#Fucking fear of failure and imperfection

[myth0mani-art]

So I had a mental breakdown today.

Like one of those involving snot, tears, the overwhelming urge to do something that might hurt yourself, not being able to breath...

That shit.

Let's not forget the cramping my body tends to do in these situations...

Or the intense shivering which makes me look like an utter idiot.

In the middle of class.

I wanna bury myself now and never return?

Please?

I just need to rant about this now because I'll just suppress everything if I don't which will make me feel worse probably :::)

[spring-lxcked]

you know what i've never written but would love: ppl seeing through his act, recognizing his shitty treatment of michael, and calling him out on it

[lostatsea-blog]

Aftermath Part 3 (Final Part)

Alexia Putellas x England Reader

Warnings: None

The immediate aftermath of the ACL injury. This is a 3 part fic and will go between different POVs

Alexia’s POV

The knocking continued and you felt yourself becoming frustrated. It was likely one of you team and while you knew they meant well; you wanted to be left alone. You managed to use your crutch to hobble over to the door and pulled it open ready to scold whoever was on the other side but the words died on your lips when your eyes landed on the one face you had wanted to see since this nightmare started.

Y/N stood on the other side of your door, her eyes filled with concern as she took in your appearance and in that instant, you felt the dam break. Tears streamed down your face and your body began to crumple. Strong hands caught you before you hit the floor and manoeuvred you back to the bed. You felt her strong arms wrap around you and she held you while you cried. She did not say anything or tell you that it would all be okay, which you appreciated, she was just there. Her presence bringing you comfort.

“I’ve got you baby,” she whispered in your ear whilst stroking your hair “I’ve got you”

After what felt like an eternity, you finally ran out of tears. Your body, which had been rigid with tension since your injury this morning, slumped against your girlfriend. Her strong steady heartbeat under your ear bringing a sense of clam to your exhausted brain.

“què fas aquí? (What are you doing here?)” You finally ask, “You are supposed to be in camp.”

“Maria contacted Serena” she explained “Sarina has given me time to come here and be with you. Maria was worried, she said you hadn’t spoken to anyone, wouldn’t eat and hadn’t cried”

“You did not have to come” You whisper trying to pull yourself together “You have a tournament to try and win and don’t need to be pulled down by a failure like me” Your self-deprecating words triggered something in Y/N and she took a firm hold of your face, forcing you to look at her

“Stop” she commanded you firmly “Stop with this self-depreciation. You are Alexia fucking Putellas and you are far from a failure! I have never known anyone to work as hard as you do for their team. This is a setback, a devastating setback but a setback. You will come back stronger than ever”

“What if I don’t want to come back?” You ask, your voice barely about a whisper “I am so tired, what if this how it ends”

“My love, you are tired because you carry so much on your shoulders and do not allow yourself time to rest” Y/N sighed “Alexia, you do not have to carry the expectation of an entire nation on your shoulders, there are others who can help carry that burden” she kisses the side of your face as she finishes her words

“I am scared” you admit and Y/N pulls you closer ensuring you can feel her support “I am scared of coming back different and not being able to play the way I have. I do not want to be an embarrassment to you” You utter these last words while staring at the bedsheets below. You could not bring yourself to look and see your fears confirmed. After your recovery, you will come to understand that you were projecting your own fears onto Y/N but she was a woman who didn’t take anyone’s shit. You felt her fingers lifting your chin so that you were looking in her eyes.

“I did not fall in love with you because you are Alexia Putellas, La Reina, Ballon d’Or winner. I fell in love with Alexia, my Lex, funny, kind, sweet, goofy, clumsy, shy but above all perfectly imperfect. I fell in love with you, not your football persona” She wiped away tears that you did not realise had started to fall “If you never kick a football again, I will still love you and be immensely proud of you” she promised “but I know that is not how you want to bow out”

“How do you come here and turn everything on it’s side” you ask finding it difficult to understand the change in your mood. Everything felt a little less dark

“On it’s head” she corrected and at your raised eyebrow she clarified “The saying is turn everything on it’s head and to answer, the most important job I have is my job as your partner. I have always told you if you need me, I don’t care what I am doing, I will be there” she leaned forward and took your lips in a gentle kiss. You felt her love surge through your connected lips and again, things felt a little less dark. You knew that the road ahead would be long and it would bring challenges but you had all the support you needed to get through it. while the Euros were not on the cards for you - you had twelve months to make it to the World Cup.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

I heard a raw line from Guilllermo Del Toro the other day about monsters being the perfect way to express human failure:

“…monsters, I believe, are patron saints of our blissful imperfection, and they allow and embody the possibility of failing.”

And i was wondering your take on this quote in relation to things like vampire and werewolf and other semi-monster subtexts. “Monstrous” humans that are ironically allowed to act more human more often than… humans. I just find the attempt to make an outlet for imperfection while still at large criticizing it fascinating.

I mean, yeah, there's a long history of interpreting monsters through queer, anti-colonial, feminist and other Outsider lenses for exactly those reasons. The monster is the Other who is vilified by the in-group, which represents all that the in-group hates. The monster must, by its nature, fail to live up to the standards and expectations of the in-group, which is why it must be destroyed. But that also means the monster is free from the standards and expectations of the in-group, including oppressive and bigoted ones.

So, as an example, if you're queer, and rhetorically treated as inhuman and monstrous and diseased anyway, or eugenically classified as a deviant mutation or sub-derivation of "real" people, there is real appeal and a real sense of resistance in claiming monsterhood, in embracing it and glorying in it.

In part, that's what the rallying cry "we're here, we're queer, get used to it!" meant and still means. It is a reclaiming of monsterhood as a source of strength and community and pride, rather than shame. Slurs are used to Other queer people, to set them apart from "real" people and mark them out as a monstrous deviation from the virtuous norm - slurs are used to call us monsters. And thus a lot of queer people find a lot of power and freedom in reclaiming them, in turning their Othering into a flag to rally around.

And I think that's still a big part of the appeal of the monster, honestly, that freedom from being what someone else thinks you ought to be.

If you're a monster, you don't have to have the perfect body, you don't have to suppress your lust or your love. You don't have to shave your body hair or dress correctly for your assigned gender, or have a white picket fence house with a spouse and 2.3 children. You don't have to sit primly at the dinner table, you don't have to repress your emotions, you don't have to hate the foreigner or despise the gays or fear the trans agenda. You don't have to have a small, straight nose or perfect cheekbones, you don't have to wait to fuck until you're married, or pretend you want to fuck at all. You don't have to want to get rich or be a CEO, you don't have to pull yourself up by your bootstraps or be on your grindset, or cheer when the cops clear out a homeless camp.

To be a monster is to be free from the inhumanity that is forced on us by white supremacy, by fatphobia, by heteronormativity, by imperialism, and by the interests of capital. To be a monster is to be human in all the ways that are inconvenient to oppression.

... but I went off on a tangent there a little bit - vampires and werewolves, right. I have no theoretical or academic basis for any of this, so this is entirely a personal hot take, but I think vampires are perhaps a bit more about "passing" as a fantasy. Not necessarily in a gender sense, but the ability to keep your true nature undetected by the "normal" folk, while the secret things that make you different also make you dangerous and powerful. Surviving by stealing sustenance from a world that hates you, on terms that are entirely yours to dictate. "I will survive even if it kills you," that kind of vibe.

Werewolves, on the other hand, feel more like a defiant, angry embrace of the monstrous. Transforming into something vast and powerful and furious, growing out of your skin, out of your form, out of your boundaries; howling your nature to the moon and mauling any motherfucker who has a problem with it. Giving in to all the beastly unnatural urges, and diving into the horrible monstrous wants and desires that boil inside you (which, remember, include things like Not Wanting To Fuck or Wanting To Hold A Girl's Hand In A Lesbian Sort Of Way). Less the "I outfoxed your social game and drank you dry" slick vampire power fantasy and more the "call me a slur one more time and I'm going to wear your entrails like a fucking scarf" power fantasy.

Again, that's just personal hot takes, everyone's understanding of the monstrous in relation to themselves is different. I've seen a number of genderfluid and nb people use monstrousness as a way to defy occupying a shape that can be gendered for example.

[f14fun]

pixelated love (!simmer x mv1) - chapter 8

synopsis: in which the famous three time world champion max verstappen wants to learn how to play the sims 4. except, he doesn't really know how to. so what does he do, search up a youtube tutorial. low-and-behold, y/n's video is the first he watches.

smau + prose (8.4K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ prev | next | series index ˚୨୧⋆｡

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જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Y/N's POV❞

The funny thing about catching feelings is that you never know when the walk becomes a stroll, then a jog, and eventually turns into what seems like a never-ending chase.

It’s a flurry of emotions, each step more fervent than the last. At first, you might think it’s just a casual stroll—something light and easy, just taking in the sights and sounds. But then, it evolves into a leisurely walk, where you find yourself more invested, more attentive to the nuances of the path you’re on.

As you get more involved, the pace quickens, and suddenly, what was once a gentle amble has turned into a brisk jog. Your heart starts to race, and every moment feels charged with potential and possibility. The thrill of the chase sets in; you’re no longer just moving along the path but running towards something that feels both exhilarating and daunting.

And just when you think you’ve reached the peak of intensity, the chase turns into a marathon. The emotions swirl around you like a storm, sometimes exhilarating, sometimes overwhelming. It’s as if you’re in a never-ending pursuit, where every stride is driven by hope, fear, and anticipation. It’s a whirlwind of highs and lows, where the finish line seems perpetually just out of reach.

The moment I truly felt my peak of intensity was the moment that I landed in Nice, France, ready to embark towards my ultimate destiny: Being the ultimate Monacan WAG. If you truly believed that last statement, dear reader, I must call you gullible.

Anyhow, the Nice Côte d'Azur Airport had welcomed me with open arms, giving me the twenty kilometer leeway of relief before I was due in the beautiful Principality of Monaco.

And don't get me wrong, but I was scared.

The facade that I put up everyday on stream, on social media, was only a fraction of who I really was. I was left wondering to myself in the hours leading up to meeting Max, "Would he really like me for who I was? What if this was one humongous joke I was apart of, and I was doomed to be the laughingstock?"

Arriving in Monaco, surrounded by its opulence and charm, only heightened my feelings of vulnerability. The grandeur of the setting made my personal fears feel even more pronounced. Would the real me, with all my imperfections and uncertainties, measure up to the expectations set by the facade I had carefully crafted online?

To be put simply, I was only a girl. And I really, really, really hoped that multimillionaire Dutch Formula One racer Max Emilian Verstappen would take pleasure in meeting me.

I had texted Max how I should meet with him, nonchalantly, of course. But on the inside, my palms were sweaty. I was nervous. In person, I wouldn't say I was the best flirt. I was more like that one twelve year old boy at the pool trying to impress a friend group of sixteen year old girls.

I fumbled on my words. I tripped. I missed. I blushed. I ran. I wept about my mistakes, and kept thinking what the absolute fuck did I just say? Why did that just come out of my mouth? I am stupid. I am so stupid.

Simply put, I didn't have much rizz.

Honestly, if I could headbutt myself, I definitely would. I had set myself up for utmost failure for acting like a confident prick, over text, over stream, and over Twitter. I acted like I had it all together, but in reality, if a tall, handsome guy were to actually approach me, you’d see me stumbling over my words and turning into a nervous wreck.

It was pathetic, really.

And oh my gosh, dear reader, if you had seen the look on my face when I had Googled Max Verstappen for the first time...

It was shameful, I will admit.

Learning that he stood six inches above me at his 5'11" stature... I was blushing in the comforting shadows of my bedroom, fearfully gripping my phone, as if Max himself was going to suddenly appear in my room and catch me red-handed, shamelessly watching edits of him.

Hiding under the covers at two am before a long day at work, and pondering if his big, big, bicep muscles from holding a steering wheel all day could eventually hold me in his comforting grasp. Daydreaming, in the middle of meetings with high-end game-development executives, if I could sudden run into his chest and have him hug me until I couldn't breath. Wondering, if I could sit on his thighs one day, and using his veiny hands, he could hold me by my waist and his steamy breath talk into my ear.

Yeah, I get no bitches and I'm horny.

It's pretty obvious to y'all at this point. Don't be a mean girl and judge, though.

And with all of these thoughts, I am not afraid to think them. In the shower, making dinner, watching him race...But it was all put in perspective when I stood outside of his apartment door, waiting for him to let me into his home.

It felt private. Intimate. Different, than all the displays of affection and joyous laughter we shared with the public.

But now I was in the comfort of his home. No prying cameras (at least I hoped that there were no hidden cameras), away from the never-ending watchful eye of the public.

The first thing I noticed about him were his eyes. They were a piercing, greenish, blueish, grayish color—a mix of the sea and comets, a blend of colors I couldn't quite put my finger on.

It was like they held the depth of the ocean, the intensity of a storm, and the mystery of the cosmos all at once. In the soft light of the doorway, they seemed almost otherworldly, drawing me in with their enigmatic allure.

Many people online had said that these eyes were constantly hardened, a result of years spent racing under intense pressure, dealing with tough words from his father, and the unwavering support and strength he garnered from his sister and mother.

They were eyes that had seen the highs of victory and the lows of defeat, that had faced criticism and expectation head-on, and had come out stronger on the other side.

These eyes told a story of resilience and determination, of someone who had been through the wringer and had emerged with a steely resolve. The internet was filled with tales of his focused, almost intimidating gaze on the racetrack, where every glance was calculated and every blink was a strategy.

They spoke of a man who had to grow up fast, who had to build walls to protect himself from the harsh realities of his world.

But when he looked at me, I could swear that I saw them soften.

They drew me in, and for a moment, I knew I could write poetry about them. There was a story in every shade, every flicker of light within those eyes. I could imagine penning verses about their depth, their history, and the way they seemed to hold entire worlds within them.

Suddenly, all my nerves and the fear of being a fumbling, awkward mess seemed to dissipate, at least a little. There was something in the way he looked at me that made me feel seen, like he was looking past the persona and seeing the real me. It was a mix of relief and disbelief, like maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be the disaster I had built up in my head.

I had never believed in the saying, "love at first sight", but I could've sworn my heart skipped a beat, if not multiple, when I locked eyes with him. Like I predicted, he was a tall, tall, man. And I, like a lot of people in this world, was not immune to the charm of a tall man.

"Oh, you are very tall," I blurted out.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. The words had slipped past my tongue and out of my mouth, bypassing the more sensible part of me, aka my brain. Damn you, stupid weak heart.

I could feel my face heating up, a wave of embarrassment washing over me. Out of anything I literally could have said, my intrusive thoughts had gotten the best of me. My inner voice was screaming at me to pull it together, but it was too late. The words were out there, hanging awkwardly in the air between us. My poster slumped slightly, there was literally no way to recover this. I desperately needed to find a galvanized stainless steel block to bash my head against repeatedly.

Max chuckled softly, a sound that somehow made me feel a bit more at ease despite my flub. "And you must be Y/N," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Welcome."

Taking a deep breath, I tried to regain my composure. "Yeah, that's me," I said with a small, nervous laugh. "Sometimes when someone makes me hella nervous, it just happens, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" I started, but he cut me off gently.

"I make you nervous?" He smirked at me. "Well I didn't know that."

Okay. Cut the cameras, deadass. I quite literally felt like I was a main character in that weird-ass phone game Episode (yes, my guilty pleasure at three am but nonetheless a fun hobby to have) It was like one of those cliché moments where the charming love interest says something flirty, and the protagonist’s heart skips a beat. Except this was real life, and my heart was doing somersaults.

I could feel my face heating up again, but this time, there was a small part of me that felt… excited? Maybe this wouldn't be a complete disaster after all. Trying to play it cool, I flashed a shy smile. "Yeah, well, you're pretty intimidating in person," I said, hoping to keep the conversation light.

"I cannot believe you said that, I'm just a really big cuddly bear," Max laughed at me, opening his arms out for a hug.

For a split second, I hesitated, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. But then, the warmth in his eyes and the genuine smile on his face melted away any remaining nervousness.

Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his strong yet gentle embrace envelop me. It was like being pulled into a cocoon of safety and comfort, his presence immediately soothing the whirlwind of emotions inside me.

As we hugged, I felt the tension in my body start to ease. His arms were warm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the anxiety that had been gnawing at me since I landed. In that moment, it felt like all the awkwardness and worries faded into the background. It was just the two of us, sharing a simple, sincere connection.

The hug lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make me feel grounded and welcomed, a silent promise that maybe this really was the beginning of something special.

And I did believe him, that he was just a really big cuddly bear. His laugh was warm like honey, and I could definitely get used to hugging those biceps and burrowing my head in his chest, like a teddy bear. All I could think of was the moment I whipped out my phone to get on Twitter I would tweet, #needthat.

What???

I'm just a girl.

"You're really fucking cute," Max suddenly stated, his soft voice interrupting my daydream.

Wait wait wait what?? Backtrack please?? Did Max Verstappen just call me cute, as he leans on the fucking doorway and I can see his biceps bulge as he-

Noticing my shocked expression, and my jaw must have been hanging out for a considerably long time without responding, he started to laugh at me.

"I hope I was the first person to tell you that today," He continued.

"Y-you certainly were the first person to say that, oh my," I sputtered, a creeping blushing arising from my neck and blossoming onto my cheeks.

Max's eyes sparkled with mischief as he stepped closer, closing the distance between us. "Well, it's about time someone did," he said, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "I've been looking forward to this moment for a while, you know."

I swallowed hard, trying to regain my composure. "You have?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. The bold, flirtatious Max standing in front of me was a stark contrast to the more reserved person I knew online. It was disorienting, but also incredibly intriguing.

This side of him was magnetic, drawing me in with a mix of confidence and playfulness that I hadn't anticipated. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the realization hitting me that the dynamic between us had shifted entirely.

Online, I had always been the one with the witty comebacks and cheeky comments, but now, standing here in his presence, I felt like I was discovering a whole new dimension of our connection. His boldness was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, making me wonder just how many other surprises he had in store.

"Absolutely," he replied with a grin. "Seeing you now, in person, you're even more stunning than I imagined." He leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving mine, and I felt my heart race faster with every passing second.

"Oh, wow, um, thank you," I stammered, feeling my shyness take over. It was surreal—here I was, the one who had always been confident and playful online, now reduced to a blushing mess in front of him.

Max chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the role reversal. "You know, I always found your confidence online really attractive," he said. "But seeing you like this, all shy and flustered... it's pretty adorable too."

I bit my lip, trying to steady my nerves. "Well, you were always the cool, mysterious racer," I said, attempting to regain a bit of my former bravado. "It's kind of unfair that you're also charming in real life."

He laughed, a rich, warm sound that made my heart flutter. (And I could swear I could hear hundred dollar bills when he laughed) "Guess we both have our secrets," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I have to say, I kind of like seeing this side of you."

"Yeah?" I replied, feeling a small surge of confidence. "Maybe you'll see more of it, if you keep being this sweet."

Max took a step closer, his presence enveloping me like a warm blanket. "Oh, I plan to," he said, his voice low and intimate. "Getting to know the real you is something I've been looking forward to. Online was fun, but this...this is so much better."

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks again, but this time it was mixed with excitement. "Well, you better keep up the charm then," I teased, trying to match his playful energy. "I'm not that easy to impress, you know."

He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, leaning in slightly, his proximity making my heart race even faster.

"Maybe it is," I said, my voice daring but my insides turning to jelly. "Think you can handle it?"

Max grinned, his confidence unwavering. "Oh, I know I can," he said smoothly. "And by the end of this trip, you'll see just how serious I am."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of anticipation and thrill coursing through me. The flirty banter, the unexpected boldness, and the undeniable chemistry between us—it was all so intoxicating. As I looked into his eyes, I realized that this was just the beginning of an adventure that was sure to be full of surprises and unforgettable moments. Spending time with Max felt completely different from any of my past relationships.

There was a new air about him, a different kind of electricity that sparked between us. Unlike the fleeting attention I had received from past lovers, who barely gave me a minute of their day, Max's presence was all-encompassing. He made me feel seen and valued in a way I hadn't experienced before. Each moment with him was charged with genuine interest and warmth, making me feel like I was the only person in the world.

The thought of what lay ahead made my heart race with a mixture of nervousness and exhilaration. I knew that being with Max would be an experience unlike any other, a journey where we would both reveal our true selves and create memories that would last a lifetime.

Don't call me naive, dear reader, because in the moment, it truly felt that way to me...And I really hoped that he felt the same too.

"Alright then," I said, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. "Game on."

Max's smile widened, and he extended his hand. "Game on," he echoed, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me as our fingers intertwined.

"Come on in," he said, leading me into his apartment.

As soon as we stepped inside, I realized that 'apartment' was an understatement. The place felt more like a huge penthouse rather than the modest apartment he had made it out to be. It was luxurious yet still quite plain and humble, a reflection of Max himself. The high ceilings, expansive windows, and elegant but understated furniture gave it a sense of grandeur without being ostentatious.

The living area was open and airy, with floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking, a sprawling panorama of twinkling lights and distant landmarks that seemed to stretch endlessly. Despite the grandeur, there was an inviting warmth to the space. The furniture, though minimal, was meticulously chosen—sleek modern lines with plush, comfortable seating that suggested a home where one could truly relax.

As we moved through the apartment, I noticed the subtle details: a few well-placed art pieces, not too many, just enough to add character without overwhelming the space. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, with shiny countertops and high-end appliances, but it was evident that Max wasn’t a chef—there were no intricate gadgets or utensils, just the basics. The sparse decorations spoke volumes about his personality: practical and unpretentious.

"Wow," I said, looking around in awe. "You really weren’t kidding when you said you had a big place. This is incredible."

Max shrugged, a hint of embarrassment on his face. "Yeah, I guess it’s a bit bigger than most apartments," he said with a sheepish grin. "But, as you can see, I didn’t exactly go all out on decorating. I’m not really into interior design and don’t have a clue how to make it look... well, more 'homey.'"

I laughed, finding his modesty endearing. "Well, if you ever want to change that, I’m your go-to person," I offered playfully. "I could definitely give this place a bit more personality."

"Oh, really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "And what if I said I might be more inclined to actually spend more time here if you did?"

I grinned, feeling a spark of excitement at the prospect. "Challenge accepted," I said. "I’ll have to draw up some design ideas for you. Just don’t be surprised if you come home one day and find your place looking like a completely different world."

Max chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Are you saying you’re going to turn my penthouse into something out of a magazine?"

"Something like that," I replied, trying to keep a straight face. "But with a touch of ‘Y/N’ flair. I promise it won’t be all pink and sparkles—unless you really want it to be."

"I think I'd rather die," He rolled his eyes, making me a victim of the sassy man apocalypse. Letting out a sudden bark of laughter, my eyes widened, surprised at the ugly ass noise I just let out.

"Wait no I take it back, it would be way better if I just paint it neon green and tweeted #BratSummerTakeover," I laughed.

"This is way worse than the pink what the hell..." Max laughed at my antics. Finally, he was matching my freak!

"Honestly, CharliXCX and Brat Twitter would probably save you if you got canceled, just because you made your apartment Brat themed," I countered, eye brows raising and daring him to challenge me.

"What would I even get cancelled for? Being too devilishly handsome, maybe," He asked, smirking at me.

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, and I knew I was blushing a lot. "Well, maybe," I stammered, trying to regain my composure. "Or for making girls like me turn bright red with just a few words."

Max's smirk widened, clearly enjoying my flustered reaction. "I think I could live with that," he said, his voice low and teasing. "But seriously, I like seeing this side of you. It's cute."

I blushed even more, trying to deflect the compliment with humor. "Well, you might get canceled for making me turn this red," I quipped, feeling a bit bolder. "And for having terrible taste in decor. Honestly, who wouldn’t want a neon green penthouse? It’s the height of fashion."

Max shook his head, still laughing. "Okay, okay. Maybe we should stick to something a bit more... timeless. How about a black and white theme? Classic, elegant, and less likely to blind anyone who walks in."

I pretended to consider it, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, that could work. But only if we add some gold accents. You know, to bring out the sparkle in your eyes."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Gold accents, huh? You really think my eyes sparkle?"

"Like diamonds, just like that one Rihanna song," I said, batting my eyelashes and throwing my hands up in a dramatic fashion. "But seriously, I think we can make this place look amazing. Just trust me."

Max smiled, his gaze softening. "I do trust you. And I’m actually looking forward to seeing what you come up with. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," I said, leaning in closer, our hands brushing against each other again. I was literally going bonkers from the sexual tension between us two, and I wasn't sure how long I could take it for the next week, before the dam overflowed. And trust me, I don't mind if this dam overflows. Wink wink.

"Promise me you won’t turn it into a jungle. I don’t think I could handle that much greenery," he said with a playful wink.

I laughed, nodding. "Deal. No jungle theme. But I can’t promise there won’t be a few plants. They add life, you know?"

Max grinned, shaking his head in amusement. "Alright, a few plants I can handle. Just no turning my place into a botanical garden."

I gave him a teasing look. "You never know, a few well-placed ferns could really spruce the place up. Besides, they say talking to plants helps them grow. Maybe it’ll work wonders for you too."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Are you implying I need help growing? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve hit my growth spurt."

I laughed, feeling more at ease with each playful exchange. "No, just that a little greenery might make this place feel more like home. Plus, it could give you someone to talk to when you’re not racing around the world."

"Well, if you’re around, I’ll have plenty of company," he said with a wink. "And maybe you can teach me how to take care of them without killing them."

"I’d be happy to," I replied, smiling. "But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to choose some low-maintenance plants. Wouldn’t want you to feel overwhelmed."

"Thanks," he said, his tone sincere. "I appreciate that. But seriously, it’ll be nice to have you help me make this place feel more like home."

"Anytime," I said, feeling a warm glow from his words. "Just promise you won’t get any bright ideas about adding a racecar in the living room."

Max chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "No promises. But I’ll try to restrain myself."

He glanced at my luggage and then back at me. "Let me help you with those," he offered, moving towards the pink suitcases. "I’ll take them to the guest room."

As he picked up the bags, I couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he handled them. The way his muscles flexed under his shirt made my heart race. It was impossible to ignore how strong and capable he looked, making even the heavy suitcases seem weightless. Every movement seemed to highlight his athletic build, and I found myself momentarily distracted by the sheer physicality of him.

He had insisted on me staying at his apartment for the seven days I was in town, refusing to let me book a hotel. "You’ll be more comfortable here," he had said on our phone call earlier, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was sweet, really, and incredibly sexy watching him take charge like this. The thoughtfulness behind his actions made me feel special and cared for in a way that I hadn’t experienced before.

As he carried my luggage, I couldn't help but admire the ease with which he moved, the definition in his arms and shoulders evident with each step.

I followed him down the hallway, my eyes shamelessly glued to his back, watching the way his muscles shifted beneath his shirt. Each step he took seemed to exude confidence and strength, a silent testament to his physical prowess. I couldn't help but admire how the fabric of his shirt clung to his form, accentuating every line and curve of his well-toned physique.

God, I could talk about his slutty little waist for days. The little fancams they showed on F1TV or YouTube did not do it justice. Seeing him in person, the way his waist tapered into those perfectly fitted jeans, was a whole different experience. It was mesmerizing, almost unfair how well his physique was sculpted.

As he walked ahead of me, the fabric of his shirt stretched taut across his back and narrowed at his waist, highlighting the lean, athletic build that had become a defining part of who he was. It was the kind of detail that fans like me only dreamed about, and here I was, witnessing it up close.

I was such a lucky little bitch.

My mind wandered to the countless hours he must have spent training, not just in the gym but on the track as well. It was a different kind of dedication, one that went beyond what most people understood. There was something undeniably attractive about a person who was so committed to their craft, and it only added to the allure that Max already possessed.

As he led me into the guest room, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was Max Verstappen's personal space, a glimpse into the life of someone I had admired from afar. The room was spacious and inviting, with large windows that allowed natural light to flood in, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

Max set my bags down gently and turned to face me, his expression softening. "There you go," he said with a warm smile. "If you need anything, just let me know. Make yourself at home."

"Thanks, Max," I replied, giving him a grateful smile. "I really appreciate this."

Just as I was about to say more, Max’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly. "Sorry, I have to take this," he said, holding up the phone. "It’s important."

"Of course, no problem," I said, waving him off. "Take your time."

Max nodded and stepped out of the room, his voice already lowered as he answered the call. Left alone, I took a moment to absorb my surroundings. The bed looked incredibly inviting with its crisp, clean sheets and plush pillows. The journey had been long, and I could feel the fatigue weighing heavily on me.

Without much thought, I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the bed, the mattress soft and supportive beneath me. The room had a calming aura, and despite my excitement, my eyelids grew heavy. I lay back, letting out a contented sigh as I nestled into the pillows.

The last thing I remembered was the distant murmur of Max's voice from the hallway. The day's exhaustion finally caught up with me, and within moments, I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, completely at ease in the unfamiliar yet comforting space.

જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Max's POV❞

I couldn’t wait to see her cute face after my phone call.

Ever since she showed up at my door an hour ago, luggage in hand and blushing like mad, I knew I wanted to hold her in my arms and never let go. The way she looked so overwhelmed and charmingly nervous had struck a chord with me. But now, here I was, stuck listening to Lando Norris ramble about his trivial girl troubles when all I wanted was to see her again.

Lando’s voice was like a buzzing fly in my ear, and I found myself tapping my foot impatiently, wishing he'd get the hint and stop talking. His high-pitched voice grated on my nerves as he continued his endless rant about the latest drama in his life. I loved the guy, but seriously, this was not the moment for his soap opera.

“—and you would not believe what she said to me next,” Lando’s voice droned on, each word feeling like a needle in my brain. I barely registered his complaints, lost in my own thoughts about her.

“Max! Are you listening to me??” Lando’s voice suddenly pierced through the fog of my thoughts, making me flinch slightly.

“Mhm...” I trailed off, barely processing the words. My mind was focused entirely on her, on how she looked when she first arrived and how peaceful she appeared when I last saw her.

“Oh, what the bloody fuck mate, you’re not listening. Whatever, I'll talk to you later,” Lando said abruptly. Before I could respond, I heard the familiar click of the call ending.

“Hallelujah,” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes in relief. The endless chitter-chatter had finally stopped, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“Oh, what the fuck,” I suddenly exclaimed, realizing that I had wasted enough time. I should be up and finding my houseguest—my possible future wifey—and spending more time with her. I shot up from my seat, a surge of excitement propelling me forward.

The house had been unusually quiet since I’d gotten off the call, and I was eager to see what she was up to. Maybe she was scrolling through her phone, or perhaps she was just getting comfortable. I tiptoed down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb the calm atmosphere of the house.

As I approached the guest room, I could hear nothing but the soft hum of the air conditioning. My heart skipped a beat as I slowly opened the door, peeking inside to see what awaited me. The sight that met my eyes was unexpectedly delightful. There she was, nestled in the bed, having kicked off the fluffy house shoes I’d given her. Her luggage was neatly set aside, and the room was serene, illuminated by the gentle late afternoon light filtering through the curtains.

Her position on the bed was both endearing and surprisingly casual. She had managed to kick the blankets off completely, leaving them in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. The sight of her sprawled out, so relaxed and at ease, made me pause. She looked incredibly peaceful, her hair spread out like a halo around her, and her cheeks were slightly flushed.

My beautiful girl was tired.

A soft smile crept onto my face as I approached her. It was clear that she was deeply asleep, her breathing even and steady. I carefully grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed, making sure not to disturb her. The blanket was warm and soft, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room.

In her sleep, she shifted slightly, letting out little breaths.

As I gently draped it over her, I couldn’t help but notice how cute she looked in this vulnerable state.

The way her lips were slightly parted and her eyes were closed made her seem even more endearing. She had a certain tranquility about her that was utterly captivating. It was a rare and precious sight, and I felt a surge of affection just watching her. Her presence in my apartment, in my space, felt strangely comforting and intimate.

I adjusted the blanket carefully, ensuring it covered her snugly. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, which made me breathe a sigh of relief I didn't realize that I had been holding. I took a moment to appreciate how serene and beautiful she looked. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept was calming to observe, and it made me feel even more connected to her.

I lingered in the doorway for a few seconds, letting the peaceful scene sink in.

In that moment, I really wanted to be her boyfriend. Even though I had just met her in real life a mere forty minutes ago, I wanted to give her everything that she wanted and deserved.

I imagined us spending more time together, exploring new places, and sharing our dreams and fears. I wanted to be the person who made her feel special and loved, who supported her in all her endeavors and celebrated her successes. The thought of being that person for her was more appealing than I’d ever expected.

It wasn’t just about the romantic gestures or grand declarations; it was about the everyday moments of care and attention. I wanted to be there for her in the small, meaningful ways—like making sure she was comfortable, listening to her stories, and sharing in her joys and struggles.

Don't call me naive, but I really, really, really like her.

જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Y/N's POV❞

In my dreamless state, I could still remember a few things. Like the warm breath of someone hovering over me. I could feel watchful eyes on my back, curious, worried, then relieved. I remember feeling gentle hands pulling my blanket from the foot of the bed to my shoulders, gently covering me.

And when I woke up, I really questioned whether what I felt was a dream. In my room it was silent, almost no trace of whether someone was there or not.

The only anomaly was the fact that before, I had completely shut the door. Now, the door was left ajar, a tiny sliver of the hallway could be seen from where I was propped up in my bed.

Yawning, I could hear the soft hum of the ongoing AC in my room. But if I listened a bit more, I could hear the whirring of the range hood in Max's kitchen further down the hall.

He was cooking?

Wow. Call me surprised.

A few days ago when we called on Discord, he had narrated a few cooking horror stories that had happened to him.

I remembered one particularly gruesome story he shared, one that sounded like it came straight out of a sitcom. It was supposed to be a simple pasta dinner. Max had invited a few friends over, and in his eagerness to impress them with his culinary skills, he decided to make everything from scratch.

(I know, I know, he told me he wanted to have his little Nara Smith moment...I'll give it to him, I guess)

It started with the sauce. He had carefully selected ripe tomatoes and fresh herbs, determined to make the best marinara his friends had ever tasted. But things quickly went downhill. First, he accidentally doubled the amount of garlic. Not a huge issue, right? Just a little more flavor. But then, in his attempt to balance it out, he added way too much salt. Desperate to fix it, he threw in some sugar, which somehow made it even worse.

Next came the pasta. Max had repeatedly watched one Nara Smith video of her making fresh pasta and he figured it couldn’t be that hard.

News flash, incorrect answer buzzer.

He miscalculated the flour-to-egg ratio, resulting in a sticky, unmanageable dough. By the time he managed to roll it out, the dough was uneven and tearing. When he finally got it into the pot, it clumped together into a gooey mess.

Meanwhile, the kitchen was descending into chaos. The range hood was whirring at full blast, struggling to keep up with the smoke billowing from the pan. In his panic, Max forgot to turn the stove down, and the sauce began to boil over, spilling onto the burner and creating a scorched, acrid smell that filled the entire apartment.

Then came the final straw. Max decided to make garlic bread as a last-minute addition. He put it in the oven and got so distracted by the pasta disaster that he forgot about it entirely. By the time he remembered, the bread was more akin to charcoal, emitting a foul, burnt odor that overpowered even the smell of the burnt sauce.

His friends (He told me it was Lando, Daniel, and Carlos) arrived just in time to witness the aftermath. The kitchen was a war zone, with sauce splattered everywhere, clumps of dough sticking to various surfaces, and smoke lingering in the air. The range hood was doing its best, but it was no match for the chaos Max had created.

His friends tried to be polite (Well maybe Daniel and Carlos did but Lando certainly was not), but the horrified expressions on their faces said it all.

Max ended up ordering pizza, and the story became an infamous legend among his friends. They still teased him about it, making jokes about his "gourmet" cooking skills whenever they had the chance.

It was quite a funny story, as Max had vlogged the whole thing, originally wanting to use the video footage as evidence that he could actually cook.

That's fucking hilarious, if you ask me.

When he showed the video footage, I was quite literally cracking up. I swear I had never laughed as hard as I did in my life when he showed me it.

Remembering that story now, I couldn’t help but smile. The fact that he was back in the kitchen, despite that disastrous experience, said a lot about his determination.

And maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. I decided to get up and see for myself what he was up to, hoping that I wouldn't walk into another kitchen catastrophe.

On that account, I found myself to be, again, very much wrong.

It smelled funny in the kitchen.

There was a peculiar mix of something burnt and something…well, unidentifiable. As I approached, the smell intensified, and I began to worry. I rounded the corner to find Max standing over the stove, looking flustered. Smoke billowed up from the pan, and the range hood was struggling to keep up.

"Max, what on God's green earth are you doing?" I asked, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. I was also, clearly failing at that too, as a hitch in my voice gave away what I was truly feeling.

Dear reader, I was about to burst into a torrential fit of laughter.

He glanced up, his face a mix of sheepishness and determination. "I was trying to make fried rice with beef and onions, but...uh, things aren't going as planned."

I raised an eyebrow. "Clearly. What happened?"

He sighed, waving a hand at the pan. "Well, first, I realized there wasn't much food in the fridge to begin with. I found some rice, a bit of beef, and an onion. Seemed like enough for a simple dish, right? But then the beef started to stick to the pan, so I added more oil, which made the onions cook too fast and burn. And now the rice is clumping together and sticking to everything."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Max, you are a disaster in the kitchen. This is even worse than the pasta incident."

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know, I know. But I wanted to impress you. Clearly, I'm failing miserably."

I walked over and peered into the pan. The beef was charred in some spots and raw in others, the onions were practically disintegrated, and the rice looked like a sticky, burnt mess. "Impressive isn't exactly the word I'd use," I teased.

He grinned, despite the chaos. "Hey, at least I'm trying, right? That's got to count for something."

I shook my head, laughing. "It counts for effort, sure. But maybe you should stick to ordering takeout."

He gave me a mock serious look. "Or, you could teach me. You're the one with the design ideas. Maybe you have some cooking tips too?"

I pretended to think about it. "Hmm, I suppose I could. But only if you promise to listen and not improvise."

Max chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. "I promise. No more kitchen disasters."

I smiled, feeling a warm rush of affection. "Alright, let's see what we can salvage here. First things first, let's get rid of this burnt mess."

As we started cleaning up, Max kept sneaking glances at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know, I didn't just burn the food on purpose to get you to come out here and help me, but it's a nice bonus."

I rolled my eyes, playfully nudging him with my shoulder. "Nice try, Verstappen. But if you keep burning things, I might have to take over all the cooking."

"Deal," he said, his grin widening. "As long as you stay."

My heart skipped a beat at his words, and I couldn't help but smile. "You're lucky I'm a sucker for a cute guy who tries to cook."

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "And you're lucky I'm persistent. Now, let's make something edible before we both starve."

I glanced at the pitiful remains of our attempted fried rice. "Or," I suggested, "we could go to the grocery store and get some proper ingredients. Maybe start from scratch with something we can't mess up."

Max's eyes lit up with excitement. "A late-night grocery run? That sounds like a great idea. It's only 8 PM; we've got plenty of time."

I smiled, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of a spontaneous adventure. "Alright then, let's go. But first, let me change out of these pajamas."

Max grinned, leaning a little closer. "Deal. I'll clean up here while you get ready. But you know, you look pretty cute in those pajamas. Maybe we should make it a pajama party instead?"

I rolled my eyes playfully, feeling my cheeks warm. "Nice try, but I think I'll stick with something a bit more appropriate for public."

Max chuckled. "Alright, but don't keep me waiting too long. The sooner we get to the store, the sooner we can start our culinary masterpiece."

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, now it's a culinary masterpiece? You have high hopes, Mr. Verstappen."

He shrugged, flashing a charming smile. "What can I say? I'm an optimist. Plus, with you by my side, how could it be anything but perfect?"

I laughed, shaking my head as I headed to the guest room to change. "We'll see about that. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Max's voice followed me down the hall. "I'll be counting the seconds, chef."

After changing into something more appropriate—a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater—I met Max in the living room. He had cleaned up the kitchen mess and was now waiting by the door, car keys in hand.

At the door, I slipped on a pair of Birkenstocks, leaning on Max to stabilize myself. Feeling myself slipping all of a sudden, Max grabbed onto my waist and steadied me up. His grip was firm, and I could feel the warmth of his hand through my shirt, sending a little shiver down my spine.

"Careful there," he teased, his voice low and close to my ear. "Wouldn't want you to fall for me… again."

I glanced up at him, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Max. It seems like you're getting pretty good at catching me."

He smirked, his hand still resting on my waist, holding me just a little closer than necessary. "Well, practice makes perfect, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the playful tension between us impossible to ignore. "You might need a few more tries, though. I’m a bit of a klutz."

He chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly against my side. "Lucky for you, I’ve got all the time in the world." My heart was quite literally beating out of my chest and the sexual tension was getting to me. Noticing my beet red face, Max continued.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Ready," I replied, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. (And still giggly from the whole previous ordeal)

Max held the door open for me with a dramatic flourish. "After you, my lady," he said with a mock bow.

I laughed, rolling my eyes playfully. "Such a gentleman. You really know how to impress a girl."

As we headed down to the underground garage, Max couldn't resist a bit more teasing. "So, do you have a grocery list, or are we winging it?"

"I think we should wing it," I said, grinning. "Who knows, maybe we'll discover some hidden culinary talents."

"Or set off the smoke alarm again," Max added, smirking.

I nudged him with my elbow. "Hey, I'm a decent cook. I promise I won't let you burn anything."

"Good to know," he replied, his smile widening as we reached his Aston Martin Vantage.

The sleek car gleamed under the garage lights, and I couldn't help but admire it. "Nice ride," I said, running a hand over the smooth surface.

"Thanks," Max said, a hint of pride in his voice. "I figured it would make a good impression."

"You figured right," I said with a wink.

As we pulled out onto the street, the city lights cast a warm glow over everything. The drive through the city was peaceful, the streets mostly empty at this hour. We chatted casually, the conversation flowing easily as we navigated through the urban maze. Max seemed to know the city well, effortlessly weaving through the streets as we made our way to the nearest grocery store.

As we drove through the city, the conversation continued to flow easily. "So, what kind of snacks are we getting?" Max asked, glancing over at me.

"Definitely some chocolate," I replied. "Maybe some chips too. What about you?"

"I was thinking ice cream," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know, for dessert after our gourmet fried rice."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You and your sweet tooth. Fine, we'll get ice cream. But only if you promise not to eat it all in one sitting."

"Deal," Max said, grinning. "I promise to save some for you."

"Max I've seen you devour so much food in one sitting, are you sure you are keeping that promise?" I roll my eyes in mock frustration.

He smirked, glancing over at me. "What can I say? I'm a growing boy."

"Growing boy, huh?" I teased. "Last time I checked, you were already fully grown."

"Just because I'm tall and handsome doesn't mean I can't still grow," he shot back, winking.

I snorted. "Tall and humble, too. Such a rare combination."

"Only for you," he said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. "I reserve my best qualities for special occasions."

"Well, aren't I lucky?" I said with a laugh. "I guess I'll have to make sure to keep you around for more grocery runs."

"Hey, I'll take any excuse to spend time with you," he replied smoothly. "Even if it means resisting the urge to eat all the ice cream."

I pretended to ponder his words. "Hmm, maybe I should test your willpower. Get a couple of pints and see how long they last."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you challenging me?"

"Maybe I am," I said, grinning. "Think you can handle it?"

"Oh, I can handle it," Max said confidently. "But can you handle me winning?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "We'll see about that. Just don't cry when I catch you sneaking spoonful's in the middle of the night."

"You're on," he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "But be warned, I play to win."

The hum of the Aston Martin's engine was a soothing backdrop to our conversation. The car's interior was luxurious, with plush leather seats and a state-of-the-art dashboard. I couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement as we sped through the city, the lights blurring past us in a kaleidoscope of colors.

"So, do you do this often?" I asked, glancing over at Max.

"Late-night grocery runs?" he replied with a grin. "Not really, but I'm always up for an adventure."

I laughed, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between us. "Well, I think this might be the most exciting grocery run I've ever been on."

Max chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just wait until we get there. I might even let you pick out some snacks."

"Now you're talking," I said, grinning. "I will never not indulge in big back activities," The prospect of picking out snacks together felt oddly intimate, a small but meaningful step in getting to know each other better.

"Hey! You can definitely tell a lot about a person based on their favorite snacks. People who simply like spicy shrimp crackers are superior!"

Max raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. "Spicy shrimp crackers? That’s a bold choice. I guess we'll see if our snack preferences align."

"They better," I said, rolling my eyes in mock annoyance. With that, we stepped outside, the crisp air greeting us as we made our way to the grocery store. The city buzzed around us, but all I could focus on was the warmth of his presence beside me and the anticipation of what was quickly becoming an unexpectedly perfect day.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 278,121 others

yourusername: what in the #domesticlife...#breadbedandbred

view comments:

maxverstappen1: This is a VERY misleading caption, Y/N

maxverstappen1: Nice post, though (please change the caption)

maxverstappen1: Christian also said that the caption is "sussy as hell"... whatever that means

user1: BYEEEE christian "horny" horner strikes again 🤕

user2: ain't nothing SOFT about this LAUNCH y/n 😖😖🤯🫣

yourusername: 🫣🫣🫣

user3: not her casually serving in a groccery store at night, i aspire to be second-slide-y/n

user4: DAMNNNNN IM SLEEPING ON THE HIGHWAY TNNNN GUYS 😐🤧

user5: AYO MAX

user5: hand placement.... you better WATCH yourself

user6: guys i need this so bad, accepting bf applications RIGHT NOW

user7: dude.... Dude.... DUDEEEEE

user8: his gorilla ass grip on the hook of her jean hook im ILL guys I'M SO ILL 🤕🤕

user9: u r so right queen, it's giving #domestic #hubbyandbubby #narasmithlife #walkhimlikeadog

yourusername: i like #walkhimlikeadog 🤯

maxverstappen1: I like #hughimlikeacat better 😌

yourusername: 🐶🐶🐶 ARF MAX

maxverstappen1: You are very VERY weird, Y/N 🤣🤣🤣😂😅

yourusername: ARF ARF ARFFFFF 🐕🐕🐩

user10: we got #walkhimlikeadog daughter versus #hughimlikeacat son before gta 6 😈😈😈🥲

landonorris: Damn, Max, get a grip, you are getting SOFT my boy 😹😹😹

maxverstappen1: Not funny, Lando

yourusername: 😹😹😹

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

[11queensupreme11]

If Dory is the youngest Posy kid, who's the eldest? Ariel?

it's this guy!

axiandros, the dude percy subtly named after anthonius lol!

also, i finally made up a personality for him too hehe so i'm gonna ramble about him for a bit

axiandros is the first born posy kid and he was actually pretty decent when he was younger!!! percy raised him to be kind and human, and he was!!!!

....until he got older and poseidon sunk his claws in him 💀

unfortunately, displeasing his father has more severe consequences than displeasing his mother. pissing poseidon off would lead to all kinds of verbal, physical, and psychological abuse whereas with percy he would more or less get a stern lecture about right or wrong. the latter's a lot easier to cope with 💀

he's the eldest too so he was the first kid to experience first-hand what it means to disappoint his father. not only that, but he's poseidon's FIRST EVER SON. poseidon absolutely refuses to except ANY flaws from his own first-born. he must be perfect, or he'll get rid of him.

so out of fear, when he was still young, he started to obey to his father more. he became less kinder, less sweeter, less like a "normal kid" and more like a god. he worked his ass off to make zero mistakes in everything he did. he tossed aside all of percy's teachings and values because being like that only led to more abuse. but soon enough, being "perfect" became less of a way for him to survive and more natural as he gradually started to absorb more and more of poseidon's ways until it actually became who he was. and thus, a yandere was born 😔💔

HE ALSO HAS BEEF WITH EUDORIOS LMAO

as i mentioned before, eudorios basically has the percy's 🥺uwu🥺 he's ditzy, lovable, charming, a giant himbo, he's basically PERCY but 1000000x more unhinged

but nobody knows that eudorios is actually unhinged. to the other gods, he's just a sweetiepie, a percy 2.0 with poseidon's face. he's the "angel" of the posy kids just like his mommy

and axiandros. fucking. HATES it 😭😭😭😭 eudorios is imperfect. he's flawed. he makes mistakes. he's stupid. ridiculous. rarely takes anything seriously. he likes humans (eudorios actually sees them more as cute and dumb creatures but they don't know that 😭)

(eudorios is just like their mother but axiandros refuses to call her "imperfect" tho lol)

and worse off, percy ADORES him 😂😂😂 he can't stand it. he's forced to watch his beloved mother dote on his failure of a little brother despite him already being grown. she smothers him with love and spends so much time with him, and axiandros is JEALOUS.

poor dude longs for the old days where percy used to dote and baby him, but that was back when he was still innocent and sweet. he's become a monster now, and percy sees how different he is, how cruel he's become and it breaks her heart 😭💔 she never says it out loud though, she still treats him well. but she doesn't BABY him anymore. doesn't shower him with love and affection anymore, but not because she doesn't love him, but because she believes he doesn't want that 😭 he's poseidon jr now, nobody would ever think he wants to be coddled and treated like a baby 💀💀💀

but anyway, the dory and axiandros beef is so fucking funny and also really sad. because axiandros did everything he could to earn his father's approval, but he's lost his mother's affections. he doesn't get it and it drives him crazy. he's "perfect", so why doesn't mother love him as much as she loves eudorios???

"does mother hate me? why does she love eudorios so much? why didn't she protect me as fiercely as she protects him?"

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Monopoly is capitalism's gerrymander

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

You don't have to accept the arguments of capitalism's defenders to take those arguments seriously. When Adam Smith railed against rentiers and elevated the profit motive to a means of converting the intrinsic selfishness of the wealthy into an engine of production, he had a point:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

Smith – like Marx and Engels in Chapter One of The Communist Manifesto – saw competition as a catalyst that could convert selfishness to the public good: a rich person who craves more riches still will treat their customers, suppliers and workers well, not out of the goodness of their heart, but out of fear of their defection to a rival:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

This starting point is imperfect, but it's not wrong. The pre-enshittified internet was run by the same people who later came to enshittify it. They didn't have a change of heart that caused them to wreck the thing they'd worked so hard to build: rather, as they became isolated from the consequences of their enshittificatory impulses, it was easier to yield to them.

Once Google captured its market, its regulators and its workforce, it no longer had to worry about being a good search-engine – it could sacrifice quality for profits, without consequence:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

It could focus on shifting value from its suppliers, its customers and its users to its shareholders:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/15/they-trust-me-dumb-fucks/#ai-search

The thing is, all of this is well understood and predicted by traditional capitalist orthodoxy. It was only after a gnostic cult of conspiratorialists hijacked the practice of antitrust law that capitalists started to view monopolies as compatible with capitalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

The argument goes like this: companies that attain monopolies might be cheating, but because markets are actually pretty excellent arbiters of quality, it's far more likely that if we discover that everyone is buying the same product from the same store, that this is the best store, selling the best products. How perverse would it be to shut down the very best stores and halt the sale of the very best products merely to satisfy some doctrinal reflex against big business!

To understand the problem with this argument, we should consider another doctrinal reflex: conservatives' insistence that governments just can't do anything well or efficiently. There's a low-information version of this that goes, "Governments are where stupid people who can't get private sector jobs go. They're lazy and entitled." (There's a racial dimension to this, since the federal government has historically led the private sector in hiring and promoting Black workers and workers of color more broadly.)

But beyond that racially tinged caricature, there's a more rigorous version of the argument: government officials are unlikely to face consequences for failure. Appointees and government employees – especially in the unionized federal workforce – are insulated from such consequences by overlapping layers of labor protection and deflection of blame.

Elected officials can in theory be fired in the next election, but if they keep their cheating or incompetence below a certain threshold, most of us won't punish them at the polls. Elected officials can further improve their odds of re-election by cheating some of us and sharing the loot with others, through handouts and programs. Elections themselves have a strong incumbency bias, meaning that once a cheater gets elected, they will likely get re-elected, even if their cheating becomes well-known:

https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/congress/gold-bars-featured-bob-menendez-bribery-case-linked-2013-robbery-recor-rcna128006

What's more, electoral redistricting opens the doors to gerrymandering – designing districts to create safe seats where one party always wins. That way, the real election consists of the official choosing the voters, not the voters choosing the official:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/REDMAP

Inter-party elections – primaries and other nomination processes – have fundamental weaknesses that mean they're no substitute for well-run, democratic elections:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/30/weak-institutions/

Contrast this with the theory of competitive markets. For capitalism's "moral philosophers," the physics by which greedy desires led to altruistic outcomes was to be found in the swift retribution of markets. A capitalist, exposed to the possibility of worker and customers defecting to their rival, knows that their greed is best served by playing fair.

But just as importantly, capitalists who don't internalize this lesson are put out of business and superceded by better capitalists. The market's invisible hand can pat you on the head – but it can also choke you to death.

This is where monopoly comes in. Even if you accept the consumer welfare theory that says that monopolies are most often the result of excellence, we should still break up monopolies. Even if someone secures an advantage by being great, that greatness will soon regress to the mean. But if the monopolist can extinguish the possibility of competition, they can maintain their power even after they cease deserving it.

In other words, the monopolist is like a politician who wins power – whether through greatness or by deceit – and then gerrymanders their district so that they can do anything and gain re-election. Even the noblest politician, shorn of accountability, will be hard pressed to avoid yielding to temptation.

Capitalism's theory proceeds from the idea that we are driven by our self-interest, and that competition turns self-interest into communal sentiment. Take away the competition, and all that's left is the self-interest.

I think this is broadly true, even though it's not the main reason I oppose monopolies (I oppose monopolies because they corrupt our democracy and pauperize workers). But even if capitalism's ability to turn greed into public benefit isn't the principle that's uppermost in my mind, it's what capitalists claim to believe – and treasure.

I think that most of the right's defense of monopolies stems from cynical, bad-faith rationalizations – but there are people who've absorbed these rationalizations and find them superficially plausible. It's worth developing these critiques, for their sake.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/18/market-discipline/#too-big-to-care

[nevesmose]

I don't know anywhere near enough about Sanguinius to metaphorically crochet him into a little finger puppet for my primarch fics but how about a little baseless speculation about him and Fulgrim? Please note that this is all based on how I view them in the universe of my silly little stories and is in no way a claim about knowing how they are in canon / lore.

I would probably a) portray Sanguinius as a genuinely sweet adorable cinnamon roll too precious for this world and b) have Fulgrim utterly loathe him because of this.

I tend to write Fulgrim as being a pleasant and charming person who, deep down, is about 50% a deeply broken overthinking ultra-perfectionist and 50% really jealous and vindictive. Please understand that this isn't me saying he's just evil and always was because it really really isn't. It's entirely possible for someone with these traits to function perfectly well in society and not be a bad person in any meaningful sense.

However.

One of his formative experiences as a primarch was almost losing his entire legion due to the Blight corrupted geneseed that almost wiped them out right at the start.

He had to build them up himself from nothing with the constant threat of annihilation both in the sense that "if I fuck up a war and lose however-many thousand Astartes in a terrible accident on the double-ended dildo planet I have no reserves or replacements" and also "every use of our geneseed is a gamble against the horrific mutation coming back and destroying us all over again". In that context the solution he turns to, and the only one that probably makes sense based on his prior experience on Chemos, is perfection.

Make no mistakes, ever, anywhere, because the cost of failure is incalculable, even if it means committing science-treason so you can purge all weakness from your own space dudes. It's not a desire for perfection based on arrogance, although he is of course immensely arrogant in a lot of ways, but one motivated deep down by fear.

People like to clown on Fulgrim based on Jaghatai's infamous "I hear you do strange things to your warriors 😂👌" sick burn, but to be honest, viewed from his context, what Fulgrim's doing is somewhat understandable.

That is if we assume that the Khan isn't just making a cheap insult but rather is implying he knows a lot more than would be preferable about Fabius dicking around with Astartes genetics in order to detect and eliminate carriers of the corrupted gene-seed so that the III Legion, one of the smallest of all numerically, can still survive. And then a lot of other things too because, like Fabius could believably say in one of the weirder McNeill stories, forbidden science is akin to the ancient Terran delicacy known as Pringles. Once you pop you can't stop.

With that in mind it feels like a lot of Fulgrim's post-heresy actions, not just the snake orgies but the general distance and lack of care for his sons, comes from revelling in just finally being free of that level of stress and pressure weighing down on him at all times. Even Perturabo doesn't withdraw from the Iron Warriors that much and he's a dick.

Anyway, back to pre-heresy days. He has all this going on and then in comes Sanguinius with his giant fucking angel wings who everyone loves and who turned his legion into One Direction (not really but you know... perceptions vs reality and no one in this setting actually communicates with one another since they'd probably have a lot in common regarding fears of being mutants etc)

It's the kind of thing that I think would feel like a dagger in the heart to someone like Fulgrim. Directly highlighting and literally embodying all of his fears about mutation and imperfection and yet somehow appearing to get away with it while he has to exercise constant control and do horrible things simply in order for his legion to exist.

So for that reason I think he would absolutely hate Sangy and do everything he could to undermine him.

"Oh no, brother! I've accidentally spilled this entire Big Gulp cup of bright red Tizcan wine all over your beautiful white wings, and only moments before you were due to make a speech to ten million people about how wonderful the Imperium is! Let me help you clean it up."

And then he pulls out a Looney Tunes sized bottle labelled Fabius's Finest Molt-O-Matic Guaranteed Feather Remover and starts spraying it on him.

[dross-the-fish]

So, if Adam would carry/have Victor's sperm, and Victor is kind of his father (whether he likes it or not), would that make the potential kid Adam could have, his son, or kind of brother 🤔 (maybe it's a good thing the mate wasn't finished, there would be some headache from trying to figure out this family tree, atleast if you start thinking about it a little too much)

(I really like your idea with this tho, adds a fun level of fucked up into the story :D)

(And im sorry, i fear my wording might not be the best atm)

I try not to over think it. Here is my interpretation. Adam is not a son in a biological sense and my personal version is that Victor was subconsciously making an idealized version of himself. If Victor uses his own sperm then any children Adam had would biologically be Victor's. Adam's genetics, whatever they are, wouldn't actually be a factor because genetically Adam is not a Frankenstein. Victor does not view Adam as a son, that is a relationship Adam wants from Victor but Victor almost always refers to Adam prior to his birth as his creation mean to start a new race that would look at Victor as a godlike figure. Again, leaning into a "God" and "man" relationship vs one of actual biology. Victor never considers Adam equal to himself, Adam was never intended to fill a need for a child in Victor's life. Despite the nature of Adam's creation it's not the biology of the creature that really matters but I like to head canon that Victor is going the route of "God made man in his own image" with the creature and the creature's potential progeny so he intends Adam to do the actual job of procreating and passing on Frankenstein genes while Victor gets the benefit of fathering a whole race. But what Victor wanted and what Victor ultimately got are two very different things. Victor has a desire to procreate but wants to do so in a way that circumvents sex, partnership, childbirth and actual parenthood. If he had his way Adam would have sprung perfect and fully formed from his brow like Athena did Zeus. A very romantic notion of bringing new life into the world. Adam's actual birth is quite different, it's grotesque, horrific and the product is deformed instead of an idealized version of himself Victor is forced to contend with the warped and broken reality of his failures and imperfections. I think there's a real tragedy in that Victor wasn't intentionally malicious in any of it. It just never occurred to him that Adam would be a human being capable of all the messiness of human thought and feeling. And when his creation isn't an angel he decides it must be a demon. Because Victor Frankenstein cannot and will not accept that what he created was a man.

[crooked-wasteland]

I just saw your essay on the codependency of FizzOzzie and it cleared up a lot of things I've been thinking about this ship and to be honest, I myself thought it was the most healthiest ship in the whole show even better than the trash that Stoliz is but well... (btw, I was trying to scroll through tumblr to find it but can you just link it for me so I coud read it again)?

It also brings me to an idea of the possibility brung up in two fics each with different ideas:

#1 if Hazbin's events every leak in Helluva's since they're the same universe, there's a possibility that Lucifer would want to have precautionary heirs for the defense of Hell and outright force Ozzie and any other relationships with lowerclass apart since it's "not compatible with angelic DNA" or some thing, so Ozzie could in fact leave Fizz because of his status

#2 Ozzie getting tired of Fizz... Ozzie is the sin of Lust after all and Lust can be ever-changing and capricious in its nature as a sin. Ozzie’s character, embodying Lust, might lead to a fluctuating commitment level, influencing his interactions and relationships. In biblical lore, he did end up causing a lot of sinful things like fucking a human named Sarah or so I remember?

Again this is the same guy who humiliated Blitzø in Ozzie, S2 just rewrote him completely (btw, in my rewrite I'mma change him to be more evil and instead give the whole "lovey-dovey Sin" idea to Satan who is female and thinks Asmodeu's "fake-love" is like a slap in the fact to her idea of realistic and true romance)

I'd just feel like Fizz would be better off with Blitzø tbh or Striker or all in a threesome... the possibilities are endless, and why is the show making love seem too fairytale and unrealistic?! Like Blitzø shouldn't have to fuck Stolas just because he was his arranged playmate for just one day??? The show did the childhood friends trope dirty and would be better if Stoliz was a thing until mid-teens broke up for [insert reason] and reconnect but honestly, Stolas should've had his own seperate season/arc dedicared to himself if HB was an anthology show

Also the fact that Asmodeus couldn't just burn the contract, one-shot the lawyer and go on a rampage to save Fizz is just beyond me... the Sins are supposed to be these scary demon lords so why aren't they, hm?

Sorry for rambling and what do you think or want to add?

Absolutely here you go.

The consistent failure of Vivziepop is to commit to a mature story. She describes her own protagonists as "Deeply flawed but understandably traumatized people who just need love to fix them" while the villains of her shows are "irredeemable" (and women, but that's a tangent).

I mentioned before that trying to use the excuse of the setting being Hell and playing that out to the logical conclusion would end up exactly like Good Omens. The whole moral of said show being that imperfect humanity is worth saving, that life is worthy and beautiful for its own sake of existence. That is why the story of Good Omens uses the Bible, angels, and demons to tell it's story, to make that point.

Why is Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel set in Hell? What is being said by the plot, themes and story? So far we have that demons are better people than the Angels in Hazbin. That sacrifice is the only virtue worthy of redemption and thus reinforces backwards Christian ideals of penance.

Personally, I would have made Hell less absurd. Less a place of debauchery and chaos and more a mere continuation of life. We see in the Hazbin Pilot a character falls from the sky and says "I'm alive?" Before being hot by Travis' car. The point being that people just transition from one life to the next and in that they keep living life the way they always have.

My personal criticisms of the series' use of Hell is that it established this idea that people only behave if they have a god to fear. Once in Hell, there is no salvation, so why bother. It's like a Christian asking an atheist why they wouldn't commit murder if they don't believe in God. The answer is that people like order and security. People dying would seek to maintain their status quo from life. A lack of salvation wouldn't change that for them.

And frankly, I wouldn't have redemption be a thing. This story and its messages are actively devalued by the act of redeeming sinners when the Angels are just the same as them. By having Hell just be a warped continuation of life on Earth, it makes the message more universal: Life is Hell. Life is suffering in a way Hell can never hope to be. Physical anguish and torment for all eternity can never amount to the pain of the fleeting and the terror of change and uncertainty.

I would have made it impossible to be redeemed because the fact is, regardless what you believe happens after death, what we know we have is life. We fear death so much we have created salvation throughout history, the wish to keep living forever in some way. But, especially for young people, life is harder now than ever before. It's more terrifying and uncertain and cruel and uncaring.

So if life is Hell, how do you be happy?

That would have been my thesis for the show. The message underneath is all about finding happiness in the absence of salvation. Even the idea that maybe salvation is something we should reject to really feel what it means to be alive. Giving up on our deaths and seeking our own fulfillment, and in that finding community, love, and hope. To see true humanity as something selfish and kind at the same time.

That's how I would have taken the concept.

[arenabreadandbiscuits]

What Phobias do you headcanon, Vox , Lucifer and Alastor have.

I myself headcanon

Lucifer has a phobia of Heights

Vox has a Phobia of Spiders.

Alastor has a Phobia of Dogs

Phobia Headcanons

Vox - scoptophobia (the fear of being stared at), pathophobia (fear of disease), mysophobia (fear of dirt and germs)

Lucifer - Ataxophobia (fear of disorder or untidiness, Atelophobia (fear of imperfection), and atychiphobia (feel of failure)

Alastor - philematopphobia (the fear of kissing) and/or philophobia (the fear of love) bonus points for Aphenphosmphobia (the fear of being touched)

I think it was canon that Alastor doesn't vibe with dogs. Either that or a headcanon in the fandom that got big but it makes sense so I can get behind it. Of course there's the intimacy issues he has so I listed those here.

~

Lucifer carries a lot of stress on his shoulders trying to take care of Charlie but he has such a history that of course he worries from time to time if he could have done things slightly differently to help his daughter more. That plus he hates his own perfections but he also hates seeing them in others when it holds people back from their potential. He was the "number one fuck up", he doesn't want his daughter to accidentally follow similar thoughts that could mess her up later. He's always so worried about it honestly..

Vox has a reputation and I've mentioned before in posts that he's definitely sold himself out before just to get things he really wanted. I feel like him being a germaphobe is interesting. Like he likes to keep clean and tidy especially for TV so he dislikes when he's not. A good example of the not liking to be stared at part would be him having one of those nightmares where people go to school naked or little clothes. Like yes he's a business man but imagine like Valentino tries to dress Vox in things before he's fully ready and he gets mad because everyone has seen him dressed professionally, what will they say and think of he changes that even to just put on lingerie? Or something silly like that..

Most likely he views himself too differently in his head when he does have to do those things.

(he'd do it for Alastor in private).

Considering Alastor's sexuality and considering the fact that I myself am on the aspectrum, I feel like these fears we share. It takes a lot of energy and care to be close to people in such a way and every time it threatens to pop up he tends to freeze up. It's a dreadful feeling for him whether that be for how much his dislikes it or the fact that love has and seems to always will be something Alastor will never grasp. Meant to live an eternity alone to rot. In the ships I put him in he's capable of finally being comfortable with SOMEONE enough to truly be himself.

[radical-revolution]

FUCK UNCONDITIONAL LOVE

Fuck unconditional love.

You can't do it.

It's an impossible goal

that makes you violent inside.

But you can

embrace

your imperfect attempts to love,

your conditional search for love,

your failure to reach the ideal,

your sorrow, your fear,

your exquisite shame,

your ecstasy and your agony,

your inherited ideas of love,

your messy, deeply conditioned human love,

in unconditional

present

awareness.

Friend, even your failure to love

unconditionally

is welcome here,

unconditionally.

And that is the true meaning

of unconditional love.

- Jeff Foster

[sunderwight]

finally put my finger on something that's been bugging me about people going "aziraphale is allowed to make mistakes!" (totally true) but then almost always following it up with "crowley makes mistakes as well!" (also true, but...)

the thing is, crowley's mistakes are totally irrelevant to the conversation about aziraphale's mistakes.

it feels kind of like there's this tendency to reach over and be like, see, aziraphale's not making a uniquely bad mistake here, crowley has also made mistakes, so it evens out and ergo no one is worse than anyone else! and that's what's important! keeping everything perfectly balanced at all times is the only way to have a healthy relationship!

but a relationship is not only "equal" if everyone's always got comparable successes and failures at all times. even if we give crowley the moral high ground for the last bit of s2, that doesn't mean aziraphale is put in the red in some kind of cosmic ledger system that he subsequently needs to atone for. that kind of thinking is in fact some of the thinking that the show is positing as a problem.

aziraphale can "do the bad thing" and still not be a bad guy. we've seen that throughout history, he's struggled to reconcile himself to his own imperfections. it's in fact deeply uncomfortable for him to contemplate being really, seriously wrong, making a truly wrong decision, because he's learned to equate that with falling. if he does bad things, makes big mistakes, then he should stop being an angel, shouldn't he? that's how it went for crowley, after all. but for crowley's part the worries around doing troublesome is completely different. that's just a fear of retribution if hell finds out, not an internal conflict within himself. not like how it is for aziraphale. crowley's afraid of getting caught, not afraid of what his choices actually say about him.

deep down, aziraphale knows that he's fallible. he knows it better than he'd like to, I think. but he also thinks that he's not supposed to be. so he's terrified of it. it's a big source of anxiety for him, and I think an underappreciated aspect of his dynamic with crowley is that even though crowley also knows aziraphale has flaws and doesn't judge him for them (even likes him for them), crowley is a demon, so his acceptance is also troubling sometimes. the being aziraphale agrees with nine times out of ten and whose judgment he trusts more than anyone else's, is a demon. someone who is supposed to be "evil", who lived through aziraphale's nightmare scenario as a result of his opinions. so what does that say about aziraphale? of course, it's actually really good for him that crowley accepts him. someone should! but it's not easy for aziraphale to accept that acceptance... erm, sort of.

ironically aziraphale's fear of making big mistakes actually leaves him more vulnerable to doing that, because he doesn't fully trust himself or particularly want to introspect either. he's willing to be swayed by manipulative people telling him what he wants to hear. sometimes that's frivolous, like crowley tempting him with something he likes, and sometimes it's serious, like the metatron offering him a "promotion" on a silver platter with an apparent solution to several other dilemmas too.

personally, I think that it's a fitting part of aziraphale's journey if he's just made a big, unambiguous mistake. I think he's overdue for one of those. because that's how we get to the point where he can confront his fear of them. if this isn't another one of those grey area situations like the sword or the many times he's lied to heaven or waffled back and forth over topics like grave robbing and medical advancements, if this just ends up being a fucking disaster of a decision, he will have to go through that and realize that he's still loved. he's still himself. he didn't suddenly become a villain or monster. he just made a bad call in a tough situation. happens all the time!

and none of that ought to be compared with crowley also making mistakes, because it's established that crowley, a demon, has already fucked around and found out. he doesn't need to learn that he can make mistakes, he's not on the same part of this personal journey as aziraphale. if anything, crowley needs to learn that he can actually succeed in changing things for the better sometimes, and that it's always worth it to try.

[askmatthias]

✕✕✕ ABOUT.

( updated 2 / 6 /2024 )

NAME Matthias Czernin. (Louis)

TITLE The Puppeteer.

GENDER Male.

PRONOUNS He / Him / His.

AGE 24

D.O.B. Happy Birthday!

ETHNICITY Czech.

HEIGHT 6ft 3in.  ( 190.5 cm )

ORIENTATION Demiromantic, Asexual.

OCCUPATION Entertainer, Puppeteer.

LANGUAGE(S) Czech, French, English.

FACTION Survivor.

✕✕✕

 PERSONALITY.

  Quiet and prone to giving the silent treatment without intending to, Matthias prefers keeping to himself most times, or using Louis to speak on his behalf. Though he’s not mute, it’s rare of him to speak for himself unless it’s through Louis, and seems to actively avoid being addressed directly.

   Louis, however, seems friendly and playful, but still carries the immaturity and ignorance of youth; due to this, it’s believable that the puppet and the puppeteer are separate entities, or perhaps different points of time in Matthias’ life, especially when arguing. If one weren’t fooled, however, they’d realise Matthias’ is unstable and uses Louis as a defence-mechanism to protect himself - even if it’s to his own detriment.

   Despite the fragility of Matthias’ mind, he is a stubborn and resilient young man who stands firm in his beliefs, regardless of opposition from others, even going so far as to dismiss his own autonomy if it means driving a point across to others.

   When push comes to shove, however, he is not without a short fuse, quick to lashing out on others if pressured, and easily resorting to violence. Lanky as he is, he can pack a hefty punch, and has no qualms with setting himself on fire if it means taking down those who mean him harm at the same time. If it isn’t obvious by his appearance alone, approach with caution.

  HEADCANONS.

×   He keeps his head slightly cocked to compensate for the loss of his left eye; he also prefers sleeping on his left side.

×   He is dealing with untreated PTSD, DID, AVPD, and Imposter Syndrome as a result of the poor treatment from his family, and head trauma from the stage’s collapse.

×   Yes, he does talk to Louis even when alone. He’s very conflicted on how his interactions with the puppet goes; the conversations can rapidly vary between fear, anger, and friendliness.

×   If someone were to steal Louis, he wouldn’t worry; that fucking thing has a habit of popping back up no matter where he goes…

×   He has moments where he seems to regret the loss of his family, if only because there was a longing for them to see him as he was, and not who they wanted him to be. This manifests as Louis pestering him with questions about the incidents and often results in Matthias displaying fits of aggression.

×   Matthias not only has insomnia, but will sometimes sleepwalk the few times he’s able to actually get some rest. During these times, he will occasionally speak in Louis’ voice.

×   Despite Matthias’ on and off dislike for Louis, the puppet doesn’t seem to harbour any ill-will for Matthias - and seems to go out of his way to try and cheer Matthias up. Even going so far as to protect him.

×   Matthias daydreams of someday being able to enjoy his birthday with friends, but that requires having friends in the first place. That, and he struggles to enjoy it even by himself as it feels it’s only a reminder of his failure to be worth loving as he is.

×   His parents named the puppet Louis because Matthias doesn’t sound as nice in French. Furthermore, he intentionally butchers the French language when speaking it. Get mad, French Losers…

×   Louis speaks French almost perfectly fluent unless he’s trying to be endearingly imperfect.

×   Matthias has terrible depth perception since the incident, and although he’s learnt to adjust he struggles with timing Louis’ use of undaunted because of it.

×   He sometimes avoids mirrors because he’ll see Louis staring back at him instead of himself.

×   Unbeknownst to Matthias, his mother and her side of the family are followers of Yidhra.

×   His father also has a prominent lineage, but it’s something of a mystery to Matthias who was only ever aware of their history in puppetry.

×   The doll repair kit on his belt has seen more use mending his own wounds than actual dolls or puppets. The lip stitches are a method of self-imposed lip-training.

  HUNTERS.

   The memories of his first match are hazy at best, but he knows he really does not like them; staying in his room because of them, Matthias makes a point to treat them as though hunters are invisible. If he doesn’t address the monsters in his nightmares, they can’t hurt him, and that’s all this is, it’s just another never-ending nightmare, right?

   And even if it isn’t, why would he ever want to befriend those who’ve proven themselves terrible?

   SURVIVORS.

   He’s just as wary of them as he is the Hunters. Regardless of this, and the fact he seems to prefer avoiding people, he has no desire to see harm done unto them by the monsters set free to torture them for entertainment in the arena. 

   MATCH STYLE.

   His match style is unknown at this time due to memories of his first match being hazy to him; based on his skills, however, it can be inferred that he relies on the use of Louis to rescue others, as he’s more than willing to let the thing be destroyed. Especially if it happens by supernatural means; get RID of that thing… Much to his dismay, Louis seems invulnerable to attacks, especially through the use of the skill ‘undaunted’.

   Overall he seems to prefer kiting these nightmarish Hunters through matches himself. He doesn’t seek to humiliate them as much as buy the others time, playing the role of silent prey.

   Also, due to circumstances, Matthias is unable to receive healing from others; however, he’s able to mend himself while mending others.

✕✕✕   CREDITS.

art & interpretation by mothysms.

Matthias Czernin, Louis // Puppeteer© Netease.

✕✕✕   MUN.

Hi, I'm Mothy!

I'll add more later, but for the sake of clarity, I just wanted to make sure everyone knows I'm A) an adult with other things I like to get up to that isn't just this blog, and B) write Matthias' disability partially from my own experiences - so ableism will not be tolerated.

While I enjoy RPing, this blog will likely end up just being an ask blog.

x Mun is 31 and would rather not be on friendly terms with minors. It's fine to interact with the blog, but please don't try to interact with me OOC unless it's joking to one another in tags or replies.

x This blog will stay relatively SFW. Minors are asked to not interact with posts that may imply NSFW on this blog. Those posts will be tagged accordingly.

x If there's something that needs tagged, you may ask me to tag it.

x Mun is intergender Agender, and knowledgeable on most intersex content and how it's portrayed poorly in media and looking to rectify that without making it an inherently explicit.

[gancegancerevo]

Insatiable Fiesta and Carol; or an Example of (too) Real Transphobia in Fiction

[First seen on my Twitter.com but I don't trust it anymore so reposting here]

TW: transphobia and sexual harassment

For me, the failures of the trans representation in the story stem from the fact that Aisno chose being trans as one of their sub-conflicts.

Insatiable Fiesta is one of those events where you interact with a lot of people and see several people that are affected by the situation/Sinner (think Sloane street for another example).

Ryan’s fear, the blogger’s performative veganism, the waiter’s Syndicate background, etc. etc. are all small stories of people being imperfect and getting severely punished for it. And the story makes us sympathize with these random people who have fears and worries that are suddenly put on display and denounced as sins worthy of essentially death.

Carol is no exception, but she is unique among them. Not only because she’s actually quite honorable even before shit goes down but also because her judgement is even more egregious: everyone else hides who they are, Carol is punished for being who she is.

Being transgender has so many aspects and facets and story possibilities that a lot of us who want to see good representation will scrutinize these stories and discuss when they do well and how they fall short.

And for me, the story’s main stumbling point is in how it doesn’t really protect or advocate for its trans character. It’s disgustingly realistic how they weaponized Miss against Carol and how McGrath AND Cabernet make snide comments about her.

And let’s not forget that she was outed by some creep who was stalking the women’s bathroom in such a way that he saw her genitals. It’s fucked up that the peeping tom wasn’t punished on-screen but that is a point in favor of how realistically the transphobia was written in the event; that in the effort to out and demonize trans people, lots of creeps feel empowered to violate women’s spaces.

The biggest point against the story is that the narration misgenders Carol during her "elimination". That sort of choice on some level legitimizes calling Carol a man which is frankly, shit. Such a simple letter can really change things.

On the topic of Carol and Macchiato's interaction at the end, This moment with Carol was satisfying to me in that after all the shit others gave her, Carol found someone who complimented her even after shouting that she was a man in a dress. Now, would I have been happier if Macchiato affirmed Carol's gender a bit more definitively? Yes, definitely. But in terms of the 3 line resolutions that are usually given to these side conflicts, this gets a passing score from me.

I guess my personal preferences make me less concerned by the fact that none of the transphobes got directly punished because I prefer stories that maximize positive relationships. Like, I don’t care for the opinions of transphobes and I’m certainly not in the mood to see more people getting hurt/punished after that terror of a party.

It goes back to how there are so many ways to write queer media. Seeing someone deny herself after McGrath's nonsense is an interesting narrative and it's just disappointing that Aisno didn't follow through on this in several minor yet noticeable ways

Thank you very much for reaching the end of this rambling :)

I do want to analyze more PtN stories in the future and I do hope Aisno steps up and advocates for gender and trans issues more strongly in the future

BTW: required reading

[northwest-cryptid]

My late night sleepy wisdom of the night is this...

You won't ever accomplish anything if you don't think you can, if you don't genuinely believe it's possible it's not going to happen. You need to understand that it's not arrogance to have confidence in yourself even if there's nothing backing that confidence just yet. Those who would call you arrogant are genuinely too shortsighted to understand that if you can't be confident in your ability, you won't be able to foster that ability and grow it.

So don't go doubting yourself before you start, become so confident that people are sickened by your "arrogance" and then, when you've managed to rise to the challenge, show em that your "arrogance" was well placed confidence planted solidly in your ability.

It's not that you "can do anything you put your mind to" and it's not that "if you try hard enough it will happen" that's bullshit. Success needs failure, and the only way to keep going when you fail is to be so grossly confident that you CAN achieve something that you refuse to be a failure, you have to refuse to give up. Let those failed attempts fuel you, learn from those mistakes and course correct; keep going until you get it. Because that is the only way you will.

I'm going to use a really dumb example here but I think it's important to note that I'm not talking out my ass. This applies to literally anything but for me it was speedrunning Mario64. When I first started I was absolute shit. I didn't know how to do any of the skips, I'd fuck them up numerous times, I'd constantly have to restart. However I never let myself become discouraged in my ability to figure it out and get it right. When I let go of that doubt and fear of imperfection I found myself attempting to learn the tricks, and sometimes getting it right; and with that came muscle memory; and with that came a deeper understanding of the systems at work. As time went on I slowly but surely became proficient with it. People would say "when you get the world record I'll be able to say I was here when you were just starting out" and I could confidently tell them "I don't ever plan to get the world record, that's not what I'm here to achieve; but I know what I want to accomplish and I'm going to make it happen."

So let it be known, you don't have to be the best there ever was, you don't have to be perfect in every way; you don't even need to be able to do all the fancy tricks of the trade. Let yourself be new at something but NEVER let yourself become the failure you fear you would be. Because so long as you stay confident, so long as you keep that determination to keep going and so long as you're willing to keep trying you CAN accomplish those goals. You just need to figure out how. You need to break it down into smaller steps, learn the basics first; take the first step and go from there. Nobody gets it right the first time; and those who do are lying about it being their first time; even if they don't know it. Believe me, that's how it is to be human.

Every single person on this planet has the potential to achieve the things they desire but if they don't believe they can, if they doubt themselves and stop themselves from trying; then they never will.

It's not too late.

You can figure it out.

Take the first step, and let the rest come naturally.

Even if no one else does, and even if I don't know you; I believe in your ability to handle this.

Because you're human dammit, and nothing in this world is out of your grasp so long as you're willing to keep trying, to really focus on why you didn't get it right; and fix those mistakes for the next go at it.

Failure isn't the end, it's just another step towards success.

Keep going.