#DIFFERENT PEOPLE WILL TELL DIFFERENT STORIES!!!!

[orangeblossomsintheair]

HONEY YOU’RE FAMILIAR | MV33

summary : For a second, he thinks about turning around. Walking out. Pretending he never saw you, because what’s the point? It’s not like he can just waltz up to you and say, “Hey, sorry I ghosted you for no reason other than I’m emotionally constipated. Want to get a drink?”

wc : 5k

an : writing this to distract myself from my other wips? ..i would never.. 😦 also i wrote this at 12 am so let this not be a place of judgement :))

Max sometimes forgets how small Monaco is.

It’s easy to do when most of his memories of the place are a blur of fast cars and glittering parties. He spends most of his time racing through the streets during the Grand Prix or holed up in a hotel room overlooking the harbor.

When you’re constantly traveling the world, hopping between paddocks and podiums, the compactness of Monaco barely registers. It’s a speck on the map, a gilded bubble he never really bothers to think about until it’s right in his face.

But sometimes, like tonight, he’s reminded.

Monaco isn’t a city, not really.

It’s a playground. A handful of streets strung together like a necklace, choked with Lamborghinis, Rolls-Royces, and yachts so big they could be small countries. It’s a place where everyone knows everyone.

Or, at the very least, they know of everyone.

The millionaires gossip about the billionaires. The bartenders know who tips in cash and who never tips at all. Even the stray cats probably have dirt on the local royals.

It’s not just small in size. It’s tight.

Wealth wraps around this place like a noose, strangling it into exclusivity.

There are no dark corners to disappear into, no sprawling suburbs to lose yourself in.

Just a few restaurants, a few clubs, and a few streets where the same people circle each other like they’re on a carousel. If you’re here long enough, you’ll eventually run into everyone you’ve ever met.

Even the ones you’ve been trying to avoid.

Max doesn’t think about that when he walks into the bar.

He’s not in the mood for deep reflection or existential dread. He’s here because Daniel said he needed a drink, and when Daniel Ricciardo says you need a drink, you listen.

That’s how Max ends up at some overpriced lounge that smells like vodka and ambition, standing under soft, warm lighting that’s trying too hard to make the place feel classy instead of claustrophobic.

He’s nursing a beer, half-listening to Daniel tell some convoluted story about a failed date and a stolen Vespa, when he hears it.

A voice.

Your voice.

It’s the kind of thing that cuts through the noise without him even realizing why. It’s not loud or particularly distinct; it’s not like you’re screaming or making a scene. But it’s you. The way you talk, your cadence, the rise and fall of your words. It’s all so achingly familiar that it grabs him by the throat and yanks.

Max freezes. His drink doesn’t make it to his lips.

The years fall away in a blink, and suddenly, it’s like no time has passed.

He’s twenty-two again, still figuring out how to smile for cameras, while you’re draped over the back of his couch, talking absolute nonsense about whether or not the cars in Cars have insurance or not.

He doesn’t even realize he’s turned to look until he spots you.

You’re standing at the bar, laughing as you say something to the bartender. It’s loud, and Max can’t hear you properly, but he can feel you.

The way you lean casually on the counter, the tilt of your head, the way you wave your hand to punctuate whatever you’re saying. It’s so painfully, annoyingly you.

And God, you look good.

For a second, all he can do is stare. You haven’t seen him yet, thank God, because Max Verstappen does not know what the hell to do with himself right now.

You look different.

Not in a drastic way, just… grown.

Your edges are sharper, your presence more refined, like a photo that’s come into focus after years of being a little blurry. But the core of you is still the same. It’s in the way you throw your head back when you laugh, like the world isn’t slowly crumbling under the weight of climate change, billionaires, and whatever Kardashian family drama is brewing this week.

And suddenly, Max is thrown back years.

To a time when you were his person. The one he called when things went sideways, or when he won, or when he was just bored and needed someone to hear him rant about understeer.

You were his best friend.

No. The friend. The one. The only one who ever really got him. And then…Well, then he was an asshole.

He tries to tell himself that you two drifted apart.

People do that, right? It’s life. Except that’s a lie, and Max knows it. You didn’t drift; you held on like a freaking tow hook. You tried—texted him, called him, showed up to races, tried to remind him there was a world outside of 300 km/h and tire degradation.

Max doesn’t know what to do with this. With you. He’s not used to seeing ghosts in real life, and you might as well be one now.

Max debates his next move. He could just… not. Pretend he didn’t notice you. Slip out quietly, finish his drink somewhere else, and avoid whatever emotional grenade this is about to be. That would be the smart thing. The logical thing.

But Max has never been great at logic.

For a second, he thinks about turning around. Walking out. Pretending he never saw you, because what’s the point? It’s not like he can just waltz up to you and say, “Hey, sorry I ghosted you for no reason other than I’m emotionally constipated. Want to get a drink?”

But then you glance over your shoulder.

And your eyes lock.

He doesn’t have time to decide whether to stay or bolt

You see him.

And Max realizes he’s fucked.

For a split second, he thinks you might look away, maybe pretend you didn’t see him either.

He’s not sure if he’s hoping for that or dreading it. But then your face lights up, and the look you give him isn’t what he expects.

It’s warm. Familiar. Like you’re genuinely happy to see him.

His chest tightens. Max isn’t sure what he thought he’d see. Resentment, awkwardness, indifference, maybe.

But this? This disarms him completely.

You wave, and before he knows it, his feet are moving.

“Maxy,” you say as he approaches, your voice carrying that teasing lilt that could only ever be you. It knocks the breath out of him, so familiar and effortless it almost hurts. “Long time no see.”

Max freezes for the briefest of moments, the nickname hitting him like a slap and a hug all at once. Maxy. No one’s called him that in years. Not his family. Not his team. Not anyone.

No one except you.

“Yeah, uh, long time,” he manages, scratching the back of his neck in a gesture so awkwardly familiar it almost makes you laugh. He looks like he’s 17 again, shy and unsure.

Before either of you can say more, Daniel sidles up next to him, a beer in hand and an amused eyebrow raised as he glances between the two of you. “Know her?” Daniel asks, his voice dripping with curiosity.

“He does,” you reply smoothly before Max can fumble an answer. Your smirk is playful, but there’s no bite to it, just that same easy warmth Max hasn’t felt in what feels like forever. “I used to keep this one in line. Back when he was all awkward interviews and tragic haircuts.”

Daniel barks out a laugh, glancing at Max’s meticulously styled hair. “Tragic haircuts? Wait, this-” he gestures wildly at Max’s head, like it’s some architectural masterpiece “-is the improved version?”

You’re already laughing, and it’s the kind of laugh Max hasn’t heard in years.

He groans, dragging a hand over his face, though the corners of his mouth are betraying him with a faint smile. “Don’t encourage her,” he mutters to Daniel, but his tone is far too soft to have any weight.

It’s stupid how easy this feels. How natural. Max isn’t used to easy anymore.

Daniel, bless him, is soaking it all in.

“So?” he says, giving Max a teasing nudge. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, or do I have to guess?”

“I was getting there,” Max grumbles, shooting him a half-hearted glare before looking at you. For a moment, he falters. He doesn’t know what to call you. Acquaintance feels too cold. Stranger would be a lie. And friend? That feels like stepping too far into a past he’s not sure he’s ready to face.

“An old friend,” you offer, saving him effortlessly, like you always did. “And you must be the famous Daniel Ricciardo.”

Daniel grins, full of boyish charm. “Guilty as charged,” he says, tipping his beer in a mock toast. “And let me just say, I already like you. Great taste in insults.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Ricciardo,” you say, though your smirk says otherwise.

The three of you fall into an almost absurdly natural rhythm, as though you’ve all been doing this for years. Daniel’s effortless charisma bounces off your sharp wit, and Max finds himself smiling more in five minutes than he has in weeks.

Maybe months.

It’s like the weight on his shoulders has lifted, just for a moment, and he can breathe again.

You’re mid-story when he realizes he hasn’t felt this light in ages.

“So there I was,” you’re saying to Daniel, gesturing dramatically, “dragging Max out of his hotel room because he was refusing to face the world after a bad race.”

“I wasn’t refusing to face the world,” Max interjects, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

You give him a look that could level a building. “You were lying on the floor eating Haribo like it was your last meal,” you say, deadpan. “It was tragic. Genuinely tragic.”

Daniel’s cackling now, nearly spilling his beer. “Please tell me there are photos of this.”

“Sadly, no,” you reply with mock disappointment. “But the image is burned into my brain forever. It was that bad.”

Max groans, shaking his head, though the grin tugging at his lips is impossible to hide. “Why did I ever let you into my life?”

“Because no one else could handle you,” you fire back, and it’s so quick, so natural, it makes his chest ache.

Daniel takes a step back, still laughing. “You two are too much,” he says, pointing at the two of you like you’ve just performed a comedy sketch. “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t get too emotional without me, okay? I’m going to find another beer. Or maybe a Vespa to steal. Who knows?”

You watch him disappear into the crowd, still grinning. For a moment, the two of you are left standing there, and the noise of the party seems to fade just slightly.

“Daniel’s fun,” you say, breaking the silence.

“He is,” Max agrees.

When the music starts bumping up again, the two of you are faced with a whole other problem entirely.

“So, you’ve been busy!” you yell, leaning across the sticky bar top, your voice barely cutting through the bass thumping around you.

“What?” Max shouts back, leaning closer.

“I SAID, YOU’VE BEEN BUSY!”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHY I’M SHOUTING!”

“WHAT?”

You throw your hands up in exasperation, but he just smirks, clearly enjoying this.

So you double down.

“DO YOU WANT ANOTHER DRINK?” you bellow, miming holding a glass.

“WHY ARE YOU YELLING ABOUT DRINKS?” he shouts back, baffled.

“BECAUSE IT’S TOO LOUD IN HERE!”

“WHAT?”

This back-and-forth nonsense goes on for an impressively ridiculous three minutes, the two of you getting progressively louder, until Max finally groans, shaking his head like he’s reached his limit.

He steps closer, leans in like he’s about to shout something else, then just presses a warm, steady hand to the small of your back. “Come on,” he says, not even bothering to raise his voice this time.

“What?” you yell, still committed to the bit.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he starts gently steering you toward the stairs, and you stumble a little, caught off guard by the unexpected physical contact.

“Where are we going?” you shout, craning your neck to look at him as you climb.

“UPSTAIRS!”

“WHY?”

“BECAUSE I VALUE MY HEARING!” he fires back, glaring at you over his shoulder.

“OH, NOW YOU CARE ABOUT YOUR HEARING?” you tease, but he ignores you, his hand still firm and insistent on your back as he guides you upstairs.

The VIP section is quieter, tucked away from the pulsating bass and the sweaty chaos of the main club floor. Max had slipped a word to a bouncer—who nodded in a way that made you roll your eyes—and now you’re here, sinking into the plush leather of a semi-circular booth with a ridiculous view of the dance floor below.

The second you step into the VIP area, the relative silence hits you like a warm blanket. You blink, adjusting to the sudden absence of aggressive EDM, and turn to Max, who looks much too smug for your liking.

“Smuggled into VIP like I’m some sort of black-market item,” you tease. “Careful, Verstappen. This is how egos start.”

“You’re welcome,” he says dryly.

“For what?” you shoot back. “The privilege of not getting tinnitus at 27?”

“Yes,” he replies smoothly, sliding into a nearby booth like he owns the place. “You’re lucky to know me.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpan. “My life has improved immeasurably since you dragged me up here. I’ll write a thank-you card.”

“Make sure it’s handwritten,” he quips, signaling a waiter for drinks. “And don’t skimp on the stationery.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, rolling your eyes but you’re smiling, and he knows it.

He chuckles, leaning forward slightly. “Hey, if you’re going to criticize, at least admit this is better than shouting at each other over terrible music.”

You glance around the room, all dark wood and dim lighting, where a few scattered people are having hushed conversations or staring down at the dance floor with an air of superiority. “Alright,” you admit, “it’s not terrible. But the crowd up here…”

You nod toward a guy at the next table wearing sunglasses, inside, and sipping champagne like it’s water. “Is this your scene now? Bottle service bros and indoor eyewear enthusiasts?”

Max glances at the guy, smirking. “Not my scene. But I figured you deserved something better than sticky floors and overpriced tequila shots.”

You laugh. “Wow. I feel so special. Nothing says friendship like a quiet room and a drink I can’t pronounce.”

“Admit it,” he says, leaning back again. “You love it.”

“I love judging it,” you correct, grinning. “Big difference.”

Max watches you for a moment, shaking his head with an almost fond expression. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“And you’ve changed too much,” you shoot back, gesturing at his ridiculously put-together outfit. “Look at you, Verstappen. Fancy haircut, custom clothes, actual social skills. Who are you?”

“First of all, the haircut is functional,” he retorts, mock offended. “Aerodynamics.”

“Oh, of course. Wouldn’t want your hair slowing you down at 300 kph,” you say, pretending to be serious.

“It’s a real thing!” he insists, laughing now. “If you knew anything about racing-”

“If I knew anything about racing?” you interrupt, your voice rising in mock outrage. “Excuse me, I was there when you had to Google how to talk to the media without sounding like a robot. You think I don’t know the intricacies of racing, Maxy?”

“Don’t call me Maxy,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“Oh, I’m definitely calling you Maxy,” you say, delighted. “I might even get a custom T-shirt. ‘Maxy’s Biggest Fan.’ I’ll wear it to a race.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “If you do that, I’ll steal your phone and delete every embarrassing photo you’ve ever taken of me.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have backups,” you say smugly, sipping your drink.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head, but there’s a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

For a moment, the two of you fall into an easy silence, the noise of the club below fading into the background. You glance at Max, noting the relaxed set of his shoulders, the way he’s fiddling with the label on his beer bottle—a habit he’s had for as long as you can remember.

“So,” you say, breaking the quiet, “what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve bought since you became all… you know.”

“All what?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You know,” you say, waving a hand vaguely. “World Champion. Multi-millionaire. Guy who smuggles old friends into VIP sections.”

He chuckles. “Ridiculous? I don’t know… probably the private jet.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “The private jet is the least ridiculous thing about you, Verstappen. Try again.”

“Fine,” he says, thinking for a moment. “I bought a sauna for my house. Didn’t use it for six months.”

You burst out laughing. “A sauna? For what? Post-race existential crises?”

He groans, rubbing his temples. “It was a bad idea, okay? I thought it would be relaxing.”

“Did it come with, like, a tiny man who throws water on the rocks for you?” you ask, grinning.

“No, but now I kind of want one,” he admits, laughing.

“God, you’re the worst,” you say, shaking your head, but your tone is full of affection.

“And you’re jealous,” he fires back.

“Of your unused sauna?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m absolutely consumed with envy.”

The two of you dissolve into laughter and the conversation continues.

Next thing you know it’s 3 am and you and Max are stumbling out of the club, too giggly for both of your sakes.

Daniel had hopped on to another place hours ago so it’s just you and him.

The cool night air hits you like a slap, but instead of sobering up, it just makes you giggle harder.

Max freezes mid-stumble, his head lolling back like he’s auditioning for Les Mis on the world’s worst stage. “Why’s the air so aggressive?” he slurs. “Feels like it’s… pushing me. Rude.”

“Why’s the ground so spinny?” you counter, stumbling sideways into him.

“'Cause you’re bad at walking,” he accuses, latching onto your arm like a barnacle while swaying dramatically.

“You’re bad at walking,” you fire back, immediately tripping over a shadow and nearly eating pavement.

“You can’t even walk straight!” Max protests, laughing as he catches you before you faceplant.

His arm slides around your waist, steadying you in the most unsteady way possible.

“You’re the one spinning,” you argue, slurring every other word. “Maaaybe you should ju- just stay still for once in your life.”

“Oh, because you’re the expert,” he fires back, wheezing as you nearly trip again. “Where- where are you even staying at?”

You squint at him, trying to focus. “Uh… good question.”

Max stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at you with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “What do you mean good question? How do you not know?”

“I don’t rememb- ber,” you admit, cackling as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Max groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re just- what? Homeless now?”

“Homeless for the night,” you correct, wagging a finger at him like that somehow makes it better.

Max laughs so hard he has to pause, doubling over slightly. “How- how do you forget where you’re staying?”

“’S not my fault!” you defend yourself, leaning heavily against him. “The hotel has, like… a name! A boring one! And too many floors!”

Max groans so loudly it echoes off the buildings. “Oh my God. You’re homeless now. You’re a wandering drunk with no home.”

“I'm trying a new lifestyle,” you say, grinning. “Like… nomadic, y’know? Spiritual.”

“Yeah, okay, Buddha, let’s find you a real place to sleep before you start befriending rats,” he mutters, dragging you down the street.

“I like rats,” you say cheerfully. “They’re just misunderstood.”

“You’re misunderstood,” Max shoots back. “Come on. You’re crashing at my hotel. I can’t leave you out here to, like, adopt a possum or something.”

“I don’t wanna!” you whine, digging your heels into the ground.

“Tough!” Max barks, throwing his arm around your shoulders to keep you moving. “You’ll thank me in the morning when you’re not spooning a garbage can.”

You groan dramatically, slumping into him. “Maxxyyy, I’m tired. Can’t I just sleep on a bench or something?”

“Nooo. No benches. Benches are gross. You’ll get, like… pigeons on you.”

“Pigeons are my friends,” you declare solemnly, as if this is a hill you’re prepared to die on.

Max shakes his head, clearly trying to stay serious but failing miserably. “Okay, Dr. Dolittle, you’re not sleeping outside.”

You groan again, dragging your feet even as he starts pulling you along.

“Stop whining,” he slurs, swaying as he tries to walk in a straight line. “It’ll be like- like a sleepover! Like when we were five.”

“Sleepovers at five were better,” you mutter. “Less… you.”

“Excuse me?” Max stops, glaring at you like you’ve mortally offended him. “I’m the best sleepover buddy. I let you steal my Haribo once.”

“You hid the Haribo under your pillow!” you counter, poking him in the chest.

“’Cause you’re a thief!” he says, grinning as he pulls you toward the street corner.

“Am not,” you huff, pouting.

“Are too,” he replies, but his tone is teasing as he hails a cab.

When the cab pulls up, it feels like the world is tilted just enough that the ground might collapse under your feet at any moment. You both tumble into the backseat in a fit of giggles, your laughter echoing off the darkened streets.

It’s the kind of laughter that’s born of a little bit too much alcohol and a whole lot of absurdity. You could’ve sworn you heard a streetlight flicker in disbelief at the sound of your shared joy.

“You smell like tequila and poor decisions,” he mutters with a lazy drawl, his words slow but somehow still cutting through the haze of the night.

Max flops dramatically against you as if the very act of sitting upright requires more effort than it’s worth.

His head lands squarely on your shoulder, and for a split second, you’re both tangled in the shared warmth of a really questionable decision.

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded, and grins like a kid who just got away with stealing candy.

Max’s eyes widen in mock outrage. “I did not!” He shoots up from your shoulder like you just insulted his very existence, but the motion sends him veering dangerously toward the cab door.

You’re already shaking your head before you even speak, the words spilling out one over the other. “You smell like someone who wore Axe in high school.”

He catches himself at the last second, gripping the seat like it’s a lifeline.

Max is practically in tears from laughing, his snort-laugh echoing off the walls of the cab as he tries to argue that Axe is, in fact, a perfectly fine product, just poorly misunderstood by society.

By the time the cab pulls up to Max’s hotel, you're both deep into a discussion about whether Axe body spray could be classified as a biohazard in certain quantities.

It’s a ridiculous debate, fueled by far too much tequila and a complete disregard for logic, but it’s the most fun either of you have had in ages.

The cab screeches to a halt, and Max stumbles out first, holding the door open for you with the kind of exaggerated flair you’d expect from someone who probably practices his dramatic entrances in front of a mirror.

As he pays the driver, his wallet slips from his hands not once, but twice, and he’s already apologizing profusely, his face flushed from the alcohol and his own clumsiness.

Finally, he gets the wallet sorted, tucks it back in his pocket, and reaches down to drag you out of the cab like you’re a piece of luggage.

You’re both barely standing, teetering back and forth on your feet as if gravity itself is conspiring to make the night even more ridiculous.

“Your palace has really ugly carpet,” you mutter, laughing as you trip over the offending fabric, your feet not quite able to keep up with your brain’s idea of where they should go.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Max says, throwing his arm out grandly to gesture toward the hotel lobby like he’s unveiling the Louvre.

The marble floors, polished to a shine, the sleek, understated furniture… none of it compares to the visual assault that is the ugly carpet underfoot.

Max snorts, his hand steadying you as you almost face-plant into a particularly gaudy potted plant. “You’re banned from the palace,” he retorts, giving you a playful shove.

You recover, and together, you stagger toward the elevator, which, for some reason, feels like an obstacle course in itself.

The elevator doors open with a dramatic ding, and Max promptly starts jabbing the wrong floor button in a series of random, very confident moves.

Each one is a miss, but he keeps at it, as if this were somehow part of the plan.

Max grumbles under his breath but finally, miraculously, hits the correct floor button. He turns to you with an exaggerated wink. “See? I told you. Genius.”

You lean against the wall, your body shaking with laughter as you struggle to breathe through the giggles.

“This is why they don’t let you operate machinery,” you manage to gasp, watching him fumble with the buttons in disbelief.

You raise an eyebrow, patting him on the head condescendingly. “Sure you are, buddy. A true mastermind.”

When the doors finally open, you both stumble out, holding on to each other uselessly.

The elevator ride is a blur of jokes and half-baked insults as you both fight to keep your composure.

Max leans against the wall with a smug look, clearly reveling in his victory over the elevator button.

“Jesus. You okay there, Einstein?” you tease, leaning casually against the wall and watching him drop the card once more. You can’t help but laugh.

At the door to his room, Max proceeds to fumble with his key card in a way that can only be described as tragically incompetent.

The key card slips from his fingers twice, and each time, he lets out a string of expletives in a garble of Dutch and English.

“Shut up,” he mutters, his voice already tinged with frustration. “Technology’s hard.”

“This bed is softer than my hopes and dreams,” you mumble, your voice muffled by the comforter as you stretch out like a starfish.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door swings open, and Max stumbles inside with the grace of a rhino on roller skates.

He turns to face you with a theatrical sigh. “There. I did it. Happy now?”

You’re already halfway to the bed, your shoes flying off in opposite directions, one ending up by the dresser and the other getting lodged under a chair.

With a dramatic thud, you collapse onto the bed, your body sinking into the soft, luxurious comfort like it was the only thing holding you together.

“Nope,” you reply, barely lifting a finger to indicate where his side is. “Your side’s over there,” you say, pointing vaguely toward the edge of the bed, but it’s clear from the way your eyes are barely staying open that you’re not in any shape to play the “bedroom politics” game.

Max, predictably, flops down beside you with the subtlety of a sack of bricks, his arms and legs sprawling out in every direction.

“Move over,” he grumbles, his face smooshed into the pillow.

“Too bad,” Max grunts, grabbing your pillow from beneath your head and smushing it over his face. “This is a dictatorship, and I’m the dictator.”

For a brief moment, it feels like nothing’s changed at all.

“Goodnight, Haribo hoarder,” you slur, your words trailing off into nothing as sleep drags you under.

The last thing you hear before you fully fade into unconsciousness is Max’s muffled laugh, and you can’t help but smile.

—-

Max stretches, or at least tries to. His arms flail in an uncoordinated spasm, which results in a series of awkward grunts and a pop from his back that sounds like a joint trying to jump ship.

Max’s eyes snap open, and for a second, everything is blurry.

He blinks a few times, the weight of his eyelids making it feel like he’s wading through molasses.

A dull ache sits in the back of his skull, a reminder of the questionable choices he made the night before.

He groans, dry, scratchy, the kind of noise that only belongs to mornings where you regret both your life decisions and your snack choices.

He’s still in his room. So far, so good.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary... except for that persistent feeling in the air that something is off.

For a second, he considers staying perfectly still, hoping his body will remember how to function like a normal human.

But then—

There’s something warm beside him. Something... alive.

Max freezes, eyes snapping wide open. His breath catches in his throat as he tries to process what’s happening. The warmth next to him isn’t the soft comfort of a pillow.

It’s... a person.

A person in his bed.

What the actual hell?

His brain goes into overdrive, trying to make sense of the situation. His mind races through a thousand thoughts in a second, each one more ridiculous than the last.

Did he... did he end up getting a stranger drunk last night? Did someone break into his room to cuddle with him?

Max’s eyes dart to his left, and it hits him like a freight train.

The person is you.

You, sprawled across the bed, fast asleep, your hair tousled and your face peaceful, completely unaware of his mounting panic.

“I need to call Daniel..”

For a moment, Max just stares, brain failing to catch up.

How did this happen? His head starts swimming. His mouth goes dry. His first thought is that he’s dreaming..except, no.

This is far too real. He’s not that lucky.

[reignpage]

Finders Keepers

Summary: in which alien!reader crash lands right in front of Gojo and your story with him begins Word Count: 1k (just trialing a new concept so it's a quick opening) Warnings: a little cursing, allusions to experimentation and alien warfare, reader is naked but not in a sexual manner

“I can’t believe aliens actually exist,” Satoru mutters to himself. 

This has been an incredibly wild evening. 

When he stepped out of his apartment to throw the bins out, he hadn’t expected to see a blinding flash of light zoom past him and explode in the parking lot. Thank goodness for his infinity, otherwise he would not have fared as well as the minivan you landed on. 

Yes. 

You.

The woman who came straight from the sky and fell on top of a car, missing him by just two metres.

At first, he thought it was a curse; these things get pretty weird sometimes, after all. But using his Six Eyes, he could tell you were different. Sure, you looked like any other person, with arms and legs and a head. But you had a unique aura to you, positively otherworldly. 

If he was any other kind of man, he would have just left you there and pretended nothing happened — ignorance is bliss and whatnot — but what kind of Honoured One would he be if he didn’t do his duty and helped you out?

So, he slides down the massive crater you made (boy is that going to be a pain for maintenance to clean up) and carefully cradles your naked body in his arms, carefully so as to not touch bits and pieces no gentleman has a business looking at. Why are you naked anyways? 

Sensing people making their way down the stairs to inspect the commotion, he teleports back into his apartment quick as a flash before anyone could think to look through their windows. 

He throws a blanket at you and leaves you on the sofa as he paces the length of his living room and ponders what to do. On one hand, he could call the police and leave it up to them to deal with you. The government would know best about how to deal about falling space women, right? But then, don’t all the sci-fi movies talk about inhumane experimentation, weaponizing alien technology, and Area 51? 

That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, at all. 

And on the other hand, he could just take care of you himself. He has the means to, that’s for sure. You really don’t look any different from everyone else — surely, you need the same things he does: food, water, shelter and warmth.

Right?

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone to call his doctor friend, you begin rousing from sleep. Your eyes flutter open and they’re a normal colour, which freaks him out more if he’s going to be perfectly honest. 

“Uh,” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, shuffling on his feet a little, “hey? I’m Gojo Satoru. You can just call me Satoru, though. If you want, or can, I guess.”

You tilt your head, scanning his body, and you open your mouth. What comes out is definitely an alien language. Or maybe he needs to travel more. But he certainly does not comprehend a single thing that you say. 

Clearing his throat, he tries to smile comfortingly. “Okay, so I didn’t understand what you said. Sorry. But uh, do you need anything? Like, do you know where you are? Yeah, you definitely don’t know what I’m saying either, do you?”

You tilt your head again. 

“What is wrong with me? Seriously. What was I thinking bringing you home? You may have fallen from the sky but I’m the one that clearly hit my head. I really am an idiot.”

Glancing around the room, you don’t look any bit as frazzled and panicked as he is. Actually, you’re as cool as a cucumber, and there isn’t a hint of shame or embarrassment on your face when you push yourself off the sofa, blanket sliding down your body. 

“Woah! Woah!”

Satoru presses his hands to his eyes and leaves them there for a second or two before realising that does absolutely nothing and when he pulls them down, he doesn’t flinch when you’re standing before him, inquisitive eyes meeting his. 

His infinity is on and he’s ready to subdue you if you prove to be a threat, but so far, he’s simply letting you reorient yourself, getting used to your surroundings and giving you the opportunity to decide he’s not a bad guy. 

That being said, however, he’s still deciding whether to keep you or not. He doesn’t want you to be poked and prodded — that wouldn’t be a very cool welcome to planet Earth and he doesn’t need you to go around telling your alien friends humans suck, though they do. But he also doesn’t know if that’s the best decision. 

You could be a danger to jujitsu society, to his students, to the world. What if, right at this very moment, you’re leaking deadly radiation? And what if his infinity can’t keep it out? Can’t keep you out?

Gosh, there are so many things that could go wrong. 

It’s entirely possible too that you’re a blood sucking monster intent on wringing him dry for all he’s worth. Maybe you’re not even an alien. Maybe you’re a special kind of curse, the kind that can bypass his Six Eyes, though he’s fairly confident that’s not the case (there’s no one stronger than him, after all). 

What if this is Kenjaku all over again?

Yeah, on second thought, he should definitely call the police. Or Ijichi, or the Prime Minister of Japan, or whoever will believe him when he says there’s a naked, alien lady in his home, and no, he’s not a pervert playing out some sick fantasy.

But just as he’s lifting his phone, you lift your hand the same time he does and cover your eyes. 

Then you say his name in perfect Japanese with a sweet, soft voice, not a hint of hesitation or unsteadiness. You smile, eyes still obscured, and he feels himself mirroring your gleeful expression. 

“That’s right. I’m Satoru. It’s nice to meet you.”

He decides, there and then, to hell with radiation, alien armies, and the deadly risk you pose to everything he knows or cares about. The military, conspiracy theorists, and scientists be damned.

He’s going to keep you. 

[losttoygirls]

as someone who was in the creepypasta fandom since like… 2011… let me hold your hand as i tell you something: do not take this stuff so damn seriously.

this fandom was created by people of different ages who just had fun. some made scary pictures, some told creepy stories. some made mmds videos, some made memes.

let people have fun. that’s the point of being in a fandom – having fun. let people make self-inserts, let people make oc’s. all creepypastas are OC’S, YOU DO KNOW THAT, RIGHT?? RIGHT??? if you cringe so hard – scroll it down! the amount of people that whine, complain and tell others to stop doing all that because “uhh um ☝🏻🥸 akchually slendermansion isn’t real so unvalid + cringe + l + ratio” is astounishing.

if you want to make yourself a creepypasta story – you go, kid. if you want to write a 100500 pages, agnst, hurt/comfort, slowburn with your oc and jeff the killer – pop off. and obv i’m not talking about folks who are weird with their content in general (yes, mishi-mishi, i’m looking at you), i’m talking about everyone who just wants to be a part of this creative buzz and do their own thing. therefore, here is my blessing: you do you! who cares if it’s cringe in our mighty year of 2025. literally no one. slay.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Do you accept orders? could you do a story about Dom!Viktor x Sub!Reader x Switch! Jayce, on the day of the ball, the reader wears a dress that made her look more beautiful and cute than usual and was therefore drawing people's attention at the ball to she , would the boys be jealous or possessive? Would they punish the reader?

- 🌸

Hi anon 🌸!! I'm not taking requests for fics currently, because I've got quite a few ongoing projects, but you can check my pinned post or my header description to know whenever I am 💕! But I just HAD to blabber about that idea for a second because I LOVE jealous shenanigans

Viktor and Jayce both strike me as the jealous type, but in two very different ways.

Viktor is the more silent, envious type of jealous. He has too much self-respect to just throw himself in front of you dramatically. So, he watches. He overanalyses every look anyone gives you, any kiss of your hand that seems to last a second too long. He’s methodical, following you around like a shadow the entire night with a falsely polite smile plastered on his lips. It's just one night, he tells himself, one night of pompous nobles leering at your cleavage and showering you with compliments. In the end, it won't matter, because you'll be in his bed when this is over, not theirs.

He won't outright tell you he was jealous, because he's embarrassed at the idea of seeming childish, but boy, will he still let you know. Expect bite marks on every visible inch of your skin and the imprint of his pretty fingers around your neck and thighs. He'll probably edge you a few times, have you beg and moan his name in tears without letting you cum, just to feel like he's the one in control again. He's willing to admit he's a little petty when it comes to you.

Others might not know it was him when they see your smeared makeup and strategically placed bruises tomorrow, but you will, and that's really all that matters to him.

Jayce is the visibly possessive type of jealous. Is some diplomat telling you a funny story? Jayce doesn't give a damn about decorum. His hand will quickly wrap around your waist to pull you closer to him and he'll enter the conversation with a megawatt smile as if he's always been part of it. But his hand will stay firmly in place for everyone to see what's off limits. In fact, it would be almost impossible to find him not touching you in some way, whether that be by gently replacing wayward strands of hair or wiping away imaginary stains of wine around your lips. He can't help it, especially when he sees others look at you with the same desire that he has for you. He has to show that you're his.

Jayce will be especially talkative in bed after that, constantly mumbling your name under his breath as he fucks you, repeating the word ‘mine’ over and over again. He's very petty about it too, asking if you liked having everyone's attention on you, if you got off to strangers undressing you with their eyes. If he’s gotten really rilled up, the usual “baby” and “princess” might become a “whore” or “slut”. Always his whore though. Nobody else's. He doesn't say it to be mean, in fact he tends to feel bad afterwards, but he needs confirmation straight from your lips that you don't care about them. That the only one you want to ruin you is him.

If you oblige, you are getting fucked raw on the closest available surface for a solid three rounds. You're too tired for another one? That's alright, he’ll pump his cock in his fist right above your entrance, and only push in when he's ready to cum. He'll fill you until he’s satisfied no one could look at you and doubt for a second who fucked you that good.

[elryuse]

Hierarchy

Pt 5 : Complicated

For My Other Hierarchy Story, Please Kindly Check Over Here. Hope You Liked It.

"You kissed him?!" Ryujin’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and accusing. Her eyes were wide, her lips trembling as she stared at So-hyun, who stood with an unreadable smirk plastered across her face. The room was silent now, save for the faint hum of music in the background. Everyone was frozen, their phones still raised, capturing every second of this chaotic moment.

I couldn’t move. My chest tightened as I looked from Ryujin to Wonyoung, who stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, her expression a mix of shock and something darker—something like hurt. My head spun, my thoughts a jumbled mess. What just happened? I glanced at So-hyun, who met my gaze with a glint in her eyes that sent chills down my spine.

"Relax, Ryujin," So-hyun drawled, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "It was just a kiss. A little… experiment." She shrugged, as if it were nothing, but the way her eyes lingered on me told a different story. It was as if she was assessing me, trying to figure out how I fit into whatever game she was playing.

Ryujin stepped forward, her fists clenched. "You don’t just kiss someone like that! Especially not him! What are you even—"

"Oh, please," So-hyun interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Don’t act like you own him, Ryujin. He’s not your property." She turned to me, her smirk widening. "Isn’t that right, Y/n?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. My throat felt dry, my mind racing. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. I had come here thinking it would be just another night, another chance to blend into the background. But now, I was the center of attention, caught in a web I didn’t understand.

And then there was Wonyoung. Her gaze burned into me, filled with questions I couldn’t answer. Why did I kiss her? Why did I let myself get swept up in the moment? I wanted to explain, to tell her it was a mistake, but the weight of everyone’s stares held me back.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until So-hyun broke it with a laugh—soft, almost musical, but laced with something sinister. "Well, this has been fun," she said, clapping her hands together. "But I think it’s time we moved on. Come on, everyone, let’s dance!"

She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and pulled me toward the center of the room. The crowd parted around us, whispering behind their hands, their eyes following our every move. So-hyun leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear. "You’re mine now," she whispered, her voice low and commanding. "Whether you like it or not."

Earlier that evening, everything had seemed so simple. I had arrived at So-hyun’s mansion feeling out of place, my suit wrinkled, my nerves on edge. The limousine Ryujin had arranged for me felt like overkill, and the grandeur of So-hyun’s home only made me feel more out of my depth. But I had promised Ryujin I would come, and I didn’t want to let her down.

Ryujin greeted me at the door, her smile bright and infectious. "You made it!" she exclaimed, pulling me into a quick hug. "Come on, let’s get you a drink. You look like you need one."

I laughed nervously, allowing her to lead me through the crowded mansion. The party was already in full swing, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and champagne. Everywhere I looked, people were laughing, dancing, and flirting. It was overwhelming, but also exhilarating.

As Ryujin handed me a glass of something bubbly, I noticed Wonyoung standing by the piano. She looked stunning, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her dress shimmering under the soft light. I hadn’t seen her since the day I played the piano at her family’s home, and the memory brought a strange flutter to my chest.

Wonyoung caught my eye and smiled faintly before turning away. I wondered what she was thinking, whether she remembered that day as vividly as I did. But before I could approach her, Ryujin looped her arm through mine and dragged me toward the dance floor.

The night blurred after that. Shots of liquor, laughter, and the dizzying rush of being surrounded by people who seemed to actually want me around. For the first time since starting at Jooshin High, I felt like I belonged. But that feeling shattered the moment I kissed Wonyoung.

Now, as So-hyun led me deeper into the crowd, I felt like a puppet on strings, helpless to resist. She stopped suddenly, turning to face me. Her eyes were intense, searching, as if she was trying to see straight through me.

"Do you know why I kissed you?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the music.

I shook my head, too stunned to speak.

"Because you’re interesting," she said, her lips curling into a sly smile. "You’re not like the others. You’re not afraid to take risks. And that makes you dangerous."

"Dangerous?" I repeated, my voice hoarse.

So-hyun nodded, her smile fading. "People like you disrupt the balance. And at Jooshin High, balance is everything."

Before I could respond, she kissed me again—harder this time, more possessive. The room erupted into cheers and whistles, but all I could focus on was the cold steeliness in So-hyun’s eyes. This wasn’t about attraction or affection. This was about control.

When she finally pulled away, I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. So-hyun leaned in close, her lips brushing against my ear. "Welcome to the game, Y/n," she whispered. "Let’s see how long you can survive."

She walked away, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the crowd. My heart pounded in my chest, my mind racing. What have I gotten myself into?

"Y/n," a voice called from behind me. I turned to see Wonyoung standing there, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. "We need to talk. Now."

Wonyoung’s grip on my wrist was like a vice as she dragged me through the labyrinth of So-hyun’s mansion. The air grew colder the further we went, the noise of the party fading into an eerie silence. My head was still spinning from the alcohol, but the sharpness in her voice cut through the haze.

“What the fuck are you planning here?” she hissed, slamming the door shut behind us. The room was dimly lit, its walls lined with shelves full of books and trinkets that looked like they belonged in a museum rather than a teenager’s home. Wonyoung leaned against the door, her arms crossed, her glare piercing through me like daggers.

I stumbled backward, holding up my hands defensively. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m drunk, Wonyoung. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“Cut the crap,” she snapped, stepping closer. Her voice was low, dangerous. “You kissed me. In front of everyone. And then So-hyun pulls this stunt? Do you have any idea what kind of mess you’ve just thrown yourself into?”

My throat tightened. She wasn’t wrong. I had no clue what was happening. One moment, I was trying to survive the chaos of the party, and the next, I was caught in some twisted power play between two of the most influential girls at Jooshin High.

“I swear, I didn’t plan any of this,” I stammered, my voice cracking under the weight of her stare. “So-hyun… she just… kissed me out of nowhere. I didn’t even—”

“And you think that makes it better?” Wonyoung interrupted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She closed the distance between us, her face mere inches from mine. Her breath smelled faintly of mint and something sharper, almost metallic. “Do you have any idea what So-hyun is capable of? What I’m capable of?”

I flinched. Her words carried a threat I couldn’t fully comprehend, but it sent a chill down my spine nonetheless. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Before I could finish, the door burst open, and So-hyun strode in like a storm. Her presence was commanding, her every movement calculated. She didn’t even glance at Wonyoung; her focus was entirely on me.

“Enough of this,” So-hyun said coolly, her voice slicing through the tension like a knife. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin just enough to make me wince. “Y/n, come with me.”

Wonyoung stepped forward, blocking our path. “Where do you think you’re taking him?”

So-hyun smirked, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “That’s none of your concern, darling. He’s mine now.”

The way she said it—so casually, so possessively—made my stomach twist. But before I could protest, So-hyun was already pulling me out of the room, leaving Wonyoung standing there, her fists clenched, her expression a mix of fury and something else I couldn’t quite place.

The hallway felt endless as So-hyun dragged me toward the garage. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening, but every thought felt sluggish, drowned out by the alcohol and the adrenaline coursing through my veins. When we reached the garage, she shoved me toward one of her supercars—a sleek, black monstrosity that screamed wealth and power.

“Get in,” she ordered, sliding into the driver’s seat. Her tone left no room for argument.

I hesitated, glancing back toward the mansion. Ryujin stood at the entrance, her eyes wide with confusion. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. When our eyes met, I saw a flicker of hurt, maybe even betrayal, before she quickly turned away.

“I said get in,” So-hyun repeated, her voice sharper this time. She rolled down the window, her icy gaze daring me to defy her.

Swallowing hard, I opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. The leather was cold against my skin, the scent of luxury and something vaguely chemical filling my nostrils. So-hyun started the engine, the roar of it drowning out any chance of escape.

As we sped away from the mansion, the streetlights blurred into streaks of gold. My heart pounded in my chest, my thoughts a jumbled mess. I wanted to ask where we were going, what she wanted from me, but the words wouldn’t come. So-hyun drove with a quiet intensity, her hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

After what felt like an eternity, she spoke again, her voice soft but laced with venom. “Do you know why I brought you here tonight, Y/n?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

“Because you’re different,” she said, her lips curling into a sly smile. “You’re not like them. You don’t play their games. You don’t follow their rules. And that… that makes you dangerous.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I didn’t feel dangerous. I felt lost, out of my depth, like a pawn being moved across a chessboard by players far more skilled than I could ever hope to be.

“But here’s the thing,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. “In this world, danger is power. And power… well, that’s all anyone really cares about, isn’t it?”

She pulled over in front of an empty park, the trees casting long shadows in the moonlight. Turning to face me, she placed a hand on my cheek, her touch surprisingly gentle. “You have potential, Y/n. Don’t waste it.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “What do you want from me?”

Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Everything.”

The drive to the penthouse was silent, save for the low hum of So-hyun’s luxury car. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows, casting fleeting shadows across her sharp features. She sat perfectly poised, hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, her expression unreadable. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being pulled into something far beyond my control. Every time I tried to speak, the words caught in my throat. What could I even say? Her presence alone was enough to render me speechless.

When we arrived, the penthouse loomed above us like a monument to her family’s wealth and influence. A private elevator whisked us up to the top floor, and the doors slid open to reveal a space that felt more like a throne room than a home. The walls were lined with abstract art—dark, twisted pieces that seemed to pulse with an unsettling energy. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, but the beauty of it was overshadowed by the heavy tension hanging in the air.

So-hyun strode ahead of me, her heels clicking against the polished marble floors. She didn’t look back, but her voice carried through the vast space. “Make yourself comfortable, Y/n. We have a lot to discuss.”

I hesitated, unsure where to sit or even if I should. The enormity of the room made me feel small, insignificant. Finally, I perched on the edge of a sleek leather couch, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. So-hyun disappeared into another room, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

She returned moments later, holding two glasses of deep red wine. She handed one to me, her fingers brushing mine deliberately as she did. I took the glass, though my hand trembled slightly. She sat down beside me, closer than necessary, her thigh pressing against mine. The warmth of her body was disorienting, and I fought the urge to move away.

“You’re full of surprises, Y/n,” she said, taking a slow sip of her wine. Her lips glistened faintly when she pulled the glass away. “First Wonyoung, then Ryujin, and now… me. Tell me, do you always find yourself at the center of such chaos?”

I shook my head, unsure how to respond. “I-I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It just… did.”

Her laughter was soft, almost musical, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down my spine. “Sometimes, darling, life has a way of pushing us into places we never expected. But what matters is how we handle it. And you… you interest me.”

I looked at her, my confusion evident. “Why? I’m just a scholarship student. I don’t belong here.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned in closer, her breath warm against my ear. “That’s exactly why you’re interesting. You’re different. Unpolished. Raw. And in a world filled with people who think they know everything, that makes you dangerous.”

My heart pounded in my chest as her words sunk in. Dangerous? Me? The idea was laughable, but the intensity in her gaze told me she wasn’t joking. She set her glass down on the table, then reached out to trace a finger along the side of my face. Her touch was feather-light, but it sent jolts of electricity through me.

“Tell me, Y/n,” she murmured, her voice dripping with a quiet authority. “Do you enjoy games?”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “It depends on the game.”

A slow, predatory smile spread across her lips. “Good answer. Let’s see how well you play.”

Before I could react, she stood and walked over to a sleek black piano positioned near the window. She ran her fingers lightly over the keys, the notes soft and haunting. “Come here,” she commanded, not bothering to turn around.

I obeyed without thinking, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. When I reached her side, she gestured for me to sit on the bench beside her. Her proximity was overwhelming, her scent—something floral and intoxicating—filling my senses.

“Play something for me,” she said, her tone daring me to refuse.

“I-I’m not very good,” I stammered, my nerves betraying me.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said sharply, her eyes locking onto mine. “I saw you play at Wonyoung’s house. You’re better than you let on. Now… play.”

My hands hovered over the keys, trembling slightly. I finally settled on a piece I knew by heart, letting the music flow through me. As I played, So-hyun watched me intently, her gaze never wavering. When I finished, she didn’t clap or praise me. Instead, she placed her hand over mine, stopping the final note from ringing out.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But beauty isn’t enough. You need to learn how to use it.”

I frowned, unsure what she meant. “Use it?”

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against my ear as she spoke. “Power isn’t about what you have, Y/n. It’s about how you wield it. And I think it’s time you learned how.”

Her hand slid up my arm, sending a shiver through me. My mind screamed at me to pull away, to run, but my body refused to obey. There was something magnetic about her, something that kept me rooted in place.

“W-what are you saying?” I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’m saying that I can teach you things no one else can. But first… you have to prove you’re willing to play the game.”

Before I could respond, she gripped my chin firmly, forcing me to look into her eyes. They burned with an intensity that was both terrifying and thrilling. “Kiss me,” she ordered.

My breath hitched. “What?”

“Kiss me,” she repeated, her voice low and commanding. “Unless you’re too scared.”

The challenge in her tone ignited something inside me—a mix of defiance and desire. Without thinking, I closed the distance between us, pressing my lips to hers. The kiss was electric, fueled by a raw, untamed energy. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing heavily. So-hyun’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, as though she had just won a small victory. “Good,” she purred. “But don’t think for a second that this means you’ve earned my trust. This is just the beginning, Y/n. And if you want to survive in my world, you’ll need to learn how to play by my rules.”

[happyk44]

[Text ID: 1. You already know the story. You will die. Everyone you love will also die. You will lose them forever. You will be sad and angry. You will weep. You will bargain. You will make demands. You will beg. You will pray. It will make no difference. Nothing you can do will bring them back. You know this. Your knowing changes nothing. This poem will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

2. Chorus. Well, here we are.

These people are about to act out for you the story of Antigone.

That thin little creature sitting by herself, staring straight ahead, seeing nothing, is Antigone. She is thinking. She is thinking that the instant I finish telling you who's who and what's what in this play, she will burst forth as the tense, sallow, willful girl whose family would never take her seriously and who is about to rise up alone against Creon, her uncle, the King.

Aother thing that she is thinking is this: she is going to die. Antigone is young. She would much ratehr live than die. But there is no help for it. When your name is Antigone, there is only one part you can play; and she will have to play hers through to the end.

From the moment the curtain went up, she began to feel that inhuman forces were whirling her out of this world, snatching her away from her sister Ismene, whom you see smiling and chatting with that young man; from all of us who sit or stand here, looking at her, not in the least upset ourselves - for we are not doomed to die tonight. /end ID]

Introduction to The Iliad, Emily Wilson

[urdreamydoodles]

Bat-Family x Fem!OC

You trip a little because you were too busy staring at your crush

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne (aged up), Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, Selina Kyle, Kate Kane, Helena Bertinelli, Jean-Paul Valley & Terrence McGinnis

Jason Todd aka. Red Hood

- You never considered yourself clumsy, not until Jason Todd entered the room. The moment your eyes lock on his, it’s like gravity shifts, pulling you toward him, and your focus narrows to the way his leather jacket hugs his broad shoulders or the smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips. He notices everything, and of course, he notices when you trip, your foot catching on seemingly nothing. His reflexes are quicker than your embarrassment, and his arm snakes around your waist before you can hit the ground. “Careful there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of amusement and something softer.

- Jason’s protectiveness is as much a part of him as his defiant streak. You’ve seen it in the way he shields innocents during fights, his body a barrier against danger, and you feel it now in the way his grip lingers on your waist. There’s a flicker of concern in his blue eyes, hidden behind his teasing tone. He’s rough around the edges, sure, but his heart—scarred and bruised as it may be—beats fiercely for the people he cares about. It makes your own heart race, knowing he might feel the same for you.

- Later, when you’re alone together, he teases you relentlessly. “Couldn’t take your eyes off me, huh?” he says, leaning casually against his motorcycle. His words are laced with that trademark Jason bravado, but his gaze betrays him, searching your face for something—confirmation, maybe, that he’s not imagining the spark between you two. You blush, stumbling over a response, and he chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. It’s moments like these where you catch glimpses of the boy behind the Red Hood, the one who yearns for connection even as he tries to keep the world at arm’s length.

- When the teasing subsides, Jason’s honesty takes you by surprise. “You’re different,” he admits, his voice quieter, more vulnerable. “Not many people can look past the... damage.” He’s staring at the ground now, his usual confidence momentarily absent. You reach out, your hand brushing his, and he looks up, startled but hopeful. “I see you,” you say softly, and it’s enough to draw a rare, genuine smile from him—a smile meant only for you.

Dick Grayson aka. Nightwing

- There’s a certain grace to Dick Grayson that makes it impossible to look away. He moves through the world like it’s his stage, every step purposeful, every smile dazzling. So, when you find yourself watching him during one of your shared missions, it’s no wonder you don’t notice the uneven pavement beneath your feet. You stumble, arms flailing, but before you can fall, he’s there, his hands steadying you as if you weigh nothing. “Whoa, easy there,” he says, his tone light and teasing, but the way his hands linger on your arms tells another story.

- Dick has always been the heart of the Bat-family, his warmth a stark contrast to Gotham’s cold. You feel it now in the way he checks on you, his blue eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort. “You okay?” he asks, his voice softening. You nod, unable to speak under his intense gaze, and he smiles that brilliant, boyish smile that’s made countless hearts flutter. “Good,” he says, his thumb brushing briefly against your arm before he steps back, giving you space but not before stealing another glance.

- The moment doesn’t end there. Later, when the mission is done, he finds you, his usual playful demeanor tinged with something deeper. “You know,” he begins, leaning against the wall beside you, “you could’ve just asked for my attention. No need to risk bodily harm.” His words are light, but his expression is anything but, his gaze lingering on you in a way that makes your pulse quicken. He’s always been a flirt, but this feels different—more genuine, more vulnerable.

- “You have a way of distracting me, too,” he confesses after a moment, his voice dropping to a near whisper. It’s a rare moment of honesty from someone who’s so adept at hiding behind charm. “I don’t mind, though,” he adds, his smile soft, almost shy. Your breath catches, and for a moment, it feels like the world fades away, leaving only the two of you. It’s in that moment you realize that behind the acrobatics and the bravado, Dick Grayson is as captivated by you as you are by him.

Tim Drake aka. Red Robin

- Tim Drake is observant to a fault, which is probably why you don’t realize he’s already noticed your lingering stares. You’re too caught up in the way his brow furrows in concentration or the way his lips quirk up when he figures something out. So, when your foot catches on a chair leg and you stumble, you’re caught off guard—not just by the fall but by how quickly Tim reacts. He’s at your side in an instant, his hands steadying you with surprising strength. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

- Tim’s attention to detail extends to the way he cares for you. “You should be more careful,” he says, his tone gently teasing but his eyes betraying his worry. He helps you sit, insisting on checking for any sign of injury despite your protests. It’s endearing, the way he fusses over you, and you find yourself smiling despite your embarrassment. “What?” he asks, catching your expression. “Is it so strange that I care?” His words are casual, but the way he avoids your gaze suggests there’s more behind them.

- As the day goes on, Tim seems more distracted than usual, his glances toward you lingering longer than necessary. You catch him staring once or twice, his cheeks turning pink when you meet his gaze. It’s a rare vulnerability from someone so often in control, and it makes your heart ache in the best way. He doesn’t say much, but his actions speak volumes—the way he holds doors open for you, the way he offers you his jacket when the air grows chilly, the way his hand brushes yours when he thinks you’re not looking.

- Later, when the two of you are alone, he finally speaks. “I noticed you staring earlier,” he says, his voice hesitant. Your heart races as you scramble for an excuse, but he cuts you off. “It’s okay,” he says quickly, his cheeks still red. “I… I was staring, too.” His confession is quiet, almost shy, and it makes you fall for him even more. In that moment, you realize that behind Tim’s sharp mind and analytical exterior lies a heart that beats just as fast for you as yours does for him.

Damian Wayne aka. Robin

- Damian Wayne is sharp, composed, and always in control—except, apparently, when you’re around. You notice the way his eyes follow you, the way his demeanor shifts ever so slightly, though he’d never admit it. So, when you trip while staring at him, it feels like fate has played a cruel joke on you. Before you can hit the ground, his arms are around you, strong and steady. “You should watch where you’re going,” he says, his tone clipped, but the slight flush on his cheeks betrays him.

- Damian doesn’t let go immediately, his hands lingering on your arms longer than necessary. “Are you injured?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. You shake your head, too flustered to speak, and he nods, stepping back but not before giving you one last, lingering glance. It’s rare to see him this unguarded, and it leaves you breathless. Despite his usual stoicism, there’s a tenderness in the way he checks on you, as though your well-being matters more to him than he’s willing to admit.

- As the day goes on, you notice Damian stealing glances at you, his expression unreadable but his gaze intense. He’s quieter than usual, his sharp remarks softened, his focus split between whatever task is at hand and your every movement. It’s endearing, seeing him like this, and you can’t help but smile when his composure slips just a little. “What are you smiling at?” he asks, his tone defensive, but there’s no real bite to his words. If anything, he seems flustered, his eyes darting away when you meet his gaze.

- Later, when it’s just the two of you, Damian surprises you with a rare moment of vulnerability. “You… distract me,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze is fixed on the ground, his usual confidence replaced with something more hesitant. “I don’t know what to do with these feelings,” he continues, his cheeks tinged with pink. Your heart aches at his honesty, and you reach out, your hand brushing his. “You don’t have to figure it out alone,” you say softly, and his eyes meet yours, filled with something raw and unspoken.

Barbara Gordon aka. Oracle / Batgirl

- Barbara Gordon is as brilliant as she is beautiful, and you’ve always admired the way she carries herself—with confidence, grace, and a touch of playfulness. It’s no wonder you’re caught staring, your thoughts too preoccupied with her to notice the uneven ground beneath your feet. You trip, a small yelp escaping your lips, and before you know it, she’s there, her hands steadying you. “Careful,” she says, her voice warm with amusement. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt on my watch.”

- Barbara’s smile is equal parts reassuring and teasing as she helps you regain your footing. “You okay?” she asks, her green eyes scanning your face for any sign of distress. You nod, your cheeks burning, and she chuckles softly. “Good. Though, next time, maybe try staring a little less obviously?” Her words make you blush even harder, but there’s no malice in them—just that playful charm that makes her so undeniably captivating.

- The rest of the day, Barbara seems to take every opportunity to tease you, her wit as sharp as ever. “Do I have something on my face, or are you just that distracted by my brilliance?” she asks at one point, her grin widening when you stammer out a response. Despite the teasing, there’s a warmth to her actions—the way she stays close to you, the way she casually touches your arm or shoulder, the way her laughter seems a little brighter when you’re the one who caused it.

- When the teasing subsides and the two of you are alone, Barbara’s tone shifts. “You know,” she begins, her voice softer now, “I noticed you staring because I couldn’t stop staring at you.” Her confession takes you by surprise, and she laughs at your stunned expression. “What? You didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did you?” Her eyes meet yours, her gaze steady and filled with something deeper than humor. In that moment, you realize that beneath her sharp wit and confident demeanor, Barbara’s heart beats just as fiercely for you as yours does for her.

Stephanie Brown aka. Spoiler

- Stephanie Brown has always been a whirlwind, her energy and humor filling every room she enters. It’s impossible not to be drawn to her, and so you find yourself watching her, captivated by the way she laughs or the sparkle in her eyes when she’s teasing someone—usually Tim. You don’t even realize you’ve tripped until the ground rushes up to meet you. But before you can hit it, she’s there, quick and steady, catching you with surprising strength. “Whoa! Someone’s got it bad,” she says, grinning as she helps you back up.

- Stephanie doesn’t let you live it down, of course. “What were you thinking about? Or should I say who?” she teases, wagging her eyebrows. Her tone is playful, but there’s a softness beneath it, an unspoken warmth in the way she holds onto your arm just a little longer than necessary. Despite her jokes, you can see the flicker of concern in her eyes. “You didn’t twist anything, right? Because if you did, I’m totally making you a ‘Danger to Yourself’ badge.”

- As the day continues, Stephanie finds every opportunity to bring up your little stumble. “Careful now, wouldn’t want to lose your balance again,” she says with a grin as she hands you a cup of coffee. Yet, for all her teasing, you notice the way her gaze lingers on you when she thinks you’re not looking, her expression softening in a way that makes your heart flutter. You realize that for all her bravado, Stephanie feels just as much as she jokes.

- Later, when the teasing dies down, Stephanie’s vulnerability peeks through. “You know,” she says, leaning against the wall beside you, “I tease because… well, it’s easier than saying what I really feel.” Her voice is quieter now, almost hesitant. “But if it wasn’t obvious, I think you’re pretty amazing.” Her words catch you off guard, and for once, she seems at a loss for what to say next. You reach out, taking her hand, and her smile returns, brighter than ever but now tinged with something deeper.

Cassandra Cain aka. Orphan

- Cassandra Cain moves like a shadow—silent, deliberate, and utterly mesmerizing. You’re so captivated by her fluid grace that you don’t notice the uneven ground beneath your feet until you stumble. Before you can even process what’s happening, Cassandra is there, her hands catching you with ease. Her dark eyes meet yours, concern flickering in them as she helps you steady yourself. She doesn’t say anything—she doesn’t need to. Her presence alone is enough to make your heart race.

- Cassandra’s communication is subtle, her touches and glances saying more than words ever could. She gently pats your arm, her expression softening as she looks you over for any sign of injury. When she’s satisfied you’re unhurt, she tilts her head, her lips curving into the faintest smile. It’s her way of teasing, a silent acknowledgment of your flustered state, and it only makes you fall for her more.

- Throughout the day, Cassandra stays close, her quiet presence both comforting and electrifying. She doesn’t say much, but you can feel her eyes on you, watching, protective. When she catches you looking at her, her cheeks flush ever so slightly, and she quickly looks away. It’s a rare vulnerability from someone so composed, and it makes your chest ache in the best way.

- Later, when it’s just the two of you, Cassandra surprises you by reaching out, her fingers brushing yours. “You… you make me feel different,” she says, her voice soft and halting but full of meaning. It’s a rare moment of verbal expression from her, and it leaves you speechless. She looks down, then back at you, her gaze steady despite her nerves. “Good different,” she adds, and her shy smile is enough to make your heart soar.

Duke Thomas aka. Signal

- Duke Thomas radiates warmth and light, even in Gotham’s darkest corners. You’re so drawn to his presence—the way he smiles, the way his laugh lights up a room—that you barely notice you’ve tripped until it’s too late. Before you can hit the ground, Duke catches you, his strong arms steadying you effortlessly. “Gotcha,” he says, grinning down at you. “You okay?” His tone is teasing but kind, his concern shining through even as he chuckles.

- Duke doesn’t let the moment pass without a little good-natured ribbing. “Didn’t know I was that distracting,” he jokes, his grin widening as your cheeks flush. But there’s no malice in his words, only a playful affection that makes your heart race. He keeps a protective hand on your arm as you steady yourself, his touch warm and reassuring. “Seriously, though,” he adds, his voice softening, “are you okay?”

- As the day goes on, Duke’s teasing continues, but so does his attentiveness. He seems to find every excuse to stay close, his easy charm masking the way his gaze lingers on you when he thinks you’re not looking. You catch him once or twice, his golden-brown eyes filled with something deeper than humor, and it makes your pulse quicken. For all his jokes, there’s an honesty to Duke that’s impossible to ignore.

- When the teasing fades and the two of you find a quiet moment together, Duke surprises you with his vulnerability. “You know,” he says, his voice lower now, “I don’t usually get this nervous around people.” He laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you… you’re different. In a good way.” His confession catches you off guard, but the sincerity in his gaze makes your heart swell. You smile, reaching out to take his hand, and his grin returns, brighter than ever.

Selina Kyle aka. Catwoman

- Selina Kyle is intoxicating—a mix of elegance, danger, and charm that makes it impossible to look away. You’re so entranced by her presence—the way she moves, the way her voice seems to purr—that you don’t notice you’ve stumbled until it’s too late. Selina catches you, her reflexes as sharp as ever, and her lips curve into a knowing smile. “Careful, darling,” she says, her tone playful but tinged with genuine concern. “Falling for me already?”

- Selina’s teasing is relentless, but it’s impossible to be mad at her when she’s so effortlessly captivating. “Really, you should watch where you’re going,” she says, her emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. “Although I can’t blame you for being a little distracted.” Her hand lingers on your arm, her touch light but deliberate, and it sends shivers down your spine. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s enjoying every second of it.

- As the day goes on, Selina finds every opportunity to tease you, her wit as sharp as her claws. “You’re lucky I was here to catch you,” she says, her smile equal parts affectionate and smug. But beneath her playful exterior, there’s a warmth to her actions—the way she subtly shields you during a tense moment, the way her gaze softens when she thinks you’re not looking. It’s a side of Selina few get to see, and it makes your heart ache with longing.

- Later, when the two of you are alone, Selina drops her teasing facade for a moment of honesty. “You’re different, you know,” she says, her voice softer now, almost wistful. “Most people see the thief, the troublemaker. But you… you see me.” Her gaze meets yours, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before. “And maybe that scares me a little,” she admits, her lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile. You reach out, your hand brushing hers, and she lets out a soft laugh. “But I think I like it.”

Kate Kane aka. Batwoman

- Kate Kane’s presence is magnetic, her strength and poise captivating in a way that leaves you breathless. You’ve always admired her, but today, as she stands across the room in her sharp suit, confidence radiating from every inch of her, you can’t take your eyes off her. That’s precisely why you trip, your foot catching on the edge of a rug. Before you can hit the ground, she’s there, her hands steadying you with practiced ease. “Careful,” she says, her voice low and warm. “Distracted by something?”

- Kate’s smirk is sharp, but her eyes soften as she looks you over. “You’re okay,” she says more to herself than to you, her hands lingering on your arms. It’s a rare tenderness from someone so guarded, and it makes your heart race. She steps back quickly, her usual stoic demeanor returning, but there’s a flicker of something in her gaze—something unspoken. “Try to watch your step,” she adds, her tone teasing but not unkind.

- Throughout the day, Kate stays near, her sharp eyes flicking toward you more often than usual. She doesn’t say much, but her actions speak volumes—the way she silently offers you a steadying hand when you’re navigating uneven ground, the way her body angles slightly toward you as if to shield you from harm. You catch her looking at you once, her gaze lingering longer than it should, and she quickly looks away, her cheeks tinged with pink.

- Later, when the two of you are alone, Kate finally drops her walls, if only for a moment. “You make me feel… different,” she admits, her voice hesitant. She leans against a nearby wall, her arms crossed as if to protect herself from the vulnerability she’s showing. “I’m not used to this—caring about someone like this.” Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see the woman beneath the armor—the one who’s just as captivated by you as you are by her.

Helena Bertinelli aka. Huntress

- Helena Bertinelli exudes a quiet intensity, her every movement calculated and deliberate. You’re so caught up in watching her—admiring the way she commands a room with nothing but her presence—that you don’t notice the uneven sidewalk beneath your feet. You stumble, but before you can fall, she’s there, her grip strong and sure. “Watch it,” she says, her voice firm but not unkind. Her dark eyes scan you quickly, making sure you’re okay before she lets go.

- Helena’s concern is understated, almost brusque, but it’s there in the way she steadies you. “You should be more careful,” she says, her tone softer now, though her expression remains serious. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—worry, maybe?—that she quickly masks with a teasing smirk. “Distracted by something—or someone?” she asks, her voice dipping into a playful lilt that sends a shiver down your spine.

- Throughout the day, Helena keeps her distance, but you can feel her eyes on you. She’s always been protective, even if she doesn’t like to admit it, and it’s clear she’s keeping an eye on you now. When you catch her staring, she quickly looks away, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly. It’s a rare vulnerability from someone as guarded as Helena, and it only makes your feelings for her grow stronger.

- Later, when the two of you are alone, Helena surprises you by speaking first. “I don’t do this—feelings,” she says, her voice low but steady. She crosses her arms, her gaze fixed on the ground. “But you… you make it hard not to feel something.” When she finally looks up, her dark eyes are filled with something raw and unspoken. “Just don’t make me regret this,” she adds, her smirk returning, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You step closer, brushing your hand against hers, and her smirk softens into a genuine smile.

Jean-Paul Valley aka. Azrael

- Jean-Paul Valley is a paradox—a man of faith and fury, strength and vulnerability. You’ve always found him fascinating, but today, as he moves with quiet purpose, his golden hair catching the light, you can’t take your eyes off him. That’s why you trip, your foot catching on a step. Before you can fall, his strong arms are around you, steadying you effortlessly. “Are you all right?” he asks, his voice deep and filled with concern.

- Jean-Paul’s worry is genuine, his hands lingering on your arms as he looks you over. “You need to be more careful,” he says, his tone a mix of chastisement and tenderness. His blue eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stand still. “You’re not hurt, are you?” he asks, his voice softer now. You shake your head, your heart racing, and he nods, releasing you reluctantly but not before offering a reassuring smile.

- Throughout the day, Jean-Paul seems more watchful than usual, his gaze flicking toward you often. He doesn’t say much, but his presence is grounding, his protective nature shining through in the little things—the way he subtly positions himself between you and danger, the way his hand brushes yours as if to reassure himself that you’re okay. When you catch him staring, he quickly looks away, his cheeks tinged with pink, but the intensity in his eyes lingers.

- Later, when the two of you find a quiet moment, Jean-Paul speaks, his voice filled with hesitation. “I’ve always believed in a higher purpose,” he begins, his gaze fixed on the ground. “But lately, I’ve found myself questioning… everything.” He looks up at you, his blue eyes filled with vulnerability. “You make me feel things I don’t understand, but I think… I think I don’t want to let it go.” His confession is raw, unpolished, and it makes your heart ache with affection. You take his hand, offering a small smile, and he exhales, his tension easing.

Terry McGinnis aka. Batman II

- Terry McGinnis is all charm and quick wit, his confidence masking the weight of responsibility he carries as Gotham’s newest protector. You’ve always admired him, but today, as he stands in the Batcave, the glow of the monitors casting shadows across his sharp features, you can’t help but stare. That’s why you trip, your foot catching on a loose cable. Before you can hit the floor, Terry’s there, his reflexes honed by years of training. “Gotcha,” he says, grinning as he helps you up. “You okay?”

- Terry’s grin is teasing, but there’s genuine concern in his eyes as he steadies you. “You sure you’re not concussed or something?” he asks, his tone light but his hands lingering on your arms. His blue eyes flicker with something deeper—worry, maybe, or something more vulnerable. “You’ve got to watch your step,” he adds, his grin softening into a small smile. “Can’t have you getting hurt on my watch.”

- Throughout the day, Terry’s usual banter seems more pointed, his jokes tinged with affection. “You know,” he says at one point, leaning casually against the Batmobile, “if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to trip for it.” But his eyes betray him, their warmth belying his teasing tone. When he thinks you’re not looking, you catch him staring, his expression soft and unguarded in a way that makes your heart flutter.

- Later, when the teasing subsides, Terry surprises you with his honesty. “I’m not great at this—feelings, relationships, all of it,” he admits, his voice quieter now. He rubs the back of his neck, his usual confidence giving way to something more uncertain. “But you… you make me want to try.” His blue eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the weight of his responsibilities seems to lift. “Just… don’t give up on me, okay?” he adds, his voice almost pleading. You smile, taking his hand, and he exhales, his tension easing as he smiles back.

[f1cflcfic]

The Prophecy (SMAU ft. Lando Norris)

pairing: lando norris x singer!reader (y/n)

summary: what happens after the break-up that noone saw coming? as Y/N L/N gears up to release her next album, each song reveals a little bit of the past, present and future of her relationship with Lando Norris. Inspired by a curated playlist built around "The Prophecy". note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons. Also, this story is angsty with a happy ending - it does not contain any smut or suggestive themes. [A/N: This is my first SMAU and hooooooly shit did I totally underestimate how much work it is, and how things work within Tumblr to make it look alright. If you have any tips, let me know lol. I had to split it up in pieces, but i've got all the content written out already, so will be updated soon with the next part!]

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

December, 2025

February, 2026

[Excerpt from red carpet interview at the Grammy's with Y/N]

How are you feeling tonight? You're up for 3 awards, one of them Album of the Year for All I Ever Needed - that's huge!

"It's so overwhelming, to be honest."

Even when you've gone through this experience before? This is your fourth time attending, second time as nominee.

"Yeah, maybe even more so! It's a great chance to hang out with friends and meet new people, but it's also really prestigious still. Being nominated - I try to act like it doesn't matter, because awards always involve politics too - but at the end of the day, you do want it."

And who're you most looking forward to seeing tonight?

"Honestly? I came alone tonight, so I can't wait to find Sabrina [Carpenter] and Jade. I'm gonna need my girls."

Your friend Miley is also up for an award tonight in the same category, what's that like?

"Ha, if the Grammy's do the right thing tonight she'll win it - I know I voted for her!"

You'll also be performing one of your songs - Ruin My Life, can you tell us a bit about what to expect?

"I really wanted this to be visually interesting, but it took me a while to get the right concept for it. I think it's because to me this album and song already feel sort of far removed, and lived in? I'm in a different phase of my life right now, so I had to find a new way to still connet to it. I was really grateful to work with a great art director to bring a different version to the stage."

March, 2026

July, 2026

[SkyNews excerpt]

Lando Norris wins Silverstone GP, dedicates his 20th podium win to his family

The man of the hour is none other than Lando Norris, who’s just gone on to claim his 20th victory at his home race. You’re reading that right, his home race! While he still owns his apartment in Monaco, Norris revealed today that he’s been living back in England for the past few months. “I just wasn’t in the right headspace anymore and wanted to live closer to my family. Especially now that my brother’s kids are growing up, I just like knowing I could drive over – rather than having to fly across countries.”

Speaking on the importance of his family being present, Norris shared that it means everything to him. “In this sport you need to have skill, talent, trust and investment from your team, but also you need that stable sense of safety from the people you love. If your mindset isn’t there, you can’t be competitive.”

Norris has been vocal about mental health in the past, and has advocated for more access to mental healthcare facilities and professionals across motorsport.

“Especially in tougher years where there’s just a lot of noise and turmoil, it’s nice to have a professional coach you to mental fitness as well.”

It was the only notable reference to Norris’ private life, which ended on a low note last year after splitting from long-time girlfriend y/n l/n. The two were originally thought to have had an amicable split, but recent reports hint at a different story, with Norris unfollowing his ex and her friends unfollowing him in return.

August, 2026

September, 2026

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

Part two following soon! likes, comments, reblogs are always very much appreciated ♥

[fairqves]

꒰ NEVER A BURDEN ! ۟ ׅ ͡ ୨ৎ

(🐰) ──𝓟ARK JISUNG﹙ 지성 ﹚ ꒰ 𝓰. oneshot ៸ fluff ៸ friends to ?? ୨୧ㅤㅤ WARNiNGS : not proofread ៸ fight ៸ petnames ៸ mean girls ❞ bsf! 𝒿isung x 𝑓! reader ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ꒰ WC : 1.5K ꒱ SYPNOSiS 𐙚 in which you, a bubbly chatterbox, and your quiet, shy and reserved crush face a misunderstanding that forces both your feelings to the surface, leading to you avoid jisung like the plague .ᐟ HEAVILY INSPIRED BY WIFTY ── LiBRARY

THE CLASSROOM WAS ALIVE WITH ITS TYPICAL CHAOS AS PER USUAL.

the rustling of papers, the whispers of conversations exchanged between friends, and the occasional snickers of laughter.

you thrived in moments like this, pushing through the crowded rows of desks with a beaming smile and a seemingly endless stream of stories to tell.

and, of course, there was park jisung.

quiet, reserved, and hunched over his studying notes, jisung sat at his usual seat by the window, his expression looking more tired and stressed than usual.

you didn’t know what had exactly drawn you to him initially—maybe it was his quiet presence, the calm that had always seemed to follow him wherever he went. ── 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖫𝖮𝖶!

or maybe it was the way he always listened, even when you talked a mile a minute about the most random things.

you weren’t oblivious to what people said about you and jisung—the whispers that followed you down the hallways, the teasing smiles from classmates when they saw you together.

everyone thought you were too much for him, like a bright flame paired with an unmovable stone. but you didn’t care.

at least, you didn’t think you did.

today was no different—at least, it hadn’t started that way. you perched on the edge of jisung’s desk, chattering away as he scribbled in his notebook.

he didn’t say much, just an occasional hum of acknowledgment or a slight nod of his head. but to you, that was enough.

“ji, get this,” you began, leaning closer to him as your hands slapped the table dramatically. “i was walking home yesterday, and this dog—this huge scary dog—came out of nowhere and—”

“y/n,” jisung interrupted, his voice sharp and dismissive.

you froze mid-sentence, blinking at him in surprise.

he sighed, not looking up from his notes. “can you please do me a favour and shut up for a second?”

the silence hung thick in the air.

you blinked again, the smile fading from your face as the classroom noise around you suddenly felt deafening.

“oh,” you mumbled, quickly stepping back from his desk. “okay.”

you turned around before he could say anything else, slipping back into your seat and pulling out your notebook in front of you.

your heart felt heavy, the sting of his words settling deep inside your chest.

behind you, the whispers started almost immediately.

“oh my god.. did you hear that?”

“i mean, he’s not wrong. she’s so loud.”

“doesn’t she know he doesn’t even like her?”

“she’s been following him around for months. it’s so obvious.”

you bit your lip, keeping your head down as their words echoed in your ears. normally, you’d brush it off, but today—today it felt like they were right about you all along.

the rest of the day passed in a blur—you avoided jisung as much as possible, slipping out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang and keeping a notable distance whenever you passed him in the hall.

by the time the final bell rang, signaling the end of the day, you were exhausted—emotionally and physically.

you stood by your locker, pretending to reorganize your books as you watched jisung leave the classroom.

normally, you’d catch up with him and walk to the bus stop together, but today, you let him walk ahead.

at the bus stop, your absence didn’t go unnoticed.

“where’s y/n?” jaemin asked, leaning lazily against the bench. jisung shrugged, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he slightly smiled picturing you running after him just to sit on the bus with him. “i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?” chenle repeated, his tone confused. “you always know. did she get in trouble or something?”

jisung shook his head, though his jaw tightened slightly as he remembered what he said to you a few hours ago. “no..why?”

renjun raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “because she’s not here. and the last time i checked, she would rather die than miss a bus ride with you.”

jisung didn’t respond. instead, he stared at the concrete, his hands fidgeting slightly as the bus pulled up.

he didn’t know how to explain the sudden ache in his chest, the uncomfortable emptiness that came with your absence.

when he boarded the bus and saw you sitting in a seat near the front—alone, it hit him all over again.

you didn’t even glance his way as he walked past, sliding into a seat a few rows behind you.

normally, you’d save the seat beside you for him, grinning and waving him over like he was the most important person in the world.

but today, there was only silence.

the bus ride was quiet, other than the occasional whispers of other passengers. jisung spent the entire time staring at the back of your head, his thoughts racing.

he wanted to say something, to apologize, but he quite literally didn’t know how—the words were stuck in his throat.

when the bus finally reached your stop, you got up without looking back, walking silently toward the door.

jisung followed, trailing a few steps behind as you both began the familiar walk home. normally, you’d fill the air with stories and your laughter, your voice the soundtrack to his otherwise quiet life.

but now, there was only the sound of your footsteps, each one heavier than the last.

finally, jisung couldn’t take it anymore.

“y/n,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the crunch of gravel beneath your feet.

you stopped walking but didn’t turn around. “what?” his heart sank at the coldness in your tone. “are you… mad at me?”

you laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “mad? no, jisung. i’m not mad.” you turned to face him, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of your glassy, tear-filled eyes. “i’m hurt.”

the guilt hit him like a slap.

“you told me to shut up,” you continued, your voice trembling. “do you know how much that hurt? and do you know what people say about me? they say you don’t even like me. that i’m just some annoying girl who follows you around. and today, it felt like they were right. like i really am just a burden to you.”

“no,” jisung said immediately, his voice firm and filled with held-back emotion. “that’s not true, y/n. none of that is true.”

“then why did you say it?” you asked, tears rolling down your cheeks now. “why did you tell me to shut up if you don’t think i’m annoying?”

“i was stressed,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping. “i’ve been studying so much, and i wasn’t thinking. i was stupid, and i took it out on you. but y/n…” he stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to touch your shoulder.

“i promise you—you’re not a burden. you’re never a burden. you’re the best part of my day.”

your breath hitched, your heart fluttering at his words.

“i mean it,” he said, his voice filled with vulnerability. “i don’t care what anyone else says. i care about you. you make everything better, even when i’m too stupid to see it.”

before you could respond, jisung pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest.

his embrace was hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him, but when you didn’t pull away, he held you tighter.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice muffled against your hair. “i’m so, so sorry. please don’t avoid me anymore.”

you let out a shaky breath, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face in his chest. “i just thought…” you trailed off, your voice quiet.

“you don’t have to think anything,” he mumbled, pulling back just enough to look at you. his hands cupped your face, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears.

“just know that i’m here, and i care about you. okay?” you nodded, your cheeks heating under his soft gaze.

the walk home felt different this time. jisung held your hand the entire way, his grip warm and reassuring.

you felt shy now, hyper-aware of every little movement, and every little glance. the air between you was quieter than usual, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle and comforting.

when you reached your door, you turned to thank him, but before you could say anything, jisung hesitated.

the tip of his ears were a bright red, and before you could process what was happening, he gently spun you around and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead.

your eyes widened, your heart skipping a beat as you stared at him. his cheeks were undeniably pink now, and he stepped back, avoiding your gaze.

“i—i’ll see you tomorrow,” he mumbled, quickly turning and walking away in the direction of his house.

you stood there for a moment, stunned, before a small grin tugged at the corner of your lips.

maybe jisung wasn’t great with emotions—his words and actions, but in that moment, he’d said everything you needed to hear.

© FAIRQVES 2025 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

NOTE. ohmgee guys i pulled jaemin in my dreamscape album !!! anyways jisung is so zhang lurang coded u cannot convince me otherwise. also jaemin is so duan jiaxu coded too… my brain is braining rn 😇

୨୧ TAGLIST OPEN ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @kiss4noo @nineooooo @loves0ft @ancnymcnzjy @dazzlingjaeyun : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

[grayscale-sparks]

Seeing this as my future is frankly disheartening, especially when it comes from someone like my father.

He frequently asks me what’s so different about AI “making art” or “writing a book.” According to him, AI “art” can be just as good as human art. It’s quicker. Easier. Cheaper.

He, like so many people, doesn’t seem to understand that art- whether it be painting, music, writing- is the basis of humanity as a whole. Art is so deeply untwined into our lives, and literature tells our story in ways nothing else can.

AI cannot tell a story the way a human can. It cannot imitate life in its purest form.

what is HAPPENING

[chipperchemical]

assigning a devastating quote to each Life Series member because i want to ruin your day (feel free to suggest alternatives!)

Bdubs - "I love you. It will end." (Anna Belle Kaufman, "Cold Solace")

BigB - "I never expected you to actually finish anything. You were always leaving. I always picture you with a suitcase in your hand." (Margarita Karapanou)

Etho - "What are you doing, you wretch, killing your own son, burning him, it's the same old story, it starts with a lamb and ends with the murder of the person you should love most." (José Saramago, "Cain")

Gem - "God never gave me a single useable passion, but did give me sharp teeth and a strong jaw." (Traci Brimhall, "The Fate of my Seven Husbands")

Scar - "It was then that Sisyphus realised the gods must be gone, that his wings were nothing more than a perception of their absence. He dared to raise his fist to the sky. Nothing, gloriously, happened. Then a different terror overtook him." (Stephen Dunn, "Sisyphus and The Sudden Lightness")

Grian - "You're addicted to loneliness and desperation. It's the strongest emotion you've ever known, so your subconscious tells you that it's your destiny. You will be alone always and then you will die." (Heather Havrilesky, entry for the "Ask Polly" column)

Impulse - "Grieving, grieving, constantly grieving. I mourn what could have been, what will not be, what I can't save." (tumblr user "ojibwa")

Martyn - "Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was always just red." (Kait Rokowski)

Lizzie - "This was always going to happen. She's been dead since the beginning." (Aeschylus, "The Oresteia")

Mumbo - "I beg you, eat me up. Want me down to the marrow." (Hélène Cixous, "The Love of the Wolf")

Pearl - "You want to be loved if only to prove it possible: to tell the world that someone saw you as a conquest and came back alive." (Silas Denver Melvin, "Love as an Act of Merciful Conquer")

Ren - "My God, my God, whose performance am I watching? How many people am I? Who am I? What is this space between myself and myself?" (Fernando Pessoa, "The Book of Disquiet")

Skizz - "Better creatures could love you, I know. But now they'll have to get through me." (tumblr user "ihopewestay")

Scott - "She decides God is no good, but he must exist, he must exist so she can hold him accountable." (Ada Limón, "The Echo Sounder")

Joel - "I've always preferred Cain. His angry loneliness, his lack of mother's love, his Christian sarcasm: "Am I my brother's keeper?" asks his brother's murderer. Aren't we indeed the keepers of our dead?" (Valzhyna Mort, "Genesis")

Jimmy - "I won't last. Memory is sweet. Even when it's painful, memory is sweet." (Li-Young Lee, "Mnemonic")

Tango - "Isn't all that rage so ugly? And isn't it mine, still? Good God, isn't it mine?" (Ashe Vernon, "Buried")

Cleo - "God is fucking with my oblivion. If he wanted forgiveness, he shouldn't have given us memory." (Vi Khi Nao, "Fish In Exile")

[vague-humanoid]

Please check Islam's new blog here @islamgzacc4

Islam, a 27-year-old physical therapist from Gaza, needs urgent help after his home was destroyed by Israeli bombings. Now, he and his family, including his 85-year-old grandfather who lost a hand in an earlier attack, are without shelter. They are struggling to find clean water and food, and with winter coming soon, they worry the tent they live in will flood again, just like last year.

Recently, Islam shared another heartbreaking update: his mother has been diagnosed with malignant cancer. Years of war, limited access to healthcare, and the toxic conditions caused by ongoing bombings have severely impacted her health. Now, in addition to securing necessities, Islam is focused on providing his mother with the treatment she urgently needs.

Islam tries very hard to share his story through his blog, but it has been banned four times, making it difficult to tell people what is happening. To help his family, Islam made a GoFundMe to raise £30,000 for food, water, and shelter. Sadly, only £3,000 has been collected so far, and they still need a lot more to survive.

This fundraiser is confirmed by trusted sources like @gaza-evacuation-funds, @90-ghost, @northgazaupdates2, @riding-with-the-wild-hunt, and @mushroomj.

Every small donation or share can make a big difference in helping Islam and his family during this hard time.

Please donate to Islam’s GoFundMe if you can. If you cannot donate, sharing this post will help spread his message. Together, we can give hope to Islam and his family.

.

[resident-idiot-simp]

Fuck the idea of the X-Men being concerned about their Logan after hearing about the new Logan and Deadpool won't leave my head.

This Logan is so violent and feral him and Deadpool have done unspeakable things to one another and enjoy it. They HAVE to wonder if their Logan was stopping himself from doing similar stuff.

The professor had said before his thoughts were pretty dark and Jean had seen stuff that had spooked her which lead to lots of distance between them multiple times. She had admitted to others it unnerved her because of just how violent some of it was. She has worried about those he was close to because of it.

Logan had been upset after that because he couldn't help it. It was just how his brain worked.

This Logan however was so much worse. It was beyond disturbing for Jean who had told the others. After this discovery the questions started.

Did their Logan deep down think and feel this way? Was this normal or was this Logan just different? Jean could confirm that in retrospect some of this was definitely in their Logan, but it was hard to say how much.

Maybe theirs had suppressed it well enough you would have to dig to find these thoughts. This Logan was much more animal then theirs was or was it that this Logan just isn't hiding it.

Deadpool has commented on it when asked saying this Logan was less worried about being himself and he loved it. One quote that got passed around was of him saying. "He's a feral he should be acting like this it's natural, do you guys just not know that? A bit pathetic considering this is a school."

That had caused quite a bit of ruckus considering the implications. Sure ferals existed and everyone knew they were more animal then human, but with them being as rare as they were you didn't see them often. Lots of people had only heard stories about them. Hearing and experiencing were two different things and Logan had always seemed pretty tame... Or at least compared to this new one.

When questioned on how he knew how ferals were supposed to act he laughed, "I'm a merc where do you think they go when you goody two-shoes won't take them in because they're too disturbing for you?" This statement too caused a lot of upset.

Deadpool seemed to have a lot of answers If they were true or not it was hard to tell and impossible to determine considering he didn't like sharing. He was insane sure but he seemed to always be right on things he went out of his way to predict or point out.

Someone eventually asked if the old Logan was the same, which had (for the first time the X-Men head ever seen) silenced him. It took him a while as he thought over the question before answering.

"Yes and no, no because If you train yourself out of habits and thought processes they usually die down. However if he just didn't stop himself he would be the exact same. Which honestly would have been better."

When asked to explain why exactly it would be better to be like the new Logan, Deadpool had looked...sad.

"Are you telling me you would rather live a life that's not really you? To be inauthentic just to fit other people's ideals? To change yourself so much that you become practically unrecognizable to the person you were?"

Silence followed that as wide eyes took in wisdom from the unlikely source.

"That's a sad life to live knowing everyone likes that inauthentic version of you better. That you can never be yourself and are shamed when you try to be. That's a damn travesty."

No one knew how to respond and Deadpool had just shrugged, "That's not a life I'd want to live, that I'd want anyone to live." He threw in before walking off to find his Logan and daughter who....oh...was that why Laura always seemed to hate this place?

(x)

[all-by-myself98]

OK I'm gonna rant for a second

When I was sick with covid last Feb, I watched the Malcolm X movie and I mentioned the Angela Bassett phenomenon in a Letterboxd review I was basically like.

This woman has such an interesting range of works. Not a predictable range like from comedies to actions to horrors. But like from what would be considered high brow vs low brow film and TV.

She's done like the serious Oscar tier kinda shit like the Tina Turner biopic, Boyz n the Hood, the Malcolm X movie as I mentioned, and a lot of other like. Really successful really like. The kinda shit that might be considered high brow or like. cinema shit, you know? Shit that wins awards and stays in people's minds because of how highly regarded it is

And then she's kinda gradually tapered off of that, which is fine! I think if I was an actress and I had a shit ton of success earlier in my career, I might also branch off and look at other projects. A lot of the stuff she's been in nowadays isn't really classified as high brow. It's mostly drama television or cartoons or, of course, action stuff. Like there was Meet the Robinsons, there was American Horror Story, there was fucking. ER! She was in ER for like two years(?) as a main role! And then of course that itty bitty foray in the failed Green Lantern movie, and then her actual success with the Black Panther movies.

Like... They're less dramatically intense, more just. Fun! She got her bag of money early on and now she's doing whatever the fuck she wants which is so valid of her, I would do the same thing if I ever went into that line of business. Earn your security, then have fun and do what you want!

And honestly this might not have even been her intent. There could have been other stuff going on. Her wiki link mentioned that after her Tina Turner biopic she wasn't getting any calls for roles for like a year and a half. So maybe people were just being idiots and skipping over her, maybe there was some dumb fucked up Hollywood politics involved, or maybe she's genuinely letting herself have fun with her roles now, OR maybe she noticed that there's just as much integrity and potential in a role like Athena Grant or Queen Ramonda or Marie Laveau than there is in her earlier character counterparts.

Again, this is also relying on this backwards and outdated idea of high brow vs low brow film and television. I don't subscribe to these ideas, and I think it's low-key kinda ridiculous and I think people should just have fun watching what they want without feeling like what they want to watch isn't good enough or doesn't command the same respect... But sadly other people do absolutely subscribe to these ideas and you can tell because it's difficult not to notice a difference in the tone or nuance of two different works, and why some works are not nominated for awards as much as others because some Hollywood awards panel either don't see it as serious or as respectable enough to be in with the so called "big leagues".

All visual work is valid and all visual work is capable of eliciting the emotions they need to elicit to keep their audiences hooked.

ANYWAYS that's the end of my little blab

I love Angela Bassett and whatever is the reason for her shift in her filmography, girl you are not gonna hear me complain one bit. As long as she's happy, I'm happy for her. I just find it fascinating to think about is all

And thus. The Angela Bassett phenomenon (copyright pending)

trying to understand a show you don’t watch only through gifs you see on your dash

[fictionadventurer]

Genuinely think the only way to approach art is to like the things you like instead of tearing down what other people like.

"You should read classics because those are real literature unlike that TikTok garbage." Bad. Turns people away from reading the classics because it makes them sound stuffy and boring and makes you sound like a snob.

"You should read classics because this book is amazing! I love the characters and the story, and it's so cool to read a story that uses different techniques than modern fiction does." Good. Makes people want to read the classic. Suggests there's something good in this story instead of just suggesting that other stuff is worse.

"You don't like the modern art? That's because you're an unwashed plebeian who only likes what's pretty." Bad. Puts down the person and makes them even less likely to be interested in this type of art.

"Wow, I love this painting! Look at the technique! I love the message behind it!" Good. Helps the person to appreciate what might not be obvious at first glance, instead of shaming them for not automatically knowing this.

"You should watch this show because it's so much better than that other garbage show." Antagonizes people who like the garbage show and makes them less likely to feel positively toward the show you like.

"You should watch this show because it has great writing/characters/plot etc." Good! Tells people what makes this show appealing and makes them want to try it.

"I listen to this music because it's real art and not that manufactured pop garbage." Bad. Makes your genre seem like an exclusive club of snobs that I don't want to join.

"I listen to this music because I like the sound. Here, listen to this song." Good! Shows me something good within the genre and may encourage me to explore further.

There's a place for criticism. You don't have to like or approve of everything. But it's not a great technique for getting people to like art. Hating on the things that are bad just drives people away. If you want to draw people toward something, you have to help them to appreciate what's good.

[tamayula-hl]

Recently, I’ve been feeling a strong urge to write fanfiction, but as a Japanese person, I can’t help but feel the immense barriers of language and cultural differences standing in my way.

I’ve always loved writing fanfiction and have more experience as a writer than as an artist. But I don’t know any English at all. The Japanese short story collection about Seb and Omi that I posted on AO3 over a year ago still has zero bookmarks (which isn’t surprising 😂). In other words, as someone who can only write in Japanese, my value as a writer in this fandom is practically zero. I have so many stories I want to tell, but since I can’t speak English, I can’t even stand at the starting line 🤣🤣🤣. Even if I started studying English intensively now, it would probably take years before I could write stories in English on my own 🤣.

On top of that, I only have a Japanese perspective shaped by Japanese values and ways of thinking. For someone like me, it’s impossible to depict Western characters’ personalities, thoughts, and actions without them feeling off. The more I read fanfiction written by Western authors in this fandom, the more I realize how significantly values and ways of thinking differ between Japan and the West. I notice these differences so often that I’m genuinely shocked. With art or comics, I can at least visually mask these cultural discrepancies to some extent, but with novels, where detailed psychological descriptions are key, there’s no way to gloss over these differences.

Foolishly, I’ve been thinking about translating my stories using ChatGPT, just as I do with comic dialogues. But even with AI tools, translation takes an enormous amount of time. And more importantly, translating between Japanese and English is incredibly difficult—no matter how advanced modern tools like DeepL or ChatGPT are, they can’t produce truly accurate translations. This fandom is already filled with amazing, beautifully written stories in natural English. So who would ever want to read a poorly translated story in unnatural English produced by tools like ChatGPT or DeepL? 🤣🤣🤣

With art or comics, I know that I can improve with practice. But when it comes to mastering English and capturing the nuances of cultural values, no matter how hard I try, I will always fall short compared to Western creators. I recently became painfully aware of this reality, and now I feel so sad and empty. Even so, I can’t suppress this foolish urge to write stories. Someone, please give me the final push to give up on writing fiction 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣.

(I couldn’t find the right term, so I used the word “Western” in this text. But I do understand that there are many people in the West who aren’t fluent in English, and that cultural values differ greatly from country to country.) (And to all the non-native English writers who work hard and create amazing stories, I have the utmost respect for you.)