#and I love every versions of him very much

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, sexual content, husband!Lando

Notes — You'll be delighted to hear that I'm no longer restricting myself to 30 chapters. We might still be going in 20 years. I don’t want to rush any of their story.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

The house they’d rented for their mini-honeymoon was tucked into the Cotswolds, surrounded by sprawling fields and winding country roads. It was nothing extravagant — just two nights, just them, before the season roared straight back into motion. A window of quiet. A pause between chapters.

Amelia stood barefoot in the kitchen, her hair loosely braided down her back, as she watched Lando attempting to operate the stovetop espresso machine. He was shirtless, hunched with intense focus, and utterly failing.

“That’s the wrong burner,” she said, not unkindly.

Lando looked up, caught in the act. “I was testing you.”

“You’re failing.” She giggled. 

He grinned and finally turned the knob correctly. Steam hissed. Outside, a low breeze rustled the leaves. The cottage smelled like lavender and toast. One of her rings — the wedding band — clicked gently against the ceramic mug she was holding, and she stilled. Amelia glanced down at her hand, turning it slowly in the light. Both rings — the engagement and the wedding band — glinted at her, new and strange. Only a tiny bit heavier than before, but noticeable.

“I’m still getting used to the feeling,” she murmured.

Lando poured the coffee and set one cup in front of her. “What feeling?”

She tapped her fingers against the side of her mug. “Two rings. It’s a lot more sensory input than one. I keep noticing them. Like a very mild version of wearing my watch on the wrong wrist.”

He sat across from her, cradling his own mug, his legs tangled beneath the table like he belonged in every soft corner of the morning. “Is it uncomfortable? You don’t have to wear them, baby.”

“No. I like wearing them. It’s just… different,” she said, after thinking about it. “But I like that. It makes it feel real. Like a constant reminder.”

Lando smiled, gentle and full of something that felt like sunlight. “It is real.”

She looked at him, her husband, now, and felt that odd little stretch in her chest again. 

They spent the day driving lazily through villages, stopping for fresh strawberries and cream, taking photos at every stone wall and overgrown hedge. He kissed her forehead at every stoplight. She held his hand every second she possible could. 

That night, they were curled up on the tiny sofa in front of the fireplace, the embers low and warm. Amelia had her head on his shoulder, tracing invisible shapes on his chest through the cotton of his t-shirt. “I liked your vows,” she said.

Lando made a soft sound. “I, like, panicked my way through them.”

“And you cried” she added, softly smug.

“Couldn’t help it. You looked like a dream,” he whispered, kissing her hair.

“I’m glad we didn’t wait.” She told him, after a beat. 

He nodded, squeezing her, kissing her head. “Me too.”

They sat there for almost all night, the hours stretching out like soft fabric, warm and quiet and alive. The wedding day had all become a bit of a blur. Beautiful. Full of love. Their families had laughed and drank too much wine, and for one day her dad had been just that — not Lando’s boss, but his father-in-law. 

“I love being married to you,” Lando told her. 

Amelia laughed. “It’s only been a day.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s been the best day of my life,” he said.

She kissed him, slow and sure. “I like being married to you, too.”

—

The sun was barely cresting over the hills while they were packing up the car. Their two-night honeymoon had gone by in the blink of an eye. Amelia folded the last of their clothes into her duffel, zipped it closed, and watched Lando make a show of fitting the leftover snacks into his backpack.

“You could just carry the crisps separately,” she offered, watching him frown at the bag.

Lando gave her a look like she’d suggested something criminal. “The’ll fit. I don’t want to have to carry two bags through the airport.”

She sighed and leaned against the car, her left hand absently rising to adjust her sunglasses — and catching once again on the glint of the two rings on her finger. She was starting to acclimate to them. The newness was still there, but now it was becoming a kind of comfort. A tether, maybe.

They drove to Heathrow listening to a playlist Amelia had built for the car ride, songs they’d played at the wedding reception, one after another like quiet echoes. When Electric Feel came on, Lando laughed and reached for her hand. “Max dancing to this was the funniest part of the night.”

“He was off-beat on purpose,” Amelia replied, dry. 

“He says that, but I think he’s just bad at dancing.”

Amelia tilted her head. “That didn’t stop you.”

“Oh, I looked incredible on that dance floor.” He grinned. 

“You nearly dislocated your shoulder.”

“And I’d do it again,” Lando said proudly.

The flight to Austria was short, uneventful, smooth. They landed to a flurry of activity. The paddock was already humming with the usual pre-race tension and preparation, even from the carpark, they could see team trucks, personnel moving around with radios clipped to their belts, tyres stacked in neat lines like puzzle pieces waiting to be solved.

It was like re-entering orbit.

At the McLaren motorhome, people greeted them with smiles and congratulations. Someone had put “Just Married” bunting across the back wall of Lando’s garage — and the social media liaison handed her a bouquet of peonies when they walked into the paddock, filming them (for a TikTok, probably). 

“This is kind of surreal,” she said quietly, touching one of the petals. 

Lando, already redressed in head-to-toe team gear, brushed a kiss to her cheek. “You’re allowed to be a little sentimental. You’re married now.”

She nudged him. “You’re married too.”

“Right,” he grinned. “And already back at work less than a week later. Very devoted.”

“You want a medal?” She teased, 

“Yes, preferably chocolate.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to go through the pre-race engineering notes, her clipboard already full. Race week had begun, again. The season didn’t wait, wedding or not. But for a few moments more, she could still feel the softness of the last week in the curve of her shoulders and the warmth of her ring finger.

Lando jogged off toward his garage when Will shouted for him, turning back only once to catch her eye.

And she smiled. Married. Back to work. But tethered together in one certain way.

—

The walls of the Red Bull strategy room were matte grey and slightly dirty. Two screens took up most of one side — telemetry blinking in real-time, simulation models lining up neatly like soldiers. Engineers moved in and out quietly, murmuring about tyre windows and sector times.

Amelia sat in her usual spot at the table, posture relaxed but alert, tapping the cap of her pen against her notes. Max dropped into the chair beside her, dropping a bottle of water onto the table with a satisfying thunk.

"You're late," she said without looking up.

"I'm fast though,” Max countered, cracking the cap. “So it evens out."

She didn’t laugh, but her lip twitched. “You know we’re going to need to double stint the mediums if the degradation runs high again. It’s not going to be as clean as last year.”

Max leaned over to glance at her notes, one eyebrow rising. “You’ve already run the long-run overlays?”

“Before breakfast,” she said. “Softs fall off faster than predicted in traffic. If you get boxed in Turn 3, you’re going to have to stretch the second stint, or commit to three stops.”

Max hummed, nodding slowly. “And if we undercut?”

“Only if you get DRS every lap, or clean air from the start. Otherwise you’ll burn out your tyres too soon.” She pushed a tab on her tablet, flipping to a new data cluster. “You’ll need to be aggressive into Sector 2. That’s where Checo is losing time, by the way.”

“She’s so smug when she’s right,” Max said, dryly, to no one in particular.

“I’m not smug,” Amelia replied. “Don’t take Turn 9 too shallow this year. I saw your onboard. You were clipping the inside kerb last time and risking bottoming out.”

“You watched last year’s onboard footage again?” He asked. 

“Obviously.” She shrugged. 

Max gave her a long look. “When do you find the time?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I watched in on three times speed while I was peeing this morning.”

He snorted. “Multi-tasking. I like it.”

There was a knock on the open door — Hannah poking her head in. “You two ready to head over to the sim? Checo’s already in there”

Max stood, stretching. “Yeah. Think so.”

Amelia gathered her iPad and notebooks and stood beside him. “Do we have the same ride-height as last round?”

Hannah nodded. 

Max bumped his shoulder into hers lightly before they left the room together. “Wedding of the year’s over,” he murmured as they walked down the hall. “You gonna win me the championship again this year?”

She hummed. “Only if you give me a clean first lap today.”

She really liked how easy it was to joke around with Max—she could be playful and he never thought she was being mean, could always tell when she was telling a joke. 

“No promises.” He grinned. 

She smiled at him. 

— 

The fans buzzed overhead, barely cutting through the thick warmth of the Red Bull garage. It smelled like tyre rubber and brake dust and faintly of the coffee someone had abandoned near the telemetry stations. Amelia sat half-perched on the edge of the pit wall desk, ankles crossed, flipping through her iPad with methodical intent, her stylus tapping lightly on the screen.

GP approached with his headset looped around his neck, the usual controlled chaos of a race weekend thrumming behind him. He grinned at her, lopsided and knowing. “Heard you got married.”

She didn’t look up. “I did.”

“To Norris,” he clarified, eyes amused.

“Also true.”

Christian appeared just then, phone in hand, looking as if he’d just stepped away from a meeting he didn’t particularly enjoy. “I saw the photos,” he said. “Looked great. Very British.”

Amelia blinked at him. “Well, I’m mostly American, so…”

Christian held up his hands in mock surrender. “I know. Sorry. But I saw that there were scones.”

Amelia snorted. “Lando’s mom insisted.”

GP raised an eyebrow. “So you actually stayed away from the factory for an entire week? I’m impressed.”

She gave him a dry look, her stylus pausing mid-swipe. “You didn’t crash the sim server once while I was gone.”

“No,” GP admitted. “Probably because you didn’t have Max on it all day every day.”

Christian leaned against the wall beside her, arms folded across his chest. His eyes crinkled faintly. “So. Honeymoon?”

“Two days in the countryside. It was nice,” Amelia replied, not looking up. “But Austria waits for no one.”

There was a pause, a slight weight to the air.

“And after that?” Christian asked. “You thinking about doing anything nice next year?”

She turned a page in her notes. “Yeah,” she said, calm. “I won’t have to be at the factory during breaks anymore, so I’ll have more time with him, probably.”

That landed like a dropped screw in the silence.

GP tilted his head. “Wait—you’re leaving?”

Amelia nodded once. “Max and Jos have known for a while. Thought they might have mentioned it.”

Christian stood a little straighter. “Where are you going?”

“McLaren.”

The word slipped out easily. Controlled. Final.

GP let out a short breath, blinking. “McLaren?”

Christian’s mouth twitched into something unreadable — tight at the corners. Calculating. “For Lando.”

Amelia looked up then, her expression unreadable but edged with quiet defiance. “No. But if that’s what you want to think, sure.”

GP blinked at her like she’d just short-circuited his brain. “You’re really leaving us?”

“Yeah. Probably,” she said, finally setting the tablet down on her lap. “Max won’t need me next year. You’ll have the car sorted before Bahrain. I’ve already finalised the details with Adrian.”

Christian’s voice dropped. “That’s a big decision.”

“So was coming here,” she said evenly.

There was something in her tone — not defensive, not regretful, but unshakeable. The same voice she used in strategy meetings when she was right and everyone else was just taking longer to realise it.

Christian sighed, then nodded once. His jaw was tight. “You always were one step ahead.”

Amelia made a face. “I just like to plan ahead. Nothing wrong with that.” 

GP looked down at the floor, then back at her, genuine sadness flickering in his expression. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“It’s not supposed to be,” she replied, voice quiet now. “You build things. You adapt. That’s the job. That’s the sport.”

Christian glanced at her again, and some of the tightness was gone. “You know the door’s always open.”

“I don’t think I’ll be coming back.” She said plainly. 

GP gave her a nod. Christian’s eye twitched before he was walking away, murmuring something into his phone.

Amelia looked back down at her iPad. Sighed at Max’s inability to not overheat the left rear into turn one.

Just another Friday.

—

The kettle was whistling on the counter.

Amelia was curled into a kitchen chair, legs folded under her, wearing a hoodie of Lando’s that swallowed her narrow frame. The sleeves were bunched around her knuckles. Her iPad was open on the table in front of her, the screen glowing faintly in the morning light. She hadn’t typed a single word in the blinking reply box.

Lando walked in with damp hair, still tousled from his shower, his phone in one hand. “You want tea?”

“No,” Amelia said, eyes still locked on the screen. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

He paused by the counter. “That’s a lot of answers.”

She didn’t elaborate. Just tapped the tip of her stylus absently against the wood grain of the table, small and rhythmic.

Lando made her a cup anyway. Peppermint, no caffeine. He placed it gently in front of her, then slid into the seat across from her. “What’s going on?”

She nudged the iPad toward him wordlessly.

He read the email silently. Then again, slower this time. When he looked up, his face was unreadable.

“We’d love to do a feature on you,” he read aloud, softly. “Your career path, your unique path into the engineering field, and your part in Max Verstappen’s 2021 Championship. Your openness about being autistic. And now, the public interest in your recent marriage to Lando has made you one of the most fascinating figures in motorsport right now...”

He passed the tablet back.

“I don’t know what to say,” she murmured.

“Do you want to do it?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” she said again, tone clipped this time.

“Okay. Why not?”

She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. “Because it’s… all very personal. And I know what that means. It means they’ll ask questions about my childhood and my dad and you and Max and my autism and everything. And maybe they’ll twist it into something I didn’t mean to say, and then suddenly my entire life is summed in one terrible headline.”

Lando nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not supposed to agree with me. You’re supposed to, like, tell me I’m overthinking and this is an exciting opportunity and they’ll be nice.”

“I’m your husband now,” Lando said, lips quirking. “Legally, I have to be honest with you.”

Amelia huffed, a soft laugh bubbling up despite herself. “Shut up.”

He reached across the table, gently brushing his fingers against hers. “So what exactly feels wrong about it? The autism thing?”

“All of it,” she said. Then, quickly—“None of it. I mean—” She took a breath, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie like she needed the fabric to hold her together. “I want to tell my story. I like the idea of it. But I’m scared they’ll simplify it. Make it into a neat arc. ‘Autistic woman makes good car. Marries F1 star. Representation! Progress!’” She winced. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Of course it is,” Lando said. “Everything about you is complicated.”

“Thanks,” she said, deadpan.

He smiled, nudging her foot under the table. “Yeah, but that’s why I love you, baby.”

Amelia didn’t smile. Not yet. Her brows pinched, eyes unfocused. “I’m worried they’ll ask about how you cope. Like I’m something hard to live with. Like I’m a challenge someone has to overcome to prove how good and kind and patient they are. Like I’m not the one making things work.”

Lando leaned forward, his voice steady. “I don’t cope with you, Amelia. I don’t endure you. I live with you. And I love you. And I respect you more than I respect anyone else in my life.”

She blinked at that. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Okay, but… what if I say something wrong? What if I let people in and they don’t understand?”

“Then they don’t understand,” he said simply. “That’s not on you.”

She was quiet for a long beat.

“I don’t want to be a mascot,” she said at last, almost a whisper. “Or a headline. Or a symbol. I just want to do good work. And be happy. And love you. And maybe go to bed early tonight.”

“You can do all those things,” Lando said, voice softening. “You’re already doing most of them.”

Amelia finally reached for the tea. It was warm. Steady. Familiar.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he added, gently. “Baby, you can think about it. You don’t have to say yes right away.”

She looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll think about it.” Then, “But if I do say yes, do you think they’ll let me read it before they post it? To make sure it’s fine.”

“I’m sure they’d be okay with that.” He nodded. 

Amelia smiled at him, her cheeks a little red. “Can we kiss for a little while?” 

He pushed his chair out and patted his lap. 

—

The interview took place in a quiet café near Paris — one Amelia had chosen specifically for the low lighting, the muffled acoustics, and the booths with high backs. The interviewer had been vetted in advance by Max’s PR team, and to Amelia’s mild surprise, she wasn’t awful. She was actually… gentle. Respectful. And patient.

Her name was Lisette, and she came alone, no assistant, no camera crew, just a voice recorder, a notebook, and a kind smile.

“Ready when you are,” she said softly.

Amelia, sitting cross-legged in the booth in a dark green jumper and her favourite wide-legged trousers, nodded once. “Okay. You can start.”

Lisette clicked on the recorder.

There was a beat of silence. Then, “Amelia, you’ve had a remarkable career already — and it’s still just beginning. Race strategist, performance engineer, design technician. You’re kind of a jack of all trades. But what I really want to know is… what’s it like to be one of the most visible women in Formula 1?”

Amelia blinked slowly. “Overwhelming. And also very cool. And also… a bit ridiculous?”

Lisette smiled curiously. “Ridiculous?”

“I work with some of the most brilliant people in motorsport,” she said. “I’m still learning every day to not cope with the constant chaos, noise, and… expectation.”

Lisette nodded, jotting a note. “And what’s the answer to that?”

“I don’t. Cope, I mean,” Amelia said honestly. “I manage. I prepare. I build systems around myself that work. And I work really, really hard to be excellent at what I do, so that no one can dismiss me.”

A long pause.

“I like that,” Lisette murmured. “Can I ask—what is the biggest misconception people have about you?”

Amelia leaned back, eyes darting to the side in thought. “That I’m delicate,” she said at last. “Because I act a little differently, and I have to wear ear-defenders more often than not, and I can’t do loud sponsor events without at-least one prep day. But I work sixteen-hour days during race weekends. I can out-logic a tyre delta problem in my sleep. Delicate isn’t the right word. I’m… I’m just precise.”

Lisette smiled. “And does that precision carry into your personal life?”

Amelia hesitated. “Sometimes.” She shifted in her seat, adjusting one of her rings — the wedding band. “I got married earlier this month,” she said, unprompted. “To Lando Norris.”

“I know,” Lisette said gently. “It looked beautiful. I saw some photos on social media. You had a lot of the grid attend.”

“It was beautiful,” Amelia agreed. “Loud and soft all at once. A sensory paradox. But it was all planned — down to the napkins. That’s how I make things manageable. We planned it for me to feel safe. And loved.”

“And did you?”

“I did. I do. All the time.”

“May I ask what it’s like, being married to a public figure?” Lisette asked. “An athlete?”

Amelia thought about that for a moment. “Well, he comes with a lot of noise.” She said, a wry smile on her face. “But he understands me,” she said finally. “Not everything, not all the time — but he wants to. And he’s not afraid of the harder parts. The shutdowns. The silences. The incessant need for structure. And I guess, in a way, I’m a public figure now, too. So we’ve evened out the playing field a little.” 

“You don’t seem uncomfortable talking about love,” Lisette noted.

“Oh, I’m not,” Amelia said. “I just don’t always know how much to share. Because once you start telling your story, people think they own it. But love… love is something I had to work very hard to understand. It didn’t come easily. So I’m proud of it.”

“Can I ask you something harder?” Lisette said softly.

Amelia tilted her head. “Um… Sure.”

“Do you ever feel responsible for being… a symbol? For other autistic people? Or young women who want to work in motorsport?”

Amelia let out a slow breath. “Yes,” she said. “And no. I want them to see me and think, ‘Maybe I can do that too.’ But I don’t want to be the only one. I don’t want to be special.”

Lisette nodded. “I understand.”

“I shouldn’t be the exception,” Amelia said.

The interview ended soon after, with soft thank-yous and a promise that Amelia would be sent a transcript to approve. She appreciated that, even though it was a pre-agreed condition of the interview.

Lando met her a few metres from the coffee shop. He was wearing a black coat and his hair was fluffy. She walked straight into his chest, fists closing around his shirt. 

He wrapped his arms around her. Squeezed. 

She exhaled a long, slow breath. 

—

The soft glow of the Parisian streets bathed the city in a warm, golden light. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of fresh bread from nearby bakeries and the sound of distant chatter as pedestrians wandered through the winding alleys. Amelia and Lando walked hand in hand, their fingers intertwined tightly. 

"Paris is much quieter than I imagined," Amelia remarked, her voice soft as they strolled along the Seine, the river winding its way through the heart of the city.

Lando glanced at her, a playful glint in his eyes. “I think you’ve just gone numb to the chaos, baby.”

She smiled, a little sheepish. "Well, yeah. I guess I always compare everything to a race weekend now.”

He laughed, squeezing her hand. "Not quite like that here. It's definitely more... relaxed. Peaceful."

They paused near the Pont Alexandre III, the ornate bridge decorated with golden statues, and Lando pulled his camera from his backpack. “Can I take your picture?” He asked, already aiming it at her with a gentle grin.

Amelia blinked at him. “Now? You’re going to take a picture of me in front of a bridge?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, stepping back to get the right angle. “You look beautiful. I want to capture it.”

Her cheeks flushed, though she tried to hide it behind a playful roll of her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. I’m not even wearing a nice outfit. I’m wearing Max’s merch.”

“Exactly,” he said, already focusing on her. “And you’re still perfect.”

Amelia found herself standing still, her breath catching in her chest. 

Lando clicked the shutter. The soft click of the camera echoed in the stillness of the bridge. “Hold on, don’t move,” he said, his voice full of affection as he walked around her. “Just stay like that, okay?”

She tilted her head, amused but compliant. “What are you going to do with all these photos? I’m not a model, Lando.”

He smiled as he knelt down to get a different angle, his lens focused on her face. “Doesn’t matter. I want to remember moments like this. I want to keep them all.”

She smiled, feeling something warm spread through her chest. “Okay. Just... don’t post them on your Instagram or something, okay?”

Lando shot her a knowing glance as he snapped another picture. “Don’t worry. I’ll just keep them for myself.” He flashed a grin, his eyes lighting up with a mix of affection and mischief. “Maybe one day I’ll make a whole album for you.”

She laughed softly, walking over to him and reaching down to gently ruffle his hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

Lando stood up, pocketing the camera. “Yeah. Ridiculous for you.”

Amelia gave him a soft look, feeling the heat of his words settle in her heart. She hadn’t expected Paris to feel so intimate, so calming. She hadn’t expected this kind of quiet joy in a city that was often associated with hustle and glamour. But with Lando beside her, everything felt like it could slow down, just for them.

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re making me fall in love with Paris all over again.”

Lando laughed, his cheeks pink. “I think Paris is already in love with you.”

Amelia smiled at the pocket holding the camera. “I guess I’ll let you keep them.”

“Good,” he said with a wink. “I’m going to make a collage of you, so we can hang it on the wall when we get home.”

Amelia laughed, shaking her head as they continued walking, the streets of Paris unfolding before them like a never-ending adventure. 

—

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass absentmindedly.

Lando was across the room, standing in front of the mirror. He’d pulled off his jacket, looking at himself for a moment before turning back to her with a soft smile. He hadn’t said anything, but she could feel his gaze on her, gentle, loving. She glanced up, meeting his eyes, and something in the way he looked at her made her heart flutter.

He moved toward her, slow and deliberate, as though savouring the moment. His presence was like a magnet, pulling her in, making her want to forget everything else and just focus on him.

“You good?” He asked softly, standing in front of her now. His hands gently cupped her face, tilting her head up to meet him. 

She nodded, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she reached up to touch his cheek, tracing the outline of his jaw with her fingertips. It was such a simple gesture, but it held everything she couldn’t put into words. Everything she felt when he was around—comfort, warmth, security.

“I’m happy we’re here,” she finally murmured, her voice soft. “I’ve needed this. Just...us. Even if it’s just one night before everything gets busy again.”

He smiled, his thumb brushing gently over her lower lip. “Me too, baby,” he said, voice low, full of affection. He leaned down, brushing his lips across her forehead, and then, with a quiet sigh, pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow. She could feel his heart beating through his chest as he leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around her. Amelia let herself fall into him, her entire body relaxing as she melted into his embrace. Her hands roamed to his shoulders, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. 

Lando’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, and she let out a soft sigh. It was a soft, quiet kind of intimacy—nothing rushed, nothing forced. Just them, connected in a way that felt entirely natural.

He pulled back for a moment, looking into her eyes, his breath shallow. “I’ve needed you all day,” he said, his voice quiet, full of sincerity. “You’re everything, Amelia. Mine. My everything. My wifey…”

She laughed breathily, even as her heart skipped a beat, and she smiled softly. “Me too,” she whispered.

Then, without another word, he leaned down again, his lips meeting hers with a passion that took her breath away. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as their hands began to roam, exploring the closeness they shared.

The world shrank to just the two of them. Quiet laughter, soft words exchanged between kisses, the occasional gasp as they held each other closer. Their love didn’t need to be about the fireworks or grand gestures. It was about the quiet moments—the firm touches, the way their hearts beat in sync, the way they could so seamlessly become one single person. 

It was magic, in a lot of ways. 

But Amelia didn’t believe in magic. 

So maybe it was just love.

[abigailspinach]

Read it!!!!! It’s reallly gooooooooooood!!!!!

Maia is a lovely cinnamon of a protagonist doing a very difficult job with the help of the worlds most competent mail man turned secretary (of state almost)

Here…. A podcast episode touching upon The Goblin Emperor and also Jupiter Ascending and Person of Interest

M: Read the book! Get the book from your library!

A: It’s an amazing book.

M: Make your librarian buy five copies—

F: It’s a really good book.

M: —and build a display of nothing but this book!

A: Why would you need any book but this book?

M: Why would you need any book but this book? We talk sometimes about, like, a friendly coffee shop AU type of fantasy… this isn’t quite that, but it’s just so nice?

A: It’s so nice. It’s so good. It’s about, like, nice people being good, and well-meaning, and working hard to do good things in the world even though it’s, like, hard and tricky and they’re surrounded by people who are not as good and kind as they are.

M: But the thing that we have here is this young character who was never meant to be in power, and so has grown up into this kind, thoughtful, humble young man… and suddenly somebody plops a crown on his head and he’s like… WHAT DO? HELP?

F: I think that’s what makes it a very positive narrative is that in another book it might be about him becoming more cynical, and he does become more cynical in that he’s exposed to a wider range of people and motives and, I guess, evil-doing than he has before then, but his own goodness and niceness is such that the fabric of that world bends around him, eventually, and that’s the hieros gamos.

M: To… to me it’s that he is… [pause] His default action is kindness, even to people who don’t, according to those around him, merit his attention. And what we see is this kind of trailing ducklings of, uh, vassals that just sort of form around him and follow him around worshipfully.

A: Yes!

M: And he doesn’t even notice it happening?

A: Yes. YES. [Delighted laughter]

M: And it’s amazing. I just… the writing as well, the character development of every single individual character. You can parse out exactly why they’re doing it and how this noble liege has earned their fealty.

F: You’re right, in that the humbleness of Maia, the main character, is something that makes this an incredibly powerful narrative, but if you think about it from the point of view of the vassals, and the way the book is written you never actually get—correct me if I’m wrong, but—you never actually get inside their heads. You’re only inside Maia’s head, really. But, you… you can tell, as the reader, what is going on in their heads and why they have fallen into this duckling line of supporting him and believing in him, and you can tell that, from their point of view, there is almost an element of noblebright going on, or an element of glory, it’s just not in a way that they’d thought about it before. But they clearly idealize Maia by the end of it. But he himself is so humble, and that’s what makes it a really powerful depiction of this particular trope.

M: But my point is also that it is entirely a satisfying example of a platonic version of this trope.

F: WELLLLLL, I mean, there is some fanfiction that we… [A tries valiantly to restrain her laughter in the background]

M: No, no no, okay, okay, let me clarify myself: it is entirely satisfying, you can then extend it if you so choose. I’m not saying it has to be.

F: Okay, fair.

M: ANYWAY…

[A begins outright cackling]

M: The point is that… STOP CACKLING AT ME, ALEX. I HAVE NOT GOTTEN TO BE INCOHERENT NEARLY AS MUCH AS YOU DO, SO SHOUTING IS NOW.

The Goblin Emperor will teach you how to speak Elvish without you even realizing it because it so gradually introduces words, so halfway through the book you'll be saying shit like "I can't believe the Ethuverazhid Zhas's dachenmaza nohecharis has to commit revethvoran :/" with a straight face

[hyuckiefluff]

playing dirty | z. chenle

pairing: basketball captain! chenle x fashion major! fem.reader

genre: established relationship, smut, a lil bit of crack

wc: 4k

summary: you’re tired of chenle ditching you for basketball practice, so you do what any rational girlfriend would do—show up to his practice in a slutty version of his team’s uniform. turns out you’re kind of good at basketball. turns out chenle can’t handle watching his teammates ogle the love of his life. turns out the locker room has a lock for a reason.

content warnings: semi-public sex, jealousy & possessiveness, mild clothing kink, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, light degradation (slut), brief choking, hair pulling, creampie, titfucking, spit play, exhibitionism (accidental), bratty reader, basketball but make it horny, suggestive banter, mild embarrassment & teasing, soft dom!chenle. lmk if i missed any!

a/n: possessive chenle save me SAVE ME POSSESSIVE CHENLE lol i had a lot of fun writing this and i rlly like how it came out (especially the smut kekeke). kinda nervous since it’s my first chenle fic lol lmk what u think bffs! ps: stream lucid !! my king chenle is serving face and vocals as usual!!

you’re sick of it.

sick of the half‑assed excuses, the “i’ll make it up to you, babe” texts, the cold side of your bed because basketball practice ran late again. the sport isn’t the villain here—chenle’s priorities are. so tonight you decide to speak in the only language that ever slapped any sense into him: pure, weaponized pettiness.

you dig into your closet to find the box tucked behind an old hoodie. the custom set you spent a whole week sewing in the campus fashion studio—his cropped jersey perfectly tailored to end right above your ribs, his number stretched neatly across your chest, tight little shorts that ride up high enough to give anyone with a pulse an aneurysm, and tube socks that reach your knees but do absolutely nothing to hide how much skin is on display. 

you originally designed it as a birthday gift for chenle, something psexy and playful, the kind of outfit that should not leave the bedroom.

but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“you want to play, baby,” you murmur to yourself, lip tugging into a smirk as you tug the top down over your chest, admiring how your careful stitchwork hugs every curve. “let’s play then.”

twenty minutes later, you're outside the gym where chenle’s practicing. you can hear echoing laughter, the thump of basketballs, and the sound of sneakers squeaking across the court. chenle’s voice cuts through it every few seconds barking out plays or teasing his teammates, totally oblivious to the chaos about to walk through the double doors.

you adjust the hem of your very customized uniform and tug the waistband of your shorts up an inch, just enough to make your ass cheeks peek out more.

when you swing the gym doors open, a dozen jaws detach from skulls in real time. one guy bricks a layup so hard the ball ricochets off the backboard and clatters to the floor.

chenle basically inhales the water he was drinking the moment he sees you strut onto the court in the tiny jersey you stitched yourself. he doesn’t even manage any words at first, just blinks slowly.

you beam, stepping closer. “hey, baby!”

he moves toward you quickly, fingers gripping the hem of your jersey and trying to tug it down. “what the hell are you wearing?”

“your uniform, duh!” you say innocently. “remember you said i could come practice with you sometime?”

“yeah—but not…not like this!” he hisses, glancing sharply over his shoulder. his teammates aren’t even pretending to look away, their eyes glued shamelessly to every exposed inch of you. chenle groans, turning back to you in disbelief. “jesus christ, y/n.”

you spin slowly, letting him admire your handiwork. “i made it myself. do you like it?”

his eyes narrow, but they still flick down to watch your chest bounce beneath the tight fabric.

somewhere behind him, jaemin whistles low and appreciative. “yo, chenle, if you don’t want her, i’ll gladly take her on my team.”

chenle’s jaw clenches. “let’s go,” he mutters, gripping your wrist to lead you off the court.

but you plant your feet, looking up at him through your lashes. “lele, you promised you’d teach me,” you pout, your voice sweet and pleading—exactly the tone you know breaks him every single time.

you see the storm raging behind his eyes, the internal battle he’s clearly losing. after a long, tense pause, he finally gives in with an irritated sigh.

“fine,” chenle groans, running an exasperated hand through his hair. “i’ll teach you.”

he tries to sound firm, tries so damn hard to keep his cool but his voice cracks the instant you bend down to grab a stray basketball. every single set of eyes follows as your shorts ride dangerously higher. chenle practically growls under his breath.

“eyes up,” he snaps sharply at his teammates.

you hide a satisfied smirk, straightening up slowly and tossing chenle the ball. “so, how do i shoot?”

he glares at you, conflicted. he knows exactly what game you’re playing, but it’s too late to back down now. he steps close, muttering something unintelligible under his breath and positions his hands firmly on your waist. his fingers flex possessively against your skin making heat spark low in your belly.

“bend your knees,” chenle instructs tightly. you comply, feeling him tense behind you as your ass brushes firmly against him. he clears his throat roughly. “now raise your arms.”

you do as you’re told, stretching slowly, feeling every pair of eyes glued to the way your jersey inches higher. someone coughs loudly and someone else whistles under their breath.

“like this?” you ask, feigning innocence as you toss the ball. it hits the rim and bounces away, but the guys clap loudly like you just dunked on lebron.

chenle’s jaw clenches. “yeah, like that,” he mutters through gritted teeth, pulling you close again. “try it again, but please don’t stick your ass out so much this time.”

you laugh softly, leaning back just enough to whisper in his ear. “why not? you like it.”

he groans quietly, his grip on your hip tightening in warning. “don’t push it, baby.”

just as chenle's hands tense possessively at your waist, a teasing voice interrupts from behind.

“yo, captain! why don’t we run a quick game? let your girl play too, seems like she’s picking it up quickly.”

chenle's entire body stiffens, eyes narrowing dangerously at the cocky teammate smirking across the court. haechan, obviously—never passing up a chance to stir shit up.

“yeah,” another voice eagerly agrees. “she can be on our team!”

“not a chance,” chenle snaps, glaring daggers at them. “she stays with me.”

you tilt your head. “actually, i think i wanna be on the other team. it'll be fun playing against you.”

he groans quietly, clearly torn between the urge to pull you away and needing to save face in front of the team. he runs a frustrated hand through his hair before giving in with a sharp exhale. “fine. first team to five points wins, then we’re done. keep it clean,” he warns, voice tight as he shoots a pointed glare toward his teammates.

the guys erupt in cheers, gathering quickly around you to strategize. haechan immediately drapes an arm lazily over your shoulder, pulling you closer than strictly necessary and making chenle visibly bristle.

“alright, newbie,” haechan smirks, eyes flicking playfully toward chenle. “just stand there looking pretty and we’ll handle the rest.”

you smile sweetly, leaning up close enough to whisper in his ear and making sure chenle sees every move. “oh, i can handle myself just fine.”

you catch chenle’s scowl deepening, his fists clenching at his sides. suddenly, the entire gym feels about ten degrees hotter, and you’re pretty sure it has nothing to do with basketball.

the game begins, and the team immediately spreads out, pretending to care about positions and plays, but half their attention is undeniably on you. you smile sweetly, dribbling cautiously, deliberately bending forward just enough to ensure everyone behind you gets a generous view.

chenle’s voice slices sharply through the gym, frustration barely restrained. “eyes on the damn ball, idiots.”

you stifle a laugh, heart thrumming with exhilaration. you might be new to basketball, but getting under chenle’s skin is a game you’ve mastered to perfection.

every bounce of the ball, every step you take, you can feel eyes following—chenle’s most intensely of all. he’s practically vibrating with jealousy, torn between defending against his teammates’ shameless stares and actually playing defense.

haechan effortlessly steals the ball from your boyfriend and tosses it your way, shouting, “take the shot, rookie!”

you catch it clumsily, laughing breathlessly as chenle lunges in your direction, eyes narrowed with determination. adrenaline spikes as you fake left, then slip past him with surprising agility. your lay-up is sloppy, but by some miracle, it actually swishes neatly through the hoop.

the gym erupts in cheers and whistles. spinning around with a triumphant grin, you lift your arms in exaggerated celebration. haechan immediately appears beside you, pulling you into an enthusiastic hug that lingers just a second too long.

“damn, captain,” he calls out loudly. “better watch out, your girl got sweeter hands than you.”

chenle’s eyes flash dangerously, jaw visibly clenching as he stalks across the court toward you. every step radiates possessiveness and simmering annoyance. you tilt your head innocently, knowing exactly what’s coming next and loving every heated second of it.

“that's it. practice over,” he announces sharply, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the locker rooms.

“aww, dude—” haechan starts, clearly amused, but chenle silences him with a glare that could kill.

you bite your lip, heart pounding with satisfaction. finally, you’ve pushed him right past breaking point.

exactly as planned.

chenle’s grip on your wrist is firm, bordering on rough, as he drags you past the swinging locker room door and shoves it closed behind you. the echoes of sneakers squeaking and voices laughing outside fade, replaced by the rapid thump of your heartbeat and chenle’s heavy breathing.

he turns sharply, backing you against the lockers, eyes darkened with frustration.

“what the hell was that?” he demands, voice low and raw. his gaze drifts from your flushed cheeks down to the ridiculously cropped jersey, lingering briefly on the exposed curve of your waist before snapping back up to meet your eyes.

“basketball practice,” you reply innocently. “you always said you wanted me to learn.”

“not dressed like this,” he growls. 

his hand finds the hem of your jersey, fingers grazing the bare skin underneath. he hesitates, visibly swallowing down his jealousy. “you really made this yourself?”

“yep,” you say lifting your chin proudly. “thought it might inspire you.”

chenle scoffs, but his thumb drifts in soft circles at your waist despite the scowl. “inspire me to what? murder my teammates?”

you giggle, fingertips dancing across his chest. “you’re jealous, lele. admit it.”

“yeah, i am,” he mutters sharply.

his grip tightens on your waist, pulling you even closer against him. “didn’t you see how those assholes were looking at you? like they wanted—”

“like they wanted what’s yours?” you interrupt softly, teasing a finger along his jaw. “maybe i just felt like reminding you of that.”

his breath catches, and for a moment, he just stares down at you. finally, he sighs heavily, tension slipping into something deeper, hotter, infinitely more possessive.

“well, consider me reminded,” he murmurs, voice raspy as his lips brush teasingly against your ear. “but you’re never wearing this again for anyone but me.”

you shiver, leaning into him as your voice drops to a whisper. “oh? and what if i refuse?”

he smirks dangerously, eyes glinting. “then i guess i’ll just have to make you.”

his mouth melts against yours before you can tease him again. the kiss is punishing, hard enough to erase every grin haechan shot your way and every greedy glance the team threw at your thighs. 

his hands roam without hesitation gripping your waist, sliding up under the jersey, cupping your breasts with a low groan. he breaks the kiss to mutter, “fuck, you’re not even wearing a bra?”

“would’ve ruined the look,” you whisper, breath hitching as his thumbs brush your nipples. “you like it?”

“fuck yeah i like it” he growls.

you gasp as he yanks the jersey over your head in one swift motion and places it in his pocket. his lips trail down your neck, biting at the skin there. “next time you wanna get my attention,” he mutters, voice muffled against your collarbone, “just fucking say so. don’t make me nearly kill haechan on the court.”

you giggle, threading your fingers through his hair. “where’s the fun in that?”

his eyes flash as he sinks to his knees, fingers curling into the waistband of your shorts. “i’ll show you fun.”

he tugs them down so slowly it's almost torturous and drags your panties with them. his breath ghosts over your inner thighs, his mouth following suit a moment later. he groans against your skin, licking a slow stripe up your center before wrapping his arms around your legs and diving in.

you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that slips out. the locker room’s not soundproof, and the last thing you need is the team doubling back and catching chenle with his head buried between your thighs.

but he doesn’t care. he wants them to know. he wants them to hear you fall apart on his tongue, wants every single one of those bastards to understand that you’re his.

you’re already trembling when he stands back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and kissing you. his fingers curl under your thigh, lifting you effortlessly as he walks you backward into the coach’s office—a smaller room with a desk and a door that locks.

he kicks it shut behind him.

“bend over the desk,” he commands, voice low and dangerous.

you obey, heat pooling between your legs again as your chest hits the wood and his hands smooth down your spine. he’s rougher now, undoing his shorts with jerky movements, lining himself up behind you with no warning except a hot breath against your ear and the blunt press of his tip against your entrance.

“you wanna dress like a little slut in front of my team?” he rasps, gripping your hips. “then take it like one.”

he slams into you in one deep, punishing thrust, and you cry out, barely able to hold yourself up. each snap sends your hips jerking against the desk, the edge biting into your stomach.

“this what you wanted?” he pants behind you, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to bruise. “wanted to make me jealous? wanted to be the center of attention?”

you nod frantically, but it’s not enough. his hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back so your eyes meet his in the reflection of the office window that’s fogged up and smeared from the heat of your bodies.

“say it.”

“yes,” you gasp out, eyes glassy. “i wanted to drive you crazy.”

he chuckles darkly, chest heaving. “congrats, baby. mission fucking accomplished.”

his hand slips down, fingers finding your clit and circling it mercilessly. your legs threaten to give out, but he holds you steady, pinning you against the desk with his weight and the sharp slap of his hips.

“look at you,” he growls. “acting all innocent in front of my team, now falling apart on my cock.”

you’re close to your orgasm when suddenly, he yanks you back by the hair and pulls out with a wet slap. you whimper at the loss, but he’s already grabbing your hips nd spinning you around.

he spreads your legs and slides back in with a guttural moan. his hands come up, almost reverently, cupping the soft weight of your breasts as they bounce with every thrust. 

his thumbs brush over your nipple and then he leans down, mouth hot and greedy as he sucks one into his mouth, groaning in pleasure.

“fuck—” he pants, tongue swirling and teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt. “i can’t fucking think when they’re out like this. you know what you do to me?” 

your moans are strangled now. he’s sucking so hard, it s leaving deep red bruises all over your chest. he bites, soothes, sucks again. you clutch at his shoulders, legs wrapping tighter around him, and he grinds deeper, angling his hips to hit exactly where you need him most. his rhythm’s gone erratic, his obsession pouring into every snap of his hips, every bruise he leaves behind.

“look at you,” he pants, pulling back just far enough to watch. “bouncing all pretty for me. no one else gets to see this. no one else gets to fucking touch you.”

his palm slaps across your tit. hard enough to make it jiggle and watch the recoil as he thrusts in hard.

“fuck,” he groans, voice breaking. “you’re gonna make me cum just looking at you.”

your head lolls back, a whimper escaping your lips as his hand slides from your breast down to your neck, holding you still, eyes locked on the mess of you laid out under him—wrecked and panting and marked everywhere his mouth could reach.

you’re close again, tighter and hotter this time, clenching around him. your moans echo in the small office, filthy and raw, and he doesn’t even try to hold back now.

he fucks into you harder, mouth locked on your nipple again as he spills inside you, every muscle in his body tensing as he groans against your chest 

you’re barely coherent, mind hazy from the way he just fucked you over the desk. but chenle isn’t satisfied. not even close. he steps back to drink in your naked form, flushed and dripping with him.

his cock’s still rock hard somehow, twitching against his stomach, and his stare is nothing short of unhinged.

“lean back,” he rasps, grabbing your chin with wet fingers. “hands behind you. keep your tits up.”

you obey instinctively, legs falling open wider as you brace yourself on the desk, presenting yourself like the filthy little offering you are.

chenle just grins and crouches slightly, grabbing your breasts with both hands. and then he spits on your chest. hot, stringy spit right down the center of your, sliding between your tits and pooling under your collarbone.

“that’s better,” he mutters, eyes gleaming. “you look so hot covered in my spit.”

you gasp, chest rising as he does it again. letting it drip from his tongue while staring you down, and then he smears it in using his thumbs to rub it across your nipples.

you moan, high and wrecked. “lele—fuck—”

“look at your fucking face. you’re getting off on this.”

you are. embarrassingly so. he can see it in the way your thighs clench, and in the way your hips shift forward aching for more attention. he presses his cock between your tits now, sliding it back and forth while kneading them hard, thumb brushing over your nipple with every thrust.

“look at me,” he snaps.

your gaze locks onto his, dizzy and dazed.

“open your mouth.”

you do and he spits again, right onto your tongue.

“don’t swallow yet.” he growls, shoving his cock between your tits faster now, panting like a man losing his mind. “keep it there. hold it.”

you moan around the spit in your mouth, letting it dribble down your chin just to watch his eyes darken even more. chenle looks fucking deranged with lust.

you moan when the head of his cock slides forward, the tip just barely grazing your chin on the upstroke.

you glance up at him, lashes fluttering, and then you stick your tongue out enough to tease the head when it brushes close.

“fuck,” he hisses, thrusting harder between your breasts now, chasing that angle again, just to feel your tongue catch him. “you want it in your mouth that bad, huh? can’t even wait?”

his cock keeps hitting just under your chin, and every time it does, you flick your tongue out again and catch the tip, tasting the mess off his slit.

“fucking—fuck,” he curses. “do it again.”

you do and this time, you even suck lightly when he slows for a second, lips parting around just the head before he pulls back and keeps fucking your chest. his control is shattered now. his body stutters and twitches with every stroke.

you whimper, fingers gripping the edge of the desk behind you, mouth open and waiting.

“you love this,” he pants. “you love being used like this. letting me fuck your tits… drooling for my cock.”

“i love it,”  you whisper, lips glossy with spit and pre-cum. “i love how crazy you get when i do.”

he thrusts one more time and spills between your breasts again, ropes of cum painting your skin. you lean forward, tongue dragging through his tip. licking the cum off it slowly, like a cat drinking milk.

chenle nearly collapses, stumbling forward and pressing against your bare chest.

“you ever show up to practice like that again,” he murmurs, voice hoarse against your skin, “i’ll fuck you in front of them all. make ‘em watch while i ruin you.”

you whimper, still trembling beneath him.

“but for now,” he smirks, wiping your chin with his thumb and sucking it clean, “this mess stays just between us.”

you’re still catching your breath, body slick with sweat and spit and cum, when chenle leans in and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. it’s a jarring contrast to the way he just wrecked you against the desk, but that’s chenle. feral one minute, gentle the next. both versions still obsessed with you.

he puts on his shorts, pulls your jersey from the pocket and inspects it with a low whistle.

“you’re not putting this back on,” he mutters, shaking his head. “no fucking way.”

you smirk, chest still rising and falling as you look up at him. “why not? i worked hard on it.”

“you said you made it to inspire me, so i’m keeping it.” he crumples the jersey in one fist and shoves it straight into his pocket. “i’m hanging that shit on my wall.”

you laugh, weakly. “you’re ridiculous.”

he grabs his team jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, zipping it halfway up. it swallows your smaller frame, falling almost to your knees, sleeves covering your hands entirely. the way he looks at you—satisfied and possessive—makes it clear the outfit isn't negotiable.

“here,” he says, tightening the collar just a bit. “this is all you’re wearing now.”

you glance down at how the hem of the jacket just barely hits the tops of your thighs. you’re still wearing nothing underneath.

“guess i’m going commando,” you hum, teasing.

“yeah, but no one’s gonna know except me.” chenle grins, standing tall and adjusting your hair with stupid care. “let’s get you out of here.”

you barely make it out of the office when a low whistle slices through the silence.

the entire team—haechan front and center—is awkwardly standing there, pretending they haven't been shamelessly eavesdropping. 

“damn, took you long enough.”

chenle freezes, fingers tightening around yours so hard you nearly yelp. 

“i think you lost these,” haechan says, eyes sparkling mischievously as he spins something delicate around his index finger, your eyes widen with recognition.

your panties.

“found ‘em by the lockers. figured someone might be missing them.”

chenle’s face goes murderous in a heartbeat, jaw clenching so tight you're afraid his teeth might crack.

“give me those,” he growls, lunging toward haechan, who dances backward, keeping them just out of reach.

the boy chuckles, clearly enjoying every second of this torture. “you gotta be careful, man. wouldn’t want anyone else to find your girl’s cute little souvenirs.”

chenle lunges again, this time catching haechan’s wrist, wrenching your panties out of his grasp roughly. “i’ll kill you, dude.”

haechan just laughs, completely unfazed. he shifts his gaze toward you, his voice playfully taunting. “maybe next time you practice with us, try keeping these on? might help the captain focus a little better.”

you bury your face into chenle’s chest, half laughing, half dying of embarrassment. chenle just rolls his eyes, pulling you closer and guiding you down the hallway, past his shameless teammates. 

“you assholes got nothing better to do?”

“nah,” haechan replies smoothly, eyes twinkling with barely restrained laughter. “but it sounds like you two were pretty busy.”

the team snickers loudly, trying (and failing) to keep straight faces. chenle’s ears turn scarlet, but he keeps a protective arm tightly wrapped around your shoulders.

“fuck off,” chenle mutters darkly. “next practice, you’re all running laps until you puke.”

“worth it,” haechan teases, tossing you a playful wink. “good game, by the way.”

“practice tomorrow?” jaemin asks from behind, laughter bubbling beneath his words.

“fuck no,” chenle growls back without turning around. “we’ll be busy.”

as you pass the door,  haechan calls out, voice dripping amusement and challenge

“see you next practice y/n!”

chenle’s response is immediate, muttered darkly into your ear. “like hell he will.”

your cheeks burn from embarrassment—and exhilaration.

mission fucking accomplished, indeed.

[distracted-and-diffused]

Every piece I’ve read or watched about the making of Dead Boy Detectives has talked about the enormous amount of preparation and dedication that George Rexstrew put into understanding and building the character of Edwin Payne, and I am absolutely certain that the character and the show are both far richer for his input.

But if I had to choose one thing that he brings to the role that I cannot imagine anyone else doing quite so well, it would be that he shows us Edwin Payne as a caring and compassionate person.

Even when it’s inconvenient for Edwin. Even when he’d rather not be. Even when it costs him personally. Even when it conflicts with his carefully constructed image as the emotionally-reserved partner who is there to get down to business and who plays hardball. Edwin Payne cares so much.

Because of George Rexstrew's performance, that’s something that we get to see in Edwin’s face as he listens to others, from the very first episode. It’s something that we hear in his voice, not just during the purpose speech, but as he talks to Shelby. As he tries to convince Simon that he can leave. As he cries for Niko.

I would love to do a longer piece about this someday, but that's the thing that sticks with me the most. I cannot imagine this version of Edwin Payne without George Rexstrew to show us his compassion.

[essycogany]

Sonic HATES Being Wrong

Like…to an extreme degree. Let me elaborate.

This is a very interesting detail I’ve noticed ever since I made my Sonic’s Flaws post. Here, I’d like to talk about Sonic’s most fatal flaw because this conversation gets interesting. The flaw is one every variation of Sonic can be guilty of and one that causes the most damage to his world and even the people he cares about. If you disagree, I understand. Just hear me out and even if I don’t convince you, I hope this turns out to be a fun read regardless. Feel free to give me some context, correct me, or add information if you‘d like.

The Flaw

Sonic is terribly pertinacious and stubborn. Most people would think of Sonic Prime where he doesn’t listen to his friends warning him to not destroy the paradox prism, but when I think of Prime!Sonic I don't think of that. Especially since this version comes off more as an inexperienced teenager trying to figure things out. While in the games, he’s portrayed as rarely being wrong. Not because he’s perfect, but because Sonic never feels the need to change because of past victories. After all, if everything is going his way, why should he change, right? Well, this can be a problem. The scene in S3 ep3 where a few of the pirates were lost at sea, shows how truly stubborn Prime!Sonic (and Sonic in general), can be. He verbally refuses to take accountability for lost resources and unknowingly helps Nine have better predominance over them.

In this scene, No Place was decaying and Sonic finds out that the other pirate crew was stuck there. Everyone else, even the villains, reasonably says it’s too risky and he ignores them. Of course, he is within reason but if things went sour, it would’ve been his fault. Especially since that almost became a reality before the Chaos Council swooped in to help.

Near the end of the episode, Sonic says it’s a win for everyone, but Mr. Doc says, “Was it? Your little friends are safe, but at what cost? The fox can conjure up more minions with the snap of his fingers. Whereas our fleet is damaged, our troops are spent, and we’re almost out of time.” Surprisingly reasonable call out of the consequences of saving the pirates, if they don’t have enough resources, they were even more screwed than before. Then Sonic says, “I’m sorry but losing anyone is not an option.” While it’s warranted and makes sense for his character, it almost comes across as “We had to save them because I said so.” This is an example of Sonic not having a good argument by addressing the results of their battle. He does it a lot more than you’d think. Despite Sonic not listening to people being a bigger staple of Prime, I personally think it’s never expanded upon or executed well. Not to me anyway, but I don’t mind anyone disagreeing.

In any case, Sonic, as a character in every continuity, tends to “follow by his own rules” but this can be perceived negatively as “doing whatever he wants no matter who argues with him.”

Examples

Sonic Boom Rise of Lyric tackles this too. This is probably the least serious example but still can be a problem sometimes. This is S2 Ep 19 when an Eggman robot Clone tries to break Team Sonic apart and almost succeeds too. It doesn’t have much to do with this topic but I do like how in this episode when the drama started happening, Sonic for once in his life tries to talk abohut his feelings with Tails who turned out to be Steve. Of course, he doesn’t apologize and I know this has nothing to do with this discussion, but I just thought it was a funny thing to point out. The one time Sonic tries to talk about his feelings, he gets the door slammed in his face. It’s so mean-spirited and stupid. I love Sonic Boom!

But yeah, Rise Of Lyric also shows how his stubbornness can end up with the world being at stake. Or in the case of this episode have your friends grow apart.

The Sonic Movies tackles his shortcomings perfectly. I think he's pretty impulsive in all 3 movies. Mixing his perniciousness doesn't create the greatest meal. He's younger, so that would be expected. This scene is the most recent example. Sonic as a character tends to live in the moment and here, Movie!Sonic is playing a huge role in this category. He’s not even trying to hear anyone out. He’s in a constant rage at this point and can’t think clearly. He wants revenge on Shadow so much he loses himself. His friends. His brothers are so loyal to still allow him to get the Master Emerald despite knowing he wants it for revenge. Sonic's so hurt, he loses himself and forgets what they originally were there for.

I'm sure if Sonic choose to let his feelings consume him, he probably wouldn’t have saved the world. Why? Let’s just say things would’ve went out of control without Shadow. Sonic dogged a big tangent bullet for having mercy on Shadow.

Yeah, Archie/Reboot Archie didn’t mess around either. I'd say it’s sometimes as tense and bit worse due to him having the biggest ego and ongoing trauma. I'm surprised he didn't go insane. Notice how harsh he is in these instances. He’s overly angry here. Luckily, he has a large group of friends to help him take things down a peg and reminds him how they have his back. Even when worst comes to worst (which is an understatement), his friends are able to get him out of that mindset and put him back in reality. Hunbel him to put it bluntly.

In a way, Sonic's flaws in the Archie comics make me think he feels so guilty that he pushes himself beyond his limits as a way to make up for his loudmouth. Like in other versions, he feels the need to take on more than he can physically handle. He strains his body, mind, and entire being to accomplish tasks on his own because he believes he deserves the punishment. Alternatively, he might just be exhausting himself and attempting to take on more than he can manage. It’s not surprising, really.

This panel is insane for letting Eggy make a valid point. You can tell by his ears how Sonic’s getting visibly irritated. By the end of the argument, he gets super mad and can’t even find a good quip to back himself up. Because in a way, he knows Eggman has a point. That’s how I interpret it anyway.

Game or IDW Sonic is usually in denial when it comes to being wrong. He doesn’t address the issues directly but the person who calls him out for it instead. He’s the most experienced Sonic. I know some people use “mature” but I think experience is a better term due to how he doesn’t have arcs or character growth like other characters. More so he’s used to this song and dance, so his hatred towards being wrong comes from a place of thinking he’s got everything under control. Until it bites him in the butt.

You notice in most of these Sonic’s pretty angry and isn’t the biggest fan of being told off. Even in different continuities, the guy cannot argue without not being self-aware most of the time. The funny thing is he isn’t doing it selfishly. At least not in a typical way. To me, Sonic is the least selfish character in the franchise for a good chunk of the series. He sacrifices himself, gives people more chances than they deserve, and even takes the time to stop his main goals if it means helping someone else. But the guy cannot take the time to admit he’s wrong or his morals have consequences. Not because Sonic thinks he’s better than everyone. I don’t think Sonic sees himself in that way, but I do think he’s always in “I’ve done this thing plenty of times. As long as this thing works, I’ll keep doing it,” mode. Or in the case of Movie!Sonic, goes on instinct which is also a common part of his characterization.

Why Sonic Has This Flaw

Sonic never stops running; he charges head-first into any situation, always striving to do what's right. After all, he's the fastest thing alive. Sonic doesn't have the luxury of questioning himself or dwelling on doubts. While it's true that he has caused some issues, including in the games, he doesn't waste time feeling sorry for himself. The only times he's shown insecurity were during the Metal Virus arc, so interpret that as you wish.

This brings up another point. Crazy how much I didn’t notice, but most of the time, Sonic doesn’t like it when people disagree with him. Understandable, everyone doesn’t want to be wrong. But he takes it to the extreme at times. Like sometimes he's baffled when anyone challenges him. Sonic’s also never truly called out by the right people. I don’t mean Shadow, Espio, Knuckles, or the villains. I mean, Amy, Tails, Tangled, or other characters he’s inspired. People who look up to him. Sure, they try, but I can count on one hand how many times he actually listens. Sonic’s always so caught up in doing things his way that he disregards people who mean the most to him.

I mentioned this in my other post but he doesn't listen to Tails in Sonic 06 or Lost World, so the games count.

While Sonic often has valid points in his arguments with others, he frequently comes across as someone who needs to be right. He rarely allows others the opportunity to express their views or admits when he is wrong. This issue is often overlooked in stories where these conflicts arise, either because there isn't enough time to address them or they remain unanswered altogether. This makes sense, considering that Sonic typically doesn’t undergo character arcs canonically. However, I appreciate the presence of characters like Shadow, Knuckles, Surge, Kit, and certain Archie characters like Scurge. They serve to challenge Sonic’s morals and illustrate that he isn’t always correct. If Sonic isn’t going to evolve as a character, at least these figures can show that his sense of freedom and living by his own rules doesn’t work for everyone. They can be portrayed negatively and can challenge his viewpoints. They can be questioned. They can be challenged. Sonic isn’t always right.

His passion shows that he truly wants things to work for everyone. His stubbornness drives him to the point of frustration as he strives to help others to live according to his ideals. However, at times his approach isn’t the most effective. You can see that Sonic genuinely hates this, yet he continues to push forward to help those in need. There’s something both beautiful and heartbreaking about that.

Conclusion

What’s funny is that Sonic rarely gets angry, so you could say this could be one of his few triggers. Along with people being unjust and other such.

Overall, Sonic has good intentions but the results of those intentions are severe. None of this is to imply Sonic’s a terribly written character. It’s just a serious flaw he has. Though listening to his friends more would help.

I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like a moment of his friends noticing a constant pattern of him being pertinacious and not paying attention to anyone’s protest. I wouldn’t want it to come out of nowhere, but it’d be an issue that’d progress over a large amount of time and add up. It could be dramatic or constructive depending on the situation and execution. Whatever character does it, they’d either talk to him about it or physically show the outcomes of his actions. They do it all the time in other media but not canonically. This is just random speculation though. I don’t know if I’m in over my head but I hope someone got something out of this.

All of this is not to say Sonic never takes accountability or listens to his friends. SA1 scene with Amy, when he apologizes to Bell in IDW for being too standoffish, and plenty of other examples. Like the end of Sonic movie 3. That Sonic Boom episode where he apologized for not working with his team. And endless moments in Archie and Reboot Archie. Sonic isn’t unreasonable. Just 9 times out of 10 he can get a big head. That’s all.

Stay Creative! 💜

[twink-between-worlds]

awesomesauce ok

1 ; legend. hes My Guy. im protecting him from the bitches who mischaracterise him. get behind me legend i will fucking bite the next one who does it. bonus System points. hes so funny. autistic king. knows more women than he does men. sounds like bnnuy...has more rings than he does fingers. what an icon.

2 ; four!! the system ever. also a massive fan of the colours. system bonus points again. also im just obsessed with this little freak. theyre also short like we are so hell yeah you go little guy!!! has Lore Implications at every corner. Haunted by a past narrative.

3 ; mmm. i think twilight. woof woof bark bark. i like himb. not much to say he is just very pleasant!!

4 ; sky. baby boy, baby. i love you sir. he would give the best hugs i just know it. so chill. so kind. if nobody got me, sky got me. he loves his wife. he loves his bird. what a man.

5 ; wind is neat. untapped potential.

6 ; warriors is. like. okay. hate what the fandom did but that applies to most of them i fear. my aroace king. diva. holds him so gently.

7 ; we r breaching 'doesnt do much' territory with 7 + 8 ong. ill put hyrule here cuz we have done more with faer than we have with others

8 ; time. ily i just don't do much with you. sorry king ill be better. loves his wife (!!) and horsie.

9 ; okay. erm. might get lynched but. so. wild...he kinda..sucks? like not — wild himself if you ignore the Everything is actually a good character!! ish!! but the fandomised version of him is... not it! he is the king of mischaracterisation, the masses do not like disabled people i fear. hes so low because you can't get any reasonable takes on him around here. downvote. botw link is alright which is a shame cuz if he was just kept as botw link he would be much higher. but alas...i will just have to fix it myself.

. coughs loudly. uhhhh open tags bcz we just woke up and forgot Literally Everyone's URLs

Gonna try and start a tag game, so let's go!

We've all got our favorite Links, but I wanna know how ALL the LU Links rank for you.

I'll start! And just to note, I've only played Sky, Wild, and Twilight's games so far.

1. Sky- My favorite Link, though his game is my second favorite

2. Wild- Second favorite Link, but his games are my favorite

3. Warriors- Haven't played his games, but @crazylittlejester has made him one of my top three

4. Time- Gives big Dad vibes, he's just trying to keep his children out of trouble

5. Twilight- Absolutely the big brother

6. Legend- Not as bitter as I often see him portrayed. He's just a (older) kid whose been through a lot

7. Hyrule- Played his games a LONG time ago, never made it past the first dungeon. I don't really have much to say about him though

8. Wind- Cute kid, I like him but don't have much to day about him either

9. Four- I unfortunately don't know anything about him beyond LU, sorry Four!

Tagging:

@skyloftian-nutcase @crazylittlejester @skyward-floored @sprite-and-the-bunnydragons and anyone else is welcome to join as well!

[delicateperspective]

I think people who assume Harry is completely free tend to overlook a lot—especially things he shows during his concerts and in some interviews. Starting with the queercoding, but also those really vulnerable moments. You can literally see it in his face what it means to him when he waves a rainbow flag. And when he says things like “that doesn’t happen to people like me”—it’s heavy.

And I don't blame them because Harry's public image has been pushed very hard, especially with dwd and that stunt with the director. But If you really pay attention to the details, it’s pretty clear that Harry isn’t fully free. He’s just doing what he can, playing the game with everything he’s learned along the way.

I’m sure he’s negotiated as much freedom as possible over time, and what we see is a gradual result of that. I really hope in this next chapter, with all the leverage he’s gained, he’s been able to secure even more freedom.

I honestly just wish the best for both H and L.

yes exactly. you put it so well — that’s the thing about public perception. in order to see H & L the way that some people do, you have to be willing to accept a version of events that genuinely doesn’t make sense unless you ignore… well, everything.

to believe that version, you have to believe that:

harry was a womanizer from the very beginning. that he dated half the girls at bootcamp and then moved on to older, high-profile women who just happened to boost his image (taylor, kendall, olivia). that he’s a commitment-phobe who’s never had a long-term relationship. that he leans into queercoding and wears obviously queer clothing just to sell albums — even when he doesn’t know he’ll be photographed. that he writes intimate songs about home, about loving the same person through every season of life — despite having no personal experience with any of that. and that he deliberately distanced himself from the other boys in the band — especially louis — because he thought he was better than them.

louis, meanwhile, apparently changed his entire personality between 2011 and 2013 for no reason. that he got angry at a magazine for implying he supports LGBTQ+ rights. that he got a triangle on his achilles heel because he just… liked the shape. that he wears t-shirts and brands with overt queer symbolism (Tchaikovsky, All Out, Only the Brave, Maison Margiela) without realizing or caring what they mean — even though he loves fashion. that he used to call himself “camp” and “flamboyant” all the time, but only as a joke. and that he had a long-term girlfriend during the band, which is clearly why no fans ever had a shot — not because he was gay.

and that’s just the surface level stuff.

the more you pay attention, the worse it gets.

you have to eat a lot of narrative gymnastics to believe that version. honestly? in some cases, you have to make more illogical leaps than even the most unhinged larries do. you have to completely discredit every contestant who’s ever spoken out about x factor. every person who’s criticized modest management. every lyric change — like: “women just don’t feel right”, “i’m hoping someday i could be open”, “i can’t compete with my boyfriend”, "hopelessly devoted to Lou", etc. — has to be chalked up to coincidence or queerbaiting or… misheard. and you have to believe that none of it means anything — even when it obviously does.

i’ll always go back to the metaphor harry gave us in the As It Was music video — the red pill and the blue pill. just like in The Matrix: the red pill means you wake up and see the truth. the blue pill means you stay in a comfortable illusion.

so many people would rather take the blue pill. and honestly? i don’t blame them. it’s easier. it’s lighter. it doesn’t force you to confront how corrupt the industry is. how normal homophobia still is. how much trauma they endured. to accept that kind of truth — especially about people you love — takes a toll.

because once you see it, you can’t unsee it. you’ll always question the narrative. you’ll always feel that unease when something doesn’t add up. you’ll always see through the bullshit.

and yeah — sometimes I wish i could close my eyes too. especially in this world, in this moment, where everything is already so heavy. but i can’t.

so we keep paying attention. we keep listening between the lines. we keep hoping the next chapter brings them more peace, more truth, and more freedom.

because they’ve earned it. and they deserve it.

[lemotmo]

I'm starting to think that Ravi being in the middle of Buddie is the same thing they did with BT by putting Eddie in every scene to stop it from happening. In the last episode we didn't see anything from Buddie and I think it's going to be like that now. I wanted to know what Ali thinks about this and her opinion is also important to me.

😂Well Nonny, you're in luck!

I was just talking about this topic with Ali and our thoughts are quite the opposite from yours.

First of all, Eddie wasn't in every BT scene just to stop it from happening, because BT did happen, remember? No, he was there to constantly remind the audience that, while Buck might be with T now, there was always someone else there who he relied on and trusted so much more than he ever did T. T was a stand in for Eddie in so many ways. They showed us time and again that Eddie was a better fit for Buck in every single way.

Second, there is absolutely no sign whatsoever they would want to stop Buddie from happening now. They have been setting up the storyline throughout season 8 (especially 8b) and all of it is leading somewhere.

Ali and I both think that Ravi is there for a reason yes, but not the reason you think.

Ravi has been there for a few seasons now. He has seen Buddie interacting since his first day on the job. More recently he was partnered up with Buck and got to know him better. He was there in 8x11 when Buck could talk about nothing else but Eddie. Then he was there to witness Buck and Eddie's silent communication in 8x16.

Buck has gotten to know Ravi better over the last few months and he obviously feels more comfortable around him these days. He seems to trust him in and outside of the field.

Now, in 17 and 18 there will be an earthquake. We have seen tons of bts where Anirudh, Oliver and Eddie are walking in and out of a building in varying degrees of dustiness. Yesterday we got that picture Anirudh made of the same underground space we saw in an earlier photograph of Oliver. He made a beautiful picture of Ryan there.

We don't think that Eddie will be back with the LAFD yet, since he was only back for the funeral and Chris is still in El Paso. He will want to go back to his son asap. But he will also realise that he wants to eventually move back to LA, because we all know that Ryan isn't going anywhere, so it's logical Eddie will move back at one point.

So walk with me for a minute... if Buck and Ravi end up getting stuck and/or pinned in a tight space underneath a building, without any way out, Eddie will most certainly come running unoffically to help them get out. It would explain his plain white henley under his turnouts.

Personally, I think that Gerrard will let him help out and even give him his turnouts back (Gerrard discovered that Bobby had hold on to them somewhere in the hope that Eddie would return someday, just like Bobby promised. 😭) because we've all seen that he has become a much softer version of himself ever since Bobby helped him out and ever since he died. (I know I know... Gerrard redemption is something we didn't want or need 🙄, but we are here now, so... let's roll with it.)

In the mean time Buck and Ravi are stuck underground somewhere with nothing to do but talk and hope they'll get rescued. Now, Ravi was always there in 8x11 and 8x16 when Buck was either talking about Eddie or just being around Eddie. So there is the possibility that Ravi already figured out how Buck feels about Eddie and he'll ask the question again: Are you in love with Eddie?

And Buck? He might just think that he doesn't want to leave the world with anything left unsaid, like he never got to tell Bobby that he loved him. So this time his answer will be different and he'll just blurt it out: 'yes, I do.'

It would give us a reason why Ravi was the one who was always there when Eddie popped up in Buck's narrative. So as you can see Nonny, our opinion here is very different from yours.

It's up to you what you want to believe of course. We are only speculating as well and there is always the possibility that we are wrong. But for us? Right now? This is a very likely scenario. 🤷‍♀️

[greenteabelle]

lawrellini is many things. in chinese we call it 竹马抵不过天降. in english we call it doomed yaoi.

like aldo has all the characteristics of a main protagonist's love interest.

being his best friend for decades, thomas admires aldo in a way that one wishes the best version of themselves could be. aldo is brave in ways that thomas believes he is not; he isn't afraid to speak about his beliefs and doesn't back down even when there's opposition.

there's a certain tenacity to aldo that thomas can't find in himself, maybe due to his position or due to his struggle with his faith, and that's why thomas almost puts aldo on a pedestal with how highly he thinks of him.

(leading to the inevitable disappointment that happens in the film)

and the fact that it's not even unrequited?

aldo values thomas's opinions the most. we view the events of the conclave through thomas's perspective, so this can't exactly be confirmed, but i do believe that aldo thinks of thomas as his anchor. no matter what happens, thomas always handles matters with a steadfast attitude, as though he'll be able to take on anything with that same hint of a wry smile.

i mean, perhaps that's what aldo thinks. because we know that thomas is very much NOT calm at all throughout the book/movie. the man is literally always 3 seconds from hurling thanks to all the stress he's under!

the point is, both of them view each other as someone they wish they could be. no one else in the world could know each other as well as they do.

then vincent benitez comes along with a metaphorical halo in his luscious dark locks.

and i love lawrenitez because how can you look away from a pair who see the world in each other?

vincent's goodness helps thomas overcome his doubts, while thomas restores vincent's faith in voting for a pope who works himself to the bone for the people. they're simply in awe of each other in every scene they're together, and you simply can't look away.

neither can aldo.

[barbwalken]

Characters I like 😌💕

Mohg: Is like the representative of Elden Ring, because man, im HYPERFIXATED right now. Also his design and story are so interesting. I dont draw him often because he is so damn hard to draw.

Cyrus: idk i just like him so much, his pokespe version was like so extra and intense, i just couldnt help it. Every iteration (manga, games) give him interesting resolutions and that makes him so fun to draw to me, like one time he can hang out with the kids, another time he is reseting the world and becoming a god. He is ma boy.

Ganondorf: he is my zelda fave ever since his introduction in OoT, when i was like 11. He was so fucking mean to baby link 😭, i just loved it. Also his design changes with every game he is in, and he is usually very cool (except tp, i dont like tp gan that much, cos he is too hard to draw XD) and his battles are so iconic!

Thrawn: he is blue and blue is my favorite color. But also, I found him to be such a refreshing character in star wars, with the way he solves mysteries and battle strategies. Its so funny to see such a serious and ruthless character be a pain in the ass for everyone near him, but when he has to deal with that himself, is even more entertaining. This is about book thrawn, filoni's thrawn wishes he was that smart and well written 😭

Micolash: tbh i dont know why i like him so much haha. But his only fuckin scene is so fascinating to me. It think its all the implications and the things the game doesnt tell you what i find so interesting. And i love tha cage and how he howls mid fight 🤷‍♀️

Saito Hajime: his introduction in the story sets everything for a really awesome arc. He is very antagonistic all the time, and he is brutal with his enemies, but he is also really worried for the good of the people. He is very interesting in the way he is so full of contradictions; he would cheat mid battle to get what he wants, but he would also fight in equal terms if needed. I could go on and on, you have no idea the influence rurouni kenshin has on me haha, it rised me up as a kid XD, but i need to mimir 😴

[gay-wrongs-activist]

Random Pit Babe s2e1 thoughts:

Oh god I want more

I love Babe but man, sportsmanship also means not getting fucking angry at every person that happens to win against you

Pooh's acting has noticably improved, nice

Assuming Chris is his own person and not a mole or actually Way - man, he's patient with this bunch of confused, desperate men

The awkwardness between Sonic and North feels way too real

Poor Jeff, please someone give that man a break

Good for you, Kim, as much as it sucks to see you leave, that's 100% a fair decision - I don't know if it's normal for racing teams to just support one person as the one to win

That was a lot of bonking for a first episode, and damn, is it delicious

Pete, my man, listen, I love you with Way but how did you fall in love that quick and that hard

The way things are going I wonder if Babe actually ever told the team about the attempted SA on himself. Like I get that it's easier to forgive a dead person but the others (besides Charlie) just seem completely unaware

God I feel so fucking bad for Kenta, please someone save him

Did they fucking shoot Dean omg??? But I hope that at least means Team X Hunter can find him and pamper him back to life& the wet cat deserves some peace and quiet :(

The preview definitely looks like shit is going to go down next episode already

I fucking hate that the show isn't available legally in Europe, not even when using a vpn. I wanna contribute to the show's viewcount and not have to struggle through dailymotion to find a version with proper sub titles

Extra point:

I do very much appreciate the fact that we got scent gland gnawing already in episode 1 and Charlie is very much gonna be able to smell someone else on Babe next episode so 😌👌 scent stuff is one of my favorite things about omegaverse so I very much appreciate all of this

[astralhope]

One of my favorite details in the manga is how Astral, at the beginning, had an indefinite and vaporous body, but as his adventure with Yuma progressed, he seemed to have gained a more concrete form, and towards the end, he became completely tangible.

[somerandomcockroach]

My brain malfunctioned and I was digging in MTMTE the whole day, forgot to blink, kicked pillow 8 times and was talking with my reflection 6 times

Ended up with 60+ screenshots of nerds being socially awkward/abnormal/straightforward because we use books to talk, not people, silly, cool or sweet, or just facts ahah

[lotus-pear]

rewatched madoka magica again today bc i fucking hate myself and to absolutely no one’s surprise i went through all five stages of grief in a single evening

[crossbackpoke-check]

blessed be (lorscher bienensegen) | telling the bees (wiþ ymbe)

"Bees" [remixed, abridged], Claudia Emerson // "Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now" [remixed. abridged], Matthew Olzmann // "Letter to my Great, Great Grandchild" [remixed, abridged], J.P. Grasser | Len Redkole, Nina Weiss, Brian Babineau, Christian Peterson, Mitchell Leff, Dave Isaac, Megan DeRuchie

[anghraine]

I was just thinking about the through lines of Elizabeth's characterization and her relationship with Darcy, and I'm really fond of this one:

[Mrs Bennet:] “Ay, that is because you [Bingley] have the right disposition. But that gentleman,” looking at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was nothing at all.” “Indeed, mamma, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. “You quite mistook Mr Darcy.”

-

Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him [Mr Collins] from such a scheme; assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction as an impertinent freedom, rather than a compliment to his aunt; that it was not in the least necessary there should be any notice on either side, and that if it were, it must belong to Mr Darcy, the superior in consequence, to begin the acquaintance. [...]with a low bow he left her to attack Mr Darcy, whose reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment at being so addressed was very evident. Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow, and though she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, and saw in the motion of his lips the words “apology,” “Hunsford,” and “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

-

In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her mother’s words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible whisper; for to her inexpressible vexation she could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr Darcy, who sat opposite to them. [...] “For heaven’s sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be to you to offend Mr Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing.” Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her mother would talk of her views in the same intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently glancing her eye at Mr Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what she dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother, she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her.

-

That he [Darcy] was surprised by the connection was evident: he sustained it, however, with fortitude: and, so far from going away, turned back with them, and entered into conversation with Mr Gardiner. Elizabeth could not but be pleased, could not but triumph. It was consoling that he should know she had some relations for whom there was no need to blush. She listened most attentively to all that passed between them, and gloried in every expression, every sentence of her uncle, which marked his intelligence, his taste, or his good manners.

Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had, from the distress of the moment, been led to make Mr Darcy acquainted with their fears for her sister; for since her marriage would so shortly give the proper termination to the elopement, they might hope to conceal its unfavourable beginning from all those who were not immediately on the spot. She had no fear of its spreading farther, through his means. There were few people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended; but at the same time there was no one whose knowledge of a sister’s frailty would have mortified her so much. Not, however, from any fear of disadvantage from it individually to herself; for at any rate there seemed a gulf impassable between them.

-

During their [Elizabeth and Darcy's] walk, it was resolved that Mr. Bennet’s consent should be asked in the course of the evening: Elizabeth reserved to herself the application for her mother’s. She could not determine how her mother would take it; sometimes doubting whether all his wealth and grandeur would be enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man; but whether she were violently set against the match, or violently delighted with it, it was certain that her manner would be equally ill adapted to do credit to her sense; and she [Elizabeth] could no more bear that Mr Darcy should hear the first raptures of her joy, than the first vehemence of her disapprobation.

-

Lady Catherine had been rendered so exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew’s letter, that Charlotte, really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till the storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her friend was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their meetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she saw Mr Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of her husband.

-

"I [Lydia] am sure Wickham would like a place at court very much; and I do not think we shall have quite money enough to live upon without some help. Any place would do of about three or four hundred a year; but, however, do not speak to Mr Darcy about it, if you had rather not." As it happened that Elizabeth had much rather not, she endeavoured in her answer to put an end to every entreaty and expectation of the kind. Such relief, however, as it was in her power to afford, by the practice of what might be called economy in her own private expenses, she frequently sent them.

me, every time: oh, Elizabeth.