#I do have other ideas for other characters yes

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 2: April 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

...I am definitely blown away by the reception this story got. I did not expect that AT ALL, so thank you very much...and here you have Chapter 2! Warnings: we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Bad Real Estate decisions, Max being a simp for his girl, discussion of former toxic relationships...I think that's it? If I missed something, let me know.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

"Isabelle," Max murmured against her lips, his hands firm but steady on her waist.

She barely heard him. Not when he kissed her like this—slow and deep, his thumb brushing over her hip, his body warm and solid against hers. She curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer, tilting her head to kiss him harder. When he groaned softly, she took it as encouragement, pressing up against him and reaching for the hem of his shirt.

But just as her fingers grazed the skin of his stomach, Max caught her wrist, pulling back slightly.

"Wait."

She blinked up at him, lips parted, breath uneven. "What?"

His hands slid from her waist to her arms, a soothing touch. "We don’t have to rush."

Isabelle frowned. "I know we don’t have to. But I want to."

Max exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t want you to think this is just about that."

She froze, her mind stuttering over his words. "What?"

He studied her carefully, thumb rubbing small circles into her skin. "I like you. A lot. And I want you to know that I’m serious about this."

Isabelle stared at him, something in her chest tightening. No one had ever said that to her before. Every other boyfriend had been eager, had expected, had—

She swallowed. "You don’t… want me?"

Max’s expression softened, his grip on her tightening just slightly, like he wanted to anchor her in place. "Of course I do," he said, voice low, almost reverent. "I just don’t want you to think that’s all I want."

Her breath hitched.

She had never been anyone’s priority. Never been someone who wasn’t easy to forget, easy to leave behind. But here was Max, the most wanted man on the grid, telling her he wanted her—but not just her body.

Something like disbelief flickered in her chest. "You’re serious."

Max huffed a quiet laugh, brushing his nose against hers. "Very."

Isabelle swallowed again, her throat tight, and let herself relax into him. She let herself believe him.

"Okay."

Max smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Good."

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Max.

Max:  Good morning, Schatje.

Isabelle: Don’t start. Did you actually buy that penthouse?

Max: Yes.

Isabelle: And did you demand that I be the only architect allowed to work on it??

Max: Yes.

Isabelle: Do you have any idea how bad this looks?

Max: What’s bad about wanting the best?

Isabelle: MAX.

Isabelle: Do you know what people at work are saying now??

Max: That I have excellent taste in architects?

Isabelle: They think I got this project because of Charles.

Max: … What?

Isabelle: Oh yeah. The rumors are great. Apparently, I’m here because I’m a Leclerc, not because I actually worked for it.

Max: … That’s stupid.

Isabelle: Tell that to my coworkers.

Max: You think I’d let Charles pick my architect?

Isabelle: No, but they don’t know that.

Max: Then tell them.

Isabelle: Oh sure, that’ll go well. “Actually, my brother had nothing to do with it, my boyfriend just demanded that I be the only one allowed to work on his project.” That sounds so much better.

Max: Ok, maybe that doesn’t help.

Isabelle: You think??

Max: I just wanted to work with you.

Isabelle: Yeah, and now people are whispering about nepotism and favoritism and how I’m only here because of my family name.

Max: They clearly don’t know you.

Isabelle: I KNOW. But it’s still frustrating. I’ve worked my ass off, Max. I didn’t want my name getting me jobs. I wanted my work to.

Max: And it has. That’s why I picked you. Not because of your name. Because I trust you.

Isabelle: You could have given me a heads-up, you know.

Max: And you would have said no.

Isabelle: That is not the point.

Max: But would you?

Isabelle:: …

Max: That’s what I thought.

Isabelle: You really bought that penthouse just so I could design it?

Max: I bought that penthouse because I liked it. But I only wanted you working on it.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

Max: And you’re brilliant.

Isabelle: Thank you.

Max: Always.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You are NOT going to believe what Max did.

Emilie: That sentence could mean literally anything.

Isabelle: He bought the penthouse. THE penthouse. The one we talked about once in passing.

Emilie: …Okay, that’s insane, but also, congrats? You love that place.

Isabelle: THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

Emilie: Oh, I think it is.

Isabelle: He also demanded that I be the architect working on it. Wouldn’t sign anything unless my name was on the project.

Emilie: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Isabelle: It’s not funny!

Emilie: No, it absolutely is.

Isabelle: People at work are already saying I only got the project because of Charles!

Emilie: Oh. Yeah, I can see that.

Isabelle: Which is wrong. Because I didn’t get it because of Charles. I got it because of my boyfriend, which is somehow worse.

Emilie: You say worse. I say deeply, deeply romantic.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: Isabelle. 

Emilie: Your rich, lovesick boyfriend is out here spending millions just to have an excuse to see you every day, and you’re MAD?

Isabelle: I AM TRYING TO BE PROFESSIONAL.

Emilie: He is trying to wife you.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you don’t. Now tell me—when’s the housewarming, and how much champagne should I bring?

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: You CANNOT keep doing this.

Max: Doing what?

Isabelle: Abusing your “professional client” status to drag me to fancy lunches.

Max: I’m not abusing anything. We have important business discussions to conduct.

Isabelle: You mean the penthouse where you’ve approved every single one of my plans without question?

Max: Exactly. We need to make sure I have no doubts.

Isabelle: You just want an excuse to take me to a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Max: And?

Isabelle: That’s not how professional client-architect meetings work.

Max: It is when I’m the client.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: You don’t have to say yes.

Isabelle: …

Max: But you want to.

Isabelle: That’s not the point.

Max: Just think of it as me paying you for your excellent work.

Isabelle: That’s what your actual payments are for.

Max: But those aren’t fun.

Isabelle: MAX.

Isabelle: People at work already think I got this job because of Charles. Now you’re making it worse.

Max: First of all, you got this job because you’re brilliant.

Max: Second, if they think that, they’re idiots.

Max: Third, I booked a table with a view.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: Don’t pretend you don’t want to come.

Isabelle: That’s not the point.

Max: You didn’t say no.

Isabelle: …

Max: I’ll see you at one.

Isabelle: I officially regret ever mentioning my favorite restaurants to you.

Max: That was your mistake, not mine.

Max: But I’ll make it up to you with dessert.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You will not believe what Max is doing.

Emilie: Oh, this is already good. Go on.

Isabelle: He’s using the penthouse project as an excuse to take me to fancy lunches.

Emilie: …And the problem is???

Isabelle: Emilie. People at work already think I got this job because of Charles. If they find out I’m going to Michelin-starred restaurants in the middle of the day with a client, I will NEVER hear the end of it.

Emilie: Okay, but is he actually talking about the penthouse during these lunches?

Isabelle: He pretends to for about five minutes. Then he just orders my favourite foods for me and acts like we’re on a date.

Emilie: …So you’re saying you’re mad because your boyfriend is taking you on nice dates and feeding you good food?

Isabelle: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

Emilie: Oh, I think it is the point.

Isabelle: I just—he’s impossible!

Emilie: What restaurant was it this time?

Isabelle: Le Louis XV.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle:

Emilie: You are sitting here complaining to me after being wined and dined at ALAIN DUCASSE’S RESTAURANT???

Isabelle: I AM TRYING TO BE PROFESSIONAL.

Emilie: Shut up and tell me what you ate!

***

Isabelle laid out fabric swatches on the table, neatly arranging them in rows. “These are the options for the curtains,” she said, keeping her voice professional. “I’ve chosen materials that complement the lighting and textures in the space while also being durable.”

Max picked up a swatch at random, turning it over like he’s actually considering it. “Yeah… so which one do you like best?”

Isabelle sighed. “That’s not the point, Max.”

“But it kind of is,” he countered, leaning back in his chair. “You know what looks good. I trust you.”

She exhaled, trying to keep the conversation on track. “My job isn’t to pick what I like, it’s to give you the best options based on your preferences and the space—”

“My preference,” Max interrupted, “is to not think too hard about curtain fabrics. So, tell me, which one would you put in your own place?”

She pressed her lips together but eventually pointed to a light cream fabric with a soft texture. “This one.”

Max immediately nodded. “Perfect. We’ll go with that.”

“That’s not how this works,” Isabelle protested.

“It is now.” He grinned, tapping the swatch like the decision is final.

She gave him a look but moves on, pulling out samples for the kitchen backsplash. “Alright, for the tiles—”

Max smirked. “What do you like best?”

Isabelle groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “You are impossible.”

Max chuckled, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I don’t see the problem. You have good taste. I want my place to look good. This seems like a win-win situation.”

Isabelle lifted her head, giving him a flat look. “Max.”

“Yes?”

“You are literally paying me to make these decisions for you based on your preferences, not mine.”

Max shrugged. “Yeah, but my main preference is trusting you.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s not how this works.”

“It is when I’m the client.” His grin was infuriatingly smug.

Isabelle sighed, shaking her head, but she couldn’t quite hide the small smile creeping onto her face. “Fine. But if you hate something later, I’m telling everyone this was your fault.”

“I won’t hate it,” Max said easily, glancing at the tile samples. “So… which one would you use in your own kitchen?”

Isabelle groaned dramatically. “You are impossible.”

Max just smirked. “You already said that.”

Isabelle rubbed her temples like she’s trying to ward off a headache. “You know, most clients want a functional, cohesive design that suits their lifestyle.”

Max leant back against the kitchen island, watching her with amused eyes. “And I want a functional, cohesive design that you think looks good.”

“That’s not—” She exhaled sharply. “Okay, fine. I’d go with the marble option for the counters. It’s classic, it won’t date badly, and it works with the natural light in here.”

Max nodded like that’s exactly what he was going to pick anyway. “Perfect. Marble it is.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “You’re just agreeing with me so I stop arguing with you.”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “Or maybe I actually value your opinion.”

She huffed, flipping through the fabric swatches again. “Alright, what about your bedroom curtains? Darker shades are better for blocking light in the mornings.”

Max hummed, looking over the options. “Which one do you like?”

“Max.”

“What? You just said you’re designing for functionality. You clearly think one of these is the best choice.”

She muttered something under her breath, then points at a deep navy fabric. “This one. It’ll keep the room dark, and it’s not too heavy for the space.”

“Done.”

Isabelle levelled him with a suspicious look. “You’re making this way too easy.”

Max shrugged. “I told you. I trust you.” He gestures around the penthouse. “Besides, I plan to spend most of my time here with you. Might as well make sure you don’t hate it.”

She stilled for half a second, but then rolls her eyes like she’s not affected. “Professionalism, Max.”

Max just smirked, reaching for another set of samples. “Alright, Miss Leclerc, what’s next?”

Isabelle pointedly ignored the way her stomach does an annoying little flip at his words and refocuses on the task at hand. She flipped open her notebook, determined to keep things professional. "We still need to finalize your living room furniture. You said you wanted a sectional, right?"

Max nodded, leaning slightly over her shoulder to glance at her notes. "Yeah, something big enough to stretch out on. And for the cats."

She glanced up at him. "And for guests?"

Max blinked. "I mean, sure. If I have guests."

Isabelle sighed. "Do you ever think about designing your space for other people?"

"I am thinking about other people," he countered easily. "I’m thinking about you. You like to sit in the corner with a book, so we should get one with a deep chaise. And you like soft blankets, so whatever fabric we pick needs to feel nice."

She stared at him for a beat too long. "You—" She shakes her head. "You notice a lot more than you let on."

Max shrugged. "I like watching you."

Isabelle blinked rapidly and turned back to her samples before he could see the flush creeping up her neck. Professionalism. She needed to focus.

"Okay," she said, clearing her throat. "Fabric choices for the sectional—"

Max leant forward, already grinning. "Which one do you like?"

Isabelle groaned, slamming her notebook shut. "You are impossible."

Max just laughed. "I’m making sure my designer is happy with her work. That’s important, right?"

"That’s not how this works."

"Sure it is," he said breezily, nudging her shoulder with his. "If you think this place should feel like me, then I think it should feel like you, too."

Isabelle gripped her pen a little too tightly. "You’re insufferable."

Max grinned. "And yet, here you are."

Isabelle exhaled slowly, flipping through the swatches with more force than necessary. “Fine. You want my opinion? This one.” She pulled out a deep green fabric, soft under her fingers. “It’s comfortable, durable, and it won’t clash with anything else.”

Max reaches out, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “It’s nice.” Then he grins. “You just like it because it’s your favourite colour.”

She paused. “That is not why I picked it.”

“Sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “But I remember you said you like green because it reminds you of home. And I want you to feel at home here.”

Isabelle’s fingers tighten around the fabric. “Max—”

“So, green it is,” he cut in before she can say anything else, grabbing the sample and setting it aside. Then he leans back, smug. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You have to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like this apartment is for both of us.”

Max tilted his head. “Well, you are spending a lot of time here.”

“That’s because I’m working.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. “And when the project is done?”

Isabelle pressed her lips together, not wanting to answer that question. Because the truth is, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to think about finishing this penthouse and walking away.

Max must have sensed her hesitation because his expression softened. “You know, you don’t have to leave when it’s done.”

She swallowed, trying to ignore the way her heart pounds. “Max.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, voice light but eyes serious. “I don’t mind having you around.”

Isabelle forced herself to focus back on her notebook. Professionalism. Boundaries. She had to remember them.

But as she moved on to the next decision—choosing dining chairs—she couldn’t  help but feel like she’s already losing that battle.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max is going to drive me insane.

Emilie: What did he do now?

Isabelle: He refuses to make a single decision about the penthouse. Not one.

Emilie: Oh, this is going to be good.

Isabelle: I showed him flooring samples, and he just said, “Which one do you like best, schatje?” I asked him about the kitchen walls, and he went, “I trust your taste.”

Emilie: He’s so in love with you, it’s actually disgusting.

Isabelle: EMILIE, I NEED HIM TO HAVE AN OPINION.

Emilie: He does. His opinion is that your opinion is the only one that matters.

Isabelle: That’s not how this works! He’s the one who has to live there!

Emilie: You will be the one living there with him, if he gets his way. He’s just pretending it’s not obvious.

Emilie: He’s setting up your future home together and letting you build it exactly the way you want. That man would let you paint the walls hot pink if it made you happy.

Emilie: He’s letting you pick everything because he wants you to feel at home.

Emilie: Tell me I’m wrong.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you don’t. Now, if you suggested, hypothetically, that the whole kitchen should be neon green, how fast do you think he’d say yes?

Isabelle: He wouldn’t even hesitate.

Emilie: This man is whipped.

Emilie: He’s so gone for you. It’s actually hilarious.

Isabelle: This is a nightmare.

Emilie: Just be glad he’s not insisting on Red Bull colors.

Isabelle: I take it back. It could be worse.

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

****

"I think I’m falling in love with him."

Isabelle hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It just slipped out, quiet and uncertain, as she sat across from Emilie at their usual café.

Emilie, mid-sip of her drink, slowly set her cup down and arched an eyebrow. “No shit.”

Isabelle groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I mean too fast,” she muttered. “It’s too fast.”

Emilie leaned back, unimpressed. “Define ‘too fast.’”

“I don’t know.” Isabelle exhaled, sitting up and fiddling with the edge of her napkin. “It’s like—I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to go wrong. For him to change.”

Emilie just stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “Belle. He’s treating you better than your own family ever did. That’s not ‘too fast.’ That’s just right.”

“That’s not—” Isabelle started, but Emilie held up a hand.

“Let’s review,” she said, counting on her fingers. “He listens to you. He remembers things you like. He makes time for you. He prioritizes you. That’s the bare minimum of what you deserve, Belle. And you know damn well you’ve never had it before.”

Isabelle swallowed hard.

Emilie’s expression softened. “Look, I get it. It’s scary when someone actually cares about you, especially when you’re used to being the afterthought. But Max? He’s not going anywhere. And you? You’re not falling too fast. You’re just finally being caught.”

Isabelle exhaled, staring down at her coffee.

“Also,” Emilie added, smirking, “you’re absolutely screwed, because I think you’ve been in love with him for weeks.”

Isabelle groaned again, and Emilie just laughed.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emilie. I think something is wrong with Max.

Emilie: Oh god, what happened??

Isabelle: He just gave me flowers.

Emilie: …And???

Isabelle: There’s no occasion. No reason. He just handed them to me and said, “Thought you’d like these.”

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: And then he pulled out my favorite wine. Already chilled. Already opened. Just there.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: AND THEN he sat with me. No phone, no distractions, just me. He asked about my day. Actually listened.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING MY NAME.

Emilie: Because you’re being so stupidly loved and acting like it’s a problem.

Isabelle: I just don’t know what to do with it. I feel like I should be doing something in return??

Emilie: You are. You exist. You let him love you. That’s enough.

Isabelle: But I’ve never—no one’s ever—

Emilie: I know. But this is what it’s supposed to be like.

Isabelle: …It feels weird.

Emilie: You’ll get used to it.

Isabelle: Will I?

Emilie: Yeah. And then one day, it won’t feel weird at all. It’ll just feel like love.

Isabelle: …Huh.

Emilie: Huh, she says. Like I haven’t been telling her this for years.

Isabelle: Shut up.

Emilie: Nope. Now go drink your fancy wine and let your boyfriend adore you.

Isabelle: …Fine.

Emilie: That’s my girl.

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments:

@/arthur_leclerc: ??? From who?

@/charles_leclerc: Since when do you get flowers??

@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀

@/F1GossipQueen: OMG IS ISABELLE SOFT LAUNCHING A BOYFRIEND???

↳@/paddockprincessx: We are watching this situation VERY closely.

@/leclercsiblingtea: The Leclerc brothers seem deeply unsettled by this turn of events. 

@/lorenzotl: Be honest. Did you buy these for yourself?

***

Isabelle wasn’t trying to snoop.

She was just tidying up a little while Max was in the kitchen—because, frankly, he lived like someone who was always on the road (which he was). That’s how she spotted the iPad on the coffee table, screen still on. She had only glanced at it in passing, but then something caught her eye.

French lessons.

Her first reaction was confusion. Then amusement. Then something warmer, something that made her heartbeat do something a little ridiculous in her chest.

“Max?” she called out, picking up the iPad.

“Yeah?” His voice floated back from the kitchen, followed by the sound of the fridge opening. “Do you want some water?”

She walked in, holding up the iPad like it was evidence in a trial. “Are you secretly moving to Paris?”

Max turned around, brow furrowing. “What?”

She waved the iPad at him. “Since when are you learning French?”

His face did not do a good job of hiding his guilt. His eyes flickered to the screen, then back to her, and he shifted on his feet like he was debating snatching it out of her hands. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that.” Isabelle crossed her arms, fighting a smile. “What’s the story, Verstappen? Career change? Planning to start giving post-race interviews in French?”

Max sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I live in Monaco. Figured it was time I actually learned, you know, the main language people speak here.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“What?” He shrugged. “It makes sense.”

“It does make sense.” She took a step closer. “Except you’ve lived in Monaco for years and have never cared before.”

Max glanced at the iPad again, like it would somehow save him. When it didn’t, he exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Fine. Maybe I had another reason.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “And that reason is?”

His ears were turning pink. “You.”

She blinked. “Me?”

“You switch to French when you’re with your family,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at her. “Or when you’re distracted. Or when you get really excited about something. And I—I wanted to understand you better.”

Oh.

Oh.

Isabelle stared at him, warmth flooding her chest. “Max…”

He sighed again, clearly bracing himself for teasing. “Look, if you think it’s stupid—”

“I don’t,” she interrupted, her voice soft. “I think it’s… really sweet.”

Max relaxed slightly, still wary. “Yeah?”

She smiled. “Yeah.” Then she nudged him. “Okay, say something.”

He groaned. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

Max hesitated. Then, after a deep breath, he said—slowly, carefully—“Je veux tout comprendre de toi.”

I want to understand everything about you.

Isabelle’s breath caught.

She looked up at him, and suddenly, the teasing was gone. Her heart was thudding, her fingers itching to reach for him. “Max.”

He shifted again. “Did I say it wrong?”

She shook her head. Then, without thinking, she leaned up and kissed him.

Max made a startled sound but recovered quickly, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. When she finally pulled away, his grin was dazed.

“So,” he said, slightly breathless. “That was because of the French, huh?”

She laughed, tucking her head against his shoulder. “Guess you’ll have to keep practicing.”

Max tightened his hold on her. “Done.”

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max is learning French.

Emilie: ???

Emilie: Like YOUR Max? The one who has lived in Monaco forever and has survived just fine with English and Dutch?

Isabelle: Yes!!!

Isabelle: I found his iPad open with some French lesson on it, and when I asked, he said he lives in Monaco so it was about time he learned.

Emilie: That… does make sense.

Isabelle: But then I pressed him, and he admitted he’s actually doing it because of ME.

Emilie: Oh.

Emilie: Ohhhh.

Emilie: Isabelle. He’s in LOVE love.

Isabelle: I don’t even know what to do with this information.

Emilie: Girl, you kiss him stupid, that’s what.

Isabelle: I already did that!!!

Emilie: Good. Keep doing it.

Emilie: Good for him. He’s putting in the effort. He’s out here grinding on Duolingo just to impress.

Isabelle: That’s what’s shocking me the most… Nobody has ever done that for me before.

Emilie: Well, he’s not just anybody, is he?

Isabelle: No. He’s Max.

Emilie: Exactly. And Max Verstappen? He doesn’t do anything halfway.

***

Text Messages:Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Need your help.

GP: If this is about strategy on a Monday at 11 in the evening, I’m hanging up.

Max: It’s not.

GP: Then what?

Max: Isabelle’s birthday is coming up. I need a gift.

GP: …You do realize just because I’m married, I’m not a fountain of romantic wisdom, right?

Max: Who else am I supposed to ask?

GP: Literally anyone else?

Max: You’re the only one I trust not to be an idiot about this.

GP: I feel like that was a compliment and an insult at the same time.

Max: Just help me.

GP: Alright, what are you thinking?

Max: Something personal. Not just perfume or a handbag.

GP: Already doing better than most.

Max: That’s a low bar.

GP: True. Jewelry? Something meaningful?

Max: I was thinking emeralds. Her birthstone. And it matches her eyes.

GP: …Wow. You’re actually in deep.

Max: Not the point.

GP: Sure, sure. Bracelet? Necklace? Something she can wear every day?

Max: Yeah. Probably a bracelet.

GP: Go for it. But just so you know, if you keep setting the bar this high, you’re making the rest of us look bad.

Max: Not my problem.

GP: Yeah, that tracks. Let me know what you pick.

Max: Will do. Thanks.

GP: Anytime. Just remember, I’m charging a consulting fee next time.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: This is Max. Isabelle’s Max.

Emilie: …Hello, Isabelle’s Max. To what do I owe the honor?

Max: I need help. It’s about Isabelle’s birthday.

Emilie: Go on.

Max: I need Isabelle’s wrist size.

Emilie: …What.

Max: Her wrist size.

Emilie: That’s it? No explanation? No context? Just casually asking for her wrist size like that’s a normal thing?

Max: Yes.

Emilie: I don’t trust you.

Max: That feels unnecessary.

Emilie: UNNECESSARY? MAX, I HAVE SPENT YEARS FIGHTING A LOSING BATTLE AGAINST HER FAMILY’S COMPLETE INABILITY TO GET HER A DECENT GIFT.

Max: …

Emilie: Charles once got her a Ferrari-branded umbrella. ”In case you ever come to a race and it rains.”

Max: …

Emilie: Arthur once got her a stuffed animal from an airport gift shop, because he nearly forgot entirely one year. Just straight-up forgot Belle had a birthday.

Max: …

Emilie: Lorenzo got her candle last year. A SINGLE. GENERIC. VANILLA. CANDLE. SHE DOESN’T EVEN LIKE VANILLLA; SHE GETS HEADACHES FROM IT.

Max: That’s actually embarrassing.

Emilie: Thank you. But I’m not done.

Max: Oh no.

Emilie: Their mother gave Isabelle a cookbook.

Max: That’s… not the worst?

Emilie: It was a diet cookbook.

Max: …

Max: What the hell.

Emilie: EXACTLY.

Max: And you’re saying this happens every year?

Emilie: EVERY. YEAR. Max, I have a Google Doc. I have an entire spreadsheet dedicated to “How to Make Sure Isabelle Actually Gets Something Nice.” I am fighting for my life out here.

Max: Not anymore.

Emilie: Wait.

Max: Attachment: Image of three emerald bracelets

Max: I’m thinking emeralds. It’s her birthstone. Matches her eyes.

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie: MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN.

Max: What.

Emilie: YOU ALREADY PICKED OUT OPTIONS???

Max: I was narrowing it down.

Emilie: NARROWING IT DOWN. LIKE A FUNCTIONING HUMAN MAN. LIKE SOMEONE WHO ACTUALLY PUTS THOUGHT INTO GIFTS. LIKE SOMEONE WHO KNOWS HER FAVORITE GEMSTONE AND HOW IT MATCHES HER EYES.

Max: …Yes?

Emilie: DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW INFURIATING THIS IS FOR ME. I HAVE BEEN CARRYING THIS FAMILY.

Max: So you don’t know her wrist size?

Emilie: FIFTEEN CENTIMETERS. 

Max: Appreciate the help.

Emilie: Oh, and just for future reference—her ring size is 50.

Max: …

Max: Just for future reference?

Emilie: Just saying. You never know.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1GossipQueen: 🚨 UM. Just saw Max Verstappen in a jewelry store in Miami. He was looking at bracelets and asking about emeralds.

@/OversteerAndTears: Not me immediately googling “Max Verstappen girlfriend emerald jewelry” like I’m gonna find something.

@/SoftForMax: Max Verstappen. In a jewelry store. Asking about emeralds. Who is she.

@/F1GossipQueen: He was so serious about it too. Like asking the salesperson about different settings and cuts.

@/CheckeredHeart: SETTINGS??? DIFFERENT CUTS?!?!

@/F1GossipQueen: Yes!!! And he was like, “She likes emeralds, but I want something subtle.” Like WHO, MAX??

@/FastCarsAndDrama: “She likes emeralds.” SHE??? I’M GONNA THROW UP.

@/MaxIsMyGOAT: So we’re just casually learning that Max Verstappen not only has a girlfriend but knows her jewelry preferences well enough to mention them in a store???@/OrangeArmy82: Maybe it’s for his mom or sister. We don’t know it’s for a girlfriend.

[lulujamesspencer]

I think for sensitivity/authenticity readers you need to approach it like any other outside reader or editor: approach it as you would a therapist and pick one that fits with your style of working, actually reads and likes your genre, and will be able to give their edits/critiques in a way that is accurate AND kind. This is especially important for neurodiverse folks (solidarity fist bump to my RSD neurodiverse folks).

Story: About 10 years ago, I graduated seminary and had an idea for a theological non-fiction book on mulit-faith spirituality, which also strayed into politics and other issues. I wrote an introduction that I thought was good and interesting, so I sent it to someone who I thought would give me good advice on some of the topics, since she had experience in those areas, and maybe point out if I'd gone too far afield with some of the topics.

When I got their comments back, it was devastating and soul crushing. They ripped it to shreds, and, in areas I thought we shared similar opinions they shredded my manuscript as if they put it in a wood chipper then stomped on the mulch. Much of it the shredding was due, I think, to a mininterpretation of my wider neurodivergent thinking, but it may just be that I didn't explain myself right or... well, I just don't know, since it was hard to get past their criticisms and telling me how I was completely stupid and wrong about all of it. Now, if their comments were more like, "I don't think I agree with this statement. Did you mean for it to come off saying XYZ?" of "This doesn't happen in my experience, could you explain what your thought process was here?" I probably would have been fine, but instead they were angry and mean and assumed I didn't have knowledge about certain areas when I actually did have extensive knowledge. It was my first foray into non-fiction and as I said earlier, it was soul crushing. I really wanted to write that book, and still wish I could, but to this day I can't even start writing non-fiction without thinking about that and getting extrememly anxious. (And yes, I go to therapy, etc etc) For my fiction stuff, I'm much more careful about who I let read my early drafts. My Wife is my first reader/listener and she loves scifi and fantasy and she's able to give me feedback that's constructive, but also kind and compassionate. I have a great editor who is also very good at giving me constructive edits and feedback, but is also very kind and compassionate in the way she does it. I have a lot of friends from different experiences in life that I am comfortable asking questions of if I need to check things and I'm also very good at research. This, so far, has worked for me, and now I have 5 books of fantasy and science fiction out.

This is also why I self-publish. The constant rejection of traditional publishing would stop me from writing all together. I still can't write non-fiction in book form and that was from just one person who didn't really think about how their criticism would effect me. I also don't do writing groups, as many writing groups use a model that would absolutely ensure I never write again. So, if you are an editor, beta reader, part of a writing group, or even an agent or publisher, know that your rejections, harsh criticisms, or tough love, doesn't improve most writers, especially neurodivergent writers. Know that a lot of writers DO want to do justice to characters from experiences that they don't have experience in. I've heard stories like mine with really mean sensitivity/beta readers, and a number of those people will never write again, or never write publicly again. Please be aware that you can kill someone's passion and talent, possibly permanently.

And writers, be careful who you ask to read your stuff, and if someone has been mean, know that it's not you or your writing. Try not to give up, or give in to the tapes in your head that tell you you're horrible. Find better people to read your stuff.

On sensitivity readers, weakness, and staying alive.

The other day I was part of a Twitter conversation begun by a fellow-author on the subject of sensitivity readers, in which he said that no serious author would use sensitivity readers, and spoke of work being “sanitized”. The conversation devolved, as it often does on Twitter, but it got me thinking. It must have got someone else thinking too, because a journalist from the Sunday Times got in touch with me the next day, and asked me to share my ideas on the subject. Because I have no control over how my words are used in the Press, or in what context they might appear, here’s more or less what I told her.

I think a lot of people (some of them authors, most of them not) misunderstand the role of a sensitivity reader. That’s probably mostly because they’ve never used one, and are misled by the word “sensitivity”, which, in a world of toxic masculinity, is often mistaken for weakness. To these people, hiring someone to check one’s work for sensitivity purposes implies a surrendering of control, a shift in the balance of power. 

In some ways, I can empathize. Most authors feel a tremendous sense of attachment to their work. Giving it to someone else for comment is often stressful. And yet we do: we hand over our manuscripts to specialists in grammar, spelling or plot construction. We allow them to comment. We take their advice. We call these people editors and copy-editors, and they are a good and necessary part of the process of being an author. Their job is to make an author’s work as accurate and well-polished as possible.

When writing non-fiction, authors sometimes use fact-checkers at the editorial stage, to make sure that no embarrassing factual mistakes make it into print. This fact-checking is a normal part of the writing process. We owe it to our readers to be as accurate as possible. No-one wants to look as if they don’t know what they’re talking about.

That’s why now, increasingly, when writing about the lives and experiences of others, we sometimes use readers with different specialities. That’s because, however great our imagination, however well-travelled we may be and however many books we have read, there will always be gaps in our knowledge of the way other people live, or feel, or experience the world. Without the input of those with first-hand knowledge, there’s always a danger we will slip up. That’s why crime writers often consult detectives when researching their detective fiction, or someone writing a hospital drama might find it useful to talk to a surgeon, or a nurse, or to someone with the medical condition they are planning to use in their narrative. That’s why someone writing about divorce, or disability, or being adopted, or being trans, or being homeless, or being a sex worker, or being of a different ethnicity, or of a different culture – might find it useful to take the advice of someone with more experience.

There are a number of ways to do this. One of my favourites is The Human Library, which allows subscribers to talk to all kinds of people and ask them questions about their lives  (Check them out at https://humanlibrary.org/). The other possibility is to hire a specialist sensitivity reader to go through your manuscript and check it. Both can be a valuable resource, and I doubt many authors would believe that their writing is sanitized, or diluted, or diminished by using these resources.

And yet, the concept of the sensitivity readers – which is basically another version of the specialist editor and fact-checker – continues to cause outrage and panic among those who see their use as political correctness gone mad, or unacceptable wokery, or bowdlerization, or censorship. The Press hasn’t helped. Outrage sells copies, and therefore it isn’t in the interest of the national media to point out the truth behind the ire.

Let’s look at the facts.

First, it isn’t obligatory to use a sensitivity reader. It’s a choice. I’ve used several, both officially and unofficially, for many different reasons, just as I’ve always tried to speak to people with experience when writing characters with disabilities, or from different cultures or ethnic groups. I know that my publisher already sends my work to readers of different ages and from different backgrounds, and I always run my writing past my son, who often has insights that I lack.  

Sensitivity reading is a specialist editorial service. It isn’t a political group, or the woke brigade, or an attempt to overthrow the status quo. It’s simply a writing resource; a means of reaching the widest possible audience by avoiding inaccuracy, clumsiness, or the kind of stereotyping that can alienate or pull the reader out of the story.

Sensitivity readers don’t go around crossing out sections of an author’s work and writing RACIST!!! in the margin. Usually, it’s more on the lines of pointing out details the author might have missed, or failed to consider: avoiding misinformation; suggesting authentic details that only a representative of a particular group would know.

Authors can always refuse advice. That’s their prerogative. If they do, however, and once their book is published, they receive criticism or ridicule because their book was insufficiently researched, or inauthentic, or was perceived as perpetuating harmful or outdated stereotypes, then they need to face and deal with the consequences. With power comes responsibility. We can’t assume one, and ignore the other,

Being more aware of the experiences of others doesn’t mean we have to stop writing problematic characters. Sensitivity reading isn’t about policing bad behaviour in books. It’s perfectly possible to write a thoroughly unpleasant character without suggesting that you’re condoning their behaviour. Sensitivity is about being more authentic, not less.

People noticed bigotry and racism in the past, too. Some people feel that books published a hundred years ago are somehow more pure, or more free, or more representative of the author’s vision than books published now. You often hear people say things like: “If Dickens were around today, he wouldn’t get published.”

But Dickens is still published. We still get to read Oliver Twist, in spite of its anti-Semitism. And those who believe that Dickens’ anti-Semitism was accepted as normal by his contemporaries probably don’t know that not only was he criticized by his peers for his depiction of Fagin, he actually went back and changed the text, removing over 200 references, after receiving criticism by a Jewish reader. And no, it wasn’t “normal” to be anti-Semitic in those days: Wilkie Collins, whose work was as popular as Dickens’ own, managed to write a range of Jewish characters without relying on harmful and inaccurate stereotypes. 

But it isn’t automatic that a book will survive its author. Books all have shelf lives, just as we do, and Dickens’ work has survived in spite of his anti-Semitism, not because of it. The work of many others has not. Books are for readers, and if an author loses touch with their readers - either by clinging to outdated tropes, or using outdated vocabulary, or having an outdated style – then their books will cease to be published, and they will be forgotten. It happens all the time. What one generation loves and admires may be rejected by the next. And the language is always changing. Nowadays, it’s hard to read some books that were popular 100 years ago. Styles have changed, sometimes too much for the reader to tolerate.

Recently, someone on tumblr asked about my use of the word “gypsy” in Chocolat, and whether I meant to have it changed in later editions. (River-gypsies is the term I use in connection with Roux and the river people, who are portrayed in a positive light, although they are often victims of prejudice.) It was an interesting question, and I gave it a lot of thought. When I wrote the book 25 years ago, the word “gypsy” was widely used by the travelling community, and as far as I knew, wasn’t considered offensive. Nowadays, there’s a tendency to regard it as a slur. That’s why I stopped using it in my later Chocolat books. No-one told me to. It was my choice. I don’t feel as if I’ve lost any of my artistic integrity by taking into account the fact that a word has a different resonance now. On the other hand, I don’t feel that at this stage I need to go back and edit the book I wrote. That’s because Chocolat is a moment in time. It uses the language of the moment. Let it stand for as long as it can. 

But I don’t have to stay in one place. I can move on. I can change. Change is how we show the world that we are still alive. That we are still able to feel, and to  learn, and to be aware of others. That’s what “sensitive” means, after all. And it is nothing like weakness. Living, changing, learning – that’s hard. Playing dead is easy.

[no-144444]

simple, easy life- m.verstappen

summary: an accident happens and max's life changes for the worst

pairing: max verstappen x fem! reader

warnings: main character death, death, car crashes

a/n: YUKI TO RB???? I MEAN SLAY FOR HIM BUT ALSO THE RB IS SHIT, AND POOR LIAM, AND I HATE REDBULL! (not u isack, yuki, max, or liam, but fuck u helmut marko u twat)

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Realistically, cars were Max’s first love. You weren’t disillusioned to the fact that Max was a car guy in every sense of the word, and constantly made jokes that he loved his cars more than you. 

He’d never drive a car again if it meant you never got hurt like this. 

He had been sitting at dinner, the most regular experience, the night before the China GP, and your best mate, Hailee, called him sobbing crying. 

“Max, it’s Y/n, I have no idea what’s happened, but it’s bad. She’s in emergency surgery or something, they didn’t tell me. I just- GET HERE, alright Max. Get here.”

And she hung up as his world stopped. His entire world shattered because you were hurt, you were thousands of miles away, and he had a race tomorrow. 

“Are you alright mate?” GP leaned over and questioned, his voice low. 

“I have to go back to Monaco,” he announced, getting up from his chair and tucking his jacket under his arm, beginning the walk out of the restaurant. 

GP fumbled to follow after him, and the voices of Helmut, Jos,  and Christian calling Max back echoed through the restaurant. “Mate, what’s going on?!” GP shouted after him as they reached the streets of Shanghai. 

“It’s personal,” he answered. “Get Yuki to fill my seat. Have Pepe fill his. Done.”

“Max, Christian isn’t going to take ‘it’s personal’ as a response, that’s going on?” GP grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. “What’s happened?”

“Y/n’s hurt,” he admitted, looking down. “And she needs me.” 

His face fell, his jaw dropping. “My god, is she alright?” 

Max shrugged, emotion catching in his throat. “I don’t know.”

He'd never seen Max like that. He’d never seen him almost cry over a girl. He’d never seen him sacrifice championship points for someone, for anyone. 

“What’s going on Max?” Jos demanded, stepping out beside the two men. He placed a hand on the back of his neck, and Max tensed up. 

“I have to go back to Monaco,” he answered, his voice steady. “It’s important.” “Nothing’s more important than racing-”

“Y/n is,” Max interjected. “And she’s lying in a fucking hospital bed on the other side of the world, so yes, she’s more fucking important!” he argued, slapping his father’s hand away. “We have reserve drivers for a fucking reason. Use them.” 

And he walked away. Away to the airport where his jet was being stored, and he flew straight back home, catastrophizing the entire way. What if you were injured badly? What had happened? Had it been a drunk driver? Would you have serious disabilities? Would you have to take time off work? Which car were you driving, was it his? And the worst thought of all popped into his head; What if you were dead? 

He pushed it back as far as he could, but still, it stayed. Lingering like the smell of your goddamn perfume on his jacket.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

All he could smell was antiseptic and a little bit of dread. It had been an exhausting 14 hour flight, one he couldn’t rest on. Max prided himself on being able to sleep through anything, and anywhere. That was not the case when it came to you. 

“And how do you know the patient?” the nurse asked, pulling him out of his spiral once more. 

“I’m her fiancé,” he answered, eyes glassy and heavy. 

“She’s just down the hall in room 8. Be aware, it may be a bit of a jarring sight, she’s hooked up to a few machines, and she’s in an induced coma,” the nurse tried to put it as softly as she could, but no one could make that sound good, not even Bruce Buffer. “Do you want someone to accompany you? I can come in, just for moral support?” she offered, seeing the way Max’s body language changed at her words. 

He chuckled sadly. “You’re very kind, but no. Thank you.”

She nodded and he walked on. He needed to do this on his own, mostly because he didn’t really know what he was walking into. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he knew he was going to stand by you forever, if that’s how long this took. Though he hoped it wouldn’t. He hoped you’d pull through, get strong again, do all the things you wanted with your life. 

Be there with him while you both grew old, have you care for him even when no one remembered his name. 

Be in love. Get married. Have that small family you always wished for. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You died at 1.33am. The universe was taunting him, clearly. He held your hand. He didn’t call the nurse. He just sat there for a few moments, trying to imagine a future without you. He fucking couldn’t. His whole life was centred around you, around you being in it. After F1 he would just stay in Monaco with you, spend his days watching his kids grow up. He would walk them to school in the mornings and bring you back a coffee from your favourite shop, maybe a cinnamon roll on a Friday, or everyday. Depends on what you’d let him do. He’d come in, coffees in hand, and bring yours to you in bed, or maybe in your office. Maybe you’d kiss him. Maybe you’d smile one of those perfect smiles of yours. Maybe it wouldn’t matter, because you both knew you had another chance the next day. 

And all of that was gone. You were gone. 

So what was meant to happen now?

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. 

But he had to. He ran through all the motions, he signed the paperwork, and he picked out the casket. 

But he should’ve been picking up the kids from school, holding your hand and kissing you, even if it embarrassed them. 

It should’ve been a simple, easy life. 

But it wasn’t.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :)

redbull & vcarb masterlist

[tiramissyoucake]

Can we get more Omni mark content. He isn’t as popular as the other ones 🙏. Him and a hyperfeminine bimbo mayhaps

YES! YES! YES! I LOVE BIMBO CODED CHARACTERS!!!

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Cw: semi-public sex, brat taming, hitting it from the back, hair pulling, name calling (slut, whore)

"With the hubbyyy~" Mark had to restrain an eyeroll as you lifted your phone to take a picture with him, he glanced away and a whine escaped you at that. "Babe! C'mon!"

"This is ridiculous, you ask me for a joy ride around town, and then you take pictures on this roof?" He glanced at you with a raised eyebrow, you pouted as you lowered your phone, your charms clacking. "But... this place has really good lighting.."

He let out long sigh bordering on a groan, turning to you, you let out a small excited squeal as you set your phone in his hand. "Take a few pics of me!!" You didn't explain further as you propped yourself up with a few cute poses. The little instructions meant that he was used to this, used to taking photos for you; a half-Viltrumite hero, belittled to a photographer for a girl who wore a concerning amount of pink.

A few snaps went off, you alternated between a few poses, toying with your hair, smiling at the camera, making kissy faces. He hated to admit you looked adorable, you swiped through the pictures with a hum. "Cute... but they'll look cuter when I add frames and decorate 'em~"

"Now can we go?" He impatiently responded with folded arms, you let out an annoyed groan. "Why're you being such a buzzkill?! We're having fun! Like a romantic couple!"

"Your idea of fun is wasting my time by standing around on some rooftop?" His eyes squinted behind the goggles, you rolled your eyes. "You never go out with me! You're always busy with this!" Your pretty nailed finger jabbed his chest, that stupid hero symbol.

He grabbed your wrist, scowling. "Sorry, is my work more important than entertaining you?"

"Whatever, take me home." You glanced away and took back your wrist, bringing out your compact mirror to reapply a layer of gloss, disregarding him and the conversation.

Your attitude ticked him off, his fist clenched and his eyebrows furrowed.

. . .

You knew what talking back would get you, you knew and yet you still had to yap your pretty shiny tinted lips. You shouldn't have antagonised your hero boyfriend when you fully knew he could turn you around, tug up your skirt and fuck you whenever he felt like it or felt like you needed it.

"What do we say?" He asked as he tugged your hair back, hips slapping against your ass harshly. "I-I'm sorry!! I'm sorry!!" You whined, hands closing and opening against your legs as you tried to stand straight, it was impossible with his cock hitting home just right, your knees buckling under the sheer force of his thrusting.

"What're you sorry for, whore?" Mark demanded an answer, his hips moved impossibly quickly to overwhelm you and bring out more choked moans. "For being a brat? For disrespecting me? For your backtalk?"

"A-aaall of it..! 'm sorry! 'm so sorryyy!!" You looked adorable, shaking under every delicious push of his cock into your wet cunt, always ready to receive him; especially when he would shove your skirt up and rip your panties off to remind you who was the stronger one between you two.

His hand suddenly spanked you, more for his own pleasure than to punish you. "This is what you get for talking back to me, slut." He gritted the word out, your pussy practically sucking his dick in, greedy as always. "That's all you are, a disobedient. Naughty. Bratty. Little. Slut." He punctuated every insult with a harsh buck of his hips against you.

You took everything he gave you, how could you say no? When his cock was hitting every spot perfectly, if anything this was incentive to talk back more. "Y-yes..! I'm sorryyy~" you whined, and he hummed as he tugged your head back to kiss you deeply, his tongue licking into your mouth— unusually sloppy for him.

"You better be." He panted as he pulled away, saliva connecting your lips. "I'll have to teach you a follow-up lesson at home, I'll even get the collar."

The memory of the pink collar he got for your 'special sessions' excited you more than the rapid pistoning from his cock. "Yes sir!~"

You didn't know who was more excited to go home, you or him.

[fyuyushia]

"Someday, I know you'll come to your senses and leave me alone with all of my questions 'cause I don't have the answers I can't give you more. I know that you'll never be mine but I'll always be yours." — Senses

Ugh how does one write down their ideas in a way that makes sense and doesn't look like a mumbo jumbo mess😓😓

Sung Jinwoo getting in a relationship with reincarnated!reader who he slowly sees becoming very self destructive.

He can never figure out what goes on in that head of yours. Though you continue to stay with him, you always donned a paranoid, anxiety stricken expression that's barely concealed by the mockery of a smile you wore. Even if it was convincing to others, for him who's studied your features for ages, he could easily tell when it was genuine and when it wasn't.

It's not that you don't like him anymore—at least he thinks it's not. You acted skitterish whenever he initiated affection, yes, but you always reciprocated after a few seconds, craving it despite thinking it's wrong.

He doesn't understand why you accept his affection with such a guilty look. You bite your lip, eyes averting away from his own as you lean closer to his touch, tightening your hold on him just to make sure he wouldn't let go. You were a walking contradiction, and Jinwoo hopes you weren't this complicated.

He doesn't miss the way you constantly try to self sabotage, intentionally or unintentionally. You acted as if you were waiting on the day he'd wrung all his feelings for you dry, living every day with bated breath. It pained him to think of your actions, acting so distant despite longing for his affection more than anything else. What scared you so? What was it that terrified you so much you could never seem to find the time to simply bask in the moment and love for the sake of it?

What changed for you to act so differently? So scared of something, but counting on it to happen nonetheless. With what faith do you believe that something catastrophic would happen?

You who somehow ended up in the world of solo leveling. You don't know how you ended up here, was it reincarnation or transmigration? Isekai? You had memories of both the life you lived here and another life. It was confusing, seeing as both lives seemed similar to one another, the only difference being the presence of gates in this and the lack thereof in the other.

Fortunately or unfortunately—you vaguely remember reading a manhwa with a world building that fits the bill for the current one you lived in.

Solo leveling: a manhwa you've only recently finished back then. The main character? The man laying in bed next to you. Sung Jinwoo—your pathetic(loving) childhood friend Sung Jinwoo.

Since this revelation, you began to fear for your just recently blossomed relationship. The more Jinwoo played out what you've read in the manhwa, the more you worried about yourself. As far as you can remember, a character like you was never introduced, maybe they did, but only in a passing. Your lack of presence in the manhwa had caused fear to sink in and petrify you to the core.

What if Jinwoo plays out that certain part? Basing off on his current progress, Jinwoo was bound to meet Hae-in and get to know her more intimately from this point on. If that happens, what about you? What will happen to you who presumptuously stuck to his side even after knowing all this? Will you be cast aside? Forced to let go of this love just to follow through the story?

The fact that Jinwoo acted in ways that remained primarily loyal to the manhwa's story made you feel queasy. Will you be forced out of the picture when the time comes?

Thoughts like this gave way to self doubt, and self doubt then gave way to your self destructive habits. You couldn't love Jinwoo so sincerely anymore, couldn't look him in the eye without doubt creasing your features. The knowledge that he was fated to be with Cha Hae-in ate you up alive.

And if you think about it, who could be a more perfect pair for him? Unlike you, Hae-in was a capable hunter. Not only that, she was pretty, athletic, and not without a lovable personality as well. She was better than you, far, far better than you.

You felt yourself die on the inside as you came to terms with this fact. Resigning to your fate, whilst also wishing to be selfish, you reluctantly took whatever scraps of affection Jinwoo gave you. Before he'd move onto another, before he realizes how much you blinded him into thinking he loved you.

Sung Jinwoo notices the way you rarely cling onto him now. Instead, only stealing longing glances in his direction, hands twitching as if longing to touch but pulling away whenever you get too close. Every time, he gets the urge to just grab you by the wrist and forcefully wrap your arms around his neck, but he doesn't, afraid that doing so would only push you who slowly drifted apart from him further away.

He doesn't miss the way your body turns rigid when he mentions Hae-in in a passing. Your shoulders stiffen, and you bite your lip, barely holding back tears from the mention of her alone. That night, he spent hours comforting you, assuring you he would never leave.

Cha Hae-in was a sore topic for you, as noticed by Jinwoo. He thought it was petty jealousy at first, but now he had an inkling it was much deeper than that. You don't hold any sort of animosity towards her, matter of fact, you admired her to the point Jinwoo felt somewhat jealous by your zealous fangirling.

You seemed so sure he'd leave you for her, even encouraging him to spend time with her despite you clearly being uncomfortable with the idea. He's left confused by your antics, you don't want him to leave but you encourage him to get closer with Hae-in when you knew a simple no from you could easily convince him to cut off all relations with her and her associates.

Really, you seemed to have a penchant for contradicting yourself in the worst ways possible.

Sung Jinwoo feels his patience draw thin. Every attempt at a question was answered by a surety he found baffling. Did he seem that disloyal? He shouldn't be angry, he knows that. But seeing you slowly spiral into this complicated mess of a lover brings him closer to the brink of insanity as well.

What exactly would it take for you to see the way his heart burns for you only?

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Ellipsus doesn't use AI, BTW, for those curious. This is European (mainly) plotting.

Stakes, as established is a mistake from likely William Faulkner literary analysis. (I'm still laughing about this one.) There is no literary theory about it that generated it. It was 100% an accident.

Conflict is 1921 ported into stories by Percy Lubbock, from likely Lester F. Ward. Craft of Fiction by Percy Lubbock. Both of them are complicated figures to analyze, for those interested. Lester F Ward I'll slap a slight CW on since he uses words like "primitive" and "savage" though he doesn't *really* seem to mean it in the contemporary sense since he often criticizes or justifies other PoVs. (Pure Sociology for Lester F. Ward. (BTW, I spent a ton of time debunking that Conflict dates from Aristotle. He was retconned in, mostly by insecure authors who wanted to prove their ideas were great because a great before them thought so.)

Beats- comes from Save the Cat by Blake Snyder. You don't have to use it. You can use other things, like the Snowflake method.

Tension, as a concept, I think is more towards Lajos Egri's territory, though it's not his coinage, especially character tension. He mostly pioneered the idea of that. This is compared to say Kenneth Rowe or earlier theorists.

Midpoint: is Syd Field 100%. He's the only one that argued for a midpoint as a critical part of story. Before him no one cared. That's his sole invention.

Climax: is likely Gustav Freytag, his own thoughts on the Opera, The Ring by Wagner, the opera famous, according to Lucy Worsley for inspiring the N*zis. (Something he clearly was not against) He also admitted he connected it to male experiences of s*x and Christianity. Not the best figure.

Bonus: Denouement, as a term was argued into literature by Clayton Hamilton who made the original argument. He argued, though for a "Nouement" and a "Denouement" which was the equivalent of the "rising" and "falling" action. Denouement in French means dismount.

Other kinds of story structure one can use from European canon that defy all of this: Thematic plotting- Particularly good for political

Tone plotting- *sighs* So hard and Japanese have the cake, for me, on this. The command is enviable.

Absurdist/ Absurdist Theater- Term was coined in the 1960's. For those Brits, Monty Python? Yes 100%. But other works got retconned in, such as Alice in Wonderland and Wizard of Oz.

By half, Epic Theater.- Bertolt Brecht. The story driver is fun, the trickiest part is the conversion point at the climax.

Picaresque originally was closer to Bildungsroman.

Bildungsroman- The story driver and the structure are different. It's still filtered heavily into YA with the majority of the motifs attached.

Morality Play- 19th century for the description of this one, though the previous history was retconned in.

One Act- Outlined by great filmmaker Alice Guy-Blaché. Now it litters the internet. Usually it aims to evoke one emotion from the viewer, but it doesn't always center conflict.

Gothic? Maybe a story structure. It can get fuzzy. Originally it was about morality, not conflict. And also driven by emotions.

Magic Realism (BTW, originated in Germany, but took off in Central and South America). Sometimes it's conflict, sometimes its self reflection, sometimes it's morality...

This is off the top of my head. I bet you know more... but I'm saying that people don't have to chain themselves these terms or story structures. You are allowed to play around a bit. Even cheat that you are using the good ole Syd Field and then the individual scenes use, Iunno, a process story structure, etc. Reading the theorists will give you the power to choose.

Oh and if you want evidence, I do have it on my blog... I brought primary sources for everything. There's also a Worldwide Story Structure Post here:

Japanese, Chinese, African, Aboriginal, Indigenous American, I'm missing South Pacific and I'm still trying to find the oral story telling traditions by pulling teeth... but this should also make you think about what tools you can pull for your toolbox.

While I'm here, I also have a more detailed Settings Template and Character template than Ellipsus. Also a worldbuilding folders list. Templates I kinda view as things that should challenge the person to mix things up more than to fill them out.

Where does your story begin? What’s holding it together? And what is it really trying to say?

Ideas are easy... stories are a lot harder. That’s why we dropped four new templates to help you turn sparks into structure, tension, themes, and meaning—scene by scene.

Story Opener Template—Where are we?! Draw in readers and set the stage with a well-defined setting, intrigue, and emotional stakes.

Scene Builder Template—Plan story beats with details, dialogue, and character goals to create momentum that makes each scene matter.

Themes and Symbolism Template—Suss out recurring images and brainstorm the big questions that give your story depth.

Conflicts, Stakes and Tension Template—Untangle dramas large and small (personal or world-ending) that move your plot forward.

You can find all four templates (and others!) in Ellipsus—head over to the blog and read more!

- the Ellipsus Team xo

[lunaticli8rarian]

hey-i found another thing that's really interesting.

so like, june is wrong, 8ut more right than ever. and jade is right 8ut more wrong than ever. it is recommended listening that you put on free8ird while reading this, as it is what was listened to on loop while writing this. here i'll even give you a youtu8e link. https://youtu.be/0LwcvjNJTuM ok so like, even though i picked (YOU ARE COMING) first time around, (YOU ARE NOT) is so f8cking interesting. i've read and reread it multiple times solely for the fun of it. i'm a sucker for drama.

let's narrow down this medit8tion to the two characters in question. jade and june. they're the most interesting in this exchange o8viously. jade is staunchly against going to the meat timeline to let the kids go to sgrur8, anti-meat. while june is jazzed a8out the idea of a fun adventure. pro-meat.

8ut there's a hidden feature of this convers8tion. can this adventure 8e good at all. no and yes. reflected 8y jade and june respectively.

jade thinks this adventure's gonna suck. at 8est it'll 8e a fun lil' romp that'll just dump them out 8ack where they started with no real change made. at worst it's gonna 8e damaging, traumatizing, and still spit them 8ack out with the pro8lems they had when they went into it.

and june thinks the adventure is where they all thrive. that domestic life is the worst possi8le thing and it sucks and they kill people if are left to their own devices. "too much freedom is a 8ad thing."

let's start with where jade is right. jade is easily right 8ecause yeah no, june is kind of a directionless dimwit who doesn't really know what she wants. she does not have the tools or language to even define what she wants, much less achieve it. anything she sets her mind to falls apart rapidly. a light flowing 8reeze of a person.

a stark contrast to the rest of the candy cast, who i would say know exactly what they want. jane; genocide. karkat; not genocide. rose; suicide. roxy; keep the peace no matter the cost which includes the cost of a genocide. goals they may not 8e a8le to perfectly vocalize 8ut are a8le to follow and achieve on earth c.

this gets into why june is kind of wrong, 8ut mostly right without realizing it. cuz she's a dummy who can't vocalize what she's thinking properly and will carry these pro8lems with her no matter where she goes. 8UT!

june NEEDS this adventure. she needs it 8ad. she has had 20 f8cking years in domestic life, no change has 8een made. the metaphorical second she chose domestic life, she was shackled into the role of father and hus8and. then divorced hus8and. if she was going to transition in a domestic life, she would've done it already.

domestic life shackles june eg8ert. the home itself is what makes her stuck. it traps her. this LIFE traps her woefully. the circumstances and everyone's expect8tions on her, literally the sh8t jade's talking a8out where she has to "suck it up for the sake of others" is choking the life out of her soul.

do you remem8er the closest june's ever gotten to cracking her egg? cuz i remem8er it clearly.

IT WAS WHEN SHE WAS ON A FUNNY LITTLE GUIDED ADVENTURE WITH VRISKA! where like 80% of our understanding and reading of june comes from. where her NAME comes from!

june is a 8reath player for corns sake! adventure is where she 8elongs. changes and danger are her nature. as an heir she is the literal em8odiment, the inheritor of freedom itself. domestic life is choking her out. f8cking off with vriska on another adventure is enrichment. it's the only hope she has of 8ecoming something 8etter. like she tells jade, she is literally TRYING to change. leaving is her attempt to change. the environment of sgrur8 and the meat timeline incites change.

and we reach why jade is so, so f8cking wrong. with one of the most f8cked lines in the entire upd8, like a knife to my gut and heart it's 8een stuck there.

june's own happiness is not really a factor for her. june's own 8etterment is not a factor to her. and she couches it in language implying it's for the sake of the children. 8ut it's-it's not for the children. the children were never made for their own sake.

vrissy is the poster child of this fact. she was taken in the hopes of 8asically doing vriska 8ut right so she doesn't turn out like vriska (failure, vrissy literally helped vriska realize she can still 8e vriska without all the trauma and catholic guilt hanging over her. it's very o8vious vrissy is a serket like all the rest. you can't take the vriska out of the serket.)

yiffy as karkat seems eager to imply, is the result of jade 8asically making a f8cking ship kid with rose as the ena8ler to this fantasy 8ecause dave didn't actually want a kid.

and she never actually deny's this was a factor for her. and then she is the most a8solute desper8 one to avoid sgrur8 for the sake of her child 8eing "normal" while yiffy as an individual, o8viously doesn't like her mom. was kept a f8cking secret from the world, pro8a8ly never socialize well, and has dog features. i don't think yiffy is the real factor here. i think jade is projecting her desires onto yiffy. i think jade desper8tly wants to vicariously live her life through her daughter. i think

"she'll never 8e normal" stung further than just insulting her daughter. that's just opinion and specul8tion on my part though, 8ased on how she f8cking named her daughter yiffy so she could fantasize/roleplay having a kid with dave.

8UT HEY! let's talk a8out something i can say with 888% certainty!

she's a massive hypocrite. calling out june for not knowing what she wants, when what, jade's plan to unf8ck the timeline is to just stay and never change? cuz it's not a8out changing for the 8etter? it's a8out the children? when these f8ckers haven't even 8een here a century and already have ruined the lives of so many people, including their own!

jade alone has f8cked her daughter up immensely, ena8led the destruction of kanaya and rose's marriage, dave and karkat were misera8le 8eing with her. dave even so much to the point he yeeted himself out of the universe the old fashioned way. and jade herself isn't even happy. to say changing herself, everyone's self, is unimportant, an adult move or not, is just plain dum8.

cuz without changing yourself, it doesn't matter if you go on an adventure or stay in your house all day. you'll end up with the same person who made those mistakes in the first place. and candy is not a land of change.

roxy never transitioned. karkat is still trying to 8e a warhero instead of just living a calm life and going home LIKE HE WANTED TO!. rose is the same self destructive self h8ing girl she was on the meteor. june is the same man she entered the world as. jane ended up the same 8atterwitch she was groomed into 8eing at a young age. why do you think all the ghosts ended up in there?! the 8IGGEST creatures of unchanging nature. NOTHING CAN GET 8ETTER IN A WORLD WHERE NOTHING CAN CHANGE! IT'S JUST A MATTER OF SPINNING OUR WHEELS UNTIL WE DIE! AND IS THAT THE RIGHT OPTION!? IS THAT THE RESPONSI8LE, CORRECT THING TO DO!?

well, like a certain someone once said. i know my lim8s. people who wish to wallow in unchanging misery will do so regardless of what anyone else says or does. the real question is. are they going to drag down the ones who want to change with them?

june may 8e immature, and ungrown up. 8ut that makes her more a8le to change than anyone.

thank you for coming to another one of my vristalks, heed my words or know woes for the rest of your days. let's see if i can pop out another 8anger for the masses!

[disgruntleddemon]

part of what i hate about billford (among many other things) is the way it assassinates everyone else's characters in the process. It's especially teue for post cannon, but it annoys me in general

A good chunk of Ford's arc is overcoming the abuse Bill put him through, regardless if you view their original relationship as romantic or not. Tbob only further cemented that arc For Ford.

The shame he feels at the idea of his family knowing the full extent of what happened, the relief he feels when they dont judge him, the guilt he feels at pretty much anything bill related, the "i found my happiness and it looks like this" page, the j3 page where he bonds with his family by burning all the old bill relics, having to overcome his trust issues, bill almost killing Ford's whole family and destroying the world, the torture he goes through in j3 and weirdmaggedon, etc

To throw all that away for "silly toxic yaoi. They just need couples therapy teehee" just cheapens everything! So many damn scenarios where Ford's forced to play nice and babysit his literal abuser played as romantic tension is gross! I get it's ppl just having fun or whatever, but it's such a reductive take on his character

And then of course you have the way everyone else gets rewritten to some make billford work. It's so ooc it might as wll be ocs.

Like, Mabel, for instance. She watched Bill posses her brother, try to kill him, hurt him, found the note Bill left saying he'd fake Dipper's suicide (ending the note with "wanna join him, shooting star?), was trapped in the bubble, etc. You think she of all people is gonna be making friendship bracelets with him and shipping him with her grunkle?????

Yes, she's a pretty forgiving person, but she's just as willing to hold a grudge. ESPECIALLY if you hurt her family!

The same applies to all the other characters. Why do they bend over backwards to be nice to bill? Why would they ever approve of Bill and Ford getting together??? It goes against everything they stand for and believe. Why do they suddenly stop caring about their family as soon as bill is involved??? When the show is aggressively about the importance of family????

It's like a worse version of gravity falls where everything is written around billford, and i just don't get the appeal.

[concretejunglefm]

So, for the spicy audio content creator Nowah, I honestly don't have any ideas of mine, because I'd listen to anything he has to say... but what caught my eye was the "Talking on the phone with your long distance boyfriend" so if we could get a bit of that...

I hope you like how this is done. I'm planning on toying with the formats for how these can be written 💕

CW: smut with mentions of masturbation, dirty talk, implied phone sex, men whimpering.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

[ PAUSE ] 01:43 ━━━━●───── 09:50

Talking on the phone with your long distance boyfriend [ramblefap] [phone sex] [wet sounds] [real orgasm] [moaning] [improvised]

Follow me on Patreon for personalized audios @/nowahuseme

“God, baby, you’re so cute.” Noah chuckles into the microphone, already immersing himself in the character he’s meant to portray.

Tonight, he’s your long-distance boyfriend, and you’re on a call. He pauses at the appropriate moments, as if you’re responding, interjects with his own comments, and apologizes for interrupting before continuing as if it were a full-fledged conversation.

“Yeah? You wish I were there with you?” He gently clicks his tongue with an ‘aww’ sound, and his expression softens as if he genuinely is on the phone with you. “I wish I were with you too. It’s been an eternity since we last saw each other. I miss you so much.”

There’s a brief pause before he softly chuckles. “Yes, for that very reason as well.” He grins and shifts in bed, deliberately rustling the sheets to ensure they’re picked up by the microphones he’s strategically placed around the bed, to capture the slightest movements.

“Oh, you are? The ones with the little… Fuck,” he breathes out, letting out a soft hum as his hand strokes down along his bare, tattooed chest.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about you.” Another pause. “You want to know what I’m thinking about?” He laughs once more, but it’s deeper, a little more heated. “Well, aren’t you naughty. I’m thinking about how pretty you look in those pajamas with the bows on them.”

His fingers idly trace over his stomach as he paints the picture in his mind—a visual of you laid out for him in bed. “I bet your nipples are so hard right now. I can always see them poking against that tight top…oh.” He pauses as if he’s heard something, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth. “Did you just… are you touching yourself? …yeah? You’re playing with your nipples right now?” A groan rises in his throat, and his fingers move lower towards the edge of his boxers.

“I want you to keep playing with them for me. Tell me how it feels… no, no, no, not yet.” He pretends to interrupt you before his voice deepens. “I’ll let you know when you can touch yourself there.”

A soft laugh escapes his lips, as if you’ve commented on the sudden shift in his tone, and a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, you enjoyed that?” he whispers, his voice dropping an octave once more, reverberating with a hint of dominance. “Then you’d better continue playing with your nipples until I tell you to stop.”

In his mind, he’s picturing it: you sprawled out for him, fingers pressed against your hard nipples, pinching and twisting them as you moan, teasing the sensitive bud until you’re practically whimpering and begging for more.

During this moment, Noah pushes down his boxers and reaches for the bottle of lube. He pumps a few globs into his palm before slowly lathering his cock. As he does this, he teasingly strokes himself with soft sounds that are being transmitted into the microphone for your enjoyment.

“Oh, you sound so cute when you beg like that,” he chuckles darkly, his hand slowly stroking over his cock.

“I never said you could do that, could I?” There’s a soft warning in his tone, mixed with the taunt, and he begins to make his strokes quicker, increasing the sound being picked up for the audio.

“What am I doing? What do you think?” He smirks, pausing as if gloating over your guesses. “And if I am?” He pauses. “No, I never said that I wouldn’t be touching myself. I said that you couldn’t. The last I remember, that was mine, and no one, not even you, can touch it without my permission.” He teases, playing into the idea of you retorting in a bratty manner.

“Okay, okay,” he relents, grunting as he tightens his grip around his cock. “What if you play with yourself while I stroke my cock? Would you like that? Yeah? Have you been thinking about it? Because I know I’ve been thinking about you. I miss you. I miss how you feel around me.” His voice starts to slip into a low moan, hips thrusting to meet his hand as he quickens the pace.

“Fuck, baby, that sounds so hot. You want me to fuck you? I bet you're so tight. I bet you can't even fit two fingers in there.” He smirks, licking his lips as he contemplates the prospect of challenging you to defy him and prove him wrong.

The thought of the sounds you’d make as you thrust two fingers into yourself and fucked yourself along side him fills him with a rush of excitement, enticing his own movements.

The sounds of his stroking grow louder, the wetness from the lube easily being picked up by the audio as his whimpers intensify. “Fuck, keep talking like that, and you’re going to make me cum... Yeah, you’re my sweet baby. My sweet baby with a filthy mouth. Just listen to you… mmm, you want me to cum for you? Is that it?”

Pressing his head back into the pillow, his back arches slightly, and his moans grow louder as he senses his climax approaching. “Fuck! I’m going to cum! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He cries out, his hips bucking erratically as he cums, squirting thick white ropes across his stomach. He continues to milk himself even after the aftershocks subside, trembling and whimpering into the microphone before softly whispering incoherent words for when the audio fades to an end.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @i-love-the-smell-of-you-blood @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades 

[sixfootrod]

I know the fandom sees Price as this lovey dovey boyfriend but I feel like he would be toxic as hell in a romantic relationship, what do you think?

Heavy yes on this.

A lot of my own OCs are pricks. I think it should be at least a little normalised that at least some characters are shitty people to an extent. And Price would be one of those people.

On the fence about it being on purpose or not, though. He’d never lay a hand on you, but arguments often result in him walking out or just deciding to leave because he ‘doesn’t have the mental energy’ for a relationship, which is what I think he usually sticks with. Most relationships don’t even grow or form into anything serious because price doesn’t let them. He’s barely there, irritable when he comes home, and I feel like he hates the idea of being away from you because in the beginning there’s a big lack of trust.

He doesn’t communicate or tell you anything because he was never taught to. He’d rather coop himself up in his office and drink like a fish until you find him with bloodshot eyes, head slumped onto a pile of unfinished papers. Time goes by, and it leads to arguments. Nights spent sleeping on the sofa and listening to you weep. Waking up with a sore back and knee. Not even bothering to say goodbye before leaving for work. And eventually, him leaving becomes permanent.

Nothing ever lasts with John. He doesn’t let it bloom into something beautiful, even if he wanted it to. He can’t communicate. Horrible at managing his issues and would be a ticking time bomb if it weren’t for his medication and vices. He doesn’t even bother contacting you again because he believes there’s truly no point in being there anymore if all he does is cause problems.

And once he sits down in his office chair - the leather groaning under his weight, he regrettably feels a sense of relief. There’s so much on his shoulders, and for him, a relationship feels like another pound of weight added. Most things are just one night stands, but even those are far between because of stress, side effects of his meds, etc.

To the other person who sent an ask about the 141, I will get to it. I have a lot of writing planned for it.

[winteringdream]

golden retriever!leehan x black cat!fem where they’re less than lovers but more than friends! neither of them realizes their true feelings for each other until something (idk what) brings them together

PULL AND PUSH ! ──── kim leehan

✩ ⋅ pairing. kim leehan x gn!reader ✩ ⋅ genre. fluff ✩ ⋅ warnings. mentioning of a party and drinking ✩ ⋅ wc. 774 ✩ ⋅ a/n. hi anonnie i love writing black cat characters so tysm for the request!! arghh also idk if anyone is on tumblr pc but the pictures wont line up so sorry if it looks weird 😓

Leehan has always been bright, warm, and annoyingly persistent. He’s like a puppy, never minding that you’re all sharp looks and dry remarks.

“You never text me first,” he whines one evening, sprawled across your floor like he belongs there. “I could be dead, you know.”

“You text me every five minutes,” you reply, flipping a page of your book without looking up. “I’d know if you were dead.”

“So you do see my messages!” he exclaims. He grins and reaches out to poke your knee. “Admit it. You miss me.”

You shoo his hand away. “You’re insufferable.”

He pouts but doesn’t move from his spot, watching you with that familiar, expectant look, like he’s waiting for you to acknowledge him. 

You sigh, setting your phone down. “Obviously, I’d notice if you were gone.”

Leehan beams, triumphant.

“See? You love me.”

“Debatable.”

“Not at all.” he huffs, rolling over onto his stomach, chin resting on your bed. He looks at you, but when you don’t look at him he plops down on the ground again.

Leehan never takes your quietness as distance, never misinterprets your sharp remarks as something meant to push him away. If anything, he’s always been the one closing the gap.

And maybe you’ve let him.

It’s a strange kind of relationship. You don’t go on dates, but he drags you out for late-night convenience store runs. He doesn’t call you his, but his arm always finds your shoulder in a crowded room. You never say you miss him, but the space beside you feels empty when he’s gone too long.

Less than lovers, more than friends.

But you don’t question it, until someone else does.

It happens at a party. One you hadn’t planned on going to, but Leehan had been particularly insistent, throwing an arm around you and saying, “You never go, just this once pleaaasseee.”

It turns out his idea of fun is getting pulled away the second you both step inside, swarmed by his friends. You roll your eyes and make your way to the kitchen, figuring you can at least grab a drink and then leave the place in half an hour.

“You came with Leehan, right?” you glance up. A girl is standing beside you. She’s pretty, but you’ve never met her before.

You nod. “Yeah.”

She hums, stirring her drink. “Are you guys, like, together?”

The question shouldn’t catch you off guard, but it does.

“No,” you say automatically, but something in your heart twinges.

“Really?” She tilts her head. “He talks about you a lot.”

That makes you pause. Before you can figure out what to say, she continues, “I was thinking of asking him out, actually. He’s so sweet, you know? Like a cute puppy.”

Your fingers tighten around your cup. There’s no reason for that uneasy twist in your stomach, no reason why the thought of Leehan laughing with her, leaning in close to hear her better, makes your chest constrict.

You don’t own him. You know that.

And yet, when you glance toward the living room, searching for him without thinking, you feel something unfamiliar settle beneath your ribs.

It takes exactly ten minutes for Leehan to find you again, grinning as he drapes himself over your chair.

“Having fun?” he asks with a wide smile. 

“No.”

He chuckles, like he expected that. “Wanna get out of here?”

You should just say yes. Ignore the feeling, move past it, keep things the way they are. But the question is on your tongue before you can stop it.

“Are you interested in anyone?”

“What?” Leehan blinks, straightening his posture. He leans into you, trying to hear you more clearly. 

“That girl,” you say, trying to sound indifferent. “The one by the kitchen. She said she wanted to ask you out.”

Leehan turns, spots her, then looks back at you. “Do you want her to?”

You freeze. “That’s not—”

“Because I don’t,” he says simply.

“Why not?” you ask, quieter this time.

Leehan exhales, sitting up properly. His voice loses its usual lightness when he says, “Because I already have someone.”

“What do you–”

“I didn’t realize it at first,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours and he leans in even more. His head is next to yours, and whispers into your ear. “But it’s always been you.”

The room feels too loud, too warm. You think about the way he always waits for you to catch up, the way he never lets your silence push him away. The way he’s always been there. Maybe you should’ve realized it earlier, too.

“Okay,” you say, heartbeat hammering. “Good.”

Leehan smiles, slow and knowing. “Good.”

bonedo taglist: @ihruaz

[wildfairies]

this is going to be incoherent rambling that conflates fan culture and simblr culture but ppl are so entitled and aggressive about fanworks and i just don’t understand how / when they got the idea that the relationship between fan creator and fan viewer goes beyond consuming / enjoying their creation.

yes it’s nice when a longfic you love gets completed, yes it’s nice when ppl link all cc, but you are literally talking to another hobbyist just like you. like literally why the fuck do you think someone OWES you another chapter or cc links. it might be a nice considerate thing to do for a fan community but why the fuck do you think they HAVE to?

when annoying ppl say “without links it’s not a lookbook” bitch you LOOKED at it didn’t you??? you looked at something i made and you liked it. looking at other peoples posts / fan creations makes me happy, i love seeing their creativity, using things in ways i wouldn’t have thought of or interpreting a character in a new way, and i understand that any interaction beyond my simple enjoyment of their art is a BONUS. they didn’t have to post it, they could’ve kept it to themselves forever, aren’t i lucky i got to see it at all.

[ducksido]

Scottish!Yuu

General Reactions

Grim:

“I dunno what half the things yer sayin’ mean, but I like the way ya talk!”

Tries to mimic Yuu’s accent but ends up sounding like a strangled cat.

Loves when Yuu calls him “wee beastie.”

The NRC Student Body:

70% of the time, they have no idea what Yuu is saying.

“What do you mean ye ‘pure dingied’ someone?”

“Why did you just call that guy a ‘weapon’? Is that good or bad?”

Confusion intensifies.

Crowley:

Tries to use Scottish slang to be relatable. Fails miserably.

“Ah, Prefect, ye are quite the mad rocket, aren’t ye?”

Yuu: “Crowley, that’s not how it works.”

Individual Reactions

Riddle:

“STOP CALLING ME ‘WEE MAN.’”

Gets mad when Yuu calls him a “roaster” but doesn’t understand what it means.

Is personally offended when Yuu calls tea “boggin’” if it’s not made properly.

Leona:

Absolutely lives for Yuu’s casual insults.

“Ye absolute tube.”

“Heh. That’s a new one.”

Once Yuu explains what a “bam” is, he immediately starts calling Ruggie one.

Azul:

Hears Yuu use three different slang words in one sentence and short-circuits.

“What... what does any of that mean?”

Secretly loves that Yuu takes their food very seriously.

Jade:

“Ah, Prefect, you have quite a fascinating dialect.”

Purposely mispronounces things to watch Yuu get mad.

Lowkey interested in haggis just to see Yuu’s reaction.

Floyd:

“Hahahaha! Shrimpy sounds so funny when they’re mad!”

Purposely winds Yuu up just to hear them rant in full-blown Scottish fury.

“C’mon, say ‘pure raging’ again!”

Kalim:

“Wow, your accent is so cool! Say something else!”

Is fascinated by kilts. “You guys just wear skirts and own it? That’s awesome!”

Jamil:

Watches in horror as Yuu drinks Irn-Bru instead of water.

“That’s not healthy.”

Secretly finds Yuu’s stubbornness admirable.

Vil:

Deeply offended by Yuu’s casual approach to fashion.

“You call that an outfit?”

“Mate, it’s freezin’, I’m no wearin’ fancy clothes.”

Nearly dies when Yuu rolls up to class in a football (soccer) jersey and trackies.

Epel:

Finally, someone more incomprehensible than him.

“HAH! Now ya know how I feel!”

They just insult each other in thick accents, and no one knows if they’re fighting or bonding.

Rook:

“Ah, mon ami, your language is truly an art form!”

Recites Scottish poetry randomly just to mess with Yuu.

Calls them “my fierce Highland warrior.”

Idia:

“Wait... your country just randomly has huge men throwing logs for fun?!”

Is terrified when Yuu describes the Highland Games.

“And that’s normal???”

Ortho:

Scans Yuu’s speech patterns and still can’t understand half of it.

“Would you like me to generate subtitles for you, Prefect?”

Malleus:

Delighted by Yuu’s old folklore stories.

“Tell me more of these ‘kelpies’ and ‘selkies.’”

Is weirdly happy when Yuu calls him “big man.”

Lilia:

“Och, I love Scottish music!” Proceeds to play the bagpipes terribly.

Tries to cook haggis. Fails horribly.

“LILIA, THAT IS NOT HAGGIS.”

Sebek:

Screams. Yuu screams back. They have a shouting match for no reason.

“WHY DO YOU TALK LIKE THAT?!”

“WHY DO YOU TALK LIKE THAT?!”

Staff Reactions

Crewel:

Impressed by Yuu’s bold attitude.

However, if they call him “mate” one more time, they’re getting detention.

Trein:

Interested in Scotland’s history.

Lucius loves that Yuu calls him “wee man.”

Sam:

Immediately starts selling Irn-Bru at his shop.

“Got some Scottish snacks just for you, my friend~”

Event Character Reactions

Neige:

“Wow! You’re so passionate!”

Tries haggis. Regrets it instantly.

Chenya:

Loves Yuu’s chaotic energy.

Steals their scarf and disappears into the night.

Rollo:

“Your people do what for fun?!”

Faints after hearing about deep-fried Mars bars.

Meleanor & Lilia (when younger):

Meleanor thinks kilts are amazing.

Young Lilia fully supports bagpipe music.

More Random Scottish Yuu Moments

Crowley bans Yuu from using slang because no one understands them.

They start a full-on war over who makes the best whiskey.

Jack learns about sheepdogs and becomes obsessed.

They have an iron liver when it comes to strong drinks.

Punches the first person who insults their football team.

[jellycreamjammedart]

Are those the doctor's legs? Scrap Baby's GIANT CLAW?? CASSIE WHAT ARE YOU DOING FAM???

Pretty sure this is about this art I just posted

Hey, Doey isn't the only one here compelled to protect those he holds close! But he's like 900 pounds of dough capable of shifting and morphing however he pleases, not to mention he must have a lot of strength to go with that.

Cassie, though? She's just... wee baby. Prolly no older than 10. At least physically speaking she doesn't have a lot of protection to offer, on the contrary. She's a kid and should be getting protected, yes! But I'm sure that after so many people in her life disappearing in a way or another, she'd feel really strongly about not letting it repeat again. Such heavy responsibility shouldn't be on her plate, but she would want to step up to it anyway.

The difference between her and Doey here, is that Doey has innate attributes that makes him strong to protect others... but Cassie has to artificially forge her own. Hey, she's always been smart coming off a family of engineers, so why not take advantage of that, right? With the right supplies/resources (like a lot of The Doctor's stuff, several GrabPacks) and the right ideas (Pizza Sim the game is canon in-universe meaning Scrap Baby is an actual video game character, making it possible for Cassie to be inspired by her design,) she could most certainly equip herself.

And well, after Poppy left everyone in Safe Haven to their own devices and Doey to carry the burden alone, any bit of help from someone who won't just up and leave him like that is probably good, even if he's not 100% comfortable with letting such responsibility rest on the shoulders of someone he strongly believes should be getting protected rather than the other way around, but he can't just stop her. At least he'd make sure to not let Cassie carry any more of that responsibility than anything within what she could possibly take- no matter how much she'd insist.

Though the first time he saw her in full gear... probably scared the shit out of him lmao

[norabugz]

Sakuverse characters + their 3 favourite kisses!

ft. Xanthus, Isaac, Zaros

XANTHUS

CW: blood, biting, other vampire stuff, low-key yandere coded in the first drabble, mentions of kitchen accidents with knives lol.

Kisses after a bite

The pain was almost comforting now, the sharp sting as xanthus' canines pierced your skin, the pulsing heartbeat that thrums against the wound with every suck and lick, and the loss of blood and intimate moment making your legs feel weak and wobbly.

It was always the same, xanthus' hand resting on the small of your back, keeping you standing or comfortingly rubbing in soothing circles. A small whine would leave your lips as your bloodless state worsened with time, a hiss leaving xanthus' bloody red lips as he pulled away despite how every primal instinct pleaded with him to bleed you dry.

"alright love, I hear you..." He would hum, arms wrapping around your swaying body, lifting you up effortlessly- if you could think in this state you would make a quip about how he was strong for an 'old man's.

"let's get you laid down, hm?" You could only whine in response, nestling into the crook of his neck, the intoxicating, all encompassing scent overwhelming your senses and before you know it, you are gently placed against a soft mattress and even softer sheets as xanthus climbs in next to you.

Laid by your side, xanthus' lips meet your neck once more. The tenderness of your flesh, soothed by soft feather-light pecks.

"sleep love... I'll be here when you wake up. I always will be."

Kiss on the back of the hand

Learning about old, vintage gadgets was probably your favourite thing to do while you lived inside the old manor. Gramophones, old box cameras, quills and ink pots.

So that's where you found yourself now, sitting on the sofa of the... drawing room? Or at least that's what you think xanthus called it, listening to the record spin on the base of the gramophone, the music echoing against the gold funnel and flooding the large expanse of the room.

The record you decided to spin was vintage too, and shockingly well preserved, the idea of xanthus going to a record store in the 1910s and picking out vinyl was an amusing thought that pulled a chuckle out of you... Maybe he has someone to do that for him?

"What's so funny my love?" A soft affectionate teasing voice came from behind you, the sudden intrusion making your heart jump.

His footsteps thumped against the old oak floors towards your sitting frame, reaching for your hand that laid limp on your lap. Slender fingers and manicured nails, that were so nice you were convinced xanthus got secret mani-pedis, grasped your palms, raising your hand to his lips.

He looked up through his eyelashes at you, the smirk on his lips ever present as he placed a tender kiss to your knuckles.

"nothing, nothing's funny..."

Kisses on the forehead

Xanthus didn't need to eat, but that didn't mean he couldn't cook. After living through multiple centuries and having gone to multiple countries where food, spice and flavour were integral parts of the culture. Xanthus could confidently say he was a good cook.

You did need to eat, but that didn't mean you could cook. Your small kitchen cupboards had been filled of pot noodles, microwave dinners and cereal bars.

So that's how you found yourself, standing in the kitchen chopping vegetables with excessive care, the battle scars that littered your palms and fingers evidence of your previous defeats in the kitchen.

"Careful love, keep chopping like that and I'll have to sew your finger back onto your hand." Xanthus laughed, coming up behind you and caging you between the marble counter and his chest.

"oh ye of little faith..." You scoffed jokingly, smiling as his arms wrapped around your waist, swaying side to side.

"y'know you pressing yourself into my back isn't helping me with not severing my finger."

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hairline, "sorry m'love, you're doing great".

ISAAC

CW: overworking, sleep deprivation, night terrors due to pickles past prior to meeting Isaac, mentions parental death.

Sleepy kisses

Isaac and you had been running on empty for almost 4 hours now, case files and empty and cold mugs of coffee strewn across the desk. The pounding in your head worsened the more you looked at the printed letters on those pages.

You looked up to the man who sat opposite you, his head laid on the palm of his hand, his hair pushed back revealing his furrowed brow as his eyes scanned the same paragraph over and over and over again, his scribbled writing now looked ineligible, a puzzle you and him would no doubt need to decide tomorrow.

"Isaac..." You called out, voice breathy and quiet, but the man did not stir from whatever trance this case had put on him.

"isaaaaacccc~" you dragged his name out now, but the man remained the same, the words seeming to bounce right back. You began to wonder if he was sleeping with his eyes open.

You stood up from the sofa chair you were sat in, walking round the desk and standing beside Isaac, your hand cupping his cheek and moving his face towards you.

"pickle? What are you doin- hmph-" his questioning was cut short by a soft peck to his lips, you began to pull away, pleased that you had gotten his attention, but a strong hand held the back of your head pulling you back in.

This kiss was longer, sloppier and more sensual, Isaac's tense body seemed to melt, before he finally pulled away with a soft sigh.

"I don't think we're going to get any more done tonight, bed sounds nice... Don't you think?"

Kissing tears away

Another nightmare caused you to wake up with a scream. Flashes of gangs, knives, guns, the dirty street, your hands covered in blood cycles through your mind again and again even in your subconscious. This was the fifth night in a row, and you were so so frustrated.

Not only for yourself, but for the fact that your restlessness was keeping Isaac awake too. Nights of well earned sleep being wasted on holding your quivering body.

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, sweat beaded forehead and shaking hands clutching at Isaac's sleep shirt.

"shh pickle- I know, I know" he hummed, hand rubbing up and down your back, the gun he had instinctively grabbed upon hearing your screams discarded on the bed side table.

Soft sobs slowed down, his soft lips kissing away at your wet cheeks, the comforting pressure slowing your heart down.

"m'sorry Isaac, I'm so sorry sorry"

"there's nothing to be sorry about pickle, I'm here..."

Kiss on the cheek

Spring was your favourite season, the frozen ground began to sprout colourful flowers and the trees began to wear new green leaves.

The garden of the manor was huge, the headstones of Isaac's parents tucked behind a large oak tree. You had bought some fake flowers to adorn the graves throughout the winter, but now the earth was supple, you decided that you wanted to redecorate.

Isaac and you both wrapped yourselves in jackets, the winter frost still lingered in the air despite the golden sun of spring, and hand in hand you walked towards the oak tree.

Isaac watched as you knelt, nimble hands working away, the bouquet of daffodils, tulips and primroses swapping for the fake bouquet.

After a few minutes you stood back up looking triumphant.

You're smile was blinding as you leaned towards him and kissed his cheek, "do you want to have a moment alone with them?"

"Mom would've liked your flower selection... You have good taste"

ZAROS

"please... I'll uh- walk you back inside"

CW: Mentions of knife fights and injuries, brief description of wounds, arguments.

Kisses to scars

A small scar had adorned your eyebrow since your teens. A swordsmanship training session with zaros ending with a deep jagged wound that narrowly missed your eye, and safe to say it could've been much much worse.

Zaros' guilt was immediate as soon as the sight of your bloody face registered in his mind. You remembered how tender he held your hand as the healer weaved a needle and thread through your skin to seal the cut.

Zaros didn't notice the small scar once he returned after many years away at first. You'd grown so much, your hair now sat differently, your smile didn't reach your eyes anymore and your eyes now were clouded over with disinterest, the childlike wonder now absent, the small blemish didn't make him take any notice.

But now he was up close, perched next to your sitting form that sat under the shade of a tree in the palace garden, did he notice.

His hand cupped your face, thumb rubbing tenderly at the scar,

"It's still there" he whispered softly, if he was any quieter he feared that the sound of his worst would be whisked away with the spring breeze.

Soft lips connected with your skin, your eyes flew open as you laughed.

"Hmmm, yes, it seems that time doesn't always heal all wounds..." You sighed, eyes closing at the comforting sensation.

"What are you doing? Trying to kiss it better?"

"There's no harm in trying my Earis"

Kisses in secret

You were, for lack of a better word, annoyed. Zaros had managed to persuade you to sneak into the palace kitchens and attempt to steal some baked treats for a midnight snack.

All was going well, you and hin had shoved cakes, scones, biscuits and tarts into your own respective satchels when the sound of heels clicking on tiled flooring interrupred your quiet, mischievous laughter.

And now you found yourself in a predicament, you and zaros crammed into the cupboard. You used to fit in here together just fine, but the boy you once knew had grown into a man, a rather lanky man...

The amalgamation of limbs you found yourselves contorted into would definitely cause scandal if anyone saw you in here, no longer could you blame youthful troublemaking, the heir to the throne and their competitor hiding in a pantry from the head kitchen maid. What a ridiculous, scandalous notion.

You felt his breath fan your face, the smell of sandalwood and fresh citrus from his cologne and how his arms wrapped around your torso. Did his lips always look so appealing...?

The sensation of the soft caress of your lips registered before you even had time to think. It was like your bodies yearned for eachother, the gravitational force pulling you together despite how hard you both fought to resist it.

You both melted into each other, the soft clicking of heels had long since faded away, the coast was clear... So why did you not want it to end?

Breathless zaros pulled back. "My Earis, I believe we have desserts to eat..."

Kisses of apologies

The sound of pounding feet on marble floors was what you were expecting. You sat at your desk in your chambers, a gas lamp lighting the strewn paper and pen in hand as you scribbled away at your notes, giving approval to various marriages amongst the nobles or accepting invitations to a lord's dinner party.

The heavy door opened in a fashion you didn't know was possible. It was an old, thick, heavy, oak door and somehow Zaros had managed to throw it open with force similar to something inhuman.

"Why would you do that?."

You were expecting yelling, screaming, maybe a vase would be thrown too, Zaros always used to be melodramatic.

But the calmness to his tone was unnerving. The seething was practically radiating from his face. You began to stand up from your desk, dropping the pen onto the table.

"Listen-"

"Don't come any closer" he uttered bitterly, "just- why would you do that? I-I trusted you."

A sigh left your lips as you halted where you stood, hands falling to your waist

"if you are to win this tournament and be king you must learn difficult lessons Zaros... That includes learning not to trust anyone, even those closest to you."

The furrow between his brow dropped, his hands relaxing from the tense fists he matched in with.

"I just..."

"It was cruel... I know" You whispered softly, taking his relaxed stance as an invitation to walk closer. Your hand grabbed at his forearm, softly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

A soft kiss landed on his cheek, then his nose and finally his lips.

"I hope you can forgive me Zaros.."

[sanesaviour]

Solarion (1st image is character sheet, 2nd is another outfit exploration I did) read more below⬇️⬇️⬇️

I’ve decided to mess with you little bit like Solarion messes with people lol, so plot twist- Solarion is girl, I know, shocking- her real name is K… yes just K (I wanted to call her so me really long complicated name… but I find it quite interesting having only one letter as name)

She uses voicechanger bc she knows that people will take her more seriously as male vigilante than if they knew the truth, but she also does that to protect herself and her identity… Of course spidey team doesn’t know about her true identity and neither does S.H.I.E.L.D. ... It’s really hard to track her down bc everyone is convinced that Solarion is a man, but also bc she no longer has family nor friends, she dropped out of highschool and she doesn’t do nearly anything else besides vigilante stuff (maybe she sometimes goes clubbing at night to lose some steam)

I kinda think she is not American (well bc I’m not too lol so you have to deal with it now), she is from somewhere in Europe (haven’t decided from where yet, but when I will write someday about her origin story I will definitely mention it so stay tuned)… after one incident she had nothing left to lose so she moved to New York to fight villains and help people (she needed to find some meaning to her life)… she became masked vigilante named Solarion and quickly became really popular amongst people (you can read more about that stuff in my previous post)

Ofc Spidey team is not happy about Solarion, he sometimes get to places faster than them and defeat villain before they even arrive, so naturally they sees him as competition (I write him bc they think she is man, I know it’s bit confusing), but lot of times he is very cooperative and helps them in fights and on the other hand they often save his ass from getting beaten too, but still they don’t like much each other mainly because how unserious and reckless he can be, because of his double meaning jokes, but also bc of how well he can connect with regular people (lot of people root for him)

I already wrote about Solarions relationship with Spidey and Nick Fury in my last post about him but here are some headcanons and stuff about him and other characters:

1. Nova really despises Solarion, mainly because of how he constantly humiliates him, but also he is bit jealous of Solarions popularity amongst young people, how they adore him or how they copy his style… Nova always pokes fun about Solarions outfits like “nice outfit, did you find it in dumpster” but secretly he is just bit salty about that he didn’t came up with that idea before Solarion… also I think he once tried to wear regular clothes over his hero suit but got memed on social media so bad (or called Solarion fanboy or wannabe) that he never did it again… they make fun of each other all the time, but that doesn’t stop fangirls from shipping them (Nova hates it, Solarion loves it lol)

2. Powerman doen’t really get how others can be so annoyed with Solarion, he knows that Solarion likes to rage bait them and always tells Nova to just ignore him and focus on mission (nova never listens), he actually doesn’t mind him that much as long as he helps them and actually thinks that Spidey and Solarion are not that different maybe because how they both manage to joke in most inappropriate situations… also at some point he starts calling Solarion bro (Solarion is so happy about it and tries to hide it, but sometimes that spark of joy is way to visible) and he calls him bro back ofc

3. White tiger also despises him, mainly because Solarion jokingly flirts with her and calls her kitty, she finds it disgusting (for Solarion it is mostly just a cover to hide his identity, although he really likes how she looks while fighting, bi curiosity lol)… she hates how arrogant he can be, whenever he smirks at her during fight she gets irrationally annoyed but doesn’t know why… out of everyone Ava is most suspicious about his identity, something about his movements and mannerism feels off, but she can’t put her finger on it

4. Iron fist never gets frustrated with Solarion’s sarcasm, he treats it like a puzzle rather than problem - he just observes him and tries to find some patters and reasons why Solarion might be like that… after listening to his rants he just tells him “you should try out meditation and finding some balance” and solarion answers “I am balanced - balanced between being super awesome and being super hot”, also Danny either really hates Solarions inappropriate jokes (mostly because his mind suppose to be stay pure and focused) or he doesn’t get them at all

So in nutshell they are not very happy about Solarion lol, although Peter is more sympathetic towards him than others… they sometimes hang out on rooftops for moment after long day and just talk for while… but this all is how things are before they find out Solarions true identity

Also I m so sorry for how poorly is this written but I just can’t do better today, but I swear I will write more stuff (and hopefully better stuff) in near future… hope you like my rant but also art :))))