#not only french but disconnected from it...

[solargeist]

i get sooo crazy abt characters i find even slightly relatable

[xfang-is-deadx]

I need a wisconsinite miku. She gets shitty milkshakes at kwik trip and works at a culvers. She goes to chalkfest every summer. She makes little homemade cheese curds. She feeds the giraffes at Milwaukee zoo. She goes to the Paul bunyan museum in eau claire. She buys all her furniture from Menards. Is this anything.

[sinofwriting]

Points Have Been Made - Charles Leclerc/Reader/Max Verstappen

Words: 3,363 Summary: Max and Charles find out something happened to their girlfriend. Note(s): Thank you Mak for commissioning this! Mentions of medical stuff, infertility (not reader). One German word, one Dutch word, some French words. Jenson Button appears in this fic, because uh, well, I love him and honestly, I’d like to think (write) him having a weird soft spot for Max (and Charles) after seeing him more recently around Logan.

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“Max.” He lets out a hum, his focus on the car and racing line into turn nine. “Box box.” “What?” His eyes flick up to where a yellow or red flag would be waved but there isn’t anything. “I’ve only done three laps on these tires.” “Box box.” His brows furrow beneath his helmet and balaclava at the non-answer.

Pulling off the track and into the pit lane, his fingers tap against the wheel as they pull his car back into the garage. He sits there expecting the mechanics to make some sort of adjustments but instead they start doing what they do at the end of a session, cooling the car down, prepping it for its next use.

He feels a slight pressure to the top of his helmet and then GP is in his line of sight, leaning into his space and car, perfectly helping to cover him with the mechanics and engineers, so the camera can’t see inside. “Something happened, Max. Session is over for you.” His heart starts thudding in his chest, panic threatening to overtake him. “What happened?” His voice is muffled by the helmet but he knows that GP hears it from the way his frown deepens. “Out of the car, Max. We’re doing our best to not let cameras see in, but who knows how long that will last.” Max looks at the mechanics and engineers and only now takes note of how they’re standing. It’s a carefully constructed wall, not allowing the cameras to see him at all. “Alright.” He murmurs.

He focuses on his hands as he disconnects the steering wheel, resting it on top of the car before pulling his gloves off. He doesn’t know why but he expects them to be shaking, but they’re perfectly still, like always. Jaw clenched, he stands, bending at the waist to grab the steering wheel and put it back on before hopping out of the car.

It’s odd to take his helmet off, passing it gratefully to Annie who whisks it and his gloves away.

“What happened?” He asks GP again. A hand is pressed against his back, pushing him to walk and he does. Undoing the near too tight collar of the race suit as he walks. It’s only once they’ve nearly disappeared behind the wall, where outside cameras aren’t allowed that GP speaks. “It’s about Y/N.” And the rug disappears out from underneath his feet.

—

“I’m okay, mama. I promise.” She says, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear as she rubs at her head. “You're sick. And I know that neither Max or Charles is with you.” “I will be okay, I’m a big girl.” “Your my baby.”

Her heart clenches at her mom’s words. All of her friends growing up and even some now all thought of her mother as overbearing, with the weekly phone calls, daily check ins and texts, but she was her mother’s only child. She grew up knowing that she was supposed to have siblings, that she was never supposed to be an only child, but it hadn’t worked that way for her mother and it had made her protective of her only child.

“I know, mama. But I’m okay.” Her words nearly flatter as a wave of dizziness hits her, but she pushes it away, clutching at the counter with her left hand as her right rubs at her temple. “The weather just changed here in Monaco. Y’know how that goes.” Her mom makes a noise, not believing her. “Pascale will be coming over for dinner, to check on me. Charles' orders. Will you believe her?” “Oh, Kindchen.” Her voice is soft, so reminiscent of her childhood. “It is not that I don’t believe you. It is that you are always the last to notice when you are unwell.” “I will be okay and she will text you to update you. Now go to your book club. I know that it is today.” “It’s not a book club!” “It’s a book club, mama.” She laughs, wincing immediately at the way the movement makes her feel unsteady. “I’ll call you first thing tomorrow alright?” “Alright.” She agrees. “Love you.” “I love you too.”

As soon as her mom hangs up, she takes a deep ragged breath. Her hand on her forehead, that’s damp now with sweat which makes her nose wrinkles, grasps at her phone before setting it on the counter.

It’s only when it knocks into something she realizes she’s had her eyes closed and she doesn’t know for how long. Opening them, she blinks at how bright the kitchen is. Turning her head slowly, her nose wrinkles up again at how the sun is positioned in the sky. No wonder it was so bright.

Letting go of the counter and taking a step towards the living room, she swears when a wave of dizziness rushes over again and she’s clutching at the counter again. The edge of it digging into both of her palms.

“Fuck.” She breathes when it’s passed. She watches as a bead of sweat drips off of her onto arm. She needed a shower. She needed to shower before Pascale got here. With the reminder of Pascale coming in a few hours she takes a few more deep breaths before letting go of the counter and walking.

Only it isn’t just a wave of dizziness that hits her, but a tidal wave and before she can catch herself, she falls to the floor, head hitting the tile hard and knocking her out.

—

“What happened to her?” Max asks, feet seeming to be glued to the floor as GP tries to push him deeper. “GP, what happened?” GP looks around before leaning into his space, a hand on the back of his neck pressing, and Max lets him push his head down. “Pascale found her passed out, she hit her head on the way down. They’re still waiting for test results.” “But,” His mind is whirling, trying and failing to understand what is happening. “Where is Charles?” If GP is surprised by his next question he doesn’t show it. “He’s still out there. He just about told Xavi to fuck himself when Xavi told him to abort his lap.” Normally that would make Max smirk, chuckle but he can’t be bothered. “I need to tell him. He can’t hear it from Xavi or Fred.” “Andrea was going to tell him.” Max shakes his head. “She’s in Monaco. Charles can’t find out by himself.” He looks at GP pleadingly and the older man nods. “I know, go and get out of your race suit and you can go right on over. Fred is expecting you.” Max quickly claps GP on the shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you.” He rushes to say again as he moves quickly to his room.

—

Charles is grinning as his car is pulled into the garage. He doesn’t know what Xavi was thinking, telling him to abandon that lap. It was amazing. And yes he knew that his session was over, cut short due to a new setup that they wanted to try out, but it was fine. This track had always treated him nicely and with this car, it would hopefully even treat him to a win or he mused considering Max, second place.

Climbing out of the car and pulling his gloves and then helmet off, he doesn’t notice the way the engineers and mechanics are blocking the cameras from seeing anything, or the worried looks from Fred and Xavi. He just notices the worry on Andrea’s face when he catches sight of Max, standing just out of sight if you look into the garage, close to where the drivers rooms are. And he does notice the look on Max’s face, it makes his stomach drop and he rushes to him, not even murmuring a thank you to Jean who takes his helmet and gloves from him.

“Max,” he breathes, hands fluttering before they rest gently on his face. “What happened, Mon coeur?” “Charles,” his name is broken up by a stuttered breath. “Did something happen to Sophie? Vic? Luke? Leo? Jos?” Max shakes his head at every name. Dread fills him even more. “Y/N?” Max’s eyes close and he nods. “No.”

“Charles.” Andrea’s voice is in his ear, ushering him forward. “Let’s get you both somewhere private.” He nods, letting his hands fall away from Max’s face, though he can’t help but to grab Max’s hand, intertwining their fingers, needing the touch, and Max clearly does too with the way he squeezes his hand back.

As soon as his driver's room door shuts, Andrea speaks again before Charles can ask anything.

“Pascale called me maybe ten minutes ago. She went over to yours for dinner, to check on Y/N and found her passed out on the kitchen floor.” Charles makes a wounded noise and his already tight grip on Max’s hand grows worse and the barely older man doesn’t even wince or jump. Doesn’t seem to notice. “They’re at the hospital.” Andrea’s voice is somehow even gentler than before when he says it. “They are at?” “Yes.” “Oh, maman.” He murmurs, feeling tears prick his eyes and Max drops his hand, wrapping an arm around him, bringing him close. “They are waiting for test results.” Max says. “GP made me box. He told me and I rushed over here.” “I,” Charles shudders. “Is she okay? I mean she passed out on the floor. How?” “I don’t know. They only just got there or at least that’s what it sounded like.” Charles nodded. “Thank you, Andrea. For getting a hold of GP.” Andrea sends Max a look. “Of course, Max.”

Andrea leaves the room, leaving them alone and Max as soon as the door shuts, wraps Charles completely in a hug, holding him tight as he tries to comfort himself with at least having one of his partners healthy and safe in his arms.

“I,” Charles struggles again. “I should call someone to go be with maman. She shouldn’t be there alone. Not at least till I can get there.” “Charles,” Max starts to say and Charles shakes his head, pushing away. “No, Max. I know it is a race weekend. But it is just a two-hour flight away, I can be back before qualifying if it is not too bad.” “Charles,” he tries again. “I have to go. I can’t just be here while she is unwell.” “Charles,” and this time Max is holding his face, making him incapable of speaking. “I am going with you. Fuck the race. If it is bad, it is not like we will lose our spots in the championship. Everyone else is more than forty points behind, we will be fine. Let me call my pilot, the jet will be ready by the time we get to the airport.” “Merci, Max.” Charles breaths, pressing their lips together. “Merci.”

—

“Pascale?” She mumbles when she opens her eyes and sees the woman sitting beside her. “Did I fall asleep?” She tries to sit up but her head aches, making her groan, and Pascale is gently pushing her back down. “Lay down, sweetheart.” “What?” Her eyes wander around the room as she realizes this isn’t her, Max, and Charles shared place. It’s far too clean, sterile. She tries to lift her arm and winces when there’s a tugging sensation. Her eyes fall to her arm and more confusion builds as she sees an IV. “Pascale, what happened?” “I found you passed out on the kitchen floor.” “But,” she couldn’t have passed out. Right? Her mind struggled to remember it. She knew she had been feeling dizzy, but enough to pass out. “Are we at the hospital?” “We are.” Pascale’s hand pats hers. “I will be right back. I’m going to get the nurse, okay?” She nods and as Pascale darts out the room, her eyes land on someone sitting just outside her room. “Jenson?”

—

“Anything new?” Charles shakes his head, frowning at his phone. “Like before, they knew that she was dehydrated as soon as she came in but they are still waiting for everything else to come back.” “What is taking so long? Is it money?” Max runs his hand through his hair, before he looks at Charles. “Call them, the hospital. Throw your name around, prince of Monaco.” “Max.” Charles hisses. “I am not the prince of Monaco. And I can’t call them. Nothing will happen if I call.” He huffs, slumping back in his seat.

It's silent for a moment.

“Are you,” “Yes, I’m sure, Max.” He reaches over and squeezes Max’s hand before tangling their fingers together, lifting them to give him a kiss. “We will be there soon.”

—

She tries her best to focus on the doctor as they examine her but her eyes keep going to Jenson. Now inside of her room and standing in the corner, arms crossed over his chest as he watches intently.

“You have a mild concussion from the fall. The back of your head will be tender.” “But why did she faint?” The doctor frowns, “Normally I’d have the answer for you. But our lab is abnormally backed up and we are down to one lab technician. As soon as the results are in, I will be back to give them to you.” “Take your time.” She smiles.

Jenson shakes his head when the doctor leaves. “How does Monaco, of all places, have only one lab technician working?” “Jenson, what are you doing here?” He smiles at her, coming closer to her and bending quickly to press a kiss to her cheek. “Max texted me. Asked me to keep you and Pascale company. I was already here in Monaco.” She smiles at the older driver. He and Max’s friendship wasn’t too well known, but they talked often. Then she frowns, because Max had asked him. “Max asked you?” Her eyes then look over at Pascale. “I texted Andrea.” She nods. “Can you tell them I’m okay. There is no need to worry.” “Sweetheart.” “Pascale, I’m okay. I haven’t felt dizzy since I woke up, my head hurts a little from the concussion that’s all.”

Before Pascale can respond her attention is drawn away by the sound of the room door practically being thrown up and two voices on top of each other.

“Cheri!” “Schat!”

—

“We were so worried.” Charles murmurs, holding her face gently. “How is your head feeling?” Max asks, sitting beside her on the bed, arm wrapped around her. “I’m okay.” She smiles at both of them. “My head hurts a bit, but that will go away soon enough.” Charles frowns, fingers gently brushing over her cheekbones, before he drops his hands to hold both of hers. “Are you sure? I’m sure we could get you some meds.” “I’m sure, Prince Charles could get you some meds.” Max whispers in her ear making her laugh while Charles sends him a dirty look, though a smile is playing on his lips. “Don’t listen to him, Cherie.” She smiles at Charles, carefully leaning forward to press their lips together. Before being even more careful as she turns her head to kiss Max.

“Thank you both for coming.” “Of course.” “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Charles and her both look at Max, eyebrows raised. “Okay, I can think of places I’d rather we be.” He admits. Charles shakes his head, “so silly.” He murmurs, leaning across her to kiss Max. “Now, why don’t we have your test results back yet?”

“There’s a backlog.” Jenson says, grinning when Charles jumps at the sound of his voice. “Max sent me over to keep them company as soon as you guys figured out the game plan.” Charles' entire face softens and Max flushes at the look their boyfriend sends him. “And they only have one lab technician.” Max lets out a curse. “Did you try bribing them?” “I could go try if you’d like.” Max starts to nod, but a knock sounds on the door and it opens.

She watches as the doctor blinks at the two new people in her room but ignores them, focusing on her. “I’ve got your results right here. Hypoglycemia. Low blood sugar and I mean very low blood sugar. When’s the last time you ate?” Her brows furrow.

She remembered eating Tuesday night with Max and Charles before they left. A nice dinner that her and Max made, Charles pouring them more drinks or chopping and stirring things. But she had eaten something the next morning hadn’t she? Her head throbs as she thinks, but she ignores it, trying to remember and winces from both the pain and the realization that she hadn’t eaten anything since Tuesday night.

“Tuesday night. I was going to eat breakfast on Wednesday but we were out of my breakfast bars and then I got so busy and I just wasn’t hungry.” “Are you not hungry often?” “Sometimes. But even then I make sure to eat at least one meal a day, I snack throughout. I’ve never done this before.” They nod. “As long as this isn’t a normal occurrence, I don’t see an issue. But, you need to make sure you are eating often. You don’t want to be back in here because you forgot to eat and it made your blood sugar drop.” “Of course. Thank you so much.” They nod. “I’ll get your discharge paperwork done and as soon as you're finished with the bag, you’ll be free to go.”

—

“When are you guys flying back?” She asks, Max’s head in her lap, her fingers combing through his hair as she leans against Charles. Max makes a face. “We won’t be.”

Charles and him had both talked about it as they got Pascale home and she settled in. Their teams would be unhappy, but it wasn’t like they could be overtaken in the championship. They could live. And they had two weeks after this with no racing. Two weeks where they could make sure she was eating, taking care of herself. And she’d be going to the next race anyway. This had been a sort of one-off due to all the things that had piled up at home.

“What do you mean you won’t be?” “We can miss a race. Max is twenty points ahead of me, I am forty-seven points ahead of Oscar.” “I have so many questions about that.” She murmurs, because god what was this season. Checo barely hung onto fourth in the championship with George hunting him down, Lewis and Lando hunting down George. Barely fifteen points collectively separating third to seventh. Charles snorts. “Many people would like to know the same.” “You should go though. Put more of a lead in the points.” Max and Charles share a look, a bit hard with their positions but they manage. “No.” They both agree. “I can survive not even two days. I’ll go stay with Pascale. Have Arthur stay with me. Or Jenson since he’s here in Monaco.” “No.” They say again at the same time. “You are far more important than another twenty-five or eighteen points.” Max continues. She sighs, looking at them both. “Three stubborn people is way too many people in a relationship.” “I think it’s perfect.” “Suck up.” Max coughs and Charles flicks him on the forehead. “Says you.”

“Boys, settle down.” “Love you.” They chorus. She shakes her head, sighing. “If you will not go without me, I will just go with you.” “You have a concussion.” “A mild concussion. And we all know that you have flown before with a concussion, Charles.” He pouts, “it was just once.” “Twice.” Max coughs and Charles flicks him again.

“I will go with you tomorrow. Just please make the flight later than eight am.” “Done.” Max says, already texting his flight crew. “Thank you.” She starts to bend to kiss Max, when her face is redirected to look at Charles and he kisses her. She expects Max to whine but as soon as Charles is done, Max is turning her head the other way, no longer laying in her lap, to kiss her as well.

@fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @darleneslane @ironspdy @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @eutrizbea @namgification @eugene-emt-roe @skepvids @elliegrey2803 @stopeatread @hiireadstuff

[iateyourparents]

I love you stories, and you should do one where reader doesn’t say I love you back with Sam or Colby ❤️❤️

i love you | s.g.

pairing: sam golbach x fem!reader

summary: you decided to prank your boyfriend by not saying i love you back as a pay back.

warnings: use of y/n, bad writing and grammar(sorry, english isn’t my first language), not proofread

an: thank you love<33 actually i already did it with colby (colby’s version) so this one is sam’s version!

pictures are from pinterest:)

You were mad at Sam.

Alright, maybe mad is too strong of a word.

You were annoyed by Sam. He ate your favorite candies from your stash and didn’t even restock it later. AND he only laughed at you when you told him you’re mad at him.

So you decided to pay him back. You were torn between not kissing him and not speaking to him for as long as possible but you already knew it would be a lost battle, you couldn’t go a day without speaking to him and even more without kissing him, so you came with another solution.

You will be ignoring his love affirmations, or rather not saying them back.

You knew he loved hearing ‘I love you’ from you so it would be a torture for him. But at least he will remember not to mess with your food anymore.

So currently you were laying in bed, checking your social media while Sam was still sleeping next to you. It was almost 9 am so you knew he would wake up soon.

And you were right, cause no longer than twenty minutes later, Sam started to reposition himself a couple of times and eventually opened his eyes.

You smiled softly at his cute sleepy face “Good morning love.”

“Hi baby.” his voice was raspy and he was trying not to close his eyes in fear of falling asleep again. After a moment he moved and leaned almost all of his body on yours, hugging you “How did you sleep?”

“Good, and you?” you started combing through his hair with your fingers and you could hear him sighing contently.

“Great.” he yawned and you tried not to coo at how cute he looked, instead you kissed his head and reminded yourself to not say ‘I love you’ that really wanted to get out of your mouth in that moment.

You laid like that for a few more minutes, Sam trying to wake up completely and you trying to cherish this moment before you would have to get up on go on with your day.

Finally Sam rised, leaning on his forearms, and kissed you. And then your cheek and nose. You giggled but didn’t stop him, so he started peppering your face with little kisses.

“I have to go to gym soon.” he pouted “I promised Colby I would go with him before 12 am.” he whined and you laughed, kissing his forehead.

“That’s too bad, I was hoping for quiet morning in bed.” Sam whined again at your words.

“Stop, you’re making me want to cancel and if I will Colby will kill me.” he placed his forehead on your shoulder.

“Poor boy.” you cooed kissing side of his head. That’s why you didn’t decided to not kiss him for as long as possible, you were too weak to resist kissing him. He was addicting.

“Do you have plans for later? We could spend rest of the day on the couch watching some movies.” he offered, his voice kind of muffled by your shoulder.

“I was supposed to go shopping with Amanda but I’m sure she won’t mind if I reschedule.” you shrugged.

“Great.” he smiled at you, lifting his head after kissing your shoulder “I love you.”

You smiled widely and kissed him to not make it suspicious that you didn’t say it back. He gladly deepened the kiss not caring that none of you had brushed your teeth yet.

“What do you want for breakfast?” he asked when you disconnected your lips and he started getting up.

“I already ordered a breakfast from this french coffee shop. I took you your favorite.” you smiled at him “It should be here soon.”

“God I love you.” he sighed and you laughed “Do you want tea or something?”

“Tea would be great, thank you baby.” Sam went to the kitchen while you finally got up and went to bathroom to do your morning routine and moment later Sam also came into the bathroom to start his routine.

“Tea is waiting on the counter.” he informed you squeezing toothpaste on his toothbrush.

“Thank you.” you kissed his cheek after you rinsed your face from cleansing gel.

After you ate breakfast together Sam started getting ready to the gym and you started mentally preparing yourself for his leaving cause you knew it would be hardest part in your little challenge, because he wouldn’t leave without hearing you say ‘I love you’.

You were cleaning a coffee table when Sam came into the living room.

“I’m going baby.” he pouted standing behind you and putting his arms around your middle “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too love.” you turned in his arms and hugged him.

“I love you.” he said placing his head in your neck.

You hummed quietly to yourself, scratching his neck delicately.

“I love you, baby.” he repeated after a moment of silence. When you still didn’t answer he took his head from your neck and looked you in the eyes “I love you, y/n.”

You smiled at him and kissed his jaw. He frowned and you could see a pout starting to form on his lips.

“Did I do something wrong?” he tilted his head and your face made you feel bad.

“You ate all of my kinder buenos and bounties.” you reminded with a small pout and Sam looked at you with dumbfounded expression.

“You’re not saying I love you because I ate your candies?”

“And laughed at me when I was mad!” you reminded with slight frown and he laughed, that made you shake off his arms of you and take a step back. “You’re laughing again!” you accused.

“Oh baby.” he took a step in your direction and held your arms when you tried to take next step back “I’m sorry for my unforgivable acts. I feel so bad and I hope you won’t stop loving me because of this.” he acted like an actor from old comedy show and you tried to suppress your smile.

“Go to the gym already.” you rolled your eyes.

“I love you.” he kissed your cheek.

“Yeah yeah, I love you too.” you rolled your eyes again, this time you couldn’t stop your smile.

And Sam being Sam of course couldn’t let you be mad at him for any longer, so coming back from the gym he bought you tons of your favorite sweets. Literally a definition of perfect husband material.

[hamletthedane]

Hamlet’s Age

Not to bring up an age-old debate that doesn’t even matter, but I have been thinking recently how interesting Hamlet’s age is both in-text and as meta-text.

To summarize a whole lot of discussion, we basically only have the following clues as to Hamlet’s age:

Hamlet and Horatio are both college students at Wittenberg. In Early Modern/Late Renaissance Europe, noble boys typically began their university education at 14 and usually completed at their Bachelor’s degree by 18 or 19. However, they may have been studying for their Master’s degrees, which was typically awarded by age 25 at the latest. For reference, contemporary Kit Marlowe was a pretty late bloomer who received a bachelor’s degree at 20 and a master’s degree at 23.

Hamlet is AGGRESSIVELY described as a “youth” by many different characters - I believe more than any other male shakespeare character (other than 16yo Romeo). While usage could vary, Shakespeare tended to use “youth” to mean a man in his late teens/very early 20s (actually, he mostly uses it to describe beardless ‘men’ who are actually crossdressing women - likely literally played by young men in their late teens)

King Hamlet is old enough to be grey-haired, but Queen Gertrude is young enough to have additional children (or so Hamlet strongly implies)

Hamlet talks about plucking out the hairs of his beard, so he is old enough to at least theoretically have a beard

In the folio version, the gravedigger says he became a gravedigger the day of Hamlet’s birth, and that he’s be “sixteene here, man and boy, thirty years.” However, it’s unclear if “sixteene” means “sixteen” or “sexton” (ie has he worked here for 16 years but is 30 years old, or has he been sexton there for thirty years?)

Hamlet knew Yorick as a young child, and the gravedigger says Yorick was buried 23 years ago. However, the first quarto version version of Hamlet says “dozen years” instead of “three and twenty.” This suggests the line changed over time. (Or that the bad quarto sucks - I really need to make that post about it, huh…)

Yorick is a skull, and according to the gravedigger’s expertise, he has thus been dead for at least 7-8 years - implying Hamlet is at least ~15yo if he remembers Yorick from his childhood

One important thing sometimes overlooked - Claudius takes the throne at King Hamlet’s death, not Prince Hamlet. That is mostly a commentary on English and French monarchist politics at the time, but it is strange within the internal text. A thirty year old Hamlet presumably would have become the new monarch, not the married-in uncle (unless Gertrude is the vehicle through which the crown passes a la Mary I/Phillip II - certainly food for thought)

Honestly, Hamlet is SO aggressively described as being very young that I’m fairly confident the in-text intention is to have him be around 18-23yo. Placing his age at 30yo simply does not make much sense in the context of his descriptors, his narrative role, and his status as a university student.

However, it doesn’t really matter what the “right” answer is, because the confusion itself is what makes the gravedigger scene so interesting and metatextual. We can basically assume one of the following, given the folio text:

Hamlet really is meant to be 30yo, and that was supposed to surprise or imply something to the contemporary audience that is now lost to us

Older actors were playing Hamlet by the time the folio was written down, and the gravedigger’s description was an in-text justification of the seeming disconnect between age of actor and description of “youth”

Older actors were playing Hamlet by the time the folio was set down, and the gravedigger’s description was an in-text JOKE making fun of the fact that a 30-something year old is playing a high-school aged boy. This makes sense, as the gravedigger is a clown and Hamlet is a play that constantly pokes fun at its own tropes and breaks the fourth wall for its audience

The gravedigger cannot count or remember how old he is, and that’s the joke (this is the most common modern interpretation whenever the line isn’t otherwise played straight). If the clown was, for example, particularly old, those lines would be very funny

Any way you look at it, I believe something is echoing there. It seems like this is one of the many moments in Hamlet where you catch a glimpse of some contemporary in-joke about theater and theater culture* that we can only try to parse out from limited context 430 years later. And honestly, that’s so interesting and cool.

*(My other favorite example of this is when Hamlet asks Polonius about what it was like to play Julius Caesar in an exchange that pokes fun of Polonius’ actor a little. This is clearly an inside-joke directed at Globe regulars - the actor who played Polonius must have also played Julius Caesar in Shakespeare’s play, and been very well reviewed. Hamlet’s joke about Brutus also implies the actor who played Brutus is one of the main cast in Hamlet - possibly even the prince himself, depending on how the line is read).

[youremyheaven]

The 8h in Astrology💀🦇✨

(this can apply to both tropical and vedic placement of 8th house because regardless of the system employed, the energy felt and experienced is the same :-)

The 8h is perhaps the most mysterious house in astrology and is most commonly associated with sex, death and unexpected events. Its also related to one's longevity, wealth, debts, transformation etc

It is a very misunderstood house, so I thought I'd make a post analysing it and shedding light on its nature<3

8h is connected to finances, occult, revenge, taboos and fears.

Sex, death and transformation form the core of 8h (scorpio). These are very Scorpionic themes and we must understand why. I had already explained how sex and death are interrelated and kind of go hand in hand. Sex and death are similar in the sense that they both offer release from life; the former temporarily and the latter permanently 💀 and when there's talk of sex and death, there is bound to be talk of transformation because both of these are deeply transformative activities.

It is interesting that a water house, like the 8h rules over sex because water is an element that absorbs things quickly. Sex can be best understood as a transfer of energy between two people; this is why sometimes with certain people, sex can feel very draining and post-coitus, many people describe feeling melancholic. Water is the most emotional element because, unlike other elements, it's in the nature of water to merge itself, like rivers merging with the sea; union is essential because water by design flows from itself to eventually reach the ocean.

Each water sign expresses this emotional depth differently but it is at its height in Scorpio which is generally understood as a very "intense sign".

Scorpio is known for its highly sexual nature but it's very rare to see a Scorpio enjoy casual sex (unless they have other placements that encourage it). This is because they deeply crave emotional connection and emotional intimacy.

It is why it's advised to be selective about one's sexual partners; because sex can have a profound impact on one's spiritual energy and cannot be considered a purely physical activity. it's possible for one to be disconnected from their emotions but being intimate with someone is not an un-emotional act by nature since sex is ruled by the water sign of Scorpio/8h.

In French, an orgasm is called "le petit mort" or "little death" and its safe to say that sex & death are closely associated in many cultures.

there is a reason why sex, fears, trauma, taboos are all 8h topics. if you've ever come across someone who naturally exhibits a very potent, magnetic sexual energy and aura, 8/10 times they've lived very messed up lives or come from a home that was less than ideal. this is because sexuality is inherently dark and shadow-y; someone who has a very potent sexual aura can easily intimidate others; they're bound to have a very unsettling effect on others; this is because we unconsciously pick up on the fact that they've been through things we can't imagine. they project things we fear. historically sex symbols have always come from really abusive families, have terrible relationships with their father, usually had to bear their mother's emotional burdens, they've most likely had a string of bad relationships and likely suffered abuse. why is this? whatever we project on the outside is a reflection of what goes on within us.

There is a reason why most people say Old Hollywood actresses were so much more unique and better than the current lot. Not only did they have a distinct persona but they each reflected it energetically. True raw sexuality always points to darkness lurking underneath; this is what makes us curious about them, what draws us in and what makes their presence so intense; like they suck up the air around them.

Most celebs today are beautiful on the outside and possess every feature it takes to be "sexy" but they do not have sex appeal. They lack presence.

(I went off on a tangent lmao, anywayyyyys)

8h is connected to transformation. Birth and death are two of the most fundamentally transformative experiences, not just for the people undergoing it but also for everyone in their lives. In our lives, we also experience ego deaths and spiritual re-births, so we live and die many times before we actually die. Sex too is an activity that is supercharged with transformative potential. There is a reason why sex is performed ritualistically in many occult initiation ceremonies and why Tantra is so heavily associated with sex that it is practically only known as some kind of crazy yogic sex thing. Sex opens up an energetic channel, a doorway so to speak, that allows for new energy to be invited in. There is a reason why many creatives consider their partners to be their muses (although its not necessary for a muse to be their sexual partner; i will get into this in more depth in a future post).

the 8h is connected to unexpected events because by nature we cannot predict either birth or death. we can come up with a tentative time frame but it's not possible to conclusively say someone will die/be born at this specific time. 8h governs all matters that are unexpected; positive and negative. life can turn on a dime. you can go from rags to riches over night but you can also lose your empire in minutes. 8h transits bring about crazy transformative experiences and depending on your placements and aspects, create a lot of emotional turbulence as well.

I have noticed that many 8h natives tend to be heavy sleepers whereas 12h natives often struggle with insomnia.

8h is connected to both wealth/finances as well as debts. This comes down to the fact that the 8h is connected to transformation. Our resources/money is a significator of our karma (in spirituality karma means actions) and therefore they are always undergoing change. There are certain aspects of our life we cannot change (where we are born, who we are born to etc) but our finances are up to us to change and transform. Its interesting that the 8h is linked to loans, debts etc. and not just accumulating wealth. An afflicted 8h can show someone who has a lot of debts or an inability to keep hold of money.

8h is also related to what is kept hidden or secret and finances/debts are usually the things that people are extremely private about (so are other 8h activities like sex and death).

Wherever you have your 8h, you're probably better off keeping those matters very low-key and private because its easy to attract evil eye.

the reason 8h is also associated with revenge is because it represents our shadow side, its the 8th house from the 1st house of self/ego, so it represents what we keep hidden/our shadow. The reason why we feel so triggered by certain people is because they project our shadow (in the Jungian sense of the term). If we ever hate some people for no reason, there is a HIGH chance that our 8h placements are present in their chart.

8h synastry can create some of the most toxic relationships and lead to a lot of purging and projecting on to each other. This is never good for long term relationships.

This is also why 8h is connected to fears. Our fears are usually subconscious and hidden from others and even from our conscious selves. This is again why its also connected to taboos. The 8h essentially covers all that lies underneath the surface.

"A human being is a part of the whole, called by us “Universe”, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest — a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty. Nobody is able to achieve this completely, but the striving for such achievement is in itself a part of the liberation and a foundation for inner security."- Albert Einstein (Jyeshta Moon) 8h

its very common for 8h natives to feel trapped or stuck in their circumstances. being "caged in" is a very definitive 8h experience.

In Tibetan Buddhism, the concept of "Bardo" is present. It is the intermediate, transitional or liminal state between death and re-birth. This need not refer to literal death and re-birth of course.

The experience of Bardo is transcendental, allowing an individual to experience reality in the clearest way possible but it can also be terrifying. It is an opportunity for liberation but it can also prove to be dangerous as one experiences hallucinations based on their karma.

Bardo can be experienced during times when the usual way of life is interrupted, such as during the course of illness, during meditation etc. Such times can prove fruitful for spiritual progress because external constraints diminish. However, they can also present challenges because it can also make us impulsive.

8h transits can often feel this way and having 8h placements itself can feel this way; you're capable of immense spiritual depth but also of causing so much trouble and sometimes its impossible to separate the two.

8h natives could be heavy sleepers or struggle with insomnia (this is more 12h imo)

8h transits are often connected to death 💀 and the 8h placement can provide significant clues about one's lifespan, nature of death etc

“Whoever loves becomes humble. Those who love have , so to speak pawned a part of their narcissism.”― Sigmund Freud (Moon in 8h)

8h natives experience a riptide of emotions but are unable to channel it effectively. They are not the best at expressing how they feel verbally. The reason why Moon is debilitated in Scorpio is because these natives are unable to express how they feel and unable to receive energy in the same way as Cancerian natives (Moon rules Cancer) this is not due to any other reason but that these natives have such a vast reservoir of emotions and such depth that it's almost too much for them to process and grasp emotions in a nonchalant way.

“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”― Stephen King (Jyeshta Moon/Moon in Scorpio)

8h in an earth sign could signify dying of old age, 8h aspecting neptune/uranus/pluto could signify unnatural death, 8h in fire signs could point to violence/accidents.

since the 8h is connected to the subconscious realm, its also linked to psychology, magic and secrets. magic involves tricking the mind into believing something is real when it's not, it's a very 8h activity.

the subconscious also stores our secrets which is why its connected to hate and revenge.

the natural ruling planet of 8h is Saturn and Saturn stands for discipline, justice, karma and time. in life we get what we give (this is also a sexual principle) and this explains the connection between 8h and sex, as well as 8h and saturn.

ultimately scorpio's waters represent that which we hide, be it desire, fear, traumas or taboos.

in vedic astrology, scorpio is exalted in ketu whereas rahu is exalted in taurus (the opposite sign of scorpio is taurus). the fact that ketu is the tail of the dragon with no physical form of its own and that its exalted in a water sign is very telling.

"Ketu signifies the spiritual process of the refinement of materialisation to the spirit and is considered both malefic and benefic, as it causes sorrow and loss, and yet simultaneously turns the individual to God. In other words, it causes material loss to force a more spiritual outlook in the person." (this is from wiki)

I would say Scorpio/8h can be described very similarly. experiencing loss is a big theme in the life of an 8h native. its very easy for 8h natives to give into drugs, other substances and live a very hardened life. its through experiencing loss and heartbreak that an 8h native can break through the cycle and seek spirituality because the 8h is innately connected to the spiritual realm.

these natives can veer between either extremes, i.e, they can be alcoholics/addicts, never experiencing true love/meaningful relationships but through pain, a divine channel opens up and many reform their ways for the better. because an evolved 8h native is capable of profoundly deep intimacy and are the most loyal and protective of companions/partners/friends.

its hard for these natives to find stability and most 8h natives are naturally guarded people, suspicious of others and their intentions which makes them true blue introverts.

🌹true romantics deep down, these natives desire love profoundly but feel unable to express it adequately. if your partner is an 8h native, they'll remember all your likes and dislikes, every little thing about you, pick up on your habits and preferences but they'll seldom verbally gas you up or be affectionate. they're more covert with their love.

being extremely mysterious, many 8h natives could have a not so good reputation. people perceive them in ways that are far removed from who they are. they could also have many secret admirers.

symbolised by the scorpion, a fiercely guarded creature that is intelligent, defensive, dangerous and ruthless to its enemies, 8h natives imbibe quite a few of these traits. they are so defensive because they feel like they have to protect themselves. being a water sign, they absorb things easily and this pollutes their energy.

they're the kindest people underneath it all<33

[billskeis]

Hey! can you write something like getting high w Bill and it turns into smut.. (sorry if this sounds weird, idk how to explain it)

happy 4/20 yall

ᡣ𐭩 high sexing bill

you place the towel down on the floor, shoving it within the opening to cover the gap of your bedroom door as bill sits patiently in your bed. a few days ago, tom traded you a couple of blunts for a bottle of alcohol which didn’t seem far but you owed him one after covering for you and bill last night ;) .

as you run towards your bed, you plop down on the plush mattress where bill sat, smiling brightly at your boyfriend. bill laughs at you as he places a hand on your thigh to reach over to the bedside table where the blunts sat. “first time?” he asks. you shake your head as you grab it from his hand wanting to take the first hit.

flicking the lighter, you hold the end of the blunt toward the flame to evenly light it, the opposite sitting in between your lips. after priming it, you inhale deeply, holding the puff in before blowing it in bill’s face who dramatically coughs, “baby why’d you do that??” “cause you were so loud last night, now here,” you pass the blunt over to bill who takes a hit.

rotating the blunts between the two of you, the room fills with a smoke that remains slightly due to the lack of circulation in air around the room. hotboxing, one could say. after the blunt passed to you, you french inhale the blunt, almost already feeling the buzz. “schatzi c’mere..” as you hand the blunt to bill, curious about what he meant.

inhaling, he holds the blunt in one of his hands, using the opposite to roughly clasp your cheeks between his fingers, you gasp, letting out a breath to which bill exhales blows the smoke into your mouth, the ghost traveling from his to yours as you inhale his smoke. as it dissipates, he quickly pecks your lips with an exaggerated ‘mwah!’ now ashing the blunt to which there was now nothing left but a roach.

“wow.. i never thought you would do that,” you look at him surprised. he shrugs his shoulders and smirks, “didn’t like it?” “the opposite, actually, that was really hot..” you leverage yourself to sit on bill’s lap and face him who’s already rubbing a hand up and down your back.

both of you, in a buzz only look at each other momentarily before you lock lips. bill’s tongue swiping your lips to give him better access to your mouth, intruding it as soon as you whine into the kiss, sensitive to the way he runs his tongue along the crevices of your mouth. his tongue piercing clashes against your teeth, as you lick at the metal ball, bill grips onto your hips harder as he holds them.

“mmphm..” bill moans into the kiss. and thank god you were wearing a skirt, movements so sluggish and so tired, can only pull your panties to the side as you’re already unbuttoning his jeans. disconnecting the kiss, you heave, eyelids lowered as bill bits his lips impatiently, “want this?” you ask him and he nods ecstatically.

freeing his cock, you lift your hips to leverage yourself on top of bill, the tip of his dick kissing your folds. bill bites back a moan from feeling how wet you already are, cunt leaking with slick and he’s not even in you yet. holding onto bill’s shoulders, you push yourself onto bill, sinking down on his thick length, “ohhhh fuckk…”

bill’s jaw hangs low as he watches himself disappear into you, only whining as you slowly ride him. not much is said, only whines, moans and whimpers are exchanged between the two of you in the silence of the room that is only occupied by the slow instrumentals you played in the background. “s-shit bill, feels’good..” you don’t know if it’s the high or if it’s just bill, but you’re definitely feeling it more than ever.

if it’s one thing between you and bill, is that when the two of you get high, you get a tired high. so making an effort to fuck each other while high feels so exhausting but so good. as you lean your chest to press flush against bill, you hump your hips onto his cock, angling his cock to hit your g spot juuuust right.

he kneads on the flesh of your ass as you work your hips onto his. everything feels so good and you and bill can’t help but go at it like lazy and tired bunnies in heat. bodies flush against one another as you lazily kiss each others not wasting a breath or your high, enjoying every moment of it. as you lift yourself, silky walls dragging against his cock, you slam down on him harder than either of you were expecting, letting out a little yelp as bill groans in return.

“mmhm.. oh.. schatzi.. just like thaaat,” bill slurring on his words as he uses his hands to grind your hips faster on his. leaving wet kisses on your neck, bill nips at the skin leaving hickies. you giggle at bill, your orgasm coming closer than expected, “you’re soo stoned,” “ja? could say the same—agh—a-about you..” you circulate your butt on bill, who grips even harder at your hips letting out a moan.

“i have an idea,” bill suggests, stopping your movements momentarily as you whine at the loss of pleasure. bill slightly leans over to grab another blunt from off the counter, along with the lighter as he holds them out in front of you. you tilt your head confused, another one? but you just smoked one. not that you’re opposed to it but it’s not a grand idea to you.

“lemme give you backshots as we smoke another one, hm :)?”

wowowoowow im running out of fuel..

bill is such a cigarette smoker, but he can and will dabble in a little weed once in a while if it means the both of you will feel suuper good :3

[syrupsyche]

PLEASE say more about your modern enjolras headcanons. I want to hear everything

HI!!!! thank you so much for your ask ❤️ I love talking about Enjolras :) here is a doodle of my modern AU version of him:

Some random headcanons I have!

He's always Asian to me; I like to envision him as half-Korean!

Like I mentioned in my Markiplier post, he barely tastes his food 😭 he simply views it as sustenance and has no great love or hatred for any dish. When pressed about what his favourite is, he'd either speak a classic French or Korean dish and cite it as a "childhood favourite" but honestly he really doesn't care!

Because of that ^, he eats food like a vacuum cleaner. If he's out in a restaurant with friends, he'd spend the rest of the time drinking cups of coffee.

He sleeps like a corpse, lying flat on his back like 🧍‍♂️. His breathing is always really shallow too when he's asleep so every Ami have shaken him awake in terror before, thinking he stopped breathing in the middle of the night. He has since attempted to position himself in a more normal sleeping state to not worry his friends, but his corpse state is his natural state

He doesn't have favourite music at all; again when pressed, he'd offer some classical music as an answer but he's literally so disconnected. No spotify, no ipod, nothing. He only uses his earbuds to listen to voice messages (which the Amis send /very frequently/. But Enjolras likes to listen to them all! That's his source of entertainment)

On the flipside, he's very serious when it comes to watching films or shows. He thinks they reflect much about the sociopolitical state of the world (even if they aren't "serious" media) and would religiously log his Letterboxd review after every watch + analyse it with Combeferre, Feuilly, or Prouvaire. He would watch Despicable Me and go: "An interesting film exploring the complexities of a man ostracised from society and relegating himself to such a role in life as a result. A heartfelt story unfolds when he learns to care for three young children who show him blablablabl...."

He cuts his own hair. And it STILL looks good.

Thank you once again for allowing me to indulge in my headcanons! 🫶

[etirabys]

Apologies if this is personal and you don't want to answer (or you don't want to answer for any other reason!); if that is the case no worries. But anyway by virtue of the fact that I am (sort of) a linguist I often get curious about people's language situation. You speak English obviously but spent your childhood in Korea, and often went to the English language book store while there? What is like, your personal linguistic history? Like, what language(s) did you grow up speaking, which ones did you learn later and when, etc? How fluent do you consider yourself in both English and Korean? If you don't mind my asking.

Haha, this is a dream scenario for me (someone asking about a situation I find fascinating about myself because I've never met anyone else with that background, but is probably boring to most people). Here's a longer story than you probably want:

My parents emigrated to the US before I was born, stayed for a decade, and moved back to Korea right after I was born. They're conversational in English, and my sister (12 years my elder) is fluent. Speaking English is valuable in Korea, so they raised me to be bilingual. They taught me the alphabet, bought me English language children's books, and sent me to an English language school run by Christian missionaries for preschool, kindergarten, and part of first grade.

My sister left the country when I was three to go to a boarding school in the US, but she came back every year for holidays, spoke exclusively in English to me, and refused to let the conversation move on if I mispronounced a word.

When I was six, my parents moved further away from the missionaries' school and switched me to a neighborhood public elementary school. At this point I was mildly more fluent in English than in Korean. Reading (English books) was a self-sustaining reaction I spent every free hour on. There were fewer interesting Korean books for children. Korea had industrialized ~30 years prior, and the hangeul writing system had only been in full use ~50 years at that point. As far as I knew, there was no CS Lewis of Korea, no Tolkien, no Diana Wynne Jones. In Korean bookstores, many of the prominent books on display were translated – The Little Prince was popular for children, and there was a children's fiction fad around another French author (who afaik never made a splash in the States) whose name I forget.

So I'm reading like 10 hours a day, at the dinner table, on the escalator when my mom takes me while she's shopping, sometimes under the desk at school flipping the pages with my toes, because the teachers don't care. (This is a huge W as far as I'm concerned for Korea – public school teaching is a somewhat competitive and standardized government job, it attracts people who lack great passion for either teaching or controlling children.) Meanwhile my peers don't like me much because my vibes are rancid: I have a compulsive laugh tic I haven't gotten under control, and I don't seem to understand their preferences very well or actively seek to understand them. Fair enough. I have one friend at any given time and she's usually on the fence about me.

When I'm old enough to take the train on my own, some weekends my mom gives me 5000 won for the train ticket + lunch, and I go into Seoul to visit one bookstore that has a 10-shelf English section. I pick a book, spend the day finishing it, and go home. Instead of my English language skills lapsing and being overtaken by the language I'm immersed in, I'm going deeper into English. Which increased the disconnect between me and my peers. I remember overhearing a conversation about an anime (The Black Cat) and eagerly asking if they'd also read the Edgar Allen Poe short story. I wanted to much to talk about shared interests, but it didn't occur to me to "invite myself into their interests" by picking up the manga they talked about.

...this all made my childhood weird in ways that have shaped me hugely but are difficult to describe. I was isolated and not, happy and not, stimulated and not, developing unevenly...

At eleven I discover fanfiction.net, probably one of the most impactful events of my life. I'm running out of physical books, I've read everything five or ten times, but then the computer! has made a deal with me! It contains INFINITE LITERATURE, although sometimes people seemed to misspell things on purpose and I didn't know why. (I had, approximately, never encountered misspellings in written material before.) In return the internet would take MY SOUL FOREVER although I didn't realize this at the time. I post a 100K Harry Potter epic over the next year where Harry is trained by a special assassin cult that lives under a mountain.

My parents have no idea what is on the internet. They're on a new temporal continent with no clue there's a parasite that can turn your daughter into a fujoshi. They do know that they have a worrying child. But! Her grades are really good, especially when she's testing in English. Good enough that although they originally intended not to send me to the US (my sister got depressed and burned out, and they attributed it to sending her to a different country for school), it made much more sense for me to go. I was on track to get a full ride at an Ivy, a carrot they were Not Immune to, and I obviously despised Korea and wanted to leave.

When I arrived in the States, I was terrified of speaking English to real native speakers. My language experience was "reading/writing: 95% English, speaking/listening: 90% Korean". I could perfectly pronounce any English sentence when I tried, but I'd occasionally and bizarrely mix up R and L, or the vowel sounds "ih" and "eeh" if I weren't paying attention. This went away after a year but I felt extra shy and didn't talk much. I'd guess 80% of my social cachet in freshman year came from writing funny Facebook posts.

I remember my time in Korea without feeling bothered by any single aspect, but overall I still have a big sense of "wow I didn't like that", have avoided non-Americanized Korean people since getting here (ten years ago), and now speak Korean haltingly. I'll try to teach it to my children so that they have the option of that cultural connection, but I don't think I can do a good job. It's feels 90% true thinking/speaking Korean is just a normal skill, a thing I do sometimes on the phone – and 10% true that the happier and more whole I become in the US, the more unsettling it feels to speak Korean at all.

[37sommz-archive]

✼. INVITATION | 2019.

CH. 05. NOW PLAYING: essence by wizkid [fluff, suggestive]. ✼.⠀summary: michaela makes a promise, 2.5k. ✼.⠀view:⠀masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request.

✼.⠀MARCH 14, 2019 — melbourne, australia

“P9, Michaela. That is points at home; well done.” 

Eugenio’s voice crackled into Michaela’s helmet. The celebratory shower of applause from the Alfa Romeo garage echoed alongside his voice, adding to the near imperceptibility of his speech. 

Though the sweat from the Melbourne heat simmered underneath Michaela’s baklava, she could only focus on the calming fact relayed to her by her engineer—points in her debut race. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you all. Cheers to the new season,” she responded with a sigh of satisfaction. It wasn’t long after that when she heard her father's voice leak into the radio. A gentle, “Amazing drive, Mickey. We’re eternally proud” only magnified the moment's euphoria. 

Though it was nowhere close to a podium, Michaela figured keeping up with Kimi Raikkonen just ahead in P8 was more than worth celebrating. Finally reaching the garage and kicking the engine off, Michaela hopped out of the car's cockpit with practiced grace. Fist bumps and energized embraces from the team personnel eager to congratulate the rookie driver.

Rushing to embrace her family before turning away to be weighed, her sister, Courtney, was the one to remind her that she had joined a small list of modern drivers who had scored on debut. A whisper of Hamilton and Prost and Villeneuve slipped through her lips and into the shy ears of her younger sister. 

Varied strengths of celebratory pats and friendly hugs kept Michaela in a daze as she floated from the Alfa Romeo garage to the weighing platform. Words of congratulatory relief left the lips of the remaining 17 drivers excluded from the parc ferme madness. 

As she pulled the straw of her energy drink to her mouth, a particularly firm clap on the back shook her from her daze. A familiar German accent filled her ears before she could fully regain control of her breathing. 

“You might have the biggest balls here. Solid drive, Mick.” Helmet in hand, Sebastian Vettel’s acknowledgment drew chuckles of appreciation from the nearby Perez and Hulkenberg. 

Rolling her eyes in response to the senior driver’s sense of humor, Michaela threw a friendly punch into his shoulder. Quickly engaging in light-hearted conversation with a few of the surrounding drivers, Michaela found herself back in that daze. As if totally disconnected from her body, it wasn’t until she was sitting on the floor of her parents’ living room that Michaela realized the magnitude of her achievement. 

The Sommers had taken it upon themselves to invite several drivers to a small cookout after the race. Though George, Lando, Alex, and Pierre, the usual guests, had made their way over, Pierre and Lando’s parents were in tow. Michaela was more than shocked to see Antonio Giovinazzi find his way among the group. Somebody—likely her father—must have extended his invitation to a plus one, Michaela figured. The familiar face of his friend Olivier stood out to her almost immediately. 

Between the chilly November night, they shared in Abu Dhabi and the race in Melbourne, the two had shared little more than polite half acknowledgments. Michaela never got around to calling him back. Not that she planned on it or even truly believed he’d give her the time of day. It must have been that same sense of self-sabotage that Pierre had once mused would “obliterate any potential for romance.” She had called him a dick at the time, remembering the long eye roll she responded with at the time. Sitting there on the floor with her head leaned against her mother’s legs, her hands pulling Michaela’s hair into two neat Dutch braids, she couldn’t help but realize he was right. As he often was, frustratingly. 

It was Pierre’s mother’s words that shook her out of her thoughts. “Have you met Antonio’s friend? The French one?” The question was innocent, but Michaela couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the older woman knew more about him than she let on.

“Briefly,” she decided would suffice to satiate Pascale’s curiosity. Sitting to his mother’s left, Pierre seemed to perk up at the mention of Olivier. Leaning over to mention something to his mother in French, Michaela gritted her teeth as she strained to catch what the Frenchman could be saying. 

“English, Pierre,” she almost begged, embarrassment written all over her face. 

Her mother and sister sensed the discomfort on the youngest Sommers’ face. Courtney, jumping up to sit on the other side of Pierre, tapped him on the shoulder. Reciprocating her energy, Pierre whispered into her ear as well. A delighted laugh left the lips of the Australian two years his senior. 

Courtney let out a more boisterous laugh in response to her younger sister’s irritation. Her amusement spurred on additional laughter from Pascale and Pierre, who were both keen on the secret. Catching her breath, Courtney couldn’t shake the smile adorning her glossed lips, the very same brand Michaela used for hers, at the newly revealed information.

“You know him?” Courtney almost exclaimed from her seat directly across from her sister. Rolling her eyes once she recognized the hidden implications of Courtney’s question, Michaela sighed against Miriam’s legs. 

“Yeah, he used to drive F3,” she muttered. Miriam began to chuckle herself, knowing her daughter’s self-imposed avoidance of romantic interaction. “Not with me, though.” The words are tacked on quietly, parroting information she learned from Antonio—Alfa Romeo’s reserve driver.

“Where did you even meet him?” Miriam questioned calmly, trying—more than could be said about the giggling pair of 20-somethings—not to set off the youngest child.

“In Abu Dhabi,” was muttering one more by the embarrassed Australian. “He was at the club I went to with Alex.” Finally catching on to the unspoken, Miriam’s words faltered in her throat until she caught Pascale’s eyes and fell into a fit of laughter herself. A short “Oh!” left her lips between her amusement, triggering a teasing snicker from Pierre.

“Did you text him back?” He spoke up from his side of the room. A glint in his eyes not unfamiliar to Michaela made her skeptical of his intentions in posing the question.

“No…” she drawled out slowly, eyes squinting at the older driver. A sudden gasp from Pascale broke their staring contest, and she excitedly spoke with a clap of her hands.

“Why not? He’s so sweet, and he’s French!” Her eyes widened cartoonishly. The blues become brighter still as she symbolically adopts a schoolgirl’s interest in Michaela’s love life.

Miriam’s amused chuckle at the added “qualification” only added to the heat Michaela couldn’t shake from her face. The embarrassment seemed to radiate off of her very being, only serving to make her increasingly wary of drawing attention from the other side of the room. 

When her mother laughed, her father noticed. It was one of the criteria a younger Courtney had added to her blue and purple ‘Cute Things Daddy Does for Mummy’ list, the same one that still hung in her childhood room. Michaela remembers the differences in their rooms, even in their childhood years. Courtney, the romantic, decorated her room head to toe with posters from her favorite movies, while Michaela, the anti-romantic, hoarded posters of her favorite circuits.

“I don’t do relationships,” Michaela spoke under her breath. Her hands found their way to her warm cheeks, wishing them to cool down before turning her attention away from the group, catching sight of her father seated with a beer in his hand, speaking animatedly—by some cruel coincidence—with Olivier.

“It’s lonely at the top,” Miriam hummed, reaching for her glass of wine. As Michaela exhaled deeply in response, Pascale echoed the statement hanging in the air. “If you’re worried about a man understanding your commitment to your career, don’t waste your time. They won’t.”

Hums of appreciation spiral through the air from the three other women in the small circle. Michaela catches Pierre’s eyes, suppressing a giggle as it rips through her. A bratty scowl rested upon his face at his mother’s words, his mind scrambling to find the right words to defend himself in an effort to prove he was exempt from her quip. 

Before he could get the words out, his mother added to her statement. A carefree, “Just find a polite one and keep him around for a good lay” leaves Pascale’s lips before the rest of them can even begin to process the thought. It is Miriam who chokes on her wine first, reaching over the center table to grasp the Frenchwoman’s hand in her own. The two parents giggle together over the idea as if a congratulations. 

Their three children look on with uncomfortable sighs, Michaela herself seemingly the most painful. Her lips curl up into a tense grimace before a deeper set of voices snaps her out of her discomfort. A low French accent hits her ears first before the others—Italian and Australian—can strike her as familiar. Her heart quickens once she lays eyes on the owner of the husky voice, his hazel eyes having yearned for hers from across the room over the last several hours. 

Ignoring Pierre's stray whistle coinciding with his mother's shushes, Michaela shakes herself from her lavender cloud. A quirk of his head towards the kitchen is all it takes to rouse her from her place on the floor. She could not bring herself to care if she were aware of the eyes tracking their movements. The husk of his scent and the drawl in his voice almost hypnotized her from the beginning.

Only vaguely aware of the sound that fails to emit from the shocked few now seated in the living room, Michaela finds comfort leaning into the countertop behind her. Olivier’s near-golden eyes sweep the length of her body, leaving her burning to feel his touch on her. It is a clear of his throat that only accelerates her misery, pulling in a breath as his hand sweeps through his dark curls. 

“So?” is what Olivier opens with. A twitch in her features draws a small chuckle out of him. “If I was that bad, you should have just told me then.” When Michaela can only furrow her eyebrows in confusion, he laughs once more. His hand lifts his beer to his lips, taking a gulp as if drawing strength from the alcohol. 

“You never called,” he almost whispers as if embarrassed. The odd tone strikes Michaela, who straightens up in anticipation of his following words. “You wanted me to call?” Her voice is just as soft as his, and her eyes struggle to look anywhere but into his. 

He waves off the question with an immediate scoff, breaking eye contact for just a moment as he carefully places his chilled beer on the counter behind him. Taking a confident step forward, a hand reaches out to her before hesitating and falling back to his side. 

Deciding to cross them, he answers her decisively, “Of course, I wanted the pretty girl to call.” It’s smooth as it rolls off his tongue, twirling with the French accent that dances through the sentence. This time, it was Michaela’s turn to break eye contact, the ‘pretty girl’ being the last thing she heard before falling back into her desperate yearning.

“Plus, I’m quite a fan of yours.” 

The sentence draws a giggle out of an embarrassed Michaela. The Australian’s heart fluttered beneath her blushing skin, leaving Olivier with practical stars in his eyes as he watched her fluster. Anyone else would find the behavior distinctly out of character for the ultra-competitive driver. Her usual gentle cockiness was replaced with an unfamiliar coyness that nearly left her paralyzed to his charms. 

Wordlessly, Michaela finds a surge of courage, tossing her blonde locks over her shoulder before taking a step forward to shorten the gap floating between the two of them. The move brings a falter to her steps as she takes in a whiff of his cologne. Expensive-smelling is what she decided the scent was. As Michaela places her out in wait, Olivier’s features twist with confusion. 

Her simple request, "Hand me your phone, I'll put my number in," shocks him immensely. 

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken promise. A scoff leaves his lips, a playful sound that betrays the spark of curiosity in his eyes. In one fluid motion, his honey-toned hand reaches into his pocket, releasing his phone from its confines and placing it in her waiting hands. Her short, manicured fingers wrap around the device, the touch sending a jolt of anticipation through him.

With an ease that hints at a confidence typically seen in her Sauber racesuits, Michaela's thumbs dance across the screen, her name and number slowly appearing on his contacts list. She adds the details with a quickness, a desire to commit to the action before her mind can intervene. 

"Okay?" 

The question is a challenge, her voice laced with a vulnerability that dares him to reject her. Her lips quirk upwards, a gentle smile that contrasts with the doe eyes locked on his, pleading for approval.

"Perfect." 

The affirmation falls from the Frenchman's lips, the single word a decisive praise that sparks a giggle from Michaela. A uncharacteristically delicate hand rises to cover the lower half of her face, as if willing herself to hide her reaction. The sound is melodic, a sweet note that hangs in the air between them.

The room around them fades into the background, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses receding until all that remains is the crackle of tension between their bodies. It is Olivier who bridges the nearly nonexistent gap, his movements an act of casual seduction. A hand snakes down to rest on the curve of her lower back, the touch sending a shiver down her spine. His fingers draw loose circles into the material of her shirt, the caress featherlight yet full of intent.

As if drawn by an unseen force, Michaela's hands find their way up the length of his firm torso, coming to rest on the broad expanse of his shoulders. The contact burns unexpectedly, the heat of his skin seeping into hers. The air between them thickens, heavy with the weight of unspoken promises. His breath intermingles with hers, a mix of anticipation and desire. 

"Promise you'll answer?" 

The question is a whispered desperation, a plea for reassurance.

Words become useless as her lips find his, the contact a jolt of electricity that sears through them. The 'yes' is unspoken, conveyed in the press of her mouth and in the sweep of her tongue. She pulls away before he can fully process the sensation, leaving him longing, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic motion. A soft "I promise" is her parting gift, the honeyed words hanging in the air like a promise of more to come.

With a grace that contradicts the turmoil bubbling inside her, Michaela leaves the kitchen, her steps a slow withdrawal back into the familiar safety of the living room. He remains still, his phone still clutched in his hand, her number and name staring back at him. A challenge and invitation consuming him totally.

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@melancholyy-hill

[lewisconstellation]

plastic off the sofa

Your room smelled like Sunday beach days. Fresh breeze, the smell of the sea. The peace that only the soft tingle of sand in your feet can bring. If you closed your eyes you would hear the sound of waves coming and going, crashing on the sand. You would see the kids running toward the ocean, playing volleyball somewhere on the beach.

If you got up from the bed you were lying on, walked down the few steps that took you to the front door of your rented house in San Francisco, you would probably be facing this beautiful landscape. But the sight you have in front of you is better than that.

Lewis is sitting right in front of you. His body slumped in the leather chair, he's looking comfortable there, cozy. But his eyes had only one focus: the computer screen that rested in his lap. He looked intent, brows furrowed and lips pursed, focused on pinpointing the data the graphs provide him. Worried, he tried to find some way to make the car feel a bit faster, to help his team, to be better. He was having a hard time this season, struggling with the car. It didn't seem to cooperate with him and it took him off the top of the podium, the place where Lewis always belonged.

For the media, Lewis appeared strong, hopeful, always shielded by his beautiful words of overcoming. But for you, for you he didn't have to lie. He knew he could be himself, he felt safe to show his insecurities to you.

You let your eyes fall onto his figure again, can no longer pay attention to the episode of Gilmore Girls that was on TV. You like to see him like this, so focused on one goal. You feel your stomach clench hard at the sight. You want to sit on his lap, kiss him all over his face, repeat how much you love him. Or you just want to kneel in front of his legs, take his dick in your hands, feel his weight on your tongue, even if you had only done that a few hours ago.

You just wanted to make him forget any worries, to take away the wrinkles that graced his forehead when he was caught up in focus. Relax it. After all, that was the point of the breaks between race weekends.

But even on the few days off he had, Lewis didn't really allow himself to rest. Two daily workout sessions, piano and french lessons, data analysis and tireless hours on the simulator. He seemed restless, not able to sit still for even an hour. His hardworking spirit had already been a topic of discussion in your relationship, and from time to time it resurfaced. But you always found a way to work it out.

Usually Lewis was the first one to apologize. Flowers on your door, a handwritten letter, and a promise that he would rearrange his schedule, find enough time to rest, to disconnect from work even if it was only for a moment. He was incredibly calm, anyone who knew him could see it, feel it radiating from him. Always a conciliator, always more reasonable than you.

But sometimes you had to raise the white flag first. Less romantically than him, obviously. An apology, at night, lying in the same bed, curled up to each other, just existing together after having a great session of make up sex. You would try to find solutions to your problems. The certainty that they could solve everything, as long as they were together. But in the end, you understood him. You understood all the efforts he made to keep himself at a high level not only on the tracks, but also off them. No matter how much they wanted it, Lewis always wanted more.

"You're distracting me." Lewis muttered, so low you can barely hear him. You got so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't notice your boyfriend's sudden change of position. He's looking at you now, head up towards you. An unabashed, enduring look that makes it unable to look away. He looked hungry. Like you're his prey and he's about to devour you. Graphics are no longer his focus, your eyes have taken their place. You shift in bed, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

"But I'm not doing anything." Your voice sounds confused. You take a sip of the pineapple juice he brought you earlier, enjoy the cooling sensation in your throat. Your boyfriend shakes his head, moves one hand to his hair, adjusts the braids in the elastic band that holds them in a low bun. A giggle escapes from his lips as his gaze turns back to you.

"The way you're looking at me. This is distracting me. You know I can't think about anything else when you look at me like that" This is your turn to laugh. Lewis was always being so focused on his activities and a simple look distracted him. It sounded unbelievable, but you knew it was true. The same with you. A mere look, a small touch, a few words. Little gestures from Lewis were enough to make you crazy. And it was good to know you had the same effect on him.

You leave your glass on the table next to the bed, hears the tinkle of the glass material in contact with the thick wood.

"Like what? How do I look at you, Lew?" You ask. You lean your neck to the side, lean your face on your hand, slyly. He keeps looking at you, fire rising in his brown eyes. A shiver ran down your spine as you noticed the flames in his irises. His hand left his hair and went to his chin. He smoothed his beard, a smug smile painting his face. He puts the computer aside, stands up. He was in this game with you, always.

Lewis starts walking to you, his steps slow, calm, so graceful that you feel mesmerized, unable to look away from your man. You didn't know if you'd ever be able to stop looking at him, at everything you loved about him. The perfect face, framed by his newly made braids. His silky, shiny, well hydrated skin. His bright brown eyes, so kind that set you on fire and at the same time made you feel extremely loved, cared. His strong, well-built muscles, glistening in the evening light. Even his short stature. Before him, you used to say that you didn't like short men, that they weren't attractive. But Lewis. He managed to be different in everything. You've come to admire his short stature. You could see the greatness behind it. You loved all the little things that made Lewis be himself.

Suddenly, he's right in front of your bed, his legs touching the edge of it. All he's wearing is a pair of sweatpants, hanging freely around his waist, his tattooed abs exposed only to you. His hand touches your ankle, big enough to circle it completely. He squeezes it. You try to escape from his grip, try to move your leg, but Lewis is faster than you and pulls you by the ankle, a scream escaping your lips as he does. His fucking good reflex, you think. He pulls you up until you're sitting on the edge of the bed, right in front of him. He lowers himself to your level, watches you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Even after so long, his gaze so close, so intense, makes you nervous, restless.

Unexpectedly, he pushes you onto the soft mattress again, his body hovering over yours, your legs spread to accommodate him. His strong frame grapples your small body. One hand dropped to his side so his body weight doesn't fall all over you. The other hand gently touches your face, his hot body dangerously close to yours. His breath hovers over your face, his mouth inches from yours. You close your eyes, wait for him to kiss you, but then his face is curving and he fits right into the crook of your neck. His nose creeps over your skin slowly, smells your scent intensely. A hoarse groan comes out of his throat, looking deeply pleased to experience your scent, to be so close to you again.

"Fuck, baby. I love your smell, it is so good. You don't even know how fucking crazy it make me feel."

You make a satisfied sound at the compliment and feel your face heat up. You smile when you realize this. Few words and he left you helpless, dizzy in his arms. That was the effect Lewis had on you.

"Do you still want to know how you were looking at me?" He whispers in her ear, the husky voice more than enough to soak your panties. Not satisfied, your boyfriend lifts one of his arms, takes his hand away from your face, and leaves it on one of your breasts, covered only by a tank top you stole from him. He rubs his finger across it, creating a nice friction between the thin fabric and your skin. He makes your nipples hard quickly and you feel like you will melt under his touches. His hand quickly seeps along the side of the fabric, his fingers now in direct contact with your skin, pinching your sensitive nipple. "Answer me baby"

"Yes, yes, please!" Your voice comes out shaky, needy. He laughs at your tone. Loves how responsive you are to him. He feels proud of it, of being able to cause so many sensations in you. In give you so much pleasure that you could never find it in another person.

"You gave me that look." He pauses, his mouth licking a sensitive spot on your neck. You moan against his cheek in ecstasy. "That look you always give me when you want me to eat your pretty pussy out. The one you give me when we're partying and you just want to go back home and ride my dick. That one you give me when all you want is my dick buried deep inside of that fat pussy of yours." The effect his words have on you is inexplicable. You feel your stomach tighten, the thin fabric of your panties sticking to your skin, a sign of how wet you were for him.

Lewis finally removes his face from your neck, looks back at you, one of his hands gripping your chin, forces you to look at him. Lewis' eyes darkened and he leaned into you, capturing your mouth in a kiss and you were lost in the feel of his hot tongue on your lips. The tingling in your center got harder to ignore and you tried to ease the tension by pressing your legs together.

"Is that what you want, baby? You want daddy's cock buried deep inside of your pussy, yeah?" He asks, even though he already knows the answer. You nod your head. He had just taken you a few hours ago and you still weren't satisfied. And he didn't seem to either. You seemed addicted to each other, you never got tired of that feeling, of being intertwined with each other. This was the effect of a long-distance relationship, marked by long trips, facetime calls and different time zones. An endless longing, so strong that it hurt. So when you were together, alone, with all the time in the world just for the two of you, you wanted to enjoy it in the best way. Just couldn't help but be around him.

"I want to hear you, babygirl" Lewis mutters, pinching your chin once more. A sigh escapes your lips. He had barely touched you, but you are already completely inert, unable to put words together, to form a single sentence.

"Yeah, daddy, please" You swallow hard, brush your lips against his, kiss him one more time. He pulls back the slightest bit, rubs his thumb over her lips.

"That's all you had to say." He mumbles, lays you down completely against the mattress and rises up minimally, only to touch you with greater ease. His hands traveled down your body and stopped at the hem of your shirt. He lifts the fabric, exposes your belly, the small, wet panties you wore completely exposed to him. You spread your legs, giving him a better view of your pulsating center. A sigh escapes from you lover. He runs his finger over your wet panties, your back arches and you exhale harshly.

Your lips were parted at the small sounds, which weren't completely moans, that escaped your mouth. You didn't feel capable of formulating anything a bit elaborate when his hands were on you. Lewis ran his finger up and down slowly, teasing you, creating little shivers of pleasure through your body. But suddenly, he pauses his movements. The pad of his thumb against your core, a nice, good pressure, but it wasn't enough. You needed more.

"Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want." He asks. Always a tease, he always wanted to push you to the limit, loved to hear you begging, loved to dominate you. You take a deep breath, couldn't stand that torture for so long. Your hands reach for his face, his neatly trimmed beard tickling your fingers. You bring him close again, your lips millimeters apart.

"I want you to eat my pussy, daddy. Want you to fuck me with your tongue and then I want to cum all over your face. Please, daddy" You whisper, your fingertips caressing his face. Lewis lets out a groan when he hears you talking like that, so brazenly. It makes his cock, painfully hard against your leg, twitch. With that, his fingers curl around the sides of your hips and he finally pulls your panties down, leaving your pussy bare for him. You spread your legs once more, this time wider. You can feel it dripping, wetting the white sheets.

His eyes land on your bare pussy, open and glistening for him, soaked and pulsing around nothing. Anxiety took over his body, an uncontrollable urge to run his tongue along your damp folds, explore every part, taste you once more. Feel the strange satisfaction when you finally reach the peak.

He seems to lose himself there, continues to watch in complete adoration. You sigh impatiently, your body shaking in anticipation. Then you dip your own fingers into your heat, little noises echoing through the room evidencing just how soaked you were. You lift your fingers in front of his face, show how wet they are. "See? How much I want you?" You say, a mischievous smile painting your features.

Lewis wastes no time, takes your hands in his and licks your fingers, his tongue greedily brushing it, savoring your taste. "Your taste is so fucking good. I don't think I could ever live without it" He says, bends down, his face right in front of your needy center. His hands touched your thighs, leaning on them.

He finally seemed to take pity on you and ran his tongue all the way from your opening to your clit. You closed my eyes, a deep groan cutting through your throat.

"Don't you dare take your eyes off mine." Lewis ordered against your folds, the feel of his hot breath against your skin making you shiver. You look down, meeting his brown eyes, darker now, lust dripping from them. You feel your body tremble again under his gaze, but you don't dare look away. With his eyes locked on yours, he slowly slid his tongue between your folds. A loudly groan left your lips, your hands finding his braids, pulling them gently.

He repeated this gesture countless times, carrying the wetness from your entrance to your clit, intensifying your arousal. But then his tongue stopped at your sensitive clit, circling the area repeatedly and then sucking on it. A whimper escaped your lips, your hands squeezing his scalp harder now, trying to push his face against your pussy more intensely, trying to feel more of him. With that, your body burst into flames, flames cutting across your skin. You came violently, shivering and moaning his name loud and clear.

You think he's going to stop, pull away, give you some time to recover before he pushes into you. But he doesn't stop. He kept eating you relentlessly. His fingers work on you now, two of them inside of you, moving in and out quickly as his tongue sucks your clit. Everything feels more intense now, the sensations driving you off the cliff quickly. Your hip starts to move involuntarily, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his fingers. You throw your head back, eyes closed. Feel your whole body shudder, come again. The second time was even more ravishing than the first.

Your shaky legs close around Lewis' head, you couldn't take it anymore, your body had been reduced to a whimpering mess, but he didn't seem to get tired. He seemed determined to take one more orgasm out of you and so he did, taking everything out of you until you were completely spent. You were in a state of ecstasy, moaning incoherently, whispering Lewis' name over and over.

When he rises up again, you find your lover licking his lips, removing the remnants of your flavor. He also looks like a mess, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, beard damp, wet with his juices. He seems to have enjoyed it as much as you did at that moment. Always so attentive and so devoted to you, your pleasure was his too.

He holds your face with both hands, licks your lips before kissing you. When your own taste invades your senses, you moan, caressing his shoulders, reveling in the sensation. So promiscuous and dirty, but at the same time so intimate and loving.

He pulls back again, his fingers plucking at your shirt, lifts the fabric and runs it down your arms, finally stripping you naked. He looked at you intensely, appreciating your features carefully, admiring your body as if it was the first time he was seeing it. It makes your face flush and your heart beats faster in your chest. Each time you gave yourself completely to Lewis it was different, sometimes more romantic, sometimes more aggressive, but always intense, overwhelming. Each time was unique, with its own emotions, but they all ended up flooding your mind with memories of the first time he made you his. It was always new, but it was also always permeated by an old feeling, which was present every time.

"You're so fucking beautiful. I will never get tired of looking at you." He mumbles sincerely. You could never control your emotions when he talked to you like that. He knew how to balance things so well, always so good. He set you on fire and at the same time made you feel so loved. You felt your heart do somersaults in your chest.

Lewis takes his time with you, kisses your neck, your breasts, your belly, his hot tongue leaving sparks wherever he goes. You lift your body slightly, your fingers reaching for the waistband of the gray sweatshirt he was wearing. You don't think twice before pushing it down. Lewis laughs at your eagerness, pulls back a little so he can remove his pants properly.

Seeing him naked was always overwhelming, destructive. You would never get used to that sight, you could never get tired of it. Strong shoulders, hard muscles, well built. The dark tattoos, delicate lines on his skin. You move your gaze down his abdomen, until you get there. His cock felt painfully hard, throbbing against his lower abdomen. God, it was perfect. Big and thick, it felt heavy against his skin. You feel your pussy throb as your eyes focus on the light veins covering him, his head rosy and full of precum.

He comes back to you, hands tucking your thighs, keeping you open for him. His heavy cock drops between your folds, the first contact makes you moan. Lewis rubs his length there, collecting your wetness and spreading it on his cock. He repeats the movement over and over again. Your impatience grows and your body trembles beneath his, seems to break into tiny pieces every time he slides into you. You would never be able to have the same self-control, the same patience he had.

"God, can you feel it? Can you feel how fucking hard I am? How fucking hard you make me feel?" He says, eyes glued to yours. You feel your chest heat up when you hear this. He was like this because of you, always because of you.

"Jesus, Lewis" You moan, devastated, impatient. "Just fuck me" A laugh escapes his lips, a boyish smile.

"My pretty slut, always so eager to be full of me, huh?" You nod desperately. It wasn't a lie. "On all fours for me, baby," Lewis says, his voice harsh, authoritative. You promptly obey his command and turn around, get on all fours in the middle of the bed, propped up on your forearms. Belly down and ass up for him. You feel Lewis positioning himself behind you and you squirm in anticipation.

"Fuck, you look so sexy like this" You hear your lover muttering. His hands touch your bum and he slaps you hard there, making you scream. He repeats the movement and you feel your skin prickling, the pleasure and pain mixing together, driving you crazy. "Gonna fuck you now, my pretty girl"

Lewis keeps his promise. You catch your breath at the feel of him entering your heat, plunging deep into you, stretching your tight pussy. "God, you're so fucking wet, baby. So tight for me" He murmurs, planting kisses down her spine before returning to his original position and sliding his length into my pussy again."Feels so fucking good". He cups the back of your head, presses your face against the mattress, and starts moving, painfully slow, deep thrusts, the way he knew drove you crazy. The room was filled with the sounds of Lewis' frames hitting your ass, his heavy balls moving back and forth in time with his thrusts. It was all extremely erotic and only made you wetter.

His hands leave his neck and reach for your disheveled hair, tugging hard on the strands, until you're upright, his chest pressed against your back. Everything looks perfect that way. The hard muscles of his abdomen pressed against you, his hot breath on your neck, strong hands gripping your waist and your hair. The new angle makes you gasp, lose your breath and all your senses. His fingers move again and reach for your chin, turning your face to the side, just enough so he could kiss your lips. He keeps moving at a torturously slow pace, reaching deep inside you. You gasp into his mouth.

Lewis moves his hand from your waist to your sensitive clit, rubbing the area ruthlessly as he thrusts. You parted your lips from his to moan his name out loud as a wave of overwhelming pleasure washed over his body.

"Fuck, daddy, I'm gonna cum. Shit, I'm gonna fucking cum" You can't control yourself and come, squeezing his length, soaking him in your juices.

"That's it, baby. Soak daddy's dick just like that." He murmurs in your ear, bites the earlobe, then licks the side of your neck. You throw your head on his shoulder as he fucks you through your orgasm, fighting to control himself, to make that moment last, to give you as much pleasure as he can.

You screamed in surprise as he laid your body down on the mattress again, his body falling on top of your right after, choking you in the best way he could. Lewis' strong muscles covered your body, his hands reached for yours and held them. He pushed his hips back into you, his rhythm now fast, relentless, just the way he liked it. You try to roll your hips beside him, just fast as he's doing.

"You like it rough, don't you, baby girl?" He whispers, a russky voice in your ear. You feel a lonely tear running down your cheek, the pleasure so hard it makes you cry. You felt your pussy tighten around him again and you came once more, a muffled moan escaping your lips.

Lewis couldn't control himself this time, your pussy clenching so tight on his cock he couldn't hold back anymore. "I'm gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna let you full of me one more time." And with that, he came deep inside you, his hot cum painting your soft walls. A deep, almost animalistic moan escaped his lips.

Countless minutes pass and you both lie in bed the same way, Lewis's heavy body crushing yours, his cock writhing, pulsing inside you. You could stay like this for the rest of your life, you think. But at some point he moves, his cock sliding out of you. Both of you sigh at the loss of contact.

He lies down on the mattress again, pulls you to lie on top of him. Your head against his chest, his legs tangled with yours. You feel his cock, still semi-hard against your thigh. It makes you sigh.

His heartbeat is against your palm. His heart is beating in a smooth rhythm, his breathing controlled. His hands reach for your back, fingers running up and down your skin, imaginary designs being made there. You smile, inert, and feel him doing the same. Watch the horizon in front of you, the dark sky through the big bedroom windows, feel the cool breeze coming through them.

Lying there, on his chest, feeling his body hug yours, you felt in the right place. All you needed was right here, snuggling with you, you didn't need the world's acceptance. A feeling of peace took over your body, your eyelids began to feel heavy and closed. You could hear Lewis's quiet breathing, his chest rising and falling slowly. An "I love you" is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 1: Going Home

In the small barn situated in a quaint rural Wisconsin town, you stood behind the Holstein cow, your task just completed. You carefully peeled off the long blue disposable veterinary glove, a necessary tool for checking if cows, or even horses, were pregnant. With a practiced motion, you tossed the glove into the nearby blue bucket, a routine part of your work in veterinary care. The rustic environment of the barn, the sound of animals nearby, and the smell of hay and livestock created a familiar and comforting atmosphere.

"Well, Hank. She's due any day now," You state, stepping out of the stall. In your jeans, rubber boots, and flannel shirt, you fit right in, despite the stray wisps of chestnut hair escaping your French braid.

Hank, an elderly man dressed in blue jean overalls and a flannel shirt, acknowledged your evaluation with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Doc. I'm not sure how I can repay you…hold on a moment. I recently had a pig butchered. I can offer you some of that meat," he proposed, his weary gray eyes brightening with the suggestion.

"Only if it won't affect your winter provisions. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you in any way."

"No, we're set for now. We still have some meat left from the two deer my sons hunted last fall."

Extending your hand, you replied, "That's more than fair. It'll also take care of any future issues you might have with Mildred."

Gratefully, he clasped your hand in his. "Ever since you arrived here, Doc, you've been a godsend. I can't imagine what we'd do without your help."

You exchanged a firm handshake.

"Remember to call me if there's anything else you need, alright?"

"I sure will. Thanks once more."

Picking up your bucket, you made your way out of the barn and towards your truck.

You positioned your bucket at the rear of your truck, swung open the door, and settled into the driver's seat. Retrieving your cellphone, you noticed a missed call and a voicemail from your husband. As you closed your eyes, you took a deep breath, exhaling with a sigh. His communications typically revolved around financial matters, prompting you to wonder about the nature of this particular call.

You tapped the voicemail icon on your iPhone and listened:

"Y/N, it's me. I'm just calling to inform you that I'm on my way back. Not to Texas, though, but to Wisconsin. I'll be landing at Rusk County Airport, aiming to arrive by around 6 p.m. tonight. I'll see you then."

After the message ended, you disconnected the call.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath.

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin busied himself packing his travel bag, which lay sprawled on his bed.

"Just to clarify," began Javy 'Coyote' Machado, his best friend, with a tone of disbelief, "you've got a place in Wisconsin?"

"Yup," Jake affirmed.

"And you've never actually set foot in it?"

"Nope," Jake responded, keeping his focus on his packing.

"And who looks after this house?"

"My wife does," Jake said nonchalantly.

Coyote's eyes widened in surprise. "You're married?"

"Yes," Jake replied simply.

Coyote took a moment, the weight of Jake's revelation sinking in. "Hold on, Jake. We've been friends for nearly ten years. And in all that time, you've never once mentioned that you were married, or even hinted at it."

"Well, I am," Jake said matter-of-factly, continuing with his packing.

Coyote, in disbelief, threw his hands up and scanned the room. "Okay, then who is she? And how come there aren't any photos of her around here?"

"We've both had a lot on our plates," Jake replied, finishing his packing with a zip of the bag.

"But how busy can a married couple be to not even see each other?" Coyote pressed.

"She's been occupied with her studies," Jake explained.

"Studies? What, is she training to be a doctor or something?"

Jake remained silent for a moment, his face giving away nothing.

"You're serious? She's actually a doctor?"

Picking up his bag, Jake finally responded, "She was studying to become a large animal veterinarian."

Coyote, visibly taken aback, managed to stutter, "I just... I'm at a loss for words."

Jake, shifting his focus to the task at hand, asked, "You still up for driving me to the airport?"

"Of course," Coyote replied, still processing the revelation.

"Great. Then let's hit the road." Jake motioned towards the door, ready to embark on his journey.

Steering your black Ford F-250, you navigated the lengthy driveway leading to your residence. This log cabin, a product of an inheritance and some astute financial decisions, had been your project three years prior.

As the cabin came into view, you admired the expansive structure that occupied thirty acres of farmland you had acquired. Beyond it lay a sizable horse stable, complete with an attached training ring, a testament to your love for animals.

Approaching the house, you pressed the button to activate the garage door. The door of the 4-car garage rolled open, and you smoothly parked your truck inside, ready to disembark.

You reached over to the passenger side to grab your backpack, then opened the door and stepped out of the truck. Heading towards the door that led into the house, you moved with a purpose, the sound of the garage door closing behind you echoing in the spacious enclosure.

This door opened into the mudroom, which was equipped with a fully functional laundry room, a bathroom, a pet washing station, and ample storage space. As you let your backpack fall to the floor, your cell phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, you saw it was your mother-in-law calling. Pressing the answer button, you greeted her warmly while switching the phone to speaker mode.

"Hi, Cindy," you said, freeing your hands as you continued your entry routine.

"Y/N, how are you?"

"I'm good. How about you?"

"Just fine," she replied.

"So, you understand why I'm calling then?"

You released a sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down. "Yes. He called and left a voicemail."

"Y/N, he still loves you." Cindy's voice carried a mix of hope and concern.

As you settle onto the bench and begin to remove your boots, you respond, "I know."

Cindy probes further, sensing your hesitation, "That doesn't sound very convincing."

With a slight shake of your head, you reply, "Well, sometimes Jake isn't very convincing either."

"Just take things slow," Cindy advises gently. "I believe all you both need is some time together again."

"I'll do my best," you promise, the conversation steering towards a hopeful possibility.

Cindy's voice softened further, her tone imbued with the wisdom of experience. "I understand that it's been difficult, and there might be a lot of unresolved feelings between you two. But remember, love is about finding your way back to each other, even through the toughest times."

You paused, absorbing her words. It was clear she spoke from a place of deep understanding and perhaps her own experiences. "You're right, Cindy. It's just… hard to know where to start."

"Start with honesty," she suggested. "Open up to each other about your feelings, fears, and hopes. It's the foundation you can build on. And remember, you're not alone. We're all here for you, supporting you both."

Your smile reflects a moment of gratitude. "Thanks, Cindy." Glancing at your watch, a sense of urgency creeps in. "I need to go. It's already 5 o'clock, and I've only just got back from work. Jake mentioned he'd be flying in at 6."

"Alright, dear. Please keep me updated on how things go. Oh, and thank you again for the horse fly repellent. It's been working wonders."

"Of course, I'll let you know. And you're welcome. Take care, talk to you later," you say, wrapping up the conversation. After hanging up the phone, you pick up your backpack and make your way to your bedroom, ready to prepare for what comes next.

After managing to squeeze in a quick shower, you slipped into some clean clothes. With the temperature taking a dip, you opted for a pair of jeans, a heavyweight sweatshirt, and hiking shoes to keep comfortable. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, practical for the drive. Steering your Expedition, you headed towards the local airport to meet Jake.

Aware that Jake piloted a Cirrus plane—a fact made all the more personal by your having paid off the aircraft this year—you felt a mix of anticipation and apprehension about the reunion.

Turning onto the road that led to the airport, you soon arrived and parked your truck outside your hangar, ready to greet him.

Casting a look at your watch, you noted it was ten minutes to 6. A memory flashed through your mind, a reminder of one of your husband's traits: Jake was always punctual.

As you closed your eyes, your head resting gently against the headrest, a vivid memory began to surface, transporting you back to the moment you first met Jake:

You stepped through the doors of the rustic bar in Austin, Texas. Your college friend Avery right next to you.

"It's only one night. We deserve it after yesterday," she said.

The rustic bar was alive with the energy of live music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The atmosphere was exactly what you needed after the grueling exams that had consumed your life for the past few weeks. Avery, ever the instigator of your small adventures, was right; a night of unwinding was long overdue.

Navigating through the bustling crowd toward the bar, you felt a sudden nudge that almost set you off, ready to confront whoever was behind it. But that impulse faded the moment you turned around, finding yourself looking into the most captivating green eyes you had ever seen.

The surprise of the encounter rendered you momentarily speechless. The owner of those captivating green eyes was quick to apologize, his voice a warm, deep timbre that seemed to echo directly to your core.

"Sorry about that," he said, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "This place is a bit more crowded than I expected."

You found your voice, albeit a little shaky from the unexpected jolt of attraction. "It's okay, really. I should have been watching where I was going."

He chuckled, and it was a sound that made you want to hear more of it, to keep him talking just so you could listen. "I'm Jake," he extended his hand, the action both friendly and bold.

Taking his hand, you felt a surprising jolt of electricity at the contact. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Y/N. You here to see anyone in particular tonight?" Jake asked, his gaze still locked with yours, as if the crowded bar around you had faded into the background.

"Just here to unwind with a friend," you replied, gesturing toward where Avery had found a spot at the bar, seemingly engaged in trying to order drinks.

Jake nodded, understanding. "This place is perfect for that, but you're not from around here."

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head slightly, impressed by his observation. "Is it that obvious?"

He smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "It's the accent."

You chuckled, self-consciously touching your throat as if you could feel your accent there. "I guess it's a dead giveaway, huh?"

"Only a little," Jake teased, his eyes twinkling with humor. "But it's a good thing. Makes you stand out." He thought a second. "Sounds a bit midwestern to me almost Canadian."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "That specific, huh? Well, you're not wrong. I'm actually from Wisconsin, so you're pretty close with the Midwestern guess."

Jake nodded, impressed with himself. "I have an ear for these things. Wisconsin's a beautiful place."

"It is," you agreed, your thoughts briefly wandering back to the familiar landscapes of home.

"So, what brings you here?"

"I'm here for a college class."

"College, huh? What's your major?"

"Veterinarian. I'm a large animal veterinarian."

Jake's interest visibly perked up at your answer. "A large animal vet? That's impressive. There's always a need for folks who can handle the bigger animals, especially around these parts."

You nodded, feeling a mix of pride and passion for your chosen field. "Yeah, it's been a dream of mine since I was little. I love animals, and getting to help them, especially the larger ones that require a bit more... let's say, finesse, has always been fulfilling for me."

He leaned against the bar, genuinely intrigued. "Sounds like it's more than just a job to you."

"It is," you admitted. "It's about making a difference, however small it may seem. And the connection with the animals... there's something special about it."

Jake smiled, his admiration for your dedication clear. "I can see that. It takes a special kind of person to do what you do. And speaking of making a difference, my family owns a ranch not too far from here. We've got horses, and every now and then, we run into a situation that could use a vet with your expertise."

The mention of his family's ranch piqued your interest. "Really? I'd love to hear more about it. Working with horses has always been a dream of mine."

Just as you were caught in that moment, Avery approached, holding a beer out to you. "Here's your beer," she said, handing it over before her gaze shifted to Jake. "And who's this?"

"Avery, meet Jake. Jake, this is Avery," you made the introductions, facilitating the exchange between your friend and the man with the captivating green eyes.

The sound of a plane engine snapped you out of your reverie, prompting you to open your eyes and gaze skyward. Above the airport, you spotted the small Cirrus plane, unmistakably Jake's. You watched as it gracefully circled above, aligning itself for a smooth approach before finally descending towards the runway in a well-executed landing.

As the plane taxied closer to where your vehicle was parked, you observed the engine powering down. Stepping out of your truck, you began to walk slowly towards the aircraft. The door of the plane opened and out stepped a figure you recognized instantly – a six-foot tall man with dirty blond hair. He was casually dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and tennis shoes, complemented by a brown leather jacket. It was Jake, finally there in front of you after what felt like an eternity.

But it wasn't the young Jake you remembered, this Jake had turned into a manly Jake. He still had the same piercing green eyes, but his face had turned more rugged, yet still handsome. His presence seemed to exude a quiet strength and a sense of maturity that the younger Jake hadn't possessed. There was an air of confidence about him, tempered with a hint of world-weariness. His green eyes, still as piercing as you remembered, now seemed to carry deeper stories, reflections of experiences and growth. His face, more rugged and lined than before, bore the marks of life's trials and triumphs, adding to his manly allure. Yet, despite the changes, there was an undeniable familiarity in his gaze, a connection to the past that lingered in his expression.

He closed the door when you reached him. "Y/N," he said.

"Jake."

The two of you looked at each other.

You cleared your throat and looked away. "Our hangar is over there." You pointed to the hangar behind your vehicle.

"Our hangar?"

"Yes. I had it built after you purchased the plane."

He looked at you questioningly and then he observed the hangar with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "You built that?"

"Yes, it seemed practical for storage and maintenance," you explained, maintaining a professional tone despite the undercurrent of emotions swirling between you.

Jake took a moment to absorb this information, his gaze shifting from the hangar back to you. "That's... impressive. Thank you," he said, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation mixed with the awkwardness of the moment.

"You're welcome," you replied, feeling the complexity of the situation. After a brief pause, you added, "Shall we get the plane stored?"

He nodded, a silent agreement to focus on the task at hand, perhaps both of you grateful for a momentary diversion from the emotional reunion.

"You can put your bags in the truck. It's unlocked. I'll go open the hangar and get the tow bar."

""How about I assist you with opening the hangar and retrieving the tow bar once I've put my bags in the truck?"

"That's fine," you agreed since you had no clue what you were doing anyways. You watched as Jake went to the other side of the plane and grabbed four bags.

You quickly made your way to Jake's plane and grabbed two of the bags and then placing the bags in the back of the Expedition. Jake did the same with the other two and then started walking towards the hangar. You couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. This was all new to you, and the prospect of being involved in something as unfamiliar as handling a plane was both thrilling and slightly intimidating.

After securing the bags, you walked towards the hangar, where Jake was already busy. As you approached, he looked up and gave you a brief nod, acknowledging your presence. You stood there for a moment, watching him work. He moved with a practiced ease, clearly familiar with every aspect of the aircraft and the hangar.

"Need a hand?" you asked, eager to learn and help.

Jake glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Sure. Could you grab the other end of this tow bar?" He held out one end of a long, metal bar to you.

You took the offered end, feeling its weight. Jake guided you on how to position it correctly, explaining how it was used to move the plane. Together, you maneuvered the bar into place and began the task of towing the aircraft into the hangar.

As you worked alongside Jake, you appreciated the quiet efficiency with which he operated. There was a sense of competence and confidence about him that you found reassuring. It was clear that he was in his element here, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for his skills.

Once the plane was safely in the hangar, Jake secured everything and turned to you. "Thanks for the help. Not everyone would jump in like that."

You shrugged modestly, feeling a small sense of pride. "Happy to learn something new. And it's not every day I get to say I helped tow a plane."

His chuckle resonated warmly in the hushed atmosphere of the hangar. "Well, you did a fantastic job."

"Thanks," you responded with a bashful smile. "Uh, dinner should be all set by the time we get back."

"You made dinner?"

"Not exactly. His name is Chuck. I encountered him during a trip to Wyoming."

Jake's eyes widened in surprise. "Another man is living in my house?!"

You sighed. "I honestly don't know how to answer that because you really haven't even seen our house."

Jake ran a hand through his hair turning away and then turned back to you. "I never cheated on you, Y/N. I came here to work on our marriage. You could've at least told me."

You looked at him. "I'm sorry. I forgot, my husband hasn't really contacted me for four years. What was I thinking? Oh yeah, that I needed help running a ranch."

Jake stared at you.

"Chuck is my chef and, I guess, butler. He helps around the ranch."

Jake's expression shifted from shock to confusion. "You have a chef and a butler now?"

You nodded, trying to keep your tone even. "Yes, Jake. Running the ranch alone has been tough. Throw in my hours as a Veterinarian, you never know. Chuck has been a huge help, not just in the kitchen but around the property too. He's been indispensable, especially with you being away for so long."

There was a moment of silence as Jake processed this new information, his features softening slightly. "I see. I didn't realize how hard it's been for you here alone. I'm sorry, Y/N."

You let out a small sigh, the tension easing a bit. "It's okay. We both have a lot to catch up on. Let's just focus on getting back home for now."

Jake nodded, a look of understanding crossing his face. "You're right. We've both been through a lot, and we have a lot to talk about. But right now, let's just get back home and take it one step at a time."

After closing the hangar, you both walked towards the truck, there was a comfortable silence between you. It was the kind of silence that spoke of mutual understanding and the beginnings of reconciliation. You could sense that both of you were cautiously optimistic about what lay ahead.

Once in the truck, you started the engine and pulled out of the hangar area and started to drive home.

The familiar landscape passed by the windows, each mile bringing you closer to a place that held both memories and possibilities. You glanced over at Jake, who seemed focused on the road but also more at ease than he had been earlier.

"Thanks for coming to get me," he said softly, breaking the silence.

"You would've done the same thing for me," you replied.

Jake glanced your way, a small smile playing on his lips. "Always, Y/N. No matter what happens, I'll always come for you."

Those words, simple as they were, carried a weight of meaning that filled the cab of the truck. You leaned back in your seat, allowing yourself to feel the comfort of his presence and the hope that, despite the challenges, you both might find a way forward together.

Tags:

@buckysteveloki-me

@guacam011y

[i2sunric]

specific things ricky would say and do to drive reader crazy? scenarios included too🙈

(I LITERALLY SAW A VIDEO ON PINTEREST ABOUT THE LAST POINT AND IT SCREAMED RICKY!/!/‘sehekbs)

shen ricky has many hobbies, some of them come from his rich history, like playing golf with his relative - the ones from his father’s side - during the weekend, or compulsive shopping, buying clothes and accessories he’ll wear once in a life time. some others are more humble, like painting or reading french books.

however, he must say his favourite one is teasing you. he just loves to see your cheeks tint with blush and how you become so flustered you can’t even form a grammatically correct sentence. he has many ways to do it, some particular ones are:

1. — pet names

ricky just loves to call you pet names, his favourite ones are ‘baby’ or ‘princess’ though sometimes ‘darling’ escapes his pretty lips as well. all of them usually are preceded by my, just to underline you belong to him. it would be good if he called you like that inside the comfortable walls of your house, however ricky called you princess even when you were ordering some food, or when you were at a family dinner with your soon in-laws. you, being so shy about it always blushed and lightly hit him, asking him to stop, only fuelling the cocky grin he had on his face “why are you so shy? aren’t you my pretty princess? my girl?” he says, receiving another hit from you

rest under cut !

2. — suggestive jokes

oh, ricky is not someone to initiate things, especially during daytime. he usually prefers fucking you right in a fancy hotel suite with only the lighting of a candle, or in the comfort of your bed. he also validates your feelings and would prefer if it was you to ask him to do it. however, ricky’s actions don’t match his words at all. it could be the most innocent moment, such as you looking at a shop window while you two are having a romantic walk until ricky’s hands place on your waist, holding you still while his head moves closer to your ear, whispering “your fingertips would look so gorgeous as i fuck you from behind while your pretty face is mouthing on this shop window.” making you gasp so loudly everyone turns around to you “ricky.” you would nag at him as he giggles softly “what baby? don’t you think the same?” he teases, hands still gripping on your waist, leaving small kisses on your neck before pulling away, looking so innocent.

3. — late evening make out sessions

the last but not least thing he does is drinking wine while wearing his black suit - a deadly combo for your heart -, the one he knows you love so much. he’d be sitting on the chair, inside his studio, waiting for you to check up on him after he worked the whole day, barely seeing your face. you knock softly on the door, a faint “baby?” from the other side of the door was just enough to make him smile “come in.” he says, manspreading on the chair, holding the glass of red wine with his bony and big hand. ricky eyes you up and down, noticing how you were only wearing a black leather jacket with a small skirt. too small for his likings.

“hi.” you smile, he places the wine down on the table and takes you by your leg, pulling you until you’re basically obligated to sit on his lap (not like you’re complaining), your legs resting on his other lap. he kisses you softly, asking how your day went and what you did. he caresses your thighs, pulling your dress down so you’re more covered, eyeing you with a nagging expression. his grip on your back is steady while his other hand wanders all over your body, feeling you. your lips connect, lips dancing together, like two calamities they can’t seem to be disconnected. ricky’s hand goes down to your thigh, gripping and leaving his fingers marks on it. your arms wrap around his neck, your teeth biting softly his bottom lip, making him groan. you two felt like a whole person. and so, the evening went on with swollen lips and small ‘i love you’s whispered, until he took you to bed and cuddled you until you both fell asleep.

[parasolyaa]

give me rtc character hcs for being in the subway for the first time

i love how this implies that they’ve never been in the subway before. well, since most of them almost never left uranium, this checks.

ocean — she always advocated for public transportation (and for some reason believed it wasn’t widely used, probably because she assumed everyone could use a car and subway was for noble people who cared for the environment), but if she ever went to a big city, she never stayed there for long, and usually walked by foot. when she actually used the subway for the first time, she decided to hand out flyers that said something like “thank you for choosing public transit! here are some other ways you can help the planet (…)”. ended up absolutely overwhelmed and in a taxi, wiping tears with the flyers no-one seemed to like. wonder why.

noel — romanticized the shit out of paris metropolitan, said he researched all about it and prided himself on being more knowledgeable of it than a local. when he got to go to france (probs a family/school trip when he was a teen) he bought an overpriced graphic t-shirt with the metropolitan map and confidently entered the underground. immediately got disappointed it wasn’t all gothic catacombs, and accidentally sat on a wrong train. had to take off his t-shirt and figure out where he was, and after two hours of being chest naked in the french underground and hopping from one wrong train to another even wronger train a kind passer-by pointed out that the print on his tee was of marseille, not paris. he spent an extra hour figuring out the correct map and asking for directions in broken french (the locals despised him). he entirely missed the drag show he waited for, and ever since then grew to hate the french underground.

mischa — is in on a ukrainian inside joke about metro in odesa. successfuly convinced all choir that there’s metro in odesa. there is no metro in odesa.

there’s also a ukrainian book called toreadors from vasyukivka, where two boys want to build a metro in their village, so they dig a big hole in their yard and a cow accidentally falls into it. safe to say their idea doesn’t stick. at some point these boys get to kyiv and immediately get lost in metro there. that’s 100% mischa. he did this i was the cow.

also he always finds ways not to pay for his ride: jumps over the tourniquet’s, crawls under them, squeezes in with a person in front of him etc. sometimes gets extremely bored and hides in a train wagon when it reaches the final stop, and stays in it when it goes to depo.

ricky — his parents drove him everywhere by car, and told the tales about toronto subway being inaccessible, dangerous and full of freaks. he never believed them. at some point (maybe in a trip with the choir) he got to travel by subway himslef. it was, in fact, a bit of an unpleasant experience, but he found out that it sucks on his own terms and was lowkey proud.

also he was listening to some cringefail furry music (i do not know if furry music is a thing but it will be now) and realised his earphones disconnected and he was blasting it to everyone only after he got home.

penny — had a secret hiding spot in toronto subway where she could keep her things and return to see them intact. she and ezra hid there often and spied on people, sometimes picking up what fell out of their purses — like pieces of candy or pennies (get it? penny? pennies? penis?). they never stayed there for long tho cause it was too overwhelmingly loud.

one time she went to that place and realised some construction workers occupied it. she was emotionally devastated.

constance — always saves the seat for the elderly, disabled and other people who might need it, and people always thank her plenty when she does so. actually never ever sat on a train seat unless the wagon was mostly empty. however, one time she had a horribly tiring + devastating + bad day and decided to sit down for once. got called 10 slurs by an old guy who didn’t see there was another free seat and ocean then told her she should have thought about others first. when she got home she wrote an angry vent in her musical diary (yk, the ones that open with a password and then play a one direction song or smth) with a fluffy pen.

+ talia — she is a subway rat. has a love/hate relationship with obolon station. has beef with pochayna station. she herself is from solomyanka region of kyiv where there is no subway. considers it her curse.

thank you folks for reading this, feel free to send me asks for headcanons!

[olympeline]

I was thinking about Arthur and Alfred’s relationship and it suddenly hit me: there’s potentially a really good interpretation to be had of the American War for Independence as the end result of the disconnect between a first generation immigrant parent and their second generation child. And how perfect is that with Arthur - literally a personification of the old world - and Alfred - literally the personification of America: the world’s great melting pot. I got excited thinking about it and it turned into an essay so please enjoy my ramblings 🥲

The disconnect I mentioned above is a well known problem between different generations of immigrants. An estrangement which can cause a lot of angst because both sides are trying to understand each other but can’t connect because their lived experiences are so different. The parent remembers the trials of the “old country” and sees their kid as a self-centred brat who wouldn’t know real hardship if it bit them. Meanwhile the child - through no fault of their own - has only ever known the new, better life and resents the guilt tripping over something they had zero control over. You know the classic: “When I was your age/you wouldn’t have lasted a day where I grew up/you’re so spoilt, etc.” from the parent. Answered with: “It’s not my fault I don’t know/how could I feel it like you do when I was never there/you chose to come here and have me here/do you want me to spend my whole life feeling guilty because you sacrificed for me, etc.” from the kid.

In the context of Hetalia it works because by the time Alfred gets to know Arthur he’s become a founder of colonies. But in Arthur’s past he was a colony, several times over in fact. Specifically an exploitation colony under Grandpa Rome (who wanted Britain for its large resources of tin because tin - a rare metal in Europe - is a key ingredient in making bronze), then scattered soft-settler colonies under Denmark (who started by raiding Britain for plunder and slaves but then established settlements later on because the climate was better for farming), then an exploitation colony that gradually morphed into a settler colony, that then merged with the native culture, under the Norman-French William the Conqueror.

Arthur became Alfred’s guardian but first and foremost Alfred was his colony. And Arthur’s experience with colonies was the above. So not a great model for parenting to put it mildly. Particularly the last one, which would have been freshest in Arthur’s memory. Harrying of the North. 😬 Enough said. It probably gave Arthur a very skewed view of what would constitute being a “good” parent to Alfred. Arthur left Alfred alone and expected total obedience from him for the rest of his life but, to Arthur, that was still treating Alfred with kid gloves. Just because he didn’t do things like sweep in and murder Alfred’s citizens en masse when they displeased him. Arthur drew on his own experiences and likely saw Alfred as incredibly spoilt and even outright pampered. Obviously he wasn’t, not at all, but the bar was on the friggin’ floor. It must have come as a big shock when Alfred rebelled because - in Arthur’s mind - he did everything right. More than right: he went above and beyond indulging his young charge. Treating Alfred like a son instead of ordering him around as a minion. I think that’s why Arthur broke down and sobbed on the battlefield. Angry tears of frustration and hopelessness because on top of the pain of Alfred’s “betrayal” there’s something worse: even at that critical point, in his heart of hearts I bet Arthur still didn’t understand why the war happened. Why his beloved, coddled son has turned on him like the viper at the farmer’s breast. It’s one thing to fight with someone you love because you know you’ve wronged them. It’s quite another to think you gave nothing but good only to have them turn on you anyway. Arthur is tough and used to hurt but the hopelessness and despair birthed from that terrible ignorance nearly killed him. It would be a long time before he opened his heart to anyone again.

But Alfred didn’t see it that way. Not at all. He wasn’t around for the colonial period of Arthur’s life and Arthur being…himself, likely never told him. Out of pride, trauma, pain, the shame of being conquered, etc. He kept his days of weakness a secret. So Alfred had no conception that Arthur was genuinely trying (and thought he was succeeding) in being a good and devoted parent. Which wasn’t Alfred’s fault or responsibility at all, by the way. I don’t want anyone to think this post is saying Alfred was wrong to rebel when he did. It was a totally justified reaction considering what Arthur put him through. Arthur hurt Alfred out of ignorance rather than malice but that doesnt erase the hurt. Especially from the point of view of a child. Alfred was just a scared, confused little boy who was left alone over and over again in a big, frightening world. Left to watch the human families around him love and support each other while he pined for Arthur to please, please come back and not leave him alone again. No wonder he grew up resentful at Arthur’s continuing expectations of total obedience. How dare Arthur demand so much when Alfred grew up on so little. Arthur had good intentions but they didn’t always bear fruit, which meant a lot of sadness and fear for little Alfred. At some point all those years of simmering pain and resentment bubbled over and Alfred just snapped. He realised nothing would ever change unless he forced a change and broke away from Arthur before the leaden weight of Arthur’s trauma and expectations drove him mad.

And that’s the root and lynchpin of all their issues right there: both see the other as selfish and entitled. Arthur because Alfred had a youth Arthur’s abused child self could only dream of. And Alfred because Arthur unconsciously expected him to live his whole life in the shadow of that pain.

Which is why it’s so tragic. Both of them have a point, both of them are wrong and right at the same time. No matter what Alfred thought, Arthur did genuinely do his best to give him the best life he could. He just fell short because he didn’t know what he was doing and his basis for comparison was abysmal. And no matter what Arthur thought, Alfred was never a spoilt brat who had everything but didn’t appreciate it because he grew up overindulged. Alfred was right to feel neglected, terribly hurt, and frustrated when Arthur brushed off his pain and expected Alfred to suck it up and be demure and grateful because he (Arthur) had it worse when he was young.

Doubly sad because if they’d just talked about it things could have been different. I’ve always seen Alfred as having a big heart underneath all his flippancy and boasting. Meanwhile Arthur is stubborn and a tsundere but he’s not an idiot and not incapable of change and self-improvement. And, like I said, he did truly want to do well by Alfred. Who truly wanted a good relationship with him in return. If they’d discussed all their issues it would have been a long hard road but, at the end of it, their relationship might have improved and not gone up in flames the way it did. But they didn’t and Arthur’s flat, uncompromising orders about taxation without representation was the straw that finally broke America’s back.

[slavic-roots-western-mind]

My top Russian Tv-Shows

Despite this being mainly a mandarinblr, I still try to practise my other languages so here are some of the most interesting tv-shows in russian for my fellow russian-learners and speakers and anyone interested.

Kitchen - Кухня This show has several spin-offs including Hotel Eleon and Grand which I will not mention as by the end of the last spin-off there are literally no characters from the original cast and the plot slightly goes of the rails. The actual show is set a french restaurant in Moscow where Max Lavrov, who just finished his military service decided to work at. The show follows the various challenges that Max faces at his new workplace, including the foul-tempered but very talented Chef Viktor Barinov who has a drinking problem and other interesting characters. It's quite funny and heart-warming, and it's a must-watch imo.

Youth - Молодёжка A pretty standard sports series tv plot. The hockey-team "Bears" are a meh team at best, but that all changes when a former National Hockey League player turned coach shows up to make a proper team out of them. I only watched the first season because after that the plot got a tad boring for me, but as far as sports series go, pretty good.

Law of the Lawless (Not the 1964 film!) - Бригада A cult-classic staple of only 15 episodes. The plot is a bit over the place at the beginning, as opening episodes sequence is a flashback to the start of the final episode but after that it's chronological, with the first episode w english subtitles here. 4 best friends start out as youths from early 1990s to 2000s, with one returning home after finishing his army service with plans for uni and the others just starting their lives. However, the Perestroika had significantly changed their lives, so eventually the gang turns from racketeering and petty crime to slowly becoming the mafia. The opening theme is worth watching alone, but then again I'm biased.

How I became Russian - Как я стал русским This comedy show is quite dear to me, as it follows an American journalist with russian and slavic roots navigating life and work in Russia as he works on a story about life in Russia for a major newspaper back home. He's back in his homeland but as a foreigner who finds his heritage utterly confusing. This series resonates with me, as despite having a good grasp of my cultures languages and customs, I still feel disconnected from my heritage at times, and this show has been a reassuring reminder that not being 100% attuned with your heritage is okay, and that there are many different ways of re-connecting with your culture.

Closed school - Закрытая Школа I was slightly tramuatized by this show when I first watched it 4ish years ago, in part due to how unhinged and off the rails the plot slowly but surely becomes. A descent into madness. Andrei and his sister are sent to study at the Logos boarding school, but are then informed that their parents have perished. Andrei doesn't believe this, so he sets off to investigate with his new friends and investigate he does. There are also some other background shenanigans going on, but the unraveling of the schools mystery remains the main interest, including its odd passageways and deeply disturbing history. As a thriller series, it honestly deserves that title.

Here are some shows that came out more recently that I think deserve a mention.

The Boy's Word: Blood on the Asphalt- Слова пацана кровь на осфальте I've only seen a few episodes out of the 8, but it's very Brigada-esque so far. During the mid-late 1980s when Perestroika is going on and the USSR is soon to be no more, 14 year old Andrei is trying to survive as he's constantly bullied at school and by gang-members. He makes friends with one of said gang members Marat, as he slowly descends into the world of street life. I'll finish watching this series sometime probably.

The new guy - Новенький 16-year old Max moves from his glamorous life in Moscow to a small-town Yurovsk due to his parents constant arguing, where he immediately doesn't get along with his clasmmates who think him stuck-up and start bullying him. One day Max goes missing and his classmates are the obvious suspects, as slowly but surely secrets start to emerge revealing everyone's lies. A pretty good suspense/thriller show, which covers the topics of bullying, coming of age and what it means to be an adult pretty well, despite the 4th and final season being kind of lackluster.

Central Russia's Vampires - Вампиры средней полосы Where to even begin with this show. I don't know whether I should introduce the trailer or the opening theme song mv. Basically the life of a small and unconventional vampire family living in Smolensk, presumably in central Russia, who get disturbed when bodies with distinct bite marks are found nearby. This results in the Guardians (aka the guys keeping vampires a secret and ensuring that no one acts out) taking over and investigating with the vampire leader Svyatoslav Vernidubovich given a week to find and punish the culprit. My odd plot description aside, the cast is why I adore this show. The recently turned Gen-Z wannabe blogger Zhenyok, the thousand year old grandpa Svyatoslav, the constantly annoyed Dr. Zhan Ivanovich (who is actually french and decided to hang around after Napoleon was defeated) and his ex-wife The Countess who honestly should have a spin-off show and many more characters.

Doomsday - Конец Света Satan decides to come back to Earth and start the apocalypse, for which he needs his son Dimyan who should become the Antichrist but to his dismay, Dimyan doesn't really care about world domination and money, he just wants to get married to his fiancee Galya and live happily ever after. Chaos ensues as satan tries to persuade Dimyan to join him, whilst Angel vs Demon shenanigans occur in the background. I honestly had no idea that this type of show could even be produced due to the censors and yet it was. It's kind of slightly similar to Good Omens with all the apocalypse stuff and the Angels and Demons eventually teaming up? Good Omens adjacent. Except more gritty with much darker humour. The actor who plays satan is Yuri Kolokolnikov who actually starred in game of thrones so if you're a fan of his acting, do try this show.

Alisa can't wait - Алиса не может ждать Alisa is a 15-16 (don't remember her exact age) year old girl who is going blind and she decides to do something really drastic to ensure that her life will be comfortable after she loses all sight. There's a noticeable build-up to what she's actually planning during the episodes, as her homelife is less than ideal, with her older sister stuck in an unhappy marriage and a turbulent relationship with her parents. This is one of the few shows that really left a deep impression on me but it deals with some very sensitive and potentially upsetting topics so be aware if you're giving it a go.

This list may be updated in the future, so if there are any other shows that I may have missed do share them!