#a few people from soho

[ineffableteeth]

If Crowley and Aziraphale were to have a small private wedding reception I guarantee Crowley would start crying first then Aziraphale would follow soon after

One glance at Aziraphale and Crowley’s done for

[rheya28]

IronWorks Fitness Centre ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

Welcome to Ironworks Fitness Centre. This stunning space combines a sleek design with cutting-edge fitness technology to provide the perfect workout environment. You can take a refreshing dip in the stylish pool or challenge yourself to a boxing match in the boxing ring. Ironworks Fitness Centre's state-of-the-art gym equipment is designed to meet all your fitness needs, whether you're looking to build strength or improve your cardio. The facility offers an energizing cycling classes to get your heart pumping and blood flowing for those who need an extra boost.

➽ I was talking to one of my lovely friend @marilynjeansims about building in Oasis Spring. I realize that I have not build anything for this world so here I am! hehe I am planning on filling up this community strip so watch out for more oasis spring modern and midcentury builds in the future! Megan suggested a few community lot types which I think will be perfect for this world so I'm excited!

➽ Important Notes:

●Please make sure to turn bb.moveobjects on! ● Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own. ● Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file ● Feel free to edit/tweak my builds, but please make sure to credit me as the original creator! ● Thank you to all CC Creators● Please let me know if there's any problem with the build

➽ Speed Build Video

00:00 Beginning 00:02 Intro 00:57 Speed Build 22:30 Photos

Female Sims used in the video are by the lovely @largetaytertots Gwen & Solana

➽ Lot Details

Lot Name: IronWorks Fitness Centre Lot type: Gym Lot size: 40 x 30 Location: Oasis Spring

➽ MODS

● Tool Mod by Twisted Mexi ● Let's Get Fit Fanmade Modpack by Cepzid ● Everyday clutterkits become functional by Cepzid

➽ CC List

Note: I reuse a lot of the same cc in all my builds, specifically cc's from felixandre, HeyHarrie, Tuds, and Pierisim so if you're interested in downloading past, present, future build from me i suggest getting all their cc sets to make downloading a little easier! other creators include Sooky, Charlypancakes, Sixam, Thecluttercat, Myshunosun, awingedllama, Peacemaker, kiwisim4. This will also ensure that the lots are complete and are not missing any items upon downloading ! DSCO ● Hunter Fitness set House of Harlix ● Bafroom ● Harluxe ● Orjanic Bbygyal123 ● The balance collection Charlypancakes ● Munch ● Smol Felixandre ● Colonial pt [3] ● Grove pt [3][4] ● Soho (all) Harrie ●Brutalist ● Klean pt [3] ● Spoons pt [2] ● Jardane ● Kichen (shelves only) LittleDica ● Country Side Cabin ● Rise & Grind Peacemaker ● Hudson Bathroom [towel] Pierisim ● Coldbrew ● MCM pt [1][3] ● Oak House pt [2] ● Unfold ● Winter Garden ● Woodland Ranch (ceiling/floor tiles only) Max 20 ● Poolside Lounge Pack Simkoos ● Everyday Clutterkit Addon (rolled yoga mat only) ● Taget Store (Signs only) Sixam ● Hotel Bedroom (desk) ● Small spaces Laundry Room (laundry basket only) Syboulette ● Ballet (mirrors only) ● Fitness ● Karaoke (neon signs only) Tuds ● Brut (ceiling light only) ● Cross ● Cave ● Ind Around the sims ● Swimming pool foam lane ● Swimming pool Starting block

● Tray File: Patreon Page ● Origin ID: Applez ● Twitter: Rheya28__ ● Tiktok: Rheya28__ ● Patreon: Rheya28 ● Youtube: Rheya28__

[neil-gaiman]

Hi! I have a question about Good Omens, specifically Maggie’s seemingly unpopular store. Why did you choose a record store? It’s just, I know quite a few young adults who are really into buying and collecting vinyls so I don’t actually think a store like her would not make enough profit for rent and be that unpopular. I’m also from America so maybe it’s only a popular collecting thing over here?

Thanks and I hope you have a lovey day! :)

Given the number of vinyl-based record shops in London's Soho that have gone out of business over the last decade (let alone the last thirty years) I wish the people who are convinced Maggie's store would be booming and successful were right.

[queerfables]

Why all the crowd scenes look the same, aka: Something is WRONG in Soho

I'm not even gonna tease and draw this out because it's so cool it doesn't need the fanfare. Ready?

Season 2 takes place over the course of 5 days. During that time, most of the passersby in Soho - maybe even all of them - stay exactly the same. It's the same people every day, wearing the exact same clothes, and they wander through the neighbourhood in paths that don't make any sense. You won't be able to unsee it. I can't believe it's taken us this long to realise.

Don't believe me? Rewatch the scene from 2x03, I Know Where I'm Going where Shax confronts Crowley outside the bookshop, appearing in a series of different guises. Pay attention to the people going past.

I've marked out five people you see on screen when Crowley first exits the bookshop at 39:37:

Numbers 1, 2 and 3 are following the path right. Number 4 follows the path left. Number 5 crosses the road.

Here the five people are again, at 40:19, when Crowley goes to return to the bookshop:

Number 5 is still visible in the distance, in the direction she walked in. This makes sense! But numbers 1, 2, 3 and 4 are rounding the same corner they just passed. It's as though 1, 2 and 3 all decided to turn and head back the way they came just 40 seconds ago, and number 4 has circled the block to join them.

This on its own would be super weird, but they're not the only people to do that in this scene. The man in the purple sweater from the first picture crosses the road, then appears back next to the bookshop, then starts walking back the way he came again.

Here's the part that made me absolutely certain, though. At 40:05, a man wearing an orange hoodie with blue sleeves walks past Crowley, who is heading towards the bookshop entrance.

The camera cuts to a view from behind Crowley, and a moment later, at 40:08...

He reappears in front of Crowley and walks past him again.

It's such a distinctive outfit, there's no mistaking it. They are absolutely fucking with the background characters and they are absolutely doing it on purpose.

Your turn. There are at least three other characters in this scene who pass by multiple times. Watch it again and try to spot them.

This scene is really chaotic and obvious, but the phenomena I'm talking about is much bigger than just one scene. Let's go back to the first thing I said: the background characters don't change. All our leads do. Maggie and Nina wear distinctive outfits, clearly demarcating each new day. Even Crowley and Aziraphale, who in season 1 were like cartoon characters with wardrobes full of identical clothing, vary their looks. Crowley changes his (very subtly) each day; Aziraphale is less rigid on timing, but he has a few different coats that he switches between. The background characters, on the other hand, wear the same outfits every single day. They walk by on the street but they never actually seem to have a destination. They sit in the coffee shop or pub and don't eat or drink anything, and nearly everyone leaves together exactly on closing time. It's eerie.

For reference's sake, here's a rough timeline of season 2, with pictures of Maggie and Nina's outfits to show the passing of time. I had to outsource this section because my post was too image heavy, lol. The main point I wanted to make is that five days go by.

Five days, and all the same faces keep showing up in the background, and almost none of them change their clothes. I'm not entirely sure what it means, but there's no way it's an accident. It might, in fact, be a game changer. To me this is proof positive that something is not as it seems. I've been a massive Clue skeptic, adamant that I'd only be convinced by the most unambiguous evidence, and honestly? This is enough to move the dials. It's too big for me to ignore. Whatever grand explanation of Good Omens we come up with has to account for this. I don't have it yet, but my current working theories are that Crowley and Aziraphale are under some seriously heavy surveillance, that time warping is involved, or that reality itself is not what it seems.

It would take a really long time for me to go through all of the background characters who turn up over and over but I do want to show you what I'm talking about. To wrap up, then, I'm going to pick out some memorable characters and walk you through a few of their appearances through the week. I highly recommend looking out for this yourself on your next rewatch and seeing how many other characters you can recognise.

Yellow Skirt

The first person I kept coming back to as being not quite right. You probably remember her from the first episode - she's the one who waves and walks past Maggie and Nina the night they're locked in together. Incidentally, she's also Person Number 3 in the scene with Shax.

Day 1 (2x01 - 36:20):

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:03)

Day 3 (2x03 - 06:36)

Day 5 (2x06 - 30:00)

Coolest Leather Jacket In The World

It's not so easy to recognise people wearing lots of nondescript dark colours, but I love his hair and his jacket, so he stood out to me. I think there might be a lot more people who are wearing fairly nondescript clothes who I just can't recognise from episode to episode.

Day 2 (2x02 - 16:44)

Day 4 (2x04 - 41:20)

Day 5 (2x06 - 29:20)

Dressed In Mustard

Ms Mustard shows up everywhere. If you want to see what I mean about their paths not making sense, pay attention when she comes on screen, because she'll often show up a few times in succession and walk very purposefully to nowhere in particular. The thing that she is doing, essentially, is behaving like an extra in a tv show. Which of course she is, but you're supposed to make that invisible by not having the same person go back and forth in the same scene, or changing up their outfit each in-universe day to give the sense time is passing. Not doing that is a really deliberate choice.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:37)

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:03)

Day 3 (2x03 - 01:49)

Day 3 (2x03 - 37:07)

Day 5 (2x06 - 29:59)

Swishy Dress

This character shows up a lot in the first episode. I've struggled to find her in later episodes, though. None of the characters seem to follow the same patterns or show up to equal extents each day, which makes me think this isn't a straightforward time loop. I haven't actually cross referenced character appearances to in world times, though. Possibly this is a project for someone who's more across the time-related shenanigans than me.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:43)

Day 3 (2x03 - 07:01)

Yellow Vest

I've only seen this guy a handful of times, always around the French restaurant. I wonder if there's significance to that.

Day 2 (2x02 - 41:06)

Day 4 (2x05 - 12:49)

Fuzzy Blue Coat

Another background character who shows up frequently. The blue doesn't stand out quite as much as the yellows and reds some characters wear, but it's very distinctive.

While we're getting a lot of shots of the street, it's worth noting that I'm pretty sure the vehicles we see are also just the same few cars repeating each day. A lot of them are in neutral silvers and monochrome, but there's a couple of blue cars, one red, and one black and white that I'm fairly sure I've seen over and over through the season.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:45)

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:04)

Day 3 (2x03 - 02:00)

Day 5 (2x06 - 40:10)

Day 5 (2x06 - 48:56)

Day 5 (2x06 - 50:06)

One final note: Whatever this is, Nina's employee who you see in the background at the coffeeshop sometimes isn't affected by it. He's wearing different outfits each day. On the other hand, some of the other shopkeepers do seem affected. I'm fairly sure Mr Brown and Mrs Sandwich wear the same outfits a few different days, only changing because of Aziraphale at the ball.

And that's it! Thanks for reading and I hope your mind is blown as much as mine is.

EDIT:

Hey I don't mind anyone pointing out production reasons that this might be the case or disagreeing with my analysis (over-analysis, some might say ����). Please be kind about it, though. I'm not ignorant of the practical limitations involved in film making, but some of these costumes were really distinctive in a way I thought might be intended to draw attention.

For those of you who do find this theory convincing, I feel I should mention that I was working under the assumption that this stuff would have taken a few days to film, even filming it all together. That would strongly suggest that the actors were deliberately costumed the exact same way over multiple days of shooting, which made me think it had to be purposeful. @coranax was kind enough to point out, though, that behind the scenes videos said the extras were filmed separately to the main actors because of Covid protocols. In that case, they could have done it in just one day and that weakens my confidence in its intentionality.

Finally, all of my points about the scene with Shax in 2x03 stand. That was not a case of accidental continuity errors, it was really elegantly choreographed to enhance the tension in the scene. I say that with confidence because the extras are doing exactly what Shax is doing: circling Crowley, appearing where he doesn't expect them, creating a whirlwind sense of being off balance and out of control. I think it's really cool and effective, whether there's a deeper meaning to it or not.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Michael Sheen about David Tennant, bonding over working on Good Omens and their kids, Season 2 and suprises in S2, and David's bad habits. (MCM Comic Con, 30.10.2022)

Q: Now, I've watched a youtube video, it was a really strange fan video, it was lovely though, and it was about the bromance between you and David Tennant.

Michael: I'm sorry, I didn't... I don't know who you're referring to.

Q: I mean, what is he like to work with, he seems like a joy to work with and you guys get on really well.

Michael: I mean, it's like having and an albatros around your neck, really, he sort of does drag you down a lot of time... no, I feel very lucky, you know, David and I were in a film called Bright Young Things together many, many years ago - [applause] thank you very much, thank you, thank you - but we didn't get to act together in that and we didn't, you know, we didn't really know each other from that and we've know each other 'say hello to' over the years, but it wasn't until we did Good Omens the first series really that we - [another applause] thank you thank you - that we got to know each other and of course we spent a LOT of time together on that, and people were coming in and out, but it was essentially me and David sitting in the tent all day every day a lot of the time. And so we sort of slowly got to know each other doing that and then, actually it was probably doing the publicity for that and the press for that that we really got to know each other and and then because we both had babies within weeks of each other, you know, me and Anna and David and Georgia, you know, we got very kind of bonded then because of over that. And we say that, so David and Georgia's little girl Birdie and our little girl Lyra, we say, Lyra's only got one friend and that's Birdie. And we sort of got very close but we were very lucky, because you don't know the chemistry's gonna be like between you and another actor until you start working together. And, you know, interestingly David and I probably hadn't work together because a lot of time we were up for the same parts, or you know, there was only one David or Michael shaped hole in the cast and only one of us would fill it, so we didn't get to work together. And I've been a big fan of his work for years and years and really admired, you know, what he did, and so then get into work opposite each other, it just sort of clicked very quickly, and I remember when we did the table read for the first series of Good Omens and we were sitting there next to each other and starting to read the lines together and we'd not really talked about the characters much before then or how we were gonna do it abd you could sort of feel the two of us kind of adapting to each other over the first, you know, few pages and then we just kind of, it just clicked, the characters just clicked and we just sort of without having to talk about it we just instinctively understood how they would be together and I remember Neil Gaiman and Douglas the director saying that watching it was like that as well, you saw these characters sort of circling around each other a little bit and sniffing each other out and then bumph you're just suddenly dancing and it's been like that ever since, really. It was such a joy to come back and do the second series together again, and it was like... once we'd put the costumes on again, and we were on the Soho set - we filmed it up in Scotland and they've buil like entire block of Soho, on the first one where they only built a small amount of it and it was in a freezing cold carpark ouside Oxfordshire and it was miserable and this time we were in the lovely, warm soundstage with a whole of Soho built, and once we got the costumes on and I remember our first scene together - because David was a bit ill at the very beginning of the filming, so he wasn't there for the first few days - and then when we did get to our first scene together and it was just a walk across the street or something and it was almost like the costumes were walking for themselves, like they just knew what to do, the characters just sort of took over, weirdly, and we were in that kind of groove again. So it's an absolutle pleasure working with him and spending time with him and it's so lovely that we found these two characters, or these two characters found us, to be able to sort of put everything into, you know, and to feel so comfortable with each other. It's been brilliant and I hope when it comes out next summer I hope everyone really enjoys it, I think there's gonna be a lot of great surprises for people and I hope you enjoy it.

Q: I mean, Michael, that's all very well, that's very sweet, what a lovely story, but I want you to dish some dirt. Tell me, is there something... does he have a bad habit... does he have an annoying habit, that he wouldn't want us to know about?

Michael: About David?

Q: Yes.

Michael: Oh my goodness. David doesn't have any bad habits. Em, what can I tell you about him... I mean, he's a bit good to be true, really. He's always lovely to everyone... oh! I tell you what his bad habit is. He leaves it to me to... when there's a problem and we are unhappy about something, because I'm supposedly the grumpy one, he leaves it to me, so he can be the [imitating David:] 'Oh, I'm so sorry, it's just Michael has a wee problem with this, I don't know... it's not me, I'm fine with it, you know...', but, you know, the two of us have gone, 'Well, that's a bit out of order, innit?' and then I'm the attack dog who has to go out.

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

iv. you and me would be a big conversation

— the one where both of you have big reputations.

warnings: this one got a little long sorry, bashing towards charles and y/n (i love them ok), taylor swift references,2.6k words.

masterlist ✢ next

FROM DATF1GURL ON TIKTOK: "IS Y/N Y/LN AFTER CHARLES LECLERC NOW?"

[female voiceover]: ❝(...) while it is true she has a contract with Elix the new MAJOR sponsor for Ferrari—horrible drink by the way—rumor has it y/n's actual goal is to get the monegasque driver to spare a glance her way... Like, okay girl, but you left a 3-year relationship five minutes ago, chill.❞

IN pure Taylor Swift fashion, y/n y/ln has found her own ‘Getaway Car’ in none other than the 25-year-old Monegasque Formula 1 pilot, Charles Leclerc.

While nothing’s been confirmed, (come on now, what celebrity will just confirm rumors of their own free will in this day and age? Screw you, PR agents) the actress has been seen at two Grand Prix and the Elix contract gives her good camouflage for being constantly photographed with her new beau.

No matter how much sex-appeal these two exude, let’s not forget that we have a victim here: Aidan Kim. How can you leave a three year relationship with the man that gave you everything and not even two months later you’re already with someone else?

Is it a rebound or are we looking at something serious? In your humble writer’s opinion it’s most likely the former. And let’s not forget what Taylor Swift, in her infinite wisdom, said: “Nothing good starts in a getaway car”, it doesn’t matter if it’s a Ferrari.

SEE ALSO:

→ Aidan Kim buys new home in Sherman Oaks.

→ Every celebrity present at the Miami Grand Prix.

→ Is y/n y/ln really done with RomComs?

May 13th, Los Angeles, California.

“ARE you sure this is who you want as your rebound, babe?” Victoria places the magazine down and turns her head to look at you, using the precise force and tilt for her sunglasses to slide down to the tip of her nose.

“Stop reading that garbage,” you warn, not bothering to change your position in the chaise-longue, you don’t even look away from the script in your hands.

The day started pretty well, sunny Los Angeles made you feel hopeful for the first time in a while as you opened the script Mildred sent you when you got back from Miami. A drama about a young widow. You can work with that.

“I just mean—” Vic shifts her whole body in your direction, “—You have options, what about Timothée? I’m pretty sure the Kylie thing is fake. And he wouldn’t say no to you.”

“Stop that, Vic,” this time you do look her way for emphasis, you mean it. “I’m not looking for a rebound, or anything else for that matter. I want a job.”

“Fine,” Vic makes a show of capturing her lip between her teeth to pronounce the “F” and lies back in the chair. “I’m just saying…”

You’re glad to be wearing sunglasses, so she can’t see the way your eyes rollback. To be fair, you’re at Vic’s house so she has every right to occupy the same space as you at any given minute. Which is all the time.

After the breakup you ran to Vic’s Los Angeles home and left the SoHo apartment to Aidan. Vic's house is amazing, with eight rooms, five bathrooms, a black granite kitchen and of course, the pool. But you miss New York, even if you can fit your own room two times in one of Vic's. At least, according to rumors, Aidan is moving out of the apartment so you might be able to return to it soon.

“I think it’s bullshit that they see me breathing near a guy and suddenly we’re dating,” you drop the stack of papers on your legs, startling Vic with the sound. “Bullshit.”

“It’s just tabloids, babe.” Vic goes quiet, knowing she’s annoyed you and now you feel guilty about that too.

“I know,” you sigh, picking the script back up. Suddenly you don’t like it that much anymore.

Of course you know it’s just tabloids. People talk shit just for fun, but you’ve been their main target for a few weeks now and you cannot wait for them to move on. Which seems unlikely.

You've never been more glad about turning down a Yankees game invite.

Following Ferrari’s disappointing Sunday and the respective mandatory Elix pictures, you hung around the Suite a little longer in aims of gathering your thoughts and the will to leave to meet Vic at another after-party.

“Hola y/n! I thought you’d left,” Carlos carried his bag in one hand as he struggled to put his sunglasses with the other.

“I’m about to,” you smiled at him, locking your phone. “You too?”

“Yep, going straight to the airport. See you in Italy?” he asked, running his now free hand through his black hair, all set.

“See you there, Carlos.” you waved him goodbye before leaning back on the couch.

Vic had apologized for the shenanigans she'd pulled the previous night, saying she knew she should have asked you instead of just running with things. So you were looking forward to the after-party, it would be fun to hang out with your best friend after making up.

It wasn’t even five minutes before Charles came out too, hanging up a call in his half-destroyed iPhone.

“Oh hey!” He greeted cheerfully, the bad aftertaste from the race wasn't evident in his demeanor anymore. They had their debrief and Charles was willing to let go of the negativity momentarily.

“Hi Charles,” your not-as-cheerful tone didn’t bother him one bit. “Are you flying back today too?”

You couldn’t picture yourself in an eight hour flight after everything they’d done today, but they’re not really regular humans.

“We’re driving to New York, actually,” his hand hovered over the refreshment table, until he picked one of the leftover Elix. Charles examined the black can he chose before speaking again, “We’re going to a Yankees game tomorrow.”

“That’s very nice, Charles.”

He hates Elix as much as the next person so you can't help but wonder why he drinks them even when the cameras are off. Carlos and you never do.

“Would you like to join us?” He offered, the last word deafened by the click of the can as he opened it.

You took a few seconds to process the question, long enough for Charles to down about half the can in one gulp.

“Thank you, but I’m flying back to L.A. tomorrow.”

Charles' mouth went down in one corner and you were uncertain whether it was your answer or the taste that caused it. He tilted the can making the remaining liquid dance.

“Maybe another time,” he added, downing the rest of the blueberry flavored Elix. “Don’t worry.”

“Thanks for asking me, though,” you smiled, grabbing your purse from the couch. You had recovered enough energy already, and you didn't want to miss the DJ set at the party. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thanks y/n,” his mouth was still frozen in that slight wince and you shook your head gently at the sight of the empty Elix. “I'll see you in Italy, right?”

“I’ll be there.” you assured, although you hoped not. But a week didn’t seem like enough time to secure a gig.

YOU land in Italy the day the Grand Prix gets canceled. Which is very much just your luck. It’s for the better, though, safety must always come first.

It makes no sense to run back to America when you have nothing else to do, so you resolve to stay in Rome and catch up with a few friends you have around. Matilde Bassi being the best among them, and she would rather die than let you stay in a hotel instead of her house.

"I said no," she repeats, and her accent—although barely even there— reminds you of Charles for a split second, before your brain lets go of the image. "I've told you a million times to come visit, I won't let you stay in a hotel."

You give up after that because you don't want to annoy her. Matilde has quite the strong character, which is the reason she got to Broadway in the first place. After years of being in New York, where you met her, she decided to move back to Italy. Mati, still pursuing her passion, is currently the European public's favorite Juliet.

The fact that all of this goes down in a phone call gives you time to pick up what little stuff you've gotten out of your suitcase and check-out of the hotel before Matilde gets there to take you to her house.

─────────

"So, how are you doing?" she asks, refilling your wine before moving back to the stove, where she's cooking your favorite Italian meal.

"I'm fine, I've told you," you chuckle, sipping the drink. Her house is beautiful too, and spacious, but it feels homey compared to Vic's. "Taking it easy."

One thing you tend to forget about Matilde is how she is able to see right through your bullshit, and that's exactly what she's doing now.

"You never take it easy, y/n. And I mean how are you really? How do you feel? A lot has changed for you lately." she flips her head back to remove a stray curl of hair out of her eyes, "You can be honest."

"I'm fine, seriously, Mati," you know drinking so fast will make the wine go straight to your head but you'll do anything to avoid really talking about this. Which is unfair, Matilde is being genuine.

"You moved from one coast to the opposite and you're fine? What are you working on right now?"

You sigh, managing to smell your own alcoholic breath. "I'm with Victoria, and I've lived in Los Angeles before, while filming, it's not a big deal. As for work... I'm just– picking some stuff out, seeing the best options."

Matilde nods and turns around to grab two plates from the sky blue cupboards behind her. "Are you planning on going back to New York?"

"Yeah, hopefully," you get up to help her and she gestures for you to take a seat again. "My name was on the lease and Aidan is moving out of the apartment, according to People Magazine, anyway so..."

"Your apartment was amazing," Matilde smiles, reminiscing the girls' nights you spent together while she worked in New York, it was always so much fun to be with Mati. "I hope you can go back. If that makes you happy, that is."

She manages to carry both steaming plates and the bottle of wine to the table, and finally sits down. "Well, enjoy!"

"Thank you, Mati, this smells amazing," you missed Mati's cooking so much because no matter how many Italian restaurants you visit, nothing compares to hers, and you're also glad to have something on your stomach that will make the effects of the wine go away.

Or that's what you hoped for anyway, because you're halfway through another cup of wine, almost done with your food, when you drop the grenade you've left unpinned in your brain for 2 months.

"I don't miss him," you whisper, resting the fork gently on the edge of the plate, between two of the yellow flowers painted on it. "Am I a horrible person because I don't miss him?"

You gave it a lot of thought ever since you took the plane from New York to L.A. the night you said no. You thought—still think—there's something wrong with you because the feeling that something was ripped out of your life and the hole that it left would never be filled never even appeared. There was no hole, it was a scar already, and you picked at it trying to make it bleed. But nothing happened. Nothing ever happens.

"You're not a horrible person, y/n don't say that."

You're glad Mati doesn't let silence fall between you, it would have made you regret everything that left your mouth, but she's already reaching for your hand and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Mourning the idea of someone is worse than mourning their absence. And you had missed Aidan for a long time, even when he was with you.

"I just feel awful for leaving and not wanting to go back, I hate myself for being okay."

The rejected proposal is something you keep close to you still. You love Mati, and you trust her, but you cannot bring yourself to touch that subject.

Mati squeezes your hand, her food forgotten as well. "I'm glad you're okay. I liked Aidan, too. But you're my friend, and I love you and all I want is for you to be better than okay."

"Thank you Mati," it's her words that actually get the tears flowing, and you wipe them quickly with your free hand. "Sorry for dumping this on you so suddenly." you give a choked laugh before clearing your throat.

"I did tell you you could be honest," she laughs, giving your hand a last squeeze before letting it go. "How about we just go straight to dessert?"

You nod, grateful that she leaves to get the tiramisu you bought on the way home from the fridge so you can pull yourself together.

MONACO welcomes you the Sunday before the Grand Prix. Which you are excited about, for the first time in a while.

Matilde proves to be the best company once again, knowing her way around Monaco like it's her own home. You're glad she's attending the Grand Prix too and you were able to get her into the Ferrari Suite with you, unlike your failed attempt at Miami with Vic.

One thing you find out about Monaco pretty soon, is that they're obsessed with Charles Leclerc. He's in buses and billboards and you can see people waiting to catch a glimpse of him outside grocery stores. It warms you up inside that he's so loved in his own country, not many people can relate.

You don't love, however, that the articles online have brought attention to your presence in Monaco too. And although it’s far less than the one Charles gets for obvious reasons, the heat that comes from it is closer to ire than affection.

Still, you take photos with those who ask on your way back from dinner with Mati and ignore the “you’re here for your boyfriend, huh?” Questions that come from people with their cameras millimeters away from your face. Saying “it’s not like that” isn’t worth the effort because it won’t work.

May 23rd Montecarlo, Monaco.

Mati is introducing you to other celebrities that attended the All-Stars game, when Charles comes back from signing autographs to the part of the stadium where you are. He's messy, dirty and all dimples—again— which you start to find annoying. Although it's mildly sweet how he always smiles at you when your eyes meet, you cannot allow yourself to think of that too often. He's a nice guy, he's being nice.

"Hi y/n, I thought I'd see you until the weekend," he greets you, still drying off the sweat from the back of his neck.

You shrug, making way for a couple of guys who give Charles a bro hug, joke about the several mistakes he made during the match and then leave, acknowledging you in the form of a quick scan.

"Good game," you can't help the small laugh that follows the compliment, but Charles only smiles wider.

"I'm a natural," he replies, but takes his hand to the place he hit when he face planted. "Don't you think?"

"Definitely," you laugh again, raising both eyebrows. "I'm just glad you stick to racing."

"Me too," it's his turn to shrug, and run a hand through his damp hair.

“How was New York?” You look over your shoulder to Mati, who’s holding her own conversation a few steps away. “Did you have fun?”

“It was really fun, noisy, big. It’s a shame you couldn’t come.”

“Thank you again for inviting me. I do miss New York, but i had things to do.” You let the air out of your lungs hoping, albeit stupidly, he can’t see in your face that the things you did was read stuff on the internet about the two of you together.

“Oh you live in New York? That’s wonderful, so you know your way around. Lorenzo and I got lost.”

You chuckle gently. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Ready to go?” Mati puts an arm around you, smiling. “Hello, Charles.”

So it is true everyone knows each other in these circles.

“Hello Matilde,” Charles smiles back at her, “I won’t keep you any longer, y/n.”

“No worries, it was nice seeing you.”

“I’ll see you soon, maybe I can show you a place or two in Monaco.” Charles is very casual, but his eyes don’t leave yours for a heartbeat.

Matilde tilts her head and her ponytail falls into your shoulder, the small hairs tickling your ear.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks Charles.” You shake your head away from Mati’s and wave Charles goodbye as he walks by you.

“My advice,” Mati is still holding you by the shoulder. “If I may be nosy… You don’t want to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Charles Leclerc. You don’t wanna do that, y/n.”

You roll your eyes but Mati is unbothered by the gesture. “I’m not doing anything, Mati. He’s being nice, we see each other every weekend.”

“He is a homie hopper, trust me, run don’t walk.”

You tsk, making her shake her head this time. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not doing that, never, ever.”

And although you intend to keep your promise, the first thing you do once your phone is hooked to the hotel’s wifi, is google Charles and his reputation.

Even if you know better than anyone that the internet is full of lies.

─── team principal radio: ❝hello! i really enjoyed creating this chapter, especially the fake media so i hope you've enjoyed it too. thanks for reading!♡❞

✰ paddock club members: @majx00

[sea-owl]

I personally want to see jealous Colin because I think it be funny with how dramatic the Bridgertons can be. Particularly, I want jealous Colin in this specific scene.

The scene I'm talking about is when Colin stalks follows Penelope to St Bride's church. As he's following her he notices that they are traveling in the direction towards his bachelor lodgings.

After they rolled along for a few minutes, He poked his head outside to make sure his driver had not lost sight of Penelope's carriage. There she was, right in front of him. Or at least he thought it was her. Most hired hacks looked the same, so ge was going to have to trust and hope that he was following the right one. But as he looked out, he realized they would have a much further east than he would have anticipated. In fact, they were just now passing Soho Street, which meant they were nearly to Tottenham Court Road, which meant-

Dear God, was Penelope taking the carriage to his house?

Bedford square was practically right around the corner.

A delicious thrill shot up his spine, because he couldn't imagine what she was doing in this part of town if not to see him; who else would a woman like Penelope know Bloomsbury? He couldn't imagine that her mother allowed her to associate with people actually worked for a living, and Colin's neighbors, though certainly well enough born, we're not of the aristocracy and rarely even of the gentry. And they all plodded off to work each day, doctoring and lawyering, or-

Colin frowned, Hard. They just rolled past Tottenham Court Road. What the devil was she doing this far east? He supposed her driver might not know his way around town very well and thought to take Bloomsbury Street up to Bedford Square, even though it was a bit out of the way, but-

He heard something very strange and realized it was the sound of his teeth grinding together. They just passed Bloomsbury Street and presently veering onto High Holborn.

Devil take it, they were nearly in the City? What in God's name was Penelope planning to do in the city?

First of all Colin, how would Penelope know where you lived? Is your siblings giving out your address? Because I know you didn't tell her outside of saying you were residing in Bloomsbury. Second of all that's inappropriate for her to do so good sir and you know better. Yes she's a spinsterr now, but she's still a lady and even you commented earlier how she shouldn't be leaving her house without someone with her. This man just wants the, unknown to him, love of his life by his side and does not care about the social implications. It's so funny too when he gets all pouty when he realizes that she wasn't coming to see him. Again Colin how would Penelope know your address?

And then when they're in the church and fighting for Penelope's letter.

"Colin," she whispered."Please . . . don't."

She's seen his secret writings. Why shouldn't he see her's? Did she have a lover? Was all that nonsense aboutnever having been kissed exactly that-nonsense?

Dear God was this fire burning in his belly . . . jealousy?

"Colin," she said again, choking now. She placed her hand on his, trying to prevent him from opening the envelope. Not with a strength for she could never match him on that, just with her presence.

But there was no way . . . no way could have stopped himself. He would have died before surrounding that enveloped her unopened.

Dramatic ass Bridgertons always do things the most dramatic way possible. This man was ready to fight Penelope's lover that he made up in his head. I want to see how dramatic Colin can get now that he has a face to put the lover status for Penelope. He's going to lose his mind.

[nightgoodomens]

Heaven was going to flood London, and Aziraphale was watching it from Heaven anxiously because his most beloved memories were there.

His Bookshop would survive, they told him. They thought that was all he cared about.

But he was thinking of the parks which he walked through with Crowley, where they chatted and laughed. He thought of Ritz where they enjoyed food and drinks and each other’s company. He thought of Mayfair where Crowley’s flat was. He thought of the beloved Bentley that would soon end up deep underneath the water.

He thought of all the innocent lives. All the friendly faces of just the people he knew in Soho. Of all the millions he’s never spoke to.

But most of all he thought of Crowley.

Metatron said the flooding would be gradual. People were told on the News how the weather would bring storms and to leave London. An Apocalypse they called it.

Some left. It was a horrifying panic and thousands of people running, cars on standstill because of miles and miles of traffic.

The Devil was blamed. Just as Heaven hoped.

Soho people didn’t run.

Of course they didn’t, Aziraphale thought, such communities didn’t leave, they gathered to protect their home.

He watched Crowley staying with them. Moving bags of sand with Bentley, urging people to take everything precious to them upstairs, join their friends in the flats right at the top. He was carrying anti flooding items with all the other humans. One of them.

He saw all of them locking up the Bookshop, covering windows, throwing bags of sand around it to protect it.

He saw Nina making hot drinks and kids carrying small bottles of water to tired humans. He saw everyone eating together on the street, laughing, and in such moments anxiousness was overtaken by love and determination.

He saw Maggie carrying her music upstairs and playing it from the rooftop. Others were shouting out requests. Sometimes people were dancing. Their little breaks were for pretending nothing was happening.

When the rain came, when the water started flooding everything, most were hiding inside, right at the top. He saw Crowley and a few others struggling through the water, getting to a few who did not manage to get home on time. The rain was relentless and the wind blinding. They were falling into the water, not seeing what was underneath it.

He saw Bentley on a rooftop and allowed himself the smallest chuckle.

His hands had bruises on them from how he was squeezing them, nails digging into his skin. He told Crowley to run. Crowley never responded.

Crowley fell into the water at one point and Aziraphale froze, but another man was right there pulling him out. They were all running back indoors soon after, climbing on top of the cars to reach windows and be pulled in by others, realising there was nothing they could do anymore.

In the morning the sun shon again. People were on rooftops, dripping wet, exhausted but smiling. He saw Maggie drying Crowley’s hair with a towel, the Demon hissing at her as she innocently whispered what an Angel he was.

She had no idea it was Angels doing this to them.

When Heaven realised that Flood was not going to get rid of Humans, they stopped. Soon the water slowly lowered. The community was back on their legs, cleaning everything. Even more exhausted. But so proud of themselves. Even closer.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley dragged himself to the Bentley, after everything was over. Exhausted, rubbing his face once inside, nearly falling asleep right there.

But Crowley grabbed his phone first and seconds later Aziraphale heard a ping on his.

The text message was short.

Humans 1:0 Heaven

Aziraphale smiled. He’s never missed him more.

[actual-changeling]

aziraphale comes back from heaven but he decides to mix it up a little so now crowley has a beautiful wife with shining blonde waves and rose-tinted lips who looks just as fabulous in her favourite suit as before.

everything's fine and great, aziraphale shot the metatron in the head and called it a day, and returns to their bookshop a few weeks after leaving.

now, rumours have been running rampant on whickber street and the entirety of soho, really, and then the first people see crowley with his wife having a coffee date and suddenly everyone is very relieved.

ahhhh, the bookshop owner did not die, they didn't get divorced, she just transitioned! and now the hot genderqueer goth has an even hotter trans wife - nature is healing, everyone's skin is cleared, their crops are watered.

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part Two: Jazz Bar

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

The jazz concert took place in a small bar, downtown Soho. It was a Thursday evening, at around 9 o'clock, when you arrived at the establishment with the view to meet your best friend and fellow student Lucy there. Lucy was two years older than you and you shared a dorm room with her on campus. 

Just like you, Lucy was nerdy and focused on her studies, telling you years ago that you should not have gotten involved with Max but, of course, you did not listen to her at the time. 

That evening, Lucy stood you down, not intentionally but out of necessity. She had an assignment due the following day and recognized that she had not spent enough time on its content. 

So, at around nine that evening, you received a message from her saying that she had to bail on you, leaving you alone in the quirky bar which, by now, was filled with art students, middle aged men and women and a few musicians. 

Still, you were determined to make the most of the night. After all, your favorite band was playing, and this alone encouraged you to order yourself a drink and take a seat close to the stage.

A few minutes later, the band started a lively tune, and soon everyone began dancing.

You found yourself swaying to the rhythm, feeling the energy of the crowd enveloping you and, just as you were starting to get lost in the music, you spotted a familiar face.

It was Cillian, Max's father, who was standing near the bar, nursing a glass of red wine. 

The sight of him jolted you, sending a wave of mixed emotions coursing through your veins. You hadn't seen him since that fateful weekend in Dublin over fifteen months ago, and the memory of his captivating blue eyes and mesmerizing voice lingered within you. You watched him from afar, unable to tear your gaze away.

Cillian appeared to be engrossed in a conversation with a group of people, but every once in a while, he would glance around the room, scanning the faces of the attendees.

That's when his gaze landed on you and he excused himself from the group of people he was with. 

Approaching you with purpose, he smiled warmly. "Y/N, hey...it's nice to see you again," he greeted you. "How have you been?" he wanted to know and, immediately, his deep voice resonated through your body, stirring a familiar spark within you.

"I'm doing well, thank you," you responded, trying to remain composed. "How about you?" you asked before asking "what brings you here tonight?" with some surprise. 

"Oh, I saw that this band was performing and thought I'd check them out," Cillian explained casually with his thick Irish accent. 

"Are you in London for work or to see Max?" you asked Cillian, trying to keep your voice steady. 

"I am here for work, shooting a commercial, but I did catch up with Max yesterday for dinner," Cillian answered. "He seems to be doing well, even though he dropped out of medical school," he explained, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness knowing that you may have been the reason he quit his studies. 

"I am sorry Cillian, I feel like I caused this," you admitted hesitantly, remembering the countless arguments you had with him about his lackadaisical attitude towards academics right before the break-up. 

"No, you didn't. If anything, he hung in there as long as he did because of you," Cillian reassured you. "He is a good kid, but he lacks the discipline and commitment for such a difficult field of studies, and I must admit that, so did I, when I was his age," he chuckled before telling you that, at the age of twenty, he dropped out of law school. 

"Well, fortunately for you, you discovered acting and that clearly turned out to be your calling," you said with a wink and Cillian laughed heartily, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"That's right, I guess," he agreed, sipping on his wine. "So, no doubt Max will find his way too, at least once he gets over you," he then added calmly before gesturing towards the chair next to yours, wanting to take a seat.

"I am sure he is over me. It's been a year already and I see him quite often on campus these days. He may have transferred to the Arts Faculty, but he is still chatting up and flirting with the medical students," you joked before indicating to Cillian to take the seat. 

"He's a charmer, that's for sure," Cillian said with a hint of pride in his voice. "So, tell me," he leaned in closer, his scent intoxicating, "have you narrowed down your field of practice yet? Are you still interested in pediatrics?" Cillian asked you, his eyes sparkling with interest. "I mean, you mentioned it the last time we saw each other, but have you decided on anything yet?" Cillian pressed further, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I suppose that's accurate," you replied, feeling a surge of nervousness wash over you. "Pediatrics is definitely the direction I'm leaning towards, particularly oncology research."

"Oncology? That's fascinating," Cillian remarked, his eyes widening.

"Why oncology specifically?" he pressed, genuinely curious. "Is it because of your friend who battled leukemia? I remember you talking that," he went on to say and you were impressed by the fact that he remembered. Unlike Max, Cillian appeared to be a good listener and you appreciated that. 

"Yes, that's right. Ever since visiting my friend in the hospital, I've been fascinated by the idea of using science to combat diseases. Research gives me the opportunity to contribute to the advancement of healthcare," you explained earnestly.

Cillian tilted his head, studying you closely. "Your dedication is admirable," he complimented, admiration glimmering in his eyes, and you blushed faintly, feeling flattered by his praise.

"Thank you, Cillian," you mumbled shyly before downing the rest of your drink.

"Would you like another drink?" Cillian thus asked, being observant, as he settled into the chair, his scent wafted over you, a mix of expensive cologne and freshly laundered linen. "My shout," he then went on to say as he noticed you hesitating and, immediately, you suppressed a shiver, suddenly aware of the intimate setting you'd created.

"Okay," you muttered nervously, gazing down at your empty glass. "Thank you," went on to say and, not long after that, Cillian walked off and instructed the bartender, handing over his credit card.

When he returned to the table, you both fell quiet again, awkwardly staring at the dance floor. The band played a slow, bluesy number, and couples danced intimately beneath the dim glow of the stage lights.

Feeling increasingly uneasy, you attempted to change the subject. "How is Danielle?" you asked, swirling the wine in your glass.

Cillian hesitated, his expression clouding over. "Alright, I suppose," he muttered, a hint of melancholy creeping into his voice.

"Alright, you suppose?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. The way he answered your question seemed absurd.

"Yeah, well, things aren't exactly smooth sailing with us," he admitted reluctantly. "We have been having problems for years," he confided in you, causing your heart to skip a beat.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," you sympathized, genuine concern etching your features. "Max did mentioned about you fighting a lot," you commented cautiously, careful not to cross any boundaries.

Cillian exhaled deeply, his shoulders drooping slightly. "We've been trying to work things out but it hasn't been easy," he confessed, his voice laced with sorrow. "Sometimes it feels like we're stuck in a cycle of misunderstandings, accusations and resentment," he admitted.

"I may have heard about certain rumors, in the tabloids, concerning you and other actresses," you ventured delicately, "but I know that these gossip magazines tend to blow things out of proportion," you quickly added just as Cillian chuckled and interrupted you. 

"I didn't take you to be the kind of person who reads these kinds of magazines Y/N. I am really disappointed in you," he mocked, giving you a sideways glance, which made you blush. 

"I don't, unless I am at the hairdressers and my phone is running low on battery," you admitted, meeting his gaze. "And I know the press loves to feed on drama," you added defensively, trying to cover up the embarrassment.

"Well then, for what it's worth, I can assure you that I have never cheated on my wife," Cillian stated plainly, his eyes locked on yours. "Not that I haven't had the opportunity though," he admitted without hesitation, his honesty striking you speechless.

"I am sure you have had many opportunities," you commented lightly, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

"Maybe not many, but I had some," Cillian laughed before changing the topic to something lighter. 

"What about you?" he asked. "Have you met anyone new since you broke up with Max?" he wanted to know before apologizing for his question, telling you that you did not have to answer it if it made you uncomfortable. 

You swallowed nervously, your pulse quickening at the mention of your former lover. "No, it's okay," you told him. "I haven't had much time for dating," you lied, fiddling with your napkin. "Med school takes up most of my time," you added, not wanting to reveal the truth that no one had caught your attention since Max, at least not yet.

Cillian nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine," he said, before pausing briefly, watching you sip your drink before continuing with caution. "So, besides med school, what keeps you busy?" he questioned, curiosity burning in his eyes.

You sighed softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Not much, honestly," you confessed, shrugging nonchalantly. "I mean, there's the occasional date with friends, dinners with family, and that's pretty much it," you admitted. "I can't lie though, it does get lonely sometimes," you revealed, peering down at your lap.

"I get like this when I am away filming for weeks," Cillian shared, nodding sympathetically. "When the loneliness creeps in, it makes you feel so isolated, doesn't it?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, absolutely," you agreed, your voice barely audible. "I've learned to appreciate moments like these, though, because they remind me how precious human connection truly is," you confided in him, reaching to clasp your hands together.

Cillian gazed at you, his gaze softening. "It must be tough, being so dedicated to your studies. How do you manage to balance everything?" he pondered aloud.

"I've developed strategies to cope. For instance, I set aside time for myself each day, whether it's going for a run or reading a book," you admitted, your voice trailing off and it was at this point that you learned that you shared even more common interests with Cillian. 

He, too, liked to go for runs and read, and not just scripts for upcoming projects. He enjoyed historical fiction as well as thrillers, and his literary horizons were broad. You found this refreshing, considering how insular and self-involved actors could be.

After ordering more drinks, you and Cillian talked some more and shared some laughs. Your conversations flowed effortlessly, covering various subjects ranging from books you both loved to visit places you hoped to travel to someday. Cillian spoke passionately about the beauty of Ireland and its rich history, while you eagerly described your fascination with Italy, having taken a trip there during your gap year.

You exchanged stories, sharing experiences both past and present, discovering more similarities between the two of you. Cillian was intrigued by your intelligence and wit, while you admired his charm and charisma. The chemistry between you intensified, growing stronger with each passing moment.

By the time it was midnight, the group of people he had talked to earlier left and the music had stopped, which is when Cillian reached across the table to refill your glass from the bottle of wine he had ordered thirty minutes ago and, just as he did, his fingers brushed against yours, igniting a spark that neither of you could ignore.

An awkward silence ensued, but instead of dissipating quickly, it grew thicker with tension.

Cillian's intense gaze bore into you, leaving a trail of goosebumps along your arms. You glanced at the stage, searching for a distraction, but the band had packed up their instruments and left.

Cillian cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Well, time flies when you' are having fun," he murmured, his voice husky and seductive. "It is nice talking to you, but it is getting late," he added, checking his watch conspicuously. "And I should probably head back to the hotel," he concluded and you blinked twice.

"Where are you staying?" you blurted out impulsively, catching yourself off guard by your sudden curiosity.

"At the Hilton," Cillian replied simply, adjusting his posture in his seat. "It's not far from here, actually," he added, his voice drifting into a contemplative tone.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, contemplating your next move. "That's convenient," you murmured, attempting to sound casual. "I have heard that they have a decent bar downstairs," you stammered, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Cillian chuckled softly, his eyes glinting mischievously. "They do. So, perhaps we should grab a nightcap before you are heading home," he offered you almost nervously, causing your heart to race. 

"I would like that," you said softly, offering him a gentle smile, hoping that he would interpret it correctly.

With a nod, Cillian rose from his seat, his frame casting a shadow over you. He extended his hand, helping you to your feet. You felt the warmth of his touch and the strength of his grip, and your knees weakened slightly.

As you followed him towards the exit, the crowd parted, making way for you two as if silently acknowledging the magnetic pull between you two.

Once outside, the cool air hit you, a stark contrast to the heat inside the bar.

The neon signs cast a hazy glow on the cobblestone streets, and the distant hum of traffic blended seamlessly with the whispers of passersby. A sense of excitement pulsed through you as you allowed your senses to heighten, embracing the intoxicating atmosphere.

You and Cillian headed for the Hilton, which was a five-minute walk from the jazz club.

As you approached the hotel lobby, the ambient lighting and plush furnishings provided a cozy refuge from the chilly night air but, much to your disappointment, you noticed that their bar was already closed.

"I suppose we won't be having that nightcap after all," you lamented, pouting your lips while Cillian contemplated whether or not to ask you to join him in his room. 

He bit his lip, looking up at the ceiling before making a decision.

"We could always go to my room and order a bottle of wine," he then suggested, his voice trembling slightly. "If you want to, that is," he added hastily, turning his gaze onto you and, immediately, your heart skipped a beat, your breath hitching as you stared into his deep blue eyes.

"Okay, yeah, why not," you managed to utter, feeling a rush of nerves wash over you. "Just for one drink though," you insisted, hoping to ease your mounting anxiety while Cillian's piercing blue eyes lighted up.

"Sounds perfect," he agreed, leading you towards the elevator bank with a pang of guilt flooding his mind as he thought about the possibility of taking this further than his vows would permit. "Just one drink then," he thus reminded himself as he pushed the button for the top floor, hoping that his loyalty to Max and Danielle would prevail over the desire for you.

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[leclsrc]

hi auds!! it's my birthday today ;) i never send reqs i know you get a whole ton of them but if you ever got around to this- i think the f1 fic world has a very worrying lack of aus. so could i get a band!charles au drabble where he writes a song about reader and she hears it on the radio? any song you like. reader could be driver or something or connected to f1 if thats cool !!! thank you sm!! i love you

knee socks – cl16

There’s a certain inevitability that comes with having sex with a misaligned, conceited lead guitarist of a band. You aren’t aware of this fact until it hits you in-between your brows with the force of an 18-wheeler truck, at 8AM, through the radio in your car.

genre: drabble... lots of smutty allusions

auds here... happy birthday anon, one month and then some later! to be completely honest i almost deleted this... but through some twist of fate, it was the only thing i could bully into completion lol (aside frm long form fics that i'm still working on) this is 1000% for u and i hope u accept it as a belated bday gift :) i agree btw! id love to see more au fics but it is still nice reading the canon compliant type ones hahah. also the song in this and its and title is of course from this

It was surprising enough to hear an announcement of a new single by The Incident, one that seemingly sprouted out of nowhere, sans promotion. The morning BBC show clobbered the song with theories before finally letting the drawled-out, sticky guitar filter through and into your car. That in itself was odd, sure. Maybe shocking a little. But you leaned into the leather seat and remained quiet.

When you were fifteen, you were convinced the lyrics to Hall & Oates’ “Rich Girl” pinned up perfectly to your (insufferable) personality of the time. Raised in a big family and working in a career of refined prestige, your budding skill and already-cemented name in the modeling industry were just two small indicators of your parents’ massive wealth. Of course, neither Hall nor Oates were actually sitting and writing songs and singing about you—you just found it made sense in one way or another.

That was three years before you met Charles three years ago, at a pub in Soho. His band had only just spilled out of the confines of Soundcloud and seedy managers; they’d broken five million monthly listeners and the throng of people were there to watch them live. You were at the pub for a pint with another friend and left him with your number, a slip of paper tinged with beer; he fished out the nearest surface you could write on from a nearby bowl. Do I Wanna Know? it read in rushed cursive. It was a song request that went unfulfilled.

Rumors flew in your circle. Your father soured at the idea of you seeing somebody he wasn’t actively doing business with, but he failed to realize how limited your dating pool would be if you followed his wishes. Your interactions with the Formula One men he sponsored or worked with, however few and far between, were rancid and impolite. The drivers wore expensive brands, ones that didn’t even fall familiar on people’s ears, but refused to tip beyond three pounds. It came as both a shock and no surprise that the nouveau rich rock singer treated you with more decency than any of them did.

He was shy about it first, knowing how filthy rich you were. He made jokes about how his flat could fit in your kitchen twice over. He spoke what little French he remembered from childhood to impress you, paid for takeout, wore Lacoste when he came over to drink—then fuck—because it was, at the time, the most decent brand he owned. It’d been January when he came over, caught a sight of you at the foyer with all your expensive coats hung up. Your tongue was blue with a lozenge. It was the only thing he could look at while fucking you.

He wore a light blue variant once, fit and snug on him. You wrestled it off him in-between hot, sweet kisses, kept it on your bed so it’d be the first thing you tugged on in the morning before a shoot for a brand you can no longer place.

The last time you saw him he’d shown you lyrics, sang them aloud, drummed the beat he thought of on the skin of your thigh. His accent disappeared into rasp and notes. You told him to perform it live and he fucked you splayed up against your door, bent over your counter, then with your knees pressed to your chest on your white sheets, warm from the laundry. S’good for me, aren’t you, princess? All for me. My filthy girl.

Two hours later: I’m going on tour, sweetheart, he’d said while he cleaned you up.

’Til? Or… like, for long? Naked, you wrapped your blanket around your frame.

Ah, oui. For a while. 

You failed to answer amicably, your eyebrows twisting. You didn’t think to tell me? Just up and leave then? No number, no text, no announcement, just— You exhaled tightly. You knew he didn’t owe you anything of the sort; the sex, you guessed, the company had been so good you’d deluded yourself into thinking so.

Kitten—

Don’t call me that, you huffed, angrier now. Petulant. You got up and crowded him ’til you got to the door. Get the fuck out.

You watched him leave, brown leather jacket and black tee disappearing into London, and wrenched memories of him from the depths of your brain, the two years of your back and forth rendezvous. You wondered why you didn’t get a song in that time, after his ascent to fame, after the release of other hit singles inspired by his bandmates’ gossip rags and measly shags.

So a year later, when the memories have just begun to purge themselves—when the lyrics, which already have sent a swoop through your stomach, progress into the line When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste… and your knee socks, you effectively choke on your a.m. cappucino. It’s like “Rich Girl” all over again, but this is overt, it’s targeted. Like whoever wrote it must’ve known you’d be listening right now, en route to a shoot at eight in the morning.

“All good, miss?” Ed, your chauffeur, meets your eyes in the rearview, concerned.

“Perf—” your voice cracks. “Perfect.”

You screw your eyes shut and try to collect yourself, zeroing in on the lyrics that’d been foggy before.

Curing his January blues—the month you two started sleeping together.The fact that he’d had your number, a famous stranger, before you had his. Every beat, every word, every deep-voiced lyric traces back to you (unless, of course, he’s busying himself shagging any other girl in London on rainy Tuesdays and letting her wear his now-old polos. The thought sends a pang of jealousy through you.)

But you know better. You know you’re the only one.

Because your phone’s the only one buzzing late into the damp night—when the zeroes line up on the clock by your bed, the one he fixed up for you—with a number you’ve removed the name of, blocked at some point, but can still memorize in his absence.

Maybe tonight you’ll pick up.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil!

This may sound as a weird ask, but I'm going to London in a few days and I wonder if you know any place selling sheet music, rock or pop sheet music to be precise (I only seem to find classical or jazz).

Since you're a fan of David Bowie, Lou Reed, etc. - same here - I thought you might know! Also, I read some of your asks here about the old vinyl shops in Soho. I really hope it's still a thing somewhere.

I wish you a fantastic day! Greetings from Italy 🇮🇹

P.S.: I'm going to London to see Mr. David Tennant in Macbeth!! Thank you so much for Good Omens ❤️ it was life-changing for me.

In the old days it would have been Denmark Street. It may be these days. If not, the people in the remaining Denmark Street music shops might be able to help.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬

↳ summary: in which crowley has a cold

↳ warnings: none!

↳ song: like real people do—hozier

masterlist!

Spring was a wonderful time of year all over the world. It was when the sun peaked its head out from behind fluffy clouds and let the flowers bloom, washing away any gloom winter might have left behind.

Walkways suddenly became full of pedestrians meandering about in city's and small towns alike. Large puffy parkas were shed in favor of light jackets and shorts.

Shops were suddenly bustling with all sorts of people out and about, taking advantage of the beautiful weather to buy a coffee or new pair of pants.

But in Soho, London, one shop seemed to be an outlier.

If any of the passing foot traffic had taken a moment to peak into the glassy windows of said shop, an elegant sign reading Fell & Co hanging over their heads, they would have had the pleasure of seeing three very different people all talking to each other idly.

Even if the conversation was anything but.

"Really Aziraphale, you think he'd be a bit less chatty when sick. Peace and quite for once an all that."

A light gasp sounded from your left, prompting you to look at the angel next to you.

"That is not nice!" Aziraphale said your name full of disappointment, prompting an apologetic smile to spread across your lips.

"Sorry, mate. But I'm not wrong, am I?" You said while continuing to help him shelf books.

"Bite me." A lump of blankets behind you growled in response, a head of red hair poking out of one end.

"No, thank you, Crowley. I'll catch your cold."

It was supposed to have been a normal day. You had called and asked Aziraphale if this afternoon was a good day to pop in for a visit, only to be met with the sort of panic that could only be described as fretting.

Apparently, Crowley has never taken too well to the springtime. Who knew a demon could have allergies?

Each time he or Aziraphale attempted to miracle away the cold, it would just pop back up a few seconds later. It was as if someone had cursed him with a mild inconvenience. You wouldn't be too surprised if that was the case, actually. I mean, this is Crowley you're talking about. He's not exactly the best at making friends—even if he did manage to snag you somehow.

By the time you had arrived at the bookstore, swinging open the door as the closed signed clattered against it loudly, they had given up on any thought of magical remedies.

So here you were. Hovering over the sick demon with a concerned look. Er, well, Aziraphale was. You had opted for more of a quirked eyebrow, not willing to show how worried you were just yet. Lord, er Satan, or whoever the fuck knows Crowley wouldn't let you live that down.

"If anything Crowley—" You paused for a moment to flip the book you had been holding upside down into its rightful place before handing it off to Aziraphale, "—I'd say this is karma from all those times you yell at your plants."

"To hell with my damn plants!" He sniffled, sun glasses no longer on his face as he glared at your back.

Before you could get a word in edgewise, a sneeze sounded out from the couch. Without even looking, your knee-jerk reaction kicked in.

"God bless you."

You got two very different reactions out of that.

Aziraphale practically beamed at your words, and Crowley hissed as if physically hit, curling in on himself. It wasn't until you stopped to consider what you had just said that you realized your blunder.

"Sorry." You cringed. "Forgot about the demon stuff."

"Forgot? Remind me, angel, why do we even keep them around." Crowley spat, pulling yet another blanket onto his ever growing pile. You risked a glance back at him only to be met with slitted eyes. You simply let out a nervous laugh before scooting to a different bookshelf farther away from him. Better safe than sorry when it came to your demon friend.

"Because we like them, remember? They complimented my vest and your Bently, and then you asked if we could keep them." The angel responded. If he noticed how you choked on air at that last bit, he didn't choose to say anything.

"He said what now?" You coughed harshly at the same time Crowley groaned.

"Yeah yeah. A mistake in the heat of the moment." Was all he said before retreating further into the blanket burrito he had concocted. Somewhere in there was a quilt you were sure Aziraphale had knitted for him centuries ago, but you chose not to point out the tiny detail, instead filing that information away for later as a hidden smile played at your lips.

"As much fun socializing with you two is, I must admit you need to get some rest, Crowley. If we are to fix this problem without a miracle, the human way will have to do." Aziraphale turned to face his companion after you helped file the last pile of books away. You were quick to follow his actions.

Crowley opened his mouth as if to retort, but his eyes flickered from your face and Aziraphales for just a moment. With that he muttered something under his breath and turned over grumpily.

"Just—bugger off." His words were muffled by a dense pillow currently being smooshed to his face. You couldn't tell if it was that or something else, but his voice didn't sound as venomous as it normally did when talking to you.

"Alrighty then!" Aziraphale clapped his hands with a smile, none the wiser. "Ring if you need us, won't you?"

With that, he began to politely exit in the direction of the back of the store. Probably to go read a new series he just got in or re-read another.

You shuffled off behind the angel—only pausing at the entrance to the backroom after taking one more look back at Crowley.

Without saying a word, you took your phone out and set the volume just high enough to be heard. Setting it down on a nearby surface, you pressed play before quickly tip toeing out the room. As if that would stop the fallen angel from figuring out who left it there.

You slipped away just in time to miss Freddy Mercury's voice start-up. As well as the way Crowley smiled in spite of himself, starting to feel a little better already.

[qqueenofhades]

Your tags on the Dreamling/Good Omens cross over have me frothing at the mouth and I just need you to know that if you were to write that “Crowley stumbles into the New Inn” fic, I would be highly supportive of your life choices

The place isn't otherwise busy. It's edging into the lull period of late afternoon, when the day drinkers have shuffled out and the evening drinkers aren't quite off work, when there are only a few tourists taking snaps for the 'gram and the bartenders are out back for a cigarette break by the bins. Hob is sitting at his usual table, confronted with a pile of papers, a brewing catastrophe about the autumn schedule that for some reason he is expected to sort out, three passive-aggressive emails from Philippa about the prospect of him becoming Head of School next year (not on your fucking immortal life, mate) and other mundane academic crises, when the door flies open and a bloke at the end of his rope staggers in.

Thing is, Hob knows this particular bloke, at least by casual sight. He's been in from time to time, has a drink, stares at the wall, looks moody, and goes out again, either to a vintage Bentley filled with houseplants or just the streets of Poplar. Hob has made friendly conversation with him a time or two, knows that his name is Anthony Crowley and he lives in Soho, and he has a husband/boyfriend/life partner of some description who often drives him bonkers (join the club? Though the Stranger isn't even really that). But from the look on Anthony Crowley's face, as much as can be discerned from beneath his ever-present black sunglasses (not really a fashion item one otherwise needs in London), this is a five-alarm fire, and Hob gets up in some concern. "Hey. Mate. Everything -- ?"

Crowley stumbles past him without answering, which is probably only what Hob deserves. He reaches the bar, and since the bartenders are still on fag break and nobody else seems around to do it, Hob scuttles around the back. "Get you something?"

"Beer. Whiskey. Drink. I don't care." Anthony digs in his wallet and flings the first assortment of bills he can find at Hob, which is far more than it costs for a drink even in this terminally overpriced city. "Make it strong. Want to forget my own fucking name."

"Right. Got it." Hob only worked the bar when the New Inn was first opened and they were still hiring staff, but he hasn't forgotten. He selects a Scottish whiskey, neat, and pours it into the bottom of a tumbler, sliding it across the bar. Anthony throws it back without even seeming to breathe and shoves the glass in search of another, and Hob frowns. "Oy. Take it easy."

Crowley mutters something about that being the last thing he intends to do, thanks, and Hob's curiosity, the one thing that has often propelled him through the centuries, gets the better of him. "Not my place," he says cautiously. "But is everything, y'know? All right at home? Your, uh, partner, is he -- "

The effect of this utterance is not dissimilar to waving a red flag in front of a bull. Crowley rears back, looks for a moment like he's going to bolt, and is only prevented by Hob strategically shoving the refilled whisky glass into his hand. He tosses it down the hatch without turning a hair, wipes his mouth raggedly with the back of his hand, and with that, and no further prompting, launches into an absolutely nutty jeremiad. Something about Heaven and Hell, something about Aziraphale (that's his partner's name, yes) being a stubborn angelic idiot who's going to get himself killed, something about people named Gabriel (also an angel?) and Beelzebub (also a demon -- wait, demon?) running off together and he just thought -- he thought -- like a bloody fool he thought they could -- but no. Nooooooooo.

"Er," Hob says at the end, blinking hard. "Sorry, I don't quite follow."

"Course you don't." Crowley heaves a heavy sigh. "Even though you're not an ordinary human, I suppose it's just too...." He searches for a word, slurs a little on the end (maybe that whisky, of which he has just chugged the third glass, is having an effect on him after all), and enunciates with bitter, drunk precision. "Ineffable."

"Wait. What?"

"You're Robert Gadling." Crowley tips his head like an owl, trying to size Hob up in his progressively more lubricated state, and his dark glasses slide to the end of his nose, revealing lucent golden eyes beneath. "The special one. The immortal one. Right?"

Hob opens his mouth. Hob shuts his mouth. He realizes vaguely that it's quite possible Crowley has not, in fact, been talking in convoluted celestial metaphors the whole time. "How did you...?"

"I know your boyfriend," Crowley snaps. "Bit bloody full of himself too, isn't he? He and Az -- Azz-- Aziraphale probably sit around having secret societies for technology-hating, stuck-up, idiotic, holier-than-thou, utter total fucking prigs who can't use their words and constantly deny their feelings, eh?"

"My boyf -- " All at once, Hob feels as if a grand piano has been dropped on his head from a great height, like something out of an old cartoon. Yes, things with the Stranger are going well-if-you-squint, ever since their last meeting here: the idiot actually turned up, he apologized, he smiled, they had a long conversation, there were definite sparks. Considering the last, er, six hundred years or so of dismal precedent, that's a low bar, but still. "Afraid," Hob says at last, "he and I -- well, we aren't exactly like that, but -- "

Crowley keeps staring at him like he desperately wants Hob to sit him down and give him a clinic in how to get with the fussy, standoffish, excessively rules-bound immortal being he has been, evidently, also bloody pining after for Christ only knows how long. "Why not?"

"Ah." Good question. Hob isn't sure. "It's complicated."

"Complicated." Crowley stares moodily at the mirrored bar. "Sure. Yeah. Six thousand bloody years of complicated."

"Did you say six thousand -- ?"

"Yeah." Crowley holds out the glass again. "More."

Hob's mouth is still open. He's going to say something, but he doesn't know what. Six thousand years? God's wounds. He and the Stranger, at their piddly six hundred, are practically fucking married.

(He gets Anthony Crowley another drink, on the house. Can't help but feel that the poor bastard deserves it.)

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

x. what a shame she's fucked in the head.

— the one where they tell you what your word is worth.

❝𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦❞ —𝘛𝘢𝘺𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘚𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵, 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵.

warnings: abuse downplay, bashing towards taylor swift (i obviously adore her pls don't come for me haha), online bullying, new york inaccuracies, corny taylor references per usual, etc. 2k words + articles

in my head there's a mix of begin again and cornelia street playing as background music.

masterlist ✢ next

NO one likes a mad woman, but not for the reasons Taylor Swift made you believe in the lyrics of her 2020 song. Although we are definitely afraid y/n might get 'more crazy'.

Honestly, who gave her the right to speak like that about Aidan Kim? As it turns out, the three-year relationships she willingly stayed on was a 'dead-end' one, and Aidan "abused" (and I cannot stress the quotations enough) her through several stages of their shared time.

Well, I call bullshit.

How is it that after Aidan Kim helped her build whatever she has going on that people call a 'career' she wasn't bothered about being told 'how to look and how to act' (direct quote from her own video, by the way).

Breaking up with your sneaky link and calling him your friend won't save what you did before, y/n, it's the oldes trick in the book. Everything she said in her Youtube video, one I regretfully watched despite the knowledge that I won't get those 45 minutes of my life back, is rehearsed and calculated and just tried to paint the real victims in a bad light.

Playing the victim worked for Taylor Swift in 2009, 2017, 2019... but we surely won't let it happen again, right folks? y/n needs a new tactic to crawl back from the hell, because we're not believing anything that comes out of her mouth anymore.

It's true what they say, an untalented actress makes an untalented liar.

By Lia Yim

Victoria Presley is worried about best friend's y/n y/ln's well-being after the actress 'completely ghosted her' since moving back to New York.

"One day we were fine and the next, she had packed her bags and left my house," Presley said in an exclusive interview with iNTouch. "I'm not going to lie, I was deeply hurt by her actions. I offered her my home as a safe haven and she left without explanation."

y/n had been living in Victorias Los Angeles home since mid-February until this month when she returned to her infamous SoHo apartment, one she shared with Aidan Kim until their breakup.

"I can find it in my heart to forgive her, of course," 'Vic', as she's known on social media, added. "Right now, I just want my best friend back. I want the y/n I've known for years and not this person she became since Matilde Bassi and Charles Leclerc inserted themselves in her life."

Victoria Presley, the founder and CEO of Presley Beauty, is the daughter of Luke Presley and Claire Walker and has been in the influencing business for a few years now.

"If y/n ends up reading this, I want her to know that I will support her decisions but not in the way her new 'friends' are doing. I just want what's best for her."

SEE ALSO:

→ Vic Presley on having to start from zero: "I'm not a nepobaby!"

→ A look inside y/n's SoHo apartment, the one Aidan Kim paid for.

→ Is Charles Leclerc's career going downhill thanks to y/n?

By Beatrice Mann

With y/n y/ln's latest controversy, the whole world has turned their backs on the actress. But, is it really that bad? Or is it just because she's a woman in the business?

The online community's hottest topic is y/n's Youtube video where she speaks on her relationship with Aidan Kim, her friendship with Charles Leclerc and, most importantly, how all of this has affected her career. And I want to tell you all, y/n is right.

If the roles were reversed, Aidan Kim would be thriving on a newly unlocked 'Heartbreaker' persona and y/n would still be constantly humiliated for not being 'wife material'.

I believe y/n deserves much better than what she's getting. The woman admitted she escaped a relationship where her partner LAUGHED at her and manipulated her actions for his comfort. And people are still siding with the man? Seriously, people, use your brains and dig up your morals!

The only thing we're communicating to younger generations by constantly doubting women's words and putting them in the spotlight for standing up for themselves, is that only men's words are worth something.

June 14th, Manhattan, New York.

It isn't much of a surprise when Charles calls you while you're trying to get your Moka pot to work that morning. It's your third attempt at it and the previous mornings you've left it alone with tears in your eyes to walk down the street and get Starbucks coffee. You might be a little too attached to that coffee maker.

Charles got to New York city the previous night, and reminded you that you promised to show him around more than once. You intended to keep your promise, thinking you would have more time before the day came.

But as you walk to the restaurant where you decided to meet him, you can't help but think how exciting it is that you get to show the city you love so much to Charles. And just like that morning in Monaco, you can't help but remind yourself that this is a friendly get-together.

Charles has slowly, but surely, become one of your closest friends in the middle of the frenzy that your life is. With your ex-best friend saying you walked out on her and your failed fiancé insisting that it was you, who acted like a 'total psychopath' towards the end of your relationship, you have more fingers than people you can count on.

You watch him carefully as he smooths the napkin on his legs twice and then drops in on the table again, fidgeting with the loose threads in the corner.

Your wristwatch says it's 10:00 am, which is the exact time you agreed to meet. You wonder how long he's been waiting if there's an empty cup of coffee in front of him.

"You know, it's also rude to be too early for a meeting," you say as a form of greeting once you approach the table.

This startles him enough to drop the napkin on his lap again, proceeding to scramble to return it to the table before pushing his chair out to get up.

You chuckle, but before you can say you were joking, Charles is engulfing you in a hug. Your stomach flutters because of the way he holds the back of your head with his palm. It feels like you're being reunited after months instead of just two weeks. Time doesn't feel real sometimes, you would know.

"Soleil!" he says excitedly, putting his hands on your shoulders. "It's so good to see you,"

"It's nice to see you too, Charlie."

There's the nickname again. You've tried not to think too hard about it. Is it a European thing to call your friends that? When you asked him about it the last time he called before taking his flight to New York, his response was a simple 'it suits you'.

Charles pulls your chair for you and grabs your purse to place it on the empty chair between you two. He grabs his napkin again, pulling one last time on a thread before smoothing it down and forgetting about it.

"How are you?" Charles asks, a bright smile on his face. It falters in a barely perceptible way because he doesn't want to give you bad thoughts, which seem to come automatically every time the question is asked.

"Well, I'm okay," you assure in a soothing tone, "Still looking for jobs. And you?"

"Alright. Lots of work in the simulator and I'm hoping this is a good weekend,"

"Are you sure you'll be okay getting to Montreal tomorrow?" you smile at the waitress that approaches your table, "Can I have some coffee, please?"

"Of course," Charles assures, with a gesture of his hand. He's getting to Montreal at seven in the morning and running straight to his motorhome. "There's time for everything."

"What do you want to do, then?"

You don't want to exhaust him by showing him around New York, he has a long weekend ahead. To be honest, you really wonder what compelled him to make this stop instead of going straight to Canada. Sure you had talked about him coming to New York, eventually. Not a day before he had to start his Grand Prix weekend.

"Anything you want us to do," he replies, the single-dimpled smile on his face. "I'm open to anything."

"MoMA? Central Park? Something not so touristy?" you suggest, before thanking the waitress as she places a hot cup of coffee on the table.

"Just show me the places you like, y/n, don't stress about it." Charles laughs, eyes returning to the open menu in front of him. "I only care about hanging out with you."

"Thanks," is all you manage to say as you sip the scalding coffee, you do your best not to wince as it burns your tongue and down your throat. "Let's do it then."

"So, what do you think? Everything you expected and more?"

You're taking a walk in Central Park after Charles agreed to see the Alice in Wonderland statue. It's a warm morning in New York and although you haven't been walking around for that long, Charles seems content enough with what he's seen.

"It's very... you," Charles replies, and you're sure he means it as a compliment, but New York can be really ugly too. "In a good way!" he adds when he sees your expression.

"Thank you, Charlie." you laugh again. It's easy being with Charles, laughing with sincerity and really being in what's happening in the moment.

You didn't lie when you said you weren't afraid of speaking up anymore, but the dread of actually doing it is inevitable. Your words are being twisted and marked as false because Aidan is far 'more loved' than you are. Not to mention Victoria's interview about your lack of reciprocity to her humble feelings

You're still thinking about suing her. But it hurts to know that she was your best friend a week ago.

A few people stop you both to ask for pictures and autographs on the back of phone cases. A few of them ignore you, others smile politely at Charles before asking him to take their picture with you.

"I'm really polishing my photographing skills," Charles jokes as you walk away from a group of young girls who gush about how much they wish they could dress like you.

"Sorry if it bothers you," you whisper, looking at him only from the corner of your eye.

"Of course not, y/n. They ask nicely, and you're okay with it." he shrugs.

There was one time when a teenager, around fourteen or fifteeen, asked Aidan if he could please take a picture of her and yourself. It was an innocent question, she had already acknowledged him as 'that guy from Star-5' and how he'd been in Supercut with you.

But just by the way you saw his expression change, you told the girl a selfie was a better option, you would hold the phone yourself if she was okay with it.

You didn't hear the end of it for the rest of night. Aidan berated your career for the first time of many, saying it was frankly offensive that he’d been treated that way. It didn't matter that you told him the girl was barely a teen and she hadn't been rude. Still, he was more famous than you, he didn't deserve to be made felt like the opposite.

"What are you thinking?" Charles asks, touching your shoulder gently to make you pause your walk.

You really don't want to admit you were thinking about your ex-boyfriend. Not that it matters, Charles knows you think about Aidan often in a mostly negative light, but it feels weird to say it here. So you shrug and sigh. "I wish I thought of nothing, to be honest."

Charles squeezes your shoulder in a half hug. He doesn't push your boundaries, although he wishes he knew what was actually going through your mind.

─────────

It's when you two are having dinner in a restaurant in SoHo that Charles asks the question that has been eating him away since he landed in New York the previous night.

"Do you want to come to Canada with me?"

"Am I not blacklisted from the paddock?" you tease, although Elix is gone. You wonder if Ferrari people blame you a little bit for their sponsor dropping them.

"Absolutely not," Charles frowns, "And you would be my guest, you get to be in the Ferrari Suite like always."

"Thank you, Charlie–"

Charles tries not to seem disappointed as he waits for the 'but' to follow, so he drinks from his wine.

"—but I have some back to back things to do this weekend," you do regret not being able to make it, you loved the few Grand Prix you were able to attend and you would love to see Carlos too. But you have booked a few interviews with people who, more than anything want to consume gossip, but have disguised it as 'letting you tell your truth in more depth'. You cannot back down from what you started.

"That's okay," he assures with a quick wink. "You know you can come to races whenever you want to, though, right?"

"I can?" you raise both eyebrows and Charles rolls his eyes. "The benefits of having a Ferrari driver as a friend. I should have befriended you sooner."

"Very funny," he says as he hides his smile behind his glass of wine again. "Do I get invited to the Red Carpets?"

"You kind of befriended me at the downfall of my career. It's going to take a while for you to be on a Red Carpet."

Charles clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "You're only just getting started, soleil. Don't say that."

You hope he's right, because you have castings lined-up for next week too and you don't want to call him, or Mati, or your mom, crying about how unwanted you feel.

You shrug, drinking from your own wine.

"I'm being serious, y/n," Charles' tone is stern for a moment, yet not aggressive. "You have a lot of wonderful things to do in the future."

"Yeah, thanks." you dislike yourself for ruining the mood yet again, but Charles isn't bothered as he smiles at you once again.

"I mean it,"

He does, and so does Mati, and your mom. You are bound for great things, although they're taking time to find you right now.

"I know. Thank you Charlie, you're very kind. I hope you have a good race this weekend."

Charles huffs. "Yes, me too. Wish me luck?"

"I feel like I jinx you more than help you, Charlie."

"You didn't wish me luck in Spain, look how that went," he fakes a shudder and you snort. You hated every minute spent in Spain after FP3.

"Good luck, you'll do great." You pat the hand that he keeps on top of the table a couple times and before you can take your hand back, he grabs it, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Your heart races and you take a deep, sharp breath, like that would help it go back to normal. You have tried not to overanalyze everything about today, from the way Charles looked to the words he said, to the way your body responded to it. You don't want to go down that specific spiral.

"Thanks for stopping by," you take your hand back and keep it busy with your almost empty glass of wine. The alcohol has turned your cheeks warm. "You really want to see New York, huh?"

"I really wanted to see you," Charles replies, nonchalantly.

And you know you'll be spiraling, despite your best efforts.

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[brf-rumortrackinganon]

If you look at the trademark application for American Riviera Orchard, you’ll see that she’s trademarking it through a newly registered in Delaware company called Mama Knows Best, LLC.

Infact when you dig into the domain names etc, it seems this was thrown together last minute aka 2months ago after KC3/ PssoW C’s illnesses were announced. They are using PR to pretend they were working on it for an entire year, but even Scobie said they had nothing or whatever they had was all over the shop and he had no idea what it would be.

His comments don’t speak to a focused vision that is researched into whatever this is.

And what’s glaring about this launch is the lack of anything to sell. Not videos or actual products which speaks to the theory that this wax thrown together very quickly.

Russell Myers from the Mirror says if you sign up to the website, you get a respinse telling you that you’ll be notified of products when they are created/ available……if this was a year in the making and with proper marketing/ PR people, they’d have products ready to go. What it is right now is a landing/ holding page ( comments turned off on IG) until it produces products. 

It’s also interesting that the video is showcasing cooking which Markle tried to manifest for years while dating Corey. She auditioned and or popped up on varioys cooking shows/ fashion segments hoping to be hired. Acvording to people magazine, this launch of a lifestyle brand will have a companion show on Netflix. If Network tv won’t hire her for dream job then she’ll use her distribution deal to make it happen aka pay herself to make it happen!!!

However, one thing she revealed which tells me she has no clue about aspirational lifestyles/ branding. Her home kitchen hasn’t been updated from the dated 2000s/ early 2010s decor. It’s tye same kitchen from the sales brochure. 

Infact, glimpses of their home show a distinct lack of updating from the sales brochure. The onpy room thry updated is the one with the dining table as desk and their two side by side chairs. They removed all furniture and painted it white and addedva jute rug and that california bear poster over the fireplace. 

The current trend in kitchens for the wealthy is marble counter-tops and sleek designs meanwhile she’s displaying faux country/ italianate kitchen from the 90s. 

The women she is cosplaying eg GOOP, Martha and Ina Garten have upgraded to the current trend in kitchens. GOOP showed off her new kitchedn in AD. Heck, JLO is showing off her sleek kitchen. 

*****************

That they haven’t updated their house to their taste is what I laugh about the most. Are they really that cash-poor? Do they really have that much debt that they can’t afford to redo anything? Surely Markus and Soho House can cough up a few million to keep her happy, and when the Sussexes default on the loans, they can make Soho Olive Garden, a Californian spinoff of Soho Farmhouse. Win-win, if you ask me.

meanwhile she’s displaying faux country/ italianate kitchen from the 90s. ➡️ Remember, Meghan’s whole aesthetic is 90s. Of course she wants the Italian Country kitchen.

And thanks, anon. You’ve just reminded me of a house I looked at when I was moving back in 2022. The homeowners were so into that Italian Country Kitchen theme that they PAINTED the entire kitchen like it was a rustic Italian restaurant. You know you go into a family-owned Italian mom-and-pop place (not a chain like Olive Garden or Maggianos, but something like your neighborhood Italian pizza place) and it’s got that orangey-beige sponge paint that’s supposed to mimic sandstone and there’s a huge wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mural of Italy and dusty fake vines hanging from decorative columns? Yeah, that was how this kitchen was painted. Even the cabinets. And that was not even the weirdest house I looked at by a mile.)