inspired by @sionisjaune's tags and THIS nico in glasses art by the incredibly talented @movieboyfriend
Becoming a sports psychologist had been easier than Nico expected. 
All he needed was a bachelor's, which he already had, and a Masters' degree which took 18 months and submitting a paper on eating disorders to achieve. Board certification was annoying, Nico just doesn't have that kind of time, but the workaround was simply calling himself a 'performance enchancing counselor.' A corner office in Monaco, a shiny plaque with his name on it, and a star studded roster of athletes and C-list celebrities he'd hosted parties for during his influencer days for potential clientele, he was all set.
F1 hadn't been the goal but at the same time... who better than Nico, who knew exactly how motorsport could chew you out? His karting dreams were long over, but the smell of gasoline and burnt tyres and the roar of the crowd is still his forte. It just so happened Formula One decided mental health awareness was totally in style now, and one of their main sponsors held an event on mindfulness and how it can be achieved drinking more Heineken. Having a father for a World Champion is helpful, when it means one has lifetime passes, and this had been a prime networking goldmine; not for the drivers themselves and their fragile egos at the implication of psychological help -- but sliding his practice's embossed gold card in the suit jacket of one Toto Wolff.
Lewis saw therapy as something good and necessary, but ultimately for other people. And then Abu Dhabi happened. And then the W-13. And Toto had mentioned what Keke Rosberg's son was up to, how it could possibly help him out of his slump, and hearing that name after so long made Lewis' usual 'thanks but not for me' die at the tip of his tongue.
"I'm not going to imply whether all your issues stem from trying to make your father proud or ask you about your childhood. I would remember. I was there." Nico had smiled over his thin-rimmed circular glasses, with that knowing sparkle during their first unofficial session and Lewis was sold.
"As long as you don't expect me to call you 'doctor,' man. Jeez, who would've thought? Dr. Nico Rosberg."
After that, every week unless he's in LA, Lewis finds himself in Nico's chic Monaco office. It's not stuffy like a therapist's office; a turquoise wall and Nico's dad's helmet is on a shelf display, a German national Team jersey hanging on the wall, there's even a YouTube million subscribers golden plate. Lewis is sprawled on the bean bag, the sunlight from the floor to ceiling windows hitting in beams, and not for the first time Lewis has to reconcile the kid he knew has grown up into the adult in distinguished glasses and same golden blonde hair in front of him. Nico dresses like he's about to give a TedTalk, in his monochrome tee and blazer combo, and that somehow puts Lewis more at ease.
"The car's been so fucking shit. I'm not here to fight for, what, p10? That's not me. And the team..." Lewis rants, and it's so freeing to be able to call the car shit without adding in how they're improving bit by bit and other optimistic platitudes that don't mean shit in terms of the championship.
"And the team's been prioritizing Russell over you, I can see how that can be a source of frustration." Nico finishes.
"What? No. He's not -- the team's not. I'm saying, it's annoying enough the car isn't where we were promised it was gonna be, and now every week I'm getting asked if I want to retire, like what's this all for?" Lewis is momentarily taken aback by Nico's claim. Is that what people think? The team... well, George has adapted to the car easier and has been finishing above him but he hadn't felt any particular favouritism from the team... Although he's been the one running experimental setups and helping the team collect data while his teammate gets dubbed Mr. Saturday. The seed of doubt towards the team makes him frown.
"You don't want to retire. Not until the 8th." Nico points out decisively, getting up from his armchair to walk behind Lewis where his plants are.
"I don't. Even if no one believes me, apparently." Lewis rolls his eyes, hearing as Nico spritzes his plants. He could've sworn they were fake.
Lewis feels a hand on his shoulder, surprising him. "You're just going to have to prove them wrong. Like you always do." Nico smiles down at him with absolute conviction, squeezing it once, and then the weight is gone; Nico moving back to his chair.
The gesture was friendly, but it makes something flare inside Lewis. Something about Nico, maybe the fact he can open up to him the way he can't even with the team; maybe because Nico knew him before seven titles, before he was anyone, makes Lewis instinctively trust him in a way he rarely does with new people. But Nico isn't new, even if the glasses are. Lewis finds himself wanting to know more, wanting to fill the gap between the years.
"Now, let's go over your daily mindfulness affirmations..."
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Hot Take: When William ghosted at Button House, he left no traces, except for his voice. During the night, or when the house was practically empty, if you were lucky enough, you could make out the sound of a man humming/singing an old sea shanty from somewhere else in the house.
It was said to be good luck if you could hear the old fabled pirate captain singing while you were staying in the house. That good fortune and wealth would enter your life if the buccaneer made his presence known to you.
Those rumours used to confuse William, practically tickle him pink, since that's not how he thought his 'legacy' would be remembered; when he made his voyage inland from the coast, it was for a transaction. He'd made an arrangement with the then Lord of the grande house, who had caught ear of the sea goer and his ability to locate and collect valuables and treasures from the depths.
That the pirate would once again deliver the goods to the Lord at the manor, face to face, and in exchange, the captain would receive the equivalent in gold. From what he knew, the Lord had more than his weight in gold and it no longer tickled his fancy, but valuables and jewels did. When it came time for William to deliver the bags of jewels to the Lord, there came confusion, as the Lord didn't hand over the reward like he usually did, but stepped around the small table toward the captain, looking him dead in the eyes and ramming a dagger into William's middle.
The motive behind such an act was unknown to William, but the pirate had only good humour about the situation and always cackled to himself at the idea of his demise becoming fabled, and that hearing him singing his merry shanties would be 'lucky' to the living folk. He'd be practically red raced and wheezing, needing to lean his arm against Rogh's shoulder to ground himself so that he didn't fall and hit the floor from the laughter.
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FR can't watch Demon Slayer like a normal person anymore 😭😭 I started the new season [WHICH OMG CRIED SO HARD DAWGG] and anytime Genya was on screen I just got so excited all of the sudden and pointed at my computer like: "LOOK THATS MY POOKIES POOKIE!!!"🫵🫵🫵
OKENSJSBSJSNS YES!!!! YOU FINALLY WATCHED IT!!!
NAWW ME N MY SISTER CRIED TOOO😭 THAT LAST EPISODE WAS BEAUTIFUL. The animation….THE MUSIC EJENEKEKSNSN
IM SO HAPPY YOU GOT TO WATCH IT!!!🥹 now we got this new season coming up and I’m not prepared AT ALL!but I’m so excited!😭
“Look that’s my pookies pookie” GORRLLLL GOT ME GIGGLINGGGGG🤭💜 I BE FR YELLING OUT POOKIE EVERYTIME HE CAME ON SCREEN!
I saw that hagnezuka caught your eye👀😏 (your kanamori on the side😂)
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