#unsurprised if false

[shiannohana]

Paused, Aheaded, Towers Too

Recently I made an account on Newgrounds, and today I beat two games which had music composed by one of my favourite composers of all time, flashygoodness: Tower of Heaven and Pause Ahead. On the Tower of Heaven side, I have played the game in the past but gave up around the end. Today I decided to beat it, and it was pretty fun! My patience has improved since, and being able to properly enjoy and master the limits given by the game was fun. The ending was very interesting, and apparently, there's another ending I missed. I'll get all the secrets later. Always been fond of the simplicity of the art style and music, near-perfectly capturing the limitations of the Game Boy (color) and in general looking/sounding beautiful. On the Pause Ahead side of things... holy shit. This game. Pause Ahead ekkjkasjsjksdajhsdojhdjsasdjsa this game so good The game is pretty simple on the surface, the main mechanic being pausing the world while you continue to move around, momentum affecting your movement as well. The first levels follow what any good game does (like Tower of Heaven hehe) and slowly introduces you into the world and the main mechanic before saying "fuck you" and instantly jumping towards kaizo bullshit in the best way possible. The levels get harder. Momentum is taken to the max. Pausing becomes your best ally. This shit was so good. It took me some time to get used to it, but eventually, I fought hard with my patience and got through the game and to the final boss, which took me some time (and a walkthrough sorry) to master, but it felt satisfying to finally beat it and witness the first ending. The first ending, because there's a secret path in one of the levels that leads to one of the best gaming experiences I've ever had. The belly of the beast. So, small (so I thought at the time of starting to write this) substory before I continue. Rivals of Aether, a game I knew about for a while before I got to play it and another game flashygoodness composed for (there is even a Tower of Heaven stage inside it! with a tiny remix of one of the original songs, Luna Ascension) eventually got a Definitive Edition, and with it came a ton of new things. The milestone system, new adjustments, un-DLCing the DLC fighters, proper workshop support, etc. It was neat. One thing stuck out to me though. It was a song called Nihil Redux that plays on one of the stages, the Frozen Gate. An intense tune with energy and fear injected into it as if you're in the depths of hell fighting for a chance to live. I fucking fell in love with it from the first few seconds. The constant, unstopping rhythm and beautiful instruments got me hooked, and eventually, the song turned into a calmer, hopeful tune. You've escaped hell. You've managed to survive. and then it loops back to the beginning but tbf it's a stage track of course it has to loop that doesn't mean you're going back to hell lollllllllllllll or does it. After listening to this track like a million times through the in-game sound test, I decided to look it up on YouTube and discovered this little game called Pause Ahead, the original source of this remix. And so it loops back to the primary discussion. Nihil Descent. The original version of this song. I reached the secret level of the game where it plays, the hardest challenge. Two fleshy and difficult paths, both taking the main mechanic to the maximum. It took time, but one by one I figured out things. Pause-cancelling at the right times, patterns, etc. All slowly mastered one by one until I got the second ending.

Also, this happened I guess. lmao. I won't discuss the endings in detail for obvious reasons (play the game ehehe) but one felt great and the other surprised me in terms of story context. Also... yes, the music outside of Nihil Descent (including some tracks by another composer, Bill Kiley!) was great, in case I didn't make it obvious sorry. The art style of the game reminds me of Cave Story, very detailed lineless tilesets and enemies with a little protagonist guy person thing character going through pain and sorrow to hopefully find a bright future. Very inspiring and pretty. Conclusion? good video games is when newgrounds, tiny little thing protagonist and pixel art . yeaaaaaaaaa tower of heaven: https://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/544332 pause ahead: https://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/628969 both need the Newgrounds Flash Player to run because flash dead boohoo :( if the writing here was ass: sorry

[ramenheim]

Op you. You realize the entire point of this moral exercise is to force you to confront the reality that BOTH OPTIONS LEAVE YOU WITH BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS, yes?

With the two options being: TOUCHING (& diverting the violence of the status quo onto a NEW TARGET THAT WAS *SAFE* BEFORE, orchestrating their death by your own hand) or NOT TOUCHING (& allowing the status quo to continue its trajectory of violence against the multitude of ppl it's STRUCTURALLY INTENDED to target— but without bearing the personal burden of choosing to kill someone, instead bearing the "'lighter'" burden of passive negligence/ignorance).

This exercise HAS NO CORRECT ANSWER bc it's not INTENDED TO ELICIT A '''CORRECT''' ANSWER— YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO INTERROGATE PERSONAL CULPABILITY FOR YOUR ACTIONS & THE HARM THAT COMES OUT OF THAT CHOSEN (IN/)ACTION.

I think you're dishonestly framing this as Voting Blue = Lesser Evil = Pulling Lever when both parties are **well within the status quo**, except Repubs want to multitrack drift to maximise damage.

Voting NOT REPUB means less blood is on your hands; not voting at all likely means more blood than voting against Open Fascism; but voting Covert Fascism is **still voting for the status quo** bc your dems are a centre-right & moving rightward party THEMSELVES.

Your 'first past the post' system means that by any other nation's definition? You are already not a democracy. You need to stop having a kneejerk defensive reaction everytime somebody expresses this opinion of your country. You need to rehaul your entire electoral system for personal voting to have the impact your magical thinking claims it does— & pretending otherwise is /choosing not to engage with the problem/ & turning your back on the lever so you at least don't have to Watch the Outcome.

All y'all fuckers when you say you ain't gonna vote

[criminalamnesia]

Not a request but NEW TRAITOR CHAP WHEN??? prioritize urself no rush Pookie just the ppl gotta know

part 7 is here 🙏

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

it was pouring rain as you slid from the taxi, the driver attempting to yell at you to shut the door as thunder rumbled overhead.

you paid him no heed; boots splashed in murky puddles as you pushed the door closed and moved towards the yellow cab’s trunk.

you could barely hear yourself think. the rain was battering the ground as if locked in a viscous war with the cracked pavement— puddles forming as the asphalt resisted with all its might. it wasn’t enough, water seeping into the ground and muddying the grass nearby, drowning it mercilessly.

you grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before shutting the trunk. you’d barely stepped back from the car before it was speeding off, kicking up water and splashing your legs.

you didn’t mind— you were soaked through to the bone, anyways. besides, you didn’t mind the storm. it was comfort— a distraction from what lay ahead.

your new team. a small, covert operations group made up of the best of the best. two sergeants, a lieutenant, a captain— and they wanted one more soldier.

the opening couldn’t have come at a better time. you’d run your course with your old squad. they’d been fine— until they weren’t. carelessness and ignorance from teammates almost resulted in your untimely death, and laswell hadn’t questioned your transfer request after hearing the tale.

in fact, she’d recommended the one-four-one to you.

you thought you’d be meeting them on base, but the captain had requested you meet them here, instead. a run-down old diner, with its bright, neon pink sign blinking down at you through the rain.

you inhaled, then exhaled. clenched your fists, then unclenched them. it was a habit you’d had since you were a child. it forced you to slow down and think, to overcome the emotions you were lost in.

you blinked. rain ran down your face, creating false tears as it streamed from the corners of your eyes. you were sure you looked a sight.

another inhale, another exhale, and then you moved towards the diner’s door. you pushed it open, stepping inside and wiping your boots on the mat in front of the door.

“I think you’re gonna need to do more than that to dry off, sweetheart” a woman’s voice calls to you, causing you to look up towards the counter. she’s grimacing, looking you up and down. no doubt she’ll be following your path through the building with a mop in hand.

“sorry,” you tell her, trying to brush some water from your jacket. “forgot my umbrella.”

the woman gave a huff, waving her hand before turning and attending to an ancient-looking coffee maker.

you take the time to glance around the diner then, noting the substantial lack of customers. only two booths were occupied, one containing a young couple tangled in each other’s arms, and the other containing a man wearing a baseball cap with the UK flag patched on it.

he looked up from his phone as you approached, seemingly unsurprised based on the grin he gave you.

“glad to see you got here in one piece,” he says as you shrug off your bag, placing it on the floor as you slide into the seat across from him.

“one drenched piece,” you say, and he gives a small chuckle.

“im kyle,” the man tells you. “don’t know what laswell told you,” he clicks off his phone and places it on the table. “but im one of the sergeants.”

you nod. “callsign ‘gaz,’ right?”

he gives a nod of his own. his phone buzzes, the screen lighting up. his eyes glance down, scan the message, then meet yours once more.

“rest of the team got held up. price is in a meeting. johnny and ghost are on assignment, but they’re due back any day now.”

“so you’re the welcome committee by default, huh?” you say, and he laughs.

“guess i am. have i scared you off yet?”

“dunno,” you tell him. “but laswell sings your praises. the captain’s, especially.”

“she sings yours, too.” kyle says.

you give a small nod, your mind racing at what laswell may have told the task force. you weren’t bad at your job— you were great at it. a great shot, a reliable solider, a tireless sentry.

your emotions got the better of you at times, that was all. attachments and bonds that formed, linking you and your fellow soldiers together in the web of warfare. tying you around the wrist and dragging you along, for better or worse. little siblings or lovers evolving from what once had been just another set of boots on the ground.

this job was all you had. you found family where you had too, and it made you all the more loyal. but when you were spurned? when the fire leapt from the pit and scorched your skin?

you weren’t quick to forgive, and you found that reasonable in this line of work. mistakes by teammates could get you killed. who could blame you for holding a grudge against an ally who had almost cost you your life?

it’s why you were here now. a new start with a new team— a team of the best, you included.

kyle’s phone buzzes again. he picks it up, the screen illuminating his face as the lights flicker overhead. the storm wasn’t letting up.

“cap’s on his way— says he’ll be here in less than 30.”

“price, right?” you recall his name. kyle nods.

“don’t tell him I told you,” he leans in, a mischievous look in his eyes, “but he’s been lookin’ forward to meeting you. maybe even more than johnny has.”

“why’s that?”

“said the one-four-one is overdue for someone else who can kick johnny’s ass. wants you to knock him down a few more pegs.”

you laugh at that, giving a small shake of your head. kyle’s lips curl into a smile. “nah, he’s just happy to have some more hands on deck. always helps to have another person that’ll watch your back.”

as kyle starts talking again, you find your nerves settling.

maybe this team could be your new family.

you looked down at your hands, noting the slight shake of them. you don’t think they’d been steady since before everything happened.

your eyes glance to the ugly, scarred stump of the finger you’d lost. simon hadn’t chopped it off prettily, and it’d been stitched up hastily. you couldn’t blame the doctor, there had been more pressing injuries to attend to.

such as the bone-deep cut to one leg, growing infected from your time spent in the chair. the scar was long, stretching from the top of your thigh to your knee. it was still pink, a sign of your body still trying to put itself back together.

your torso wasn’t much better. jagged scars and puckered knots of skin marred your image. both from before and from after.

your eyes met your own in the mirror. you barely recognized yourself. the anger within you still burned, but its flame had reduced to a simmer. exhaustion, apathy, and shame had taken its place.

perhaps that was a good thing. it saved you the energy of fighting the men you inevitably saw every day. despite your numerous pleas and demands for them to simply leave you alone, they seemed to have a hard time listening. it made you want to scream. to hurt them, digging your fingers into skin until they understood the pain behind your words.

a knock sounded at the door. you didn’t move.

a knock again. you could hear the shuffle of feet outside the door. you wished whoever it was would leave you be.

another knock, accompanied by the soft timbre of kyle’s voice.

“love, you alright in there?” he was saying. you still stood before the mirror.

things had been different since you attacked the doctor. it had only been a few days, but word spread quickly through base. if people had avoided you before, you were like the plague now.

and the shame you felt was insurmountable. the pain and regret and fury were building like a tidal wave in your stomach, rising and choking the air from your lungs.

you wanted to leave this place. get away from the men you once called family, the one you once called yours.

but leaving meant the end of your career. you just had to hold out until kate arranged your transfer, that’s all. just a few more days, right?

and then this place and these people wouldn’t be a constant reminder of what had happened to you. of what it had done to you, physically and mentally.

“go, kyle,” you called out to him, breaking from your trance as you reached for the scratchy robe johnny had gifted you one christmas.

“not until i see you breathin’, love.”

you sigh, tying the robe shut and hugging the material to your body. you moved to the door, turning the lock before inching it open.

“breathing,” you tell him, watching as his eyes flick away from yours. god, it made you want to strangle him.

to yell at him, to yell at all of them— "you did this, and you should be able to look me in the eyes and see it.”

“now go.”

he looks at you again, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “will you let me in?” he asks, and you scoff as you move to slam the door.

“fuck off, kyle.”

but he’s quick, and his hand shoots out, grasping the door’s wooden edge and keeping it from closing.

“we need to talk.”

“whatever you need to say, you can say it from there,” you tell him, and he pauses for a minute before he nods.

“doc is asking about you again. she’s up and runnin’ around. said she wants to see you.”

your lips press into a thin line. you didn’t deserve that woman’s kindness, not after what you’d done to her.

you hadn’t been in your right mind, but that didn’t excuse it. you had bloodied your fists; harmed an innocent in the war between you and your own mind.

you didn’t want to see her still worrying about you when you had assured her you were fine. you had left her supervision, and then you’d attacked her. and you hadn’t stopped until simon had pulled you away.

you would’ve killed her, you know that in your heart. you would’ve killed her, thinking she was one of the men who had wanted to kill you.

“tell her im fine,” you said, your hand tightening around the door’s knob.

“i think she’d rather see that for herself,” he says.

“im fine,” you repeat. “i’ll be out of everyone’s hair in a few days, anyways.”

kyle’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “you’re leaving?”

he knew this, they all did. perhaps they just didn’t truly believe it. all of them, every single one, still thought you’d turn around and run back into their arms.

bastards.

“as soon as laswell gives the word,” you reply. “should be soon.”

kyle doesn’t speak. he’s obviously biting his tongue— you’d seen the expression that was on his face enough to know when he was holding back, but you didn’t prod like you would’ve before.

let him keep his secrets, lies, promises, and sorries. you didn’t need them anymore.

“don’t bother me again,” you said before shutting the door in his face.

you hear him sigh on the other side of the wood, then hear the retreat of his steps. you turn back to the mirror, snarl, and grab the alarm clock from your nightstand.

you throw it into the glass, shattering it to pieces. seven years of bad luck, you think.

well, it couldn’t get much worse, could it?

kyle sighs, staring at your door for a second longer before turning away. simon looks down at him from where he was leaning against the wall, hidden from your view, his muscled arms crossed over his chest.

“surprised?” simon asks as the two of them retreat down the hallway. he makes sure they’re far enough from your door before speaking, so that you won’t hear his voice.

“we knew it was happening, price said as much after that whole thing with johnny,” kyle replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “just thought this might change things.”

“change ‘em how?” simon says. “if anythin’, this speeds it up. they’re a liability now.”

“they’re hurt, ghost,” kyle retorts, his eyes meeting his superior’s. “that’s ptsd. not everyone’s as forgiving as the doc. they attack someone outside and that’s a fucking felony.”

“that’s not our problem, sergeant,” comes simon’s baritone reply, and kyle stops.

“you’re a fuckin’ case yourself, y’know that, LT?” he says, and simon stops. “we all played a part,” kyle continues. “but you? you would’ve killed ‘em if we never knew the truth. i know you would’ve. i’ve seen you do it.”

the men stare at each other. simon’s expression is hidden underneath his balaclava, but kyle knows it’s unreadable regardless.

mean, old ghost. heartless bastard, loyal to the mission only. that’s what the others around base whispered to each other.

kyle had seen proof to the contrary. yes, simon was loyal to the mission. but he was also loyal to his team, his family. you.

he was loyal to you.

“watch yourself, sergeant,” simon speaks, his voice a dangerous rumble.

kyle scoffs and walks off, shaking his head.

simon watches him go, his breath steady.

kyle didn’t understand him, not really. not the way you had begun to. and that was his own fault, he knows it. forever holding those close to him at arms length for fear of the worst.

he’d let you in— let you invade that space he enforced so ruthlessly. and the worst had happened.

kyle doesn’t know this is tearing him in half; none of the team does. they don’t understand that simon wants you to stay because you’re you, but he wants you gone because he can see how this is killing you.

even when he’s the villain in your story, he’s still trying to look out for you— in his own, twisted way.

he doesn’t regret it. that is cemented in his mind. but as he grapples with his own emotions, his mind in its own turmoil, he knows he wants you to be okay.

“im sorry,” he had spoken to deaf ears.

sorry for the ripping apart of your life, but not sorry for what he had done.

deep down, he knew you would never forgive them. he knew that leaving this team would be the best thing for you.

he knew, he knew, he knew.

knowing and accepting are two different things.

hope this was worth the wait! i think the next part will be the end, unless my idea changes 👀

[helvegen-s]

among all the people, always you

a Carlos Sainz one-shot

Summary: they always knew their love wasn’t enough to keep them on the same path. Over the years, they find and lose each other in an endless cycle of nostalgia, love, and goodbyes. There’s no resentment, only the pain of knowing that even the purest love may never be enough. But among all the people, they were always each other's.

Word count: 8.4k

Warnings: emotional neglect, unrequited love, breakup, grief

A/N: some might say that I'm not capable of writing beautiful things, but the truth is, I LOVE angst. I cried while writing this—I hope you give it the love it deserves and appreciate it a lot. Like and reblog!! Lots of kisses <3 I PROMISE IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING

masterlist

The first memory she had of Carlos Sainz wasn’t particularly grand. It wasn’t of a rising Formula 1 driver, nor of a young man carrying the weight of a last name that already resonated in motorsport. It was, simply, of a guy who had walked into a café in Madrid with messy hair and exhaustion in his eyes, ordering a black coffee with the deep voice of someone who hadn’t slept enough.

She didn’t know him personally, but she knew his name. She had seen him on TV, in sports articles, in interviews where he smiled with the same expression he had now—a little distracted, as if his mind were somewhere else. On another track, in another country, in another time.

It was a mutual friend who introduced them, almost as an afterthought. A simple, “Oh, by the way, this is my friend,” as if he weren’t about to change the course of their lives.

Carlos shook her hand and smiled.

“Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t a spectacular moment. There was no spark of electricity, no instant certainty that they were destined for something more. But when they sat at the table and he looked at her with a hint of curiosity, she knew she was in trouble.

The conversation started effortlessly, with the ease of two people who, though they came from different worlds, shared the same language in humor and irony.

“So… you’re the one who wants to be world champion?” she teased, resting her chin on her hand.

Carlos set his coffee down on the table and held her gaze with a smile that didn’t hide his pride.

“I don’t want to. I’m going to be.”

He didn’t say it with arrogance, but with the certainty of someone who had spent his life preparing for it. There was no doubt in his voice, not a hint of false modesty. And in that instant, she understood that this was not a man who knew how to love halfway. That if he gave his life to something, he did so completely.

“And what if you don’t?”

Carlos looked at her as if the question didn’t make sense.

“That’s not an option.”

There was nothing more to say on the matter.

Outside, Madrid carried on at its usual pace, but inside the café, time seemed to slow down. They talked about everything and nothing, losing track of time until Carlos checked his phone and frowned.

“Are you in a hurry?”

“No,” he replied, but slid his phone back into his pocket with a hint of discomfort.

She understood the signal. She smiled, leaning back in her chair.

“Do you have a flight?”

Carlos let out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

“Tomorrow.”

“And today?”

“Today I have training. Then the simulator. And after that, probably a call with the team.”

“Ah.”

There was no reproach in her voice. Just the acknowledgment of a truth she didn’t yet know would weigh so much.

Carlos noticed her expression and tilted his head with an amused smile.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who says ‘nothing’ when clearly thinking about something.”

She let out a sigh, playing with the napkin between her fingers.

“I was just thinking that if this were a date, it’d be pretty depressing to know I have to share you with a race car.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, feigning indignation.

“Hey, it’s a very beautiful car.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And fast.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it’s my job.”

She smiled, unsurprised.

“I know.”

He studied her for a moment, as if weighing the meaning of her words. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and looked at her intently.

“And if this were a date?”

She tilted her head, amused.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Carlos held her gaze for another moment before letting out a short laugh and shaking his head.

“If this were a date,” he said, picking up his coffee, “I’d probably do something stupid like try to impress you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I’d tell you something exaggerated about my job, like that my heart rate never goes above 80 beats per minute while driving at over 300 kilometers per hour.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s completely true.”

She set the napkin down on the table, crossing her arms.

“And how would I know you’re not saying the same thing to everyone?”

Carlos rested an arm on the table and leaned slightly toward her.

“Because if this were a date, I would’ve already asked you to have dinner with me tonight.”

She felt a flutter in her stomach, but didn’t let it show.

“And if it weren’t a date?”

Carlos held her gaze for another second before smiling, resigned.

“Then we stick with coffee.”

She nodded, smiling too.

"Then coffee it is."

And it was. For weeks, months. They saw each other whenever flights and schedules allowed. They shared late nights in airports, brief calls between meetings, messages sent across time zones.

They didn’t rush to put a label on it because they both knew the truth from the start: she wasn’t competing against another person.

She was competing against the one love Carlos would never sacrifice.

And the worst part was that he never made her feel like she had to.

The problem with Carlos Sainz was that loving him felt like the easiest thing in the world.

She hadn’t looked for it, hadn’t planned it. It just happened. A quick call that stretched into the early hours. A message between flights that made her smile before she even realized it. A conversation that started with “Have you eaten?” and ended with her staring at him through a screen, feeling both closer and further away at the same time.

They weren’t together in the traditional sense of the word. No promises, no unrealistic expectations. No grand declarations, no ultimatums. Just him and her, finding each other in whatever gaps the calendar allowed, in every city where their paths happened to cross.

Sometimes, that meant a quiet dinner in a tucked-away corner of Barcelona. Other times, it was a fleeting visit to his hotel room after a race, where she would find him exhausted, the marks from his helmet still pressed into his skin—but his eyes lit up when he saw her.

“Come here,” he’d say, reaching for her.

And she would.

She’d sit next to him on the bed, the TV humming softly in the background, while he talked about tires and strategies, blind corners and missed opportunities.

Sometimes, he would fall asleep mid-sentence, his head resting against her shoulder.

She never woke him.

The first time she realized she had crossed an invisible line was at Silverstone.

It wasn’t because of a fight. It wasn’t because of a misunderstanding. It was because of how she felt when Carlos crossed the finish line, arms raised, his team’s cheers echoing through the radio.

She was in the stands, lost in the sea of people celebrating his victory, and yet, in the middle of all that euphoria, she felt something unexpected: emptiness.

Because when he stood on that podium, adrenaline rushing through his veins, the anthem playing, the flag waving above him—she knew she wasn’t there.

Not because she didn’t want to be.

But because, in that moment, he didn’t need her to be.

And it didn’t hurt. It didn’t make her feel small. It only reminded her of what she had always known: in Carlos’ life, she wasn’t the main character.

She was a pause.

A beautiful, warm, fleeting pause. But a pause, nonetheless.

And that day, as she watched him celebrate with his team, arms wrapped around his people, she understood that she couldn’t compete with something that had been his whole life long before she ever came along.

So she didn’t try.

She simply loved him.

She loved him the way you love something ephemeral, the way you love a summer sunset you know won’t last.

She loved him without asking for more than what he could give.

And Carlos never promised more than he knew he could offer.

That was the cruelest part of it all.

He never lied to her.

He never misled her.

He never asked her to stay.

But he never let her go, either.

With time, she learned to read the signs.

The way his voice sounded when he was exhausted. The way his gaze shifted when something frustrated him. How his laughter changed depending on whether he was truly happy or just covering the weight of a loss.

She also learned to recognize when he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—reach out to her.

Not because he didn’t care. Not because he didn’t miss her. But because sometimes, his world was too loud, too demanding, and there simply wasn’t room for anything else.

She never complained.

Never asked why his replies sometimes took hours. Never mentioned that, during the busiest weeks of the season, the calls became fewer, the messages shorter. Never admitted that there were nights she fell asleep with her phone in her hand, rereading their last conversation, wishing it had lasted a little longer.

And Carlos, somehow, knew.

Because when he finally had a moment to breathe, he sought her out.

Not with apologies, not with excuses.

Just with his voice, with that quiet laughter through the phone, with an “I miss you” whispered between sighs, as if the words slipped out before he could stop them.

She always answered with the same softness.

But one day, without knowing exactly when it had started happening, she stopped feeling like that was enough.

The first and only time she thought about leaving was in Abu Dhabi.

The end of the season always carried a mix of exhaustion and celebration. Carlos had finished the race with a solid performance, and though he hadn’t made the podium, his team was satisfied.

At the closing party, he was surrounded by his people, a glass of champagne in hand, his smile easy, relaxed. She watched from a quiet corner, the same tenderness in her gaze, the same admiration.

But something inside her felt different.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It wasn’t anger.

Carlos would have celebrated just the same. He would have laughed just the same. He would have woken up the next day with the same determination as always, ready for the next season, ready to keep chasing the dream that had been his long before she came into his life.

And for the first time, she allowed herself to ask:

What’s in all of this for me?

She didn’t have an answer.

But she did have a ticket back home.

And that night, while he kept celebrating with his team, she decided she wouldn’t wait until the end of the party to use it.

When Carlos saw the message on his phone, his smile faded.

I love you. I’ve always loved you. But in this story, the protagonist has always been F1. And I’m just someone passing through.

There was no reproach.

She hadn’t asked him to stop her.

Just a truth that, deep down, he had always known.

The noise of the party continued—the toasts, the laughter, the camera flashes—but to him, it all became a distant echo.

For a second, he convinced himself that she was still there, somewhere in the room, with her quiet smile and patient gaze, waiting for the moment he would realize he had neglected her once again.

But no.

She was gone.

Not in anger. Not with accusations. Just with the certainty that he couldn’t give her more than he already had.

And the cruelest part of all was that she was right.

She always had been.

Carlos doesn’t remember leaving the party. He doesn’t remember crossing the hotel lobby or the way his footsteps echoed in the hallways when he reached his room’s door.

He finds it just as he left it: closed. Untouched. As if she had never been there.

But when he turns the handle, what he sees tells him otherwise.

There’s a coffee cup on the table, still bearing the imprint of her lipstick on the rim. Her jacket is draped over the chair, as if she had hesitated for a moment before deciding not to take it.

And on the bed, perfectly folded, is the sweater he had lent her the last time they saw each other.

Carlos stares at it for too long.

He doesn’t touch it.

He doesn’t move.

Because in that moment, he finally understands.

She never wanted him to choose between her and Formula 1. She never asked him to.

But the problem was that even if she had, Carlos wouldn’t have been able to give her the answer she deserved.

It had always been her who adjusted to his life.

It had always been her who found the gaps between races, between commitments, between flights and hotels.

It had always been her who waited for him.

It had always been her.

And now, for the first time, she had stopped waiting.

For the first time, she had decided she didn’t want to be just the space between his priorities.

Carlos sits on the edge of the bed.

He closes his eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, he feels what it’s like to lose something without ever meaning to let it go.

The airport was almost empty at that hour of the night.

Cold lights illuminated the polished floor, reflecting the silhouettes of the few passengers dragging their suitcases with tired steps.

Carlos found her by the boarding gate, sitting with her back straight, hands clasped in her lap.

For a moment, he just watched her.

He wanted to memorize her like this, before she saw him. The serene profile of her face, her hair falling over one shoulder, the way her lips pressed together softly, as if holding back a thought she wouldn’t say out loud.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed until she lifted her head and saw him.

And then, she smiled.

Sweet. Calm. As if his presence didn’t surprise her at all.

As if she had known he would come.

“You came,” was all she said.

Carlos exhaled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he walked toward her.

“Of course I did.”

He didn’t ask why she hadn’t told him she was leaving.

He didn’t ask why their last conversation had been a message instead of a goodbye in person.

Because deep down, he knew.

If she had told him earlier, he would have tried to convince her to stay.

And she had never wanted to force him into that.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the runway through the window.

The murmur of flight announcements filled the space between them, blending with the muffled voice of a child playing with a toy plane a few seats away.

“I didn’t want it to end like this,” he said at some point, without looking at her.

She turned her face toward him but didn’t answer right away.

Not because she didn’t have something to say, but because she was choosing her words carefully.

“It was never about how it would end,” she finally replied. “It was about everything it meant while it lasted.”

Carlos clenched his jaw.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair how calm she sounded, how at peace she was, while he felt like something inside him was slowly breaking.

Because he loved her.

He loved her with a certainty he had rarely felt in his life.

But love wasn’t enough.

Not when she had always been the one who waited.

Not when he had never put her first.

Not when, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, his world would always revolve around one thing: Formula 1.

She smiled at him, as if she could hear his thoughts.

"I know you, Carlos. I don’t want you to promise me something you can’t keep."

He closed his eyes.

Because that was the hardest part of all this.

That even if he loved her with everything he was capable of, he couldn’t promise her that he would change.

He couldn’t give her a different story.

And she knew that.

That was why she was leaving.

That was why, this time, she wasn’t going to wait for him.

Carlos didn’t know when he started crying.

It wasn’t when he saw her pick up her bag. It wasn’t when he heard the final boarding call for her flight.

It was when he truly understood that there was nothing he could say to make her stay.

He wouldn’t lose her because he didn’t love her.

He would lose her because he had never known how to make room for her in his life.

And that truth, so brutal and definitive, shattered him.

She watched him break.

And yet, she didn’t walk away.

Instead, she came back to him. Without hesitation. Without thinking. She hugged him as if it hurt to let him go, as if she loved him with every part of herself but knew that love wasn’t enough to stay.

"I can’t do this," he murmured against her shoulder, his voice broken in a way he had never let anyone hear before. "I can’t…"

She shut her eyes tightly, feeling his tears soak through the fabric of her coat, but she didn’t let go.

"Carlos…" she whispered, and the way she said his name—filled with both sweetness and sorrow—made him tremble.

He held onto her tighter, desperately, as if some part of him still believed that if he held her long enough, she wouldn’t leave.

But she couldn’t stay.

Not when he had never asked her to.

"Tell me what I have to do," Carlos's voice broke into a plea he never thought would leave his lips. "Tell me how to fix this."

She let go just enough to take his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

And the image of her tears sliding down her cheeks burned into his mind like a wound that would never heal.

"You don’t have to fix anything," she said, her voice softer and more broken than he had ever heard it. "I never asked you to change for me."

"But I want to," he insisted, and his voice cracked at the end, because now he understood, now he saw everything clearly, and goddamn it, why did it have to be now? Why so late? "I want to, for you."

She shook her head, with a tenderness that tore him in two.

"You can’t. You don’t know how."

And she was right.

Because she never wanted him to give up anything.

And he didn’t know how to love in a way that wasn’t defined by Formula 1.

Carlos swallowed hard, feeling the anguish burn in his throat.

"I need you."

She smiled—a sad, beautiful smile that shattered what little was left of him.

"No," she whispered. "You want me. That’s different."

Carlos closed his eyes as if that could contain the pain, as if not seeing her could make it hurt a little less.

It didn’t work.

Because when he opened them again, she was still there.

Beautiful. Steady. Determined to leave him.

And yet, with trembling hands, she wiped the tears from his face with her thumbs.

"You don’t know how much this hurts me," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"Of course I do," she replied, and a single tear rolled silently down her cheek. "Because it hurts me too."

He shook his head, as if he couldn’t accept that this was the end. As if there was still something he could do to stop her.

"How do I go on without you?"

She let her hands drop to her sides, as if she no longer had the strength to hold him.

"You will. You always have."

And that was what finally destroyed him.

Because he knew she was right.

Life would go on. The engines wouldn’t stop. The next flight would be waiting for him, and then another, and another, and another…

But she wouldn’t be there.

And when she took a step back, Carlos felt every part of him screaming for him to stop her. To do something, anything.

But he didn’t.

Because he no longer had the right to ask her to stay.

"I don’t want you to go," he whispered, his voice raw and broken.

She closed her eyes.

Because she knew.

Because if she had heard those words before, if he had said them at any other moment, maybe everything would be different.

But he didn’t.

And now, it was too late.

"I know," she whispered against his hair. "I don’t want to go either."

Carlos swallowed hard.

She looked into his eyes one last time.

And with the same tenderness she had always spoken to him, with the same sweetness with which she had loved him, she said:

"I’m glad I loved you."

Carlos felt his throat close up.

But he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t try to stop her.

He didn’t reach for her when she turned and walked toward the gate.

He just stood there, watching her leave.

Watching as, for the first time, she took a path that didn’t include him.

And when the last image he had of her was her silhouette fading beyond the gate, Carlos knew that no matter how much he had loved her, he had always been too late.

The first reunion

Airports had never meant anything to Carlos.

They were nothing more than transit points, impersonal spaces where life moved too fast to leave a trace. Arrivals, departures, goodbyes, reunions… everything happened in a rush, leaving no time to process anything.

But that wasn’t true.

Because there was one airport that had marked him forever.

And now, so many years later, in another airport, he sees her.

Just a few meters away.

His heart lurches in his chest, strong enough to make him stop in his tracks.

She hasn’t changed. Or maybe she has, but not in the ways that matter.

She still has that natural elegance, that quiet air of someone who doesn’t need to draw attention to fill a space. Her hair is a little longer, her movements a little more measured. Life has passed.

But not enough to erase what they once were.

She looks up.

And sees him.

Carlos doesn’t know if one, two, or five seconds pass before a smile curves her lips.

It’s a warm smile, but soft. No surprise, no hesitation, as if finding him here were the most natural thing in the world.

"Hello, Carlos."

God.

Her voice.

He hadn’t expected hearing her voice after so long would do this to him.

Carlos feels a tightness in his chest. It’s not sadness. It’s not regret.

It’s just… affection.

A deep, unwavering affection that time hasn’t managed to wear down.

He smiles too. He couldn’t not.

"Hello."

She lowers her gaze for a second, as if processing something, before looking at him again.

"I wasn’t expecting to see you here."

"Me neither."

And yet, here they are.

They are no longer the same people. Life went on, the choices they made led them down different paths, but…

But they haven’t forgotten.

And maybe that’s enough.

There are no promises, no expectations. Just two people who once meant everything to each other, meeting again in the one place where they had always said goodbye.

"Do you have time for a coffee?" she asks, with the same sweetness with which she once offered him her love.

Carlos nods, feeling that, even though he’s no longer part of her life, he still likes the idea of sharing a little time with her.

Because love doesn’t disappear.

It just changes shape.

And this time, instead of hurting, it feels like a beautiful memory that still breathes.

The coffee between them is a clumsy attempt at normalcy, a shared routine that feels foreign after so much time. Sitting across from each other at a small table, they play with their cups in their hands.

"You still take it the same way," he murmurs, breaking the silence.

She nods with a tense smile. She doesn’t dare tell him she’s spent years waiting to hear his voice this close.

"So do you."

Carlos lets out a soft laugh, but neither of them finds the conversation funny. Another silence settles between them, heavier this time, more suffocating.

"How did we end up in the same airport, on the same day, at the same time?" she asks, her tone light, almost amused.

"I don’t know." He plays with the handle of his cup. "Probably the universe deciding we haven’t had enough."

She smiles, but it’s a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

"It always did have a twisted sense of humor."

"I couldn’t agree more."

They remain silent for a few seconds, but this time, she is the one who breaks it.

"Do you still not know how to pack properly?"

Carlos bursts into genuine laughter, remembering all the times his suitcase looked like it had been packed by someone with their eyes closed.

"I’ve gotten a little better, but I still don’t know how to fold shirts properly."

"I always found it incredible that you could drive a car at 300 km/h but couldn’t fold a T-shirt without it looking like crumpled paper."

"Everyone has their talents."

She smiles, lowering her gaze to her coffee, stirring it unnecessarily.

"And you?" he asks, resting his arms on the table. "Do you still carry a library in your suitcase?"

"Of course," she laughs softly. "You never know when you’ll need to kill time."

Carlos nods, vividly remembering all the times she pulled out a book in the middle of the chaos of a paddock, as if the world around her didn’t exist.

"What are you reading now?"

"Something on Stoic philosophy," she replies. "I bought it out of curiosity, but I think I’m getting more out of it than I expected."

"Sounds deep."

"It is. It’s basically about accepting what you can’t control."

Carlos sets his cup down on the table, watching her intently.

"That sounds pretty convenient."

She shrugs, offering a half-smile.

"I guess at some point, we all need to learn how to do that."

Silence creeps between them again. They don’t ask because they fear the answers. They don’t talk about the important things because they know it will hurt.

He doesn’t ask if she’s been happy without him.

She doesn’t ask if he still thinks of her before falling asleep.

He doesn’t ask if she ever loved someone else.

She doesn’t ask if, at any point, he wanted to find her.

Instead, they keep talking about trivial things, as if they were strangers. As if they didn’t know how the other kisses, how their laughter sounds intertwined in a dark room.

"Well..." she checks the time. "My flight leaves soon."

Carlos nods but doesn’t move.

"Yeah, of course."

She stands, and he follows, walking together toward the boarding gate. They stop a few steps apart, looking at each other.

"I’m glad I saw you," she says, and it’s the first truth they dare to admit.

"Me too."

She hesitates for a moment before smiling at him, as if the goodbye doesn’t hurt.

"See you around."

Carlos holds her gaze, watches her walk away, and feels like he’s losing her all over again.

The second reunion

Carlos wasn’t expecting to see her.

Not here, not tonight.

But fate, with its twisted sense of humor, has brought her to the same wedding he’s attending.

When he sees her, something inside him stops.

It’s a mutual old friend who’s getting married—someone with whom they once shared memories of another time, back when they were still a couple, when life seemed a little less complicated. Carlos wonders if she knew he would be here, if she saw his name on the guest list and decided to come anyway.

Or if, just like him, she simply went along with the invitation, without thinking too much about what she might find.

She hasn’t changed.

Or maybe she has, but not in the ways that matter.

The dress she wears falls elegantly over her figure, and her smile is still the kind that lights up a room without effort. She’s talking to someone, a glass of wine in hand, tilting her head with interest—the same way she used to listen to him when he told her stories that didn’t really matter.

He wonders if she still bites the inside of her cheek when she’s nervous.

If she still falls asleep on planes before takeoff.

If she ever thinks of him when she hears about Ferrari.

She notices him after.

Their eyes meet across the crowd, and it’s as if time contracts. As if all the times they’ve avoided each other, all the efforts to stay apart, are erased in this single moment.

And yet, they don’t move closer.

Not yet.

But the entire night revolves around them in ways neither wants to admit.

Mutual friends glance at them with nostalgia—some with knowing smiles, others with a hint of sadness in their voices when they remember what they once were.

"Do you remember them? How good they were together…"

"They were perfect."

"Such a shame it didn’t work out."

She smiles politely. Carlos merely takes a sip from his glass.

They don’t say anything.

Because what could they say?

That yes, they were happy, but they were also not enough.

That love is not always enough when time and priorities are working against you.

The night goes on.

And stolen glances become inevitable.

Carlos looks for her in the crowd, only to find her already watching him.

She finds him when he’s at the bar, when he laughs at someone’s joke, when his expression softens for a fleeting moment.

They both look away, but never for too long.

Then comes the accidental brush of their hands when they cross paths on the dance floor.

She’s spinning with someone else, and he’s passing through the crowd.

It’s just a second, a fleeting touch of her skin against his.

But they both feel it.

Like an echo of everything they once were.

A moment that lingers longer than it should, though neither says it out loud.

And the respect.

That silent respect, that invisible space they’ve learned to keep—as if getting too close might wake something that has only ever been asleep, never truly gone.

Carlos watches her as she dances with others, laughing, her hair falling down her back, the golden light reflecting off her skin.

She watches him when he stops to talk to old friends, when his laughter rings through the warm night air.

They have never been strangers.

But they can’t be what they were either.

And that truth weighs as heavily as the music filling the room.

The music changes.

From the lively, upbeat songs that have dominated the dance floor, the DJ slows things down with a soft melody—one of those that invite bodies to draw closer, to sway gently, as if time might pause just for a little while.

Carlos looks at her.

"Dance with me," his voice is low, barely audible over the wedding’s hum.

She looks at him, surprised.

For a moment, Carlos thinks she’s going to refuse. That she’ll smile kindly and say no, that it’s better not to tempt fate.

But then she nods.

"Okay."

And she lets him take her hand.

They move through the crowd with the same ease with which they once sought each other out in any room. But there’s a chasm between them, one that time and choices have carved with ruthless precision.

They dance.

They move with a familiarity neither dares to acknowledge. Hands on waist and shoulder, fingers brushing with painful tenderness. They’re not pressed together—not like before—but the space between them is filled with what they were and what they still feel.

It’s the perfect balance between nostalgia and restraint.

Between the love still burning in their eyes and the certainty that they can do nothing about it.

They dance in silence.

No words. Just slow movements, the careful touch of their bodies, the feeling that this is the last time they’ll be like this—in each other’s arms, pretending for a few minutes that life didn’t get in the way.

Carlos takes a deep breath.

He wants to say something, anything.

But what can he say when she already knows everything?

When she has always known?

She is the one who breaks the silence.

"You still dance the same," she murmurs, a sad smile on her lips.

Carlos lowers his gaze to hers, to her eyes that are still the same as always.

"And you still fit here just the same," he answers quietly.

She looks away for a second, but she doesn’t pull back.

Around them, their friends watch in silence. There’s no need for words to see the obvious—the way they look at each other, the gentleness in their movements, the way neither seems willing to let go. There is no tension, no resentment, only love wrapped in the careful restraint of what can no longer be.

"It was always them," someone whispers, with a hint of melancholy.

"It still is. They just… can’t be anymore."

"Look at them. If you didn’t know their story, you’d think they were still together."

"No, if you knew their story, you’d understand why it’s so heartbreaking to see them like this."

The murmurs reach their ears, but neither of them says anything. They simply keep moving, letting the music be the only one to speak.

Because, in the end, what else is there left to say?

As the song ends, their hands slip away slowly, as if letting go of each other is the hardest thing in the world.

And maybe it is.

The Third Reunion

She has a few days free from traveling and decides to seek peace where she once found it: a small coastal town in northern Spain. She walks through the same plazas as years ago, the same streets, the same ports. The restaurant is the same, but everything seems smaller now.

The last time she was here, it was with Carlos, and it was warm. It was summer, and he had made her promise not to work or think about the future—only about the days they had together. Now it’s winter, and the sea breeze drifting through the empty streets carries a feeling of emptiness, of something that once was and is now gone.

The restaurant remains a forgotten corner, with its dim lighting and the same wooden chairs that creak when you sit. She orders a glass of wine and lets herself be enveloped by nostalgia, by memories that shouldn’t hurt this much.

And then, she sees him.

Carlos is standing at the door, still wearing his coat, looking at her as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. As if time has played a cruel trick on them again.

“It can’t be…” he says, with a disbelieving laugh.

She blinks, shakes her head, and laughs too. There’s no other possible reaction. The coincidence is absurd, cruel, inevitable.

Carlos shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the rack before sitting across from her, without asking for permission. As if this place, this moment, still belonged to them and no one else.

“How long has it been since you were here?” he asks, resting his elbows on the table.

“Since the last time. With you.”

Carlos nods, and the silence between them is dense, heavy. They order their food without thinking, as if they were still the same as before. She still asks for the sauce on the side. He still orders the same glass of wine. Small habits that haven’t changed, even though everything else has.

“How have you been?” she finally asks.

Carlos looks at her, and in his expression, there are a thousand answers he will never say out loud.

“Good. Racing. Traveling. The same as always.”

“The same as always,” she repeats with a broken smile. “I figured.”

She doesn’t say it with resentment, only with a certainty that aches. Because she always knew Formula 1 was his life. She was only a stop along the way.

Carlos places his glass down and looks away.

“And you?”

She takes a moment to answer.

“Trying to live.”

Carlos looks back at her. It’s a simple response, but there’s something else beneath it. Something he doesn’t want to analyze too much.

“Are you happy?”

She holds his gaze, as if daring him to hear the truth.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Are you?”

Carlos wets his lips, hesitates.

“I don’t know.”

She gives him a sad smile.

“How ironic.”

Carlos wants to say something more, but instead, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through it until he finds something. He sets it down on the table.

“Do you remember this?”

She frowns and picks it up. It’s a photo. The last one they took here, years ago. They’re sitting together at a table—the same table where they’re sitting now. She has her head resting on his shoulder, and Carlos is looking at her instead of the camera.

The love is evident.

She runs her finger over the screen delicately, as if doing so could bring her back to that moment.

“I never realized you looked at me like that.”

“I always looked at you like that.”

She lifts her gaze. Carlos doesn’t look away. It’s a punch to the chest.

“Why are you showing me this, Carlos?” she asks softly.

Carlos lowers his head, exhaling.

“Because sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision.”

She tenses. She sets the phone down carefully and pushes it away.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“No. It’s not. The truth is, you did what you had to do. What we always knew you would do.”

Carlos clenches his jaw.

“And what if I was wrong?”

She sighs and leans back in her chair.

“You weren’t. I never would have asked you to choose. And you never would have.”

Carlos feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

“I loved you.”

She smiles sadly.

“I loved you too.”

“Then why are we here and not together?”

She leans toward him, resting her elbows on the table, and says with devastating calm:

“Because love isn’t enough when there’s always something more important.”

Carlos says nothing.

She shakes her head with a soft, trembling laugh.

“How am I supposed to forget you, Carlos? How am I supposed to move on when every turn I take, you’re there?”

Carlos closes his eyes for a moment.

“I can’t change the past.”

“No. And I can’t change how I feel.”

Carlos swallows hard.

“You were never my second choice.”

“Then why wasn’t I the first?”

Silence.

She smiles bitterly, running a hand through her hair.

“Tell me something. If you could go back, would you do anything differently?”

Carlos looks at her. The answer is in his eyes, in the way his fingers tighten around the edge of the table.

She nods before he can say anything.

“I thought so.”

And that’s when Carlos understands. This is the end.

Not because they don’t love each other. Not because they don’t want to be together.

But because he never would have chosen differently.

She stands up, leaving money for the bill on the table.

“Fate is cruel, isn’t it?” she whispers, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Carlos watches as she walks away. It’s like that day at the airport, but worse.

Because now, he knows he has lost her for good.

For the first time in years, he feels like the world is collapsing around him.

The Atlantic air is sharp, cutting.

She walks without looking back. But Carlos follows her. Because he can’t let it end like this. Not again.

The night is dark, and the waves crash against the rocks with fury. The wind hits them with the same intensity as the feelings they have repressed. There’s no one else in the street. Only them.

“Are you going to keep running from me forever?” His voice reaches her before she can walk any further.

She stops dead in her tracks. She doesn’t turn around.

“Running?” she lets out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Don’t make me laugh, Carlos. If anyone has run away here, it’s always been you.”

He clenches his fists, walking until he’s standing right in front of her. The sea roars behind him, the wind pushes them, but the distance between them remains the worst storm of all.

“I didn’t run.”

She lifts her gaze, and her expression is filled with a sorrow that hurts more than any shout ever could.

“No. You just left me behind.”

Carlos feels like a dagger has been driven into his chest.

“You knew…”

“Of course I knew!” she bursts out, raising her voice for the first time all night. “I always knew. From the very first day, from the first time you said you loved me. From the moment you looked at me, and I believed we could find a way.”

Carlos takes a deep breath, the wind whipping against his face.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

She laughs again, without joy. Her eyes shine with a mix of fury and unbearable sadness.

“That’s the worst part, you know? That you didn’t want to. That you never meant to. But you did it anyway. And you keep doing it!”

Carlos takes a step forward, but she steps back.

“Do you want to know why I’m here?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Because I tried to move on. I tried. But here I am, standing in front of you, and I still feel the same. I still love you the same way, I still look at you as if you’re the only thing in this world.”

Carlos closes his eyes tightly, as if doing so could keep out the pain of hearing her words.

“Don’t say this…”

“Why not?” she whispers. “Because it hurts you?”

Carlos clenches his jaw.

“You have no idea how much it hurts.”

She looks at him, the wind tangling her hair, the waves roaring behind her.

“Oh, don’t I? Do you have any idea what it feels like to always be the one left behind? The one who watches you go, who’s left with memories that are too heavy to carry?”

Carlos feels something inside him shatter.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth. It always has been!”

“I loved you!” he yells, desperation burning his throat. “God, how I loved you. Do you know how many times I tried to forget you?” His voice breaks on the last word. “How many times I wanted to hate you? But I can’t. I can’t, because I love you with every fiber of my being, and that’s the cruelest thing of all.”

She laughs, a hollow sound.

“Fuck, it’s so fucking unfair.”

Carlos swallows hard.

“It is.”

She lifts her gaze, her eyes burning.

“You know what’s worse? That all this time, I’ve tried to convince myself I was wrong. That maybe I didn’t love you that much. But every time I see you, I know I was lying to myself.”

Carlos holds her gaze.

“I never stopped loving you.”

She smiles, and it’s a sad smile.

“I know.”

A silence falls between them, heavy, suffocating.

She wipes her tears away with the palm of her hand.

“But loving me was never enough for you.”

Carlos feels something inside him tear apart.

She takes a step back.

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep seeing you and pretending I don’t still love you.”

Carlos looks at her, desperation in his eyes.

“Please…”

She shakes her head.

“Tell me how to move on. Tell me, Carlos.”

Carlos clenches his fists.

She laughs again, her laughter broken by sobs.

“You can’t, can you? Because you haven’t done it either.”

Carlos feels his throat close up.

She looks at him for a long moment, memorizing every detail.

“I loved you with everything I had. And I’d do it all over again. But I can’t keep choosing you if you never chose me.”

Carlos feels a knot in his stomach.

She walks away, her footsteps echoing against the wet stone of the promenade.

Carlos watches her go. And once again, he doesn’t stop her.

The Last Reunion

There is no noise in his head when he crosses the finish line for the last time.

No shouts, no euphoria, no deafening roar of the engine drilling into his ears.

Just calm.

The kind of calm he never imagined feeling in a moment like this—the kind of serenity one finds when, after years of fighting against the current, they stop rowing and simply let themselves drift.

He expected nostalgia. He expected emptiness. He expected fear. But he feels none of those things.

He feels peace.

The peace of someone who has given every last piece of himself to something and, for the first time, doesn’t feel like he’s leaving anything behind. He has given it all, with no regrets and no reservations.

He removes his helmet with steady hands, no hesitation. He hears his name chanted from the grandstands, feels the pats on his back from his team, the embrace of his engineer, the flashes of cameras capturing the end of an era.

But inside, everything is silent.

Carlos Sainz is no longer a Formula 1 driver, and the world keeps turning.

That night, while the echoes of celebration still hum through the streets, he is alone in his hotel room, staring at the open suitcase on his bed. For years, his entire life has fit into a single piece of luggage—race suits, boots, headsets, caps with the logos of Ferrari, Red Bull, McLaren, Renault, Williams. The stickers on his passport are the only proof that, for more than a decade, he never truly belonged anywhere.

Until now.

Carlos has never been one to hesitate, but still, when he books the flight, his fingers tremble slightly over the screen.

He doesn’t know what he expects to find on the other side.

He doesn’t know if she will want to see him, if she still feels the same, if she still thinks of him when a song plays on the radio or when she watches a race on a quiet Sunday.

He doesn’t know anything.

Carlos stands in front of her door, his heart pounding in his throat, and one unshakable certainty in his chest: he can’t spend the rest of his life without trying.

When she opens the door and sees him, her expression freezes.

And then, slowly, it crumbles.

Carlos doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at her. Just feels her.

Years have passed.

Years of trying with other people, of unintentionally searching for each other in different eyes, of accepting that what they had would never be repeated with anyone else.

Years of remembering.

But now they’re here. In the same time, in the same place.

And Carlos has never wanted anything more than this.

“Hi,” he says, with a tired smile.

She blinks, as if unsure whether to laugh or cry.

“Carlos…”

His name is a whisper. A plea.

He takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t come to ask for your forgiveness.”

She looks at him, saying nothing.

Carlos swallows, his voice softer than ever.

“I didn’t come to make promises either.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, as if the weight of everything unspoken is crushing her.

Carlos steps forward.

“I just want to tell you the truth.”

She trembles.

“Carlos…”

He shakes his head.

“Let me say it.”

Their eyes meet, and it’s like being back in that airport, at that wedding, in that small town where they unknowingly broke each other.

“If you ever thought you weren’t enough for me,” his voice cracks, “that I didn’t choose you, that you were always second place…”

He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You were so, so wrong.”

Her eyes shine with tears.

Carlos smiles sadly.

“You were always the only one that mattered.”

She exhales a shaky breath, as if the air has been stolen from her lungs.

Carlos takes one last step—without touching her, without forcing anything.

“But I chose you too late.”

His words land like a blow, an open wound.

She looks away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

Carlos runs a hand through his hair, letting out a bitter laugh.

“God… I spent so much time running from this. Believing I had all the time in the world. That loving you was enough, even if I always left you waiting.”

She looks at him.

And in a low, wounded voice, she says:

“But it never was.”

Carlos nods, his eyes glassy.

“It never was.”

Silence engulfs them. Everything they are, everything they were, hanging between them.

Until she, lips trembling, asks:

“What are you doing here, Carlos?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if gathering every last ounce of courage he has left.

“I left Formula 1.”

Her brows furrow, surprised.

“Why?”

Carlos takes a deep breath.

“Because I don’t want my life to keep racing past without you in it.”

She loses her breath.

Carlos continues.

“Because after all this time, after every goodbye and every reunion… I still love you.”

Her lips tremble harder.

“Carlos…”

He gives her a small, sad smile, holding her gaze.

“And this time, I’m not letting you go.”

The silence that follows is dense, heavy, filled with promises and fears and years of restrained love.

She doesn't answer right away.

Because this is real. This is everything.

When she finally speaks, her voice is a broken whisper.

"I don't know if I can go through this again."

Carlos nods. "I know."

"I don't know if I can trust that this time you'll stay."

"I know."

She blinks, a single tear falling.

Carlos steps closer, his eyes burning with contained emotion.

"But I want to find out with you."

She looks at him, searching his face for something that will tell her this is just a fantasy.

But all she finds is truth.

Truth and love.

A love untouched. A love that never ceased to exist.

She closes her eyes and lets out a sob.

Carlos smiles softly.

"For the first time in my life, I don’t know what comes next."

She watches him, her heart pounding.

Carlos takes a breath, and with more sincerity than ever, he murmurs:

"But if you let me… I want to find out by your side."

She laughs through her tears.

And this time, when Carlos takes another step closer… she doesn’t pull away.

She stays.

The way she was always meant to.

@smoooothoperator

if you want to be part of my permanent taglist, just let me know :))

[thoughtssvt]

trying to match the jjk men's eating pace

that one tiktok trend where you try to match the pace your partner eats bite for bite

featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji

g. satoru

Satoru was actually shocked when you told him you were going to get as many burgers as he was, joking that he was going to have to finish your leftovers (not that he minded). everything was going smooth as he calmly unwrapped the first burger, taking a bite that didn't seem to under or over fill his mouth, giving you a false sense of security as you chewed your food like normal. panic began to set in by his third bite, practiced hands picking up a pinch of fries to add to the bite he was working on.

you weren't sure if his bites were getting bigger or if he was starting to chew faster, but before you knew it your cheeks were full and he was already crumpling the wrapper to start his second burger, taking a casual sip from his soft drink.

it was laughable, honestly, the way you were still holding half your burger, cheeks almost painfully full, sauce extending your smile, unable to match his sip of burger-filled mouth as you tried your best to hold in your laughter. satoru none the wiser. effectively making you choke on a crumb that had you keeled over, shoulders jumping with your silent chuckles.

"woah, baby. baby, slow down." His voice full of concern, unwrapping his third burger before patting your back in attempt to clear your throat.

g. suguru

suguru always savored his food no matter what it was or how many times he's eaten it. it was great, you were glad he found solace in food considering the toll his curse technique had on his body and his relationship with food. you'd never ask him to change it, but now that you've decided to partake in this silly internet challenge the rumble of your stomach has given you some regrets.

all you wanted to do was dig in, salivating at your steaming bowl of ramen. suguru sitting in front of you, a soft smile on his face as he carefully crafted a smaller ramen bowl in his soup spoon. chopsticks steady and meticulous as he let two noodles coil onto the spoon, dipping the edge of the ceramic into the soup until the noodles just barely peeked through. you sat there, noodles pinched by your chopsticks though still submerged in the broth as he slowly arranged green onions, garlic, pork, fermented bamboo shoots and strips of dried seaweed onto the utensil.

"ah, here we go." he finally said, setting his chopsticks down making you bring your noodles out of the broth and up to your mouth until he reached for a small spoon full of chili oil.

"not that hungry yet, love?" he quirked his brows at you when he noticed your creaky movements as you waited for him, finally bringing his mini bowl of ramen into his mouth, letting the flavors melt on his tongue before starting his slow chew. you followed suit, taking a bite and a sip of the broth.

"so hungry, suguru," you comedically sniffled to yourself, averting your gaze when he began repeating the process all over again.

n. kento

kento was quick skewer the contents onto his fork or scoop his rice onto his spoon, but slow to chew. he'd been excited for this meal after all, waltzing into the kitchen with a pep in his step after leaving work on time, still in his tie as he rolled up his sleeves to begin cooking. the table ending up with a beautiful spread of new dishes that caught his attention in the magazine he picked up last weekend.

unsurprising, the conversation would be about his thoughts on how all the components melded together, how one highlighted another, what it reminded him of. always a memory of a place you two went to together, then a small smile gracing his lips as he tells you that the two of you should go there again in the future. he'd ask you your thoughts, lips forming a small o as he listened to your suggestion of adding a little bit of that the next time he wanted to cook the dish.

the only thing surprising about trying to match his pace was actually how much bread he consumed, which you hadn't realized before until you felt like bursting at the seams when he picked up his forth roll-- a new recipe with his homemade garlic oil painted on top. you'd given up a while ago, choosing to enjoy the food he cooked, his love for bread unmatched. your head in your hand as you watched him chew, anyone on the outside would've assumed that he was eating out of necessity, but under your gaze you were blinded by the sparkle in his eyes as the flavors danced on his tongue. the momentary pause of his jaw as he conjured up a tweak in the recipe to bring it to the next level.

f. toji

you honestly weren't even going to try matching his pace. he devoured. the short skewers of yakitori disappearing into his mouth in an instant, the only thing able to pull you from your amazement was the soft 'ahhhh' he let out as he widened his mouth to accept the food. he barely took the time to finish chewing before bringing another skewer to his mouth. meals with toji usually ended with him running a lithe tongue over his lips, patting his stomach before eyeing whatever was left on your plate.

"gonna finish that?" he asked, hand already reaching whether you were done with your food or not.

he hummed to himself as you walked side by side just having left the restaurant.

"a branch from a sendai restaurant just popped up, want to try their gyutan with me?"

ah, toji's bottomless stomach and his love for meat.

A/N : aahhh i'm sorry toji's section is short, not much to write when the food is gone before you can even look at it LOL i just had suguru's so clearly in my mind and i had to stop myself from writing kento actually cooking. lowkey don't think i'm equipped for these mutli character posts lol

picnic divider by @/thecutestgrotto

line divider by @/firefly-graphics

jjk men x reader masterlist

[moniericreative]

The Saddest Tragedy of 2/2; Damned Regardless of Choice

Wasn't sure if anyone else already talked about this, but after going through the Persona 5 Royal Artbook a while back, and again recently... Something about the whole situation just really struck with me.

Obviously, spoiler warnings ahead for Persona 5 Royal, specifically Third Semester's Februrary 2nd.

So, unsurprisingly, I'm referring to Maruki's Deal.

It's a common interpretation that Akechi's 100% gung-ho against it.

But there's two separate moments that show a rare bit of... Wavering in his resolve.

The first is the Phantom Thieves meeting in Maruki's office with Lavenza:

Out of all of the Phantom Thieves, the only one to play devil's advocate and remind the group that Maruki's actions benefit them too is... Akechi, of all people. Not Joker, not Makoto, not Lavenza or anyone else.

It's solely Akechi who brings that fact up.

In the same meeting, beforehand he was very upfront and crass about how manipulative Maruki was being, and how the man played the other thieves like a fiddle...

And yet he says this in spite of all that.

There was no reason or prompting for him to, and Ryuji even rejects him politely afterwards too.

So surely this was just an off-line of simple pragmatism, right?

Well, here comes moment number 2, in one of the optional Jazz Jin hangouts you can get with him:

He plays it off as some idle food for thought with no deeper meaning, but... It's Akechi. He usually doesn't just say things just to say them.

There's always a hidden meaning to his words.

It's pretty obvious he's referencing his space in the Phantom Thieves, a group that's civil with him but doesn't particularly have any inclination to be friends with him... But it does beg a question...

Is he happy? Now that he's no longer being controlled by Shido, or burdened by a lifelong revenge?

By the sheer existence of this conversation at all, directed only towards Joker and in a place that he's comfortable in (second to Leblanc) it's pretty safe to say he is, but has reservations about it (i.e. 'If their happiness hinges on the group's unhappiness.')

Now where does the artbook come in? Well, inside the P5R artbook, there's a handful of interviews that expand on some parts of the Royal exclusive content.

What was the one bit that stuck with me?

(Thanks to VeskScans on Twitter for the high-quality scans of the artbook: https://x.com/VeskScans)

Per fan-translation:

Creator's Comment: "When I think about how Akechi's wish is to play chess with the protagonist after school, I want to tell him 'You like the protagonist after all, don't you?'"

Akechi's Wish.

He has a wish that Maruki actually does grant him, and it's to essentially be friends with Joker. It's mutual to Joker's own wish to be friends with him.

So add up the context of all three, and it paints a very depressing picture already:

Akechi is genuinely happy for once in his life, but doesn't think he deserves it at the cost of everyone else's. It runs opposite to his own sense of Justice, and his negative views on himself as a "cursed child," and that fuels him to keep denying it.

So with him being split between the two sentiments... It's unsurprising that he would rely heavily on Joker to make the ultimate decision; Whether to accept, or to deny. Because he himself can't, and Maruki knows full well of that.

Sure, he keeps pushing Joker to deny Maruki... But why?

Is it because what Maruki's doing is wrong, and he needs to be stopped? Is it the closest thing to a punishment for all of his actions, which has been constantly denied to him up to this point? Is it the closest thing to a confirmation that he's undeserving of such happiness, especially with how much blood is on his hands?

Who knows.

So how does any of this tie into Maruki's Deal on 2/2? Isn't Rejecting a false reality the obvious choice here?

Well... It's simple.

You're not really picking between a true reality and a false one.

You're picking between:

The acknowledgement of Akechi's growth (Hereward), the righteousness he carries as The Justice arcana, and his freedom from being under someone else's control his whole life.

And this:

Think about it. Maruki gives you multiple opportunities to accept his reality, and they become increasingly personal to Joker with each one.

First is the happiness of the general public.

Second it's the happiness of the other Phantom Thieves, especially Sumire.

Then finally, it's the happiness of both Joker and Akechi.

If the first two couldn't sway Joker's decision, why would the third?

Because you want Akechi to be happy and no longer suffering. You're the one in control of making that decision as the player, remember?

And both he and Joker are also fully aware of that, given how they look back at you in the "Accept" ending.

Not to mention in spite of how he reverts back to his "Detective Prince" mannerisms, almost as if he was a different person entirely... We never actually get any indication that he goes off to fight Maruki alone, or try to fix everything himself, do we?

Sure, he says "... Well. I have your answer. There's nothing left I can say. Our deal's off."

But what can he say? Once again, you've exceeded his expectations.

And once again, he's left as speechless as his "you really are..." moments.

You chose him over a "true reality." You told him to his face that he matters, you accept him as he is in spite of everything he's done, and you want to keep spending time with him as equals. As friends.

There's no anger, betrayal, shock, or even hurt in his voice. Just quiet acceptance because after all they've gone through together, he knows Joker wouldn't lie about that.

It's a truth he has to accept, even if it conflicts with his image of himself. He's wanted by someone else, for the first time in his life.

Of course he has no need for a deal anymore. They were always the closest things he was willing to get to a friendship, without establishing a close tie that could potentially hurt him in the end.

Why would he need one when you chose your bond over all else?

You proved to his face that it's not just some temporary truce with mutual benefits. It's a genuine bond for both parties, not just to him.

... It's just a shame that something you've done with him up to this point with genuine intent has been perversed into a means to sway both boys and you into compliance.

Ultimately though... You're the one stuck between two choices for him:

Forsake Akechi's happiness, and finally being wanted for who he is and not whatever pleasant image or service he can provide.

Forsake his freedom, and all the growth and accountability he's accumulated thus far from his own sins.

This teenage boy is damned regardless of the decision you make. All because a man with a Jehova complex noticed that he matters to Joker (and by extension you as the player), and uses him as an ultimatum to get Joker (and you) to comply.

All because said man is well-aware that Akechi's actual fate is vague. Did he live? Did he die? Who knows, neither he or Akechi actually confirm it. They just dance around the subject and leave the assumption up to you. But he'll take full advantage of the vagueness to justify his actions to you, and show why his goals and yours are "truly in alignment."

And the worst part is that Maruki's doing this with a genuine intent to make his life happier afterwards, much like youself. It's not out of malice, or a sick sense of delight, or with the airs of playing god.

He's distorted. He's a man with good intentions that have become so distorted that he inadvertently perverses the very desire to do good for the world.

And just like Shido, and Yaldaboath, before him...

Akechi's the number one casualty.

You're just forced to decide which part of him the gun is aimed at this time.

Because this boy can't have both. It's one or the other.

[fatuismooches]

I found your Dottore w playable reader stuff and it's been taking over my brain. nf!!but if you could give us a few more silly headcanons? Love ur writing btw 🥹

Dream Chaser's Blight: An ancient weapon that was once used to protect a certain scholar from ages past and to forge a path towards their shared dreams. He has carefully preserved it so that the wielder can use it once more... even though they can no longer perform that duty.

Fly or Fall: HP is increased by X%. When an Elemental Skill hits opponents or heals allies for the first time, the next character that is swapped to will have their CRIT Rate increased by X% and CRIT DMG increased by X%.

Weapon Description: The sound of his fellow peer's humming had become commonplace to the youth. In particular, it always happened when they were carefully cleaning their weapon after a battle, mostly with Ruin Machines that needed to be dismantled with minimal damage... occasionally other unscrupulous people. At the beginning of their budding relationship, the grumpy scholar paid little attention to their fiddling, but as of late, he had taken notice of how his partner's usually tender hands glided along the weapon with ease. The lovely scholar quickly noticed with a smile and inquired of him:

"What, are you interested in my expert skills now? Or- don't tell me, you wish to learn?"

The man clicked his tongue in false disinterest, to which his companion chuckled. They beckoned him further, agreeing that teaching him some basic combat would be wise. After all, despite his high intelligence getting him out of ninety-nine percent of situations, the one percent was certainly something he should plan for. However, unbeknownst to the young man's lover, perhaps he felt a twinge in his chest at the sight of their occasional cuts and bruises. Regardless, before he could finish his thought, something was hurled at him and he had mere moments to catch it.

His so-called beloved had thrown their weapon at him out of nowhere and he could hardly hold it up, all while they were laughing. They just wanted to test his reaction time, they reasoned, sauntering up to him and then relieving him of the weapon's weight, easily maneuvering it to their will.

"Why, you can hardly hold it up, can you? Too heavy, eh? Unsurprising, I know there's a reason I have to haul your items around... but don't worry too much. Until you obtain the powers of the Gods... anyone who hurts my ███ will have to answer to me. But even after, they still will!"

However, an unlived eternity came with nearly insurmountable change for the man's once cheery classmate. Having not picked up a weapon in centuries, the promise was lost to time.

But one day the tired soul questioned their darling, surprised that he had held on to their centuries-old weapon, which had somehow not decayed by now. In turn, he responded that he had preserved all of their belongings from long ago as best as he could. Their weapon in particular was kept in pristine condition, remembering all the opportunities it provided for him. A glimmer of excitement appeared in his love's eyes as they asked if they could hold the weapon once more, to which he hesitantly agreed. But it had hardly made it into his beloved's hands before they nearly toppled over with the weight.

"W-Was it always that heavy...?"

The patient's question was only met with silent sadness and fury from the doctor.

[twig-tea]

GL odds and ends 6 October 2024

I haven't been as good at posting about shows as I wanted to be, so I'm trying a round-up format instead because it feels like a lot of GLs skirt under the radar. It's exciting that we're in a time when there's enough GL airing that it's worth doing a round-up! This was a great week for the lesbians to figure themselves out, so it feels like a good week to start. No idea how regularly I'll do this, need to figure out a cadence that makes sense.

Currently airing (with thoughts up to Oct 6):

Reverse 4 U 5/8 (Thai, Tuesdays 1:00 PM EDT, Netflix / YouTube) This week the girls finally sorted themselves and we got set up for the main plot to start next week. I was initially really stoked about this one and then a little bummed that it's not taking it's very cool premise and the stakes it establishes as seriously as it could be, but I'm still hoping it will start to have real stakes in the main plot stretch.

The Two of Us s2 ep 6/6 END (Thai, 29 Aug-3 Oct 2024, YouTube) It was so great seeing women in their 40s being romantic together but I did not love the plot of this one; I find their romantic conflicts too juvenile (lots of easily-triggered jealousy). The moments they're being sweet are great though.

Unlock Your Love ep 4/8 (Thai, Wednesdays, GagaOOLala / YouTube [cut version]) This is the first episode that this series felt a little more assured; I liked the series this production company produced with a short run time, it feels like this series has been worse off for its longer episodes. That being said, when these couples get to do their thing like in this episode, they have good chemistry.

Chaser Game W s2 ep 3/8 (Japanese, Thursdays 12:30 PM EDT, GagaOOLala) @lurkingshan is already doing a great summary of this week to week in her JQL weekly round-up!

Affair the series ep 6/8 (Thai, Fridays 11:15 AM EDT, iQIYI/ YouTube) Finally! I liked that it was Ek pointing out that Wan was unhappy the entire time she was gone that finally got Pleng to give in to her desire to be with Wan. This show is so melodramatic but the emotional threads follow and the character motivations are clear and consistent; I'm enjoying it in spite of not loving melodramatic storylines in general. It helps that the acting in this one is excellent.

The Loyal Pin ep 10/16 (Thai, Sundays 12:15 PM EDT, YouTube) Glad we finally got confirmation of Patt's history! And I'm relieved Anin knows she has an ally, though I feel like it's given her false confidence that worries me. These two are stressing me out by how bad they are at being careful but I do love how desperate they are for each other, as well as how beautiful this show is.

Red Whisper ep 2/8 (Korea, Wednesdays and Sundays, YouTube) Starting with cheating is not my fave but is par for the course with these SukFilm short series; my fave so far has been their first GL so if you haven't seen that yet I'd honestly recommend that instead.

Recent One-offs

Out of Breath (re-release in a bingeable version; Korean, YouTube) Highly recommended! Also the creator, Soo not Sue, announced she's working on another series to hopefully air before the end of the year, which I am super stoked about.

The Suffering of Xiqing Mountain (Chinese (censored), YouTube)

Sastra film app YouTube channel has several short Cambodian GL series that come out weekly Honestly they are not to my taste but I don't like gatekeeping GL especially from smaller markets. I check in on these time to time and if there are any that I think are great I'll give them a shout-out

Ditto above with JPC media YouTube channel for Thai GL shorts if there are any that stand out to me I'll say so

Recently ended that I haven't had the wherewithal to write about:

Hoshikuzu Telepath (fansub) Thank you to @yuiyuihan for your hard work making it possible to watch this series! I I haven't read the original manga but I do know they changed the kiss communication to a forehead rest; Unsurprised that this adaptation, starring idols in the same group, would be left ambiguous in terms of whether their feelings are friendly or romantic. I liked what this series was trying to say, but in all honestly didn't love the execution. It's too bad because I absolutely love the concept of an alien being helped by girls obsessed with building rockets.

The Secret of Us 8 eps [complete] (24 Jun-15 Aug 2024, YouTube) I first included this in my recommendations from the summer and then retracted, but I ended up liking this series and then never updated again. So to set the record straight: Though it lost me in the middle, the ending on this series won be back over. I really appreciated the way this series handled filial piety and balancing that against personal happiness. I appreciated SO MUCH that the main characters decided together how to handle Lada's situation with her mother. I finally understood too late that Earn believed the lies Lada's mother told her in ep1, and that affected some of their decisions in the middle of the series. I still think the execution was wobbly, but the acting and chemistry between the two leads carries this series through. This has some of the best domestic fluff in any GL, as well as my favourite GL counter lift to date. And it's gorgeous. Tentatively recommended with the caveat that you do have to either enjoy or power through the melodrama in the middle.

Starting soon:

Apple My Love, Thai, 12 October, GagaOOLala

Pluto, Thai, 19 October, VIU

The Nipple Talk, Taiwanese, 1 November GagaOOLala

My Ex's Wedding [in theatres in Thailand 14 November]

Petrichor, Thai, 23 November, TBD

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list

@grippingbeskar

⭒ A Welcomed Distraction

meeting an old friend, who also happens to now be a member of the jedi council stirs up old feelings, but will you be able to deny them any longer?

⭒ An Unsurprising Development (pt. 2)

after a whirlwind of events, you finally catch the jedi master alone again.

⭒ Had You Said the Words

You made one mistake. One. During the heat of battle, you lost sight of your focus, lost control, all because of one particular member of the council who sits in front of you now, saying nothing.

@deakyjoe

⭒ Absolution

Obi-Wan really should have let his curiosity go and avoided that flower.

@murdockussy

⭒ More Than A Mission

The Jedi council sends Obi-Wan and his two Padawans - Anakin and yourself - on a mission to capture an underground Bounty Hunter. If Anakin's false business deal fails, then you as the backup plan will be sent in to seduce the target - dressed as an escort, bound to send your Master into a jealous rage - while the council capture the wanted man. Will Anakin succeed? Or will you be left to your own distracting devices? And overall, will Obi-Wan be able to contain his deep temptation for you?

⭒ Hearts Finally Mending

Three years had passed since the fall of the Order, and with each day that went by, your heart did anything but heal. It was as if it was doing the complete opposite, an ever-growing ache expanding in depth, you unable to shake the grief you felt for all that remained lost – your home, your friends, and the man you’d thought you’d have by your side forever. 

⭒ Alone

A woman from Obi-Wan’s past - Duchess Satine Kryze - is expected to say at the Jedi temple for two weeks, yourself and Obi-Wan assigned to be her assistants/escorts for the duration of her visit. Will all go smoothly? Or will your secret relationship with Obi-Wan be put to the test?

⭒ Room 24

If you could gather every emotion you felt towards Obi Wan Kenobi, you were almost certain you’d be left with a burning heap of seething hot hatred – almost. 

@moonyswritinq

⭒ Losing You

You could never resist saying no to Obi-Wan Kenobi when he needed your help. It led to a capture by the Sith, and a near death. A daring escape, a battle of hearts and good and evil, and a climax of feelings could hopefully reveal the truth within your hearts.

@kxnobi on ao3

⭒ Volveré

Master Kenobi is assigned to your protection. He tries to ignore the way his flesh yearns for you, trying to remind himself of the Jedi Code whenever you look his way. He can only deny himself for so long.

@RosalindBeatrice on ao3

⭒ Broken Drought

A once-in-a-century storm blows up and you take shelter in your family's abode with your friend, Ben Kenobi.

@wickedscribbles

⭒ When the World Stopped Making Sense

Nothing can prepare Ziva Courtee for the devastating change that Order 66 invokes in her clone trooper comrades

⭒ Tipsy on the Taste of You

Eager to be more forthcoming in your relationship with Obi-Wan, you turn to longtime confidante Padmé for help. The answer she provides opens up more doors than you would’ve dared to imagine.

⭒ Under My Wing

When you’re assigned a new Master at the age of twenty, you’re not sure how the pair of you will get along. However, you soon learn that there are many perks to being Master Kenobi’s Padawan.

⭒ You Make My Dreams

It’s not every day a Jedi walks -- or falls -- into your library. This one introduces himself as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and in the span of one book recommendation he’s charmed his way into your every thought. You never would’ve thought the feeling would be mutual, but then again, he’s full of surprises.

@hellotherekenobi

⭒ Temptation's Kiss

The three times Obi-Wan almost kissed you and the one time he did.

@saradika

⭒ You Make Me Feel Like Dancing

On paper, it sounds perfect. You’ll be his date, as long as he’ll be yours. Never having to be alone, no awkward moments with a stranger. It’s just too bad that you are hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with him.

@lovelybucky1

⭒ sneaking into your room

Attachment isn’t the Jedi way. Obi-Wan knows he shouldn’t be sneaking to your quarters in the middle of the night, desperate to hold you. He should be in his own room, sleeping or meditating the desires away.

@mischiefling on ao3

⭒ Bad Idea, Right?

Your friendship with Lord Kenobi, the unofficial heartthrob of Coruscant, isn't a bad idea, right?

@kagvne

⭒ Like Turning On the Light

After Obi-Wan gets you and Leia back from the Fortress Inquisitorius, the feelings you have been stifling finally come to surface on your way to Jabiim.

@ddejavvu

⭒ Betrayal

months into the war and it's not as exhilarating as you'd hoped - not for your battalion, anyway. when the air conditioning in your compound blows, an old friend brings his tech genius of a padawan to fix it for you. while anakin is working, you convince his master to spar for old times' sake, and simple adrenaline gives way to a landslide of long-buried feelings neither of you should have for each other.

@star-whores-a-new-hoe

⭒ Comfort of Strangers

You and all of Queen Amidala's handmaidens are stuck on Tatooine waiting for Qui Gon to get the hyperdrive parts you need. With all the stress and anxiety of escaping Naboo, the good-looking Palawan stuck on the ship with you looks like a good distraction.

@talkfastwalkfaster

⭒Serenity

[olderthannetfic]

At the time of writing this, Audrey R. has already resigned from running for OTW board, and the way people have acted about her candidacy the past few days has been disturbing, but also sadly unsurprising. Please, to anyone who may read this- I know those immediate gut reactions of shock, horror, disgust, I personally find that I can't stand Republicans and conservatives, I generally hate their views and what they stand for.

But please, don't just blindly spread misinformation and fear. I know there's little nuance to be found on tumblr, but people were misrepresenting her and her policies and unnecessarily riled each other up to the point where people took it upon themselves to go after her and her employer under false beliefs.

She's a Republican, yes. But how many people have taken the time to actually look her up? She's run as an independent before, her policies aren't the conservative bs people are making it out to be, and quite frankly, in her district, there is no realistic chance for a Democrat or an independent candidate to win elections.

In one of her Q&As, she had this to say:

"One of the most important things I learned on the campaign trail was this: it does not matter how loud your voice is if you don’t have a seat at the table. My advice to #EOTWR is recruit and/or run so they can get a seat, and find ways to involve the people currently in the positions to make change."

Combining her locale, statements, and platform, she's at worst a centrist who's running with the Republicans for a chance to win and actually try to change things within the system in which she's contained.

There's no evidence of her being pro-censorship. There are legitimate concerns about the effects of social media, screens, and the internet on youths, especially because they're so relatively recent in our history. People saw her party, her organization, other people's reactions, and assumed the worst.

If people actually did research and came to their own conclusions or simply decided that a republican affiliation in and of itself was an automatic deal breaker, I completely understand that. I personally wouldn't have voted for her either way. It's understandable that candidates will be discussed and criticised, but don't make things up to make her worse than she actually is.

--

[proshippers-against-censorship]

so tired of antis complaining about how proshippers turned the Kyle Carrozza case into a proship vs antis discourse

oh I’m sorry, so this means antis are allowed to falsely call proshippers pedophiles all day long, and when the most popular and viscous anti turns out to be an actual pedophile who hurt real children, we’re meant to keep our mouths shut?

Spoiler alert: Kyle Carrozza spent a fuck ton of time as a fancop using his power over individuals to get them blacklisted from the animation industry for being proship and calling them pedophiles. We’re just going to pretend that never happened?

Oh how they hate it when we won't play along when they want to defend their own people. Unsurprising, that they hate when we defend our own as well. Hypocrites, through and through.

[dangermousie]

My Highly Subjective Ranking of all the Love in Pavilion Couples

Summary:

Anyway, without further ado, my very biased ranking, from least to most:

Dongfang Qinlan x Li Quzhou - immature v puppy is not my thing. There is a reason I don't do romcoms.

Baimu Yaojun x Du Niangzi - they were gorgeous and I cannot not love a man who will build his beloved a literal tower out of the bones of her enemies but we got them for something like five minutes so...but I'd have loved a drama about them!

Yang Yan x Mu Xiaowu - love the actors more than anything but we didn't get to see much of their relationship other than his tragic demise. Gorgeous tho and a great use of two very intense actors.

Cuiyu Mingluan x Mu Mie - adorable and new flavor of tragic, with sweet himbo and his love for the new personality in the original body of a demon (but said personality has to disappear). In any other drama, they'd be top.

Dongfang Huaizhu x Wangquan Hongye - they are lovely and sane and heroic and compatible and low drama. They would be a great couple in RL but in fiction they are a lil plain for my tastes to get top 4. Great chemistry and visuals though.

Qingmu Yuan x Zhang Zheng - pining, guilt, angst, false identities, and substitute shadow falling for the girl the original liked and her liking her back aaaaa!

Evil Dongfang Huaizhu x Wangquan Hongye - let's face it, she was a new personality so why not? It was unhealthy as hell but even hotter than that. I was so all over that, I have no words.

Wangquan Zui x Yang Yitan - best friends, childhood arranged couple and pure sunshine that somehow owns all my heart - it's the sweetness and the chemistry and the bossy girl who makes the first move and the sunshine boy who tries not to respond but can't help it. This is the couple I am rooting for the most but alas...

Jia Lan x Lord Jiuhuo - unsurprising to anyone following this tumblr for a hot minute or even anyone who knows my taste, these tragic powerful bad guy badass doomed OTP is my n1. The visuals, the tragedy, the set up - she's basically girl Tantai Jin (thanks for the parallel @aysekira) prophesied to destroy the world and feared and mistreated for it who's treated awfully by her tribe but who is nonmurderous sufficiently once Lord Jiahuo sees murder kid and takes her in (she doesn't murder his tribe or anything) except to protect herself or him. They are happy and with no interest in humans and she doesn't want to destroy the world but just to roam around with her dude and get her hair brushed and perhaps murder some butterflies. And then humans show up to wreck them and kill her and torture him for centuries so as to get a bunch of power and they go from demon take on functional feudal lord and his consort to Apocalypse Now Xianxia Edition. He goes from protecting his tribe to eating souls to survive telling his victims he will remember them and kills his tribesmen to bring her back but is equally willing to kill himself for it and she goes from dying trying to save him and telling him she's sorry she can't be with him, her last action kissing him to using him and planning for him to die because she's actually dead and what replaced her is no longer her. I am here for "she came back from the dead wrong and he doesn't even care" and it's all tragic and delicious and amazing.

[specialfanboying]

the game itself brought it up so! headcanons for how good the gang is at cards

Longer explanations under the cut

The criteria used was the idea that there are roughly three factors to being good at cards - knowledge of the game/card theory, ability to read others/not be read easily, and pure luck. With that in mind, justifications:

Stupid good at cards tier:

Hiruko: She's got an extremely good poker face, is very sharp in general, and is likely to have played this before. She's a thrill seeker, I woudln't be surprised if she's played before.

Eito: Do I need to say more? Can commit to giving off any impression he wants indefinitely, is the most likely to have read tons of card theory/gambling strategy, and might have some Ultimate Luck, depending on how you interpret the specialist skill. The most challenge he's going to have is going to be the experience of being at the card table near all these people.

Ima and Kako: Both of them would have great poker faces and are pretty sharp/good at scrutinizing others. Kako herself could easily get visions too, and that's them individually. I woudln't put it past them to cheat together, which might be legit unbeatable.

Kyoshika: Canonically she has absurd luck when it comes to silly things like this. Doesn't know the names of the good hands she's having, but gets great hand after great hand.

Kurara: Has a way to conceal her reactions built in, plus given her background, I would be extremely unsurprised if she's played high pressure social games like this before. Would KILL at cards.

Yugamu: This one is also canon, but I believe it. Extremely sharp when he locks in, hard to read beyond the flirty exterior, and can study others' muscle contractions for signs of nerves. Godspeed beating him.

Solid tier:

Moko: It's also canon here, she's good enough to beat Takemaru and to do so in a way that's narratively satisfying, I just don't think she'd be like crazy good enough to go up a tier

Tsubasa: She's generally pretty clever/sharp, I think she'd do fine. I know she has the nervous habit, but as someone who's played a lot of cards, you can get super nervous both from good hands (that you need to play well) and bad hands (that you need to salvage). It'd give false positives.

Darumi: She can conceal those true feelings SO well, I just think she woudln't be super up on card theory

Shouma: No matter the hand, he's going ot say his hand is useless in the hands of pond scum like him. You cannot tell ANYTHING about what's going on in that hand

I don't know how to tier Nozomi, I think she'd be clever at the cards part but not at the "no friends at the card table" part

Bad at cards:

Takemaru: This one's canon, but I believe it wholeheartedly. He's got a good, extremely easy to read heart. Plus, given his background, I sincerely doubt he's ever palyed poker. I believe he's played bridge with some of the old folks, I don't believe he's good at it.

Takumi: Canonically can't teach Takemaru to play poker better, is book dumb, and isn't the best at concealing secrets. Plus several of the people in the top tier are enough fixated in him to read him like a book. He's fucked.

Gaku: He's kinda stupid and also really obvious to read. He'd be SPEEDRUNNING loss.

[xclowniex]

In an unsurprising turn of events, people have been using the 4chan hack to be antisemitic.

Essentially people are claiming leaked data shows how posts on 4chan come from each country via IP addresses, and that Israel is the biggest offender.

People are claiming that the mods of 4chan are US government officials using 4chan as a honey pot, and that israelis use the site the most and are all mossad psyops trying to trick people into being right wing

This data is verifiably false thanks to an article from Denmark about 4chans users.

A news site on Denmark published in 2020 with data from 2018, that 170,000 unique IP addresses visit 4chan every month.

1,148,237 posts since 2014 from Denmark according to that leak. To get that 9 year post number in a single year, only 95,686 of that 170,000 will have to post only once a month.

To stay accurate to the data which is over a 9 year period, only 10,631 people from Denmark have to post once a month since 2014.

Whilst I assume the 4chan users in Denmark weren't always as high as 170,000 with both breakdowns i provided it just isn't adding up. Especially when the number of users has likely grown in the past 6 years. Denmark should be higher on the list, but it's not.

Because of course it's a lot easier to lie about data to go "the jews are controlling the world" than it is to share accurate data.

The source isn't in English, so here is the relevant screenshot from the article translated in English and you can find the original article below that

[thestrangesthell]

"Let's get married on your favourite holiday."

"Will you marry me on Halloween?"

"That's in two days!"

I re-watched Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (casually, this time) and ended up slowly descending down another theory stairwell.

Rory's pathetic proposal uncovers a previously-unknown (though unsurprising) fact about Lydia:

Halloween is her favourite holiday.

While this detail comes as a shock to absolutely no one, it triggered a brand-new headcanon to emergency land straight into my brain.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice could have been set at literally any time of year. The season has very little impact on the plot (with the exception of adding to the overall atmosphere and aesthetic). The main driving force is a few comedic gags with the Shrink Heads, Trick-or-Treaters and sets up the plot device for Astrid to fall head-first into Jeremy's trap.

Why does that matter?

Well, let's talk "psychic" connections.

Now, whether you believe Betelgeuse truly has a "psychic connection" with Lydia or not, it's fair to say the man is 100% spying on her.

Black and white motifs appear throughout the movie, insinuating a persistent presence of Betelgeuse. The first time we see this is during the Ghost House footage. A painting can be seen on the back wall and, in the night-vision camera, appears to be black and white stripes (or wiggles - if we're going to get really specific).

Again, we see black and white stripes on the man in the audience (whom Lydia "mistakes" for Betelgeuse) and later with the clown costume kid at Astrid's school.

Lydia also outrightly says:

"I feel this [his] presence."

There's not much more I can say here to convince you that Betelgeuse is an omni-present false protagonist.

The long and short of this point is that Betelgeuse is constantly checking up on Lydia. Whether it's to make her see him, sense him, miss him - it's all a part of his plan. The key thing is that he is able to do it.

Now, let's jump back to Rory's shit attempt at a proposal.

In this scene, Rory specifies Halloween is Lydia's favourite holiday. If we consider that fact that Betelgeuse is omni-present, he learns this too (although I'd place a lot of money on the fact he already knew and/or assumed this).

Now, let's jump in the line again, but this time, to the scene where Lydia summons Betelgeuse.

"I can't believe I'm doing this..."

After confirming that Lydia's daughter "is screwed," Betelgeuse bargains with Lydia for something in return in exchange for his help.

No where in this scene does Betelgeuse suggest or directly insinuate marriage. He simply asks for a way "to get away from her [Delores] permanently."

This could range from any number of things from Lydia's help putting a stop to Delores' plans to an outright exorcism.

It's Lydia who assumes that marriage is what he is after.

But look at him. He isn't going to complain. The man is delighted.

Anyway.

My point is that Betelgeuse must know that Lydia is engaged. Rather than make it awkward for her, he lets her make the call as to whether or not marriage is on the table.

Although I'm sure he also knows she's not exactly enthralled by the prospect of marrying Rory.

Now, let's cut to the wedding itself.

"If I don't do it now, I'm never gonna do it!"

I can't help but wonder, was Lydia talking about marriage in general, her marriage to Rory, or her marriage to Betelgeuse here.

(Side note: I headcanon that Lydia never got married. Not even to Richard. But that's a post for another day...)

After making make Rory make a fool of himself (say that three times fast), Betelgeuse sets the scene. He knows time isn't on their side, (yet still sings 90% of MacArthur Park like a lovesick idiot) and does some very specific things that round off my entire point:

He changes Lydia's original dress to something more of Lydia's taste. We know he was present while Lydia and Rory talked wedding plans in Charle's study, so we can assume he also saw what Rory ordered in from Soho.

He pulls out a lipsynch/floatation number à la Jump In The Line (which Lydia begs the Maitlands to do in the 1988 movie).

He gives her his literal heart.

And (most important to my point), he "crashes" Lydia and Rory's wedding to make sure it still takes place on her favourite holiday.

The wedding in Beetlejuice (1988) is as romantic as it is slow and steadily paced. That is to say, it's a complete shit show.

Betelgeuse is a manic mess of pleaseletmeoutintothelivingworldpleasepleaseplease and rushes everything in order to get his freedom. The idiot even forgets to have a ring at hand...or, ya know...finger.

Another sidenote: While I (personally) DO believe he has some type of strong feeling for Lydia in the first movie, he clearly wants his freedom more than a wife. He's been hurt by love before and literally snorts at the idea that he has to get married in order to get out "for good."

So...why is Halloween so important?

It's a day that's special and meaningful to Lydia.

And Betelgeuse is trying to make the wedding special and meaningful to her.

With a dress she would love, a song, floating in the air with her, calling her "one of the loves of my [his] life", taking it slow, throwing in a cheeky head spin to keep it strange and unusual - doing it all on Halloween.

He pulls out every single stop to make it as perfect as he possibly can.

Plus, if my headcanon that Lydia has never gotten married is true, the least Betelgeuse can do is embarrass Rory even further and make his attempt look even more pathetic.

So...yeah. Halloween was more than just a spooky setting. In my heart, anyway.

Happy Halloween 🎃

[warsofasoiaf]

Opinions on Zohran Mamdani winning the Democratic nomination for NYC Mayor?

I think Cuomo is a disgusting human being, so I'm not sorry to see him lose. That being said, I don't think Mamdani will govern very well and I think he'll largely fail in the vein of Chicago's Brandon Johnson.

Progressive economics is largely a contradiction in terms, and reminds me a lot of MAGA economics (unsurprising in that they are both populist programs) in a few key respects - chief among them being the steadfast belief that all economic woes are the result of the malfeasant activity of an undesirable caste. In MAGA's case, it's usually foreigners and immigrants, and in the progressive case, it's corporate greed. Any economic pain must be the result of actions by this caste. This is a belief that is held true regardless of empirical truth, and the more studies produced that directly contradict it, the more the populists dig themselves into conspiratorial thinking.

Nowhere is this more evident that his absurd proposal for government-run grocery stores. According to the belief, this *must* be because of corporate greed, distress at food prices must be the result of "price gouging" to bleed the poor, hardworking people. The fact that profit margins in grocery stores are among the lowest across all commercial sectors is functionally irrelevant - the people are feeling the pain so the corporations must be to blame. Forget that in poorer neighborhoods in New York City, people primarily get their food from corner stores and bodegas, the majority of which are run by poor immigrants - so this policy will largely compete with them. It has to be because of those price-gouging grocery stores, because otherwise, something else is to blame. If the data doesn't support that conclusion, it doesn't matter. It's the simplification of economic policy to a shallow morality play. Which is a really *bad* place to base economic policy off of.

Similarly, his steadfast support for rent control, which has been overwhelmingly confirmed by economists to be policies that exacerbate housing supplies and increase rents do not functionally matter. The policy has to be to stick it to the evil landlords, because they're part of the undesirable caste. Rent control is popular, but counterproductive. But it does help the politically well-connected who donate to progressive causes. Because it's hard to govern effectively, but it's easy to make a scapegoat.

He's also planning on the standard subsidies to progressive rent-seekers, increasing the overall cost of housing production while not increasing the rate at which housing is built. This is relatively bog-standard fare for progressives; it's actually a big part of the Abundance movement articulated by Ezra Klein that progressives largely pad costs to their political backers via subsidies and counterproductively hamper state capacity.

His foreign policy perspectives do have an underlying alarming quality to it. His support for the Palestine movement is relatively normal by progressive standards, and I believe that there's a large movement on the right who try their best to falsely conflate support for Palestinian nationhood with support for Hamas and PIJ. But for a man who articulates a "universal support for human rights" and yet maintain his membership in the Democratic Socialists of America, who steadfastly produce pro-Putin apologia and minimize Russian genocide of Ukrainian people. This extends to the point where Russia actively brags about using FPV's to hunt civilians in Kherson - it's a genocide pure and simple - yet the DSA *needs* to believe in NATO expansionism myths and mandate the right for Russia to export instability to its near-abroad because otherwise a non-Western nation is a bad actor (shock and horror!). This is a significant problem - normally I wouldn't expect an NYC mayor to have foreign policy positions - but he's decided to have foreign policy perspectives and thus opens himself up to criticism. The simplest explanation of his position is hypocrisy, but I actually don't believe that mere hypocrisy sufficiently explains his positions. The DSA has really twisted themselves into knots justifying Putin's aggression, and the real throughline seems to stem from a place of severe anti-CEE racism, that Central and Eastern Europe deserve the sword for abandoning socialism. This isn't to say that Mamdani believes this explicitly, but that he supports a group that maintains this position and has been so far unwilling to separate himself from it. That he maintains his membership and doesn't so much as make a token statement against it is quite troubling.

-SLAL