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so-so-woso · 2 years ago

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i wanna be the one | part 1

Edit: Changed title. Thanks to Dru for the suggestion. From the song "Things We Never Say" by the Bad Bad Hats. Great song, potentially relevant maybe who knows.

Summary: Reader is an English-American GK who joins the Arsenal squad and ends up in an interesting back and forth with Leah Williamson. This chapter is mainly set-up for the future. The vibes will probably be very different going forward lol

Warnings: Angst, swallowing self-doubt, and mentions of parental death in the first section.

Word Count: 3,284

London felt just like Seattle. You were expecting it to feel different, more European (whatever that meant), but when you stepped out of the airport and that familiar January rain hit your skin, it was a welcome feeling. It wasn’t quite Home – you hadn’t had one of those in a long time – but it was definitely welcoming, and nice enough that you didn’t bother with an umbrella. It would’ve been hard enough trying to carry one along with all your bags anyway, although by the look on your driver’s face he really wished you had at least tried. It was nice that the team had sent a car to meet you, especially since you didn’t really know anyone here that well, but you supposed they would do that for any new signing. The driver helped you get your bags into the car and then you were off to the club to dot some Is and cross some Ts to make everything truly official.

Wistful thoughts crept into the back of your mind as you were chauffeured through the streets of London, and you decided for the first time in a long time not to fight them. Not here, anyway – not now. Not after everything it took to get you here. Get you here again, technically. You were born in London after all, and raised in Sheffield where your mother had grown up. Your father was an American, from Dallas, who came to England for graduate school and stayed for the woman he fell in love with. He often teased her about “real (American) football” but she converted him to Sheffield United fan, though he would never admit it – at least not until you were born. Match days became a family event as soon as you could stand up on your own, even though you were still too young to really remember anything at that point, but by the time you could run you wanted nothing more than to play. You were always bigger than the other kids so they made you play with the boys, but you knew a lot of the women’s national team players had played on boys’ teams growing up, so you didn’t mind it. You were never upset about that, but you were upset when they made you move to the goalkeeper position when you were eight. It was the boring position and you never got to do anything, but you were the only kid on the team who didn’t seem scared of the ball when it came flying at you, so the job fell to you. Many years later, it would prove to be the right choice, but for a while you thought it felt like a punishment from the universe. Then you found out what that kind of punishment actually felt like.

You were only eleven when your parents died. It was a car accident; your mom was driving. She took the brunt of it and was gone by the time the ambulance arrived. Your dad was in the hospital for two days, but he never woke up. You had been in the back seat. Heavy bruising, a busted ribs, broken collarbone, and a big gash across the side of the head was it for you. You were in the hospital too, for a while. Your paternal grandmother came all the way from Austin to pick you up and take you to live with her. Your mom’s parents had been gone for a while now, and GiGi – what you had called your father’s mother – was all you had left. You had only met her a few times before, but you didn’t really have another option, so across the pond you went.

It would be a massive understatement to say that Texas was different from Sheffield. It was truly a whole different world, but kids are resilient enough. You were famous for a while, because of your accent, and then you were weird for a while, because of your accent, and then eventually you became just one of the kids. Your GiGi was supportive as well, more than you had expected her to be. You didn’t know much of the specifics as a kid, but you knew she and your father had had some sort of falling out and weren’t as close as they had been when he was younger. You always thought it had to do with him choosing to stay in England rather than come home to America. When you got older it seemed like maybe there was more to it than that, but GiGi wouldn’t talk about it. She did help you get into therapy, so that you could learn how to process what had happened and all the big changes that came with it. You didn’t like it at the time, but in hindsight it was probably the best thing she could’ve done. She even started trying to learn about football – soccer – too, because she knew you liked it, and she made sure to sign you up for the local league. You think maybe that time doesn’t heal wounds, but it sort of scabs them over enough that they only hurt when you pick at them, so eventually you learn to stop picking at them, and after that life became kind of normal.

You eventually played soccer in high school – goalkeeper, naturally – and were good enough to get recruited to the University of Texas. From there, the NWSL draft sent you to Seattle for the OL Reign. You spent a season as the third-string goalkeeper, then a season as the second-string, and then were presented with an opportunity you couldn’t dare turn down. It had been Kim Little’s idea, apparently. She had only played with you in Seattle for a month or so, and you never really hung out, but she knew you had grown up in England and that you had really wanted the chance to play football in Europe. She would tell you later that she was impressed with your resilience, something you had heard often growing up, and that you had a “dead brilliant reaction speed” which you guessed sounded good. So when Arsenal’s back-up goalkeeper transferred out and they were weighing their options, she suggested they give you a look. She had said it offhandedly, like it wasn’t a big deal, but you would wager she fought harder for you than she let on. You had only played a handful of games in two seasons, and while you were admittedly good, the offer from the English club still came as a massive surprise. They were up front and adamant about your status as a pure back-up to Zinsberger, and while you would’ve had a decent chance to win the starting spot in Seattle, you just couldn’t say no to European football, to England, to the Arsenal.

That’s how you ended up in the back of a dark car being driven through the streets of north London in the pouring rain. Your fingers fiddled absently at the chain around your neck and the two golden bands that hung from it while you considered everything that led you here, hoping that you made the right choice. Only time would tell, you thought, as the car squealed to a slow stop. You hesitated for a long moment before tucking the necklace under your shirt and moving to exit the vehicle. The driver met you at the car door, an umbrella extended overhead. You were taller than him, so you had to awkwardly bend your neck as he moved to close the door behind you.

“This shouldn’t take long,” he said, “Then we’ll get you home.” You thanked him and stuffed your fists in the pockets of your coat as you followed him up to the club, your stomach slowly rising higher and higher into your throat as the series of decisions you had recently made began to congeal rather quickly into a hard reality. It was some grotesque mix of nerves and excitement and fear that just fully slapped you in the face when you stepped inside the building. You hadn’t felt like this in Seattle, or on the plane, or in the car, but now that you were here, physically, it’s like everything else was physical too. It wasn’t some amorphous Choice floating in the metaphorical ether of your life; it was a foreboding Presence leering down at you, clawing at your shoulders from behind, and whispering ‘you don’t deserve this’ into your psyche. Nausea began to swell up, to the point you were just starting to feel dizzy. Out of instinct you reached forward and put your hand on the driver’s shoulder, who stopped walking to turn and see what you needed. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but was interrupted by a distinctly Scottish, “Oh ‘ey, Tex!” behind you.

You both turned to see Kim Little striding down the hallway, followed closely by Jonas and one of the other coaches. You swallowed hard, all the torturous feelings slowly fading away as you saw a familiar face. “Hey, Little Kim, “ you retorted. She scoffed and faked a jab towards your ribs before she reached up to hug you.

“Welcome to the party,” she said, stepping back to introduce the coaches, who shook your hands. They welcomed you as well and explained that the evening would be brief, they were sure you’d be tired from the flight, but just needed to finalize some things on the business side and then Kim would give a tour of the facilities. You thanked them, probably too many times, and went with them all to finish your paperwork and pick up your official training gear. Your kit wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow since they’d have to put your name on and weren’t sure what number you wanted (you picked 18 because it was available and made sense for a goalkeeper). Kim showed you around, asked about the flight, and made you feel as welcome as she thought she could. It was nice to talk to someone for a while. You weren’t exactly an extrovert, but you were Southern enough you enjoyed being around people, and being able to talk to Kim, even if it was more or less small talk, made you feel better, and by the time the tour was done all of the earlier feelings were forgotten. You started to think that maybe this whole thing was a good idea after all.

“So no rest for the weary – first training tomorrow, yeah? Text me your address and I’ll pick you up. Since you won’t have a car, Uber’s always an option, but until you get sorted, you can get rides with me,” Kim said.

“Sounds good. Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m picking you up extra early tomorrow – the girls’ll want to meet you before kickin’ balls at your head.”

“Well, I guess that’s only polite.”

You both laughed and hugged goodbye before heading your separate ways, you pulling out your phone to look up your new address to send it to Kim. This was a good decision, you thought, this was a good decision.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your apartment – or flat? – was nicer than you expected it to be. You had done a Zoom tour while you were still in Seattle and it looked fine, but you had tempered your expectations to be safe. Turns out, you didn’t need to. It was a two-bedroom and furnished with the basics, so there was plenty of space for you and plenty room to decorate as you saw fit. You had what was sometimes described as an eclectic taste by your friends, mainly because you liked to decorate with things that made you happy. That seems like an obvious thing to decorate with, but you were kind of – literally – a giant dork, which meant you had a lot of “nerd shit” as your friends would tease. You expected the Arsenal girls would do the same if they ever started coming over, but all of that would be a long time coming. Tonight, all you wanted to do was collapse into bed, which is exactly what you did.

Kim wasn’t lying when she said she’d pick you up early. At least she had the decency to bring you coffee, but she was completely taken aback when you admitted you didn’t really drink coffee and actually preferred tea. “Guess there is some English in you after all,” she had joked as she drove. She asked about your night and how you slept, and pointed out all the important-to-know shops and stops between your apartment and the training center. When you finally arrived, you asked her if she accepted tips for her tour knowledge – to which she responded with “only big bills”. You laughed as you retrieved your bag from the back of her car, and the two of you headed in.

The next few days were an absolute blur. You were introduced to everyone, and they all seemed pretty nice. McCabe kept talking about how tall you were, but from how everyone else acted that was normal. Manu was happy to have another goalkeeper in the squad despite the fact you would both technically be competing for the starting spot, even though you were explicitly hired as a back-up. At least it didn’t seem like there would be any weird hurt feelings or anything there, so you were glad for that. All your other time was spent trying to discern personality types and team dynamics, and also actually training. The coaches had told you they wouldn’t expect you to go full on for the first few days to give you time to acclimate to everything. You thanked them, of course, but that didn’t stop you from diving in head first.

By the time your official day three was over, you wished you had taken it a little easier. It felt like jet lag hit you late, on top of the normal physical tiredness of training. But that evening as the team as the team filtered out of the locker room, Katie McCabe slapped you on the back and said, “Drinks on you tonight, mate!” You turned to look at her, but before you could ask, Kim interrupted with a sharp “Katie–“

“Hold on, hold on! I don’t mean a big to-do, but we gotta welcome the newbie right, right?”

A couple of the other players voiced their agreement and Kim rolled her eyes. “Two drink maximum.”

“Four.”

“Two.”

“Three?”

“Two, McCabe.”

“Two and shots?”

“…”

“Two…and shots?”

“…one shot.”

“Fuck yes, best captain ever! You’re riding with us, Y/N!”

A mix of confusion and amusement spread across your face as you looked between the two of them, and Kim just shook her head and waved at you to go with Katie, so you let yourself be pulled away into whatever the night would bring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite telling you that you were paying for drinks, Katie was nice enough to only make you buy the shots, and despite Kim’s hesitance at you all going out mid-week, it was a surprisingly calm evening. You ended up sitting at a table with just a handful of your new teammates. Most of them were joking around with each other, teasing and taunting. You sat quietly, unsure of how inserting yourself into the dynamic would come off. You thought of a few quips throughout the conversations, but made sure to hold your tongue, choosing to sip on your beer instead.

“You always this quiet?”

You glanced over in the direction of the voice, inadvertently locking eyes with Leah Williamson. You knew who she was, obviously – won the Euros and all. What you hadn’t known was that she was even more attractive in person. You didn’t even know that was possible, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise.

“Not usually,” you responded, drawing in a breath. “Just can’t get a word in edgewise with this one goin’ off.”

You gestured towards Katie, who didn’t even register the comment. It did get a chuckle out of Steph and Foord, though, which made you relax a bit. Looking back at Leah, she was still looking at you, but didn’t seem to react otherwise. You paused for a moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek, before deciding to just go for it.

“So in the summer do you ever get a weird tan on your forehead from frowning so much?”

That did draw Katie’s attention; you could tell from the way she practically guffawed.

“Oy, she’s got you dead to fuckin’ rights!” she said, leaning over to elbow at Leah. The Aussies had laughed as well, as did Kim. Leah didn’t look impressed at the remark, but from the twitch of her lips you would swear she was biting back a smile. She had nice lips. Were you staring at her lips? Your eyes flashed back up to hers and she was still looking at you. She would’ve been able to tell where you were staring. That’s…embarrassing. You swallowed hard, and quickly looked away, taking a long swig of your drink. If anyone else at the table noticed the interaction, they didn’t react. Katie started in on you immediately, dragging you into whatever she had been talking about before, and from there you spent the rest of the evening integrating yourself into the team.

The bar was really only starting to fill up when Kim decided it was time for you all to get a move on. There was some light-hearted grumbling, but everyone was professional enough to know how to behave. You had popped into the toilet before leaving, and when you came out of the stall, Leah was washing her hands. You hesitated for a brief moment before moving up to the sink next to her to wash your own hands, the little bit of alcohol you consumed tonight just enough to embolden you.

“Man, Williamson, what kind of a world is this where you’ve got those legs and no rhythm,” you teased, quickly busying yourself with the most thorough hand-wash you’ve ever done so you didn’t have to look over at her and see how poorly she took the remark.

“You spend a lot of time thinking about my legs?”

You froze. It would seem she didn’t take it too poorly at all. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you turned off the sink and turned to look at her. She was staring at you again. Seemed like maybe she did that a lot.

“Yeah, maybe,” you finally said. She hmmed a bit and cocked her head to the side. The glint in her eye was the only thing that kept you from worrying you were being too forward, and you silently prayed it wasn’t a trick of the fluorescent lighting overhead.

“You think you’re being all charming, with your little jokes?”

“No, not really,” you shrugged. “I think I have the personality of a 14-year-old boy and it’s the only way I know how to flirt with you.”

Leah changed at that. Her posture shifted. Her shoulders dropped slightly. The glint in her eye was gone. You fucked up, you thought. You’ve been here for four days and you already fucked up.

You moved to apologize at the same time Leah moved to respond, but both of you were interrupted by the door to the bathroom slamming open and a group of girls rushing in. You turned around and pushed yourself up against the edge of the sink to get out of the way, but Leah dipped her head down and shoved out past them, taking the opportunity to escape without you being able to stop her.

Yep. You fucked up.

#woso #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #woso fanfics #woso x reader #arsenal x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson

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iloveamberfreeman · 30 days ago

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"Oh he's a lot shorter than I expected...."

summary - having a awkward ass conversation with blue beetle as a grocery store cashier.

notes - female reader (but can also be interpreted as gn) / reader doesn't know jaime's blue beetle / fluff / sfw

an - I'm back after like a huge hiatus, srry!! This kinda sucks but remember I'm a 14 yr old so I have the writing skills of a cat 🥀

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You weren't even supposed to be here. Helping out a friend with her part time job wasn't really the best weekend plan you had in mind but that's just the way things go. There you were, standing without a uniform, behind a counter scanning away at overpriced groceries. Beep. Beep. Beep. You fumble for the plastic bags tangled in a rack nearby, trying to make it look like you knew what you were doing. "these shitty ass bags..." You were simply clueless.

After a brief moment of untangling the bags and bagging up five boxes of cereal, a small orange juice, and a box of eggs, you turn back to the cash register. "That'll be 37 dollars and 46 cents." You say, trying to act as cool as possible as if you hadn't cussed out a rack of plastic bags two moments ago. "Cash or card sir?"

The man looks at you, unimpressed, as he digs out his wallet and mumbles bitterly, "Yeah, clearly card.... Who even asks that anymore...."

Literally he can't be talking when he's wearing blue pants and a tight orange shirt, this guy has never heard of color theory.

"uh sorry." You mummer back, tapping your foot against the dusty floor as the guy lazily drags his card against the machine. You've only been here for two hours but it felt like the outside world had gone years without you. The shady windows didn't help either.

After his card finally goes through, he yanks the bags from the rack and staggers away, mumbling something under his breath. Now you're all alone at the register, with pure annoyance practically radiating off of you.

The store was nearly empty, with only a few elder people scattered around wandering away from their children. Or the local rowdy male teenagers.

Occasionally you would see the usual crackhead smoking near the produce section but he was actually chill. Every now and then you gave a brief wave to him, just to acknowledge him. He'd wave back, after taking a long drag of his vape.

Such a boring day. After taking a long sigh and glancing around to make sure there are no more customers you slip your airpods into your ear. If you were going to die of boredom your favorite song should at least be playing.

Of course, the world hates you! Well not really- there was that time you snagged the last bag of rainbow airheads but that barely counts. Not even halfway through the chorus of the song, frantic scrambling and a loud thud can be heard.

Slowly you take out your airpods, gently placing them back in their case. Leaning over slightly, you try to get a better view of the sudden commotion that's happening in the medicine aisle. You're careful not to lean too much in or else with your luck you'd be smack down on the floor.

You take a quick glance up at the ceiling before taking a sharp breath, trying to confirm if what you're seeing is true. A massive pothole size hole was jutting out in middle of the ceiling. The smell of debris and broken ibuprofen bottles, even a flew shelves knocked down. Man what the fuck even happens in El Paso??

You blurt out, "oh my god." Taking in the whole scenery. You never even thought of something like this happening. Sure, El Paso wasn't known for villain attacks like Gotham was but it was still a possibility. You were purely starstruck. Awkwardly you start to wave your hands, trying to get all the customers attention. No way are you leaving the comfort and safety of the cash register.

Gesturing toward the crowd, you yell out, "HEY, GUYS? CAN WE MOVE AWAY....?" Leaning forward a little more, trying to get a better view of the scene, you see your local superhero Blue Beetle. He's scrambling to get on his feet while trying to awkwardly speak over the people.

God, you hate El Paso.

Standing behind the counter awkwardly, you fidget with your fingers, wanting no part in this hot mess. After a few minutes of people fangirling and yelling another employee breaks up the scene, advising people to shop in literally anywhere but this aisle.

Being the noisy person you are, you try to eavesdrop the conversation between the employee and Blue Beetle but the crowd is way too loud and excited for you to catch anything. All that you can hear is the local superhero apologizing every two seconds about the mess and the employee explaining it was, it's literally his job. Clearly this dude was new at the whole superhero gig.

A good three minutes pass and everyone goes back to pretending to be normal, trying hard to not to make it look obvious like they're still staring at him. Well.... you were also part of the problem too. You couldn't stop staring at - No not the employee because he probably wanted you dead after you dropped a box of chocolate puffs, but that damn superhero. It was so awkward seeing a hero in real time.

You didn't feel too bad staring at him since everyone else was doing it in their own way. You could practically see him speed walking in each aisle, tossing things in a basket.

"No way he shops here...." You mutter to yourself, keeping your eyes on him as he wanders around. It was hard fighting the urge to take a photo, then again you really didn't wanna get called out. After all, this wasn't even YOUR job.

Clearly, he must've noticed you staring at him like a dog without a leash, because he just made direct eye contact with you. Well- what looks like direct eye contact, kinda hard to tell if he's looking at you when his mask makes his eyes white. Awkward.

You immediately look down at the floor - or the cash register - or your hands - literally ANYWHERE but him.

Oh my god is he walking over?

Please someone help.

You could see him from the corner of your eye, quicky rushing over to your register. Within thirty seconds of spacing out he was by your register.

you look up at him. He looks up at you. You didn't have an issue with heros, it was just a surreal experience meeting one. This was like meeting Megan Fox. Of course you'd flip out.

You glance at him awkwardly and subconsciously take a small step back, "uh-"

Well, at least you also weren't awkward. He was just standing there too, mumbling under his breath, "hi, ummm, how are you..?"

You just blank out at him, trying to think of what you could possibly say, blurting out stupidly, "I'm fine. What about you?" I mean, sure, it was weird but you still had manners. Even if this conversation was extremely forced.

Quickly he hands you his items. He responds in a more calm tone, still standing like a schoolboy, "I'm fine. I just need some stuff."

You start scanning away at the items, regular grocery store stuff. He was still staring at you, you were still sneaking glances at him each time you grabbed an item. He literally seemed so familiar, but that would be such a weird thing to say. The more you glanced at him the more his mannerisms seemed like one of your friends...

After you scan the last item you bag it up, handing it to him. You tried to seem as poise as possible, but it was kinda hard when he was also looking at you like someone he knew.

"You new here...?" He gestures to your outfit. You sure as hell didn't look like you worked here. He briefly clears his throat and adds with a light chuckle, "NOT in a bad way, I just usually know the people here."

Well you didn't really work here.... If anything you just wanted to go home. "It's a volunteer thing...." You respond back.

"oh. ok."

More awkward eye contact. Pleaseeee, why can't this guy just let you clock out.

"Yeah... Thanks..." He says, checking the bags for a bit. He starts to turn around, before he quickly turns back, adding, "By the way, the road left of here is closed so you'll need to take, uh, the other one."

Dude. What the fuck. You just stare back at him blankly, not even knowing what to say. How did he even know you took that road. Nodding slightly, you just sigh out, "i- thanks...?" And with that he just walked out of the door. At least he didn't break another hole in the ceiling.

You quickly pull out your phone as soon as you see he's out of your view and scroll through your contacts. Calling your friends after meeting a hero is a must, duh. Might as well call Jaime, your little hero obsessed friend to tell him what just happened.

#jaime reyes x reader #jaime reyes #blue beetle x reader #blue beetle #dc x reader #dc characters #dc #dcu #young justice #dc comics #xolo maridueña #fanfic

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friendly-books · 2 months ago

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All systems red Read and Review

@popkin16 this one's for you

Sci-fi time! One of my favorite genres, let’s go!

All system red

“I could have become a mass murderer after I hacked my government module, but then I realized I could access the combined feed of entertainment channels carried on the company satellite. It had been well over 35,000 hours or so since then, with still not much mudering, but probably, I don’t know, a little under 35,000 hours of movies, serials, books, plays, and music consumed. As a heartless killing machine, I was a terrible failure.” pg. 6 Good start to a book and Murderbot has their priorities right

“I was looking at the sky and mentally poking at the feed when the bottom of the crater exploded.” pg. 7 Oh no

“The hostile that had just exploded up out had a really big mouth, so I felt I needed a really big gun.” pg. 8 Flawless logic

“I had lost the armor on the left arm and a lot of flesh underneath, but my nonorganic parts were still working.” pg. 8 Wait so the robot has flesh parts?

“Murderbot aren’t allowed to ride with the humans and I to have verbal permission to enter.” pg. 11 Boo robot revolution let’s go

“Fortunately, the rest of the humans yelled “No!” at the same time, and Pin-Lee added, “For fucks sake Ratthi!” pg. 12 Ha

“Performance reliability at 60% and dropping” pg. 13 Interesting

“(I hadn’t needed the uniform because I hadn’t been patrolling inside the habitat. Nobody had asked for that, because with only eight of them and all friends, it would be stupid waste of resources, namely me.)” pg. 15 Aw poor Murderbot

I assume the robot pov is murderbot

“Are you all right? I saw your status report.” pg. 16 Oh I think Dr. Mensah cares

“Muderbot + actual = awkwardness” pg. 18 Ha

I like Murderbot’s narration

“(He did have kids. He was in a four-way marriage and had seven, all back home with his partners.)” pg. 19 Oh polyamorous cool

“Human clients usually like to pretend I’m a robot” pg. 22 Are you not??

“After a subjective half hour and an objective 3.4 seconds” pg. 23 Ha

“Something’s been deleted from the warnings and the section on fauna.” pg. 24 Ohhh something’s afoot

“It was why, if I forced myself to admit it, I had actually been enjoying this contract, up until something tried to eat me and Bharadwaj.” pg. 24 Aw murderbot kinda likes the crew

“I’m out of practice at controlling my expression. Right now I’m pretty sure it was somewhere in the region of stunned horror or maybe appalled horror.

Mensah sat up, startled. She said hurriedly, “Or not, you know, whatever you like.” pg. 28 Ha

“(I don’t have any gender or sex-related parts (if a construct has those you’re a sexbot in a brothel, not a Murderbot) so maybe that’s why I find sex scenes boring. Though I think that’s even if I did have sex-related parts I would find them boring) pg. 30 I think you may just be asexual and aromatic Murderbot

Wait wait, are all robots sentient? Do they all have government module? I’m concerned

“They had talked it over and all agreed not to “push me any further than I wanted to go” pg. 33 Good for the crew to respect boundaries

“Arada looked like it was just occurring to her that everybody over at DeltaFall might be dead.” pg. 40 Oh no

“The practice is disgusting, it’s horrible, it’s slavery. This is no more a machine than Gurathin is-“ pg. 47 Preach!

So either a creature might have gotten Delta Crew or maybe bad work conditions because the company is cheap or maybe the Secunits went rogue wild guesses

“No one outside, no one answering the comms. Unless they had all jumped in their surface vehicles and gone off on vacation, leaving their Hub and SecUnits shut down, they were dead. Pessimism confirmed.” pg. 52 Dun dun dun

“Also empty, silent, the smell of decaying flesh drifting through the my helmet filters.” pg. 57 Oh no

“There were eleven messily dead humans in the hub” pg. 57 Oh no

“Nobody was touching my humans” pg. 58 Murderbot cares

“To make sure of that I had to kill these two rouge SecUnits” pg. 58 So we’re going with the rouge SecUnits theory

“The dead unit was probably been killed by a mineral survey tool, like a pressure or sonic drill.” pg. 59 Good to know that the humans can defend themselves against the SecUnits

“Then something stabbed me in the back of the neck.” pg. 64 Oh no

“Mensah standing behind it, holding what looked a lot like the sonic mining drill from our hopper.” pg. 65 So cool!

“So I grabbed the handweapon laying on the seat, turned it toward my chest and pulled the trigger.” pg. 68 Ahhh

“My clients are the best clients.

Then hearing came online.” pg. 70 Ha

“This unit was already a rouge. It has a hacked governor module.” pg. 71 Oh no they know

“This Unit has killed people before, people it was charged with protecting. It killed fifty-seven members of a mining operation.” pg. 73 Oh no why?

“SecUnit, do you have a name?”

I wasn’t sure what she wanted. “No”

“It calls itself ‘Murderbot’

“That was private” pg. 75 Gurathin that’s rude and an invasion of privacy

“Ratthi said, “The one where the colony’s solicitor killed the terraforming supervisor who was the secondary donor for her implement baby.”

Again, I couldn’t help it. I said, “She didn’t kill him, that’s a fucking lie.”

Ratthi turned to Mensah. “It’s watching it.” pg. 75 Ha and I love that Ratthi is also a nerd

“I rolled off the table, grabbed Gurathin by the throat and pinned him to the wall.” pg. 76 Oh no

“She’s a really good commander. I’m going to hack her files and put that in. If she had gotten angry, shouted, let the others panic, I don’t know what would have happened.” pg. 76 I like that Murderbot likes Dr. Mensah

“What do we when they come here?”

I said, “Be somewhere else.” pg. 85 Yep

Something is different with Dr. Mensah I’m not saying she’s a space Indiana Jones but she’s different from the rest of the scientists

“(I do think of it as a person,” Gurathin said. “An angry, heavily armed person who has no reason to trust us.)” pg. 87 Gurathin is right tho

“A drone was sending me an emergency signal.” pg. 89 Oh no they’re here

“She was looking a little off to the side, trying not to make eye contact, which I appreciated.” pg. 94 That’s nice of Dr. Mensah

“It would be better if they could think of you as a person who is trying to help. Because that’s how I think of you.

My insides melted.” pg. 95 Awww :)

“You don’t know who we are? They didn’t tell you?” pg. 97 Oh are the scientists important people?

“You don’t need me to look at me. I’m not a sexbot.” pg. 97 No one said you were. Why would you say that Murderbot?

“So he had been testing me.” pg. 98 Smart but what was Gurathin’s plan for if it worked?

“Mensah sent me a private through the feed: I hope you’re all right.” pg. 98 Aw

“There was no rational reason for me to sound like a whiny human baby.” pg. 98 Ha

“I panic all the time, you just can’t see it, I told her. I added the text signifier for “joke” pg. 99 Ha

“Because Dr. Mensah is our political entity” pg. 102 Cool

“They were trying to purge my memory.” pg. 106 I don’t know what’s worse complete memory wipe or only partial memory wipe

“GrayCris” pg. 109 Evil survey team has a name. Could it be a company?

“And then I had a great idea” pg. 111 Well it’s either going to be a great idea or a terrible idea

“Then she nodded firmly and said, “Good Luck” pg. 114 Aw

“The only people I’ve run into who actually want to get into conversation with SecUnits are my weird humans.” pg. 115 They want to be your friends

“I know I said SecUnits aren’t sentimental about each other, but I wish it wasn’t one of the DeltaFall units.” pg. 121 Poor DeltaFall Units

“Unit offline” pg. 127 Oh no

“Shut up,” Mensah snapped, “You shut the fuck up. We’re not leaving you.” pg. 128 Yay!

“Good news! Dr. Mensah has permanently bought your contract! You’re coming home with us!” pg. 129 Yay but maybe talk to Murderbot about what it wants

Pin-Lee is a lawyer? Why did the crew bring a lawyer with them?

“three maternal partners” pg. 135 Mensah is polyamorous

“Guardian was a nicer word than owner” pg. 136 Ouch, let’s go robot rebellion

“I don’t know what I want. I said that at some point, I think. But it isn’t that, it’s that I don’t want anyone to tell me what I want, or to make decisions for me.” pg. 137 Yes!

“That’s why I left you, Dr. Mensah, my favorite human. By the time you get this I’ll be leaving Corporation Rim. Out of inventory and out of sight.

Murderbot end message” pg. 137 Aww Dr. Mensah is Murderbot’s favorite human :)

Final thoughts

I enjoyed the book. I liked Murderbot and I thought it was funny. I like Dr. Mensah. I want there to be a robot rebellion. No Bi moments as Murderbot is asexual and aromatic but I’m sure I can make a list of something about Murderbot. I do wish we got more interaction between the crew and Murderbot. Onto Artificial Condition

#the murderbot diaries #all systems red #murderbot #dr mensah

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paradiseinternet · 3 months ago

Text

I Hate Tony Stark: Chapter Four

pairing: Tony Stark x Soulmate!Reader

word count: 4.9k

triggers: foul language, childhood trauma, poverty.

author's note: another chapter in the bag :)

Chapter Four: Many Familiar Faces

The walk back to the motel room felt agonizingly long, even if it only took a maximum of ten minutes all together. As you entered the lobby again for the third time that night, she had less of an expression of confusion, and more one of shock. It could be assumed that this was because not everyone got to see Iron Man land right outside the doors of their workplace. Her eyes said a million things that you preferred not to answer, so you swiftly made your way up the flights of stairs after hanging up the raincoat and hat.

He had let you go without so much as a word, in fact, he left you before you left him. You thought it would be hard to walk away as his eyes bore holes in your back, but this difficulty faded as he reentered his suit and flew away into the night sky.

It took a few moments after watching him fly off to put your thoughts in an order you could understand for later deduction. You always liked to imagine your brain to be an office building with neat manilla folders and grey cubicles. Although the entire filing cabinet you labeled as “Soulmate” just expanded and will be needing an additional area for storage. Very little things required more than a single manilla folder. In fact, you can list on one hand what subjects have a metal cabinet to itself. Relationships (because they’re complicated), Soulmate (because the whole situation is complicated), Family (this wouldn’t require a section to itself, but you keep avoiding reorganization), and The Future (which isn’t complicated, but you aren’t entirely sure what you want to do in the end game so there’s a lot of suggestions).

And so, after reorganizing a little bit in the middle of a cool New York night, you went back to the comforts of your temporary room. After everything you can’t help but feel a little dirty. You have gone up and down those stairs one too many times (even if you weren’t present for every instance). Additionally, being on the streets with socks on aren’t exactly the most sanitary precautions. There’s the option of taking a shower, but between being physically and emotionally exhausted, you choose to sleep. Besides, you don’t have work tomorrow so you can spend that time thinking about what to do now that the largest weight on your shoulders is not going to bother you anymore.

Sleeping under the covers felt like it would be putting you at high risk for bedbugs, so you chose to sleep on top of the bed instead. As a blanket you took the towel you used for your shower earlier along with an extra that was lying around. Your arm was used as a pillow after determining that the backpack would be too bumpy.

Sure, you could go back to your studio and be somewhat more comfortable there, but it would be a waste of money to buy the room and not use it. Besides, now you have a new supply of complementary soap, shampoo, and conditioner for the apartment when you get back.

Now if your next-door motel residents could just be a little quieter with their activities, that would be swell. But hell, this was a two-star motel for a reason.

Getting up wasn’t so bad, sure you have slept in better ways and places, but the beautiful thing about being groggy is that your mind has yet to calibrate for the previous events. The entire exchange didn’t register in your brain when you were packing up your stuff, nor when you ransacked the entire room for freebies. It still hadn’t surfaced even as you left the motel ten to eleven (because you need to get your money’s worth). In fact, it wasn’t until you were halfway through the bus ride back did it hit you like a ton of brick. The sheer force of the information was enough for you to give a verbal “OH MY GOD” to all the people on the bus. Naturally you didn’t intend to be caught so off guard, but with-it being New York, nobody paid you any attention. Not that you were worried about onlookers right now, you had other things to attend to.

Everything from that point on was a blur. Because of this, you got off at the wrong stop and had to backtrack to your apartment. Somehow when you did get there you took the elevator to your floor and managed to fish out your keys. Before you could however your neighbor across the hall managed to catch you.

“Dere yuh are! I was wonderin’ if yuh had gotten kidnapped,” said a gruff voice from behind you.

David is one of those old guys who have a rough exterior but a soft interior. He is bald with wrinkles to show he has frowned for most of his life. Although you can’t see them at this moment, he has several tattoos on his body, the most notable being the sleeve on his left arm. From how he explains it, he used to be on the bad side of New York since he was a kid up until his mid-20s but turned his life around after spending some time behind bars. Once he got out, he joined a biker gang and went to work. He had retired from being a mechanic at the age of 64 and has been enjoying retirement ever since. Never had kids, never had been married. Sometimes you think he talks to you because he wants to see if he was missing out on the whole no-kids thing.

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you. Just decided to spend my special day elsewhere,” you replied, head still in the clouds.

“Ah, yuh got married?” He inquired, trying to catch a glimpse at your hands from where he was standing in his doorway. “Who’s dah lucky fella?”

The two of you don’t talk too much, just when one or the other gets lonely. So as far as he knows, you could be married. He doesn’t broach the relationship topic too much, taking you to be a loner (which he isn’t wrong).

You chuckled absentmindedly, “Ah, yeah, no. Just my birthday.”

He hums in acknowledgement and asks, “Was it alright, or what?”

How does on respond to that when it was absolutely not “alright”? The same way you respond to everyone when you don’t want people to pry into your life.

“Yeah, same old same old.”

Just then you felt a very sharp burst of electricity, like you had accidentally touched a person who had been rolling around on a carpet. This feeling was rather familiar, but you haven’t had it since you were barely 16 years old. Then again, he hadn’t met you until last night. The only thing he needed was a clear picture of your face, which his suit no doubt provided. If you have to guess, he is digging up information about you at this very moment and just now he has found out and said your name. This possibly may be your biggest nightmare. One screw up on your part of assuming you were never going to do a body swap again and look where that has gotten you.

“Well yuh missed quite a stir. Yuh with me? Shit was blowin' up and people were everywhere. Right?” He explained as if the entirety of New York wasn’t there to witness the same events on the screen.

You responded to him with a slight twitch, trying not to show the effects of the light shock as you started to walk into the studio, “I’ll try not to miss it next time, sounds eventful.”

Just as you locked the door behind you, you threw your backpack in no particular direction and pressed your back to the door as you slid down it. You buried your head into your hands as you curled up on the cold plastic tile floor.

That pull from last night is now an aching in your heart, like a nasty bruise that appears with no cause of origin. It reminded you of a string that is strained and has become weaker, its threads taring one by one. This isn’t a pain that is unbearable, but it is certainly stronger than what it felt like last night. No doubt this is connected to the conversation you had with him, but you’ve never heard of symptoms like this. If you had managed to somehow break the bond, then your heart should be in an astonishingly high amount of pain, yet it is not. Perhaps this is the sweet spot, a feeling that doesn’t go away, but one you can survive. Afterall, if there was a soul break you’d most likely have black ooze coming out of every hole in your body and be dead in the near future, just like your mother. Instead, you feel lonelier than normal with a touch of painful annoyance. If this is the price to pay, so be it. Fate or not, you cannot love that man—for both your sake, and your parent’s.

Lifting your head up you find your vision to be blurry, not realizing that you had been crying. How odd, why are you crying? You felt your tears and looked at one on your finger to make sure it wasn’t black. Upon quick inspection you find there was no color other than the crystal-clear liquid that leaks out of your eyelids.

You got up off the ground as you came to the realization that you haven’t eaten anything today. Now that you think of it, you haven’t had a true meal since yesterday afternoon (because ice cream does not count as a meal).

The kitchenette is just to the right of the entrance, so you trudge across the murky yellow tiles and over to the off-white fridge. Opening it you find a half-eaten jar of pickles, the end pieces of some white bread you bought discounted the other day, a small stack of American cheese slices, and a singular hot dog. Giving up on the fridge you go over to the cabinet that is almost ready to fall off the wall and find a nearly empty container of peanut butter along with some packets of honey you’ve snatched from Popeyes. You already know your ramen supply is out and with the given choices, you make the decision not to make a disgusting concoction and instead head over to the grocery store. It’s been over a week since your latest grocery run, and even the last time could barely be called proper shopping. In an attempt to save money you’ve been restraining your diet. Not the healthiest, sure, but necessary to keep the heat on. As of late your consumption has consisted of ramen, pasta, soup, and beans with rice. You’ll be excluding soup from your diet soon since it’s May, and the weather is finally warming up.

The thought of going back out into society was a little draining, but that might just be hunger talking. Without further consideration you grabbed your wallet and keys that you left on the floor by the door and headed out.

Making your way to the store isn’t so bad, it happens to be within walking distance—well, most of everything is within walking distance. The only thing that put you off was the feeling of being watched. But on a positive note the area isn’t too crowded, so you won’t be bothered by too many crying children and instead be around the elderly whom of which enjoy shopping in the middle of the day.

Your list isn’t very long, so short in fact that you didn’t even need to keep a list. This proved to be a mistake when by the end of your shopping trip you had concluded that something was missing. No matter, you’ll remember when you get back home.

When getting to the counter you crossed your fingers hoping you had enough money in your account to afford everything. However, this wasn’t the case. If it weren’t for the cost of rent and your low-paying position, maybe you could buy everything you needed, but today just isn’t the day and you don’t get your next check for another three.

“How much more do I owe?” You ask in the way that many people ask when they’re short. Desperate, but mostly embarrassed.

The man behind the registered looked at his little screen on the register and replied, “The remainder is $32.56.”

Yikes, you could’ve sworn you had more money in the account than what it took off. Your total was a little over 70 because you were being frugal, and this trip was going to feed you for the next two plus weeks (hopefully). Thankfully prices have been going down ever since the housing market crashed a little over a year ago, but it still isn’t enough.

After storing your card back into your wallet, you went to look for any cash you had on hand. Finding a ten-dollar bill, you decided that was all you could fork up and will need to figure out what items you’ll need to give back. You weren’t willing to use a credit card considering the current cost to take on debt.

However, as you started to hand the cashier the money, a thick hand blocked your path.

“It’s alright, I got it,” said the voice to your left with a crisp 100 being passed over to the clerk.

Looking at the masculine voice next to you, you began to refuse until you took in his appearance. The man wore a nicely ironed suit with black tinted glasses covering his eyes. His hair was slicked back which exposed his minorly receding hairline. If it weren’t for how his face was structured, you wouldn’t have been able to tell if he was pudgy or very muscular. Spoiler: he’s pudgy.

Instead of refusing his kind gesture, you were so caught up in his familiarity that the transaction was already complete by the time you came back to.

“I—wow. Okay, thank you! That was incredibly kind but unnecessary,” you thanked gratefully.

He gave a very, very small smile, “It’s alright miss, I assure you that it was very much necessary.”

Why is he so familiar?

You chuckled lightly, “If you insist. Thank you, again, for your generosity.”

“Your gratitude is not mine to take, but I’ll be sure to pass it along,” he said as he turned back to the cashier as his single item was rang. It was some fancy looking whiskey.

Just as you were about to walk away with your arms filled with grocery bags, you turned back around and asked, “What’s your name?”

He looked back at you and replied, “Just call me Happy.”

Put off by the weird name, you continued your way out of the store and made your trek back to the apartment. Initially there was no sensation of being watched, but it came back after walking a block. However you brushed this off because everyone is being watched, it’s a busy city after all.

Ramen, what a delicacy. Except ‘delicacy’ isn’t the word you’d use as you slurp up the familiar chicken-flavored cardboard. More fitting words would be necessity, sodium, and empty calories. But this is life, and you are grateful to that man, Happy, for allowing you to buy everything you had picked out. Thanks to him, or more so the secret sponsor that was funding his choice, a quarter of your fridge is full and half of your cupboard has food. Granted, you have many cupboards (five to be exact), but when you can barely fill one up, what’s the point of using the others? So, you sat on your bed while gazing out at the blue sky through your window as you slurped up the noodles.

That earlier sensation of being watched disappeared instantly as you entered your building and hasn’t returned since. Not that you were missing it, of course. The sensation of being watched is always unnerving so with it being gone you felt more at ease. Now, you had the rest of the day to do absolutely nothing . . . or clean. You could do that. But that sounds like it requires motivation, which is something that just isn’t coming to you right now.

New day, same pain. Getting out of bed was a bit of a struggle. This is not a foreign issue to you, but it certainly hasn’t gotten any better over the past few days. It’s been years since you’ve gotten a solid night’s sleep without needing to get up for a glass of water. Sometimes you’ll just lay in bed after having woken up and do nothing. You could always see your ceiling due to the light pollution, so occasionally you’d make out weird shapes in the paint until you pass out. Trish claims that waking up a couple of times a night consistently is a sign of depression, but you fail to see the connection. Afterall, this has been a habit of yours ever since the incident.

Getting ready for work isn’t so hard, all you need to do is pin your hair out of the way, freshen up, and get dressed in the assigned uniform. The uniform is a T-shirt with the coffee shops logo on it. With it being so local, the dress code is a little more lenient to your delight. However, with you being the manager, you’re required to wear slacks and not jeans unlike the other associates. To be honest, you’re not entirely sure why you’re a manager. The increase in pay is nice and you think you’re doing your job just fine, but the owner is always on-site so there’s really no need for other management. But hey, whatever keeps your pay the same.

The café is within walking distance, because again, most things you need in New York are. In total it takes you almost thirty minutes to get there, which is not bad considering you don’t have a car. Although in a big city it’s not always great to have a car since with traffic it can take the same amount of time to get to point B as it would on foot. Normally the walk wouldn’t be so bad, but today you’re running late.

Squeezing by the pedestrians on the street, you hurry your way to the coffee shop. Your shift starts at nine in the morning and it’s currently 8:53. This wouldn’t be an issue if you only had a few minutes left of the walk, but you’re currently at least fifteen minutes away. Keeping at your typical pace would result in almost a 10-minute tardy punch-in, and that just won’t do. So, time to make up some for some time.

There’s a shortcut you take in between an alley that you don’t normally go through since it requires you to climb a fence, but you’re under pressure. Jerking left you jumped over a knocked over trash can and jogged over to the previously mentioned fence. Getting a grip on the metal wire you then climb over. The second part is more fun as you jump off on the other side with the short burst of adrenaline one receives when falling from a high place.

Your forehead is beginning to sweat but that isn’t something a damp paper towel can’t fix at work. Besides, sweat right now is not your largest concern. You glance down at the watch nicely situated on your left wrist, the one that is hiding his name from society. Typically you’d use a couple of scrunchies or hair ties to cover it up, but today you decided on a thick watch. In times past you thought about getting a tattoo over his name and hope that it covers it up good enough, but the risk of the artist spreading the word of who your soulmate is prevented you from doing so in the past.

‘This is not what I need to be thinking about right now,’ you reminded yourself.

The watch told you that there were only four minutes left until punch-in time, and you still have at least nine minutes to go. That means you need to make up for the five minutes difference.

Pushing your glutes to the limit you bolted to work while accidentally hitting into people on the way. However, the more you ran, the harder it was getting to focus. The ache in your heart was acting up again even though it has been slowly going away over the past hours. Nevertheless, the feeling is powerful enough to make you lose your concentration and bump into someone with a force strong enough to make you almost fall over. Thankfully whoever it is isn’t as easily swayed as they remain a standing structure while catching you. Reorienting yourself, you give a half-assed apology and go to keep making up lost time when you briefly caught a glimpse at the mans face.

So, now you’re stunned while standing in the middle of the busy street just gawking at this man. This man, whom of which, you distinctly remember being on the rooftop with you the other night after the body swap occurred. You didn’t get his name, but this is most certainly the same person.

“Hey, you good?” He asked, breaking you out of your hypnosis.

Hesitantly, you nodded. Then you turned and walked away, realizing that he doesn’t recognize you because you weren’t in your body at the initial time of meeting. The thought is surreal, meeting someone but not actually meeting someone. But pretending to be a complete stranger is for the best, for your sake.

Unfortunately you don’t make it to work on time, arriving three minutes late. On the other hand, the owner doesn’t seem to be in the building yet, which means you won’t get a headache until he checks the timestamps. To clarify, the owner isn’t a mean guy, he’s just particular about what hill he would like to die on.

“Hey! How was your birthday?” You hear Trish from behind the counter.

She must’ve been the opener for today, which means she’s been here since five. How she can remain cheerful after getting up so early is beyond you.

“It was eventful,” you lightheartedly replied.

The less she knows, the better. The less everybody knows is for the best. The sooner you forget, the quicker it all goes away. Following these three easy steps will hopefully result in successfully terminating the existence (or thought thereof) of your soulmate.

Looking around you do a quick headcount and find the café is slower than usual. Probably because of the mayhem that happened at the expo, and with it being so close, there is no doubt some debris still being cleaned up.

“Yeah? Isn’t your studio near the expo?” She offhandedly asked.

You walk towards her behind the register as you then explained how your birthday went while keeping out all the parts about your soulmate. Hopefully by explaining how uneventful your entire vacation was, she’d lay off a little. This unfortunately had the opposite effect as she then rushed you and grasped your arms, successfully pinning them to your body. She’s little taller than you, enough to loom over you and get right up in your face

“A motel? As in the same motel that Tony Stark’s soulmate was spotted at?!” She nearly yelled.

Your heart dropped. Did she know? Did everyone know? Who was the snitch? You bet it was that receptionist, what a bi—.

‘Stop it, if your face was captured then she would’ve already known it was you, calm down,’ you reasoned.

“Uh, I don’t know?” You said while trying to be as vague as possible. “Who’s his soulmate?”

Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious.

She squealed like some schoolgirl who gets to spill the latest gossip, “That’s the thing, no one knows. The news has been flying off the wall ever since yesterday about conspiracies on who she is. Apparently, Mr. Fancy Pants flew over to her in front of a motel to meet her.”

Trish took a breath of air then continued, “But whoever tipped the news couldn’t get a good picture because the area was whether too bright or too dark. And you know how it is when an area is too dark. ‘But Trish! How can it be too bright if it’s too dark?’ Thanks for asking!”

Another breath. You apparently asked the wrong question; she can go on like this for days.

“The person who took the photos said that the light was emitting from the playboy and the lady, meaning they have that glowing SIA. But it went away after she, get this, slapped his hand away! That same person said they couldn’t make out what the conversation was about, but it didn’t look good.”

You were in too much shock to make an expression of fake shock, which resulted in you making an actual face of shock. This worked in your favor as Trish continued.

She almost snorted, “I know right, who does she think she is? If you happen to be the soulmate of the literal richest person in the world, why the hell would you treat him like that? If she doesn’t want him, I’ll take him. I mean, for one he’s a superhero, two he’s ultra wealthy, and three he’s ultra wealthy. And yes, I know two and three are the same, but it’s good to highlight important points.”

You do, in fact, happen to be the soulmate of the richest person in the world. But to you, his wealth holds no value and you’re not going to bend your back for someone like him. If it weren’t for this secret that you wish to take to your grave, you’d have explained to her that he is all hers.

The doorbell above the entrance chimed signaling a new customer. Trish half-heartedly glanced up at the person before returning her stare back to you.

“We’ll continue this conversation—,” what conversation? “—after I take this guy’s order.”

Then she released her grip to help the person who sat down towards the corner of the room. You, on the other hand, are still in shock. What tore you out of your mental state was the television lighting up, broadcasting the exact headline Trish was talking about.

“WORLD-RENOWNED PLAYBOY REJECTED?”

This is turning into a literal nightmare, and you’d like to wake up now. Everything that is happening is the exact reason why you didn’t want to met him. Well, not exactly, but it’s mighty good motivation to avoid him. You don’t feel like giving him your sob story, so saying “I don’t want to be famous” is a plausible excuse.

Just then you felt someone pat your shoulder as they passed by.

“Table 16, the person who just walked in, is requesting you specifically,” Trish informed as she went to ground some coffee beans.

You pointed at yourself and clarified, “Me?”

“Uh, yeah? I didn’t know you had any regulars, but kudos to you,” she released a snicker. “Besides, he looks like a sugar daddy in the making, work it girl.”

Not many things make you blush, but that got a rise out of you, barely tinting the tops of your ears which thankfully didn’t spread to your face. However, her statement did leave you a little confused. You have one regular, but she is not a he and doesn’t even come in at this time. Nor does she sit in that corner because (according to her) it’s a little too off-putting for her tastes and it’s away from where she can people watch from the windows.

Regardless, you make your way over to the corner of the café, pen and paper already in hand. The accessories are really just for style because you’ll typically make the order yourself and people don’t generally buy so much that you can’t keep track. But it comforts the buyer knowing that you’re paying attention and wanting to get their order right.

Reaching the table, you put on a smile and look down towards the man at the 4-person table. He is wearing tinted sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low. The back of your mind says he’s vaguely familiar, but there aren’t enough shown features to confirm the stipulation.

“Hello sir, my name is (Y/N) and I’ll be your server today. How are you this morning?” You ask in the fake enthusiastic stereotypical customer service voice.

Being a waitress isn’t your job; it never has been. You’re a barista, someone who makes the drinks and occasionally warms up pastries. But with the café being an open-floor layout, not everyone wants to order from the counter and that’s fine. Besides, those who sit down and want to be served typically leave tips, while those who come up to the counter don’t. So, although you aren’t a waitress, the tips are nice to have once in a while. However, you’re about to find out that this is a tip you’d be fine missing out on.

“Not too shabby,” he said as he looked up to you. His voice was smooth as brandy and polished like a granite countertop with a hint of confidence. If it wasn’t for your instant dawning, you’d have been breathless just from the sound of his immediately recognizable voice.

Instead, you let out a small whine mixed with a drop of dread, “No . . .”

This isn’t just a sugar daddy in the making, he’s your fated sugar daddy!

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aliregression · 10 months ago

Note

Little!Chris and little!Nate in the grocery store and they end up wandering off together and getting lost

Lost and Alone

Ship: Little!Chris X Little!Nate X Fem!Reader (platonic or romantic doesn’t matter to me!)

Summary: Chris and Nate got lost at the story and are scared

Warning: Lost and alone! Some tears! Happy ending!

A/N: We are just going to say reader and Nate live in L.A with the triplets!

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

The house fridge and cabinets where empty with nothing but soda and seasoning. So you decided to go grocery shopping, although your littes are clingy and in headspace, so you decided to bring them along. After all what is the worst that can happen?

You had went to school with the triplets and Nate, which is how you met them and became best friends with them. Soon after you found out about Chris and Nate regression and became their caregivers.

You love your babies! They are so precious to you and without them your live seems so dull. So when the triplets decide to move to L.A you and Nate had to go as well.

Being the only girl in a house full of boys is a lot, and, well, they aren’t the best cooks either. So you cook while the boys do the cleaning. Which leave you to grocery shop as well because the boys never know what to buy.

You were currently looking at the frozen foods, knowing your littles love frozen food. You had the grocey list in one hand and making sure you had everything.

The boys where bored and saw ice cream in the aisle over so they didn’t see the problem with just looking at the ice cream, to try and convince you they need ever flavor their is.

But when they came back to the frozen foods you where no where to be found. Chris and Nate got scared and sat down on the floor and started crying.

“Mama! I want Mama!” cried Chris hoping you appear out of thin air, which you didn’t. Nate being a year (in headspace) older then Chris stood up and whiped his tears. “We have to go find her Chris” Nate said and grabbed Chris hand pulling him up.

Off they went running (which they know is a no but had to find you) around the store. But it felt like walmart was bigger then they thought. They knew you where with the food. You strictly said food only.

After realizing your babies weren’t following you after heading to checkout you speed over to the groceries section looking for them. You went through every aisle of the section not finding them. You knew they left their phones with you because they never use them in headspace.

The boys were having bad luck finding you as well. It felt like you where never going to come get them so they started crying sobbing and calling for you, hoping you appear.

You were in the aisle next to your boys, you heard their sobs and ran to the aisle they where in. You saw them and picked them up, not caring for the looks you where getting. You were just glad they were safe.

“Mama! Mama!” Nate cheered whipping his tears away. “Im so sorry sweethearts I didn’t realize you two where gone and I should have realized sooner.” You said and placed them back on the ground holding their hands.

“We shwuldn’t hwve rwn away” Chris said feeling smaller now after the scare they had. “We just wanted to see the ice cream Mama- we are sorry” Nate said giving you a pout. “Its okay now sweethearts, just don’t do it again” you said to them and they nodded agreeing

You looked around the aisle your in realizing your in the ice cream aisle, you chuckled to yourself and let your boys each pick out two different types of ice cream they want. After all they deserve it.

You hold their hands and they push the buggy to the check out. They almost ran into someone, and you apologized but let them push the shopping cart anyways. Once yall checked out and got into the car you made a promise to yourself to let Matt or Nick deal with the shopping now.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

If this is bad its not proof read im sorry :,)

#age regression #age regressor #agere blog #agere community #agere little #sfw agere #age re blog #age re safe space #age regressive #safe agere #nate doe #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets

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alwaysonf1 · 2 years ago

Text

beauty and brains?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning: Mild Language.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: N/A

Though the game the night before had them arriving at their hotels late production had them up at what felt like the ass crack of dawn.

Charles fought for his life to wake up and was happy he’d thought through pre-ordering room service because it arrived not long after his shower. He ate his food in silence, sleep still clinging to him and the coffee they sent not doing much to help bring him back to life. A late night didn’t usually do this to him, but he thought maybe despite his early arrival to Louisiana the jet lag may still have gotten to him.

He tosses the covering for his breakfast back onto the plate and sits back on the couch. His phone vibrates and though he’s half asleep and wanting to stay that way he picks it up, barely noticing it’s a call before he puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he asks, voice cracking.

“Hello?” Daniel mimics. “Open your door.”

If Charles had it in him, he’d roll his eyes, but he hangs up and pulls himself off the couch with a groan. He undoes the locks and the door swings open, nearly knocking him over as the three men walk into his room like it’s their own space.

Daniel takes his spot on the couch while Carlos and Alex take the other two. Charles gives them all a look, but besides Alex, who looks sheepish, they look as if they’ve done nothing wrong at all. It’s a losing battle, so he sighs and plops down into the love seat perpendicular to the couch.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Carlos shrugs. “We were up and restless, thought we’d come here and wake you up if you weren’t.”

“Well, I’m awake.”

“And we’re bored,” Alex says.

A second eye roll in what has been less than two minutes. He enjoys spending time with these guys, more so with how much closer they’ve become due to filming. But they were also annoying in the way friends could be.

“You cannot entertain yourselves?”

“We can, but we were talking, and we know you’re still as mind blown by this as the rest of us. Who knew Lewis had a secret sibling,” Daniel says.

Carlos nods. “And that she’s American.”

All of them nod in agreement, because even if that isn’t at the forefront of Charles’ mind it is something that they couldn’t have seen coming. They got to speak to her a little after the game before she was whisked off elsewhere and her accent threw him off. It wasn’t the one you default to for Americans, but it was clear that it belonged to some section of this country. Her mother’s was the same, which is why it was a little silly that they weren’t prepared to hear it come out of her.

To be fair to them there was a lot to keep up with this.

“Yeah, that shouldn’t have been a shock. But hey, there was a lot going on. That dancing though, it’s like things I’ve seen before, but not. Ya know? I asked Lewis and he said they’re called majorettes. I looked it up last night and it’s almost always this good. Especially since little Hamilton became captain, people sing her praises. There’s one that has millions of views on twitter alone. I’ll send it later.”

The others speak amongst themselves, and Charles feels his mind wander off. He thinks about how confusing and brilliant last night was. Every part of it. He’d never watched American football on a college level, and it was as entertaining as at a professional level. Then the band was in peak form. It got his brain working on music again in a way it hadn’t in a while. And of course, the dancing. If that was what the majorettes had to offer, then he was eager to see what else they had going on.

“I’m a little surprised that’s how they decided to let us meet her. Lewis seems to be the protective type and that could have gone either way,” Carlos says.

“He trusts us not to be weirdos, even if he didn’t, we wouldn’t have been stupid enough to say anything on camera for everyone to see. You know F1 will put out anything, even if they have to apologize for it later,” Charles says.

Daniel snatches a bottle of water from the table and nods. “Plus, I’ve seen that man win multiple championships and I have never seen him prouder and happier than that. He clearly supports her and would want to showcase her talent.”

“True, but I wonder what that means for today. I’m guessing it’ll be something school related. If they have me do school work under pressure,” Alex says.

“Like Carlos when he forgot that he should be able to drive an F2 car.”

“Hey!”

They all descend into laughter, while Carlos glares at them, arms crossed, and eyes clearly showing he’s not here. Probably imagining how he panicked himself so much it was like someone asked him to drive Nascar.

A knock on the door puts a stop to the laughter and without a word they all gather their stuff and head toward it. Their main producer, Anne, is there and she looks worried. Then she notices the number of people and Charles watches her relax.

“Time to load into the van, everyone.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Daniel says.

They head out of the room, and with the weird speed of the elevator, are in the lobby in less than a minute. Lewis and Lance are huddled together laughing and some of the production crew linger around talking in groups. When everyone sees them, they head out to the vans awaiting them.

When they get in Daniel and Lewis take the first row of seats while Alex takes the front and the other three in the back. The moment the seat belts click the cars are moving and Charles watches Daniel lean over to Lewis with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Any clues?”

Lewis looks contemplative and then he laughs.

“Hm… prepare to feel dumb.”

Daniel laughs. “So regular day at work?”

“You have no idea.”

From there it’s silence, but the kind where you can tell everyone is still a little tired. All their starter energy exerted, so now they need a moment.

It’s being tired and wanting to prepare himself for Charles. He went in yesterday with so little and he knows it showed, but he wants it to be a little different this time. There can be shock, but he doesn’t want to seem like anything they do and what she’s there to show them is something he didn’t expect of her. He’d hate to seem like he has any preconceived ideas of who she is. People who don’t like him would latch onto that and misinterpret, and there’s a possibility Lewis might too, but mostly he doesn’t want to offend.

After twenty minutes of mindless scrolling, they pull up to a building. From their surroundings it’s clear that this isn’t where they should park, but it’s clearly been made so that if one needs to it can.

Everyone piles out of the vehicle. And despite being the one who should get up first of the three, his friends are children who push him down and get out before him. Charles is on his third eye roll of the morning and the last to get out. And just as he does Iman emerges from the building and stands at the top of the steps with a smile. Today she’s in utility pants and a shirt that has a familiar emblem on it.

“You're late,” she shouts.

“You told me eight, it's seven forty-five,” Lewis yells back.

“True, but I’ve had a man in here squealing about meeting a seven time champion and multiple F1 drivers. Have mercy on a girl who was forced to take an eight a.m. in her last semester will you?”

Everyone laughs at that, and they walk up the stairs toward her. She waits and then turns toward the building, but she pauses and turns around to face them.

“Where are my manners?” she asks, then points at Lewis, “And yours.”

“What did I do?”

She rolls her eyes and turns toward the other five drivers with a smile that makes Charles give her one of his.

“I know all of you know my name and I yours, plus we kind of met last night, but let me properly introduce myself. I’m Iman Hamilton, little sister of this dweeb, captain of the SU Dancing Dolls, and a college student on her last semester close to losing her mind.”

She steps toward Carlos, hand out, and she shakes his. He gives a small greeting, and she goes down the line to each of them doing that. As Charles takes her hand, he notes her hands are soft, but the shake is firm.

“I’m Charles, it’s wonderful to meet you.”

“You as well.”

She also greets all the staff individually and then retakes her position in front of the door.

“Are y’all prepared for the horrors and wonders of an eight a.m. hands on class?” Her voice is fake cheery, and it makes Charles and Daniel laugh.

“Speaking of what would this class be?”

Iman throws her head back and laughs, then glances toward Lewis. “He is smooth.”

“Don’t let him get you.”

“Ooh, they talked about me,” Daniel jokes.

That sends laughter through everyone, and it lifts a weight that Charles didn’t realize was there. He was a little nervous, but he couldn’t understand why. But at least he could feel with the shift in everyone that it was a mutual feeling.

Without another word Iman turns and pulls the door open. Charles ensures he’s in after Lewis and catches a glimpse of someone rocketing back into a classroom. It must be the man that Iman was talking about. The excitement is flattering.

As they walk down everyone, especially the cameras, take in the space. There are pictures and many didn’t contraptions lining the walls. Probably as a representation of what goes on in this building. There was a sign on top of it, but it was too high to see where they parked. So, Charles looks up at the wall at the end of the hall and there he sees: School of Mechanical Engineering.

His eyes go wide unintentionally, but he reins it in and nudges Carlos. It takes a moment before the Spaniard sees what he does, and his reaction is very much the same. The others have already seen the sign and they look from the sign to the woman leading them and back.

The smile that forms on Charles’ face reflects the pride he feels. Of course, he knows what it’s like to be happy and proud of his siblings' success in their fields, but in that moment, he understands why Lewis feels it. He understood last night, but when his mechanics and friends spoke about how engineering as a degree takes a lot out of you, he was sure. They spoke of sometimes struggling with it and normal life, so he couldn’t imagine an extracurricular that was probably as consuming.

The feeling dumb was definitely already starting.

When they reach the door to her class it’s wide open and in the center of the only space without tables stands a man old enough to be a teacher and students in similar clothing to Iman. Most seem giddy, some seem mildly interested, and there are one or two that look like they don’t care at all. Good for the ego.

Iman leads them to the center, standing directly across from her class and the drivers so she’s facing neither. Her hands go wide, gesturing to either group.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet drivers currently a part of the F1 grid. F1 drivers, welcome to Advanced Internal Combustion Engines. We’ll be here for three hours, so I’ll leave the more personal introductions to you.”

She pauses and there’s a chorus of greetings that come from both sides. Charles watches as her lips part to presumably say something else, but then the man who is obviously the instructor takes center stage with a giddy smile. It’s a little amusing, but mostly nice to see him so excited about this. Worry about how roping siblings in this would disrupt their lives, even for a short time, has been a thing since the beginning. Especially when they may not have people to work for or with that would love this kind of thing.

“It’s nice to meet all of you. My name is Dr. Malcolm Johsnon. I’m a big enjoyer of F1 and racing in general, just as many of the students in this class are. My industry background is predominantly in IndyCar, which is why this class focuses a lot on the types of engines used in those kinds of race vehicles. Today as much as you’ll be getting a peak at Iman’s life, you’ll see what the students learn here and a glimpse at the parts that make your cars go. I’m open to any questions you might have at any time.

Alex raises his hand. “Oh, if you worked or work for IndyCar, how did you end up teaching? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind at all.” He hitches a thumb in Iman’s direction, “Her mother can be very persuasive. She’d also taken a stint teaching as a break from working with IndyCar teams, so she had much to rave about. Plus, she wanted me here to make sure they taught her child right.”

That earns a few laughs, but Charles sees the odd look from a few students who are displeased but already knew this knowledge. Though it doesn’t feel like they’re displeased with their instructor, just Iman. An expected response to someone who uses the connections she has or in this case the connection just stepped in for her.

Which makes Charles pause. Wait, did he say Sherri?

“Your mother works in IndyCar?” he asks, his eyes on Iman.

“Has since before I was born. Racing is a family affair. Though more of us are on the engineering side than in the driver seat.”

When she says it, a fist extends out toward her from the corner of Charles’ eye and she bumps her fist against Lewis, smiling wide and winking at her older brother.

“But enough of that, though we’ve all agreed to this we still have a project to work on. And surprisingly multiple three hour classes aren’t enough time.”

There are several mutters in agreement and with that students disperse to the tables scattered throughout the massive room. Iman goes to one in the back with three other people. They get to work without a word and production and Dr. Johnson step closer to the drivers, forming a circle.

“Our focus is Iman and her life and what she does, but we don’t want all of you to just crowd her. As much as we want shots of what she’s doing and your interaction, we want this to be a learning experience just like the other times were. Engage with the other students without crossing any boundaries and maybe even see if any of that knowledge you get from your own mechanics is familiar here, okay? We’ll move you guys if we feel you linger here or there too long, but just go where you feel pulled. Also, there are some students who have little flags attached to their tables to signal they are most comfortable with questions, so look out for those but don’t shy away too much from the others. Got it?” Anne asks.

Everyone nods. She then gestures for Dr. Johnson to take the floor.

“And things get a little hectic, so over there is some PPE for y’all to use. I want this to be safe for them and for you. Cool?”

“Yes, sir,” Lewis says, and identical sentiments follow.

“Then let’s get started!”

Lewis is the first to break off and head toward the table. He grabs the goggles, a dingy rag, some sort of apron, and a pair of gloves and then makes a beeline for Iman’s table. Lance follows suit and that makes the first decision for everyone else. Charles sticks with Carlos as they grab their PPE and then head toward the closest table. There is a flag over it, but neither of the men say anything. They watch as one of the students takes apart their engine. It looks around the size of the ones inside of their cars, but something is different about it. Something off.

“Wait, did you grab the wrong piece?” A man, whose shirt has the name Stephen on it, asks.

Everyone pauses and looks to him and then to the engine.

“Uh, I don’t think s… Oh for fuck’s sake,” says the woman, Jennifer.

The curse is said so softly that almost all of them have to stop themselves from laughing, Charles has to cover his mouth and Carlos turns away, but you can see his body vibrating with silent laughter. Jennifer catches all of them and glares before walking off toward what looks like a storage space at the back of the room.

When shes out of sight they all laugh out loud. It takes a minute to pull it together, but they manage it.

Stephen turns to Charles. “You noticed it too? I saw you looking at it weird.”

This isn’t really his wheelhouse, so Charles feels himself get a little unsure of how to answer, but he reminds himself that these are students, and they expect some sort of failure when learning so even if he sounded silly it wasn’t like they’d look at him too harshly. At least he hopes.

“Um, yes. It looks like the one we use, I’ve seen it a few times and though it may not be the same, something about it didn’t seem right. Though I’m not fully sure what.”

Stephen nods.

“It’s definitely something that would stand out if you’ve seen them enough. It’s why she’s mad, she’ll usually catch it when we do it. But if ya want we can walk y’all through it. This is just us kind of playing around with ideas at this point, so we have the time.”

Charles finds himself excited again and he takes a few steps closer to the table.

“We’d love that. It’ll impress and confuse our mechanics if we come back knowing more than we did before,” Carlos says.

All the others introduce themselves and when Jennifer returns, they dive deep into what they’re trying to do. Though they only planned to half take it apart they disassemble it completely and get Carlos and Charles in on putting it back together. How they explain it is half dumbed down and half with the understanding that the pilots would have some knowledge of what they’re doing. Though everyone else has rotated, an hour passes before a producer pulls them away from the table. It’s with a little grumbling from both of them, but they get why.

The rest of their adventure is much the same, though for shorter bursts. Even the tables without the flags are more than open to answering questions they may have and as time goes by Charles realizes that with each table, he’s able to understand what the hell they’re talking about. And it makes him think back to all the times he’s been confused listening to his mechanics about a million things. It’s all clicking for him.

“Hey Sharl!”

The voice startles him, and he turns toward it to see Lewis back at his sister’s table. The man is waving him over so Charles excuses himself and walks over. Daniel is making the table he’s at laugh at something and it’s probably some off the wall joke that sometimes has Charles looking at him like he’s lost it.

“Hi,” he says once he reaches the table.

“Hey. Saw you haven’t been here yet,” Lewis says.

“It was the next stop.”

“Mhm.” When Lewis says that there’s a look in his eyes that Charles can’t quite decipher so he doesn’t try to. He’s used to him keeping things a little close to the chest.

“Are you harassing that poor man, Lew?” Iman asks, without looking up.

“I’m not doing anything?”

“Mhm, sure you’re not.”

“I’m not! Tell her I’m not harassing you, Sharl.”

Charles finds himself laughing at the two. It’s like something he and his brother’s would do. High pitched voice while defending themselves and all.

“He’s not harassing me. I promise,” he says.

Iman finally looks up, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.

“You sure you’re not just taking up for him, Charles? He’s not that big and bad, I promise.”

“I’m sure.”

“Let me know if he does, I’ll deal with him.”

She winks at Charles and then gets back to her work, explaining why she felt the need to lubricate a piece more than is usually called for. Her partners look unsure, but they go with it. As she does it, she explains out loud what it should do to the two pilots and Charles is having a hard time splitting between Lewis’ pouting - which is losing steam by the second - what she’s explaining and watching her. She’s so focused and even when the piece gives her problems she keeps going, barely getting frustrated.

And when she works, her smile is genuine and bright.

#charles leclerc x black reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x black!reader #formula one x black reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x black!reader #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fan fiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fan fiction #f1 imagine #formula one x oc #formula 1 x oc #charles leclerc x oc

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beanzwrites · 2 years ago

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Enough Adventuring for One Day

Pairing: Dean x Sister! reader x Sam

Description: The Winchester's sister gets lost in a store.

Warning: Separation, anxiety attack

-‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’--‘๑’-

(Y/n) follows her brothers into a local grocery store. It was a large building, with high concrete walls and a ceiling that towers over the sectioned shelving. Red, yellow, and blue stripes follow along the edge of the interior, like an Elementary school does to add 'excitement'.

"OK," Sam says as he takes out a folded list from his flannel pocket. "We just need the basics. We can start with- Dean! Where are you going?"

"They have cakes over here," Dean says in an obvious tone, "They might be on sale."

"That's not essential," Sam sighs as he watches his older brother walk towards the bakery with a childish desire. "I guess it's just me and you, bug."

(Y/n) obediently waits behind Sam as he analyzes the prices of lunch meat. She holds in a bored sigh as she lazily looks around. The young Winchester's eyes seem to brighten as she notices a small aisle of room decorations. Even though she's not home a lot, doesn't mean she can't admire the aesthetic objects of the store.

The girl scrolls down the different comforters and figurines until a painting on the top shelf catches her eye. The moon on the canvas cascades over a lake and a shadow of trees; its reflection ripples through the waters like a pale entity. Orbs of colorful light dance about the scene like frilly dresses at a lively ball.

The inspired energy that the girl got from it didn't last, however. (Y/n) casually glances to where Sam was, only to find that he was gone. She quickly looks back and fourth from the walkway to see if she could spot him. With no luck, and panic starting to settle, she backtracks to the bakery to find Dean.

Tears form in her eyes as she turns the corner to find that he disappeared as well. She begins to feel claustrophobic as she helplessly looks around for her brothers.

The world begins to spin and it feels like she is slowly falling. Her cheeks become wet and she knows the dam in her eyes finally broke. (Y/n) is scared.

A large hand grabs her shoulder and the Winchester jolts forward defensively. Her fist connects to the palm of Dean's hand. "Whoa there," Dean grins, "I know we told you to keep your guard up, but gee. That could've hurt someone." His eyes glance over her shoulder, " I found her, Sammy."

Sam walks over and grabs (Y/n) by the arms. "Don't ever wander off without telling me again," he says sternly. "One minute I thought you were right behind me, then I look and your missing. What if something bad-"

"Lay off her," Dean says, "(Y/n), you okay? you don't look so hot."

Sam stops his ranting and notices his sister's pale expression. "You feeling well?" He questions as he feels her forehead with the back of his hand.

"I- I couldn't find you. I'm sorry- I was looking at a painting and was going to go back to you, but when I did, you were gone. S-so, I went back to the bakery to find Dean, but he was gone too-"

"Hey, hey." It's alright. You're okay," Sam coos, brushing away a few stray tears rolling down her face. "I'm sorry I blew up."

"Yeah," Dean butts in, "Don't cry, cause I got you cake."

"For her?" Sam spectates with a raised brow, "Really?"

"Of course," Dean bickers back.

"Can we just stick together while Sam finishes his shopping... Please?" (Y/n) interjects, "I think I've done enough adventuring for today."

#dean winchester x sister reader #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x sister reader #supernatural x sister! reader #fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean x reader x sam #platonic reader #platonic #light angst #comfort

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buttfishfan · 1 year ago

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People aren't completely wrong about Kara's story being really weak, but i also feel like people dont realize the amount of missed opportunity in her section of the game.

Kara's story could've been AMAZING if only David Cage knew what he was trying to write.

Sooo here's some ideas ive been mulling over for a couple weeks about how id fix Kara's story.

1. Making Alice human

Even when i was blind to a lot of the bad writing in Detroit this plot twist made me so agitated and confused because there was no plot twist it was seriously just david cage lying to the player for 12 hours 😭 making Alice human would fix many inconsistencies in Kara's story like how she just chooses to ignore the fact that Alice is an android and acts shocked when she finds out. Having alice be human also opens up the story to a more interesting themes about the bonds that can be formed between humans and androids like holy fuck david did you forget the story you were writing midway through 😭 If Alice was human it could also lead to new game mechanics or plot where kara would need to take care of Alice's human needs like food and water which then leads into Kara being put into situations where she is forced to do the "moral" thing and sacrifice comfort or to fight for Alice's survival.

2. Giving Kara's section of the game an actual overarching choice

The biggest reason i believe people think Kara's story is so boring is because in a game that prides itself on letting its players choose their very own story Kara's story allows for the least amount of choices. Both Connor and Markus have overarching distrinct choices that lead to VERYYY polar outcomes. Connor has the ability to deviate or stay a machine and markus has the ability to lead a peaceful or violent revolution. The only distinct outcomes in Kara's story is if you make it to Canada or not and even that is just if you chose the /right/ choices instead of the choices you consciously made. I wish there was more opportunities for Kara to be really evil and fucked up but all in the name of giving Alice the world. I know you're able to steal and lie in various chapters but it never felt like it had any true weight to how kara or the story progressed.

3. Give Alice an actual personality

Throughout the entire game Alice kinda doesn't do or say anything of value like I've seriously lost count how many times she's said "im cold". It makes no sense to me how you get the relationship status of family with her as Kara when you genuinely know nothing about Alice. She doesn't talk about anything. Even as an android she like must've had some sort of interest programing to act like a child but she just never shares anything even with the people that are supposedly the closest ones to her?? I feel like her personality should've been dependent on the way youd approach Karas story. If kara is willing to do immoral things for Alice's sake I feel like Alice should also be fucked up and evil cuz like, shes a kid and kara is her role model of COURSE she'll try an be similar to her mama. If Kara chooses to sacrifice comfort for morals then Alice takes after Kara in that respect too. So not only would you be responsible for how Kara acts you'd also be responsible for the way Alice acts which gives the player the choice of do they want this little kid to follow in the wrong steps or not?

Some ideas i have for how the story should've gone

Todd brings Kara home after she gets fixed and she meets Alice for the first time. Alice obviously knows Kara but after attempting to make Kara remember her she realizes that Kara's memory has been wiped. Since Kara would've probably been the only person to care for Alice before she was broken this would lead to Alice having a breakdown where she realizes her only protection and source of comfort is gone. Alice would probably resent or be distrustful of Kara a little in the beginning because of this.

I feel like running away should've been a more difficult decision on Kara's part. She's just come home from being fixed and she's already deviated i don't think she fully knows what she wants to do with Alice. Especially when they've started off their relationship with nothing i don't think Kara should've been leaning into the whole mom thing. It would've made more sense if their interactions started off as Kara just making sure Alice stays alive and then over time their relationshio actually has room to develop instead of starting off as mother daughter and ending off as mother daughter.

These are only some ideas. Im obviously not a writer but i just really care about this game and feel like it had too much lost potential 🙏🙏

#dbh #detroit become human fanart #d:bh #detroit: become human #kara dbh #dbh kara #ax400 #alice dbh #dbh alice #im the number one detroit become human fan

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vraisetzen · 7 months ago

Note

hiii i absolutely love your work! i’ve reread your fics like a thousand times 😭😭 could you maybe write about michikatsu/koku x reader in a modern office setting?

𝑨 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑫𝒂𝒚'𝒔 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 – 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Summary: A late night with Section Chief Kokushibo reveals a lot more about him and yourself than you realised.

Tags: Slightly suggestive, Pining, Modern AU (Non-Kimetsu Gakuen).

Author's Note: I'm sorry this took so long! I've hit a dry spell lately with writing, but I didn't want to disappoint all of you lovelies who sent in these wonderful requests, so I just spent a little more time making sure things were alright. There's no smut here, but I thought it would be cute to envision Koku in a modern, but non-KimeGaku setting!

You felt the gust of wind comb through your hair, before the inevitable smack of the papers on your desk as your manager bore down on you.

"What is this?" Kibutsuji Muzan demanded, running his thumb across the pages before letting the annual financial records for the company flop down on your table once more.

"Your errors have just cost us our budget forecast for the next two years; do you realise the shitstorm you have gotten our entire department into?" Muzan continued while you dropped your gaze, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fought the scorching heat burning through your cheeks. The office had gone painfully quiet, while you combed through the disarrayed thoughts in your head for an explanation.

The thing was, you could not remember what it was exactly that you had done wrong — Daki and Gyutaro had thrown you into the lion's den without so much an instruction for what it was the higher-ups needed, and it was not until you pestered Douma, your desk neighbour, by way of a strawberry frappucino trenta and a half-baked cheesecake did he finally told you that you just need to analyse the P&L statements against the EBITDA figures, while considering last year's debt to equity ratios, dummy.

And clearly, judging by how the blond had gone strangely silent as he tapped away on the instant messaging window on his laptop — you could not help but wonder if this was all part of an elaborate hazing ritual, with you as the newest arrival to this company, not knowing anyone or if they were being sincere with their every word and deed.

"I want this done by tomorrow morning," Muzan ordered, barely giving you a moment to collect your thoughts.

"But-!" Your eyes strayed to the towering stack of papers as it swayed and slumped over your desk, numerical figures splashing across the table.

"I won't have any excuses," Muzan said, his turning on his heel. There was a coldness to the sharpened edge of his tone that promised a something more than a reprimand should you decide to speak back, and you let your words wither in indignation and frustration on the back of your tongue and you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat.

This wasn't fair. None of it was. Your eyes swept with accusation to Daki, who had reverted her attention the glass file as she studied the gel tips of her nails, and her brother who slumped over his desk, his weed-like hair covering his eyes from your gaze.

"Kokushibo," Muzan ordered as he fished his jacket from his chair and fixed it over his shoulder, the sleeves swishing around his sides as the wings of a bat. "I'll be out to meet some clients today. Make sure everything's in order."

"Yes, sir," Kokushibo replied, fixing his reading glasses as he walked the division chief to the door.

Mumbles of Take care, buchō and Thank you for your hard work, buchō purled through the office as Muzan took his leave with nary a glance back at his juniors. As soon as he was out of earshot, however, the office burst into life once more as Douma stretched his arms like a prima donna belting the final notes of a torch song, and announced:

"Drinks! Who wants drinks?"

"Oh, me!" Daki exclaimed, tossing the file into her handbag and snapping it shut. "I heard there's a new spot just around the corner."

"The Thirsty Fish?" Gyokko asked, his wide, slimey eyes bulging further than ever as he considered the offer. "Count me in."

"Akaza?" Douma flounced over to the desk opposite his, and was met with a blast of arctic chill as Akaza packed his gym duffle and left without a single word. "Oh well — guess it'll be me, Daki-chan, Gyokko, Hantengu-"

"-You guys can go ahead," Hantengu creeped across the office, cradling the bump on his head. "I don't feel too well."

"Okay, then me, Daki-chan, Gyokko, Gyutaro — and Kokku-chan! Wouldn't you like to join us? For the first time in a million years?"

"No," Kokushibo said, who returned to his desk with a set of ring files piled high in his arms. "And you will refer to me by my name only."

Douma inhaled sharply through clenched teeth at the jab. "So, that was charming," he noted, before turning to you. Your eyes dropped back to the documents on your table, your stomach churning in anger at their flippant exchange.

"And you..." Douma's fingers danced across the top of your monitor, skipping along the line of trinkets that you have secured in place. "Will stay here and finish your work, won't you?"

He tipped over the last trinket — two rabbits perched on a crescent moon, a good luck charm your best friend gave you as a graduation gift — sending it on a loud thud on your desk. "Oops!"

Without so as an apology, Douma slung his briefcase over his shoulder and joined the rest of the crew, their giggles and cackles filling up the hallway in a haunting jeer. You kept your gaze on the fallen ornament, a torrent of irritation and disgust tossing in your gut. Reluctantly, you gathered the files in your hands, and flipping through them without much thought for the figures that laid within it.

Where should you start? You had no idea where things went wrong. A glance at the clock on the wall told you it was past dinner time; you should be so fortunate if you could leave the office for breakfast tomorrow...

"Show me the files."

A shadow fell over your desk as you gazed up to find Kokushibo hulking over your desk. Taken aback by his sudden appearance, you shrank into your seat.

"You don't need to stay, Kokushibo-kachō," you stuttered, as he held out a hand expectantly for the documents. "It's my mistake, after all."

"And how do you intend on fixing that?" Kokushibo raised a skeptical brow before grabbing a stack from the dizzying tower of accounts and records. "You'd be lucky to go through half the stack before the sun rises."

And before you could protest, he began sorting through the pages himself, long fingers leafing through years of backlogs and data entries. You watched as he, with impossible efficiency and precision, surveyed through the figures, his eyes scanning between the lines of numbers. Around three-quarters through the files, he tutted, and pulled out Douma's chair to sit next to you.

The heat of Kokushibo's body radiated from his pressed suit; it rose in palpable waves as you sank back to your seat, angled towards him to receive any directions. There was a warm and pleasant scent about him; something clean and mossy and green like the morning mist that drifted along a still lake.

You have never exchanged more than two words with your section chief prior to this, your interactions limited to polite greetings and acknowledgements when you bumped into him in the hallway — there was something elusive about him from which you could not quite tear your eyes away. More than his impressive height and cascading ponytail, Kokushibo's controlled calm made him both intimidating and intriguing; a subject of much speculation and interest on your part.

"I'm going to mark out the mistakes while you'll key the right figures into the spreadsheet," he told you. "Pen?"

In the haze of his presence, you were slow to take in his words, your hands reaching more like clockwork than any conscientious effort for your stationery cup. Dimly, you noticed a glint of impatience flaring across Kokushibo's eyes, and he cut across your outstretched fingers to fetch the pencil for himself.

You jumped, the static between the contact of your fingers sending electricity up your arms and into the pulses of your heart like an ungelled defibrillator. His hand had been warmer than your expected; you thought that perhaps they would be cold like his words and exterior — a man who spared few words and even fewer displays of emotion, who turned the clogs and gears of this department as a well-oil machine, a commandeer that navigated the inclement disposition of Kibutsuji Muzan with a face and heart of stone.

Kokushibo, meanwhile, was unaffected, engrossing himself with the task in silence. With precision and accuracy, he marked out where you had first made your mistake, the flourish of his wrist making sharp, scratching noises on the paper. One by one, you noted every correction into your laptop, the cells churning out a different set of numbers that cascaded to the end of the table.

How would the rest of him feel, you wonder? What laid beneath that steely exterior, those muted expressions and sparse words. Could you find warm flesh and blood, a rapturous passion waiting to unfurl for the right person? From the corner of your eye, you studied the way his sinew twisted beneath his forearms as he scribbled on the paper; Kokushibo was a strong man — you have seen him heft boxes and lift ladders during the department's annual spring cleaning.

He could easily carry you too, and hold you close to him as you trembled beneath his cool gaze and wide frame. The strands of his layered tresses would tumble over his shoulder as he trapped you under his body, tickling your cheeks. Your breath would hitch as you caught his wandering gaze. anticipating the moment when he would peel open your clothes, dragging his calloused fingertips over your soft skin, and down to where you–

"What is it?" Kokushibo asked, noticing how you had fallen silent, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You blinked, embarrassed at having been caught with your thoughts adrift; hopefully they had not been plastered across your face for him to read. Shifting in your chair, you crossed your legs and straightened your back. "Nothing; sorry."

Suddenly conscious of every movement you made, you kept yourself a few significant inches away from him, eyes fixed on the numbers that melted into a puddle of fluster and discomposure.

The parting of the Red Sea. The walls of Jericho.

"You ought to conduct yourself with a little more resolve if you wish to continue working here," Kokushibo noted, continuing with the papers.

"Ah?" You looked up at him again — against the brilliant beacon of light from the lamp on Douma's desk, his profile stood partially in shadow as an eclipsed moon. Breathlessly rare and hopelessly distant. "Yes, kachō."

"Don't count on Douma or the others for help either, things don't work that way around here."

"Yes, kachō," was all you could offer again, although for good measure, you added: "Thank you for helping me."

"I'm not doing this for you," Kokushibo remarked, hardly missing a beat. His eyes were still on the papers as the tip of his pen tapped in an off-rhythm on the pages. "This is for the sake of our branch, and that man."

Of course, you reminded yourself. The bigger picture. You were well aware of what Muzan had told you when you applied for this role in this company: the cutthroat world of finance and banking, his mysterious and inexplicable rivalry with Division Chief Ubuyashiki Kagaya of the Wisteria branch. In this office, there was no such thing as camaraderie; even with Kokushibo's help as the both of you finished the night's task with three hours to sunrise, you knew it would be foolish for you to believe there was any goodwill behind his assistance.

Your task was crunching numbers and pushing papers, after all — whatever fantasy you could conjure from their inanimate form was pure shadow puppetry, fictive and speculative.

But there was a small part of you that held out for the momentary thrill of heat when Kokushibo's fingers brushed against yours — it could grow into an inferno, melting away at the frost and uncover what is beneath: flesh, and something tantalising still.

Yet, as you placed the stack of documents on Muzan's desk for his vetting the next morning, and trailed behind Kokushibo out of the office, he felt so near and so out of reach, as if the warmth on your fingertips was no more than the refracted brilliance of the cold moonlight.

The elevator was silent as it skimmed downwards, and you trained your eyes on your muddled reflection in its brushed steel doors; meanwhile Kokushibo had traded his glasses for a pair of shades, and it was difficult to tell on where his eyes were focused. In the enclosed space, his presence was enveloping and fervid, the cloud of his cologne now flooding your lungs with every small puff of air you dared yourself to take. Him, everywhere and anywhere — if you had only the nerve to take a single step forward.

Taking a deep breath, you said: "Thank you for helping me tonight, kachō. I hope I didn't inconvenience you in any way."

He hummed gruffly at your words. "Just don't make the same mistake twice."

His stolid answer left you a little dumb, and as you wracked your mind for something to say, the elevator doors yawned opened as it reached the basement carpark — there were only a few cars left, stragglers who were sharing a similar fate as you two. The heels of Kokushibo's shoes echoed in soft clacks as he stepped out of the lift; you prepared to dip your head in a bow when he placed his hand on the doors, keeping them ajar.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Kachō?" you asked, apprehensive. Your eyes raked over his face and tinted glasses, unable to read his expression.

"It's late; the stations have closed," he said matter-of-factly. He's offering you a ride home, you deduced — it was tantalising, though with this surprising advance, any pluck you just summoned to initiate conversation evaporated into thin air.

In a brief second of clarity, you found your thoughts in disarray, scattered as the numbers you left behind in the office. Much as you would love to test your hypothesis, you were in no state to behave rationally or with resolve; there was no telling if you might do anything out of impulse or foolishness, and risk finding by next morning a box on your desk, with a letter of dismissal typed in Times New Roman, font size 12.

"Oh, I couldn't impose," you took a step backward into the elevator, itching to jab at the buttons to close the door.

From over the top of Kokushibo's glasses you can see a brow raise in question. He must think you were stupid for passing up such an offer; knowing him, he probably was cognisant of where you lived from your application letter. An hour walk home in the cold night from the business district to the outskirts of town was something only someone as foolish as you would do — and he would know that part of you all too well.

It would do nothing to help with his impression of you: meek, scatter-brained, but it was the right thing to do, you tried telling yourself — the two of you were colleagues; specifically, Kokushibo was your senpai, one you were supposed to hold at a professional distance. To breach to ocean and tear down those walls would be a gross misconduct on your part.

"Fine," he said, removing his hand from the doors and letting them close as he turned away without a second glance back at you.

And you felt the ground give way beneath your feet, the cool robotic voice announcing the floor that you were headed; you slumped on the cool railings lining the walls of the elevator, hating yourself.

...To be continued?

Thank you for reading!

For my longer writings, visit my AO3 here.

#vraisetzen #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kokushibo #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo x you #kokushibo x y/n #kokushibo x reader insert

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batsplat · 10 months ago

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if you were to direct a motogp movie (or make a one season of television) what season or rivalry would you make it about? and more interesting what artistic liberties would you take? it doesn’t have to be a straight up biopic bc imo those are often boring, instead it could be something like velvet goldmine (1998) aka fictional characters whose real life counterparts are pretty obvious, veering in like rpf territory. anyways👀

did you know. one time this guy put a curse on this other guy. and he never won a race again

anyway, look, I do feel like by this point that's the BORING answer from me, but obviously it's where my mind first went. I'm not sure I'd actually want it out there in film form because by now it's badly enough remembered that it's like, my cute little niche story, and I think there's something fun about the Wider World even within the motogp fandom not exactly getting how bonkers the whole thing was. (I know other humans have canonically watched motogp 2004 but I swear even journalists have forgotten some key key details and it's kinda annoying but also fun.) bold words from someone who's been blogging about it!! weird gatekeep-y instinct. but basically my job here is done as far as outreach is concerned - I wrote a very long post, now I get asks about it twice a week that allow me to think about it some more with the four other people who care, perfect balance. that rivalry doesn't need to go mainstream!! the whole point of it is that it's kinda cruel but narratively pleasing that it's gone under the radar, because it's another sign valentino won. but obviously, I cannot literally make a film about this, so the hypothetical repercussions I think maybe we can put aside for a moment here

okay I came back to this bit of the post after I increasingly got into of the spirit of coming up with dumb ideas, but it did make me flesh out what I'd even WANT from something like that. I'm with you anon, a lot of biopics are boring!! if you want to just know what happened, please just literally go and 'watch the races' and 'read books' like what are we actually getting here. you kinda want to give it a purpose for existing, right, a way of portraying real/mildly fictionalised events in a manner that is also taking some kind of stance on the material AND is doing stuff you can't do 'in real life'. thing is, look, you could make 2006 into a film, and I'm sure it'd be perfectly nice because it's fundamentally a solid underdog story (well, inherently winning a title with repsol honda is NOT being an underdog but you can write it that way), but also what are you doing beyond just telling people what happened? I feel like that generally about single seasons, they're not really doing anything for me. I was also turning around the biaggi/valentino rivalry in my head in part because that's the one valentino gave as his answer for 'rivalry he would turn into a film' (marc big wet eyes sitting right next to him), but like. a film about that rivalry from valentino's pov is fundamentally not something I'm interested in. you have all these isolated very memorable moments that make it work as a rivalry, like you can absolutely spin them into a dramatic yarn that goes through the genesis of their conflict to middle finger gate to punching gate to assen + donington + sachsenring + phillip island 2001 and it's basically *insert rousing music* successful coming of age. at most you can lean into the fact valentino became successful at being a dick. like idk it's fine but also what's the point? valentino is challenged in a sports context by biaggi, he's challenged because he realises his words have consequence and the press actually reports the words he says to journalists (the horror), but he is fundamentally not challenged on a personal level. that's the entire point, right? it's the ultimate comfort zone rivalry - biaggi is a dick who it is quite easy to hate and also reacts poorly to valentino's initial provocation. the animosity escalates and it is inherently fun to beat him. valentino is mean to him, but it's not like he even really crosses any lines to beat him. like you can make it into a film, and if you twisted the material a little bit you could make it satisfying, but I don't want to!

now the way the writing process of this post worked was that I was going to breeze through a bunch of non-sete/valentino rivalries and explain why I think some of them don't work for our purposes here, but then I ended up writing myself into changing my mind. so my take on the biaggi rivalry is that actually, you CAN make it work but it has to be from biaggi's perspective. basically, I think you've got to amadeus it (a web weave I have been thinking of making at some point btw). so,,, it's a meditation on talent and how unfair it all is, maybe minus the bit where salieri poisons amadeus (I know that doesn't happen in the film) or dresses up as amadeus' father to, y'know, make him write a requiem on his death bed. and it's not amadeus in that HERE, the clown prince gets a happy ending! but it's more like, in thematic terms, I think you have to zero in on this bit. biaggi didn't have parents who shoved him on a bike when he was three years old, he didn't have parents who were invested in his motorcycling career (or even necessarily particularly invested in him), he started the sport late and discovered that, yes, he did have a prodigious amount of skill in it - but one that he started honing far later than valentino did. he approached his career with a sort of grim resolve, surly and irascible and not interested in making friends with any of his competitors but very, very good. he goes away from the race track and dates all these models, he irritates fellow riders, he's not part of the gang and he's happy about it. he's very successful! four 250cc titles, wins his first ever race in 500cc at a time when doohan was very much winning everything. he's also just like,,,, an interesting and spiky enough character it's not hard to make him come alive

but then of course you have this gradual emergence of the amadeus character, the one who challenges his established position in the court of,, well... motorcycle racing, and also as the guy italians rooted for! and valentino's obviously, y'know, in so many ways the exact opposite from biaggi, and he's super young and cheerful and lively and is doing all his silly celebrations and is being a bit camp and goofy and treats motorcycle racing as a party (you really want to lean into the culture clash here, like in amadeus it's because you have stuffy austrian court vibes but here it's because everyone is having their bones broken every two minutes and just how... kinda grim a lot of motorcycle racing was). and he's also this innocent! yes, he insults biaggi, and yes, in retrospect we know valentino is kinda evil, but at the time he was a kid with a big mouth who was a little taken aback by how that biaggi feud sort of escalated beyond what he'd actually intended it to do! and biaggi just, hates him. and I think, sorry to the real man max biaggi here, but you've got to play with how once they're actually competing with each other, it's miserable how there's just this unbreachable gulf in talent. like, whatever biaggi does he cannot win! he isn't going to defeat valentino over the course of a full season! which is depressing and horrible and CRUEL, because there's this inevitability to the whole thing... and also! because valentino doesn't DESERVE it. and you don't have to go full salieri pleading with god to explain how god could give this CLOWN all this talent, but it's kinda the same vibe! how is it valentino, who is constantly just having a laff and canonically maybe wasn't the biggest gym-goer in the paddock and is just generally seen as, y'know, a bit of a dandy, this foppish clown who everyone loves and who doesn't have to work hard to be good - how is he the one who is winning so much!! it's miserable and unjust... and I think how you portray this is that you really emphasise the kinda, repetitive nature of the defeat. like, I think you probably want to make this into a non-linear narrative where all this biaggi backstory is communicated somehow but you don't just start it when he was born or whatever - you start it in 2001 when they're competing for a title and already hate each other. and then you heavy on the time loop vibes. the whole cinematic language and all that other shit should emphasise how all these weekends are structured in exactly the same way and if you're losing to this one guy, all these different weekends can start feeling the same. it bleeds into each other, it feels inescapable, you're trapped in this narrative you can't change... worst of all, you even return to the same places again and again - like play with that! biaggi keeps coming back to where they had the fist fight, to where valentino first insulted him all those years back. you play up the disorientation and the misery of it all, plus biaggi canonically gives us all this kinda messy freudian shit to play with like how he was dating 'valentina' and his relationship with her was falling apart because of how miserable valentino was making him. it's all there!!

ANYWAYS the way you conclude this story is!! welkom 2004!! so again we can artistic license this a little bit and, uh, ignore sete (though I do also think it's fun if you lean into biaggi being displaced as a rival and staring at them being friendly and happy with each other from the outside) - but the key bit is that valentino is finally making the big error. biaggi wasn't winning titles on a yamaha, since he left yamaha has gotten worse, now valentino is making this big mistake out of his own hubris. language of cinema that shit and make everything brighter and more hopeful.... the time loop is finally over, biaggi has escaped, this year will be different!!!! everyone in his circle agrees, valentino is fucked. step off the plane at welkom (pre season testing didn't happen in this universe) and it's literal dawn of a new day... staring out at the sun and finally, biaggi can move on, can live a new and different life. anyway. obviously we all know what's coming next - you have this big dramatic climactic race where biaggi throws himself at valentino again and again and again and he comes so close to winning it... but he doesn't. and you have valentino living his best life, being delighted, but the film is focusing on how like,,, we're bleaching the joy back out of biaggi's life, how actually he's returning to what he already knew. and it ends on the podium, with the camera focusing on biaggi on that fucking second step or zooming in or whatever (idk how cinema works) and it just finishes on this shot of biaggi dead-eyed in a bleak world, trapped again for eternity aka until the end of the 2005 season. done!! I'm not sure this is quite what valentino had in mind, but. well. that's how I'd do it

this is from the pushkin play from 1832 not the 1984 film but like. low key pushkin already kinda nailed the essence of sports rivalries in the 1830s and we just have to acknowledge that sometimes

right. so the casey rivalry is where I'm going to go completely off the wall. skip this bit to get to the slightly saner stuff. this is also one I fully admit to sometimes playing around with in my mind anyway, but. uh. I'm gonna be taking this one in just. well. places. I do have a vision here but I also don't quite know how to explain it in a way that doesn't make me sound like I've lost my mind, but well if you're still reading this then that's on you. so lemme get this out of the way: the classic sports biopic formula would work well with casey. if I had to point to a single rider I would sports biopic-ify, it's casey. so you have all this kinda,, obvious adversity that's easy to get across, and it's a narrative you can follow chronologically without too much trouble. you've got all the childhood stuff, the australian racing club not letting him join them, the move to britain, the rising through the ranks, it's also this very biopic-friendly 'nobody ever believed in him apart from like three people' stuff. and the premier class is also narratively satisfying, from the rocky rookie season to the kinda shock success to then all the lows of 2008 and 2009 and the physical ailments and the anxiety and then the switch to honda and the title and then him deciding to retire... that's all good stuff! you can absolutely biopic-ify it! gun to my head and sure, I can walk you through exactly what bits of his life I'd focus on and put in what order and so on, and I think ultimately you could make a very good sports biopic from that

[some mild gore to follow in this next section]

but also. thing is. that's fine. it's just not where I want to go here, because again I feel like at that point you can also pick up his autobiography and just read it - because what you're basically doing here is just filming that. and I get how this stuff works, you're bringing the story to a wider audience, you can show stuff in a different way in that medium etc etc, and that's all great but also I don't care about bringing stuff to a wider audience. I care about doing fun stuff in my brain. so what I'd actually do here is just, basically, go in the exact opposite direction and ditch all the realism. genuinely, ditch the live action stuff, we're going animated - what I'm interested in here is stuff where we need to be able to fully suspend our disbelief and lean into some surreal shit. I'm not going to bury the lede here: my idea is that you take that thing where casey said he hated how ducati was ruining the bike by letting valentino's yellow encroach on it and, basically,, just go all in on that bit. like come on, that is so singularly visually evocative, it truly captures a lot of what's going on thematically in that rivalry. (see also x and x for the most relevant casey posts.) casey sees valentino as the malevolent force, this infection! he associates him strongly with a specific colour, one that can be sickly or unnatural or just... evil. malignant, malicious, malevolent, all the m words. to casey, valentino is a personification of everything that is wrong with the sport. valentino is literally the walking manifestation for so many of his issues, from the dangerous riding to the lack of respect to the lying to the cult of personality to the obsession with image and the media to the backroom games to the politics to the injustice of how different riders are treated differently, like!! he's literally all of that! this is a topic for another post, but this plays out in a lot of kinda, weird and funky ways where it's a two way street and sometimes when casey talks about motogp you go 'actually I think that's just valentino?' (btw he also does this about 'europe' right I don't think those are europeans you hate casey that's literally just valentino) and sometimes when he talks about valentino it's kinda? this feels like it's about a little more than the bloke himself? and basically, right, I think you need to take this to its natural conclusion where casey used to admire him and look up to him and want to emulate him on track and then gets disillusioned when valentino's worshippers turn against casey and casey is the one to bring valentino down to earth and... listen, I think you need to play around with valentino being a literal god. and I think you need to have casey stab him to cover up the yellow on the ducati with blood

okay. look. the idea here, right, is that we're basically making the subtext text, and just digging into that process of 'bringing valentino back to earth', of taking on a god and having the audacity to succeed, and also treating valentino as this sort of. infection in his own mind. the bike is literally being infected!! casey may have left the ducati but he STILL has some fidelity and love for this project, those were his people he worked with, and now valentino is coming in and just twisting everything around himself!! but also I think how this functions is that, okay, so you have all this normal stuff that's the actual 'plot' in the 'real world', but the ISSUE with the real world is that there's a lot of stuff that just. isn't possible there. like the thing casey wants in that rivalry but is never going to have is... a captive audience. a big problem casey has in that rivalry is that he doesn't get the chance to actually say a lot of stuff to valentino. he starts using the media more and more and plays the game on valentino's level, but there's still this disconnect where mr straight talking is the valentino rival who valentino never really blanks or freezes out like... there's a disconnect! there's valentino the person, who casey never quite figures out how to just straight up hate, and then there's valentino the character, the racer, the rider, the god who casey DESPISES. but when they're doing small talk at pressers and podiums, casey doesn't get to talk to that version of valentino! he just talks to valentino the person, who obviously isn't literally a different person but is also not going to explain to casey where he's coming from, is he, and also isn't someone who casey can explain to where HE is coming from. and that gulf... it does bother casey. I don't think he can quite verbalise why either, but there's just... this creeping tension. I think it'd be easier for casey if valentino really were more of a caricature, just kinda a dick in all walks of life. and there's just these canonical hints of that... the way casey talks about how he's sure valentino as a guy is fine, but he never knew valentino like that, the whole 'I'd like to go with valentino for dinner to tell him where I was coming from in that rivalry' thing, like!! it's there

so basically EYE think what you should be doing is using the wonders of storytelling to actually. embrace that element. and just leave realism behind now and again. valentino is a god, he is literally worshipped, he's part of this pantheon that casey is trekking to reach. casey is brave enough to take him on in combat, he is the first one who is truly able to draw blood. he sees how valentino isn't just a god of joy or battles or speed or the SUN or any of that other stuff - he's a disease, an illness, a god who is also a false prophet... the worship never quite goes away, because who ever truly gets rid of their valentino rossi complex, but casey eventually is given the chance to face a chained valentino and kinda,,, ritualistically publicly humiliate him using the ducati as both this sick thing that has to be 'cured' and this symbol of valentino's failure. I'm sorry, visual language goes brr here, like chain him up, do weirdly eroticised torture idc!! (psst psst valentino's fucked up shoulder also extremely goes brr here, casey low key a teensy bit weird about valentino's injuries? his thing after the 2010 leg break where he goes 'why's everyone making such a big deal about this other people break their limbs too' and then after 2011 jerez immediately asking whether valentino's shoulder is okay in just a very obviously passive aggressive way. literally he opens with that, valentino isn't using it as an excuse or anything, for some reason it's already on casey's mind and I would politely contest it was out of genuine concern for valentino's wellbeing!! it's just kinda? I'm so compelled by it? I suppose it is kinda about how valentino's suffering gets taken more seriously than his own? how those absences are received differently by the motogp world? idk I find this fun because casey does know this is one thing valentino can't really be blamed for himself, so it just slips out a bit? but yeah, casey + valentino's injuries, nobody's talking about it but I sure will, let casey get weird and mean and a teensy bit sadistic about valentino's injuries in an artistic manner.) crucially I like animation as a medium here because I think it's easier to lean into surrealism when you don't have to hand hold the audience so much through the suspension of realism, also there's just some imagery you can do in cooler ways through animation where in live action it may just look. weird. (I think you can also do one of those things where you have a live action film with only those specific bits animated but also... why? it just feels like in live action you need more 'justifications' for things, like am I saying casey is having some weird hallucinations and is losing his mind? no I just want to have weird vision sequences ffs.) the colour stuff!! valentino/casey is big on the colour coding as a rivalry, to the extent casey is even, y'know, drawing attention to it in the literal text!! yellow and red are banger colours, valentino is big on imagery himself with all his sun + moon motifs, it's kind of all there to make the easy next step to kinda zany surreal imagery. ritualistic stabbing works better in animation, you can kinda get the blood to like. drip down and overwhelm the yellow illness that's slithered out across the bike

and. AND of course what this entire set up allows you to do is.... give them an opportunity to talk. they can't talk in real life! casey CAN'T give him his real thoughts on anything, and fundamentally valentino can't either. they're opponents. they're strangers who chat sometimes. it's not just that they aren't friends, it's that fundamentally they cannot be friends - because their ability to do their actual jobs depends on a certain level of professional distance. valentino of course does have a decent read on casey, and vice versa, because when you're figuring out how to defeat someone then (if you're valentino) you're looking to play the rider too. valentino's entire approach depends on focusing in on his rivals and attempting to throw them off, to make them unravel. he's watching casey closely!! the entire journey of casey's first three seasons in the premier class essentially becomes like, this god of their world focusing in on him. figuring him out. trying to gnaw away at him. obviously, animation also allows you to go big on the panopticon-y imagery which is kinda fundamental to their rivalry, because of their fundamentally oppositional stances to 'performing' for the ever present cameras where there IS a little bit of common ground in they have both struggled with it. but valentino isn't going to ever say that to casey! casey isn't going to open up to valentino! so if you give them,, you know, a different arena to express themselves, where casey actually has this external figure to talk to (as he's like, cutting him open I guess) whereas valentino actually is put in a position where he's allowed to respond, where he can taunt casey a little bit, where he can interrogate casey's approach and also the similarities between the two of them and how casey has been forced to become a little more like valentino to challenge him... because the thing is, right, valentino is so big on message discipline with his rivals and has completely stopped talking about that rivalry post mid 2013 that, first of all, you have this complete imbalance in who's been telling this story for the past decade, but second of all you kinda don't have a sense of what valentino would respond? idk!! I think this is mainly fun as a thought exercise for me specifically but also I do think it's kinda, digging into some of the bits that make this narratively work as a rivalry, how valentino in this rivalry is actually just kinda... removed. like he's not really emotional about it!! at most he's a bit bitchy, but even that just feels about The Game. it's the most extreme in this regard followed by jorge - but with valentino's other feuds you kinda... see a bit more an unguarded moment, see something a little more real there. the casey rivalry feels so uncomfortable precisely because valentino is a little... inhuman in this one. I mean, if you want to have valentino as some kind of cross between a deity and a monster in any of his feuds, this is the one. casey's just an obstacle to him. idk don't you think casey kinda wants to chain valentino down and stab him and make him see casey a little more... well, I think he should want it and I think it'd be fun to see and get them to talk to each other. ugh and also all the implications of making the faith vs non-believer elements more literal... casey the heretic!!!

there's some obvious stuff here you'd have to figure out, like 'how do you make this work as a narrative even to people who aren't familiar with casey stoner at all' and 'who the fuck do you think the target audience is here' and 'you do know this is not the kind of thing that would ever be made, right, go back to the casey stoner sports biopic like a sane person' but!! I do think it's material you can make work if you're just,,, efficient and smart in how you're actually telling the 'real life' version of the rivalry. also in my head this is. idk. an animated limited series not a film, which then brings in other stuff like 'episodic structure' because I'm fundamentally opposed to tv shows that think they're films. and look, I'm not going to write an entire film script treatment here, I just think a good writer can figure this stuff out. blood on the ducati is the framing device for everything else, simple. lots of animated floating eyes I reckon, first casey is watching valentino and then valentino is watching casey and the whole world is watching them... and it does bleed into real life just a little, where you're wondering whether casey is actually imagining/dreaming this stuff or valentino is or if they both know it somehow... you can get away with more ambiguity in animation. anyway, if you do want more thoughts on this one specifically for whatever reason, let me know because this one I do actually have more on

also laguna 2008 is a bit tortoise and the hare coded if you really think about it

[end of gore]

so. on to jorge. hm. the thing about jorge is that he was kinda writing a coming of age film in his own head, so like - yes, that's what you do go for? you can play it straight and follow how jorge has cast his rivals, or you can pin the whole narrative on the fact that jorge has cast them - the kinda artificiality of the narrative, the way jorge is this storyteller who isn't being recognised as much as he thinks he should be, isnt adequately appreciated. the way there's this three way discourse between what jorge thinks the story is and what the public thinks the story is and actual. you know. reality. I think this is a bit more light-hearted, like you know how the best stories about teenagers take their emotions seriously but also let them be kinda silly? because young people are silly! jorge was silly! he's got a lot of CHARM because he's so cocky and naive and full on and intense and awkward and kinda off-putting and tactless and a bit all over the place and so painfully, painfully young, like he's a good protagonist because that's a KID. but also, obviously there's also a lot of extremely not light-hearted bits of his story - everything about his father, his manager... idk this one's another one where, I don't just want to make it a generic sports biopic, and I'm trying to figure out the clear narrative arc here? I mean, you can point to the end of 2010 and really lean into him choosing victory on-track over popularity off it. the problem with 2010 is that it does not work as a dramatic season, yeah sure with the magic of biopics you can hack at it to shit but also. idk. what are we getting out of it. I think for narrative purposes you want to maybe narrow in, and end it at the end of 2008, with the switching of the numbers this kind of moment of emancipation? but also! this feels like we're straying a bit too far away from the fun sports elements and I don't want to REALLY suggest all the ways in which you could mine jorge's personal trauma in a jokey tumblr post, so I'm gonna move on from this one

the problem is 2015 just straight up doesn't work as a jorge-centric narrative, except in a very kinda comic way that leans into how absurd his role in that season was. 2012 as a season is a bit... y'know, it's fine. okay it's mostly terrible, but that's fine too. but it doesn't have a great narrative hook. which kinda leads you to the problem that I do think the valentino rivalry is more... juicy from jorge's pov, because for valentino, jorge is just kinda? an obstacle? idk he's more normal about it, it's just his job to destroy the guy, you know how it is. but also 2009 does work better narratively from valentino's pov, like it's the build up to catalunya specifically you can dramaticise... idk though, I do love catalunya but my heart isn't really in this exercise because I think valentino isn't really being... challenged here? it's a title fight where he's fundamentally using a set of tools he's already perfected, to beat a guy he doesn't really give a shit about. when the italian press is down on him pre catalunya, it doesn't spark any genuine self-doubt - it's just a handy source of extra motivation. there's no epic highs or lows that season, not real ones. and yes I know I was talking about making valentino who gets stabbed repeatedly to cover up an infection a moment ago, but that reflected real EMOTIONAL truths!! I'm committed to thematic fidelity more than I am to literal fidelity

genuinely I think the best way to tackle jorge is with the jorge/dani parallel journeys... what, film? tv show? maybe show actually - you don't have one coherent narrative Statement per se but you're constantly charting those journeys in reference to each other, really rooting it in their respective points of views, no neutral detached cinematic language like I want everything to be very much written to be from their eyes!! going from one to the other and back again. and you're charting these different journeys, right, and how they both captured different flavours of like... emotional successes and failures. I think it's actually about failure, yeah, about having to accept there's something you can't have and might never be able to get - whether that's universal love or a premier class title or whatever - but Actually, that might not be the end of the world. and during this process, they go from being enemies to tentative friends!! guys who realise they can maybe actually understand each other better than they thought!! this real moment of interpersonal connection. you have all these media narratives and the managers and so on and the fact they're competitors as these built in reasons why they've just been pitted against each other from the start... but y'know, again, it is also just a bit about maturing, about being able to set that aside, about making your peace with defeat and failure as an element of growing up. you can't win everything, maybe there's something you really really really want and you're just not going to get it, but at the end of the day it's kinda... yeah. self-acceptance. idk this is the nice one

so with marc you can go several different ways here I guess, and again he's also perfectly decent sports biopic material, probably second to casey in that category like yeah sure do the comeback story. but also, we do already have a very good self-produced documentary about what he thinks the narratives of his career are? idk this is also just a personal taste thing, I'll leave him to doing all the injury stuff himself, I don't have much to add there. we'll get to the obvious one in a second, but I was trying to figure out if there were other places I massively felt like you need the cinematic touch. and, again, the 2013 season is obviously very exciting!! but also, you have it covered in.,,,, multiple documentaries, I don't feel I have a take their either? his rivalries with dani and jorge aren't really substantive enough to sustain a bit of cinema. dovi... I mean, what are you saying there? what's the arc? I feel like if I tackled dovi, I'd go somewhere else and really go all in with the ducati stuff, and make it a bit more... you know, stark, stripped back, basically just the emotional component of how much he gave to that project and how he managed to beat away one rival after the next and how it all ended up falling apart in a kind of anti-climactic way? he's also good sports biopic material, but in a way I think the marc rivalry is the bit of his story I have the least to say on. so eg, 2017 is a dramatic season, but he's also kinda fine after it? he always knew it was a long shot, he tried his best and he got really close and then he lost. you can't amadeus it because dovi isn't (fictional) salieri. basically, I think what I'm saying here is that dovi is too well-adjusted to feature in this post. though I'd totally watch a film about his 250cc seasons, like it's a bit annoying because HE is the underdog who loses both title fights to jorge, but it'd still be kinda fun idk. I wouldn't really know what to do with the material but if someone made the film I'd absolutely watch it

right then. the thing about sepang 2015 is... yeah, sure, of course you can do it, it already exists as a narrative but... yeah, what are you adding!! idk I always think when you're adapting something, you kinda need to have a reason for it? I mean, what are you doing that's not already there in the footage? idk maybe this is just a sign of having been a fan of this sport for one too many years but to me the idea of sepang 2015 can get a bit boring (or maybe just repetitive) where I need a new TAKE on it to really get into the idea of fictionalising it. like where's the auteur's touch y'know, what can I still add to this!! but it also needs to WORK for someone who is new to the story, which kinda just makes you want to tell the story straight.... y'know the story is strong enough and COMPLICATED enough to stand on its own and it IS good but I don't really have anything interesting to say beyond 'yeah sure that'e be neat'. I can't tell you why, but I also don't think the casey approach quite works here? the idea of providing a framing device with which valentino and marc can actually talk to each other... eh. don't like that. hm. okay wait actually I just turned it around in my head for... a while and I think I've got an idea to make the worst motorcycle racing film of all time. so, my central stupid film-making gimmick here is just. centring the fact we're completely reliant on a few guys and what they're telling us in making up our minds, and our removal from that story and the imperfection of their perceptions and so on. so I think you kinda make a point of... not actually showing the motorcycle racing? like, you always show it by showing other people watching it, you're showing the tv screen rather than the actual racing. even in the cinematic medium, you're centring the theatrical aspects, where you drill it down to just a few characters. valentino. marc. uccio. marc's fuck ass manager. maybe a crew chief or two. keep it limited though, all the others are kept at a distance - you're constantly focusing in on the same few characters. and very early on you basically just like... get them to fourth wall break by telling you, the viewer, with their actual words how racing works for them, what meaning they take out of it - and again it's this remove because we're never allowed to actually feel the racing for ourselves (no helmet cams), and it sets up that as the tragedy unfolds, again and again we're just hearing from them what happened. it's all zoomed in on how claustrophobic the entire situation is, like doing the race direction room after the sepang 2015 is perfect for that kind of thing, and crucially they're only ever addressing the audience because they can't address each other. but fourth wall breaks also obviously draw attention to artificiality! I realise they are very much like, lame gimmick central, but also are these men not inherently about lame gimmicks... idk it's basically the same story but at least it feels like a kinda interesting way of telling it. kinda trite, but cinema allows you to get to the point and let valentino actually play with the camera... so literally take it into his own hands and lead it around and tell the story from his point of view. and you can play with how they do both change in what stories they think they're telling, how they're constantly revising their own stories, how their stories completely clash with each other... like. make them literal narrators. that's my pitch

so. one interesting pattern that has come up with my approaches to these rivalries is that with the exception maybe of the 2015 stuff, I feel like I'm more naturally inclined to treat valentino as a narrative device and centre his rivals. a big part of this is that valentino is a fantastic narrative device. he's kinda. this looming presence in every narrative in this sport where you can just sort of use him as a sort of way to poke away at all these other riders. the monster everyone loves who you are trapped with. BOO!! he's gonna eat you! which is fun! but ALSO, crucially, several of these rivalries aren't that emotionally challenging for him!! again, with casey right, he wants to beat him, but he's not having a crisis of faith over losing to casey. he thinks casey is annoying, he wants to beat him because he wants to win. valentino is casey's foil, but casey is not valentino's. valentino makes for an excellent personal antagonist to casey, but the reverse just isn't true. casey isn't forcing valentino to reexamine his approach except 'ramping up the levels of being a dick on-track' - like, yes, that's a serious competitive challenge, but also valentino is very comfortable in his own skin in that rivalry. sure, you could have valentino have some kind of massive revelation about the casey rivalry, but like. he doesn't in canon. he changes his behaviour towards casey in pretty predictable ways depending on what the relationship demands from his perspective at any given time. there's nothing more there

now, obviously you know where I'm going here. there IS a rivalry where you can make the argument he changes as a result of it, there IS a rivalry that tips him over the line and makes him to do stuff he hadn't done before that, there IS a rivalry that happens to coincide with a period of his competitive life that challenges him both personally and professionally. now, look, I have already talked about the sete rivalry. you know what I think about this rivalry - and if you don't, I really already have told the story here and here and here and here and also here. I think this works perfectly well as a narrative in its own right, and it's one you can tell from either perspective... but you kinda need both. I think again you probably naturally lean towards starting it from sete's perspective and that first proper meeting (I mean, idk if it is their first actual meeting, but it's the logical obvious place you start this story) with sete giving valentino advice during his first 500cc test and valentino just, y'know, ignoring him and being a cocky shit and then crashing. so you get to see sete being kinda exasperated by the whole thing. also, obviously ibiza is like, a key framing device here, like it's the most obvious in-your-face way of tracking their relationship with each other. I don't actually know how often they partied there together, but it must have been at least twice and if the commentators are to be believed it must have included 2003. artistic license and you can add one or two more times, but mainly you want to focus in on 2003 onwards right. so you've got this 2002 one where it's, y'know, high point of their friendship and in the name of narrative efficiency, you establish here that sete is looking to make the honda switch. the emphasis is on how valentino has been winning everything but on the flip side you're getting the first insight into his discontent. and there's a bit of a vibe of, what could you possibly have to complain about? like you are winning so much? so it's late one night where they've had this slightly unguarded alcohol-fuelled moment of genuine vulnerability but in the end it's actually characterised by how... unsubstantial the link between them is, because they wouldn't talk about this kind of thing with each other and they might both be similar in some ways but also don't gettttttt each other. it means you can return there as a location in 2003, where you've just had sachsenring and valentino's dramatic loss but they're still partying together and it's like. obviously In The Air that not everything is quite right... their relationship is already gradually altered and twisted because you're introducing this element of actual stakes and competition (obviously in 2004 they do NOT spend that time together, as far as we know anyway, and you can show them being very much not together at ibiza as a very obvious Oooh Things Will Fall Apart and maybe already haveeee)

and I do think basically I've already said what I think the themes here are,,,, several times by this point, so I'm not going to belabour the point. I think all of this fundamentally works as a narrative with like, minimal massaging and rearranging of the elements for dramatic effect. it's all there already, everything from sete's arc with the [insert non-tasteless way of covering a real life tragedy that fundamentally alters the course of sete's career] and how that leads to sete becoming the challenger and how he does want to win and his eventual downfall. with valentino, you have the element of liberation and self-discovery and... well, growing into your own but also kinda having the narrative drawing attention to how 'growing into your own' can involve becoming a fully realised character who is essentially quite cruel? you have this kind of... build up, right, towards this moment of revelation, where you lay bare who these two people actually ARE at sepang 2004, and then again at jerez 2005. valentino has gone his own way, he has freed himself from the chains of honda, he has embraced individualism and the chance to define himself and his own legacy and stand on his own two feet and not rely on the strongest bike or all this stuff within honda where they chose him as their flag bearer, for better or for worse... like he comes to his own here! he takes the step from 'great rider' to 'legend' because he gets to this dramatic moment of stepping into the unknown, he takes this massive risk that could have cost him so much, and it ends up elevating him. but it also puts him under duress, and in that moment he reveals himself - whatever sete did or did not do at qatar 2004, EVEN IF sete did all that shit, what you are left with is valentino vowing to ruin this man. valentino uses sete to make himself 'better', to fuel himself as a competitor. valentino turns sete into a tool in his own story. and again, thematically you've got all this stuff about how sete was managing the image of the rivalry and how valentino took advantage of that - how sete needed it to remain respectful and valentino was completely willing to abandon that. like, you have two protagonists who really are similar in quite a few ways, who think they have this shared understanding with each other, but when it comes down to it? they end up being super painfully different

now I can go on about this and how to play it straight, basically, you can just do that rivalry and I think it'd be cool and fun and very easy to arrange in a good narrative way. BUT I've kind of already. done that. like I don't want to suggest a film that is basically a nicer version of my tumblr posts. so I want to take this in a slightly different direction, and I think what we need to consider with this rivalry is this: what if you made the curse literal? basically, what's always kinda charmed me about this rivalry is that the curse should not work and all the misfortune that befalls sete after that is so comical that it's kinda... what do you do with that? and the answer is you just lean all the way in. my pitch is this: what if valentino sells his soul to the devil?

so, you know faust, right, and you know the bit at the start of goethe's faust where god and mephistopheles are basically making a wager over how corruptible this one human is. and faust is like... he's kinda disillusioned, he feels that everything he's dedicated his life to in academia is fundamentally hollow, gets very close to committing suicide. and faust has gone a bit new age-y, gotten into all this mystical shit and he's got this pentagram that ends up preventing mephistopheles from leaving his presence in their first meeting... and basically what the devil can give him is like, the chance to attain some true pleasure, and for that faust is willing to bet everything - so if faust can just have that, then maybe eternal damnation is worth it. and look, I'm not going to summarise the entire plot of faust here and it does go off the wall a bit with all the gretchen stuff, but the point is you have this version of the devil who is fundamentally a cynic and is attempting to win an argument with god by making this human succumb to his own nihilism. and what faust basically does is like, abandon his normal life where he's trying to live by normal virtues and goes off on this journey with the devil. and there's this little moment where mephistopheles,,, pretends to be faust and takes on the role of an academic adviser (you know how it is) and seduces this random student away from the word of god and sends him down a wretched path, which ends with this bit:

like, a big part of faust's tragedy is supposed to be about... well, hubris, of the relationship of god to man, of no longer being afraid of the devil... and obviously, this is all framed very much in terms of religion, but at the end of the day it's also about, you know, having purpose - faust is living a life that no longer has any meaning to him, all of his knowledge and studies now no longer fill the void inside himself. his nihilism opens the door for mephistopheles, and is what makes him willing to accept the devil's terms. now, and I am so very sorry to goethe here, I think we have some material we can use here to explore the valentino/sete rivalry. obviously, you can't do a one-to-one, you need to get rid of some of like, the depression and all that - there were times when valentino was feeling 'a bit low' in 2003, but not 'faust thinking everything he'd done in his entire life was pointless' low, yeah? also, unless you want to do a real long view here and even then it can't really be justified, there obviously isn't really a 'tragedy' here from valentino's perspective. like, he wins! this isn't valentino's tragedy, it's sete's! I was being a bit facetious when I said he was 'selling his soul to the devil', and you can kinda parse mephistopheles' motivations in different ways depending on what flavour and what interpretation of him you're dealing with here. you don't 'damn' valentino, you essentially just turn him into a tool of the devil!

so, this is how this works out in my head: the devil works more broadly as the manifestation of competitive impulses, the kind of 'how far would you go to win' question as a bloke who shows up and literally talks to the characters about it (magic of cinema). he's also engaging with valentino feeling like his victories no longer having meaning, with being disconnected from honda and from the entire culture there and just feeling like he's going through the motions. there's this element of like... opening the door to what is essentially a journey of self-actualisation, bringing him closer to being a 'god' but also allowing him to fully come into his own and become himself. to win on his own terms. I reckon ibiza is my preferred narrative device where the devil talks both to sete and valentino there (separately), first literally as a mysterious stranger and then... maybe not? he's talking to them at times of their lives when they're not at ibiza and it's not happening there in the physical world and they both end up kinda having to confront they're dealing with some potentially malevolent supernatural entity. but the important elements of the devil is that a) he's not going to do anything the humans don't actually ask for themselves, and b) everyone knows he's following his own agenda and you should be careful of the requests you make of him. so it's kinda like... essentially, the backdrop of this rivalry unfolding is they're constantly being challenged to decide what lines they're willing to cross. which culminates at qatar... and maybe you do have sete making like. a teensy mistake. a teensy error in judgement, one that is both real and deliberate but he could not have known would get that reaction and instantly regrets. and valentino, who is I think inherently sceptical of the devil coming to offer to help him and maybe does crank out the pentagrams (remember, the whole point of faust is that he was too arrogant to be scared of the devil, or one of the points anyway), in a moment of fury does decide - no, actually. I will take that step. I will curse sete. now the thing is, dramatically this is a teensy bit tricky because when you're talking about being damned by the devil, usually the consequences are a bit more severe than 'not winning a motorcycle race again' (yes, you can get into how sete did also seem genuinely cursed after that, cf his ambulance/bus crash situation, but again we are flirting with being in poor taste in this tumblr post). but the thing is, right, you have to lean into the silliness here! qatar 2004 is inherently silly, a CURSE is inherently silly, like real life is already silly here! you have to engage with the people where they are, and for these athletes all this shit is so heightened that the emotions are full on. like, valentino would've sold that guy to the devil! and to him not winning another race is basically the worst thing that can happen

so, obviously, you get to do the actual curse stuff. curses are inherently campy fun, the devil doing curses is campy fun, getting valentino rossi to crank out the pentagrams is inherently campy fun. you get to play around with this, right, like you know that bit in the brno 2005 race commentary where the commentators are talking about how valentino might as well have a little radio to talk into sete's helmet to remind him of how sete had fucked up at the sachsenring. OBVIOUSLY obviously obviously it is just so... idk scrunchy and fun to have this idea of valentino becoming a malevolent enough force to literally do that.... like damn the commentators did kinda eat with that?? ughhhhhh do you ever think about sete leading the qatar 2005 race for most of the way???? like that's SO fucked up because you literally have articles from about the race going 'hey maybe sete can break his curse' and then the commentators are talking about curses having one year expiration dates but obviously they!! do not!!!!! there's one race where sete goes off track and the commentators are talking about how valentino will surely have smiled into his helmet like that's so fucked!! it's so fucked!! but idk I think basically you have all this creeping curse-y stuff and devil stuff and then you get this twist and then it just becomes misery zone for sete until you sort of. compress the timeline and have him retire without getting into what happened at the end of 2006. and valentino just relishing in all his very worst emotions. and you've got sete who was the better man after jerez 2005, who took the high ground again and again and again and it did NOTHING for him.... and then he's cursed and his career is finished and the devil has had his fun getting mixed in with mid noughties motogp. and now obviously this is inherently kinda dumb and corny and silly but it's the devil!! mephistopheles to me is allowed to get up to dumb shit sometimes, let him have some fun!! idk I like curses being literal idc

I think the obvious critique here is 'this doesn't really feel like it gets the message of faust'. which, yes, is true - and obviously the way narratives are structured, a satisfying resolution isn't 'well selling your soul kinda slaps, actually'. and my statement to respond to this argument is as follows:

this is essentially canonically what happened. valentino DID do something kinda evil and it DID work out 100% for him and it DID kinda slap. at least when you add in the devil, you're making explicit the bit where it is a little bit bad. also, is sports not inherently about selling your soul for success... the story of valentino and sete is essentially about how we are twisted by competition, how pretending that we don't wish ill to our opponents is inherently dishonest. it is about lifting a facade for something that is already inherently there in the souls of men. this is obviously inherently a deeply cynical stance, but this is also a deeply cynical story beyond all the fun battles and camp dramatics. the devil is a cynic and he is basically the point of view character of goethe's faust - he's the one who is positioned closest to the audience. sports is all about living out some of humanity's worst instincts in a relatively low stakes setting, which means we get a free pass to have fun with a deeply cynical story that goes 'maybe selling your soul to the devil is fine, actually'

do I stand by this stance? not really, but the whole fun of storytelling is that sometimes you can just be kinda mean. I think goethe would get it... you can tell which character he enjoyed writing the most

the OTHER way you can do this is centre everything around qatar 2004 as like,,, the mystery box element...... okay look I have now made two posts that go WAY too deep on the 'what really happened' element but I do loveeeeee the whole thing like I would just make a film about that very end of the season and we show it from all these different angles as different characters narrate what happened... like fuck all the riders I want to hear from whichever mechanic used the scooter... the gresini mechanic who gave evidence to race direction.... various honda higher ups the crew chiefs like this is jb vs juan martinez it's war!!! obviously you still have the same emotional/thematic hooks as the general rivalry does but idk I would have a LOT of fun figuring out how to structure that, I loveeee mysteries... maybe I'd write it as a mockumentary yeah..... this one's just fun

anyway. a lot of stuff going on in this post, huh! you can probably tell I didn't edit this much. my classic tell when I edit my tumblr posts is I remember how 'paragraphs' work. unfortunately all I have energy for are like. a bunch of rants about things in my brain. I think when tumblr tells you that you've reached the maximum number of characters per paragraph and you need to figure out where to put a break, it's probably a bad thing? on the whole, my stance is I don't have anything AGAINST mildly fictionalised versions, but for me I'm always more of a.... well I want to take advantage of the full specificity of the events as they happened or just come up with a completely original story. kind of person. I know this ask probably wasn't looking for my 'what if you bled out valentino as he's strung up above a red motorcycle' vision but yeah. with a lot of biopics I'm always a bit 'well you could just read about this couldn't you' like I need stuff to take some kind of a stance on the material it's using... all my stuff takes a stance. that's all I've got. obviously all these stances mean that basically none of these things could ever be made. and I know what I said above but if they called me up to write the casey stoner biopic script treatment, I would also do that. if you've actually read to this point, give me a shout - you're a real one and I love you

#would an insane person write this #//#brr brr #batsplat responds #//st #//curst #//ht #//mt

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