#running track resurfacing near me

[runningtrackresurfacingsblog]

Running Track Resurfacing UK: Unveiling the Art of Athletic Excellence

Running tracks, much like well-tuned instruments, require regular maintenance to produce the sweetest melodies of athletic achievement. In the UK, the art of running track resurfacing is the symphony behind these arenas of excellence. In this article, we'll explore the world of running track resurfacing uk, uncovering the significance, techniques, and the magic these professionals bring to the athletic stage.

The Artistry of Running Track Resurfacing Running track resurfacing in the UK is a craft, with professionals employing various techniques to rejuvenate these tracks:

Surface Removal The first step is like peeling away the old layers of paint from a canvas. Resurfacing experts meticulously remove the worn-out surface, unveiling a fresh canvas for their work.

Base Repairs The base of a running track is its foundation, much like the groundwork for a grand masterpiece. It must be solid and level. Resurfacing professionals meticulously repair and level the base, ensuring it provides a sturdy canvas for athletes.

Resurfacing This phase is akin to an artist applying fresh paint to a canvas. Running track resurfacing experts lay down a new, top-quality surface, finely tuned to offer optimal performance, much like an artist chooses the perfect hues for their creation.

Line Marking The lines on a running track are akin to musical notes on a score. Resurfacing experts meticulously mark these lines, ensuring they adhere to the precise standards required for athletic competition, much like a conductor precisely directs an orchestra.

The Significance of Running Track Resurfacing Why does running track resurfacing matter so much? Let's delve into the reasons:

Safety and Performance A damaged or uneven track is like a road full of potholes. It's a safety hazard and can hinder an athlete's performance. Running track resurfacing ensures that the track is safe and optimally tuned for athletes, much like maintaining a car's safety and performance features.

Longevity Regular maintenance can extend the life of your car, and similarly, running track resurfacing can extend the life of a track. It's an investment in the longevity of these arenas, ensuring that athletes can pursue their dreams for years to come, much like caring for a cherished vintage car.

Visual Appeal A beautifully resurfaced track is like a gallery where every step is a masterpiece. Running track resurfacing adds to the visual appeal of a sports complex, making it an attractive destination for athletes and spectators, much like an art gallery attracts art enthusiasts.

Regulation Compliance Whether it's for school sports or international competitions, running tracks must meet specific standards. Running track resurfacing ensures that the track is in compliance, just as referees ensure that a game adheres to the rules, ensuring a fair and competitive environment.

In Conclusion Running track resurfacing in the UK is the silent guardian of athletic excellence. These professionals ensure that these tracks are safe, offer top-tier performance, and maintain their visual appeal. From removing the old surface to meticulously marking the lines, each step is a work of art, ensuring athletes have a perfect stage for their performances.

The next time you step onto a freshly resurfaced running track in the UK, take a moment to appreciate the smooth surface, the crisp lines, and the safety it provides. It's the magic of running track resurfacing, silently contributing to athletic excellence and ensuring that athletes can chase their dreams with confidence.

[corroded-hellfire]

A First Second Date - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Feeling bummed about your dating life, you have a middle of the night run in with the cute guy who lives in the apartment across from yours.

Note: Me? Projecting? Never. Also, yes, Butterbean is a real cat who hangs around mine.

Words: 2.1k

The apartment still has the warm pleasant smell from your earlier baking as you walk out of your room, shrugging on an oversized navy hoodie. A little baggie awaits you on the counter and you snatch it up and shove it into your hoodie pocket. The heavenly smelling sugar cookies you’d made look too tempting as you pass them by, forcing you to grab one. Then halt in your tracks, turn around and grab a second one, before continuing your way towards the front door. 

It’s just before two in the morning and it’s quite possibly your favorite time of day. No one asking you to do anything, no one expecting anything of you, time to just be. The whole apartment building seems to have fallen silent—another perk to this time of night. The sound of your feet padding down the thinly carpeted hallway is all that’s heard. 

Coolness kisses your skin as you push outside, making sure not to let the heavy door slam behind you, lest it disturb the peace. Only a few wispy clouds decorate the sky above, most of the frills consisting of the glistening stars and beaming moon. 

Dry grass crunches underfoot as you step across the lawn of your apartment building. There’s a small stone wall up near the sidewalk, with a large oak tree conveniently plotted right behind it to give you something to lean back on when you’re lounging on the parapet. Taking up your usual post as the late night watch woman, you take a generous bite into one of the soft cookies in your hand. The vanilla and buttery notes have you letting out a content sigh as you tuck your legs up underneath you and lay your back against the mighty oak. 

As if your sigh was the cue he was waiting for, your loyal nighttime companion hops up on the wall next to you. The pale ginger cat greets you with an insistent meow before he begins to rub up against your arms, the calming purr radiating throughout his body. 

“Hey, Butterbean,” you say as you reach up to scratch between his ears. The volume of the purring increases as Butterbean moves his head around, letting you know exactly where he wants the scratchies. While he’s in his ecstasy, you finish off the first sugar cookie. As if the sight of your treat reminds him, he looks up at you eagerly, ears high on his tiny head, and his large eyes wide.

“Yes?” you ask.

He lets out another meow and brings his paw up to scratch against the chest of your hoodie. 

“Oh, is that what you want?” you tease the feline. “Of course I’ve got something for you.”

Butterbean’s excitement grows as he watches you take the plastic baggie out of your pocket and sprinkle the cat treats on the stone wall next to you. Your pantry has its own little stash of cat treats ever since you befriended this neighborhood sweetheart. He’s gained weight since you’ve begun giving him the food—which he needed. You don’t know where he was before he came into your life, but you prefer to think that the little nub he has on his rear end instead of a tail is just how he was born. 

“Glad you like ‘em, kid,” you tell the cat as he finishes eating. Next, he decides it’s time for him to bathe himself right there next to you on the wall. 

Closing your eyes, you tilt your head back and take a deep breath. You’ve been trying to keep the thoughts at bay for a while now, but now was the time for them to resurface. 

What did I do wrong? Should I have offered to pay for dinner? Could he not stop staring at this stupid zit on my chin? Did I say something stupid? Oh, I probably did. And why stop at one thing, there were most likely several stupid things I said. 

Letting out a groan of frustration, you run your hands over your face. This was the fourth first date you’d been on in two months. Not a second date to be found. Why was the only one who wanted a second date the one who I wanted to literally run from? You’re about to voice this question out loud to your furry friend, but the sound of footsteps coming up the sidewalk catches your attention. No one’s ever out walking the streets this late at night. It has you on your guard, and you’re ready to sprint for the front door of the apartment if you need to—scooping up Butterbean to bring him to safety as well. But it’s just your across the hall neighbor, Eddie. The one you’ve had a massive crush on since the day you moved in. How could you not when he offered to move the heavier things for you and then gave you that devastating smile? Life would be so much better if you could just date him. But you don’t even let your mind think about that for too long unless you're lying in bed at night with your hand between your legs. Thinking about dating Eddie, about him caring about you, was just asking for more heartbreak than you already have. 

“Hey, stranger,” Eddie says as he strolls over to you. Butterbean raises his head to look at Eddie, who waves at him like it’s a common occurrence. “Hello, Ginger.”

You can’t help but let out a snort of laughter at that. “Ginger?”

“Yeah, I named the cat,” Eddie says defensively, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “So what?”

“No, no,” you say with a shake of your head, still laughing. “I named him, too. Just something a little more creative than the color of his fur.”

“How do you know he’s a boy?” Eddie presses, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because it’s very rare for an orange cat to be a girl,” you inform him. “It has to do with the chromosomes.” Great job, you think to yourself. Give him a science lesson, that’s how to seduce a man. 

“Okay, Miss Smartypants, what did you name the distinguished gentleman?” Eddie asks, with an overdramatic flourish in the cat’s direction.

“Butterbean,” you admit, bashfulness creeping in your voice. 

Eddie throws back his head and lets out a crack of laughter. It’s not at you, though, you can tell. 

“Oh, I love that,” Eddie says. “So much better than mine.”

A chill breeze blows across the yard, making you tuck your legs up closer to your body. A reminder of what time it is and that you should probably get inside soon. What was Eddie doing out this late? Probably coming back from a date. The thought brings a lump to your throat. If he’s coming back this late from the date, it must’ve gone well. Images of Eddie in some other woman’s bed start to invade your mind and you’re pretty sure you’re physically wincing when Eddie’s words break you out of your thoughts.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Hmm?” You look up to see Eddie gesturing to the second sugar cookie in your hand. “Oh. I made these today. Do you want it? I just had one.”

“I will never turn down free food,” Eddie tells you as he plucks the cookie from your hand. As he bites into it, you watch as the crumbs scatter over his lips and the way his tongue pokes out to collect them. It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. “Holy shit. That is amazing.”

“Y-Yeah?” you ask with a nervous chuckle. 

“Hell yeah.” He brushes the sprinkles of sugar off of his hands and gives you a playful smirk. “You’ll make some man a happy husband someday.”

“Ha!” 

You didn’t mean to let that out, but it felt like a reflex to respond to the idea of someone wanting to be with you with a bark of laughter. 

Eddie furrows his eyebrows at you. “Why’s that funny?”

“Nah,” you say, shaking your head. You don’t want to get into this with him, so you try to just play it off. “S’just I don’t see it happening.”

“You don’t want to get married?”

“No, I do.” You’re speaking to your lap now, and Butterbean has curled up by your side for support. “I just don’t think I will.”

“I don’t understand,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. 

“Can’t seem to get past a first date with anyone,” you say with a self-deprecating chuckle. 

“Hey.” Eddie nudges your shoulder, so you look up at him. “Least you’re going on dates, sweetheart. Same can’t be said for everyone.”

The slight downturn of the corners of his mouth makes you frown.

“Wait, you don’t mean you, do you?” The very idea boggles your mind.

“Yep, little ‘ol me.” Now it’s Eddie that seems to look anywhere but at you. 

“You’re not coming back from a date now?” Again, not something you meant to let out. Your filter must stop working at two in the morning. 

“From a date?” Eddie meets your eyes, his eyebrows raised into his frizzy bangs. “No.” He chuckles as he shakes his head. “Covered a shift at the plant my old man works at. He wasn’t feeling great and he’s getting older, so I said I’d fill in.”

“Oh.” The knot in your stomach from picturing him with a woman starts to untie itself. “Well…you should go on dates.” With me, you don’t add.

“Why’s that?” Eddie counters.

“Because…you’re great.” 

“So are you,” Eddie says, jutting his chin in your direction. 

“So, we’re both great,” you say. The words hang in the air, and you wonder who will speak first. You’re not sure if he’ll pick up on the implication that you should go on a date together because, well…it was barely there. But you leave the ball in his court, the silence between the two of you only broken by Butterbean’s soft snores. 

“Okay, uh,” Eddie starts. He clears his throat before continuing. “Say the next guy you go out with isn’t a total asshole. Where would you want him to take you on a second date?”

“Well, you said he’s not an asshole?” You click your tongue and shrug your shoulders. “That means he won’t want a second date. Only the assholes do.”

“Hypothetically here,” he says, throwing you a small smile.

“Second date…” You purse your lips as you ponder the question. “Where did he take me on the first date?”

Eddie squeezes one eye shut as he thinks of a proper date spot. “Lunch date at Benny’s Diner.”

“Not a bad choice,” you concede. “Second date, hmm. Might not be a step up, probably a lateral move…but Waffle House.”

This makes Eddie laugh. His ring-covered hand comes to hold his stomach and he shakes his head in amusement. 

“The Waffle House?”

“Best waffles I ever had,” you tell him. 

“All right,” Eddie says as he scratches the slight stubble covering his chin. “So, what would you say if I asked you to go to the Waffle House?”

The cookie you’d eaten only minutes ago suddenly feels like it sprouted wings and it’s flying uncontrollably all around your stomach. Afraid to scare him away by simply shouting YES at him, you take a moment to think of a calmer response. 

“I’d say that sounds like a second date spot and we haven’t been on a first yet. But I’d make an exception for you.”

The smile that grows on Eddie’s face baffles you. You put that smile there? That stunning, orgasm-inducing smile? All by saying you want to go on a date with him? Seems impossible. 

“I’m honored to be the exception.” Eddie sketches a bow that sends you into a round of giggles. The noise wakes Butterbean up, and he stretches his long paws out in front of him. 

“When should I expect this Waffle House invitation?” you ask.

“Hmm. Perhaps as I escort you back inside? It’s pretty late.”

Conceding to his point, you hop off the wall, Butterbean jumping down after you. After rubbing himself up against your legs a few times, he wanders off, only to be seen again tomorrow night when you have his little baggie of treats. 

Eddie opens the front door of the apartment for you, and you step inside the building that now feels too warm. The two of you walk side by side up the stairs, and after he holds the staircase door open for you, he clears his throat.

“So, would you like to go to the Waffle House sometime? Whenever you’re free?”

“I’d really like that,” you say, excitement bubbling throughout your whole body. “Are you usually up this late? Because I am and the Waffle House is open 24 hours.”

“I could go for some midnight waffles, shit yeah. Tomorrow?”

Trying to keep your beaming smile to a minimum, you nod your head.

“It’s a date.”

“The first of many, hopefully.”

Maybe all guys weren’t so bad after all. 

[charles-leclerc-official]

2024 Canada Grand Prix Race Analysis

On the surface the Canadian grand prix appeared more complex than it was. With mixed weather and teams gambling on several different strategies things came down to skill and speed in the end. With skill being what brought home Max’s 60th career victory. 

While Max was celebrating Ferrari was having the team's worst race of the season. 

So let’s unravel what happened at the Canadian grand Prix.

The thing to know about this race and really the entire weekend was that it was dictated by weather. Rain was in the forecast all days of running on track and this impacted every single team, some positively some negatively. 

Overall this was probably the worst race for just about every team on the grid in various ways. I will explain more, but there were serious issues at the front and back of the field and in all top teams. Put simply this race was a mess. 

Table of Contents Ferrari - Timeline and strategy - Charles: mechanical issues and data analysis - Carlos Red Bull - Max - Sergio - Team problem Mercedes - George - Lewis Mclaren - Lando - Oscar: data analysis Williams Haas Concluding Thoughts

Ferrari

Ferrari’s race and entire weekend can be summed up quite simply: bad luck, a few bad gambles, and mechanical issues. It felt like everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. A perfect storm of all the wrong things. 

The real questions are, what exactly went wrong? And how much is the team responsible? Because the failures this weekend mostly fall on the team not our drivers. 

On paper it may appear that Ferrari messed up, with bad strategy calls and just the usual “clown show”. However, taking a closer look it wasn’t quite as severe as all that. There were some calls that were not great. A lot came down to mechanical issues and some gambles that didn’t pay off. The strategy was made to look worse by the conditions. Do not get me wrong, it was the worst we’ve seen all year, but in a year of near perfect strategy that isn’t saying much. It wasn’t perfect, but it also was far from outright bad. There are a few key mistakes the team made, and also some things they are being unfairly criticized for. 

Charles qualified P11 and did not finish the race, Carlos qualified P12 and did not finish the race.

To understand what happened I am going to walk through the weekend, because this all started in free practice.

Free Practice

The first thing to know is that Canada resurfaced the track, so the surface was much smoother than we were expecting. This didn't suit the Ferrari as well, and suited other cars better.

The first two free practice sessions were heavily affected by rain. This was where conditions were mixed but did allow for some dry running. 

FP2 was where the rain was much heavier in the second half. Charles and Carlos each did a stint on the medium tyres and then another on the intermediate tyres. 

FP3 was the driest session and this is when the team focussed the most on qualifying runs for both drivers. 

While the team did get runs in during all sessions, a lot of running time was lost due to rain. And also waiting out traffic as the track was busy when conditions did permit for running. 

One important thing that was learned during free practice was that the SF-24 was struggling for grip on the track. This was due to the resurfacing of the track, with very little rubber laid down, it made things very slick for the car. The rest came down to setup, but the track surface was probably the main culprit for lackluster running in dry conditions. 

This is where I want to point out an issue I have noticed with the team, that has now impacted two races. 

After seeing things this weekend I can say that so far this season Ferrari’s weakest point is that the team really does not seem to adapt well to losing a free practice session. They don’t seem to have a good plan to effectively edit their testing program to get the car where it needs to be. We saw a very similar issue in Japan, and it was worse here. Notice how Japan was the team’s second worst qualifying session. They really seem to need that time to get the settings on the car right. But in Canada as in Japan weather was expected to impact running. So it’s really on the team to figure out how to prioritize things better during free practice. Because we see the results not being there in qualifying when this happens, and we see both our drivers frustrated and feeling like they didn’t get enough done. 

Based on the way Ferrari operated during free practice and the areas they were targeting(figuring out brake balances in certain corners, doing more inter runs) I believe they were very confident in qualifying being more impacted by rain. The slowness and odd behavior during FP3 would be explained in part if Ferrari were running a setup geared for wet conditions while things were dry. Which tells me they were really counting on it raining during qualifying. This was the first bad gamble of the weekend.

Qualifying

Charles qualified P11 and Carlos qualified P12. This was the worst qualifying result for both drivers. 

As stated above, I am pretty sure Ferrari believed that rain was going to impact qualifying. I think they spent more time during free practice trying to prepare their cars for that. 

However, it did not rain during qualifying. This started Ferrari off on the wrong foot. I don’t think the setup was optimized for fully dry conditions. So Ferrari gambled on it raining, and it didn’t. I don’t think this was a bad gamble. Weather is unpredictable and the chances of rain were very high. If it had rained I don’t think Ferrari would have been top 3, there were still other issues, but I think Charles and Carlos would have been in Q3. 

So I attribute this to bad luck. 

The second issue during qualifying, and this was the bigger one, was the judgment on the soft tyres in Q2. One set of soft new tyres would be used for Q2. This is fine, it was important to save 2 sets for Q3 where things would be most competitive. The gamble came into play when Ferrari had to chose whether to start the session on old softs from Q1 and then pit for new for the second flying lap attempt, or to start on new and do the second lap attempt on used softs. Ferrari chose to start Q2 on a new set of softs. They did this because they believed rain would impact the second half of Q2. Again, they weren’t wrong to believe this, the sky was getting darker by the minute and all metrics pointed to rain at any point. So this was again a gamble, and again, it didn’t pay off. Because it didn’t rain, and with the way things were running better laps would have been possible later in the session. But by that time they were on the used softs. 

One thing the team could have done was pit for new softs late in the session when they realized this, however that would have left only one set for Q3, and it would have been a different type of gamble. 

I will note that this same tyre management was used by Mclaren, so it wasn’t actually a bad call. I think this in particular highlights that the setup was also a crucial part in the failure during qualifying. It likely would have benefited Ferrari to be on new rubber at the end given they were struggling. 

So qualifying was a mix of poor car setup, and a series of gambles that didn’t pay off. I don’t think any of these gambles were strictly bad, they made sense at the time. One thing to take away is that this qualifying was not grossly mismanaged, and this just shows how weather and a new track surface can really impact these little things. 

I think that with new rubber at the end of the session Charles and Carlos likely would have made it to Q3. They probably wouldn’t have been top 5, but they would have at least been starting in the points. 

After qualifying, without mechanical issue Charles likely would have finished in the points, possibly up to 5th. The race pace was actually there, he pointed this out himself. It was also reflected in the data we did get from longer runs during free practice. The race pace was on par with Mercedes and better than Red Bull(note this is without knowing all factors the other teams were operating under during free practice). Unfortunately he never got to capitalize on that, by the time the mechanical issue was fixed his race was all but over. 

The Race

Charles

Charles' race was dictated entirely by a mechanical issue. It’s been the topic of a lot of speculation. What exactly went wrong? Should the car have been retired? Was there even a chance to climb back up the field?

I think I have some answers. 

Right from the race start it was clear there was something off with Charles’ car. It was losing a lot of power on the straights and he was fighting to stay ahead. This was an obvious mechanical issue with the car. His race engineer talked him through a lot of adjustments to see if the problem could be solved through wheel settings. It didn’t, the problem got worse and with each lap Charles was losing over a second of pace. That was unsustainable. 

At first it seemed to be a straightforward power unit problem. However after troubleshooting the team had their doubts. During his second pit stop on lap 28 his team did a full electronic restart of the controls in his car. That seemed to clear up the issue. However the pitstop needed to do this restart took 47 seconds, and given he’d already been losing places due to lacking power before, when he came out of the pits he was dead last and was lapped soon after. At that point his race was unrecoverable. The car’s pace was actually solid, and was not far off the top 3 cars(closest to George) but a lap down it was essentially impossible to make up places. The team tried to recover a little by gambling on the hards to try to get more speed, but the rain started immediately(the choice to try the hards was Charles’ and the choice to also go back to the inters was also Charles’ choice) so this was another weather gamble that did not work in Ferrari’s favor. 

The decision was made to retire the car, there isn’t a point in running not in the points in a car that should be scoring points, when you are a lap down, in a race with mixed conditions that would mean the chances of the car sustaining damage are high. 

The team managed as best they could and the communication was pretty good. Emotions were running high on both sides, but that is to be expected. Ferrari gave Charles control over what he wanted to do. The only possible issue was them encouraging him to stay out on the hards after it had started to rain. This was mostly because if he pit for inters that was going to end his race, the hards were already a last ditch effort to try to find some extra pace to get back up in the pack. But the rain really messed this up. It was a fine gamble, and it was the best choice to retire the car. 

Since the race we have learned that the cause of the mechanical issue for Charles was not the power unit itself, but rather the control unit and sensors connected to that component. Ferrari reported sensor issues at Imola, and Monaco(Charles had to do an engine swap during FP sessions to get it sorted) They have found that there is a problem where sensors are throwing false positives, reporting a problem when there is no problem. Changing the power unit seems to solve the problem. However this isn’t a long term solution. 

I think that there is something wrong with the connection between sensors and the control unit. Since the team have said the control unit and associated sensors(Ferrari have not been more specific) I believe this means that the sensors in question are most likely the ones that accept driver input(ie accelerating) rather than monitoring sensors(ones that would relay tyre temperature). The second most likely option would be sensors connected to the power unit. But the problem is not the sensors themselves, rather the connections between the sensors and the CU. This would explain the loss of power Charles experienced if the car simply was not responding correctly to his inputs. This is further supported by the inputs Bryan was walking Charles through also did not work. 

So the sensors are likely fine, the control unit is fine, but the connection between the two is not. 

Why does changing the power unit seemingly solve the problem(at least temporarily)? There are a few possible explanations, it may be that during a switch the sensor gets cleaned re-positioned correctly etc. A hard reset on electronics can interrupt faulty feedback and set a clean slate. It clears the RAM and so things start off before there was a problem. It's a temporary fix. And it would come back if there is a sensor problem because eventually a false positive will get thrown again and then the team is right back where they started. 

This leads into what happened this race. There was a serious problem, Charles was losing a lot of power, and this again makes me suspect it’s a sensor associated with some crucial feedback from the power unit. So after trying to troubleshoot to see if there was actually a problem and they were unable to find evidence of a physical issue Ferrari decided to do the last resort which was a full reset on the car. This is not ideal because it takes time, and during a race that was time Charles just didn’t have. However the reset did seem to clear up the issue. This happens with electronic problems because if there is a part or sensor that is giving bad information, a reset clears the RAM and all the old codes are gone, so the system is no longer operating under the assumption something is wrong. 

To solve this problem Ferrari are going to have to do some serious trouble shooting for the connection between the control unit, the sensors and the power unit. It seems like each time this comes up they get a little closer to identifying the issue. 

One good takeaway from all of this is it does seem like there aren’t any fatal flaws with any of Charles’ PUs, and that is good because we were getting concerned about him likely having to take a penalty sometime this season if he needed a fifth. At this point it’s looking less likely, but I would not rule it out. 

Data Analysis

Charles' data is clearly compromised by the problems he encountered. And we can look at the data to find out just how much he was impacted by the CU problem.

Here is a look at Charles' best lap prior to the electrical reset in the pits(RED) and his best lap after the problem was fixed(WHITE)

For three periods during the earlier lap he had DRS open, which is the only reason he was even close, without DRS he would have been even further off in speed. And he had no DRS in use on the later lap. So the problem being solved made him faster than before even when he was using DRS. It also allowed him to take corners better.

To really put it into perspective I chose Max's best inter lap from that second stint as well to compare.

Here the difference is clearer, where Charles top speeds were lacking before and then after he was actually faster. These laps are from different times and are subject to slightly different track conditions. The main thing to highlight is that change in top speed, and how after Charles was achieving competitive speeds. Unfortunately by that time it was too late. These are good speeds, but they are not "make up an entire lap and climb back into the points" speeds.

Now I want to compare Charles' and Carlos' pace. There are a lot of variables that were constantly changing so do keep that in mind.

*Note: because of the nature of this race and the lower lap times on inters F1 tempo read almost all early laps as "outliers" so I had to show those as well, the slower laps here are from the safety car and pitstops.

The most notable thing is that even with a serious problem Charles was on pace with his teammate who did not have the same issue. This tells me two things. 1. Charles was driving exceptionally. 2. The car setup likely played a greater role in the non-competitive pace. Also being stuck in the midfield likely did not help either Carlos or Charles.

Overall, I was very impressed with Charles performance this race. He was overtaking, driving in mixed conditions, while taking directions from Bryan and changing the settings on his car literally every lap to troubleshoot the power issue he was having. He was running the same race as everyone else while also trying to reprogram his car. I can’t believe he was keeping up and was doing so without any serious errors while his attention was severely split. Not only that his pace was the same or better than his teammate who did not have the same mechanical issue, but he was overtaking. This was actually one of the best drives of the race, and it was masked by the car problems.

 

Carlos

One of the biggest questions was what happened to Carlos’ pace and speed. He didn’t have the same mechanical problems as Charles so why wasn’t he much faster? Well I suspect that one factor is he is still running on his second PU, and I believe we will see that changed before the Spanish GP. Both Ferrari cars were not there in terms of performance this weekend, and I think that was for various reasons. I won’t attribute all of his issues to that, as it’s a guess on my part, though it seems it’s about time for the replacement there, even if there are no issues, the mileage may warrant it. 

Edit: Carlos also took minor damage to his front wing and floor early in the race when he made contact with Valtteri, this most certainly also affected his overall speed and pace.

Also the car setup not being optimal likely would affect Carlos more than Charles as since upgrades Charles has been ahead in extracting speed out of the car. The fact that they were close tells me that this was a setup issue and not really a serious failure on the part of the driver. 

Carlos ran a very standard race, relaying good info back to the pitwall and managing well under the mixed conditions. He wasn’t doing much in the way of climbing, stuck in the mid-field mess with a car that was not all there this weekend. 

His race ended when he made an attempt to pass Alex on lap 53. He made contact and both cars lost grip and spun out. This probably happened because he lost traction due to the damp track. This incident was his fault, the footage is pretty clear on this. The move was risky in the mixed conditions. He took responsibility and that is what we like to see from drivers when things like this happen. I get the need to take a risk. It was really the only way to try to salvage Ferrari’s race. After a long race of very few errors one cost him his race. So given that the conditions were tough I am not too concerned about this. It’s a disappointing result for sure, but a lot of drivers were making errors, it’s just unfortunate his led to a DNF. 

I will say I am actually very pleased with the teamwork this weekend when facing very difficult conditions. The communication was there, things were transparent. Carlos was relaying helpful info back to the pitwall for Charles. And afterwards the team as a whole was very transparent and informative about what happened. This felt so different from seasons past. Tempers and tensions ran high, but that was out of frustration for the situation not the team. It’s easy to confuse those. Bryan was doing great, one of the communication blips we saw was when he was trying to hide how much pace was being lost in a strategic attempt to stay in the game, but Charles knew it was already too late. The team wasn’t perfect this weekend. But seeing them go through a lot of things going wrong and this being the result made me feel even more confident in the team overall. We have a team that communicates and owns their mistakes. That is a positive. It was good to see how the team handled everything going wrong, and I am not displeased with the outcome on that front. It’s easy to make the new team look good when things are going smoothly, but this weekend showed a stark difference in this new team and management compared to years past. 

Furthermore I am very pleased with the transparency from the team, from Fred to the drivers, on what went wrong and what can be done to improve. This is a really good sign, and I liked that Charles and Carlos were able to say what they wanted. It was helpful in understanding this weekend, and continuing to build trust in the team even with a poor result. 

Ferrari really looked a lot worse this weekend because of continued bad gambles on weather conditions. That is very unlucky and there isn't a way to avoid that. The rest was due to the mechanical failure on Charles' car, and one error from Carlos.

One highlight was that Ferrari had the fastest pitstop, so our pit crew were pulling their weight for our drivers who were dealing with rough conditions.

Not a good race result but also I think there were some positive showings from the team and this doesn't look like it's exposed anything fundamentally wrong with the operation.

Red Bull

Now while Red Bull won the race, and Max had a really great drive the team had a lot of problems this weekend. Before I talk about the team issues we will look at Max's win, how it came about and his main competitors this race.

Max

Given the weather being a significant factor, this race was not going to be won by speed, but rather the driver near the front who was the most consistent and made the fewest errors, and it should come as no surprise that the driver who won was the most consistent and made the fewest errors. 

This was probably Max’s best race this year in terms of him showing his skill on track and why he’s really the best and the one to beat. He had some luck, but the win was most certainly due to his superior driving, ability to control the cars behind and of course lack of error in mixed conditions. It was not a perfect race from him, but he won based on the fact he made the fewest mistakes of all the cars at the front, and that really came down to his skill behind the wheel. 

There are very few instances where you can see Max lose grip even a little. He was so smooth in keeping on the racing line, and also keeping control if his wheels deviated from the line. 

Also he did set a very good qualifying lap, the same as the time George got for pole, even though Max didn’t start on pole he did set the same time so he was just as fast. 

It really was his consistency in these ever changing and mixed conditions that won him the race. I’d call this his best drive of the season. 

Data Analysis

I am going to cover Max, George, and Lando’s race data here as comparing the top three was the real story behind this race and Max’s win, it made the most sense to have it all together. 

This race was not one where I am as concerned with pure speed, because in the rain that matters less than racecraft and control over the car. Given most drivers struggle to some extent in the rain mistakes are bound to happen. 

A look at the top 3's final stints, this was when the race was won or lost. All cars were close, and everyone was looking quick. Here it's very clear Lando did not have the speed to catch Max those final ten laps. He was consistently off. Max was actually the one on the oldest tyres too. Only by a few laps, and George had the newest, so the other two were not slower due to tyre age. The interesting thing here was George was faster than Max on a few laps(He was on the newest tyres at this point). He really did have great speed this race, but you can see where the error he made cost him the place.

Now let's look at the full race between these three.

*Note: again I had to include all outlier laps to show the full race perspective

Lando was only faster in the second half of his first stint. I suspect that something about specific track grip and conditions then was in his favor. After that his pace was the same or slower. So he was not going to be keeping that lead he had. He didn’t have the speed, and he certainly didn’t have the consistency. 

George was faster, and I state later that this was George’s race to lose and he lost it, almost entirely due to his own errors. He was right on that competitive pace all race. Pretty much identical to Max, which after their qualifying that did not come as a surprise. What cost him were several errors where he lost grip. I indicated them with arrows, you you can see the laps where he lost control stand out on their own.

It was that final error that sealed George's fate. He was speeding up, he had the pace to make an attempt at closing that gap, and he lost it.

While Lando had more micro errors, a few points of lost grip, wiggling on the track etc. George had bigger errors. And his final one likely cost him P2 and possibly the win. He was faster, he had the speed to be able to at the very least catch Lando, he had fresher tyres, but it was lap 64 where he lost grip and went off that cost him. Without that he very likely would have been able to catch Lando in those final laps. Catching Max was more of a long shot but he might have been able to get within striking distance. 

Max won not because he gained track position due to a safety car, there was a lot of race left and a few more pitstops to be had, as well as another safety car for all those cars to catch up to him again. He won because he was in control on that track as the conditions changed, he didn’t need to be fastest(though make no mistake he was fast) he just needed to put in consistent laps times and defend, and he did just that. 

Red Bull and Sergio

Now Red Bull had a very serious problem. One I find to be very concerning in terms of “strategy” as well as safety. And this is the fault of neither of their drivers, who were simply doing their jobs, this was a problem behind the pitwall.

When Checo spun out on lap 52 he was told by the team to drive the car back to the pits. Checo lost control of the car and spun when he got the right side off the racing line and his hard tyres hit the wet on the track. This caused him to spin, with his rear wing crashing into the wall and being severely damaged. 

He drove back to the pits under team orders. 

This order from the team to drive back to the pits was concerning for 2 reasons:

Safety, both Checo’s safety and the safety of every other car on track. His rear wing had been severely damaged and was spreading debris. Other drivers noted this and were concerned by this as well. 

Red Bull admitted both over comms and when investigated by the stewards that the reason for this order was to prevent another safety car from being called out. At this point Max had the lead of the race and another safety car at this point would not have been good for him(at least this was the team’s belief). 

Here is the rule that the team admitted they broke. Checo had significant damage. Which means he needed to stay off the track. Red Bull told him to re-take the track and run all the way back to the pits while his rear wing was severely damaged. Checo was already off the track, so the only thing he needed to do was wait and the marshals would have helped under a safety car to get his car taken care of.

This was a choice made to try to make gains for Max, at Checo’s expense and really the potential expense of every other driver on the field(including Max, he was not immune to getting a puncture from debris either) This lack of concern for driver safety is unacceptable from the team. The team was fined and Checo will have to serve a starting grid penalty next race through no real fault of his own. The team truly failed both their drivers with this call in my opinion, Checo paid the steeper price but this could have ended badly for Max’s race as well. 

The most confusing part of this to me is why they needed Checo to come back to the pits. There was an escape lane off the track right where Checo spun off, all he needed to do was turn left. And there was another track exit at turn 8. Why did he need to progress around the entire lap back to the pits spreading debris? Why they didn’t tell him to just drive there to get off the track completely is beyond me. It would have probably just been a temporary yellow flag then. Would that not have also avoided a safety car like they wanted? It just made this whole thing feel like more of an unnecessary risk. I don’t think it was directly malicious on the team’s part, it was just really stupid and unnecessarily risky. Again, this was also risky to Max’s race, he could have gotten a puncture from this and that most assuredly would have cost him the race. 

The team admitted to breaking the rules in an attempt to secure a race result for their driver. This should carry a much stiffer penalty for the team than a 25,000 euro fine and a grid penalty. I’d increase the fine substantially so that it really actually hurt the team and they feel real consequences. This was the team’s fault so I think the team as a whole should be punished rather than singling out a driver. The best way is through a bigger fine, then the drivers don’t pay the price

Truly the worst display we’ve seen from any team all year in terms of how they chose to handle things. This cannot happen again. And the thing is that this isn’t speculation. Red Bull have admitted that they knew in the moment that Checo’s damage would be safety car worthy, and ordered him to return anyway, also forgoing the option to take track exits before the pitlane. They admitted that the reason for making him return was to avoid the safety car being brought out. 

I have seen this compared to “crashgate” or some other form of race fixing. This is truly an insane comparison. Race fixing is a serious accusation and it requires forethought. This was just the team trying to weasel out of a bad situation and intentionally breaking the rules to do it, they were reacting to something that happened, not planning to create a situation that would win them the race. This wasn’t race fixing. We need to make sure that accusation means something and this wasn’t it. 

Furthermore, the assessment from the team that this was necessary to keep Max in the lead was I think a misjudgement. If the safety car had come out would Max have been guaranteed to lose the lead? I am not convinced. With the safety car I am fairly confident Max would have kept the lead, but we might have seen Mclaren fall behind the Mercedes faster. Max’s driving having the fewest errors(after Lewis) is what was going to keep him ahead. 

And the funny thing is that we don’t even have to speculate because the safety car did come out literally a lap later after Carlos and Alex collided. The field backed up to Max, the Mercedes cars were able to pit, and Max stayed in front. So that shows a few things. 1. That the safety car is not what won Max the race, and 2. A safety car at that point in the race was not going to compromise Max’s race to the point he lost position. 

Tis is on the team. Checo made a mistake, and Max did nothing wrong. The drivers were just doing their jobs. My harshness is meant to be directed at the team behind the pitwall, not the drivers in this situation. 

It’s just unfortunate that something like this kind of shadows things for the team when they should be celebrating another win, and a milestone for Max.

Mercedes

Somehow this was Mercedes best result but one of their most mixed performances. George qualified on pole, and Lewis P7. George finished third, bringing home Mercedes first GP podium of the year, and Lewis came in P4. These are the team's best finishing results and best qualifying results, so on paper a very good weekend for the team. However things during the race and behind the scenes were not so great. 

George

This was George’s race to lose. He qualified on pole. He had a car with the pace and speed to win. And it was due to several large errors on his part that he lost those places both to Max and Lando. Furthermore his craft in defending against Lando left a lot to be desired. He’s usually a much better driver. But this weekend George really defeated himself. He had some very good moments, but considering he had the ingredients for a win this weekend P3 is not a good final outcome. 

I will highlight that he did have some good overtakes and his speed was quite good. And of course that qualifying lap was his best driving all year. However he lost control of the car at multiple key moments(most notably on lap 64), and also failed to defend effectively against Lando. 

Lewis

Lewis had a very interesting race. During the GP he looked the most competitive he’s been all year. Moving quickly up the field, applying pressure to Oscar and eventually getting past him, getting past George for a few laps. Gaining 3 places in mixed conditions through overtaking skill was really a good showing from him. He really showed that no matter the car he’s in he will be competitive in the rain. 

Given the way he was racing I think had he had a better qualifying result he’d have been far more competitive than George at the front. He is always solid in the rain and he likely would have made fewer mistakes and been able to control the pace of the cars behind better. 

Lewis’ qualifying was really impacted by poor tyre warming. He mentioned that his garage didn’t have his tyres warmed up to the correct temperature so he was out on cooler tyres from the start. Given the pace we saw from him during the race I do believe this was the case, because he clearly had very similar speed to George in that car. In fact he was faster than George during free practice sessions(not that those are always indicative of true pace) So that does explain his significantly different qualifying results. Which is a shame because both Mercedes starting at the front would have been a very different race. 

Now onto the issue Mercedes had. 

The first would be not getting Lewis’ tyres prepped correctly for qualifying. There isn’t anything he can do about that, he has to work with what he’s given and he was given something that wasn’t going to be able to compete at the front in qualifying. 

Second, the issue of allowing George and Lewis to race. While I understand that yes sometimes this is fine on a team. It really felt like it was unexpected to Lewis, especially after he’d shown he can take places, while George had mostly lost them. I am not sure strategically it was best to risk having the drivers go wheel to wheel especially on a track with changing traction. I get that George was on the faster tyres and they wanted George to have the chance to take his places back since he did start on pole, but at that point in the race it was extremely unlikely. So it just felt unnecessary. I think revealed a little bit of tension in the team. Which not good to see the first weekend they are looking really competitive. 

A quick look at the final bit of the race between George and Lewis.

Lewis was doing amazing on those hard tyres, speed wise he was not even significantly far off his teammate who was on mediums. This is why George was able to catch Lewis and overtake him though, he was on newer rubber and softer rubber so he had the speed advantage. Lewis wasn't going to be able to catch him once he passed.

So good results for Mercedes, however errors cost them higher places, and I think that management in the garages also was very mixed. 

Mclaren

This was not a great race for Mclaren. On paper their results look good, but this race had several poor strategy calls as well as quite a few errors from their lead driver. They were in contention for the win. And yes, the safety car aided Max, however Mclaren defeated themselves both behind the pitwall and on the track more than anything. 

Lando

Lando showed what I suspected. That yes in a fast car he can overtake cars which are not on pace, however when it comes to really applying pressure and racing in mixed conditions his performance starts to wane. As well as when the pace is essentially equal as we saw in the later half of this race he isn't making gains. He was pretty good at first but as the race progressed he was being caught out by the mixed track conditions as well as not able to handle pressure from behind cost him his places. 

He was in a fast car, but his driving was riddled with mistakes, the car kept him at the front but he missed quite a few overtake opportunities because he was too aggressive on the throttle, wasn’t finding the grip, and just getting sloppy. None of that was the best we’ve seen from him. In another race those kinds of things would have been more costly. Luckily for Lando other drivers were making more errors.

His main competition this race was George. Who was fast, but due to several errors that cost him time lost places. His final placement was as much due to poorer driving on the part of his main competition(George) rather than a really competitive showing from him. That is a part of the sport, good on him for capitalizing on that.

And yes the first safety car backed up the field and allowed Max to retake the front. However, there was a second safety car where Lando was placed to catch up to Max. He had the chance to overtake there again and couldn’t do it. 

But this isn’t all on Lando. Mclaren made some bad strategy calls that put Lando on new tyres and losing places in the pits at the wrong time. He stayed out an extra lap during the safety car, I think the team wanted to see if he could keep track position. The result put him on the back foot and allowed him to be undercut by Max on newer tyres, because he did have to pit the next lap. If he hadn't he would have been worse off and lost even more places. I think this was just the team being reluctant to give up track position, but it was just a bad pit call under the safety car conditions that neutralized the lead Lando had built. So I am not sure what they were going for or why they believed Max was not going to re-take the lead given the circumstances.

To be clear the timing allowed for Lando to be able to pit, the team could have gotten him there, this wasn't a case of the safety car placement preventing that. The team needed to make that call quickly, and they didn't. These are the kinds of things that make the difference when competing at the front. Mclaren have not had the best season so far as far at pit stop timing goes, the results have been mixed. So the team really failed him on that. He would have been much better positioned the rest of the race had they pit at the right time.

Lando made mistakes and his competitive pace was there, but it wasn't that extra speed from the beginning for most of the race. He cannot account for the team misjudging things like that. He doesn’t have the same perspective they do. 

He talked about his amazing pace but then that first safety car being what ended his race. But his pace the rest of the race didn't reflect that earlier pace. And there was another safety car where he was positioned to be able to catch Max. It's not like he was stuck on older tyres the rest of the race and Max created an insurmountable lead. And what happened to that amazing pace from earlier? I think he didn't manage the continuously changing track conditions as well and that would explain why his pace was still good, but no that significantly faster pace we saw near the beginning. So his argument about that one safety car being what cost them the race really falls apart.

Overall very mixed performance from Lando. There were some good moments, but the lows were costly, and we got a look at how he handles pressure from behind as well as if he can catch Max in equal conditions and the answer was no. 

Oscar

Oscar again had a similar story to Lando in the sense that Mclaren strategy did him no favors. 

Oscar had really good pace most of the race and was matching his teammate competitively and this was while he was in dirty air from Lando. The interesting thing was on lap 61 when Mclaren asked Oscar if he thought he’d be able to take Max at the front.

Lando was not making any progress at shortening the gap to Max at this point, and Oscar's pace was more competitive at this point. The numbers don't reflect this directly but the circumstance does. Lando had clean air, Oscar didn't and Oscar was still on pace with Lando. So from Mclaren's perspective Oscar was looking better for a proper fight.

I was actually surprised to hear this from Mclaren as I was so certain they would not really give this kind of opportunity to Oscar if Lando was ahead. Strategy wise it made sense to try to push the faster car ahead. However when under pressure from a car that was less than a second behind and faster. The choice not to swap here is what really determined the rest of Oscar’s race because then Mclaren really went ahead in making sure their full support was going to Lando to help him stay at the front of the field, with Oscar’s job being to keep George back(and we saw how that went) it was almost inevitable that George would pass.

As interested as I was in this question from Mclaren, I again think they had the timing wrong. Oscar was under so much pressure from George, he almost got overtaken twice the lap they asked that. That was not the time to ask. And also to consider the move at that point was too risky.

Furthermore this would have been a bad call, they were too quick to judge the pace. They asked Oscar this on lap 61. The previous lap was after the warmup from the pits, and that lap looked like Max and Oscar and Lando were matched on pace, with Oscar and Lando slightly ahead.

Here you can see that after the pit outlap on lap 60 that is the one lap this final stint where the Mclaren cars were faster than Max, by 2+ tenths. However after that Max pulled away. The Mclaren cars were in the low 1:16 area and Max was pulling consistent 1:15s. They literally were making this call off the one lap the times converged thinking it was indicative of the pace for the rest of the stint.

Max pulled ahead with significantly better pace. Lando wasn't going to catch him and neither was Oscar. Mclaren would have ordered this based on the one singular lap they were faster than Max that last stint and it likely would have cost them both places to the Mercedes. This was a bad data interpretation and possible strategy that Oscar saved them from.

Here is a look at that same data in graph form to really visualize where the times came together and where Max pulled away.

I think this was actually pretty shrewd on Oscar's part. If he’d fumbled that swap by even a half second(or even less) both Mercedes likely would have ended up ahead of the Mclarens. We saw he was not able to hold Lewis back forever. And so he was actually better on the strategy than Mcalren who were more concerned about pace, but his choice made it so Lando could keep attempting to put pressure on Max, rather than having to contend with George and Lewis coming from behind. He very likely prevented a Mercedes 2-3 with this choice. So I was really impressed with his maturity and strategic mind when under pressure like this. 

Probably Oscar's best performance on track and in terms of strategy. Really impressed me on a few fronts. Mclaren I don’t think were seeing as much of the big picture, or really wanted to take that gamble. I will hand it to them, they did ask their driver his opinion and went with his choice. But I think that considering a swap there was kind of crazy seeing how much pressure Oscar was under, Lewis was barely outside of DRS and he was at some points. 

A look at Oscar and Lando's pace in the final stints. Lando was faster most laps. Oscar did well this race, however by the end the tyres seemed to be getting to him again, especially having to do a lot of defense and being in more dirty air compared to Lando. Also remember that Oscar was in dirty air for way more of this race than Lando and that is also reflected in those final laps.

Good race result for both Mclaren cars, but this race had a few very odd strategy calls that likely cost both drivers, or would have cost them more if they'd acted on them.

Williams

Williams somehow managed to have their best and worst weekend at the same time. Best because this was the best performance they have seen from their car and both their drivers in qualifying all year with Alex qualifying P10 and Logan in P13. 

Not only that, Alex had probably the most impressive move of the entire race where he overtook both Yuki and Daniel. That move was impressive because not only was it a double overtake in a trickier spot on the track. He needed to leave the racing line to do it, getting his tyres on a wetter part of the track. He maintained perfect control. You can see the other two cars he passed wiggle when they left in similar wet patches during that pass. Just some truly impressive racecraft and control on Alex’s part. 

Unfortunately William’s saw both drivers DNF. Logan lost control of his car and was unable to recover it, bringing out that first safety car. 

Alex DNFed after Carlos tried to pass on lap 53 and made contact, taking them both out of the race. 

Logan was at fault for his DNF. He struggles in the rain and he paid the price. 

Alex unfortunately lost the most as he was having his best race of the season and was taken out through no fault of his own. 

Mixed results. However I think that this race did show that the Williams upgrades have given pace to the car and the team does stand a good chance of scoring more points. Alex especially seems to be more and more comfortable in the car every race. I was wondering if Monaco would be a one-off for the team, it seems it wasn’t and Williams may be on an upward trajectory with their car’s performance. 

Haas

Haas really stole the show at the start of the race with their choice to start both their drivers on wet tyres instead of intermediate like the rest of the field. The rain at the start of the race was not expected to last, so starting on wets was a gamble, and it paid off incredibly on that front. Kevin climbed from P14 to P4 in a matter of a few laps because of the better grip he had. 

Nico similarly climbed the field, and lasted even longer on the wets. 

The reasoning behind this strategic gamble was to try to climb the field early to gain much higher track positions, and then try to hold as many of those as possible for the rest of the race, acting on the assumption they would get passed by a few cars. If it had worked as intended then it likely would have been a points finish for both drivers. 

This was also Kevin and Nico's best driving of the year. Kevin passed so many cars with very low visibility, and Nico extended the grip of the wets as long as he could. 

However Haas shot themselves in the foot when they were unprepared for Kevin’s pitstop for inters, and that lost him almost all the positions gained on the wets. They finished just outside the points, so this very likely would have made the difference.

Haas had a good strategy, it’s a shame we didn’t get to see it pay off. Both drivers did well this weekend. 

Kevin started P14 and finished P12, while Nico started P17 and finished P11. 

Final Thoughts

Since this was a rain race I want to give credit to the drivers who really showed their skill in the wet. First Max, for his consistency, then to Alex for some really impressive moves in wet conditions, to Kevin for a really impressive climb up the field with very low visibility, and to Lewis who gained places continuously throughout the race. I will also give an honorable mention to Charles because he was driving in those same conditions, not losing pace to his teammate, overtaking, all while changing settings on his car every single lap to solve a mechanical issue. We saw some really high quality driving this race.

On the teams front this race was interesting as all top teams made some pretty serious errors when it came to strategy, from consistently getting the weather wrong to intentionally breaking the rules this was kind of a mess.

Interesting race, one to forget as a Ferrari fan, but we learned a lot.

That's all I've got. See you next time we go racing in Spain!

[sm0lprism]

Bite-Sized (11) - A BG3 G/t fanfic

This contains g/t (giant/tiny content) so if that isn't your thing, then I suggest you stop reading. Thank you!

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 | Previous chapter| Next chapter | Series master list

Summary: Astarion devises a plan to find Ria, while Ria herself ventures into the depths of the Goblin Camp to track down Minthara.

Pairing: Astarion x f!borrower!oc (Tav/oc) (slow-burn)

Warnings: Dehumanisation, LOTS OF FEARPLAY, swearing/course language, threats of violence, violence, blood, gore. Ria is treated awfully, bearing in mind Minthara is under the influence of the Absolute here.

Word count: 5.1k

All Astarion could do was watch helplessly as the tiny borrower disappeared into the hole in the wall to the Goblin Camp, his fingers only managing to brush through her auburn hair moments before she vanished into the wall. His face tightened as he gritted his teeth in frustration, and stretched back up to his full height. A flicker of guilt bloomed in his chest as he processed the situation. Ria had run away from him because of what he had just put her through, and there was no doubt that the whole ordeal had resurfaced some unpleasant memories for her from when they had first met. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling guilty, but the feeling refused to leave him.

His tongue swirled around in his jaw, feeling what remained of her taste in his mouth, along with the taste of his own blood from where she had stabbed him repeatedly. He couldn’t deny it, but she had tasted delicious on his tongue, and he immediately felt a pang in his stomach reminding him of his insatiable hunger. It would’ve been so easy for him to swallow her right then and there, and a large part of him had been incredibly tempted to do just that, but he had resisted. While he would never admit it out loud, a small part of him was beginning to grow rather fond of the borrower.

Gods, the tadpole must’ve eaten a hole in my brain for me to be feeling like this about a borrower of all creatures.

He could only hope that Ria would be smart enough to stick to the shadows and hide, or at least hide long enough until he found her. He hated to think what Lae’zel would do to him if she found out that her tiny apprentice had been killed in the Goblin Camp because he had brought her there. Not to mention Ria was completely unarmed, her only weapon stubbornly lodged inside his mouth. Running his tongue along his teeth, he soon felt the small handle of Ria’s dagger near the back of his throat. The weapon was stuck in the flesh of his gums, giving him a piercing pain in his jaw. Grunting in frustration, he attempted to manoeuvre the blade with his tongue, but the blade refused to budge. If only he could look in a mirror, he would probably have better luck removing it, although that was certainly not an option with his affliction.

“A-ha! There you are!”

Astarion turned on his heel to see the familiar face of the wizard, his eyes scanning the vampire spawn up and down as he tried to make sense of what he had just walked in on.

“Care to explain what you’re doing Astarion?” Gale asked, his brows furrowing.

“Nothing that concerns you Gale,” Astarion retorted, swallowing the gathering pool of saliva down his throat, along with the last remaining taste of the borrower in his mouth.  

Gale arched one eyebrow at Astarion, clearly not completely convinced.

“I saw you were acting rather strange around the goblins,” Gale remarked. “I didn’t see the whole event that transpired, but what happened exactly?”

A flicker of panic stirred in his chest as the wizard probed him for questions. It was fine, Gale had no idea that Ria was even here, or that she had become all too familiar with his mouth against her will. But even still, he knew the wizard was the sharpest out of everyone in his little group. He had to make sure that Gale wouldn’t detect anything suspicious.

“Oh, the goblins?” Astarion chuckled. “They insisted that I try some of their wretched beer. Of course I obliged them, I didn’t want to seem rude. It was positively foul, mind you. I would not recommend it.”

“Note taken,” Gale replied. “I suppose you can tell Karlach that later, she seemed ecstatic to try some.” The wizard paused, his gaze flicking over Astarion’s mouth for a moment. “Do you have something stuck in your teeth?”

Astarion’s eyes widened. “N-no, of course not! Why would there be?” He cleared his throat. “It’s not like I eat solid food.”

Gale pursued his lips, his brows knitting together as he eyed up the vampire spawn.

“Alright then,” Gale said after what felt like years. “We’re going to head inside the Goblin Camp now. Wyll and Karlach are already waiting inside.”

“Right,” Astarion replied, an idea hatching in his brain. “Why don’t you three go ahead, I’ll catch up in my own time. I might investigate to see if the goblins have any loot worth taking.”

Gale wetted his lips, mulling over Astarion’s suggestion.

“Hmm…okay. Are you sure you want to do that? It’s probably best if we stick together.”

“Trust me, Gale, I can meld into the shadows a lot better without having to worry about the three of you,” Astarion said. “I’ll catch up with you later. Besides, we’d be able to cover more ground if we split up.”

If I can leave the group, then I can find Ria by myself, and they won’t have to know a thing, he thought to himself, hoping that Gale would agree to his idea.

“I suppose that is a fair point,” Gale answered. “Just make sure to let us know if you happen to come across the druid. We need to get him out if we want to have any hope of resolving the conflict in the grove.”

“Absolutely,” Astarion replied with a sly smile. Good. Gale had bought it. Now he had a chance of finding Ria, hopefully before Minthara did.

***

Darkness soon smothered Ria’s body as she scrambled through the small opening in the wall, she could still hear Astarion’s voice shouting her name from the outside but she did not pay him any mind. Despite his attempt at drying her, her body was still damp and cold from his saliva, which made her shiver as she ran through the entrance. Forcing back more tears, she darted through the dark as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. She could see that she was inside the walls of the main building of the Goblin Camp, stone surrounding every inch and corner with no visible end in sight. At this point, she didn’t really care where she ended up, all that mattered was that she got as far away from Astarion as much as possible. She continued to race forward, her breathing ragged and heavy, until she saw a glowing orb of light up ahead.

A way out.

Clambering with every ounce of energy left in her body, she forced herself onwards until she reached the end of the tunnel. She tentatively poked her head out of the opening and held her breath. She was in the interior of the Goblin Camp, the stone walls seemed to stretch on forever as she gazed upwards and shuddered at the gruesome décor. Bones were strung high across the walls and pillars, illuminated dimly by flickering candlelight. The smell of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils and she had to force herself not to gag or make any noise in fear of outing herself. The walls were cold and clammy to the touch, and mingled in with the scent of burning flesh, she could detect traces of old blood present on the stone. Rumbling footsteps of the goblins vibrated through her skeleton and she stiffened as large feet walked right across from her. Fortunately, they didn’t see her as they stomped on, completely oblivious to the tiny borrower infiltrating their camp.

“Praise the Absolute!” The goblins chanted, throwing their fists in the air as they marched further into the building.

What in the hells is the Absolute?

Ria had heard this word uttered a few times by some of the goblins, but she still had no idea what it meant. Was it a cult or following of some kind? She had no idea, but whatever it was, it certainly couldn’t be any good.

I need to find Minthara.

Her original goal resurfaced in her brain, reminding her of the task at hand and her whole reason for coming to this awful place to begin with. She needed to find Minthara and fast, before she was spotted by any of the goblins there. She quietly snuck outside of the hole in the wall and moved down the interior of the building, clinging to the walls and doing her best to meld into the shadows. She managed to pass by multiple goblin guards completely unseen, not one of them so much as glancing down in her direction. Thanks to her diminutive size, being dunked in alcohol, and, much to her distaste, Astarion’s saliva, the goblins acted as if she didn’t exist and allowed her to slip into the frays of the camp.

Gingerly, she sniffed her skin and almost recoiled as the pungent smell of alcohol filled her nostrils, not to mention the metallic scent of blood mixed in which almost made her nauseous. As much as she hated to admit it, perhaps being swirled around inside Astarion’s mouth hadn’t been all for waste as she smelled nothing like her usual self.

As much as I hate this, at least this means that the goblins won’t notice me, she thought bitterly to herself, longing for nothing more than a nice warm soak to scrub away the scent of blood and beer out of her skin, and the remaining traces of Astarion’s saliva.

As she ventured further into the inner dwellings of the camp, she realised that she had utterly no idea where Minthara was, or what she even looked like. As the realisation dawned on her, more thunderous footsteps shook the ground violently and she quickly pressed her back against a wall and held her breath.

Gods, this was not a good idea…why did I ever think this was a good idea?

“Our ladyship Minthara wishes to speak with you,” One of the goblins that walked past Ria grumbled, pointing at a different goblin with a brown hood over his head. “She said somethin’ about your scouting party not returnin’ yet.”

The goblin with the hood visibly stiffened, fear flickering across his eyes. “O-oh, right, thanks for that. I will go see her ladyship immediately.”

This was her chance. If she followed the hooded goblin, she would find Minthara. Once the coast was clear, she lunged forward to the hooded goblin and grasped onto his leather boots. As she clung on for dear life, she forced herself not to gasp as the goblin began to move, completely oblivious to the tiny hitchhiker on his shoes. The movement was staggering and her vision quickly became a blurred mess as the goblin stepped forward. Everything moved at such a frightening rate and it caused her stomach to lurch with each thundering footfall that the goblin took, sending rattling vibrations throughout her entire body as his foot collided with the stone floor. She hoped that the goblin didn’t have to walk far to reach Minthara, she wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take without emptying the contents of her stomach.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait too long for the goblin to reach his destination. He finally stopped moving, his feet now at a standstill, which allowed Ria to catch her breath and force herself not to hurl. Her vision was blurry due to moving around on the goblin’s boot, and she couldn’t quite make out where she was as everything was spinning around her. While she couldn’t see very well currently, she could hear some loud voices coming from above.

“Your scouting party has not returned, and half of the intruders escaped your guards!” A raspy, feminine voice punctured through Ria’s eardrums as she clung to the goblin’s boot.

Is that Minthara?

“Sorry, Mistress,” the goblin replied. “We mucked up.”

Ria’s head had finally stopped spinning, and she quickly jumped off the goblin’s boot and dashed behind one of the many war drums that were scattered around the room. Chest heaving, she anxiously glanced upwards and saw a female drow looming over the hooded goblin, her face cold and full of rage.

That’s Minthara.

“Until their sanctuary is found, I will take something precious from you every hour that passes,” Minthara continued, her gaze as cold as ice as she glared at the goblin before her. “A trinket…a tongue…a limb.” Minthara said the final word with such an intensity it sent chills up Ria’s spine, and she was quickly starting to regret her decision for coming here by herself.

No, I’m here now, I must go through with this, she thought to herself, shaking away her clouded thoughts of doubt and returned her attention back to the goblin and the drow. She decided it was best to remain hidden for the time being, or at least until Minthara had cooled off.

“I ain’t no use without me limbs,” the goblin quickly retorted, his frame shrinking back as the drow leered over him threateningly. “The lads’ll make the prisoners squeal soon enough; I swear!”

“Silence now, creature. Or I will silence you forever.” Minthara’s words were scathing, and the goblin flinched back in fear as she glowered at him fiercely.

“Be gone, unless you want me to start removing those limbs of yours,” the drow hissed.

“Y-yes, of course your ladyship.” The goblin frantically hurried out of room, his footsteps sending off small tremors throughout the ground as he scrambled away.

Minthara heaved a rather exasperated sigh, massaging her fingers across her temple.

“If only I had been given drow warriors not pathetic goblin trash,” Minthara muttered under her breath, her lips pressing into a thin line as she sat down on a nearby chair and hunched over a stone table.

A moment of silence passed, Minthara seemingly absorbed in the parchment of paper that was on top of the table, and Ria steadied her breathing as she tried to think of what to do next. How in the hells was she meant to approach the drow? And if she did, just what exactly was she going to say? How would Minthara even react to her? Minthara certainly didn’t strike her as a kind person, and she hated to think how she would react to finding a borrower sneaking through the camp. A sinking feeling of dread began to fester in the pit of her stomach as she realised just how stupid she was for coming here alone. In the heat of the moment, she had abandoned all logic, only thinking about how far away she wanted to get away from Astarion. But in doing so, she had placed herself in an incredibly dangerous situation. Now she wasn’t sure how she was going to proceed. At least her scent was disguised for the time being, so perhaps there was a way she could leave the room undetected.

Gods, why did I leave Astarion?! He was my only protection!

She chewed on her bottom lip in frustration and scanned the room intently. There had to be some small crack in the wall that she could slip into, or some kind of hole she could hide in for the time being until she could think of a better solution. In her current spot behind the war drum, she was too exposed, it wouldn’t take much for a goblin or the drow to glance down and find her there. She had to get out of there quickly, before Minthara finished whatever she was drawing up on the stone table and looked in her direction. In the corner of her eye, Ria suddenly spotted a small crack in the wall, big enough that she would be able to fit into it without a problem. The only thing was, it meant that she would have to pass under Minthara’s table to reach it.

Ria inhaled a rather shaky breath as beads of sweat began to form on her forehead. She could do this. Passing by larger folk was something all borrowers were good at to survive, but she knew if she messed this up, it could mean dire consequences for her. She had to be perfectly quiet if she wanted to get out of the Goblin Camp alive. Without a second more of hesitation, she sprinted towards the stone table and quickly dashed underneath it. Minthara didn’t move a muscle, completely unaware of the tiny borrower that was currently right under her nose. Swallowing back the fear forming in her throat, she sneaked around Minthara’s metallic boots, being extremely careful not to accidentally bump into them. Her exit out of the camp was rapidly getting closer with each tiny footstep that she took, still being extremely careful, and her blood pounded harshly in her eardrums.

That’s it…just keep on going.

The scraping sound of metal against stone filled her eardrums, snapping her neck to look over her shoulder to see what the noise was, and a scream nearly jumped out of her throat as she saw Minthara’s boot swing towards her. Everything happened so quickly, she didn’t even have time to react as Minthara’s boot collided into her tiny frame, sending her spiralling out from underneath the stone table and into the open.

“What in the name of the Absolute?” Minthara’s voice thundered from above, her footsteps sending off tiny earthquakes through the floor.

Ria winced in pain, every inch of her body screaming in agony, the very wind had been knocked right out of her lungs as she gasped for oxygen. She attempted to climb to her feet, but her body refused to move. Instead, she was met with searing pain that flared over her body like fire. Rapidly blinking, she turned her gaze upwards, and saw the glaring face of the drow staring down at her.

“Ah, it seems I have found an intruder.” The air shook with the intensity of Minthara’s voice, and all the colour quickly drained from Ria’s face.

Shit!

Despite the burning pain throughout her little body, Ria forced herself to her feet and made a feeble attempt to run the opposite way.

“Hahaha. You are not getting away from me that quickly, vermin.”

Ria flinched as Minthara’s boot suddenly collided with the ground in front of her, sending a rattling impact throughout the floor that almost sent her flying off her feet. Hastily she scrambled to her feet once more and began to turn to run the other way, but large fingers enclosed around her body and hoisted her up into the air.

Frantically, Ria reached for her dagger, knowing that was the last resort at defending herself. A sinking feeling settled in her gut when she couldn’t feel the blade in its sheath.

My dagger…I left it in Astarion’s mouth. I’m so fucking stupid!

“Do my eyes deceive me or am I staring at a borrower?” Minthara mused, her fingers tightening their grip on Ria’s squirming body as she wrestled in the drow’s hand. “I haven’t seen your kind for quite some time. I thought you had all been killed like the insects you are.”

“Let go of me!” Ria yelled, her stomach churning with fear, but she held her gaze firmly on the giant drow. “I-I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

The drow stared at the borrower quizzically, her red eyes narrowing. “I find it extremely unusual for a borrower to willingly walk into a Goblin Camp, do you have a death wish little creature?” She paused, her gaze scrutinising Ria like some kind of specimen in a lab. “I know there’s more than what you’re telling me.”

Ria exhaled deeply, attempting to calm her nerves. She was here now; she might as well do what she came here for.

“I’ve heard that you know some things about borrowers being traded for their blood,” Ria said firmly. “Apparently you were involved in it. I want to know why it’s happened, and if it’s still happening now.” She swallowed audibly, staring into the drow’s red gaze. “Please tell me all that you know.”

The drow’s red eyes widened before she threw back her head and laughed rather menacingly.

“Oh, this is just divine. A borrower who is not aware of the properties of their own blood? I couldn’t think of anything funnier than that.”

A wicked grin spread across the drow’s face, sending a deathly chill down Ria’s spine.

“Please! You must tell me!” Ria pleaded, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest as she locked her gaze with the drow. “I…I really have no idea. I need to know.”

“Is that so?” Minthara smiled, arching one brow. “And what, exactly, do you plan to do if I provide you this information?”

Ria’s mouth parted open, but no words fell from her lips. Just what was she going to do when she found out? It would answer a lot of questions she had, but, if borrowers were being traded for their blood, what exactly could she do about it? Was she hoping to save the borrowers that had been traded for their blood? By herself, it was impossible. But perhaps with her new friends, maybe they would help her. Either way, even if she couldn’t do anything about it, she had to know that she wasn’t the last borrower. There had to be more of her kind out there, she refused to believe otherwise. And, if she found more borrowers, perhaps she could join their colony and finally live with her own kind.

“Going awfully quiet now, aren’t you?” Minthara’s gravelly voice rumbled through the air, her gaze hardening. “No matter, you’re lucky I find it so pitiful that you are so incredibly ignorant.” Her grip on the borrower tightened, almost crushing Ria in her slender fingers and she cried out in pain.  

“I used to catch the odd borrower and trade them to a drow who was a daughter of the fallen House Oblodra,” Minthara said. “She now resides in Moonrise Towers. I haven’t come across a borrower in years, until you came along.”

A deep cackle resonated in Minthara’s throat as she watched Ria continue to thrash in her grip. “And I believe she will be most pleased to find such a fine specimen like this. Your blood will fetch a lot of gold for me.”

Ria’s face paled, her tiny hands growing cold and clammy. The drow was going to sell her off for her blood, and there wasn’t anything she could do to stop her. Her mind raced as she tried to think of what to do as her heart threatened to burst out of her ribcage. The only thing she could do was stall Minthara – keep her talking in hopes that maybe, just maybe, Astarion or Gale and the others happened to show up, but it was unlikely. Astarion being the one to save her seemed very slim considering his disdain towards her. But she had to do something in the meantime, whether someone came to her rescue or not, at least until she could think of a better option. And there were plenty of questions she needed to ask the drow.

“Why is borrower blood so sought after?” Ria questioned genuinely.

Minthara’s eyes widened and she stifled another cackle. “Oh, this is hilarious. You truly are an ignorant little worm.” The drow leaned over her stone table and roughly tossed Ria onto the hard surface, sending her tumbling across the stone.

“Borrower blood is rife with magic, thanks to your fickle Fey ancestry,” Minthara said, looming over Ria’s tiny frame upon the stone table. “Vampires seem to be intoxicated as soon as they get a taste of it. They easily become addicted, as if it’s like a drug to them. They also happen to pay a lot of gold to have it in large amounts, which is why blood merchants will pay a high price to obtain borrowers to sell to their vampire clients.”

“W-what?” Ria croaked, her face falling upon hearing the words fall from the drow’s mouth, her brain attempting to process what she was saying. “You…you can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I am joking?” Minthara growled, causing Ria to flinch from the intensity in her loud voice. “I know many jokes, little rat, but I can assure you I am deadly serious. Is this too much for your miniscule brain to handle?”

The entire room began to spin as Ria’s body rapidly grew numb. No, this couldn’t be true. The drow’s words echoed in her brain, rattling her very core, refusing to let her be told anything else. Her tiny body trembled as a crushing sadness washed over her, sending her buckling to her knees as her body could no longer support her own weight. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but no sound could be mustered from her lips. She remained almost frozen on the stone table, her mind racing as she pieced everything together.

Is…is that why I haven’t seen another borrower for ten years? Is that why Mum and Dad never returned home all those years ago? Were they all taken to be sold off to blood merchants?

“I see this information has been quite the revelation for you, to say the least,” Minthara’s rumbling voice jolted Ria to her senses. “As amusing as it is watching you fall apart, it is time for you to be put in a cage.”

Ria stiffened. “A what?”

A rusty, metal bird cage was placed on top of the table right across from where Ria was kneeling. Minthara opened the door to the cage as a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“When I caught borrowers more frequently, this is how I contained them.” The drow lunged forward with outstretched fingers and squeezed Ria into her fist. “Fortunately for you, I never got rid of it.”

“No!” Ria shrieked as Minthara tossed her into the cage as if she were nothing.

The door locked shut and Ria felt her stomach sink to the floor. Scrambling to her feet, she rushed to the bars of the cage and rattled them with every ounce of strength she had left.

“Let me out!” she cried at the top of her lungs. “Please, you’re making a very big mistake!”

Minthara cackled, her laugh sending vibrations through the air that shook her bones to her very core.

“Oh, I think I’m doing quite the opposite.” Minthara held the cage up to her face, consuming all of Ria’s vision as she sneered at the borrower. “Araj will be most pleased when I give you to her.”

A cold sweat trickled down Ria’s neck as tears pricked her eyelids. She was completely helpless and there was nothing she could do to stop Minthara. Oh, how stupid she had been to come here alone.

Why did I have to be so foolish…

Tears welled up, blurring her vision as a mixture of emotions coursed through her body. Fear, sadness, resentment, but most prominently out of all the emotions that swirled inside her brain, anger began to burn as brightly as the sun.

This isn’t fair! THIS ISN’T FAIR!

Her entire body went rigid as a surge of heat flooded her senses. It almost felt as if electricity was beginning to fly from her fingertips as she allowed the emotion to take a hold of her. Suddenly, a blue light began to emit from Ria’s chest and quickly spread to the rest of her body. Her body felt charged, as if she was going to burst at any moment.

“What are you doing?” Minthara snapped, bewilderment spread across her face as she stared at the borrower inside the cage.

“I’m not letting you take me!” Ria shouted fiercely, sparks literally flying as a bolt of electricity shot straight out of her fingertips and directly onto Minthara’s astonished face.

Minthara yelled in surprise as the bolt of electricity hit her directly in the face and she dropped Ria’s cage in shock. She was now falling, everything a hazy blur, until the cage slammed into the hard floor below. The impact from the floor sent the cage door flying open, and as soon as Ria had gathered her senses, she leaped out without a moment’s hesitation. Rather breathlessly she scurried away from the towering drow, her body screaming in pain, and made a mad dash towards the large bridge that was laid out across the room.

“You insolent little pest!” Minthara’s voice bellowed like thunder from above, her large footfalls sending convulsions through the stony ground.

Ria had no idea how she had summoned the bolt of electricity, but it had provided her with an opportunity to escape, and if she didn’t act quickly, she would be in the drow’s clutches once more. She sprinted as fast as her small legs could carry her, adrenaline blazing through her body as she forced herself to keep moving forward. But her movements were no match for the drow. Minthara’s hand swooped down from above and crushed Ria in her vice-like grip once more.

“I should break you for such abhorrent behaviour,” Minthara snarled, her white hair frazzled and sticking out in places from where Ria had hit her with electricity. “You are lucky that you are more valuable to me alive.”

Out of desperation, Ria attempted to summon the electricity once more, but she was met with nothing. The feeling had vanished just as soon as it had taken a hold of her.

“N-no!” she cried out, tears running down her face as she squirmed in Minthara’s fist.

“Cease your whining,” Minthara hissed, reaching down to grab the cage from the floor. “Your kind are so utterly pathetic.”

Ria screamed as loud as she could, tears streaming down her face, but it made no difference. She was going to be traded off to some blood merchant and then most likely be consumed by some vampire.

“Silence!” Minthara snarled, her red stare furious. “Or I will-”

Minthara didn’t even get to finish her sentence as an arrow shot straight through her chest, causing her to stagger backwards from the sudden impact.

The drow’s eyes went wide with fear as she stared at the arrow now protruding out of her armour. Crimson began to leak out of the wound and she coughed out a splatter of blood.

“W-what-” Minthara wheezed as her fingers loosened their grip on the borrower, allowing her to drop to the ground.

No words managed to form on Ria’s lips as her body was now falling through the air, everything passing by in slow motion as she made her gruelling descent towards the hard floor. Just before everything went black, she saw a very familiar pale elf drive a dagger through Minthara’s chest.

She let the darkness take hold of her as everything faded away. Taglist: @rose7420 @empressxmachina @taters169 @smolgloves @smolkuriboh27 @alexcutecolly (if anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please feel free to dm me!)

[pinkandgoldensoul]

CL#16 || Mine First || tape b

Navigation || Masterlist

: ̗̀➛ tape b of the 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 series If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.

pairing: charles leclerc x female!reader x pierre gasly!bestfriend genre: childhood exes (?) to lovers, (fake) love triangle, fluff, a bit of angst tw: swearing, tiny suggestive crumb word count: 10.2k plot: going back to Monaco, you meet him again. Both being Pierre's friends, you're often trapped in the same room: it's inevitable for the past to resurface, through glances, dances, pages filled of ink.

Your walk inside the paddock was followed by gusts of wind throwing strands of hair in every direction, preys of the unpredictable, forcing you to move them out of your face repeatedly. The forecast couldn’t have been clearer: 90% chances of rain. A storm was approaching the track, and so were you.

Looking around, you stared attentively at the frenetic movement pulsating in every corner: mechanics, engineers, journalists and cameras ready to capture any detail, VIPs begging for selfies with bewildered eyes and staring at the screens in awe and confusion. It was all so foreign to you. Despite growing up in Monaco, you had always shied away from the spotlight and tried to live a simple life, therefore moving out in your youth to an unknown town in South France, near the coast, but far enough from the contradiction of luxury. Still, Pierre being a dear old friend of yours, after pleading insistence, you had given up to his invitation to a Grand Prix. You had first agreed to be hosted at his home race, Paul Ricard, then obliged to choose another circuit since the track had disappeared from the 2023 calendar: and so there you were, crossing the streets you had walked countless times, the ones you had run away from.

«Do you think it’s going to rain hard?» «How do you expect me to know?» You snorted, arms crossed. Pierre simply shrugged, zipping up his suit. «I don’t know, you’ve lived here enough to recognize Monaco’s clouds.» he half-joked. «Maybe you’re the Monegasque Mazepin.» «Who’s that?» you asked, frowning. «No one, forget it. I just thought you, standing there doing nothing, had more time than I do to check the forecast.» «Uhm, if you want, I can take a look.» you offered, searching for your phone. Pierre quickly made it over to you, crossing the garage, and put his hands on your shoulders with a smile. «Y/n, I’m just messing around. Why are you taking everything so seriously? You always get my jokes, what’s up with you today?» «Uhm… maybe… It’s Monaco’s clouds.» Pierre couldn’t help but grin bigger and shake his head, leaving you standing on your own while he got near his helmet to clean it. «If you’re worried about tonight’s dinner, there’s no need to.» You sighed. To your annoyance, Pierre had stricken home yet another time. He was too good at reading you like an open book, your expressions and reactions too plain for him to interpret after years of sincere friendship. «I just don’t understand why you want to introduce me to this one friend… It’s a bit intimidating, like, the three of us…» «Oh, but we won’t be completely alone!» Pierre said, amending his partial explanation. «We’ll be hanging out in group, it’s going to be fun! I just wanted to introduce you to my best mate, that’s all.» «Fine, but… why can’t I even know his name? Why are you acting like I’m going to be surprised about who he is?» «Because I think you will.» «You’re such a drama queen.» He laughed at your arms-crossed and roll-eye as he finished cleaning the helmet, placing back on a counter. «Of course I am.»

To Pierre’s amusement, you hadn’t followed free practices with a lot of attention, which is a euphemism to say that you basically didn’t watch the screens installed for the guests inside the garage at all: instead, you had nestled in a small empty spot right next to his engineer and you had silently followed Pierre’s action and data, without really understanding much, more so as the second sessions had been red flagged before being half-way through it.

Pierre was dying of laughter onto the small, leathered couch of the club you had chosen for the beginning of the night, waiting for all his friends to show up, as he listened to your unforgettably miserable experience in the Alpine box. «So you didn’t see any other driver?» he asked, still chuckling. «No, I mean… I was also getting a bit car sick, with all those walls left and right. You drive way too fast, you guys are crazy…» Loud as a freight train crashing the rails with its speed, a group of youngsters entered the club with a thunderous burst of laughter, which made you flinch in your seat. «Oh, here they are!» Pierre immediately flailed around and whistled in order to be heard by les gars, who soon walked towards your table. Without you noticing, he stood up and waited them to hug and give friendly back pats. Composed in your awkward silence, you felt even more uneasy as one of the newcomers stopped and looked down at you sitting, staring with an uncomfortable persistence, a smile fading from his lips. «Who are you?» he asked, curiosity and perplexity mixed in his tone. Reciprocating with the same depth his stare, you realized you had just fallen inside a dangerous and unexpected sand trap, wishing the dark-lit room would suddenly turn the lights on so that you could make out his features clearer, or completely drown them out together with the anxiety in the pit of your stomach. «Finally I can introduce you both!» Pierre clapped his hands, breaking the moment and inviting you to get up. «Y/n, this is my best friend: Charles.» «Charles…» you muttered under your breath, trying to make sense of it. «Yes, Charles Leclerc.» he repeated in confirmation, smiling, shaking and holding your cold and still hand. «And this is y/n, one of my dearest friends.» «Nice to meet you.» The flickering sparkle in his eyes, the dimples making their painful appearance and his sweet, fond smile struck you all at once, the freight train now hitting you as you simply stood by the platform of time, uncapable of anything but playing reruns of distant and long forgotten memories in the back of your mind. He let go of your hand and you slowly slipped down in your seat, heart beating uncontrollably. But everyone was just too absorbed into the conversation to notice, too playful and happy to be in joined company. Drinking from your glass full of insecurities, your gaze was always searching for his, carefully studying his heavenly face, then immediately straying away, consumed by indecision and inner turmoil.

You all got up a couple of hours after to have a nice walk through the harbor; the cool breeze sweeping the dump asphalt made your skin shiver, and you felt forced to bring your hands upon your forearms to soothe the coldness. Pierre had noticed for a while the way you hadn’t engaged in the conversations a lot, had seen you full of thoughts back in the club and, of course, immediately read your body language; in a few strides, he was next to you, placing his jacket onto your shoulders, matching your steps. «Thank you.» you smiled. You both slowly walked alongside, letting silence fill the gaps, until the Frenchman couldn’t bear it anymore, as he gazed at the stars. «I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy yourself that much tonight… I thought you would get along just fine, since you’re all friends of mine.» «They’re nice, in fact!» you tried to reply. Pierre gave you a knowing look. «Y/n, there’s no need to cover it up, I’ve got two eyes to see you have been running away from everyone tonight… Especially from Charles.» «What?» You stood still, watching him stop as you did. Had he noticed? Did he… know? «Are you… are you, like, jealous of him?» Pierre asked, reticent. «What?! N-no, of course not, why would I-» «Sorry, I was just wondering why you gave him strange looks all night, that’s it.» «No, it’s just… I think I’ve seen him somewhere else, before.» you swallowed hard, hoping he’d buy into your lie. Pierre first looked at you, then started laughing contagiously, to the point you had to giggle as well with a frown. «Why are you laughing?» you asked. «Are you kidding me? Of course you’ve seen him before!» «And… where?» you hesitated, now even scarier than earlier. «On track, y/n! He races for Ferrari, putain!» His laugh didn’t complement your heart drop. «You didn’t watch any race for real, uh? I thought you were joking. Now, that hurts!» The attempt at matching his laugh was almost miserable; the clench grinding your poor heart felt unbearable, feelings gushing and bleeding out beneath your skin.

Nothing had prepared you to see him once again face to face, nor you had anticipated talking to him, spending time together. For sure, no one had warned you about the way he would’ve changed so much growing up. A childish mischief still lingered in his expression, but you could clearly see he had matured, his perfectly crafted jawline and his beard giving it away; his athletic body resembled nothing of the young, agile and slim figure you remembered. You recalled witnessing Pierre’s transformation. Looking at them now, they didn’t seem like guys in their mid-twenties and, compared to them, you felt like a child, whereas they had already achieved a lifestyle you would never even dream of. Despite the obvious differences in the physique, something about Charles’ demeanor had unexpectedly softened: you were so accustomed to his impulsive, black-or-white younger self that you almost couldn’t recognize him under the charming and elegant masquerade. It can’t be him, you thought.

An awkward tension made every gesture clumsy, intrinsically wrong: throughout the weekend, anytime you’d cross each other’s way, you both moved cautiously around each other, studying the new person you had in front, as if you were trying to read a book you once knew by heart, word by word, now translated into an unknown language. And even though you struggled recognizing the Charles you used to know, he could clearly tell it was the same old you beneath the embarrassment: he always found you lightheartedly making jokes and having fun, smiling kindly, or thinking deep in silence. When you were with Pierre. Because as soon as Charles entered your vision, he would see you stiffening, stuttering, fighting insecurities in every sentence and gesture. And as much as he felt discomfort in making you all flustered, a thorn of pride stung his heart. He still had an effect on you. He wouldn’t makeyou laugh uncontrollably as Pierre did, but he was still able to stir some deep feelings inside of you, and it fueled him like gasoline on fire, for some reason. # Charles genuinely thought seeing you in Monaco was a karmic debt’s payment, enduring the comfort and the palpable chemistry between you and his best friend: apart from the small talk he had tried to initiate with you, Charles had kept away from you, purposely avoiding your presence. Undeniably, you still had an effect on him too.

When he entered the paddock on Wednesday, welcomed by the Spanish heat, crossing the lane with the hospitalities already brimming of life, he definitely didn’t expect to see you again, let alone to find you sat on a white wicker couch next to Pierre. Right as he witnessed the scene, the Frenchman swiftly placing your bare legs on his lap, his fingers drawing circles upon your skin, both spread out and chilling, enjoying the nice weather, Charles couldn’t help himself from chewing his inner cheek and pacing quickly towards Ferrari’s hospitality. What made him even more furious was knowing that Pierre was well aware of the cameras pointing towards you and taking pictures with no disturb, implicitly giving them permission, being so physical with you in public. Pierre wasn’t stupid. He knew what he was doing. And Charles didn’t like it. Because you seemed so innocent, always caring, smiley, kind and considerate of others, hanging off Pierre’s lips; and Charles hated, oh, he hated it as much as immediately spotting the flash of fear and tension crossing your irises as soon as he tried to approach you. Charles would’ve gladly done without hovering around you, or stop caring about you and Pierre’s affair, but he simply couldn’t: after seeing you amidst the crowd, he was drawn to you, by far the quickest in reaching you swiftly dodging everybody else, ready to find stupid excuses to chat with you and get your attention away from Pierre at least for a couple of minutes. The painful truth was that Charles desperately wanted to catch up with you, spend an entire night just the two of you and be your listener, hearing your enchanting voice narrate the life you had led so far and staring into your mesmerizing eyes full of dreams. He wanted to amend for the past. He felt guilty for what he had said, yet he acknowledged he wouldn’t know any better back at the time.

Instead, he was attending yet another night out with Pierre and mutual friends, throwing deadly glances over your dancing silhouettes, painfully reminded of what it could’ve been. Charles had so many apologetic words stuck in his throat, but an overwhelming wave of unlabeled feelings impeded him to talk the matter out with you. Only a question, the same one, all over again. Why Pierre? He unfortunately knew why you two had broken up, he couldn’t blame you in any way: but Charles couldn’t accept being discarded in place of Pierre. He loved him like a brother, he was one of his best buddies, and exactly because he knew him that well and had met you before, he was sure you two, as a couple, could never work out. Or, at least, that’s what he believed. There was also another annoyance cutting Charles’ skin: the fact that Pierre hadn’t been honest while introducing you. A friend? Sharing jackets and hoodies, letting each other be touchy and clingy, always hanging out together? Yeah, of course. Charles was having none of it. His drink tasted bitter, with you two in his vision; he couldn’t bear it any longer. So he simply decided to get the work done by himself.

Pierre had been talking and cracking jokes non-stop since the beginning of the night, getting his mouth dry quite rapidly; right as he left you dancing by yourself to grab another drink, Charles took the chance and crossed the dance floor fueled by liquid bravery, stopping right behind you, placing his hands on your waist carefully, so that you’d acknowledge his presence too late to run away from him. «Having fun with Pierre? Hasn’t he run out of words yet?» Charles teased you. «When he’s drunk, he gets quite talkative.» you explained. «And so do you.» At your raised brow, Charles took a sip of his drink with a smirk. «Just checking up on someone who seemed to be getting bored.» he leaned in a bit closer upon your shoulder. «Oh, and when did you start being concerned about me?» When I realized I was still in love with you, he thought. Charles wetted his lips. «Y/n, I’d really like to talk about everything that happened between us, if you just gave me the chance to-» «Charles, I suffered enough, trust me.» «And I’m suffering because of it now.» «Not my business. It’s your time to get over it.» «If you got over it, then why do you keep avoiding me like you’re still affected?» Charles knew he had hit home once he saw your eyes dart towards his, defenseless, uncapable of putting up shields of indifference. «Woah, Charles, stop bothering my girl!» Pierre loudly approached the two of you, drunkenly placing his arm around you, which Charles clearly interpreted as a “private property” sign. You were his girl, after all. Of course you wouldn’t give him a chance. Everything was already settled, nothing else left to be discussed. Still, if there was something Charles couldn’t do, it was losing without trying with all his might to grab the win. «Can I borrow her? Just wanted to dance with her.» Pierre chuckled and nodded. «Bien sur, go ahead!» You hated being treated like a parcel without thoughts and feelings, as if you not being willing to dance with Charles wasn’t even an option; indeed, you definitely didn’t refuse his gentle hand guiding you towards a quieter space on the dance floor, and didn’t sway the times Charles would place his face near yours, leaning against your ear, almost about to whisper something but never giving you the satisfaction to drop a single word.

There was no way you could deny the effect he still had on you, after all those years spent apart from each other: any moment your eyes flicked to glance at him, his bright eyes were still glistening with youthful innocence, his dimples still dazed you, his enigmatic smile still made you question his and your own feelings. For a moment, standing that close to him without sharing useless words, you imagined Charles had stayed. In fact, that you had stayed. With a little effort, you could almost imagine you two had never broken up: you were dancing, comfortably enjoying his hands on your waist, placing yours around his neck lightweight, scared of lengthening physical touch. He stared down at you with a pleased and peaceful gaze, so sweet it could almost stich up all the scars he had left over your heart, splitting them apart and filling them with love before sealing them forever. But he had made a choice back then, clear-cut. Formula One was his only lover, no room for others. No room for you. The music died around your ears. But it still pumped quick inside your heart. «Are you good?» Charles’ voice caught your attention, as his hands firmly kept you up and yours had fallen back onto his shoulders for support. You simply tripped, you said to yourself; something normal which would happen while dancing drunk, a usual slip of thoughts diving back into the hurt of the past. «Yeah, all good.» you breathed out, looking behind your back. Pierre’s silhouette had completely disappeared from the radar, leaving your clenching stomach lonely in the search of a ride home. «Where’s Pierre?» you slurred. «I don’t know…» Charles’ green eyes scanned the room and trailed off yours, joining them in the search. «Can you bring me back to the hotel?» Charles opened his eyes wide at those words. «What?» Maybe he hadn’t heard right. Maybe it was the voice of someone dancing next to him. «I’m tired, can you give me a ride?» The tip of his tongue slipping out to wet his lips got you stuck on his mouth, a lost soft look into your eyes that Charles had to avoid watching, before his drunk system would act bypassing rationality. «Of course.»

#

«Where are the keys?» Charles waited for your lazy hands to rummage inside your purse, quickly taking the shining, jingling metal out of your fingers. Right as the door cracked open, you aimed towards the king-sized bed, taking your heels off and slowly picking up the sheets in order to slip underneath them. «Don’t you want to change into something comfier?» he asked, dumbfounded. You whined in response, head already resting onto the pearl white pillow. «Y/n?» «Mmh?» «Do you want to sleep with your jeans on?» he almost chuckled. «Jeez, Cha’, I’m tired…» He walked next to the bed, kneeling down in front of you. «Yeah, I know, you said that quite a few times already.» With your eyes shut, you couldn’t see Charles’ enchanted stare; yet, you could feel the warmth of it even through the closed eyelids. «There’s a pair of shorts inside the wardrobe.» you mumbled. Pretty easy to spot, since it was the only piece of furniture Charles felt comfortable enough to name “wardrobe”, he slid the door of wood and sifted through. «They’re not hung… Are they inside a drawer?» «No, they’re on top of the first drawer. Under the hung clothes.» Following your instructions, Charles found the shorts, but pulling them out something fell down to the floor. «What was that?» you asked at the thud. «N-nothing, there you go with your shorts.» he quickly reached over. «Okay, don’t peek.» «Yep!» Charles turned back towards the wardrobe, gulping both at the guilt of dropping something off and at the shuffling denim behind him. He closed his eyes, covered in shame. Then, tugged by curiosity, he looked down before his shoes. A diary, spread open. Charles picked it up, a picture immediately threatening to escape the pages, but his fingers were fast enough to catch it. It was you and him, awkwardly posing for your mom, both wearing matching bracelets. «Cha’, the bed is cold.» «Uh?» he held his breath, caught by surprise. «Can you like… rub me from above the duvet?» Your drunken request didn’t sound weird to his equally drunken mind. He hopped onto the bed, with the back leaning onto the headrest, his right hand brushing you back and forth to soothe the cold, while he held the diary and the picture with the left. «Thank you, Cha’…» He couldn’t restrain himself from smiling, engraving in his mind the tender and natural rolling off of the nickname you had chosen. It was the same sweet tone you would use with him back then, when you still held hands, when your cheeks were tinted rose in his presence, when the only bracelet he would wear were the ones you made yourself. With love.

The shop windows were brimming with lights and Christmasy decorations: the whole city was lit alive by the thrilled atmosphere, and everyone seemed to be strolling by the pavement, making it difficult to catch up with your mother’s steps. «Come on, y/n, we’ll be late!» Winter holidays had started, and you couldn’t help but staring mesmerized at the streets, couples walking hand in hand, the grey sea roaring in the distance. Christmas was only a few days away and your mom had booked an appointment to the hairdresser to adjust your hair a little bit before the new year; you knew, though, that she had insisted also because she enjoyed Pascale’s company and gossiping quite a lot, especially since his son was only a year older than you and had the same middle school teachers you had.

«Ah, y/n, I wish I had a daughter like you. My sons are three devils.» Your mother chuckled at Pascale’s defeated comment, sitting on a couch behind you, holding a magazine. «But they’re talented, at least.» You pouted at your mom’s words, frowning. «Especially Charles. By the way, how is he doing?» your mother added. Pascale sighed, blow-drying your hair. «Very good… But I’m worried he’ll never finish school.» «But he’s in third grade now, how can’t he not?» you asked, with lively eyes. «Middle school isn’t the problem, y/n. I’m afraid he’ll never graduate from high school. I mean, he’s clearly on a league of his own, but… there are no certainties he’ll make it to Formula One, and in case things might not go as planned I don’t want him to struggle finding a job due to a lack of diploma.» «I don’t think you need to worry, Pascale. If Charles can’t succeed, then nobody else will!» Pascale sadly smiled at your mother’s answer, brushing your hair. Still staring at yourself inside the mirror, you caught eye of something quickly storming into the saloon from the backdoor. «Mom, can I go out now?» You had never met him, but it was immediately clear to you that the boy tugging at his mother’s apron was Charles. A lock of hair partly covered his eyes and you were amazed at how large and luminous they were, full of hopes and dreams. «Did you finish your homework?» she asked, still patiently brushing your hair. Hesitating, you saw his eyes trailing off towards Pascale’s movements, pointing towards your hair and ultimately fixed his green pearls onto you. Charles’ lips parted to let out an inaudible gasp, caught by surprise by your gracious and lightful beauty: your hair, perfectly combed, seemed like a crown of silk upon your face, and your blushing cheeks hit an unknow spot of his young, tender, unexperienced heart. «So?» Pascale prompted. «No, I haven’t finished yet.» Charles felt stupid, but he couldn’t stop staring at you, nor could you. He was so scared you would never see each other again he was trying to extend the moment as long as he possibly could. «But I’ll finish them.» he added. Pascale, surprised at the answer, never heard beforehand, watched him pacing fast out the backdoor and reemerging with the notebook in his hand, sitting on the couch nearest to you. Unbeknownst to both of you, your moms had exchanged a knowing look through the mirror; but how could you notice, when all your attention was undividedly offered to each other? He took furtive peeks, as you darted him side-eyed glances, enchanted with his haphazard pose. Needless to say, Charles didn’t get much homework done… But he studied, oh boy, he did: he studied all your features, your behavior, your shy answers to your mother, your graceful red dress as you stood up in order to leave the saloon.

«M-merry Christmas!» he hastily blurted out, before you exited the door. Melting like a candle under a flame, Charles’ chest tightened at your small smile. «Merry Christmas.»

First it was doing homework together, then it was hanging out to eat some ice-cream as a treat, then it was strolling by the sea, and then riding the bike chuckling and giggling, until it was walking to the school gate hand in hand and wearing the matching bracelets you’d gifted him – not making it on purpose – for Valentine’s Day. It had happened so fast you couldn’t give a name to it: you spent all the free time you had in his company – whenever he wasn’t down karting tracks training – and you let yourself be swamped by Charles’ explosiveness, dragging you alongside him down all Monaco, willing to show you anything beautiful he had seen in his life, making memories together.

You had seen other classmates of yours having boyfriends, but they all seemed too morbidly physical to you. Charles would only grab your hand occasionally or give shy and awkward hugs, and that was more than enough for you, more than you would ask him to do: you didn’t feel the need for more; everything was as perfect as he could be. Some of your classmates also mocked you for being his girlfriend, since everybody noticed he often skipped lessons and wasn’t known as an easy character. In fact, Charles, at times, especially at school, treated you a bit coldly, annoyed by all the guys watching him and judging the both of you spending the breaks together. It had never been a problem to you, though, because you had soon realized his heart was full of love and care for you.

«Did they do anything to you?» he asked you, accompanying you back home after school, referring to your classmates. «No, they just talked crap as always.» you shrugged. «Did they touch you?» he asked once again, grabbing your hand a little tighter. «Uh?» «I saw they patted your shoulder, in front of the gate, when you were coming out. Did they do anything before that?» «No, they didn’t.» Charles’ frown was still on display, and you could tell he had been upset by the scene. It was normal, after all: he had witnessed his girlfriend being bullied, liked none of it and wished he would’ve got the chance to intervene. But somehow, seeing him deep in thought and keeping you closer to him made you realize for the first time he genuinely cared about you, more than two good friends, and as your chest filled with an unexplainable excitement, you slowly leaned your head against his shoulder. You waited for him to sway and withdraw from the touch, but he didn’t. You walked back home, fingers intertwined, moving slow steps, both wishing the path was endless.

#

«Are you done?» «Almost.» Charles huffed in impatience, as your fingers knotted the thread tighter. «Done! Give me your wrist.» you said. After attentively securing the bracelet, Charles took the other one you had already completed. «Give me yours.» You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile as he tied the matching bracelet to your wrist. «I like it a lot. Thank you, y/n.» His few words of appreciation warmed your heart, which fluttered and flipped in joy. You had thought it through for weeks, months; you had shyly confided with your mother, who tried to push you in being a little braver; still, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit your love to Charles. Because it was love. As you stared at each other in silence, your heart was about to explode, but he seemed to be unfazed by your flushed cheeks and nervous giggles. “Charles really likes you, y/n. You don’t have to doubt it.”, Pascale had told you. So, without thinking, prompted by the reassurances you had gathered from external feedback, you quickly leaned towards him and gave him the fastest peck on the lips. Pulling back, you kept your eyes shut, too scared to face his reaction; completely still, terrified, heart flinging out of your chest, you were caught by surprise feeling Charles’ lips back onto yours. It wasn’t as rushed as yours; he probably wasn’t as scared as you were. Under the careful touch of his hand upon your arm, you felt all your tension melt like snow under the sun, giving in to the moment, happy you had broken the ice so that you could both enjoy this second kiss without hesitation. As his face moved away, you saw him opening his mouth in order to say something. «I… I love you, y/n.» he gulped. «And thanks for the gift, they’re so well-made.» The way he had immediately changed topic didn’t help making his first words going unnoticed; Charles couldn’t put his heart on the line that openly, after all. But it seemed like you had only heard those three words, getting stuck at them, flinging yourself towards to hug him. «I love you too, Cha’!»

Charles looked over at you, peacefully drifted away, sleeping your hangover off. He had never told you, but you had been his first love too. Charles didn’t stop tenderly rubbing you from above the sheet, shamelessly enamored with that delicate, indirect touch. Caught once again by the diary, he frowned at a wrinkled page.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, you knew bad news were coming. You had never seen him as silent, as closed off and distant before: instead of immediately reaching out to your hand, walking alongside, he had fastened his steps, marching ahead of you, without sparing you a glance. He stopped on the promenade quite abruptly, forcing you to halt to avoid tripping over him. He stared at the raging sea, tinted of green and grey waves, foaming onto the harbor. «Where do you want to go?» you asked, trying to be as quiet as possible. «It doesn’t matter.» His voice was categorical. «We can’t be together.» He didn’t glance over to you nor blinked, as he threw you on the abyss of the sea, in the freezing coldness of his heart. «What?» you said, above a whisper. «I need to win the karting championship, so I must exclusively focus on training. Spending time with you will make me waste time.» A waste of time. That’s what you were to him. «But… We can still see each other, once you’re done with training! There’s no need to-» «I want to be a Formula One driver, y/n. I can’t have distractions.» «I’m not a distraction, Cha’! We… We love each other!» you pleaded. He finally turned around and threw a pity and almost annoyed look at you. «My only love is racing.» Too young and vulnerable to know how to hide the hurt of rejection, weeping like a baby you bumped past him, running back home, completely distraught. Charles’ words had cut you open like a knife, and what made it worse was that he had given no warning sign: those months together had flown by like a fever dream, sweet and carefree, even when he was telling you about his races and training. It made no sense, to you. He had given you up without thinking twice, whenever the choice was presented to him: racing had been and would always be his answer. Your feelings, whatever you two had shared meant nothing to him. Slamming the door of your bedroom, you looked down at your wrist: with a violent grab, you tore your matching bracelet apart, sobbing loudly, desperate at the thought he would soon throw the one you had made for him too.

Charles’ chest clenched. He had forgotten about the words he had used with you back at the time, but he hadn’t been able to rub off his memory the tears you shed before him. He was sure to be making the right choice, despite not knowing the cost of blindly pursuing his dream without taking others into consideration. He heard you heaving peaceful under his hand, still placed upon the duvet, and he felt a deep regret assaulting him: how could he ask you to stay near him, to bear his presence after what he had done to you? But most importantly: why did he have to lose you only to discover, years later, that if he had kept you by his side, you would’ve been the most supporting and understanding person, given the honey-laced words Pierre always had rolling off his tongue whenever he talked about your presence during race weekends?

Charles sighed and flipped the pages over and got stuck onto another entry, enchanted by a matured handwriting.

Pierre has always been a friend. Every time he would invite you down karting tracks, he would do anything to make you laugh with his stupid jokes, telling you about all the places he had been able to see throughout his first racing weekends around France, dreaming together of his future and reassuring you he would bring you along with him once he would reach F1. No matter how convincing he could sound, his talks always managed to trigger a deep fear in you: you thought you would soon lose him as well, the only real friend you had made since moving out. But Pierre didn’t reject you as Charles had done. Instead of excluding you, he tried to involve you in his world made of races and revving engines, sharing every bit of energy and passion with you. So you grew up together, as close as time and space allowed. The ease and comfort you felt around him and that developed over time was a novelty, more so as you got to know each other since you were fourteen; if you really had to carefully think your relationship through, being there for each other during teenage ha certainly cemented your connection. Because Pierre has always been a good friend; but there had been times, occasions, small moments in which raveled feelings coursed beneath the seemingly smooth surface.

#

It was no mystery Pierre enjoyed partying, more so if he could drag you with him down the hell of heat, sweat, shots and loud blasting music pumping his blood stronger than ever. That night, though, he had overdone it a bit. Embarrassingly enough, for the first time in his nineteen-years-old existence, he was locked in a bathroom, hands on his stomach, nausea all over his head. And, most importantly, you all over his thoughts. He had downed drinks all night with the intent of celebrating his F1 debut, but completely forgetting about your intoxicating presence, your breathtaking smiles, the little temptations that had begun tormenting him subtly after you had both abandoned innocence and had inevitably grown older. Pierre had completely underestimated the power you had on him, and losing control with drinking loosened his nerves: throughout the night, his hands had unexpectedly lingered on your waist longer, betraying the intentions of removing them in a painstaking delay; his glance had flickered down to your lips too many times, despite him checking in with himself and correct it; the crowded club being accomplice, he had danced way closer to you than he should’ve had, closer than friends would do, and he had mischievously invited you to throw your arms behind his neck. Pierre had never felt so next to completely letting go of any restraint and kissing you then and there, freeing years of pent-up desires. And at that exact moment, nausea had hit him, throwing water upon his fire: he had excused himself to you with incoherent mumbles and ran, scattered, in search of the first restroom he could see. Of course, he should’ve imagined you would follow him and enter the bathroom with him, locking the door behind you.

«Do you… do you need help?» you asked, moving an unsure step towards him. Pierre’s thoughts were running wild: he closed his eyes, fighting the sickness and avoiding engraving in his memory your sweet, worried eyes. «No, I just need to calm down, I think.» You got closer to him after seeing him frustratedly passing a hand through his hair, and affectionately cupped his cheek, pained to see his skin pale under the yellowish light of the bathroom. «Do you want me to bring you some water? I’ll come back in a second.» But Pierre, who was melting into your palm pressed against his face, enjoying the touch with eyes still shut, opened them wide with a frown the second the contact was lost: he grabbed your wrist, which was willing to flee from him, and brought it close so that your fingers would linger back upon his cheek, not ready at all to let you go now that he had you so tantalizingly near. «Please, stay here.» he breathed out. The swift hand pulling your waist closer to him almost went unnoticed, since dizziness was beginning to get you as well; however, not a single hint thrown at you that night, and not even the ones he had left in the last three years or so, had ever led you to believe Pierre yearned for something more. After all, he was a highly popular guy, always hanging out with different girls every night, never trying to hide it from you, in fact. Chicks came and went, but you always stayed. And you also stayed as Pierre spitted a strained and husky putain before rapidly closing the gap between you and trapping your parted lips in a kiss. He didn’t leave much room for you to think nor react: Pierre’s tongue had already met yours in a sloppy and fast-paced dance, and your hand, previously brushing the lightest veil of his beard, had already made his way up to his hair, tugging at it, before you could realize what was happening. Pierre’s stare was completely drowned in dark lust and he couldn’t think straight anymore, taken over by the fog of alcohol and your addictive presence. He kept your lips glued to yours, too scared your words would break what Pierre reckoned to be a fantasy, too good to be true; still, even when he was quickly interrupting the kiss to catch breaths or change side and tilt his head the other way round, no protests were raised. Thirsty and urged by drought, he drank his fill from your lips with such an avidity he would take away any resistance hovering in your mind: Pierre’s desire to see your face under the poorly lit restroom won against the feral need of tasting you, failing to take into consideration how the trail of glistening saliva connecting your swollen lips would turn him on even more, combined with your drunk, dazed eyes and your flushed cheeks. His hands couldn’t stop roaming all over your back, gripping your neck to keep you close, then finally finding rest onto your hips. It didn’t take long before they became daring: still placed upon your waist, they slowly slid up, meeting the cotton of your top and slightly rolling it up-

Charles closed the diary with an abrupt thud. Breathing heavily, eyes filled with rage and fear, he stared straight into the void. He had no intention to keep reading that entry. He wouldn’t read other two pages of you and Pierre’s first hookup. First of how many? He had introduced you as one of his dearest friends… But Charles knew Pierre better than anybody else, and it was a fact he had never befriend that deeply any girl. Unless she was his girlfriend. The idea Charles had had you before and lost you, then found you again and now lost you once more, and to his best friend, stirred unknown feelings inside of him he’d rather bury deep.

A buzz broke his trail of thoughts. Caught by surprise, Charles realized you had dropped your phone onto the bed before slipping under the covers and it had sat near his thigh all along without him noticing. Until it started buzzing, of course. Unconsciously, he took the phone in his hand and saw the notifications pop-ups coming from Pierre. “where aare youuu? I can’t find you And Charles is gone as well ? Please text me back” Charles rested his head again the wall, just above the headrest, and sighed. He should answer Pierre’s texts in order for him not to panic about you two disappearing without warning… or ignore him and pretend he had never read anything? In that moment, Charles realized he had overstepped plenty of the boundaries of your privacy, reading through both your diary and your phone. So… why not going all the way in and earn full damnation? Once he was asked to put a passcode, he stared at the number pad waiting for his drunk brain gears to move; digiting his attempt, he hoped you still kept the same passcode you had back in middle school. It’ll never work, he thought. But to Charles’ amazement, it did. Pressing his lips together mentally mocking your laziness and lack of clever choices (overlooking the fact that he was the only one to possibly know your code from middle school times), he quickly tapped the notification and got ready to type an answer. “I brought her back to the hotel and we’ve just fucked, so that’s why she didn’t answer back :) " No, Charles, for freak’s sake. No resentment. No jealousy. No throwing it back in his face. He’s your best mate, after all. “Charles brought me back to the hotel cause I didn’t feel good We wanted to warn you but couldn’t find you” Quite satisfied, Charles reckoned that would be something you’d say. He didn’t even bother checking for Pierre’s replay, definitely willing to miss out on him being love-sickly worried about you, eye rolling at the mere thought. You were still there sleeping quietly, unaware of the emotional mess you had stirred in Charles’ poor heart. He glanced over at you for the last time, then slowly got up, put the diary back in the wardrobe and sneaked out, closing the door as delicate and silent as he could, not to wake the love he had put to sleep.

Charles sat to the small table, his lower calf resting on his other knee, the pointer finger brushing against his lower lip, in wait. He had been asked by the waiter to order a couple of times already, but Charles, as politely as his upset heart could allow him to, had dismissed him and sent him away. Pierre’s lean silhouette casually strolled towards him with that usual, smug smirk adorning his face with an aura that Charles, for the first time after years of hanging out together, behind his Ray Bans, found terribly unsufferable. He tried to study his best friend in search of whatever detail could’ve ever caught you trapped into his arms, and how the man now taking a seat right in front of him could’ve lied to him straight to the face keeping his new relationship away from him.

«So… I’m all ears.» Pierre stated, smiling. «Alright.» Charles didn’t move, watching his every movement. «Can I ask you something first?» the Frenchman interrupted him as he was about to speak up. «Sure.» Charles sighed, tilting his head in a slow, controlled back and forth motion. «You didn’t tell me anything about y/n since you met her. What do you think of her?» The Monegasque couldn’t restrain a snort, looking away and removing his glasses only to fidget them close, before enigmatically staring at Pierre. It wouldn’t take as long as Charles had predicted to get to the main point of the conversation. «Why does my opinion on her matter so much to you?» «Because you’re my best bro?» Pierre nervously chuckled, scratching his nape. He can’t be lying straight to my face so openly, Charles thought. «You know, you could’ve told me right away you wanted me to meet your new girlfriend. You didn’t have to put all this shit up and call her “one of my dearest friends”.»

Charles, still glancing at him, expected to savor Pierre’s astonished reaction, ready to catch him red-handed: so it was only natural for him to be left confused as the Frenchman frankly laughed, hand on his belly. «Mate, I don’t know how you made it up, but this is the most stupid crap I’ve heard in a while.» «Well, the way you two look at each other and are so comfortable with touching and being close gives it off. You aren’t subtle at all.» Pierre frowned, squinting his eyes to read into Charles’ expression. «Well, that’s a pity, because there’s nothing between me and her. And if you really want to know, she also rejected me long time ago.» «If she rejected you, something must’ve happened.» he stated, raising a brow. «We just made out once. I was celebrating for my F1 debut, I drank way too much and I kissed her. But she refused me quite badly.» he smiled at the thought. «What?» Charles stared at him conflicted, not knowing whether to trust Pierre’s version of the story. «She almost pushed me against the wall. I don’t even think she remembers, we were both completely hangover next day and we never talked about it anymore… Because there was no need to.» Charles would’ve liked to say that, in fact, you clearly remembered it, since he had found it in your diary; but knowing that he had skipped the pages which probably contained the rejection made him feel somewhat relieved. Yet, the undeniable closeness he had witnessed with his own eyes still put him in guard. «Still, you’re always PDA… and you also called her your girl.» «Did I? When?» «Literally last time we went out.» «Oh, I don’t remember. Too drunk to know.» Pierre smiled again. «But at this point, I guess there’s something you really would like to tell me about her.» Charles frowned, waiting for him to speak up again. «You act sus the entire night I introduced you both and dodge every conversation I try to have about her, but you still search for her any hour of the day just to give me second-hand embarrassment with you two’s awkward tension…» Pierre smirked to himself, shaking his head in the smallest movements and scrolling through his phone. «Then you use y/n’s phone to send me a drunk text she questions me about, stating it certainly isn’t hers, which kind of hints at the fact you stayed over to her room until…» he paused, then snorted loudly, «3 a.m. Wow.» Pierre put his phone on the table, screen facing downward. «Lastly, you invite me here, act all classy and cold with your Ray Bans, ready to confront me and make me confess my undying love for y/n with this pissed off face,» he pointed at his friend’s expression, «‘cause you’re jealous as fuck and you’re the one in love with her, uh? Good move, Charles. You’re the one who’s not being subtle at all, here.»

The waiter jumped right in at the worst possible moment, but this time Charles thanked his presence and let him interrupt the conversation: he felt spent, let down, somehow sorry for acting childishly. But, most of all, for being put in front of the harsh true: he still loved you. «Do you know all the story already?» Charles asked him, looking down, dejected. «Which story?» Pierre stared at him bamboozled, as Charles did in return. «But- you said I’m in love with her, so you know, right?» «Know what? What are you talking about?» Charles gulped. «That me and y/n have been together.» Charles saw Pierre’s eyes flick wide open, then him covering his mouth, in disbelief; once again staring back at him, completely sucked in by the news, willing to get at the bottom of it. «When she lived in Monaco…» «Yep.»

A short pause was offered by the drinks opportunely served, just in time for processing the information. «Now I understand why she acts weird when you’re around.» the Frenchman hummed, taking a sip. «Why did you breakup though?» «Guess I was too young to be in a serious relationship while also competing in karting.» Pierre glanced at his best friend, almost uncapable of recognizing him: he’d rarely seen him heartbroken and let down as he was, brushing his fingertip against the edge of his glass. «You should’ve invited y/n here instead of me.» Charles sadly smiled. «To say what?» «Exactly what you told me. You should’ve shown her you’re jealous of me and her, so that she knew you still love her. She should’ve seen you care for her as you probably did back then.» «So that she could rip my heart in two saying she doesn’t feel the same anymore?» «So that she could realize she never dated anybody else after you because she still feels something for you.» Charles bore his helpless eyes into Pierre’s, hope and surprise dancing in his irises. «C’mon, Charles, she even rejected me. Nobody has ever turned me down!» «Oh, please, I know that already.» Charles waited a couple of seconds to let the playful comment set before speaking up again. «Anyway, I tried to talk to her. But of course, she doesn’t want to listen, rightfully, and I can’t force her to.» Pierre loudly put down on the table his glass, spitting out a “tsk” of disapproval and disgust. «Where’s the Charles I know? The one who fights his battles until the end without giving up?»

In love, Charles had never had many problems. After you, that is. Loving came easy to him, as much as being loved: Pierre was popular due to his damned-cool boy reputation, but Charles wasn’t less of a dream for girls. He’d see the astonished stares, cheeks burning bright for him only, the small gasps and whispers shared between friends, the trembling voices and shaking fingers handing him the phone, a picture, a felted tip. A power he never used, let alone overused, to his own advantage. Still, he wished he would work with you. He always searched for any positive sign or reaction to his presence, but he never had the chance to spot them clearly. Every time some fans would hand him a bracelet, an instant stab of sorrow and regret seeped through his heart, overlaying memories of your delicate, small hands offering your handmade sign of love. Pierre was right. He couldn’t let you slip away, once again. «You must hurry up, though.» Pierre stood up, one hand stuffed in his jeans’ pocket. «Why?» «She leaves tomorrow. She… she goes back home.» he trailed off his stare. «What?! Why didn’t you tell me?» Charles abruptly stood up to face him, screeching his chair on the floor. «’Cause I didn’t know you cared?» Charles ran a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. «Oh, fuck me…» Pierre took his phone out of the pocket and sent a text, under the desperate stare of his best friend. «Okay, she’s in her room now. Go to her.» «W-where?» «She’s staying at my same hotel, room 214. But you know that already from last night.» Charles gaped, uncapable of letting words out. Pierre smiled, patting his shoulder. «You’re welcome. But get to work, okay?»

You knew since the beginning that Pierre’s newly gifted sweatshirts wouldn’t fit your suitcase, so you had warned him not to shower you with merch as he always did: in vain, of course. Hence, you were completely bent over the suitcase, desperately trying to squeeze it with your body weight, in order to close the zip. Huffing and grumbling, about to break the zip due to the excessive might, you halted every movement as a confident knocking on your door startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone; so typical of Pierre to forget stuff in your room and casually pass by… But his knocks would be usually followed by a string of embarrassing pet names, forcing you to open the door immediately. It was unusual for silence to drop right after the knocks.

You got closer to the door, only to jump back hearing insistent thuds against it. Okay, this is more like Pierre. You didn’t wonder further and simply got ready to welcome the sight of your best friend. Apart from the fact that the guy swiftly sneaking inside your room wasn’t him. «W-what are you doing?!» First rage, then fluster hit you: but Charles’ stormy eyes made you weak and helplessly condescending to anything he’d come by to say, as they had always done. «Why are you here?» you asked, your tone softened. Wetted his lips, irises scattered around, purposely avoiding yours, then a firm, determined yet resigned stare. «I read your diary.» «W-wha-» «When I brought you back here from the party, you were drunk. I made it drop by mistake and… and it was right open. I read it. And I also used your phone to answer Pierre’s texts, but you already know this.»

You couldn’t even get mad. As much as you tried to gather fury within you, something about him being vulnerable and fragile before you, frankly confessing the wrongdoings, seemingly heartbroken, couldn’t stir up blame on him. The only thing which made your ears ring and blurred your eyes was black fear. «What… what did you read?» Charles swallowed hard; you followed the movement with your eyes, you almost heard it loud and clear. «Everything.» With a single word, your pride tore apart. You could feel the void it left right beneath your sternum, and you could perceive the prickling tears stinging your eyes. Charles’ brows trembled in sorrow as he watched shame flash through your body, enhancing the shaking of your fingers, the twitching of your lips. «Why did you come here to embarrass me?» Not bearing being that far away from you while simultaneously being the reason you were crying, Charles closed the gap with a step, cupping your cheek with unknown tenderness. «Can you forgive me?» he whispered. You deeply wished he didn’t sound that fragile and loving; you couldn’t bear the pity look he was giving you, not after the brutal ways he had used with you in the past. He was being unnecessarily unfair. Because he probably knew, as you did deep down, that there was no way on earth you could avoid forgiving him.

Charles waited for your answer with his heart on the line, ready to crash in the abyss of despair or hopefully swim in relief, his fingers brushing the dust of time off your precious self, like a rediscovered chest of memories. He shouldn’t have never let you go. «You’re so stupid…» you shook your head and drop it low. «Charles, reading a diary isn’t as bad as-» «No, y/n, that’s not what I meant.» You raised your head up at his words. «Can you forgive me for… leaving you?» Beyond your inner walls, water fell and crashed the dam with its violent flow. He let you hide your face in the crook of his neck, hugging you closer, placing a kiss on your hair, tightening the embrace as your sobs tightened his chest. «Would you trust my love?» he spoke again. A loud sigh erupted from your lips. «I hate you so much…» Charles affectionately leaned his cheek upon your head, rubbing your back in hope to soothe your cries. «I was so naïve and stupid, y/n. I’m so sorry.» he whispered. «You don’t even know how much pain you put me through… I fucking left my hometown, Charles! I moved out…» «I know.» Charles acknowledged, resigned. «No, you don’t! You don’t…» «I never forgave myself for this. You know that?» His honesty showed through the hoarse tone of his voice, which obliged you to look at him, fast enough to see the veils of tears adorning his mesmerizing green, now saddened, eyes. «When my mom told me you had moved out, I thought it couldn’t be real. I waited for you out of school, to bring you back home as we always did, but you were never there.»

You cried harder against his skin, devastated by his shaking voice, and you encircled his neck with your arms to nestle closer. «I kept wearing your bracelet, I couldn’t take it off. It was the only thing I still had of you.» Charles trailed off his gaze and strayed away from the fixed spot he had been staring at, willing to interrupt the unraveling of his raw, way too powerful feelings; then he gently pushed you away the bit he needed to look inside your eyes. «Even if you don’t believe me, I won’t be able to forgive myself until you do. And I might not be able to forgive myself anyway,» he wiped off one of your tears with his thumb, «but I couldn’t add another regret, letting you go without telling you that I still love you.»

Charles felt a weight lifting off his shoulder, relaxing his tensed muscles all at once: he had said the words he had kept stuck in his heart for way too long. He let the hug loosen and moved backwards, now ready to see you leave. «But… if you’re in love with Pierre… I mean, I won’t interfere with you guys. You’re free to love whoever and I honestly can’t blame you, after all I’ve done.» You sadly smiled at his antics, diverging gaze as soon as he had broken the embrace and distancing from you. He had just told you he loved you, but had thrown another topic onto the table so that it would go unnoticed, so that he wouldn’t be hurt in case you didn’t reciprocate. He hadn’t changed, not even a bit. Under the cool and elegant demeanor, you could still see the shy, impulsive and passionate boy you had fallen in love with. «Cha’… You know I can’t choose who to love, right?» Charles’ eyes widened as soon as he saw you stepping towards him, closing the gap once again, lacing your hands around his neck while he held your waist in disbelief, scared you would fade away leaving him with splinters of a dream. «And the proof is that… I can’t help loving you.» «I’d like to say that I’m sorry for you, but…» You both inched over each other’s head, hearts twisting with the renewed novelty of what love felt like. «But there’s no need to be.» you breathed on his lips. The tension pent up through your muscles released all at once, right as you both fell caught inside a kiss: the lock which had sealed you heart for years cracked open at Charles’ key, unleashing the old, affectionate and immature feelings so that you could dress them with the newer and shinier clothes of reconciliation.

Charles couldn’t help a soft moan of frustration while deepening the kiss, his hands failing to keep you as close as he needed, touch-starved. You let him take control, overwhelmed by bliss to the point you simply gave in and relied completely on him; as he worshipped every corner of your beauty, your heart overflowed of unexperienced joy and love. You weren’t in a rush for taking the flight anymore: time was a senseless number uncapable of measuring the moment. Charles delicately laid you on the newly made bed, leaving a trail of feather-like kisses on your collarbones and down to your stomach, lips brushing against your summer dress and eyes desperately sticking onto yours all along. «Tell me you want this as much as I do.» His eyelids shut and his hopeful, breathless voice invited your fingers to pass through his hair, pulling his lips back above yours. «I promise I do.» Scared of opening his eyes and discovering he was having a feverish, heart-rending yet delightful dream, Charles helplessly smiled after resting his forehead upon yours. «Let me love you, then.»

I'm dead sure it's full of mistakes but I'm too tired and happy to be posting that I don't care! Thanks for bearing through everything! And thanks a ton to who leaves notes of feedback, they're so precious and dear to me! ♥ ✧ ˚ · .  Wish you a wonderful day . · ˚✧

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[xaviermattthews]

something in the orange tells me you're never comin' home.

location: x and van's home, aurora bay drive.

when: july 13th 2024, early morning.

triggers warnings: death, parental death.

With sixteen track names scribbled across ever-shuffling flashcards, X pours over the running order he's settled on in his ninth attempt that morning to finalise Submergence's next album's tracklist. He plays a snippet of each song in his mind, listening to how he thinks it might flow before he actually puts them together in that order for a full listen.

By the time he gets to eight, he's already decided it's bloated, the sharpie in his hand drawing two large x's through what would have been nine and eleven so he could cull it down to a 14 track run.

The finish line was within reaching distance and he could feel the frustration and the apprehension that went with it right down to his bones which was why he found himself grateful for the solitude his girlfriend had granted him by taking their energetic border collie with her on her run. Nothing he decided on would be finalised without Van's input as well as their other bandmates, but if it was going to be an argument then he wanted to be certain he believed in what he wanted first.

There were few people who had been granted the digital permission to bypass his Do Not Disturb feature, one being Van herself and another being his drummer and friend. It's the third time in a fifteen minute that the name BOWIE SHORE flashes on his screen and the man knew him well enough to not ring more than twice unless it was vital because he ignored his phone for a good reason.

He picks up and answers on the fifth ring, greeting his friend in a clipped tone.

"You keep blowing up my fucking phone Bow and there won't be an album for this rollout, you get that, yeah? What?"

"Have you not been online at all?"

"No, whatever it is, I don't have the time." X informs him, assuming what must have been stressing him out was another old resurfaced interview or an article musing on whether or not they had lost their way after he had gotten sober. He's read it all in every font.

"X, can you just check your texts, please? I'm sending you a link. Look man, I don't know if it's real or not and I really hope it isn't but it's not the only place I'm seeing it."

There's a furrow in his eyebrows then as he switches the phone to loudspeaker, swiping up to his messages that were in the triple digits of unread -- nothing new there -- and clicked on the text thread under Bowie's name.

"Alright, hold on."

He can see his name in the preview, his eyes rolling instantly at the source being TMZ. He clicks it, a pop-up version of the article opening for him. The last face he had expected to see was that of his father's, someone he hasn't seen in person in over a decade now.

The sight alone causes a twist in his stomach that only worsens as he reads the headline and the words in print that follow it.

Panic creeps through him as his eyes scan over the syllables, all that he could manage to combat it with was a stronger sense of denial that leaves his mouth in an overly-sure scoff.

"This is bullshit, Bowie. You know TMZ ran a story saying I died. Twice. My dad's not fucking dead, he lives by too strict a daily itinerary for that. Doesn't fit into the schedule. You really need to not believe everything you read online."

In the back of his mind, he knows one of those misprints made sense given it had hit the press immediately after his near-fatal overdose, but the one that had proceeded it was false intel taken as fact.

That's what this was -- he's certain.

( It had to be. )

"X, I think you should call your m--"

The beep of another incoming call distracts him from his bandmates voice, his band manager Dalton the contact that flashed up. He always found Van more levelheaded than X to deal with and she was his first port of call for band related business.

He declines the call and cuts off Bowie's in process, ignoring the way he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He clicks through his contacts and scrolls to his sister's, holding the phone back against his ear as he listens to the dial tone.

It rings and rings and rings, each one inching him closer to what feels like an anxiety attack. His free hand is balled into a fist, the side of it tapping lightly against his own chest as he paces around the room.

When it goes to voicemail, he reminds himself she's twenty-six.

No twenty-six year old answered the phone this early on a Saturday, that was all.

There's only one other Matthews in his contact list who had made it through every phone and number change of his, carrying over the digits to each device despite the fact that he hasn't used them in years.

( Darren Matthews was the kind of man who never changed his number -- ever reliable in the way his son wasn't. )

He hadn't called it no matter how dark things had gotten because he knew he would answer despite their harsh parting words and he's never been ready for that conversation.

He's not ready for it then either, but no matter what he has to say to him, he knows hearing his voice was the only thing that would quell the swirl of emotions within him that are starting to make him sick.

There's the same dial tone as before, ringing and ringing, the floor beneath him feeling shakier and shakier as it did. He thinks he's actually about to be sick when the call clicks to signal it had been picked up, the relief that flooded him felt like a tsunami -- just like his new album's title.

"Hey, it's me. X. M'sorry for calling, this is going to sound so fucking weird but there was this dumb article that--"

He's cut off by a voice on the other end interrupting him, softer than the one he expected, shakier than he had ever heard her.

"Xavier, Xavier, darlin'."

He would know his mother's voice anywhere, the warmth of it having an opposing effect on him in that moment, turning the blood in his veins to what felt like ice.

"Why do you have my dad's phone, mom?" X asks, sounding and feeling like the thirteen year-old he had been the last time he had seen them in a room together as a couple, before the foundation of his life had shattered with a divorce and splintered into two houses, two families and one X who didn't know where he was supposed to fit into it all.

What Addie says next he can only pick up in disjointed snippets, the ringing in his ears louder than her sob-wracked words.

He hears his name again and an it's your daddy, he's gone, I'm so sorry. There's an apology that follows but it's too frantic for him to catch all of it -- she was going to call, someone was meant to call, she thought someone called.

He's not aware that he's crying until his hand reaches up to his face and he finds a steady stream of tears streaking his cheeks. It stings when he blinks and he can't find anything to say to comfort his mother, the silence on his end nothing new to his immediate family, it was the only thing he did consistently for them.

He can still hear her wails as another voice speaks down the line, one that sounded so close to what he could remember of his father's that he's almost fooled again into thinking TMZ had been wrong.

It's only when he registers the words does he realise that it couldn't be Darren, it had to be Ernest, his uncle and his father's brother who spoke in the same cadence as the late man but used words X knew he would never have said to him if he was alive.

"Y'need to come home, Xavier. You need to come home."

[katzynia]

I am very interested in smolJay, an unfortunately rare sight in fics - what's in "contractSlade+smolJay" ? Thank you :)

Ah, this is a monster of an idea :D Roughly a year ago I wrote a smol!Jay fic and during writing, it became much fluffier and sweeter than I had planned. Lots of my angstier thoughts/ideas for scenes were kind of leftover. Then, somewhere during spring, I saw a SladeRobin week prompt "Robin hires Slade" (or something, I'm paraphrasing) and that got me really thinking...

What if Jason survived Joker's treatment, and during his convalescence hired Slade to kill Joker when he realizes nobody else would do it (for him)?

Well, the idea ballooned from there. Now that's just the starting act, and the actual story happens in Gotham ~5 years later, when Slade comes to town looking for a possible shipment of Kryptonite rumored to be owned by Black Mask. He runs into Jason Todd and recognizes his one-time employer. Meanwhile, somebody is messing with Black Mask businesses... It's complicated as shit, with identity shenanigans and repurposing things from "Under the Red Hood", family feels, and all that jazz. Honestly, not sure if I can pull that off. At the moment, it's waiting for reinspiration and reconfidence, cause I also feel like all my stories are structured the same way and so I'll have to think about it.

I have ~6700 words written. Here's a snippet (don't mind the typos and the weirdness, it's a first draft)

***

“That’s a gnarly scar, kid,” Slade says. And the funniest thing is that it’s nowhere near the most notable thing about him.

The scar on his left temple is fresh. It can’t be more than a week or so since the stitches were removed. The hair around it hasn’t had the chance to grow back yet, leaving him with a weird and uneven undercut. The scar snakes down, ragged and uneven, all the way to the corner of his eyebrow. His skin is pale and yellowish, the black backs under his eyes a stark contrast to it.

And to top it all off, he can’t be more than fifteen. Based just on his side, Slade would guess even younger, but his voice has certain depth that speaks of maturity. And his eyes. Those eyes have seen some shit. They are the eyes of a person who is not afraid because they’ve been through something so much worse.

Slade can already cross over one of the questions he had.

“He did that to you?” he asks, and without conscious contribution, his own voice becomes gruff too. He doesn’t need to specify who.

The kid huffs, but it doesn’t quite hide a quick flash of resurfacing fear in his eyes.

“I want him dead,” he says, “He shouldn’t be allowed to—after he—” He halts in the middle of the tirade. Slade isn’t sure if he’s trying to swallow the words or try to get them lined up properly. He presses his hands on the table, hard, and takes a breath. Faint pink spots appear on his cheeks. They are starkly visible against the paleness.

“And you want me to do it,” Slade says, after the silence stretches. “Deathstroke the Terminator,” the kid says, “Fair deals. Trustfull--dependable.” He smiles a little, crookedly. “Allows for anonymity.” “What about your other conditions?” Slade says. “I don’t work with restrictions.”

Kid huffs. “You’re the professional, figure it out. You don’t leave unnecessary casualties anyway, and avoiding detection shouldn’t be an issue for you.”

“Except he never leaves Gotham”.

“Except when he does.”

“Do you have a way to track him?”

“No.”

“Which means the most likely location is Gotham. “And if I need to choose? Between letting him go and fighting Batman?”

The boy’s hands clench. Something almost horrible shines in his eyes.

“Let him go,” he says, and it seems like the admission cost him something. He takes a breath and briefly closes his eyes. “I don’t care when or how. Just that he’s gone, permanently, irreversibly, and that nobody finds out. Take your time, for all I care, just end that wretched creature.”

”And if I say no?”

“Will you?”

“Humor me.” The client’s answer to that always reveals a lot. Every job is the most important in the world, until it isn’t and actually Slade is the lucky one for being considered for it, such a privilige it is.

The kid stares at him in silence for a long moment.

“I’d be fucked,” he says bluntly. Slade’s eyebrows shoot up.

“There isn’t anybody of your caliber willing to work in Gotham.” In the boy’s droll tone, it isn’t a compliment, just a fact. Slade had had many clients trying to suck up to him. And it’s the truth: Deathshot is in prison (probably in Walker’s greedy clutches already), Shiva would not agree to a kill like this, and the League of Shadows doesn’t do anonymous (ironically considering their name).

“But you knew that already,” the boy continues.

“No one to do it for you?” Slade asks.

Something moves over the kid’s face. A shadow of anger and sorrow then something like acceptance.

The boy shakes his head. “No,” he says and the expression morphs one more time, into something like determination. “I would need to consider if I’m capable of doing it.”

Slade looks over the injuries. The kid doesn’t seem to steady, swaying a bit even there.

The boy’s smile holds no humor. “I don’t mean physically.”

Some people can’t kill, it’s an indisputable fact Slade has seen true many a times. They can’t do it and still remain themselves. Some would lose some integral part of themselves and never get over it. Some wouldn’t be able to stop once they started, a switch just turning on in their minds.

Something about the boy makes Slade think that he could. He could kill and walk away from it after.

“Alright,” he says. “I will kill the Joker for you.”

***

Thanks for asking!

WIP ask game here

[iamminj000]

Louis Auto Repair and Brake Service Provider

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[plungermusic]

“It’s Bluegrass, Jim… but not as we know it!”

Bluegrass, New Grass, Jamgrass … C&Ngrass? Plunger don’t profess to be authorities on the genre, although we know a bit, from Scruggs & Flatt through Sam Bush, to Bela Fleck and on to Greensky Bluegrass… and now Low Lily. 

Low Lily alumna Liz Simmons’ solo effort Poets really caught Plunger’s ear back in 2021, so we were interested to hear the band’s latest release Angels In The Wreckage. While Poets zips around genres like a pond-skater on acid - and very pleasingly so - Angels In The Wreckage is by and large a more cohesive affair, plying a steadier course through the waters of bluegrass and traditional roots music (albeit with scenic route diversions via the West Coast.)

Keeping true to the ‘his turn, your turn, my turn’ at the mic of old time bluegrass, the fourteen tracks alternate by songwriter and vocal lead, which subtly alters the feel and emphasis while maintaining the overall vibe, and at least half of the fourteen feature an echt 1-2 bass-and-drum pulse, in a very tasteful, understated upright-and-brushes way (from multi-tasking producer Dirk Powell and Stefan Amidon respectively) not “Techno! Techno! Techno!” or riotous rockablilly style…

Epitomising the rootsier, more ‘trad', vibes are the bustling brush-driven badlands two-step Aren’t I Good Enough, with Liz Simmon’s high, plaintive lead vocal counterpointed by Natalie Padilla’s fiddle and a low-harmony-underpinned chorus, while Liz and Natalie swap dextrous mini-solos towards the close; and Long Distance Love’s bouncy commentary on the woes of modern life has a conversely Old Timey feel - in Flynn Cohen’s lead vox, the harmonies, and the rustic-edged fiddle. Flynn’s own instrumental Keep The Pachysandra Flying is a shotgun-shack-meets-Bagpuss reel: a filigree mandolin opening (later joined by fiddle, guitar and bass) conjure celtic/Appalachian overtones; Natalie’s fiddle takes a turn with the melody before harmonising with the mandolin in a raucous hoedown crescendo to the finish.

Hints of West Coast influences come in the Laurel Canyon-y rework of Shawn Colvin’s hit Round Of Blues, with Liz’s airy vocal, delicate harmonies and a poppy middle-eight-cum-chorus; and in the breezy backwoods backporch two-step of Where We Belong, with somewhat Dead-ish timing and chordal progressions, and lovely Crosby, Nash and, erm, Nash three-part harmonies, while the mountainside hillbilly banjo and vox of the traditional sounding minor key Up On A Rock is punctuated by a very Nashesque sunny major chorus (and some very fine guitar/fiddle interplay between Flynn and Natalie). Peak Crosby & Nash comes in Lonely (probably Plunger’s favourite track): melancholic piano (from jack-of-all-trades Dirk Powell) introduces a very C&N, Cali-coloured slow country waltz with exquisite three-part harmonies, the fiddle and mandolin taking their turns at the bittersweet melody, and a spine-tingling near a cappella passage.

The hummed intro, Liz and Natalie’s honeyed vocal harmonies, restrained melodic guitar and banjo (yes, that’s Dirk again) over a half-speed bluegrass beat lend a dreamy sheen to Love And Loss, and the rural reverie continues in Captivate Me courtesy of Natalie’s keening tone and mantra-like repetition, melancholic fiddle and a banjo continuo. Completing an ethereal trifecta, the celtic-tinged One Wild World’s folk features delicate harmonies and a hymn-like chorus, plus wistful, aching fiddle matched with part-colliery-band/part-mariachi (layered) trumpet from Drake LeBlanc.

The trumpet bleeds through into the wholly different sonic universe of What’ll You Do: a ballsy defund-the-police-protest-inspired (we’re guessing) almost a cappella (barring body percussion and a smattering of kick-and-tom) field holler-cum-spiritual, and an air of protest resurfaces in the Woody Guthrie-meets-Julie-Felix (sorry, Plunger’s childhood’s to blame) state of the union lament of Could We Ever Be Great, complete with run outs for fiddle and Flynn’s guitar and some quirky timings.

Flynn’s second instrumental (guitar-only this time) Bastard Plantagenet Blues has the flavour of a English folk number, including a very mediaeval closing shift into the major, perhaps to prepare your ears for the closing track Wond’ring Again, written by Ian Anderson (yes, THAT Ian Anderson). The spookily prescient 70s folk-rock environmental warning is given an Americana wash by Liz’s gentle harmonies and Natalie’s eerie fiddle harmonics, while Flynn does a rather good job of Ian’s delivery and mannerisms, with all-rounder Dirk adding mellotron in the place of flute.

It may not be Bluegrass as we know it, but Angels In The Wreckage is a very polished, captivating collection of modern American roots music and we like it!

Angels In The Wreckage is available to buy or stream now, from here: https://lowlily.bandcamp.com/album/angels-in-the-wreckage

[tgcnews]

Hall of Fame - One Pound Challenge

Scott R Smith won the One Pound Challenge and we have his TGC Hall of Fame interview below:

You won the Game Parts Only Challenge back in July 2018 and your TGC Hall of Fame Interview is here. How has life and your game design journey been since winning that contest?

The Game Parts Only Challenge was the beginning of such an incredible journey in game design. I was so lucky that it brought me into contact with Jason Miceli and Darrin Horbal of Phase Shift games (two people I now consider friends), leading to my first publications, Kickstarter campaigns, and trips to GenCon and Essen. Really, the beginning of a whole second career and I can't begin to count all the amazing people in and outside the industry I've gotten the chance to meet along the way. Huge thanks both to TGC and to Eric Jome, the judge of that contest!

Please tell us about Sap Run.

Sap Run is a medium/light-weight race to fulfill syrup and candy orders on a maple tree farm. It's set in the early 1900s when they would have still been using horse-drawn sleds. Players drive their sleds literally up and down the 3D farm to tap trees, boil syrup and candy, and then package it all up to deliver to customers.

Where did the idea for this game come from?

I live in the Berkshires and I've spent a lot of time in Vermont. A few years ago, I made the note to try making a maple syruping game after driving by tap lines strung between trees near our house in Newfane, VT. Back then I tinkered with a design on a 3D hex grid set in the modern syruping era where players would build those tap lines using an action track, but it never quite came together. I still loved the theme though, so I kept it in the back of my mind. It resurfaced with the idea to set the game back in the era of syruping sleds and bring in the mechanic of uphill and downhill movement on the map. What really sinched the deal though was when I realized I could use TGC's potion vials as bottles that players could snugly fit their syrup tokens into-too perfect! I love getting inspired by components.

What makes this game special/unique?

Definitely the movement mechanic-you get to take actions on one tile when moving upwards, but potentially multiple tiles moving downwards. It's a simple idea that's really intuitive and rewarding in practice-I noticed that in my first rough demo. The other core concept was that the tiles would produce different grades of syrup depending on when they were used to collect syrup-that shifting makes the board a much more dynamic place to explore.

Did you create a design journal for your game? If so, did you publish it somewhere we can link to?

I didn't make an official design journal for this one, but I always keep a physical journal that I use for early ideas. Below you'll find a photo of one of those early pages…

Did you already have the idea for Sap Run in your head before the 1 Pound Challenge was announced?

The syruping concept was there, but the new mechanics ideas came after the contest announcement. It's awesome how often reading about a new TGC contest leads to fresh ideas!

What made you decide to enter your game into the contest?

My quick design process for contests goes something like this:

1) Sketch ideas in my notebook 2) Build a super-rough, super-minimal prototype and test it myself looking for a hook 3) Build a nicer prototype to test with friends.

If that first test with friends goes well, as it did with Sap Run, I try to use the deadline to help me really create a new design. I think of even the "final" design I submit for contests as a first draft-that's important to give myself permission to move forward-otherwise I'd never make a deadline.

Would you have been motivated to work on the game as much as you did without the contest?

As a dad with two busy kids at home? No chance!

Has winning inspired you to enter more contests or design more games?

For sure. Contests are hard-sometimes you put a ton into it and the game doesn't pan out or connect with judges for a million possible reasons. But usually they're a great gauge of an idea's potential. Just during the submission process looking at feedback and comments about the design, I can usually start to get an idea of whether or not this is something that's capturing the imagination of potential players. As long as you can learn to handle the disappointment of losing and you're willing to ditch an idea that's not going anywhere, there's no replacing the engagement with the design community-so much to learn just from taking the journey with others. I am constantly inspired by other designer's game submissions.

Could you describe any influence The Game Crafter has had on your success as a game designer?

I am a person that loves and is inspired by physical objects-and I think many of us in the board game community are. It's the reason I have a small vinyl record collection and still track down a copy of my favorite books to have on a shelf. The Game Crafter's offer to make my game design dreams physically real (even the ones that don't quite pan out) is so motivating for me. Without that carrot at the end of the stick, I doubt I ever would have gotten seriously into designing!

What's next for you?

I'll be at GenCon this year with Drop Drive (the spiritual successor to Dungeon Drop that won the Game Parts Only Challenge) and I have another 3D game called Slopeside signed with Phase Shift that should be launched on Kickstarter in the next year or two. In Slopeside, players build their own functioning ski mountains, lifting meeples to the top of cardboard peaks and skiing them down winding runs to earn points. I'm in a big winter phase between that and Sap Run right now! I am currently working on a pretty major revision of Sap Run to replace the game's current one-time-use Tool Cards with Tool Tiles that are built on the map to permanently alter the board. I really want players to finish the game feeling like they've built something by the time they've delivered their last order.

Any last words of encouragement or advice to all of the designers reading this?

I think one of the hardest balances to find in game design is the balance between enough commitment to your design to finish without overcommitment to a design destined to fail. The most useful tool I've developed is the ability to build an ultra-rough, mini prototype to test an initial concept before getting in too deep. The more you practice, listen and learn the easier it gets to find the happy place between flakiness and stubbornness, but know that it's a constant struggle we all face together.

Congratulations to Scott R Smith for winning his second TGC community game design contest!

[concreterswollongongnsw]

Concrete Driveway Contractors Near Me

A well-maintained concrete driveway adds value and curb appeal to a home. If your driveway is in need of repair or replacement, contact a professional concrete contractor.

Costs for materials and labor are the main factors in determining how much it will cost to pour a concrete driveway. Other expenses to consider include site preparation and specialty designs.

Costs

Concrete driveway contractors charge by the project, including time and materials. They should provide you with a detailed contract that lists all the costs associated with your project. You should also ask for references from past clients and a portfolio of work.

The cost of a new concrete driveway depends on its size and shape. It can range from $4 to $8 per square foot for a plain gray concrete driveway. Adding a basic border and broom-finish texture can increase the cost to $8 to $12 per square foot. Curved concrete driveways cost more because the contractor has to build a special form for them.

Materials

Concrete contractors often work with a variety of materials. They use mixers to combine cement and other ingredients in a wet concrete mix, which they then pour into forms. They also work with rebar or wire mesh to strengthen the final concrete surface.

They may also use tools like groove cutters to create control joints on sidewalks, walkways and residential slabs. These tools have a plate with a fin that cuts a shallow groove in the concrete.

Lowe’s offers a range of concrete pavers in different shapes, lengths and colors. They are easy to install and can be used to create a distinctive driveway or patio.

Labor

Concrete driveways are labor-intensive projects. Contractors must remove old asphalt, form up the space for a new driveway, add rebar (if necessary) and pour and finish the concrete. It’s a project that most homeowners leave to professionals.

When shopping around for a concrete contractor, consider the company’s experience. Contractors with years of experience have more practical knowledge and can provide a better quality job. Also, they may offer more competitive pricing due to their longevity in the industry. However, beware of contractors that advertise the cheapest price. They might end up costing you more in the long run. Searching for a good balance of quality, fair pricing and trustworthiness is the best approach.

Sealing

Concrete surfaces are exposed to a lot of abuse. Left unsealed, they can absorb oil, water, dirt and other contaminants that lead to degradation and stains. Concrete resurfacing and proper sealing can prevent this damage from happening, extending the life of your driveway.

Choosing the right concrete sealer is a balance of aesthetics and performance. Look for a product that meets your needs and falls within your budget.

A penetrating concrete sealer is usually the safest choice for driveways. These products don’t form a film and provide more traction than acrylic-resin styles. They also require less maintenance. Some are even available with a matte application style and anti-slip additive for added safety.

Curved driveways

The driveway is a prominent feature that adds curb appeal and value to the property. It offers a reserved space for parking cars and trucks and also provides a safe place for kids to play. It is a major expense that requires professional concrete contractors to ensure a durable and long-lasting result.

Look for experienced contractors that have a proven track record of quality work and client satisfaction. Ask them to provide you with a compilation of projects and customer referrals. Ask whether they offer specialized concrete treatments, like coloring and texturing, to customize the finished product. Also, inquire about resurfacing, which is ideal for damaged driveways.

Rebar

Rebar, also known as reinforcing steel, is a type of metal bar used in concrete construction to strengthen it and help it endure tensile stresses. It is particularly important in areas where concrete needs to withstand high loads, such as a foundation, floor slabs, and walls.

Rebar is usually made of carbon steel, though it can be epoxy-coated to protect it from corrosion and provide a stronger bond with concrete. There are different sizes of rebar, and it is essential that they be properly spaced to ensure maximum strength.

Rebar is typically placed in a grid pattern, and the concrete contractor will tie it together with precut rebar ties fastened with a twister tool. This is done to prevent rebar from shifting inside the concrete and compromising its integrity.

source https://concreterswollongong.wordpress.com/2023/07/06/concrete-driveway-contractors-near-me/

[soulstagger]

Hearing this brought some comfort at least, but an equal amount of worry as well. They had no allegiences, nothing to bind them but nothing to hold them back either. Which only made the current situation more perplexing.

Still she needed strength, slowly Kiyoko would partake in her soup. Bought locally, it wasn't anything special but it was made by the same people in the same walk of life as them. Desperate, creative, trying to find flavor where ingredients lacked.

"Pissed her off?" Kiyoko's hand clenched, almost breaking the bowl she was hold. "Doesn't concern you? Of course it wouldn't, some murder for hire!"

Her talking stopped, the bowl was set and Kiyoko jumped from her bed. She was slow, moving to her feet, uncaring for the state of her attire or her body. Like something else was motivating her to move despite being near death only a night before.

Her eyes look for a weapon, for the door. "She did that last job! Your employer! She shows up to challenge me for the my title, she says its her duty to change the system!"

Kiyoko's tensing muscles do nothing for her health, there's already a hint of red resurfacing in her bandages, slightly but there's risk of bleeding starting again.

"I refuse! What I am, has to be handed down to someone. It can't be taken or fought for, it has to go to someone who'll stay. Who will watch over everyone. It brings the kids safety, it brings them funds for people who wish to train and perhaps one day take it over."

Her voice cracked, weakening as she angrily went off. The title, the mantle, it brought much needed help to keep the orphanage running. Help that the shrine's donations could never cover.

"I wouldn't take her challenge, and thus she detonated an explosive rock. It set fire, and I had to fight her to get to them..." The explosive rocks, the magic, clearly the reasons for her burns. The fight, the reason for her other wounds, and her defeat.

"Out of my way." She demanded with heavy gasps. "I have to track her down, defeat her...take it back or come winter.."

The back to back questions yields a sigh from Stella, who briefly sets her own food down to pull a chair forward. She fully expected her ex-target to be distrustful of her, to scream and throw food at her, to spit in her face...But, instead, this shrine maiden seems to be a talker. Not something that the assassin would have guessed after last night.

"Look, I know next to nothing about either of you besides what you look like. I don't ask questions when I accept jobs. It keeps things professional if I don't know too much about who's employing me and why; everything about my targets I can figure out by watching them.

"If I had to guess, you pissed someone important off. That's how it usually is. That, or you're some kind of rival that they couldn't have galivanting about...Whatever the reason, my ex-employer paid some pretty good money in full to have me hurt you."

Stella cannot help but to wonder herself what it is the bunny-eared woman's done to earn the ire of someone else. As far as she can judge, her ex-target does not have the demeanor of her normal assignments. After all, how many people has she scrubbed from existence that run an orphanage?

"Whatever you have going on with my employer doesn't really concern me. I did my job...Well, it's more whoever got you last did my job."

[goodthoughts001]

People With BDD Don't Need Cosmetic Surgery - Explained by CO2 Laser skin resurfacing near me Hallandale Beach

It is important to know why doctors administer a mental health screening before putting a BDD suspected patient under the knife. By any chance if you are looking for "CO2 Laser skin resurfacing near me Hallandale Beach", get in touch with "https://www.dermatologyboutique.com/" - they are the best in their business.

It clearly doesn't mean that the patient has lost it or is a psycho, it is just to rule out body dismorphic disorder because such people with BDD don't need cosmetic surgery, they need psychiatric care & counselling. If a surgeon performs the desired surgery on a BDD affected patient without mental counselling, it is more than sure that he/she will NOT be satisfied with the results and it will affect both (the surgeon and the patient) because it is not a matter of face/body correction, it the mind that need fixation.

People with BDD may pick at a skin defect only perceptible to them until a real scab appears. They might lose hours in front of a mirror, meticulously working to camouflage their purported flaws, or they might compulsively avoid mirrors at all costs, terrified of what they'll see. Some develop eating disorders or social anxiety.

Still, the psychiatric condition is surprisingly common: according to the Body Dysmorphia Disorder Foundation, one in 50 people has it. The advocacy group lists several famous names who may have had the disorder, though none were ever diagnosed, including Sylvia Plath, Michael Jackson and Franz Kafka.

Larger breasts come with their share of drawbacks; back pain, neck pain, sports sore, difficulty in finding clothes that fit properly among them, self-consciousness. A large cup size that cannot be supported by your frame, can cause health problems, that become become chronic concerns when ignored. When your breast size limits your life, reduction is the best option.

The Benefits of Breast Reduction Surgery-

Say goodbye to pain - With your breasts weighing relatively lesser, they will not strain your shoulders, neck and back.

Start exercising again -You will be able to run, swim, walk & play without your breasts getting in the way.

Improve your posture -You will no longer slouch. You will be able to pull back your shoulders and straighten your spine, and throw your chest out, finally.

Shop easier -You don't have to hide in mumus. Clothes that fit, support and flatter will be easier to find.

Boost your confidence - An improved posture will enhance your self-confidence as well.

People often start watching their body weight right after liposuction and wonder why the numbers are not going down as they expect. First of all, it's important to remember that liposuction is not a weight-loss procedure. Best for removing small pockets of fat, liposuction gives patients better body contour and a shapelier silhouette, but is not meant to help you lose pounds. I tell patients to avoid the weighing scale for 1-2 month after surgery because the body is in healing mode from surgery stress and can cause you to retain water (which could translate to increased pounds). Once the body realizes you are fine the water will come off. Maintaining a balanced diet and following your doctor's prescribed post-op instructions will also help you on the right track toward a healthy recovery.

[drewstcrkey]

You're a Liar ( Part 2 ) : Rafe Cameron

Part One

Summary : After yet another blow out between you and Rafe, he eavesdrops on your conversation with Sarah. Learning you didn't cheat on him, he takes your first night back out with your friends as a chance to get you back. Pairing : Rafe Cameron x Reader Word Count : 2.1k Warnings : none :) Authors Note : Call me impulsive but i couldn't help but to round out this story !

Once you've closed the door behind you an exhausted sigh come from you. You lean up against the door, cradling the box of your belongings like it was the only thing you had.

"Y/N?" You hear a familiar voice call out to you. You find Sarah wearing a worried look as she makes her way up the porch, her hand resting on yours. "What's wrong?" Your swollen eyes, that have run out of tears to shed, give you away before anything can even be said.

"It's over...like it's really over," you whispers in defeat. You and Sarah had always been close, since the two of you were little. And although she was the one to introduce you to her older brother she was also the same person to warn you it could never end well with Rafe. You of course, swept up in the boys beautiful blue eyes ignored her warnings. Then ensued the last few years of your life. Months filled with extreme highs, that always followed closely by extreme lows. It was...quite the adventure, as your mom would have liked to call it.

"Come on," Sarah motions you to come inside with her. Taking the box from your hands and setting it down near the door. "You shouldn't be alone right now," she reminded you as the two of you made your way up to her room. Your eyes landing on the door to Rafe's room. It was quiet now. No screaming or scattered belongings. Nothing. You swallowed what felt like a lump in your throat as Sarah closed the door to her room behind the two of you.

At the same as Sarah's door closed, Rafe resurfaced from his room. Eyes bloodshot, as he scanned the area. Letting out a deep sigh as he made his way down the stairs, grabbing the keys to his motorbike but quickly stopping in his tracks when he saw the box of your belongings. With a purse of his lips he looked around, almost frantically as if he were going to see you somewhere. Of course, he didn't though. Rafe peeks out the window, to see yours and Sarah's cars both parked in the driveway.

Might be late.

Is all he texts to Topper, who was probably already complaining to Kelce about how flighty Rafe was all the time.

Making his way back up the stairs, with a bit more pep in his step than previously. He leans up against the door frame, hoping to hear the two girls, he presumed with just behind the door.

"He called me a liar," you tell her with a sadness in your eyes that was heartbreaking for even Sarah to see. Her and her brother never got along, their fight for Ward's love, that Sarah always came out on top of, was the catalyst for that. Despite that, she understood that you loved him and although she didn't love seeing him always hurting you, she knew you not having him to call yours hurt more than anything he'd ever done in the past.

"It was a straightening iron burn, Sarah, a freaking burn," you groaned, your head falling into your delicate hands.

Rafe, on the other side of the door, let his head fall at the words he'd just heard. The realization that the entire scene that took place in his room could've been avoided. "Shit," he mumbled to himself.

"Did you tell him that?" Sarah asked, taking a seat next to you. Her hand landing on your back, to console you a bit.

"No, he was too busy..." you shake your head, reliving him screaming in your face.

"Being a jealous ass hole?" she asked, in an attempt to finish your sentence for you. You just nod in response.

"Y/N, i dont want to be this person but-" you interrupt her, with a knowing roll of your eyes.

"You told me this couldn't end well, i know..." you concede, "but Sarah, i love him." You admit.

"Why?" Sarah groans, she could never understand the spell Rafe had put on you. "He's always making you cry, he treats you like your property, Y/N."

Rafe rolled his eyes as he listened to his sister speak poorly of him. It was nothing new but each time she did it, it enraged him a little more.

"He loves me," you shake your head, once again not wanting to hear what Sarah had to say about her brother. He did love you, in his own weird Rafe Cameron way. At least that's what you'd convinced yourself.

"No he loves himself, Y/N," Sarah corrected you, "he loves having someone there who he knows love him."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," you pout with a shake of your head. Shutting down the conversation immediately.

"Uh...i'm just going to go home," you say getting up from the bed.

"Actually, i'd love if you came with me to the bonfire tonight..." Sarah offered. "You know? Get your mind off everything...see your friends who love you." She emphasized the word 'love'.

You ponder on the idea but before you can give an answer Sarah already have a big grin on her face, "it'll be great, i promise." She affirms, grabbing the keys to her car and waving them up in the air as an enticing gesture.

Rafe takes this as his cue to head back down stairs, pulling his phone out to text the boys.

On my way.

He hoped for once Sarah's persuasion would come in handy and he'd see you walking into the bonfire alongside her.

---

"I can't believe you talked me into this," you groan, stepping out of the car. The wave of rowdy party goers washing over your ears.

"It's going to be fun," she promises you, taking your hand in hers as the two of you made your way onto the beach.

"Woah, Y/N's here," Kelce says in a bit of shock. Prompting Rafe and Topper to both follow his eye line, their eyes landing on both you and Sarah. A small uptick to the corner of Rafe's lip.

"She came," he mumbles to himself.

"Y/N!" Topper calls out, motioning you over, almost as if he's forgotten the night at Kelce's all together. Kelce shoves him a bit in an attempt to knock some sense into him. You can't help but let a giggle out at the two boys now getting into a playful shoving match. The look on your face falling when your eyes land on Rafe, who is looking at you with confusingly hopeful eyes.

"This way," Sarah motions you over toward the pogues, shooting a weary look over at her brother.

At first you were pretty indifferent to the pogues. After all, your mom was once a pogue before she found her way out of The Cut and into the arms of your father. It wasn't until Sarah and John B started dating though, that you actually started a friendship with them.

"So she alive!" JJ teases as you integrate into the group of your friends. "The woes of heartbreak can't bring you down for long," he hands over a solo cup full of what you can only imagine is one of JJ's famous concoctions that would inevitably get you on your ass or worse, throwing up in a bush later in the night.

"JJ shut up," Kiara nudges him, sending your a small smile.

"No, no he's right, can't keep me down for too long," you said with a forced smile, tapping your cup against JJ's in an attempt to feel some sort of old normal.

You and the pogues start bouncing jokes back and forth, and you can't deny this is exactly what you needed. It was a breath of fresh air and you almost forgot about everything that had taken place in the last week.

"Can we talk?" You feel a hand slip onto your waist and your friends eyes narrow at the sight of your now ex boyfriend.

"Why do you always gotta try and ruin a good night?" JJ huffed, winning a glare from Rafe. He made the conscious decision not the respond and just looked back down at you, his eyes piercing through your soul. In that moment you knew you'd go off and talk to him. You didn't have it in you to say no to him, not when he looked at you like that. And you presumed that would forever be your downfall.

"Y/n," he whispered, holding his hand out for you to take. You take a deep breath looking at your friends then back a Rafe. "Five minutes," you tell him, placing your hand in his and he brings you out further towards where the water meets with the sand. A good enough distance to not be in earshot of anyone at the party.

"Why does he always get what he wants," Kiara complained, taking a sip of her drink as her eyes fixated on you and Rafe.

"Because she's wrapped around his finger," JJ swirls his index finger in the air. His words getting a roll of the eyes from Sarah and Kiara.

You look out at the water, then down at you sandals as you watch the small water of water wash away the sand the wedged itself between your foot and the revealing footwear.

"I don't want to argue," you tell him, still not making eye contact.

"I don't either," he shakes his head. Taking both your hands in his.

"Baby, why didn't you tell me?" He asks, his head dipping down a little trying to get a good look at your face.

He's calling you baby? Did he just tell you to leave his sight earlier in the night? You lift you head up to look at him, your heart dropping into your stomach as you see the small smile on his face. What is going on? You mentality question.

"Tell you what?" You search his eyes, waiting for his demeanor to change, but it doesn't. He stays soft, this was the look of the guy you loved. This was the guy you wish he could always be.

"That is was a fucking curling iron?" He laughs, pulling your hair away from your neck for a second to look at the burn mark. Your brows furrow as your glance over toward Sarah then back at Rafe.

"How? Who told you?" You look at him shocked. There was no way Sarah would've texted Rafe. The last thing she wanted was for you and her brother to get back together, you supposed for good reason.

"I might have over heard you," he bites his bottom lip, as his eyes darted out toward the water.

"You over heard me?" You couldn't help but laugh at his poor excuse. "You eavesdropped on me and Sarah," you accused him, although the smile on your face made it clear you weren't upset over his actions.

"Just a little," he smirked pushing his index finger and thumb together.

"Rafe!" you yell at him, slapping at his arm as you attempt to feign some sort of aggravation. He playfully cowers away from you, his hands falling to your hips as he does so.

"We're hitting now?" He laughs, before his expression gets a little more serious undertone to it.

"Baby, will you take me back?" He asks, as if he'd been waiting to get that question out since you showed up to the bonfire.

You look down, biting at your cheek.

"Y/n?" Rafe tries getting your attention, a look of worry etched onto his features.

"If i do, you have to promise this ridiculous jealousy is over...all it," you hold up your pinky waiting for him to seal the deal.

"I can make that promise, as long as you promise you'll leave this party with me," he holds up his own pinky giving you a smug look. You roll your eyes as the two of you wrap pinkys and kiss the ends of your fist.

"I can do that," you mumble into your hand.

A look of relief washes over Rafe's face as he wraps his arms around you waist, picking you up from off the sand, getting a small squeal to come out of you.

"You'll always be my girl, Y/N Y/L/N," he presses his lips against yours before you can even say anything in response. Your hands now intertwined in his brunette locks as you deepen the kiss between the two of you.

"And so the saga continues," JJ interrupts whatever conversation the pogues were in as his eyes fixate on the kiss that takes place between you and Rafe.

[leossmoonn]

Regret || Part Two

masterlist | part one 

pairing - stefan salvatore x fem,forbes!reader

type - fluff, angst

note / request - “hi i'm not sure if your requests are still open but could you do a part two to 'regret' where someone gave Y/N vamp blood so she survives and runs away from mystic falls and only damon knows about it. And in present time Stefan turned it off so Damon calls Y/N for help and she's an icy cold bitch now, but agrees to help Damon. then Stefan and Y/N reunite again” ok so i hope i did the math right with caroline and the reader lol. i said Caroline would be her great niece? if any of yall happen to be interested in how they’re related and think i’m wrong, feel free to let me know! also this is like all over the place oops

summary - you and stefan reunite after 164 years when you help him turn his humanity back on

warnings / includes - language, alcohol, fighting, steamy make out scene, blood sharing. ik part one was 2nd person but i wanted to make this 1st person point of view lol

————

*gif isn’t mine* (baby stef awe)

“Stay still and quiet,” I demanded, grabbing the innocent boy’s neck and digging my fangs into his carotid. I drank his blood with no remorse, sucking him dry. I moaned at the taste, letting go of him and letting him fall to the ground. I smiled sinisterly and walked over the boy’s dead body, strutting out of the dark alley. 

I wiped the blood off of my lips, sucking it off on my fingers. I looked around me, making sure no one was near. It was 3 in the morning, but you could never be too sure in the city that never sleeps. I walked down the street, taking my time to walk to my apartment. As I strolled down the street, my phone vibrated in my back pocket. I pulled it out and smiled as I saw Damon Salvatore’s caller ID. 

“Hello,” I answered cheerily. “Hey, Y/n,” Damon whispered into the phone.

“Why are you whispering? Did one of the many people you’ve fucked with finally find you?” I smirked. 

“Ha-ha, funny. No, I just don’t have a lot of time right now and I need to make this quick,” he explained. 

“Hm, aright. What’s up?” I asked. 

“I need your help. Stefan has turned off his humanity and no one has been able to turn it back on,” he explained. 

I stopped in my tracks at the mention of Stefan’s name. If my heart was alive, it would have stopped and I would surely have dropped dead. Instead, a pang of sadness and nostalgia filled my chest. 

“S-Stefan?” I spoke up. His name sounded weird in my voice and it felt weird saying it. I hadn’t said it in 50 years. 

“Yep, that’s his name. Don’t wear it out,” Damon remarked. 

I gulped loudly and regained my composure, continuing to walk to my apartment. “Why do you need my help? What about Katherine? I’m sure she would be happy to help.”

“Katherine’s dead,” he sighed. My eyes widened, “What?! That girl is like a cockroach. There is no way she’s dead.” “Nope, trust me. She’s dead. Stefan killed her,” Damon explained. 

Hearing that Stefan was the one to kill her lifted up my mood. I felt overjoyed, actually. 

“Wow,” I breathed out, smiling as I thought about how it all went down. 

“Yeah, I know. Finally she’s out of our lives. Anyways, we need your help because no one here can make him turn his humanity back on. We think you can.”

“Oh, yeah? And how? We haven’t seen each other in 100-plus years, Damon. He probably won’t even recognize me,” I scoffed. 

“He will. He’s in love with you, Y/n,” Damon said. 

Now this I could just not believe. 

“Funny trick, Damon. If you want me to come and help, you’re gonna have to try harder than that,” I laughed. 

“Y/n, I’m serious. He loves you and has ever since he met you,” Damon pressed. 

I shook my head. It seemed too good to be true. I just couldn’t bring myself to actually believe it. All the memories of us in 1863 through 1864 resurfaced after 100 years of trying to forget. Regret, guilt, anger, sadness, pain, happiness all surged through me as once, now making me snappy. 

“I beg to differ, Damon. Stefan was in love with Katherine. He obviously isn’t anymore since he killed her, but all that time I was in love with him and he chose her over me countless times. And now I’m supposed to just believe he has been in love with me all this time? Bullshit!” I exclaimed. 

Damon sighed frustratedly. “Look, you don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth. Also, don’t you know that Katherine compelled us to love her? She also compelled Stefan to drink her blood. That’s why he’s still alive after being shot. Katherine is to blame, not Stefan.”

“Oh, please. The way he looked at her was not because of compulsion,” I laughed sourly. 

“Maybe in the beginning he loved her, but trust me when I say all that love for her went away whenever he saw you. You don’t know how many times Katherine had to compel him. And I know you’re still in love with him, despite thinking you’re a hard ass and whatnot, so please come to Mystic Falls and help. After you’re done, you can just leave. We won’t keep you here for any longer than we need,” Damon begged. 

I pursed my lips. The thoughts of Stefan being compelled to love Katherine wasn’t that far-fetched. She was manipulative and incredibly crazy. And all those times where you and Stefan were close to kissing, when you saw the love in his eyes… 

Maybe Damon’s right. I mean, he was definitely right about me still being in love with Stefan. A love like that never goes away. Not even in a 100 years. 

It wouldn’t kill me to see Damon again and catch up. I hadn’t seen him in over a decade and honestly, I had missed him. We had built a friendship ever since he saved me from dying all those years ago. I could also meet his friends and girlfriend, who he talked so highly about. And there was Stefan. Once I got him to turn it back on, which hopefully I am able to, then maybe we could also catch up. Maybe we two could even try to date. If he even wanted to. 

“Y/n? Are you there? I need an answer,” Damon’s voice broke me out of my daze. 

“Y-Yeah. I’ll… I’ll come to help,” I answered. 

“Good. I was worried you wouldn’t agree. I know how much you’ve changed,” Damon chuckled. 

I laughed with him. “Well, sometimes people can surprise you.”

“Yeah. Anyways, I gotta go. How fast can you be here?” Damon asked. 

“I can be there in 4 hours,” I said. “Great. See you then,” Damon said. 

“See you,” I said and hung up the call. 

I let out a long sigh, going on my phone and to Damon’s and I’s text receipts. I went to the photo receipts and scrolled down until I got to the photo of Stefan. 

A few months ago, out of plain curiosity, I had asked Damon for a picture of Stefan. I hadn’t seen him in 164 years and I wanted to see how he looked. I refrained myself from asking questions about his personal life, knowing that I probably wouldn’t get the answers I wanted. 

The picture was one that one of his friends, who happened to be my great grand niece, took. Stefan was in his football gear. His jersey was a rusty red colour and had the number 17 on it. He was carrying his helmet, his head tilted upwards as it looked like he just got done playing. His hair was a little disheveled, probably from wearing the helmet. He looked just as handsome as I had remembered. Nothing had changed about him. Well, his hair did, but I didn’t mind. I liked how he had combed it upwards and cut it short on the sides. He looked hot, to say the least.

I stared at the photo for a few more minutes before turning off my phone. If I wanted to get to Virginia in time, I would have to leave now. With being a vampire, I could use my vamp speed to get across the world quicker than a car, but I still needed rest times and to pace myself, too. 

I hurried up to my apartment and packed a backpack full of clothes for up to 3 days worth. If I ended up staying longer, I could just go and buy more clothes. (Or steal some). I packed some toiletries, changed out of my heels and into sneakers, and made my way out. I locked my apartment door, running down the stairwell and using my vampire speed to go to Mystic Falls. 

I arrived a little later than I had planned, but it was still early. Once I made it into Mystic Falls, I immediately made my way over to the Salvatore Boarding House. I walked up to the door, taking out my phone and checking myself out in the camera. If Stefan answered the door, I wanted to make sure he thought I looked good, and that he knew who I was. I hadn’t changed much appearance wise, but the way I dressed and the cold look in my eyes definitely changed. Once I felt satisfied with how I looked, I knocked on the door. 

I waited for a few moments before the door opened. My eyes bulged out of its sockets. 

“Katherine!” I shrieked. 

Katherine’s eyes widened. “I-I’m not Katherine. I’m-”

“You are so low. Thinking you can come here and manipulate Stefan and Damon even more by straightening and using your compulsion to make them forget you - which by the way, I don’t even know how you could do. I thought you were dead! Guess I’ll just have to kill you myself,” I growled, letting my fangs show. I went to run into the house, but the barrier blocked me. I put my hand up, trying to break through, but not getting successful. 

“Dammit. Guess I’ll just call Damon to let me in,” I rolled my eyes. 

“That won’t work, Y/n!” Damon’s voice sounded behind Katherine. 

“Why not? I thought you owned the house? And what are you doing letting this piece of trash live with you? You told me she was dead,” I gestured to Katherine. 

Damon sighed and looked to Katherine, giving her an apologetic look. He then looked to me. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you, I just thought that it would be better you met in person. I didn’t expect you to act like this, though,” Damon said. He then went next to Katherine. 

“Elena, this is Y/n Forbes. Y/n, this is Elena Gilbert. Katherine’s doppelgänger,” Damon gestured between the two of us. 

“Doppelgänger!” “Forbes!” Elena and I exclaimed the the same time. 

“No, no, no. Doppelgängers… They don’t exist. This… This has to be Katherine,” I scoffed. 

“I promise I’m not Katherine. I hate her, too,” Elena spoke. 

I narrowed my eyes at her, looking her up and down for a few second. “Hm… How can I trust you?”

“Because she’s my girlfriend, a vampire, and the only way you’re getting into this house if you be nice because she’s the one who owns it,” Damon explained, intertwining his fingers with Elena’s. 

I sighed, “Fine. Sorry. It’s nice to meet you, Elena.”

Elena gave me a kind smile. “You, too, Y/n. Go ahead and come in.”

I smiled back at her, taking a step and successfully entering the house. I walked into the foyer, looking around. 

“Wow, this place hasn’t changed. Besides the big flatscreen,” I chuckled. 

“Yeah, well, we weren’t gonna watch movies on a little box,” Damon said. 

“So, um… Forbes?” Elena asked.

I turned to her. “Yep. Has Stefan told you about me?”

“Yeah, he has, but um, I actually have a friend whose last name is Forbes,” Elena explained. 

“Oh, Caroline?” I guessed. “Yeah! How did you know?” Elena asked. 

“I keep up with the family. She’s my great grand niece, I believe,” I said.

“Wow, that’s really cool. You know, she’d be really happy to meet you.”

“I’m actually looking forward to meeting her, too,” I spoke honestly. “Speaking of meeting people, where’s Stefan.” “I was hoping you saw him on your way in,” Damon said. 

“Nope. Then again, I wasn’t really focused on scouring the town. I thought he’d be here,” I shrugged. 

“Ugh, great,” Damon muttered. “Hey, it’s okay. Why don’t we get you introduced to everybody. Eight heads is always better than three,” Elena chuckled. 

I watched as she leaned into Damon, putting her hand on his chest to calm him. I smirked at this. 

“Sounds good. But first, I’d like to get some food, please. And I mean real human food,” I said. 

“No problem! There’s a restaurant called The Grill we can all meet up at. Let me ask everyone if they’re free,” Elena said, stepping out of Damon’s embrace and walking away. 

I sauntered over to Damon. He frowned once he noticed the look on my face. 

“What now?” He asked. 

“You seem pretty smitten,” I commented. “Yeah, well, Elena’s great,” Damon shrugged. 

“So she seems. She’s very different than Katherine.”

“Yeah, that’s what makes her so great. I’m so in love with her,” Damon sighed dreamily, staring at Elena as she was talking to someone on the phone. Elena turned to us and gave Damon a smile before turning back to her conversation. 

“You definitely have a type,” I chuckled. “And you’ve been in love with the same guy for almost two centuries,” Damon said. 

I gave him a sarcastic smile. “Yeah, well, at least Stefan isn’t a descendant of a bitch.”

Damon opened his mouth to speak again, but Elena interrupted us. 

“Alright! Ready to go?” 

“Yep,” I smiled, turning on my heel. 

We drove in Elena’s SUV to The Grill. 

“This is quaint,” I remarked as we walked into the restaurant. 

“It has really good food, don’t worry. My friends are sitting over there.” Elena pointed to a big booth that was filled with four people. 

I followed her and Damon to the table. 

“Hey, guys!” Elena exclaimed. 

“Hey!” A boy with brunette hair smiled and stood up to hug her. 

“Woah, who’s this?” A rather attractive, darker-haired boy asked, looking me up and down. 

“I’m Y/n Forbes. Who are you?” I smirked, sitting down at the table.

As soon as I said my last name, they were shouting questions. 

“Forbes? As in like, Caroline?”

“Are you Caroline’s sister? Caroline! You have a hot sister!”

“I don’t have a sister, you idiot!” “How do you know Elena and Damon?”

“Are you single?”

“You’re a vampire! Caroline, she’s, like, your great aunt! Emily told me about her.”

I smiled at the green-eyed girl who came to the conclusion. “Correct. Bonnie, right?”

“U-Uh, yeah. How did you know?” Bonnie asked. 

“Because I was alive when she was alive. I was born in 1847 and turned into a vampire in 1864,” I explained. 

“You were friends with Damon and Stefan?” Caroline asked. 

“More or less. I had an arranged marriage to Stefan, but Katherine ‘The Psycho’ Pierce got to him first. Not like he loved me anyways,” I muttered. 

“Wait! You’re Y/n? Like Stefan’s Y/n?” The boy who hugged Elena asked. 

My eyes widened, heat crawling up my cheeks. “W-What do you mean, Stefan’s Y/n?”

“Stefan used to talk about you all the time before he turned his humanity off. Even when he was with Elena,” the boy chuckled. 

I raised my brows and turned to Elena. “You dated them both? Man, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Shut it,” Damon snapped. I smirked and turned back to the group. “So… Stefan does love me?”

“He’s crazy about you,” Bonnie nodded. 

“Oh,” I smiled softly. “Good to, uh… Good to know it.” “See, I wasn’t lying when I told you,” Damon nudged me. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I rolled eyes. 

“Wait, wait. So… you’re my great aunt?” Caroline asked. 

“Yes, I am. Nice to meet you, Caroline,” I smiled at her. “Wow… Wow! I-I… This is so cool. I, I-I don’t know what to say,” Caroline stammered. 

“Tell me something, how was sleeping with Klaus Mikaelson?” I asked. 

Everyone around us either started laughing or their eyes bulged out of their head. For Caroline, her face went all red and the latter. 

“H-How do you know about that?” She asked. 

“Bex and I are buddies,” I shrugged. “Oh,” Caroline blushed. 

“We can talk about it over lunch sometime. When we catch up.”

Caroline’s face broke into a small smile. “Yeah, I’d actually like that.”

“Good. So uh, who is this?” I pointed to the blonde boy and brunette boy. 

“Oh, I’m Matt and this is Jeremy,” the blonde introduced himself. 

“Oh, my God! You’re Matt? Bex talks very highly of you,” I winked. 

Matt blushed and looked down. “T-Thanks.”

“Mhm. Anyways, it’s nice to meet you all. Damon has told me absolutely nothing about you,” I said. 

“Yeah, he’s never mentioned you. We all thought you were dead,” Tyler said. 

“Yeah, well, that’s because my dear brother never knew she was alive. Only I did,” Damon explained. 

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Elena asked.

“Well, I thought that Stefan would end up with Katherine, and I couldn’t stand to see that. It was already so painful watching him in 1864 with her. I couldn’t do it for 100 plus years. I guess she left him once he got shot, though,” I explained. 

“Oh, I see. So, you like him, too?” Jeremy asked. 

“Well, of course! Who couldn’t I mean, I can’t blame you for falling in love with him,” I smirked at Elena.

“Yeah, he’s a great guy,” she admitted. 

“Mhm. Anyways, yeah, I like him. I’ve been in love with him for the last 164 years.” “Wow, long time,” Tyler chuckled. 

“Well, when it’s the right person, love lasts forever,” I smiled. “Speaking of Stefan, do any of you know where he is?”

“Nope,” Bonnie sighed. “Hm. Why did he turn off his humanity, again?” I asked. 

“That might have been our bad,” Damon sighed, pulling Elena close to him. 

“Oh, my- Seriously?” I scoffed. “Not our fault Hero Hair can’t handle rejection,” Damon rolled his eyes. 

“Damon, be nice,” Elena slapped his chest. 

“Elena, he doesn’t have one ounce of nice in him,” I frowned. 

“I’m starting to really like her,” Bonnie smiled. I gave her a playful wink, looking back at Damon. 

“You were a lot nicer in 1864. Maybe you’d want to gain some of that kindness back for Stefan, huh?” Damon suggested. 

“Well, maybe if you left me to die then I wouldn’t be here wasting my time, trying to help you out!” I crossed my arms. 

“We all know you would do anything for Stefan. I know your attitude has changed, but you’re still that little, quiet farm girl who didn’t have the guts to tell Stefan how you really felt!” Damon exclaimed. 

“Oh, yeah?” I scoffed. I moved closer to him, looking up at him straight in the eyes. “Well, you’re still that pathetic, lonely guy with mommy and daddy issues who ruins everything for everyone because you just can’t stand to see anyone happy.”

“You wanna see how pathetic I am?” Damon asked. Veins began to circulate under his eyes. 

“Oh, I’d love to. I’d show you how little and quiet I am now,” I challenged, hissing at him. I let my fangs come out, lunging towards him. I wrapped my hands around his neck and used my vamp speed to ram him into the wall. 

“Careful, Forbes. There are people watching,” Damon taunted. 

“Yeah, I bet they’ll enjoy when I kill you,” I grinned.  “You don’t have a stake, smart ass,” he chuckled. 

“Oh, I know. But I can still do this,” I put my hands around his jaw and started to twist when Damon took ahold of me and sped me out of the restaurant, throwing me against a lamp post. 

I groaned in pain, but recovered quickly. “Good move. Afraid your girlfriend will see you get ripped to shreds?”

“More like afraid of Caroline seeing you die right before her eyes,” Damon shot back. 

I gave him a sarcastic smile and looked to my left, seeing a tree. I sped to it and broke off a branch, running towards Damon. I aimed the stake right for his heart, but I ended up running right past him. I stopped, feeling a pair of strong, warm arms around me. 

“Damon! Let me go so I can kill you!” I fought against him. 

“I’m not Damon, sweetheart.”

I froze immediately, my mouth agape. I looked up slowly, my whole body giving out as I stared into Stefan’s eyes. The same forest-green eyes I never thought I would ever see again. He had a big grin on his face, his pearly white teeth blinding my eyes.

“S-Stefan?” I asked, my voice giving out due to the wonder and excitement I was currently feeling.

“Hey, Y/n,” he greeted.

As soon as he said my name, my legs gave out from under me. Stefan quickly put his hands on my waist, holding me up. It seemed as though the whole zoo was swarming in my stomach as he gripped the sides of my body. 

“Careful there. You might fall and break an ankle,” he chuckled. 

“Yeah, well, I’m a vampire. I think I’ll survive,” I joked back. My put my hands on his shoulders, taking a step back so I could look at him. 

He was wearing a black, leather jacket, a red shirt, and dark-wash jeans. He looked so much more grown up with this outfit, but still had that boyish charm. 

“I know. I was quite surprised when I had to figure that out. All on my own!” Stefan exclaimed the last few words, looking behind me. 

I turned around and saw Damon walking towards us, rolling his eyes in his dramatic-Damon way. 

“Sorry, brother. It was her who wanted to kept a secret,” Damon pointed to me. 

I glared at him and Stefan scoffed. 

“Why?” Stefan asked.

“I…I just didn’t want to see you with Katherine. But it looks like I never had to worry about that,” I chuckled, looking down in embarrassment. 

“Yeah, my love for her was all compulsion,” Stefan said.  “So I’ve heard. Damon told me,” I smiled. 

“So, you wanna get outta here?” Stefan asked, a mischievous grin on his lips. 

I opened my mouth to answer, but Stefan picked me up bridal style and ran off. I shrieked in surprise as we stopped suddenly in the woods. 

“Stefan!” I exclaimed. “What the hell!” “I thought you’d want to be alone, so we could do this,” he muttered before putting his lips against mine. 

My eyes fluttered closed in an instant. “Oh, Stefan,” I moaned. I had been waiting all my life to kiss him and it was finally happening. It was perfect. 

His lips were so soft and worked expertly against mine. Stefan backed me up into a tree, his hands gripping my waist. His fingers slid under my shirt, goosebumps arising from his touch. I pushed my body flush against his, my hands raking themselves through his hair roughly, tugging once his tongue slipped into my mouth. I let out a few pants before beginning to fight my tongue with his. My tongue explored his mouth, tasting bourbon. Stefan’s right hand skimmed up my side, his fingers running under my bra. His left hand went to my ass, gripping it suddenly. 

“Ah!” I gasped, throwing my head back against the tree. 

“God, I’ve missed you,” Stefan mumbled, pressing his lips to my cheek and trailing down. 

“S-Stef,” I panted, peering down to see him kissing my neck. I whimpered as he  sucked on the sweet spot across from my ear lobe. I pressed my chest up against him impossibly closer. 

His left hand went down to my thigh, lifting me up swiftly. I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling his bludge right against my core. 

“Hm, Stefan,” I mumbled, my eyes closing as he peppered kisses down to the top of my breasts. “You’re uh, you’re less shy than I remember,” I chuckled. 

“Yeah well, living 164 years in pain and guilt changes you. Having my humanity turned off helps me be more outgoing, too,” he looked up and winked at me. 

His humanity was still off. Shit. 

“Stefan,” I said, lifting my head up and putting my hands on his shoulder. “Stefan, stop,” I ordered, pushing his head away from my body. 

He looked up at me, confused. “What? I thought you would want this after all these years?”

I chuckled, “I do. I really do, but not yet. We have to get your humanity turned back on.”

Stefan frowned immediately, dropping me with no warning. My back rubbed against the tree roughly, making me hiss in pain. I landed on my feet and looked at Stefan with a glare. 

“What the hell?!” “No! You don’t get to say that. I thought you came back for me!” Stefan exclaimed. 

“I did! I came back to help you,” I explained. 

“I don’t need help your help, Y/n. I’ve been away from you for 164 years. I’ve survived just fine,” he spat. 

“Oh, really? ‘Cause to me it seems like when things get too hard, you just give up. That’s not the Stefan I know. You’re strong. You fight. You’re sensible and not impulsive!”

“You don’t know me, Y/n. That’s not me anymore.”

“Not with your humanity turned off!”

“Yeah, well what about you? You’re randomly fighting Damon, strutting into places like you own them, feeding on whoever you want? Yeah, I’ve noticed that, by the way. You’re supposed to the kind, calm, polite girl,” Stefan shot back. 

“Well almost dying and having the love of my life love another woman changes you!” I yelled. 

“I didn’t love her! I have always loved you!”  “It didn’t seem like that back then! You never even gave us a chance, even before Katherine! Do you realise how much it hurt me? Seeing you running with Katherine in the fields, kissing her, holding her?” I asked, tears beginning to cloud my vision. 

“I’m not with her anymore! I haven’t been ever since 1864. We can live life together now. I only want you. I’ve only wanted you since I met you,” Stefan said softly, stepping towards me and holding my hands into his.  “I want you, too, Stefan. But not like this. I know it’s been hard with you. I know that you’re a ripper, I know that you’ve suffered so many loses in life. I know how much you try to be a good person. But you can’t do that with your humanity off,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes. 

“I don’t want to feel again! I’m fine with being like this. If you really loved me and wanted me, then you’d accept my decision,” he glared at me. 

“Hey, that’s not fair! I just want you to live a happy, normal vampire life. I don’t want you to have to give up, because that’s not who you are, Stefan. I may not know exactly who you are now, and I apologise for that because I made that decision to not seek you out, but I do know that you still have those amazing, kind-hearted, compassionate qualities that make you into beautiful man that I fell in love with all those years ago. I would love to spend the rest of eternity with you. I would love to catch up with you and learn how you have changed over the last century and a half. But I want to do that when you can actually feel,” I spoke, tears rolling down my face. 

“I can feel!” Stefan protested. 

I sighed, putting my hand on his chest, right where his heart was. I looked him in the eyes, getting lost in his green irises. “Do you feel anything when I say I love you? Stefan, I am so madly, deeply in love with you.”

I searched for any sign of compassion in his eyes, but I saw none. 

“See? You think you feel, but you really don’t. I can help y-”

“No. You obviously don’t truly love me if you can’t tell how happy I am with no humanity. It was a mistake saving you from Damon,” Stefan muttered. In a blink, he disappeared. I watched as he sped away from me, leaving me cold and lonely.

“Stefan!” I shouted, my voice cracking.

“Well, looks like bringing you all the way out here was a bust,” Damon’s voice sounded behind me. 

I balled my hands into fists and turned on my heel to him, stomping up to him. 

“Do you know how hard that was?” I asked. 

“Oh yeah, making out with him against a tree was a hard, I’m sure,” he rolled his eyes. 

“No! Being the reason why he won’t change is hard, Damon. This was the first time I’ve seen him in 164 years. I poured my heart out to him, just for him to leave me. Do you know how hard that is? D-Do you understand how much pain and anger I feel right now? I…I feel like this is 1864 all over again,” I started to sob. 

Elena and Caroline ran over to me, pulling me into their embrace. I put my head on Caroline’s shoulders, crying into her cardigan. 

Damon sighed loudly. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. I do know how hard it is. I spent four years pining for Elena. It was hard seeing her with Stefan. But I know that you can turn his humanity back on.”

“And how? ‘Cause what I just didn’t didn’t seem to work,” I sniffled. 

“Well, we might have to kill you,” Damon answered.

Caroline pulled away from me and turned to Damon. “What! No, you are not killing her. I just met her, she’s my relative!”

“Yeah, Damon. That might make Stefan want to keep his humanity on even more,” Elena frowned. 

“I know, I know! I didn’t mean actually kill Y/n. I just meant that we get Stefan drunk so he’s delirious and angry, one of us - preferably me - sticks a stake in her heart, but she won’t die because Jeremy is going to give Y/n his ring,” Damon smiled. 

I furrowed my brows. “A ring? What’s a ring gonna do?”

“Oh, it’s the Gilbert family ring. It protects you from dying,” Elena explained. 

“Ah, I see. Very cool,” I chuckled. 

“Yeah, it is,” she smiled. 

“Alright, well, before you stake me, I’m gonna need to get drunk, too,” I said. 

“Already one step ahead of ya,” Damon grinned, pulling a bottle of bourbon out from his jacket. 

“Do you always carry that around?” I chuckled, walking up to him. 

“Sometimes,” he shrugged. 

“Good to know. Now, let’s get this plan into motion,” I said, snatching the bottle from Damon’s hand. 

————

I paced around Damon’s room, listening in on Jeremy and Tyler’s conversation with Stefan downstairs. The boys were in charge of getting Stefan drunk, which so far, sounded like they were succeeding. Then when Damon walked into the room, I would flirt with him - gross - and Elena would walk in and start a big fight. Then Jeremy and Tyler would lead Stefan up here to see the fight and when Stefan comes into the room, Elena then stakes me. It was a pretty good plan, honestly.

“Alright, he’s pretty drunk,” Damon muttered, walking into the room. “Ready?”

“I was born ready,” I nodded. 

I took a deep breath and put on a flirtatious smile. “You know, Damon, I can’t blame Katherine or Elena. You Salvatore boys are quite the pair.” “What do you mean, Y/n?” Damon asked, acting totally clueless. 

“Well,” I prompted, strutting over to him. “I just mean that I understand how Katherine and Elena wanted you both. I mean look at you. Tall with soft, black hair. Gorgeous blue eyes and a smile that makes all the girl’s knees go weak. And with that big ego of yours, you’re sure to win any girl.” 

I put my hand on his chest, looking him in the eyes while my hand trailed down his shirt and to the waistband of his jeans. I leaned up to his ear, darting my tongue around the outside. “I wonder what else is big.”

“Y/n?!” Elena shrieked. 

I looked at her and gave her a kind smile before going back to my role. 

“Elena!” Damon exclaimed, putting his hand on mine and pushing me away. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Elena asked. 

“Well, I obviously can’t have Stefan, so I was just thinking I could have Damon! I guess Katherine’s blood in me makes me like a little,” I giggled. 

In my head I was rolling my eyes and gagging, though. 

“You can’t have him! Look, I know you’re Caroline’s relative and Damon’s friend, but Damon’s my boyfriend. You’re not allowed to take him,” Elena said. 

“Aw, poor little Elena. You know, you’re nothing like Katherine. So whiny and mellow. I wonder what you’ll do when I do this,” I smirked. 

Just then, Stefan, Jeremy and Tyler came into the doorway. I tried so hard not to look at Stefan, looking at Elena instead. I went up to Damon, keeping eye contact when I began to press my lips to Damon’s lips. My eyes flickered to Stefan’s quickly and I saw the hurt flash through his eyes. I kept my emotions in check and closed my eyes, wrapping my hands in Damon’s hair and kissing him. 

“You bitch!” Elena exclaimed. I then heard the wood crack and I braced myself for pain.

“Woah, Damon, watch out!” Jeremy exclaimed. 

Damon moved out of the way, just in time for Elena’s stake to pierce me. 

“Ah!” I squeaked, holding the stake that was right in the middle of my heart. 

As I fell down, I saw Stefan close and open his eyes, tears then beginning to run down his face. Tears ran down my face, too. Not just from the pain, but from him crying. He ran over to me, falling down to his knees. I stared at his face, seeing him sob and scream at everyone above me. His hands went under my body, lifting me up and onto his lap. That was the last thing I felt before I died. 

————

I sat up and gasped, my eyes flying open. I looked around me, seeing absolutely no one. 

“Yeah, kill me then leave me. Good plan, guys,” I muttered. 

“I’m here,” Stefan’s hoarse voice sounded beside me. 

I turned my head, shocked to see him. “I-I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah, I um… I was kind of hiding. I was afraid when you woke up you would be mad at me,” he admitted sheepishly. He sat on the edge of the bed. I moved to where I was sitting next to him. 

“Why would I be mad at you?” I asked. 

“Because I…I didn’t turn my humanity on when you said you loved me. It had to take you dying to turn it back on. I’m such a bad person, Y/n. I should have been able to turn it on when I first saw you. I-I thought you were dead all this time and when I first saw you, the first thing that came to my mind was that I wanted to make out with you. I’m horrible,” he explained, tears beginning to roll down his face. 

I gave him a kind smile, putting my hand on his. “I’m not mad at you, Stef. I’ll admit, it hurt me when me confessing how I felt wasn’t enough to make you turn your humanity on, but I understand. You probably saw me and when relief washed over you, you knew that you couldn’t lose me again. But once you saw Elena stake me, that fear of losing me took over and made you turn it back on.”

Stefan nodded, sniffling. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know I am. And for the record, I wanted to make out with you two when I first saw you,” I chuckled. 

Stefan laughed with me, wiping the tears off of his face. He looked at me, a smile on his face. “I’m sorry for not confessing my feelings for you in 1863, or 1864. I just… I just wasn’t sure you liked me back. You seemed to have every boy in town wrapped around your finger. I was just a scrawny, shy kid who knew didn’t know how to talk to such a beautiful girl like you. But then Katherine came and ruined everything.”

“I know, it’s okay, Stef,” I gave him a kind smile. “I’m sorry for everything, too. I should have confessed my feelings earlier. I was so sacred and nervous, too. I mean, you were this handsome - totally not scrawny -, kind boy. I never had met anyone as nice as you before.”

“Well, I wanted to be nice for you. I really liked you,” he smiled. 

I giggled, “Good. I’m glad. The thing I regret most, though, is that I never tried to seek you out. I regret telling Damon to lie to you. Because otherwise, we could’ve already been together. Getting married, going on dates, cuddling, having hot vamp sex.”

Stefan laughed at my last few words. He turned to fully face me, taking both my hands in his. “Let’s not regret anything anymore. I don’t want to live my life in regret and guilt anymore. Let’s start new, okay? Because now, we have an eternity together, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

I nodded with an eager smile. “Me, too.”

“So, uh, speaking of that hot vamp sex. Wanna have some now or do you need time to uh, heal from dying?” Stefan asked with a playful smile. 

“Hm, no. I think I’m good,” I giggled. 

Stefan pressed his lips to mine, putting his hands on my hips and setting me on top of the bed. I moved up to where the pillows were while Stefan climbed on top of me. I put my hands on his neck, bringing his face close to mine. 

“I love you, Stefan,” I smiled, butterflies swarming in my stomach. 

“I love you, too, Y/n.”

————

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[kythed]

I have a fic request for Kuroo! A childhood friends to lovers situation based off the song Take my Hand by Picture This! (Just a cute song that has been haunting me because Kuroo ❤️)

I have been through and stalked your blog and I love it! I also saw the ficmas prompt list and I’m looking forward to requesting those too!

I hope this is okay and thank you so much! Your stuff is a joy to read! ❤️❤️❤️✨✨✨

take my hand

kuroo tetsurou x reader

hope you enjoy <3

five.

“You’re my best friend,” he tells you, swallowing the heart that keeps straining to burst from his throat, to lay itself at your feet in all its humiliating devotion. “Of course I love you.”

And he does love you, he reassures himself, letting you walk ahead of him. Just not in the way you think he does. He struggles to keep his eyes above your waistline, tearing his gaze from the hem of your skirt and pointedly pinning it to the back of your head, where your hair is loosely tied with a glossy silk ribbon. His efforts succeed for nearly thirty seconds before he again finds his eyes tracing their way down your neck, down your back, down to the arch of your waist and the flare of your hips, relishing the curve of your--

Damn it. He abruptly stops in his tracks, rubbing his eyes until he sees only stars. (Maybe if he rubs his eyes with enough vigor he’ll stop noticing things he shouldn’t notice while looking at his best friend.)

“Tetsu,” you say, turning around with a laugh. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly, blinking hard.

He’s not fine.

four.

Life is painful when you’re in love with your oldest, dearest friend. Let Kuroo Tetsurou be the first to testify that when you’ve grown up with someone your entire life, when you’ve made the long, tedious trek from diapers to graduation gowns with them, it feels almost sinful to find yourself slipping into daydreams about pressing that person against your wall, about hearing them whisper your name on soft linen sheets, about kissing them breathless and glassy eyed until the sun plunges beneath the horizon with a brazen wink.

He hates himself for staring at you and hoping to catch you staring back. He hates himself for letting your words wash over his head, unheard, in favor of watching the way your lips curve and curl when you speak.

Most of all, he hates himself for loving you so fiercely in a particular way that would surely sour your stomach and send you running.

“I love you too,” you say, waiting for him to catch up and fall into step beside you. You take his hand and lace your fingers with his as you make your way up the street to your house. The windows glow a domestic orange, dimly illuminating the patch of asphalt before your front door.

It’s nearing seven now-- the gentle clinking of silverware and some sort of faint, savory scent from within inform you of dinner’s impending commencement.

“I know,” he says, cracking a crooked smile. You roll your eyes as he brushes a mocking kiss over your knuckles. “I’m hard to hate.”

three.

Most of the summer passes uneventfully, according to Kuroo’s standards. He manages to keep himself in check, even as he spends each and every day with you, dawn til dusk, savoring your presence the way a starving man savors his last ration.

He manages to treat you almost exactly as he’s treated you his entire life-- like a best friend. He tells his silly jokes that make you giggle and groan simultaneously. He pushes you off the pier when you least expect it, howling with laughter as you resurface, sputtering and flinging fiery invective. He shares an earbud with you as he walks downtown with you by his side, arm slung over your shoulder with carefully calculated composure.

He almost makes it to autumn without incident.

The small, hidden moments are what gives him away, though, layered within false nonchalance and easygoing grins like brightly painted matryoshka.

The way his chest constricts almost painfully when you laugh at a pun he’s ad-libbed on the spot, sending a flurry of butterflies freewheeling in the pit of his stomach.

“It really wasn’t that good,” he chuckles, tenderly watching as tears of laughter prick at the corners of your eyes and you grip his forearm in an attempt to steady yourself as giggles rack your body.

“No, it wasn’t,” you agree, struggling to catch your breath. “It was awful, and that’s what made it so funny.”

(He makes about a dozen more puns that day, feeling like he’s won the lottery whenever you so much as smile at his pitiful attempts at wordplay.)

The way his hands tremble when you turn around and ask him to tie your bikini string before you jump into the lake, the way he bites his lip so some horribly incriminating comment about how he really thinks you’d “be better off without the bikini at all” doesn’t slip out from his mouth.

“Thanks Tetsu,” you chirp after he ties the string around the back of your neck in a neat double-knot. You give him a wink and take off towards the water, kicking up sand in the process. “Last one in buys lunch!”

(He was already planning on paying anyways.)

The way he sits up a little straighter when you lean over and slip a hand under his arms to press ‘skip’ on his phone while you listen to his playlist-- you’re so close he can smell your lip balm.

“Sorry,” you say, smiling apologetically. “I don’t really like that band.”

(Later that evening, Kuroo goes through his Spotify and deletes every single song from that band he has on all of his playlists.)

Yes, he manages to keep himself in check outwardly. But inside, he can feel himself digging his grave a little deeper with each passing day. He watches the sands of summer run through his fingers with the dread of a man counting down the days to his funeral.

He just knows that one of these days he’s going to slip.

two.

He’s right, of course. There’s only so much emotional torment one person can humanly endure. It’s just that he’s hoping he can extinguish this inconvenient, one-sided flame before August comes around. Maybe then everything can go back to normal, whatever normal might entail.

Needless to say, Kuroo’s hopes are dashed before summer comes to a close.

It’s a sticky July evening when you and he drive out to an empty parking lot at the edge of town, a blanket and an old transistor radio in tow. You’re wearing a pale yellow sundress that falls to just above your knees-- he’s glad it’s not any shorter, and that the breeze isn’t quite strong enough to lift your hem.

“I think I can see Orion’s belt,” you say, pointing towards somewhere far into the cosmos. Kuroo squints, trying to follow your finger.

“I don’t think that’s Orion,” he says. “Looks like a cat to me.”

The two of you are sitting on a blanket spread across the hood of his car, craning your necks to make out vague shapes in the stars. Between you, slow, muffled music trickles out from the radio’s small speakers, some sort of vintage tune from the forties.

“How in the world are you seeing a cat?” You shake your head, giving him a hard poke on the shoulder. “Looks more like a swarm of astral bees than anything.”

“Astral bees,” he repeats with a laugh. “Laziest constellation interpretation I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not lazy,” you protest. “It’s accurate.”

Kuroo just smiles and shrugs, sneaking a glance at you. Your face is bathed in milky starlight, eyes wide as you peer up at the cloudless sky with a blend of wonder and appreciation. There’s some competition, but he thinks this might be the prettiest you’ve ever looked in a single moment.

As if you can feel his stare, you turn to catch his gaze. A gentle smile breaks onto your face, and you absentmindedly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with the endearing shyness of a schoolgirl. “What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he says, mirroring your grin. “You just… look nice right now.”

“No, seriously,” you laugh disbelievingly. “Is there something on my face?”

“I am being serious,” Kuroo insists, fidgeting with the blanket beneath his palms. “You look good. Yellow suits you.”

You flush, glancing down at your dress. You bought it two summers back, and he’s seen you in it a million times before. This is the first summer where he’s really seen you, though. “Well, thank you. It’s a warm night, so I figured I was better off in a dress than pants.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, breaking eye contact to squint up at the stars. He grins and points, finger trembling slightly. “I think I can see where you’re coming from, with the bees.”

one.

A staticky, syrupy waltz comes on the radio, bleeding into the cracks in the comfortable silence. You sigh contentedly, leaning back onto the windshield. “I like this song. It’s… nostalgic.”

Kuroo cocks an eyebrow at you. “You’ve heard this before?”

“No,” you laugh, biting the inside of your cheek. “But it reminds me of times gone by, you know? Like, this is the sort of music I imagine playing when a soldier reunites with his wife after the war.”

“When he comes running out of the train and drops his bags on the platform,” Kuroo continues, watching you carefully, “only to sweep his girl off her feet and spin her around wildly.”

You nod, sneaking a glance at him. “You really know me that well, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes crinkling with humor. “But I get it, too. It has that old fashioned romance thing goin’ on.”

“Mhm,” you agree. You reach over and fiddle with the radio’s volume, turning it up just enough to round out the sound completely.

Kuroo sits for a moment, watching you close your eyes and hum along to the music. Then, a sudden boldness taking the reins, he hops off the hood and walks over to you, extending his hand. “Take it.”

“What?”

“Take my hand,” he insists, so you do, gingerly placing your palm atop his. “We’re going to dance.”

“Oh, no,” you laugh, nonetheless letting him help you down from the car and resting a hand on his shoulder. He lightly places his own on your waist, leading you out into the parking lot. “You know I can’t dance.”

“I can’t either,” he reminds you. “But I want to dance with you right now.”

As you begin to sway slightly to the music, Kuroo pulls you a little closer to his chest, letting his chin brush the top of your head. “Why are you into that whole idea?”

“What idea?” you ask quietly, letting him lead you in slow circles around the lot.

“The idea of an old fashioned love.”

“Oh,” you say, laughing as Kuroo spins you in his arms, catching you before you stumble. “I’m not sure… maybe because it seems more constant than love today. Like, today, if you tell someone you love them, it’s a compliment, not a promise. But back then, it was a vow. It meant something.”

Kuroo swallows, looking down at you. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, threatening to burst out of his temples. I’m about to do something I might regret.

zero.

“I need you to do something for me,” he says, voice low and thick with caution. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Please,” he says, voice breaking. He knows that if he doesn’t do this now, he never will. You look beautiful to him in this moment, dancing with him in the empty parking lot to the faint melody of an old waltz. Your eyes glisten with life, your lips gently parted, hair slightly curling over your cheeks.

You roll your eyes once but nonetheless close them obediently, relying a little more on his arms to steady you. He swallows. “Okay. So, imagine we’re living in the 1940s.”

“Okay,” you say, smiling slightly. “I’m imagining.”

“Imagine I enlisted in the war, and I just got back home. Imagine you’re waiting for me at the train station.”

“Mhmm,” you say, trying your best to envision the platform. “You look good in that uniform, Tetsu.”

He chuckles. “I look good in anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, squeezing his hand. “Get on with it.”

“Imagine I come sprinting out from the train and you’re waiting there with open arms. This song is playing on the platform speakers. I ask you to dance just like we are now.” Kuroo watches you grin, feeling his heart flutter. “Then, imagine I tell you something.”

Unconsciously, you shift closer to him, almost pressing your body flush to his. A breath hitches in his throat. “What do you tell me?”

He leans down, brushes his lips against your ear. “I love you.”

You open your eyes, head cocked, slight confusion cloaking your features. “You mean, like…?”

Kuroo shakes his head. “No. I mean, like, I love you. Not just in a friend way. In that old fashioned way you were talking about. I love everything about you. I’m in love with everything about you.”

“Tetsu…” you breathe, searching his face. He gazes down at you seriously, not a trace of humor tainting his stare. He takes a deep breath.

“I love the way your hair falls in the summer. I love your stupid, annoying laugh. I love how your hand fits in mine. I love the way you rant about anything and everything and expect me to listen, and I do because I can’t help but get excited about what you get excited about. I love you like a soldier loves his wife,” he says, the words flowing out like a river bursting from a dam. “I love you so much it hurts, and it scares me, and I’m sorry if this ruins stuff between us, but I just had to--”

“Shut up.”

He blinks, mouth gaping. “I-- what?”

“I said,” you whisper, gripping the back of his neck and guiding his face down to yours. “Shut up, Tetsu. You talk too much.”

Then suddenly you’re kissing him, and he can’t believe it, but he kisses you back like it’s what he was born to do. He lets you crash your lips into his and watches as shooting stars burst forth and the planets align. Somehow, your hands find their way up into his hair, tangling themselves in his dark locks, and his own travel down to your lower back, pulling you as close as humanly possible, so tightly he never wants to let go. He revels in the warmth of your skin, the icy, tingly sensation of your lips, and when you pull back, it’s all he can do to refrain from pulling you right back in again.

There’s a brief silence. His lips are swollen, his lungs are devoid of air. “I… wow. Just, wow.”

You grin wickedly, slipping your hand into his. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a while now.”

“You have?” he asks, eyes wide in disbelief. “I didn’t notice.”

“Of course you didn’t,” you laugh. “You were too worried about not letting me notice you staring at my ass every chance you got.”

Kuroo flushes but gives a sheepish smile, massaging the back of his neck. “You know, I really thought I was being smooth about it.”

--

As it turns out, you love him back. And not just in the best friend way. You love everything about him, his stupid jokes, his loud, booming laugh, his teasing, his smile, his successes and his failures. You love how your hand fits in his. You love that it took him years and years to admit to himself that he loved you, too.

Kuroo Tetsurou may not be the smoothest guy in the world, but he’s certainly the only one you want. And you’re certainly the only one he wants.

And that’s really the most you could ever ask for.