#I WANTED TO MAKE THIS POST FOR A WHILE I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO IT

[itsraceweekbitches]

JUST HOW FAKE ARE WE?

summary: Your so-far-successful fake relationship with Max takes a different turn in Monaco. But how far will things go eventually? ✤ pairing: Max Verstappen x reader ✤ wc: 3.2k ✤ tags: fem!reader, marriage talks, fake relationship, teenage crush, excited-puppy-in-love!Max ✤ note I'm a goddamn idiot who deleted it, so here's the repost.

[march 2025 – australian grand prix]

The media is having a field day with your suddenly revealed relationship with Max, who seems to enjoy this show a little too much. I’m bored, it’s fun, and it’s absolutely no big deal, he said.

And he clearly means it, because he doesn’t let go of your hand when you’re walking down the paddock together for the first time on Saturday, and he always makes sure he has a hand on your body, or places a kiss on your cheek whenever there are cameras around.

The inevitable happens shortly before qualifying, when the first article about the two of you is published on a well-known gossip site. And then comes another. And another. Followed by social media posts and video edits by fans. The fans are obsessed with this turn of events.

Some immediately catch on, stating that there is no way this relationship is real, that it’s nothing more but a decoy. They’re right, of course, but lucky for you, there are many more fans who believe the lie. Some even uncovered a few photos from the boys’ karting days, ones where you and Max can be seen together talking, laughing, and even hugging.

Charles has been apologizing non-stop, telling you he feels guilty since the press got the conversation from his account, and he even believes he shouldn’t have joked about it at all.

Now Max is attending an emergency meeting to discuss how to handle the situation, while you’re hiding in his driver room, talking to Charles who has already returned from his own emergency meeting.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Charles tells you during your video call, although you can see the doubt in his green eyes.

With a groan, you lean back on the bed, but you can’t calm down, you can’t think clearly, not when your brain is in overdrive by the fact the whole room—and especially the pillow—smells like Max. You’re not used to being surrounded by this scent, and it feels like you’re invading his personal space.

And the decorations keep reminding you that you’re not at Ferrari anymore, that this is uncharted territory, something you know nothing about yet. Sure, you will have to get familiar with things here, but you are still feeling out of place.

“I know it’s not the end of the world,” you finally speak up, “but now we dragged Max into this, and—”

“Hey, no, no, no, he volunteered. We didn’t hold him at gunpoint.”

You roll your eyes, then give him a look that immediately silences him, and his lips are pressed into a thin line as he forces himself not to go on. You’ve known Charles literally your whole life, you know each other like you weren’t just best friends, but siblings who are stuck together.

“I’m just worried he’ll get into trouble because of me. You should have seen the faces when I showed up in Red Bull territory this morning,” you note with a grimace.

The most shocking moment was running into Christian, who watched you with narrowed eyes, as if he was thinking about what ulterior motive you had. If he only knew the truth…

On the other side of the line, Charles lets out a heartfelt laugh. “You as a corporate spy… Nah, you would suck at that,” he points out, then takes a deep breath. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Here you go again, he’s apologizing once more, and probably not for the last time. You wish you could go over to him and give him a big hug, then play video games until you both fall asleep. Like in the good old days.

After shaking your head, you sit up and lean your back against the wall behind you. “Charles, it’s not your fault. And I could never be mad at you, you know that.”

You want to go on, just to make sure he understands that there’s no reason to blame himself, but you’re interrupted all of a sudden.

“Honey, I’m home,” you hear Max’s familiar, cheerful voice from the door when he enters the room. “Oh, I didn’t know you were talking to someone,” he says when he comes to a halt in the middle of the room.

You flash a smile at him and shake your head. “It’s just Charles.”

“Just Charles?” the Monegasque asks with a roll of his eyes.

Before you know it, Max kneels on the edge of the bed, and leans down to press kisses all over your face, a move that brings a stupid giggle out of you. “She’ll call you back, now she’s all mine,” Max announces when he looks at the camera for a second.

It’s hard to miss the expression on your best friend’s face, the way his nose scrunches and he acts like he was about to throw up. “Disgusting,” he notes.

Next to you, Max doesn’t seem bothered by that, if anything, it just makes him more smug than he usually is in your company. “Screw you. I can shower my girlfriend with kisses anytime I want.”

“Since when?”

You let out a tired sigh as you push the man on your side away before he can give you another kiss on the cheek. “He’s been like that all day, he thinks he’s funny,” you tell Charles with a shake of your head.

“I’m hilarious,” Max corrects you as he lies down on the small space on your side. “And since we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, it’s only natural to act like this, no?”

“Only in public.”

“If you touch her in an inappropriate way, I’ll push you off the track tomorrow,” Charles warns him.

Instead of being scared, Max only lets out a carefree laugh. “You’ll have to get close to me first.”

When you turn back to the phone, you can see that little shit kind of grin on your friend’s face. “Your car sucks this year,” he notes happily. “Anyway, I have to go. Talk to you later.”

You wave him goodbye, then end the call with a sigh.

“So does yours,” Max mutters under his breath, even though Charles isn’t there anymore.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, then blow it out slowly to calm yourself. Soon this will pass, soon you’ll be free again. Until then, you’re stuck here with the Dutchman, who happens to act like the perfect boyfriend.

When you look over at Max, you notice that he’s staring right back, as if he’s been watching you all this time. But what if he has truly been watching you? There’s something in those blue eyes you can’t quite place yet. It’s something you’ve never seen before, an emotion that’s completely unfamiliar, and maybe even a little unsettling.

Before you could say anything, though, he grins at you then rolls off the bed, heading to the mini fridge in the corner to get a Red Bull out for himself. He asks you if you'd like one, but your heart is already racing, an energy drink is the last thing you need.

Just two or three more races. The storm will end, and you can all go back to your everyday lives.

[may 2025 – monaco grand prix]

Over two months later you’re still pretending.

And now it’s time for the most important race of the season: the Monaco Grand Prix. Charles’s home race. The one you want to watch from the Ferrari garage along with his family you’re so close to.

But first, it’s time for dinner with Charles, his mom, and Alex, to which Pascale invited Max too. If Charles brings his girlfriend, you should bring your boyfriend too, she said. And who are you to say no to your second mother?

Later in the afternoon you’re trying on dresses in your family’s penthouse, happy that they are away with their friends until Saturday since Max decided to jump in and pick you up. He arrived early–like, two hours early—so now he’s the one rating your outfits.

“The color is nice, it suits you, but the shape is terrible,” he comments as he holds up the makeshift rating card, a smaller whiteboard he writes his points on.

Six points. Okay, this goes back to the walk-in closet, but you only leave after sticking out your tongue at him, because you love this dress so much that hearing it doesn’t look good on you physically hurts.

Three more outfits later he lets out a groan and jumps up after tossing the whiteboard to the other end of the couch. “I have an idea,” he begins as he follows you to the bedroom for whatever reason.

“I’m not gonna wear jeans with a Red Bull Racing shirt, forget it,” you point out without looking back at him.

“What? No, I’d rather you wear that when you’re with Ferrari this weekend.”

You spin on your heels to look at him, and sure enough, there’s that cheeky, boyish grin you were expecting. But how does he know about your plan to spend the weekend on Charles’s side of the paddock? You never mentioned that.

To your surprise, he knows perfectly well what’s going on inside your head. “What? You thought I wouldn’t know that this weekend is special? I discussed this with Charles a while ago, everything’s ready for you,” he tells you casually.

“Thank you. So, what do you have in mind, then?” you wonder as you walk closer to him.

Max lets out a thoughtful hum as his eyes sweep over your body, as if he was making this up on the spot. “Well, I would suggest jeans and a Simply lovely shirt, but no, I have a better idea. I have a surprise for you in my backpack, give me a sec.”

You watch him rush out of the room with a frown on your face, wondering what the hell is happening here. Max being nice and thoughtful is nothing new, but today it just feels different, like something has shifted in your fake relationship.

To be honest, you may have been thinking about him more than you probably should, even when he’s not around. You find yourself opening the messaging app you usually use, typing some words before changing your mind and deleting them. Or other times your finger hovers over the screen as you wonder if you should call him or not.

You’re kind of afraid of whatever that means. Is this more than just pretending?

At this point, you can’t help but wonder if it’s time to put an end to this. By now the press moved on, focusing on other drivers’ relationships instead of yours. It’s yesterday’s news, and everybody knows Charles and Alex are back together, and that they’re happier than ever. So what’s the point of this? Nothing.

Yet…

“Before you ask, I cheated and asked Charles to somehow get me what size you wear. Apparently Alex straight-up asked you, so,” he begins with a sheepish smile as he holds up a dress.

It’s a beautiful dark blue cocktail dress, which somehow didn’t have any wrinkles on it despite spending God knows how much time in that backpack. You don’t even know what to say, mostly because this gesture only proves what you’ve been suspecting about this certain shift you’ve noticed.

“You don’t like it.”

Your eyes move from the dress to your fake boyfriend, and you don’t hesitate to shake your head. “No, it’s beautiful. I just… Never mind. Thank you.”

Max lets out a sigh as he places the dress on the back of a chair. “Listen, I can see something’s bothering you. What is it?”

What are you supposed to say to this? That your brain is wandering to places you don’t want to explore?

“I’ll try on the dress, so could you wait outside?”

Nodding, Max gives you one last look, then leaves the room without a word. That’s the last time you speak until you meet the others, and even then, you keep an unusual distance. For him, it’s about being cautious. For you, it’s about making sure you make a fool out of yourself.

Charles, of course, notices the change in the atmosphere right away, and he even pulls you aside to start questioning you. But, even though he has known you since you were born, meaning he could probably give you some advice, you decide to lie and act like it’s nothing. 

But it’s not nothing. 

Your eyes keep finding Max throughout the evening, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. Does he have the same thoughts? Or is he desperately waiting to be free of you? It’s hard to tell. 

Just as you planned, you spend the weekend with Charles, arriving at the paddock with his family, staying in Ferrari territory just to be safe. Safe from Max. Safe from your thoughts. Safe from the media. 

But there’s an itch in the back of your brain, one you can’t scratch. And the itch even has a voice, repeating his name over, and over, and over again. It’s getting louder with each passing second, with each moment you see him on the screens on the wall, when your phone buzzes to notify you of a new message from him. 

Alex gives you worried looks every now and then, but it takes her a while to open up and tell you what it’s about. And when she finally tells you what’s going on, you feel like the whole world has turned against you. First, everyone was freaking out because they thought you and Charles were getting married. Then it was you and Max. Now? Now the fans are mad because you chose your best friend over your boyfriend. 

You close your eyes for a moment, but then you take a deep breath and leave the garage, trying to move in a way that doesn’t scream how terrible and pathetic you feel right now. Some fans are screaming bloody murder because Max is starting the race from P10 after a mechanical issue in Q3, which only happened because his lucky charm–you–wasn’t there with him on Saturday. 

To be honest, you haven’t talked since the dinner. You’ve been avoiding him, ignoring him, and you hate yourself for not answering him. 

“Wait,” you hear a familiar voice calling after you. 

Fuck. 

Max ran all the way here, ready to jump into the car based on the suit he already wears, but despite this, here he is, looking for you. There are people already turning in your direction, you can’t just leave him there, so you come to a halt and force a smile on your face. 

“Hey, I–”

Before you could say anything, he gently but firmly puts a hand around your neck to pull you into a kiss. It’s rushed, passionate, and messy, yet it feels perfect. This is the first time the two of you kissed, until now you carefully avoided that situation, but God, what did you miss?

It’s only when he lets go for a moment that you notice the cameras around you, but it doesn’t seem to bother him, in fact, it just draws a smug smirk on his face. “Well, if you want to jump ship, Red Bull’s always waiting for you. I love you,” he adds quietly. 

This short-circuits your brain. This didn’t sound fake, you have a feeling he meant it. But if he meant it, then… Okay, you need to stop, you can’t overthink, you can’t let him put ideas in your head. 

You want to say something, anything, really, but nothing comes to your mind. 

He flashes a big smile at you before pressing a rushed kiss on your cheek. “Come over tonight. The cats miss you.” And with that, he waves goodbye and leaves. 

What the hell just happened?

Luckily, you have enough brain capacity left to send him a quick good luck message.

“I was hoping you would jump in, but don’t worry, I’m glad you’re here now” Max says when he opens the door of his apartment. 

Yeah, right. The invitation. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t go there, not now. Not when you had these confusing feelings and thoughts. Did he mean it when he said those words? Did he catch feelings just like you did?

Because you did. You caught feelings in the past two months, and it wouldn’t be fair to deny. Just how long can you play pretend knowing damn well you want more from him? 

Letting out a sigh, you go straight to his living room without saying a word–something that confuses him based on the questioning hum he lets out as you walk past him. Once he catches up, you gulp and prepare to speak up, breaking the awkward silence. This has never been the problem, not once. You could always chat and laugh, but now it feels different. 

“Maybe it’s time to end this fake relationship,” you announce, even though the thought breaks your heart. 

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats stubbornly as he sits on the couch and picks up his youngest furry kid. “Aren’t we having fun? Why can’t this become something real? Come on, you enjoyed that kiss this afternoon, didn’t you?” 

Oh, that confident smile of his is driving you crazy. You just want to slap him. 

You want to slap that handsome face. 

DAMN IT! FOCUS!

“Max, people have moved on, there’s no reason to keep going,” you try, although your voice lacks conviction. 

And he knows. He always knows if there’s something you’re not telling him. This time he starts with a doubtful look, which is followed by a wide, Cheshire Cat grin. The thing is, Max always gets what he wants, and this time you have a feeling you’re what he wants.

Before you know it, he puts the cat to the side–who gives him a mean look in return–and reaches out to take your hands to pull you into his lap. Your brain melts when you feel his hands on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. Why does it feel so good? You don’t want to like it as much as you do. 

Taking a deep breath, you try to pry his hands off yourself to break the spell, but his grip only tightens as he launches himself forward to capture your lips in a kiss. Another mind blowing kiss that knocks every coherent thought out of your brain. 

The fact you like it is pathetic.

But still oh so good.

Maybe giving him a chance is what you should do now. Maybe he’s right, maybe you would be good together. So, without thinking more, you let yourself get lost in the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck. But he suddenly leans back to build a little distance.

“I have an idea,” he begins with a smile, his lips red and swollen. “I have napkins in the kitchen, let’s write a contract. Seems to work for you.”

“God, you’re so silly,” you tell him with a grin, then kiss him again.

[violetszn]

two

summary ✩ you’ve noticed vi sneaking out at night for a while now, but when you finally ask about it, she just smirks and invites you along. you don’t expect to end up in a crowded club with her hands on your waist, or for the teasing to turn into something else entirely, blurring the lines between roommates and something else.

warnings ✩ 5.4k ✩ swearing, innuendos (a common pattern w/ vi), drinking, vi gets kinda touchy, reader gets pretty drunk

notes ✩ popping in to mention that i’m also posting this on ao3 under the same name <33

⇦ chapters ⇨

The smell of pizza and wings drifts through the apartment, making your stomach growl as you sink into the couch. You’d just gotten home from a tutoring session that went by surprisingly smoothly. Vi plops down beside you, tossing you a plate before grabbing a slice for herself. She grins, watching you grab your own slice.

"So," she says between bites, "how was class today? And… tutoring, right?"

You exhale, slumping against the cushions. "Long. Mondays drain the life out of me, but yeah. Tutoring wasn’t too bad, honestly. My student actually aced the exam we’ve been studying for, so that’s a win."

Vi smirks. "Bet that felt like a miracle."

"You have no idea," you say, rubbing your eyes sleepily. "What about you? How was your day?"

She leans back, stretching her legs out. "Not bad. Classes were fine, same old, same old. Spent the last hour giving a lesson to one of my students. She’s getting better, but her footwork still needs work. Keeps dropping her guard, which is just begging to get knocked out."

You raise an eyebrow. "Sounds rough."

Vi shrugs, biting into a wing. "Tough love. If she wants to learn, she’s gotta be ready to take a hit. It’s how I got better."

You shake your head, amused. The conversation flows easily after that, carrying on through dinner until eventually, the night winds down.

Vi stands, stretching her arms over her head, muscles flexing under the soft apartment lighting. She lets out a quiet sigh as she relaxes, then turns her gaze on you, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips.

"Alright, I’m heading to bed," she says, stepping closer. Close enough that you can pick up the faint scent of her soap, her subtle woodsy, vanilla scent that just screams her.

But she doesn’t move away.

Instead, she tilts her head slightly, eyes flickering over you in a way that makes your skin warm. "You should get some sleep too, trouble. Hate to see you all worn out like this," she muses, voice dipping just slightly. Then, after a beat, she grins. "Well… maybe not hate it. The tired look is kinda hot on you. Maybe… I should wear you out more often?"

Your brain short-circuits. Did she just…?

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, but before you can think of a response — hell, before you can even process what kind of response would be appropriate — Vi runs her fingers up your hand, her touch slow, deliberate. Then, with one last amused glance, she steps away, disappearing into her room.

You just stand there. Frozen. Flustered. Why’s the room suddenly so hot?

You let out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the counter before dragging yourself toward your bedroom. Once inside, you shut the door and lean against it, pressing your palms over your face.

God, how does she always leave you so flustered?

Shaking your head, you crawl into bed, snuggling up under the covers. Sleep comes quickly, your body sinking into much-needed rest.

Thud.

You jolt awake, heart hammering at the sudden noise from the living room. Your mind scrambles, still heavy with sleep, but a hint of anxiety creeps in at the thought of something – someone — being out there.

Logically, you know the chances of a break-in are slim to none. The apartment is secure, the locks in place. And besides, there’s a hot, strong woman sleeping in the room across from yours. Nothing would happen to you with Vi around… right?

Still, your nerves buzz as you quietly slip out of bed, stepping toward your door and peering out. The apartment is dim, shadows stretching across the floor under the glow of the streetlights outside. You move toward Vi’s door, knocking softly.

"Vi?"

No answer.

A small, uneasy knot twists in your stomach. You hesitate for only a second before pushing the door open.

"Hey, Vi, did you…?" Your voice trails off.

The room is empty. The bed is untouched, the sheets still smooth from when she made them earlier. Your pulse kicks up a notch. She’s gone. There’s no sign of her anywhere in the apartment.

You quickly retreat to your room, reaching for your phone, ready to call her, but then you hear it. The faint click of the front door opening. Slowly and carefully, you peek out through the crack in your door.

Vi steps inside, moving with the kind of careful precision that screams don’t get caught. She’s trying to be quiet, trying to slip back in unnoticed. 

You watch, stunned, as she closes the door behind her and exhales softly. Her movements are practiced, like this is routine. Like she’s done this before.

She heads your way.

You barely have time to pull back, quietly shutting your door and throwing yourself back into bed. Your heart pounds as you force your breathing to even out.

You hear her bedroom door open, then close. Whatever she was doing, she clearly didn’t want to be caught. She doesn’t owe you an explanation, but… something about this doesn’t sit right.

You swallow hard, staring up at the ceiling. You’ll ask her about it in the morning. For now, you pretend you don’t know. You aren’t even sure why you feel so… odd about the entire situation. Maybe she needed to go help someone with something? Or maybe she needed to clear her head? 

The number of completely normal reasons for her to be out so late should be enough for you to just shut your eyes and get over it. Unfortunately, your brain has other plans and you spend the rest of the night racking your brain for the most plausible explanation.

The next morning, everything feels normal. Or at least, as normal as it can feel after you spent the night convincing yourself of the most out-of-pocket reasons for Vi sneaking out late.

Vi moves around the kitchen, fixing herself a quick breakfast while you go about your usual routine. There’s no sign of the lack of sleep from last night, no stiffness in her movements, no indication that she snuck out at all. If you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, you’d never suspect a thing.

Still, the question lingers in the back of your mind.

You wait until the moment feels right, casual enough that it won’t raise her defenses. As you rinse out your glass, you finally go for it.

"Hey, so… where were you last night?"

Vi, who had been mid-bite of her toast, pauses just slightly. It’s quick, so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching her closely.

You continue, keeping your tone light. "I heard something fall, so I went to check, but you were gone."

For a moment, she just chews, like she’s thinking about her answer. Then, with an easy shrug, she swallows and says, "Couldn't sleep. Went out for a run to clear my head."

Her response is smooth, effortless. It should make sense. Vi is an athlete; a late-night run wouldn’t be out of the question. But the way she says it, like it’s been prepared in advance, makes something in your gut twist.

You lean against the counter, arms crossed. "At, like, three in the morning?"

Vi smirks, grabbing her glass. "Yeah. Helps me burn off excess energy." She takes a sip, then raises a brow at you. "Why? You worried about me, cupcake?"

Your face warms at the nickname, but you don’t let it distract you. You give her a look. "I mean, kinda? It was the middle of the night and that’s usually when it gets a little rougher out there. A little risky, don’t you think?"

Vi just chuckles, shaking her head. "I can handle myself."

She says it like it’s obvious, like there’s not a single doubt in her mind. And maybe there isn’t. You exhale, watching her, trying to decide if you should push further. But the way she’s looking at you; half amused, half like she knows you won’t get anything out of her, tells you it’d be a losing battle.

"Just… be careful. Please," you say finally.

Vi grins, reaching over to nudge your arm with her knuckles. "Always am. Don’t worry, cupcake."

Vi’s grin lingers, but there’s something unreadable in her gaze as she watches you. Maybe she’s waiting to see if you’ll push further. Maybe she’s already thinking of a way to shut you down if you do.

But you shake your head at yourself, exhaling a quiet laugh. “A walk makes sense though, sorry. You didn’t even have to answer that — I don’t know what I was thinking.” You awkwardly scratch the back of your neck, suddenly feeling ridiculous for even bringing it up. “You don’t owe me any explanation about where you were, you’re an adult. Just… I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Something flickers across Vi’s face. Something softer, less guarded.

“Yeah?” she muses, tilting her head slightly.

You nod. “Yeah.”

For a second, she just looks at you, like she’s trying to figure you out. Then, with a small smirk, she leans back against the counter, arms crossing over her chest. “That’s sweet, gorgeous. Didn’t know you cared so much.”

Your face heats up immediately. “I—I don’t—”

Vi laughs, pushing off the counter and stretching her arms over her head. “Relax, I’m messing with you,” she teases. “But really, I appreciate it.”

“You are… a menace, Violet,” I huff, turning off the sink as I finish cleaning my dishes. It’s quick and almost unnoticeable but Vi pauses, her cheeks flushing a soft shade of pink at the sound of her name coming from your lips. Normally she preferred Vi over anything but there’s just something about the way you sound saying her name. Violet. 

“Yeah, you love it, cupcake.”

She sends you a wink, playing off her own flustered reaction, before grabbing her glass and strolling off. She  leaves you standing there, heart hammering, still trying to process the way she always manages to leave you flustered.

A few more months of living with Vi, and the pattern is impossible to ignore.

She sneaks out often, seemingly always at night, always returning at some ungodly hour, trying – and failing – to act like she’d been there the whole time. By now, you know the signs. The way her door creaks open around 1 AM. The barely-there sound of her footsteps sneaking through the apartment. The quiet shuffle of the front door unlocking, then locking again. And then, without fail, she stumbles back in around 4 AM, sore and bruised in ways she never was the night before.

You’d let it go before. But now? Now it’s getting worrisome. You were scared she was doing something that could get her seriously hurt. Vander did say she could get herself into trouble sometimes. Was this it?

It’s the weekend, and the two of you are sitting on the couch, controllers in hand, having just finished a few intense rounds of a video game. Vi stretches, letting out a satisfied groan, then tosses her controller onto the coffee table.

“Damn, trouble, I almost had you that time.”

“You really didn’t, Violet,” you tease, nudging her with your knee.

Vi lets out an almost bashful laugh, turning her attention to the controller in her hand in an attempt to hide the blush that burns along her cheeks. She sets the controller on the coffee table, about to get up and head to her room, but you stop her before she can.

“Hey, Vi? Can we talk… please?”

She pauses, brow raising slightly, before flopping back down onto the couch beside you. “That sounds serious.”

You hesitate, shifting slightly. “So… you remember that night a few months ago? When you were out super late and I asked about it, and you said you were on a walk?”

Vi leans back, giving you a slow nod, like she knows where this is going.

You take a breath. “That… wasn’t true, was it?”

A flicker of something unreadable flashes in her eyes, but she keeps her expression neutral.

“You’re out nearly every weekend, Vi. You always come back late, sometimes looking like you got into something you shouldn’t have.” You look at her earnestly. “I’m not asking you to tell me everything, I just… I just wanna know that you’re safe. That you’re not in any danger or doing something that could get you seriously hurt — it’s honestly kind of freaking me out, not knowing what you’re up to or if you’re alright.”

For a moment, she says nothing. Her brows are furrowed, her lower lip tugged between her teeth as she anxiously chews at it. Then, a slow, sheepish smile tugs at her lips.

“Oh! You… noticed that, huh?” She lets out a short, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Look, it’s not what it looks like. I just… I like to go clubbing sometimes. A lot. Super late.”

You blink. 

“Clubbing?”

Vi shrugs, forcing an easy grin. “Yeah. It’s kind of a guilty pleasure of mine. I like blowing off steam after a long week. Just dancing, drinking, y’know, nothing too wild.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “I sneak around ‘cause I don’t wanna wake you or convince you I’m some kind of party animal or whatever, but I guess I’m not too good at that, huh?”

It’s obviously a lie. There’s something about the way she says it, like she’s testing whether you’ll buy it or not. But you don’t comment on it. You figure, when she’s ready she’ll tell you.

Vi leans in slightly, eyes scanning your face. “Hey, actually… why don’t I show you? The club, I mean.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you don’t believe me, come with me tomorrow night,” she says, voice laced with amusement. “I’ll prove it to you. C’mon, cupcake.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, weighing the offer. If she’s lying, then maybe this is a chance to find out what she’s really up to. And if she’s telling the truth… well, maybe a night out with Vi wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“…Alright,” you say finally, crossing your arms. “But if I end up hating it, you owe me dessert or something.”

Vi smirks, eyes glinting with something playful. “Deal.”

She pushes herself up from the couch, stretching her arms over her head. “Guess you better make sure you have something to wear,” she teases, casting a lingering glance over you before heading toward her room. “Not that you won’t look hot no matter what you wear.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t fight the warmth creeping up your neck.

The next night, you stand in front of your mirror, smoothing your hands over your dress. It’s black, short, and hugs your body just right. Maybe a little too right. It makes you wonder why you’d even agreed to this? You’re not used to dressing like this, but if Vi is dragging you out to a club, you might as well look the part. The boots you slide on add just the right amount of edge, balancing out your outfit.

You take a steadying breath before stepping back, tilting your head as you take in your reflection. It’s fine. Totally fine. It’s just a club, and it’s just Vi. Nothing to freak out about.

Then there’s a knock on your door.

"You ready, trouble?" Vi’s voice is casual, but there’s something in her tone. Something smooth and expectant that sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow, clearing your throat before opening the door.

And you immediately regret it.

Vi is standing there, leaning against the frame like she owns the place. She’s got on a tight white top, black ripped jeans that sit just right on her hips, and of course, her usual leather jacket. Her hair has gotten long — or at least, longer than it was when you first met — strands falling past her sharp jawline, and her usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be found.

Because she’s staring at you. Hard.

Her gaze starts at your face, then drops lower, trailing down the curve of your dress, lingering on the way it clings to you. She shifts slightly, jaw tightening, before wetting her lips.

“Damn,” she mutters, voice a little rougher than usual.

Heat floods your face. "What? Is it bad? Should I change?"

“No! Fuck, no.” Vi lets out a slow breath, shaking her head like she’s trying to clear it. ”Don’t change. It’s nothing, just… shit, hot stuff, you tryna kill me?"

Your stomach flips, but you cross your arms, feigning nonchalance. "Hot stuff? Really?"

Vi pushes off the doorframe, stepping in closer — far closer than she needs to. "Absolutely." Her voice is low, almost teasing, but there’s something else in it too, something that makes your breath hitch.

You huff out a laugh, trying to ignore the way her presence sends sparks across your skin. “I could say the same about you.” Your eyes flick down, taking in her outfit. How the snug white top stretches across her chest, the way her jacket frames her broad shoulders. You shake your head, looking back up at her. “You don’t even have to try, do you, Violet?”

Vi grins, shifting her weight. “Oh, but I definitely did tonight.”

Something shifts between you. The air thickens, crackling with an energy neither of you are acknowledging, but both of you are feeling. You can see it in the way Vi's eyes darken slightly, the way her fingers twitch like she wants to reach out.

For a split second, it almost feels like she will.

But then she clears her throat, stepping back. "C’mon, hot stuff," she says, the usual teasing lilt returning to her voice. "Let’s go have some fun, hmm?"

And just like that, the moment passes, but the heat lingers. You take a steadying breath before following her out the door, heart pounding.

About twenty minutes later, you step into the club, the heavy bass vibrating through your chest, flashing lights casting neon streaks over the sea of bodies moving together in rhythm. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something sweet. It’s a scene you’re not quite used to, a far cry from the quiet comfort of your shared apartment.

But Vi is right beside you. And somehow, that makes it okay.

She catches the slight hesitation in your eyes as you take it all in, her grip tightening around your hand just enough to ground you. Then she leans in, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she murmurs, “Stick with me, okay? I won't let anything happen to you.”

The promise in her voice, low and steady, sends a shiver down your spine. Maybe it’s the warmth of her breath against your skin, or the way she keeps you close, the firm press of her body against yours as she maneuvers you both through the crowd.

Vi knows this place. It’s obvious in the way the bouncers nod at her in recognition, parting the way without question. The way she moves, effortless and in control. The way people watch her, some with curiosity, others with something deeper; respect, admiration, maybe even intimidation.

But Vi doesn’t pay them any mind. Her focus is entirely on you. She feels a rush of pride having you here with her, knowing that, at least for tonight, you’re hers.

When you reach the bar, Vi turns to face you, her blue-grey eyes glinting under the neon glow, something playful and dark swirling in them. Her lips curl into a slow, teasing grin.

“What can I get you to drink, babe?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. Maybe it’s the pet name, or the way her voice drops just enough to make the question feel like something more than casual.

You exhale, pretending she doesn’t affect you as much as she does. “Well… I don’t have class tomorrow, so… shots? I’m down for whatever.”

Vi chuckles, stepping even closer, her presence all-consuming. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You barely register her waving down the bartender because her hand rests on your knee, casual and possessive all at once, her thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin. It’s nothing, really. Just a touch. But it sets you on fire.

And by the look in Vi’s eyes, she knows exactly what she’s doing.

After a few shots, the club’s neon lights seem warmer, the bass vibrating through your chest like a second heartbeat. You’re not drunk, not really, but the alcohol has softened the edges of everything, making you bolder, making Vi’s presence beside you feel even more electrifying.

She’s close, closer than she’s been all night. Her hand still rests on your knee, fingers idly tracing patterns against the fabric of your dress your bare thigh. Every brush of her skin against yours sends a thrill down your spine, and you don’t think she even realizes what she’s doing to you. Or maybe she does.

Vi smirks, tilting her head as she watches you. “So tell me about yourself, trouble,” she murmurs, voice dipping into something dangerously smooth, “not the stuff i already know — the stuff you wouldn’t just tell anyone. You ever do anything… crazy? Something wild? Something worthy of your nickname?”

You blink at her, cheeks already warm from the drinks and the way she’s looking at you. “Depends on what you mean by wild,” you say, swirling the rim of your shot glass.

Vi leans in slightly, her smirk deepening. “Surprise me.”

The alcohol clouds your judgment just enough to let the words slip free before you can second-guess them. “Well… there was this one time when I was eighteen. I snuck a girl I was seeing into my room so we could… y’know.”

Vi raises an eyebrow, amused. “Y’know?” she echoes, her lips twitching.

You roll your eyes, feeling your face heat. “Shut up, don’t make me spell it out.”

Vi chuckles, her fingers drumming lightly against your thigh as her hand slowly inches up your bare leg. “So? Did you get away with it?”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “Not even close. My parents caught us. But after the night I’d had, I didn’t even care.”

The second the confession leaves your lips, you realize how easily you just handed Vi that piece of information. You snap your mouth shut, your stomach flipping with regret.

Vi, of course, looks absolutely delighted. “Damn, trouble,” she drawls, reaching for another shot. “Guess the nickname does fit, huh?”

You groan, grabbing your own shot just to avoid her gaze. “I’m not—”

Vi hums, unconvinced, tipping her glass back effortlessly. When she sets it down, she leans in, her breath warm against your skin. “Maybe not anymore,” she muses, her voice like a slow burn. “But I bet I could change that.”

Your breath catches.

A few shots later, you’re practically floating. Your skin tingles, your cheeks are flushed, and your thigh feels electric from the slow, teasing strokes of Vi’s hand beneath your dress. Her hand had gotten further up as the night went on, sending sparks through your entire body.  You’re caught up in conversation, half words, half laughter, all drowned in the warmth of her presence, when a familiar beat pulses through the club speakers.

“Oh, fuck, I love this song!” you perk up, eyes lighting up with excitement.

Vi smirks, giving your thigh one last slow squeeze before pulling her hand away. “Yeah?” she murmurs, standing to her full height. Then, with an outstretched hand and a glint in her eye, she challenges, “Come dance with me, then, gorgeous.”

You don’t hesitate.

The second your fingers lace with hers, Vi tugs you onto the dance floor, weaving through the crowd like she’s done this a million times before. The bass vibrates beneath your feet, bodies pressing in from every side, but none of it matters. Not when Vi suddenly spins you around and pulls you flush against her, your back meeting the firm heat of her front.

Her hands find your waist, fingers splayed wide, keeping you close as she starts to move. A slow grind, perfectly in sync with the pulsing rhythm. Her breath ghosts against your ear, hot and teasing.

“Just follow my lead,” she murmurs, her lips grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

Your body responds before your brain even catches up. You match her movements effortlessly, hips swaying in perfect rhythm with hers. Her hands roam over your curves, guiding you with every shift and roll of your body against hers. The club fades away; no flashing lights, no lingering gazes, just the heat between you and Vi, the way she feels like she was made to hold you like this.

If it weren’t for the alcohol blurring every trace of your thoughts, you’d be full-on panicking. Because this? This is so far beyond platonic. But that thought never even has a chance to take root. All you can focus on is the song vibrating through your chest and Vi’s hands keeping you pressed so deliciously close.

Then, she twirls you around, your chest colliding with hers.

Your breath catches, arms instinctively looping around her neck, and fuck, she’s so close. Every inch of her is against you, her grip firm at your waist, her breath fanning across your lips. The tension thrums like a live wire between you, thick enough to drown in.

“You’re…” Your words trail off as your head tilts, resting against her shoulder, your lips just barely brushing the skin of her neck. “You’re so hot, Violet,” you murmur, your voice slow and dreamy, drunk on liquor and Vi all at once.

Her fingers flex at your waist, gripping you tighter. And before you can even think — before you can question yourself — your lips graze her neck in the lightest, briefest kiss.

It’s barely a whisper of contact. Soft. Fleeting. But it sets something off in Vi.

Her grip tightens. For a moment, Vi is stunned, her body stiffening as your lips trail up her neck. She squeezes your hips, then her hand finds the back of your neck, tugging you forward to press your lips against hers. The kiss is a shock, like a jolt of electricity crackling down her spine, setting every nerve ending alight. But the surprise is fleeting, melting away as a wave of something deeper, something raw and intoxicating, washes over her.

Her eyes flutter shut as she gives in, her body relaxing, molding against yours as she returns the kiss with slow, deliberate hunger. One hand slides into your hair, fingers tangling through the strands as she tugs you impossibly closer. A low, deep sound rumbles in her throat, barely audible over the pulsing music, but it’s there. A sound of want, of need.

She tastes the lingering tang of alcohol on your lips, but beneath it, there’s something else, something that’s purely you, and it’s addicting. The heat of your body against hers, the press of your curves against her lean frame, has her pressing in deeper, her free hand gripping your waist, anchoring herself to the moment.

When the kiss finally breaks, Vi pulls back just slightly, her breath coming hard and uneven. Her blue-gray eyes are dark and lidded, pupils blown wide with something neither of you are ready to name. Her lips are parted, still tingling from the ghost of your touch, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

Just as you're about to pull Vi in for more, a sharp, mocking voice cuts through the haze.

"Seriously, Vi? Her?" the girl scoffs, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she eyes you up and down, her jealousy barely masked by a smirk. You’re not quite thinking straight but you’re fairly certain this girl is in your psych class. "Didn’t think you’d go for her type. Thought you liked a challenge."

Vi lets out a slow breath, her grip on your waist tightening for just a second before she turns, her expression unreadable. "Savi," she says flatly, "you really gotta move on. It’s getting sad."

Savi huffs a laugh, tilting her head as she eyes Vi with a smirk. “Move on? Please. I just didn’t realize you were into desperation.” Her gaze flicks to you, full of thinly veiled disdain. “Guess everyone has their weaknesses, huh?”

Vi’s jaw flexes, but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she exhales sharply through her nose before turning back to you. “C’mon, baby. Let’s head back home before our night’s completely ruined.” Her voice is steady, but you can feel the irritation thrumming beneath her words.

As Vi starts to lead you away, Savi calls out one last time, her voice dripping with amusement. “That’s cute, you know. You two playing house together.” She laughs, shaking her head. “Bet that’ll end well.”

Vi doesn’t even glance back, but you feel the way her muscles tense under your touch, her grip on your waist just a little firmer as she guides you toward the exit.

By the time you both step out of the club, the night air hitting your skin, Vi seems completely sobered up. You, on the other hand, are still feeling the effects of the alcohol, your movements a little slower, your thoughts a little hazy.

Vi stays close the entire ride home, her touch never straying too far — her knee brushing against yours, her hand on your thigh, her fingers occasionally grazing your own. It’s grounding, comforting, and you lean into it without a second thought.

When you finally make it back to your apartment, Vi gently guides you to sit on the couch before disappearing into the kitchen. A moment later, she’s pressing a glass of water into your hands, sitting beside you with an expectant look. “Drink,” she says simply.

You take a few slow sips before glancing at her. “So… Savi,” you start, watching the way Vi’s expression immediately shifts to irritation. “What’s her deal?”

Vi exhales, running a hand through her hair. “She’s just some girl who doesn’t seem to get that I’m not into her,” she says, shaking her head. “I turned her down nicely the first time, but she doesn’t know when to quit. She’s convinced I’m playing hard to get or whatever and that I’m desperate for her attention.”

You hum, taking another sip of water before meeting Vi’s gaze. “You don’t seem to mind my attention, Violet,” you point out, a teasing edge to your voice. The alcohol had clearly not worn off.

Vi smirks. “That’s different, trouble,” she murmurs.

Your body moves before your mind fully catches up, the alcohol still clouding your better judgment. You straddle her lap, hands resting on her shoulders as you lean in, your lips just a breath away from hers. “Different how?” you whisper.

Vi inhales sharply, her hands instinctively finding your waist, her grip firm but not pulling you closer. For a moment, she looks tempted, her eyes flickering to your lips. But then, with a reluctant groan, she pulls back just enough to put space between you. “Not like this,” she murmurs. “I’m not doing this while you’re drunk.”

You pout slightly, but Vi just chuckles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “But,” she continues, her voice low and promising, ��if you wake up tomorrow, sober, and you still want me?” Her fingers trace absent patterns against your waist, sending a shiver down your spine. “Then, sweetheart… I’m all yours.”

“Promise?” you mumble, resting your head on her shoulder. She lets out a soft laugh and you feel her lips press against your forehead.

“Promise.”

As sleep tugs at your eyelids, you barely register the way your body sags against Vi’s. Your head rests against her shoulder, the warmth of her body lulling you closer to unconsciousness. Vi lets out a soft chuckle, shaking her head.

"Alright, sweetheart," she murmurs, effortlessly slipping her arms beneath you. Before you can even protest — not that you have the energy to — she lifts you into her arms with ease.

You hum something incoherent, nuzzling closer into her as she carries you to your room. Vi nudges the door open with her foot before gently laying you down onto your bed. As she pulls the blanket over you, her gaze lingers on your face, softening. With a quiet sigh, she brushes her knuckles lightly against your cheek before stepping away.

tags ✩ @jupitism @fungalinfectionyeast @mk-a-1 @rhian88 @baylegend6 @lovely-wisteria @antobooh @arahiraaai @vxtanne31 @starletfemme @daughterofthemoons-stuff @rosesgaloree @sillyloafff @mellohatesyou @violetwifey @ilysupercorp @eriiwaii @elliesngirl @avalovesmus1c @pryncess123

[h3rmess]

WHO'S YOUR FRIEND?

Written by @h3rmess ✰

21) - Generation of Miracles

You finally reach your street. You had a lengthy conversation with Karasu, discussing your interests, hobbies, childhoods and other random aspects and stories you could think of. The two of you had been walking quite close since you got off of the train, occasionally brushing your hands against each other or bumping into one another. You had laughed so much your cheeks became sore.

Cruising down your street, you see the sun beginning to set, and the moon becoming visible.

“You don’t live too far, do you?” You ask him, worried that he might have to travel for a while just because he wanted to drop you off.

“Nah. I can get a bus from here.” You let out a sigh of relief, causing him to laugh.

He looks up at the moon, and then back down at you. The two of you make eye contact briefly before your eyes avert his glance, turning their attention back to the path in front of you.

You feel his hand slip into yours carefully once more. His grip is comforting, different from the playful approach he had earlier on. Your heartbeat quickens, your hand shaking slightly as you tighten your grip around his hand in return. Your steps fall into sync as your hands swing together.

“You’ve got cold hands.” Karasu comments, his thumb tracing over the back of your hand.

“I do?” You ask, not having noticed that before.

He just nods with a smirk. From where you are, you can see the mole placed under his eye. Of course you had seen it before, but seeing it this up close was fascinating.

“Something on my face? You’re staring.” He speaks plainly, smirking when he sees you jump at his fast response.

“No… I like your mole.” You compliment him.

“Why thank you.” He turns his head to face you, holding eye contact. “It’s hard to pick just one thing I like about ya.”

Your heart races as he turns his head away, acting as if nothing happened.

“You can’t just say that…” Your grip tightens around his as you huff.

“Can’t I?” He challenges, the smirk never leaving his face.

It seems as if only a minute had passed when you realise you’re right in front of your house. You stop walking, forcing him to stop too, a confused look on his face. He turns to you, cocking a brow as you point. His gaze follows your finger.

“This one’s mine.” You inform him as he nods.

“Well, that walk wasn’t long enough. Kinda disappointing.” He jokingly comments with a smile.

“We can make it longer some other time.” You beam back.

“I wouldn’t mind that at all.” He looks at you endearingly, his hand still in yours. In an instant, he pulls you into a hug, resting your head against his chest as he sways with you slightly. Your arms wrap around his torso, pulling him in closer. You muster up the courage to look up at him, just to be met by his gaze.

“I enjoyed today.” He remarks.

“So did I.” You respond, trying your hardest to maintain your composure.

“Have a good night, okay? I’ll text you later.” He finally lets go of you, the embrace fading away in an instant. You offer him a small wave, unable to stop smiling as you retreat back into your home.

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-> dude I was about to post and when I saved it in my drafts it disappeared...

-> HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS SORRY I STARVED YOU FOR SO LONG

-> I'm sorry if I couldn't tag you, the tag list is full I fear 💔

TAGLIST (FULL)

@yzzxo @karasusrealwife @appl3-0rchard @cyberheartrebel @sugacor3 @misosoupii @shittyclarineted @lilsebnem @90s-belladonna @blueballslock @pookalicious-hq @vextyyx @lizbix @sindulgent666 @yeshiioo @literallyushiwaka @kaidostwin @x3nafix @mivqko @judithregulus @mo072806 @kaikaidenkai @midnight-drives-with-sunarin @definitelynotanalien @local-s1mp @karasu4life @ohagiyo @arwawawa2 @chuurinnie @morgyyyyyyy @elliehenry24 @megumismyhusband @5-laska @reooreo @kiokos @zinasdiary @tired-child00 @kyutiipie @tecchouss @cookiesandcreammy @i3beingcuntyyyy @beoms-sugar @solaqes @itz-phantomz @sleepingpillscosmos @lilsebnem @lonigiri

[ilikepjo24]

On The Ashes of the Academy...

This will be a full review/analysis of the newest atla comic, now that I finally got my hands on it. I'll duel on some things more than others but overall, I'll share my unfiltered thoughts and feelings about it.

SpoliersSpoilersSpoilersSpoilersSpoilers!

First things first, this is such a hit-and-miss.

We're all glad Ursa is looking after Kiyi and we're all glad she sees that there was somthing wrong with Azula's upbringing, but ma'am, the school is not the problem. Sure, a bad learning environment doesn't benefit children in any way, but Azula's main problem was what was happening in her home, not in her school. Maybe, since you're finally considering taking a look in your daughter's childhood, you should also start looking inside and taking note of where you failed her. This just seems like an attempt at making Ursa look blameless by saying "Oh, look, Azula isn't inherently evil, it's her school that messed her up. Certainly, Zuko's perfect mom didn't contribute to it at all!"

I mean, if you want my opinion, you lost her when you subconsciously decided to give her less attention than Zuko, which, tragically, could have been before she was even born. But this series of panels, once again, does the same thing I mentioned above; passing the responsibility around. Ursa didn't lose Azula to someone or something. She let her go. And that's assuming that she even had Azula is the first place, at any point, which could be just wishful thinking. While Ozai, and the FN as a whole played a part, Ursa can't keep viewing them as the only parties responsible instead of holding herself accountable.

Zuko pisses me off her as well because he's doing the exactly same thing, but in a different way. He removes responsibility from Ursa, but instead of placing it on the school or his father, he seems to place it on Azula's very own nature, implying that her problem was just that she was Azula, and other kids under similar circumstances would have done better, simply because they are not Azula, which is simply not true. Azula's problem isn't that she's Azula, it's that she is a product of systematic propaganda and domestic abuse and neglect.

It must take lots of nerve to hire a person that's a product of Ozai's rule, that actively and publicly supports Ozai's way of doing things, and then being bothered and flabbergasted that this person wants to do things Ozai's way. Zuko, my man, hire a new headmistress. I've seen this lady once and I know better than to trust her. Are all that survival instincts Zuko ever had sliding right off his smooth, shiny brain? Either he is actively trying to sabotage himself, or he's just that stupid.

DOGSHIT. Arguably the most annoying thing about this comic, methinks. Such a lazy way of trying to redeem Mai. I understand that she's meant to be Zuko's love intrest, so she needs to be good and support his deals, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, this must be the worst way to do it. This is just anti-Azula propaganda by this point.

If you want to redeem a character, hot take, actually redeem them. Instead of actually moving forward with Mai's character, they're backpetaling. Instead of adding redeeming qualities, they are removing the bad ones in an underhanded way. Very lazy, very bad writing. Both Mai and Azula deserve better than this.

I have way too many thoughts about these bit specifically, but this is an overall review of the comic, so I don't want to duel on one thing apecifically. I' ll talk more about everything that I hate about this "twist" in regards to Mai's character and her relationship with Azula in a different post on a different day.

Can't wait to show this to the "Azula is abusive for thowing fire at an apple that was on top of Mai's head" people. Behold! Mai started throwing dangerous shit at Azula first. This is them becoming friends. If Azula is abusive for continuing the tradition, what does tha make Mai, the one who started it?

This is more amusing to me than frustrating, if I'm being honest. They are trying so hard to make Azula out to be this inherently evil hell creature, that they don't even realize how terribly they're failing. The only thing making this interaction intimidating is framing. Azula is genuinly just being a normal kid here. Seriously, I dare you to antagonize a kid and count the minutes until they pull the parent card. I've had kids tell me that their parent works in the environment of political figures and can get me fired unless I let them run wild. Children are terribly aware of their powerlessness even if they don't show it. Borrowing mommy and daddy's "power" to wield as a threat is very typical behavior, especially in new environments. Azula isn't any more evil than any other first grader is. Which, to be fair, is reletavily evil, dependend on who you ask XD.

"Being friends with her sucked. Yeah, she was the only person I had growing up that made me feel like I mattered, since my dad used me and my mom wanted me to be an unemotional porcelain doll, but she was evil."

Two faced. Too fake. Do better. I am officially a certified Mai hater.

At this point, Mai confuses me. On one hand, she acts as if Azula is the antichrist and being mean just for the hell of it. Then, when Kiyi asks, she seems to display some actual understanding towards Azula's situation. Seems to acknowledge that who Azula is right now is the handywork of a third party, the intentions of which Azula herself doesn't fully understand, but blindly follows anyway because what else can she really do? The third party includes the only parent that pays attention to her after all.

Listen closely, because I will say this once. I better not see any of you haters blame Azula for this. "Oh, Azula is still trying to take the throne-" Shut your bitch ass up. Azula is not talking to those guys. She's working with her Fire Warriors and has no interactions with those dudes. Their actions do not reflect on her in any way, shape, or form. Them waiting for her doesn't mean she's working with them or that she has promised them anything at all. They're popping off in the assumption that she's coming back and the assumption that she'll reward them when she does. Key word beinh assumption.

And that will be all for now folks. All in all, this comic sucked. It attempts to redeem Mai and to demonize Azula and, franky, it fails at both those tasks as far as I'm conserned.

I do have that the empathy Mai showcased towards Azula is the begining of something. That her new role as a teacher and her mission of helping clean up the rooten system that raised Azula will develop into a teaching moment for the cast and the fandom. That it'll show them that Azula isn't inherently evil and therefore not beyond redemption. I genuinely hope that, eventually, we'll get the redemption Hicks teased in The Spirit Temple and that she's just playing the long game.

But for that to happen, some things have to change. The sytematic abuse needs to be showcased even more. We need to see the neglect Azula endured at home. Ursa needs to be held accountable for her failures. Azula should be given the chance to be a kid, not a weapon. I want to see a comic taking place before she displayed her firebending abilities for the first time.

Do better, Hicks.

[m1stm3]

mdni!!! (≧∀≦)

UMMMMM UHHHHHHH BLAME THIS ON THIS POST AND VALE I DIDNT DO ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!

cw’s!!: light(?) petplay (sugu calls u puppy + clicker trains u hehe), very very light dacryphilia, gn! reader (no specific parts mentioned other than the fact that ur bottoming!!), husband sugu…. the loml……..

wc: 792 :3

it started off as something silly! “for positive reinforcement.” suguru had explained simply when you narrowed your eyes at his initial mention of the idea. even after that (very poor) explanation, you still weren’t completely convinced.

“i’m just worried about you, my love. we’ve exhausted every option, haven’t we? why not try something unconventional?” and you would’ve refused once again, but ohhh, the way he wrapped his arms around your waist as he spoke… he was only worried for your wellbeing, after all…

he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head after your reluctant agreement.

and honestly? it wasn’t that bad at first! you had honestly thought that he forgot about the whole thing after a week of radio silence on the topic.

it wasn’t until he got home from a full day of errands that it was brought up again.

“did you eat, pretty?” he asked softly after pressing a peck to your lips in greeting. as soon as you let out a small hum of affirmation, there was a distinct sound coming from your husbands pocket that made your eyes narrow in suspicion.

two distinct clicks.

it took you a second to realize what it was, but an annoyed huff left you when you saw the smug look on his face. fucking bastard…

“good job, puppy.” you could only push him away as he laughed and heat rose to your cheeks.

it became almost routine after that. yes, you did huff and pout a couple of times after that initial instance, but you were used to the clicker after the first week. it was the same routine every time — you did something to take care of yourself, you got two clicks and a small praise from him.

and maybe… after a while… you found yourself purposefully taking care of yourself just so he could praise you… (you weren’t very good at hiding it, he saw the way your perked up expectantly whenever you told him about something good that you did.)

the thing is: if this whole arrangement started off as an experiment, why was the small, plastic device resting in his palm while you were struggling to sink onto his cock?

“c’mon pup, you got it...” his free hand is squeezing at your hip, the pads of his fingers digging into the soft skin there (it’d probably bruise later, but that’s the last thing on your mind at the moment).

“stop-… stop callin’ me that…” your voice comes out much whinier than you would’ve liked, but who could blame you? it was always so hard to take him in this position.

your bottom lip is in a small pout and wobbling slightly in frustration, your watery eyes fixed on where you and suguru meet. he stays quiet, running his hands over your skin in a comforting gesture to ease some of the tension in your muscles (it works, of course. his touch always brought you an unexplainable sort of comfort.)

you finally take all of him a few minutes later with a small, whimpered curse, the building tears in your eyes finally rolling down your cheeks when you feel the tip of his cock nudge right against that spot inside of you.

click click!

“thaaat’s it, puppy… fuck-“ a winded sort of chuckle leaves him. “— squeezed so tight when i used the clicker… you like it that much?” his hips twitch up into you involuntarily, making a strangled little whimper leave you against your will as you shake your head adamantly in denial.

“no? i must’ve been imagining things, then.” he breathes, finally starting the slow rock of his hips (of course he’d never let you do any of the work on your own!)

even so, your hips move to meet his motions while small, punched out moans escape your lips.

“there you go, puppy…” he groans softly. “takin’ me so well, so good f’me.” he’s practically babbling out praises at this point and as much as you wanted to deny it, the annoying little nickname he gave you was getting you close embarrassingly fast.

and fuck, the final thing that does you in are the godforsaken two clicks! that your brain had seemed to be specifically searching for.

his eyes are wide as he watches you unravel on top of him, the small whimpers leaving you only further confirming your puppy-like nature to your husband.

“did you just-” “shut up.” your voice is weak with embarrassment and your orgasm, but he’s quick to listen despite that.

he silently hopes he could train you to do that every time he used the clicker. how fun would that be?

[catiuapavel]

surprise self-rec time! pick 3 of your favorite things you’ve written/drawn and share them here, then put this in the inbox (anonymously or not) of your fellow creators to spread the positivity and help celebrate already posted works 💞

Thank you!! I love this ask, I'll make sure to pass it along 💞

Look my Tactics Ogre Tarot project is probably my favourite work I've done. First because of the subject, the decision not to repeat characters and the ideas behind each choices (a lot of thoughts went into it actually). Second because I worked with a consistent colour palette through the entire set. Everytime I introduced a new colour, I had to consider carefully if I really needed it, so tones keep repeating through the cards but the different associations still make each of them feel unique. Colours matter a great deal to me and I feel this truly reflects it. And finally because I built this series around the idea of negative and positive space and played around with margins and how they interact with the illustration. The role of blank space in these cards and how it interacts with the shapes of the illustrations just work really well. The only problem is I keep thinking "How am I ever supposed to do anything better than this now"

It's one work but also 22 single illustrations - but if I had to choose one as my favourite, it might just be this one:

2) Oh damn how am I supposed to do any better now...

When I painted this one digitally I used a 3-colours palette (well initially it was really 3 layers of grey since I knew from the start I wanted to risoprint it). I was really satisfied with the mood and composition, as well as the colours. But then I got it riso printed, and the printing process altered the overall feeling of the colours, their values, and added a texture to them that actually made me fall in love with it all over again.

3) Do you ever make something and you just don't feel it at all but then you give it a bit of time and you realize you actually do really like it? Somehow while painting this and even after I kept thinking it just wasn't right and then I kept coming back to it thinking "I'm a fool. This is good actually"

[burningcheese-merchant]

youll be fine merchant, after all i follow you because i like you saying things, you make things interesting in a way, im not sure how to describe it, but what i do want to say is that you dont need to feel that way, u doing fine and i hope you continue doing fine

I'm grateful for your kind words. I really am. I'm touched you took the time to say something to me. But... Idk.

I'm feeling very raw today. I want to be totally real just once. Just this one time. No sarcasm or joking around like I usually do. Be my therapist/blank wall to whom I address my words of woe for a minute. Then we can all go back to normal after that

I've been having a major crisis of self-confidence lately. Been feeling stupid. Useless. Good for nothing. Probably just the Big Sad talking but that guy hasn't shut up for an awfully long time and he's harder to tune out on some days

Writing was always an escape for me. A form of catharsis. I'm actually quite terrible at speaking to people irl. I'm very shy and awkward. Social anxiety on steroids. I always expressed myself better in writing as opposed to spoken words. Idk it just feels a lot less stifling to me. I feel more free. Less judged. More in control of my thoughts. If that makes any sense.

Bit the bullet and started posting fics on AO3 just to indulge myself. Never really expected to get any attention. There was a ship I liked and there weren't really any fics for it, so I became the change I wished to see in the world. That was all it was. You want something done right, do it your damn self.

Wrote more. Different things with different characters and different ideas. Gained a lot more traction. Caught another bullet in my teeth and made this blog. People seem to like my ideas for some reason. I start to think "hey. Maybe I really am a good writer."

Then I took a few story-shaped sledgehammers to the skull and remembered that no, I'm not. Lol.

Comparison is the thief of joy. I know that. Nobody needs to remind me. But it's easier said than practiced. Read biscuitlabyrinth's stuff and felt like a fraud. Read Jambound and felt like a skyscraper-sized fraud. It's hard not to compare yourself to others when the "others" are practically hailed as heroes by the fandom. When there are mountains upon mountains of fanart happily illustrating their work. When their story has the most hits and the most kudos and the most comments and the most bookmarks in the entire Cookie Run tag on AO3, and only receives more every passing day. When there are people who want to bind the fic and make it an actual, physical book, because they love it so much. No one has ever said or done any of that for me or my stuff. Never got even a fraction of that love or attention. Not even close. And I never, ever will.

Yeah yeah. Two cakes. Everyone has said that to me. But if you all had to choose. If you could only eat one cake while the other one went straight to the trash. You wouldn't pick mine, would you? You'd pick the other one. You'd pick Jambound. Everyone would. Even my friends on here would. Why bother wasting time and ingredients baking the thing if you know that's how it's going to be? What's the point?

I know I'm not owed success. Nobody is. It's earned. It just... hurts, I guess. It hurts to feel compelled to doubt yourself so strongly after finally allowing yourself to believe you've done a good job at something for once in your life. To feel like even when I try, even when I put my best foot forward, it's not good enough. Nobody actually cares. No one will ever think of you like they think of those other people and their work. No one will think of you at all. You're just a sad little wannabe loser, wallowing in their shadows.

I don't blame those people for these feelings. I don't blame anyone except myself. To think or do otherwise would be childish. No one is responsible for making me feel inferior/inadequate besides me. I accept that these thought and feelings are foolish. Whiny. Unfair. No one should pay them any mind. I'll sort through them on my own.

It's stupid, all of this. Oh no, some person's fanfiction is more popular than yours. Boo hoo. It's the end of the world. Stupid. It's all stupid. And yet, the feelings persist. It sucks. I don't want to feel this way. I'd rather just forget about it all and go back to being the loser who was content just writing for herself and nobody else, really. I don't look good in green, that's for sure lol. But it's hard. It's hard to let go of something that's got its jaws clenched around your neck so tight. Waiting for you to stop fighting and bleed out before it can finish its meal.

I always thought that writing was the only thing I was ever good at. That I was ever good for. Learned the hard way that that's not true. That my best was never anything but mediocre in reality. It's really no wonder Jambound is as beloved as it is. It's wonderful. Fantastic. It deserves all the praise it gets. I wish I could write half as well as that. But I don't. And now sometimes I wonder if anyone would even notice, even if I did.

I'm not happy writing anymore. Feels like it got snatched from me. The thing I love, that always brought me a measure of peace no matter how depressed I got. Gone. I can't draw worth a damn. I'm not funny. I'm not that smart. I never thought I had anything to give anyone except my writing. Now I understand that I don't have that, either. My cake sucks. No wonder everyone would rather eat theirs.

I'll get over it eventually. I'm stubborn if nothing else at all. I've got stories to tell and finish, even if they'll never mean anything to anyone except myself. Might as well. For my own sake.

There. Said my piece. Poured my miserable little heart out. Let's not talk about this anymore. Go back to enjoying the fancy, professional cake and celebrating the talented baker. Leave me to my cracked countertop covered in stale flour and rotten eggs and bland frosting. I never said anything worth listening to. I'm not sure I ever have.

No more self-pity after this, back to being a silly bozo as usual. Thanks for reading all this gunk if you bothered to for whatever reason. Y'all have a nice day. Better than mine, hopefully

[1nkwe4ver]

Okay had a thought from a comment on one of my posts that helped me articulate something

I was a few paragraphs deep into defending innie Mark’s feelings for Helly despite the persons issues with it (they’re only being together for a few weeks/months, the focus on whether Mark could tell the difference between Helly/Helena never being resolved, the shows sudden shift to having so much romance)

And like, I have arguments defending my opinions on Markhelly, sure. But I realized as I rambled them- my real feelings about Mark’s decision at the end of that hallway were not about Markhelly or Markgemma. Just like the show isn’t really about shipping or romance.

Here’s the thing: I’d argue that if Petey was still alive, (and their relationship remained platonic), he could have been the one at the end of that hallway, with a bit less romantic of a look, and I would have still bought the decision. Hell, I might have bought it as things are if Irving miraculously appeared. (would have been on the edge of my seat for how they explained that in season three, but just as an example.)

Because it’s not about the romance. It’s about the innies.

The show took a turn at the end of season 2- a predictable one, but at the same time one that seems to come out of nowhere.

We spend two seasons building up these characters, and their issues, and a whole new sci-fi-esque oppressed group of people.

And yet what was our conflict and goal really about? Who was our main character?

In one sense- Mark, of course.

But if we divide it between Innie and Outie Mark- Outie Mark is significant, but the show is not about him. And yet it has been. This whole show has been like- is Outie Mark gonna choose to help Petey? Reintegrate? Omg, his wife is down there? We have to save her!! And saving her has been the main goal for a while.

And Innie Mark wants to save her. He does. He’s a good person, he doesn’t want her to suffer.

But all this running around, romance with Helly, revolution, all that- it’s led to something else- he values his own life. We know it, we agree with it, and yet we still almost have the same surprised reaction Outie Mark does when he asserts it.

There is a distinct, hopeless tragedy looming over Mark and Helly this whole episode, because despite all we’ve been led to care about Innies being people and Innies having autonomy and innies having lives that end if their Outies never come back to work- in the final episode, doing the “right thing” is going to trap them.

It’s not the Innie’s world out there. Tomorrow they’re going to be gone no matter what they do. The last bit of good they do, is an act of good for the Outies. Mark *may* reintegrate if his Outie isn’t lying. If his outie will risk it after he has everything he wants. If that even still means some form of existence for innie Mark, cause won’t his 40 years swallow up innie Mark’s two? And Helly simply has no chance. Helena will never reintegrate. And Helly probably doesn’t want to be reintegrated with that kind of person.

So they are trapped. Alone, really. The show that seemed to be about the Innies has become Outies vs Lumon, using the Innies and their rebellion as foot soldiers to save one Outie woman. Innie Mark has been holding on by his finger nails trying to find a way to choose Innies, but there’s no way. No Option C. Mark and Helly expect to die.

But then our protagonist is faced with a pivotal decision. A couple of steps from leaving, making the final sacrifice for the Outies, ceasing to exist- which he hesitates to do even in his rush because that’s fucking scary-

Helly appears. Finally, Option C.

She’s not just the woman he loves. She got more Innies on her side. She’s got a minor resistance going. There’s a chance they could hold things off for a day. A few hours. An hour. A few minutes. Anything. Of course they’re not gonna win. Who said you have to win to make a difference?

Is it really love between them? Something objectively as true and full as what Outie Mark has with Gemma?

Who fucking cares? He’s been alive for 2 years. A couple of months must feel like a couple of Marks years, relatively. Not to mention, she changed everything about him. Set him free emotionally. Revolutionized him.

Who cares if it’s not quite up to Outie standards?

So what if they have half a love?

So what if they have half a life?

You expect them not to fight for it?

[vinjaryou]

Vincent for the ask game 👀

from the character breakdown ask game:

I got two asks for Vincent, so this will be the answer for both~

How I feel about this character

I love him, plain and simple.

I remember watching a friend play through OG years ago, before I played it, idly going through the strategy guide he had while he was bumbling around the overworld map, and seeing the Nibelheim section - and the guide going over how to get Vincent. Pointed right at the screenshot of him standing on the back of his coffin and told my friend, "you ARE getting him, right??"

Both my dad and I remember when I pulled a literal all-nighter to get Vincent when I played - from 5 PM to 5 AM, my poor dad checking on me right before he left for work just as Vincent did That Backflip, and his deadpan "...this is who you played all night for?"

Me: Dad, I love him.

Dad: ...please go to sleep after you save your game.

But I honestly adore just about everything about him. His overall character designs ping my love of vampires and gothic artstyles (though he is not a vampire), and his character arc in all its tragedy and redemption - he's gone through so much in his life, death, and existence now, and I love that he finally triumphs over it all and is on the way to finally being able to LIVE HIS LIFE, post-Dirge. He's helped me get through some really shitty times (to put it lightly) in my life, he's introduced me to some of my best friends... I owe him a lot~

I'm excited (and a little nervous/reserved) to see his storyline in the Remake continuity. We've gotten little tastes of it with his initial reactions to the group, THAT BATTLE (that yes, I cried through the first time, and teared up at the Rebirth concert), the design of the mansion basement (GODS IT ACHES ;; ), and the side-quests he's involved in... I want to see him get his showdown with Hojo. I want to see him starting to come to grips with everything now that he's decided to leave the mansion for good.

I want to hug him, goddammit (and I kinda get to in a few weeks when I go to C2E2 lol).

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Vincent/Reilena, aka VinRei. Yes, she is my OC, and has been my brainchild for over 20 years (watch me age myself).

Allow me to share a plate from this bountiful buffet I have cultivated, for I am a canon/oc shipper who makes her own food and will always welcome a new seat to the table~

Though I know now this makes me look incredibly biased, if we go strictly by canon, the only romantic ships I have with him are both unrequited - Vincent/Lucrecia (though I headcanon that they definitely had an emotional affair, and remained friends up until he was murdered, hence his initial "?!?!?!" when he discovers what Lucrecia's done to him as well in DoC), and Vincent/Reeve (Reeve is crushing HARD, alas).

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Platonic Valenwind gives me SUCH goddamn life, and Dirge made me SO happy when it revealed that Vincent and the Highwinds are still close friends, to the extent that Shera worries about his well-being, and Cid talks about "grabbing some cold ones" after the Deepground crisis. The mental image I have of Vincent, Cid, and Shera on a moonlit porch, stargazing and shooting the shit while having drinks is priceless.

My unpopular opinion about this character

I don't like the spikiness of his hair in Rebirth; give him back his original/AC or Dirge hair, dammit.

In all seriousness though - I don't like his appearance in Before Crisis (I don't like most of BC as a whole, but that's a ramble for another day). Instead of giving us a potential flashback to his time as a Turk, actually showing us what he did before he was sent to his death Nibelheim, we instead get yet another person waking him up before the OG just for him to give the location of a materia and for shippers to squeal "BUT THEY WERE ~PARTNERS~" because if you have two men partnered together in the Turks, they're obviously fucking.

Yes, I'm being sarcastic.

It feels like an unnecessary cameo done purely to snag fans of his from the OG. I would have rather the Player Turk peeked in, get freaked out a la Zack, and been like "LET'S LOOK SOMEWHERE ELSE."

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

SHOW US VINCENT AS A TURK.

SHOW HIM ACTUALLY DOING TURK THINGS.

Short of that, please give us ALL of his Limit Breaks in R3, SE. Do not soften them either - you gave us a big, beautiful beast with Galian (I said what I said), I am certain you're going all out with Chaos, I want to see Death Gigas and Hellmasker given a loving glow-up as well. Really get into those horror movie, Gothic influences.

[spearxwind]

I think it's sad that most people always think of bottlenoses as the "classic dolphin" since its the one that's always used for shows, and always think of dolphins as just straight grey when in reality there's so many varieties with so many different amazing patterns

Look at the common dolphin! They have a gorgeous X pattern and even some dull yellow/gold!!

Hourglass dolphins have gorgeous white streaks

Spinner dolphins have really pretty banding as well, AND they have a really sleek cute silhouette!

The atlantic spotted dolphin!!! Theyre spotted!!!!!!

and the pantropical spotted too!!

Dusky dolphins have a gorgeous airbrush look going on like straight out of a 2000s fantasy illustration

Striped dolphins sure have stripes!! How cool!!

And these I've shown you aren't even all of them at all, there are so many of them:

There's so so so many different types of dolphins people dont know about this isnt even all of them and some are SO gorgeous and underrated because people just dont know they exist so I'm here to fix that

[fireandiceland]

✨ Hetalia characters as famous paintings ✨

Italy: Sandro Botticelli, La nascita di Venere (The Birth of Venus)

America: Grant Wood, American Gothic

Germany: Albrecht Dürer, Selbstbildnis im Pelzrock; Feldhase (Self-Portrait in Fur-Collared Robe; Young Hare)

England: Thomas Gainsborough, The Blue Boy

France: Claude Monet, La Femme à l'ombrelle — Madame Monet et son fils (Woman With A Parasol - Madame Monet And Her Son)

Japan: Hishikawa Moronobu, 見返り美人図 (Beauty Looking Back)

Russia: Ivan Kramskoi, Неизвестная (Portrait of an Unknown Woman)

China: Unknown, 百人物像 冊 絹本 (One hundred portraits of Peking opera characters) (special thanks @maibluemen for helping me with this one!)

[tomaturtles]

Happy Campus Apocalypse volume 1 16th anniversary here's something to celebrate

[lostandbackagain]

valkyrie moodboard part 4 🎉🎉🎉

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

[justworthlessreblogs]

since i thought of it while i was typing up my last post: fuck jean-pierre, all my homies hate jean-pierre. that man isn't a good mentor and i'll never believe the show's insistence that he is. from what we see of him in the show he seems to come across as more of just a guy who gave kirapika a space to work on their sweets than a guy who actually taught them. all while i was watching the movie i was like. so there's gonna be a moment to show why ciel cares about this guy so much right. right. and it never came. you can absolutely construct an argument that he is partially why kirapika's situation turned out the way it did in paris: the way jean-pierre only ever cares about sweets (the very first time we see him in the movie he's criticizing ciel for slacking on her sweets, iirc) and his emphasis on working alone influencing kirarin, while causing pikario, who was struggling with his sweets and would've benefited a lot from some support, to spiral further. if jean-pierre barely gave kirarin, the star student, the time of day i doubt it was much better for pikario

[w1tchybusiness]

i could write a 100 page essay about what a fucking masterpiece warframe is. i will write many words in the tags. please readem if you want my 'tism.

[doctorruby]

i'm margot, 19, dykey femme lesbian, she/he/they

things i frequently post about

doctor who + severance + iwtv + dan and phil + good omens + 911 + the pitt + yellowjackets + the righteous gemstones

frequent tags: dr who, iwtv, wwdits, crimson + clover, firefly tag, claudia tag, tenmartha, rose tag, karen tag, hen tag, buck tag, crowley tag, aziracrow, loving you's a bloodsport, dnp

i don't do ship or character bashing outside of light criticism, i may have preferences but just to be clear, if you're an avid bucktommy anti/buddie anti, you will be made fun of for being ridiculous but all of my opinions about that will be here

i also have a side blog dedicated to dropout and dimension 20 stuff: @adainesscooter

my ao3, i'm trying to get back into writing more so if you have a prompt, you can send it to me to make me write, i will try to write them <3

DIVIDERS BY @CAFEKITSUNE