#UP Board Result 2022

[shesnake]

Spider-Verse Artists Say Working on the Sequel Was ‘Death by a Thousand Paper Cuts’

Why don’t more animated movies look this good? According to people who worked on the sequel, Across the Spider-Verse, it’s because the working conditions required to produce such artistry are not sustainable.

Multiple Across the Spider-Verse crew members — ranging from artists to production executives who have worked anywhere from five to a dozen years in the animation business — describe the process of making the the $150 million Sony project as uniquely arduous, involving a relentless kind of revisionism that compelled approximately 100 artists to flee the movie before its completion.

While frequent major overhauls are standard operating procedure in animation (Pixar films can take between four and seven years to plot, animate, and render), those changes typically occur early on during development and storyboarding stages. But these Spider-Verse 2 crew members say they were asked to make alterations to already-approved animated sequences that created a backlog of work across multiple late-stage departments. Across the Spider-Verse was meant to debut in theaters in April of 2022, before it was postponed to October of that year and then June 2023 owing to what Entertainment Weekly reported as “pandemic-related delays.” However, the four crew members say animators who were hired in the spring of 2021 sat idle for anywhere from three to six months that year while Phil Lord tinkered with the movie in the layout stage, when the first 3-D representation of storyboards are created.

As a result, these individuals say, they were pushed to work more than 11 hours a day, seven days a week, for more than a year to make up for time lost and were forced back to the drawing board as many as five times to revise work during the final rendering stage.

"For animated movies, the majority of the trial-and-error process happens during writing and storyboarding. Not with fully completed animation. Phil’s mentality was, This change makes for a better movie, so why aren’t we doing it? It’s obviously been very expensive having to redo the same shot several times over and have every department touch it so many times. The changes in the writing would go through storyboarding. Then it gets to layout, then animation, then final layout, which is adjusting cameras and placements of things in the environment. Then there’s cloth and hair effects, which have to repeatedly be redone anytime there’s an animation change. The effects department also passes over the characters with ink lines and does all the crazy stuff like explosions, smoke, and water. And they work closely with lighting and compositing on all the color and visual treatments in this movie. Every pass is plugged into editing. Smaller changes tend to start with animation, and big story changes can involve more departments like visual development, modeling, rigging, and texture painting. These are a lot of artists affected by one change. Imagine an endless stream of them."

"Over 100 people left the project because they couldn’t take it anymore. But a lot stayed on just so they could make sure their work survived until the end — because if it gets changed, it’s no longer yours. I know people who were on the project for over a year who left, and now they have little to show for it because everything was changed. They went through the hell of the production and then got none of their work coming out the other side."

[potofsoup]

i love your fourth of july comics every year but this years feels extremely optimistic about biden’s abilities in the face of him letting roe get overturned and funding a gen*cide at worst or letting it happen at best by taking the bare minimum of regulatory action… i mean can he really be trusted at all anymore to do the right thing or act in line with the people’s demands? and how do we know the people behind project 2025 won’t just rig the election again to get in under false pretenses?

Hihi! Thank you for reading and enjoying my July 4th comics every year! I am in a non-US airport en route to a month-long trip in a place with sketchy internet, so sorry in advance for sloppiness in my response (and potentially going radio silent).

But:

I don't think he "let" Roe get overturned, since that was the Supreme Court's overwhelming conservative majority, which really started with Mitch McConnell refusing to approve Obama's appointee and forcing it into a 2016 election issue. The fact that Trump got to appoint 3 Supreme Court Justices is what got us here.

Re: Biden and the Israel/Hamas war ... on the one hand, there's definitely more that he could have done, but on the other hand, they are a whole other country over there. It's Hamas that initiated the Oct 7 attacks and took the hostages. It's Netanyahu and his right-wing government who decided to retaliate to such extreme extent. Biden can talk about how he would really like Netanyahu to stop fighting and step down, but at the end of the day that's not his call, any more than he can stop the Sudan fighting that is near-genocidal either.

So, to come to your question #1: "Can he really be trusted at all anymore to do the right thing or act in line with the people’s demands"?

For me, it's a resounding YES. Guyz, he has passed so much good domestic policies. My spouse works in green energy and the passing of the Inflation Reduction Act halved his anxiety and gave him legitimate hope. The tumblr post I linked to in my comic has links to many of the other great things that Biden has done. Tbh I voted for him in 2020 because "a moldy onion is still better than Trump", and I've been pleasantly surprised. Like how he tried to cancel student loans, the Supreme Court overturned it, and then he came back 6 months later with a different way to do it that didn't lead to a court challenge.

Is he perfect? Hell no. There's tons of stuff that I wish he did more about, or he went further on, but also he's just one guy heading one branch of government who is heading into an election year. (Just like FDR promising not joining WWII, while behind the scenes doing all the Lend-Lease Act stuff). And "the people" have lots of demands, many of them conflicting.

I'd also like to push at the unspoken part of your question... "Can he really be trusted to do the right thing..." compared to whom? Because right now the answer is "compared to Trump." And compared to Trump... I don't even trust Trump to respect the results of a legitimate election. Heck, he might just take his favorite state secrets, sell them to the highest bidder (or just show them off to someone for funzies), and then claim Presidential immunity. A decent Democrat who got stuff done vs someone who probably wants to pardon himself and all his friends and do Project 2025 stuff is not even on the same level. (Do I wish that there was a viable Democratic alternative to Biden? Sure! But who?) Heck, at this point -- imagine if it's Kamala Harris vs. Trump. Who would you vote for?

As for your question #2: "How do we know the people behind project 2025 won’t just rig the election again to get in under false pretenses?"

We don't. But also what can we do besides showing up to vote?

Actually, I need bullet points for this:

The 2022 midterm elections brought in fewer-than-expected election-deniers into crucial electoral offices at the state level, which means that hopefully most state electoral boards will continue to have integrity

Yes, voting is harder but at least we can still vote. So it's about getting out there and getting your vote counted. For some states, it involves waiting in 8 hour lines. For some states, it involves bringing 2 forms of ID. Document. Track. Make sure it's dropped off in a real ballot box and not a fake one. Don't believe messaging that the voting is happening on a different day or location, etc.

A 50.1% majority is easily challenged. A 55% majority, less so. Which means getting people out to vote.

The more people know about and think about the reality of a second Trump term (versus being disappointed by a Biden term), the more they will be motivated to vote against Trump.

Finally, let's be real here: I'm braced for a 2nd Trump term. That said:

I'm still going to go and vote for Biden, because the only way to prevent a 2nd Trump term is to vote.

A Trump term where either the House or Senate is controlled by the Democrats will be *very* different from a clean Republican sweep.

Even with a clean Republican sweep on the federal level, States have so much more power now, and voting the state level stuff will help shore up Democratic goals for the future. States get to draw voting districts however they want. States get to decide on abortion policies. If you live in a deep Red state, there still might be things to vote for that make it easier to live in now, and turn it purple a few elections down the line.

So at the end of the day, it's "Vote AND". Vote and keep living your best life. Vote and tell others about Project 2025. Vote and have hope. Even if Trump wins, at least you'll have voted against him. Vote and stay to build up a progressive wave for the next election.

[prisonhannibal]

Today (November 12th 2024), the Norwegian parliament voted on which actions will be taken as a result of the Truth and Reconciliation Commision’s report on fornorskningen (translated “the norwegianization”, referring to the official policies for the forced assimilation of sámi people up until the 1980s, for example by sending the children to boarding schools to separate them from the culture.) which was handed in in June of 2023. They’ve voted to issue an official and historic apology for the irreparable harm done to our communities, languages and culture and the trauma to individuals affected, with only one party voting against it. Which, of course is FrP, the most right wing mainstream political party. Not ONLY do they not want to apologize, they want to shut down the Sámi Parliament and pull Norway out of the ILO convention on the rights of indigenous people. This comes right after massive civil disobedience actions in 2022-23 against the norwegian government continuing a human rights violation for years after the supreme court of Norway ruled it a human rights violation according to conventions on indigenous peoples human rights. Anyway, this is a win for us and the other minority cultures affected by these policies. Still, I have complicated feelings around an apology because I truly just don’t know what kind of apology could ever make up for the damage. But it’s definitely a start and things could start happening from here. I’m hopeful. they’ve also passed multiple things they will do to follow up on the report and help our communities

as always, fuck FrP

[malusokay]

2023 reset guide

Glow up

2023 vision board. Visualize your dream 2023 and write down your goals!

Daily Hot girl walks. No excuses, babes; let's get moving!

Reflecting on 2022. Look back at what you've accomplished and what you could have done differently.

Make a Bucketlist. Write down places you want to visit and things you want to do.

Extended self-care. Take some time to yourself to recover from the stressful holidays and get back on track. <3

Buy a good SPF. Do some research and find something that works for you!

Start Investing in yourself. Money, time, and energy. Put yourself first!

Annual check-ups. Make a dentist appointment, go to the optometrist etc...

Buy a Silk pillowcase. Protect your skin and hair!

Set clear boundaries. And make sure that people respect them!

Less screen time. Self-explanatory.

Manicure, lash lift, haircut. High maintenance to be low maintenance! ;)

Wellness

Daily vitamins. Visit a doctor to discuss which ones you should be taking for the best results.

Morning stretches. Wake up your body and drink some water!

Skin/hair care. It's time to find products that actually work for you.

Reading more literature. Set yourself a daily reading goal.

Planned grocery lists. Make a grocery list that aligns with your dietary needs and goals to make shopping less stressful. <3

Less coffee. Especially if you struggle with anxiety!!

More greens and protein. Let's give our body what it needs.

Journaling. Truly helps with overthinking!!

8 hours of sleep. Beauty sleep. <3

Cooking for yourself. Such a cute form of daily self-care.

Yoga. Or just any low-impact exercises in general.

Deep cleaning

Organizing your closet. Only keep things that make you feel beautiful.

Budgeting. Check your bank account and plan ahead.

Clean your hairbrushes. Trust me...

Donating clothes. Donate the items that you don't wear anymore.

Clean your make-up brushes. The first step to clear skin!!

Fresh sheets. Wash your pillows too.

Charge your electronics. IPad, Mac, Camera etc...

Get rid of expired make-up and skincare. Step 2 to clear skin, lol.

Declutter stationary. No need to keep dried-out pens.

Delete old emails. I currently have 1840...

Delete unnecessary apps. Anything you don't need.

Clean your camera roll. Making some space for new memories! :)

Cut out toxic people. <3

Mindset

Pretty, smart, kind, and prioritising myself.

Positive affirmations!!

Your daily habits play a huge role in your mood/life. Be mindful, and take care of yourself.

It's okay to outgrow people!!

Decide what kind of life you actually want and start saying no to everything that won't get you there.

"I'm attracting opportunities that align with my dream life."

A girl who will do big things can't let small things bother her.

Honestly, reinvent yourself over and over again until you are satisfied with who you are.

Do you want to be comfortable, or do you want to grow?

"Am I doing this for me, or am I performing for others?"

very high standards. VERY HIGH STANDARDS.

Be obsessed with yourself.

2022 has been such a life-changing year for me, not only personally but also regarding my social media! As I already said on Twitter, I'm incredibly grateful for this little community that has formed this year, and I'm excited for all the things that lay ahead of us! I wish everyone a successful 2023 with many beautiful moments and lots of growth!!

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[reasonsforhope]

"A trial programme providing a free meal a day has yielded not just financial relief for households but also improved child nutrition and student outcomes such as attendance and focus.

The free school lunch initiative for children from poor or disadvantaged families was introduced by President-elect Prabowo Subianto and Vice-President-elect Gibran Rakabuming Raka as one of their key campaign promises. Mr Gibran is President Joko Widodo’s elder son...

The pair – who won the Feb 14 presidential election by a landslide and will be inaugurated in October – had in the lead-up to the polls pledged to offer free lunches and milk for students as well as nutritional aid to toddlers and pregnant women in a bid to lower the country’s stunting rate.

Over 20 per cent of Indonesian children under the age of five experienced stunted growth in 2022, according to the United Nations. Stunting, which is being too short for one’s age as a result of poor nutrition, can result in long-term development delays.

When fully implemented by 2029, the programme will cover 83.9 million beneficiaries across the world’s fourth-most-populous nation of nearly 280 million, and cost over 400 trillion rupiah (S$33.7 billion) a year – about 2 per cent of annual gross domestic product.

But on the ground, a trial that was first rolled out in January at 16 schools in Sukabumi, in West Java, has been warmly received by around 3,500 students, their parents and school leaders, who have seen positive changes.

For one thing, saving on the cost of lunches for four of her nine children has provided significant finan­cial relief for Indonesian house­wife Rofiati, 46.

Her husband, a teacher at an Islamic boarding school in Sukabumi, earns 2.5 million rupiah a month on average, and the free school meals have helped them save about 420,000 rupiah monthly, which she can put towards other household needs.

Her children do not usually have breakfast before school. Before the free lunch programme, her children would eat lunch only upon returning home from school. Lunch would usually consist of instant noodles, or dishes of vegetables, eggs, tempeh or salted fish.

“I am not worried any more because I know they will eat at school. They have more appetite as they eat together with their friends,” Ms Rofiati told The Straits Times, adding that her children’s appetites have improved and they also like the variety of the meals provided. In fact, her 11-year-old daughter has gained 4kg since the programme started.

Every day, students on the programme receive a lunch package worth 15,000 rupiah, containing rice, meat such as chicken, fish or beef, vegetables, fruit and milk.

At home, the family usually eats meat only once a week.

It is not just the financial savings that parents are happy about. Ms Depi Ratna Juwarti, who has two out of three children benefiting from the free lunches, has noticed other encouraging results.

“They rarely get sick now. They are more motivated to study and spend a longer time studying at night,” Ms Depi said.

Her eldest daughter, Adifa Alifiya Mahrain, 12, also has good reviews. “The food is always delicious and the menu changes every day. I always eat everything. It’s a lot of fun to eat together with my friends,” said Adifa, who hopes to become a paediatrician in the future.

Mr Shalahudin Sanusi, principal of Gelarsari Islamic primary school in Sukabumi, which is trialling the programme, said he has noticed that pupils have been able to concentrate better and understand lessons more.

He said the initiative has raised the attendance rate of its 110 pupils from 85 per cent to 95 per cent. “They eat modestly at home – mostly rice and salted fish. Rice and eggs are the best they can get,” he told ST. “Now, they are so excited, some even arrive in school at 6am, an hour before lessons start.”"

-via The Straits Times, May 18, 2024

[vitalverstappen]

Flash Forward - M. Verstappen (part one)

summary: The world of F1 is never easy. Throw in reuniting with your childhood enemy? You're in for a wild season.

pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!reader (Ferrari photographer, graffiti artist, child hood enemies), Charles Leclerc x platonic fem!reader

warnings: imposter syndrome, mentions of Jos Verstappen, borderline anxiety attack, swearing, drinking, allusions to sex, lots of pining, use of y/n

a/n: This was written with the 2022 season in mind. I also know nothing about the Belgian/Dutch school systems so I took what I know about the American/UK systems. Hopefully it makes sense! Some of the race results are inaccurate to fit the storyline. Sue me.

word count: 20.3k

masterlist

Max Verstappen. A name you loathed as a child. He was always on edge, striving to be the best in anything he did. It didn’t matter if it was a karting race or a math quiz, he had to be number one. Max knew what it took to succeed in life and he spent day in and day out making sure that he was ahead of the game.

He was an overachiever to say the least. 

Y/n L/n, on the other hand, was relaxed. She went with the flow of life, truly only trying when it was necessary, or if it interested her. The girl wasn’t lazy, she just knew that school wasn’t going to help her in the long run. She was a rule breaker, pushing everything and everyone to their limits. 

They were on opposite ends of any spectrum. 

Age 4

Art class was always your favorite time of the day. It gave you the freedom to express yourself exactly how you wanted - no rules to follow, no one hovering over your shoulder criticizing you. 

It was finger painting day, which you adored. An excuse to get messy, what child didn’t love that? Your fingers swirled across the page as the world in your head came to life with the paint. A castle in the distance as the prince and princess fell in love in the center. 

“What is that?” Max asked from the table across from yours 

A toothy grin formed on your face as you turned the page around to show him. “It’s a princess!” 

A laugh came from Max as he took in your painting “A princess? That’s so lame” 

Quickly, you turned your painting back around, as a rosy glow formed on your cheeks. “What are you painting?” 

Max held up his paper with the same goofy grin you had on moments earlier. A single green blob was on the page. “It’s a racecar!” 

“That doesn’t look like a racecar” You said as you grabbed some paint “ Let me help!” 

“No!” 

Max was too slow with his words as you took the paper from him. He could only watch in horror as you glided your paint covered fingers across the page. 

“There. A race car!” You exclaimed as you passed the paper back to the boy

“You ruined my painting!” He cried “Teacher! Teacher!” 

And that’s how you found yourself being lectured by your art teacher about how you needed to respect other people’s belongings. 

Age 8

As the two of you reached age 8, you each had found sports to fall in love with. In Max’s instance, he was forced into karting by his dad. You, on the other hand, fell in love with skateboarding on your own. Months were spent begging your parents to get you one after you saw a group of kids at a skatepark. For Christmas, your parents finally broke and got you a board to learn. 

Many hours were spent with one of your parents on the asphalt as they helped you learn how to skate properly. After what felt like decades with one of them holding your hand as you pushed off from the ground, you finally got the confidence to ride by yourself. 

A puffy blue jacket was wrapped around your body as you stood on your driveway. A chill rushed through your body as you strapped your bright pink helmet on your head before grabbing your board. 

Hours were spent practicing riding the board in straight lines, going back and forth on the driveway. Some runs were better than others, but you could feel yourself getting better as the day went on. 

The sound of engines quickly filled the neighborhood, a telltale sign that the Verstappens were doing their karting practice. Moments passed and the roar grew louder. It was a matter of time before they ended up on your street. 

Sure enough, you could see the Verstappen half siblings racing each other. The larger of the two, Max, was far ahead from his younger sister. You weren’t expecting Max to stop when he got to your house. 

“Skateboarding?” He asked over the sound of the kart “Isn’t that for boys?” 

You shook your head as you hopped back on your board “It’s for girls too!” 

“Yeah, and unicorns are real” He shot back. You couldn’t tell if you imagined it, or if Max truly had laughed at you as he revved his engine again before taking off, leaving you behind in a cloud of smoke. 

Age 12 

By the time you reached year eight, Max had been competing in national karting championships, leaving your interactions to be few and far between. You had continued your love of skateboarding and art, leaning into photography. 

Somehow you ended up in ownership of a cheap, small point and shoot camera. Regardless if the photos never turned out clear or if the battery ran out at the most inopportune times, you fell in love with the camera. It became a part of you, as your friends and family found it odd when you didn’t have the device in your hands. 

Your best friend Lindsay and her family had dragged you to the local karting track. Her brother was in the race, and Lindsay wanted someone to keep her company other than her parents. 

It was a rainy Sunday morning, but neither you or Lindsay cared. Rain boots splashed through puddles and mud around the track, as the two of you played games during the warmup laps. As the race drew nearer, the clouds began to part. 

“Lindsay!” You called, getting your friend's attention “I wanna take some photos!” 

“Okay!” She yelled back 

You quickly ran to get your camera, its bright red color sticking out of your bag. After you grabbed it, you ran back to where Lindsay was. She struck a pose with a toothy grinned smile. 

Click!

Giggles filled the air as the two of you looked at the photo. Your eyes were taken off the camera screen as the karts whizzed by. The karts captivated you, leaving you wanting more as they drove away.

You darted over to the fence, barely being able to stick your camera lens through the holes. Impatience grew as you waited for the karts to drive by again. A minute passed. Then another. Then the engines roared louder as you clicked your camera a few times. 

Once the karts rushed past, you jumped back from the fence. The screen showed the photos you had just taken. They were a bit blurry, but if anything it helped capture the speed.

When the race finished, you and Lindsay darted over to Parc ferme where Lindsay’s brother and his kart were. From a distance, you were able to watch as he climbed out of his kart, right behind the second place sign. 

Click! Click! 

The first place kart pulled up to its respective spot, and you couldn’t help but stare. Whoever was in the kart was a natural. All eyes were on him as he got out of his kart and threw his arms in the air in celebration.

Click! Click! Click!

The mysterious kart driver’s head whipped around when he heard the sound of your camera. When he finally found you, his helmet tipped in confusion, before he began taking it off. 

“Did you just take a photo of me?” The boy asked. Once the helmet was off of his head, regret filled your head. You should have never agreed to coming. 

“Uh yeah, Max. I did.” You answered

“Why?” He asked, causing you to shrug in response. You didn’t have a real answer.

“I just wanted to. I didn’t realize it was you” You spoke “Do you want to see?” 

“No.” Max answered bluntly before walking away. Typical. 

As the podium happened, you couldn’t help but to snap a few more photos of the top three. You hated that Max was the subject of most of the photos you took, but the excitement you got from snapping the raw emotions on everyone’s face made it worth it.

Age 16

When you reached sixteen, that love of photography grew, and you found a new love for graffiti, much to Max’s dismay. 

The sun was setting on the skatepark you had been practicing your tricks at all evening. When the lot finally emptied out of families and other teens, the sound of cans clanking filled the air as you dropped your backpack. You were never one to carry any books around, so you figured you’d make the bag useful for paint. 

You had been eyeing a blank spot on the base of a ramp the entire evening. After picking out the colors you needed for this project, you flipped your hood up and put on a mask, trying to hide your identity, and got to work. 

The sun was long set by the time you finished the base layers with only some of the details. The harsh lighting of the street lamp was your only help. Graffiti definitely took time, but it was time you wouldn’t spend anywhere else. Your artistry was stopped when you heard a familiar lisp. 

“Uh excuse me, you shouldn’t be doing that” The voice said. 

You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Max. His intonation was recognizable from miles away. What did puzzle you though, was what he was doing out so late. 

Regardless, you ignored him, hoping that he would just mind his business and go away. But that’s not how Max worked. 

“You need to stop. That’s vandalism” He said again 

“It’s none of your business, Max. Go away” You finally spoke, turning around 

In the light of the streetlamp, you could see Max’s eyebrows furrow. He was along the sidewalk, not too close to you, but close enough to roughly make out his features. 

“Y/n?” He asked “What are you doing out so late?” 

“I could ask you the same thing, Verstappen. You’re never in town anymore” You said, tossing the can of red paint into your bag before picking up the light blue.

“I was out for a run. I have the week off from racing” He explained before his eyes left yours and back to the art behind you. “You do graffiti?”  

“And still doing photography.” You added “I’ll swing by and take some photos of this place in the morning” 

“You’re going to get in trouble” He blurted out. Some things never change.

A laugh escaped your lips as you turned back to your art, spraying on the light blue in the shape of a ghost. “That’s why I’m doing it at night. Fewer people around, less likely to get caught” 

“But you got caught. I see you doing it right now. I could call the cops.” He suggested 

“Be my guest.” You scoffed as you turned back to him “They have no proof it was me except your eyes. There’s no security here at all. No cameras or anything” 

Max opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He knew you were right. He would be the only witness, and you knew the police didn’t go solely off of that. Checkmate. 

He shook his head “Whatever. It better look good” He said as he started his run again 

“It’s not like you’re gonna be around here again anyway” You yelled after him before turning back to your painting of PacMan and his ghosts. 

The police sirens never did fill the air that night. 

You didn’t realize it at the time, but you were right that Max would rarely be around the town. While you barely graduated from grade school and dropped out after your first semester of university, Max broke onto the Formula One scene as the youngest driver in history. 

As you got older, you found yourself going out for spray painting adventures less frequently. You still loved the art of it, but turned to more legal ways of expressing it - by putting it on canvas. When you did put down the cans, you opted for a camera to fill its place. The point and shoot camera you got years ago turned into a high quality film one, which slowly phased into a DSLR. You adored your film cameras and loved being able to process your own photos, but digital photos truly captured your heart. 

You reignited your passion for sports photography from when you were younger. Any chance to photograph a sport, you jumped at it. Whether it was motorsports, soccer, or ice hockey, your favorite place to be was behind the camera, capturing the raw emotion of the athletes.

Age 24 // Sakhir, Bahrain 

Drills whirled as you walked down pit lane, each team perfecting their pit stop routines. You couldn’t help but stare as the team worked like a unit - moving in one singular motion. 

The first day in the paddock was overwhelming to say the least. There were so many new faces you had been introduced to, along with many rules that Annalese had word vomited at you. It was all hard to keep track of. 

You adjusted the collar of the bright red Ferrari polo that was underneath your camera strap. After countless rigorous interview rounds and portfolio submissions, the team finally offered you a spot on their photography staff. While you had loved jumping from sport to sport in the past, you were finally glad to have a home in Formula One. 

Both Charles and Carlos gave you a quick wave as you passed by the Ferrari garage. You had met them during the preseason meetings back at headquarters, and both boys welcomed you to the family with open arms. Annalease had mentioned you’d be working more with Charles, as he was your assigned driver, but there would always be opportunities to snap photos of Carlos. 

“And to our other side is the Red Bull garage.” She said as the two of you walked towards the blue terminal. She was finishing up your tour of pit lane, after starting from the very back of the stretch. 

You had expected the garage to be mostly empty, as you saw most of their team heading back to the Energy Station. A few engineers were left tinkering with the cars, getting ready for the first testing session. But a familiar blonde was standing in the middle of his garage, analyzing his machine. 

It was only a matter of time before you were going to see him, but you didn’t expect it to be on your first day. Years had passed since you last saw him - eight to be exact. Just like you had, Max grew up. His blonde hair was a little bit longer, but still just as neat as it was growing up. He had filled out his body more, his bobble head now looking normal sized. 

Max must’ve felt someone watching him, as his head snapped up from whatever he was looking at on his car. He looked around his garage before finally finding you outside of it.

“Y/n L/n?” Max asked as his eyes blinked a few times, clearly not believing what he saw. 

“Max” You replied, confirming it was in fact you. 

“Do you two know each other?” Annalese asked, her eyes moving from you to Max, and back to you.

“Yeah, uh, we were childhood…” You trailed off, not sure how to label your distaste for Max

“Classmates. We were in grade school together” The driver spoke. He walked from his spot beside his car towards the entrance to the garage, stopping only a few feet away from where you and Annalese were. “What are you doing here?” 

The camera in your hand seemed to grow heavier as you lifted it. “Photography. Ferrari hired me for the season” You explained, Max’s ears perking up in response. 

“Yeah, she’s the best one we’ve had in a while.” Annalease said before patting you on the shoulder, “Well I’ll leave the two of you alone to catch up”

You opened your mouth to protest both of her statements, but by the time you figured out how, she had disappeared into the Ferrari garage next door. Max was still looking at you as you turned your head back to him. As quickly as you met his eyes, you lost them as yours searched the area looking for something to talk about. 

When your eyes landed on his car, you spoke. “So number one, huh?” 

“Yeah, it’s still kind of unreal” He admitted, looking back at his car before turning back to look at you. You could tell Max was analyzing you, just as you did to him before he noticed your presence on pit lane. “So Ferrari photographer, huh?” 

A small smile crept onto your lips as you moved your camera away from your chest, revealing the team logo. “Yeah, it was a big step from what I’ve done in the past, but I hope it was the right one.” 

Max opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by one of his engineers. He turned to face the garage before looking back at you. “I gotta go. Last minute stuff before testing. I’ll see you around”

“I’ll see you around” You repeated before the two of you turned, making your way to your respective garages. 

Melbourne, Australia 

The early sunrise crept through your blinds, signaling it was time to get up. While you didn’t have much to do until media day tomorrow, you wanted to take advantage of traveling all around the world. 

After freshening up and changing into your bright red windbreaker, you creaked open your hotel door. It was still early, and you did not want to be the reason why the rest of the team woke up grumpy. The door shut silently behind you as you turned to find the elevators. 

“What are you doing up?” You heard, causing you to jump out of your skin. Down the hall was Max, leaving his hotel just as you were. 

“And what are you doing going around scaring people who are getting up?” You asked as you walked down the hall towards him and the elevators. 

He shrugged “I didn’t mean to. But seriously, no one except me is usually up this early. What are you doing out?”

“Going sightseeing.” You answered. You could hear the hum of the elevator from behind the doors. “What are you doing?” 

“Morning run,” He answered. “Why are you going sightseeing? It’s just a race weekend”

“Yeah, and it’s just my first time on the other side of the world” You chuckled. “How many times have you been to Melbourne?” 

“Uh I think six now?” He answered, though it sounded more like a question

The elevator dinged as the doors parted ways. Max followed you into the car as you hit the lobby button. 

“Six times, and how many times have you taken the opportunity to explore?” You asked. He was silent, the stare at the wall told you everything you needed to know. “Exactly.” 

Max was silent for a moment before finally admitting “I just never really knew where to go” 

“Come with me” You suggested, catching yourself off guard at your own idea. He despised you as a kid, there was no chance he would even think of saying yes. Max’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned to look at you. 

“What?” He asked, confused 

You had every opportunity to say literally anything else, forget that you even thought about hanging out with him. But there was something about the driver, maybe it was the glint in his eye, that prompted you to repeat “Come with me. See the city with me.” 

Max had never been one to cover his emotions, but standing there in the elevator with him, you had no idea what he was thinking. Seconds felt like hours as you waited for his response.

“Fine” He sighed as the elevator opened to the lobby “I can postpone my run a little bit.” 

You couldn’t help but to crack a small smile as the two of you walked out onto the streets of Melbourne. The phone in your hands guided you down the block to your destination. 

“Where are we even going?” Max asked, trailing behind you slightly “You better not be leading me somewhere sketchy”

“Don’t worry, I’m not. We’re going to graffiti alley” You told him. It had been a place you had dreamed of visiting ever since you started spray painting. 

Max stopped in his tracks, a new worry spread across his face. “Graffiti alley? Are you…?” His voice trails off as his eyes glance to your bag. He knew you were always one to express yourself through artwork, but he refused to be linked to any of it. 

“What? No. I mostly paint on canvas now. Besides, I wouldn’t want to cover anyone else’s work.” You answered 

Max didn’t know what to think. It had been years since he had spent more than five minutes with you, and most of that time was spent arguing or trying to annoy the hell out of you. But there he was, taking in the sight of you navigating through the hustle and bustle of Melbourne. You had grown up, just like he had, but unlike his wavering admiration for driving, your dedication to the arts never faltered. As you admired and captured the artwork spray painted along the brick of the buildings in the alleyway, he found his eyes landing on you more often. 

======

Race day could have gone better. While Charles finished on the topstep of the podium, both Carlos and Max were forced to retire. When the cars weren’t speeding past you on the track, you couldn’t help but to look at the photos you had taken earlier in the race. They were good but none of them truly stood out to you. 

Once the race concluded, you sprinted down pit lane towards parc ferme, where you happened to run into Max. 

“Hey! I’m sorry about the car. I’m sure you’ll get it next time” You said

“Yeah, I’m sure. But next time I’m not exploring the city with you” He replied, his voice lacking any emotion

As much as you wanted to ask him what he meant, you knew you had a job to do. Instead of pestering the man, you simply shrugged and continued your laboring sprint down to the cars. 

Miami, USA

Just like all those years ago, Max was right. 

The next time the twenty drivers met on the grid was Imola, where he finished on top of the podium. And sure enough, he did it without exploring the town with you. He was able to sneak through the paddock in Italy without seeing you once. It helped that neither of the Ferrari boys made it onto the podium with him.

But Miami was a different story. It was the first time Formula One made a stop in the 305, so it was no surprise that the media wanted to cover every step that each of these drivers took. Luckily for you, your job wasn’t with McLaren. You swore to have seen those boys in bedazzled crop tops and whispering to the tarmac with James Corden. Your job was just to cover Charles, something you’ve done all season. Unfortunately for you, when Charles wasn’t in the Ferrari garage, there was a high chance he was yapping to Max.

Charles had excused himself into the motorhome for a moment, leaving you and Max alone in the paddock. 

“Congrats on Imola” You said as soon as your coworker disappeared. “Shame you didn’t get to see the city. it was gorgeous” 

“Yeah, I had a lot of pre race prep to do.” He claimed. The glint in his eyes said otherwise. “But thanks, it was good to be back on the podium. It was way too long.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned your head to look at him. “Didn’t you win in Saudi Arabia?” 

Max chuckled before taking a sip of the Red Bull that was in his hand “I did. But still, it’s been way too long.” 

It was no secret that Max held himself to an extremely high standard. Even back in his karting days, you knew that if he didn’t win, he’d be training bright and early the next day. But you had a feeling there was something more to it that Max only let on through the way his expression hardened after the stifled laugh. 

It took everything in you to bite your tongue. The urge to pester him about what he really truly meant lumped in your throat, but you quickly swallowed it back down when you heard Charles leaving the motorhome. 

======

The Ferrari garages were buzzing as both of their drivers locked out the front row, and you were sure to capture the smiles on everyone’s faces going into the race. 

The hot Miami sun beat down on your neck as the smell of burning rubber filled the air. From the video screen you had seen Max had overtaken Carlos, giving you no surprise when you spotted his blue Red Bull creeping behind the Ferrari in first. 

Following in the footsteps of the other photographers, you lifted your camera to your face as the engine roars grew ever so slightly. As the cars made their way around the bend, you, along with the rest of the photographers, captured the battle in front of you.

Charles had put on a show defensively through the first eight laps, giving you plenty of photos that told the story of the fight. As the race egged on though, it was clear that Max was in the faster car. 

By the time you got to pit lane, Max had already crossed the finish line. However he was so far ahead it took a few more seconds to even get sight of Charles and Carlos behind him. When you did, one of the engineers helped you lean out of the pit fence to capture the moments the teammates crossed the finish line. 

Both the Red Bull and the Ferrari garages had a new life to them as all four of the drivers finished in the top four. Along with the engineers, you sprinted down to Parc ferme to celebrate with the sea of red. 

Sweat dripped down your forehead as you finally reached the end of pit lane. Annalese stationed herself by the “3” sign on the right side of Parc ferme, while you squatted by the “2”. As all three cars pulled into their respective spots, camera clicks and cheers filled your ears.

======

Although the two teams were rivals on the track, off of it the teams rarely had bad blood. The Grand Prix after party was no different. Most of your night was spent with Annalese, Charles, and Carlos, but you occasionally found yourself mingling with the other drivers team staff. 

As the night drew on and more drinks filled your system, you could feel the effects of the liquor take place. While the first few drinks you had filled your body with a sense of euphoria, the crash that happened after having more wasn’t worth the high. 

You had excused yourself from the Ferrari group, and you found yourself a secluded booth in the club as your heart sank. It had been at least a few years since you last felt the churning of your stomach, the echoes of your former friends filling your head. 

What were you doing in a club in Miami with a bunch of racecar drivers? This wasn’t the place for you. You should be back in your hometown barely scraping by as everyone around you fulfilled their dreams. You shouldn’t be here. 

The club around you moved in slow motion as you drowned in your thoughts. Every time you thought you were reaching the surface, another wave crashed down and filled your lungs. 

A body sat down across the table from you, but you couldn’t find a way to look up. A muffled voice droned on, though you couldn’t attach a name to either.

It wasn’t until you felt a hand on yours that you snapped out of the fog you were in. Max was sitting across from you, with his hand holding yours. His eyes were intense as he looked at you, genuine concern painted all over his face. 

“Are you okay?” He asked

You shifted in your seat, softly nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine” Your voice wavered more than you would’ve liked.

Max picked up on it as he argued a simple “No you’re not. I’m walking you back to the hotel” 

Before you could protest and claim you were fine, Max had already stood up, taking your hand with him. He led you through the crowd out to the humid Miami night. He respected you enough to not ask what was wrong, but giving you the space to talk if need be.

Neither of you said a word as you walked the few blocks to the hotel, but the silence was enough. His hand never left yours as he navigated the city, eventually leading you to the corner the hotel towered on. 

A thank you left your lips as he walked you to your door. You unlocked the door and began to walk in as Max went on his way to his own. The thoughts from the club still lingered in your mind as you watched him leave. Exhaustion from the long day mixed with your foggy state of mind engulfed you.

“Do you think I belong here?” You asked the man down the hall. Max stopped and turned around to face you.

“Well, do you think you do?” He asked, retracing his footsteps back to your door.

A sigh escaped your lips as you leaned up against the cold door frame. “Honestly? I don’t know.” 

Max simply pushed open the cracked door, guiding you inside. You didn’t need to be stone cold sober to figure out what he was saying. Disappearing to the bathroom, you changed out of your little black dress into an oversized Ferrari hoodie and lounge shorts.  He was sitting on the edge of your bed, his eyes lingering on you as you joined him. 

The bed was softer than you remembered, but your senses were still fuzzy. 

“I’m not meant to be here” You blurted out. “That’s why I was out of it at the club, just getting in my own head.” 

Max was quiet as he took in your words. He knew better than to chime in, you needed to rant, and he was going to give you the space to do so, though he couldn’t wrap his head around why you chose him of all people.

“It’s hard, y’know? Seeing all your friends graduating from university and getting real careers. I tried it - couldn’t even make it through the first semester though. Don’t know why I thought I could do it when I barely graduated grade school” You admitted, running your hand through your hair as you talked

It may have been the drinks you had, but you could’ve sworn Max looked at you with a sense of pity. Even with balancing the challenges that karting brought, he had always been the top of the class, acing every subject that was thrown at him. 

“You still have a real career though” Max finally spoke “You’re doing photography for the most well known team in Formula One. People would kill to have your job”

A scoff left your mouth as you laid back into your bed, allowing the plush mattress to consume you. “Try telling my friends that.” 

Max’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned to face you “Do they not support you?” 

As much as you loved your friends, they were confused as to why you would want to abandon traditional schooling. They constantly doubted your talent, and ultimately thought running away to join F1 was silly. 

“It's complicated” You paused. “They’re happy I’m living my dream right now, but they just don’t understand why it’s my dream.”

Max couldn’t help but chuckle, causing you to sit up. “Sorry, it’s not funny, just a little something I didn’t think you’d be able to relate to.” 

While you didn’t know much about the Verstappen family,not that you tried to know anything, you were aware that Jos was a former Formula One driver. You were clueless about his record, or if he even won a race, but you deduced he wasn’t a World Champion. 

Before you could ask what he meant, Max spoke again “I do think you belong here though” 

Your voice was barely a whisper as you asked “You do?” 

He nodded, placing his hand on your shoulder, “Yeah, I do. I’ve uh… seen a few of your photos on the Ferrari socials and I think they’re incredible.” 

“Really?” You asked, your eyes meeting his 

Max nodded “Really. The way you captured the fight between Charles and I today was insane.” 

“Thank you, Max. It’s just hard when there’s so many other talented and more experienced photographers all around.” 

His hand moved from your shoulder down to your hip, pulling you ever so slightly closer to him. “If you weren’t this good at photography, you wouldn’t be here. F1 is for the best of the best, regardless of the job” 

A smile crept on your lips as you took in Max’s words. Once again, he was right. If you weren’t a great photographer, you wouldn’t have the job you do. A soft “thank you” escaped your lips before a yawn shortly followed. 

“Come on, let’s get you to bed”

Monte Carlo, Monaco

Since that night in Miami, Max had been friendly.

The two of you had exchanged numbers in Spain, just in case you had another onset. Though you hadn’t felt the need to reach out, Max made sure you were comfortable in the paddock.

Whenever he saw you, he would go out of his way to say hi and catch up. Even if he was preoccupied and couldn’t say anything to you, he would make sure that he gave you a wave. You found him walking down pit lane more than usual, his eyes usually dancing around the Ferrari garages, as if he was looking for something, or rather someone. 

And when he did find you in the garage, you knew you were in for at least a thirty minute conversation. Topics ranged from his cats to any recent artworks you’ve done. Max insisted that it was because the two of you were “garage neighbors” and he wanted to make you feel welcome in the paddock. Just two childhood enemies slowly getting to know each other. Nothing more, nothing less. Though as the days in the paddock wore on, you found yourself looking forward to the interactions with Max. His visits were one of the only constants in the craziness of a race weekend. 

“What was that all about?” Charles asked as he watched Max leave his garage for the third time that day. 

“Oh nothing,” You answered, a small smile forming on your lips as you grabbed your camera from the table it had been sitting on “Just Max Veryappen doing his thing.”

Charles laughed, allowing you to snap a beautiful photo of the Monegasque. “He’s started ranting to you too? Good luck soldier” 

As you worked more with Charles, the more you found that you were alike. Both of you had an appreciation for the arts, and now were the victims to what the fans called “maxplaining”. 

“It’s not that bad” You replied, crouching down to get a good angle of Charles’ car. “He’s a nice guy.” 

The only sounds came from the clanking of metal in Carlos’ garage next door and the clicks of your camera. The silence was comfortable, both you and Charles knowing there was no bad blood about either of you choosing not to talk. 

“Waaiiit a second” Charles started, the wheels in his head turning slowly. “I thought you and Max hated each other as kids. How did you get to this?” 

A groan escaped your mouth, a result of the question and your knees flaring up as you stood up. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask” 

You recounted the events of that night in Miami, excluding your bout of imposter syndrome, playing it off as you being “out of it”. Charles listened intently as you told your story, a smirk forming on his lips as you finished. 

“So let me get this straight: Max willingly left the club early to walk you back to your hotel?” He asked 

“Yeah, that sums it up” You shrugged 

“And now he’s being all friendly and yapping your ears off multiple times a day?” He asked 

“Yes” You answered “Charles what are you getting at?” 

“He totally likes you” He said, his smirk from earlier now turning into a full blown grin

“What? Ew. No.” You physically had to take a step back from the driver, as if he was Max. “Max is just a friend.” 

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that” Charles spoke as he left the garage, knowing he was running late for a meeting

======

The race could not have been worse if you tried. From a front row lockout being torn away by multiple delays - including a red flag - and poor strategy decisions, the best Charles could do was fourth.

Rainwater sloshed in your shoes as you climbed the stairs to the paddock club. Fans were huddled inside to escape the rain during the third delay of the day. Any attempts to capture photos were futile as your camera lens was littered with raindrops. 

“I just know both of them are fuming down there,” Annalese said as you joined her on the balcony that overlooked pit lane. The two of you watched both Ferrari cars pull into their garages as the red flag waved. 

“Oh my god yeah, this was not how Charles was expecting his home race to go.” You replied, finally choosing to cap your lens

“The poor guy can’t catch a break,” She agreed

“And I know for a fact Max is down there throwing a fit. He always does when something doesn’t go his way.” You laughed motioning to the Red Bull garage. The image of  the driver complaining about the weather or claiming that Mick can’t drive caused you to shake your head. 

“Speaking of Max, what’s he been doing lurking around Ferrari?” Annalese asked

“Did Charles tell you to ask me about this? He was on my ass yesterday,” You joked “But it’s nothing. Max and I have just become friends. That’s all” 

“Oh really?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows 

“Will you stop?” You replied, a smile on your lips as you playfully flicked your boss’ arm. “There is nothing going on. I promise” 

“Well if there is, you better be the first one to tell me” She said, poking your side 

You quickly swatted her finger away, “You’ll be the first one to know.” 

While you didn’t get the chance to make it to the podium celebration, Max made it his mission to see you after the race. After scoping out the garage next door, he found you leaving the Ferrari motorhome, prepping to go back to the hotel for the night. 

“Hey y/n,” He said as you walked out into the night 

Your ears perked up as the sound of your name and your eyes landed on the Red Bull driver that stood at the bottom of the stairs.“Oh hey Max. Congrats on the podium” 

“Thanks” He said, a grin forming “It was a shitty race, but somehow managed a Red Bull double podium. How’s Charles been?” 

It was no secret that the Monegasque was always hard on himself, especially when driving through the grandstands he saw built every year as a kid. Just like any other driver, he wanted to win, and when a win slips from his grasp, he takes it personally.

“He’s uh, okay” You said, the memory of you consoling the driver replaying in your mind. “You probably know how he is better than anyone”

“He’s a tough kid, I’m sure he’ll be fine” Max assured you 

Relief washed over you when you realized he was heading the same way you were. The two of you made your way through the empty paddock, as most of the workers had left hours ago. Times like this made you thankful for street races, as your hotel was only a few blocks away. 

“Are you going out to celebrate tonight? I overheard Carlos saying he was going to Jimmy’z” You said 

Max shook his head “After how long today took? No. I’m going home and spending some time with my cats. What about you? Are you joining the team?”

“After what happened in Miami? No.” You laughed, though Max knew it wasn’t a joke. “I have a nice date with my bed, room service, and some shitty romcom” 

“Oh how romantic” Max joked, though secretly thanking the heavens you had no other plans. As he got to know you over the past few races, he found himself wanting to spend more and more time with you. 

“Shut it Verstappen.” Daggers shot from your gaze as you spoke, though you still had a smile on your lips “It’s not like I have anything else to do” 

A strange feeling curdled in Max’s stomach as he processed your words. 

“Come with me then.” Max blurted out without thinking, causing your head to snap towards him, surprise in your eyes. You weren’t sure if you heard him right. There was no way Max Verstappen invited you over to his place. 

“I’m sure Jimmy and Sassy would love to meet you. We can order takeout and watch your romcoms or whatever” Max continued, his eyes softening.

“Come with you?” You asked, taken back by his hospitality

“Yeah, you can meet the cats and show me the photos you took today,” Max said, motioning to the camera bag that was slung over your shoulder

“If you insist, though I don’t have any photos of you if that’s what you’re looking for” You said as you shook your head

“Fine by me” Max said as he led you off the smooth pavement of the paddock to the bumpy cobblestone streets of Monte Carlo.

Spielberg, Austria

The Red Bull Ring was scary. 

The second you entered the paddock, the feeling of a target being painted on your back lingered. Not that you did anything to deserve the feeling, the bright red of your shirt was enough to prompt the remarks. 

Somehow, it could have been worse. The words thrown at you were nothing compared to what Charles and Carlos had to endure. Mentions of their families, friends, and other loved ones filled your ears as you followed the duo down the paddock and into the Ferrari hospitality. 

“God that was brutal” Carlos said once the doors were fully closed 

“Are you guys okay?” You asked, your eyes darting back and forth between them. Normally the yelling you heard when clocking in for work were terms of endearment, not hoping for their downfall.

Charles ran his fingers through his hair as he sighed “Yeah, Austria is always tough with the fans. It’s nothing new” 

“Gotcha. I’m here if you need anything” You said, though your eyes darted to the doors the three of you just walked through. “Except now. I gotta go run to the garage” 

You could hear the two teammates laugh as you exited the building, finding yourself back in the thick of the commotion. Once out of the heat of the “fans”, you found a quiet spot off to the side of the Ferrari motorhome and took out a pad of paper from your bag. 

It wasn’t a complete lie that you had to go to the pits - there were always photos to be taken no matter what time of day. But you had a slightly different task that you wanted to accomplish before getting yelled at by the mechanics for getting in their way. 

Ferrari had announced that they would be doing a special livery for the Italian Grand Prix this year. While it wasn’t uncommon for the team to slightly deviate from the solid red paint for their home race, it was special that they made it a contest. All employees were allowed to submit an entry, and the best one would be brought to life on the car. 

So, on your notepad you sketched out the shape of the Formula One car, practically by memory. You had tried a few different ideas since the contest was announced, ranging from the Italian flag to all black, but none of them ever seemed just right. 

You scribbled away at a new concept, choosing to play into the yellow and touches of green in the Ferrari logo. With every stroke of the colored pencil, you would move your head back to take a look at your work. And with every stroke, you hated the livery design more and more. It didn’t help that it looked less and less like a Ferrari car and more and more like Senna’s helmet. 

It eventually got to the point where the design was so outlandish, you wanted it in the trash. Crumpling up the paper, you aimed for the waste bin a few feet away, only for it to hop off the rim and land on the pavement. 

A groan escaped your lips as you realized your error in judgment. Before you could stand up to take care of the litter, a pair of dark blue and white shoes stood next to it. 

“Need some help?” A lisp asked. Sure enough, Max stood next to the trash can, bending over to pick up the crumpled paper. “Are you trying to pick up basketball as a hobby now too?” 

You rolled your eyes as a playful smile formed on your lips. “No, Max. I was just trying to throw something away” 

He refused to acknowledge why, but there was something about the way you said his name that made his head fog up. It was like the feeling he got back in Monaco, but still something he had never fully understood. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he spoke. 

“What’re you even getting rid of anyway?” Max asked

“It’s nothing - it’s just - don’t worry about it” You stuttered out in futile attempts

He had already unraveled the crumpled paper, causing a warmth to rush to your cheeks. You were never one to share your artwork with anyone unless you were one hundred percent proud of it. But there you were, hopelessly sitting on a concrete curb as Max took in the monstrosity that was your doodle. 

Max thought the artwork was truly something out of a gallery. The way the green and yellow flowed together while still popping individually amazed him. 

“Is this a special livery?” He finally asked after what felt like years of silence

“It’s just a mock up” You quickly dismissed. “Ferrari is doing a contest for its workers for a special livery for Monza”

“I think it’s really cool” He said, his eyes not leaving the page. No one other than your art teachers growing up had looked at your work with such intensity. 

“Really?” You asked, shocked that someone would even like it. Max finally tore his gaze from the piece of paper to your eyes. When he did, you swore your heart skipped a beat. Blaming it on the nerves of someone unexpectedly viewing your art, you pushed the thoughts away. “I don’t think it’s bad, it just isn’t my style”

“If your style is the same from childhood, then no, it’s not” Max agreed “But I do think it’s good.” 

“Thank you” You managed to peep out. Receiving compliments about your work was never one of your strong suits, though the night in Max’s apartment seemed to help. As you flipped through the photos on your camera that night, he would praise every single one. You had convinced yourself he had done it just to be nice.

“You still do graffiti, right?” Max asked, taking a seat next to you on the curb 

“Yeah, but nowhere near as much as I used to,” You admitted. As much as you loved sneaking around the town in your teens, you were too old to risk getting caught and put behind bars. 

“Why don’t you try doing something with that?” He suggested “It would definitely catch the eyes of the higher ups” 

The thought of going back to your graffiti roots intrigued you. You weren’t sure how you were going to get street art onto a racing car, but it was a challenge you were willing to tackle. 

“Honestly, that’s not a bad idea, thank you” You said, standing up “Now I gotta go actually do my job, but I’ll definitely keep you updated.”

As you started to walk away, Max remembered why he sought out to find you in the first place. 

“Y/n, wait” He called 

You turned around to see Max quickening his pace to catch up to you. “What’s up?” 

“I uh, wanted to apologize” He said, slightly catching his breath “For the fans. I know they can be a lot sometimes” 

“I appreciate it. But I know it’s out of your control. Every fanbase is going to have the handful that takes it too far.” You replied. It was definitely tough being on the receiving end of it all, but you knew it was out of love for the driver. 

A smile formed on Max’s face, thankful that you understood. “I’m planning on making a statement by the end of the day. I know it’s taken a toll on a lot of the drivers and their teams” 

“Thank you Max. You’re doing the right thing” 

======

As the weekend went on, the comments from the crowd lessened. Max had posted a statement after practice, just as he said he would, and it seemed to work. 

What didn’t lessen though was the mushy feeling Max got whenever he saw you. 

He couldn’t describe it exactly. It’s like he wanted to be with you more, regardless of how much time you two spent together. His mind kept replaying the night he invited you over in Monaco. 

The way Jimmy rubbed up against your legs the second you walked in the door while Sassy observed you from afar, warming up to you only an hour later. The way your face lit up when Max asked to see the photos that you took from the race, even if they were all of Charles, Ferrari, and the cars in the pouring rain. 

And the way you explained the thought process behind each photo? Max could have listened to that for hours. He didn’t know a damn thing about lighting or the rule of thirds, but he was going to learn if it meant he could hear your voice. 

Max didn’t know what to call it. The funny feeling that made his stomach bubble up to his throat. He could tell it was the same feeling that clouded his mind, making everything just a little bit foggy when you were around, but also clear as daylight at the same time. 

Charles, however, knew exactly what to call it. When he saw Max first start poking around near the Ferrari garages just a little too often, he knew something was up. So, he decided to do what he does best, and pry. Fortunately, Max had left a can of his favorite drink in the Ferrari pit, giving Charles the perfect excuse.

“Hey, uh I think you left your Red Bull in my garage” Charles said as he walked down towards Max’s

“What? Oh, thanks. I was looking for it” Max said, taking the can before cracking it open

Charles leaned up against one of the support beams, fighting the urge to smirk “What were you even doing there anyway?”

Max shook his head, dismissing the question “Nothing, just catching up with some people” 

“Some people? You mean y/n?” Charles asked 

“Yeah, I mean, she’s a person too, isn’t she?” Max countered, confused why his friend was pressing him

“We both know she’s not just a person. Whenever she’s even remotely nearby, you’re right behind her like a lost puppy” 

“I do not” Max protested, knowing it was in vain

“So what are you going to do about it?” Charles asked 

“Do about what?” Max countered, refusing to fall victim to what Charles was trying to do

“Do about your feelings towards y/n” Charles replied. 

Before Max could think of a reason as to why he wouldn’t have any feelings towards you, his phone went off. 

DING!

Max first ignored it, thinking it was something from the team, and turned his attention back to Charles. 

“I don’t have feelings for -“

DING! DING! 

Two more notifications came through, prompting the Dutchman to pick up his phone. When he did, his heart stopped. 

You: Max 

You: I did it 

You: I think I created the perfect livery

======

You couldn’t find Charles anywhere, no matter where you looked. Hospitality? Nope. The garage? Not there. His driver’s room? Empty. Pierre’s garage? You honestly don’t even know why you checked there. 

As you couldn’t find the one singular person you needed to do your job, you took the opportunity to draw. You found a secluded area in the Ferrari hospitality to get to work. 

Instead of the bright yellow and green you chose earlier, this time you opted for the standard red, black and white. Your colored pencils moved freely across the sketch of the car, you didn’t need to think where to go. Your body just knew. 

Even though you didn’t have your hands on a can of spray paint, it felt right to get back into the thick of it. As much as you hated to admit it, you had to thank Max for the idea. You loved graffiti, but you didn’t think it would fit a Formula One car. But there you sat, finally looking at a livery concept that you were proud to have made. 

Your eyes drifted to your phone that was sitting only a few inches away from the paper. The memory of Max practically demanding to put his number in your phone after the whole Miami incident replayed in your mind. Should you? You two were now friends, right? It’s not weird for friends to text each other, right? The questions made your head hurt. Why were you getting nervous about texting your friend about an idea he came up with? 

Somehow, you shook the doubts of him making fun of you from your mind, and picked up the phone, sending your message. 

As you set your phone down, you couldn’t help but reminisce about that night in Monaco. Max welcomed you with open arms to his apartment, sharing a part of his life you never thought you’d get to see. You admired the way he cared for both of his cats, the two of them were his world, pampering them whenever he got the chance. And the way he listened to you ramble on about your silly little photos, knowing damn well he didn’t give a shit about your camera settings or how to get the best angle on track. 

It was nice to have someone to talk to outside of racing. As much as you loved the sport, it was hard that it took over your entire life. Any time your family called, all you could talk about was the most recent race, or where you’re traveling to next. Being able to talk to Max about something as simple as your photos was almost comforting. 

DING!

Your head snapped to your phone, and sure enough, he had responded. 

Max: Great! Can’t wait to see it :)

======

Once again, the race led to a battle for first between Charles and Max. You knew both of the guys did this for a living, but you were still amazed how effortless they were as they fought for the top step of the podium. While you didn’t know what problems Max was facing in the car, you knew through the many radio complaints that Charles was struggling with his. 

Even with the problems, the Monegasque managed to come out on top. You got to Parc ferme in the nick of time to get into position as Charles pulled into the center spot. Max pulled in on the left, and Hamilton on the right. 

The click of your camera was measly compared to the roars echoing behind you from the team as Charles stepped onto the car, fist in the air in celebration. You followed him, snapping a few photos as he hopped to the ground and ran to the engineers. From the way they embraced the driver, you would have thought it was his first ever win. It was a hard fought race, and Charles deserved every moment of euphoria. 

Before you knew it, Charles had gone to the stand where his hat and water were. The helmet and balaclava were soon off, as he replaced it with his cap. You snapped a few photos as you knew someone from the socials team would post it for the girlies. Backing up to get a better shot, you felt your body press up against someone. 

“I am so sorry” You said, turning around. That someone happened to be Max. He was sweaty, his face beat red and hair all messed up, but somehow he never looked better. The thought of taking his photo then and there crossed your mind, but you refrained as you felt a warmth on your cheeks. “Congrats on P2” 

“Thanks” He replied, slowly finding his breathing

“Now get over there with your boyfriends” You joked as you pointed to Charles and Lewis who were already in conversation about the race. 

The Dutchman made his way over to the other drivers, and you snapped photos as he congratulated Charles on the win. You couldn’t hear what was said between the two of them, but they glanced at you before Charles broke out in laughter as Max’s face turned even more red than before. 

A smile formed on your lips as you looked through your viewfinder and focused on the two boys. Parc ferme and podium were always your favorite part of the race, as the pure joy from the driver’s accomplishments always seemed to radiate through your photos. 

You were able to squeeze yourself into the perfect spot front and center for the ceremony. Though the barrier dug into your side, it was a small price to pay for the photos you got. 

A few photos were snapped of Lewis when he walked out to ensure that your settings were just right, but as Max was announced, you couldn’t help but put your camera down and watch. His piercing blue eyes scanned the crowd for something, focusing when he finally found you. 

He didn’t know why he was searching for you, it just felt right. 

Maranello, Italy

The plan was to spend summer break back in the Netherlands. 

But that was all before you got the call that your design had been chosen for the Monza livery. 

Now, your break was spent in the factory in Maranello, painting the livery yourself. The livery designers figured it would be easier for you to do the work yourself, rather than fall flat on their attempts to replicate the art.

You didn’t mind it at all. In fact, you were ecstatic that you were able to paint the car yourself. It had been a while since you had a can of spray paint in your hand, and you were itching to graffiti again. 

The downside to constantly being in the factory though was that it was mostly just you. While the engineers popped in occasionally to say hi and see what you were up to, none of them were people you were super close with. 

Annalese and a few of the girls from the social team stopped in before you even touched the car, hoping for a promotional opportunity. They had bought you a white tarp that you spray painted the Ferrari logo on, hanging it on the wall. 

With the graffiti in the background, you snapped photos of spray paint cans littered around the blank bodywork, and the social team took no time posting it on all of their accounts. 

When their job was done, they left, eager to enjoy their summer break. Turning around, you were faced with the daunting task at hand: painting two Formula one cars that were going to be out on the track in a matter of weeks. 

The bodywork in front of you seemed to come to life, as the engine intake hole glared at you. It was as if the car was daring you to try to touch it. What were you doing about to paint a racing car? You weren’t qualified for this, not too long ago your canvases were literal brick walls. 

The temptation to call Annalese and make up some lie about why you couldn’t do the livery anymore grew. You picked up your phone, ready to make the call, only to find a text. 

It wasn’t unusual. Ever since you texted about the livery, the two of you were in almost constant communication. Whether it was racing, the cats, or what movies you had been watching, you guys always had something to say. But as it turns out, you seemed to forget to tell Max a small piece of information. 

Max: Y/n Y/l/n. 

Max: What is this? 

Attached to the text was a screenshot of the post that Ferrari had made, teasing about the livery.

Max: Tell me this means what I think it means 

You were tempted to mess with him and lie. Say that you had no idea what the post was about and someone else won the contest. He would definitely see right through you, so your fingers hovered over the “call” button, pressing it before you could think twice. 

Max thought he was dreaming. It started with seeing the familiar Ferrari logo graffitied on a bed sheet. Now, after a series of texts, your contact is the one trying to call him. He let a few rings go by to collect himself before clearing his throat and answering.

“Hello?” He asked, praying that the pounding of his heartbeat wasn’t heard from the other end

“Surprise?!” You replied, your voice showing the small smile on your face

Max sat up in his sim chair, his attention fully focused on you “So you did it? You won?” 

“Yeah, I’m in the factory right now about to start” You said, the pit in your stomach growing again

“That’s exciting! How’re you feeling?” Max asked 

A sigh escaped your lips, just audible enough for him to hear over the phone. “Nervous. I don’t wanna fuck it up.” 

“You’ll be fine” He said

“But what if I mess up” 

“You won’t.” He reassured. He knew you were a natural when it came to art. No matter the canvas, you’d make it work. “Treat it as if it were a wall or ramp. Something you’re used to spray painting.” 

“Okay” You said, your voice now down to a whisper. Silence overcame the two of you as you debated what to do next. The bodywork in front of you was still intimidating, but having Max on the other end of the line seemed to help a little. “Do you think you could stay on the call while I start? Just for a little confidence boost?”

“I wouldn’t want to do anything else” Max said, his smile even wider than before.

Both of your hearts were pounding out of your chests, nerves swarming your systems for very different reasons. Out of all the people in the world, you had picked Max to calm yourself. Something neither of you would have imagined twelve years ago. Through the speaker, Max could hear the sound of a can rattle, then the spray of its contents. Then, silence. 

“It’s started” You finally spoke

======

As summer break wore on and you spent more time on the livery, the calls with Max became more frequent. It all started with just wanting someone to talk to so you weren’t completely alone with your thoughts, but it quickly grew to you wanting to specifically talk to Max, learn about his day and everything going on in your life. In short, his voice quickly became your favorite sound. 

And Max wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He always loved talking to you. So much in fact, he gave you a specific ringtone so he could ignore all of the other notifications that rolled in. 

Every time the two of you called, staying up way later than either of you would have liked, the warm fuzzy feeling Max got intensified. Maybe Charles was right. Maybe he did have something for you, though he wouldn’t dare acknowledge it by its full legal name. 

Little did he know, on the other end of the line, the same thoughts were racing through your head. He was your comfort as you navigated through the challenge of painting the cars. He was the face you always looked for when you ran around the paddock. He was the person you wanted to be with. 

Twelve year old you would have thought you were crazy if you told her you were crushing on Max Verstappen. He was a bully, a pain in your butt, the worst person you knew. But as a twelve year old you didn’t know that people change. You had, and so did Max. He grew into someone you admire. 

The Netherlands

As much as you loved being in Italy, you were glad to finally have a few days visiting your family in the Netherlands. The Belgian and Dutch Grand Prixs were back to back, and both were close enough for you to spend the two weeks in your childhood home. 

The biggest perk to being home had to be the family dinners. You missed the hearty home cooked stick to your ribs dinners that your mother made, and the memories that were created around the dinner table. Of course, the conversation was never dull either. Tonight’s topic? A certain Dutchman. 

“So, have you seen Max at all at work?” Your mother asked. She was aware of your childhood rivalry with him, but you failed to update her on any of the recent developments. Your mother was convinced the two of you would eventually become close, and you were scared she would blow it out of proportion.

Picking at your food on your plate, you answered “Uh yeah, actually. We’ve seen each other a lot. He’s become a really good friend” 

Your mother’s eyes lit up as your words hit her ears . “Oh really? I’m so glad. You know I always thought the two of you were meant for each other-”

“I know, mama. You reminded me almost everyday” You said, half joking

“You know he’s in town, right?” Your father asked “I saw Jos earlier today and he mentioned he was visiting family for the week. Same thing you are.” 

As you registered what your father said, your head snapped up from your plate. “Really? He’s here?” 

“Why are you so excited? Do you have a crushhhh?” Your little sister teased

“What? No” You lied, silently praying you were convincing enough “I’m just surprised he didn’t mention that he’d be home. That’s all.” 

The dishes were done at a lightning speed. As your family was settling in the living room for their nightly routine of watching cringey game shows, you darted up to your room, grabbing your phone that rested on the bed. After a few rings, Max’s voice filled your room. 

“Hello?” 

“You didn’t tell me you were going to be home” You said, completely disregarding his greeting 

“You’re home too?” He asked

Before you knew it, you made plans to meet Max at the local ice cream shop. He had already gotten you a double scoop of your favorite flavor, something he had learned from the countless conversations you had. For once he wasn’t wearing any sort of Red Bull merch, and you couldn’t help but stare as you greeted him.

“Hey stranger” You said as you approached the table Max was at 

“Long time no see” He replied, handing you your bowl. “How’s everything?” 

“Good! I was able to finish the liveries before the end of summer break. As fun as it was, I’m glad it’s off my chest” You admitted 

“You take any photos of it?” He asked. It was a question you had heard countless times from him. Almost every single time you talked, he begged for a reveal of your artwork, and everytime you turned him down. It frustrated him to no end that you wouldn’t share, but you insisted that it needed to be a surprise for everyone not associated with Ferrari.

“Yes I did Max,” You answered, his face lighting up “No, you can’t see them” 

The smile on his face dropped a frown as he registered what you said “Why not?” 

“Because it’s classified information. If you wanted to see what it looks like early, you should’ve joined Ferrari” 

As the night drew on, the air got colder, prompting the two of you to go back to your childhood home. Your family greeted Max as if he was one of their own before you made your way up to your bedroom. 

The room Max walked into was honestly everything he had pictured it would be. Photographs and artwork that he presumed were yours covered the walls as an easel along with plenty of paint supplies tucked in the corner. 

“Sorry if it’s a bit crazy. I actually haven’t been in here much since I moved to Italy.” You said as you followed him into your room. 

“You don’t need to apologize. I like it” He said as his eyes took in everything

“Thanks. Make yourself comfy” 

Max didn’t waste any time as he plopped himself on your bed. You followed suit, placing yourself next to him, with just enough space in between you two. Every urge to rest up against him was fought, as he was doing the same. 

“If you had told me when we were kids that I’d be spending time in your childhood house, much less your room, I think I woulda puked” Max laughed as he ran his fingers through his hair. “We’ve come a long way since then”

You chuckled as you spoke “You’re telling me. I never thought I’d be excited that Max Verstappen came back to town.” 

“Funny how life works. Maybe we need to go to the old skatepark to see if your artwork is still there” He said 

“Maybe,” You paused as you looked at the framed photo of the Pac Man ghosts that hung on your wall. “Thank you, by the way.” 

Max’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned to face you. “For what?” 

“For not calling the cops that one night when I was spray painting. If I was caught, I definitely would’ve gotten arrested” You admitted 

He knew you were right. If he had made the phone call instead of continuing on his run all those years ago, things would be different. Much different. 

“It’s nothing, really. You were just trying to express yourself. It’s not like you killed someone” Max finally said 

“True. Anyway, how’s being home been?” You asked, trying to think of anything to change the topic

“Pretty good. I’ve been mostly spending time with my mama. I rarely get to see her during the season, but she’s always been one of my biggest supporters.” He said, a soft smile playing on his lips

“What about your father? I feel like I see him at almost every race.” You said.

The second you finished the question, you wanted to stuff the words back in your mouth, swallow them, and pretend you hadn't said anything. Max’s eyes glossed over at the mention of his father as you cursed yourself for ever bringing him up. 

Cautiously, you placed your hand on top of his. Playful flicks and friendly hugs were common between you two, but you weren’t sure how he’d react to touching your hand, “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to. If you don’t want to talk about it-”

“I don’t see him much outside of racing” Max said as he flipped his hand over to take yours. His calloused fingers brushed against the softness of yours. “He just really cares about the on track stuff.” 

You didn’t dare say anything, if you knew anything about learning the deeper parts of someone, it was to let people share when they’re ready. Your eyes lifted from looking at your hand being intertwined with Max’s, up to his face. His gaze was already focused on you. 

“It’s been tough.” He admitted “Living out my father’s dream. Having all of this pressure on me to perform well and exceed expectations. I just wanted to have fun racing around a track.” 

If there was anything else you knew about letting people share, it’s that you needed an out when they got a little too deep. From the way you spiraled yourself, you could tell Max was on the cliff edge, moments away from diving in. 

“I think you have” You spoke softly

“What do you mean?” Max asked, causing him to snap out of his dive at least temporarily 

“Let me show you” You said getting up from your spot on the bed. It stung a little as you dropped Max’s hand, but it would be worth it in a moment. 

You couldn’t find it at first. Max watched as your eyes darted around the room, searching for something. After a few seconds, the object became clear as day, though in front of it was your old red point and shoot camera. Moving the camera, you grabbed the old photo book that rested behind and returned to your spot next to Max.  

Max watched intently as you flipped through the book. Childhood memories were immortalized in the photos in front of him. What your old childhood photos had to do with him enjoying racing, he had no idea. 

Until you found the photo. 

“Is that me?” He asked. A young boy in a race suit with his hands in the air stared back at Max. There was a glimmer in the kid’s eyes that could be seen through the helmet on his head. The memory of Max getting mad at you for taking the photo was foggy in his mind, but the photo in front of him negated any doubt of it happening. 

“Yeah, it was the first time I took photos of racing” You admitted “I think we were both like twelve” 

He tore his eyes from the old photo of him back to you. “You kept it all these years?” 

You nodded as you took the photo out of its protective sleeve and gave it to Max. “It’s one of my favorite photos, but I want you to have it. I think you need it more than I do.” 

Max couldn’t believe what was happening as his heart was on the verge of exploding. Your favorite photo, which happened to be of him, was being gifted to him. The woman who dare he say has a crush on, kept a photo of him for the past twelve years. 

“Thank you” was all he managed to whisper

“Of course Max” You replied, taking his hand again

Zandvoort, The Netherlands 

Getting to the podium was all you wanted for the weekend. 

Regardless of who was on it or what national anthem was being played, you wanted to be at the podium of your home race. But as life, and your job, would have it, the podium was the last place you were needed. 

It all started with Charles’ team having to replace the entire power unit and gearbox, causing him to start at the back of the grid. He managed to finish in sixth which was big for the team, but still a long way away from being on a step. 

Carlos did make it to the bottom of the podium and after pestering a few of your coworkers, you convinced one of them to swap media duties with you. They covered Charles’ debrief while you took the podium. However, your coworker forgot to tell you he didn’t know how to do a driver debrief, so you were stuck with Charles.

What made it worse was that the winner happened to be the hometown boy. In the distance, you could hear the Dutch national anthem as you were stuck filming Charles’ PR written reasons for why the car was shit. 

Max assumed you were going to be swarmed with the celebrations, as you wouldn’t shut up about how much you wanted to be involved with them at your home Grand Prix. He couldn’t find you in parc ferme, assuming you got caught in the foot traffic. But as he took to the top step of the podium, he scanned the crowd, paying extra attention to the Ferrari team, only for you and your camera to be nowhere to be found. 

Both of you trudged through your post race routines, longing for a minute to see each other. As Max worked his way through the media pen, he couldn’t help but hope to get a glimpse of you. You hadn’t replied to his text, and he knew calls were out the window on race weekends. 

The sun had long set by the time the two of you were relieved of your duties. You made your way out of the Ferrari hospitality, eyes sore from staring at your laptop screen editing photos. As you made your way to your car, any sense of exhaustion washed away as you found Max in the parking lot. 

“Congrats” You yelled as you darted to him

Max stopped in his tracks when he heard your voice. Sure enough, as he turned around, you were jogging straight to him, arms wide open. He flung his open just in time to catch your hug. 

“Woah there, thank you” Max said, relieved that you were okay. “What’ve you been up to? I was looking for you all day” 

Max Verstappen had been looking for you all day. Taking a deep breath so your heart wouldn’t jump up out of your throat, you composed yourself and pulled away from him. Genuine concern played in his eyes. 

“I would’ve texted but I got so wrapped up with doing Charles’ post race media and then editing photos.” You sighed “I am so sorry I missed the podium. I truly wanted to see you… and hear the Dutch anthem again.” 

“You don’t need to apologize, hopefully you’ll hear it again before the season ends” He joked “In all seriousness, you’re all good.” 

Max paused, as if he was contemplating something. The sound of cicadas filled the warm summer air as Max debated with himself. After a few moments, he spoke again. 

“If you want to, and only if you want to, you can help celebrate by joining me out at the club tonight. Red Bull is going out to celebrate the win.” He offered 

It was your turn to have an internal argument. Going out with Max and celebrating his much deserved win sounded fun, but lingering in the back of your mind was Miami. 

“Fuck it” You blurted out, startling the driver “I’ll go, but I’m not drinking too much” 

“Deal. Let me know when you’re finished getting ready, and I’ll pick you up from your room.” He said, leading you to your car. 

You had never gotten ready faster in your life. Max was a patient person, but you absolutely hated making anyone wait for you. Sending him a quick text, you did once last look in the mirror. A quick knock was placed on your door, peeling you away from your reflection. 

When the door opened, Max felt his heartbeat slam on the accelerator. The shorts you were wearing were very short and the top didn’t leave much to the imagination. Not that he minded the change, it was just an outfit he didn’t expect you to wear. Outside of the bright red Ferrari polo and khakis, you mostly donned some sort of oversized shirt and sweats. Comfort was usually your top priority. 

The confidence you had when you answered the door wavered as you caught Max staring. “Is it okay? It’s not too much, right?” 

His head snapped up from your body to meet your eyes “No no not at all. You look amazing actually” 

As quickly as your confidence faltered, it grew right back hearing Max’s reassurance. Little did you know he was fighting every bone in his body not to turn you around and make a night out of you and the bed. 

While you had partied with Red Bull in the past, nothing prepared you for the scene in front of you. Bottle service was in full swing as every single team member had a glass of something in their hands. 

Being the reason why the team was celebrating tonight, Max got whisked away from you almost as soon as he walked in the door. Luckily, you spotted a few of the Red Bull photographers and social media team members, giving you a group to go to. You had gotten close to them over the course of the season through media collabs between Ferrari and Red Bull. 

“Y/n!!” Meg yelled as soon as she spotted you. “You look hot!” She embraced you in a hug, as did Jess, Sofi, and Becca when you made your way through the crowd. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sofi asked as the two of you pulled away

“Max invited me” You yelled over the boosted bass, “Some of his engineers nabbed him as soon as we got here though” 

“So you finally got the nerves to tell him how you feel?” Jess asked as she handed you a cup

As the drink burned your throat, you quickly pieced together it was a vodka cranberry. “No, I haven’t said anything to him.” The four girls exchanged knowing glances as you continued to sip on your drink. “What?” 

“You mean, he asked you to come celebrate with him even though you have no affiliation with the team, and you haven’t confessed your massive crush on him?” Sofi asked 

“Yes?” You answered, unsure of where she was getting at. 

“He totally likes you” Becca spoke this time

Cheers erupted in the building, and you turned to find Max up on someone’s shoulders. He was double fisting drinks - two gin and tonics most likely - looking like he was on cloud nine. 

“I don’t know” You said, peeling your eyes away from the sight in front of you and back to the girls “I feel like he would have said something, he’s a blunt guy” 

“Yeah with everything except how he feels” Jess said “Just trust us” 

The rest of the night had been a blur. At some point, your group made its way to the dancefloor, taking any and every drink a team member would offer you. The five of you danced with each other, as well as anyone who would even remotely get close. Everything blended together into one foggy echo. 

At some point, a pair of hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to whoever they belonged to. A chorus of drunken giggles filled your ears as the girls in front of you smiled and waved, leaving you alone with the person who was behind you. You couldn’t help but to lean back into the person, as the feeling of calloused and scabbed fingers traced your exposed skin. 

Leaning your head back to get a look at whose hands were on your body, you found Max’s beaming blue eyes staring back at you. Nothing was said between you two as swayed up against his body, knowing exactly where it was rubbing against. 

Stifled moans escaped Max’s lips as you danced against him. He didn’t know how many drinks he had at that point, all he knew was that he needed to be with you. And by the way you melted into his body, you needed him just as badly. He planted a soft kiss on your neck, sending a chill down your spine and his name breathily coming out of your mouth. 

Now Max wasn’t an asshole. He wasn’t going to take you in the state you were in and do anything. That just wasn’t the type of guy he was. But as you rubbed up against him, he wanted nothing more than to drag you to the bathroom. 

The last thing you wanted was the night to end. Max was finally all over you, his hands exploring every inch of your body that he could in public. Drunken kisses were planted on both of your bodies, landing anywhere but each other's lips. But as the music lowered, and the lights in the club slowly started to turn on, it was only a matter of time before the pace shut down. 

“You wanna get out of here?” Max whispered in your ear before placing his lips on your cheek. 

Nodding your head, Max took your arm and led you out into the night. The darkness of the night sky was quickly replaced with yells and camera flashes. 

“Head down” Max instructed, his hands never leaving yours “Can never escape the fucking paps” 

The flashes continued as Max guided you into the taxi. Sighs left both of your mouths once the door finally shut. 

“I am so sorry about that.” Max apologized “Thought I could have one fucking night without them” 

“Maxie,” You began, the nickname you had given him rolling easily off of your tongue. “It isn’t your fault. You don’t need to apologize” 

The two of you tumbled out of the taxi and into the elevator of your hotel. His arm was wrapped around you as you leaned into his side. The tension thick between the two of you, but neither of you dared to move. A ding filled your ears as the elevator landed on your floor. 

“Thank you for the invite, I had a really fun time tonight” You said as Max walked you to your door. 

“Of course, anything to spend time with you.” He said. Just like you, he didn’t want the night to end. Whether it was the amount of liquid courage still in his system or what, he spoke. “Do you wanna spend the night? Only if you want to, of course.” 

You tried not to act like you had been waiting for this moment all night. Your eyes broke from Max to your hotel door, back to Max, as if you were debating your decision. 

“I mean, I guess it is safer to be with someone in case anything happens…” You pondered, even though you were fully aware you were going to say yes. “I’d probably be up all night in my head if I didn’t have anyone to keep me company… Yeah I’ll stay with you” 

Max tried to hide his smile as you accepted his invitation, guiding you only a few doors down. He slid the key card into the slot, easily unlocking the door in his fuzzy state. 

When he offered for you to stay in his room, you weren’t expecting a whole suite. The living room alone was around the size of your entire hotel room. 

“Go to the bathroom and get yourself ready for bed, I’ll slide you some of my clothes to wear” Max said as he motioned to one of the doors - the bathroom you presumed. 

You did as he said, and as you fought to get your makeup off with a ratty wet tissue, Max knocked on the door. As you opened it, he handed you one of his shirts and shorts to sleep in. As you walked out of the bathroom, you made your way to the couch, before getting stopped by Max.

“No, you get the bed. I’ll take the couch” He insisted, gently placing his hand on your back and guiding you to the bedroom. 

Exhaustion from the events prior washed over you as you climbed into the bed, not even bothering to argue with him. You crawled under the covers, getting nice and comfy, as Max watched over for a moment, making sure you were okay. 

The all too familiar warm and fuzzy feeling grew in his stomach, and he knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. All he wanted to do was join you in bed tonight, letting you climb into his arms, but he knew better. The couch was his tonight. Max turned to shut out the light and close the door, but failed to even get there. 

“Max?” You asked, your voice barely audible. At first he thought he was hallucinating, only turning when he heard his name a second time. 

“What’s up, y/n/n?” He wasn’t expecting you to scoot over in the bed, eyes heavy as you pulled the comforter back. You didn’t say a word, only patting the empty spot in bed next to you. 

Part of him knew he shouldn’t. There was a perfectly good couch for him only a few feet away. But he couldn’t say no to you, you were his weakness. Against his judgment, he climbed in the bed, as you snuggled into his arms. 

======

It was early when the sun broke through the curtains, waking you up. It took you a minute to remember where you were and how you ended up in a hotel room that wasn’t yours. Max was still asleep next to you, arms wrapping around you like you were his personal teddy bear. 

You needed to get out of there. And fast. 

Not to say that you didn’t enjoy the events of the evening prior, you definitely did. It was just the thought of being anything more than friends that quickly made your stomach churn, and you were positive it wasn’t from the amount you drank the night before. You were one to take your time when it came to dating and relationships, and whatever was going on between you and Max was moving full throttle. Someone needed to slam on the brakes. It wasn’t going to be Max. 

You managed to lay perfectly still as you took in your situation. Max’s clothes covered your body as yours were probably still in the bathroom across the suite. The gesture was nice at the time, but as the cotton in his shirt mixed with his own body heat, you were suffocating. 

The task at hand felt like something out of a sitcom. Somehow you managed to wiggle your way out of Max’s arms without waking him. It was graceless, yet better than a bull in a china shop. 

But you did it, navigating your way through the suite to the bathroom to find your clothes drunkenly thrown on the floor. You internally chided your past self for the messiness, but changed into the clothes nonetheless. Leaving Max’s outfit from the night before folded on the couch, you slipped out of his hotel suite unnoticed by him. 

Your eyes darted both ways down the halls as you closed the door behind you, thankful that no one was up this early. As you started to walk down the hall to your own room, you heard someone’s throat clear. 

“What were you doing in Max’s room?” 

Turning around, you felt like a deer in headlights as you met Charles’ eyes. He came up to you, clearly just finished getting ready for the day, taking in the sight before him: you in your clothes from last night, makeup probably still half on, and frazzled. An amused smirk formed on Charles’ face. 

“He finally did it, huh?” He asked, crossing his arms 

“I promise it’s not what it looks like” You defended “I swear he just let me stay the night. We did not have sex.” 

The driver muttered a curse under his breath, “Guess I owe Carlos twenty now. Shouldn’t have believed the stupid gossip pages” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in what he said “You follow the gossip pages? And you two were betting on me?” 

“The betting is all in good fun, but yeah, the accounts are very entertaining. You and Max are all over them right now.” 

Charles took out his phone and after a few taps, he flipped it around. On the screen was a carousel of photos featuring you and Max at the club from the night before, ending with a photo of you holding hands. As you read the caption, your heart stopped. 

New WAG Alert! Max Verstappen is officially OFF the market! He was seen last night in a club in Zandvoort with a new mystery lady. Max girlies, how are we feeling about this?

Edit: The mystery girl has been identified as Y/N L/N, a team photographer for Ferrari, and good friends with Charles Leclerc. How are you feeling about romance being added to this rivalry?

“Oh this is bad.” You muttered, taking a step back from the driver. “Charles, this is bad.”

“You’re going to be fine, it's just a silly little rumor. It’ll pass within the week.” He reassured. He was no stranger to the gossip page rumors, but unlike you, Charles was used to the unwanted attention about his love life. 

“I don’t think you understand, I could lose my job. Ferrari is the only thing I have going for me right now!” You panicked, running your hands through your hair, trying to calm yourself 

“Does it state in your contract you can’t have anything with any drivers?” Charles asked 

You paused, trying to think of the day you signed your life away to the team, but you were drawing a blank. “Is it bad I don’t remember?” 

“Exactly! It’s not your problem right now.” Charles said, hanging his arm around your neck “Now let’s go get breakfast while you tell me everything, Mrs. Verstappen”

======

On the other side of the door, Max had woken by the opening and closing of doors in his suite. It took him a moment to piece together what happened, and the night leading up to him being alone in his bed. HIs heartbeat skyrocketed as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. You, happily staying the night in his arms, only to dart out before he could even wake up. What the hell did it all mean? 

Monza, Italy

The Red Bull Ring had been child’s play compared to Monza. While rival drivers didn’t endure the threats like Spielberg, everywhere you looked, Tifosi donned the Ferrari red. Chants supporting Charles and Carlos broke out whenever any of the fans spotted them, making it a place you hoped you would never have to enter wearing another team's gear. 

It didn’t help that everyone in Ferrari was slightly on edge. Carlos and Charles wanted to perform in front of the Tifosi, the engineers wanted to make sure the car was in top shape, and you were worried about the release of the livery that was dropping later that day. 

Even though you were the one who painted the livery, seeing it in the garage was surreal. Your artwork had finally finished coming to life and was on display for everyone to see. 

Being in Monza meant the media duties increased by tenfold. You didn’t mind, as it gave you the opportunity to work more with the team, and an excuse to avoid Max. 

You hadn’t talked to him since that night in Zandvoort. He didn’t bother to reach out, so neither did you. It stung at first, not talking to the one who quickly became a close friend, but as each day passed, everything got a little easier. 

The garage was bustling with engineers and mechanics making sure the cars were in perfect condition for the weekend ahead. You were squeezed in there as you were in charge of filming the drivers’ reaction to the livery. Your stomach twisted as you walked down the hall of the garage, where you met Charles. 

“Hey, are you ready?” You asked 

Charles gave you a quick hug before pulling away “Hey, yeah, it’s just looking at the livery, right?” 

You nodded as your stomach started to churn “Yep. And please be genuine. No hard feelings if you don’t like it” 

“I’m sure I’ll love it. You know I love your work.” He praised. It was genuine, you knew he loved seeing your art just as you loved hearing him play his music. 

“Thank you Charl. Now I’m gonna count down from three, and when I say go, I’m going to start recording. Do the usual intro spiel and then pretty much say how you’re feeling about seeing the new paint.” You briefed him. It wasn’t his first time filming one of these, but you always reminded him how to do it just in case he decided to forget.

“Oh, and you only have one shot to get this right, so you better not fuck it up” You teased as you took the lens off of your camera, sticking it in your pocket. 

“Got it, I’ll be sure to do my worst” Charles joked. As you set up to start recording, panic filled Charles’ face “Wait. Can I practice once?” 

“Yeah, of course” You said

The driver quickly went through his spiel, looking to you for help on the words he couldn’t remember the direct English translation to. When he was confident enough in what he was saying, you angled your camera, ready to record. 

“3… 2… 1… Go” You counted down, starting to walk backwards down the hallway. When you first started doing things like this, you were always scared of tripping over something or hitting the walls. But at this point, you had done the backwards walk so many times that you could do it in your sleep. 

“Hi guys. Charles here. It’s media day here in Monza, and it’s my first look at the special livery for the race. Our photographer Y/N designed and painted it, so if it’s anything like her paintings, it’s going to be amazing. This year is super special for Monza as it is its 100th year of operation. I can’t wait to see what the car looks like” Charles said, causing a small smile to form on your lips.

As you rounded the corner into the garage, through the camera screen you could see Charles’ face light up. He took in the sight in front of him before speaking. 

“Wow. This is incredible” He complimented “Y/n you really outdid yourself with this. I hope you guys enjoy seeing the car as much as I am excited to drive in it. See you next time. Ciao guys” 

You moved yourself to get a view of the car that was in front of its driver. After holding the position for a few seconds, you stopped recording. 

“And done” You said, allowing Charles to turn toward you

“How was that?” He asked. His eyes begged for validation that he didn’t ruin any content being posted. If there was one thing to know about Charles, it’s that he wanted the best for everyone on the team, regardless of their position. 

“You did great” You assured him “I’m glad you like the livery. It means a lot” 

“Of course! I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true” He said as he pulled you into a hug 

Before you could thank him again, the sound of laughter filled your ears. Laughter from a voice you hadn’t heard in a week. You quickly pulled away from Charles as your heart pounded out of your chest. 

“Pretend I’m not here” You instructed the driver before ducking behind a stack of tires in the corner

On the other side of the tires, Max entered the Ferrari garage. He assumed you would be around, as you were normally on media day. But to his surprise, you weren’t one of the many people packed into the terminal. Luckily for him though, Charles was there inspecting his car. 

“Hey mate” Max greeted “The car looks sick.” 

“Yeah it does.” Charles agreed “Y/n did a hell of a good job on the design”

“She did. But uh speaking of y/n, have you seen her anywhere? I haven’t been able to find her” Max asked. There it was. 

A silent prayer left your lips as you waited for Charles’ response. He wasn’t usually one to lie, but hopefully he made an exception for your sake. Otherwise, it would be real fun to explain why you were hiding. 

“Not recently, no. Last I saw of her she was in hospitality doing some editing. Lots of content needing to go out with it being Monza weekend.” Charles answered

“Ah I get it. Thanks anyway” Max replied. The sound of shoes scuffling filled the garage as the two drivers said their goodbyes. 

“He’s gone!” Charles called in the direction of the tire stack

As you crawled out from behind the tires, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. For the third time that day, your arms wrapped around Charles as a chorus of thank you’s left your lips. 

“I genuinely owe you Charl, thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t think I would have been able to face him.” You said as you finally pulled away from him 

“Yeah, of course. Is everything good between you two?” He asked, his tone filled with concern more than anything else

“I just realized some mistakes that happened last weekend.” You admitted “Meddling with anyone in the workplace just isn’t my thing” 

Even though the confession wasn’t to Max, it still felt good to get some of it off your chest. You should have never let your feelings get involved in work. You knew better than thinking they would mix well. 

======

The free practice sessions came and went, with both of the Ferraris looking strong. So far, you had managed to steer clear of Max. Most of your time being spent in the hospitality suite or trackside, as far away from the Red Bull garage as possible. 

Avoiding Max had given you ample opportunity to perfect your camera settings, as well as your editing presets for Monza. The race was a big task, and you wanted to make sure you delivered. 

But you knew it was only a matter of time before you ran into him. You had been assigned to cover the Fan Stage interview with the Ferrari drivers. As fate would have it, the combined interview with Red Bull and Haas was scheduled right before. 

As you and the Ferrari boys arrived, the four drivers wrapped up their interview and headed off the stage. There were only a handful of people backstage dressed in red, making you stand out like a sore thumb. You tried to blend in with the rest of the media team, but Max spotted you instantly, causing you to drop your head, pretending to look at past photos on your camera. 

As Max’s gaze landed on you, he could feel his thoughts disappear as his mind fogged up. He wanted - no, needed - more of that night in Zandvoort, but the two of you had to talk first. As he slowly made his way to you, his hands grew sweaty and he could feel his heart pound like a ticking time bomb. 

“Y/n! Hey, how’ve you been?” He asked, quickly pushing his nerves aside as he approached you

Your eyes quickly darted to Charles for assistance,  who only gave you a pity look. Some help he was. You shifted your weight, steadying yourself as you finally made eye contact with the man you’ve been avoiding. 

“Hi Max.” You answered

He repeated the question, “How’ve you been?”

You didn’t want to have a conversation with him. Not right now, at least. Not in front of everyone while you were working. If you were going to talk, it had to be in private, off the clock, when you were ready. So, you mustered out an “I’m sorry, I can’t really talk right now. I’m working” As you lifted up your camera, hoping he would get the hint. 

Being a guy, he of course didn’t have a clue on what you were trying to do. “Right. I just wanted to congratulate you on the livery. It looks amazing.” 

Before you could even think of a response, the sound of the host’s voice filled the speakers. “Now the duo you’ve all been waiting for. Tifosi, please welcome Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz of Ferrari!” 

The fans erupted as you gave Max a soft smile. “Thanks, but I have to go. I’ll see you around” 

Max watched as you followed the Ferrari boys up the stairs, focused on the camera in your hands. Questions of where he went wrong filled his mind as he tore his gaze away from you and made his way back to Red Bull.

======

While it wasn’t the double podium the team and the Tifosi had hoped for, both drivers made it into the top four, with Charles landing P2. 

You arrived at Parc ferme long before any of the drivers pulled in, giving you ample time to set up. The roar of the crowd sent a shiver down your spine as Charles pulled his car into position. If this was what it was like for him to be second, you couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he reached the top step. 

Hearing the Dutch national anthem was not on your ideal to do list for Monza, but you still trudged through the formalities of the podium. Max’s stare was fixed on you, burning like lasers, but you didn’t dare meet it. There were more important things to be done. 

Suzuka, Japan

Japan was easily the most miserable Grand Prix of the entire season. While the country was beautiful and the fans were amazing, everything in the paddock made it unbearable. The only bright side on the weekend was that your contract got extended for the next two seasons.

Yet again, everyone in the Ferrari garage was stressed, Charles especially. It was the second race that Max could win the Driver’s Championship, only needing to out score Charles by eight points. 

On top of the Driver’s Champion pending to be named, your plan to avoid Max the rest of the season had gone terribly wrong. The dark skies and rain showers didn’t help either. 

It started on media day, when Charles and Max had been put in the same group. Being forced to follow Charles around while being in the same proximity as Max was enough. The boys didn’t help in that they were constantly glued to each other's sides. 

Max nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard about that round’s groups. Being with Charles meant you weren’t too far behind, giving Max the opportunity to test the waters with you again. 

His first goal was to get you to wave. Max and the rest of his group were leaving a press conference, causing you and the other photographers to hurry outside. You were getting ready to snap photos of Charles, but Max was not too far ahead of him. The wave was subtle, you honestly almost missed it, but you replied with a simple head nod. 

That head nod was enough of a greenlight for Max. The next step was to get you to actually talk. 

As the group moved between media areas, Max found you talking to Charles. While from the back of the group he couldn’t tell what you two were talking about, from the way you were laughing with the Monegasque, he knew it wasn’t anything serious. Max’s suspicions were confirmed as he ended up in the middle of the group and discovered the topic of conversation.

“I don’t understand how you don’t think spaghetti is good” Charles said “It’s a classic” 

You laughed, shaking your head “I never said it wasn’t good. I said that I think it’s an okay shape. It just doesn’t hold the sauce as well as cavatappi or penne” 

“You better not say that when we’re back in Italy. They’ll chase you out of the country” Charles joked 

“No shit, Sherlock. Why else do you think we’re talking about it here?” You said, a smile plastered on your lips 

“But do you think cavatappi or penne is better at holding sauce? They both have a tubular shape” Max asked

Your head whipped around to find Max behind you two. Looking at Charles for help, the pity in his eyes only screamed “be nice”.

“Cavatappi” You answered, your words lacking any of the enthusiasm you had before, “The spiral helps keep the sauce in”

Max was oblivious to the silent conversation you and Charles had prior and the change in your tone, but he was sure as hell over the moon that he got you to talk. 

======

As media day pushed on, you were reminded of every reason why you liked Max. From the way he held the door for you to the way he listened to you intently as you gave instructions for a photo. Maybe Charles was right, maybe you needed to be a bit nicer. 

The day was wrapping up, only giving Max a handful of chances to talk to you again. He caught you alone outside of the Ferrari garage in the pit lane. Your attention was on the phone in your hands, most likely at the content from the day. Should he say something? You looked busy, he didn’t want to annoy you even more. Before Max could decide what to do, he heard your voice. 

“Max, hey.” You called as you approached the Red Bull driver

“Oh uh hey” He replied, caught off guard by your sudden friendliness “How’s your day been?” 

“Pretty good, honestly” You answered, your tone much warmer than it was earlier in the day. “Always love media day. There’s always something to do” 

“Yeah, I guess it's nice for you, with the job and all. I always just want to get in the car and drive” He spoke 

Max continued to listen as you told him how the season has been from the garage next door, and through the lens. You recounted some of your favorite stories, including the time that you and Charles pranked the PR team into believing he had gotten into an argument with one of the members of the British Royal Family.

Neither of you were sure how long you stood there talking, but you had a feeling it had been a while. The sun had moved slightly in the sky, as people passed the two of you as if you were a road obstacle. 

It wasn’t until the paddock opened up to the fans with pit lane tours that you realized it had been at least an hour. The sound of camera clicks and bright light flashes filled the air as the fans took in the sights of their favorite teams garages. 

“Well, I should probably get back to work. The content doesn’t make itself” You joked “And plus, I’m sure some of the fans would love to meet you” 

“Yeah, I should go say hi” Max agreed “I’ll see you around” 

A silence overcame both of you, trying to figure out what to do. As much as you wanted to wrap your arms around him and wish him well, your gut begged you to walk away. The boundary needed to be set. You listened to your gut, opting for a wave before disappearing into the red painted garage. 

======

The hot tea burned your throat as you took a sip. You were always impatient waiting for the liquid to cool down, to the point that it was a part of your nighttime routine. 

Photo editing was one of the last things you did every night - giving you plenty of time to reflect on your work. Every photo got the same treatment of applying the preset, then adjusting the settings as needed. It was the perfect mind numbing task right before bed. The routine this time was broken up by the sound of your phone going off. 

DING!

One of the silly photos you had taken of Charles popped up on your phone screen, followed by the words “Have you seen this?”

The photo that accompanied the text was a screenshot of the stupid F1 gossip page that Charles was obsessed with. Their most recent post had been a photo of you and Max from earlier. 

Max Verstappen and his alleged girlfriend, Y/N L/N, a Ferrari photographer, were spotted along pit lane earlier today. Fans at the Japanese GP Pit Lane Walk said both of them were in deep conversation, only focused on each other and completely oblivious to the outside world.

You nearly choked on your tea as you read the caption. They weren’t wrong that you had been completely lost in chatting, but they didn’t need to call you out on it. They also didn’t need to continue assuming you and Max were dating. 

A curse left your lips as you thanked Charles for keeping you updated. It pained you to come to terms with, but you couldn’t have Max in your life. He needed to stay just another F1 driver. 

======

The rain egged on as qualifying rolled around. As boots splashed through muddy puddles, you were fortunate enough to be in the garage and along the pit wall. 

Someone was approaching, the squeaks of wet shoes on the epoxy floor getting louder with every step. Annalese found you crouching on the floor of the garage, trying to get some aesthetic photo of the tires. 

“Hiding in the tire stacks again?” She asked 

Standing up from your squat, you turned to your boss, “Charles told you about that?” 

“Yeah, honestly it was kind of funny” Annalese chuckled 

Your jaw dropped. Your coworker was a blabber mouth. “That’s ridiculous. I can’t believe him.” 

“You better. He’s a total gossip” She said, taking a pause before speaking again “But that’s it? You and Max are done?” 

“You can’t be done with something that never even started” You retorted “It was a fun one off thing, but I can’t have some driver messing with my work.” 

======

Somehow, the rain turned into a torrential downpour come race time. The red rain jacket on your back was soaked from the short sprint between Ferrari’s hospitality and the garage. A shiver crept down your spine as the cold droplets fell on the limited exposed skin

“I cannot believe they’re racing in this shit” You muttered as you entered the packed garage. ‘

Mechanics and engineers alike were huddled for warmth around the TV for the race start. You opted to stay in the garage and photograph their raw reactions instead of risking damaging your camera. 

When two o’clock hit, it was lights out and under a yellow flag, the cars took off. You were so used to the high speeds that you couldn’t help but chuckle seeing the cars practically crawl. 

The chuckle quickly silenced as a Ferrari car crashed into the boards. All eyes were on the screen as everyone was trying to figure out which of the cars it was. Seconds felt like hours before the team announced it was Carlos that had crashed, leading to a slight sigh of relief. Charles was still in the fight. 

Fortunately Carlos was okay, but he wasn’t the only one who had starting errors. Albon and Magnussen had connected, and it appeared Vettel had some damage as well. Just as quickly as the race began, a red flag led to its delay. 

You watched as the cars pulled into pit lane, giving you the opportunity to snap photos at an angle you wouldn’t normally get. 

After multiple failed restarts later, the race had resumed. A little over thirty minutes were left in the three hour time limit, meaning every single second mattered for the Driver’s Championship. 

Max was the first one to cross the finish line, with Charles not too far behind. Max hadn’t won the championship, at least yet. 

You emerged from the cave (otherwise known as the garage) for the first time all race to be at Parc ferme. Max’s eyes lit up the second he saw you, but you were too focused on Charles to even notice. 

Like usual, the post race interviews were zoned out. Once you've heard someone talk about why they could or couldn’t drive properly, you don't need to hear it again. That is until Charles’ five second penalty was announced. 

Cheers broke out on the Red Bull side of Parc ferme, while the Ferrari staff exchanged glances. There was no possible way that Max Verstappen won his second championship over a simple penalty. But there he was, celebrating with his team. 

As he was engulfed by his engineers and mechanics, he couldn’t help but to wonder what it would be like to have you on that side of the barrier, celebrating with him. 

The formalities of the interviews wrapped up, letting you turn to the rest of the Ferrari team. Somber looks filled their faces, and as much as you hated to do it, the scene did paint a pretty photo. 

“So that’s it? It all came down to a penalty?” You asked once you removed the camera from your face 

“It all depends on if the FIA chooses to give full points or not for the race” One of the engineers responded 

Time stood still as everyone on every team waited for the stewards’ final decision. There was a silence in the air that you had never experienced before, as if everyone was holding their breath. 

The TV screen changed from an early played graphic of the potential Driver’s Champion, to live footage of the Driver’s cool down room. 

“Max you have to” A lady off screen must’ve motioned to the room around the corner

“See what’s there?” Max asked, a puzzled look on his face as Checo made a remark about him being the World Champion. “But I’m not” 

Another man off screen told Max to go to the room, leading him to question again. “But I’m not.” 

“Yes you are” 

“I am? You sure?” 

The roar that followed from Red Bull was almost deafening. Engineers and mechanics were on each other’s shoulders as they celebrated their driver. A mere twenty feet away, no one in red dared to make a sound. 

As podium procedure ensued, it took everything in you not to keep your eyes on Max. He was the main attraction after all. His eyes crinkled as his name was announced and his smile only grew wider once the trophy was in his hands. Pulling your eyes away from Max was tough, but once you eventually did, you focused on Charles and got back to work.

His only goal of the podium was to meet your eyes. Max scanned the Ferrari red, searching for the lens of your camera. With no surprise, it was angled to his left, directly at Charles. As the Dutch and Austrian national anthems droned on, Max couldn’t take his eyes off of you, while you fought every bone in your body not to meet his. 

======

You had never been happier than the moment you were done with all of your post race duties. The paddock still had people in it, most of them also making their way out for the weekend, and you were able to slip past Red Bull without seeing a particular World Champion. 

That is, until you got to the parking lot. 

Wet gravel crunched underneath your shoes as you made your way through the lot, careful not to ruin the pair of black and red Puma’s on your feet. Chatter from the people around you filled the air, one voice making an already terrible day even more miserable.

“Hey!” Max’s voice filled the parking area

He’s talking to someone else. Keep walking. 

“Y/n!” Max yelled 

Just don’t answer. He’ll go away. 

“Y/n!” 

Max’s walk quickly turned into a jog, trying to catch up to you. You could hear his footsteps quicken on the wet gravel, but you couldn’t get yourself to walk any faster. 

“Y/n. Why won’t you talk to me? Did I do something?” Max asked, grabbing your wrist

“Well the whole world thinks we’re dating right now but we’re barely even friends.” You replied, finally turning to face him

Max’s head tilted slightly “What are you talking about?” 

“That night in Zandvoort. It was a mistake, Max. I wasn’t ready then and I’m still not now. Congrats on the championship. I’ll see you around.” You answered, yanking your wrist out of his grasp before finally making your way to your car.

The wallet in his pocket grew heavy as he watched you walk away. The photo of the young boy rested inside of it as an aching reminder. 

[simply-ivanka]

How the Biden-Harris Economy Left Most Americans Behind

A government spending boom fueled inflation that has crushed real average incomes.

By The Editorial Board -- Wall Street Journal

Kamala Harris plans to roll out her economic priorities in a speech on Friday, though leaks to the press say not to expect much different than the last four years. That’s bad news because the Biden-Harris economic record has left most Americans worse off than they were four years ago. The evidence is indisputable.

President Biden claims that he inherited the worst economy since the Great Depression, but this isn’t close to true. The economy in January 2021 was fast recovering from the pandemic as vaccines rolled out and state lockdowns eased. GDP grew 34.8% in the third quarter of 2020, 4.2% in the fourth, and 5.2% in the first quarter of 2021. By the end of that first quarter, real GDP had returned to its pre-pandemic high. All Mr. Biden had to do was let the recovery unfold.

Instead, Democrats in March 2021 used Covid relief as a pretext to pass $1.9 trillion in new spending. This was more than double Barack Obama’s 2009 spending bonanza. State and local governments were the biggest beneficiaries, receiving $350 billion in direct aid, $122 billion for K-12 schools and $30 billion for mass transit. Insolvent union pension funds received a $86 billion rescue.

The rest was mostly transfer payments to individuals, including a five-month extension of enhanced unemployment benefits, a $3,600 fully refundable child tax credit, $1,400 stimulus payments per person, sweetened Affordable Care Act subsidies, an increased earned income tax credit including for folks who didn’t work, housing subsidies and so much more.

The handouts discouraged the unemployed from returning to work and fueled consumer spending, which was already primed to surge owing to pent-up savings from the Covid lockdowns and spending under Donald Trump. By mid-2021, Americans had $2.3 trillion in “excess savings” relative to pre-pandemic levels—equivalent to roughly 12.5% of disposable income.

So much money chasing too few goods fueled inflation, which was supercharged by the Federal Reserve’s accommodative policy. Historically low mortgage rates drove up housing prices. The White House blamed “corporate greed” for inflation that peaked at 9.1% in June 2022, even as the spending party in Washington continued.

In November 2021, Congress passed a $1 trillion bill full of green pork and more money for states. Then came the $280 billion Chips Act and Mr. Biden’s Green New Deal—aka the Inflation Reduction Act—which Goldman Sachs estimates will cost $1.2 trillion over a decade. Such heaps of government spending have distorted private investment.

While investment in new factories has grown, spending on research and development and new equipment has slowed. Overall private fixed investment has grown at roughly half the rate under Mr. Biden as it did under Mr. Trump. Manufacturing output remains lower than before the pandemic.

Magnifying market misallocations, the Administration conditioned subsidies on businesses advancing its priorities such as paying union-level wages and providing child care to workers. It also boosted food stamps, expanded eligibility for ObamaCare subsidies and waved away hundreds of billions of dollars in student debt. The result: $5.8 trillion in deficits during Mr. Biden’s first three years—about twice as much as during Donald Trump’s—and the highest inflation in four decades.

Prices have increased by nearly 20% since January 2021, compared to 7.8% during the Trump Presidency. Inflation-adjusted average weekly earnings are down 3.9% since Mr. Biden entered office, compared to an increase of 2.6% during Mr. Trump’s first three years. (Real wages increased much more in 2020, but partly owing to statistical artifacts.)

Higher interest rates are finally bringing inflation under control, which is allowing real wages to rise again. But the Federal Reserve had to raise rates higher than it otherwise would have to offset the monetary and fiscal gusher. The higher rates have pushed up mortgage costs for new home buyers.

Three years of inflation and higher interest rates are stretching American pocketbooks, especially for lower income workers. Seriously delinquent auto loans and credit cards are higher than any time since the immediate aftermath of the 2008-09 recession.

Ms. Harris boasts that the economy has added nearly 16 million jobs during the Biden Presidency—compared to about 6.4 million during Mr. Trump’s first three years. But most of these “new” jobs are backfilling losses from the pandemic lockdowns. The U.S. has fewer jobs than it was on track to add before the pandemic.

What’s more, all the Biden-Harris spending has yielded little economic bang for the taxpayer buck. Washington has borrowed more than $400,000 for every additional job added under Mr. Biden compared to Mr. Trump’s first three years. Most new jobs are concentrated in government, healthcare and social assistance—60% of new jobs in the last year.

Administrative agencies are also creating uncertainty by blitzing businesses with costly regulations—for instance, expanding overtime pay, restricting independent contractors, setting stricter emissions limits on power plants and factories, micro-managing broadband buildout and requiring CO2 emissions calculations in environmental reviews.

The economy is still expanding, but business investment has slowed. And although the affluent are doing relatively well because of buoyant asset prices, surveys show that most Americans feel financially insecure. Thus another political paradox of the Biden-Harris years: Socioeconomic disparities have increased.

Ms. Harris is promising the same economic policies with a shinier countenance. Don’t expect better results.

[carriesthewind]

Good evening everyone! As I said in an answer to a previous ask, there wasn't a public call-in line to listen to the Show Cause Hearing in Mata v Avianca (the ChatGBT lawyer case) today.

However, while we are waiting for a transcript of the hearing (because there was a court reporter! yay!) and a written decision by the judge, we did get this absolutely anxiety-inducing live tweet of the hearing:

(Caveat: this thread was not an official transcript of the hearing and should not be taken as such. It is possible the actual events and statements made in the hearing differ significantly from this report - i.e., take this with a grain of salt and reserve final judgement for the actual transcript.)

I'll put the full thread with some (light) commentary below the cut.* But the overall impression I am left with is that the judge seems to feel this pair of attorneys are treating their duty of candor toward the tribunal with the same seriousness with which they are treating their duty of competence to their clients. (And in this case, that's a very bad thing.)

*The full thread except for a soon-to-follow part 2 because I ran out of space for images again.

(All of the following screenshots are from the above tweet thread by Inner City Press @ innercitypress on twitter, made on June 8, 2023.)

Normally I would overlook that "you, personally," but in this case, you really get the feeling that the judge is concerned that LoDuca might just start talking about what Schwartz did again.

Establishing LoDuca's base of knowledge - he should know how to look up cases and check if they are real; he should know what a real case looks like.

The March 1 submission was the plaintiff's opposition to the motion to dismiss, where they first cited the fake cases.

How bad this answer is depends, I think, on LoDuca's wording here. Best case scenario, his statement about Schwartz was a specific statement about what inquiry was reasonable for him to do under the circumstances (which - for that first filing - I think is actually a reasonable argument. You don't expect your colleague to just make up cases). Worst case, this reads like him trying to wiggle out of his obligations. I will withhold judgement until I see the official transcript.

Rule 11, by the way, refers to Rule 11 of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. Rule 11(b) states:

(If you remember the Order to Show Cause, we are dealing with a Rule 11(b)(2) issue here. Rule 11(c) allows the court to impose sanctions for violations of Rule 11(b))

Oh no, bad answer. (If anyone reading this is good at photoshop, I cannot express how badly I want a version of the "this sign can't stop me because I can't read" meme with the sign being the quote from defendant's reply where they say, "The undersigned has not been able to locate this case by caption or citation, nor any case bearing any resemblance to it.")

Oh that is not a good way of characterizing those orders. (Those were the orders, remember, where the Court said, "By April 18, 2022, Peter LoDuca, counsel of record for plaintiff, shall file an affidavit annexing copies of the following cases cited in his submission to this Court: as set forth herein. Failure to comply will result in dismissal of the action pursuant to Rule 41 (b), Fed. R. Civ. P.")

I would simply perish on the spot.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention in my original attempted summary of "Varghese" - the first paragraph states that it is a wrongful death suit by the widow of the passenger. Then the second paragraph states that the passenger was denied boarding on a flight due to overbooking and thus missed his connecting flight and therefore incurred additional expenses. The case was such nonsense that I legitimately forgot about that inconsistency by the time I got to the end.

Your honor I plead "2 stupid 2 sanction."

(I believe the "different fonts" is in reference to the April 25 affidavit, in which the case names - and some of the surrounding text - are in a different font from most of the text in the affidavit. It seems like this is because they may have been copied straight from ChatGPT. See e.g., #3 below. It's hard to tell just based on this twitter thread, though.)

A short and simple answer! You did it!

"I have all the answers I need" is not a good sentence in this context.

Very genuinely: shorter is better here. At least I don't think he hurt himself with that statement.

Judge Castel: How do you conduct legal research?

Schwartz: I research cases.

Judge Castel: Do you read them?

Schwartz: Well, I may have once upon a time, but after hearing you ask that question in this context, I have decided to retire from the practice of law forever and also possibly sink into the ground and die. Also, by answering "yes," here, I just realized that I'm either admitting that I read the cases I submitted and therefore must have known they were fake, or else I just possibly committed perjury. Oh shit oh fuck.

Oh god I'm cringing myself into a pretzel just reading this.

Hey, by the way? You can actually use google (esp. google scholar) to do legal research. (It's not a good tool and you will miss things, but it will do in a pinch.) But. Um. If you know that...why didn't you double check your cases at very least on google when you were told they seemed to be made up?

So, once again, I am going to withhold judgement until I see the actual transcript. That said, if Schwartz did say this, I would like to compare it briefly to a part of the chat transcript he provided to the court. Here is the first question asked about the Montreal Convention in the provided transcript:

"analysis"

Oh god. I can't even provide commentary on this one. I hope this is worse than the actual transcript will prove to be. I'm reading through my fingers like I'm watching a horror movie.

"Misperception" (or "misconception") doesn't work once you have evidence that should cause you to doubt - like not being able to find a case that was supposedly published in the Federal fucking Reporter.

This is overshooting "2 stupid 2 sanction" into "too stupid to function."* You either looked for "Varghese" or you didn't. If you looked for "Varghese," it is not credible that you continued to have a good faith assumption that ChatGPT couldn't lie. If you didn't look up "Varghese," you just lied to the Court under oath.

*Just to be clear: for an ordinary person, this would be a very understandable lack of knowledge issue. A lawyer has no excuse not to know this.

Judge Castel: Mr. Schwartz, I think you have the fucking audacity to try to lie to me to my face in my fucking courtroom.

Honestly at this point I'm surprised he could still talk. I think screaming, "I'm melting, I'm melting!" as he vanished into steam, leaving his crumpled suit behind, would be an appropriate response.

NO.

Oh no, oh honey.

Ok. Two options here (again, assuming he actually fucking said "They said they couldn't find them," in response to the Court asking, "When Avianca said you cited non existent cases?"):

Schwartz is once again trying to purposefully downplay what the defendant's reply brief actually said and dodge responsibility.

Schwartz honestly, truly believes that when the defendant filed a reply containing the line, "The undersigned has not been able to locate this case by caption or citation, nor any case bearing any resemblance to it," they were just asking for assistance with their legal research?!??!

I honestly don't know which is worse.

Oh no....

Oh man, I haven't gone over it here yet, but I think that "I looked up the judge" is a panicked attempt at bringing up a talking point the Professional Responsibility Lawyers raised in their memorandum of law. (Again, I'm giving this reading of his response with the caveat that it is based only on this thread, not the official transcript, which might read very differently and contain different/more info.) The Professional Responsibility attorneys noted in a footnote that two of the judges listed in the "opinion," including the "author," were actual 11th circuit judges, and the other is an actual 5th circuit judge. My read of this footnote was as an extra little detail tossed in by the Professional Responsibility attorneys to try to dress up their argument that the "opinions" had various "indicia of authenticity."

But here's the problem. If Schwartz is telling the truth - if he was reading carefully and critically enough that he bothered to look up the judge (why would you do that if you didn't think the case might be fake?!) there is no way he could have missed that the case was gibberish. Again, if this is really what he said at the hearing, he either lied in the hearing, or he must have know the "opinions" were bogus when he gave them to LoDuca to file.

"Did it cross your mind" - if the court actually said this, oh my god.

Hey, that's the point that I made in my original post(s)!

This whole thing about the "+h" to "th" with the notary date is from the recent affidavits filed on 6/6/23, you can read them about them if you want, I'll be honest, I don't really care as much about the notary stuff so I'm going to skip it for the moment.

....and I've run out of space for images again. Part II to follow shortly!

[felassan]

Coming in 2024: Mass Effect: Priority Hagalaz - The Board Game

Text:

"The year is 2186. On the remote world Hagalaz, a research cruiser from the terrorist organisation Cerberus has crashed directly in the path of a deadly storm. With little time before the storm hits, Shepard must lead their squad through the cruiser to uncover its sinister secrets and keep them out of the hands of the enemy. However, the ship holds more dangers than just its former crew… Mass EffectTM: Priority Hagalaz - The Board Game is a cooperative, story-driven game for 1-4 players designed by Eric M. Lang and Calvin Wong Tze Loon. The card-driven AI system and evolving stories respond to your actions, with your early choices even influencing later missions, while the branching narrative ensures unique experiences with each playthrough. So, prepare to gather Shepard’s squad from a selection of teammates from the Mass EffectTM Universe, customise their abilities, equipment, and powers, and get to the bottom of the mystery on Hagalaz!"

[source, publisher's info page on the product and link to sign up for news about it, tweet source, tweet source two, tweet source three]

Some more info:

"A board game based on the video game series Mass Effect will have players becoming members of the SSV Normandy crew battling Cerberus. Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority Hagalaz is an upcoming board game that will take place during the events of Mass Effect 3. In the game, players will take the roles of either male or female Shepard, Asari biotic Liara, Turian soldier Garrus, Krogan leader Wrex or Quarian technician Tali, as they embark on a mission on the planet Hagalaz - which is the world the Shadow Broker’s ship orbits during the Lair of the Shadow Broker downloadable content released for Mass Effect 2. In the midst of the Reaper invasion, Shepard and their crew investigate reports of a Cerberus ship crashing during a storm on Hagalaz, in an entirely new mission not found in the video games. In hopes of acquiring more information, resources and assistance with which to fight off the terrifying Reapers - as well as shut down the immoral efforts of the Cerberus organisation - players will need to explore Hagalaz and face its many dangers: both Cerberus and non-Cerberus alike. During the co-op game for one to four players, the group can experience a narrative-driven campaign that will enable players to explore different storylines and outcomes depending on their choices. As their chosen characters, players can upgrade their unique abilities by spending the experience points they gain, as well as unlock new powers through optional loyalty missions. The group can also improve their various pieces of equipment and weapons as they advance through the campaign. According to the game’s publisher, Modiphius, the narrative choices made by players will have consequences further down the line, with there being potential for multiple playthroughs resulting in never-before-seen experiences. Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz was co-created by Eric Lang, the creator behind board games such as Blood Rage and Rising Sun, and Calvin Wong Tze Loon, whose previous tabletop title was 2022’s Lands of Galzyr. Besides Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz, Modiphius is also responsible for publishing various tabletop roleplaying games such as Dune - Adventures in the Imperium and miniature wargames like Fallout: Factions. The Mass Effect board game will be released via Asmodee. The release date for Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz is set for sometime later this year."

[source]

[source, two, three, four, five]

An email from Modiphius reads:

Text version:

"We’re excited to announce that Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz is coming to tabletops later this year! For more information, sign up to join the crew of the Normandy here. Set during the events of Mass Effect 3, the crew of Normandy has one more mission. It is the year 2186, and the Reapers have invaded the galaxy. Because the Council ignored Commander Shepard’s warnings, the Citadel Races are overwhelmed and on the verge of losing the war. Aboard the Normandy, Shepard carries out missions to prepare the Crucible, an ancient alien superweapon, for a last-chance attempt to defeat the Reapers. It’s a race against time, and Shepard must seize every possible advantage. On the remote world Hagalaz, a research cruiser from the terrorist organisation Cerberus has crashed directly in the path of a deadly storm. With little time before the storm hits, Shepard must lead their squad through the cruiser to uncover its sinister secrets and keep them out of the hands of the enemy. However, the ship holds more dangers than just its former crew. Deep within the shattered cruiser stir creatures and enemies far worse than the Cerberus forces that guard them. Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz is a co-operative, story-driven game for 1-4 players designed by Eric M. Lang and Calvin Wong Tze Loon 黃子倫. A branching, narrative campaign allows for multiple playthroughs with a different experience every time. Card-driven AI and evolving stories respond to your actions – your early choices influence later missions. Gather Shepard’s squad from a selection of teammates from the Mass Effect trilogy: Liara, Tali, Wrex, and Garrus. Customise and upgrade your squad’s abilities, equipment, and powers as they gain experience. Enhance them further by unlocking unique powers with optional loyalty missions. The board game features six highly detailed 32mm scale pre-assembled plastic miniatures of male and female Shepherd, Liara, Tali, Wrex and Garrus. For more information, sign up to join the crew of the Normandy here."

[source: Modiphius]

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Cloudburst

Enshittification isn’t inevitable: under different conditions and constraints, the old, good internet could have given way to a new, good internet. Enshittification is the result of specific policy choices: encouraging monopolies; enabling high-speed, digital shell games; and blocking interoperability.

First we allowed companies to buy up their competitors. Google is the shining example here: having made one good product (search), they then fielded an essentially unbroken string of in-house flops, but it didn’t matter, because they were able to buy their way to glory: video, mobile, ad-tech, server management, docs, navigation…They’re not Willy Wonka’s idea factory, they’re Rich Uncle Pennybags, making up for their lack of invention by buying out everyone else:

https://locusmag.com/2022/03/cory-doctorow-vertically-challenged/

But this acquisition-fueled growth isn’t unique to tech. Every administration since Reagan (but not Biden! more on this later) has chipped away at antitrust enforcement, so that every sector has undergone an orgy of mergers, from athletic shoes to sea freight, eyeglasses to pro wrestling:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/cea/written-materials/2021/07/09/the-importance-of-competition-for-the-american-economy/

But tech is different, because digital is flexible in a way that analog can never be. Tech companies can “twiddle” the back-ends of their clouds to change the rules of the business from moment to moment, in a high-speed shell-game that can make it impossible to know what kind of deal you’re getting:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/27/knob-jockeys/#bros-be-twiddlin

To make things worse, users are banned from twiddling. The thicket of rules we call IP ensure that twiddling is only done against users, never for them. Reverse-engineering, scraping, bots — these can all be blocked with legal threats and suits and even criminal sanctions, even if they’re being done for legitimate purposes:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Enhittification isn’t inevitable but if we let companies buy all their competitors, if we let them twiddle us with every hour that God sends, if we make it illegal to twiddle back in self-defense, we will get twiddled to death. When a company can operate without the discipline of competition, nor of privacy law, nor of labor law, nor of fair trading law, with the US government standing by to punish any rival who alters the logic of their service, then enshittification is the utterly foreseeable outcome.

To understand how our technology gets distorted by these policy choices, consider “The Cloud.” Once, “the cloud” was just a white-board glyph, a way to show that some part of a software’s logic would touch some commodified, fungible, interchangeable appendage of the internet. Today, “The Cloud” is a flashing warning sign, the harbinger of enshittification.

When your image-editing tools live on your computer, your files are yours. But once Adobe moves your software to The Cloud, your critical, labor-intensive, unrecreatable images are purely contingent. At at time, without notice, Adobe can twiddle the back end and literally steal the colors out of your own files:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

The finance sector loves The Cloud. Add “The Cloud” to a product and profits (money you get for selling something) can turn into rents (money you get for owning something). Profits can be eroded by competition, but rents are evergreen:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

No wonder The Cloud has seeped into every corner of our lives. Remember your first iPod? Adding music to it was trivial: double click any music file to import it into iTunes, then plug in your iPod and presto, synched! Today, even sophisticated technology users struggle to “side load” files onto their mobile devices. Instead, the mobile duopoly — Apple and Google, who bought their way to mobile glory and have converged on the same rent-seeking business practices, down to the percentages they charge — want you to get your files from The Cloud, via their apps. This isn’t for technological reasons, it’s a business imperative: 30% of every transaction that involves an app gets creamed off by either Apple or Google in pure rents:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell/posts/3788112

And yet, The Cloud is undeniably useful. Having your files synch across multiple devices, including your collaborators’ devices, with built-in tools for resolving conflicting changes, is amazing. Indeed, this feat is the holy grail of networked tools, because it’s how programmers write all the software we use, including software in The Cloud.

If you want to know how good a tool can be, just look at the tools that toolsmiths use. With “source control” — the software programmers use to collaboratively write software — we get a very different vision of how The Cloud could operate. Indeed, modern source control doesn’t use The Cloud at all. Programmers’ workflow doesn’t break if they can’t access the internet, and if the company that provides their source control servers goes away, it’s simplicity itself to move onto another server provider.

This isn’t The Cloud, it’s just “the cloud” — that whiteboard glyph from the days of the old, good internet — freely interchangeable, eminently fungible, disposable and replaceable. For a tool like git, Github is just one possible synchronization point among many, all of which have a workflow whereby programmers’ computers automatically make local copies of all relevant data and periodically lob it back up to one or more servers, resolving conflicting edits through a process that is also largely automated.

There’s a name for this model: it’s called “Local First” computing, which is computing that starts from the presumption that the user and their device is the most important element of the system. Networked servers are dumb pipes and dumb storage, a nice-to-have that fails gracefully when it’s not available.

The data structures of source-code are among the most complicated formats we have; if we can do this for code, we can do it for spreadsheets, word-processing files, slide-decks, even edit-decision-lists for video and audio projects. If local-first computing can work for programmers writing code, it can work for the programs those programmers write.

Local-first computing is experiencing a renaissance. Writing for Wired, Gregory Barber traces the history of the movement, starting with the French computer scientist Marc Shapiro, who helped develop the theory of “Conflict-Free Replicated Data” — a way to synchronize data after multiple people edit it — two decades ago:

https://www.wired.com/story/the-cloud-is-a-prison-can-the-local-first-software-movement-set-us-free/

Shapiro and his co-author Nuno Preguiça envisioned CFRD as the building block of a new generation of P2P collaboration tools that weren’t exactly serverless, but which also didn’t rely on servers as the lynchpin of their operation. They published a technical paper that, while exiting, was largely drowned out by the release of GoogleDocs (based on technology built by a company that Google bought, not something Google made in-house).

Shapiro and Preguiça’s work got fresh interest with the 2019 publication of “Local-First Software: You Own Your Data, in spite of the Cloud,” a viral whitepaper-cum-manifesto from a quartet of computer scientists associated with Cambridge University and Ink and Switch, a self-described “industrial research lab”:

https://www.inkandswitch.com/local-first/static/local-first.pdf

The paper describes how its authors — Martin Kleppmann, Adam Wiggins, Peter van Hardenberg and Mark McGranaghan — prototyped and tested a bunch of simple local-first collaboration tools built on CFRD algorithms, with the goal of “network optional…seamless collaboration.” The results are impressive, if nascent. Conflicting edits were simpler to resolve than the authors anticipated, and users found URLs to be a good, intuitive way of sharing documents. The biggest hurdles are relatively minor, like managing large amounts of change-data associated with shared files.

Just as importantly, the paper makes the case for why you’d want to switch to local-first computing. The Cloud is not reliable. Companies like Evernote don’t last forever — they can disappear in an eyeblink, and take your data with them:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/7/9/23789012/evernote-layoff-us-staff-bending-spoons-note-taking-app

Google isn’t likely to disappear any time soon, but Google is a graduate of the Darth Vader MBA program (“I have altered the deal, pray I don’t alter it any further”) and notorious for shuttering its products, even beloved ones like Google Reader:

https://www.theverge.com/23778253/google-reader-death-2013-rss-social

And while the authors don’t mention it, Google is also prone to simply kicking people off all its services, costing them their phone numbers, email addresses, photos, document archives and more:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/22/allopathic-risk/#snitches-get-stitches

There is enormous enthusiasm among developers for local-first application design, which is only natural. After all, companies that use The Cloud go to great lengths to make it just “the cloud,” using containerization to simplify hopping from one cloud provider to another in a bid to stave off lock-in from their cloud providers and the enshittification that inevitably follows.

The nimbleness of containerization acts as a disciplining force on cloud providers when they deal with their business customers: disciplined by the threat of losing money, cloud companies are incentivized to treat those customers better. The companies we deal with as end-users know exactly how bad it gets when a tech company can impose high switching costs on you and then turn the screws until things are almost-but-not-quite so bad that you bolt for the doors. They devote fantastic effort to making sure that never happens to them — and that they can always do that to you.

Interoperability — the ability to leave one service for another — is technology’s secret weapon, the thing that ensures that users can turn The Cloud into “the cloud,” a humble whiteboard glyph that you can erase and redraw whenever it suits you. It’s the greatest hedge we have against enshittification, so small wonder that Big Tech has spent decades using interop to clobber their competitors, and lobbying to make it illegal to use interop against them:

https://locusmag.com/2019/01/cory-doctorow-disruption-for-thee-but-not-for-me/

Getting interop back is a hard slog, but it’s also our best shot at creating a new, good internet that lives up the promise of the old, good internet. In my next book, The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation (Verso Books, Sept 5), I set out a program fro disenshittifying the internet:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

The book is up for pre-order on Kickstarter now, along with an independent, DRM-free audiobooks (DRM-free media is the content-layer equivalent of containerized services — you can move them into or out of any app you want):

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

Meanwhile, Lina Khan, the FTC and the DoJ Antitrust Division are taking steps to halt the economic side of enshittification, publishing new merger guidelines that will ban the kind of anticompetitive merger that let Big Tech buy its way to glory:

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2023/07/biden-administration-corporate-merger-antitrust-guidelines/674779/

The internet doesn’t have to be enshittified, and it’s not too late to disenshittify it. Indeed — the same forces that enshittified the internet — monopoly mergers, a privacy and labor free-for-all, prohibitions on user-side twiddling — have enshittified everything from cars to powered wheelchairs. Not only should we fight enshittification — we must.

Back my anti-enshittification Kickstarter here!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

Image: Drahtlos (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Motherboard_Intel_386.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

—

cdsessums (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Monsoon_Season_Flagstaff_AZ_clouds_storm.jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 10 (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; depression; feelings of stress and anxiety; feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; allusions to a dark, forgotten childhood; arguing; heart issues addressed (POTs); use of heart monitors; revisited, vivid memories of sex; jealousy; body changes as a result of pregnancy; suuuuper sore boobs; negative self-talk (stretch marks specifically); talk of baby + pregnancy; pregnancy hormones...things get heatedddd; reader and jake are both stubborn + turned on, but can't be together and it's TOUGH; cheating; heavy petting; rubbing of bodies against each other (see: dry humping); hands on boobs oopsies (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 16.7k+

a/n: hi babes… <3 this is my personal favorite part out of the two… so, let me know how you feel… ;) love u all. busy day! i'm so sorry it's late. plz know i love you all sm <3

s/o to @joshym who is my favorite and the most wonderful encourager and sister in the entire universe. i love you more than i can say. you make life sunny and everything better <3

also, @alwaysonthemend, i love you so incredibly much and i’m so grateful for you and your unwavering support and texts that never fail to make my day <3

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤 (fr, i listen to it nonstop when i write this.... all of the songs are pertinent to the story and aid in telling it - either already or eventually.)

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

“The covetous man pines in plenty, like Tantalus up to the chin in water, and yet thirsty.”

-Thomas Adams

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 25, 2022

Friendsgiving. A standing, solid tradition since the first Thanksgiving you’d spent as Josh’s friend. It had always been you, Elsie, Josh, Sam, and Daniel.

But this year, you’d be entertaining new people. One you were incredibly grateful for. Jake. And one you weren’t even slightly sure about.

Maya.

She was the last person you wanted to celebrate a holiday all about Thankfulness with. But, you had to. Stupid ass shit that you couldn’t control, so you had to just pretend to be fine with it. 

To your benefit, you had a distraction – a fantastic, welcome one in Elsie. Elsie and a morning of grocery shopping.

For Friendsgiving, in a group chat between you two and the rest of the boys, Elsie had insisted that you two be in charge of pies. So, you two were currently wandering the aisles of Walmart with Pinterest up, recipes open to several flavors of pies that Elsie had decided the two of you should make.

And the way to make homemade crust since she refused to use store bought. 

“It will be a fun thing to try,” she’d sworn, aggressively pinning a couple to your shared board.

You were the one in charge of grabbing things off the shelves, while she pushed the cart and bossed at you what to grab for each recipe. The makings for apple pie and pumpkin pie already rumbled around in the cart. So, now you were on to the final pies and their ingredients. The few cans of cherry pie filling had just landed in the cart when Elsie decided to confront you about Jake. 

“What’s going on between you and Lover Boy?” She asked, trying to sound absentminded in her question, but you knew she was not thinking of it randomly. She’d most definitely waited for a moment to hit you with the question when you were forced to respond. 

And, you were. You were currently completely stranded at a Walmart with only her and one car to get you back to the apartment. There was no escaping the question. So, you decided to do what you could and only answer halfway.

“Well, he knows,” you started, grabbing a bag of sugar off the shelf, avoiding her eyes. “And things are going good.”

“What a vague response,” she hummed. “Why don’t you grab a couple cans of blueberry filling and hit me with full honesty.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the can and turned to face her. A blush painted your cheeks that you couldn’t avoid. “I am being honest. He knows and things are good.”

“Yeah, that answer works for a random Joe, but not your sister. I’m not here for the fucking cliff notes.”

“I don’t care what you’re ‘here for’, Elsie,” you grumbled, turning to walk ahead of her toward the flour. “And why didn’t you ask me this yesterday when we had the entire day at Grandma and Grandpa’s?”

“It didn’t really feel like the right time to ask,” she defended, pointing to a particular bag of flour, which you grabbed and put in the cart. “I also didn’t want to stop talking about the ridiculous fangirl experience because that shit was hilarious,” she paused, gasping. “Oh! Speaking of fangirls and the other guys. . . When are you planning on telling Josh? I'm dying to start planning a baby shower and I want him to help me.”

“He didn’t tell you that I told him before my first–?”

“You told him?!” She asked, astonished. The cart squeaked to a halt behind you. 

Turning around with a laugh ready at your lips, you gawked at her. “What is wrong with you, Dramatic Ass?”

“Um,” she sharply started, hand on a hip. “My sister and my boyfriend are keeping me in the dark, that’s what’s wrong.”

“Josh is busy and I’m busy,” you responded slowly. “We’re not 'keeping you in the dark'. Also, he just found out a few weeks ago. It’s not like he’s known for–.”

“A few weeks?!”

You swiveled fully around to face her completely. “Els. Josh has never been one to talk about other people and their lives to shoot the breeze. You know this. He wasn’t going to bring it up if it didn’t concern him.”

“Well, it does. It concerns both of us. Aunt and uncle? Hello?”

“It’s also just a giant ass thing that I’m sure he’s still processing,” you argued. “Give him a fucking break.”

“I’m bringing this up to him,” she stubbornly stated, huffing and everything. “I’m going to make him own up to not telling me he knew.”

“You knew and didn’t tell him,” you reminded her. 

“That’s different; you didn’t want me to tell him.”

“And what if he thought I didn’t want you guys talking about it at all? He’s very sensitive to stuff of that nature.”

“I don’t know. I’m still asking him,” she firmly stated, continuing to push the cart forward, effectively ending the conversation with her tone. 

And, much to your joy, dropping the other part of the conversation as she went on a sassy rant about something Josh had done recently that pissed her off. 

It lasted all the way home and you were damn happy. . .

Although, you did have to work a little magic to get her to stop being such an over-thinker and asshole when it came to Josh. You had to give a plentiful amount of examples as to how he was all of these amazing things wrapped in one and not the person her mind was trying to convince her that he was. 

She had trauma and abandonment issues, too. . . she just didn't always show them like you.

But. . . it made you pause. Made you think of yourself and Jake. . . . your mind went to the clouds as you thought of your feelings towards him. You were still like this as you helped her carry in groceries, and only snapped out of it when she started bossing you again. Except this time, she was annoyingly giving you jobs around the kitchen to prepare the blessed pies.

-🌼🌼🌼-  

Jake had been the main chef for Friendsgiving.

All day, the apartment smelled heavenly thanks to his wondrous cooking. He'd started way early in the morning, and had awoken you with the incredible smells. . . but you had forced yourself to lay in bed rather than going about your morning routine. Truthfully, you really hadn't had to force yourself too much as you heard Maya's voice make unwelcome waves around the apartment through your door. You weren't in the mood for any of it this morning considering last night. Last night, when you'd seen him and Maya. . . . . Yeah, you'd still been in the process of blocking that the fuck out.

So, you'd only caught a little glimpse of him buzzing around the kitchen before Elsie and Josh had shown up. At which point, Elsie had been ready to hit Wally World.

But, now that you were back, you'd noticed that he'd taken charge of a few very important tasks. He'd roasted a giant turkey in the oven, made rolls and mashed potatoes from scratch, and a delicious gravy to accompany all of his dishes. Josh had been in charge of casseroles, and the other two hooligan men had been in charge of drinks and salad (a big bag of lettuce from Walmart with a bottle of Ranch and a plastic container of cherry tomatoes). 

Maya had been in charge of nothing, claiming via Jake that she would be helping him. But all day long, she’d just sat around, looking way too stupidly pretty, and watched him cook. Lazy ass. 

While you and Elsie slaved away at dessert, thankfully Jake was done with his preparations (save for the turkey that still cooked and created the most appetizing aroma). Meaning that Maya had followed him and wasn’t looming in the background as you made pie.

Which was good because you really did not need her around you any more than she had to be.

As you made pie after pie and sat them on top of the oven to go in once the turkey came out, you filled Elsie in on everything else that had taken place in your life as of late. Told her about the emergency room visit and everything you’d found out at the E.R.; how you’d come up with a solid morning routine to attempt a healthier pregnancy; and any intricate therapy detail that came to mind. 

The boys had been sitting in the living room, playing music on a few guitars (Josh, filling up the apartment with old Elvis tunes). Then, opting to talk for the majority of the time.

So, you'd been able to gain precious time with your sister. She had encouraged you and supported you just like you knew she would. She’d also gotten onto you for not taking better care of yourself and not taking prenatal vitamins sooner.

“You fucking idiot,” she laughed, bumping your shoulder with hers as she passed you in the kitchen with the last pie. “No, but really. I’m sorry that you’d been so stressed and overwhelmed to the point of forgetting to do shit like that. I wish I’d lived closer to you for the beginning of it all.”

Your ears perked up at that. “Yeah. . . Me too,” you said slyly, considering options as they filtered through your head. “What would it take for you to move closer? I don’t want to be selfish, I just don’t want to do this without you.” 

But, after the words came out  of your mouth, you heard just how selfish they sounded. Though, thinking about her being with you for the baby had been something at the back of your mind that you’d been contemplating for weeks. It didn’t mean you needed to drop that fucking bomb on her though. . . The baby wasn’t her thoughtless decision that she needed to change her life for. . . It wasn’t fair to her. 

“I’m sorry, Els,” you slapped a hand to your forehead, shutting your eyes to avoid any further self-induced embarrassment. “I didn’t even think about that before it slipped out. You don’t have to change any—.”

“Well,” she started, coming close to you and removing your hand from your head. As she held your hand in hers, she continued speaking. You opened your eyes to her. “That was actually my thing that I was waiting to tell you. . .,” she paused, trailing off. A slow smile lit up her features as her eyes brightened. “I put in a request for an office job attached to the company I work through. An office job for a branch of the company - based here in New York. . . Told them I didn’t want to travel any longer and that I’d appreciate something steadier as life changes. . .”

Your ears filled with excited static. “What?!” You gasped, eyes lifting with hope. “What did they say?!” 

“Well, a few people talked to a few people, and the director of the program I’m in gave his permission and then recommendation to that part of the company,” she rushed out. “So, in a few months, I’ll finish out my contract for this job and be living here full time for the new one.”

There was almost no time between the moment she’d said the words and the moment you’d leapt from your spot in the kitchen to give her the tightest hug you could muster. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Jake’s POV

She looked fucking gorgeous today. Everyday, in fact. But for the past couple of days, all I could think about was how thankful I was to have her in my life. Tis the season. No matter what, I was very thankful for her. . . For so many reasons. 

Though, the most prominent reason in my mind at the moment was how thankful I was to her for carrying our baby. So selfless and motherly and lovely. . .

So, I couldn’t help stealing repeated glances at her. I just hoped I wasn’t being too obvious. She was always beautiful, stunning—actual perfection walking—but the fact that our baby was in her belly just made matters much worse for me. She glowed in a way that she never had before. . . Drew my eye to her in a way that couldn’t be stopped.

It was wrong for me to look at her like this. I was in a serious relationship with someone else. . . I definitely shouldn’t have been eyeing her the way I was through the open layout, into the kitchen from my spot in the armchair. And especially not while I had my arm wrapped around my extremely hot girlfriend, and her nice fuckin' ass sitting halfway on my lap.

And, really. . . y/n had effectively broken—no, shattered—my heart all of those months ago in the kitchen. She shouldn't have drawn my eye to her the way she did after what she'd said. But, I really couldn't hold that against her any longer. It didn't matter as much as it once had. . . not anymore.

But, we weren’t meant to be. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I wanted us to be. . . It seemed too difficult for the two of us to manage. And, I had Maya. . . Mayamayamaya.

I would've been lying, though, if I said she wasn’t the most incredibly created human being. She was sculpted by the gods. . . Meticulously made to ruin me. When she really shouldn't. Fuck.

And now that she held my baby. . . The way her tummy rounded out more than usual, under her sweater—that shit left me completely speechless.

The way she held pregnancy was unparalleled to every other woman that had ever done it before. She was ethereal. And as great as Maya's ass was, there was truly no comparing it to the way y/n's ass looked in those leggings I’d seen her wear no less than a million times before. . . And just like every time before, I wanted to walk up behind her and feel the curve of it. Rip them the fuck down and bend her - dammit. I was so fuckin’ weak for her.

But anytime I felt Maya move against my arm, or lap, or smelled her perfume wave off of her with an action, I was reminded of how completely wrong it was for me to be checking y/n out. It was wrong how I couldn’t get her out of my head—all the time, she was there. Even in the most intimate moments with Maya, she kept creeping the fuck into my thoughts. 

But, truly, it just happened. Couldn't control it.

And, even when I got up to check on the turkey once more, I couldn’t help my reaction when I passed her. When I'd accidentally brushed past her on her way out, the way my heart pounded in my chest as our bodies touched for a millisecond. She smelled so sweet—just like a damned sugar cookie. And the way she’d passed so delicately against me. Her top half had pressed against me for a stolen moment in time, her eyes catching mine as her precious bump skimmed my waist.

And her breasts. Felt those, too.

My chest tightened and my dick twitched—it was almost too much. The air was stolen from my lungs. 

We were so close for those few seconds.

“Sorry,” she hushed, her eyes flicking up to look at me. A small smile was sitting on her lips, more out of embarrassment than anything. Her cheeks were the prettiest pink under my gaze.

But she wasn’t the one to be embarrassed. I was the only one who should have been embarrassed — for how I was instantly a teenage boy again, just because of a little brush from her body. 

“Don’t be,” I mouthed, like we were sharing a secret. My lips lifted to reassure her and my eyes lit up with an emotion I couldn’t explain if I tried. 

Her face softened at my expression, and then she was gone. 

And once I’d gotten the turkey out of the oven, I was mostly back to normal. I’d forced myself to think about sad images of roadkill enough to ruin the mood I’d set in my head. 

After breathing a few deep breaths, I called out that dinner was ready and all I could do was hope for the best for the rest of the day. 

End of Jake’s POV

-🌼🌼🌼-

Thanksgiving carried on from when lunch started at two in the afternoon, to the evening, and saw your friend group (and Maya) sitting around the living room.

You were all bouncing back and forth with the Roku remote. Rotating around your semi-circle, every person took a turn choosing a YouTube video to cast.

It had turned into a sort of game of who could play a song that meant something to someone else in the room. Jake had just had the remote, right before Elsie, and had played a song for Josh. It had been some song from Seussical The Musical, to which Josh had sung along to every word. He’d even gone so far as to get up to do a little performance of the song. 

“That’s exactly how it went,” Josh had chuckled heartily, the sound starting deep and lilting at the end. He dropped his arms from an obviously rehearsed dance routine, the song ending on a final high note. “I swear to God.”

“Oh, Joshua,” Sam’s eyes bugged as he looked at Jake with a laugh, who shared the moment of humor with him. “Trust me. We remember. Every single high school theatre production,” Sammy shook, as if reliving a traumatic memory. "All of it is seared into my poor, poor brain."

"Samuel, shut the fuck-," Josh started, before getting interrupted by his twin.

“Day in and day fucking out, Josh. That’s how often we heard those songs at home— for the months leading up to that damn musical,” Jake raised a thick brow. It made your tummy do somersaults - he was so handsome. “And I was lucky enough to hear it from backstage as crew. . . Every single rehearsal.”

“Yeah, you really fucking hated those songs,” Josh noted with a bubbling laugh, sitting back down next to Elsie, his arm falling around her shoulders. “Why would you make yourself suffer through that again?”

“Just playing the game,” Jake shrugged, rolling his eyes with a smile. He handed the remote over to Elsie, who sat on the couch, next to where he sat on the floor, in front of the couch. “But goddamn if I don’t ever hear it again, it will still be too soon.”

Sam agreed with a toast, raising his beer bottle as Jake lifted his. They nodded at each other from across the room. And you stared on, getting distracted by the woman who sat on the couch, criss-cross-applesauce, behind him, braiding his hair. 

Fuck that bitch, you thought hotly— ridiculously.

Admittedly, it took too far too long to look away from her pop-up salon. But you eventually did, and watched the screen as Elsie started typing something into the search bar. 

You knew better than to feel jealous of her. But, you couldn’t help eyeing her from your place, as you snuggled into the armchair with your favorite fluffy blanket covering you. Just wanted to let the chair swallow you, so you nestled deeper and closed your eyes to imagine it.

“This is one of y/n’s favorites,” Elsie said, the pre-video ad starting on the television. “The first time she watched this, her life changed. The perfect mix of her love for classic rock and soul music.”

Instantly, you knew exactly which song she was talking about. And when the video started, your heart expanded in your chest, making everything feel fuzzy and light. Everything felt okay. 

Change the World. . . . the Unplugged version. Eric Clapton and Babyface. . . . so many memories.

“This is our childhood,” you said, voice thick with emotion. The amount of tears you cried on a weekly basis was nothing short of humiliating. The baby hormones were vicious in their attack.

“I can’t tell you how many times we heard this as kids,” Elsie affirmed, looking over at Josh. 

“Grandpa is a strangely huge fan of Babyface,” you giggled, throat loosening a little as the laughter bubbled from your chest. “This Unplugged vinyl played on a loop for a period of time.”

“It was that year we bought it for him for Christmas,” Elsie added, agreeing. She was watching the screen with tears in her eyes, too. “But you ended up loving it so much,” she looked over to where you sat. “That the next Christmas you got your own vinyl of it. From yours truly. You're welcome." She winked, blowing a little kiss your way.

“I do take partial blame for the constant looping on the living room record player,” you smiled, winking at her. 

She winked back. “Yeah, you and Grandpa had equal hand in his Unplugged record warping on this song.”

You grinned, sticking your tongue out at her as she did the same. When Eric Clapton started singing, you gave the screen your full attention. The sound of this song only brought back the happiest memories. Even before hearing Babyface’s cover, it was a family favorite. It was a song that made you feel whole. 

It was the one song your Grandpa loved to sing to you. . . Before this version had ever come to your family’s attention. He'd sing it in those soft moments that felt like glowing rays of sun hitting your skin on a hazy summer evening.

But when your Grandpa had heard the Unplugged cover on the radio, the Earth had shifted for him. . . And even though it didn’t top your Grandpa singing it, the cover featuring Clapton held a special place in your heart with how often you’d heard it bouncing off the walls of the living room. It played so often that you associated it with some of your best days. . .

You'd still been innocent enough, still, to enjoy the world through a rose-tinted lens. And, far enough away from the trauma with your Mom that life had felt new. Ironically, the cover of the song had come around when your world was finally feeling like it had changed. It had been an intricately timed re-release of the lullaby your Grandfather had once poured over you as you’d drift to sleep on both restful and restless nights. The song felt safe – sort of like your Grandmother’s cooking felt for you. 

“You know, it’s funny,” Josh’s voice cut through your drifting thoughts. You kept watching the two men on screen, but tuned in to your best friend’s dialogue. “Jake loved this version, too. When YouTube came around, he would watch this version back to back, trying to memorize the way Babyface and Eric complimented each other on their guitars. He always wanted–.”

“To play both parts and record them on top of each other," Jake finished, watching the screen intently. You’d let your eyes wander from the screen momentarily to see his expression after hearing Josh’s story. He still looked utterly invested; just like you imagined he had looked as a kid re-watching it over and over again on YouTube. “It’s not really an intricate piece. . . I just found it at a time when I wanted to try everything I could on guitar. I knew how to play better than most 14 year olds, yes, but I still didn’t know half as much as I do now,” he explained, never looking away from the musicians. 

You saw movement at his waist, and when you looked down to observe, he seemed to be playing a guitar part in the air. And you knew if he picked up the instrument right now, he’d match one of the men in time. Whichever one he was currently studying - you couldn’t tell. 

“I don’t know why I never recorded myself playing both parts. Synced them over each other,” Jake mused, still playing in the air. “I used Garage Band like it was an addictive fucking drug–.”

“You can say that again,” Sam inserted, acting annoyed but still grinning so wide all the same. 

“But I just forgot about it, I guess,” the older, long-haired brother continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I’m getting the urge to do it again now – it’s coming back strong,” he chuckled, looking down at his fingers with a brow raised–just like he’d do if he was actually playing. 

It was fucking hot to watch him play so intently with nothing there to support him. Only his mind, full of the memorized chords from years ago. And to a song that meant so much to you. 

“I’m sure the guys at the studio would let you do it with their recording equipment,” Danny offered, also watching the famed musicians with intrigue, glancing over at Jake. 

Jake sucked in a breath, dropping his air guitar before leaning back against Maya, closing his eyes and sighing with one particular scratch of her nails against his scalp as she tugged out the french braid to start another.

Gag. You could vomit at the sight of their mushy-gushy behavior.

Your hand floated to your stomach to remind yourself of one thing you had that she didn’t. 

“Nah,” Jake sighed, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “I feel like it has to be done without the expensive stuff. It has to be recorded in a way that baby Jake would have recorded it. . . I just–,” He wrinkled a brow, releasing a grumble under his breath.

There was something he was concerned about. . .

And, as he sat back up to watch the men finish out the song, Maya made a little huffing noise, crossing her arms over her impressive chest. But, in all of her perfection, she covered the noise with a small smile and a shake of her head. Just seemed to be joking with her little bratty act.

Oh, how cute and funny.

She’d looked over at Sammy, who’d made a little sound at Jake’s words. You followed the line of sight.

“What’s the deal, brother?” Sammy questioned, leaning forward to emphasize his care for Jake. 

“I just don’t have the time to do a little side project like that–can’t even think about prioritizing it,” he replied, combing a hand through his hair, untangling anything that resembled a braid. Maya did outwardly pout at that. She whined his name and said something about her hard work. You couldn’t help the tiny smirk that lifted your lips at the scene. You tried your best to hide it, and just focused on the screen again. “And even calling it a project sounds silly with everything else going on in life right now.”

Before you could feel too guilty for the situation under your palm that added to everything going on in his life, Josh spoke up with a giant gasp.  

“Baby Jake!” The curly-headed twin exclaimed. You all looked in his direction, equally confused with knitted brows. “That’s just it; record it like you would have back then with the intention that it’s for your baby. Something fun to do. But. . . You’ll prioritize the time if it’s for the baby. If you look at it that way, it won’t seem silly at all," he wiped his palms, arm back over Elsie as he finished with jazz hands. "Ta-da!"

As the song concluded and the next ad started (an ad for baby diapers, of all things), Maya was urgently pushing Jake out of the way, claiming she needed to pee. And as she passed between your line of sight and Jake’s, you realized you were zoning out on him when your eyes met his, just as she rounded the couch. 

He gave you a small smile, his eyes staying on yours, floating down to where your belly hid under your blanket, and then back to your face when he responded to Josh’s idea. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a good plan, Josh,” he said, gaze never once leaving yours. 

The fire that rose from the pit of your tummy, all the way to your cheeks was not a new feeling with Jake, but for some reason. . . this time, it felt unlike any time ever before. 

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Everyone had stayed, having decided to lounge on couches for the night to sleep. They were all in equally deep slumbers (save for Maya, most likely still completely awake and waiting for Jake in his bed). 

You’d all stayed up until the wee hours of the morning–much later than you had in a long time. The only way you’d been able to make it, the tiny cat naps you’d dozed in and out of. As you’d done that, everyone else had continued on with their little YouTube game. 

Now, here you were, completely exhausted, practically dragging yourself to bed, ready to sleep. Just barely managed to wash your face before Jake had hopped into the bathroom, right after you, to brush his teeth.

But before you could make it inside your room, he passed by behind you. You weren’t even looking. You’d just smelled his heavenly cologne, a favorite scent of yours (and the baby’s, apparently) flood the space around you. You knew he wasn’t actually drenched in the smell of sandalwood and vanilla, but your baby-powered-super-senses could’ve convinced you otherwise. He smelled delicious and you could easily drown in him. 

Though, instead of focusing on that, you let yourself act on something that was threatening to leave your lips. No matter how hard you tried to stop it, your tired brain wouldn’t let the words halt. 

“Please don’t stop pursuing your dream or any other thing just because of everything that’s happening with me and the baby,” you rushed out, peeking up through your lashes for a moment before locking eyes with your hand on the knob of your door. “I don’t want you to ever feel like this is taking up too much space in your life or causing any unnecessary stress. You can back out whenever you want if you feel like that’s what you need and I won’t be upset with you for—.”

“No,” Jake responded, soft and stern, moving to stand in front of you. You had no choice but to look up at him, he was standing so close to you. His eyes bore into yours. “I’m not going to back out. I couldn’t do that–wouldn’t ever do that. I want this. I promise. It’s everything else, I think, that’s stressful. The baby is something I get to look forward to,” he reassured, his voice wavering just enough to worry you. 

But you didn’t let it get to you. Tiredness prevailed above any doubtful emotion you could’ve mustered. You could only sleepily nod your head at his words. 

“The baby inspires me even more to make it all happen,” he rasped in a velvety tone, assuring you. After, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. Your sleepy eyes slowly followed the motion. You wished it was you. “Everything else is still exciting, too. . . But it’s a lot and it gets me thinking about how different everything is about to be. It’s scary. But– it’s. . . the baby makes it all seem brighter. Better. I’m not just doing it for me anymore. Not even for my brothers. It’s for my baby,” his full lips spread into a loose, close-mouthed grin. “Our baby.”

Your tummy flip-flopped and all you wanted to do at that moment was kiss him. You felt the slightest inkling that he wanted the same, with the way he’d brought his body in front of you, closer than he needed to. But. . . you blamed it all on tiredness. There was no way you could trust yourself to make actual, coherent assumptions. You were getting carried away, and even though you wondered of the possibility that he could want it, you cut off the idea. 

Tired or not, you knew one thing. He didn’t want you. He had a girlfriend. A real relationship with a woman much more beautiful than you. So, before you could get trapped in his big, beautiful brown eyes any longer, you decided to bid him goodnight. 

Though, just as you’d opened your door to go into your room, he stopped you. “Hey, real quick,” he cleared his throat. You looked up at him, confused at the sudden stop. “Maya–um,” he shook his head, brows furrowed as he messed with his bottom lip. “She told me that she wanted me to help however I possibly could. She wants me to be attentive and helpful in any way I can be.” 

He was right there - a step away. His breath, fanning over your face. You could smell the mint of his toothpaste. “Obviously with limits,” his voice lowered a bit as his eyes peered down at you. 

What was that supposed to mean? Surely he didn’t mean. . . But, you responded the only way you could think to.

“Obviously. . .,” you trailed off, raising a brow out of complete confusion for the conversation’s direction. “I wouldn’t want you to cross any sort of boundary. You’re in a relationship with her. Not me.” 

“Yeah. She’s my girlfriend,” he replied, voice rasping on a hitched breath. His body felt as though it was wrapped around yours in an act of protection. He’d brought his hand up, above your heads, as his body curved in towards you. After a pause, he continued. “But I don’t want to make any boundaries with the baby ever. Not at all. I want to be present. From now until always.” 

Suddenly, the moment was gone for you. There was no way he’d ever meant it as anything more. All he’d meant was you needed to remember there were boundaries. This was all about the baby. It was selfish to ever think any different. 

You knew better than to believe any different than that. Your thoughts got out of hand so damn easily these days. Why did you let them wander so far when you fucking knew better?

You backed up, your back touching the doorframe behind you. He scrunched his brows, but you weren’t sure why he was acting confused. It was late. You were definitely imagining things. He was just tired, too. . . that was all. 

“So. . .,” he cleared his throat. “Just let me know however I can help with the baby. Please.” 

“Okay,” you whispered with a quiet nod of your head.

“Okay,” he muttered with a gentle, distant grin. He nodded his head as well. And right before he opened the door to his room, his words barely touched the air as he told you goodnight. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 28, 2022

Covid. Gia had Covid.

Your heart broke for her having to deal with that absolutely terrible illness. And your nerves were climbing up the wall at not being able to see her. She wasn’t so bad that you couldn’t email her if you had questions or needed advice. But, you also knew better than to bother someone who was sick with something like Covid. 

So, you were spending the time that you would have been gearing up to go to Gia’s office, on this chilly autumn day, pacing back and forth in your living room. Cuticles thin from chewing and perspiration accumulated at your hairline and under your arms, you weren’t sure what to do. 

The idea of losing time on healing before the baby arrived was stressful to say the very least. You didn’t want to be any less of a mother than your baby deserved. He or she deserved a mentally stable mom. . . and in order to get there, you required several hours on Gia’s couch. 

All that could wave through your one-track mind was how terrible you felt for being so stressed about your healing while Gia was so sick. She was the one who needed to get healthy sooner rather than later.

You tried to remember the words Gia had put at the tail end of the email she had sent. She’d put in a few words that reminded you how well she knew you.

Don’t stress too much about the session being cancelled. :) Things happen and we have plenty of time, y/n.

Those words, typed specifically to assure you. Except, you’d worked yourself up too much for it to work very well after you’d read the title line of her email. Just a few, simple words: Out Sick – Sorry!

If even Gia’s words weren’t helping to calm your nerves, you weren’t sure how you were going to make it through to the next appointment.

After an hour of feeling unsure about literally everything, you decided the only way you were going to make it was by doing some other form of self care. And the first thing that came to your mind was food. Food always sounded good these days (nausea taking a backseat thanks to your meds and second trimester), and it would help you feel better while also supporting the baby’s health in the womb.

But it took you no time to get sad because you didn’t know what kind of food you wanted. . .

You’d resolved to just not being able to win at life for the day when you heard the front door jingle on the other side with the sound of a key unlocking. 

Jake was home. Fuck. He was home to take you to therapy and you hadn’t even thought to text him and tell him– shit. Instead of doing what he would have rather been doing, he’d made a useless trip home. 

It didn’t take him long at all to notice you sulking next to the window, face-palming next to the it, where you’d been people watching minutes ago, from your vantage point a few stories up. 

“What’s wrong?” He questioned, concerned, as he came right up beside you. “What’s going on?”

Whenever you looked up from having your eyes pressed into your hand, you refocused your eyes on his worried ones. “I don’t have counseling today,” you sullenly stated. And rather than going into any more details, you just apologized. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. There was no point in you coming home.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he calmly reassured. Again, you found his line of sight. His eyes felt like the sweetest reassurance. “You look like you could use someone to talk to.”

“Don’t waste your time on me,” you waved him off, scrunching your brows in an effort to seem nonchalant. “Just go back to doing what you were doing.”

“Well, I don’t have any plans because I was planning on being with you all night,” he laughed just a bit, under his breath. He flicked at the tip of his nose with a pointer finger. 

“All night?” Your stomach swirled at the thought, but you also felt incredible guilt at stealing that time from him. “God, I’m so sorry, Jake.”

“Please don’t be.” It was his turn to wave you off while shaking his head. He swept a hand through his hair. “I’m glad I was here– glad that I am here.”

You didn’t really know what to say. There wasn’t anything you two could do that wouldn’t get completely awkward after a while. Right? It was only four o’clock and he planned on spending the rest of the evening with you? What were you going to–?

“What do you want to do?” He asked, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders. “Wanna stay here? Order in? Go out and do something?”

Going out sounded like a date. . . and that felt wrong to do. But you also absolutely despised the idea of staying inside of the apartment to wallow for a second longer. . . . 

And it didn’t take you very long to realize you were still wanting food, hunger starting to feel like empty weight in your rounded tummy. 

“Food?”

“Food,” he agreed with a grin, winking at you before turning around, effectively making your brain turn to complete mush as you grabbed your own jacket and followed him out the door. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

The night was one of the best you’d had in a while.

He’d taken you to get Panera. Weird, yes, but their tomato basil soup had been calling your name the second it’d come to mind, as you'd searched places to eat.

And after sitting across from each other and just talking about his budding career and your classes, at Panera Bread. . . he'd told you he wanted to take you somewhere special. And, just as the sun was setting, you’d pulled up to a Barnes & Noble on your side of Brooklyn.

“Tell me why you’re stressed,” he’d said, putting his car in park.

A used, four-door (hard top, thankfully) Jeep. An all-black, mid-thousands model. After riding around in it all evening, you’d noticed it rode really well. It was just slightly strange that he had a car. He hadn’t had one when you’d been. . .

You cleared your throat, back on the subject at hand. “I never said I was stressed,” you stated, feeling ready to combat the truth. For whatever stupid reason. 

“You didn’t have to say it,” he breathed deeply through his nose, turning down the classic rock station he’d been playing. “I know you.”

Deciding it wasn’t worth a debate (because it was the truth–you had been very stressed earlier), you sighed; running a hand through your loose, natural waves, you responded. “Well, I’m just. . . this therapy is for me, yes, sure. But it really is mostly for the baby,” you explained. He sighed and you placed the hand you’d combed through your hair on your rounded bump, covered by your favorite oversized sweatshirt. “And having one session lost that I can’t be working on getting healed for the baby stressed me the fuck out. Still kind of is,” you admitted, glancing out of the small, rectangular windshield. “I just want to be completely better by the time the baby is here.”

“What are you most worried about?” He softly pondered, prompting you to talk through it. 

“That I’ll be just like my mom and project my hurt onto my baby,” you said wetly, swallowing the thickness in your throat. “I have so much in me that I don’t understand and it scares me how much I don’t remember – can’t remember,” you blinked to allow the new tear to make its way down your cheek before quickly reaching to wipe it away. “And it scares the shit out of me. It makes me. . . this terrible person to other people. I need to understand all of me, so my baby gets the best parts of me.” Sniffling, you swiped at your cheeks to rid yourself of the few more tears that cascaded down your cheeks. “And I don’t even remember the last time I saw those best parts. . . . so if I can’t see,” you huffed, your eyes finally piercing his, which stayed on you, intently listening “H-how is my child going to see them?”

Jake hummed, rubbed his chin. He never took his deep-set, amber-brown irises from yours. “It’s funny,” he started, a little grin ghosting over his lips as he spoke, “I’m seeing those best parts of you right now. I see those 'best parts of you' quite often.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you unzipped and reached into your belt bag for your heart monitor phone, willing it to not go off. There were butterflies wreaking havoc in your tummy. Naturally, your hands found their way to your tummy. His eyes followed that particular movement.

“How do you–?” You sniffed, shaking your head, zipping your bag back after a moment. “How do you see those things? I haven’t seen them since before you came into my li–- for a long time. And never consistently. . .,” you rambled, eyebrows drawn together, thumbs rubbing circles over the tight bump. “I’ve always been a bit of a wild card with my emotions. And finding out more of what I'd done from Elsie. . . I'm just way too similar to my–.”

“Do you think she was as self aware as you are?”

“I don’t know,” you answered, honestly. You would go with no, but. . . “I don’t know her well enough to make that judgment.”

“Okay,” he nodded, sticking his bottom lip out. A grin found its way to his plush lips, looking so kissable in the cramped space of the car. You leaned further into the door so as to not tempt yourself of anything. He continued, “Well, I would say she probably wasn’t. Or else you wouldn’t be wracked with so much significant trauma. She wouldn’t have left you hanging with so much to deal with. . . she would have been there for you. Helped you because she would've wanted to help herself. Would've been self aware enough for that,” he emphasized. “Parents say stupid shit. They do stupid shit. They’re humans. What matters is how they ultimately react.”

“But I react so brashly, Jake,” you argued, needing to be heard. “What happens if I do that to our–?”

“You won’t. I know you won’t,” he consoled you, his eyes so earnest as he conveyed the words. “You struggle with saying stupid shit. I do, too. So does everyone. You’ll figure out how to handle situations better, but it won’t be as hard as you think,” he shook his head, taking the keys from the ignition. “Not for you. You are determined. And you’re not this monster you’ve made up in your head.”

“Well, –,” you started, interrupting him, only to be cut off. 

“And your best parts are too many to name right now,” he surmised, winking at you once more. You rubbed wider, nervous circles on your tummy. “But one of my favorites is your determination to help others. The way you care for others. And if a mother has those qualities,” he pointed a finger at your tummy, and trailed the finger up to point at your face. “She will be one helluva fantastic mother. I’m glad our baby will have you.”

“Thank you,” you replied after the words had actually cracked the surface of your mental warfare. No voice appeared to combat what he’d said, so you let them sink, all the way down into your brain to truly consider for later. You didn’t fight them. . . which you viewed as progress. “Thank you so much. I–I needed to hear those things. And you were the perfect person to hear them from,” you blushed, crinkling your nose with the words. A smile settled on your lips, eyes drying. “Because I know you’re going to be the best daddy to this baby. I’ve known it for a long time. . . So, it means a lot that you think the same. Seriously.”

“Of course I think so,” he smiled, glancing once more at your tummy. “And the way you're always holding our baby. . . you love her so, so much. You’re already so intentional about loving her.”

“Her?” You asked aloud, wondering why he’d chosen that gender. Your hands held tighter to your tummy at the assumption. “Why girl?”

He hummed, looking out the windshield, past your head, with a wide grin. “It just feels right,” he concluded, before motioning at the windshield, nodding towards it. “Look.”

You did as he said, turning to see a mother and son (presumably) traipsing up to the store, just past the nearest cart corral. The little boy was skipping, and the mother was watching her like the entire world started and stopped with the child. The sky was bluer because he was around. You felt that. 

“The way you’re watching them says enough, honey,” he concurred. There was that nickname again. . . Honey. Your heart skipped a beat at the term. “I see it all over you. You’re going to mess up. Parents do. My parents did a lot and I still think they’ve been the best parents.” When he gave a small, breathy laugh, you looked his way. He rubbed a finger over his bottom lip. “But what good parents do after they mess up is– they have humility and apologize. They show integrity to their child. You do that. Already. For me.”

Sitting across from him in the still air of the Jeep, you let your eyes bounce back and forth between his. His smell, warm, sweet, and woodsy, was enveloping every sense of your body, in the taut air of the vehicle. His breathing laced with yours, your heaving chest kept up with the rhythm of his. He was steadier than you. . . he seemed fine. 

You felt anything but. Your emotions were going haywire at everything he’d just said. The man he was to you. . . he was too good to be true. 

But, instead of letting yourself get sad that he wasn't yours, you looked at the store behind you and cleared your throat. It opened up your mind and the air in the car. He blinked a few times, tilting his head slightly, watching you. 

“Wondering why we’re here?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I thought– let’s get out,” he said, pausing the conversation to unload from the Jeep. You followed his lead, taking the tall step as gracefully as you could to get down and out. The slip almost happened–but didn’t. Thank god. 

Joining him at the back of the car, you waited for him to lead the way and continue. You wrapped your jacket tighter around your body, over the sweatshirt. There was a bite in the air that hadn’t been there before. Jake tightened his jacket, too, tucking his hands in the pockets of it. “I brought us here because I knew you were stressed. I knew it probably had to do with the baby,” he started, looking down at you. You felt his stare, looking up to meet it. “So I thought maybe coming here to get some books to study and prepare would help you feel more at peace about whatever was on your mind,” he drew in a breath before blowing it out into the cold, dry air. “And now that I know it had to do with preparedness, this was kind of–.”

“Perfect,” you finished, nudging him with your shoulder. 

He looked down for a second, his eyes read an unknown emotion before he kept on. “I know you probably have a lot of books already, but–.”

“There’s no such thing as too many,” you replied, leading the way through the automatic doors. 

“Precisely,” he agreed, coming to a stop as soon as the two of you had entered. Raising a brow, he looked down at you before throwing a thumb over to the in-store coffee house. “Want something?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” you responded with a light smile, walking toward the smell of comforting coffee and cakes. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

He’d footed the bill the whole night. . . including the surplus of books from Barnes & Noble. It had been a hefty bill, but he’d refused to let you pay. He had convinced you it was part of co-parenting – sharing purchases. And this was one of his first purchases to make for the baby.

“This was a good idea,” you mentioned at the end of the evening, juggling your one bag of books that you’d insisted Jake let you carry (the lightest one, after compromise) as you led the way up the stairs of your complex. “Focusing on other ways we can prepare for the baby, rather than worrying about what we can’t control.”

“I have a decent idea every now and then,” he chuckled, out of breath as he handled the bulk. 

Once you made it to the door, you unlocked it for the two of you.

And, for a moment, it felt so domestic.

It felt like a dream you shouldn’t dream. Arriving home after a big shopping run, walking through the door together as you laughed at the heaviness of bags and discussed a few of the books you’d chosen.

And as you made your way through the door finally, it broke your heart to see the night go. He wasn’t necessarily acting ready to end it, but the impending ending made your stomach turn. You wanted this for longer. 

He was going on and on about all of the things he’d researched as of late concerning babies and pregnancy and everything in between. You decided on grabbing a Canada Dry from the fridge, letting him sort the books on the counter into categories as he kept conversation easily.

Every now and then, you offered a small response to show you were listening, but otherwise, you let him talk. You loved listening to him talk about all of this. 

It made your heart feel ten times bigger. Though, as you took a sip of your ginger ale, watching him sort the books, your heart began to sink instead. 

You couldn’t help how much you adored his desire to learn about all things ‘baby’. He was already so good at his job as dad.

The way you’d felt all night–so peaceful with him. . . you knew it was good for you. He was literally your mental safe place (you hadn’t told him that though. Absolutely not). But. . . you knew it couldn’t go past the feeling of good friendship. Co-parenthood.

The unfortunate part, though, was that you really felt unable to stop the way you were feeling for him. It felt new and familiar all at once.

Though, you knew you couldn’t let yourself feel that way. You shouldn’t.

But with the way his eyes lit up when you looked up at him again, after staring at your feet in your whirlwind of contemplation, you knew you were doomed. 

There was no stopping the way that you felt about him. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

One morning at the very end of November, you woke up with a cold. A terrible one. The same cold that every other person in your classes was seeming to come down with. Theo had been gone with it all week, and you saw him more frequently than not to study. You’d decided on one or two days a week after class. There were also the few people who sat around you in class, who’d come down with it.

So, it was due time for you. 

Normally, you would have tried to make it through the day. But, you’d done enough reading to learn that coming down with a serious infection like the flu or Covid could lead to a baby’s fetal development getting stunted. So, you played it safe and decided to stay home until you felt better.  

You had called in to work that morning. And just after that, you’d emailed the professor you had that day to let  him know. Everyone you had spoken to was understanding, luckily, which helped you to sleep very peacefully. You only hoped that the extra sleep wasn’t just helpful to you, but also–mostly–to the baby.

Sleeping off the sick seemed the best option. You hadn’t really had the mental energy that morning to look into safe medicine to take for colds during pregnancy. So, sleeping it was.

Your colds were always intense–all of your sicknesses were. When you got sick, it never failed to knock you on your ass. So instead of stressing over it all that morning, you’d chosen sleep as the easier route.

You had been hoping that you’d wake up from a long nap feeling refreshed and better. . .but. . . you were not so lucky.

When your eyes fluttered open for the second time that day to find what was left of the evening sun peeking through your curtains, you officially knew it was time to figure something out. Your eyes were burning–hurt to open. There was an ache settled firmly in every bone in your body–weren’t sure if you were cold or hot. . . 

You were definitely sick. More than a cold. No two ways about it.

When you turned to your bedside table for a drink from your Stanley, you found your bedside table had a couple new additions since you’d fallen asleep. There was a brand new Stanley sitting next to your old one. One you’d eyed for a few minutes online a week or so ago, and then decided against due to the monstrously obnoxious size. . . 

You’d talked to Jake about it after he’d noticed your pensive face looking at your phone screen for longer than necessary. . . And now, there it sat on your white, wooden night stand. A 64 ounce, rose quartz Stanley, in all of its glory. 

And leaning against it and next to it were a concoction of helpful remedies with a couple of sticky notes to explain each of their benefits. The handwriting gave him away. Jake. In his scrawl, he detailed what to take and when, which ones you could take together. He’d even written out the link to a website talking about pregnancy-safe cold meds. There was also a fruit punch Gatorade. When you reached out, it was still cold. He’d been in recently.

Moving on from the drink and meds, you glanced at the Stanley and saw it had a sticky sitting underneath it, waiting to be read. 

Plenty of water will help you and the baby stay healthy. It was worth it 

It had perfect timing and came in the mail today of all days

:) –Jake

The note effectively had your head spinning from something other than sickness. . .his kind gesture, making your stomach do soft flips. Your hand floated to touch your tummy at the idea of him doing so sweet for you (and for the baby–his baby).

After reading his advice on what to take, you went ahead and took some Tylenol for your headache and body aches, then used a nasal spray to help loosen up whatever drainage you could. The Vicks rub he’d left had been a welcome solvent on your chest, temples, and under your nose. 

But, it didn’t take long for your stomach to start rumbling, so you took that as your sign to find something that would ease the scratch in your throat and warm you up. 

You went out to the kitchen for food, holding your brand new Stanley, taking several healthy sips of the iced water from it. When you bent down to pour food in Stevie’s dish, you realized there was already kibble in there. . . that Jake undoubtedly left for her.

You were sure your heart monitor was picking up all kinds of strange palpitations at his gestures. 

Around the time you’d noticed Stevie’s food, you went to text him to tell him thank you. Only to find he’d sent a text about twenty minutes ago saying he’d left for the night. And while it made your heart sink, you knew you had no right to feel sad about it. . . especially when he’d done so much to help you before you’d even woken from your nap. 

To add emphasis to that thought, you noticed at just the right time that he’d also left a couple Panera soups waiting on the counter for you. God. . . he was wonderful. You read the note he’d left with the two little sealed containers.

Soup is the best when you’re sick :) 

–Jake 

Your body was already hurting a little less after you’d heated and almost instantly downed one of the delicious soups. A warm shower sounded more than tempting, so you didn’t waste time throwing away your trash and making your way to grab the shower steamer pods he’d left for you on your bedside table (they were a pregnancy-safe brand, he’d assured on a sticky, which made you softly smile). 

After placing them in the heating shower to begin dissolving the comforting notes of lavender and rose, you padded back to the kitchen for your new Stanley when you noticed something on the counter.

In an arranged group on the counter sat a few books you'd bought the other night. You recognized them. They sat with a notebook, stickies, and pens. Two of the books were closed, stacked, and tabbed with stickies–all bright pinks, greens, and blues.

Though, there was one more, face up and open, as if he’d had to leave unplanned and hadn’t had time to shut it. There was a pad of stickies sitting atop the page it was opened to. A pen was on top of the pad, which, when you walked closer, realized there was plenty of Jake’s scrawl already written on it. The page had a heading that read:

Props and pillows and sleep, oh my! 

And he’d written the following on his sticky, which lay upon the page: 

–Look into pregnancy pillows for y/n

–Be patient!! 

–Do what you can to help her find the right set up for sleep or rest 

–Adhere to her sleep schedules (no loud sounds or bright lights when she’s asleep, etc) 

–She needs sufficient rest (has healthy outcomes for her and the baby)

You went to look at the cover of the book, but before you could look at it, you stopped yourself. For some reason, it felt like an invasion of his privacy. Even though he’d left it open on the counter, these were his notes, not yours.

But just before you could walk any further to the bathroom and ignore his notes, the book stacked on top of the other had a note stuck to the top of it. And, written in bold, black sharpie, were the words Remember: Do WHATEVER you can to help y/n – it’s for the BABY!

The words it’s for the baby being written with finality at the end of the statement reminded you that chances were, all of this was not really for you. . . definitely not. You didn’t deserve that from him. No, whatever was for you was done for the ultimate benefit of the baby.

All of everything he did was for the baby. All of the words of reassurance. The trip to the bookstore. Panera. The meds tonight. Taking you to counseling. . . ev-ery-thing.

And that was fine. . .

So why was a tear drawn to your eye as you sped away from the book that sat on top of the counter? And why had you felt the need to go back to your room on the way to the shower, to get the Stanley cup you’d bought yourself? Why did the thought of using the one Jake bought for you make your stomach feel all tangled and weird?

Because he doesn’t care about you, a voice nagged, reminding you. It was a familiar voice, filtering in from the dark tresses of your mind. He doesn’t care about you. This is for the baby. So if you feel like it’s for you, know it’s not. Let him help the baby. Don’t be selfish. The baby matters most. 

You couldn’t help but agree with the voice. The baby did matter most. Not you.

So, you resolutely chose to wait out the calming scent of the steamer, until it all pooled down the drain. Stepping in when the scent was gone seemed the only option, as the way the shower calmed you was only for your benefit and not necessarily the baby’s. 

Yes, it sounded fucked up and foolish in your head. But you were trying to navigate these thoughts the best you fucking could and you were grasping for something that made sense. But all you were doing was making no sense. 

God, what the fuck, y/n?

And, stupidly, for whatever fucking selfish reason (because you knew for sure you were selfish–evidence proved that), you found yourself hiccuping on tears that hurt your already-aching body, under the lukewarm spray of the shower.

He didn't truly care about you. Not really. It was all for the baby.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Once your mind was lucid after your little cold-sickness stint, you noticed stretch marks had started showing up. One by one, they’d started becoming stark and apparent and made you feel gross. 

The creams and oils you’d ordered seemed to help the slightest bit with the new darkness of the few tiger stripe-like lines. They truly looked heinous against your otherwise unmarred skin. You’d felt insecurities really begin to kick in after you’d cried in the shower on the first day out of three of your sickness. 

During the latter three days of your cold (or whatever the hell it was), you’d sulked and avoided Jake’s help in whatever way you could. You wanted his help with the baby. Only with the baby. But the baby wasn’t there yet. 

So, you didn’t need his help. He didn’t need to care about you. Only the baby. It was common sense. And it would be fine. 

But it still made you feel oddly unwanted. The feeling didn’t matter. 

But, for you, with your utterly complicated past, feeling unwanted came hurtling towards you, without any sign of stopping.

Since you were a child, feeling unwanted in your mother’s grimy home, a whole range of other negative emotions accompanied that familiar feeling. Most call it depression. Your oldest friend.

And, it had officially lit up for this new stage of your life. Why enjoy things for too long? It wasn’t worth it. Right?

So, the way your skin was beginning to scar due to growth you absolutely couldn’t control. . . it just set misery aflame in your amped-up insecurities and dispirit. 

On the first night of December, the depressive thoughts persisted. You stood with your big sleep t-shirt tucked up under your heavy-ass boobs as you lathered your tummy up with the last oil in your new, nightly anti-stretch mark routine. As you did so, tears pooled in your eyes at the sight of yourself. 

And, seemingly out of nowhere, your thoughts picked up on a different train. . . something you hadn’t really taken time to be super upset about yet. The thought slipped in amongst the rest of your woes. 

It was the thought of being a single mother.

And while it didn’t matter and wasn’t completely true, because Jake would be there, you’d still be doing it on your own in a sense. You would be on your own. The two of you definitely weren’t together. He wouldn’t be there with you. He would just be there, doing his own thing for the baby, with Maya by his side. (Nausea crept up at her name alone. Gag.)

You were going to be a single mother. Just like your own moth–. No. You locked eyes with yourself in the mirror, momentarily stopping the massaging of your belly. 

I will not let my mind go there, you asserted silently, staring daggers through your reflection. I am not her. I am not. I can’t be. I won’t be. What would Gia say? What would Jake say?

Amidst your crying and sorrowful thoughts, the knock on the door of the bathroom kind of spooked you. And, in the depths of your despair, you couldn’t really care fucking less who saw you right now. That was just how pitiful you felt. 

“Come in,” you said, sniffing and trying to cover the sound of tears in your voice by swallowing them. 

When the door began opening, you had to scoot over a little to let Jake in. You knew it was him. He’d been home all night with you, while Maya was busy doing whatever the hell she needed to do for her job. 

He’d spent a couple hours catching up on New Girl with you and it had been nice. Except, anytime you thought about how it wasn’t really for your benefit and rather him just being your friend for the baby. . . It just wasn't the same.

“You okay?” He carefully pondered, coming to stand slightly behind you in the mirror.

But, as soon as he appeared next to you and saw your current state of dress, his eyes went immediately to your bare tummy. He stayed trained on the bump that continued to grow, day by day. Still not huge, but definitely not small.

Insecurities were instantly blossoming at his stare. He was not looking away for anything, lost in a trance. He was probably in shock at just how big your belly had gotten, compared to the last time he’d seen you like this. Chances were, he was repulsed by what he saw. 

You effectively decided the stretch marks had been tended to enough for the night. You went to pull your Pratt shirt over the exposed skin. But to your surprise, his hand was shooting out, around your body, just as quick, to stop you before you could pull it down too far. 

He definitely succeeded in stopping you, holding your wrist. You were in shock – skin flaming at his touch . . .felt it everywhere. 

“I want to see,” he requested, sort of breathless. What? He wanted to–? “You look–this is–.”

“Ugly? Fat? Disgust–?”

“Beautiful,” he firmly stated, his eyes finally locking with yours in the mirror at the word. “This is beautiful. You are beautiful.”

His hand still held your hand over shirt, not daring to touch your belly. You couldn’t move to make the position change. The fact that he’d just called you beautiful was like a lightning bolt to your entire nervous system.

“I’m not–,” you shook your head, at a loss for words. You did not fully agree with him. Was it beautiful that you were holding the baby? Was the baby beautiful inside? Yes. But were you loving your body these days? Absolutely not. “The stretch marks. . . I’m so fucking big. . .”

“You aren’t,” he suddenly dropped his hand, and you were missing his touch as soon as it was gone. He went to lean against the bathroom counter, facing you. His eyes bounced between your belly and your eyes, settling on your irises as he continued. “You are not any of the things you called yourself. I don’t think any of those things when I see you. . . I don’t even understand how you could–,” he shook his head, blinking once before finding your eyes. “I just see a woman who is special to me. A beautiful woman who is carrying my baby.”

Carrying my baby. 

Those words. . . they did something to you. Your palms were sweaty as you held tighter to your shirt, rolled under your boobs.

“The baby is beautiful,” you concurred. And surprisingly, you didn’t trip over your words. “But I am–.”

“You are beautiful. I am talking about you right now,” he stated, with no room for disagreement in his tone. “Don’t discount that. Please.”

“Are you just saying these things because I’m carrying your baby?”

Where did that come from? Shit. Nothing like baring your most vulnerable feelings to the very person you feel most vulnerable in front of. . . 

“No,” he said without pause. He sounded sure. “You have always been beautiful. It’s just. . . enhanced now. I can’t. . .it’s hard to explain.”

You wanted to ask him to try to explain it but you didn’t.

All of a sudden, you felt confident to ask more. 

“You don’t just think so because of the baby? Do you just care about me because of the baby?”

Jesus. There it was. 

“We’ve gone over this,” he sighed, rubbing circles against his temple. He didn’t keep on with the action, instead stuffing his hands in his pockets as he found your eyes with his. 

“I know, but I just. . . I feel like I don’t matter. I mean, I really don’t right now do I?" You sarcastically laughed, eyes watering. "All I’m good for is being the big, fat incubator who hates her body and has ugly fucking stretch marks because my belly won’t slow the fuck–.”

“It’s good that it won’t slow down,” he reassured, amber-brown irises smiling with his lopsided grin. “It means the baby’s healthy and growing.”

“But you do think I’m an incubator,” you stubbornly persisted. “Didn’t say anything to argue that.” Your tone unnecessarily snipped with your next words, “Jake, you just want to help the baby. I know this. So just wait until the baby’s here. Don’t worry about me or making me feel better if you just want to help the–.”

“Where are you getting this from?”

You stared at each other for a few moments. . . . He gave you a look that told you he could see you.

“My mind is a really twisty place,” you huffed a humorless laugh, rubbing your own temples now. “It never shuts the fuck up,” you paused–didn’t want to say anything about the sticky note on the book that had spurred the thoughts. The same thoughts you’d voiced the night you’d told him. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve already been insecure about all of this shit. It’s just–.”

“I don’t view you as an incubator,” he insisted, crossing his arms, strong fingers wrapping around stronger biceps. “I view you as a brave fucking woman who is being selfless as hell. You’re growing a fucking human, y/n,” he said, grin widening. You felt your lips lift, too. He continued, “And I can’t help but be amazed by that alone every. single. day. And while that is beautiful, yes - I won’t say it isn’t because it is,” he unwaveringly asserted. 

“But. . . it’s more,” he kept on. “You’ve been this woman-the one in front of me - for a long ass time–before I ever knew you. Though, since I’ve known you, I’ve had the privilege of seeing this woman. I knew your heart right off the bat–since the day Josh told me about this girl who was letting a man she didn’t know move into her fucking home. Just because she cared about the situation. Didn't even know me," He raised a brow, lips quirking as yours did the same. “You’re selfless and–,” he paused. 

His eyes shut briefly before opening to yours. Except this time. . . they were wet with emotion. Yours were, too. Your heart was pounding and you felt warm with a blush, from your chest to your face.

“And kind. So thoughtful when you don’t need to be. You care a whole fuckin’ lot for others and sometimes it gets you in trouble because you get in your head and it hurts you,” he said, brows dipped with a shake of his head. “But the fact that your heart is the way it is in spite of everything you’ve been through–I can’t even imagine, y/n. All of that and so much fucking more makes you beautiful,” he tucked his hair behind his ears before they went back into his pockets. “So, no, it’s not just because of the baby. It’s just one more thing that makes you beautiful.”

You were utterly speechless, and you couldn’t stop the wetness in your own eyes, a tear trickling down your own cheek. . . How could he even begin to say all of those things about you when you’d been so terrible to him? Always made assumptions?

You weren’t sure how much time passed when you finally swallowed down your own tears and found the most simple words you could mutter. “Thanks, Jake,” you whispered.

“Don’t thank me,” he winked. It clicked with you that you could faintly hear your heart monitor phone going off in your room. It was alerting you of unusual heart activity. No fucking wonder - with the poetry the man had just spoken. He heard it, too, apparently, brows wrinkling. “What is that sound that’s been going off for the last few–?”

“My heart monitor phone. My heart is beating really fucking hard in my chest right now and the monitor picked up on the palpitations,” you blushed, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear as you finally pulled your shirt down. “I’m not used to hearing people say things like that about me. It just catches me off guard when you–,” you coughed, blinking as you located some sense. “When anyone says sweet things like that to me.”

Then, you were back in time. Yet again. On the living room floor. That day it'd rained. . . a quiet, gray morning. He'd said things so like what he'd said just now. The same day those Aretha Franklin songs had sealed a place in your heart. Well– both of your hearts, apparently. . . according to Jake at the bar.

A comfortable silence had crept over the two of you that morning, he’d so obviously been watching you– admiring you–not to be mistaken for anything else as you'd laid atop him.

His next words confirmed it. 

“Even in the grayness of this morning, you shine so bright,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “You fucking glow, y/n. You’re just brilliant.”

All you’d been able to utter was a measly, “Thank you.” The sound of tears in your throat, behind your response, had surprised you.

“Has no one ever told you?” Jake had pondered, his warm chest breathing steadily and comfortably beneath you.

You’d explained how Josh and Elsie were kind to you, but. . . “hearing you say something like that. . .,” you’d emphasized to him. “Those words. . . It just feels good. I don’t know,” you’d shaken your head, a tear falling to meet his tanned chest. “And no one has ever said those exact words to me, no.”

“You are all of that and more, my lo—,” he’d cleared his throat, stopping himself from saying a word your heart was now longing so badly to hear. “You are so many things wrapped in one, y/n. So many fantastic things.”

“Stop,” you’d sniffed, more tears falling onto his chest. “You don’t have to say things like that. I promise I’ll still want to have sex with you if you don’t,” you’d laughed, wiping your leftover tears. The words had sounded funny (true, but still funny) as they’d left your mouth. 

“I want to tell you those things,” he’d said, firm in his response. “You deserve to hear those good things. Sex or not.”

And tonight had proven that he truly meant that statement. No sex, and still. . . .

But . . . goddamn. The sex. 

With that thought in mind, you couldn’t help but watch the sway of his ass in his tight black jeans as you followed out of the bathroom behind him. You bit your lip after bidding him goodnight– only able to think of how fucking badly you missed the sex. 

“I fucking love you,” he'd once told you - on the very night that had gotten you in this predicament. “And god, do I love fucking you. . .”

Not that word. . . Where had it come from just now?!

Love. Love. Love. Love. You hardly ever thought of him saying it to you–tried not to because it hurt and you knew it wasn’t true anymore.

But when he’d said those sweet things about you being beautiful just now. . . apparently, your mind couldn't help but chant the word . . .and the sound of him saying it to you. Why?! He was just being kind.

It was so hard wanting him and not being able to have him. . . Not like you ever actually had him - but before you fucked everything up with your stupid, hurtful words.

And, god, did you still want him. 

You couldn’t have him like that – all of the reasons were plain as day. But. . . at least you still had the memories. The wonderful memories. But being pregnant made the memories so much worse. . . because one little thought of how he felt inside of you had you actually throbbing for him.

As soon as you got to your bed, you were reaching into your bedside table for your favorite little vibrating instrument. The thought of that morning. . . the idea of having your breasts pushed against his bare chest again as he told you things just like he did tonight. . . You knew it wouldn’t take long for you to be unraveling. 

Before long, you were feeling all of the tremors you craved from Jake’s mouth, from the little toy held just right against your quivering bundle of nerves. And in less than five minutes, you were  shuddering, body tensing and releasing as you breathily moaned his name into your pillow.

-🌼🌼🌼-

December 4, 2022

Your week ended with a particularly exhausting day at the Black and Gold. 

Inventory had come out of nowhere. And, with Josh busy with his new career, it was mostly on you to prepare for it.

The two other girls who worked with you couldn’t give two shits and it showed when you’d shown up for a shift after theirs. Nothing was ever prepared in the evenings or the following mornings if they were in charge—and inventory week was no exception. 

In fact, it was glaringly more obvious when it was such an important week as inventory week. 

And having to do all of that after your few solid days of feeling like complete and utter crap and while being pregnant? It had been one of the longest days you’d had in your whole life (dramatic? Maybe. But whatever.). 

And to top it all off, you’d come home to the apartment being very warm to accommodate the cooler weather outside. 

For normal people, it probably felt nice to come into the warmth. And, most likely, it would’ve felt great to you before your pregnancy.

It was just too damn hot in the apartment tonight. You’d wanted to come home and take a warm shower to wash off the day and relax your sore muscles, but the temperature of the place had you throwing that idea away real quick.

So instead, you hurriedly went about feeding Stevie before rushing to your bedroom to dig out the box fan stuffed at the top of your closet. You’d bought it the summer the A/C had let out on you and your sister, and had kept it handy ever since for fear of it happening again. 

And at this exact moment, it felt just as hot to you as it did that summer the A/C quit working.

The fan was plugged in and blowing at full blast, towards the bed, in no time. It was sitting on top of your vanity seat, pointing right at your side of the bed. The speed at which you’d gotten it situated was astounding. And your sheets were cool and crisp and tempting you to climb into them when you pulled your covers down. 

But you couldn’t climb in yet with the way your bladder was squeezing and hurting with how badly you needed to pee. You’d put it off at the B&G, ready to get home. And then you’d come home to an uncomfortably steamy apartment.

Before heading to the bathroom, you stripped completely of your tight bra (thank you, God), your stuffy sweater and your leggings. Then, changed into a thin pair of pajama shorts and the first camisole you could find in your chest of drawers. And thankfully the thin strapped shirt had no built-in bra to constrict you. 

You’d welcomed Stevie into your room, her soft purrs and shaggy fur rubbing against your ankles as you promised her of your soon arrival back. 

Finally, after peeing and washing your face, you were ready to lay right in front of that fan. 

You stopped by the kitchen to quickly grab a Stanley from the counter– to find nothing. No Stanley. Neither of them.

Shit.

Slapping your forehead, you remembered almost instantly where they still sat on the counter at the Black and Gold. Both of them. Your rush to leave and rest from your long day had prompted you to forget a couple of your most prized possessions. 

Without your go-to water tumbler, you felt naked. And even more thirsty. 

Your day had been long and hard and now you were paying for it. Ugh.

When you scanned the kitchen for a quick alternative, your eyes immediately landed on the case of waters that Jake had recently bought for rehearsals only. You didn’t give two shits. You were bound to steal one to satiate your thirst. 

The one problem was. . .

It was sitting atop the fridge. Out of your reach. And with the few inches Jake had on you, he’d stacked it up there so it would be out of the way. You remembered him saying those exact words as you eyed the package now. Hated those words. 

Because not only was it out of the way, it was out of your reach. Out of your reach when you were dying of thirst and needed a drink of water. Stat.

Without thinking of risking anything, you went to grab a table chair quickly and quietly.

You had to be quiet because Jake was home and you did not want to wake him. Not when you were in cavewoman mode. . . and especially not with the way your tits and ass were flashing in your current choice of clothing. Or with the ugly heart monitor that was attached to your chest.

So, as carefully as possible, you sat the chair next to the side of the fridge with the waters and climbed on top of the seat to grab the case of Pure Life. Briefly, you worried about handling a heavy object while pregnant, but put it to the side when you realized pregnant women all over America handled water cases like this. You were fine. 

In the lapse of time it took you to contemplate holding the waters, and getting it off the counter, you misplaced the package on the counter top. And right as you silently stepped off the chair, the waters came crashing down onto the floor of the kitchen. The harsh sound of plastic smashing against the ground, filled with several heavy bottles of water, seemed to linger in the air around you as you stood there. One foot still on the chair, one off ready to go. 

Not able to change the fact that it crashed onto the ground, you just stood there and stared at the offensive case of water for a moment and cursed it for its loudness. But before you could silently wish harm for too long, you were bending to pick it up. 

Once it had been safely placed back on the counter with careful hands, you glanced towards Jake’s room. No movement or sound from it. He probably hadn’t heard — deep in sleep. 

And then. . . Your pregnant brain was sparking to life. 

There was a fucking Brita in the fridge. Filled to the brim with ice cold water, versus the room temperature water in the case. You’d just filled it this morning before class. And ice cold water sounded so much more appealing than lukewarm. . . 

If only you’d remembered before that you had the filtered water waiting in the pitcher. . . There wouldn’t have been a giant crash to possibly wake your roommate. 

Putting all of the irritation out of your mind, you went to grab a glass quickly from the cabinet, then hastily pried the pitcher from the refrigerator. With nervous hands, you poured until the glass was literally overflowing. 

“Shit!” You whispered at the mess, anxious to be rid of this situation. Tired and thirsty and still feeling warm even in your cami and shorts, your ears rushed with white noise.

This was not ending up like you’d planned.

The pitcher had safely found its spot back in the fridge and you were finally taking a drink from your (overfilled) glass, when you decided to multitask and grab a few paper towels to clean up the counter.

But when they wouldn’t rip off the roll, you yanked too hard. And that resulted in the water you were still drinking, to spill. It dripped down your chin, down your top mostly, and into the top of your shorts. Sensory overload was doing what it did best, overwhelming you—making you lose grip and had the glass falling from your hand and to the ground. 

That shatter was much worse than the water case falling, the shards thankfully large, but the few sparkling pieces of glass had you shushing Stevie away when she approached with curiosity. 

And if Stevie was approaching, then surely someone else had heard—

“Y/n, what’s going on?” Jake hushed, his voice close behind you, sounding like it was coming from the entryway of the kitchen. 

You stilled. Of course he'd woken up. You’d made a fuck ton of noise. Real nice.

You turned on your heel, just the slightest bit, to peek over your shoulder at him. And with the luck you’d already had with the night, the action made you effectively slip from the bit of water that had made its way under your foot. 

Falling, more like—and not using the counter to catch yourself like a sane person—towards the hard ground and glass, bump—baby— first—fuckfuckfu—.

Jake’s arms immediately wrapped around you, effectively stopping your fall. He hugged you tightly to him. One arm wrapped fully around your stomach, hand secured to your side, firmly in place. And the other hand— gripping your breast. . . fully. 

He had you wrapped up in him, ass pulled into his crotch to keep you steady.

And ho-ly fuck.

Your nipple hardened instantly at the feeling of him holding your chest. You’d been waiting to feel his hand hold your sore breasts. . . And your assumption had been correct. His touch eased the pain in them, felt deliciously good—his touch didn’t hurt them like everyone else seemed to do on contact. 

But then he began moving his hands away. 

No.

“I’m sorry— I-I didn’t mean to—.”

“Stay.”

The word just slipped out as you grabbed hold of his hand, keeping it secured where he’d initially placed it, carefully situating his fingers over your nipple for the sensation you longed for. 

And when you did, he squeezed the flesh through your thin shirt. His other hand gripped your hip, exposed just a bit by your shirt – the way his fingers held you there made you fearful that he’d leave marks.

You fucking hoped so. 

And fuck, if he didn’t like it, too. You could feel it against your ass.

The way he continued to massage his other hand on your chest, wrapping his fingers securely around your breast, feeling it, told you so, too. The impulsive urge to pull down the top of your shirt and give him full access was becoming more and more appealing by the second. 

But you didn’t do it. Didn’t want to do too much and scare him away. 

You just let his arm come to rest where he apparently wanted it to, fully over the other breast. He comfortably situated his arm, rubbed a purposeful thumb over your sensitive nipple. 

“Jake,” you whispered. Couldn’t help it. He elicited this feeling. “Please.”

With your words, he pressed his front harder against your ass. God, you could feel the shape of him.

Letting the moment take over, you decided to let your body lean into his, rested against him and pushed your ass purposefully into his hardening dick. The breath he sucked in was not lost on you, and you craved hearing it again, so you repeated the action against him. 

His hand tightened around your breast, and he began massaging it as he used his grip to pull you even closer to him. His thumb moved to rub tight circles around your taut nipple. It felt so good. . . your head fell back against his shoulder, sucking in your own breath between your teeth. The way he gently kneaded the flesh in his strong grip had electricity shooting through your chest, all the way down to your toes. 

Your heart was going crazy, beating frantically, barely letting up with its assault against your chest. The feeling of him against you was enough to make you lose your breath with the way your heart was clenching in your chest, all the way up to your throat.

And then you heard a familiar, faint beeping from your bedroom.

The blessed heart monitor phone. Tracking when your heart rate would increase. The stupid phone didn’t need to tell you that it was beating hard right now. And so what if you fainted? You would do it in Jake’s arms. No better place to be. 

All you knew was that you were elated that it was still in your room – and quiet enough to the average ear that it hopefully didn’t break the air of want between you and this man you wanted so. badly. 

Jake hadn’t heard it - or didn't care to stop if he had, that much seemed to be clear.

He angled his hips, pressing so cozily into your backside. You could feel all of him – moving in slow circles, while still pressed tightly to your ass. That continued on for a while until he nudged himself, right in the middle of your ass. You felt him pulsing. Tucked into you, making your core throb even more for him.

Your nerves were on fire, and when he began rolling his hips, thrusting into your ass. . . you released the tiniest moan. It was such a small sound that you briefly thought you’d imagined it. But then the hand that had been holding your hip came to wrap around your throat briefly, and then up to your mouth. 

His breath came in hot waves against your ear, his voice gravelly with need. “It’s late. We shouldn’t make noise like that. It’s too late.”

After making his point known, his hand moved to sweep some hair over one shoulder, leaving your neck exposed for him to breathe hotly against. . . and then lick. Your breath hitched at the sensation of his wet tongue, making loose circles against your hot, sweating flesh.

“You still taste so good,” he moaned with the words, ever so quietly. “You always will–but it’s like you taste sweeter than before. I can’t even–.

But he never finished what he was saying, choosing instead to press sloppy kisses against your skin. His lips and his tongue, moving together to suck gently. 

Fuck! What had gotten into–?

Your body relaxed into him all on its own, moving near enough to him that you felt like one. 

Your ass ground against him, pressing so close. He kept with his motions as he angled his lips to hover above your bare shoulder, breath hot on your skin.

Though, his kisses stopped. But, he still released puffs of overexerted breaths, over your skin, wet from his mouth. It made your toes curl and your eyes fall closed. He didn’t give your neck any more attention as he used his position to lean up and look over the front of your body, effectively pulling you even closer to him. 

“God,” he breathed, his breath hitting from exposed shoulder, onto your collar bones. Your motions continued, but just a little slower to keep him where he was, not wanting to somehow push him away. You felt him, throbbing steadily against your ass. “You’re soaked.”

You have no idea, you silently, hotly responded, moving to rub your thighs together.

But you remembered your predicament. What he was talking about. Your clothes were completely soaked through. There had been so much water. He was talking about your clothes.

“I spilled my water,” you breathed back, so quiet. 

“I can see that. Y/n– fuck,” he rutted against your ass, his hand moving to the bottom of your full breast to hold it in a steady grip. You realized he was moving his hand to see the entire breast, your straining nipples through the soaked white fabric. “Your tits. . . they’re so fucking– Goddammit.”

“Sore,” you moaned back, your body arching in need against the hardness in his loose pajama pants. “Heavy.”

“God, I’m sor–,” he went to move his hand again. And you once again brought your hand up to stop him. 

“No, Jake,” you held his hand in a tight grip, rubbing your thumb over the back of it. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?” He questioned, raspy and needy. 

Then, he was suddenly letting go of your chest to move your strap to do what you so desperately wanted.

Once it was draped over your shoulder, he moved a hand slowly over your sternum, into the front of your shirt. When he grazed his fingers over your oversensitive nipple, you whined, knees buckling. And, finally, he pulled your breast out to touch the air. 

And just before he could hold it with the hand that was readily going to grasp it. . . his bedroom door was creaking open. 

“Jakey?” Maya’s voice rang through the apartment. “You okay?”

Of course she was here. Why wouldn’t she be? 

You hadn’t heard the tell-tale sign of anyone taking steps towards the kitchen from the slightly creaky hallway, but you still decided you needed to get the fuck away from Jake. He was not yours.

You pulled away harshly and quickly, turning around all as you went to pull up your tank.

When you fully turned around, he was standing stock-still, watching your every move with your top, not letting his eyes fall away from your breasts. Your hard nipples. You felt the blush spread across your entire chest.

Then he bit his lip, your entire body heating at the motion, before he was responding.

You moved forward to hold his cheek, trying to wake him from the daze he was in. Your words barely hit the air, you were so quiet. “Jake, go back to your room. I’ll clean this up so she doesn’t–.”

“I’m good, babe,” he called back to her in a low tone, still honing in on your eyes. Your brows dipped, confused. He looked to the fridge, his hand coming to hold your bicep, keeping you there. Why was he not getting his ass back to his room? “Y/n’s asleep and I really don’t want to wake her,” he lied, eyes still glued to something to your left.

She could walk in and see he was lying! Why was he being so fucking careless? 

“Just go back to bed,” he continued, leaving no room for argument or worry. “I dropped something when I was getting up to get some water.”

“Okay,” she responded, not using the same near-whispering tone as him. “Just don’t be long, baby.”

“I won’t,” he simply said, amber-brown irises, tracing back to yours in the dim lighting of the kitchen, highlighted by the moon, shining in through the kitchen window. Full moon. Anything can happen. 

And what was happening was wrong. 

When you heard his bedroom door click closed and a little squeak from the bed to indicate someone had placed weight on it, you pulled away from him, his arm slowly dropping back to his side. The eyes that stared back at yours had a question behind them, but you didn’t give him time to ask it.

“Jake,” your tone clipped and quiet. You didn’t want to break the ridiculous cover he’d mindlessly created. “Why the fuck did you lie like that?”

“I didn’t want her to come in here,” he cut back, his inflection reflecting the same hot energy as yours. “If she would’ve known we were both in here, she would have come looking. I don’t need that,” he insisted. “And neither do you. Especially with your tits on full fucking display like that.”

You glanced down, after he’d motioned momentarily at your chest. And, his words rang true when you realized your entire fucking nipple and areola was visible through the material. Even in the darkness of night, you could tell as much. Your arms flew up to snugly cover them, flinching at the way it felt like sharp needles were pressing into your chest momentarily.  

When you peered down to where you saw his hand moving, you realized he was palming himself through his pants. You felt yourself release, the slightest bit in your panties.

Your hands tightened closer to your chest, doing the opposite of what you wanted in that moment–you wanted to bring your shirt down over yourself and let him finish on your waiting ches–.

Suddenly the pressure against you was too much and your arms were falling from their place across your breasts. Thus, standing there, on full display. Right fucking there for stupid ass Maya to walk in at any moment. 

Honestly, you were the stupid ass. And it seemed like Jake was, too. 

Maya was the innocent one in all of this.

“Go wait in your room for me,” he whispered heatedly, his words piercing your heart at the anxious energy floating through your veins. “I’ll clean this up. And then I’ll be—.”

“But–,” you brought your arms up to your chest again, covering yourself. It was a brainless move to flash your chest like that. You didn’t want to tempt him in any way. “This is my mess just–.”

“Y/n,” he all but spit in your direction with the harshness in his whisper. “I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself on the water or glass. Please.”

Good point. 

So, you decided you’d do as you were told, though not without the last word.

“Fine,” you practically growled, stepping over water, his hand reaching out to you, trying to balance over a puddle pooled at your feet. You grabbed his hand, one arm covered your heaving chest, as you made your way over the mess, and finished your thought. “But don’t come to my room. Go back to bed. I don’t want Maya to–.”

“I don’t care right now–,” he cut you off, but you didn’t let him continue before interjecting. 

“You will in the morning, Jacob,” you bit back, making fiery eye contact, crossing your arms. The hiss you released at the feeling of both arms covering yourself again was embarrassing. So, you tried to play it off. “You will. Just don’t make the mistake of coming to see me ton–.”

“It wouldn’t be a mist–.”

“Jake. Yes it would,” you insisted with a tense whisper, taking one step towards him, not taking your eyes from his once. “I’m not going to have you ruin what you have with her just to make a fucking mistake with me.”

Throughout the span of that small conversation, you saw his eyes go through every possible wave of emotion. His beautiful, deep set eyes had started wide with excitement, to now being filled with white hot frustration. He was mad. 

The last emotion made its way straight to the pit of your tummy and to your panties as you felt them draw even wetter. Damn. You’d take any sex with Jake right now, but angry sex? Dammit if that didn’t get you–. 

No, y/n. Stop it.

“Do you not want this? Why were you—just minutes ago if you don’t–?”

“I never said I didn’t want it.” You flat-out said, without a second thought. Why even lie when you’d just exposed yourself with whatever you’d just done with him? To him?

The two of you stood there, watching each other with flushed cheeks, hot breaths, and equally heaving chests. 

God, you would not be able to hold onto your momentary flash of integrity if you didn’t finish your thought and leave him. 

“We just can’t do it. It wouldn’t be right,” you sniffed. Shit. Your throat was tightening, eyes collecting tears. “I don’t want to be the reason you leave a woman–the woman you love,” you choked, foolishly, on the emotion that quickly made its way from your throat to your eyes. “I just want you to be happy.”

His own expression matched yours, his eyes pooled with tears of dejection. There were once more a couple moments, filled with silence.

Silence, aside from your deep breathing, and wrought with an energy you couldn’t place. You had to get away from him.

“Just go to bed. I won’t fucking bother you,” he said, swallowing thickly. He then spoke your words from earlier. “And let me clean this up.”

Again, you sniffled, but nodded, looking down, to cover it with a barely there 'goodnight'.

He didn’t say anything else, just went about his business in the kitchen to put things back together, turning his back on you altogether.

Suffice to say, you cried for a good chunk of time as you laid in bed, after changing into a big t-shirt.

Cried big, fat, somber tears.

The crying had even lasted long enough, keeping you up to hear the bed creak much more than necessary when Jake got back to his bedroom. . . The sound of soft, pleasured moans from both of them, accompanying the groans of the bed as they moved on top of it.

Lucky fucking you. 

The bed that used to be yours when that room was yours. . . The acts being made against it that made you want to punch something - someone. Someone with long, black hair and a too-sweet expression.

Like a child, you growled and used a spare pillow to cover your ears until you couldn’t hear anything through the plush filling of the pillow.

You also tried to distract yourself with TikToks, but you couldn’t focus on your feed filled with BabyTok. It just made you sad and wistful as you thought of your day of book shopping with Jake. . .

About 30 minutes later, you figured the coast was clear. It had occurred to you after lying there, doing aimless shit, that you were still very thirsty. . . your tongue felt like cardboard in your mouth. 

When you opened the door to go to the kitchen, though, you found a tumbler that didn’t belong to you, waiting for you. And when you picked it up, you realized exactly who it belonged to. . . the words told you as much. 

Merry Christmas, Jacob Thomas! 

Love you, 

Mom 

The Cricut-vinyl lettering was placed carefully across the front of the black off-brand Yeti. What you found when you looked through the clear lid was a cup full of water. Iced water.

The crying that ensued as you closed the door and placed the cup on your nightstand was no surprise to you. The sweet action made your heart thrum with unbridled admiration for him. 

You hated how things were now. . . how simply interacting with him the way you had was a mistake. When you compared it to the way things had been before the fateful day in the kitchen, it made your stomach sink and your eyes well with more tears. 

Then there had been what you’d heard through the walls. . . it made you want to fucking vomit. But. . .you’d brought it on yourself. No question about it. 

Aaand, more of the damn tears. . .

After taking a few healthy swigs from the cup, you felt sleep find you without warning. Your eyes were beginning to close on their own.

And, as you faded into a well-earned sleep, the only solace you found that night was the smooth bump of your tummy, which your hands held protectively–longingly–as you wandered to sleep.

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: hmmmmm what do you think will follow that night in the kitchen?????

Change the World from Friendsgiving :)

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts! love youuuu &lt;3

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist:

@joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend

@aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf

@torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles

(i think i figured out the tags limit! woooohoooo!! boo, tumblr. you're not getting me down today lmao)

[covid-safer-hotties]

Opinion: Better protecting schools from COVID is within reach - Published Aug 17, 2022

This article was incredibly well sourced and correct: Why are these simple procedures not being implemented to keep children and teachers safe two years from publication?

Welcome to the “Live with COVID” era, where living with the virus means not talking about it at all. We’ve been told to pretend it’s over, though those “weird summer colds” and “lingering symptoms” indicate otherwise. Rising case rates, hospitalizations, and deaths. Best Summer Ever 2.0 is ending, which means kids are about to return for their third pandemic September.

Article content In the beginning, we were told that 1) kids don’t get COVID, 2) they do, but it’s mild, 3) vaccines alone will protect us, and 4) COVID does not spread in schools. While true that fewer children die from COVID than adults, they’re generally not supposed to die.

And kids are experiencing disabling long COVID, with estimated rates between two and 25 per cent of all infections, not counting reinfections. While vaccines mitigate the worst outcomes of COVID, they don’t completely stop transmission, and additional measures are required. And of course, as every parent knows, children don’t keep their germs to themselves. They go on to transmit to their teachers, parents and grandparents. Furthermore, outbreaks in schools do spread to the community.

Schools need to be safer for all students and staff, including those with medical concerns and vulnerable family members. Worker shortages are everywhere, education included. Sick teachers can’t teach, and more worryingly, may go on to develop long COVID, resulting in time away or even retirement.

It’s also harder for kids to learn when they’re sick and more absences means losing more time when so much has been lost to the pandemic. Looking at the Calgary Board of Education’s absence data, 6.3 per cent of students were away in April 2022, compared to 2.8 per cent in 2019. This is unsurprising, as there were essentially no protections in schools by June, despite low vaccination uptake and no vaccines for kids under five. No testing, mask mandates (Education Minister Adriana Lagrange outlawed those), enhanced ventilation nor in-room filtration (again, banned by the CBE). Yes, hand sanitizer was plentiful, but that doesn’t stop a virus that spreads through the air.

We can make schools safer for kids and their communities, but it means we have to talk about COVID. We need to acknowledge that COVID transmission is predominantly airborne, so that citizens have a framework for understanding risk. The smoke analogy, used by the Public Health Agency of Canada, and chief public health officer of Canada Dr. Theresa Tam, is an excellent metaphor.

There are multiple ways to make schools safer. Adequate ventilation, with a minimum of six fresh air changes per hour, mitigates build-up of viruses floating around in the air. Even opening windows/doors can be effective. Ventilation can be monitored through measuring the CO2 concentration in the room, essentially showing how much air one may be breathing in that was exhaled by someone else. Boston Public Schools is doing this and even has a public dashboard to share data. Upgrading filters in ventilation systems helps too, but as of May, the CBE has not completed this at any of their schools.

An additional intervention is filtration units like HEPA filters, or even homemade Corsi-Rosenthal boxes, to remove and trap virus particles. The CBE’s own risk management consultants acknowledged the effectiveness of this intervention.

Article content And we need to reinstate universal masking in zones where high community spread is identified, emphasizing respirator-style (N95 or KN95) masks for everyone. Information released in Alberta showed that schools with no mask mandates had three times more outbreaks than those with masking, confirming similar data from Arkansas and Massachusetts.

Pretending that COVID is over doesn’t it make it so. And it doesn’t help us “live with COVID” either. Yes, people are tired, we all want to move on. But making schools safer is fully within our reach. And until COVID is actually over, we can’t pretend our way out of it. So Alberta parents must demand the safety of their children and their teachers, or our leaders will simply go on pretending.

[book--brackets]

Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman (2005)

When Fat Charlie's dad named something, it stuck. Like calling Fat Charlie "Fat Charlie." Even now, 20 years later, Charlie Nancy can't shake that name, one of the many embarrassing "gifts" his father bestowed-before he dropped dead on a karaoke stage and ruined Fat Charlie's life. Because Mr. Nancy left Fat Charlie things. Things like the tall, good-look-ing stranger who appears on Charlie's doorstep, who appears to be the brother he never knew. A brother as different from Charlie as night is from day, a brother who's going to show Charlie how to lighten up and have a lit-the fun. And all of a sudden, things start getting very interesting for Fat Charlie. Exciting, scary, and deeply funny, Anansi Boys is a kaleidoscopic journey deep into myth, a wild adventure, as Neil Gaiman shows us where gods come from, and how to survive your family.

Gemma Doyle by Libba Bray (2003-2007)

It's 1895, and after the suicide of her mother, 16-year-old Gemma Doyle is shipped off from the life she knows in India to Spence, a proper boarding school in England. Lonely, guilt-ridden, and prone to visions of the future that have an uncomfortable habit of coming true, Gemma's reception there is a chilly one. To make things worse, she's been followed by a mysterious young Indian man, a man sent to watch her. But why? What is her destiny? And what will her entanglement with Spence's most powerful girls—and their foray into the spiritual world—lead to?

Babel: An Arcane History by R. F. Kuang (2022)

Traduttore, traditore: An act of translation is always an act of betrayal.

1828. Robin Swift, orphaned by cholera in Canton, is brought to London by the mysterious Professor Lovell. There, he trains for years in Latin, Ancient Greek, and Chinese, all in preparation for the day he'll enroll in Oxford University's prestigious Royal Institute of Translation — also known as Babel. Babel is the world's center of translation and, more importantly, of silver-working: the art of manifesting the meaning lost in translation through enchanted silver bars, to magical effect. Silver-working has made the British Empire unparalleled in power, and Babel's research in foreign languages ​​serves the Empire's quest to colonize everything it encounters.

Oxford, the city of dreaming spires, is a fairytale for Robin; a utopia dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. But knowledge serves power, and for Robin, a Chinese boy raised in Britain, serving Babel inevitably means betraying his motherland. As his studies progress Robin finds himself caught between Babel and the shadowy Hermes Society, an organization dedicated to sabotaging the silver-working that supports imperial expansion. When Britain pursues an unjust war with China over silver and opium, Robin must decide: Can powerful institutions be changed from within, or does revolution always require violence? What is he willing to sacrifice to bring Babel down?

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard by Rick Riordan (2015-2017)

Magnus Chase has seen his share of trouble. Ever since that terrible night two years ago when his mother told him to run, he has lived alone on the streets of Boston, surviving by his wits, staying one step ahead of the police and the truant officers.

One day, Magnus learns that someone else is trying to track him down—his uncle Randolph, a man his mother had always warned him about. When Magnus tries to outmaneuver his uncle, he falls right into his clutches. Randolph starts rambling about Norse history and Magnus's birthright: a weapon that has been lost for thousands of years.

The more Randolph talks, the more puzzle pieces fall into place. Stories about the gods of Asgard, wolves, and Doomsday bubble up from Magnus's memory. But he doesn't have time to consider it all before a fire giant attacks the city, forcing him to choose between his own safety and the lives of hundreds of innocents. . . .

Sometimes, the only way to start a new life is to die.

Abhorsen by Garth Nix (1995-2016)

Sent to a boarding school in Ancelstierre as a young child, Sabriel has had little experience with the random power of Free Magic or the Dead who refuse to stay dead in the Old Kingdom. But during her final semester, her father, the Abhorsen, goes missing, and Sabriel knows she must enter the Old Kingdom to find him. She soon finds companions in Mogget, a cat whose aloof manner barely conceals its malevolent spirit, and Touchstone, a young Charter Mage long imprisoned by magic, now free in body but still trapped by painful memories.

As the three travel deep into the Old Kingdom, threats mount on all sides. And every step brings them closer to a battle that will pit them against the true forces of life and death--and bring Sabriel face-to-face with her own destiny.

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern (2019)

Zachary Ezra Rawlins is a graduate student in Vermont when he discovers a mysterious book hidden in the stacks. As he turns the pages, entranced by tales of lovelorn prisoners, key collectors, and nameless acolytes, he reads something strange: a story from his own childhood. Bewildered by this inexplicable book and desperate to make sense of how his own life came to be recorded, Zachary uncovers a series of clues--a bee, a key, and a sword--that lead him to a masquerade party in New York, to a secret club, and through a doorway to an ancient library, hidden far below the surface of the earth. 

What Zachary finds in this curious place is more than just a buried home for books and their guardians--it is a place of lost cities and seas, lovers who pass notes under doors and across time, and of stories whispered by the dead. Zachary learns of those who have sacrificed much to protect this realm, relinquishing their sight and their tongues to preserve this archive, and also those who are intent on its destruction. 

Together with Mirabel, a fierce, pink-haired protector of the place, and Dorian, a handsome, barefoot man with shifting alliances, Zachary travels the twisting tunnels, darkened stairwells, crowded ballrooms, and sweetly-soaked shores of this magical world, discovering his purpose--in both the mysterious book and in his own life.

The Roots of Chaos by Samantha Shannon (2019-2023) The House of Berethnet has ruled Inys for a thousand years. Still unwed, Queen Sabran the Ninth must conceive a daughter to protect her realm from destruction--but assassins are getting closer to her door. 

Ead Duryan is an outsider at court. Though she has risen to the position of lady-in-waiting, she is loyal to a hidden society of mages. Ead keeps a watchful eye on Sabran, secretly protecting her with forbidden magic. 

Across the dark sea, Tané has trained all her life to be a dragonrider, but is forced to make a choice that could see her life unravel. 

Meanwhile, the divided East and West refuse to parley, and forces of chaos are rising from their sleep.

The Winternight Trilogy by Katherine Arden (2017-2019)

Winter lasts most of the year at the edge of the Russian wilderness, and in the long nights, Vasilisa and her siblings love to gather by the fire to listen to their nurse’s fairy tales. Above all, Vasya loves the story of Frost, the blue-eyed winter demon. Wise Russians fear him, for he claims unwary souls, and they honor the spirits that protect their homes from evil.

Then Vasya’s widowed father brings home a new wife from Moscow. Fiercely devout, Vasya’s stepmother forbids her family from honoring their household spirits, but Vasya fears what this may bring. And indeed, misfortune begins to stalk the village.

But Vasya’s stepmother only grows harsher, determined to remake the village to her liking and to groom her rebellious stepdaughter for marriage or a convent. As the village’s defenses weaken and evil from the forest creeps nearer, Vasilisa must call upon dangerous gifts she has long concealed—to protect her family from a threat sprung to life from her nurse’s most frightening tales.

The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo (2003)

As the only surviving mouse of the litter, Despereaux was always considered the loser, the runt, so naturally, he falls in love with a princess named Pea. The story also tells of a mouse called Roscuro, who lives in the darkness but wishes for light, and Miggery Sow, a serving girl who wants one wish. They set off on a journey that will end them up in a terrible dungeon, a wonderful castle, and of course, with each other.

Legends & Lattes by Travis Baldree (2022-2024)

Worn out after decades of packing steel and raising hell, Viv the orc barbarian cashes out of the warrior’s life with one final score. A forgotten legend, a fabled artifact, and an unreasonable amount of hope lead her to the streets of Thune, where she plans to open the first coffee shop the city has ever seen.

However, her dreams of a fresh start pulling shots instead of swinging swords are hardly a sure bet. Old frenemies and Thune’s shady underbelly may just upset her plans. To finally build something that will last, Viv will need some new partners and a different kind of resolve.

[colie-nne]

first moments drive to survive | se4 r.2022

pairings: formula 1 grid x fem driver!oc

warnings: a bit of swearing | This is quite a long one

a/n: lines in bold and italics are the lines of journalists or the show’s narrator, and indents are radio moments or interview clips.

Ep1 : Clash of The Titans

Four rookies entering Formula 1 this year.

Valentina who was sitting in her team’s uniform waves to the camera. It was cut short when it shows Yuki with his clapper. “My name is Yuki Tsunoda.” Haas’ Mick, “Mick Schumacher” and Nikita, “Nikita Mazepin, Haas Formula 1 Team” It then cuts to Val just staring, “Is it rolling?” she inquires after the prolonged silence. The crew laughs before beckoning her to introduce herself, “Yeah, go on” She clears her throat, “Hi, I’m Valentina Corbyn and I drive for Alfa Romeo.” Closing the clapper board a little bit too hard as she visibly flinches, “Oh!” The people behind the cameras laugh before it cuts to a different set-up.

Pictorial on the track

7:21

“Eye contact with the cameras,” the photographer calls out to get every drivers’ attention. The video however zoom in on Valentina who was leaning on the car.

Spotting the camera she tries to send a disapproving look, pointing to the camera man as she shakes her head. The camera shakes in response.

7:34

There’s a lot of male pride and ego flying around… Val’s laugh is the first thing heard, “and I’m here to balance it!!” Exaggerating her actions as she points to herself. "Ooo, I just gave myself an ick, with what I've done there."

7:58

Showing a thumbs up, “You guys are good. Everyone’s all good,” the photographer ends their session as he walks away.

In the background, however, the well-known chaotic pair are at it again. This time Lando is seen fist-bumping her, walking side by side back to the garage. Val stopped in her tracks after he whispered something to her, and her expression showed faint shock at whatever that was. She completely faces him before playfully hitting his abdomen.

The action pushed Lando back and bumped into Carlos, who was behind them. Like a fed-up older brother, he just shakes his head and wraps an arm around Val’s shoulder, urging her to rush forward.

BAHRAIN Are you happy? Her look of confusion’s evident on her face, “Like the with the results of the race?” She makes sure with the person interviewing her. In which she gets an approving nod on her end. “From starting in 9th then to p5? Of course, very. It isn’t what we expected for my first race but it’s something that I’m happy this early on” Do you plan on placing higher? Quirking up a brow, “Yeah, I hope so. No driver is ever satisfied in their position unless they’re at the top. But I’ll take my time before I show the world more of what I got… at least, that’s what Kimi told me.” Val finishes with a refreshing smile directed at the camera.

Ep 2: Ace in the Hole aka a look into Lando and Val’s friendship 

5:25

Lando and Valentina’s friendship started way back before their karting days. This year despite being rivals on the track, you can say that they’re quite the opposite off-track, in some way or another.

Panning the view to Val, hiding in the shade, she scrunches her face as she looks at Lando, about to swing the golf club for the nth time that day. Max, a mutual friend of theirs, motions her to come closer.

Pushing herself off the cart, Lando takes his chance to swing. After taking a couple steps closer, a groan erupts from him, earning him a chuckle from his friends.

“That’s quite a bad hit right there, innit?” Val teases him as soon as she’s stood next to Max.

Moving to get his turn, Max agrees with her while getting in position, “Yeah, you’ve had a shocker there, mate.”

“Shut up, the both of you,” Lando grumbles before jokingly kicking some dirt towards Val’s direction, causing her to shriek in displeasure.

6:14

Walking back near the cart, Max brings up Lando’s new teammate, Daniel Ricciardo. “So how are you feeling about Danny Ric this season, mate?… Confident?” Val, who is seen sitting on the grass, turned to look at Lando's expression.

Shrugging, “He’s obviously a good driver. Seven-time… Seven-time winner?” He said before looking at Val who is nodding at him.

“I got faith in you, buddy,” Max finishes as he takes a swing for his turn. Seconds later, it was Valentina’s turn to swing. Clearing her throat, she points at Lando before imitating Max’s tone, “I’ve got faith in you too, mate.” Swings the club… and intentionally misses the ball.

Lando stood there looking at her in faint disbelief, “You didn’t even hit the ball”, gesturing to the still intact golf ball and tee.

“Yeah, 'cause I also need to have faith and win myself.” She told him, as a matter of fact, before making a proper swing.

What is it about your and the Alfa Romeo rookie's relationship? Chuckling at the question, “Val? We’ve known each other for quite a while, probably half my life, more so hers. She’s like an itch that you can’t get rid of… but in a good way. Vali’s been one of the constants since before karting, as am I to her, so I’ll say we have a good ass relationship.” He ends his statement with a fond smile. What does it feel like to see her joining formula one and being rivals on track? Sucking in a breath, he wears a cheeky smile as he answers, “Seeing her come up on here and race us, makes me feel accomplished. Just 'cause I’ve seen where she’s started… And we’ve experienced a lot of things together with the others, so to get a chance in Formula 1, it’s more of like a win for the both of us, really.” “To being rivals it- we’re both really competitive people, too competitive as I might say so. But a race is a race, a win is a win, at the end of the day- or a race really, we’re still friends, nothing's about to change.”  Raising his eyebrows teasingly, “We’ll just have to prove who’s going to one-up the other this time.”

Ep 3: Tipping Point

MONACO

In the last five races, you’ve started up in p5 and then p3 in Portugal. In this race however, not only did you manage to outsmart the Max Verstappen in that last corner, but you have also won your very first Grand Prix, this early on in your career. How do you feel about that? Val, who was sitting back on the chair, smiled widely when asked about her unexpected win. “Honestly, it still hasn’t sunk in. It’s been like 2 or 3 weeks. But I feel great as a whole, makes me feel good about myself, like an unexplainable tingling sensation that happens throughout my body.” She said, wiggling in her seat to show the feeling. You have also celebrated with McLaren’s Lando Norris, who we’ve just known is a very close friend of yours. Taken aback, “Really? You’ve just known… isn’t that like common knowledge for you guys at this point?” She questions with a light voice before continuing. “Jokes aside. It’s amazing, it feels amazing to actually stand on a podium with one of your closest friends. Cause after all that daydreaming as kids you never would’ve thought you would reach the top this early on in your career..” And since then you’ve never dropped out of the top 5. “Yeah, that’s what keeps me awake at night. It’s become a “wow” factor for me as the season progresses. Never really thought I’ll be with the people I looked up to growing up, but now that I’ve stood- is standing, rather, next to them I feel like I’ve reached the next step or like phase of my life and that, along with this Grand Prix win, would help me become a better driver and a person as time passes.”

Ep 4: A Mountain to Climb

You’ve entered this season with two rookies and reports are already saying that you’re offering Alfa Romeo’s Corbyn a seat in Haas this early on in the season. What has Haas' Guenther have to say about all this? “I- uh, she’s good despite being a rookie, even better than some…” he looks around, giving them "the look" that says everything about what he means, “but I have a reason to believe our... negotiations will be on hold. Like how she did with her team in the last two years.. she uhm-”

With McLaren’s shoot on hold, Guenther takes his chance to walk right behind the team to have a small chat with Val who was once again wandering around the paddock.

The rookie still chatting up her closest companion, Lando, looks off to the side when her name was called. Lando, taking his chance, shoots her arm. Receiving a groan from her.

Guenther who was now closer to them call back her attention, “Hey, you. Answer my call yeah?”

She laughs knowing the meaning behind his words, but being the cheeky person that she is, tilts her head before innocently saying, “My phone isn’t on me. I’m sorry, I guess?”

Back to the interview, Haas’ team principal can only drag a hand down his face while letting out a breath, “That would be true if she’s been in contact with us, but she isn’t, so no.”

Ep 5: Staying Alive

Zooming in on Val congratulating Lando and Danny on their 1-2 Monza Win

The camera zooms past all the McLaren employees to show Valentina rushing inside towards Lando who’s still in the team’s garage after the podium.

Her voice, barely audible is heard over that chatting in the room, “Norris!!” she reaches up to take him into a hug, which Lando reciprocated. Letting go, Val pats his shoulder a wide smile on her face, “Well done, mate! McLaren be getting that 1-2 win, yes?”

Giving the younger one a never-changing appreciative smile, he pats her hand on his shoulder in return, “Yeah…” Their conversation fades out as Lando walks her out of the garage to where the rest of the drivers are.

Finally seeing the other McLaren winner, Val quickens her steps offering her hand out for a fist bump with Daniel, “Well done to you too, Ricciardo!”

He pushes her sideways by his hip, “Aww, isn’t that sweet. But don’t push it, kid. You’re just saying that, so I’ll congratulate you on your next win.”

Releasing an exaggerated gasp, she looks at the other two drivers, Carlos and Lando, “I am not... but you did say next so...” Fading out the conversation, she tries to kick his shin, which he did evade.

Ep 6: A Point to Prove

A driver and their engineer's radio moments are one of the most awaited when it comes to Formula 1. And to say that Val and her engineer Alejandro's radio moments are entertaining is an understatement.

HUNGARY The whole Turn 1 drama but in Val’s POV

It’s lights out and away we go

Corbyn-Alfa Romeo oh... my... gosh... Alejandro... Keep position, multiple crashes in turn 1 Yep.. so early in the race, guys. Too early

Corbyn trying to take advantage of the chaos and- OH NO! Being pushed on the rear by the McLaren...

The Aston Martin into the Ferrari, the McLaren and the Alfa Romeo

Corbyn-Alfa Romeo Holy shit, that did not just fucking happen Language Sorry sorry  Copy, Val. Red flag then Lap 3. Box please, Box Okie

Ep 7: Growing Pains

So far, the fellow has been the only one to raise Alpha Tauri’s Yuki Tsunoda’s spirits after a temper tantrum. And to say that isn’t a shock actually, with both drivers having fits on track you can say that the other actually handles themselves better. 

Standing by the door, Val currently has a clear view of the paddock’s entrance. Seeing Yuki’s familiar stature walking towards the building, she races both her arms up, as he enters, to get his attention.

Clearing her throat, she lets out the phrase she’s been practicing all night just to race Yuki’s spirits. It sort of became a thing between the two young rookies.

“Hey, Yuki-san!! Kyō no rēsu no junbi wa dekite imasu ka?” She said laughing at her broken Japanese. In response, Yuki laughed at her attempt and gave her a high five before responding and walking further away from the camera. (Are you ready for today's race?)

Ep 8: Dances with Wolff

Belgian Grand Prix - Qualifying  

Corbyn-Alfa Romeo Val, red flag ahead, slow down. Vettel’s still half a second behind. What’s happened? …. Ale? …Norris has had a bit of shunt in Eau Rouge exhaling loudly Fucking hell should’ve called this off earlier.

Seeing the wreckage, the rookie is seen stopping a close few feet away, before getting up from her seat. Norris shook his head at her actions.

Corbyn-Alfa Romeo No, Val, the race is still a go. Continue on, he’s fine The hell he is... shitting, FUCK! Calm down, he’s fine safety’s on the way she waves her hand, asking if he’s ok You guys are fucking kidding me, should’ve prevented this earlier Copy, copy. Vettel had shared the same thought. who’s now directly behind you and Val, language, please. ok... ducking bum heads they are.

Ep 9:  Gloves are Off

QATAR

We’re in the desert. We’re in Qatar for this year’s brand-new circuits in the Middle East

The few-second clips has shown Mercedes’ Toto Wolff arriving, Checo and his team on the track, Carlos and- rather Carlos’ team can be seen scurrying around the place, trying to find their missing driver.

A few minutes in and the drivers and their are getting ready for today’s practice. Buxton's voice in the background is heard as the hunt for Carlos Sainz is starting,

Valentina has clearly been a fan and paddock favourite ever since her debut. The way she fits in with the other 19 drivers who clearly dominate the area is surprising. Throughout the season Val has shown how capable she is as a rookie driver deserving of her seat, her confidence and attitude on track are what keeps her in the positions she’s currently at. And with the outstanding results she’s been getting, there’s no doubt she’ll be getting some contracts on her desk. But what these people forget is that this astonishing driver is the youngest on the grid at only eighteen...

Zooming in, a very peculiar situation can be seen inside the Ferrari motor home. A driver who clearly isn’t supposed to be there is currently on the couch, sleeping with Ferrari’s missing driver. 

Valentina is seen still wrapped up in her team’s jacket, leaning toward her fellow Spaniard who lets her, despite being called by his team a couple times. Seeing the camera recording them, Carlos places a finger towards his mouth gesturing for them to keep quiet as he points it to Valentina. 

This is a sight that the whole Formula 1 community has come to cherish.

For the second time in the series, Will Buxton, a known F1 journalist talks about another possible driver change, now for Red Bull Racing. Other than the fight for the championship, Alfa Romeo has had a massive comeback, currently running for fourth place verse McLaren. Points have been increasing, the majority coming from the rookie, Valentina Corbyn, who has scored the most points than the other three… Adding to her tremendous starting career as an f1 driver, Valentina not only has had Haas coming after her, but Red Bull Racing’s Christian Horner has also been a frequent guest at Alfa Romeo’s motorhome. With Red Bull only having signed Sergio Perez as their driver this season, is he ready to lose his seat to the 18-year-old that fast? “Bonjour”  “Bonjour” Red Bull’s Christian Horner greets the journalist in front of him. “There seems to be a high level of tension between the drivers, the team principals, and now the newly signed and rookie drivers. Is it good for Formula 1 or is it a bit—“ Cutting him off Christian answers, “It’s a competition, you know? It’s not a kids club. And you know, we operate in different ways. Toto will shout and scream at the camera. Maybe I’m a little bit more, calm.” “Other than that, rumours have been circulating that you’re in the process of having Alfa Romeo’s Corbyn sign in with Red Bull for next year’s season. What does that mean for Perez?” With a neutral stare, the Red Bull team principal crosses his arms to his chest, “Contracts are what keep a driver’s career running aside from their skills. Valentina’s a very skilled driver so if she does end up with us, the media isn’t going to be announcing it to the world.”

Ep 10: Hard Racing

Interview cameos can be fun from time to time. But when two youngsters are in the same room, the fun comes first before you can even start something.

0:21

"Right!"

"Testing, three, four. Nutsack, five, six," Daniel started as soon as he sat down.

Lando, who has his foot in the air, can be seen trying to swat something, or rather someone, with his other slipper.

Pointing to Val, who was by the door, "Oi get her out. What the hell you’re doing here, anyway?"

Shrugging, she just raises her hands in surrender, "Don’t worry Lando, I've seen weirder stuff that you do."

Throwing his slipper at her response, the video pans as she's seen exiting the room.

Sighing at her antics, "Ok… Action!"

2:59

Who’s your money on? Smiling, Daniel shakes his head, "I’ve gone back and forth. At this rate, it’s a flip of a coin," he said, voice filled with hesitance. George, contrary to Daniel, went with a straight answer, "I think Lewis is gonna get it." Along with Lando, who was quite happy with his response, "I think it all points to one person… Max Verstappen" Pierre, with confidence, "Lewis and Max won’t see the second corner." Valentina, however, didn't give a clear answer when asked. She's caught off guard by the question as she stopped tying her hair up mid-way. "That is a dangerous question. If I want my dad to kill me, I’ll have to answer Max… But if I want Hor- a certain someone to get mad at me, I’ll say Lewis... You know what, let’s just wait and see." She concludes with that know loved smile of hers.

Welcome along to the final round of this 2021 season.

The clips show a range of drivers getting ready in their own garages, all went by smoothly before it ended with Alfa Romeo's final driver.

Val, having a hard time zipping her suit up, points to the camera mouthing, “See you soon on the podium!” Winking, after she's zipped up with the balaclava on her head before securing her helmet in place.

[fiercynn]

on otw's $2.5 million budget surplus: for fuck's sake do something with our money

the recent ddos attack on ao3 illustrated that the otw (@transformativeworks) has amazing volunteers who were able to get things up and running again after a cyberattack. and i’ve seen a bunch of different people urging others to donate to otw in light of the attack.

the problem? not only are the volunteers not going to get any of the money, but the otw likely isn’t going to do anything else with it, because they already have more than $2.5 million in budget surplus that they have not been transparent about with their members, and that they have no plans for.

yup. we’ve known for years that otw had at least $1 million in their “reserves”; they’ve said so at their last two public finance meetings in 2021 and 2022. but a few months ago, @manogirl and i went digging a little deeper because we suspected that there was even more. 

and we were right. from the documentation available, our estimate is that at the beginning of 2023, they had $2,585,841 that was not dedicated to any purpose. this does not include money they had budgeted to spend in 2023 on regular expenses. just extra. (keep reading to see how we got that figure.)

equally appalling? they have all this money and are barely earning any interest on it. satsuma on dreamwidth looked at their 2021 tax returns and found that only ~$10k of their money is held in an interest-bearing savings account, which resulted in them earning only $90 in interest income for 2021. the rest of it is not in interest-bearing accounts. it is just sitting there.

looking at all the crises and dysfunction that have been discussed and uncovered over the past few months - racist harassment and the three-year-old promise to hire a diversity consultant; the mistreatment of volunteers by the otw board both related to last year’s CSEM attacks, and, separately, mistreatment and racism towards chinese and chinese diaspora volunteers both in the past and recently with the closure of the otw’s weibo account; and of course, this latest ddos attack - all of this indicates that there is severe dysfunction within the org. and donors throwing more money at the organization clearly isn’t helping.

the otw board needs to get its shit together and hire people to help with these things. this is not a new idea - there’s been talk for years about hiring paid staff, and in fact, at their july 2021 board meeting, otw said they would be appointing a volunteer who would be known as the “paid staff officer”, to come up with a plan for hiring paid staff. (to be clear, the “paid staff officer” would be an unpaid volunteer.) it’s been two years since that commitment. they have not, to my knowledge, appointed that officer yet.

it’s infuriating, because otw’s “scrappiness” as an organization is constantly used to defend their obstruction of action on things like racism, and this ddos attack will be used to further that agenda as well. but otw doesn’t need to be scrappy. they are well-resourced and could be using that money to set up more sustainable systems, instead of burning out and mistreating their volunteers, and reneging on commitments to address racism and harassment.

at the very least, if they’re not going to do anything with their massive budget surplus, they should stop taking more of people’s money. but we’d rather they did something useful with it.

if you want to see this change, the otw finance commitee holds a public meeting where you can ask questions and give them feedback. last year it was in mid-october. you do not have to be an otw member to attend. i'll definitely be making noise about it once the date is announced, but you can also follow otw's socials.

one brief aside: at the time of posting, a lot of these links are not working because the otw's website is still down. i copied these links from a twitter thread i made in the past and they should all be correct, so you just may have to wait until the site is back up to look at them.

now, to debunk some common excuses that people (not otw representatives, mind you, but just people on the internet who have decided to defend the org) give when confronted with how much money otw has:

MYTH: otw needs to keep $2.5 million in cash reserves in case of an emergency or unexpected revenue shortfall. REALITY: it’s true that nonprofits do need SOME cash reserves for those cases. typical practice is to have 3-6 months’ worth of operating expenses. otw’s current operating expenses are ~$520,000/year, so 6 months would be $260,000. (and, in fact, when i was told by an otw finance committee member that they had $1 million, they were intending 25% of that to be for emergencies, around $250,000). if you were being REALLY cautious, you could have reserves up to one to two years. but $2.5 million is enough for almost FIVE YEARS OF OPERATING EXPENSES. that is an absurd amount to be hoarding, especially when otw’s history of fundraising is that they always exceed their goals, and always make more money in donations than they need for their expenses within a given year. MYTH: they need this money for legal costs if they get sued. REALITY: otw gets most of their legal expenses donated, which is also not listed in their budget, but is in their audited financial statements. in 2021, the most recent financial statement we have, you can see on page 10 that they received just over $230k in donated legal expenses. they do budget some minor legal expenses yearly: in 2023 they’ve budgeted a little over $5k for “registration fees for conferences and hearings and funds set aside for legal filings if necessary, as well as an allocated share of newly adopted OTW-wide productivity tools”. however they do not have a history of even spending that much: in 2022, they had budgeted $4k for legal expenses and only spent $244 (see cell C29 of the budget spreadsheet). they have never been sued, and they do not appear to budget for litigation costs. and when, in the past, they’ve been asked about what their reserves are for (back in fall 2022 when the finance committee told me they had $1 million in reserves, even though this was patently false given their tax documents for 2021), litigation costs were not brought up.  MYTH: they just haven’t had enough time to figure out investment options. REALITY: they clearly have at least one savings account set up to generate interest, which only has $10k in it. even if they haven’t figured out a full investment portfolio, why wouldn’t they put more money in that account? in the u.s., the federal deposit insurance corporation (FDIC) insures bank accounts up to $250,000, so they should have at least that much in there. absurd. also, they have had plenty of time even for a larger portfolio. if you search “investment” on their site, you’ll see that they’ve been talking for YEARS about investing their reserves. more specifically, at both their 2021 and 2022 finance meetings, they said that they needed more time to research investment options. as usual, they have had far more time than they need.  MYTH: they need this money for new servers. REALITY: otw does in fact include expenses for new servers and server maintenance in their yearly budget reports. you can see this in their 2023 budget spreadsheet if you go to the sheet “program expenses” - under “archive of our own”, you’ll see server expenses. the $2.5 million is money that is EXTRA to their listed expenses and revenue in that spreadsheet.

finally, see below where we’ve given more context on otw’s budgeting and showed our work in coming up with these numbers.

showing our work

firstly, i should note for the record that i sent a message to the otw finance committee through the contact us form on the otw website on may 11, 2023 to ask them to state the amount in their reserves.

it has been two months and i have still not received a response (which i find funny, because at the last otw board meeting in early july, the board specifically said to use that form to contact the finance commitee if we had questions about the 2023 budget), so @manogirl and i were forced to do our own math. we've had this work checked by a number of people, but of course we were only able to work with the information the otw has made publicly available.

a few things you need to know about the otw’s budgeting:

they release yearly budget reports on their website (here’s their most recent one, which shows what they project for 2023 and their “actuals” for 2022), but they do not include their surplus in this report - they only include the revenue and expenses for each year

they also provide both their yearly audited financial statements and their yearly tax returns (form 990s) on their reports & governing documents page, but currently, the most recent statements we have are from 2021

otw typically raises more money in donations than they need within a year, so their surplus is always growing 

they have used the term “reserves” in the past to talk about money, but we don’t know exactly what they mean by “reserves” - is there a dedicated account that they consider their reserves?

because of these uncertainties, the goal for @manogirl and i was was to figure out how much of a budget surplus OTW had at the beginning of 2023, and because we don’t know how they define “reserves”, we defined it as how much they had in liquid assets that were not being dedicated for a specific purpose in their budget. (liquid assets are anything that can be converted into cash quickly – e.g. not equipment like their servers, nor anything that would be held in a long-term investment account, etc)

the first document we looked at was their 2021 audited financial statement. the key number is on page 11, under the section on liquidity, where it lists their end-of-year liquid assets as $2,315,841.

so at the end of 2021, they had over $2.3 million in liquid assets.

but since their 2022 audited financial statement isn’t up, we had to turn to their 2023 budget, and specifically, to their 2023 budget spreadsheet, where they show the “actuals” (what they actually raised & spent in each line item) for 2022 in column C. as i mentioned, they don’t list their reserves in this spreadsheet - only the revenue generated & expenses paid within that year, not anything carrying over from the previous year unless clearly outlined.

so at the bottom you’ll see that their net income (revenue minus expenses) in 2022 was $493,564.94, and that they then transferred $400,000 of that to the reserves sometime in 2022.

and the remaining $93,564.94, their adjusted net income for 2022, presumably carries over to help pay initial expenses in 2023 before they started earning more revenue. they also transferred $130,000 of their reserves BACK to help with that at the start of 2023.

so now we have the numbers we need to calculate the surplus (including reserves) at the start of 2023:

$2,315,841 (liquid assets at end of 2021) + $400,000 (transferred to reserve in 2022) - $130,000 (transferred from reserve in 2023) = $2,585,841 USD at the start of 2023

so that’s our math. otw had $2.5 million at the beginning of this year in surplus, in addition to around $223k (last year’s $93.5k in income and the $130k they transferred back from the reserves at the beginning 2023) to fund their expenses for the first half of this year. this does not even include the hundreds of thousands they raised in april 2023 during their fundraising drive.

okay the main part of our documentation is done, but if you want to read a little bit more about what @manogirl and i learned from doing this deep dive, here are a few additional thoughts/nuggets:

first of all, OTW is incorporated in the u.s. state of delaware, which is interesting because as @manogirl researched, delaware is a tax haven where 501c3 nonprofits don’t have to pay any business tax. plus, in many u.s. states, nonprofits have a limit on the amount of money they can keep without spending, but this too is not the case in delaware. of course, incorporating in delaware to take advantage of those benefits is not illegal! but it is very savvy, a characteristic that seems to have not continued with their financial management past their original incorporation lol

next, some more detail on their finances from their 2023 budget spreadsheet. let’s start with revenue.

the most interesting thing to me here is that while their spring and fall membership drive donations bring in the most, non-drive donations are also substantial. also their “total unrestricted net revenue received” is $975,638.36 in cell C16. however, for some reason, when they calculate their net income for the year, they use cell 12, “total unrestricted revenue” ($1,012,543.42) instead. the difference between those two cells is that cell 12 is the amount before their transaction fees are subtracted. but i have no idea why the transaction fees would be ignored when calculating their net income. is this an error?

next, their expenses, which came out to $518,978.48. not too much surprised me here except how low their legal advocacy spending still is, plus  the fact that they’d given francesca coppa a grant for her book on the history of fanvidding, lol. (i’ve written more about this; so has wistfuljane on dreamwidth if you scroll down a bit from here).

it’s also interesting to look at what they’ve budgeted (both the revenue & expenses they’ve expected going into the year) for 2022. in every revenue category, they have exceeded their goal, except for $50 in “other income”. and in most of their expenses categories they have overestimated their needs, except for going over about $700 in the transformative works & cultures, & about $500 for development. this just shows how much they are able to meet their yearly expenses (overestimated) with the revenue generated each year (underestimated), & still have substantial amounts left over (almost half of revenue transferred to reserves)

so that’s what we’ve found. if anyone else notices weird things in their budgeting, please let us know!