#that might be fake science

[gamebunny-advance]

Hah.

I'm not a linguist, so I don't have the terms to really describe what I'm explaining, but I like how the latest Pikmin comic implies that the Pikmin language probably doesn't contain specific words for specific items. Instead, it seems like they communicate almost strictly with descriptive language.

While it's possible that "bulborb" and "mushroom" are just similar sounding words in the Pikmin language, I think the implication is that their language is very context-sensitive, so missing any part of a message can significantly change its meaning.

So for example, "bulborb" might be something like "dangerous spotted big red" in the Pikmin language, then the yellow pikmin might have misheard the "dangerous" part and just heard "spotted big red" which would be their word for "mushroom."

It's very fascinating~

#pikmin #pikmin comic #it's too bad the comics aren't canon #otherwise this might be a cool glimpse into pikmin culture #anyway i think i heard that meerkats do something like this to warn their colony about danger #they have different calls for different threats #and even differentiate by color #something like that #that might be fake science #but i think i heard something like that a long time ago

[gothimp]

my dnd group doesnt like my current character much and keeps mispronouncing her name and i am being the bravest soldier in the world right now

#i dont care if shes fake say her name right #anyway i might have to figure out a way to let her die or something bc this is… this sucks #her name is viola btw its not rocket science #nes.txt

[grinchwrapsupreme]

being super normal about White calling Billy "a dreamer"after the events of Maybe No Go

#truly alarming amount of tags on this post don't click read more fr #the venture bros #pete white #bily quizboy #billy whalen #idk man the way they balance each other is really interesting #the things they agree on and disagree on are almost arbitrary #'you can't put mouthwash in a cookie' 'trust me' vs 'we should spend 10 mil on a motorcycle instead of housing' 'that's such a cool idea' #billy trying to pep white up about the ball #'this was your dream too' like come on dude when have pete's dreams ever worked out #when have yours #'what are we gonna do now billy?' 'we'll cross that bridge when we come to it' #baby the bridge has never been more present #ALSO white calling billy the dreamer when HE'S the one who pushes so hard for things #billy has dreams that might not be realistic but they give him hope and he works around the way the world works to make things happen #like being a self-taught surgeon and believing in a magic ball #pete has dreams IN SPITE of what is realistic and he will mold reality to be what he wants in order to make it happen #like fixing the quizshow and pretty much everything that happened in invisible hand of fate #and they both have disabilities that affect them in vastly different ways and impact their relationship with realistic goals #like billy's hydrocephalus being presented to the audience as mostly a social issue for him and the hand and eye being marks of trauma #rather than like an actual block for him beyond needing to tune the hand up every now and then #vs white's albinism making him physically unable to be in direct sunlight and making him actively fearful of doing certain things and #being certain places #to be clear i know the actual effects of hydrocephalus as well as the hand and eye but this is based on how the show presents it #like billy took these things about himself into account and went ok these are part of my reality and i will work with them #and pete took his reality and went ok i will cover it up with fake tan and wigs or sunscreen and hats and make reality what i want it to be #and that's what makes them a good team!! that's why they science together well #it's also why they argue so much #accepting reality and playing within its constraints vs hating reality and changing it to suit you #these are the hallmarks of scientific progress

[aparticularbandit]

Matsuda is concerned that Ryoko will be stuck as Ryoko forever, but Ryoko isn't.

My question is whether Yasuke intended for Ryoko to ever recover her memories or if he still hadn't figured out how to let her keep new memories without regaining the old ones.

(Yasuke told Ryoko not to use her Talent on him, and Junko did anyway, and Junko found the flaw in what Yasuke was doing and found how to separate old memories from new ones. That's what she fixed.

Yasuke couldn't make the memory loss permanent because if he did, Ryoko would never be able to hold new memories again. He wanted her to stay Ryoko, without the past Junko memories, but building new memories. And he couldn't figure out how to erase one without erasing the other.)

#musings #danganronpa #dr0 #yasuke matsuda #ryoko otonashi #matsushima #we know that junko figured this out because thh #(although this was not effective with kyoko who regained her longest memories over the course of the game #which maybe suggests that junko wanted her to remember that #OR that junko didn't figure out how to erase that many years of memories permanently #but could a much shorter span #OR that junko hadn't figured out the disconnect quite either but new shorter periods might not effect etc. #fake science is fun!)

[arthur-r]

emily wilson out here translating the iliad and i am once again wishing i knew how to read and translate ancient greek

#listen where there’s a will there’s a way but i just finished my degree audit and looks like i will only be able to manage a classics minor #with latin emphasis (unless i abandon latin for greek which i’m not going to do even though it pains me) #but i really want to make my own iliad someday…. #at this rate i’ll only ever end up making a queer prose adaptation and be criticized for projecting modern notions of sexuality onto a #completely different set of values and social understandings of homosexuality…. #(which. if anything there should be more gay people in the song of achilles. don’t be mean to me i promise i understand ancients) #anyway i might just have to make a book of poetry or a novel adaptation or whatever whatever but what if i want to learn the script #and painstakingly translate every single word through years and years of dedication. while also being a librarian as my main thing #shdhdhdf i’m never gonna be classics scholar enough to professionally translate. and if i were it would be latin. but i can dream…. #anyway i’m no longer failing my french class (have a 70% that should only be going up) but i’m still failing historical linguistics #my latin grade is great i’m acing it but my library science class is a D (which should be fixed in two days though — just needs more data) #so i am giving myself permission to sleep early tonight and go into class well rested for once. i’m not feeling well but that’s a constant #anyways if anyone reads the wilson iliad let me know!! i’m a fake fan of her work and haven’t read her odyssey (something about the iliad…. #there’s a brutality and a raw humanity to it that puts the odyssey at a lower priority to me) but im so freaking excited to read her iliad #i have to prioritize schoolwork but soon. i’ll have to ask my latin teacher about it tomorrow though she’s an iliad enjoyer #anyway good news i think i’ll be able to get a history major with certificates in digital studies and classical studies (the two genders….) #and graduate comfortably in four years with honors in the major. this is ignoring how i’m failing my classes. i promise i won’t be forever #anyways the point is: wilson’s iliad — i will read it as soon as possible and i’m very excited #also i checked out a book from the library called the lexicographers dilemma: the evolution of proper english from shakespeare to south park #but i haven’t had the chance to read it and soon it will be due…. college is evil i’m too busy learning things to learn other things!!!! #anyway if i do honors in the major then i’m excited to eventually earn credit from a capstone thesis which i would do on lexicography #throughout history with an emphasis on classification systems and basically peter mark roget #ok anyway. wandering all over the place but the point is. wilson’s iliad. very exciting. can’t wait to find the time #and eventually i will write an iliad adaptation of my own i will. just not a full translation shdhdf that’s an unrealistic goal #especially when again. my capstone project is going to be about taxonomy of ideas. ancient epics are secondary…. #anyway i hope everybody is doing well!! i am going to bed soon-ish but other than that i am around so lmk if you need anything #me. my post. mine. #college talk #delete later

[suboptimal-xenobiologist]

Guys I'm so incredibly sorry. My brain is currently full of gen 1 my little pony thoughts only suitable for the fictbio blog

#i have created so much fake science as to how magic works #after hundreds/thousands of years ponies evolved symbioticly with magic (which isnt technically alive but functions kinda like an organism) #and now most of them have generate amount of magic via their heads. which is why the hair is magic + all the magic is done with ears/noses #ponies with excessive amounts of magic usually have growths on their foreheads (unicorns) or eyes (the twinkle eye bitches) #there are ways to artificially enhance your control over magic (most notably tatoos which only heighten control over what the tatoo is of) #(which is why cutie marks are practically a cultural necessity. you usually choose one as a teenage coming of age thing) #(the ones babies have are temorary and pretty weak and just exist to fuck around and find out/let the kids explore their options) #((i might change my headcanons on this so cutie marks are actually natural but im proud of the hypothetical idea) #most babies we see are genetic clones but ponies can reproduce sexually #sea ponies are a relatively newly evolved species (if you can even say that about a species. theyre been here thousands of years) #and they're only semi-aquatic as babies. kind of. they have a separate air breathing respiratory system and water breathing one #and as bebs theyre still learning to use each one selectively so they need to gradually ease into the water over years so they dont drown #or maybe im wrong ive been reading the box descriptions for hours but its been forever since i watched the series #all i remember about the series is that not having a shadow makes you all kinds of sick #and that you call upon the seaponies when youre in destr-

[goldensunset]

besties we are stumbling our way through this physics lab course for the entire semester!!!

#so the story goes like this. i took honors physics in junior year of high school and ap physics in senior year #did great in both of them and i got passing credit on the ap exam to allow me to skip that equivalent course in college #(this might not make sense to non-americans sorry) #here’s the problem though. my high school class only counted for a lecture credit. not a lab credit #so i still have to take a lab course in college #which is supposed to be taken at the same time as the lecture in college so you’re learning in one class & experimenting on it in the next #but they didn’t make me sign up for the lecture in order to take the lab they just let me sign up #bc i already had that lecture credit right? no need to take it agsin #again* #yeah so. that would be great if i remembered every single thing i learned in that course that i took a year and a half ago #even if i had taken this college lab in the fall immediately following the spring that i finished the lecture in hs #i still would’ve forgotten stuff and gotten rusty just over the summer #well i’m a sophomore now i had that entire gap year in science. even worse for me #the other people in this class don’t know that i’m not in a lecture class with them they just think i must be in a different section #i have to fake it till i make it this whole semester acting like i know what’s up #i have to draw upon my old knowledge of physics to complete this stuff #man #my lab partner is gonna think i’m an idiot who wasn’t paying attention in class #but i’m not in class at all #sheeeesh #peach rambles

[blue-lock-rocky]

so people think astrology is a science

the psychology majors:

#im SORRY #i just think it’s hilarious how some people think ASTROLOGY is an actual science #meanwhile psychology papers: hey guys we might be fake science cuz we just realized half of our experiments aren’t replicable #astrology: what replicability we have SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN that— #*blows raspberries*

[mushroominawaterbottle]

Cryptozoology is my favourite kind of fake science stuff. Wish there was also cryptobotany, like mothman but its just a really big fern in the middle of a field with literally nothing else around it , that spawned in the dead of night, might have killed a few people and never shows up in photos, and no one is sure its even real

#cryptid #cryptozoology #plants #botany

[onethousandrbirds]

on the one hand, i totally get all pushback against Reading Theory™ (the fetishization of one knowledge production type—especially that which is produced exclusively for other members of the intelligentsia—creates a pretty limiting dogma instead of anything liberatory, after all), but on the other i don't trust anyone who is avidly against it and cannot/will not tell you what they do read b/c their politic is defined exclusively via their lived experience

#medium post? #that's how you get bitches supporting eugenics time and time again without noticing #(​b/c their lived experience never put them in a place to question the role of Science™ #and the continuation of society writ large— i.e not letting 'stupid people' breed #which is a thing that technically is and has been on the books for ages BUT what 'stupid people' means is v.broad #and was often used to harm undesirable populations rather than that guy who who thinks the moon landing was faked #and if you refuse to read--be that theory or any type of organizing text--you might never notice that gaping hole in your belief system!)

[ikiprian]

Mr. Fenton is a competent teacher. Almost too competent.

If Mr. Daniel Fenton had any more than a BS (with a minor in education), Tim would’ve flagged his profile as a potential Rogue. That’s the way of most charismatic academics, at least in Gotham. (Got a PhD? Instant watchlist.) Instead, he’s Gotham Academy’s newest celebrity, as a young, passionate, out-of-towner substitute while the chemistry teacher’s on maternity leave.

Tim gets the hype. Fenton seems to genuinely love teaching, and is invested in the welfare of the student body. He hands out bananas during exam week, hosts a “study habits seminar” each month to coach effective learning strategies, and the third time Tim falls asleep in his class, he even pulls Tim aside to ask if he’s doing okay. With all the late work he accepts and the protein bars he sneaks Tim, he’s every teen vigilante’s dream teacher. He could’ve been Tim’s favorite.

In fact, Mr. Fenton was Tim’s favorite. Up until Tim walks into Mr. Fenton’s chemistry classroom for a forgotten textbook, an hour after the final bell.

On the board where tallied scores for today’s review game had been kept, “THE CHEMISTRY BEHIND DR. CRANE’S FEAR GAS: ANXIOGENICS, NERI’S, & YOU,” is now scrawled. A detailed diagram of the human endocrine system projects in front of a small crowd of adoring and attentive students.

Fenton is wrist-deep in the skull cavity of an anatomical model. A short tug, and out pops the brain.

It’s plastic. It’s fake.

Tim identifies the nearest emergency exit.

Fenton turns to the door, and in the dark classroom with the projector illuminating half his face, his eyes almost seem to flash red. “What’s up, Tim?” he asks. His friendly grin is too big for his face. “I didn’t know you wanted to join the Just Science League!”

[OR: Danny’s a science teacher at Tim’s school. Gotham’s a pretty wild place, even for someone who grew up a superhero in a ghost-infested town, so he takes it upon himself to start a club teaching kids how to manage themselves in the event of a crisis. These Gothamites are pretty hardy, but a little extra training never hurt anybody! And he suspects one of his students might be a teen vigilante, like he’d been, back in the day. As a senior super, it's Danny’s duty look out for him! Surely, this is the subtlest and most appropriate way to give the kid pointers.]

[Tim immediately assumes supervillain.]

#Danny can’t help being creepy it’s just the way he’s built!! #I like to think Lancer did these things for Danny when he was in HS #and now Danny's emulating Lancer :) #Passing it on! #Tim is paranoid but also like he is SO CLOSE to graduating so like. Does he even want to report this shit to Batman. What if the next chem #teacher's a jerk and Tim fails the class and he never gets his stupid diploma. Bruce already is insisting he finish out HS and maybe get #an ABA before he's allowed back into the company #and Jesus Christ does Tim hate school. He'll worry about Mr. Fenton's burgeoning army of Science Honor Society Rogues on his own time #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt #tim drake #danny fenton #in case I write more of this let’s tag it uhhhhh #misunderstood mentor au #kipwrite

[midascrow]

Great Minds Think Alike

┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐

synopsis: Alastor is jealous of his own shadow.

a/n: The reader is portrayed as being pretty smart and into science and stuff. I like the idea of Alastor being fond a character who’s pretty intelligent, he finds them fascinating and likes seeing how they tick. Also this might be a little rushed I apologize in advanced!

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

Alastors shadow is a traitor and a fake.

That’s what the man himself believes anyway, whilst he watches HIS shadow flutter around you, a wide smile trying far too hard to appear innocent on its face, as it helps you reach an especially high set stack of papers.

“Oh! Thank you so much…” Your sweet, melodic voice trailed off into an unsure note, not quite aware of how you should address the shadow that’s…ears(?) Twitched and wiggled, eyes(??) squinting back at you as it danced across the walls.

The radio demon wasn’t the least bit sure what had caused his shadows sudden bout of rebel, or why it had seem to take a special interest in you of all people.

Not that there was anything wrong or displeasing about you. Actually it was quite the contrary. Alastor found your company to be far more pleasant than most of the hotels staff and inhabitants.

You were awfully kind for a sinner. And not quite in the same realm of naivety that was the princess’s kindness.

You were smart. Clearly. Always aware of what went on around you and the neighboring spaces. Hardly had you been known to be caught off guard by the entrance of another, nor had you ever bumped into any of the sinners contrary to how the group seemed to enjoy clumping around each other in the foyer during special…”redemption” activities.

You were even so aware as to avoid any touch with the inhabitants of the hotel, including Alastor himself.

And while he wasn’t a very large fan of touch himself, even finding that he could appreciate your aversion to it, the demon couldn’t help feeling a little displeased by the lack of power it left him with when you evaded his touches so expertly.

Always stepping just slightly to the side when his hand attempted to connect with your shoulder. Head craning back, just quickly enough to appear natural when he made and effort pinch your cheeks condescendingly.

Frankly..it was frustrating.

And despite all that, despite all your evasions of the radio demon….here you were, practically-!-canoodling with his own shadow!!

“Oh..! You’re so sweet..” Red ears flopped and twitched, while his eyes narrowed. Alastor could not believe he was being made to watch this…disgusting display of treason.

You giggled softly, hand brushing along an invisible form, as the shadow curled around your own. You watched with a smile as your shadowed hand fell into the hair of the deers, only to gasp when met with the soft sensation of hair beneath your finger tips.

“Oh my…so you’re tangible..?” The shadow nodded vigorously, bumping its head into your palm before grabbing your wrist and laying a gentle kiss to your hand. With that smug fucking grin.

A static screech echoed in the parlour, turning the heads of the incoming dwellers, prompting them to gap at the twitching and seething demon.

And oh, was he seething.

You were far too curious for your own good frankly. So eager to dissect and experiment in what ever had caught your eye. Magic, contracts, demons, anything you could possibly find you wanted to study.

And Alastor was known to be one of the more enthusiastic individuals who indulged in your fascination. Encouraged it even.

Angel had often joked about the way he seemed to preen and puff up in pride whenever he dropped a newly disembodied sinners corpse at your feet, seemingly delighted in your ecstatic gasp of approval.

Which was…another thing. Redemption. Did you want to be redeemed? You’d hardly spoke of it. Sure, you participated in the trust exercised that the princess set up, but nearly everyone had to regardless. Perhaps you were too fascinated with the underworld to truly even think about the idea of redemption.

Alastor himself knew he wouldn’t, nor could he ever be redeemed. And frankly, the idea of you being thrown up to those pearly gates made his insides squirm in the most horrible way.

But that’s not something he wanted to ponder on right now. Not as he practically teleported to your side, shooting his shadow a sneer that it had the nerve to return, as he bent slightly over your shoulder. “My dear! What is it that has currently caught your eye this fine evening?”

When your eyes snapped to his own, he could practically feel the static buzz around him pleasantly, a smug shine in his eyes having successfully stolen your attention from that accursed shadow.

“Alastor! I was just…uh..chatting I suppose with your shadow! He’s been very helpful today. Did you send him?”

No-“Why yes! I did my dear. I figured it wouldn’t help to lend you a helping hand this night, after all you’ve been such a joy around the hotel since your arrival!”

The shadow swished and darted around, vigorously shaking its heads and hands in a way to catch your attention, but a small tap of alastors can to the floor sent it dissipating back to his feet with a displeased hiss.

“I simply could not stop myself from assisting the lovely little sinner that had come into the arms of our sweet little hotel.”

His smile twitched and stretched at the sight of your shiny flattered gaze, that darted across his face with the same awe you exuded when coming upon a new bit of information you had to uncover. A new mystery.

Perhaps Angel had a point. Prior to before…he could feel the way his back straightened..the way his ears stood tall and proud, and the tail of his coat shifted just slightly. The Radio Demon could not deny the pride that fluttered into his dead heart and seeped into his flesh.

Even as he hummed about a new species of sinner he had stumbled upon. Even as he watched with somewhat softer eyes as you gasped and leaned just the slightest bit into his space, eyes alight with interest. Even as his dark shadow like tentacles darted beneath his feet and out the door, in search of a new test subject to grab- just for you.

Even as his hand touched the dip between your shoulders blades, when he led you towards his room for a refreshing lunch before your next scientific session.

Alastor could not deny,

He and his shadow were one and the same.



#hazbin x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastors shadow #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor

[seattlesellie]

dads best friend!abby scenario cause why the hell not.

cw: sexual themes mdni, age gap, abby’s a cocky but charming asshole, power dynamics-ish? : ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

— "Oh and honey? Doctor Anderson's coming over for dinner" Everything felt oppressively hot and everything felt impossibly tight. The food seared your tongue, humid steam rising from the vegetables on your plate causing your throat to constrict and your eyes to sting with tears. Your right hand was clenched in a tight fist, left hand gripping your fork like it might grow legs and run away if you let go of your grasp. Your tights were itching relentlessly, tank top strap kept sliding off of your shoulder and built itself a home down your arm. Your lipgloss felt too sticky and your palms too clammy, you felt agitated, uncomfortable and way too goddamn nervous.

You felt consumed.

You didn’t know why.

Sure, Doctor Anderson was attractive, with palms twice bigger than yours. She wore a tight fitted muscle tee that had you squinting then turning your head around fast enough to crack your neck, noticing a goddamn six pack poking through maroon fabric. And yeah, she had an intoxicating scent of pine and wood and a hint of pepper that made your eyes nearly roll back inside of your skull, voice silky smooth, thighs firm and muscular, eyes icy blue, a smile that made you melt and all that stupid jazz,

but none of these things were a good enough explanation to why you were feeling this way — dazed, stupid, all bothered.

She sat down on the dinner table’s leather chair in a manspread as if she owned the place, and her thighs bulked up even more, veins of her arms becoming more prominent. She always knew what to say, and when you cracked a joke about orthopedic surgeons she cheekily told you to “watch it” — which made you thickly gulp and sheepishly smile down to the floor like your idol from age thirteen just told you they want to marry you and have you forever.

You needed an ice bath, but she also wouldn’t stop goddamn looking at you, even when you made it clear that eye contact with the surgeon, your father’s best friend, was a task that you apparently couldn’t manage to complete.

Her look made you nervous, and when she narrowed her eyes you nearly choked on a carrot, and when your father asked you “What’s wrong, kid?” you couldn’t even answer because what was wrong — was that you had to cross your legs together cause of some aching down there, and what was wrong is that his best friend made you feel like you were losing your mind at 9pm with a fork glued to your palm.

So you lied.

“M’just... tired, I guess” you murmured, then fake yawned, then internally cringed at yourself for performing the worlds fakest goddamn yawn.

“Already?” he voiced, shifting his gaze towards a visibly amused Abby. “Quite the night owl, that one... usually”

"What can I say, dad, loooong day" answered you, with a syrupy voice she wanted to stick her fingers inside and lick.

Abby chuckled, then smirked at you even though the response wasn’t directed at her. Then, she looked over to your father who was gnawing on some overcooked steak.

“She’s a kid, needs to get her sleep”

You scoffed, which made doctor Anderson poke the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “What...?” she murmured cockily, cracking a toothy grin. Your tights felt tight again, glued to your hot flesh, then you realized why they fucking call them tights because dammit they really are tight.

“I'm not a kid, can, y’know... drink, and stuff. Plus... M'busy, with... College"

You sounded like a damn idiot. All Abby did was chuckle and tilt her head back slightly, leaning further back in her chair.

“T'aw, I know, What'ryou studying again? Fashion science?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. That bitch.

"Sorry I don't wanna go to medical school and spend seven years of my life sticking my hands down a corpse"

So you didn’t go to your room after that, caught up in a whirlwind of proving a point. You stayed stubbornly with your feet glued to the floor and listened to Abby and your father ramble and yap on about work shenanigans. Usually, you’d semi doze off at this point, go on your phone and occasionally throw a snarky remark, but this was different. She was different than any of his other friends. Abby was actually funny, she didn’t brag too much, and if she did it faded quick cause she really was that good.

Abby threw a reference to a book you thought no one else had read except for you. You timidly lifted your gaze and remarked, “Oh, i read that book, actually”

Abby smiled and flattened her hands on the wooden table. “Smart cookie, huh? Did you like it?”

You batted your eyelashes like a kitten seeking more strokes at the praise, not noticing that body language of yours.

But she did.

You talked about the book for a solid ten minutes. Your father was the one, surprisingly, to go on his phone and faux-snort when he felt excluded from the conversation ran by two intellectuals and a giant elephant who goes by the name of "Tension", in the middle of the room.

Abby made you laugh and she made you think and she listened to your anecdotes. It made you buzz with electricity, and it made you yearn for her attention.

it also made her long for yours.

Your father interrupted by showing Abby a picture from work. When her eyes lowered to his phone, she shot you a lingering gaze and a smirk. You, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks, shyly looked away.

It was tight everywhere all over again.

So they talked more about work, Abby’s patients, their coworkers, Doctor Martha’s chicken pot pie, Doctor Johnson’s bizarre antics, the glass door no one bothered on calling to be fixed, blah blah blah, an endless stream of chatter.

And you listened, you listened with rapt attention, every ounce of your focus aimed at the prospect of another one-on-one conversation with Abby. Each time the older woman casted you with a quick glance, you flushed even harder. You waited, and waited and waited but your father was a blabber mouth, and you were oh so impatient,

you began mindlessly kicking the wooden table's legs.

Your sock-covered feet shifted restlessly from side to side, then you tucked them beneath your chair and resumed kicking, the movements gaining force. You curled your toes and continued to play with the table's handles. Abby winced, but you didn’t pay her any mind. You kicked again, with more force now.

You sighed.

Abby cleared her throat, and her cheeks suddenly bore a faint crimson blush. You couldn't help but notice, hm, must be the red wine finally catching on to her form. Ignoring, you kicked again, and the doctors back straightened and she stiffened in response. Your father asked her a question, and Abby… stammered.

“Yeah, that guys… uh— yeah”

You rested your chin on your hands and lightly tapped your fingertips against your cheeks thrice.

Then you kicked again, harder, you were bored and restless, waiting, give me some attention, Abby —

And then, you felt a pair of shoes encase your feet, ankles creating a cage around yours. It was then and only then that you had the startling realization: you hadn't been kicking the table at all. Instead, you had been unknowingly engaged in a game of footsies beneath the table with a goddamn world class surgeon.

And oh god did you want to die.

And oh god did abby sport a shit eating grin on her face that only you seemed to catch.

You froze, not even able to release your feet from her iron like grip. Unmistakably, she didn’t seem to release her grip either. So she kept them there, caged and locked.

“Alright,” your father sighed and cleared his throat. “Got some cuban cigars in the yard, shall we?” he gestured towards Abby, who was still holding your feet in her tight grasp.

“Yeah, go ‘head, I’ll just clear the table” she murmured absentmindedly. So kind and polite, huh?

You father chuckled and tapped abby on her shoulder, as he rose from his sit and straightened his back. “Nah, let the kid handle it”

Abby shot you a glance. Your pupils were dilated and your chest heaved rapidly up and down.

“She's not a kid, remember?”

Abby let go of your feet and you rose from the chair with such haste, you nearly had whiplash. When you lifted your plate, staying mute, looking like a deer caught in headlights as your father paced towards the yard, Abby gazed at you, and her eyebrow arched up in utter amusement.

“You uh, play soccer, by any chance?” quipped her, crossing her arms on her firm hard muscly chest.

You gulped.

“Huh?”

Abby lifted her wine glass to her lips, taking a sip that left a glistening sheen on her bottom lip. A chuckle escaped her.

“Jus’, y’know… with all the kicking, and everything. I mean, take a girl out for a drink before you do all that, yeah?”

You stood in shock, you didn’t speak, didn’t mutter a word, merely humming in response. Abby grabbed the plates from your hand, and then she grabbed the salt.

She furrowed her eyebrows and huffed. “M'just ’joking, smart cookie. If you wanna play, let's play"

Then you heard your father’s voice down the hall.

“Sweetheart?” he paced closer as Abby walked towards the sink. He leaned over the wall,

“forgot to mention it to you but, Abby’s staying over for the weekend”

#abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby smut #abby anderson x you #abby anderson drabble #dbf!abby #doctor!abby #abby anderson fic #abby anderson #tlou2 fic

[clxja16]

Enough

Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: betrayal (?)

Warnings: I think there's some swearing, angst

Word Count: 5K+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” 

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who, sweetheart?” 

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

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

“Mamma,” you whine at her reaction.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too,” you reassure.   

“Why do you ask me that ma chère?” 

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jack,” Susie says, scolding your brother.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toto sighs, “y/n.” 

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

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

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

“What?” Toto sighs, once more. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“After that.” 

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“After you pushed back on them.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling,” Toto calls out to you.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?” your father questions. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part II

#formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #charles leclerc #formula 1 au #formula 1 angst #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #scuderia ferrari #f1 ferrari #f1 charles leclerc #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc angst #toto wolff #toto wolff daughter #toto wolff au

[thagomizersshow]

Ranting about how JP is not a good critique of capitalism made me want to talk about a sci-fi monster movie that is an excellent AND highly relevant exploration of anticapitalistic themes: Alien (1979).

First I want to say that if you haven’t seen Alien, please do so before I spoil it for you. It’s not just one of my all time favourites, but also one of the greatest pieces of science fiction ever created. For real, please go watch it.

The biological aspects of Alien are often the most talked about themes in the movie, which is fair, because they’re simultaneously very interesting and in-your-face. Most viewers remember the movie for the gory sexual imagery, not for an authentic depiction of class struggle. I actually wrote a video essay a while back that I never made about how our innate disgust and resulting fear of parasites/parasitoids is the primary driver behind the xenomorph’s ongoing popularity. I’m not immune to this aspect of Alien’s eternal intrigue, that’s for sure.

However, there’s one narrative element that makes Alien ripe for class analysis, especially today, and that is the film’s portrayal of artificial intelligence.

AI in Alien is consistently shown to be hostile to the crew, but not because of a glitch, like HAL in 2001: Space Odyssey, or because they decide to rise up against their oppressors, like in Terminator. No, what makes Ash, the android, and MOTHER, the ship’s AI, so threatening is that they are doing exactly what they were programmed to do — whatever it takes to ensure corporate interests. In this case, they are programmed to ensure the survival of an extraterrestrial monster at the cost of the crew.

The audience isn’t privy to all the things that Ash does to meet this goal, but at the very least he breaks quarantine protocols, does a shitty job of watching the facehugger, lets Kane join the rest of the crew for a meal (when they still don’t know what it did to him!), plays dumb once the xenomorph is on the loose, and attempts to murder Ripley when she discovers his mandate. If it weren’t for Ripley being a determined badass, Ash might’ve gone unnoticed until the whole crew was dead and the Weyland-Yutani Corporation had their mitts on the alien so they can cause another catastrophe.

This horror, that you will encounter AI whose programming doesn’t care if you live or die, is what makes Alien’s take on the subject so relevant. Dipshits like Elon Musk or some shitty tech journalist might try and convince us that ChatGBT scary because it can fake being human, as if Skynet is right around the corner.

No, the real horror of AI is that the people in power (our bosses, our politicians, etc.) are going to use it to exploit us, just like how they use everything else.

In the end, it takes being skeptical of things that seem trustworthy for Ripley to defeat Ash. The audience finds out from the Nostromo’s captain, Dallas, that Ash was a last minute addition to the crew, as chief science officer. This is a role that inherently engenders trustworthiness in the face of the unknown, especially for a crew that is basically a bunch of working joes. It’s not unbelievable to conceive this was purposeful by Weyland-Yutani to make Ash above suspicion. That, combined with literally naming the ship’s AI MOTHER, of all things, shows that the company is deliberately weaponizing aesthetics to foster a positive relationship between the crew and their AI agents.

Alien serves as a reminder to be vigilant as we enter the AI boom, because these programs will be used to exploit us, and corporations WILL try to cloak this purpose behind relatability, convenience, and trust. The AI we encounter is more likely to be Ash or MOTHER than it is to be Data or Skynet.

#alien #movies #crit post

[doobean]

AND BACK AGAIN ━ BAROU SHOEI + NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: Nagi doesn't know which one he should be more afraid of: your pink silicone strap on, or your boyfriend's giant cock.

contents: afab!fem!reader, dom!reader, sub!nagi, established relationship (barou + reader), m/m/f, oral (male + female receiving), handjobs, face sitting, barounagi elements, pegging, anal (male receiving), dirty talk, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampies wc: 3.2k a/n: starting off the new year strong with this fic LMAO a shameless part two of THIS that nobody asked for. Beta’d by @pipppinn

It starts with an awful joke. A gag gift from you on his birthday. 

In the box, which you had neatly wrapped in cacti themed paper, stands a big, pink dildo with a flared base and belt. You flash a wink at him while Barou only grumbles under his breath in the seat next to you, shoving the last slice of cake in his mouth. Nagi’s honestly surprised that he’s still hanging around you two, surprised that his old college roommate hasn’t killed him yet in his sleep for all the sexual and non-sexual acts he’s committed within the past two months. 

It’s almost unspoken at this point, Nagi notices. No one has brought up the status of the relationship, but Nagi thinks whatever this is, it doesn’t necessarily need an explanation. More often than not, Nagi spends his weekends over, body pressed against whomever he didn’t piss off that day, and participating in acts that his best friend might lose his shit over.

“You’re in an open relationship?!” Reo gawked at him during brunch one day. 

Nagi hadn’t seen him since his business trip in Hong Kong earlier in the year. The last time Nagi remembered telling Reo before he boarded the plane was probably something unrelated to his growing crush on you and Barou. And, during this friendly catch up meal, Reo almost gagged on his steak when he did tell him about his feelings and what you guys have done. 

“Not open,” Nagi corrected, because he’s pretty sure that you and Barou aren’t sexually seeing anyone else other than him and, if you guys were, well he’d feel pretty upset over it. “Polyamorous is what people call it.”

Needless to say, Reo needed a moment to rewire his brain to understand just how Nagi, self proclaimed loser and bum, got himself between the power couple on the block. Nagi’s also waiting for that answer, too. Though, he might just get to understand a little bit better tonight.

Nagi knows it’s only half a joke and half a misguided attempt to help improve the bedroom sex life, which was already phenomenal in his opinion, when you tell him, “I think you would look cute with this.”

To which, he responds, “Mine is bigger.” 

That makes Barou scoff, “She clearly meant with it inside of you, dumbass.” And Nagi thinks the name is slightly endearing, coming from a man like Barou.

But now the thought of this, the fleshy, realistic looking penis, inside of his ass? Nagi laughs, and he’s not really sure what to make of it. You’re giggling, hiding your face in your hands. At this sight, Nagi can’t stop the curious little voice in the back of his head that wonders what using it would be like.

The strap-on ends up sitting on your vanity as the three of you attempt to wrap up his mini birthday celebration. Barou’s gift turns out to be more thoughtful than Nagi originally would’ve thought. He had given him a grow lamp and a light meter for Choki. Barou then starts explaining the process and science behind it, but Nagi zones out the moment he throws in the words ‘photosynthesis’ and ‘self-care’ because Nagi was sure Barou was scolding him afterwards.

The sex toy appears by his face again when the three of you are laying in bed, limbs entangled with one another. You’re holding it in your hands, suspending towards the ceiling light to read the fine print on the side of the fake penis.

“Perfectly sized for beginners. The pink curved tip is made for working her g-spot or his p-spot,” you’re the only one laughing at the comment while Nagi and Barou exchange a look. “It’ll be fun, don’t you think, Sei?”

It would be a complete joke to Nagi if he were to lie about his curiosity. Since he’s first seen it, he can’t stop thinking about it. He takes the toy in his hands when you toss it to him. Nagi weighs it in his hands, then runs his fingers over the ridges and fake veins. It’s firm, yet still soft, and his own dick is now currently twitching at the mere idea of it up his ass.

His role in your relationship was to always dominate both you and Barou, as surprising as others would assume. He’s stuck his dick in Barou more times than he has with your mouth and between your breasts, which also kinda says a lot — but he’s not ready for that emotional conversation with a certain grumpy lion just yet. 

“Shoei, how does it feel when I stick it in?” Nagi successfully dodges a pillow that’s thrown his way because Barou still isn’t used to him calling him by his first name. What a tsun, he thinks.

“Why the fuck are you asking me that now?”

“Because you always complain about how full—”

“I do not complain about—”

“Boys,” you pinch both of their cheeks in unison, applying the pressure and strength of an entire wrestling team in your fingers. “Calm down for just a second. Shoei, it’s his birthday, he’s just curious.”

Bingo. 

Although his cheek hurts like hell, Nagi loves it whenever you end up siding with him. It always sets something dangerous and delirious off in the other male and Nagi loves getting the back handed treatment from it later on.

“Well,” Barou sighs and flushes, quite badly, while trying to say the rest as casually as he can. “It’s tight, no shit. Feels like sometimes my ass might tear from how rough you’re going… but it’s a good feeling once you get used to the size.” Barou coughs out the last bit into a fist.

Nagi shifts his face towards your chest and nuzzles against it, humming in content. “Hm, is that so? Doesn’t sound too bad, I guess.”

You giggle again and press a small kiss to his forehead, it makes Nagi melt a little bit. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually.” you tell him, voice low and smoldering. “Plus, we’re all squeaky clean from the shower and have nothing to do for the rest of the night…” you trail off and glance at Barou, waiting for his reaction.

His response comes in the form of sitting up and grabbing Nagi by the thighs, positioning him face down against the pillows. Nagi feels his face burning up, feeling mildly exposed in this position despite being fully clothed, and he hears your weight shift around on the mattress, the sounds of metal clicking together, and then more giggling. 

Nagi doesn’t dare to move when Barou reaches over and pulls his sweats down to his thighs, and he doesn’t say anything when the other male begins tugging at his length by his side. Nagi bites back an embarrassingly loud moan as the cool surface of the dildo trails down his ass combined with Barou’s erotic handjob. He’s more turned on than ever in his entire life. His dick is painfully rock hard from just a few touches and a piece of plastic, soon he’s forming a damp spot on the mattress sheets as your hands start to knead his ass.

You press a trail of kisses down his back as your lubed fingers circle around his entrance. Nagi lets out a shudder when a finger slips in. It feels strange, this sensation, the pressure of something penetrating him. You take your time prepping him, cooing and sending reassurance to him but Nagi can’t seem to focus on anything right now. He starts to buck his hips against Barou’s hands, slowly getting addicted to the feeling of his ass getting probed. You soon add another finger, curling, and thrusting them in and out, while pressing wet kisses on his ass.

“You’re doing so well, Seishiro,” you praise, voice breathless. Hearing his full name while getting treated like this, it feels so fucking nice to Nagi. 

You then curl your digits again, this time to the left, and pleasure surges through Nagi’s entire body. The stretch and pull of his walls, it’s delicious, and Nagi starts incoherently babbling. Both you and Barou take notice and fasten up the pace, following the cues of his whiney voice and body until he’s completely out of breath and ends up hugging the pillow close, burying his face in it.

“I want more—” he gasps.

“Think you’re ready?” Barou grunts out as he brushes some of Nagi’s sweat covered bangs from his face. Slowly, Nagi glances up at him, the usual banter and light teasing dies in his throat as he nods weakly. 

The coolness from the dildo comes back again as you run it over his ass, slick with lubricant. One of your hands is gently stroking the side of his hips while the other positions the plastic length up against his entrance. Nagi sharply inhales and sinks his teeth into the pillow as the tip edges itself inside, tears already threatening to spill. 

It hurts, to say the least. There’s a small twinge of pleasure, but it’s mostly just burning pain, nothing like the expertise and gentleness of your fingers earlier. Nagi groans loudly when he finally bottoms you out and buries his face deeper into the pillow, trying his best to muffle the incoming sounds.

He feels Barou raking his callous fingers through his white locks, tenderly, mumbling that the pain will subside soon while his other free hand is still occupied on Nagi’s cock.

Nagi feels his heart pounding in his chest, and there’s a heat under his skin that’s making him feel almost lightheaded. He leans into Barou’s touch and can only make out a quiet noise signaling that he understood because, everything right now, is just too much.

You begin moving your hips in small increments, testing the size and his body’s reactions. “Are you okay?” You ask, voice soft as you thrust shallowly.

Okay would be an understatement. Nagi doesn’t know which is hotter: being fucked by you, having his dick being milked by Barou, or learning that he loves having his ass played with. Whichever it is, this is just about the hottest thing he can possibly imagine. Just like as Barou said, the pain subsides fairly quickly as Nagi slowly adjusts to the dildo a bit more every time you tilt your hips. 

“Y-Yeah—” Nagi pants, twisting his fists into the bedsheets. “Give me more, please…”

You let your thrusts grow deeper, faster, and the sounds from Nagi intensify in volume as the feeling grows fuller. He cranes his neck around to get a good look at you, wanting to see what kind of expression you wear when you’re fucking him, and the sight makes him feel like he’s breathing for the first time. 

You’re beautiful. The way your breasts bounce, half hanging out from your bra, your eyes are half-lidded with arousal as you watch him, gaze filled with liquid fire, intense and downright intoxicated. Nagi lets out another loud moan when you angle your hips to the left, hitting that special spot inside of him, causing his toes to curl and eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Suddenly, a pair of rough hands grips the sides of his face and Nagi’s forced to face with Barou’s own raging arousal. “You’re being so fucking loud.” Barou presses his leaking tip against Nagi’s already gaping mouth.

It doesn’t take Nagi much convincing before lurching forward and swallowing Barou’s thick tip, lapping at his pre and watching the way his defined abs tighten with every lick. When you press against his prostate and make him sob in desperation, Nagi hollows out his cheeks and takes Barou’s length deeper with vigor, like he’s the only thing tethering him to the ground as you threaten to take his soul from his body.

Barou’s breath is ragged as his hips press deeper into his mouth, grinding into him with incremental thrusts that are almost too much, sending dizziness to Nagi’s head. Drool drips down his lips, Barou’s cock on his tongue feels heavy and full, but it’s slightly more bearable when Nagi looks up through his teary lashes at the other male’s flushed expression.

There’s a moment, a pause, where all he hears is breathing.

And then movement. 

Both you and Barou set the pace to be harsh and frantic, any sort of slight movement and Nagi finds himself wailing, the sensation being completely all consuming. No matter how much he wants to flail around, your hands are glued to his hips and Barou isn’t letting go of his face easily unless it’s for a momentary air break. 

Nagi immediately feels something coiling in his stomach when one of your hands glides down his ass to cup his balls, fondling them gently. He whines against Barou’s cock and bucks into the mattress desperately, the rest of his limbs trembling. 

“Do you want to take this every night?” You ask, giving his balls a slight squeeze. Nagi’s walls tighten around the dildo when you thrust it deeper, his cock dripping a steady stream of precum onto the bed. Then, you lean forward, he hears you and Barou exchange lewd moans and cries above him, before continuing, “Or do you want Shoei to fuck you? Want him to put his cock in you and spill his seed in your ass? I bet he’d cum buckets in your greedy little hole.”

Nagi bites into the pillow to keep the ragged sounds at bay, but it isn’t enough to contain the broken sob that tears through his throat as Barou finally pulls away, leaving behind a sloppy, thick trail of saliva. “I-I want…”

Barou is looking down at him and Nagi wants to feel upset, wants to say something witty back, but he can’t help but to think what he would feel like inside of him. 

Barou rubs his arousal and repositions himself to the back. You chuckle, knowing the answer, and slowly pull out, giving Nagi’s ass a farewell slap before kissing Barou. “Be careful with him, okay?”

“You’re going to baby him too much,” Barou grunts, but the way he places his hands on Nagi’s hips, carefully flipping him over so that he’s resting flat on his back, and the way he ebbs his tip over his hole — it’s gentle and almost tender.

You discard the strap-on and hover over Nagi’s face, your thumbs brushing over his perky nipples as you begin to lower yourself on his face. “Make me cum, cutie.”

“Mhm,” he bites his lips to stifle a moan as Barou begins sliding his length in. 

Bigger. Thicker. Heavier than the dildo. 

Nagi almost wants to scream as another rush of arousal courses through him.

It stretches Nagi even further as his walls clenched around his cock, balls tightening and cock jumping against his own stomach. He lets out a high, choked breath as you fully lower yourself on top, the sweetness of your folds engulf his senses and your hands immediately dart towards Nagi’s length, encasing it in a tight grip. You stop to palm at his tip until he’s whimpering and squirming, his hips rising into short, aborted thrusts, before you work your hand down to the base again.

Nagi’s knees rise, heels digging into the mattress, from the overstimulation and Barou takes this opportunity to quicken the pace. He takes hold of Nagi’s legs, setting them around his waist, and breathes heavily through his nose with several snaps of his hips. You thumb his leaking slit at the same time, gathering them up in your palm, and smearing the precum all over his head and around his shaft until Nagi is jolting and crying at every thrust.

“T-Too much—! I’m gonna—” but the rest of the words drown out, erased from Nagi’s mind, and he feels himself coming undone by your hands, streaks of heavy white painting his lower stomach and chest.

“Easy there, Seishiro,” you rasp out, hands finding home on his chest and you begin to fuck yourself on his tongue until he feels your slick liquid dripping down his throat. 

You cum with a cry, cursing up a storm, thighs shaking around his head that makes him foggy and dizzy, before rolling off and slumping to his side. You close the distance between his lips, tasting yourself and swallowing the rest of his sobs and pleas as Barou chases his own end. 

“We got you,” you murmur, pulling away and kissing Barou in turn. 

Everything still feels new and electrifying as Nagi is slowly trying to calm himself from his release — the burning in his thighs from hugging Barou’s waist, the steady rhythm pounding against his prostate, listening to the other male’s quiet but rough groans with every snap, the possessive grip on his hips — it’s an addictive feeling. Nagi doesn’t fight when the heavy feeling drapes over and swallows him whole, he doesn’t tamper with the urge to writhe and whine, and lets Barou devour him whole when he finally cums inside. 

Barou exits him so abruptly that Nagi can’t help but moan at the suddenness of his absence. He whimpers pitifully and thrusts up into the empty air, twisting on top of the sweat soaked sheets until a warm hand settles along the line of his brow. 

“Hey, calm down,” it’s Barou and he’s wearing a concerned expression, much to Nagi’s surprise. He lays himself beside Nagi and blows out a deep breath, covering his reddened face with palms. “Sorry if I was rough.”

On the other side of Nagi, he hears you sigh loudly, applying a chaste kiss to his cheeks before also settling down. “Did you like that, Sei?”

“Yeah,” he hums, and instinctively lays his head on your shoulder. “Felt really good, thanks…”

Then, you say, without missing a beat, “Wished you two would just admit your feelings for each other.” 

Barou’s cheeks flush and he tries to turn away to hide it, forgetting for a moment that Nagi is right there and gets a faceful of his surprised eyes. Instead of getting up, Barou glowers up at the ceiling. “There’s nothing to admit, he’s just a fuck buddy to us.”

“Sure thing,” you snort back and add another kiss to Nagi’s cheek, almost to sooth out the forming pang in his chest from hearing his words. “Maybe meeting earlier would’ve been neat? Imagine you guys becoming friends in middle school or something!”

Barou doesn’t know how to respond to that, and it’s you who ends up laughing, light and airy. Nagi stays silent and just grips around your waist, burrowing himself into your chest, inhaling your scent and lightly sucking at the area. 

“We should probably take another bath,” Barou says lowly. 

“Can we wait till later? I’m pretty tired and fucked out.” Nagi finally speaks but his voice is weak.

Barou looks like he was about to object to that but you quickly flash him a look and he shuts his mouth, only nodding and then pulling the blankets over the three of you. Nagi feels Barou massaging his back for a bit before eventually draping his arms over his waist. Nagi’s head stays cushioned on you while your fingers play with his hair. 

Everything about this feels nice and domestic, it makes Nagi wish he could be with you two permanently instead of thinking about the ‘what if’s’.

© 2023 DOOBEAN. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

#q'd for the new year!! #doobean writes #bllk smut #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #barou shoei smut #blue lock smut #barou shoei x reader #barou x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro smut #nagi x reader #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #barou shouei #barou smut