#anyway! data. yes. good

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[amystarrstuff]

caine wants to play the silly little card game he found in some buried files labeled "DO NOT OPEN"

big thank you to @ghostlygunk for your encyclopedic knowledge of card sigils

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Never thought I'd get weepy over a software presentation keynote and yet, here we are

So for those of you who don't know, I use ProCreate. It's the only art program I've touched in at least five years, and aside from brief stints in my sketchbook, I've done everything in it. The animations I've done last year and this year were all done in ProCreate, which is strictly a drawing and photo editing software and animation was kind of built in as an afterthought. As such, the animation capabilities of ProCreate are kind of... nonexistent. Clunky at best, and I had no way to add sound. And because of how ProCreate's animation worked, I couldn't do long or particularly complex animation. Which is fine, like, I'm still learning how to animate in the first place. But we really are limited by the capabilities of our tools, and as much as I love ProCreate for static art, it left a ton to be desired in the animation department.

But the team that made ProCreate just announced they've made animation software. Not "are making," have made. And it's robust. It covers everything a full animation studio would do with multiple different softwares, all in one app. I can't even begin to say how excited I am for this. And it's only $20, where equally powerful—or hell, even less powerful—desktop animation software would easily cost $500 or more.

I'm so excited! I'll finally be able to follow along in a ton of the animation lessons I own! I couldn't do that before, because of ProCreate's limitations. Mostly the lack of animation timeline and I couldn't add sound—you know, the two most vital aspects of animation. But now I'll be able to! I just have to be patient until the end of November and fork over $20. And then? Then I'll be unstoppable.

I'm gonna conquer the fucking world, y'all.

[ereborne]

Work is on fire, so close to finishing the current work and now the old work has broken, however: I get to work with the old boss again.  Fuck but I missed her

She comes in, tells me the horrible news, I start cussing, she starts laughing, and then we both get to work, immediately and without needing to discuss what we’re doing, while both continuing to cuss and laugh.  Fuck but I missed her

[cuoredimuschio]

if you're wondering how my summer challenge fic is going, i'm currently researching the exact timing of the tides in georgia from 1976 - 1980 🌊

[1o1percentmilk]

how the hell r u gonna b in ur early 20s with zero goals. pick the craziest most impractical one out there and start grinding

[artqueen02]

I have spent the last two days that I have meant to be spending on a relaxing holiday with my family on a relaxing holiday laying in bed and reading fanfic.

I have since come to the conclusion that I am too gay to function

[bibleofficial]

ending my bender now that i’m getting up at 3pm on a tuesday when i told myself i was getting up at 9 at the Latest to do smthg for my professor i was supposed to give her yesterday -_-

[syrinq]

thinking about the fact that i do like forgotton realms-adjecent (fantasy equivalent of star wars-sized ip) games but then i have to grab a broom and hit anyone appearing out of the shadows who goes "now play dnd (or any ttrpg) with me" extremely violently so they remain in the dark for another 5 million years

[clxja16]

Enough

Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: betrayal (?)

Warnings: I think there's some swearing, angst

Word Count: 5K+

Author's Note: Okay you guys voted for this one, and honestly I thought that the fake dating trope was going to win but I guess not. also I kind of need help with the genre, because its not really forbidden lovers. Like is there a genre of your parents betraying your trust in the name of protecting you??? but anyway lmk what you guys think. Actually please tell me what you think, because I'm scared I made this too dramatic. enjoy though <3

-----------------------

You lingered in one of the back halls before the start of qualifying.  It was the Austrian Grand Prix.  You looked around making sure that no one was in sight.  Charles started to giggle at your antics of keeping this under wraps.  You pulled at him, trying to push him right out the door. 

“Go back to your garage,” you say gently pushing Charles further out the back entry of the Mercedes garage. 

“After I get a good luck kiss?” Charles asks, as he holds his hands up in surrender.  

You shake your head at him, before saying, “quickly, before someone sees us,” pulling Charles into a kiss, by his race suit.  Charles grabs your face with both hands, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss further.  You pull away first, worried about who might catch you sneaking about the garage halls, “okay now go, I’ll see you tonight.” 

Charles doesn’t let go of your face, pulling you back in for a quick peck on the lips, “okay I’m going.”  Charles finally lets you go, and shoots you a quick wink before walking off.  

You turn back around to take your place in the garage next to your father, when you hear him calling out for you.  You look back to see Charles has walked just far enough away to be out of sight, as your father turns the corner to come face to face with you.  You let out a breath of relief that they missed each other.  “y/n,” your father calls to your attention, “let’s get settled, qualifying is about to start.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you answer, following after your father, to watch qualifying.  

You have just finished your degree, a Masters in Business Administration from HBS and a Masters of Science from Harvard John A. Paulson SEAS.  It took you nearly 5 and a half years to complete, but you did it regardless.  Now, you attend the races to better learn how to apply the knowledge learnt in school to running a formula one team.  This is all so that one day you will take over the formula one team from your father. 

As you watched George and Lewis set out to do their first few qualifying laps of the session, you longed for it to be you in those cars.  You really didn't dream of being behind the scenes, you dream of being up front and center, in the limelight, in the car.  You wanted to set the fastest lap, you wanted to be getting grand prix victories, you wanted to win championships.  However, you didn’t get a seat in formula 2, so your parents did the ‘reasonable’ thing and sent you off to school, instead of waiting around for the chance of a seat opening up.  

“Look here,” your father spoke to you, as he pointed at some data on one of the many monitors in front of him.  

“George is a tenth too early,” you say, trying your best to understand the data in front of you.  

“Yes, exactly, good,” your father praises, before speaking with a couple of the race engineers.  “Now we don’t want George to overly focus on what is going wrong, so we praise, advice and praise again.” You listen to the radio as the engineer, compliments George on his turn 3 and 4, critiques his turn 7, and compliments his turn 10 and 11.  “When you take over, you have to remember that you are going to have to manage the drivers' psyche as well as their driving.” 

“Father, I won’t be taking over for a long time, you’re gonna need to find someone in between you and me, to manage the team.” 

“No,” your father declares, like his decision is final, “I will retire late, and you will start early.” 

“Yes Father,” you say, no reason to start an argument now. 

-

“Congratulations on another podium,” you spoke sweetly to Charles at the end of the Austrian grand prix weekend. You and him were hiding out in his hotel room, trying your best to stay away from the cameras, from fans and most importantly from your father. 

“It’s only the second podium of the season,” Charles said as he dried his hair with the towel while walking out of the bathroom.  “We’re so far behind this season, it’s laughable.” 

“You could always make the move to Mercedes, Daddy would love to have you racing for him,” you say, as you wrap your arms around Charles, after he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.  

You can hear Charles chuckle a little, before turning around to face you. “Never,” he says with a smile, pushing you back down on the bed, kissing you deeply.  You can’t contain the laughter that spills from your lips.  

“We would make sure you win championships,” you argue, teasing Charles once again. 

“And who’s giving up a seat for me?” Charles asks, as he moves from your lips down your neck, spreading his kisses all around.  

“Lewis isn’t going to stay much longer,” you reveal.  

“What?” Charles asked, as he pulled away to look at you.  The seriousness setting in. 

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” you start off, as you sit up in the bed, looking at Charles deeply, “Daddy offered Lewis another four years, Lewis said he only wanted to sign on for two more right now.”  

“Why?” 

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, “believe it or not, Lewis does not reveal his intentions to me like you do.”  

Charles cracks a smile hearing you tease, “well, maybe I could do Mercedes silver,” he says as he goes back to kissing you. 

You and Charles spend the night together, as the two of you have done many times before.  The next morning, you try to sneak out early enough where no one notices your empty hotel room.  Charles makes your heart feel full, being around him makes you feel at peace, he wears your worries like his own.  He’s everything you ever wanted and needed, and more.  You know that there was no plausible way you could keep this a secret any longer.  You love him too much to pretend nothing is going on.  Although, you also know that your father would not be the happiest, he always said drivers weren’t the type of people you bring home.  However Charles is different, you know he’s what you need, you know that you can bring him home. 

When you did make it back to your own hotel room, you don’t think anyone checked in on the empty room.  You made quick work of packing up your belongings, your father was flying out of Vienna this afternoon, to get a jumpstart on Silverstone.  It being a home grand prix for both of your drivers, the entire week was packed with events.  All events in which you had to attend.  

-

After arriving in Silverstone, did you finally take a breather.  George and Lewis both went to visit their families for the first day.  This allowed you and your father to spend some time away from the race track.  Father instead just went to the factory, and spent some time in the office.  You on the other hand went out with Mamma, before she had to head down to Monza for the F1 Academy race.  

“Mamma,” you called out to Susie,  “do you think Daddy is serious about me taking over the team one day?” 

Your question was enough to stop Susie in her tracks, “yes, I do think he’s serious about it.”  She gave you a perplexed look.  Your father has been talking about you taking over the team since you went off to college.  He is determined that with his recommendation the board will approve for the team principal position. 

“I don’t know if that’s what I want to do though,” you say truthfully.  “I don’t know if I can handle being so close, but not being able to race.” As much as your mind was focused on being a team principal, your heart wanted to drive. 

Susie came up to you, pushing your hair behind your ear, holding your face. She had a gentle smile on her face, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that you couldn’t place.  “You are racing, if you take over the team, you are still a part of the race, but if you walk away, you will only be a spectator.” 

You sigh, you know she’s right, “you’re right, like you always are.” 

Susie laughs at your joke, “tell your Father because he never seems convinced that I’m always right.”  

You laugh, as you and Susie enter the restaurant for lunch.  “Mamma, can I ask you another question?” 

“Of course sweetheart,” Susie answers worryingly, you are not normally this ominous.  

“Would you be upset if I started seeing a driver?”  

Susie doesn’t hide the shock on her face, after your question, “who is it?”  She smirks at you, you weren’t the best at hiding your feelings from Susie.  She was the first to know about your first boyfriend in High school.  She was the first to know about the guy who cheated on you.  She was the first to know about the college boy you wanted to bring home.  And she was the first to know that none of them were enough to match you.  

“It’s no one, it's just a hypothetical, Mamma.” 

“Who, sweetheart?” 

You debate for a second about how to answer, but you know you can’t lie.  You gave away too much, and Susie knows you only use ‘hypothetical’ when it's real.  “Charles.” 

“Leclerc?”  Susie doesn’t mask her shock for a single second.  

“Mamma,” you whine at her reaction.  

“Sweetheart, your father is gonna have an aneurysm when he hears this.” 

“Mamma,” you whine again, this time more seriously, as you feel the water works coming on.  

“Sweetheart?” Susie questions, her face going from shock to stone cold serious as she sees how upset you are.  “This is serious.” 

You sigh, “I really like him, Mamma.  He makes me very happy.”  You look at Susie, and you don’t like the look she has even more.  

She looks very seriously at you, while also having the ‘its not good’ look.  “Your father is not going to like this,” she says honestly, “but,” you watch Susie as she begins to smile, “if you’re happy, that is what's important.” 

You begin to smile as well, “Daddy will get over it right?” 

“I hope so,” Susie says truthfully.  You were Toto’s oldest, nothing would ever be good enough for you.  You were his pride and joy, you were the first, and as the first, you are everything to your father.  Susie knows this, and she knows that no matter how much Charles tries, Toto still won’t think he’s good enough for you.  

-

Susie reminds you that the best way to handle this, is to inform your father sooner rather than later. You agree, but you want to make sure that you and Charles are on the same page as well.  Thursday night, once again you are hiding out in Charles' hotel room, instead of staying in your own room.  The two of you cuddle together on the bed as a movie plays on the TV. 

“Charles,” you start off softly, afraid to disturb the delicate peace that’s settled across the room, “where do you see this going?” 

“What do you mean by that?” Charles asked, as he glanced at you.  

“Us, our relationship, where do you see it going?”  You stared at Charles, while listening to his steady heartbeat. 

“I don’t know,” Charles answers, his answer holds a brutal truth that you don’t like, you sit up to look at Charles, “but, I hope it goes far and long.”  Charles continues to lay in bed while you stare at him, “ I hope that it gets out of hotel rooms, and garage halls, and private phone calls.  I hope it gets you into some red Ferrari gear,” you smile at Charles’ preposterous hope, “I hope that it gets further than this. I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” you reassure.   

“Why do you ask me that ma chère?” 

“I’m going to tell my father about us,” you say, “and your plans to move to Mercedes.”  You just have to tease him a little bit.  

Charles laughs at you, “you mean your plans to be a Ferrari fan from now on.”  And he always knew how to handle your teasing. 

You laugh going to kiss Charles, “that’s so much work,” you say with another kiss, “you should just switch teams.” 

Charles laughs sarcastically, he loves the banter.  “y/n,” he calls.  It stops you, he never uses your name, “I really do love you.”  He’s probably told you this same sentiment over a thousand times, but each time, it still feels like the first time.  

Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling, “I love you too.”  Somehow these ‘I love you's' are different, they’re more significant, more meaningful, more genuine, more heartfelt, more profound.  They’re more serious, because they’re not just ‘I love you,’ they’re a promise, a commitment, a lifetime, together.  

-

“Daddy, please can you be rational about this?” You ask as you follow your father about the Monaco home.  Trying to get him to stop complaining about your choices in men.  

“Why couldn’t you date George, at least you would still be supporting Mercedes,” your Father says as the two of you make your way into the kitchen to see Mamma and Jack. 

“Mamma do you hear him?” You ask, indicating your father as ‘him.’ “George is very much in a relationship, Father” 

“And what’s wrong with Lewis?” Your father clearly is not thinking about the age difference between you and Lewis.  

You looked to Mamma to see if your father was serious, and even she was shocked with the suggestion, “you would be okay with me dating someone that is 14 years my senior?” you ask with a brow raised to your father, “you’ve convinced me Daddy, I will stop seeing Charles and start seeing Lewis.” 

Your father sighs, “that is not what I…” 

“Daddy, I invited Charles over for dinner, tomorrow night, that way you can properly meet him as my partner, instead of as a driver.” You tell your father, hoping that you're just imagining the steaming coming out of his ears, “one dinner, Daddy, that’s all.  He makes me really happy.” 

“Okay,” your Father says.  You don’t miss the slight eye roll he gives though.  

“Thank you Daddy,” you say, giving him a hug, before running off to your room like a teenage girl to call Charles and let him know about dinner tomorrow night.  

After your father hears your bedroom door shut, does he turn to his wife.  “Susie,” he calls out, still listening for you, to see if you were coming back out. “A word, privately.” 

“Okay,” Susie answers a bit confused about the request, she turns to Jack, “why don’t you go play for right now.”  Jack nods along excitedly, before running out the room.  “Toto, what is it?” 

“She can’t date Charles.” Toto says, turning his full attention to his wife. 

“What?” 

“Susie, I have seen the drivers in relationships.  They have their girlfriend one weekend, then they have a club girl the next weekend, and then some lucky fan the following weekend.  Charles is no different.” Toto doesn’t hold back in his recounting of the drivers stepping out on their partners, “y/n is gonna get hurt, and her entire image will be tainted by being cheated on by Charles.” 

“Toto don’t you think you’re being a little unfair.” Susie tries her best to defend Charles, but she knows Toto is telling the truth.  She’s seen it too, from a number of drivers amongst the ranks throughout the years.  

“Charles is a hell of a driver, but I'm not gonna allow him to ruin my daughter.”  Toto declares as final, “we need to find a way to stop them from seeing each other before the public catches wind of their relationship.” 

“Toto,” Susie takes a breath, if they do this, they would have to tread very carefully, or they could end more than just your relationship with Charles.  “If she ever finds out that we are interfering in her life like this, she won’t forgive us, she's not a kid anymore.” 

“She wasn’t a kid when we pulled her from racing,” Toto drags up a long forgotten and regretted moment, “we do what we have to, to protect our children, regardless of how it may look.” 

“We’ll need to play this close to the vest.” 

-

To say the evening was filled with tension and awkwardness would be an understatement.  Your father continuously gave Charles dirty looks throughout the night, and you wanted to slap him for being so childish.  Susie was pleasant throughout the evening.  Jack was just being Jack.  He probably talked the most, asking Charles about what it was like to be a real race car driver. 

“This is a very lovely meal,” Charles says to Susie.  You appreciate him trying his best to not ruffle your father’s feathers. 

“Thank you Charles,” Susie appreciates the compliments.  She doesn’t know what is best, because Toto is determined to stop you and Charles from seeing each other.  

“Charles, did you ever pee in the car?” Jack asks, as he shovels another pile of food in his mother.  

“Jack,” you say in a scolding manner, while Charles just laughs at the question.  

Charles has to take a sip of water before answering, “I try my best to make sure I use the bathroom before I get into the car.”  

“Enough questions Jack,” you say to your little brother, getting irritated with how much he was talking.  

“I just wanted to ask the racecar driver,” Jack pouts.  He makes that face with an exaggerated frown, that almost makes you feel guilty.  

“Jack, we’re all race car drivers.  Me, Mamma and Daddy have all raced cars before and you never ask us.” you argue back, you almost feel stupid that you have to argue with a five year old.  

“But you didn’t make it to formula 1,” Jack points out, and now you don’t feel guilty, you just feel sad that Jack had to point out one of your biggest regrets in life.  

“Jack,” Susie says, scolding your brother.  

“I didn’t know you raced,” Charles says, turning to look at you.  

You smile, thinking back to the time, “Yeah, I did karting for years, then I did formula renault, F4 and F3.” 

“Why did you stop?” Charles asks, wondering how you could give it up. 

“I didn’t get a seat in Formula two, and the agreement was if I could get a seat I could race, but I wouldn’t pass up opportunities to race. I got into college, so I gave up racing and went back to school.”  You reveal to Charles, he can hear the regret in your voice, but he chooses not to point it out.  You don’t see that look Susie and Toto exchange when they hear your retelling of events. 

“I see,” Charles says, “It’s a shame, I think you would’ve been a hell of a driver.” 

You chuckle at Charles, “I would definitely have more wins than you by now,” you tease.  

“Oh?” Charles smirks at you, “you would?” 

“Of course I would, because I would be driving for Mercedes, for sure.” You chuckle at your own joke.  

Charles shakes his head at you, his smile spreading far and wide.  Susie watches you and Charles, she's been watching you throughout the night and she knows Charles is enough for you.  She knows that this is your person, that they will never be another that will be able to compete with Charles.  It's him or nothing.  

-

You skip the Hungarian grand prix, especially as the media releases pictures of you and Charles, going back to the Monaco Grand Prix.  Your father thought it best that you stay home, he wasn’t sure how people would react to the relationship news.  You spent a few days before your father left for Hungary, arguing with him that it was unfair to bench you, because of the possibility that fans won’t like the news. 

Clearly, your father won that argument as you sat at home in Monaco, watching the sessions through the TV, instead of being there in person.  What Toto doesn’t tell you, is that he wants you home, so that he can meet with Fred without you getting suspicious. 

After the qualifying session, Toto asked Fred, the team principal of Ferrari, to join him for dinner.  As the two men met away from the paddock, away from the cameras, from the drivers, from the team.  They sat in a private dining room, in an elite restaurant.  Only here did Toto feel comfortable asking what he was about to ask.  

“What are we doing here Toto?” Fred asks, as he sips the beer he ordered.  Fred wouldn’t say it, betraying his French roots, but he always preferred a bottle of beer over a glass of wine.  

“Fred, I have a favor to ask,” Toto requests, he ignores his gut feeling telling him that this is wrong, and continues on, “I want you to delay Charles' contract signing.” 

“Why would I do that?” Fred asks, delaying a contract signing seems like it’s not a big deal, but there's many implications to what that could mean.  

“You would do it, because then I will be in debt to you,” Toto says, he's thought about this, he knows his way through a negotiation. 

“Okay,” Fred says, he has a reason to do so, but what is Toto’s reason for asking? “Now why do you need me to do this?”  

Toto sighs, “y/n.” 

“Your daughter, I saw the news about her Charles,” Fred pauses, taking another sip of the beer, “well actually Charles told me about the relationship back in Miami.” 

“Miami?” Toto questions, “she didn’t tell me until after silverstone.” 

“Charles said he wanted me to know before the public knew, would like to know what else he said?” 

“What?” Toto sighs, once more. 

“Charles said he wants to do this right, that he is serious about her,” Fred offers. 

“We’ve both heard drivers say one thing and do another,” Toto fixes his posture, sitting up in the chair, “I won’t allow my daughter’s image to be run through by Charles.” 

“So you want me to delay a contract signing, to do what?  So you can scare Charles into picking a seat over your daughter? And what happens when he picks your daughter over his seat?”  Fred sits up in his chair as well, looking Toto square in the eyes.  

“If he picks my daughter over his seat, then I know he’s serious about her,” Toto stands upm buttoning his jacket, “but we both know he won’t do that.”  Toto sticks out his hand for Fred to shake.  

Fred stands to shake Toto’s hand, “this doesn’t mean I agreed to anything.”  

“You will agree,” Toto smiles, a little amused at the situation, “we both know me in debt to you is too valuable to pass up.” 

-

Since the news of your relationship has been made public, you and Charles are seen together around the paddock during the Belgian Grand Prix a lot more.  Although you guys did try to keep it as professional as possible, there weren't any public displays of affection between the two of you.  However, that went straight out the window after the race podium celebration.  

Instead of watching the podium you stayed in the garage with your father, since there wasn’t a Mercedes on the podium.  As soon as Charles was done with the podium celebration, he ran straight into the Mercedes garage to collect a celebratory kiss from you.  His, sweaty, champagne-covered, sticky self, pulling you into a tight hug with a deep kiss.   He had one arm wrapped around your waist, while his other hand held onto his trophy.  You were taken aback by the initial kiss, but soon you cupped his cheek and held him close.  

Charles would’ve kissed you longer, but he could feel the cameras on the two of you.  When he finally did pull away, you were a giggling mess that you didn’t even notice the cameras at first.  “Let’s go,” Charles whispers to you, “let’s get out of here.” 

You wanted desperately to leave right then and there with Charles, “I can’t,” you say.  You watch his smile drop just a little, “I have work to finish,” you say while giving the side eye to where your father sat in the Mercedes garage, watching you and Charles.  “And you have a press conference.” 

“Okay, after that then.” Charles says, kissing you on the cheek this time.  

“After that.” 

-

That night, while you and Charles celebrated his podium finish, the picture of you and him making out in the Mercedes garage after his podium celebrations, hit social media. That photo is more talked about than Max’s 8th grand prix win in a row.  That photo is in all the group chats around the paddock.  That photo makes it to the official formula 1 social media pages.  And the biggest take away is your father’s face in the background of the photo.  Everytime you look at it, you laugh knowing that your father most likely made that face subconsciously.  

Since summer break has begun, you spend more time with Charles than at home with your family.  Today, you just so happen to need a few things from your closet, that you stopped in the Monaco home.  That is when you could overhear your parents talking in your father’s office.  

“We need to be more discreet about this now,” your father says to Mamma. 

“Toto, I don’t think this is right.  It’s not fair to y/n or Charles,” Susie says.  Normally you wouldn’t eavesdrop on your parents, but the mention of you and Charles caught your attention.  

“I am trying to protect our daughter,” Toto says, and you can’t help but think. What is your father trying to protect you from? 

“This isn’t protecting her, this is your fear about what could happen,” Susie says.  You can hear in your mamma voice, she’s getting defensive.  

“Like how your fear pulled her from racing,” Toto says in a raised voice.  You’re completely confused as to what your father could mean with that statement.  

There’s a pause.  It goes silent for a second, and you listen closer.  “I was saving her life, we weren’t sure what the FIA would do after Jules.”  There’s a pain in Susie’s voice.  

“Safety measures were put in place,” Toto argues.  

“After you pushed back on them.” 

“I have changed my position on the halo, you know that,” Toto says.  Even though the wood doors separate you from seeing your parents, you can clearly imagine what this fight is looking like. 

“After Lewis almost dies!”  Mamma never shouts, is your singular thought after hearing that statement.  “What if you had gotten your way and the halo was never placed?  What if it was our daughter in that car?  I pulled her from racing to save her life, because you sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.”  Susie pulls open the office door to see you standing on the other side.  You watch her face drop from anger to sadness quickly.  “Sweetheart…” 

“Mamma… you pulled me from racing?” You question as the tears begin to well in your eyes. 

“Sweetheart…” Susie repeats, shes at a complete loss for words.  

“You told me that I wasn’t picked up for a seat.” you take a breath before you start crying, “was that the truth?” 

“Darling,” Toto calls out to you.  

“Was it the truth?” You ask again, this time you make the hurt evident in your voice, “you told me a team didn’t want to pick me for F2, was that the truth?” 

“You weren’t anybody’s first choice,” Susie pauses, “but you were on the list.”  You feel your break, as you start to cry.  “We worked a few negotiations to ensure that you didn’t get picked.  We worked to pull you from racing.”  

You were a hyperventilating mess, you couldn’t stop the tears, the sobs, the heartbreak from happening. “You told me…You told me, if I earned my seat without you or daddy interfering I could keep racing.  You promised that you would let me race.” 

“We wanted to protect you, we didn’t want what happened to Jules.” 

“Don’t you dare,” you snap at Susie, “don’t use what happened to Jules as an excuse.”  You walked away, racing up the stairs.  Towards your bedroom, you could hear your parents rushed footsteps as they followed after you.  You began to shove clothes into a bag, as you tried to violently wipe away the tears.  

“Where are you going?” Your father asks in a calm voice.  

“I’m gonna stay with Charles for a while.”  When you mention Charles, you remembered the beginning of the conversation.  You stopped packing your clothes.  Slowly you turned to face your parents.  “What did you do?” 

“Excuse me?” your father questions. 

“What did you do to Charles?  Mamma said it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, whatever you were doing.  What did you do to Charles daddy?” You’re out of breath, you fear whatever your father has to say.   

You watch as your father sighs, he hangs his head.  “I asked Fred to delay his contract signing.  Ferrari wants to keep Charles, they’re going to give him whatever he wants.  I asked for Fred to just hold off on signing the contract.” 

You scoff at the revelation.  “Just long enough to scare Charles into picking a seat over me.  This is rich from the both of you.”  

“Sweetheart…” Susie calls out to you as she reaches to hold you.  

“Don’t touch me,” you snap once again.  You couldn’t tell if you were really angry or sad or shocked, but you did know you were just hurt.  Your parents had taken away your dreams, and they were trying to take away your love.  “You took away racing,” you take a breath, you strip away all the excess, you let them hear the hurt in your voice, “I won’t let you take Charles away too.”  

When you do make it Charles’ place.  When he opens the door for you, he sees you silently crying and shaking.  Your voice is hoarse already, that it’s only a whisper when you ask, “can I stay with you for a few days?” 

“Of course,” Charles says as he welcomes you inside.  When he finally closes the door, you drop your bag to the floor, and just hold onto Charles tightly.  He wraps his arms around you, providing you with the comfort you longed for.

-----------------------------

Part II

[fortunelowtier]

Ok so for those who didn't see the news, recently 5 rich people went “””missing””” (they're totally fucking dead) in a “Titanic tourist submarine”, basically made as a way rich people can tour (what's left of) the Titanic's wreckage for a small fee of $250,000 per person.

Anyways, setting aside the horrific implications of dying in a submarine at  13,000 feet (~4km) below sea level, the more I learn about this entire situation the more I become morbidly...amused??

so for starters, the submarine was literally the submarine from Iron Lung. its a metal cylinder with one singular porthole at the front of the vessel that is bolted shut from the outside, and has no seats, its literally just a cylinder

the second thing you need to know is that this thing was wireless, as in it was being controlled from the surface and the people inside had no control, which is concerning in multiple ways because a ship this scuffed should have a safety cable leading to the “mothership” (basically if you've ever watched ocean documentaries and they always have that long cable attached to the sub, that's for in case the wireless control fucks up and they need it to be wired)

what makes this little fact so much more morbidly funny is that this thing was controlled using the remains of a Logitech Gamepad controller from ~2004/2005, a controller notorious for being one of the most clunky pieces of gaming equipment ever designed. so clunky in fact that few people even recognized it, originally mistaking it to be a combination of an Xbox 360 and a PS1 controller. estimated price of $30.

“but Fortune” I hear a very few of you asking, “it shouldn't matter what its controlled with, as long as the connection is good”

and to that my dear reader you would be correct! there are indeed submarines out there controlled with even simple joysticks, and using game controllers to control stuff like this isn't new (why do you think army recruiters prey on low GPA high school gamers to fly drones)

no you see the issue comes when you realize that what this sub was using to transmit controls. was fucking. STARLINK.

Yes, that's correct, Starlink, the service that can barely do its job on land was being used to transmit data through 2.5 miles (4km) of water, at a depth where anything that isn't highly pressurized is crushed instantly 

-----

And at the end of this, if some of you still feel bad for the rich people who spent a quarter of a million dollars to get bolted into a metal cylinder with no seats and a singular porthole that was being controlled by Elon Musk's barely functioning wireless service and one of the most notoriously clunky gaming controllers of all time that was probably bought from a thrift store, just know that it was most likely over quick. 

The likely thing that ended up happening was cabin depressurization, and at such a depth this means they were knocked unconscious by the rapid loss of pressure in the vessel almost instantly, and then shortly thereafter crushed by the weight of the ocean around them. 

Scientifically speaking, they were likely dead so fast that the brain likely couldn't even comprehend what was happening, the most they would've felt is a little pop in their ears for a fraction of a second.

[cheriladycl01]

I cant do this anymore - George Russell x Wolff! Reader P3

Plot: You are the daughter of Toto Wolff team principle of Mercedes-AMG Petronas, you've worked your whole life to become an engineer. However, your dad has other ideas for you and doesn't want you to become a race engineer. You start to confide more in the Red Bull Racing Team Principle to help you get an engineering job, and see him as your present father figure.

Credit to russellius for the GIF

"You ready for our first Grand Prix together Max?" you ask, testing with Max had gone really well and Christian was happy with the dynamic the both of you had. Max as gentle and kind as he was, he was very ambitious and that ambition when it didn't prevail often turned into anger.

Christian saw, in FP1 and FP2 when he didn't think he was performing that well, you just completely calm Max down and talk him through each component of what he needed to improve. He listened to her on took on board when to conserve his tires, when do take turns wider or more sharply etc. And testing couldn't have gone better for Red Bull.

"You know it, lead me to Victory Y/N" he grinned before hopping into the car. You walk over to your station making sure all of the data on the car is looking as good as it did yesterday in qualifying and to check for any errors that could mess Max up in his first few laps. Nothing stuck out, and you could tell that both the car and Max would perform well today.

"Is Y/N here i need to talk to her before the race" you heard through your headphones, you turn seeing George in his racing suit and helmet in hand talking to some of the mechanics.

"Mate, you are a driver. You should be getting in your car for radio check. You cant be in the Red Bull area okay?" he advises, making George look around quickly before huffing and walking away in dissatisfaction.

"Max, Radio Check can you hear me" you ask and get a response immediately.

"Yes, loud and clear! Today will be good!" he exclaims.

And how true he was, you guided him into P1, it was an amazing start to you helping Max win the Championship, Mexico had been an amazing drive for him. He shared a podium with Lewis and Charles. There were a few cameras that caught you and Lewis looking at each other and you giving him a thumbs up.

Media teams were about to have a field day.

"You are amazing Y/N! You know the car so well I bet YOU could be the driver! Those strategies were insane" Max complimented you as he'd taken his helmet off and pulled you into an insanely sweaty hug of thanks for a great first race.

"Oh god, I'm definitely not driver material! Don't tell anyone, but I don't actually have my drivers license" you cringe giggling at him, it was something you'd never needed. Your mum or dad normally drove you around before uni, and once you were there everything was within walking distance. It had just felt pointless.

"No way, you've got to be lying to me" Max laughs, wondering how you'd survived so long without something like that.

"Honestly George or Lewis used to drive me around a lot, when i had to go to the Mercedes HQ back home he'd take me if my parents couldn't! You say a light smile on your face before it turned sour thinking of the mousy brown haired man that had completely lost any trust you had placed in him.

"Lets not think about them. Lets talk about you coming with me, Christian, Geri, Kelly, Sergio, Hugh and Carola?" he asks and a massive grin comes onto your face.

"I'm invited to the Horner dinner, huh? That sounds kinda important and fancy. I might just have to decline" you joke making Max roll his eyes.

"No, you are joining us and are having fun and getting your mind off Thing one and Thing two" he jokes, you tried to keep a serious face but you really couldn't.

"Anyway, considering the Princess cant drive do you want me to take you back to the hotel?" he asks smiling.

"If that's okay with you!" you smile happily, he nods slinging an arm around your shoulder guiding you to the car.

"So when do I finally get to meet P!" you exclaim, even though you'd only been working with Max for a week, you'd gotten to know him very well. You had to considering he had to trust listening to you while he was driving round a track a 200 miles an hour.

"Hmmmm I think Kelly said she'd be bringing her to the race next week. It's Brazil so its an important one for her!" he admits. The conversation flew between you and Max, it was strange really it felt like you'd been friends with him for ages. You had to grovel when it came to any of the Mercedes Drivers in the past, so this easiness to making friends felt good.

That was one thing you'd struggled with. You had a love for F1 straight away considering who you parents were and where you were constantly travelling from race to race until you got to university age. So you didn't actually have many friends who stuck around.

You both eventually ended up at the hotel, you waved at Kelly who was waiting for the both of you and she pulled you into a big hug as she walked over to you.

"You both did amazing today! So proud of you! Y/N, did Max end up inviting you to dinner tonight!" she exclaims, wanting you to be there as well.

"Yes, I'll be there" you smile and say your goodbye's before dashing into your room to get ready for the dinner.

You struggled on what to wear and ended up calling Max to get Kelly to help you on what the dinner vibe was for tonight. You ended up showing her half the stuff you'd brought to Mexico with you and ended up picking one of your nicer dresses from Versace.

You took some pictures before a knock was heard at your door that had you confused as you were meeting up with Kelly and Max outside theirs in 30 minutes.

You opened the door, and looked up to see who had come to the door.

"Omg" you both said at the same time, you tried to slam the door shit. George wouldn't ruin your night, he didn't deserve too.

However, a foot and arm in the door and his general athletic body that made him stronger than you prevented all of that. He practically barged his way in.

You both stood there in awkward silence. George couldn't get over how beautiful you looked. I mean, you were always beautiful to him. But tonight in the black dress that he swore Donatella had personalized just for you, and the way your hair fell around you face in an effortless fashion. He couldn't look away from you.

"If you've come here to accuse me some more, then just leave. I'm about to have a really good night with friends, people who actually care for me and want me to succeed and if I'm being honest I do not need your negativity" you say, turning around to check yourself in the mirror.

"You look gorgeous tonight. So i wont do this tonight, but please meet me in between the Mercedes and Williams garage next week in Brazil. We need to talk. We've been friends for years and I don't want my stupidity to come between us" he says, stepping towards you going to reach out his hand. You step back, it took a lot especially with this ocean blue puppy eyes looking at you with that sad expression that would make anyone fold.

"Please, After Qually, I'm only asking for five minutes Y/N please" he begs trying to catch your eyes but you were doing your best not to look at them too often, knowing you would probably cave.

"I'll think about it. If I'm there we can talk, if not then its up to you if our friendship is really worth waiting for" you admit, walking to the door and opening it up for him as a sign that he should leave.

"I've waited long enough" he mumbles before walking out the door himself and leaving towards the lift that was down the corridor from your room.

The night had gone so well, you were really beginning to feel comfortable around those in Red Bull. The people at the table were being so kind to you as the newbie, Christian pouring you the water, recommending you dishes he liked whilst arguing with the actual Mexican in the room who knew the cuisine of the restaurant like the back of his hand, to offering you the salt and proceeding to do it for you had your heart melting.

It was stupid, really. You shouldn't be this emotional over an older man doing small silly little tasks that you could tackle alone but just was nice to have the offered help. Help that you hadn't received in recent years.

"I really want to thank you all for tonight, its been really nice to hang out with you. And i cant wait for a double podium in Brazil next week!" you exclaim clinking you glass with everyone around the table.

However, George still managed to creep into your mind thanks to his earlier disturbance.

Would he actually apologise?

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @urdad-hot

Hey guys, so i've noticed some people in the taglist aren't getting tagged, I'm not sure if this is username changes or what... but i will start to take of one that don't link to an actual page, so if you see your account name and its not working please feel free to message me, or comment her or on my masterlist of taglist so i can see your knew username!

[cheonstapes]

We need a soulmate au with Miguel! There are barely any in this fandom with reader x miguel and it’s such a cute trope!

Especially with someone who isn’t a complete sunshine, just a reader who is as equally as cold and uninterested in the idea of “soulmates” as Miguel would be, yet they both finds themselves naturally drawn to one another.

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘YOU AND ME, ALWAYS TOGETHER’ (=ﾟωﾟ)ﾉヽ(^o^)

a/n ~ NO SMUT?? OH EM GEE! this was so cute i loved it sm! and yes, im sorry but i hate the sunshine reader fics😭 GIMMIE EMO READER AND GRUMPY MIGGY!!

summary; your futures were sealed from the moment you both met, you two just had to accept it.

pairing; miguel o’hara x reader

wc; 1.5k

cw; FLUFF! minor angst, soulmate au!, i think reader is mostly gn! pls tell me if not🩷, blood, injuries, mutual pining, kissing, reader has a little panic attack, love love love, spanish not translated, NAWT PROOFREAD - we all caps now

As much as he hated to admit it, Miguel always knew you were different.

Miguel was cautious of those around him, guarding his heart against anyone he deemed was getting a bit too close. And you — you were no exception, well, at the start. You were no ray of sunshine, that’s for sure. The way you carried yourself, so nonchalantly — almost rivalling Miguel in his own game.

He thinks about the day he first met you often, the curt nod you gave when he reluctantly invited you into the society. The moment he locked eyes with you, something changed. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the fight, or maybe it was the way your bored eyes brightened ever so slightly as you looked at him. Whatever it was, he didn’t like the way his heart momentarily skipped a beat.

He knew you felt it too, that small spark in your belly. It was impossible to ignore him, not just because he’s your boss — but because you didn’t want to. Every time you were around him the world seemed to look a little brighter, blending colours of you two’s shared connection to create an opening for you both to find each other — to explore the depths of that tumultuous abyss.

It was too good to be true, anyway. The idea of being connected to someone like that, having a ‘soulmate’, was downright stupid. You both were too busy protecting the multiverse to worry about something as trivial as love — Miguel scoured the timelines, and no matter how hard he tried, a love of his own was not part of it.

Yet you couldn’t seem to leave each other alone. The bond between the both of you constantly drawing you back to him, and him back to you. It was small things at first, asking you to go over some

mission reports, double checking data that he had already triple checked with you — then it was asking if you wanted an empanada from the canteen, bringing you coffee when he noticed your tired state, sitting you on his desk as he patched up your injuries.

It infuriated you to no end. Harbouring these feelings deep inside of you, you knew deep down you may be overreacting— but this had to stop. It would never work. It’s all you could tell yourself as you sat in silence, your mask covering your distressed face as he rambled on about the details of the next mission. “You’re with me, let’s go.”

“Huh?” You were so cute. It was a look that he’s never seen on you before, your eyes widened slightly, mouth open in a small pout. “The mission. You’re coming with me, so get moving.” That was the last thing you really wanted, being in direct contact with Miguel. A small part of you felt…excited? It was a strange feeling, one you didn’t welcome with open arms — pushing it down with a roll of your eyes and a small huff as you followed Miguel through the portal.

The universe you were in was practically a wasteland. It was unlike any you’ve seen before and it didn’t sit right with you at all. The air was filled with a noxious green smog, buildings seemingly crumbling with every swing the two of you took. “This is gonna be quick, capture the anomaly and we go. Do not engage unless it attacks first.” His stern voice cut through the heavy silence, your head flitting over to where he was perched on a rooftop.

“Yeah, ok, no problem.” It took everything for you not to respond with some sarcastic remark, the vibe here was too unsettling for you to take a jab at Miguel. He could sense something was off, not with this world — but with you. It was like he had a sixth sense, always knowing when you were upset, angry, happy, hungry. He didn’t think much of it, but something about today made the sense so much more intense.

He was next to you in an instant, towering over you as he blocked your vision of the world in front of you. “Hey, cariño, look at me.” Miguel’s voice had never been softer, even though there was still that gravelly undertone — it was calming, enough to get you to lift your head. The pure distress on your face made his gut twist in anguish, feeling his own anxiety picking up — he hadn’t felt like that in years. Those rough hands of his held your cheeks, so gently, as his thumb caressed the warm skin.

“You know I don’t like seeing you like this — all worried. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you were capable of handling yourself, nena.”

“I know…but I-“

“Ah — no buts. What you aren’t gonna do right now is doubt yourself. I’ve known you for 8 years now, and the last thing I think when I see you is ‘quitter’. So get your ass together so we can finish this and go home.” Another curt nod, but this time there was the small hint of a smile on your face — the fire in your eyes reigniting at his words.

“Bueña chica. C’mon the anomaly should be just —“

It was barely touching you. The end of a sharp spike close to penetrating the tender skin of your stomach — but for some reason the pain was unbearable. It felt like blood was pooling in your organs, only there was none. The quietness interrupted as soft patter of crimson droplets hit the jagged concrete of the roof.

Your eyes trailed up, Miguel’s face uncharacteristically contorted into one of something akin to fear — the gaping hole in his stomach revealing itself when the thick shard slides out of it, the anomaly making unintelligible clicks and groans behind him. “No…no, Miguel!” The pain you felt directly mirrored his, your screams of anguish piercing the sensitive ears of the creature — its scaly body slithering off before you could stop it.

“Miguel? Miguel, stay with me ok — we’re going home, I-I’m gonna open the portal now and we’re gonna get you some help.” He could hear how fast your heart was beating, rings of red invading your eyes as tears pooled along with it. Even with the doughnut-sized hole in his torso, he couldn’t help but smile at how cute you were when you’re worried — the pain subsiding momentarily. “Ey, ¡carajo!, cálmate cariño. I…I’ll be ok, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Miguel, respectfully, that’s bullshit — there’s quite literally a whole carved out of you and you wanna sit here and tell me you’ll be ok? We’re going back right now, you’re not fucking dying on me.” Turning, you tapped around on your watch — opening a portal back to the HQ. Miguel’s presence behind you didn’t go unnoticed, despite his fatal, in your eyes, injury — he still found the time to tease you when he should be on the ground fighting for his life.

“How many times am I gonna have to tell you to look at me?” Was his voice always that deep, that sultry. His hands trail up your arm, grasping your wrist gently to stop your movements. The world turns as your spun round, eye-to-chest with Miguel before he lifts your head by your chin. He guides your hand towards his stomach, your hand meeting his firm muscles. “Where — Where did it…?” He chuckles deeply, shaking his head.

“Told you it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He was smiling, genuinely smiling as he looked at you — his eyes softening as he looked down at your expression. You were spluttering, hands waving around as you tried to process what you’re looking at — the hole now completely sealed as if nothing happened. Miguel’s rough hands cupped your cheeks, eyes flickering down to your lips — his own face heating up slightly.

You pause, hands shaking coming to grasp onto his shoulders — your bodies coming to press against each other. It was straight out of a movie, a dysfunctional one at that, but a movie nonetheless — faces meeting in the middle as your lips collide, tongues gently dancing. One of his hands move to grip your hips through the fabric of your suit, blunt nails digging into the fat as he grunts out curses against your spit soaked lips.

A few heated minutes pass and he breaks the kiss, panting down at you. “Let’s go capture that fucker.” You nod, your face lighting up from that bright smile you put on — once dull eyes sparkling up at him. “And after, I’m taking you out to that buffet place you keep talking about.”

Your hearts were beating in sync, everything perfectly aligned as you both finally found each other. You’re future together slotting into the timeline, the shared acknowledgement of your connection coming to fruition.

Whether you believed it or not, you two were soulmates, and nothing would change that.

-if you put a buck in my cup

[incognitopolls]

Genuine question

Why is it bad/frowned upon to submit one poll to several blogs? I personally haven't done it, but I've considered doing it for different responses as not everyone follows the same poll blogs / all of them.

I think it's fine if one person wants to submit their own poll idea to several blogs for whatever reason. The desire for more data is real, especially if it's a burning question that you can't easily get answers to another way. I don't think that's what curiositysavesthecat was referring to, though; it sounds like they've received submissions that are exact copies of polls that are already published, suggesting that it's a different submitter who saw the original poll and thought, "Hey, fantastic idea, let me copy that."

We're talking about two different scenarios:

In the first scenario (what you're talking about), curiousblog1234 wants to know if people sing to their pets. curiousblog1234 sends this poll suggestion to 5 poll blogs because they really want to know and get the biggest sample they can.

In the second scenario (what I'm talking about), curiousblog1234 wants to know if people sing to their pets. curiousblog1234 sends this poll suggestion to generalpollblog7. The poll goes in generalpollblog7's queue and is released 2 weeks later. At that point, opportunistblog55 grabs it and submits it to a few more poll blogs.

There's a secret third scenario in which I do think it would be pretty fair to submit someone else's idea to another poll blog, which is if the question curiousblog1234 submitted to generalpollblog7 was, for instance, "Autistic people, which sense overwhelms you the most often?" and, after it was posted, opportunistblog55 submitted it to autismpolls40 because they knew it would get more targeted responses there.

Submitting duplicates of someone else's polls to other blogs isn't morally bad but it strikes me as just kind of rude if there's not a reason for it. Idk.

Also… this won't be true for every poll blog, but if it's a perfect word-for-word copy of a poll posted on this blog there's a very good chance that it's not the original submitter, because as I've said before I proofread and make slight changes to the wording of most polls to improve clarity at minimum.

Anyway.

[thexianzhoujade]

「 sugar cookies | fanfiction 」 wriothesley x gn!reader | fluff, modern!au | valentines fanfiction. ↳ additional tags. established relationship, potentially ooc wrio, a tiny bit suggestive? baking, not proofread as of right now !! ↳ happy valentines, loves !! ♡

data has been uploaded! @soleillunne, @dumbificat, @lovingluxury, @starryshinyskies, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @ainescribe

the jade's guidelines | genshin masterlist | send an ask to join the jade's taglist! specify genshin, honkai or both

with the temperatures now starting to pick up in fontaine, WRIOTHESLEY is fully aware of what holiday is to come. how could he not be? the pink and red merchandise plastered in every shop window, cute cartoon hearts decorating usually ordinary packaging and of course the sweet - but suffocating - scent of roses the moment he enters a supermarket.

winter beginning to fade out only meant one thing... valentines day. as someone who works fairly remotely and only converses with prisoners on the daily of the city's local prison, wriothesley never had a reason to celebrate valentines day. in fact, he would sometimes be caught sneering at the obnoxious colour scheme every time february wrapped around. he'd even go as far as turning his head away, wishing for anything but the twenty-four hours to pass over.

that was until just under a year ago. under the peer pressure of a few friends - namely clorinde and navia, out of the goodness of their hearts, - he'd decided that maybe blind dating wasn't so bad. his tiring routine he'd burned into his mind was beginning to make his body and mind both ache equally as much and all he was starting to think about was a change in his life.

wriothesley was perfectly locked into his habit of waking up early, working at the prison, commuting home and going straight back to sleep but... where's the fun in that? and as navia had quite teasingly stated, he was starting to waste his life away as a workaholic.

that's where he met you, after all. someone who turned a blind eye to the awful schedule of his work rota and that growing collection of different teas he stashed in his kitchen cupboards. in turn, the growing collection was now tucked neatly in your shared kitchen cupboards instead.

now he had a reason to stare at the brightly coloured gifts and cheesy slogans, taking every single factor about you into consideration when it came to the smallest things about valentines; including the card, yes. it took wriothesley an hour and navia's quiet begging for him to choose a card for you, his first valentine. at least, the first one he'd ever cared to delve this far into valentines gifts for.

"you're hopeless," navia whines under her breath as the two exit the store, opening the iced coffee she'd purchased from the chilled section (and i quote, how else was she going to put up with him?), "i didn't think i'd ever see you take valentines this seriously."

her comment perks his attention from his phone, where'd he been texting none other than you whilst you was on your break at work. he makes a noise before chuckling, deep and hearty as he adjusts his tie awkwardly. there's a heat creeping his neck as he clears his throat, eyes darting anywhere but the fashionable blonde as she sips her aforementioned iced coffee with a smug smirk.

"yeah, well - i don't care," he retorts boldly and navia almost spits her coffee out, giggling behind her hand as she covers her lipgloss coated lips for some form of dignity, "sometimes i wonder why i'm still friends with you?"

"rude. anyways, i'm the reason your social circle is so big now. i'm glad i don't have to watch you work yourself to death anymore." navia sighs, shaking her head as the conversation takes a vulnerable turn for the both of them. wriothesley can't deny that despite how much they bicker from siblings, she's always cared for him with good intentions. there's a moment of him debating how clorinde bagged such a kind-hearted girl before he almost makes himself chuckle at the thought.

large calloused hands rummage in the reusable bag you'd shoved into his chest before you hurried out of the door for work this morning, mindlessly checking over all the gifts and ingredients he'd acquired with a slight break in his bank account. your boss had called you in for the morning, already throwing a spanner in the works of your valentines day preparations however they promised you'd be free before lunch - which meant the baking you'd been so excited for could still go ahead, according to plan.

later that day, in the midst of wriothesley fumbling around in the kitchen cupboards as if he was lost in his house, you arrived home. that shift had been less than ideal, adding onto your frustration of being called into work in the first place. yet the grin that etches onto your partner's stubbled face draws you from that frustration; it calms you, eases you into the comfort of his burly arms when you rest your head against his chest and forget your worries.

"work was that bad?" wriothesley's voice murmurs in your ear and you can barely stifle a nod, nuzzling against the warmth radiating through his clothes as he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head.

"that bad," you mumble in response, sighing as you force yourself to pull away from your boyfriend's hypnotising hold before you fall asleep standing up, "time to bake out my anger - what recipe did you end choosing?"

"sugar cookies," wriothesley seems quite proud of his choice, a calloused hand gesturing towards the numerous multicoloured sprinkles he'd prepared on the kitchen counter - knowing him, that could be very well the only ingredients he brought, "you know, with that heart cookie cutter you begged for the other week?"

a playful scoff leaves your lips, a gentle hit of your hand against his shoulder as you brush past him, rolling your sleeves up to your elbows so that you can start the tedious process you'd signed yourself up for on this fateful valentines day. the soft hum of wriothesley reverberates around the kitchen of your shared home, sunlight filtering in through the kitchen window and basking in the potted plants you'd decorated the windowsill with.

your friends had been dubious about you moving in so soon with wriothesley but you knew only a few months in that you would trust this man with your life. despite his gruff, solemn demeanour, wriothesley was in your eyes perhaps more akin to a deflated puppy from all his years working in the prison, lacking social experience outside of the prisoners and co-workers he'd dip into conversation with daily.

strong arms wrap around your waist whilst you're busy measuring out ingredients, your eyes narrowed in focus as your gaze darts between the electronic weighing scales and the flour in your unsteady hands as wriothesley takes to wrapping himself like a koala around your body; he's inseparable from you, unable to stay away for mere moments as if you'll disappear if he doesn't have his rough hands somewhere on your soft body.

"i'm trying to focus..." you huff under your breath, biting your tongue as wriothesley rests his chin on your shoulder, watching your precision intently as the warmth of his breath tickles against your neck. it makes your hairs stand on end but not as much as the gentle kiss he presses to your exposed shoulder. you almost elbow him in the ribs for the minor distraction.

"i can see that," he chides with a grin, brushing his stubble against your skin and you really can't say no when a trail of kisses litters your skin from your shoulder to your collarbone and neck, "happy valentines day, darling."

"happy valentines day," you sigh softly, giving up on your endeavour to measure ingredients successfully under these circumstances. you place the opened bag of flour down, leaning back onto his chest in defeat, "i hope you choke on these sugar cookies later."

wriothesley chuckles, his thumbs rubbing rhythmic patterns on your hips where his hands are positioned, holding onto you tightly to stop some manic villain possibly ever stealing you; hey, it's possible! the man lets out a content exhale, appreciative of the warm comfort you give him outside of the gruelling job he'd thrown himself into for a living, "i love you, i really do."

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© thexianzhoujade 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[sunderwight]

y'know what, I think it's kind of interesting to bring up Data from Star Trek in the context of the current debates about AI. like especially if you actually are familiar with the subplot about Data investigating art and creativity.

see, Data can definitely do what the AI programs going around these days can. better than, but that's beside the point, obviously. he's a sci-fi/fantasy android. but anyway, in the story, Data can perfectly replicate any painting or stitch a beautiful quilt or write a poem. he can write programs for himself that introduce variables that make things more "flawed", that imitate the particular style of an artist, he can choose to either perfectly replicate a particular sort of music or to try and create a more "human" sounding imitation that has irregular errors and mimics effort or strain. the latter is harder for him that just copying, the same way it's more complicated to have an algorithm that creates believable "original" art vs something that just duplicates whatever you give it.

but this is not the issue with Data. when Data imitates art, he himself knows that he's not really creating, he's just using his computer brain to copy things that humans have done. it's actually a source of deep personal introspection for the character, that he believes being able to create art would bring him closer to humanity, but he's not sure if he actually can.

of course, Data is a person. he's a person who is not biological, but he's still a person, and this is really obvious from go. there's no one thing that can be pointed to as the smoking gun for Data's personhood, but that's normal and also true of everyone else. Data's the culmination of a multitude of elements required to make a guy. Asking if this or that one thing is what makes Data a person is like asking if it's the flour or the eggs that make a cake.

the question of whether or not Data can create art is intrinsically tied to the question of whether or not Data can qualify as an artist. can he, like a human, take on inspiration and cultivate desirable influences in order to produce something that reflects his view on the world?

yes, he can. because he has a view on the world.

but that's the thing about the generative AI we are dealing with in the real world. that's not like Data. despite being referred to as "AI", these are algorithms that have been trained to recognize and imitate patterns. they have no perspective. the people who DO have a perspective, the humans inputting prompts, are trying to circumvent the whole part of the artistic process where they actually develop skills and create things themselves. they're not doing what Data did, in fact they're doing the opposite -- instead of exploring their own ability to create art despite their personal limitations, they are abandoning it. the data sets aren't like someone looking at a painting and taking inspiration from it, because the machine can't be inspired and the prompter isn't filtering inspiration through the necessary medium of their perspective.

Data would be very confused as to the motives and desires involved, especially since most people are not inhibited from developing at least SOME sort of artistic skill for the sake self-expression. he'd probably start researching the history of plagiarism and different cultural, historical, and legal standards for differentiating it from acceptable levels of artistic imitation, and how the use of various tools factored into it. he would cite examples of cultures where computer programming itself was considered a form of art, and court cases where rulings were made for or against examples of generative plagiarism, and cases of forgeries and imitations which required skill as good if not better than the artists who created the originals. then Geordi would suggest that maybe Data was a little bit annoyed that people who could make art in a way he can't would discount that ability. Data would be like "as a machine I do not experience annoyance" but he would allow that he was perplexed or struggling to gain internal consensus on the matter. so Geordi would sum it up with "sometimes people want to make things easy, and they aren't always good at recognizing when doing that defeats the whole idea" and Data would quirk his head thoughtfully and agree.

then they'd get back to modifying the warp core so they could escape some sentient space anomaly that had sucked the ship into intermediate space and was slowly destabilizing the hull, or whatever.

anyways, point is -- I don't think Data from Star Trek would be a big fan of AI art.