#look just bc i wrote a lot doesn't mean i wrote WELL today

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Time Travel AU

Kim stalks over to the windows, where he can see Porchay waiting on the grounds below. He isn’t brave enough to come to Kim’s door; that means he has time. 

Still, the sight of him—nervously tugging at his sleeves, rolling them up his arms, tugging them back down again, over his hands—makes Kim’s heart clench painfully. He remembers what’s going to happen as clearly as the day it transpired. 

“That boy out there,” he says to himself, “is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. He is the only person that’s ever loved you for every fucked up, broken thing you are, and you’re about to destroy the only good thing in your life when you go out there and break his heart.”

“It’s for his protection.”

“No it’s not, you sanctimonious prick,” Kim snarls. He curses himself, both of them, for ever believing this would work. As if he could somehow get through to this past version of himself, who’s too confident that what he’s doing is right because he hasn’t had to live through the pain of losing Chay, yet. He thinks he’s invincible. He has no fucking idea just how vulnerable he is. 

-

Kim meets Porchay outside, and his heart leaps into his throat when he sees that Chay is already fracturing. He doesn’t remember this—remembers the way he refused to look at Chay at all, as if his cold dismissal was ever enough to run Chay off. Chay was too stubborn for that. He never let Kim run away. Maybe he should have. 

But Kim isn’t running now. 

“Porchay,” he says on an exhale, a prayer. 

“Kimhan Theerapanyakul,” Porchay responds.  He’s already red-faced and shaking—never did learn how to hide his emotions—and he’s the most beautiful thing Kim has ever seen, and Kim won’t let him break. Not this time. He cuts in before Chay can make his accusations. 

“I love you,” he says first, because that’s the most important. If nothing else, he needs Chay to know this. He never got to say it before, and it’s hard to say it now, but it also comes as easy as breathing.“We need to talk. I’m going to tell you things that will be hard to hear, but I need you to know I love you. You are the most important thing in my life. Okay? I love you, Porchay. I love you.” 

Tears spill down Chay’s cheeks even as confusion twists his face, and he opens his mouth to ask a question, but nothing comes out. Kim cups his face, thumbs away the hot tears, and pulls Chay into a desperate hug when he crumbles. 

“What’s going on?” Chay whispers, his face tucked into Kim’s shoulder, his eyes wide and wet. The confession isn’t the comfort Kim wished it could be. Not now. It’s only a sign of worse things yet to come. 

“I’ll tell you everything,” Kim promises. “But not here.” It isn’t safe. It won’t be long before his younger self regains consciousness and frees himself—they need to get out of here before he does. Kim doesn’t know where to go, though, can’t think of a single place that’s safe. He’ll figure something out; the first priority is getting Chay as far away from his self-destructive younger self as quickly as he can. 

Kim takes Chay’s hand and leads him into the garage beneath his apartment. He clings to the fact that Chay lets him, doesn’t fight it, even when he can feel Chay’s eyes boring into him with something akin to mistrust. He knows he’s earned it. He prays it’s not too late to fix this. 

Kim bundles Chay into his Maserati and peels into the street. The sooner they’re away from this place, from the horrible memories overlaid everywhere he looks, the sooner Kim will be able to formulate a plan. 

He risks a glance at Porchay. Finds him coiled tight in the passenger seat. He shifts gears, then lays his hand over Chay’s where it’s clutching the center console in a white-knuckled grip. 

“Can you trust me?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” Chay answers. But he turns his hand over and laces their fingers together, and it feels like Chay is giving him a second chance. It’s more than Kim had last time. Maybe Chay is only giving him enough rope to hang himself, but whatever happens now—at least Kim’s lips will have known the shape of love. 

-

In the end, Kim takes them to the studio where it all began. He clears the space, then flips every lock between them and the world outside. He steers Chay onto a leather couch against one of the walls, and sits tentatively beside him. 

“Remember I love you, okay?” he says. Chay is still clutching his hand, and Kim clings to him just as desperately. 

“You’re scaring me, Kim.” 

“I know, angel. I’m sorry.” Kim has to say this, too. He owes Chay at least one real apology. Kim has had a year to think about all the things he wishes he had said today. That makes it easier, now, the truth spilling out of him, overflowing, overwhelming, and he doesn’t stop, even when Chay begins to drown. Kim holds him while he cries, and cries, and cries. Whispers I love you, and I’m sorry, and his own eyes are wet when he realizes he’s changed nothing. He was always going to break Chay’s heart.

[taasgirl]

espresso - lando norris

summary: y/n is a famous singer who also happens to be a massive f1 fan. when she mentions a liking for a certain driver, it's only fate that he tries everything in his power to get her attention.

a/n: no face claim! the outcomes/order of races are altered to fit the story, it's just a fun time!!

liked by oliviarodrigo, oneruel, pedri, and 1, 376, 227 others ynusername my new interview with wired is out now!

user64973 Stop you're gorgeous

user89322 do i wanna be her or be with her??

user09384 so who r u crushing on huh

ynusername it's a seeeecret 🤫

user44172 This entire vid is so chaotic omfg

user03638 Please let y/n enter her wag era

liked by user55736, user89842, user73903, and 10, 652 others user33973 HELLO???? LANDO LITERALLY LIKED THIS TWEET I'M CRYING

user98301 brother personally knows who y/n's next bf should be

user40440 HAHA NO LITERALLY

user34593 God please let this be lando shooting his shot after watching y/n's recent interview

user43982 NO WAIT UR SO FR BECAUSE SHE LITERALLY MENTIONED LIKING AN F1 DRIVER WHAT IF IT'S HIM??

user12871 lando and y/n 🙏🙏

view ynusername's story...

liked by oscarpiastri, lorde, gavi, and 782, 774 others ynusername what a race! lovely to see you again @ oscarpiastri, maybe aim for a podium next time though?

oscarpiastri I'd like to see you try in a f1 car

user49949 Wait is oscar the guy y/n was talking abt in that vid? user53004 i hope not, i love him and lily

user20833 Okay so did y/n and lando interract or not? 😭

user61221 hot girls support mclaren (confirmed!) liked by ynusername

user89483 y/n slowly integrating herself in the f1 scene, we see u girl

liked by danielricciardo, logansargeant, ynusername, and 2, 459, 383 others landonorris A lot to learn from this weekend, but we keep pushing. Also great to meet a lot of new faces and the incredible fans🧡

user58273 SORRY WHAT THAT SECOND PHOTO...

user89894 is the new face y/n perhaps??

mclaren Great weekend Lando! liked by landonorris

user92702 I genuinely tweak whenever u post bc u look so fine

user53982 not y/n liking this post 😭

user66359 AND SHE DOESN'T EVEN FOLLOW HIM user98123 miss girl is stalking her crush i bet

user17263 please let this year be your year

user52209 Did anyone see his response to that post race interview?

user28732 YES AND HOW HE HAS HIS EYE ON SUM1

user87229 oh he trynna thirst trap (y/n) liked by landonorris

liked by lilyzneimer, oliviarodrigo, pedri, and 334, 938 others ynusername remember that one bitch ass ex I had? yeah well I wrote another song about him! 'feather' is yours now, but best enjoyed when you have an ugly, cheating, lying dick of an ex to think about. have fun with this one!! 😘

lilyzneimer STOP I'M ACTUALLY DYING I WAS NOT EXPECTING OSCAR OMG I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING liked by ynusername

user82983 i was like wow normal post! and then boom. oscar.

oscarpiastri Okay that seems a little mean

lilyzneimer already on repeat

oscarpiastri Um excuse me???? Did you read the caption...

user68297 NEW Y/N MUSIC YESYESYES

user26321 omfg i've been waiting for an angry y/n song

user72639 this sounds really familiar?? song of the summer maybe?

ynusername ahhhh thank you bb

view landonorris's story...

liked by user58273, user98004, user63874, and 10, 376 others user44938 Y/N papped in Monte Carlo today! Rumours are circulating that she was visiting F1's starboy Lando Norris, however there is no official confirmation.

user99812 ohhh y/n we see you

user89283 Okay everyone shut up abt lando, let's take a moment to appreciate y/n's beauty omf she's gorg

user23294 I SECOND THIS !!

user12834 hmm i wonder why she's in monaco...

user48463 Y/N u ain't slick 😭

user35273 she saw lando's story and ran straight to him

user16282 "how far u go for a sneaky link? I'd fly"

user52883 I know damn well she ain't in monaco for a holiday

liked by landonorris, gracieabrams, laufey, and 483, 995 others ynusername it's exactly like selena gomez's 2011 film

user73948 I KNOW LANDO'S HOODIE WHEN I SEE IT

user63762 ur the genuine it girl

lilyzneimer Monte Carlo reference, I love it liked by ynusername

user11928 landoooo

landonorris oooooo

user40948 oh hey lando user29830 Fancy seeing you here user73984 He wants her so bad

oscarpiastri I think I've seen that hoodie before

ynusername hmm i wonder where 🤷‍♀️

user49283 girl saw his story and flew out IMMEDIATELY

user53984 y/n l/n wag era loading 😏😏

user92874 So pretty

liked by oscarpiastri, ynusername, mclaren, and 3, 469, 848 others landonorris Calm before the storm #raceweek

charlesleclerc Good to see you with some company

user76483 CHARLES HASFGUEH

ynusername omg invite me next time

user42761 Girl bfr we know where u were at

user52739 THIS IS SO FUCKING CUTE

user19820 y/n and lando are a match made in heaven

user82637 I wonder who you were hanging out with 🤔

oscarpiastri Wow I feel like I've seen that girl before

ynusername me too

user61542 not lando soft launching y/n as if we don't know it's her

user82736 I mean technically we don't

user19823 @ user82736 No I think it is confirmed, she was heard on his twitch stream the other day

liked by landonorris, lilyzneimer, danielricciardo, and 1, 254, 982 others mclaren Our drivers and their partners after qualifying! Lando and Oscar will begin P4 and P5 respectively in Monte Carlo 🧡🤍

user82638 AND THEIR PARTNERS??? Y/N AND LANDO?

user52761 admin really said if they won't confirm it, I will liked by mclaren

user52839 Please lando and y/n are adorable

user82636 lily & oscar >>>

user48273 Sooooo they official...?

user27163 guys stop with this y/n x lando madness, i need a double mclaren podium

user82638 y/n really manifested her wag era huh

liked by ynusername, logansargeant, lilymunhe, and 3, 716, 372 others landonorris Monaco '24. Thank you to everyone who came out, and showed me support this weekend. I promise to be better next race. tagged: oscarpiastri & ynusername

ynusername my racer 🧡🏎️

user62538 HELLO? user82776 i'm gonna be sick

mclaren Papaya boys! liked by landonorris

user72538 Y/N is so beautiful I can't even

user16529 HIS EYES

user52863 him hard launching y/n >>>>

user98276 This is MY victoria and david

ynusername omg we're definitely not as cool as them

user41752 i won't get over this ever

liked by landonorris, phoebebridgers, mclaren, and 967, 837 others ynusername i think i need to buy more orange clothes

landonorris I've already offered up half my closet to her...

landonorris nice shirt though 😏

user62538 oh i'm living for their hard launch

lilyzneimer Welcome to the team!!

user22817 STOP THIS IS ADORABLE PLS WE NEED Y/N AND LILY CONTENT IMMEDIATELY

mclaren Our favourite pop star liked by ynusername 🌟

user52763 Y/N THE WAG YESSSSSS

oscarpiastri It's actually papaya

ynusername okay sassy man apocalypse lilyzneimer @ ynusername feed him to the zombies

liked by oliviarodrigo, landonorris, lilyzneimer, and 583, 872 others ynusername oh and btw, my new song espresso is out and it's a @ landonorris certified 'banger'. his words not mine. listen on all platforms now!!

landonorris She's working late cause she's a singerrr

ynusername haiii

user72637 y/n really walked in and said that she's the best lando ever had and ever will have

landonorris I mean it's true sooo

user62537 Okay lando I didn't know u had game like dat

lilyzneimer oh I love you

ynusername LILYYYYYYY i love u so much oscarpiastri I think our gfs are gfs... @ landonorris

view landonorris's story...

please let me know if you guys liked this! i love doing lando fics so much. as always, my reqs are open so feel free to drop suggestions!!

here’s a cute oscar smau i just wrote

[marnikula]

Can u do early seasons spencer x reader who has a lot of problems and they let people walk all over them and they dont set boundaries and they struggle with their emotions. Reader likes spencer a lot but doesn't seek him out bc they feel like he deserves better! And u can decide what happens but make it happy ending :)

Oh my word, I literally spent like 2 hours writing this because I wrote something and then my internet cut out when I posted and now it's lost, so I had to rewrite it. Hope you enjoy!

Cw: gn reader, people dumping work on reader, Spencer being cute

Enjoy!

You were a doormat. You knew it, your friends knew it, everyone knew it. You tried to set boundaries, to say no, but it never seemed to stick. Saying no made you feel guilty, it made you feel like a bad person even though you knew you weren't.

Being a doormat, people tended to walk all over you, requesting ridiculous things of you. That is how it came to be that you were sitting alone in the bullpen, the clock ticking away, showing you that it was around midnight and you still had a whole stack of papers to go through. You felt yourself about to fall asleep, and truly, you were too tired to fight it off when a ding signaled the arrival of someone.

Without even turning to look who it was you knew it was Spencer Reid. You recognized his footsteps, and even if you didn't, the smell he brought with him would have alerted you. It was the smell of coffee mixed sweet undertones, almost as if he had spent his whole day in a café. It was intoxicating. "What are you still doing here?" "Working, I have a lot of stuff to finish before tomorrow" "you mean today" looking back at the clock you could see he was right, it was now officially the next day.

"Do you need some help?" without even waiting for you to decline Spencer took half of the pile you were working on. He moved fast, knowing you well enough to know that you hated asking for help, especially from him, he just could never figure out why.

"Spencer, you really don't need to, I've got this" reaching your hands to take the files back only to be swatted away by the doctor was something you did not expect. "I'm not saying you don't have it, I'm just going to help you so you can go home earlier"

Sighing you admitted defeat and went to go make coffee for the two of you. With Spencer's help you managed to make it through the massive stack of papers on your desk in less that an hour, something you would never have been able to do on your own.

"You, doctor Spencer Reid, are amazing, what can I do to thank you?" it was a slight tease on your part. You didn't expect him to ask you anything return, it wasn't like him, he was too nice . That was one of the things you loved about him, and one of the reasons you willed the crush growing in your heart to shrivel up and die. He deserved so much better than you. Someone with a mind as amazing as his own, someone with kindness rivaling his and someone who knew how to say no. You were none of those. At least not in your own eyes.

"You could go on a date with me" Spencer surprised himself with those words, he really hadn't meant to say them out loud, but he really liked you, and in a moment of confidence inspired by sleep deprevation, he decided to take a chance.

"Really? You mean it?" the both of you were blushing hard at this point, him thinking about how he could have possibly screwed this up and you thinking about how this could possibly get any better.

"I-I mean, only if you want to, you really don't have to feel pressured, I know I said I would take it as paiment, but honestly spending time with you was enough of a payme-" grabbing his face in your hands you turned him to look at you, shutting off his ramblings with the movement and shutting off his brain with your words

"I would love to"

[merakiui]

I wrote this whole thing out already tbh but I accidentally reloaded my tab 😭 so I have to type it out again 💔. I'm sorry if the first one somehow sent already and you get this twice

But nono that is Absolutely an NBC dress!! I see the vision!! I am personally not as big of a Rollo fan but I DO think he is a fascinating little bug. I'm putting him in a little jar under a big ol' magnifying glass and observing him for forever. I like that Masquerade offered us a look at other mage schools and how they work, what villains they're based on, etc. I really appreciate him for that. I did actually really enjoy what we got to learn about him too. Fun stuff! Love Masquerade.

AAAA fashion and eel blessings! I'm so honored :D!! Tbh Floyd has always been much much kinder in gacha than his brother ever has been,, so even tho I loved Jade first maybe I should give that other eel his proper chance. Since he seems to love my keys so much lol

I totally forgive on the forgetting to answer tho it's okay 😭!! These asks get very long. It's bound to happen! Obey Me had that update though a few months ago and it's been a godsend so far!! I played for forever but my cards weren't ever strong enough to reach the later story :( so I'm really glad Nightbringer offers the full thing for free so I can binge read!!

Since I brought up other games though,, I've been wanting to ask actually if you've ever looked into Diabolik Lovers? If you haven't and ever want to... I do want to warn you that the anime is NOT very good unfortunately </3. It's one of those animes that's just kind of a really shitty ad for whatever it's original media form was. It skips out a lot of important lore/character info, and doesn't really showcase each character properly since it tried very hard to focus on just 1 brother and failed. So the ganes/translations are 100% the way to go.

I bring it up tho bc it's my fave character's birthday today :D!! Ohh,, Reiji Sakamaki the strange little specimen you are <3 <3 my lovely wife that drugs people. I adore him. I think tbh you could like him too based on the stuff you usually talk and write about here. But obviously I could be very wrong! No way to actually know.

- :3

AAAA the horror of reloading the tab... I've done that too many times. T_T I know the pain well. </3

YES!!! Glomas gave us so much!!! It's one of my favorite twst events. Being able to see what other magic schools are like and how they function (NBC having a student council in contrast to NRC's Housewarden system). I really hope there will be more events like it! I'd love an event where the RSA students are given more spotlight or an RSA-centric event!!! It would be so exciting!!!!

:O giving Floyb a proper chance...... may he come home so quickly!!! May he jump into your arms enthusiastically!! It's Jade's loss for being so stubborn in coming home. >:( no hugs for that eel.

That feature is so helpful and nifty omg!!!! I want to finish the main story and learn more from where I stopped a while back. ;;;; after becoming a Jade enjoyer, my eyes have opened to Barbatos hehe.

DIABOLIK LOVERS OMG...... now that's a name I haven't heard in a long time. I did indeed watch the anime many years ago, but I actually haven't delved too deeply into the translations of the game. I might have to because,,,, vampire....... cool,,,, pretty,,, deranged.... orz the sheer grip those brothers had on me...

Please forgive my late reply!!!! >_< your wife's birthday has since passed, but that doesn't mean we can't still celebrate Reiji Sakamaki, the wife ever!!!!!! <3 I think my taste in fictional men has refined with my age because the polite (as a front) types (Reiji, Kyoya, Jade, Sebastian, etc etc) were never my preference, but now I am LOOKING. 👁 👁 I think I need Mr. Reiji carnally.

[yeonnies]

choi beomgyu - wishlist

synopsis. it's beomgyu's, your best friend since you were in diapers, birthday!

pairing. idol!beomgyu x nonidol!fem!reader

genre. romance-ish, fluff! loosely based off of wishlist LMFAOOO you and beomgyu are kind of more than friends but not quite lovers el o el

warnings. kind of rushed bc i wrote this while having a killer headache 😈, beomgyu cries

not proofread!

a/n. hAPPY BDAY TO BEOMGYU 😭🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

there is definitely something wrong with the guys. first, soobin has been so dodgy. second, yeonjun has kept giving him an ominous smile of sorts. third, taehyun... actually, taehyun has been pretty normal. but kai? gosh, kai keeps making jokes about something happening today that it makes beomgyu feel kind of nervous.

are they planning a surprise? if so, why? or are they just going to prank him when they get home? beomgyu is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize that the lights of the apartment still aren't on. he turns around, eyebrow raised in confusion only for him to end up blinking when huening kai shuts the door.

"aren't you going to... turn on the lights?" he asks.

kai furrows his eyebrows. "why don't you do it? wait! before you do, look over there!"

beomgyu purses his lips. kai is being so weird... nonetheless, he swivels around only to be met with yeonjun clamping his hands over his eyes. "hey!" he yelps, smacking the hands over his eyes. "what are you doing?"

yeonjun clicks his tongue in annoyance. "stop moving, beomgyu! you're ruining everything!"

"what the—? what is that supposed to mean?"

taehyun sighs. "soobin hyung, can you hurry? they look like they're going to fight it out soon..."

"sorry sorry!" soobin says, somewhere from the living room, assumes beomgyu. "the lighter isn't... working...!"

beomgyu's about to duck down and make a run for it when he hears someone laugh softly. he grows still, heart beating quickly in his chest.

"okay! i'm done! bring him over here!"

yeonjun carefully guides beomgyu over to the living room, letting his hands fall back to his side as he steps away. beomgyu stares at you, dark eyes wide.

"happy birthday, beoms," you say, grinning at him as you hold a cake, the orange glow of the candle illuminating your face as well as the others as they stand with you.

someone counts down to one, he's not sure who did, but you all start singing happy birthday to him. he thinks your smile got a lot brighter when you're all done singing.

"make a wish!" you say, slightly jutting the cake outward. with the lack of response, your eyes scan over his face, and you carefully hand over the cake to soobin, who leads the boys into the kitchen.

you don't even have the chance to open your arms when beomgyu flings himself on you, engulfing you in a hug as his tears hit your shoulder. "how are you even here?" he mumbles.

"well," you start, patting his back. "someone wouldn't tell me what they wanted for their birthday, so i had to think long and hard about what to get them... i know you missed home, so i thought i'd bring home to you! i cleared up my schedule so that i could come for a couple days before going back."

he pulls away, gasping. you scrunch your nose at him and wipe away at the tears threatening to spill from his glossy eyes. "you'll be here for a couple days?"

"mhm," you hum. "i brought back a lot of your mom's food, by the way. we should hurry before the boys eat it all up." you grab his hand, swinging it. with a smile, you lean up and press your lips to his cheek. "happy birthday, beoms. i hope you make even more happy memories this year."

"ew! hurry and come eat, love birds!" kai sticks his tongue out at both you, disappearing back into the kitchen.

you laugh, pulling a dazed beomgyu into the kitchen where all he does is smile so much that his cheeks feel sore afterwards. he looks at everyone, looks at how taehyun cuts the cake while yeonjun keeps his eyes on the knife, saying that he'll protect it from getting everyone's germs over it. he watches soobin laugh out loud at his antics, kai fueling his laughter even more when he threatens to hide all the utensils from yeonjun and proceed to lick the knife just to get a kick out of him. he watches you laugh alongside soobin, eyes flickering every so often towards him just for you scrunch your nose at him in a playful manner before going back to talking with everyone else.

"so," says yeonjun, chewing on his food behind his hand. "what did you wish for?"

beomgyu blinks in surprise. "huh?"

yeonjun snorts. "stop staring at yn like a creeper, and tell me what you wished!"

"yeah!" says kai. "what did you wish for?"

"bet he wished that he could kiss a certain someone," taehyun says, wiggling his eyebrows at him.

beomgyu scoffs, playfully shoving taehyun away. "none of your business," he says, huffing. he peeks at everyone, grinning.

he won't say it out loud, but he wished that his birthdays are something like this if he can't manage to spend it back home.

[mooodyblue]

I’d love to see CG!us or cg e deal with a tantrum from a very grumpy little you 🥺

wahhh i loved this one, ty for the request and inspo 💋💋 wrote this with cg!e bc i don't have many elvis requests in my asks rn!

wc: 962

masterlist

elvis's patience was being tested big time today. he knew you couldn't help it. sometimes you had your bad days, that's okay. that doesn't mean he liked the bad days though. most bad days were triggered by something frustrating happening with you during your day or you not getting enough sleep. it was definitely a mixture of both today.

maybe a lot of it had to do with him leaving you with jerry again for the third time this week. of course, you weren't little every time but today was just the icing on the cake for you. you woke up little, clingy and just needy for elvis’s presence. you had this whole day planned in your head for you and elvis which involved lots of snuggling. but unfortunately, your whole day was ruined when he said he had to finish recording today meaning jerry would be over to watch you today.

and jerry knew you didn't mean to be so….harsh towards him. he understood being away from elvis especially when you were little was frustrating for you. he did everything he could to keep you busy and to get your mind off of him not being there but it was all your mind could go to, elvis not being there.

the later it got, the more frustrated you were. elvis promised to be home at a specific time and he was late. you didn't like when he was late and honestly, it felt like he lied to you. he never breaks his promises to you and now here he is, not home when he was supposed to be. what kind of daddy does that?

you tucked yourself in a corner, bringing your knees to your chest as you angrily glared at jerry who was attempting to get you upstairs in bed. “c'mon, hon. don't be like that.” he sighed.

“i want daddy.” you complained. “no sleep till he's here!”

jerry scratched the side of his head, unsure of what to do. in his defense, he wanted elvis back too.

after attempting to coax you out of the corner several times, elvis eventually pulled up to graceland, causing jerry to jump up and meet him at the front door elvis wandered in with a tired smile, “how's my baby doin’?”

“well, they're mad at you. they've got themselves cornered in the music room so….leavin’ that up to you. good luck.” he patted elvis on the back and left before elvis could even respond.

“yeah, see you later.” he muttered sarcastically. elvis shut the door behind him and ventured off to find you, frowning at you in the corner. “now, what's goin’ on? why are you givin’ jer’ a hard time?”

“mad at daddy.” you said, hugging your knees tighter.

“baby-”

“no! daddy’s always busy! never has time for me, always goin’ off a-and leavin’ me with stupid jerry ‘n then lying about comin' home! daddy doesn't love me anymore!” you vented, stomping your feet angrily.

elvis shot you a stern look, a look that you didn't like very much. you knew what was coming. “y/n, that's not very nice.” he voiced. “we do not call our friends stupid, jerry is not stupid and you know that. jerry loves ya enough to come and watch you when you're feelin’ tiny when he doesn't have to, i don't think that's very stupid of him, is it?”

you pouted, looking down. “no….”

“i’m not just leavin’ you here with jerry for any ol’ reason, i got work i have to do, baby. i got albums to record, meetings and shows to do, you know that. i’m sorry if i’m runnin’ a little late but sometimes it happens, it's life. that doesn't mean you gotta go and treat other people badly for it.”

that made you feel bad, now elvis really didn't love you anymore. that was it, he was going to leave you for being stupid and silly and being mean and-

“and ain't no way in hell have i ever said i don't love ya anymore. i love ya to death, honey. you're my baby, you know that. all the plushies, the toys, the snacks-it's because i love you.” he crouched down, meeting you eye level and took your hands, looking into your glossy, tear filled eyes. “i hate leaving you. i really do. i feel terrible when i’m not home when i said i'd be, i don't do these things on purpose, y'know.”

tears fell from the brim of your eyes and you threw yourself onto elvis nearly knocking him down, hugging him tightly and crying into your shoulder. “‘m sorry daddy, i-i didn' mean to be so mean. i just miss you and i don’ think jerry’s stupid and i love you and i don't want you to leave me and ‘m scared you're gonna hate me and-”

elvis pulled away, a soft grip on your shoulders. “don't you ever say i’d hate you for anything. i could never hate you.” he said sternly. “i wuv you, yittle. with all my damn heart, i mean it. i just need ya to be a little nicer when jer’ does have to come by and i promise to call if daddy’s ever runnin’ late.”

you nodded and sniffled, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. “c’n i apologize to jer’ tomorrow?”

he gave you a warm smile, “of course you can, thank you. he'd appreciate that. are we okay now?”

you replied with a nod, giving him a quick kiss.

“can we get you ready for bed? daddy’s all tired out.”

“mhm.” you stood up, holding your hand out for elvis as he got up too. “can you read to me?”

elvis chuckled, “yeah, alright. anything for my baby.”

[frecklystars]

Aww, GAD anon 🥺🥺 I want to selfishly keep your message in my inbox to look back on again, but I want to let you know here that I did read it and I appreciate every word you wrote.

I'm so glad my own message back to you could make you feel better. I do mean it, I am spiritually here with you and supporting you and holding your hand through every single hard thing. Like I said, if you're struggling to sleep because you're anxious, chances are I am definitely awake at the same time as you. 2am, 4am, 7am, hell even 10am, I am most likely still awake. I go many days without sleeping bc, y'know, anxiety lol. or any of the other things you mentioned you struggle with, I struggle with too, you are not alone in those things at all. You can always think to yourself "well hey right now this task is really hard, but at least Keri is also dealing with this right now and she is so proud of me for trying!" because I am! so proud, that is -- of you! for trying! bc I know it is hard as fuck to push yourself to do literally Anything when your brain makes you feel consumed by panic 24/7. you are so strong and I believe you can do this!!!! one day we are both gonna be able to sleep more and eat more and relax more and just, exist without the little monsters in our head feeding on our fear. i got you. we got this 💪✨

And all the things you said about Barbie and Ken ;-; wow. Thank you so much. I really, really, REALLY needed to read that... 😭😭😭 That helped me feel a bit more comforted after... everything that's been happening. I had a really, really heavy trigger hit me recently, and it got to the point where today I woke up and Everything That Has Ever Traumatized Me was the first and only thing in my head, and it just stuck in my brain, wouldn't go away. I was having a reeeeally difficult day bc of it, but then I read your message when it was slow at work, and I started to relax, I just kept reading it over and over and over again and finally I wasn't as shaky, I was starting to get more control of myself ;-; It helps when someone is telling me "hey, logically, here is why your F/Os would not harm you" and yours made me laugh too. You were absolutely 100% correct and the way you phrased it was so funny. Especially what you said about Ken... that was hilarious, made me smile when I was having such a rough day.

And I also appreciate you phrasing it as "hey btw your F/Os are normal people who love in a normal way. whoever is claiming to love you in a way that is harming you is... literally Not Normal. most people are not Like That." and I literally sat there staring out into space for a few long seconds and muttering to myself "my god, they're right. it's literally... not fucking normal for people to behave like the way I have been treated." and tbh that made me feel so much better. My F/Os ARE normal!!! I mean yes some of them are evil wicked murderers or silly silly villains who try to take over the world or they like to set things on fire -- but they're, like... not manipulators who are endlessly dedicated to the bit! and it genuinely helps me SO MUCH when somebody tells me "hey your F/Os would not hurt you, and here are the logical reasons why." I always appreciate when people say "hey they won't hurt you :)" but it doesn't really "click" with me or calm me down as efficiently, because my brain will constantly be asking "yes they SAID they wouldn't hurt me, but... what if they still would ;-;" like I literally just get consumed with what-ifs. but ppl saying "no actually here's some ACTUAL REASONS why these characters would be gentle with you, and how hurting you is out of character for them, here's EXAMPLES" - that does wonders for me, dude.

So!!!! Thank you for taking the time out of your day to send me such a nice message for me to look back on. And hey, if you ever need to vent about anything, please feel free, my inbox is always open. Sending you lots of hugs and little stars to wish you a good night (or day depending on your timezone)!! 🌟✨🌟✨🌟✨

[melodic-haze]

Just out of curiosity, I'm a new comer and saw your "about the blog" post and it said you don't write for males, but I came from your Himeko x amab post. Was that just the occasional one off or has your rules changed? I'm asking as I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable if I decide to request stuff in the future. Also apologize if this was too formal and wordy, I actually never used tumblr until recently so I'm still confused on many things such as etiquette. Also I hope your therapist situations go well and more so will your gacha pulls be blessed.

FIRST OF ALL DON'T APOLOGISE HAHAHA I've only been here since like April or May and I used to have some other Tumblr acc way back when but I'm. Still very confused a lot of the time I fear. AND THANK YOU FOR BOTH WISHES 💪💪 I'll roll today and I'm planning to call them up tomorrow

As for the meat of the matter (what a silly thing to say), there Might be a bit of confusion here which like. Fair enough I got a bit confused myself at first and I'm the one who made this fucking blog 😭 but to put it simply and VERY possibly cancel-worthy, I don't write for male-identifying people

I WOULD LIKE TO CLEAR UP THOUGH FIRST THAT I DO NOT HATE MEN PLEASE 😭😭😭 all of this sounds so very riskily worded idk how else to say it I'm so sorry :(

Long explanation utc but tldr: I just don't feel comfortable for my own reasons (such as my writing being self-indulgent), I differentiate sex from gender so afab and amab are different from fem, male and gender neutral, the Himeko ask wasn't a one-off but more of a compromise, and THANK YOU FOR DECIDING TO ASK AND CARE FOR MY COMFORT :(((( ily new anon I HOPE I DON'T SCARE YOU OFF BC OF THIS OMG 😭😭😭😭😭

Ok now if you don't mind my long-winded explanation, I use the terms amab or afab as a form of distinction between genitals in my smutposting bc I'm fine with such a thing, it's just writing for the male perspective that....bothers me? No that's not quite right, I do Discord rp and have played as men before, I think it's just more the fact that I write not just for other people but for myself too? If you read the dialogue for my demos and stuff, you'd probs be able to tell that this is all VERY self-indulgent—the reader's responses aren't really as neutral as I want them to be, leaning towards actions and phrases that I would use rather than cater to the general 'neutral' audience

Maybe it makes no difference in the end, bc everyone's their own individual and beyond the whole stereotype thing and the gymbro testosterone-esque macha-alpha bs you see sometimes, there aren't?? And really shouldn't be much of a link between genders and personal thoughts ig, if you catch my meaning. But I just Don't Feel Right writing ig. I don't think it helps that I've had a bad experience with a few men in my life, which while it doesn't define my view of the gender bc what the fuck man, it does define my comfort levels in writing

The reason why I wrote the Himeko ask with an amab reader was bc the og ask was with a MALE reader, which I've explained to you just now about. I could happily, EASILY do gn reader who was born male/has male endowments, but the mind is a whole different thing so I came to some kinda compromise instead bc I REALLY really did wanna write the request itself. At the end of the day, it all falls to semantics I suppose, but a gyal can't be blamed for being kinda specific ab stuff, right? 🫠🫠 Yeah no this wasn't a one-off, nor have the rules changed—if you look through my page, you can see Multiple Works of me writing a gn reader with an implied dick/strap alternative for people with fem genitalia haha

I DO appreciate you for asking beforehand though! Questions like these make me happy bc it shows yall care rather than just. Getting into it and jumping the gun I suppose!!! Sometimes my stomach just twists when I get a req for the male identity and it's a whole thing :(

[literary-ink]

As always, @applesandbannas747 is putting into words what I was thinking better than I ever would.

First of all, I have to clarify that I haven't bought the new issue and, truth be told, I'm not even sure I will. I don't think I can keep reading this without my mental stability being affected until it's finished and I know what to expect. Yeah, I know, it sounds crazy (ADHD). Tell me about being attached to your fav hyperfixation.

It's exactly what Jack's pinpoint. I've come to the conclusion that, rather than a FENCE fan, I'm a fan of what FENCE could've been. Don't get me wrong, I'm always happy to hear that the comic is still going on and we get to know how the story continues. I will lose it if the comic gets cancelled and we never get to know how it ends bc I want to know the canon story. But I feel like I'm getting upset over something that didn't exist in the first place.

Ok, let's dive into it, shall we?

I think that, effectively, the narrative of FENCE is very weird. Many of us know how the story goes. It started as monthly issues, then a pause, then another thing; we believed it was cancelled because taking so long to announce another issue wasn't a good sign? Then it wasn't cancelled —yayy— and we got RISE which was . . . okay, I guess, but we could already tell the cracks of the storyline and mainly the characters.

Yeah, 18 months is a lot, and we had TOO much time to get bored and be in need of new content. This is where fanfic writes and content creators on platforms such as this one come into the picture and create these magnificent fics that are the literal definition of doing God's work. What was the problem here? We had high expectations due to what had been promised in the premise and previous issues and the long wait, so we wrote, drew, etc, bearing these things in mind.

The canon story doesn't add up to the image we have in our heads anymore. Mainly because of fanfics. Yours are amazing, Jack. I personally love the way you write every character and the fact that they're . . . just not like that is insane to me. They're not like that!! I swear my brain can't comprehend this information. Do you mean to tell me that Nicholas was always meant to be a golden retriever??? No, you can't convince me.

He wasn't in CANON. Or at least his character wasn't simply reduced to that personality trait. I said this in my last long rambling about FENCE almost a year ago, and I stand by what I said. C.S. Pacat has priorities (completely valid) and it's pretty obvious FENCE is not in the realm of the main ones. So consequently, we get strange development of characters — may I say disappointing — and an inconsistent storyline, always tied to the possibility of getting cancelled any moment.

FENCE is very anticlimatic bc is a series that is solely being carried by its fan base. That's the thing, and I also believe that's why, despite being this tiny, the fandom creates such great pieces. We barely get any canon content, and when we do, it's just not what we expected. Thus, we end up making up our own depiction of the characters and events that we'd like to have seen, which is fueled by fandom feedback. I'll never not be bitter about the fact that we barely got any rivals phase. This was marketed as a RIVALS to LOVERS. WHERE'S THE RIVALS??? Where's the Nicholas and Seiji we were promised? I'll tell you where they are: in the fandom's collective imagination.

I'll always be in LOVE with the first 12 issues, and I'll always be in love with writers works in ao3. I swear the day Jack decides he's done with FENCE is the day I die (jk, I don't want to put any pressure on you 😭🤚)

Well, I think I'm done rambling for today. Heck, I'm sorry this looks so serious, but I could talk endlessly about this topic.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

ok for the character ask game, you already know I have Meneldir on the brain today, sooooo.... thoughts? 👀 (also if OCs are fair game, I would Love to hear more about Est :unlessranger:)

:D i'm always down to ramble about est lol

hm. meneldir's gonna go under a cut tho on account of before the spoilers i think

est:

one aspect about them i love: she is friend shaped <3 she is also allergic to chill most of the time

one aspect i wish more people understood about them: hmm. i don't really know honestly? the one thing i've really ever run into like that is 'oh, is she in love?' which. i can look at what i wrote for her and go 'yeah alright, that's a perfectly reasonable way to read that, but no, she's not In Love' but even that's like. i get it? it's perfectly rational? idk

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character: she used to hang out with the lake-spirit of the long lake. she decided she really liked zhelruka food in the grey mountains. she's aroace & in a qpr. she really hates having her hair long (Feels Bad on the back of her neck) despite the prevailing elf attitudes around long hair in a lot of places. she spent a few centuries just kinda wandering; she was up and down the northern anduin a lot, and may have ended up farther east at some point too (i don't know all the details here yet). she is fully willing to use runecraft for stupid things despite how seriously people take it, and this has in fact been encouraged in her by a few people (talagan, but lowkey, and also probably gandalf 'aren't fireworks awesome?' the grey)

one character i love seeing them interact with: oh hm. it's very funny every time she talks to viznak, bc he'll just say things and she just goes '......sure! why not.' she makes a genuine effort to have Cook Opinions on his various swamp brews. she thinks the entire situation is very weird, but on a scale from ???? to Actively Trying To Kill Us, she's pretty much fine with it

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: you'd think i'd have more control over this one, considering she's my character, but! it's grimbold. she felt bad about how the aftermath of troubled dreams went, and after awhile she could look at her talk with him and go 'oh! yeah so he was doing as bad as i was after all that', and she always meant to talk to him about it, especially once everyone else was getting mad on her behalf over it, but it just never ended up happening. she still feels bad about that

also i wish she would tell me a little more about her relationship with her father, but she emphatically Does Not Want To

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character: oh i guess i already had some of these. oh well. post-black book (and gundabad/return to carn dum? idk, i don't know when i'm gonna cut off her doing the epics), she starts doing some Actual Combat Training, bc she never really did any of that, and her primary weapon of Zap Them can only take her so far, especially when she's supposed to be on stealth missions lmao. anyway, she learns some dagger things from faeron. she does a little bit of archery with radanir, but it never really ends up being her Thing

meneldir:

one aspect about them i love: he wants! to help! he really really does! enough that he's willing to go back to people he has no reason to expect a warm welcome from!

one aspect i wish more people understood about them: hmmm... in world or out of world lol.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character: well! tossdir is still just. permanently attached lol. i think meneldir has picked up way more trivia about the history of cardolan from narndir than he admits. he likes spicy food but doesn't have a super high spice tolerance. i also think he would be a fan of barbecue (there is absolutely no reason for this one lol)

one character i love seeing them interact with: Meneldir squints at Bregoleth. 'Sometimes Elves have trouble marking the passage of the years. I mean no offence.' i think he and bregoleth should hang out more

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: narndir!!

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character: there are some half-formed thoughts about who might have been in that house he was supposed to watch, and if halbarad might have been related to them and/or meneldir, and just how much of his insistence on trusting this rando adventurer and barely even looking at meneldir was personal vs just the result of having one of his worst weeks ever so far. i haven't worked all my thoughts on it out yet, but there is. soup

[bellshazes]

peter today I've been arguing on twitter and clearly it's a sign I'm not meeting my needs in terms of meaningful engagement in making the world a better place. I applied to get training as a peer support worker, but if I don't get accepted do you have any other suggestions? [preferably something that can lead to work as opposed to only volunteering, bc tuition obvs doesn't pay itself]

-self actualization anon andy

holy shit best of luck I am rooting for you so hard!!!!!! Peer support specialists are some of the best people on earth, seriously, I have never met one I didn't love with every cell in my body.

With looming layoffs at my company I've been thinking about other jobs a lot and I fell into mine accidentally. I went from restaurant manager to home & auto insurance and got lucky with that, and then looked for admin positions and got one with an insurance plan that I only understood served foster youth after getting hired. When I was a restaurant manager I wrote about local arts things on the side to keep me alive, and that writing helped get the auto insurance job. It didn't help pay bills, but it made life livable.

I think there's a lot of good a social worker can do but you could not pay me any amount of money on earth to get an advanced degree in it and not even just because of your point about tuition. A lot might depend on where you live - in my state (Kentucky) I might recommend the Family and Youth Resource Centers (FRYSCies) or community based organizations like The Book Works or KY-SPIN that do educational advocacy and offer peer support-adjacent services that don't require PSS cert. Managed care is my field, and it's not the most stable but something like a Community Health Worker might give you some useful searches whether it's with insurance or not. Centers for Independent Living can vary in name and quality, but if youre US your state will have some. I wish I had more jobs I knew were meaningful or how to get into them.

And I don't know if it's relevant but... I didn't feel like a real adult until I was 27, and I'm only 29 now. I can't believe I used to just cold email people to interview them about the arts in my community - I was so desperate at 23, 25. I cooked potluck dinners every week for friends for a few years, even if it didn't matter what we ate. But I think my biggest strength is finding something in my job to care about impacting people - my ch*potle regulars, one of whom is still a good friend and also was a PSS briefly; my home customers who I could explain things to, help them understand their policies; supporting my direct care co-workers, finding ways to make their jobs a tiny bit easier. When you are hungry for connection it is so hard to stay hungry, but the older I get the more firmly I believe that every little thing you do to make a difference for somebody matters.

I may not know you, but if you're looking for meaningful work in places like PSS certifications, I bet you have it in you to find ways of making that difference. And you never run out of chances, even if you're twice my age you still have years to go to keep making a meaningful difference. I hope this doesn't come across as trite, because it's what I lean on when I feel like nothing I do matters, which has been about half the time lately. If you have people you care about, let them take care of you too; if you feel like you don't have that and are isolated, it may not be much but I am rooting for you. I mean that. Happy to share my discord as well, if you ever wanna connect directly - I also could probably swing some more specific recs for some US states. But keep me updated anyway, my friend. Dreaming bigger is more than half the battle.

[flames-memory]

Monday morning

BC took me to this cool fancy mall, and we had dinner. It was fun, just nice to have a cozy moment, have dinner. We went home and snuggled to sleep.

Night

Billy asked BC to run the club tonight, he had something come up. She did great, people were dancing and moshing. The music was great. It wasn't the big crowd of opening night, but I thought it was decent. BC was worried it was too quiet.

Tuesday morning

Mistress took me back to the same club as the first time with Faye. I wrote the blindfold, and I could hear all the people there, but it didn't matter. I didn't care as much, since I couldn't see them. It was intense and, of course, amazing.

Tuesday

I am NOT. Soo... Weird dreams. Eliza was there with BC when I woke up, they had dinner ready, or mostly eaten. It was nice to chat, but for some reason I didn't really want to..

Yeah that's a lie. I didn't feel as comfortable around Eliza. I think she's nice, but I'm not fully comfortable with her, knowing how she prioritized BC recently. I don't need her in my problems.

Sniffing, running, city, trees, Hellions... Smashed.. ha.. fire doesn't hurt... Searching... But not.. no.. no longer desperately. Curiously. Familiar. Uncomfortable.

What's all that? That's all I got right now. That and.. "Not". I am Not. A name??

Whatever. I'll figure it out. It doesn't seem to be imminent disaster.

I need a better schedule. When Eliza said she was going to Black Cat, I wanted to throttle her. WTF?

I don't understand people.

I can't straight out understand, so my brain comes up with maybes.

Maybe Eliza is mad cuz I butted in.

BC been busy a lot, really, the last few weeks. With Faye, with other people sometimes. I never know for sure. I certainly didn't mind, I was aware when I got involved with her that she was a busy person. At least I could look forward to seeing her when she wasn't . Everywhere we go out seems there's someone she's close to. Some of them are friendly. I finally have a few people i'm starting to 'know', people I can have a conversation with. I'm seeing Mark around more, and Andres and I are slowly becoming friends, although he's a busy little spark himself.

I feel like I year Max as backup. His plan b joke been bugging me, since he's not all wrong. I tried to make it up to him, even if he didn't mean it, by giving him some focus, and luckily, BC turned out to have 'throuple' dates with Eliza and Sebastian a bunch since they been back from Paris, so it worked out pretty well.

Till today.

I took a job I didn't have to, thinking she had movie plans with Eliza. Why? I think she did one night, way back when, and somehow Tuesdays are always weird, and other than it one night at the movies, I just thought it was like, their thing.

And I hate to say it, but I'm not eager to hang out with Eliza yet. I guess I have to forgive her for putting BC through some unnecessary shit first.

If it had been Faye, it wouldn't have been the same. Although... Here's more maybes now.

Maybe things seem weird and tense cuz we're worried about Faye. Maybe Faye being missing means suddenly, BC has a bunch of free time. Maybe I'm not sure where that thought leads, but I wish Faye were back, so I didn't get too used to BC being bored and lonely, for ME to get used to having so much of her time before Faye comes back. Faye's going to be around a lot more, which means everything will change, as far as our schedules and when we see each other, I think.

I'm not good at this stuff. I wish I was. I know I love them, but I'm scared I'm not enough for both, and I'm not willing to lose either. Imma just fuck it up till one chooses to leave me, I guess.

[rose-tinted-juls]

i literally wrote this in november and left it in my drafts why am i so stupid? anyway. life is busy when you're in your final year of uni that i can tell now but re-reading this chap of ma&thp gave me the long desired feeling of normalcy, so thank you, mackie dear <3

1. THE AIRPORT SCENE I'M SOBBING. the "oh my god is that charles leclerc" was so perfect there even if it's so simple god i love chris. "charles leclerc wants you, could have stopped there" OMG if he said that to me i would literally die on spot. good thing he never will

2. CHRIS BROUGHT CHARLES FLOWERS 😭 AN ACTUAL BOUQUET 😭😭 "just because" 😭 i honestly can't. just simply can't.

3. "anything you want to know, i came tonight with my life story ready." - "her dad'll like that a lot." so simple yet so perfect again. i love charles' interactions with her family.

4. also i just love how close chris and her dad is. like. i 'm just so soft rn

5. when charles didn't say no to the wine bc he doesn't want to offend Cindy and then keeping Chris frim saying anything about him not actually liking wine, i LOVE how real he is. if this ain't me anytime i'm a guest at someone's

6. SHUT UP THE SCENE WHERE BILL ASKS CHARLES ABOUT WHAT HE LIKES MOST ABOUT CHRIS 😭😭😭 his answer is just too much for my little heart. "...how lucky i am to have her in my life." JUST SHUT UP. i literally can't take it (+ "now that i'm properly embarrassed for the rest of my life" lmao love that line)

7. cindy and charles looking through the photo albums, soooo lovely so cute so soft, i want this

8. oh WAIT that paragraph about the childhood photos and the protective parent act that charles wonders about. WAIT. that's such a good paragraph put in such a clever way, i love it. "you can't be mean to someone when you look at them and imagine the tiny version of them playing dress-up in a princess themed bedroom" + "he should get a few baby pictures from his mom, he thinks. to show them to chris, just so that she isn't allowed to hurt him." I'M SCREAMING WHY IS IT SO GOOD

9. "[charles] is hit with a sudden wave of gratitude towards the way he's been wholly and completely welcomed into her life like this. the night of endless nerves aside, the excitement of learning all the chapter of her life that predate him is something he isn't going to take for granted." i mean. just these lines. they melted me. i'm just a puddle. a crying mess. why is he so sweet 😭 why do you have to make him so sweet, mack 😭

10. i love charles and chase's conversation about racing stuff. i just love it. also how charles pays attention to shen chris falls asleep so that he can tell her later on when she'll ask, that is just pure sweetness over there. but the whole conversation about car racing is just perfect. and when charles just goes for it, "taking a shot in the dark", asking what drafting is, i just felt so proud lmao i would never be able to ask that question i'm so bad team social anxiety

11. this following conversation: "promise you won't get lost in the woods and eaten by a bear today. at least wait until i'm there to witness it." - "i can always outrun you, they say you only have tk be faster than the other guy." - "you wouldn't let me get eaten by a bear." - "well, i might." - "wouldn't." - "would." I WANT THIS. I NEED THIS. WHEN IS IT MY TURN. i'm just such a sucker for this type of couple's banter

12. charles getting lost during his run is just so funny, but also when he's thinking about how nice it is to not worry about anyone watching him. "here it's just him, just charles. there's nothing special about it, which is what makes it so fucking special." poor baby i can't even imagine the life he has to live in this aspect. this paragraph was perfect to remind me how deep down he's just a human being like anyone else which i (and so many of us) tend to forget bc he's like a literal god and like idk. this just hit me deep in my chest.

13. "he's not french. monégasque, and very proud." this whole part is just *chefs kiss* omg i love chris.

14. THAT PART WITH CHARLES AND THE "DO YOU WANT ME TO BE JEALOUS?" AND THE "SHAME, I WAS GOING TO PUT ON A SHOW." OMG JEALOUS!CHARLES IS BE SOMETHING I'D DIE TO SEE especially in this universe

15. "her laughter, musical and infectious, is all he hears when the entire place laughs." AND "even the eax dhe plays with the ribnon on the bouquets she hold-something so small and trivial, it all captivates him." AND MOST OF ALL THE "he finds himself swept away by a tide of emotions, some messy kaleidoscope of feelings that defy articulation. there's something magnetic about her, an irresistible urhe to kiss her that seems to linger in the back of his mind, always. it's all lined up for him, a million synchronized harmonies that underscore every interaction. the changing colours of leaves and the smell of rain on a pine patio, the hesrtbeat of a conversation, a light in every roo.. his perception of his own emotions, the way he feels about this fucking woman, jt's so clear it becomes cloudy. every stolen glance and shared smile is this integral part of their connection, this thing that he can't let go of." OKAY POET GO OFF. MACK YOU ACTUAL GODDESS OF WORDS I'M IN SUCH AWE OF YOU. SUCH A GORGEOUS PART. SO SO SO PERFECT. brb gonna go sob for a while

16. "may your love be modern enough to survive the times, but old-fashioned enough to last forever." why is this line so genuinely perfect? like this punch-in-the-chest and make-your-mind-spin kind of perfect.

17. charles worrying about chris' speech 😭😭 (i mean same here but he's just so soft and so smitten and so lovely) but like "you know that you're the kind of person who is easy to love, yes?" i'm actually sobbing now 😭 and the "he's smart enough to know when it's time to just dance with his girlfriend." where are the boys/men like this in real life 😭😭

18. the "she opens her fucking email. he's in love with her, and she's opening her fucking email while telling him it's not possible." hits SO HARD. an actual punch in the gut. so good.

19. and this deserves its own point: "there's nothing more he can add to the conversation, not now. not when he's just ran face-first into a brick wall off i love you." awh charles you're in love with her 😭😭😭 and you finally realised it yourself 😭😭 i genuinely have tears in my eyes. actual tears. i'm.... wow.

oh my lovely lovely mackie, you true inspiration and goddess. this chapter brought me so much joy, more than you can imagine (i mean not like all the previous ones didn't do the same but this was just a whole new level of that). thank you. i wish i could tell you this in person just so you could see how sincerely i mean it, and that i could give you a big hug to express my overwhelming appreciation for you. love you loads

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—07. Homegrown —word count: 15.8k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... I don't really have much to say lol... just that I love this chapter and it got a little out of hand. I hope you love it like I do!

Chris takes a personal day at work on the Thursday Charles gets into Georgia. She wants to make sure she’s the one picking him up from the airport, doesn’t want to spend a single second longer than she needs to without seeing him, hugging him, kissing him. 

His flight lands at 10:15, but by the time he gets through customs, baggage, and calls Chris three times after getting lost in the Atlanta airport, it’s 11:30. She finally finds him outside the Maynard Terminal, backpack slung over his shoulders, suitcase next to him. He looks so perfectly like a boyfriend, she thinks. “I can see you,” she says. “Do you see my car?”

“No,” he laughs, and it pours from the car speakers like sweet honey. “I don’t.”

“Okay, well, stay put, then. I’m coming to you.” She manages to make her way across two lanes to be right on the curb, and then he spots her, his whole expression taking shape when their eyes lock. She rolls her window down as he approaches, and slots the car into park. “Oh my god,” she giggles. “Is that Charles Leclerc?”

He rolls his eyes. “Open the trunk?”

“Charles Leclerc wants me to open the trunk?” She says, pushing the button on her door-panel to pop the hatch open. 

“Charles Leclerc wants you,” he says, hoisting his suitcase up into the back of the car, tossing his backpack there, too. “Could have stopped there,” he chuckles, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She blushes, a cheek-aching smile still on her face. He slams the trunk shut and makes his way around the car, opening the passenger door. “Hi, pretty girl,” he properly greets her. “What’s this?” He asks.

Sitting there, on the passenger seat, is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, white roses, and white carnations for passion, new romance, and luck. Filler greens and red estelles for encouragement. Manilla and sheer white tissue paper wrap the flowers, a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around the stems. Next to it, is a matching envelope with his name scribbled in purple pen. Inside the envelope is a white greeting card with “just because” printed in simple, black lettering, a handwritten note from Chris on the inside. 

Chris smiles. “They’re for you.”

“For me?” He asks, the hint of a giggle in his tone. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Chris shrugs, watches him carefully pick up the flowers and the card and climb into the car where he further examines them. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “I had to go with Hannah to the florist this morning.”

“No, it’s so cool. Nobody has ever gotten me flowers before.”

Chris frowns. “Never?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “my mum once, but that doesn’t count,” and then he starts to open the envelope, but Chris stops him.

“No, please,” she says, her hand covering his. “I can’t watch you read it, I’ll die.”

He laughs, “you’re so cute.”

Her face stays straight and solemn. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he sets the flowers and the card down securely between his feet. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Chris can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. God, she feels like such a child. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to kiss you, now.”

“Okay,” she giggles. “You’re going to kiss me, now.”

His lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It’s like they hadn’t been apart at all, the way their mouths perfectly fit together. His hand finds her cheek, thumb moving carefully over her skin, letting her deepen the kiss. They let themselves just be for a few moments, to let everything else fade away and cling onto their perfect moment. “Seriously,” he says when they pull apart, and then he gives her another quick peck. “Thank you,” and then another on her forehead. “I missed you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” she nods. “Hungry. Very hungry. How are you?”

“Hungry, also.”

“How hungry?”

“Very.”

Chris nods, kisses him again, just because she can. Because she couldn’t for so many days. “I know a place, but it’s a surprise.”

It’s a twenty-three minute drive to Pig’n’Chik Barbeque in Northern Atlanta. Charles is visibly apprehensive of the little red building and the parking lot filled with the aroma of southern barbeque, but he keeps his commentary to himself. Chris knows it’s probably a little overkill, the hole-in-the wall joint being even a little too gimmicky for her taste, but that’s the whole point. The place is supposed to be gimmicky, while also being good. Chris used to love this place as a little kid—Bill would always take the kids there whenever they’d gone to the city. It was his favorite place then, and so it will always hold a place in her heart. 

Charles holds open the door, a bell attached to it announcing their entrance, eliciting a greeting from the staff, a “Hey, guys! How’re you doing?”

“Good, thank you,” Chris smiles, moving through the restaurant towards the diner-style bar at the back. She holds her hand out behind her for Charles, turns to tell him: “You might not have been able to get a seat at your sushi bar, but I can get us up at the Pig’n’Chik bar,” she laughs. 

Charles matches her laugh, a playful eye roll and the shake of his head before they’re sitting down on the red leather barstools. 

She’s telling him before they even have the menus in front of them what they need to order; fried pickles to split, lemonade to drink because it’s not pig’n’chik without their lemonade. She’s going to order the shrimp and grits and he absolutely needs to have the catfish.

When he cocks his head at the idea of… eating… catfish… she tells him he’s not allowed to look it up, and that he also has to trust her. “It’s the best thing on the menu,” she says. 

Charles quirks a brow. “Then why aren’t you eating it?”

“Because the hushpuppies will kill me,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Honestly, you probably shouldn’t eat them, either.” The grease that comes along with eating a deep-fried batter ball isn’t good for anyone’s system, especially not someone who isn’t used to this kind of food. The last thing she needs this weekend is a boyfriend who can’t be more than three feet from a bathroom. 

It’s an hour and a half, at least, until they’re pulling into what Chris affectionately calls her “driveway.” Charles thinks that anyone else would more likely call it a dirt road. A trail, even, that turns into a driveway after the trees clear and you can actually see the house. 

“This is all yours?” he asks, swears her yard is the size of his apartment lobby. 

She nods. “I mean, it’s mostly trees, but, yeah.”

He’s taken on a tour of the old-style farmhouse, which, by the way, is so incredibly her you’d think the place was built for her—lots of beadboard, all this delicate woodworking that a FaceTime call has never been able to do justice. Thick glass windows with the frame painted over, no central heating or cooling, a couple window air conditioners and old radiators to boot. The most like her, though, is the back porch. It’s screened in, has a creek to the floor that the dusty, antique rugs can only attempt to muffle. There’s two couches that couldn’t match less, but still somehow go with each other, both cozy with throw pillows and cushions and warmth. The whole place smells like her, sounds like her, feels like her. He’s immediately comfortable. 

Chris and Charles spend most of their afternoon trying to plan out their evening. Starting tomorrow morning, their weekend is on a strict schedule, so they want to make the most of their free time tonight before their dinner with her family. They want to make the most of it so badly that they can’t decide on anything at all, and end up falling asleep on her living room couch. 

When Chris’ alarm goes off—the one she’d set the first time she caught herself dozing off, realizing Charles was already passed out next to her—they grumpily get ready to head over to her parents’ house. It’s then, while Charles navigates around Chris and the countertop of her makeup, that she tells him all about Thanksgiving, about her mom pointing out the hickey, and she offers up a warning. “They’re going to pretend they hate you for like, half an hour,” she tells him. “Pretend you’re intimidated.”

“And…” Charles begins, running gelled fingers through his hair. “What if they actually don’t like me?”

“My mom likes everyone,” she says, gestures away at his words. “And my Dad, well, you’ve already met him. He liked you good enough then.”

“He liked me enough to talk to me for ten minutes,” Charles counters. “That doesn’t mean he liked me enough to date his daughter.”

Chris smiles in the mirror, carefully applying her lipstick. “Lucky for you,” she says, “he doesn’t get a say.”

– – –

His leg bounces for the entirety of the ten-minute drive, so much so that at a stop light he can feel how much he shakes the car. Despite that, he doesn’t realize just how nervous he is until they’re in the driveway—which is just as long and trail-like as Chris’ is. Their house is bigger, though. Much bigger. 

His palms are clammy, and he wipes them off on his jeans—should he have worn something nicer than jeans? Jeans are really all he brought besides clothes for the wedding, for sleeping, for working out in. Jeans are fine. Jeans are good. Their driveway is a dirt road, jeans are good. 

“Relax,” Chris says, trying (and failing) to hold back a little chuckle. “It’s not that serious.” He rolls his eyes because it quite literally is that serious. You only get one chance to make a first impression on your girlfriend’s parents, and when your girlfriend is as close to their family as Chris is, it’s an impression you’d really rather not screw the fuck up. “And the longer we sit here, the longer they’re going to watch from the kitchen window.”

With a deep breath, he climbs out of the car, walks up the rest of the drive and onto the porch a pace behind Chris. She raises her hand to knock twice, turning the doorknob and letting herself in before anyone could even attempt to answer the knock. He steps in behind her, into a wallpapered entryway with a tall table full of keys and pictures and discarded mail on one side, and a wooden bench with tan throw pillows on the other side. “Mom! Dad! We’re here!” She shouts into the house. 

A woman’s voice calls back, “in the kitchen! Dad’s upstairs in the office.”

Chris slips off her shoes and Charles follows suit, slotting them under the wooden bench next to hers. He hadn’t worn a coat, but she ducks into a hall closet to hang hers up. He’d worn a sweatshirt over a t-shirt, and he’s pretty sure he’d already sweat through the t-shirt. 

He thinks he could smell his way to the kitchen, the way the scent of the home cooked dinner fills the entire house. He follows behind Chris like a lost puppy into the kitchen, and as soon as she turns the corner and walks through the archway, she’s being greeted by her mom, wrapped into an oven-mitt clad hug. He gets a perfect view of her mom, gaze slotted over Chris’ shoulder. She’s not so scary, he thinks. He can recognize more than one of Chris’ features on her face—in the way she smiles and the shape of her eyes, too. That’s where her smile comes from, and her eyes, too. 

Over her shoulder, Chris’ mom opens her eyes, waves a bangle-bracelet clad, oven-mitt covered hand in his direction. Charles steps fully into the kitchen, determined to make a good first impression. “And  I take it this,” her mom says, pulling away from the hug, “is the charming gentleman you’ve been telling me nothing about?”

Chris laughs, catching his eyes when she says: “Yes, Mom, this is Charles. Charles, this is my mom, Cindy.”

“Hi,” Charles offers a handshake. His friends had reminded him—briefed him, basically—that Americans are fond of their personal space, and he figures if Chris is right, and they are going to be playing the intimidation game with him, there’s no chance he’s getting anything more than a— 

“Oh, please,” Cindy laughs, swatting his hand out of the way. “We hug in this family,” and he’s already being pulled in. His surprised eyes catch Chris’, who looks back at him with an oh, my God. I’m so sorry, glance, which makes him chuckle. If this is what pretending not to like him looks like, he’d hate to see what actually liking him is all about. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he hums, finally pulling away from the hug. “I have heard so much about you.”

“I can’t say the same,” Cindy laughs pointedly at Chris. “But what I have heard has all been good.”

“Well, anything you want to know, I came tonight with my life story ready.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Cindy nods. “Her dad’ll like that a lot.”

“Mama, where’s Beans?” Chris asks, and before he knows it he’s following her out into the backyard for the introduction that he knows is actually the most important. As they stepped onto the lush, green grass, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. In the corner of the yard, the aforementioned Beans, a friendly Golden Retriever, lays beneath the growing shade of an old oak tree. The fur around his snout is a distinguished shade of white, and he looks up with wise, kind eyes as Chris approaches, his tail shaking slowly at her presence. 

“Here he is, my Beanie Baby,” Chris says with affectionate enthusiasm, crouching down to stroke the dog’s ears. He follows suit, squatting down beside her. “Beanie, this is Charles.”

Charles approaches cautiously, fully aware of just how important this introduction was. He extends his hand, letting Beans sniff it gently. The elderly Golden accepts the gesture, the pace of his tail wagging picking up speed. “Hey Beans,” Charles said softly, voice warm. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Beans responds with a content sigh, his old eyes conveying the years of love and happiness he’s had in this very yard. He leans into Charles’ touch, relishing in the attention.

Chris laughs, “I think he likes you. He’s a bit slower these days, but he’s still the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet.”

After much convincing, and the promise (and fulfillment) of several treat bribes, they’re able to convince Beans to come back into the house, where he curls up on his bed with his milkbones. 

Chris’ dad, who joins everyone else downstairs ten minutes later, pops into the dining room while Chris and Charles are setting the table. Chris looks up in the direction of his footsteps with that radiant smile, warm eyes, like always. “Hi, Dad,” she says, her voice drenched in affection. 

“Mums,” the man smiles softly, greeting her with open arms and a gentle hug. 

“You remember Charles,” she says, and he steps forward, leaving the silverware settings on the tablecloth. Charles extends his hand first, is met with Bill’s firm, heavy handshake. 

“Mr. Elliott, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His voice is stiff, polite, but there’s still a touch of earnestness that betrays his nerves. “Thank you for having me, I’ve heard a lot about you and your family.”

“Now, son, if I’m bein’ completely honest with you. I never thought I was gonna see you again after Texas. I wasn’t feelin’ you out the way I should’a been, if you know what I mean?”

Charles nods, even though he thinks he picked up about seventy-five percent of what was said. “Yes, sir.” He thinks he’d probably answer any question thrown his way, if it meant when he left tonight it was in her parents’ good graces. 

Her parents, Bill especially, do maintain their intimidating presence for just as long as Chris says they will. Sat at the dinner table with all of them, next to Chris and across from Cindy and Bill, he can’t help but feel the weight of the situation as they all eat. 

“So, Charles,” Bill says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of wine. They’re all nursing glasses of wine, even Charles, who despite never having been particularly fond of the drink, was too scared to say no when Cindy offered. He’d glared daggers at Chris to keep her from speaking up. “Monaco, right?”

Charles nods. “That’s right.”

“A racecar driver from the rich and famous’ playground,” Bill continued. His voice is low and inquisitive. “I’m sure you can see why I might be a lil’...” he chuckles, “worried about you.”

Next to him, Chris cocks her head defensively, leans forward in her seat. “What are you trying to imply, Dad?” Charles unconsciously moves his hand to her lower back in an attempt to reassure her silently. He knows why Bill’s asking questions like this, he knows the reputation certain aspects of his life carry with them. It does put a butterfly or two in his stomach that she’s so eager to jump to his defense, though. 

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just quite the party lifestyle you live, isn’t it, Charles?”

“I don’t know if I would say that,” Charles laughs awkwardly. Chris takes a big sip of her wine, leans back in her chair again. He moves his hand from her back to her leg, where she interlocks it with her own under the table. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll go out with my friends when I’m in town, or we have something to celebrate, but… I’ve honestly become more of a home person these last years.”

Bill raises his brows, takes another bite of his food. “Really?” Charles nods. “That must be difficult, son, all the traveling you do. Alotta’ people in alotta’ cities. How d’ya handle that?”

Charles smiles, fully aware that Bill is just attempting to gauge his character. “It can be lonely at times, but I'm committed to a steady relationship. I like to think I’ve learned to balance my racing career and my personal life.”

“A steady relationship with our daughter.”

Chris squeezes his hand, he squeezes back, smiles softly. “A steady, committed relationship with your daughter, yes.”

Cindy takes a sip of her wine, smiles into the red liquid. She seems satisfied. Bill, not so much. “And what is it that you like most about her?” He asks. 

“Dad,” Chris laughs pointedly at her father, a hint of disbelief in the action. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Charles,” Cindy interrupts with an awkward chuckle, an attempt to keep the peace before Chris lunges over the table at her dad. Charles isn’t offended by the question, so he wonders if maybe Cindy is apologizing to Chris more than she is to Charles. “He doesn’t mean to come off so investigative. Chris is just our baby, everyone has always looked out for her.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he nods, takes a bite of food. “As for the question nobody wants you to ask me,” he looks to Bill, remnants of his food still in his mouth. He speaks with the napkin over his lips. “It’s hard to even find a place to start with that, right? I mean, she…” he glances to Chris, finds that she’s already listening to him intently. He smiles, “you are an incredible person,” and he has to look away, because if he keeps going while staring into her brown eyes, he’s going to be as red as a tomato, completely and utterly smitten. “If you really want me to pick something, I guess I would say her kindness, and I’m sure you’re both familiar enough with her heart that I don’t need to ramble on about how lucky I am to have her in my life.”

Chris sinks in her seat, finishes off what’s left of her wine. “Well, now that I’m properly embarrassed for the rest of my life.”

Cindy laughs. “Oh, Chrissy, I haven’t even gotten the baby pictures out yet.” Chris turns to bury herself in Charles’ arm. He can feel how warm her face is through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and it makes him laugh. 

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles.

Charles’ ears perk up. “There’s baby pictures?”

Chris nods against his arm. “She’s a scrapbooker.”

He’s so boggled by the way that they can just switch up after that, the way that they stop trying to intimidate him and welcome him with open arms. He thinks that his Mum could never, that she knows within the first thirty seconds of meeting someone if she likes them or not. When it comes to Pascale Leclerc, you’re forever categorized by her first impression. He didn’t tell Chris that, because he didn’t want to worry her more than she already was in her sweats and messy-hair in Abu Dhabi. 

After the meal had been cleaned up, the four of them sat comfortably in the living room of Chris’ childhood home. Their home is so nice, so warm and welcoming.  He wonders if it’s always been such a comfortable place. 

Chris is sprawled out on the corner-seat of the sectional couch, Beans taking up the seat next to her, his head in her lap while she pets him mindlessly. Charles sits on the floor, back to the corner cushion, legs outstretched in front of him under the coffee table. Bill is in the recliner in the corner, working his way through a newspaper crossword puzzle, half-dozing off every ten minutes. 

Cindy carries a cardboard box down the stairs, sets it down on the coffee table in the middle of the family room. It’s full to the brim with worn, leather-bound scrapbooks, with Christyn Claire neatly written on the side of the box. She sits down on the floor next to him. Carefully, she pulls one out and gently sets it on the table, brushing the dust off the black leather cover. 

Charles watches as she flips open the pages, each one filled with their own vibrant photos, handwritten notes, and little trinkets that tell a story of young Chris. Charles can’t help the smile on his face when he sees the images of her in every stage of life, from a curious toddler with messy, curly pigtails to a teenager with the same smile he can’t get enough of. 

Cindy’s eyes sparkle with pride, and she has an anecdote for each and every photo. He’s captivated by it, not just the snapshots, but also the obvious love Cindy carries for her daughter. 

“This is Chrissy on the first day of school,” She explained, pointing to a picture of a young girl with a backpack almost as big as herself. “She was so excited to learn, has always been eager to take on new challenges.” Charles nods, hangs onto every word she says. “She’s always been a quick learner, even then.”

Cindy continues to flip through the pages, her and Charles silently sharing in knowing smiles at photos they both know Chris would find particularly embarrassing, making sure she doesn’t catch onto their shared moment from her seat on the couch. Cindy reveals photos from family vacations, birthdays, and school events. Her tales of Chris’ adventures—combined with Chris’ personal renditions added in—make for quite a delightful, and humorous, evening. 

“Ah, this one,” Cindy chuckles as she turns the page, revealing a picture of a grinning Chris covered head to toe in colorful paint. “We had an art day in the backyard, and Chrissy decided she'd rather paint herself than the paper.”

He laughed along, felt like he was growing more and more connected to Chris and her family with every shared memory. Part of him wonders if this is still a part of the protective parent act. If it is, it’s definitely doing its job. You can’t be mean to someone when you look at them and imagine the tiny version of them playing dress-up in a princess themed bedroom, or helping wash Dad’s car, or taking a nap at the beach on a mermaid towel. He should get a few baby pictures from his mom, he thinks. To show them to Chris, just so that she isn’t allowed to hurt him. 

“She’s always had a big heart,” Cindy said, her smile warm. “Her friends were like extended family,” she continues, pointing out a picture of Chris and several other little children. She points to a blonde, “You’ve met Hannah, right?”

“We’re going there, next, Ma,” Chris interjects. 

“Oh, well. This is her when she was five. I think Chris invited her to spend the night for weeks at a time.”

Charles nods, everything he knows about her, the way that she makes friends with anyone she interacts with, it all tracks, can all be seen in these pictures. He thinks that he could sit on the floor all night and go through every single picture in every single scrapbook, and still wouldn’t have enough, wouldn’t know enough about her. 

– – –

They leave the Elliott’s house a little after nine, and the air outside is cooler, now, the day fully transitioned into night. Charles sits in the passenger seat, eyeing Chris’ ability to perfectly maintain a speed two under the limit, and the way that she flipped her brights on everytime another car wasn’t cruising down the road. It seemed like this entire town was half-covered in wooded areas, so he supposes it’s better to keep an eye out for any wild animals. The warmth of the evening experience with her parents still radiates through him, but their conversation is now focused on their next destination; Chase and Hannah’s house. 

Chris, in the driver’s seat, is more animated than ever. She was preparing him carefully for the meeting, the anticipation of how her best friend and brother would perceive him hung in the air. She explained on the drive from the airport earlier that day that she’d “promised Hannah she would meet you before the wedding.”

As they rolled to a stop at a red light, Charles cast a quick glance over to her, feeling the weight of her guidance. “What should I know about them? Any advice on how to impress them?”

“Gosh,” she’d said, “I don’t know. Hannah’s easy. Chase is weird, but, just talk about cars or something. He really likes, um,” she pauses. “He races with you… from Australia, I think.”

Charles mulled over the comment, committing it to memory. There’s only one Australian he can think of racing against. “Daniel?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Daniel Ricciardo. He really likes him.”

Charles absorbs the information, realizing that Daniel would serve as an excellent conversation starter about racing. The light turns green, and she checks the intersection for a comically long amount of time before proceeding. He does everything he can not to laugh, and is hit with a sudden wave of gratitude towards the way he’s been wholly and completely welcomed into her life like this. The night of endless nerves aside, the excitement of learning all the chapters of her life that predate him is something he isn’t going to take for granted. 

– – –

They arrive at Chase and Hannah’s house for a relatively relaxed night in, greeted by the warm glow of a bonfire crackling in the backyard. The air was filled with the smokey scent of burning wood, and the soft lull of a country song pouring from a speaker. 

“Hi!” Hannah calls before the couple is even halfway through the back gate. “Hi, Hi, Hi, oh my gosh!” she squeals, hurrying over to the gate to greet them. “It’s about fucking time,” she adds, pulling Chris into a tight hug. You’d think it was the first time they’d seen each other in weeks, but Charles knew they were together just that morning. “And you,” the blonde continues, “must be Charles. Unlike everyone else around here, I’ve actually heard a lot about you,” she laughs. 

He laughs too, accepts her open-arms for a hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“William Chase,” Hannah calls to the man standing over the fire, a stoker stick in one hand, a glass beer bottle in the other. His head shoots up from the embers when he’s called.  He holds his beer up as a welcoming gesture, but Hannah isn’t satisfied. “Get over here!”

He meets them halfway through the yard, in a part that’s unlit by either the house lights or the glow of the fire. “Hey,” Chase says with a relaxed smile, pulling Chris into a side hug, and then approaching Charles with an outstretched hand. “You must be Charles,” he says, the two exchanging a laid-back handshake before pulling each other into a bro-hug. “It’s good to meet you, man. You want a beer or something?”

“I can get it myself,” Charles assures, “just tell me where they are.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hannah scoffs, “You’re a guest,” she insists, and it is already halfway up the steps of the back porch. “You want one, too, Chris?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Chris smiles, her hand finding his in the space between their bodies, interlocking their fingers and pulling him over to the fire Chase has already returned to. 

Chris and Charles find a cozy spot on the porch swing that sits in front of the firepit, a shared bench that seemed to be the ideal medium between two chairs and sitting on top of each other, perfect for family introductions. They sit side by side, thighs brushing against each other, his arm around her nursing his beer. Charles keeps the swing moving with his feet, but Chris has one leg crossed over the other, the base of her beer bottle leaving a darkened ring of condensation on her jeans everytime she picks it up. 

“You want another one, Chris?” Chase asks, shaking his empty beer bottle by its neck when he heads back inside for another round, and per Hannah’s request, to check on Reid. 

“I’m okay,” Chris smiles. She’s turned fully sideways, now, her back resting against his shoulder, both legs off the ground and onto the other end of the bench. “I’m driving home,” and then she cranes her neck to look at him. “Do you want another?”

“No,” he says, because he’s pretty sure he can already feel her dozing off while they swing, is almost certain it’s going to end up being him driving back to her place tonight. “Thank you, though,” and then he kisses the top of her head, pulls his arm out from under her body weight to wrap around her front lazily. She adjusts to his adjustment, leans into him and finds a comfortable curve in his chest. 

Even among the scent of wood and fresh cut grass and smoke, he’s found himself in the perfect position to smell her hair without even trying. He thinks he’s finally nailed her shampoo, coconut and rose, he’s almost sure of it. 

“Mate, Chris was telling me you’re a Daniel Ricciardo fan?” Charles asks, looking for a way to break the ice into a more active conversation, utilizing the very few tools he has at his disposal. Chase and Hannah seem both way lower-stress than Bill and Cindy did, but he'd still like to leave tonight knowing he made a good impression. Or, at least leave knowing he tried his hardest to make one. 

“Yeah, man. We actually started racing at COTA in 2020, and Renault and Daniel did this thing with our team, gave me a little good-luck message and stuff. It was real cool. I’ve been a fan of him since.”

Surprised, and trying to find common ground, Charles asks: “Do you follow Formula One?”

“You know, I tried after the whole Daniel thing, but,” he shrugs nonchalantly, takes another swig of his beer and leans back in his seat. “Honestly, all respect, but there’s just nothing quite like the roar of a stock car at Daytona for me. It’s like thunder, man.”

Charles nodded, an eager grin on his face. He doesn’t know much about NASCAR, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t study up on it during the flight over. “The sound of those engines at full throttle must be crazy. It’s V8’s, right?”

“Yeah, V8. What are y’all running? Isn’t it hybrids?”

“Yes,” Charles laughs. “They’re crazy with the engineering. Basically, you have a turbo V6 combined with energy recovery systems… it all helps keep us lightweight.”

“That’s another thing that blows my mind, how light your cars are! I know you pull crazy downforce, but I swear it’s a totally different game on an oval, dude. Our cars are like, thirty-three hundo.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. He knew they were heavier, but that’s like… it’s more than double, he thinks, or has to be close to it “Oh, my God!” He laughs, taking another sip of his beer. Chris chuckles, too—he feels it in his chest. He also feels the nonsensical shapes and patterns that she traces over his sweatshirt sleeve while he talks, the way she seems completely lost in toying with the fabric. 

“I know, you guys got fuckin’ feathers compared to us!” Chase gins, joining in on the laughter. 

Charles leans forwards a bit, and when he does it, Chris adjusts her positioning. She’s somehow managed to slide gracefully down until she was curled up on the wooden bench, resting on her side with her head on his tights. She’d found a makeshift pillow in his lap, and he couldn’t mind it less. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he says, checking his watch so that when Chris asks him later tonight ‘when did I fall asleep?’ he can give her a proper answer. “We are all about precision, crazy aero packages. It’s not just about speed and downforce, it has to be managed so perfectly.”

“There ain’t no time for precision when you’re wheel-to-wheel at Talladega. It’s all about survival. We’re out there swapping paint and shit. Bumping and drafting are all a part of the game.”

“How crazy is that?” He questions, even though he doesn’t have more than an educated guess as to what drafting is. “The way the air affects your car when you’re always that close?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t notice it all that much because I’m so used to it, but yeah. We’re always pushing the limits, especially in the high-banked ovals. Drafting is both your best friend and your worst enemy.”

“Drafting, mate,” he peruses, taking a shot in the dark when he says: “that’s like getting the slipstream, no?”

“Exactly, yeah,” Chase nods. “All drag reduction shit.”

“It’s crazy, when we’re wheel-to-wheel, we’ll do about anything not to make contact”

“It’s ‘cause your shit weighs ten pounds,” Chase laughs. “It’ll fly away if there’s any contact.”

They go on like that for some time, comparing technicalities. There are few things Charles appreciates more in life than actually getting to sit down and talk racing with someone—true, technical, perfectionist racing. There’s no investigating what the problem with this year’s car is, or what he hopes happens next season. It’s just… how they work. How different formula racing is from stock cars. He feels like this is something he can actually talk about, a conversation he knows he can contribute knowledge to. 

“Riveting stuff, boys, really,” Hannah finally interjects, sitting down into her camping chair. Charles hadn’t even noticed she’d left, but here she was popping the bottle cap off another beer, taking a big swig. “You put Chris to sleep and I’m on my fucking way.”

Charles stills, his movements suddenly gentler as he tries to crane his neck to see her face. “She’s asleep?” He asks, half-whispered. 

Hannah nods, and Chase chuckles, “Dude, she’s been out cold for like half an hour.”

He smiles down at her, shaking his head, and then checks his watch again. 10:36pm, she didn’t even make it an hour and a half, poor girl. Charles brushes her hair out of her face and carries on with the conversation. His mind is completely absent to the fact that his fingers continue their exploration of her hair, a natural masterpiece of unruly waves. Each strand has its own rhythm, defying any form of order. The curls become even more pronounced as they cascade toward the nape of her neck, dancing freely with the erratic breeze. 

At the root of her bangs, there’s a stubborn cowlick, and one side of her face-framing cut has a mind of its own, constantly threatening to tumble into her eyes. Amidst all that delightful chaos, small, intricate braids intermingle with the curls, held together with tiny brown elastics. His touch is reverent as he selects one, playfully twisting it around his finger while he speaks. 

With painstaking care, he slides the elastic from the braid, and doesn't miss a beat in conversation with Hannah and Chase as he carefully unravels it. Their words dance in the air around him, and by the time he becomes cognizant of his actions, he’s on the last little braid. 

When it’s time to turn in for the evening, when the conversations are more yawns than actual questions, Charles wakes Chris up softly. He runs his hand up and down her upper arm slowly, squeezes her elbow to coax the sleep from her heavy eyes. “Baby,” he hums softly. 

Chris stirs with a groan, sits up and stares back at him with empty eyes, like she has no clue what year it is. He bites back a smile at the state of her, raises his brows and waits for her to say something, to scold him grumpily for waking her up. Chris Elliott is a force to be reckoned with when she’s woken up, and it’s something you only have to witness once to be scared of ever seeing again. She doesn’t scold, though. 

Instead, a soft smile pulls on the corner of her lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles back. She’s already leaning against the far armrest of the swing, curling up into the corner like she’s going to go back to sleep. She probably will, it’s been far too easy to wake her up. His hand finds her knee, thumb rubbing circles along the denim fabric. “Are you ready to go home?”

She nods, but her eyes are already closed again. Chase is already dousing the fire with water. Hannah’s already inside cleaning up. Charles opts to leave her there, sweet and peaceful, while he collects her things from inside. 

It’s the first time he’s been in the house, and it's just as ambient as the backyard is. The warm glow of the dimmed lights accentuate the charm of their modern-farmhouse decor; wooden shelves bathed in the soft radiance, full of potted succulents, framed photographs, and small artworks that offer a glimpse into their lives. Large, strategically placed windows allowed for a gentle cascade of moonlight to slow, making the entire place feel calm and serene.

Chris has been wearing a pair of Hannah’s slippers since she went inside for the first time, so the first thing he looks for is her shoes. He finds them in the entryway, just outside the door, and finds her keys on a small table there, too. Her phone is on the kitchen counter, the purple silicone case practically glowing against the black granite countertops and pristine white cabinetry. In the living room, he notices a little figure lying on the couch—Reid, he assumes, lies nestled under a Cars blanket, a scene of pure childhood innocence set against the backdrop of grown-up sophistication. The entire room excludes warmth, thanks to an oversized gray sofa and a plush rug, all enhanced by the dull LCD of the quiet television and subtle nighttime lighting. Behind a throw pillow on the same couch, he finally uncovers her purse, carefully slipping it out so as to not disturb the sleeping child. 

“It’s not worth the fight sometimes,” Hannah explains, but Charles didn’t need one. He remembers the age of begging to have a sleepover on the living room couch, to stay out past his bedtime and watch shows on the big television. It was the highlight of his weekends, sometimes. 

“He’s adorable,” Charles says. “I love the blanket.”

Hannah chuckles softly, crossing her arms over each other to hug her small frame. “It’s his favorite movie,” she shrugs. “Wants to be just like his dad.”

He puts all of her things in the car before he even attempts at getting her into the car. Everything is neatly put into a place, her address typed into his GPS by Hannah and plugged into the aux on the radio, and she still sleeps on the swing. 

His humor buoyed by the absurdity of the situation, Charles decided to start with the slippers. He gently slid them off her feet, one by one, and handed them over to Chase, who watched on with the bemusement of an audience at a comedy show. With a soft, nearly conspiratorial tone, Charles whispers: “Chris, baby,” planting a tender kiss on her forehead. 

In response, she produces a mumbling symphony of incoherent sounds. “That’s not French, mon amour,” he chides playfully, prompting a breathy laugh from her lips. His aim is to keep her here, to prolong that delicate state of semi-sleep where she tattered between slumber and annoyance. “Let’s go home, yes?” he inquired. 

Chris, in her hazy state, offered a subtle nod. Charles grinned, heart painfully warm, and said, “Could you help me out?”

In response, she obligingly wraps her arms around his neck, and he effortlessly hoists her into his arms, carrying her in a bridal-style embrace. He guides her to the waiting car with gentle steps, Chase strolling alongside them to open the car door.  She stirs when he sets her in the seat, fastening her seatbelt. 

Chase shuts the door and the two of them exchange a classic, old-as-time bro-handshake-goodbye, a silent acknowledgement of both their meeting today and their future introductions all weekend long. 

It’s not until they’re at her house, the soft purr of the engine falling silent as he properly parked in the driveway, that she’s really awake. Her sleepy eyes flutter open with the automatic cab lights. 

He moves swiftly, circling the car quickly to open the door for her. As she grumpily emerges from the car, he gives her an encouraging smile. “Go get ‘em, killer.” he playfully whispers, his hands working against her shoulders. She meets him with a death-glare he could never possibly be afraid of. 

Chuckling, he plucks her phone from the passenger seat, locks the car before following her up the driveway.

The journey inside concludes shortly in her room. Chris has an early morning ahead, and a late night, too. Charles marvels at the resilience; doesn’t know how she’ll manage tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. As she settles in under the comforter, he can’t help but watch her for a moment, all sweet and sleepy and beautiful, like always. 

Soon enough, the exhaustion creeps up on him, too, and he finally succumbs to sleep’s gentle embrace, entwined with the woman he finds himself cherishing more with what feels like each passing breath. 

– – –

He wakes up when the soft chimes of her alarm break through the morning darkness. The dim glow of the clock on the nightstand reads 6:30 am, and it was clear that daylight has yet to pierce the veil of a southern winter outside. 

He can’t help but appreciate her attempts to tiptoe through her morning routine. The effort is commendable, really, but the old, creaky wooden floors and the protesting door dram betray her intentions. He doesn’t mind, though—How could he? Any moment with her, even early morning ones where she bustles around the space, is better than a moment without. 

Lying in the cozy bed—which, by the way, her bed is so fucking comfortable, he allows himself to fully wake up, knows that her morning rituals would be far more entertaining than any dream he could have cocooned in sleep. 

His sleepy gaze watches her as she moves through the bedroom gracefully, her face illuminated by the soft glow of dawn creeping in from the curtains. He smiles at the little sounds and routines that make up her life, the ones he never gets to see, to savor. Watching her move about is a special kind of beauty, one that makes him feel lucky, insanely so, to experience a life with her in it. 

Leaving the comfort of the bed, he ventures out into the kitchen. He knew she had an early start, a long day away from him, and he was determined to steal every extra moment they could share. 

She’s finishing her lunch, packing it into her backpack when he sneaks up behind her, snaking his arms around her middle and hugging her from behind. “Hi,” she laughs, turning around in his arms to face him properly. 

He gives her a kiss and her lips taste like her morning coffee. He marvels at the ease with which she can make someone’s day—make his day. 

She grins, and there is a special kind of mischief in her eyes when she playfully warns him: “Promise you won’t get lost in the woods and eaten by a bear today,” she says, and then, because she can’t help but add it, “At least wait until I’m there to witness it.”

With a chuckle, he teases, “I can always outrun you, they say you only have to be faster than the other guy.”

Her laughter bubbles out, filling the room, and his chest, with warmth. “You wouldn’t let me get eaten by a bear,” she replies. 

He pauses for a minute, then playfully concedes, “Well, I might.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

– – –

After she left work, he found himself helpless in the war against sleep. What was the point if she wasn’t around to keep him up? If nothing was around to keep him up? It was almost eight o’clock before he finally got up for the day, feeling refreshed and ready for yet another evening of introductions. 

His breakfast consists of a simple serving of toast, nothing anywhere near extravagant, but enough to stave off his hunger. Not to mention, he’d rather not make a mess in her house with the very first thing he does all day. 

After breakfast, he heads out for a run, decides he’s going to try and navigate his way around without getting lost. He fails, miserably, because it seems like everywhere he looks has the same landmarks—trees, trees, and more trees. The cool air is invigorating, though, and the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement keeps his mind clear, gives him a certain appreciation for the fact that he doesn’t have to keep his eyes and ears open for anyone who might be watching him. No, here it’s just him, just Charles. There’s nothing special about it, which is what makes it so fucking special. 

Returning home—to her home—he enjoys a shower that washes away the cold sweat of the run. Dressed and ready, he ponders his plans for the rest of his day. It’s hours still until Chris is home and the festivities really kick off. 

As if on cue, his phone buzzes, Chase’s name popping up on the Caller ID. Hannah had insisted on him exchanging numbers with both of them the night earlier. Just in case Chris decides to fuck off to another country again without telling us, she’d said. 

He answers, listens to Chase’s offer to join in on a round of 9 holes with him and Bill, considers it for only a moment, and accepts enthusiastically. He’s in the passenger seat of Chase’s truck within the half-hour. 

“Survived the dragon, I see?” Chase greets Charles with a smile, clearly still amused over the previous night’s encounter. 

Charles chuckles. “Just barely.”

– – –

The day was pristine for golf, with a brilliant blue sky overhead and a gentle breeze. Charles has played at some pretty impressive courses around the world, but something about this one felt special. The green really wasn’t all the lush, and the views weren’t outstandingly picturesque, but. But, there was something that felt so special about it. 

Bill, the most experienced of them, begins the round with an expertly executed swing that has Charles chuckling under his breath. His ball soars through the air, landing with pinpoint accuracy in the fairway. Chase follows with a powerful drive that seems to only gain momentum as it sails. It gracefully lands not far from Bill’s.

Charles takes his stance, feels a bit like a circus clown amidst his partners, but steadies himself nonetheless. He draws the club back, manages a swing with a surprising degree of finesse. The ball leaps from the tee and manages an astonishingly straight shot that lands in a… respectable position. He’s not too far off Bill and Chase. 

Charles would never call himself a golfer, but he’s grateful for Chase and Bill’s attitude—the way they are constantly pretending he’s better than he is, blaming any mistakes (he has a beach full of sand in his shoes from all the traps) on the fact he’s rented his clubs from the course. 

As they stroll down the lush, sunlit fairway on one of the holes, Charles decides he’s brave enough to start a conversation, rather than just participate in one. He turns to Chase as he addresses the only topic he can think of. “So, tomorrow’s the big day, huh? You’re feeling good?”

Chase grinned, golf club slung casually over his shoulder. “Dude, more than anything. I’ve been trying to marry Hannah for a long time. I’m lucky, you know.”

Bill nodded, “Y’all are all but by now.”

“Anything specific you’re excited for?” Charles questions, can’t help but be curious about the details. “Or just a big ball of excited?”

Chase chuckles. “I’m really looking forward to the ceremony. The moment I see her walking down the aisle, it’s gonna be somethin’ else.”

Charles smiles. He wasn’t expecting such a romantic answer, not given what he’s experienced from Chase up to this point. His answer feels more like something you tell your closest friends, not your little sister’s boyfriend you’d just met for the first time the night before. “How about the holiday? Any special plans?”

Chase’s eyes lit up into a laugh. “Ah, the honeymoon. Yeah, we’re going somewhere… sometime. I don’t know, it’s not at the top of our list of things to get done.”

“All I know, Son,” Bill, whose been quiet for what feels like some time now, offers up some wisdom, “Tomorrow’s gonna be real overwhelmin’, but remember it’s your day. Savor all of it.”

Chase nods in agreement, “Don’t worry, Pops,” he chuckles, pats Bill on the shoulder, “I’ll savor it all.”

“And if you get nervous,” Charles laughs, “feel free to let it mess you up out here,” he says, gesturing to the fairway. The whole trio shares a laugh, but Charles seriously wouldn’t mind if the other two suddenly forgot how to golf. 

With Chase excusing himself to meet up with Hannah at the rehearsal dinner venue, Charles is left with just Bill, the pair heading up to the country club’s restaurant for a late lunch. The ambiance inside is refined, and they sit next to big floor-to-ceiling windows that offer views of the manicured greens and vast wooded area they’re situated inside. 

As they settle into their table, Charles takes a sip of his water, wiping the condensation from his hand on the side of his pants. He can feel the weight of the conversation that’s likely to follow—there’s no Cindy or Chris around to keep him in check like there was last night. 

Bill, cutting right to the chase, speaks in a casual tone. “So, Charles, how’re you finding our little corner of Georgia? I reckon it’s awful different from Monaco.”

Charles smiled, appreciating the comfortability of his voice. Maybe Chris was right, he was getting himself worked up yesterday over nothing. “It’s different, for sure,” he laughs. “Home is home, but there is something about the calmness here, the open space. It’s refreshing. And meeting everyone, it’s been great.”

Bill, who’s been nothing but stern in his expression for the entire time Charles has known him, seems to soften, even if just slightly. “I gotta admit, I was a lil’bit… cautious when I first learned about you and Chris. Fathers, y’know, we worry.”

“I can imagine,” Charles nods. He understands. Of course he understands. “You have my word, I have pure intents. Chris means a lot to me.”

Bill seems fully contemplative now, his usual sternness fully replaced when he looks back at Charles. “She’s real happy with you from what I can see, and her brother tells me you treat her real well. That’s the kinda stuff that matters to me.”

His chest feels stupidly warm at the remark. If Chris is half as happy as he is, they’ve really got something here. Something real. Scary real. “I care about her deeply, Sir, and I want her to be happy, too.”

Bill chuckles under his breath, shakes his head softly. “You’re not seventeen, son. You can call me Bill.”

“I care a lot about your daughter, Bill.” It’s an easy thing to do, he thinks. There can’t be a person in this world that knows her and doesn’t care for her. Not when everything about her makes him believe in luck, in something otherworldly—Gods or guardian angels or invisible strings. 

“See?” Bill questions, picking around what’s left on his plate with his fork. “We’re already buddies.”

– – –

Bill drops Charles off just before Chris gets home from work. He’s not in the house for ten minutes, is still moving around the kitchen searching for a glass to fill with water when the door swings open. Chris enters the kitchen with Reid, half a dozen things in her arms and a familiar four-year-old in tow. “Hey,” she greets, lifting her bags onto the counter next to him, setting down all of her belongings. 

“Hi,” he greets, hand finding a familiar space on her lower back, pulling her closer to him, to lean down and give her a quick kiss. “How was your day?” 

“Long… and chaotic,” she sighs, forcing a weary smile onto her lips. Charles frowns. Searching her eyes for elaboration, she just shrugs. “Reid, say hi to Charles,” she introduces. “Charles, this is my little tornado, my nephew, Reid.”

Reid looks up at him with bright eyes and a mischievous grin. “Can I call you Chuck?”

Charles laughs. “No, you can call him Charles,” Chris answers on his behalf, before he gets the chance to tell the kid to call him whatever he wants. 

Reid rolls his eyes. “Hi, Charles,” he huffs. “Auntie Chris says you’re gonna help me get ready.”

Charles smiles warmly. “That’s what I hear. It’s quite a mission to accomplish, do you think you are up for it?”

Reid nodded enthusiastically. “Totally. I’m almost five.”

Chris chuckles, and Charles’ eyes shoot over to her when she does. Hearing her laugh isn’t enough, he needs to see it, to share in it. “Good luck with the tie,” she tells him. Charles winks at Chris, grins down at the kid in front of him. “Reid, you like Cars, right?”

Reid’s eyes go wide, his head snapping over to look at Chris, who matches his expression with a smile on her face. He turns back to face Charles, “How did you know that?”

“So, it’s true?”

Reid nods apprehensively. “I love Cars. My Dad is in Cars 3, y’know? He’s got, like, a awesome race car.”

Charles feigned surprise, “No way! That’s like being a superhero.” He leans down conspiratorially, speaks quietly, just to Reid. “Do you know Lightning McQueen?”

Reid’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he launched into a passionate monologue about the Cars movies, the story, and the characters—paying a special interest to Chase’s automotive-self in the animated world. Charles listens with genuine interest while Chris quietly prepares a snack for the boy. 

He gets ready while Reid eats, moves around Chris in the bathroom. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, using her entire arm to move her stuff off one side of the sink vanity. “I’m taking up your side,” she continues, pulling her curling iron out of her hair, carefully cradling the steaming strands. Charles smiles. His side. He kisses her softly, then— mindful of her unfinished makeup and hair. She smiles out of it, gives him another quick peck, “what was that for?”

He shrugs, reaching for his hair gel, “Just because.” 

– – –

They get to Dahlonega right at five o’clock, thanks in massive part to Charles’ ability to comfortably drive above the speed limit, and in small part to Chris’ ability to finish her makeup while Charles does a poor job at avoiding potholes. 

Every event this weekend takes place at the same place—a vineyard about thirty (if you speed) minutes from Chris’ house, but it’s nothing like what he would usually think of as a quote-en-quote vineyard. It’s more of a… barn put in the middle of a field, but. It’s beautiful nonetheless. 

“How do I look?” Chris asks as they walk up the long drive from the parking lot to the barn. She runs her hands over the thighs of her jeans, straightening them out. 

“Do a spin,” Charles says, and she does. “Hot,” he nods, smiles. Chris rolls her eyes. “Always hot.”

Hannah is running around with a woman wearing a nametag—the wedding planner, he assumes—like a chicken with its head cut off when they get there. Reid bolts away from them as soon as Chase is in his eyeline, chatting with his groomsmen around the bar. Charles trails behind Chris, hand interlocked with hers, as she makes her way over to a frazzled Hannah.

She greets them with a smile, swiping her hair off her shoulders and opening her arms for hugs. “You look beautiful,” Charles comments, kisses either of her cheeks. 

“Oh,” She laughs. “This is new.”

Charles laughs, pulling away from the hug, “Sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s fun,” she says, looking to Chris. “You should’ve dated someone French a long time ago.”

“He’s not French.”

“But y—”

Chris cuts her off. “Monégasque,” she continues. Charles smiles meekly. “And very proud.”

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the venue as the wedding rehearsal began. Charles found himself sitting in the second row, behind both Chase’s family and with the rest of the partners of the bridal party. 

They’re orchestrated by the meticulous woman with a name tag from earlier, carefully moved through the motions of the ceremony tomorrow. Charles watches with quiet amusement as they navigate each and every step with precision. The officiant guided them through the script, the words blending into a hum that surrounded the ceremony space. 

He partakes in the bland small talk with the other partners—how beautiful, how exciting, how sweet—all the stuff that random strangers with no present connections have to talk about. Charles can't help but glance at Chris intermittently, catching her eye and exchanging silent conversations that only they understand. She’s just so pretty up there, her brown curls cascading off her shoulders while she holds two mock-up bouquets of flowers. She bounces in place, practically, obviously half as tired and bored with it all as he is. 

As the run-throughs progress, he can feel her restlessness like it’s his own. Her wide eyes betray her thoughts when, without words she tells him, this is so boring.

He chuckles under his breath, meeting her gaze with the minute raise of his brows, an unspoken agreement passing between them. So boring.

The repetition of the steps continues, though, each run-through blending together into the next. Charles and Chris share more glances, continue to communicate the same sentiment of impatience to a point of amusement. In the stolen moments, he finds solace in the connection, a reminder that even the most orchestrated events can’t stifle their shared sense of humor. 

As the rehearsal finally drew to a close, the sun dipped below the horizon casting a warm, golden hue over the gathering. The group dispersed, heading towards the dinner that awaited them. 

When Charles catches up to Chris, she’s talking with the best man—Ryan, who the wedding planner kept asking to take this a bit more seriously. He seems nice enough, brother-y enough. Charles thinks he probably has a few good stories about Chris, even more about Chase. 

“Everyone always thought we had a thing going,” Chris tells him after the introduction has finished, while the two of them wait at the bar for their drinks. 

His brows raise, leaning back off the bar to scan the room for the guy. “Do you want me to be jealous?” He asks, lets his hand rest on the small of her back, thumb moving smoothly against the fabric of her top. 

“No,” she says, but the smile on her lips tells him she’d be entertained by the sight of a jealous version of him. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else this weekend.”

He nods, picking up the drink that’s set down in front of him/ “Well, did you?” He asks, taking a swig of the dark liquor. 

“Did I what?” Chris asks, moving her drink closer to her, stirring it with a little black straw. 

“Did you guys date?”

“Oh,” she shakes her head. “Never.”

Charles nods. “Shame, I was going to put on a show.”

The welcome party kicks into full swing after the satisfying sit-down meal. Laughter and chatter fill the rustic barn, the air buzzing with the lively energy of the gathering, of the weekend. Charles, having eaten the entirety of his dinner earlier, finds himself following Chris as she seamlessly navigates the crowd. 

The burger truck, stationed at the edge of the venue, offered a tempting array of late-night treats. The scene of grilled meat wafted through the air, enticing those who weren’t around for the earlier, intimate dinner. 

The barn was alive with the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the bursts of laughter. It seems like a million people fill the space, a million strangers—a mix of extended family and friends and coworkers and distant relatives and even distant-er friends. For him, all of these faces are unfamiliar, and he relies on Chris like a lifeline to guide him through most of the interactions. 

She effortlessly leads the way, introducing him with a warmth that mirrors her nature of being. She moves through the place like she owned it, with a grace that seems to come naturally to her, connecting with friends and family alike. Everyone seems thrilled to see her, absolutely beside themselves. He understands them, even if he doesn’t know them, and observes with quiet admiration her ability to make everyone feel at ease. 

She seems to flourish in social settings, her personality shining brightly. She greets old friends with hugs, shares jokes with cousins, compliments grandparents’ outfits, and introduces him to each and every one of them, punctuates every interaction with her infectious laughter. 

He’s always felt like he’s more of a one-on-one guy, that his connections are better made independently rather than in groups. Chris, though, could lead a crowd anywhere with this unwavering confidence. She doesn’t make a single misstep all night, navigating the whole evening perfectly, makes an evening he’d spent the majority of outside his comfort zone anything but unsettling. With her, his words feel valued, important, intelligent. He’s content to be her partner in social settings longer than anyone should be. 

It’s long past midnight when they finally get back to her house, the fatigue of the day well-settled on their skin, casting a convincing sleeping spell that made the prospect of a comfortable bed a welcomed one. 

The house is silent, the hush of the night hugging them as they reach the bedroom, the weariness of their bones palpable. Anything but falling into the comforter seems like quite the ambitious endeavor. 

The comfort of the sheets cradles them as they sink into the mattress, a shared haven offering respite from the busy weekend. “Next time I come here,” Charles yawns, the effort of the evening present in his voice, “we are doing nothing.”

She must be more drained, he thinks, she’d worked almost a whole day before this, but contently, she responds with a gentle hum, snuggled up close to him. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Perfect.” The simplicity of doing nothing seems like the perfect plan, a promise of unhurried moments and the luxury of just being together. He wants more of that. He wants more of her. 

– – –

He wakes up for the first time that morning, if you can really call it waking up, to the shift of the bed as she climbs out of it. He doesn’t check the clock, doesn’t even hear more than the creak of the floor before he’s back asleep. He wakes up for the second time, and you still probably can’t call it that, to her standing over him, fingers running through his hair. She gives him a kiss and comments on something he can’t hear through sleep. 

The third time he wakes up that morning, it’s to the ringing of his phone on the bedside table. Her name is on the screen, a photo of her grinning in front of a statue in Monaco and holding a thumbs-up. 8:34, his phone reads. The sun is shining in through the opening in the curtains. 

She’d forgotten the steamer on the living room coffee table when one of the other bridesmaids picked her up two hours earlier. He says he’ll bring it, asks if the girls want coffee, swears he remembers her order. She texts him the other three girls’ orders. Within the hour, he’s riding with the wedding planner on a golf cart from the parking lot to the bridal suite with four long-winded coffees in one hand and a steamer in the other. 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the bridal suite, but it wasn’t what he found. The chaos hangs in the air like a sweet perfume. He weaves between makeup artists, hair stylists, and bridesmaids to find Chris, talking with Hannah and a makeup artist about what’s about to be painted onto the bride-to-be’s face, fulfilling her maid-of-honor duties. 

Chris looks up quickly to scan the room, eyes landing on him and immediately returning to the conversation at hand before doing a double-take, a heavy sigh leaving her lips when she recognizes him and the objects he carries. 

“Hey,” she greets, takes the steamer from his hand and kisses him. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you,” and she kisses him again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he laughs, pulls a coffee out of the cardboard cup holder and hands it to her. “Your hot dirty chai with one shot of espresso, oat milk, and salted caramel.”

“A man after my heart,” she says, taking a sip of the drink. He winks—anything more and he’d blush bright red—and continues reading the orders off. 

“Brown sugar oat milk latte with blonde espresso for Hannah,” he says, pulling it out and handing it to the blonde and pulling out the next one. “This is the… Iced matcha latte with soy milk and strawberry cold foam, and the…” he holds up the cupholder, one drink left in it, “Caramel brûlée latte.”

The groom’s house—which is where he’s affectionately sent to after the coffee delivery—is a direct contrast to the bridal suite. College football plays on the television, the cheers and groans of the game providing a lively soundtrack to the prelude of the wedding. The girls were all half-ready, but the guys are still shoveling breakfast foods into their mouths on the leather sofa. 

Noon arrives, and with it the collective decision that it was time to actually start getting ready for the wedding. Chase and his groomsmen needed to be ready for pictures at three, which meant that Charles and the rest of the bridesmaid’s boyfriends needed to be ready to be anywhere but the groom’s house at three. 

Between the laughter and the beers and the arguing over the best way to iron a shirt, there’s a knock on the door. He doesn’t even bother to look who it is, assumes it’s a relative of some sort. When Ryan, the never-had-a-thing, you-don’t-need-to-be-jealous Best Man has a hand on his shoulder, telling him “Chris is outside, she wants to talk to you,” he meets the guy with furrowed brows. 

He finds her just where Ryan said she was, pacing outside on the concrete patio, ready head-to-toe for the wedding procession. He can’t help but be struck by her beauty, the way the delicate fabric of her dress accentuates her figure, the way the color complimented the glow of her skin perfectly. Her hair is pulled back off her face, revealing the curve of her neck, her subtle makeup highlighting her features. 

He feels like he’s seen her a million times by now, in a million different ways, but there was something almost ethereal… angelic about her in this moment. The nerves in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders only add to the charm, make her feel more real, more human. 

He’s never looked at her and thought she wasn’t beautiful, but there are moments where he’s particularly struck by her allure. This is one of them. 

As soon as she lays eyes on him, her words rush out in a torrent. No hello, no pleasantries, just— “I’m freaking out, Charles. This speech… I’m just. I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” he promises. He’s heard Chris’ maid-of-honor speech probably a dozen times by now, and she’s a different level of nervous every time. This might be the most nervous he’s seen her about it, though. “Can you… can you listen to it, please?”

He nods, his gaze steadying her shaky one. “Of course, let’s hear it.”

She unfolds the tiny, half-crumpled piece of paper out and delves into her speech. He focuses on her words, the genuine affection and admiration for Hannah present in each and every syllable. When she finishes, she meets his eyes, a mix of hope and anxiety in hers. 

“Well?” She asked, her lip caught between her teeth. 

Charles smiles. “It’s amazing. You are going to do great.”

“Are you sure? Because the part where I talk about Colorado—”

Charles shakes his head, puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s perfect,” he says, gives her a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

She sighs, relief visibly washing away the tension. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grins, “You would still do great. But I’m here anytime you need it.” She gives him a quick hug,  and he can feel the gratitude seeping through the squeeze, so he makes it last just that moment longer. He just, he gets such a surge of pride that he gets to call her his, that he’s lucky enough to call her his girlfriend. “Go knock ‘em dead,” he laughs. 

When three o’clock finally does roll around, the wedding party separates to head off for pictures, and Charles, along with the other significant others, joins the convoy heading down to the ceremony space. The excitement among the group was palpable, everyone connected in some way to Hannah and Chase’s love story, ready to witness and be a part of their union.

The ceremony starts at four, and hell if he can’t stop catching Chris’ eyes the entire time. He doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a wedding quite like he’s enjoying this one. Chase and Hannah are lovely, and the officiant’s words resonate with sincerity, but he’s less attuned to the details of the ceremony itself and more absorbed in the captivating spectacle that is Chris. 

Her laughter, musical and infectious, is all he hears when the entire place laughs, and her discrete attempts to wipe away tears, to pretend they aren’t falling, melt his heart entirely. Even the way she plays with the ribbon on the bouquets she holds—something so small and trivial, it all captivates him.

He finds himself swept away by a tide of emotions, some messy kaleidoscope of feelings that defy articulation. There’s something magnetic about her, an irresistible urge to kiss her that seems to linger in the back of his mind, always. It’s all lined up for him, a million synchronized harmonies that underscore every interaction. 

The changing colors of leaves and the smell of rain on a pine patio, the heartbeat of a conversation, a light in every room. His perception of his own emotions, the way he feels about this fucking woman, it’s so clear it becomes cloudy. Every stolen glance and shared smile is this integral part of their connection, this thing that he can’t let go of. 

There’s something so fucking special about her, and he can’t make sense of any of it.

Cocktail hour is at five, and the whole family—everyone at this entire wedding he knows—are off doing ‘golden hour’ pictures. Charles lingers by the bar, stuck to the outskirts like a wallflower. 

He’s suddenly hit with a wave of insecurity. It’s not often he’s put somewhere completely on his own like this, almost always has someone he can use as a lifeline if he needs to. Everyone here seems to have known eachother forever, and he feels like an intrusion on their camaraderie, worries that if he does manage up the courage to start a conversation with someone, they won’t understand him, or worse—he won’t understand them. 

His social battery is just… it’s drained. It’s been a long couple days of mingling with strangers, of trying to impress everyone. He’s ready to just curl up somewhere with Chris and enjoy the limited time they do get to spend together—alone—this weekend. 

Maybe then, with some more fucking time, he could sort out all his nonsensical thoughts. Make some sense of his own feelings. 

At the reception, he’s seated at the family table with Bill, Cindy, and Reid. Chandler is there, too, but she and her girlfriend Lex seem about as interested in him as they are the dinner menu. They give him a passing greeting, an introduction, if you can call it that, but content to leave it at that. 

They’re only a few feet away from the head table, where Chase, Hannah, and the bridal party are sat. So close, but when you’re as drained as he is, when you’ve been prim and perfectly proper for more hours than you can count, just want to be with the one person around who you don’t need to impress… Chris’ nameplate might as well be a quarter of the way around the world. 

There isn’t some big announcement or introduction for the bridal party, they just filter in after the conclusion of pictures with the rest of the family. Chris is one of the last to filter in, and finds that the rest of the bridesmaids and the groomsmen are all settled in their seats. Chris doesn’t head for her seat. Instead, she makes a bee-line for her family table, for Charles, who is scrolling through his phone and nursing what she thinks is Chase’s signature drink. 

She sneaks up on him, but he isn’t startled by her arms when they wrap over his shoulders. “Hi,” she greets, leaning over to kiss him. It doesn’t take her but a second to feel how tense he is—it’s in his shoulders, in his kiss, in the way he just keeps spinning the liquid around his glass instead of drinking it. Most of all, it’s in the way she doesn’t get even a hello back, just a focus smile and a kiss. Her brows furrow in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m just tired. It has been a busy couple of days.”

“I know,” she nods in agreement. “I was thinking, we should get super drunk tonight, skip brunch tomorrow, and then do nothing all day. What do you think?”

He laughs, and she feels the vibrations in her hands. “Deal,” he says, holding out his hand to shake on it right as the DJ comes over the microphone. Ladies and Gentleman, Chris’ eyes go wide, practically death-dropping into a squat so quickly she nearly loses her balance in her heels. Charles laughs, but she doesn’t miss his hand reaching out to steady her. If I can direct your attention to the barn door, let’s all give a warm welcome to the reason we’re all here tonight. I’m pleased to introduce for the very first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Elliott! Even from her squatted position, she still claps and cheers for Chase and Hannah. 

As the clapping dies down, the instrumental of their first dance song transitions in. She shifts on her feet, from one heel to the other, and thinks about how graceful she would have to be to attempt to slip her shoes off in her current position. When she looks to Charles, she’s met with the clearest what-the-heck-are-you-doing look she’s ever been on the receiving end of, and a nod that all but picks her up and puts her in his lap itself. His arms slip around her waist lazily, like it’s where they’re supposed to belong, like a magnet pulling itself to the fridge.

As their first dance song starts, as Chase and Hannah sway around the dance floor as husband and wife, Charles places a soft kiss into her exposed shoulder. The warmth of his lips sends a chill up her spine. “Are you cold?” He whispers, and she shakes her head even though she’s been chilly since she put the dress on that morning—who the heck chooses one-shoulder bridesmaid dresses for their outdoor wedding in December? He runs his hands up and down her arms to warm her up with the friction. “You can have my jacket if you want.”

“I’m okay,” she says. 

“Okay.” Another kiss, and then he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Let me know.”

After the first dance, Hannah and Chase give a short welcome speech, thanking everyone for coming to celebrate with them, for making their day so perfect. And then, it’s time to eat. 

She offers to pull over a chair and eat with him, and then offers again silently after Bill makes a joke about how we won’t bite him. She doesn’t like to see him like this, so tired, so drained. “I’m good,” he says, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, but her return to the head table is hesitant, and she keeps an eye on him the entire meal. 

– – –

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Chris, and for those of you who do, you probably knew this was coming,” Chris laughs nervously, microphone in sweaty hands. She can’t believe she has to follow Ryan’s speech. He had the whole crowd laughing until they couldn’t breathe. “I’m not one for public speaking, which I know you all find very funny considering my career choice, but when your best friend since the oh-so tender age of seven is getting married, you throw caution to the wind.”

She looks at Charles, but has to look away quickly. Just imagine me in my underwear, he’d told her before she got up here. She can’t do that. She can’t look at Hannah or Chase, either, though, or else she’ll burst into tears. So, she just looks at the piece of paper in her hand. 

“So, let’s talk about Hannah. We’ve been through it all together, from the back of a Sunday school class at Grace Haven where two little girls made their first friend, to hiding from customers in the kitchen of the Pool Room listening to Mr. Gordon tell us about his ‘shine days. We weathered the storms of adolescence, rocked the awkward phase, and somehow managed to make it out on the other side with our sanity intact—well, mostly,” the room chuckles. Hannah laughs, and Chris thinks that maybe she can look at her—she can’t, can already feel the tears welling, the frog in the back of her throat. 

“But,” she cracks, “It’s not about the trials we faced in high school, it’s about the triumph that is happening right now. Chase and Hannah, standing—sitting—here, about to embark on a new chapter of their lives.” Chris turns to the next page of her notes, hand shaky when she does it. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows getting here. Life threw us some curveballs, as it tends to do. But Hannah, she’s a force of nature. She faces challenges head-on, and with the strength of a thousand warriors.”

Chris’ eyes catch Reid, sitting on Bill’s lap next to Charles. He’s not paying any attention, but what four-year-old would? Instead, he’s swinging his legs back and forth, tapping Charles’ knee with the toe of his shoes everytime. Charles takes turns grabbing one of the attacking feet, his eyes unbreaking from her, before letting Reid wiggle it away, laughing softly at the interaction each time. “My best friend became a mom at nineteen, and there wasn’t much about it that was easy. But, like I always do, I watched her rise to the occasion, and I’ve never been prouder. I work with five-year-olds every day, and as similar as Reid is to Chase, he’s his mother’s son, and I would pay a million dollars to have twenty of him in my classroom. And Chase, you were there through all of it. When things got tough, you didn’t run; you stood by her. You became not just the guy she loved, but the rock she could lean on, the partner she deserved.”

Chris nods, continuing. “Some might say they don’t have the most conventional love story. But what is love if not a journey? One that involves bumps and twists and unexpected turns? Chase and Hannah, you’ve proven that love isn’t just for fairytales; it’s for the real, messy, complicated, and beautiful moments of life.”

Chris looks past Hannah, to Chase. It's just as hard to maintain eye contact with him. Harder, maybe, because he looks like he’s about to cry, too. Chris can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen her brother cry. “Chase, my big brother,” she laughs through a tear. 

“Fuck you, dude,” he says back, through an equally tearful laugh. Hannah’s hand runs in circles on his back. 

“You are so lucky to have Hannah. Everyone in this room knows that she has this magical quality about her—this remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. I’ve seen her do it time and time again, watched her sprinkle her own special kind of magic everywhere she goes.”

“Hannah,” she says, turning fully to face her best friend, abandoning the piece of paper she has memorized and replacing it with Hannah’s hand. “You are my confidante, my partner in crime, my source of strength, and my beacon of light. You are the kind of friend who not only stands by people in the good times, but also holds you up when life gets a little bit wobbly,” Chris feels a single tear fall down her cheek, and then another. She sniffles softly. “Thank you for helping me through the wobbles,” she squeaks. “You’ve been my sister as long as I’ve known you, Han, I’m just glad it’s finally official.”

Chris turns back to address the crowd, raising a glass of champagne to two of her favorite people. “To Hannah and Chase. May your love be modern enough to survive the times, but old-fashioned enough to last forever. Cheers to the messy, the beautiful, and the happily ever after you both so richly deserve.”

Hannah wastes no time enveloping Chris into a bear hug, rocking back and forth on their feet. The lace and tulle from Hannah’s dress scratch against Chris’ arms, but she doesn’t mind. She’s too busy trying not to cry onto the fabric while the rest of the tables clink their glasses to her speech. Chase is next with the hugs, a stupid one that’s stronger than Hannah’s. 

“Dude,” he laughs, “you didn’t have to make me cry.”

Chris sniffles. “I love you.”

Chase pauses, squeezes her a little bit tighter. “I love you, too.”

Speeches are followed by the father-daughter and mother-son dances. Chris sneaks back over to the family table during the latter, makes her dad move over into Cindy’s seat so she can sit next to Charles. He has a fresh glass of the same drink from earlier, and is nursing it the same way he did the first one. 

“You know,” she says, checking the state of her makeup with her phone’s camera. “You’re going to have to pick up the pace if we’re getting wasted tonight.”

He laughs, the side of his foot bumping against hers under the table. She leans her foot back on the heel of her shoe, toys with the hem of his slacks. “Is that right?” He spins the drink, talks into the bottom of the glass, but she’s not fooled. His ears are red at the simple action. 

“Yeah,” she nods. “Let me show you,” and then takes the glass from his hand, downing what’s left without a scowl. It’s dark liquor. She loves the burn. 

Chris is like… she reminds him of that battery rabbit. A constant source of energy. She’s practically bouncing off the walls, giddily introducing him to anyone they come across that he doesn’t already know. She’s just so personable, and the buzz she’s gotten from the champagne and the stolen sips of his drinks only make her more lively. She knows everyone here, he’s sure of it, but she could befriend a brick wall if it gave her five minutes.

It’s impossible for even the most sullen people not to feed off her energy—everyone is swallowed up by her laugh, every conversation brightened by her presence. She’s so fun to watch that he wonders if he’s dreamt her up, created a figment of his imagination in the shape of someone just so good. God, she’s good. 

They survive the newlywed games and the anniversary dances, even make it all the way to the cake cutting before it becomes an Elliott family party—which, if you didn’t know, is synonymous with a drunken rager. As soon as Hannah swipes a finger full of frosting across Chase’s cheek, it’s game over. 

Drinks flow as freely as laughter echoes, and the dance floor is nothing more than a playground for a bunch of drunken idiots. Chris and Hannah, seasoned dance partners, showcase their moves with infectious enthusiasm, dancing the blurry line between elegance and idiocy. 

When the music slows, though, she’s always finding her way to him, heavy arms around his neck, his around her waist. If they know the song, they take turns butchering the vocals and giggling until the other person kisses them. 

“So, how was my speech?” She asks soberly, swaying along to the tune of some slow song he’s never heard of. 

“You made that speech your bitch, baby,” he slurs, even though he has a million and one questions about her speech. 

He’d heard it. So many fucking times, he’d heard it, and not once had he heard the ending. He thought he heard the ending—he did hear the ending. It was just different. Shorter. Sweeter. Didn’t put a confused knot in his stomach. Thank you for helping me through my wobbles. A remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. He doesn’t want to entertain them as connected, to live in a world where they’re connected. 

“You think so?” She beams. He can’t ask when she smiles like that. 

“Yeah,” his tongue feels dry in his mouth—cottony. He’s bothered, and he doesn’t understand why. “It was great, very personal.” He shouldn’t let it bother him. It’s a fucking speech at a wedding for people he barely knows. It shouldn’t bother him, it shouldn’t rot his insides, the concept that two sentences could be in any way related to one another. It shouldn’t bother him, really. It does, though. And he can’t stop himself when he’s half-drunk the way he could if he was sober. “Everything you talked about… it’s all you two, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Hannah’s done a lot for me, y’know. I’m sure we’re like you and Joris, just. I cry more than you.”

“Even the, uh…” he clears his throat. “Even the whole thing about, um…”

“Charles,” she laughs, brows furrowed in a way he thinks only he could perceive. 

He sighs. “You know that you’re the kind of person who is easy to love, yes?”

She doesn’t look at him when she nods, or when she smiles, or when she kisses him. “I know,” she mumbles, and it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever said. The easiest lie he’s ever spotted, but it’s even clearer that she doesn’t want him to push on it, so he doesn’t. He’s smart enough to know when it’s time to just dance with his girlfriend. 

– – –

They wake up the next morning disgustingly hungover. Like, stare at the white ceiling for twenty minutes talking about how hungover they are and praying they don’t throw up, hungover. Her ceiling is textured, and the pattern repeats every foot-or-so like it’s been stamped on. That’s how hungover he is.

He showers while she makes them prairie oysters, and despite how absolutely horrifying it looks, sounds, and sells, he manages to find enough trust in her to force it down with a grim scowl. Fuck, it’s disgusting. Horrifically so. 

They take an uber out to the wedding venue to retrieve Chris’ car, and she gives directions back to the Dawsonville Pool Room with her eyes half closed, sunglasses over her eyes. Everytime he looks at her he thinks she’s turning green. 

The owner recognizes her as soon as they’re walking through the door. Charles doesn’t understand a single fucking word the guy says. Chris orders “two Bully Burgers, but I swear to holy Heaven if you put slaw anywhere near my plate you’re gonna see the Devil, Mr. Gordon.”

He responds in something Charles could technically call English, and Chris shakes her head, a smile pulling on her lips. “I’m serious, he’ll back me up,” she says, thumb pointing to him. “He’s not from around here, you’re just another stranger.”

The greasiest, sloppiest, most mediocre burger he’s ever eaten is put in front of him five minutes later, and he feels like a new man after. Still absolutely strung out and exhausted, yes, but like his stomach is content to stay inside his body. 

Later that afternoon, when they’re both half asleep on the couch, some stupid sitcom playing as background nose, he’s still thinking about her fucking speech from the night earlier. It’s still bugging him. “Baby?” he mumbles against the skin of her shoulder. He doesn’t even know if she’s awake to answer. 

“Hmm?” She hums. 

“We do not have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but. You are a very lovable person, I think.” He couldn’t give any specific examples of what makes him so sure of this fact, he honestly couldn’t. But isn’t that proof enough? That just her being is enough to answer the question. 

“Babe,” she stretches against him, speaks through a yawn. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I just. I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay. We can talk about it.” She adjusts, if just slightly, so that it’s easier for her to look at him while they speak. “When everyone has the same complaint, all your old friends and old boyfriends tell you that you’re too much or too little, you realize maybe you’re the crazy one.”

He doesn't like that reasoning. He thinks it’s a load of bullshit, actually. “Why do you think of yourself in this way?”

Chris laughs. “It’s fine, really.”

“It’s not,” he says, because he knows it’s a lie. 

“It is, because I’ve come to terms with it. I accept it.”

He frowns, hates the way she seems so content with this. Like it’s something that is even kind of rational. It’s not, he knows. He pauses, can’t even come up with something to say to her level of absurdity. “I don’t think you should accept that.”

She turns away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, and laughs softly. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“You are not unlovable.” She’s not. She’s not. He knows she’s not. He knows, he knows, because of rain on a pine patio and leaves that change colors. He knows, because if she was unlovable, he wouldn’t love her. And he does, he does love her. 

Wait.

“Well, we’ll see. Everyone always sees.”

No, hold on. Wait. His stomach is tangled, flip-flopping and fluttering like every butterfly this side of the Atlantic has suddenly taken up residence in his insides. You don’t love her, you idiot, he thinks. But he does. Fucking… His heart races. He hopes to God, pays to something he’s not sure he believes in that she can’t feel it against his chest. That he can get away with it. “See what?”

She shrugs. “If I knew, nobody would see it,” she laughs. He laughs along, too, but it’s so forced that it sounds like some pre-recorded bit. She’s so casual about all of this that he feels like he needs to pinch himself. It doesn’t make sense, he can’t wrap his mind around it. But Chris, she’s comfortable enough with her bull-fucking-shit ‘facts’ that she can pull her phone out and scroll through it while they wrap up the conversation. “And before you ask, ‘What if I don’t see anything?’ like everyone else but Hannah always asks, nothing happens.”

“Nothing happens?”

She opens her fucking email. He’s in love with her, and she’s opening her fucking email while telling him it’s not possible. “You win, I guess.”

“I win you?”

“I mean, I don’t like to consider myself something that can be won,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. His heart is beating so loud he thinks the neighbors can probably hear it. “But for lack of a better word… sure. You win me.”

He nods. There’s nothing more he can add to the conversation, not now. Not when he’s just ran face-first into a brick wall of I love you.  Fuck. Fuck. He’s totally in love with her. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

last chapter masterlist next chapter

[sorryimananti-romantic]

should i start writing or not?

i literally get the craziest fic ideas almost daily and i have a whole page about plots and plots and MORE plots, so, naturally, id want to put them to use

BUT (there's always a but)

when it comes to me and words, you'd never catch me making it past the prologue 😭

i either really dislike my work (you can tell me how good/bad it is and im still going to scrap it, no one's changing my mind 😤), im just that bad at writing, i overcomplicate my sentences (cmon who wants to read shakespeare typa stuff), or i end up losing interest

i figured writing small imagines or wtv those tiny 2k-4k worded whatever-they-are stuff would work kinda well for me, but as someone who overthinks and second-guesses her every step in life... yeah 💀

idk i basically live off other peoples' opinions so after making you read allat for nothing, should i start processing these stored plots into words to form understandable sentences that may or may not be enjoyable depending on the person reading but then again who would click on something they dont wanna read innit?

haha that is literally the most relatable thing i've read today-- i was just the same before i started writing the first work of mine! and i'm not saying just for the heck of it but if you have all these ideas and plots... DO IT!!

bro my first few fics suck in my opinion and i wish i could rewrite them and post them again (i do not even want to look at them and i cannot comprehend why ppl like them) but ppl do like them! i think if you have good characters and good plots, it doesn't matter if your writing is bad bc writing is something that will get better the more you write, yeah? (and btw, that's you thinking your writing is bad. you could be the next shakespeare we never know LOL) (also my first work was take me home series and that says a lot about me bc my amateur ass went ahead and wrote the longest thing i've ever written 😭)

and me. i would read shakespearean style stuff if you have a good plot and characters. i would read a fic that uses the most common vocabulary if the plot is magical. there are people who will like your works and even if there is one of them, it means you're doing a good job!

i think you should start writing with whatever plot you want to write the most and just write it in your style. i live for crazy fic ideas and i cannot wait to see what you have in store! if your first work has to be a series, so be it! if it has to be a drabble, that's fine too! just do what you want to <3 good luck and i will be waiting for you to write sth and tag me <33

[catonatrain]

ok hi guys since its the final day for mido id just wanted to spend some time talking about how he does care :>

lets start with him and kagami!! their relationship is very important 2 me...

the two had kind of a rough start! kagami, upon introducing himself to midorima, wrote on his hand rather than shaking it! it was kagami's own declaration of war, since his goal is to defeat all of the generation of miracles (the rainbow haired prodigies in the series, with mido being one of them). but ultimately midorima didn't see him as a rival, partly due to his arrogance. but its ok!! bc kagami's team manages to defeat mido's team (which makes mido's lose in basketball for like the first time ever, and he cried about it)! it ultimately set them on the path to being rivals and also for midorima to get his character development

[Image ID: Aerial view of Kagami and Midorima standing in front of a basketball hoop. It is night. They are both wearing casual clothes, and Kagami is holding a basketball as he looks at Midorima's back. The text reads "stopping you is easy because..." End ID]

anyways, lets fast forward to the summer training camp!! kagami and midorimas school were at the same place! as we know, kagami's goal is to defeat the rest of the generation of miracles. midorima approaches kagami one night to tell him that kagami can't achieve his dreams as he currently is. he tells him that kagami is too predictable, only wanting to dunk, which will have him ultimately lose in an air battle

they ultimately try to play basketball against each other-- a one v one... if kagami can score one point against mido then kagami wins!

he's a bit harsh saying stuff like this!

[Image ID: Headshot of Midorima saying "I will correct your simplistic thinking." End ID]

ultimately kagami is unable to score against midorima, which has midorima stop the game

[Image ID: Kagami looking back at Midorima while holding a basketball. Midorima has his hands in his pockets and is facing away. He says "No matter how many times we play, it will be the same. End ID]

so this is still pretty early on in the series (season 1)!! however it shows us a lot-- midorima was willing to help out kagami! he wanted him to improve!! he wanted him to become a better player!! he does it in a way to really kickstart kagami into evolving!!

here is a tiny midorima to serve as an intermission to the next part

[Image ID: Chibi of Midorima in casual wear. He is crossing his arms.]

now, let's move on with how midorima essentially gives gifts/brings people things to show he cares for them

as we know, midorima is a great believer in lucky items.. he always has lucky items for himself. but did you know that midorima also knows the lucky items for others as well?

[Image ID: Midorima handing Kuroko a chick keychain who has his hands out to take it. End ID]

take this for example!! this is midorima giving kuroko his lucky item for the day since its kuroko's birthday! midorima knows kuroko (and other)'s sign by heart :>

but look at him... look at him giving kuroko this cute keychain... he doesn't even know what kuroko's lucky item will be until the day of, but he gets it nonetheless without any issues!!

now finally, on the topic of lucky items i want to highlight a drama cd in which midorima was extremely concerned for takao's well being!! in the drama cd, takao's sign constantly ranked low.

Midorima: Hn. You just have to know where to look. At any rate, Takao, are you going to be alright? Takao: What d’ya mean? Midorima: Scorpio is ranked eighth today. Takao: Oh, really? Midorima: Why are you not more concerned about this?! Scorpio’s fortunes are worsening by the day. Heed my advice and take today’s lucky item—this clear file featuring Space Sheriff Shaiya.

as you can see, not only is midorima quite concerned about takao's well being, he also has takao's lucky item with him as he didn't want takao to be faced with avoidable misfortune

takao ultimately isn't too concerned about his fortune, however, as he admits that he only started watching oha asa because of midorimam, so he figures if he's gotten this far without lucky items he can keep on going strong!!

Midorima: If you had a lucky item of your own, things like this wouldn’t happen. Takao: Ugh. Alright, I hear ya. Oh! Hey, Shin-chan, you dropped something. [picks the item up off the ground] [a flowerpot drops from above them and shatters where Takao had been standing] Takao: Wow, that was close. Now we’ve got falling flowerpots? Geez, we’re getting attacked from all sides. Anyway, what is this thing? Midorima: Can’t you tell? It’s a magnifying glass. Takao: Heheh. [laughing] No, I know that, but—I haven’t had one of these since I was in elementary school! Oh, that’s right! We used to use them to focus sunlight and burn paper and stuff. Man, this really takes me back! Midorima: I think we’re done here. We’re going back to the classroom. Takao: Roger that. Let’s go! Midorima: (…a flowerpot? What if I hadn’t had his lucky item with me…?)

and then we have this scene here!! on this day, takao's rank is worse at 10th, and takao barely avoids getting hit with a flowerpot... as we can see with midorima's thoughts, he has a magnifying glass because it was takao's lucky item, and figures that takao only managed to avoid getting hurt because of it

later on in the drama cd, midorima will continuously obtain takaos lucky item by

asking kuroko to lend him a book (takao's lucky item) despite hating asking for help

spending lots of money to purchase takaos lucky item and bringing it to him when takao's in the infirmary

asking kuroko again for help and then having to visit kuroko's coach for it

anyways!! as you can see, despite never wanting to openly show that he cares about anyone, he clearly does!!

thank u everyone for your time, especially if you read the entire thing!! even if you skimmed and this is the only line ur reading im quite grateful for your time :>

no matter what mido will always be a winner in our hearts (ignore canon and the current poll results <3)

The Green Hair and Pronouns Tournament, Round 3 Match 6

[zhonglicious]

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐯. (𝐡𝐜𝐬)

☀ ft. ran haitani x reader

☀ warnings. mentions of fighting and making up. light angst i suppose? not sure if this warrants a warning, but mentions of chubby reader! honestly i think that's it, but lmk if i should add warnings for other topics!

☀ a/n. first post on this acc <33 honestly more ran centered than reader centered bc i love picking apart tr characters lol. probably not that coherent but eh <//3 wrote this bc i'm procrastinating on studying for my semi-finals lmfao <33 lowercase intentional btw!

❧ i just know ran would be the sweetest bf ever :((

❧ we're all in agreement his main love language is gift giving, yes? yes. i mean just look at him?? honestly i think he uses all of the love languages, but his main one is simply just gift giving

❧ we all know he's a rich man with no other way to spend his money than on his beloved. the gift giving is particularly heavy at the start of the relationship, as well as when he was still wooing you. like, i swear, you could not go a single week without finding a bouquet at your doorstep, or him offering you a pretty wrapped box

❧ even when you get further into the relationship, the gifts simply do. not. stop. it's less frequent now, yes, but it's still a little overwhelming sometimes. he doesn't hesitate to hand over his card or buy something you point out to him, all while he smiles and kisses the top of your head, telling you not to worry about how expensive it is

❧ another main love language for him is physical touch. he absolutely has to be holding some part of you at all times. of course, if you're not comfortable with his touch just yet, he's willing to wait for you to get used to him and trust him fully

❧ if you don't like pda, that's fine too! he doesn't mind keeping it lowkey in public, as long as he gets to shower you with affection once you get home <33

❧ he loves all body types, he just absolutely loves the feeling of you in his arms. although i just know that man prefers thicker people. but that's a topic for another post <33

❧ his favorite thing to do with you has to be those quiet, peaceful days where you two do nothing but lay in bed and just. do nothing

❧ not even watch a movie or anything, it's just. you and him with the curtains drawn. him holding you to his chest and playing with your hair, humming the song that's been stuck in his head, little things you've come to associate with him

❧ sometimes you think he just likes to feel your heartbeat, just to remind himself that you're here with him

❧ other activities he likes doing with you is playing games. especially when it's co-op games like minecraft or stardew. he absolutely must set his bed next to you btw, he just has to, sorry man i don't make the rules

❧ speaking of that, he's. very dramatic, yes.

❧ when it comes to small matters, he likes to whine at you, yes. you didn't say i love you to him today? "my baby doesn't love me anymore..." [fake sniffling] you ate the last of his food? [gasp] "how dare you-" [clutching his chest in offense]

❧ most of the time, he's not really serious, he just likes to see the way your face scrunches up at his antics. loves to laugh and flick your nose, before leaning down to kiss your forehead and apologize

❧ however, when you guys actually do fight, it's intense

❧ not in the way that there's screaming and yelling. although there is, sometimes, but most of the time it's surprisingly... quiet

❧ see, the thing about ran is that he internalizes a lot of things, and he's stubborn. all his life, especially with taking care of rindou, he's had to put on this facade of strength even when he's completely losing it

❧ so when you guys do fight, it's horrible because he doesn't want to back down from his stand. he takes a few days to cool off but once he does, he comes back and apologizes, however hard that is for him

❧ ran isn't used to love. he's always had to be tough and cold to make sure he and rindou survived. so it takes him a long time to deconstruct his walls and let himself be vulnerable to you, admit he was wrong. when that man says you're the better half of him, he means it, because you taught him how to open himself up to his loved ones, to stop being so on guard with everything in fear it might hurt him or his brother

❧ the same applies when he's feeling down. rather than talk about it, he'd rather isolate himself and push it all away, never to be seen again. it's a habit he's picked up from taking care of rindou, tbh. he doesn't want to worry you so he puts on a smile all the time

❧ but the moment you hug him and pat his head and tell him to let it all out, his breath hitches and the words finally come out, words he's had barring his throat all his life

❧ being in a relationship with ran can be rough, because he's still trying to figure out how to let himself be vulnerable around you. he's never had that luxury, to be able to put down his walls and not be hurt

❧ but i promise you that man is trying because he loves you, he loves how kind and caring you are, not just to him, but to the people around you

❧ so yes, to reiterate my first point, ran would be the sweetest bf ever, and i will forever stand by that <33