#they were working their asses off in 2017
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comradekarin · 19 hours ago
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https://youtube.com/shorts/JBeJPnP16R8?si=LEg8g3aVYBpW54Gf
Everyone who says " Beyonce's album wasn't even country! " needs to watch this rn and you have been preaching the gospel since she finally got what the industry of white bigots have denied her since the album released.
Beyonce is country. In fact, if you like country, you have black people to thank for it existing ( I could rant forever about this but basics is a lot of the instruments that make country music country music were either invented by enslaved black people or were most notably used by enslaved black people, which I find it funny in a sad way that white people are still taking our shit and pretending it was all them )
Also for the Bille fans, go harass all the white people who were competing and who beat Bille now or forever be labeled racist bc that's what you are. ( not you op you're doing God's work )
Also we need to start calling people racist more often bc I have never in my life seen so much of it after one night I swear ( that's a lie but I'm sure you can guess the other nights )
CLOCK IT ANON!!! country is a historically black genre that’s been co-opted by white artists. this album is a love letter to BLACK southern culture, music and way of life in the same sense that renaissance was a love letter to the BLACK queer and trans community, to house music and ballroom culture, to her uncle johnny who inspired her as a child. in the same exact sense that lemonade was her personal experience as being a BLACK woman, of her husband’s infidelity, her journey from betrayal to heartbreak to forgiveness, of all the emotional baggage black women are expected to hold (just for people to say she wasn’t being vulnerable at all or shaming her for staying with jay). beyonce should have won album of the year from self titled all the way to cowboy carter, and it’s not even close. time and time again white people disrespect black artistry and people but be the first ones using AAVE to call you a fucking slur lmao.
as for billie, i already said the album was cute, but it did NOT deserve AOTY. the fact that people think they can disrespect beyonce and CC despite admitting to not even listening to it tells me everything I need to know. cc was filled with rich cultural references, black history, discussions of the black experience and her experience with being disrespected and excluded by the cmas. the first SONG literally has giselle saying “they used to say I spoke too country and then the rejection came and said I wasn’t country enough. said I wouldn’t saddle up. if this ain’t country, tell me what is?”!!!! ???? ameriican requiem alone smashed all of her competition out of the water. competition that have been repackaging the same sounds, same concepts and production from before. that’s also why they’re trying to gag the hive by bringing up how many writers cc has as if that very organic collaboration isn’t why her albums are always so fresh and innovative and good.
billie dressing like a flava flav cosplayer while her fans calling me slurs over a fuckass grammy. she can feel sad and shit, but I remember when beyonce teared up at the 2017 grammy’s after adele’s acceptance speech and they called her bitter, jealous and narcissistic. they still do! billie liking tiktoks of her crying (with racist ass comments in those videos) pissed me off too. grow tf up. nine grammies, two oscars before 23- you will be just fine baby girl. and this is all imma say about that girl. I won’t get nasty about her, but this white outrage over their white darlings not getting their way is just as I expected.
and you’re so right. “DEI awards”, “this is what it feels like to lose to a black woman” “beyonce doesn’t have a fraction of billie’s talent” id rather them call me and her a slur. say it with your chest lol.
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jmdbjk · 9 months ago
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Not Today
I remember the first time I watched this MV, in my very newborn baby infancy Army days. I can't say 100% for certain but it's possible this was THE very first BTS MV I watched in its entirety. It is the choreography version MV with the additional full choreography wide shot segment immediately following. I was breathless after watching the entire thing. I searched for more and more. I am pretty sure this was the day I watched the MVs for Run, Save Me, Spring Day, Idol and Mic Drop. I was still finding my way.
youtube
The choice to dye Jimin's hair this particular shade of pink was part of the Universe's plan to get me to pay attention to this angel. It kept catching my eye and I couldn't pay attention to anything else.
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I was astonished that there existed a human being who looked like that and could move like that and I didn't know it then but I was already lost to him. Seeing it now, all of those thoughts and feelings I had then come flooding back and I can remember being very bewildered because I did not expect to react the way I did to a man with cotton candy PINK hair.
Looking back now, how did I miss purple-haired RM?
The week Not Today dropped, was the same week we had this Jimin:
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And this Jungkook, gee that jacket looks familiar *cough*:
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And this...
This jikook:
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They were all over the place doing fan sign meetings and music shows.
Even this Yoongi was something else, wtf:
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And this timeframe also brought us this ...
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Uhhhh... I digressed didn't I? I get lost in my treasure chest of images occasionally. Sorry. Anyway.
Go stream Not Today on the platform of your choice.
All the underdogs in the world A day may come when we lose But it is not today Today we fight ... If you can’t fly, then run Today we will survive If you can’t run, then walk Today we will survive If you can’t walk, then crawl Even if you have to crawl, gear up Aim your gun! Ready! Fire!
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darknight3904 · 5 months ago
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𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦
𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
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𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘔𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘰. 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴, 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.
𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 (2017). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰���� 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.
𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘕𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘴.
𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 4.1𝘬
𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵
Logan was always a mystery to you. His brooding nature and gruff voice reminded you of an old tomcat that used to live in the bushes of the school.
You remember the first time you met him, he had been smoking a cigar in his room unknowingly letting the smoke waft into your room across the hall. You had told him off, telling him he was a bad influence for the kids around him and he had shrugged you off and dismissed your worries for the youth.
"I don't see any kids around here right now."
"They're all over the place, Logan. This is a school."
Most of your relationship had been like that, friendly banter, the occasional fight over something stupid, but at the end of the day friends who could trust one another.
At some point, you had grown tired of your life at the school. Tired of teaching kids Geometry and running missions that grew staler each year. Eventually, you left, packed up your junky Chevy, and bid farewell to the aging Professor with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug.
Logan hadn't said much to you that day. Only that you ought to stay, something about the team still needing you.
"Thought you hated being an X-Man, Logan."
"I'll hate it a lot less if you stick around."
You drove south and found yourself in rural Pennsylvania. Perhaps it wasn't entirely legal, taking up residence in some old cabin that time had forgotten. Not that it mattered much since three years after leaving the school, Logan showed up at your door, pounding on the wood of your front door like the world was ending. All it took was one look at the unconscious professor in the backseat of some car Logan must've stolen for you to start packing your bags.
Now, you were sitting in Mexico, sweating your ass off daily, hoping that Charles would be alright and not kill you and Caliban while Logan was at work.
"He's late."
"Yes, Caliban, I can read the clock you know." You sigh
Logan was getting slower by the day. When he had showed up at your door four years ago you had barely recognized him. Sure, he was has muscle-filled and imposing as ever, but his face and hair had changed so much. Wrinkles and scars filled his handsome face and there was more grey than brown hair on his face and head.
"I need you."
His words echoed in your mind even now, a year later.
"What if he-"
"He's fine. He's just slow." You sigh trying to focus on the book in your lap. Caliban was such a worry wart.
"He's not. And neither are you. Both of you, there's something wrong." Caliban said, motioning to your exposed arms where your veins were purple and swollen, making your skin look hideous, "We should go to a doctor. They can-"
"Can we not have twenty minutes of peace?! If Charles isn't driving me insane with his babbling about Taco Bell, it's you with all your questions." You groan, slamming the book in your lap shut, "I am fine."
Logan's grumpy attitude had rubbed off on you it seemed. You left Caliban and locked yourself in the little bathroom you all shared.
The pale-skinned mutant was right. Something was wrong. With you, with Logan. Logan's seemingly invincible healing was failing him. As for you, your entire body had been crisis-crossed with your veins appearing like horrible bruises on your skin. In some places, like your hands they were even raised, pulsing painfully at times. Your face had been spared so far. You guessed that was due to the slow aging process you had been given as a part of your mutation. It was only a matter of time before your face suffered though, you were sure of it.
Not that it mattered though. You had given up looking pretty months ago. After you got settled in Mexico, you found yourself plagued with thoughts of Logan. Never in your life had you found yourself attracted to him, sure you were aware that he was good-looking, everyone was. The older teen girls at the school in particular would often giggle and whisper when he'd enter the room, then again he was always wearing those boot-cut jeans that made his legs look fabulous. Yet you had always been immune to that pretty face, content with simple friendship.
The first month after you finally fell into a groove with Logan, Charles, and Caliban had been tough, but after that? It was like you were losing your mind. Logan was consuming your thoughts. Even when you were at work, cleaning some shitty local motel, you thought of him. Anything would remind you of him, from empty booze bottles in the motel trash cans to a forgotten leather jacket a guest left in the closet.
Even at night, you weren't safe from him invading your thoughts. Some nights you'd wish for him to be holding you close, big arms cuddling you, keeping you safe. Some nights were less family-friendly and you'd picture him on top of you, wringing multiple orgasms out of you while he grunted about how good you felt.
The result of those thoughts? Each day when he'd return from driving that damn limo, you'd wait at the door like a trained dog, happy and excited to see him. You'd try to get him to talk about his night, what clients he drove, which were the craziest, who was loudest. Other times you'd cook a nice meal for him with whatever was sitting in the janky fridge Caliban had gotten up and running. Every once in a while, he'd even lay his head in your lap on the couch and let you weave your hands through his graying hair.
It had gone like that for about three months until one day he snapped.
"Don't you ever shut your damn mouth? Fuck all you do is talk! Can't you see I'm tired!? I don't need you interrogating me every time I come back here!"
You had taken his words harder than you expected and before you knew it, your veins were bruising and rising. Your own powers were turning on you, just like his were.
You hadn't bothered trying to pursue anything more from Logan since that day. You didn't bother with your appearance in front of him, why should you? He wasn't interested in you after all. Not to mention if he wasn't interested in you before, why would be be when your own veins were making you look like Grimace from McDonald's.
Now, you primarily had short conversations with him. Usually, they were about Charles and what meds he needed, and how much they were going to cost. Occasionally, the two of you'd sit with a bottle of booze and reminiscence over what your lives once were, as X-Men.
The sound of tires screeching had you exiting the bathroom. He might've been an asshole but you still cared about him.
Logan slowly walked in, a bit of a limp in his step from some fight he had gotten in the other day. He went right for the fridge where cold beers sat, ignoring Caliban's squawking.
"Goin' away for a bit." He said as he slumped into a kitchen chair, looking at you
"Where?' You asked curiously
"Booked a long ride. When I get back we're buying the Sunseeker." Logan said
"Who's the ride for?" You asked, curious as to who would book the world's grumpiest driver for a cross-country road trip
"Some rich lady," Logan replied, sipping on his beer.
He was definitely lying. You wanted to get out of Mexico, perhaps it was better like this. Logan would get the remaining cash and you'd finally get out of here.
"Here." Logan said, tossing the pills for Charles on the table, "Don't let him miss any doses."
Logan shuffles towards you and stops when you look up at him. Tired eyes meet your own.
"I'll be gone a few days, just a few. Then we're leavin', bub" He whispers
You nod and decide to indulge yourself by gently resting your ugly-looking hands on his chest that's covered with a white dress shirt.
Your heart skips a beat when he presses a quick kiss to your forehead before walking off to put Charles to bed. Logan's never done that before, usually, he'd reject any physical contact from you, even back in the day he was never into physical touches.
You watch as the limo disappears down the road, carrying Logan off to whatever mystery client he had, if he even had one.
"He'll be back." Caliban's voice calls, trying to assure you
"I know." You sigh
"Don't you have work?" He asked as you lay down on the couch.
"Day off. My bitch of a boss doesn't want to pay to have more than one housekeeper at the motel each day." You say
"Cheap bastard," Caliban says, shaking his head
You let out a snort of laughter.
"You're telling me. The other day he told me to reuse the garbage bags in the rooms, just to dump the trash into the outside dumpster."
"They'll be roaches everywhere." Caliban laughs
"Can't wait to clean those up too." You sigh closing your eyes
The screeching of metal wakes you up from your dreamless sleep. You slowly sit up, groaning when your arm begins to tingle, it must've fallen asleep somehow.
"It's her, she's here!"
"Professor, back to the tank." You groan at the old man, not wanting to listen to his blabbing. The dementia got worse each day.
"It's Laura!" He exclaims
You huff and slump backward into the couch. You loved the Professor but he was exhausting sometimes.
You quickly stand up and stop him from wheeling himself outside. The sound of a car door slamming has a cold sweat running down your back. Logan was gone, who could be outside? Whoever it was you prayed they were weak, you weren't even sure that you could use your powers, let alone fight someone with them.
"Stay, put. If something goes wrong, get back to the tank and lock the door." You command
"Laura," Charles says again, listening to you and remaining still
You step out into the hot sun, not expecting Caliban to be standing next to Logan. A blonde man with a metal hand and aviator glasses stands and asks about Charles. You look at the newcomer, trying to figure out what his deal was. He was human, even with failing powers, you and Logan were stronger, did he have a death wish?
"Whoo, look at that. Not one X-Man but two? The Wolverine and....I'm sorry sweetie what was your name again?" The man suddenly smiles, looking at you.
"Get out of here, asshole," Logan says, placing a hand on the blonde man's chest, preventing him from taking another step towards you
"Tell me, sweetie, do you know where the girl is? Wolverine here seems to have misplaced her." He asks
"There's no girl here." You answer
A loud shout startles you and a metal pipe whizzes past you and Logan to strike the intruder on the head.
Laura is an interesting character. You watch from afar as she shoves cereal in her mouth.
"What the fuck is this?" You ask Logan who doesn't have an answer for you.
The rumble of the train goes by and Charles calms the girl who jumps from her seat.
"Look, we're leaving. That guy who she knocked out, he knows everything about us. Get your stuff together." Logan says, handing a bag to you
You groan but listen and scamper off to your room. Your "room" was really just a small double bed surrounded by sheets Logan had strung up on strings after you said you needed more privacy from him and Caliban.
You shove clothes into the bag along with a couple of dusty books to keep you busy on the road. As much as you'd like to, you doubted Logan was going to let you drive at all.
Logan's deep voice shouts your name and you dash out to the kitchen to see Laura eating her food, unbothered. Her eyes glance at the outside world where you can see Logan shoving Charles' wheelchair into the trunk.
"What's happening?" You ask frantically, dropping your bag into the dirt, forgetting its importance.
"Get in." Logan commands
You quickly jump into the passenger seat, shoving the empty bottles of Jack Daniels aside. You'll have to yell at Logan for that later on. Drinking himself into a hole wasn't going to help whatever was happening to him.
The blonde man must have to do with the amount of trucks that are surrounding you all. Logan curses as he tries to maneuver the limo out of the smelting plant. Much to your dismay, you're quickly surrounded with nowhere to go. Charles murmurs about Laura again as Logan tells him to shut up.
If it were twenty years ago, you'd be able to make a path. Your powers had never been pretty but they were effective. If only you were able to use them now on all these men who were exiting these vehicles, they'd be nothing but blood stains in the dirt. Head popping was never pretty but it was efficient.
The blonde man is back and shouting in Spanish. You wonder what has become of Caliban as you glance at Logan whose mind is certainly racing, trying to create an escape for you all.
"Hey there, Sweetie." The blonde says leaning his elbow on the windowsill and leaning into the car, "Charles Xavier, America's most wanted octogenarian."
"I'm a nonagenarian actually." Charles quips back, proud of his old age.
"Logan." You whisper looking at him.
You're certain you can still use some bit of your powers. If Logan could cut just one of these men open, you'd be able to carve a way out of this situation. It'd be painful but you could do it. Maybe.
Logan lets out a growl and shoves his door open into one brute who steps too close to the limo. You jump out of your own door, hot on his heels as the blonde man keeps his men from gunning you both down.
You let out a loud shout of Logan's name when the men begin to beat him. One man comes up from behind you and pins you arms behind your back, he's stronger than your weak body and slams you face-first onto the hood of the limo.
"Find the girl."
The men spread out as you struggle in his hold. Logan's pinned down by the threat of at least 6 guns aimed at his face.
"Careful, Williams. You're gonna break her nose." The blonde man says looking at the way your face is harshly pushed into the metal of the car
"She deserves it. Mutant freak." The man above you, Williams, scoffs spitting down at you
"This mutant freak controls blood, you idiot. I don't wanna find out what she can do with it, do you?"
Williams looks down at you and you feel his spit trickle down your temple. He loosens his hold and lets you stand up, keeping his gun pointed at you.
The sound of gunfire breaks the tense stare-down you were having and your jaw nearly drops when you see Laura approach, a man's head in her arms.
Your jaw does drop when two silver claws appear and she begins to cut down the men. Logan tackles you to the ground and keeps you safe from the rain of bullets two men send at you.
"Get in the back with Charles, stay down." He orders, gritting his teeth as you hear the bullets pushing their way out of his skin.
Laura's feral screaming fills your ears along with the sound of flesh being cut through. The metallic scent of blood fills your nose as Logan pushes you into the limo.
"Logan I can help!" You shout
His only response is slamming the door in your face.
The limo is surely a sight as Logan speeds down the road. Charles' voice fills the silence as he talks to Laura about the X-Men. You look at Logan who looks, if it's even possible, angrier than he normally does.
"If you want me to apologize, I'm not going to. So stop pouting like a kid." You say, looking down at your blood-stained hands.
"M' not pouting. And what you did was dangerous." Logan says
"And what you did wasn't? I'm not a delicate flower, Logan. I don't need you hovering to keep me safe." You huff
"Yeah well when your brain blows up from that blood manipulation of yours, don't come crying to me," Logan grumbles
"Please, when that happens I'll die. No way for me to complain then." You scoff
Logan shakes his head and keeps his gaze on the road.
You want to slap him for his attitude. That or kiss him, you really can't tell. The angry protector vibe he had going on was as aggravating as it was attractive.
He was mad for what? You had saved him from getting an AR-15 getting unloaded into his chest. Sure, now your head was throbbing from the effort it had taken to use your powers. It wasn't even your own blood you had used, just some from a man on the ground, fashioning it into a simple tendril and impaling Logan's assailant through the chest.
"They're not normally like this." Charles whispers to Laura, "They work very well together. Good friends, sometimes I think they're more than that.
You groan at Charles' words. Something tells you you and Logan were going to be fighting a lot more now that you were trapped in a beat-up limo together.
"Don't tell her that." Logan chastizes
"Tell her what?" Charles asks innocently
"Made up fantasy shit," Logan replies
The casino Logan picks is a buzz with noise. You haven't been around this many people in years. It had a cold sweat breaking out on your skin. You wondered what was going through Charles' mind as he suddenly reached for your hand for assurance.
"You'll be alright. " You whisper to the old man who nods
A mannequin catches Laura's eye and Charles points out their lack of clothes.
You can't quite tell what's going through Logan's mind as he sits beside you on a soft sofa, waiting for Laura to come out of the dressing room. You can tell he's still upset from earlier when you used your powers to help him. You decide to throw him a bone as he taps his right foot with impatience.
"Sorry." You mumble
"What?" He asks
"I'm sorry." You say again quietly
"I can't hear you," Logan says turning your face to look at his, most likely so he can read your lips. What an old man.
"I said I was sorry. For earlier." You say, louder this time.
Behind Logan, you can see Charles inch his chair closer, hoping to eavesdrop on you and Logan.
Logan lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head. Your heart leaps to your throat when you hear the next words
"Don't worry bout' it, bub."
His big hand drops to your thigh and gently pats it assuringly.
"I would've done the same for you."
You place your own hand onto his and gently squeeze. His eyes meet yours and you swear they jump to your lips for a split second. You watch mesmerized as his tongue quickly appears to wet his lips before disappearing back into his mouth.
"Listen-"
Laura emerging from the dressing room breaks the trance he has on you and you jump up, fully flustered.
"Oh very nice." Charles coos at the little girl who is now in a unicorn shirt.
"Let's go." Logan gruffly says, brushing past you and towards the cash register.
You follow on Logan's heels as he limps to stand in line behind a little old lady. Laura and Charles are attempting to win at a claw machine that sits in the store a few feet behind you. Did Charles not see that the prize was poker chips? Laura wouldn't be able to do anything with the prize if they won. Whispers distract you from stopping the old man as he inserts money into the machine. Where did he even get the cash?
You glance to your right where three women stand. They're stylish, sleek, and vixenish with their tall heels, bodycon dresses, and sharp-winged eyeliner. You follow their pointed gaze to your own body and realize what they're giggling at. Your bruised arms, something you hadn't worried too much about before were drawing attention.
It wasn't just the women either, an older couple on your left are whispering as well.
"Oh my, what's happened to her?"
You feel a scowl pulling on your face, chasing away the good feeling Logan had left you with back in the dressing room.
You stomp over to a clothing rack filled with oversized hoodies. You snatch one off the hangers and walk back to Logan and shove it in his arms. He stumbles back a bit, not expecting you to be so harsh.
"I want this too." You demand before spinning on your heel to go find the nearest restroom.
Splashing cold water on your face is a luxury you had forgotten. Back in Mexico, the water in the pipes was always just a bit warm. Great for showers, but shitty for everything else.
You emerge from the bathroom to find your companions waiting for you. Logan tosses you your sweatshirt that stupidly says " I survived Oklahoma City Casino!".
If only you had picked out a plain one.
Logan hands you a key card to one room and then goes to open his own.
"Got a conjoining bathroom." He explains, "You and Laura can share that one."
You push the door open and are welcomed by the sight of an oversized king bed.
Laura immediately goes to the bathroom to open the doors that connect you to the Professor and Logan.
"Sit. Watch TV."
You hear Logan's stern voice speak to her. You can imagine his face as he says it. Stern, unmoving.
Logan limps into your room, shutting the bathroom door and sitting on the bed you're to share with the slightly feral child you've picked up.
Silence falls over you as you pretend to observe the ugly painting on the wall. You strained your ears trying to hear the TV next door. They'd done a good job soundproofing the rooms.
"What's wrong?" He huffs
"Nothing." You say, crossing the room to flop down on the big bed
"You've had a pissy look on your face since we left the dressing room." He points out, "More pissy than usual."
You roll your eyes but he can't see it since you've buried your face in the soft pillows.
You can tell Logan is still there, waiting for you to speak. You've got the feeling he's not going to leave you alone either, stubbornness was always a strong suit of his.
You flip yourself around and prop your head up on a pillow to look at him.
"Those women in the dresses and heels, they pissed me off." You admit
"What women?" Logan asks his face screwing up as he tries to recall who you were talking about, "There weren't any women."
"The one's in the tight dresses and heels." You say looking at him, not believing he hadn't noticed
Logan shakes his head again.
"It's my arms." You sigh, "I got comfortable in Mexico, you and Caliban never said anything about them. Not to mention Charles doesn't seem to care either."
You fiddle with a stray string that sticks out of the sleeve of your new sweatshirt. Machine-made stitching was always poor quality.
"I don't know what women you were seeing," Logan says, suddenly scooting up the bed and laying down beside you, "But I don't give a shit about what your arms look like."
"It's not just my arms, Logan." You softly breathe, thinking of the rest of you, marked with ugly bruises.
"Doesn't matter to me." He sighs with a wave of his hand
You feel tears pricking at your waterline and you willed them away. There wasn't even a reason to cry. He was just being nice, being a good friend.
"Are you crying?" Logan asks
"No." You lie
A warm tear slips down the side of your face and then all of a sudden they won't stop. You turn on your side and curl up into a fetal position. Maybe Logan will leave you alone now, he never liked dealing with his own feelings, let alone another person.
"Hey." He says, "Quit blubbering like some baby."
You're surprised when he suddenly scoops you up and places you in his lap. Big hands wipe at your tears and he hands you a tissue from the nightstand for your nose.
"Sorry." You sigh taking a deep breath to calm your nerves
Logan lets out a deep grunt and he lets his actions do his talking. One big hand rubs up and down your back to soothe you while the other is drawing circles on your knee.
"You shouldn't get so worked up about random people. Before you know it we'll be out on the Sunseeker, fishing and eating crab for dinner." Logan says
"Promise?" You ask
"Promise."
Part Two
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eddiemunson-reader-shame · 1 month ago
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Be My Wife: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
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Summary: A “friend” freaks out when you split a Coke with Eddie the Freak.
Warnings: references to A Clockwork Orange, bullying, STI/STD mention, backwash drinking
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A/N: So… I know this isn’t a Christmas fic. But I wrote this because I had those times in my youth where someone spread horrid rumors about either me or my friends, and I had to make those split second decisions to determine my loyalty. I always try to be loyal as best I can.
Thank you to @writhingg for giving the green light on this fic. And big thanks to @rxqueenotd and @melodymunson as well. And big thanks to viewers like you. Thank you. ❤️
Resources: @strangergraphics-archive for the dividers.
Taglist: @ali-r3n @melodymunson @twihard28
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“Hey droogie, can I have a sip of your Coke?”
You looked up from where you were perched on the pony wall by the Seven Eleven bike rack. You had been chatting with a classmate, Chessie Hagar, about purchasing a purse from her mother’s Avon Colorworks catalog. It was a new collection for the year 1977. Said eye catching magazine with its spread of rainbow themed products was currently held between the two of you, and the pages began to rattle as Chessie shook in fear upon hearing the deep voice.
A flutter-smack sounded from the girl dropping the catalog when Eddie The Freak approached. His stride was casual as one could be, whilst battling both midwestern humidity and pit sweat in a white hand-me-down Jimi Hendrix shirt and sleeveless denim vest. As one of the middle schoolers who had been blessed with a growth spurt, his lanky height, shredded second hand clothes, and shaved head often made those in your grade— and some of those above— piss their pants.
You alone did not fear him.
The Fates had elected to weave you both in a tangled web of coincidences: you had been his project partner in every shared class since you started at Hawkins Middle School together, and you just so happened to live in the same neighborhood on occasion. The distance from Al Munson’s janky two bedroom home to yours was but a hop skip and a jump. Eddie used to ding dong ditch your house when he was six, until one day your mother caught him by the ear and brought him in to mend his tattered jeans and offer up a hot meal.
To any other rando, he was an unstable pariah. But to you, he was just Eddie Munson— the cute boy next door who sometimes ate at your place. And you had become his droog after spending winter 1972 sneaking into the Hawk Theater, and making Stanley Kubrick films your new big boy personalities.
Without thinking, you handed the soft drink over. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the Coke out of your grip and went for a swig, with plush pink lips wrapping around the transparent jade glass of the lip and neck. His protruding Adam’s apple was bobbing with the rhythmic gulping, and you couldn’t stop staring.
“Thanks.” He belched out.
“You said a sip, not half the goddamn bottle!” You whined.
Eddie grinned sheepishly and backwashed a good mouthful. Giving a half assed apology and a promise to pay you back mumbled under his breath, he handed the bottle back.
“Still up for doing last minute project prep?” You asked, swirling the leftovers he’d saved for you.
“Nah, let’s take a break from the train wreck brothers. Catch you tomorrow, though?” He said, scratching a blackhead off his nose and snorting a bit, “I had an idea for the oral report that might earn us a little extra credit. Think you can mimic a British accent?”
“Eh. Can’t do an accent without sounding like fucking Alex DeLarge.” You groused.
“We can work on that. Leave your milk-plus at home, though. Don’t want me own droog reenacting some Roman ultra violence on me.”
“Just don’t go popping out from behind your curtains at me again, that’s a good way to get stabbed in the neck with my mom’s kitchen scissors.” You snorted.
“Ahhh, the droog’s no fun. I guess I can tone down the surprise pop ups, though. If you insist. Catch you later?” Eddie said, waving.
“Later. Peace out, man.”
Chessie let out a shaky, sobbing exhale when you made to drink the dregs of your soda, and you turned and raised an eyebrow.
“Whassamatter?” You asked.
“Are you nuts?! You just shared your drink with the freak!” She blurted out.
… since when the hell was sharing with Eddie a crime?
“Yeah, so? It’s hot out. He looked thirsty.” You said.
“Did you seriously forget everything we’ve heard about him?!” She whisper-screamed, “Don’t you care what everyone talks about?!”
You rolled your eyes. Everyone talked about Eddie. If you hadn’t heard at least one rumor from a faceless student whenever he walked by, you were either stupid or living under a rock. They said he was a bad boy— yes, even with a full vocabulary of slurs and insults available, they still called him a bad boy. Like if he was still in diapers drawing with crayon on the wall, and needed a spanking.
Depending on who you asked, Eddie either did or sold drugs, it was never clear which. Some of the other trailer park kids said he was a mean scrapper when he went to his uncle’s on alternate weeks. Women’s restroom lore stated that he carried a switchblade in the back pocket of his Wrangler jeans, and that he used it to torture animals for his Satanic rituals.
A million and one things were said about him on the daily, but you knew none of them were true in the slightest. None of the talk deterred you from spending time with him. Sometimes he came to your house, more often than not you went to his.
Every other day found the two of you parked in front of his mom’s turntable, jamming to Deep Purple and putting together an elaborate poster board with some spray painted fake leaves made into laurel crowns, along with a block of text about your chosen co-emperor of the early Roman Empire.
You had wanted to write about Caligula so you could use the word ‘orgy’ in the report without getting in trouble, but Eddie had insisted he had a better idea when he discovered a two years tumultuous ruling of brothers from 209 AD to 211 AD.
“As much as I love a good sex party on paper, you just know that’s what everyone else is gonna write about. Let’s write about this nut job Caracalla instead! Dude killed his brother in the arms of his mother, and struck his name from the record. That’s like, the most metal shit ever! Also, here’s a better word for you to learn: fratricide. Apparently there’s a whole list of technical terms for when you kill a family member.”
“… what’s the rumor mill gotta do with my Coke?” You deadpanned.
“If you drink after him, you’re gonna get mono like Cindy! You gotta throw it out!”
Cindy Bishop in your science class had told everyone that had functional ears— swearing up and down on her life— that Eddie Munson had kissed her and given her mononucleosis. A dreaded affliction whose nickname to you sounded like one of the variations of sound formats for any sort of audio.
“Mono…?”
“Yes! Or the syph!”
You knew Eddie had to have heard Chessie’s vitriol. Turning around, you could see him staring at the two of you from across the parking lot, one leg over his bike. There was a stinging look of betrayal on his face. Telltale signs of a wet cherry nose and shameful red cheeks gave away his mistrust; as if he was expecting you to do as your friend told, and throw the bottle he drank from in the trash.
His imaginary affliction was just that: imaginary. You knew that to be gospel.
The kiss with Cindy was real, unfortunately. It happened way before Cindy was kept home with mono, and you remembered the incident well. Eddie had come running to your house just to brag that he’d finally gotten his first kiss, and that pretty soon he’d be popping girl’s cherries left and right.
Just learning about the simple kiss had pissed you off, because the closest you’d ever gotten to kissing Eddie was sharing the same fork whenever you both roasted Vienna sausages on the gas burner in his kitchen. Eddie hadn’t been sick when Cindy stayed home, he came faithfully to school to trap you on the playground and speculate about the thousand and one hidden meanings behind the kiss.
With all the excitement, he never noticed the smallest details like you did. One of the guys in your PE class had been sent home with a rash and a high fever, and it was only a month after Cindy was rumored to have also kissed the collapsed boy that she got sick. You had always shared cups, utensils, and other things requiring mouth use with Eddie and had been fine. Yet Cindy and Tommy Hagan swapped spit once, and both were out of commission.
But no one would ever say anything about Tommy Hagan getting mono. They’d always redirect every disease outbreak to the poor loser who split time between Cherry Street and Forest Hills Trailer Park. The same poor loser who had the misfortune of wasting his first kiss with Cindy; a girl who frenched behind the portable classrooms with anything that had a pulse. People could be so blind and stupid, they failed to notice the sickness timelines were not matching up.
No one deserved their first anything to be with Cindy. Not with the way she stabbed people in the back.
You took a long, hard pause as you stared into Eddie’s wet brown eyes. He was asking you a silent question you already knew the answer to: were you a stinking traitorous droog, or a loyal one? Were you, his one friend in the entire world, going to stand against him?
Without saying a word, you looked at Chessie, then looked back again at Eddie.
In a world of traitors— where brothers stabbed brothers in the arms of their mothers, or where violent men disowned each other with drug laced milk bottles to the face, you would always pick instead to be Eddie Munson’s loyal droog.
You lathed at the lip of the bottle and stuck your tongue down the neck, and shotgunned all of Eddie’s backwash.
Chessie’s mouth dropped open as she began to gag, and Eddie opened his mouth in an obnoxious and breathless laugh as you chugged the entirety of his germs. The carbonation caught up to you, so you let a belch rip before turning back around to face him.
“I GOT YOUR MONO NOW, MUNSON!” You screamed out to him, “NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!”
“IS THAT HOW IT WORKS, DROOGIE?” He shouted back, a shit eating grin stretched across his face, “YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KNOW BEFORE I TOOK A SWIG, I WOULD HAVE MADE SURE I GOT YOU A RING POP FIRST!”
“IT'S GODDAMN ROMAN CONFARREATIO LAWS, EDDIE! YOU GAVE ME MONO INSTEAD OF SPELT BREAD, NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!” You joked.
You noticed from the big, smart ass grin that he was about to do something outrageous, and your heart began to sing. He immediately got to his knee on the asphalt, everyone in the Seven Eleven parking lot watching as he began to scream like an orator in the colosseum. He used your full government name and everything when he called out to the small parking lot audience.
“HEAR ME, CITIZENS OF HAWKINS! I AM BUT A VESSEL FOR THE GODS, A BEARER, A MESSENGER OF THAT MOST HOLY WORD FROM MOUNT OLYMPUS! I HAVE SHARED OF THE COOTIE WITH A WOMAN, AND THUS OUR MARRIAGE BETWEEN EMPEROR AND DROOG IS SOLEMNIZED-…!”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, FREAK!” Someone called out, immediately flinching back when Eddie rounded on him.
“THE GODS. HAVE. SPOKEN!” Eddie screeched, a glob of spit flying out of his mouth and onto the hot asphalt.
He was wide eyed. Deranged. Eddie lifted up the hem of his denim vest and held it out and to the side, to look like wings unfurling, screaming to the heavens as you began howling with him.
“YEAH!” You screamed out, raising your bottle and shouting every bit of nonsense you could think of, “GOD SANCTIONED DROOG MARRIAGE CO-RULER ULTRA-VIOLENCE! MAZEL TOV!”
“THE IMPERIAL HUSBAND NOW DEMANDS TO KISS THE DROOG BRIDE!” Eddie screamed, “PLANT ONE ON ME, GODDESS DIVINE OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAWKINS!!”
You looked at Chessie, who looked as if she was going to throw up or scream. It wasn’t immediately clear which. Instead of ending the joke, you grinned. Shrugged. The glossy magazine paper pages of the forgotten Avon Colorworks catalog ripped under the tread of your shoes when— without warning— you took off towards Eddie, and planted a fat wet kiss on his mouth. He froze for a moment, but returned the kiss with fervor, making an obnoxious hum and wet smack when you pulled away.
“Yum.” You gushed, licking your lips and changing your cadence to the unhinged Kubrick Cockney, “Them’s tasty cooties, they are, brother sir!”
“Yeah? Them false cytomegalovirus germs are what taste good to ya, droog?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and putting on his own terrible accent.
“That they are, sir, that’s what gives all me food and drink that plus flavor.” You grinned.
The two of you cackled, thoroughly enjoying throwing out random quotes and various insanities that to the normal person would put them off of your insanity and edge-lord humor. Chessie had long since taken off for the gated community of Loch Nora on her bike, but you didn’t care. You could live without a selection of eyeshadows, a rainbow tote purse, and all of your false friends if the choice came down to choosing them, or Eddie.
“Wanna go into the gas station and split another bottle of mono before we blow this joint?” You asked.
His grin could have rivaled that of Malcolm McDowell.
“Now, how can I say no to my new wife?” He grinned, holding out his arm for you to take, “But I am a man of my word, so you’re getting a new Coke, plus that Ring Pop so’s we can make this thing official.”
“Spare no expense, huh?” You grinned, and he pulled you in closer. Both of your hips knocking together.
“Hey… Only the best and finest gems and refreshments for Empress Droog the First of Hawkins, Indiana.” Eddie said with a confident smile.
You smiled at him, nudging one another with your bodies all the way into the gas station, until he pulled you in for another sloppy kiss in the middle of the snack aisle.
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no-144444 · 2 months ago
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A Christmas Prince (2017)- c.leclerc
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₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡
summary: When a young aspiring journalist is sent abroad to cover a a coronation, she hears rumours about the 'Prince of F1' and goes undercover to investigate them.
pairing: prince! charles leclerc x fem! reader
9.8k words
disclaimer: i do not own anything in these films, the only original character is the character y/n.
‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡
You jumped up from your desk as soon as you saw him, and trailed him through the office. “Excuse me, sorry- Ron?!” 
He turned to you. “Not now.”
“This will just take a second, I just have some questions about your article? The fashion week piece that I’m editing?”
He groaned, clearly uninterested in giving you the time of day. “Go for it.”
Nevertheless, you continued on. How could someone who makes so many noticeable mistakes have a higher job than you? How could someone so self-centred and rude be in that position of power? “The main problem is that Max wanted 300 words, and you’ve written 600, and also the models and designers you quoted weren’t even at the event so…”
“Y/n,” he sighed, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I don’t have time for you right now, just go off and fix it? Yeah?” he smiled, that punchable, asshole smile, and walked off. You rolled your eyes. 
Working as a journalist bitch was not your plan when you moved to New York, but alas, your rent does not magically pay itself. Categorically, you enjoyed your job. Decent pay, good co-workers (minus asshole Ron), and it was pretty cool to be in one of the high-rise offices of New York, especially around Christmas. But… the whole getting to write articles part wasn’t something you got to do. You were an editor now, not a journalist. It was… slightly infuriating to know that someone less qualified got paid more money to write shit that you always ended up rewriting for him, but as we mentioned before, bills don’t pay themselves. 
“Let me guess, you’re going to completely rewrite the article and save his ass?” Damon, your best friend, asked. 
You faked a smile. “It’s almost like that’s my job!”
He rolled his eyes. “Tell him to shove it,” he scoffed. “Any of us could write that better- with our eyes closed!”
You groaned as you sat down.
“How the fuck are you ever going to be taken seriously as a real journalist if you are such a good editor?” he added. “He’ll never promote you if you’re always going to stay as his bitch.”
The ding of your laptop ended the conversation 
Max wants you in her office- NOW! 
“Oh fuck,” you said under your breath. 
“What?” Damon asked, looking over your shoulder. “Oh… good luck.”
You walked into her glass office, praying to something to make this as painless as possible. “If this is because of Ron’s article-”
“It’s not, sit down. I have something else for you,” she smiled. You followed her instructions and stared at her, unused to the kindness. “What do you know about the Royal Family of Monaco?”
“Monaco?” you wracked your brain. “The King died a few years ago, the new King just got married, and the other two are racecar drivers, right?”
“Exactly, anything about the second eldest Prince?” she mused. 
You grimaced. “He’s more loyal to Ferrari than his girlfriends and he’s a royal disgrace?”
She grinned. “Yes! Exactly that! Obviously, Charles moved off from the royal duties a long time ago, but Lorenzo has decided to abdicate since his fiance has fallen ill, in Monaco there’s a rule that the throne can be uncrowned for one year and it turns out Lorenzo abdicated in December last year.”
“So Charles has to take the throne?” you asked. “But he’s a driver there’s no way he’d… what happens then?”
She smirked. “That’s exactly what you’re going to find out! His Royal Highness is due back at the Castle this weekend, but in case he also abdicates, I need someone to write on it! There’s a press conference on the 18th, and I want your boots on the ground!”
“I don’t mean to sound rude, but why me?” you smiled, genuinely curious. 
“You’re intelligent, talented, hungry for a story- also none of my regular writers are willing to give up their Christmas,” she admitted. You nodded, knowing you were a last resort. 
“Thank you for this opportunity, I won’t let you down.” 
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
“He’s gorgeous!” Damon fawned over the pictures of him. 
You shrugged. “He’s such a douche, I cannot believe people still find him attractive after all the stuff he’s done.”
“Who wouldn't forgive a face and body like that?” 
You looked at the photos. Yes, he was conventionally attractive, but his track record of scorned girlfriends, and the semi-awful fashion sense (who , over the age of 12, still wears tie dye jeans?) put you off. “He’s not my type.” 
He stared at you. “He’s everyone’s type. Everyone is a Ferrari fan, and everyone is a Charles LeClerc fan.”
“I still don’t see it,” you shrugged. 
“You should try to seduce him! Make him your husband and just excuse all the cheating so you can be royal and rich,” he suggested. 
“I do not want that,” you scoffed. “Plus, I’m not on the market right now.”  
He groaned. “You two broke up a whole year ago. Don’t let him yuck your yum 12 months on!”
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
You walked into Rudy’s, your dad’s diner, you couldn’t but feel the weight of the conversation you were just about to have. You had spent Christmas as just the two of you every year since your mom had passed, you didn’t want to just leave him alone. The regulars raved about the pies as you stepped in from the cold, snowy air. 
“The usual?” your dad asked, you nodded and smiled, waving to some of the regulars you knew. “How are you doing sweetie?” 
“Good, great!” You smiled, plastering on your best ‘i’m fine!’ face. 
“What happened?” he asked, concerned. You deflated.
“I have good news and bad news,” you explained.
“Bad news first,” he decided. 
“I won’t be here on Christmas- but, It’s because I got my first story.”
He grinned, pulling you into a hug. “That’s amazing! Your first real story! This is your big break!”
“You don’t mind that I’ll miss Christmas?”
He shook his head. “This is your big break, take it. Don’t worry about me. You go over to wherever, and you make me proud.”
You smiled, pulling him into another hug, and thanked him. 
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
The flight was long and uncomfortable, thus the joys of economy, and the dickhead that stole your cab wasn’t much nicer either. 
You and the rest of the press were all then bundled into cars and brought to the palace. 
“First time?” The reporter beside you questioned. You nodded your head, slightly embarrassed about the fact that they could tell, but he just chuckled. “Word to the wise, pick a new career.”
The rest of the car was an eruption of laughter, small agreements, or a scoff. You chuckled along, but you couldn’t help but feel small. You were the only woman in your car, the only new reporter, and-
Woah. Holy shit. 
The Monaco Palace. 
Any and all other thoughts were pushed to the back of your mind as you stared in awe at the beautiful structure. The wide windows and beautiful pillars, all decorated perfectly for Christmas. Though it wasn’t snowing (like back home), you did appreciate the gesture of making it feel like Christmas. You were enchanted by the palace, it stood tall on the edge of the bay, fitting in perfectly with the rest of the gorgeous scenery. 
You walked in behind the rest of the press, a nervous energy buzzing in the air. Prince Charles was an F1 favourite, a master of the sport, and now he had to give it all up for the crown. Everyone was more than excited to see if he’d actually show up, which seemed increasingly unlikely as the moments ticked away. He did every single piece of press Ferrari or the FIA asked him to do, and he seemed to enjoy the majority of them, but the second the palace asked him to do something, he was ‘too busy’. It left a bad taste in your mouth. You were exactly a patriot, but you thought that one should at least appreciate the fact that they were a part of their country, and the people deserved to hear from their Prince, not only through sports interviews. He’d been photoshopped into the palace's Christmas cards for the past 4 years, for god’s sake. 
You pushed your opinion of him to the side and turned your attention to the palace. The tall white walls and arched ceilings, the beautiful and historic artwork hanging off the walls, god, you’d give anything to be allowed free reign in here with your camera. Your attention was then grabbed by the PR liaison, Penelope, standing at the panel desk looking increasingly nervous.
After another 30 minutes of waiting, the repress started getting restless. Lorenzo was never late. Hervé had never been late. Pascale was never late. Arthur was never late. Charles was the outlier. He slept with too many women, drank too much, and ‘disgraced the crown’, according to the Monegasque reporters beside you. You didn’t care much for all of the gossip pages he frequented, and only watched F1 on the occasion that your father wanted to watch it. But, it was clear that he thought that following his dreams of being a racecar driver were more important than his duties, and while you understood the push and pull of having a dream, there were also expectations to meet, and he didn’t meet them. 
“We regret to inform you that this press conference has been cancelled-” 
She was cut off by about 200 reporters shouting and groaning. 
You politely raised your hand, and all eyes turned to you. “When can we expect the press conference to be rescheduled?” You asked and the room was alive again, this time, in agreement. 
“As of right now, we won’t be rescheduling,” she offered a polite smile as everyone collectively groaned again. 
“Well can we at least expect a date at which he’ll be crowned?”
“He will be crowned on Christmas Eve, at the annual Christmas Ball,” she smiled. 
“Which is a private event, so what are we to tell your people? They can’t see him getting crowned as their next king? No media are allowed in, no cameras, phones are barely allowed. What will your people think?” you questioned, your voice dripping with condescension. The rest of the reporters cheered you on, no one had stood up against his behaviour before. No one. 
She faltered, and then the room started being cleared by security, much to the chagrin of the rest of you. You were kicked out, a collection of grumbles and groans, knowing Christmas was ruined because of some stupid Prince and his childish antics. 
You couldn’t go home empty handed. You’d never get a chance like this again, so breaking and entering into the Monaco Palace wasn’t that bad of a crime, right? 
You came into a long hallway, the marble walls and floors taking your full attention, until you came across a picture. It was the royal family, a picture of the five of them, taken before Hervé passed. Charles was only 20, Arthur was only 16. Lorenzo was 29. And they lost their father. In the photo, they’re sitting at a dinner table, looking happy. It didn’t look posed, or professionally taken. It looked like it had been taken on an iphone. Charles was smiling bright, his arm around his little brother and his father. Lorenzo’s arm around Pascale as she held Arthur’s hand. Charles was truly the thing that dragged you in. His bright smile, eyes crinkled at the edges, laughing so hard he must’ve felt sick. The way everyone else’s eyes were on him. He was like a magnet. Not because of his good looks or lovably dorky personality, but because of something else. He was just… interesting. 
“Can I help you?” a security guard asked, his voice booming and strong. You jumped. 
“Gosh! Sorry, umm-yes-no-um-”
“American?” he asked, and you were sure you were busted. But then he smiled. “Follow me.”
You followed him through the halls until you were in front of a tall woman with brunette hair. You knew who she was, her name was Georgia, the palace coordinator. She was terrifying to stand in front of. You’d never felt so judged in your life. 
“You’re the new tutor?” she questioned. You just nodded. “I thought you couldn’t come until January?”
“My last job finished up early,” you lied. A sinking pit in your stomach started growing, but you just swallowed it. You’d deal with it later. 
“Oh,” she smiled. “Perfect, I’ll bring you to meet him,” she smiled. 
What were you getting yourself into?
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Turns out Arthur LeClerc needed a tutor to help with his engineering course. Thank god you’d dated that engineer who wanted to mansplain every single part of a car to you, and you could get by the maths with a calculator. Arthur wasn’t exactly a fan of having someone younger than him tutor him, he felt stupid, you could tell. You did everything you could to reassure him that it truly was alright to need help, and he was starting to come around, but every time you two really started talking, Charles would appear. And yes, Charles had been that asshole who’d taken your cab at the airport. Even more of a reason to hate him.
“Arthur!” Charles called up as you finished explaining a sum, which he was finally getting, but of course, Charles had to distract him. “Sim work?” he offered, popping his head in the door. You frowned. He was clean-shaven, unlike the small goatee and mustache he’d been sporting before. Objectively, he was attractive either way, but you personally preferred the facial hair. 
He frowned back at you. “What?”
Arthur attempted to get up to join his brother, but you held him down to his seat with a hand on his shoulder. He sighed. 
“What?” you repeated. “Arthur is busy with lessons, your Royal Highness, you can come back in 2 hours, when he’s finished,” you smile politely, though your tone was less than warm. 
“2 hours?” Arthur sighed, looking at you with pleading eyes. 
“I’m not the one who failed their midterm,” you said, matter-of-factly. He nodded, agreeing. 
“Why did you look at me like that?” Charles smirked, walking into the study. 
“Like what?” you asked, engrossed in the work, trying to decipher Arthur’s handwriting. 
“Like you didn’t like what you saw,” he mused. 
You scoffed. “I was just surprised by the baby face, that’s all.” 
He frowned, making Arthur laugh. “Baby face?”
“You look like a 12 year old boy without facial hair, it freaks me out,” you pointed out. 
Charles left the room with whatever dignity he still had intact, and you and Arthur rather enjoyed the teasing. 
“Will you be my guest tonight?” he turned to you, discarding his work. 
“What’s tonight?” you asked. 
“Some boring drinks and dinner thing with the whole of Charles’s team, and other nobility. It’s going to be such a chore to go without you, please come?” 
You smiled. “I’d be honoured.”
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You kind of hated the whole ‘double agent’ thing. You were getting on really well with Arthur, Charles was enough to stomach (in small intervals), and Lorenzo had been too busy to really meet. Georgia had been on you about different things, but you always had to remember that a) your name was in fact not Y/n, but Martha. And b) You still had to be a reporter. You still had to break into these people’s privacy, and make it a story. You were pretty sure what you were doing was illegal in America, so you were just hoping it wasn’t a crime here. As the night went on you snapped pictures of Pascale, Lorenzo, some of the other nobility and some of the important F1 drivers (a friend was doing an expose on one of them for cheating so… yeah). You didn’t catch a glimpse of his Royal (pain-in-the-ass) Highness all night, that was, until he made an(uncharacteristically (not)) late arrival. You also left Arthur to go hang out with his girlfriend, who had surprised him this weekend by arriving a whole week early. 
“How are you enjoying the party?” Arthur smiled, walking up behind you as you tried to take photos of the nobility as secretly as possible. You quickly hid your phone. 
“Very much so, thank you for inviting me,” you smiled. 
“Staring at Charles?” he questioned, noticing how you’d been following him around the room. 
“Trying to find something to eat,” you lied. Again, that pit in your stomach grew every single day that you were at the palace. “Not a fan of the meat-jelly.”
He grimaced. “Me neither, follow me.”
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Possibly the best gingerbread cookies entered your mouth soon after. “Wow,” you nodded, and he smiled back. You stared at him. “Where’s Jade?”
“She’s off with her friends,” he answered, but you knew it was a guess. 
“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden? You hated me three days ago,” you chuckled. 
“You’re not like everyone here,” he shrugged. “You’re normal.”
You smiled. “I know I’m, normal, btu so are you-”
“A ‘normal’ 24 year old who has a palace and a crown, as well as an affinity for racing cars. I’m so normal.”
You laughed. “No one’s perfect.”
Then a tall man, who looked a little bit like Arthur, joined you. 
“Cousin Arthur,” he smiled. 
“Cousin Simon,” he sighed, less than impressed with having to see him. 
Simon looked at you, slightly confused. “Was your mother feeling charitable, inviting the chambermaids again?” he joked, but it wasn’t funny. Arthur didn't laugh, he groaned. 
“She’s my tutor, actually. And I invited her. Mrs. Martha Whelan, meet my cousin, Simon.” 
You stood up and held your hand out to be shook, but he shied away. “Nice to meet you Simon.” 
“You can address me as Lord Dukesburg,” he explained, taking great offence. Ah, this was Simon Dukesburg, the man who has been after the throne since Arhtur’s father died. He said some of the most out-of-touch shit about Lorenzo, saying he couldn’t be the King because he wasn’t Herve’s blood-related son. 
“I find that nobility who require someone to use their title might be compensating for something,” Charles interjected, making you stifle a laugh, whereas Arthur laughed out loud. 
“And what might I be compensating for?” he scoffed. 
“I wonder,” Charles smirked. Then someone else interjected the conversation and pulled the both of them away from you and Arthur. 
“Simon hates Charles,” Arthur explained. “He’s ahead of him in the succession, since it goes by age, not actual blood relation, he’s ahead of me.”
“So if Charles abdicates, Simon has the throne?” you questioned. 
Arthur nodded. You looked up at the two men again, and found Charles already looking back at you. You offered a small smile, which was returned, then you turned back to Arthur. 
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“I'm really not sure there’s any dirt here,” you sighed, explaining it for the millionth time to your boss. 
She wasn’t having it. You ended the call feeling even worse than before. Honestly, you were one day away from just leaving the palace all together and admitting your crimes. It was eating you up inside, you could barely sleep, barely eat. It was all a little bit too much for you. You understood that reporters had to be cut-throat, but god, it was hard work pretending to be someone you weren't, especially to people as kind as the LeClerc’s. As you walked through the halls of the palace, unable to sleep, you heard some piano music. You followed the sound and found Prince Charles at his piano, incredibly talented. Sadly, it ended the second he noticed you, about 30 seconds of you being there. 
“Sorry for interrupting, your Royal Highness,, I’ll head back-”
“Call me Charles,” he smiled. 
Slightly blind-sided, you weren’t sure what to say. “That was beautiful,” you smiled. 
“Thank you,” he smiled, getting up. “My father made me take lessons. It’s a great passion of mine.”
“I’ve heard your father was a great man,” you smiled. 
“He was,” Charles agreed.. 
“Won’t be easy to replace him,” you mused, hoping he would give you something, anything worth writing the story over. 
“I’m not trying to replace him,” he explained. “No one could.”
“Oh god! No, I didn’t mean it like that- just… there must be a lot of pressure on you, I didn’t mean it…” you trailed off and he smiled. 
“Well, you’re under more pressure than you bargained for, right?” he smirked. 
Shit. He knew. Somehow. He knew. You were bout to get arrested by the fucking Prince of Monaco. How embarrassing. 
“My brother can really be a handful,” he chuckled. 
You took a deep breath. He didn’t know. You were safe, for now at least. You chuckled. “He’s actually pretty great.”
“After our father died, he took it very hard,” he explained. 
“I lost my mom, same age and everything,” you explained, a flat smile on your face. 
He nodded. “So you know what it’s like then.”
You nodded. “Holidays are the worst.”
“I’m glad he has someone to talk to.”
“So, now that you’re back… is it for good? Arthur talks about you all the time. He misses you when you’re gone. Is all that talk about abdication just… rumors?” you questioned, feeling like the worst human being in the world for manipulating this family the way you were. They were good people. Maybe yes, they’re rich and commit tax fraud, but good people. 
He sighed. “It’s very hard to know what to do.”
FUCK! 
Great. So there is a story. Ideal. It’s not like if he’d just said, ‘yes, they’re all just rumors’, you could’ve gone home and never had to think about the awful things you’ve done here, but now you have to stay, to listen to him. Great.
“I heard you didn’t want to give your… lifestyle,” you asked. “Is that true?”
“What lifestyle is that?” he scoffed, slightly amused.
“I don’t know. The women, wine, and cars?” 
“Is that what you think I am?” he chuckled. 
“I don’t know who you are, Charles, but if your brother is any indication, I wouldn’t exactly believe everything I read. Good night.” 
And with that you left the room, feeling like a terrible person, and he was more than intrigued by you. 
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Christmas Eve rolled closer and closer, and every night seemed to be one of celebration. You decorated the tree with the family (aka you sat in the corner not eating or drinking because of the guilt, and watched over Arthur, making sure he was alright). 
“To family and friends,” Pascale smiled. 
“And new friends!” Arthur called, lifting your hand. You smiled at him, thankful that you had a friend there. 
“What are your traditions Martha?” Charles asked, turning attention to you. 
“Well, my father and I light a candle and we bake my mothers favourite cookies,” you explained, a smile on your face. “I know how it feels to… have someone missing during traditions,” you assured Arthur, putting a hand on his shoulder. 
Just then, Lady Sophia appeared in the doorway. Lady Sophia, Charles’s childhood best friend and the leading lady of the greatest will-they-won’t-they story of all time. She wore a beautiful long flowing gown with a present in hand for Pascale. She elegantly dodged cousin Simon’s advances (you applauded her for that), and went straight to Pascale and Charles. 
“Sophia, it’s lovely to see you,” she smiled, pulling her in for a hug. 
“It’s lovely to see you too,” she smiled, then moved on to Charles. “Charles, good to see you.”
Charles greeted her with his best flirty smirk, and Arthur turned to you, fake gagging, which made you both laugh. All eyes turned to the two of you for a moment, before you quickly shut up, and the greetings continued. Lady Sophia was staying for Christmas, how wonderful. Maybe you could get an early access to their engagement story- god you felt sick with yourself. 
You turned to Arthur engrossed in the small toy car he had in his hands, a gift from his father, he spoke about it as you listened, barely noticing Charles over both of your shoulders. 
“I remember when you first got that,” he chuckled, ruffling Arthur’s hair. “You were so happy with it, you wanted to be just like dad.”
“Now you are,” you smiled, squeezing Arthur;’s hand. He’d be moving up to F1 next year, in a Haas seat (Esetban Ocon shit the bed, oops), and Arthur was the next best Ferrari junior driver. Arthur beamed back at you, and Charles gave himself a moment to study you. 
You were so gentle, so smart, so kind, so… you. He was entranced by you. You were some sort of enigma. He didn’t want to sound full of himself, but women did throw themselves at him, it was a simple fact, and you didn’t. You weren’t interested in him at all, in fact. It was refreshing. 
“Charles!” Lady Sophie called. “Will you put my ornament on the tree?” 
He (begrudgingly) took his eyes off of you and joined her at the side of the tree. Funnily enough, her ornament was a heart. 
“Be gentle with it,” she told him, and he sighed, knowing it wasn’t just the ornament she was talking about.He placed it on the ree and when he looked back at you, you were already engrossed in conversation with Arthur about something else and he thought it best not to pry. You barely liked him as is, he shouldn’t push his luck. 
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The day you get bossed around by Arthur LeCerc may actually be the biggest joke of your life. He found out that you were a journalist, and he didn’t even care. He just… wanted a friend, and for you to write the truth about his brother. Which you were happy to oblige. 
So, instead of going over aerodynamics, you baked Christmas cookies. 
“What’s with Charles and Lady Sophia?” you questioned, shovelling some of the batter into your mouth. Arthur shrugged. 
“She’s had a crush on him for ages, but he’s never liked her back,” he shrugged, eating some of the icing. “She’s always trying to get with him though.” 
“Simon seems to like her,” you pointed out, shooing him away from the icing (he’d eaten half of it). 
Arthur groaned. “Simon has wanted everything Charles has had since they were 3. He even tried go-karting. He was shit though,” he chuckled. “But y’know, everyone wants what we have.”
You cracked a smile. “You are the royal family of one of the most beautiful countries in Europe.”
Arthur sighed. “It was different though, before my dad died, it was-” he cut himself off, trying to to cry. You pulled him into a hug. 
“He’s not gone Arthur, you’ll always remember him,” you smiled, he nodded against your neck. “Come on, we need to get these in the oven before I eat all of the batter.”
He laughed, joining you beside the oven. 
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The next morning was the children’s fundraiser, where everyone was expected to be a guest. You, again, were Arthur’s, Jade having left a few days earlier to spend time with her family. One of those asshole reporters came up to you, but he got them away, and you knew that by tomorrow, people would already assume you were his new girlfriend, or something along those lines, so you made sure to tell him to talk about Jade in interviews. After the wonderful carol service, Pascale came out to the stage and addressed the public, announcing Charles’s speech. 
When she called his name, he didn’t show. 
Arthur sighed, grabbing your hand and running you to the Orphanage. There he was, playing with the children. He looked so… happy. He was telling them about every corner in the Monaco Grand Prix, and telling them what it felt like to win it. They all sat around him, listening intently, desperate to hear from him. You took out your phone and took a photo, seeing a tiny glimpse of that same 20 year old boy from the picture.  
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“Charles, help me understand why you were unable to carry out your duty today?” Pascale asked, exasperated with her son. 
“I thought my duty was to those children,” his words bit through the tension in the air. 
“There is much more to being kind than simply compassion,” she sighed. “You need to be strong, a leader. You need to be someone that those people can look up to and say, ‘that’s my king, and he can make the hard decisions’. Not someone who tiptoes around his duties like a schoolboy. Arthur had to give your speech instead. Now every outlet thinks your abdicating and giving the throne to him right when he’s on the cusp of his dreams-”
“I have dreams!” he shouted. “I have a life, I have a dream-”
“And we gave you 8 years to make it happen. You have to grow up now Charles,” she commanded. 
“Mother I-”
“Do you seriously think you’re the only one who wants to run away?” she questioned. “The only one who has dreams, and feelings, and a weariness about everything?”
“I’m-”
“This has been the hardest year of my life,” she choked up. “Lorenzo abdicating, you off in god-knows-where racing a car that can’t win, and Arthur trying his damndest to make his dreams come true, while I deal with it all. While I ‘hold down the fort’. You have a duty to your country, but you also have a duty to your family, Charles. I have complete faith in you, and then some. You will be a brave, and compassionate King. But you need to realise that sacrifice is a part of life. One we may have shielded you from, and I am sorry for that. But you need to make a sacrifice here. Royal life isn’t the prison you make it out to be. You can be happy, and you will be. But you need to learn to be happy with what you’ve got, because you have so much Charles. You have your family, you’ll meet someone nice and then you’ll have your own. You don’t need to race cars to feel strong. You need to be yourself. The people of Monaco are looking for someone they know after a year of confusion and shock. You need to be the comforting voice. I know you can be.” 
“I’m trying,” he whispered. 
“I have faith in you. You need to have faith in yourself. Don’t try to be your father, be Charles. He’s just as wonderful.”
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Arthur wasn’t going to focus, it was 3 days till Christmas, and he was kind of like an over-excited child. You suggested an adventure, and that is how you ended up racing speed boats with Arthur and a few of his friends. You two won, of course, and he may or may not have accidentally shoved you overboard and made you hit your head. But you were probably fine. Probably. You two relaxed on the water for a while, enjoying the Monaco sun asn the sun began to set and all of his friends went home. 
Then you felt something hit into the edge of your boat. Another speedboat. Driven by none other than Prince Charles. 
“Race you?” he smirked at his brother, his eyes then landing on you. He stopped, almost doing a double take when he saw you in your swimsuit, his mouth opening slightly. You didn’t seem to notice. Arthur did and he rolled his eyes, hoping against hope that Charles and his master-manipulating ways would pass you by and go onto the next person.
“You’re on!” Arthur shouted back, reeving up the engine, and thus the great race of speedboats began. Sadly, once again, Arthur LeClerc is very much not coordinated, so he shoved you off the boat, again. Charles immediately slowed down, turning back to grab you, but he found you laughing. He reached a hand in, and pulled you up onto his boat, grabbing your waist when you almost slipped and fell. You were close, much too close. You could feel his breath on your face, his eyes staring into yours, the look of shock, but neither one of you was asking to stop. It was different, a good difference. He was right there, right in front of you, and you didn’t look at him with annoyance, or anger, or distance. One of those fleeting moments of the both of you truly just being yourselves. Well, you were Marha and he was the Prince of Monaco, soon to be King. He saw every freckle on your face, every small wrinkle line, every flutter of your eyelashes. He loved it. He loved being this close to you. He loved the way you were smiling at him, and once he’d started looking at your lips, he couldn’t stop. 
Arthur threw a snorkel at the two of you, making you jump apart, you almost falling off the boat again (actually your fault that time), but you just fell into Arthur’s boat. “No fraternising with the enemy!”
And the race was back on.
Unbeknownst to you, Lady Sophia and Duke Arsehole (aka Cousin Simoin), were riding by on a perfectly sublime boat ride, and saw the three of you enjoying yourselves. You had joined Charles' side, winning against Arthur every time, and then you’d be swapped back, or Arthur would swap. 
Lady Sophia didn’t like it one bit. 
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When you got back to the palace, Lorenzo was standing at the top step of the stairs, his mother beside him. 
“Where have you three been?” he demanded. 
“Lorenzo, we were-” Charles began.
“Speedboat racing in the bay?” he finished.  
The three of you stood there, silent and still, unsure of what to do next. 
“I suggest next time that you ask permission, Ms. Whelan,” he addressed you, and you nodded quickly offering multiple apologies. “And next time, maybe include the other members of the family. It’s not like we've never raced in our lives,” he smiled, before walking off. You had a feeling they hadn’t seen Arthur this happy in a long time. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in you, that you had been the one to help him get himself back. 
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Arthur was busy with his duties, so you were given the day off, the day before Christmas Eve. You needed to get to know Charles better, so you could right all the wrongs online about him. He was going for a bike ride, so you followed suit, clearly forgetting about the fact that you knew nothing about Monaco, and the limited cell-service was really helpful. Oh, and when you fell off your bike and cut the shit out of your knee, you really wondered whether it was you or Arthur who was clumsy. 
“Are you alright?”a voice called out, a voice you couldn't quite place, until Charles was in front of you and taking a look at your knee. “This looks bad, come with me.”
He helped you up, and while Mont Agel was beautiful, you were in the middle of fucking nowhere, what was he going to do? 
Bring you to his secret cabin, of course. 
Literally, was this dude James Bond? 
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You sat outside on his patio as the sun set. He handed you a glass of water. You thanked him. 
“So, now that you’re alright,” he smiled (he’d bandaged up your leg despite the thousands of times you assured him you were fine). “Why were you following me?”
You sighed. “I was curious about Monaco, and I didn’t want to bother you,” lie after lie after lie. You were continuously sick. Maybe that other reporter was right, maybe you did need a new career. 
“You couldn’t bother me,” he assured you, an easy smile on his lips. 
“So what is… this?” you asked, gesturing to the house. “James Bond hideout or?
He laughed. “No, nothing interesting like that. This is just my house,” he smiled. 
“So you’ve lived in Monaco the entire time?” you asked. 
“The Palace is a bit too much for me at times,” he explained. “So I come here.”
“That’s nice,” you smiled. “Why do you find the Palace too much?”
He sighed. “Everyone is always looking at me.”
“Everyone is away looking at you in F1 too, you have like, millions of fan-girls,” you giggled. 
“That’s different,” he argued. “I’m a driver there, that’s talent and hard work, I was just… handed the throne.”
“You were born into it,” you corrected him. “And just because you came across something easily doesn’t mean you haven’t struggled. I mean yes, it’s a lot of responsibility, but why wouldn’t you want to be King of Monaco?” 
“Do we have to talk about this?” he sighed, getting up and pacing the patio. 
“It might be good for you to talk it through,” you told him. 
“I can’t even go for dinner with my friends without it being an international scandal!” he groaned. 
“Like, when you went out with Sophia?” you mused. 
“That was different, she sold a story to a tabloid, and the media had a field day,” he sighed, slumping back into his chair. 
“The media is what’s holding you back?” you questioned, feeling your stomach twist. 
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Explain it then,” you smiled gently. 
He looked at you for a moment, and for a fraction of a second, you could see that boy from the picture again. The magnetic, messy, smiley boy his parents had adored. The boy who worked so hard to prove himself. Then those walls went right back up and what replaced him was the man; older, wiser, and hurt. “Why bother? You probably think I’m just a spoiled rich kid anyway.”
You scoffed. “I never said that!” you argued, getting up and turning to him. “You know what you need to do, stop worrying so much about what everyone thinks of you, or how they’re going to perceive you. You’re a good person, with good instincts, and despite being actual nobility, you have morals, good ones, the kind that makes you miss a speech because you’re helping children. The kind that makes you worry about your little brother so much that you come home when he asks you to. The kind that makes you kind. Stop trying to be your father Charles, just be, Charles.” 
He sighed, standing beside you. “You make that sound so simple,” he scoffed. 
“Why isn't it? You’re a smart, talented, caring person-”
“Except when I steal your taxi,” he smirked, making you roll your eyes. He paused for a moment, his eyes shining in the low light of the sun. “I want to show you something.”
You stared at him, grimacing slightly. “What is it?”
“Follow me,” he said, taking your hand. He led you through his house, up to a room filled with books. 
“You read?”
“After my father died,” he explained. “We kept some of the overflow of his habit here. He also kept his journals here. I found a poem, it was dated just before he died, I think he was going to give it to my mother.”
Frost a sparkle in the fields, 
Twixt the frozen minarets, 
Winter’s harvest, wager yields, 
Heavy burden’s, the years debts, 
P[out from a seed, an acorn’s gift, 
Henceforth the truth will flood, 
Darkness such a secret bears, 
A love far greater than blood.
“It’s beautiful,” you smiled, reading the poem. Charles’s eyes were on you. You were so close, just like on the bat, just like he wished for every single day since you’d come into his life. He leaned in and you didn’t back away. You didn’t run, or lean in either, you were still, your eyes trained on his lips.
Then your phone rang, and off you went to find it. Part of him wanted to grab you back and kiss you, but even he, in his delirious love-filled haze, knew the moment had passed, and he would just have to wait until the next one. 
As you two were getting ready to go back to the palace, he left to go grab something from his room. His father’s desk took your attention, and you obliged yourself. Hidden in plain sight was a secret drawer with a stack of documents in it. As much as you hated yourself for it, you took the documents back to the palace with you. 
Within those documents you found out a truth, a truth so great, you had no idea what to say. Charles and Arthur were adopted as children. 
What the fuck were you going to do now?
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As you were walking through the halls with Arthur the next day, you saw Lady Sophia and Charles… kissing. Great, barf. Anyways. You had to finish your story, get something on the page, make this torment of a trip worth something. If you broke the story today, you could be out of there before Christmas, and their lives would be a lot easier. You thought about coming clean, but the thought of it actually made you vomit in your mouth. You were lost. You had no idea what to do. 
So, you called your dad. What else were you supposed to do?
“Y/n!” he smiled, it was only a phone call but you could tell. “How are you?”
“Hey dad, remember how you said I have to take chances to win?” you asked.
“They are my words to live by,” he chuckled, understanding that something was going on. “Is everything alright?”
“What if that chance is going to really hurt people who don’t deserve it?” you questioned.
“I’m going to need more than that sweetheart,” he sighed. 
“My story, if I release it, it might hurt someone who’s already been through a lot. I’m just…” you trailed off
“Sweetheart, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I know anything about the world of publishing and reporting, but I do know that you have to trust your gut.”
You smiled. “Thanks dad.”
“I’m better than a fortune cookie, right?” he joked and you both chuckled. “I’ll see you soon sweetheart.”
“Bye dad-” as you hung up the phone, there was a knock on your door. You tentatively got up and opened the door, only to find Charles on the other side, dressed in a Ferrari branded suit, a small smile on his face. 
“Hi, is there something I can do for you?” you asked, slightly awkward and unsure. You didn’t really want him to look in your room too much, considering the documents of his adoption were literally on your desk, but alas, what would be, would be. 
“I thought we could go for a walk?” he offered. “I can actually show you around Monaco, now that I know you want a tour guide.”
Your smile faltered. “I don’t know,” you sighed. The media had been stirring everything up ever since the boat, you were the ‘mystery girl’ being passed around by the LeClerc’s, and it didn’t feel great. 
He looked at you with pleading eyes. “Please, just give me a few minutes of your time. I would like some company.”
“Sure, let me grab my coat,” you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.
As you two walked through the streets of Monaco, he spoke freely about the beautiful buildings and people he knew so well, while you listened. You liked it, but it broke your heart slightly, to know that you had lied to the entire family for weeks now. But another part of you was grateful that you got to meet them, because you knew you had been changed for the better. It was also nice to see Charles be less… upset than when you first came. He smiled more, laughed more, and spent more time with Arthur, it was lovely to see. 
He stared at you for a moment, his eyes darting around your face as you looked at the pavement. “Are you alright?”
“Do you often take the help for a walk?” you questioned, your tone soft but the words bit at him anyway. 
“What?” he questioned.
“Nothing, it’s stupid. Go back to your story Charles,” you sighed, walking on. 
He grabbed your hand, turning you back to him. “Please talk to me. I feel like you know everything about me, and I know nothing about you.”
“What would Lady Sophia say if she saw us walking together?” you scoffed. 
“Why would that matter?” 
“I saw you two,” you said.
“Whatever you saw, trust me, there is nothing there,” he pleaded. 
“It didn’t look like that to me,” you scoffed. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter.”
“She was just… taking her chance again, even after I explicitly told her not to.”
“Sure,” you nodded. “It doesn’t matter anyways. Charles.”
You were both silent for a moment. He took the opportunity to study your face. The way your eyebrows creased, the tightness of your lips, the determined stare forward. He smiled. You were so smart, and headstrong, and right all the time (which kind of drove him crazy), but he loved it all. He loved you. 
“I hope you’ll come tomorrow night,” he admitted. You looked at him confused. “The Ball. My coronation.” 
You couldn’t do it anymore. You had to tell him. He couldn’t keep living this lie, and neither could you. “Charles, I need to tell you something-”
But he kissed you. Of course, he fucking kissed you, because he’d been wanting to do it since the day you arrived at the palace. He was in love with you, if he hadn't made that obvious enough, and yes, he kissed you, because the fact that he hadn’t yet was driving him mad. He didn’t want Sophia, he didn’t want anyone else, he wanted you. 
And it was everything he could’ve dreamed of. His arms circled your waist, pulling you close to him, while his lips explored your soft ones, the taste of cherry on them. You must use some sort of cherry lip balm, and it quickly became one of his favourite tastes. Your arms slowly crept up to wrap around his neck, and when he pulled back you just pulled him back in. 
This was the real Charles. The one who loved people unabashedly and didn’t care what people thought. This was that 20 year old boy in the photo. This was the boy you had slowly fallen in love with, without even realising it. 
And it was wonderful. 
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
Much to your chagrin, while you were off tonguing the next King of Monaco, Lady Sophia and Cousin Arsehole were busy looking through your things. Unluckily for you, they found something.
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
Charles sat in the driver’s seat of his Ferrari, half willing himself to man-up, and the other half begging himself to turn around. He couldn't though, not when he was this close to finally visiting his father’s resting place for the first time in months. 
He got up and out of the car, your voice in his head telling him to get over himself, with that soft, perfect, smile on your lips. 
He walked up to the grave, determined to speak to his father once again. 
“I’ll take the crown,” he whispered, his eyes flooding with tears. “I’ll never measure up to you, but I will take it. For you and for mom.”
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
You stood in your room, wondering what the fuck one wears to a coronation. 
Arthur stood in the doorway, smiling brightly. He frowned when he saw your dress. 
“It’s this or pyjamas,” you dead-panned. He walked in, taking the dress out of your hands and sitting on your bed. 
“How’s the story coming along?” he asked. “Nearly done?”
“Almost,” you huffed, laying beside him. 
He sighed. “I’ll miss you when you go,” he admitted, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. You almost forgot how much he’d been through, his sunny demeanour always seemed to make you forget his troubles.  “It was nice to have a friend.”
You turned to him. “I’ll always be your friend,” you smiled. “And I’ll be cheering you on in Haas, and in everything else you do. I think you’re brilliant Arthur, seriously.”
He chuckled. “Thank you. I hope everything goes well for you back in New York.”
 “I hope so too,” you teased, wiping a tear off his cheek. 
“I got you something,” he smiled cheekily, handing over a small box. 
“Arthur!” you scolded. “We said no gifts!”
“There was no way I was following that,” he chuckled. “Open it!”
You slowly opened the box, inside there was a beautiful necklace with a beautiful blue topaz on the end. “Oh my god Arthur, this is beautiful,” you whispered. 
“To remind you of the boat day” he grinned. “So you will never forget me.”
You smiled, your eyes cloudy with unshed tears. “I could never forget you, Arthur.” 
Then in walked Jade, his girlfriend, with an array of gowns on a rack. 
“Oh no,” you whispered. 
“Oh yes!” Arthur cheered. 
It was going to be a long afternoon. 
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You stood at the top of the steps, terrified of what anyone would say. Arthur had styled you (aka, Jade let him pick the dress) and while you thought you looked beautiful, you were slightly worried about what the nobility in the room would think. It had been fun though, an afternoon of being pampered and becoming friends with Jade was a lot more enjoyable than it was nerve-wracking. You slowly descended the steps, looking for Arthur, when Charles caught your eye. He looked beautiful, his hair perfectly styled, his suit perfect, his face perfect. He smiled up at you, excusing himself from his mother and brother to take your hand as you left the bottom step. 
“You look beautiful,” he smiled, taking in your dress. IN all honesty, there wasn’t a word for how he thought you looked. Regularly, a look from you made his heart stop. This? A different level. He was enamoured. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, even if he wanted to. 
You felt your cheeks heat. “Thank you,” you smiled. “You look pretty handsome yourself.” 
He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “I will see you in there, alright? I have to-”
“Do what you need to Charles,” you chuckled. “I’m not running away at midnight.”
He smiled. “I’m glad.”
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
Despite the fact that it was a royal ball, it was quite entertaining. Different Duke’s and Duchess’s were dancing, letting loose, and getting pretty drunk, but you just sat with Arthur and Jade and laughed at them. The ballroom was magnificent, the tall ceilings and Christmas lights all around, and in the centre of the hall there was a 36 foot (yes, about the height of a telephone pole) Christmas tree, decorated perfectly. Even though you were miles and miles away from home, it was still nice to be celebrating with people you love. 
As you were speaking to Jade, someone started speaking. 
“Might I have the first dance, mon amour?” Charles asked, barely above a whisper as he wrapped an arm around your waist. 
You turned to him, your face dropping. “Seriously?”
“Well, as long as you promise not to tread on my feet, we should be alright,” he chuckled, leading you to the dance floor. You joined on, doing a simple waltz (you thanked your father mentally for making you take ballroom classes as a child), and it was very sweet. It was nice to be so open about being close to each other, no longer shying away from each other's affections. You liked having Charles so close. He liked having you in his arms. 
Win-win. 
“I wanted to thank you,” he said as you waltzed around the hall. “I wouldn’t be accepting the crown if it wasn’t for you, so thank you for telling me to grow up.”
You chuckled. “I think you’re giving me too much credit there.”
He shrugged. “I do not think so,” he smiled. “You make me feel comfortable, you’re the most genuine person I have met since… well probably since birth.”
Again, that nauseating feeling in your stomach urged you to run away and hide from him, even though your heart (as mad as it sounds) longed to never let him go. “I have to tell you something.”
He nodded. “You can talk to me about anything.”
As he spoke, the music stopped, and it was time. He would be crowned King. 
“Tell me after,” he whispered, as all eyes went to him. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck.”
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
“I dispute this claim!” Lady Sophia’s voice shocked the room and you. Charles was so close, so close to taking his rightful seat as the King, and of course, someone had to make it difficult. 
“On what grounds?” the Archbishop asked.
“The grounds that he is in fact, not the rightful heir,” she smirked, smug as ever. “Prince Charles, and his brother Arthur, were in fact adopted by the late King Hervé and our Queen Pascale, therefore are not of the blood of the Royal family, as per this document.”
The certificate was taken from her, and shown to the Archbishop. “Where did you obtain this document?”
“I obtained it by uncovering a scheme by an American journalist, Ms. Martha Whelan, or should we call you Y/n Y/l/n?” 
All eyes went to you as the room was full of gasps. 
You knew you should've turned tail and ran, you knew you shouldn’t have stayed on when Arthur found out, and you knew you shouldn’t have fallen in love with the Prince of fucking Monaco. You were the dumbest person you’d ever met. 
You didn’t dare look at Charles, knowing what his expression would be. You just looked down. 
“Is that true, you are a journalist?” the Archbishop questioned. 
You spoke confidently, though the regret was evident in your voice. “I am.”
The room was in upheaval. Everyone was angry, everyone was confused, and everyone needed an answer. 
“And your Majesty, this certificate?”
The room went silent as Pascale began to speak. “It is legitimate.” 
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
You were running out as quickly as humanly possible, trailing just after Charles. 
“Charles, please, just let me explain-!”
“Explain what?” he spat, turning to you. 
“I’m sorry. I never meant for anything like this to happen, and I understand that you never want to see me again. I just had to tell you I’m sorry, and the only reason I kept it up was for you and Arthur.”
“And you couldn’t have told me?!”
“Arthur made me promise I wouldn’t tell you,” you sniffled. 
His face dropped. “He knew?”
You nodded, wiping away your tears. This wasn’t for you to be upset about. This was your mistake, and you couldn't fix it. 
“Why wouldn’t he let you tell me? Did he know he was adopted?”
You shook your head. “He doesn’t know. And I don’t know why he wouldn’t let me tell you. I just… he asked me not to.”
He stared at you for a moment, and it wasn’t those same, shining eyes that made your heart leap. It was the cold, dead, reserved eyes that made you want to run away and never come back, that stared back at you. “I’m glad you have your story. I suggest you stay out of our lives from now on.” 
And with that he walked on.
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
New York was colder than you remembered. You had decided to just go straight to your apartment, turn off your phone, and binge watch shitty reality tv shows until you could show your face in public again without wanting to sob every time you saw something that remotely reminded you of Charles and Monaco. 
But something nagged at you. The acorn, the poem, ‘a love far greater than blood’. You didn’t understand it. So you spent about 12 hours working on deconstructing it, and you thought of something. Maybe it was your delusions after not sleeping for a day (or two), but maybe the acorn ornament could prove something, so you sent your findings over to Arthur, hoping they would make sense, and turned your phone back off, blocking all of their numbers and falling into a very needed sleep. 
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
The next few weeks were full of clearing out your office (you quit), looking for a new job, and starting off as an actual journalist, not just cleaning up some sleaze work. It was nice, peaceful. Writing articles about things that mattered to you, things that would help people, things that weren’t a certain King of Monaco.
Life was good. Getting over your heartbreak was hard, but you were starting to believe that you might actually be alright. 
You sat in your dad’s diner, ready to ring in the New Year, when there was a snowball thrown on the glass, and when you looked outside, there he was.  
Quickly, you ran outside. “What are you doing here?” you questioned. 
He shrugged, “I never got to say goodbye, or thank you.”
“Please don’t thank me, I honestly should be apologising again and again for what I did, I am so sor-”
“You opened a door that should’ve been opened years ago. Arthur showed me what you’d done. Half because I couldn’t believe he could do it on his own, and half because… I thought it was going to be a message from you. You blocked me…”
“I didn’t want to risk bothering you anymore,” you sighed. 
“You’d never bother me,” he smiled, pausing for a moment. “Arthur misses you. So do I.”
“I miss you both too,” you smiled. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Y’know, a palace is a lonely place for a king, when he has no queen,” he admitted. 
“It’s a good thing you’re an eligible bachelor then,” you chuckled. “Good night Charles, thank you for coming to see me-”
“I love you,” he confessed. “You made me a better man- you make me a better man. I don’t even want to spend time without you, do you understand that?” he asked, getting down on one knee and revealing an engagement ring. 
You frowned, your eyes tearing up. “Charles, I am not nobility-”
“I don’t care,” he smiled.
“My entire life is in New York-”
“We can come back as much as you want.”
“What will the people think?” you sniffled, and he stood up, wrapping his arms around you. 
“They’ll think you're a kind, caring, beautiful woman with a very intelligent mind, and brilliant ideas, who is loved very much by their King,” he whispered, then pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. 
“We barely know each other Charles-”
“And yet I’ve never been more certain in my life. And I’m known to be indecisive-” 
He stopped talking because you’d started kissing him. 
Jesus Christ, you were going to be the Queen of Monaco, what a story that was.
‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡
a very f1 christmas! masterlist (2024)
navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)
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crosbyism · 5 months ago
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"but then again this is the guy who’s publically known for loving to eat ass so"
I'm sorry, I thought Nate eating ass was fanon. Are you telling me this is an actual canon fact??
god i love when people don’t realise how much “fanon” around sid and nate is actually canon. it’s like heroin to me. also bc it’s like. 90% of the stuff in fics (which is probably why people assume it’s fanon but. oh boy it’s not. there’s shockingly little fanon around these two, mostly because canon is so abundant).
yes, nathan mackinnon is a known ass-eater. let me direct you to this post, anon. you’re welcome.
other nate (and sid) facts you might not have realised are canon:
nate is a known advocate for therapy. he’s been seeing a sports therapist since 2017
they wear matching clothing all the fucking time, sid has said publicly that he started wearing white sneakers and updated his wardrobe due to nate’s influence (iirc nate might’ve even bought him his first pair of white sneakers? either that or it was a “he told me i need to so i did” situation). they share a tailor. unfortunately i now have to bring your attention to the fact that since they have an alarming amount of matching clothes that they’ve bought for each other, that means that they in fact have to know each other’s clothing sizes off by heart. they also low-key share clothing btw
their families celebrate canada day together and their dads are best friends. in-law behaviour goes crazy
nate did in fact stalk his way into sid’s heart (got the same personal trainer and agent at age 13; built his house next door in 2017; they’ve been spending every day in the summers together since at least 2015. sid cooks for them daily, or at least did pre-pandemic. sid refuses to use nate’s gym tho so they always use sid’s).
nate used to have a fan twitter account more or less where he rooted for the pens. it was active until 2017.
sid and nate regularly go to summer weddings together as each other’s dates. they have done this since, once again, at least 2015
nate has confirmed that he used to have a poster of sid on his wall as a teenager (he didn’t confirm he used to jerk off to it but frankly. i think that’d be saying the quiet part out loud)
when sid won the cup in 2009 and held the parade in cole harbour, nate stood by the side of the road watching it. he was about to turn 14, he was already working with sid’s trainer and agent, and he was about to start attending shattuck (sid’s junior high). due to old pics we also know that this was RIGHT before nate had his first growth spurt and hit puberty. i’m not saying seeing sid with the cup kickstarted nate’s puberty and gave him his first boner but i’m not NOT saying it
nate dated vanessa morgan of riverdale fame in his rookie year. she’s now good friends with elias petersson from the vancouver canucks (this means nothing but i do think it’s a very funny coincidence).
nate schmidt, formerly of the VGK, once failed a drug test (it turned out to be a testing-fuck-up); when nhl players were asked about it natemack iconically said “i don’t think he was sticking a needle up his ass” (i just like this one)
when he was a kid, the one other thing sid wanted to be was a hairdresser. nate, on the other hand, “didn’t have a plan B”
nate is canonically possessive of sid (see: the asg 2024) and sid is canonically delighted by this and into it
they go on so many lunch dates in the summer my dude. they go grocery shopping together. like there’s so many pics of them in grocery stores or out having coffee or weird green shakes
oh i almost forgot, they went on a roadtrip through ireland last year. they’ve been on holiday together multiple times over the years though. done some eurotripping together and stuff. in 2015 they spent three months together, three weeks of which were spent living in sid’s santa monica condo together just the two of them
sid has put up a picture of every stanley cup winning captain in his basement since 2008, when the pens lost in the scf to DET. apparently this serves as motivation for him to win the cup. he notoriously does not watch the playoffs after the pens are out
however, he partied so hard at nate’s cup party he actually closed down the party with his dad. nate is the only non-teammate sid’s ever been seen supporting for a cup run (he’s also never been to his teammates’ cup parties afaik so. there’s that)
also they talked on the phone daily and between periods during nate’s cup run. they also canonically have almost weekly phone dates that can run multiple hours. quote nate “i can’t talk to anyone else the way i can talk to him”
they each have pictures of the two of them together framed in each other’s houses
there’s rumours they’re building adjoining houses on neighbouring properties in cape breton next to a golf course bc apparently being neighbours in halifax isn’t enough or something. this one is as yet unconfirmed by reputable sources though
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corvidcrossbow · 8 months ago
Text
~•♡•~ Total Eclipse Of The Heart
➳ Summary: You take Daryl to watch the 2017 solar eclipse (Daryl x GN!Reader)
➳ Setting: Southern Virginia, August 21st, 2017 (in the 6 year timeskip in season 9)
➳ Word count: 1.6k
➳ C/W: Nothing
➳ A/N: Simple thing cuz I hated Leah watching something as special as the eclipse w/ Daryl in the show cuz I DO NOT LIKE her ass so I rewrote it cuz I believe there's few things more bonding than watching an eclipse with someone. Whippin out the dad music reference on this one. (I am working on reqs! I just have training for my job which my boss very reassuringly dubbed “bootcamp” and health shit is beating my ass I need to call like 3 specialty clinics again um 🗿)
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“Ya ever gon’ tell me where we goin'?”
“Nope. Almost there,” You replied, a cheeky grin on your face as you swiveled your head back to glance at Daryl who sat behind you on his motorcycle. You'd dragged him out of his guilt-ridden solitude in the forest and demanded he get on, saying you needed to show him something and would not be taking ‘nah’ for an answer. You'd been driving southwest for nearly two hours now, headed towards something specific.
Daryl had little sense of the date, having spent nearly the last 3 ½ years out in the woods, wrapped up in his search for Rick. You stayed with him from time to time, Carol checking in as well, but he was too stubborn to go home with either of you no matter how many times you urged it. Even if he knew the day, you weren't sure he'd even know why it was special.
You, however, had been tracking the calendar and lunar cycles, and kept one specific date and pattern in your mind for the last 7 years; August 21st, 2017. You remembered ages ago, reading on science forums and listening to programs on the television, that today, the paths of the moon and the sun would perfectly align and grace a total solar eclipse across the entirety of the United States.
Your lives were such shit in so many ways: flesh eating, rotting corpses snarling after you at every second, run in after run in with malicious and corrupt people and groups, the lack of food, water, shelter and security, so many people gone – and that didn't include everything from before the dead reawoke. And with Daryl unadmittably depressed after the bridge, you would've done anything to show him there were other things in life to focus on. To live for.
So you left Alexandria early in the morning, found Daryl's camp, and forced him to join you. At first he'd thought something godawful had once again disturbed the communities, so bad you couldn’t tell him. But when you started driving the opposite direction, he grew confused and repeatedly asked what was going on, yet you never gave him an answer. Still, he trusted it was important – trusted you – and let you lead him.
❥-》》—————➣
You pulled off the side of the road, powering down the engine and putting up the kickstand, sliding off and stepping to walk into the forest. You'd gone further down into Virginia, knowing that was closer to totality. It wouldn't be complete, but the distance made a difference. “Alright, c'mon.”
Daryl grabbed your wrist, tugging you back and catching your attention, his eyebrows narrowed. “Really? Tha hell's s’all this? Ya haul me'ah hundred miles away tah walk in tha damn forest?”
“Ya spend all your time in a forest anyway, Dixon.” His expression hardered a little, and you sighed. “Please just follow me. I promise you, it's worth it.”
He looked over the features of your face, judging the sentiment they conveyed, and after a moment let you go. You were already here, no point in going back now. As you spun back around, he begrudgingly trailed after you.
You scanned the environment as you went, stopping near an opening in the canopy of trees that gave view to the sky. You could tell by the slanting of shadows and the slightly abnormal shape of light above you that the process had already begun, all that was left was to observe. So you set your bag down and sat, motioning for Daryl to as well.
“Thi'sa picnic or sum?” He questioned, grunting a little as he unsurely slung his belongings off his shoulder to the ground and did the same, settling beside you.
“Could be, I do have some food.” He didn't seem amused. “But no, not a picnic. You know what the day is? Any idea why it's meaningful?”
“Ts'summer, kno’ tha’. M'ah supposed tah kno’?”
“Maybe, I don't expect you to. Here.” You twisted and opened your bag, reaching for a welding mask you'd brought along and passed it to him. “Look at the sun.”
The archer eyed the facial shield, then you, but listened and held it to his face before shifting his gaze up. He squinted, taking sight of the arc carving that ate into the historically circular form of the burning celestial body. And you explained; “It's August 21st… 2017.”
He had to think for a bit. “Tha eclipse?” He lowered the mask and peered back at you. Memories lodged deep in the layers of his mind sparked; learning about eclipses way back in highschool and hearing his teacher mention it, then the annular one in ‘94 and seeing pictures plastered all over the news where they discussed the future.
“Yeah, thought we should see it. It'll look better down here, not perfect, but still… and the lens on that is dark enough it shouldn't hurt our eyes,” You answered, taking your own look before laying back and using your bag as a pillow. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but that's roughly the last thing you cared about right now.
He couldn't help but just stare for a minute, studying how nonchalant you were about everything. How you'd so easily removed him from his rut when so many other attempts had failed, even with his cluelessness around your intentions – like some larger force took hold and finally willed him to break his destructive routine.
Daryl sprawled out next to you on the forest floor, trading the welding shield back and forth over the course of the next half hour, as well as a piece of paper to see the casted geometry. You both watched as more and more of the sun was etched away, taking mental images each time and comparing the new form to the old. It was mostly quiet, lost in similar awe but varying thoughts. You inched closer every time it was his turn, assuming he noticed but didn't point it out.
“Y'know… total solar eclipses are meant to be when the deities and energies fuse, just as the paths do. A window for opportunities and transformation… time for change,” You commented, recalling all people said about the symbolism of such an event. He gave an ‘Mm’, just so you knew he'd heard you, but paid more attention to the progression in the ethers.
The world around you began to rapidly darken, a sliver of orange glow visible in the makeshift glasses. Knowing it was close, you slid your left palm into his right, weaving fingers together, and he returned the hold, still remaining absorbed in the view.
The moon crossed over the sun – at least as best it would from your vantage point; golden rays illuminating around solid black. As Daryl's eyes locked on the sky, taking it all in, yours locked on him, choosing to watch him over a potentially once in a lifetime occurrence. He lowered the mask to briefly see it fully, now reaching for the sheet.
He looked at peace, maybe for the first time in his life: the constant storm of thoughts that persistently clouded his mind finally parting, even if for just a small moment. You witnessed the glitter of genuine emotion return to his blue's, something you'd feared was so long abandoned it may have been forgotten. Rich browns of his wavy hair glowed iridescent auburns when shimmers of sunlight peeked through the leaves, perfectly complementing everything about his being.
You knew you each needed that change.
“I love you.”
He took a second, making sure the sound of your voice was real and not crafted by his own imagination. His head turned, somewhat staggered to find your eyes already meeting his. It was impossible to rip away, your visions warping together as you seemed to merge, entranced by the little crescents that reflected on each other's irises. His free hand ditched the paper and reached over as he partly rolled to his side.
“For a long time.”
In fluid movements, Daryl's calloused fingers smoothed across the delicate skin on your cheek, leaning in and bringing you to him in a longing kiss. You didn't entirely expect it, although you didn't expect anything in particular at all, too unsure of how he'd react. But you pushed back against him, deepening the kiss and paying no thought to anything beside how it felt to finally overlap with him – till he broke away.
“I love ya too,” He mused, accent thickening in the confession. When you opened your mouth to continue, he shut you up with another peck and angled your face straight above. “Watch. M'not bein’ tha reason ya miss this.”
Words could wait, but the eclipse would not. So you obliged, cuddling closer to him and squeezing his hand as birds and insects sung in a concerned ensemble triggered by the daylight's disappearance.
The tranquility was eerie, a sensation mostly left in the rubble of society and replaced by prevalent chaos. You wondered if the feeling was shared elsewhere; at home with everyone in Alexandria, with survivors across the entire rest of the country. Maybe those who didn't know thought the holy spirit was returning to rescue your raptured souls. Did the walkers pause to look too? Everything so out of the ordinary it caught their attention?
But none of that mattered to you, because you had it here. And you basked in it with the one person you'd always hoped you would've.
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©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.
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iridessence · 1 year ago
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I would like to take a moment to acknowledge myself and say that I am elated and proud to have manifested some of my major goals since 2018-2019. Basically before then, 2014-16 I struggled with depression and suicidal ideation quite frequently due to not having steady income, as jobs in retail seemed the only available and “safe” options, but long shifts standing at a registers or posts were damagingly hard on my body. In 2017 I got a desk job that set me on the path of financial stability and reduced physical load, which did absolute wonders for my mental health but it was an absolute blight to my existence over time due to terrible management and the usual corporate garbage. I knew that staying there was fine for a time but not sustainable in the long run, so change must come eventually.
also around then, I continued to explore self portraiture and personal style but I really wanted to perform/create Burlesque acts and book them, and invest in and actually have choreography/technique and beautiful costume pieces that looked like the visions refining themselves in my head through research. I was also perpetually struggling in the dating sphere with the deficit of romantic fulfillment that I deeply wanted. and while they weren’t hostile, things were definitely weird with my family (dysfunctional, literal small town energy, upset that I didn’t want to be around them more in the suburbs but lots of interpersonal toxicity and lack of emotional growth).
I knew that in the coming years I wanted to…
quit my soul sucking job and set out to be a full-time or at least professional level burlesque performer, creating the qualitative and classic show girl acts I dream to see on stage
work on the floor at a boutique or mom-and-pop type shop that sells goods or services that are interesting to me, especially aesthetically, such as an antique shop or a jewelry boutique etc., but a place where I could sit intermittently as needed for my physical disability. Also, ideally it would be a position where I could express myself through style at my choosing and it would be received well, and also my hours would not be very early or very late.
find a loving and supporting partner who I could lavish equal amounts of love and support on to, live with and hopefully marry
Achieve/maintain financial stability enough that I have a reduced risk for homelessness and sometimes treat myself to things that I enjoy.
Figure out why the relationship with my family was such a struggle and do things within my power and desire to fix it.
In a world that isn’t a corporate machine devoid of empathy, none of that seems like a tall order to ask… but I live in America so… It took some time, but I’m starting to see the fruits and returns. Honestly sometimes things feel like a blur and I’m not exactly sure I could say there was a huge system to what I did overtime to make it work, but I know the work was there.
As of today, September 9, 2023:
I am a respected professional burlesque performer with costumes I figuratively gag over and acts that come closer and closer to hitting the aesthetic nail on the head for what I want to embody. (I quit that shitty desk job at the beginning of 2019 and haven’t looked back since. Sent a whole ass company wide message with a long and detailed “fuck you” too.😂🙈)
i’ve managed through burlesque, social media work, donations and savings, and —since the global pandemic—,odd jobs and grants/minimal loans, to continuously pay rent and ward off homelessness 
I live with the love of my life, to whom I am engaged and actively planning our wedding (we looked at a venue yesterday!)
I’ve helped my mom on the growth of her emotional intelligence and commitment to learning more about values under the race, gender, and sexuality umbrella, as well pushed her to examine the enabling and entitlement dynamics with her adult children that take advantage of her. While my relationship with my brother and sister is not great, my relationship with my mom has been steadily getting better since the pandemic. we had a breakthrough at the beginning of this year where she acknowledged and apologized for guilt tripping me for not being around the family more, when I was (she quoted) “actually protecting myself like she should have been.”
and litcherally within the past week I was offered the job at a local boutique I interviewed with a year ago and didn’t get, and I signed an offer letter to begin work within the month. 
To say I’m happy with the way things look right now is an understatement. The world still terrifies me, but I have no choice but to carve out a sliver of its beautiful experiences for myself, and I am doing just that. It may not be perfection, but it’s pretty damn good and I’m going to do everything in my power to keep it that way and make it even better. I am living my ancestors' wildest dreams!!
for anyone reading who might be struggling right now to make things work, I hope you hold on to hope that it can get better. A beautiful life is possible even on this hell scape, even for the marginalized.
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olivette-branch · 3 months ago
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Oh baby, is it time.
normally this is where you'd expect to see @yamball and her magnificent primers.
Alas, it is but me and my attempt to let the world know about the puck-slinging, hit-throwing, scared of haunted houses, pale as a vampire forward that has captured our hearts:
Tye Kartye
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photo credits: steph chambers
*disclaimer: all of this information is googleable & found across various interviews from Tye, his parents and other information surrounding him & games he has been in! If you want a link to a specific article, please feel free to ask! Also, feel free to send this to others, but keep the primer on tumblr & don't crosspost to other platforms :) keeping fourth walls intact is very important to me.
Childhood
Tye Kartye was born to Richelle & Todd Kartye on April 20, 2001.
His mom is a clinical nurse educator & his father is a chemistry teacher in Kingston.
Tye also has a younger sister, Talya, who is two years younger. They were both also incredibly athletic kids. Tye played soccer and hockey, plus touch football while Talya played basketball and volleyball.
This boy is also so hardworking. Well-known by the nickname, "No Quit" Kartye, he is constantly lauded by numerous past coaches as incredibly hard-working, and focused. To quote his dad, he knew from his childhood that, "he wanted and was going to be in the NHL."
included also, since there are very few photos of Karts as a kiddo: here are some of his Prezi's. Note from topics like stick flex to environmental effects, he is so dedicated and focused in his details. Truly a teachers' son
Stick Flex Prezi
Environmental Effects Prezi
Tough Road Ahead
Of course, Tye's path hasn't been easy to where he is and it starts pretty young.
He took the more traditional route, played in house leagues before going up into high school hockey and then AA & AAA.
Of course, then comes time for the OHL draft. Karts isn't drafted in the first round, nor the second round, not even the third.
Tye is drafted by the Soo Greyhounds in 2017 in the eighth round. Not only is he selected dead in the middle, but he also was cut his first training camp. Instead, he went back to midget AAA and worked his ass off.
In fact, his former coach John Dean, who was named HC of the Greyhounds in 2018-2019 had heard about the skinny kid told to get bigger/stronger in his exit meeting. He came in that year, and said about Karts that "Here comes this moose of a man, who clearly took direction very literally and took it to heart."
Karts took his time in the OHL, and spent a good bit of it working to improve. As it came closer to draft time, he bumped up his work to a more physical level. This was supposed to help his game, but also his potential for the draft. Keep this in mind.
Karts was first eligible for the 2019 draft. He was not selected. Now, he'll mention that he didn't feel he was ready at all at the time.
But! He does partake in the 2019 Development Camp for the Toronto Maple Leafs.
So, Karts plays another year and, is eligible for the 2020 draft.
He isn't selected again. In fact, routinely his scouting reports talk about his skating ability, or lack thereof. Even for a larger player for his age (6'0 and 175+), his skating was seemingly enough of a deterent. He was disappointed, especially after a good season.
Then 2020-21 hits and the OHL season is cancelled. Tye keeps practicing.
photo credits: this blog post about tye
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The Undrafted Kid
2021 comes, and the Kraken need bodies for their first development camp. They've got draft picks (Matty Beniers, Ryker Evans, Ryan Winterton to name a few) but they've gotta invite a few more for the incoming guys to spend time with.
Mike Dawson, a scout for the Kraken, started doing his homework. He noted how weird it was this kid hadn't been picked, mentioned it might be because he's a later bloomer.
He gets an invite to the 2021 Development Camp, and while he doesn't get a contract the Kraken now know his name.
He begins to push in his 2021-22 season with the Greyhounds. Not only did he recieve an A, he also scored over 100 career points with them, but also ended the year 4th overall in league scoring, and led the league in PPGs and GWGs as well as ended the season with 79 points (and 57 PIMs, he's been a bit of yapper his whole life).
So March 2022 hits, and the Kraken finally bite. Tye gets an ELC, and he's ready to work.
Also additionally, Ron Francis is an ICON for Tye, who is a Soo Greyhounds alum. The Rink in the Soo is literally on Ron Francis Way.
CVF + Hard Work makes the Dream Work
Tye comes into the new CVF team for the 22-23 season. He attended Kraken training camp, but let's be real. Tye needed more time to prepare.
Karts comes in, and is ready to show off what he can do. He also is trading cold, Canadian weather for the hot Valley and grabbing his golf clubs.
Note of importance: he becomes really good friends with Ryker Evans & Luke Henman.
He starts as a fourth-liner. And, he struggles. He has little ice time, as well as few opportunities.
But, he gets better. And better, and better and better. Soon, he's one of the Firebird's top 6 forwards, and he's skyrocketing towards being a potential call up.
Although it comes later, by the end of the 22-23 Firebirds season (off of a devastating Game 7 loss to the Hershey Bears), Tye is awarded the Dudley "Red" Garrett Memorial Award for AHL Rookie of the year and is also placed on the AHL Rookie All-Star Team. He led all rookies in points, and appeared in every game for the Firebirds that season.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves, because Tye's breakout moments in the AHL don't just end there. They lead to the real deal.
photo credits: Firebirds Media
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The Call Up & Goal Heard Round Colorado
So come April, Tye gets recalled to the Kraken who are going on a completely unprecedented and expected playoff run. Not only is it a little unexpected (he's a rookie coming up from his first year in the AHL instead of a vet, and he's having to replace the Jared McCann).
But, Tye gets it because of what has always been the case. He's a hardworker, a grinder and he will make others notice him through it.
So, he comes in for Game 5 of the First Round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs versus the Colorado Avalanche. He finds out that morning he's playing, and sends a single word text to his mom, just saying "playing" at 12:00 PM EST.
His parents begin their journey to Denver, arriving just a few minutes into the first period.
The first period stays scoreless, and the second begins. Geekie scores, before a response by Nathan MacKinnon.
Then a few moments later, Nate MacKinnon trips and is laying on the ground. The crowd is roaring for a call, and Eberle is skating the puck up and around Colorado goal. A quick shot down and a one-timer from Karts nails the puck in the back of the net past the Avs goalie.
Let me say, even for those as a fan of the Avs, the look on NateMac's face when this happens is unbelievable. He's in shock, completely. And meanwhile, Tye is having a fantastic time grinning and celebrating what only 7 other players have done, scoring their first goals in the Stanley Cup Playoffs.
Also, let it be noted that Karts gets back to the locker room after the game. Pure joy from his goal, and what is the first thing he does? Check his phone to see the Firebirds game and how they did.
Not only was that his first instinct, he also was almost more excited about the potential to be back down with the Firebirds. He loves following his dream, but god did he love the Firebirds and family he built there.
Of course, the Kraken’s road to the Stanley Cup is ended in Game 7 of the Second Round vs. the Stars. But! In this time, Kartye has stayed up and even in the place of Jared McCann in some spots.
And then he goes back down to CV for the harrowing journey that was their 22-23 Calder Cup Playoff Run.
photos credit: Steph Chambers & Icon Photography
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The Summer After & Rookie Experiences
Of course, Tye became one to watch in the lead up to the 23-24 season.
During which included a delightful video with bestie Ryker Evans and Matt Tennyson, on Episode 7 of Tenny Talks.
I'm simply going to link to the video, because it is insanely funny and it also shows off Tye's personality so well.
So, the summer ends and Tye ends up with the Kraken for 23-24 season.
I could probably spend hours discussing this season, but for our key highlights we're gonna focus on just a few things.
Throwback to our note of importance: anytime Ryker gets called up, he stays in a hotel. Not only does he end up knowing the car valet by name, any time he does almost anything, it is with Tye & Joey. He literally went over to Tye’s to do laundry while Tye’s girlfriend cooked them dinner. Besties for real.
First and foremost, Tye doesn't get a ton of chances. First rookie up (really the only rookie during the season for the Kraken minus other call ups), he gets scratched first a decent amount of times, especially prior to December. But! He keeps working hard, and by the end of the season he has well cemented his place as a fourth liner (who can def move up the line up if needed to).
Second, he really starts to gain a lot of perspective & skills from Yanni Gourde. Note, not only did he dress up as the Easter Bunny in 2024 for the Kraken's kiddos (like Matty did in 2023), but he also really focuses on the aspects of his game that he can improve and make stronger. So what does he do?
He gets into a few scrums (which early on he loses badly), and becomes known as a player who will fight for his teammates. (key fights include: him absolutely lighting up Pospisil after the first period hit on Adam in the Kraken v. Calgary game on March 3).
He also starts to up his physicality. And when I say up, I mean up. Tye ended the 23-24 season with 229 hits, placing him 19th in the entire league.
And of my favorite: Tye is a Grade A yapper. Like literally, this man will yap whenever he needs to. And one of the most iconic times might I add is against Connor McDavid, who Karts almost succeeds to into scrapping with. Known non-fighter Connor McDavid. (Note: this occurred after McDavid checked Ryker Evans, these firebirds turned squids don't play about each other).
photo credits: steph chambers (i believe, but if not, please correct me!)
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gifs from: @starshipoftheseus
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This Season and Beyond
So where does that leave Tye now? Well, if you tune in to almost any Kraken game, you're sure to see him on the fourth line (likely with Yanni Gourde & Brandon Tanev).
He’s likely to be spotted hanging out with fellow former firebirds Joey Daccord, Shane Wright, and Ryker Evans. They all went to the Halloween party in a group costume and are frequent dinner buddies, with Joey finding gluten-free restaurants for himself and Ryker.
There's also some interest bubbling up, especially because as of posting this, the Kraken re-acquired Daniel Sprong. What does that mean? Well, due to lots of cap things & money stuff, the Kraken essentially with every player healthy can only carry a 20-man roster. This means either someone has to be traded, or you've gotta send the 13th forward down to the AHL. While Karts hasn't been rumored in any trades (and frankly his contract isn't big enough trade value-wise to really help), there is still the possibility he could go on waivers and be sent back down to CV if not performing. So this is definitely a step-up time while the Kraken wait for Vince Dunn to get off of LTIR (which we saw on the 11/12 game against CBJ, where Karts scored the first goal in the second period and his second of the year).
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batboyblog · 7 months ago
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Hi, idk if you're a Mdni page or not, but I'm really scared. I'm 15f, I live in a mostly red state, I've grown up here, and everyone I know is voting red. I was previously in the middle, I didn't care either way who won. I'm terrified of the election after reading about everything the Republican candidate did and plans to do. I wanna know if there's anything I could do to help prevent Trump from winning the election? I have a younger sister, and I don't want her to have to live in a country where her rights are being stripped from her. I just wanna know how to help. Thank you for reading and feel free to delete if I broke a boundary.
for the record I don't mind anyone sending me an ask, everyone is welcome to interact respectfully.
that out of the way, I remember working for Hillary in the 2016 election (by my math you would have been 7?) and our intern was your age and he was... he was everything he was so dryly sarcastic, smart, unflappable, could do anything, he kept us sane and he saved our asses with his can do (and tech skills) more times than I can count.
So to any teens out there who are not yet old enough to vote and think "oh there's nothing I can do" in 2016 we won a Senate race by 1,000 votes, which 100% was the doors we knocked and the voters we talked to out of our office, a 16 year old intern working his ass off saved Obamacare in 2017, not a word of a lie, you can make a difference as an intern or volunteer
Now, from the tone of what you're saying it sounds like your parents would into that, idk if you're parents are the kind of people who let you explore your own thing, or the kind of people who just wouldn't notice, or if they're the kind who would seriously object to you volunteering for the Democrats or progressive groups.
A lot of people assume because they live in Red States or Blue states they don't matter, but for example there are key Senate races this year in Texas, Montana, Ohio, and Florida (Red) and Maryland (Blue) Alaska is a traditionally red state but its one and only Congressperson is a Democrat who will run a very close race to get re-elected again this year. So where ever you live there is a key race, even if it's local. And lots of chances to call voters or send them postcards in swing states
Any ways everyone check out ways to Volunteer Run for Something also supports younger local candidates so if you live somewhere very red or very blue it can be helpful to find locals running for school board or city Council
now for you personally young person, and everyone else, have real and serious conversations with people in your life about this stuff, I can not TELL you how often I knock on someone's door and we talk politics and they tell me "oh well I'm a Democrat, but everyone around here is really a Republican" but like I just talked to 4 other people who were Democrats in their neighborhood, they just saw one Trump sign and gassed themselves up about it. People are often much more swingable than you think, feel everyone out, if there's an adult in your life thats convincible, work on them find out what they care about and bring them facts, be claim and reasonable and work on them. Each of us doing one on one work with people who know us is WAY! more impactful than any TV ad a campaign can buy.
finally if your parents won't let you volunteer for Dems, reach out to the League of Woman Voters, they're not partisan, so they're not Dems or Republicans, they believe in voting. When I was in High School I organized a voter registration drive in my school at lunch time, thats a great thing to do, call your county/town clerk's office and talk to your school, get a social studies teacher involved they love that shit, young people are much more likely to be Democrats so just registering them is helpful.
best of luck, in the words of Hitchhiker's Guide, Don't Panic.
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midnightsslut · 11 months ago
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So was taylor really cancelled in 2016 or was it more that she wasn't as popular as she was/would like to be?
oh she was absolutely canceled. buckle up because I have a lot of thoughts on this djsjsj.
if you were around in the fandom at all, you knew. things were BAD. that level of hate towards a celebrity is honestly rare these days. i would say the only thing that comes close in recent memory is like… idk, it’s actually hard to think of any because it was a combination of a few factors. it’s not that the general public decided to quietly boycott her and stop consuming her music. it’s that there were viral tweets hating on her pretty much every week. if she did anything in 2016-18, it was met with an absolutely asinine amount of criticism. twitter had a field day with things as innocent as her september cover and her post about having a good year in 2017. a lot of celebrities decided to distance themselves and take kanye’s side. there were numerous articles written about how she was finally going down and should apologize for being problematic. people were famously convinced the tour would flop and absolutely celebrated it. people literally told her she was dead. it’s genuinely difficult to explain the scope of this hate train to people who weren’t around at the time, especially because the news cycle is very different now. people get over news stories a lot quicker than they used to.
now, the main argument people use to prove that she wasn’t canceled is the first-week sales of reputation, which is sort of funny to me because all the coverage in 2017 focused on how its performance was lackluster compared to 1989. of course it still sold well compared to other artists’ albums in the first week, because there was still hype around her comeback, and most importantly, she has a huge fan base. none of the singles had longevity except delicate, which fans genuinely worked their asses off to campaign for. the radio did not play her singles like it used to, though this is due to other factors as well. sure, rep was not actually a flop, but it was nowhere near how TS6, the follow-up to one of the biggest pop eras of the decade, could’ve performed without the cancellation. it also got the worst reviews of her career, most of which generally didn’t focus on the music or the lyricism and were just mad at her as a person. yes, this sounds dramatic, considering the fact that it still got a lot of glowing reviews. the media made sure to focus on a lot of the negative stuff, although they were surprised that critics generally seemed to like it.
what’s funny is that, when she spoke about the kanye controversy in interviews in 2019, no one told her she wasn’t ‘really’ canceled, because a lot of people still hated her. they just told her to get over it. the level of hate was nowhere near pre-rep tour levels anymore, but she was still one of the most criticized celebrities, and it was widely believed that her peak had passed (people love to write revisionist history about the lover album and its performance that does not actually reflect the numbers, but that’s another story). now that more time has passed, and she’s even higher than she was pre-2016, people want to convince her that she’s actually wrong.
it’s almost insane to me to chalk up that level of hate to anything other than a cancellation. seeing articles like ‘was taylor swift REALLY canceled?’ and essays on why that’s just in her head will infuriate ANYONE who was online and didn’t hate her. none of the articles I linked here really convey the scope of that hate. taylor really played the long game and came out the other side of it, but she WAS canceled.
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crusty · 4 months ago
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hi, im going down a rabbit hole for a video essay, did you happen to run the turbotasticasks blog back in 2012???
SCREAMS if you've managed to connect me to A TURBO ask blog in 20 fucking 24 that is insane....
I DID run a Turbo ask blog on deviantArt back in 2012
I hadn't checked on it in ages but there are some SOLID STUPID ASS POSTS i was fucking obsessed with his ugly ass as a 14 year old (still am tbh) and I didn't realize how many goddamn pageviews this page got holy christ
There were quite a few Turbo ask blogs on dA at the time, and I was more of a crack/shitposting Turbo, so my version was off the shits insane. Eventually, the fandom died, and I moved onto Homestuck around late 2013 early 2014 and also started using tumblr more than dA! I had some great memories of shitposting, rping on the chatboards, and answering the few questions I did in the short amount of time the fandom was alive
We got some great hits in this crusty era... including but not limited to:
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"I'm okay..."
And
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Turbo selfcest à la 2012 tumblr sexymen ask account selfcest shipping .... THE REAL OGS REMEMBER
WE were very chummy with the onceler fandom. You could imagine the relationship between these 2 sexymen selfcest shipping fandoms to be like the unbreakable bond between early 2011-2013 era homestuck and hetalia fandoms... very very good memories indeed...
My original tumblr username was like @im-turbo-fucking-tastic and I mostly lurked and rbed art back then! I wasn't the most confident posting art on tumblr at the time (it was new and scary and full of cool older people) and it wouldn't rly be until around 2016/2017 when the homestuck obsession came back in full swing, grabbed me by the cock and swung me into a high voltage line
If you have ANY OTHER QUESTIONS, feel free to pester me. I'd love to see what you're working on!!!! I MISS THE WRECK IT RALPH FANDOM SO MUCHHHHH
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Thank you for the ask <3 XD
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thebunnybabyblog · 7 months ago
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either Severus or y/n having a bad day so the other smothers then with kisses 😩
I am so so so sorry this is so late. I kind of went a tiny bit manic and my life went a lil nuts 😋✨💕 oopsie am I right fellas lol anyway if there are mistakes plz ignore I re read it like 5 times but I always forget something lol
Summery: you have very bad day and Sev saves ya from lit crying in the rain. What a good man Sev 💕
Paring: reader and Severus Snape
Word count: 2017
Type: fluff
Your keys fumbled to the ground as they slipped from your wet hands and landed on the welcome mat below. The storm that had appeared out of nowhere as you walked home from the station had really been the icing on the terrible cake that was today. Every moment of the day had something about it that added to the meltdown meter overflowing in your head.
The morning was the start of your troubles as you awoke in a wild panic. Sometime during the early morning hours you woke to still see time on the clock and you accidentally turned off the alarm in your dazed state. When you awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and the sun shining you actually felt pretty good but as your eyes looked over to the clock the blood ran from your face.
You ran through the house trying to speed run your morning routine but still managed to make it to work 30 minutes late. Huffing and puffing from the run from the station, you burst through the door crashing into a pile of boxes filled with already organized documents that needed to be sent out. You fell to the ground alongside a frenzy of flying papers. Which resulted in an unpleasant reprimand by your boss loud enough for others to hear.
By the time lunch rolled around, you realized in your panic, you had forgotten to grab your already packed lunch you had put together special the night before. With your last few dollars in your bag you made your way to the corner deli and bought yourself a sandwich.
You chose to eat back to your desk, to make up for the lost time in the morning. Never great at multitasking, you began to take your first bite but distracted by your work your sandwich missed your mouth and made its home on your white blouse below. You just looked down in disbelief. “Why, literally just why.” You thought to yourself. As if you weren’t already embarrassed enough now you had to walk around looking like you were just attacked.
Your day continued to be a shit show as everyone seemed like their lives were also turning to shit because everyone was just so on edge. There were multiple fires to put out and a stick up everyone’s ass. Especially the interns that were tasked with putting back the papers you had graciously destroyed this morning. You could feel their eyes on you most of the day as they were pretty pissed but to be honest you couldn’t blame them. You watched the time slowly tick by as if it was actually purgatory and you’d be stuck in this office for the rest of eternity.
The hum of the lights were making your head ache. The smell of spilled food on the blouse was making you nauseous. The way everyone’s noises were rubbing you the wrong way, every click of a pen, every cough in the distance, every bump to your work space. You were on the verge of a total meltdown. Your leg began to bounce and your fingers tapped hard against your desk. Sweat began to roll down your forehead as it seemed to get hotter and hotter by the second.
You quickly arose from your seat and made your way to the bathroom for a moment of peace. You peaked your head into the restroom and to your amazement you were met with an empty room. Slipping into a stall you sat down, even though you didn’t l have to go, you just needed to step away. The cool air flowed around the room and you took a deep breath to ground yourself.
You reached for your phone and stared down at the screen. Scrolling through your contacts and hovered over Severus' name. Unsure if you should text him, not wanting to bother him with your trivial little problems, you quickly click your phone shut and slip it back into your pocket, or so you thought. You stand again and you must have only half shoved it down because the next thing you know you are fishing your now soaked phone from the toilet below.
You just couldn’t believe your luck today. You were half tempted to believe that someone had put a hex out against you. You just couldn’t catch a break and when the downpour began out of nowhere on your way home you just wanted to lay down in the middle of the street and let Jesus take the wheel of someone's car and take you out of your misery.
The keys falling from your hands was really the last straw though. You were so close to finally escaping the hell that was your day and you just had to endure it that little second longer. One final kick to the ribs. The tears just started flowing and with big loud sobs you were sitting there on your steps in the pouring rain crying as if no one who passed by couldn’t see you.
You were interrupted when the front door opened and you saw Severus’ wide eyed looking down at you in utter confusion. Before he could even ask you what happened you said “I… everything has just gone wrong! I was late! Lunch!” You gesture down to the large stains on your chest as Severus quickly darts his eyes down and back up to you. “My phone?!? This fucking tsunami!! And the keys! The fucking keys!!” You cry out, head now in your hands, still sprawled out on the ground.
Without words Severus swoops you up off the steps and brings you inside and up the stairs to the bathroom. Your muffled cries vibrated into his chest. This wasn’t the first time Severus had seen you have a bit of a meltdown. He wasn’t shy of having his own meltdown here and there but yours were definitely more of emotional meltdowns.
When your relationship first got off the ground and the first time the world got a little overwhelming he wasn’t quite sure what to do but he’s a smart man. He observed your actions and what things could trigger big emotions and he tried his best to counteract those stressors but life wasn’t something you can control.
When he saw you soaking wet crying on the porch he knew it was time for operation atomic damage control. When things were at its peak and there was no simple pat on the back “everything will be ok” pep talk that would fix this. He made his way with you to the bathroom and sat you down on the counter for a moment.
He opened up the curtain and began to fill the bathtub. Not forgetting to add a few pumps of your favorite bubble bath scent. He left the room and came back with a potion of silverish blue liquid. Making his way back to you he places his large palm on one side of your face and peppered your forehead in soft kisses. “I’m sorry your day was sour, my love. I think this should help relieve some stress” He whispers softly down to you.
You still have tears falling but with the kisses you are now quiet in his hands trying to savor his warm touch. You let him place the vial to your lips not even questioning what the liquid even was. “Do you need some alone time? I want to join you but if you need space I understand.” He asks softly in between kisses. Severus is the only person who you want around during these moments of sadness.
He was the strong quiet type through and through. He made you feel safe and loved even if you hadn’t even spoken. Just his presence was enough. You shook your head yes between his palms and he smiled down to you. using his thumbs he gently wiped the remaining tears from your eyes and kissed your head once more before turning his attention back to the bath.
The air was thick with steam and the smell of the bubble bath calms you down. Severus reached down to you and helped relieve you from your soiled wet clothes. Sometimes you needed to be babied a bit and this was one of those moments. He was so gentle as he slipped you off the counter and into the warm soapy water in the awaiting claw foot tub across the room.
Letting out a deep sigh as your cold skin met with the warm water, finally able to begin washing away the worries of the day. Severus moved to retrieve a low stool to sit on and sat it beside you. “Is the water the correct temperature?” He asked down to you. “Mmm yes it’s perfect.” You replied, sinking down further into the bubbles.
He chuckled as he watched you melt away in the soapy water below. His hand slipped over yours as it rested on the side gripping the cool porcelain. His large hand enveloped yours and gently rubbed into your tired skin. The world seemed to begin to melt away and your body became fuzzy and light. “Sev what did you give me?” You asked softly with eyes still closed.
“I knew you never paid attention in class.” He chuckled deeply “it’s The Draught of Peace, you learn it in fifth year but it is a pretty difficult potion to brew.” You could only hum in response as the potion was taking full effect by now. Your once tense limbs were loose and the headache that had formed from your fits of crying had now disappeared.
The added stimulation of the steaming water and soft kisses Severus was planting down on the back of your hand were making your body tingle. It felt so good just to be able to forget about your troubles for a moment. To be completely taken care of by Severus in your moment of need.
You relaxed in the tub for a while letting the warm water turn your body into a prune. After a bit of letting you decompress Severus reached for your bottle of shampoo and gently motioned for you to raise up. The cool gel sent a shiver down your back when he began to massage it into your scalp.
He watched you push your head back into his lathered touch, eyes closed savoring the pampering he wasn’t completely accustomed to showing. He smiled down at you, savoring the view of you pushing yourself to be closer to him.
He would never say this out loud but it was almost as if he could feel the love flowing between the two of you. Right from his fingertips and into you and back around again. He crumpled at the fact that after the mess of a day you had you found solace within him.
You felt comfort and safety in his presence. No matter the horrors of the work day you knew you could come home and fall into his arms and he would help you. Of course you would do the same with him but he wasn’t too accustomed to falling into anyone’s arms willingly (lol), but, you knew if he ever needed it you’d be right there for him.
He washed and conditioned your hair and helped you wash your back when the time came. He was there ready with a soft and warm towel that he had heated up with a flick of his wand. He wrapped you up tightly and made your way into the bedroom to get your coziest pjs, which was just one of his shirts.
While you changed you heard a knock at the door and an exchange between Sev and someone else. By the time you made it down to the living room, in need of a good trash tv show to binge, you noticed piles of Chinese takeaways spread out on the coffee table. “Sev you are one beautiful man you know that right?” You said looking over to him. “Well I do try my best” he said with a laugh
You slithered your way over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. He instantly met your forehead once more are planted kisses down on it. You smiled feeling his lips against your skin. “Thank you for the kisses.” You cooed up to him. “Always my absolute pleasure, my love.”
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mariacallous · 4 months ago
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Wading through the latest dreck from the 2024 campaign, it seems that a racist congressman from Louisiana has demanded that the mythic dog-and-cat-eating, “vudu”-practicing Haitian immigrants of Springfield, Ohio, slurred by Donald Trump on the national debate stage earlier this month, “better get their mind right and their ass out of our country before January 20th.” Or else. Under pressure from colleagues in the House on Wednesday, the congressman, Clay Higgins, deleted the social-media post. Then hours later he told CNN that he stood by it anyway: “It’s all true. . . . It’s not a big deal to me. It’s like something stuck to the bottom of my boot. Just scrape it off.” Asked about the controversy, House Speaker Mike Johnson called Higgins “a dear friend of mine” and a “very principled man.” As for the tweet, Johnson, an ostentatiously devout Christian, replied, “We move forward. We believe in redemption around here.”
Outrage is an impossible emotion to sustain in this age of manufactured political outrage. I know it; Higgins and Johnson surely know it, too. Indeed, they are counting on it. Who, after all, will remember this particular bit of hate speech next week, when there will undoubtedly be so many newer, fresher outrages to be upset about? But still. Maybe pause a minute on this one. While Democrats agonize over the proper levels of policy detail required to prove Kamala Harris’s suitability for the Presidency, Trump and his acolytes have gone deep into the racist recesses of the American psyche to run a campaign meant to stir the passionate hatreds and deepest insecurities of their followers.
J. D. Vance recently made the mistake of publicly admitting the artifice inherent in all this. In an interview with CNN’s Dana Bash, the Republican Vice-Presidential candidate was asked about the alleged Haitian pet consumption and why he and the former President kept bringing up a story that had no basis in fact. “The American media totally ignored this stuff until Donald Trump and I started talking about cat memes,” he said. “If I have to create stories so that the American media actually pays attention to the suffering of the American people, then that’s what I’m going to do.” When Bash expressed shock at his admission, Vance backpedalled, but barely, claiming that he had, in fact, heard “firsthand accounts” from his constituents, causing him to spread the rumor, never mind that they were swiftly debunked. “But,” he concluded, “yes, we created the actual focus that allowed the American media to talk about this story and the suffering caused by Kamala Harris’s policies.”
Days of coverage ensued about what he did or did not admit in the interview, lost in which was the important point that this was not a “gotcha” story about a single errant statement from Vance but a core belief that has underpinned the MAGA approach to politics since Trump’s demagogic début, nine years ago. The jokes about Trump’s “they’re eating the dogs” debate line might have missed the point, which is that when the laughter fades, the slurs remain. This is how propaganda works. Ask Congressman Higgins.
I was reminded of this when I received a call from Fiona Hill, the top National Security Council aide on Russia for much of Trump’s Presidency. Hill told me that she was stunned by how similar Vance’s defiant embrace of the radicalizing power of stories, whether true or not, was to the views advanced by Vladimir Putin’s chief international propagandist, the Russia state-television personality Margarita Simonyan: So what, in effect, if we make stuff up? “I was just really struck: RT and VT—Vance-Trump—are the same,” she said. “It’s the same weaponization of migration and disinformation.”
The episode recalled for Hill an incident early in Trump’s Presidency, in November of 2017, when Trump tweeted out several inflammatory videos from a British far-right group purporting to show attacks carried out by Muslim immigrants. British officials contacted Hill, urging her to get the White House to have Trump pull down his tweets and disavow them. But, she said, when she brought the concerns to the White House press staff, which was then run by the current governor of Arkansas, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, she was rebuffed. Hill was told that Trump was simply using the videos to further his domestic political agenda. When Sanders was then asked about the tweets by reporters, her response was an uncanny preview of Vance’s recent remarks: “Whether it’s a real video,” she said, “the threat is real.”
Vance’s justification for the Springfield slur—that he was really making a point about “Kamala Harris’s policies”—is a reminder of another one of the big lies powering this election: the charade that Trump is actually an ideological MAGA warrior engaging in legitimate and substantive policy dispute, and that that policy agenda is what makes him appealing to his otherwise unrepresented followers. This canard has been one of the most persistent fallacies we’ve heard from Republicans about Trump, a category error that fundamentally misses what kind of politician he really is.
I was reminded of this often overlooked point while moderating a book launch for “The Origins of Elected Strongmen: How Personalist Parties Destroy Democracy from Within,” an important new academic work by Andrea Kendall-Taylor, a former national-intelligence official covering Russia and Eurasia, and two academic colleagues, Erica Frantz and Joseph Wright. Their study places Trump in the international category to which he properly belongs—that of an aspiring autocrat who has taken over the Republican Party and turned it into a “personalist” vehicle for himself, the type of party that, in the authors’ words, exists “primarily to promote and further the leader’s personal political career rather than advance policy.” This is now a global phenomenon, the authors found—from Brazil under Bolsonaro and Turkey under Erdoğan to less cited cases in El Salvador, Georgia, Poland, Senegal, and Tunisia. Putin’s Russia, regrettably, is the modern archetype, a template going back more than two decades that the others have followed.
Where does all this leave the non-MAGA Republican? We actually know the answer to this one: they are hunkered down, still largely planning to vote the party line, averting their eyes, ignoring the slurs, and pretending that Trump and his campaign are something other than what they are. Nikki Haley offered a pretty clear version of the contortions required by the hard-core Republican partisan who both hates Trump and is voting for him anyway, because, well, the policy. During the début of Haley’s new Sirius XM radio show, on Wednesday, she struggled to explain why she was now publicly endorsing a man that she called “toxic” and “totally unhinged” just a few months ago. She said that she had not forgotten his campaign’s personal attacks on her—including, apparently, putting a bird cage outside of her hotel room to emphasize his insult of her as a “bird brain”—but that she was willing to overlook the insults now, because “politics is not for thin-skinned people” and she needed to think of “the good of our country.” She then listed the economy, the border, national security, and “freedom” as reasons why she would make such a sacrifice. Uh-huh.
To the extent that Trump is promoting policy in 2024 at all, his proposals largely revolve around a single theme: he will wave his magic wand and make problems go away. At the G.O.P. Convention in Milwaukee, he promised, “Under my plan, incomes will skyrocket, inflation will vanish completely, jobs will come roaring back, and the middle class will prosper like never, ever before.” In his rallies, he pledges to end the war in Ukraine “in twenty-four hours.” The Republicans’ all-caps political platform, which was approved at the Convention in Milwaukee after being personally dictated, in part, by Trump, contains planks such as vows to “STOP THE MIGRANT CRIME EPIDEMIC” and “MAKE OUR COLLEGE CAMPUSES SAFE AND PATRIOTIC AGAIN.”
Earlier this week in Georgia, Trump appeared at a campaign rally that was billed as a policy rollout for his plans to inaugurate “a new age of American industrialism.” In between extolling his proposed tariffs as a brilliant scheme to “take other countries’ jobs,” Trump, the policy maven, questioned Harris’s intelligence and patriotism, attacked electric cars (except those manufactured by his supporter Elon Musk), and said immigrants were “coming from all over the world” to ruin the country. Trump’s signature moment in this rally, as in other recent speeches, was when he recounted his takeaway from the two assassination attempts against him: “People say: It was God, and God came down and He saved you because He wants you to bring America back.” Still think this is about policy? Kamala Harris might need an eighty-two-page economic plan printed out on glossy paper, but not Trump. His was sent from Heaven above to rescue us. 
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jiraisupportgroup · 7 months ago
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is it okay to be jirai kei if you can't afford the clothes and your parents won't buy them for you does that make you a fake jirai?
♡ short answer ♡
Jirai kei isn’t about the clothes themselves; it’s a community based in accepting & de-stigmatizing mental illness / mental health struggles.
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♡ absolutely unreasonably long answer ♡
(Disclaimer: I am not Japanese nor do I speak Japanese. All of this is what I’ve gathered from other people on the internet in my own research when I was first looking into jirai-kei. I could very well be wrong or just talking out of my ass here - I would take my word with a grain of salt.)
Jirai Kei was loosely formed in 2019-2020. It is primarily based out of Kabukicho which is generally considered the red light district Japan, although the Japanese government is trying to change this.
Kabukicho used to be mostly known for soaplands & host clubs & bars & concept cafes - generally more adult or night-life activities. It still is home to these kinds of places, but before the Olympic Games held in 2021, the Japanese government wanted to clean it up and make the area more presentable to foreigners. Starting around 2017-2018 (from what I can tell) they started adding things like movie theaters, bowling alleys, just overall more general-audience attractions to the area to try and make it more consumable. This did start changing the image of the area; it was now seen more as a cool place to hang out - especially for those who were old enough to participate in the host clubs etc. The downside of this is that although it was seen as a cooler area to hang out & it’s image was more positive - there were still plenty of adult or night-life centered things there & many “catch-guys”. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing, but it did kind of make a perfect storm.
Since Kabukicho was starting to be seen more as a cool hang-out spot, a lot more younger teenagers started wanting to go there. And especially once the pandemic hit and most places were closed down (while many establishments in Kabukicho chose to stay open) the sentiment of “I hate where I am right now, my life here sucks, I want to go to Kabukicho where things seem like fun” got even stronger.
This led to an influx of runaway teenagers going to Kabukicho. Additionally, a lot of runaways in Kabukicho were very fed up with their living situations (hence, why they chose to run away in the first place) and mental health during the pandemic was not great anyway since there was a pandemic going on obviously that’s going to negatively affect people’s mental health. Even further: in 2022, Japan lowered the age of adulthood from 20 to 18, so even more & younger people could participate in the nightlife scene. Again, not necessarily a bad thing; however, it meant a lot of the runaways going to Kabukicho with little money, poor mental health, and generally not knowing what they want to do with their lives were now surrounded by catch guys & night-life workers. Night-life workers make a lot of money. A lot of these kids needed money to support themselves, especially if they didn’t want to go back to their hometowns.
Now, am I saying all adult work is bad or all jirai’s were adult workers - no absolutely not. However, this environment is what kind of started the ball rolling.
Alright so we have set the scene now wtf is jirai kei.
Jirai kei stems directly from the derogatory term “jirai onna” literal translation “landmine woman”. This is a term pretty much used to say “that woman is going to pop off” (like a landmine) & was leveled towards any woman with mood swings, intense emotions, poor coping mechanisms, etc. Keeping in mind that Japan does not have a great medical or social infrastructure for dealing with mental health - and that many people’s mental health was greatly impacted by the pandemic - it is not surprising that a lot of people were in this position. In western circles I’ve seen people tie this really heavily to BPD specifically - but the term isn’t specific to bpd - it’s really anyone who has an emotional outburst, or that the people using the term derogatorily think would have one.
So a lot of people decided to reclaim this term & spin it to be their own thing. Kind of saying “yeah, so what? I am a landmine. My mental struggles are real. They are my reality. And if you don’t like that or think that’s ‘wrong’ fuck you. I’m not going to sugarcoat myself for your comfort”. Additionally the idea was also used as push-back for the societal views around mental illness. They’re pretty much signaling “being mentally ill or facing mental struggles does not mean we are bad people, it does not mean we don’t deserve love, and we should not have to hide our mental struggles or go through these things on our own”.
So if it’s a subculture based around accepting and fighting for mental health, where does the fashion come in?
Most of the fashion you’ll see in jirai kei tags are girly kei, dark girly, ryousangata (loose translation: mass production), or extensions of larme kei (another Japanese fashion which is really similar to girly kei but slightly different). Why is that?
These fashions are generally mass produced & easily available in Japan. Think about Liz Lisa and MA*RS for example. These are BIG brands. They’re not niche or hard to find. Additionally, the style is very popular. Ryousangata is considered SO mass produced that “everyone looks the same” (it’s actually quite popular amongst fans of boy groups). It’s not like a strange or niche or overly special style in Japan.
Especially not in Kabukicho, a lot of people working at concept cafes & the like would wear these types of styles because they’re easy to get, easy to style, and super overly adorable. The fashion also works GREAT for runaways in Kabukicho. They’re capsule wardrobes you can make like 10 outfits with 5 pieces of clothing so it works really well if you’re living out of a suitcase. Also it’s a pretty inexpensive, easy to obtain & super cute so it’s very appealing to these teenagers.
From what I can tell these fashions were most popular in Kabukicho and spread out from there, which is why you’ll see a lot of people say that if you’re dressing in these styles people will assume you work at a con cafe or other night-life-adjacent work, but the style has gotten much more popular over 2023-2024 so this doesn’t seem to necessarily be the case anymore.
However, since these styles were associated (albeit not exclusively) with Kabukicho & con cafés, etc, and because a lot of people in this area were drained from types of jobs or runaways & living in a culture where they’re told they should not talk about or show their negative emotions - the term “jirai onna” would be used against many people in these fashions.
Now, again, this term was not exclusively used for everyone dressed in this style, and not everyone dressed in these styles was considered that, but the link is definitely there. Jirai Kei is not completely removed from dark girly or ryousangata, but it is definitely more nuanced than “jirai kei is dark girly+”, that’s just not the case. Especially now that jirai subcul is much more popular - and a lot of the fashions you’ll see in jirai subcultures are barely girly kei / dark girly / ryousangata, if at all. I’ve seen jirai subcul people wearing just t-shirts and shorts.
However; especially in western societies, a lot of people falsely associate jirai kei with dark girly WAY too heavily. My best guess is because we don’t see ryousangata regularly. A lot of people have only seen the style in a “jirai kei” context. They are related to each other, jirai kei does have links to dark girly, but the fashion style itself is not necessarily “jirai kei”. It’s a common style in Japan - it’s not a common style in other parts of the world - so people mashed the two together in one concept because they don’t know otherwise.
This is where a LOT of discourse in the Jirai Kei community stems from - I’m not going to go too deep into it because everyone gets extremely mad about it & im not trying to open that can of worms and spill it all over the table.
I’m sure you’ve seen posts mentioning “fashion landmines” and “lifestyle landmines”. “Fashion landmines” being people who just like dark girly or ryousangata and mistakenly identify the fashion itself as “jirai kei”, and “lifestyle landmines” being people who hold to the values of accepting and raising awareness of mental illness / struggles that was the movement which started the reclamation of the term “jirai onna” to begin with.
Tldr they don’t like each other and people get really mean about it.
All of this being said: Essentially, yes. Dark girly and ryousangata and girly kei are related to Jirai Kei, but no, you do not have to have the clothes to be a part of the community. The clothes are secondary (and honestly optional) to the community’s values.
Thank you for coming to my TED Talk lmao
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captain-n-crunchies · 10 months ago
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My Perfect
L x Chubby Reader
A.N: ( See even though im like late I STILL POSTED! im on like grind yall but, this man so fine I'm like i must write my deepest soul wrenching words about him)
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I'm not perfect.
That's it. I tried every day as a kid to be perfect; pretty hair, small frame, soft voice everything to look desirable to others I tried to be. In high school I needed to be bold, thicker but not too thick, tall but too tall; never speak overly passionate it was a turn off, don't wear too much makeup it's like I'm a slut, and never can venture out and find a comfortable look for me. I never let the girl inside eat.
I wasn't berated though? Yes, I got stares when I wore something sitting and people saw my stomach, like yes mothafucka I got a stomach y'all thought it was a huge ass pot in my shirt? Yes, I did get the ' I'm sO cOnFideNt!' talk when I ate something like fruit, who doesn't like pineapple? When shopping I had looks of could I fit this or that and nobody ever comforted me when I would cry about not fitting jeans.
I was never perfect. But he never cared.
*Back to when Light didn't find the Death Note yet*
Log In: June 23, 2017
" What are you having for lunch?" was asked by my closest coworker, Maria she and I was friends since our college days when cramming information about law, statistics, and for some reason Shakespeare; we were forever. I turned to her in this damn rolling chair that was obviously not made for a girl with that thang back there, I mean why is half my leg practically on the floor? I thought about it for a second.
" I could go for quick burger, what about you?
" That's fine! Also did you finish your report? I didn't even get to..." I just stared at her though my head in space, Maria turned to see what I'm looking at and she saw a strange man walking inside the room.
" Um...I don't think he works here?"
" Is this when we got to fight for our lives? I don't have no weapon."
The man tall, dark unruly hair not curly though it looks like a one of those emo people from the 2000's like my chemical romance vibes, he has a homeless man look on him...its kind of sexy thought but, he doesn't work here?
We watch him while towards us and goes to the head manager cubicle that two rows ahead of us. We look at each other and look down acting like we're working but, we really being nosy. We hear only indicant chatter and the strange man's voice, his name is Riuzaki? Or Rukai? I don't know and our manager asked again, and he ignored the question and started talking about something different. Kind of rude but, with the way our manager is I'd do the same; Maria looks at me and looks at the time and tells me it our lunch break so, we both get up and I make sure to push down my jacket a habit I did as a teen to look slimmer, we walk out and down the little pathway to the front of the office when we get close to the strange man I turn my head down, his eyes immediately traced to me and he stared at me and he turned, kind of weird his eye contact was intense!
We walked over to the company lunch places inside it's a tiny burger spot filled with American dishes; we haven't really eaten there so we decided to try it out since it was also raining. Maria order first, a chicken salad with extra chicken and cheese with a large drink and dessert then it's me, a cheeseburger with fries and a large drink with a cookie; we wait a bit and sat down at a two-seat table and we talk about the sight we just saw.
" I wonder if he's trying to get a job here? "
" For what though? we ain't got nothing available yet."
" What if they fired somebody!? I heard but I didn't hear from department C that somebody was overusing company resources and they got let go."
" Omg, who?" Maria was going to say but we hear a buzz, and our food was ready we grabbed a tray and the person who gave us our orders gives me a look, ya'know the look of ' Breaking that diet huh?' Its common but still is annoying so I mean mug him back and he backs off. Sitting down we talk about our topics of choice like vacations, fashion trends, the latest news when the man from earlier comes down; didn't even see him till he pulled up a chair beside me and stared. Like what?
" Oh, Hello!" I introduced myself and Maria does the same, but how says nothing and stared at me.
" Are you going to eat that?" He points at a strawberry cookie I got, I look and shake my head "no' even though I was saving it I give it to him and smiled. He takes it and thanks me and then turned to Maria and asked how she feels about the company. Now, Maria is a sweet girl but, if she can't say her opinion without lying so she tries to say it's wonderful but, he caught on.
" Don't lie. I'm not going to do anything."
" Oh! but I'm not! really it's a won-"
" Your eyes turned up, when some people lie, they eyes turn up to think of somethings. Your hands turned over into a clasped position saying you're more of nervous than calm when I asked."
She's shocked and so am I, he takes a bite of the cookie and then looks at me to which I look away and he stares at me; deep black eyes pierced into, and I just look away because if I looked back what if he jumps me and I gotta kick and scream like that would be so embarrassing!
" Are you nervous?
" No, never"
" Hm...You look uncomfortable" He continued eating and I looked at Maria with a head tilt.
" So, what's making me uncomfortable."
" Your clothes, your shoes are hurting your feet by the way you walked quickly, and you have the heels of them off" He responded quickly, and I was shocked I mean he didn't lie. I just look and Maria excused her and mouthed ' Whoop his ass' and went to the bathroom, so now it's just us. We look at each other and I just shook my head and began eating again. He just looks at me and then turns his body towards me completely.
" What?"
" Do you like your position here?"
If I had the choice between working here and $20, I would pick $20 and a bag of skittles, it has it benefits from time to time but it not worth the headaches and long hours and I tell him just that. He hums and says nobody ever been that honest and I could care less, I listen and eat when he asked another question.
" If you're really don't like how you look why don't you change it"
It wasn't even a question it was like a statement like he knew, he knew from when he stared at me, he watched me. I look at him shocked and I just chuckled and threw the rest of my food away and left, texting Maria that I got sick. Walking away I see him get up and follow me, so ignored him; he just walked beside me and just looks either at me or around him hunched over like he finna throw up. Like what compells somebody to say that? Did he think I'm the one to try to play around with thing you'll get a good joke ooutta me? I should've shoved that damn drink up his stuck up ugy big headed-
" Your mumbling"
"...ok"
" If what I said made you mad just say it"
" If I did I'll go to jail for man slaughter."
He just chuckled, even though I'm pissed he sounded a little smexyyy but, I'll still beat his ass. I keep walking towards the parking lot, and he grabbed my arm asking can he be honest.
" I mean if back there wasn't honest I don't know what is"
He just stared (he got a staring problem) and began talking about how he meant that he saw me adjusting my jacket a habit he saw a lot of girls do when they want to look slimmer, then he saw the look his manger gave us me when I walked past, he said it was in utter disgust. As he went on all the insecurities from the past came again the girl inside of me just began to show, I looked at him blank, my hands started to sweat, my thoughts ran through me like a train, and I couldn't hold it anymore as a sob slipped through like butter from my mouth. I wiped my face and took a deep breath.
" Being a girl in Japan is hard, being black in Japan is harder, being a fat girl and black in Japan is like a war zone every day in my mind. From stares, to the so called ' complements', to everything inside growing out of me is like a constant war zone. Having men look at me like a 3rd class citizen is the problem, having girls treat me like I'm beneath them was the problem and no one had a problem with it."
" But who could care? It's not like I can change what they say with the attitude they expect from a black girl. I'm not perfect but, they wanted me to be and how am I going to achieve that? Huh?"
I stopped for one second and he just said nothing, all the bottled-up feelings I've had just overwhelmed me and I overshared.
" I think your perfect"
" Lying is a sin ya'know"
" Then good I'm an atheist. Your look is perfect."
How can somebody look perfect? With a body like this, my skin to people in this country are like a permanent plague, and my hair is just a warning to them on its own. I am not perfect, but he thinks I am. He's trying to help me feel better and it's not going to work.
" If this is perfect then-'
" You're not going to believe something if you denie it so much."
This man says that beautiful is different to everyone, like what people grew up with which is skinny, fair skin, and cute people they think it's a standard and everyone that's not all three of those traits are ugly. He said the way I feel is how he felt as a child he was never built manly, he was always so small and skinny people thought he was sick. It never bothered him; he seemed wiser as a kid then the whole world at its years; I couldn't even disagree with any statements I always found how people views change when they see unique things or common things and associate them with ugliness or beauty.
" For a homeless man your very smart"
"...I'm not homeless."
" Oh...then why you dress like you've seen a clothing store in life."
" I have seen a clothing store. I just don't see the appeal of dressing up."
He's an emo hippie. But nevertheless, I just listen and make my own few points. We continued walking and he stops me again.
" What's your name?"
" Reader Last Name, and your?
" Call me L"
' Hello L"
" Hello Reader"
Now we walk in comfortable silence, by the time I'm by the garage L asked for my number, his contact now ' Emo Hippie' and mines?
'My Perfect'
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A.N: ( i finshed! I love this one because i feel this irl about my body type but, i got over it and it's kind of hard to write L's dialogue without making him sound rude because he's only nonchalant. But, let me know if you like it!
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