fastlane-freedom · 2 years ago
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Subconscious Mind is Not a “Mind” But a "Success Mechanism"
Subconscious Mind is Not a “Mind” But a “Success Mechanism”
The new science of cybernetics has furnished us with convincing proof that the so-called subconscious mind is not a “mind” at all, but a (success) mechanism—a goal-striving “servo-mechanism” consisting of the brain and nervous system, which is used by, and directed by the mind.  Before moving further, let’s understand the meaning of the below terminologies —————————————————– Cybernetics: The word…
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ganondoodle · 2 months ago
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(idk if anyone wants to keep hearing my opinions on totk book stuff but-)
apparently it says that rauru DID have kids, multiple even, which yeah... is kinda necessary for zelda to even be connected to them so much so that sonia can SENSE a blood connection (which, even with all the excuses with magic, is just a little too far for me to suspend my disbelief bc its over, OVER, ten thousand years worth of generations that seperate her from them that one lil touch of the hand can sense that (feels more like an attempt to make you care about them or .. see them as zeldas "better" parents just bc they exchange a few nice words, i never got the feeling they were 'better' parents and its also kinda disrespectful to her actual parents, like sure rhoam wasnt the best but i wouldnt call rauru better just bc he was polite)- i could see maybe the light power of hylia or sth but since its the coolest dude that ever lived rauru now that had it which still doesnt make sense and makes me unreasonably annoyed and she can sense BOTH of their powers in her? nah) the fact theres NOTHING about them in the game itself is just so ... no way they planned any of this
i dont think theres anything they can do or say that wont make be believe they either
are making it up alla 'fix it in post' mentality trying to hastily explain stuff the game never bothers to do to try and appease fans or let it appear as if they thought about it at all
something went really REALLY wrong during development, which kinda seems likely given how the game turned out (im sorry i cannot let go, its not just the writing, the game design too and how little was changed in the map while being so damn expensive, i dont know how people dont feel scammed q_q)
given that they (allegedly) spent the last entire year of development on polish (where??? where????? huh??? like it would make it more understandable (EXCEPT for the price) if there was alot of trouble, which was also bc it got delayed and ... turned out like this, but they dont want to say it, especially given their reputation, with that quote i have heard way too many times 'a delayed game blah blah') i just??
are they just gonna go and do it like they did with kashiwa (kass)? "they uuuh where flying around the whole time ony cool sonau tech maschines, you just dont see or hear from them ooooorrr they were uuuuh out of the country at the time" (sending invitations to other continents to join their glorious kingdom ;) )
(bet they are also gonna say they did all the stuff like ... moving the shrines around (lol?) and lifting the islands up into the sky- which is still weird bc ... didnt they also say they were living in the sky before coming to the surface?? so where?? did they park all their islands on the surface and the mystery kids had the keys so they had to repark them back into the sky after they returned off camera?? xD also why are the islands so different as an environment if they where from the surface? like even the STONE up there is different- and if they were first in the sky then on the surface and the nback in the sky .. why is there not a single yellow tree or grass in the past- you cant really argue that it changed bc they were up there so long bc .. nothing else changed, the suddendly and totally always there sonau buildings are largely in prime condition, only some slightly moldy, and what we see of the glorious past looks barely any different from the present, aside from like ... some standard trees shuffled, no castle yet and that glowy uwu filter DESPITE that stupidly long time frame between it)
#ganondoodles talks#zelda#ganondoodles rants#idk if others feel like that too but i cant shake the feeling there was something that either went horribly wrong during development-#-or the entire thing was neglected the whole time which is why its so .. i hesitate to even call it bare bones#...which is WILD given that its the supposed sequel to their best seeling zela game#like wtf where you doing#i get that the pressure can be immense but imo it wasnt that hard to make a sequel to thats better than totk#like i think it was harder to make totk like it is NOW bc it scraps and throws away so many things you could have easily used-#-as sequel material#its all so weird to me#my tin foil hat theory is still that they saw the success of the mario movie and immediately shifted everything to make more movies#bc it made so much money#and a movie is easier to make than a good game#so totk or botw2 at the time got the short end of the stick#which is why everything feels like .. so ... bare bones .. untested .. unfinished .. non sensical...#like an alpha build that got enough visual polish to look like a full game when its still an alpha build at its core#some main ideas like the abilities implemented and the basic map layers#mechanics functioning but untested on how it feels to play#like the sage controls and arrow fusing and ... contradictory game mechanics that dont work together#like the bulding WORKS but its clunky and underused- everything can be cheated so easily you dont even feel good cheating-#-bc it feels like the teacher just allowed you to mark your test with a green circle and you still got an A (or however USA grades work)#despite not even reading the questions- why attempt to solve a puzzle if you can just skip it#and how they tell you to be creative with it yet creativity gets punished and only efficiency is rewarded#which completely undermines the entire thing#...theres so much more you know i have ranted about it all before#ALSO rauru and sonia seemed like a rather newly wed couple to me- not one that had multiple kids that never appear-#since it only mentions rauru ..... if its only his then ... that doesnt explain anything bc zelda needs both sonia and rauru dna#................do sonau leave eggs to incubate somewhere heavenly or sth#watch out the springs where built to hatch rauru eggs bc they need the gods holy blessing bc they are oh so holy to hatch
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stinkrascal · 4 months ago
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This might be a funny question but how long do you spend thinking about your characters or your story? I want to start a sims story but I’m always scared because I don’t know how much thought must go into it
im autistic as shit so this might not be the best question to ask me specifically haaaaaaaaah bc i think about my sims 24/7 ;-; standstill in particularly took me so long to debut to simblr, bc ive spent years writing out all the scenes before i executed them into ts4, writing out brainstorms, reading books, doing as much as i can in preparation for my silly vladislaus straud fanfiction. whether it's good is debatable 🤷‍♂️ but i know i did the best that i could do with the skills under my belt and that's enough for me. and to be honest, all that stuff i described is the fun part for me. i've been storytelling since i was a child so the process of creating a story from start to end is genuinely very fulfilling. what you find scary is the thing i enjoy most about the process, so im a bit biased saying all this.
buuuuuuut with all that being said, u do not have to make a sim story in this way!! actually as far as i know this isn't the typical way that most sim stories are created. it's pretty common for people to have a vague idea with their creation, maybe a handful of scenes but not everything written out, who then essentially wing it and write the scenes as they are posted to simblr. 5 years ago i posted the first version of standstill, called thanatophobia, and that story was almost entirely written as i went. so don't feel like you have to elaborately plan everything out if that's not something you enjoy doing! put the level of planning into your story that you feel comfortable with, set your own standards, don't really worry how other people do their stories. like you aren't publishing a book here, this is sims 4 tumblr, it doesn't need to be perfect, it just needs to be something u enjoyed creating.
yes ok i hope this helps!!
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foxmulderautism · 1 year ago
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one niche weird thing about reading for a litmag is the more online flash/micro fiction i've read the more i've found specific writers that i really admire or at least i can recognise their name when i see them published in litmags. and sometimes they'll they show up in the queue and it's like oh i'm really inspired by this writer and their skill but now i'm on the side where i read and analyse and vote on their submission. and my impostor syndrome is like what the hell
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writersdrug · 2 months ago
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Just thinking bout how bartender!simon would react to to someone leaving their number with a tip for the reader. Just imagine he’s going through the tips at the end of the night and sees a ripped piece of paper with a lil note and number scrawled on it clearly meant for her👀
You must not have seen it - otherwise, you would have pranced over to the bar and gloated about yet another phone number. This one catches him off guard since you hadn't announced it.
It's alright, though. You and Ghost had worked out a system for cock-sure customers like this one. It acted as a coping mechanism for Simon, letting his frustration towards your universal attractiveness out - you thought it was just a fun way to cock block them, and assumed Simon thought the same.
At the end of your shift, you sit at the bar, Simon leaning over it and his phone between the two of you. He texts the number with a general "hi, it's me from the bar :)". He lets you send a few lines to the guy - you atart off simple, slowly sending more and more off-the-rails comments, like "What kind of car do you have? I had to sell mine so the police wouldn't trace me back to the crime." Or "I'm actually under a contract here. I owe the bartender a favor for getting rid of my ex-husband. I can't quit until I'm sixty."
After you've had your fun, and the bar begins to wind down for the night, you head home and leave the rest of the conversation in his hands. He scrolls through what you've said so far, chuckling at the strangeness in your creativity. He then sends his own series of texts. "If you treat me nice, I can show you where I hide the bodies." "Oh, I can't eat at Sevvy's anymore - I got banned after the incident." "Did you know that it's relatively easy to kill someone by breaking their nose? Well, that one guy was easy. Maybe everyone's different."
It's not too long after that when his messages stop going out, and a notification generates on his screen, saying "this number has blocked you." Simon considers it a success.
In the office upstairs, all of the receipts with mobile numbers scribbled on them are pinned to the corkboard by the monitors. Price gives it a disapproving look every time he sees it, but he only becomes impressed with how quickly they begin to take up space on the board. Every Saturday afternoon, before the pub opens, you and Soap go up there and choose a victim at random. He enters the number into several spam websites, like job recruiters or the farmers almanac. Goes on something like "Roommate Finder" and replies to a bunch of postings with the number.
When Price decides to comment on it, Soap gives him a shrug. "Should ne'er have left 'is contact information in a public area."
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egoistars · 2 months ago
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PROJECT PARTER HCS (he wants you so bad) haikyuu
ft: aran, kita, atsumu, osamu, suna
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ATSUMU:
HES TRYING!!! but is it successful? (no)
literally cannot shut up the entire time you two meet up but it's ok because he's funny
"hey you wanna see pictures of my teammates" "yeah sure" he pulls out a blurry .5 of suna's nostrils
offers you protein bars and osamus leftovers as snacks
compliments you on literally everything
you wrote two words? he starts cheering and clapping his hands like you're shakespeare presenting a new play
loves pretending to be your strict teacher whenever commenting on your work
makes up for his lack of preparation by making you laugh and flustered
"i think you can add a little more to this part" "you look so sexy calling me dumb"
if you two meet up at a cafe he ALWAYS!!! pays for you
started off as a mistake because he asked you for your order in front of the barista
but he thought for a moment and decided you're worth an extra $5 out of his wallet
always loses his pencils but has dozens of erasers?????
SWEARS by wooden pencils. he sees a mechanical pencil and jumps 5 feet into the air and starts screaming
last few days of the project he looks constipated every time you two are together
"do you need a diaper" "I WANT YOU"
you accept his confession because you unfortunately like him back and because you want a good grade
also because you don't want him pooping his pants
ARAN:
the sweetest!!
always asks how you're doing before pulling out his notes
digital note taker 100%
loves loves loves writing with erasable pen and only uses pencils for exams
is a "let's work on everything together" kinds guy
he says it's to make sure there aren't any disagreements in content and aesthetic (he just wants to talk to you)
if you guys aren't at your house, always offers to walk you back!!!
great academically but if you're making a poster or slideshow do NOT let him decorate it... pls watch out
"does this look good!" "i'm gonna hold your hand when i tell you this..." "omg you want to hold my hand 😍"
starts giggling to himself in his head whenever you guys accidentally touch
you catch him staring at you one day and you don't know what to say so you just stare back
he thinks its so romantic
you're just confused but go along with it
after presentations you think you guys are gonna go back to being friendly classmates but he finds you after class and asks you out :)
KITA:
ACADEMIC WEAPON TEACHERS FAV EVERYONE LOVES HIM
"do you want to read my notes?" he pulls out 5 notebooks with everything color coordinated, sticky tabs, perfect handwriting, and factually correct
he can sit and work for 5 hours straight and still somehow have perfect posture
first time you asked him for help on something you were about to piss yourself because you thought he would call you stupid and send you to hell
he gave you a small smile and started walking you through it with an unmatched level of patience
that was the moment you folded and had to physically restrain yourself from grabbing his cheeks and kissing his face
always offers you tea when you come over and brings out a small tray of snacks
"are you comfortable? do you need any help?"
is suuuuper meticulous but kind with his 739273 different corrections
he swears by the sandwich method of compliment-critique-compliment
"your analysis is amazing in this section but i think you can expand a little bit after because..."
you're the one who confessed first because you thought you would explode from cuteness aggression if you didn't
and also because you thought even if he did reject you, he'd do it in the most painless way
was super happy and bursted into a bright red face but shy smile!!
still told you to go back to the assignment though...
SUNA:
menace i hate him (no i don't)
literally doesn't understand anything that's going on and probably doesn't process what you're saying at first
realizes you're serious about this assignment and forces himself to lock in
asks a BUNCH of questions and jots them down on a google doc
loves to make random conversation when you two are working
actually insane gossiper
nosiest birch you know
allergic to minding his own business that mf has shit on everyone
are you slightly scared of what he has on you? yes. do you still want to hear everything he knows? yes
"i'm taking this info from page 175 of the textbook" "got it, but did you hear that kato is trying to get with his exs best friend??"
leaves notes on your project that are both unserious and encouraging
"omg u are literally einstein"
folds origami when bored
will give you paper cranes, frogs, foxes, and cats whenever you see each other
you discovered that there's small doodles in the posts it's he uses to make them
one day there's your name and his surrounded by hearts like the corny mf he is
confronted him and it and he was just like "oh you found that? well, do you want to go out with me?"
he was NOT SLICK with the way he skipped home and whistled to himself that day after you said yes
OSAMU:
HES TRYING HIS BEST!!! (pt. 2)
can only meet up after school because of volleyball so he offers to cook for you before starting to work
takes notes in class but doesn't understand half the stuff he jots down
writes actual bullshit but half a page in decides to abandon his pride and ask you for help
leans in a little too close whenever listening to what you're saying
tries to make sure your knees are touching and that it's all an accident when your fingers brush (he prepared each scenario in his head before sleeping the night before)
down bad LOSER
spends his time doing his portion of the project while sneaking glances at you
doesn't know how to decorate presentations for the life of him so he is on doodle duty
gives surprisingly good suggestions and takes your corrections to heart
one of the best project partners because of how willing he is to learn and contribute!!! (also because he wants to impress you)
talks shit about his brother to you
atsumu has walked in while osamu was telling you an embarrassing story
they start fighting
osamu gets super embarrassed when you laugh at him
then gets overly confident when you tell him you were rooting for him
will not stop dumb smiling whenever he sees you after that
asks you out after the project is turned in with his hands in his pockets with how they're shaking so much
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gigabyte-flare · 4 months ago
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At Your Service
[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]
Summary: You are the daughter of a wealthy family in New Eridu. Lycaon has been your loyal butler since you first moved out from your childhood home. You're about to find out just how far Lycaon is going to go to prove his devotion to you.
Word Count: 4.8k
Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.
Warnings: Mild Yandere, implied r@cisim (not by reader or Lycaon), domestic violence (not by Lycaon), attempted SA (not by Lycaon), graphic violence, dubcon, oral (f receiving), pet names, playful biting, unprotected p in v, knotting, breeding kink, creampie
A/N: Just when I thought Jiyan from Wuthering Waves had me in a chokehold (he still does), Hoyo literally said "hold my beer." Does being down bad for Von Lycaon make me a furry? Probably. Do I care? Nope. He's hot and I can't get enough of him.
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"As you can see, we had record profits this month. The campaign with the promoters definitely made a huge difference in our profit margin--"
You can't help but let out a loud sigh, resting the side of your face in the palm of you hand as your elbow keeps your head up as you stare into the webcam at your office computer. This is your last meeting of the day, heck, of the week. Unfortunately with the finance department of your family's business: a publishing company for video games and video tapes. Given how popular consumable media is in New Eridu, the business had taken off, you and your family now set for life. This also meant that your parents expected you to take over once they retire; you were still struggling to come to terms with that fact.
"-- that concludes this week's financial overview, I hope everyone has a good weekend!"
You waste no time turning off your webcam and shutting down your work computer. You couldn't get out of the office building fast enough. Getting into your car, you make the drive home to just beyond Sixth Street.
You live in one of the larger homes on the outskirts of New Eridu thanks to the success of your family's company. You park your car, getting out and approaching your front door. Before you even have a chance to dig your keys out of your pocket to unlock the door, your front door opens and you are greeted by your tall, imposing wolf Thiren butler: Von Lycaon of Victoria Housekeeping.
"Welcome home, my lady. I already have dinner started. I trust your day went well?"
"Hey Lycaon… it was alright," you reply as you step through the doorway, Lycaon stepping aside to let you through, "what's for dinner?"
You feel his deft clawed fingers help you take off your jacket before walking it over to the entryway closet to hang it up, his steel mechanical legs echoing in the entryway as he walks.
He answers you while hanging up your jacket, "roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and broccoli, my liege."
You chuckle, "you've been here for years, yet I still cannot get used to you addressing me like someone who's important."
Lycaon turns slightly just as he was about to shut the closet door, his red eye scrutinizing you, "but you are important, my lady."
You feel your cheeks tingle at his response, but quickly shake your head to compose yourself, "Do you… need any help with dinner?"
"I do not require any help. Not that I would trouble you with such trivial matters," he replies, walking away from the closet to head back into the kitchen.
"If you insist…" you hesitate; even after all this time, you're not accustom to having someone else doing all the house work, "I'll be in the living room watching TV. Come get me when dinner is ready, alright?"
Turning to you once more, Lycaon gives you a nod and a subtle smirk before walking into the kitchen. You don't realize your eyes are lingering on him as he walks away; watching the intricate parts on his prosthetic legs move as he walks, the way his right arm his bent behind him, his fist clenched, the way his large bushy tail wags gently as he--
You blink a few times, once again shaking your head and bringing your hand to your forehead.
Fucking hell, girl, get a hold of yourself. He's your freaking butler.
You turn and walk into the living room, collapsing onto the couch. Leaning forward, you grab the remote off of the coffee table and turn the TV on, mindlessly scrolling through the channels before settling on some talk show. You don't focus on the show, instead, you pull out your phone and check your notifications. You notice you have a Knock Knock message from someone, so you open the notification bubble to check it.
"Hey! It's Steve, are we still on for dinner tomorrow?"
"Oh… that's right… I'm supposed to have dinner with that guy Mom hooked me up with…" you say to yourself, rolling your eyes before you type out your response.
"Yeah. Did you still want to pick me up from my house?"
You see the typing ellipses pop up a few times before his response comes through, "if you're comfortable with that, yeah!"
Normally, you would never let some strange man pick you up from your house to go on some blind date, but you know for a fact Lycaon wouldn't let anything happen to you; those mechanical prosthetic legs weren't just for show. You've witnessed first hand the damage they can do a handful of times in the years you've known him.
"My lady," you hear Lycaon call to you from the threshold of the living room, startling you from your thoughts, "my apologies, I didn't mean to scare you."
"No, no… it's fine. I'm guessing dinner is ready?" you reply, turning around to face him while still seated on the couch.
"Indeed. Would you like to eat in the dining room or here, my lady?" he asks as he straightens his posture.
"We can eat in here. Come watch TV with me Lycaon, I insist." you reply, waving him into the living room.
"As you wish, my lady, I shall plate dinner and bring it in here, one moment."
You watch as he gracefully turns around, walking out, the metallic rattle of his legs echoing as he returns to the kitchen. He returns promptly with two plates of food and utensils. He hands you your plate first before taking his own and sitting in a nearby chair. He crosses his legs, his large tail then settling onto his lap as be began to eat his meal. You waste no time digging in; you absolutely loved Lycaon's cooking and tonight was no exception. You're so focused on your meal that you almost miss your phone vibrating in your pocket. You pull it out, seeing another Knock Knock notification.
"I take it you don't want me to pick you up at your house…?"
"Oh shit…" you curse to yourself, having forgotten to respond to Steve.
You quickly text him to that it's fine and send him your address before gently setting your phone onto the coffee table.
"What was that all about, my lady?" Lycaon asks, as perceptive as ever, even while eating dinner.
"Oh nothing," you say, tucking your legs up onto the couch as you continue to eat dinner, "I'm just making plans with someone to go to dinner tomorrow night. I forgot to text him back."
"I see, should I plan to make dinner just for myself then?"
"No, set aside a plate for me… just incase the plan falls through…"
"As you wish, my lady."
The two of you continue to eat dinner in silence, your gaze unconsciously wandering over to him, lingering on his mechanical prosthetics before moving to the mask he wears on his face, which covers one of his crimson eyes. You've always wondered what had happened to him, but Lycaon never talks about himself and you didn't want to pry into something that is probably really painful for him.
Sensing your gaze on him, he clears his throat before speaking, "Is everything alright, my lady?"
"Oh--! Sorry, I was just zoning out…" you quickly retort before returning your attention to your meal.
Once the two of you are finished with your meal, you switch channels and watch the latest episode of Starlight Knights while Lycaon gets absorbed in a book. Exhaustion sinks its teeth into you suddenly and you fall asleep on the couch. Noticing this, Lycaon sets his book aside, standing up and scooping you into his arms before carefully carrying you to bed upstairs, his tail wagging gently the whole way there.
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The next morning, you are pulled from your sleep by the smell of bacon. Your eyes slowly open and you stretch your arms out over your head, letting out a loud yawn as you do so. You glance over at the clock; it's nearly 10:00 in the morning. You're shocked Lycaon had let you sleep in this long. Upon setting your arms down in front of you, you come into contact with a breakfast tray. The food on it is still hot, Lycaon must have just brought it in. He made your favorite: waffles with fresh berries, syrup and bacon. You can't help but smile as you grab the nearby fork and dig in.
As you're eating, you suddenly realize you don't recall getting into bed last night, you were still wearing the outfit you had on yesterday. Lycaon must have carried you to bed… again. That's been happening more and more frequently, you feel terrible that he felt obligated to carry you to bed. Still, you feel a warmth in your chest thinking about him taking care of you; you guess that's only natural given he's been your butler for so long.
Your parents had insisted on hiring someone from Victoria Housekeeping when you decided to move out after buying a house, mainly for protection. Being the daughter of a prominent publishing giant came with its risks as you soon learned. As unnecessary as you found it at first, you were very grateful for Lycaon's protection and companionship. Even so, you were hesitant to admit you've caught feelings for the enigmatic butler; could anyone blame you though? Von Lycaon was legendary in both his services and his physical prowess; hence why your family hired him specifically. Only the best for their daughter.
Despite your complicated feelings for Lycaon, your mother insisted on playing match maker. This latest man she picked out is the first one you've entertained going on a date with, mainly to shut your mother up. You honestly had no desire to date anyone; you have everything you could possibly need right now, even with how you feel about your butler.
The rest of the day is uneventful and before you know it, the sun is setting, casting orange rays into your windows. Lycaon is in the kitchen doing up dishes when he hears a loud knock on the door. He stops, his gaze shifting to the front door as whoever is out there continues to knock. Letting out a low growl, he takes his hands out of the dishwater, drying them off before putting his fingerless gloves back on. Tucking one of his arms behind him, he approaches the front door, opening it. He is greeted by short human male, his brown hair greasy and slicked back with a red goatee that is haphazardly trimmed and rectangle glasses. The man's eyes widen upon seeing Lycaon, who is glaring down at him with a furrowed brow. The man tries to speak, but finds himself at a loss for words.
"What business do you have with my Master?" Lycaon asks, his tone dark, his threatening gaze unwavering.
"I… uh… I'm here to pick up… uh…" the male stammers, checking something on his phone.
"It's fine, Lycaon! I'm expecting him, his name is Steve!" Lycaon hears you call from within the house.
Upon hearing you come down the stairs from your bedroom, Lycaon turns to look at you as you approach the front door. You suddenly stop in your tracks upon seeing the man at the front door, your eyes wide.
He looks nothing like the photos your mother sent of him.
Sensing your unease, Lycaon goes to you, giving you a reassuring pat on your shoulder as he shifts to stand behind you, standing tall and puffing his pectoral muscles outward; almost as if he's asserting his dominance. You banish the thought; that'd be ridiculous, he's your butler for crying out loud!
"Is this the person you mentioned you were going to dinner with, my lady?" Lycaon asks, his crimson gaze still locked on Steve.
You nod, swallowing hard as you struggle to get your anxiety under control. Your mother probably sent an outdated picture. Everything will be fine.
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It wasn't fine. Steve took you to some dimly lit dive in Lumina Square; you didn't even think a place this dingy could exist. You are not a vain person, but this place is absolutely abhorrent. Steve was rambling on and on about god knows what, you stopped listening awhile ago; wishing desperately to be home where a beautifully cooked meal would be waiting for you. You're glad that you had Lycaon make a plate for you.
"-- so, what's with the Thiren living with you?" Steve asks, ripping you from your thoughts.
Realizing he's asking about Lycaon, you sit up straight, setting your hands onto the table, "he's my butler, why?"
Steve scoffs, giving you a sly smirk, "he's awfully jacked to be just a butler. I've never seen a Thiren built like that."
"He is able to protect me if needed, if that's what you're getting at," you reply, not even bothering to hide the annoyance in your voice.
"You won't need him anymore," Steve says, that stupid smirk still on his face as he leans forward, resting his chin on one of his hands as he rests his elbow on the table.
You lean back, crossing your arms, "and why is that?"
"Because you have me now."
The silence that follows after Steve's statement could have been cut with a knife. You discreetly pull out your phone, opening the Knock Knock app and send a single message to Lycaon.
"Lumina Square please come."
"I don't recall telling you that we're dating," you finally break the silence as you look up at Steve, your heart pounding in your chest as your anxiety heightens.
"You didn't have to, you let me take you to dinner. It's clear you're now my girlfriend," Steve says, gazing at you like you're a slab of meat, "and I want you to get rid of that butler. I don't need some disgusting Thiren third wheeling us."
He's one of those people. Fucking great.
"Lycaon isn't going anywhere, thank you very much," you reply as you suddenly stand up from the table, making your way to the entrance of the restaurant, "this date is over."
Steve stands up, rushing over to you and grabbing you by the wrist, pulling you to him, "you're not going anywhere, sweetheart!"
The small handful of people in the restaurant just stare at the two of you as you struggle against Steve's grasp; no one makes a move to help you.
"Let go of me you greasy asshole!" you yell, spitting in his face.
Steve scowls, wiping your spit from his face before slapping you across the face. You cry out when his hand makes contact, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. One of Steve's hands grasps your back side, squeezing so hard that you know for certain it's going to bruise later. The other hand grabs your chin, forcing your head so it's facing his and he tries to kiss you.
The front door of the restaurant suddenly gets kicked in and you feel a familiar chill in the air. You don't need to look to know that your loyal butler has arrived.
"Get your filthy hands off my Master," Lycaon growls, his heavy steps quickly advancing.
Steve sucks in a breath, his eyes widening as he lets go of you, shoving you away. You can see that he's trembling, frozen in place. You notice a wet spot on his pants, right between his legs.
Oh my god… he's pissed himself.
You stifle a laugh at this realization as you watch Lycaon approach him. The individual parts on his mechanical legs popping out and coating in ice, cooling the air around him. You pick up the chatter around you.
"Isn't that the owner of Victoria Housekeeping?!"
"Yeah, that's Von Lycaon!"
"I wouldn't want to be that guy right now…"
Steve stumbles backwards as Lycaon stalks towards him, his posture confident and his right arm tucked behind him.
"Dude I'm sorry! I was desperate ok?! It won't happen again!"
"You're right," Lycaon growls, his eye shifting up at Steve, his gaze like a crimson dagger, "it won't."
Within a blink of an eye, Lycaon rushes forward, punching him in the gut. Steve hunches over, a splatter of blood coming out of his mouth. Lycaon brings up one of his legs, kneeing Steve in the face before bringing his other leg around to give him a roundhouse kick. You cry out along with the other patrons as Steve is hurled into the back of the restaurant, crashing against the wall so hard, it leaves a large indent in the wall where Steve's body made contact before crashing to the floor. For a moment, Steve doesn't move and you start to fear that Lycaon might have killed him; that is until Steve starts groaning, staggering while standing up.
"You… You hit like a bitch…" Steve groans, wiping the blood coming from his mouth.
You spot a subtle smirk form on Lycaon's lips as he walks towards Steve, ice once again gathering on his mechanical legs, several different parts starting to glow. He stands in front of Steve once more, who is now laughing nervously.
"Say that again, cretin. To my face."
Not so tough now that Lycaon is inches in front of him, Steve remains silent, his legs wobbling as he fights to keep himself standing up. You watch Steve swallow hard, seemingly building up his courage.
"You hit like a bi--"
If you had blinked, you would have missed Lycaon kicking straight upwards, causing Steve's head to violently snap backwards, an audible crack reverberating in the restaurant. Steve drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Lycaon takes a moment to brush himself off before turning around and walking up to you.
"Don't worry, my lady, he's not dead," he says, as if reading your mind as he gently takes your arm to lead you outside, "let's get you home."
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The first thing Lycaon had done once the two of you had gotten home was start the shower for you. You have no idea how much time has passed since you stepped inside, letting the hot water fall on you as you silently cry. You should have listened to your gut when you realized Steve looked nothing like the photo your mother had sent you. That is the last time you let your mother play match maker. You felt awful that Lycaon had to basically come rescue you. There's no doubt your father is going to catch wind about what happened, especially considering the amount of damage Lycaon had caused in the restaurant.
You'll worry about that later. Right now, all you wanted to do was get cleaned up and go to sleep. You turn the shower off, pushing the shower curtain aside to step out, but you stop yourself. You find one of your bathrobes folded neatly on the counter next to the sink, but that's not all. A single red rose is placed on top of the folded robe. You carefully step out of the shower, approach the bathroom counter, gingerly pick up the rose and twirl it in your fingers slowly; the rose having been meticulously de-thorned.
Lycaon…?
Another spot of red in the corner of your eye catches your attention. Turning to look, you see that there is a trail of red rose petals on the floor that leads out of the bathroom. You take the robe and put it on, wrapping it around your nude body and tying it before you follow the trail of rose petals. Upon opening the bathroom door, you are once again stunned, too frozen in shock to move. The rose petals lead straight to your bed, the plush white comforter not only covered in petals, but with whole roses like the one you found in the bathroom; there's at least twenty of them, if not more.
You hesitantly walk towards your bed, your heart pounding in your chest. Did Lycaon do this? He must have, who else would have, you're the only two people in the house. But why? What does this mean? Your breaths are heavy, causing your chest to heave as you look down at your bed. You place your hand over your heart in an attempt to calm yourself. Surely, he's just trying to cheer you up after your horrific date. That must be it.
"My lady."
You suck in a breath at the sound of Lycaon's voice, slowly turning around to face him. Standing in the doorway, you immediately notice he's not wearing his signature vest, but just the white button up shirt he typically wears beneath the vest, the sleeves still rolled up to his elbows along with his black pants. The shirt is unbuttoned halfway, a tuft of fur spilling from his shirt. You feel your mouth hang slightly agape as your eyes run up and down Lycaon's form.
"If I had known you were going on a date with that… filth, I wouldn't have let you go."
He slowly approaches you, the sultry look in his eye erasing any doubts of his intentions; the sound of his mechanical legs walking across the floor echoing in your head as he approaches. You unconsciously take a step back away from him, the back of your legs hitting the foot of the bed.
"My liege," he whispers, the backs of his fingers gently caressing the side of your face, "there is no need to be alarmed. Unlike that disgusting drivel, I would never hurt you."
His fingers gently dance across your jaw line, moving downwards until he reaches your throat. You swallow hard as his fingers gingerly wrap around your neck, "that is unless… you want me to hurt you."
You watch his eye darken, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips as his fingers delicately squeeze the pulse points on your neck.
"Lycaon we… we shouldn't do this. If my father finds out--"
"To hell with your father," he growls, stepping closer to you, "I've seen how you look at me, my lady; the way your eyes linger on me when you think I'm not looking."
His hand moves from your throat, sliding down to rest onto your chest, right over your racing heart, "I know you want this as much as I do."
Your head is spinning, being pushed and pulled between all your complicated feelings. You do want this. As much as you want this, he's your butler under your family's employ, you know it's wrong. You hesitantly shake your head.
Lycaon lets out a low chuckle, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "I can smell your arousal, my lady. You should know more than anyone that you can't fool me."
Wrapping one of his arms around your waist, he tenderly coaxes you to lay back onto the bed, his muzzle buried into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he cages you with his body. His hands grasp onto your thighs, gingerly spreading your legs apart so he can settle himself between them. You can feel him grazing his teeth along the side of your neck, to your jawline until his lips linger just in front of yours.
With a deep breath, you finally give in to your desires, kissing him deeply as your hands run up his chest. Your fingers find the buttons on his shirt and begin to unbutton them, his shirt falling open once you undo the last button. As your hands massage his chest, you can feel the toned muscle under his soft fur. Letting out a groan, Lycaon deepens your kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to dance with yours.
You feel like the kiss lasts an eternity and let out a soft whimper when he breaks the kiss. He lets out a low chuckle as he leans down, kissing your collar bone as he unties your robe, pushing off you. Once your body is exposed, he trails kisses between your breasts, over your stomach until you can feel his warm breath over your folds.
"From this moment on, I will be the only man touching you," he states, his gaze locked on yours has he runs his tongue through your folds before continuing, "if a man so much as breathes on you, I will snap him in half like a twig."
Between his ministrations on your cunt and his words, you're completely overwhelmed by pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you lay your head against the mattress; your pussy walls fluttering around nothing. You hear another low chuckle from Lycaon.
"Oh? Do you like that, my liege? Do you like it when I protect you?" he asks with a playful tone.
He doesn't allow you to answer, however, because he immediately seals his lips around your throbbing clit, gingerly taking it between his teeth and caressing it with his tongue, reveling in the sound of the loud moans coming from you as he does so. You dig your heels into the bed as your hands grip the sheets. Your legs trembling, a strained cry comes out of you as you finally come undone on his tongue. Lycaon eagerly laps up your release.
"My lady, you're as succulent as the sweetest fruit," he says softly, licking your release from his lips as he begins to climb back on top of you.
He hooks both of his arms under your thighs, draping your legs onto his shoulders as he looms above you. Staring down at you longingly, he begins undoing the belt on his pants with one hand. Your eyes widen when he pulls out his member. It's massive, easily the biggest you've ever laid eyes on. You can't help but also notice the large knot at the base, causing your heart to flutter.
Is he going to fit?!
Leaning back on his haunches, he spits on your pussy, using his fingers to massage his saliva into your folds before leaning back on top of you. You can feel his cock prod at your entrance, causing your heart to race in anxiety and anticipation.
"Tell me if it's too much, ok?" he whispers as he moves his hips forward.
You nod, sucking in a breath as you feel him penetrate you, his girth filling you up perfectly. As he begins to thrust, you watch his tail begin to wag back and forth, teasing a smile from you. His lips once again lock with yours, kissing you deeply as he fucks you with steady and even thrusts. Moaning softly into his kiss, you run your hands up his chest, then up the sides of his neck before settling on each side of his face, your hips moving in time with his.
He feels absolutely heavenly inside you, your walls squeezing his cock as it bullies its way deeper and deeper. He abruptly stops and pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach before lining his member back up with your throbbing cunt.
"I'm going to breed this beautiful pussy." he says, sheathing himself back inside you up to his knot, "fill you up with all my pups. Would you like that, my liege?"
He begins to thrust again, more aggressively this time. Each thrust forcing his knot into you, stretching you. You nod weakly as more moans spill out of you and before long, his knot is finally fully inside, creating a seal. It's a little painful at first, but that is quickly replaced by the intense pleasure coursing through your body as he pounds into you. Letting out a growl, he bites into your shoulder as his thrusts become sporadic.
You cry out is name, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you claw the sheets with your fingers, your second orgasm barreling towards you. With one final thrust, he pushes himself as deep inside you as he can possibly go without hurting you, shooting his load straight into your womb, painting your insides white with his seed. Your whole body is trembling from your release, your walls squeezing him as his cock continues to throb inside you.
You feel Lycaon's tongue lap where he had bit into your shoulder before nuzzling your cheek with his, his powerful arms wrapping around you, "are you alight, my lady?"
You turn to him, kissing him on the cheek unable to get the huge smile off your face, "more than alight, Lycaon."
"Good. That's what I like to hear."
938 notes · View notes
ghostlyferrettarot · 21 days ago
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🛸🖤Midheaven in the signs🖤🛸
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❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️
✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!
🛸If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🛸
🖤Masterlist🖤
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🛸Midheaven in Aries: Self-confidence and extroversion are their main tools; self-sufficient, they seek to prove themselves at all levels. Professional careers that involve movement, individual action and proving their leadership abilities are favorable to them.
🛸Midheaven in Taurus: Their perseverance and determination help them achieve their goals. They take into account their gifts, resources and abilities and how to exploit them. Professional careers that allow them to manifest beauty and practicality are favorable to them, such as agriculture, sculpture, architecture, agronomy, painting and finance.
🛸Midheaven in Gemini: Great communication skills. Flexible, analytical, receptive, agile, versatile, adaptable, with great observational capacity, they can carry out several tasks at once without problems. Professional careers linked to the processes of communication and contact with society are favorable to them, such as journalism, commerce, diplomacy and education.
🛸Midheaven in Cancer: Planners and protectors; Individualistic, sensitive, firm and intuitive. Another point to keep in mind is to practice fluidity in your daily life. Professional careers that help channel assistance to others are favorable for you, such as psychology, gynecology, cooking and psychotherapy.
🛸Midheaven in Leo: You pursue success relentlessly, and sometimes you do not allow yourself to enjoy it. You have clear objectives and the perseverance and tenacity necessary to achieve them. Noble, generous, motivating, trustworthy, with leadership skills; you must learn to control arrogance. Professional careers with great autonomy are favorable for you, such as political positions, business management and dramaturgy.
🛸Midheaven in Virgo: You maintain a constant and methodical effort to achieve your objectives; critical, detail-oriented, positive, organized, innovative and with a great willingness to learn. You must avoid neuroses and the accumulation of objects. Professional careers oriented towards collaboration and with an appreciation of details, such as mechanics, languages, nutrition and crafts, are favorable for you.
🛸Midheaven in Libra: They plan and execute their strategy calmly, taking care of the details and feasibility. They are sociable, adaptable and diplomatic, and they like harmony. Professional careers that offer variety and where they can comfortably develop their sense of justice and balance are favorable to them. A classic example is the study of law, diplomacy, public relations and the arts.
🛸Midheaven in Scorpio: They have a tendency to manipulate others to achieve their interests. Ambitious, determined, direct, brave, skillful and capable of facing difficult transformation processes. Professional careers that privilege research and strategy are favorable to them, such as psychoanalyst, psychiatrist, private investigator, chemist and anthropologist.
🛸Midheaven in Sagittarius: They are constantly moving. Intuitive, open, creative, with strong convictions and ideals. They are favourable to professional careers that work directly by appealing to the philosophy of life of individuals, such as religion, philosophy, or spiritual guidance. They also excel in astronomy, ecology and sports.
🛸Midheaven in Capricorn: Ambitious, practical, predictable and modest. Protective, efficient, serious, concentrated, focused, they can fall into nonconformity and obstinacy, in relation to the results they obtain. They are favourable to professional careers that require their knowledge of administration and organization, such as architecture, politics, administration of companies or public institutions, and geology.
🛸Midheaven in Aquarius: They wish to build a better world for everyone, but they feel the need to constantly test the scope of their knowledge. This position indicates a constant search for wisdom. Cooperators, avant-garde, they must cultivate the freedom of spirit to achieve the awakening of consciousness they long for. They are favourable to professional careers that promote the use of technologies and the mass dissemination of ideas, such as journalist, writer, community manager, publicist and others.
🛸Midheaven in Pisces: Patient, sensitive, simple and compassionate, they seek to understand the meaning of life, so they have philosophical and religious concerns, as well as a deep desire to live with simplicity. They must learn that spirituality is not a concept at odds with success. Professional careers related to the management and expression of feelings, such as the arts, psychology, research and public relations, are favorable to them.
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463 notes · View notes
csainzoperator · 11 months ago
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yummy: LN4 ☆
summary: y/n is a chef in the mclaren hospitality who is famous for her fabulous recipies. everyone is head over heels for her recipies, and a certain someone is most definitely more than head over heels. but not just for the food.
(lando norris x fem!reader)
read more under the cut!
itsmey/n has posted!
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another day at work! for the british gp, their special "sticky toffee pudding" was a success :)
tagged: landonorris and oscarpiastri
liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton and 76,123 others.
landonorris it was so yum (she fed us the so called desert forcefully after giving us a 4 course meal)
- oscarpiastri you're such an ungrateful brat. it was great, bestie itsmey/n
- itsmey/n thank you pastry, and lando...i might leave you to starve to death.
lewishamilton i would kill for a pudding rn! you should drop by merc hospitality y/n!
- mclaren look at you trying to steal our goddamn chef....
f1wagsss oh my god you're so pretty
landonorris has posted!
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P2 AT HOME RACE BABY!! so proud of the team to be finishing at P2 and P4. also special thanks to y/n for feeding us well :)
tagged: oscar piastri and itsmey/n
liked by georgerussell63, carlossainz55, itsmey/n and 872,182,283 others.
landonorizz are we gonn ignore the fact that y/n just made it to a lando post???
lechaaair OH Y/N FEEDS US TOO. SHE SERVES ALL THE DAMN TIME. MOTHER 🙏🏼🙏🏼
itsmey/n its literally my job tho...?
- oscarpiastri some people are bad at their job. he's appreciating you for being good. (lando you fr have no rizz man)
carlaando lando are you trynna make a move GN
- landonowinss BROS PROBABLY REGRETTING RN 💀
(time skip!)
it was the hungarian gp. you were in the mclaren hospitality. the mclaren kitchen was quite big, and your co-workers were extremely sweet. you mainly cooked for the drivers and mechanics, while guiding the others. you were tasting a dish when you feel a presence behind you. you immediately recognise who it is.
"what is it now, lando?" you ask with a knowing smile on your face. he sits down on the counter beside you and watches you as you work. "i was wondering if you would like to, maybe, just maybe, come outside with me and sit down and talk and get some food you know?" he blabbers
"are you asking me out on a date?" you tease him. "well, yeah. only if you want it to be. its okay if you say no" he says with a sad smile on his face. you cup his face with one of your hands and give his cheeks a squeeze. "ofcourse i'll come, dumbass. now shoo, let me work. you're too distracting"
the smug smile he has on his face makes you blush. "so i am distracting huh? what else am i? you can give me details when we go on that date" he winks at you and walks off. you just simply shake your head in amusement.
the date goes well. to be honest, more than well. you both have the most fun ever. lando is everything that you craved. he was the sweetest boy. day by day, meal by meal, both of you started talking more, discovering each other. one fine night, in his apartment in london, where you taught him how to bake his favourite cake, he surprises you by asking you to be his girlfriend. you say yes without hesitation. you knew he wasn't going to play around with your heart.
it was the brazilian gp. lando had placed P2 again! you were the proudest girlfriend to exist, and the happiest. you were just so incredibly proud as he was doing so good this year.
itsmey/n has posted!
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brazil you were brilliiianttt <3 liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, landonorris and 92,233 others.
f1wags HOLD UP. SOFT LAUNCHING????
oscarpiastri yuck i hate being around the hospitality now.
landonorris 🌟
- carlandodod PLS IM NOT OK WHAT DOES THIS MEAN.
- leclercvc oh. my. god. guys. i think its lando and y/n.
f1gosssip apparently some people saw looking for his "girlfriend" after the race, and some people even saw him kissing a girl in the mclaren garage! we hope its y/n 😫
y/nfannn MOTHER WHO IS THAT
landonorris has posted!
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brazil with bae. thank you team for making the P2 happen! more to come.
p.s i don't believe in soft launches. she let me hard launch after 8 races 🖐🏼
tagged: itsmey/n and mclaren
liked by mclaren, itsmey/n, charles_leclerc and 827,123,12 others.
oscarpiastri GAG
carlandooo MAMA Y PAPA
carlossainz55 finally mate! congrats :)
maxverstappen1 lando isn't a kid anymore
f1wags OFFICIALLY OUR FAV WAG (with lily obv)
itsmey/n i love you, baby! super proud <3
- landonorris i love YOU. so much. so much.
paddockclubb 8 RACES?? HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON OMG
the end ♡
2K notes · View notes
sttoru · 1 year ago
Text
𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 . . .
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⟣ sypnosis. you’re fed up with your rich abusive husband and finally decide to hire a skilled assassin to get rid of him in secrecy. one night when you’re left alone in your penthouse, you invite the assassin named toji over to give him the money he’s demanded to accept the job. things turn for the worse when your husband comes home early that day and catches toji and you together.
⟣ note. eeek. never thought i’d be here to write this out but i did and it turned pretty detailed if i must say. hope u all enjoy and appreciate my hard work. feedback / comments are greatly appreciated ! if the fic does well, i can make an alternative ending that’s smutty :3 wc: 7.4k
⟣ tags. toji fushiguro x female reader. angst, comfort. themes include abuse. reader is in an abusive + toxic relationship with her husband. implied age gap with husband. implied size difference with toji. mentions of guns + blood + m.urder. knifes.
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“what is a successful marriage?”
that is one of the many questions that keep you up at night. you’ve laid awake for hours on end ever since you’ve married your husband, in search for reasonable answers. you’ve got many of them sorted out, however that specific question is one left unanswered.
it is very subjective—many can vary about the concrete answer. but one thing you know for sure is that your marriage is the exact opposite of what ‘successful’ means.
you were so full of yourself. you didn’t realise that your pride would also be your downfall one day; you’d constantly brag about having a rich husband who gets you everything you wanted. you were too blinded by love—or actually—by his money to notice the real him. the real, twisted and manipulative face of the man you were determined to marry.
his name was daisuke. from the yamamoto family. a family known in japan for its generational wealth and the many buildings and famous corporations it owns. you’ve worked at one of those companies and had met daisuke whilst he was on a visit. you’ve heard about his image by the public; sweet, caring and apparently wouldn’t hurt a fly.
unfortunately, the true him matched none of those descriptions. the true him only you—his wife—came face to face with at your shared home. you remember when it started. when daisuke began to turn into a nasty, abusive man whose anger is never restrainable.
your dating years were nothing but a dream. or, maybe you were too gullible to notice the signs and red flags your then boyfriend was showing. his love bombing, the manipulation, the gaslighting—you didn’t know better. if you complained about a minor thing that he had done, daisuke would apologise by sending you lots of money and presents. toxic, isn’t it?
but you didn’t care. you were happy and content with that being your compensation. the money was the evildoer that made you lose all your morals. the teenage you who said that you’ll never put up with a man’s disrespect was long forgotten.
even now, 4 years later, you put up with his verbal and physical abuse just to continue staying in that big mansion you live in. to continue getting everything paid for you. to continue getting lots of money by doing nothing but be his wife—his trophy wife, at this point.
it’s an easy life; ‘all i have to do is get through his abuse and it’ll be just fine’, you tell yourself that every night. it’s the only thing keeping you sane—a coping mechanism of some kind.
however lately, daisuke’s never skipped a day without being abusive towards you. he’d enter your home yelling and shouting, complains about the tiniest speck of dust in the house (which is not even your fault, it’s the maids’), reminds you how worthless you are in his eyes and the list goes on. he sometimes gets physical and throws stuff at you, causing multiple bruises and cuts to appear on your body after he’s done having his daily tantrum.
he might even kill you one day. it’s scary to think about; if he would, he easily could. he could one day just decide to be done with you and stick a knife in your body, leave you to bleed out and then order one of his men to get rid of your corpse. just like his family does to whoever stands in their way of success. you don’t want to discover how many people your husband has killed.
daisuke can easily get away with murder after all—the law is nothing but a thing to exist to keep the common citizens in the government’s control. to the rich, it’s like those rules don’t exist. court? justice? the so called independent judge? nothing money can’t buy. after all, money is power. money is innocence.
after four years of sticking with that rich man, you were getting tired. you were staying with him for his wealth, but was it actually worth it? besides, if daisuke hates you so much, why wouldn’t he divorce you instead? you don’t have anything going for you. except for your looks and youth, probably. that’s the main reason why daisuke coaxed you into marrying him—to show you off during events or parties. a complete and utter trophy wife you are.
you’ve been going to sketchy bars lately to let off some steam. you weren’t even there to drink alcohol. the sole reason for attending pubs was to forget about your own situation. you’d get weird stares since you’re always alone, sitting in that one spot in the far corner, no one wanting to come up to you because of that gloomy aura you’re emitting. and because you’re always dressed modestly from head to toe—not an ounce of skin showing. it was all the opposite of what most people would normally look and act like in bars.
‘what is normal?’ also a subjective question. society has turned it into an objective one, however.
“good day, miss.” a deep voice had interrupted your thoughts one day whilst you were doing your usual routine; sit near the bar counter, get a non-alcoholic drink, stare at the table for hours and question your purpose in life before going home to the reason of your problems.
a man, probably in his late 30’s or early 40’s, sat next to you on an available stool. he nonchalantly ordered a drink before making small talk. it was a nice change of pace for some reason. you had asked him his name. it was shiu.
that stranger had kept you company for hours until a call from your husband made you snap back to reality; you had to be home as soon as possible. judging by daisuke’s tone, you were in big trouble.
you remember how shiu outed his concern for your well-being by pointing out the bruises on your arm which you didn’t even know were showing.
you dismissed his worries with a fake smile and told him it was nothing, quickly pulling your sleeve back down. shiu seemed to let the topic go, but before parting ways with you, he handed you his business card. you didn’t know what it was for—what kind of services he could offer;
“call that number if you need someone to get rid of your problems,” was all you got before the mysterious man walked away. you couldn’t shake off the emphasis on the word ‘rid’. it sent a shiver down your spine.
that sentence of shiu’s echoed in your ears as tears streamed down your cheek after you arrived home. you were in your personal bathroom, hands shaking as you put a bag of ice on your fresh bruise, the small red and blue-ish area stinging. once again—you couldn’t avoid your husband’s wrath.
after having slept for a mere two hours that day in your bathtub, you’ve awoken to an empty house. daisuke was gone for work. luckily for you.
you hastily grabbed the business card in your purse and dialled the number. staring at the card, you’d think it was some kind of house cleaning service. that’s the kind of vibe it gave. little did you know that it was far from that.
a few rings later and you heard the same familiar deep voice in your ear; “good morning. with shiu kong.”
your heart was beating in your throat as you couldn’t gather the right words to say. maybe it was due to the little voice in the back of your head that warned you for something—you couldn’t pinpoint what the specific cause was just yet.
you answered eventually, “hi. uhm, you said i could call this number if i needed someone to get rid of my problems.” you pause and inhale deeply, “wh-what if my problem was.. a person? would you…” your voice trailed off, but the implication could not be missed by anyone if they heard the tone you used.
shiu seemed to recognise your voice, though stayed silent for a second or two at your request. when he replied, it sounded like he had expected you to ask him this—like he’s heard this many times before; “certainly.”
that’s when you realised what you’ve gotten yourself involved with. you were sweating and you had trouble breathing as you realised that.. this was your chance. to get rid of that man called your husband. your abuser.
you had decided to take on that opportunity and that’s how you ended up getting a phone call from an anonymous number right after your talk with shiu. the agent hadn’t told you anything other than the name of the person who’d contact you; ‘toji’, and said that he’d help you further.
you stared at the ‘no caller ID’ on your screen. this was him: the person who’d help you get rid of your problem. you gulped before sliding your thumb across your mobile to answer the call.
“hi, good m—”
“location.”
the husky male voice cut through your introduction and got straight to the point. your lips were parted to answer the man whom you guessed was ‘toji’, but your breath got caught in your throat for a second. do you just randomly give your address to a stranger? was that okay to do? you didn’t know—no, you didn’t care. if you got killed in the process or something similar, that’d be way better than to live another day in hell with your husband.
you dropped your address after some hesitation and toji just added a quick, ‘be there in an hour or so,’ before hanging up on you.
fast forward to 50 minutes later and you were pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to breathe properly and not have a second panic attack. daisuke wouldn’t be home until noon, so at least he won’t see whoever will enter your mansion in a few minutes. and if there’s a possibility that you get killed by this stranger, you’re sure that your husband would be more than happy that the job was done for him.
a loud tune. the sound of your doorbell. normally, you’d find the short melody relaxing, but now it sounded like something out of a nightmare. you made your way to your intercom and looked at the small screen—seeing a tall black-haired man with a compressed shirt and beige baggy pants standing near the gates. that must be toji—the man you talked to an hour ago.
he must be confident in his abilities since he didn’t cover up his identity at all when coming all the way over here.
you press a button and the gates open with a buzz. toji disappears from the little screen as he enters your front yard. the screen fades to black and you’re left alone with a sense of dread in your stomach. that only lasted for a couple seconds since the doorbell of your front door goes off.
“c-coming!” your voice cracks. you make your way over to the entrance of your home and breathe in. you open the doors slightly, peeking through the gap at the tall, intimidating man standing before you.
toji was kicking a rock to the side whilst waiting and looked up when you opened the doors. he seemed laidback, as if this was nothing but child’s play to him, “took ya long enough.”
you were appalled as toji simply barged into your home like he owned it. his strong, masculine cologne wafted through the air as he passed you by without giving you a second to process his intrusion.
your shaky eyes followed his bulky figure—the muscles that bulged through his shirt, which tensed every now and then. his aura was no joke either; it was horrifying to someone whom didn’t even know who he was or what he exactly did for a living.
“phewww,” the dark-haired man let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned the interior of the entrance hall, shamelessly touching a few expensive looking decorations, inspecting the material, “pretty damn rich, ain’t ya? this y’r daddy’s money?”
you shake your head and close the door behind you, staying there in case you needed to run. you are still wary of this situation, even when you had been the one that started this all.
“h-husband’s.” your voice was a quiet whisper. toji raised an eyebrow and turned his attention towards you. his eyes scanned you from head to toe. you looked pretty young. a fragile little thing, is how he described you in his head.
“husband? you?” toji chuckles dryly, before stepping closer to you, his body towering over yours. he lowers his head and stares at you from up close, his hands in his pockets whilst wordlessly looking at you.
you swallowed a bit of saliva and glanced back at the big man whom belittled you twice in just a couple seconds. you fumbled with the sleeve of your hoodie as the silence grew deafening—the only sound being your own soft yet shallow breathing.
your fingers scratched at the bruises under the fabric of your clothes, causing the cloth to slightly crinkle and glide up a few centrimeters with each rub before coming back down once your fingers stop. the instant you start touching those bruises, the itching just wouldn’t stop.
toji noticed this and looked down at your arm. his eyes caught a small glimpse of a wound on your wrist, but he didn’t seem to comment on it. with a sniff, he straightened his back and cocked his head to the right—face cold again as he glared at you;
“do ya know what kinda stuff i do?” his voice was booming, the deepness to it making you shiver. you press your lips together and search for answer, only to find nothing;
“n-no, i mean—“ your itching increases the more nervous you felt, “th-the man who directed me to you said you’d explain things further. all i know is that you can get rid of uhm— a problem of mine.”
toji scoffs and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath about his ‘stupid agent letting him do all the work’ before turning around. he lazily walks ahead as if he had all the time he needed in the world. once arrived in your living room, the man plops down on your couch, spreads his legs and leans back against the cushions. he really acted like he owns this place.
“i’m not the type to beat around the bush, little lady,” toji starts whilst his eyes follow you as you nervously sat on the chair next to the sofa, “so i’m gonna get straight into it. and if ya back down after this or get too scared ‘n call the cops, unfortunately, y’r pretty ass gotta go.”
toji swipes a thumb across his neck to indicate what that latter meant; killed. you’re gonna get killed if you learn his real identity and decide to expose it to anyone, especially the police. you blinked your tears away whilst thinking of that possibility and shook your head, putting on a determined face. you need to take responsibilities for your actions. you were the one who started this.
“all right. i promise that i won’t back down.” you reply after getting yourself together. toji’s eyes had left yours for a second to look around the grand living room—as if inspecting for something—before settling back on you. he quickly exhales through his nose; leaning his head on his hand while his piercing gaze burned holes in your skin,
“i’m an assassin.” toji says in a bored tone. he’s done this little introduction to his job so many times before to clients who hire him in for the first time, “i kill people in exchange for money. so, ya basically hired me to get rid of someone ‘nd i’m here to collect the money and information i need to finish the job. got that?”
there it was. the confirmation you needed and got without an ounce of hesitation coming from the man in front of you. you had expected this outcome (from the many you created in your head), of course, thus you weren’t that surprised. yet the fact that you actually have a hitman in your house, someone who can easily kill your husband, still makes you nervous.
“yes, thank you.” you eventually replied and nodded, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. you looked up at toji and this time it wasn’t in a nervous way. this time it was in a determined way. toji notices this change and the scarred corner of his lip curled into a smirk.
“how much. . . money do you want for this job?” you go straight to the point. the dark-haired man grins whilst scanning your figure up and down shamelessly, enjoying the confident look on you. it suited you better.
“depends. who is it that i gotta kill?” toji asks, using his thumb to crack his index finger. you look around as if anyone could hear you. you were sure that no one was there with you, no maids no bodyguards no husband, yet your anxiety was still at its peak.
“my husband.” you reply quietly and point at the big picture frame on the wall near the chimney. it was a picture of daisuke and you. you seemed happy there, but it was all for show. that photoshoot was simply for his benefit, “daisuke. daisuke yamamoto.”
toji raises his eyebrow and stares at the picture. he’s heard of that name before. it was mentioned many times in the articles he reads. the assassin stands up with a grunt and walks to the chimney, letting out a small hum like he was thinking about it. not about if he could get the job done—no, his pride told him he easily could—but about the amount of money he wanted to get out of this.
there was a silence before toji turns around on his heels and walks over to the couch again, plopping down on the soft cushions whilst propping his feet on the table in front of him, “around seven million yen will do.”
that was about 50.000 dollars.
your jaw slightly dropped. it’s not like you haven’t seen nor heard of such big numbers before, it’s just that it was a little unexpected. but then again; nothing you can’t afford. with your husband’s money. the same money that ruined your life, is going to be used as a weapon to save it.
daisuke’s own money is going to be the death of him. and you’re the one to guarantee that.
“all right. i can get you that in cash.” you nod idly. your mind was clearly somewhere else—trying to remember the password to daisuke’s safe that was situated in a hidden room near his office. you recently found out that he keeps most cash, gold and other valuable pieces there, away from your sight. he was bad at hiding that fact from you, however.
one night, he came home drunk and it ended up with him confessing to you that he ‘won’t ever let a gold digger like you near his money again’ and proceeded to spill that he ‘has a secret safe which you won’t ever get your hands on’. eventually, you did. after a bit of snooping around, you easily found the hidden room behind a bookcase.
those fat stacks of money in there definitely add up to more than seven million yen. you’re sure of it. the only obstacle in your way is gathering that money. most of the time, daisuke locks his office before leaving home—or if he doesn’t—his maids will be in there cleaning.
“it will take me some time, but…” your voice trails off as a pensive look falls on your face. you bite your bottom lip and try to figure out something—a plan. toji catches your attention again by letting out a deep sigh. he dismissively waves your worries away with one hand;
“tha’s fine, lady. i need some time to prepare for this job too—it ain’t an easy one after all.” the assassin comments whilst scratching the scar near his lips, also seemingly deep in thought about his own plan, “bet he got lots of guards on his ass, too. tch.”
there was another thought in the back of toji’s mind that bothered him. normally, he’d be pissed off if his client didn’t prepare any kind of money beforehand. maybe some compensation bills, or at least a little thing he can have before they give him the full amount.
but with you, he seems not to mind. he wouldn’t be mad if he left this place empty handed for the time being. maybe he actually feels pity for your situation. or was it something else?
toji scoffs at his wandering mind and inwardly tells himself to shut up about such dumb stuff. getting his money is what’s most important to him. if you die afterwards, he wouldn’t care.
that’s what he tells himself.
“anyways. you should gimme all ya know about him. y’re his wife, right? ya should know his routine ‘n stuff that i can work with.” toji speaks up after the ten seconds of silence. you nod at his question—he wanted every single piece of information about your husband, so you’ll give him everything. no details excluded.
you pull out your phone and show toji pictures you took from daisuke’s computer in secrecy. pictures of his daily schedule for the upcoming month. your prior intention by taking those was to know when to be back home or when to avoid him, but they could be useful for this as well.
you continue to explain when and where daisuke holds his breaks, where his main office is located, the bodyguards that accompany him every day and when they leave him alone— all the information you gathered.
toji can’t help but be amazed by your memory. and the fact that you can recall everything, small or big, about your husband. it certainly did make his job easier; now he doesn’t have to pry out more hints on daisuke himself.
of course, you had your reasons for knowing all the miniscule facts about daisuke. it’s how you managed to survive those four years of marriage.
“good. tha’s enough.” toji nods and stands up with a grunt, stretching his arms—the muscles retracting. you couldn’t help but stare at them; he must have gone through a lot of training to become an assassin. a skilled one at that.
“before i go,” toji continues as he walks past you without looking back, heading straight for the exit of the living room, “you should delete all cctv footage that ya got going on ‘round here. i’ll take care of further evidence, yeah?”
toji moves his index finger in a circle, pointing at all corners in the house. he doesn’t want to risk anything, “i’ll call ya once i get things sorted out. then i’ll get to work when ya hand me the money.”
you nod and make a mental note for yourself to do that immediately once toji’s gone. you still had an hour or two before your husband would return. you don’t think he checks the cctv footage often (otherwise he’d have caught you sneaking into his office before), but it’ll be a big problem if he actually does and sees a random man in his home.
“will do. thank you.” you reply to toji and get up to politely see him out of your house. that’s when the realisation kicked in; your husband will be killed by this man right here in front of you. goosebumps appeared on your skin—not from fright. but from… happiness?
this stranger will end years of torment for you. yes, it’s his job. he’ll probably disappear after he’s got the money and completed your request, and yet, you can’t help but be extremely thankful.
without thinking, you reach out and grab onto toji’s wrist to stop him from moving. the assassin doesn’t stiff or tense up by this sudden touch. in fact, he’s already sensed it coming and allowed it.
toji’s actually more surprised by the fact that his mind and body allowed you to touch him. if it were anyone else, he’d probably have avoided their touch, broken their hand or worse—cut it off.
he moves his head to the side and looks at you from his peripherals, though not fully turning to you yet. he doesn’t speak up either; he’s waiting on you to go first.
your heart was somehow starting to beat even faster. you bit your lip and mentally cursed yourself out for pulling such an action; you could’ve just waited to show your gratitude through the phone.
well, either way, there was no going back now so you might as well spill your words of gratitude right this moment. you took a deep breath and parted your lips, ready to talk, but was then interrupted by your biggest nightmare.
a familiar, chilling voice. your heart drops. your body freezes.
“i knew it.”
a looming figure stood near the entrace to the living room. you recognised him instantly, as did your body, which went into an almost paralysed state. your mouth went dry, your hands started shaking and your eyes widened to the point you weren’t blinking anymore.
your husband, daisuke, appeared out of thin air in front of toji and you. his gaze was solely focused on the way your fingers were curled around toji’s wrist. to top it off, he had only heard the last bits of your conversation: something about deleting cctv and money. his brain hadn’t heard the entirety of it—he had already taken wrong conclusions in his head.
daisuke’s veins were on the verge of popping as he took two big steps towards you—you taking two steps back in response.
“i knew you were cheating on me, you fuckin’ slut.” daisuke spits with his finger pointed right at you. he was ignoring toji’s presence for the time being. he had to deal with you first;
“i work my ass off all day and night to provide for you and this is how you repay me? by inviting a random dude over whilst i’m gone? ungrateful bitch.”
two insults in a row; one more and daisuke’s putting his hands on you. it always went like that. your mind felt like it was emptied, but you somehow felt relieved that your husband didn’t seem to know the real reason of why toji had come over. daisuke really thought you were just cheating on him, and that your words of ‘deleting all cctv footage’ was to hide that infidelity.
“it’s n-not.. like that, daisuke.” you try to soothe the raging man in front of you, but your attempts were futile. he was just three quick steps away from resorting to physical violence.
toji, in the meantime, had stepped off to the side. you were only his client, thus there was no need to interrupt a couple’s ‘dispute’. you weren’t anyone dear or special to him—just a client. a stranger that owes him money to perform a job.
the assassin leans against a nearby wall, crossing his arms over his chest whilst watching the scene unfold. it was unfortunate that toji’s target was right there in front of him; he could just kill him right now. get the job done and over with. but, once again, toji only got to work if he had the money. he only assassinates when his skills are paid for. not any earlier and not any later. those were his morals—the rules he lives by.
if toji wanted to, he could simply walk away and let you handle this stuff by yourself. daisuke accusing him of being your ‘thing on the side’ didn’t bother him. as long as your husband doesn’t know his real identity, he’s fine with whatever accusations that get thrown at him.
but, for some reason—the same reason from earlier—his body was yelling at him to stay. toji sighs; he knows he won’t ever win a battle against his heart’s needs. he decides to stay.
daisuke still doesn’t seem to care about this; all the man wants is to out his anger and accuse you of things he now has enough ‘evidence’ for. he was seething and fuming at this revelation.
“god knows what else you’ve done behind my back. i bet he isn’t the only one you’ve fucke—“
“stop! i’m not cheating,” you finally yell back. it was the first time in a while that you had gathered the strength to do so. it felt good now that you had stuck up for yourself, but you knew how this would end for you—probably on the floor. crying.
despite all of that, you decided to keep on going. it’s now or never: all you have to do is make up a lie, probably withstand daisuke’s anger again and hope it doesn’t kill you. just this once; all you have to do is survive this once and then you’ll be freed from him.
you’ll give toji his money and he will do the job for you. just a few more days—
“he’s.. he’s my friend’s husband. i invited them both over and he just arrived earlier than expected.” you quickly made up. it sounded a little convincing to you. toji’s low snicker of amusement in the back confirmed that it maybe was the opposite of convincing.
daisuke scoffs at the pathetic attempt of hiding your ‘infidelity’. with another step forward, he raises his voice a notch; “yeah, right! what a pathetic excuse.”
a second step—you were waiting on that third curse. that third swear word that would set hell loose in this house, “do you really think you can fool me with that? huh?!”
it hadn’t happened yet. you still had time to think of a plan to perhaps escape this situation. your eyes flickered over to toji, although it didn’t seem like he’d be of any help. of course, he’s just an outsider after all. a stranger whom you just met today.
assassins have already disregarded their heart emotions the moment they decided to go down the path of killing for a living. you wouldn’t even blame toji for not stepping in. you’re also but a stranger to him.
toji could see the glimmer of hope in your eyes when you looked at him. or maybe it was a call for help. a desperate look. he can’t tell the difference. though, what he can tell, is that there was a gnawing feeling in the pits of his stomach. a gut feeling that told him it’d be smart to interfere.
but there’s his rational thoughts that tell him to not get involved—to avoid any more trouble than needed. besides, what other benefits would it bring him if he did? toji doesn’t want to be seen as a hero or saviour by anyone.
his jaw clenches as the time ticks. only a couple seconds left before the cold-hearted assassin has to make a decision.
daisuke’s patience was running low. the tension was increasing and could burst at any given moment now. one wrong move and you’re done—
one wrong breath could result in the worst possible outcome.
your silence spoke volumes to daisuke. the way you held your head low, your eyes that flickered from the floor to the ceiling, your fingers that nervously fumbled with your clothes and your bottom lip that trembled unstoppably. that pissed him off.
everything about you pissed him off. daisuke didn’t see any benefits of having you around anymore. he hadn’t for the long time, however didn’t know how he’d get rid of you.
divorce? no, he’ll have to give some of his earnings to you. kick you out? a possibility, but that would ruin his reputation. blackmail? that option was now the best choice. he’s caught you with another man after all. with camera evidence.
but, daisuke wouldn’t be satisfied with that outcome. his rage was blinding him—more than usual. he has to make you learn your lesson. in a way that will have you begging for your life to be spared.
and thus, the last step was made. the deciding hands were raised—aimed for your neck. the final curse had left his lips;
“come here. i’ll show you how whores like you should be treated.”
killing intent. it was the first time you’ve seen daisuke’s gaze darken that much, his demeanour emotionless yet full of rage. you close your eyes and expect for the worse.
“tha’s enough.”
everything went blank to you. it was silent, your vision was black, your hands were above your head, your heart felt like it wasn’t beating anymore—had you met your end? had you already been murdered?
in that same instant, you could feel drops of liquid splatter on your face. a faint ringing sound in your ears—it sounded like fireworks had been set off. a loud ‘pop’ sound.
something hit the ground right after. it wasn’t your body since that someone or something landed right at your feet.
after that: utter silence.
you gathered all your strength once more and slowly opened your eyelids. your vision was a bit blurry, though the first shape you could make out was one of a man on the ground. and not just any man—it was the man whom you hated most. at your feet.
you would’ve never thought of seeing that image before. of your husband laying at your feet; both literally and figuratively. a red liquid gushed out of his head and soaked into your shoes.
a normal wife would’ve let out a blood hurling scream at the sight of her lover laying lifelessly near her. a normal wife with a healthy relationship, that is.
you did let out a scream at the sight of your husband laying lifelessly near your feet. but that wasn’t done out of panic for your husband’s life—or due to the pain you were in to see him dead.
it was purely because you hadn’t seen a corpse before.
“d-daisuke..?”
a normal wife would’ve called out her husband’s name in a futile attempt that he’d answer back. that all of it was a dream. that her beloved wasn’t dead.
your reason wasn’t anything close to that. you called out that name in hopes he wouldn’t answer back. that all of it wasn’t a dream. that your abuser was dead.
it was real. you were glad, yet extremely disturbed by the fact that there was a corpse at your feet. you didn’t want to see all of it happening—that wasn’t part of the plan.
you stumble back a bit, hands clutching onto the chair you bumped into as you did your best to avoid the gruesome scene before your eyes. you just wished someone would clean the mess as soon as possible.
it’s then that your gaze fell on the other person present in the room; the man who was standing with a gun in his hand. toji scratched his head with the barrel, cold eyes looking down at the corpse with a faintly visible disgusted expression.
the assassin clicks his tongue as he walks towards the lifeless body and puts the sole of his shoe on daisuke’s cheek as if he was stepping on a pile of dirt, moving the head back and forth to check for any possible ounce of life in there.
there was none. the soul had left its body almost instantly after that bullet went through his brain. toji sighs; this time at himself for acting irrationally, “should’ve tortured you to death for tryin’ to put y’r hands on that lady instead of givin’ you the easy way out.”
with a harsh kick to the head on the floor, toji gathers some of his saliva on his tongue before spitting on the man. doubling the disrespect; “consider yourself lucky.”
toji cocked his head to the right. that’s where he spotted you with a familiar look on your face. the expression of someone who just went through a traumatic experience. he’s seen many people react like you when facing a near death experience or when witnessing somebody die before them.
usually, he’d tell them ‘it’s normal, get used to it’ and leave it at that. this was different. it felt different with you.
“are you okay?” the words slipped out of toji’s mouth before he could hold them back. his tone was a mixture of genuine concern and confusion. the latter was due to his own state of mind at the moment.
you didn’t answer, but you put your hands on your mouth as if you were going to puke any moment now. your vision was getting blurry with tears, head spinning and body feeling numb and weird.
toji hesitates before stepping towards you. his hands reached out to hold you, though he stopped them. he’d figured you wouldn’t be comfortable with him touching you in any way or form. he just killed someone in front of you—
it’s not like you cared that it was your husband. that much was clear. you sniff and glance up at toji with such a relieved yet devastated expression that his arms instinctively wrapped around you and pulled you into his warm embrace.
it was an awkward hug since toji doesn’t really know the basics of comforting someone. he was a bit stiff, but you didn’t show any discomfort due to that fact. instead, you clung onto his body and left tear stains on his black shirt.
“shhh, shh. it’s fine. it’s okay.” toji whispers, whilst his big hands indecisively move around, trying to find a spot to rest on. one eventually lands on the back of your head whilst the other starts to slowly rub up and down your spine, “it’s over, yeah? all of it—it’s over.”
toji doesn’t have a clue about the exact details of what your life was like. why you asked him to kill your (now ex-)husband was none of his business. all he knew was that he was going to get paid for it, so he didn’t care what the reason was.
it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the scars and bruises on your body throughout your conversation either—but that as well—was none of his business. assassins do their job without any further questions. there was no need to have personal connections or relations with their clients.
yet, toji was going against those unspoken rules once more. all because of you. for you.
“thank y—you.” your voice was weak as you speak up. it sounded hoarse and tired, though the sense of gratitude was undeniably there, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”
a series of ‘thank you’s’ leave your lips whilst your body and mind were still trying to recover from the whole ordeal. toji was trying his best to keep by your side until you calmed down. that’s the least he could do—after the fact that he singlehandedly got rid of the main problem in your life.
“no need to thank me, lady.” the dark-haired man whispers, allowing you to mess up his shirt with your tears and tugs, “i did what i had to do.”
toji didn’t actually have to do what he did. he never does his job before he’s guaranteed the money. however this time, it was a different story. he did it without thinking. he had to. his body was telling him to move—and in a flash—it was done.
he tries to tell himself that it’s just him slacking off. that he isn’t possibly starting to care about another person. he shouldn’t; those complicated emotions would stand in his way. and yet. . .
“c’mere.”
toji lifts you up bridal style while you keep quivering against his shoulder. his hands had a tight grip on your body, his eyes a sharp gaze on the mess he created. with a sigh, he takes you upstairs to a random room—kicking the door open.
toji carefully puts you back on your feet and guides you to sit on the edge of the kingsized bed. he absentmindedly brushes a few strands of your hair back after wiping some more tears away from your face;
“i know it’s a lot to take in,” toji kneels down before you, looking up with an unreadable expression whilst wiping the tears from your cheeks. his warm palms make contact with your skin and it’s like you’ve forgotten all about what just happened, “but is it okay if ya stay here while i go take care of the rest? i’ll come back once i’m done.”
toji has his own ways of cleaning up after he’s done a job and most likely wants to put one of those techniques to use before any maid or guard comes to check in on the house situation. you sniffle and hiccup afterwards, trying to form a verbal response through your broken sobs, but to no avail.
you simply nod and lean into toji’s calloused hands—such rough and masculine hands—ones that were meant to protect instead of hurt you. you weren’t able to trust men after your marriage, however this one in front of you was unlike any other. even if he may not seem like it on the outside.
his touch was gentle yet firm. the pads of his thumbs swiped the wet skin under your lower eyelashes and you could’ve sworn toji’s gaze had softened for a split second before he caught himself.
he had to stand up, get rid of the mess and leave the place before he got too attached to you. the assassin cannot make such a grave mistake.
“i promise,” toji speaks up after a bit again, standing up after giving you a soft pat against your shoulder, “you’re fine. i’ll be back—ya have my word.”
there he goes; making promises he knows he probably can’t keep. ‘i’ll be back’, will he? he can’t. for your own safety. he has to treat you as just another client. none of what he did in this house could be spoken of anymore.
he slipped up this once. it needn’t to happen again. money. he does his jobs for money—when he obtains the money. he doesn’t kill his targets for the sake of others, for the protection of others.
he doesn’t kill for love.
toji wishes that all of this had never happened, because he knows that his heart will lead him back to you at the end of the day. he knows he won’t leave once he cleans up the mess downstairs. he’ll come right back to you.
and you have faith in that. you trust this stranger whom had practically saved your life with just one shot.
“i don’t know how to repay you.. thank you.” you manage to mutter through shallow breaths. you stare at the back of toji’s head as he makes his way to the door. he stops in his tracks to reply to your comment.
he stands still at the doorway and looks over his shoulder at you—the scarred corner of his lips twitching;
“prepare the money. tha’s how you can repay me.” toji replies and you don’t know if he’s joking or being serious because of that little grin on his face. a breathy chuckle follows and then the assassin disappears.
the door closes and you’re left alone in this space. left alone in the silence of the home that had treated you as its prisoner. you remember how your husband used to lock you up in your bedroom whenever you had done something to piss him off; taking away your freedom by keeping you in a room.
now it’s yours—your life is yours. you’ve fully gained your freedom back and can decide what to do for yourself. it seems like a foreign situation, a foreign world, a foreign concept; you can now actually do whatever your heart desires. without any restraints.
“what is a successful marriage?”
well, to you, it’s one with a satisfactory ending.
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🏷️ : @satoruhour @squicksquak @omgeto @xmintpie @cursingtoji @obsidiannero @elmoees @x1aosg1rl @fushironi @ceceher @ajax1230 @toji-is-hot @jayugh @rinshoe @sligerate @satoryaa @luveblad3 @happystrawberrytyrant @ezraiix
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bunnys-kisses · 3 months ago
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bunny love hiiiii, since i’ve been beyond satisfied with my last order at your bakery i’ve come again with more ! How about a chocolate cake with s’more and make in “on the house “ with SIR lewis hamilton
xx
bakery menu
want to suggest your own order? then check out the menu! i'm always baking up smiles! as for this return customer, thank you, thank you, thank you for coming back! also mister lewis using that accent for evil, tsk, tsk, tsk. i hope you enjoy the fic!
chocolate cake ("do you feel that? that's what happens when i think about you all day.") + s'mores ("The accent gets to you, doesn't it?) + on the house: champagne (sugar daddy au) served by lewis hamilton
cw: smut/pwp, (slight) sugar daddy au, former mechanic!reader, cowgirl position, (slight) praise kink, couch sex
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lewis knew he liked you the moment you got into his face, wagging a finger at him and said the words,
"if you fuck up my car again, hamilton. i will have your head!"
it had been a long time since someone was willing to bite back to sir lewis hamilton. the top dog of formula one, but there you were in greasy coveralls, your hair a mess and a look on your face that could kill. lewis knew he had to have you.
that felt like a long time ago, you had gone from mechanic to live-in girlfriend. you still worked, but at a local shop near where you two lived. when he said that you didn't need to work, you held your head high and told him you didn't want a large gap in your resume.
"i'm not your live in housekeeper." and you were determined to cover the cost of the streaming services you paid for, your own clothes and snacks on times off. he admired that, even though your wage as a small time mechanic couldn't cover close to the cost of the place you lived, you were stubborn enough to want to contribute something.
that didn't mean lewis didn't spoil you. when he washed the grease off your face and put you into something nicer you looked like the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
even the little scars along your arms from years of tinkering with cars, even the scar on your chin for an accident in your youth was cute enough for him to want to kiss.
he had come home for the summer break in the season, riding off the high of a successful weekend. he couldn't wait to get home to his girl. when he got through the door of the house you shared, he could smell something cooking on the stove.
with his bags by the door, he slipped his shoes off and padded through the house. he followed the scent of cooking meat.
your voice called to him, "i'm in here!" and he found you in front of the stove, checking on the noodles you were cooking.
he broke into a smile at the sight of you, "how very housewife of you." as he slotted himself behind you and wrapped his arms around you. chest pressed against your back, almost putting a little too much of his weight against you.
you tilted your head back to look up at him, "don't worry, you can do dishes." then kissed his chin. you two still were snarky at one another, but it was all wrapped in a deep affection for one another.
he chuckled, "of course, my love." he said as he leaned in further to kiss you on the cheek. he remained close to you while you put together lunch.
despite all the wealth and glory from formula one. it was nice to sit across from you and eat an easy to prepare meal. pasta sauce with ground beef and noodles with parmesan cheese. comfort after a long time apart.
it was domestic, even though the house you two lived in was beyond wealthy. you wanted to give what you could in your own way. lewis could drip you in diamonds and finer fabrics, but he'll always crumble to his knees for his favourite mechanic and her home cooked meals.
lewis one jokingly said that he was your sugar daddy when you moved in with him. the next day you got the job you had now. maybe there was a slight sugar daddy aspect to it, but he appreciated that you helped where you could. he didn't need any "sugar" from you, you were rather unimpressed when he waved any kind of money around. so maybe he did suck at being a sugar daddy in a way, but he always let you know that if you got tired of working. he was more than happy to support his little mechanic.
"and what happens when i get old?" you asked when he brought it up.
"then i'll be old too." he winked at you.
with dinner finished, you talked with lewis while he cleaned the dishes. you admired his backside while he got the plates into the dishwasher and rinsed out the pot used to boil the pasta.
when that was all finished, you got up to grab the bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses. but as you were bent over to grab the bottle, you heard your lover's voice.
"do you feel that? that's what happens when i think about you all day." he asked as he brushed up against your behind, those strong arms around you, his voice in your ear. you squirmed a little and he chuckled, "the accent still gets to you, doesn't it?"
you admired one time over drinks that you found his accent was one of the more attractive things about him. when he asked what was his least attractive quality you replied that it was messing up your cars. but the fact that you found his accent appealing stuck to the corner of his brain.
you closed the fridge door, with no wine in your hand. you turned in his arms and draped your arms over his shoulders. you pulled him for a kiss. after a moment you pulled away and asked, "i guess you want dessert more than wine."
he chuckled, "well, i wouldn't call you dessert. i'd call you the whole meal." his head dipped down to your neck and kissed across your skin as you held him.
this eventually led to the both of you on the couch, you looked at the television screen briefly and chuckled, "reliving your glory days, hamilton."
his lips crossed your cheeks once more then replied, "well, they're only my glory days because you were there." you stepped away from formula one and to a smaller shop because you didn't want a conflict on interest within the team or if lewis left the team.
in all fairness it felt nicer tinkering with mini vans and having a few days rather than a car that can go over 300mph with a few seconds of time to work on it.
"is this your weird way to seduce me to come with your to ferrari?" you asked as you watch him sit down. he was dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt now, wanting to get comfortable at home. you had your hands on your hips and you looked very sexy.
"of course not, but if you did." he shrugged, "i'd put in a good word for you."
you pulled off your tank top and shimmied out of your own sweatpants. you got in your lover's lap and kissed at his jaw, your hands buried in the t-shirt he wore. you said against his warmed skin, "right, right. i think you just liked it when i gave you shit all the time."
he chuckled, "no one does it like you, my love."
you said "true." and pulled at his t-shirt until he got off. soon you two were undressed, in nothing but socks and you straddling your lover's waist. your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you looked down at him, "how much did you miss me?"
"do you want the nice version or the true version?"
you held his jaw for a moment and dipped into a kiss before you responded, "give it to straight, hamilton."
"i hoped you were watching every race, and then every night i went back to my hotel. and i jerked off to photos of you." he responded, "i think i need to take some new ones. i don't even think you have those panties anymore."
you replied, "if they're the pair i'm thinking, it's because you tore them off of me after monaco. you couldn't wait and we did it in the care. i had to pray on the walk to the hotel room that no one would notice i wasn't wearing underwear."
he chuckled, "well." he guided you onto his cock and kissed at your pulse-point. he relaxed against you as he wrapped his arms around you. it was almost a protective feeling being held by him.
slowly you sank down on his cock and gripped onto his shoulders. you felt pleasure lick at your gut as you took all of him. the noise you made was erotic and made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
you two hotly made out with one another as the two of you moved against one another. you panted heavily between kisses, his soft lips against yours made a thrill run up you.
you were so cute, to sweet to him. you rolled your hips up and down, you felt the heat in your cheeks are you rode him. like you had done a million other times.
he held onto you and kissed at your shoulders. he groaned against you and basked in your warmth. the entire time felt hot, he finally got to touch and feel his perfect little mechanic.
"you feel good like this." he panted, "so good on top of me."
"just as i like it." you giggled, "i know you like looking at my body. i know i turn you on." you leaned in once more and said, "and, truthfully lewis, you turn me on too."
"i guess we're a perfect match then." he said before he pulled you into a hot kiss. his hands were placed on your hips once more and pushed his cock as deep as he could inside of you.
his entire body felt like a live wire, like when he raced, being intimate with you meant the world to him.
the clips continued to play and neither of you paid much attention to it. too wrapped up in one another to really care about much else.
"my little mechanic."
"my pain in the ass driver."
you came first, followed by him. you held onto him while he held onto you. your lips pressed together as you moved against him. you melted under his tough and felt amazing as the pleasure hit you like a wave.
"holy shit." you panted.
"i know." he said as he watched you continue to move your hips. milking you for all he was worth, "relax, love. relax." his voice was warm in your head.
you slowed down your pace and rested against him. your chin on his shoulder as he rubbed your back. he kissed your sweaty temple and his low voice close to you felt so good. the after tremors of orgasmic bliss felt good paired with his sweet praise.
this eventually lad with you two cuddling on the couch. the clips of lewis races played in the background as you two kissed. letting his hands explore your body.
"i wish i could take you to every race. you don't have to be a mechanic, i just want to see you there when i win." his voice was low.
"then win it all for me." you sealed your request with a kiss. you were the mechanic that could stand toe-to-toe with sir lewis hamilton. and while he was the billion dollar driver, with you he was sweeter than candy and more electric than a live wire.
as he kissed you once more, you felt comforted. loved, adored. you'd see if you could get some time off work to be with him after the summer break. if he was going to keep winning, it was only right for you to be there. <3
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spotsspeciall · 11 months ago
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Factory meetings - LN4
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vol. 2
Lando Norris x fem!reader
summary: Lando makes a move to Red Bull for 2024 and you work in the Red Bull factory. You meet him, and he’s a dick. But something inside you, needs him. 
Notes: Shoutout to @f1goat and the “His teammate” series, for the inspiration!!  Fair warning, I'm talking alittle shit about McLaren, but I am a McLaren girly and It’s all lies, I mean nothing by it! I also made up some gibberish about the car, since I don’t know how everything really works haha. This was also longer than I expected, but I can honestly say I'm pretty proud of it.
warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. smut, unprotected (wrap it before you tap it folks!) p in v, pet names, language.
word count: 7.3k
masterlist
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You had been working at the Red Bull factory in Milton Keynes for 2 years. After getting your degree in mechanical engineering, you grabbed the first opening in Red Bull. And now you had built your way up to your current position. 
You were sitting on the chair, staring at the little metal pieces in front of you. Trying to figure out the best way to puzzle them together, and make the most out of the car.
Your job was to plan, and build components in the car. And when you gained your current position at the factory, you helped with the success of the RB19. 
Working in the factory, you rarely met the drivers. They were here a lot for the simulator and meetings, but your paths rarely crossed. You didn’t need to have contact with the drivers, so you didn’t. Only seeing them from afar, when the whole factory came together for a meeting.
Monday morning, just over a week since the last race in Abu-dhabi, the RB19 had been a huge success. And you were working hard to finish the last details on the RB20 before the new season, working even harder than you did on the RB19. Trying to make the RB20 even better, as impossible as that sounds. 
You had a goodbye party for Checo on Friday, as he was retiring. And Christian Horner had announced that Lando Norris was taking his seat.
You had never met Lando, only seen him when you watched the races. And from what you had heard about him, he was kind of a dick. 
You and the other women working for Red Bull had formed a strong bond, you and the Red Bull media girl, Sophie, were basically best friends. And since she was on the track every race weekend, she had some encounters with Lando. 
She said he was constantly grumpy. He only cared about racing, and the fact that he hadn’t had a win yet, already being in McLaren for 5 years, it started taking a toll on him. 
He used to be a kind and sweet person. Loving to chat to people, and loving the interaction with his fans. He was just an all around loving guy. But when his fist win never came, and 
The McLaren car never got faster. He turned mean and angry, and stopped caring about anything other than racing. And when Christian gave him a nice offer to fill Checo’s seat, he jumped on it, no hesitation. 
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You picked up your tools and started assembling the pieces again, to see if your mind had any ideas. 
You had your normal shitty Monday morning, and you didn’t have time to properly get ready. So you were sitting here in the Red Bull work clothes, your hair was up, but it had fallen out of your bun and was falling in your face, and you kept trying to pull it behind your ears. You didn’t have time for either makeup or to put your contacts in, so it was glasses today. But it wasn’t that bad, everyone saw you like this every Monday (and most other days too)
But what you didn’t know was that Lando was visiting the Factory today. To have a tour of the factory, and meet everyone working there. You didn’t hear the door open as you were staring a whole into the piece you just assembled. But you did hear your name being called. 
You turned around and met the eyes of Christian, but your eyes quickly looked over at the man standing beside him. You hurried to stand up and rip the gloves off your hands. Stretching out your hand to shake his. It seemed like he hesitated for a bit before shaking it, staring into your eyes the whole time. 
“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you”
“Lando”
Yeah, he seemed pretty grumpy. 
As you pulled your hand away, Christian started explaining who you were, and what your job was. You didn’t know if Lando was even listening because he was still just staring at you. 
Christian then turned to you and asked you how the work was going. 
“Oh yeah!” You were blocking their view of the piece, so you turned to walk around the table to show them. 
You started explaining what the piece was and what your goal for it was, as you put on a new pair of gloves to show them the piece. 
Putting it back down, Lando looked back at you. A small smile had made its way to his lips. 
“Is that going in my car?”
“Well yeah, it’s going in both cars”
“But, I’ll only drive the car if you’re the one working on it” He was now smirking at you and turned to Christian. “I’m serious” His smirk was gone.
“Don’t worry Lando, I’ll make sure of it” He said with a smile as he patted his shoulder. “We should move on to look at the paint booths” 
As they headed towards the door, Lando turned around before he left. His face was unreadable, and he had a look in his eyes you had never seen. You had never been more confused, and it took you a while to get back into the right headspace for you to finally crack the code.
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There were only a few days left before Christmas break, and you hadn’t seen Lando since that first time. 
Today had been a stressful day as you tried to do as much as you could in the little time you had left. You were standing in front of the computer, looking at the readings from a recent test, and there were a few numbers off. The frustration got to you, and you pulled off your glasses, rubbing the bride of your nose. Before you shoved the keyboard away and buried your face in your arms on the desk as you groaned in frustration. 
Lando had one last visit to the simulator before break. And before he left for the day, he decided to see if you were there. He was mesmerized by you when he first saw you. Your hair was falling in your face, and the glasses framed your face perfectly. He noticed that you had no makeup on, but you were absolutely breathtaking. And when you started talking about your work, he saw the passion in your eyes. He felt a small pull in his chest, and felt like his old happy self for just a moment when he looked at you. 
But it quickly disappeared, and he realized his new mission. He needed to have you. 
When he opened the door, he heard a groan as he saw your face land in your arms on the desk. The desk was quite high, and as you were bent over it, your ass was on display for him. 
He had to fight himself to not go right over and touch you. But he still walked over and leaned on the desk beside you.
“Something wrong baby?”
You quickly looked up, shocked that someone was in the room with you, and why were they calling you “baby”?
When you met Lando’s eyes, you rolled your own. You had already made up your mind about him, and you were not surprised he was acting like this. 
You heard a low chuckle coming from him as he saw you rolling your eyes. 
You leaned closer to him, really close. He could feel your breath.
“Don’t call me baby”
You could see he was a little shocked at the closeness, so you smirked to yourself and stretched your hand out to grab your glasses that had landed beside him. 
Leaning back, you put your glasses on. “And if you must know, I didn’t get the result I wanted” 
You pointed to the numbers on the screen. His mouth was slightly open as he still looked a little shocked, but he turned his head to look at the numbers. 
“I don’t know what any of the numbers mean” He turned to look at you.
You laughed before replying “Yeah, I know” 
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After closing your front door and throwing yourself on the couch. You pulled up your phone and sent a text to your best friend Sophie. 
“Lando came by the Factory today and called me baby…”
She answered right away.
"BRO!"
“No way!”
“He’s probably trying to get in your pants”
“WHAT?”
“NO HE IS NOT”
“He’s probably just trying to get a reaction out of me”
“Why would he want to get in my pants when he has models drooling over him?”
“Stop it Y/N”
“You are literally drop dead gorgeous.”
“Lando wishes he could get you! But don’t let him use you like that!”
“hahahaha”
“You’re the best Sophie”
“But yeah, he will not be getting anywhere near these sexy pants!”
“YEAHHHH GIRL”
“go piss girl”
“hahaha”
Closing your phone, you laughed to yourself. And when you laid down in bed, and closed your eyes. You couldn’t help when your sleepy brain started thinking about him. 
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You looked down. Seeing your naked body, tits jumping at the movement you were making. You saw your hands spread out on the lower abdomen of the man under you. You saw his hands groping your thighs, hips, tits. And when one of his hands traveled up to grab your jaw, you met his eyes. Lando. 
Waking up, you sat up in bed, hand flying to your jaw.
As your breathing calmed down, you realized the dream. Running the images through your head over and over again. And that's when you noticed just how turned on you were. Your panties totally soaked, and you felt hot.
Landing back in bed you groaned.
“Fuck you brain. That was so fucked up”
You rubbed your hands over your face before getting out of bed. Just a few more days of work before break. 
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Your brain had sneaked in thoughts about Lando all through the break, much to your dismay. And he always showed up when you were close to an orgasm by your own hand. And one time, his name slipped out in a whisper. But you would try to deny yourself that it ever happened. 
And when it was time to go back to work, you felt like it had been long enough for you to forget everything, just praying you didn’t have to see him for a while.
And you were lucky for once. The end of January was nearing, and you had yet to see him. But you knew it was not long before you would.
The start of February was when the car was launching. And you had worked your ass off to finish the last bits, and the tests and readings were good, great even. 
There would be a reveal of the finished car in the factory, for all employees, before it was going to be a public launch. And you knew reveal day meant Lando. But you would be fine, all of the employees would be there, no way you would have any contact with him. 
And when the day finally arrived you were excited. The RB20 was going to be revealed, a car you helped make, and that was all you could focus on. 
You and Sophie were standing together up at the front of the crowd, looking at the car covered in a protective sheet. Christian got up beside the car and started his speech, and then he reached the moment where he introduced the two drivers for the team. Max Verstappen, the reigning world champion, and the new Lando Norris.
As he walked up beside the car, he was dressed in the Red Bull racing suit, and you couldn’t help but admire him in it. It wasn’t wrong to think the man looked good, incredibly good. You knew he was still an asshole, but you did have eyes. 
Max had his speech, and then it was Lando’s turn. It was a good speech, talking about how he was ready for something new, a more competitive car. He then started thanking the people working on the car, and he locked eyes with you, and held it until he was finished speaking. 
Lando and Max then lifted the sheet off the car to reveal it. And the crowd started clapping. You marveled at the car for a minute, feeling proud. But you felt his eyes on you. So you looked back at him, and you saw that stupid smirk on his face, he then had the audacity to give you a wink. You rolled your eyes at him, and when you looked back at him, he had a genuine smile on his face, and a glint in his eyes. And for just a moment, butterflies fluttered in your stomach, before you were interrupted with Christian speaking again.
You were standing in front of the car, looking down at it in admiration. The “party” had been moved to a different room, where food and drinks were served. And when you found a quiet moment, you slipped away to go look at the car. 
You were all alone as you squatted down to get a better look at the car, and the details of it. You couldn’t believe you had a hand in building it. This was Max’s car, with the big, red number 1 on it.
Standing back up, you felt a hand slide its way to your lower back. Shocked, you turned to look at the person beside you. Of course. Lando. 
He had that typical smirk on his face as he spoke to you in a low tone. 
“Hope you did a lot of work on my car too” “I was serious when I said I will only drive it if you have”
You rolled your eyes again, it was something he really brought out of you. 
“I have!” You put on some fake excitement in your tone. “I even put a little extra work into your car” You gave him a suggestive wink.
“Oh, so my car might be a little faster?” He said in a hushed tone, like you were sharing a secret. 
“Yeah” You nodded at him, and pointed to the car in front of you. “This is your car right?”
He narrowed his eyes at you. “No, this is Max’s”
“Oh shit, guess I put it in the wrong car then” You shrugged your shoulders as you couldn’t hold your laughter anymore. 
You turned to walk away, leaving the hold he still had on your lower back. The place where his hand had been was burning hot. And when he saw you taking quick steps to get away, he hurried to follow after you. 
“Baby, that was not nice” He said with a small pout as he finally caught up with you. 
You stopped in your tracks. “I told you to stop calling me that” 
“Oh you look cute when you’re angry” His amusement was clear on his face. 
If you weren’t angry before, you sure were now. You groaned as you started walking away from him again. And before you entered the door to the party, he shouted to you.
“Can’t wait to see you again soon baby!” You could hear the grin on his face. But you just opened the door and walked inside, hoping to not see him for the rest of the night.
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Just a week after, you were back at work, looking over some data on the computer, when you heard a knock at the door, and then it opened and closed. 
Turning around, you were met with Christian. “Oh hey Christian!” “Wasn't expecting you to be here!”
He smiled at you, “I am here to ask if you’re free to have a meeting in my office?”
“Right now?”
He looked down at the expensive watch around his wrist. “Yes”
“Um, yeah sure!” “I’m just going to-” You trailed off as you pressed a few buttons on the computer, before turning it off and walking towards Christian. “Shall we?”
Sitting down in the chair opposite his desk, it all started to become a little intimidating. You waited for him to speak as he looked at a few papers, before lifting his head and meeting your eyes. 
“Y/N” “First, I want to formally thank you for your work on the RB19. You made the car what it was. Great work” “And I also want to thank you for the work you’ve put into the RB20. I know it will be even better than the 19” He smiled at you, and you smiled back as you nodded, silently thanking him for his words. 
He continued, “I have been talking with Lando Norris, and after he had a test in the car, and felt how it worked. And after he also saw how you worked on it, he has asked for you to be his no.1 mechanic.” He paused, waiting for your response.
“No.1 mechanic? as in, at every race, in the garage, being the head mechanic on his car?” You were shocked, confused.
“Yes.” He gave you a warm smile. “When he suggested it, I totally agreed.” “It would be a perfect job for you, and with all the work you have put in, the least I can do for you is to give you a chance to be with the car at every race.” “So, do you want the job?”
You didn’t even think about the fact that Lando was the one to suggest the job for you. You just focused on the fact that you could be the no.1 mechanic. 
“Yes” “Yes I do.” A big smile grew on your face.
“Perfect!” Christian clapped his hands together, and picked up the papers he previously looked at. “Take the time you need to read through them before signing” 
Taking the papers in your hands, you read through it. And everything looked perfect. So you signed where you needed to. And handed the papers back to Christian. 
“Thank you so much for this opportunity!” “I can’t wait to get started” You couldn’t stop smiling.
“Good!” “Can’t wait to see you on the track”
He then told you the plan heading forwards. You had plenty of meetings coming up. You needed to know what to expect in the garage. And you had a few meetings with the people working in the garage. And after all of that was finished, you were headed to the pre-season testing in Bahrain. 
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Arriving in Bahrain, you felt prepared. And you were even more happy to finally join Sophie at work, as you walked into the garage together. 
Testing had been going pretty great so far, you only needed to do a few tweaks on the car to see if the performance was different. 
On the other end, Lando had been tolerable. He had his usual flirty, teasing persona around you. But now that you worked together in a small garage, he had toned it down a bit, much to your pleasure. 
But when you got a moment alone, he always sneaked up on you and rested his hand on your lower back, called you baby, and did everything to annoy you. Much to your frustration.
You had been single for a few years. And you hadn’t slept with too many people after. But now it had been a really long time since last. Too busy at work to even care, but you were growing more and more pent up and frustrated. And this asshole resting his hand on your lower back was not helping. It was also not helping that he looked drool worthy all the time.
What was helping, was the fact that he was just that, an asshole. But you had no excuse for yourself when you were alone at night, and you just stopped caring. It made you cum fast, and you were happy with that. So you kept thinking about him every time, while whispering his name under your breath. 
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It was the fourth race of the season, and you were in Japan. The previous races were good to Lando, who had gotten a podium on each one, but no win yet. But he was good in Japan, he knew this could be the one.
It was early on Thursday, and when Lando walked into the garage, he found you working on the car, alone. 
You were so focused as you lay bent over the nose of the car, trying to screw something that was in a tricky position. When Lando saw the sight of you like that, bent over, legs spread, he felt his dick twitch. 
He quickly turned his head to look around for the sign of any people, seeing no one, he walked up to you, close enough so your feet were almost touching. Looking down at you, he noticed you still didn’t know he was there, so he cleared his throat to get your attention. 
When you heard the sound, it spooked you, and you went to stand up from the compromising position you were in. But you didn’t know someone was standing right behind you. So when you lifted yourself off the car, your ass hit something, someone. You felt a pair of strong hands grab onto your hips to stabilize the both of you, as your back was now flush against his chest. When you looked down at his hands, you saw his watch and bracelets and immediately knew who it was. 
You heard a low groan coming from him, right by your ear. And you felt a bulge grow right where your ass was resting against his crotch. You panicked, and shoved yourself back to knock his balance off so he would get off you. When he did, you turned around to look at him with anger in your eyes.
“What the fuck was that Norris!?”
You didn’t even let him answer before you turned to storm out. Two reasons why. First, you were flustered and could feel your face heat up, and you did not want him to see that. Second, feeling his hands hold your waist, and the bulge grow in his pants, you were already soaked and horny beyond belief, and you did not want to be around him in a state like that. 
Lando stood there, a little shocked, and flustered. He pulled his hoodie down to try and cover up the bulge in his pants, as he headed towards his driver room.
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It was time for a car check. And you were picking up the steering wheel to put it in the car. When you turned back around to go over to the car, you saw him.
Lando was standing in his seat, and you watched him lower himself into the seat, holding onto the halo with a tight grip.
You almost dropped the steering wheel in your hand, as your eyes focused on his hands. You had to literally shake your head to get back to the right headspace.
You walked over to the car, and looked down at Lando looking around the cockpit, trying to get in a comfortable position. After he found it, he looked up and his eyes met yours.
His eyes were shining from the lighting on the ceiling. And the feeling that arose was butterflies hidden by anger. Why the fuck was he so breathtaking, but also such a dick. Fuck him. 
You clenched your jaw as you kept eye contact with him. 
“You gonna hand me the steering wheel love?” There was that stupid smirk again.
You narrowed your eyes at him in anger, and handed him the wheel. He clicked it in place, and looked back up at you and told you something he wanted changed on the car. 
Luckily for you, when he started talking about the car, you went straight into work mode. Not a single thought about Lando in your brain. (Only far in the back)
He pointed to show you something that was underneath the steering wheel, right over where his legs rested. And you couldn’t see it. So you stepped farther towards the back of the car, to see it more from his angle. You grabbed a stepping stool that was standing close by, and leaned over the halo. You face resting just beside his. 
“What was it again?” You asked him, surprisingly calm, but the working Y/N was in control right now.
He pointed again, and started explaining it. And you stretched a hand out to point to it as well, making sure you understood each other. 
Lando didn’t expect you to get that close. And when you stretched your hand out and got even closer, he turned to look at you.
You felt his hot breath on the side of your face, and you could tell in your peripheral that he was looking at you. So you turned to look at him. Your faces so close that your noses almost touched. 
But somehow, you kept your cool. “I can fix that for you Lando, you just need to get out of the car.” You smiled innocently at him as you leaned back and stepped away. 
When he stepped out, you got your tools ready and lowered yourself into the seat, needing to sit there to get the best access.
As you worked away, Lando stood by the side of the car, arms folded against his chest. There was something going on in his body that he couldn’t recognise. He was still feeling the effects of what happened with the two of you earlier. But there was something different there as well.
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On Sunday, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror in the public bathroom. It was not long before race start. And you were staring at yourself in the mirror.
You were angry, frustrated and way too fucking horny. Last night, you caved, again. Imagining your fingers were his. You used it as a way of getting the anger out, and it worked. 
But your brain was on overdrive and everything was threatening to boil over. Looking at yourself, you took a deep breath and nodded to yourself, heading back out, ready for work, trying to ignore everything and hoping it would be fine. 
You were sitting on the pit wall, as you watched them line back up on the grid after the formation lap. And Lando lined his car up on P1. Max lined up in P4, unlucky in Q3.
The race start was good, the top 5 drivers staying as is. Lando keeping the lead until halfway in the race, Lando boxed to get new tires. And when he moved his way back up the grid again, you heard his voice coming on the radio.
“Something is wrong.”
“The gears are not working properly”
You turned to Lando’s race engineer sitting to your right. You nodded at him, and he nodded back, a silent exchange you both understood. 
He contacted Lando to tell him he was looking into it, and would update him as fast as possible. 
You looked at as much of the data as you could, as fast as you could. And there you found it. Between all the numbers and graphs, there was one thing off. 
You contacted the race engineer on the radio, and pointed to the mark on the screen. He saw it, and you both knew the solution. Luckily an easy one, as he only needed to press a few buttons on the steering wheel to change modes. 
The race engineer nodded at you again, but this time, in a way that signaled you to tell Lando. So you did.
“Lando, mode 6, and give it 3.8”
“Understood”
“Thanks Y/N”
You felt like you could hear a smile on his face, but probably not. Right?
When you looked back at the data, you saw everything was fine. And not long after, Lando radioed back to say it was good, and he was ready to get back to the chase.
And he did just that, climbing his way back up. Lucky for him, Max had pitted not long after Lando, making Lando ahead of Max in the race. 
You were anxious for the last few laps. He had gotten back into P1, and had made a reasonable gap back to the driver behind him. 
The screams you heard on the radio as he crossed the line first, almost made you deaf for a minute. And you had a big smile on your face as you celebrated with the crew on the pit wall, proud of the car you helped in making. 
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You had gotten the car back to the garage after watching the podium. You, and two other mechanics were pulling the protective sheet over the car. You tried to keep your mind focused on the task at hand, but the image of Lando getting champagne poured on him was seared into your brain. But when you were done with everything, thanking the mechanics before you stepped back. You heard someone entering the garage. 
In walked Lando, soaked in champagne and still dressed in his racing suit that was hanging around his hips. When he saw you, he actually smiled. And seeing him like that, you couldn’t help the heat settling in your core.
He almost ran over to you and wrapped his arms around your hips. He lifted you with him in a tight hug, your feet far above the ground, you had to grab onto his shoulders for support. 
“There’s my no.1 mechanic!” 
His voice was muffled as his face was resting directly against your boobs. 
And when you squeezed his shoulders in reaction, he looked up at you as he still held you tight. You couldn’t get any words out. But as he looked up at you, he smiled. A genuine, lovely smile. But something else was shining in his eyes, and his pupils dilated. 
He felt you started to slip out of his arms, so he readjusted his grip. He got a firm hold on your ass, and when you felt it, everything boiled over.
“Let. Me. The Fuck. Down.” “Now.”
The mechanics stood there in confusion until they heard that. They shared a look, and hurried to leave the garage. Avoiding you screaming at Lando.
Lando heard the threatening tone in your voice, and he immediately lowered you to the ground. 
When he stood back to look at you, he opened his mouth to say something. But you were quicker.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME NORRIS? YOU CAN’T JUST LIFT ME UP LIKE THAT! AND NOT TO MENTION WHAT HAPPENED THURSDAY MORNING! YOU’RE MAKING ME GO CRAZY!” You basically screamed at him, with your finger pointing at him in anger. But you weren’t finished. 
“You’re the one who wanted me to have this job, and you’re usually rude and mean, but then you’re teasing me and acting all flirty?!” “You’re so fucking confusing!” 
Your brain had exploded at his point. Every feeling that had been pent up for so long, finally boiled over. And since everything hit you, you felt yourself grow wetter and wetter by the second. You let out a heavy breath and lifted your hands to hold onto your head in frustration. 
Lando had just taken it all, with his eyebrows lifted in shock. He was making you go crazy? His mind was running, what did you mean? He didn’t know what to do, what to say. But then he saw the small movement you made, and the look on your face. A smirk making its way to his face as his eyes got even darker. 
While in your frustration, your body just acted for you. And as you were standing there, looking anywhere but at him, your face red and hot, your whole body on fire. Your thighs squeezed together for some desperate neediness for something, anything. 
And when that caught Landos eyes, he took two long steps towards you. His arms wrapping around you, the palms of his hands resting on the top of your ass. 
When he was suddenly in front of you, so close. You dropped your hands in shock, and just stared into his eyes, then his lips. They were slightly parted, and you saw the quick moment his tongue darted out to lick his lips. Before you quickly looked back into his eyes, cursing yourself for the moment of weakness. 
When you locked eyes again, his eyes were dark, looking down at you. Lando had no patience left. He shoved your body hard, into himself. You chests touching, and the grip he had on your ass, where he was holding you tight against him, you felt almost every detail of his already growing bulge through his pants. If you weren’t soaked already, you sure were now. 
You had no control when you let out a small moan at the contact, and that was all Lando wanted, and needed to hear, as he leaned down to capture your lips in an aggressive kiss.
It was like he was hungry, starving for you. And Lando had wanted you since he first saw you, and with the months that had passed, it all came crashing down at the same time.
The kiss was messy, teeth clashing and rough. But you loved it, feeling another moan slip out of your throat.
As you moaned, Lando took the chance and slipped his tongue inside your mouth, your own immediately tangling with his. It was harsh, but so full of passion. His hands were guiding your hips in a way that gave him some much needed friction. And when your hands slid up to grab onto the hair at the back of his neck, he let out a low groan. 
You couldn’t take it anymore, and you pulled on his hair, so you disconnected. Your breathing was heavy as you looked up at him. He was breathing heavy too, and his lips were wet, and slightly red. His pupils blown wide. God, he looked so fucking good, you almost wanted to go back to being angry at him. just because of how hot he was. But you didn’t, he spoke before you could do anything.
“Shit, I need you.” His eyes darted all across your face, looking for any type of reaction. “Please”
He looked so desperate, and he sounded even more desperate. He was begging you. 
Fuck it, you needed this too. “Your driver room” “Now”
He was quick to grab your hand and pull you after him.
When you finally entered his driver room behind him, he turned around and closed the door behind you. And when he turned back around, he took long steps towards you, until your lips met again. 
Neither of you could control the sounds coming from the both of you. His hands were everywhere, grabbing onto what he could. You hands found his hair again, grabbing it, earning a sweet sound from him. 
He walked the both of you backwards until the backs of your legs hit the small couch. He spun the both of you around, he sat down and pulled you to sit on top of him. 
When you sat down, Lando looked down to where your hips met as his grip on your ass moved your hips, grinding yourself onto him. You lifted both of your hands to hold onto the sides of his face, and made him look at you.
When Lando looked at you, you almost took his breath away. Your cheeks were tinted pink, and your lips were open, breathing heavily. Some of your hair had fallen in your face and your eyes were shining as you looked at him, he swore, you were a goddess. His hands slid up to hold on to your waist, and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth in a way to try and control himself. But he lost it the second you whispered.
“Just fuck me already”
His hands immediately found the hem of your Red Bull shirt and pulled it over your head. You understood the signal and stood up from his lap and went to pull your pants off, as he pulled the fireproof shirt over his head. 
You were standing in front of him in only your underwear as you looked at him hurrying to pull his race suit and the fireproofs of his legs. When he finally did, he looked up at you, and you swore you could see his dick twitch in his gray boxers. 
Your confidence grew in you, so you went to take your bra off. When it hit the floor, you could hear him muttering under his heavy breath “Fuck”. Next, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your panties and slowly pulled them down. 
It had been awhile since the last time someone saw you naked, but with the reaction Lando was giving you, his eyes looking at you like you were a goddess. It made you feel beautiful, and so powerful. So you stepped forward until you were right in front of him. His eyes kept shifting from your face to your tits. 
You sat down in his lap again, your knees resting beside his hips, and your core just barely touching the outline of his dick in his boxers. When you leaned down to capture his lips again, you lowered your hips until you felt his covered dick resting between your folds. And because of the much needed friction you got. You moaned into his mouth. 
The kiss was much slower and careful than before, frustration replaced by the need to really taste each other. His hands had found a tight hold on your hips, as he tried to guide them to move. 
“Baby, you’re soaked” He said as he looked down at where you were resting above him.
Lifting your hips, you saw that his boxers were absolutely soaked because of you. And you felt your face heat up even more. 
“Fuck, I can’t wait anymore” “You reckon you’re ready to take me?”
He looked up at you, and you felt stunned. Just nodding wildly at him, his smirk grew. He looked down again, and pulled his boxers down enough to free his dick. Springing free, it hit his abdomen. You stared down, bewildered. How was he supposed to fit?
His hands found your hips again, and he guided them to rest right above him. One of his hands wrapped around his dick, and he moved his hands up and down a few times, as he looked up at you. You were staring down at his hand wrapped around himself, and you felt your pussy clench, waiting to finally have him inside of you. 
He moved his dick so the tip was resting against your hole. Looking up at him, he still had that smirk on his face. 
“Think you can handle it?” 
You didn’t reply before you dropped your hips down until he bottomed out inside of you. His pelvis hitting your clit. You both moaned simultaneously. The stretch was a lot, he was big, and you hadn’t had a dick in you for ages. But God it felt so good. 
Lando swore no one had been able to fit around him so perfectly, and when you took all of him, he felt you clench around him, almost holding him in. He felt another moan slip out of him. His mouth was hanging open in awe as he looked at you. Your head was tipped back, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.
“Shit, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted you” He almost whispered.
He slid a hand up to hold on to the side of your face, tipping it down to make you look at him. And his other hand gave your hip a squeeze. 
“Please move”
You didn’t have to make him beg for you, he just did on his own. Was he really this weak for you?
A smirk grew on your face as you wanted to know just how weak he was. You just grinded your hips slowly, and you watched his face as his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. You kept your small movements up, but he tried to lift your hips up and down on him. But you were stubborn, and you didn’t budge. 
Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders, as the movement was so good for you. Your clit getting friction everytime you moved back and forth. Your breath coming out in whimpers. 
You closed your eyes again, but opened them when you felt his hand on your face again. The look on his face was pleading. 
“Please baby.” “I need more” His voice was so soft and sweet, and you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. 
“Say it again.”
“Please please please please baby”
His hands were running up and down your torso as his eyes were locked on yours.
You gave in and moved your hips up to slam them back down. And the groan that made its way out of lando could’ve made you cum already.
You couldn’t hold back anymore, as you kept up the rhythm, riding him with your hands gripping his shoulders. His hands slid around to your ass and grabbed a hold as he helped you move up and down on his dick, and his hips moved up to meet yours. 
You knew the door to the driver room was pretty thin, so you bit your bottom lip to try and hold back some of the sounds threatening to escape. Lando noticed, and snaked a hand around to circle his thumb around your clit. He saw it on your face, the effect it had on you. But he also felt it, as you got even tighter around him. You didn’t moan from it, but he sure did. 
You were so focused as you tried to keep quiet, but with the added pleasure it was so difficult, also because of the sounds he was making.
“Come on baby, let me hear you” He said in a low tone, as he was looking up at you.
That broke you. And he got the sounds from you that he desperately needed to hear. 
As you looked down at him, you saw his eyebrows scrunched together as he was staring at himself disappearing inside you, and his mouth was hanging open. You lifted one of your hands and ran it through the wet curls on the top of his head, still soaked in champagne and sweat. 
You grabbed a hold of them and pulled his head back to make him look at you. All of the feelings you had for him came rising to the surface, just as you felt your climax closing in. The feelings of anger and frustration. So with gritted teeth, you spoke.
“Fuck you.”
He enjoyed that.
“You already are sweetheart.”
You gave in and sped up your rhythm. And his thumb moved faster and his grip on your ass tightened. Your hand slid down to cradle his jaw. You ran your thumb across the facial hair growing on his chin, before you pulled him in for a searing kiss before your climax hit like a brick wall. 
You disconnected from the kiss and tipped your head back, eyes screwed shut, as your vision was going white, and you whispered a quiet “Fuck, Lando” as you came. 
Lando felt you tighten around him as you came, and he looked up at you, mesmerized, as he saw your face contourting as you came around him. And he followed right after, coming inside you. 
You felt him filling you up, and his thumb had slowed down, but was still rubbing soft circles helping you come down from your orgasm. After a few seconds of catching your breath, as he did the same, you opened your eyes to look at him again, and he was already looking at you. The ghost of a gorgeous smile on his face. 
His hands rested on your thighs, and his thumb rubbing soft circles again. Neither of you said anything, you just looked at each other.
“You’re going to be the death of me” 
He was whipped.
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Notes: I realized this could be made into a series or something. So let me know if you want more!! Thank you for reading<3
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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months ago
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AI art has no anti-cooption immune system
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TONIGHT (July 20), I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.
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One thing Myspace had going for it: it was exuberantly ugly. The decision to let users with no design training loose on a highly customizable user-interface led to a proliferation of Myspace pages that vibrated with personality.
The ugliness of Myspace wasn't just exciting in a kind of outsider/folk-art way (though it was that). Myspace's ugliness was an anti-cooption force-field, because corporate designers and art-directors would, by and large, rather break their fingers and gouge out their eyes than produce pages that looked like that.
In this regard, Myspace was the heir to successive generations of "design democratization" that gave amateur communities, especially countercultural ones, a space to operate in where authentic community members could be easily distinguished between parasitic commercializers.
The immediate predecessors to Myspace's ugliness-as-a-feature were the web, and desktop publishing. Between the img tag, imagemaps, the blink tag, animated GIFs, and the million ways that you could weird a page with tables and padding, the early web was positively bursting with individual personality. The early web balanced in an equilibrium between the plunder-friendliness of "view source" and the topsy-turvy design imperatives of web-based layout, which confounded both print designers (no fixed fonts! RGB colorspaces! dithering!) and even multimedia designers who'd cut their teeth on Hypercard and CD ROMs (no fixed layout!).
Before the web came desktop publishing, the million tractor-feed ransom notes combining Broderbund Print Shop fonts, joystick-edited pixel-art, and a cohort of enthusiasts ranging from punk zinesters to community newsletter publishers. As this work proliferated on coffee-shop counters and telephone poles, it was visibly, obviously distinct from the work produced by "real" designers – that is, designers who'd been a) trained and b) paid by a corporation to employ that training.
All of this matters, and not just for aesthetic reasons. Communities – especially countercultural ones – are where our society's creative ferment starts. Getting your start in the trenches of the counterculture wars is no proof against being co-opted later (indeed, many of the designers who cut their teeth desktop publishing weird zines went on to pull their hair and roll their eyes at the incredible fuggliness of the web). But without that zone of noncommercial, antiestablishment, communitarian low weirdness, design and culture would stagnate.
I started thinking about this 25 years ago, the first time I met William Gibson. I'd been assigned by the Globe and Mail to interview him for the launch of All Tomorrow's Parties:
https://craphound.com/nonfic/transcript.html
One of the questions I asked was about his famous aphorism, "The street finds its own use for things." Given how quickly each post-punk tendency had been absorbed by commercial culture, couldn't we say that "Madison Avenue finds its own use for the street"? His answer started me down a quarter-century of thinking and writing about this subject:
I worry about what we'll do in the future, [about the instantaneous co-opting of pop culture]. Where is our new stuff going to come from? What we're doing pop culturally is like burning the rain forest. The biodiversity of pop culture is really, really in danger. I didn't see it coming until a few years ago, but looking back it's very apparent.
I watch a sort of primitive form of the recommodification machine around my friends and myself in sixties, and it took about two years for this clumsy mechanism to get and try to sell us The Monkees.
In 1977, it took about eight months for a slightly faster more refined mechanism to put punk in the window of Holt Renfrew. It's gotten faster ever since. The scene in Seattle that Nirvana came from: as soon as it had a label, it was on the runways of Paris.
Ugliness, transgressiveness and shock all represent an incoherent, grasping attempt to keep the world out of your demimonde – not just normies and squares, but also and especially enthusiastic marketers who want to figure out how to sell stuff to you, and use you to sell stuff to normies and squares.
I think this is what drove a lot of people to 4chan (remember, before 4chan was famous for incubating neofascism, it was the birthplace of Anonymous): its shock culture, combined with a strong cultural norm of anonymity, made for a difficult-to-digest, thoroughly spiky morsel that resisted recommodification (for a while).
All of this brings me to AI art (or AI "art"). In his essay on the "eerieness" of AI art, Henry Farrell quotes Mark Fisher's "The Weird and the Eerie":
https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/large-language-models-are-uncanny
"Eeriness" here is defined as "when there is something present where there should be nothing, or is there is nothing present when there should be something." AI is eerie because it produces the seeming of intent, without any intender:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand
When we contemplate "authentic" countercultural work – ransom-note DTP, the weird old web, seizure-inducing Myspace GIFs – it is arresting because the personality of the human entity responsible for it shines through. We might be able to recognize where that person ganked their source-viewed HTML or pixel-optimized GIF, but we can also make inferences about the emotional meaning of those choices. To see that work is to connect to a mind. That mind might not necessarily belong to someone you want to be friends with or ever meet in person, but it is unmistakably another person, and you can't help but learn something about yourself from the way that their work makes you feel.
This is why corporate work is so often called "soulless." The point of corporate art is to dress the artificial person of the corporation in the stolen skins of the humans it uses as its substrate. Corporations are potentially immortal, artificial colony organisms. They maintain the pretense of personality, but they have no mind, only action that is the crescendo of an orchestra of improvised instruments played by hundreds or thousands of employees and a handful of executives who are often working directly against one another:
https://locusmag.com/2022/03/cory-doctorow-vertically-challenged/
The corporation is – as Charlie Stross has it – the "slow AI" that is slowly converting our planet to the long-prophesied grey goo (or, more prosaically, wildfire ashes and boiled oceans). The real thing that is signified by CEOs' professed fears of runaway AI is runaway corporations. As Ted Chiang says, the experience of being nominally in charge of a corporation that refuses to do what you tell it to is the kind of thing that will give you nightmares about autonomous AI turning on its masters:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way
The job of corporate designers is to find the signifiers of authenticity and dress up the corporate entity's robotic imperatives in this stolen flesh. Everything about AI is done in service to this goal: the chatbots that replace customer service reps are meant to both perfectly mimic a real, competent corporate representative while also hewing perfectly to corporate policy, without ever betraying the real human frailties that none of us can escape.
In the same way, the shillbots that pretend to be corporate superfans online are supposed to perfectly amplify the corporate message, the slow AI's conception of its own virtues, without injecting their own off-script, potentially cringey enthusiasms.
The Hollywood writers' strike was, at root, about the studio execs' dream that they could convert the "insights" of focus groups and audience research into a perfect script, without having to go through a phalanx of lippy screenwriters who insisted on explaining why they think your idea is stupid. "Hey, nerd, make me another ET, except make the hero a dog, and set it on Mars" is exactly how you prompt an AI:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/
Corporate design's job is to produce the seeming of intention without any intender. The "personality" we're meant to sense when we encounter corporate design isn't the designer's, nor the art director's, nor even the CEO's. The "personality" is meant to be the slow AI's, but a corporation doesn't have a personality.
In his 2018 short story "Noon in the antilibrary," Karl Schroeder describes an "antilibrary" as an endlessly deep anaerobic lagoon of generative botshit:
https://www.technologyreview.com/2018/08/18/104097/noon-in-the-antilibrary/
The antilibrary is a generative AI system that can produce entire librarys’-worth of fake books with fake authors, fake citations by other fake experts with their own fake books and biographies and fake social media accounts, on-demand and instantly. It was speculation in 2018; it’s possible now. Creating an antilibrary is just a matter of investing in a sufficient number of graphics cards and electricity.
https://kschroeder.substack.com/p/after-the-internet
Reading Karl's reflections on the antilibrary crystallized something for me that I've been thinking about for a quarter-century, since I interviewed Gibson at the Penguin offices in north Toronto. It snapped something into place that I've trying to fit since encountering Henry's thoughts on the "eeriness" of AI work and the intent without an intender.
It made me realize why I dislike AI art so much, on a deep, aesthetic level. The point of an image generator is to buffer the intention of the prompter (which might be genuinely creative and bursting with personality) in layers of automated decision-making that flense the final product of any hint of the mind that caused its creation.
The most febrile, deeply weird and authentic prompts of the most excluded outsiders produce images that feel the same as the corporate AI illustrations that project the illusion of personality from the immortal, transhuman colony organism that is the limited liability corporation.
AI art is born coopted. Even the 4chan equivalent of AI – the deeply transgressive and immoral nonconsensual pornography – feels no different from the "official" AI porn churned out by "real" pornographers. "Shrimp Jesus" and other SEO-optimized Facebook slop is so uncanny because it is simultaneously "weird" ("that which does not belong") and yet it belongs in the same aesthetic bucket of the most anodyne Corporate Memphis ephemera:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corporate_Memphis
We call it "generative" but AI art can't generate the kind of turnover that aerates the aesthetic soil. An artform that can't be transgressive is sterile, stillborn, a dead end.
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Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/20/ransom-note-force-field/#antilibraries
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Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg
CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en
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Jake (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:1970s_fanzines_(21224199545).jpg
CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en
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rosielovesf1 · 8 months ago
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podiums + pregnancies
someone knows how to make an entrance (she gets it from her mummy)
word count: 1.5k
warnings: none! (my first post oop)
author's note: welcome to my blog!! this is a bit rough, but i figured it's only going to get better with time so here goes. thanks for spending some time on my little corner of the internet!
y/n was not joking when she said her ankles had left the building. she didn’t know when it had happened, but they had completely and utterly given up on her. 
“Baby girl, it’s just rude at this point,” she said quietly to herself. Despite the discomfort, she was unable to stop the beginnings of a smile when she thought about the little human that she’d couldn’t wait to meet. “I thought we had a deal that you wouldn’t do this to me until my maternity leave started.” 
And that leave was so close she could practically taste it (thank God), but brought with it some bittersweet feelings. In her comfortable seat in the McLaren motorhome, watching the race coverage on the television with papaya headphones secured over her ears, she took a second to enjoy the moment. Her whole life she’d been working towards her dream of being a motorsport journalist, and after a couple of wildly successful interviews with the most closed off of drivers, she was catapulted into the glitzy and glamorous world of F1. In the midst of seeing her dreams come true, she hadn’t expected to fall in love- with the curly haired boy who was currently in a comfortable third place. 
The garage started to buzz with excitement as the end of the race drew closer and closer. y/n gasped as Lando’s position was threatened with five laps to go, but he defended skilfully, pulling ahead on the straight and successfully creating more distance between him and the contender. The mechanics roared, and suddenly there was a flurry of motion as they got ready to cheer their driver to the checkered flag. 
“That’s your daddy!” y/n said, unable to contain her excitement. There was an uncomfortable twinge in her gut when she stood to celebrate him crossing the finish line with the rest of the garage, but it was easily ignored in the midst of hugs and cheers with the rest of the team. Pato found her in the crowd (she was hard to miss at 38 weeks pregnant), and squeezed her shoulders in a side hug. 
“No wonder he’s on the podium, with his lucky charms here,” the McLaren reserve driver said, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. y/n's smile grew as she took him in- race weekends were always made better by his presence in the McLaren garage. Pato had been one of her very first motorsport interviews while working in IndyCar, and her nerves had been through the roof when first meeting him. Luckily, they’d clicked instantly, bonding over their shared upbringing in Texas, and her ability to draw out his wonderful personality on camera had been a huge help to advancing her career. “Wanna head over there?” 
“Yes! Definitely. But I’m warning you, it’s going to be slow.” She shook her head and smiled fondly down at her bump. “I’ve seen turtles who walk faster than me.” 
“Oh, come on,” he said, steadying her arm as she stepped down from the raised platform where chairs were placed in the garage. “I think you could at least win a race with a snail.” 
“Mean!” she laughed, swatting his arm away as they followed the horde of people surging towards the podium. “You get pregnant, and then we’ll see how you do.” 
“Yeah, I don't think that's in the cards for me,” he said, bumping her shoulder. There was too much noise to continue their conversation as they neared the podium, and they only had to pause once on their journey as y/n breathed through another twinge. This one seemed a little stronger, but she recovered quickly, and Pato shielded her as people jostled for a spot close to the front. Luckily, the McLaren team recognized her fondly and made a path towards the fence, closing in behind her and Pato so they couldn’t be bumped around. 
“God, this never gets old.” y/n said, taking in the roar of the crowd, the feeling of being one in a sea of many. 
“Here he comes!” Pato yelled over the many voices around them, and an uncontrollable smile broke out across her face as her boy pulled off his helmet and ran towards them.
He slowed down as he neared her, wrapping her in a tight yet cautious hug. 
“Doing okay, baby?” he said into her ear, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek. 
“Are you kidding me? You were amazing out there! I’m so proud of you!” y/n squealed, hugging him as tightly as her belly allowed. Cameras clicked around them as she pulled back to meet his soft lips, smiling into the short kiss. 
“Did it for my girls.” He said, eyes bright as he stared into hers. For a second, it was just them, and she felt a warm rush of gratitude for where life had taken her. Dream career, dream love, and a new dream- a child made from the best parts of both of them, arriving in just a few weeks. 
“Go celebrate with your team,” she mouthed, eyes going glossy. 
He looked conflicted but nodded, gently cupping the sides of her face and planting a kiss on her forehead before stepping away. With a giant whoop, he launched himself into the crowd of waiting McLaren employees, clapping hands with some and hugging others. He shot a wink over at her before walking into the building and the cooldown room, and the crowd grew antsy as they waited for the trophy presentation. 
Now that there was a lapse in the excitement, the twinges y/n felt were becoming harder and harder to ignore. She gripped Pato’s arm to her left as a particularly bad one came on, wincing in pain. 
“y/n?” he asked, voice filled with worry. “Everything okay? Is it too crowded?” 
“Yeah,” she breathed out, the pain subsiding within a few seconds. “I just, I keep feeling this squeezing sensation that I-”
They came to the realization at the same time, and Pato’s eyes seemed to almost be more terrified than hers. “You don’t think?” 
“I uh-, I mean,” Pato looked around frantically. Any hopes of further conversation were blown away as the trophy presentation started, and Lando was announced as the third place driver. He walked out onto the podium, a smile on his face and Pirelli hat on, taking his spot on the third place platform. His happy expression only grew as he scanned the crowd, until his eyes found what y/n assumed was an alarming sight- her practically doubled over, hanging onto Pato’s arm for dear life, and Pato looking like he would rather be thrown out of an F1 car than in this situation. 
Others around them started to take notice, and the female employees in particular rushed to her aid, offering bottles of water. y/n accepted gratefully, and looked up in time to notice that her favorite driver was no longer standing proudly on stage, and all of a sudden he was rushing out to find her at the fence. 
“Go back-” y/n forced out. “Fine. Just need a second.” 
“Baby, no.” He said, finding a way to move the fence so y/n could join him on the other side.  He took charge of supporting her- Pato practically sagged in relief- and ran a hand over her hair. “We have to go. Oh my god, we have to go? Is it time?” 
“No.” y/n said firmly. She could feel all eyes of the crowd on her, and even the announcer on the podium had paused his program to watch the chaos unfolding below. “Your moment! She can wait!”
But as y/n's face crumpled in the wake of another contraction, the decision was made for the both of them by their daughter- she was coming, and she was coming now. His hands shook as he guided her inside, y/n groaning more about making a scene than the pain. Pato called out a feeble “Good luck!” from behind and she sent a weak wave his way. 
A staff member inside the cooldown room had already called an ambulance, and Lando guided y/n into a chair before squatting down to press his forehead against hers. 
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, rubbing her hands over his shoulders.
“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” he said, taking a deep breath to try to stop his hands from shaking as he intertwined them with hers. The combination of the post-race adrenaline and the imminent arrival of their daughter was doing crazy things to his nervous system. “I can’t believe this is really happening. I’m so sorry you spent the day here when you could’ve been comfortable at home.” 
She shook her head at him, her deep breaths the only sound in the space. “No place I’d rather be.” 
He squeezed her hands at that, kissing both cheeks and leaving the lightest kiss on her nose. 
“She’s really coming, huh?” y/n whispered in disbelief, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“She’s really coming,” Lando laughed, not able to believe his luck.
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@y/nnorris: our angel on earth. amelia parker hinata norris. 03/16/2024.
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@landonorris: my two favorite girls in the world. ☀️ someone knows how to make an entrance (she gets it from her mummy).  ready for #2 whenever you are @y/nnorris 
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digitalsymbiote · 4 months ago
Text
Scars and Memories
CW: Self harm, Scarification
There’s a ritual among certain groups of Mech pilots. Usually ones who are a bit more, esoteric. Pilots who’ve maybe spent too much time in the cockpit, but are too skilled for command to remove them from duty.
It’s a known fact that the more time a pilot spends in the cockpit, the more attached they become to their Mech. Each mech is practically tailor made for its pilot after all, with the hours upon hours of synchronization training that their IMP goes through. Swapping pilots between Mechs is not only unheard of, but almost impossible given how they work.
Pilots that fall into these groups are often so skilled and highly valued, that command assigns a units most skilled mechanics and technicians to their fireteams. This means that nearly every scratch that one of these Mechs receives on a sortie is repaired as quickly as possible, to keep the Mech in top shape for its next deployment.
Initially, the pilots hated this. Pilots have always held onto scars and scratches like badges of honor, marks to prove that they survived a particularly harsh engagement. But the boost to performance and mission success was such that command wouldn’t budge an inch. So the pilots pivoted to a different tactic.
The first time you saw it happen you almost called a paramedic, but then you noticed there was actually one standing by, and no one else in the hangar was paying it any mind.
The returning pilot was kneeling in front of their mech, combat knife dripping blood in their hands, carving the lines of the wounds their mech had taken into their own flesh.
There was a reverence to it. No one impeded on the pilots space, even the paramedic standing by was staying a few paces off. The mechanics were moving slow with the repairs, giving the pilot enough time to memorize the scars on their machine before they were buffed away.
You realized then why so many veteran pilots are covered in brutal and jagged scars, despite the cockpit being the most well protected part of a Mech.
And maybe on your next sortie, you carved a line into your skin where a stray round had nicked your machine.
The metal may heal, but the flesh remembers.
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beiasluv · 1 year ago
Text
forbidden fruit | Charles Leclerc
a/n: new to the f1 communityy 😬 apologies for any term or idea i got wrong. female!reader. no proofread! enjoyy 🤍
summary: the princess of mercedes and the prince of ferrari, what could possibly go wrong?
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“y/n! y/n! she’s in her last turn! leclerc’s trailing behind! can he do an over take?”
splashing champagnes and listening to the dutch national anthem were never your favorite of winning a podium, but who cares?
you were on P3 and charles leclerc was not.
perhaps retelling the story of your rivalry with the monégasque driver would take a whole frustrating, aggravating, and lengthy year for us to get through; and perhaps it was for the best to leave it where it is, never to be touched, but to reminisce with a needle of cringeness poking through your heart.
although an honorable mention to verstappen, for taking the lead role of leclerc’s personal favorite rival.
it was all an inchident, of course.
smirking back to the driver in a flashing, scuderia ferrari, red fire suit, you could only feel your ego bubbling to the top of your throat. charles leclerc was staring. and staring hard. what a shame you couldn’t even take out your phone and take a snippet of his raging glance. what a fun sight for the whole news headlines to see.
‘charles leclerc, envy and jealousy…’
of course, he couldn’t lash it out. how could he? would the handsome, young, and talented ferrari driver want to ruin his reputation in the media? obviously, not.
of course, you knew it all too well. every day you wake up with the tip of a knife, aiming at your throat, ready to nick you anytime you take a wrong step on the luxurious path of an f1 driver. being the only female driver on the grid makes your life a thousand times more challenging.
but who were you to be a nitpick?
the media loves drama. we all do. perhaps it was a little bit more entertaining to see what you are wearing when the races had gone wrong. what hairstyle were you wearing for the big race? or, maybe, just which driver you were dating on the grid this season?
never once you could escape the dating questions or all the bullshit misogynistic attitudes from the journalists, press, media, and, well, …you name it.
perhaps you have to give it to leclerc for never going easy on you just because you are of a different gender.
“congratulations on P3, y/n,” max turned towards you and gave you a pat on the shoulder; simultaneously, bringing you back to reality.
“t- thanks.”
“you win this one, l/n.”
he took off his helmet, and clutched it loosely to his side. the cheeky smirk plastered on his face. the eyes searched for the depth of yours.
only you knew how much pain it was for him to force his lips to create such a soft and fake smile for the thousand camera lenses, waiting to catch the two rivals lacking. bumping into leclerc after the race, fresh and full of adrenaline, alone in the hallway of the track was never an enjoyable experience to endure.
“good race, leclerc,” you muttered out as many PR and drivers walked past you two.
“same to you.”
what a shame your PR manager ushered you out for the media room before you two could give a shot of throwing hands - elegantly, of course.
“good work on the qualifying round, l/n. return to the garage. over.”
“copy that,” you tapped your headset, notifying the engineer of the prestigious mercedes team.
driving for mercedes in f1 could count as your biggest dream since the karting days. and the race won against ferrari was a - personal - success.
slowing your baby down, and pressing the brake mechanism of the car, you came to a halt as the friction overpowered the tires. one or two seconds later, you could hear the mercedes team rushing and scurrying over to your parked position to collect you back to the mothership.
“take her back, guys!”
the screaming of your fans nearby erupted as you ascended out from the cramped space of your f1 seat. taking your helmet off, and waving to them; you gracefully jumped down from the car and headed towards the mercedes headquarters.
a long walk, but who are you to make a fuss?
an f1 driver should have no problem walking a couple of miles. oh but how annoyingly a group of fans quickly crowded over you and blocked your ways…red flags, horses, and charles leclerc faces. clearly, you knew whose fans they were.
fussing, grabbing, and pulling, you were harassed, unfortunately. autographs, hats, pictures, postcards, and questionable stuff were pushed into your face.
“y/n! please! sign my shirt!” “get the hell away from charles!”
“charles deserved p3 today!” “l/n!! l/n! say hi to my dad! he loves you!”
trying to fulfill all of their requirements, you realized you had found yourself in the sea of scuderia ferrari fans. it is an unspoken fact that you were the rival of charles leclerc; you could say some fans were more enthralled by that fact than others.
“y/n! what do you think about charles? are you guys dating?”
sometimes you hate technology. the cameras pointing at you reminded me of the knife you carry mentally with you every day. it could gain you thousands of thousands of likes in a few tiktoks or perhaps get ready to say goodbye to your f1 position.
“…we’re not talking. in any complicate way,” smiling through the pain you signed the cap that was shoved into your face. gosh, mercedes. where was your security?
your patience could only last so much until one fan decided it was worth it to grab your hand and pull you down for an instagram-worthy photo. and he possibly thought the best way to execute it was to, firstly, seize your waist. how thoughtful of him.
“fuc- please don’t-”
“y/n! i love you!”
man-child was not having it. sweaty and clammy hands could send chills down your spine if you didn’t know.
“please-”
smile through the pain. smile through the pain. it was all part of the job, at the end of the day. the fans still won and you were just a doll for f1. breathe in, breathe out.
he pulled his iphone 7 out of his pocket, painfully slow; slower than the ferrari’s pitstops. his side was squished to yours. the cologne, the smell, the sensory, everything-
“hey, hands off.”
you could say it was the first time you were glad to see charles leclerc from your entire life; wearing his race suit sluttily around his waist. leclerc - being leclerc - stunned his fans, leaving a big hole in the crowd around you.
he was reaching out for your waist; surprisingly, in a way you were pleased, and pulled you out of the red crowd. and just like magic, the security came rushing in and ushered the mob of fans away from the scene.
wearing that stunned face of yours, you regained consciousness and your rival emotions. clearing your already cleared throat, charles took it as a signal to let go of your waist. how suddenly you realized it was all happening over the armor of your fire suit.
thank god.
“..thanks”
“no need to thank me,” the competitive tone made its way through his annoying lips again. scoffing, he looked at you with his hand clutching his helmet by his side, “i don’t understand why they need to adore you this much.”
how rude.
“for the record, they are your fans, leclerc,” you scoffed offendedly, and your hand found its natural place on your chest; clutching for dramatic effect.
“what did i do to deserve such loyal fans, l/n…” not even looking at you he smirked under his nose. “they shouldn’t be acting this way, no?”
he looked over at you, seeing you in your distressed state and a chuckle left his lips. the cameras settled on the stands far away in the distance and stared at you two, they were definitely on.
shit.
this is going to end up in the headlines.
“check out your new title…” your manager cleared his throat as you nervously waited.
“you can’t just leave me hanging here!”
placing your phone in your lap your hands returned to the comfort of the steering wheel. twisting and turning, you maneuvered your mercedes inside the driver's garage.
“calm the fuck down! i’m pulling out the source for accuracy,” you swore you could see your manager rolling his eyes. “wait for it…‘charles to the rescue. mercedes and ferrari, love or rivalry?’”
“shut up.”
“i can send you the links.”
“please don’t,” you sighed as you looked over your shoulder to slide into the parking lot like a distinguished f1 driver. “…the devil works hard, but the media works harder, or what?”
“we could use a little PR for mercedes, y’know?” the crackled chuckle left your phone.
please.
“the signal is shit in the parking lot, i’ll see you at the paddock. bye.”
“alright, be quick.”
gathering your bag and phone, you checked your face one last time in the rearview mirror and opened the car door. unfortunately, the infamous ferrari entered the parking lot with its signature roars, as you stepped out of your car.
the devil had worked hard once again. walking to your trunk, you kicked it open and snatched some of your essential stuff for the race. and who would’ve thought charles leclerc could park his car in under 20 seconds?
not to mention, it wasn’t straight. (oops)
getting out of his car, he checked his hair and fixed his shirt. obviously, aware of the paparazzi lurking around the track’s garage for the big day, and hoping to sell a couple of pics for something a little more than a couple of bucks. perhaps an even better price for them if they caught you and your rival having a ‘friendly’ chat.
don’t get close to him. don’t get close to him.
“what a coincidence,” leclerc approached your mercedes as he locked his ferrari with its infamous beeping.
“how so?”
smirking back at him, you slammed your trunk closed and shut off; locking your car in the same manner. catching the glimpse of his eyes you made it your personal goal to escape him as fast as you could possibly can.
flicking your head away and taking off, the path inside the track was as empty as you hoped it could be.
“slow down, i just wanna talk.”
“leclerc.”
“you walk too fast,” you swore if you looked back and he is grinning. “you trying to escape from me?”
fuck.
“got a problem with that, leclerc?”
his dark green eyes met yours after you decided the risk was below the ‘manageable’ level to turn around.
“no,” he grinned at you. how you wish you could smack it off of his face. “i jus’ want some company while walking to the track, no?”
company, my ass.
clearing his throat, he looked at you, “you’re a pretty good rival though.”
gaining a nod and a smirk from you leclerc was cut short of his run time as his PR manager came to collect him to the ferrari garage. how sad. his messy hair, the confidential wave, and two eyes met yours one last time before you decided to head to the mothership of your mercedes headquarters.
big trouble, y/n. big trouble.
“y/n, we neeed to talk.”
the paddock was usually quiet upstairs, all the mechanics and engineers spent their time in garage down below. only toto, george, lewis, your manager, and their managers, and - obviously - you would spend time up here. also. is every private manager in the world annoyingly scary and friendly at the same time or what?
sitting down next to you on the black sofa of the mercedes headquarters by the pitch, you were face-to-face with your lovely manager.
clearing your nonexistent anxiety, “…yes?”
“look…the media is starting to notice your relationship with charles…”
“and..?”
“and,” he crossed his arms, “we need to work on keeping this situation private…it could affect your reputation. maybe after the soft launch phase is over, you can publicize it…if you want to, obviously.”
the fuck?
“…what are your thoughts?”
he looked into your face, not a single thought behind it. somehow the racetrack outside the notoriously big, shiny window of the mercedes paddock suddenly gained your attention, and he restored to snapping his fingers in front of your face.
“what-? oh right- for fuck’s sake! we’re not in a relationship!”
“and what about those paparazzis’ pictures? I thought we agreed on sharing every ‘public’ detail about your life with me?”
“first of all, privacy. second of all. you believe that?! anthony! you’re my manager, i would’ve told you if i was dating a ferrari driver!” grabbing a quick breath,
“do you think i want to date the reddest of all flags on the grid?!”
“yeah? but that’s not the impression the media got,” he said. “even max! max verstappen thought-”
“who cares what max thinks!” you thrown your head back on the sofa.
“PR could be good, but we don’t know if it’s going to blacklash-”
george russell. he walked up to you two arguing on the black sofa and smirked at you; clearly, he heard your talks about ‘the reddest of all flags on the grid.’
“shut your mouth, russell,” sighing sarcastically as you could and you turned to your manager, who was having the time of his life.
“I’m not saying anything,” he raised his hands defensively, grinning the shit out of the corners of his mouth.
“I’m a driver, not a play doll you could match-make for the team’s reputation. hell. doesn’t charles have a girlfriend?”
anthony pulled out his phone and scrolled through ‘something,’ “yes…charles…has a girlfriend, PR relationship?”
“what do you mean?”
putting his phone away, “doesn’t matter. but what the media care about is to get a story out of nothing.”
“…and?”
“you have a reputation of being a private figure, and you're an expert in keeping it that way. we just need to do that until the end of the season.”
george chuckled sarcastically, "she seems angry at us, guys.”
“i am. and i’m not dating anyone for mercedes. done,” you stood up from the sofa and beelined towards the door. “also. i’m telling toto.”
and someone finally heard you this time. the whole room’s atmosphere seemed to tense up as someone entered the door.
toto wolff.
“is there a problem, y/n?” toto asked as george smirked at the unfolding situation.
you swung your head towards the origin of the sound and cleared your throat, “your employee, mr. wolff, is trying to matchmake me with a ferrari driver.”
toto chuckled.
toto chuckled?
“so there is something between you and charles?” he raised his eyebrow at you. expectedly, george was holding his laughter in for his dear life.
“why does everyone thinks that we’re dating?! even toto?!”
“so you’re not dating leclerc?”
“no!”
congratulations. you have successfully crashed onto the sofa once again, groaning your pain out.
“she’s lying,” george chimed in.
“I. am. not.”
how surprising that george’s back kissed the sofa as you tackled him jokingly down. a moment of silence for toto to watch many of his best drivers tackle each other like it’s a normal day in kindergarten.
“are you sure you are not dating, leclerc?”
last straw. you clutched your bag and left george dysfunctional on the couch. walking past the room, you glanced back one last time and said with the best sarcasm, “i’m not. and I’m not dating him for mercedes. done! I’m a driver, not a doll!”
slamming the door shut, you headed for your private driver’s room.
"she's angry at us…” george chuckles nervously; obviously, with a hint of joy.
“no shit sherlock”
edit: part 2
part 2?? reblog, like, whatever the heck you want would be appreciated 😘
today’s a great day to take care of yourself, lots of luv 🤍
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