#c: Vy

[void-botanist]

The Melichacha Crew: A Powerpoint

I added some extra lore to this one since I know at least @writinglittlebeasts was hungering for it, lol. There's even more embedded lore that I didn't really get into so feel free to question me in the replies/tags/asks/dms if anything catches your fancy.

Tagging various other people who I believe will be interested: @vacantgodling @sam-glade @kingkendrick7 @outpost51 @writernopal @athenswrites

[naviculariis]

I love that folks ( me included ) are like

Yeah, Shanks?? Whore.

Meanwhile Benn is canonically stated to be VERY popular with the ladies. Canonically. Benn gets aROUND-

[sanguinemsaucius]

I think if my phone buzzes or lights up for my attention one more time tonight, I'm going to become the Joker

[angered-box]

i feel stupid for getting scared at the yelling and threats when they weren't event directed at me they were directed at my sibling

[watch-out-it-bites]

[bbokicidal]

A Simple Analysis. | OT8 [SKZ]

Warnings: I'm gonna be straight discussing these men and their pp sizes so if you don't want to read about that then just skip this post, no biggie.

Notes: I'm just theorizing what I think they're like 'n I included some good 'ol references. Please note - these references include pictures/videos of the boys AS WELL AS pictures that are NOT the boys but are references to what I picture in my head when I write smut for them. I also need to thank @skzms because I Lowkey could not find bulge pics/vids on my own and their post really helped me out w that.

Extra Warning: There are twitter links in this post, so you know what that means!! Watch at your own discretion losers, I don't want ppl in my inbox whining that I use refs that 'don't look like them' like obv jfc let me hop on bub quick to ask Chris for a dick pic smh.

Extra extra warning: I like slowly lost the ability to think the more I wrote this because all I was doing was looking at SKZ cock so I mean. forgive me.

Chris

HEA. VY.

Heavy Heavy Heavy !!!! I said what I said !!! And if you want to know why, you can simply look at this video!! If I'm being totally honest here, I don't think he's massive down below but I do think he's a little above average at least. Maybe -- mm... six and a half inches? Pretty sure it's pretty, pink, and always leaking pre because he gets hard so easily.

Also, pretty sure it's relatively thick. I mean, we've seen it a few times before in his pants/shorts, so... definitely enough to make you whimper when he's splitting you open. <3

I'm not even gonna like. explain why I think this bc I'm pretty sure we all know but it's veiny as fuck and you cannot argue w that.

And his favorite thing is when you mention during sex how full you feel just bc of how heavy he is. :]

In conclusion: Pretty pink fat cock that is more than enough to make you feel incredible each time you fuck. <3333

Minho

This man is... packing. p a c k i n g.

Packing like I'm pretty sure it's not like thick thick but it's thick enough and it's probably more on the purple side than the pink side, and it's so fucking long--

Not as heavy as Chan but definitely bigger. Bigger, longer, one pretty blue vein running up the side. Literally so perfect and just the right size for your hands to fit around. Also not too long to the point where it hurts to take it but definitely... big. Seven, at least. At. Least.

And his favorite thing is when you whine about how he's fucking you so good that you might die. Dunno why that comment specifically gets to him, but he makes sure to fuck you a little deeper after that.

In conclusion: pretty cock for a pretty man and so fucking yummy.

Changbin

Okay look people might disagree but I think Binnie's a lil on the smaller side !!

Now look. I'm not saying 'bah this bitch has a small cock' I'm just saying it's not a cervix-kisser like a few of the men on this list. It's just right!! It's the perfect size to be perfectly comfortable when fucking and he knows that 'n he's happy with it. (I'm thinking five, bc five is a comfy size.)

However.

He will ABSOLUTELY split you wide fucking open with how thick he is. This man has the chubbiest, pink, mouth-watering, pussy-dripping, eyes-rolling-back, tears running down your thighs, cock ever !!! He's gotta prep you for so fucking long and there is always soooo much foreplay to you two having sex because he's just so thick that if you don't prep lots it's gonna hurt a lil and Bin really really just wants to take care of you. :(((

And his favorite thing is seeing the way you struggle to take him in your mouth because of how thick he is. :]]]]]

In conclusion: best cock on this list. <3

Hyunjin

Hoh. My God.

Hyunjin,,,, ... Hyunjin's packing a fucking rod of a cock, I can't even lie to you. I'm like 90% sure it's at least eight inches and if it isn't then I'm dead. Y'all thought Minho was big? LAWD have mercy, Hyunjin's got a fucking PIPE on him. A third leg, if you will. Shit slaps his thigh when he walks if he don't wear briefs.

SO. PRETTY. I keep saying all their cocks are pretty BC THEY ARE I JUST KNOW IT but Hyunjin's cock is actually fucking gorgeous like it's the type where even if you're someone who's like "I don't like dick pics" and he sends you one?? you're like "omg y'know what I've had an epiphany"

Not like heavy or thick like the others but soooo long, soooo pretty, soooo mouth watering. The type of cock that has you actually drooling and getting fucked dumb every time he puts it in you.

And his favorite thing is when you do just that ^ and go all quiet n whimpery during sex because your brain is mushy.

In conclusion: Monster cock and no one can convince me otherwise !!

Jisung

Mm, okay. I think it's -- average?? But see I dunno why but I'm picturing a little on the thinner side. (AND NO THAT ISN'T MY SUB JI SUPREMACY MINDSET SPEAKING) but just bc it's a little thinner doesn't mean it's not heavy !!!

And even though it only might be like - five and a half, it's still so cute and so pretty and so fucking tasty!!!

Also like a firm believer that he jerks it at least twice a day, sorry not sorry.

And his favorite thing is when you blow him because you just take it so well and he loves seeing it all disappear down your throat <33 mm mm mmmm !!

In conclusion: Mmmm,,, cutest cock on the list <3

Felix

Y'all keep saying Felix has a little cock just bc you enjoy Twink Felix and look - I too enjoy Twink Felix but I also believe in frat boy Felix supremacy SO -

Big dick Felix in the building !!!

Pretty sure he's above average. Like, 6 or 6 and a half, maybe?? SO pretty, cut, pink, so so cute, so fucking yummy looking.

Easily like, the slickest cock on the list. And if you know what I mean, you know what I mean. if you don't that too bad ig.

The type of cock you wanna like. put in your mouth forever and just never stop giving him head fr.

And his favorite thing is when you jerk him because sometimes he just doesn't have the energy or care but he wants it. Plus your hands look so much better on it than his do. :ccc <333

In conclusion: Pretty, big, hefty cock that fills you up soooo good. Also constantly leaking cum n making a mess but you didn't hear that from me !!!!

Seungmin

Y'all,,, I'm not just saying this because I'm a Seungmin bias but,,,

This man has a fucking. rod. Not like Hyunjin-length rod but rod that's like at least seven inches and I refuse to believe otherwise because have you seen the,,,,

Fucking!!Monster!!Of!!A!!Cock!!!!

Thick! So thick! So heavy! Rivals Chris w how heavy he is !!

And his favorite thing is when you choke on it because raaahhh!!! (im not okay)

In conclusion: 2Min Monster Cock Squad

Jeongin

Holy God y'all.

Think I mentioned it once in a post where I was like, "P sure Jeongin has a big dick because as soon as he hit 21 he had this massive boom in confidence n I'm p sure it's bc his dick grew like 6 inches"

Sooooo,,, pretty sure he's also in the monster cock squad.

Like, at least seven inches, again. So big, so tasty. The type of cock that makes you pray to God it won't rip you apart because I just know he fucks hard, bro.

And his favorite thing is when you actually scream during sex because of how good he makes you feel. <3

In conclusion: Jeongin big dick supremacy, we all know he's packing a fucking log of summer sausage in his boxers.

Taglist : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

[bingiessm]

WARNING, LONG POST

Hello, welcome to the Bridgerton Season 3 trailer over-analysis corner. I am bingiessm--a film student that needs an outlet right now and wants to practice some film analysis--and am here to bring forth the FIRE/FLAME/CANDLE motif that was all over this trailer and I feel will be a HUGE motif throughout this season for Penelope and Colin (Polin).

So within the Polin context, let's look at each shot where a flame of a candle or lack thereof could represent their romantic interest in one another--and in particular the understanding/recognition of it.

This show is going all out putting candles EVERYWHERE--yes it was actual lighting in regency era, but you don't have to have it in the shot. That is a CHOICE. Also a choice to have it lit or not.

Also, "I burn for you" anyone?

FIRST SHOT: somewhat obvious but considering the context of both the mirror as well as other future shots within this trailer, this flame represents the feelings Penelope has for Colin, that she is well aware of and has held for a long while.

I also just have an inkling that she is seeing herself differently in this moment (feeling something for the first time possibly)--the way Nicola looks feels shocked/contemplative, but not scared as if it might be Whistledown-related.

SECOND SHOT: they are outside, talking about Penelope being a "lost cause." WHY IS THERE AN UNLIT CANDLE IN A MARKET STALL, if not to represent some unrealized feelings on Colin's part? It is also on his side of the frame. This is similar to this next one, both of which I believe are earlier in the season, as this is the start of him "helping" her.

THIRD SHOT: Once again, right there on Colin's side of the frame, YOU DID NOT NEED THIS IN THE FOREGROUND. It was a CHOICE to put a candle there again. They could have not had it, yes the shot would have had less depth and this does give a better sense of the space, placing them in a corner of the room instead of in an open space--but they didn't need to make it another CANDLE.

Colin has not fully recognized his feelings for Penelope yet, though they have always been there, and these two shots demonstrate that lack of understanding/feeling, but one that is soon to come with an unlit candle.

FOURTH SHOT: this, in the timing of the trailer, does come before the third, but RIGHT THERE IS A MIRROR AND CANDLES. It is on Penelope's side of the frame, but Colin, the mirror, and candles are what is in focus. She might be center frame, but we are drawn to the light as well as the contrast in Colin's outfit. This could arguably be Penelope's perspective, her burning feelings as he compliments her--also her future (we all want that mirror scene).

FIFTH SHOT: a HUGE TURNING POINT--a small flame, barely noticeable suddenly burning brighter as we focus on Colin in the background. This is so clearly him realizing his feelings for Penelope. It is also at the midpoint/turning point of the trailer when there is a big tonal shift. There is no more talk of Colin helping Penelope, but a larger focus on his perspective of her (all the gazing), the idea of romance, as well as mention of Debling--his rival. It will be a turning point for Colin when Debling--an actual suitor vying for Penelope's hand--comes into the picture. EDIT: Also going to add in, the candle is in a lantern--though that might have been easier to manage filming-wise--which could also represent him still holding back, especially with Debling in the picture.

SIXTH SHOT: This comes right after we hear Debling say "You look especially beautiful tonight, Miss Featherington." One of the many examples of Colin staring at the two of them, being jealous/worried. But right behind him? Oh, more candles. That they totally didn't need to have in the frame. Also, it doesn't look so much like a candle, but they are placed so close to one another that it looks like more of a flame. The lack of focus adds to this.

THEN WE GET TO THIS FINAL SEQUENCE--which imo is a FANTASY SEQUENCE

SEVENTH SHOT: Colin is coming from the darkness, with an unseen flame flickering directly behind him (small ember that he can't see).

EIGHTH SHOT: Penelope, also coming out of the dark, but with another flame on (what in this sequence is) her side of the frame. Though it is somewhat hidden behind these bars--some rough patches/guarded emotions? (probably depends on what point this is in the series).

NINTH SHOT: Penelope, already in the light of these fires, Colin entering with the large burning flame in the background covered by some growth.

TENTH SHOT: Penelope, lit by these fires, breathing heavily. A very clear close-up with so much blur to focus just on her face.

ELEVENTH SHOT: Colin, with a flickering/burning flame literally right behind him, lit by these other fires, staring right at Penelope.

So this whole sequence, in my opinion, is a dream sequence. But, in terms of this flame representation, this is Colin realizing he has feelings for Penelope. We see the flickering from the unseen light behind him in the seventh shot build and become the flame right behind him in the eleventh. It feels so obviously representative of the season. (The fog also seems to lift for him in this sequence, he comes out of the fog to Penelope--I could say more about this sequence and why I do think it is Colin's dream, mostly due to costuming and lighting and the fog as well) ______________________

And thus comes to a close my analysis/evidence of the FLAME/FIRE motif between Polin. I am cutting myself off here because this is a lot and I have an actual film shoot to plan. Thank you if you actually read all this. I love film analysis and Bridgerton is so fun and a stress reliever for me, so this was fun for me to write out.

Anyway, if any more of this fire/flame stuff comes up I might add on later.

TLDR: they are using fire and candles to represent the burning love between these two.

[satoryuuu]

Nico Rosberg may have ended his F1 racing career in 2016 with tears and an ex and somehow he still has the most paddock immunity powers I have ever seen? He comes in and isn’t afraid to ask all the most unhinged questions and somehow the team managers and principals are all so fond of him and love him?

Bonus mention here before everything else: please appreciate Nico telling Andrea Stella (current McLaren team principal) after Hungarian GP 2024 on how to NOT put teammates vying for 1-2 in TERRIBLE SITUATIONS

Exhibit A: Fred Vasseur, current Ferrari Team Principal (was Alfa Romeo team principal in 2019 when this interaction happened)

The way Fred kisses Nico and is gonna leave like thats their normal interaction before Nico calls him back to ask him a question 😭

Exhibit B: Nicolas Todt, Charles Leclerc’s manager

I think this happened after China GP sprint race and there was tensions between Carlos and Charles

“You could ask if you’re br-“ AND Nico is already moving in to yap in French. Mind you, Todt is apparently infamous for avoiding sky news like plague but stops to listen to Nico HELP

Exhibit C: TOTO WOLFF OF COURSE

We get this interaction during Hungarian GP 2024 and Nico is being his usual self and stirring up unnecessary drama

[void-botanist]

♾️ ♾️ ♾️ lets GO

From this ask game.

YEAH BOY

27. Small Memory by Jon Hopkins

Hoven sat on the moss-edged bench, rubbing at the bridge of his snout like it would make the tears stop prickling at his eyes. When he turned back, Syndy wasn’t there. She was still forty feet away, standing stiffly over the half ledger stone he’d just been standing at. Her head was tilted to stare down at it, but nothing below her neck had shifted in turn. Her hands still clutched the label-ridden silver tin that held Gweltsen. Behind her, the clouds had fully gathered in preparation for an early-autumn storm, the breeze sending a handful of fallen leaves skittering across the sea of flat gravestones, ruffling the skirts of her deep blue dress around her knees. It felt like she would never move from that half-silhouetted spot, as though she too was part of the grave marker, but then she was stepping with haste down the row, her head still bowed, her face haloed by windblown locks of grey. When she reached him, she stood over him, casting him in vague shadow. Slowly, the angle of her neck eased, and she met his eyes with a look he could only describe as haunted. “I can’t do it.”

64. bad idea by Ariana Grande

It really was a lavish affair, this wedding. Fabian doubted his family could have done any better. In fact, their version would have been worse—more straight-laced, less free-flowing with the brandy. Accepting his sidecar from the bartender, he turned to get a visual on the foreigner who’d been half-orbiting Isabel since the ceremony. They were tall, and loud, and beautiful in their oddly cut suit, so it shouldn’t be this hard to find them—ah. They were sitting at the other end of the bar, with an empty seat on either side of them, like an open invitation. He tried not to think about what it would mean if it wasn’t an invitation as he moved over to one of those seats. They glanced up as he put a hand on a seat beside them. “This seat taken?” he asked. “It is now,” they said with a smile that definitely was inviting. He set his drink on the bar and took his place. “I’m Fabian. He-him.” “Oh, so you’re Fabian. I’ve been wondering.” “Have you heard about me?” If they heard it from Isabel who knew what had been said. “Oh, sure,” they said with a grin. “Good things, though. Very good things.” “Really? Well, if a gentleman such as yourself would like to do more than hear, I think I could arrange that. What’s your name?” They waved a hand as though they were trying to erase something. “Look at me, being rude. I’m Tatiana, she-her or whatever you feel like.” Shit. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.” “I didn’t say you assumed wrong,” they said, running their tongue along their back teeth in a way that was probably not meant to be seductive but worked on him anyway. “I’ll be anyone’s gentleman for a good arrangement.”

40. Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police

This one is probably on here because it's on a Spinder/Isabel playlist but I decided to go Wylie/Vy instead:

She always leaves me with the umbrella, says I need it more, because if I get wet then I’ll get cold. Law of evaporation. Unfortunately she’s right, but she never stays under the umbrella either. She’s always two stalls ahead of me in the market while I’m a one-swl procession, making my way down the middle with all the shopping bags on my arms. I guess I should be flattered in a nebulous kind of way. She’s rarely excited enough to go flitting around like this, but then she’s never been to an open market in fourth. Never been home with me in this home that isn’t home. And to watch her, it’s…I wonder if I have that same soft look on my face that my parents always have for each other. I wonder if she can tell.

Nicea taglist: @kahvilahuhut @kk7-rbs @outpost51 @writernopal @athenswrites

[vestaignis]

Необычные и интересные факты о ежах:

Ежи появились на Земле раньше, чем люди – около 15 миллионов лет назад. Роднит нас с ежами также то, что у них ��убов почти столько же, как у нас – их 36, и эти зубы также выпадают к старости.  У ежей не самое лучшее зрение. Правда, считается, что ежи, в отличие от всех остальных животных, у которых "черно-белое" зрение, могут различать цвета. Число игл на теле у этих животных напрямую зависит от их возраста. У молодых особей, их около 3 тысяч, а у более старых – до 5-6 тысяч.

Несмотря на свои небольшие размеры ежи достаточно шустрые животные. Они могут бежать со скоростью до 3 м/с. Для своих коротких лапок ежик очень много ходит. За день он может преодолеть расстояние до 2 км. Территория одного ежа может занимать 20 гектаров. Ежи могут передвигаться даже по болоту и хорошо плавают.

Чтобы пережить зимнюю спячку, еж набирает как минимум 500 граммов веса. За зиму еж теряет до 40 % своего веса. Поэтому, проснувшись, он сразу отправляется на поиски пищи. Ежи чуют добычу на расстоянии нескольких метров. Когда еж впадает в спячку, обменные процессы в его организме замедляются. Температура тела понижается до 0°C, а сердцебиение падает с уровня 170 ударов в минуту до 5. 

Ежи имеют иммунитет к яду гадюк. Также на ежей почти не действуют и другие яды, даже самые сильные, такие как сулема, мышьяк, цианистый калий, синильная кислота и другие.

Всего в мире существует 24 вида ежей. Некоторые из них схожи между собой так, что различить их может только опытный зоолог, а другие внешне больше похожи на крыс.

Unusual and interesting facts about hedgehogs:

Hedgehogs appeared on Earth earlier than humans – about 15 million years ago. What we have in common with hedgehogs is that they have almost as many teeth as we do – there are 36 of them, and these teeth also fall out in old age. Hedgehogs don't have the best eyesight. However, it is believed that hedgehogs, unlike all other animals that have "black and white" vision, can distinguish colors. The number of needles on the body of these animals directly depends on their age. In young individuals, there are about 3 thousand, and in older ones – up to 5-6 thousand.

Despite their small size, hedgehogs are quite nimble animals. They can run at speeds of up to 3 m/s. For his short legs, the hedgehog walks a lot. He can cover a distance of up to 2 km in a day. The territory of one hedgehog can occupy 20 hectares. Hedgehogs can move even in a swamp and swim well.

To survive hibernation, a hedgehog gains at least 500 grams of weight. During the winter, the hedgehog loses up to 40% of its weight. Therefore, when he wakes up, he immediately goes in search of food. Hedgehogs sense prey at a distance of several meters. When a hedgehog hibernates, the metabolic processes in its body slow down. The body temperature drops to 0°C, and the heartbeat drops from 170 beats per minute to 5.

Hedgehogs are immune to viper venom. Also, other poisons, even the strongest ones, such as sulema, arsenic, potassium cyanide, prussic acid and others, have almost no effect on hedgehogs.

There are 24 species of hedgehogs in the world. Some of them are similar to each other so that only an experienced zoologist can distinguish them, while others look more like rats.

Источник: //t.me/+fxNu20lM26MwYzhi, //kartin.papik.pro /osen 36405-kartinki-ezhik-osennij-68-foto.html,//zooclub.ru/ wallpaper / 17598, //rtraveler.ru/photo/1316250/,https://priroda.club/les-i-derevja /749-ezhik-v-lesu-87-foto.html,vk.com/@radio_c-ezhu-ponyatno, //mixnews.lv/samoe-interesnoe/2022/12/29/30-interesnyh-faktov-o-ezhah-vy-tochno-etogo-ne-znali/,//ecokem.ru/2021/02/05/den-ezha/#:~:text=Ежи%20появились%20на%20Земле%20раньше,6%2C5%20миллиона%20лет%20назад.

[merakiui]

Never did I think of a Fellow, Skully, Rollo, Darling Poly-relationship but that sounds like the funniest rom-com 🤣 Darling's parents drop in at the same time as Rollos or their friends and they all think Darling is dating a different person. Or Rollo's friends are studying and they think Rollo is dating Darling, but here comes Skully in Darlings bathrob walking out of her room and they are very confused.

Question is: Do they c*ck-block eachother or swipe darling from the others?

Rollo goes to grab the condoms and Honest takes over Kissing the drunk Darling

Honest has to take a call from his little brother and comes back to Skully in bed with Darling

Skully and Darling are watching a movie and getting frisky, only for Rollo to call Skully to do his chores or something, and then slides under the blanket with Darling and take over.

Or would they ever be open to a 4-some or sharing??

This is honestly genius Mera 👏

- Rollo loving Anon

Hehe they're all so silly,, always vying for your attention and heart. I like to think Skully might be down for a foursome, but then he also gets jealous, too!!! >_< it's not fair that Fellow has such a silver tongue and Rollo is just so charming!! Meanwhile, poor Skully folds and gets so flustered the minute you reciprocate any sort of lovely energy. T^T how can he ever be as cool as his roommates...... orz and of course Fellow and Rollo bicker while you're stuck between them. Maybe one day they'll all get along and set aside differences to enjoy thoughtless pleasure.

Or if magic exists in this au,,, maybe Fellow can use his UM to give Rollo just a little nudge so he won't be so stiff and controlling when it comes to you. >:)

Something something skipping classes with Fellow to fuck or do other fun things. The way Rollo chews the both of you out when he catches you,,, lousy drunks!!! A school day is no time to drink and party and smoke!! >:( don't you know any better!! Isn't he just much too uptight? Wouldn't you rather stick with your good pal Fellow instead? you'll be told by Fellow as he sidles up close and wraps an arm around you.

And Skully..... maybe he's secretly envious of your close friendships with Fellow and Rollo because he hasn't known you nearly as long as they have. He wants to be close with you like they are!! >_< he wants to giggle about things with you and share all kinds of inside jokes. Secretly yandere.......... the type to show up on your outings (dates) when you're with Rollo or Fellow and just,,, insert himself. Oh, Rollo's taking you out for dinner? How great that the table allows for a third seat!! What was that about you spending the day taking Gidel around town with Fellow? Now Gidel gets to see Skully, too!!! :D isn't this wonderful!!! Perhaps the biggest cockblock of them... ;;;;

So many thoughts..... all of them finding ways to get back at the other when they interrupt the other's (Name) time. T_T aaa they're all petty in their own ways.

[postsofbabel]

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[milunalupin]

— nine ladies dancing

cedric diggory x reader ★ 1.1k words

twelve days of nico-mas masterlist

The Yule Ball was in full swing. The enchanted ceiling twinkled with the soft light of a thousand stars, casting a shimmering glow across the elegantly dressed students. The soft murmur of chatter filled the air, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or the melodic strains of the orchestra.

Cedric Diggory, already a striking figure in his tailored dress robes, surveyed the room with a familiar sense of calm. He had been looking forward to this night—primarily because of one person. You.

He had been anticipating the moment he could finally make his way over to you all evening, but there had been a small hiccup: the ever-growing line of girls eager to dance with him. He had no intention of spending the night fending off admirers, but somehow, that’s exactly what happened.

As Cedric made his way toward you, his brown eyes scanning the crowd, he felt an insistent tap on his shoulder. He turned and smiled politely at a fourth-year Hufflepuff girl.

"Would you like to dance, Cedric?"

The smile was tight, but Cedric was nothing if not a gentleman.

"Of course, but I’ve promised the next dance to someone already."

She pouted but moved away, only to be replaced by a much bolder Gryffindor sixth-year who grabbed his arm with surprising force.

“You promised me the first dance, Cedric!” the girl insisted, her voice firm but teasing.

“Sorry, I—” Cedric began, but she didn’t let him finish before pulling him toward the center of the ballroom.

And so it continued. Cedric found himself caught in a whirlwind of unwanted attention—one after another—girls vying for his time, each with their own excuses for why they “just had to” dance with him. He politely declined as best as he could, but the line of hopeful faces just kept growing.

There was the Ravenclaw who had somehow mistaken him for a partner to a waltz, the third-year Hufflepuff who had a thing for him ever since they shared a Herbology class, and the daring Slytherin who insisted that he owed her a dance after a particularly awkward encounter in the library a few weeks back.

By the time Cedric finally reached the edge of the ballroom, his robe slightly askew and his hair a bit more disheveled than when he’d started, he was nearly at his wit's end. He scanned the crowd for you and caught sight of your brilliant smile, which immediately made everything else fade away.

You were standing near the edge of the floor, arms crossed and eyes twinkling with amusement as you watched his endless parade of unwanted dance partners. He smiled, relieved that he’d finally made it.

But of course, the universe had other plans.

Just as he was about to reach you, another girl—this time a tall, striking seventh-year from Beauxbatons—stepped into his path.

“Cedric,” she cooed, “I don’t think you’ve danced with me yet. Shall we?”

“I’d love to, but there’s someone I have to—” He barely managed to get the words out before you appeared, stepping gracefully between him and his would-be dance partner.

"Looks like you’ve made quite the impression," you teased, arching an eyebrow, your voice light but unmistakably amused.

The Beauxbatons girl blinked in surprise, realizing, all too late, that Cedric’s attention had already been claimed. With a flick of her perfectly styled hair, she gave Cedric a disappointed glance before flouncing off into the crowd.

You turned to him with a mischievous grin. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten all about me,” you said, your arms crossing in mock annoyance. “How many girls did you dance with before finally making your way over here?”

Cedric chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I lost count after the fifth one.”

“Well, well,” you said, looking him up and down, feigning seriousness, “I suppose I’ll have to fight for your attention then.”

"Careful," Cedric said, his tone teasing but warm, "I don't want you locked away instead of cheering me on in the next challenge."

You stepped closer, eyes twinkling. “Oh, I don’t know… you seem like you can handle a little challenge on your own."

Before Cedric could respond, you caught the corner of your eye—the next girl in line, a fourth-year Gryffindor, was already heading toward him with a hopeful look on her face.

You raised an eyebrow. “Another one?”

Cedric sighed dramatically, already bracing himself. “I swear, it's like they think I’m Hogwart's most eligible bachelor or something.”

“Oh, I see,” you teased, voice low. “So, I’m just one of many, am I?”

Cedric’s eyes widened, and before he could protest, you spun away from him with a little flourish, arms held out. “Alright, then. Go ahead. Dance with her. I’m sure she’s been waiting her turn for ages.”

He blinked in surprise. “Wait, no—”

But before Cedric could chase after you, the fourth-year girl was already pulling him onto the dance floor, leaving you standing with your arms crossed and a playful smirk.

Cedric sighed in defeat but gave the girl a brief, polite bow as they moved into position, keeping his eyes on you over her shoulder. You hadn’t budged, your posture relaxed but obviously amused.

The dance wasn’t long, of course—not with Cedric’s thoughts entirely elsewhere. He was back with you in moments, but by then, the playful challenge in your eyes had only deepened.

"Feel free to take your time, Cedric," you said, a little too sweetly for his liking. "I’m sure you have plenty of dances left in you."

Cedric grinned, his face lighting up with amusement. “You accepted to be my date, you know that right?”

With that, he took your hand, pulling you into the rhythm of the music. The sounds of the ball faded into the background as he twirled you expertly across the floor, and the teasing atmosphere between the two of you shifted into something warmer, more personal.

It didn’t matter that the Yule Ball was a spectacle of pomp and glamour or that Cedric had spent more time fending off admirers than he would have liked. What mattered was the moment you shared—just the two of you, laughing and dancing in each other's arms.

As the song slowed, Cedric smiled down at you, his earlier frustration gone. “I think I’ve finally found my favorite part of the evening.”

“Oh really?” you said, grinning up at him. “And what’s that?”

“You," he said simply, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. "Finally.”

Your smile softened, and for a moment, everything else seemed to vanish—the crowd, the noise, the never-ending line of girls—all that remained was the warmth between you and the Triwizard Champion who had finally, truly made it to his date.

— taglist ♥︎

@willowlovestheweasleys

[theloveliestembrace]

Let it happen. | CL

Charles Leclerc/Reader

f1 masterlist

crossposted to ao3

Summary: The five times you meet Charles Leclerc. (The four times it doesn’t work out, the one time it might,)

Warnings: Non-explicit (but definitely inappropriate) teacher-student relationship

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Reincarnation au

W/C: 2.7k

-

A/N: What’s good people, I’m back again. This fic was very cinematic in my head (it still is), so I hope the writing captures that. Enjoy~

-

The first time you meet Charles Leclerc, he’s a barista at the coffeehouse down the road from your interning job. It’s a brief stint in the industry as you wait for a university acceptance letter, so you don’t expect to stay for long. 

He’s sweet, beaming at you from over the counter nearly everyday, remembering your order before you’ve even asked for his name. 

“Charles,” he says, sweetly accented, “my name is Charles Leclerc.” 

That day, the flowing script of your name on the takeaway cup is accompanied with a ‘have dinner with me?’ and a smiley face. You picture him, eyebrows scrunched and eyes squinted in concentration, trying to write neatly on the curved surface, and smile. 

As it turns out, Charles Leclerc is also waiting for a university acceptance letter, to a prestigious place in the United Kingdom for the study of Liberal Arts. He laughs awkwardly as he confesses, “My English is not so good yet, so I am worried they won’t find me so elegant.” 

You bat it off as nonsense, pulling him in for a chaste kiss, whispering sincerely against his lips. “They’ll be foolish not to accept you, cheri.”

He’s a sweet relief from the bustle of your internship, where you’re surrounded by presumptuous old men and women who expect their coffee orders and bottles of perrier on their desk before eight. Your work in the fashion industry is not as glamorous a job as made out in the novels. The twelve centimeter heels you’re forced into daily pinch at your toes, and all your coworkers are size-zero hyenas, vying for a position. It takes all your energy to keep up. 

Just the sight of him, though, waving cheerily in the morning as you run in for coffee pickup, hands in his pockets as he waits for you to get off work, the soft kisses when he walks you home. It’s easy to get lost in this, lost in him , fingers slotted between yours and a glass of wine shared between interlocked fingers.  It’s a romance out of a metropolitan chick flick, something about finding love in the middle of modern day bustle, finding quiet in the loud city. 

Everything falls apart when you get your acceptance letter. You haven’t talked about the inexorability of the end, not really. Sometimes Charles will bring it up half-heartedly, and so will you, but the inertia to dealing with your very real future is too great, and you both end up kissing on Charles’ sofa instead of facing the truth. 

It culminates in one big fight, your fingernails pressed to draw blood, Charles bracing himself against the wall to prevent himself from losing his temper. 

And it goes like every other fight in the movies, things like i was always going to go anyway and why don’t you just fucking go then, if you have nothing to stay for , and don’t hold me back just because you don’t have the certainty of getting into your course, Charles spinning around and saying i already got in, i’m hesitating because of you and the pressure in your chest growing so large it’s all you can do to stop your tears from running. 

The movies lied to you. This is the part where Charles apologises and you hug and make up and you stay for each other. That’s the love story. 

Instead, you say, go then, if staying for me burdens you so . And he goes, your apartment door slamming behind him. 

You spend days wallowing in self-pity, avoiding the coffeehouse, running through the motions, thinking about the last ten months of your life, and make the decision when your hand reaches for a coffee cup that isn’t there. 

You’ll stay, for Charles, because you love him, even if it isn’t like the movies. Because it isn’t like the movies, and you’ll love him even when the post-credits have rolled. 

It is this that makes you run to the coffeehouse the next morning, forgoing an umbrella in your haste, soaking your blouse straight through. You yank the door open, waiting for the head of curls at the counter to look up so you can beg for a chance. Just one.

Instead, the older lady who owns the place, looks up and smiles sadly at you. “I’m sorry, kid. He flew off to the UK yesterday, he said you never called.” 

And again, this doesn’t happen in the movies. The main character doesn’t step back out into the rain alone, heels soaked against the pavement, nor do they spend the next week waiting for the love of their life to call. 

You hit reply on the acceptance email, and change your number to a local one when you land in America. 

Somewhere on another continent, a call doesn’t get connected.

-

On the sixteenth of October, the people of Monaco are blessed with an announcement. A prince is born, the news reports. 

Charles, they named him. Charles Leclerc. 

In another ward down the hallway, another woman gives birth to a girl. The royal family hasn’t realised it yet, but down the hallway, is their future pr manager. 

Your first day on the job is fraught with just about every roadblock you could face. 

At four in the morning, one of your neighbour’s ridiculous scented candles tips over and sets enough things on fire to trip the fire alarm. Management ushers every single person in the vicinity out of the apartment building, where you stand shivering in your bathrobe. 

A few hours later, your coffee machine breaks down before your espresso even finishes running. 

Then, five minutes after you leave the apartment to catch your Uber, your heel breaks, so you’re forced to change your shoes and foot the late arrival fee on your car. 

When you finally find the meeting room fifteen minutes after you were supposed to reach, you're very much on the verge of tears. 

You’re met with a frowning Charles Leclerc, whose expression instantly evaporates into fondness when he recognises who’s at the door. He stands to bring you into a hug, as if you’d been friends since you were children. (You had been, of course, but you didn’t forget that he was a literal prince. Hugs are not commonplace.)

It’s an odd feeling, standing in front of the boy you’d known from birth, tasked with covering up his scandals and manufacturing relationships to keep him in the public eye.

It’s even odder to fall in love with him all over again, especially while you’re both poring over staged Instagram posts of him and Monaco’s richest bachelorettes. But Charles is so— good, easy to fall in love with, like those princes from storybooks. He laughs at exactly the right moments, cracks jokes that have you gasping for breath, charms you so thoroughly it’s almost embarrassing. 

It falls into place like poetry, too many moments without supervision, secret smiles over the table, quiet mornings in the palace, hidden in his room. You pick up the closeness of your youth near flawlessly. Falling in love has never been this easy. 

(It’ll never be this easy again.)

The end comes knocking in the form of his mother. Marriage. You almost choke on the enormity of it, caught in the noose of your own stupidity. Because that is your job, isn’t it? The prince is almost thirty, you are almost thirty, and this has always been the final point, of your job, of his scripted relationships. 

You don’t even fight, which is kind of the worst part. A choice is presented to Charles, and he chooses.

It’s a special kind of cruelty, to stay. To sit with the photographers and videographers and event crew and wedding planner, poring over fabrics and angles, as if it’s your fucking honour to plan what’s set to be the greatest union in Monaco for the next decade. 

You were wrong. The worst part is standing at the fringes, in your blue dress, watching the love of your life slide a ring onto another finger and speak the vows that were meant for youyouyou . The worst part is knowing the photos will be beautiful, because you planned them yourself. 

The worst part is knowing there is no universe where he chooses you.  

-

Your new French Literature professor is… really fucking hot. You’re not just saying this because he’s a decade older than you, or because he’s at least three decades younger than the guy who used to teach the class. He’s just, objectively of course, a really attractive man. 

The way his accent rolls off his tongue when he says “Charles, my name is Charles Leclerc.” definitely doesn’t help. In your periphery, you see the girl seated next to you furiously typing on her phone, with caps and exclamation marks and sweating emojis. You can’t even blame her. 

And it’s almost criminally obvious, the way he looks at you, eyes darting to your open polo, the way he lingers on the syllables of your name when he calls on you to answer in class. 

It’s subtle enough to not warrant any accusations of misconduct, but not subtle enough to avoid the envious stares of the girls (and boys) in your class. You’re unbothered, of course, given that he hasn’t actually made a move, but also the fact that he wears his wedding ring all the time.

And if you start wearing tighter shirts and shorter skirts to class, just to see his breath hitch when you uncross your legs just so, well that’s nobody’s business but your own. 

It’s almost cliche, the way your little game unfolds. You make sure to book the latest possible consultation slots with him, in a cute ensemble and flawless makeup, toting a copy of Les Miserables as if you’re actually struggling with the material. 

It’s fun, to rile him up, watch his tongue slide against his lower lip as he looks at you from across the desk. You don’t typically make a habit of seducing professors, especially the married ones, but you figure it’ll probably make a great story for your grandkids, or something. He holds out much longer than you thought, so much so that the illusion of needing aid in your best subject starts to grate on you. Still, the sight of his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves, or the line of his throat when he sips water during lectures keeps you hooked. 

When he finally bends you over his desk, you’re almost disappointed that the game has ended. The imprint of his wedding ring stays on your waist for days. Your friend tuts nervously when you return back late, murmurs something about morals and regretting your decisions and something else you tune out. 

Un brin de folie egaye la vie, right? Some madness will brighten your life. You continue ignoring her.

It’s only after months of your routine that you can form the all-important question, perched on his lap in his (locked) office, “Why cheat on your wife?” And the room is instantly suffused with silence. You expect him to tell you to get out or something of the sort, but instead he hums thoughtfully, shifting you further onto his thighs. 

He’s silent for a few seconds, running fingers through your hair, “Why do we do anything?” You snort at the obvious deflection, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. 

“On n’aime que ce qu’on possède pas tout entier. Proust says we love only what we do not have entirely.” You giggle a little at that, “you love me because you cannot have me?” He sighs against your cheek, “something like that, yes.”

In the end, it ends much cleaner than affairs like this tend to. You graduate top of the class, watch Charles and his beautiful wife at the ceremony, and laugh a little meanly at how oblivious her smile is. How he watches you, still, as you give the valedictorian speech, the smirk on his face as you thank your professors with false fervour. 

And then, one last time for the road, in the handicap bathroom where the bustle of the hall isn’t quite muted, breaths mingling hot in the stale air. A kiss, almost chaste, and you leave. 

Your grandkids howl with laughter at the story, nearly seventy years down the road. You smile, think about green eyes and rolled up sleeves. Another life, maybe. 

-

You’re still not used to the wag lifestyle. It’s one thing to be recognised in Monaco, another to be Il Predestinato’s girlfriend. It’s almost obscene, the red that greets you down every hallway, the way you bite your tongue and watch the team fuck him over every weekend. The way the crowds chant his name; Charles, they scream, Charles Leclerc. 

It’s not like you haven’t earned a place in the paddock. You’ve done the work, the pr activities, the carefully curated soft launches, the jet lag, the helmet kisses and the careful, careful styling. You’ll always be silent and pretty, always smiling and skinny and happy for him, existing to prove something. 

The point is, it isn’t that you don’t love Charles anymore. It isn’t that he’s neglectful and distant (he is), or that you’re unhappy with the constant scrutiny and ever changing time zones (you are). You can swallow these things, breathe deep and let it settle. 

Mangia questa minestra o saltar questa finestra; eat the soup or jump out of the window. Accept things for what they are, don’t hurt over things that cannot be changed. 

And it really does feel like nothing will ever change, watching the man you love turn into a beating husk, consumed with his want. A championship, a victory, draped in enough red to drown you both, a hundred years of history. Nothing will change, you will always be the girlfriend, the girl in-the-pictures. You can feel the shadow of Charles’ name as heavily as he feels Ferrari’s. That will never change.    

The championship is a hollow victory, when it comes. You and Charles have devolved across the year into a state of a perpetual tense silence, intercut only with the curl of his fingers around your waist when the cameras come flashing, and drawn out, passive aggressive conversations.

You begin to fly out less and less, blame it on the job you pretend to hate for Charles’ sake. Slowly, you learn to be on your own, find your way around loneliness, spaces within yourself previously occupied with your boyfriend. You toss about the idea of him cheating on you while you miss his races, and find the thought less impossible and less painful each time. 

By the time you see him again in Abu Dhabi, the Monacan flag wrapped around his shoulders, fingers pointed to the sky, you only feel affection for the man you would’ve given everything up for a year ago. The knowledge squeezes painfully in your chest. 

You reach for him in the cooldown room, wince at how unfamiliar his hands are to you now, look him in the eyes, “It’s been over for a long time, hasn’t it, cheri?” Tears rise unbidden within you when he nods, eyes wet. You clasp his hands tighter, relish the feeling of his fingers against yours one more time, “I want you to remember the best parts of us,” you sniffle lightly, attempt a smile, “not the end. I want you to remember that I am always proud of you.”

The room is quiet. He leans against your shoulder, for a moment you are both twenty-one again, guileless. The enormity of what you are losing has settled in your bones. 

The soup is unassuming on the table. You choose the free fall from the window. 

-

The new doctor is cute, in a puppyish sort of way. Charles watches the way you interact with all your new coworkers, smiling and shaking hands, the way you laugh at a joke Max just made. 

You come up in front of him, and falter, tilting your head like a startled animal. “Have we met?” The deja vu hits him so hard his head spins, shaking his head at your question anyway. 

He kisses your outstretched hand, soft under his lips, revels briefly in your furious blushing. His mother likes to tell him; doctors only date other doctors. He intends to test the theory.

“My name is Charles,” he says, “Charles Leclerc.”

[captainpulisic]

is it cool that I said all that? - c. pulisic

this is me manifesting reputation tv + this is an old draft I just finished up so it takes place abt a year ago when they were all still at chelsea

wc: 1.7 k , gif credits to to owner

it was routine at this point. and very frustrating for everyone that had to bear witness to the shameless flirting you and christian participated in every time your paths crossed. 

it had started with occasionally bumping into each other at parties- you ran in the same circles, it was bound to happen. you’d spend the whole night tucked away in a corner, whispering and lightly brushing against each other. any girls vying for his attention that night were fighting a losing battle, christian too enraptured with refilling your drink and getting to know every detail about you. countless times girls had come up to the two of you, keen on winning his attention and luring him away, only to roll their eyes and stomp away when he paid them no mind. he never even noticed, too caught up in whatever you were saying, his pinky brushing against your hand. 

all his teammates would laugh at how he’d always been reluctant to come to these parties, yet having found you, was now the first to show up. he now spent the weekdays waiting for the weekend, counting the minutes until he’d see your warm eyes and bright smile. but it never amounted to anything more, both of you too shy to make a move. when the night would wind down and the party would clear up, you’d smile and bid farewell until the next party. 

when this became too tedious and christian too desperate to see you again, he decided to man up and be the one to dm you. enough was enough and he wasn’t going to get by on biweekly encounters and social media stalking you on the daily. from there, a streak of flirty messages and late night talking began. yet, again, nothing more came from it.

“just man up and ask her out,” ben bugged at him- having caught christian smiling down at his phone too many times.

one night, after a day of nonstop texting (yes, he had upgraded from dms to getting your number), you had let it slip that you’d never been to a match since relocating to london. you’d been eager to go but had never had a good enough push to actually do it. instantly he had invited you to the next match at the bridge, swearing it'd be a worthwhile experience.

it’s a date, christian replied and you both went to sleep that night with stupid grins. 

fast forward a week later, the day of the match, and you’d spent the morning jumpy with nerves. was it really a date or had he just called it one in the midst of the moment? what if it was like a friend date? cue the nerves amping up. 

your knees felt a little woozy when you recalled the phone call just last night (yes, phone calls between the two of you were a thing now, too). you’d stay up well into morning hours, talking on the phone, him recounting training days and you complaining about uni work. before hanging up, he softly said through the receiver, “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” 

and christian had stuck true to his word, the match and experience as surreal as you had hoped. the rut chelsea had been in recently was irrelevant, them managing to actually win the match- the first win in weeks. you were quite embarrassed at how you spent the entire time fawning over christian. seeing him play, all in his element, left you with heated cheeks and a thumping heart.  

after the game, you follow the instructions he had left for you to find your way down to him. after twists and turns in tunnels and important looking halls, you’d found the outside of the locker room. politely smiling at some girls you’d recognized from the parties, you hung in the back, nerves of seeing christian began bubbling inside of you. as players filed out, one by one, each greeted their waiting girlfriends and invitees. every guy out was one step closer to finally seeing him. 

after what seemed like an eternity, there he was. catching eyes at the same time, his handsome face broke into a smile, managing to tug at every one of your heartstrings. in few strides, he’s standing in front of you, his hand stretched out for you. pulling you to the far side of the room, to a hidden nook, you’re away from the eyes and ear of everyone else there. 

“hi,” looking down at you. “thank you for coming.” 

mirroring his lovesick smile, “of course. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.” 

neither you nor christian remark on the fact that he hadn’t let go of your hand yet. and his brown eyes are staring intently into yours as he gives your hand a squeeze, “what did you think? was it everything you expected?”

“yeah, it was amazing.” you breathe out, trying hard to fight the smile on your face. you’re sure it looks quite silly, both of you with reddened cheeks and shy laughter. making yourself admit to him, “you were amazing.”

this causes christian to beam, his smile getting even wider (as if it were any more possible). he’s unsure of what to say, of what to do. 

he wants to play the modest role and say that he was just doing his job, it was a team effort. he also wants to tell you that he had been trying to show off, well aware that you were somewhere in the stands watching him. he wants to tell you that he hardly slept last night, too nervous over the idea of seeing you today. he also wanted to tell you that you’re always in his head, consuming all his thoughts. or, maybe, he just wants to kiss you. yes, he could tell you all that stuff some other day. right now, all he wants to do is kiss your pretty face and never stop. 

he takes this time to really look you over. from the minute he stepped out of the locker room and spotted you, he hadn’t lost you from his sight. travelling from your eyes to the slope of your nose and down to your lips, he couldn’t get enough of you. 

and from there, is where his attention was brought to the blue fabric around your neck. gaze going down, for the first time, he notices that you’re wearing a chelsea jersey. christian chastises himself, too caught up in her pretty face that you hadn’t seen what she was wearing, idiot? 

his unoccupied hand reaches to touch the part of the shirt closest to your neck. that color blue looked so lovely on you. it’s more of a whisper to himself, “I didn’t know you had a jersey.”

“well I didn’t,” it’s now your turn to beam. too caught up basking in his presence, you'd forgotten all about your little prematch endeavour. you were half nervous he wouldn’t care but half excited that maybe he’d love it. “but I got here early and decided to look around the store. I found something I really liked and had to buy, yanno?” 

ignoring his furrowed brow and confused stare, you let go of his hand to turn around. your back facing him, christian is met with a neatly stitched ‘10’ and ‘pulisic’. 

“you bought my jersey?” he’s dumbfounded, all he can do is stare at his name and number sprawled on your back. finding your hand again, he turns you face to face, again. christian was unsure of what to say, too many emotions going through his head and heart. “I coulda gotten you one for free, you didn’t have to spend your money on it.” 

shaking your head, “nuh-uh, do you know how cool I felt going up to the register with your jersey? the lady working even asked if you were my favorite player.” 

“yeah?” christian felt the two of you getting closer with every word said. as if there was some sort of magnetic force pushing you together, there were only mere inches separating you guys. one hand still holding yours, he let the other settle on your waist. it felt electric, it felt right. his mind flashed with the image of his name on your back, something possessive being awoken in him. “and what did you tell her?”

you pause for a moment, putting on your best poker face. in your most serious voice, “told her no. that mason mounts jersey was sold out so I had to settle for yours.”

instantly his smile drops and there’s a pinch to your hip where some skin was exposed. when did his hand get there? a pout on his lips, “you’re terrible. that was-” 

“a joke,” now you leave a pinch on his cheek. a slight scoff and a glance towards mason on the other side of the room, “mason couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to wear his jersey.” 

“good.” still pouting, he gets even closer with every word. being this close to him, you’re able to count every freckle on his cheeks and the stars in his eyes. both hands on your hips now, “because I don’t wanna share.” 

“well lucky for you, pulisic,” another inch closer, “I don’t want to be shared.” 

lips practically touching, your hands reach to cup his face. from there, you pull him down as you go up on your tiptoes. everything else seemed to fade out as your lips moved together. no rush or urgency, just softness and words unspoken. who needed words? words and confessions could be said later. 

too lost in each other, the two of you were unaware of mason and bens nosey stares. shaking his head at the scene in front of them, ben holds his hand out. “alright, he finally made his move and they’re snogging. pay up.”

“no way!” mason scoffs, “the bet was that he had to make the first move. she practically jumped his bones.”

“bloody specifics,” ben mutters as he opens his wallet and hands mason the 200 (unjustly, in his opinion) owed pounds. 

what? if they had to suffer and watch two idiots fail to flirt, they were going to make some money out of it.

just wanted to post something before the semester started and i got swamped w schoolwork :) like always, feedback is really appreciated, thank you!

[magpod-confessions]

I do not love Alice as much as most of yall seem to. I do not get the hype. On the contrary, i think Sam and Gwen get too much hate.

I come from a labour majority town. I live in a tarrace house. I have a single parent. I am not well to do. And Gwen, to me, is not the embodiment of nepo baby government kiss-ass you all interpret her as.

For one, i doubt her rich as all hell family would be vying for her to work at a suspicious, dingy work job. And i dont think Lena particularly cares for the Bouchard title. And Gwen seems to work as hard as she can, and actually seems to be the only one treating her work as WORK. I can imagine her situation [at the start of the series] was like working on a long-term group project with 1 person who Does Not Give A Fuck and is trying to teach the newbies of the group to do the same as her [Fuck all], which only puts more work and stress on HER.

And her whole "shes a lady" thing with me did not come off as classism. Well to do people tend to do their fucked up shit in private. Bonzo is an otherworldly creature who doesn't care what others think and will just kill you. The fact Mowbray's a Lady makes her seem more human, which is the trap Gwen fell into. It makes her seem like she would only do the atrocious acts in ways that would not damage her title. Whether she is right or wrong, we dont know.

And then there's sam. I never hear anyone really talk about sam in a way thats not

A] talking about him in a way that dumbs down his character.

B] Comparing him to Jon or other characters from TMA

C] only talking about his relationships.

It feels like people are actively resisting having Sam as an actual protagonist, instead trying to make Alice fit into that role. Theyre both complex characters, treat them the bloody same please.

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