#digital clock timer

[brucewaynehater101]

Hc: All of the clocks in Jason's apartment or safehouses are analog.

[mirwx]

concept for an in-universe clock

[spockvarietyhour]

[clockdigitalsale]

671-REVIEW DIGITAL CLOCK MODEL : CK-604A นาฬิกาดิจิตอลขนาดใหญ่

[jtasiatrading]

All in One Large Digital LED Count Up & Count Down Timer Display Clock Panel #custronics #ledscreen

[temporal-nebula]

[blogmaa-com]

If you are looking for web development tutorials and projects with source code .

Then do have a read on this article.

[rex-rambles]

➤ YOU ARE HERE | OSCAR PIASTRI

pairing: oscar piastri x soulmate!reader

summary: you and oscar discover that you're soulmates when randomly, once a year, you trade places for five minutes. it goes about as well as you expect for an f1 driver.

wc: 6.1 k

warnings: angst with a happy ending! mentions of minor injuries and hospitalization

➤ MASTERLIST - MAX'S SOULMATE STORY

2019

Waiting to figure out how you're going to meet your soulmate can be exhausting.

For some people, it's simple: a red string around their pinky, a timer on their wrist, not seeing colour until you finally lock eyes, but for you? Since you've turned eighteen, there have been no signs at all. No magically appearing footprints, no mystery injuries to match your soulmate. 

Nothing. 

You had tried to figure out what strange, hidden thing it could possibly be, but nothing made sense. Perhaps your soulmate would be someone else with no symptoms; perhaps you didn't have one at all. 

That's why, when you wake up in a strangers bed, your first thought isn't about soulmates. It's the middle of the night, or at least it should be, yet the sun faintly shines through the curtains, an unfamiliar alarm clock blaring on a nightstand, which, rolling over to look at, is not your night stand, and is not your alarm clock, and this most certainly isn't your childhood bedroom.

It takes a moment to realize that you haven't been kidnapped, whipping off the covers and standing in the middle of the rather messy room, and rather, you've been transported...somewhere. The notepad on the bedside table explains that it's a Hilton hotel, and slowly, picking up the few pieces of dirty laundry scattered about, you realize you must have traded places with your soulmate. 

Swapping locations wasn’t exactly uncommon, but it was a strange thing to wake up to in the night. You quickly move through the drawers of the tables and desks, trying to find something to write down your personal information with before you return to normal. You're not sure if it was a permanent thing, or a matter of minutes, but you're also a bit too tired to care right now. Instead, you write down your name, begin to write the first digits of your phone number, and in a blink, you're standing before your own bathroom mirror. 

Well, at least your soulmate would know your name. Considering the whole swapping thing, your soulmate must have woken up in your room too, luckily much tidier than his hotel room was, but it's still an embarrassing thought, the stuffed animals nearby, the old posters on your walls. Finally recognizing why you're standing in front of your mirror, you realize whoever your soulmate is has tried their best to get a message across, lipstick smeared on your mirror in what you realize are words: 

Oscar Pi

Seems he got cut off by the timing the swap, the lipstick now laying open in your sink, but with a growing smile, you find that you don't really care, because your soulmate does exist. 

Oscar.

It's a good name, you think. 

-

2020

The second time it happens, Oscar is on vacation, and he's not really prepared for it. He'd biked up a cliffside trail, overlooking the small, coastal Australian town where he and his family were staying. He'd stopped to take a break when suddenly, he was standing in the middle of a grocery store in nothing but his bike gear. 

At least, he thinks, you hadn't been standing in the freezer section.

Ever since your first swap, Oscar had tried everything in his power to recreate it, the way he had fallen asleep, everything he had done that same day, but he was starting to think your swapping was a once-a-year type of ordeal, or maybe you were in charge of it. If he could ask, maybe he could know, but it had been difficult trying to figure out how to contact you, considering all he got was a name, and he was travelling so often. At least you'd have a nice view, when you teleport to where he was. If his parents are quick enough up the trail, you might even meet them. 

Oscar stares down at the basket in hand, a rather strange mix of mostly junk food, and without thinking, he turns to the nearby fruit stand and places a few oranges and apples in for good measure. Then, as he moves towards a banana, he realizes he should be trying to get his number to you in some way. There's even less nearby for him to possibly write with than your room, and considering the few people staring at him, he can't exactly walk up to someone to relay the message. 

Everyone had told him he had time to meet you, to get your number, but knowing you existed after questioning it for so long meant that Oscar wanted forever to start now. Finally, an old woman takes pity and offers him a smile, and with a deep breath, he approaches her. "Excuse me?" 

"Riding? In this weather?" The woman says, eyeing him up and down. "You're a brave one, dear." 

"I've just swapped places with my soulmate," He manages to get out, "Could you take a message?" 

"Oh, how sweet! You know, it took me four years to find my soulmate after I turned eighteen. We shared reflections in mirrors, made it pretty tricky to get ready for the day!" Oscar nods along as happily as he can, trying not to rush the poor woman, but also desperately needing to get his message out. "Sorry, what did you want to say?" 

"Tell them I'm from Australia, and my phone number is-" He blinks, and finds himself back on the trail, and he curses so loudly that when his sister rides up to him, she looks rather shocked. 

Hattie pauses, lowering her bike as Oscar forces himself to sit on the ground, bringing his knees to his chest. "What, you crash your bike?" 

"I traded places with my soulmate, and couldn't tell them my phone number, again." Then, he finds his phone in the grass beside him, and for a joyful moment, he thinks you might have left a message, and finds something only marginally better: a photo. You're pretty in a way that shocks him to his core, that you're his, that you're supposed to be together. You're turned to show the distance in the background, a thumbs up as if to show you approve of his vacation location. Then, in the sand beside the path, he finds your number scrawled, only for it to be blown away in the wind. 

When you return to the grocery store, you find yourself in front of an old woman, and far more fruit in your basket than a human should need. 

-

2023

For the next two years, it goes on about the same. You end up outside some racing track in Barcelona, and the workers don't understand what you're drunkenly asking, and Oscar ends up at a bar where everyone's too gone to relay the message. You end up walking dogs in Australia in a snowsuit while Oscar ends up in the middle of a ski hill, wiping out before he can even think of giving out his number. 

You've sort of given up hope, at least for now, that you and Oscar could finally coordinate it. You carry sharpies wherever you go, just in case you end up somewhere you can actually write it down. All that preparation doesn't help, however, when it happens again in the middle of the night. 

You end up in some orange room with nothing but a massage table, and when you step out into the hall, you find yourself among people dressed in orange who look just as surprised to see you as you are surprised to see them.

"What are you doing back here?" It doesn't help, you realize, that you're just in an oversized t-shirt. "Get out!" 

"I'm Oscar's soulmate!" You quickly try to explain, though the few people around don't seem to believe it. 

"Sure, you're Oscar Piastri's soulmate, and you're here like that?"

Piastri. You should probably be more worried about what's about to happen, but you can't really focus on that.

You have a last name. "We trade places. That's our thing. You have to give him my number-" 

"Can we get security to escort them out? I don't buy it." Someone says, snapping their fingers at a guard. "I've never heard Oscar mention trading places with a soulmate before." A security guard, larger than any human you've ever seen before, tries to corral you backwards as you helplessly explain, over and over, but it's not use. 

You're shoved out an emergency door, and with a blink, you're standing in your bedroom. 

Oscar Piastri. 

Never mentioned trading places with a soulmate. You slowly sink onto the edge of your bed, trying to figure out why he'd never say anything, and all the answers don't seem right. Maybe he was just a private person, but still, trading places with your soulmate, potentially at any time, is the kind of thing you mention to people. 

Oscar Piastri. You grab your phone, before realizing that Oscar must have been in your room, must have left something behind, but despite the way you tear your room apart, you find no note, see no number, not even a selfie on your phone. 

Never mentioned you, never tried to give you his number. 

Maybe all this time, he was avoiding you on purpose, and sinking back into your bed, you finally google his name. 

Oscar Piastri, F1 driver. 

Maybe someone that famous didn't need a soulmate. 

Maybe someone that famous didn't need you. 

-

2025

Oscar's pretty sure, after his security team threw you out in 2023, that you had to hate him. He hadn't been able to leave behind a number yet, hadn't been able to find you on any social media, but you must've been able to search for him by now. That night, when he blinked back to stare at a very confused security guard through tears, he realized he'd sobbed his way through your last swap, unable to do anything but stand there. 

It was pretty pathetic, all things considered. 2024 wasn't any better, another hotel room swap as Oscar ended up in the bathroom of some university, surrounded by women who screamed and chased him out and ruined his chance of leaving his number, again. You hadn't left a number or anything on your end, but you had finished folding his laundry, which is the only sign that you might still want to find him.

This year, he had a feeling it wasn't going to be any better. In fact, ever since extending his contract with McLaren, he's had this deep-seated fear that refused to go away. If it was possible to trade places in beds, on bikes, and when skiing, then it would be possible in cars. Not just any cars, either. 

In his racing car. 

And you might die in a fiery wreck before Oscar even gets the chance to meet you, to give you his number, anything. You'll die hating him, and he'll have to go throughout life soulmate-less. 

"You alright, mate?" Lando says quietly beside him from the driver's parade. "You're just...tense." 

"I have a bad feeling today," He says, and maybe because he said it, maybe because he always knew, maybe because the universe hates him, it happens. He's just pushing out into a straight when he blinks and finds himself in all his gear at the front of a lecture hall, and the world goes silent for a moment. 

You're in his car. For what Oscar can gather about you, you're most certainly not trained, you're not wearing any protective gear, and you are in one of the fastest cars on the planet, hurling toward your death at any second. "Well, I can't say I've seen this before." Someone he assumes to be your professor says, "An adventurous soulmate swap." 

Four minutes. He rips off his helmet and the sleeve under it, and trying to calm his breathing, all he can think to say is, "You need to call an ambulance." 

"What?" The professor looks at him in shock, and Oscar gestures to himself. 

"I'm an F1 driver, a racecar driver." What could he possibly say? That a potentially mangled corpse is about to teleport into this room? "My soulmate...oh god, they've been swapped with me, in my car, without protection. If they can't control the car, they're going to crash and end up back here." Finally, what he's waited for his whole life is before him: a pen and paper. He scribbles his information down quickly, phone number, name, address, social media handles, anything and everything. "I need you to be prepared for it to be bad." 

“I need everyone out of the room, now.” Immediately, the students are up and out of their seats, and Oscar pulls his helmet back on and waits. 

You’re a student. He has no way of knowing if you can even drive, and he’s just chucked you into an F1 race, broadcast for everyone to see, and he has no idea what to do with himself. How does he possibly apologize for this? For maybe ruining your life? Who wants a soulmate who kills them before their first date? Tears spring to his eyes before he can stop it, and vaguely, he recognizes a phone being shown before his face. 

“They seem to be okay?” A student says, extending a phone to him as he watches his own car choppily slow down, but it's not enough. You could hit a barrier, you could hit another car, and you'd be dead.

Instantly. 

"What...what university is this?" He says, muffled by the helmet. 

"University of Oxford, England. This is a conference, to showcase student work." Oxford. 

You must be smart, then. 

And he's the reason your brain is going to break. 

-

You knew Oscar was an F1 driver, but it had never occurred to you that you might swap during a race. For a moment, when you open your eyes, you don't really believe it. The steering wheel in hand, feet on the gas, it's like a dream, and then every sense hits you at once that this is not what you're supposed to be doing. 

You try to slow down, but the car isn't like a normal car, the force of it pressing you back into the seat as you force your eyes shut, the sound of it deafening, the weight, the car, the movement, it all spirals into a sensation that you can't control. The gas pedal itself is the hardest thing it feels to push, but you grunt your way through it as the car slows, the feeling of the ground underneath it changing, but you still can't bear to open your eyes, can't stand the thought that you're about to die without even meeting the stupid owner of this car, who probably doesn't even want to meet you. 

You're not sure how long it takes, but finally, the car stops. The world stops. Your chest heaves, your head rolls, but the car is not moving, and you are alive, albeit unable to move, or hear, or function at all, really. Your eyes blink up to stare at a helmet peering over you, your own reflection staring back from its visor. If the driver is saying something, you can't hear. They take off their helmet, revealing a head of curly hair and a very, very concerned expression. 

It's Oscar's teammate. 

Lando, you think. He's quick to try and get you up out of the car, arms coming to undo the clasps keeping you in, and your arms very loosely manage to work their way around his neck. 

As he tries to get you up, however, the world spins and you think you might be sick. He's saying something, you can tell he must be saying something, but it doesn't register. All you see is the dread on his face as you slip back down, hitting the lecture hall floor before you pass out. 

-

Oscar comes to hugging Lando. 

"No no no-" Lando's voice is shrill, obviously scared, and Oscar doesn't want to think of how hurt you must've been for Lando to stop racing and try to pull you out of the car. "Oscar? Your soulmate! Why the fuck wouldn't you tell us you swap places-" 

"Are they alive?" Oscar shouts, ripping off his helmet as he manages to get out of the car, and Lando nods. "They didn't...they didn't crash?"

"Mate, they fucking steered the thing eyes closed." Lando and him stand on the grass for a minute, just taking in the moment before Oscar realizes you're back in Oxford, probably collapsed, injured, heaven forbid dying, and it doesn't take him long to get moving. 

No one really knows what to do, and Oscar doesn't blame them. He never told anyone, until that fateful day, that he and his soulmate swapped places. It would be a hazard, something that would hold him back from F1. He refused to allow anything to stop him from what he'd dreamt of his whole life, but today, all that advice makes perfect sense. Because of him, because he wanted to go farther, to do more, he put his one true love in harm's way, and if you die, he's not sure how he's going to live with himself. 

Passing flashing cameras, he finds that he doesn't care what the headlines say, doesn't care that he just threw the race for McLaren, he needs to be on the first plane to England as soon as possible, because he truly has no way of knowing if you're alive. 

He's not waiting another year to find out. 

-

For the past two hours, you'd folded the paper Oscar left you perhaps a hundred times, carefully into a perfect square before unwrapping it again. It was on the back of your script for your presentation, the contents of it now long forgotten for the frantic writing. 

It begins with I'm so sorry.

It lists his full name, his phone number, his mother's phone number, a man named 'Mark Webber's phone number, his instagram, his twitter, both of which you'd already found. His address in Melbourne, his address in Monaco. Everything to identify himself with, finally in the palm of your hands, but you had yet to contact him. He was probably still racing, you found yourself arguing. Probably busy. It's all excuses that hold you back, but you wouldn't know what to say if you tried in the first place.

Hi, it's your soulmate you almost killed?

"How's the dizziness, darling?" A nurse asks over you, and you're broken from your intense folding of the paper to look up at her, and the room only spins a tiny bit. 

"Better than before, still a little...woozy." She hums, writes something down. 

"I think you might take the cake for patients today. Teleported into an F1 car by your soulmate," She muses, "What a world we live in. And your leg?" 

"Sore, but survivable." Apparently, F1 cars' braking systems take a ridiculous amount of force to push, and while the adrenaline had let you brake, the aftereffect was that your whole left leg hurt, from hip to the tips of your toes. "Are you sure I'm fine to just leave? I'm not going to collapse on the street?" 

The nurse flips through your papers. "You have no concussions, no ear damage from the car, no sprains or tears, I think it was just a mix of exhaustion, adrenaline crashing, and shock that made you pass out. Does anything still feel wrong? Anything out of the ordinary?" 

The paper in your hands folds itself into a neat little square as you think. The world just sort of feels slow, or maybe suddenly too fast for things to make sense, that you were in that car, that Oscar had told them to call an ambulance for you, that you survived it all. That you were barely even hurt.

"There's a madman running through the parking lot." The room of patients turns to look at the elderly man in the bed closest to the window. His pain medication had made him quite the entertainment for the two hours you've been in and out of scans and tests, but this time, he seemed adamant. "Someone stop him. Looks like he's set himself on fire." 

"What?" The nurse is gone from your side in an instant, before quickly sighing and placing a hand over her heart. "He's just wearing orange, Paul. He's not on fire." 

Just wearing orange. 

For the first time unaided in two hours, you rise from your bed and join them at the window, dragging your left leg as you walk, and watch Oscar slide between cars like some sort of action star, standing out amongst the grey weather in a neon orange hoodie before he manages to sprint inside, and the paper in hand suddenly feels so overwhelming that you're not really sure what to do. 

He's here. 

For you. 

You don't know where he was racing, but considering he was here in two hours, it couldn't have been that far, or maybe he had a private jet, or maybe the the world was both too slow and too fast for you to keep up. Without thinking, you move out the hall and into the central area with the nurses desk as the elevator dings open, and for the first time, you see Oscar. 

He's surprisingly dishevelled, considering you're the one who just got transported into one of the world's fastest cars. His hoodie seems a bit too big on him, and taking him in as he quickly approaches the nurses' desk, so are his pants. If you didn't know better, you wouldn't think they were his, and you're not really sure what to do with that information. 

He just grabbed the closest thing to get changed to get to you? "I'm sorry, I can't understand what you're saying." One of the nurses says to him, "You need to slow down." 

"Soulmate," He says between gasping breaths, "Not a car accident, but teleported into my car, hurt-" 

"Oscar." You say before you can really stop yourself, approaching his side, and he just sort of waves a hand in your direction. 

"I don't know if they're alive, or dead, or-" 

"Oscar?" You realize he doesn't know the sound of your voice, like you do his. As gently as you can, you reach out and place a hand on the back of his neck, the closest exposed skin to you. The final step of a soulmate connection was touch, and you had heard so much about it: how sparks fly, how you've never felt more in love, how it changes the world, but it was just Oscar.

It was just you. Gently placing a hand on the back of his neck, to comfort him despite all that you had been through today, was just where you were meant to be. It was right, and it was normal, and you gently spread your fingers into the back of his hair as he slowly turned to you, your hand drifting now to hold his cheek. "I'm right here." 

"You're here." Oscar breathes out slowly, quickly scanning you for any sign of injury, and without even knowing, his eyes settle on your sore leg, staring at it intently. "You are actually here." 

"You're a hard person to track down, you know." Then, without much ceremony, Oscar slumps into you. It's as if all the weight he'd been carrying his entire life had been let go from his shoulders, practically folding over you. He buries his face into the side of your neck as his arms latch around you, pulling you tight to his chest. It's a desperate sort of thing that has you realizing how terrifying it must have been from his end of the swap, of hearing that you were in his car, knowing you would be hurt. You hold him back just as tight, hands gently smoothing against his broad shoulders as if to show that you're here, and you're safe.

"You have no idea." He grumbles softly, and you can feel the heat rise to your cheeks at the feeling of his lips so close to your skin, now pressed into a smile. "Worst soulmate trait ever." He pulls away slowly, and this close, you take in all the details you never could before. He's almost growing stubble, in need of a shave, a soft spattering of freckles across his face and neck. You find yourself stuck on the fact that he's yours, that he's staring at you, that he's real. "I'm so sorry," He tries to say, and you rush to cut him off.

"You didn't have any control over this." That's the sort of thing, with soulmates. It's meant to be, but you have no control over who it is, how far they are, what you have to do to find each other. The most important thing is that you did find each other, and if you get a ridiculous story to tell out of it, then you don't mind the hardships it took to get him here. Despite it all, however, there is one question that remains in your mind. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" Doubt comes creeping back in, so ingrained in your mind that even when holding your soulmate, you couldn't quite let go of it. "Seems important for an F1 Driver to mention someone else might swap into his car." 

Oscar's eyes don't quite meet yours, returning to stare at your leg. Maybe it's a special soulmate ability to tell when the other is hurt. Maybe he just needs someone else to look at besides your eyes. "I didn't want them to think it was a liability. Not that you are a liability, it's just...you can see why they might not let me race if they knew this would happen." Then, without so much as taking a breath, he begins again. "I'm so sorry-" 

"Oscar." His name feels right, on your tongue, and based on the way his eyes light up, it sounds right to him, too. "It's okay." You can understand why he'd do it. Not the smartest thing in the world, but then again, you didn't need some genius for a soulmate, you just needed Oscar. A small, perfect, ridiculous smile finally grows on his face, and you find yourself grinning up at him. You suppose it's your turn to apologize now for whatever damage you did to his car. "I'm sorry for making you lose the race." 

"Lose?" Oscar echoes with a soft laugh, the kind of sound that makes you hate all the near misses before ten times over. "You didn't crash, you even got onto the grass safely. Ever considered a future in F1?" 

"Well, I’ve considered a future with an f1 driver, does that count?"

-

Curled up in your hotel bed, Oscar begins trying to sort through the information he'd learned today. You were pursuing your masters, in a subject he can't really put his finger on currently, but he has the rest of his life to figure it out. Whatever it was, it was important enough that you were at Oxford presenting about it when you swapped into his car. 

When you swapped back, you passed out, and woke up being brought into the ambulance. It was confusing, they ran a million tests, but you're okay, if just exhausted. 

You were okay. 

You were alive. 

And you were currently taking a shower while Oscar sat on your hotel room bed and tried not to die himself. You had watched his races, kept tabs on him. Now that you weren't just passing by in the night, he had your number, every social media account. He had even introduced you to his mom, who tore a strip off of him over Facetime for not telling McLaren sooner about the soulmate-swapping thing, but that was all over now. 

You were alive. 

You were here. The shower turns off and Oscar stares intently down at Lando's pants, the closest thing he could find before rushing out, where the McLaren team let him use their private jet to get over to the closest airport in record time. He makes a mental note to thank Lando for his clothes, but that all goes down the drain when the door opens and you're standing in just an oversized t-shirt, haloed by the light of the bathroom, and Oscar rediscovers how attractive you are all over again.

You were staying the night together, seeing as Oscar had time, and the jet had already left back to the race. He wouldn't have tried to leave anyway. You needed someone to be here after everything that happened, and Oscar needed to meet you.

You limp slightly as you approach the bed, the only sign of the day you'd had, and the way the left side of your shirt rides up unevenly with your step makes Oscar blush in a way he didn't know was possible. This must have been what you looked like when you swapped into his hotel room for the first time, his. brain supplements as he forces himself to look back down at his lap. He remembers waking up to your childhood bedroom, the soft twinkling lights, the stuffed animals. It was so sweet, knowing you existed, and then he frantically tried to find a way to contact you, and ended up smearing make-up over your mirror. 

Then, it was the grocery store, a bar, a ski hill. Always missing each other to lead to this moment now, and seeing how you're looking at him when you kneel on the bed, Oscar can't even be mad it took so long. 

Because you're here. 

You're alive. "How do you think they pick?" 

"What?" 

"How do you think the universe picks soulmates?" You ask, curling up next to him. Despite the fact he basically refused to let go of you when you first met, he's now hesitant to touch. After all, you were still just getting to meet each other. You hadn't even had a date yet. "Like what makes you my soulmate? How does the universe even pull off the swap?" 

"No one knows." One of life's great mysteries, unfortunately. Oscar's pretty sure there's a science that goes into it, but right now, it doesn't feel like science: it feels like fate. "I suppose the universe just has a way of tying people together who are meant to be." 

You yawn in response, leaning back against the headboard and kicking your legs out, and Oscar's hands rest on the edge of Lando's hoodie. You just sort of nod at him and he pulls it off, not quite able to meet your eye, and you can't seem to do the same, suddenly very interested in the ceiling. "I have another sleep shirt, if you want. But you have to promise not to be weird about it." 

"Weird about it?" You slip from the bed to root through your suitcase, and Oscar quickly takes off his pants before he can think too much about sitting in front of you in his underwear. You toss something at him, and Oscar catches it midair, unravelling it to reveal one of his own shirt designs for the Austin Grand Prix, and his brain sort of breaks. 

You bought one of his shirts. 

You sleep in it. 

And he hadn't even heard your voice until earlier. "Couldn't afford to go to a race to see you," You say softly, standing awkwardly in the dim light of the hotel room. "Got the next best thing." 

"I think," He answers dryly, letting the shirt fall to his lap, "The next best thing is actually right here." 

"Wow," You say, a laugh bubbling out of you that makes Oscar thinks that maybe, just maybe the universe really knows what they're doing. "Really?" 

"All I'm saying," He says as he pulls the oversized shirt over his head, "Is that who needs an Oscar Piastri shirt when you have Oscar Piastri?" 

"That's the last time I spend money on your merch," You answer resolutely. "I get free stuff for the rest of time." 

Then, with a soft glint to your eye, you launch yourself onto the bed, falling backward with another laugh, and Oscar looms over you, giddier than he thinks he's ever felt before. You were all his, and you were right here. You weren't going to teleport away, weren't going to disappear. He had your phone number, and he was debating getting it tattooed on his forearm for good measure. "You can have whatever you want after what I've put you through." 

"That's a dangerous declaration, Oscar." Your voice saying his name still seems so strange, but it's right. He's just going to have to get you to say it a few more times to get used to it. Your hand gently smooths up his chest, waiting right over his pounding heart, and your eyes flicker up to his at the feeling of how fast it's racing. 

It should be weird, really, for two strangers to be suddenly soulmates. There's an adjustment period everyone has to go through, the first dates, the first hundred questions needing to be asked about favourite colours, about life goals, but all of that stress, that awkwardness, slips away with your hand on his chest, your eyes on his, because the chase is finally over. Oscar might be good at racing, but going slow, with you, with the rest of his life, doesn't seem so bad. 

"I think," He finally says, "The universe figures out what someone needs in another person, and picks that way." 

"And what do you need?" Then, as cheesy as it is, as much as he knows the others will groan about it when he tells them every vivid detail, he very gently says, 

"You. Here." Then, to be more serious, "Someone to keep me calm. What do you need?" 

You don't answer him, but rather lean up to gently press your lips to his, and Oscar tries to thank every individual star, every planet, every galaxy that makes up the universe for putting you here, for him, forever. It's soft and sweet and hesitant, the kind of thing Oscar needed this to be. It's you, here, with him, and it's every mile over the speed limit Oscar's ever driven, and it's slow and it's steady like everything Oscar didn't realize he needed in his life. 

-

-

-

2025, Again

It was a very different experience, being on this side of the race.

You had only seen it from screens, and then the grass, but being in the paddock was like its own little world. If you were alone, you're sure you could exist here on your own without anyone noticing, but considering you were walking in beside Oscar, hand in hand, people were starting to pick up on who you were very quickly. 

"You know, that's a first in F1 History," Someone with a camera says, pointing at you and Oscar. "A soulmate swap into an F1 car! We're quite happy you turned out okay, but have you considered ever getting into a car again? Maybe following in Oscar's footsteps?" 

Oscar looks at you, checking to see if you want to answer, and you smile up at him. "I am happy to never set foot in a race car again, actually. I don't know how you do it, or how anyone does it." 

"You didn't do that bad," Oscar says, shaking his head. "You just need the right protection and the right training." 

"The closest I am ever going to get to a race car is here," You joke softly, offering a small wave to the camera operator. "I'm happy to enjoy the comforts of the paddock." 

"Your loss," Oscar says before pressing a kiss to your temple, and it hasn't gotten any less thrilling since your first kiss. It had been four months since you'd finally met, and it had been a lot of strange negotiations to get you here, date nights spent with Oscar flying out to you to get to know you, and in return, Oscar flying you out to get to know him, and see Monaco, and finally, now, his races. 

You were worried it would bring back some sort of traumatic memory, but if anything, it was exciting. You were here with no threat of being shoved in a car or crashing, but rather to watch Oscar in his element. He guides you through the day, stopping into hospitality, meeting people, meeting Lando again. You'd already sort of met, considering he was trying to haul you out of the car, but now you could actually talk and thank him without a racecar in the way. 

Oscar suits up eventually, about to start the race, and he corners you just before he goes out. "If it gets too overwhelming, just let someone know, okay?" 

"Oscar, I'll be fine. I want to see you race." He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, and you choose to grab the front of his fireproofs, pulling him down to kiss him properly. "Now go win so I can finally hold a trophy." 

"That's what you want? A trophy?" He asks with a laugh, putting his helmet on. "Not me getting the points?"

"After my race? I want my participation trophy." Then, because you can't ever truly ignore him, "And obviously I want you to win to do well too. Trophy just comes first." He shakes his head, moving away from you, and thought muffled, you can make out him saying three words neither of you had said yet, something you hadn't known how to. You freeze in the hallway of the paddock, watching him go, and it's a blur as people try to find you a headset and a monitor to look at, but it doesn't last very long.

You were soulmates. You knew that, obviously, but it still felt strange to think about what it really meant, how you really felt, what the future held.

Your mind drifts to those thoughts as easily as Oscar makes his rounds. He's got a second-place start, which is good, but watching the cars goes around and around on the screen isn't what you came here for. You could do that anytime, any place.

So, against all better judgment, you don't stay put with the thoughts of what might be, what to do, what to say. Instead, you make for the stands, and sit and listen to the cars whip by, feel the force and the wind, and it's everything you thought a race would be before you had accidentally partaken in one. It's fast, it's loud, and it's distracting, but it's good, intoxicating as the fans cheer, the cars almost too quick to make out their movements. 

At some point, Oscar gets the lead, and you think you and the McLaren fans around you lose your voices as you scream for him, and despite how hard you try, you find yourself wondering why the universe picks soulmates like it does. Why it would in the first place? Love can be so many things, loving sports, loving family, but with Oscar, it's something so wholly new that makes you think the universe was onto something. 

Because the universe figures out what someone needs in another person, and picks that way. That's what Oscar had said.

When the race ends, and you're ambling down the stands and back to the paddock, it's the universe guiding you. When you get to where they park the cars, and Oscar is standing on top of his, he keeps looking around, helmet already off as he's squinting at the crowd forming nearby of McLaren workers, because the universe figures out what someone needs in another person, and picks that way. 

And Oscar needs to find you, in the crowd, to know you're there, to know it's real. 

And you need Oscar, who's rushing to you like a man on a mission, like how he was that day at the hospital, and without thinking, your hand finds the back of his neck, pulling him in for an indentical hug as his face presses into your neck, and the universe congratulates itself for putting two pieces back together again. 

"I was watching in the stands," Is what you mean to say to Oscar, and you do, but maybe it's the universe, maybe it's him, maybe it's the adrenaline still pumping, but you find yourself adding something to the end before you can stop yourself. "I love you." 

And though you can't hear it, over the sound of the crowd screaming around him, the sound of your own heart, the sound of the fireworks, you feel the way he says the words back to you, and what it really means.

I love you.

You are here.

a/n: returning to my fanfic roots with a soulmate au + my first time writing for oscar!!

[james34111]

Digital Timer Clock Hacks for Better Routine and Productivity

In our fast-paced world, managing time effectively can be the difference between a hectic day and a productive one. The digital timer clock is a surprisingly powerful yet often overlooked time management tool. Whether you're working from home, managing household tasks, or pushing through a workout, a digital timer can help structure your time with precision.

In this blog, we’ll explore simple yet powerful hacks that help you harness a digital timer clock to upgrade your routine and productivity.

🧠 Use the Pomodoro Technique

The Pomodoro Technique is a time-tested productivity method that involves working for 25 minutes, then taking a 5-minute break.

Hack: Set your digital timer clock to 25 minutes and fully focus on a single task. When the timer goes off, take a 5-minute break before starting the next session. After completing four Pomodoros, reward yourself with a longer break of 15 to 30 minutes.

This technique minimizes distractions and supports sustained focus without leading to burnout.

🧹 Turn Chores into Challenges

Household chores can feel endless and boring—but a digital timer clock can make them feel like a game.

Hack: Set your timer for 10–15 minutes and challenge yourself to complete a task before it rings. For example, clean the kitchen in 12 minutes. It adds fun to routine tasks and boosts efficiency.

💻 Timebox Your Work Tasks

Timeboxing involves allocating a fixed time slot to specific tasks in your schedule.

Hack: Assign 45–60 minutes for deep work, meetings, or brainstorming sessions. Use your digital timer clock to stay within limits. This helps prevent task creep and keeps your day on track.

🧘 Build a Morning Routine

A focused and productive morning lays the foundation for a successful day.

Hack: Program your timer for activities like meditation (10 mins), journaling (5 mins), light stretching (15 mins), and breakfast (20 mins). The beep keeps you moving without the need to glance at the clock constantly.

📵 Limit Screen Time

We all lose hours scrolling on screens. A digital timer clock can gently nudge you to stay mindful.

Hack: Set a 30-minute timer when using social media or streaming. Once it goes off, take a break or switch activities. It encourages balance and mental clarity.

🏋️ Maximize Workouts with Interval Timing

Digital timer clocks are perfect for structuring workouts—especially high-intensity interval training (HIIT).

Hack: Use your timer to alternate between 30 seconds of intense effort and 10 seconds of rest. Repeat for 15–20 minutes to get a full workout with built-in timing support.

🕖 Sleep Routine Support

Getting into a healthy sleep routine means preparing your body to wind down consistently.

Hack: Use your digital timer to allocate time before bed for screen-off time, reading, skincare, or relaxation. Let the timer guide your wind-down routine every night.

❓ Q&A Section

❓What makes a digital timer clock better than using a phone?

📴 Unlike smartphones, digital timer clocks eliminate distractions. No notifications, no social media—just focused time management.

❓Can digital timer clocks be used by students?

🎓 Absolutely! They’re great for study sessions, exam prep, and timed practice tests. Students can use them to avoid burnout and maintain better focus.

❓Are there programmable digital timer clocks?

✅ Yes. Many digital timer clocks allow you to program multiple timers, alarms, and sequences for more complex routines like workouts or lab work.

✅ Final Thoughts

What makes a digital timer clock so effective is its straightforward simplicity. From tackling procrastination to improving sleep hygiene and productivity, this small tool can have a big impact. Try incorporating one or two of these hacks into your daily life—you’ll be amazed at how much smoother your routine becomes.

🔔 Ready to Take Control of Your Time?

Start with a basic digital timer clock or explore advanced models with multi-function alarms and countdown settings. Your new, productive routine is just a beep away.

[cherryredstarz]

LaDs Boys reacting to you asking them to take care of your Tamagotchi

Rafayel 🐠

Raf wouldn’t know what do do at first; just button mashing until he saw what each button did.

You were only going to be away on a mission for three days, and Rafayel had ONE job. ONE.

Don’t kill your duck. Whatever he did, don’t kill it.

He killed it on accident within the first 10 minutes.

He turned it into a bigback.

A BIGBACK.

The biggest back of them all.

Through all of his button mashing, he kept hitting the food button, and the poor ducky kept eating, and eating, and eating because it wasn’t programmed to do otherwise—to disobey its’ overlord’s command.

And the poor ducky died. Too much food—a killer tummy ache, and Rafayel was horrified. The Lemurian immediately googled a tutorial on how to get you a new pet, and after that, a second tutorial on how to keep it ALIVE.

He got you a fish and named it Sue. You were horrified and terribly distraught when you returned to find Sue and not your beloved duck. Rafayel apologized, and begrudgingly, you forgave him.

Nothing would prepare you, however, for how hard you would laugh when you discovered Rafayel had accidentally make Sue a bigback too.

Caleb and Zayne 🍎❄️

It’s a team effort.

You best bet these two would be working together—the two boys had witnessed enough of your meltdowns as children when any of your Tamagotchi pets died. They’d been firsthand victims to a multitude of tantrums.

Caleb was obsessively researching how Tamagotchi’s were programmed; Zayne was meticulously and methodically setting timers to feed the duck at precise times to keep its happiness levels at maximum capacity.

Your duck became the most pampered online ducky in the world, at least, for a few days.

Sylus 🐦‍⬛

Initially, the man is…curious, to say the least. A Tamagotchi? Wouldn’t you prefer a living, breathing, fluffy critter to take care of rather than a pixelated image of a cat or dog?

Nonetheless, he will certainly do his due diligence and take care of this digital pet, all for his beloved. Sylus asks Luke and Kieran for advice, and the twins practically gasp when Sylus admits to not knowing what a Tamagotchi is. After 20 minutes of being bullied by his henchmen, the twins excitedly explain how to work your tiny egg shaped device—what the buttons do and how to input various functions.

Sylus determinedly takes care of your digital pet, a cat named Tulip, even voluntarily screwing up his already whack sleep schedule to ensure your beloved pet’s survival. He even brings the dangly keychain with him to business meetings, feeding the needy beast while discussing protocore deals.

By the time you’ve returned from your mission, you arrive at Sylus’s manor to find a fluffy Maine Coon kitten with a pink collar waiting for you—Tulip on the collars name tag.

Safe to say, you were delight to have not one, but two Tulips in your life.

Xavier 👽

Xavier didn’t even know what a Tamagotchi pet was until you begged him to keep it alive while away on a mission with Tara.

He tried—chugging energy drinks every few hours to stay awake, just watching.

Staring.

Waiting.

He didn’t even know when it happened—but he registered his eyes were opening. He glanced to the tiny digital clock above his apartment’s stove—it was 4:30 AM.

Oh no.

He checks the little pink eggs screen, and his eyes widen at the dead pet.

Shit.

Xavier will search a tutorial on how to generate a new pet; he’ll go as far as recreating the exact same pet, down to the stupid way you spelled that poor creature’s name.

He smiled at his genius. You’d never know.

He’d crack though, as soon as you arrived home, confessing to his crime. You’d frown at first, but Xavier would pull out the puppy dog eyes, and you’d forgive him. After all, it was sweet the way he tried so hard to fix his mistake. And besides, Tamagotchi pets are hard enough to keep alive to begin with.

[ladyfocalors]

Time Left, Time Shared

summary: Soulmates have different bonds. The bond you have with yours is a timer counting down to the first conversation you'll hold with your soulmate. Things get complicated when you realise the short tempered, rule obssessed Housewarden of Heartslabyul is your soulmate.

pairing: riddle rosehearts x gn!reader (platonic but can be read as romantic)

warnings: overblot, violence, mention of bleeding, injuries.

word count: 2.8k

this would've been over 5k words if i let myself loose but i didn't want this oneshot to be 90% without any riddle interactions so here we are. is this a mess? yes. do i still like it? surprisingly yes.

The countdown on Riddle Rosehearts' wrist had read exactly five hours and sixteen minutes.

He had checked it only once that morning, just after buttoning up his uniform and adjusting his bow tie. It was a habit instilled in him by his mother—not the checking of the timer, of course, which she considered as trifling nonsense, but the routine of being proper. Every crease of his uniform ironed the night before, tie tied properly and the timer hidden behind his sleeves except when it was time for PE.

The timer had ticked down for as long as he could remember. But unlike the turning of the seasons or the hours, minutes and seconds shown by the clock in the Heartslabyul hall, the countdown was personal. And therein laid the danger, according to his mother.

"Distraction," his mother had scoffed once when he had asked about the timer and soulmates as a child. "Trivial romantic nonsense. You'll meet someone when your paths align. That doesn't make them your equal, Riddle. The world is full of those who will drag you down with sweet words and no discipline."

He had nodded, as he always did. He had believed her. Soulmates had no room in his routine anyway.

So, even now, he marched forward, completely disregarding the timer after that. He had a dorm of rule breakers to handle, after all.

The number of hours had dwindled from two digits to a single digit on your wrist within a week. It was like watching the last grains of sand fall in an hourglass. And though you hadn't made much of it—how could you, in a place like this?—you'd known the moment was coming. Soulmate or not, you still had a dorm to fix, chores to do, money to earn and a cat-monster with a bottomless stomach to feed. Friendship, romance or any thoughts about any sort of bond with some soulmate did not take root in your mind when your latest issue was the grovelling of your friend after he had been collared by his housewarden.

Currently, you were sat at the cafeteria with Grim, Ace, Deuce while two uperclassmen of Heartslabyul gave you all a run down of all the dorms based on the Great Seven.

"Malleus is real bad news," Cater said, then added, "Though I suppose the same can be said of our dear housewarden."

You sighed, playing with the sleeves of your uniform. You perked up when you saw Riddle approach your table, but Ace didn't seem to notice him and went on with his grievances about Riddle.

"No kidding! He collared me for eating one slice of tart!" Ace piped up. "All his rule obsession is outta control."

"My 'rule obsession' is 'outta control', is it?" Riddle mumbled from behind, voice flat and a frown already on his face.

You tried to warn Ace from speaking further. "Ace–"

"You bet it is." He cut you off, continuing to make it worse for himself. "Riddle is just a petty tyrant–" you hid your wince behind the palm of your hand while Ace continued, "–who leans into the whole 'rules' shtick as a pretext to keep everyone under his puny thumb."

"Ace! Behind you!" Deuce kindly made Ace aware of the situation a bit too late.

You sighed into the palm of your hand and shook your head. Leave it up to Ace to dig his own grave, you thought.

The conversation was already beyond salvaging, though that had never stopped Cater from trying. "Hey, Riddle! What's shakin', pal? You're lookin' total adorbs, as always!" Cater said, in that easygoing tone of his.

Riddle's expression tightened. "Hmph. Cater, keep running that mouth and you'll lose it—along with the rest of your head."

"Sorry, sorry! My bad!" Cater laughed, raising his hands in surrender.

Grim, on the other hand, had no such discretion. "Myah?! You're the guy that put that stupid collar on me at the orientation ceremony!"

"And you're the students who were nearly expelled yesterday." Riddle replied icily, glancing at Grim, Ace, Deuce and then you.

"I'll ask you not to refer to my signature spell as a 'stupid collar'," he added.

"The Headmage's habit of tolerating rule breakers like you is going to send this entire campus spiralling into chaos one day," Riddle continued, eyes flicking between the lot of you. "Those who break the rules should have their heads removed immediately, without exception."

You should've said nothing. It would have been wiser to let Grim grumble or Ace grovel, both were better outlets for Riddle's ire than you, the so-called 'magicless Prefect' of a broken dorm, with too many demerits. But your words came out before you could think twice about them: "That is an awfully easy way to run a school into fear."

Riddle's frown was now directed at you. "Fear? Are you saying troublemakers shouldn't face repercussions for breaking even the simplest of rules? Chaos leads to ruin. I expected you to know better, Prefect."

You didn't respond. There was no need to reason with someone who did not want to be reasoned with, so you left it at that.

You looked down, tuning out the conversation. You only did it because Grim had started getting antsy and Ace seemed to be grumbling again, and you needed something else to focus on before more people got collared.

So you tucked your hand beneath the table, fiddled with your cuff, and peeked at your wrists.

Multiple zeros stared back at you.

You stared at your skin blankly, your heartbeat ticking in place of the vanished seconds. You knew there were mere minutes left when break time had started, and even less time before Riddle barged in.

It definitely wasn't Trey or Cater. It meant...

Oh.

No. You shook the thought out of your head. No, it was fine. Soulmates weren't a certainty, just a widely accepted phenomenon. The world didn't end or begin with a timer. It was a guideline at best.

Wasn't it?

You weren't sure what you'd expected your soulmate to be like. Not this, surely. Not someone who believed you deserved punishment just for existing on the wrong side of a rulebook.

You tugged your sleeves down swiftly, looking back up again and tuning back into the tail end of the conversation just in time to hear Riddle finish chastising them and mumbling about some rule and lack of sugar cubes.

"Prefect?" Deuce nudged you, accompanied with a look of concern while the others talked. "Are you okay?"

"I… yeah," you said quickly, offering a smile that didn't reach your eyes. "Don't worry about it, Deuce."

You avoided everyone's eyes, and beneath the table, you pressed your palm to your wrist as if expecting the timer to flicker back to life and say "just kidding".

It didn't.

The task of collecting chestnuts would have been a 'bore and a drag' (according to Ace) but it didn't turn out to be one as the competitive spirit ran high and now all four of you were trying to see who could collect the most chestnuts.

Although, it did little to distract you from your thoughts about... soulmates, in general.

"Prefect," Ace grumbled. "Put a leash on this gluttonous furball. He tried to steal from my basket and eat the chestnuts."

"Myah! No, I did not!" Grim yelled.

"I need to show you guys something."

At your words, Ace and Grim immediately stopped quarrelling and looked at you. Deuce looked over his shoulder.

Ace narrowed his eyes. "You okay, Prefect? You've been acting kind of weird since lunch."

"Come here," you said. The three of them gathered around you.

You rolled back your sleeve, stared one more time, then turned your wrist outward.

All three of them leaned in.

"Huh," Ace said first. "When did it hit zero? Who is it?"

"It hit zero..." you trailed off, then mumbled, "in the cafeteria when Riddle interrupted us."

There was a long beat of silence after your words. Then,

"WHAT?!" Ace practically squawked. "You're joking, right?"

"Myah! Why him?" Grim threw his paws up in the air.

"I don't think the Prefect would joke about something like this," Deuce said.

"That sucks for you, Prefect," Ace sighed. "Man. If I had a timer and it ended with someone like Riddle, I'd start a new timer."

"Gee, thanks." you responded sarcastically.

"Hey, I'm just being honest!"

Deuce nudged Ace with an elbow. "He's not that bad."

"Spoken like someone who isn't collared. I have had enough of this damn collar!"

"I didn't tell you guys to start fighting. I just needed to tell someone." you smiled, feeling way better now that you told them. "Besides, he was totally lumping me with you guys and looking down on me as if I was a troublemaker. I am not going to be buddy-buddy with him so easily!"

"If you say so," Deuce mumbled.

"Anyway, we better take these chestnuts to Trey." You said, changing the topic. "The sooner we are done, the sooner Ace will be un-collared."

What does one do when their soulmate mockss you and your friends' apparent "lack" of education, belittles your parents' lack of magical ability, and refuses to listen to anyone trying to reason with them?What does one do when their soulmate throws a tantrum and loses control of their powers? What does one do when they realize that if they don't stop their soulmate's overblot, he might die?

You don't know what to do.

You'd thought about soulmates before, sure. Back home, there were plenty stories and books about them. You'd heard all the fairytales—some were romantic, some were familial, some platonic, some strange bonds that couldn't quite be labeled and some even walked away from each other. Some even ended badly. And yet, even when the nature of the bond was different, the expectations weren't. Soulmates were supposed to understand each other.

Perhaps that's all they were: fairytales. Your situation felt impossible, definitely not a fairytale.

You just learned about magic and now you were learning about overblot while witnessing it.

To think all of this nonsense started because of a tart.

Fortunately, all of you were lucky enough to make Riddle snap out of his overblot and only sustain minor injuries while doing so. Well, as minor as having rose bushes thrown at you goes. The thorns were no joke, they hurt.

"Hench-human!" Grim barreled into you. "Myah, you're bleeding! Don't just sit there!"

"I'll go to the infirmary," you nodded numbly, looking at Ace and Riddle talk in the distance. "I'll talk with them later."

When you entered, the infirmary smelled like antiseptic and oddly like roses. You weren't sure if the latter was a cruel joke or just another leftover from the chaos in Heartslabyul.

The bandages on your arms itched where the thorns had caught you. Grim was fine, albeit grumbling. Trey had escorted Riddle in just after you that day, and now, a few days later, you were back to change your dressings.

But really, you came to talk to Riddle.

Trey gave you a knowing smile and quietly left you both alone.

Riddle sat rigidly on the bed across from you, a blanket draped across his shoulders, his arms curled tightly around himself.

His eyes were red.

Not in their usual irritated way, but in the way someone looks when they've cried. It made you feel awkward and a little lost on how you'd approach this topic.

You cleared your throat. "You should drink something."

You pushed the glass of water closer to his side table. "Before the nurses return and start fretting over you again."

"I'm not fragile," Riddle said, voice a little raspy possibly from crying but you did not bring that up.

"No," you agreed. "But you are recovering from your overblot."

He tensed. "That was not... supposed to happen."

"Well, none of us expected it. The Headmage said overblots are very rare."

Silence stretched thin between you as he did not have a response for you. Even you were unsure of what to say despite having a motive. Was it okay to spring this on him now?

"You should leave," he said firmly, breaking the awkward silence.

You raised a brow at his words. He wasn't looking at you anymore. His fingers clenched over the blanket, eyes cast toward the tiled floor. "You shouldn't... be near me."

“Is it because I got injured that day?” you asked.

“Because I insulted you,” he snapped. "Because I hurt you. Because I–"

“–am your soulmate?” you cut him off softly.

Riddle's head snapped toward you, eyes wide.

You showed him your wrist. The faint zeros remained.

"I checked in the cafeteria," you said. "When you approached our table and we had a brief interaction."

He looked down and stared as though the numbers would rearrange if he glared hard enough.

"I don't... understand," he said finally. "Why would it be me?"

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" you said.

He gave you a flat look, but his shoulders had sunk. He looked like he was the one who was about to be Off'ed With His Head.

"…You didn't know who it was until now," you said, realising his reaction.

"I didn't," he said. "I checked before bed. I had met many freshmen so I wasn't certain."

Riddle fell silent again. You remained quiet too, feeling lighter that you had said it, but Riddle didn't look like he was doing well. His expression reminded you of... well, yourself when you realised who your soulmate was in the cafeteria; all the confusion and bewilderment on one face.

"You didn't have to come here," he said, his voice steadier now. "I would have understood if you hadn't."

"Maybe. But I think I wanted to."

"...Why?"

"Why not?"

"You don't look disturbed by it," he said instead.

"Because I don't think it's something to be disturbed about." You watched him closely. "It's not like being told you're meant to be someone's perfect match magically makes that true. Besides, I had time to think about it."

"So you don't believe in it, then?" He asked you curiously.

"I believe in the countdown, sure." you replied. "I saw it hit zero. But I don't believe soulmates are… infallible, or ideal. We certainly don't fit in the fairytales I have been told."

Riddle seemed to mull over that for longer than you expected. When he finally responded, his voice was unusually quiet. "My mother always said soulmates were foolishness. Encourages sentiment and clouds judgment."

"And do you agree with her?"

"I... don't know."

It seemed odd to see Riddle be so unsure.

You were quiet for a moment, then said, "You know, when I found out it was you, I didn't exactly celebrate either."

That got a faint, if weary, huff from him. "Yes, I imagine my behaviour thus far hasn't inspired much joy."

You let out a soft laugh at that. You were glad he didn't get offended by your words.

"Well, no. You did collar my friend for eating a tart and insult our entire upbringing. But…" you tilted your head, considering him. "This conversation hasn't been half bad."

Riddle looked like he was caught off guard. "Has it?"

"Mhm," you nodded. "A bit tense and maybe awkward but considering how our previous interactions have gone, this counts as improvement."

You hesitated, then extended a hand toward him, palm open, as if offering a truce. "Speaking of improvements, we could start over, if you'd like. With introductions, like... normal people?"

Riddle looked at your hand like it was a foreign object, and then placed his own in yours.

"I am the newly appointed Ramshackle Prefect, with a cat-like beast named Grim as the only other student of my dorm. I don't have any magic, and I am a first year student," you smiled, letting go of his hand.

"Prefect, the infirmary hardly seems to be the place to hold first introductions." Riddle said instead.

"The details hardly matter. Normal people don't usually meet under some fairytale perfect circumstances," you sighed. Leave it up to Riddle to stress about the details and rules, you thought.

Riddle blinked at you, still visibly disoriented by how easily you'd turned something so fraught into a conversation that felt manageable. It was odd to see your expression directed towards him be so warm.

"A fair point," he murmured at last, glancing away. "Though I'm not entirely convinced the circumstances justify skipping decorum altogether."

"Well, that's something we'll probably keep disagreeing on," You shifted on your seat.

You stood, brushing your hands on your uniform, and looked at him. "I will get out of your hair now. Get well soon, Riddle. And next time we talk, you can introduce yourself properly."

He gave a small nod. "I would like that."

"Good." You grinned. "Good luck, by the way. With the tart. You'll need it. Ace has developed a bit of an ego, knowing that his housewarden owes him something."

Riddle's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

You didn't say anything else. You just nodded and slipped out the door, your thoughts lighter now that everything was behind you.

Whatever this turned out to be didn't matter, all that mattered was that there was time.

You'd both just needed to stop looking at the clock.

© ladyfocalors do not repost, translate, modify, copy or feed my works to ai.

[clockdigitalsale]

670-REVIEW DIGITAL CLOCK MODEL : CK-3206A นาฬิกาดิจิตอลขนาดใหญ่ ติดสนามกีฬา

[academicfever]

A practical, step-by-step approach to break free from phone and content addiction:

The goal is to create a lifestyle that is much more attractive than going back to the void for momentary pleasure

Environment Modification

Place your phone in a different room while working/studying

Use a basic alarm clock instead of phone alarm

Create phone-free zones (bedroom, dining area)

Put your phone in grayscale mode to reduce visual appeal

Delete most engaging/addictive apps

Move remaining social apps to the last screen of your phone

Replace Addictive Behaviors Instead of reaching for your phone when:

Waking up → Do light stretching, drink water

Feeling bored → Keep a book handy, practice a hobby

Taking breaks → Go for a short walk, do quick exercises

Before bed → Read, journal, or meditate

Waiting in line → Practice mindfulness, observe surroundings

Eating → Focus on your food, practice mindful eating

#Build Healthy Digital Habits

Use app timers (set 30-minute daily limits for social apps)

Schedule specific times to check social media/content

Turn off all notifications except calls from important contacts

Install website blockers during work hours

Use "Do Not Disturb" mode more frequently

Keep your phone out of sight during tasks

#Create Meaningful Alternatives

Develop offline hobbies (drawing, writing, crafts)

Join in-person social groups/classes

Exercise regularly

Practice meditation

Spend time in nature

Learn a new skill that requires focus

#Mindset Shifts

Recognize triggers that lead to excessive phone use

Practice sitting with boredom

Focus on creating rather than consuming

Be present in social situations

Understand that you're not missing out by being offline

##Progressive Reduction Week 1: Baseline awareness - track your usage Week 2: Remove most addictive apps Week 3: Implement phone-free morning routine Week 4: Establish phone-free periods throughout day Week 5: Create new habits to replace phone use

# specific actionable steps:

Waking Up:

Stretch arms overhead while still in bed

Roll shoulders back and forward

Gentle spinal twists while lying down

Cat-cow stretches after getting up

Drink a full glass of room temperature water

Open curtains to get natural light exposure

Feeling Bored:

Keep a paperback book in your bag/desk

Have a small sketchbook and pen handy

Practice a portable hobby (origami, knitting)

Carry a puzzle book (sudoku, crosswords)

Learn finger exercises for dexterity

Practice a language using flashcards

Taking Breaks:

Walk up and down stairs

Do 5 minutes of jumping jacks or squats

Step outside for fresh air

Shoulder rolls and neck stretches

Quick cleaning task in your space

Simple breathing exercises

Before Bed:

Write three gratitude points

Plan tomorrow's tasks

Read a physical book (not e-book)

Do gentle yoga or stretching

Practice progressive muscle relaxation

Write about your day's experiences

Waiting in Line:

Notice five things you can see

Focus on four things you can feel

Listen for three distinct sounds

Observe people's expressions and body language

Practice good posture

Do subtle ankle and calf exercises

Eating:

Notice the temperature of your food

Chew each bite thoroughly (aim for 20-30 chews)

Identify different flavors and textures

Put your utensil down between bites

Sit at a proper table when possible

Express gratitude for your meal

Remember: The goal isn't to be perfect, but to gradually build these healthier habits. Start with one context (like mealtime) and build from there.

Here's how to handle those intense urges to check your phone;

#Immediate Physical Response

Take 3 deep breaths

Stand up or change your position

Clench and unclench your fists

Stretch your arms overhead

Drink a full glass of water

Walk to a different room

#The 10-Minute Rule

Tell yourself "I'll wait just 10 minutes"

Set an actual timer

Often the urge passes within this window

If it doesn't, the pause still gives you control

#Urge Surfing Technique

Acknowledge the urge without judgment

Notice where you feel it in your body

Observe how it rises and falls

Remember urges are temporary waves

They typically peak at 20-30 seconds

#Quick Alternatives

Do 10 jumping jacks

Write down what you're feeling

Look out the window and find 5 specific things

Organize something small nearby

Hum your favorite song

Stretch your fingers and hands

# Ask Yourself:

"What am I trying to avoid right now?"

"What am I actually needing in this moment?"

"Will this matter in 24 hours?"

"What could I create instead of consume?"

#Emergency Reset Options

Splash cold water on your face

Step outside briefly

Call or text a friend

Do a quick physical task

Listen to one song

Write down your current goal

Remember: Each time you resist an urge; you're building stronger neural pathways. The urge will get easier to manage with practice.

##A targeted journaling approach to redirect that "random lookup" energy into something more meaningful:

#Curiosity Journal Structure

Keep two sections:

"Questions I Want to Answer" (capture random thoughts)

"Planned Research Time" (dedicated lookup sessions)

Date each entry

Include how urgent each question feels (1-5 scale)

Note why you want to know this information

#Daily Practice Morning Brain Dump (5-10 minutes):

Write all questions floating in your mind

Add topics you might want to explore

Rate their true importance

Schedule specific research time

Evening Reflection:

Which questions still matter?

What did you learn today?

What patterns do you notice in your curiosity?

Was the information you looked up actually valuable?

#Implementation Rules

Write down every urge to look something up

Wait at least 30 minutes before researching

Batch similar questions together

Set specific research time blocks (e.g., 4-4:30 PM)

Review old questions - many become irrelevant

#Question Categories Create sections for:

Essential Knowledge (work/study related)

Personal Growth

Pure Entertainment

Practical Needs

Random Curiosity

This helps you:

See patterns in your distractions

Identify what truly matters

Transform impulse into intentional learning

Build focus and patience

[big-poppa23]

Blood-Stained Butterflies: Part Two

synapse: thanos still can’t take a hint. he wants y/n…bad. and he realizes he’s not the only one.

pairing: thanos x latina!reader myung-gi x reader (platonic)

contains: enemies to lovers (sorta), blood, mentions of death, implied smut (barely), occasional spanish

. . .

The next day, the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. All the players had been shuffled into a stark white room, its walls stretching high and bare. A massive digital clock flickered on the wall, its bright red numbers counting down from 5:00. They had five minutes to form groups of five.

The room immediately buzzed with noise—voices overlapping, people clambering for alliances, grabbing friends, sizing each other up. Y/N stood still in the chaos, eyes sweeping over the mass of desperate faces, calculating. She considered her options, weighing who looked strong, who looked cunning, who might actually be worth trusting for a single game.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Señorita, excuse me,” Thanos said, his English thick and clumsy.

She didn’t even hide her groan, turning to him with an exasperated look. “What, now?”

Thanos grinned, unfazed by her irritation. “Let’s play the game together,” he replied, switching back to Korean with a confident nod.

Her eyes flicked past him to see Nam-gyu and another guy she vaguely recognized—Gyeong-su—hovering just behind him. Gyeong-su seemed harmless enough, more of a follower than a leader. Nam-gyu, however, looked less than thrilled, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“With all three of you?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Thanos puffed out his chest. “I, Thanos the Great, will protect you.”

Nam-gyu scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Hold on. We don’t really need Rosalía. We don’t want any girls for this—”

Before he could finish, Thanos raised his hand, cutting him off without looking at him. “Don’t call her that. She doesn’t like it.”

She blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “At least you remembered that…” she mumbled under her breath, her tone begrudgingly impressed.

Thanos leaned in, switching back to English. “Come on, baby,” he said smoothly, then slipped back into Korean. “I’ll protect you.” His grin was cocky, filled with self-assurance that had her skin crawling.

She stared at him, then glanced at Nam-gyu’s scowl and Gyeong-su’s awkward silence. Her pride flared, stubbornness locking her spine straight. She let out a bitter laugh. “No me uniría a tu grupo si fuéramos las últimas personas en el mundo,” she replied in sharp, unyielding Spanish, stepping around them without another word.

Thanos blinked, his grin faltering as he watched her walk away. “What does that mean, baby?” he called after her, voice echoing slightly.

She didn’t even turn around. “That means no thanks.”

She kept walking, the timer ticking down, and she could practically feel Thanos’ confusion burning holes into the back of her head. But she didn’t care. Pride was a dangerous thing in a place like this—but so was being tethered to dead weight.

The chaos of the room settled as players scrambled to form their groups, but her eyes scanned the crowd with a sharpness born of survival. She knew she needed the right people. And she needed them quickly.

As she stepped toward the center, her gaze fell on Player 333—the same guy who had been harassed by Thanos and Nam-gyu the day before. He was sitting with a group of four, but there was an obvious gap—one more player would complete the set.

Her lips curled into a grin, and she made her way over, moving with purpose.

“Excuse me, if you need one more…” Her voice cut through the murmurs of the room as she approached them.

The group, a mix of weary and cautious faces, looked her over. The tension in the air was palpable as they sized her up.

Player 50, a lanky man who looked like he’d seen more than his fair share of trouble, was the first to react. His eyes softened, a quick nod following. “Yes. Yes. You can join us.”

She gave a slight bow of gratitude, flashing a quick smile. “Thanks,” she said before sitting down on the floor with them, making sure to position herself next to Player 333.

He glanced at her, eyes dull, tired. She could see the uncertainty in the way he fidgeted, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t there to make friends—she was there to survive.

“Hi,” she said, her voice softer this time.

He met her gaze briefly, then quickly looked away. “Hi,” he muttered, voice strained, as if he couldn’t find the right words.

She didn’t miss the bruised mark on his cheek, still swollen and dark. She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Does it hurt still?”

His eyes flickered back to her, then quickly away. “Not really,” he mumbled, brushing it off.

She gave him a small, understanding nod. But something in her softened at the sight of him trying to play it cool when it was obvious he was struggling. She shook her head lightly.

“I’m not his friend,” she said, her voice low and matter-of-fact. “We just have history. And not the good kind.”

Player 333 glanced at her then, the faintest acknowledgment in his eyes. He didn’t speak right away, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, just a little. He nodded slightly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The rest of the group shifted around them, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him just yet. There was something in the way his eyes lingered on her, a quiet recognition of mutual struggle.

This game wasn’t about making friends, but sometimes, just sometimes, there was power in solidarity.

She couldn’t help but admit that Player 333, despite his questionable past and the scamming of his followers, had a certain charm to him. His messy hair, tired eyes, and bruised cheek gave him a rugged edge—something about it made him stand out in the sea of faceless players. He was cute, in a way that she wasn’t expecting, but she’d never admit that out loud. Not to anyone. Especially not in a place like this.

As she sat there, her gaze lifted, and she caught Thanos across the room. He was busy talking to Nam-gyu and Gyeong-su, but the moment his eyes found hers, she saw the way his posture stiffened, the way his glare sharpened. He wasn’t with her, yet his eyes followed her every move.

She couldn’t help but grin. A part of her enjoyed the effect she had on him, even though she couldn’t stand the man. His feelings were clear: jealousy.

The more she moved closer to Player 333, making it obvious with her body language, the more Thanos seemed to simmer. His lips pressed together in a tight line, and for a second, his eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn’t place, but one thing was clear—he was seething.

She let her smirk grow, watching as Thanos, his pride bruised, quickly turned away. But before she could savor the small victory, her attention snapped back to Player 333, who was looking at her with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

“We got this next game, huh?” she asked, her voice soft, but there was a challenge in her tone.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah.”

That was all.

But she felt a strange sense of connection, however fleeting. In this place, no one truly trusted anyone, but something about his demeanor told her that Player 333 wasn’t the type to back down from a fight, even if he had nothing left to lose. She could respect that.

For a moment, she let herself relax. The tension in the room was palpable, but with every passing minute, she felt more ready for the game ahead. This wasn’t about surviving alone—it was about survival with the right people, no matter how complicated things got.

They were in this together now. At least for the time being.

. . .

The surviving players trudged back into the dormitory, exhaustion and relief etched onto their faces. The six-legged pentathlon had been brutal—coordinated chaos where one wrong move could send them sprawling. But her group had done it. They’d survived.

There had been a small celebration—hushed cheers and quiet laughter—as they caught their breath, clinging to the thin thread of hope that surviving one more game gave them. But as the adrenaline faded, the reality of where they were settled back in. The smiles dimmed, voices softened, and the room grew still.

She, however, wasn’t quite ready to retreat to her bunk just yet. She found herself walking toward 333’s bed, where he sat quietly, his hands folded in his lap, eyes fixed on the floor. He looked up as she approached, surprise flickering across his face.

“Hey, MG Coin,” she greeted, a teasing smile curling her lips as she dropped onto the steps leading up to the top bunks. “Or do you prefer 333?”

He blinked, and for the first time, she saw the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Myung-gi is fine,” he replied softly, his voice gentle.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, nodding approvingly. “So you do have a name.” She leaned back against the cold metal railing, crossing her arms. “You did good at Jegi.” Her tone was genuine. “I would’ve lost us at the first kick.”

Myung-gi chuckled, the sound low and almost shy. “You were good at Gong-gi. Caught them all in one turn.” His gaze softened, meeting hers for a fleeting moment before dropping back to his hands.

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Surprised me too. Never has games like that back home.”

Myung-gi looked back up at her, his eyes a little less guarded now.

The silence stretching between them not entirely uncomfortable. For a moment, she forgot about the guards, the walls, and the blood-stained games. For a moment, it was just them, two people who had made it through another round.

But that moment didn’t last long. A shadow flickered from across the room—Thanos, his eyes locked onto them, whispering something to Nam-gyu with a sneer. She caught his glare and raised her chin defiantly, unbothered.

She turned back to Myung-gi, her voice dropping. “Looks like I’ve got myself a fan club.”

Myung-gi followed her gaze and gave a slow nod. “You should be careful.”

She smirked, brushing off his concern. “Oh, I’m always careful.” She leaned back against the metal frame of the bunk, her eyes studying Myung-gi’s face with curiosity. “So…” she began, a sly grin playing on her lips. “When you’re not scamming your YouTube subscribers, what’s life like for you?”

Myung-gi huffed out a small laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. “You already know the basics of it,” he replied with a shrug. His gaze flicked back to her, a spark of curiosity lighting up his eyes. “You know about me…but what about you? Why are you here?”

Her smile faltered just a bit. She glanced around the dormitory, the rows of metal bunks and desperate faces reminding her of the depths she had sunk to just to survive. She sucked in a breath, forcing herself to speak. “…I came here when I was 18. Part of a cultural exchange program. So I moved to Seoul.” Her voice softened, memories flickering behind her eyes. “At first, I was a waitress and a translator since I speak English, Spanish, and Korean.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “Three languages? Not bad.”

She shrugged, a half-smile on her lips. “It paid the bills…barely.” Her fingers tapped absently on the railing as she continued. “But you know how it is—bills stack up, the money isn’t enough. And then…someone in my family got sick back in Mexico. So I did what I could to send money to them.”

Myung-gi’s expression softened, his eyes turning serious. “That’s…that’s rough.”

“Yeah, well…” She let out a dry laugh. “My last job was a ‘dancer’…”

Myung-gi blinked, tilting his head. “A dancer? Like—”

“Yeah.” She cut him off, her voice blunt. “I danced in that club your number one fan used to go to often.” She nodded in Thanos’ direction, who was currently laughing obnoxiously with Nam-gyu on the other side of the room. “It was good money. Enough to send back home. Until…” She hesitated, her hands balling into fists. “That club got raided. The money was gone almost instantly.”

Myung-gi’s eyes lingered on her, his gaze heavy with understanding. He didn’t say anything right away—just watched her, as if seeing her in a different light. “So that’s why you’re here,” he finally said, his voice gentle.

“Yeah.” Her eyes drifted to the floor. “That’s why I’m here.”

The silence between them was thick, layered with unspoken struggles and mutual understanding. It was strange—to find comfort in a place like this. Even stranger to find it in someone like him.

“You know…” Myung-gi started, his voice almost a whisper. “For what it’s worth…I’m glad you joined our team for the game.”

She looked up, a bit surprised. But she didn’t let it show. “You just like me because I’m good at Gong-gi.”

A real smile broke out on his face this time, the kind that almost made her forget where they were. “Maybe.”

Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second, the weight of the games didn’t seem so heavy.

She cleared her throat, pushing herself up from the steps. “I should lay down for a bit,” she said, stretching her arms above her head. “The high of the game is turning into a migraine.”

Myung-gi gave her a sympathetic nod. “Okay…feel better.”

“Thanks.” She offered him a small smile before turning on her heel and heading back toward her bunk. Unfortunately, the path led her right past Thanos and his little posse.

He perked up the moment she got close, springing to his feet and falling into step beside her. “Tired already, señorita?”

She let out an exaggerated sigh, not even bothering to look at him. “Yeah, I am. ‘Cause certain rappers give me a headache every time they talk.”

Thanos smirked, unfazed by her jab. “And here I thought we were just starting to get along. I even stopped calling you Ro…” He paused, catching the sharpness in her glare. “Your stage name.”

“Right. And as much as I appreciate that, I still don’t like you.” Her tone was blunt, matter-of-fact.

“Come on, will you at least tell me why?”

She stopped walking, turning to face him fully. “Fine. You try too hard. You act like this super cool guy, but you just come off as a try-hard and an asshole. And an obvious junkie.” She crossed her arms, leaning in a little. “And frankly, I can’t tell if you talk to me just to get under my skin or if you’re trying to sleep with me.”

Thanos raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his lips. “…Mostly the last one, but also both.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Either way, neither of those things are happening. I’m definitely not interested in seeing that half-inch down there.” Her eyes flicked down to his pants before she turned and walked back to her bunk, leaving him standing there, mouth slightly open in surprise.

Thanos recovered quickly, calling after her, “You’ll want me one day, baby!”

Without missing a beat, she raised her hand in a dismissive wave. “You’ll want me all you want, but you’re never gonna get it, Su-bong,” she called back, the name slipping from her lips with perfect pronunciation.

She reached her bunk and collapsed onto the thin mattress, letting out a long sigh. Despite her throbbing headache, she couldn’t help but feel a strange thrill racing through her veins. There was something almost satisfying about shutting Thanos down every time. Like she got a little bit of her power back each time she knocked him down a peg.

She closed her eyes, the ghost of a grin lingering on her lips. He’d keep coming back—she was sure of that. But as long as he did, she’d be ready.

. . .

The next game was announced as Mingle. Y/N stood amongst the remaining players in a large, brightly lit room with smooth concrete walls and neon-colored doors lining the perimeter. Each door had a number above it, its bright glow pulsing with an eerie light. In the center of the room, a massive circular platform lay embedded into the floor, its surface smooth and metallic.

The rules were simple yet brutal: the platform would spin, and a cheerful children’s song, Round and Round, would play. When it stopped, a number would be called out. Players would have just thirty seconds to form groups of that number and make it into a room before the doors locked. Those left outside would be…eliminated.

She clenched her fists, eyes scanning the crowd. Survival depended on speed and instinct.

She’d made it through several rounds, barely slipping through the doors in time, occasionally partnering with Myung-gi or a random stranger who grabbed her arm in desperation. Each time the doors locked, muffled gunshots echoed behind them, followed by silence.

Now, it was the final round. The platform spun, her feet shifting slightly with the motion. Round and Round blared through the speakers, the cheerful lyrics clashing violently with the tension in the room. She scanned the faces, her eyes darting to Myung-gi. He was already holding onto his ex-girlfriend’s arm, pulling her toward a nearby door the second the platform stopped.

She cursed under her breath but she understood, the girl was pregnant after all. She was practically spinning around to find anyone—anyone. But groups were already formed, players grabbing onto each other and sprinting to safety. Panic flared in her chest as she turned, her eyes locking onto Thanos, who stood with Nam-gyu and a new guy she didn’t recognize.

For a moment, he hesitated, eyes flicking between Nam-gyu and the new guy, Min-su. He didn’t have time to decide. His eyes caught hers across the platform—alone, scrambling for someone, anyone.

Without a word, Thanos sprinted toward her, his hand gripping her wrist in a flash before she could protest. “Come on!” he shouted, yanking her so hard she nearly stumbled.

“Wait—what are doing, baboso—!”

But there was no time to argue. He dragged her toward a brightly pink door, his pace relentless. Ahead of them, two other players sprinted for the same door. Thanos didn’t slow—he rammed his shoulder into the guy’s chest, sending him sprawling backward.

Her instincts kicked in, and she shoved the girl with him to the ground, her heart pounding with adrenaline. She didn’t have the luxury to feel bad. Not here.

Thanos slammed his hand against the door, throwing it open as they both tumbled inside. He kicked it shut behind them, bracing against it as the two players pounded furiously on the other side. She pressed her back against the cool metal, panting, her hands shaking slightly.

The timer on the screen ticked down:

3… 2… 1…

A harsh clunk sounded as the door locked. The pounding stopped. Silence followed. And then—

Bang. Bang.

Gunshots. Clean. Precise. Final.

She flinched at the sound, her breathing heavy as she slid down the door, pressing her forehead against her knees. Thanos glanced at her, brushing dust off his tracksuit. “You’re welcome.”

She raised her head, glaring at him. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

His grin was smug, unbothered. “I know. But you needed it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Next time, I’d rather die.”

He chuckled, sliding down to sit next to her. “Well, then you wouldn’t get the chance to see that ‘half inch’ you were talking about.”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a grin she refused to let him see. “I’d rather be shot.”

“Would you?” he challenged, his eyes glinting with something playful. “Or are you just saying that because you’re scared you might like it?”

She snorted, shoving him away. “Cochino. In your dreams, Su-bong.”

Thanos just leaned back against the wall, still grinning. “You’re already in my dreams, señorita.”

“Estoy disgustado,” she mumbled with an eye roll.

“Say that again. It sounded good,” Thanos said softly, clearly not understanding what she just said.

“Shut up,” she replied. Thanos leaned back against the wall, his grin stretching wider as he watched her catch her breath. “Just because you helped me, don’t expect anything out of it.”

“What, not even a thank you?” he teased, tilting his head.

She raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips tugging up just slightly. “Thank you.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting her to say it so easily. “Wow. That was…weirdly sincere. Almost didn’t recognize you there, Rosal—” He stopped himself, clearing his throat. “I mean…Y/N.”

Her smile faded just as quickly. “Good. You’re learning.”

Thanos crossed his arms, a glimmer of mischief sparking in his eyes. “Well, since you’re in such a generous mood…how about a kiss?”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Now, you’re pushing it.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “A man’s gotta try.”

“Yeah, and one day that ego of yours is gonna get you killed.” She pushed herself off the wall, brushing the dust from her tracksuit.

He watched her, unblinking. “Maybe. But not today.”

She looked back at him, something unreadable flashing in her eyes before she straightened up. “Keep dreaming, Su-bong.”

Thanos only grinned wider. “Oh, I will.” Her eyes started drifting to the rectangular hole in the door as masked guards outside dragged the lifeless bodies away, leaving streaks of crimson on the polished floor. She grimaced. “Can they go any faster?”

Thanos leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with amusement. “What’s wrong? Am I that bad to be in a room with?”

She turned back to him, deadpan. “You know you’re cuter when you talk less.”

His grin widened instantly. “You think I’m cute?”

She paused, her eyes rolling before she crossed her arms. “I think you’re tolerable. That’s as far as I’ll go.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

“That’s the idea.” She walked back to the small window, peering through it as more guards finished their grim work. The bodies were gone now, but the stains still lingered. Her jaw tightened.

Thanos joined her at the window, his shoulder brushing hers. “You know…there are worse people to be stuck with.”

She glanced up at him. “I’m aware. I just wish I wasn’t stuck with you.”

He laughed, unfazed. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have held my hand running through that door.”

Her cheeks flared, but she played it off with a scoff. “I was desperate. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

“Uh-huh.” His grin remained smug. “I’ll remember that.”

A moment later, the door unlocked with a loud metallic clank, and the voice over the intercom echoed through the room: “Game complete. Return to the main hall.”

Thanos stepped back, gesturing for her to go first. “After you, señorita.”

She rolled her eyes but stepped forward. “Don’t get used to it.”

His voice trailed after her as she walked out. “I think I’m already getting used to it.”

She could feel his presence beside her, the way he leaned in, his voice dripping with confidence. “You know you like me.”

She didn’t even glance at him, keeping her eyes focused ahead. “I don’t. I said you’re tolerable.”

He chuckled, clearly undeterred. “You’re a lot nicer when I don’t have your old boss or my group by my side. I think you do like me just when we’re alone.”

She didn’t answer immediately, letting the silence hang thick between them, but she couldn’t shake the warmth creeping up her neck. She had to push him away somehow, even though it was harder when he was this persistent.

“If all it takes is to be alone with you, I could meet you in the bathroom in ten minutes.” His voice lowered, just enough to make her heart race for a moment.

She stopped walking, turning her head to shoot him a glare. “You wouldn’t know what to do with it if you had it.”

He grinned, unbothered. “That’s not a no. Come on, baby. You’re so tense all the time. Wouldn’t be too bad to get a little naked and…”

She couldn’t hold back a sharp exhale, shaking her head with a smirk playing on her lips. “Tempting…Okay.”

He froze for a moment, eyes wide. “Really?”

She laughed bitterly, cutting him off. “No.”

“That was mean. You know how bad I want you.” Thanos’ voice took on that playful tone again, but there was an edge to it—like he wasn’t used to being rejected, even when it was obvious she wasn’t seriously entertaining his advances. “You were happy to give me lap dances two months ago.”

“That’s because you paid me well.” She stepped forward, brushing past him with a teasing grin. “Turns out, your money’s the only thing that ever made you attractive.”

He watched her walk away, chuckling under his breath. “You keep talking like that, you’re gonna make me fall in love, Rosal—” he stopped himself, catching her glare before he even finished the name. “Y/N.”

“Good catch,” she called back, not even turning around. She said nothing more as they entered the main hall, eyes from other players flickering toward them. Thanos stayed close to her side, his presence annoyingly familiar. But for once, she didn’t tell him to back off.

As the last of the players shuffled back into the dormitory, the announcement came: it was time to vote. The decision was simple—continue the games or walk away. When the final tally lit up on the screen, it was a perfect tie. No clear answer, no escape. Tomorrow, they’d vote again.

The reality of three more games hung heavy in the air, threading tension through every exhausted face. She chewed slowly on her kimbap, each bite reminding her of the harsh truth—she could die in the next game…or even tonight, if the players decided to turn on each other. She glanced around the room, catching the restless eyes of strangers and the calculating stares of those already plotting.

Finishing the last bite, she crumpled the wrapper in her fist and stood up, scanning the room until her gaze landed on Thanos. He was sitting with Nam-gyu, laughing about something mindless, but when he noticed her staring, his expression shifted to surprise. She raised her hand, motioning for him to come over.

Thanos blinked, glancing around as if to make sure she wasn’t calling someone else. She rolled her eyes, making the gesture again, leaning casually against the bunk’s frame.

He hurried over, still looking a bit stunned. “You called?”

She crossed her arms, eyeing him seriously. “Look…we both know we could die in the middle of the night. Or in these next three games. There’s only gonna be one winner.”

“Okay?” he said, taking a sip from his glass soda bottle, his eyes never leaving hers.

“And…” she hesitated for only a moment. “The last time I had sex was two years ago.”

Thanos choked on his drink, sputtering before wiping his mouth. “Are you…are you trying to say—?”

“Shut up,” she cut him off, her voice firm. “Do you still want to or not?”

He stared at her, blinking rapidly. “Of course. Yes. I do.”

“Good.” She crossed her arms tighter, her eyes sharp. “In exchange, I want your protection during the night. I don’t trust most of these people…but I somewhat trust you.”

Thanos straightened up, his grin spreading wide. “Uh-huh…protection.” He leaned in a bit closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “You got yourself a deal, señorita.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see if you’re worth it.”

She reached out, fingers curling around the thin silver chain hanging around Thanos’ neck. His eyes widened slightly as she slid the cross pendant open, revealing the small stash of pills hidden inside. Without hesitation, she popped one onto her tongue, swallowing it dry before snapping it shut again.

His jaw dropped. “Did you just—?”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Your half inch better be worth it, Su-bong.” The name rolled off her tongue with just the right amount of mockery, making his face flush. Without another word, she turned and strode out of the dormitory, heading for the bathroom.

Thanos stood there for half a second, stunned. But the reality of what she’d just suggested hit him fast. “Oh, shit,” he muttered, fumbling to pop a pill for himself before shoving the necklace back under his shirt. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he jogged after her, weaving through scattered players who shot him confused glances.

He caught up just as she was pushing open the door to the bathroom, slipping inside before it shut. Thanos grinned, taking a steadying breath. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that this was going to be a night he wouldn’t forget.

[pitchburgh]

I don't think I showed you guys my stereo setup yet? :3

It's been a work in progress for a while, but I finally got it all set up and I'm sooo pleased with how it looks and sounds.

The Pioneer six-tape changer is the heart of my setup - I actually specifically hunted down the other units to go with it. This was my dad's tape deck when I was a little kid, and was how I first heard the Grateful Dead and Yes and many other incredible artists. I put the cow sticker on there when I was four or five years old and it's been there ever since.

Full details of the equipment below:

1. Technics SB-T200 tower speakers (2003) (not pictured) which were a $6 auction score and didn't even need any repair work hell yeah. These are connected via banana plug and speaker wire to:

2. Pioneer SX-2600 Stereo Receiver (1989), which in turn takes audio input from:

3. Pioneer PD-201 Compact Disc player (1992)

4. Pioneer CT-M6R Multi-Cassette Changer (1989), which again takes SIX tapes and is sooooo special to me

5. Audio-Technica AT-LP60XBT belt drive turntable

6. And finally, 3.5mm aux cable so I'm ready for anything

7. It's all connected to a Pioneer DT-560 audio digital timer (1985), mostly for easy power management and to have a clock in the room

Setup took a couple hours, but a big part of that was that I kept changing my mind about which components to put where, haha. This was sooo much fun to put together overall!

All of my fellow music enjoyers should ABSOLUTELY put together a "grown-up" stereo system like this. It was way easier (and more affordable) than I would have expected. Your turn now. gogogo!!

(bonus pic from this morning since you read this far thanks I love you)