#i don't know what anyone else would even make of this

[erwinsvow]

you'd never really put this much effort in at other houses. while you're scrubbing the countertops to remove every last bit of evidence that someone—anyone—had made a mess there, you think about the other houses you used to babysit for.

used to, since there was no need to babysit anymore. mister cameron, who will always remain mister cameron—no matter how much he reminds you to call him rafe—actually pays you double what your other families did. he's a busy guy. you know this for a fact—single dad and some big business guy that people in town used to talk about all the time when you used to listen—so he'd have last minute emergencies and random business calls all the time.

his exact words had been something along the lines of "don't wanna share you with anyone else," but even thinking about that encounter makes your face burn with so much intensity that you think you're going to collapse. that's not what he meant, obviously, he was trying to tell you in nicer words that it was annoying when you replied to his texts explaining how another family had booked you already for that night. so when he upped your rate and said that he'd even pay to say no to others, just in case, you would have been really stupid to say no.

you don't hear much about him anymore, when you're out and about. you spend so much time at the cameron house that your own little apartment seems like nothing more than a bed and a place to get ready before leaving. you practically eat three meals a day with the baby, so even your grocery shopping is in that part of town—all organic, expensive places where you talk to the baby and try to get her opinion on which vegetable puree she'd like to try this week.

it's kind of like playing pretend. no, it's really like playing pretend. you used to dress in the normal, comfortable clothes that were sufficient for babysitting every other family—overalls and sneakers—but now you don't fit in unless you're in a pretty dress and nice sandals. you stay in one outfit from when you show up before mister cameron leaves to when you drive home at the end of the night.

that's the other thing—your car. you've made it work with the same one since you could first drive. it's a little rusty, a little dinged up, but safe as can be. it's nothing fancy but it got you around. but now you do other things for rafe that you never did for other families—grocery shopping and errands and the occasional doctor's appointment if rafe really, really can't make it. you don't mind at all—it's fun to play pretend and you love her like she's your own, but mister cameron tries to make it to every appointment himself, because he really cares about his daughter. it's admirable because you don't see it in every single household.

you hadn't thought there was anything wrong with your car until one day you couldn't get the air conditioning to work, and the back window got jammed and the baby looked so uncomfortable that you had to skip out on whatever you were supposed to do that day. when mister cameron came home that night you apologized so much that you started crying—because really, you never thought there was something wrong with your car and you didn't want to make the baby drive in the heat, just in case. you think he'll be mad, there's no groceries and his suit is still at the cleaner's, and the lotion that you use every night after bathtime has ran out and there'll be none for tomorrow—but he's not.

he's not mad at all. he seems... tired. he seems worried. the first thing he asks that night is if you and the baby are okay. when you nod, afraid that this is the calm before the storm, he sighs.

"good. that's all i care about," and the way he says it—you believe him right away. maybe that's the night your little crush on mister cameron started forming. it'd always been there in the background, you'd be an idiot of massive proportions to deny it. but it felt different somehow, watching him roll up his sleeves and pulling out whatever ingredients there were left over to make dinner with, something that you normally tried to have done every night for him, while telling you to take a seat.

that night he asks about your car—how old is it, when'd you get it, how many miles. do you like the model? would you want bigger, smaller, a different color? it's just conversation—he probably likes cars with the way there's a really nice in the garage under a sheet and a nice but safer one that he takes to work everyday.

(while he's cooking pasta and cutting vegetables, you try to get up and help, but he meets your eyes and shakes his head. wordlessly, you obey and sit back down.)

that's the first night things felt different. you drove home a little giddy, later than normal, stomach full and heart a little too happy that you found it in yourself to finally have a real, nice conversation with mister cameron. you're as shy as they come but your interactions with him are limited—before work, a phone call at lunch (though recently, his first question hasn't been about the baby... it's been how are my girls?), and after work before you leave.

it feels good to know that you're doing something right, that you're good at this even on your bad days. you make a point to leave your place extra early that week, stopping at the pharmacy and picking up the lotion so it's one less thing to worry about. your window still won't roll down and you'll have to figure out how to get the groceries delivered, crossing your fingers that it doesn't cost that much more.

you show up a couple minutes early and go inside to sort out the stuff for the baby before she wakes, when you find mister cameron in the nursery.

"good morning," you say quietly, though it comes out a little above a whisper. she's still sleeping, even though you haven't glanced in the crib, you know her schedule like the back of your hand.

"hey, kid," he says, and your heart starts to thud a little faster. mister cameron's nicknames for you don't make an appearance everyday but for some reason, it has today. he hovers over the crib, watching the baby's chest rise and fall with each breath. you go over to join him, placing the lotion on the dresser. he notices the bottle and turns back to you. "you didn't have to do that."

"she needs it," you reply quietly. "it's the only one she likes. and i was up early anyways."

"thank you." it comes out with such sincerity that you're a little taken aback.

"of course, mister cameron. it's nothing," you smile up at him. he glances back at you, smiling and then turning to his daughter again. "i'm gonna go start on her breakfast."

you make your way to the door when he says your name.

"there's keys on the kitchen counter, and the car's in the garage. i'd like it if you started using that car instead."

and really—how are you supposed to respond to that? you stammer out an 'of course, mister cameron' and go downstairs, crossing your fingers that he made a mistake, or that he wants you to drive his car until you fix yours and he'll take the nice one tucked away in the garage.

but when you make it to the counter, and then head to the garage, your eyes nearly fall out of your head. a brand new pair of car keys, to match the brand new car in the garage. your arguments fall on deaf ears—this is way too much for anyone. yes, you're pretty much throwing money away by still paying rent and the cost of getting your car fixed could probably be enough to start paying for a better one, but this is too much. way too much. it's not normal. right?

but you have no one to ask. the baby's not old enough for playdates, and the girls who replaced you at your old houses are pretty much all high school seniors. on mister cameron's side of town, there's only nannies and au pairs, and they'd probably think you're crazy for turning down such a nice gesture.

and it is a nice gesture. mister cameron listens to every word you say, even when you're not paying attention to your own sentence. the car is exactly how you described—the color you wanted, the size you said would be nice one day incase there's ever a playdate or another baby or whatever the case may be. it's shiny and brand-new and completely undeserving of you. but he doesn't listen.

somewhere along the next month, you realize you could get really used to this. mister cameron does have a point—you're taking care of his daughter every day, so it only makes sense to make sure she's as safe as can be. you make a mental note that if you ever—for whatever idiotic reason—choose to leave this perfect job, you'll make sure he gets the car back.

there comes a point where the relationship... makes its way to the next level. at the end of every week, you have to settle the bills. co-pays at appointments, grocery receipts, the invoice from the gardener that didn't go through so you had given him your own cash so mister cameron wouldn't have to deal with it from work. it adds up, so once the baby is asleep on saturday night, the two of you eat dinner and go through everything.

but this time, he hands you a card instead. a shiny black credit card that spells out his name on the back.

"makes it a bit easier, right? just use this instead. we won't have to settle every week anymore."

"right," you agree, your smile fading quickly. you try to put on a front, a false expression so he doesn't notice your disappointment. saturday nights with mister cameron—him with his beer and you with a glass of wine—once the baby is asleep, sorting out bills and making conversation that almost felt like you belonged here, had unknowingly become your favorite part of the week. sometimes it would go until midnight, talking about things that were neither here nor there.

it's how you learned why he's a single dad, what he does for work, how he feels about his job and how much time it takes away from his daughter. it's why you started sending him photo and video updates everyday so he wouldn't feel like he's missing out on as much, it's why you make sure to craft the baby's bedtime routine around him coming home, so they have their time together.

"somethin' wrong?" he asks, after taking another sip of beer. you're snapped out of your thoughts, focusing instead of how rafe looks today. tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, fingers curled around the beer bottle.

you don't know how any woman on earth could have walked away from this.

"n-nothing. no. thank you, mister cameron, this is great. i'll make sure-"

"it's rafe from now on—remember, kid?"

"yes. sorry, i-"

you couldn't get out of there fast enough that night. it's almost a subtle reminder from the universe—you're not part of that family. you're the nanny who got too attached, who pretended that she fit in too much to a family that's not hers.

you still wear your nicer clothes, you still drive around his nice car. but you try to remind yourself every now and then that this isn't your real life.

the next day, it's like the universe has decided that it's mad at you for coming to this conclusion.

pouring rain the second you get into the car. your raincoat and umbrella and a sensible pair of shoes remain inside your apartment, and if you sit in idle any longer, you're going to be late to mister cameron's. he'll want to leave early since it's raining, so he's probably expecting you any minute.

the roads are a mess—it's monsooning for no reason and people forget how to drive. you honk no less than three times at idiots on the road before getting scared that someone will road-rage you. when you pull into the garage—because yes, mister cameron insists that you park inside and that he can park outside— you're frazzled and sweating and your day hasn't even started yet.

rafe's almost ready to leave, which is another damper on an already bad morning—if he has time, the two of you eat breakfast together. you tell him to drive safe and apologize for being late when he rushes past you, leaning in to kiss your cheek and telling you that he might he home late today, and to have a good day. you don't realize what's happened until he's gone, the door closing behind him.

you stand in the foyer with your mouth open until you hear the baby monitor. from that point on—it's one thing after another. the baby is fussy today, which is the most unusual part of the day. she's never like this, and you conclude that she must be getting sick or something. it's just as well, because there's no reason to go out or to take her out in this weather. she cries, and you try to help, even cave and put on some episodes of little bear to see if something would distract her. but the poor thing just doesn't feel good, and has no way to tell you how.

the hours fly by, and your head even hurts a little from the crying and the overthinking about the kiss from this morning. in all the rush, you eat about two bites of lunch before the baby needs something else.

and then at the end of the day, right around when rafe should be coming home, he doesn't.

you feed the baby and rock her to sleep. she fusses ten minutes later, and spits up all over you and your hair, and then knocks out. you even spend twenty minutes hovering over the monitor, making sure she's okay while drying your hair. rafe's still not home, so you get dinner ready and warmed for him, eating yours alone in the silence. and as if you could handle another thing, you spill sauce all over your dress while trying to put away the leftovers.

you were going to wait until you were back home, safe in your tiny apartment to cry and shower and scrub your skin raw from the day you've had, but it can't wait any longer. you take the monitor into the bathroom with you at full volume, and decide to shower in the bathroom closest to the baby's room just to be safe.

it's not until you're naked, wrapped in a soft towel and waiting for the water to get scalding hot, racking your brain for the location of the extra clothes you had once brought here that you realize the shower closest to the baby's room is the shower in rafe's bedroom.

you haven't been in here before—looking around at the expensive cologne on the counter and the dark blue towels and the hamper full of yesterday's dress shirt. it's not a good idea to be in here, but you need to shower and you can't wait another minute. for all you know, mister cameron could come home in another two hours. your dress is spinning in the washer—and your plan is set. throw it in the dryer, find something to wear for the next fifty minutes, and leave as soon as he's home even though you can hear the raindrops on the roof and the thunder outside.

the shower is what you have been needing all day. you wish you had your body wash and shampoo, but his aren't too bad. you inhale deeply, realizing you're submerging yourself in his scent. you could stay in there forever, but you don't—he's gonna be home any minute or the baby could start crying, and you need to go home.

but he smells so good. you've noticed it before, it just feels amplified now. the towel you wrap yourself in is his, meaning he's dried himself with it before. all the clothes smell like his cologne, and the house is a little cold and your clothes are still washing, and though it's probably the worst idea you've ever had, when you get out of the shower, you head to his dresser and pull out the first clean t-shirt you can find.

it's big on you, you knew it would be. it's soft and warm and smells undeniably like mister cameron. you're completely clueless, exhausted because the baby barely napped and you barely got any sleep yourself, and it's way past your own bedtime right now. he might not even come home, you think, with how the storm sounds. you check your phone but there's no messages, just a flood warning.

yesterday's socks and underwear are still spinning in the machine—how long does this thing take? what setting had you put it on?—and you begrudgingly leave rafe's warm bedroom with the baby monitor in one hand, and his navy blue towel in the other, drying your hair. you turn on the television, watching whatever's on while you pat your strands dry, bending over to wrap your hair into the towel so you can sit for a couple minutes, when you hear the door open.

you snap back up, looking at rafe's face stare back at you—he's drenched, hair wet and suit dripping, wiping his forehead with his hand when he looks you up and down. oh god, you don't even know what he just saw, you were bent over and-

"is that my shirt?"

[tomato-puppy]

as a truck mechanic and someone who's spent a lot of time talking to truckers and small business owners, i have to add a note here:

California is beloathed in the transport/trucking industry because of the strict emissions regulations they impose on trucks that enter their borders. for financial and political reasons, truck manufacturers will tune their engines and implement de-polluting systems in the exhaust piping to make their vehicles sellable in California and then progressively roll out these technologies to everyone else. this is why trucks in Canada have anti-pollution systems compliant with California regulations even though canada doesn't have NEARLY as strict of exhaust control laws (and we often tear these systems out of our trucks' exhausts and engines, bypass sensors and reprogram the ECU to function without).

these de-pollution systems are very fragile, extremely expensive and limit performance. causes a lot of extra fees and downtime. and because there's a shiny fat sticker in the truck cab stating that this vehicle complies with Californian emissions regs, designed to look like an official seal with the outline of the state in the middle, anyone who knows a trucker or works in or around ground transport, has heard many words of unkindness directed at the state.

this is why people who wouldn't even be in the know about this kind of stuff and do not care the slightest about the plight of truck drivers, will parrot this line to bolster their criticism of "commiefornia" and their unrealistic leftist policies.

but yo. these newer pollution control systems reduce the amount of soot, microscopic particles and carbon monoxide to levels that are BELOW WHAT YOU'D FIND IN THE AIR IN MOST BIG CITIES. when i was studying to be a truck mechanic, we had a new Cummins engine and exhaust system on a bench in the classroom, and the teacher turned it on and ran the engine a bit, and we'd stick our face in front of the exhaust pipe and ... it's just like ... humid and warm air with a weird smell slightly reminiscent of piss*. he told us that they wouldn't be allowed to do this just for shits and giggles, but that we could close all the doors in the room and let that thing idle for the whole 2 hours of class and nobody would get a headache or anything. because it WORKS. modern day diesels, compliant with European or "Californian" emissions regs, are very very very "clean" and much more eco friendly than a gasoline engine of comparable power.

Californian emission regs is what dragged the north American trucking industry (manufacturers especially) out of the stone age of combustion engine technology when trucks used to roll coal like a fucking steam engine. in the last 10 years, for the first time ever, an American made diesel engine (the detroit diesel DD15 if i remember correctly) was finally "good enough" to pass very strict European pollution regulations tests and is now sold in European countries.

if California didn't "bitch and moan" about pollution from trucks, this wouldn't have happened. truckers don't hate the environment, they are pissed off because they're under paid and losing cash and work because of a broken de-pollution syste. and it is obviously very frustrating to them, and the bigass "California emissions compliant" sticker is a quick and easy target for blame. but when politicians pick up on this, they're just doing that thing where they seem like "they know how things are" and are sympathetic to the burden on the working class. they just want to use this as an example of how "caring about the environment" is fantasy at the expense of efficiency and reliability, at the expense of the poor workers.

but it's a lie. if truckers weren't underpaid, they wouldn't be as mad about it. and if the truck manufacturers weren't greedy, they'd improve the systems and their reliability further without passing the cost down to the consumers. and in no fucking sane world would anyone be doing EPA-mandated exhaust system testing ON A FUCKING FIRE TRUCK DURING A CATASTROPHIC FIRE.

And this is exactly why they hate fact checking.

[artytaeh]

𓆸 ֗ ˳ DRABBLE : [ meschinità ostinata ] 𔓘

theodore is a man of patience, or at least that's what his reserved behavior hints at. obviously, everyone has a limit; if you made your moodiness his problem, then he'll make his annoyance yours. it's only fair, right?

taglist : p in v, hinting towards theodore being a brat tamer. no further descriptions because i don't ruin surprises. obvious +18 content; read at your own risk.

"you're not stopping, are you?" the thick italian accent doesn't cover for the clear tease within his tone, a breathy chuckle leaving theodore's lips, as his hand smacks another slap to your asscheeks: "come on, tesoro; you have a lot to apologize for, don't you?"

one would have thought that, from the way theodore seems oh so patient with his girlfriend, that any annoyance would be sucked up, forgiven and forgotten. although theo is a good boyfriend... he's also a slytherin, and slytherins rarely forget resentments without a good bribery, you know? like a serpent, theo cunningly waits for the right time to strike.

in a more rational part of your mind — since everything else seems to become too blurry and white out.from the pleasure that keeps poking on that sweet spot, again, and again and again —, you ponder about regret.

should you have been impatient this afternoon? no, it wasn't fair to push your pettiness and moody behavior onto theodore, especially not when the italian was just trying to smoke his afternoon cigarette, hopefully to expel some accumulated stress, from this week's assignments.

do you regret it? not exactly.

how can anyone regret anything, if the outcome is theodore nott under you, blue eyes piercing into your soul with the cockiness of who knows what he's doing — gaze dispersing from your fucked out expression, only to stare in marvel at the way your chest bounces with every. single. movement. of your hips? oh, he's loving this.

theo loves your bratty side.

it's not a secret either. why do you think he likes the sassy ones? the comebacks make him laugh, and theo definitely laughs harder when he gets you so tired and fucked out of your attitude, that not even a huff of annoyance he gets out of you.

and he's working in that direction.

well, it's more accurate to say that he's making you work for that.

his hand lazily settles on your hip, caressing the skin already tainted with darkening fingermarks; so what? it feels so damn good to be inside you, it always has theodore muttering in italian—cursing and praising, depending on his tone, you've learned from pure experience. the other one, as if to taunt your attempts of scolding his unhealthy habit of smoking, holds a cigarette between his index and ring finger.

you know, the ones he used to impatiently prepare you for his cock, still wet with your slick. theo loves to feel you drooling for him, already fidgety and sensitive when he slips inside you — or, in this case, having seen you sink onto his painfully hard erection. the heaven's view, he swears.

taking a drag from his cigarette, theodore ponders whether you deserve an incentive, or to have him being mean with you. weren't you so smart earlier?

his fingers bruise the skin on your hipbone yet again, this time thrusting up for a harsh thrust, contrasting with this slow rhythm you're providing. theo scoffs, "seriously, is this your way to apologize for your bitchy behavior? dai, amore, non deludermi."

as if it's that easy to make your body work faster; it's already uncomfortable to be in this position, especially overwhelmed from his fingers!

not that theo cares about that, anyway.

another harsh slap to your asscheeks; a raise of his left eyebrow, and you know that he's losing his patience: "don't make me do it for you, dolcezza. i'll rip manners out of you."

and as delightful as that sounds, you're not sure if you could take that sort of overstimulation today. not when you're already like this, even less when theodore is savoring the idea of bullying your pretty lips and sensitive core.

so, hands falling for support on his abdomen, you do your best to ignore the aching on your thighs — perhaps you should do this more often or exercise? — you force yourself to lift your hips, only to slam them again until theodore is so deep inside you, that your clit makes a wet mess of his groin. theodore fucking loves that, expelling the smoke from his lips with a breathless chuckle, head tilting back to the headboard.

yeah, mattheo is probably sleeping in the common room tonight.

not appreciating the lack of response, zero empathy towards the effort you're already doing, theodore sneaks his free hand amidst the mess of your hair. his fingers tangle between your locks, until his nails lightly scratch over your scalp and tug you closer to him; a demand from him that feels ridiculously good to you. his free hand moves the cigarette away from his lips, and taking the chance of your gasp from the extra tug on your hair, theodore blows the burning smoke to your lips; inside your mouth. taunting how much you dislike this vice of his.

nicotine swirls between your tongues as they meet; that, however, isn't the reason why you crawl back to him everytime.

theodore nott is a drug of his own.

perhaps he decides to be nicer now, sloppily exchanging slow kisses with you, letting his hips roll upwards to pursue his orgasm.

"non puoi nemmeno essere una vera troia," theo is so close to you, that the movement of his lips, pronouncing each foreign word, brush against yours, creating a tingling sensation that only adds to the notion of being cursed and insulted—at least, that's what your intuition tells you.

his hand blindly abandons his cigarette on the ashtray, keenly aware that you can feel—and taste—that acid smell of tobacco and cigarettes, less considerate than he usually is about your irking over it. his fingers grip your jaw, his thumb squeezing your cheek as his other fingers do the same, not even letting you moan from each sharp thrust that kisses your cervix.

"cazzo, it makes me want to laugh at you. you talk, talk, talk my ear off," even breathless, theo seems to have too much to say; it should be embarrassing, really, if his disdain didn't make your inner walls clench tighter around his thickness. "and can't even own your bitching afterwards. didn't even properly apologize; maybe you don't deserve this, huh?"

it takes a moment for you to understand the implication there, too distracted by the toe curling sensation of being repeatedly filled up. it's when theodore stops, resting on the mattress once more and giving up on the fluid movement of his hips, previously bouncing you on his groin, that your eyes widen with disbelief. seriously?

at first, you think about calling him out for his pettiness.

but it's the smug look and smirk that makes you want to sob instead, dignity crumbling to ashes, reborn as despair to finally cum. please, please.

his hand lowers to your neck, fingers curling around your throat, even though there's not much of a threat there. it's a loose grip; not even properly holding it, a simple squeeze that feels rather gentle, more like he's mocking you, in a way.

the worst is that theodore isn't even being mean. no, this is him having fun; if he was being mean, he'd be teasing you about the first semblance of frustrated tears, and you'd have to cry for it.

picking up the pieces of any strength left, the smartest choice is to surrender yourself, hopefully calming down the fire that burns within theodore's temper to slowly sneak into his good graces again. your hips move — unable to exert the tired muscles of your thighs — grinding helplessly against the firm muscles of his groin, the movement enough to rip out a low groan from theodore, appeased that he won't listen any whines from you, for now.

"brava ragazza," comes as a praise; before the compliment gets over your head, his free hand slaps your thigh, "go on. use me like a toy, carina, cum on my cock."

yeah, this would be a long night.

[merrinla]

Bloodbath cut content I guess. These lines are only in the localization file, so I had to assign speakers myself. The dialogue between Lucanis and Rook when they go after Zara.

Rook: Are we sure this information is good? Lucanis (Rook origin Crow): You know Viago. He checks everything twice. And then twice again. Rook (Crow): And then ten more times. I should've thought that question through. Lucanis (non Crow origin): If it came from anyone else, I'd worry, but Viago de Riva is the most cautious man in Thedas. Rook: Can a Crow be cautious? I thought that was against the rules. Lucanis: Good enough for me. Spite: (Inhales.) She's close. I smell her. Iron and meat. Rotting from the inside out. Lucanis: Zara is here. Rook: If you're sure she's here, I believe you. We'll find her. Rook: I thought Illario would be here. To… avenge Caterina and all. Lucanis: He doesn't know. I swore Viago to secrecy. Lucanis: Zara took a year of my life from me. She took Caterina. She's not getting anything else. Lucanis: And my cousin has always made careless mistakes. Rook: Fill me in. What can Zara do? Lucanis: She's a powerful blood mage. Moreso than most Venatori, even. Lucanis: She controls minds. Drains blood to restore her own youth and health. Lucanis: All that, in addition to the best—or maybe the worst—of Tevinter spellcraft. Don't let her get a word in. option: Let's not keep her waiting. Rook: Well, it'd be rude if we left Zara on her own. Shall we go say hello? option: We'll make her pay. Rook: This is our chance. This is for Caterina. Rook: For a year in that pit. Lucanis: Thanks, Rook. Spite: Zara is ours! Tell your Rook. No one. Gets Zara. But me. Lucanis: Let's get moving. And Rook… leave Zara to me. Lucanis: In a manner of speaking.

The text file also contains a short description of how Lucanis' quest was supposed to go.

The party gets into the boat. This is a Venice-style gondola with someone on the back using the single paddle to propel the boat. The player is standing on a quiet Treviso street. It's nighttime and a heavy fog obscures the surrounding building. The Chantry is a shrouded structure barely visible across the water. The player discovers that the bridge has been destroyed, so the party must find another way in. This ladder would be a line attached to a grappling hook, to better sell the idea that we're sneaking in. The player engages in light exploration and popcorn encounters. Chance to "level" up before the big fight. Player encounters the majority of the Venatori squatters. They're surprised by your presence, and are unprepared to fight. Lucanis must hack the magical door leading to the residences. Zara is bathing in a pool of blood. She's surprised by Lucanis' presence as she was unaware he had escaped the prison. Boss fight with Zara. She uses the pools of blood to buff herself Zara recognizes her defeat and tries to bargain for her life. Before she can surrender, however, Illario executes her!. Spite is angry that his revenge has been stolen, and attacks Illario. To everyone's surprise, Illario defeats Spite by controlling him with a magic ring. Lucanis and Spite feel betrayed that Illario would steal their prey. Spite freaks out, demonstrating the precarious and dangerous nature of a relationship with Lucanis.

And it seems Illario might not survive.

Zara and Illario are dead and dust.

I have no idea what this line means.

[charmedimsure]

could you do a jun ho fic where the f!reader is a new officer and he's training her. she is fully convinced that he hates her (maybe she isn't the best at her job) but at the end of the week he asks her out and she's so shocked. turns out he was dropping hints the whole time and she's an idiot

A Tough Case to Crack

pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x f!reader

summary: No matter what you do, you just cannot get on Jun-ho's good side. Normally you'd brush it off, if he wasn't the man who decides whether you get promoted to detective or not.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: police work, murder case, guns

A/N: i love this request sm omg. everything i know about detective work is from brooklyn 99 so i doubt it's very accurate. if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

When you found out that the detective training you was none other than Hwang Jun-ho, you were ecstatic. You've worked with him a few times before, doing general beat cop tasks for his cases and seeing him around the precinct.

Not only is he an extremely respected detective, he's also really cute. You hate to be the girl at work who's fawning over one of the boys, but come on. You have eyes.

Now though, as you're sitting in the squad car together staking out a suspect for one of his cases, you're starting to wish you had gotten assigned to anyone else.

You've spent nearly two hours together and you can count the number of words he's said to you on one hand. He's barely even looked at you. It's not like you were friends before, but you've worked together since you got transferred to the precinct a few months ago. And now this man will be the deciding factor in whether you get the detective promotion or go back to being a beat cop.

About a week later, Jun-ho approaches you. "We've been assigned a case. Small, straightforward, perfect for training. Get ready, we're gonna head over to the scene. I'll give you a run down on the way over."

You nod, a smile on your face. It may be small, but it's your first case as a detective and you're excited to prove yourself. This may be your first case, but it will not be your last.

"Cool. Let me grab my stuff, I'll meet you at the car in a few minutes."

Jun-ho gives you a curt nod and turns, walking back to his desk to get his things.

You let out a sigh. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to describe a case as 'cool'.

<>

You grimace at the gruesome sight in front of you. A man's body lays on the ground, blood splattered all around the room. A gun lies in his hand.

"First impression," Jun-ho says, taking out his notepad, "suicide."

You take a step closer, wanting to get a better look at the scene. As you try to take another step, a hand grabs your arm, yanking you back.

"Watch where you're stepping!" Jun-ho's voice booms at you. You look down to notice that you had, in fact, been very close to stepping directly in the victim's blood, which would have messed up the evidence badly.

You look down at your boots, embarrassed that you almost made such a rookie mistake. "Sorry, I'll be more careful." You step closer to the body, but his hand is still keeping you in your place. You huff. "I'm not going to step in the blood, you can let go."

He looks down at his hand and quickly releases your arm, allowing you to approach the scene, this time being extra cautious to make sure you don't disturb anything. You crouch down by the man's head, examining the wound.

Jun-ho gives you a questioning look. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head. "Something just feels off to me."

He continues jotting down notes. "Take a look around the place. I'm gonna talk to the wife. Please be careful not to touch anything. Wear gloves if you have to."

You sigh as he walks away. You had wanted to do this together, to learn how an investigation is done as a detective. He probably thinks you're incompetent now. Looks like you're gonna be working separately.

You take a quick scan over the interior of the room, trying to find little clues that may give you a hint as to what happened here. The house looks normal enough (save for the dead man on the floor, of course). Looking towards the windows, you notice that they are all locked, except for one. It could be nothing, but you write it down in your own notebook anyway, not wanting to overlook anything. You'll be damned if you make another mistake.

Jun-ho walks away from the victim's wife, who is crying outside the home.

"Hey, I might have found something," you jog up to him. "All of the windows are locked except one. Seems a little off to me."

Jun-ho sighs. "I don't think that's something to focus on until we get more evidence." He puts his notepad back in his pocket. "Come on, we gotta go back to the precinct."

You feel yourself deflate at his comment, slowly following him to the car.

<>

You march into your chief's office, hands on your hips. "Chief, I'd like to put in a request for a different trainer."

The man looks up at you from the plate of food on his desk. "Why?"

"Because I know that Detective Hwang is going to give me a bad review," you huff. "If I had done badly, I'd accept it, but I can't help it that he doesn't like me."

He gives you a questioning look. "Why do you say that?"

"I don't think he's said one nice thing to me," you rant. "He doesn't talk to me unless he absolutely has to, he barely even acknowledges that I'm there! The only time he talks to me is to criticize me. He doesn't even work with me on our case!" You stop, catching your breath from you long tirade. "You could have assigned anyone to train me, why did you have to choose him?"

The chief cocks an eyebrow at you. "When he found out you were applying to become a detective, Detective Hwang personally requested to train you."

You look at your chief as if he has three heads. "What?"

He picks up a piece of chicken from his plate, bringing it to his mouth. "He said he saw potential in you, wanted to work with you." He looks up at you again. "He hasn't said anything bad about you or your performance. He's actually said you're doing very well."

Your head feels crazy as you try to process this information. The detective training you, the one that hates you, doesn't actually hate you. He asked to train you and praises you to the chief.

"But why would he do that? He acts like he can't stand me."

The chief shrugs. "You're training to be a detective. Solve the case."

You deadpan at him as a smirk grows on his face. "You're so proud of yourself for that one, aren't you?"

"Absolutely I am. Now, get back to your case." He points at the door with his chopsticks. You can't help but let out a small laugh as you walk back to the bullpen.

<>

The next day, you're sitting at Jun-ho's desk, looking through the files on your victim. A crumb from the sandwich you're eating falls onto one of the photos of the crime scene and you quickly flick it away.

"What are you looking at?"

You jump a bit in your seat. Jun-ho is standing over you, looking at the files in your hands. You put your hand on your chest, steadying your breath.

"Holy shit, you scared the crap out of me."

He gives you a barely there smile. "Sorry." You watch his eyes move to the sandwich in your hand and any trace of the smile he once worse disappears.

You sigh. "I know I'm not supposed to be eating on the job, but I was so hungry that I couldn't focus." You put the remainder of the sandwich on the napkin. "And in my defense, it worked. I think I found something," you say, moving over so he can get a better look. You look up at him. "Do you want your chair?"

"No, it's fine," he says, leaning over you to inspect the files. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, making you stiffen.

"Take a look at this," you point to a description of the victim to Jun-ho. "He was left-handed." You then pick up a picture of the body, handing it to him. "Look where the gun is."

He takes the picture, his eyes widening when he realizes it. "It's in his right hand." He puts the photo down, looking down at you. "You said one of the windows was unlocked, right?"

You nod.

Jun-ho grabs his jacket off the back of the chair you're sitting in. "Go get your jacket. We gotta go back to the house."

<>

You slam the door to the squad car, rushing behind Jun-ho as he moves toward the house. "Which window was unlocked?"

"The middle one on the side."

You run to the side of the house, stopping a few feet away from the window. "This one here."

Jun-ho crouches down. The window is over a small flowerbed, the area covered in mulch that couldn't have been laid down more than a week ago.

You hear Jun-ho gasp. "Here! A footprint!"

You come closer, crouching near him. Sure enough, the print of a large shoe is visible in the mulch, leading away from the window.

"You were right," the man next to you says. "This is a murder."

<>

You stand by the coffee machine, brewing a cup for the woman waiting by Jun-ho's desk. He had reached out to the victim's widow, hoping to get some information that could lead to her husband's killer.

You see Jun-ho leaving the Chief's office and call him over. "Do you want to handle the questions?"

"No, I think we should do it together," he says. "I want your opinion, too."

You try to fight the smile growing on your face, nodding. Jun-ho leads you to his desk, pulling up a chair for you to sit in. You place the cup in front of the woman, as well as a tiny bowl with creamers and sugar.

"Thank you for coming in, ma'am," Jun-ho says.

"Is everything alright?" she asks.

"We just want to ask you a few questions," he says. "We've been going over your husband's case and we have reason to believe that this was a murder staged to look like a suicide."

The woman gasps, bringing a hand up to her mouth as her eyes water. "I knew it," he softly cries, "I knew my Jin-young wouldn't have killed himself. We don't even own a gun, and he was such a happy man."

You shift forward in your seat, grabbing the box of tissues from beside Jun-ho's computer and placing them in front of her. She nods a thank you as she takes one. "Ma'am, is there anyone who you think could have done this? Had anything happened recently?"

She takes a moment to think. "I know he was having arguments with a man he worked with, I don't know his name though."

"Do you know what they argued about?"

"One of them was going to be promoted," she explains. "The promotion would give a significant pay raise. The other man had been there for longer, but Jin-young was likely to get it. He was a very likable man, a very good worker, so nice to everyone. The other man though that he deserved it more."

You write down the details in your notebook. Jun-ho leans forward. "Thank you, ma'am. We'll be in contact."

<>

You walk into the building, looking for the suspect. You had done some research and found that the man you're looking for is Kun Yong-ja, a man with a history of assault.

"Ready?" Jun-ho asks you. You nod, and he knocks on the door of the apartment.

The door opens, revealing your suspect. "Can I help you?"

"Hello, sir. We're with the police. We were hoping we could ask you a few questions," Jun-ho says.

The man's face falters for a moment. "About what?"

You pick up a photo of the victim, turning it to show him. "We're aware that you worked with Mun Jin-young. He was found dead in his home a few days ago."

Yong-ja looks between the two of you before slamming the door shut.

"Shit," you say, taking your gun out of its holster.

Jun-ho kicks in the door, taking his gun out as well. You follow him into the apartment. You run to the back, finding a window open by the fire escape.

"I'll follow him down this way, you go around, try to cut him off," Jun-ho tells you.

You nod, rushing out the door and down the stairs. Leaving the building and turning into the alley beside it, you see the back of Yong-ja, who is currently pointing a gun at your partner. As Jun-ho tries to talk him down, you sneak up behind him. With all your strength, you hit his head with the butt of your gun, knocking him unconscious.

"Thank you," Jun-ho says. He takes the handcuffs off his belt, securing them around Yong-ja's wrists.

As the beat cops bring him to the station, you and Jun-ho check his apartment. Sure enough, you find mulch-covered boots that perfectly fit the prints left in the victim's yard, as well as a small book with information on the victim, including his home address.

<>

"Hey."

You turn, seeing Jun-ho walking up to you. You give him a tight-lipped smile. "Hi."

"The chief asked me to give this to you," he smiles as he hands you a small leather booklet.

You take it and open it, gasping when you see what's inside. The right side is blank, but the left holds a badge, the words "National Police Agency" engraved on it.

"Holy shit," you say, a big smile on your face. "I got it! I'm a detective!" You're so happy that you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him in an unexpected hug. You feel him tense and pull back. "Sorry, I'm just really happy."

"It's fine," he chuckles. "Actually, this is something that I wanted to talk to you about."

Great, here we go. He's going to tell you how you need to be more professional, that you can't make mistakes while in the field.

"Now that I'm not your superior anymore," he smiles, leaning closer to you, "I was wondering if you want to get dinner with me this weekend?"

Wait, what?

You stare at him for a good ten seconds, mind processing the words that just came out of his mouth. You open your mouth and close it a few times before you're finally able to come up with some words. "Like, as in a date?"

"Yeah, a date. If that's alright."

You continue to stare at him, absolutely baffled.

He starts to shrink, his face dropping. "Please don't feel like you have to. It's okay if you don't want to, I won't hold it against you."

"No!" you blurt out. "I mean, yes, I would love to get dinner with you." You smile at him. "Sorry, I just honestly was not expecting that at all."

"Really?" he asks, brows furrowed. "I feel like I've been kind of obvious about it. I mean, I could barely look at you at first because you made me so nervous. One day I finally got the courage to ask you to lunch, but you were already eating and that plan went out the window."

It finally clicks in your brain. Everything you had assumed he'd done because he hated you, not talking to you and giving you looks when you ate at his desk, it was because he liked you.

"But I made mistakes," you say. "I almost stepped in the victim's blood."

Jun-ho chuckles. "My first case, I put filed a knife under the wrong case, would've blown the entire thing if someone hadn't noticed. I got a good yelling at, and now I always make sure I file evidence correctly. I can guarantee you will always be careful around crime scenes, now."

He's right. After that, you had been much more careful. "Damn," you say, "I really got this wrong."

"Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have recommended you for detective," he teases.

You lightly slap his arm. "No take backs!" You gasp. "Wait, is that why you requested to train me?"

Jun-ho blushes, looking to the floor and kicking his shoes. "The Chief told you about that, did he?" He looks up. "And I'm guessing that you asked for a different trainer because you thought I didn't like you?"

"Man, the Chief really can't keep his mouth shut, huh?" you chuckle.

"Not at all," Jun-ho says. "So, I'll pick you up Saturday night?"

You nod, smiling. "It's a date."

~

Squid Game Tags: @thebiggestigurosimp @vvnbxz @lov3yy @miltzzy @l5byrinth @come-as-you-are-111 @starkeyszn @learninglinesintherainn @galactict3a

Lmk if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[dulcescorderitas]

age gap? w/ 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

the two of you are sprawled across his couch, the remnants of a lazy afternoon stretching into the quiet of evening. the soft hum of some old record plays in the background, filling the space with a kind of nostalgia that wraps around you both. your legs are tangled with his, your head resting on his chest as his fingers trace absent patterns along your arm.

"you ever think about it?" he asks, his voice low, almost hesitant, like he's testing the waters before diving in.

you tilt your head up, catching the serious set of his jaw, the way his eyes flicker toward the ceiling. "think about what?"

he pauses, the rhythm of his fingers stilling for just a moment. "our age gap," he says finally, his tone careful, like he's trying not to spook the question away.

you blink, considering. it's not something you've dwelled on too much—not with the way he makes you feel, how easy it is to just be with him. "not really," you admit, shifting so you can see him better. "should i?"

his lips curve into a small, rueful smile. "i guess i just wonder if it bothers you. if people say shit or if you ever... i don't know, second guess it."

"do you?" you ask, your hand coming up to trace the line of his jaw, fingers brushing over the scruff that's always just a little uneven.

he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "not when i'm with you," he says, his eyes darkening as they meet yours. "but when i'm alone, sometimes i think about how much younger you are, and i worry it’s gonna make things harder for you."

you smile softly, leaning in to kiss him, slow and reassuring. "j, you wanna know what i think?" you murmur against his lips, feeling the way his body relaxes under yours.

"always," he whispers, pulling you closer.

"i think you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time," you say, brushing your nose against his. "and i don't give a damn about what anyone else thinks. you make me happy. that's what matters."

he exhales, a long, relieved sound, his arms wrapping tighter around you. "fuck, y/n," he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. "you have no idea how much i needed to hear that."

you kiss him again, letting the moment stretch, letting the warmth of your words sink into the spaces where doubt had started to creep. the age gap? it's just a number. what you have is something bigger, something that makes all the noise from the outside world fade into nothing.

author's note: i lowkey feel like jensen wouldn't care too much about the age gap, but would definitely worry about how baby feels with what the press says.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @gibson-g1rl

[chxnsgirl]

방찬 ─── cracks in the mirror 2

♡ pairing ៸៸ idol!chan x fem!reader genre ៸៸ drama ig, kinda fluff ៸៸ cw ៸៸ mean girl mina , chan is mean but to mina :3 ♡ synopsis ៸៸ chan confronts mina. [ part one ] a/n ๑ i messed up the format please don't laugh at me— this second part is confrontations like requested but if you guys want i’ll write a fluff scene to close the lil series ! [ 1.7k words ] ♡ masterlist

the next morning, chan walked into the company with a clear mission. mina was sitting inside a practice room, scrolling on her phone, looking as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“mina,” chan said, his tone calm but unmistakably firm.

she looked up, surprised at the abruptness in his voice. “oh, hey, chan!” she flashed him her usual sweet smile. he didn’t reciprocate, instead crossing his arms. “we need to talk.”

mina’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered, adjusting her posture. “oh? what about?” he shut the door and turned to face her.

“mina, i’m going to be straight with you. what you said to y/n yesterday was completely out of line.” her brows furrowed in mock confusion. “what do you mean? i didn’t say anything wrong to her. we were just talking.”

chan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “talking? you called her ‘brave’ for being confident with extra weight. do you really think that’s appropriate?”

mina hesitated for a second but then tilted her head, trying to appear innocent. “i didn’t mean it in a bad way! i was just giving her a compliment. if she took it the wrong way, that’s on her.”

“no, mina,” chan interrupted, his tone sharper. “it’s not on her. you’ve been here long enough to know what’s acceptable and what’s not when it comes to how we treat people—especially our colleagues. y/n has done nothing but work hard, and the last thing she needs is passive-aggressive comments or veiled insults.”

mina’s expression hardened slightly, her facade cracking. “i think you’re reading too much into this, chan. maybe you’re just overly sensitive about her.”

“don’t deflect,” he countered, his voice steady but firm. “this isn’t about me being ‘sensitive.’ it’s about respect. and it’s about creating an environment where everyone feels safe and valued, not judged.”

mina crossed her arms, defensive. “fine. if she’s that upset, i’ll apologize.”

chan shook his head. “don’t just apologize to check a box, mina. think about why this behavior is a problem and how it affects the people around you. if this happens again, we’re going to have a much bigger issue to deal with.”

there’s a moment of tense silence before mina finally nodded, though her expression didn’t suggest much remorse. “got it,” she muttered, looking away.

chan sighed, his disappointment evident. “good. i hope this is the last time we have to have this conversation.”

as mina left the room, chan stayed behind for a moment, running a hand through his hair. he knew he couldn’t force someone to change, but he hoped his words would at least make her think twice before targeting you—or anyone else—again.

later in the day, you were back in the studio, focusing intently on your work. you were determined to push the events of yesterday to the back of your mind. mina’s cruel words still lingered, but chan’s support had given you the strength to move forward, even if only slightly.

the faint sound of voices carried through the hallway as you typed away on your laptop, but you didn’t pay them much attention until the door to the studio opened, and in walked mina. you glanced up briefly, then returned your attention to your work, pretending she wasn’t there.

“hey, y/n,” mina said softly, her tone uncharacteristically subdued.

you didn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to finish typing your thought. then, you leaned back in your chair and gave her a curt nod. “what is it, mina?”

she hesitated, her usual confidence replaced with something resembling awkwardness. “i just… i wanted to say i’m sorry. about yesterday. i think i might have come across the wrong way, and i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you studied her for a moment, trying to decipher whether her apology was genuine or just another act. “is that so?” you asked, your tone as neutral as you could manage.

“yes,” mina said, clasping her hands together and giving you what she probably thought was a sincere look. “i was just trying to make conversation, but i think it came out wrong.”

you let out a soft scoff, turning your attention back to your laptop. “right. making conversation.”

she faltered, clearly not expecting your cold response. “i mean it,” she pressed. “i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

you gave her a sharp look, your patience wearing thin. “funny, because you seem to be really good at saying things that hurt people, mina. so forgive me if i’m not buying this sudden burst of remorse.”

the door creaked open slightly, and you noticed the reflection of two familiar faces in the glass window—changbin and han. they were leaning against the frame, partially hidden but clearly listening.

mina didn’t seem to notice. her expression shifted instantly, the veneer of sweetness cracking. “well, i was just trying to be nice,” she snapped, her tone defensive. “it’s not my fault you’re so sensitive.”

you smirked, though there was no humor in it. “there she is,” you said, your voice low and pointed. “i was wondering how long you’d keep up the act.”

hans’s low mutter of “oh, hell no” barely registered, but changbin's quiet snort did.

mina’s face reddened, her fake apology dissolving entirely. “you know what? maybe i was wasting my time trying to apologize.”

you leaned forward, meeting her glare with unwavering calm. “then maybe you should do us both a favor and not waste your time next time.”

she huffed, crossing her arms. “whatever,” she muttered before turning on her heel. as she opened the door, she froze, noticing changbin and han standing there, arms crossed and faces set in disapproval.

“oh, don’t mind us,” han said, his tone light but dripping with sarcasm. “we were just passing by.”

mina’s eyes darted between the two of them before she shoved past and stormed down the hallway.

changbin let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he stepped into the studio. “wow. she’s worse than i thought.”

han followed, plopping down onto the couch. “nice work.”

you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “thanks.”

you sat in the breakroom, nursing your coffee and trying to shake off the encounter with mina earlier. her fake apology and subsequent outburst had left you drained, though you wouldn’t let her know that.

the door swung open, and you glanced up to see chan. his jaw was set, and his usually warm eyes were stormy.

“where is she?” he asked, his tone clipped.

you blinked, startled by the intensity in his voice. “who?”

“mina,” he bit out, already turning to leave. “i heard what happened. she’s not getting away with it this time.”

before you could protest—or warn him—he was out the door, striding down the hallway. you followed hesitantly, curiosity overriding your instinct to stay out of it.

chan found mina sitting in the cafeteria, scrolling on her phone like she didn’t have a care in the world. he didn’t hesitate.

“oi, mina,” he snapped, his voice carrying across the room.

she looked up, startled, and quickly masked her surprise with a saccharine smile. “oh, hey, chan! what’s up?”

he stopped a few feet from her, his posture rigid. “cut it,” he said, his accent thicker than usual, each word sharp enough to cut glass. “what the hell is your problem?”

her smile faltered. “excuse me?” she said, her voice rising indignantly.

“you heard me,” chan said, his tone low and hushed, as if trying not to let anyone hear. “why do you keep goin’ out of your way to be such a goddamned pain in the ass?”

mina’s mouth opened and closed, clearly taken aback. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered.

“oh, don’t play dumb with me,” he shot back, his voice rising. “i’ve heard how you treat y/n. and today? you waltz in with your half-arsed apology, then turn around and throw more shade when it doesn’t go your way. are you serious?”

mina straightened her spine, trying to regain her composure. “i was just trying to be nice—”

“bullshit,” chan interrupted, his accent thick and raw. “you were bein’ a snake, and you know it. nice doesn’t look like what you do, mina. nice doesn’t leave people feelin’ like shit after every conversation. so drop the act, yeah?”

her face reddened, her carefully crafted facade crumbling. “i don’t need this from you,” she snapped. “i was just trying to help, but clearly y/n’s too sensitive to handle a bit of honesty.”

chan took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. “honesty? you call tearing someone down ‘honesty’? nah, mate, that’s just you bein’ a spiteful cow. and if you think i’m gonna let you get away with it, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

mina looked like she wanted to retort, but chan didn’t give her the chance.

“you’re done,” he said firmly. “you don’t get to treat people like that and expect everyone to put up with it. especially not y/n. so unless you’re ready to actually grow the hell up, you can’t work for me, or anyone else here.”

the room was silent, and all eyes were on chan as his chest heaved. mina’s jaw tightened, and without another word, she grabbed her bag and stormed out.

chan let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair before turning around to see you standing there. his expression softened when he saw you standing there, half-hidden behind the doorway.

“you heard that?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

you nodded, your chest tight with a mix of gratitude and surprise. “yeah. you didn’t have to–”

he offered a small smile, his eyes warm again. “no, i didn’t, but.. you don’t deserve that from her. no one does.”

you walked over to him, taking in his worked up, flushed state. “are you okay?” you asked him, cautiously inching closer. he nodded, sighing. “yeah. but i already know i’m about to get scolded for talking to her like that.” he looked up at you from his fists, his gaze tender. 

you bit the inside of your cheek, steeling yourself. “do you wanna step outside, and go for a walk or something? to cool off?” 

he stood up straighter, nodding. “sure,” he grinned, showing off his adorable dimple. “after you.”

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[nkogneatho]

you would be lying if you said you weren't intimidated to meet the gojo clan head but you needed the money and babysitting his grandkids was the only job offer you had managed to land. you'd heard about him a lot. clan head yuuta was old enough to be your granfather. of course you were scared and just wanted to get over with this interview without having the urge to kill the man in front of you. old geezers are scary. and they are annoying, ugly—oh

oh.

but yuuta wasn't. he was scary, sure. the first thing that caught your eye was the dark eyebags. on anyone else, it would look ugly but on him? it had you bewitched.

"please have a sit." fuuuuuuck. he was so soft spoken even if he had some ruggedness to his voice. contrary to the old geezers you've dealt with. you don't speak, just nod and take a seat on the zabuton opposite to him. "was it hard to find the place?"

"uhm...no. you have the whole estate so..." you say meekly. he chuckles. it's low but it's endearing.

"i see. well, as my assistant told you on the phone, wife's not in the picture. i lost my son and daughter-in-law to the missions, leaving my two grandkids behind—"

"i am so sorry for your loss," you interrupt, sympathizing with him. although you've heard it on the phone before, hearing him say it hurts. you cannot imagine what he's going through. he shoots a warm smile your way, accepting your condolences.

"although i do know how to raise kids, think i've lost my touch after all these years. plus the clan head responsibilities take too much time off my day. i need someone to not only look after them but make them feel like they have a normal childhood just like everyone else."

"i understand. losing parents at such an early age, when they can't even form proper sentence, is cruel." yuuta has a hint that whatever you just said might have been coming from a place of personal experience but he chooses not to bring it up. the atmosphere is suddenly very gloomy so he decides to change the subject.

"anyways. as you know, i am an old man now. it's hard to remember things or do things on my own so you're basically babysitting me too." he knows it's lame. but he watches your expression. you're clearly flushed. of course, i am. have you ever seen a mirror?

"yes, sir." fuck. fuckfuckfuck. his cock stirred at the way you cooed that sir. he knows he should tell you that he is comfortable enough if you call him by his name but now that he's heard call you that? no way in hell he is going to correct you.

his cock kept twitching the whole interview. he knew he had to keep you. yes you had the right skils for the job but he's also willing to see what else you can do. how far can he push you.

yuuta gave you a warm smile, walking you to the exit, his yukata thankfully hiding his boner.

"congratulations. see you next week, sweetest."

[shoresoftheshadowlands]

I think I would sooner chew my own arm off than write another essay on paper ever again. Then again being autistic as all hell, I'd be one of the ones with accommodations. I can't even read my own handwriting let alone anyone else's, can't imagine what a teacher would have to go through having to decipher every single paper again. I think it comes down to moreover, just teach the kids why GenAI is bad and unsafe to use. It's really easy to confuse the GenAI, and with it providing false info, I feel like some amount of time may need to start being spent on teaching about why we should not use it. It's not like a calculator, which is rarely wrong, it's much less accurate.

Before I had an extension for it, google's AI overview thing attempted to tell me that no, I do not need water to make instant ramen, that bleach was safe to drink, and other really stupid things. The other day a friend of mine got it telling them that if they married their landlord, they'd need to notify their landlord about the changes. Absolutely bonkers shit.

Just saying 'make them do it on paper in class' is ignoring the elephant in the room. They will resent not being able to type, and be more likely to rebel. Teach them WHY we don't use it in the first place. Teach them HOW to research for a paper, the way teachers never taught me at any point while I was growing up. You and I both know kids are going to set up their phones under their desks or in their laps and GenAI it anyway and just write down what it says.

An ex-colleague of mine was complaining to me the other day about the ai problem in her students' papers, and I told her, "Just make your students hand-write them in class. Easy." She looked at me like I was insane and tried to explain how that would never work, but I just said,"That's how we did it for a thousand years. The invention of word processors doesn't erase all that."

To me it seems obvious. Readings are done out of class, handwritten essays are done within it. No more ai papers.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

For Helen, Toby, and Jeff (separately). Their S/O does watercolor painting, and has a bad habit of putting their brush dipping cup next to the cup they're drinking out of. The creep decides to steal a sip from their S/O's drink. Would any of them end up accidentally drinking the paint water? If so, how would they react?

Thank you so much for requesting this, I love stuff like this. I am not deciding before writing who does or doesn't drink it, and instead going by vibes :p We'll have to see~

Helen:

Helen believes himself to be above making such a mistake. After all, he's done plenty of watercolor painting himself, and he knows to be careful with the various cups surrounding a painting station. So, when he gets the idea to steal a sip from your drink, he plans it out. He's been sitting there watching you from afar for quite a while now, analyzing which cup you're constantly dipping your brush into, that way he can be correct, as he always should, when he sneaks over to take a sip of your drink. Luckily, you seem to be extremely consistent in which cup you're using today, so he thinks himself in the clear when he lithely moves himself beside you, resting his hips against the table, arms crossed as he dazes down at your painting. His compliments for your work come easily, and you don't seem to have any clue about his plan. He waits a few minutes before discreetly sneaking a hand down and gripping the glass he knows your drink is in, and he can't help but smirk internally as he takes a sip, his mouth met with the sweet flavor of juice, however, he ends up wincing in horrible surprise. The sweet taste of juice becomes acrid, his mouth pulled taut in disgust as the flavor of paint overtakes the juice. A chuckle causes his eyes to flick down at you, where you're gazing at him in sympathy. You explain you'd accidentally dipped your brush into your drink, but you hadn't dumped the drink out yet and had resolved to do it after your painting was finished. Helen must be suffering from success, as they say, considering he was right, but so, so wrong about his answer. He pinches and pulls your cheeks painfully for a couple of minutes as your punishment, and makes you swear to never tell anyone else of what happened here, his cheeks flushed red at his mistake. Helen decides to still take this as a win because technically he was correct, but he narrows his eyes at you as you laugh at him for his embarrassment, a mistake on your part, and in the end, Helen isn't the only one who had to take a sip from the cup.

Toby:

Toby has played this game too many times before. You see, this isn't his first attempt, much to your chagrin. You've warned him countless times that he can just question you on which drink is the correct one, so he doesn't have to play these secret guessing games that aren't quite so secret anymore. He can't help it, he's addicted to the rush of being correct (which, generally, he is), even if you tell him it's not healthy for him to drink the paint water in the few times he's been wrong, but Toby is stubborn when he sets his mind to something, and today is no different. You shake your head at him as you go about your painting, a sigh leaving you at his antics. He sits in the corner of the art room, watching you like a hawk, doing his best to analyze which cup is which, in his attempt to not get distracted. The only problem is, that Toby doesn't have the greatest view. He likes to challenge himself, and it doesn't help him that not only are you using multiple water cups today, but he can't see which cup exactly is the juice cup because they're all smushed together, and it's hidden behind one of the water cups. Toby does his best though, and he decides he's made his decision, as he moves around the room and creeps up behind you, his hand targeting a very specific cup, but you've taken pity on him today, as his hand meets yours, covering the cup he was reaching for. He turns to look at you, and you shake your head once more, moving his hand to the correct one. He argues that he's not stealing a drink if you know he's taking it, and you argue that you both knew this was going to happen, so he can take a sip or not, but you weren't letting him drink paint today. He pouts but takes the glass regardless, and sighs in content as he tastes the delicious flavor of the juice you'd picked that day. He reasons that sometimes maybe it's better for you to help him out than suffer from a loss as he plops down beside you, your juice cup not leaving his hands anytime soon. At least he shares with you when you ask.

Jeff:

The thought crosses his mind in a fleeting fashion, one he almost chooses to ignore, but the idea does appeal to the competitive part of his brain quite easily. He looks up from his phone, his eyes tracing over where you sit in front of him, your back to him as you sit hunched over one of the art tables, your hands moving with practiced ease over the canvas before you. He hums quietly, biting his lip as he tries to decide whether it would actually be worth it, in the end, to take a sip of paint water on accident, but he decides to give it an attempt, watching you secretly from his seat as you continue to toil away over your latest piece of art. He almost forgets what he's trying to attempt in the first place, his mind spacing out as he admires you from behind, a smile blooming on his face as he rouses quietly from his seat. His skills in sneaking around come in handy as he creeps up behind you, with you none the wiser to his actions. He hoves behind you, peering over your shoulder at the painting you're working on, momentarily distracted by how impressed he is by your work, but his eyes flick back to the cups beside you as he decides how to make his move. However, a thought occurs to Jeff that didn't occur to the others; you can tell from the color of the fluid which one is correct if you just stand there for a minute and analyze it. Your drink cup is a solid color, but the water cup you're using for paint has light streaks of color from where the paint hasn't completely mixed in yet. He very confidently reaches over you to grasp at the correct cup, and he chuckles to himself as he downs about half of your juice before you notice and make a complaint, dropping your brushes and moving to get your drink back. Laughter booms out of him as he gives you the cup back, his arms wrapping around you as he praises you for your painting, his head resting on top of yours as you go back to work, a blissed out smile on his face from being able to hold you like this, having won his challenge, his head nuzzling into yours lovingly.

[love-quinn]

— THREAD OF GOLD

summary — a thread of moments that defined your relationship with mike.

warnings — uh i don’t think there are? me not caring about the irl timeline of events and making up my own shit cause i can. also i switch between past and present tense like nobody's business so we're all gonna pretend we don't notice that.

pairing — mike faist x fem!famous! reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 7.8k + social media posts

note — hi sorry i’ve been MIA i’ve been working on this for 5ever truly it came to me one day and i couldn’t write anything else. this isn’t edited because it’s nearly 8k and i’m not about that life.

important note that i tried to make it so yn’s skin tone changed in at least some of the pictures to make it more inclusive but pinterest fought me SO hard i spent maybe four hours just finding images. this is NOT meant to be a depiction of what yn looks like, just a general vibe of the images used in the thread <33

ONE. july 2017

California doesn’t have seasons the same way your hometown did. California has two seasons: wet and dry. You grew up in the suburbs of New York, in Westchester county, about an hour north of Manhattan. You went to the city a few times growing up, but you spent almost all of your upbringing on a quiet street with a cul-de-sac and a park a street away. 

You’d lived in California for a while, you were based there for most of the year, but you’d still say you lived in New York. You were lucky enough to be at a break between projects where you got to spend more than a few weeks at a time at your New York apartment. 

You’d been back maybe two weeks and knowing that you didn’t have to go back to the west coast for at least six months felt like a major weight off your chest. Finally retreating back to your cocoon, the air around you still felt thick, but this one felt more like a wall keeping things out rather than one keeping you in.

So, naturally, the first thing you did with your newfound seclusion was to venture outside with a man you’d been trying to go out with for a few months now. 

You and Mike had known each other for a little over half a year now. You’d met at a new year’s party hosted by a mutual friend of a mutual friend and you had known immediately that he was someone that you wanted to know desperately. You’d been elated that he seemed to reciprocate. Unfortunately, with your work schedules, this was the first time since January that you’d had enough time in the same state. 

He was unlike anyone that you had ever met, and now that you were in the same place, you were revelling in his presence. He’d taken you to a park near his apartment, he’d let you hold his hand on the subway and you were pretty sure that he was going to kiss you later. 

It had been a while since you’d been outside - like, properly outside, and Mike was enjoying how happy you seemed to be. While you’d been trying to organise yourselves, Mike had spent hours on the phone with you, trying to avoid sounding so disgustingly happy that he scared you off. This may have been your first real date, but Mike already knew that you were it for him. 

You were chattering about a story from your childhood, and he was really trying to listen to you, but he was focused more on the way the golden hour was hitting your face, and the way you would subconsciously squeeze his hand when you made yourself laugh.

“Yeah, since then my mom makes sure that she puts the cat treats away whenever he comes over,” you giggled. Mike let the sound fill him from the inside. He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by you dropping his hand. “I’ve needed this,” you let your head fall back to bask in the dying sunlight. “Air that I’m not sharing with Buzzfeed HQ, grass that is made in real dirt.”

“I see,” Mike nodded seriously. “You’re not even here for me, you were just waiting for a guy to take you to see some trees.”

You reach back and grip his hand, eyes sparkling directly into his. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, “for knowing your place.”

He laughed and let you drop your hand again, watching fondly as you speed off in front of him, stopping maybe fifteen feet in front of him. “Will you come with me to the emergency room when I fall out of the tree I’m about to climb.”

Mike was sure you could see exactly how much he wanted to kiss you from the look on his face. He laughed, nodding. “That’s actually the next stop I had planned anyway.”

TWO. october 2017

You couldn’t remember dolling yourself up for a date in so long, but it was clearly paying off the way that Mike hadn’t let you out of arm’s reach the entire cab ride. You hand two hands on his arm and he’d been talking in your ear the whole ride. 

You were taking him to lunch at one of your favourite places in the city, quiet, not visible from the street, with a wonderful goat cheese salad. He’d been ecstatic that you were clearly showing him parts of your life that you kept close to your chest. 

The two of you had only been together properly for about three months now, but you’d known each other for nearly a year. Mike hadn’t really dated anyone in the industry before, definitely not publicly. 

You’d mentioned to him a few of your past dating experiences before, and you had been steadfast on the fact that if you were going to have a relationship that it would be as completely private as possible. 

Mike didn’t think he’d ever hesitated less to reply - he was all in, same page. It felt simultaneously too fast and too slow. You’d been dating for three months, sure, but he’d known you since January, and it had felt like that first seven months had been confirmation that he liked you again and again and again.

Mike had been calling you his girlfriend to everyone, his friends, his family, some of his closer co-stars. But as he sat across from you at the restaurant, he realised he hadn’t actually asked. 

He valued communication, he thought he was pretty good at it. But he’d settled into such a comfortable settlement with you that it had slipped his mind entirely. You didn’t mind. You were on the same page as him. 

You referred to him to those closest to you as your boyfriend. You weren’t sitting around, desperately waiting for him to ask you to be his girlfriend, if that’s how you felt you would have asked him before you got to this point. 

The two of you were doing what you usually did, you ordered a few different things with the intention of sharing, and Mike, as usual, was way more interested in what you had picked than he had. 

You were giggling across the table at him, watching the way the breeze from the window by your table kept blowing his hair into his mouth. .”Here,” you took the scrunchie from your own hair and stood up, coming to a rest behind him. 

He tilted his head back - good for him, he could see your face; bad for you, you couldn’t grab all his hair - while you worked and after a second you’d tied his hair up out of his face. 

You moved to return to your seat, but he half-lifted himself from his chair to make sure he got to kiss you before you left. “Thank you, honey,” he said softly. Your thumb rubbed his cheek with a soft touch.

“‘s okay,” you mused, looking at him. He loved the look you got in your eyes when you were fully concentrated on his face, he wondered if he got the same look when he saw yours. “You look cute.”

“Says you,” he mumbled, looking down at your outfit. He could tell you’d put in extra effort, he wanted you to know it hadn’t been for nothing. “Y’look so pretty today, can’t believe I get to be the one here with you.”

You giggled, preening under his thoughtful gaze. You could feel your cheeks growing warmer, but you made yourself not look away from him. “Yeah?”

He turned his head and kissed the palm of your hand. “Can’t believe I haven’t asked you to be my girlfriend properly,” he sounded so positively disappointed that you couldn’t help but giggle. “Don’t laugh at me, it’s embarrassing.”

You giggled a little bit harder. “Oh, baby,” you let your thumb brush his lips, soaking in the way he kissed the pad of the finger. “Can’t be embarrassed, I didn’t even realise.” Mike hummed in question. “Don’t know,” you shuffle in place. “in my head you’ve been my boyfriend for like six months.”

“Thank god,” Mike laughed, letting his head drop. “Quick, sit down, I need to ask you to be exclusive so I can tell people that I did.”

You pause for a second before nabbing the fork on his plate, scooping up a piece of chicken before sitting back in your chair. “Go on, then, boyfriend.” You take a bite. “Get it over with, I’m hungry.”

THREE. december 2017

You were curled into Mike’s side when you got the text. You didn’t usually look at your phone when the two of you were together, but he was watching a documentary about something that didn’t interest you, while you were reading a book on your phone. 

He had his hand sitting on the back of your neck, knuckles brushing a line from the nape to the top of your shoulder. It was one of your costars from an earlier project, sending you a link.

“LMAOO not people”

It was a People magazine article, one that instantly had you rolling your eyes. Mike sensed your shift in mood and laid his palm flat on the curve of your shoulder. “Okay?”

“People says we’ve been together since…” you scrolled through the article.” “October last year,” you snickered. 

“Cant believe you didn’t tell me.” Mike let his head fall back against the sofa. “I wish,” he said as an afterthought. 

“You didn’t even know me back then,” you pointed out.

Mike leaned forward and kissed your temple. “Still,” he said, concretely no but with supreme amounts of gentleness. “I’m sure I would’ve wanted you with great desperation.”

You and Mike had gone through conversations before about revealing your relationship to the public. You had little to no intentions of doing that, especially not so soon. But you’d wanted to manage expectations.

You’d become famous young, not as young as some, you’d only been twenty when you landed your first major role. You’d done principal photography during your summer break in college, working towards getting your degree, and by the time you graduated you had two feature films and one golden globe nomination under your belt.

You’d had a college boyfriend at the time, it had ended naturally, not without pain, but not as a result of your blossoming career. The magazines had eaten it up, though, with all sorts of speculations. 

You didn’t want that again. You didn’t owe them anything. And you were so grateful that Mike seemed to share the sentiment. You were so grateful to your fans but you knew at the end of the day that they didn’t own you, which is why you were not above lying to them to keep them out of your life. 

Especially when the comments of the post were already filled with dozens of suggestions to who it could be. Not when your friends, your coworkers, or random strangers who hadn’t done anything other than be someone people thought you might like if you met them, we’re getting their personal lives dug into in order to confirm a suspicion that a stranger had about you.

Not when you were curled up in the arms of one of the kindest most charming men you’d ever known, one that you might even want to spend the rest of your life with. He definitely didn’t deserve this, and neither did you.

So, you went into your camera roll and found a selfie you’d sent to one of your friends a few days earlier. You typed up a short sentence and then hit post on your Instagram story without thinking too hard about it. 

When you showed it to Mike he smiled endearingly. “Aw man,” he mumbled, pressing his face to the crook of your neck. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell me we broke up.”

FOUR. march 2018

Days on set were long, they were often exhausting, and they were where you’d thrive.

You’d finally wrapped after thirteen hours, and the first thing you did when you got your phone out of your trailer was to text Mike. 

He was in New York still, but you guys had been speaking as often as you could. With him three hours in front of you, it often ended up in the two of you just missing each other. Mike had texted you four hours earlier while you’d been filming.

You look pretty here. 

It’s a Vanity Fair video that you filmed about a month ago with one of your costars. It was a movie about love, being in love, loving people, loving places, loving time. Your character was the main romantic love interest to the main character, and she was one of your favourite characters that you’d ever played. A young woman who finds love in her career, love in her family, and eventually begins giving it to the main character. You and your costar had become very close, and you were talking candidly to them in the video about your experience with love. 

Mike had sent you a screenshot of the video, where you’re smiling across to your costar. It had been a simple question they’d asked; have you ever been in love. 

Now, you couldn’t say blatantly, “yes, I have a boyfriend.” And you couldn’t say that for two reasons. Number one, you and Mike had been so careful to the point where you didn’t even think your fans knew that the two of you were aware of each other, let alone that his tongue had been in your mouth. 

And number two was that you hadn’t actually told Mike that you loved him. You did, god you did. You probably would have told him months ago if things were more normal. If you both worked 9 to 5s, you lived primarily in the same city, you could go on dates and pull him over to the side of the sidewalk, interrupting him mid-sentence to kiss him.

Unfortunately, you’d spent months apart, and while you spoke multiple times a day, at least through texts, it felt like not the right time.

You try to brush off your smile as you reply to him. Stop ittt you’re giving me an ego <333. In that exact moment, you know what you’d been spewing some media trained answer that avoided mentioning your partner but still felt authentic. “I’m just really glad that I spent most of my early twenties trying to find myself before trying to find someone else, I guess.”

Mike took a moment to reply. Guess you didn’t find me :( 

You giggle as you finish changing back into your own clothes out of the costume you’d just been wearing, ready to head home now that your last scene of the day had concluded. Nope! You sought me out 100% I actually have no idea who you are. 

That time the reply was instant. This is awkward then. What else is instant is the knock on your trailer door, the way you wrap your arms around him once you’d thrown open the door, and the knowledge that you’re going to tell him that you love him.

FIVE. september 2018

Mike knows that most people are more nervous to meet their girlfriend’s parents than he currently is, and ironically that actually does make him nervous. 

It wasn’t really his first time meeting them, he’d spoken to them on the phone before and he’d even texted your mom a couple of times when you’d asked him to. You’ve been his girlfriend officially for almost an entire year, but the two of you both agreed that you felt you’d been together since July of the year earlier. That was over one whole year together. Even if your parents didn’t like him - which, based off the amount that not only he’d spoken to them, but you’d talked about him, seemed almost impossible - it wasn’t going to be the be all or end all. 

But he wanted your mom’s birthday brunch (of which she was very serious about) to go well as his first official family event that he attended as your boyfriend. 

The two of you were getting ready at his place, as you do most days that you’re in New York. You spend maybe two or three months in your home state and as you and Mike are together for longer and longer, you spend as much time together as you can. Mike had not only let you spend every second you could at his apartment, he’d actively encouraged it. 

You’re wearing an outfit he’s seen on you a hundred times, standing in front of his bathroom mirror as he ducks in to grab his phone. He stops behind you, watching you apply mascara, and places both his hands on your shoulders. 

“Love you,” you say absent-mindedly, trying to focus on not stabbing yourself in the eye.

He squeezes your shoulders and kisses the back of your neck, the closest part he can reach. “Love you more. I’m ready to head out whenever you are.”

You lean back so your face is no longer just inches from the mirror. “Reservation’s at 11 so we should probably leave soon,” you say. “Give me five or so minutes.”

You let him hold your hand the entire way to the restaurant, knowing exactly how nervous he is. He’s a grown man, he knows your mom already loves him, but he appreciates that you don’t say any of this as he follows you into the restaurant.

Your mom is already there, with two seats beside her that Mike knows are reserved for you, and she leaps out of her chair at the sight of you. You greet her with a hug and a happy birthday, having let Mike hold the gift so he felt less like he was coming empty handed (you’d bought it together).  The second you’re out of her path, she’s coming for him. “Oh, it’s so lovely to finally get to meet you!” She’s gushing over him and he’s trying not to look embarrassed in front of you. 

He fits right in with your family, sitting on your left hand side while you sit pride of place beside your mom. He gets caught up in one of your mom’s friend’s conversations (“Oh I just adore Broadway, what’s it like?”) and that’s when your mom takes the opportunity to lean over and whisper over her bellini to you. 

You lean in so you can hear her without much strain. 

“I’ve never seen you look this happy.”

You beam back at her. 

SIX. november 2019

You’re thinking of selling your California apartment. 

You know it’s probably a bad idea, and that because you spend so much time in LA, it’s good to have a place to call home. But you also feel like it’s keeping you tied to the west coast. That you’re more likely to spend more time in California if you have a place there, and that’s not something that you want anymore. 

You’ve been in California for the last nine months, it’s been longer than that since you’ve seen your family, your friends, or your boyfriend. You missed your two-year anniversary because you spent the day on set and Mike wasn’t able to fly out due to his work schedule. 

You have your co-stars, people you spent months with every day that you genuinely enjoy being around - one of them you even worked with on a past project, you spend a lot of your free time with them between takes - but it’s not the same.

And now you’re done. You have over seven months until press from this movie begins and then you have to start working again. Normally, you’d stay in California while you looked for another project to latch onto, but that wasn’t what you wanted to do. 

You missed Mike, plain and simple. He was in New Jersey filming a movie, but that’s about as far away as he’d be if he was in New York. You knew of plenty of actors who didn’t live in LA and still made it work just fine, and as far as home states went, you could definitely have done worse than New York. 

“I think if it’s something you want to do you should look into it.” You’d called your boyfriend to have him either talk you into or out of it, but frustratingly all he’s done is point out that it’s your apartment and that he’d be kind of an asshole if he pushed his opinion on your assets onto you. 

“I want your opinion,” you let out a dramatic sob, sitting at your kitchen counter. Your phone is on speaker while you’re on your laptop, answering emails. 

Mike laughs, it’s crackly through the phone but you know the ins and outs, the layers of breath. “My opinion is that you should do what feels right for you, and I’ll back you up no matter what.”

“You’re annoying,” you grumble, changing tabs to instead look through your camera roll. You had a few days left to post one of your monthly photo dumps, something you much preferred to posting consistently. There was one photo that your camera roll had put in the forefront, of you at dinner with Mike and two of your mutual friends to celebrate his 27th birthday. You’d taken the photo almost eleven months earlier, and hadn’t done anything with it, but you did think you looked cute.

“I love you,” he offers instead.

You hum in response, bringing up the photo. “Is it weird if I post a photo from your birthday dinner? You’re not in it, obviously.”

He laughs at your bluntness. “Right, because why would I be in it? It’s only my birthday.”

That brings you out of it. “No, wait,” you giggle.  “Just cause I don’t want them to know that it’s your dinner, idiot.”

Mike groans. “I was gonna ask when you next are coming home but I actually don’t care anymore about it.”

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me what to do about my apartment.”

“Forgive me?”

“Fine, I love you or whatever.”

Mike laughs again, and you don’t even notice the crackles. “Or whatever.”

SEVEN. november 2019

You don’t think you’ve laughed this hard in a while. 

“I’m sorry,” she moans, leaning on your shoulder. 

You’re with one of your closest friends, sitting on your sofa, almost crying with laughter. You’d been staying with her while the sale of your California place was going down, with every intention of moving back home to New York after it was done. She’d commented on your yearly photo set, talking about a photo of you and your mom, and you’d realised exactly where people’s minds would go.

“No,” you giggle, “I was the one who decided to be messy and post the photo.” You’d posted a photo that had been taken of you and Mike when he’d come to visit you on set the year earlier. Everyone knew it was old, you’d thought it was funny, and sure you had probably revealed a little bit too much about your relationship, but Mike had thought it was funny too, so that was enough for you.

Your favourite part, though, was that not a single person had commented, tweeted, messaged you asking who he was, if he was your boyfriend, or what was happening. You hadn’t seen a single person give a fuck. 

The two of you had been sneaking around like teenagers and literally no one had cared, so Mike had allowed you to be a little messy on your Instagram feed. 

“If I’m the reason you and Mike get doxxed you can feel free to post any blackmail you have of me,” she promises. You can tell she feels awful about the possibility of having just exposed your multi-year long relationship, but if you’re honest you think it’s kind of funny. 

You wave her off. “No, I guarantee no one even cares. Worst case scenario someone asks, you just tell them you were talking about the photo of me and my mom, it’s so fine.”

The reason that you’d posted that photo now was because when it had been taken, things were definitely too new to be making hints towards it, and you would have posted a more recent picture but that was literally the only one of the two of you you could fine. 

And the best part was while all this was happening, so blatantly obvious to everyone who knew, you still got so many comments, dms - fucking interview questions - asking if you had a boyfriend, and every single time you’d either dodge it or outright say no. 

Your phone vibrated; a text from Mike. 

Rachel told me she hasn’t seen a single tweet about it and if anyone would have seen it it would be her.

yeah i run a stan account of you and haven’t put my phone down in 8 years - rachel :))))) She sends an entire row of kisses with hers. 

You’d met his costar a few times, only over the phone, and he sent you pictures of the two of them together on set often. You heart her message, giving his a thumbs up and knowing that she’d appreciate that. 

“See, it’s fine.” You show your friend. 

She breathes an audible sigh of relief. “In my defence you did post the photo.”

EIGHT. june 2020

The plan had been in the works for six months before it got derailed. Your California apartment had officially been sold, and you were set to move in to Mike’s place until you settled back in. Once things had calmed down with work for the two of you, you were going to start looking for your own place together. 

You’d ended your lease in your New York place, you had all of your stuff - not that you carted much around with you anyway - most of the furniture you had came with the place, and you’d donated or sold most of it. You had been living off of display furniture and minimal decorating, knowing that wherever it was would sit vacant most of the time anyway. This was going to be it, where you finally started building a life, and you’d be doing it with Mike. 

And then the country had gone into lockdown and, after a very lengthy conversation, the two of you had decided to relocate back to Columbus, Ohio, where he had a place for when he went to visit family.

It had been a fast move, but you’d planned for every thing that you possibly could have. Your family was safe, in New York, and you knew that was the best place for them to be. Your dad had an autoimmune disorder, so you knew that even if you were living in the city you wouldn’t be able to visit them much anyway. After three years with Mike, spending most of your relationship states away, you couldn’t let him leave without coming with him. 

So, there the two of you were. In Mike’s house in Ohio, one that was entirely familiar to him and somehow, it felt that way to you as well. Like you knew him so well that anything he knew was something you instinctively understood. 

Despite how long you’ve known Mike, how long you’ve loved him, you feel a bit like you’re taking over his space. Like when he moves something to make room for one of your trinkets that you’re minimising him in his own home.

He doesn’t let you think that for long. Sometimes you’ll come into your shared bedroom and find him rearranging his bookshelf so your books fit too, moving his Grammy to a shelf where there’s enough room for it to sit beside your awards, changing the sheets to a set that you’d picked out. 

You’ve been a successful working actor for the last eight years now, for almost five of them you’ve forgotten what it’s like to go outside and not worry that you’re going to be spotted. 

Sure, when you go outside now, you’re masked and there’s less people outside to recognise you. But to the people you do run into, you’re not an actor to them, not a celebrity, not anything. You’re Mike’s girlfriend. 

You can understand how that’s frustrating, you are your own person, but after three years of being together but constantly apart, you’re okay with your neighbours knowing you simply as Mike’s girlfriend. 

Now that you’re always in the house your screentime goes way down, you don’t need to text him anymore. All of the things that had you stressed and anxious to leave the house for have changed. And of course the state of the world is by no means good, but if everything is going to be happening anyway, you’re glad that you’re able to be with him during it. 

NINE. october 2020

You had become a bit of a homebody in the 9 months that you’d been living in Ohio. You only ever left the house when Mike did, and you didn’t go with him every time. Mike can tell it’s starting to wear on you a little bit. 

So, in an effort to pick yourself up a bit more, you’ve started doing all the grocery shopping. You and Mike make a list together so as to not give you all the mental load with it, but you walk down the few blocks to the small general store.

It’s convenient, a nice place, with a pharmacy attached to one side and a bakery on the other. Sometimes you take Austin and the girl who works at the bakery puts a bowl down for him while you go in and get your medication.

Sometimes you drive, when you have the aching exhaustion that only comes with being sad for hours on end, or when it’s raining, but the fresh air and just the act of being outside was usually enough to make you feel better.

It was late, and the pharmacy was closing soon when you realise you’d forgotten to pick up your medication, so it’s a no brainer that you’ll zip down and grab it while Mike makes dinner. 

You’ve slowly started setting down roots here, the shop assistants know your name and your prescription, they know you and Mike have officially moved into the mostly vacant house a few streets away, and they know that you seem like you’re maybe not always doing the best, because they’re always extra kind to you when you need it.

You like the domesticity. Sitting on the kitchen counter while goes through the fridge, telling you what to write down. Walking his dog - Austin absolutely loves you, which Mike did tell you is normal for most people - or holding his hand with his spare one on the leash. 

You’ve been really tired lately, and despite the fact that it’s meant to be your time to be by yourself and get fresh air, you find yourself in the kitchen, arms around your boyfriend’s waist. “Please?” You ask. 

Mike’s stirring something cheesy on the stove. You can smell it behind the wall of his cologne, the smell of wood and cinnamon. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he laughs and you feel the vibrations where your cheek is pressed to his back. “It’ll be cold by the time we get back.”

Your voice is small, and he knows he has zero intention of actually saying no to you, but he’s wondering if you’ll change your mind given a little bit of coaxing. 

“We have a microwave.” He wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t so close to him. 

He loves you, and he’s also not blind. He can see you’re struggling. He likes to think he knows exactly when to give you space, and when you need him there. He puts the spoon down on the cutting board he has beside the stove and turns off the gas. “Okay,” he says comfortingly. 

You brighten, and he feels you stand up straighter. “You’ll come with me.”

Mike doesn’t even pretend to think about it this time. “Of course I will.”

TEN. february 2021

Press was finally happening for your project that you had filmed all the way back towards the end of 2019, and with that came your first ever zoom interview. It was a bit awkward, you’d never really liked doing press much face to face but now online it was worse. 

You and Mike had both found it a bit weird. He’d done a bit more of it in 2020 than you had, so you’d asked if he’d be in the room where possible to help ease your nerves. 

You were in your bedroom, set up at the designated Work Spot. You and Mike had made an agreement, no work was to be done outside of the Work Spot. It was the only thing that stopped it bleeding into your everyday life, especially now that you were working from home. 

Mike was out of frame so you could still see him, sitting in the corner reading a book. He’d glance up at you every single time you looked at him, like he could feel that you needed him. 

Things were going well, it wasn’t a standard interview with an interviewer, but rather you’d been given a list of questions that the group of you took turns asking the others and then answering yourself. 

There was a bit there where you knew you had a note written down about something important, but you’d written it on Mike’s phone. It was the only one near you at the time, and you were actively regretting it now.

You muted yourself on your computer and tried to subtly gesture for him. He notices you immediately and comes to stand right beside him. 

“Can I grab your phone really quick?” He hands it over.

“You okay?” He asks, wary of the camera he’s standing just outside of frame of. 

You unlock his phone and open up his notes app, trying to find what you’re doing. Mike didn’t have a phone case until you met him, but you’d cajoled him into a clear on“Did you…” you hum. “Did you move my note?”

You handed Mike back his phone and told him what he’s looking for and he scrolled for a second. “No?” He frowned. “Uh…” he bites his lip. “Oh wait, I cleared out a bunch of stuff hang on.”

You can hear everyone else, so you know no one has clocked your absence yet. “Found it,” he hands you back his phone and pulls up the one. “This one?”

“Love you,” you say in lieu of an answer. He gives you a look that makes a smile worm its way onto your face. 

Mike goes to sit back down as you skim through your note, ready to have your talking points ready. “Love you,” he calls back. 

When it’s eventually your turn to answer, you turn your microphone back on like nothing ever happened. And your costars, who all knew everything were was to know about exactly who you’d been talking to, all kept their mouths shut too. 

ELEVEN. august 2021

The material of your dress was scratching his skin, but Mike couldn’t seem to mind when you were so deliriously happy. In one hand you had a glass of champagne and in the other a beautiful bouquet of flowers that you’d snatched from the air after it had left the hands of your childhood best friend. 

People had been giving him knowing looks about it since then, upturned smirks and elbows to his ribcage. Mike laughed it off. The two of you were good, and he knew that you weren’t the type of girl to expect a proposal just because she caught the bouquet. 

Over the course of the night he had stood by, chatting idly with another group of plus ones. He’d met your best friend countless times, but there was no denying that he would not have been invited if he hadn’t been with you for the last four years. He was just happy that you seemed to be having a good time. 

Eventually, you staggered over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You weren’t drunk, didn’t need to be, you were simply so elated to not only be able to leave the house without feeling anxious but also to be able to celebrate your best friend getting married. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” He chuckled, your nose pressed to his adam’s apple. 

You hummed. “Yeah. Tired. Happy. Miss you,”

He ran his hand along the back of your dress, cringing at the material. “‘M right here.” 

The night was winding down, it was out in a big greenspace that they’d rented, the sun had well and truly set. You were basking in the glow of the massive outdoor lamps they’d set up, and they bathed you in a golden hue. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” you said genuinely. “I’m really happy.”

You were swaying on the spot slightly to the faded jazz playing in the background, and he let his arms envelope you, pulling you impossibly close to him. “Of course, baby,” he’s beaming wide, his voice low and soft. You can hear how happy he is.

It’s your first time being back in New York since you left, your longest stretch away from your home state in your whole life. The two of you have started looking for work again now that things are starting to open up. Mike’s riding the high of his West Side Story performance, he’s been getting offers since it came out. He hasn’t taken any of them, though, instead focusing on smaller things that he likes more. The TV show he’d spent a while filming in Texas had been cancelled, which was a shame because you really enjoyed watching TikTok edits of him in that. 

Instead, he’d been waving off scripts his agents sent him. He’d been asked to do a screen test in a movie in the UK, but he didn’t seem to interested in it. The most interesting thing about it was that his screen test was apparently with Zendaya, so you’d encouraged him to go just to meet her. 

Things are picking up again. Your agent’s sending you offers and auditions and after two years of not being on set you’re itching to get back.

But, getting back meant going back. 

You’d settled in Columbus. You didn’t want to leave, but you and Mike both knew that you’d have to go back to New York. 

It was something that you’d been talking about for a while, getting another place in New York. You’re fortunate enough that it’s something you’re able to afford, and it seems like a good idea. It doesn’t need to be discussed tonight, though. 

Instead, you ask him quietly, “Are we ever gonna get married?”

Mike mused, “Do you want to?”

You’re playing with the longer strands of hair on the back of his neck. “I think I might. With you.”

“Yeah?” He asks. He feels so warm inside there’s glee practically pouring from him. 

“Not right now, though,” you admit. “I think I want more of a career before I’m willing to become known as someone’s wife.” Mike knows exactly what you mean, and that even though you eventually want to be his wife, that regardless of what you’ve accomplished, from that moment on there will be people who know you exclusively as ‘Mike Faist’s wife.’ At this point in time, you’re not even known as his girlfriend, a fact that the two of you enjoy. 

“You just let me know,” he hums. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

You’ve been together almost four and a half years now and still no one knows. You don’t really need people to. 

You kiss his jaw and reach down to take off your heels, complaining about your feet. He takes them from you and watches as you make your way back towards your friends. He knows he’s going to ask you one day, and he knows you’ll say yes. The two of you know just how much you love each other. You don’t need anyone else to just yet. 

TWELVE. november 2021

So, a new arrangement has been reached. You n’t living in New York permanently but you have a lease on a place together. You’re back to doing live press, with the movie finally being shown in theatres. To be completely honest, you’re pretty much done with press on this movie. When you were cast in it three years ago, you didn’t expect that you would still be doing it. 

Mike is sympathetic but amused. They haven’t organised the screen test for that one movie yet but that’s because the director was working on another project and the one Mike had been scouted for had been pushed back for a short period. 

Sometimes companies will send you a car to come to your interview, but you take the subway home. Mike comes with you most times, more than happy to come tag along and sit in a room with your stuff and bring you your water bottle between shoots. 

“Thank you, baby,” you tell him genuinely the fourth time he does it. He kisses your forehead. “You didn’t have to come with me, I appreciate you.”

He hums as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “I need to earn my keep somehow, I’ve been your stay at home boyfriend for like two years.”

You giggle around the straw of your water bottle, softening at the way he reaches to take it from you. “And your services have been appreciated and they will be missed when you inevitably book again.”

It’s not something that you expect to be so comforted by. The knowledge that wherever you’re living - Ohio, New York, California, wherever, even if you’re in different states - that you just love being around him. No matter how much time he spends with you, he doesn’t get sick of you, you don’t get sick of him. 

You’re infinitely happier when he’s within arms reach than when he’s not. 

“Only book I care about is the one I’m reading over there,” he leans in to kiss you briefly. The director of the shoot gives out the five minute warning to roll into the next section, Mike takes your phone and water bottle and heads back to his corner. 

It’s almost comedic, the way that the producer immediately starts the next section with asking you “Do you have a celebrity crush?”

You have to make a conscious effort to not look over at Mike, even though you know he’s watching you. 

“Uh,” you laugh awkwardly, “I don’t really have one.”

Your coworkers’ faces are stone, and you don’t know if that make you want to laugh more or not. You keep your eyes directed straight at the barrel of the camera and you know everyone’s going to see how uncomfortable you are. 

“I guess having one when…” you struggle to find the right words, “when you are where I am in life, is just kind of weird,” you laugh again. “It feels wrong, I don’t know.”

You finally let your gaze land on your boyfriend. He’s smiling at you, and you calm immediately knowing that even once you’re out of this building, back on the train to your one bedroom, your hand in his, sharing earbuds, he’ll be there. 

THIRTEEN. april 2022

“Tell me again, what she said,” your feet are in Mike’s lap. You have people over, and you can’t imagine being happier. Your apartment is bustling, a charcuterie board that you are very proud of on the kitchen counter. You still have New Years decorations up, and there’s music playing. Mike got back from his screen test a week ago, and you’re revelling in his presence again. 

Mike takes a sip of his drink and moves so he’s resting his arm on your calf. You have a few of your friends sitting on the sofas around you, hanging on to every word. “She told me to tell you-”

You interrupt him, too excited “She brought me up!” You giggle over your champagne. 

Mike giggles, the side of his mouth pinching up with his smile. “Zendaya wanted me to tell you that she had just seen your most recent movie, and that she thought you were really good in it.”

You flail back so you’re resting on the arm of a friend. “Zendaya knows my name.”

One of your friends puts his drink down on the coffee table. “Don’t you guys have a Grammy in your bedroom, why are you surprised by this?”

“It’s not mine,” you roll your eyes, tipsy off the champagne and drunk on the party. “I would never take credit for my wonderful boyfriend’s accomplishment.”

“She’s taken so many selfies with it,” the friend you’re leaning on chimes in. 

Mike laughs and almost as if by magnet you’re trying to get closer to him. Your head comes up beside his, resting on the wall behind the couch, his hand on the back of your neck. 

You don’t even know what you’re celebrating. Just being able to have people over, having a space to have them in. Having someone you’d want to host a party with. 

“Okay, and?” you shoot back. “You’ve taken selfies with me.”

He’s kissed the hollow of your collarbone, his hair, getting longer now, tickling your neck. You love him so much, you’re surprised there’s enough room in the apartment for all your guests with how much space it’s taking up. 

The apartment itself is obviously a new development in your life, but the area isn’t. Just two streets over is the apartment you were living in when you met Mike. Barely furnished, not decorated, not lived in. 

A place so physically close to the room you’re sitting in with a group of people you love more than life, but that couldn’t have possibly been further away. Now you have family pictures on the wall, you have his toothbrush right beside yours. You have a ticket to the show of Dear Evan Hansen you went and saw right when you two got together, sitting front row in the audience and marveling in the fact that the man onstage liked you, pride of place in your clear phone case. He has a ticket stub from that time a theatre in Columbus was playing a rerun of your feature film debut and he’d dragged you with him to go see it wedged in his. You have a delicate chain around your neck with an M on it so well hidden it might as well be lost to legend, he has your first initial hanging on his keychain.

It’s been five years, three lived-in states, several hundred shared meals, and an apartment just two streets away, but as you laugh at a story someone is telling, your cheek pressed against Mike’s, you’ve never felt closer to home.

[miange1]

ANTHONY SWOFFORD

'you'll find, there's never any time for babes or wine'

male reader, anal sex, sexual frustration, raw dogging(ow.), cheating, slight internalized homophobia, sexual actions in the military (DON'T. do that), is it a crime to imagine myself with hair, i have dreads, these AREN'T coming off.

he slammed the white and worn out phone onto the holder of the booth. lunch was next, but he felt much to sick to even think about food right now. this was one of those moments he wish he hadn't signed that damn paper.

he wanted to be back with kris, feel her again instead of jerking himself dry to a picture of her in the stalls just for him to not leak a single drop of nothing.

he swirled the rice and chicken around in the paper bowl, his cup of water still full as he hadn't picked it up unless he received it. 'just a friend' she said. what bullshit.

deep down he knew this would happen. it happened to everyone else, so it was blind to happen to him. "..fuck." he muttered under his breath. he needed to get it together, he couldn't break down over her— not now, not like this. and definitely not here.

what was he gonna do? how could he focus this way? there was just no possible way for it to happen if this shit was nagging in the back of his brain.

he ended up throwing the food away, no longer even wanting to stare at it with this damn girl on his mind.

now he couldn't sleep, staring up at the barracks' ceiling just..thinking. what would he do when he got back and saw that guy just staring back at him. opening that door, seeing some random looking at him like he'd never seen him before.

no, no, fuck that, he'd know him. his friends were probably right saying kris had that military fetish. getting off telling that man that he was a jarhead—

"psst," his thoughts were interrupted by a whisper. was it directed towards him? he sat up, jumping a bit to see you right next to his bed. you were a friend of his he made here, a bit closer to him than anyone else. everyone described you as a sweetheart, you were real kind and caring but you got done what needed to be done whether you disliked it or not.

"i snuck these from the cafeteria," you held up two chocolate chip cookies, and it made him surprised that they even had any sort of flavor here. "you want one?" you gave that smile to him, making his heart melt. you thought of him when taking these? practically risking yourself to get something sweet.

"sure," he sat up, moving over a bit to make room for you to sit with him. he opened the wrapper, giving a hum of satisfaction at the sweet taste touching his tongue. god, this felt great.

"thinking about that white chick of yours?" he almost choked, not thinking that you could tell— but hell it was obvious. ever since the phone calls he had been spacing out, and getting angry easier.

he exhaled through his nose, but he didn't deny it. "there's this guy, charlie or charles or some shit. something with a c, i dunno." he looked down at his bruised knees, his feet planted right on the cold hard ground beneath the two of you.

"she met him at some hotel and..they seem to talk a lot apparently. but i just..i know they're boning and-" he looked over at you, seeing how your cheeks were stuffed with the cookies as you ate. he almost burst out laughing but held it in so no one else woke up. "what?" you swallowed down the rest of the food, confused as to why he was laughing.

"jesus man, im talking about my soon to be ex girlfriend be serious for a sec." you gave him a look, "i am!" your voice was still a whisper as you exclaimed, yet you couldn't help but laugh with him.

you had stopped for a moment but he still had a few chuckles. something just tempted you and you weren't too sure what it was. you always felt a bit of something towards him, but it was mostly just admiration right? yeah, he was a good soldier and you looked up to him to better yourself despite being here longer than him.

your eyes slightly hooded, your head getting a bit closer and he took notice at that. his body backed up a bit, but the two of you were still close. it hit that this must have made him uncomfortable, hint being he was giving you a weird look. he made it clear at the meet when the drill sergeant was yelling at him he most definitely wasn't gay. so what the hell were you thinking?

too ashamed to stand up and walk away, you backed off and looked down at the floor. you weren't gonna cry or anything no, you just felt shameful.

your skin felt cold, and full of goose bumps feeling his finger underneath your chin and tracing at your jaw line. it made you look over at him, the uncomfortable look replaced with longing and need. both of your heads went together again, lips connecting like magnets and moving against each other like smooth waves.

his arm rested on your hips, and your on his chest to keep yourself steady because fuck he was a real rough kisser. there wasn't much teeth, and the kiss still went amazingly but he would push against you like he absolutely needed this.

and he did, he needed it so badly because who else did he have? no one, he had no one else except for you.

"oh..tony, chill out a bit.." he was being as 'chill' as he possibly could. going at a medium pace as to keep everyone asleep, but damn no one ever told you something up there hurt like a bitch.

"trying," he said, leaning down and coming to kiss at your lips and neck. "need you so bad.." his thrusts were slowing down but still harsh and hard. he felt so good, finally feeling something around him other than his damn hand.

he himself couldn't lie that he felt a little something for you as well, even after he knew he would regret this. he might want this to keep going if he could let it happen.

"i know but, mngh.." your words cut off when he aimed at somewhere inside you specifically, making you forget everything all at once. "gosh, right there."

his heart sped up as did his movements. he couldn't help himself! he couldn't keep going so slow, it was killing him.

his hand slapped over your mouth, and feeling the vibrations of your muffled moans against his palm. the bed creaked, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close.

yeah, this was definitely going to be more than a one time thing.

[vidma-kazhe]

The man opened his private platform up to be a free speech zone.

No, he bought a social media platform to be his own echo chamber. He regularly bans accounts that challenge him or refuse to kiss his ass or bring up his abhorrent and shady practices, while hugely favoring the accounts that suck up to him or match his worldviews - which are often close to those of far-right extremists. Under his management, Twitter has also been repeatedly shadowbanning posts condemning war crimes of russia. Coincidentally, Elon can't pull his tongue out of russia's ass. So, Twitter right no is anything but a free speech zone. It's the "kiss Elon's ass zone".

Just like reaching for a crowd doesn't make a gesture a hitler salute.

I agree, it doesn't. Reaching for the crowd in a historically infamous way while being an avid supporter of pro-nazi political parties, favoring pro-nazi content on his platform, and cooperating with a dictator from a fascist terrorist state, however, do make it a hitler salute. Because this is the environment and the people Elon likes.

No, I don't think he is an evil mastermind. I think he is a stupid, entitled, and deranged manchild who never takes accountability for anything in his life.

He doesn't understand how living people work, he doesn't care about anyone else beside himself, he can't understand that his children want nothing to do with him because he is a shitty absentee parent, so he blames "the left", "the democrats", "the liberals" whenever his daughter refuses to talk to him and calls him out. He can't comprehend that some people will never ever like him, no matter how much money he throws at them or how many times he shows off - and it infuriates him. Instead of letting it go, he would rather insult, demean, libel or reveal private data of the person that dared to deny him anything.

He is a dumbass who believes he is smarter than anyone else and he would use his money, his PR-built image and jeopardize countless lives to fuel this delusion. He is a self-centered moron who thinks he knows better than anyone else and entitled to make military decisions for other countries - like when he ordered to shut off Starlink coverage over Crimea during important Ukrainian operations and patted himself on his empty thick skull for "thwarting WW3".

What is even worse - he is an exploitable dumbass.

He is a threat to the national security of the USA because he, while having a contract with Pentagon, sucks up to putin and engages in "confidential conversations" with him: all russians need to do is to scare the idiot with WW3 for him to surrender any secret information he knows on a silver platter. He is a sock puppet for any unhinged extremists who know how to stroke his ego and gain his favor.

So, Elon Musk may not be a nazi. He may not even consider himself one. He may be just a huge man baby who would do all the controversial things possible because it gets a reaction and it makes him feel giddy because he got the attention he wanted (in the only way his emotional and social intelligence allows him).

But he surrounds himself with nazis, he supports nazi narratives, he uses his influence and wealth to uphold nazis and he uses gestures that nazis like without any care in the world.

This is what makes him a dangerous and cruel idiot.

And this dangerous and cruel idiot is now throwing hitler's salutes at the inauguration, for everyone to see.

jews have been sounding the alarm about the alarming rise of antisemitism and neo-nazi rhetoric around the world for years now, and have been largely dismissed by all sides of the political spectrum. they’re playing the victim, they’re exaggerating, they’re lying, they’re a distraction from other more important issues, etc etc.

i hope this can be a wakeup call for many. if this is shocking to you, i urge you to find jewish voices and creators to follow. antisemitism is a canary in the coal mine for fascism and jewish people are the ones most equipped to recognize it and oppose it.

we will all need each other more than ever for what’s to come. make sure the coalitions and networks you build include jewish people too.

[elryuse]

For Better Or Worse, Right?

Yandere Asa & Rami X Male Reader

Requested By My Friend @superkpopeditsgirlgroup on Tumblr & Discord. I hope You Like it.

The first time you saw Asa and Rami on stage, you were captivated. The way they moved, the way their voices blended seamlessly—it was perfection, an artistry that touched something deep within you. You followed them religiously, attending every live broadcast, buying every album, and scouring social media for their latest updates. Your admiration wasn't just infatuation; it felt like love. You convinced yourself that what you wanted most was their happiness, even if it came at the expense of your own.

But never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd meet them.

The day of the fan meeting felt surreal. As you stood in line clutching your album and a handwritten letter, your heart raced. Hundreds of other fans surrounded you, all buzzing with the same excitement. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, you felt like today was your day. A flicker of hope, perhaps foolish, told you that something special would happen.

When it was finally your turn, you stepped up to the table where Asa and Rami sat, radiant and smiling. Asa's sharp eyes scanned you curiously, while Rami offered you a warm, genuine grin.

"Hello! What's your name?" Asa asked, tilting her head slightly.

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms grow damp. "Y-Y/n."

Rami leaned forward slightly, her voice soft yet teasing. "You look nervous, Y/n. Don't worry; we don't bite."

Their laughter, light and melodic, put you at ease, if only for a moment. You handed them your album and watched as they signed it, occasionally glancing up at you. It felt like time slowed as they asked you questions—what you liked about their music, which performance was your favorite. You answered as best you could, trying not to stumble over your words.

Then, as Asa was handing back your album, she slipped a small note inside. Her fingers brushed yours for the briefest moment, sending a shiver up your spine. She winked before leaning back.

The fan meeting ended, but your world had just shifted. When you opened the note later, it simply read: Text me sometime with a phone number scrawled beneath it. Your hands trembled. Was this a mistake? Did she give this to anyone else?

You stared at the note all night, questioning its authenticity. But the next day, with your courage bolstered, you sent a text. To your surprise, the reply came quickly.

Asa : Hey, Y/n! It’s me, Asa. Don’t tell anyone I gave you my number, okay? ;) How are you?

You : Hi, Asa. I’m… honestly, I’m still trying to believe this is real. Is it really you?

Asa : Of course, silly! Why would I joke about this? Rami says hi, by the way!

Rami : Hi, Y/n! Asa’s been talking about you nonstop since yesterday, so I figured I’d join in, haha.

From that point on, your life became a whirlwind of excitement. Asa and Rami texted you daily, sharing photos and updates that no one else got to see. Sometimes, they’d even call late at night, their laughter and voices keeping you company when the world felt too quiet.

"Y/n," Asa said one night during a call, her voice playful but serious underneath. "You’re really special, you know that? I can tell you genuinely care about us, not just as idols but as people. That’s rare."

"I just want you both to be happy," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Well," Rami chimed in, her tone lighter, "you make us happy too. Don’t forget that."

It felt like a dream. They were everything you ever wanted—kind, funny, and breathtakingly beautiful. And somehow, inexplicably, they seemed to like you back.

The dream, however, began to crack weeks later.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you received a text from Asa. At first, your heart leaped, but as you read it, a strange weight settled in your chest.

Asa : Hey, Y/n. Just thought you should know—Rami and I both have boyfriends. I hope that doesn’t change anything between us.

Your hands froze over the screen. Boyfriends? It felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. You re-read the message several times, hoping you’d misunderstood. But the words didn’t change. They had boyfriends.

"Are you okay with that?" Asa asked during a call later, her tone light but with an edge of concern.

"Of course," you lied, forcing a laugh. "Why wouldn’t I be? I just want you both to be happy, remember?"

Asa sighed in relief. "I knew you’d understand. You’re too sweet, Y/n."

Despite your words, a storm brewed inside you. You convinced yourself it didn’t matter. They were happy, and that was all you ever wanted. But as time passed, the texts grew less frequent. The calls dwindled. Asa and Rami, once so warm and engaging, began to feel distant.

One evening, after nearly two weeks of silence, you decided to text them. The reply was curt.

Rami : Sorry, Y/n. We’ve been really busy lately. Hope you’re doing well.

Busy? You wanted to believe it, but their social media told a different story. Pictures of them laughing with friends, enjoying lavish dinners, and spending time with their boyfriends flooded your feed. There was no mention of being "busy."

The pain was sharp, almost unbearable. You sat in your room, staring at your phone, hoping for another message, another chance to feel the warmth they once offered. But the screen remained dark.

Had they forgotten about you? Did the moments you shared mean nothing to them? The thought consumed you, pulling you into a dark, restless spiral.

The decision to let go wasn’t easy. It had taken weeks—no, months—of restless nights, wondering if you were just a footnote in their story. Asa and Rami had once made you feel like you belonged in their world, but now, that world felt unreachable.

Staring at your phone, you took a deep breath and began typing the message that had been weighing on your mind.

You : Hey Asa, hey Rami. I hope you’re both doing well. I just wanted to say thank you—for everything. Knowing you, even for a little while, has been one of the best experiences of my life.

I think it’s time for me to step back, though. You both have your group, your fans, and your lives. And I’ll keep supporting you, always. But it’s time for me to focus on my own life, too.

No matter what, I’ll always love you both. Take care, okay?

You hesitated before pressing send. Once the message left your phone, there was no taking it back. But deep down, you knew this was for the best. The bond you once shared was gone, and clinging to it only made the ache worse.

Asa responded a few hours later, her reply short and devoid of emotion.

Asa : Got it. Thanks for understanding. Take care too.

Rami didn’t respond at all.

It stung, more than you cared to admit. But you told yourself this was the closure you needed. They were busy with their careers, their boyfriends, their lives. It was selfish to expect anything more.

For the first time in what felt like forever, your phone was quiet. There were no late-night texts, no selcas or updates that made your heart flutter. The silence was deafening at first, but slowly, you began to adjust.

You focused on work, picking up new hobbies to fill the void they left behind. Life started to feel... manageable. The pain lingered, but it dulled over time. You told yourself that Asa and Rami had moved on, and so should you.

Meanwhile, Asa and Rami were riding the high of their latest comeback. Their schedules were packed with performances, interviews, and fan events. They barely noticed your absence, too consumed by the whirlwind of their careers and their relationships.

At least, that’s what you thought.

It started small. A message from Asa late at night.

Asa : Hey, haven’t heard from you in a while. Everything okay?

You stared at the screen, conflicted. Part of you wanted to reply, to fall back into the pattern of clinging to their fleeting attention. But you resisted. She didn’t need you, not really.

A few days later, Rami sent you a selca. Her smile was radiant as always, but the caption beneath it struck an odd note.

Rami : Miss your compliments, Y/n. Hope you’re doing okay.

Why now? You hadn’t heard from them in weeks, and now they were reaching out as if nothing had changed. You replied politely but kept your responses brief, not wanting to reopen wounds that had barely begun to heal.

But the messages didn’t stop.

Asa and Rami started texting you daily again, more frequently than before. At first, it was casual—asking how you were, what you were up to. Then it became more persistent.

Asa : Why don’t you ever call anymore?

Rami: You’re not ignoring us, are you?

You tried to maintain boundaries, replying sporadically, but they seemed determined to pull you back into their orbit. They’d send you photos—candid shots from backstage, videos of them goofing around in the studio. It was as if they were trying to remind you of the connection you once shared.

One night, Asa called you out of the blue. Her voice was unusually sharp.

"Why haven’t you been talking to us, Y/n?" she demanded.

"I thought it was better this way," you admitted. "You’re both so busy, and I didn’t want to get in the way."

"You’re not in the way," Asa snapped. "We... we liked having you around. Don’t you care about us anymore?"

Her words left you stunned. Before you could respond, Rami’s voice joined the call, softer but no less insistent.

"You promised you’d always love us, Y/n. Did you forget?"

Their messages became more erratic over the following weeks. If you didn’t reply quickly enough, they’d bombard you with texts, sometimes accusing, sometimes pleading.

Asa : Are you talking to someone else?

Rami : Don’t forget who was there for you first.

You started to feel like a prisoner in your own life, their presence suffocating despite the physical distance between you. They began to show up in unexpected places—cafes you frequented, even outside your apartment building. Always with the same excuses: "We were in the area," or "We just wanted to see you."

Their boyfriends seemed to vanish from the picture. Asa and Rami never mentioned them anymore, and their social media accounts were conspicuously devoid of any couple photos. When you asked about it, Asa brushed it off with a dismissive laugh.

"They weren’t important," she said. "Not like you."

One night, you came home to find a package waiting for you. Inside was a framed photo of Asa and Rami, along with a handwritten note.

We belong to you, Y/n. Don’t ever forget that.

Your heart pounded as you stared at the note. The handwriting was shaky, almost frantic. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut: they hadn’t moved on at all. If anything, they had become obsessed.

You tried to confront them, but they denied everything, their voices sweet and convincing. "You’re imagining things," Rami said, her smile never reaching her eyes. "We just care about you, that’s all."

But their actions told a different story. You began to feel like you were being watched, their presence lingering even when they weren’t there.

The opportunity to manage Nov4 was a lifeline. After everything with Asa and Rami, it felt like a chance to start over. Nov4 was a smaller girl group, just beginning to make a name for themselves in the competitive industry. The girls—Mina, Hana, Jisoo, and Nari—were hardworking, kind, and grateful for your guidance. Working with them brought a sense of purpose you hadn’t felt in months.

For the first time in a while, you felt like you could breathe.

But it didn’t last.

The fan event was supposed to be a joyous occasion, a chance for Nov4 to connect with their growing fanbase. You stood near the back of the venue, watching as the girls charmed their audience with bright smiles and energetic performances.

Everything seemed perfect—until you felt it.

A chill ran down your spine, the unmistakable sensation of being watched. You scanned the crowd, your heart sinking when your eyes landed on two familiar figures. Asa and Rami.

They stood near the back, their faces partially obscured by masks and hats, but their eyes told you everything. They weren’t here for Nov4. They were here for you.

Asa’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel, while Rami’s expression was a mix of hurt and fury. They didn’t approach, didn’t make a scene, but their presence was enough to rattle you.

Your phone buzzed incessantly in your pocket.

Asa : So this is what you’ve been doing? Babysitting nobodies?

Rami : Do you think you can replace us with them?

Asa : We see you, Y/n. Don’t ignore us.

Your hands trembled as you turned off your phone, shoving it deep into your pocket. This was wrong. What they were doing was wrong. They had boyfriends, for God’s sake. Why couldn’t they just leave you alone?

Ignoring them seemed like the only option, but it only seemed to provoke them further. The messages became more erratic, their tone oscillating between anger and desperation.

Asa : You’re ours, Y/n. You promised.

Rami : Why are you avoiding us? Do you think you can escape?

Asa : We’re not going to let you forget us.

You blocked their numbers, but somehow, they found other ways to contact you—through anonymous accounts, through emails, even through fan mail addressed to Nov4.

One night, as you were walking back to your car after a long day at the studio, you found a note taped to your windshield.

You can’t hide from us, Y/n.

Your blood ran cold

The breaking point came during another fan event for Nov4. The girls were busy signing albums and chatting with fans when you noticed a commotion near the entrance. Asa and Rami walked in, flanked by their boyfriends.

Your stomach dropped.

They made a beeline for you, their expressions icy and unreadable. Before you could react, Asa’s boyfriend shoved you back against a table, causing a loud crash that drew everyone’s attention.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Asa hissed, her voice low but venomous.

"You think you can just walk away from us?" Rami added, her eyes glinting with malice.

The girls of Nov4 froze, their smiles faltering as they watched the scene unfold. Mina stepped forward hesitantly. "Is everything okay?"

Asa turned to her, her smile sickly sweet. "Oh, everything’s fine. We’re just catching up with an old friend. Right, Y/n?"

You didn’t answer, your jaw clenched as you tried to contain your humiliation. Asa’s boyfriend gave you another shove for good measure, laughing mockingly.

"You’re pathetic," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Jisoo and Nari moved to your side, their expressions protective. "Leave him alone," Jisoo said, her voice trembling but firm.

Asa sneered, but she didn’t push further. "We’ll see you around, Y/n," she said, her tone dripping with warning.

They left as suddenly as they’d arrived, leaving you to deal with the aftermath. Nov4’s fans whispered among themselves, the girls looking at you with a mixture of concern and confusion.

That night, Mina found you sitting alone in the practice room, staring blankly at the floor. She sat down beside you, her usual bubbly demeanor subdued.

"Who were they?" she asked gently.

"Just... people I used to know," you said, your voice hollow.

Mina didn’t push for details. Instead, she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Whatever’s going on, we’ve got your back. Okay?"

Her words brought a lump to your throat. You nodded, grateful but unable to shake the feeling of dread that clung to you like a shadow.

Because deep down, you knew this wasn’t over. Asa and Rami weren’t going to let you go that easily.

The bullying started subtly but escalated quickly. Asa and Rami seemed determined to destroy every shred of peace you’d managed to find. At first, it was snide remarks during public events, whispers loud enough for you and Nov4 to overhear.

"Guess even nobodies need a manager," Rami had said once, her boyfriend laughing along.

Their boyfriends became involved, too, their behavior disgusting and cruel. They made lewd jokes about Nov4, their appearances, and their talents. The girls—Mina, Hana, Jisoo, and Nari—tried to stay strong, but it was clear the harassment was taking a toll.

You saw the exhaustion in their eyes, the way their smiles faltered during rehearsals.

One night, as you were walking Mina to her car, she confided in you. "Why are they doing this to us, Y/n? What did we do wrong?"

You couldn’t tell her the truth. That this nightmare was because of you.

"I’ll handle it," you said firmly, though the weight of your promise felt unbearable.

When Asa and Rami’s harassment extended to Nov4’s performances—spreading false rumors, sabotaging their equipment—you’d had enough. You sent a message demanding a meeting, hoping to reason with them.

They replied almost instantly.

Asa : We’ll be there. We’ve been waiting for you to come to your senses.

The meeting took place in an abandoned café after hours. Asa and Rami arrived hand in hand, their smiles unsettlingly sweet.

"You wanted to talk?" Asa asked, her tone mockingly innocent.

"Stop this," you said, your voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Leave Nov4 out of this. Whatever you want from me, I’ll—"

"Whatever we want?" Rami interrupted, smirking. "Y/n, you already know what we want. We want you."

"I can’t—I won’t," you stammered. "This is wrong, and you know it. You have boyfriends, careers—"

"Boyfriends?" Asa cut you off, laughing darkly. "Oh, Y/n. You still don’t get it, do you?"

Rami reached into her bag and pulled out a tablet. She tapped the screen, and a live feed appeared.

Your blood ran cold.

Nov4. The girls were tied to chairs in what looked like a dimly lit basement. They were crying, their muffled screams piercing your heart.

"What—what the hell is this?" you yelled, lunging toward them.

Rami stepped back, holding the tablet out of reach. "Don’t worry," she said sweetly. "We’re just helping you make a decision."

"Let them go!" you begged, your voice cracking. "They haven’t done anything! Please, I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t hurt them!"

Asa leaned in, her face inches from yours. "You say that, but you’re still trying to run from us. Why, Y/n? Why can’t you see we’re meant to be together?"

"This isn’t love," you spat, tears streaming down your face. "This is sick!"

Asa and Rami exchanged a look before smiling.

"Well," Asa said, her tone turning cold. "If you’re not going to choose, we’ll make the decision for you."

She gestured to the tablet, and the camera angle shifted. Two men stepped into the frame—Asa and Rami’s so-called boyfriends. One of them smirked at the camera before pulling out a knife.

"No!" you screamed, your voice breaking as the men approached the girls.

Mina, Hana, Jisoo, and Nari screamed, their cries muffled by the gags. You pleaded, begged, but Asa and Rami just watched, their expressions eerily calm.

The men acted quickly, their movements efficient and brutal. You screamed as the feed went black, the sound of the girls’ cries haunting you.

"You... you monsters!" you yelled, collapsing to your knees.

Asa crouched beside you, her voice a whisper. "Don’t you see? We did this for you. They were in the way."

"You’re insane!"

Rami sighed, her tone almost bored. "You’ll understand eventually. But for now..."

There was an explosion in the distance, shaking the ground beneath you.

Asa smiled. "Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ve served their purpose."

You stared at them in horror as they stood, hand in hand, laughing at the destruction they’d wrought.

You collapsed to the ground, your knees weak and trembling. The weight of it all the screams of Nov4 still echoing in your mind, the sight of Asa and Rami laughing as if they hadn't just orchestrated a massacre-was too much.

"You're monsters," you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Rami knelt in front of you, her eyes wide and filled with a dark kind of love. "We're not monsters, Y/n. We're your salvation."

"You'll understand someday," Asa said, crouching beside you, her voice soft like a lullaby. "This is all for you. Everything we've done is because we love you."

"Love?" you spat, tears streaming down your face. "You call this love? You've destroyed everything! You've killed innocent people!"

Rami tilted her head, her smile unnervingly gentle. "They were just distractions. Now it's just us. The way it was always meant to be."

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms. Guilt and anger warred within you, but the guilt won.

"This is my fault," you whispered, your voice breaking. "If I'd stayed away... if I'd just..."

"You're right," Asa said, her tone calm yet cruel.

"It is your fault. But that's okay. We forgive you."

Rami leaned closer, her breath warm against your ear. "We'll always forgive you, Y/n. No matter what."

You couldn't take it anymore. The weight of their words, the lives lost because of you-it was unbearable. A broken sob escaped your lips as you clutched your head, shaking violently.

"I... I can't do this anymore," you choked out. "I can't..."

Your hand moved instinctively toward your pocket, where you kept a small pocketknife.

Maybe, just maybe, you could end this nightmare.

But Asa was faster. Her hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with an iron grip.

"Ah-ah," she cooed, her voice a mockery of sweetness. "That's not an option, Y/n. You don't get to leave us."

Rami pulled a syringe from her bag, the liquid inside glowing faintly in the dim light. "We thought you might try something stupid," she said with a sigh. "But don't worry, we've got it under control."

Your eyes widened in panic as you struggled, but Asa's grip was unyielding.

"Let me go!" you screamed, thrashing against them. "Please, just let me go!"

Rami's smile never wavered as she pressed the needle against your arm. "Shh," she whispered. "It'll all be over soon."

The sharp prick of the needle pierced your skin, and a cold numbness began to spread through your body. Your vision blurred, the edges of the world dissolving into darkness.

"No... no," you mumbled, your voice weak.

Asa leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear. "You're ours now, Y/n. There's no more running, no more hiding."

"You'll never escape us," Rami added, her voice low and haunting.

As the world faded away, their faces were the last thing you saw-smiling, serene, and utterly unhinged.

"You belong to us," they said in unison, their voices echoing in your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness.

And with that, everything went dark.

The End

[ricciardoracing]

when we were young - CS55

carlos sainz x oc!engineer!character

summary: carlos and sasha were carlos and sasha since birth. but what’s going to happen when he leaves ferrari?

warnings + fc: some translated spanish, 90s timeline totally forgotten and different, isabel slander (i love her im sorry). nicola peltz and gigi hadid

september 1st, 2019

Madrid, Spain

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sashaivanova feliz cumpleaños para el mejor amigo y persona (y conductor) del mundo entero, gracias por ser parte de mi vida desde siempre. te quiero más de lo que las palabras pueden describir.

(happy birthday for the best friend and person (and driver) in the whole world, thanks for being part of my life since forever. i love you more than words can describe.)

tagged: @/carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 mi princesa, no te merezco y nunca lo haré, pero con gusto seré egoísta y te mantendré conmigo para siempre. te amo ❤️ (my princess, i don't deserve you and never will, but i will gladly be selfish and keep you with me forever. i love you ❤️)

charles_leclerc happy birthday mate! @/carlossainz55

landonorris happy birthday muppet @/carlossainz55 ! grateful for having you as teammate ❤️

ivanivanov57 happy birthday son!

isahernaez happy birthday to my love!

user1 anyone else think it’s funny how isabel don’t even follow sasha nor even LIKED the post and yet she’s here commenting

user2 ugh I KNOW “my love”???? okay girl we know he’s yours you don’t have to make a scene

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Back in 92’, when Carlos Sainz was winning his first Rally championship, Ivan Ivanov, a 20-year-old rising star for Scuderia Ferrari, formed a close bond with the rally driver and his family, including his wife Reyes and daughter Blanca. Ivan introduced his girlfriend, 17-year-old model Mariya Orlova, and their relationships flourished.

In 1994, Reyes became pregnant and asked Mariya to be the godmother. Mariya supported Reyes through her pregnancy, and in September, Carlos Sainz Jr. was born. The following year, Mariya became pregnant, with Reyes and Carlos Sr. as the godparents. Reyes and her son frequently visited Mariya during her pregnancy. On September 10th, 1995, Mariya gave birth to Aleksandra Ivanova. From their first meeting as babies, it seemed destined that Carlos Jr. and Aleksandra would one day be together.

As the years passed, Aleksandra “Sasha” Ivanova, a child prodigy, entered mechanical engineering college at 16, in Oxford. In 2015, she became the racing engineer for four-time F1 champion Sebastian Vettel at Scuderia Ferrari, forming a highly successful partnership despite skepticism over her age.

In October 2019, her father, four-time F1 champion Ivan Ivanov, passed away unexpectedly, prompting his daughter Sasha and his godson Carlos Sainz Jr. to miss a race weekend, drawing media attention. Following the loss, Carlos grew distant from his girlfriend, Isabel, and became closer to Sasha, with whom he shared an apartment in Monaco. In October 2020, Carlos ended his relationship with Isabel.

september 10th, 2020

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carlossainz55 happy birthday to my other half and soulmate. i thank my dad every single day for being friends with yours and making us get to grow up together. here’s to many more birthdays together! te quiero mucho, mi princesita.

tagged: @/sashaivanova

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During the pandemic, the tension between Carlos and Sasha grew so overwhelming that their relationship became strained. One evening, Sasha walked barefoot around the apartment with another bottle of wine closed, the McLaren merch with a huge '55' in front being so big that it was used as a dress, her hair half tied up and her face very red. She sat on the couch with her legs on the Spaniard's lap, opening the bottle and taking a big sip. "You know, I was thinking," she began to speak, her voice a little shaky from the drink. "Have you ever thought about what would have happened if we had stayed together?". Carlos looked at her with his puppy eyes and approached her, his hands, which were resting on the couch, touching each other.

"I think about it every day, Sash. You're my best friend." Carlos' voice trembled a little, but it wasn't because of the drink. He got closer, his eyes almost apologizing to her.

Sasha tilted her head to the side a little confused, her hand moving to touch the Spaniard's forehead, "Is everything okay?" She questioned him, worried. Without further words, he closed the gap between them, pulling her for a kiss that was nothing like the fun night they were sharing moments before. This kiss was slow, deliberate, full of the intensity of everything that had been accumulating between them for years. Sasha froze for a second, surprised by how quickly it was, but then she melted in him, her hands squeezing his face while kissing him back with equal fervor. The heat of the fire seemed to intensify as they deepened the kiss, their bodies pressed together, the wine now forgotten.

That night, Carlos and Sasha's relationship went from 'best friends and confidants' to 'best friends, confidants and sweethearts'.

When Ferrari hired Carlos, the first thing they did was inform their love relationship. Fortunately, the team was very receptive and they lived three seasons (and three years) very happily. Until February 2024.

The announcement of Lewis' hiring and Carlos' dismissal was a thud for Sasha. Of course, she would love to work with Lewis, but Carlos was her pilot. He was everything she ever wanted in a pilot and she wouldn't give up on him. Scuderia Ferrari offered her a contract renewal, 5 more years, another jackpot of millions of euros. But Sasha wasn't sure if she should accept, she wasn't sure how that would leave her with Carlos.

After Carlos announced that he signed a contract with Williams, the British team went after Sasha. Of course they would, the Russian girl was brilliant. Absurdly brilliant. But she backed down, not sure if she should refuse Williams' offer and renew with Ferrari.

During the summer break, Carlos was feeling down. He flew back to Madrid, knowing that she would go there as soon as she visited her mother in Monaco. He kept rominating on his thoughts, feeling more and more useless. He would never be enough. Not for Ferrari, not for the Formula world, not for Sasha. Lost in thoughts, he didn't remember that that would be the day she would return to their house.

She entered the house silently, feeling something seemed wrong the moment she came in. The air was heavy, the kind of silence that was restless in his chest. He barely noticed when Sasha entered, very stuck in the spiral of his thoughts.

Sasha was beautiful, brilliant - he thought - everything he dreamed of, but never really believed he deserved it. And just like the team, she had a choice. There would always be someone better, someone who could love her more.

"Carlos?" Her voice broke his thoughts, soft but firm, pulling his gaze to her.

“Hi, cariño, you came home early.” He forced a smile, but seemed fragile, ready to collapse under the weight of everything he couldn't say.

Sasha got closer to him, her footsteps now muffled by the carpet. Her chest tightened when she knelt in front of him, her eyes examining his face with a kind of tenderness that he didn't feel he deserved at that moment. "¿Qué ha ocurrido? ¿Qué está pasando?"

Her voice came out low as she asked, his body shivering from her Russian accent in that rusty Spanish.

"Nothing," he said quickly, the sound empty and shallow. “I’m fine, really. Thanks for asking, mi cielo.”

"Amor," she pressed, her voice firmer this time. Her hand rested slightly on his knee, grounding him in a way that calmed and terrified him. "Please talk to me."

He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze fell on her hand on his knee, her thumb gently brushing against the fabric of his jeans, and his chest hurt.

"It’s just…," he finally murmured, his voice low, almost resigned. He shrugged his shoulders, his lips pressing on a thin line as his thoughts turned. "I’m not feeling good enough for anything today. Ferrari dropped me for Hamilton, I signed with a horrible team… And there’s you."

"Me?," Sasha said softly, her fingers squeezing a little on his knee. He still didn't look at her, and that only made his heart hurt more. "What about me? I always thought you were enough, mi vida."

Without thinking, she reached out, touching his face gently, but firmly enough to force him to look at you. His eyes were cloudy, carried by a storm of emotions that Sasha could barely stand. “Carlos, look at me. Her voice came out firm, almost a plea. He blinked, surprised, as if he didn't expect that determination. "There is no way in hell I’d choose anyone else but you.." The words came out clear, unshakable, loaded with a truth that he seemed reluctant to accept.

Sasha sighed, moving her thumb gently against his cheek. "It was always you for me. I love you, Carlos. Only you."

Carlos didn't hesitate anymore. He pulled her to his lap, holding her waist as if he was afraid of losing her. His forehead touched hers, the breaths mixing, and for a moment everything around disappeared.

Sasha didn't let him say a thing. She couldn't. Instead, she leaned over, silencing him with a kiss. It wasn't soft or temporary - it was all Sasha felt for him, all the love and devotion that the blonde couldn't put into words. Her hands cupped his face, holding it tight while her lips moved against his, spilling everything she had at that single moment.

After they felt the need to breath, Carlos told Sasha every single thing he was feeling. How useless he felt leaving Ferrari, how undeserving of her love he felt, how much of a disappointment he felt he was. Sasha spent the whole night reassuring him of his fears.

He went to bed early, wanting to rest, while she was still on the couch, her laptop on her lap and her hands working violently against the keyboard. That night, Sasha decided that even if her engineering career went down the drain, she would follow him wherever he went. The next day, she called James Vowles, informing him that he could announce her hiring. For the same period of time that Carlos stayed.

In the last race of 2024, as soon as Carlos won a well-deserved P2 in Abu Dhabi, he ran to the barrier where the team was, his eyes desperate until he found Sasha. When he found her, he ran to her, hugging and kissing her, pulling her through the barrier and getting her in front of him. "Proud?" He asked, his voice hoarse from yelling so much at her and the team on the radio.

Sasha left her hands caressing the back of his neck, a smile bigger than the world stamping her beautiful face. "I love you so much, mi vida. I'm so proud, you deserve so much. We're going to rock Williams next year."

Carlos let out a muffled laugh, his hands letting go of her body and taking something in his pocket, a black velvet box, and kneeling. "I don't want to spend another day having to listen to someone calling you 'Miss Ivanova'. Marry me, mi reina. Today, if you want. Please. Let me make you happy forever."

That same night, with Max Verstappen and Lando Norris as witnesses of the marriage and Carlos Sr. delivering her in marriage, as a tribute to her father and his late best friend, Aleksandra Maria Ivanova became Aleksandra Maria Ivanova-Sainz.

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carlossainz55 happy to call you mrs. sainz for the rest of our lives. gracias por nunca renunciar a mí y amarme, la amo, sra. sainz. (thank you for never giving me up and loving me, i love you mrs. sainz)

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lando thank you for letting me be a part of this! i love you both so much 🤍

sashaivanova we love you landinho! thank you for being you

carlossainz55 greatest best man of all time!

maxverstappen1 i love you, big sis @/sashaivanova. tell this dickhead spaniard i’m watching him.

sashaivanova will do, maxie pooh! i love you ❤️ thank you and kelly (and baby p) for coming

carlossainz55 love you too, mate!

danielricciardo happy for you guys! thanks for letting me be a part of it liked by author

charles_leclerc so, so, so happy for you! alex is asking if you liked the present…?

sashaivanova we LOVED it! and i love her

In January 2025, Carlos announced that he and his wife, Sasha Sainz, were expecting their first child, expected to be born in June.

carlossainz55 has made a post!

liked by sashaivanova, alex_albon, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, williamsracing, carlossainzoficial and others

carlossainz55 bebé sainz, junio de 2025. gracias por hacer realidad mis sueños, sra. sainz

(baby sainz, june 2025. thank you for making my dreams come true, mrs. sainz)

sashaivanova ¡te quiero más de lo que las palabras pueden describir! gracias por darme todo lo que quería. (i love you more than words can describe! thanks for giving me everything i wanted.)

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In the 2025 season, Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro, after turning Williams Racing into the strongest team in Formula 1, won his first world championship, with his racing engineer and wife, Aleksandra Maria Sainz by his side.

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lauren’s radio: guys IM SO SORRY for the late fic, i planned on posting earlier but things been kinda busy. ANYWAY, tell me your thoughts on it and if you guys want to see more of carlos and sasha! love you all

[genderqueerdykes]

what's your take on (usually cis but not always) lesbians not wanting to date bisexuals? I never really understood that. I feel like a lot of the reasoning presents as biphobic, plus most of the people I ask shoot me down and call me inherently lesbophobic for not understanding, so I'm not sure how to feel about it

it's really just bullshit and i'm glad you decided to ask!

this behavior definitely has its roots in lesbian separatism. there was a push in lesbian spaces in i want to say the late 80's to early 90's to remove anyone who wasn't a "Woman Loving Woman". they started kicking anyone out who associated with men at all. they also started kicking out butches who were "too butch", trans men, and any other men and mascs who may have attended the space. and they started inventing all kinds of weird words like Womyn and asserting that women and lesbians were superior to everyone else.

it got really out of control. during that time it was really common for lesbians to reject bisexual women, especially if they had ever slept with a man. for. whatever reason. i don't know if they think they get guy cooties by proxy or what, but they were so staunch about it that they would just. refuse to interact with you if you even had friends who were men. it got that bad. they were kicking out bisexual women and people because they were tainted now, or whatever. a bisexual woman was no longer pure or whatever the hell. lesbians and their partners had to be STRICTLY Womyn Loving Womyn or else they don't belong in lesbian spaces. they became SUPER pushy about it being for lesbians ONLY and NOT those "gross filthy bisexuals".

that's why we're seeing this now. we're seeing a resurgence of this rhetoric in real time. radfems are now what the lesbian separatists were back then. same group of people, different name. they change hats every few decades but their politics stay the same. it's dumb as bricks because if you ask me, you're not entitled to know who your partner has been with before they got together with you. you don't need to know that. and it doesn't change anything about you if your partner chooses to date or sleep with multiple genders. it's just petty. they would act like that person was a man now just because they associated with men and would treat them like an icky parasite. it's seriously just unreal how these people think and act. and it's still normalized in lesbian culture to this day

bisexuals can be in lesbian relationships. bisexuals can be lesbians. lesbians can date bisexuals. the world will not come grinding to a halt if a lesbian marries a woman who has slept with men. that doesn't make that person "tainted". people gotta stop with this weird culty bullshit. we're not treating people as individuals anymore. it's gross.