#a lot of this is stuff i processed as i was doing things and seeing stuff. i didnt even actually talk to anyone about this djjdjsjdjd

[theonottsbxtch]

99 PROBLEMS PT2| MV1

an: after many requests, i've changed up our beloved max. this has not been proof read so pls don't judge i am tired and have had the shittiest week of my life i swear but im slaying i promise!

wc: 5.5k

part one

The morning after was a slow burn of pain.

Noah woke up with a headache that felt like someone was hammering on his skull, each pulse a reminder of his poor life choices. His mouth was dry, and the room seemed to spin even though he was lying still. The sunlight creeping through the curtains made his head throb even harder.

He groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, trying to bury himself in the comfort of the pillow, but it was no use. The light was relentless.

With a resigned sigh, he threw the covers off and staggered to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror was enough to make him want to crawl back into bed—hair a tangled mess, his face pale, and his eyes bloodshot. He splashed water on his face, feeling the coolness settle his nerves slightly, but he still wasn’t ready to face the world.

A thought occurred to him—he hadn’t eaten last night, and he needed food if he was going to survive this hangover. He stumbled toward the kitchen, squinting against the light.

The kitchen felt like a foreign land. The open windows made it bright, the kind of brightness that seemed determined to make him suffer. Noah squinted, trying to locate anything he could eat without being blinded.

Lights off, he thought, grumbling. He reached up, turned off the overheads, and then fumbled his way around the counters until he found the stove. The dim light coming from the street lamps outside was barely enough, but it was better than the harsh sunlight.

He opened the fridge and pulled out eggs, butter, and a bottle of orange juice, setting them on the counter. He moved with the deliberate slowness of someone trying not to trigger the next wave of nausea, and as he grabbed a frying pan, something on the counter caught his eye.

A small bag. A lipstick. A pair of earrings.

Noah froze.

He had no idea whose stuff it was at first, but the instant he saw the ID half-hidden under a paper towel, he couldn’t look away.

He reached for it cautiously, flipping it over to see the name on the card: Rosa, 21 years old.

He stared at it, blinking in disbelief.

Twenty-one.

His brain took a second to process the shock. He’d seen a lot of women come and go last night, but this was different.

His dad—Max—had slept with someone only four years older than him.

He shook his head, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered, making the room feel hotter and his stomach churn.

He bent down, rubbing his temples to stave off the headache, and that’s when he saw them—clothes strewn across the floor. A dress in a heap near the kitchen table. A pair of high heels kicked to the side like someone was in a rush to get out.

Eugh, Noah thought, feeling his stomach twist in disgust.

Thank god he’d come home early with Charles. He’d heard the stories—heard about what Max was like when he had a good time—but seeing it for himself, well, it was a whole different level of uncomfortable. He would’ve had to witness this, the aftermath, the leftovers of his dad’s typical antics.

Noah closed his eyes, leaning back against the counter as if he could shut out the entire night. He’d had enough of his dad’s antics for the next year—or lifetime.

Sighing deeply, he pulled the pan from the stove and cracked the eggs into it, the sizzling sound a small distraction from his thoughts. The smell of cooking eggs filled the room, but it didn’t do much to calm his nerves. It was just another reminder that life went on, even when things felt messed up.

As he scrambled the eggs, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d seen—the lipstick, the earrings, the stupid ID. Four years older than me?

He made himself a plate of scrambled eggs, avoiding the now-infamous counter, and took a seat at the table. He sat there quietly for a while, the silence pressing in around him.

Noah was just finishing his eggs when he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and to his surprise, Rosa—Max’s most recent conquest—emerged from the hallway wearing nothing but one of Max’s oversized t-shirts. She looked a little uncomfortable, and her eyes flickered nervously toward him as she stepped into the kitchen.

Noah immediately pointed toward the hallway. “The dress is right there,” he said flatly, trying not to look at her.

She hesitated, clearly flustered, and then lowered her gaze. “I—sorry, I just—uh…” She trailed off, clearly not sure how to act around Max’s son.

Noah watched her, already knowing the answer but still asking. “Why did you do that?”

Rosa bit her lip. “He’s... he’s Max Verstappen,” she said quietly, as if that somehow explained everything.

Noah felt a pit grow in his stomach. He leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “He’s at least fifteen years your senior,” he replied, his voice laced with disbelief.

She seemed taken aback by the bluntness, but nodded sheepishly. “I... know. I don’t usually—well, I guess I’m not exactly thinking straight when it’s him, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Noah said dryly, then added for her benefit, “It’s Max Verstapen, right?”

She bit her lip, then grabbed her dress from the hallway and quickly went to change. Noah couldn’t help but feel relieved—he had no idea what to say to her, and honestly, he didn’t need to.

The sound of footsteps coming from the hallway brought him back to the moment. A few seconds later, Max appeared, stretching lazily as he entered the kitchen. His hair was still a mess from the night, but his grin was as wide as ever.

“Morning mate,” Max said, ruffling Noah’s hair as he walked by. 

Noah just stared at him, unimpressed. “Twenty-one, really?” he asked, shocked.

Both of them ignored her as she walked out, Noah still in disbelief.

Max chuckled, clearly not fazed, and started rummaging through the fridge. He opened a carton of eggs, cracked a couple into a pan, and began cooking.

It wasn’t long before Max’s phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen and swore under his breath, muttering, “Fuck.”

“What?” Noah asked, curious, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Max looked up, his face briefly reflecting an uncharacteristic moment of stress. “My personal assistant,” he muttered. “She’s off annual leave today.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “What’s so bad about that?”

Max sighed dramatically. “She keeps my life together, kid. Without her, I’d be completely lost.”

As if on cue, they heard the front door creak open. The sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed in the hallway.

Max’s face fell. “Oh, double hell,” he muttered.

Noah looked at him, confused. “Who’s that?”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and a woman walked in, looking both exasperated and amused at the same time. She was in her early thirties, with sharp features and a no-nonsense attitude that immediately made her stand out.

She didn’t waste any time. “Blocking me during my annual leave doesn’t work, Max Emilian,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Max stood up straight, putting on his most charming grin, which, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to work on her. “Hey, sweetheart, how was the holiday?”

She didn’t even look at him before turning her gaze to Noah, who was watching this whole scene unfold with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

She raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this?”

Max froze for a split second before clearing his throat. “Uh, this is my son... Noah,” he said, sounding almost awkward.

The second she heard “son,” her eyes widened in shock. “MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN,” she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. “What on earth have you gotten yourself into now?!”

Noah couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the way she was laying into his dad. Watching Max get his ass handed to him by someone who clearly had authority in his life was, honestly, one of the funniest things Noah had seen in a long time.

He leaned back in his chair, his mouth twisting into a grin. “This is... amazing,” Noah muttered under his breath, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Max, on the other hand, looked like he was regretting every decision he’d ever made. “Sweetheart, come on,” he said weakly. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, Max,” she said, crossing her arms, unimpressed. “It’s exactly as bad as it looks. I leave you alone for three weeks, and you end up with a what? a 16 year old who clearly looks hungover!” She turned to Noah, her expression softening just a little. “Nice to meet you, by the way. But please—please tell me you’re smarter than your dad.”

Max groaned and rubbed his temples, clearly still nursing the hangover. “Ugh, I’m hungover,” he muttered, dragging himself to the kitchen table and sitting down.

She didn’t even glance up from the folder she was pulling out of her bag. “Don’t care,” she said with a roll of her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his state.

Noah snorted with laughter, the sound escaping before he could stop it. He couldn’t help it—there was something undeniably hilarious about watching Max get shot down so effortlessly. Watching the great Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 champion, get treated like an everyday guy was something he hadn’t seen before.

She caught the laugh from across the room and shot Noah a playful smirk. “You think this is funny, huh?” she asked, but her tone was light, not harsh.

Noah raised both hands in surrender, still grinning. “You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “This is gold.”

Max shot him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything—probably because he was too busy trying to drag himself through the worst hangover of his life. He ate his food silently, still looking miserable, while she—who, honestly, looked like she had her life together more than anyone else in the room—slid a thick folder across the kitchen table in front of him.

“Here’s the menu,” she said, flipping it open. “You’ve got a race in two weeks. Act like it.” Her voice was firm, almost maternal, but there was a certain softness to it that suggested she genuinely cared about Max’s well-being. And maybe Noah’s, too.

Max groaned again. “Really? The race is two weeks away. Can’t you just let me suffer in peace for one more day?” he asked, looking up at her with a feigned pout.

She didn’t even blink. “I don’t care,” she said again, flipping through the folder with surgical precision. “You’ve got media events, sponsorship meetings, and training sessions that you will attend. You can wallow later, when you’re not about to crash a car into a wall. So do me a favour and get it together, darling.”

Noah watched the exchange with a growing sense of admiration for her. She had a way of keeping Max in line that Noah hadn’t even thought possible. The pet names, the obvious affection she had for him, it was like a love language they both spoke—but she could flip into business mode faster than anyone he’d ever seen.

Max’s face softened, and he finally gave in, wiping his face and nodding. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You’re right. Just... can I get through one cup of coffee before I start pretending I’m an athlete again?”

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “You’re not pretending, you are an athlete,” she said, her tone turning teasing, but still with that edge of authority that made her impossible to ignore. “But I’ll let you have your coffee.” She shot a glance at Noah. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re not allowed to slack off like him.”

Max snorted. “What ideas? He’s seventeen,” he shot back, clearly exhausted but trying to rally for the sake of their ongoing back-and-forth. “You think he’s gonna let me off the hook?”

Noah grinned. “If you can get away with it, I might give it a shot,” he said with a wink, feeling a rare moment of camaraderie with his dad—well, his dad when he wasn’t being an idiot.

She just shook her head. “I don’t get paid enough for this.” She pushed the folder over to Max again. “I’m serious, Max. The team’s not gonna wait for you to nurse a hangover. You’ve got a busy week, and you need to start acting like it.”

Max finally straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck, but then something like a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked at her with that familiar cocky glint in his eyes, a look Noah had seen a hundred times before. But this time, it wasn’t as obnoxious—it was affectionate.

“Alright, alright, you got it, princess,” Max said, using one of his usual pet names. She didn’t flinch, but Noah swore he saw the faintest trace of a smile tug at her lips.

Noah felt like an outsider looking in on this little dynamic, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously, princess? Can’t you do any better?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Don’t get me started on the pet names,” she warned. “You’ll regret it.”

Noah chuckled, obviously enjoying the banter. He turned back to her. “If I call you princess, will you cut me some slack?”

“Not in a million years,” she replied with a smirk, her voice as calm as ever.

Max sighed dramatically, clearly not used to being outside of a joke, but he dropped the act, finally flipping through the folder in front of him. “Alright, alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, watching the two of them with a mix of awe and amusement. It was clear—she wasn’t just a personal assistant. She was the one who kept Max’s world from falling apart, and soon maybe Noah’s, too. He’d never seen his dad so... well, manageable before. She’d probably seen it all—his dad’s hangovers, his cocky attitude, his late-night escapades—and yet she still kept things running smoothly.

Maybe that’s what he’d needed all along—someone who could manage the chaos, someone who could actually keep him grounded.

“Well, I guess I can’t slack off anymore either,” Noah muttered, pushing away from the table and grabbing his plate. “Guess I’m in this with you, huh?”

Max looked up at him and gave him a playful nudge. “You know it, kid,” he said, grinning. “The real work starts now.”

She stood at the counter, her movements fluid as she made a cup of coffee for Max. She placed it gently in front of him, then gave him a look that made it clear she wasn’t done yet.

“Your room,” she said firmly, raising an eyebrow. “Strip your sheets, air it out. It smells like sex in there.”

Max groaned, but his tone was playful. “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he muttered, picking up the coffee and winking at her as if it was no big deal.

Noah watched the exchange, silently chuckling to himself. It was actually kind of adorable how well Max and she worked together. They didn’t seem like just a typical boss-assistant duo—they had a rhythm, a comfort with each other that made it hard to believe they weren’t more than that.

She raised her eyebrows at Max, clearly not impressed by his teasing. “Go,” she commanded, making a shooing motion toward the hallway.

Max rolled his eyes but shuffled off to his room, his back already to them.

She then glanced over at Noah, her expression softening now that it was just the two of them. “Alright, kid,” she said, her voice changing slightly. “Now, how did you end up here?”

Noah hesitated, unsure how much to share. He wasn’t used to talking about his family—about his mum. But she had a way of making him feel safe. She didn’t press, didn’t rush him, but her eyes were kind, giving him the space to speak if he wanted to.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to find the words. “I was an accident,” he finally muttered, looking down at the table. “My mum... she was one of the many girls in and out of his life. She never really stuck around, I spent more time with my grandma.”

She nodded, encouraging him with a soft, understanding smile. She was so good at making him feel like his feelings mattered, like he wasn’t just a burden. “And after that?” she asked, her tone gentle but full of curiosity.

Noah paused, swallowing hard. “She just had enough, I guess. She couldn’t wait until I turned 18, so she shipped me off here to my dad.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, a little embarrassed by how honest he was being. “I don’t know if she ever really wanted to be a mum. But when it came down to it, she couldn’t even handle me for a few more months.”

Her expression softened even more, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice low and comforting. “That must’ve been really tough on you.”

Noah gave a half-shrug, but there was a weight to it. “It was. But, I mean... what can you do? She made her decision, and now I’m here. With him,” he said, glancing toward the hallway where Max had disappeared, an almost nostalgic look on his face. He wasn’t sure whether it was disappointment or something else—maybe just the surrealism of the situation.

She watched him closely, like she was trying to read him. “Do you want to stay after your eighteenth birthday?” she asked carefully. “Or do you think you’ll go back to the States, I’m assuming that is where you’re from?”

Noah felt a tight knot in his chest at the thought. He hadn’t really thought about it—hadn’t been asked. His whole life had been in limbo for the past three weeks, ever since he’d arrived in Monaco. “I don’t really know,” he said, exhaling deeply. “I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I turn 18 in a couple of weeks... and I guess I’m still figuring things out. It’s... it’s a lot to take in.”

She nodded again, giving him time to process the weight of it all. “Of course,” she said, her voice warm. “But listen, if you want to leave, we can make up for the missed child support. If you don’t feel comfortable here, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, okay?”

Noah didn’t know what to say at first. He felt like he hadn’t even had time to adjust to life with his dad before people were talking about the next step. But then something in her words hit him. We can make up for the missed child support. She was offering him an option. She wasn’t trying to guilt him into staying; she was giving him a choice, and that felt... different.

“But if you want to stay,” she added with a smile, “we can make up for lost time. And I’ll take you shopping.”

Noah chuckled, feeling a little lighter at the thought of her offer. It was a small thing, but it was enough to make him feel like he had options. Like maybe, just maybe, he could make a life here.

“Shopping, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the deal-breaker?”

She smiled knowingly. “A little retail therapy never hurt anyone. Plus, it’s a good way to build a real wardrobe.”

Noah smiled back, surprised by the warmth in his chest. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he wasn’t just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe—just maybe—he could find a place for himself here.

Over the next few days, Noah couldn’t help but notice the unique dynamic between his dad and her. It was almost like a carefully choreographed dance—Max would slack off, mess around, maybe even throw a tantrum, and she would step in like a well-oiled machine, putting everything back in order without missing a beat.

She was the one who could actually control him, Noah realised. Not that Max ever looked like he was being controlled—he had that cocky, self-assured air, like the world owed him something. But she was the one who could gently rein him in, who knew exactly when to cut him off, when to play the tough love card, and when to let him have his moment of weakness.

And Noah saw it. He saw how Max listened to her. He’d always thought that Max did whatever he wanted. But with her around, he noticed a shift. She was the one who could keep Max grounded in ways Noah never could, and in that, Noah saw something—something that made him wonder if, maybe, she was the only one who could be perfect for his dad.

It was race week, and everything was running at full throttle. Max was his usual self, the high-octane Formula 1 driver, constantly on the go, living off adrenaline and the expectations that came with it. They boarded the private jet with a few of the other drivers, and as soon as they were in the air, Max and his mates turned their attention to technical talk, while Noah, feeling out of place but not entirely unwelcome, found a seat beside her.

As the engines hummed in the background and the landscape below them blurred into a sea of clouds, Noah let himself relax for the first time in what felt like forever. She was reading through a set of files, occasionally glancing up at him with that comforting, steady gaze she had perfected.

“So...” Noah said, breaking the silence after a while, “How did you get this job?”

She looked up, offering him a warm smile as she closed the folder in her lap. “That’s a loaded question,” she said, her voice playful but still laced with that underlying wisdom. “How much time do you have?”

Noah grinned, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve got all the time in the world, it seems. Might as well learn something interesting.”

She chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Well, I’ve always had a thing for organisation. I’ve worked in a lot of high-pressure environments, but this—” she motioned around the jet, a flick of her hand that encompassed the luxury, the chaos, the busy hum of the race world “—this was different. I actually came into it by accident.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Accident? How does someone accidentally end up working with the best Formula 1 drivers in the world?”

She shrugged casually, like it was no big deal. “I used to be a personal assistant for a couple of big-name corporate execs, and after some... interesting situations, I realised I needed a change. My family had always been involved in motorsports, so I started working for a racing team, just answering emails, scheduling meetings. Then one day, Max’s manager called me in to help out with his chaotic schedule. The rest is history.”

Noah laughed. “I’m guessing Max’s schedule is a nightmare?”

She gave him a knowing look. “You could say that.” She lowered her voice as though she was telling him a secret. “Max’s not the easiest guy to manage, but we get along just fine.”

Noah nodded, his curiosity piqued. “What’s it like... working with him? I mean, really working with him?”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she seemed almost nostalgic, like she was remembering the past. “He’s a pain, honestly. He doesn’t listen half the time, and he thinks he can do whatever he wants. But that’s Max, right? He’s got this fire in him, this energy that doesn’t let anyone or anything hold him back. And... well, someone has to keep the wheels turning when the engine’s running at full speed. That’s where I come in.”

Noah couldn’t help but grin. “Seems like you’re the only one who can actually keep him in line.”

She gave him a small smile, her eyes sparkling with that quiet confidence. “I don’t keep him in line—I just know how to get him to do what’s necessary. There’s a big difference.”

The jet hummed steadily, and Noah leaned back in his seat, thinking about what she’d said. She was good. Too good at her job to be just another assistant. She was like the secret engine that kept Max running, and Noah didn’t think he’d ever fully understand why she chose to work with him, but he didn’t mind. She clearly had everything under control.

“So, do you like it?” Noah asked, after a beat of silence. “The job? I mean, it’s got to be crazy, right?”

She smiled at the question, looking thoughtful. “It’s a lot, yes. But it’s also rewarding. I’ve always loved a challenge, and Max... well, he’s a big one. But he’s also got a heart under all that arrogance. It’s just buried deep. You’d have to stick around long enough to see it for yourself.”

Noah stared at her for a moment, absorbing her words. He wasn’t sure if he believed she meant that, but it made him wonder about his dad in a way he hadn’t before. Maybe she was the one person who understood Max better than anyone. Better than he did, that’s for sure.

As the flight continued, the other drivers gathered in the back, talking racing tactics and joking among themselves. Max glanced over at Noah, giving him a quick nod before returning to his conversation with the others. But even from where he sat, Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he felt... maybe a little bit more at home in this strange new world.

It wasn’t just about living up to the chaos or trying to impress his dad. It was about finding a balance between who he was and what this life could offer him. And maybe, just maybe, the one person who could make him see it clearly was sitting right in front of him, offering him coffee and a chance to truly know her story.

Race day had arrived, and the atmosphere was electric. The entire paddock was buzzing with energy as the team prepped for the race. Max’s PA was in the hospitality area, typing away at her laptop, responding to emails and making sure everything was in place for the post-race debrief. Her calm, focused demeanor was the eye of the storm, while around her, chaos seemed to swirl.

Noah had been lingering nearby, watching the action unfold. The race cars lined up, the drivers warming up in their suits, engineers giving last-minute adjustments. But Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still so much he didn’t understand. Formula 1 was more than just fast cars; it was strategy, timing, and a whole world he hadn’t fully cracked yet.

She noticed him staring into the pit, looking like he was trying to figure it all out, and her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. She closed her laptop and pushed her chair back, standing up.

"Hey," she called over to him, "You look a little lost. Want to get some fresh air?"

Noah blinked, his gaze lifting to meet hers. "Sure. I mean, I could use a break."

She motioned toward the balcony, a quieter spot away from the noise of the paddock. "Come on. Let’s go up there. I'll teach you a few things about the race."

They made their way out, and as soon as they stepped onto the balcony, Noah took in the view of the circuit below. He hadn’t even noticed the race started. Or was this the formation lap? He was sure he read something about that. The track was alive, filled with motion, the cars zipping around as the tension built toward the start.

She leaned against the railing, her arms folded as she studied Noah. “So, how much do you know about all this? The strategy, the pit stops, all that?”

Noah shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I know a decent amount. I mean, mum sometimes put on the race for me to shut me up, but I didn’t really get into the details. She wasn’t into it, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.” He paused, then added with a bit of a sheepish grin, “So I know the basics, but it’s a lot more complicated than I thought.”

She nodded, a knowing look crossing her face. “Yeah, it’s a lot more than just fast cars and fuel. Let me give you the rundown.”

She began explaining the finer details of race strategy—the tire choices, how teams monitored fuel and tire degradation, the timing of pit stops, the importance of keeping track of the weather. As she talked, Noah found himself listening intently, his mind absorbing the information. She wasn’t just teaching him about the race; she was showing him how the puzzle pieces fit together.

“You’re getting it,” she said, smiling at him as he absorbed it all. “The strategy isn’t just about winning; it’s about staying ahead of the competition at every turn. A good driver can have the skill, but it’s the team that makes them successful.”

Noah nodded, feeling a new sense of respect for everything that went into a race. “I get it now. It’s more than just the guy behind the wheel.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

The sound of the race engines revving up brought them both back to the present. The cars were lining up, and she could feel the tension building as the race was about to begin. She turned toward Noah, her tone shifting slightly. “Alright, time to get back to work. Max has quite a few places to make up.”

They both turned toward the pit, and with a knowing glance, she led Noah back inside.

The race was intense, but as the laps ticked down, Max started to pull away from the pack. Noah could see it happening before anyone else—his dad was dominating, racing like the champion he was. It wasn’t just about the car; it was about Max’s relentless drive.

And then, it happened. Max crossed the finish line in first place, and the entire team erupted in celebration. Noah felt a strange mix of pride and awe. This was his dad—he was winning, and it was like nothing else mattered in that moment.

She was already moving, heading straight for the garage to make sure everything was set for the post-race celebrations. Noah followed behind her, curious but also wanting to see what happened next.

As they entered the garage, Noah couldn’t help but ask, “Why are we back here?”

She turned to him with a knowing smile. “Away from the cameras,” she said simply. “Sometimes the celebrations should be private.”

The doors opened just as Max walked in, his face flushed with triumph, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. Without a second thought, he crossed the space in long strides, pulling her into a tight hug.

Noah watched them, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw the chemistry between them. It was impossible to ignore—the way Max’s arms wrapped around her, how she laughed softly in his arms, as though they had all the time in the world. It wasn’t just the physical connection between them, it was the way they fit together. They had this unspoken understanding, this quiet intimacy that Noah couldn’t deny.

For the first time, he felt like an outsider—just a kid who had stumbled into a world he didn’t fully understand, yet somehow found himself caught in the middle of something bigger than himself. Watching them together, he couldn't help but think they were cute—and it was a thought that made him feel oddly warm inside.

Max pulled away from her, looking down at Noah with a mischievous grin. “Atta boy, kid,” he said, pulling Noah into a hug. The older man’s arms enveloped him easily, and for a second, Noah felt the weight of everything—his confusion, his place in all of this, but also the new undeniable love for moments like this, moments he never had. 

It was rare, moments like these, where Noah felt like he truly belonged in this world, like he wasn’t just a spectator in anyone’s life. The hug felt like a reassurance, like Max was showing him, in his own way, that he was happy he was here.

As they pulled apart, Noah found himself grinning, the rush of the race and the moment of connection filling him with something he couldn’t quite name. But whatever it was, it felt real.

She stepped forward, brushing off a stray piece of hair from her face. “Good job, Max,” she said, her voice soft but proud. “You didn’t screw it up for once.”

Max shot her a playful look. “Who are you calling a screw-up?”

She winked at him. “You, it’s just not obvious because I pick up your slack Max Emilian.”

Noah looked between them, watching the playful banter, and for the first time since he’d arrived in Monaco, he felt like things were... right. Whatever this was between his dad and her, it was something real. And maybe, just maybe, it could be the foundation for something that could help him find his place in this chaotic world.

taglist: @linnygirl09 @mirrorball-6 @miyasuni

[bl-bracket]

Ok so I'm still in the process of making round 1 (got all the back end stuff done, just need to make the actual polls which can take a couple hours) but I've had yet ANOTHER idea for a kind of bl gimmick blog thing that I wanted to share

So have y'all heard of 6 Degrees of Separation? basically it's a whole concept of every person in the world being connected through 6 degrees of separation max (so a knows b who knows c who knows d etc). But then there was also a spin off that I remember hearing about a while back called 6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon, where it was the claim that Kevin Bacon had worked with everyone in Hollywood within max 6 movies (so Kevin was in movie a which also featured actor z who was also in movie b which featured director y who was also in movie c etc). There was even a website

The idea is then to create a version of this for Thai dramas, cause like there is a ton of cast overlap in the ql world at least, and I feel like you can connect a lot of Thai dramas together within 6 degrees.

My original thought was like connecting it by dramas. So for example going from like Kinnporsche to Fish Upon the Sky and trying to find the most direct line of connection between the two shows. The other idea is to just connect it between actors themselves. So like Tor Thanapob to Jeff Satur.

What would this information accomplish? not much but it's fun for me to look up and cool to see how connected everything is

Anyways I already play this game a lot with myself when I need to search up stuff on mdl. Sometimes when I'm already on the page of a Thai drama, I hop around to try to get to the next one by doing this.

The idea then would be a blog where I would show the connections. I could randomize some but people could also request for me to find the connections between two dramas or actors.

The reason why I'd keep it to just Thai dramas is that other country's qls don't tend to draw from the same pool of actors as much, so it would require navigating through a lot of stuff blindly on my end. It could be done, but would require someone more familiar with that country's dramas/movies at large and not just their ql stuff (which is what I mainly know).

anyways does anyone else find this conceptually interesting or am I just alone in a sea of my particular brand of autism lol

[tempural]

Hi!! I wanted to say that I loved reading about your journey of creating a personal website. I'm still unsure between Vercel and Netlify. I have a small question to ask. See, one of the reasons I want to make a website is to archive drawings and journal/sketchbook. Would you have any tips for creating an area on my website just for the diary/journal, which has tags, files for each entry, etc.?

Bello!

Really happy to hear about your interest in websites! I want everyone to make their own site so I don't have to log into social media and get instant tummyaches ♥

Vercel vs Netlify: I think I settled on Vercel for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I just made a site on Netlify, then tested on Vercel, and now I have like 5 websites on Vercel so I just kept using it LOL. I'm sure a more tech-savvy person would know the difference - I think they have certain integrations with specific programs.

Creating a diary or journal with tags:

There's a couple of different ways you can do that, with different levels of work needed.

you got me yapping again:

This sadgrl tutorial might be outdated and may or may not work, but explains the process better than I can.

Easiest: make a journal on Dreamwidth, or another blogging site (wordpress??) that allows easy tags and RSS feed, and embed that RSS feed onto your site.

This requires almost no HTML set-up, and the easiest to organize tags, but you don't truly have the data on your own site since it's just embedded.

When I snuck into a web design class at college, this was one of the methods that the professor used for a blog within a portfolio site LOL.

Shit like wordpress is what a LOT of ~professional~ sites do for their blog section. They code it separately from the main site haha. It's the most popular thing, but not necessarily the best. And wait til you read on what the CEO of wordpress has been having meltdowns about... he owns tumblr too!

It's made with a tutorial for Neocities if that's what you use.

Medium: Set up zonelets.

It will require some HTML and JS editing, but will help automate making headers/footers for each page of a blog.

I've never used it myself, but I see other people speak highly of it.

HARD FOR ME CUZ I'M A GORILLA: I believe a lot of professional web devs will slap your face with their coding cock until you use a static site generator (SSG) to make your site.

You will need some coding knowledge to set up the tagging system since it doesn't come with it enabled by default. But it's made explicitly to be an alternative to big Static Site Generators which are...

It requires some more intimidating knowledge, because it's a lot of scripts that turn files that are not HTML/CSS/JS into plain HTML.

Also you have to use the command line, and that doesn't come with buttons that tell you what you can do. You have to copy/paste all that shit or memorize the code to 'dev build astro' and it all looks silly.

I've used Eleventy, and now am using Astro. Other people use Hugo or Jekyll or some other stuff with crazy names like Glup Shitto. I hate all these sites cuz none of the words mean anything to me. This is a common theme for me and tech. I don't know what NODES or CONTENT or ISLANDS are!!!

I had the most success attempting to learn how to use a SSG by downloading a template and altering it with github + VScodium. Here's the template page for Astro. You click on a theme you like, and it takes you to its github page. (If you don't want to use evil Microsoft stuff sorry. Skip this entire section.) Follow the instructions on the page for "forking" the glup shitto. When it tells you to run commands, I run those commands through the terminal window in VScodium. These tutorials never tell you what these commands do cuz they assume you already know. Usually those commands automatically install the files you need onto your computer, and create the final files.

You can see my wip here for a "tag system" that SHOULD show members of a web listing haha but I don't know what I'm doing and I have a reading disorder AND don't know cumputer good.

THEORETICALLY this will be the simplest and easiest way to maintain tags and files, because after you set it up you just have to write the "content" of the blog page. And you don't have to set up the header/footer ever again. I see the vision, and potential, but I am not there yet when it takes me 5 hours a day to figure out what any of the words in the documentation mean and I don't want to ask an actual tech person cuz they will be like 'obviously just press the Blip on the Repository and then Suck My Ass in the command line".

(side note I haven't updated fujofans in like a year cuz I'm struggling with this part to make updating easier).

Con: the final HTML/CSS code is really ugly if it's "minified", and a lot of themes use """"""professional"""""" CSS libraries like Bootstrap and Tailwind that I honestly think are ugly cuz that's what every fuckin' tech website uses to style their pages and make them look Professional and Minimalist with stupid code like style="500-w dark-gray-balls D-cup-bra" on every single element. Even Toyhouse uses Bootstrap. Eugh!

But maybe you're smarter than me and can wrangle these things better!

That was really long. Woops. I hope you can slug through this wall of text and find something helpful. Feel free to email me if you have any more specific questions. I may or may not be helpful.

If someone else sees this and has better suggestions for making BLOGS, please chime in. I'm begging you.

[aeliem]

3rd horseman - Famine

click for better quality

1st horseman - Conquest 2nd horseman - War

timelapse and me complaining under the cut

this bastard was the reason this took so long. this asshole dealt so much mental damage to me i fucking hate him (joking) (he's fine) (i like him a lot actually he's a cool character)

figuring out the pose and composition was the worst part honestly. i had a precise idea early on of what i wanted for the scale (fancy metal scale, with the cyan/yellow eye on one side and a pile of monster souls on the other, with the eye weighing more), but finding out how to arrange it into something readable was really hard.

honestly now that it's over i might've overthought it, but i think having this many points of interest did work against me

the point of the scale, and Horror tipping it to the side of the eye, is pretty much to illustrate his breaking point in the comic. when (spoiler!) even after the core started working and everyone got (seemingly) saved from famine, he chose to destroy it and doom everyone out of pettiness because his eye being stolen was more important to him (which like, granted, undyne could've gone about this way better, but the way horror reacted really makes him an asshole)

i'm sure you know the answer, but im gonna say it anyway: (because i want to >:] )

Why Horror as Famine?

the og choice is obvious (he's the one in the group who's story fits the most with the theme) but i actually really like the thought process i had for it

famine is associated with: the color black, a scale (for weighing stuff to sell), and famine (self-explanatory). asides from famine, nothing really screams horror sans, so i really went all in with the theme on this one.

the big thing i tried to do with the 4 of them was: they aren't only affected by the themes of their horsemen, they are also the people bringing it and spreading it to others: - Dust is a victim of conquest, as in gets killed by the human going through and "conquering" the underground, but also "conquers" part of the underground himself by killing monsters/getting their exp in order to fight back - Killer is a victim of war, as in forced to fight monsters against his own will after he made a pact with chara, but also he himself starts conflict/war against his own people on his own terms and for his own enjoyment/benefit - Nightmare... well you'll see it in his own post but i'm sure you can already figure it out :)

so for Horror, he's obviously a victim of famine, he's starving, everyone is. but for the horseman of famine (or at least in the interpretation of the bible that i'm using (the one from wikipedia)), famine is man-made. it's economic famine, choosing to increase the price of basic necessities while keeping luxury products the same. obviously it's not directly applicable to horrortale, but it being a conscious, human(or monster)-made thing is what im running with.

but basically, horror is a victim of famine, specifically the one created by frisk's choice (leaving the monsters trapped underground). but he's also the one who brought famine to everyone left in the underground by destroying the core.

so, timelapse!

[sweetmariihs2]

A rant about girlhood, autism and growing up: feeling like you didn't grew up enough.

I grew up and I still love childish things. I love dolls, I love cartoons, I love girlish music and clothing, I love fictional characters, and overall I love the overall girlhood experience. But it's not the "I've grown up and I'm trying to get back to it" kind of thing that we always see on social media, what I mean is that I never really grew up. The years have passed since I was a little girl and I still love Barbie and Disney, but not as in a way like "I'm an adult, I consume adult content, and every now and then I watch some animated films, I admit that I like them, but I still live a more mature life", but rather "I never stopped being who I was as a child". All my tastes are still the same. I don't balance mature TV shows/content with cartoons, I only watch cartoons... most of the time.

I'm going through a transition phase now into adulthood... high school is about to end and everyone around me seems to have matured more than I have, even the girls who are known for listening to Lana Del Rey and wearing Coquette fashion, which is a group I fit in with very well too. Apart from the girls who are practically adults (and who already have a romantic and financial life, speak in a mature way, and are already considered women) I also feel more immature than the girls I identify with the most due to them liking "immature" things.

I feel mature enough to think and make responsible decisions; I have a lot of emotional maturity and people tell me that I give great advice. But at the same time, on the other hand, I run to my room full of objects from my childhood and spend some time reading, talking, and listening to music about characters from media that are mostly made for children.

One good thing about still loving the exact same things you loved as a child is that you will always have the same things from when you were little today, and you won't get tired of them. The bad thing, however, is that I feel weird about not "growing up." I guess liking these things is a part of me, but at the same time I can't help but feel like the gap between my childhood and adulthood is sometimes too small. I hear people talking about growing up, talking about the infantilization of my generation, I see others who used to be like me now being very different and it's a natural process... but is it infantilization even when I'm just being myself? What would be "infantilization" about my tastes in the eyes of others that to me are just part of who I am as a person? I don't see myself not liking my favorite genre of movies, clothes, music, art, just because I decided to "cure" myself from a supposed "infantilization". I do wonder if I'm unwell for loving the stuff that I love... but it's in a "am I ill for being who I am?" kind of way. It must be awful supressing what is in your heart because people see it as an illness.

I am responsible with my words and behavior and I often see "mature" people making decisions that to me are immature, like being impulsive. It's like I'm somewhere in between maturity and childishness and I get pushed back and forth by people on both sides of the way; I don't fit in with either one, but sometimes I do, for a short period of time until I get pushed back to the other side again. Too mature for children and too childish for adults.

I constantly feel nostalgic about things I used to like, and I feel like the line between past and current tastes is very thin at this point in my life. It confuses me and I think about people's words about growing up, but how can I grow up if I'm already mature and that's who I am? When I was a child I expected to grow up and turn into an adult adult, like if this would just happen naturally. Now I grew up and turned into an adult version of the tiny version of myself. Still and adult, still me, but not normal enough for others, apparently. Sometimes I feel melancholic because as a child I was free to like the things that I still love today without any judgement... well, sometimes. Let's not talk about bullying.

I watch Toy Story, I sometimes feel the urge to play with my toys, I feel like carrying them around with me like a child, but I fight the urge not to do it because I have to adapt - or rather, be an adult.

The fact that I'm autistic (I was diagnosed at the beginning of the year) also probably plays a big role in this, which is another situation that I've been balancing throughout all these years, as I was very normal for the weirdos and too weird for the normals, making me not fit into any of these boxes and consequently just being excluded from social groups for being too weird and being deprived of possible support and inclusion for being too normal. The fact that I hyperfocus on "childish" topics says a lot about my life and the media I consume, because suddenly my mind is completely occupied with things like Sofia The First, and I externalize this a lot. I collect children's magazines of this show, I want to have the toys, I want to dress the toys in clothes. It's normalized on the Internet for people to be from fandoms considered childish, the problem is that I'm often seen as childish even by them. Making a friend who likes The Amazing Digital Circus and having to explain to them that I'm genuinely very passionate about Sofia The First always provokes laughter and I have to laugh too and imitate a "hear me out" behavior in order to be socially accepted. "You shouldn't adapt to please others! Be yourself!" Unfortunately, this is how it is to be yourself in today's world, using tactics to remain true to yourself while acting like it's no big deal until that friend gets used to you like this.

Being an artist is also something that seems to be involved. I like animations to dissect the characters and understand the artistic choices in the writing, design, soundtrack. I don't just like a character or a work, I open it up and analyze every aspect because I love art. When I get a doll in my hands I look at its proportions, design, color palette, I know its backstories, fears and character development within the work they were in. I genuinely love listening to Disney songs, Barbie songs, My Little Pony, and even cringy anime rap... The fact that I am an artist and hyper-focus on animations and love having collectibles (mostly toys, since they are programs for children)...

You know that scene in Toy Story 2 where we see Jessie's owner, Emily, grows up and left her childhood behind, and in the end she gives Jessie away with her toy collection? I feel like I'm an Emily who grew up and kept loving horses and Jessie. I grew up, but I'm still the way I am, and even though I like that, questioning it makes me a little dysmorphic...

People talk about it like it's a defect, and point fingers to other who do the same to say that they're infantilizing themselves. To a point that when I go to the mirror and when I see myself I wonder how did I grew up so quick. I wonder if the problem is my body growing too fast or my maturing process being too slow. But I matured, I think mature, I just love childish stuff, and this makes me overwhelmed. I want to be who I am but being who I am makes me confused and insecure. "Am I doing the right thing by... being myself?" "Am I mentally ill for staying like this, acting like a child even though I'm a grown up?" "Do I even act like a child? I know that I don't, that's not it." Could my desire to be able to carry a toy around with me be related to autistic people having stuffed animals/objects to regulate themselves?

Sometimes I feel the urge to put a doll in my bag and carry her with me throughout my whole day, touch and admire her closely when bored, look at the fabric, paint and sculpt and then have fun taking pics of her doing different activities just seems so nice. I sometimes wanna have awkward conversations and talk about my silly little cartoons like I'm a child talking with not so many social norms like adults usually do. I wanna sit and watch my favorite genre of media, animation, without being whispered about or laugh at; and by that I don't mean someone who watches cartoons sometimes, I mean someone who only sees that stuff. I want to dress up like a princess and make tea parties because I love the simplicity and innocence about those things. Gosh, I'm even waiting for my little cousin to grow up just little a bit more for her to be able to play with dolls with me, cuz I want to go back with playing with them and there is not even a single living soul in my whole social circle that wouldn't judge me if spoke about this!!!

I feel like I'm a little girl in an adult body sometimes, but I do feel like an adult too. I don't understand if I'm like this because I'm autistic, I'm an artist, or if I'm doing something wrong, like infantilizing myself. I don't behave like a child, and I don't do anything for anyone, I enjoy my tastes for myself! The feminine urge of being confused and happy about yourself at the same time. It's a real struggle.

[mozzaremi]

[hoxooster]

You wanna know the scary thing, @manekinoodle? I don't think that Hoxton became more aggressive in PD2 because he was 'pissed off and hurting from being stuck in prison while the guys roamed free'. I honestly think that that was OVERKILL stereotyping him as 'The Angry Brit', because of how much he yelled in The Heist. Because, yeah, he mentions being mad about being in prison and hyper-focuses on the Rat, but I think that that's the end of it. I truly believe that they were like, "Yeah, he's Hoxton. He yells a lot in the first game. So, he has to do that," and that was the end of their thought process. They just lucked into that fitting in with his characterization and just making sense in general. They never actually thought, 'Hey, so, getting abandoned by the Gang would make him lash out at the Crew. And he would probably see Houston wearing his mask--and replacing him on the team--as a slap in the face from his gang. Also, the paranoia that would be involved from getting nabbed and knowing that someone turned him in? Yeah. There's a lot of pain, trauma, and abandonment issues there.' They were just like, "Hoxton yells and he likes his old mask, so he's just mean to Houston because he took his stuff. Plus, he doesn't like being inconvenienced by prison, so he'd go after the guy who threw him in there."

I mean, I could always be wrong. But, OVK's track record of understanding their own characters has always been extremely poor, so... ¯\_(:|)_/¯

houston in payday 3 upsets me a little

hello chat its been a minute im here to post a take. i dont like houstons design in payday 3.

actual flirting vs harassment

worth mentioning i dont own payday 3 and havent paid a lick of attention to houstons payday 3 voice lines or anything but visually it looks a lot like they took the suave rogue route with his character which is an interpretation but not the one i wanted and frankly not one i find interesting in payday 2 he doesnt look like someone who youd find rob a bank in payday 3 i would feel unsafe in a room with him his unassuming appearance in 2 fits his stealth based skillset practicality is very important to him he doesnt like people touching his things and he is not suave by any meaning of the word i dont think it was intentional that they made him as awkward as he is but "i think i ate too much bran this morning" is NOT suave rogue behavior its not giving james bond mission impossible hes a different kind of stealth he stays out of sight and doesnt like talking to people he lacks charisma but the tuxedo design just makes him look like hes supposed to be manipulating the casinogoers charming security into not minding when he takes a keycard

thats not who he is his whole thing is staying far the fuck away from people and not being seen hes also the mechanic he takes care of the van and keeps it in shape i dont think hed be inclined to care if he got oil on an expensive tuxedo anyway, he steals money bc of poverty and kleptomania(headcanon) not bc of greed and glamour like hoxton but a tuxedo just isnt convenient for being a mechanic also would he really fucking put all that on i dont think so that man would wear an unzipped hoodie, a hawaiian print shirt, a very loose tie, cargo pants on a good day, and the sneakers your dad wears he cares to put on a tie bc his brother cares not because he gives a shit about being seen in a lovely suit and tie

he doesnt care about how hes seen because he wont be seen at all why would he dress up so fancy if his intentions are for nobody to see him in the first place

he looks like i would be afraid to see him on a plane he looks like how he would look if he WAS hoxton there are a couple of things in the new design that i do enjoy

for one his eyes are very similar theyre still very sullen and tired looking which is good but with his angrier looking eyebrows it feels a lot more discomforting

the second thing i like is the addition of the eyebrow slit which loosely supports the headcanon that he lost an eye in prison

[creatively-cosmic]

fuck with me

fuck with meeee

im trying to do different sprite styles and sizing down full drawings to make a base is so fucking dumb looking. christ. also ace not looking like they havent slept in days feels illegal.

on another topic god seeing other pokepasta blogs interact with each other lately has been so fun. i really wanna do that sometime soon... it certainly wouldnt be canon but i havent gotten to see stuff like that circling around since my time in the daily pokemon community! though maybe its just cus of the blogs that i follow that im seeing it now hajnsljkns

[caelanglang]

Sometimes it ends too soon

And I don't want to sleep ~

song: The Mortal Boy King by The Paper Kites

I actually struggled a lot with the details and painting this… I think this has been on my wips for over a month. Here’s a Timelapse recording of the process :3 you can see how indecisive I am with the elements and colors lol I hope I can share more process like this with y’all because y’all inspire me to grow as a creator !! Thank you for watching :))

[idolomantises]

there's something so comforting about artists you admire talking about their own struggles and insecurities

[deadbeandrop]

i always feel like there's such an underappreciated aspect of lumpus being the one to have feelings for slinkman (over the years) which is that there's something so Hilarious about him wanting to dump his head in a vat of acid because he's thinking stupid mushy shit, or Worse, about this Thing again

who also does not pick up on this at all and just thinks he's being weird again

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[goldkirk]

If anyone remembers all the dental work I needed done uhhhhhhh three years ago and never went back and ran away forever…I’m finally going back to a dentist on Thursday to restart the process and face my deep and utter abiding terror. And I also scheduled my COVID and flu vaccines for a couple hours later. And my psych appointment to restart meds.

I figured get it all done in one day, have my miserable immune reaction on Friday that I seem to always get with Moderna COVID shots, and then flee directly into the weekend and never be a person again except when I’m on and off crying. It’s going to be so kind to future me to get these things done and I can do it no matter how much I feel like I am constantly about to Actually Physically Die.

[adragonsdance]

Does anyone else ever think about how WC!Scott canonically brought Mertha back to life and there was a bit of hand waving like “Eeuuhh she was a goat that’s not to difficult” but really she was a human soul trapped in a goat’s body, so Scott could bring back a human soul by like, the middle of the trials, so he might have already been powerful enough to bring back Milo by that point or soon after, without having to go full Lich and do all the horrible things that ritual entails, but by that point he had convinced himself so thoroughly that the only way to achieve his goal was by becoming the Supreme Witch that it didn’t even cross his mind to try?

[brittlebutch]

actually first ep of Voyager where Janeway talks to Tuvok about how his family misses him is that when she says they Worry about him Tuvok contradicts her and claims that Vulcans don't do that but when she corrects and says they Miss him he accepts this and admits he misses them too; implying perhaps a pedantic difference between 'Vulcans do not Feel Emotions' (false) and 'Vulcans do not Act Out of Emotion' (accurate) -> 'Miss/Longing' is an emotion, but 'Worry' is an action one does out of emotion -> one Vulcans do; one Vulcans do not.

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D