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snailsandpuppy-dogtails · 5 months ago

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I Do, Do You? Chapter 3 A Chilly Reception

WC: 3,992 Ao3

~The reception, two families becoming one, a time to let loose, relax, and the first chance for our newlyweds to get to know each other and the families they’re now joined with~

“So, Luke -what?” Penelope asks, sipping from her champagne glass at their table. They’ve been playing at these first-date getting-to-know-you questions since being seated. He pulled her chair out for her, she made a quip about manners and making a good impression, he’d told her he’d grown up going to catholic school; mass every Sunday, big family dinners, grandparents raising him alongside parents. Manners. Chivalry. Respect. All of it was ingrained. Still, in spite of his seemingly open nature, something inside her was tugging towards resistance, towards don’t trust him. Downing more pink bubbles, she tugs back harder. She wants this to work. She won’t run away just because she’s scared…

This has never been his favorite part of dating, of new relationships. The early stages. Surface level pleasantries. But it’s not as bad as he could have expected it to be given the situation. He likes her a lot and she’s just as awkward, just as nervous under her cool exterior he can tell, and it makes him like her all the more, feel connected all the more.

“Luke Alvez” he responds with a warm, indulgent kind of smile. He wants to ask if she likes it, the sound of it, Penelope Alvez, if she ever thought about taking a new last name, or maybe hyphenating hers, if she would keep hers regardless, but it’s too early for thoughts like that and he can see the next question popping up behind her eyes just as soon as he’s answered.

“No middle name?” her eyes narrow.

“No middle name” Luke confirms with a slow shake of his head.

“That's impossible. Every good catholic boy has at least three names just so his mother can yell at him extra long when he’s in trouble.” Penelope grins at him again, but hides her teasing smile behind her glass.

He considers moving the glass to get a better view, he considers kissing her now, champagne on her tongue and stars on her lips, but lets the thought pass. “Ha! Well, I guess my mother didn’t anticipate me being much trouble then.”

“I have a feeling she was wrong-”

“Ooo, don’t let her catch you saying that. And hey- I am a very good boy.” He knocks her shoulder with his, grinning back, “So what about you? Penelopeaaaa-?”

“Penelope Grace Garcia.” She states each name clear and clipped, like a hit to a drum. Like the staccato her pulse has kicked up at his brush.

His eyes catch hers, doing that twinkling glittering thing again and her breath catches with it, and she can’t bear the feeling, the weight of someone looking at her, for her, like that.

He doesn’t even know you

His mind and his gaze drift back down to her lips, to kissing her, that missed opportunity, one he should make up for… “I bet you are,” he murmurs, feeling himself moving gradually closer, Penelope pulling him in, and drags his line of sight back to hers.

She looks at him questioning, like she doesn’t quite get it, though he’s sure he can’t be the first to say it. “Graceful. Cheesy, I know, but I've been wanting to dance with you from the moment I saw you float down the aisle. Grace is an understatement.”

His voice has gone low and quiet, it fills her ears and floods her veins. “And you are quite charming.” She eyes him, feeling her cheeks heat, knowing it isn’t from the alcohol in her glass.

“Hey, Lovebirds!”

The call breaks their attention, Luke’s sister yelling out as she tromps across the grass.

Penelope jerks back, startled at how close they’d been. He hadn’t kissed her at the altar, maybe he felt weird doing it there. But that? Just now? That was kissing territory and as much as she’d like those lips on hers, she’s grateful for the breathing room.

Heavy footed, Isabella finishes her journey, slamming hands to the table between the two of them as she leans down. She’s beautiful, Penelope thinks, tall and lean and muscular, with long, wavy chestnut hair and large green eyes, the pair of them unfairly beautiful.

“Mami wants to meet Penelope, I've come to steal your very funny bride,” she announces.

Luke’s hand juts out covering Penelope’s. She notices he looks concerned, like he doesn’t want her talking with his family alone. Penelope wonders if he’s worried she’ll slip up and say the wrong thing, embarrass him again, or maybe it’s the beauty thing, if she’s going to find out he is too good to be true, that he’s everything she hopes he’s not, some fuckboy cereal-dater out to make a name for himself with 5 minutes of t.v. fame and a family full of fake, dramatic, evil-spirited people. Maybe there was a string of exs waiting in the wings, maybe there was an ex-fiancee- Really, a man so gorgeous and personable, how could he not have made some gorgeous successful perfect person fall in love with him yet? What was wrong with him?

Leaning further, Isabella whispers, “It’s just for the show, Production requested it” and then she moves a hand to Luke’s shoulder patting it, “Don’t worry so much, Lukey” teasing in the way older siblings do.

Luke nods, trying to relax, letting go of Penelope’s hand and standing to help her up, but she notices a change, something stiff, some vague stress to his expression. Still, she lets herself be led off by his sister, curious to see what she’ll find out about the man she’s just married.

With Penelope occupied it’s a good opportunity to find Prentiss and talk about the case in private. He has a built-in cover to get the needed information on their unsub and the situation he’ll be heading into, about everyone’s roles so he can be as prepared as possible showing up late. He hasn’t told her, not that he’s had much time, but still he feels awful about it. Feels like he’s hiding it, lying. And technically he is, technically it’s a lie of omission right now. He’s been married less than a day and already he’s keeping secrets from his wife. Keeping part of himself secret. He watches as the pair make their way across the lawn, and when he sees Penelope brightly smile and instantly eclipse his mom in a hug, he sets out to find his boss and team.

———

Mrs. Alvez is stern and serious, and she didn’t even learn anything fun about him. Penelope definitely prefers Isabella and Luke’s warm playfulness to the chilly mother in law, she wonders if his dad was like them or if their mom hardened after he died. She thinks about how it’s odd that they’d both lost parents when they were relatively young but makes a mental note that he hadn’t brought up, and neither had she. Glancing up and away from the camera she looks for him, expecting her gaze to fall on his form amongst the crowd. She’s been so distracted with meeting his various family, the interviews-slash-interrogations, and now the candid soundbite talking-heads for production that she realizes she hasn’t seen him or heard him in awhile.

Scanning the crowd she finds his coworkers, his friends, but not him. She finds Carlos, and Derek, and JJ, she finds Savannah and Will and all the boys, but she doesn’t find her husband.

Knots lace her stomach, her subconscious quickly reminding her of why she’s been single for so long, why she hasn’t been able to trust people, why she shouldn’t trust this man. Suddenly, a different kind of heat flashes through her. Something darker, turning her stomach. She needs Derek. She needs JJ. She needs to talk to them. The second she gets the sense the questions are done she launches from the chair, b-lining for her people.

“See? It’s not even the first dance and already he’s nowhere to be found! He’s probably off in a dark corner snuggled up with some hot cater waiter, sticking their hot tongues down each other's hot faces, laughing at what a joke I am!” She didn’t intend on sounding so insecure, on talking down about herself, especially with Derek, after all this whole thing was her idea, just a week ago she was the one convincing him to be more openminded and supportive, but reality hits differently.

Derek takes her wrist, stroking his thumb down the soft underside, “Mamma, you are the farthest thing from a joke, especially with how good you look, and I know there isn’t a thing that man has said or a look he’s given yet to make you feel like this, so what’s going on? Where is this coming from?” Derek’s doing his best to reason with her, but he knows exactly where it’s coming from, where it always came from.

“Derek-” it’s a warning, don’t indulge her, don’t lie, not today, not right now. “That man is too perfect. He is kind. And he is charming. He says the right things and he has the most adorable reactions and he is un de NI ably handsome. Too handsome. Like the others, but worse! Because I am married to him. But by force, not by choice! We were matched together for T.V., so of course he’s going to say yes! This isn’t real, this can’t be real! He’s acting like he likes me and he’s acting like he’s invested and he’s acting like he cares and it can’t be genuine but I care- I’M starting to care and it’s only been what, three hours?! And I’m pretty sure he was going to kiss me and I was going to let it happen and you know what happens then!”

He laughs at the absurdity of the statement coming from her, his Penelope was no prude. “Uh, A good time?”

“DEREK- I have eight weeks to get to know him and I’m going to end up shattered because he’s too good for me and he knows it and if he’s not too good for me then he’s bad for me and HOW COULD YOU LET ME DO THIS!?”

Hyperventilating, she starts smacking at Derek’s shoulder, her eyes are wide and dry and she can feel them stinging, can feel the words replacing air. She’s panicking, she knows she’s panicking, she knows it’s not his fault, that he hadn’t “let” her do anything and in fact had tried to talk her out of it, even going so far as to offer an escape rout just a few hours ago. And maybe he was right. She wouldn’t say those words, but this was kind of the same, if he was right, he would help. He would fix it. Derek always could.

Which is why she’s surprised when he grabs at her hands, pulling her into a constricting hug. “Woah, woah, take a breath.” And sticks with the narrative that he was wrong.

“Pen, that’s not true-” JJ tries to sooth with small circles to her back, but she’s too far gone now, heading nose first into the worst kind of tail spin. No. They were both just being supportive, but now is not the time. Now is the time for action, for movement. For helping her out. Out of this mistake.

“No? THEN WHERE IS HE?!” she shouts but she can’t move, Derek is still locked around her holding her. She’s glad they’re in the shadows for this, she can only imagine how this would look on t.v. Oh how the producers would love this.

“Hey, hey. Babygirl, look at me,” he lets go, one hand slipping to hold and squeeze hers, the other tilting her chin up so he’s sure she’s looking at him, “I’ll go find him. You take a deep breath, get some air, get some water, check your makeup, and head back out with JJ. When you’ve rejoined all the sane people back down on planet Earth, I’ll have your groom.” He grins at her, kissing her head, “and if it’s me you end up dancing with, then I say all the better.”

———

The brief hadn’t taken long, he got the profile they were building, the crimes that had been done, and he’d be caught up on any new developments on his flight over. From his spot on the lawn he can see cameras still surrounding his sister, mom, and Penelope. No one followed him, though he and the crew had come to an agreement if something was work related they’d respect that privacy, but what was strange, he thought, was no one had instructed him to talk to her friends or family. And he wanted to. Not necessarily some orchestrated filmed footage, but he wanted to hear the cute beginning stories, the funny ways they teased her, and find out who she is to them, how she is with them.

Observing the party, who’s where and with whom, he looks for one person in particular, but he’s not with the crowd. Turning to his right looking out down a small hill, Luke finds him, recognizing the man from earlier now sitting at a small table in the shadows of a large tree off on his own. He pushes away the thoughts that spring up, what it could mean, what (he assumes) it says about how he feels about this situation and him, and makes his way towards the man. As Luke approaches, trying only to think of a solid start, he notices though the man doesn’t share her light hair, he has the same warm brown eyes that Luke had been falling into earlier.

“Father of the bride?” Luke asks walking up, “You shouldn’t be sitting over here by yourself- I’m sure we can-”

“Ah, no. No.” The man stops him with a wave of his hand, “Just the man who took care of her after her mom and stepdad passed. Jason Gideon, Penelope’s uncle. Luke, right? I’m alright Luke, why don’t you go enjoy your night, get to know Penelope.”

He has an easy air to him, relaxed, aloof, he isn’t jumping into conversation, he’s direct, short. Odd, thinks Luke, every one of his relatives and friends were clamoring to get to know Penelope, divulge secrets and relay the most embarrassing stories. Wouldn’t one of her closest relatives be just a little curious about her new husband? The dismissiveness draws him in even more, and though generally he feels he has no control over how people feel about him, he’s suddenly desperate for this man’s approval.

Ignoring the obvious signals, he grasps the back of a chair, leaning towards his new pseudo-in-law. Corner of his mouth crooking up into a smile, he continues, “So no shovel talk? I’ve gotta say, that’s a bit disappointing. I hear it’s a right of passage. All week I've been hearing from friends that I'll get the threat of a lifetime at my wedding… but they clearly don’t know my mother.” The half smile breaks into a full grin at his own joke, hoping to break the ice.

“Is that why you found me?” Gideon’s mouth tucks up into a frown, thoughtful eyes taking him in, “From what I've seen, Luke, I don’t think you need it. But make no mistake, just because her parents are gone doesn’t mean she doesn’t have family. Her brother, Jennifer, Derek, they’d do anything for her. Hurt her, and I won’t have to be the one to come after you.”

Gideon’s sober tone gives every indication to the truth of his words and for a split second Luke’s smile falters. He wonders if he overheard Emily’s conversation, if Gideon knows he’s already about to let her down.

Good job, get a wife and immediately show the world she comes second to the thing that’s prevented you from having a relationship all along. Maybe he should take the vacation time…But it’s not fair to leave Tara and Matt hanging like that…If Reid weren’t already off, it would be a different story. It would…

“There he is!”

The triumphant yell breaks the moment, bringing Luke back to his current surroundings. Gideon’s eyes flash past him, the frown on his face turning into something more like a smile.

A slap of a large hand high on Luke’s back quickly follows the interruption, “Man, if you’d rather hang out with Gideon than Penelope, you might as well get an annulment right now,” Derek winks, grinning at Gideon. Grasping Luke by the shoulders he steers him up and back towards the party, “but it’s about to be first dance and your bride’s sent out a search party.”

“I tried to tell him…” Gideon trails off, Penelope’s best friend leading the groom through the grass.

He lets Derek guide him back, some small talk exchanged. He learns Derek and JJ both work for DHS, that they grew up with Penelope and Carlos. They’re just as close as he assumed, just like siblings.

———

As Derek leads him back into the light he can see her at the edge of the dance floor waiting, she looks worried, upset. Mentally he kicks himself, he should have let her know where he was going, but she was occupied and he’d seen Gideon off alone…

He doesn’t let himself think about how she’ll react to tomorrow’s news when he’ll leave her again.

“I found him with Gideon.” Luke can tell by the stress Derek places on certain words that it means something between the two of them, it sounds like a gloat of sorts, Derek winning some argument, but he isn’t sure because of the ease it brings to Penelope, how her face relaxes, the quirk of her lips, she’s instantly amused. Maybe they just find it funny someone would willingly talk to him, he seemed fine to Luke, but the look she’s giving is one he likes, it says she finds it cute, silly. She likes him, which is good, because he sure he likes her.

“I was getting to know your family,” he explains, taking her hand and leading her out onto the marble floor, “I figured it was only fair.” He swings her out, and with a gentle tug pulls her back towards himself, a hand resting between her shoulder blades and the other cupping her hand in his, his cheek tucked to hers, whispering out, “Sorry I worried you.”

Silently, he sways and sweeps them across the floor in small movements. She closes her eyes trying to block out all the people looking at them, the cameras pointed on them, focusing on his lead and the string music, but it only serves to highlight his presence; the heat of his hand warming her skin through the fabric of her dress, the soft puffs of air crossing her cheek as he gently breathes, his frame, sturdy and strong, how she wishes he’d take her closer, kiss her, deep, stron- “I knew it,” his lips brush the shell of her ear causing something like lightning to strike in her gut and goosebumps to rush over her.

Shit did she say it out loud? Penelope rips her head from his, looking embarrassed, “Knew what?”

“Graceful was an understatement”

She feels her insides wobbling again. This man and his words, too good to be true.

As Luke takes the woman who will be his wife for the next eight weeks into the middle of all of their friends and family, cameras and crew, and what will be all of the world soon enough, he can only find himself growing inexplicably more and more wrapped in her.

Penelope however, finds herself once again rapidly building a barricade of doubt. The icky feelings, though so far unfounded, won’t be drowned by the deep bass of her best friend’s vote of confidence, nor Luke’s soft apology and sincere gaze. Despite her desire, despite what she feels deep down she wants most, she can’t trust him and finds herself suddenly wanting to be snappish and distant, wanting to push away.

No man she’s ever dated has treated her with such attention, and this one doesn’t even know her. Everything he does, everything he says is stacking up like rickety pallets, towering inside her, teetering towards a dangerous fall. Gorgeous, muscular, kind, witty, and charismatic. He’s funny and makes eye contact, can hold his liquor, and he keeps touching her. Not in a gropey-fondling way, but in this kind-of reverent, reassuring, calming way. As if he simply can’t stand not to, like she’s this prize that he’s valued for so long, and now she’s finally in his grasp and he just needs to, to remind himself she’s real.

The problem with that is that they’d only just met. His actions are suspicious. His demeanor is suspicious. The idea, ridiculous.

Love at first sight doesn’t exist, and if it did, nothing about this man would fall for you at first glance. There has to be some angle. Don’t let yourself fall for it.

“You’re full of complimentsLuke Alvez, if a girl didn’t know any better, she might think you were fluffing her up. Or hiding something.”

Instantly he feels the sting of her words, how true they are. In less than 24 hours, was she going to believe those complements were fake? That everything up to then had been for show? He was hiding something from her.

It’s from that point on he feels the distance, the cold seeping between them. Luke tries to rationalize it, jitters, this was the most extreme first date either of them had ever been on. He would pull back, give her her space, but let her know he was there. Try not to leave space for doubt…try to build up that trust before tomorrow’s conversation.

———

The day’s been long and he’s still energized. This kind of busy he could do for days, this kind was worth the exhaustion…and he really doesn’t want to have to face tomorrow’s disappointment, but he sees the guests dwindling and knows it’s getting to be time the party wrapped up. His team snuck out hours ago to get a head start.

Producers call it about five minutes later. They want a shot of the newlyweds leaving together, but Luke can’t leave without thanking the people who mean the most to them and is pleased to see his bride, though visibly drooping, feels the same. They make their way from friend to friend and family to family, shaking hands, hugging, expressing gratitude and exchanging kisses.

Gideon, who he’d profiled as being a sneaking out quietly type, was, to his surprise, still there. He was giving Penelope a kiss on her cheek, hands holding her shoulders. Luke approached, placing his hand on the small of her back. Penelope turns, giving him a tight, uncertain smile, but she’s quickly pulled away by Derek and wrapped in a hug between him and Savannah.

Luke watches, then turns back to his in-law. Gideon has a hand extended for shaking, Luke takes it and pulls him in, hugging him.

When they break apart Gideon has the same pensive expression from earlier. Giving him a final once-over, he pats his back and lets go, only saying, “You seem a decent fellow Luke, I’d hate to kill you.”

Luke huffs a laugh, eyebrows knitting, maybe this was his ‘shovel’ after all. “You seem a decent fellow, Gideon. I’d hate to die.”

#garvez #criminal minds #fanfiction #penelope garcia #luke alvez #derek morgan #jason gideon #Isabella Alvez #wedding reception #first dance #a shovel talk #Princess Bride quotes added in because why would i not?#angst #i do do you?#snails tales #ao3

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marta-bee · 1 year ago

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Let’s talk about Pepper. Because I’ve been reading Good Omens again, and the book-specific bits are just too much fun not to share.

First, she’s a girl obviously, but a girl named Pippin (for a start), and a girl with that precise blend of hippie optimism and commonsense no-nonsense attitude that makes her such a force to be reckoned with. She is vicious, but in a truly fun way.

If it had been Wensley who had said that, there'd have been a half-hearted scuffle, as between friends. But the other Them had long ago learned that Pepper did not consider herself bound by the informal conventions of brotherly scuffles. She could kick and bite with astonishing physiological accuracy for a girl of eleven. Besides, at eleven years old the Them were beginning to be bothered by the dim conception that laying hands on good ole Pep moved things into blood-thumping categories they weren't entirely at home with yet, besides earning you a snake-fast blow that would have floored the Karate Kid.

But she was good to have in your gang. They remembered with pride the time when Greasy Johnson and his gang had taunted them for playing with a girl. Pepper had erupted with a fury that had caused Greasy's mother to come round that evening and complain.

[Greasy Johnson was a sad and oversized child. There's one in every school; not exactly fat, but simply huge and wearing almost the same size clothes as his father. Paper tore under his tremendous fingers, pens shattered in his grip. Children whom he tried to play with in quiet, friendly games ended up getting under his huge feet, and Greasy Johnson had become a bully almost in self-defense. After all, it was better to be called a bully, which at least implied some sort of control and desire, than to be called a big clumsy oaf. He was the despair of the sports master, because if Greasy Johnson had taken the slightest interest in sport, then the school could have been champions. But Greasy Johnson had never found a sport that suited him. He was instead secretly devoted to his collection of tropical fish, which won him prizes. Greasy Johnson was the same age as Adam Young, to within a few hours, and his parents had never told him he was adopted. See? You were right about the babies.] Pepper looked upon him, a giant male, as a natural enemy.

She herself had short red hair and a face which was not so much freckled as one big freckle with occasional areas of skin.

That red hair bit is interesting, because it makes such an interesting visual connection to War, doesn’t it? Also it would have had me picturing a white, practically Irish or Scottish child with flaming red locks blowing in the wind, like Merida from Brave. Or maybe Molly Weasley taking on Beatrix Lestrange in the final Harry Potter book. Having her played by a black child actress is really interesting; not that black characters can’t have red hair -- Halle Berry’s Ariel, for instance -- but unconscious biases being what they are, that’s not where my brain went. Kudos to the Good Omens fandom for this not being much of a thing, at least to the extent I was involved back in 2019.

Also, I hope I’m not being insensitive to describe her as black. Most of my more PC descriptors come with an -American hyphenate, which obviously isn’t right; and a quick search for Amma Ris’s background just describes her as Welsh. Which of course she is; and somehow simply Welsh is like a breath of fresh air.)

Anywho. Getting back to the chapter.

Pepper's given first names were Pippin Galadriel Moonchild. She had been given them in a naming ceremony in a muddy valley field that contained three sick sheep and a number of leaky polythene teepees. Her mother had chosen the Welsh valley of Pant-y-Gyrdl as the ideal site to Return to Nature. (Six months later, sick of the rain, the mosquitoes, the men, the tent-trampling sheep who ate first the whole commune's marijuana crop and then its antique minibus, and by now beginning to glimpse why almost the entire drive of human history has been an attempt to get as far away from Nature as possible, Pepper's mother returned to Pepper's surprised grandparents in Tadfield, bought a bra, and enrolled in a sociology course with a deep sigh of relief.)

There are only two ways a child can go with a name like Pepper Galadriel Moonchild, and Pepper had chosen the other one: the three male Them had learned this on their first day of school, in the playground, at the age of four.

They had asked her her name, and, all innocent, she had told them.

Subsequently, a bucket of water had been needed to separate Pippin Galadriel Moonchild's teeth from Adam's shoe. Wensleydale's first pair of spectacles had been broken, and Brian's sweater needed five stitches.

The Them were together from then on, and Pepper was Pepper forever, except to her mother, and (when they were feeling especially courageous, and the Them were almost out of earshot) Greasy Johnson and the Johnsonites, the village's only other gang.

“Pepper was Pepper forever.” She sure as heck is, isn’t she? I do believe I’m in love. She also has a little sister who’s as fair game for punching down on as any tomboyish eleven year old ever was; and just as unskilled at it. (Though she does get away with it in the end; just not with quite as much dignity as she might have preferred.)

"Art thou a witch, oh lay?" said the chief Inquisitor.

"Yes," said Pepper's little sister, who was six and built like a small golden-haired football. "You mustn't say yes, you've got to say no," hissed the Head Torturer, nudging the suspect. "And then what?" demanded the suspect.

"And then we torture you to make you say yes," said the Head Torturer. "I told you. It's good fun, the torturin'. It doesn't hurt. Hastar lar visa," she added quickly.

The little suspect gave the décor of the Inquisitorial headquarters a disparaging look. There was a decided odor of onions.

"Huh," she said. "I want to be a witch, wiv a warty nose an' a green skin an' a lovely cat an' I'd call it Blackie, an' lots of potions an'-"

The Head Torturer nodded to the Chief Inquisitor.

"Look," said Pepper, desperately, "no one's saying you can't be a witch, you jus' have to say you're not a witch. No point in us taking all this trouble," she added severely, "if you're going to go round saying yes the minute we ask you."

The suspect considered this.

"But I wants to be a witch," she wailed. The male Them exchanged exhausted glances. This was out of their league.

"If you just say no," said Pepper. "You can have my Sindy stable set. I've never ever used it," she added, glaring at the other them and daring them to make a comment.

"You have used it," snapped her sister, "I've seen it and it's all worn out and the bit where you put the hay is broke and-"

Adam gave a magisterial cough.

"Art thou a witch, viva Espana?" he repeated.

The sister took a look at Pepper's face, and decided not to chance it. "No," she decided.

This whole scene has such an air of childish logic that’s quite logical to the child. There are squabbles and meanness but also camaraderie, and an appeal to reason that seems to make good sense to them. And, in addition to reminding me of how well these authors wrote other children and gave weight to their emotional realities (I’m thinking of Coraline in particular), it also drives home just how young eleven really is. This is the cohort of our feared antichrist. Reality shapes itself according to his whims; and look how whim-like those whims really are for all of them. They’re real to them, though, which is probably enough. Terrifying, if frightfully real.

I’m a bit rushed today but couldn’t quite resist sharing all these book-specific bits with all of you. So fun! But so... telling.

This section also includes Adam’s first meeting with Anathema, which is just an utterly fascinating look at how our expectations blind us to the reality of the situation. But that’s worth its own post, and needs more time than I have to give just now anyway. Hopefully in a day or two.

For now: “Pepper is perfection and really my kind of character” is conclusion enough for one day. She really, really is.

#good omens #book omens #this is officially a pepper appreciation post #marta rereads good omens

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mazziegoldobm · 4 months ago

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More detailed introduction to: Maz

Her colour would be yellow or pink but I can’t get yellow on mobile and I use pink for seren so she gets orange

Maz is my main MC, drself, and by extension oc for obey me :) I’m going to refer to Maz in first person, since she’s me in another reality, sorry for any confusion!

here’s a little fact file:

FULL NAME: Mazzie-Gold Rees (I claim Gold is my middle name, but I have a hyphenated first name because my parents felt quirky. I hate it.)

COMMONLY USED NICKNAMES: Maz (What I introduce myself as), Mazzie (Technically a nickname because the gold is gone, but everyone thinks it’s just my real name. Har har), my roommate from the human world has half a million nicknames to mock my name, the most common ones being Magazine, Maztronaut, Mazturbate and Rees’ puffs.

AGE: 19 (Im gonna turn 20 two months into my dr once I shift though so I’ll usually refer to myself as 20)

GENDER: Female, I use she/her pronouns mostly but I don’t care if someone uses he or they on me

BIRTHDAY: 13/06/2004

PERSONALITY TYPE: ENFP-T (I retook the test thinking I’d get a different result to normal. Nope. Still ENFP-T, just less extroverted and more everything else LMAO)

HEIGHT: 153cm / 5’02ft (I round it up to 5’2ft because… I can! It’s only 1.8 inches away!)

RACE: White, human (but a human with wings… erm!) (I’m not related to Lilith though, I found a way to script that out but keep the small angelic power)

ETHNICITY: Welsh (I will scrap anyone who says English and avoid saying British unless someone doesn’t know where wales is)

SEXUALITY: Bisexual, aromantic (aromantic is a spectrum! I’m not entirely against or disgusted by the thought of a relationship, I just don’t develop feelings easily at all and struggle in believing love is real so I don’t trust serious relationships. I’ve been in relationships before, I just never really cared for them until mams), possibly asexual (I didn’t change anything about this section from my CR so if this doesn’t make sense I apologise, I’m still figuring myself out)

S/O: Mammon <33

In my DR, I have a loving but distant family. They care for my, but due to an argument I had with them when I was 16, we don’t talk much. They check up on me, but know that I prefer to just do my own thing and trust me to tell them if something is wrong.

My roommate did the application form to RAD for me without telling me cause she thought it was a joke (Daisy, girl, bfr) and I signed the confirmation letter because I didn’t realise it. When I proofed out of existence, my roommate assumed I had either gone on some sudden spiritual journey or something crazy or that the letter was real, because she’s a skeptic and trusts me. So my parents, who quite like her, would ask her rather than me if I was ok when I couldn’t talk to them when I was in the devildom. She vouches for me and says I’m ok and my family just trusts her🤷‍♀️

I have 2 siblings, an older brother (five years older) who I don’t talk to often but get along with and an older sister (three years older) who I was super close with as a kid but she moved out when I was 13 and we haven’t spoken since.

I can’t think of anything else but feel free to send asks!!

#obey me #obey me shifting #obey me oc #obey me solmare #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #shifting antis dni #reality shifting

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atlafan · 2 years ago

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I’ll never forget nicks mom texting me on my birthday this year saying, “your last birthday as a single girl!” when she full well knew Nick was having cold feet. Also, I wasn’t single, I was in a committed relationship. I hate the notion that if you’re not married, then you’re single even if you have a partner. It’s just so old fashioned. And you’d think two people who grew up in the 70s/80s wouldn’t be so old fashioned, but Jesus fuck even my parents, who are much older than nicks parents, are more modern about relationships. I mean obviously my parents wanted us all to be married before we had kids. But if I had gotten pregnant beforehand, it still would have been a blessing. My mother took my fathers last name, and my sister in law took our last name, but my sister didn’t take her husbands last name and nobody said boo! My dad didn’t quite understand it but he also knows that’s just how things are now. But nicks dad was personally offended when he found out I wasn’t changing my last name to Raymond. Sure, my initials would have remained the same, but that’s not the issue. I don’t believe that I should have to give up my identity just because I’m promising to love someone forever. He doesn’t have to change his last name. I joked around about nick hyphenating his last name and his dad thought I was serious. He said to him, “that’s just not something mom and I would do.” Okay? And? We’re not you. Nick is turning 33 on April 3rd. His older brother is 36, also can’t make a relationship work but is also less fucked up than nick is, and his younger brother is turning 30 this summer, also can’t make a relationship last. So let me ask you this, Tony Raymond, if you and Mary know everything there is to know in this world and you both know best and you both do everything right and your way is the best way, then why do your three boys have such intimacy issues? Why do your three boys struggle with affection? You have created an environment where no matter what your kids do, they’re wrong. So, when your three boys die alone and don’t continue you on having children with your last name, tell me was it worth it raising the issue about me not taking it? Because any grandchildren I would have given you would have been a Raymond. Oh, and another issue all of a sudden was that our children would be Jewish, and raised as such, and his dad wanted to make sure they would also still be Catholic even though Nick is a fucking atheist! These people will never take a long look within themselves. It’s a pity. On the outside, they’re such a wonderful family. And they were very good to me. But I also never felt comfortable enough in their home to even use the bathroom or get myself a drink or to even speak. I only spoke in that house unless I was spoken to because I was afraid of saying the wrong thing. The judgement and passive aggressive nature of that house is horrible. My family is nowhere near perfect, but at least when we have a problem we fucking address it right then and there. We don’t let it fester. Also, how interesting that nicks dad asked him all these questions when I wasn’t around. You want to know something about me? Fucking ask me. He also texted me on my birthday to wish me a good one. These people are monsters.

#rant

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taughtdefense · 2 months ago

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gets on a step stool, gives a little forehead smooch

it’s a quiet evening at the dojo, & you’re leaning against the wall, letting the soft hum of the air settle your thoughts. these past few weeks have been a whirlwind—intense training, preparation for the sekai taikai tournament, & most recently, the weight of your engagement with robby, sam, tory, & miguel still fresh in your mind, tory & miguel hyphenating their last names to wilson. the sheer beauty of it all never fails to hit you when things calm down, like now.

@taughtpain walks into the dojo, a playful glint in his eyes as he moves toward you. he’s got that look—mischievous, but with an underlying tenderness that makes your heart skip. it’s one you recognize on yourself. you tilt your head, quirking an eyebrow.

"what’s up, my love?" you ask, though there’s already a smile creeping onto your lips. you know robby well enough to sense he’s up to something, that he’s hiding something behind his facial expression. he crosses the dojo to where a small step stool sits, almost unnoticed in the corner. he grabs it & brings it over, setting it down right in front of you.

you blink, confused but curious. "are we comparing heights now? ’cuz i’m pretty sure i have you beat."

he climbs onto the step stool, now eye-level with you—well, almost. he’s still an inch or two (or maybe even three) shorter. knew it. but it makes you chuckle because you know exactly what’s coming next. you’re very used to this act.

without a word, he leans forward & presses a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. the warmth of it sends a flutter through your chest, & for a moment, the world outside the dojo falls away. nothing else matters except for him. it’s just the two of you in this moment, in this little universe you’ve created together with sam, tory, & miguel.

you can’t help but laugh softly, a bit shy but entirely endeared by the gesture. "you could’ve just, you know, asked me to lean down." you tease him lightly, amused by his theatrics. your hands reach out, engagement ring catching in the light of the dojo, hands snaking round his waist. your warm hands press up against the bare skin of his waist before tantalizingly dipping lower for a half-second, just enough to tease him, craving more, more, more, before slipping back to their original position on his body. your pupils briefly flash a pink & golden hue. you’re so in love with him. being with him... it’s the most you’ve ever felt. you can’t imagine your life without him.

the warmth in your chest doesn’t fade. instead, it spreads, a comforting reminder of how much he loves you, how much all of them love you. the simplicity of the moment—of robby getting on a step stool just to give you a forehead kiss—feels like the most perfect thing in the world. the action is both a very robby move, as well as something you can imagine yourself doing... if you were shorter than him in this universe, that is.

"guess that makes you the taller one for once, huh?" you tease, but your tone is soft, filled with affection. you smile softly at him, feeling lighter than you have all day. "i love you, robby. always." it’s in these little moments, with the people you love, that you find the peace you’ve always been searching for. for a half second, your eyes flicker towards his lips before flashing up back to his eyes, then down to his lips. you lean forward slightly, brushing your lips against his forehead—revenge! point, wilson-keene!—before pulling him closer against you, whispering against his lips just barely, "kiss me, dummy. then we can go home."

#taughtpain #in character. / season 6.#main verse.: miyagi fang. — ❝ i ached for warmth & peace. the universe laughed at me. ❞#i love them so much

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severalforraelee · 3 years ago

Text

Prove It Part 11: Max Verstappen x Reader

Photo credit to Wikipedia

Word count: 3726

Written by raelee / posted April 25

Masterlist

Formula 1 Masterlist

Prove It Masterlist

I watch through the phone screen as Charles drags the broom across the hardwood floor, going over the same two floorboards at least three times.

A sigh escapes my lips. “Can you at least do something interesting today?”

After months of fans begging me to do a ‘day in the life’ with Charles and Carlos, I finally convinced our media department that it was a good idea. They wanted it to seem relatable and realistic to the fans, though, so during our break after Italy, I flew back to Monaco with Charles to film and post him doing everyday acts.

I guess the fans don’t realize just how boring Charles Leclerc is.

“This is not interesting enough for you?”

“Charles, you’ve been sweeping for like the past half an hour. I think you got it all, bud,” I answer.

He puts the broom back in the closet, pulling out the vacuum to suck up all of the crumbs and debris.

“Do you want to go to the club tonight?” He asks once he settles on the couch next to me.

“I’m twenty six weeks pregnant,” I deadpan.

“You’re no fun,” he closes his eyes, resting his head on the back of the couch. “Dinner then, with Lando and Alex?”

“I’m in,” I agree, glancing over at my phone in case it vibrates. It doesn’t.

Lando, Charles, Alex, and I sit at a table at a new restaurant Lando wanted to try. It’s a nice restaurant with a beautiful view and delicious food, but I can’t focus on that. The black screen of my phone stares up at me blankly, mocking me.

It knows that I want it to ring, and it knows who I want the phone call to be from. But nothing happens.

“And then a shark bit Carlos’ leg off, right, Y/N?” Charles questions.

“Yeah,” I respond absentmindedly, fingers fiddling with the edge of my phone case.

Alex snaps his fingers in front of my face, causing my gaze to snap to his. He gives me a look of concern, examining me closely.

“What?” I question.

“Are you okay?” Charles asks.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been staring at your phone all day. Is everything fine with your mom? Your sister?” He gasps, lowering his voice. “Your niece?”

“Yes, Charles, everything is fine with my family,” I roll my eyes.

“Max?” Lando inquires.

My eyes drop down to my phone again, and I tap on the lockscreen to reveal that I still have no new texts. I would’ve felt it vibrate, anyways.

“What’s going on with Max?” Charles urges.

“Do you feel comfortable talking about it?” Alex coaxes.

“Oh, who cares about that? Spill,” Lando demands.

“Lando-””So, you guys know how we did that maternity photoshoot the other day?” I question, interrupting Alex as he’s about to scold the McClaren driver. They nod. “Max said some shit that I didn’t agree with-””What did he say? I’ll kill him,” Charles interrupts.

“It was just about the baby’s name, it wasn’t that big of a deal,” I reassure him.

“What, he didn’t like Charles Junior?”

“Why does every driver want this child to be named after him?”

“I don’t, there are too many Alexs running around in the first place,” Alex leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay, so anyways… he wants the baby to have a Dutch name, I told him it was unfair to expect that because the baby is getting his Dutch last name-””What happened to hyphenating your last names?” Lando asks, also present for the name conversation with Pierre.

“It would be too long. Can everyone please stop interrupting me?” They nod, muttering apologies. “He just really wants the baby to have a Dutch first name too, and he accused me of not compromising even though the baby is getting his last name. It’s just so frustrating, and now I’m just waiting for him to call me with an apology.”

“Sweetheart, it’s Max Verstappen we’re talking about here, you’re never going to get an apology,” Alex tells me gently.

“He never even apologized to me for the inchident,” Charles grumbles.

“I know. And I guess that’s the part that bothers me the most. I don’t want his pride to get in the way of us co-parenting, but I think it already is. Like, he usually texts me every day, but he hasn’t since we had this fight. What if something happened to me or the baby? He wouldn’t know,” I sigh.

“I think you’re coming up with worries, Y/N, he knows you’re with Charles right now and if something happened to you, Charles would let him know. Just give him time to cool down, it’ll be good for you two to have some space,” Lando comforts.

“I know, you’re right. Thanks, you guys.”

Max ghosts me for days. We have a couple of weeks before the race in Singapore, so you would think that Max and I would figure out our differences fairly quickly so that we would be able to spend the break together, right? Wrong.

For the first couple of days, I wait for him to text me. He doesn’t.

So I decide to make the first move, texting him and asking if he would like to meet, since I decided to stay with Charles in Monaco for a while longer. He doesn’t respond.

I begin to get frustrated. It irritates me that I’m carrying his child and he’s completely ignoring me- what if something happened to the baby? Or what if I had something really urgent to discuss with him?

It feels like the roles have been reserved. I used to be the one ignoring him in an attempt to avoid another disagreement, but now Max is in that position. And it’s frustrating to deal with. I feel somewhat justified, since I ignored him at the beginning of the pregnancy when I was coming to terms with the fact that I’m pregnant with the baby of someone I hate. He’s ignoring me because we can’t agree on the origin of the baby’s name.

Charles suggests going to Max’s apartment and confronting him, that way he can’t ignore my attempts at communication. I brush him off at first, but after a couple days of the Red Bull driver still dodging my texts and phone calls, I decide that it’s not that bad of an idea after all.

So that’s where I am now, standing outside of Max Verstappen’s apartment. Charles drove me here since I forgot the address, and he told me to text him when I wanted to be picked up.

I knock on Max’s door. There’s no going back now.

The wooden surface swings open, Max standing on the other side. His face immediately transforms into one of surprise at the sight of me.

“Can I come in?” I request, my eyes daring him to deny me.

He nods silently, taking a step to the side. I walk into the apartment, taking my shoes off at the door.

“Can I get you anything? Water, a snack?” He asks as he approaches the kitchen.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” I respond snarkily.

He sighs at the comment.

“Listen, I’m sorry for-””I don’t even care about that right now,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear his bullshit apology. We both know it would be fake, anyways. I pull out my phone, opening the link that Raphael sent me. “Raphael finished editing the photos and emailed them to me. I figured you might want to see them.”

He steps closer to me, and I hand him my phone. I gaze around the apartment as he scrolls through the photos, noticing the dishes in the sink and the clothes on the floor. He’s clearly been here for a couple of days- he can’t even use the excuse that he hasn’t responded because he’s been so busy.

“You look so beautiful,” Max breathes out.

His eyes are glued to the phone, his finger scrolling slowly, but I see the look on his face. His lips are slightly opened, eyebrows gently furrowed in adoration. His eyes sparkle as he soaks in picture after picture.

I try to tame the butterflies in my stomach.

Just because he’s looking at pictures of me holding my bump, staring into the sun, doing whatever the hell I’m doing in those photos, with fondness and warmth, doesn’t mean that he likes me like that.

And just because I felt admiration for him while taking those photos doesn’t mean that I like him like that.

“It’s the bump,” I attempt to joke, suddenly sensing the heaviness in the atmosphere.

“No, it’s you.”

He looks up from the phone, eyes meeting my own. I’m taken aback by the emotions in them. He’s not feeling lust, he’s not feeling love, but there’s a gentleness, a tenderness to his eyes.

I stare back at him, unsure of how to respond to his comment. I don’t know what to say or do. I don’t know what I want to say or do. Do I want this to go further and satisfy my urge to kiss Max? Or do I break the moment, destroying what could’ve been?

He sets my phone down on the counter, taking a step closer to me. He looks relieved when I don’t move away from him. So he takes another step closer. And another.

And soon, his face is inches from my own, eyes gazing into mine, hot breath fanning my face. My heart swoons at the thought of his lips on my own, once again. But this time, I’ll be sober. And this time, we’ll have emotions besides hate behind the kiss.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers.

I nod, not trusting my own voice.

Clothing slipping from our bodies with care, whispered words of passion exchanged between us.

He leans forward, lips pressing against my own. It’s been months since the last time I’ve kissed anyone- in fact, the last person I kissed was Max when we created this baby. In those few moments between thinking about kissing and actually kissing, I was getting nervous.

Will I remember how to kiss? Will I do it right? Will I embarrass myself?

Fingers sliding over limbs, gripping, pulling, moving, to make the experience more pleasurable for both of us.

But all of those worries fade away when Max’s lips and mine move in perfect harmony, knowing exactly what the other person is going to do and how to react. The kiss moves quickly from one of passion and getting to know one another again to a faster pace, lust setting in for the both of us.

All I can remember is moans, groans, pants, soft questions of, “Is this okay?”

His hands grip my hips tightly, pulling me in as close as we can get to each other with the bump in between. One hand remains on my hip, the other sliding down to grip my ass. I moan at the action. My hands move from his shoulders to his hair, tugging at the short strands in anticipation.

And then afterwards, his hand in mine, our bare bodies entangled beneath the duvet.

He pulls back from the kiss and I whine at the loss of contact, causing a smirk to spread on his face. Cocky little shit. “Are you okay with taking this to the bedroom?” He questions, squeezing my hip to let me know that it’s okay to reject him.

“Yes.”

The sunlight bounces off of his hair, making the strands appear blonde. I see why there’s such a large debate online whether Max is a blonde or a brunette. He squints at me, despite the both of us sitting under an umbrella in the seating area of a local restaurant that Max loves.

After the… activity… that was done yesterday, I instantly fell asleep. In my defense, I haven’t had sex in a long time, and I haven’t done something so active since getting pregnant. And, being twenty six weeks pregnant, I do get tired easily. Max let me sleep in his bed, only waking me up to pass me a bowl of soup so that we could eat dinner together in a comfortable silence, and then the two of us went to bed.

Max requested taking me out to breakfast, so we stopped by Charles’ apartment for a quick outfit change. I dodged Charles’ questions as best as I could before heading out the door, telling him that Max will drop me off in the afternoon.

I know we have a lot to talk about, from the argument of the baby’s name, to him ghosting me for days, and then to us having sex last night. I don’t know how to feel right now, but I mainly feel embarrassed. I can’t help but wonder what Max thinks about me going from mocking him to sleeping with him. And if other people were to find out that we slept together without fully thinking it through… I don’t know how anyone would react.

“Can I get you two anything to drink?” A waitress questions, snapping me out of my thoughts and Max and I out of our unofficial staring contest.

“I’ll just get a vanilla steamer, please,” I request.

“An orange juice for me, please,” Max answers. The waitress nods, writing down our order before walking away. I pause, waiting to see if Max will begin this conversation or if I should.

“So, should we discuss our son’s name first?” I begin, deciding to get right into it.

His face instantly darkens at the mention of the point of contention in our relationship, and I can tell that he’s remembering our argument in front of Pierre and Raphael. I know it’s not something that he wants to discuss, but I’d rather get this tension surrounding the baby’s name out of the way as soon as possible so that I can relax about it for the rest of the pregnancy. Plus, I’d like to refer to him as something besides ‘the baby’ or ‘our son.’

My phone begins to vibrate on the metal table as Max opens his mouth and I pick it up with a frown and the intention to decline the call. But, once I see who it is, anxiety starts to fill my chest and thoughts pile into my head.

“Excuse me, I have to take this,” I murmur, rising from the seat. I step out of the dining area, my back to Max as I answer the phone call. “Mom?”

“Hi baby,” my mom’s voice coos through the phone. It takes me back to the times when she would read to me in that same voice in my childhood bed. “How are you?”

“I’m doing good,” I smile at the sound of her voice. “I’m just in Monaco right now for work.”

“How fantastic. How’s my grandson doing? It’s hard to believe that he’s already the size of a zucchini.”

My heart flutters at the thought of my mom looking up the stages of development that her grandson is in. Even though my sister and her husband banned my mom from seeing Dusty Rose until she became sober, I haven’t made a decision yet about my mom’s relationship with my son. I guess I haven’t thought about it too much because we’re going to be living halfway across the world.

“He’s making me very tired,” we giggle to each other.

“So, do you have a birthing plan yet?” She asks.

“Um, no, not yet. We still have a couple of weeks left.”

“Oh, you know what? There’s a hospital right next to the building where my AA meetings are held. A woman in the meeting said that she delivered her daughter there and the staff was very respectful and helpful. Do you want me to find out more information for you?”

My stomach begins to twist at the realization that I’m going to have to tell her soon that I’m not having the baby at home. “Uh, no, I think I’ll discuss the plan with Max first.”

“Are you sure? I bet they fill up fast.”

“No, really, it’s fine, mom,” I respond. She doesn’t reply and my breath hitches at the silence.

“Y/N, what are you not telling me?”

Tears begin to spring to my eyes and I furiously blink, urging them to go away. My throat closes, not allowing me to speak. I don’t know what I would even say. Not here, not in public, not when my life is just starting to go right.

“What are you not telling me?” She repeats in a harsher tone.

“I’m not having the baby in America. I’m, actually, I’m not moving back to America,” I admit. A sob escapes me by mistake.

“What do you mean? You have to have the baby in America,” she wails, “Paisley won’t let me see her baby and now you won’t either? Why is everyone against me?”

“Mom, it’s just-””I’m trying so hard to recover and my children refuse to see that, they just see me as a good-for-nothing alcoholic,” she interrupts me, ranting.

“Mom, no-””Maybe you two are right. Maybe everyone would be better off without me,” she talks over my plead.

“It’s not because of your drinking problems, mom, it’s because of my job,” I feel like I’m almost yelling, silently screaming for her to listen over the phone. “I just- I’m doing what I love here, and I get paid well, and I have flexible hours and I can bring the baby and Tala with me everywhere I go.”

“And I could watch the baby while you go to work in America, why don’t you understand that?” I hear her sniffles through the phone. “All I want is to spend time with my grandchildren.”

“We’ll visit,” I promise quickly, hoping that my words will keep her from reaching for the closest whiskey. “We will, I promise, as soon as he’s able to fly, we’ll get on a plane and come see you.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.”

A gentle hand is placed on my shoulder and I turn around, facing Max. His expression is one of concern, and one hand rests lightly on my waist as the other reaches up to wipe the tears from my eyes.

“I think that I need a break from you, Y/N.”

Her words cause my heart to collapse. We both know exactly what that means. She’s going to do a bar crawl around the whole state, only using her phone to match with boys half of her age on hook up apps and to block mine and Paisley’s phone numbers so she doesn’t have to be called out during her fun time.

Then, in a couple of weeks when she’s done being wild, she’ll call us, begging us to give her money for another round of rehab. And we’ll do it, because we care about our mom and want the best for her.

“Please, mom,” I cry, wiping the snot from my nose.

“Have fun in Italy with your baby and without me.” She ends the phone call before I can respond.

My hands cover my face as I choke out sobs, not even caring about my appearance anymore. I know I look like an absolute disaster with tears and snot running down my red face and my hair disheveled, but all I can picture is my mom passed out in a public restroom with no one to care for her. And it sucks, because I know the only person who can really help her is herself, but she’s not willing to.

The Dutchman pulls me into his arms, rocking me backwards and forwards softly as I cry into his chest. He lets me. We stand in a comfortable silence as my tear ducts drain, and once I can’t cry anymore, I pull back from his chest.

“It was just my mom,” I confess before he has the chance to ask, “It’s ridiculous to cry this much over my mom.”

“Pregnancy hormones,” he says gently, giving me an out.

“Yeah,” I nod. We both know it’s not just because of pregnancy hormones. I haven’t talked much with Max about my relationship with my mom, but he at least knows how chaotic it is.

“She, uh, she’s upset that I’m not having the baby in America. She wants to see him,” the words spill out of my mouth before I can keep them in. My relationship with my mom is a vulnerable topic, so I don’t know why I’m telling him about one of the most destructive conversations that we’ve had in months.

“She’ll still be able to see him,” Max urges, “When you work at Red Bull, I’ll tell them that you need off work a couple of days every month to fly back to America with the baby to see your mum. Don’t worry about it.”

“Max, we’ve talked about this, I haven’t made a decision about where I’m going to work next season yet. And I don’t want to use your relationship with me to get special privileges.”

“I mean, it’s pretty much a given that you’re working at Red Bull. It’s just easier for everyone involved,” he shrugs.

I take a step out of his grip. “For you, maybe. But I’d be the one leaving a familiar environment that I’m comfortable and thrive in.”

“You’ll find that at Red Bull,” he tries to reassure me. “And you’ll see the people from Ferrari around the paddocks.”

I cross my arms, staring at him, still displeased.

“Come on, Christian’s going to be so flexible with you. Won’t you just do this one thing for me?”

“One thing?” I stare at him in shock. “Max you have no clue- it’s just- ugh, I don’t even know what to say, you are so frustrating.”

I turn on my heel, heading back in the direction that I think Charles’ apartment is in. My pride keeps me from pulling my phone out of my pocket to look up directions.

“Where are you going?” Max calls after me.

“Back to Charles’, a place where I’m not always pressured to do what he wants,” I holler back, not looking behind me at him.

So the update is so early this week because I really wanted to get this poll out. I need the baby’s name for what I have planned in the next chapter, so please take this poll on what the baby’s name should be! It will close on Friday night.

Poll is here

sorry if you don’t like any of the names :(

Message me to be added to the taglist :)

#f1 imagine

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ezlebe · 2 years ago

Note

Hanahaki disease tomgreg prompt 😊

“You’re still sick?” Greg asks, looking up when a cough is what Tom greets him with while turning the corner into the little printer cubicle. He blindly grabs the papers out of the tray, as he focuses on Tom with a shuffle closer to him. “Did you go to the doctor, yet – is it turning into, like… pneumonia?”

“It’s fine, Greg, don’t worry about it,” Tom says, shaking his head, like he has for the last three weeks of coughing; the excuses have gone from allergies, to a cold, then back to allergies, and now it’s just become solidly ‘stop asking, it’s nothing’ for two days, which is, like… not even a thing, especially since it’s only gotten worse. “It’s not fucking contagious.”

Greg feels his brow furrow tight over his eyes. “Is it cancer?”

“Greg –” Tom laughs in a bark, then immediately coughs, again, into a closed fist that he holds up against his lips. “It’s just this chronic… genetic thing. It’ll sort itself out.”

“It sounds really bad,” Greg mutters, looking down at the papers, counting out the still-warm copies with his thumb. “Like… Wet. Like tuberculosis.”

“I don’t have the consumption,” Tom says, lowering his voice into a cartoonish taunt. “Who have you ever met that has tuberculosis?”

Greg shrugs small with a glance back to Tom. “Maybe just you.”

Tom rolls his eyes with an exaggerated sweep around the entirety of the printer cubicle. “Trust me, it’s fine. I’m the one living with it. And you really got to stop with all this printing, bud.”

“Have you tried tea?” Greg asks, waving the copies in his hands with a tense jerk of his wrists. “Or a, uh – a steam bath?”

“We’ve gone over this; it won’t help, but I – ” Tom hacks and rubs at his throat with a wince, a marked tightness to his jaw where he rubs his thumb underneath it. He suddenly takes a step back, away from Greg, and his voice is hoarse, thick with something stuck at the back of his throat, when he next speaks: “I got to go, actually. Hey, uh, just email me that when you’re done. You don’t have to make the trek all the way over to my office.”

Greg furrows his brow, slightly, because Tom’s office is… on the same floor. It’s always been on the same floor, except that time he hid Greg in a mail room. “Tom, like… just go to the doctor?”

Tom just waves off the request, promptly turning on his heel without another word.

Greg hunches further over the papers when he hears loud hacking further down the hall. He swallows hard, sympathetic, and feels a heavy doubt settling uncomfortably across his shoulders. He’s just… He could be overreacting, worried for no reason, but Tom hardly ever gets sick; he barely gets hangovers. A cough lasting so long, when nothing cruddy is even going around the office… it can’t be something that’s actually mild.

He cuts and pastes, reads and rereads, editing together the project documents that Tom sent him and the ones he worked on, trying to make it all cohesive, and prints that, too, hole punching it for a folio and set up with a cover sheet. It reminds him of scrapbooking, if a lot less whimsical, but it’s pretty cool seeing his surname in the footer with Tom’s as a real contributor. He had made the not-really-a mistake of putting a hyphen the first time, more of a joke, expecting Tom to taunt and laugh and tell him to replace it with an ampersand; he’d only said his name should be first.

“Hey,” Greg says, knocking at the door to Tom’s office, as he pushes it open. He frowns a bit when he finds it empty, looking over his shoulder – he wonders if Tom is upstairs, but he also usually like texts some kind of mocking preparation for his own demise.

Greg slumps down onto the sofa, spinning the portfolio in his hand. He stares at the view for a few seconds, then sets down the bid while peeking over his shoulder at the door. He’s mostly done, now that this is finished, anyway… He can stick around until Tom gets back.

He ends up wandering around the office, tapping at Tom’s tinker toys and poking at the framed Mondale that’s replaced the old wedding photo. He looks down at his watch, as he rounds the back of the desk, smirking a little to himself while he sets his hands down flat on the surface, leaning over it, as if he’s threatening someone on the other side. It angles more at the windows now, instead of straight at the door; it really is a good view.

Greg hums a pair of beats, as he leans back, then frowns at the waste basket tucked under the desk, seeing something beneath the usual coffee cups and balled up papers – a red-pink smear in the inside of the bag. He looks toward the door, wary of Tom bursting in, then crouches down for a closer look.

“Fuck,” he mutters, lifting the trash can and putting it on the desk, pulling out all of the garbage with an ache building at the back of his throat. It’s definitely blood… it’s a lot of blood – is it tuberculosis? Shit, is that like even curable – wait…? “A flower?”

He stares at the flowers at the bottom of the bag, mayflowers, violets, and one that kind of looks like a daisy, every single one stained, mangled, and…

“Oh.”

Tom’s been hacking up flowers.

Greg slumps back into Tom’s desk chair with a shaky breath. He stares wide-eyed at the mess on the desk, then sweeps his eyes toward the window, lifting a hand up to rub hard across his mouth.

It’s not tuberculosis, at least, though it might be some kind of worse? It’s like magic, or something, which is like a total mystery on the entire like… everything of it. It could be anyone, too, like Shiv, or another ex, or a random person off the street, or in the office, or…

It could, also, maybe be the person Tom once declared he’d marry while still with his ex-wife; the person he tugged along with a scrunchy smile while ruining his and his ex-wife’s five-year-plan; the declared Sporus to his Nero, fiddling up the chain as the old Waystar buckles and folds against Lukas and his board’s ever-increasing influence. And could be that person, like… is maybe even the only option?

Fuck. Greg has just been – He thought Tom would say something when he was ready? The divorce went through, like… a while ago, but Tom had been pretty upset about it, like he still clearly cares for Shiv, even if he… sort of, really, obviously resents her, too, so Greg just – It seemed like Tom was just taking his time? He didn’t think Tom… No, he probably should have considered this kind of thing, after the way he’s seen Tom get pent up and intense with how he feels about anything else. Fuck.

He looks around and pulls open drawers, grabbing a tissue from a box, then reaches out and picks up one of the more held-together flowers, a pale pink mayflower, some symbol of Tom’s curseas much as his… any other emotion. It’s coated in drying, sticky blood, which is something the movies and books have never gotten into that Greg remembers, and it looks like… It just seems like a lot of blood to be from anywhere, let alone lungs. He turns in the chair back and forth on a swivel, glancing at the door with a swallow and another painful epiphany: it’s been a long time, but Tom still hasn’t come back.

Greg knows that death for this is – it’s on the table, but… no one ever actually dies in the like fictional accounts? But he’s never – he thought he hadn’t met anyone in real life who could even get it. He wishes Tom had – like, had an alert bracelet or something, like for diabetes; a convenient warning his ancestors were cursed by fairies, or demons, or a god, or whatever it is in his family.

He stares at the door another few seconds, then pulls out his phone, swiping at the messages, tapping the top, hand hovering at the keyboard… He taps at the name. If Tom yells at him from the bathroom, then like it’s not even the first time.

A low voice answers three rings in and too much of a relief. “Hey, there.”

“Hey, uh,” Greg says, hunching over the desk into his other hand. “I can’t find you – are you okay?”

“Not this again – I’m just fine, like I said,” Tom says, but his voice is wheezy and tight, like he’s holding something back, probably more flower buds stuck up in his lungs, or however it works; a pain easier to suffer, it seems, than ever talking to Greg about it. “It’s all good in the neighborhood. Went home.”

“You… went home?” Greg says, furrowing his brows, as his heart thuds a pair of beats against the inside of his ribs. “That doesn’t sound like okay at all.”

“Who taught you to care so much?” Tom says, then offers a laugh, only for it to break, just like earlier, into a wet cough.

Greg presses his lips tight together, reaching up and rubbing at his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I don’t know, really. I guess I just do.”

“Sure, sure,” Tom says, his next breath loud and raspy over the speaker. “Just waste those reserves of sticky sympathy on ol’ Tom.”

“Of course, Tom, I –” Greg leans back in the chair and picks at the tissue, again, casting his eyes across the mess. He never thought that he’d have to be the one to start this talk, but Tom is… literally letting it tear him up inside? “Can I – can I say something an-and you promise to not hang up? Even if you don’t like it?”

Tom sighs a more deliberate wash of static into the receiver. “Just this once.”

Greg spins a flower in his hand, stain now coming off dry on the tissue under his fingertips, and swallows hard as disgust and melancholy hit him hard all at once. “I wish you’d told me you were going home, because I would’ve gone with you. I… I always sort of want to –”

“It’s nice you want to be here, buddy, but I promise that I’m –”

“No, I – I mean I want to be wi-with you, Tom,” Greg says, swallowing when his voice threatens to break. He sort of likes mayflowers, too, and he wonders if that’s some awful part of it. “All the time. Not just when you’re sick.”

“Oh,” Tom intones, at length, voice pitching and fading to nothing.

“I – I know this is sort of out of nowhere, but – um, but maybe you don’t know someone wants to take care of you when you’re sick, you know, an-and that… it’s me?” Greg squeezes his eyes shut, slumping into his elbow on the desk and pressing his face into his forearm. “I want to help, because I, I… I sort of lo-love you a lot, but I, like – I can’t… if you sneak out without even telling me?”

Tom is utterly silent on the other end of the line, like he’s hung up and all that’s left is dead air.

“I dunno, I – ” Greg bites briefly at the inside of his lip. He doesn’t know if that’s good enough, or… if it won’t matter; the thought that how Tom looks at him is all in his head creeps along, but now with the sick panic from saying something about it. “I just – uh, just needed you to know. That.”

“Greg,” Tom says, barely any stronger than a croak of the syllable.

“And I kind of thought, maybe – I thought you felt the same? But if you don’t, I-I get it… you know, maybe it – I was…” Greg swallows, anxiety prickling up his throat, only worsening the longer Tom stays reticent. It’s just that’s the thing? Tom really could mean nothing at all by the intensity of jokes about kissing or Greg being his slave husband, except literally to razz at face value with what he’s said. Greg doesn’t know what he’ll even do if that’s what it is – except maybe find whoever Tom really does love, so he doesn’t die, then like transfer himself straight to Brightstar Antarctica. “I understood it wrong. I’m not super great at that a lot of the time.”

Tom keeps silent for a few more awful moments, then exhales another wheezy sigh into the receiver. “You understood fine, Greg, just missing the part where I got up to the line where I could step up, and I balked. I… I decided that might really scare you off, and turned gummy and limp, like a little crybaby about it. It turns out you’re a much braver man than me.”

“I’m really not, I…” Greg shakes his head, hunching further into the curve of his shoulders and pressing the flower stem flat under his fingers. He’s got relief hesitantly flooding his chest, spreading outward while a smile creeps across his face, but Tom still sounds so unwell. “I could’ve said something earlier, Tom, but – uh, but I wanted you to bring it up first, more, because… just like you being married and all, and to Shiv, and then I, uh – ” He drags his teeth against his lip, lowering his voice. “I even wondered if you’d one up yourself, a little, too?”

Tom coughs a weak laugh, but it thankfully doesn’t seem loaded. “Oh, did you?”

“Yeah, like…” Greg stares at the petals, loosening and falling, as the bloom starts to fall apart under his attention. “A grand gesture that – um, that isn’t like under some duress.”

“Everything I do is off the cuff, Sporus – how about you just say what you want, you spoiled boy?”

Greg feels heat promptly flood his cheeks. “Can I, like… just come over to make sure you’re okay? You’re really freaking me out with this cough, Tom. You don’t ever –” He jerks and sits up with a start, as the flower in his hand all of a sudden disintegrates. He stares at the empty space inside the tissue, then leans up to peek into the wastebasket, finding the bag inside empty except for stains and bits of paper. “…Get sick.”

“Gregory, I’m totally alright,” Tom insists, maybe now honestly, and his voice really does sound better. “But if you want to… I obviously want you with me, too, since we’re flaying ourselves open here.”

“Yeah? I – I can like get soup, you know, do you want hot and sour?” Greg says, scratching a hand through his hair, wondering how any of this works – does Tom, like, have permanent damage to his lungs, or did it clear up, too? Is it like smoking? Is there a bunch of little flower scars? “Ginger chicken? Or a medicine for your lungs – ”

“You only ever need to bring yourself,” Tom interrupts, in a soft tone that Greg’s not sure he’s ever heard, only for it to be broken up by a click of a tongue. “Wait, hey – email the bid, before you leave. I want to look it over.”

“I can bring it?” Greg says, as he stands, glancing over at the purple portfolio sitting at the arm of the guest sofa. “I already printed it out.”

“You’re wiping out the trees, Greg,” Tom says, groaning hard with exaggerated disappointment.

“I think maybe it’s –” Greg sweeps the trash back into the basket with a brief, eye level study of the desk to make sure he’s got all of it. He doesn’t… get magic, like how did it all just go away? Isn’t there like a – a something can’t be from nothing science law? “Recycled?”

“Oh, yeah, is it?” Tom says, voice mocking, so he’s definitely feeling better, since that particular pitch hasn’t been heard in a bit. “Could be you’re printing out our little projects on Cruises documents.”

“Tom,” Greg says, feeling his nose scrunch while he sets the trash back where it goes under the desk. He can’t help the following laugh, though, “Don’t say that.”

#tomgreg #cw blood #this is one of those tropes i dont read that often so i probably missed all the beats

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timmymyluv · 3 years ago

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modern day! little women chalamet daughters headcanons

so some time ago I suddenly had this idea and a request I sent to @soren-mai like what if timmy had 4 daughters close in age like in little women but ofc modern day times and they would basically be part of the ✨nepo✨ chalamet entertainment/Hollywood dynasty but in various ways and are actually talented and not just hired because of the famous name

and yn mom is a multi-hyphenate who's tackled a bit of everything too, an all rounder alongside singing, modelling, acting so that talent is also shown in the kids. keeping it general enough would allow you guys to relate a little bit and not be too specific haha

here's some of the headcanons, possible names, personalities and some random facts I think they'd have:

Vivien Nicole

-watching Streetcar named Desire/Gone with the Wind when they found out she's a girl

- named after Vivien Leigh

-parents were fairly surprised to find out they were expecting but were excited anyway, esp when they were having a girl (they didnt care about gender bec duh its just a label tbh)

-two years older than isabelle

-actress chops even from school plays; wants to be a serious actress, thespian; like even if she was Tree4 that year, she would SERVE

-named after grandma & a great dancer like mom & aunt Pauline

-all sisters did ballet but she went the furthest with pointe and nearly going pro if her acting career didn't take off so soon

-her and isabelle form the "big pair" - inspired by the Romanov OTMA aka Anastasia's sisters

-has green eyes, smiles like you and has your nose;

-godmoms include pauline ofc, and Florence !! is the biggest Baker with auntie flo and appeared in cooking with flo on ig as a little girl and even as an adult when flo would sporadically do it

-the only sister with the exact texture of curls as timmy, as the other sisters either have curlier, or straighter textured hair

-lived with Saoirse in the middle of nowhere in the countryside of Ireland (her younger sis Isabelle's godmother but aunt seersh loves all the girls ofc) for months at a time to have like intensive acting workshops with her

-totally was afraid of becoming pigeonholed or type casted into a particular role/genre because of her acting "nepotism" roots or like what her parents and their friends had done but enjoys a versatile, respected body of work even at a young age

-super into gardening?? would've started a farm with Belle for some reason ksdks she just loves a more quiet life during vacations and away from the craziness of living between Paris and NYC growing up

-fashionista like her runway model sis but is more avant garde with it while belle takes it more minimalist with ootds and being on the go always

-is the most daring of the sisters when it comes to looks like her dad when the sisters would be on various spectrums of playing it safe/classic styles and less flashy patterns/unusual material

-her style is like bella hadids mixed with elsa Hosk, fka twigs and blake livelys press tour looks yk? isa might have a more classic less patterned approach

-her big three probably has cap like her papa, Gemini or sag I'm getting?

Isabelle Saoirse

-Saoirses god daughter and name sake

-the model; has the most delicate features, very fine and soft looking while the rest of the family is very sculpted, sharp but still resembles them esp side by side

-was scouted to be a model even as a child (even with protective, private, hesitant parents) (like around the same age Gigi Hadid was scouted for baby Gap) but she wanted to be in front of cameras and it was clear that even as a child she wanted this they let her try it but were heavily present on set/photoshoots to look out for her, or her parents' famous model friends would be on guard for her too

-tallest of the sisters; becomes a haute couture supermodel

-has hair that’s not fully straight but compared to her sis it’s less wavy/curly to everyone else, but she can’t call her hair either anyway lol doesn’t bother her much some mornings she’s the quickest to get ready as her hair is the easiest to ‘tame’ some bad hair days lol

-all of them are kind of on the lankier, slim side but she's the tallest and the lankiest shed always use her longer limbs to hide things from her sisters sometimes sfsd

-ironically the shyest of the siblings, found modelling as a means to gain confidence as a child and find her own identity

-all siblings were raised equally bilingual in French and English but she slightly prefers speaking in French and chose to attend uni part time while modelling in France while all her other sisters schooled in the State's and esp in NYC

-is like an honourary god daughter to the Hadid sisters, who act as mentors to her in the fashion industry and really support her

-has a more hazel shade of eyes compared to her dads who has a mix of green and hazel

-her big three probably something with Virgo, Taurus or Libra

Genevieve Maree

-Zendayas god daughter and namesake

-usually has an accent in one of the e’s in her name but isn’t bothered to put it in if she’s in the English speaking world but on her French passport she tends to forget and it can get messy with border crossing/customs sometimes lmao

-there’s quite a gap age wise between the first two and then the last two (who are close in age to each other) because they wanted more than one kid, having a rather large family but weren’t actively trying, but were def in the financial, and mental/emotional capability to have more kids so they were like hey why not? lol

-she’s around 3-4 years younger than Belle?

-has the Chalamet jawline and cheekbones TM like damn gurlll it's so sharp it could CUT

-named after Barbie and the 12 Dancing Princesses (movies her older sisters loved to watch while their mom was pregnant)

-activist and super artsy; passionate about environment causes, climate change, social equality

-forms the "little pair", the most outgoing of the siblings, most outspoken and is the most public in the family about her life, especially if it'll benefit greater causes, a little bit of her privacy spoiled will seem like nothing to her

-ironically has the most princess looking name but is the most punk/'rebellious' of the bunch

-was nearly named Josephine after Jo March in Little Women

-totally dyed her hair like pitch black and came home with it suddenly and shocking her parents like we could've taken you to a better professional salon if you just asked 😭

-has the most piercings and matches some with her dad, especially the cartilage ones

-has tattoos of her parents and sisters, and childhood pets but they're hidden discretely and rather small but numerous

-wanted to be a professor or like economist but found the systems outdated and was hesitant on continuing her programs at her Ivy League unis (got into all Ivy's, applied to all 8 just cause she could? 😅) so she took a gap year before choosing

-has done the artwork for some of Angel's singles and album covers; or guest edit for one of Belle’s vogue covers, or some background graphics/posters for Viv’s movies - she’d go behind the scenes with anything that’s not activism tbh

-her big three def has Aquarius in there, maybe with Gemini and sag too?

Angelique Greta

-very close in age to Gen; less than a year between the two does a blend of acting and modelling

-again Timmy and Y/N both worked with Greta together and individually with her the years leading up to Angelique’s birth/pregnancy and her early childhood so the second name choice was almost a given

-most private of the sisters; despises social media and avoids if possible but ironic when she writes lyrics, she knows she has to bare herself and be vulnerable, so she goes cryptic and hides easter eggs if she can haha

-has timmys exact nose awww

-writes music and is a singer most of the time ; considers self a singer/songwriter first and then actress/model second

-has kid Cudi as her godfather only fittingly as the surgeon/midwife had him on shuffle and played right as she was born like 😭 what else can we say

-each sister was featured on a T Swift album at least once but she has the most references in lyrics!!! Taylor says she doesn't have a favourite among the 4 but angelique is openly proud she is a character most written about skdkd

-indie rock enthusiast; loves rock bands little more over hip hop (she likes both but her sound is leaning more to pop rock but is also influenced by hip hop); would either go like kinda indie like conan gray/gracie abrams with a lil olivia rodrigo sprinkled in and a side girl band project

-loved to write even as a little girl; got in the most trouble with getting crayons and markers all over the walls

-is probably vegan/vegetarian like Gen, although between the two, she's more sensitive to dairy (?) Lol shout out to my lactose intolerant folks thoughts and prayers to y'all 🙏🫂

-big three has some Scorpio and Cancer?? And maybe some Taurus or Virgo too

...

again this is all fun and games, nice to imagine - esp on sleepless nights?! nothing serious, not being delulu, just writing. enjoy! if u have any headcanons or concepts you wanna share, send them in too!

#Timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet scenarios #timothee chalamet headcanons #timothee chalamet x reader

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absolutebl · 3 years ago

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not so quick pitch

Light on Me (2021 - Korea)

Rating: 10/10

Foundational Romance Trope: friends to love triangle

There were some who thought this BL slow, and I get that, but really it's just subtle and quiet. With Light on Me, Korea gave us an honest to goodness high school set BL with some classic old school yaoi tropes almost like they were doing a bit of a,

“now that we’ve hit our stride, let’s perfect the vanilla sheet cake BL style.”

It was great, of course, but very refined and elegant which some found off putting. It made me think of something like this...

It’s what Korea does, repackage and perfect vanilla cake into this pretty glowing confection of precision joy. I’m cool with that. By all means, please include BL in the Hallyu take over. This is the K-pop of BL En-Hyphen style, manufactured super-powered cute but... restrained.

But that doesn't make it any less gut wrenching to watch. In fact, it makes every subtle tentative movement of care that ShinWoo attempts that much more telling. It makes every fear of exposure that prevents DaOn from taking action that much more traumatic. It makes every moment of TaeKyung’s brutal honestly and blunt communication that much more powerful.

It’s like that intense moment of focus on the hand flex in an Austen adaptation - we are awaiting every crack in the sugar sculpture with bated breath.

The filming in this show was precision engineered. The frame was kept uncluttered, characters appeared exactly in the center, there was little visual noise, and the lighting was full on, even in night shots. To me this reflected the character of TaeKyung - honest and almost stilted in his mannerisms. I feel like the director filmed this series as if the show itself were TaeKyung: careful and clear and specific.

This may come off as one-note or simplistic to a casual viewer but it’s actually quite difficult to film something so precisely and still make it interesting to watch. It forced the viewer to focus almost entirely on the actor’s faces, their nuanced emotion, and their interpersonal relationships to the exclusion of all else. Lucky for us those actors served the lens beautifully.

There is literally NOTHING distracting about this directing style. It’s like the camera was a neutral white room, a well-lit gallery in which the narrative hung suspended for us all to stand and stare at in hushed silence.

A love triangle has never before looked so perfect or been executed so perfectly, and it never will again. All BL love triangles that come after Light On Me (and we will get them now) are going to be unfavorably compared to this show.

When I posted about Korea’s history with BL, I talked about how strategic and clever they are with tropes. Light on Me is a master class in how to use tropes to manipulate audience sympathy so they can’t decide which pair they prefer. Korean BL never just throws in a trope without purpose - they calculate its impact on story structure. Basically, LoM used this technique to infect fans with Second Lead Syndrome. It’s SO GOOD.

So yes, Light on Me was cleverly engineered, but it was also SPECIAL, and here’s why:

This show gave us a small cast of beautifully acted complex and sympathetic characters and dwelled on their different motivations, communication styles, and narrative roles. It gently explored not what it means to love, or even be in love, but what it means to act on love, and what that says about integrity and emotional courage. In doing so, it managed to treat its characters with integrity too. And not just the three main characters but the mentor, the faen fatal, and the best friend support characters too.

This show felt very fair. Fair to its characters. Fair to its story. And fair to us, the watchers.

For me this BL was classy, a real winner, not the least of which because they NAILED the landing, including the final kiss. Korea is DOMINATING 2021. Like seriously. What’s going on here?

Full analysis of the love triangle trope under the context of the second half fo this BL here.

Bravo, Korea.

(source)

#light on me #Asian BL #AsianBL #KoreanBL #Korean BL #K-BL #K drama #K-drama #recommended BL #i recommend it #watch this #noh shinwoo #woo taekyung #review #highly recommended

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pudding-parade · 2 years ago

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So before I basically took the summer off, after which my game wigged out on me and I subsequently fell into a Rimworld-playing hole, I had started a save for the sole purpose of doing some World Adventuring and playing the custom Archaeology career that I have. I had been posting some gameplay of it, for the hell of it. Unfortunately, I didn’t really tag it as a story or anything, and I’m probably not going to retroactively do so now, so I can’t direct you to a tag, but I’mma start posting it again. (Going forward, I’ll tag it as “clueless jaime.”) Since it’s been so long, here’s a bit of a recap. It’s behind the cut, so you can skip it if you don’t care.

My starting Sim is named Jaime Mahoney. He’s pretty but kind of dim, and he loves his booze. (No, I didn’t intend that. The idiot just kept rolling up wishes to go to bars, where he’d slam a bunch of drinks and then have shenanigans.) Jaime’s bisexual and, early on, he took a romantic interest in the mailman (meaning, they had a boinkfest), and that’s still floating around out there in the ether, waiting on me to decide if I want to do a throuple in this save. Mailboi’s name is Logan...something. Whatever.

Anyway, Jaime lives in Winchester. He owns a time machine (from Ambitions) which I set for autonomous use, so he uses that often. He also travels every “weekend.” He went to Egypt first and for a few trips thereafter, and he ended up partnered with his adventuring contact there, Tahiya Shalut. She moved in, got knocked up, they bought her original house in Egypt as a vacation home, then they came home, got married, and their kid is named Hattie Shalut. ”Hattie” because she was conceived at the Temple of Hatshepsut in Egypt. (Yay Kinky World and bizarre public woohooing locations. 🙄) “Shalut” because I randomly decide which parent’s surname to use for kids because 1) Down With Patriarchy and 2) I dislike hyphenated surnames.

Tahiya loves cookies, coffee, and breaking things. Her second home is the coffee shop in town. She has 3% alien DNA as a result of one alien abduction. (Yay for the “Abductor” mod.) Her LTW is the Stylist profession one, but she hadn’t gotten to do any actual styling thanks to days off given for pregnancy, marriage, and childbirth, but that’s OK since I’m using a longer lifespan in order to have plenty of time for the adventuring and careers.

When we had left off, the brand-new parents had skipped off to France without their kid, as all responsible brand-new parents do. It was Jaime’s first non-Egypt trip. On the last day of their three-day bender trip, they spent the day in the winery, getting thoroughly smashed before returning home to their infant. So, our “story” resumes with their return home...

#sims 3 #sims 3 pictures #sims 3 gameplay #clueless jaime

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readinginthereadyroom · 3 years ago

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let’s talk about 9-1-1 buddie headcanons:

- eddie gets rid of his truck. christopher is getting older and wants more independence so he gets something with better clearance. and I’ve decided that something is a dodge durango. eddie is actually really into it. can’t stop talking about the fold down seats and towing capabilities. buck teases him and calls it his soccer mom van. then immediately starts researching CP-friendly soccer leagues for chris.

- buck strikes me as a podcast kinda guy. I feel like a lot of his random facts probably start with information learned via podcast and then researched separately on google or wikipedia.

- luddite eddie my beloved. but not like luddite luddite. eddie’s a millennial so I see him as okay with all the 20th century technology he grew up with and just not all the newfangled smart home/internet gaming stuff.

- abuela gives eddie an old turntable and a box of records and he falls in love with it. likes to play spanish love songs while cleaning on the weekends.

- eddie breaks up with ana. he does it quietly and cordially a couple weeks after the sniper incident.

- buck and taylor date for a little while but never really take off. and it’s super important that it’s buck who makes the decision to break up. they both have very busy lives and different priorities. and taylor acknowledges she probably shouldn’t have kissed him in the first place. she just hated to see buck so broken and wanted to comfort him. they decide they are better as friends.

- bosko and eddie friendship rights! eddie actually apologizes to her and they become gym buddies. lena stops going to the junkyard fights and finds an MMA gym that she’ll take eddie to. during the pandemic they somehow find themselves doing socially distanced tai-chi in the park. they keep it up once the gyms reopen.

- side note: lena does in fact get a cat. he’s a huge floofy maine coon named sarge who absolutely adores eddie. rubs his head all over him and immediately worms his way into his lap when eddie visits. he hisses at buck tho and lena finds it endlessly hilarious.

- demisexual eddie! I like the idea of lena no-nonsense asking eddie if he’s ace one day and eddie just having an internal panic attack but not being able to figure out why. karen gently brings it up few months later and he’s just deny deny deny. then he overhears david telling michael that he gives off ace vibes and that’s the last straw. so eddie pulls a full buck and starts researching just to prove everyone wrong. except it’s like a lightbulb clicks on and yeah. maybe there’s something to this.

- eddie and karen have a book club every other week. usually novellas or a short story collection. queer theory and literary fiction. the occasional poetry book. at some point they invite david to join them. they also have a not-so-secret romance novel exchange because they are big saps.

- eddie is also a sucker for a really good cup of black coffee. has a favorite hole-in-the-wall cafe where he buys beans in bulk. buck calls it his diesel fuel drink and grimaces at the taste. he prefers simple oatmilk latte from the place near the station. and yet buck always seems to know what days eddie will be running late and rushing to work and has a cup from said hole-in-the-wall coffee waiting. despite it not being on buck’s route.

- christopher loves buck’s loft. buck keeps a stash of toys and coloring books in his coffee table trunk for when he visits. chris sees the stairs as a fun challenge and will often ask to go up and sit on buck’s bed to watch the city. or sit on the patio while buck bbq’s dinner for the three of them. he thinks it’s the coolest house ever.

- buck actually rides his bike. it’s not just for show. especially after the pandemic hit. he likes to go out in the mornings. drives to a nearby trail on his days off and enjoys the scenery while the sun comes up. sometimes eddie and chris meet him there after his ride and they have a breakfast picnic.

- the diaz-buckley-han’s share one netflix account. it’s technically buck’s in that he pays for it, but when maddie moved to LA he set her up with her own profile. then logged into his account at eddie’s one day and never logged out. renamed the profile buck & eddie after he setup a kid’s profile specifically for chris. then after learning about maddie and chim’s not-dating buff-fridays, buck put both their names on her profile as a prank. and then it just stayed that way. jee-yun even has a profile despite being a literal infant that doesn’t watch tv. maddie cried when she saw it.

- buck takes the legal guardianship thing very seriously. he’s already really involved in essentially co-parenting chris but he starts getting really nervous about asking invasive questions about chris’ medical history. so eddie sits him down with chris and the three of them talk about it. eddie very specifically asks chris if he’s okay with sharing that kind of info with buck. because even tho christopher’s a kid eddie always wants him to have a say in his own health decisions. then he has a more in-depth convo with just buck about insurance and bills and doctor’s visits. makes sure buck has access to all of it.

- chris played secret matchmaker. went to his old friend santa claus and asked if buck would stay forever. santa came thru, as always.

- also carla knows. buck starts spending more nights at the diaz house and one morning she lets herself in and sees buck coming out of eddie’s room in just a pair of sweatpants. she gives him a coy eyebrow raise and buck blushes. then she just laughs, pats his cheek affectionately, and says your secret’s safe with me buckaroo. when a bleary-eyed eddie wanders out a half hour later she pushes a cup of coffee into his hands, waits a few moments, looks eddie dead in the eyes, and points at buck. I see you took my advice. eddie chokes on his coffee.

- speaking of carla she is family. she and her husband are regular guests at the 118 get-togethers, holidays at the firehouse, and family meals. she occasionally takes on other clients, but she’s mostly exclusive to the diazes these days. esp as christopher gets older and wants more independence. she’s been around since he was 7 and he’s comfortable with her. she stays his home heath care aide until she retires. then she personally vets a new one. because not just anyone will do for her boy. they throw her a huge retirement party.

- gonna jump into the future because christopher absolutely names his daughter carla shannon buckley-diaz. there isn’t a dry eye in the house.

- and I don’t actually see chris calling buck pops or anything. he’s just his buck. tho I can see eddie asking christopher if he wants to hyphenate his last name when buck officially adopts him. buck’s his hero so chris is 100% onboard.

- buck and eddie don’t have more kids. eddie never wanted more and buck is surrounded by the ever-expanding horde of firefam kids. they love their little trio.

- also eddie is hilariously terrible with other kids. he just. doesn’t know how to talk to them. he’s literally the best father ever with christopher, but any other kid and he’s all awkward hello small human. it’s also the reason the team sends buck to handle kid rescues. he knows how to speak to kids and they light up around his sunshine energy. but then there are certain kids who just glom onto eddie. usually the quiet ones. they find something about his calm dad presence very soothing so they just cling to him until buck can coax them around.

- I do not see the buckley-diazes getting a pet. buck and eddie work long shifts and it’s not fair to put that kind of extra responsibility on carla when her job is to care for chris. however, as chris gets older he does get a mobility service dog to help with counterbalance. she’s a golden retriever named stella and she’s a very good girl.

- buck proposes by accident. they’re at the park with christopher and marriage just sorta comes up during one of his infodumps. eddie is eating his sandwich, nodding along, and just casually says of course I want to marry you. buck stops talking. christopher giggles. eddie panics. but when he looks at buck he’s all puppy-eyed and hopeful. you do? eddie nods. chris chimes in with a stage whispered ask properly buck and say yes dad. so they do.

#been doing some more eddie meta lately so these are an extension of that #honestly I probably have even more but I'm gonna stop #buddie #eddie diaz #evan 'buck' buckley #christopher diaz #carla price #lena bosko #911 what's queue emergency?#writing in the ready room #911 fox #9-1-1

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