#social content factory

[luneariann]

Love love love treating this place as my personal diary and totally ignoring the fact that literally everyone can see this

[vitalverstappen]

Cassandra - C. Leclerc

summary: when everyone believes you, what's that like?

pairing: Charles Leclerc x platonic teammate! reader

warnings: Mattia Binotto, swearing, some sexist comments

word count: 3k

a/n: in honor of max winning the WDC, i figured i'd post something. in honor of charles finally losing his shit on the team radio, i figured i'd post this. also it takes place during the 2022 season

masterlist

the tortured drivers department masterlist

2022 was supposed to be your year. You broke onto the F1 scene in 2020 with Haas after working your way up through F3 and F2, championing both levels of racing with ease. You proved yourself time and time again by consistently placing within the points in a less than superior car. 

That’s how you got the attention of Ferrari. They offered you a one year deal, and you couldn’t turn it down. You were okay with being the second driver, because you were racing for the most historic team in F1. 

Things started out great. The car was a major upgrade from the tractor you were driving with Haas, and the team actively listened to your input and took having a woman in the car seriously.

You and Charles also clicked instantly, which led to some amazing content for the social teams. 

“Anything you need, or feel needs changed, let us know. We’re a family here” Mattia said as he gave you the tour of the Ferrari factory.

You couldn’t have drawn up the first two races any better. Both you and Charles were on the podium and it looked like you two were going to give Max and Red Bull a run for their money in the championship races. 

The downward spiral started in Australia. From the moment you hit the track for the first time, something felt off. The car was sluggish, it took all of your strength to accelerate and brake properly. 

“There’s something wrong with the car.” you told the team, your frustration mounting. “It takes forever to accelerate and then when I do, I can’t break”

“Have you tried leg day?” Mattia asked, a smirk forming on his face, causing you to storm away and find your mechanics. 

The Australian Grand Prix ended up being a disaster. You struggled through the laps, barely able to keep up with the field. The car was just too much of a handful. Thirteen laps in, you hand no choice but to retire from the race. The speed was gone, and your confidence was shot. 

“I cannot believe he looked me in the eyes and said ‘try leg day’” You fumed as you barged into Charles’ driver room. The frustration was evident in every word, your anger still fresh from the weekend’s events. 

Charles looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow at your entrance. “Well hello to you too” he said with a small chuckle. “What’s going on?” 

You let out a deep sigh and recounted the car troubles and the interaction with Mattia. “He actually said ‘try leg day’ to me, like it’s some kind of joke. What happened to ‘if you need anything, let me know’?”

Charles listened intently, a sympathetic look crossing his face. “Hopefully it was just an assembly issue” he said, trying to ease your frustration. ”Imola should go smoothly for the two of us. We both know you’re a hell of a driver.” 

Imola was next, and that was somehow even worse than Australia. Instead of acceleration and braking problems, the new issue was the engine. It had to be replaced between practice 3 and qualifying, only for the new one to fail during the race in Imola. 

“I have the utmost trust in my team.” You said during your press interviews “We’ve tried upgrades, but they’ve fallen flat. Hopefully Miami provides some better results” 

For Miami, the team had reverted your car back to the original set up, the one it had when the season started. The difference was night and day. The car felt responsive, alive in ways it hadn’t in the past few races. As you flew through all three practice sessions and qualifynig, you could feel the weight lift from your shoulders. You had been pushing the limits all weekend, and it had paid off - P2, only behind Charles. Things were looking up. 

The problem now was the strategy. As the number two driver, you knew your strategies were mostly going to be defend defend defend but you didn’t realize how badly Ferrari’s lack of adaptability would come into play 

The race was shaping up to be intense. Charles had led most of it, with Max behind him. You were right behind Max, keeping a steady pace, but always aware of the massive pressure from the drivers behind. Then, when Charles pitted, you thought, for sure, you’d get the green light to battle Max for the lead. After all, you were right there, in prime position.

Instead, the radio crackled to life. 

“Y/n keep defending. Leclerc will be back up there in no time.” Your engineer said

You blinked, incredulous. “I’m sorry what?” You couldn’t believe what you just heard. 

“Defend Max. Charles will be back up there to take over. Hold your position” he repeated as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Are you fucking serious?” you barked back, your grip tightening on your steering wheel. “I can overtake him for the lead and you want me to defend?!” 

Before your engineer could respond, Mattia’s voice boomed over your radio “Defend y/n. Team orders.” 

You could feel your irritation building, but there was no choice. Ferrari had spoken. You stayed behind Max, holding position, and waiting for Charles to catch up. Sure enough, Charles had soon found his way back to you, but by that point, Max was far enough ahead that any shot at victory was all but lost. 

Later, in the media pen, you stood with the press surrounding you, microphones, shoved in your face. They asked you the usual questions, but you were still stewing over what had happened. 

“Yeah, I mean the car felt great” You started, trying to keep your tone even. “We reverted back to the original, pre-upgrades and the car showed it’s worth”

The reporter pressed further. “Now even though the car was great, why do you think you couldn’t pull off the win? You were less than a second behind Max, and chose to defend your position instead of attacking.”

A disappointed sigh escaped your lips. You were tired of repeating the same frustrations. “If it was up to me, I would have attacked. I know we would’ve gotten a different result on the podium today. If we had a different strategy, then we would have gotten many more points.” 

“How do you think this result is going to impact the championships?” another reporter asked 

You paused, considering the question. “It could make or break it. There’s a large jump of points between one, two and three, and one thrown away strategy can make or break a shot at either championship. I’m just hoping they don’t mess up Charles’ strategies like they have mine.” 

As you finished your media duties, you made your way back to the garage, expecting to be alone with your thoughts. But to your surprise, Charles was waiting for you.  

“What are you doing here?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached

“I, uh, wanted to congratulate you on P3. You had a good race out there” He said sheepishly, his hands shoved in his pockets.

You shrugged, the weight of the day still on you. “I could have won if my strategy wasn’t total shit.” you muttered, your tone flat.

Charles let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it. P1 and P2 would have been great, but strategy isn’t Ferrari’s strong suit” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours with a shared understanding.

“So I’ve learned.” you replied dryly. “I just hope it isn’t bad enough to fuck up winning either championship” 

He nodded, a look of quiet concern in his eyes. “So do I. I’m terrified my shot at a driver’s championship is gonna slip away” 

Before you knew it, your interview was trending all over social media. Clips of you talking about the strategy missteps were circulating, and the Tifosi and general F1 fans alike were all over it. They didn’t believe you. They thought you were complaining, too bitter about the loss, and some even accused you of undermining the team. The backlash was stiff.

User1: there’s no way they’re going to mess up the golden boy’s strategy. Mattia cares too much about winning to do that

User2: y/n doesn’t know racing. She’s obviously going to get the shit strategy - she’s not charles 

User3: Ferrari needs to get rid of her. She doesn’t belong here #burnthebitch

Before media day in Spain, you got called into Mattia’s office. 

“Thank you for joining me on such quick notice y/n” Mattia said with a smile as you walked in 

You gave him a polite smile as you sat across from his desk “Of course. Why did you call me in?” 

The smile on his face instantly hardened “We need to talk about how you approach the media. You embarrassed myself, along with the rest of the Ferrari staff during Miami.” 

You found yourself fixing your posture and dropping the smile you had previously, prepared to go toe to toe with your principal. “I would say I told the truth on how the race was handled. We could have left Miami with eleven more points, had we gone P1 and P2”

Mattia sighed “That may be true, but we know you couldn’t have battled Max safely. Regardless, that was two weeks ago. We need to focus on Spain now.” 

“Whatever” You mutter “ If we provide sufficient results, I’ll give you praise. If we don’t, I’ll keep mentioning what needs to be done better. Simple as that” 

Spain turned out better for you than it did for Charles. You had finished P4, while Charles was forced to retire. Another blow for Ferrari. 

Both of you managed to score points in Monaco. The car felt good and it seemed like the team was back to how they were at the start of the season. That is until Baku. 

The start of the race seemed like it was going well. The practices and qualifying went well. Charles was on pole and you were not far behind him at P4. But that’s when the good luck ended. Just like the Australian Grand Prix, your brakes were faulty, and this time your clutch wasn’t working. 

“Check the hydraulics - brakes aren’t working again and clutch is out.” You voiced over the radio, concern filling your words 

After a few moments of silence, your engineer’s voice filled your ears. “Seems we have a uh hydraulic problem. You need to retire the car.” 

You muttered a curse as you found a spot to pull your car off. If it wasn’t a strategy issue, it was the car. If it wasn’t the car, it was something else. Something always had to go wrong. 

It was only lap eight and Charles was still driving. You had some hope he could get points for the team and for his championship. 

Throwing on a spare headset in the Ferrari garage, you watched as Charles battled through the streets of Baku. Just as quick as he was driving, the problems with his car also began to show. He had to retire only a handful of laps later with a power problem. 

While Ferrari’s golden boy wouldn’t have a negative thing to say about them during the pressers, you had much less of a filter. 

“You can mark my words that we aren’t winning a championship this year. As much as I want to put faith into our team and our strategies, we’ve shown time and time again we come up short.” 

Instead of your remarks being pushed aside by everyone, you found yourself in the spotlight. All eyes were on you as you walked into the paddock for the British Grand Prix. You acknowledged your team out of respect, and they greeted you back, but you could tell there was tension. 

“Mattia wanted me to tell you that the strategy for today is the same as usual: protect Charles.” Your engineer told you as the two of you sat down for lunch

You furrowed your eyebrows “Why couldn’t Mattia tell me that himself?” 

“He doesn’t think you deserve his time and energy” He said, rolling his eyes 

A scoff left your lips “That’s ridiculous. We’re both adults. He needs to act like it.” 

“You’re telling me” Your engineer muttered 

Before you knew it, it was lights out at Silverstone. The race was a disaster for everyone. While a scary crash had been cleaned up, leading to a restart, another safety car was put out for a stopped car. 

“Y/n box box” Your engineer spoke through your earbuds 

Under the safety car, you were able to pit and get fresh soft tires. When the race resumed, you quickly found yourself behind Charles. 

“Am I defending again?” You asked 

“You are free to overtake, but you must give up the position once Charles gets back up after pitting” 

“You mean Charles didn’t box under the safety car?” 

“Correct.” 

“Fucking idiots” You sighed, but did as you were told. 

Charles easily gave up the front position to you as he headed to the pit lane. You expected him to make a quick comeback in the next few laps, but as the laps ticked by, the gap remained. The radio crackled with instructions from your engineer, and you kept your focus, pushing through. 

And just like that, you crossed the finish line. Your first Grand Prix victory. 

The celebrations were a blur - the podium, the champagne, the flashing cameras. As the trophy was handed to you, you felt a surge of pride, but the weight of the race still hung in the air. Charles had been a force throughout the race, and even though you had won, it felt wrong that he hadn’t been able to capitalize on his pace. 

After the post-race formalities wrapped up, you found yourself in Charles’ room, finally able to breathe. He greeted you with a grin, the kind that only someone who experienced a dramatic race could wear.

“Congratulations! First win!” Charles said, his voice full of enthusiasm 

“You should have fucking won that and we both know it.” You said as you tossed him a Gatorade 

Charles caught the bottle with a small chuckle, cracking it open “You’re fucking telling me.” he said, taking a long swing. “At least Mattia didn’t chastise you on national TV.” 

You leaned against the wall, your arms crossed. “Maybe we’ll both be off speaking terms with him by the end of the season,” you joked, but there was no humor in the situation. “But seriously, what did he say?” 

Charles groaned, clearly not looking forward to recounting the conversation “Basically that I needed to listen to team orders. He was pissed that I was pissed that I didn’t win the thing. Said I needed to trust that the team knows what they’re doing.”

“They know what they’re doing?” You raised an eyebrow “Because the last time I checked, they’ve messed up both of our races this season” 

“Tell me about it” His tone shifted, frustration building, “I need him out.” 

A small grin tugged at the corner of your mouth “Twenty bucks he’s out of his job by the end of the season” 

Charles hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand “Deal” 

The rest of the season trudged along, with highs and lows in the car, the strategy, and the relationship between Mattia and his drivers. There were some days he would be all over their radios encouraging them, while others he would avoid them like the plague. 

And sure enough, once Abu Dhabi came, Charles and Ferrari were so far behind Max and Red Bull that it was impossible to catch up to them in either championship. Mattia announced that he would be stepping down at the end of the season, and you had repaired your rocky relationship with your team, allowing you to renew your contract with Ferrari. 

It was the final time in the media pen this season, and it felt much different. The usual questions about the ups and downs of the season were there, but now they came with a certain respect - respect for the struggles you had endured and for the candidness with which you handled it all. Your honest take on Ferrari’s performance had earned its fair share of criticism, but it had also sparked conversations, both within the paddock and among fans. 

The final question from the reporter hit differently. The interviewer’s tone wasn’t mocking, but rather filled with a certain curiosity. “How does it feel to know that you had called it earlier in the season, that Ferrari weren’t going to win either championship this year?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as you processed it. The emotions of the entire season flashed through your mind: the excitement of the podiums early on, the disappointment after races like Miami and Baku, the frustrations with the strategies, and the battles you fought on and off the track. It had been a rollercoaster, and while it hadn’t turned out the way you had hoped, you were still standing. 

You cracked a smile as you spoke, a mix of pride and exhaustion “Oh, so you guys believe me now?” you said, your voice light but laced with the weight of everything that had happened. “Have a good winter break. I’ll see you in Bahrain” 

It was the moment of closure you needed. The reporter thanked you for your time, before wishing you a good break as well. As you walked away from the media pen with Charles by your side, the season’s tension finally seemed to release, at least for a moment. 

Charles, sensing the mood, nudged you. “That was… honestly, impressive. You know, calling it before anyone else.” 

You let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess I had a feeling.” you said, shrugging. “At least I wasn’t wrong.”

Charles smirked, clearly tired but also relieved that the season was over. “Let’s just hope next year’s a little less… chaotic, yeah?”

“Agreed.”

[daughter-of-sapph0]

>get rid of extracurricular activities

>get rid of public parks and libraries

>only show latest cgi garbage in theaters that most kids and teens won't be interested in

>get rid of all books written specifically for kids and teens

>get rid of any TV shows or media designed for kids and teens

>streaming services either cancel or remove content kids and teens would like

>only media that exists is either for 8 year olds and younger, or is 18+

>kids and teens turn to social media platforms like twitter or tiktok that are probably the worst way to interact with other people

>try to ban that too because kids can't have even the slightest bit of connections or distractions or entertainment

>try to make child labor legal because now there's literally nothing for kids to do after school besides getting their arms cut off at a meat packaging factory

epic capitalism win! 😎👉👉 so glad we don't live in an evil commie shithole. truly this is the best way to live!

[bengals-barnesbabe]

The Girl Behind the Camera

Pair: Joe Burrow x Videographer!Reader

Descr: When The Bengals hire a new social media manager, people start to notice a certain QB coming out of his shell.

TW: mentions of sex, nudity, gossip, racism, classism, invasion of privacy, protective boyfriend!Joe.

Main Masterlist

WC: 2083

*. * ·┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

"Which of your teammates would you rather be stranded on a deserted island with for 72 hours?"

Was the question being asked on the way out from practice. From behind the black and white jerseys Joe could hear the bouts of laughter from each answer. Most of his more outgoing teammates thoroughly enjoyed walking up to the woman with the camera on a day to day basis, while others like him avoided making simple eye contact with her.

But today's Friday and Fridays are very special on this practice field. Not only do they have shorter practices but the recurring sports journalist major with a sometimes too sunny attitude, is replaced with the new silk press and brown glossy lips-wearing photographer that could stop him in the middle of the busiest highways just with her smile.

"Hey 9!" You beam as he approaches you with rosy cheeks. "Wanna hear today's question?"

I'd listen to anything coming from those pretty lips.

"Sure, whatcha got for me?" His eyes are solely focused on the way your glittery nails push back your dark brown locks and the movement of your lips rather than the content flowing from them.

He stands there motionless for a minute contemplating his answer, when in reality he just wanted to see how long you'd hold his gaze before squirming. 45 seconds is the current record.

"Joey, come on.."

25 seconds, he must look especially good today.

He smirks as your pout forms, or maybe he just likes giving you more work to do in the editing room (aka tonight at his place).

"Are you going to answer or should I shut off the camera?" A chuckle arises from his belly as you attempt to make an authoritarian stance with a smooth caramel leg jutted out and your glistening arms crossed over your chest.

Rolling your eyes at him, you start to ignore him and play around with the camera, before his voice interrupts you. "Alright, I'll answer. Only for you though."

He does his best to revert back to factory settings (aka grump mode as you like to call it) when you give him the go-ahead. "I guess, I'd take Ja'Marr. Hopefully, he doesn't get sick of me in 3 days."

You let out a cute giggle at his response recapturing his gaze from above the camera. He'd make it his life goal to keep that sound pouring from your plump lips.

So he adds to his answer. "Or I'd take my girlfriend, she loves beaches you know. She's kind of the yin to my yang." He smirks nodding to your necklace.

Flustered you try to cover your smile, before asking him a follow-up question. "Would you get on a boat to rescue her, if she somehow got trapped out at sea?"

"Of course, I would," he chuckles. "But then I'd ask where she found a boat in the first place and why she got in it when she doesn't like them either."

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

"Maybe she was just trying to find food for her quarterback boyfriend with a bottomless pit as a stomach." His entire body shakes with laughter as you smile accomplishedly behind the lens.

"That's cute, you know her or something?" You shrug, as he straightens up due to another presence approaching.

"Don't stop on my accord, you did great today J. And you Miss Thing, I can't wait to see the shots you got of my team out there." Coach Taylor praises walking past you, causing your faces to heat up.

"God, I don't know how much of this I can use." Your video voice sombers.

You watch as the orange jersey fills the frame until not even the 9 is visible. "Sounds like you have your work cut out for you. Kind of like how..." His low and teasing voice barely gets picked up on the audio. A shiver runs down your spine because you remember exactly what he said before walking out of view.

"Kind of like how you will when you get home tonight."

'And boy was he right, but not about the editing.' You think gawking at his body as he walks out of the bathroom, water dripping from his hair and shoulders down his nice pecs and delectable abs. His strong arms and toned abdomen are tinted red due to the steamy shower that's releasing vapor into the room.

"Still editing I see?" He asks teasingly as he ruffle-dries his hair with a microfiber towel. You painstakingly nod but push the laptop down and off your lap.

"It can wait." You say as your gaze drops down to the blonde happy trail that disappears underneath the towel secured around his waist. "It's not due til noon anyway."

"Good, I've been thinking about you laid out on my bed for me since we got home." A smirk curves up his lips when he notices your eyes fixated on the bulge of the fabric.

"Lucky me." Then the towel drops. Lucky me indeed.

✧ ⁺ . ° ➶ ｡˚ ✧

Eventually, the video does get edited and uploaded to social media like it's supposed to and your bosses thoroughly enjoy the impressions it brings to the organization.

You tried your best to edit out all of the parts that gave too much about your relationship away without completely taking Joe out of the video. You thought it did a great job, the final cut showed a very professional interaction between the two of you. Everyone was happy.

Until you started trending on Twitter almost 3 days later.

Something you didn't realize before becoming the Bengals' backup photographer/videographer and official social media manager was that your boyfriend rarely if ever participated in the post-practice videos. Anna, their main journalist, did mention that Joe liked to hide from cameras at practice, but you thought she was talking about paparazzi and overzealous fans. It wasn't until you went through every post-practice TikTok video that you realized that she was not kidding at all.

Currently, you are sitting wide-eyed on the couch watching a well-known YouTube gossip talk about your video and your relationship. She hadn't said the word dating yet, but by her analysis of the short clips- she was not very far from finding out.

"I think the key here is the woman behind the camera. Their conversation was short, but you could tell she could get him to say anything. And the way it's cut, oh my god. Anyone could tell that there was much more to this chat than we saw. Sadly, I couldn't find her socials, so the woman behind the camera wins this time."

You paused the video as soon as Joe's footsteps became apparent as he walked toward the area where you were sitting. "Hi, baby!" You cringe at the perky tone of your voice.

"Hi?" He says plopping down next to you and kissing your head. The lingering embarrassment makes your spine stiffen. Joe raises a brow in confusion. "Y/n, what's wrong?"

You huff and pout sinking into the couch cushions. "I kinda fucked up."

"How so?" He asks pulling your hands into his.

"Have you watched my video?" You whisper as if saying it aloud will anger the universe.

"No, but I heard it was doing well. Do you want me to pull it up?" You shake your head immediately. "What's wrong with the video?"

"You're in it." You mumble laying your head on his chest.

"Huh?"

"You hate attention, you hate cameras, and you literally hide from them when we're in public! And I put you in my video!" One of his hands lets go of yours and begins to stroke the back of your head.

"Baby, I put myself in-

"No, I forced you to do the one thing you've always set a boundary on. I'm a shitty girlfriend, I should've just ended it before you walked by or just kept the whole clip for myself."

"Y/n, listen."

"Joey I'm so sorry, everyone is talking about how you and 'the girl behind the camera' are probably a thing. They're probably digging up pictures of us in public at the moment and there's nothing I can do to stop it. All of your business is going to be aired out-

"I know-

"Reporters are going to start showing up to your practices, and paparazzi will be following us. It's a disaster- wait what did you say?" You sniffle pulling your head up to face him. And he's smiling?

"I know and I don't care. All I care about is that the most important woman in my life is safe and happy. That's you mamas." He says softly, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek.

"Wait but you've worked so hard to keep your private life- private and I should've respected that."

He shakes his head. "I wanted to be in that video because you were the one behind the camera. Even if we weren't dating, I would have been in that video and people would've had something to say about it. I did it because you make me happy and I love watching you work. In fact.." He takes his phone out and queues a video onto the TV screen.

"Joe, what is this?" You ask as he comes up in today's outfit looking like it was filmed when he left for work this morning.

"Just watch." He grins.

*In the video he’s seen smiling and taking pictures with fans before his morning meeting.

“Hey Joey B! Over here!” A young boy jumps up trying to get his attention.

Your boyfriend chuckles and shuffles over to the kid to sign his helmet. “Hi, how you doing bud?”

“I’m great! My sister’s sad that you have a girlfriend now though.” The kid vibrates with energy and excitement, very different than his sister who’s glaring at him from the side.

Joe just laughs, gives the kid a fist bump, and moves on to another fan.*

“Joe, you didn’t say anything. What is this supposed to prove?” You huff in confusion.

“I know, that’s just my favorite part. You just need to see what happens next.” He assured pushing your focus back to the TV screen.

*As Joe starts to wave bye to the crowd a swarm of paparazzi and journalists emerge.*

You immediately start to frown because this is exactly what he's been trying to avoid.

*The people behind the giant cameras ask him all kinds of outlandish questions, all of which he ignores until a question about you pops up.

“Joe, are you hiding your girlfriend because you’re ashamed of her career and her race?” He stops right outside the door to the facility and spots the woman who asked the question.

“What did you say?” His eyes squint and brows furrow in the same way as they do when people question his football fatality.

“Last night, the Bengals website updated their faculty and staff page. The only new social media manager was a black woman named Y/n. What other reason could you be hiding your relationship for?” She asks confidently sticking her camera in his space.

“Do you hear how fucking dumb you sound?” He says so calmly making all the eyes around him widen. Including yours as you watch the incredulous look on his face turn to a scowl.

“I’m hiding her from idiots like you guys who follow me around with cameras chasing the wrong narratives. Do you really think I want to hide the love of my life from the world? Cause I don’t, but I would rather us have a good relationship that’s private rather than a shitty one controlled by the media. Literally, look at what happened after one lighthearted joke got taken out of context! And to even comment that her race was an issue? What fucking year do you live in? I would love that woman no matter what she did or how she looked. And it shouldn't matter. All of you are ridiculous. Have a great day.” Then walked into the facility slamming the door behind him.*

When he looks back over at you, silent tears are falling from your eyes. “Shit was it too much.” He says panicked.

You shake your head with a chuckle then lean up to press a chaste kiss on his lips. “No, it was perfect. I love you so much, Joseph.”

He returns the sweet kiss and holds you close. “I love you more than anything Y/n. I’d do anything for you, never forget that.”

“I won’t.”

~●○°●○°●○~

a/n: sorta kinda inspired by @slimshiesty, if you know you know and you absolutely should know.

[hannieehaee]

What do you think about svt members dating a autistic/neuro divergent s/o ?? (Don't havets do all members but maybe woozi hannie and cheol? Tysm I literally love your writing ❤️🎀🍓)

dating a neurodivergent s/o

content: non-specific neurodivergence, established relationship, fluff, etc.

wc: 758

a/n: thank u so much<33 i discussed this with two of my besties on the spectrum, so i hope i did this justice!! neurodivergence is very broad so i kept this a little ambiguous btw<3

masterlist

seungcheol -

he's kind of used to being babied by his family, but he'll flip the script and baby you instead. super nice and understanding, engaging in any of your interests and always encouraging you. he'd literally move hell and earth to ensure your comfort at all times.

jeonghan -

very sweet and loving. he has this personality where he babies everyone around him, and i think he'd use his kindergarten teacher voice a little extra on his s/o. gets familiar with any habits you may have and engages in them wholeheartedly. steals any fidget toys you may have bc he must touch at any and every object in his vicinity.

joshua -

he'll learn everything there is to learn in order to support and love you in the way you most deserve! he's very emotionally intelligent and empathetic, so he'll often just kinda sit there and listen to you rant about whichever special interest you had at the time, even taking some of his free time to learn about it on his own.

jun -

cutie is the sweetest boyfriend alive, falling into any habits or behaviors of yours without even realizing. he's super touchy but if you're not into that he'd just settle for playing with your hands and fingers in a reassuring manner (both for himself and you). does his best to understand and relate to you in order to ensure your comfort.

soonyoung -

i picture him acting very similar to jun as a bf. he may instinctually mimic some of your behaviors or habits without realizing. if you have trouble focusing or maybe any compulsive behaviors, he'd somehow match those behaviors just from how much time he spent with you.

wonwoo -

he's literally the perfect boyfriend in every capacity so i think he'd assimilate to you and your needs without even thinking about it. makes himself fit into your life perfectly and provides you all comfort possible. does his best to understand every aspect of your life and has very open communication with you.

jihoon -

he has a ton of little fidget toys in his studio ready for you to play with. if you have any sensory issues, he'd also have some amazing quality noise cancelling headphones in his studio for you to use, anddd he would also make sure to turn off the lights at the universe factory if they ever bothered you. you'd never have any issue with him changing his lifestyle to fit your needs, he'd just do it w/o question.

seokmin -

he's such a sweet and empathetic guy, he'd be thoroughly educated on whichever part of the spectrum you were in. he'd remind you to take any medications (if needed), cook you your safe foods, keep you out of social situations if you felt like going nonverbal, keep things tidy at home to keep you at ease. he'd basically do anything in his power without you even having to ask.

mingyu -

he's a househusband at heart so he's basically just prepared to mother the hell out of you at all times. takes care of all your needs and keeps track of them at his own accord. needs an open line of communication with you to understand your needs and preferences and adapts his life to fit them.

minghao -

he's so insanely emotionally mature i think he'd utilize his amazing communication skills to make sure he's doing everything he can as a bf to make you feel comfortable and at ease with him. entertains and encourages any of your habits and needs. researches anything necessary to understand you as best as he can.

seungkwan -

if u ever go nonverbal or lose your social battery, he'll take complete charge of it, so dont u even worry!!! he loved and respects you more than anyone, so he does his best to adapt to any habits or necessities you may have. the best person at lending a sympathetic ear when you let him know of your needs.

vernon -

very understanding and subtle with his affections. he's the opposite of overwhelming, so he never pressures you and tries to make you as comfortable as possible, doing his best to understand your habits and levels of comfort in order to assimilate to you and ensure your happiness in the relationship.

chan -

he'll match your energy always. if your social battery is gone, so is his! if you feel a little extra energetic, guess what, so does he! wants you to communicate what he can do to ensure your comfort or to be the best bf he can be.

[amjustagirl]

Chapter 2

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 2.7k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

The first step in your mission to reclaim your heart back from Hoshina Soshiro is to ignore his texts. 

// omg my blade got chipped in a fight //  // daikaiju with a ridiculously hard shell //  // so annoying!! //  // hmph!!! // // fix it for meeeeee //

<kindly send me your request through official channels please, vice captain hoshina>

// !?!?!??!?!// // u still have indigestion???//

You really should’ve foreseen his sheer stubbornness though, considering the mountain of rejection he had to claw through to get to where he is. He springs a surprise visit on you, breaking into your lab without warning. 

“Did you seriously ask me to fill in an official form for upgrades?” he demands, miffed. 

“Record keeping purposes”, you lie through your teeth. “My boss is on my back.” 

“Your boss?!” he repeats incredulously. “Aren’t you the head of your department?” 

A department consisting only of three overworked blade specialists servicing the entirety of Japan’s Defense Force and private security forces, but he has a point. “Well, the auditors might run their checks, and how am I supposed to justify spending budget on reckless improvements that a certain vice captain demands -” 

He slings an arm over your shoulder and a crackle of electricity zips up your spine. “C’mon, don’t be silly -” 

You shrug him off, waiting nothing better than to run for the toilets to fan away the heat spreading up the column of your neck to the apples of your cheek. “Fine”, you acquiesce. “I’ll get to it - just, stop bugging me -” 

He smirks, content at getting his way. “Great, now we can grab lunch. Food here’s so much better than on base -” 

That, you can fend off. “Can’t”, you say. “Lunch with colleagues. And no, you can’t join, Hana-chan wants to cry about her ex, and you’ll make her uncomfortable if you’re there.”

He goggles at you. “Since when do you have friends besides me?” 

“Always, you rude shit”, you say, though really, you’ve just been putting in more effort in being more social at work. “Now, get out.” 

At last, he leaves, so you can reset your heart to its factory settings. You fix his katanas and send it back via courier, when previously you might have delivered it to the base yourself as an excuse to see him again.

The next step is to find something else to preoccupy you. 

You sign up for pottery lessons on Sunday afternoons, which clashes directly with when Soshiro gets the majority of his time off. You aim to slaughter two birds with a single stroke, an excuse to avoid him coupled with a hobby for you that has nothing to do with him. 

It comes naturally to you, since you’re accustomed to using your hands and handling heat to create things, even if it’s usually steel, not soft clay. But it’s different when you do it for fun, for yourself. Blades can be beautiful, but your focus when hammering at them has always been its function, not form, so it’s a welcome change to just create things for its beauty. 

You make cups and bowls for your colleagues (now friends), a set of sake cups for your parents in a rust-red glaze. Your proudest creation is a tea set that you keep for yourself, displayed on the windowsill to remind you of a summer sky when it’s grey. 

Even Yamamoto-san gets a little gift since you now consider him a friend, a stone pot for a plant  he complained of having outgrown its home. He reciprocates next month with a plant for you, who he says needs a home. This you struggle with, not being born with a green thumb. You studiously research plant-rearing tips and plunk the monstera you are gifted with by your prized tea set, but it truly thrives when you bring another potted plant home. Pothos, at first, because they’re too-determined to live. Bird’s fern, for it’s graceful leaves. When you’re more confident, you top it off with azaleas, for colour, hydrangeas to match your tea set.   

(not violets, never violets)

“Huh”, you stare at the jungle on your balcony “Even plants need friends, I guess.” 

It’s still little too soon to put yourself out there on the dating apps and start searching in the radioactive waste pool of the Tokyo dating scene when your heart is still tethered to Hoshina Soshiro. Any willpower you have to stay away is shaken when you hear that Soshiro’s been assigned a numbers weapon, especially after hearing whispers in the lab that testing has been going terribly. You ask permission to be on base to watch one testing session yourself as a weapons technician. The Numbers Weapon 10 has a mind of its own, and it keeps clashing with Soshiro, causing their test results to be abysmally low. 

“Will he be safe?” you question Okonogi-san, the overworked third base operations leader. 

“If he doesn’t get his numbers up with the weapon, I doubt he’ll be allowed to wear it out on the field”, she shrugs. 

You slip away before he’s released from testing grounds. 

// did u srsly come to base //  // and not say hi!?!??! //  // i haven’t seen ur face in forever // 

<super bz, sorry!!> 

It’s the truth. Despite your pledge to carve out more space to live a life that yours, you make an exception, burning hours on a new weapon to match the volatile Numbers weapon that by all reports, only wants to be worn by Soshiro. Anyone who knows anything about Soshiro knows of his preference for twin blades, ‘cos it makes me look cool’, he jokes, so no one will anticipate a single katana as a backup weapon. 

// ty for the katana //  // it’s q cool //  // ok, v v cool //  // wld be cooler if you dropped by to say hi //  // free this weekend? //

You take a train all the way back to Osaka to visit your parents instead, lest he take it upon himself to commit larceny by breaking into your apartment. You don’t put it past him, since he has the combination to your front lock - his birthday, that’s another thing you need to change. 

“How’s Yamamoto-san?” your mother asks, none too subtly. 

You know your parents are proud of both you and your older brother for following the family’s traditions, and you’re lucky they’re progressive enough to encourage it even in you, but they’re of the age where they’re starting to long for grandchildren. Your older brother’s wedding scheduled for next year should distract them for now, but they’ll soon look to replicate their success with you. 

“He’s pretty nice, but I don’t think he’s the one”, you reply.

Your mother’s lips purse. “Are you still hung up on that Hoshino boy?” 

You’re stung into silence, your mother’s directness catching you off-guard. She tsks at you, pouring you tea that’s bitter from being steeped too long. 

“I’m not - that’s not -” 

Her gaze is sharper than any blade you’ve ever made. “Don’t insult me by lying.” 

“Ka-san. It’s hard but I’m trying to get over it- gods, it’s so embarrassing to say this aloud in front of my own mother -”

She sniffs imperiously. “Try harder.”

“Will do”, you reply dryly. “I’ll just walk into the nearest combini and pick up the first guy they have sitting on the shelf, shall I?” 

She raps your knuckles with her chopsticks. “Don’t be insolent”, she clucks. “Hoshina Soshiro -” 

“I know, ‘ka-san”, you interrupt, the wound still raw under its scabbing. “You don’t have to say it.” 

“Hm.” 

It’s too difficult to meet your mother’s eyes, so you’re glad when she bustles off to the kitchen. A plate is shoved under your nose, oranges, painstakingly peeled, apples, perfectly sliced. 

“There’ll be mangoes if you come back next week”, your mother says. 

“That’ll be nice”, you smile. 

The next step is the hardest, the part you fear the most. 

Soshiro insists on seeing you. There’s no excuse he accepts, not after forty two calls and unread messages. Initially you toyed with changing the combination on your front door to keep him out, but you’re certain he’ll stand outside and cause a ruckus until you let him in.

He’s waiting in your apartment when you return from class. “Okairie”, he grounds out, jaw set. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

There’s no point running. He’ll catch up with you within seconds anyway. 

You drop your bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. “It’s nice to see you too”, you reply, skirting around his palpable annoyance. “Are you staying for dinner? I can make curry rice - ”

“I wanna know why you’ve been ignoring me.”

You plaster on a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, you hedge. “I mean, I’ve been busy at work, you’ve been busy at work - I’ve been picking up new hobbies -”

“Which I’d know, if you talked to me in the past three months -” 

“I’ve really been too busy, haven’t had the chance -” 

“Nonsense”, he scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t know that you dropped by base without saying hi -” 

“Pretty sure you were too busy tussling with that new combat suit  -” 

“You didn’t even bother to lunch with me the last time I came to your office -” 

“I was busy working on your weapon, which I don’t hear you complaining about -” 

You stop short when he takes you by your shoulders. You smell coffee and steel, a scent that just so Soshiro, that it makes your heart forget to beat. He’s close, far too close that you can see the dying sun-gold illuminating the violet iris of his eyes. You squeak as he tips your chin up, calloused fingers so painfully gentle as he meets your gaze. “Are you sure we’re okay?”, he asks softly. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Other than torturing your heart by being within your vicinity? 

Shaking your head, you take a large step back. “All good”, you splutter, ears on fire. 

He doesn’t give you a chance to hide, shouldering into your space. “Somehow I don’t believe you”, he pinches your cheek. “Spill it. Stop lyin’.” 

The pieces of your heart are stitched together with fragile threads, but his presence makes your heart slam itself against your ribcage over and over again. You are powerless from stopping it from falling apart again. 

“You can eat my entire tub of chestnut ice cream -” 

“Stop tryin’ to distract me.” He leans in, almost nose to nose with you, the curve of his mouth so dangerously close to your lips that your heart chooses this precise moment to combust. “Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.” 

Courage has never been your strong suit, but you owe it to Soshrio to be brave enough to be honest that it’s not him, never him that made you run and hide. It’s your traitorous heart at blame. Plus, you figure, when he turns you down, perhaps it’ll finally deprive your heart of any lingering hopes it harbours, so you can finally, finally reclaim ownership of your heart. 

Your lungs claw for air. 

“It’s not anything you did”, you whisper. “I just wanted more than what you probably ever thought to give.” 

His brows pinch together in confusion. 

“It’s just - I know you’re busy doing big things in the Defense Force and you probably never have time in between killing a million kaijus to consider anything outside of work, and I know that you’ve never given any indication that you see me more than just a friend, cos really, I know where I stand -” 

“You’re rambling.” He shakes you. “You’re not making any sense.” 

You close your eyes. 

(plunge a knife into your chest, carve it out whilst it's still beating, still bleeding)

“I like you, Soshiro-kun”, you say. “Not just as a friend, in case that wasn’t clear enough.” 

“Oh.”

It’s a simple word with exactly one syllable, but it does the job. He stares at you, slack jawed. His reaction twists the knife deeper into your belly. You clutch the counter for balance, prevent yourself from doubling over, spilling your guts on your kitchen floor. “I didn’t wanna ruin our friendship so I’ve just been kinda distant. I needed - I needed space. Just to get over it. I’m sorry if I worried you.” 

He still doesn’t respond. 

“Soshiro -” 

He looks up and you read only pity in his gaze. “I’m sorry -”

Your hurt pride will not allow you to let him see you fall apart. “Can we attack that tub of ice cream now”, you interrupt. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” 

“Right”, he says after a long pause, face carefully blank. “Ice cream.” 

You spend the rest of the evening eating ice cream and decidedly avoiding his gaze while chattering away about everything and nothing at all, papering over any awkwardness in a desperate attempt to pretend you don’t care that you’ve just killed any chance you’ve had at keeping your friendship intact. He’s almost silent save for some mmhms and grunts to indicate he’s still listening, so unlike his usual talkative replate with a joke in hand. You too, cannot put up with this charade anymore, so you feign tiredness, just to cut this ordeal short. 

“Stay safe”, you remind him. “Don’t get eaten by a kaiju.” 

“Yeah”, he replies. 

He doesn’t say seeya later, as he usually does. You’re unsurprised by that. 

Your phone remains empty of any new messages from him. 

In the initial aftermath, you drown yourself in work to overcompensate for your wandering mind and wishful heart. All tweaks to his weaponry are done purely through official channels, as you previously requested. He doesn’t even text you a thanks when you stay up working on changes to his blades. Not that you’ve ever felt entitled to his gratitude. It’s just your job - one that you’ve decided to take up because your seven year old self lost her heart to him, but really, that’s on you, not him. 

There are no spontaneous lunchtime visits, not even when you make updates to his brother’s tech. He doesn’t drop by your apartment the next time he’s off-duty, nor he does ask you to accompany him to another overpriced dessert cafe, not even when the gingko trees in Tokyo turn yellow, marking the season for every store to have a mont blanc special which you know he’d be weak for. 

This is good, you tell yourself. 

It hurts less than you expected. Of course it splits open your stitched-closed wounds to hear him say in your face what you already knew, that Hoshina Soshiro will never love you, not in this lifetime or the next. You allow yourself a few lonely nights to wallow in self-pity, spend a weekend facedown on your bed, stifling your screams into your pillow.  You might have lost your footing momentarily, slipped down a ravine of despair, but with a few weeks’ grace, you start to claw your way out of the ravine of despair. 

You will find your footing, find a way to get over him, live a life without Hoshina Soshiro by your side. 

You will. You will. 

It will become easier. You find contentment sitting on your balcony by yourself as the evenings grow cooler, leaves catching in the breeze, a meal you cooked for yourself on your lap. You throw yourself headfirst into pottery classes, where all you focus on is the feel of soft clay melting into your hands. Between work, your hobbies and weekend visits home, you don’t give yourself time to think about anything or anyone else anymore. 

Weeks pass. 

You catch a glimpse of him on the office TV as you clock in for work. Though you almost always turn it off right away, lest your heart believe it can find its way back to him, you make an exception today when the TV starts to blare about some daikaiju appearing, one after another across Japan, the third division  deploying to a location not too far away from you. 

 <stay safe>

 <don’t be eaten by a kaiju>

 <eat ‘em for brekkie instead>

The building starts to shake. 

You put your phone away. Your co-workers surround the screen, yelling about evacuations and contingencies. You start to head down towards the forge, determined to save as much of your handiwork as you can. Soshiro and the rest of the swordsmen in the Defense Force will need whatever you can save. 

a/n: manga spoilers from the next chapt onwards, read at your own risk! also, am off riding in mongolia til the 20th - next chapter out after - pls lmk what you guys think in the meantime ;)

[jujuicykaisen]

Can you do a drabble or fic about a reader just resting against Nanami's big fat tits?

YES.

Characters: Kento Nanami

Contents: gn!reader, loving descriptions of Nanami's chesticles

Kento Nanami

The train swayed back and forth as it surged along the tracks, carrying you and hundreds of other commuters away from your offices and stores and factories back to your little boxes of peace and privacy. The day weighed on you. It hadn’t been a bad day, just a tiring one. One of those days that seem to last forever, and like the clock starts swinging backward whenever you look away from it.

Clinging to the handrail, standing at an awkward angle to avoid the flying elbow of the woman next to you as she lifted her water bottle to her mouth for the third time in the past minute, you gazed out of the window. The buildings smeared together in an abstract blur as your mind turned to one single, pure, crystallised image for comfort.

A muscular chest, straining the buttons of a crisp, teal blue shirt.

Kento…

That was what you needed. That was your goal. The shining beacon that would lead you home like a candle in the darkness. 

Nanami’s tits. 

You alighted from the train with a sense of renewed vigour, striding from the station and along the nice, suburban streets. Neighbours, who knew you as “that nice couple”, nodded at you as you passed. You jerked your chin up and down in the rote movement of social niceties, already fishing in your pocket for your house keys. 

Nanami would be home by now. He always texted you on the rare occasion he had overtime. The man was thoughtful like that. He was probably sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, his tie removed and the top button of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. 

Your key scraped against the lock before you managed to wedge it in, twisting it and pushing the door open at the same time. You shuffled into the genkan, dropping your bag, hanging up your coat, tossing your keys into the dish on the hallway table for that specific purpose. You shook your public armour off like a dog coming out of a muddy puddle, and padded up into the house.

“Honey?” His voice echoed toward you. You heard the clink of one of the cut crystal glasses against the table, and knew he was about to get up and come to greet you.

“Don’t move!” you said, barrelling through the living room door. “Stay right there.”

Nanami raised an eyebrow at you, his fingers still splayed around the rim of a whiskey tumbler. He looked exactly as you’d imagined him, right down to the colour of the shirt he’d ironed that morning. His book was still held in one hand, finger tucked between the pages to mark his place. 

“Is everything all right?” 

“Yes,” you said, stumbling toward the couch, your gaze laser-focused on his shirt, on the landscape of muscle beneath it. 

Crawling onto the couch, onto his lap, you buried your face against those heavy pads of pectoral muscle, made smooth by the layer of high quality cotton shirt buttoned over the top. The warmth of his flesh seeped through the cloth, soaking into you. Nuzzling into his collarbones, you let loose a gusty sigh. This was exactly what you needed. 

Nanami stared down at the top of your head, even as one of his arms moved to wrap around your waist, holding you securely. He waited a moment for further explanation. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” you reassured him, rubbing your cheek against his firm chest. “This is exactly what I needed.”

Nanami watched you rub your face against him like a kitten, still somewhat bemused. He lifted a hand, the blond hairs on his arm glinting in the light, and ran his fingers over your head, smoothing your hair. If you were going to act like a cat, he might as well treat you like one. You let out a low hum of contentment, listening to the steady thud of Nanami’s heartbeat through his shirt. 

“Mind if I carry on reading?”

“Nuh-uh. Carry on.”

“Mm, thanks.” He picked up the book, holding it open in one hand, returning to his reading. His other hand ran slowly up and down your back, the heel of his palm running against your spine. It paused briefly. “Don’t motorboat me this time.”

“...no promises.”

[moriitis]

What would Toby do with a person with Lyra's exact appearance? Let's say they also have a similar personality. (Of course there would be no comparison)

I don't know how Toby would take it or what he would do and I'm really curious, seriously, I'm crazy.

WHY DO YOU GIVE ME ALL THESE SAD ASS ASKS OH MY GOD MY SHAYYYLAAA

Alright, I seriously fucking love this ask though, like so, so, so much. Thank you Anon for breaking my heart. I, too, am crazy about Toby and Lyra's relationship.

Content/Warnings; car accidents, mentions of abuse, alcohol, death, detailed descriptions of corpses, blood, brain matter, globe luxation (eyes popping out of sockets), vomit, bruises, stuttering, murder.

I guess to start this shit off, we better go back in time a little to talk about their relationship as siblings during the time Lyra was alive.

Their parents were deadbeat. I'll say it over and over again. Now don't get me wrong, Connie hated seeing her children living in poverty and being abused by their father, but you gotta remember Connie was a victim too. Abusive relationships SUCK and it's even worse when there are children involved because it makes it so much harder leaving. Did Connie allow the abuse to happen? On some times, yes, she did - because a part of her really believed that she loved this man, she wanted things to work and kids were.. well, they deserve a little slap here and again, right? I see a bitterness between Lyra and Connie because Lyra gets so angry at the fact that Connie sits and allows this to happen. Now when big fights did break out, like punching, screaming, things smashing and the cops being called, Connie did step in and try to calm her husband. Unfortunately, her husband was a heavy drinker and his father abused him, so drinking is his coping method to deal with his own abuse and trauma.

Due to having such an absent and useless mother, Lyra stood up and took the role to care for Toby at the young age. In fact, when Connie announced she were pregnant with Toby, Lyra cried so much because she knew how shit their family life was and it was unfair to bring a baby up in a situation they get no say in.

Lyra would dress Toby for school, make breakfast and ensured they both got the school bus on time. (During the time he still attended public schooling.)

She would 100% defend him in situations at school the best she could. Lyra wasn't particularly popular either, so really she took most the verbal abuse directed toward her brother.

After Toby got pulled for home schooling, she'd always feel so disgustingly anxious being on that school bus alone - without him.

She'd call the home phone almost every hour making sure he was okay.

Thankfully their father worked at a factory during the day, so she knew Toby was okay with their Mom who was a stay at home.

Despite everything, she was a bubbly and happy character, mostly because as she got older she got more freedom to stay away from home.

Lyra was a bit of a party animal, very social and had a nice group of friends.

She would not come back home for times on end, preferring to sleep on the couch at a friends just to avoid home.

But then she felt too guilty leaving Toby alone and would come back.

On the weekends, Lyra would take Toby with her to hang out with her friends! Her friends loved Toby, despite his tics.

They'd hang out at the mall a lot, which actually secured Lyra her first little job working in a clothing store her friend also worked at.

Which meant she earnt money to spoil Toby.

Like taking him to the arcades, bowling.

They went to the cinema once, which was a bad mistake because they came home too late and their father was still awake.

"Lyra.. are yo-oo..u awake?" Called a soft voice, a voice that lingered by the frame of her door. The light from the hallway illuminated the figure, casting shadows over her body that was outstretched on her bed. It was a familiar voice, a voice that made her turn almost instantly to glance over at the little brunette who was lingering by the door, his fingers hooked around the wood. Her door was only open a fraction but softly it pushed open a little, allowing more light to enter her dark room. She sat up, her fingers caressing the bare mattress below her as she forced a welcoming smile. It wasn't that she was unhappy or annoyed by Toby's presence, of course not - it was just the ache in her head that almost pulsated around her skull as she sat up.

"Hey you, no, I'm actually asleep," she teased softly, stifling her chuckle as she pulled her knees up close to her chest. It was always so cold in this house.

"Oh, should I go?" Toby replied much softer than before, already pulling away from the doorframe and descending back into the hallway.

Lyra rolled her eyes and scrunched up her brows. "Go?" she repeated, tilting her head to the side a little. The pain vibrated around her head, squeezing her skull and holding her brain captive. The pain was only temporary. "What's wrong?" she asked after a beat, wanting to capture his attention before he disappeared quietly down the creaky hall. Silence loomed over the two of them as Toby glanced back at Lyra, his brows twisted in concern as his fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt anxiously.

"Did he-he-h... he hh-hurt you bad?" Toby finally spoke, those words so harsh despite the innocence in his voice. His words weighed heavy, so heavy even that her shoulders dropped a little at the question. Toby shouldn't have seen that, admittedly it was her fault for bringing them home so late.

So, with a little scoff, she shook her head softly although instinctively, her hand raised against the little bump on her head. It had stopped bleeding, thankfully, but the cut and bruise still felt fresh and raw. "No," she sounded convincing. "See? I'm fine." Lyra lied through her teeth, no, she wasn't fine.

Toby wasn't convinced and before he spoke, a grunt coming from their parents room frightened him closer toward Lyra's bed. She outstretched her arms out toward him a little, accepting him and acting as a barrier for any of his worries and fears. "He's asleep," Lyra reassured him and herself, her voice nothing but a whisper and Toby quietly climbed onto her bed. When did Toby get so big? A lump in her throat formed just looking at him.

His brown eyes darted toward her outstretched arms and he hesitated before slowly leaning his body against her own. It wasn't a proper hug, oh dear, no, Toby was too big for those now apparently but Lyra was satisfied to have him close to her regardless. Only if it were nothing but a shoulder.

-

Now, obviously we are aware that Lyra died in a car crash and I just HC that she reason she swerved and crashed into that tree was because she saw Slender on the road and it startled her so much. Toby always thought that it were a deer or something she tried to avoid - he knew how much she loved her animals.

-

"So, anyway, I told Abby that Jason was obviously just going after her because its Jason, he goes after everyone in school! But Abby didn't believe me and now she's all upset and mad at everyone but not Jason for breaking her heart?" Lyra groaned, hands gripped securely around the steering wheel as she vented away to her younger brother who sat behind her in the passenger seat. He was always a good listener and Lyra secretly knew he loved hearing all this gossip. For a brief moment, she glanced at the rear view mirror to Toby. He was exceptionally quiet today, arms crossed over his chest as he gazed aimlessly out the window. Her lips pursed at the sight, curiosity at what could possibly be plaguing her brother's mind? "Hey, you listening?" she asked, shooting occasional glances between the road and the brunette in the back.

Toby's brows furrowed for a moment, almost in irritation before his gaze softened upon connecting with Lyra. It wasn't often her looked at her in such a way and she raised a brow slightly, watching as closely as she could while also focusing on the road ahead.

The road ahead was quiet, no traffic, just them and the forest that surrounded them. The faint mumble of the radio, Lyra's music of course - Paramore more notably playing.

"Yeah," Toby choked out slowly, clearing his throat and shuffling in his seat as he tried to rearrange his thoughts and remember what Lyra was even blabbering about prior. She knew he were lying though and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, although she were just teasing.

"Liar," she pointed an index finger up at him before chuckling a short chuckle. Toby's lip curled a little at the corner but other than that, he remained quiet. Lyra knew Toby wasn't himself, not anymore, sure he was getting older and moodier - but his mental health played a lot into that too.

"I'm ssorry, j-just thinking about th-"

"What the fuck?!"

The smell of gas burned within his nostrils as he awoke to nothing but a fuzzy haze. Whatever the fuck happened, he wasn't sure, but now the car was flipped upside down. He blinked once, twice, trying to make sense of things as he glanced up. His blood coated the interior roof of the car, shit he must've cut his head up pretty bad - thankfully he couldn't feel shit though. The radio was still playing, filling the silence as the indicators ticked and the car groaned with each move Toby made.

"You are the only exception, you are the only exception~" the radio continued to play Paramore and sat atop the roof was Lyra's IPod that was still connected.

"Lyra-" Toby grumbled groggily as he went to reach out to the tuffs of blonde that poked out from beside the airbag. His seatbelt, still secured, restricted him and he fought against it for a moment as his main focus was on his sister. "Lyra, speak to me-" he grumbled through gritted teeth as his hands helplessly began to find the buckle of his belt, clicking it out and dropping him down onto the roof of the car with a loud thud. He could feel the air thickening around him as he tried to navigate around the carnage, upside down to help his sister. His heart was beating a million beats per second as he army crawled as close as he could to Lyra, the whole bonnet of the car practically enveloping a tree in a cold, metallic hug.

"Lyra," he repeated through gritted teeth, holding his breath at the thought of being alone out here in a wrecked car, his anxiety clawing at his very skin as he slowly craned his head around to the drivers seat. "Please talk to me, please-" he begged softly, hand reaching out slowly to brush a tuff of her blonde hair away from her face.

Lyra remained motionless, unresponsive and Toby hoped and begged and prayed to any God that perhaps she was just unconscious. "Wake up, Lyra, come on- you have to wake up now-" he began, his shaky hand making its way to her shoulder to shake her softly. The sister was limp and only moved softly from his violent shaking.

Her head was pressed against the airbag, her blood crimson red compared to the white of the bag. He could hear the insane amount of blood gushing from her and onto the pedals below her which made him almost heave. With one final push on her shoulder, her head fell toward his direction and her blonde hair fell down from her face, exposing the horror before him.

Her face, her beautiful face, untouched one side and her skull caved in on the other. The brain matter that ran down her face, her eye that was almost bulging out from her socket. The inside of her skull was empty, the rest of her brain had slipped out and fallen down her shoulder and torso. Her mouth hung agape, her other intact eye half lidded but her iris still enlarged in the shock she endured before the crash. Her torso was also caved in but her ribs poked out through her skin, exposing her vital organs through her blood soaked, cotton tank top.

Toby could only scream as he scrambled back into the passenger seat, desperately trying to get away from his sister. His hands grabbed helplessly at anything that could push him further away from Lyra, his fingers grazing the glass beneath him and slicing his skin open. His screaming was interrupted by the sudden urge to vomit as he clamped a hand over his mouth in a desperate attempt to stop the flow of acid, although it were already spewing past his blood fingertips. Choking and spluttering on the warmth of his vomit, he hacked up and spat out the rest of the taste that remained in his mouth before clutching a handful of his clothing within the fist of his hand.

"No, no, no, please, Lyra, no-" he sobbed helplessly against hitched breaths, trying to make sense of this nightmare. That perhaps this wasn't real, it couldn't be because how could he live without her? So, slowly, plucking up any courage he could find, he crept back toward Lyra and gently caressed her cheek. She was still warm. "Stop messing, Lyra, you can- you can- can- can get up now! Wake up! Wake the fuck up!" he was yelling at the corpse, shaking her violently before collapsing onto her lap. He didn't care about the blood nor brain, he wanted her to hug him again.

Toby cried into her lap, taking her arm and forcing it around him as he cuddled her corpse. Laying there for hours until a passer-by came across them.

-

Alright, you guys have the feels?! Now, back to the ask. After this traumatic event, how would Toby feeling seeing someone that looked like Lyra? And, oof, punch in the gut, this person also having the exact same personality? Yikes.

At first, he wouldn't believe it. He would either think its an hallucination or that he's dreaming because he knows that she is dead, shit, he saw it himself. Honestly, at first I think he'd be a little angry because it's like all that grief and trauma came and just slapped him right there and then.

He'd accuse this person and lash out, saying things like. "You think this is funny?!" "What are you doing?!" Just really bitter and mean, mostly a mechanism to try and cope really. He'll think this is a whole ploy to try and trick him or something.

There'd also be a part of him that really craves being embraced by this person too, like he wants to caress their cheek and touch their hair. Like he genuinely cannot believe that this is real.

Then once that anger has simmered down, he'd bite back the tears. Stepping away and going nonverbal, disappearing for a couple months to try and 'forget.' He'd cry like a little bitch too, calling himself stupid for leaving in the first place.

Then he'd come back, either really dissociated or really attached to this person. He'd crave their attention, despite it being so bittersweet and he'll be angry if this person says something that Lyra wouldn't say, you know?

NOW

If we are talking about a VICTIM HE WAS SUPPOSED TO KILL LOOKING LIKE LYRA- shit, that's a different story.

At first he'd hesitated, the hatchet motionless above his head, mid-swing as she stares down at the girl before him. Crying, sobbing and he would literally stop working. He wouldn't know what to do, he would freeze and just stand there staring at her in disbelief. Then he'd drop the hatchet with a loud clutter and fall to his knees before the girl, his shoulders and body shaking as muffled sobs begin to emerge from him.

This girl, who nearly just fucking died, could do two things. Knock him the fuck out or comfort him thinking that maybe it would spare her life. I think depending on what she does, if she were to comfort him, Toby would probably either push her away or embrace her touch and cry into her lap. If she were to attempt to knock him out, I think it would stir him a little back to life and he'd quickly just jump into action in an attempt to control himself and the situation.

Now obviously, he will NOT murder her. No, he couldn't - so he grabs his things and leave. Which is so, so, so bad and could get him into so much shit with Slender but I think in that moment, he doesn't care.

[wittymumbledon]

been tinkering with this self-indulgent little thing for a lil' while now, but I think it's finally ready to release into the wild - I've seen a few takes on the concept of a Gravity Falls and Jekyll and Hyde crossover already - and with the nature of things there's likely going to be quite a bit of overlap - but nonetheless I wanted to try and make my own take on it. (I will note, though, that I was quite inspired by @maruchanart - especially in regards to Bill's design :])

Now - "The Strange Case of Dr Pines and Mr Cipher" is quite the mouthful (and no doubt quite the painful hashtag) - so from here onwards I will simply refer to this as

The Strange Case AU

I haven't worked out the details yet - and the details that I have are likely to change considering I originally based this off the musical and am now also reading the original novel but- As it stands -

This AU will be loosely based on a combination of the original Robert Louis Stevenson novel and the later Jekyll & Hyde musical. If I end up making any sort of animated content I will likely use the original 1994 recordings (they're gorgeous, can you blame me?), but I am most visually inspired by the 2001 production (the one with David Hasselhoff in it - I've already stolen his ponytail for my Ford lol)

Though the AU features the GF cast (those of them that were around in the 70s and 80s anyway), it will be set back in the early 1800s like the original story. We'll sort out the time anomalies as they arise - I don't want to think about it too hard right now I imagine there might be some shifts to a couple family trees though...

The roles of Jekyll and Hyde will - understandably - be played by Dr. Stanford Pines and Mr. William Lucipher

Stanford's character remains mostly the same - he is still a brilliant scientist, curious about the strange and a workaholic to the core - but he leans more towards the egotistic (there's a lot more of his "Why didn't Rudolph use his red-hot nose to burn his oppressor's workshop to the ground?" side showing through)

The main roles get a lot muddier from here - especially considering some of the character changes between the novel and the musical - but Fiddleford mainly plays a joint role of Lanyon and Emma, with some Utterson thrown in where suitable (and potentially a bit of Lucy too--see I told you it gets muddy real quick). A brilliant mind for mechanics and mathematics, but also a mind prone to paranoia. He is in perpetual conflict over his feelings about Stanford's experiment and his feelings about Stanford himself.

Stanley mostly replaces Utterson from either version of the story, an likely whatever parts of Lanyon that can't taken over by Fidds. After getting disowned - and lacking his twin's much higher social reputation - he ends up working at a factory.

Feel free to ask about more details (might get me to finish the artworks faster lol) or make your own suggestions/speculations! :3

[honeyncherry]

Through the Looking Glass - One

Rafe Cameron x Reader

content: drinking, tension (rafe likes to look at you)

word count: 6k

prologue

The last time you set foot in a new school, you were nine years old. Your father had sent you off to a prestigious boarding school halfway across the country. Though it wasn’t a school, not really. It was more like a factory, cold and unyielding, designed to shape children from high-profile government families into the next generation of leaders and operatives. The halls were filled with future politicians, intelligence agents, and power brokers. Each was more intense, more cutthroat, and more determined than the last.

Breaks were a luxury you couldn’t afford. The instructors were strict to the point of being merciless, expecting perfection and punishing anything less. The curriculum was relentless, grinding you down and reshaping you into something sharp and efficient. There were no sleepovers or giggling with friends, no carefree afternoons in the park. Just drills, evaluations, and endless expectations. You learned quickly how to suppress your emotions, to quiet the part of you that wanted to cry or rebel. 

You became what they wanted: disciplined, composed, and ready to take orders. But walking onto the University of North Carolina’s campus felt like stepping into another universe. 

The differences were staggering, almost surreal. Where the boarding school had been rigid and sterile, UNC was alive, teeming with energy and freedom. Some students sprawled out on blankets under monstrous oak trees, laughing and playing games of spikeball in the sunshine, while others sat in their own study groups more focused on gossiping about who was interested in whom than working on their essays.

The buildings, their brick facades draped in ivy, stood proud yet inviting, as though welcoming you into a new chapter of your life. It was a world you’d only ever viewed from a distance, in movies or fleeting glimpses during missions. It felt chaotic, free, and utterly alien to you.

UNC wasn’t just one of the country’s top business schools; it was also renowned for its vibrant social scene. Greek Row was the epicenter of it all, alive with parties that raged late into the night, music spilling into the streets. On game days, tailgates transformed the campus into a sprawling festival, with canopies, kegs, and mini grills crowding every open space. Each weekend brought something new to celebrate, another excuse to gather and let loose. It was a world you could barely imagine fitting into, let alone navigating by yourself.

But you didn’t have to imagine. You’d been preparing for this moment for nearly a year. From the second the case file landed on your desk, you’d immersed yourself in everything UNC had to offer. You memorized its culture, its traditions, and even its most recent scandals. You knew which bars on Franklin Street were the most popular on Thursday nights, which fraternity houses held the most exclusive parties, and which sororities had the most influence. You even learned the best shortcuts through campus, routes that would let you avoid campus police or slip away unnoticed.

Your apartment was a short ten-minute walk from the heart of campus. On the surface, it seemed ordinary: a modest brick complex tucked away on a quiet, tree-lined street. But as you approached, the details stood out. The doorman, Johnny, was the first clue. He wasn’t just a friendly face stationed at the entrance — he was part of the agency, placed there to keep an eye on you. Whether his presence was meant to protect you or monitor you was unclear, but it didn’t matter. Either way, it offered a small sense of security in an otherwise unsettling situation.

Johnny greeted you with a polite nod as you entered, his expression neutral. You returned the gesture with a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach your eyes. It wasn’t personal; you simply couldn’t afford to let your guard down. Not here. Not yet.

The elevator ride to the third floor was quiet, the soft hum of the machinery filling the space. When the doors slid open, you stepped into a hallway lined with neutral-toned carpeting and soft overhead lighting. Your apartment was at the end of the hall. The space was small but well-appointed, with sleek, modern furniture, warm lighting, and a fully stocked kitchen. It looked nothing like the cramped dorms you’d read about in your research, where freshmen shared tiny rooms and whispered secrets late into the night. 

You set your bag down just inside the door, taking a moment to absorb your surroundings. This was it. Your new life. For the next semester you wouldn’t be the girl forged in the cold, unyielding halls of your past. You’d become a confident, ambitious, college girl who blended seamlessly into this bright, chaotic world. 

The girl who walked into this apartment was no longer a government agent’s daughter or a product of a childhood spent in the shadows of high-stakes operations. She was a girl who went to all the football games and studied on the quad. Someone who danced under neon lights at Sigma Chi parties and laughed too loudly with friends in the library.

At least, that’s who you needed to be.

You crossed the room and pulled open the blinds, letting the golden light of the setting sun flood the space. From here, you could see the edges of campus. Students moved in clusters, their voices carrying faintly through the evening air. Somewhere out there, Rafe Cameron was waiting.

You’d seen his face a hundred times in the photos tucked inside his dossier. From the cocky smirk, the piercing blue eyes, the sleek buzzed blonde hair, it was all etched into your memory. You knew his routines, his weaknesses, his tells. You’d studied him like a final exam, preparing for the moment you’d meet him in person. Yet, as you stared out at the campus, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach.

Because no amount of training could prepare you for what came next. This wasn’t just another assignment you sat on the sidelines of, watching every move, critiquing every wrong step. It was your very own assignment. The decade long case you were meant to crack. And this was Rafe Cameron, the key to the entire operation.

You let out a slow breath, your fingers gripping the edge of the windowsill. The world outside seemed so vibrant, so full of life, but you knew better than to get swept up in it. This wasn’t about fun or freedom. It was about the mission. The stakes were too high to let anything distract you.

You turned away from the window, the sound of your sandals clicking softly against the polished wood floors as you moved back toward your bag. Somewhere deep inside, a flicker of doubt tried to take hold, but you pushed it down. You couldn’t afford doubt.

Brooke O’Brien was UNC’s very own Barbie doll. The kind of girl who seemed almost too perfect, her presence glowing with an effortless charisma that felt more polished than natural. Maybe it was her blonde curls and doll-like hazel eyes, or the way she lit up every room she entered with an energy that was both magnetic and overwhelming. Either way, she was someone people both admired and envied in equal measure.

To you, Brooke was… a lot. Too much, maybe. But that didn’t matter. She was your way in. If there was one person you needed to befriend, it was Brooke O’Brien.

When you saw her crossing the quad toward you, waving enthusiastically, you braced yourself. Her dazzling smile and quick pace made it seem like nothing could stop her.

“Wow!” she called out, her voice ringing through the crowd. “It’s so great to finally meet you!”

Before you could react, she had thrown her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. Caught off guard, you hesitated for only a moment before hugging her back. If she was this excited, then so were you. Or at least, that’s what you had to make her believe.

“Totally,” you said, pulling back with your best gleaming smile. “Everyone here already seems so friendly.”

Brooke’s laugh was light and airy, the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh along even if you didn’t know what was funny. “Oh, honey, you don’t even know! UNC is, like, the friendliest place on Earth. You’re going to love it here, I promise.”

She slipped her arm through yours without hesitation, as though you’d been best friends for years, and began guiding you across the quad. Her energy was infectious, and you found yourself grateful for how easy she made it to keep up the act.

“So,” she said, turning her head to study you, “first impressions? Be honest.”

“It’s... a lot,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the bustling campus. “But in a good way.”

Brooke beamed. “That’s what I like to hear! College is supposed to be a lot. It’s all about finding yourself, you know? And trust me, UNC is the perfect place for that.”

You smiled politely, wondering if the line about "finding yourself" was something she said to everyone or if she actually believed it. Still, it was hard not to be drawn in by her enthusiasm.

As she gestured toward a row of buildings, pointing out the arts building and student union, she glanced at you curiously. “So, tell me about your last school. What was it like?”

The question was casual, but your stomach tightened all the same. You’d been preparing for this, practicing your answers until they felt natural, but it was still unnerving to hear it aloud. “Oh, it was... fine,” you said with a small shrug. “A lot smaller than this. Not as lively.”

Brooke tilted her head, her curls bouncing slightly. “Really? Where’d you go again?”

“Uh, Hawthorne College,” you said, dropping the name of the small liberal arts school the agency had assigned to your cover story. “It was nice, but it didn’t really feel like the right fit.”

Brooke nodded knowingly. “Oh, I totally get that. Sometimes you just need a fresh start, you know? That’s what I love about UNC — it’s, like, impossible not to find your people here.”

You nodded along, grateful that she didn’t press further. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

“You will,” Brooke said firmly, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “College is all about reinventing yourself. I mean, when I got here, I was, like, so shy. Couldn’t even raise my hand in class without turning bright red.”

You raise an eyebrow, struggling to imagine Brooke as anything less than radiant and self-assured. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe not that shy,” she admits with a laugh. “But still, this college changes you. In the best way. You’ll see.”

As she leads you through the quad, Brooke chats non-stop, pointing out landmarks and weaving in bits of campus gossip like it’s second nature. You nod along, doing your best to look captivated while mentally filing away the information that might actually be useful.

Brooke’s warmth was disarming, a sharp contrast to the cold precision you’d been trained to embody since becoming a pre-teen. For a moment, you wondered if it was genuine or if everyone here wore their own kind of mask. Either way, letting your guard down wasn’t an option, not even with the sweet and charming Brooke O’Brien. Not with so much riding on this. 

“That’s the library,” Brooke says, gesturing toward an imposing brick building covered in ivy. “You’ll spend way too much time there during finals. Oh, and over there—” she points to a cluster of tables shaded by oak trees, “—that’s where the serious study groups hang out. They’re, like, terrifyingly intense. But if you ever need help with a project, that’s the place to go.”

You nod, making a mental note. “Good to know.”

Brooke stops suddenly, spinning to face you with wide eyes. “Wait! I have to introduce you to my favorite place on campus.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabs your hand and pulls you toward a small café tucked into the corner of the quad. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hits you as soon as you step inside, and you can’t help but feel a small pang of appreciation. For all her energy, Brooke seems genuinely excited to share this with you.

“Isn’t it cute?” she gushes, gesturing toward the mismatched chairs and cozy lighting. “I swear, their iced caramel macchiatos are life-changing. And if you ever need a good place to study, this is it.”

“Noted,” you say, allowing a small smile to slip through. It’s hard not to truly warm up to her enthusiasm, even if you’re supposed to be keeping people at arm's length.

The two of you grab drinks before heading back outside, and as you settle onto a bench near the quad, Brooke leans in conspiratorially. “Okay, so now that you’ve got the basics, it’s time for the fun stuff.”

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity. “Oh?”

“My friends,” she says with a grin. “You’re going to love them. Well, most of them.”

She launched into a detailed rundown of her friend group as the two of you sat and enjoyed your drinks. You had to admit, the coffee rivaled anything you’d had in the city.

“Okay, so first there’s Maddie, she’s my best friend. She’s super sweet, but, like, don’t get on her bad side. She’ll smile while ripping you to shreds, and you won’t even realize it until it’s too late.”

You chuckled, making a mental note of Maddie’s name.

“Then there’s Sabrina,” Brooke continued. “She’s the fun one. She can make anyone dance, even if they swear they don’t dance. Seriously, she could probably convince a statue to do the Cupid Shuffle.”

You smiled, appreciating the way Brooke’s tone shifted slightly with each new person she described. It was obvious she genuinely cared about them.

“And then there’s Liam,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “He’s... complicated. Kind of a wild card, but in a good way. He’s always down for an adventure. Like, last week, he tried to convince us all to go skydiving. At midnight. I don’t even think that’s legal.”

Your brows lifted. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, he is,” Brooke said with a knowing grin. “But don’t worry. He’s harmless.” She hesitated for a moment, her expression shifting slightly. “And, um, Chase. We’ve been... talking. Kind of.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking up slightly. “Talking?”

“Okay, maybe more than talking,” Brooke admitted, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “He’s cute, but, like, he can be so frustrating sometimes. He has this thing where he just disappears for days and then texts me like nothing happened. But whatever. It’s not serious.”

The slight edge in her voice suggested otherwise, but you didn’t press. “He sounds... nice?”

Brooke laughed, rolling her eyes. “He is. When he wants to be.” She paused for a moment, her expression shifting. “And then there’s Rafe.”

Your heartbeat quickened at the mention of his name, but you kept your face carefully neutral. “What’s he like?”

Brooke hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “He’s complicated too. Intense, definitely. But once you get to know him, he’s one of the most loyal people you’ll ever meet.”

She took a sip of her drink, her brows knitting together. “Lately, though, he’s been in a mood. Something about a girl he was seeing. But he won’t talk about it. Anyway, he invited everyone to a sports bar tonight, so maybe he’s trying to shake it off.”

You nodded, keeping your expression casual even as your thoughts raced. A girl? That wasn’t in the file. Who was she, and what did she mean to him?

Brooke’s face brightened again, and she reached out to squeeze your arm. “You should come! It’ll be fun, and you can meet everyone.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, feigning reluctance. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Are you kidding?” Brooke laughed. “You’re not intruding. You’re with me now, and trust me, they’ll love you. Besides, I’ll pick you up, so you have no excuse.”

You let out a small laugh, unable to resist her enthusiasm. “Okay, fine. I’ll come.”

“Yay!” Brooke clapped her hands together. “This is going to be so much fun. Text me your address and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

Later that evening, after carefully choosing an outfit, you stood by the window. The campus nightlife flickered to life below, a vibrant pulse that felt both foreign and inviting. When Brooke’s text came through, your breath caught for a moment before you grabbed your bag and headed down.

She waved excitedly as you approached, her pristine convertible parked at an angle, music thumping from the speakers like it was an extension of her energy.

You climbed into the passenger seat with a bright smile and as she pulled away, she launched into another flurry of conversation. This time, it was all about classes, professors, Chase, and her favorite spots on Franklin Street.

“I swear,” she said, shaking her head, “Professor Klein is the worst. Like, don’t even bother trying to win her over. Just turn in your essays on time and pray for a C.”

You laughed, relaxing slightly as Brooke’s chatter filled the car. For all her energy, there was something undeniably comforting about her. It was easy to see how she’d become the center of her friend group — and why she was exactly who you needed on your side.

When the sports bar came into view, its neon lights glowing against the night sky, Brooke turned to you with a grin. “Ready to meet the crew?”

You nodded, your stomach tightening with anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

The moment you stepped inside, the bar thrummed with life, a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and thumping bass. The mingling scents of fried food and beer created a sensory overload that left you slightly off balance 

This was nothing like the polished, controlled environments of stuffy dinners with your father and his colleagues. Here, the chaos was unfiltered: crop tops and cutoff shorts replaced formal evening wear, discount beer flowed from taps instead of martinis, and greasy nachos piled high replaced hors d'oeuvres served on silver platters.

Brooke led the way, weaving through the crowd like she’d done it a hundred times before, her confidence a beacon in the chaos. You followed closely, trying not to bump into too many shoulders as you glanced around, taking it all in. Groups of students laughed loudly, some leaning over the tables to shout above the music, others already swaying slightly from one too many drinks.

“Over here!” Brooke chirped, pointing toward a table in the corner where three people were already seated. As you got closer, you could make out two girls and a guy, all of them mid-conversation and laughing.

“This is them!” Brooke said, practically bouncing on her toes as she gestured to the group. “Guys, this is the girl I was telling you about.”

The girl with dark, pin-straight hair was the first to look up, her sharp look flicking over you before her lips curved into a welcoming smile. “Hey! I’m Sabrina. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” you said, returning the smile as she reached out for a quick handshake. Her grip was warm but firm, and she had this effortless confidence that instantly put you at ease.

The guy beside her leaned back in his chair, his grin easy and a little mischievous as he said, “I’m Liam. You must be the new girl Brooke’s been hyping up.”

You laughed lightly, glancing at Brooke. “I guess so.”

“Don’t worry,” Liam added, raising his beer. “If you can survive Brooke, you’ll fit right in.”

“Shut up, Liam,” Brooke said with a roll of her eyes, though her smile didn’t falter. “And this,” she added, gesturing toward the last girl at the table, “is Maddie.”

Maddie’s sharp gaze flicked over you, her crossed arms and measured tone making it clear she wasn’t quick to warm up. “Hey,” she said, her words as neutral as her expression.

“Hi,” you replied. Maddie didn’t smile, her silence sharper than words, and you couldn’t help but feel like she was sizing you up.

Brooke patted the seat beside her, breaking the moment. “Come on, sit! I’ll grab us drinks in a second.”

As you slid into the booth, the group’s chatter flowed easily around you. Sabrina asked about your classes, Liam cracked jokes that drew groans from Brooke, and even Maddie softened slightly, her dry humor slipping through now and then.

But as the night went on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something, or someone, was missing.

“Where’s Chase?” Brooke asked suddenly, leaning closer to Sabrina and Maddie.

Maddie smirked, tilting her head toward the bar. “Over there. He’s with Rafe.”

Your stomach tightened as you followed her eye line, scanning the crowd until your eyes found them. Chase was easy to spot, leaning against the counter, his grin wide and animated as he chatted with the bartender. He was exactly as you’d seen in the photos: open, carefree, the life of any conversation.

But the man beside him was a different story.

Rafe Cameron was the kind of person whose presence you felt before you saw him. His presence preceded him, tangible and charged, like the static before a storm. He stood at ease, resting his arms on the bartop, his sharp features caught in the dim light that carved shadows along his jawline. When his eyes found yours, it wasn’t a question, it was a statement: I see you.

The air shifted. The sounds of the bar faded into a dull hum. His intensity sent a ripple through you, one you couldn’t quite name. You hadn’t expected this — not from a man you’d studied for months, memorized through pages and pages of official documents. Yet here he was, impossibly real and entirely unsettling.

There was no smile, no casual acknowledgment, just a quiet intensity that felt like it was meant to see past every carefully constructed layer.

“He’s looking at you,” Brooke murmured, her voice low and tinged with amusement as she leaned in closer.

You blinked, breaking the moment as you turned to her. “Who?”

She smirked knowingly, her view flicking back toward the bar. “Rafe. I told you, he’s intense.”

Your pulse quickened as you stole another glance. Rafe was still angled toward you, though his focus had shifted momentarily to Chase, who was speaking beside him. He didn’t respond to whatever Chase had said, his attention half-turned as though occupied by something else entirely.

Brooke’s playful tone broke the spell and you turned your attention back to the table, willing yourself to focus. But even as you smiled and joined the group’s chatter, Rafe’s gaze lingered in your mind like an unfinished thought.

“Okay,” Sabrina said, breaking through your thoughts. “So, tell me… what’s your major?”

You blinked, grateful for the distraction as you turned toward her. “Communications,” you replied, the answer smooth and practiced. “I was studying it at my last school, so it made sense to stick with it here.”

“Smart choice,” Liam chimed in, resting his elbows on the table. “You could probably out-talk all of us, huh?”

“Definitely me,” Brooke interjected with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose an argument, Liam.”

“That’s because I don’t lose,” he said, lifting his beer in mock celebration.

“Oh, please,” Maddie cut in, her tone dry. “You lose all the time. You just don’t know it.”

The group laughed, and you found yourself smiling despite the underlying tension still buzzing in your chest. Sabrina drew closer, her curiosity apparent. “Why communications, though? What’s the endgame?”

You hesitated, the question catching you off guard. “I guess I like the idea of... connecting with people,” you said carefully. “Understanding how they think, how they move and work. How to utilize that to your advantage. It’s fascinating.”

Sabrina nodded, her smile genuine. “I get that. Honestly, it sounds way more interesting than my major. I’m stuck in econ.”

“Econ’s useful,” Liam said, shrugging. “You’ll be the one bailing us all out when we screw up our taxes.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what economics is,” Maddie muttered, though her lips twitched into a small smile.

The conversation flowed easily after that, with Sabrina asking about your transition to UNC and Liam tossing out lighthearted quips that kept the mood buoyant. Even Maddie seemed to loosen up a bit more, though her sharp watch still flicked toward you now and then, like she was assessing your place in the group.

Just as you were beginning to relax, you felt a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. The energy at the table changed, the noise around you seeming to dim as two familiar figures approached. You glanced up instinctively, your breath catching as Rafe and Chase came into view.

Chase was the first to speak, his grin wide and easy as he set a tray of drinks on the table. “Miss us?”

“Finally!” Brooke said, clapping her hands together. “What took you so long?”

“The line’s insane,” Chase replied, sliding into the booth beside her. “Be grateful we didn’t give up and just grab water.”

Rafe didn’t say anything as he followed, his movements measured and calculated. He placed a glass in front of Maddie before taking the last empty seat across from you. The table suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, as his presence settled over the group.

Brooke leaned into Chase, nudging him playfully. “So, are you just going to ignore our new friend, or...?”

Chase’s eyes flicked to you, his grin widening. “Oh, right. You’re the transfer, right? I’m Chase. Welcome to the chaos.”

“Thanks,” you introduced yourself, your voice steady despite the way your pulse had quickened again.

“And this,” Brooke said, gesturing to the man sitting across from you, “is Rafe.”

His name lingered in the air for a beat too long, the unspoken weight of it making your chest tighten. Rafe’s gaze met yours again, the intensity in vision eyes sharper now that he was closer. His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more of an acknowledgment, as he nodded once.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice softer than you intended.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, carrying an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The table filled with chatter as the others picked up where they’d left off, but you barely heard it. Rafe’s watch didn’t waver, fixed on you in a way that felt deliberately unnerving, as though he wanted you to squirm. It wasn’t hostile, but it wasn't welcoming either. It was something else entirely. A silent challenge, perhaps, or a test you weren’t sure how to pass.

“So,” Chase said, drawing your attention to him. “How are you liking UNC so far?”

“It’s... different,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “Bigger than my last school, for sure.”

“Better parties, too,” Liam added, raising his drink in mock toast.

“Oh, absolutely,” Chase agreed. “Stick with us, and you’ll see the best this place has to offer.”

“She’s already stuck with us,” Brooke interjected, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ve claimed her.”

“Possessive much?” Maddie muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone now.

The laughter at the table felt like a reprieve, a momentary distraction from the way Rafe’s presence filled every corner of your awareness. Even when you weren’t looking, you could feel his eyes on you.

As the conversation continued, you risked another glance at him. He was sitting back slightly, his arms crossed over his chest, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. When your eyes met, his brow arched just slightly, as if to say caught you.

You looked away quickly, your cheeks warming despite the chill in the air-conditioned room. The tension was almost unbearable.

“Another round?” Brooke suggested, breaking the moment as she reached for her empty glass.

“Yes, please,” Sabrina said. “And get me some fries while you’re at it.”

Brooke stood, tugging Chase up with her. “Come on, you’re helping.”

Chase groaned but followed, leaving the rest of you at the table. Liam immediately launched into a story about some party mishap the night before, pulling laughter from Maddie and Sabrina. Their energy was light and easy, but your focus drifted. The conversation faded into the background as a quiet tension hummed in the air.

You absently toyed with the straw in your drink, the condensation cool against your fingertips. It wasn’t the story keeping you distracted, it was a feeling, steady and insistent, like the faint pull of a current just beneath the surface.

Your eyes flicked toward Rafe, catching him mid-motion. He leaned forward in his seat, his fingers resting lightly around his glass. His expression was unreadable, but when his eyes met yours, something shifted. His expression shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, like he was inviting you into a silent exchange you weren’t sure you were ready for.

Before you could think better of it, you asked, “so, does he always let her boss him around like that?” You nodded toward the bar, where Chase and Brooke were deep in conversation with each other.

Rafe’s lips curved faintly into something between a smirk and a smile. “Only when it’s easier than arguing.”

His voice was low, smooth, and somehow it cut through the noise of the bar as if it were meant just for you. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he added, “Besides, Brooke likes to think she’s in charge. No harm in letting her believe it.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Generous of you.”

He tilted his head, studying you with a casualness that felt anything but. “And you? Do you let people boss you around, or are you the one calling the shots?”

The question caught you off guard, the weight of it settling in a way that felt heavier than the words themselves. You played it off with a shrug, your voice light as you said, “I guess it depends on who’s asking.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his regard was steady and unflinching. The space between you felt charged, as though the brief exchange had opened a door you weren’t sure you wanted to walk through. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the tension shifted. Rafe leaned back again, his attention flicking to the table for a moment before returning to you.

“Fair enough,” he said simply, his tone neutral but laced with something that made your pulse quicken.

The conversation broke as Liam’s voice rose in laughter again, drawing your focus back to the group. You turned away from Rafe, but the weight of his words, and the way he’d looked at you, like he was turning over some unspoken thought, lingered in the back of your mind.

Chase and Brooke returned a few minutes later, Brooke balancing a tray of drinks with the practiced ease of someone who could do it blindfolded. Chase trailed behind her, a basket of fries in one hand and a triumphant grin on his face.

“Fries are here, ladies and gentlemen,” Chase announced, sliding the basket onto the table with exaggerated flair. “You’re welcome.”

“And drinks,” Brooke added, placing the tray down and handing out glasses. “Okay, who’s ready to have some real fun?”

Sabrina immediately perked up. “What kind of fun are we talking about?”

“Dancing, duh,” Brooke said, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she looked at you. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”

You returned her smile easily, “lead the way!”

Brooke’s grin widened. “Now that’s the energy I like! Let’s go.”

The group cheered enthusiastically as Brooke grabbed your hand, tugging you out of your seat with surprising strength and pulling you toward the dance floor with a playful urgency. The music grew louder as you wove through the crowd, the bass thrumming beneath your feet and mingling with the laughter and chatter around you. It was vibrant, intoxicating, and all too easy to step into.

The moment you reached the dance floor, you fell into the rhythm naturally. The beat pulsed through your body, every movement intentional but fluid. This was the game you were built to play, slipping into the moment, owning it, and making it look effortless.

“See?” Brooke shouted over the music as she spun to face you, her hands grabbing yours. “Isn’t this amazing?”

You laughed, matching her energy. “I get it now. Totally worth it.”

Brooke twirled herself dramatically, her curls bouncing with the movement. “I knew you’d fit right in. Seriously, I’m so glad we met. It’s like, you were meant to be here.”

Her words carried a warmth that felt genuine, even though you knew you couldn’t take them at face value. Still, you played along, letting your smile widen as you leaned in. “I’m glad, too. This is exactly what I needed.”

“Same,” Brooke said, her expression softening for a moment. “You don’t even know. You’re like... the missing piece. It’s been forever since I clicked with someone this fast.”

The sincerity in her voice struck you more than you expected, and you squeezed her hands briefly before letting go, your movements falling effortlessly back into the music. 

“You’re making this way too easy!” You teased.

“Good!” Brooke laughed, tossing her head back, “that’s what friends are for.”

The crowd pressed in around you, bodies swaying and shifting with the beat, but you held your space with ease, your movements a blend of precision and spontaneity. Brooke’s laughter rang As Brooke spun you, you caught a flicker of movement near the table. Rafe leaned forward across the table, murmuring something to Chase.

His hand moved absently to the edge of the table, fingers drumming once, twice, before stilling. Chase laughed, gesturing animatedly, though it was clear Rafe’s attention wasn’t fully on him. There was a restlessness to his movements, a little pull that made your focus longer than you meant to let it.

“Don’t look,” Brooke began a second later, leaning in with a grin that was both teasing and knowing, “but Rafe had been staring at you for, like, five minutes straight.”

You blinked and turned to Brooke. “Really?”

Brooke gave you a playful nudge. “Uh, yeah. It’s not exactly subtle.”

Your stomach fluttered as you glanced back toward the table, this time catching Rafe’s gaze. His fingers rested lightly on the table’s edge now, his posture easy yet fixed, as though he was aware of exactly when you’d look. The corner of his mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile, but enough to leave you wondering what it meant.

“Told you,” Brooke said, leaning closer. “You’ve got his attention.”

Your heart raced, but your exterior stayed calm. You held his focus a bit longer before turning back to Brooke with a playful shrug. “Maybe I’ll let him keep it. He’s cute.”

Brooke gasped and twirled you dramatically, her laughter ringing out above the music. “Oh, I like you! You’re dangerous.”

You grinned, letting the energy of the moment wash over you. The weight of Rafe’s attention only added to your focus, sharpening every movement, every smile.

The song shifted and Brooke leaned in again, her voice warm and truly genuine, “I mean it. I’m really glad you’re here. You’ve made this semester so much better already.”

“Right back at you,” you said, matching her sincerity.

But even as you spoke, the weight of Rafe’s fixation clung to you, impossible to ignore.

You glanced back at the table, catching his focus once more. His expression hadn’t changed, but something in his eyes made your chest tighten. A heat spread through you that had nothing to do with the dancing.

He wasn’t just looking. His stare lingered, sharp and probing, as if peeling back layers you hadn’t meant to reveal. It felt deliberate, practiced. Like a skill honed over years. This wasn’t just attention. It was control.

And Rafe Cameron knew how to hold it. Everyone was aware of it. He was the kind of guy who turned heads effortlessly, who drew people toward him whether they wanted to be near him or not.

For a split second, you’d doubted if you were the one setting the trap — or if you’d already stepped into his.

[hamiltonaf]

Hi! I’m so excited you’ve open your requests, can I ask one with Lewis where you work with Toto and are like his little girl, so you get along and are close.

You’ve been secretly in love with him for a while so you try to help and been there for him now that Merc is struggling with the car, so after one race weekend like this one (😪) you try to confort him but he takes his anger on you.

The following week at the factory you’re distant and he starts to miss you…

The end is on you.

Thanks 🙌🏾❤️

Confession | Lewis Hamilton

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: Slight angst but fluff

A/N: Hi loves ! Slowly recovering from being ill for over a week so bare with me. Thanks anon for requesting. Hope you babes enjoy. Requests are still open .xx

The Monza race weekend was here… is it hypocritical of me to say it’s one of my favourites if I’m working for Mercedes ? You can’t deny that the vibe and energy of tifosi doesn’t hype you up even if you’re not a fan of Ferrari.

I couldn’t wait to start posting content for the weekend, I mean it is my job anyway - social media admin. It’s a fun job, not gonna lie. I think it’s quite evident that I spend most of my time posting about Lewis’s paddock outfits than anything Mercedes related. For starters, it’s valid to post Lewis because he’s obviously part of the team and secondly, who isn’t waiting to see the Sir Lewis Hamilton fashion week every race weekend ? Am I right..

I think trying to hide my crush or love should I say for Lewis isn’t working considering that some fans have even commented that it’s ‘quite obvious that admin has a soft spot for Lew’. I’m really exposing myself on main. As extroverted as I am, I can’t help but get shy and quite around Lewis, still bold enough to compliment his outfits everyday on race weekends - if I don’t comment, it’s obvious that something is wrong.

I’d like to think that Lewis and I are somewhat best friends considering we spend more time off-track than on-track. However, I’m starting to re-think that seeing how he’s keeping his distance from me. I eventually just had to work up a nerve to just march over to him and ask him what’s wrong. He finished his interviews and he came back into the hospitality. I approached him with a soft smile, “Hey, are you okay ?” I asked softly. “I’m fine” he abruptly said and brushed my shoulder with his as he walked past. I followed behind him and waited till we were in the hallway to speak up again. “I know something is on your mind. You know you can talk to me Lew, I’m always here for you” I said softly.

“(Y/N) I really couldn’t care to talk to you right now ! Can you just leave me alone ?” He said harshly. Thank god no one was around because I probably would’ve died of embarrassment. My smile fell and I felt a pain in my chest. “Sorry” I said lowly and walked away in the opposite direction.

I avoided him for the rest of the day as he asked. This was the first time he ever raised his voice at me and I was quite hurt to say the least. Usually post-race we’d meet up and go out for dinner or just spend the evening talking in either one of our rooms. I didn’t bother waiting for him after I stuck around for the team briefing, I went straight to the hotel and I was ready to go back to England. So much for thinking we could celebrate him racing for 2 more years.

Luckily I didn’t have to change my flight since I was already scheduled to leave for my flight back home at 8PM. Once I was back home and to myself, I noticed Lewis had posted on his Instagram. Low-key saddened to not receive a message from him yet. I guess it’s a sign I need to get out of my deluded space and get over him.

At a time like this not gonna lie that I hated my job because so much for trying to get over Lewis, posting about him on the teams social media is part of the job.

It’s Wednesday and we have a team meeting at the factory. I really wish I could sit this one out but unfortunately I can’t. I smiled at all the familiar faces as I clocked in and was so relieved to see Toto. “Ahh (Y/N) ! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, you’ve been distant lately” he said as he pulled me in for a hug. “Toto, it’s only been 3 days since the race” I reminded him. “I know, but usually you’re always around after the team briefing on Sundays and even on off days, I hear from you. Everything okay ?” He asked concerned as he had an arm around my shoulder and lead the way.

“Oh yeah everything’s fine, the travelling and the energy from Monza just drained me this weekend. I just needed to de-stress these past few days” I sighed. “Of course, I suggest maybe taking an early holiday to Singapore” he suggested. “Sounds good to me, why don’t you and Susie join me ?” “I’ll let her know and get back to you on that” he smiled as he pats my back. Almost as if on cue, Lewis approached us. “You finally made it” Toto joked. “Sorry I’m late, uncle duties” he shrugged.

I felt so uncomfortable, I wish I could’ve been swallowed up into a hole. “No worries, (Y/N) kept me company” he smiled at me. I glanced up at Toto before stealing a glance at Lewis who was already looking at me with a soft smile.

“Oh, would you look at that, George is here ! Let me just go greet him” I excused myself and walked over to George. “Hey you !” I cheerfully said. “(Y/N/N) ! So good to see you. Carmen and I missed you on Sunday” he said as he then pulled me in for a hug. “Aww sorry I had to take off suddenly, had some things to sort at home” I sighed. “Ahh well we always have the next race weekend” he suggested. “Yeah of course. How’s my bestie doing..where is she ?” I asked. I could literally feel a pair of eyes burning at the back of my head. “She’s at home. You should stop by later if you have time” he smiled. “Aww that’s sweet. Thanks for the offer, I’ll try” I smiled back and just then we were disrupted to gather everyone for the factory meeting.

I don’t know why my brain told me to look back…and I actually did. Of course, it’s Lewis looking right at me. I ignored him and walked past him with George by my side.

After the factory meeting, both George and Lewis practiced ahead of Singapore on the simulator. Our team photographer, Steve, had then sent me the pictures he took for today for me to post onto the team socials. I was in my own cubicle, organising posts and captions until I heard a “hey !” from behind me. “Heyy !” I enthusiastically replied. I turned around on my chair to be faced with Lewis.

“Oh. It’s you” I said as my smile dropped. “Ahh you’re never this disappointed to see me and you’re so distant lately” he said causally. “Are you forgetting what you told me on Sunday ? You said and I quote I couldn’t care to talk to you right now, leave me alone !” I whisper yelled. “Can we talk somewhere more private ?” He motioned to the room a few metres away. I rolled my eyes and followed behind him. “Look (Y/N/N)..I’m really sorry for the way I acted. It was immature and uncalled for. I should’ve never taken my anger out on you... It’s unfortunate that I hurt those that I love and care for, you deserve better” he said as he took a step closer and held my hands in his.

I sighed, “Lew, it’s okay.. I get it. It’s normal to get upset, no one is expected to be happy all the time. You had a bad race, and it is what it is…you’re forgiven” “Those words just made my day. I didn’t know how to message you because I felt bad, and I needed to see you in person to get everything off my chest” he cleared his throat and had a more serious expression. “You made me realise a lot in these few days we were apart… I’m in denial about my feelings” he huffed. “Okay ? Lew I’m not getting you” I raised a brow in confusion. “Life isn’t complete without you in it. Not hearing your laugh or seeing you and that beautiful smile that lights up the room made me realise what I’m missing… I’m falling in love with you (Y/N)” he softly said with a smile.

My heart was racing. I could feel my hands getting clammy. I was at a loss for words. “Please say something” he softly said. “I’m sorry I’m just speechless. This is so surreal. I’ll be honest with you, I’ve been in denial about my feelings for a while, I tried to convince myself that the less I see you then the better… but I couldn’t. You made it so hard for me when you look so fine, and I have to post pictures of you -“ I rambled. “Did you just call me fine ?” He smirked and raised a brow. “Did I ? Oh my god. I- ugh you’re making this hard” I pouted as I noticed his eyes went from making eye contact to subtly switching to my lips.

I didn’t even have time to realise what was going on until I felt the butterflies. He cupped my cheek and placed his lips on mine. I kissed back and placed a hand around his neck to pull closer. “Lewis, have you seen-“ the door burst opened by George. I broke away and felt embarrassed by getting caught in the act. “Found her. Uhm sorry to interrupt, was going to ask if you’re coming over (Y/N/N) but seems like you already have plans” George winked. “Righttt see yourself out mate” Lewis motioned to the door. “Lew !” I playfully hit his chest. “See you love birds around” George said lastly before leaving. Momentarily, Lewis and I turned to look at each other. “So, your place or mine ?” He smirked

[224bbaker]

🕷️🤖Season 2 Episode 1: The Case of the Alliterative Arachnid 🪦🎢

You are cordially invited to:  The Brattleboro Toy Factory  38 minutes past midnight on May 5th, 1891

In which our trio of detectives learn just how quickly fortunes can change...  

Transcript here and at 224bbaker.com, where you can also find bios, more info, and links to our social media.

Full credits and content notes under the cut.

CREDITS

Written and Directed by Ian Geers and Lauren Grace Thompson. Sound designed by Sarah Buchynski. Produced and edited by Lauren Grace Thompson. Original music by Baldemar and Ian Geers. 

CAST

Hampton Fawx: Jeremy Thompson

James Stallion: Chris Vizurraga

Madge Stallion: Katie McLean Hainsworth

Lucius Peppermint: Evin McQuistion

Prudence: Julie Adamo

Fitzy: Zachary McKenna

Weatherby: Allie Babich

Romulus Brattelboro/Standard Reporter: Chris Hainsworth

Times Reporter: Sarah Coakley Price

Spectacle Reporter: Trey Plutnicki

Actor Holmes: Sam Hubbard

Actor Watson: Daniel Millhouse

CONTENT NOTES

This episode contains references to death and mourning.

[thetxtdevil]

The Haunted House

~Chapter 2~

Ghost Beomgyu x You x Ghost Taehyun

summary: After you were knocked out cold from a ghost its time to meet the ghosts.

content: paranormal themes, death, ghost.beomgyu, ghost.taehyun, human/medium reader, flashback, some suggestive themes

word count: 2.1k

Chapter: 1 <- 2 -> 3 -> ...

The cloudy day made a cool filter cast in your room making the color of your skin look unnaturally like death. A man sits at the end of your bed looking over your body adorned with soft curves that seem so lovely to touch if only he’d let himself. You were under the covers, your chest rising and falling as you lightly breathed in your sleep. The ghostly man studies the soft movements forgetting the feeling of air rushing through one’s nose and how peaceful slumber felt. Sudden nostalgic memories fill his head back to the days of his wealthy playboy life, dainty hands of maidens roaming through his body, the rough kisses that made girls squeal only to fall desperate as he leaves them in bed afterward to go back to work. The ghost was swept from his thoughts when the bedroom door creaked open.

“You didn’t have to knock her out like that you know,” The other man says from the doorway with a cup of water and places it on your nightstand.

“I’ll let her take our house and do anything with it but not my study, Beomgyu”

“Whatever Tae, we should treat her like a princess since she saved our home,” Beomgyu says as he lies on the bed cuddling next to you. Your slight shivers soon dissipate when Beomgyu’s ghostly warmth envelops you.

Taehyun, the colder ghost, nods at Beomgyu’s statement, that it was true that they needed to thank you for keeping their location as is. They had to haunt the construction workers who eyed up their property. Their creepy ways worked but they didn’t know how long it would last, nor did they know what would happen to them if the house was destroyed. The two ghosts were allowed to walk the property but once they stepped foot out away from the iron fence they were transported to a dark void that could send a mind into madness, even the dead mind.

❈❈❈

The good ol’ Jazz age, the Roaring 20s, when streets were alive with Model Ts, women fighting for their rights, while men in fedoras were rushing to go to work. Gangsters and wealthy men ran the cities more than the mayors did. Everybody said that they were sober because of the prohibition but in reality, they were all at bars the night before. What a great time to be alive for men, especially for successful good-looking men.

Kang Taehyun founded and ran a well-known factory for building cars, his cold exterior was always seen watching over the workers laboring over the machines. He was a calm boss, he never would abuse or make a scene in front of the employees, but fear struck them all because if they did the company wrong Mr. Kang would fire them without notice. All he asks of his workers is to get to work on time, eat promptly, actually do work, and never and I mean never question why random women get invited to his office and where his whiskey stash is.

Taehyun’s roommate Beomgyu, however, wasn’t as stuck up. Beomgyu was a profound author of classic literature. He would go to many social gatherings to advertise his works. He was always out and about being a casual flirt but in reality, he’d rather be at home writing and leaving his thoughts on paper.

Now they would never admit that they were childhood best friends and roommates because that seemed soft for their masculine appearance. They thought saving a little coin and half their payment for a house was smarter and more convenient. Plus they can join speakeasies together and share with women it's a win-win for them. Life was good, outstanding even for them, until one unlucky night a big thunderstorm looms over the city. Home radios advised people to stay safe in their homes, but who would listen when the city still needed to stay alive?

That stormy night two of the men were of course not in the safety of their home. The rain clouds hid the evening’s sunset, all dark grays were surrounding the dim lamps of the streets. Beomgyu was on his way to his book release when a flash of a piercing strike hit, making the car go to a complete stop. On the other side of town, Taehyun stayed in the factory after hours to do money management. The factory was quiet which calmed his mind, walking into his office he stopped to look at the rushing raindrops crashing against the window’s glass. Thunder echoes and before he can blink lightning strikes the window shattering the glass.

Taehyun opened his eyes to realize that he was in his study in the house. He straightens his head from lying on the desk rolling his head back and stretching his neck that usually would’ve been sore. Taehyun looked around confused as to how he got to his study, it was normal for him to fall asleep on the desk but he could’ve sworn he wasn’t there recently. He lowers his eyes to see that he is also still in his daytime clothes. Taehyun stands up and takes off his blazer setting it down to notice it fade into nothing, he jumps at the particular event, maybe I had too many drinks last night. A shadow catches Tae’s peripheral making him look over at the window, where he sees Beomgyu in the garden wandering cluelessly. As he gets closer to the window vision pops into his head of him on the ground with the many shards of glass within his skin, stinging with every raindrop that hits him. Taehyun blinks out of the vision looking back at the other man he plans to go outside to join Beomgyu to open his eyes and see that he is already there.

“Tae?” Beomgyu asks with worry filling his eyes. Taehyun couldn’t speak, he didn’t know what to say because he was as confused as Gyu. “Shit! I-i’m going to be late to my book release.” 

Beomgyu ran towards the iron fence heading for the car the longer he stared at the vehicle he got the vision of him sitting in the driver's seat that was inflamed. Beomgyu stops in his tracks not because of the vision but because he is out of the property’s range. Tae could only see his lifeless figure standing on the pavement while Gyu saw the worse. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were closed or not the world was pitch black, the longer he was engulfed in the darkness the more his breathless breathing felt heavy, and his worries were boldened they hurt like immense depression. A grip on his shoulder pulls Gyu back to reality, or at least out of the dark depths.

“Hey, are you alright,” Taehyun asks looking over the man for anything wrong.

Beomgyu looks back at the car past the iron fence, every blink he makes images of lightning hitting him making him realize something, “I think we're not alive.”

❈❈❈

Taehyun stares at Beomgyu cuddling you, head in the crook of your neck which you were unconsciously giving into. The specter life hasn’t been nice for Beomgyu, he had no inspiration for writing, and no signs of life to entertain, so Tae couldn’t bring himself to stop Gyu from advancing on you. The look on his face was pure happiness when he saw you walking through the house doors for the first time. The real estate agent tried a few times with others before but they could never get past the front door. He was the one helping you the most with fixing the house, from helping you pick the color of the walls, to ripping out of the old wood, he even made a deal with the bugs under the house, you always wondered why your clean pristine neighbor suddenly got cockroach-infested. 

Your phone screen lights up with a notification catching Taehyun’s attention, over time as a ghost he has studied life beyond the property and has learned the modern slang and the new obsession with smartphones, so he wasn’t unfamiliar with the object.

Leaving the bed to glance at the notification “She needs to go to work soon.”

“Wake up sweetheart,” Beomgyu says as his nose grazes your ear and his grip on your waist tighter only to make you instinctively shift closer into his warmth still in deep slumber.

“That’s not going to work,” Tae admits the obvious. He sees the water glass Beomgyu placed earlier he brings it up in the air to drop it. 

The sharp sound of broken glass fills your ears awakening you. You look around to an empty room and then to the pile of broken glass with water surrounding it. You groan at the mess only to forget about it once you see the time.

“Dammit, I’m going to be late.”

❈❈❈

The front door creaks open revealing a monstrous figure, you. Eye hung low with deep dark bags, navy blue scrubs tarnished with many different bodily fluids. Your shoulders hurt from all the caring, your arms ached from the resuscitation, legs felt numb from standing all 12 hours long. You walk like a zombie towards the couch, flopping on the cushions you rub your eyes trying not instantly to fall asleep. Then a familiar warmth coats you and a breathly voice calls out “relax.”

Eyes bulging out of your head you stare at an empty room but the voice seems so real and close. Sitting there confused you jump at the disturbing sounds of cabinets opening and slamming shut, pots and pans clinking together. You had enough, you could deal with dust bunnies and the opening of doors but you could not stand the haunting of loud noises, glass shards waking you up, and the constant faint chatter. You abruptly get up to go to the study, the boys in the kitchen look at each other confused as to what you are about to do. Following, they watch you search for a specific book, Tae searches for books for you dropping them on the ground to get your attention. 

“What does she want, Romeo & Juliet? The Odessey?”

“No no no, where’s that tarot card book it should be near that,” you say to yourself and a little hope that the ghost can hear you. Your index finger scans the titled backs of the books and then taps one with a promising title. Flipping through the book of black magic you multitask reading and grabbing the candles on the desk. 

The house became dark during your search, clouds rolling in covering the evening’s beauty. Rushing to the dim living room, the only light came from the melting candles. Taehyun and Beomgyu stand in front of you putting pieces together as to what is about to happen. Criss-cross on the thin rug, the book slapped out surrounded by two candles and the two pictures of the men you took from the fireplace mantle. Slowly and poorly reading out loud the Latin words written in the book. Candle lights flicker, the fireplace begins to spark, and booming thunder shakes the house. You try again and again until you memorize the words closing your eyes and trying to reach any sign of the afterlife with you. A clash of thunder makes you jump out of your focus, lightning flashes on your face you look around seeing dust particles moving slowly around you. Your arm hair stands up when you notice the pictures of the men beginning to fade. You begin to fret thinking you erased them only to jump back by a burst of fire.

A strange sight before you on the left side there was a controlled flame that felt like it was burning your face, while on the right side, it looked like the roof was leaking. Soon both sides of the elements disparate creating two tall humanoid figures. Your eyes lit up recognizing their faces, the slightly taller ones defined features softened as they smiled at you, the other man’s sharp eyes slightly widened realizing that you could see them.

“So you must be the cold ghost,” you say while pointing at the designated specter, “and you must be the hot ghost”

“Why thank you, my lady, but you can call me Beomgyu.”

“No that’s not,” you shake your head realizing your mistake of words, “You’re the one that makes me hot”

“Oh?” Beomgyu quirks his eyebrow making Taehyun grin at the both of you.

“Wait ugh you know what I meant,” standing up to be at the same level as the ghost you reach your hand out to greet them. You didn’t know what to do or expect when materializing spirits, but your heart rate rose when you were able to touch them and feel their distinct temperature.

-> Chapter 3

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

[communist-manifesto-daily]

Socialism: Utopian and Scientific - Part 29

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Now, in what does this conflict consist?

Before capitalist production — i.e., in the Middle Ages — the system of petty industry obtained generally, based upon the private property of the laborers in their means of production; in the country, the agriculture of the small peasant, freeman, or serf; in the towns, the handicrafts organized in guilds. The instruments of labor — land, agricultural implements, the workshop, the tool — were the instruments of labor of single individuals, adapted for the use of one worker, and, therefore, of necessity, small, dwarfish, circumscribed. But, for this very reason, they belonged as a rule to the producer himself. To concentrate these scattered, limited means of production, to enlarge them, to turn them into the powerful levers of production of the present day — this was precisely the historic role of capitalist production and of its upholder, the bourgeoisie. In the fourth section of Capital, Marx has explained in detail how since the 15th century this has been historically worked out through the three phases of simple co-operation, manufacture, and modern industry. But the bourgeoisie, as is shown there, could not transform these puny means of production into mighty productive forces without transforming them, at the same time, from means of production of the individual into social means of production only workable by a collectivity of men. The spinning wheel, the handloom, the blacksmith's hammer, were replaced by the spinning-machine, the power-loom, the steam-hammer; the individual workshop, by the factory implying the co-operation of hundreds and thousands of workmen. In like manner, production itself changed from a series of individual into a series of social acts, and the production from individual to social products. The yarn, the cloth, the metal articles that now come out of the factory were the joint product of many workers, through whose hands they had successively to pass before they were ready. No one person could say of them: "I made that; this is my product."

But where, in a given society, the fundamental form of production is that spontaneous division of labor which creeps in gradually and not upon any preconceived plan, there the products take on the form of commodities, whose mutual exchange, buying and selling, enable the individual producers to satisfy their manifold wants. And this was the case in the Middle Ages. The peasant, e.g., sold to the artisan agricultural products and bought from him the products of handicraft. Into this society of individual producers, of commodity producers, the new mode of production thrust itself. In the midst of the old division of labor, grown up spontaneously and upon no definite plan, which had governed the whole of society, now arose division of labor upon a definite plan, as organized in the factory; side by side with individual production appeared social production. The products of both were sold in the same market, and, therefore, at prices at least approximately equal. But organization upon a definite plan was stronger than spontaneous division of labor. The factories working with the combined social forces of a collectivity of individuals produced their commodities far more cheaply than the individual small producers. Individual producers succumbed in one department after another. Socialized production revolutionized all the old methods of production. But its revolutionary character was, at the same time, so little recognized that it was, on the contrary, introduced as a means of increasing and developing the production of commodities. When it arose, it found ready-made, and made liberal use of, certain machinery for the production and exchange of commodities: merchants' capital, handicraft, wage-labor. Socialized production thus introducing itself as a new form of the production of commodities, it was a matter of course that under it the old forms of appropriation remained in full swing, and were applied to its products as well.

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[inchidentally]

@ the anons I’ve accrued over this year who brought up Oscar not being embraced by the media team I’m still not going to post the asks bc there’s a lot of doom etc in there but like…

(and even tho it’s easy to find out who it is I’m not including who posted it bc do NOT want hate or anything in their comments and fandom issues =/= relevance to real life teams and their jobs)

“carland0 won the McLaren constructors… Oscar was there ig anyway remember when I staged a puppet show to commemorate carland0” LIKE SHSBSBVSBSBD

and I get that to a media person the subjects are mostly valuable for how good they are on camera bc even Andrea only gets a passing mention in this post compared to a bromance and he’s the actual architect that Lando himself says is behind this win - but he’s also famously deer in the headlights when a camera is on him.

it does possibly explain why the quality and quantity of McLaren content took a sudden nosedive not long after Oscar joined. (side note that Joe also moved on from McLaren early this year who was on the media team and spent a lot of social time with Oscar and posted him more) it’s a lil sad bc if you watch any of Oscar’s Prema content where he feels comfortable and friendly with the people behind the cameras he’s hilarious and willing to “dance” and yap and be silly. even in Alpine he was actually known by broadcast teams for being funny and a sardonic yapper and meme guy. but I think the McLaren ppl mistook Oscar coming into the team in the worst possible way PR wise and clamming up as a result as that being his real personality. Nicole saying how she wanted more people to see his real personality and ironically Carlos himself warming so much to Oscar despite the on track rivalry and not rly hanging out like… I hope the media team maybe start this next season fresh and realize that people who aren’t naturals on camera are still worth putting in effort to help them relax and be themselves. and if one of the people who’s been there for so many years put in that effort then it would have a big ripple effect !!

again I am not gonna post those asks bc a)do NOT support any harassment (however well intentioned) of employees just doing their jobs and b)in the grand scheme of things socmed does not matter and c)Oscar thankfully is blissfully unaware and/or does NOT care. he brings up Carlos and Daniel and carland0 totally on his own and he is utterly free of ego about his perception or presence in McLaren media.

and while it definitely means less Oscar and therefore landoscar content per capita or whatever the phrase is, the whole landoscar dynamic is that it’s so completely not slick fun millennial YouTuber ready PR content and they’re funny and cute and have their own unique chemistry even in the under 2 minutes allowed them for each video. and ofc Oscar has his own social media to put his dry humor and chronically online references <3

but as I saw in comments on a different post, Oscar might take longer to win over the media people but the people who matter most like Andrea and the ppl in the garage and factory and crucially !! the women working directly with him all utterly utterly adore him. he’s quietly there just being a hard worker and proving himself <3

and ultimately ofc the people who don’t like that Lando said he’s decided to not joke or perform as much for media (and saying he picked up from Oscar to just be himself and relax more) can always go back to the old content! and since Carlos creates the same fun bromance atmosphere with all his teammates I mean we all know Team Torque is about to become one of the best parts of race week media. Williams media team is going to eat him UPPPP

anyway yea none of it is deep it just got me thinking about how Oscar post alpinegate withdrew so much and so many ppl haven’t looked up who he was before to realize what a fun silly chatty kitten he is and that ofc he must be bc Lando holds him in his hand lovingly for a reason - and I do think when the ppl who got used to the Carlos and Daniel school of media warm up to Oscar and learn him more we’ll get that high res DSLR filmed content again instead of portrait iPhone instagram <3

(side note the whole thing if Unboxed dropping bc of DTS got debunked. DTS hasn’t stopped any other teams content and if it were true then Lando wouldn’t be allowed to make Landologs. this was definitely a media team decision made midway thru 2023)