in a little town dream of going places. Gave her hope she could make it out of there one day.

I am so grateful for that.

It's hard to think you were together as a band for only five years because it sure felt like ages back then. There was always so much... Drama! I still remember the day Zayn left the band. The best friend who had first heard my atrocious interpretation of your lyrics, she was the one who broke the news to me. My chapattis and okra curry seemed extra salty that day. My family was surprised. What is she crying for? I would tell them and they would try to keep from laughing. It felt like the world had ended, but everything carried on as usual.

Life went on, I begrudgingly decided against pursuing a career in music. It's so funny, isn't it? You guys were living the dream and consequently taught me how to dream. And now, you've left us because of it and I'm still here because I didn't pursue it (not saying I would have become as famous as you, or famous at all). I got into medical school. By that time, you were already three years deep into your 'hiatus'. I would hear about you, now and then. Maybe listen to a single or two. Loved Strip That Down. Loved your interviews. Loved For You. Was waiting for an album.

I kind of lost touch with the 1D fandom and you. In the blink of an eye, 2020 was here. I got back to the fandom right in time for the 1D 10 years anniversary. I was sure it wouldn't have any effect on me. I was grown up now. Then I bawled my eyes out to Fireproof and I realised I was still a sucker, and I would always be.

Nobody knows you, baby, the way I do

It's been so long, it's been so long

We must be fireproof

Then I realised. It wasn't the same anymore. When I left, people were excited about everyone's solo careers. Five times the fun, right? Everything had... Shifted. There were camps and groups and, it just wasn't actually the same. I was horrified. Blogs dedicated to hate certain members, the word 'flopped' being used incessantly when it came to them. And bearing the brunt of the most of it was, you.

I don't want to go back and rehash it all, it's too painful, but you know what? I would have that time back in an instant if it meant you were still out there. Alive. When the possibility of this happening was so damn preposterous, not even the craziest fanfiction could have a plot line like this.

I don't want to say I felt sorry for you, because that makes you seem small. You had talked about your struggles, but you had also gotten better. I heard Heart Meet Break and I heard Weekend. They sound so ominous right now.

Heart meet break, lips meet drink

Rock meets bottom, to the bottom I sink.

Fuck.

I come alive on the weekend

I might die on the weekend

Another line for my demons.

All the while, facing vitriol that was frankly alarming. There was nothing you could say or do that wasn't criticised or scrutinized. I felt helpless but I was determined, once again that the tide would turn. That people would see you for the kind soul that you really are.

Let me tell you, LP1 was damn good! I hope you're proud of that album, wherever you are, because you smashed it! And your First Time EP? Still mad that Slow wasn't on your main album, like who made that decision? I am sorry people didn't pay more attention to your music, because it is amazing! Your voice, of course. That note in Bedroom Floor-you aren't real, you know?

And your videos during the lockdown? And your LP shows? You kept us entertained and happy. We loved watching you do the thing you love the most.

Oh, Liam. Then I gradually drifted apart again. I wasn't there when you came out saying you had been sober. I wasn't aware it had gotten worse. I don't know why, but this October, I listened to your music for the first time in a long while. It's so strange. Just a few days later-

I still can't believe it, Liam. I still can't believe you have left us. I can't believe that this is the end, this is how you had to go. With the world still against you. You didn't get your chance at redemption, you didn't get your chance to prove to everyone how amazing you were! You had so much love left to give. Everyone talked about how you checked up on them frequently. I am sorry there was no one to do that for you. I am sorry for the way you were treated. I am sorry you didn't get the help you needed, I am sorry that we can't enjoy more of your songs, your voice, your paintings and most of all, that laugh where your eyes all crinkle up, and your body physically rocks with it, and for a moment you become the embodiment of sunshine.

You were just a boy, who had one working kidney and the other that miraculously started working. You were just a boy that had a fear of spoons and loved dinosaurs. You were just a boy who apparently couldn't read but wrote so many songs for One Direction that we hold close to our heart. You were just a boy who warned people against snake habitats, and dropped tubs of pasta on your floor. You were just a boy who is loved by so many, whose loss will weigh heavy on our hearts for the rest of our lives.

I'll never forget you. And I promise, I will make all my dreams come true. Maybe not the singing part, but the rest. Hope you're happy, Leeyum. I hope they're treating you better than we did.

How can I forget someone

Who gave me so much to remember?

With love, always

Rini

[vanillablankcanvas]

Part 10 Trolls Headcanons/ Theories/ Thoughts/ Ideas

This may be my last headcanons list, my friends. Will still do art and stuff but I am fresh outta ideas.

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5 Part6 Part7 Part8 Part9

Enjoy 💕

Sub Tribes - KPop/Reggaeton/Yodelers/Chaz etc. there's not many of them around because they came from overseas.

King Peppy - Didn't tell Poppy about Viva because he was in the early stages of dementia. (Canon?) For a while he thought Poppy WAS Viva. By the time he realised his 'mistake', Poppy was already grown.

Vacay Island - the brothers sometimes help Bruce at his restaurant. They have name tags with funny 'work names'. Flood, Big Fish, Classy, and Big Brunch. Viva and Poppy have done the odd shift as well, as Pinky and Vista. 😝

Brozone - they became world famous, argued and left BEFORE the cage went around the Pop Troll Tree. (Canon?)

Brozone - there was a rumoured 'unfinished' Brozone song that was supposed to be released after that tour. John finally finishes it and the brothers offer to sing it for Poppy's bridal entrance song. Poppy immediately faints. In my head the song is 'Helpless When She Smiles' by The Backstreet Boys

Brozone - whatever the Trolls equivalent of the Superbowl is, I feel like Bruce and JD would be very into it. Jerseys and face paint and everything.

Bruce - cameras make him self-conscious. If he is in a group he can tolerate it but hates being the only one in the photo.

Bruce - has caught his kids trying to do the Brozone dance routines. He tries to stay out of it best he can and let them have their fun but then they ask him to teach them and doesn't he just melt.

Bruce - has a wedding ring but it is Vacationer sized. He keeps it in his hair mostly but will braid it into his hair like an accessory for special occasions.

Bruce - 100% certain Poppy and Branch's first born would be a boy. "We're a family of five brothers! It took Brandy and I thirteen tries to have a daughter. Trust me, I have no doubt your first egg will absolutely be a boy." *They have a girl* Bruce 😑

Floyd - can only sleep comfortably near an open window. Sometimes can only sleep sitting up.

Floyd - will randomly stare off into space or mutter to himself.

Floyd - *clears throat* I ship Floom! 💕🏳️‍🌈

Floyd - can't stick to new hobbies for very long, he hyperfixates for a week or two then gets bored. Macrame, candle making, soap making, jewelry making, photography are some examples.

Clay - his brothers collectively tried to convince him that he was the adopted brother.

Clay - is quite squeamish. The sight of vomit, open wounds and bodily fluids; Clay will absolutely pass out. Snotty babies make him very uncomfortable.

Clay - gets Viva to braid his hair out of his face only when something really serious is happening *cracks neck* "Viva?" "Yah?" "Braid me" "Yes, Sir." Shwoooop

Clay - Found out the Classical Trolls have a library larger the Pop Village. "Viva, they have a whole wing dedicated to tragedies! Tragedies, Viva!"

Clay - okay, so he and Viva have never been a couple, even if he ever considered it, their work came first and he didn't want to jeopardize what they had. Buuuuuuuttt the thought that another Troll could one day be Viva's person, that she would go to them instead of him for comfort or ideas or laughs or safety or hugs... it makes Clay feel... weird.

Clay - at some point is named some kinda Troll magazines most eligible bachelor. Bro was in a boyband, co-runs a society of survivors, runs a business, is close friends with royalty, has been knighted, has a license to practice accounting and was part of the only known Perfect Family Harmony. He's apparently a hot commodity now.

John Dory - takes night classes to finally get his highschool diploma. Is too embarrassed to tell anyone until he graduates.

John Dory - doesn't get sick often. But when he does, he keeps going to the point of exhaustion.

John Dory - has indeed crossed paths with Delta Dawn before. Both of them have very different versions of the story. "I serenaded her." "The fool was whining something from the inside of a jail cell."

John Dory - has been known to sleep with his eyes open. Freaks people out.

John Dory - will drink milk straight from the carton and put it back in the fridge.

John Dory - teaches Bruce's kids all the swear words and does in fact tell them his rendition of where eggs come from.

Viva - tries to hide sadder feelings from Poppy. Worried that Poppy won't want to hang out with her if she isn't fun.

Poppy - sometimes feels guilty, if things had been different, Viva would have been Queen. Viva tries to reassure Poppy that she is "The right Troll for the role." 👍🏻 Also Viva tries to argue that they both technically get be Queens now anyway.

Guy Diamond - Trolls have eggs when they have powerful feelings of love. Guy Diamond was able to have Tiny because he loves himself so much.

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 5 - Open Doors

Pairing : Sinclair Bryant x OC (Contessina)

Summary : Five Christmas during which Sinclair realises that sometimes, closing one door opens a thousand others.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Mention of incest.

A/N : Puppy boy is back !

Also on AO3

December 24, 2020

Sinclair, for the first time in his 39 years of existence, did not feel like celebrating Christmas. His divorce had been finalized at the very end of November. A difficult divorce, not so much because of his ex-wife who had too much to reproach herself for to really argue about silver vases and spoons, but for the nature of the betrayal.

Sinclair wasn't in the mood to celebrate, but William, his friend and the judge who had finalized his divorce had insisted, telling him that he had been moping for a year now and that it was high time to move on. Or at least try. And it was not like Sinclair not to try.

"Sinclair, my friend, life is a succession of rooms and in each room, there are people who mark your life for better or for worse. Natalie was not a good person and I am sorry for what she did to you, but it is time for you to close this door and open a new one," William had wisely said.

And Sinclair had given in. Not really because he had been convinced by the philosophy of doors and rooms, but because he did not really want to be alone for Christmas, and deep down, he knew that his friend was right. It was time to move on, to turn the page, to close the door. His parents were on a trip to Sardinia and all his friends and colleagues had family plans when he had to mourn the family he would never have.

Family... a word that left a bitter taste in Sinclair's mouth, he who had believed he had found his soul mate in Natalie and the mother of his children. Now he wasn't so sure he'd ever have the chance to have children. He wasn't sure he'd ever fall in love again.

Sinclair shook his head as if to shake off all the bad memories. He was in front of William's house, a bottle of his best champagne in his hand. Sinclair had learned at a young age from his own father that one should never arrive empty-handed. His friend's sumptuous house, which was more of a small manor than a house, had been sumptuously decorated by his wife while the buffet - prepared by professionals - already had his mouth watering in anticipation.

Sinclair rang the bell and William greeted him with reserved kindness.

"You've come ! That's good ! Come in, hurry up."

"For your table," Sinclair said, handing him the bottle.

"A Dom Pérignon ! You shouldn't have," William said, taking the bottle with sparkling eyes.

Sinclair then lingered by the fireplace. It was not his habit, he usually so outgoing, ready to become friends with everyone, he who always had something to say found himself petrified. Natalie had left much more of a mark on his soul than he himself would have believed.

That's when he saw her. Alone in a corner, she seemed to want to disappear, like him. She didn't seem to be from the same world as Richard, or even Sinclair. Probably a friend of his wife who was the headmistress of a private school for girls in central London. Intrigued, Sinclair approached to greet her. She was pretty in her purple dress, a dress he was sure to have seen on a famous singer but he couldn't remember her name.

"Are you all right?" he asked kindly.

She just nodded with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. But beneath her apparent coldness, Sinclair could see a gentleness and a light that was just waiting to be revealed.

"My name is Sinclair. Sinclair Bryant," he introduced himself.

"Nice to meet you, Sinclair, I'm Contessina," she replied softly.

"It's a very pretty name," Sinclair said sincerely, "not very English," he added with a twinkle of curiosity in his eye.

"My father is Italian," she replied before quickly adding that her mother was English, as if having mixed ancestry was a fault.

Sinclair told her about a trip he had taken to Rome. She admitted, shyly, that she had never had the opportunity to set foot in Italy. Sinclair sensed her unease, so he tried not to brag too much about his travels across Europe. Contessina and he must have had very different childhoods. Sinclair had grown up with a father who had one foot in business and the other in politics and a mother who was a lawyer who had put her career on hold to take care of him after his birth, a sacrifice she had never regretted because in her opinion, her son was her greatest achievement.

"Are you friends with William or his wife?" Sinclair asked casually.

"His wife. I work for her. I teach English and drama."

"Oh ! Are you acting in theatre ?" Sinclair asked with renewed enthusiasm.

Contessina seemed as enthusiastic as Sinclair to talk about one of her passions. And the conversation continued with Sinclair's incessant questions that didn't seem to bother her in the least.

interlocutor, though she asked few in return.

He knew before the meal that she had spent two years at drama school before having to drop out when her parents could no longer afford to pay for her tuition. She had failed to get a scholarship, so she had worked a series of unfulfilling jobs before settling on teaching. It had not been her dream career, at least not when she was a teenager, but she had eventually found a certain comfort in it that had erased her past failures. She lived alone in London, her father having moved to Blairgowrie after her mother died to be closer to his brother, and Sinclair could tell that she must not have made friends easily. She was reserved, though not without wit and intelligence. Talking to her was a treat. She could talk about anything and was not ashamed to admit when she did not know something. But most of all, she was interested in what he was saying and that was a change for Sinclair.

During the meal, he made sure to sit next to her. They continued to talk about everything and nothing and for the first time in a long time, the weight in Sinclair's chest had gone away. He wasn't thinking about the events of almost two years ago. There was no more Natalie, Richard, betrayal in his parents' bed, under his own roof, before his eyes and the eyes of the housekeeper.

Shortly before midnight, the two were sipping a glass of Sinclair's champagne. She had finally dared to ask Sinclair what he did for a living and, although she admitted that she didn't understand much about his job, she listened to him talk passionately about what he did and his clients... who sometimes had unconventional habits.

Midnight finally struck, Christmas arrived and Sinclair felt that in a few days, the new year would finally bring him new peace.

"Merry Christmas, Sinclair," she said with her enigmatic smirk.

"Merry Christmas, Contessina."

A half hour later, much to Sinclair's dismay, she was leaving the party.

"I can give you a ride if you want ?" he offered.

"No, it's not necessary, I don't live far away."

Sinclair doubted it. She was in one of the most expensive neighbourhood in the city, but he didn't insist.

"I was glad to have you as my companion for the evening," she added as she put on her coat and scarf.

"Me too !" Sinclair exclaimed with a big smile, "I didn't notice the time go by."

He watched her go down the steps when suddenly she turned around.

"Sinclair ?"

"Yes ?"

"You should smile more often. It suits you."

And without adding anything else, she disappeared into the night, leaving those simple words etched in Sinclair's mind forever.

He had felt something new but he had preferred not to push it further. He could have asked William to find his phone number, to get everything she knew about Contessina from his wife, but he didn't. He wasn't ready to be hurt again.

However, fate seemed to want to put Contessina in his path. Three months later, Sinclair saw her again at a market. She was buying small perfumes to offer to her students for Easter which would soon arrive and, as if she were a magnet that attracted him, Sinclair had not been able to turn around to avoid her. He had invited her to share lunch with him, then dinner and after that, there had been other dinners, evenings at the movies, galas for his work and then a whole weekend at his place, then a whole week. And slowly but surely, Contessina had made her way into his heart just as Sinclair had made his way into the young woman's.

December 24, 2021

Over the months, the relationship between Sinclair and Contessina had evolved, had built itself, without rushing, with caution, with respect, with trust. There wasn't a day when the two did not see each other and tonight, Sinclair wanted to take an important step.

It was the first Christmas that Sinclair had had at his place since his divorce and he had decided to do things simply. Contessina was his only guest. He had cooked a simple, unpretentious meal and bought a dessert from his favourite bakery, a dessert without fruit since Contessina had once told him that a dessert with fruit wasn't a real dessert.

The table was elegant. Sinclair had set a white and gold tablecloth on which he had placed candles and a few flowers prettily arranged in the vases he had inherited from his grandmother. In the background, he had put on Christmas carols, as cliché as they come.

"It's beautiful, Sinclair," Contessina said as she discovered the dining room.

Near the door that led to the veranda, the large fir tree dominated, splendid with its multi-coloured light garland and its glass balls.

"Is this a real tree ?" she asked, gently touching the needles.

"Yes. My father didn't like artificial trees. We always had real trees at my house."

"It's funny, my mother didn't like real trees so we always had a synthetic one. A faded green tree. But it didn't take away from the warmth of the party."

It was the first time she wasn't spending Christmas with her dad, but she knew he was fine, doing it with his brother and his family and most important : he was happy that his daughter seemed to have found a good man. He had met Sinclair thrice and he have had a very good impression of the man. 

Sinclair smiled at her, gently kissing her temple. Contessina brought a simplicity to his life that he had never known. She didn't seek luxury, she wasn't after her money and she liked simple things. This wasn't really the case for Sinclair who had grown up with money and firmly believed in spending it. He liked beautiful things and collecting expensive objects, but this contrast between them brought a certain balance to his life, a balance that did him good.

"I hope you like it. I spent hours in the kitchen," Sinclair said as he arranged the dishes on the table.

Contessina hadn't imagined that Sinclair was the cooking type, and she was pleasantly surprised, even touched by the attention he had put into making everything perfect for their first Christmas just the two of them.

A little before midnight, Sinclair decreed that it was time to open the presents, as excited as a child, which made Contessina laugh with a crystal-clear laugh that, after a year, still made Sinclair shiver.

"Mine first," she said as she handed him a large package that weighed quite a bit in his small hands.

Sinclair unwrapped it without ceremony and his eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and joy.

"Where did you get that ?" he asked incredulously.

"One of my colleagues knows someone who knows someone who works for an antique dealer."

Sinclair shook his head in disbelief.

"Are you happy ?" she asked shyly.

"Am I happy ? Contessina, you managed to find that impossible to find book of poems ! I didn't even think you would remember it !"

Sinclair kissed her tenderly and a slight red colour rose on the young woman's cheeks. Of course she had remembered what he had told her. She was like that, reserved, speaking little although she had many interesting things to say, but she always remembered the important things. Like him, except that Sinclair talked to her all the time.

"Mine now," he said, handing her a very small box.

She unpacked it carefully to find a key. She looked up at him questioningly, one eyebrow raised.

"This is the key to here," Sinclair explained. "All this coming and going... it's a bit redundant, isn't it? And you're here more often than you're in your shared apartment. Stop spending your money to live in this chicken coop and move in with me."

She looked at him, unsure of what to say, and Sinclair felt panic rising in him. Had he wanted to move too fast ?

"Are you serious ?" she finally asked, "I thought you weren't ready," she added.

"I thought so too, but that was before. Contessina, I want to move on. It's time for me to open a new door, to enter a new room, and I want to be in this room with you. I want you to be the one to mark my life for the better."

Contessina squeezed the key between her fingers, nodding briskly, her eyes slightly moist.

"Is that a yes ?"

"That's a yes," she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

"This is the most enjoyable Christmas I've ever had," Sinclair said, resting his forehead against Contessina's.

December 24, 2022

It had been almost a year since Contessina had moved in with Sinclair. They had gotten to know each other better, to live together, to discover and accommodate each other's little flaws. They had had their first fight, their second, their third, but they had never gone to bed angry. That was Contessina's rule: he always had to settle their differences before he went to sleep.

Sinclair's rule was that he should never hide anything from each other. He wanted honesty, even if it hurt. She shouldn't hide anything from him, neither her sorrows, nor her torments, nor what annoyed her about him and above all, above all, if one day she fell in love with someone else, she had to tell him. She should never make fun of him.

Sinclair had insisted so much on this last point that Contessina had timidly asked him if he had been betrayed in the past. Sinclair had hesitated, but in the end, he had told her everything. He owed her that much, after all if he demanded total honesty from her, he had to be so with her in return. Contessina couldn't hold back her grimace of disgust when Sinclair had told her that Natalie had slept with her own brother, in the sheets of her parents' bed.

"When you say her brother... you mean her half-brother, right ? Not a real brother right ? They don't really have blood in common," Contessina had asked.

"No, her real blood brother by blood," Sinclair had coldly answered.

It had made her feel sick. How could this woman she didn't know but never wanted to meet, firstly betray a man like Sinclair who would have served her the moon on a silver platter if she had asked for it, and secondly with her own brother ? 

And to top it all off, she had the nerve to get fucked like the female dog she was in Sinclair's parents' bed.

But this revelation had helped Contessina to better understand Sinclair, to better understand some of his behaviours and to definitively tolerate his possessiveness and his slight jealousy that had annoyed her a little at first.

Sinclair felt that he didn't really have any reason to doubt her. He didn't imagine her as the type to sleep with another and she was an only child. But he had wounds that didn't would never truly heal and he couldn't put to sleep that primal instinct that had awakened in him when he realized he was in love with her. That instinct that pushed him to protect what was his, in this case her. He loved her, deeply. She was his second chance and he couldn't bear to have his happiness taken away from him again. She was his redemption.

That Christmas, he was spending it at Sinclair's parents' house. It wasn't the first time he'd taken her there, but it was the first time she'd celebrate Christmas with them. He'd been reassured when his mother had told him one evening on the phone that she adored her. She was kind, polite, well-mannered and much more cultured than "the other one".

Of course, Sinclair's parents didn't know the whole story, he had been too ashamed to tell them that apparently he was such a poor husband that his wife had needed to find comfort in sticking his brother's penis in her sheath, but when he had told them of their divorce, he had been surprised to see the relief of his parents who had finally admitted to him that they had never loved him.

"She wasn't the one for you," his mother had whispered to him, "but she, Contessina... she can hold a conversation with you. She's interested in what interests you even if at first she thought she wouldn't like it. She reads your books, she watches the movies you like... and you do the same... She's the one, my boy."

His mother's approval that night had definitively erased any doubts he had been able to harbour. And as midnight struck and everyone exchanged enthusiastic "Merry Christmas," Sinclair watched Contessina get a kiss on the cheek from her slightly tipsy father and smiled. He had done well three years ago to agree to try to close the door to his past and open a new one a crack. He had done so shyly, but that half-open door that had pushed him to accept William's invitation had introduced him to Contessina. She was in the right room at the right time and his life had changed.

December 24, 2023

Sinclair and Contessina had flown to Italy five days earlier. He had promised to show her Rome and he had kept his word. He had taken him to all the tourist spots, from the Colosseum to the Vatican, had made him eat pizza at what he thought was the best pizzeria in the city, and had convinced him to eat "the best ice cream in the whole world" despite the bitter winter cold.

On this Christmas Eve, they were sitting at a table in a fancy restaurant that Sinclair had booked for the privacy it offered. In their alcove, away from prying eyes, they shared different varieties of pasta, grilled meats, and tasty vegetables.

"I'm so happy to be here with you," Sinclair told him as he poured him a glass of champagne.

"And I'm so grateful that you introduced me to Italy," she said, her eyes sparkling with joy.

"We'll see many other places, I promise. How about Paris for the spring ? And maybe Florence for the summer ? You wanted to see where Da Vinci had lived, right ?"

"Sinclair ! You spoil me too much," Contessina replied, a slight pinkness on her cheeks.

"Nothing is too much for you," Sinclair replied firmly.

And he meant it. She brought him a happiness, a joy that he thought he would never find again. He had known many people since his childhood. Each one in different rooms, each one who had marked him, hurt him, shaped him, broken him sometimes too. He had had to close many doors, open others, sometimes open windows when the doors refused to open, but he felt an endless gratitude for the door that had opened on this woman in front of him who looked at him as if he were the most wonderful person in the world.

Dessert arrived. A tiramisu, Contessina's favourite dessert, and fresh fruit. But before she could sink her fork into what she called the dessert of the Gods, Sinclair grabbed both of her hands in one of his.

Contessina raised her green eyes to Sinclair's, eyes in which he could read her soul and in his soul, the sincerity of the love she had for him. This was the moment, he was sure of it. The dim light of the restaurant reflected on his curved nose. His heart was beating wildly.

"Contessina, meeting you is the best thing that could have happened to me. I didn't think I'd get a second chance, but you are my second chance. And I just regret not having had the patience to wait longer for you to be my one and only chance."

He let go of her hands to take a small velvet box from the inside pocket of his jacket. Contessina briefly closed her eyes, sensing what was coming.

"Contessina," Sinclair began as he gently opened the box, "will you marry me ?"

The young woman's eyes immediately filled with tears she had been holding back. Before her was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. A sapphire surrounded by small diamonds set in a gold band.

"Contessina ?" Sinclair asked with emotion as she was slow to answer.

"Oh, Sinclair ! Yes ! Yes! A thousand times yes !"

Sinclair took her left hand and placed the ring on her ring finger, his own eyes misting with tears.

"I promise to be the best of husbands," Sinclair said as he kissed each of her fingers.

"And I promise to be the best of wives, Sinclair."

And seven months later, in a small, discreet church in Paddington, Sinclair and Contessina said yes to each other for better or for worse, even if Sinclair had no doubt that he would only get the best since he had already had the worst.

December 24, 2024

In his arms, Contessina had fallen asleep, still exhausted from the last few frightening days she had spent. Sinclair did not blame her, he knew that although she hid her weaknesses, and although he didn't doubt her strength, she still had to heal. Her body had been tested, more than it should have been. She had lost a lot of blood, but fortunately, the doctors had managed to stabilize her and had assured Sinclair that she would recover provided she stayed warm, hydrated and fed properly to regain her strength, and above all, had plenty of rest.

It had been their little secret for a long time. As long as she could hide it. On the wedding day, no one had noticed anything except Sinclair who could discern the subtle changes in the body of the woman he loved most in the world. He and apparently the father of his brand new wife, but he couldn't blame the old man for knowing his daughter so well.

When she had announced to him one evening in April that he was going to be a father, Sinclair, for the first time, had been at a loss for words, which had made the young woman burst out laughing.

"You fill me with joy," he had finally said, taking her in his arms and squeezing her with all his strength as if he was afraid she might disappear.

The pregnancy had not been easy. Contessina had nothing of the fulfilled mother-to-be. She threw up all the time, her back, legs and feet hurt all day long and at six months pregnant, she had to stop working when her placenta had slightly detached, causing bleeding that had nearly made Sinclair's heart stop.

But there had also been good times. The baby's first kicks as Sinclair, his head resting on his wife's belly, read him a Dickens story. His moments when his wife's eyes shone with an indefinable sparkle that made her even more radiant or how she had shone by his side, head held high despite her discomfort, during an important evening at Sinclair's work celebrating his brand new promotion.

There had also been the decorating of the baby's room, their little quarrel over whether or not he would know the sex of the baby - Sinclair absolutely wanted to have the surprise, and he had won - and all the evenings when, despite his own fatigue, Sinclair had patiently massaged his feet.

The baby had finally arrived two weeks early. Contessina had woken up in the middle of the night and Sinclair had woken up with a start when she had shaken him lightly.

"I think the baby is coming," she had said with tears in her eyes.

Without waiting, Sinclair had helped him put on a pair of jogging pants and one of his own t-shirts, had put him in the car where the maternity bag had already been in the trunk for over a month and had driven him to the hospital. And indeed, their little treasure, eager to celebrate Christmas with his parents, hadrents, were ready to show themselves. The delivery had been long, tiring, stressful, especially when she had started to lose so much blood that the doctors had had to take her to the operating room to perform an emergency cesarean, leaving Sinclair alone in a sanitized hallway that stank of disinfectant and where a rickety Christmas tree had been placed.

He had been afraid that night, afraid of losing his wife and child, of losing his child, or worse still of losing his wife. But the two of them had held on, two true warriors who had won this battle against life and death, who had broken down the door of survival.

And it was with joy that Sinclair had opened the door of their house to this new little being that he had loved at first sight. His flesh and blood. His son.

"Sinclair ?"

Sinclair came back to reality when he heard the voice of Contessina who had just woken up.

"Are you okay, my love ?" he asked her, smoothing a strand of her brown hair behind her ear while she was rubbed her eyes in a very cute way that reminded Sinclair their young baby.

She moaned slightly before sitting up with Sinclair's help, who, without her having to say it, guessed the pain she was still feeling.

"I think I could use a hot chocolate," she whispered, her voice still hoarse with sleep.

Sinclair immediately complied as she sat comfortably on the couch, noticing that Sinclair had just started the first episode of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Her body was still aching. She knew she had to be patient. She had had a lucky escape in that operating room, that room where they had put her into an artificial sleep to get her baby out of her body, to save their lives.

When she woke up, in her hospital room, the two men of her life were there: her father and her husband. Finally, the three men of her life, since in her grandfather's arms was her son.

She would never forget the emotion she felt when Sinclair took the baby back to place him in his arms.

"I waited for you for the name," he had told her while kissing her on the forehead.

She briefly closed her eyes while smiling softly at her memories when Sinclair's voice brought her back to reality.

"My lady's hot chocolate. And mine," he said while placing two steaming cups, full of marshmallows, on the coffee table.

A small whimper was then heard right next to them, in the small crib that was in the living room.

"I'll get him," Sinclair said while standing up.

He came back with their little boy in his arms and sat next to Contessina who rested her head against his shoulder, as well as a protective hand on her son's stomach, which was still sensitive because he's difficult start in life. But with a loving mother and a strong and caring dad, he will be very soon becoming stronger.

"He's beautiful," Sinclair said, looking at him with the same wonder she had when the nurse had come to put him in her arms.

"He looks just like you," Contessina said, kissing Sinclair's cheek.

"Thank you," Sinclair said, his hazel eyes looking into his wife's.

"For telling you that our son looked like you ?"

"No, for coming into my life. For giving me hope in love again. For agreeing to marry me, for never telling me to go away when I talk too much, for genuinely caring about me, for always supporting me and him. Thank you for giving me our child. For giving me a family."

Contessina snuggled closer to him, moved.

"Thank you, Sinclair, for noticing me and for never thinking that I wasn't good enough to be in your life. In your world."

Sinclair rested his chin against the top of Contessina's skull without ever taking his eyes off their child. 

Thomas Sinclair Bryant. 

His son. His heir. The fruit of his love with the true woman of his life, the one with whom he would grow old and face the trials of illness, of old age, but not for a long time. 

Before being old and sick, they still had many things to experience together with their little boy. Many doors to close, many doors to open, rooms to explore. And Sinclair, overwhelmed by happiness, made a promise to himself to help his son get out of the rooms where the people who will be there will have bad intentions, to help him choose his path carefully, but above all, he would teach him that no matter the difficulties of life, the trials and sufferings, he should always have the courage to get up and open a new door.

[lunarubra]

So, here we are. This chapter is shorter than the others, but I wanted to wrap up the first part of the story in a sweet way, and this is what came out. It's pure fluff—I hope you like it! :) More will happen in the next parts, I just need to get back into writing and feel good about it. Thank you for being patient with me, and I’m sorry for the long wait. Comments make me very happy..

Pairing: Cillian x OC (Jiyan Fabris)

Summary: The end of the first part of the story, where they both finally found their balance.

Warning: English not my First Language, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort.

Words: 2266

Previous | Masterlist

Chapter 9 - Glow of the Water

“You know, I always expect the worst from this island, but I’m glad it surprises me sometimes,” Jiyan said with a playful smile.

Cillian, who was driving, shot her a mildly offended look. They had just left Galway, where the night before he’d celebrated the 35th anniversary of the local theatre with fellow actors and screenwriters. It was also where she finally met his famous friend Enda—the one he couldn’t stop talking about.

The event had been incredible—watching all the interconnected plays was engaging, and Jiyan finally got to see Cillian perform on stage, which was one of the most special things he shared with her. Afterward, the actors gathered at a local pub for a lively, traditional Irish night. It was the most fun Jiyan had had in months, especially watching Cillian and Enda get tipsy a bit too quickly, something she found endlessly amusing. Teasing her drunk boyfriend might have bordered on cruelty, but she had enjoyed it far too much to care.

The following morning, after a couple of Bloody Marys for Cillian—and tea for Jiyan, who still couldn’t understand why anyone would want to drink tomatoes (tomatoes were for cooking or salads, not for juice)—and a hearty breakfast, they set off for the coast. Jiyan hadn’t seen much of Ireland outside Dublin, except for a visit to Cork with Cillian, but she’d never explored the western coast or the countryside, which Cillian found hard to believe. She’d been in Ireland for nearly five months, as he reminded her while planning the trip, and still hadn’t visited some of its most beautiful spots. To him, that needed immediate fixing.

“What do you mean?” Cillian asked, frowning slightly.

“Well, you have to admit, as lovely as it is, it’s always raining. And when it’s not, the sun plays hide-and-seek with the clouds. I almost cried last week when the weatherman said we were in for a ‘nice week.’ You know why? Because that ‘nice week’ meant sixteen hours of sunshine. Sixteen hours. For the whole week! That has to violate the Geneva Convention or something.”

“The ‘weatherman’?” Cillian asked, amused.

“In Italy, we’d call him uccello del malaugurio—someone who only brings bad news and somehow makes it happen.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not actually controlling the weather, love.”

“He’s bringing bad luck, I swear! I know you Irish are used to this, but I’m not. The other day, a woman probably thought I was lost. I kept weaving between buildings, crossing the street a thousand times, trying to chase the sun!”

Cillian stifled a groan, well aware of how frustrating it was to walk with her on sunny days. He almost preferred when it rained, because Jiyan would prepare like a marine about to head into battle—wrapped in two scarves, a beanie covering most of her face—and would march through the streets, efficient and fast. But on sunny days? It was like following an overexcited child with no sense of direction. She’d zigzag across the street, dodging every shadow cast by buildings, street lamps, anything that blocked the sun. She’d jaywalk without hesitation just to stay in the light, and sometimes she even abandoned the sidewalk to walk in the middle of the road. Needless to say, the neighbours had become extra watchful whenever Jiyan was out and about.

The playful banter faded naturally, giving way to the soft sound of Nina Simone’s voice, setting a relaxed, comfortable mood in the car. They were driving along a coastal road where the cliffs met the ocean, the peaceful day mirroring the calm inside. Unlike the stormy days before, the sea was serene, and the sun hung lazily on the horizon. Even with the windows closed, Jiyan could hear the distant calls of seagulls, blending perfectly with Nina Simone’s soothing voice from the speakers.

Cillian’s hand had unconsciously found its way to her leg, drawing lazy circles with his thumb, while Jiyan absentmindedly caressed his forearm. She felt more relaxed than she had in a long time, simply enjoying the scenery and the warm sunlight spilling through the window.

“So why do you say it surprises you?” he asked.

“Well, even though this isn’t exactly my kind of weather, it’s really beautiful—and I’m kind of surprised by that,” she joked, then turned toward him and took his hand. She smiled softly and paused for a moment. “Thank you for today.”

Cillian glanced at her, returning her smile as if trying to capture the moment forever—Jiyan with her wild hair escaping the messy bun, gazing out toward the ocean, her eyes reflecting the different shades of the water.

“We’re almost there,” he said, holding her hand and kissing it.

The trail seemed to fly by as they walked along the cliffs, the beauty of the landscape unlike anything Jiyan had ever experienced. She thought, if there was a place where the colour green had been invented, it had to be here.

They spent most of the hike chatting—getting into lively talks about European and American cinema and even a passionate debate over The Beatles over the Rolling Stones. But once they reached the Cliffs of Moher, the conversation faded, and Jiyan just stood there, quiet, taking in the stunning view.

She leaned back against Cillian’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her hands rested on his, holding him as she soaked in the moment, lost in the scenery and the peacefulness surrounding them.

She snuggled deeper into Cillian’s embrace, letting out a contented sigh.

"I love this," she said softly, her voice barely louder than the wind. "It’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ve felt this at peace in... I can’t even remember when."

Cillian hummed in agreement, pulling her even closer. Her hair, tousled by the breeze, brushed against his chin as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of her head.

They stood there for a while, wrapped in each other and the wild beauty surrounding them. The cliffs stretched out endlessly, meeting the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean below. The sea, dark and restless, crashed against the rocks, but the horizon was calm, the late afternoon sun casting a golden light over everything.

"I’m glad you finally got to see this," Cillian murmured, his voice low. "I’ve been wanting to bring you here since we were in Cork."

Jiyan smiled, her gaze still fixed on the ocean. "I get it now. It’s... overwhelming in the best way. It feels like time just stops here."

Cillian chuckled softly, resting his chin on her shoulder. "That’s Ireland for you. It has a way of pulling you in, even when you least expect it."

She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him, her eyes warm and bright. "Thank you for bringing me here," she said, her voice softer and more intimate this time.

"Anytime," he whispered, giving her a gentle squeeze. "It’s moments like this that make all the rain and cloudy days worth it."

They stood together in comfortable silence, both lost in the tranquillity of the moment. Finally, Jiyan broke the stillness, her tone light but playful as she glanced up at him.

“If I had told Samyah last year that I’d find peace—and a whole new life—in Ireland, she probably would’ve staged an intervention,” Jiyan chuckled.

Cillian stiffened slightly, unsure of what to say. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "You’ve never really talked again about... about what happened, about her. I didn’t want to pry."

Jiyan tightened her grip on his arms around her waist, as if steadying herself. She let out a soft breath. "I never really talked about what happened—before that day when I had the panic attack. It was too painful, and I just hoped I could forget it, lock it away. There are still things that happened after, but I'm not ready to talk about them yet. I don’t even know how to explain it. Then I met you, and I thought I could move on, be happy, and leave everything in the past. But it didn’t work like that. After we got back from Cork, after your sister’s birthday, the panic attacks started again."

"You didn’t tell me..." he said softly, his concern evident.

She turned in his arms to face him. "I know. I’m sorry. I just hoped that if I ignored it long enough, it would disappear."

Cillian cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing her cheek. "I don’t think it works that way, love."

"No, it doesn’t," she replied with a half-hearted smile, sadness lingering in her eyes. "That’s why I started seeing a therapist. And it’s helping… it’s helping a lot."

"You started therapy? When?" he asked, slightly surprised.

"Not long ago, I swear. I’m only on my third session," she said quickly. "I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I wanted to keep it to myself until I felt more comfortable. Honestly, I haven’t been the best patient... I’m not great at asking for help, and it took me a while to figure it out," she admitted. Her voice softened then, her eyes searching his. "Are you... is it okay?"

Cillian’s gaze fixed on her, and he gently placed his hands on her arms. "Am I...? Jiyan, of course. This is good. This is really good." He paused, trying to find the right words. "You’re one of the strongest people I know, but I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been dealing with everything that happened. I want to help, but sometimes... I'm really not sure how."

"Therapy is good—it’s so important," he continued, hesitating for a moment as he glanced around, almost like the scenery might give him the words he needed. "There were days when I could tell something was off. You seemed distant, and I thought giving you space was the right thing to do... that maybe you didn’t want to be pushed. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there when you needed me." he concluded lowering his gaze.

Jiyan shook her head gently, her eyes softening. "Cillian, you’ve already helped more than you know. You didn’t need to fix everything. You just had to be here, and you were. That’s all I needed."

He exhaled slowly, relieved by her words but still carrying a hint of hesitation. "I just... I hate that you went through this alone. I should’ve said something or done more."

She smiled, placing her hand over chest, just above his heart. "I’m working through a lot of things, but one thing I’m sure about... You came into my life exactly when I needed you. I wasn’t ready before, and I don’t think I would’ve let anyone in." Her voice softened as she continued, "But you made it safe for me. I know I shut down sometimes, but you’ve always been patient. You gave me space when I needed it and support when I couldn’t ask for it."

Cillian lowered his head, resting his forehead against hers. "I’m glad, but... I’m here, Jiyan. It’s not just you—I’m here," he emphasised again. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."

"I know," she whispered. "It’s not easy for me, but I’m learning that it’s okay to lean on people again."

They stood there for a moment, forehead to forehead, the gentle sound of the ocean filling the quiet between them. The weight of her words seemed to settle around them, but instead of feeling heavy, it brought a sense of lightness, as if a burden had finally been lifted.

Cillian stepped back slightly, gazing at the person who had entered his life like a hurricane and somehow filled every gap, every empty space inside him. He thought about all the times his friends or brother, after yet another failed relationship, had told him he’d just know when he met the right person. They said it would feel natural, intense, and effortless—he wouldn’t even have to think about it. And they were right. Before he realised it, he was completely connected to her.

“Tá mé i ngrá leat,” he murmured, feeling Jiyan stiffen slightly.

"You..." she started.

"You don’t have to say anything," he said gently. "I just... Tá mé i ngrá leat, Jiyan," he repeated, cupping her face.

“Ez jî ji te hez dikim,” she whispered back.

"What?" he asked, baffled.

"What, I know what you told me in Irish, and you don’t understand Kurdish?" she teased, a playful smile spreading across her face.

Cillian laughed softly, his expression warming. "I think you’ve got the advantage when it comes to languages, Aji."

"I love you too," she said again, this time more softly, and then kissed him slowly. She poured all her emotions into the kiss—all the love, gratitude, and vulnerability she had held inside. Cillian responded in kind, holding her even closer as the moment deepened.

When the kiss finally ended, they stayed like that, forehead to forehead, breathing heavily, as if they’d both come up for air after diving deep into something profound.

"Okay, this was amazing—I love you, and the place is beautiful," Jiyan said with a teasing tone, "but it’s freezing, way too cold for tiny Mediterranean me. Can we go back?"

Cillian laughed softly, kissing her forehead “Yeah we can go back, come on”.

As they began to walk back along the cliffs, the salty breeze tousled their hair and the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocks filled the air. Jiyan leaned into Cillian’s side, feeling warmth radiate from him despite the chill of the weather. They exchanged smiles, sealing their pact in that beautiful moment, the ocean and the cliffs standing as their witnesses.

Previous | Masterlist

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter. Your feedback, in any form helps me to continue write this story; and comments makes me happy. See you at the next one :)

[stateofcharles]

Interview with Amina Zaripova on her new job in China (source - translating a translation!)

"The Chinese were shocked": Mamun's former coach - about working in a new country, professional freedom and benching. Zaripova accepted an offer to work with the Chinese national team via social media

The Chinese's victory in rhythmic gymnastics group AA in Paris 2024 was not a sensation, although rhythmic gymnastics in the country is only beginning to really gain popularity, five-time world champion Amina Zaripova said in an interview with RT. In her opinion, in the near future Chinese athletes have a good chance to achieve high results in individual competition. The coach also told how she decided to work in a foreign country, explained why she was afraid to commit herself to a long-term contract and noted that the new rules make this sport insanely interesting.

At what point in your life did the subject of working in China arise? It arose very trivially and completely by accident. At the very end of 2023, I was with my son abroad, flying to him for the New Year holidays. One day I was browsing social media and saw information in my personal messages that representatives of the Chinese rhythmic gymnastics team wanted to contact me.

Did you know any of these people? No. China has an amazing recruitment system. The enquiry does not come to the sports federation, but is a kind of headhunting: like, here are some people looking for a coach, would you like to consider this offer? I responded to this post more for the sake of fanfare.

So you didn't think the offer would be serious at all? No, absolutely not. Especially since in the second message they asked me to send my CV. I thought, ‘That's normal. They ask me for a CV too.’ But I sent some text that a journalist friend helped me to compose and translate. And somehow everything was wrapped up very quickly….

What conditions did you set on your part? The main thing was a guaranteed opportunity to perform with Chinese athletes at international competitions. In our sport, China is famous for the fact that its gymnasts rarely go anywhere at all - and they perform very rarely, and even then within the country. So for me it was a fundamental moment.

It seems that while staying in Russia, you suffered greatly without a real job. It would be wrong to say that. I left the Russian national team consciously. After Rita Mamun and a few years later Dasha Trubnikova (champion of the 2018 Youth Olympics. - RT) finished their careers, I got a good girl, Nicole Rimarachin Diaz. We even managed to win competitions for children of pre-junior age with her. But I left her to Irina Alexandrovna Viner and went into freelancing. I took care of my school, travelled with master-classes. I felt a little tired: there had been too much big sport in my life. Plus I had my fourth child and was trying to finally become a real mum. That was the most important thing in my life at the time.

To be honest, I still can't comprehend it: leaving the Russian team to be able to spend morte time with family and suddenly such a change! Let's start from the fact that my children are adults already. Arseniy is 21, Afanasy is 16, but he is an indipendent boy too. The girls stay with me.

And how did your husband react? Fortunately, both he and I are totally crazy in our profession. So Lesha said we should at least try it. so that we would not regret it later. And in the meantime, see how many pros and cons there were. Pros were more and the decision was taken anyway. Especially because I understood myself how much I was missing real work. I felt it in a particularly brutal way whilst watching the Paris Olympics. I remember sitting in front of the screen and not being able to erase this thought: I want to go back.

When talking about pros, do you mean being able to compete internationally? Not just that. The absolute freedom of coaching, too. Profession-wise, I've never been so free.

I have a very good contract, which states that I can leave the country should personal necessities arise. Generally, when we started contract talks and they discovered I have four children, they were shocked. Especially considering that in China, for a long time, normality was having one child, rarely two.

I thought those times were over... Such things stay in the mentality for a long time. Even a two-children family in China is rare. I haven't seen anyone with three. It's surprising, actually. As I've heard whilst being in the country, after COVID the government is even ready to pay young families so that they have children, but young adults don't want to.

If you have such a good contract, why not signing it immediately for the whole four years, until the next Olympics? I was offered to, but I chose otherwise: why binding myself to it? If everything keeps going smoothly, we'll simply extend the contract. A contract is, up to a certain extent, a picture. Maybe I think this way because I've never been a contract kind of person. Now I have to consider many shades. For instance, I cannot post photos on my social media accounts without permission. I posted them once and they told me no. I'm also forced to approve everything regarding the national team. If at some point I want to go home for a while, I need to give a 3-week notice and find a replacement. I have to get used to all these details.

How is your work in China structured? My job description says I'm the head coach of the whole national team, including junior and pre-junior teams. I only work on the individuals. The groups work is coordinated by Nastya Bliznyuk.

How competitive can Chinese gymnasts be in individual competitions on a world-level? There's a very talented girl, Lulu (Wang Zilu), with whom Ukranian coach Olena Diachenko has been now working for some years. We met at the 2018 Youth Olympic Games, when Trubnikova won, and last year Lulu became the first Chinese gymnast to ever qualify for the individual Olympic final and to enter the top 10. Which means, last year she was a true competitor for all the best gymnasts. Obviously, I don't expect to train her in any way: Diachenko and she work well together and they only ask me for some tips, nothing more. Consequently, my current job is recruiting other gymnasts to support Wang and create a team she can lead.

At the Olympic Games in Paris, I remember the group gold medal as a great sensation I don't think it was a whole sensation: after all, the Chinese group was already on top of the game two years before Paris, at the World Championships in Sofia. And what is Olympics, we know it very well since Rita Mamun, when everyone bets on a gymnasts but another one wins. To me, the Olympics is a competition that doesn't have to do with reason, but with some sorts of manifestation of higher powers. Especially when it comes to groups. If in the individual championships before the Olympics everything is approximately clear, everything can still happen in the group competition. Whoever makes the fewest mistakes wins. Which naturally doesn't take away the unpredictability of the Chinese win.

Is Chinese rhythmic gymnastics similar to the Russian? Not at all. As I've already said, gymnasts don't really compete. There are two official competitions per year: the Chinese Championships and the Chinese Cup. That's how thy do it. It's incredible to me, discovering that people train to compete twice in their country. Nastya Bliznyuk made a huge effort so that her girls started to go to the World Cup and other international competitions. Again, differently from Russia, here there's no huge benching. You choose between five or six people, basically. Rhythmic gymnastics in China is just now becoming popular. But it's still far away from trampoline and artistic gymnastics.

I know that in these sports Chinese have been copying Soviet methods for many years. Is it still visible? They have their own training methods and, when I met the girls, it killed me, to be honest. I noticed for instance that after the general training, the girls stay at the gym to repeat the exercises. At the beginning I thought I was giving them too little work. But then I discovered that top athletes, including all those from all the national teams, have to regularly pass physical tests like push-ups, jumping, 3000m run.

When I discovered that my girls had to lift 30kgs whilst laying down, I cried, I felt so sorry for them. It was like lifting a wardrobe. Why? I tried to convince them it wasn't right. But they told me everyone does it. Artistic swimmers, weight lifters, volleyball players: everyone has the same set of exercises. If an athlete doesn't pass them for any reason, they can be expelled

I can imagine your state in that moment. I believe a sane mind cannot comprehend this. I still fight, explain that you cannot put a rhythmic gymnast on the same level as a volleyball player or a runner. This year, the weights were removed and the standards were somehow simplified. But, as a matter of principle, I don't go to the gym during these training sessions, because my heart breaks and I cannot do anything.

Are all Chinese athletes constantly under these conditions? Yes. In this sense, their system is basically the same as the USSR's

Do you also live in a sports center? As Nastya Bliznyuk, I'm also renting an apartment in Beijing. And the training takes place in the university.

Are you learning Chinese? I'm in the process, let's say

Is it your choice or something that was requested by your employer? I believe this is only basic respect for the country, for the girls I work with. Little kids don't understand English and I have to constantly explain some things, like "lift your head", "up your toes"... About this, in the first months this required a lot of my time and efforts. Now they already understand my English and Russian. I really like when they come to me at the end of the training and they say in Russian "Miss, I'm done with the session. Thank you!"

Will we see you at the World Championships in Rio this year? Surely. And before, the Junior World Championships in June. For China, this will be the first Junior Championships

Has rhythmic gymnastics changed a lot since you and Rita Mamun won the Olympics in Rio? Truly a lot. The rules change every four years for us. Gymnastics now is closer to me rather than to the one of 2022-2024, because there's more artistry. We have less DBs, only eight. But this doesn't make the sport easier. Firstly, you have to master these elements and secondly there's more focus on artistry, on the coreography. Every accent, every movement has to fit the rhythm, everything must work: the facial expression, the body. Combining all this in a program is really difficult. But these rules, to me, are incredibly interesting

[tea-stained-notes]

Colin x Penelope - Divide | Chapter 2

Colin has made it: He’s a famous pop star, touring the world, adored to extremes. If only he wasn’t drowning his loneliness and anxiety in too many drinks, missing home and yet incapable of going back. But when Violet falls ill and he reluctantly returns he has to face the mess he has made - not only with his family but also the woman who might have always been the one.

Warnings: illness (cancer), death, anxiety, drug use, alcohol abuse, eventual smut

Chapter word count: ~ 2600

MASTERLIST

I'm on my way Drivin' at ninety down those country lanes Singin' to “Tiny Dancer” And I miss the way you make me feel and it's real We watched the sunset over the castle on the hill - Castle On the Hill

The concert is a blur. Mei says they should cancel, that they could sort this out. But Colin doesn’t listen, can barely hear her over the incessant rushing in his ears. “I’m fine,” is all he keeps mumbling. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Tom and Liyana get him ready, then some tech people mic him up. And suddenly he’s on stage, hearing himself shout “Good evening, Boston!” as the crowd goes wild. He’s done this set fifty times, he can sleepwalk through it. And he does. He doesn’t wonder what the audience can see in his face, blown up to god-like dimensions on the screens. He doesn’t notice whether his voice breaks or his hands quiver. Maybe they don’t. Maybe he has practised pushing down his emotions well enough. Then he’s back at the hotel. Mei guides him into the bathroom with a set of comfortable clothes in hand and leaves to pack his bags. He wipes off paint and glitter in a daze, showers and dresses himself as if he was doing it for someone else. “I’m gonna postpone all shows for the next couple of weeks,” Mei says when he returns to the room. “And I’ve booked you on the first flight out. I’ll come get you at five.” “Thanks,” he whispers. He drags himself to the bed and slides under the covers, pulling the duvet up to his nose. When he closes his eyes, she is there. Her amused smile as she watches her children squabble, her soft hands as they place a plaster on his skinned knee, her comforting smell as she leans down to kiss him goodnight. How could there ever be a world without her? “Try to get some sleep, Col.” Mei gently closes the door behind her. And finally, Colin starts crying.

Fifteen hours later his plane descends over London. He fumbles with his glasses, staring down at the message thread on his phone.

Hi Colin. El said you’re flying into Heathrow today. I’m in the area and going to Aubrey Hall anyway, so I’ll come pick you up. Will you send me your flight number, please? I’ll meet you at the gate.

Thank you, Pen. It’s BA238, I’m coming in from Boston. Should be out by 8 pm.

Great, see you soon.

He has been scrolling through their old messages from years ago. When they were constantly exchanging witty quips, late night philosophy and shared plans. When they were best friends. He’s not sure what he is to Penelope now. But she is his only tether to this old world he has left behind, no matter how thinly-worn and frayed. They rarely talk now. Not since that day when he packed up and never looked back. His stomach has been churning with anxiety for hours, the nausea keeping him from asking for the hard liquor they would have gladly served him in his first class seat. Instead he has nibbled on a plain breakfast roll because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking and he tried attributing it to low blood sugar. They’re still trembling. He can’t stop wondering what his family will say. Whether they have anything to say to him. Whether his mother actually wants to see him again before she… He still can’t bear to finish the thought that has been boring into his mind ever since Mei came to deliver the message last night. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have arrived at London Heathrow to a mild 20 degrees. The local time is 7:03 pm. Please remain seated until the seat belt signs are switched off. To everyone visiting: Welcome to England. And to all returnees: Welcome home.” It’s only when a droplet of water trails across his phone screen that he realises he’s crying again.

Colin keeps his head down as he walks out of baggage claim, trying to ignore the hushed “Oh my God, isn’t that… you know, that actor or something?” from the woman whispering to her friend behind him. Please no, not today. He always tries to be kind to his fans but this is the last thing he needs right now. His gaze flickers around, trying to find— Penelope. His heart plummets at the sight of her. Striking blue eyes, a guarded half-smile on her lips. Achingly familiar, yet somehow a stranger. “Hey,” he breathes as he reaches her. “I was half-expecting you to come on a private jet.” He stills for a moment. Then feels a small grin forming. “The climate’s fucked enough, I try to do my part.” “How noble of you.” Their wobbly smirks fade as they stare at each other, something intangible and uncertain between them. “It’s good to see you, Pen.” “Yeah. I wish it wasn’t because of…” He nods, his teeth buried in his bottom lip. Then he gestures at her head. “Your hair, it’s…” “Blond.” “Why?” She shrugs. “I got sick of standing out, I guess.” Colin hums thoughtfully. “Not something you’re familiar with, I know.” As if on cue, he hears the tell-tale shutter sound of a phone camera. Fuck. “Are you parked close by?”

Penelope opens the boot of a light-blue electric Mini. “Just pop your bag in there.” He does, then takes a deep breath before he turns to her. “Would you mind if I drove? I haven’t driven myself in ages.” “Well, under the circumstances it’s probably not the best idea then…” “Please? After seven hours on a plane I’d kill to stretch my legs — even if it’s just to step on the gas.” “Don’t you sound American.” “Occupational accident.” Again, their smiles briefly mirror each other. He marvels at the way they’re slipping back into their old rhythm. Despite the distance in her eyes. And he loves the new confidence in her voice, the way she holds herself a little straighter than he remembers. She’s grown in ways he hadn’t expected. Penelope hands him the keys. “Be gentle with her.”

“So, you’re still a regular at Aubrey Hall?” he asks as they merge onto the motorway. “Not really. But I’ve been working on a manuscript and Anthony and Kate were kind enough to offer me the guest room whenever I want some peace and quiet away from the Big Smoke. And it’s been nice with everyone there ever since… Well. It’s been good to see her more, too.” He swallows. “She’s always liked you.” Penelope looks down at the tangled hands in her lap. There is still a palpable divide between them and Colin thinks that if it’s like this with her, it will be hell with them. “Will you tell me?” she suddenly says. “What happened before you left?” He clenches his jaw. “I just had to get away.” “There’s a big difference between ‘getting away’ and cutting all ties with your family for years.” “What did they say?” “Nothing.” He glances at her, shock flitting across his face. “Nothing?” “Not even from El. It’s been strange since you left. Like… like your ghost still roams the halls. Everyone’s a little quieter. Almost holding their breath, as if you might walk in at any second.” The car slows with every word from her lips. Colin stares fixedly out the windscreen, his breathing rapid and shallow. “I’m sorry.” Penelope grows crimson. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” “Can we do this some other time?” he says curtly. She watches his Adam’s apple bob as his fingers clutch the steering wheel. “Sure.” He hurriedly turns up the radio. A calm folk song drifts from the speakers and after a moment he visibly relaxes again. Penelope tears her gaze from him to look out at the rolling hills, drenched in lush greens from the latest summer rains.

“So… a manuscript. Are you no longer pursuing journalism? I really like your pieces. The one about the London housing market from a couple months ago was brilliant. Anthony was probably frothing at the mouth at the section on inheritocracy.” “You actually read them?” He glimpses at her stunned expression. “What do you think I do all day? Party and snort coke?” “How would I know? We exchange a few texts like five times a year.” “And I have texted you that I like your articles.” “I thought you were just being nice. Not that you actually took the time to read them.” He swallows. “Good to know what you think of me.” They fall silent for a few seconds. Then Penelope briefly touches his hand on the centre console and a spark shoots through him. “I’m sorry. I’m really glad you read my work.” Colin looks over at her, taking in her features. He still can’t fathom that she’s real. Older, different. But still Penelope. Still the woman he once knew. “It’s okay. I haven’t exactly been a good friend,” he mumbles, his eyes back on the road. “So, tell me about that manuscript.” “Well, it’s actually a bit of a spin-off of my journalistic work. Non-fiction, probably a collection of essays but with a common thread running through it. How at their core all issues in contemporary society stem from hyper-individualism, a lack of community and care for our fellow humans.” “Failing to recognise what we owe each other.” “Exactly.” “I love it.” “Yeah?” He glances at her again, his heart leaping at the glowing smile on her face. “I’d love to read some of it. If you want me to.” “It’s a bit of jumbled mess at this point. But maybe some time.” Colin nods, trying and possibly failing to look casual. “I’m surprised Anthony offered you a writing residency for a book like that.” “I wasn’t. Kate and El have really turned him around over the years. Ben and Soph, too.” “But he’s still in the family business of selling real estate to rich arseholes. And Ben’s still CCO or whatever.” “They’re trying to reorient the company. Invest in low-income housing, communal spaces. Anthony’s actually become a valuable resource for my writing.” He’s stunned into silence.

“Oh my God, I haven’t heard that one in ages.” Penelope suddenly turns up the radio, humming along to Tiny Dancer. A small grin creeps onto Colin’s lips. “Shit, remember that Elton John phase we had as teenagers?” he says. “Well, he’s a fucking icon and the other fourteen-year-olds were philistines.” She starts playing piano in the air before singing along. “But, oh, how it feels so real, lying here with no one near. Only you, and you can hear me when I say softly, slowly…” Colin grins even wider as she turns to him expectantly. “Your cue, Bridgerton.” “Hold me closer, tiny dancer,” he sings softly. “Count the headlights on the highway. Lay me down in sheets of linen. You had a busy day today.” “Oh, come on. That’s not the kind of performance they’re drowning you in money for.” “Drowning in money, huh?” “As much as you like to bitch about your brother, you’re not exactly Oliver Twist yourself.” “You do know it’s mostly the labels that get rich on artists.” “Sure, tell me all about how destitute one of the biggest pop stars of our generation is.” He looks over at her, once again marvelling at how feisty she’s become. Twenty-year-old Penelope was witty and clever, but the past five years have noticeably sharpened her. “Okay, Featherington, show me how it’s done.” She smirks at him, then breaks into a passionate rendition of the second verse, pantomiming every line until Colin can’t help but chuckle. This time he takes the pre-chorus, his voice growing bolder along with his foot on the accelerator. The speed raises his adrenaline as they both belt out the final chorus. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt anything like this. While the closing bars drift from the speakers, he slows the car and turns to her, still beaming. “I’ve really missed you.” Her features slip at his confession and panic rushes back into his system. But before he can try to backpedal she gives him a soft smile. “Me too, Col.” The blazing heat along his spine mellows into a pleasant warmth that seeps into his cheeks and chest. He is infinitely thankful that she’s by his side as they’re making their way towards Kent. Towards a welcome most likely very different from this.

They don’t talk much for the rest of the drive, just occasional comments on a song or a piece of news on the radio. Mostly, he just revels in her company and the familiar surroundings coated in warm hues from the setting sun. Despite everything, there is a strange sense of comfort in the landscape so ingrained in his heart that he has unwittingly compared every other scenery of his travels against it. Just a few minutes out from Aubrey Hall something catches his eye. “Isn’t that the castle ruin we all used to play in?” Penelope hums in agreement. “We clambered about there for hours.” “Yeah, you made up all these elaborate tales. We were thieves and pirates and disgraced royalty. It was the best.” He glances at her. “I always thought you would be a novelist one day. Or a playwright.” She swallows, avoiding his gaze. “I guess at some point I had enough of making up fantasies.”

It’s after ten when they pull up at the mansion that has been the setting of countless Bridgerton stories. Tragedies both great and small. Colin looks up at his mother’s dimly lit bedroom with a lump in his throat. This will be one of the greatest of them all. He turns to Penelope one last time. “Thank you for picking me up.” She nods, a hint of a smile on her lips. “I hope the driving helped.” “You helped.” He cannot tell if she’s blushing or just being illuminated by the sun’s dying light.

Once his feet hit the gravel, Colin briefly checks his phone. Mei has sent the link to an article in the Daily Mirror. ‘The Prodigal Third Son Returns: Expat Pop Star Spotted at Heathrow Amidst Confusion About His Cancelled Tour Dates’ Just FIY, she writes. I’ll try to rein in the rumors but keep a low profile x Penelope’s face isn’t visible in the photos. He prays that no others will surface. She lifts their luggage out of the boot, then walks ahead of him towards the entrance. Colin picks up his bags and follows her, surprised at the casualness with which she lets herself into his family home. He remembers a time when she tried to take up as little space as possible, almost melting into walls, as if they would send her away once they noticed that she wasn’t actually a Bridgerton. Maybe she knows now. That she’s always belonged. She turns to him in the foyer. “I’ll go upstairs. They’re probably waiting for you in the sitting room.” He wipes his palms on his jeans, inhaling deeply. “Thanks again. I’ll see you in the morning?” “Sure. Night, Colin.” As she quietly makes her way up the staircase, tense words drift from the room he’s about to enter. He can’t decipher them, but the familiar voices alone make his stomach flip. Time to face whatever awaits him behind that door.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

CHAPTER 3

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