#but alas—this is my current emotional state

[pearlcaddy]

I’m at that stage of homesickness where I came across one of those kitschy LA tourist shirts at TK Maxx and almost burst into tears.

[catscidr]

Could you make a scenario with sick reader and Yandere doctor please 😭

need him to walk into my room in a nurse outfit and take care of me when i get sick... but Alas he's not real... woe is me(༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ)..... WHATEVER i can always write about him anyways so im WINNING EITHER WAY...... (inhales copium) ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: yandere dottore, he's a little overbearing, reader has a cold. that's pretty much it (lmk if i missed anything!) includes: gn reader, dottore, iota (youngest segment) wc: 1,3k

Ooohhhh he would be mad. Not in an explosive way, but in a “I’m not mad, just disappointed” way except he IS mad, he’s just really good at keeping his emotions under wraps. You know this, too. He made sure that you did. 

It didn’t matter what kind of illness you came down with; a common cold, the flu, something worse? He’s freakishly good at reading you, and he didn’t need to hear you blowing your nose or sniffling every other second to know you had gotten sick. The skin around your nose blossoming into a darker, reddish tone and your eyelids drooping just a bit lower than usual was enough for him to know you weren’t telling him something you should have. 

It also didn’t matter if you didn’t even see him- he had eyes everywhere, quite literally. It was rare for you to be anywhere in the palace or the lab without one of his clones attached to your hip, whether it be a younger clone tagging along to do something more interesting than breaking open a ruin guard, or an older clone staying by your side, taking a break from work to enjoy your company. 

So, of course, even if the doctor happened to be especially busy when you suddenly caught a cold, you’d still be stuck with him being the equivalent to a mother hen because of how seriously he took your health. 

Usually you didn’t mind his attention, you’d even bask in it, but this time you couldn’t stand it. Your state had been manageable for the past two days and, thankfully, Prime and his clones were none the wiser to your nose overproducing snot nor the way your eyes had more crust around them when you woke up in the morning. But you feared that today would be the day he’d catch you and promote you to being his bedwarmer- literally. Last time you got sick and went to him for help you felt like you were in urgent care, forced to stay in his bed, having at least two of his segments stay with you 24/7, making you eat four meals a day despite your lack of appetite and desperate need for sleep. 

You could insist all you want that you were fine, that you just needed to vegetate in bed for a day or two and you’d be back on your feet in no time, but no, he refused to have any of it. He’d ask who’s the doctor here? in the same condescending voice he used whenever one of his lackeys displeased him (and you’d reply with you didn’t even graduate if you weren’t so tired), and then would throw you over his shoulder to bring you to his spotless bedroom so you could rest while he keeps an eye on you.

The one thing you were happy about was how Dottore wasn’t prone to blatant violence. Nothing physical, at least. When needed, he would slip medication into your water to help you sleep, would graciously lift your sleeve to give you a shot while you were knocked out cold and give you special medicine to make sure you had all the vitamins you needed. He wouldn’t do any of that if you had cooperated with him in the first place, though; so, you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him. At least not for long. 

Like clockwork, you were currently going through that same order of events. 

In retrospect, it was a bad idea to indulge Iota and go out in the snow to make a snowman with him- but how could you resist him! The lab could feel so stuffy as it was, and the additional smell of blood covered up by strong cleaning agents only did so little to help you resist his pleas. So, you grabbed Dottore’s Harbinger coat and got yourself dragged outside by the small but mighty youngest segment as he eagerly talked your ear off about having a snowball fight, making a myriad of snow angels and other winter activities you weren’t familiar with. 

After getting absolutely pelted with snow (Iota was good at snowball fights, surprisingly) you hung up Dottore’s coat to dry and made your way to the bathroom to wipe off any snow and water that had gotten on your skin despite the large, fluffy cloak you wore. Iota waved you off with a boyish grin and a taunting better luck next time! as you watched him saunter off into the direction of his creator’s lab. Your fingertips felt cold but as you dried your skin thoroughly you felt your body gradually warm up, and that was enough for your standards. 

Placing the towel on a rack to dry, you then headed over to your room to relax your aching muscles after the remarkably intense snowball fight. You laid down underneath the covers, grateful to be able to take a nap. However, when you awoke about two hours later, you thought you felt your arms weighed even more than before, and your head throbbed an ache that wasn’t there previously. And surely, a day later, you find yourself sneakily throwing away your used tissues somewhere that Dottore won't find them, else he subjects you to his overbearing methods of... curing you. 

You did your best to make your footsteps as careful and light as possible, lowering the chances of one of them finding you with a trash bag full of snot-filled tissues. Unfortunately for you though, maybe you should have worn something other than pyjamas because, as luck had it, although a segment hasn’t seen your physical state, a patrolling agent did. 

He spoke into a walkie-talkie quietly enough that your ears didn’t pick up the sound of his voice and, as you're about to step outside to throw the trash bag out, you feel a hand on your shoulder. A cold, gloved hand that you could recognize anywhere with your eyes closed. You halt your movements as the (not so) mysterious figure behind you stays silent, waiting for you to say something first. 

Your shoulders slump forward in defeat, and you sniffle. “I don’t wanna be locked up in your room again,” you say quietly, voice slightly slurred from your cold. He scoffs, his hand squeezing your shoulder gently enough for it to be comforting. “Maybe if you didn’t try to go outside while having a cold I would reevaluate your options,” he sighs. “Alas, you leave me no choice. What were you thinking?” Dottore turns you around and frowns, tilting his head to the side. If you were anyone else you would have been dead where you stood, but here you are; wearing one of his old shirts and a loose pair of sweatpants, one of your hands gripping a trash bag, and the other wiping your nose. You stand awkwardly, looking away sheepishly, not particularly enjoying being caught red-handed like this. 

“It would be unhygienic to keep all of those used tissues in my room,” you respond with a nonchalant shrug. He holds back the urge to sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, mask lifting just a tad from the action, and exhales slowly. You would be the death of him eventually, he thought tiredly. 

Dottore bends down low enough to grab the bag from your hands and looks over his shoulder, tossing it to a poor unsuspecting fatui soldier. The soldier in question stumbles back slightly, just barely keeping themselves from tripping over, as Dottore signals for them to throw it away themselves. You don’t have the time to speak up before the person scurries away. 

“Next time don’t be so obvious,” he says quietly enough that only you can hear him. He bends his torso forward slightly, holding his face leveled with yours. “And next time you decide to get sick,” he begins with a raspy tone, holding your chin up with his palm, “come to me immediately. Lest you want me to wrestle you into my room again.” 

You’d be blushing if you didn’t know what was going to happen. Dottore straightens his back and outstretches his hand to you, looking at you from below his mask. Defeated, you interlace your fingers with his and jut your lip out as you hold back the urge to whine. A small smile graces his face as he guides you back to the lab. 

[songmingisthighs]

Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. xvii - 2 seconds

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

You don't know why you were so nervous to meet Hongjoong again. It wasn't like you fear him. Maybe it was the prospect of getting a new job that make you feel rather nauseated.

Even as you bring your mug to your lips you felt your hands trembling slightly, a sight that made Yeonjun sigh in pity.

Each time the door of Yeonjun's cafe open, you couldn't help but snap your head towarda it, expecting to see the dad and son duo. It happened around 7 times before you saw a familiar boy running and colliding against the door, pressing his face harshly in hopes to open the door but alas his entire body weight was not enough to budge the door. Within seconds, his dad showed up, slightly dishevelled and out of breath and you easily figured Kijoong had slipped away and ran to the cafe by himself.

Once the door opened, Kijoong dashed to you and without you even welcoming him, he climbed up on your lap. "Kijoong!" Hongjoong called out exasperatedly which sadly fell deaf on Kijoong's ears as he squeezed your cheeks together, "HI!" he yelled at your face before giggling and (stranggling) hugging you with his arms tightly. "I'm so sorry," Hongjoong sheepishly apologized and tried to pull Kijoong away only for Kijoong to bite his arm, causing Hongjoong to yelp. "Kijoong!" You gasped, pulling the boy off of you momentarily much to his displeasure, whining and trying to latch on you once again. "You don't bite your dad! You don't do that to anyone!" You scolded, eyebrows furrowing with a finger pointed at the boy.

Hearing you scold him, Kijoong's cartoon puppy ears droop down and his eyes grew round and shiny. Hongjoong was ready to swoop in and tell his son that it was all good, he wasn't hurt, but the sight of you on a stare-off with his son was astonishing. For a while, neither one of you looked like you were going to give up but of course, Kijoong gave up first. He begrudgingly turn to his dad and pouted, "Sorry daddy," then he looked up at you with his bottom lip jutted out. The moment your serious expression melt away however, Kijoong's lips turned upside down and his posture straightened. "Good job, buddy!" You raised a hand for him to high-five which he did (hard).

It took you a while but you soon realized that Hongjoong was watching the two of you and once you came to it, you blushed and ducked your head down, "I- I'm sorry, I should 't have scolded Kijoong like that, I-" "No, please," Hongjoong chuckled, waving you off, "I'm glad I could see a preview of how you and Kijoong would be like."

At the mention of your employment, you sat straighter and you visibly squared. "Speaking of, I need to tell you how I'm concerned how this job is relevant to my career trajectory," you stated, looking serious as Kijoong settled with playing with your hand. "Well, I told you that Kijoong has PNES and so I need someone with medical training who are ready to handle the situation if he has an episode. Currently we're trying to kick start his behavioural therapy but his emotional state is too unstable so a certain level of nursing SOP is needed. Not only that, I need someone who's used to a doctor's schedule," he explained, trying so hard to focus and not comment on how you seemed unbothered when Kijoong began using your hand as a toy, splaying your palm on his face and shaking it off before replanting it. "I'm glad you explained, but I'm still hesitant so I would like to discuss this 3 months probation thing," "Oh, yeah, that. Well, considering how Kijoong is with his previous nannies, I expect he'll do something to run you off within the first two days but seeing as how he seem to like you and how desperate I am, I'm willing to give you provisions that can help you go back to nursing which includes me actually helping you finding jobs until you get recruited. But that will only happen after the three month mark." "Why three month?" "Because it's his school holiday soon and within three months, he'll be busy with school so I can just go back to my previous schedule," he shrugged.

You were hesitant in the beginning and honestly you were still kind of unsure. But you were glad how candid Hongjoong was being about his son and you know because you had asked Wooyoung to tell you about him beforehand. Not to mention the bags under his eyes and how his posture is slightly hunched.

A hand tapped your cheek and you looked down to see Kijoong grinning up at you. "Thirsty, please," he stated which surprised Hongjoong (yet again) because of how polite he was being. "You wanna order something, buddy?" You asked and he nodded enthusiastically. Hongjoong reached over and made a motion to grab Kijoong, "Here, I can take him to the cashier and help him get something," he offered but you shook your head, "I have no problem taking him. That's what you want me to do anyways, right?" You grinned at him before letting Kijoong down and taking his hand to walk him to Yeonjun who was manning the cashier.

Carefully, Hongjoong watched over how you interact with Kijoong. He noticed how you never initiated anything and would instead offer Kijoong options on how he wanted to proceed. For example, Kijoong couldn't see the menu hung on the back that well and you made a point to let him know that there was a menu on the counter by pointing at it and name some items. Knowing that, Kijoong tapped your leg and asked to be raised up so he could see better. It was the little things that you did that made Kijoong felt like he has control and Hongjoong never realized how big of an impact it has on how his son behaves.

For a moment, Hongjoong even indulged in the fantasy of whether or not Kijoong's mother would've treated Kijoong as such and how different Kijoong would've been had she not left them too soon.

Of course, those thoughts were erased once you walked back to the table. Hongjoong's somber expression replaced with a smile when his son excitedly told him that he got himself juice and his dad an iced americano. Though it was a flash, you couldn't help but notice the shift but decided to not bring it up out of politeness.

When you settled back down to your seat, Kijoong as about to climb on your lap again, making it severely obvious to Hongjoong how much he likes and trusts you as he had never done this to someone he had only known for less than a month. It took Mingi half a year for the boy to warm up to him and maybe that was because Mingi was seeing him on a clinical setting.

Your conversation had been cut at a rather hanging manner, there were unsurety from both parties; will this help you with your employment issue? Will this help Hongjoong with his son? Will this be a mistake? It was a bit of a risk for both you and Hongjoong considering the way you both knew each other.

So imagine Hongjoong's surprise when you sighed and leaned on the table with crossed arms. "Okay, so tell me what you can offer salary-wise and benefit." When Hongjoong look at you with eyes widened to the size of saucers, you couldn't help bur find it adorable how Kijoong resembled him so much but you masked that facination with a roll of an eye. "Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna try this job for three months but you better hold up your end, are we clear?" You thrusted your hand forward for him to shake which he gladly grab and shook firmly.

"Okay," Hongjoong cleared his throat, "Let's talk responsibilities."

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@yungilia

[misspermitted]

The thing about being autistic that pisses me off a little bit is that, because my traits diverge from the norm, people give me compliments on things that are skills for them but just standard procedure for me. And so my best qualities, whenever people say them, aren’t things I’ve actually worked on but just things I do.

For example: every teacher, boss and coworker says my defining skill is creativity. That is not a skill!! I literally just think differently!!!! I have put absolutely no effort into being innovative, it’s actually really fucking irritating a lot of the time. Usually when people say that I’m being creative, it means I totally missed the mark on what everyone else was doing. Like 70% of the time in a workplace my creativity is just a reflection of how I can’t read social situations, which isn’t! A! Skill!!

Another “strength” I apparently have: self awareness. “Wow you understand yourself so intellectually and can communicate how you work really clearly to others using technical jargon!” Buddy. I am literally alexythemic. I can barely feel my emotions or bodily sensations!! If I didn’t understand myself intellectually, I would be dead!!! I had to do this, it was not a skill I developed, it was this or death. Of course I can communicate how I work, I spend 50% of my time having an internal dialogue in my head deducing my current state of wellbeing. Complimenting me on this means nothing. Like what are you complimenting me on, not having a choice??

“You’re such a hard worker!!” Actually you just always give me vague ass fucking instructions so I never know what the expectation is. I’m not a hard worker, I don’t purposefully try hard, I put in what I think is the required effort. I’m just almost always wrong. This is not a skill this is the miscommunication that haunts my every interaction with you.

“You’re so passionate!” Shut. Up.

(I’m starting to think this is very related to imposter syndrome. Imagine how nice it would be if someone complimented me on how I’m so experimental, which would be a fantastic compliment as I’ve worked very hard to get good at and enjoy trying new things. But eating at a new cafe is just not a trait neurotypical society sees as difficult to obtain. So alas, I feel like all my good qualities are fake.)

[goldsbitch]

Twelve Grapes

-chapter 5 - Beautiful Eyes

"Chéri," he says almost condescendingly, "there is my dried cum in your hair and if you think I'm letting you go to see my mama like this, we need to have another serious talk."

10k words warning: mentions of oral sex, typos

There are moments in life which are a clear before and after divider. Max did not expect one of those to happen on a random Thursday morning, he also did not anticipate those moments to take place in his bed. These things were reserved for the podiums and tracks. 

Alas - not when someone like Charles Leclerc has the audacity to turn over and give him a look, which, if described as sheepish, would be doing it great injustice.

Just how does somebody manage to look so innocent, yet stern and strong? He looks at Max who, probably for the first time in his life, does not know how to cope with other person looking at him. Charles battles his lashes, as if his mesmerizing eyes needed to draw more attention to them. Like the never-ending, dirty green was not enough on its own. There is something calming about his morning gaze. Like he had just come back from a nightly meeting in heaven, a place where he must have come from in the first place, because Max was getting convinced this is beyond human. His skin somehow softer than usual, chocolate hair mercilessly defying gravity and lips parted - slightly chapped and dry. Before Charles licks them lightly, effectively signing Max’s death sentence. Unlike Max, who does not have any capacity for another type of emotion, Charles appears to be confused. Just when Max thinks he has cracked this situation, at least a little bit, he has to add another word to his current vocabulary - adorable. 

"Can you turn the thing off," he complains like a little child and returns back to his original position. Head rested on Max's chest, arms casually thrown over him, like it was the most normal thing ever. Max's notoriously loud and obnoxious alarm woke them both up too early for their liking. Mindlessly, Max reaches over to his nightstand to grab his phone and turn it off. He earns an approving puff from the other driver. Charles settles in his position even more, hugged up on Max and ready to go back to slumber. Max takes a minute to take it all in. Tries to get his heartbeat under control, because he is pretty sure Charles is about get tinnitus, with his ear being places just above his heart. But how does one do that, when you wake next to Charles, the morning light complimenting his already glorious post-waking up state? It is completely out of question for Max to return back to sleep. Stress - the good kind, the best kind actually - keeping him fully awake. He recalls the surprising shift of events from last night and wonders just how comically lame it is, that he is afraid to move. As if it wasn't clear, that they are way past the point of being shy when laying on top of each other. Putting his hand over Charles and drawing small circles on his naked back feels like the bravest thing Max has ever done. Is this what all of the people talk about when they're describing a good hook up? The fact that kicking the other person out first thing in the morning is not how you want the encounter to end? It's impossible to keep a straight face with all the images from yesterday flashing from his memory. It's only the weight of Charles's body, the obvious change of temperature in the bed when he is lying in it, that makes Max grounded enough to actually believe it was all true. Had he woken up in an empty bed, he'd probably have a hard time believing it all. Max is not a morning person, but he could make an exception for these kind of mornings. It's hard to admit, but he is very happy that Charles decided to stay over. His messy curls ticking Max's neck are worth it.

Messy curls. Oh, fuck. Charles is not the only Leclerc he is suppose see today.

Panic rushes through his veins and he reaches for the phone again, disrupting Charles's peace in doing so. Shit. He is suppose to be at his mom's salon in like fifteen minutes.

"Charles," Max says urgently, shaking him lightly.

There is a loud groan that speaks for itself. But, the ever-so-chatty man can apparently speak in his sleep as well. "Why are you awake," Charles complains without opening his eyes, snuggling closer into Max like he’s decided he’s part of the mattress. Max tries to push all the warm feelings rising in his chest back down.

"I’m supposed to be at your mom’s salon in fifteen minutes," Max says in a panic induced tone.

This information seems to get through with the Monegasque. Then he groans even louder. "Max, it’s-" he lifts his head slightly, squinting at the phone in Max's hands. He falls back on his chest, obviously not worried about potentially breaking his ribs. "It’s 8:45. Why are you like this?"

Max figures this is going to be harder than expected and he shakes Charles once again. "Come on, we gotta go."

"Whyyy," he literally whines into Max's chest.

Max can't help but chuckle. "Because I have a haircut appointment? Which I’ll miss if I don’t leave, like ten minutes ago?"

There is zero movement on Charles's part. "Cancel it. Reschedule. Tell her you’re sick. I don’t care. Just stop talking and let me sleep."

"I can’t cancel," Max protests and absentmindedly runs his hands through Charles's hair. "She’s expecting me..."

The man (strongly resembling an adorable spoiled brat right now) lying on him lifts his head up slightly. "She’s definitely not expecting you to wake up next to her son, but would you look at that, here we are," Charles states and their looks meet again.

Max is trying to calculate the combination of words that would make this man move. The last thing he wants, especially after last night, is to be late. What if his mom forms a poor opinion of him?

Charles continues fighting for his cause. "You cannot just walk into her salon after last night like nothing happened. I know you're insane, but there has to be a limit somewhere?"

"It’s a haircut, Charles, not a confession," Max says, exasperated. The only thing they're doing right now is wasting time. "She doesn’t know anything."

Charles narrows his eyes. "You don’t know my mother. She doesn’t have to know, she just...knows. She’s like a witch, Max."

Max snorts. "A witch?"

"Yes," Charles says, sitting up slightly, his hair sticking up at odd angles. "She’ll look at you, say something strange like, ‘You look tired,’ and then suddenly I’m getting interrogated about my love life during Sunday dinner."

Max bites back a laugh, trying to look serious. "Well, then maybe I should just tell her. Get ahead of the woodoo," he mocks, failing at the whole serious part of this conversation.

Charles groans again and collapses back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his face. "Out of all the people, I had to end up in your bed."

Max smirks and decides to stop fighting the urge he feels since the alarm ringing, and leans to kiss Charles on the cheek. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

"Don’t," Charles mumbles. "And don’t wake me up again unless the apartment is on fire. Or my mom is at the door. Actually, no, especially not then."

Max laughs, pulling himself out of bed. "I’ll let her know you’re busy...Sleeping through the consequences of your actions."

Charles throws a pillow at him, missing entirely, and buries himself back under the covers. "I hate you," he grumbles, his voice muted by the duvet. No, you don't.

Max has to stop and take in the sight of him. He just has to. It's impossible not to. His limbs are all tangled up in the messy bed, stains reminding him of the things they did in the dark. Sorry, not in the dark, in the dimly lit bedroom.

And it's like he feels his gaze. There is one final master groan and Charles lifts himself up. "Okay. Fine. Let's do this your way. So that you have some mistakes to learn from."

"Attaboy," Max says as he walks over to the dresser.

Charles is behind him in a fraction of a second. Hand casually placed on his back as he goes and yankes Max's head left, then right.

"What the fuck are you doing now," Max complains, once again encountered with the inexplicable behavior, so characteristic to Charles.

"I'm looking for any hickeys," he says, highlighting the importance of this topic. "I think you're fine," he concludes and brushes his finger over a red spot above Max's collarbone. Shiver runs through the whole of Max. "This can be covered by a t-shirt, that's fine."

He spins him around, as if he's a mere doll, and shamelessly studies his face. Max is not used to think kind of look and has trouble picking out an appropriate reaction.

"Okay, you're allowed to go," Charles remarks, like the most important person on the planet he is, "Hop in to the shower real quick and let's get going."

Max casually shakes his head. "No time for shower, I'll just have to use a lot of deodorant," he dismissed, but does not move.

The look Charles gives him is one he has never seen on his face. A mixture of amusement, disbelief and coldness, giving away that there is no way this is going to go in any other direction than his. Then he speaks again, after a dramatic pause he spends studying Max's face.

"Chéri," he says almost condescendingly, "there is my dried cum in your hair and if you think I'm letting you go to see my mama like this, we need to have another serious talk."

It's said as a joke, because this time Charles's confidence in his truth, is on point. Max's eyes shoot wide, horrified expression on. He does not say anything and just nods. Charles nods right back at him, but with eyebrows shot up and the corners of his lips turned.

"Be quick, she hates when people are late."

//

Max steps out of the shower, towel hanging low - two can go about playing mind games here - only to find Charles pacing the living room with his phone pressed to his ear. He is dressed what Max recognizes as one of his t-shirts, little too big for Charles, hanging off one shoulder like some kind of stupid fashion statement. Charles spots him and mutes the call.

“We’re leaving together,” Charles declares, cutting off any protests with a raised hand. Well, that is a shift of attitude over there.

“You’re coming to your mom’s salon with me?”

“No,” Charles whispers, like the idea is preposterous and follows it up with an eye roll. “I’m coming with you because I will navigate you."

Max is slightly offended. “I’ve been there six times.”

"Like that would make any difference. I know a shortcut. Get dressed, now!" he spares him one look before getting back to his phone call. "Yes, yes, that's a good tip." His speech is frantic and Max does not bother trying to figure what this drama queen is up to now. His goal is to get dressed and get going. Simple man, remember?

"Mama, what’s your stance on fresh herbs? Do they really make a difference?” echoes from the living room. Max raises an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe to observe this circus. Charles spots him, eyes narrowing into a silent don’t even think about it. Max raises his hands in surrender and mouths a silent "What are you doing?" He is met with a pair of crazy eyes. "Stalling," Charles whispers and looks at him like it's the most obvious thing ever.

Max is still not up to speed. “Stalling what?”

Charles ignores him, focused on the phone and plastering on his best innocent tone. “I mean, would it be better to make the toast in the pan? You always said buttering it first is key, but Pierre’s...What’s the word? Picky. Very picky.”

It is too early for this amount of unhinged in the morning, he thinks, as he leans back to observe Charles. Being late to his appointment seems like small price.

Charles glares at him, eyes narrowing into a warning. He mutes the phone. "I’m buying you time," he hisses. "If you show up late, she’ll know something is off."

"Why would she think that?" Max whispers back, astonished. “She has no reason to!”

"She’s my mother!" Charles retorts like that explains everything. "She doesn’t need a reason."

Max tries not to laugh as Charles un-mutes the phone yet again, turning his back like it’ll somehow help him focus. "Okay, so what about butter? Should it be room temperature?"

Max decides to just comply, dressing up as quickly as possible. He spares one look into the mirror, to check for anything suspicious while he listens to the frantic cooking questions Charles keeps throwing at his poor mother. If there is ever a reason not have children, it's because they might grow up into this kind of a lunatic.

"I'm ready to leave now, if you're done with your recipes," he says quietly, walking into the living room and looking for his keys. This earns him thumbs up from the man leaning over his kitchen counter.

Charles mutters something under his breath and then, louder, says into the phone, “Okay, mama, I have to go now. Thank you for the advice. Love you.” And hangs up before waiting for the answer. Max has so many questions. He puts them in the "WTF" drawer in his brain, along with the rest of information he has about Charles Leclerc.

//

"No, I said, take a left on the next street, not this one," Charles throws his hands in the air for what seems like the fifth time.

"Remind me never to pick you as a co-driver for anything more dangerous that a commute drive," Max comments, because Charles giving vague instructions and then getting mad when he does not do what Charles had envisioned, is starting to seriously piss Max off. He makes a big mental note not to allow Charles to ever enter the world of endurance driving.

Monaco is tiny, it takes him like seven minutes to get there. He is pretty sure they are just adding time up by choosing the small streets instead of he usual way, like a normal person would. Then again - this is Charles. Normal does not cover it. Even though Max is nearing furious, there is still something exciting and warming about this experience. He is playing along thought, driving like a maniac, passing cars easily left and right, pretty sure that his tickets are pilling up. Small price for having a little fun morning with Charles.

"No! Now go left!" he yells and were it not for the years spent driving F1 cars, they'd be crashed in some wall right now. But, this is Max Verstappen. So he drift into the left turn that Charles is so hung up on. He is rewarded by a laugh of approval as he avoids the traffic.

//

Max pulls the car into a quiet street, parallel to where Pascale's salon sits in its picturesque charm. He kills the engine and settles down, his built up heart rate going down again. He awaits instructions. This is Charles's territory.

Charles fidgets with the hem of Max’s t-shirt and glances at the street in front of them, eyeing for any witnesses. “Okay, I’ll go first,” he says. "You stay in for two minutes." He looks at him, searching for a hint of agreement. Max does nothing but nod.

He gulps, his tone serious for the first time this day. "Please don't tell my mom anything, I'm-"

Max does not want to hear the rest of the sentence. Not right now. Not when he's still in the haze of what is waking up next to Charles. He wants to keep the illusion of perfection up for just a little while.

“Charles,” Max interrupts, leaning forward slightly. His voice is softer now, grounding. “She doesn’t know anything.”

Charles bites the inside of his cheek, his eyes flickering to Max’s. “She doesn’t, yet.”

This is the moment when you give me a goodbye kiss, Max thinks and lingers. But Charles is too distracted, caught up in his own thoughts and visibly lost in them. "Good. Um, see you," he says and briskly gets out of the car.

The space Charles left behind feels heavier than it should, and Max can’t help but stare at the spot where he disappeared. He left just like he entered his apartment yesterday. Like a sudden, unexpected summer rain. He waits the two minutes. Making sure he's not watching Charles leave, because it it too hard to consume that image right now.

//

He's got to give it to Charles, his schemes, however weird and over-the-top, seem to work. Max is standing in front of the salon, waiting on Pascale, who is late.

It dawns on him the moment he sees her coming. She has the same frantic walk as her son. The lines around her eyes curling in a similar way. Her smile, calming and inviting. Max shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, his nerves bubbling over as Pascale strides toward him with the unmistakable Leclerc determination. He doesn’t even know what, but Charles’s paranoia has taken root in his brain, and now he’s convinced he’ll somehow screw this up. He should have cancelled. Oh, God. How is he going to pull this off? This is all too stressful for what is suppose to be downtime. His team thinks he's relaxing, working out and getting ready for the next races. Not that he's checking his pulse every five seconds to see if this is a heart attack, or if the Leclerc's still have more room to play with him.

Pascale Leclerc, the elegant woman she is, greets him in the usual sweet voice that keeps him coming back. Her mom energy is strong. "Hello Max! I am terribly sorry to be late - I'll make it up to you with the tea you seem to love so much!" she says as she opens the door without even looking at it.

"No worries, I am in no rush, Mrs. Leclerc," he replies, trying to come off as casual as possible.

He receives a smile. Maybe this will all work out just fine.

//

He scrolls mindlessly on his phone while he waits for her to set her gear up. His goal is to appear busy and unapproachable. Also, what else is he suppose to do with his hands? He gives her a weak smile as she comes over to him with a tea in her hand and scissors in another. She asks him few questions about his desired haircut and he gives her complete freedom. At least like this, Charles won't be able to tease him about his hair ever again. Things are calm, she tells him about the new Monaco bakery and it seems like he might just pull it all off.

"Next time you come in, you don't have to wash your hair beforehand. That's what I am here for, sweetheart," he proclaims as she examines his damp hair. His stomach turns three times, he stiffs up completely and there is unmistakable redness in his cheeks, staring at him back in the mirror. Oh, Jesus. This is all so wrong. The word shame does not cover it. He jerked her son off. Charles sucked his dick last night. He feels so incredibly dirty and somewhat guilty. And she has no idea, blissfully unaware her son's fingers left the places she is now touching barely minutes ago.

"I'm sorry..." he manages to roll out an apology from the deepest part of his soul.

She smiles, like the morning treated her well and like she slept soundly. "No worries, I'm just saying it so that you know."

Max is happy to keep her thinking he is just stupid. Rather than suspecting anything else. He did make sure to wash his hair clean, his goal being to scrub it all off any remains of last night. Oh, God. How did he get into this mess in the first place?

"I told Charles you were coming in today," she says casually, unknowingly torturing her customer. The red does not go away and Max wonders if make up is something he should be looking into from now on, because this is unbearable. "He mentioned something about a party last night? On a yacht?"

There it was. Charles warned him. He's got to prove himself. He puts on a PR smile and looks at her reflection in the mirror. "Oh, I was too tired. Didn't go and stayed home." This is safe answer, he thinks. Does not offer room for any follow up.

She frowns and continues. "You're kind of quiet today, is everything alright with you?" This woman has laser eyes.

"Yeah, all good! Everything is great, just the season is tough this year," he says, managing to sound quite convincing.

The answer seems to satisfy her and she smiles again. "You tell me, I have no idea where Charles gets his energy to party all night. Didn't even come home. Then he calls me to ask questions about how to cook a celebratory breakfast for Pierre. He's such a good friend to him, don't you think?"

Somehow, especially after knowing Charles and the fact this woman raised him, he does not buy this at all. But, this realization does not shake him. On the contrary, it adds him some flare he lacked until now.

"Pierre is a great guy to be friends with. To be honest, I don't know Charles that well, but Pierre seems to keep him in check and helps him in the world of F1." Lies. Pierre is an enabler, someone who Max will keep a closer eye on from now on.

She hums, clearly unimpressed with his vague answers, and pats the salon chair. “Sit still. Let’s see what we’re working with today.” It sounds like a threat.

Max obeys, sinking into the chair as she moves around him, strangely resembling a vulture. It's amazing how someone can oscillate between innocent mom energy and interrogation vibe. His pulse is pounding so loudly he wonders if she can hear it. Her hands move quickly and efficiently.

“Charles said you two went on some drive through the woods recently,” she asks conversationally, combing through his hair. “Something about smashing a car?”

His lip roll into a thin line. Well, wouldn't it be nice to know this beforehand, Charles. Thanks for letting me know, dumbass.

He curses Charles in his mind with every Dutch insult he's ever heard. Then goes onto German and when he runs out, ends up with English. For all the talking Charles does, he surely knows what information to leave out.

He coughs, breath stuck in his throat. He quickly apologized, blaming it on the tea. Pull it together Max, Jesus.

"Yeah. I took him to our cottage. He looked like he needed to blow some steam off," he speaks and immediately slaps himself internally for using the word blow. Pascale, do you wanna know how good your son's mouth is? He is mortified by his own thoughts. "I hope you don't mind, it was my old car and I need to get rid of it, I am never going to repair it and-" he blabbers on, and would be ready to talk for good fifteen minutes to divert the attention, but she stops him.

"Max - All good. I'm happy Charles is fitting in F1 and that he does things other than driving and sitting alone reading all the reports. He can get so lost in it sometimes and this...However strange I might find that activity, it is one day going to be a fun memory. And it's important to have those," she smiles and cuts away, like this is all just another typical session.

Max is taken back by that sentiment. He is not used to this, does not know how to absorb it without making sarcastic comments.

He swallows and replies the only thing he can think of. "Thanks."

“Oh, don’t look so worried,” she teases, patting his shoulder. “He speaks very highly of you. Said you’re… what was the word? Determined. Yes, that was it. He admires that about you. Apparently, it's a hard pill to swallow just how good your driving is sometimes."

Max’s stomach flips, again, so violently he’s sure it’s going to come out of his mouth. Swallow. Uhm. Great. Good to know there is something in in the world that Charles finds hard to swallow. Max really should have cancelled, stay in bed with Charles and bicker until the end of time. He doesn’t want to say anything, but he knows silence is worse. He has to stop this now.

"I'm sure he wouldn't like me knowing that," he fakes a laugh and digs his nail into his jeans. Thankfully, the questions stops, because she is about to turn on an electric razor. Max swears on one day becoming an ambassador for the brand. For free. Because, the safety the loud sound provides, is truly priceless. Few minutes of peace. Max is grateful. But, everything good ends eventually and soon there is silence again.

Pascale starts combing through his hair, and the rhythmic motion is almost calming. Almost. Because just when it looks like they got over the topic of her son, certain someone decides to grace the room with his presence.

The door opens, and none other that Charles enters.

"Hi, mama!" he greets his mother cheerfully. She stops her movements, gives Max one quick apologetic look and goes into hugging her son. As his own reflection burns back right at him, he wonders what bad thing had Max done in his previous life to end up in this mortifying scenario. He uses this split second of opportunity and flips his phone out.

"This is a mistake" he manages to type a text super quickly to the brown haired menace of a man, hoping he reads it asap. He doesn't. Of course. His phone most likely on silent mode. Why would the world make anything easier for Max, ever. No, Charles is busy running for the Son of the Year, apparently.

"Mama, I brought you some pastries, from the shop you love so much," he says after she releases him from her embrace. "Figured you might be hungry."

Max sees in the reflection that she smiles and it does look like an innocent family moment. But, he knows Charles. He probably has fireworks stacked in his pockets and is not afraid to use them to distract his mom. Ugh.

His mom is smitten, they exchange few more pleasantries and she returns back to her job, while her son strolls into the backside and helps himself to some tea.

"Oh, hi Max. Forgot you'd be here today. I'd have brought you something too," he says oh-so-casually.

"Hi, Charles," he retorts, appreciating the fact Charles managed to at least go home and dress into something other than Max's t-shirt. Life is a real bitch lately, he has to look for the positives somewhere. Max tenses, bracing for whatever fresh chaos Charles is about to unleash.

Charles walks back into the room with his cup of tea, exuding a breezy confidence that Max has only seen in people who’ve never accidentally dug their own graves. Max shifts in his chair, suddenly feeling like he’s under a spotlight. Pascale's attention flicks to Max, as she continues her job, her expression as composed as ever, though Max swears there’s a glimmer of something sharper in her gaze. He swallows.

“So,” Charles begins, sitting casually in one of the vacant hairdresser chairs, “the party last night? Amazing. I have so many great friends, mama.”

Max decides to focus his gaze on a random spot on the wall, desperately hoping for Charles to pick a safer topic.

“It was classic Pierre. Total chaos, but fun. Oh, and Max!” Charles laughs, pointing vaguely in his direction. “You should’ve seen him, mama. He got so drunk. I’ve never seen him like that.”

No.

It's like somebody drops a stone on his head. He risks a glance at Pascale, who is now looking at him with raised eyebrows, her smile soft but distinctly knowing. Max closes his eyes for three seconds. How does one stop this train from crashing? Just how stupid Charles is being is beyond him. To blame sleep-deprivation would be unfair to sleep-deprivation.

“Max got drunk?” Pascale says, her tone warm but laced with curiosity. “At the party?”

"Charles..." he says, trying to fit too much into this one word. Stop. Please stop talking. Look at your mother, she is getting suspicious. Max can see she that she is pretending to work on his hair, when in fact, she is merely brushing through. Like mother, like son.

“Yeah!” Charles continues enthusiastically, completely missing the tone of Max's plea. “He was dancing like...well, you’d have to see it to believe it.” He adds few obscure moves with his hands to make it "believable".

Max opens his mouth again, but no sound comes out. Pascale’s gaze is laser-focused on him now, quiet and steady. It’s not accusatory. More like she’s waiting for him to slip up.

“Hmm,” Pascale hums lightly, sipping her tea now, her expression neutral but her eyes still locked on Max.

Charles barrels on, completely oblivious. “Anyway, the chef Pierre hired? Incredible. He made this truffle thing...”

Max isn’t paying attention anymore. Pascale’s gaze hasn’t left his face, and in it, he sees everything. The quiet assessment, the sharp intuition, the undeniable knowing. It’s not about the supposed drunken party, it’s about something else entirely. Something unspoken.

Max manages to keep his face carefully blank. Pascale doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. There’s a silent conversation happening between them, one Max isn’t sure he’s winning.

Charles continues his story, gesturing animatedly about the food, unaware as they come. Pascale tilts her head slightly, her lips twitching in a way that could almost be a smile.

She sips her tea again, finally breaking eye contact to look at Charles. “Sounds like quite the party,” she says simply, her tone light and amused.

Max exhales slowly, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly. But when Pascale glances at him again, her eyes glinting with quiet amusement, he knows this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

//

After his five minute long monologue it's actually Pascale, that kindly orders Charles to leave her shop, because other customers were coming in and his speech was drawing too much attention.

And now here he is, sitting in his mother’s salon, trying not to fall apart under the weight of it all.

There is a scary silence as she does some final touch ups. "There, all done. Do you like it?" she asks, making it obvious that she has the upper hand. "It's perfect, as always," he mutters and scrapes up all of the courage left over in his bones. "I didn't want you to think I'm some sort of drunk," he adds, knowing the hole is so deep at this point that to dig a little further does not make any difference whatsoever. She smirks, nods and makes sure to let him know that she does not judge him at all. Max leaves a tip a little too big for someone who's "not hiding anything". He is not sure whether he should feel guilty. As he if he defiled the family’s honor by spending last night worshipping her son. 

//

He walks home, trying to wrap his head around what has happened in the part twelve hours. Yesterday, he woke up thinking his biggest problem would be the unanswered email from the development department, that was sitting at the top of his inbox. Now, apparently, it's Charles, his mom and by the extension anyone that has the fortune of running into Charles in Monaco, because the man is unpredictable as they possibly come.

But, in all of the stomach rolling Max experienced in the past few hours, there is also something completely, utterly soothing. In amidst of all the chaos, there are the small little moments him and Charles shared. The whole time, he can’t stop thinking about him. About the way he looked last night, the way he said Max’s name like it meant something. After walking for few minutes, he remembers that he actually drove there and forgot about his car.

As he sits in the driver seat, he can still feel the reminisce of Charles's presence. He wonders what he's up to now.

The phone in his hand absentmindedly opens up at the text chain with him. The "this is a mistake" text marked as read, ten minutes ago. He mutters few curse words under his breath. Given the time this text was seen - and not responded to - he could only imagine where Charles's wild imagination took him. Max is too tired to overthink this. Unlike Charles, he's not afraid to call him and clarify the situation, before it escalates and Charles gets the wrong idea. He dials his number immediately. It gets picked after few long dials.

"Hey," he hears on the other line. Tone neutral, flat and with no sign of emotion. Okay, damage has been done apparently. So he gets talking before it goes further.

"Hi, so...Got a nice haircut from your mom," he sighs, trying not to overthink this. Deep breath in. "Um, the last text I sent you was intended as a warning when you walked in the door." Max swallows, trying not to imagine how lame he sounds right now. He just does not want Charles to get the wrong idea. He is squeezing the hand that's not holding the phone. "It's not like....referred to anything else. Just so we're clear." He pauses, giving him some space for a reaction. His nose flinches as nothing comes for few seconds.

"Charles?" he tries, biting his cheek.

There is a light cough at the other, as if Charles was cleaning his throat. "No, yeah. I figured. That's what I thought. But, thanks for telling me," he skips one word over another and Max bites his lip, knowing that he is definitely lying. He's not going to tease him about it today. Gotta save something for a rainy day.

"Right," he concludes and another silence follows before he speaks again. Max watches people walk by, all of them beautifully unaware of what his day entailed so far. In a split second, he finds himself wishing it stays that way. For safety. So that they have some freedom to figure shit out. "Good job at your mom's. Real good story," he says sarcastically, to keep the conversation flowing.

There is a notable shift in Charles's tone, more excited and relaxed. "Right?," he says, proudly, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm. "I had to go and save you, mama is too good at this game. Distracting her is the best way to go about it." Max fights a laugh, amused by Charles's delusions. But it is so nice to hear him so sure of himself and happy. He does not want to destroy that. "Yeah, good job. It's just..."

"What?" Charles asks, suddenly worried.

Max calculates. "No, I fumbled up before you came and told her I wasn't at the party."

"Ah."

He is quick to speak before Charles has the chance. "No, but what you said was good, when you left, I told her I was embarrassed about getting so drunk," he leans against the head rest and thinks that the only thing that's embarrassing is the way he can see himself grinning in the mirror.

"Okay, okay..." Charles pauses and thinks for a moment. "That's good, makes it believable."

Maybe one day he will understand just how Charles's brain works. But for now, it's an exciting, unpredictable journey he's enjoyed so far.

"It's my mother, I know her the best. She is not suspecting a thing!" Max does not fight him on that - no point, because the damage has been done and it's probably just a matter of time before Pascale figured the truth out. He is fine with that.

"It's your family, your fight. I just..." he pauses before getting the harder part of the sentence out.

"Tell me, Max," Charles encourages.

"Please don't do this, or any other unpredictable things in front of my family. It's a bit more difficult situation with them." Hearing his biggest worry said out loud works in the exact opposite as psychology books would suggest. Saying it means it's real. And Max is not ready for that. He pushes it down as deep as possible.

"Of course," Charles reacts, his tone soft. "I totally understand." Max can only hope he does. He prays for it.

"Thank you. I hope we can keep this between ourselves...There is a lot to think about," he says pragmatically. It's all fun and games with Charles, but it could very quickly escalate to something career-ending, and for some reason, Max thinks he's the more rational one about this whole thing.

"No, that's for sure. Thank you for saying it, it's good to clear that out." Maybe, just maybe, there is a chance this all does not blow up in their faces.

"Good," Max confirms and fiddles with his t-shirt.

"Um, so, me and my little brother are gonna play some football later today...If you want to join," Charles asks carefully. Max's first instinct is to say yes. However, on second thought, meeting his brother, after the fiasco with his mother...That's a whole lot of Leclerc for one day. Max needs some time to process things. Some breath of fresh air, before they embark on racing again in few days.

"Thanks, but I got shit tone of prep to do for Singapore. But, next time, definitely."

"Of course, I'm sure the data is as much excited to see you as I am," Charles flirts and it does work on Max, maybe a little too much.

"You're insane," he says, affectionately.

"And yet, you're the one who called," Charles react with a "right back at ya" undertone.

"I'm hanging up now, Charles."

"I'm not playing this game with you," he laughs and actually hungs up.

Maybe one day, Max will be able to predict Charles's next move. One day. It's definitely not going to happen any time soon. But, for all the silent inner monologue, calling him crazy or reckless, he is glad that Charles is doing things that way. Because, if they were both like Max, they'd both be sitting home. In a calm, but lonely peace.

//

He watches from afar, cosmic energy surrounding Charles the following days. His new contract announcement breaks the news and his face is everywhere. When he finally gets a glimpse of him at the paddock, t's like someone finally painted Charles in colors, instead of the black and white ghost that roamed around this summer. Max recalls when he got pushed into the top team. How thrilling those days were. He figures this happens only once in one's life. When you finally achieve what you've dreamt of for years, decades maybe. And before you have yet to discover all the dark sides of the dream, all the things you either didn't anticipate or purposefully ignored, to keep yourself pushing. It's an ugly industry they picked. Merciless, cruel, unjust and cutthroat. Bleeds you dry and leaves you, when you need help the most. But, the highs are indescribable. He knows it, Charles knows it, they share the urge to fight, win and keep fighting. There is nothing like getting the overtake done. No comparison to finally getting the promise of a top team car after years of sacrificing. He does not want to taint those days. No matter how much he'd like to share the joy Charles must be feeling, he can't trust himself around him at the moment. He wants to talk to him, touch his body and drive around in circles around every city they end up in. The door is not fully open yet, but Max has a feeling, deep down in his bones, that it won't be just another hook up for him. It is entirely possible, that Max is using the excuse of Charles's post-signing days as an excuse. To allow himself to hang on the few moments when he is free of anyone else living in his head rent free. Entirely possible. There is no way of knowing.

Singapore is one of Max's favorite places. Not necessarily for the track, but the city hums and shines, everyone is a visitor and rarely anyone is a local. He had been on the road so much that a concept of a home, a place he's from, is sort of foreign. If you'd ask him that question, he'd probably reply that his home is his car. It is also the fact the jet-lag works somewhat to his favor, he had always liked the nights more anyway. Things roll in the same way as they always do. The familiarity is cut by the few texts him and Charles share, random updates from their day. That is entirely new. Anytime his phone dings, it's like a line of cocaine shot directly into his brain. He often thinks about their night. Explores the new world of sex Charles introduced. This is probably not the first time in history someone justifies watching gay porn as "study material".

//

It's not unusual for Max to get stuck at a some semi-official dinner. He understands the importance of it, when it's a sponsor or charity thing. But, as he finds himself sitting at another table shared with his father and Christian Horner only, he figures he needs to get better at making up excuses. Jos always put made a great deal of any opportunity he got to spend with someone like a team principle and would not back down even after the achieved the goal of getting Max signed. Max has the sentence "building connections" burned into his memory and it works almost Pavlovian. Unless there is a clear clash in his calendar, he gets up and goes to whoever his father need him to parade to. He considers it a small price for all the things he had done to help him where he is now.

One day, one day he will say no to a dinner with only him and Christian. One day.

It always goes the same. On testing days, the less prominent ones, they get a table at the nearest steak house and the two older men feast, while Max tries to find an option suitable to his diet. He is way past by using up his cheat meals with these two. He likes them, he really does. Both men have something interesting to say and he tries to learn from their conversations. Not really minding the way how he feels more like a decorative piece, than a real participant. It's when they overdo it too much with the whiskey and get onto more lenient topics when it starts to become unbearable.

Max shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his half-eaten chicken breast pushed to the side of his plate. Across from him, Christian and Jos are deep into their conversation, which feels more like series of monologues, than an actual dialogue. Max just wants to leave.

"It's not getting any easier, Jos, let me tell you. Not with all the initiative to get more women on the road," Christian mumbles, pleased with himself as he waves over for another round of drinks. "The path to hell is paved with good intentions. I'm all for equality," he says like means it, but both Verstappens know that is not the case, "But nobody has balls big enough to address the obvious effect this is going to have," he comments and looks at Jos for support.

"What happens on the road, stays on the road," Jos concurs the infamous phrase uttered usually right before marriage vows are about to get broken. "It was always like that and it's going to stay that way. People will just have to be more careful, now that everyone carries a professional camera in their pocket. Thank fuck that was not the case in my old days." The two men share knowing smiles, heavily implying they'd seen their fare share of unplanned love affairs. Max's heart sinks in. He's heard that one line countless of times. This is the part of the evening when Max usually tunes out. When he was a teenager, he would laugh with along side, finding it all exciting and a nice perk of this lifestyle. People slip up when they spend most of their days and nights away from home. And the paddock community allows that, unwritten rules making sure the families, wives, girlfriends or partners don't find out from other people. The older Max gets, the more sick this all feels. Yes, it is hard, but some people don't seem to try at all. He tries to forget the moments his dad left him alone to get his midnight fix. Still does not know if he did the right thing by covering for him, be it that from his own mother or whichever girlfriend came after her.

He's not going to sit and argue, judge his father or his team principal. After all, they'd done this far longer than him and who knows - maybe it is impossible not to at least slip up. What happens on the road, stays on the road. That sentence fills him with ever-present dread. The hopelessness and nihilism of it all rings bitterly in his ears. No, it does not stay on the road. I had to look my mother in the eyes and pretend like I don't know anything.

He thinks of Charles and imagines him saying these words to his peers. It makes it all so much worse, but this is typical Max. When he'd down, he tends to give into it and go forward to the despair. He fantasizes about Charles hiding things from him, clandestine meetings with other people and inevitably turning into the same type of person like his current dinner partners are. Misery loves company could be Max's motto.

He sits there in silence, trying not to absorb the story Christian is telling about a woman he hooked up with three races ago. It is a particularly uninteresting story, if you take the infidelity out of it. Max thinks of his wife and how sincerely she hugged him four races ago. Apparently, it only takes missing one race to get forgotten.

A text dings on his phone. Maybe it will release him from this misery. "Is your dinner over? Wanna meet up?"

He hasn't seen Charles since his stand-up at the hair salon. The memory is a total contrast to what ever he had been imagining the past few minutes.

He hovers his fingers over the screen, debating which direction to take this. It's rude to leave the dinner early. But the two men haven't even addressed him since their third glass. He would absolutely love to see Charles and run away from this all. However, he knows how he gets when he's in this mood. Silent and mercurial. Twisting his thumbs, he decides to just type. Charles does not seem to filter anything out ever, so maybe that's the way to go about it. Anything but whatever his father is doing. "Still at the dinner, I'd kill for a save out of it. But a warning. I'm feeling a bit weird. So like...I'm probably not the best company today"

He hits send before he can rethink this decision. With his lips turned down, he returns his attention to the conversation. The topic seems to be one of the female logistics manager from Williams. And her physical qualities. It's exhausting to witness this.

Max exhales, the tension in his chest making his voice sharper than he intended. “Maybe it’s not the road. Maybe it’s just you," he whispers, not sure if he want that to go noticed or not. It doesn't.

A ding. "I can handle grumpy Max. Share me your location. I'm going on a run. We can go for a walk to get you out of your head, hm?"

This is when Max is glad that his father is too lazy to pick a place further than ten minutes away from the hotel. He does as Charles asks and puts his phone away. He is utterly doomed. Smile already creeping into his face as he watches the men, who are looking uglier every minute. The idea of joking around with Charles is an addictive one. Which precisely what makes this all so much worse. It's a quick fix, that he can't imagine won't cash its price in the future. But, he can't help himself. He counts the minutes, hoping each one is the last one.

//

In the end, it's very easy to get out of the dinner. Both of them understanding that racing comes first. They don't need to know the truth (Jos' words anyway).

Rush washes over Max as he walks out and heads over an alleyway two streets away where, supposedly, Charles is waiting on him.

It feels all the best kinds of wrong, and yet pure and innocent. He keeps looking around, trying to see if anyone recognizes him, so that he could get ahead of that situation. Seems like luck is on his side this time. The dim alley feels like world apart from the lively street he left behind. Charles doesn’t move, his posture relaxed, his hood pulled low enough to cover most of his face in the shadow. Yet, Max knows it’s him. He could pick out Charles in a crowd of thousands. Max slows down, looking over his shoulder once more time. Charles stays in the dark and waits for Max to walk towards him.

“Max,” Charles says, his voice low, quiet enough that it feels like the name is meant just for him. Then he finally walks one step closer, letting the light into his face.

Charles looks like something too elegant for this setting. His lips curled up, patches of light stubble mapping his youthful features. The hoodie drowns his body, yet he can make it all work. His eyes shine and one would easily believe he is glad to see him. Max stops and smiles back at him. He is fully aware of his own insecurity about what happens next. Nobody gives you a protocol about these situations.

Charles shakes his head, biting his smile down. "Na-ah. Closer," he orders and it sounds like an invitation.

Eyes glued at him, Max does one, comically small step and grins back at him.

Without a blink, Charles repeats. "Closer."

Max also repeats his moves, stopping just shy of brushing against Charles. The distance between them is barely a breath, one arm’s length, close enough that he could touch him without even reaching. His fingers twitch at his sides, aware of how little space there is now, how easily that space could disappear. Chills running down his spine.

Charles, obviously amused, continues. "Closer," he dares him and Max is sure that even a dead person wouldn't be able to defy this command.

He kills any notion of a space between them, reaches to tangle their fingertips and painfully slowly leans over to connect their lips together. Immediately upon feeling his soft lips, butterflies fill up every possible space in Max's body. The touch is light, intoxicating in just how casual and easy it all feels. Few more brushes before Charles smiles into the kiss and pulls away, to Max's dislike.

"Slow down, lover boy," he murmurs, still staying impossibly close. "We're still in public," he reminds Max, who's rational part of brain is grateful for this.

Max nods and licks his lips, taking in any residue of Charles. He watches him, expression changing from simply flirtatious to something more serious. He looks at him, like he is a code he needs to decipher.

"Let's go, Max Emilian. There's this jelly tea thing I really want to try," he announces and gestures at him to get going the same way he came. There's something about the specific blend of accent this man has that is music to Max's ears. Also, he really likes this new way of greeting Charles.

//

Max is led by Charles through number of buzzing streets, narrow and wide and it would almost fool you into thinking this isn't the first time Charles is in the city. Just when Max is getting progressively more certain they are lost, a lively corner reveals a street full of small food stands, eclectic shops and little tables set up for those wanting to sit down for a moment.

Charles is his usual cheerful self, carefree and talkative. He asks Max if he wants to hear few crazy things from the first days of him being publicly Ferrari and only starts to blabber once Max assures him that he really wants to hear it. It seems like Charles took the text about his mood more seriously than Max would expect him to. He is careful in his actions and more aware of the surrounding world outside his own existence. Max is happy to get distracted by his stories. Many of them remind him of his early days at Red Bull, though a few highlight just how different the scarlet team’s philosophy is from his own home garage.

"We absolutely have to get you a hat," Charles interrupts his own story in the middle and seemingly abandons it completely. He jogs to the nearest shop with some obscure hats and caps on display and waves at Max, encouraging him to come over with a smile suggests there is little to no room for him to protest.

Max approaches the shop slowly, but it looks like the door for contributing to that decision has closed. Charles holds up a straw hat adorned with a blue feather, his face lighting up with a look of approval.

"Perfect. This will work," he says and puts the hat on Max. It feels like something out of a youtube challenge video.

"Why do we need this?" Max asks conversationally, having quickly accepted that this is going to happen. It's Charles. He runs on different fuel than the rest of the world and Max would do almost anything just to see him smile.

Charles has his proud face on. "We need to hide you a bit. You are too obvious." The happy show assistant accepts Charles bit tip.

"And this big hat is going to help how?" he wonders out loud as they keep walking down the street. Charles's fingers brush gently over Max's as he walks past him - and he knows that's not accidental.

He turns his head and his lips are forming a cunning smile. "Max Verstappen would never wear something like that without being forced to."

"Well, I am being forced to!"

"See? Everything I say is true."

//

Max stares at his cup skeptically. “You’re sure this isn’t just sugar water?”

“Chin chaw,” Charles educates him.

“Chin what?” Max asks, observing the contents of the drink with visible suspicion.

“Chin chaw,” Charles repeats, grinning. “Grass jelly drink. It’s refreshing. Trust me.” Max realizes that he looks utterly ridiculous with the hat already, but his concerned expression must be adding a new dimension to his look. Charles laughs, already taking a sip. “Try it. It’s good.”

Max hesitates but takes a sip. The drink is sweet, herbal, and oddly pleasant. The jelly slides through the straw with an unexpected texture that’s not entirely unpleasant.

“See? Not bad, right?” Charles beams.

Max shrugs, taking another sip. “It’s... okay.”

They find a quiet spot at the edge of the bustling street, leaning against a low wall as the crowd flows around them. Charles takes another sip, his gaze fixed on Max.

“Alright,” Charles says, breaking the silence. His tone is softer now, curious but firm. “Why are you in such a mood tonight? What happened?”

Max stiffens, his eyes darting away. It was nice to be distracted. To not think for a moment. "What mood?"

Charles keeps his gaze no matter how much Max tries to avoid it. "It's like you have this dark cloud following you. I'm not going to push you, if you don't want to tell me, but I just wonder what made you this upset."

Max sighs, running a hand through his hair, forgetting the damn hat. He takes it off and shoots Charles a semi-apologetic look. "I’m not upset."

“Okay.” Charles’s voice drops, gentler but insistent. “You are. But I'm happy to see you either way." His smile is soft and innocent.

Max doesn’t speak right away, swirling the straw in his drink as if it holds the answer. He finds it strange how Charles sees through him. He tried to so hard to push it all inside.

"It’s nothing," Max finally mutters, his tone unconvincing. "Just tired."

Charles leans closer, his shoulder brushing Max’s. "No. This is more than that. I’ve seen you tired. This is... something else."

Max exhales sharply, avoiding Charles’s gaze. The words on his mind beg to get out. He stares into the busy street. All the normal people, who don't get to race a formula 1 car mingling around, unburdened.

"Do you ever think how your life would look without racing?" he opens up and immediately feels like an idiot. Charles is still his rival, this is not something he should be hearing.

But there is no lightness in Charles's tone as he speaks. "Sometimes. It's a strange life. So far though, it seems like the right path."

He leaves space for Max to follow up. "I just...Sometimes I look at the people in the industry, especially those who had been in it for decades...And they sort of scare me," he admits for the first time. It feels strange to say it like that. But, it's the truth. "They have this weird look in their eyes, cynical and it feels like they become slaves of the lifestyle."

Charles thinks for a moment. "It's an addiction, this job and this world. Especially as drivers, we get so used to the adrenaline, the constant travel, never in one place for more than few weeks...It's why I love Monaco so much. It keeps me grounded," Charles tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing in thought as his fingers absently trace the rim of his cup. "What's the thing that scares you the most?"

"I guess the whole family and inner circle aspect. It's so hard to keep in touch with people outside of racing. And every year, or few years, you're facing the threat of getting dropped by your team and then what? The longer you're on the grid, the more your life becomes the people surrounding you. I have to say. I don't like many of them."

Charles studies him so intensely, Max has to avert his eyes to the crowds again. The Monegasque reaches for his leg with his heel and entangles then, probably instead of reaching over with his hand, for anyone to see. His movement is subtle but deliberate, his heel brushing against Max’s ankle before hooking gently around his leg. Max can't help but appreciate the nice intimate gesture. "We're so focused with this specific vision," his hands mimic the shape of a tunnel, "that I'm worried I might get lost in it. Missing out on so many other things in life."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, family celebrations, studying university, having a successful marriage." It feels extremely strange to dump this out on the guy who sucked his dick last time they saw each other. But, Max is in a mood today. "If you want to survive in this world, you have to be super focused and sacrifice everything."

There's a glint in Charles's eyes. A wondering look, the unknown. He takes his time responding.

"You really think you have to give it up all to win?" he speaks with certainty that Max finds almost odd.

The pit in Max's chest does not stop growing. "That's all I've ever heard from everyone. It’s not just a job. It’s our whole existence."

"Maybe you're listening to the wrong people," Charles says, his voice sounding like he's not sure where his response it going to end up. "It’s true, this world can eat you alive. But it doesn’t have to. There’s still room for joy, for the small things that remind you why you wanted this in the first place. I think the trick is holding onto those moments before they slip away," he wonders, sounding remarkably like his mother. "However, and you might know something about this," he teases, "The cliché thing about losing automatically when you give up trying, is nothing but true. I'm sure that many people had told you that it's impossible to get into F1. And yet, look at where you're sitting."

It does make sense, in fact it's so obvious it makes Max feel almost foolish. It's hard to convince yourself to believe in this when all you ever hear in bitter comments from those who walked this path before you. He's still not entirely convinced it's not just another delusional hope.

"So yeah. Give up before the fight. It's probably going to be easier," Charles notes and slurps on a particularly big peace of his tea jelly.

Max sighs loudly. If Charles thinks he does not know what game he's playing here, he is seriously mistaken. "I don't know what your goal is, but I know exactly what you're doing."

"Really? What do you think I'm doing," his lips curl into a sly smile, and he glances at Max from beneath his lashes.

"Provoking me into trying to prove you wrong."

"Maybe. You're like me, the best strategy to get you to do something is to challenge you or suggest you can't do it."

"Uhm." Max has an inkling this speaks more about Charles rather than himself. "So what's your goal?"

"Gotta keep you in F1."

"Why?! No offense, but it would be quite good for you if I just decide to say fuck it all and flip my entire life upside down."

Charles shakes his head, mischief written all over his face. "I have to beat you on track again."

Max scoffs. Of course.

Charles speaks loudly again, his tone more at ease. "I won't be sitting here in twenty years, listening to you bitching and saying the only reason I'm winning is because you've retired and gone off organizing some family celebrations. It's you or me."

No, Max thinks. There is only one way this is heading. And it's getting more obvious with each day. It's you and me.

Images of the dinner, his father, Christian and all those unpleasant moments spent with them flash in front of his eyes. Soon, it's going to happen all over again. He's already dreading it.

There’s something about the way Charles speaks tonight, his voice steady but gentle, his answers so sure, him leaving no room for any doubts. For a moment, Max can’t breathe. It's a whole dance of words that are being said and the undertones hidden in between. He sits there, his legs now crossed and he looks so unburdened. Steady, calm and it seems to be working on steering Max's gloom back to normal.

This isn’t just a conversation. It’s a lifeline, a reminder that there’s something more than the dread of the cynics around him. And it hits him, sharp and undeniable: it’s Charles. It’s always been Charles. He's the one who understands. Still naive and seemingly immune to the bitterness of others.

"You’re staring, Max. Should I be flattered or worried?"

You be whatever, I am terrified - he wants to say, but doesn't. "Neither. You just... We can stop saying stupid things now," he tries to undermine the conversation, because the worry that he is reading too much into this whole thing is starting to get to him.

Charles laughs, rolls his eyes, but the tone he speaks in is inviting. "Right. Stupid. Glad to see the usual Max back."

Max chuckles and inspects the strange drink that's getting warmer with every minute.

"Can we just stay here?" he pleas quietly, more to the heavens than Charles.

"What, in Singapore?" Charles turns around, as if he's searching for something that particularly catches Max's eye to make a statement like that.

He just smiles, observing him instead. "No."

Because, what if what happens on the road, stays on the road.

Charles does not reply, but he takes a hard look around the street, looking for anyone who might have recognized them and when he start looking sure of their anonymity being protected, he picks up the ugly hat. He has his cheek expression on as he shields his face from the main street, leans in and places a small, quick kiss on Max's lips.

chapter 6

------- @chezmardybum

[luneariaa]

𝗥𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗗 | 𝗸𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶.

❥︎ - ; the first beginning and onwards will be a bit based on THAT ep ( i'm still coping ) and a dream that i had back then before the ep even airs 😭. BUT will have a happy ending instead i suppose (?) but oh man,, to reunite with him after the incident..

not too confident with this, but just needed to let this out from my mind :") nanamin might be ooc here!

. dividers by @/cafekitsune !! 💛

With slow, deliberate movements, he drags his feet across the hard grounds of the specific area; taking several steps ahead through the now-empty hallways of the building. Nanami tries his best to control his own breathing while doing so, and at least to conserve what energy is left within him.

It feels so eerily quiet as the silence in the air is only broken by the sound of his footsteps alone. And the pain he's currently having and experiencing-- he simply tried to ignore it with the mere thoughts of you.

Ah yes, his beloved. How long has it been? He even wondered what you were even doing around this hour. Perhaps you were waiting for him at your shared home? Or something else?

Or even.. Are you waiting for his arrival? It's been so long since he heard your sweet voice calling out to him within your safe place together-- your eyes never failed to show the look of adoration and love that was directed to him alone, maybe he gets to see you once again after all of this is over.

The sheer thoughts of it did manage to make him smile slightly for a while there. Even though the situation was dire at this point, he couldn't help himself. It's as if you were there with him-- calming his current state of inner turmoil from his own mind, and encouraging him further to keep on fighting.

And you always did, even when you're out of his line of sight. He just loves you that much.

Right at this moment, it just feels like he's walking down into his own memory lane instead of the quiet hallways from before. A small smile is present despite everything, lost within his own memories that have passed through time. Nanami could still hear your voice as if you were walking beside him, or even a glimpse of you through his peripheral vision. But alas, no sight of you was actually there.

Injured and tired as he was, the thought of you made him keep going.

Nanami feels lost-- he didn't know what to do anymore. What was he trying to do, where is he trying to go?

However, all of those thoughts were being pushed aside once a familiar, soft voice called out to him.

"Kento?"

It sounded exactly like your voice, which made him stop in his tracks. Was it his mind playing tricks on him?

Yet he couldn't stop himself from searching for the source of the sound, a small feeling of hope resurfaced within him.

"Love..?"

His eye widens at the sight before him in utter disbelief. "How are you.. I thought you were.."

Nanami's own words fall on deaf ears, not knowing what to say as much, still trying to register the fact that you are truly standing not too far in front of him right now.

It's as if time has stood still at this point as the two of you locked gaze with one another. Your eyes are filled with warmth as always, accompanied by a soft smile as you look visibly happy to see him.

He's not dreaming. You are indeed alive.

Without thinking twice, he rushes towards you and wraps his arms around you with all the strength that is left of him. The feeling is almost too surreal to him, yet he doesn't pay much mind to it.

"You're here-- god, I miss you so much.." Nanami finally spoke hoarsely; his voice on the verge of breaking.

A part within him died along with you from that one fateful day, but right now-- it feels as if he can breathe normally once again. He can try to live once more, knowing that you are there with him even not for long.

"You're okay, you're okay.." He keeps whispering out those words, most likely to reassure himself while trying to keep his emotions under control. Yet it was almost impossible, because it was you.

"Ken, you're hurt." You gave out your own reply while still holding him close to you with such tenderness, taking notice of his current injured state. No, this is far more worse than you've thought-- up to the point where you were the one to sputter out apologies even when it's not your fault at all.

"I'm alright." Nanami was clearly not, but the words escaped from his lips all too naturally for some reason; slowly breaking away from the hug just so he could have a better look at you.

He's still so badly injured, but still, he feels so relieved to be able to at least see you once more.

"I thought you were dead."

The words didn't have any harsh or ill intentions within it, but rather were asked out of shock. You simply smiled a little, as you have expected that sort of question from him.

"I am."

"I just came here to pick you up. You did so great, I'm just so proud of you. You did well."

"And now it's time for you to rest. Your job is done; you can leave everything behind now."

"You.." He was about to respond, but was unable to because he started tearing up. The feeling is just too overwhelming like never before, and the fact that you just stood before him pushes his emotions further.

"You're really here, aren't you?"

He needs some sort of confirmation. He needs to know. However, his worries fade away once more when a bright smile appears on your face.

"I am real." You gently grab ahold of his hand, leading it up to your face, and let it stay on your cheek. "See?"

Even the wedding ring is visible on your finger for him to witness; a sign that the two of you are tied for the rest of your lives. He breathes out a sigh of relief, finally getting the assurance that he needed at least.

And that's when he realized that he was no longer all bloody and injured as he was before. Instead, he looked perfectly fine, just like you. The pain is no longer present, and any trace of deep fear disappears completely within him.

"We're finally in Malaysia as we've wished for, can't you believe it??" You exclaimed excitedly, holding onto his hands and bouncing a bit too enthusiastically. Nanami observes his surroundings, and indeed, they are now by the seashores; the water is beautifully blue and crystal clear, and the air smells fresh and free. The sun is bright, yet not hot enough to burn off your skin.

It's as if you two were given another chance to start a new life.

"It feels so peaceful here.. I just didn't know what to say." He smiles warmly down at you, clearly can't get enough of the sight of you alone. Guess you never changed, and you're still the same woman that he loved and adored all this time.

Nanami slowly drags you along for a slow walk by the soft powdery sands, really feeling it underneath his feet as he walks.

The whole sensation and moment feels heavenly, dare he say. Even the sound of waves crashing by the sea makes him extremely content, knowing that both of you are free from the world of curses.

From that time onwards, he knew that this is where you both truly belonged, and this is where he belongs. You are his love, his home, his everything. He wouldn't even trade it for anything else and beyond.

"Oh, I still need to show you one more thing."

Nanami quirks up his brow as he looks at you with pure curiosity. "What is it?"

You merely grinned cheerily at him without saying anything further, and that's when he got tackled into a tight hug by someone rather familiar.

It really caught him off guard and took him a few seconds to process on who was actually hugging him right at this moment, before his eyes widened in surprise.

-

"H-Haibara-?"

i got carried away near the ending :")

© 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚜.

[english-mace]

You really like using 2nd person in your (published) fiction, and present tense. Is that a big preference or just how it shook out with the short fiction?

What a fun question!

Honestly, it's a little of both. My friend Valerie Valdes has a great essay about why second person sometimes appeals to marginalized authors - essentially, it feels less alienating because we're very used to being asked to step into an experience very different to our own (since so much fiction is anchored on the 'universal' straight-white-cis perspective). For myself, I started out in poetry, where writing to 'you' feels very natural, so, particularly with flash fiction, I drift back into that mode easily.

Second person is great for simultaneously inducing empathy while also distancing the character from what's happening, in an odd way. It's the epitome of 'tell don't show.' In third person, we can do a little bit of informing-on-emotional-state - at least in close third - but we also give the reader context to make their own judgment on whether the character really is feeling the way they're telling us they are, and whether that feeling is justified. In second person, we can get very sparse. A character might only give us one angle or detail of their experience, or a character might refuse to tell us anything at all about how they're feeling, practically dissociating (like the betrayed god-monster of Birds Are Trying To Reinvent Your Heart, a story which displaces emotions onto physical objects rather than placing them on 'you'-the-reader). A really good author - Rebecca Roanhorse's Hugo- and Nebula-winning Welcome to Your Authentic Indian Experience springs to mind - can use second person to incept emotions into the reader, using the complicity of the PoV to get far deeper under the skin than first - conversational, confessional - or third - documentary, informative - ever can.

The trick is, second person is a lot harder to maintain suspension of disbelief. Audiences are far more likely to reject a PoV - like an organ transplant - that asks them to mutate their own self-identity for the length of a story. It's very doable in small slices. Start going for longer, you are likely to lose people.

So that comes back to the difference between what I write and what I manage to sell 😅 I tend to write second-person in pieces under 2,000 words - Sparsely Populated, Birds, and (arguably second, but reads like first) Upon What Soil are all under 1,000, and I have a second-person lesbian forest-witch necromancy story coming out in Haven Spec next month that's ~1,700. And I've had a lot more success selling my flash fiction and poetry than I have my longer pieces. Of the ones I have sold, both my Silk & Steel story (6900 words) and my pirate feather-witches story in Skies of Wonder (4200 words) were third-person past, as are all three of the novels I've gone out on submission with. But alas! If no one buys them, or if only anthology markets which don't post online do, then no one can read them.

...having said all this, I am currently plotting out a second-person detective noir novella, but I'm 90% certain my agent will make me rewrite it into first when I'm done, so there's that 😅

[princess-of-the-corner]

Goooosh, I just has such a fun outline in my head for a ML/Yu Yu Hakusho sort of not fusion exactly, but more like inspiration.

OK, so canon & season 1 are as normal, but in Despair Bear, after Adrien & Chloe's falling out she finds herself walking the streets brooding, fretting, ETC. Encounters a kid & manages to be 'nice' to them, maybe Mannon for simplicities sake. Then ends up saving her life ala Yusuke by running into traffic to push her out of the way.

Ironically if she hadn't intervened the driver would have veered right & Manon would be fine.

Cue ghost!Chloe being extremely pissed off, before encountering a Ferrywoman who explains Chloe's spirit was supr out of whack, partially cos ofher own issues, partially cos left over Remnants from Hawk Moth, there was a spark & well.

She's not quite 'dead' even if she appears that way currently.

She cam come back to life, with the expectation she'll be an medium on Earth in exchange for the help. But her trial to prove she is reliable is caring for a spirit egg. If it has emotions with a bad origin point poured ino it the creature will eat her, if they are positive it will help her return to life and be her companion.

Chloe almost gives up early.

Spying on her father to try and get some "Positive vibes" she encounters him & Audrey talking and.. Well its not great. Audrey doesn't give a shit & Andre muses Chloe was becoming a handful, still he is sad, but Audrey offers him Zoe as a replacement & he's OK. Her guide is pretty sympathetic & convinces her to try her very public, big event wake to see if there's anyone worth returning for.

"The Wake", does change her mind.

Adrien's basically catatonic crying & has to be hand held out by Nathalie. (Really Gabriel, you couldn't even turn up for this!?)

Sabrina has a full on breakdown, because what is she supposed to do now? She needs Chloe, Chloe was supposed to be there for her! (I did not realize I mattered that much)

Miss Bustier tears into anyone slightly rude (Some students & teachers) before expressing regret as she saw Chloe just needed a helping hand & feels she didn't do enough. (Stop making me feel bad, I'm dead!)

Chloe resolves to come back, even if it means having a job when she does.

Also she is definitely going to have words for her 'father' & some of her classmates, oh yes- wait positive thoughts positive thoughts haha.

Some chapters would involve seeing Chat Noir breakdown over her death to Ladybug & reveal himself & Visa versa, they agree to keep it a secret.

(Her death made Adrien reflective on how/why Chloe was like that)

She does some dream therapy with Sabrina & grudgingly encourages her to make friends with others over holding onto grudges for Chloe.

She wants to do dream therapy with Adrien, but the Agreste manor is super warded against ghosts for some reason.

She might do some dream therapy with Marinette.

Then Kagami turns up (Early) beats Adrien but is unsatisfied & Chloe spends the fight heckling her, then being annoying afterwards until Kagami addresses her.

Yup, Kagami can see ghosts & is none to fond of Chloe & ends up AKumatized (Oh come on!!)

Kagami: Your existence taints both my failures and my victories!

Basically, Kagami's mom is a spiritual power house & the one sent to train Chloe. Kagami' worked her whole life to awaken her spiritual powers & just by dying, Chloe is going to be at her level, minimum & Adrien was off his game cos he was still grieving.

Still, they resolve things, & Kagami helps protect Sabrina from some vengeful bullies maybe? Or passes on a message from Chloe to Adrien.

Anyway things seem to be going well, when Hawk Moth decides to posses her body!

Oh right, so the explanation for Chloe still being "Alive" is some lingering magic from when she was Akumatized putting her in a "death state". The Lucky Charm couldn't change it one way or the other though so she's comatose.

Suffice to say everyone, but especially Chat & Chloe are pissed.

Hawk: Any empty vessel wouldn't do for this possession, but this girl always had so much hurt and rage inside her. Now bereft a mind to hinder me she will be the ultimate Akuma! My AKuma!

Chloe: Land Lord, you're evicted!

Its more dramatic than that & she technically sacrifices her chance to come back by handing her egg off to Kagami. (who uses her spiritual skills to keep it alive) so she can stop HK from killing the heroes as Chat won't Cataclysm Chloe's body & the Akuma is her body.

So Gabriel is evicted, Chloe briefly wakes up but fades & is now semi tethered to her body & waiting to pass on.

Adrien brings Kagami to visit her the next day & there's brief talk of how if she were awake Chloe might joke about needing a princes kiss to wake her up.

Kagami leans into a bit and Chloe is getting increasingly flushed. Then Adrien has to step away for a moment & Kagami reveals the egg is alive, being kept so by her spirit and she returns it to Chloe.

Then reveals she has been charged to wake Chloe up, offering some of her own spiritual energy via a lip transfer.

Chloe (OO)

Then she just taps Chloe's lips.

Chloe: That! That was what you had me all worked up about!?

Kagami: Did you want me to kiss you?

Chloe: MAaaabbbyyyeeeeee (Wakes up)

There's tears, reunions, resolutions, death staring at her dad anytime he tries to use her for a press conference. "Physical therapy" with Tomoe & the hatching of the spirit beast which is technically both Chloe & Kagami's now. (Feathery dragon) Actually managing to chill her shit when bantering with some students who she was justly pissed off at.

& after that not sure XD

Oh that's a hot mess of a haunting but it works out great!

[bronx-bomber87]

The rewatch continues! Onto 1x02 ‘Crash Course’ we go. Once again will credit all gif creators at the end of this review. Thank you for all you create. Tumblr wouldn’t be around if not for you. Off we go.

This ep starts for Tim in the hospital. Makes me sad to see Tim at the hospital so disgruntled and alone. Truly not expecting anyone to come pick him up or care. Surly af with the nurse. But it’s not a glow up if we don’t start at the bottom. ‘Started from the bottom now we here’ is a prominent thing for a reason in character growth. Starting at the ground floor with him emotional scars and all.

He is so genuinely so surprised Angela and Talia come to get him. He wants the help but sure as hell isn’t going to ask for it. He’s clearly been so shut down since Isabel. He’s lost trust and faith of those around him. So them coming to get him shocks him. Being s1 Tim though he can’t let them see that. How much this actually means to him. That there are people out there that still care about him. My poor broken boy.

Annnnnd the need for his approval and praise from Tim begins. She’s so excited thinking he was so proud of her and what she did in pilot (she did save his life and protect them both under duress) only to be disappointed by Wrigleys ‘No..’ Her eyes light up only to be crushed by disappointment. You’ll get there Lucy it’s just gonna be a bit ha

Tim dropping by the diner he conveniently ‘lives by ‘ and getting his pickup. Aka a Lying liar who lies. Really just dropping by to check in on her and his current test. To see if she’s losing her mind being a slug or she misses the action already with Tim. Clearly it’s the latter. Regardless of where Tim is emotionally and how she’s his charge. This is a little bit of a work flirt for him. Man took time out of his recovery from a gunshot wound to come see and her give her shit LOL She of course is ready and eager to prove herself even when he’s not officially her T.O. He’s clearly enjoying himself too much though haha

On the surface this is just a test is to see if she wants to be a real cop or a slug. We all know with her future UC predilections she loves the adrenaline. I do think on a deeper level, part of this test is truly to see if she’s gonna stick it out with him. Or if she going to bail on him which is the current state of mind he’s in.

Expecting that abandonment. He’s in fight or flight mode most of s1 cause of Isabel. Legit Survival mode really. So he’s going to distrust everyone around him for little while especially someone with promise like Lucy.

Alas we get to the end of ep for them both. Best part of this gif set is the utter look of confusion on Lucy’s face. Fairly certain she didn’t think Tim Bradford was capable of laughing let alone smiling LOL

What I love most about this scene is one it shows how sharp Lucy is. Telling him she figured out he had her purposely assigned to Wrigley. Two, This is also Lucy’s first moment of challenging him. Standing up to him by calling him a pain in the ass. When he says it’s ‘his job’ It’s her first strike into those walls of his. By insulting him with her little jab. Developing that rapport. We get the first Lucy induced smile from him. He’s actually proud of how she handled herself the entire day with Wrigley. Not half ass-ing it and he’s beaming.

When she watches his retreating form she looks so confused and slightly annoyed at his happy demeanor. But she also doesn’t hate it either. She has no idea she’s started her slow burn with him. That massive wall of his has the smallest crack starting to form. He’s so pleased with himself he doesn’t realize it’s happening either. He’s just happy with himself and how interaction went down. They’re so cute I can not. Eric and Melissa’s chemistry on full display. We had it from the jump with them.

~~~~~

Side notes for this ep. Talia was pretty damn funny in this ep. With all the property/city damage Nolan does haha Them getting kicked into the old school cop car.

The captain ripping those cocky detectives a new one. I always enjoyed her scenes especially ones where she’s mentoring the newbs. She was always so calming to listen to. So sage in her advice.

The Nolan/Lucy scenes continue to make me cringe but they have their purpose even if I dislike them haha

That wraps up ep 2. This will definitely keep me pre-occupied till we can get s6. Try to do few eps a week depending on life/work haha please feel free to like/comment I enjoy it so❤️

Gif credit to

chenfordsbee

tim-lucy x2

Thesweetnessandthesarcasm pain ass my job

relentlessescapism

Chenford source

[wehadabondingmoment]

Adrien idolizing his dad makes sense

There has been so much hate due to the way Gabriel's abuse was handled specifically. I do agree that it should have been handled differently but I also think that Adrien's behavior made sense.

Adrien was beginning to understand his father's abuse and the effects it has had on him and he was getting so angry at him for it. With that kind of stuff, anger comes before acceptance because it's a lot like grief. Of course, this anger wasn't healthy by any means, it did feed into his overall s5 arch of trying to cataclysm people.

Adrien was beginning to be angry and then the person he was starting to hate died while defeating the bad guy (as far as he knows). Gabriel continuously used the excuse that he's doing this (abuse) for Adrien's own good, that he's just trying to protect him and for his father to die doing just that?

Of course Adrien would feel guilty for doubting his father. "Maybe he was trying to protect me by locking me up in a solitary confinement cell." "Not allowing me to date my girlfriend may have been his way of caring :)"

Adrien is gullible and emotional and feels chronic guilt. He's a perfect victim and he's written like that on purpose. Adrien Agreste is perfect and someone who is perfect wouldn't think ill of their dead father.

There used to be a lot of fan theories speculating on Emilie's morality and doubting that she was as perfect of a parent as Adrien's words make her out to be. This is precisely because Adrien idolizes and excuses people and their behavior. When someone dies, it is entirely normal to force yourself to think positively of them. To get so caught up in grieving that everything gets pushed back, all the anger and pain and you only feel worse if a bad thought does cross your mind.

Adrien has so much love in his heart and he isn't emotionally prepared to handle anything as complex as the relationship he currently has with his dad. After all, Gabriel defeated Hawk Moth, he must be good.

And this ties into the way he views Ladybug. Ladybug fights against the bad guy which means that he automatically sees her as the good guy and defends some of her more questionable actions (I could discuss this in a whole different post but alas). Depending on the season and his mental state he does have moments of doubt where he calls her out but especially when he's the one hurting, Chat Noir likes to rationalize her behavior. Even when she deserves to be called out for it.

He's essentially doing the same thing with his father that he has done all his life with everyone, no?

[marlasomething]

Thought Runner 2049 (Bugborg Week - June 14)

Summary: Former gun for hire, re-invented into white-collar criminal Nebula is being interviewed after being offered a job by Yondu's Criminal Family by Mantis...maybe they get along better than expected.

Relationships: Nebula/Mantis

A/N: Written for day 3 of @bugborgweek2023

Prompt: Love languages

Word count: 1626

CW: parental abuse, memories of body modification and abuse, childhood trauma

Also on AO3!

Nebula didn’t like human contact. Usually, it was something that she could easily avoid. After all, his father had been one of the most influential politicians in the History of the United States and, even these days, after having been proved how many terrible things he had done, plenty of people defended him and his shadow grew as larger as it had always done.

This fear didn’t only come from the fact that everybody knew that he seemed to believe he was the only one within the right to harm his step-children, though. It also came from the fact that, even though she had stopped being his hitman many years ago already, but people still knew about her handy-work from that time.

Since then, she had become one of the most successful criminals in the white-globe criminal underground. She had sworn not to kill unless strictly necessary. Not because she cared much about other people’s lives, but because she simply wanted to show Thanos he hadn’t irremediable turned her into a monster.

Of course, that didn’t mean that she didn’t occasionally end some people’s existence if it was absolutely necessary. Alas, her reputation was, somehow, intact in what toughness was referred.

Right now, she was wondering whether it might become even stronger in the violent department, as the contact from Yondu’s Ravangers kept being nice to her.

“Nepo-bug” she grunted, piercing her with her mechanically altered eyes. The other woman, who had some physical alterations done as well (making her shorta kinda similar to the animal she had chosen to name herself after, presumably once she had been adopted by her actual boss), blinked at her, offended.

“That was unnecessary . I’ve proved myself quite capable when it comes to read emotions and reach out to other… Illegal firms . It has nothing to do with who my family is. Also, it is really rude to pray upon another person’s body. Maybe I have good reasons for looking like… this ” after saying that, she made an unconscious gesture, grapping her very own wrist as it hurt.

Nebula understood that language.

  “Dad, why does it hurt so much?”

“Don’t worry Nebula. You will be better once you get used to it. After all, wasn’t your meaty right arm a bother most of the time…?”

 “Fuck, I knew that Ego guy was pretty terrible. I mean, he liked Thanos; but…I won’t say I am sorry, because your current dad still wants to buy my services for far too less than they are worth, but…I get it. What did he do in your head?”

Mantis composed an unreadable expression, completely alien for Nebula, before answering.

“Just sensors to get people better. That is how I know you are trying to get extra money just to prove to your sister that she got payed less because she fancies my brother in the Biblical sense . Also, the money part of business is held by my mom, not dad. Meredith is the best with money, even if not choosing partners, some might say” she smile, and it was genuine. Then, she clicked her fingers and an angry male voice could be heard from behind a wall as all the cameras shut down.

“Lylla! The blue-tattooed lady is going to kill our Mantis if we left them alone. And, then, Drax is going to kill ME !”

“Oh, Rocket, pretty please, shut up or you are sleeping on the couch. I think those two deserve a bit of intimacy…you are alone, honey! Right, Rocket ?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, but you go next time Floor’s teacher calls, alright?”

A door opened and closed and Nebula didn’t hear the end of the conversation (not that she cared).

“So….terrible early childhood dad, uh?”

“Biological, in my case. He cheated on Meredith with a…I don’t even know who my mother was, or is. Just that I was one of those kids that were already born with an inclination to be genetically modified and, since Peter is too old-fashioned human for it…my existence healed his disappointment . What he didn’t expect was, well…”

“…your mother taking his two children and running away with the criminal he had paid to murder his older yet useless son? I mean, that story is kind of famous in our circles”. It had also been the beginning of the end of Ego’s reign in the underground.

“Yes, that. However, the Bad has already been done. I…I might be receptive to artificial modifications, but, what I am not receptive to is to read people as most people do. So…it was…challenging, also, the whole not-fitting-with-my-name-thing” Nebula bit her tongue there; the only thing Thanos had done for her was giving her a name she felt matched more than Pompeii (the one her parents had given her, a bit too much for her taste). “I hear feelings, sometimes even thoughts; when the person is emotionally too vulnerable; but I just burst them out loud, I didn’t get that that made people uncomfortable for quite a while. Then, when I chose to be called Mantis, I asked for the modifications so the ones Ego did remained hidden, especially from me”.

“So, you knew what I was thinking so…am I emotionally vulnerable?” Mantis smiled even more (fuck, how much could this woman made her feel comfortable?).

“That is not bad; I think is a kind of language, an especial one. Just as you got what was going on with me because of how I gestured. I think these are ways that made us communicate in ways that nobody else could” all of the sudden, Nebula felt herself blush.

“Woah, bug, that your brother and my sister are doing grown up things doesn’t mean that you and I…”

At this, Mantis blushed even more.

“Oh, no. No . Of course…I didn’t…just friends”.

“ Friendly acquaintances ” Mantis shrugged.

“Well, at least you dropped the nepo bit already. A beginning is a beginning”.

 Nebula stopped the recording and eyed her partner, who was relaxing over her legs. Mantis laughed at her face.

“I know the pain Lylla went through as a teen, but I swear, it will be nothing compared to the one she is going to feel when I catch her. She said they had stopped recording!”

“She didn’t specify …”

“She did!”

“You know she didn’t!”

“Oh, it’s been a while since my mind has been that easy to read” it was true. Apparently, the only thing she had needed to stop being so emotionally vulnerable was…to stop being so close within herself.

Figured.

“ Oi! It is not the only way I have now to understand you” Mantis hit her with delicacy, but certain strength.

She was right, though. They had been together for longer than Nebula had been not only in a relationship, but it good terms in general with anyone (except for Gamora, of course; but shared abuse would do that to you), and every day she realised she could understood Mantis without having to exchange traditional words.

In small gestures, in shared silences, in how she poured water into a glass…even the silliest of gestures could mean a world. And Mantis was catching up, too; for the first time, she was getting someone from the beginning without her unnatural abilities put into use.

They were just perfectly similar, yet not equal enough, for it. Nebula couldn’t have been luckier to have met her.

She would still call her Bug , though; that was something Mantis would never be able to avoid.

(Not that she actually wanted to).

[mixdgrlproblems]

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#ElianMarjieh (known by her stage name #Elyanna) is a #mixed #Palestinian-#Chilean singer and songwriter. She has released two EPs: Elyanna (2020) and Elyanna II (2022). She is currently signed to Universal Arabic Music. Her singles Ana Lahale, Ghareeb Alay, and Ala Bali have all charted on The Official Lebanese Top 20.

She was born and raised in #Nazareth, Israel and is of Palestinian and Chilean descent. Her mother is a poet, and her grandfather is a poet and singer. She began singing at age seven and started posting covers of songs on SoundCloud as a teenager. In 2017, at age 15, she and her family moved to San Diego, California (eventually settling in Los Angeles) to further pursue her musical career. After arriving in the United States, she began posting covers on her Instagram, where she garnered a following of around 300,000 users. Elyanna’s music is a mix of Arabic and Western beats, something that the singer ascribes to her multinational upbringing.

“Growing up, I was inspired by a lot of genres such as jazz; it was all I would sing as a young girl. When I moved to the US, I felt an immediate connection with Arabic music and my culture. It gave me another perspective on the type of music I wanted to create.”

She just made history at #Coachella in April 2023 for being the first act to perform a full set in Arabic. She also set a precedent as the first Arabic-language artist to perform at the event.

"I always say that when you're an #immigrant, you get really attached to your culture more than ever. So when I moved to the US, I feel like I figured out who I am, and I figured out how beautiful our culture is. And I just wanted to embrace it the whole time. I want to show people a new culture. I feel like a lot of cultures, like Latin, Spanish, you hear them everywhere, and you don't understand everything, but it's so beautiful how international it is. So it's, like - it's not necessarily you have to understand what I'm saying, but it's all about the emotions and how it makes you feel." 🇵🇸🇨🇱 #arabamericanheritagemonth #mixedarab #halfarab #mixedgirl

[fatalelity]

oh yeah here's tav! addison (or as i like to say ... taddie. bc haha tadpole .... okay bye)

basic rundown ( spoilers for act i mainly ) :

she was born to a dynasty of surgeons, doctors, spellcasters etc in baldur's gate

she's a medical doctor — trained surgeon to be precise, but god she is not a cleric and will go on a 'not all doctors are clerics fuck you' rant

a lover of wine, literature, and just having a good time mostly

she's a pacifist at heart so you can imagine how she feels with what happened to the goblins (yes, my party's on permanent knock ppl out mode)

oh on that note, she became an accidental necromancer... hahaha

being a variation of tav, she's special in the way that she has an innate ability to turn back time (never forward) — if you're familiar at all with "reset theories" this is what i'm going for. for those who don't know, the tldr is that she will remember every event that happens even if she goes to another spot in time (aka reloading a save state). she can't will it to happen. it triggers upon intense emotional responses. it's only been triggered twice in game. it'll take a toll on her and she won't be able to rest for at least two nights

so, that being said she is a sorcerer!

her main party at the moment are with shadowheart, karlach, and gale

she's definitely polyamorous. she has intense feelings for both shadowheart and gale, which is one of the points in the timeline that fucks her up the most

she really does like karlach, but probably wouldn't try to pursue a romance or whatever with her. they vibe. they get angry together. it's fun /*shrugs*

ACT ONE.

she accidentally got lae'zel killed by the tieflings who held her captive — she thought they'd leave the other in her hands but alas. they went into battle, rolled initiative and she wasn't fast enough to stop people... she still feels horrible about it

she's spurred events that lead to the druids attacking the tieflings twice — those were her two resets. she still feels guilty about it, even though the current timeline they are fine... mostly

needless to say, she did not side with the goblins. whilst she actively tried not to kill them, it's hard not to when you use magic and your self preservation instincts kick in

she didn't actually kill minthara, knocked her out real good and hoped she lived

she consumed a tadpole once and that was that

got beef with astarion, tbh they probably would've had hate sex or something idk man. it's a weird relationship she's either being really nice to him or roasting him alive

actively trying to get shadowheart the fuck outta sharran but like, won't judge her for her faith bc it's all she's got since her memories are literally taken away

she's learned to lie real well since travelling with the cohort

scratch, owlbear, arabella, plus mol's gang are her kids. do not fuck with them. i'm serious. she almost killed kagha during the first reset because of it.

unfortunately due to her being single minded of wanting to get the gang to baldurs gate and find answers, unless she sees your suffering, gets lost herself, and/or its something related to her personally she will not engage in the side quests

that being said, they did spend some time in the underdark but very briefly because they got lost and ended back in the camp

so instead, she opts to go through the mountain pass but again got lost and ran into ethel

she accidentally uses necromancy to make mayrina's husband er ... undead. needless to say she feels like a sack of shit for doing that and wants to undo it but this is ultimately mayrinas choice so she let's them be

since on the topic of necromancy, she does still have that cursed necromancy of thay book in possession. no idea what to do with it but yknow, it's not an active problem

in the mountain pass she will not make a detour to the creche, she will go straight to the shadow cursed lands

ACT TWO.

shes actively trying to not have gale go blow himself up... desperately.

there's some strain between her and the others minus karlach, her mvp ... the fires of avernus can sure be comforting in moments that feel so cold to her

I will say this : the decisions she makes here are NOT good. at this point she's mostly focused on keeping everyone alive and kinda forgot about the fact that halsin is Here to lift the curse

she follows kar'niss, does the whole cutscene at moonrise tower and reluctantly agrees to help balthazaar

she goes into his room and er, let's just say her party (NOT HER) took more than just the moonlantern

she will get lost because she's a rich girl from baldurs gate who never learned how to USE a compass ... anyways, let's say she does not go to the mausoleum first and ends up trekking backwards ....

before reaching last light inn, she meets the boy Oliver and plays only one round of hide n seek with him because she has a mission and that triggered the scene where she had to fight his family and pissed him off so royally that it locked her outta lifting the curse. oops. she doesn't know that though ...

when she finds dammon she will actually make the detour to find karlach her metal. she adores karlach. she wants her to live. she wants to give her a real hug.

during said metal excursion er .... let's say she finds her way into the house of healing and she found arabella's parents before arabella herself... the house of healing was where she did her first act of mercy killings outta the many

arabella obviously will stay in camp and tbh, she has this gnawing feeling so she looks around to see if there are any other surviving tieflings (there were not, she was distraught and during long rests the more restless companions can hear her cry in the corner)

i know she said no detours but she saw a night orchid by the cliff and HAD TO get it for shadowheart because God she would kill for some joy — shadowhearts little reaction / joke made her smile for the first time very sincerely

anyways, she finally finds their way into the mausoleum and ahahaha .... hahaha ....

the gauntlet of shar was probably one of the most painful things to witness shadowheart go through. she did not like it and in fact at some point she takes over and sacrifices her own blood

she ignores raphaels entire request lmao

uhm, I'd say what she did with balthazaar was er ... some misty steps, and she pushed him off a cliff out of self preservation

taps into shadowhearts goodness and let her lean into her own intuition which resulted in aylin being spared

after shadowhearts been exiled, she will literally do whatever means to comfort her oh dear God

jaheira does die in moonrise tower ... she feels like shit about it (lol what's new)

anyways, the big boss battle happens and they make their road to baldurs gate

ACT THREE.

say no to evolution god please. she hates the emperor and will do things to piss him off such as steal from the house of hope

she completes companion events in this order (as of now): shadowheart, astarion, karlach, wyll, gale

she didn't actively encourage shadowheart to kill her parents but shadowheart did; she DID actively encourage astarion to not ascend and free the spawns ... oops. monster hunters hate her so much rn

she's deeply tormented by orin. like i mean deeply. she's in despair. she wants it to stop so bad.

obviously she chooses aylin and isobel over some wizard in a tower

she wants to fist fight shar and mystra. so bad. she may be a healer but *cocks gun*

i will add more to this and then write a cohesive page as the game progresses here lol

[newmusicradionetwork]

Young Country traditionalist Alex Miller is diggin’ his new music video, “She Makes Dirt Look Good,” which premiered today on DIRT ROAD COUNTRY. A companion piece to Miller’s latest single, the clip was directed by Alex’s ally Steve Kinney, and filmed over two days in Bowling Green and Hodgenville, Kentucky. “Man, I can’t tell you how much fun this shoot was,” Alex exclaims. “We had drones, pickup trucks, back roads, and some big equipment. We also had a sweet, beautiful girl and my favorite John Deere dealership, Wright Implement, featured. They’ve been around since 1936, and they take good care of us.” The video, shot in mid-September, stars Miller and Nashville actress Ayla Demirci, who plays Alex’s love interest in the clip, navigating days filled with sunshine and blue skies and nights awash in gorgeous sunsets and giant harvesters. Demirci’s portrays a gear head repairing the gargantuan Deere machines – and Alex is a hard-working, good-looking farm boy who picks her up after work. The two share great on-screen chemistry and some tender moments on tape. Additional filming took place at Freshstart Farms (Hodgenville). “I’m a farmer and so I wanted to depict agriculture in an accurate way. It was important to me to use local places in this video and Freshstart is one of the oldest farms in the area. Beautiful, too,” Alex adds. There are jaw-dropping shots of the big equipment in action after dark (a common practice nowadays) and grain silos that equal any amusement park ride in height, while drone footage adds an upscale flair. “She Makes Dirt Look Good” is from Alex’s five-song Billy Jam Records’ EP,  MY DADDY’S DAD, produced by hitmaker Jerry Salley. Miller is making hay while the sun shines. Since moving to Nashville in May, he has debuted on the Grand Ole Opry, kept a busy schedule of touring, radio station visits, TV/media interviews, and expanded his songwriting circle. Select upcoming dates include:   Nov 13 -15 – Louisville, KY – North American International Livestock Expo Nov 16 – Tulsa, OK – Hard Rock Casino Nov 18 -19 – Louisville, KY – North American International Livestock Expo CONNECT WITH ALEX MILLER Website | Facebook | Instagram | TikTok | YouTube | X (Twitter) ABOUT ALEX MILLER This now 21-year-old, 6’ 6” entertainer from rural Lancaster, Kentucky is a natural fan favorite. When Alex hits the stage he owns the spotlight – and the hearts of those in the crowd. He can be a wild man onstage with his high-energy performances – ala early Garth Brooks – or he can bring nuance and deep emotion to a tender ballad. American Idol Season 19 brought him fame and totally changed his life in 2021. Alex’s well-received debut album for Billy Jam Records, MILLER TIME, released in 2022, generated three high-impact singles. His second release for the label, COUNTRY (2023), brought more hits: “When God Made The South,” “Girl, I Know A Guy,” and the smash single, “Puttin’ Up Hay,” which spent three weeks at #1 on the CDX True Indie Chart and graced the Top 50 on the Mediabase Activator Chart. He’s toured the State and County Fair circuit heavily (KY, MO, NY, WA, WI, IL, IN, OK, WV), and opened for Brooks & Dunn, Hank, Jr, Josh Turner, Lee Brice, Jamey Johnson, Chris Janson, Ian Munsick, Justin Moore, Alabama, Chapel Hart, Drake Milligan, Noah Thompson, Dillon Carmichael, HunterGirl, Emily Ann Roberts, Neal McCoy, and Tracy Byrd. Alex has also made sure to carve out time for his songwriting, and in the last 12 months he has collaborated with hitmakers Kent Blazy, Larry Cordle, Byron Hill, Carl Jackson, Kirsti Manna, Wood Newton, Emily Ann Roberts, Jerry Salley, Josh Shilling, and Bill Whyte. Closing out a spectacular 2023, he received the American FFA Degree for Excellence, the organization’s highest accolade. Miller’s current five-song EP, MY DADDY’S DAD (Billy Jam Records), produced by Jerry Salley, was released in April of this year. The EP’s title track was a hit at Country radio, and its companion music video enjoyed a premiere on Taste Of Country. Alex moved to Nashville in May and made his debut on the Grand Ole Opry in June. Read the full article

[l2mplanted]

alenko , what just happened ?

@valahren, morbid curiosity.

a power so great and dangerous that it even came to the detriment of its wielder was certainly one to be feared, especially if it was driven by raw emotion because not only would it be unleashed with tremendous force but also in an uncontrolled, reckless manner. all soldiers have it instilled in them to be poised no matter the situation for the sake of rational decision-making, but it was especially crucial for alenko and his ilk to do so given the volatility of biotics. friendly fire could occur if his abilities came from a place of ire, and alas, currently, he was dealing with the aftermath of that scenario: severely wounded allies. indeed, everyone within range had incurred the ferocity of his biotics, not just the hostiles; it was impossible for their to be discrimination when he wasn't even thinking, just acting.

needless to say, his mind was in overdrive as he waited to learn his fate, and though it was a concern to some extent, the consequences he will receive for his conduct was not his main focus. rather, it was the state of his allies. seeing them debilitated was depressing enough as it was, but knowing it was because of him, that he hurt instead of protected them to such an extent that they needed intensive care, made him absolutely sick.

once the warden entered the room, nervous reactions ensued. his eyes widened, a bead of sweat started to trickle down his face, and he winced at the question. even if it wasn't intended to be, it certainly felt like punishment. having to admit to what he did was the worst thing imaginable to him. he didn't want to do it, his body was actively trying to prevent him with his throat and chest tightening, but he had to remind himself that his suffering was nowhere near comparable to the suffering of his allies. therefore, he must bear it.

alenko tried his best to muster up the strength to show formality whilst addressing his superior, to be well-spoken, articulate and have a straight posture, even though he was mentally, emotionally and physically drained, even though he knew that he may no longer be an officer after this conversation. and his best ended up being a shaky, weak voice, trembling hands, and wandering eyes. he was by no means trying to be disrespectful, it was just the intensity of his emotions was suffocating him. though, that probably didn't matter.

❛ i-i was careless, sir. i injured the ones who depended on me and looked to me as their leader, because i let my emotions take control. i'm the reason why they will be missing in action for the foreseeable future. ❜ taking accountability was the very least he could do considering he couldn't change any of the events that have led them all here. it didn't make him feel any better, of course, but it was a show of humanity that many thought human biotics lacked despite their species. he even questioned his own humanity at times.

❛ they deserved better. ❜

[gutsandsweets]

Fictober day 7

Prompt #7; "follow me if you want to live"

Yet again still another draft. I wanted this day to be for my favorite character since it's my favorite number n all, but just ignore this post for now!!

It was mid day when it had happened. The ship had been on it's correct/righteous path, and nothing bad had happened to the crew. But they, no, *he* should have known that never lasts for long. The weather was mediocre, an uncomfortably warm temperature but no sun burning over them. It had been shunned, hiding between/behind layers of clouds(and such)

It was bound to happen eventually, he guessed. Something would occur/happen/take place that would either put the crew in danger, or decrease their spirits temporarily. But so soon was not expected./it had tooken so long to happen that everyone found themselves lower their guard, if only slightly.

It was like a Roullete in a way. It could be some weather changes, route switching caused by the waves/sea storms, sea kings, outside forces(such as the Marines and other pirates), or some interesting phenomena. This time around, it just so happened to be the latter.

It begun starting in the kitchen. Sanji had recently finished cooking an exquisite dish for the ladies and others to snack on. For an unidentified reason, though, he felt himself getting increasingly overwhelmed and tired. It was so abrupt. He rarely ever even felt this way, and it was only caused by a rough fight when he did. But alas, it had been over months since his last major battle he partook in, so he was clueless as to what it could be.

Perhaps he just needed a quick breather or nap. It would at least fix the exhaustion if he did. Plus, he still had quite some time until liffy would begin to whine and plead/beg for more nutrition/food.

It was decided that he would take a short nap to receive/regain his (full) energy. He finished cleaning up the last of his dishes, putting them in the drying racks before locking the fridge back and closing the door of the kitchen and climbing down the distance from it and the boys cabin. Once he entered he found that nobody else was currently in the room. Thank goodness for that. He was sure it's be significantly hardlee/more difficult to sleep with any of those baboons around.

He unbuttoned his suit coat, setting it on a rack near his bed/hammock. He pulled on his blankets, shaking them troughtly/thoroughly before fluffing them back out. He had already/previously/? stepped out of his shoes and peeled off his cleen/sleek white/pristine socks and then crawled under his few/collection of blankets. He layed on his back, letting a deep sigh out of his lungs before staring into the woods of the ceiling.

Sanji let the silence of the room lull him to sleep. It wasn't often that the soundless environment was left that way for long, and so he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted/use it accordingly.

He shut his eyes, taking a couple/few more conscious breaths as he fell into a state of deep sleep/soft/safe/sleep. As he had no control of what would happen from that point on, it isn't un ordinary that he had no choice on the type of dream he was about to have.

2/3 more paragraphs here?

They had the look of an eldritch/dge god or goddess. Long, silky and luscious hair glazen on top an astonishing face. Delicate skin that looked baby smooth to the touch, no foreign deceiving/intruding scars. As perfect as anything could be, and more.. | Sanji immediately felt a pull to them, as if he had been brought to this world just for this moment/for this purpose of existing here. | They spoke with soul/meaning to their words, each syllable embedded deeply/with emotion and intent/purpose

"You can interpret me as anybody you wish to, my son/darling."

(Ah.. If that's so, would it be alright if i saw you as my mother..?)

"If that is what you desire to call me by, I have nothing against it whatsoever.. As I said, it is whatever pleases you the most/best."

As Sanji looked to the figure/siloet silhouette, it gave him a faint smile. Floating over to his form, it rested a ghostly/fluorescent/faded/transparent hand on his shoulder/taking a firm hold. He could barely feel the touch of their skin, although he knew it was there. He watched/observed as it fazed through his skin, if not only a bit, before they retracted it and held it close to their side/chest.

"I can even alter my looks to support/represent/exhibit features of the one you'd like without even a word out loud of who.."

Hm. So they were like a shifter of sorts? But to be anyone that someone idolized, that they wanted/had a deep need for.. It sounded so angelic. So fitting for such a being, he couldn't have thought of a more fitting asset to this figure/goddess. To have the ability to change to whatever they liked- it was the dream of almost every human and living being/person alike. He was sure many people envied those just like them,khoping/wishing they could be the same/have the same purpose/power/ability/empowerment.

Then, maybe if he..?

The split second a thought of someone entered sanji's mind, the floating figure began to warp. It still held a resemblance of the original form/maker/inventor/?, but now shared the same features as someone far from/into his past. Light/pale strands of hair turned blonde, and they closed their eyes before opening them to an entirely different color. An ocean blue rather than the previous white/black. Near white/clear/pale skin with a dress of the same silken materials from before.

Sanji felt himself hold back a breath in shock/from shock. He had believed fully that this power was a real one, that this being/thing/form was being truthful. But yet, he hadnt expected it to be so.. So.. Accurate. It seemed so familiar, as if it was the real thing.

A nearly identical copy of his mother's features/looks, right next to/in front of him.

'Could this really be possible?' He wondered.

Nothing like this had ever happened over the time of his journey across the sea(s) as the Strawhats cook,(let alone in general). Strangely new things happened all the time here in this world, but this was the first that even came close to something as awe-inspiring/eye widening/shocking(suspenseful) as this. To make yourself essentially another version of people so close to those you spoke/walked with, to be so akin to those someone held so dearly.. It shouldn't be possible- simply put

But Sanji had learned best/most of all that the idea, the theory/feelings of (the word) 'impossible' further showed that it was, indeed, possible. This new land had no limits apparently, and this was not going to be it.(suddenly be). Anything was possible, even stuff as buzzare as this.

They continued to walk, settling in the silence along with the faint/low/quaint hums of the surrounding area(?). The space seemed infinite. A narrow path led from one end to the next, although/though Sanji was unsure of what lay at either. It could lead to an ideal dream land, or no where at all. There was no way to find out asides from continuing further on this path. Maybe he could figure out/reveal as to why exactly he was brought/is here? He chose to keep walking, maybe if he came upon the end of the trail then he could understand that at the least. Anything to find a clue of this place/it's purpose would do.(.)

He started to wonder if this was even a dream at this point.

The figure began to talk again, saying something along the lines of this being the calling to/of his future/purpose.

"I can tell you question why you are present here..

It's because I have been assigned to speak to you of your future and paths you might take, sanni."

He listened as they spoke, a bit confused even after hearing the reasoning. It seemed a bit odd to be here for something like that. He already knew how he was going to go about living in his future, as far as he knew..

"I don't see the reason behind this to be logical/reasonable..i already know how the rest of my life will play out and where I want to go with it." He exclaimed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sleep pants

They shook their head lightly, smiling at his response.

"Oh, you silly.. Just because you know your plans doesn't mean they'll always be guaranteed to smhaooen/succeed. Theres infinite possibilities.."

"Like what? Are you saying something terrible is going to happen in the future for me, or are you hinting to something else..?"

He grew more curious and confused, trying to pin down what they really meant.

"No, not quite. But im here to tell you about what you should avoid in order for that to not end up being the result."

They both kept on moving, step after step as they conversed. Back and forth words, answering the burning questions of what this all meant. They revealed that they were like a distant guardian of sorts and knew exactly how his future could go based off of his choices from here on. They told him of things to avoid, things to stay around, and the whole list..

"You'll follow me and my words if you want to live. I can only do so much to help you if you do not listen."

Sanji leaned his head down in a small bow/nod, finally (starting to understand)understanding all of this. He kept his voice quiet as he felt himself begin to awake/wake back up. He spoke with a low tone , on the brink of al3ep and the word awake.

"I'll make sure to keep all of that in mind. Thank you, _.