#so we started our own and now you want THAT too

[pucksandpower]

La Regina

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

Summary: a girl raised at her father’s knee goes from rising star to princess to queen (or in which becoming a legend runs in the Schumacher family)

You bounce excitedly in the passenger seat of your papa’s car as he pulls into the parking lot of the karting track. At 5-years-old, you’re too young to race officially, but he promised to let you drive some practice laps after the scheduled competition today.

“Remember, Maus, listen closely to the instructors and stay safe out there,” Michael says, ruffling your hair affectionately before getting out.

You scramble out after him, having to jog to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. You reach to take his hand, but freeze when a small crowd starts converging around your papa. Men in bright vests are rushing over, cameras flashing rapidly.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” You ask, startled by the commotion.

Before Michael can respond, a curly-haired woman thrusts a baby into his arms. “Oh my god, can you just hold her for one second? I need a picture!”

Your papa looks bewildered but graciously cradles the infant, giving an awkward smile as more and more people start shoving pieces of paper and pens in front of him.

“Excuse me, please, I have my daughter with me today,” he tries saying over the chaos, but no one is listening.

You shrink back, overwhelmed by the pushing crowd and flurry of voices pleading for autographs and photos. Where did all these people come from? This has never happened before when you’ve gone karting with your papa.

Sensing your unease, Michael gently passes the baby back to its mother and kneels down in front of you. “Hey, it’s okay, Maus. Why don’t you wait for me over there?” He gestures to a bench off to the side.

Part of you wants to cling to him, scared of all the strangers crowding around so aggressively. But you also don’t want him to have to worry about you on top of everything else. You nod bravely and make your way through the throng to the little bench, watching apprehensively as your papa tries politely handling the requests.

After what feels like forever, the crowd finally starts dispersing, though a few linger behind like stubborn cats begging for scraps. Michael shakes the last few hands and accepts some papers to sign before gratefully escaping over to you.

“I’m so sorry about that, Maus,” he says, looking apologetic as he plops down on the bench. “I didn’t expect such a scene on what’s supposed to be our fun day.”

“It’s okay, Papa.” You lean against his side, still a bit rattled but comforted by his familiar warmth. “Who were all those people? Why did they want your … uhh …“ You can’t quite remember the word for the scribbles people ask famous people for.

“Autographs,” Michael supplies with an amused chuckle, wrapping an arm around you. “And they wanted photos too, I suppose. I’m … well, I’m quite a famous racecar driver.”

You cock your head, trying to process this concept of your papa being some kind of celebrity. As far as you’re concerned, he’s just your goofy, loving dad who takes you karting and makes the silliest voices for all your stuffed animals at home.

“Really? Like the famous famous people on TV?” You’ve seen the paparazzi swarming the actors and musicians during awards shows, but you’d never imagined that could happen to your own papa.

Michael nods, drawing you closer with a squeeze. “Yes, somewhat like that, though it’s a bit excessive at a small karting event.” He laughs again and brushes some of your wayward hair from your face. “But you’re right, to you I’m just Papa. I don’t expect anything more from my favorite Maus.”

You beam at the affectionate nickname, all the earlier stress melting away. Who cares if strangers want your papa’s autograph or photos? All that matters is you two spending the day together like always.

“Can we go get our karts now?” You ask eagerly, bouncing a little on the bench. “I want to show you how fast I can go!”

“Of course!” Michael jumps up and scoops you into his arms with a playful growl, making you shriek giddily. “My little speed demon is going to leave me in the dust.”

He swings you up onto his shoulders and you cling on tightly as he strides toward the pit area. A few more people spot him and make a move closer with cameras and sharpies extended, but seem to think better of it when they see you perched up high.

The two of you spend the next couple hours karting together, trading places taking warm up laps and cheering each other on. At one point, a young attendant working the pit area approaches Michael somewhat nervously.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Schumacher?” He’s clutching a crumpled baseball cap in one hand, ducking his head shyly. “I’m just such a huge fan, would you mind taking a photo and signing this for me after your session?”

Your papa smiles kindly at the young man and takes the cap. “Not at all, no problem.” As the attendant walks away, looking elated, Michael turns to you with a wink. “See? That’s how you politely ask for an autograph.”

You giggle and mime zipping your lips. “Don’t worry, Papa, I won’t let the fame go to my head when I’m a famous racecar driver too someday.”

Scooping you up once more, Michael presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “That’s my girl. Now, last few laps — let’s see who can go the fastest without ending up in the grass!”

As evening starts falling, the two of you make your way back through the now nearly deserted lot after returning the rental karts. Most of the other karters have cleared out, leaving just you two strolling unhurriedly back to the car.

“Well Maus, despite the, uh, overexcited fans, I’d call this day a success,” Michael says, swinging your joined hands idly. “We both had our fun on the track, and I think you handled that crowd back there like a champ.”

You smile up at him, still so proud just to be his daughter. “I don’t care about all those other people, papa. As long as I have you, that’s all I need.”

Stopping beside the car, Michael crouches down and cups your face in his calloused racing palms, looking at you with such fierce adoration.

“Maus, you have me, always. No matter what happens out there,” he gestures vaguely at the empty track, “When I’m with you, I’m just Papa. My greatest accomplishment, my biggest award, is being your father. Verstanden?”

You launch yourself into his arms, hugging as tightly as you can. “Verstanden, Papa. I love you.”

“Ich liebe dich mehr, Maus,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your hair. “Now, what do you say we go get some victory ice cream?”

As the two of you climb into the car, you can’t keep the smile off your face, practically glowing with contentment. Sure, maybe your papa is some big famous racecar driver that everybody wants a piece of. But really, he’s just your papa — and you’re his whole world.

***

The ringing of the house phone cuts through the tense silence like a knife. You shrink further into the couch cushions as your mother rushes to answer it, shoulders visibly taut.

“Hello? No, I cannot make any comment at this time. Yes, I understand there is interest but-” Corinna breaks off, rubbing her temples wearily. “Please respect our privacy as a family right now. Thank you.”

She hangs up and leans against the wall, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. Before she can even draw a full breath, the phone rings again, shrill and insistent. With a muffled curse, your mother snatches it up.

“What? I told you, I cannot give any statements! This is a private matter. How did you even get this number?”

You watch apprehensively as she responds again, her voice rising in distress. In the days since your papa’s skiing accident, it seems like the entire world has been hounding your family, desperate for any scrap of information.

On the TV across the room, the endless cycle of news reports drones on lowly. Images of your papa’s broken, still body being rushed from the slopes into a helicopter. Flashing advancer texts speculating on his chances of recovery from the traumatic head injury.

It makes you feel ill.

Beside you on the couch, Mick sits blank-faced, looking nearly as pale and worn as your mother. At 14, he understands the gravity of the situation all too well. Your big brother has always idolized your papa, hoping to follow in his racing footsteps one day as well. The thought of him not being there to see the realization of that dream is devastating.

Gina is curled up in the armchair, her shoulders shaking every so often with muffled sobs. At 16, she’s arguably been taking this the hardest of all you kids. She keeps her face stoically dry in front of your mother, but you can see how red and puffy her eyes are from constant crying.

As for you, at 11-years-old, you’re somehow both numb and feeling everything all at once. Part of you still can’t fully process that this nightmare is real. That your hero, your papa, could be lying comatose in a hospital, hovering between life and death. The other part of you is overwhelmed in a tsunami of terror, panic, anger, sadness — any and every emotion crashing through you at all hours.

“Kids, I’m so sorry about this,” your mother says, defeated, as she rejoins you in the living room after ending her latest call. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened further overnight. “I know this is incredibly difficult and intrusive. But your papa is … he’s a public figure. People are concerned.”

“Incredibly insensitive is what they’re being,” Gina spits, uncurling herself from the chair enough to shoot your mother a resentful look. “We’re going through actual hell and all these people care about is getting a sound bite for the evening news!”

Corinna looks pained but doesn’t rebuke her. “I know, liebling, I know. But your papa has millions of fans all over the world who have followed his career for decades. Whether we like it or not, they care about him … and about us by extension.”

You think back to that day at the karting track all those years ago when you first realized your papa was what people called “famous”. How all those strangers clamored around him so aggressively just for a photo or an autograph. That level of fandom seemed exciting and novel at the time, when you were just a naïve 5-year-old. Now you see it for how intrusive and violating it is, this sense of entitlement people have to the private life of a public figure.

The phone starts ringing again, shattering the fragile quiet. Your mother squeezes her eyes shut and makes no move to get it this time. After four rings, the call goes to voicemail. A moment later, the tinny sound of an Italian voicemail being left blares through the speaker.

“Scusi, scusi, please, if there is any update on the condition of the great Michael Schumacher, any information at all! We are all holding vigils and saying prayers, but we must know how he fares! The world is watching and waiting!”

The words, pleading and demanding all at once, are like a slap across your face. The man’s voice is laced with such desperation, as if your papa’s life is mere entertainment to be consumedby the masses. You feel abruptly furious, incensed that a stranger’s morbid curiosity is given the same weight as your family’s anguish.

“Turn it off,” Mick mutters through clenched teeth, hunching over on the couch. “Just turn it off, Mama.”

Corinna nods numbly and reaches to end the voicemail, her mouth set in a grim line. Buzzing fills the room again as the TV drones on, the reporters’ voices a dull roar that you can no longer discern actual words from as your ears ring with white noise.

The shrill ringing of the phone cuts through once more, like a record scratching in your brain. Your mother flinches violently, hands coming up to clamp over her ears as she squeezes her eyes shut, finally at her breaking point.

Unable to watch this torture anymore, you surge to your feet and storm across the living room. You rip the phone from its cradle and hurl it against the far wall, the plastic casing shattering loudly. The ringing blessedly ends, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.

Mick and Gina stare at you with wide, stunned eyes. Your mother simply deflates, sliding down the wall to the floor as the adrenaline drains from her body. For several beats, no one dares breathe too loudly. Then, Gina starts to shake her head slowly, tears slipping free.

“Brava,” she murmurs, the barest hint of approval in her voice.

Your mother doesn’t scold you for the outburst. She merely reaches out a hand, silently beckoning you closer until you slowly cross the room again and sink to your knees in front of her. She cups your face in her palms, her own cheeks glistening with fresh tears.

“You’re right, liebling, you’re right,” she whispers brokenly. “This is about our family, not … not the world thinking they’re owed something.”

She pulls your head against her shoulder and you cling to her tightly as she begins to weep in earnest, great shuddering sobs wracking her whole frame. Gina scrambles over and tucks herself against your mother’s other side, and soon all three of you are tangled in each other’s arms, letting the tidal wave of grief crest over you.

Mick stays frozen on the couch, watching over your huddle with dark, haunted eyes. For the first time since this ordeal began, the four of you are united in simply feeling, truly letting yourselves shatter. No more putting on brave faces or pretending to be okay — from this moment, you can finally grieve as a family behind closed doors, blockading out the rest of the cruel, prying world.

Later that evening, after crying yourselves into an exhausted stupor, you drift up the stairs and sequester yourself in your bedroom. You bypass the framed photos of your papa on your nightstand, the sight of his bright smile and twinkling eyes too searing at the moment. Instead, you sink to your knees in the middle of the floor and clasp your hands tightly, bowing your head to murmur desperate pleas.

“Please, please let my papa be okay. I don’t care about all his fame or the stupid reporters. I just want him to get better and come home to us. He’s not just the famous Michael Schumacher to me. He’s Papa. He’s my whole world.”

The words spill out in a torrent, all the fear and longing you’ve been bottling up for the better part of a week erupting forth. You plead to any higher power that may be listening, bargaining away your future, your dreams, anything — as long as your papa pulls through this nightmare.

How many times had you taken for granted those moments of him just being your dad — making you pancakes on Saturday mornings, dozing on the couch during family movie nights, playfully tossing you into the pool when you grew too whiny in the summer heat? You’d give anything to have those simple, precious daddy-daughter moments back.

“The world can have his trophies and titles,” you whisper fiercely, tears slipping free to patter on the carpet. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want my papa. Please, please bring him back to us.”

You curl in on yourself, forehead pressing into the floor as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. All the adoring fans, the fawning media, the hangers-on clamoring for a piece of his glory — they only know the manufactured public persona of Michael Schumacher, legendary racer and famous celebrity. But to you, he’s always just been the quiet hero tucking you into bed at night, the gentle presence reading stories in funny voices, the mighty protector pulling you in for all-encompassing bear hugs.

You miss that wonderful, silly, tender father more than anything in the world. You don’t give a damn about his racing accolades or his fame. You just desperately need your papa back home where he belongs — with his family, the people who loved and treasured him most as simply Michael.

Just Michael. Your one and only papa.

The raw ache of that longing consumes you utterly. You lay there amid the fading light from your bedroom windows, dreams and memories of your papa flickering behind your eyelids as you plead to any benevolent force that may be listening. All you want is the chance to make more joyful memories with him, to hear his rich laugh, to keep basking in his unconditional love for years and years to come.

Please, you beg the universe silently, one last time. Please let this nightmare end. Don’t let the brightest light in my world be extinguished before its time.

Let me have my papa back.

***

A tense hush has fallen over the dining room table, the clinking of utensils against plates the only sound cutting through the thick silence. Gina avoids everyone’s eyes, pushing food around her plate listlessly. Mick stares down at his half-eaten dinner, jaw working like he’s chewing over something weighty. You pick at a bread roll, too knotted with anxiety to muster much appetite.

Your mother is the one to finally break the stifling quiet, clearing her throat. “Kids, I know these last few weeks have been … incredibly difficult for us all.”

You risk a glance up at Corinna. Her eyes are tight at the corners, her mouth a taut line. Just like all of you, the constant vigil at your papa’s bedside, combined with the relentless badgering from the media, has clearly taken its toll.

“But we have to keep trying to be a family, yes?” She reaches across the table to grip your hand. “We’re all Michael has right now. We have to … to stick together for him.”

You nod numbly, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat at the reminder of your papa’s unchanged condition. The waiting, the not knowing if or when he’ll wake up, is a special kind of torment you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Mick abruptly shoves his plate away, the porcelain scraping loudly across the wood. You all flinch a little at the harsh sound.

“I’ve been thinking ...” he starts, then seems to reconsider his words, shoulders tightening fractionally. “Well, Y/N, you know how I … how I race under Mama’s last name?”

You frown slightly, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Betsch, yes. Because you wanted to make your own name without the expectation and pressure of being Michael Schumacher’s son.”

He dips his chin once, looking almost pained. “Exactly. And I think … I think maybe you should consider doing the same.”

The words sit heavy and convolulenting between you all like a sack of wet cement. You blink dumbly, hardly comprehending what he’s suggesting at first. When the implication hits you, you actually recoil as if he’d slapped you across the face.

“What? No. No, absolutely not, Mick. How can you even say that?”

“Y/N, just hear me out,” he pleads, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “With Papa … with what happened, the paparazzi and the fans, they’re going to be watching our every move even more than before. Especially you since you’re planning to continue competing-”

“Don’t you dare make this about his condition,” you spit, fury thrumming through your veins like struck lightning. “And of course I plan to keep racing — it’s what Papa would want! I’m not going to hide from his name like it’s some shameful thing!”

Gina is watching the exchange with wide, startled eyes, her food forgotten. Mick runs an agitated hand through his hair, shaking his head firmly.

“It’s not about hiding or shame, it’s about protecting yourself! Don’t you see how crazy things have gotten? All the reporters harassing us, the fans leaving awful messages online hoping for updates ...”

He leans forward, expression almost desperate. “If you race as Betsch, you can compete without having that extra spotlight. You can just be a normal kid on the track without people peering in.”

Heat rushes up the back of your neck in waves of humiliation and rage. How dare he insinuate that inheriting your papa’s legacy is some kind of burden to be shrugged off? That the name Schumacher is a burden to bear rather than a badge of honor?

“I’m not you, Mick,” you bite out, fists clenching beneath the table. “Maybe racing under Mama’s name helped you deal with the pressure better and that’s fine. But I’m proud to be Michael Schumacher’s daughter! And if people can’t respect that, if they think it means they own a piece of me, then they can go to hell!”

“Language!” Your mother gasps, both appalled and slightly impressed. But you ignore her admonishment, too fired up to rein it in now.

“What, you think pretending to be someone else is going to spare me from living in Papa’s shadow anyway?” You shake your head adamantly, leaning across the table towards Mick. “It’s not, and you know it. Even if I raced under a fake name, everyone is still going to know exactly who I am and make comparisons.”

Slamming your palms on the table, you surge to your feet, chair screeching harshly against the floor. All the pain and uncertainty of these past few weeks is bubbling over into bitter, biting words.

“So why should I hide it? Why can’t I take pride in my name and my heritage? Maybe it’ll mean more scrutiny, but it’s a million times better than feeling like I have to be ashamed! Like I can’t fully honor Papa and make him proud!”

Chest heaving, you stare down a wide-eyed Mick, almost daring him to challenge you further. He seems to read the conviction blazing in your eyes, features softening into chagrin.

“You’re right ...” he murmurs with a wince. “You’re right, Y/N, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

You hold his repentant gaze for a long moment before deflating back into your chair with a muted thud. In the ringing silence, you can hear your mother’s soft sniffles from the far end of the table. When you look over, she has her head bowed, hands pressed to her eyes as she cries quietly.

“M-Mama?” Gina ventures in a small voice, reaching across to grasp her mother’s wrist. “What’s wrong?”

Corinna lowers her hands, swiping at the tears streaking her cheeks. When she meets your bewildered gaze, her expression is a complicated brew of pride and heart-wrenching sadness.

“Nothing is wrong, liebling,” she assures Gina with a watery smile, before turning back to you. “Y/N, you’re so much like your papa, do you know that? So brave and determined … so full of that same fighting spirit.”

She dips her chin, lips trembling faintly. “He would be so proud to hear you defend his name like that. To see you ready to take on the weight of wearing it, regardless of what the world throws at you.”

More tears spill forth, but she brushes them away impatiently with the backs of her hands.

“But liebchen, you have to understand … Michael spent decades bearing that scrutiny and expectation. People analyzing his every move, always under a spotlight so harsh it burned. I never wanted that for any of you.”

Sliding her chair back, your mother crosses to kneel before you, cradling your face gently between her palms. Her eyes are shining but intensely serious, almost pleading with you.

“The Schumacher name casts such a long shadow, one so great that your own light can be eclipsed before you ever have a chance to properly shine. I don’t want you smothered by that burden, mein schatz. I want you free to make your own amazing mark on this world, completely unchained.”

You feel your throat grow tight at her words, the weight of them ringing so true and terribly sad. You reach up to circle your fingers around her wrists, holding her hands to your cheeks like vices.

“I know, Mama, I know,” you whisper roughly. “But that light you want me to shine? Papa is the one who sparked it inside me in the first place.”

You meet her watery gaze steadily, willing her to understand the conviction taking root inside you.

“The joy and passion I have for racing doesn’t come from some anonymous dream. It comes from him — from the nights he spent giving me a play-by-play of his biggest victories, from the days we spent at the karting tracks making memories, from everything I want so desperately to honor.”

Leaning forward until your brows nearly touch, you let the pleasing words spill out directly from your heart.

“So please, please don’t ask me to race as anyone other than your daughter, yes, but also proudly as Michael Schumacher’s daughter. That name isn’t a burden or a shadow to me. It’s something I want to carry forward and make blaze even brighter.”

Your mother’s eyes slip shut as she draws in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, she simply holds your face cradled in her palms, seeming to bask in your impassioned words. When her eyes finally open again, they are overflowing with a fierce tenderness.

“Oh liebchen,” she murmurs, voice thick with an odd mix of grief and wonder. “You are your father’s daughter through and through. So determined, so unafraid to face the world head on ...”

She strokes her thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, swiping away the dampness there. “I only hope he knows just how brightly his fire still burns in you. How it is living on in the most brilliant way.”

Surging up onto her knees, your mother pulls you into a fierce embrace, tucking your head beneath her chin. You cling to her tightly, drawing strength from her warmth, her tireless support and love. Over her shoulder, you can see Mick and Gina watching silently, their own eyes overly bright.

When your mother finally leans back, cupping your face once more, her expression has regained some of its usual firmness and resolution.

“Very well, then,” she nods, offering you a watery but determined smile. “If you truly feel ready to take on the world, to claim that name and legacy as yours, then we will face it together. As a family.”

She rises lithely to her feet, drawing you up along with her. Gathering Mick and Gina in with the sweep of her arms, she folds you all in her protective embrace, holding your foreheads together in the center.

“You may be Schumachers, but that name does not define or limit you,” she declares, quiet but firm. “It is simply one part of your identity, one piece of the incredible legacy you inherited. What you choose to make of it, how brightly you make that legacy burn, is up to you alone.”

She pulls back just enough to meet each of your eyes in turn, her own gleaming with resolute pride.

“So let them watch, let them scrutinize and sneer and make their judgments. You will simply keep chasing your passions and living your truths. Yes, the world may know you as Schumachers, but you alone will define what that name represents, now and for generations to come.”

***

The roar of the engines fades as you cross the finish line, taking the chequered flag. The broadcast team erupts in excitement.

“Unbelievable! Y/N Schumacher has done it — the daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher wins the Formula 2 championship in her rookie year!”

You can hardly believe it yourself as you start your cooldown lap, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The pit crew is cheering wildly, holding up the #1 sign. Your race engineer is on the radio, his voice cracking with joy. “You’re a champion, Y/N! A first-year champion!”

“What an incredible drive from the young German. Shades of her father with that relentless determination and racecraft. She’s carried on the Schumacher name proudly.”

As you return to the pit lane, you spot Mick getting out of his own car. He has a huge smile on his face, eyes shining with pride. You take a moment to drink it all in as you bring your car to a stop and he’s the first one there, ripping off your helmet so he can hug you tightly.

“You did it! I’m so proud of you!” He’s beaming as he pulls back to look at you.

“Aww, Mick ...” You blink back happy tears, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what you’ve accomplished. “I couldn’t have done it without you pushing me every single race.”

Mick shakes his head dismissively. “This was all you. You were the faster driver this season, plain and simple.” His face falls a little. “I really thought I had you there at the end, but you just wouldn’t give up.”

You grin cheekily. “Of course not! I’m a Schumacher — we never give up.”

“What a beautiful moment between the siblings. You can see the immense pride Mick has for his sister, despite coming up just short of winning the championship himself.”

The rest of the team surrounds the two of you, lifting you both up onto their shoulders as the celebrations kick into full gear. You lock eyes with Mick over the sea of smiling faces and he winks at you contentedly.

Later, after you’ve returned to the garage, you find a quiet moment alone with Mick. He pulls you into another hug, this one more lingering.

“I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You’ve worked so incredibly hard for this.” Mick’s voice is thick with emotion.

You squeeze him tightly. “Thank you, Mick. That means everything coming from you.”

He pulls back, cupping your face fondly. “I remember when we were kids, dreaming of following in Papa’s footsteps. And now look at us!”

You laugh, a few happy tears spilling over. “I know, it’s crazy! I couldn’t have done this without your help, you know. You’ve been by my side every step of the way.”

“A storybook ending for the Schumacher siblings. Y/N cementing herself as a future star, with her older brother not far behind.”

Mick shakes his head adamantly. “No, Y/N, this was all your talent and determination. I just got a front row seat to watching greatness in the making.” His eyes are shining with sincerity.

You throw your arms around his neck, struck by how lucky you are to have such an amazing brother. “I love you, Mick. Thank you for always believing in me.”

He hugs you fiercely. “I’ll always believe in you. You’re a champion now, but I know this is just the beginning for you.”

The team arrives then, champagne bottles in hand and ready to continue the celebration. You pull back and grin at Mick mischievously, cracking open the first bottle with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you … for now.”

The bubbly liquid sprays everywhere as you both dissolve into laughter, reveling in this perfect moment of sibling bonding and love. Mick pulls you into a wet hug, so proud and grateful to share this with you.

“And an iconic image — the Schumacher children celebrating a Formula 2 title just like their father did in the upper series so many times before. A changing of the guard, with the name Schumacher set to dazzle racing fans once more for years to come.”

Later that night, after you’ve showered off the champagne and slipped into comfy clothes, there’s a soft knock at your hotel room door. You open it to find Mick standing there, shifting awkwardly.

“Hey, you’ve got a second?” His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, like he’s been crying.

“Of course, what’s up?” You gesture him inside, concerned by his demeanor.

Mick enters slowly, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He seems to be struggling to find the words.

You rest a hand on his arm. “Mick, you can tell me anything, you know that.”

He nods jerkily, finally meeting your eyes. “I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You have no idea how much it means to me to see you accomplishing your dreams.” His voice catches with emotion.

“But?” You prod gently.

Mick’s eyes water again. “But … it’s also really hard for me. This was my dream first, you know? To become a champion like Papa.” He swipes at the tears angrily. “And now you’ve beaten me to it. I’m just … I’m struggling with that a bit.”

Your heart clenches at his quiet admission. You pull Mick into a tight hug, rubbing his back soothingly. “Oh, Mick … I’m so sorry. I never wanted to take that away from you.”

He shakes his head against your shoulder. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all. You earned this, fair and square. I’m just … dealing with some complicated emotions, I guess.”

You push him back by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes intently. “Mick, listen to me. You are one of the most naturally gifted drivers I’ve ever seen. This is not the end for you, not even close. You’re going to be a champion too, I know it.”

Mick seems to deflate slightly at your words, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you state firmly. “We’re going to take this to the top level together. And we’re going to make Papa even more proud than he already is.”

A slow smile spreads across Mick’s face. “Together,” he repeats, reaching out to take your hand and give it a squeeze.

You squeeze back reassuringly. “Always together. You and me, just like when we were kids. We’re a team, remember?”

Mick nods, the brightness returning to his eyes. He seems lighter now, the melancholy cloud lifted by your words of encouragement.

On impulse, you throw your arms around him again, nearly knocking him over with the force of your hug. Mick laughs delightedly, squeezing you just as tightly.

“Thank you, Y/N. I needed to hear that from you,” he murmurs shakily into your hair.

You pull back just enough to grin at him cheekily. “What are little sisters for?”

Mick lets out a surprised bark of laughter, warmth and affection shining from every part of his expression as he gazes at you fondly. “You’ll always be my little sis, champion or not.”

It’s your turn to laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “Well this little sis just kicked your ass this season, so show some respect!”

Mick’s eyes crinkle with mirth. “I’ll remember that for next year, believe me.”

***

It’s a crisp autumn evening at the Schumacher family home in the Swiss Alps. You’re curled up on the plush couch in the living room, flipping through a magazine while your brother paces back and forth anxiously.

“Will you please sit down?” You ask, eyeing him over the top of the pages. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Mick runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Sorry, I’m just … worked up, I guess.”

You set the magazine aside. “About what? We haven’t had a race in weeks.”

He stops his pacing to face you. “You know the season’s almost over, right? And Haas still hasn’t said anything about re-signing me for next year.”

“Oh, Mick.” You offer him a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. You’ve had a solid season.”

Mick flops down next to you, deflating a little. “I don’t know. There are so many other options on the table. What if Haas decides to go a different direction?”

“Then you’ll find another seat,” you say firmly. “Any team would be lucky to have you behind the wheel.”

He manages a half-smile. “Thanks. I just wish I had your confidence sometimes.”

“What can I say?” You flash him a cheeky grin. “It’s a gift.”

The peaceful moment is shattered as both of your phones start ringing in unison. You exchange a puzzled look before digging them out.

“My manager,” Mick says, furrowing his brow as he answers. “Hello?”

You do the same, pressing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Nicolas, what’s up?”

For the next few minutes, you and Mick are silent, listening intently with rapidly changing expressions — yours elated, his crestfallen. When you finally hang up, Mick is staring at the floor, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Well?” He asks, voice tight. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

You take a deep breath, trying to tamp down your surging excitement. “Ferrari wants me for next season.”

Mick’s face falls even further, if possible. “You’re kidding.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this!” You can’t keep the grin from overtaking your features. “Can you believe it? Driving for the Scuderia! It’s a dream come true!”

“Yeah, for you maybe,” Mick mutters darkly.

You blink at his tone, smile fading slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He drags a hand down his face wearily. “Haas declined to re-sign me for next year.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What? No, that can’t be right!”

“Afraid so.” Mick’s voice is flat, resigned. “They said something about … needing to bring in fresh blood or some bullshit excuse.”

You scoot closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Mick, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

“Don’t be.” He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it comes off as dejected. “At least one of us is moving up in the world.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” You protest. “We’re teammates! We were supposed to take on Formula 1 together!”

Mick snorts humorlessly. “Looks like that’s not going to happen after all.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between you. You open your mouth, searching for the right words of reassurance, but come up empty. How can you comfort him when your own dream has come true at his expense?

“Hey.” Mick’s somber tone breaks the quiet. “I’m happy for you, you know. Really, I am.”

You meet his sincere gaze, feeling your eyes start to well up. “I know. But that doesn’t make this any less shitty for you.”

He manages a rueful smile. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

“So what are you going to do now?” You ask quietly.

Mick lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Keep grinding, I guess. Look for another seat, any seat, even if it’s not in F1 next season.”

“You can’t give up on F1!” You protest instantly. “You’re too good for that, Mick.”

“Am I, though?” He lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Face it, Y/N, you’ve always been the better driver. This just proves it.”

You shake your head adamantly. “That’s not true at all! You’re every bit as talented as me.”

“Then why did Ferrari pick you instead of me?” There’s no accusation in his words, just weariness.

You falter, mind churning as you search for an answer that won’t come. “I … don’t know.”

“Exactly.” Mick closes his eyes briefly. “Maybe it’s for the best. At least this way, one of us still gets to live out the Schumacher legacy and race for Ferrari. Carry on the family name, you know?”

“But you’re a Schumacher too,” you say, feeling your throat start to tighten with unshed tears. “It should be both of us out there, not just me.”

Mick reaches over to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Hey, don’t cry about it. I’ll be okay, really.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” You swipe angrily at the moisture gathering in your eyes. “It’s not fair, Mick. It’s just not fair at all.”

He levels you with a look that’s decades older than his years. “Life rarely is. You know that as well as I do.”

You fall silent, unable to formulate a response. He’s right, you realize with a pang. The two of you, of all people, should understand that success and failure often go hand-in-hand, even for the most talented competitors.

Pursing your lips, you lean forward and pull Mick into a fierce hug. He tenses for a split second before wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I’m still so proud of you,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be my incredible big brother.”

Mick lets out a shaky exhale against your hair. “And you’re the most badass little sister a guy could ask for. Ferrari has no idea what they’re in for.”

You pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, emboldened by the warm affection shining in them.

“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.

He arches an eyebrow quizzically. “What’s that?”

A mischievous grin tugs at your lips. “That you’re not going to take it easy on me whenever you’re back on the grid.”

***

You take a deep breath as you pull your sleek new Ferrari up to the iconic factory in Maranello. This place holds so many memories — some joyful, others bittersweet. Your father cemented himself as a legend here, and you can’t help but feel the weight of that legacy on your shoulders now more than ever.

The door swings open and there stands Fred Vasseur offering you a warm smile. “Y/N, welcome home.”

You return the smile, unable to mask the flood of emotions. “It’s good to be back, Fred.”

He gestures for you to follow him inside. “I’m sure this place brings back quite a few memories.”

“You have no idea,” you murmur, taking in the familiar sights and smells. The rosso corsa that coats every surface, the scent of machinery and high-octane fuel … it’s intoxicating.

A tiny you runs through the hallways, giggling madly as your frantic mother tries to catch up. “Mick! Y/N! Get back here this instant!”

Mick peeks out from behind a workbench, sticking his tongue out at Gina, who playfully swats at him. You spot the perfect hiding spot — a massive green recycling bin tucked in the corner ...

“Y/N? Are you still with me?” Fred’s voice breaks you from your reverie.

You shake your head. “Sorry, got a bit lost in thought there. This place just … feels like stepping into the past.”

Fred nods knowingly. “I can only imagine. But today is about your future with the team.” He leads you through the winding corridors, pointing out various departments. “Over here is aerodynamics, that hallway takes you to the design labs ...”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Your father’s voice echoes down the corridor, his tone playful but tinged with desperation. You stifle a giggle from your hiding spot as his footsteps draw closer.

“Michael, any luck?” That’s Paolo, one of the mechanics. You chance a peek and see half the team has been enlisted to search for you.

Your dad scrubs a hand over his face. “She’s too good at this game. Should’ve known better than to play hide-and-seek in a place this size.”

You chuckle softly at the memory, prompting a curious look from Fred. “Sorry, just … reminiscing again.”

He gives you an easy grin. “By all means, feel free to share. I’d love to hear some of those old stories.”

You take a breath, composing yourself before launching into the tale. “Well, there was this one time when I was maybe … four or five? Mick and I were causing an unholy ruckus as usual, and Papa suggested a game of hide-and-seek to wear us out. Big mistake on his part.”

Fred’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Let me guess, you proved to be a master hider?”

“You could say that.” You grin mischievously. “I found this big recycling bin, crawled inside, and stayed completely silent while the whole team tore the place apart looking for me. Papa was just about to call in the overalls for backup when Paolo finally peeked in the bin.”

Fred throws his head back with a hearty laugh. “I can just picture your poor father’s face when they found you! He must’ve been both relieved and completely exasperated.”

You nod. “Oh, he wore that particular blend of emotions often when we were young terrors around here.”

The two of you continue chatting amicably as Fred shows you around the various facilities — the simulator room, the engine workshop, even the gym and physiotherapy center. With each new area unveiled, another flood of nostalgia washes over you.

You and Mick sprint into the wide-open workshop, engines and miscellaneous car pieces scattered all around. Gina is closing in, her longer legs giving her an advantage.

“Got you now, you little gremlins!” She scoops Mick up with one arm, then turns her sights on you.

You let out a shriek of laughter, dodging around a massive piece of equipment as your mother joins the chase. “Come here, Maus! It’s time for your nap!”

You shake your head furiously. “No nap! No nap!”

Corinna’s hand finally snags the back of your shirt, and you erupt into a fit of giggles as she pulls you into a hug ...

“That’s some smile you’ve got going there,” Fred notes with a wry grin. “I take it another happy memory?”

You give an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Just … remembering how this place used to be our personal jungle gym. Mick, Gina, and I would run absolute loops around Mama while she tried to wrangle us for nap time.”

Fred chuckles fondly. “I can picture three tiny terrors leaving chaos in their wake.” His expression softens. “It must be incredibly special to be back here after all these years. To follow in your father’s footsteps like this.”

You swallow hard against the swell of emotions. “It’s … overwhelming, if I’m being honest. But in the best possible way.” You glance around at the familiar setting with new eyes. “These halls practically raised me. And now … now I get to write my own chapter here.”

Fred gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You’ve got a long road ahead, but I have complete faith you’ll make us all proud, Y/N.”

You straighten your shoulders, giving him a determined nod. “I’m ready.”

As you follow him further into the factory, you can’t help but revel in the rush of coming full circle. Yes, this team, this place, is indelibly woven into your childhood. But now … now it’s time to create new memories.

To race.

To win.

To become a legend.

***

The crowd outside the Ferrari headquarters swells as you emerge from the famous red doors for the first time as an official Scuderia Ferrari driver. Shouts and cheers erupt from every direction, fans pressing forward eagerly with pens and photos clutched in their hands.

“Over here, Y/N!”

“Un selfie, per favore!”

“Can you sign this for my daughter?”

You plaster on a polite smile, trying to graciously oblige as many autograph and photo requests as possible. But the throngs only grow more insistent, hands grabbing at you from all angles as the crowd closes in. Your heart races and you feel yourself starting to panic at the lack of personal space.

“Per favore, let her breathe!” An insistent voice cuts through the commotion in lightly accented Italian.

The crowd parts slightly as a familiar, lean figure pushes through — your new teammate. His green eyes meet yours with a reassuring look as he plants himself firmly by your side.

“Give her some space!” Charles barks out in English this time. “She can’t breathe!”

You shoot him a grateful glance as the fans reluctantly take a step back. Charles gently takes your arm and pulls you out of the scrum.

“Sorry about that,” he says with an apologetic smile, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I know how intense they can be around here.”

“No, thank you,” you reply earnestly. “I was about two seconds away from an anxiety attack.”

Charles chuckles. “Well, we can’t have the new driver cracking under pressure on day one.”

You make a face at his teasing remark. “Watch it, pretty boy.”

Laughing, Charles puts his arm around your shoulders in a friendly gesture. “Come on, I know just the place to escape the madness for a bit. Dinner’s on me.”

He guides you across the plaza and down a side street to a cozy trattoria — Ristorante Montana, known as the unofficial “Ferrari restaurant” frequented by team members. As you enter, a stout woman with a warm, welcoming smile emerges from the back.

“Ah, Charles! Welcome back. And this must be ...” Her eyes widen as they land on you. “Oh, la piccola principessa is all grown up!”

Flustered, you open your mouth to respond, but the woman has already swept you up in a tight embrace.

“Rossella, you’re smothering the poor girl!” A elderly man’s voice calls out in amused rebuke.

“Hush, Maurizio, and pour us some wine!” Rossella releases you and holds you at arm’s length, beaming. “Michael’s little girl, all woman now. I’ll never forget the first time your father brought you in here as a bambina.”

She gestures to a framed photo hanging on the wall of a much younger Rossella standing next to Michael, who is holding a grinning toddler — unmistakably you.

“He was so proud,” Rossella continues misty-eyed. “Just like I know he would be of you today, following in your father’s footsteps.”

You swallow hard, touched by the warm welcome and memory. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Charles watching you with a soft smile.

Rossella shifts gears abruptly, all business. “Now, what will you two have? The usual for you, Charles? And for you, la principessa, I insist you try the gnocchi al ragú. Just like my nonna used to make it.”

As Rossella whisks off to the kitchen, Maurizio appears with a bottle of deep red wine and two glasses.

“To new beginnings,” he toasts with a wink, pouring for you and Charles.

You raise your glass to clink against Charles’ with a smile. “New beginnings.”

Over pasta and wine, you and Charles fall into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth as the weight of the evening’s earlier stress dissipates. You find yourself repeatedly distracted by the dimpled grin that lights up his face whenever he laughs at one of your quips.

“So is this a regular hazing ritual you put all the rookies through?” You ask innocently. “Get them away from the crowds and ply them with wine so they’re too drunk to be nervous on day one?”

Charles barks out a laugh. “You’ve found me out! Although I do seem to recall my own initiation being a lot harder. Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.”

“Old age? You’re what …12?” You retort, eyes dancing with mirth.

The waiter arrives with the dessert menu, but Rossella shoos him away.

“No, no menu. I’m bringing you the tiramisu to share. My secret recipe.”

Charles groans in delight. “You’re a legend, Rossella.”

She pats his cheek affectionately before disappearing again. A comfortable silence falls between you and Charles as you each take a bite of the rich, velvety tiramisu.

“Mmmm, this is literally heaven,” you murmur happily.

Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.

Your eyes catch movement out of the corner and you turn to see Rossella returning, carrying a large framed photo under her arm. She sets it down on the empty chair next to you with a proud grin.

It’s a glamor shot of you from a recent photoshoot for Vogue Italia — hair and makeup impeccable, lips parted in a secret smile as you gaze directly at the camera.

Rossella rests a hand on your shoulder. “For me, bellissima? So we can hang la principessa right next to il padre.”

Touched, you take the proffered sharpie and scribble out a quick inscription before signing your name with a flourish at the bottom.

“Grazie mille,” Rossella breathes, throwing an arm around you to squeeze you against her ample frame. “You’ve made this old heart very happy tonight.”

When she finally releases you, you see Charles watching you both with a soft, almost wistful expression. You raise your eyebrows at him in question, but he just shakes his head with a smile.

As you and Charles prepare to depart, Rossella calls out once more. “You come back soon, eh principessa? I have more pictures to collect.”

You throw her a wink over your shoulder. “D’accordo, d���accordo. We’ll be back soon!”

Out on the street, you pause, conscious of the evening rapidly drawing to a close. You turn to Charles, studying him properly for the first time. His deep green eyes crinkle at the corners as he meets your gaze.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t swooped in to rescue me back there.”

Charles shrugs nonchalantly, but his expression is kind. “We look out for our own in Ferrari. That’s what teammates are for, no?”

A beat passes, the momentary tension thickening between you. Then Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, I should let you get going before your handlers send out a search party. Need me to call you a car?”

“No, no I’m good,” you reply quickly, trying to mask your disappointment at the night ending. “My performance coach has the car around front.”

You start to turn away, then impulsively pivot back. Rising up on your toes, you throw your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a brief, platonic hug.

“Seriously, thank you,” you murmur in his ear. “For everything.”

As you pull back, your faces are just inches apart. Charles’ eyes are warm, his gaze intense. For a dizzying moment, you’re certain he’s going to kiss you. Then just as suddenly, the moment passes and he steps back with a friendly smile.

“Anytime, princesse. I’ll see you bright and early next week for our first time running the SF-23 on the simulator.”

With a wink, he turns and saunters off down the street, hands shoved in his pockets in that effortlessly cool way of his. You let out a long breath, flustered and exhilarated all at once.

Your performance coach has indeed been waiting with the car, looking mildly concerned. “Everything alright?”

You flash her a bright smile, practically skipping to the car. “It is now, Mara. It absolutely is.”

Your first day as a Ferrari driver was certainly more than you bargained for. But as you settle into the plush leather seats, you can’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Something tells you this new chapter with the Scuderia is going to be an adventure — in more ways than one.

As Mara pulls away from the curb, you catch a final glimpse of Charles striding confidently down the street. Even from a distance, you can make out the dimpled smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back against the headrest, you think back to the memory of his arm slung casually around your shoulders and sigh contentedly. Yes, you have a feeling this is just the beginning of what’s shaping up to be a very interesting partnership with Charles Leclerc.

***

Sebastian looks over the wine list, pretending to be engrossed in selecting the perfect vintage as he peers over the top of the menu. His eyes are fixated on the entrance to the upscale Italian restaurant, waiting for Charles and you to arrive.

This had better work, he thinks to himself. The two of you have been making googly eyes at each other for months now, but are both too stubborn to make a move.

Finally, the hostess leads Charles and you into the dining room. Sebastian ducks down, pulling the brim of his fedora lower over his face and adjusting the fake mustache he’s wearing as a disguise. He watches as the hostess shows Charles and you to an intimate table for two by the window, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your faces.

“There must be some mistake,” Charles says, looking around in confusion. “I was under the impression we were meeting Sebastian here for dinner?”

You look equally perplexed. “That’s what he told me too. He said to meet at 8 o’clock sharp.”

“Well this is just awkward,” Charles runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Should we wait for him or ...”

Before you can respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of bread and butter. “Good evening, my name is Gerardo and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Actually, we’re still waiting on-” Charles begins, but the waiter cuts him off.

“Ah yes, Mr. Vettel asked me to inform you that he will be unable to join this evening after all. A last minute obligation came up. He insisted I take excellent care of you both and that the evening is on his treat.” Gerardo smiles broadly. “So what will you have to drink?”

Sebastian smirks to himself at his cleverly orchestrated ruse from his secluded table in the back corner. He watches with bated breath as a flustered Charles and you exchange an awkward look.

“I’ll have a glass of Chianti,” you say finally, breaking the tension.

“Make that two,” Charles adds with a resigned sigh.

As Gerardo heads off to grab your drinks, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. “You know, we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Charles says, ever the gentleman. “I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, offering him a warm smile that makes Sebastian’s heart melt a little. “It would be rude to ruin the evening Sebastian so carefully planned, even if he’s not actually here to enjoy it.”

Charles visibly relaxes at your acceptance of the situation. “You’re right, of course. If it’s a free dinner, we would be fools to turn that down!”

You both share a laugh, finally breaking the ice. Sebastian feels a swell of pride watching the two of you start to let your guards down around each other.

Over the next hour or so, Sebastian is delighted to see Charles and you become more at ease, trading jokes and stories over several delectable courses of pasta, veal, and freshly baked focaccia. He’s never seen either of you look so lighthearted and carefree, nor has he witnessed two people connect on such an organic, genuine level before. It’s positively magical to behold.

Gerardo arrives once more, this time bearing a decadent slice of torta della nonna for you to share for dessert. “Compliments of the house,” he announces with a wink before departing.

You immediately dig into the lemony confection with gusto. “Oh my god, this is dangerously good,” you moan through a mouthful of pastry cream and flaky crust.

Charles tries and fails to stifle a laugh at your unabashed enthusiasm. “You’ve got a little ...” he gestures vaguely at the corners of your mouth.

“What? Where?” You ask, attempting to wipe the stray crumbs and smears of powdered sugar from your cheeks.

“Here, let me,” Charles says softly, reaching across the table with his cloth napkin.

Sebastian watches with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as Charles tenderly swipes the napkin along your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek in the process. The moment seems to last an eternity, the two of you locked in each other’s smoldering gaze.

Then, ever so slowly, Charles leans across the table towards you. Sebastian can scarcely breathe as he witnesses the magnetic pull drawing the two of you together. This is it, this is finally happening, he marvels silently.

Sebastian lets out an inadvertent yelp of glee and instantly slaps his hands over his mouth. A table of nearby diners turns to gawk at the strange mustached man.

“Ahem, sorry! Hairball,” Sebastian rasps out in a terrible Italian accent. He slinks down in the booth, burning with embarrassment as the other patrons slowly turn away with disgusted looks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles and you also turn towards the commotion, the heated moment effectively ruined. Damn it, he was so close!

You and Charles eventually turn back towards each other, the awkwardness having returned. “We should, uh, probably ask for the check soon,” Charles mumbles, unable to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve got an early training session in the morning anyway,” you reply, the disappointment evident in your voice as you stare down at the table.

Inwardly cursing his rotten luck, Sebastian motions for the bill and slips his black credit card into the folder when Gerardo brings it. He knows the only way to redeem this night is to insist you and Charles stay for one more drink. Maybe add a little more wine confidence to help reignite that spark you both nearly combusted over just moments ago.

As Gerardo whisks away to process Sebastian’s payment, the older German steels his nerves. He removes his ridiculous disguise, straightens his tie, and makes his way over to your table with purpose.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sebastian asks with an exaggerated wink as he reaches you. “It appears Mr. Leclerc and Miss Schumacher were stood up this evening. For shame!”

“Ah, Seb!” Charles laughs in surprise at seeing his friend and former teammate. “We should have known you were behind this madness.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “You’re a menace! I can’t believe you tricked us like that.”

Sebastian claps his hands together and flashes you both a devilish grin. “What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic who cannot abide two clearly smitten people tiptoeing around each other any longer. Now, Gerardo is going to bring you the finest Barolo they have, on my dime, and you are going to remedy this sexual tension situation once and for all over another bottle or three!”

Charles opens his mouth to protest, but you laugh delightedly and nod towards Sebastian. “You know what, I could go for another drink. What do you say, Charles?”

The older Ferrari driver seems to wilt under the weight of your brilliant smile, Sebastian can’t fault the man for that. “Ah, what the hell,” Charles shrugs, throwing his arm around the back of your chair. “Let’s see where this night takes us!”

Sebastian settles in, pouring you all generous glasses of the deep ruby wine when Gerardo delivers it. He may be getting on in years, but his matchmaking job has only just begun. One way or another, he’s determined to ensure his two protégés quit stumbling over each other and finally discover the romance that’s been blossoming under their noses all along.

Sipping his wine, Sebastian gazes at you and Charles, sees the tenderness flickering in both your eyes as you lean in closer together over the candlelight. He smiles contentedly to himself.

Mission accomplished.

***

The paddock is mostly deserted at this late hour, the muffled sounds of the teams packing up drifting in from the garages. You linger near the Ferrari motorhome, watching Charles sitting alone on a stack of tires, shoulders slumped. He’s been increasingly withdrawn these past few days leading up to the Japanese Grand Prix.

You approach slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Charles? You okay?”

He looks up, managing a small smile when he sees you. “Hey, mon amour.”

There’s a weariness to his voice that tugs at your heart. You take a seat beside him, letting your arm brush against his in a subtle show of support. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Charles is silent for a long moment, pulling his helmet off and turning it over in his hands. “It’s Suzuka,” he finally says, so softly you have to lean in to hear him. “Being back here … it’s difficult.”

Your brow furrows. Right, this is where Jules Bianchi crashed, his accident eventually proving fatal. Charles had been incredibly close with his mentor and godfather. “I can’t even imagine how painful this must be.” You cover his hand with yours. “Having to race on the same track ...”

“I relive that day over and over.” Charles’s accented voice is thick with emotion. “I can still see the footage of his car slamming into the crane, like it’s burned into my mind. He was my friend, my godfather, like a brother to me. And now every year, I have to come back to this place that took him from us far too soon.” He squeezes his eyes shut, a stray tear escaping.

“Oh, Charles ...” You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is rigid at first before melting against you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him tightly as his breath hitches with suppressed sobs, your own eyes stinging. How many times has he bottled up this grief, putting on a brave face for the world?

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve carried all these years. But Jules wouldn’t want you torturing yourself like this.” You pull away enough to frame his face with your hands, meeting his reddened eyes. “He’d want you to keep living, to keep pursuing your dream that he helped nurture. He’d be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

Charles manages a watery smile, covering one of your hands with his. “You’re right. Thank you, chérie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours with a shuddering sigh. “I just miss him so much some days. Like an ache I can’t shake.”

“I know.” You brush away the dampness on his cheeks with your thumbs. “Believe me, I understand that ache all too well.”

A crease forms between Charles’s brows as he regards you intently. “Your papa.”

You give a solemn nod. “Everyone talks about him like he’s gone. But he’s not, he’s still here, still breathing. It’s just … he’s not the same man I grew up with anymore.” You blink back tears of your own. “Sometimes I’ll see flashes that remind me so much of how Papa used to be. And then that illusion is shattered and I’m grieving all over again for the person he was.”

Charles’ arms wrap around you fully, tucking your head under his chin. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be. Seeing those glimpses of the man he was, only to have that hope ripped away.” He presses his lips to the crown of your head. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, definitely doesn’t feel like it most days.” Pulling away, you try for a smile. “But we Schumachers are fighters. We don’t stay down for long.”

“That’s my girl.” Charles grins, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m lucky to have you by my side through all of this craziness. I don’t know what I’d do without your support, especially this weekend.”

“Are you kidding?” You turn to fully face him, clasping his hands in yours. “Charles, you’ve been my rock too, you know that? Signing with Ferrari this year, following in my father’s footsteps … the pressure has been immense. But you’ve never let me crumble under it. You’re always there with a laugh or a hug or some silly joke to make me smile even on the hardest days.”

Charles’s grin turns lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart flutter. “Well, someone has to keep that ego of yours from inflating too much, future champion.” He leans in until his lips are a mere breath from yours. “But in all seriousness, we’re in this together, okay? No matter what the future holds, I’ll always have your back.”

“I know,” you murmur, feeling his words like a soothing balm over the parts of your heart still aching for your father as you once knew him. “And I’ll always have yours. We’re a team, on and off the track.” You close the distance between you, kissing him deeply.

Charles returns the kiss with fervor, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you close. The worries plaguing you both seem to temporarily fade into the background amid the warmth and solidity of his embrace. When you finally break apart, breathless, his emerald gaze holds an intensity that steals the air from your lungs in the best way.

“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, the endearment like a vow falling from his lips. “No matter what happens out there tomorrow, or any other race day, that will never change. You and me against the world, princesse.”

You flash him a coy smile, feeling desire begin to simmer low in your belly. “Is that a promise, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Mmm, I can make it one if you’d like.” Charles waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle as his hands roam freely over your back and sides, pulling you flush against him. His voice drops to a husky whisper. “Maybe I can find more convincing ways to pledge my devotion once we’re back at the hotel.”

“I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that,” you say breathily, leaning in to nip at his lower lip in a way that makes him groan. “Though if memory serves, I seem to recall you saying something about honoring the team’s curfew tonight?” You trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. “Wouldn’t want to be … sleep deprived before the race.”

Charles’s fingers flex against your hips as he lets out a shuddering breath. “You’re really testing my willpower here.”

“Payback for all those times you’ve tortured me.” You punctuate the statement with a sharp nip to the sensitive skin below his ear, making him jerk against you with a strangled sound. Pulling back, you smirk at the glazed look in his eyes. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

He blinks slowly, then his gaze narrows in a way that makes heat flare across your skin. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that later.” His voice is low, almost a growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“I look forward to it.” You lean in until your lips are nearly brushing his again.

“Tease,” Charles accuses, though his kiss quickly swallows any further retort.

You lose yourself in the press of his mouth, the exploring glide of his hands over your body, the undeniable chemistry that still sometimes takes your breath away. When you finally break apart, gasping for air, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads resting together.

“Thank you,” Charles murmurs after a long beat of comfortable silence. “For always knowing how to pull me out of my own head. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That’s what partners are for,” you say simply, brushing back the silken strands of chestnut hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are so warm, so full of love and adoration, you feel it envelop you like a cozy blanket. “I’ll always be here to lean on, just like you are for me.”

Charles catches your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. “And I’m grateful for that every single day. Facing the good times and bad, together.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles. “I know Suzuka will never be easy, not with the weight of the memories here. But you make the burden feel lighter. Like no matter what, I’ll be okay as long as I have you by my side.”

You lean in, brushing a featherlight kiss across his lips. “Always. No matter what the future holds, you’re stuck with me, Leclerc.”

A slow, utterly content smile spreads across his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He steals another lingering kiss before glancing toward the pit area, where the last few stragglers are packing up for the night. “As much as I’d love to keep you all to myself, I suppose we should try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

Sliding off the tire stack, he offers you his hand, that warm gleam still dancing in his forest-colored eyes. “Though maybe we could indulge in a long, hot shower first? You know, to … unwind after such an emotionally draining evening.”

You raise an eyebrow at his transparent attempt at nonchalance, but can’t help a smirk from tugging at your lips. “Why, Mr. Leclerc, are you propositioning me?”

“Would that be so terrible?” He tugs you into his arms, leaving a trail of teasing kisses along your jaw. “After all, we did have quite the … charged conversation just now. I’d hate for all that pent-up tension to distract us on track tomorrow.”

You let out a breathless giggle as his wandering hands and lips leave tingles across your skin. “Well, when you put it that way … I suppose a nice, relaxing shower could be just what we need to clear our heads.” Looping your arms around his neck, you meet his heated gaze through lowered lashes. “Lead the way, liebling.”

Charles’ responding grin is nothing short of wolfish. “With pleasure.” Scooping you up in his arms, he heads for the parking lot at a swift pace, leaving the weight of Suzuka and its ghosts behind for the night.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you bring your Ferrari across the finish line, tires smoking from the incredible pace. Your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio, congratulating you, but the words are drowned out by the thunderous cheers echoing around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.

You can hardly believe it. Your first season with the Scuderia and you’ve just won the Italian Grand Prix — on the hallowed ground that your father once ruled. The sea of fans decked out in red is a sight to behold, celebrating wildly as you complete the cool-down lap.

Pulling into parc fermé, you kill the engine, the high-pitched whine slowly dying away. Undoing the straps, you clamber out, still trying to process what just happened. This is really real.

“You!”

The familiar voice makes you turn. It’s Charles, beaming from ear-to-ear despite settling for second place today. He pulls you into a massive hug, squeezing you tightly.

“I can’t believe you just did that! Amazing drive!”

You laugh, giddy with joy and adrenaline. “I still can’t believe it either! Everything just … clicked.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Charles chuckles, ruffling your sweat-damp hair. “You were incredible out there. Absolutely brilliant.”

Hearing the praise from your boyfriend means everything. You know how hard he’s worked, how much he’s sacrificed to get this far. And he’s still your biggest supporter.

The two of you finally pull apart as the rest of the team makes their presence known, congratulating you with bearhugs and massive pats on the back. You did it — you brought the victory home for Ferrari at the Temple of Speed.

After the chaos of the post-race celebrations dies down a little, it’s time for the podium ceremony. You can’t wait to stand up there, basking in the adulation of the wildly passionate Tifosi. As you make your way out with Charles and the third place finisher, the crowd’s cheers swell to a new eardrum-bursting level.

Climbing the steps, you take your spot on the top level, heart racing as you look out over the endless sea of fans. The air is filled with brilliant red smoke, passionate flag-wavers creating mesmerizing patterns. You’ve seen Grands Prix in Italy before, but being up here, having actually won — it’s on another level entirely.

Speeches are made, anthems are played, and then it’s time to crack open the podium champagne. As the bottles are picked up, a rolling chant starts building in the grandstands:

“La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

The sound shakes you to your core. Tears instantly spring to your eyes.

Charles, beside you on the second step, grins and nudges you. “Listen to them! You’ve done it — you’ve made them fall in love with you just like they did with your father.”

Looking down at him with misty eyes, you mouth, “Thank you,” so overwhelmed that you can’t speak. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The two of you share a soft kiss as the chanting grows louder and louder.

As you pull back, gazing out over the surging tide of humanity, faces beaming up at you in adoration, it finally sinks in. This moment — winning at Monza for Ferrari, with Charles by your side, the Tifosi embracing you wholeheartedly — is beyond anything you ever could have dreamed.

The emotions pour out in waves of joy and pride and disbelief. You raise your bottle high, echoing the chants and cheering your heart out to the crowd. They roar back even louder, feeding off your energy in the way that only this group of diehard fans can.

Once the champagne showers subside, giddy fans whistling at you and Charles canoodling on the podium, it’s time to head back down. But the celebrations are just getting started. The team wants to keep the party going.

On the drive over to Maranello, you find yourself sandwiched in the backseat between Charles and your race engineer, Ricky. Everyone is grinning like maniacs, high on the thrill of victory, singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs.

“Solo per lei! Principessa di Monza!” Ricky bellows, gently elbowing you. The rest join in, filling the car with the chant of “Only for her! Princess of Monza!” You can’t stop giggling, leaning into Charles, deliriously happy.

Once you finally roll up to the factory, the party spills out of the car and into the streets. The entire workforce has turned out, waving huge Ferrari flags, beating drums and sounding air horns in celebration. You’re immediately swarmed, being passed from hug to hug as champagne is sprayed in joyful arcs.

They finally manage to sweep you, Charles, and most of your garages inside the factory, where long banquet tables have been set up in the main hall. An enormous cheer goes up as you enter, sparkling wine sloshing from hastily poured glasses all around you.

The meal that follows is a total blur — amazing food, flowing alcohol, raucous toasts, and the happiest pandemonium you’ve ever witnessed. You keep getting tugged from conversation to conversation, everyone wanting to hear how the race played out from your lips. Charles sticks by your side the whole time, looking on with sheer pride.

At one point, you end up going shot for shot with Fred Vasseur, the team principal pouring vodka like his job depends on it. “La mia principessa!” He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy. “You’ve made us all so proud today!”

He hoists his glass. “To our Princess! The Princess of Monza!”

The chant starts up again all around you. “La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

You beam at them all, squeezing Fred’s hand. No words can describe this feeling, being embraced so completely by your team — your family. This is what you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl. Following in your father’s footsteps, bringing glory to Ferrari, carrying on the legend.

The party rages on long into the night. At some point, you lose track of time completely, delirious with exhaustion from the whirlwind of emotion.

You come around for a moment, blinking in the dim glow of the factory lights. There’s quiet rumbles of laughter around you, echoing off the walls. Looking around blearily, you realize you’ve been tucked into a makeshift bed fashioned from a pile of Ferrari t-shirts, nestled in one of the car assembly spaces.

Charles is there too, cradled against your side, one arm wrapped protectively around you. The rest of the team — your PR officers, engineers, mechanics, everyone — is strewn about in similar nests, all of them totally conked out.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle deeper into Charles’ embrace, feeling his lips brush the top of your head. This bizarre, wonderful scene seems to encapsulate everything about being part of the Ferrari family. It’s chaotic and overwhelming and unlike anything else in the world.

But most of all, it’s home.

As you start to drift back to sleep, savoring the lingering scent of champagne and motor oil, one final chant echoes in your head:

La principessa di Monza.

La principessa di Ferrari.

***

11 Months Later

The last few laps feel like they’re happening in slow motion. Every turn, every gear shift, every tiny input to the steering wheel is magnified tenfold as the circuits count down. The pressure is immense, but you’ve been here before. You can do this.

“Stay calm, stay focused,” your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “The calculations look good. Just bring it home steady.”

Nodding to yourself, you downshift entering the stadium section, the roar of the massive crowd surrounding the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez swelling in your ears. This is it — your chance to join the likes of motorsport’s greatest heroes by winning the Formula 1 World Championship.

Your first victory at Monza, being crowned the “Principessa di Ferrari” by the adoring Tifosi, was a dream come true. But this … this is what you’ve worked towards since you were old enough to understand what your father achieved. To etch your name into the history books forever.

The laps tick by agonizingly. Every time the pitboard comes into view, your heart rate spikes. But you’ve got a comfortable gap to second place, managing the race perfectly. Just a few more corners now.

“Final lap, final lap,” your engineer calls out. “Looking brilliant. Stay comfortable and you’ve got this!”

You suck in a deep breath to steady your nerves. Out of the sweeping Curve 3 and onto the pit straight, the crowd’s thunderous cheers are reaching fever pitch. You can see the seas of red-clad fans absolutely losing their minds, knowing the woman they idolize is about to achieve immortality.

Crossing the finish line, you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding for what feels like ages. The emotion is overwhelming — a combination of pure elation, disbelief, and total exhaustion.

You did it.

World Champion at last!

You cruise around, yelling unintelligibly into the radio as the celebrations kick off around the circuit. There’s confetti in the air, smoke flares going off in brilliant shades of red, and a full-throated roar that could probably be heard all the way back in Europe.

Pulling into parc fermé, you switch off the car, letting the weight of the moment sink in. Tears of joy prick at your eyes as the magnitude of your achievement hits home. Ever since you were a little girl, running around watching your papa, this has been the ultimate dream for you.

And now, it’s finally happened. You’re a World Champion. Just like him.

The first person to reach you is Charles. He comes sprinting over from his own car, bounding past the marshals without a second look. One glimpse of the huge smile plastered across his face is all it takes for you to dissolve into giggles and delirious tears.

“You did it! You brilliant, brilliant woman, you did it!” He shouts, grabbing you up in his arms and spinning you around in a whirlwind hug.

“I can’t believe it, Charles! It felt like a dream … like it wasn’t really happening!”

You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, drunk on the euphoria of the moment. Clutching each other tightly, you press your foreheads together, trying in vain to compose yourselves.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles murmurs, gazing at you with adoring eyes. “You worked so incredibly hard for this. You deserve everything.”

Surging forward, you capture his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. For a few brief moments, the two of you are alone, lost in the depth of your emotions and your all-encompassing love for each other. Nothing else in the world matters but this perfect second frozen in time.

You finally break apart, breathless, when the rest of the team sweeps in to congratulate you. They swarm around in a laughing, whooping mass, jumping up and down, hugging, chanting your name over and over.

“To our champion! The Queen!”

The cry comes from Antonio, one of the veteran mechanics who’s been with the team since your papa’s days. He clasps your hands tightly, gazing at you with pride.

“Sei la regina! The Queen of Ferrari!” He hollers over the raucous din, tears shining in his eyes. “Just like your father, you’ll reign forever!”

Your eyes start brimming over again, overwhelmed. The tears roll down your cheeks, smearing streaks of sweat and grime from the race. But you can’t stop beaming.

All at once, the rest of the crew picks up on Antonio’s declaration. Their cheers and chants coalesce into one booming refrain:

“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”

The sheer adulation washes over you in waves, every face beaming up at you in utter reverence. You find yourself struggling to take it all in. In a few incredible seasons, you’ve elevated yourself into the realm of legend in their eyes.

Charles wraps his arms around you from behind, steadying you as your knees start to go weak. You can feel his smile radiant against your neck as he cheers and whoops right along with the rest of them.

“You hear them?” He chuckles, kissing your temple. “It’s all for you, mia regina! My Queen.”

Hearing your love, your partner, your other half call you that sets off a fresh round of giggles and sobs. Turning in his embrace, you loop your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply.

When you finally part, you look out over the still-roaring crowd, many of them carrying elaborate signs with intricate drawings depicting you as a regal sovereign. Some have fashioned ornate crowns out of random merch and foam, holding them high. Others set off flares and smoke bombs in Ferrari red.

For a moment, their euphoric cheers fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears. Closing your eyes, you let the enormity of the moment wash over you, embracing the pride and humility and disbelieving joy.

This is your coronation. The new ruler of the Scuderia — la regina di Ferrari.

“La Regina di Ferrari! La Regina del Mondo!”

You can only chuckle in disbelief, Antonio and Ricky carefully taking your hands to hoist you up onto their shoulders in throne-like celebration. Charles is right by your side, standing vigil as your King Consort.

As the party spreads out around you, confetti and smoke filling the air, you look out across the ecstatic crowd. All you see are fervent faces, worshiping you as their new Queen of the World.

It’s a delirious scene that you never, ever could’ve imagined. And yet it feels so natural, so right. Like you were born to be in the center of this storm of jubilation. This is your true home.

And now, you’ve taken your rightful place as its ruler.

Mexico City burns long into the night in tribute to the newly-coronated Queen. Tomorrow, the party will likely continue all the way back to Maranello. But in this moment, you’re lost in the swirl of ecstasy, allowing yourself to be swept up in the currents of adoration.

La Regina di Ferrari.

La Regina del Mondo.

***

Eight Years Later

Jules can barely contain his excitement as you and Charles help him into the little red race suit. He’s practically vibrating with energy, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Easy there, petit coureur,” Charles chuckles, ruffling Jules’ hair affectionately. “We’ll get you suited up and on the track soon enough.”

“I’m gonna beat everyone!” Jules declares confidently. You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“That’s my boy,” you say with a wink. “Just like your Papa and me.”

Charles grins and pulls Jules into a hug. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Today’s just for fun though, remember? No official points or anything.”

“I know, I know,” Jules says impatiently. “But I’m still gonna win!”

You laugh and swing him up into your arms, peppering his face with kisses until he squeals with delight. “Whatever you say, liebling. Now let’s get you out on that track!”

The three of you make your way out to the karting circuit, hand-in-hand. You can already see a small crowd starting to form along the fences, phones and cameras at the ready. A familiar scenario, even at such a low-key local event.

“Mama, Papa, look!” Jules points excitedly. “Those people want to take pictures!”

“That’s right, schatzi,” you say gently. “Your Papa and I are pretty well known in motorsports.”

“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.

Charles laughs. “Something like that, I suppose. More like … really famous racecar drivers.”

“Whoa ...” Jules seems to be processing this new realization. “You’re the best ever, right? The bestest?”

You share an amused look with Charles. “Well, we’ve had our fair share of success,” you hedge.

“Your mother is a multi-time World Champion,” Charles says proudly. “As am I. We did pretty okay, I think.”

“Woooaahh!” Jules looks absolutely awestruck, like his little mind has been blown. It’s both adorable and bittersweet — your own child, only just now grasping the level of your accomplishments and fame.

The crowd has grown considerably by the time you reach the pit area, people pressing against the barriers in hopes of getting a glimpse of the royal family of Maranello. A small team of event staff try valiantly to keep order, but it’s a losing battle.

“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”

“Charles! Over here, please!”

“Oh my god, is that little Jules? He’s so cute!”

Jules clings a bit closer to you and Charles, startled by the commotion. You pull him protectively against your side.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just some fans who are excited to see us.”

Charles gives the crowd a regretful smile and a small wave before ushering you both past the security team and into the pit area. The calmer, more controlled setting seems to ease Jules’ nerves.

“Why were all those people yelling and taking pictures?” He asks with a small frown.

“Like I said, we’re pretty famous racers,” Charles explains patiently. “A lot of people know who we are and want our autographs or photos with us.”

“Like celebrities!” Jules says, the admiring light returning to his eyes.

You laugh and ruffle his hair again. “Something like that, yeah. Your Papa and I have had a very successful racing career over the years.”

“The best careers,” Charles amends with a wink at you. “Multiple world titles each.”

“World titles?” Jules looks utterly baffled by the concept. “Like … the best in the whole world?”

“Exactly,” you confirm, feeling that familiar swell of pride. “We were the fastest drivers in the world, for a few years at least.”

“Whooaa ...” Jules seems torn between awe and disbelief. “You’re like … superheroes!”

You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Charles laughs, “but I suppose to some we come pretty close, eh?”

He scoops Jules up and swings him around, making him shriek with laughter. You watch them with a content smile, suddenly aware of how blessed you are to have this life — your incredible husband, your precious son, the career successes you both achieved. It’s more than you ever could have dreamed.

“Alright,” Papa says, setting Jules back down. “Why don’t you go grab your kart and we’ll get you out on the track? Think you can take on the world champions?”

Jules gives a determined nod, that familiar fire blazing in his eyes — the same look you’ve seen in your husband’s familiar green ones a thousand times over the years. “You bet! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

With one last hair ruffle, you send him scampering off excitedly. Charles slides an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” He murmurs against your temple. “So much like us at that age. I can already tell he’s going to be a hell of a driver someday.”

You lean into his embrace with a contented sigh. “He is … and just look at how the crowd reacted to him. He’s barely grasped that we’re famous, and now he’s already getting mobbed himself. Our little star in the making.”

Charles makes a rueful sound. “We’re going to have to get used to that, I suppose.”

“Oh, I think we can handle it,” you say lightly. “We’ve had plenty of practice being in the spotlight, after all.”

He laughs and drops a kiss to your hair. “That’s true enough. As long as we stick together, we can get through anything.”

“Exactly.” You turn in his arms to face him properly, cupping his jaw tenderly. “You, me, Jules … nothing else matters as long as we have each other.”

Charles’ eyes are warm with devotion as he gazes down at you. “My soulmate. My family. How did I ever get so lucky?”

He leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet, the rest of the world temporarily fading away. You lose yourself in the familiar comfort of his embrace, the love you share-

“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”

You break apart with a laugh to find Jules making over-exaggerated gagging noises nearby.

“And the moment’s ruined,” Charles teases, keeping an arm looped around your waist.

You bend down to Jules’ eye level with a mock stern look. “You just wait until you’re all grown up with a sweetheart of your own. Then you’ll understand.”

He scrunches up his nose theatrically. “Never! Girls are gross!”

You and Charles share an amused look.

“If you say so,” Charles chuckles. “Now let’s get that kart fired up.”

Jules’ entire demeanor shifts in an instant, that fierce competitiveness surfacing once again. He scrambles into the cockpit of his little kart and takes firm hold of the wheel, looking suddenly years beyond his age.

“You’re going down!” He declares brazenly. “I’ll leave you both in the dust!”

And just like that, the proud parents are replaced by your familiar racing mentalities — the thrill of competition, the desire to win. You share a conspiratorial grin with Charles.

“Is that so?” He taunts playfully. “In that case, no more taking it easy on you two.”

You bend down to kiss Jules’ forehead, unable to resist a parting quip. “Promise you won’t be sad … because Mama always wins.”

With that, Charles heads off to grab his own kart, leaving you and Jules alone for a brief moment. He looks up at you with shining eyes.

“You’re my hero, Mama,” he says simply. “And Papa too. I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

You feel your heart swell fit to burst, filled with more love than you could possibly put into words. Bending down, you pull your beautiful little boy into a fierce hug, eyes shining with unshed happy tears.

“Oh liebling … you already are. You’re everything we could have dreamed of and more.”

You press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed with affection. When you finally pull back, there are indeed tears shining in your eyes.

“Now go show your parents what you’ve got, baby,” you say with a watery smile. “I can’t wait to see you out there.”

Jules gives you a determined nod, eyes blazing with that trademark fire. “You got it, Mama! Get ready to lose!”

With that, he slams down the visor on his helmet and revs the little engine. You step back with a laugh, watching him peel out onto the track with all the confidence and flair of a seasoned pro. Like parents, like son indeed.

By the time Charles rejoins you, his own kart idling beside yours, Jules has already completed a couple of warm up laps. You can’t resist shooting Charles a smug grin.

“Well, well … looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He drives just like you.”

Charles snorts, clearly trying to downplay his obvious pride. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s all your genes coming through.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a sudden commotion from the fences draws your attention. The crowd has grown even larger, people pressing against the barriers with raised phones and voices calling out excitedly.

“Oh my god, it’s them!”

“They’re so cute together!!”

“Over here, please! This way!”

You share a resigned look with Charles as event staff rush to try and control the growing swarm.

“This is what it’s going to be like from now on, isn’t it?” You murmur. “Our little family, constantly in the spotlight.”

Charles shrugs, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he watches Jules blaze by. “What else is new? We’ve been there our whole careers. At least this time, we get to share the fame together … as a family.”

You lean into his side with a contented smile. Out on the track, Jules whips past in a blur of determination, completely unbothered by the fawning crowd. Just a little boy living out his dream, regardless of who his parents might be.

“You know what?” You say softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Charles drops a kiss to your hair as the roar of the crowd and engines swells around you. “Me neither, mon amour. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

[pelova4president]

Sneak me in

Alessia Russo x Williamson!Reader

summary~ Sneaking around on an away match doesn’t go to plan. It’s hard to sneak around with your curious older sister and teammates around.

!warnings! not proof read, suggestive

You’ve been sneaking around for way too long now. It was time your secret got out, just not now. But would there ever be a good moment.

You started sneaking around with Alessia before she even joined Arsenal. You’ve always thought she was cute, beautiful even. The two of you were in the younger age groups together for the Lionesses but never really acknowledged each other. Well, you very much acknowledge her but never dared to make a move. So when Alessia went through to the seniors you were a tiny bit devastated.

So on games against United you needed to show off. You just couldn’t let Alessia score. And after every game against her you would shake her hand and mumble ‘good game’.

It was very obvious to Alessia that if she wanted something with you she needed to take matters into her own hands.

So she made the first move. On an away game against the Red Devils she chased you down the tunnel.

“Williamson! Williamson..” no answer.

“Little Williamson, wait!” she yelled in the hopes to stop you.

And as suspected you turned around. You saw the blonde run towards you like she hadn’t just played 90 minutes.

“Uhh hi Alessia..” you awkwardly said as the striker came to a stop. Alessia giggled at that.

“Hi, i want to take you out to dinner tonight. I know the best places in Manchester, so you wanna go?” Alessia asked bluntly.

You had to admire that she was so straight forward. And it would be a lie is you said you didn’t want to go on a date with her.

“Like as a date?” you asked her with a small smile.

“Whatever you want it to be.” Alessia laughed at your reddening cheeks.

You nodded your head, “Yeah, i’ll have dinner with you.”

“Okay, that’s a date. I’ll pick you up around seven.”

Things went fast from that moment on. There were many more dates after your first one. During your seventh date Alessia finally asked you to be her girlfriend and who were you to reject the gorgeous blonde.

The next step in your relationship was moving in with each other, or Alessia moving to your club. Your girlfriend knew you weren’t going to any other club than Arsenal so she made the move.

At first she tried to keep it a secret but when she visited you in London and you walked through your local park with three of your teammate’s dogs she couldn’t resist to make a little remark.

“I can’t wait to walk these monster with you every day next season. We might have to get a dog ourselves.” Alessia smiled giving your hand a squeeze.

“I wish we could but you live in Manchester I can’t give a dog everything they deserve on my own. Wish you were here everyday with me.” you sighed giving her hand a small kiss.

“Lucky you, i’ll be there too to take care of our dog then. In a few months we’ll be able to walk here everyday and i don’t even have to change kit colours.” Alessia laughed, hoping you’d catch on.

“Wait what? You’re moving to London, to Arsenal? Are you serious? Lessi please tell me you’re dead serious.” your mouth fell open, this couldn’t be right.

“Yep, i’m a gunner now.” Alessia’s bright smile was what made you believe her.

On paper it seemed like the perfect life but you still hadn’t told any of your teammates or anyone really about your relationship with the former United striker. Alessia couldn’t move in with you either since that would give everything away but being next door neighbours didn’t seem so bad either.

You each had your separate space but most night you ended up in the each others bed.

It started to get harder to hide when your teammates started coming over more. At first no one noticed anything.

It wasn’t until Vic Pelova, your best friend at the club, noticed a dark green hoodie resting on your couch. It had been Alessia’s until you decided it was your favourite and you should just steal her hoodie.

“Isn’t that Alessia’s?” Vic asked you puzzled at why she would leave her stuff at yours.

“Uh yeah, she just forgot it. I’ll probably drop it off later.” You told the brunette.

Those little incidents started to happen more and more and it got harder for you to come up with excuses. Luckily your sister didn’t catch on.

But when the team had a Champions League game in Paris and you weren’t roomed up with Alessia it got tricky. Obviously you wanted some more time with her but that would be hard since she was going to room with Lotte.

Alessia wouldn’t let that slide though, she’d think of something.

When you were all seated into the coach that would drive you to your hotel Alessia had an idea.

“Sooo you know how we aren’t rooming together. I’ve got a little plan to change that. When we are chilling in the main room i’ll go my room. Later on you will tell everyone you’re feeling a bit off and go to your room, but you realise you forgot your keycard. Then you knock on my door and i open it. I’ll just text Lotte that she has to room with Vic, she wouldn’t mind.” Alessia grins proudly.

“Wow, you thought of that all by yourself huh? So like would it be wrong just to ask if we could switch?” you asked her. “I mean, i’m not trying to turn your amazing plan down but you know, it’s easier.”

“Well, i already thought of that but it’s not gonna work. They would probably get suspicious of why we would wanna room with each other and not them.” your girlfriend explained.

“Hmm, so smart.” you complimented the blonde with a little kiss to her cheek.

So you did what you were told. Alessia said goodnight to everyone and now it was your turn. You grumbled a bit and moved in your sister’s arms.

“What’s got you so squirmy?” Your older sister asked you. Her eyes were furrowed and you could see she was a little annoyed with you.

“I don’t know, i feel a bit off.” you sighed as you waited a minute. “Maybe it’s better if i just go to bed early.”

You bid everyone goodnight before heading to your girlfriends room.

Alessia opened the door with a big grin on her face. “Hi baby, missed you.” she kissed you and pulled you inside.

“Hey Lessi” you pushed her on the bed and started kissing her neck.

“Wait baby, i still have to text Lotte.” she protested with a laugh.

“You can do that while we’re kissing babe.” you whined.

After Alessia had texted Lotte she started kissing you back. She was rough and left hickeys wherever she could.

“All mine hmm, you’re all mine baby.” you could feel her smile against your reddening neck.

You woke up to banging on your door. It was past 9 am and you promised to be at breakfast by 8. When you went to check your phone you were left searching, you had forgotten it in your original room.

When the banging didn’t stop you woke Alessia up who couldn’t seem to wake up.

“Babe. Lessi baby, they’re at the door. They’re literally gonna kick our door in if we don’t answer.” you shook her sleeping body.

Your sleepy girlfriend finally woke up in a disoriented state.

“What’re you talking about baby?” she grumbled into her pillow.

“Just.. just don’t move okay.” you ordered the messy blonde.

Opening the door you were met with the very irritated and serious face of your older sister and Beth by her side.

“Hi very smart sweet older sister, what can i do for you?” you asked her with one of the sweetest smile you’ve ever given her. You just hoped she would disappear and you could get ready.

“Oh shut it. You’re fucking late and where is Alessia, she wasn’t at breakfast either.” Leah questioned you.

“Don’t know, now let me get ready.” you told her before slamming the door shut.

“Alessia Mia Teresa fucking Russo, if you don’t get up right fucking now.” you threatened the half asleep woman in your bed.

The striker shot up and sprinted to the bathroom to get ready. As you walked in you saw her brushing her teeth.

“God, i don’t know how we’re gonna get away with this. Look babe, if you act like you were eating out and i pretend i slept through my alarm everything’s okay.” you said more to yourself than to Alessia.

“Well i did eat out, so it isn’t a complete lie.” your girlfriend giggled to herself. You shot her a daring look at which she held her hands up at.

Separating at Alessia’s hotel room door you went down to the girls while the blonde headed outside.

“Good morning everyone!” you greeted the girl’s in the room.

“Someone’s in a good mood huh?” Kyra laughed at your rather amazing morning mood.

“Yeah, i got a good night sleep, you should try it too.” you told her with a grin.

You were walking towards the coffee when Caitlin stopped you. Looking you up and down a grin formed on her face. “Looks like a you didn’t have a good night’s sleep but just a good fuck.”

Caitlin pointed to your neck. Apparently everyone wanted to see what she was talking about and a group of girl gathered around you.

“W-what?” you swatted the prying hands away.

“Your neck is literally purple and blue dude!” Vic commented.

“Jesus, you must be dating some kind of vampire” Katie McCabe herself yelled.

Leah wanted to see it for herself and pushed everyone away to inspect your neck. You tried to cover it up but it was too late. Leah was pinching you as if she couldn’t see it good enough.

“Who’s sleeping with my little sister! I know it’s someone from the team. Confess or i’ll make someone confess in a not so nice way.” Leah scanned the room full of football in the hopes she could see right through them.

“Leah, it’s not really any of your-“ as you tried to speak you sister broke you off.

“It really is though. I’m literally the vice captain of this team and overall your fucking older sister kid.” Leah told you off.

And just as you were about to go in against Leah your lover appeared. Alessia walked into the room with two coffees in her hand and a half eaten bagel. And that’s when you heard Lotte gasp.

“No way.” she said, one hand covering her open mouth.

Victoria nudged the defender in the hopes to hear her thoughts. “I switched rooms with little Williamson.” Lotte whispered to Vic.

Obviously Pelova couldn’t keep it to herself and gasped ten times louder. “No fucking way! Little Williamson is sleeping with Russo.” the midfielder almost yelled through the room.

Leah turned her head, her eyes capturing the other blonde in the door opening. “Who is that coffee for Russo?” your sister asked her.

“Uhm, your sister.” Alessia answered her, uncertain of what she should’ve told her.

“You’re sleeping with my little sister, Russo i’m gonna kill you.” Leah told her before turning to you. “And you after.”

alessia

liked by stanwaygeorgia and 114.218 others

the little williamson is my main one

comments

ellatoone cheeky girls 😍

katie_mccabe11 vampire and her victim

↳ alessia she’s not the victim!!

leahwilliamsonn sneaky bitches

↳ leahwilliamsonn you better take care of her tho

↳ leahwilliamsonn or i’ll kill you

↳ alessia mood swings much, but i’ll never hurt little williamson, only the big one

y/nwilliamson love love love you 🤧

↳ alessia love you baby

arsenaall23 love them so fucking much

englioness3s the IT couple fr

[adrienneleclerc]

Rumors

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: There have been rumors going around that Y/N is cheating on Charles 🫢

Warning: Spelling and grammatical errors, ANGST ending with fluff, very bad photoshop (I was working with what I had)

A/N: this is my first time writing angst so let’s see how I do.

Charles Leclerc DNF’d in the Canadian Grand Prix, he was so mad, he thought he could at least get some points, his engine was shit, the only thing he wanted to do was go home to his girlfriend. He decided to call her up on FaceTime. She answered after the second ring.

“Hey muñeco, what happened? I thought today was the GP, should you be racing?” Y/N asked, she was in line at the airport, getting ready to fly to Monaco.

“I’m out of the race, Mon ange.” Charles explained.

“Ay mi amor, i am so sorry to hear that. Listen, I’m at the airport right now, I’m going to Monaco, I’ll be in your apartment before you come back, okay? Then we can spend as much time together as you want.” Y/N said, knowing Charles will probably be very clingy after a terrible race.

“I’d like that. Have a safe flight, Mon coeur.” Charles said.

“Bye, mi vida.” Y/N said, sending him a kiss and Charles does the same before hanging up.

He was standing with the Ferrari team, looking at the monitors and viewing the rest of the race until Carlos also DNF’d. That just left him and Carlos talking until they were called for an interview when the race finished.

“Ugh, I can’t wait to go home.” Charles said, entering the driver’s room with Carlos. “When is our flight?”

“I don’t know, cabrón. Probably later tonight, I just want to get the fuck out of Montreal.” Carlos said.

“Same.” Charles groaned.

“Have you talked to Y/N?” Carlos asked, looking at his phone.

“Yeah, she’s getting on a flight to Monaco.” Charles said. “Why do you ask?”

“Because this is trending on Instagram.” Carlos said, showing Charles the Instagram post he found.

132,926 likes

f1WAGupdates the singer and girlfriend of Charles Leclerc, Y/N L/N, has been seen with the Maxton Hall actor, Damian Hardung, at a restaurant in Manhattan. Is this why Y/N wasn’t seen at the Canadian GP? She’s too busy hooking up with Damian behind Charles’s back? Looks like she’s not as supportive as she says she is.

Carlos pulled the phone away from Charles’s face

“Let me see the comments, Carlos.” Charles demanded.

“No way, it will just drive you crazy.” Carlos said, hiding his phone.

“Fine, I’ll go to Instagram myself. Who the fuck is Damian Hardung?” Charles asked, he was pulling his phone out but Carlos took it from him and shoved it in his pants. Charles looked at him and then at Carlos’s pants. “Don’t make me search for it, Carlos.”

“I am helping you! If you read those comments, you are going to be antsy when we’re on the plane.” Carlos said and Charles rolled his eyes and left the driver’s room, making his way to Max and Lando who were talking, with Carlos following quickly behind him. “Don’t give him your phone!” Carlos yelled.

“Max, Lando, Can you check Instagram for me?” Charles asked.

“Don’t you have your own phone?” Lando asked.

“Carlos has it.” Charles said and that’s when Carlos appeared behind him. Charles had his arms spread out as if he was block Carlos from the other two drivers. “Just go to Instagram.” Charles said sharply.

“Don’t go to Instagram!” Carlos exclaimed.

“Okay, I’m on Instagram, what else?” Max asked,

“Is there a gossip post about Y/N L/N and Damian Hardung?” Charles asked.

“Are you stalking your girlfriend?” Lando asked.

“Don’t show him anything!” Carlos exclaimed, getting away from Charles and heading over to Lando.

“I found it! Charles, are you sure you want to see this?” Max asked.

“Just read me the comments.” Charles demanded.

“Don’t!” Carlos exclaimed.

“Okay… ‘i never trusted Y/N, she seemed very fake.’ Dude, I don’t know…” Max started but Charles cut him off.

“Give me that.” Charles said and he took Max’s phone to read the other comments. ‘I bet she has been cheating on him for months’ one said, ‘all those times when she wasn’t at a GP, I bet she was with him’ said another, but there was one comment that hurt him the most ‘Charles is so blind, it was clear that she never really loved him, she doesn’t even post about him’ “FUCK!” Charles screamed. He gave Max his phone back, shoving him a little in the process. “I need to go to Monaco now.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Carlos asked.

“Catch a rode with Max and Lando!” Charles yelled as we walked away, trying to find Fred.

“Why did you tell him?” Carlos asked the Dutch driver, hitting his arm in the process.

“How was I supposed to know I wasn’t supposed to?” Max asked, playing dumb.

“I was literally shouting ‘Don’t tell him anything’ cabrón!” Carlos exclaimed.

“You know how max is, Carlos, he’ll do anything for Charles.” Lando teased Max, earning himself a slap on the arm.

Charles found Fred after asking a few Ferrari workers. “Fred, I need to go to Monaco now,”

“Is there an emergency, Charles?” Fred asked, very concerned with Charles’s state.

“Yes.” Charles said.

“Okay, I can have the plane ready in an hour, get Carlos, go to your hotel rooms and pack your things.” Fred said, already making plans with the pilot.

“Perfect, thank you!” Charles thanked him and walked back to Carlos, Max, and Lando, finding them arguing. “Carlos, let’s go, we need to pack.”

Y/N’s flight was 11 hours long and Charles’s flight is 8 hours so Charles made it to the apartment first. He unpacked his luggage and put away his clothes. He then made himself something to eat while he viewed that stupid Instagram post, reading the comments. It wasn’t until he heard Y/N’s keys that he realized he spent over an hour reading the comments. Y/N came in with her luggage and walked to the couch where Charles sat.

“Muñeco, what are you doing here, I thought your flight was tomorrow?” Y/N asked, getting closer to him to kiss his lips but he turned his head. Y/N leaned back a little. “What’s wrong, muñeco?”

“Nothing at all. I just have a question is all.” Charles stated. Y/N put her suitcases in Charles’s bedroom before she sat down on the matching loveseat.

“Sure Amor, ask away.” Y/N said.

“What were you doing in New York?” Charles asked.

“Oh well I visited my parents, they’re doing well, they asked when you were going to visit so maybe we could visit before going to Spain. I was recording my new album with Sony Records, I think it’s going to go do really well, but who knows.” Y/N said.

“And what else happened when you were in New York?” Charles asked, wanting her to tell him herself.

“Mmm, nothing really important, I met with some people from Amazon.” Y/N said. Charles had a straight face and pursed his lips in annoyance. “I’m sensing that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

“Of course that’s not what I wanted to hear!” Charles raised his voices getting off the couch and walked into the kitchen with Y/N walking behind him. “I want to know why the fuck You were out with this guy.” Charles said, turning around and showing Y/N the Instagram post. “Who the fuck is Damian Hardung?”

“Damian is an actor from Maxton Hall, you know that Amazon show that I’ve been obsessed with?” Y/N asked him while she got a soda from the fridge, charles nodded his head for her to continue. “Anyway, I met up with him and some people from Amazon because they were considering him and I as leads for their new movie.” Opening the soda bottle to take a sip.

“But you don’t act.” Charles said. Y/N rolled her eyes, closed the bottle, and put it on the counter,

“But I sent in an audition tape for Culpa Tuya and i guess they liked it and wanted me as a lead.” Y/N said.

“Really, that’s all that was?” Charles asked.

“Yeah, it’s just a business dinner.” Y/N said.

“Then why is he looking at you like that? Why are you leaning against him like that?” Charles asked exasperated.

“Chemistry test, is that what you wanna hear? Why are you acting like this?” Y/N asked.

“Why am I acting like this? Let’s see, my car power unit was shit, it was my worst race of the season because I DNF’d, my top 4 streak is over, and to top it all off, my girlfriend was seen with another guy and everyone is talking about me!” Charles yelled and Y/N widened her eyes, she has never been yelled at before, her parents made sure to never fight in front of her or her siblings when she was growing up so the fact that he’s not yelling in front of her but actually yelling AT her.

“Why are you taking your anger out on me?” Y/N asked with tears in her me.

“Where are you when you’re not with me for the Grand Prix?” Charles asked. Y/N wiped her eyes.

“Charles, You’re being ridiculous.” Y/N said, trying to go to the living room but Charles blocked her. “Charles, no estoy jugando.”

“I’m not playing either, where are you?” Charles asked.

“I have a career outside of being your girlfriend you know! I’m not going to follow you around like a fucking puppy.” Y/N stated. “You understand that, right? I have interviews, photo shoots, live performances, I can’t go to every race. It never bothered you before, why is it bothering you now?”

“Why do you never post me on Instagram?” Charles asked.

“You’re insane.” Y/N stated.

“And you’re avoiding the question.” Charles said,

“What do you wanna do, Charles? You wanna track me? You wanna know my every move? You want me to post us on my Instagram and TikTok even when you said you didn’t want to risk me getting sent hate so we decided that I wouldn’t post anything?” Y/N asked rhetorically. “You’re acting as if I’d cheat on you.” Y/N jokingly said but when she saw Charles face. “No fucking way, you actually think I would cheat on you? Are you that insecure? Why the hell would you think that?”

“I’ve been reading the comments on the instagram post.” Charles said and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Why would you believe the comments? Let me tell you this one time and one time only, I am your girlfriend, okay? If you come across a freaking piece of chisme like that, TALK TO ME, don’t come accusing me of cheating on you when I literally have your logo as a tramp stamp…” Y/N said and Charles smirked at the mention of the tramp stamp, his favorite tattoo of hers. “Focus, you horndog. I love you, and only you. If I have to move in with you to prove that, I will. Wait, I got a better idea, come here.” Y/N said, pulling Charles in front of a mirror so she could take selfie of them.

Liked by charlesleclerc and 1,240,295 others

yourusername Charles and I have been dating for a year, he is the one I love. Though I love Damian Hardung in Maxton Hall, which is like my favorite show ever, I am in a very loving relationship. Damian is just a friend, he might be my future costar if I’m lucky. Why I’m not at races is no one’s business, I was present during Imola and Monaco, I am always home to celebrate with Charles and I love him dearly.

“There, it’s posted. Now you can stop worrying about us.” Y/N said.

“I’m sorry about everything, Mon ange.” Charles said.

“It’s fine muñeco. But yell at me again and I will shave your head in your sleep.” Y/N said with a serious look on her face.

“You wouldn’t shave my head, you love my hair, what are you going to tug on when I’m going down on you?” Charles asked with a smirk on his face and leaning into kiss her and Y/N just laughs.

“You really are a horndog aren’t you.” Y/N said but kissed him anyway. “But seriously, don’t yell at me again, I will stab you in your sleep.”

“Can you please stop threatening me, Mon ange?” Charles asked and Y/N just giggled and nodded. “Are you coming to Barcelona with me?” Charles asked.

“Of course I am! Are we going to New York next weekend?” Y/N asked.

“I’m sure I can arrange that, if not we can go after Spain.” Charles said.

“That sounds perfect. I will be posting more photos of us from now on, okay? So what did we learn today, mi muñequito celoso?”

“That I should talk to you before believing a gossip post about you.” Charles said.

“Good boy. Now…how do you want to take out your frustrations on yesterday’s Grand Prix?” Y/N asked, looking at him with siren eyes.

“Bedroom.” Charles said before he kisses Y/N, lifting her, making Y/N wrap her legs around his waist, and he carried her to his bedroom, shutting the door with his foot.

The End

Hope y’all liked it, I don’t really write angst, but I hope this turned out well 🤗

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for "using" a cucumber and putting it back in the fridge?

(🥒👌 to find later)

Please, I know it sounds nuts but hear me out. I feel awful and I need to know just how bad this is. Also, I intentionally left as much as possible vague as I am a minor and I do not want this to get removed for being too explicit. But the story will not make sense if I don't include certain things, please understand.

So I (16M) grew up in and currently still live in the bible belt, with extremely conservative evangelical parents. As a taste of what it's like, we have church 3 times a week, and church camp every summer. We are only allowed to access Netflix through a stupid content filter app and we can only use a restricted smart phone that is regularly checked at random by our parents. We get an hour and a half of computer usage every other day, and the internet on the computer is heavily filtered also. The only reason I have access to Tumblr and am able to post this now is because my best friend's older brother gave me his old android for my birthday a few years ago. His family is much more open minded, and I'm very close with them. I also think they have always felt a little bad for me with my family being the way they are.

I'm also gay. Obviously, my family does not know, and I intend to keep it that way. I won't go too deep into it, but it will suffice to say I struggled a lot when I was younger over this. The good thing is that in the last few years, I've been able to accept myself more and come to terms with what my own feelings about religion and faith really are. I came out to my best friend and his brother a little over a year ago, and they've been very supportive. I have yet to tell any of my other friends.

Recently, I've been trying out alcohol since my friends found a hookup. Something I have discovered is that I tend to get lewd feelings when I drink, which has nearly caused a few embarrassing moments around friends. Coincidentally, I have also been experimenting with... certain things. Being a minor, I obviously can't enter any of the adult stores around me, nor would I feel comfortable asking any of my friends to drive me there if I could. I also can't order anything online because my bank account is connected to my parents, and I don't have a shipping address I'm comfortable using for those items either. So instead, I use household objects that belong to me and can be sanitized easily. You might see where this is going.

Yesterday evening, I came home from best friend's house with a full bottle of wine in my backpack. We and a few other friends had already been sipping on a few beers that afternoon, and I still felt a little buzzed. After my family went to sleep, despite already having a little alcohol in my system, I proceeded to get wasted on this bottle of wine in my room. I don't have the clearest memory of all of this, but at some point, I got hungry and lewd-feeling. Went into the kitchen and, through some kind of thought process I can only imagine now, came back into my room with a cucumber. From the title of the post, you can hazard a guess as to what happened to this cucumber. Once I was done, I drukedly and quickly washed it in the bathroom sink and threw it back into the fridge. I went to sleep.

I started freaking out as soon as I woke up this morning. There were four cucumbers in the fridge, I was pretty positive at least two were going to be used for dinner tonight, and I had no idea which cucumber I did the deed with. To make matters worse, my mom was inviting the pastor of our church and his family over for dinner. I have practically no money currently, no license or vehicle, and no friends with vehicles free to pick up new cucumbers for me (and no reasonable explanation as to why I needed them to spot me for four cucumbers specifically). I also have no believable reason to give for why we shouldn't have cucumbers added in the salad mix. My mom knows I love them, and they haven't gone bad. Can't say I ate them because who the hell eats four raw cucumbers? And she'll interrogate both my brother and I until she gets a satisfying answer if I just throw them out. I didn't know what the hell to do about this and I was close to having a panic attack, so... I took a nap.

Evening came. Guests came over, dinner happened. We had porkchops with macaroni and side salads. Cucumbers were in the salad, and I along with pastor's family and my own, ate it like nothing was wrong. My parents, the pastor and his wife had an engaging conversation about politics, religion, and some mild church gossip after dinner. My little brother continued to read his book, and I had a very awkward and one-sided conversation about Young Sheldon with the pastor's daughter. Then they left. And I went to my room to mentally implode.

To say I'm horrified is a major understatement. I don't think anyone is going to get sick because I scrubbed all of the cucumbers with soap multiple times and cleaned the vegetable drawer with bleach when I woke up this morning. I guess I also don't know that the violated cucumber was one of the ones that was used for dinner tonight, but then it's only a matter of days until we have salad again, or if mom cuts one up for water. I've rattled my brain for any way I could get some new cucumbers without telling anyone the details of the event, but I have nothing. Don't even have the money, anyway. Gave up the last bit of cash I had for the damn wine yesterday, and I have $0.43 in total on my debit card.

Admittedly, there is a very small part of me that doesn't even really care if they have eaten or end up eating the damn thing. I can't stand my family. My parents are invasive, controlling and neurotic, and don't give a shit about how I'm doing in so far as it pertains to god and the church. I'm a little more sympathetic to my brother as he's been stuck in this hell with me, but at 13 he's already begun to regurgitate way more religious dogma than I ever did at his age. And I know for a fact that they would want nothing to do with me if they found out I was gay. They'd probably kick me out on the street and spit on me if I had to guess. But even still, this is only a small part of how I feel. What I did was still so gross, and no amount of animosity I have for them can change how mortifed I am. I do have at least a semblance of a conscience.

So...AITA for all of this? WIBTA if I did nothing about the other two cucumbers? Please help.

[maxwellatoms]

I bought a Gartenmeister Fuchsia plant for my birthday back in January. It was a centerpiece all winter long, but recently it started looking a bit sickly. I'm not a "green" gerdener anymore (haha), but I am also by no means a master. I think it was infected with powdery mildew, but I also convinced myself it was spider mites. I try to keep things all -natural out there, so I dried it out and sprayed it with some neem oil after pruning it back a bit. I really should've pruned off all of the infected bits, but I didn't want to lose the flowers.

I did that a few more times, unable to commit to a hard prune because I kept telling myself "I don't know what I'm doing, so maybe it's not sick. Maybe it'll fix itself. Sure would be nice to have those flowers back." I finally gave up and cut it to the bone yesterday, but yesterday was too late. I had to remove every single leaf because I dithered for too long. It's probably not going to make it.

I feel the same way about our culture. US culture. Western culture (though its really a global problem). The Entertainment Industry. The Media. It's sick. We probably need some rather serious surgery to fix the problem, but we just will not see a doctor. To see a doctor would be to admit there's a problem, and for some that is the greatest sin of the 21st Century. Maybe some of us are just hoping the system will recover on its own so we can have our pretty flowers back.

For me, it was around 2010 or so when I first started to smell something "off". The symptoms had certainly been around a while. This was just when I noticed. This was when I got my first, "Hey, let's not make fun of corporations" note. It's when The History Channel stopped airing stuff about history in favor of aliens because that's where the money was. And rather than rebranding, they just left it as "History", encouraging future generations to believe whatever they felt like. This was also about when traditional news outlets started skewing to clickbait in order to compete with sites that were clearly 100% not legitimate news sites. Again, as long as the money is right it's "just entertainment" and you' can're welcome to believe it if it means you'll watch more.

I'm all-in on Dead Internet Theory now. The disparity between what major news media outlets will report and what you see from actual people on Tumblr or Threads or Reddit is pretty shocking. And those sites are already compromised by bots and bad actors. The tools exist now to actively bamboozle millions of people, and I have no doubt we're already seeing some of this now. In six months or a year you'll find out it (whatever it was) never happened or was generated by an LLM. The time to stop listening to anyone online was a year ago.

Trust no one.

Not even me!

It's cultural rot. It's spreading faster and faster, and I'm not sure what happens when we get to the end of this ride. Actually, I AM sure what happens. If we don't prune back hard now, then the rot takes over. Best-case, you clip the infected branches off too late and it takes years to recover. Worst case? Nature soldiers on but the plant succumbs to infection and dies completely, replaced (eventually) by something that can actually hack it in that spot.

When humans produce art and information, and then comment on that art and information by producing more art and information, we call it "culture". We're moving toward a time when the vast majority of art and ideas we get out eyes on won't be created by humans. Or at the very least won't be created with the purpose of commenting on or enriching the organic human experience. When that happens, what will we call it? What will remain of our culture?

[felassan]

Journal entry on the official website. [source]

"Introducing The Veilguard Welcome back to Thedas"

--

"Hey everyone, It’s been too long since we last spoke! We’re happy to bring back our community blog series, where we can chat with you about our next adventure - Dragon Age: The Veilguard. If you’re joining us just now, earlier this week we released a blog detailing how we renamed the game to better represent what makes it special - it’s about you and your companions – not your enemies – that are at the heart of this new experience. Check that out alongside our Official Reveal Trailer which premiered at the Xbox Showcase on June 9th, where you first meet your seven companions. We’re also excited to open the official BioWare Discord server. You can expect news drops, giveaways, activities, and more planned between now and launch. This is our new dedicated home where we look forward to bringing this one-of-a-kind community together with a space to engage more frequently and celebrate your favorite stories and characters from Dragon Age: The Veilguard and others in the franchise. But that’s not all. We know what you value the most is seeing the game as it is, exactly how you’ll play it. So, we’re happy to provide you with a look from the opening moments of the game. Grab some snacks as we have 15+ minutes to explore Dragon Age: The Veilguard together."

--

"Are you the hero Thedas needs? This video from the first moments of the game is just the tip of the iceberg, and there’s so much more to discover on this epic journey. You’ll explore Thedas, uniting a cast of (yes, romanceable!) companions as you fight against ancient elven gods. In this crafted character-driven RPG, you’ll visit meticulously crafted biomes and beautiful regions, some that you’ve only heard whispers about in Dragon Age lore, including Rivain, Weisshaupt, Arlathan, Minrathous, and the Deep Roads - to name a few. We’ll have a lot more coming this summer as we fully detail what’s in store. You’ll begin by diving into the Character Creator. You’ll choose your class, lineage, gender, overall appearance and more. Choosing which faction Rook is part of will unlock different narrative, dialogue, and gameplay interactions. Combat is another area that has a lot of depth to it - both in how you choose to defeat your enemies and its progression throughout the game. The game will support various skill levels, but at its core, Dragon Age: The Veilguard has fluid moment-to-moment combat where you can choose between three classes - Warrior, Mage, or Rogue – each having their own advanced specializations. There's also a layer of tactical depth for those who want to dig in, which we really didn't get to cover in the video. Our new customizable ability wheel will help you turn the tide of battle at any time. It will allow you to pause the action, issue commands to your followers, use abilities, and unleash devastating combos. As you become more powerful, you can start to see the potential in how much fun (and hectic) things can get. We're also giving the option to use some of your abilities via a shortcut. Giving you these different kinds of options is something we thought a lot about and wanted to provide so you can find the playstyle that best fits you. Alright, that’s it for now as we’ll dive deeper into this and all things Dragon Age: The Veilguard through the Fall." Before we go, if you haven’t seen this yet, we wanted to provide an overview of what we have upcoming. As we’ve said earlier, we plan to continue revealing more about Dragon Age: The Veilguard and answer your burning questions. However, there’ll be some things we have to keep close to the chest as we get closer to launch. Remember to join the custom console giveaway before entries close on June 16th*, and set a reminder for our Developer Discord Q&A on June 14th at 10am PT. Submit your questions in the #ask-bioware channel on the server! Dragon Age: The Veilguard will be coming to PC, Xbox Series X|S, and PlayStation 5 in Fall 2024.  That’s all for now, talk soon! -- The Dragon Age Community Team *Sponsor: Trufan Inc. NO PURCHASE NEC. 18+ Ends June 17, 2024. For full details see  https://go.ea.com/DATVGiveaway"

[absolutebl]

Love Sea - A Trash Watch Smolder

Well my BLabies, do you have your drinks ready?

Are your smores stabbed on dildos, ready to roast over the stinking flames? (Or whatever one prods smores with, I missed that weird American tradition in my misspent youth.)

Can you smell it in the air? That smell of burning trash?

Let the dumpster fire begin. Another Mame offering is upon us.

The Background

The Mameverse tends to interlock, but all signs point to these being entirely new characters. (Click on that link if you want my thoughts on this author/producer and what I feel she does well and poorly.) Meanwhile here's the brief:

Who?

FortPeat - established couple from previous Mame offering Love in the Air AKA LITA (trash watched here).

How do we feel about them? We likie. They a great pair. Steady, established actors, good a promo, but not too good. Bit one note but can't ask for too much when it comes with such great chemistry.

What we know about them as actors? Forth is legitimately in Engineering (hilarious). Peat and he started in the industry around the same time with bit parts, but Peat is 4 years older. They do high heat and they do it relatively well. They were quite popular after their first series and have received sponsorships since. So they wisely stayed branded and it's nice to see them on our screens again.

What?

Love Sea

While travelling a writer has a one night stand with a very irritating man.

10 episodes

When?

Sundays

Where?

iQIYI (AKA icky)

Why?

Mame

To what degree?

Stick your thermometer into that fire, we gonna find out. 102°C I expect.

Episode One - That's An Outfit We'd All Wear to a Tropical Island

Here’s the thing. Icky has decided (in its infinite wisdom) that it will no longer allow screen caps on mobile devices. Which means you’re going to get my loquaciousness on this dumpster fire with no respite from the unmitigated madness via photos of pretty boys saying stupid things.

So. Read at your own risk.

So,I have a bottle of sake and a maple doughnut (don’t knock it till you’ve tried it) so let’s get started!

Hold onto your dildo smores BLabies we are in Mame Country. And apparently that country has its very own baby drone to film with now. (Look, the one thing BL very rarely needs more of is distance shots. That’s not what we’re here for people. Certainly not from FortPeat.)

Rak, baby, I'm loving the all-black western meets goth-rocker look but that eye make-up is the true star. This is how I shall dress when I visit Thailand next. (Oh, you think I'm joking? Gotta work on my smokey eye.)

Meanwhile, if your suitcases are that expensive, why aren’t they matched?

P'ABL asking the important questions for once.

Speaking of important questions:

Why are siblings always trying to pimp each other out in Mame’s stuff? Does anyone else find this creepy? I think it’s odd to be your sibling's wingman when he's chasing tail. It’s edging into the incest taboo. Oh dear, I said edging and incest in the same sentence, I’m probubly giving her ideas.

I’m getting Hometown Cha Cha Cha vibes from Mut.

Rak is such a cat, very picky and stand-offish. Mut is such a puppy. Very conflicting personalities. Not a bad combo.

The "let’s get it on" music is hilarious. But at least Mame doesn't use egregious sound effects in her shows. Small mercies.

I will say, FortPeat do hurt/comfort very well. Peat is good at prickly fragile baby-girl. Fort is good at cocky arrogant prick. They are good at bouncing off of each other and still showing desire. Frankly, chemistry is not one of their problems. They’re fine little actors. It’s just the story is going to betray them. Characters are going to be inexplicably evil for no good reason. And we are going to feel manipulated as a result.

But right now?

It’s fine.

And that's it, that's how I feel about Love Sea.

All in all, I’m quite drunk and it wasn’t really warranted.

Waste of sake. Not a waste of a maple doughnut. No such thing. Maple donuts are always put to good use.

Okay, so Mame? Just keep it on this level and we'll remain fine. Some light terrorizing and stalking, a smidge of breaking and entering. Nothing more offensive, please?

But that’s my eternal optimism (and the sake) talking.

Right now I’m not feeling very strongly in any direction about this show. I haven’t been whipped into a verbal frenzy.

This has been a lackluster start, my BLabies.

Kortord tukorn

(sorry all)

This trash watch has started off as more of a dumpster smolder. A light recycling. (Like Mame and her character archetypes.)

We smokey rather than flaming, rather like Rak's FANTASTIC eye makeup.

Oof, I feel faintly ill. I think that is the sake, tho, not the eye make up. Which was on point! Although when he started to cry, it should’ve started running down his face. Life has very few stand out moments of glory apart from an adorable young man with eye makeup running down his face.

Catch ya next week. More sake, less doughnut.

su su na

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

All my trash watches are here:

Okay so sometimes tumblr does this thing where it stops letting me edit/update a post. If there are more episodes to this show than are showing up in this trash watch post, click the first tag below (#ABL trash watches Love Sea) and that should take you to the more recent updated with all of the episodes in it.

(source)

[scarletwinterxx]

little flower - dad haechan scenario

hellloooo, it's a bit late for Haechan day but better late than never😊 a quick fluff moment with our fullsun and his lily girl. hope you like it!!

pt. 1 - Lee and Lily

pt. 2 - bigger that the whole sky

pt. 3 - lily and chocobi

if you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

Between you and your husband, he tends to be the one who overreact. Especially where you're concerned. You thought he's overprotective over you already but he managed to succeed himself when you found out you're expecting.

It doesn't bother you though, you're used to your golden retriever husband's antics. When he's home, he has to be in the same room as you. When he's at work he would text you or call when he's available to make sure you're okay at home.

You've been adviced by your doctor to avoid any stress and strenuous activities. You and Haechan had a long serious talk after that doctor's appointment, you both were working at that time and he didn't want to stop you living your life. But as your husband, he wants to make sure you and the baby is safe so he asked if you could stay at home just how the doctor adviced. You understand where he's coming from, so you agreed. You wanted your baby to be safe.

And now 39 weeks laters, you feel like you're as large as a balloon. Most of the times waddling around the house clad in your husband's clothes since that's the only thing that fits you at this point.

Haechan loves it. He loves watching you grow each week. To his eyes you are the most radiant woman he's ever laid his eyes on. And the fact that you're growing his baby just makes him fall even more in love with you.

Not a day passes by without him reminding you of how thankful he is of you and how much he loves you and your little human.

"She's being dramatic, like you" you tell him one night while he watches her little foot kick against the inside of your belly, revealing a tiny imprint on your tummy.

Haechan caresses your belly gently. his hand against your skin feeling her kicks from inside you. "Still can't believe she's in there, moving and all that"

"Soon she'll be here, kicking you too" you joke

"I would gladly be her own personal punching bag or kick board or whatever she needs me to be"

You smile at that, you just know he's going to be the best dad to her.

"You do that, i think my insides are done being her practice tools. I can feel her other foot against my lung"

"Does it hurt? What do you need? You need to sit up?"

"I'm okay, just a bit short of breath. She'll move around eventually, probably later she'll sit on my bladder again then I'd have to pee every freaking second again"

Haechan kisses your belly a few more times before sooching up the bed to lay against the headboard  beside you

"We have dinner at my parent's tomorrow, do you want to stay the night there or drive home after?"

It's his birthday tomorrow so his mom invited you over for dinner, since you're due any day now Haechan decided not to do anything grand. He didn't want you to get tired or stressed over planning his birthday.

"We can stay, won't it be too late if we drive back? You'll be tired bub"

"I'm good, it's just driving but sure if you want to stay the night. She won't come out tomorrow wouldn't she?" He jokes.

Your husband might as well have a foresight because the next day during dinner with his family, you started to feel your belly contract. At first you didn't think too much of it but as the night progressed, you're starting to think of the possibility you're having contractions right now.

For a while you didn't tell anyone, you didn't want to take the day away from Haechan. It's his day after all.

During dinner, just as Haechan's mom about to serve dessert you felt something warm. You look over at Haechan, grabbing his arm catching his attention

"Either I peed or my water just broke"

"What?"

"Yep, I think my water just broke"

"Y/N's water just broke" Haechan just said catching everyone's attention then everyone was on their feet. Haechan on your right while his mom stands on your left, guiding you to stand up

"Honey, can you get towels from the bathroom. And a change of clothes. I think your brother has some in his old room. Do you need anything else" his mom asks you calmly

"The stuff, I mean the baby's stuff" you tell her

"It's already packed but we left it at home. I only have the carseat right now" Haechan adds

"Your dad will go get everything, go to the hospital first. Do you want to come?" she asks you, her mother instincts kicking in. Right now all of the attention is on you.

"Will you?" you ask, she smiles warmly at you holding your arm tightly but in a comforting way "Of course, dear. Hyuck, go start the car"

The drive was less hectic, all thanks to Haechan's mom. She kept on telling you comforting words all the way to the hospital, you got settled in and now the waiting game begins.

You got there just in time, the doctor checked and asked if you wanted to get epidural which you said yes to. Your pain tolerance goes as high as 2. You cry whenever your headache gets too bad, you can't imagine delivering a baby all natural. Kudos to those who do but that's not you.

"You need anything?" Haechan asks, brushing the hair away from your face. Ever since you arrived here, he hasn't left your side. He only lets go of your hand when the doctor or nurses need to check on you

"Ice chips?"

"I'll go get more" Haechan's mom volunteers, walking out the room to get your request

"Sorry we can't finish your birthday dinner" you tell your husband

Haechan shakes his head, smiling down at you "This is better than any party. How cool would it be if she's born today? We'd have the same birthday"

"Your daughter isn't even here yet and she's already so much like you. Announcing her entrance to the world like this" you chuckled

Hearing the words 'your daughter' does something to him, like a blanket of warmth wrapping all over him. He hasn't even met her yet and he's already so so so in love with your baby girl.

"I can't wait to meet her, we'll have her here in a few hours"

"Are you excited?" you ask him

"Of course, I'm never putting her down. She's gonna stay in my arms forever"

"Silly"

"I'm not kidding. You got a headstart, I'm gonna make sure I'm her favorite" he says with a determined look on his face, you don't even try to argue back

"You're my favorite" you mumble

He just looks at you for a while, admiring you. He leans down, kissing you on the forehead. "I love you so so much. I know you're about to hate me once you start pushing but it's okay" he jokes

And he, once again, was right. You felt bad, cursing him out as you push his baby out of you while his mother heard every word. "It's okay, dear. Don't worry about it, I know how it feels"

"I don't really like you right now" you mumbled, taking a break from pushing

"You liked me enough to carry my baby" he replies

"Shut up"

A few more pushes before you hear her cries fill the room, the nurses lay her on your chest while Haechan stands right beside you

"Oh my gosh, she's here. She's so cute" you hear the nurses mumble, Haechan's mom capturing the moment from the sideline

Meanwhile Haechan stands frozen, looking at the little human in your arms

"What are you doing over there? Come here" you ask him, Haechan scoots closer, holding his pinky finger out to your baby girl which she holds with her tiny hands.

Haechan lets out a sob, not able to contain it.

"It's okay, she's the worth the tears Hyuck" you tell him. Your free hand caress his now tear stained cheeks

"Hey baby girl, happy birthday" he mumbles, still looking at her

"You wanna hold her?"

"I don't know how"

"Yeah well you gotta start learning, daddy. Here, hold her" you say, ever so carefully Haechan takes her from you. His mom stands behind him to take a peak

"She has your nose" she tells him

"She does, doesn't she" you say with a tired smile

"Hi baby, it's me. I'm your dad. You recognize my voice right? I sing to you every night and tell you stories" he tells her like she understands his words

After a few more minutes with her, a nurse takes her from Haechan to check up on her. He takes this time to check on you,

"She's perfect. Thank you" he tells you

"Thank me? You made her too" you joke, he smiles at you then kisses you sweetly

"Happy birthday, Donghyuck. What shall we name our little girl?"

"Nari, like the little Lily flower"

You smile at his explanation, "Your little flower, our little flower. I love it. Happy birthday Hyuck and Nari, I love you both so so much"

"Best birthday ever"

[formulauno98]

Yacht Girl Summer - Chapter Three / Saturday - George Russell x Reader, Toto Wolff x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Nothing spicy yet. This is going to be a slow burn and if you're uncomfortable with the idea of two-timing don't read this.

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction. No use of Y/N and minimal descriptions because I want everyone/anyone to be able to enjoy this.

SATURDAY MORNING

Having woken up early again you slipped out of bed and left George snoozing, throwing on your favourite sundress and some light make-up just in case a certain Team Principal happened to already be at breakfast. You chastised yourself for even allowing yourself to think this way, knowing that your loving boyfriend was innocently sleeping a few metres away. 

Stealing yourself, you promised that it was just a crush and besides, Toto was a few decades your senior and likely was not interested in you in that way. He was just being friendly, right?

Making your way to breakfast you were a little disappointed to find the table empty. Perhaps it was a sign. As you started to get lost in your thoughts, your solitude was interrupted by the arrival of James and Cara. They were perfectly nice people but again, several decades your senior and the small talk had already started to grate. God knows how you were going to survive seven days of this.

Raising a smile, you bid them a good morning.

“Morning,” said James, sitting down across from you, Cara to the other side. “How did you sleep? George not up yet?��

“So well actually, our cabin is lovely.” you said, adding, “George was fast asleep so I figured since it’s his holiday, I should leave him for a bit.”

“Good good, ours too.” chimed in Cara, “That poor young man, he must be off of his feet.”

Just as you were about to reply, a deep voice boomed from behind you, “Good morning everyone.”

You gulped. It was Toto. As you all murmured in response, he settled down beside you, not taking his usual spot at the head of the table, “Do you mind if I sit here? It feels more sociable.” he said.

“Of course not, it’s your boat,” you said laughing. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby.” said Toto, “I take it George is still in bed?”

“Yep,” you said, “I was just saying to these two that I let him have a lie-in. He’s been exhausted from work lately.” Realising you were talking to his boss, you backtracked somewhat, “Although I know you and James must feel it too.”

Nodding, James chimed in, “Yes and no, we’re older, we’re used to it. Toto will agree with me on this.”

“Thank you for calling me an old man.” said Toto curtly, chiding James as he poured his morning coffee, “Would you like some?” he added, gesturing at the empty cup in front of you.

“Yes please,” you replied, “Thank you, Toto.”

“It’s no bother,” he said, flashing you a grin before offering the same to James and Cara.

– – –

You’d almost finished your breakfast by the time George joined you, John and Marion having joined your group shortly after Toto. Your boyfriend still looked half asleep and faced some gentle teasing from his colleagues on the state of his hair as he settled down in the empty chair at the head of the table.

“Forget your hairbrush?” asked James, laughing at his own comment.

“I’m not sure if that’s from sleep,” added John, with a sly look to you, insinuating that you might have been involved.

Uncomfortably blushing you felt Toto’s eyes on you once again as you mumbled a denial, “He wishes.”

“Indeed,” said Toto under his breath, giving you a strange look.

Now it was George’s turn to blush as he laughed off his bedhead, denying the accusations.

Quickly conversation turned to the day’s plans. As promised, Toto had planned another snorkelling excursion, this time to a spot nearby with an underwater trail that promised some interesting sights.

Tired from yesterday’s activities, George and John were less than keen to join, George turning to you and asking quietly, “Can we just chill today?”

A little disappointed to miss out on snorkelling you felt torn. You didn’t particularly want to spend the day trapped on the yacht with George, John and your feelings but equally you would feel very guilty if you went without him.

“Sure.” you said, “Or maybe I could go in the morning and come back in the afternoon?”

Overhearing your conversation, Toto offered the solution, “Why don’t we all just go in the afternoon? The water will be warmer and we can all chill.”

The group were agreeable to his suggestion and resolved to have a lazy morning in preparation for an activity-filled afternoon.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

Having spent the morning tanning on the sunloungers on the sun deck beside George, you were well and truly relaxed. Reluctant to admit it, George had made the right call to skip another early morning adventure and you were content as you basked in the warm rays, slathered in your favourite shimmering body oil.

“I told you you’d love it,” said George from beside you.

“Well, I could get used to this yacht life,” you said, not entirely lying.

George flipped onto his side to face you, “Maybe one day we can get our own yacht.”

Raising your eyebrow, you countered, “I’m not sure if we’re quite in this league.” before humouring him slightly, “Maybe a small one.”

“Great, I’ll pull up on my pedalo next Summer,” said George with a laugh. “But you’re going to have to pedal.”

“Fuck off.” you said teasingly, “I’ll push you off the slide.”

He leaned forward to squeeze you around the waist as he laughed at your protests. Guilt flooded through you as you considered the fact that this might be your last Summer together. You had no doubt you’d have a nice life with George and he clearly wanted a future but something was off.

Ever the mindreader, at the very moment the thought passed through your mind, a broad shadow loomed over you. Looking up, it was none other than Toto, smirking down at the two of you fooling around.

“Lunch is served, lovebirds,” he said, interrupting George’s shower of affection.

“Thanks, boss.” said George, sitting up and righting himself, ever obedient to his Team Principal, “We’ll be right down.”

“No rush,” said Toto, still smirking as he turned to return down the stairs.

“How long was he standing there?” asked George, a worried look on his face.

“No idea.” you said, “Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know.” George’s face dropped, “I’m trying to be professional. He is my boss after all.”

“George, you guys are considerably closer than most working relationships, I don’t think he minds you relaxing.” you offered, knowing that this was no lie.

“I guess.” said George, pulling on his shirt before slapping his knees as he stood up  “Right, shall we head down?”

“Sure,” you said, your mind still elsewhere.

– – –

That afternoon had flown by, with lunch being a late and lazy affair, the perfect preamble to your snorkelling adventure.

Going back on his word, George had decided to stay on the yacht with John and James, leaving you, Cara and Marion to go snorkelling with Toto, the stoic Austrian getting more and more flustered as the three of you teased him about it being a girls trip.

“You’re one of the girls Toto!” said Cara, a little tipsy from your boozy rosé-fuelled lunch. Possibly not the wisest idea before going snorkelling but the currents were gentle in the Med and you had two crew members with you on the motor launch to make sure nothing went awry.

“You secretly love it, Toto,” teased Marion. “Besides, I want to know, do you have any new lady friends on the go? I met Sandrine at Imola but John said she’s no longer on the scene. I’m surprised you haven’t been snapped up.”

Your ears picked up at his tidbit, you hadn’t considered the fact that Toto was probably entertaining women. You wondered what his type was. Probably tall and elegant. Someone to match his stature.

Blushing furiously, Toto retorted, “Not at the moment. I’m too old for dating. And too busy.”

Marion scoffed, “I don’t believe that for a single second. John’s told me some stories, Mr Wolff.”

Going even redder, Toto looked down at the floor, “Well that was only after my divorce was finalised…”

“So I heard,” said Cara looking at him furtively, “We’ll have a think, maybe we can set you up with someone.”

Not knowing Toto as well as the other two women, you’d remained silent throughout the conversation, until now, “I’m sure Toto can find his own girlfriend.” you said with a laugh, trying to end their plight.

Toto raised his eyebrows at you, “Well, to be fair my track record is not so great.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you teased, the other two women nodding in agreement.

“You’re a handsome guy, Toto,” said Cara, her face soft, “Any woman would be lucky to have you.”

“Steady on Cara, your husband is back on the yacht.” teased Marion, lightly tapping her arm jokingly.

Laughing along with the two older women you locked eyes with Toto once more, his dark eyes indecipherable.

– – –

The water was lovely until it wasn’t. You were a strong swimmer but you quickly found yourself battling a strong current as you fought your way back to the motor launch, swimming and making no ground. Fuck.

You could just make out Cara and Marion on the boat ahead, the two of them having quickly given up due to the rougher-than-usual conditions and continued their boozy afternoon. You had stupidly followed the snorkelling trail all the way around and now found yourself caught out. Toto was nowhere to be seen and you were too far away from the boat to signal. Double fuck.

You could feel yourself tiring but knew that if you gave up you’d be swept further out so you soldiered on, making little ground when suddenly out of nowhere, an arm grabbed you around the waist, pulling you forward.

“Hey!” you said, getting a mouthful of sea water as you were taken totally by surprise.

“Need a hand?” a familiarly heavily accented voice asked. It was Toto.

“Maybe,” you said feebly, coughing up the last of the salty water you’d inhaled and letting him wrap his arms around you, pulling you effortlessly through the water and towards the boat. “Thank you, I was struggling there.”

“I could see,” he said kindly, his muscular arm holding you secure against his surprisingly solid body. Once again you chastised yourself, you had almost drowned yourself and were now busy thinking about Toto’s body.

The strong Austrian made quick work of getting you back to the motor launch, the crew clocking the fact you were in trouble and waiting attentively over the side of the boat to pull you on board. Toto somewhat unceremoniously scooped you up and pushed you back on, you trying your best not to think about the fact he’d just grabbed a handful of your ass to do so.

“Darling, are you okay?” Cara and Marion fussed over you, immediately draping a large stripy beach towel over your shoulders. You glanced up to see an equally sopping wet Toto clambering onto the boat, water clinging to his rash vest showcasing an impressive physique.

“Yes all good, thank you so much Toto.” you stood up, embracing him warmly and wrapping your towel around him. “Sorry I took the last dry towel, please have some!”

Looking bemused, he allowed you to extend the towel over his shoulder and sat down side by side with you. Cara and Marion looking equally amused at your exuberant display of thanks.

“It’s no problem.” he said bluntly, “What were you doing all the way out there?”

“I just followed the snorkel trail but the current picked up and I couldn’t get back so I drifted,” you said, now embarrassed that you’d managed to struggle with a simple trail. “Please don’t tell George, he will freak out.”

Looking even more amused, Toto put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, “These things happen, we won’t tell him. Right ladies?” he said, looking across at Cara and Marion.

“Of course we won’t darling,” said Marion kindly. “Here have some rosé, flush out that seawater.”

Smiling weakly you took the glass she offered and sipped contently, Toto’s arm still resting on your shoulders. You were grateful for the extra warmth as there was a sudden chill in the air.

Content cuddling up to Toto, you found the journey back to the yacht all too quick. As the motor launch pulled up alongside the yacht and Marion and Cara hot-footed it back onboard, you shivered as Toto took back his arm, gently placing the towel back around your shoulders, “Here you go,” he said kindly, his eyes crinkling.

“Thank you again, Toto,” you said, standing up to walk back along the passerelle to the yacht.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, following closely behind. 

As you made it back onto the deck, you were suddenly very aware that you were alone with Toto once more, the ladies having disappeared inside and the crew busy slotting the motor launch back in place.

“Did you have fun at least?” he asked, coming to a stop close by your side.

“I did.” you said, smiling, “Even if I swallowed a bit too much seawater.”

“Sorry about that,” he said, clutching the back of his neck with his large hand, looking slightly embarrassed by his actions.

“Oh gosh, not your fault at all,” you said, reaching out to pat him on the arm, completely misjudging it and ending up pawing his firm chest.

Toto looked down at your hand curiously, the tension palpable. Surely this was not one-sided? You tried to shake your thoughts but couldn’t break the connection.

It wasn’t until you heard George’s laugh travelling from the other side of the boat that you snapped out of the trance, a flicker of disappointment on Toto’s face as you dropped your hand back down.

“Right, well like I said, we will keep it between us,” he promised, turning his head to greet George. 

“Hey guys,” said George, sidling up to you, merry from drinking all afternoon, “How was it?”

As you began to tell George what you’d seen, you kept sneaking the odd glance at Toto, wondering if there was something there. Only time would tell.

Taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party @noooway555 @annewithaneofgreengable @xoscar03 @totowolfffcheco

[mustainegf]

Passionate, loving sex with Kirk. Need I say more?

You need not say more. Passionate stuff is so so beautiful, and Kirk?!?? Oh he’s totally a romantic, especially early 90s

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 ¹⁹⁹²

Kirk and I had been seeing each other a long time now, and our romance seemed to be getting better by the moment. We agreed to take our time tonight and truly save every moment we had. A passionate air that felt perfect for the evening ahead was created by the subtle radiance that the candles tiny embers projected over the room.

Kirk's loving eyes glistened as we lay on the bed, facing one another. He stretched out to brush my cheek, his fingers delicate and kind. His voice was full of affection as he muttered, "You're so beautiful."

His remarks drove a flush to rise up my cheeks. "Thank you, hun," I muttered as I leaned into his touch. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.” I giggled.

He giggled aswell and it was a sincere, sunny smile that made my heart skip a little bit. He leaned in slowly, his lips grazing mine in a long, gentle kiss. I felt ripples down my spine from the warmth of his breath and the silky feeling of his lips. We took in every second of our lengthy kiss, our mouths moving in perfect unison.

Kirk's hands started to move over my body, drawing soft curves over my hips, down my back, and along my arms. His contact was respectful, bordering on reverence, as though he was learning every detail about me.

I mimicked his movements, running my hands over his lean arms, broad shoulders, and smooth chest. Under my fingertips, I was able to feel his steady heart rate. "You're so perfect." I murmured. "I love every part of you."

He made a warm, loving sound when he laughed quietly. With his eyes fixed on me, he replied "I'm the lucky one."

"You fulfill every want I've ever had and then some." We kept kissing and grabbing, moving gently yet seriously. Kirk's fingers traced across my skin, working small whimpers from my lips.

He was very delicate and attentive, as kirk always was, if he wanted something, he did it the right way. His lips trailed down his hands path, planting gentle kisses on my collarbone, shoulders, and neck.

He grumbled, "You're amazing," in between lips. "Every part of you is amazing." I sighed freely filled with a deep feeling of fulfillment. With breaks in my voice, I said to him, "You make me feel so loved."

Kirk lowered his hands and ran his fingertips along the edge of my shirt. He gave it a slight tug and pulled it over my head, admiring me with his wide, valuing eyes.“You’re stunning,” he mumbled. “Absolutely stunning.”

I reached up and removed his shirt too, running my hands over his Soft chest and tummy. His slight muscles oozed energy. With a cheeky smile on my lips, I replied "You're pretty handsome yourself."

Once more, we stole a kiss, our bodies meant to be together. Kirk clasped his hands on my back and ran his fingertips over my flesh in silky circles, with each rub, i could feel his calloused fingers from his guitar. I could feel his love. He seemed to be trying to show all of his devotion and love with his hands.

His voice was genuine as he said, "I love you." He muttered. "I love you so much."

I smiled, my heart pounding, "I love you too." I continued "More than anything."

Kirk's hands went to my jeans waistline and he started to gently tug them down my legs. To help him, I raised my hips, and before long, all that was left of me was my panties.

He gave me a few seconds of admiration, his eyes brimming with lust and affection. "You're perfect," he observed in a kind but appraising tone. "Fuckin’ perfect."

After a brief moment, his hands came to my underwear, and he gently pulled them past my legs. A tingle of suspense ran down my legs as his lips found my stomach, my hips, and my thighs with gentle kisses. He was extremely patient it almost hurt, but I loved it.

Kirk's hands went to his own jeans, which he then carefully tugged down his legs. His eyes were glowing with want, love, and affection for me, and I could see it. He gave me a glance of praise.

I laughed softly as his dick sprang up, almost seeking me out, pointing directly at me. He looked down with a grin before glancing up at me. “It’s pointing that a-way,” he flashes his crooked teeth, pointing straight at my exposed area.

I shoved his arm lightly with a giggle. “You’re such a dork, Hammett,” I smiled.

“You love it though.” He teased.

He finally positioned himself at my opening, his eyes searching mine in a questioning silence. I gave him approval to proceed by smiling. His movements were thoughtful as he slowly penetrated me, the feeling of his length slipping all the way in. His body was hot to the touch.

"You're squeezing… oh god..." He said in speechless whisper, "You feel so good baby." My opening filled up with pleasure as I let out a faint moan. "You feel… amazing too," I gasped in return. "So perfect."

Kirk pumped steadily bringing soft thrusts. He took his sweet ass time, making sure that I took in each and every ridge on his cock.

“That’s is Kirk… yes…” I whined, pulling my arms around his neck, and tugging him close.

Kirk’s hands moved to my waist, his grip gentle. He continued to move inside me, practically torturing me with his size. I could feel the pleasure building inside my belly.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” I replied. “More than anything.”

Kirk reached over to face me, his fingers lightly stroking my cheeks. With a voice packed with undeniable emotion, he replied quietly, "You're everything to me." I grinned, happy tears welling up in my eyes.

I could eventually feel the pleasure intensifying to an almost intolerable degree. "Kirk," I murmured, neediness evident in my voice. "I'm so close." He gave a nod, his thrusts becoming a little more rapid. "Me too," he answered in a seductive voice. "Together."

“Do you want me to pull out?” He whispered, pressing his forehead to mine. I whined with a shake of my head, pleading to feed him fill me with warmth.

A few more thrusts and the utter ecstasy began to spike, a rush of bliss sweeping over me and stealing my breath away. I drew out every feeling as my body contracted around his cock.

Kirk let out a heavy sigh, and was shortly released. I could feel the strong pulsation of his cock making me tremble, and the hot shoots of his cum filling me. Our bodies shivered as we held one another close, his cock still buried deep into me as our mixed fluids oozed out.

With our combined juices shining on his cock, Kirk slowly pulled out of me. He was fixed as he saw a dripping stream of his sperm come out of my swollen hole. He played with the sticky residue for a moment, running his fingers through the slick gently, and then he eventually fell beside me.

Our bodies were still throbbing from our passion as we turned to face one another. I could still feel his warmth inside of me as we cuddled together.

[river-styxxs]

I want you to look me directly in the eyes and tell me that Joshua had a happy time growing up in St Pavlov's 'We Abuse Children' Foundation.

Be so fucking for real

One thing I almost never see people talking about the characters is their storyboard, which for 5 stars who don't have character stories, is the only way we really learn about their back stories (Ik they make them for the 6 stars too but with their character stories it honestly feels a bit redundant)

Anywho

Lemme just read some excerpts from his storyboard:

"Trying to maintain a unique hobby at the School of Primary Defense of Mankind is a rather difficult task. On the first day of school, the instructor took away all his horror novels. Later Horropedia would frequent faculty offices, detention rooms and the School of Discipline. After some time, the title "Horropedia" was abandoned altogether, never to be mentioned by anyone ever again. Soon, he blended into the quiet campus, learning and living by it's rules and obediently completing every task, just like any other typical child, until he grew up"

Now, let's rub our braincells together for a moment. A child who, while had a happy childhood despite it, did watch his parents die, raised in a happy environment which gave him a special interest in machine maintenance and horror movies, and likely having autism, be thrust into an oppressive and cold environment where his special interests are taken from him, he's seen as a trouble-maker until he eventually masks to blend in and be an obedient child.

Yeah home boy was probably fucking miserable

Also the fact that npcs don't call him Horropedia, rather Joshua, indicates that he's only started using the title recently, potentially as recent as bumping into Vertin and Sonetto, and has probably only started acting like current day Horropedia recently, though not too recent as to where his reputation is clean as Sonetto describes him as questionable and Ms. Z states he often doesn't request for outing permission

Anyway he just like me fr

I literally used my own hand as a reference for him scratching his hand cus I do it all the time

[staylovesmiley]

Collision— Chapter 5

ᯓᡣ𐭩Pairing; Stray Kids x afab!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩Summary; You’ve known him for years but you never would have guessed the charming guy you’ve been online gaming with has been an idol this whole time. (masterlist here)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩Warnings; implied afab reader (only they/them pronouns used for reader), mild angst?, pls I haven’t written fanfics since 2018 patience and kindness is appreciated

You weren’t sure how long it had been since you made your way down the corridor of the JYPE building after leaving the practice room. After retrieving your drink from the vending machine you sunk down to sit beside it on the floor, taking small sips as you got lost deep in thought. It must have been long enough for the boys to start to worry since you saw Han coming into view as he bent down to meet your eye level where you sat criss cross against the wall. “There you are! You okay? We were starting to think you got lost.” He said with a soft smile before noticing an off look on your face, his smile falling. “What’s wrong?” You shrugged, fiddling with the hem of your baggy tshirt and making a conscious effort not to meet his eyes again. “The lights in there were starting to make my head hurt and there were so many sounds-“ you spoke only telling half of a lie. Yes, you were starting to feel a bit overwhelmed in there but it wasn’t from the lights and sounds alone but from all the thoughts racing in your mind. “Oh! You should have told me….it’s kinda bright out here too here follow me.” Without waiting for your response the rapper took your hand and pulled you down another hall and into a room. He flicked one of the lights and only the light inside the recording booth turned on to provide a dim light in the studio. “You can stay here until you start to feel a bit better, okay? I sit in here some times too when I get overwhelmed.” You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. “Thanks Ji- gosh you’re so sweet.” He blushed, hugging you back before giving you some space. He gave a soft nod before heading for the door. “Wait- could um…can you sit with me for a bit? I’ll be okay in just a second but I’m afraid I’ll get lost trying to go back on my own.” His eyes widened like he hadn’t thought of that before he nodded and sat with you on the black sofa against the wall.

You both shared off into the distance, sitting in silence for a while before he spoke up. “You figured it out….didn’t you.” You sighed softly, for a member of paboracha he really was too clever for his own good sometimes. “Yeah-“

Jisung took a deep breathe before playing with the sleeves of his hoodie. “And?”

You furrowed your brows, staring down at your feet. “Why did none of you tell me? Not even Felix….I just- if you guys trust me enough to allow me to stay with you and had me over almost all the time before that, why couldn’t you trust me with this?” You were hurt, upset and afraid you did or said something that gave off the impression that this was something they had to hide from you. Han’s head raised as he looked at you, placing a hand on your knee to get you to meet his gaze. “Hey, it’s not what you’re thinking. Get out of that head of yours for a second, Star.” He chuckled airily, trying to lighten the mood as you looked into his soft brown eyes. “Then what is it?” You poured at him, making sure to hold eye contact. “Ah don’t none of that- don’t give me that look.” He whined, your cute pout too much for him as he started to fluster. “We wanted to tell you but- I know you’re from America and everything is different there but here people are less than not understanding about this sort of thing….” “And what exactly is this thing?” You questioned, wanting him to admit it now they you knew and he knew you knew, for the most part. “We are together, all of us. Since- well since our second anniversary as a group. Some of us longer than that but that was when we all were officially with each other.” He cringed slightly, like he was waiting for you to scold him or be disgusted. Instead you wrapped your arms tightly around his middle with a soft smile on your face. “I’m sorry you guys have to hide it, but I’m happy for you all. If you’re comfortable, now that I already know, you don’t have to hide around me anymore.” You assured him, your eyes meeting as you pulled back from the embrace. “Especially with me staying with you all while my apartment is being fixed….it could become suffocating to hide especially if it’s for my sake or the fear of me not understanding.” Han just blinked at you for a bit before hugging you again, fighting the urge to cry at hearing your support. “I told them you’d be chill about it- Lix too, so you know….he really wanted to be honest with you since the beginning but some of us were hesitant.” You sighed a bit in relief at this, giving the man a squeeze with reassurance. “Thank you for letting me know. Are you ready to head back?” He pulled back with a nod, standing and taking your hand. “Let’s go.”

Once you arrived back inside the practice room Han gave your hand a slight squeeze before raising it up above your heads. “Cats out of the bag, guys. Sorry-“ they all stared at him in disbelief, about to argue over how he shouldn’t have told you before you put your hands out in front of you in defense. “Don’t be mad at Han okay? I figured it out. You know, you aren’t as subtle as you think you all are.” You said with a slight smirk, taking in their shocked expressions before Seungmin spoke up with a dry tone. “Well? You know now….what does that mean?” You raised an eyebrow at him, trying not to be offended at the lack of trust they seemed to have for you in this moment. “You could have told me sooner and saved yourselves a lot of headaches.” There was an audible sigh of relief from the entire room and you walked up to your close friend and smacked him lightly on the chest. “Especially you. I can’t believe you thought so little of me.” You gave him a pout, Felix going from looking like he saw a ghost to looking like he was a child being scolded by a parent. He returned your pout and looked down at his feet with shame. “I’m sorry, Star….I wanted to- but we couldn’t be sure.” You rolled your eyes playfully before hugging him tightly. He recovered from his sulking quickly and hugged back with a squeeze, Hyunjin soon joined to hug you from behind as well and then the rest of the group followed until you began to shout about being claustrophobic and shimmied out of their hold and to the ground where you then crawled out from what felt like a forest of their collective pairs of legs. They all laughed at the display, you included as they all settled down comfortably. “For all of your information, by the way, I myself was in a poly relationship in highschool. Not like this- we didn’t all date each other but it was an open relationship situation.” Now they all stared at you in shock for completely other reasons. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Felix gasped, looking at you with mock offense. “You never asked?” You shrugged, laughing at their expressions. “Anything else we should know?” Minho questioned now, ever the curious cat. “Yeah” you started, the sound of your stomach growling echoing in the practice room. “We should probably get something to eat soon.” Everyone laughed and Jeongin pulled out some take out menus from somewhere in the room. The air felt lighter and they seemed even more relaxed than you had realized before that something was causing a tension, that something being them trying to hide their affection for each other.

It was a month and a half later and things were becoming blissfully domestic with living at the dorms. You had never gone to college, choosing to start working straight out of highschool instead for a family friend, but you assumed this is what it would have been like if you ever got to live with roommates on a campus somewhere. Your free time was spent buying groceries with Seungmin and Jeongin, watching dramas with Hyunjin, being a taste tester for whatever recipe Minho decided he wanted to try or for Felix baking endeavors, or sitting in the studio curled up on the couch while 3racha worked on new projects like you were now.

It was pretty late in the evening and you felt yourself dozing as you leaned against an already sleeping Han, whose body was twisted in a way you thought had to be uncomfortable as he snores lightly into your shoulder. You never paid much attention to what they were working on unless they asked for your opinion on something, usually keeping your headphones in while gaming or scrolling through various different social media platforms. You were enjoying your time living with them so much you felt a small pit in your stomach fill with dread every time you remembered it wouldn’t be forever. They had been more openly affectionate with one another ever since you finding out about their relationship, kissing and cuddling in front of you like it was nothing because well- it wasn’t.

You began to open up to them as well, your introverted walls crumbling as you got closer with the group to where you began to be more affectionate with them also. It was healing a part buried deep inside you being able to express yourself how you wanted, your family and others always shunning you for being too emotional. When you would give one of the boys a hug as greeting, or cuddle up during a movie night it was immediately reciprocated and it caused your chest and face to warm instantly at the acceptance of your touch and presence. As you scrolled, trying to stay awake as long as you could, you heard Changbin push his chair back and stand abruptly. “Ya- we’ve been working at this for too long, Hyung. I feel like my eyes are gonna fall out of my head.” He whined, nudging the older with a pout. “Why don’t you take Han and Star home, then? I’m good to keep working for a bit longer…I wanna finish this up before I can stop.” The muscular rapper sighed and shook his head, knowing Chan would likely be there till well into the early morning hours. “Come on, Hannie time to go home.” He said softly, poking the younger’s cheek causing him to whimper slightly in his sleep and reach up to bat his hand away. He chuckled, leaning down to kiss his forehead while looking to you for help. You giggled a bit and reached over to tickle at the young rapper’s side causing him to jolt awake. “Ya! Star how could you- that’s such betrayal!” He whined, pointing a finger at you accusingly. You just laughed and shrugged your shoulders. “You guys go on without me, I’ll stay and keep the old man company.” You teased, standing up and stretching before stealing the spot in Changbin’s rolling chair beside Chan. “Oh woah that was so uncalled for- you’ve been spending too much time with Seungmin.” He laughed, shaking his head at you while you smiled at him sweetly.

“As long as you’re sure….don’t let him stay here all night, yeah?” Changbin begged you, patting the top of your head. You nodded towards him in a silent promise, wishing them a good night and a safe drive home as the door closed behind them.

You started to doze off again soon, almost falling out of the chair causing Chan to chuckle at you. “You sure you wanna wait up on me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you. You nodded, covering your mouth as you yawned. “Mhm I gotta make sure you leave before dawn.” You teased, stretching your arms up causing your crop top to raise slightly and show the bottom of your bra which caught his eye and caused him to bit his lip and force himself to look away. “Why don’t you take a nap on the couch and I’ll wake you in an hour and we can go home, yeah?” You felt a slight blush creep up your neck and face at his words. Home, that’s definitely what it was starting to feel like staying with them. Though you mainly stayed in Felix room with him, you had slept over with the other plenty of times while having been staying there for various reasons. Tonight you had texted the younger Aussie that you’d be crashing in the 3racha dorm since you’d been with them so late and didn’t want to wake him up by coming in. He had sent a round of pouting emojis and a message about his bed being too cold without you but that he would manage.

You had blushed like crazy at that, your mind reeling any time he said something of the sort making things feel all that more intimate between the two of you. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you had realized you had feelings for the other gamer after about two weeks of staying at the dorms when you caught him slow dancing in the kitchen with Leeknow and felt yourself longing to be the one with your hands on his waist while you spun around with him looking into your eyes longingly. It wasn’t so much that you were jealous and didn’t want him to be doing that with one of his partners, but that you wished that title included you and that night you couldn’t help but cling a little tighter to him as you cuddled in your sleep and dreamt of him calling you as such.

Doing as Chan had suggested, you curled up on the sofa and hugged one of the pillows to your chest as you allowed yourself to finally drift off to sleep. It wasn’t for long, it felt as you were being lightly shaken awake by a lightly amused Bangchan. “Ya, Star- it’s been a little longer than an hour but I’m ready to go now.” You grumbled and shook your head, refusing to get up. “M’no way it’s been longer-“ you groaned, causing the older to laugh. “Do I have to carry you to the car? I can if you make me but I’m giving you the choice now cause it’s late and if the others found out I kept you here this long they’ll kill me.” You huffed, only holding turning over as a response. “Alright then, here we go.” He chuckled before lifting you up into his arms bridal style. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around him to hold on as he carried you down the hall and out of the building towards his car.

After arriving back at the dorm you fully woke up and rubbed at your eyes sleepily. “Are we home yet?” Chan smiled warmly and nodded. “Yeah, just pulled up. Think you can walk in or do I need to carry you again?” Embarrassed slightly, you chuckled and got out of the car. “I’ll walk this time, thanks for earlier though.” The two of you made it in and you cursed slightly when you made it to his room. “I forgot to ask Lix to drop off some pajama’s for me tonight-“ you cursed yourself mentally and cringed at the thought of sleeping in your jeans. “You can just borrow something of mine, it’s fine.” The Aussie reassured you, going over to his drawers. “Do want sweat pants or shorts?” He asked, rummaging around as he pulled out a pair of sweats for himself. “Um- shorts please?” You asked, remembering from previous sleep overs with the oldest member how much of a human furnace he tended to be. Tossing over a baggy black tee and a matching pair of shorts he turned around to give you some privacy and you did the same as you changed. You had done this a few times, not caring to make the walk down the hall to the bathroom to change and just turning to give each other privacy. You both settled under the covers and you could feel him stare at you for a while before you poking him in the chest. “At least try and get some sleep, yeah?” He smiled, chuckling lightly as he shook his hard. “I’m trying but it’s so hard when I have someone so cute in my bed, wearing my clothes.” He teased making you blush and hit him lightly on his bare chest. “Not funny, Chris. Sleep, now.” You turned around so your back was facing him and felt him drape an arm over your side and pull you flush against his back. “Wasn’t a joke, but good night Star.” He said before you soon felt the deep rise and fall of his chest against you signaling that he was drifting off to sleep. His words flustered you more than usual, being so close and in such an intimate setting with him. That was another thing you had come to realize over your time being here with them was how you seemed to have blossoming feelings for each of them, their charms and humor brightened your days beyond imagine and you felt completely blissful in their presence. Still, you held back those feelings to yourself for fear of interpreting their teasing for something more than it could be and ruining what you had going on as it was, even if you felt they were being obvious about the possibility of them feeling the same way. That little voice in your head told you not to be stupid, that they wouldn’t like you back and that it was all in your imagination and they were just being friendly.

Soon, you too fell asleep feeling the rise and fall of Bangchan’s chest behind you and hearing his snores.

In the morning you woke before Chan, smiling at his sleeping face before slipping out of bed and going next door to shower and get ready for the day. You were met with your four temporary roommates sitting and eating breakfast. “Morning, Star!” Jeongin said with a smile that you returned as you slipped your shoes off at the door and made your way over. “Morning! Sleep well?” The all nodded, all except for Felix who looked at your appearance and huffed. “Lix?” You tilted your head in confusion and made your way over to him. “Missed you.” He said with a pout before reaching for you and pulling you down into his lap to nuzzle his face into your neck. “Hey- I missed you too but i really need to go wash up, yeah?” He whined, but let go nonetheless and you leaned down to place a kiss on his cheek. You weren’t sure why you made the gesture, but something told you he needed the extra affection. You watched as his cheeks heated up and Minho immediately spoke up. “Ya! Why does he get a kiss? I want a kiss!” He shouted, causing you to roll your eyes and approach him as well. Smirking, he turned his cheek to you for a kiss only for you to give it a quick little pat before running off in a fit of giggles to get your clothes and take a shower. “No fair!!” He screeched, causing everyone else at the table to erupt with laughter.

While I’m the shower you heard a knock on the door. “Star? Do you mind if I grab something real quick? I promise I won’t look-“ you heard Felix familiar deep voice call out to you. “Sure! I think I actually left the door unlocked anyways-“ you reply, hearing the door open and soon after close. “I locked it back for you!” He said, and you quickly called back a thanks as you heard his footsteps walking away mixed with the water hitting the tile of the shower.

When you got out and dried off, starting to get dressed you noticed the shirt you had picked out had been replaced and you raised an eyebrow. Holding up the shirt that had been set with your other folded clothes you blushed a bit to see it was one of the young aussie’s shirts, his cologne still clinging to the fabric and causing a soft blush to tint your cheeks as you slipped it on over your sports bra before pulling on your loose fitting jeans. Why he switched your shirt with his own you weren’t really sure, fighting with yourself mentally over the meaning behind his actions. When you exited the bathroom and made your way to the kitchen to grab something to eat before class you felt all of their eyes on you and turned to catch Felix smirk before he turned away and took a sip from his mug. You ate quickly before grabbing your bag from the hooks by the door and slipped on your sneakers. “Bye guys, I’ll see you later!” You called, throwing them all a smile and wave as you started to head out. “Have fun at class!” They all called, starting to get ready themselves to head to JYPE for work.

After class, you made your way to JYPE with the takeout the boys had requested for dinner since they were practicing late that evening. As you were making your way into the practice room you heard a bit of commotion. “You’ve gotta be more careful, Chan! Really, I thought you’d know that better than all of us.” It was Minho, raising his voice as he gave the oldest a look of disappointment. “It was late at night and I was just carrying them to my car it wasn’t like we were caught hooking up or anything!” He shouts back, throwing his hands in the air. You weren’t sure what to do, awkwardly standing behind the door with the bags of food in your hands. “Guys, just calm down we can sort this out but we need to get it together before they get here it will be any minute now-“ Hyunjin said to try and ease them down from more of a fight. “Actually their location is showing they are already here.” Felix spoke up, holding up his phone for everyone to see. You decided to open the door slowly, wincing a bit as all eyes shot to you. “S-Sorry um….I can drop the food off and go back to the dorms if you need some privacy?” You said, walking cautiously towards them and setting the food on the table in the back. Chan sighed, shaking head head. “No, don’t go….some- uh, unfortunate events happened that just have us a bit on edge.” He said, looking back over to Leeknow. “I’ll say. A fan, or reporter one it doesn’t really matter, saw Chan carrying you to the car last night and got plenty of photos that are now all over the internet. Dispatch is having a field day.” He said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

The color drained from your face and you felt a bit faint. “What?” Was all you said, Hyunjin was by your side in a second, placing a hand gently on your lower back as he guided you to a seat. “I’m so sorry I- I don’t know what to say.” “It’s not your fault, so you don’t have to say anything.” Minho huffed, keeping his gaze locked on the oldest member. “Don’t blame Chan either then- it was really late and Star looked so tired in those pictures I’m sure they were out cold.” Changbin spoke up, standing to be beside the leader. “When we left they were already struggling to keep their eyes open and that was way before they got home. “This all goes back to why you shouldn’t be staying so late in the studio, then. Or else this wouldn’t have happened.” Minho spat back, pointing an accusatory finger at the producers. “Please stop-“ you said, looking at them all with worry. “Is there anything I can do to make it better? We could say I’m staff and I wasn’t feeling well?” You suggested, sitting on the edge of your seat now. “That could work- stays would eat that up since Chan is already so kind to our staff.” Seungmin spoke, pondering the idea for a bit. “No.” Felix said, glaring at the floor. “We should just tell them the truth. Star is my friend and they’ve been hanging out at the company with us but stayed too late and fell asleep. It’s the same as if a staff member got sick, Chan is the gentleman he is and was giving them a ride home.” Everyone stared at the blonde, concerned and skeptical faces among them. “It would be less lying and then we don’t have to feel like we are sneaking around…..it’s not like anything scandalous is going on anyways.” He said that last bit with a little huff of annoyance, almost as if he wished there was. You looked down to where you were still in his shirt, blushing a bit. “I’ll talk it over with management before we make any statements but- that isn’t an awful idea…” Chan said, Minho actually nodding in agreement. “It could work. If you’re okay with that, Star….people will inevitably find out who you are and you’ll most likely be pushed into the public’s eye to a degree.” You say and thought it over for a bit, biting at your lower lip as you contemplated the possibility. “Well- if I know anything about fandom culture they probably already know who I am if they saw my face….as in like- my name and stuff. So I can’t see the harm it would do to be honest-“ you shrugged, looking at Felix before leaning into him for comfort seeing he still looked a bit upset. “Then it’s settled….I’ll talk with management once we finish dinner.” Chan spoke, nodding over to the food and everyone made their way over to make a plate for themselves besides you and Felix who stayed in your spots on the couch. “Lix….are you okay? Somethings been off today-“ you questioned him, rubbing his back softly as you looked into soft brown eyes. “It’s nothing- I’ll talk to you about it later, okay? Before we go to bed..” you nodded, biting your lower lip again before rising. “Okay. Let’s go get some food before it’s all gone, yeah?” Smiling up at you he nodded before taking your hand.

The whole rest of the evening you felt your stomach twisting in knots with the anxiety of what it could be that he wanted to talk about when the two of you were alone.

author’s note: ooohh what do we think Lixie is gonna have to say to Star?? ૮꒰ྀི∩' ᵕ '∩꒱ྀིა thank you so much for all the lovely feedback I’ve been getting I try to reply to everyone but sometimes I’m either not sure what to say or I just forget to and then feel like it’s been too long to say something when I do remember to and just- I’m a very anxious person if you hadn’t guessed already heh but anyways I hope you enjoy and look forward to the next update soon ᕱᕱ⊹ ࣪ ˖

tag list (if your name is pink it means I was unable to tag you); @softkisshyunjin @coastinglove @palindrome969 @amara-mars @whiteghostt @ihrtlix @queen-in-the-shadows @soaplickerrr @skzswife

[rpmemes-galore]

Within Temptation : The Heart of Everything ... sentence starters

"You left me behind."

"I wish I could let it go."

"You gave up the fight."

"All that's done's forgiven."

"Time has passed you by."

"What have you done now?!"

"Is it a sin to seek the truth?"

"Now I know I won't make it."

"All around me, I see danger."

"Will all our sins be justified?"

"I hear they're getting closer."

"Love you so it hurts my soul."

"You just keep on living this lie."

"I won't show mercy on you now."

"Forgive me for what I have been."

"Couldn't save you from the start."

"Give me something I can believe."

"Can you still see the heart of me?"

"It tears me apart to sacrifice it all."

"It's over now, what have you done?"

"All you see is how you want it to be."

"I know it was destined to go wrong."

"Still, I'll be the hand that serves you."

"Can you forgive me for trying again?"

"I'm fighting for a way to get through."

"Whatever may be, I'll have to find out."

"Your silence makes me hold my breath."

"Is this the ending of what we've begun?"

"So in the end now, what have we gained?"

"I'm sorry if you can't stand the naked truth."

"I feel the hands of fate, they're suffocating."

"You couldn't face the freedom on your own."

"Nothing's ever changed, you still turn away."

"Open up your eyes. See what you've become."

"You've opened the door now, don't let it close."

"There's a curse between us, between me and you."

"I would stop running, if I knew there was a chance."

"Save yourself from fading away now, don't let it go."

"Pray for me, 'cause I have lost my faith in holy wars."

"Oh, for so long I've tried to shield you from the world."

"Give me the strength to face the wrong that I have done."

"Has darkness taken over me, consumed my mortal soul?"

"You've washed your hands, you've made that all too clear."

"Was it worth the ones we loved and had to leave behind?"

"So many dreams were broken and so much was sacrificed."

"Give me strength to face the truth, the doubt within my soul."

"We've been searching all night long, but there's no trace to be found."

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

Hey. This might be very stupid, but i hope you answer this.

Today I accidently got sucked into your blog, which is ironic since I'm a huge swiftie. (but I'm not here to hate on you, I swear)

The thing is for months I've been doubting where I stand on that. Like if i should call myself a swifte or not. when I was young, I used to worship the ground she walked on. but in the past year, I've slowly realised I've been very sheltered. like the problems people point out about her sometimes are actual real problems, but my brain just doesn't know how to respond to that as it has been taught taylor swift is a goddess and can do no wrong. Since your posts are tagged with #exswiftie, i figure you'd understand.

I am not from america, so I can understand then politics part of it all only to a certian extend. the other things, I just dont know what to say to that. The most i can reply is..."yes that is a bit of a problem". I feel don't feel like a swiftie at that moment.

I had fed my mind this narrative that people who hate taylor swift passionately are like untrustworthy or just a walking red flag, or just "don't get it". Now after reading your actual breakdowns I understand you have a rather educated opinion and perception of things. Which clearly rules out my narrative.

I don't know what I feel like I have to define where I stand on this, I just do. I know I genuinely enjoy her music a lot, even there are songs I don't want to hear more than once. I love the whole swiftie lore, digging deep on each lyrics finding out what they mean, finding clues easter eggs just losing my mind over surprise songs. Then i see this other side, which can't be defined with anything less than deeply toxic, which makes me question whether or not this thing i love so much is genuinely good or not.

Hello dear, apologies for the delay in reply :) I am happy to chat with you. I hope that you did not think I would ignore you.  

I was also a Swiftie for nearly 15 years. I got her debut record as a Christmas present in 2006 or 2007. Though I cannot remember which year it was, I loved her from the start. At 10 years old, I was immediately interested. My mother approved of me owning her music simply because she was inoffensive. She didn’t curse or talk about sex, in the beginning, so she was deemed appropriated for my childhood self.  She and I have since grown up. She is now a terribly pretentious bully- and, well, I grew up much too poor and much too hungry to turn into a bully like her. 

The problem- and something I think you’re very much aware of- is that Swift has built herself up in her fandom as perfect. She encourages fans to defend her every action- and rewards them for their efforts through “Swiftmas” or “Secret Sessions” or “hidden easter eggs that only the smartest- most dedicated fans will figure out.” It’s all methodically calculated to keep up an air of reciprocity between Swift, as the fearless leader, and her band of merry misfits- the fans.  

You are not dumb for falling into her rhetorical situation - she's set the marketing strategy up on purpose. It’s specifically created to attract attention- and, to make people feel good, or productive, by participating in her marketing strategy. She gives people an image of herself as a poor innocent victim of the media, or of any critique, and then rewards people for defending her. In Literary study, we call this “Pathos” as the rhetorical appeal to emotion through messaging- textual work of some kind. Rhetoric like this can be found in all sorts of media- commercials about starving children or beaten dogs, charity event banners aiming to persuade someone to donate. It’s all predicated on the appeal to our common emotion, or human capacity to empathize with each other. For, every time fans are rewarded by her attention- after defending her from a perceived enemy, or figuring out some hidden clue- they feel closer to the idol, they feel happy to have her attention. They get that emotional impact of believing they are helping Taylor Swift, or understanding her better on some more human, connected, level. It’s a game of risk and reward for her. Never mind that none of this altruistic- she gets paid through our attention on her- and if you are not directly lining her pockets with your cash money, she does not actually care about you. It’s the image of caring she projects that matters much more than the fact that she doesn’t actually care.

I’m sure you can think of many more examples wherein Swift has played this game of attention and reward with fans. It’s everywhere- her easter eggs are a great example. Sometimes her use of Pathos is benign- non malicious, therefore a non-issue. However, she often weaponizes this rhetoric in a way that is harmful.

This interplay she sets up, between herself and her fans, is made more intensive through her pathos- heavy approach to Rhetoric. To further illustrate, one of the ways people often explain Pathos is by saying that it represents our, as human beings, judgement affect. We see, or hear, the narrative Swift espouses and make judgements about it. If she says: The music critics are sexist towards me. We say: 1.) Sexism is morally wrong, 2.) Taylor Swift is facing sexism from Music critics, Therefore.) The music critics are sexist and morally wrong, because they are criticizing Taylor Swift.

So, all the critics are bad- and we don't need to listen to them. It's also a way Swift creates permissive attitudes towards attacking anyone who critique's her- because she can so easily label them all as sexist.

She uses this basic syllogism to justify leveraging her fans against all kinds of people- it's not just the critics. I just wanted to give a concrete example, and I will go more in depth on this subject in another post.  

She is playing with people’s emotions, while she is also self-victimizing,and leveraging her audience’s innate human rejection of, for instance, sexism as it offends our personal values. No one is saying that sexism isn't morally corrupt; however, Taylor Swift points to valid criticism and calls it sexism so that her audience will attack. People often have valid critique of Swift- She just doesn't want to face critique at all- ever. If people say her music is too self-centered- Swift says that is Sexism. If people say her music is boring- she calls it sexism. If people say her music is shallow and only centered are relationships- She calls it sexism. When, in reality, it's valid criticism that has nothing to do with her being a woman. Only ever writing songs about your own myopic, self-centered perception of interpersonal relationships is shallow. Her music is objectively boring, because it's derivative. Her music is completely self-centered- and she only admits to that when it benefits her, but when critics say it, she calls it sexism.

Please don’t think badly of yourself. I am not here to hate on you either- I was you. I am not here to hate on anyone at all- I just want to share how my own knowledge, and expertise, of rhetorical appeals and literary analysis can expose Taylor Swift. Swift relies on this rhetorical technique to thrive, she obfuscates the truth, schemes, and manipulates people into thinking her music is the best thing on Earth- or thinking that she is literally a Saint. Clearly- nothing on Earth is that perfect- So why does she need her fan base to consider her a genius, and a saint, so badly?

Personally, I have no problem admitting I have flaws. I think most sane people can admit to their flaws. It’s not a bad thing to have flaws. So why does Taylor Swift react to all criticism like it’s the worst thing on Earth. Why does she have a whole song about calling critics “mean/ and a liar/ and pathetic/ and alone in life” (“Mean” 2010). She has the nerve to call that song an “anti-bullying” song; yet, is it so clearly bullying that random critic who wrote a bad review about her concert one time in 2009? She really hated that guy- and all he was doing was his job. She called him a drunken loser for just doing his job. 

She's written so many songs about how all her critics are just stupid, morally corrupt, or sexist: "The Man" (2019), "Mean" (2010), "But Daddy I love Him" (2024), "New Romantics" (2014), "Shake it Off" (2014), "I know Places" (2014), "Anti-Hero" (2023), "Paris" (2023), "Blank Space" (2014), "I did something Bad" (2018), "Dancing with our hands tied" (2018). There are more songs wherein she carries this theme of "everyone is out to get me, and they all hate me for no good reason" but I think I've listed enough.

The general message is all over "Evermore" and "Folklore" too every time she calls the general public "Clowns" or "masqueraders"

It's just everywhere- her subtle devaluation of legitimate criticism. Trying to chalk it all up to the critics being simply dumb, sexist, or malicious in some way. Perhaps some people are mean- true- but to generalize every criticism as evil? That's just her actually playing a victim card. There's no way every single critic, or person who doesn't like her, is evil, bad, or malicious in some way. Okay?

I’m tired of her claiming to be an amazing person and an amazing poet- when she is just not either of those things. She’s not a kind person- it's all over her music in the ways she maliciously hurts people for fun. She’s not an amazing poet either. I have a few college degrees- and one pass through her work, with a serious intention of literary analysis, I discover that her writing is plain, banal, and derivative. 

She wants everyone to compare her to Emily Dickinson, Dylan Thomas, and Shakespeare. So, I’m doing what she wants and taking her work seriously enough to critique it. Except that, in critique, I find out why it’s all poorly written- and why it’s just a bunch of thinly veiled conservative iterations of the same boring message over and over. All she ever says in her music is “poor me” and “I hate” (insert person- Kim K., Kanye, Matty, Joe, Jake, John, Scooter, Scott, Harry, Calvin, the media at large, anyone who critiques her, and men in the music industry as a whole). She has the longest list of enemies I think I’ve ever seen- and the funny thing is that all these people avoid her at all costs. None of these people talk about her- yet she is still singing, writing songs, and getting her fans to post memes about how awful they are years, even decades, later.  

It all gets a bit tiresome? No? Personally, I don’t wish to live a life full of such self-pity and hatred- so why should I listen to it in music form? Ya know?  

In my posts, I am attempting to find the truth. I don’t want to “hate” on anyone or anything- but I am going to seek truth in her work.  

I will be posting more about how she devoids Shakespeare of his social reformist efforts. I’m going to post more about how she twists the meaning of every literary reference she’s ever made. I am not kidding, she has misrepresented, and misinterpreted every single literary reference in her entire discography. It’s astounding how hard Swift tries to sound thoughtful- without actually being thoughtful. I will be posting about how she only ever name-drops to either tear other people down or self-depreciate herself in effort to seek pity. I will be talking more about her use of rhetorical appeals to both attract an audience, keep their attention through risk-reward trade-off, and manipulate them into fighting her battles for her. I will be talking about how she upholds a bunch of harmful stereotypes in her music. She often alludes, or blatantly includes allusion to colonialist attitudes. She’s used the LGBT community for profit without making any real activist efforts. She’s leveraged feminism like a weapon against other women- yet never actually has feminist themes in her music. She’s just so painfully hollow- upon closer inspection.  

I don’t hate her as a person. I think she’s unethical, sure, but that doesn’t mean I hate her, want her to die, or anything extreme at all. I would never wish harm to another human being. In fact, after seeing a lot of the harmful stuff in her music, especially about her kind of fucked up views on relationships, I sincerely hope she gets some professional help and finds some peace in this world. When I critique Taylor Swift it’s about her work and her brand- It's not about her personhood.  

I just think that no one Earth is above reproach, or critique, and we must all be held accountable for our own actions. She’s the one that puts her work out there for people- It's therefore completely appropriate for me to discuss her work. 

Edit: Oh and I want to add- I wish you luck in figuring out what you really think about Taylor Swift. If you ever need to talk or vent more- my inbox is always open. :) With peace and love- bye bye

[ceescedasticity]

Unforsaken, 12c

(All sections on tumblr)

(AO3, lagging behind but more polished)

After they stop for the night Glorfindel asks if Alphsîr and Alphlîn want to take the night off from training. They do not. They want to hit things.

Since none of them know how strong a blow from the swan-twins' power would be, Glorfindel isn't comfortable having them aim at anyone, and it's hard to strike so abstractly at nothing. He rigs up a target of a polearm stuck into the ground with a bucket on top; goal is to knock the bucket off the polearm.

(Inert objects with no real spirit of their own are not ideal targets for this kind of attack, but Glorfindel is guessing with their level of strength they should be able to manage it.)

There are a few false starts, but when Alphsîr manages to loose an actual strike the polearm gets ripped out of the ground and knocked flat in one blow, dirt flying. The polearm is also now slightly bent.

That's supposed to be a dragon-grade polearm.

Glorfindel sets up the same target again, but says they can't get another polearm for a target if this one gets too badly damaged.

(They still haven't seen any sign of dragons but wrecking all their dragon-grade polearms would surely summon some.)

(Celeborn does not, in fact, drink the rest of Legolas's Mirkwood moonshine. Celeborn stares blankly up at the stars missing Galadriel until Elladan and Elrohir bring the palantír over and make him talk to Arwen.)

*****

Turgon's reprieve is over the next day.

There is no reprieve for Celeborn, as he still insists on riding beside the wagon listening to all of it, even though Turgon tells him again he doesn't need to.

Did she talk about them?

"Not if she could avoid it I'm sure. She would have wanted to protect you."

But did she talk about them in the past, about back before she died?

"Not to me. We only ever discussed the kin we had in common, and very seldom the past. Mostly we avoided talking about our pasts at all. All orcs-who-know, not just me and L—Nimloth."

She didn't forget them, did she?

"No, no, everyone avoided— She alluded to you, sometimes — to what Celegorm's servants did to you."

What did she think about working with sons of Fëanor?

"She hated it but there weren't enough of us that we could afford to do anything about our grudges. —Except she did kick Reckless in the crotch hard enough to actually rupture something once, the first time they met when she remembered all the way."

Why do some orcs remember? How?

"There are a lot of different ways it happens. Any orc can get reminded, it's also — not falling apart, after you get reminded. I don't know why some people can handle it and some can't, and I don't know what things pushed Nimloth into remembering. It wasn't every lifetime. —That's not a bad thing. It's still awful, if you don't remember, but it's not — you don't fully understand how awful it is. Or feel as bad about how awful you are."

But if you remember can't you… be less awful?

"Well, when the Shadow was light we could just go to ground, but other orcs could do that too… You need to understand that when the Shadow is — was strong then an orc is an orc, and all of us did bad things. If we were lucky we could avoid doing bad things directly to people important to us, but all of us hurt innocents and served the Shadow's purpose. And if you were unlucky— If there was any doubt the Dark Lord could bend any of us to his will if he took the trouble, then after— There wasn't any doubt. We were weapons or we were dead. And it's hard to stay dead."

What's it like in the Crucible of Souls?

"…Hot. Close. Confusing. Bad. I'm not sure how to explain it better, just… it's very bad. It hurts. Everything always hurts, but the Crucible hurts worse."

Did she want us to come help her?

"Absolutely not, no. There's— Glorfindel recognized me once some centuries ago. He was a great warrior when I was alive and I could tell he'd gotten better, but I never once wanted him to come after me. He couldn't have done anything to help me, not truly. It would only have put both of us in danger. It might have put him in danger from me, if the Dark Lord noticed. He made an orc-who-knows torture his own son to death once, out of spite. None of us wanted our living family coming near us. She wanted you to stay away."

What happened to her, why isn't she alive now?

"I don't know what exactly happened to her, or to most of the other orcs-who-know. There were some very great battles, and landslides and other disasters — it's more surprising that we're alive than that they're dead."

…

Turgon sighs, and looks over at Celeborn for the first time in a while. "This is the thing I was hoping you wouldn't have to know. And I really don't know very much."

"Yes…?" Alphsîr prompts.

"She believed Saruman and went to Isengard. She's probably the same Leafblight that Zuste mentioned."

Celeborn goes gray.

Alphlîn asks, "What's Isengard?"

Oh, hell.

Alphlîn asks, "Are you all right, Uncle Celeborn?"

Celeborn's eyes are open, but he is starting to list sideways.

*****

Glorfindel and Elladan come take charge of Celeborn.

Elrohir herds the swan-twins up to Zena's wagon and asks her to give them a brief introduction to what was going on in Isengard. He figures they have a complete lack of relevant context that might make Zena's version appropriate.

After overhearing enough to understand what's happened, Legolas goes back and volunteers the rest of the Mirkwood moonshine. Glorfindel says to hold it in reserve but he's starting with miruvor.

[acourtofthought]

I'd love to hear your take on the frankly alarming degree to which e/riels seem to perceive Elain as if she were real person who needs all this protection and defence from """antis""" (adding three quotes on that because I find the term hilarious, honestly). Maybe it's just what the algorithm is showing me but it seems to me that this rampant, aggressive, near feral attitude of e/riels trying to prove they're the only ones who care about Elain and everyone else is, in their eyes, almost an evil caricature out to hate on her is so prevalent these days? I see plenty of rational ones too, but the vocal ones (that I see) seem to have lost their grip on reality vs fiction.

It's always "we care what Elain wants and Elucien's don't" isn't it?

So what they're saying is they are happy for Elain's character to end up with a guy who hasn't thought of a future with her beyond his sexual fantasies, called her a mistake before Rhys even spoke to him, can't admit to being over the female he loved for centuries, doesn't think Elain can handle the trove, gave her zero credit for her part in the war and felt a spark in his chest over the thought of another females joy simply because "it's what she wants" (though we actually don't have canon evidence that what Elain wanted from Az was anything more than a hookup).

These are books so what she wants honestly doesn't matter because her arc isn't over and SJM has the final say on what she wants (something that she has proven to have no issues changing up for her FMC) but say she was a real person. Say your best friend wanted a guy who felt better after spending time with a different girl, who wanted a guy who didn't think of a future with her beyond a night of hooking up, and they'd be completely supportive of that simply because "it's what she wants"?

My sister WANTED to stay married to a guy who was verbally abusive because she has low self esteem issues. While we accepted that it was her life and therefore she made her own choices we weren't required to be excited about it. We were allowed to see how unhappy the situation made her despite her inability to leave at the time, we were allowed to acknowledge how bad he was for her. We were allowed to hope that someday she'd meet someone who was better for her.

To me it's a very immature frame of mind to think that the people who care for you, truly care for you (and are not just motivated by their own desires) need to be happy with what you want when those people often are able to view how those things are unhealthy for you. We are at times our own worst enemy and when we're struggling with things like trauma we don't always make the best decisions. Elucien's are able to spot this behavior in Elain right now especially when she herself confirmed in SF that she still has trauma despite her attempts at find some sort of purpose in the NC. We are able to clearly see how she's choosing to avoid her real problems in favor of fixating on something that gives her a shot of dopamine which, while understandable after great change and loss, is not the way to go about having real character growth.

Does Mor not also have purpose in the NC? But is Mor making the best decisions for her own personal life at this point in the series? The same can be said of Elain's character.

We've all witnessed how Sarah writes a FMC wanting one guy only to start the deterioration of his character so that her eventually wanting another makes sense to us.

Feyre loved Tamlin to the point she was willing to die for him in book 1 but the author hammered home the red flags in book 2 paving the way for Rhys.

Aelin loved Chaol in book 2 of the TOG series only to for Sarah to write his later actions as being something she was unable to forgive, paving the way for her to eventually fall for Rowan (after having no romantic interest in him at the start).

Lucien was introduced as a possible love interest for Elain when the author mated them in book 2 (a very simple fact that proves that if they do end up together Sarah went the route of what SHE wanted and not fanservice since mates getting together is the hallmark of a fated mates author). But instead of ruining Lucien as a possible love interest for Elain, instead of writing him as doing something problematic that makes us understand why he's not the guy for Elain, she has continually written him to be supportive of what she wants, going out of his way to do what is best for her, has him acknowledge her bravery in the war, has him meet her father and realize what a good man he was, has him stare at Elain and only Elain with longing two years after their bond snapped. A lot like what we saw with Rhys for Feyre or Cassian for Nesta, where they longed for the females despite them pushing them away.

If Sarah did not want Elucien's to have hope that they might overcome any current obstacles she would have gone out of her way to show us exactly why he's not the right guy for Elain despite what anti's claim Elain wants right now. Because again, what Elain wants can change and precedence shows us what a FMC wants often does. Not to mention we don't know the exact reasons Elain has withdrawn from Lucien meaning there might be some deeply meaningful explanation for it in the same way we saw with Nesta for Cassian.

You know whose character she did begin to tarnish though? Az when it comes to Elain. He looked sweet towards her in ACOWAR and FAS but in SF he was petty, childish, jealous. He went off half-cocked at how he'd easily defeat Lucien (who is most certainly a future HL and by default will automatically have more power than Az will ever have once his powers manifest, Lucien who controlled the fiercest warrior of the Illyrians with a single word), she wrote him as never once acknowledging how Elain also saved him in the war, how she saved Cassian and Nesta during the war, how she saved Briar during the war. Sarah wrote Az has never having thought of a future with Elain beyond his sexual fantasies. She wrote Az very quickly moving past the events of Solstice with Elain and showing admiration for another female, believing in that females ability to take care of herself, having that female spark something in is chest that is a thing of secret lovely beauty.

It's fine if some people still like the idea of Az and Elain but let's not fool ourselves, it's clear that the author is not writing Az as being the good guy when it comes to her. She gave him the Tamlin treatment when it comes to Elain and we all know what that spells out.

I think the most amusing thing for me will be hearing what anti's have to say when / if Elucien is written as endgame after years of telling us that we don't care for Elain. When the author herself decides Lucien is the best thing for her, when the author herself decides to have them fall in love, when the author herself has left us those clues all along, are they going to accuse the fated mates author who created this world and these characters of not caring about a character they themselves had zero part in bringing to life?