#I think as I read more widely more and more interesting questions and texts will come up

[handlemehyuck]

bf dreamies 𓍼 dating a full-time student

꩜ i received a request on my main blog, but it honestly feels weird to post there for nct now lol, so i decided to let it live here >.< thank you for requesting, anon 🤍 happy reading!

mark: he brings you lunch during your shifts at the library. he melts watching you run down the stairs, skipping to his car because you know his adoring gaze is locked on you. the excitement twirls you, and he laughs in the driver’s seat, observing the curious students, probably wondering what on earth is up with this girl. they’d understand if they knew her boyfriend was here. her very busy boyfriend with her favorite food and a kiss to give. a few kisses. as many as she has time for.

renjun: he thinks you’re incredible. he finds your major fascinating and has shown more interest in your studies than anyone else in your life. he quizzes you with your stack of flashcards, throwing in spontaneous questions to make you laugh. he reads over essays. he asks about your lectures, curious to know what the most interesting part was. he loves it when you text him after an exam, confident you crushed it, and gracious for his help, but he always says: no, baby. that was all you.

jeno: you stay up late together. he plays video games and you sit at the desk he built beside his gaming setup. you wear one of his AirPods, attention focused on your laptop screen and the opened textbooks around you. he stopped playing an hour ago and is admiring you, but you haven’t a clue. he leans over to kiss your temple, asking if you’d like some water or tea. all you do is nod, and he laughs. “which one, baby?” “hmm?” “water or tea?” “whichever’s easiest.” your eyebrows furrow, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you flip back a few pages. “i’ll make tea.”

haechan: you’re in an online grad program that’s kicking your ass, so anytime you’re on break, he spoils the hell out of you. you’ve been flown to cities across the world after exam season to sing and dance in arenas and experience top-tier stress relief. when deadlines are compressing, he cooks for you and pulls you away from your desk to eat with him. he’s supportive and sweet but intense about your health. you’re a perfectionist, and he’s received far too many texts from you in the middle of the night like it’s normal to completely disregard rest. your favorite thing to do is nap with him, or feel his fingers in your hair while he watches tv at a quiet volume so you can rest.

jaemin: a part of him—and maybe he doesn’t admit this—is living vicariously through you. any opportunity he has to pick you up after class is taken, and he finds himself leaning forward against the steering wheel to get a better view of the students passing by. the campus is slow and quiet before erupting into a sea of bobbing heads and heavy backpacks as another morning class ends; they navigate the rush like it was choreographed. in another life, he wonders if your paths still would’ve crossed. if you would’ve spent every waking hour studying together in the library, at cafes, in the grass outside the science building once spring’s warmth is delicious. when he sees you, he slides back into reality, feeling the leather beneath him, and smiles widely through his window.

chenle: when he finds out you’re on the uni’s club soccer team, he asks for your game schedule. there’s a twitter page that posts updates, so he makes an account for the sole purpose of following it. his liked tweets are filled with every goal you scored and assist you made; he replies too: that’s my girl!! he has your last name on a sweatshirt that he wears to every game he can make, a mask covering his face, and sunglasses covering his eyes. he loves greeting you after games, your lips still parted, catching your breath. your cheeks are red from the excursion. flyaways frame your face, ponytail messy and much looser, so much looser than it was when you ate breakfast together hours earlier. you unravel the hair tie in his car, run your fingers through your hair, and contemplate what you want for dinner. his treat.

jisung: he’s your safe haven. his apartment is your oasis. his heart lurches whenever you text him about heading over, even if you know he won’t be home for hours. his demeanor always shifts slightly when he knows you’re at his place, and he can’t be there. he always texts back, wondering if you’re ok, and hoping you were just seeking a different environment to study in. when he gets home, sometimes you’re still studying. other days, you’re asleep in his bed or standing in the kitchen in one of his t-shirts with wet hair, waiting for the kettle to whistle. he wishes you’d just move in with him, knowing it wouldn’t only save you money, but he craves your presence. he sleeps better when you’re in his bed, and he prefers to know you’re eating. it warms his heart to see your folded figure studying on his couch, taking short breaks to peer out the window. he takes your picture, sometimes calling your name and catching a soft smile and warm eyes on film.

[monster-effer]

Your New Hobby – Sylus x reader

Summary: You start reading fanfic but are being secretive about it, Sylus is curious, shenanigans follow. Content: fluff, mild smut mention, silliness, Sylus and reader are dating, reader is not MC, Toji (JJK) mention (~800 wc) A/N: This silly idea came to me while I was reading a fanfic on AO3 lmao

next >>

You’ve picked up a new hobby lately and you feel a teeny bit embarrassed about it. While you usually yap about anything and everything to Sylus, your handsome boyfriend, you only read fanfics when he is not home. Mostly so you can squeal in private.

This is not a foolproof method. He has caught you a few times still awake at ungodly times of the night when he returns home from a business deal. There are usually curious glances thrown your way but he hasn’t pressed you on it. Yet.

It is 3 am.

You should be sleeping but you found the holy grail of fanfics a few hours ago.

Toji x reader Modern AU slow burn Rating: Explicit 30 chapters long

It is pitch black in the room with nothing but your phone’s screen illuminating your face. In the background, you have relaxing ocean sounds playing from your sleep song playlist.

You are sprawled out on the bed giggling and kicking your feet because you’ve finally reached the chapter where the characters have sweaty, filthy sex. As much as you love the build up and anticipation in slow burns, the rollercoaster ride of emotions this story put you through was exhausting. But all that suffering has paid off because this smut is downright nasty. Your mouth is hanging wide open as you read the heinous acts committed in this sacred text.

You are so locked into the fic that you don’t hear Sylus arrive home.

You also don’t hear him open the bedroom door.

Nor do you hear him sneak up behind you.

It has not escaped his notice how preoccupied you’ve been with your phone lately. At first, he thought you were researching for a new mission. But over the past few weeks he’s noticed your sleeping schedule getting more and more off track. This piqued his interest because you prefer getting a good night’s rest when you are able to.

So, can you really blame him for wanting to take a quick peak?

Sylus slinks his way towards the bed. He is surprised that you haven’t noticed his approach but plans to use your inattentiveness to his advantage. When he is close enough to see what has you so enthralled, the usually unshakeable Onychinus leader is sent reeling from the absolute filth displayed on your screen.

He hovers over your shoulder for a few minutes reading along with you. As you continue to scroll multiple questions pop into his mind.

Who the hell is Toji? And why does he have such a vulgar mouth? A headlock ????!?!?

Who knew his sweet girlfriend was into this type of reading material? After taking note of everything he read, he decides to have a little fun with you.

“What are you doing up so late kitten?”

You feel your heart drop to your ass and let out a high-pitched scream when Sylus’ voice breaks you out of your fanfic induced trance. Your heartbeat is thrumming against your ribcage as you swiftly put your phone to sleep and throw it across the bed. You roll over onto your back and sit up, so you are facing him.

“I didn’t hear you come home,” you reply shakily from the sheer amount of adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“And I, didn’t hear you answer my question,” Sylus says with a smile as he begins to remove his clothes.

“I was…um…looking up a recipe.”

Sylus struggles to hold in a laugh at your terrible lie. “Really? At 3 am? And what were you planning to make?”

You fumble over your words a bit before you respond “Lasagna! Nothing like having it homemade right?”

While you were floundering, Sylus has stripped down to his boxers, ready to wash off the aftermath of a particularly bloody business deal. “Hmm, well I look forward to trying out this lasagna soon.”

You think you catch a twinkle in Sylus’ eyes before he turns away from you and strolls into the en suite bathroom.

You slump down into the silky sheets of the bed once he leaves the room. ‘That was such a close call,’ you think to yourself. Sylus has eyes like a hawk, so you’re thankful he didn’t see any of the delicious filth you were reading. You decide to play a game on your phone to calm your nerves while he showers.

After a few minutes pass the shower turns off. You can hear Sylus shuffle around as he dries off in the bathroom.

He comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist, using another towel to dry off his hair. While you don’t immediately look up at him, you can feel his eyes focused on you. Before you can ask if he needs something, he speaks.

“So, who is Toji and why is he putting ‘you’ in a headlock?”

next >>

[grison-in-space]

wondering about whether you could rec some "romance is a social construct" texts? ofc it is, but i like having books and articles to reference/learn specifics from/see how these ideas have developed.

Sure! Here's a quick reading list. Bear in mind that I am not a professional historian and my reading on this subject is a little diffuse. I'm not tackling the behavioral ecology stuff right now because a) I don't have a more direct book rec off the top of my head than Evolution's Rainbow, which is not technically focused on social monogamy, and also b) I approach that whole field with my eyes wide open for people letting their own perspectives and cultural views get in the way of their observations of animals, and I do not have the energy to go deal with it right now.

If you're going to read two books, read these two:

Stephanie Coontz, Marriage, A History: how love conquered marriage. 2006. All of Coontz' work, having to do with the social construction of the family, is relevant reading to this question (and I'd also recommend The Nostalgia Trap, because the historical context of how we conceptualize families is a major part of the construction of romantic love), but this one is most focused on the social construction of romantic love specifically and what it has replaced. Coontz is, I will disclose cheerfully, a major formative influence on my thinking.

Moira Wegel, Labor of Love: The Invention of Dating. 2016. Exactly what it says on the tin; focuses more closely on the modern invention of dating and romance.

Other useful readings to help inform your understanding of different ways that various people have conceptualized sex, sexuality, society and long-term connection include:

George Chauncey, Why Marriage? 2015. Chauncey is best known for Gay New York, which also offers a useful history of the way that relationship models and social constructs for understanding homosexuality changed among men having sex with men c. 1900 to 1950. This book, published just before Obergefell v. Hodges, is a discussion of why contemporary queer rights organizations focused on same-sex marriage as an activism plank in the wake of AIDS organizing. I find it really useful to read queer history when I'm thinking about how we understand and construct the concept of romantic relationships, because queers complicate the mainstream, heteronormative concepts of what marriage and romantic relationships actually are. More importantly, queer activist organizing around marriage has played a major role in shaping our collective understanding of romance and marriage in the past twenty years.

Elizabeth Abbott, A History of Celibacy, 2000. In order to understand how various cultures construct understandings of marriage and spousal relationships, it can be illustrative to consider what the people who are explicitly not participating in the institution are doing and why not. I found this an interesting pass over historical and social institutions that forbid (or forbade) marriage with a discussion about general trends driving these institutions, individuals, and movements towards celibacy.

Eleanor Janega, The Once and Future Sex, 2023. This is a very pointed historical look at gender roles, concepts of beauty, and concepts of sex, attraction, and marriage among medieval Europeans with an extended meditation on what ideas have and have not changed between that time and today. I include this work because I think a deep dive into medieval notions of courtly romance is useful, partly because it is an important origin of our modern notion of romantic love and partly because it is so usefully and starkly different from that modern notion! Sometimes the best way to understand the cultural construction of ideas in your own society is to go look at someone else's and see where things are the same versus different.

It's a mish-mash of recommendations, and I'm reaching more for books that have stuck with me over the years than a clean scholarly approach to the subject. I hope other folks will chime in for you with their own recommendations!

[wendichester]

୧ ‧₊˚ extra sugar,

summary. sam's on a hunt and lucky for you, the diner you work at is his next stop.

pairing. sam winchester x waitress!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 694

notes / warnings. obnoxious flirting, sam being a shy cutie-patootie

You spot him the second he walks in.

Too tall, too broad, too scruffy academic to be from around here. Shoulders like a linebacker, but the way he tucks into the booth and opens a book before the menu even gets touched? Definitely not a regular.

He looks like he came out of a travel blog for sexy wanderers with mysterious pasts and tragic playlists.

You grab your notepad and saunter over, already crafting your opener, shooing your colleague away before she even dreams of it.

You’ve got your friendly flirt voice loaded and ready—part of the job, mostly. Tips don’t flirt themselves. But this guy? You’re not even pretending it’s just for the cash.

"Hey there, stranger," you chirp, hip popped just slightly. "Diner special today is meatloaf, but I can ask the kitchen to burn it if you’re going for the full small-town experience."

He looks up, startled. And god, those eyes. Hazelly, wide, and very much Not Ready For Eye Contact. He blinks, twice, before managing a polite, “Uh, I—I think I’ll skip the meatloaf.”

You grin. “Brave. What can I get you then?”

He clears his throat and fumbles to close the thick hardcover in front of him. You catch a glimpse of the title—some obscure folklore text that definitely has nothing to do with your specials board.

“Just coffee, please. Black.”

You write it down dramatically, tongue clicking. “How mysterious. Sitting alone with a big book. Drinking coffee like you’ve seen some things.”

His mouth quirks—half smirk, half nervous tic. “Maybe I have.”

Oh, that’s interesting.

You lean a little closer, just enough to make his ears pink. “Well. If you ever feel like unloading your tragic past, I’ve got refills and a good listening face.”

He huffs something close to a laugh. His fingers drum against the table, restless. “You always this charming, or am I just lucky?”

You pretend to think about it. “Both. Definitely both.”

You walk off, a little extra sway in your step, fully aware of his eyes trailing after you. The counter girl gives you a look when you pass.

“What?” you shrug. “He’s cute. And weird. My type.”

You bring the coffee, and he’s already back to his book, posture a little stiff like he’s trying to shake you off—mentally, not literally. But when you set the mug down with a wink, he thanks you so softly it makes your breath stutter.

You catch him glancing at the window. Then at the door. Then down at his book again. There’s tension in his shoulders, under the sweet-boy exterior. You’re good at reading people. He’s definitely hiding something.

But you let it go.

Because right now, you’re just a girl with a notepad. And he’s just a guy trying to mind his own business. Maybe save the world a little on the side.

You don’t ask questions.

You just keep refilling his mug.

You keep smiling, letting the air between you crackle just a bit more each time you say his name (he told you, eventually—Sam, shy and slow, like he wasn’t used to sharing it).

By the time he slides his check across the table, the sun’s dipped low outside. You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when he walks over to pay, hesitating like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how.

You help him out.

“Leaving already?” you say, all mock disappointment. “Was just about to ask you to marry me.”

That finally earns you a real laugh. Soft, rough-edged. The kind that makes you want to make him do it again. And again.

He sets down the cash—plus a tip that is very, very nice—and when he hands you the receipt, there’s something scribbled on the back.

A number.

You look up, surprised. He’s already halfway to the door.

But then he pauses. Looks back over his shoulder.

“I’ll be in town a couple more days,” he says, casual. Like he didn’t just hand you exactly what you were fishing for.

You tuck the number into your apron pocket, grinning. And then he’s gone. Back to his hunt. Back to whatever monster he’s chasing in the dark.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[sluttywonu]

orbit ✮

pairing: idol!minghao x f!reader

part of my nana tour series

theme: smut [MDNI]

synopsis: feeling a tad envious of seeing his members leaving one by one to meet with girls they met, dino decided to help minghao out by being the best wingman he can.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: below the cut

-

-

-

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

warning: pwp, unprotected sex (don’t do :/), fingering, heavy mention of minghao’s hands (i won’t apologize), finger sucking, reader on top, multiple positions. lmk if i missed anything!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

minghao is a very mature guy, you could say.

sure, on camera with his members he has his silly moments, funny quips but overall, he’s very chill and goes with the flow.

it’s why everyone loves minghao!

on day two of this trip, just like everybody else, he went to the wine festival. he enjoyed a few glasses, made a few camera appearances and was ready to call it a night.

when all the members made it back to the airbnb, woozi was just making it back himself.

“where’d you go?” minghao questioned. woozi smirked, “just walked this girl back to her place.”

minghao raised an eyebrow. “girl? damn.”

“mhm.. hoping to see her again before we leave.”

woozi was smitten for sure. minghao just kind of nodded and went to get ready for bed, looking to relax a bit and maybe finally read the book he brought.

after shooting the next day, minghao was pretty spent. he needed to relax.

resting against the headboard of his bed, minghao pulled his book back out and began to read when dino came in.

dino started rummaging through his suitcase, holding up a few shirts then putting them back, concentrating hard on this decision.

“what are you doing?”

still focusing on what he’s doing, dino replied “i’m about to meet up with this girl i met yesterday.”

minghao rolled his eyes, “does everybody have a fucking girl while we’re here?”

dino laughed, finally looking up.

“what? jealous?” he teased.

“not jealous, no. but—“

“sounds like you’re jealous.” dino smirked, just trying to push minghao a bit more.

minghao closed his book and sat upright in the bed. “don’t be a dick.”

“i’m not! look, this girl i’m seeing has a friend with her.”

that peeked minghao’s interest.

“i can see if any of her friends are interested.”

minghao thought about it a moment, trying to gauge if dino was really serious or not but when dino smiled, minghao agreed.

dino left and minghao waited anxiously for him to return or even a text and when he does come back with a wide grin on his face, minghao raises an eyebrow.

“so?”

“she was great. unbelievable really. i’m gonna try to see her one more time before we leave.”

“nice.” short and simple, hao. he’s just trying to play it cool, not wanting to look like this is all he’s been thinking about the last few hours.

“mhm. we exchanged numbers. i can ask her, if you’re still down.”

minghao nodded, maybe too quickly.

dino chuckled and pulled his phone out to text her.

“i’ll find you if she answers.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

you were in your hotel room, waiting for your friend to finish getting ready so the two of you can go get dinner. come out of the bathroom with her hair still wrapped in a towel, she was smirking at her phone.

“texting that guy you met?”

she nodded, “yeah, and he actually asked if you’d be interested in meeting his friend.”

“are you crazy?” you asked with a slight disdain in your voice.

“what? i really like chan and the two friends i already met. i’m sure this new guy is cool! his names minghao.”

you blinked a few times towards her, really not sure.

she sucked her teeth, “come on. we’re on vacation, let lose. i’m seeing dino again so why not have his friend come along and see if you like him.”

what’s the worse that could happen… when in rome, i guess.

“fine. but if i don’t like him, we’re leaving.”

she rolled her eyes and softly laughed, “i don’t think you’ll hate him. chan is great, joshua and seungcheol were so sweet. i have a good feeling!!”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

after dinner, you two went into the heart of the city to get some dessert. she invited dino and his friend to meet up with you guys. you felt a bit nervous to meet minghao but if they’re as nice as she claims, it could be nice to sit and talk with him or something.

you four met at a gelato shop and right away you’re taken back by minghao’s look.

he was beautiful. tall, longer hair, painted nails, the works.

he introduced himself to you, then the infamous dino you’ve heard so much about before he honed in on your friend.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

you can’t believe you almost passed up this offer from your friend, minghao is wonderful.

he’s kind, funny and so fucking cute. you keep catching yourself eyeing up all his features, specifically his nice lips. and his pretty, long fingers.

not only was he nice and easy to talk to, he was hot.

minghao was certainly feeling you, too. he’s going to thank dino immensely later after this.

after the gelato was finished, your friend and dino decided they were going to head off for some alone time, leaving you and minghao to yourselves.

“wanna keep hanging out?” you asked, hopeful he’d say yes.

he agreed with a smile, putting his hands into his pockets. “what should we do?” you then asked. “i’m pretty tired of walking around today, want to just hangout at your hotel?” you checked with your friend to see what her and dino were doing and the hotel is surprisingly clear so you agreed and you walked towards your hotel together.

inside the room, he shrugged his jacket off and sat on the small couch. you took off your crewneck and sat beside him, making yourself comfortable. his eyes looked down to your chest for a moment, hoping you wouldn’t notice. you did. but you didn’t mind.

“i’m having a really good time, y/n.” he smiled. you matched his expression, “yeah. you’ve been really cool to get to know.” “do you think i’d be able to see you again? before we both go?” he asked.

“depends.”

he looked confused for a moment. “on what?”

“are you going to kiss me?”

your forwardness made him chuckle a bit.

he leaned towards you and pressed your lips together, a small smirk tugging on his lips against yours.

he started to pull away but you held his jaw and pulled him back in for one, two, three more, the kisses growing sloppier the more you two shared.

your slid your hand from his jaw to his shoulder to try and ground yourself for a moment. he bit his bottom lip while pressing his forehead into yours,

“i was trying to be a gentleman.”

“i don’t want you to be, hao.”

he suppressed the groan that was about to leave his throat as he looked into your innocent eyes.

he kissed you again, this time his hands finding your waist. his fingertips held you tight, trying to keep you as close as possible before he guided you onto his lap.

wrapping your arms around his neck, you played with his pretty blonde hair that laid over the back of his neck, making him let out small little groans against your lips.

minghao kissed down your jaw to your neck. you let out a tiny moan, tugging his hair a bit in your fingers. “you sound so pretty~” he softly mused into your skin. “i want more, hao..” you moaned out blissfully as your head fell back. he kept kissing your neck while his hands moved down to your ass, grabbing tight on the flesh. “what do you want?” he teased, already knowing the answer.

“touch me.. please!”

he moved you so you were laying on top of the couch and quickly removed your pants. you opened your legs for him, watching as he licked his lips to the sight of you below him. he pressed his thumb into the wet patch left on your panties and smirked watching you squirm a bit.

he pulled the fabric aside and marveled at your wet folds, “everything about you is so fucking pretty.” blush crept up your neck. his words and actions were fully making your head spin.

minghao slid two fingers through your slit, admiring your slick then moved them up to your mouth, stuffing them in. your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you lapped your tongue against his long slender digits. he licked his lips as he watched you, his cock aching behind his jeans.

when he pulled them out, he went back to your hole and slowly pushed the two fingers into you. your back arched off the couch as a loud gasp escaped you. slowly, he pumped his fingers in and out of you, going crazy over all your little squeaks and moans.

as his fingers quickened, he leaned down to kiss you again, free hand grabbing your breast through your shirt. you got the hint and sat up slightly to take it off. he leaned back down to kiss down your neck to your chest, kissing the swell of your breasts and collarbones, bringing you closer to your release. your hands thread through his hair again, tugging slightly.

“hao.. close..”

he smirked against your skin, “cum for me, baby..” his tone raspy now.

you came against his fingers. he slowed them down to let you ride them out, kissing you through your high. he sat back down against the couch and pulled his pants down, taking his cock in his hands and stroking it slowly. your eyes watched his fingers as he wrapped around the base. his length was pretty but you didn’t expect anything less.

“ride me?”

you bit your lip and moved to straddle his thighs while he ridded himself of his shirt. slowly, you sank down onto him, digging your nails into his shoulder with a moan. his hands were on your hips, helping you sink down to fully take his length.

once you felt comfortable, you started moving your hips. his moans sounded so angelic while he watched where you two were connected, his hands helping you ride him the perfect speed.

he looked up at you and kissed you once more, drunk on the way you taste. in one swift motion with hands still on your hips, he flipped you two over so you were on your back. you let out a small yelp and held onto him tight as he started pistoning his hips into you, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.

“fuck, hao! don’t stop!”

he felt close but wanted to make sure you came with him so he reached a hand between you two and pressed his thumb into your clit, making you clench around him tight. he hissed and leaned down to kiss your neck again.

“c-close!!”

“cum with me, baby.”

you nodded frantically and came against him, triggering his orgasm. you held him close as you two rode them out, running your fingers through his hair.

after he cleaned you up, you two moved to your bed to cuddle before he has to head back to his airbnb. a smirk on his face, he texted dino.

minghao: i fucking owe you. she’s amazing

[sinofwriting]

Karma - Charles Leclerc

Words: 1,396 Summary: Charles and her had plans. 2025 would start with her fully moving in with him and then at the Monaco Grand Prix, they’d become public. A certain rapper ruins that in Vegas. Note(s): Lamar!Reader, Reader has the nickname ‘Butterfly’, slight smau, changed results of Abu Dhabi, also yes the title is referring to the Taylor Swift song, lol. Thank you @burningcupcakefire for encouraging me to write this when I mentioned the idea!!!

Masterlist | Support Me!

Charles could privately admit that when all the diss tracks started to come out, he more than paid attention to them. He had always appreciated Kendrick’s music but in the past year had gained a new perspective of him as both an artist and a person. All because he had started seeing the artist’s younger sister.

They hadn’t gone public yet, were still unsure of when they wanted to. He had reservations about putting more eyes on her and considering how his fans, how motorsport fans were, he could only imagine the baseless claims they’d made, the attacks they’d lay at her feet and Y/N, or Butterfly as she had been nicknamed by her brother’s fans, a nickname that had quickly caught to everyone in her life, had her own reasons.

She didn’t care about what fans would say, they were behind a keyboard, she could be perfect, and to Charles she was, and they would still find something to pick at, there was no winning. It was the attention he brought. She was already sometimes followed around by paparazzi just because of her brother, she knew that as soon as the news broke, she really would never be able to get her groceries in peace without some divorced thirty-year-old shouting questions as he took photos of her.

So they both had agreed that after the new year, when she was finally fully living with him in Monaco, and then at the Monaco Grand Prix, they would reveal their relationship, that of course didn’t go to plan because of one Instagram story.

—

—

Butterfly is fuming when he gets back to his hotel room, the curtains drawn back and letting the lights of Vegas spill into it, onto her. She’s nearly as stunning here as she is on his balcony in Monaco that faces the coast. A gorgeous backdrop that can’t even come close to her beauty no matter how much it tries.

Her fury makes arousal simmer in the pit of his stomach and his lips twitch upwards when she leans into the kiss he presses to the corner of her lips.

“You're nearly as mad as when he mentioned Whitney.”

She scowls at the verbal reminder of that shit. “He’s lucky I’m a civil adult.”

“Very civil.” Charles agrees.

“I mean, honestly what the fuck does he think he’s doing. Acting like he got an interest in F1.”

Charles listens as she starts to rant, having clearly waited for him, and he listens as undresses. Gathering his clothes up as her voice increases in volume and he gently tugs her with him into the bathroom, turning on the shower before easily lifting her onto the bathroom counter, her hands pausing their gesturing to run over his arms in thanks before she continues.

She rants through his brief shower, nearly slipping when she begins to read out texts between her and her brother.

“He is pissed?” His voice is nearly high, head poking out of the shower to look at her with wide eyes.

Butterfly looks at him in confusion, head cocked to the side. “Baby, of course. Your family. We don’t stand for shit like this against family.”

Charles can’t even point out that said shit is just an insta story of Drake saying he’s betting on him to win the grand prix, because he knows it feels deeper than that, especially with Drake’s history of betting. His mind is far too focused on the word family.

“I’m family?”

She lets out a laugh, tongue running over her teeth. “Baby, you got with me right before one of the worst times for our family and stuck through it. You never had to prove yourself, but that did it. You're stuck with all of us now.”

He feels warm all over at the words and he ducks his back into the shower, quickly rinsing off before climbing out, barely remembering to put a towel around his waist before capturing her lips in a kiss.

Her hands eagerly run over his back, legs opening to pull him closer and he tries to keep his upper body away from her, not wanting to get her shirt wet, but she pulls him closer and he can’t resist her, has never been able to.

“You’ve made me all wet.” She teases when they break apart.

He tries to apologize, but then she’s taking his hand and pressing it between them, against her leggings, and the feeling of wetness pulls a moan from the back of his throat.

“You are very lucky that I don’t listen to Andrea.”

“Very lucky.” She agrees.

—

“K said you had an idea.”

Charles lets out a hum, fingers trailing over her ribs.

“He wouldn’t tell me what.”

His fingers pause. “I was thinking instead of staying in Vegas tomorrow we go and see him.”

“We leave for Qatar on Monday.”

“We can make it back to Vegas in time for our flight. It’s barely a two-hour flight from there to here.”

This time she hums.

“Can we go public?”

He nearly chokes. “What?”

“Public, I want to go public. We had kind of talked about doing it before Monaco next season, but things have changed a bit.”

“Because I’m family.”

She laughs, “Yeah, baby, because your family.”

“What if we do a uh soft launch?”

“A soft launch?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a picture with your brother for my insta stories, start following you, you follow me back.” Excitement starts to build as he speaks.

“I post a little something about being in Qatar.”

“We do a little date night in Abu Dhabi.”

She hums, “You kiss me after you win Abu Dhabi.”

“You think I’m going to win?”

“Fuck yeah, baby. First Ferrari driver to win there and you’ll overtake Norris in the standings and maybe Ferrari will finish P2 in the constructors.”

“I like this plan.”

She smiles. “I like it too.”

—

—

—

—

“Yes Charles!”

“Yes!” He screams over the radio. “Where did Carlos finish? Where did Norris, Oscar?” He wants to celebrate the win, but the constructors and drivers are far more important.

“Carlos P6, Norris P3, Oscar P10. You are second in the drivers. And we are second in constructors, 2 points between you and Norris, four points between us and McLaren.”

“Fuck.” The excitement in him is simmered with resentment. Four points was all it came down to and of course it wasn’t in their favor.

“Charles, Charles,” Fred’s voice is thick over the radio. “You did fantastic, another win for you and an amazing drive!”

He smiles, taking his hands off to wave at fans as he slowly moves around the track. Italian easily spilling from his lips as he thanks Fred, Bryan, the mechanics, engineers and the whole team.

It’s satisfying to pull his car to the number one spot as Lando takes off his helmet, jaw twitching. Charles wants to shake him because how can he be this focused on second in the drivers when him and his team won the constructors. He stares at him for a second before getting out of the car and throwing himself into his teams arms.

They easily catch him, hands patting all over, his name spilling off lips over and over again. They grip him tighter before letting him go to take off his helmet and balaclava.

The air is refreshing against his face and normally he's taking a drink of water, starting to put back on jewelry, but today he’s searching through the crowd of red, heart thumping when he finally notices her.

She’s to the side, beaming at him as Bryan stands on her left while his mom and brothers stand to her right. And he goes to her.

His hands easily going to her face, holding it gently before kissing her.

She’s mumbling something against his lips and he wants to know what, but he can’t stop kissing her. Not when she’s clutching at his arms, pressing closer to him. But a nudge to the ribs makes him pull away, breathless, and his tongue runs over his swollen lips.

“So proud of you, baby! So fucking proud!” She yells at him as he’s pulled away for a post race interview and he can’t help but blow her a kiss, happy to have won in front of her for the first time and in front of his family again.

[yanderenightmare]

your vocab is really rich, what's ur secret

Vocabulary Tricks & Tips

Excellent request!

♡ Read!

And every time you stumble upon a word you've never noticed before or know but don't often use, put it in a list, write down its meanings, and try using it the next time you write!

I'll put my list at the end of the post!

♡ Read Different Things!

Different authors and different styles, especially poetry! I mean, if you're looking to fatten your vocab, reading poetry is one of the best ways to do it. Poetic writers must search far and wide for the perfect words to create rhymes and rhythms and audibly pleasing sentences---they practically do all the work for you! Honestly, I am so serious about this. One of the best things you can do is buy a fat compendium of poetry with all different authors and eras. Get you some Edgar Allen Poe, Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, and Shakespeare if you want to hurt your head.

Also! The same goes for music! Try listening to the lyrics---you'll probably hear some words you've never thought of using in your writing.

♡ Cheap Trick for Bilinguals~

Write something in your own language and put it through Google Translate. Honestly, I've found so many words just by doing this.

♡ Synonyms!

Every time you feel you've used a word too much, or anytime a word bores you to read, search up its synonyms and try using something you've never used before---don't stop the search until you're satisfied. Sometimes, it takes me more time to find just one word than it takes to write an entire post. Not only does this enrich your vocab, but you've probably just written a whole other sentence with newer meanings and more nuance

Make your own synonym lists! Seriously! Because you can only find that many creative synonyms by searching up "word+synonyms.

Additionally! Think outside the box! Often, the best synonyms are those words that aren't actual synonyms at all. If you read poetry, you'll see poets use unorthodox words in place of something all the time---it's called a metaphor. Take flesh, for example---you can use fat, meat, muscle, brawn, beef---but you can also use cake, down, plume, pillow, softness, etc...

I find this one especially useful for writing erotica, as you have to describe a lot of the same actions and body parts over and over and still make it interesting. (I'll add my synonyms list at the end of the post)

♡ Showing vs Telling

Also! This one is trickier, but instead of using words and synonyms, try making sentences that can replace the word instead---such as longer metaphors and fuller descriptions!

This aligns with the literary device of "showing vs. telling." Of course, outright telling has its uses too and should not be disbarred entirely from writing, but often, it's showing that persuades the reader more.

For example, instead of saying nervous, make sentences that describe how the character in question showcases nervousness---does their throat close up, do they sweat, do their eyes go wide, do they stutter, do they fiddle with their fingers, pick their nails, bite their lip, kick the ground, hunch their shoulders, look away, blush, flush, cry, run away or do they feel stuck?

Describing these things helps the reader better understand the type of nervousness the character is experiencing. Hence, it makes for not only more interesting writing but also clearer writing!

♡ Focus & Expanding

A similar literary device is "focus and expanding," which slows down the reading or puts focus on certain aspects of the text by describing something to a great extent. If, say, this nervousness the example character is experiencing is of great significance, then that's what the readers' takeaway should be. But the reader won't think too much of it if the text simply states that they're nervous without underlining it.

Luckily, there are plenty of ways of doing that, firstly through showing vs. telling, such as in the examples above, then metaphorically, such as:

The ground seemed to swallow him up, down the guzzle of a monster with an appetite for disaster---darkness ensued like a storm cloud, cold and clawing with a weight heavy enough to nail him to the spot---all eyes were on him, unblinking and all-seeing, no matter what, he couldn't escape, he was stuck, glued to the ground by the soles of his shoes.

I mean, the options are truly endless.

These metaphors piled together are also a form of focusing and expanding, but you can take it even further than that by focusing on a small detail and giving it significance.

For example, say the character is sweating because he's so nervous---you might focus on a single droplet of sweat instead of everything else:

A chill ran down his back. No, not a chill--sweat. Cold and creepily tracing the rigid bones of his spine. He can't move--if he moves, then they'll see. The sweat will seep into his shirt, and everyone will know what a sweaty and pathetic wreck he is. So, he can't move. No, yes, leave it alone. The droplet continues, running down the cold skin of his clammy back, sliding undeterred until meeting the band of his boxers and disappearing in the fibers. He swallows thickly and sighs with relief--only for another to pill at his nape, tracking the same course as the former. A vicious cycle is forming. He needs to get out of there!

And that's focus and expanding, folks! Focusing on something minuscule and expanding it by using it to describe what the character is feeling. It's a way to have a fresh take on something that's been written a thousand times before, such as "he was nervous."

♡ Lastly~

Anyway, I might have gone a little above and beyond, but really, all these literary devices are ways of "expanding vocabulary" or at least giving an impression of it.

♡ NEW WORDS!

Manically---like a maniac

Despotic---like a dictator, having unlimited power over someone, often using it unfairly and cruelly

Chasm---a deep fissure, like a ravine, wound, or metaphorical rupture

Shunts---track-change basically, scoots to the side

Dearth---a scarcity or lack of something, a shortage

Raucous---making a harsh or loud noise

Innocuous---not harmful or offensive---harmless and safe, but also bland and unremarkable, maybe even a little boring

Lanyard---the woven necklace of a festival pass

Gossamer---fine spiderwebs, almost mesh

Cossetted---care for and protect in an overindulgent way

Beribboned---decorated with many ribbons

pupil-fat---cool way of saying enlarged pupils

Chitters---snickers, like a bird

Decadent---corrupt, depraved

Blotting---either soak up and absorb, or stain, or obscure

Barbell---a bar “pole” with attachments on each side

Bunting---of animals, when they butt or rub their head against you

Garnet---red

Cherubic---angelic, plump cuteness, quality of a child

Haunches---hips

Sodden---soaking

Waxing poetic---speaking in a flowery or poetical fashion

Inkwell---a container for ink---a dark well

Rend---tear in two, or more pieces

Ebb---recede, go back, like a tide wave

Webbed---like a duck's feet

Cloying---sickly sweet

Saccharine---oversweet

Apple of your cheek

Swathes---wrap, swaddle

Shroud---obscure something

Moonstone---to describe something grey and dusty, but pretty

Kinked---tangled, messy

Leaden---heavy, dull, slow or the colour of lead, grey

Stygian---devoid of light and brightness, hellish

Flaxen---of hair, champagne colored---ashy blonde

Tepid---lukewarm

♡ SYNONYMS!

Related to sucking cock:

Swallow

Glug

Drink

Eat

Guzzle

Receive

Take

Suck

Suckle

Slobber

Gargle

Gurgle

Drool

Gulp

Gobble

Stuff

Glut

Choke

Gag

Lap

Lick

Kitten-lick

Slurp 

Allow entry

Related to kissing:

Kiss

Lock/brush lips

Tongue-feed

Suck faces

Smooch

Peck

Snog

Canoodle

Related to biting:

Bite

Graze

Nip

Nibble

Sink teeth into

Chomp

Related to crying:

Whimpering

Mewling

Bleating

Whining

Snivel

Sniffle

Cry

Sob

Bawl

Hiccup

Spluttering

Blubbering

Coughing

Croaking

Related to pre-cum:

Ooze

Leak

Weep

Well

Drip

Dribble

Flow

Drain

Bleed

Sweat

Seep

Pill

Pearl

Cry

Related to fear and panic:

Hysterical

Wild

Manic

Uncontrolled

Unrestrained

Frantic

Frenzied

Restless

Hectic

Sporadic

Swivel-eyed

Related to screaming:

Scream

Yell

Wail

Yelp

Yip

Yammer

Squawk

Howl

Squeal

Shriek

Related to moaning:

Moan

Whine

Yelp

Purr

Hum

Croon

Related to overstimulated moaning:

Mumble

Croon

Warble

Quaver

Burble

Bumble

Hum

Slur

Ramble

Mutter

Whisper

Stammer

Stutter

Scramble

Jumble

Muddled

Babble

Blubbered

Splutter

Blurt

Related to groaning:

Groan

Grunt

Growl

Grumble

Grouch

Hiss

Guttural

Feral

Rusty 

Throaty

Wet

Sloppy

Related to angry noises:

Howl

Roar

Bark

Grizzle

Grump

Related to surprise or fear:

Gasp

Gulp

Choke

Suck in a sharp breath

Flinch

Jump

Jostle

Wince

Hiss

Pull back

Related to comforting:

Coo

Fuss

Comfort

Hush

Shush

Tsk

Mollycoddle

Nurse

Cuddle

Babying

Consoling

Soothe

Loving

Smothering

Hug

Hug tight

Cocoon

Snuggling

Swaddling

Rock back and forth with

Cosseting

Petting

Overwhelm

Related to begging:

Beg

Pleading

Pray

Bargain

Related to soreness and pain:

Ache

Sore

Throb

Swollen

Fattened

Welted

Related to taking cock inside entrance:

Swallow

Receive

Take

Suck inside

Stuff

Fill

Allow entry

Submit to

Ease inside

Bully inside

Squeeze inside

Force inside

Push

Pry

Tear

Related to how the hole squeezes:

Kissing

Fluttering

Hugging

Pressing

Squishing

Squeezing

Tightening

Pulsing

Related to a wet hole:

Slush

Squelch

Squishy

Creamy

Sloppy

Wet

Soaked

Slosh

Sop

Cry

Slick

Weep

Drool

Gush

Swollen

Velvety

Gummy

Cotton

Silken

Satiny

Related to thrusting:

Squeeze into

Pound

Jam

Ram

Rut

Loll

Rock

Thrust

Stuff

Bottom out

Fill

Fit

Nestle

Cram

Prodding

Poking

Kissing

Hammering

Jack-hammer

Smack

Slap

Ream

Tear

Related to pleasure:

Ecstatic

Opium-eyed

Euphoric

Elated

Thrilled

Blissed-out

Rapturous

High

Cloudy

Numb

Related to overstimulation:

Overstimulated

Outdone

Aching

Burning

Sweating

Feverish

Delirious

Febrile

Numb

Immobile

Dazed

Dull

Related to being dumb, high, or overstimulated:

Ditzy

Dumb

Clumsy

Silly

Foolish

Giddy

Brainless

Dizzy

Fuzzy

Dopey

Whimsical

Fickle

Featherbrained

Daft

Hare-brained

Awkward

Graceless

Blundering

Bumbling

Klutzy

Clueless

Cloddish

Dense

Related to the body and the flesh:

Tender

Supple

Soft

Creamy

Plush

Doughy

Cakey

Downy

Pillowy

Malleable

Squeezable

Biteable

Pliable

Touchable

Putty

Plume

Related to cuteness:

Cute

Cherubic

Adorable

Sweet

Soft

Precious

Darling

Lovable

Endearing

Baby

Related to weak or smallness:

Breakable

Brittle

Weak

Fragile

Dainty

Delicate

Frail

Flimsy

Vulnerable

Petite

Small

Little

Tiny

Feeble

Defenseless

Powerless

Helpless

Worthless

Hopeless

Related to struggling:

Struggle

Winding

Striving

Straining

Toiling

Playing

Wriggle

Wiggle

Twist

Shake

Tremor

Shiver

Quake

Related to men:

Vulgar

Loud

Oafish

Rough

Rude

Rustic

Gruff

Gross

Doltish

Barbaric

Bearish

Beastly

Churlish

Coarse

Swinish

♡ NIGHTMARE'S HELPDESK

[koiiiji]

here for you

author’s note ; been thinking about annoying classmate Jinseong (Zack Lee) and ended up with this… past days ideas are rich for possessive guys😪 will post something cute too!!!

tw ; slightly yandere

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🍓୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Lee Jinseong had always prided himself on his newly acquired in university ability to remain calm and collected. the days of street fights and reckless behavior were gone ; now his baggy clothes masked his athletic physique, and he kept to himself, focusing on his studies, avoiding the social scene he had once thrived in. but all that changed the moment he met you.

it started innocently enough — just a few casual conversations after class, small talk that didn’t seem like much at the time. you’d laugh at his jokes, ask him about his interests, and listen patiently when he talked about boxing and martial arts. unlike everyone else, you seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. you weren’t like the people he used to hang out with in high school. you listened.

Jinseong thrived on that attention, and before long, he found himself seeking it out more and more. it was like a drug — each conversation, each smile from you, pulling him deeper into a hole he couldn’t control. he told himself it was harmless at first. you were friends, right? friends talk, friends hang out. but that wasn’t enough for Jinseong. not anymore.

he began to text you constantly, at all hours. at first, it was normal — little things like, “hey, what’s up?” or “wanna study together?” but then the messages became more frequent, more desperate.

JinJin: "what are you doing?" JinJin: "are you busy?" JinJin: "why aren’t you answering?" JinJin: "are you with someone else?"

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🍓୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

messages would pile up, one after the other, even if you hadn’t responded yet. sometimes he’d send three or four in a row within minutes, and the longer you didn’t reply, the more desperate his texts became.

it wasn’t long before his behavior in person became just as suffocating. he was always there — waiting outside your classes, showing up at the library, popping up unannounced at your dorm. at first, you tried to brush it off, telling yourself that Jinseong was just being a good friend, just protective. but the more it happened, the harder it became to ignore how clingy and persistent he was becoming.

“hey, you’re here!” Jinseong’s voice startled you one afternoon as you sat in the library. you hadn’t told him you’d be there, but there he was, standing at the end of the table with that all-too-familiar grin.

“uh, yeah… studying,” you said, forcing a smile as he pulled out the chair across from you. Jinseong didn’t seem to notice the awkwardness. “mind if i join?” he didn’t wait for an answer before settling in.

you tried to focus on your work, but it was impossible with Jinseong sitting so close, constantly shifting in his seat, watching you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. after every few minutes of silence, he’d ask you something, his questions coming out of nowhere, desperate for attention.

“what are you reading?” Jinseong asked, leaning in way too close so you could feel his breath on your cheek, and you just knew his hand resting on the back of your chair. “need any help?”

“no, i’m good,” you replied, feeling how your face just burning and crawling embarrassment. he wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

“are you sure? i mean, i can help you with anything. we can study together more often.” he smiled, but there was an edge of neediness in his voice that made your stomach twist. you tried to stay calm, but the more he clung to you, the more anxious you became.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🍓୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

he followed you out of the library that day, insisting on walking you home, talking nonstop about things you weren’t even paying attention to. his presence felt oppressive now — too close, too constant, too much.

the real breaking point came one night after class. Jinseong showed up at your dorm unexpectedly, knocking on the door with a wide grin on his face.

“hey!” he said cheerfully when you opened the door. “thought we could hang out.”

“JinJin,” you breath out his nickname, a force of habit, but not a sincere wish to him affectionately “it’s late,” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. “i’m really tired. i’ve got a lot of work to do.”

his smile faltered for a second, but he quickly recovered. “come on, just for a little while. i brought some snacks. you like those, right?”

you hesitated, guilt tugging at you for a moment. but the more Jinseong pushed, the more you realized just how badly you wanted some space. “i really can’t tonight, Jinseong. maybe some other time.”

there was a flicker of something dark in his eyes, — you almost never called him by his full name — and for a moment, you thought he might not leave. but then he let out a small laugh, though it sounded forced. “yeah, okay… sure. tomorrow, then?”

you nodded quickly, wanting to end the conversation, but the way he lingered at your door for just a second too long sent a shiver down your spine. when he finally left, you shut the door, exhaling deeply, your chest tight with unease. what had started as friendly attention had spiraled into something else entirely, something you couldn’t control. and as you leaned against the door, you realized with a sinking feeling that Jinseong wasn’t going to stop.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🍓୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[theodysseyofhomer]

i get a lot of questions about which homer translations i recommend and what's the most "faithful" and it's kind of funny because you are asking a lay reader, so to speak. also you are talking to someone who grew up with biblical literalism and is constantly, actively deconstructing that approach to ancient, translated texts. i really think my personal fascination with translation is inseparable from that context. but since i can't completely step outside my context anyway, who's to say?

all this to say—being "faithful" to a text doesn't mean what i thought it meant, what i was taught it meant, when i was a child. translators have a lot to balance—how do you translate the meaning of the original, while also translating some of the feeling the original audience might have had, while also translating the metaphors of a world removed from the present? different translators put different elements forward. they may sacrifice what another translator would consider more important. to be sure, not all concerns put forward by a translator have equal merit. but they have to make choices, and they can't help but make choices. because they aren't separable from their context, either.

if you're interested in ancient literature, i don't think you should be searching for unbiased translations (which don't exist). i do hope you seek to understand what a translators' concerns (conscious or not) may be. and if you do that, and you care enough about translation work to read widely, you will intuitively learn more about the compromises and failures and successes of translation than i can describe to you, in my muddled way.

[n0tamused]

A/n: I sort of strayed a little with this one I feel like, but thank you sm for the request, and I hope you enjoy this!

Contents: Mortefi x GN!Reader, jealous reader, reader is very stubborn I must say, not proof-read. lemme know what you think!

Words: 3059

It’s suffocating. Uncomfortably warm and slimy. This feeling that roils within your chest and throat, you’re sure you’re about to start feeling sick from the thoughts spiraling within your mind. And the lab papers in front of you and the endless sound of the machine’s beeping is not enough to distract you.

Beep-beep-beep.

Have you done something wrong? What could it be? Only minutes prior were you looking at these papers with some sense of pride, imagination running wild with the possible outcomes of this hypothesis, positive ones. Yet, they were so easily shattered when Mortefi breezed by, catching a glimpse of the words printed on top, leaving several comments of where you could improve - how you should improve if you want to go through with this. Had you had a clear mind you would’ve done as he said, taken his words as helpful advice and not as an attack on your work. But his tone remained the same as always, it didn’t soften nor did it grow warm. So it made you wonder what he meant, or rather - what he really felt towards you. The latter was a question that occupied your mind for a long time.

He moved past you to the center of the lab, nearing one of the many lit computers, just where Baizhi stood. From afar you could see them greet one another and begin to talk. And that feeling in your chest only expanded further, pawing at your ribs and making you frown at the helplessness. Mortefi looked interested in whatever their topic of conversation was, and it lasted some odd few minutes. Odd minutes you couldn’t keep your focus until both of them left to their own stations, and far out of your sight. 

A heavy breath fell from you, irritated but also… sad. 

With your mind in a strewn about yarn, threads hanging, you began to think if this work was even worthy for you. God knew you wanted it, you signed up for it, you spent nights studying and working to be better and get better than that but all that effort seemed to fall short and small within Baizhi’s shadow. And you don’t even blame her, she is excellent in her work, you don’t hate her. But you’d give a questionable amount of things to have a fraction of that sweet attention Mortefi was giving her. Perhaps you were being unreasonable, irrational - and you don’t argue with it - you’re seeing green and red everywhere, and with hasty hands you collect your papers after making small adjustments, crossing out lines of text and noting down new words. And moments later you’re off to another part of the Academy, away from Mortefi and Baizhi.

What little glimpse Mortefi caught of you as you left shows disappointment and, and in the way you held yourself he saw traces of turmoil that he didn’t fully understand from that one look. He remained at his station, engrossed in his research and unaware of the burden you carried in your heart. 

It wasn’t until the time for your report came and went. And when your break time came and went. And you were nowhere in sight.

That made an odd feeling settle in his chest, a vibration of an unknown bass playing amidst the bones of his ribcage, waves of it washing up to his neck. Unable to ignore it any longer, he bid farewell to his station for the time being, one hand buried in the pocket of his lab coat, playing with the lighter. Flick..flick..

There was not one spot in this wide and vast Academy that you could hide from him, not when he wasn’t particularly looking for you and even more so when he was specifically looking for you. He could spot you in a crowd by one lone look, to him you stood out like a flower amidst grass, how could he overlook you? Following the path familiar to him, he comes into a lab room smaller in contrast than the others, hidden away from the hustle and bustle of the center room and the halls. It is clean, it is comfortable. His eyes land on your back, your nose buried in your papers, your hands hastily fiddling with the apparatus in front of you. You barely acknowledged his presence.

As if to avoid startling you, Mortefi clears his throat, but he fails and watches as you flinch at the sudden disturbance. 

“Mortefi? Uh- What are you doing here? Did you need me?” the questions tumble out from your mouth out of habit rather than genuine curiosity. You turned to face him, brows lightly knit together and eyes regarding him with a mix of feelings and inquiries. 

“I grew curious as to where you vanished off to. Has your research been so indulgent that you forgot to eat or report in? It’s been 3 hours and some odd minutes since you began on this project this morning” he began, the nail on his thumb grazing underneath the lid of his lighter within his pocket, keeping still, yet tense in his hand. His sharp gaze moves from your eyes and down to the table you were working at, noting the sharpie marks across your paper and thinner lines from your pen, and giving a small nod at them he said: “You made those adjustments I told you about, I trust”

This pulls your attention from him and at the papers, and taking his words as some sign to move freely you begin to stack pages back on top of another. “Yes. I made the necessary changes to it all. I just need to put it all into practice and, hopefully, get the results I want” you respond, clearing your parched throat. His gaze is intense, you can feel it at the back of your head like two sharp points of a stick. 

“You’ve been pushing yourself today, unnecessarily so. I sense some growing frustration from you” he says, leaving the topic open ended, expecting you to explain yourself, but where do you even begin without looking like a fool? Like a child? 

You sigh, looking around the table yet searching for nothing as you shrug your shoulders. “No, no.. I just haven't been sleeping too well lately, and it seems that all is catching up to me” you offer a empty excuse, before reaching for a blank sheet of paper, a part of you yearning to keep him here, and the other wishing him to leave you with your own emotional burdens. “If a report is what you need, I can only offer what I have from the experiment thus far, but it is not concluded, I apologize”

“Ah, yes.. sleep. One thing that is most underestimated in its importance” he mused out loud, tone flat and ignoring your latter statement for a moment too long. He was pressing deeper into the crux of the matter, not letting you shift the topic too easily. “The report for an unfinished work will not be necessary, it’s much more preferable if you take a bit longer to get end results than to hand over a half-baked product”, he sighed, pushing his golden rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Your dedication is admirable, but we can hardly expect progress if you're operating on insufficient rest and mental fatigue”.

You have to stop yourself from either chuckling or spinning around to stare at him as if he was speaking backwards. But no matter what you tried, you couldn’t stop your heart from hammering in your chest.

“Perhaps you should have Baizhi take a look at you. She can prescribe you some soothing medication to help you sleep. But as for work.. You’re done for today” he stated plainly, looking to the side and barely missing your shocked eyes.

“What? Are you dismissing me?” you blurted out, suddenly afraid you have done something wrong or that you offended him in some capacity. He’d never send you home, especially not when you were in the midst of a project. 

“It's not a matter of dismissiveness, but rather a practical decision. If your exhaustion is hindering your ability to perform optimally, what benefit is there in insisting on your presence here?” he replied, his tone cool and detached. You blink at him owlishly, confused and, quite frankly, afraid. Previous anger, sadness and jealousy all melting away from your bones like wax over a flame. The flame being Mortefi himself. An eternal blaze that swallowed everything in its wake. You were wondering how it didn’t engulf you by now.

But in that thought alone you missed the point of it all. His flames didn’t touch you, didn’t scorn you because he willed them that way. The warmth of them kept you warm, kept you alive, kept you in this field and as his coworker, a place most others wouldn’t be able to handle. He would soften it all if he knew how, to show you he cares.

Sensing a shift in your emotions, Mortefi softened his gaze, a subtle nod of understanding replacing the usual aloofness he carried. He saw the confusion and fear in your eyes, and it pained him that he had inadvertently caused it. He knew that his words could often come across as cold and dismissive, but it was never his intention to harm or offend.

“Rest is not a punishment, but a necessary part of the work process. To push oneself to the point of exhaustion is unproductive. It only inhibits progress. Trust me when I tell you this."

Softness is undeniably present in his voice now, and your mind goes blank. Your mind was still stuck on this morning, on your project, but here he was breaking all illusions and thoughts by simply being kind. 

“I can’t say I don’t appreciate your concern, but..” you look up at his eyes only to find a scowl curling the corners of his lips, and you sigh again, looking away in embarrassment. “I can’t argue with you either, can I?”

“No, you cannot. Now, go pack up what you have. I’ll go contact Baizhi and see if she can get a check up on you before you leave”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary..” you wave your hands before you, shaking your head simultaneously to deny the offer with your entire being. “I already have some tea at home that can help me with this, no need for a check up. I insist” you try, but only get a cocked brow from Mortefi, you can already tell what he’s thinking. 

“Tea alone cannot be sufficient in treating issues related to poor sleep. Besides, it goes without saying Baizhi is well versed in medicine, and her prior check-ups of your health have been of great help to you, have they not? If tea was that simple of medicine, why have you not seen improvement?” he shot back sharply and you grew quiet, not wishing to prolong this argument further, but staying silent wouldn’t be the way to go either.

“I don’t want to see Baizhi right now” you said plainly, tone low and softened involuntarily. Your reply was met with a skeptical look, Mortefi’s head tilted in question. “And why not? Do I need to pull you to her office myself? You’re not a child, (Y/n)” he countered, not low on his arsenal of words and snappy remarks. He approached you closer, closing the distance between the two of you until he could peer into your avoidant eyes, making your heart skip a beat.

“I just.. Mortefi, I don’t know. I don’t want to see Baizhi and that’s final. Don’t make me go see her. I’ve seen enough of you two this morning” It slipped from your mouth sooner than you could pull it back, and immediately you regretted your choice of words, cursing the ability to speak. “Uh-”

Mortefi froze in his tracks, his sharp eyes widening subtly in surprise. The mention of Baizhi and himself seemed to strike a chord in him, and his stoic façade cracked just enough to betray a hint of confusion. “Hm? Have we done something to offend you to this degree of avoidance? I wasn’t aware of any discomfort inflicted upon you” he knitted his brows, looking at you for answers, his turn to feel on edge now. Were you implying he was acting out of line with Baizhi? He knew of how he behaved around others and he saw no flaws in his dealings with other colleagues, so it all left him in a more twisted maze. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, lips pressing into a thin line. “Mortefi- no. You haven’t done anything to offend me, I am not offended. I just.. uh.. No, it’s all too silly. I just meant that you two just seem to be too busy with your shared workload, and I just got tired of seeing it all” It’s a badly written lie, and the truth is bleeding through the cracks in neon colors. You’re cringing at yourself, really.. The lies you were uttering, however poorly woven, were evident in the way your face creased. He could almost hear your thoughts, almost see the jealousy and insecurity that plagued you through the lies you were trying to hide behind.

He paused for a moment, considering the situation carefully, before responding. "Is it really about our workloads, or is there something else that you're not telling me?" He asked calmly, his voice low and measured.

A pregnant pause befell your ears, only being interrupted by a distant hum of a machine outside of the room, and the footsteps of other workers in the halls. He does not push you to answer swiftly, instead he waits, patient as ever with you.

“I suppose…”

“You suppose..?”

It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t taut as a bowstring, ready to hear you out, anticipating your reply. His heart was squeezing painfully in his chest.

“Ugh..I just.. Promise me you will not be angry at me, and that you will not think ill of me after I tell you?” 

“Well, this must be big if you’re asking that of me” he breathed out. Your hesitation was palpable, and the silence between them dragged on, only adding to the palpable tension. Finally, the words came, and he felt a strange mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

“I'll promise no such thing will come from me. Your words cannot change the way I feel about you” he replied, his voice tinged with a touch of irritation.

With a heavy breath you closed in on yourself, arms folded over your chest. “I was just.. watching how close you and Baizhi are this morning and for a long time now. You always spend so much time together, and despite you and I being direct coworkers and more than that outside of this Academy, I feel.. left behind”

“You are jealous?”

“If you wish to put it that bluntly - then yes. I am”

Mortefi’s coldness and stiffness seemed to melt, the answer finally clearing up the brain fog that had started to develop in his head. Things were looking clearer at long last, and with that he also felt as if he failed you. He has failed to make you feel appreciated as you deserved, and that makes his gut twist in on itself.

“I fail to see why you’d be jealous of Baizhi, even with the time we spent together. Baizhi and I are strictly work colleagues and nothing more. You are the one that gets to be in my presence, sharing stories and desserts after work hours..” Mortefi says out loud, moreso speaking to himself than you, as if trying to figure out your point of view. He wasn’t dismissing your emotions, but he failed to grasp them within his own two hands. He had been so preoccupied with his own work and responsibilities that he had failed to notice the toll it was taking on his relationship with you. His focus had been so singularly on his research, on his partnership with Baizhi, that he had unintentionally neglected the depth of the connection he had with you.

“I do have to apologize” he cuts you off before you can speak. “This.. area is not within my expertise, per se. If I had neglected you, I would’ve liked if you openly communicated this with myself” he offered, and the lighter in his hand feels like it will break apart under pressure.  “And while I can’t limit my time with Baizhi, as it is all just work, I can accommodate you as well by spending more time with or around you, if that will help you feel more.. at ease” 

There is clarity ringing its bell over your head as he speaks, already offering solutions to this problem you made out of irrational thought. Bless his heart, for all he is cold and aloof he is ten times more kind. Snappy as he is, he means well.

“Mortefi... Mortefi, I am sorry too. I did want to keep this with myself, it shouldn’t have come to this point where you try to resolve my issues by yourself”

At that he scoffed, almost chuckling but no laughter came from him. One hand perches itself on his hip and he looks at you with a look that screams of his desire to see this through. 

“Oh, but how can I ignore it now that it is in front of me? No, that will not do. Especially since it is you who we’re talking about. You go ahead now, I’ll think of something until the end of my shift. I’ll give you a call later this evening”

Afterwards your company would leave his presence and the lab, having left with more reason than conflict, and with a mind full anticipation of his words.

And just like clockwork, by the end of his shift he’d give you a call, telling you to come meet him at your favorite dessert place. 

Mortefi is special in his way of showing affection..

He is yet to learn his way with words when it comes to sweet nothings, but until then he can take care of you and help you out with work. Whatever helps you see that you, indeed, do matter much to him. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Tags: @pinksaiyans

[cherspastries]

MAY THE FLOWERS REMIND US

WHY THE RAIN IS NECESSARY.

LEARNING TO SHUT UP!

Guitarist!George Russell x Manager!Reader

BAND x Manager!Reader (Platonic)

SUMMARY ☆ George finds himself falling for you, his band's new manager! Unfortunately, he and his big mouth royally screws up.

WARNINGS ☆ George is kind of an asshole, hurt w/ comfort, slow burn?

WORD COUNT ☆ 7.9K

A/N ☆ This writing is pure fiction and does not reflect on the true actions, beliefs, or behaviors of the drivers! Some personalities are exaggerated for the sake of the plot. P.S. Experience may be amplified by listening to music! For George, I suggest songs from The Killers, The Smiths, and Oasis. Also, feel free to go vote for whose chapter I release next!

Reblogs, comments, and all support is super appreciated!

DIRECTORY | MASTERLIST | FAST LANE

“So, uh, what kind of experience do you have?” You’re seated at a plastic, folded table. Across from you are three men, all of varying descriptions. The one in the middle has a curly mop of hair, and he seems to be a little sheepish, like he has no idea what he’s doing here. A stack of note cards in his hand, and a pencil lies lopsided beside him. He’s been scribbling things down after every question as if it were a proper interview. 

The other two are on each side of him, occasionally glancing at each other. Their gaze tells you they might have lunged at one another if the man in the middle weren’t present. “None,” you reply casually, shifting in your seat to get more comfortable. The taller fellow reacts visibly, his eyes wide and his hands over his heart– he looked to be quite the drama queen. 

“None?!” He repeats incredulously. Your lips are drawn straight to reflect your unimpression of his reaction. 

“That is what I said, yes.” 

He opens his mouth to speak, but the young gentleman in the middle beats him to it, “And… Why are you interested in…” 

“Administering.” The one who had been entirely silent so far finally spoke, assisting your interviewer in pronouncing one of the words on the card. 

“Really? You couldn’t have just said managing?”

“Hey, this is supposed to be professional,” The diva refutes.

“I’m reading off of note cards-”

“I’m interested because I’ve always been a fan of rock music, and I think I have the organization skills to keep things well-managed,” You replied, just as you rehearsed many times before. It was a complete lie; you were pulling things out of your ass, but they didn’t need to know that. They just needed to know you were capable. This was your last hope.

He shuffles to the next note card, his eyes scanning the text. He squints and brings it closer to his eyes. Suddenly, he slams the thick stack down on the table, scattering everything. You flinch and sit up straight– The other two eye him suspiciously. “Great! You’re hired!”

“Wait, you didn’t even finish-” The Brit is, once more, cut off.

“You’re a perfect fit. I don’t need to hear more. When can you start?”

“Excuse me, I’m the one in charge of this band. I am the lead-”

“I can start today if you want.”

He stands up, holding his hand out with a huge grin. Your eyes shift from his face to his hand, and with reluctance, you stand to shake his hand, smiling. “Welcome to FAST LANE, Y/N!”

You’re flipping through papers on a clipboard while you walk into the recording studio. It’s primarily full of tour dates and notes from record labels– the basics. “Alright, boys, today we need to–”

“Your shoes are a disgrace!” George shouts towards Max. The latter looks down at his feet, confusion written across his face. “You’re totally sabotaging the whole vibe of the band.” He says it so adamantly, like it’s an undeniable fact. You sigh, leaning against the coffee counter. Oscar shuffles beside you, looking unsettled.

“I wear these every day,” Max counters, crossing his arms over his chest. You can practically see the steam coming from George’s ears by now.

“How long has this been going on for?” You whisper to Oscar. He perks up, nearly dropping his cup of coffee as if he wasn’t expecting you to interact with him. You can’t help but smile at this.

“Uh, just…” He pulled his sweatshirt sleeve up to peek at his watch. Oscar swallows thickly, looking shamefaced. “An hour…”

“An hour?” You repeat slightly louder. When Oscar nods, you sigh loudly and slam your clipboard on the counter. George and Max jump and turn to you, faces frozen in anger and shock. “Alright! Both of you, break it up.” You step up onto the stage. “George, quit tormenting him. Max-” You look down at his shoes and you lose your words all of a sudden. “Max, we’ll… Buy you new shoes for the next show-”

“See, they’re awful-”

“Shut it!” You snap, and George listens. Mostly because he’s just utterly taken aback by your sudden burst of confidence. “You two are always fighting like children, and I’m sick of hearing it. Especially from you,” You point an accusatory finger at George. He throws his hands up to look innocent, making you suspiciously squint your eyes. “Quit being so dramatic! You’ll live.”

When you stormed off to grab your things from the counter, you could just barely hear George whispering to Alex, the band’s technician, “Who do they think they are bossing me around?”

“Who do you think you are bossing around the manager you hired?” You fired back casually. You didn’t even turn to face him; you grabbed your clipboard and flipped back to your itinerary for the day. George clenched his jaw, but kept his silence. Good news for you: You’ve gone up the charts in their mental rankings! It’s rare for someone to get their frontman to shut up. “Anyway,” you try to brush past the serious vibe. This was supposed to be fun. “Today, you all need to run through your set list again, this time with Alex.” You gave a nod of acknowledgement to your technician. “Max, I need you to turn your amp up a bit more, and Oscar, I’d like yours to go down. We don’t want you overpowering the lead guitar.”

“Okay,” The younger member nodded, seeming slightly disappointed with this revelation. We can’t all be in the limelight.

“Lando, try to remember to keep your solos within the time given to you…” You scan the rest of the page and nod. “That should be it.”

“Nothing for me?” George asks, his arms crossed. Everyone else has already scampered off to set up the equipment, but he seems more occupied with targeting you. You look up towards the tall Brit, and then back to the page.

“Guess not,” You shrug.

“So… I’m perfect then? I must be if you have absolutely nothing to say. Are you trying to sabotage me?” Holy air ball.

“Mate, I didn’t get anything either,” Charles pointed out as he set up the stand for his keyboard. Max chuckled under his breath, something that went unnoticed by the band’s leader, but not by you. If you were being honest, you usually sided with him anyway.

“Yeah. Doesn’t mean you’re perfect, just means there’s nothing too obvious to point out.” 

“Thank God,” Lando chimes in as he raises the seat for his kit. “George, no offense, man, but it was annoying when you’d point out every. little. detail.” He groans to emphasize the point further. “Like… That one time! We didn’t all need to know Oscar was a millisecond from his entrance. Not that you can hear the guy, anyway, because you’re always drowning him out.” 

Ouch?

“So you guys are just fine with making mistakes?!” Everyone stares at him silently, making discreet eye contact like they were challenging each other to step up and say what was on everyone’s mind. 

“Yes,” you answered for them. “Now get to work.”

“Wait-”

“Get to work.” You had the expression of a mother dealing with a back-talking child. It quieted him down real fast, at least.

Oftentimes, the boys thought they were being slick. They’d hang out in the studio under the guise of personal rehearsals— they’d even tell you that it wasn’t necessary you attend because it was just tweaking song lyrics and chords. In reality, they’d sit around a large table with drinks in hand and discuss things that weren’t music-related. Some include their romantic lives, celebrity gossip (from the lips of George and George only), and commentary on sports. 

They operated quietly, keeping these secret meetups on the ‘DL’. They had to swear never to tell you because you’d be a raging—uh, let’s go with ‘lunatic’— if you found out. They planned everything out to go behind your back, and even if they felt guilty—

Yeah, anyway, you knew about it. 

You discovered it when you pulled up to the studio to grab the laptop you left behind. You could practically hear their loud banter from a mile away. After listening for a few minutes, you decided it wasn’t anything you wanted to be a part of, so you left them to it. It’s not like they needed the extra rehearsal. Your schedule was doing them just fine. What you didn’t understand is why they didn’t just hang out at each other’s houses. It’s not like you’d want to be invited anyway. Their conversations were less than pleasant, especially with George and Max in the same room.

Today was one of those days, though. They told you ever-so inconspicuously that they would be having another private rehearsal session and that you weren’t required to come. And you, ever-so innocently, pretended like you were clueless and gave them the thumbs up to continue. Let them have their fun… Sure.

But you actually needed to do business at the studio today. Plus, they said you weren’t required to come. That didn’t mean you weren’t allowed. With your laptop and clipboard tucked under your arm, you entered with the intent of heading straight to your office. They didn’t even need to know you were there, and you didn’t need to say hello or anything. You just wanted to make a beeline for your own private room.

But when you passed by the door to the studio, which was just slightly cracked open, you heard your name drift out in casual conversation. So, even though you weren’t there to snoop… You did. You paused, ear pressed to the surface of the door.

“Y/N’s to blame for that.” Charles. You’d recognize that accent anywhere.

“For what? The show going smoothly?” George. The… More annoying accent. His voice made you clench your teeth with indescribable anger.

“Yeah. They work efficiently. It’s impressive.”

Your pride is glowing at the compliment. Maybe being a band manager for a bunch of dysfunctional adult men wasn’t the dream job, but you really had adjusted well. Plus, they were all unique and interesting in their own right. Getting to know them all proved to be a fun side gig.

But you were quickly shot through the heart mercilessly. “Please. It’s not that hard of a job. I used to do it just fine.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Lando interjects with a laugh from Max. “Let’s not get things twisted here. Y/N’s a way better manager than you ever were.”

“Someone’s just feeling petty.” Max cracked open another can of some carbonated drink and added, “Did they hurt your feelings?” in a degrading tone. Thanks Max.

“No, I’m just annoyed at being micromanaged.”

“You’re annoyed at being micromanaged by someone else,” Oscar points out kindly. Even in tense situations like this, he remains so polite. It often surprised you how messy and disorganized the sweet kid was. “You micromanage us all the time.”

“They’re not even that great, guys. You’re just blinded by a pretty girl joining our group.”

Oh that pissed you off. You took a deep breath and turned on your heel, choosing to leave after that. If you heard much more, you might have barged in there to give him a piece of your mind. It didn’t matter if you had work to do. It could wait. For now, you have a renewed sense of revenge. 

You were gonna prove that idiot of a frontman wrong and be the best damn manager around.

You proved to be an invaluable member of the group. Just in the last week, you managed to book more gigs for them and smooth out more issues within the band than George could ever dream of. Sure, he laughed in your face about your tactics, but in the quiet of his lonely home, he’d have to admit you were doing pretty well. Everything you suggested always sounded absurd, and he rarely took you seriously, but ultimately, you showed him up.

For example, your therapy session idea. It had been a rough week for every member of the band, so you offered your personal consolation through short one-on-one sessions. It wasn’t anything particularly grand, but in George’s mind, it most certainly was ridiculous. You’d first find him dead before you saw him sitting in a room, pretending to be your client while you pretended to be his therapist.

And yet here we are.

“Tell me, George,” You click your pen and push your glasses up your nose. Whether they’re fake or not, they amplified the therapist's look. “What makes you so bitter towards your bandmate, Max?” You peer at him over the lenses, and he scoffs. You take note of this when you scribble something down on a paper attached to your signature clipboard.

In reality, you were just making silly doodles. None of this was actually necessary; it was only meant to be a way for the group to simmer down.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” You meet him with that typical Cheshire grin of yours. He sighs and sinks back into the cushiony chair, his hands gripping the edges of the armrests. 

“He’s just annoying.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well… He’s always purposely pushing my buttons, and he acts like I’m the only one picking fights with him, but he’s always trying to rile me up, too.” You hum as you continue doodling on your page.

“Interesting. Go on.”

“The rest of the band just agrees with him, too! It’s like, come on guys, I can’t always be in the wrong-”

“I beg to differ. Proceed.”

He shot you a glare, but this time it felt different. When he saw your playful grin, his spite faded into something else; something new—something soft. It was hard to notice, but you did. How could you not when he was looking at you like you were holding the universe in your hands?

It was a weird feeling. You didn’t like it.

You were thankful when he broke the awkward silence, standing up and stretching out his lanky arms and legs. “That’s it,” He said firmly, shaking his head. “Great session. I’ll send in…”

“Lando,” You finished for him, and he gave a curt nod. As he left, you were abandoned with only one remaining thought. You spoke it aloud to yourself. It was a faint whisper beneath your breath, like a secret shared amongst close colleagues. “What the hell was that?”

☆!

While George behaved in his typical party pooper manner, the rest of the group seemed to love your therapy session idea. Now, they didn’t exactly take it seriously, but it was a way to bond with your bandmates nonetheless. It was finally time for everyone to start acknowledging that you were just as important as the rest of them, and that your lack of musical capabilities wouldn’t be the thing to change that. 

“Alright, Lan,” You greeted the drummer by gesturing to the seat in front of you. Instead of the sofa chair, he opted for your personal rolling office chair. He sat in it backwards, twirling his drumsticks around his fingers. It was somewhat of a nervous tic. The gestures made you smile, nonetheless. “What do you have repressed in there?”

“Ugh, you’re not gonna believe it.” He put forward a faux, overly dramatic tone as he leaned back, nearly tilting the chair over entirely. “Every night I wake up in a cold sweat after having the same nightmare over and over again… It’s chilling, it’s terrifying, it’s-”

“Out with it.”

“Remember when we were playing at a wedding and I fell right into the cake?” He’s smiling, and it’s only slightly shameful.

“How could I forget?”

“Hey, don’t make fun of my trauma! That moment is deeply rooted in my soul, I can’t ever escape…” He sighs, burying his face in his hands.

“Sure you can’t. I’m diagnosing you with a case of embarrassment.”

He peeks through the slits of his fingers and then drops his palms, wiping them on his jeans. “Alright, then I’m diagnosing you with a serious case of chronic sarcasm.” You roll your eyes, but before you can refute, you notice he’s giving you a look. That look.

“What?”

“Are you coming on tour with us?” He asks, his tone suddenly serious. He almost looks like a lost puppy. You hum and shrug. This was meant to be a short, summer job, just until you found a new way to support yourself. But… You were starting to really love it. “Seriously, you make things a lot better. I mean… I don’t think I’ve heard Oscar talk as much as he does now since— well… ever!”

“I’ll think about it, Lan.”

“Okay… But seriously, think about sticking around!” He waves to you on his way out. You smile when he’s gone, somewhat proud of his complimentary praise. You’re in an admittedly good mood for the rest of your mini sessions.

“Charles!” You’re sitting in your office when you hear George shout from the studio. You peek at the clock, one eyebrow quirked with your findings. 

“George, it’s 12 in the morning- Why are you still here?” You poke your head out, calling back to him. You don’t get a response for a minute. You wonder if he’s asking the same question, but you have an answer. You had just finished meeting with some agency groups, but they lived halfway across the world, so the timing was bound to be screwy no matter when you scheduled it. You opted to be the one to stay up late, even if your selfish internal voice suggested otherwise.  

“Charles!” He calls again as if he’s completely ignoring you— You don’t doubt that he is.

“Charles isn’t here. It’s 12 in the morning,” You reiterate, which draws out a deep sigh from the guitarist. “What do you need?”

“Nothing.”

“No, no. Just tell me. I can relay it to him tomorrow morning.” You and Charles are always the first to the studio for the day. It used to be that mornings were filled with awkward silence and the occasional attempt at small talk, but now it’s actually fairly lively. “Maybe I can help anyway.”

“As if,” He scoffs. You take that as an invitation to enter the studio. He’s sitting at the center table with a notebook and pen, staring at the blank page as if it personally offended him. Knowing George, it probably did. “I’m just trying to write some lyrics, but I can’t get the flow right.”

“Oh, and you think I couldn’t help with that?” His gaze slowly travels up to you with a deadpan expression. You chew at your cheek thoughtfully, brows knitted together. “Yeah, don’t answer that.” You’d hate to be wrong. “Can I see your ideas?”

You seat yourself beside him. You’re close enough that you can sense his arm hairs standing on edge like he’s suddenly become hyper aware of your presence. George hands you the notebook, and you flip back a few pages to see his scratched-out ideas. You can barely make out the words under layers of scribbled ink.

He abruptly stands up and walks to the mini fridge, digging around until he comes back with two cans. You accept when he offers you one, and mindlessly crack it open without even glancing at the label. You’re too focused on the lyrics you’re reading. You take note of where he sits. Close, but further away than he was before.

“These don’t make any sense,” You state firmly, tilting your head as if looking at it from a different angle will help.

“It’s rock music,” George states. “It’s not supposed to make sense.”

“What? That’s awful. All songs should have meaning.”

“Just because it doesn’t make sense doesn’t mean it doesn’t have meaning.” You take a sip of your drink and nearly choke on the bitter taste. He grins at your reaction. “I thought you said in your interview that you liked rock music?”

You freeze, hand on your chest like you were just hitting it with your fist to help the choking subside. Damn. Almost forgot about that. “Uh, well… You know. I usually only listen to rock with lyrics that are… Coherent. You know?”

“Uh-huh. So you don’t like any of the greats. Pearl Jam? Nirvana? Pink Floyd?”

“I never said I didn’t like them. Hey- What the actual hell is this anyway?” You gesture to the drink, and George laughs. It’s casual. He’s leaning against the back of the sofa, sitting sideways with one leg tucked under himself to face you. From what you can tell, he was already a bit tipsy when you walked in. Nothing beats getting drunk when you’re alone at 12 am. Hey, at least he has a drinking buddy now. 

“I don’t know, I think it’s Max’s.”

“What!? George,” You groan. “He’s gonna be pissed when he sees I’ve taken one of his drinks.”

“At least it wasn’t his RedBull. Then you’d really be screwed.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” A shiver runs down your spine at the thought. You pick the notebook back up and flip a few more pages back. George is eyeing you cautiously— Almost nervously.

You hum one of the band’s latest tunes under your breath as you skim over the words. No matter how much you read from the journal, your mind keeps returning to one draft in particular. It’s a romantic song— Or, it’s written to be one, but it’s missing something.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice somewhat slurred. You turn to him, and then back to the page.

“It just lacks… Feeling. You’ve got all the lyrics, but it doesn’t seem genuine.” Despite your display of distaste for the drink, you chug a few large gulps of whatever alcohol George offered you. The taste settles in your stomach like a pit of negativity. You bite your lip to refrain from hurling. But it would be a waste just to toss it.

“I can see that,” He nods in agreement. This isn’t something you’ve encountered often. George is typically scolding you nonstop, or he’s shooting snarky comments your way. Constructive criticism usually ends in him insisting he’s flawless and can do no wrong. 

You like drunk George. He’s a lot sweeter. It softens your heart.

“I should probably leave the romance to Charles. He’s a lot more…”

“Whimsical?”

“Yeah. Whimsical.” He smiles. George likes you finishing his thoughts. Which is weird, because he’s never thought that before.

He’s thinking a lot of new things right now, like how pretty you look in the low light of the recording studio, and how soft your voice is when you’re not competing with five other people to be the loudest one in the room, and how lovely your eyes are when they’re not shooting dagger-filled glares his way. Are those hearts in his eyes, or is it just the light reflecting off his irises? Either way, he’s entranced by you all of a sudden.

“Did you know that Lando sometimes reads fanfiction of himself?” He blurts it out like he didn’t mean to say it. George covers his mouth right after, hiccuping to top it all off. You’re frozen in shock, but it melts away into warm laughter that has him easing up.

“I can see that, actually.” 

“I don’t think he’d like me telling you that,” George admitted. 

“It’s alright, I can keep a secret.”

“Good,” He looked stressed, and then… “Also, Charles is afraid of the dark. Fuck, sorry-”

“Do you not know how to keep your mouth shut or something?” You tilt your head, laughing again. “Maybe you should cool it on the spilling of secrets.”

“It’s just really hard keeping it all to myself! I feel like everyone needs to know.”

“Well, for future reference, they don’t. I think they can all be glad I’m the only one you’ve told.” He goes completely silent, and you raise a brow. “I’m the only one you told, right?” His silence tells you all you need to know. “George!”

“I can’t help it,” He cries out. “When I get drunk, I tend to share more than I should.”

“Is this why you and Max are always fighting?”

He whistles and looks away. “Nice weather we’re having.”

“George Russell.” Unfortunately, you didn’t know his middle name. You’d have to ask around for future purposes. 

“Alright, yes! I may have shared one too many of his secrets.”

“I’d hate you too,” You joke. He should have taken it like an insult with that typical George Russell reaction: hand on the heart and a look of total offense, but instead, he laughed. He laughed, and it sounded like all of your worries floating out the window. It was a sound that encouraged you to make him laugh more, which wasn’t a goal you often set out for.

“I can balance out the damage,” He insists, and you wait patiently for a further explanation. You’ve finally finished your rather volatile drink and tossed it into the nearby trash can— Clink! It hits the rim and falls out, landing unceremoniously on the ground. You’re too lazy to stand, so you just groan in distressed defeat. Oh, the agony! “Wanna hear another secret?”

“No way,” You tilt your head to look at him. He appreciates your soft, sleepy eyes that gaze upon him so sweetly. “Haven’t you shared enough?”

“It’s my own this time.”

You consider it, and then shrug. “Up to you.”

“I’m terrified of goats.” It takes him only half a beat to answer, and the response has you grinning like crazy. “Don’t laugh, this is a moment of vulnerability.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why?” You chew at your bottom lip, tongue pressed to your cheek— anything to hold back your giggles.

“They have square pupils.” You blink, moving your hand in a circular gesture to suggest that he continue. “Is that not reason enough?!”

“Relax! No goats then…” You sigh, shaking your head. “Great, there goes all my plans for future shows!”

“Don’t even joke about that. I’d seriously run off stage.” You both laugh, and the room falls into silence again. But it’s not awkward or tense; it’s like the silence between lifelong friends; you’ve already shared so much, and it’s hard to think of more. But he does. “I have one more.”

“I’m surprised you’re able to keep your own secrets.”

He takes a large swig of his drink and winces right afterwards. George can already tell this night is gonna be a major headache in the morning. But for you, it’s worth it. “This might ruin me.”

“Share with the class— Don’t be shy,” You playfully elbow him.

“Alright…” He sighs, taking another sip to work up the courage. “A year ago, I tried to launch my own candle line and it failed miserably.” He stares at you expectantly. 

You blink.

“Sorry?”

“Candles. Artisan bullshit with ridiculous undertones and fancy packaging.” You lock eyes, and he groans. “All based around me.”

“You did not. I don’t believe it,” But you’re smiling and laughing like you do.

“Dead serious, Y/N. It was awful— I’m not surprised it didn’t get anywhere. I had everything planned out. The colors, the labels, the names-”

“Name one.” You say it like a challenge.

“…” His silence speaks loudly. “Guitar strings and sweat.”

“You’re fucking lying.”

“I wish I were.”

“You tried to sell a candle that smelled like rusted steel and body odor?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder it flopped.” You snorted, covering your mouth just as the sound left you. George felt proud in the moment, just because he liked seeing your genuine, raw laughter. “You smell like fancy shampoo and flowers. Why not go for that?”

“That would totally ruin my punk rock persona.” George leaned in just slightly. You could smell the alcohol on your breath, and the tiny sliver of you that was sober knew you probably weren’t any better off. “What about you, Y/N? Got any secrets to share?”

You hum. If you were sober, you’d say no, but you’re not, so instead you say, “I only applied for this job because I was trying to prove my family wrong.” You sigh as you pinch the bridge of your nose. “They own a huge business and want me to manage it someday, but I don’t. They all kept insisting it was my last hope, so… I proved them wrong by finding my own job.” There it was—your moment of weakness.

Before he can even reply, you stand up straight and dust yourself off. “I should probably head home— You should too. It’s late, and there’s early practice tomorrow.” Early meant 10 AM, but you liked to get your beauty sleep! 

“I can walk you to your apartment,” He declares as he stands up. You want to say no, but it’s pitch black outside, and having George there offers a sense of comfort, so you allow him to display his chivalric side. The walk home is quiet— not a word is exchanged. He’s just letting your previous confession sink in.

The night officially ends with a wave as you enter through the front door. He lingers for just a bit longer, wanting to ensure your safety until the elevator. Once you disappear past sliding doors, George heads out for the night.

Slowly but surely, those late nights start to turn into a normal thing. It was typically once a week, and now it seemed like every night that George lingered around just a bit longer. You assumed that at first he was just there to work on songs, but slowly he started to migrate into your office, and that feeling faded into an assumption to keep you company. Make sure you had someone to rant to about the difficulties of beginner graphic designing and the struggles of trying to find other artists willing to collaborate with a team that could barely collaborate with each other. However, improvement had undoubtedly been made. It had been a long time since the last serious fight.

Tonight was different. You didn’t have to stay, but you did, for your own sake. You were getting seriously involved with this band, and considering they had a worldwide tour coming up, you needed to extend your knowledge of rock music. You spent hours watching performances from various bands. Your research offered artists from grunge bands like Hole to classic pop-rock, like The Beach Boys. You felt the tragedy of Dexter Holland singing about his near-death experience, but you also experienced the joy of freedom and expression behind Freddie Mercury’s Don’t Stop Me Now.

It took George longer to make his appearance that night. He slithered into your office in a discreet fashion, eyeing you carefully. You hadn’t seemed to notice him— Your eyes were focused on the bright screen that illuminated your face in the pitch black of your office. His attention fell to the contents of your media consumption, and he paused. Your efforts have led you to an interesting place.

You were watching him. It was one of FAST LANE’s original performances, back when they were just a local band trying to get by. They all looked young and dumb, but happy. Free from the merciless jaws of fame and fortune. Your eyes sparkled with wonder. You sat at the edge of your chair as if the sight was a suspenseful horror movie rather than a crappy performance recorded on an old digicam to preserve the nostalgia. 

“What are you doing-”

“HOLY SHIT-” You actually jumped out of your chair, scrambling to cover your monitor. You looked like you had been caught watching sketchier subject matter. Your heart was pounding so loudly you could barely hear the soft rhythms coming from the speakers in your room. George stood there, his face barely lit by your device. “Jesus fuck, George… You scared the shit out of me.”

You slowly fell back into your chair, pausing the video to take a deep breath. He laughed, seating himself at the cushioned chair in the corner of your office. He played with the frayed seams of the arms. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m watching an old performance. Thought I should brush up on my knowledge,” You were somewhat embarrassed to admit it. Weeks ago, you had kept telling yourself this was only a temporary job, and now you were preparing to go on tour with five idiots that had completely won you over. You were invested. There was no getting you out now. “Look how young you look!”

“I look like a newborn baby.” He sighed, rubbing his smooth chin. “Still do.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“It’s what I do best.” He stared at his former self for a moment longer and then laughed. “I think it was only a year or so before this that I made a shitty audition for a boy band.”

…

“You’re joking.”

“If only.”

“I will be scouring the internet for that later.” He shakes his head and laughs, looking down at the object clutched in his hands. You peek at it, and then look back at him. “Why are you still here?”

He gave you a rather pointed look, and you giggled. You knew why he was there, but you wanted him to say it nonetheless. “Working on song lyrics again.” He knew what your next question would be, so he handed you the book before you could even ask it. You flipped to the dog-eared corner, which represented the last page you had read. “Let me know what you think.”

You scan over the words again, nodding your head along. You learned to imagine beats and rhythms as you read his writing. It was a lot easier after spending so much time around music. It eventually started to consume you and your mind. You couldn’t count the number of times your brain was fixated on things like quarter notes and triplets rather than genuinely concerning matters. 

“I like it,” You reply genuinely as you flip to the next page. He suddenly reaches forward, tearing the notebook from your hands. You don’t question it, but you do raise a brow.

“Thanks,” He scrambles to flip it shut. You have to wonder what the hell was in there. Maybe you’d get him drunk one day, and he’d just end up spilling it on his own. 

The air was tense.

“It’s late,” You state. It’s just an actual fact, but George knows what it means. It means you want to leave, so he lets you.

But first, he asks, “Are you okay with driving home?”

“Yup.” 

No personal escort necessary. Not tonight. He leaves shortly after you, scolding himself for always making things awkward.

It was a bright and sunny day out— Perfect for a bike ride, which is just what you were preparing for. You were about to finish tying your shoes when you heard the overfamiliar tune of your ringtone. You reached over to the coffee table, fumbling with the device before straightening it out to read the caller ID. 

Mom!

You bit your cheek thoughtfully before deciding to answer. She rarely called anymore— A talk might be nice. Plus, it could be important family news. What if someone was sick or injured, or maybe—

“Y/N, what the hell is this?!” Her voice sounded distressed. You started to worry, but you had to remember that she always was one to get her feathers in a bunch over trivial matters. “Do you understand what you’ve done? I can’t believe you, going around my back like that-”

“What, Mom, slow down!” You stand up, nearly tripping over your untied laces in the process. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s going on?”

“Have you not seen the news articles? Good grief, child, open my messages!” You switch her over to speaker phone, tuning out her fast-paced rambling as you slide to your text messages. Sure enough, she had sent you a link alongside a bunch of cursing emojis. You tap the article, your eyes scanning with haste. “They’ve got it printed out everywhere! What a disgrace this is-” You hang up.

L/N heir abandons her family to work for a bunch of grungy losers.

What a headline. You almost laugh, but the further you read, the angrier you got.

The band’s frontman, George Russell, claims that Y/N confided about her family background once. “It didn’t sound pretty,” said Russell.

That’s all you needed to see. You stormed out to your car, shoes untied and clothes askew. You drove with the anger of a betrayed woman; you were aggressive. All you could focus on was reaching the studio. You didn’t care if you were interrupting their ‘private rehearsals’ because this was far more important.

You grabbed the rolled-up newspaper from the mailbox as proof of your rage on the way in. The bell rang out loud and clear, indicating your entrance into the building. You could hear laughter from within the walls of the studio. It stopped when you barged in, knuckles pale from how hard you were gripping that phony bullshit of news. 

“Oh, shit- Y/N,” Lando greeted with a sheepish tone, embarrassed that you had caught them all slacking off. 

“Shut it,” You snapped. You felt guilty for yelling at Lando, but you were clearly pissed off. It was his fault for poking the bear! You stomped your way to the table where they were all sitting, each of them gazing at you with surprise, fear, and… Maybe a little amusement. You slammed the newspaper down onto the table, and it made a resounding ‘SMACK’ of a noise. “What the fuck is this, George?!”

“I don’t-”

“Read it, dipshit!” You take a small step back, crossing your arms over your chest. He winces like a hurt puppy at your scolding and reaches out for the article quickly. His eyes scan over the words, mouth falling agape and eyes widening.

“Y/N, listen, I-”

“Save it.” 

Lando snatched the paper from George, and Charles and Oscar both leaned in to skim it over as well. Max is just staring between the two of you, trying to get a full read of the situation. 

You lock eyes with your culprit. He looks… Scared, uncertain, and for some reason, that only worsens your anger. Without another word, you storm out of the room. You can hear heavy footsteps as he chases after you, his hand making contact with your wrist just as the door to the studio shuts, giving you guys an ounce of privacy.

“Look, I’m sorry!”

“Do you know why you’re sorry, or are you just saying that because you think it’ll fix all of this?!” You rip your hand from his grip, and he seems to falter. George doesn’t even know what to say. His silence speaks loudly. “God, just when I was starting to like you, too.” You mutter.

He can feel his heart shattering into a million pieces.

“Good luck finding a new manager who’ll put up with your bullshit. It’s not worth it anymore.” That’s the last thing you say before you leave. He doesn’t follow you. He sits there, dumbfounded and confused.

Worst of all, he truly is sorry. He just doesn’t know how to say it.

He wanders back into the studio where everyone else is waiting. When they see that you’re gone and that George’s head is hung low, they know.

Lando’s both the first and last to speak for the day, “Guess we’re back to our old management.”

It was hard to fill the hole in your heart. No more of Charles’ deep, philosophical advice that actually made no sense in reality. No more of Lando’s stupid jokes that had extremely predictable punchlines. No more of Oscar’s sappy song lyrics that he seemed so embarrassed to share. You even missed Max and George bickering.

You tried to find a new place to call home within a different band, but it wasn’t the same. They were all particularly stuck-up and selfish people, blinded by their own fame. FAST LANE was a treat, you just never got the opportunity to realize that. I guess the saying is correct. You don’t know how good you have it until it’s gone.

But it had to happen. You miss George’s fat mouth the least. That was something you could do without, and you had to keep reminding yourself of that. It was time to forget about how melodious his laughter was, how sweet his smiles were, and how genuine the lyrics he poured his heart into seemed to be. 

The band was preparing to go back on stage for their encore. The crowds were loud, screaming their name like it was life or death. The lead guitarist bumped into you, scoffing afterwards. “God, can you just… Not be in the way?” The group seemed to laugh, making eye contact subtly. It was a big inside joke, and you were the punchline of it all. 

“Yeah, okay,” You mutter between clenched teeth as you remove your headset. One month of this bullshit? Yeah, you were done. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

You start to grab your things. The bassist, who’s sipping from her water with that stupid smug grin, calls out in a degrading tone, “Where are you going? Off to cry? Did we hurt your feelings?”

“Nope,” You reply casually. You even send them a grin as you walk towards the door. “I quit.”

You felt relief as you left the performance hall, exiting out into the warm summer day. No more musty rooms that smelled like awful body odor and unwashed clothes. No more loud, annoying music that lacked proper rhythm. No more bands. Period. It was time to move on.

“Y/N.”

God damnit.

“George,” You mutter with certainty. His voice makes you stop, slowly turning to face him. He looks the exact same physically, but you can see in his face that he’s been through it. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His hair is messy, his clothes don’t really match, and there are bags under his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Can’t a guy enjoy a performance?” You blink, and he deflates a noticeable amount. “Alright. I just wanted to… Check on you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” You grumble. “I mean, seriously, I don’t want you to.”

“I’m sorry,” he calls out before you can leave. “And I finally know why.” This catches your attention, so… You stay where you are, your back turned to him. Maybe it’s not apparent, but this was your way of giving him the time of day. He’d take what he could get. “Because you trusted me, and even if I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, it clearly was. It wasn’t the fact that your secret got leaked that upset you, but the fact I was the one to do it.”

“You really hurt me, George.” You state firmly, your fist clenching around the strap of your bag. 

“I know.” As always, the silence seems to settle uncomfortably. It invites itself into spaces it’s unwanted. It speaks louder than words. Always. But this time, George doesn’t let it. “I actually got accepted into that boy band, but Max told me it was a bad idea, so I quit before it even started.”

“What?”

“And I have a secret playlist full of sad modern pop songs that I cry to, even if I have nothing to cry about.” You turn around to face him, tilting your head. Has he gone crazy? Is the lack of sleep getting to him? “I pretended that the makeup tutorial I made a year ago was just for jokes, but in reality, I practiced that winged eyeliner for weeks.”

“George-”

“My notebook is full of secret love songs about you.” Oh. “Because I’m… Well,” He’s gone fidgety, which isn’t common for him. He’s always so full of confidence and maturity, but when he’s around you, he feels like he can be vulnerable. Even when you’re angry… Rightfully so. “I’m in love with you.”

You don’t have anything to say. Your gut is a mix of emotions right now. Anger, hatred, confusion, uncertainty— There’s this weird, fuzzy feeling that makes you feel light, too. But you keep trying to push that one away.

“I’m not just saying that because I miss you, either. I’m saying it because I told everyone your secrets, so now, if you want to, you can tell everyone mine.” You have to avert your gaze because he’s looking at you with those big eyes of his, and it makes you feel incredibly nervous. “It’s not the same without you. We’re fighting nonstop. They all blame me, and I understand why.”

“Because you’re an idiot,” You finish. He smiles. It’s weak, but it’s genuine. 

“Because I’m an idiot,” he repeats.

You slowly walk over to him. He doesn’t say anything— just watches. Waits. For anything. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” You mutter right before taking hold of the collar of his shirt and pulling him in. Your lips are pressed to his, and weeks of unrequited, ignored feelings are flowing out into one passionate kiss.

It takes him a moment to find his balance. He feels utterly elated at the sensation of your soft, plump lips and the way your warm, delicate hands hold his face. But finally, after what felt like years of poking and pushing and yearning, George kisses you. His hands settle on your waist, but when you pull away, he realizes he’s not ready and wraps his arms around your torso to keep you there a bit longer.

It’s not perfect, but that’s why it’s so lovely. Nothing should ever be perfect. That’s why you’ve chosen to forgive the idiot.

The vibes are down when you both walk into the studio. He tugs his hand away from yours, and you don’t argue. Maybe it’s best to hold off on telling them— Except for the fact he announces it as soon as you walk in.

“I got the girl!” He cheers as he barges in. They all flinch, and their eyes immediately look towards you.

“Y/N!” Lando shouts. He jumps up to pull you into a hug, squeezing you so tight that your back pops quite loudly. You wince when he lets go to grab your shoulders. “You’re back!”

“Alright, relax,” George ushers him away, guiding you to sit down.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be on tour?” You finally ask, settling in beside your re-established companions. 

“We learned we can’t operate without our manager,” Charles admits, making you grin with pride.

“Good to know.”

“George, isn’t it kinda unprofessional for the two of you to date?” Max asks, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

George pauses. He looks at you, then at Max. “I don’t know, we'd better ask our manager.” 

They all turn to you, and you laugh. 

“Your manager says it’s fine.”

BONUS!!

You’ve all brought out endless drinks to celebrate your return, as well as your laptop to hash out revised tour dates, and a planned apology to the public. George has his arm around your waist and his head on your shoulder, watching you type away through sleepy eyes.

Everyone is winding down. Hardcore rock has faded into soft music as you all settle on the sofa, squished together like sardines. Without even thinking, you blurt out…

“Did you guys know George cries to pop music?”

“Hey!”

It's good to be home!

Taglist ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶♥︎

@teamnovalak @taetae-armyyyyy @at-a-rax-ia @saudianna

If you’d like to be added to the series taglist, comment under any of the posts!

[cisthoughtcrime]

I’m interested in learning Latin, where would you suggest I start?

So exciting! I'll try to keep this short:

I recommend starting with this very short informal intro, especially if you don't have a strong grasp on technical terms about grammar (most textbooks take that for granted). Latin grammar follows a rigid organisational system and the earlier you understand how it works, the easier it will be to learn the rest of the language. The 18-page PDF in the link uses English examples and practice questions to go through basic Latin grammar concepts and tables. It doesn't go through less basic things like participles or conditional clauses, but it does explain everything you need to know in order to learn those more easily. It also includes a hyperlinked list of good online resources for self-taught Latin and Greek students.

If you want to work through a textbook, Wheelock's Latin is probably the most widely used and comes with a lot of accompanying resources and guides (even though the official website looks older than Rome). Ecce Romani may be a bit more approachable and there are plenty of unofficial online lessons and guides made to go along with it. Those are my top two personally; I know some people like Latin Via Ovid because the practice texts are adapted from an actual ancient text about different myths, but imho I don't think it's as good a starting point if you're teaching yourself from scratch. Keep in mind that they'll all follow different formats for conjugation/declension tables, which can make it a bit confusing to switch between them; the short intro in that first link is a good way to understand how these charts work well enough to use them no matter the format.

There are tons of free resources online, even including full recordings of lessons, live study groups to join, communities with forum posting, and written-out explanations. For any individual concept that's troubling you, there are almost definitely multiple youtube videos of someone in front of a whiteboard saying it differently from the textbooks. Again, there's a good list included in that first document.

For practice in reading and understanding without deliberately translating, it's fun to try reading Latin translations of books you already know well in English, like Harrius Potter, Hobbitus Ille, Winnie Ille Pu, Alicia In Terra Mirabili, and many, many more, most of which are free on Archive and/or can be bought as physical copies.

However, this will be much more rewarding once you've built up some vocabulary and grammar, and might be frustrating or discouraging if you try the long ones too early, especially since they sometimes use words irregularly to convey modern meanings.

There are also a handful of recently-written stories in Latin targeted at students who like this kind of practice more. The German Netflix series Barbarians has all the Roman characters speaking in real Latin, and listening to it with subtitles can help build your ear for what sounds right.

Those are my recs for where to start! If you're stuck on something and can't find a good explanation, you can also send me an ask about it and I'm always happy to lay out how I think about it (even if my response times are irregular).

Good luck and enjoy!

[binniesangel]

below the surface | spencer reid x reader

genre: gee I don’t know.. (fluff!!)

content: season 1 spencer, fake relationship trope, spencer is down bad, like really down bad, he’s also a sweetie pie, reader doesn’t like crowds, private but not a secret relationship?, confession, spencer is literally obsessed with reader, not spell checked sorry :(

content warnings: super minimal swearing

a/n: hi!! this is super random but I think it’s cute!! hope yall like it <33

word count: 1k

relationships, especially fake ones, weren’t meant to be easy. they were meant to be messy and full of undeniable chaos. but, spencer made it easy. at least, the easiest it could be. you and spencer had been “dating” for the past four months. it was random, spencer defending himself against morgan, claiming he had this girlfriend they just haven’t met yet. now, you were his “girlfriend”, well really, you were just his next door neighbor that he had convinced to enter into a fake relationship.

when you first moved into the the apartment complex you had met spencer by chance, walking out of your doors at the same time. immediately it was clear that he wasn’t the type to get close with his neighbors, he was shy and pretty closed off. or that’s what you thought. however, as time passed, when you started to see spencer every now and then, he became friendlier, more open. and eventually you found yourself developing a genuine friendship with him.

on one friday night you were over at spencers, the two of you watching movies and sharing chinese take out when out of the blue he offered a proposal. “what if..we date, pretend, but..you know?” he said it so casually, but you were completely taken back. he sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. “listen, uh, the team..they- they’ve been teasing me about not being in a relationship. and..i might’ve lied and said I was..” you laughed, “spencer reid, what a delinquent.” he nodded, then almost started to look serious, his gaze locked on yours. “listen..I know, it’s crazy, but you’re the only person I could do this with..and I really, really need to do this.” your eyes squinted, nodding slowly, “m’okay..” Spencer’s eyes grew wide and a big smile broke out on his face. and that, was the start.

you hadn’t met Spencer’s team, but they were aware of who you were. you would send him text messages, flirty and small things that they would read, he would talk about you, and you would post him on your social media. small things like a story of you two out on a date, or flowers that he picked up for you on the way home. you became the picture perfect girlfriend, that everyone knew about, but no one had met in person. and it worked for a bit..but eventually the team got curious.

spencer had been sitting at his desk, when all of a sudden emily, jj, penelope, and derek appeared. Penelope gushed about not being able to see his girlfriend other than stalking her instagram account. and then, they insisted that she come to rossi’s team get together he was having at his house this weekend. spencer, reluctantly agreed.

tonight, was the first time that you were meeting his coworkers, his team. it caused you and him both immense anxiety, but it was necessary. the team was dying to meet you. apparently it was at rossi’s house, an older man on the team. and when you and spencer finally arrived, your jaw was on the floor. it was a giant house. “god, spencer is this guy a billionaire?” you sputtered out. spencer low and familiar laugh rang out in the car, “something like that..” he replied. together, hand in hand, the two of you walked into the giant house. immediately, you were surrounded by unfamiliar faces, not an occurrence you particularly enjoyed. some man clapped spencer on the back, and a group of girls swarmed you, smiles on their faces while a million questions seemed to be thrown at you all at once.

you knew they were just interested, wanted to know more about the girl who had “stolen spencer’s heart”. but it was just simply to much for you. you didn’t do well with crowds, and you couldn’t bare the overwhelming feelings that this gathering had brought on. spencer, of course, noticed. you could feel his gentle eyes on you, scanning you entirely. he was a profiler after all. he said something to his team, but your hearing was to distorted, the anxiety almost paralyzing you. spencer put a grounding hand on your lower back, leading you back outside. the fresh air caused you to take a deep breath in.

“hey..hey, you alright, love?” spencer’s calming voice settled you. you nodded, taking slow and shallow breaths trying to calm yourself down, spencer’s hand never leaving you. “I’m sorry- I don’t, don’t know what got to me-“ you tried to explain yourself, but spencer just shook his head. “hey, no, none of that.” he looked at you, his eyes soft and comforting, “tell me what’s going on..something’s bothering you, and it’s not just nerves from meeting the team.” he said, already denying your excuse before you even mentioned it. you sighed, looking up at the sky. Spencer’s eyes never left you, his gaze focused solely on you, nothing else. his IQ was high but when he was with you..he couldn’t think about anything else.

you finally looked at him, your eyes glazed over and your face filled with emotion even spencer couldn’t quite understand. “spencer..I don’t think I can do this anymore..this.” you motioned in between you and him, then turning your gaze to the ground. “this fake dating this, I..” you shook your head, looking back at him. “I can’t do this anymore..because, I can’t stop myself from wishing it was real, from hoping that we are real.” you confessed, your voice breaking slightly. spencer was not expected that at all, you figured you were going to see rejected or disbelief radiate across his face, but all you could see was the same longing that you had reflected onto him.

“god..sweetheart, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted that..” he said, a small laugh parting his lips. “this started off fake..just an excuse for my team, but..somewhere along the way it became real. it became so fucking real, I’ve wanted this, wanted you for so long…” he said, closing the distance between the two of you, his lips crashing onto yours. his hands on either side of your face. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you. he only pulled away to look into your eyes for a second. almost immediately kissing you again, smiling against your lips.

spencer pulled back again, staring at you, his eyes look over you entirely, every inch of you he looked over, completely entranced by you. you laughed softly, “is..something the matter?” he quickly shook his head, his eyes finding you again, “no..god, you’re just so beautiful.”

[hamzahsn1gf]

Not a Date (Unless You Want It to Be)

dealer!hamzah x reader | slow-burn getting-to-know-you (2)

You try to forget about him.

Really. You do.

Because yeah, Hamzah was cute. And quiet. And way too good at making you second-guess what he was actually thinking. But finding out he was a dealer? That should’ve been enough to end the fascination.

Should’ve.

But then he texts you. Not flirty. Not pushy. Just—

Hamzah:

You ever had the matcha donuts from Rafi’s?

You blink at your phone.

You:

…What kind of opener is that?

Hamzah:

Just yes or no. Simple question.

You:

No?

A beat.

Hamzah:

Cool. You’re coming with me.

You stare at the message for a full minute, lips twitching.

You:

Is this a date?

Hamzah:

It’s donuts.

Hamzah:

And I’m bored.

Hamzah:

Don’t make it weird.

You meet him outside some tucked-away bakery downtown. He’s wearing black again—always black—and leaning against his car like he’s been waiting for years, not five minutes. Hoodie up. One headphone in. Phone in hand. Calm, unreadable. But when you walk up, he actually smiles. A real one. It’s kind of disarming.

“You came,” he says, like he didn’t fully expect you to.

You shrug. “Couldn’t let you be bored and uncultured.”

He scoffs under his breath, leading you inside.

You sit across from him at a little table in the back—half-empty place, low music, smells like sugar and matcha and mischief. You’re not sure what this is, but it doesn’t feel like a regular hangout. It feels like he’s watching you more than he wants you to notice.

“So,” you say, taking a bite. “Why’d you invite me?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “You seemed interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

He looks at you for a long second, then says, “You don’t talk like you’re trying to prove something. Most people do.”

You blink.

“And you don’t stare at me like you’re scared. Just curious.”

You chew slowly. “Should I be scared?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, sharp but quiet. “You already know what I do. You’re still here.”

That sits in the air for a second, warm and heavy.

“You’re not what I expected,” you admit.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Another beat. You’re both quiet for a while, eating in silence. And then he says, casually:

“Don’t get too caught up in what people say about me.”

You glance up.

He’s not smiling. Not smirking. Just watching you with that calm, unreadable expression again.

“They only see what I let them,” he adds. “Not who I actually am.”

It’s the most he’s said all day. You can’t tell if it’s a warning or a confession. Maybe both.

You lean forward slightly. “So who are you?”

He tilts his head, like the question surprises him.

“Dunno,” he murmurs. “That’s why I wanted to see you again.”

He says it like it’s not a big deal. But your chest flips a little anyway.

On the way back to his car, you walk side by side. The silence is easy now. Comfortable.

When he opens the passenger door for you, you pause. “So… are we gonna call this a date now?”

He leans in, one arm resting on the roof of the car, looking down at you with the faintest smirk.

“Only if you text me first tomorrow,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “That’s your standard?”

“That’s me being generous, sweetheart.”

And there it is again—sweetheart—soft and smooth and just a little smug, like he knows exactly what it does to you.

You sit down, trying not to smile too wide.

You’re still not sure what Hamzah is. A problem? A phase? A storm wrapped in sugar and quiet threats?

But when he closes the door gently and walks around to the driver’s side, you realize you kind of want to find out.

(Read part one if you haven’t already!! Lmk how you like this story so far.)

[allthornsnopetals]

Prologue: Stain the Parchment E. Bridgerton

Description: Flora Deluca -Lady da silva- is the pen pow and beloved author of Eloise Bridgerton. With her travels around the world, Flora finally travels to Mayfair London, in the hopes to inquire inspiration for yet another successful story, one in London, away from France and Italy with the aid of her pen pow. Unknowingly enbarking her romance mini-series.

:Master list:

"Miss Flora, you have received a few more letters from your readers, a lot more." Said Claudia, lowering a stack of folded and sealed papers, all written from the same sender.

Eloise Bridgerton: A new and quite fond reader of Miss Flora Deluca's novels, poems and volumes. She always wrote but Flora only ever read her letters, too busy to answer all her fan mail, especially Miss Eloise, who writes so often, she simply could not read them all.

But tonight is different, it's stale, cold and without excitement. Once left in peace, she began to sift through each written text, enjoying the character of the writer. She found amusement in every letter, all with a different perspective on love, marriage and romance. To simply put it, Miss Eloise is anti-love, which is ironic given, the reminder that Flora's genre is predominantly romantic.

But Eloise doesn't seem to mind, enjoying star-cross lovers, unrequited love, right person wrong time and general adventure. Adventures throughout France and Italy, Flora's mother lands. The more she read the more interested she became, intrigued in the young lady, who seems to have a gift for literature. Ideas racked her mind, ones of adventure, travels and new stories.

Without a second thought, Flora began to write to Miss Eloise of London.

Dear Miss Eloise Bridgerton,

I find your mind fascinating, intriguing and fresh. I like your take on the topic of romance and the rights for women. I do hope you put it to good use, for a woman like yourself has skill and potential. I am to travel to Mayfair London in four months, before the debutante season of marriage, for my father is to inherit his family estate there, and I am to start a new life in the Ton. By your letters, you seem to be a local, someone to show me around and help me to settle in.

I do hope to see you, perhaps get some ideas for a new story.

Yours truly,

Lady da Silva

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

"Eloise, you have a letter from... Italy?" Violet turns the letter in her hand, holding it out to her daughter with great confusion.

Eloise cracks her gaze from her book, eyeing the parchment, snatching and ripping it open. "From Italy? From whom?" Hyacinth inquires, trying to see the letter.

Eloise scowls. "From no one, mind your own. It is not your business." Said Eloise, shooing her little sister away with Benedict slumping himself beside her, also very excited.

"Is it from Lady da Silva?" He questions in a hushed voice, wetting his lips.

The two share a love for the author and artist, who illustrates her own books and covers. Both, sending letters frequently, but only one receiving a reply.

With a gasp, Eloise clarifies their suspicions, her grin far too wide for a typical letter. "She likes my mind, she thinks it's rather fascinating," She gloats with a smirk. "And she's moving to London!" She screams, jumping for joy with Benedict, like fools, sharing an embrace.

"I am to write to her right away!" She runs up the main stairway, leaving her family in silent confusion.

Dear Lady da Silva,

I am greatly honored to receive word from you and to be given the opportunity to aid you in your next book. I have plenty of ideas, adventures, character personality and genres. How about a heroine? A woman hero, who embarks on a quest, an adventure.

I cannot wait to finally meet you, to brainstorm with you, to work with you! Your novels are legendary here, in the Ton, enjoyed by all— yes, even by men. Genevieve Delacroix, the modiste introduced me to your books— surprisingly we mingle a lot, discussing your books over tea and fittings. She too, is quite the literature, she adores your poems, always quoting those of affection, frequently, must I add.

She would love to meet you. Oh, and my brother, Benedict, who found himself looped into our little book club— if you can call it that— and writes to you as well, but it seems you have only replied to my letters, which I thank you greatly, truly. You bruised his heart for only replying to me, forcing him to quote your latest publish: Irony is of the Heart. Your best work, if it means, he too, is quoting your work.

I can't wait to see you,

Eloise Bridgerton

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Time flew by rather quickly, sending letters, the two made a connection, forging a friendship by letter, staining their parchments, their minds occupied with the other. The two became pen pows, rather quickly, their letters becoming more intimate and personal, Flora was beginning to think she were already with her.

Sooner than she thought, she were in Mayfair London, unpacking her chambers, decorating and finding new furniture for her study. Once sat for the night, she wrote to Eloise, informing her of her arrival and her need for new garments. Marking a time to meet and unknowingly a new beginning.

[dingodad]

this is the first time that ive heard about the debate re: interfering with conditional immortality? if you dont mind explaining, whats up with the debate? like why is it a thing?

the text is deliberately inexplicit about what the enchanted clock actually does; whether it innately has some magical property which allows it to decide whether a god lives or dies, or if it just 'tells the time', so to speak - the resurrection process happens independent of the physical clock, and the hand just points to whatever option was going to happen anyway.

Vriska's first death plays with this ambiguity on purpose. Jack strikes the clock with an item that we understand has enchantment-nullifying properties, the hand lands on the closest option by way of gravity, and that seems to be it - Vriska dies. but because we don't even know what the clock is doing to begin with, it's not actually clear what the sequence of events is - did Vriska die because Jack nullified the clock when the hand was already hovering over the Just side? or did the clock just stop working right as Vriska was going to die anyway? again, this ambiguity is ON PURPOSE: Vriska by her very nature shines a light on the absurdity of trying to fit a real person into such rigid categories as 'hero' and 'villain'. Hussie had pretty much exactly this to say when asked about it in 2011:

The clock did appear to lean "just" an instant before, and there are plenty of ways to argue in favor of a just death. There are many mitigating factors as well to supply a counter argument. It would not be that interesting if it were absolutely unambiguous, where everyone could all easily agree that her death was just. Or if everyone agreed there was no justice in it at all. There are enough factors in play where you have reason to think about it a bit, and such that it leaves plenty to discuss. You may consider the evidence and draw a conclusion. You may even feel very strongly about your conclusion! But for either the story, or me, to provide a categorically "right answer", immediately following the establishment of all the things that made it interesting to consider, shortchanges all that, I believe. For the clock to settle unceremoniously on "just" I feel would come across as a nonconstructive, compact ethical lecture, quickly nullifying all there was to evaluate and talk about.

but because popular readership has a really hard time with anything ambiguous, the common interpretation of this scene simply came to be that Jack killed Vriska by fucking with the clock. boo!

the issue has been mitigated by various factors since this event, no doubt many of which are in some way references or callbacks to this original controversy. firstly, Aranea getting her "Lucky 8r8k!!!!!!!!" when Jade dies a Just death after a building falls on her. this has widely been referred to as Aranea "manipul8ing" the result of the clock, because there are actually a couple of competing ambiguities here which readers have tried to sand down simultaneously:

they have arbitrarily conflated Aranea's mind control powers with Vriska's suite of Thief of Light powers

many choose to take it as read that "luck" is actually a 'real thing' in the world of Homestuck, and that Heroes of Light are somehow genuinely able to alter reality by manipulating it. if a really lucky person like Vriska or Aranea finds a dollar coin on the sidewalk, it is because their luck somehow made that coin appear there - this is certainly one possible way in which "luck" could work if it were 'real', but Homestuck is far more interested in asking this question than answering it

they have a really hard time believing that Jade 'deserved' to die, because she was being 'mind controlled' (this is a whole debate of its own) and therefore not 'really' 'evil' and therefore her death can't 'really' have been 'Just'. because once again, they think the Heroic/Just system of conditional immortality is some objective thesis on morality, and that the world of Homestuck actually has rigid laws determining who 'counts' as a 'hero' or a 'villain' - but again, this is a question that Homestuck is asking, not a statement it is making!

this all comes to a head with the climax of Caliborn's arc in Act 7, where he destroys the god tier clock and absorbs the resulting rainbow energies of immortality - implicitly one of the boons given unto him by Yaldabaoth which allows him to become immortal and everpresent throughout time. this case is harder to make a definitive argument about, because it is certainly true that Caliborn destroying the god tier clock symbolises his nullifying its effects and thus overcoming death. but there are other factors to be taken into account:

the result of nullifying the clock's enchantment is not internally consistent. when Jack breaks the clock, Vriska stays dead - thus implying, possibly, that a) the clock is responsible for bringing gods back to life. but when Caliborn breaks the clock, (we are to assume, at least for the sake of argument) he becomes immortal - implying that b) the clock is responsible for killing gods. both of these things cannot be simultaneously true; if a) is true, then Caliborn, having destroyed the clock, must stay dead after being killed. if b) is true, then Vriska, having the clock's effects negated, should have access to unlimited restorative powers. we must assume that the truth is a little more nuanced or - God forbid - metaphorical than either of these two things.

my last anon refers to "slick beating up vriskas [clock]" and "caliborn [...] destroying his" - implying a clock for each god which the savvy trickster might be able to individually interfere with in order to disrupt immortality judgements on a case-by-case basis. but of course this isn't how it works: so far as we can observe, there's a single clock in Scratch's apartment that presides over all of the comic's judgements, and so there's no reason to believe Caliborn's clock is in any way entirely his own; presumably, it's the same one he will later use as decor when he becomes Scratch. so whatever he does to the clock at his point in the timeline should remain true along the clock's entire timeline - he can't just destroy it 'for himself' and nobody else. at least not in any way that can be taken 100% literally.

Jake 'disrupting' Jade's judgement in 8r8k is just another entry in this same vein... except, like, without any of the real moral ambiguities? I don't think anyone's arguing that being a cheater puts adult Jade in any way the same kind of ethical quagmire as Vriska or werewolf Jade, LOL, nor do I think there's any seriously strong reason to believe that being shot in the head from a distance while standing still generating a force field is a Heroic death either. so nudging Jade's death from 'probably neutral' to 'definitely neutral' - if that's what we're supposed to interpret as what's literally happening - doesn't really come across as a particularly awesome display of Jake's power, here; but Naked White Jake in general is a whole new can of worms that the comic hasn't even had the opportunity to start opening yet, so I'm reserving my analysis on that for now.