#another disclaimer: this is just my thoughts and i understand other people think differently

[rabbit-is-wise]

@ethan-elliott once again im responding in the rbs or else id put an essay in the replies

but yes! many people do genuinely think they’re different. ive talked at length about it in this post as well as touched on it in this one, (and probably others) but i think itd be helpful for anyone who keeps up with these ramblings of mine to properly explain the clancy =/= tyler argument (to my understanding), since my argument is a rebuttal to it.

like i talk about in the first linked post, the two major pieces of evidence are the journal entry written by clancy that describes the jumpsuit video from a third party perspective, and of course scaled and icy meaning “clancy is dead.”

now, im not going to break down those specifially (bc i already did in the first post lmao!), but that’s our starting point. and keep in mind, this is all just what i’ve gathered—other people may not believe the same details, and i generally do not engage with the people who push this theory, since it makes me a bit upset (for reasons i also touch on often), so i’m putting out the disclaimer that i’m not an expert on this side of the argument.

also, a guide for how i’ll be referring to the characters: “clancy” refers to the original clancy, the one who writes the journals, while “tyler” refers to the character who then takes on the name and is seen in the videos, and i will continue referring to him as such post name change to avoid confusion. tyclancy also refers to this same character.

from the jumpsuit journal entry, we then get clancy writing about staying another five days in trench, and then being taken back to dema by keons. it’s some time after this that clancy is killed by the bishops. i can’t offer you anything more on that because it doesnt happen, but see this tweet from the person i usually see pushing this theory (usernames scribbled i dont want to accidentally start anything)

ive heard the handwriting changes at this point—i don’t see it. you’ll just have to decide for yourself on that one i fear. but that’s the main evidence for this event placement.

following this, tyler writes about the events of natn, those videos happen, and then tyler is taken back to dema. while in captivity, he is approached by the bishops to write an album/show, and when they ask him to name it, he chooses to tell the people that clancy is dead. everything there is in his voldsøy letters, minus him saying the name scaled and icy or his intent behind it.

between his captivity and “i am clancy,” tyler chooses to take on the name to carry on the spirit of rebellion. the story then continues as we see it.

asides:

- this person specifically believes clancy gave into vialism, see here:

but i couldnt tell you how far that goes beyond them.

- one of the recent fpe letters mentions what it likely the cave clancy hid in before keons found him and that there are drawings in it because i guess tyler cant have found the cave himself or the fifteen other reasons they would talk about it

there’s probably more, i couldn’t tell you. i scrolled twitter for a while and made myself upset so im not gonna do that anymore.

when i say this next part, i really don’t mean to be rude, i just don’t know how to phrase it gently.

from what i can tell, the appeal of this theory comes from two factors: not remembering the details in journals, and a lack of understanding for how stories work.

i’ve discussed why clancy’s arc is important, because from a writing standpoint, setting this character up and then dropping them for another wouldn’t make sense. a character who haunts the narrative would not be set up like that, especially with zero acknowledgement from tyler. we as the audience would be let in on tyler’s inner thoughts about taking on this name, even if he keeps it from everyone else in-universe. the fact that it hasn’t been revealed in 7 years is reason enough.

we have had many reveals in that time, including an explanation for the jumpsuit video journal entry. but not this? not what would be a pillar of the story? and furthermore, what would this represent within the allegory? what could it represent that the glorious gone do not already embody?

many details that supposedly support this theory are a stretch, or forget the fact that twenty one pilots is still a real band in the real world apart from the story they happen to be telling.

this fandom is a glutton for making things more convoluted than they are. no, the curtains aren’t just blue, but if the setting isn’t trying to tell you about the character’s sadness, maybe the blue means something else. you have to understand the story before you analyze it. there is no subtext without the original text.

your interpretation of “clancy is dead” is exactly how i see it. some people just ignore what’s in front of them. and dont let your newer status discredit you, in 2019 i was also a clancy =/= tyler truther, because we hadn’t had all the reveals yet. i think some people just won’t budge on their beliefs.

the story supports what it supports. i highly doubt we’ll ever get more information on this, since “i am clancy” was meant to get everyone on the same page, so this debate will never end. it probably wouldn’t even if we did get further confirmation, since people just straight up think he was lying in that video. it’s just one of those things.

the new tb letter is a brutal reminder that i am the only person on all of twitter who thinks tyler and clancy have always been the same person i literally feel like this

[harrysfolklore]

but daddy i love him, part one - mv1

summary: in the world of formula 1, where competition runs deep and loyalties are tested, yn wolff and max verstappen found themselves caught in the middle . as the daughter of mercedes team principal and the rising red bull star, they must navigate the balance between rivalries and love. wc: 17k

folkie radio: HERE. IT. IS. FINALLY !!!!!!!! as i've stated before i'm absolutely terrified of posting this, this is my longest fic ever and different from what i've done before. i know it's a long read but i'm really proud of it and i think it's worth it. IN THIS FIC MORE THAN ANY OTHER. I ENCOURAGE YOU TO LEAVE FEEDBACK.

DISCLAIMER: as stated in the title THIS IS PART ONE!!! part two is ready in my drafts and will be posted shortly (in a week tops). i'll stop talking now. BUCKLE UP AND ENJOY (and please leave feedback okay)

Melbourne, 2015

The hotel lobby is quiet at this hour - that strange liminal space between late night and early morning when most reasonable people are asleep. But you've never been great at reasonable, and jet lag has your body clock completely scrambled.

That's how you end up in the hotel's deserted coffee shop at 1 AM, nursing a hot chocolate and trying to calm your nerves about tomorrow.

You're so lost in thought you don't notice someone else enter until they speak.

"They're still open?"

You look up and your heart skips. Of course you recognize him immediately - Max Verstappen, the 17-year-old prodigy your father hasn't stopped talking about for months. "The next big thing," Papa had said, watching testing footage. "He's going to shake up the whole paddock, just watch."

"Sort of," you gesture to your drink, trying to keep your voice casual. "The barista took pity on me. Said she'd make one last drink before closing."

He glances at the now-dark counter and sighs. Up close, he looks even younger than in the photos you've seen, but there's something in his eyes - a fierce determination that makes you understand why everyone's been talking about him.

"Here," you push your barely-touched hot chocolate towards him. "I'm not really drinking it anyway."

He hesitates. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Probably shouldn't have caffeine at this hour anyway."

He sits across from you, taking a careful sip. "Thanks. I'm Max."

I know, you think. Everyone knows. The youngest F1 driver in history, Jos Verstappen's son, the rookie everyone's watching.

"You're not from around here," you note his accent, playing along with the pretense that you don't know exactly who he is.

"Neither are you," he grins, and something warm flutters in your stomach. His smile transforms his whole face, makes him look his age.

"Fair point. Here for the Grand Prix?"

"You could say that." He studies you, and you wonder if he can hear your heart racing. "You?"

"Something like that." You're enjoying this little game more than you probably should.

"Cryptic."

You laugh. "Says the equally cryptic stranger."

"Okay, okay." He takes another sip. "I'm one of the new drivers. Toro Rosso."

You try to hide your smile. You've watched every clip of his testing sessions, heard every conversation your father has had about his potential. "Ah. The youngest F1 driver in history. That must be a lot of pressure."

He shrugs, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of expectations already heavy on him. You know that weight - you've carried your own version of it your whole life.

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Scared?"

"No," he answers too quickly, then sighs. "Maybe a little. You won't tell anyone I said that, right?"

There's something vulnerable in his admission that makes your heart ache. Behind all the hype and headlines, he's just a boy on the verge of something enormous.

"Your secret's safe with me." You lean back. "For what it's worth, I think you'll do great."

"You sound pretty confident for someone who just met me."

If only he knew how many hours you'd spent watching his karting videos. How many times you'd heard your father say "That Verstappen boy is going to change everything."

"Let's call it intuition."

He laughs - a genuine, unguarded sound that makes your pulse quicken. "You're different."

"Different good or different bad?"

"Just… different." He finishes the hot chocolate. "Most people, when they find out who I am, they either get weird about it or start asking about Jos."

"Your father?"

He nods, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes - the same shadow you sometimes get when people mention Toto.

"Well, I know a thing or two about father-related pressure, so…"

"Yeah?" He looks interested. "What does your father do?"

You check your watch, knowing it's time to end this little charade. "Oh wow, is that the time? I should probably head up."

"Wait," he stands as you do. "I didn't catch your name."

You pause at the door, turning back with a small smile, savoring what you know will be his reaction. "I'm YN Wolff."

His eyes widen. "Wolff? As in…"

"See you in the paddock, Max Verstappen."

You leave him standing there, but not before catching his surprised laugh. Your heart is racing as you walk away - from the deception, from his smile, from the way his eyes had lit up when he laughed.

The next morning, you spot him in the paddock. He does a double-take when he sees you with the Mercedes team, then grins and shakes his head. You're wearing your team kit now, no more pretending to be just another girl in a hotel coffee shop.

"Cryptic stranger," he mouths at you as he passes.

You just smile, trying to ignore how your stomach flips when he winks at you.

Neither of you could have known then - in that quiet hotel coffee shop at 1 AM - that this was the beginning of something that would change your lives.

Singapore, 2015

The paddock is eerily quiet now, the usual chaos of race day reduced to a whisper of distant maintenance and soft lighting. You're sitting on one of the team benches, the night air cool against your skin. Max is close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that the line between friendship and something more feels increasingly blurred.

It wasn't a sudden thing, this connection with Max. It had been a slow burn, a gradual unraveling that began that night in the hotel coffee shop and grew through stolen moments between races, brief conversations in crowded paddocks, and late-night messages that became increasingly frequent.

At first, it was simple curiosity. You'd catch each other's eye across the paddock, exchange a knowing smile. Then came the texts - random observations about races, inside jokes about team dynamics, comments that walked the line between friendly and flirtatious. Max had a way of making you laugh like no one else could, his wit sharp and unexpected.

He nudges you playfully. "So, daughter of the most powerful team principal in Formula 1. Must be interesting."

You roll your eyes, but there's a smile tugging at your lips. "Not as glamorous as you might think."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "Try me."

You pause, considering. The weight of your father's reputation is something you've carried your entire life - a constant backdrop to every interaction, every moment.

"Imagine," you say slowly, "having every conversation potentially recorded, every interaction analyzed. One wrong move and it's not just about you, but about your family's reputation."

Max's expression shifts. There's understanding there - he knows something about familial expectations, about the pressure of carrying a name.

"My father," he says quietly, "Jos Verstappen. Not exactly a walk in the park."

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. These moments have become more frequent - brief windows where the polished racing personas fall away, revealing something raw and real.

"Tell me," you prompt softly.

He takes a deep breath. "Constant pressure. Every race, every test, every moment - it's like I'm living not just for myself, but for some expectation he's created. Sound familiar?"

You laugh, but it's a sound tinged with something harder. Sadness. Recognition. "Absolutely."

Your conversations have been like this lately - layers peeling back, revealing something raw and real beneath the polished exterior of Formula 1.

"Sometimes," Max continues, "I wonder if I'm racing for myself or for the legacy everyone else wants me to create."

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the night. "Little Wolff?"

Lewis approaches, his team kit still impeccable despite the late hour. His eyes narrow when he sees Max, taking in your proximity.

Lewis had been a constant in your life long before Max entered the picture. Since joining Mercedes, he'd taken on a role that was part mentor, part protective older brother. It wasn't an official designation, but in the Mercedes family, it might as well have been law.

Lewis knew everything about you - your hopes, your fears and everything in between. He was more than just your father's driver. He was family.

"Oh," Lewis says, a mix of surprise and something else - protection, wariness. "Verstappen."

Max stands immediately. "I was just leaving," he says quickly, a touch of nervousness breaking through his usual confidence. "See you around."

As Max walks away, Lewis turns to you, his protective big brother persona fully activated. "What," he says slowly, "was that about?"

You start walking together, the paddock lights casting long shadows. Lewis' stride is purposeful, matching yours.

"Nothing," you say, but the word sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, "He's my friend."

"Friend," he says, uncertainty in his voice, "Just be careful, okay? Things are never that simple in this paddock" he'd said, and you knew he meant more than just about Max.

You said nothing. But you heard him. You always did.

Barcelona, 2016

The champagne sparkles in the late afternoon sun as you watch from a secluded corner of the paddock. You smile as you watch Max on that podium - the youngest winner in Formula 1 history. Your smile is wide, uncontrolled, and you're grateful for the relative privacy of your spot. If anyone noticed that your eyes never left Max, that your smile was meant only for him, they didn't say.

You remember the first time you saw him race, really race - not just in videos or testing. The raw talent, the fearlessness that made your breath catch. Over the past year, you'd watched him grow from that confident teenager in the Melbourne coffee shop into someone who commanded respect on track. And somewhere along the way, between stolen moments in the paddock and late-night conversations, he'd become so much more than just another driver.

The past year had been a dance of almost-moments and careful distances. Shared glances across crowded rooms, text messages that made you smile at 3 AM, touches that lingered just a second too long. You'd both known the complications, the impossibility of it all - the Mercedes team principal's daughter and Red Bull's rising star. It was like a modern Romeo and Juliet, except instead of warring families, it was competing Formula 1 teams.

Later that evening, you stand in your father's office doorway, heart hammering but determined. Toto is absorbed in post-race papers, reading glasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the formidable team principal even hours after the race.

"Papa?"

He looks up, his expression softening slightly at the sight of you. "Yes, Schatz?"

"I'm going out," you say, trying to keep your voice casual while mentally rehearsing your prepared explanation.

Toto's eyebrows rise slightly. "Out?"

"With some friends," you elaborate, grateful for years of practice at maintaining your composure under his scrutiny. "To celebrate the race."

He sets his papers down, removing his glasses. "Friends from the team?"

Your heart skips. "Just… friends from the paddock," you say carefully. "Daniel invited me."

"Ricciardo?" His tone sharpens slightly.

"He's always been nice to me," you reason, which isn't a lie. Daniel has been a friend since his early days, always treating you like a friend rather than just the boss' daughter.

Toto studies you for a long moment, and you force yourself to meet his gaze steadily, even as your pulse races. You've always been close to your father - he's been your hero, your guide, your biggest supporter. The weight of potentially disappointing him sits heavy in your chest.

"Be careful," he finally says, though his tone suggests he's not entirely convinced. "You know how complicated things can be in this world."

"I know, Papa," you say softly. "I'll be careful. Promise."

Getting into the Red Bull celebration is easier than expected, thanks to Daniel's help. He meets you at a side entrance, his trademark grin wider than usual.

"Looking good, Wolff," he winks, pulling you into a quick hug. "Though I'm pretty sure your dad would kill me if he knew I was helping you sneak in."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," you say, trying to ignore the guilt that accompanies the words.

"Just…" Daniel's expression turns serious for a moment. "Be careful, yeah? With Max. He's my teammate and you're like my sister, and I don't want either of you getting hurt."

You're saved from responding by the noise of the party as he leads you inside. The atmosphere is electric - the joy of Max's first win filling the air along with music and laughter.

When Max spots you, his eyes widen, champagne glass freezing halfway to his lips. The surprise on his face quickly melts into something softer, more private. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over, that familiar smirk playing on his lips - the one that never fails to make your heart skip.

"Should I be worried about Mercedes spies in our midst?" he teases, but his eyes are soft, drinking you in.

"You know me," you counter, matching his playful tone while trying to ignore how good he looks in his race winner's shirt, "I live for trouble."

"That you do, Wolff." He steps closer, just slightly, but enough to make your breath catch. "I didn't think you'd come."

"And miss your first win celebration? Never." You mean it to sound light, teasing, but your voice comes out softer, more sincere than intended.

"Still can't believe it," he says, shaking his head with a boyish grin that makes him look his age for once. "My first win."

"I can," you reply, taking a sip of champagne. "I've seen how you drive. It was only a matter of time."

He looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. "You've been watching me drive, then?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on the competition," you tease, but you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Is that what I am? Competition?" He moves closer, and suddenly the music seems far away.

"Among other things." Your voice comes out breathier than intended.

The conversation flows easily between you, as it always has. You talk about the race, about his incredible overtakes, about the moment he realized he was going to win. His eyes light up when he describes the feeling of crossing the finish line, and you find yourself caught between admiring his passion and getting lost in the way his hands move as he talks.

As the night progresses, the party gets louder, more crowded. Max notices you glancing around at the growing crowd.

"Want to get some air?" he asks, nodding toward a door that leads to a quieter area.

You follow him to a private terrace overlooking the city. The music is muffled here, and the night air is cool on your skin. You lean against the railing, city lights twinkling below.

"Better?" he asks, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Much." You turn to face him, drawn in by the way the lights play across his features. "Though I have to say, you throw quite a party for a rookie winner."

He laughs, the sound low and warm. "Rookie? I've been racing since before I could walk."

"Oh right, I forgot - Max Verstappen, born in a go-kart," you tease, making him smile wider.

"You're impossible, you know that?" He shakes his head, but his eyes are fond.

"Part of my charm," you counter, feeling bold in the privacy of the moment.

"Is that what you call it?" He's even closer now, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

"Would you rather I was predictable?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging.

"Never." His voice drops lower, sending shivers down your spine. "Predictable is boring. And you, YN Wolff, are anything but boring."

The tension between you is electric, years of carefully maintained distance crumbling in this quiet moment. Your heart is racing so fast you wonder if he can hear it.

"Well," you say, stepping into his space until there's barely a breath between you, "I think the winner deserves a reward."

Before you can second-guess yourself, you're kissing him. It's everything and nothing like you imagined - soft at first, tentative, like you're both afraid of breaking something precious. Then his hand comes up to cup your face, and the kiss deepens, becomes more urgent. You can taste champagne on his lips, feel the solid warmth of him against you. Your fingers curl into his shirt, anchoring yourself as the world spins around you.

It's a perfect moment, suspended in time, until he pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

"You're trouble, Wolff," he murmurs against your lips, but he's smiling that smile that makes your heart flip. "Beautiful trouble."

"Scared?" you challenge softly, echoing your first conversation in Melbourne.

"Terrified," he admits, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "But in a good way."

You stay at the party longer than you should, caught in Max's orbit. Every smile, every touch, every shared look feels charged with possibility. But reality crashes back hours later when you return.

Your dad is waiting, his expression thunderous in a way you've rarely seen directed at you. Your stomach drops as soon as you see him, the lingering warmth from Max's kisses turning to ice in your veins.

"Would you like to explain," he says slowly, each word precise and controlled, "why did I receive a call informing me that my daughter was at a Red Bull celebration?"

"Papa, I-" you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp gesture.

"Don't." His voice is hard. "Don't try to fool me. I've seen you with Max Verstappen."

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words. You want to defend yourself, explain that Max isn't just the Red Bull driver he sees, that there's more to him.

"Do you have any idea," he continues, "what position this puts me in? Puts the team in?"

"It's not about the teams," you say quietly, finding your voice. "It's just-"

"Just what?" he challenges. "Just you and him? Nothing is ever just anything in Formula 1, YN. Every action has consequences. Every relationship has implications."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "This sport isn't about fair. It's about winning. About loyalty. About trust." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "How can I trust you to put the team first when you're sneaking around with our biggest rival?"

The words hit you like a physical blow. "I would never betray the team," you whisper, hurt that he could even think that.

"Maybe not intentionally," he says, his voice softening slightly. "But this… whatever this is with Max Verstappen… it can't continue. I won't tell you again. Stay away from him."

You want to argue more, to make him understand. But you recognize the finality in your father's tone, the immovable force that has made him such a successful team principal. In this world of racing and rivalry, some lines aren't meant to be crossed.

As you leave, you touch your lips, still feeling the ghost of Max's kiss. Your phone buzzes - a message from Max: "Worth the trouble?"

You stare at the screen, tears threatening to fall. Sometimes the biggest crashes in Formula 1 aren't on the track at all. Sometimes they're in the space between what your heart wants and what the sport demands.

Germany, 2016

The German summer air is thick with tension. You can feel it crackling through the paddock like electricity before a storm. Nico and Lewis' rivalry has turned the Mercedes garage into a pressure cooker, and your father's stress is palpable. Being around him feels like walking on eggshells, which makes your secret meetings with Max even more dangerous.

You've gotten good at this dance over the past few months - stolen moments between practice sessions, hidden corners of the paddock, coded messages about "casual meetings" that are anything but casual. Every stolen kiss feels like a victory and a risk all at once.

The sun is setting over Hockenheim when you slip behind the Red Bull motorhome, your heart racing with the familiar mix of excitement and fear. Max is already there, leaning against the wall with that cocky smile that still makes your stomach flip.

"Cutting it close, Wolff," he murmurs as you approach. "Your father's been prowling the paddock all day."

"Worried?" you tease, even as you glance around to ensure you're alone.

His answer is to pull you against him, one hand sliding to your waist while the other cups your face. "About your father? Always. About this? Never."

The kiss is heated from the start - months of practice have taught you both exactly how to make each other breathless. His thumb traces your jawline as he deepens the kiss, and you press closer, fingers curling into his team shirt. You love how solid he feels against you, how his breath catches when you bite gently at his lower lip.

"You're going to get me in trouble," he whispers against your mouth, but his smile suggests he doesn't mind at all.

"You love trouble," you remind him, trailing kisses along his jaw.

His hands tighten on your waist. "I love-" he starts, but cuts himself off, choosing instead to capture your lips again in a kiss that makes you forget everything else.

You lose track of time, lost in the taste of him, the feel of his hands on your skin, the way he whispers your name like a prayer. It's dangerous and perfect and everything you shouldn't want but can't resist.

A sound makes you both freeze. You pull apart quickly, straightening your clothes, but it's too late.

Jos Verstappen stands at the corner of the motorhome, his expression dark and unreadable. Your blood runs cold at the sight of him.

"I… I should go," you manage, your voice shaky. Max's hand brushes yours briefly - a small comfort - before you hurry past his father, avoiding his stern gaze.

Behind you, you can hear Jos' voice, low and harsh in Dutch, but you don't stop to listen. Your heart is pounding as you make your way back to the paddock, wondering if this is the moment everything falls apart.

Max stands his ground as his father's disapproval fills the space between them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jos demands in Dutch, his voice controlled but sharp. "The Wolff girl? Have you lost your mind?"

"It's not what you think-" Max starts, but Jos cuts him off.

"It's exactly what I think. You're letting yourself get distracted. By a Mercedes girl, no less. Toto Wolff's daughter?" Jos steps closer, his presence intimidating despite Max now being taller than him. "You're just starting to prove yourself in Formula 1. This is when you need to focus more than ever."

"I am focused," Max argues. "My results prove that."

"For now." Jos' voice turns cold. "But girls like that, from families like that - they're nothing but distractions. She'll get in your head, make you soft. And then what? You think Toto Wolff wants his daughter with a Red Bull driver? You think this ends well?"

Max clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to defend you, to explain that you're different, that you understand the sport as well as he does. But he knows his father won't listen.

"Stay away from her," Jos says finally, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Focus on what matters. On winning and being champion. That's what we've worked for all these years. Don't throw it away for some girl."

The words hit harder than Max wants to admit, echoing his own doubts, his own fears about what this thing with you means. But he can't forget the way you look at him like you see past the racer, past the name, to who he really is.

Jos leaves him there in the growing darkness, with only the weight of expectations and the lingering taste of your kiss on his lips.

Monaco, May 2017

Another year, another dance of stolen moments and secret smiles. If anything, the warnings and opposition have only made whatever this is between you and Max more intense. Like a forbidden drug, each stolen moment leaves you craving more, even as the risks grow higher.

"This is a terrible idea," Max whispers as you pull him through your back door, "Your dad is literally upstairs."

"He's dead asleep," you assure him, carefully closing the door. "He took sleeping pills for his flight tomorrow. Besides, he sleeps like the dead anyway."

Max still looks like he's ready to bolt at any second. "YN, if he catches me here-"

"He won't." You tug him closer by his shirt. "Unless you keep talking so loud."

He glances nervously at the stairs. "Your room is up there? Past his?"

"Scared, Verstappen?"

"Terrified, actually." But he follows you anyway, both of you carefully avoiding the creaky third step you'd mapped out years ago during teenage sneaking attempts.

You're almost at your door when Max freezes. "Was that-"

"Just the house settling," you whisper, but your heart is racing too. "Come on, we're almost-"

A door opens down the hall.

Max actually whimpers. You shove him into your room just as Toto's voice calls out, "YN? Is that you?"

"Just getting water, Papa!" you call back, praying your voice sounds normal. "Go back to sleep."

"Everything okay?"

"Fine! Those pills should be kicking in, right?"

A yawn. "Ja, starting to feel them. Goodnight, Schatz."

"Night, Papa!"

You wait until you hear his door close before slipping into your room. You find Max standing perfectly still in the middle of the floor, looking absolutely terrified.

"I think I'm having a heart attack," he announces in a whisper. "I'm actually having a heart attack. I can see the headlines now: 'F1 Driver Dies of Fear in Team Principal's House.'"

You try not to laugh. "You're being dramatic."

"Dramatic?" His voice rises slightly before he catches himself. "YN, your father was ten feet away from me. Ten feet! Do you know what he would do to me if he found me here?"

"Well, first he'd probably have a heart attack himself-"

"Not helping!"

"Then probably murder you-"

"Still not helping!"

"And Lewis would hide the body-"

"Why did I agree to this?" He runs his hands through his hair. "I'm a professional athlete. I have championships to win. I can't die in Toto Wolff's house because his daughter is too pretty to say no to."

You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're trying to kill me." But his hands settle on your waist automatically. "If your father walks in right now-"

"He won't."

"But if he does-"

"Max." You kiss him softly. "Stop talking about my father when you're in my bedroom."

"Missed you," he murmurs against your mouth, hands already sliding under your shirt. "Watching you in the paddock all day, not being able to touch you…"

You smile against his lips. "Poor baby. Must be so hard being professional."

He responds by lifting you up, making you laugh as he carries you toward your bed. "You have no idea."

Hours later, you're tangled in your sheets, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. The city's lights cast shadows across his face, making him look older than his twenty years.

"We should sleep," you say, even as you press closer to him. "You have meetings tomorrow."

"Meetings are overrated," he mumbles into your hair, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Says the guy who's already breaking records." Your fingers trail down his chest. "Future world champion can't skip meetings."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "Future world champion can do whatever he wants."

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other, pretending the world outside doesn't exist. But morning comes too soon, sunlight streaming through your windows and your alarm blaring way too early.

Max groans, burying his face in your neck. "Five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago," you remind him, even as you run your fingers through his hair. "You're already going to be late, and my father is still next room, remember?"

He lifts his head, giving you that boyish grin that still makes your heart skip. "Worth it."

But reality can't be held at bay forever. Max rushes to get dressed, stealing kisses between looking for his scattered clothes. You watch from your bed, sheet wrapped around you, trying to memorize how he looks in the morning light.

"Tonight?" he asks, pausing at your bedroom door.

"Text me," you say, and he gives you one last smile before he's gone.

Max is still smiling when he arrives at the Red Bull office, nearly an hour late for his morning meeting. The smile dies on his lips when he sees his father waiting outside, arms crossed and expression thunderous.

"You were with that girl weren't you? Nothing's changed" Jos demands without preamble, switching to Dutch.

"I was just-"

"Don't lie to me." Jos' voice is low, dangerous. "Are you trying to destroy everything we've worked for?"

"I'm not destroying anything," Max argues, frustration creeping into his voice. "My results-"

"Your results could be better," Jos cuts him off. "You could be focused on becoming champion instead of sneaking around with Toto Wolff's daughter. Do you think this is a game?"

"It's not a game-"

"Then what is it?" Jos steps closer, his presence still intimidating despite Max being taller now. "Love?" He spits the word like it's poison. "You think love wins championships? You think that girl is worth throwing away everything we've sacrificed for?"

Max clenches his jaw, the weight of years of his father's expectations pressing down on him. "I can handle both-"

"No." Jos' voice is final, absolute. "You can't. And you won't. This ends now. Cut her off."

"Or what?" The words slip out before Max can stop them, a rare challenge to his father's authority.

Jos' eyes turn cold. "Or I'll make sure Toto knows exactly what his precious daughter has been up to. How do you think that ends for her? For her relationship with her father? For her position in the paddock?"

The threat hangs in the air between them. Max feels his stomach turn to ice, knowing his father well enough to know this isn't an empty threat.

"Your choice, Max," Jos says, already turning away. "But make it soon. This distraction ends now, or there will be consequences. For everyone."

Max stands there long after his father leaves, the taste of your kisses still on his lips, now bitter with the weight of choices.

Monza, 2017

The Italian late summer heat feels suffocating as you finally corner Max behind the Ferrari motorhome - neutral territory. He's been dodging you since Hungary, responding to texts with one-word answers before stopping altogether. You've seen that look in his eyes when he spots you in the paddock - the way he quickly turns away, finds somewhere else to be.

"Hey stranger," you say, aiming for casual despite your racing heart. "Been a while."

He looks everywhere but at you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "YN…" There's a warning in his voice that you choose to ignore.

"I've missed you," you continue, taking a step closer. "We haven't talked since-"

"We can't do this anymore." His words cut through the air like a knife.

You freeze, the practiced speech you'd prepared dying in your throat. "What?"

"This." He gestures vaguely between you, still not meeting your eyes. "Whatever this is. It has to stop."

"Just like that?" Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "After everything?"

"I need to focus on racing." He sounds like he's reciting a rehearsed speech. "Just racing. No distractions."

The word 'distraction' hits you like a physical blow. "Is that what I am? A distraction?"

Finally, he looks at you, and for a moment you see something crack in his carefully constructed facade - pain, regret, something more. But then it's gone, replaced by a coldness you've never seen directed at you before.

"This was never going to work," he says flatly. "We both knew that. It'll only cause trouble - for you, for me, for our families. It's better to end it now."

You think about all the stolen moments, the late-night conversations, the way he'd look at you like you were the only person in a crowded room. All reduced to 'trouble'.

"Fine." You straighten your spine, channeling every ounce of Wolff pride you possess. "See you around, Max Verstappen."

You turn and walk away before he can respond, each step measured and controlled despite feeling like your world is crumbling. You make it all the way to the Mercedes motorhome before the tears start to fall.

You duck into what you think is an empty corner, trying to get yourself under control, when a familiar voice makes you jump.

"Little Wolff?"

Lewis stands there, concern etched across his features. He's known you since you were a kid, has watched you grow up in the paddock. In many ways, he's your brother.

"I'm fine," you say automatically, wiping at your eyes. "Just… allergies."

"Right," he says softly, not believing you for a second. "Because Monza is famous for its allergies."

A sob escapes before you can stop it, and suddenly Lewis is pulling you into a hug. You break down against his chest, all your carefully maintained composure crumbling.

"Hey, hey," he soothes, rubbing your back. "What happened? Who do I need to beat up?"

You laugh wetly against his shoulder. "Nobody. It's stupid. I'm stupid."

"You're one of the smartest people I know," he counters. "So whatever it is, it's not stupid."

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. "I just… I thought…" You shake your head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. Clearly I was wrong."

Understanding dawns in Lewis's eyes. He's not blind - he's probably noticed more than most about your relationship with Max, even if he's never mentioned it.

"Sometimes," he says carefully, "people make choices out of fear rather than what they really want. Especially in this world."

"He said I was a distraction," you whisper, the words still burning.

Lewis's expression hardens slightly. "He's young. And scared. And probably being pulled in a hundred different directions." He pauses. "Doesn't make it hurt any less though, does it?"

You shake your head, fresh tears threatening to fall.

"Come here." He pulls you into another hug. "For what it's worth, I think he's an idiot. But maybe this is for the best, he's not good for you."

You stay there for a while, letting Lewis comfort you, grateful for his presence and his wisdom. But you can't shake the image of Max's face, that moment when his mask slipped, and you'd seen the pain in his eyes. You wonder if Lewis is right - if this is really about fear rather than feeling.

But in the end, you suppose it doesn't matter. A choice is still a choice, even if it's made for the wrong reasons.

Monaco, Summer 2018

The bass thrums through your body as you down another shot, Lando cheering beside you. The club is packed - all of Monaco's elite young crowd mixed with racing's next generation. Your father would have an aneurysm if he saw you here, but that's half the fun.

"Another!" Lando shouts over the music, already signaling the bartender. He's technically too young to be here, but money and fame open most doors in Monaco.

"You're a bad influence, Norris," you laugh, but you don't stop him.

"Me?" He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'm an angel. You're the one corrupting the youth."

"You're literally younger than me."

"Details, details." He hands you another shot. "To being young and irresponsible!"

You clink glasses with him, the alcohol burning pleasantly as it goes down. This is what you needed - no paddock politics, no disappointed looks from your father, no thoughts of…

"Oh shit," Lando says suddenly, following your gaze. "We can move to another section if you want."

Max has just walked in with a group of friends. He looks good - he always looks good - in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt. Your stomach does that familiar flip before you forcefully squash it down.

"Why should we move?" you say, perhaps a bit too loudly. "We were here first."

Lando gives you that knowing look he's perfected over the past year of friendship. "YN…"

"Don't start," you warn him. "I'm fine. It's fine. Ancient history."

"Right," he drawls. "That's why you drunk-called me crying about him last month."

"I did not!"

"'Lando,'" he mimics in a high voice, "'why doesn't he want meeeee?'"

You shove him playfully. "I hate you."

"You love me." He grins. "I'm your favorite driver now."

"You're not even in F1 yet."

"Yet!" He wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Next year though. Then I'll be beating your ex's ass on track."

"He's not my ex," you mutter. "We were never actually together, remember?"

"Right, just sneaking around making out for like a year and a half. Totally casual."

You're about to retort when movement catches your eye. Max is at the bar now, and there's a girl with him. Tall, blonde, model-beautiful. She's touching his arm, laughing at something he's saying, and he's leaning in close to hear her over the music.

"YN…" Lando's voice has that warning tone.

"I need another drink," you announce, turning back to the bar.

Three shots later, you're on the dance floor with Lando, trying to forget the scene playing out at the bar. But your eyes keep drifting over, watching as Max gets closer to the blonde, his hand now on her waist.

"Stop torturing yourself," Lando says in your ear.

"I'm not-" you start, but the words die in your throat as you watch Max lean down and kiss the girl.

Something inside you snaps. You scan the crowd, spotting a guy who's been eyeing you all night. He's good-looking enough - dark hair, nice smile, probably a trust fund kid like half the people here.

"YN," Lando tries to grab your arm, but you're already moving.

You approach the guy with purpose, channeling every ounce of confidence the alcohol has given you. "Want to dance?"

He looks surprised but pleased. "Absolutely."

You let him pull you close, perhaps closer than necessary. You can feel eyes on you - Lando's concerned ones, and maybe, just maybe, someone else's too.

The guy - you think he said his name was Alex or Alec - is a good dancer. His hands are respectful but firm on your hips as you move to the music. When he leans down to kiss you, you let him.

It's not a bad kiss. He knows what he's doing. But he doesn't taste right, doesn't feel right. His hands aren't calloused from racing. He doesn't smell like motor oil and expensive cologne. He's not… him

But you kiss him anyway. When you finally pull back from the kiss, Lando is at your elbow.

"I think we should head out," he says, glancing meaningfully at your nearly empty glass.

"I'm having fun," you protest, even as the room spins slightly. Alex-or-Alec's hands are still on your waist.

"YN." Lando's voice is firmer now. "Come on."

You turn back to Alex-or-Alec, pulling him down for another kiss. It's messy and desperate and you can taste the expensive whiskey on his breath. You're proving something, you think, though you're not sure what or to whom anymore.

Through the haze of alcohol and bass-heavy music, you hear a familiar voice.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Max is standing there, his face tight with anger. The blonde from earlier is nowhere to be seen, but there's another girl hovering behind him - brunette this time.

"Having fun," you say sweetly, pressing closer to Alex-or-Alec. "You should try it. Oh wait, you already are."

"You don't even know this guy," Max snaps.

"His name is Alex." You pause. "Or Alec."

"It's Adrian," the guy supplies helpfully.

"Whatever." Max steps forward. "You're drunk. You need to go home."

"And you need to mind your own business." You turn to Adrian with an exaggerated smile. "Want to get out of here?"

"YN," Lando pleads. "Don't."

"Sure," Adrian grins, clearly oblivious to the tension. "My place isn't far."

Max moves so fast you barely register it, suddenly between you and Adrian. "She's not going anywhere with you."

"Excuse me?" You push at his chest. "You don't get to decide that. You lost that right when you-" You cut yourself off, aware you're saying too much.

"When I what?" Max challenges, his eyes dark. "When I did exactly what you're doing right now?"

"No," you laugh, but it comes out bitter. "When you decided that sneaking around was fine until it wasn't. When you started showing up to every event with a new girl on your arm. When you-"

"YN," Lando tugs at your arm. "Not here."

You shake him off. "Go back to your girlfriend, Max. Or girlfriends. I lost count tonight."

"You're being ridiculous."

"And you're being a hypocrite." You grab Adrian's hand. "Let's go."

Max's hand closes around your wrist. "You're not leaving with him."

"Get your hands off me." Your voice is ice cold. "You don't get to play protective boyfriend when it suits you. Go find another model to add to your collection."

Something flashes in his eyes - hurt maybe, or anger. "Fine. Do what you want. You always do anyway."

"Exactly. I do what I want." You turn to Adrian. "Sorry, but I've changed my mind. Turns out I have standards."

You shake off Max's grip and push past him, heading for the exit. Lando hurries after you, already calling for a car.

"YN, wait-" Max calls after you.

"Go to hell, Verstappen."

Outside, the Monaco air is cool against your flushed skin. Lando wraps his jacket around your shoulders as tears start to fall.

"I hate him," you whisper.

"No, you don't." Lando pulls you into a hug. "That's the problem."

The morning sunlight streaming through the windows feels like actual daggers in your skull. You're nursing your third cup of coffee, wearing sunglasses indoors like the walking cliché you are, when your father's voice cuts through your hangover haze.

"Would you care to explain these?"

Toto slides his phone across the breakfast table. Your stomach drops as you see the photos - you dancing with Adrian, Max confronting you, your tearful exit with Lando. The Monaco nightlife paparazzi are relentless, and you were too drunk to notice them.

"Papa, I-"

"No." His voice is quiet but firm. That's worse than yelling. "This stops now, YN. This... rebellion phase of yours. It stops."

Lewis and Valtteri are suddenly very interested in their breakfast plates. Susie, your stepmother, places a gentle hand on your father's arm, but doesn't contradict him.

"It wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" Toto's accent gets thicker when he's angry. "Wasn't you, drunk in a club, making headlines again? Wasn't you creating another PR nightmare for the team?"

Your head throbs. "I'm not part of the team."

"No? Then why does every tabloid headline read 'Mercedes Boss's Daughter in Club Drama with Red Bull Star'?"

You wince. Both at his words and at the volume.

"The drinking, the parties, the public scenes - it needs to stop." He leans forward. "You're not just any teenager, liebling. Everything you do reflects on this family, on this team."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair." He softens slightly. "I know this past year has been... difficult."

You feel Lewis shift beside you. He knows - of course he knows. He's probably the only one at this table who knows the full story of you and Max.

"But this self-destructive behavior cannot continue." Your father's voice is final. "You're grounded."

"I'm twenty one!"

"And living on my yacht, in my house, representing my name." He raises an eyebrow. "Would you prefer to go back to boarding school?"

The threat lands. You sink lower in your chair.

"No, sir."

"Good." He turns to his own coffee. "No more clubs. No more parties. And for God's sake, no more scenes with Max Verstappen."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You know without looking it's probably Lando checking on you. Or worse, Max.

"YN." Your father's voice draws your attention back. "I mean it. Whatever is going on between you two... it ends now."

"Nothing is going on," you mutter.

"Then it should be easy to maintain distance."

Susie finally speaks up. "Why don't you come work with me for a while? Help with the She Moves Forward initiative?"

You know it's a peace offering - a way to keep you busy and out of trouble. But the thought of structured days and responsible tasks makes your hangover worse.

"Fine," you concede, if only to end this conversation.

Lewis nudges you under the table - a small gesture of solidarity. Valtteri offers a sympathetic smile.

"Good." Your father stands. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have damage control to handle."

After he leaves, Lewis slides a bottle of Advil towards you. "Here. You look like death."

"Thanks," you grumble, dry-swallowing two pills.

"He's right, you know," Lewis says quietly. "About Max."

"Not you too."

"YN." His voice is gentle. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. The drinking, the acting out - it's not going to make it hurt less."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." He stands, squeezing your shoulder. "Just... think about what you're really angry at. Because I don't think it's your father, or the team, or even Max."

"I'm going back to bed," you announce to no one in particular.

"Honey," Susie calls after you. "This doesn't have to be a punishment. Maybe it's an opportunity."

You pause at the door. "For what?"

"To figure out who you are without all the drama. Without..." she hesitates. "Without defining yourself by who you're trying to hurt."

You think about Max's face last night, about the girls he was with, about how none of it made you feel better.

"Yeah," you say quietly. "Maybe."

The air feels thick and oppressive as you stumble out of another club, the world spinning slightly. You're not entirely sure how you ended up here - after the disastrous night a few weeks ago, you'd promised yourself (and your father) that you were done with the party scene. But one text from Lando about needing to "get out" had quickly spiraled.

Except Lando had bailed last minute with food poisoning, and you'd gone anyway. Because you're nothing if not stubborn.

The familiar figure of Charles Leclerc materializes beside you. "YN? Are you okay?"

"Charles!" You throw your arms around him, nearly losing your balance. "My favorite Ferrari boy!"

He steadies you with practiced ease. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Lost count," you admit cheerfully. "But it's fine. Everything's fine."

Charles sighs, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling Lewis."

"No!" You grab for his phone but miss entirely. "Not Lewis. He'll tell Papa."

"Good. Maybe he should."

You slump against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "Everyone's so disappointed in me."

Charles' expression softens as he puts the phone to his ear. "We're worried, not disappointed."

Twenty minutes later, you hear the distinctive rumble of Lewis's car. He jumps out, concern etched on his face.

"YN? What were you thinking?"

"That alcohol makes feelings go away?" you offer weakly.

Lewis turns to Charles. "Thanks for calling me."

"Of course. Take care of her."

The ride home is quiet until Lewis finally speaks. "This has to stop."

"I know," you whisper.

"No, I mean it really has to stop. You're hurting yourself, and for what? To prove something to Max?"

"It's not about Max."

"Isn't it?"

You stare out the window, tears forming. "I need to get away from here."

"What do you mean?"

"The paddock, the drama, all of it." You turn to him. "I can't keep doing this. Being the Mercedes princess, the ex-whatever of Max Verstappen. I need… space."

Lewis is quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's not a bad idea. Take some time, figure out who you are away from all this."

"Will you help me convince Papa?"

"Yeah," he says softly. "I'll help. But you have to promise me - no more nights like this."

You nod, the weight of everything finally catching up to you. "I promise."

As Lewis helps you out of the car, you freeze. Toto is standing in the doorway, still in his sleeping clothes. Your stomach drops and fresh tears spring to your eyes - this is it, the final disappointment.

But instead of the anger you expect, your father simply opens his arms.

You practically fall into them, suddenly sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Papa. I'm so sorry."

"Shh," he soothes, holding you tight like he did when you were little. "You're alright, liebling. You're alright."

"I can't-" you hiccup against his chest. "I can't do this anymore. I need to get out of here."

"Out of where?"

"Monaco. The paddock. All of it." You pull back slightly to look at him. "I need space. To figure out who I am without… without all of this."

Toto exchanges a look with Lewis over your head. "I know," he says softly, surprising you. "I've seen it coming."

"You have?"

He cups your face in his hands, wiping away tears with his thumbs. "You're my daughter. Of course I have. I just needed you to realize it yourself."

"I'm tired, Papa," you whisper. "Of being the Mercedes princess, of the gossip, of seeing…" You trail off, but they all know what you mean. Who you mean.

"Then go," he says simply. "Find yourself. The paddock will still be here when you're ready."

"You're not mad?"

He laughs softly. "Oh, we'll discuss tonight's adventure when you're less drunk. But no, liebling. I'm not mad. Sometimes we need to step away to see things clearly."

Lewis steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We've got your back, little Wolff. Whatever you need."

Fresh tears fall as you're overwhelmed by their support. "I love you both so much."

"And we love you," Toto kisses your forehead. "Now, let's get you to bed. We can make plans tomorrow."

As they help you inside, you feel lighter somehow. Like maybe this isn't an ending, but a beginning. A chance to become someone new - or maybe to find who you've been all along, underneath the labels and expectations.

Austria, 2020

The familiar scent of rubber and fuel hits you as you step into the Mercedes garage for the first time in almost two years, your heart doing a little flip at being back after so long. Everything looks exactly the same, yet somehow different - or maybe you're the one who's different now.

"Little Wolff!" Lewis' voice booms across the garage before you're engulfed in a bone-crushing hug that lifts you off your feet. "Finally back where you belong!"

You laugh, squeezing him back just as tight. "You literally saw me at Christmas, Lewis!"

"That's not the same and you know it," he sets you down but keeps his hands on your shoulders, studying your face. "Christmas is family time. This," he gestures around the garage, "this is home."

Looking at him now, you can see the genuine joy in his eyes. Lewis has always been your second father, and these past two years, he's been your biggest cheerleader from afar, always sending encouraging messages when you were climbing mountains in Nepal or teaching English in Thailand.

"She's hardly been here five minutes and you're already monopolizing her, Lewis?" Your father's voice carries that familiar warmth that makes your chest tight with happiness. Your relationship with him has transformed during your time away - all those long phone calls and video chats where you really talked, not just about racing but about life, dreams, fears. Distance made you both realize what you'd been missing.

"Papa," you smile, walking into his open arms. He holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Welcome home, liebling," he murmurs. "The garage hasn't been the same without you."

"I missed you too," you say, then pull back with a grin. "But I need to go see someone else before he thinks I've forgotten him entirely."

Toto laughs. "Go on then. Lando's been asking about you non-stop since he heard you were coming back."

You practically skip your way to the McLaren garage, your heart light. The past two years have given you perspective, helped you understand yourself better. You're not the angry, lost girl who fled Monaco anymore. You're stronger now, more sure of who you are outside of being "Toto Wolff's daughter" or "Max Verstappen's conquest."

"YN!" Lando's screech of delight echoes through the garage as he launches himself at you. "You're back, you're finally back!"

"I missed you so much, you idiot," you ruffle his hair, noting how he's grown even more into himself. He's not the shy rookie anymore - he's coming into his own as a driver.

"Group hug!" Carlos appears, wrapping his long arms around both of you. "Welcome back, pequeña. It's been too quiet without you here to keep this one in line."

"Oi!" Lando protests, but he's beaming.

You're in the middle of telling them about your adventures in Japan when movement catches your eye. Your words trail off as you see him - Max, walking past the garage with Christian. He's filled out more, shoulders broader, face more mature. Your heart does that familiar stutter-step it always did around him.

Two years haven't completely erased the memory of his hands on your skin, his laugh against your neck, the way he used to look at you like you were his entire world. First loves leave permanent marks, and Max Verstappen had branded himself onto your heart when you were both too young to understand the weight of it all.

He must feel your gaze because he turns, and for a moment, your eyes lock. There's something there - recognition, remembrance, maybe even regret. You see him swallow hard, his step faltering just slightly. But neither of you moves to bridge the gap.

You turn back to Lando and Carlos, forcing a smile, but your mind is still with that brief moment of eye contact. You're not that lovesick teenager anymore, but part of you wonders if you'll ever fully get over Max Verstappen. If anyone ever really gets over their first love, or if they just learn to live with the echo of what could have been.

"YN?" Lando's voice brings you back to the present. "You okay?"

You look at your friend's concerned face and give him a genuine smile this time. "Yeah, I am. Just… remembering."

Carlos squeezes your shoulder knowingly. "The past is the past, si? You're here now, that's what matters."

You nod, grateful for their understanding. You're not the same person who left two years ago, running from heartbreak and confusion. You're stronger now, wiser. Ready to write a new chapter.

Even if sometimes, just sometimes, you still feel the ghost of an old love story tugging at your heart.

Barcelona, 2020

The Barcelona night is warm and heavy with memories as you sit at the outdoor terrace of the restaurant. Daniel's telling some ridiculous story about a kangaroo, but your attention keeps drifting to the other end of the table where Max sits, deliberately positioned as far from you as possible.

Five years ago, you'd kissed him for the first time just a few streets from here. After his first win, giddy with freedom and teenage rebellion.

"So how was Bali?" Charles asks making your come back to your senses,"The surfing photos were insane."

"Almost died about twelve times," you laugh. "But worth it."

"She's exaggerating," Max comments casually, surprising everyone at the table. It's the first time he's directly addressed anything about your travels. "I saw the videos. Your form wasn't that bad."

You catch his eye across the table. "Been keeping tabs on me, Verstappen?"

He shrugs, a hint of that old smirk playing at his lips. "Hard not to when you're all over everyone's Instagram stories."

The tension at the table shifts slightly - not gone, but different. Lando kicks your foot under the table, raising an eyebrow when you look at him. You ignore him.

The conversation flows easier after that, stories and laughter bouncing around the table. You find yourself watching Max when he's not looking - the way he's grown into his features, how his laugh is deeper now, how he still runs his hand through his hair when he's trying not to smile.

As the night winds down, you end up being the last two waiting for cars. The others had filtered out gradually - Daniel dragging Charles off to some club, Lando claiming early training, Carlos heading home with his father.

"So," Max breaks the silence first, hands in his pockets. "Two years."

"Two years," you echo, leaning against the wall. "Feels longer sometimes."

"And shorter," he adds, then glances at you. "You look good. Happy."

"I am. Mostly." You study his profile in the streetlights. "You've changed too."

He laughs softly. "Had to grow up sometime, right? Can't be the paddock's problem child forever."

"No more sneaking around in garages?" The words slip out before you can stop them.

His eyes darken slightly at the memory. "Bit harder to get away with that these days. Plus, there hasn't been anyone worth the risk."

The weight of unspoken things hangs between you. All those stolen moments - behind motorhomes, in empty conference rooms, dark corners of victory parties. Never official, never acknowledged, but burning so bright it scared you both.

"Want to come up to my place?" he asks suddenly. "Just to talk. Properly. Without…" he gestures vaguely at the paddock world around you.

You should say no. But two years of distance have made you forget how magnetic he is, or maybe just made you brave enough to pretend you can resist it. "Okay."

The penthouse is exactly what you'd expect - sleek and modern, with a view that makes you catch your breath. You walk to the windows, Barcelona sprawling below like a constellation.

"Remember that night after your first win?" you ask softly. "When we snuck onto the roof?"

"Papa Wolff nearly had a heart attack," Max comes to stand beside you, close enough that your arms almost touch. "Worth it though."

"Was it?" You turn to look at him. "All of it? The sneaking around, the fights with our families, the constant hiding?"

"You know it was." His voice drops lower. "At least, it was for me."

"Max…"

"I've missed you," he admits quietly. "Not just… not just the physical stuff. I missed talking to you. Making you laugh. The way you'd roll your eyes every time I said something stupid in press conferences."

"I still do that," you smile despite yourself. "Some things don't change."

"Maybe they shouldn't." He steps closer, and suddenly you're eighteen again, heart racing at his proximity. "Maybe some things are worth holding onto."

When he kisses you, it feels like muscle memory. Your body remembers this dance - the way his hands find your waist, how he tastes like wine and possibilities. It's softer than the desperate kisses you used to share in dark corners, but somehow more dangerous for it.

You pull back first, breathing hard. "We can't."

"Why not?" His thumb traces your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. Who cares what anyone thinks?"

"I do," you step away, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I left to get away from this, Max. From sneaking around, from being the paddock scandal waiting to happen. I built a life where I'm not defined by who I'm secretly sleeping with or whose daughter I am."

"It wouldn't be like before-"

"Wouldn't it? The politics haven't changed. Our families still wouldn't approve."

"I don't care about any of that," he reaches for you but you step back.

"That's the problem," your voice cracks. "I had to live with all of it. The whispers, the judgment, watching my father's face every time there was another rumor about us. I can't go back to that."

"YN, please-"

"I should go." You grab your phone from the counter. "This was a mistake."

At the elevator, you turn back one last time. He's still by the window, silhouetted against the city lights. "For what it's worth," you say softly, "you were my first love. Maybe that's why we have to let it stay in the past."

The elevator doors close on his response, and you lean against the wall, heart pounding. Some part of you will probably always want Max Verstappen. But you've worked too hard to become your own person to let that want destroy everything again.

Even if walking away feels like leaving part of yourself behind.

Monaco, 2020

The yacht party is winding down, the late hour thinning out the crowd until somehow you find yourself alone on the upper deck. The Mediterranean breeze carries fragments of music and laughter from below, but up here it's quiet enough to hear your own thoughts - dangerous, when they all seem to revolve around him.

You hear his footsteps before you see him. You don't need to turn around to know it's Max - your body has always been attuned to his presence, like a compass finding north.

"Hiding?" His voice is soft as he comes to stand beside you at the railing.

"Just needed some air." It's not entirely a lie. "Shouldn't you be downstairs? This is your best friend's party."

"Daniel can handle it on his own," he shrugs, looking out at the harbor lights. "Needed some air too."

The silence that follows should be uncomfortable, but it isn't. That's the problem with Max - everything still feels as natural as breathing. Two years away hasn't changed how your body relaxes in his presence, how the air seems to crackle with possibility when he's near.

"Remember that party in Singapore?" he asks suddenly.

You smile despite yourself. "When we hid from Lewis for half of the night?"

"You were wearing that blue dress," he continues, and something in his voice makes your heart skip. "I couldn't take my eyes off you all night."

"Max…"

"I still can't," he admits quietly. "Even now. Even when I'm supposed to be focusing on other things, my eyes just… find you."

You grip the railing tighter. "We can't do this again."

"Can't we?" He turns to face you now. "Because ever since Barcelona, since that kiss…"

"That was a mistake."

"Was it?" He steps closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Because it didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like coming home."

The words hit you right in the chest, because he's right. That's exactly what it felt like - like every cell in your body recognizing where it belonged.

"Nothing's changed," you say, but your voice wavers. "The politics, our families, the media…"

"Everything's changed," he counters. "We're not those kids anymore, sneaking around without putting a label on it because we didn't know better. I know exactly what I want now. Who I want."

"Max, please-"

"Two years, YN. Two years of watching you live your life through Instagram stories and paddock glimpses. Two years of trying to convince myself I was over you." His hand finds yours on the railing. "But the truth is, a part of me has belonged to you since that first night in Melbourne, and I don't think that's ever going to change."

You should pull your hand away. Instead, you turn it over, letting your fingers intertwine with his. "I tried so hard to become someone new," you whisper. "Traveled the world, built this whole independent life. But the moment I saw you again…"

"I know." His other hand comes up to cup your face, and you lean into the touch instinctively. "Because I felt it too."

"It scares me," you admit. "How easy it is to fall back into this. How right it feels when it should feel wrong."

"Maybe that's exactly why it isn't wrong." His thumb traces your cheekbone. "Maybe some things are just meant to be, despite everything else."

When he kisses you this time, it's different from Barcelona. That kiss had been hesitant, testing. This one feels like surrender, like finally stopping a fight you were always meant to lose. Your hands find his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palm, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispers. "You're the first girl I ever loved, and I think maybe you'll be the last. I know it's complicated, I know there are a million reasons why we shouldn't, but I don't care about any of them. I just want you."

You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the truth in his words, by how perfectly they mirror your own feelings. "I never stopped loving you," you confess. "I tried. God, I tried so hard. But it's like… it's like a part of me just belongs to you, and no amount of distance can change that."

"Then be with me," he pleads softly. "For real this time. No more running."

"How?" But you're already melting into him as he pulls you closer. "Nothing's changed, Max. My father would still lose it, Christian would still disapprove, the media would have a field day…"

"So we don't tell them." His hands slide to your waist. "We keep it between us. No sneaking around in garages this time, no risky moments in the paddock. Just us, in private, doing this properly."

You should say no. You know all the reasons why this can't work. But as his lips find yours again, you realize you're tired of fighting this magnetic pull between you.

"If anyone finds out…" you start.

"They won't," he promises. "We'll be careful. We're not those reckless kids anymore."

And maybe that's the key difference - you're not acting on impulse anymore, not diving in blindly. You're choosing this, fully aware of the consequences, of what you both stand to lose.

"Okay," you whisper against his mouth. "Okay."

When he kisses you again, it feels like every kiss you've ever shared and completely new all at once. Like coming home and starting an adventure. Like an ending and a beginning wrapped into one.

Later, you'll figure out the logistics, the careful dance of secrecy. But for now, you let yourself exist in this moment.

Some things, you realize, are worth keeping secret. Some loves are worth protecting, even if it means hiding them from the world.

Morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max's apartment, painting everything in soft gold. You're awake before him, taking in the familiar weight of his arm around your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck. It feels surreal - like stepping back in time, but with the sharp edge of awareness that comes with being older.

You feel him stir, his arm tightening slightly around you. "You're thinking too loud," he mumbles against your shoulder.

"Sorry," you turn to face him, finding his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Hard not to."

He props himself up on an elbow, studying your face. The morning light makes everything feel more raw, more real. "Having second thoughts?"

"No," you say honestly. "Just… thinking about how we make this work."

"We managed before."

"And look how that ended." You trace a pattern on his chest absently. "We were reckless then. Every stolen moment was a near-miss."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "So we're smarter this time. No more risky moments in the paddock. No sneaking around where anyone could see us."

"It's not just that." You sit up, pulling the sheet with you. "Max, if this gets out… it's not just about our families being angry. It could affect your career, the team dynamics. And my father-"

"Would probably try to have me assassinated," he finishes with a half-smile, but you can see the seriousness in his eyes. "I know. Trust me, I've thought about all of it."

"And you still want this?"

He sits up too, cupping your face in his hands. "More than anything. The question is, do you?"

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. "You know I do. That's what scares me. How much I want this, despite everything."

"Then we figure it out." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. We know how to be discreet. Your place, my place, private locations only. No public appearances together unless we're with the whole group. No suspicious social media activity."

"No telling anyone," you add. "Not even Lando or Charles."

"Especially not them," he agrees. "The fewer people who know, the safer it is."

You open your eyes to find him watching you with that intense focus he usually reserves for racing. "It's going to be hard," you warn. "Pretending there's nothing between us in public. Watching you from a distance at races."

"We've had years of practice at that," he reminds you softly. "At least now I get to hold you afterward."

The simple statement makes your heart clench. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. "When did you get so good with words?"

"Must be all those media training sessions," he smirks, but then turns serious. "I meant what I said last night. I love you. Whatever we have to do to make this work, I'm in."

"I love you too," you whisper back. "God, I really do."

He kisses you then, slow and deep, like he's trying to memorize the moment. When you pull back, you're both breathing harder.

The morning light is brighter now, reality creeping in with the rising sun. Soon, you'll have to leave separately, go back to pretending there's nothing between you. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, memorizing the feeling of being here, being his.

"This is crazy, isn't it?" you murmur against his chest.

"Probably," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your hair. "But some of the best things in life are a little crazy."

You know there will be challenges ahead - difficult moments, close calls, the constant strain of secrecy. But as Max pulls you back down onto the pillows, his lips finding yours with familiar hunger, you think maybe he's right.

Some things are worth the risk. Some loves are worth keeping secret.

The key card clicks softly as you slip into Max's Monaco apartment late on September 30th. You'd made your excuses to your friends early - a headache, an important call - knowing they wouldn't question it too much since they'd already planned Max's official celebration for tomorrow.

But tonight is just for the two of you.

You find him in the kitchen, already changed into sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, pulling something from the oven. The domestic scene makes your heart flutter.

"Is Max Verstappen actually baking?" you tease, dropping your bag.

He turns with that smile that's become exclusively yours - soft, unguarded, real. "It's just heating up the cake Victoria made. I'm not completely useless."

You cross the space between you, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "Happy birthday, baby."

He turns in your embrace, backing you against the counter. "This is already better than last year's birthday."

"Mm, because last year you weren't secretly dating your rival team principal's daughter?"

"Because last year I couldn't do this," he murmurs, before kissing you deeply, hands sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

The timer dings, making you both jump and then laugh.

"The cake can wait," he starts, but you push him back gently.

"Let's do this properly. Cake first, then presents, then…" you trail off suggestively.

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes are sparkling. "But I'm holding you to that 'then'."

You sit cross-legged on his massive couch, sharing pieces of Victoria's chocolate cake straight from the tin. It's comfortable in a way that still surprises you sometimes - how easily you've fallen into these private moments, these glimpses of normalcy in your decidedly abnormal situation.

"Got you something," you say, reaching for your bag.

He raises an eyebrow. "Thought you were my present?"

"Cheesy," you throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily. "Here."

He unwraps the small package carefully. Inside is a simple leather bracelet, dark brown with a subtle pattern worked into it. "Turn it over," you say softly.

On the inside, barely visible unless you know to look, are your initials and the date from Monaco - the night everything changed.

"YN…" his voice is rough as he runs his thumb over the engraving.

"I know we can't do obvious things," you explain. "But I wanted you to have something… something that's just ours. Something you can wear without anyone knowing what it means."

He pulls you into his lap, kissing you with an intensity that makes your head spin. "I love it," he murmurs against your lips. "I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper back, heart full with how natural those words feel now. "Even if you are getting old."

He retaliates by tickling your sides until you're both breathless with laughter, ending up horizontal on the couch with you pinned beneath him.

"Twenty-three isn't old," he protests, pressing kisses down your neck.

"Ancient," you tease, but it turns into a gasp as he finds that sensitive spot below your ear. "Max…"

"Mm?"

"The cake…"

"Can wait," he finishes, hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. "Right now, I want to unwrap my other present."

Later, much later, you're tangled in his sheets, your head on his chest as he plays with your hair. The city lights twinkle through the windows, creating patterns on the ceiling.

"Thank you," he says softly.

"For what?"

"For this. For making my birthday special even though we have to hide. For loving me despite everything."

You prop yourself up to look at him, trace the line of his jaw with your finger. "Thank you for making it worth it."

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Sometimes I wish we could just tell everyone. Walk into the paddock holding your hand, take you on real dates, post about you on Instagram like a normal couple."

"I know," you sigh, settling back against his chest. "Me too. But…"

"But it would cause chaos," he finishes. "I know. Doesn't stop me from wanting it though."

You lift your head again, kissing him softly. "Maybe someday. But for now, I'm happy just having you like this. These moments are ours, just ours."

His arms tighten around you. "I love you," he says again, like he can't help himself. "More than racing, more than winning, more than-"

"Don't," you laugh, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't say more than racing. We both know that's a lie."

He grins, rolling you under him again. "Maybe it's a tie?"

"I can live with that," you smile up at him, pulling him down for another kiss.

The world outside keeps turning - tomorrow there will be the official party, the public celebrations, the careful distance you'll have to maintain. But tonight, in this space that's become your sanctuary, you can just be Max and YN, two people in love, celebrating another year together.

Even if the rest of the world doesn't know it yet.

Monaco, 2021

You're curled into Max's side on your couch, some Netflix show playing in the background that neither of you is really watching. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm while you scroll through your phone, both enjoying the calm before tomorrow's storm - the start of a new season, new expectations, new pressure.

"Nervous about tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head to look at him.

He shrugs, but you can feel the slight tension in his shoulders. "Not nervous. Just… ready. The car feels good, testing went well."

"Mm," you press a kiss to his jaw. "Maybe this is your year."

"Maybe," but his smile is confident as he turns to capture your lips properly. "Though right now I'm more interested in-"

Your phone buzzes loudly, Lando's name flashing on the screen. You answer it without thinking.

"Hey Lan-"

"I'm outside your place!" his cheerful voice cuts through. "Charles and I brought wine and that awful reality show you love. Open up!"

Your heart stops. "What?"

"Come on, it's freezing out here! I can see your lights on."

You sit up straight, panic flooding your system. "Lando, I-"

"Don't even try to say you're busy. It's the night before the first race, I know you're just sitting there overthinking everything."

Max is already moving, gathering his shoes and jacket silently. Your eyes meet across the room, both knowing how catastrophic it would be if Lando found him here.

"Give me five minutes," you say into the phone, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm… I need to put clothes on."

"Gross, too much information," Lando laughs. "Five minutes!"

You hang up, heart racing. "Shit, shit, shit."

"It's fine," Max is surprisingly calm as he pulls on his shoes. "I'll go out through the back stairs."

"What if they see you?" You're already scanning the room for any evidence of him - his Red Bull cap on the coffee table, his phone charger by the couch.

"They won't." He grabs his things efficiently, muscle memory from two years of sneaking around kicking in. "I'll text you when I'm clear."

Another knock at the door makes you both freeze. "YN!" Charles's voice this time. "We can hear you moving around!"

Max pulls you in for a quick, hard kiss. "I love you. Don't worry."

"Be careful," you whisper against his lips.

He flashes that cocky grin you love. "Always am."

You watch him disappear through your bedroom toward the back stairwell, then take a deep breath, running your hands through your hair to mess it up slightly - making your "just got out of bed" excuse more believable.

When you open the door, Lando immediately pushes past you with wine bottles clinking. "Finally! What were you really doing?"

"Told you, getting dressed." You accept Charles' hello kiss on the cheek, praying your face isn't as flushed as it feels.

"Your shirt's inside out," Charles points out, smirking.

You look down - shit, he's right. You'd thrown it on hastily after… earlier activities. "I was sleeping," you say quickly. "You guys interrupted my pre-race nap routine."

"At 9 PM?" Lando's already making himself at home on your couch - right where Max was sitting minutes ago. "Sure, sure."

Your phone buzzes with a text: "All clear. They didn't see me. Missing you already x"

Relief floods through you as Charles pours wine and Lando queues up the show. You settle into the evening, letting their familiar banter wash over you, trying to act normal even as your skin still tingles from Max's touch.

"You seem different lately," Charles observes suddenly, studying your face. "Happier."

"Just excited for the new season," you deflect smoothly, a skill you've perfected over the past year.

"Mm," he doesn't look entirely convinced. "No secret boyfriend we should know about?"

You laugh, the sound only slightly strained. "Right, because that worked out so well last time."

"Last time was Max," Lando points out. "Thank god you're both over that whole thing."

If only they knew. But you just smile and take a sip of wine, letting them move on to discussing tomorrow's race.

As the evening progresses, the wine flows and the reality show plays in the background. You're carefully avoiding any topics that might make Charles or Lando suspicious, laughing a bit too loudly at their jokes.

Lando, ever restless, decides to raid your kitchen for snacks. "Where do you keep the good stuff?" he calls out, opening cupboards.

Your heart immediately races. You know exactly what might be lurking in those cupboards - Max's favorite energy drink, a Red Bull can he'd left behind last time he was here. You stand up quickly, "I'll get it for you-"

But Lando's already moving, pulling open the refrigerator door. "Found it!" he announces, then pauses. His hand emerges holding a Red Bull can, but something else catches his eye. A water bottle with a distinctive Red Bull Racing team logo sits next to it.

"Huh," Charles looks over. "Isn't this Max's water bottle?"

You feel the blood drain from your face. "Oh, um-" Your mind races, searching for an explanation. "I... must have picked it up from somewhere. You know how these things get mixed up."

Lando turns, one eyebrow raised. The playful smile slowly morphs into something more knowing. "Mixed up, huh?"

Charles is watching you now, that sharp observant look that made him such a good racing driver now focused entirely on you.

"Yeah, I must've picked it up by accident, didn't even realize."

Lando shrugs and cracks open a packet of chips, seemingly satisfied with your explanation. But Charles continues to study you with that piercing gaze that makes you want to squirm.

Keeping this a secret is becoming harder and harder.

Silverstone, 2021

The English countryside blurs past your window as Max takes another curve, maybe a bit faster than necessary. It's nearly midnight, and you should both be resting before tomorrow's race, but these night drives have become your thing - the only time you can be truly alone during race weekends, truly free.

"You're showing off," you accuse, but you're smiling.

"Me? Never." He takes his eyes off the road for a second to grin at you, his hand finding yours across the console.

The radio plays softly in the background, some British pop song you don't know. The summer air rushing through the open windows carries the scent of grass and freedom. It feels perfect. Until it isn't.

It happens so fast - a deer appears out of nowhere, Max swerves to avoid it, but the road is narrow and dark. The tires lose grip on loose gravel, and suddenly you're spinning, the world turning into a kaleidoscope of shadows and panic.

The impact when it comes is brutal. Metal crunches, glass shatters, and everything goes still.

"YN?" Max's voice is tight with fear. "Baby, are you okay?"

You do a quick mental check. Everything hurts, but nothing seems broken. "I'm okay. You?"

"Fine." He's already trying to open his door, but it's jammed. The front of the car is wrapped around a tree, steam hissing from the hood. "Fuck. Fuck!"

Your phone is somewhere on the floor. When you retrieve it, the screen is cracked but working. "We need help."

"We can't call emergency services," Max says immediately. "It'll be all over the news in minutes."

He's right. You can already see the headlines: "Verstappen in Late Night Crash with Mercedes Boss's Daughter."

"Christian?" you suggest.

"He'll kill me. We have a race tomorrow." Max runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "We need someone who can be discreet, who has the resources to handle this quietly, who-"

You both realize it at the same time.

"No," Max says.

"He's the only one who can help us without this becoming a scandal."

"YN, he's the last person-"

"Max." You reach for his hand. "We don't have a choice."

He knows you're right. With a resigned sigh, he nods.

Your hands shake slightly as you dial Lewis's number. It rings three times before he answers, voice groggy with sleep.

"Little Wolff? It's midnight, what-"

"Lewis, I need your help. And I need you to not ask questions."

There's a pause, then rustling as he presumably sits up. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, but… we're stuck. Had an accident on the back roads near Silverstone. We need help getting the car towed without anyone finding out."

There's a pause. "We?"

You close your eyes. "I'm with Max."

The silence that follows is deafening. "Send me your location. Don't move. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

True to his word, headlights appear eighteen minutes later. Lewis steps out of his car, taking in the scene - the wrecked vehicle, you and Max standing by the roadside, the unspoken truth of why you were together at this hour.

"Are you both alright?" He asks first, concern overriding any other emotions.

"Just bruised," you answer. "The car took the worst of it."

He nods, already on his phone. "Angela's on her way with a tow truck. She'll be discreet."

Max steps forward. "Lewis, I-"

"Don't." Lewis holds up a hand. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for her." He looks at you, something sad in his expression. "How long?"

"Since last year."

He lets out a low whistle. "Well, that explains a few things."

The wait for Angela is tense. Lewis keeps his distance, occasionally speaking quietly into his phone. Max doesn't let go of your hand, thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

When Angela arrives with the tow truck, she doesn't bat an eye at the situation. The car is loaded efficiently, and arrangements are made to have it repaired at a private garage Lewis trusts.

"I'll drive YN home," Lewis says, and it's not really a question.

Max tenses beside you, but you squeeze his hand. "It's safer this way," you whisper. "Less suspicious if anyone sees us."

He knows you're right, again. "Text me when you're home?"

"Promise."

The drive with Lewis is quiet at first. Then the storm pours down.

"Of all the stupid, reckless things," he mutters, running a hand over his face. "A year? You've been sneaking around with him for a year? Again?"

"Lewis-"

"No." He turns to face you, anger and worry warring in his expression. "Do you have any idea what could happen if this gets out? What your father would-"

"I don't care!" The words burst out louder than intended, making your head throb. "I don't care what anyone thinks anymore."

"Well, you should!" Lewis's voice rises to match yours. "This isn't some game, YN. This is your life, your career, your family-"

"You think I don't know that?" You bite back. "You think we haven't spent the last year terrified of exactly that? Hiding everything, sneaking around, lying to everyone we care about?"

"Then why?" He throws his hands up in frustration. "Why risk everything for him?"

"Because I love him!" The words echo in the car. You lower your voice, tears threatening to fall. "I love him, Lewis. And he loves me. Isn't that enough?"

Lewis' expression softens slightly, but the worry remains. "Love isn't always enough, YN. Not in this world. Not with everything at stake."

"It has to be," you whisper. "Because I can't do this anymore - pretending I don't feel what I feel, acting like my heart doesn't race every time he walks into a room. I'm tired of hiding."

"He's not good for you," Lewis says quietly. "You remember how broken you were after-"

"He was nineteen," you cut him off. "We were both kids, both scared. Things are different now."

"Are they?" his voice is gentle but firm. "Because from where I'm standing, you're still sneaking around in the middle of the night, still hiding from everyone. That doesn't sound different to me."

You sink back into your seat, suddenly exhausted. "I'm not asking for your approval, Lewis. I'm just asking for you to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"Do you? Because getting into a car accident at 2 AM doesn't exactly scream good decision-making."

"That wasn't-" you start to defend, but he holds up a hand.

"You shouldn't have been out there in the first place. These secret meetings, these late-night drives… it's not sustainable, YN."

"I know," you admit quietly. "We know. We've been talking about telling people, about doing this properly."

Lewis studies your face for a long moment. "And what happens when the media finds out? When your father finds out? When the pressure becomes too much and he runs again?"

"He won't." Your voice is firm despite your injuries. "He's not that scared kid anymore, Lewis. He knows what he wants now."

"And what is that?"

"Me." You meet Lewis's gaze steadily. "He wants me. All of me, no matter what it costs. And I want him."

Lewis sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. "I can't support this, YN. I've watched him hurt you too many times."

"I know," you say softly. "And I love you for wanting to protect me. But I'm not asking for your support. I'm just asking you not to make this harder than it already is, I know you're worried. But please… please don't tell anyone. Not yet. Let us do this our way."

He doesn't respond, just pulls up the car outside your hotel and unlocks it so you can get out.

Silverstone, 2021. Race day

Your hands are still shaking slightly as you make your way through the paddock. Last night's crash left more than just physical bruises - the tension with Lewis, the close call, the reality of how fragile your secret is, it all weighs heavily.

The Mercedes garage is already buzzing with pre-race energy when you spot Lewis by his car, going through data with Peter. You wait until he's alone before approaching.

"Lewis," you say softly. "Can we talk?"

He glances around before responding, voice low. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Please. What you did last night-"

"Was a mistake," he cuts you off, finally turning to face you. "I should have called emergency services, protocol be damned."

"You know why we couldn't-"

"No, YN. You couldn't because you're sneaking around like teenagers. Do you have any idea what could have happened? If that tree had been a few inches to the left-"

"But it wasn't," you interrupt. "We're fine."

"Fine?" He scoffs. "You're both bruised, his car is wrecked, and I'm now complicit in your little romance."

"It's not a little romance-"

"Then what is it?" His voice rises slightly before he checks himself. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the same pattern as before. You, him, secrets, lies."

"I told you last night - I love him."

"Love?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "Love doesn't hide, YN. Love doesn't put people in dangerous situations. Love doesn't-"

"Don't." Your voice cracks. "Don't pretend you understand what we're dealing with."

"Oh, I understand perfectly. You're playing girlfriend with my biggest rival while there's a championship at stake. You're risking everything - your reputation, your father's position, the team's integrity-"

"This isn't a game to me!" The words come out sharper than intended. A few mechanics glance your way, and you lower your voice. "This isn't about the championship or the team. This is about me and him."

"Nothing in this paddock is ever just about two people," Lewis says coldly. "You of all people should know that."

Before you can respond, Bono approaches. "Lewis, strategy meeting."

"I need to focus," Lewis tells you, his expression hardening. "I suggest you figure out where your loyalties lie before someone gets really hurt."

He walks away, leaving you standing there with a hollow feeling in your chest. Angela catches your eye, her expression sympathetic, and you wonder how much she knows.

The pre-race preparations pass in a blur. You go through the motions, smile when appropriate, but your mind keeps drifting to Max. You haven't seen him since Lewis dropped you off last night - you both agreed it was safer to stay apart until the race.

Then you're in the garage, watching the formation lap. Your father stands beside you, discussing something with the engineers, but their words sound distant.

Lap one. Copse Corner.

The contact happens so fast - Lewis's Mercedes alongside Max's Red Bull. The touch of wheels. Then Max's car is airborne, spinning, crashing into the barriers with devastating force.

The garage erupts in chaos. Screens show the replay from every angle. Your father is immediately in discussion with the stewards.

You can't breathe. Can't move. Your eyes are fixed on the smoking wreck of Max's car, willing him to move, to get out, to be okay.

"Racing incident," Toto argues. "Lewis had the line-"

Their voices fade to background noise as you watch the medical team reach the car. Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, but you can't check it - not here, not with everyone watching.

"YN," Angela touches your arm gently. "You look pale. Maybe some water?"

You follow her away from the garage, grateful for the excuse. As soon as you're out of sight, your composure breaks.

"I don't know if he's okay," you whisper, hands shaking. "I can't- I can't check my phone, I can't ask anyone, I can't-"

"Breathe," Angela steadies you. "Just breathe."

"I should be there. I should be with him. After last night, after everything-"

"I won't say anything," she promises quickly. "But YN... this is bigger than just keeping a secret now."

"I know," you admit. "God, I know. But I can't- I can't even ask if he's okay without raising suspicions."

The race continues. Lewis gets a ten-second penalty but fights back to win. The garage celebrates, and you have to join in, have to smile and cheer while your heart is somewhere else entirely.

Hours pass with no news. Social media is full of speculation, but nothing concrete. You catch snippets of conversation - "hospital for checks" and "conscious but shaken" - but nothing official.

It's torture, pretending everything is normal. Pretending you're just concerned in a general, professional way. Pretending last night never happened, that you don't still have bruises from a different crash, that your world isn't falling apart all over again.

Finally, after what feels like years, you manage to slip away to the Red Bull motorhome.

The motorhome is quiet when you enter. GP looks up from his laptop, surprise crossing his features.

"YN? You shouldn't-"

"Please," your voice breaks. "Please, I need to see him."

GP studies you for a long moment, then sighs. "Last door on the right. But be careful - he's pretty beaten up."

You find Max lying on the small bed, eyes closed but breathing steady. The room smells of medical cream and defeat.

"Max?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

His eyes open immediately, finding yours in the dim light. Despite everything, his lips curve into a small smile.

"Two crashes in twenty-four hours," he mumbles. "Must be some kind of record."

"Don't," tears spill over finally. "Don't joke. Not now."

"Come here," he tries to move over but winces.

"Careful," you rush to his side, perching carefully on the edge of the bed. "How bad is it?"

"Everything hurts," he admits. "But nothing's broken. Well, except my championship lead."

"I was so scared," your voice breaks. "When I saw the crash, and then I couldn't- I couldn't even ask if you were okay. I had to stand there and pretend like I wasn't terrified."

"Hey," he reaches for your hand, wincing at the movement. "I'm okay. Well, relatively speaking."

"This is my fault," you whisper. "If I hadn't called Lewis last night-"

"Stop," he squeezes your hand. "This had nothing to do with last night."

"Didn't it? He was so angry this morning, about us, about having to help us-"

"Lewis and I race hard regardless of personal feelings," Max says firmly. "What happened today was racing. Stupid, dangerous racing, but still racing."

You study his face in the dim light, cataloging every bruise, every sign of pain he's trying to hide, "Max, don't you think it's time?"

"Time?"

"To tell people. About us." The words rush out now that you've started. "I can't keep doing this - watching you race and pretending I don't care, hiding how I feel, lying to everyone we know. Today made me realize… if something had happened to you, really happened…"

He's quiet for a long moment, thumb tracing patterns on your hand. "What about your father?"

"I don't care anymore. Well, I do care, but… not more than I care about you. About us." You meet his eyes. "When the season's over. Before next year starts. We tell everyone."

"You're sure?"

"Are you?"

He pulls you closer, carefully, until you're lying beside him. "I'm sure if you are."

"Even with the championship? The media circus it'll cause?"

"Especially then." He kisses your forehead. "Today… when I hit that barrier, all I could think about was you. Not the championship, not the points, just… you. And how much time we've wasted hiding."

You curl into his side, mindful of his bruises. "So we're agreed? After Abu Dhabi, whatever happens with the championship…"

"We tell everyone." He lifts your chin to kiss you properly. "No more hiding."

"Promise?" You need to hear him say it.

"Promise," he pulls you closer, careful of both your injuries. "Besides, after last night's adventure and today's crash, I think we've filled our drama quota for a while."

You stay there, tangled together in the quiet darkness, both battered from different crashes but somehow still whole.

"I should go," you whisper eventually. "Before someone comes looking."

"One of the last times we'll have to say that," he reminds you.

"Promise me something else?"

"Anything."

"No more late-night drives for a while?"

He laughs, then grimaces in pain. "Deal. Although technically, both crashes were Lewis' fault."

"Max..."

"Kidding," he kisses your forehead softly. "Kind of."

You stand carefully, already missing his warmth. "Text me when you're feeling better?"

"Text me when you're home safe," he counters.

At the door, you turn back one last time. He's watching you with those eyes that made you fall in love twice - once when you were too young to know better, and again when you were old enough to know exactly what you were risking.

"Max?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you. Even when I have to pretend I don't."

His smile, despite the pain, lights up the dark room. "I love you too. Even when Lewis Hamilton tries to kill me. Twice in twenty-four hours."

You shake your head, but you're smiling as you slip out into the night. A few more months of hiding, of pretending, of careful distances and secret meetings. Then everything changes.

You just hope you're both ready for whatever comes next.

Abu Dhabi, 2021

The final showdown. Equal points, one race to decide it all.

The morning of the race, you slip into the Red Bull garage before sunrise. Max is already there, going through his pre-race routine, but his face softens when he sees you.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, pulling you into his arms.

"Not really," you nestle into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "Too much going on in my head."

"Talk to me."

You pull back slightly to look at him. "I'm nervous. For you, for the race, for what comes after…"

"Hey," he cups your face gently. "Whatever happens today, we're in this together. Remember?"

"I know," you try to smile. "It's just… everything's going to change after today."

"Good changes," he kisses your forehead. "No more hiding, remember?"

You've had this conversation countless times over the past months, planning how you'll handle the revelation of your relationship. Your father still doesn't know, though you suspect he's noticed something's different.

"I brought you something," you reach into your pocket and pull out a small charm - a tiny silver racing car. "For luck."

Max takes it, turning it over in his hands with a soft smile. "You're my luck."

"That was incredibly cheesy," you laugh, but your heart swells.

"You love it," he pulls you closer, kissing you properly this time. "And you love me."

"I do," you whisper against his lips. "So much it scares me sometimes."

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, before reality intrudes again.

"I should go," you sigh. "There's something else I need to do before the race."

Max knows without asking. "Lewis?"

"Yeah," you bite your lip. "I can't let things end like this between us."

"Go," he squeezes your hand. "Just come back to me after?"

"Always."

Finding Lewis proves harder. He's been avoiding you since Silverstone, your relationship reduced to professional nods and carefully maintained distance. But you finally spot him in the Mercedes garage, alone with his thoughts.

"Lewis?" your voice is hesitant.

He tenses but doesn't turn around. "YN."

"I know you probably don't want to talk to me-"

"Then why are you here?"

You take a deep breath. "Because you're my brother, Lewis. Not by blood, but by choice. And I can't stand how things are between us."

He finally turns, and the pain in his eyes matches your own. "You chose him."

"I chose love," you step closer. "That doesn't mean I stopped caring about you."

"You could have told me," his voice cracks slightly. "Before Silverstone, before any of it. I thought we told each other everything."

"I was scared," you admit. "Scared of exactly this - losing you, losing my family, losing everything I've known."

"So instead you just lied? Snuck around?"

"I know it was wrong," tears prick at your eyes. "And I'm so sorry, Lewis. Not for loving him, but for hurting you. For breaking your trust."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying your face. "Does he make you happy? Really happy?"

"Yes," you whisper. "More than I ever thought possible."

Lewis sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. "Come here, little sister."

You practically fall into his arms, tears flowing freely now. He holds you tight, like when you were kids and he would protect you from everything.

"I'm still mad at you," he mumbles into your hair.

"I know."

"And I still think you're crazy."

"Probably."

"But," he pulls back to look at you, "I love you. And I miss you. And if he ever hurts you, I'll end his career so fast-"

You laugh through your tears. "There's my overprotective brother."

"Someone has to look out for you," he wipes your cheeks gently. "Even if you make it incredibly difficult."

"I'm sorry," you say again. "For everything."

"I know," he kisses your forehead. "We'll figure it out. After today."

"About that…" you hesitate. "We're planning to go public. After the race."

Lewis nods slowly. "I figured something like that was coming. The way you look at each other isn't exactly subtle."

"You noticed?"

"YN, everyone with eyes has noticed. They're just too scared of your father to mention it."

You both laugh, and for a moment it feels like before - easy, comfortable, safe.

"Lewis?" you grab his hand. "Whatever happens today… I'm proud of you. Always have been, always will be."

He squeezes your hand. "Right back at you, little Wolff. Even if you have terrible taste in men."

"Hey!"

"I'm just saying, there are other drivers-"

"Goodbye, Lewis," you start walking away, but you're smiling.

"YN?" he calls after you. "For what it's worth… he better know how lucky he is."

An hour later, you're standing in the Mercedes garage, heart in your throat, watching the screens as though your life depends on it. In a way, it does. Six years of loving Max in secret, two years of running away from it all, and now here you are - watching the man you love fight your father's driver for the championship in the most intense finale you've ever witnessed.

When Nicholas Latifi crashes, everything changes. The safety car comes out, and suddenly the garage erupts with activity. Your father's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and authoritative as he argues with race control. You've never seen him like this - the usual composed Toto Wolff replaced by someone desperately fighting against what feels like destiny shifting.

"No, no, no, Michael, that is so not right!" Your father's voice booms through the garage as the lapped cars are allowed through. You flinch at the fury in his tone, at the way he slams his headset down.

The final lap is unbearable. You watch Lewis getting hunted down by Max on fresh tires. Your nails dig into your palms, torn between family loyalty and the love you've kept hidden for so long.

When Max makes the pass, when he crosses the line as World Champion, the Mercedes garage falls silent. The contrast between the Red Bull celebrations on screen and the devastation around you is stark.

Your father looks destroyed, a mixture of anger and disbelief on his face. But it's Lewis who breaks your heart - the way he sits in his car, processing what just happened, the dignity with which he eventually emerges to congratulate Max.

You find Lewis in the drivers room a few hours later, away from the cameras. His eyes are red, his shoulders slumped in a way you've never seen before.

"Lew," your voice breaks.

He looks up, and suddenly you're both crying. You wrap your arms around him as he breaks down.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this," he whispers.

"I know," you hold him tighter. "I know."

You stay with him, through the protests, through the appeals, through the obligatory congratulations he has to give. You stay because he's family, because he needs you, because some things are more important than celebration.

Through it all, you catch glimpses of Max - being crowned champion, celebrating with his team, searching the crowd with eyes that keep finding you. But you stay where you're needed most.

Hours pass before you make it to Max's hotel. The celebrations are still going on somewhere, but he's in his room when you arrive, pacing like a caged animal.

"Where were you?" he demands as soon as you enter.

"I was with Lewis."

His face darkens. "Of course you were. Consoling the Mercedes garage while I won my first championship."

"Max, don't."

"Don't what? Don't be upset that my girlfriend wasn't there to celebrate with me? That she was too busy comforting the opposition?"

"That 'opposition' is my family!" Your voice rises to match his. "Lewis is like my brother, my father is devastated-"

"Your father?" He laughs bitterly. "The same father you've been lying to for years? The one we're supposedly telling about us after this race?"

"Are you seriously doing this right now?"

"When else am I supposed to do it? When you're ready? Because I've been waiting for you to be ready since 2015!"

The words hit like physical blows. "That's not fair. You know why I left in 2018, the way you cut me off like I was nothing, it tore me apart."

"Yeah, because it got too hard. Because loving me was too complicated." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "And now here we are again. I just won the World Championship, and where were you? With them."

"They're my family!"

"And what am I?" He steps closer, eyes intense. "What are we, YN? Because right now it feels like I'm still your dirty little secret."

"That's not-"

"Then prove it. Let's go tell Toto right now. Let's end this charade."

"Today? After everything that happened? Are you insane?"

"Why not today? When will it be convenient enough for you? When will loving me not conflict with your perfect Mercedes family?"

Tears are falling freely now. "You're being cruel."

"No, I'm being honest. Finally." He sits heavily on the bed. "I love you. I've loved you through everything - through you leaving, through you coming back, through all the hiding and sneaking around. But I can't do this anymore."

Your heart stops. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want all of you. Not just the parts that are convenient, not just the stolen moments between races. I want to celebrate with you when I win, hold you when I crash, build a life with you in the open." He looks at you, and you see the tears in his eyes too. "But I don't think you want that. Not really. Not enough to risk everything else."

"Max…"

"Go home, YN. Go console your father. Go be the perfect Mercedes daughter." His voice breaks slightly. "Just… don't come back unless you're ready to choose me. All of me. The rival, the champion, everything."

You stand there, frozen, both of you crying. Everything you've built, every secret moment, every whispered promise, feels like it's crumbling around you.

"I love you," you whisper.

"I know." He doesn't look at you. "That's never been our problem."

As you stand in the doorway of Max's hotel room, the weight of seven years of love, secrets, and choices bears down on your shoulders. The championship trophy gleams on the table behind him, a symbol of everything he's achieved and everything that's torn you apart.

[zvezdacito]

Diasomnia sexuality (and some gender) headcanons I just wanted to yap about for no reason:

Malleus: Demiromantic Bisexual

-> There's that joke that he doesn't gaf about gender as long as it's Yuu, but (for the demiromantic part) I also like the idea that he's ride-or-die, sentimental and clingy for anyone he gets close to. So generally the only difference for how he cares about people is the type of attraction + specific boundaries (can be slightly possessive in a different way for a romantic interest? Idk)

-> Also not really sexuality but I see his gender as that "I'm probably nonbinary but I have a job so idrc about that rn" tweet but for being the next king In general I think being acespec & nonbinary would be extra perplexing for bro since he never stopped to think about personal identity stuff like that for too long (too duty-pilled🥀)

-> Being dense about regular emotional experiences + actual difference in the norms of attraction and gender add to the gap of understanding between him and others

Lilia: Bisexual (not really a sexuality but he's also polyamorous)

-> This isn't sexuality again but I also think transfeminine Lilia is cool, I genuinely believed that Lilia was just a woman with a really deep voice the first time I saw him (I was watching him vs Leona in Book 2 out of context). There's no way to easily explain this in English but by this the specific identity i see him as is basically 'bakla' in the Philippines. It is really its own gender identity in our culture and isn't a "direct equivalent" of any one anglophone label, but for the sake of non-filipinos i guess you can just understand this to mean i see Lilia as "nonbinary transfem in the Filipino way"👍

-> I think it would align with his story in a good way with how she's maligned by the senate and such, how even as a soldier Lilia was coloring her hair for style. It's also like that thing where a guy who was already considered obviously effeminate and "one of the girls" atp (I see Meleanor as kids playing with Lilia in typically "girly" ways and encouraging his cuteness/hair styling) comes out later on as actually a girl/fem nonbinary

-> General Lilia is this is that type of situation where a transfem person can't really go all out with their expression because current life-threatening circumstances require "masculinity" or their focus to be exclusively on external matters (in this case its Lilia being a lowly bat soldier in an active war. Similar to Malleus, an idea of patriotic obligation stops him from really questioning or exploring since the country needs "strength" and "unity" in these times, there was also just really little time to wonder when you're fighting for your life everyday). But after retiring Lilia is able to realize she likes being perceived as cute and begins going all out in her appearance👍

Lilia edit with the article this headcanon reminds me of:

Silver: Aroace

-> Thought it would be a kind of cool subversion of the usual fairytale prince archetype Silver is made to emulate, where romance is the greatest and purest love and marriage is THE happy end. I think it aligns with Silver wanting to spend his life "repaying" the kindness of Malleus and Lilia; if they asked him to think about gertting a family of his own in the future, I think he'd just say the true love he's found in life is already them. A knight who dedicates his lifetime devotion to familial love instead

Sebek: Gaylm

-> One of bro's most notable character gags is glazing another man at every opportunity so yeah /j. Also fsr I just can't see him as a man romantically with a woman no matter what lol

(THIS ISN'T OBJECTIVE THOUGH this is just how I personally sense his vibes. Go crazy fellow fem yumes and OC artists. You are the pillars of this earth)

⚠️ My only disclaimer is that I am cisgender so the gender headcanons are only me relating the characters to scholarly articles on transfem experiences/from personal accounts of transfem and nonbinary people online and irl.

Another reminder that these are all headcanons made by viewing canon in a specific way, not me saying they're definitively any of these identities. You can still have cis or male malleus and lilia if you prefer that😭

That is all. Thank you for reading👊🔥

[reignpage]

Reign's Writing Tips

Pt 1 - General advice

I just want to say first, as a disclaimer, that I don't regard myself as the authority on 'good' writing, I've just gotten quite a few people asking for help and people expressing curiosity for my creative process.

Please don't consider this as a checklist and feel like you're doing things wrong, this is just a way for you to get a sense of where to begin and conceptualise where you'd like to be. We're all on different paths and those paths are not more or less valid than others.

This guide will include examples from my own works and hypothetical ones, using only written fics (smaus have their own guide, please find it in my navigation). This also doesn't tackle how to write fanfiction specifically, just general fictional writing.

These are formatted based on the questions I received in my messages and inbox.

Content:

༯ How to show and not tell ༯ How to write dialogue ༯ How to increase word count and why you might want to ༯ Other advice ༯ Paragraph structuring ༯ Punctuations ༯ How to fix up typos ༯ How to get better generally ༯ Final disclaimers

How to show and not tell!

༯ Beginner writers, and indeed, established ones too, often forget the very important rule of showing and not telling. This rule, of course, refers to the idea of building up descriptions or hinting to a certain thought so that the readers may reach that conclusions themselves.

༯ It's important you trust your readers to be able to follow along on their own. Sometimes if you tell them what to think it can cause a disconnect between your writing and them.

༯ This is also a good way of varying your sentences and not coming off as repetitive.

Emotions

༯ Let's go through some examples via the art of expressing emotions.

Example: Pathetic piner!Gojo

Pathetic piner!Gojo asks, voice rough and distorted, “Did you sleep with him? Do you love him?”

༯ Here, we can see that there is no definitive emotion asserted. I didn't write 'Gojo asks, upset' or 'Angry, Gojo asks'

༯ Instead, I am describing his voice. Using the adjectives 'rough' and distorted' allows the readers to figure out for themselves how he's feeling without being too simplistic.

༯ Often, expressing emotion in this way is better than simply saying he's sad or confused because those words can't capture the complexity of his feelings.

༯ Now, let it be known that it can be just as good to be direct about a character's feelings. It is simply all about intention. What are you trying to convey here?

༯ Another important thing to note is that if your work is written in a certain narrative voice, i.e. first person, you should limit information to what that character could only know realistically.

༯ In the context of the above example, it is 'y/n' who is perceiving Gojo, thus it would only make sense that they'd have a limited understanding of how exactly Gojo is feeling. So, instead of them catching on immediately that he's upset, they instead can only note down these things that are out of the ordinary.

༯ Use body language to describe their emotional state.

More examples:

The corner of his mouth curved up = smiling, finding humour in something

His brows furrowed = confusion, concentration, tension

Her lips pursed = dissatisfaction, barely restrained anger

Hand flexed, jaw ticked, teeth bared = anger, thoughts of violence

Sniffled, bottom lip trembled = about to cry, sad, trying not to be

How to write dialogue!

༯ Vary your sentence structures

Example: Homecoming

“Sorry, Si.” He swings his arm around the back of your thighs, encouraging you to straddle him. “You just look so good.” He hums, letting you get settled in his lap whilst he rubs his thumb over the skin of your hip almost as if he can’t help himself. “Can look as much as y’ want, lovie. ‘m all y’rs.” 

༯ You can have speech at the beginning and at the end of a paragraph. Not in the middle though — it's messy and confusing if written in the middle because the dialogue gets lost in the paragraph (but note that you can do as you please. It's just one of those 'rules' that aren't really 'rules')

༯ You also don't need to use say/said and other variations of that. It's enough to simply have the speech enclosed.

༯ A good rule of thumb when using say/said/other variations is if there's something significant about the way in which it was said.

Example: A Cursed Forest

His amber eyes cut through yours, and with disdain, he orders, “Finish your food, and do not question me anymore.”

༯ Here, I introduce the speech with 'orders' to show that Sukuna (the character referred to as 'he') is not speaking kindly or like they are equals. It reasserts the power imbalance between the two characters. I also say that it is being said 'with disdain' to emphasise the tension between them, to give some kind of understanding as to his feelings towards the other character.

༯ It is also a way for me, as the writer, to add depth to the other character: she is able to recognise disdain because she has faced it her entire life.

༯ Another thing to be aware of when making dialogue is restrict one paragraph to one character's speech. Please don't do multiple people speaking in one section. It's very messy, confusing and not 'proper.' Again, if that is how you like things, perfectly fine! It's your style, but if you care about doing things 'right' then yeah, one person's speech per paragraph please.

How to increase the word count!

༯ I didn't actually know to phrase this so I'll just yap about what I mean

༯ There are going to be instances where you'd like to space out dialogue so it's not coming off like a script.

Example:

He said, "You need to do your homework." "I don't want to." "You must, young lady." "Says who?" "Go to your room!"

༯ Try to avoid, as much as possible, having lots of clusters of these one sentence conversations.

༯ Once in a while is fine and can be effective in expressing something like the speed at which these words are being exchanged, exploring their tense dynamic.

༯ But if snappiness isn't what you're going for and you find that you're having lots of these clusters then fill the spaces between dialogue with details and descriptions.

Example:

Tired yet insistent, he said, "You need to do your homework." "I don't want to." "You must, young lady." Clare's father was always nagging at her. She thought it unfair, considering she had just turned sixteen and ought to be treated like the young lady that she was. Capable and intelligent, she could decide for herself how she was to spend her evenings. "Says who?" "Go to your room!" He roared. Her legs took her upstairs faster than she could process the fright he had given her. Never in all of her life had her father ever raised his voice like that; she knew not what to do. He was a mild-mannered man, not timid or passive, but rather, calm and rational. To see him in a fit of rage so volatile, shook Clare's constitution to no end that night.

༯ Use body language descriptors, describe the weather, the room they're in etc.

༯ What are the characters seeing and experiencing?

༯ Don't write it as if you're a fly on the wall if you've taken on a specific pov. Embody the character. See what they see, hear what they hear, feel for them. They aren't 2D characters, bring them to life with anecdotes, with thought processes, anxieties and fears.

༯ Another instance where you'd like to fill up the word count might be if you're trying to give the sense of time passing.

Example: In Sheep's Clothing

“Well, you should still afford me the decency of leaving my home when asked.” “Your home? Didn’t know the old lady gave it away.” You gulp, clutching the thick blanket even tighter. “You knew my grandmother?” He grunts.  Well aware you really ought to kick him out, you’re ashamed at the realisation that you can’t bring yourself to. It’s awfully terrible outside and there’s no doubt the elements would claim him if he he’s left out with no shelter. And if he wanted to kill you, he could have done that before. And at any rate, it’s too late to do anything about it now. He knows you’re alone and there’s nowhere you can run to before the snow freezes your limbs.  “Is it good?” You ponder. Settling back down onto the sofa, you just watch him eat. He’s grabbed a second helping.

༯ This example is actually not the final product. It was my first draft where wolf hybrid!toji is eating and conversing with a woman/y/n he has found himself stuck with during a snow storm.

༯ I thought it awkward in showing that he's eating. Sure, it could seem like he's eating really fast but it felt unrealistically fast, even given the context so I knew I wanted to fill in the space.

༯ Instead of talking on and on about how he's eating, I chose to dedicate this section with y/n's thoughts.

༯ One, descriptions of someone eating gets boring very fast

༯ Two, it would be extremely unrealistic for reader to just accept that this man will be staying with her with just one paragraph of thinking.

༯ Three, the concept of being hybrid needed to consistently matter in the story. So I chose to fill the details with exposition on that aspect of the story

Here is the final product:

“Well, you should still afford me the decency of leaving my home when asked.” “Your home? Didn’t know the old lady gave it away.” You gulp, clutching the thick blanket even tighter. “You knew my grandmother?” He grunts.  Well aware you really ought to kick him out, you’re ashamed at the realisation that you can’t bring yourself to. It’s awfully terrible outside and there’s no doubt the elements would claim him if he he’s left out with no shelter. Though, that really shouldn’t be your responsibility and there is still, of course, the glaring concern of his ability to kill you. One sweep of his figure and you know this towering man, tall and muscular, could snap your neck with one hand.  Or worse. Not to mention, he’s a hybrid. You can tell by the twitching of his ears and his nose, like he’s hearing and smelling things inscrutable by the human senses. You wonder what he is. He has no triangular ears or fluffy tail like a dog, he doesn’t have eyes like a cat, no scales that you can see, but his teeth, when he scrapes them along the spoon, you know they’re much sharper than you’d like to ever find out.  If he wanted to kill you, he could have done that before. And at any rate, it’s too late to do anything about it now. He knows you’re alone and there’s nowhere you can run to before the snow freezes your limbs.  Settling back down onto the sofa, you just watch him eat. He’s grabbed a second helping, enjoying the meat more than the potatoes and carrots in there but that’s expected of a man. It does mean, though, that he’s not a herbivore hybrid. You wonder if he likes the taste of a woman’s flesh.  “Is it good?” You ponder. 

༯ Hopefully, in this example you can get a sense of how 'rambling' can be useful in delivering specific effects.

༯ Note: too much dialogue can be bad. We need description and details to fill up the mind. Don't be afraid to give the details you'd like to give if you think it's important.

༯ Alternatively, not enough dialogue can also be bad. Too many thick paragraphs can disengage a reader and many people look forward to dialogue because it's much easier to process than chunks of information.

Other advice!

Paragraph structure

༯ Vary your paragraphs with one sentences and longer sections. Having too many thick paragraphs can be quite boring. Apart from aesthetics, these different length sections can provide a function.

Example: Lying To Himself

The guys at work know better than to open their fat mouths around him when he turns up with an extra wrinkle and a ticking in his jaw. Toji is somehow even more sadistic and violent and eager for blood. Even finally accepts their invitation to go out for drinks and drowns himself in the extra strong shit. Assuming he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they don’t question his sour mood.  But what they don’t know is that you texted, just a day before you’re set to come back, to let him know you’re staying another week.  Fucking texted.  Didn’t even get to hear it from your own voice. 

༯ Longer paragraphs can cluster all these actions, detailing the things Toji has gotten up to and summarising how an unspecified time has passed. By condensing his days into one decently sized paragraph, a reader can gain the sense that his days have been monotonous and repetitive without even needing to read every part of it.

༯ The short, two word line is impactful and has been separated from the paragraph before it to deliver the punchiness. Here, Toji is angry. You can get this a) from the swear word but also from b) the fact that it's a two word sentence.

༯ It mimics the way one would grit out as they repeat information they dislike. Readers can very easily picture his face and his mental/emotional state just from two words.

༯ Another thing is to vary your paragraph openings.

A bad example:

He walked up to me, upset and clearly with choice words to deliver. No one else in the diner spared him a second glance. But I have no choice. I'm shaking with fear. He looks ready to punch me. The way his hand is balled into a fist is damn near pushing me to piss my pants. Surely, he wouldn't hit me here, right? There are witnesses. It would be stupid.

A better variation of this:

Walking up to me, upset and clearly with choice words to deliver, no one else in the diner spares him a second glance. But I have no choice. Fear shakes me from within. He looks ready to punch me. Hand balled into a fist, I'm damn near pushed to the edge of pissing my pants. Surely, he wouldn't hit me here, right? Witnesses are around us. Stupid. It would be stupid. Right?

༯ Words like he/she/they/the/it/then are overused sentence openers. They are perfectly fine to use, of course. I am not saying avoid them altogether.

༯ What I am saying, however, is change it up to make it interesting.

༯ Begin a sentence with an action verb like walking rather than simply 'he walked.'

Punctuations

༯ Try to use semi-colons, colons and dashes but read up on how to use them correctly. It's easily Googled. It's not a major issue, it's just a way of varying your writing and making it more interesting.

༯ When using quotation marks, commas and full-stops go before the quotation.

Like so:

"Pick me. Choose me. Love me."

"I love you," she confessed.

Quivering, he asks, "Do you hate me?"

༯ Again, not major issues, but just for cleanliness.

How to fix up these typos and messiness

༯ I write in my Notes app first and then I paste my work in Word just to see the blue and red underlines. It allows me to visualise where there are mistakes so that I don't have to read every word with great focus, I can just skim as I proofread

༯ You can also use things like Grammarly, though I generally wouldn't want to encourage you to use AI to edit your work for you. It's just an option if you need it.

༯ The best trick is to just learn how to follow these rules to do with syntax and language. Watch tutorials online and when reading works online or books, think critically about how things are formatted.

༯ This leads me to my next and final advice in this part

How get better generally

༯ Read more!

༯ But don't just absentmindedly consume media, engage critically.

༯ Ask yourself these questions:

What is it about this piece of work that you like?

What's the style of writing the author has chosen? Is that their general style or have they chosen something specific for this work?

Why is this work more popular than another?

How do their sentences begin?

Is the writing full of prose?

Is it too much prose for my liking?

Oh, there's a particular bit that made me feel scared and uncomfortable, how did they do that? Is it their sentence structure? The adjectives they chose? Is it the build up of tension? If it's the tension, how did they achieve that in the previous paragraphs?

That made me giggle, how did they manage to be so funny?

Is that how I would have written it? If I had done it my way, would the impact still have been the same?

What if I try writing in their style?

Final disclaimers!

༯ You don't have to follow all of this or even any of this. Just having read this and reflected on your writing is a great place to start. If you know who you are as a writer, then you'll be much better placed to express your ideas

༯ Writing is a journey. Most people will look back on their beginning and think damn I was so bad at writing. But that's just a great way of knowing you've come far.

༯ There is no wrong or right way to write, no matter what people say. Even if you write unconventionally and make lots of typos and errors, there might still be many people who enjoy your works.

༯ Don't try to be someone else. It sounds cheesy to say be yourself, but it's true. We need more diversity in writing. My favourite works, the ones who left a mark on me, who shaped me, are all so different from each other.

༯ Don't be afraid to experiment and try something new. Find yourself however it takes.

༯ If you're writing on here or a similar platform, you'll be opening yourself to being perceived. Establish your boundaries from the start. Are you open to feedback? It's completely fine if you are not. Some people aren't here to 'get better,' they're just here to have fun.

༯ And if you are open to feedback, it's absolutely okay to feel upset by what you hear/read. Just remember that a lot of these critiques are founded on preferences and some critics might have just misunderstood your works. There is no supreme authority on right and wrong here. No one knows everything. No one is perfect.

If you have any questions, things you'd like covered in a next part, please share them. Thank you to everyone who contributed to this by asking questions and being candid about their struggles.

I hope this helped and I wish everyone the very best in their writing journey

Happy writing!

[somewhere-in-the-rain]

3 things I loved about Onyx Storm (and 3 things I didn’t)

Disclaimer: I gave Onyx Storm 5 stars. Any book that has that kind of emotional effect on me is an immediate favourite. This is just my opinion :)

Spoilers for Onyx Storm ahead

3 things I loved

Domestic Riorgail. Omg. They are my favourite fictional couple ever. Xaden washing Violet’s hair? *chefs kiss*. Calling her “love”? Instant dopamine. I need these two like I need air.

Violet being the most intelligent person in every room. If I wasn’t in love with her before, I am now. I was eating up every moment of her verbally taking down people in positions of power, and she fucking killed it in this book. My personal favourites include telling Halden her plan for the quest squad and getting her way, outsmarting and poisoning the triumvirate, and her monologue to the riders and fliers at the beginning of the book. And Xaden just sitting back and watching and being so proud of her 🥺.

Xaden. Ugh, I adore him. I don’t even feel the need to explain this one. Him having infinite faith in Violet’s ideas and plans, being willing to do anything to protect her, throwing Halden into a wall with his shadows, being 100% down to marry Violet whenever and wherever. He’s still such a drama queen, but I love him.

3 things I didn’t love

That one scene where Violet falls off Tairn and into Xaden’s arms and says “my, my, what else can you do with those shadows” or something. This is so specific, but I got insane second hand embarrassment and had to shut the book because I was cringing so much.

The multiple POVs. Xaden’s, I understand. That happens every book. But Rhiannon’s and Imogen’s just felt so out of place and unnecessary and just really took me out of the story. I think they’re both great characters, but I don't care about their stories like I do Violet’s. I’m going to be so disappointed if RY decides to do multiple POV again in book 4 with anyone other than Xaden and Violet because I think it could genuinely ruin the series.

The plot felt a little episodic. Especially when they were in the Isle Kingdoms (unfortunate, as some of my favourite moments took place here), just going one island to another, meeting new people who all worshipped a different god and had a different trial they had to undergo and a different government system and a different personality type… I just felt a little overwhelmed by the worldbuilding sometimes.

Anyway, I’m not going to emotionally recover for at least a week from binge reading this book, and basically just needed to blurt my thoughts somewhere to clear my head before I forget them all. I hope no one is too emotionally drained from reading Onyx Storm (that’s a lie, you all had better be suffering along with me).

[msunitedstatesjames]

I'm sure I'm gonna be preaching to the choir on this one, Tumblr gamers being who they are, but I don't use any other social media where discourse is really a thing, so here we are. Mild Kingdom Come Deliverance II spoilers incoming.

On other social media platforms, I continue to see people criticize the Henry/Hans romance option, primarily by saying that it is unrealistic and makes no sense. I wanted to address that because personally I felt it to be highly realistic. A couple of disclaimers here, I'm not an expert on the 1400s, nor am I gay or bisexual. But I do have a background in literary analysis, and examining characters and stories in video games isn't so different from doing it in books.

I've seen some people claim that Hans couldn't possibly canonically have feelings for Henry because Hans is based on a real person. I'll address this one first because it's such a patently ridiculous argument. My dudes, I hate to break it to you, but most of the specific details of in game Hans were designed for a video game. I think it's safe to say that every interaction and relationship and event he goes through in the games isn't necessarily a true reflection of the real-life Hans' lived experiences.

I guess, other than that, I really can't understand what people thought was unrealistic about their romance option. Yes, it would have been forbidden and considered one of the greatest moral trespasses of the time. Yes, the punishment for such an act would mostly have been extreme, possibly castration, possibly being burned at the stake. And yet, real people in Europe in the middle ages still had same sex relationships. We know they did because we have real historical information about people being punished for that very reason. On top of that, there have been a number of nobles who were strongly rumored to have same sex relationships, which isn't the same as proof I guess, but it's not exactly the sort of thing you would openly write about in letters to your pals, not when it was a risk to your life. And I hope we can all agree that people interested in same sex relationships always existed, even if they couldn’t be open about it and didn't have the words for it that we have now.

I guess some people are more likely to say that it didn't make sense based on the specific natures of the characters involved. And honestly, I also don't really buy that one. I'm really not sure which aspects of their characters make it impossible or unlikely for them to have romantic feelings for one another.

It's certainly canon that Hans at least is pretty unconcerned about Christian morality. He's out there committing pretty major sins on the regular and is entirely unrepetant. He gets drunk, has unmarried sex, has sex for fun rather than for reproduction, is lustful, is too proud, and even breaks purely human laws such as poaching (though maybe you don't count that one since he is a noble). He loves doing anything he considers fun or thrilling, anything that will relieve his boredom, and he rarely takes into consideration the risks or consequences of such actions. I have no problem at all believing he would be willing to risk having sex with a man under the right circumstances, if only because it would be different and exciting, and I can't imagine circumstances more conducive to this possibility than the circumstances in this game, but we'll get to that later.

As for Henry, unless you play him as a very specific, extremely moral type, I think he's not a whole lot more strictly moral than Hans. Henry can get up to pretty much all the same things as Hans, and unless you're really careful with your choices, he still gets up to things that you don't intend. I play pretty much "in universe moral" characters in RPGs, but even my Henry occasionally steals, loots, gets drunk, and has sex. Some of that was by choice, some was just the result of cutscenes that happened with certain quests. At his strictest, I would say Henry is still at least passively accepting of "immorality" purely based on his friendship with Hans, who drags Henry into his shenanigans more often than not. So I don't think it's impossible for him to have romantic or sexual interest in Hans either, at least based on morality.

I also don't think the nature of their friendship precludes the possibility of a romantic or sexual entaglement. Some people argue that they're just close male friends, and if that's how you play your Henry then that's true, but the nature of their friendship doesn't make it impossible for any other kind of feelings to exist between them in character arcs different from yours. I would say it's pretty generally accepted that by the end of the 2nd game, Henry and Hans certainly love each other in one meaning of the word at least. Obviously they have the love of two extremely close friends. They've been through hell together, and they've both directly risked their lives to save each other when they could easily have left the other to die. You don't often do that for people that you don't love. But loving each other as friends doesn't mean they can't love each other in a romantic way as well, or least have an attraction to each other. Lots of real life couples or sexual partners have started out as friends, and even those that didn't still often consider their partner to be their best friend. So I don't see friendship as something that excludes the possibility of love or sex. (Not to mention the multiple real life examples of soldiers who have fought together, grown close through thier struggles, and eventually ended up growing into some form of sexual or romantic relationship.)

I've listed some of the reasons I don't find their romance to be unrealistic, now let me tell you some of the reasons I do find it realistic and well done.

I've already mentioned that if the circumstances were right, I have no problem imagining Hans trying to hook up with a man. And the circumstances for their romance scene were almost ideal as a setup (which I imagine was the point). Obviously, this would be a hugely risky venture, even for someone like Hans who doesn't worry much about consequences and is generally protected from legal consequences due to his status. So if you were going to undertake a same sex relationship or liason of some kind, I would imagine you would want one of two situations to be true. Either you would want to keep things as anonymous as possible, so there's little chance of your secret getting out, or you would want to be with someone you trust implicitly. Henry and Hans would certainly fall in the latter category. Hans already knows Henry would be willing to die to protect him. Even if the worst happened and Henry was completely disgusted with Hans, he certainly wouldn't turn Hans over to the church to be burned at the stake. Hans might lose his best friend and protector, which would be terrible, but at least he wouldn't lose his life.

The direness of their situation also works in favor of their romance. It adds a lot of urgency to the whole situation. It gives it a "now or never" feeling, that might make people act on impulses they never would have before. There's a good chance in this scene that one or both of them might die very soon. If that's the case, the very serious possible consequences suddenly seem a lot less important. What does it matter that the church might burn you if you're already going to be dead before they have the chance? Even losing Henry as a friend, terrible though it would be for Hans, wouldn't matter much if they were both going to die anyway.

And I think the way they set up the whole scene and the character reactions really adds to the realism factor as well. Henry's initial impulse, to push Hans away, seems very real considering the society they live in. Even though the player as Henry chooses to kiss Hans, Henry still isn't able to bring himself to do it. All he can manage are some vaguely comforting words and a brief clasp of Hans' hand. Hans makes the first move, which realistically, as a noble and Henry's superior, I think he would have to in this time. Henry is ultimately in more danger than Hans here in terms of societal protections, though arguably Hans has a lot more to lose materially. And it makes sense for Henry to be programmed to feel a certain amount of alarm and disgust as a protective impulse to a man kissing him in this sort of society. Hans reacts so well, too. There's so many layers to the emotions on his face in this scene. You can watch him flicker quickly between surprise, regret, panic, self loathing, and resignation. Which seems pretty on point for someone who believes he just ruined his only real friendship and, despite trusting Henry, who might have just put himself in far reaching peril. But then Henry has a moment to reflect and witness Hans' distress, and he realizes what he wants and all the reasons they might as well give it a go, and he very reasonably locks the door and goes back to Hans.

And I think the realism to their romance comes all throughout the game, before, during, and after the romance scene. The few chances you have for Henry to flirt with Hans are all very tame, almost coded and carefully said so as to be easily explained away by any listener (or by Hans if he doesn't feel the same way) as words between two friends. Mostly, Henry emphasizes that he cares about Hans and wants to support him, all things that could easily be true between two good friends, especially when one's job is to protect the other. The absolute most hardcore flirting Henry does before the romance scene is to tell Hans that he really cares about him, and Hans will pretty calmly agree with the sentiment. Which, if you're trying to feel out if your friend also feels some kind of attraction to you, but that attraction could get you both killed, is about the best you can do. During the romance scene Hans has to go into an elaborate anecdote about famous knights who just really, really cared about each other. He mentions that there's some aspect of the the tale that he "doesn't have his own words for" (same sex love, anyone?), and he lets Henry point out the similarities between the story and their own relationship. He even goes so far as to imply that he would die if Henry died, without saying it in so many words, which if there's a clearer way to tell someone you love them in a way that you could somehow write off as nonromantic, I don't know it. And then, after hearing Henry tell him throughout the game about how deeply he cares for Hans and wants to spend more time together, Hans still waits until Henry grabs his hand and swears to return to him before he makes a move. Even after the romance, Henry and Hans are still extremely careful to mask their words for listening ears. Henry refers to Hans' "encouragement." Hans refers to "what happened," which could mean anything to an innocent listener, and "me and you." He also mentions that maybe they should find somewhere "more private" to stay, which would seem like a perfectly reasonable thing for a young nobleman to want. They're still, necessarily, being extremely cautious. Which makes it all very realistic to me.

I think some of the Henry/Hans complainers want to act like having a "gay romance" option in the game means the equivalent of what it would mean in modern day or in a fantasy game like BG3. Like they're just going to be walking around 1400s Europe holding hands and making out in public. And maybe that's why they call it unrealistic. But let's be real, whether you choose the romance or not, very little is going to change for Henry and Hans. Hans will still have to get married to a woman, and Henry will probably marry some day, too. There's a good chance they'll both keep sleeping around with whatever women they can in the meantime because at this point nothing would be more suspicious than to stop. At best, Henry will get to stay on in Hans' castle and be his occassional lover when he has to settle down to start a family. All that seems like a pretty realistic rendition of how a Middle Ages same sex relationship would have to look, so I have to wonder how all these people are finding this relationship to be so "unrealistic?"

[aesethewitch]

Ghosts 101

Spirit work has always been the ultimate base of my spiritual and magical practices. Some of my earliest clear memories are of encounters with spirits, and I’ve always had a talent for sensing them. In a horror movie setting, I’d be that person who gets the weird feeling in the hallway right before all the doors slam shut at once, feeling the shift in the air before whatever ghoul’s around makes its mischief.

I mention this right out of the gate so that you, the reader, know that most of what I know about ghosts (and spirits in general) comes from personal experience. Not books, not videos, not other people’s work. There’s a lot of UPG in this little essay. Just keep that in mind as you read.

If there’s something you disagree with or have different experiences with, I’m not surprised! Everything in the realm of spirits, including ghosts, can really only be theorized about. Disagreeing opinions, experiences, and theories are very, very welcome. Drop ‘em in the replies, reblogs, or my inbox. Or, if you want, make a post of your own and tag me in it. I want to see them!

Anyways, with that lengthy UPG disclaimer out of the way, let’s get to the good stuff.

What is a Ghost?

I think it’s important to note, though kind of obvious, that ghosts are a sub-category of spirit. All ghosts are spirits, but not all spirits are ghosts. But what is a ghost, exactly?

As with most things, theories differ. In general, ghosts are thought to be… well, dead people. Some folks think that ghosts are the soul, essence, or spirit of a person who has died. Others believe that ghosts are just a fragment of a person’s spirit. But I’ve also seen theories stating that ghosts aren’t really ghosts, they’re echoes or imprints of human energy that once existed in a place.

Then, there are folks who think ghosts don’t exist at all. I can’t really blame them; empirical, repeatable proof of ghosts is tough to get in order to be satisfying in a scientific way. The only reason I personally believe in ghosts is because I’ve had several encounters that can’t otherwise be explained. Plus, for me, it goes hand-in-hand with other types of spirit work. Ghosts being real just makes sense with the framework I use to engage with the world.

So, obviously, there isn’t one single, concrete answer as to what a ghost is. We can only theorize.

My Theories

My personal theory aligns more or less with one of the more common theories. I think that ghosts are the lingering spirits of living beings who have died. Note I say living beings — some people think that only humans can become ghosts, but I think that any living thing can become one. In the case of plants and trees, ghosts behave somewhat differently than animals; but that’s a whole other conversation to be had. For the sake of this post, I plan on focusing mainly on human ghosts.

The way I understand it, ghosts are the whole, complete essence of a person that lingers in the physical realm for a time after their physical body no longer functions. I believe there are also energetic imprints — energy left over from the living, often (but not always) caused and fueled by strong emotions and lingering ties of memory in a place. These imprints can seem like a haunting, but the key difference is that they aren’t sentient. They may echo when you call, but they won’t give answers that are intelligent or timely according to questions asked or stimulus provided by the living. Sort of like recording a ringing bell; playing the bell’s chime back doesn’t ring the bell again. It just plays the sound it knows.

Now, death does funny things to the mind. Depending on the circumstances of the death, a ghost might have full awareness that they were alive, have died, and are now a ghost. I find this is most common for people who died of old age and long-term diseases: people who knew they were nearing the end, for one reason or another.

Ghosts formed from more sudden deaths, on the other hand, are likelier to not know what happened. They may figure it out given time, or they may never learn the truth. As with most other things dealing with individuals, the exact circumstances vary. No two ghosts are exactly the same. Some people don’t become ghosts at all, I’ve found! They simply move on.

Another important aspect of my theories on ghosts is that I think they fade. Unless they’re continually tied to a space, fed a steady supply of energy, and purposely kept in the physical realm, I believe that they can’t sustain a form here. Without a physical body to keep the spirit, soul, consciousness, or whatever we are, a ghost is gradually pulled into the more ethereal side of things. The astral plane, the other side, the afterlife, et cetera; I’m not sure, personally, where they end up. Maybe it depends on what they were attached to in life, maybe it doesn’t. Who knows!

I think this is where I draw the distinction between ghosts and ancestor spirits. “Ancestor spirits,” in my practice, aren’t individual people from my past. Rather, they’re a sort of collective consciousness made up of all the people who came before me who are connected to me through familial, cultural, and blood ties. I like to believe that ghosts become part of that collective when they fade out of the physical world. All this is to say, ghosts are just people who are dead. They won’t be around forever unless they’re bound and kept “fed.”

On Hauntings

The first half of the things everyone wants to know is: How do we know when a ghost is actually present? It’s a good question, one that’s hotly debated in ghost hunting circles. For the sake of argument, I think we need to define the word haunting first.

To be clear, a haunting isn’t just when a ghost is present. A ghost just passing through or lingering for a little while doesn’t necessarily make a haunting. That would be better described as a presence. A haunting, in my opinion, is a long-term, sustained presence of a ghost or imprint.

And the first step to dealing with a haunting is to determine whether the place you’re in is actually haunted. You don’t have to have super sensitive psychic powers to detect the presence of ghosts. Some folks might have an easier time of it than others, but anyone can learn how to discern when a ghost is hanging around.

It’s important to note that commonly-reported signs of ghost presences and hauntings are also symptoms of other issues like mold, electrical issues, pressure changes, carbon monoxide, stress and anxiety, noisy neighbors, animals outside or in the walls (including bugs), sleep apnea or insomnia, and more. It’s important to consider mundane reasons before leaping to magical, spiritual, or ghostly ones.

With that in mind, let’s say that you’ve ruled out all the mundane possibilities, and you’re still left wondering whether that place is capital-H Haunted. How can you tell?

In my experience, there are a few signs that will stick out:

Disembodied sounds, such as voices, knocking, and walking

A pervasive chill or prickling feeling, particularly on parts of the body that are covered

A feeling of being touched, poked, or prodded

Visual disturbances like mist or shadows

Sudden smells that can’t be explained, such as perfume, tobacco, or food

Batteries in things like phones and cameras draining very quickly

Now, note that even with these signs, a lot of these things can happen with spirits that aren’t ghosts. The only way to know for absolutely sure that you’re dealing with a ghost and not a mischievous, physical-realm-poking non-human spirit is to make contact and ask.

My fellow sensitive individuals may experience other signs during a haunting. Depending on where your abilities lie, you might experience stronger sensations or detect signs of a haunting earlier than others who haven’t trained these senses.

What Causes a Haunting?

It’s hard to say. Some people (particularly ghost hunters with big TV shows who need to make those viewer numbers go up) say that ghosts stick around because they’re pissed off or had some tragedy befall them in life. Trauma ties them to their surroundings, trapping them between life and death as a specter, or something like that.

Honestly, all that tells me is that these guys are trying to sell you something (their show). I’ve met maybe two ghosts that were like that, and they had extremely good reasons for it. That’s not to say there aren’t traumatized ghosts out there; just that they aren’t nearly as common or the only explanation for a haunting.

I’m personally not sure what causes some ghosts to linger over others. I think it does partly have to do with emotion, but it may also have to do with the amount of energy the person had left when they died. For example, the ghost of my great-aunt faded within a couple weeks after she died, because she was old, tired, and ready. On the other hand, the ghost of a guy I went to school with who died in an accident a few years ago is still lingering on the train tracks where it happened. It’s an extremely individual thing.

Another part of lingering ghosts and hauntings, I think, is interaction with the living. Without a physical body, the ghost has no native source of energy. Part of working with ghosts, for me, has been learning how to share energy (mine or from other sources) with ghosts to help them communicate, interact, and continue existing. When the energy runs out, they fade. With a steady supply of energy sources, a ghost could theoretically haunt a place indefinitely.

So, what causes a haunting? I don’t really know for sure! What causes a haunting to linger? A steady source of energy, I think.

Making Contact

So, you want to talk to a ghost. Cool! You’ve got a ton of options at your disposal.

There are the witch-typical methods of spirit communication, most of which would work fairly well for talking to ghosts. I’ve talked a little bit about spirit communication methods before in a more general sense, but I find that ghosts don’t always respond well to divination.

In my experience, simpler tools are better. Unless I knew for a fact that a person understood tarot in life, I would be unlikely to use it to talk to their ghost. Tools you can easily explain that provide clear answers would likely serve you best for most ghosts. My biggest suggestions are pendulums, which are easy for ghosts to understand and manipulate, and ouija boards. Yes, yes, I can hear the gasping and booing already.

Listen. Ouija boards are not evil. Ouija is a game. But talking boards really are good tools for talking to ghosts. Again, they’re easy to understand and manipulate. Plus, you can get really clear answers from a talking board if your ghost is chatty.

There are other tools that have been popularized by ghost hunters that may come in handy, too. Personally, I’ve had success with voice recorders catching EVP (electronic voice phenomena) and, on one notable occasion, a ghost box.

Honestly, I’ve had little use for tools like these outside of ghost hunting scenarios where we’re trying to prove ghosts’ existence in a scientific sense. Voice recorders catching wisps of voice in the background are super cool, and I definitely would suggest having one on hand when doing a ghost adventure. But they’re not great for in the moment communication, since you have to stop a recording to listen back to it and then react who knows how long later.

Where ghost boxes are concerned, I’ve only had the one opportunity to try it out. We were in a location I knew to be haunted thanks to previous visits, and it did seem to work okay. I’d like to try it again sometime to see if it was just a fluke or if it’s an actual, viable thing to use. With any tool commonly used in ghost hunting TV shows (or that’s otherwise Popular By Spectacle), I always approach with serious skepticism. Those shows are all about creating a reaction that can be captured; and when they don’t receive a response, they’re liable to make shit up for the cameras. It’s annoying, especially when a tool might really be useful but it’s shrouded in the very necessary skepticism around these shows.

Now, my personal go-to method to connect to ghosts is to just… talk to them. I don’t usually need to use any tools for it. But I’ve spent many, many, many years honing the skills needed to do this. It’s worth learning how to do if you plan on working with spirits, but it does take effort to get good at, even if you have an innate talent for it. If you can, take some time to develop a sense for spirits. Learn what spiritual presences feel like for you. You may not get immediate results at first, but the skill of sensing energy can apply across the board. And even if you get no “real” response, you can still talk to the ghosts.

When you go to communicate with a ghost, just remember that they’re still a person. They’re not a spectacle, though they are fascinating. Not all ghosts are going to want to talk to you. Not all ghosts are going to like you. Be respectful. Treat that ghost like you’d treat any stranger out in the wild. Don’t be an asshole.

On Mediumship

This is mostly just a brief note, since it’s an adjacent topic that I’ve gotten questions about before.

Not everyone who talks to or works with ghosts is a medium. A medium is a particular career or path that describes someone who acts as a connector between the living and the dead. I tend to think of mediums as the telephone in a conversation — relaying messages back and forth. I used to do medium work all the time. It’s an exhausting path that requires a lot of self-discipline and solid boundaries dealing with both the living and the dead. I don’t do it anymore, though I do still communicate and work with ghosts regularly.

Just keep in mind that you don’t have to take on the title or mantle of “medium” in order to talk to, work with, or research ghosts.

Ghostly Q&A

I received a handful of questions about ghosts in the run up to posting this; thank you everyone who sent in a question! If you’ve got a question and want my perspective on it, feel free to drop it in my inbox or in the replies/reblogs of this post.

From @moonmargaritas: “How do you tell the difference between nervousness at discerning the presence of a ghost (new practitioner who still gets jitters 🤙) and sensing actual hostile intent?”

This is a really great question! This is something I had to work through myself when I got started. And honestly, I still get jitters sometimes many years later! It can be scary, even when you’re used to it.

The biggest piece of advice I have is to learn how your body experiences nervousness or anxiety. Where does that sit in your body? What kind of feelings to you experience?

For me, nervousness is a sort of itchy tingling around my shoulders and tightness around my ribs. It also manifests as the feeling of being watched or observed too closely. It’s easy to misattribute those feelings to a ghost’s presence — tingling and feeling like something’s watching? Those are classic ghost interactions! But I know that’s what anxiety feels like. That’s how I feel when the lights go out too fast or I hear a branch snap in the distance.

Once you know, you can work past those feelings and focus on what’s actually happening with the ghost (or spirit). I think of it like knowing when someone’s mad at me. Are they mad, or am I just anxious? It’s the same idea.

And, as a note, ghosts with hostile intent are few and far between. I personally don’t think that most ghosts, even the nastiest ghosts, can actually hurt you; they don’t have the energy resources for it. The ones that do are obvious, and you won't really have to question their intentions. However, you can always work with the communication methods mentioned above to determine the ghost’s feelings and intents. If you’re worried about negative interactions, a bit of salt and rosemary in a little pouch placed in your pocket goes a long way for protection.

From anonymous: “What’s an unusual way people could use to communicate with spirits? Like an expected divination tool or something we should pay more attention to.”

Hmmmm! Honestly, I think that classic, actual call and response is underrated specifically when it comes to ghosts. Yeah, we’ve all seen the Ghost TV Guys call out for a knock or a word or whatever, but when they get a response, they wig out and don’t do anything with it. It’s annoying!! Because genuinely, saying “tap once for yes, twice for no” and asking questions is a really, really solid way to communicate with a ghost when you have no other tools that will work on hand. I’ve had ghosts lead me to important places and objects within houses doing this. I think more people should give it a try without falling prey to the over-the-top reaction of “DID YOU HEAR THAT?!”

From anonymous: What advice would you give someone dealing with a haunting?

For a run-of-the-mill, regular old haunting? Let it run its course. Most hauntings, when left alone, will fade. However, if you’re inclined to talk to the ghost(s), get them to leave quicker, or get them to be less intrusive in your life, there are a few things you could do.

To talk to them, choose a method of communication and try to reach out like I described above. Get to know them if you can, and set some ground rules. If they won’t (or can’t) communicate with you, and you really want them gone, I would probably recommend a gentle banishing ritual. Something that doesn’t scream “get out” so much as kindly say, “It’s time to move on.”

Or, if you don’t want the ghost gone, just a little quieter at night or out of your bedroom, you could set up wards or activity-dampeners around specific spaces. Choose ingredients and spells that protect against unwanted spirits or just unwanted activity. Keep it activated all day long or just at night while you’re trying to sleep.

Thanks for Reading!

Posts like this are usually put on my Ko-Fi as exclusives first, but since the questions in this one came from Tumblr, I decided to post it in both places at once! (:

With that said, if you did enjoy this post, consider throwing a couple dollars at my tip jar. Tips, commissions, and shop purchases get you 30 days of access to my entire backlog of exclusive posts and upcoming ones. Monthly members get continuous access plus extra benefits! All support helps me keep the lights on, so it's very much appreciated.

If you've got Ghost Questions, shoot 'em my way! My inbox is open.

[herstoryheaven]

Pablo Gavira x Reader: You Belong With Me

Prompt: Y/N is conflicted by feelings of uncertainty and doubt in her relationship with Pablo, but his unwavering love provides the reassurance she needs.

Reader: Female

Word count: 1158

Average reading time: 4 min 15 sec

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warning: This story contains themes of self-doubt and insecurity in the context of a romantic relationship. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with care.

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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The sun was setting over the Barcelona skyline, casting a golden glow across the city. You stood on the balcony, gazing out at the breathtaking view, but your mind was far from the beauty before you. A soft breeze rustled your hair, and you sighed, lost in thought.

“Amore, what’s wrong?” Pablo’s voice was gentle as he joined you on the balcony, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You forced a smile. “Nothing, really.”

He raised an eyebrow, not buying it. “You’ve been quiet all evening. I know something’s bothering you.”

You looked down, the words catching in your throat. “It’s silly.”

“Nothing you feel is silly to me,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. “Tell me.”

You took a deep breath. “I just… I don’t feel like I belong here, with you. In your world. It’s so different from mine.”

He turned to face you, his expression serious, yet tender. “Why would you think that?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Look at you, Pablo. You’re confident, talented, surrounded by people who adore you. And then there’s me. I’m just… ordinary.”

His eyes softened as he cupped your face in his hands, his touch gentle and warm. “Amore, you are anything but ordinary. You’re the one who makes my world brighter, who understands me like no one else does. You belong here with me, more than anyone.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you. “You don’t have to say that.”

“But I mean it,” he insisted, his voice full of sincerity. “You’re my princesa. My everything. Without you, none of this would mean anything.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears. “It’s just hard sometimes. Seeing all these people around you, wondering if I’m enough.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Amore you are more than enough. Everything about you is just perfect, exactly as you are. There's no need to change a single thing. Every day, I feel incredibly grateful for who you are and everything you bring into my life."

You buried your face in his chest, letting his warmth and words soothe your insecurities. “I love you too, Pablo.”

He kissed the top of your head, his embrace tightening. “We’re in this together, amore. Always.”

You tilted your head up, and he met your gaze, his eyes full of love and promise. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that made your heart swell. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your back, sending shivers down your spine.

As you pulled back slightly, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours. “I love seeing you smile. It’s my favorite sight in the world.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, feeling the warmth of his words spread through you. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, his lips brushing against yours in another kiss, this time deeper and more lingering. “But I’m yours.”

For a while, the two of you stood there in comfortable silence, holding each other as the sky turned from gold to deep orange, then purple. The city’s lights began to twinkle, creating a magical backdrop. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, doubts still lingered in your mind.

“Pablo,” you began hesitantly, “do you ever wonder if we’re too different? If this… us… can really work?”

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a serious expression. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice trembling. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just an ordinary girl in this extraordinary life of yours. Like I’ll never be enough to keep up with everything you are.”

His face softened with understanding, and he took your hands in his. “Princesa, listen to me. I chose you. Out of everyone in the world, it’s you I want by my side. Not because you’re some perfect image of what you think I need, but because you’re you. I love your kindness, your strength, the way you make me laugh, and the way you understand me. You ground me, and that’s more important than anything else.”

You blinked back tears, feeling the sincerity in his words. “But what if I can’t live up to that?”

“You already do,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. “Every single day. And even on the days when you don’t see it, I do. I see how much you care, how much you try. And that’s all I could ever ask for.”

You sniffled, a small smile breaking through. “I just don’t want to let you down.”

“You could never let me down,” he said firmly. “We’re in this together, remember? We’ll face everything, good and bad, side by side. And I promise, I’ll always be here to remind you of how incredible you are.”

Before you could respond, he captured your lips in a passionate kiss, pouring all his love and reassurance into it. His hands cradled your face, fingers gently threading through your hair. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “More than words can say.”

“I love you too, Pablo,” you whispered back, your heart swelling with a mix of love and relief.

He smiled, that boyish grin that always melted your heart. “Come on, let’s go inside. I made dinner.”

You laughed softly, feeling the tension drain from your body. “You cooked?”

“Okay, maybe I ordered from your favorite place,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It definitely is.”

He led you back inside, his hand never leaving yours. The apartment was filled with the delicious aroma of your favorite dishes, and you felt a warmth settle in your chest. As you sat down to eat, Pablo kept the conversation light, making you laugh with his stories and silly jokes.

After dinner, he pulled you onto the couch, snuggling close as you watched a movie. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your arm, and you leaned into his embrace, feeling more content than you had in a long time.

“See?” he murmured against your hair. “We’re perfect together.”

You smiled, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “Yeah, we are.”

As the night wore on, you fell asleep in his arms, the doubts and insecurities melting away. With Pablo by your side, you knew you could face anything. And as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, you realized that you truly did belong in his world, just as he belonged in yours.

In that moment, wrapped in each other’s love and warmth, everything felt right. The future might hold challenges, but together, you were unstoppable. And that was all that mattered.

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Copyright: All stories contained herein are the intellectual property of the author. Unauthorized copying, reproduction, or distribution of these stories, in whole or in part, without explicit written permission from the author, is strictly prohibited and may result in legal action. Respect the creator's rights and creativity. For permissions or inquiries, please contact: herstoryheaven@gmail.com.

Request Guidelines: When submitting a request, please ensure that your request does not contain any explicit sexual content or graphic depictions, and avoid any form of extreme violence or graphic descriptions of violent acts. I appreciate your understanding and cooperation in maintaining a respectful and inclusive environment for all readers. If you're unsure about your request or want to request about someone I haven't written about yet, feel free to ask me anytime.

[person25]

Organizing my thoughts/feelings towards Naruto ships and my thoughts/feelings on it (also disclaimer I can’t outright hate any ship, I can always get why people ship it so no bashing in this!)

Let’s start with Canon(if one’s not here then I have zero opinion on it):

ShikaTema: They’re widely liked among the fandom. I don’t hate them. They’re cute and had good development. I would never read a fic for them though so. Take that as you will.

NaruHina: Oh boy. Let’s get into this. So, the thing with them is I love that they could give each other the loving family that that never had growing up. I enjoy them as they are in canon. They’re just..not my favorite romance wise, ya know? I wouldn’t read a fic for them.

SasuSaku: Now these guys, I like these guys. I used to not like them so much but they’ve grown on me a lot. Their dynamic is good and does have development despite what others might say. I would read a fic for them.

NejiTen (they’re canon to me): They could’ve been so much more😭 The one ship with the obvious romantic tension(early on). Probably wouldn’t read a fic for them though.

Non-Canon Straight Ships:

ShikaIno: I think they could’ve grown together as people. Him getting over the sexism. Her getting over the obsession with her looks. Though, honestly, I don’t mind their canon interests it would’ve been interesting to see them together. Would read a fic if it fit specific standards.

LeeSaku: I can see why people ship them, but personally don’t like them romantically. Would not read a fic for them.

KibaHina: I like them. Misunderstanding trope would go crazy with these two. Wouldn’t read a fic but i sure as hell could write one.

NaruSaku: My loves. They could’ve been so much more😔 Though, with them, I love their dynamic in anyway shape or form so I don’t mind that they didn’t end up canon as long as they stay friends. Would read a fic for them.

Non-canon queer ships:

ObiKaka: I love them in a way that nobody else loves them. I like the idea of their og team being a love triangle in the actual way. Obito likes Rin, Rin likes Kakashi, Kakashi likes Obito. But of course, Kakashi couldn’t handle emotions bc of course. Would read a fic for them.

KakaIru: I love them in a married couple and their adopted child way. Not too crazy about them though. Would read a fic where they main pairing but would enjoy their romantic side-plot.

SakuHina: I have very complicated feelings towards this ship. So, the thing with them is I know most people only shipped them so that sasunaru’s wives were out of the way. I don’t like that. But if someone likes them for different reasons then ily. Wouldn’t read a fic for them.

SakuIno: FAV WLW SHIP😍 So much potential. Another pairing that could grow together + the comphet thing they got going on. I would read a fic for them.

ShikaNaru: Holy biscuits guys, I love them. Naruto’s first friend. The Hokage and his advisor?! I also love the idea of Chill Guy Shikamaru with the most unchill person in existence. Would read a fic for them.

SasuNaru: Very first queer ship I ever shipped (that’s crazy) back in the day. Of course I love them!! The bond they share is like no other in the show. They’re like, literally soulmates. Sun and Moon. As Sasuke said, his “ONE AND ONLY…friend!” Would read a fic for them.

MadaTobi: Oh my lord. I love them. Was very confused when i first discovered this ship. I definitely understand now. They’re so divorced in the war arc lmao. Would read a fic for them.

Team 7: As in, Sasuke, Sakura, and Naruto. This is a no brainer since I love all of these ships individually. It’s very “I’m bisexual and my girl and guy crushes started dating😕” They figure it out eventually. Would read a fic for them.

Boruto ships:

InoHima: They’re cute. Love a ship where the girl is stronger than the guy. The implied future canon ships in Boruto have a lot more development earlier on than the Naruto canon ones do so i’m really enjoying it. Though, I wouldn’t read a fic for them just yet (this may change).

BoruSara: By far my favorite straight ship in all Naruto media. Way up there in all time favs. Love an Uchiha x Uzumaki ship, but honestly, I don’t ship them this crazily because they’re the next best thing behind sasunaru. They have a completely different dynamic that i love. Would read a fic for.

Holy yap bro.

Anyway, if you wanna hear my thoughts on any other ships or a more in depth breakdown of any previously mentioned just let me know!

This post was mainly just me sorting through how i felt because i’ve had some pretty complicated relationships with some of these guys.

[neohoestechnology]

I absolutely love your moodboards and headcanons! Could you do one for Draco? 🥰🫶🏻

Thank you so much!!💗💗

I'm SO sorry it took so long (mainly because I saw the request yesterday 🫠 my university is KILLING me sorry😭). This is LONG so bare with me + my English is rusty af so I apologize for any grammar mistake

☆ Draco Malfoy Headcanons & Moodboard ☆

Okay, so, a quick disclaimer here before we get started -----> now, I really believe that Draco is one the most tricky character to "get right" (speaking of his behavior and thoughts), so I just wanted to say that this is my personal interpretation and could be 100% different from yours so please be kind🥹

Oh boy, it took A LOT for you two to finally get together; a lot of time, a lot of effort, a lot of sacrifice and arguments between both of you and your friends. Just a lot.

I think we can all agree that our beloved boy couldn't care less about girls before during his first years at Hogwarts. Some things changed as time passed by, a lot, actually. He changed in the first place, becoming old enough to finally understand his family affairs and secrets. He HAD to change. He wanted to gain strength to be able to carry this new burden on his shoulders and to show his worth, but it all developed into a self-destruction, never-ending cycle that made him feel left out and alone. You, on the other hand, always seemed to have all figured out, and always looked so calm and caring. Truth is that you also felt like you were missing something, like you didn't really fit in for some reason.

It's not really clear how or why you two got together, but somehow, it happened.

Your caring nature always irritated him. How naive, he thought, but that time you found him crying on the bathroom floor, all alone and desperate, he thanked God that you came.

From this episode, bit by bit, your relationship started to form.

You two are VERY good at keeping it private, very discreet.

At the end of the day, you just have one another to stay with, and you are more than okay with that. People started to get suspicious, though; your friends started to notice your frequent excuses and distance, wondering WHAT ON EARTH they did to make you feel this way. Little did they know about your secret midnight meetings with a boy whose reputation speaks for himself.

Even though you two never show up together as a couple, you actually never feel lonely during the day. It's all about those secretly exchanged gazes, the typical side eye thing from across the room when someone is talking bs, him softly brushing his hand against yours when you are leaving a class and no one can see.

BUT, when you two are ACTUALLY ALONE... Soft touches, hushed words and pleading eyes.

You like to share silence together, there's nothing left to share after your first bathroom rendezvous.

I feel like he smells like wood, like deep forest or something like that, but his smell is kinda comforting (my scent-describing skills are nonexistent sorry😭)

I mean, you can feel his presence even without seeing him.

He has this thing about his eyes, like the way he looks at you. Everyone who played close attention to his gaze could tell it was love and admiration.

LOVES when you run your hands through his hair (sometimes you could swear to hear him purring).

Likes to make flowers appear between the pages of your potion book while taking classes, only to give you a subtle smile and turn his head to read his instructions immediately after.

Your first time together was during the Christmas break, when there were just the two of you in the entire Slytherin dorm. It was the first time he said "I love you" (it's fucking cheesy but I love it eheh). Everything was so slow and sensual. Lips, hands and kisses everywhere. Slow thrusts with your hands intertwined and his head buried in your neck.

His hands are always so cold that he has to keep them in your sleeves (he loves it though)

Likes watching you sleep (not in a creepy way don't worry lol). He'd brush your hair out of your face and caress your face softly.

Would fidget a lot while talking to you, mostly to distract himself from the fact that he gets weak in the knees every time he looks in your eyes, even after all this time. He'd 100% play with your hands or hair just because.

You'd literally yank his hand from his mouth every time he bit his nails or picked at his skin.

He's the type of person who would do hot things without even realizing. He would undo a few buttons of your shirt just to button them up right away just because he thought they looked weirdly asymmetrical, causing you to blush and stutter. And this mf would just tell you to go on and finish what you were saying (okay, maybe he does this on purpose).

You know that the way he behaves around others is just a facade. He is so broken and hopeless that he HAS to act that way around them, but when he's with you, his safe place, he feels so grateful that he gets to get loose from his worries and reveal the real person he is that it scares him how attracted he is to you, how primal his need for you is.

When your friends found out that you were dating Mr Bully Malfoy, they just couldn't wrap their heads around the reason that spurred you to do so. Let's just say that you are not friends anymore. You tried to explain yourself countless times, but they didn't seem to understand nor were willing to do so, and you thought you were better off without them anyway.

He got the same treatment from his friends ngl. It was better this way, honestly. In the end, you just needed one another to feel complete and fulfilled.

He thought about running away with you almost once a day during his 6th year. He knew what, better say who, was coming. He was sure that the death eaters wouldn't spare anyone, maybe himself included. When he first told you, he was sure you would laugh it off and call him paranoid, but instead, you listened to him carefully and decided to plan your escape with him without even flinching.

It was a gloomy night in the middle of the winter. Rushed footsteps were echoing in a corridor, then in the hall, down the stairs. Restless eyes were wandering around the path, occasionally looking back to check no one was tagging after them. A subtle creaking of a rusty gate opening was heard, and then nothing else.

OKAY SO I got WAY MORE carried away than I should and I know this is longer and more serious and dark than what I usually do but I tried my best. Actually, I'm not 100% satisfied with how it turned out and maybe the person who asked it expected something different and more light-hearted, and I apologize for it. Again, writing this character is difficult af.

I do not possess any of these photos, all credits go to the owners.

Love you, B. 🌱🤍

[animelovelover123]

I was thinking a Yandere Reboot Dante who's obsessed with bartender reader! She works at a strip club he visits. They've become friendly with each other, but she rejects his advances. He tries to make her jealous, but it doesn't work. To which he kidnaps her and takes her back to his place/van to which the non con pursues.

I know his van was canonically destroyed, but the scene where his van was shaking from having sex, made me feral!! Thanks for letting me send this! Let me know if this is too long, I will shorten the idea! 🥹😈

What a devilishly dirty idea (　・`ω・´). Here you go; I hope I didn't destroy it by condensing it so much. Also, I should warn you that my editor is not comfortable with some things, including non-con, and I respect their feelings so this story was not beta read. I'm sorry in advance for the mistakes.

Yandere Reboot Dante X Reader - Incorrigible For Devil's Dalliance’s Angel

Disclaimer: This fictional story contains mature subject matter that is written with the intent to be appealing and/or arousing. If you are reading this, please understand that drawing/writing/reading/imagining things of this nature does NOT equate to desiring or supporting real-world assault. Here is a link to multiple articles and studies on sexual taboos in fantasy, what role it plays, and what effect it has on people.

Trigger Warnings: rape, stalking, kidnapping, degrading comments towards others (not reader), somnophilia, bound wrists

Yet again, for the 4th night in a row, Dante found himself at Devil's Dalliance. He would have been there every night, but you only work 5 days a week. He didn’t bother with the dancefloor where the strippers were twirling around poles. He took an immediate left turn to get to the bar along the left wall where you were.

“Hey angel!” He called out to you, using that nickname since the strippers that worked here were dressed as them, but you were the only one worthy of the actual title. He went to sit down but before his ass hit the stool his usual order came sliding across the bar. He caught it with ease, then looked over at you as you gave him a smile and a hand motion before turning to deal with someone else.

God damn, you were perfect. You knew him so well. And you had that sexy smile and how you swayed your hips as you moved contrasting the cheap wings that were part of your work uniform made you look cute, innocent, and corruptible. If only you would come closer. You two got along well and have spent collective hours in the past chatting between customers. Today, though, it was busy with chicks with far too much confidence considering how much makeup and injections they have to have to make them look decent and sleezy douchebags already shitfaced and shooting their shots with anything with tits. Fuck'em. Fuck them all. They were wasting your time, time that should be spent with Dante. Yet they had you rushing around as they barked orders at you and caused problems. It was enough to make Dante slam his glass down onto the counter after chugging it in frustration.

When he did, another glass came sliding into his view. He looked up and there you were again, giving him that smile and showing him that you were still paying some attention to him. Jesus Christ, he wanted to bend you over the fucking bar.

But there you go, not saying a word to him, just going back to work like you didn’t feel the connection between you, like you weren’t as desperate for his attention as he was for yours. Sure, you had rejected him when he had offered to take you to his place every other night, but that was different. You were just tired, thought he was joking, and didn’t know what he could do yet. You didn’t know how he could rail you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk the next morning. How he could go for hours, leaving you a blithering mess as he licks up his cum spilling out of your pussy while the sun rises. How he can make your body learn that no other cock or dildo can satisfy you. You needed a showcase, a demonstration of what he can do and something to light a fire under that pretty ass of yours, revealing how you can’t stand to see him with some other chick.

And so, Dante grabbed his drink and made his way to the dance floor.

“Dante, hey!”

Well that didn’t take long. He was barely on the flashing floor before some bimbo ran up to wrap her arms around one of his.

“Hey babe, how’ve you been doing?” He asked, assuming by her greeting that they knew each other. Maybe he has fucked her before, he wouldn’t remember and definitely wouldn’t care to. Right now though, they could help each other.

“It’s been lonely working all week without being able to see you.” The way she squeezed her boobs against his arms and looked up at him through those fake ass lashes made it clear that she wanted some action, and he wanted to show off his moves, so they would both get something out of this.

“Well now you’ve got my attention, so enjoy it.” Dante flashed that grin that made girls weak in the knees, and it had the same effect. “Come on babe, follow me.” He gave her a wink and wrapped an arm around her waist to lead her back towards the bar where you worked. There was a small chunk of wall beside where people can get behind the bar, that would be good enough.

In one swift, fluid movement, Dante pushed the woman up against the wall. She let out a squeak in shock but couldn’t say anything as he slammed his lips into hers. She moaned, squirmed, and opened her mouth for him. Perfect, he already had her falling apart for him. Were you watching? Did you see what could be yours?

But you weren’t, you were talking to some fat fuck while making his drink. Out of frustration, Dante placed his drink on the counter beside them and purposely pushed it off. The shattering sound made everyone but Dante jump in shock. Even the chick he had pinned to the wall let out a scream and pulled back. She tried to move away, but Dante wouldn’t let her, keeping her pinned there so you could see. Finally, you looked his way, and here you come! You can see, right? How he got this girl wet just from making out a bit? You want this, right?

You came over, grabbed a broom nearby, swept up the glass, offered another smile, then just walked away!?

“Fuck.” Dante snarled as he stepped back.

“Wait, Dante,” The woman said as she tried to follow, but Dante smacked her hand away.

“Not in the mood, fuck off.” Dante could hear the woman calling him and eventually cursing but he did not give a shit. He was pissed off beyond belief. How could you not care, not even blink an eye? Fuck, he wanted to hit something.

Before he could find a dumbass to be his stress ball, he noticed you leaving the bar. Like a predator stalking prey, Dante followed you with his eyes until you disappeared into the back rooms of the club. Seeing you disappear from sight made his anger worse. How dare you just leave. How dare you leave his side.

“Not anymore.” Dante stormed after you, following fleeting glimpses of you further into the building and up some stairs until finally you reached your destination. It looked like some break room, with a couch and fridge and microwave, basic shit that barely registered in Dante’s mind. His eyes, his thoughts, his heart was focused on you. How you turned to greet whoever joined you in the break room, how you froze when you realized it wasn’t a co-worker, that confused smile at recognizing him but knowing that he shouldn’t be there, and how it fell away as he stalked closer.

The sound of the music blared through the building and spilled out into the streets, making it so that no one heard the sound of a struggle in the breakroom. The sound of screaming, furniture being toppled, then silence. And with how drunk, and for some also high, they were, no one even noticed the young man jumping from the second story of the club and over roofs with an unconscious woman over his shoulder.

×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×

Dante laid you down on his creaky, dirty bed, one that was not visually worthy of you, even with the trickles of blood dried on your head and face that blended in with his red pillowcases and sheets. That made it all the hotter. Seeing you lying there, seemingly sleeping peacefully with that perfect face and body, white wings popping out from behind your back, while surrounded by his filth. The two things were juxtaposed, and he wanted to keep it like that. He was scum, dirty, maybe not even human. But you, in comparison, were pure. Despite where you worked you weren’t some cheeks slut, you held your head high, stood your ground, and kept your tongue sharp. Yet you were still kind to him, treated him like a person, not a problem or something to fuck. You were…

“My angel,” Dante whispered as he crawled over you on the bed. He leaned down, bringing your lips close enough to just barely touch and ran his hands up your sides. He held there for a moment, taking in the sensations. Your warmth, your heartbeat, your breath, before finally capturing your lips, and something in him broke. After you had been rejecting him for weeks, now he had you; you were here, and he could give you everything. He could take everything.

The sound of his belt unclasping seemed to ring through the trailer despite his heavy breaths and his hips grinding down into you, making the bed creak. He couldn’t tear his lips away from your skin so fumbled a bit with his hands when he lifted your arms and, using his belt, bound your wrists to the clasped hands of the heavy as hell metal and neon light encircled angel statue behind his bed. A fitting shackle in his mind. Gagging you popped into his head for only a second, but he pushed it aside. It was late at night and everyone who knew him would be used to screams of ecstasy coming from his trailer late into the night. Plus, he NEEDED to be able to kiss you.

×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×

When your consciousness came back to you, the first things you are aware of are the soreness in your jaw, a salty taste in your mouth, and the feeling of something opening up your folds, subjecting that hot skin to the cool night air. And when something warm and wet slid between them, your body instinctively reacted.

Dante’s heart jumped and a spike of arousal hit him when you finally properly reacted to his touch. He lifts his head from your crotch, the taste of your pussy still fresh on his tongue.

“You’re awake.” Dante crawled back up the bed to hover over you, though one hand stayed low to cup your sex, sliding his fingers between your lower lips to gather slick. Before you could speak, he slammed his lips against yours, his tongue ravaging your mouth, tasting the mix of you and the residuals of his essence. He could feel you squirm, but it was no use. You couldn’t escape your bindings or him. And besides, he wanted you to squirm a bit. It made your body rub against his, your tits jiggle freely since he had removed your top and bra to suck on them, and your heart beat faster. It made you feel alive. When Dante finally pulled back, his lungs dragging air in slowly like he was drowning as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with lust and something inhuman. “You made me wait a while, angel, but I suppose that's my fault. Either way, now that you're awake, I don’t need to hold back anymore.” The two fingers he was using to spread the slick around your folds were suddenly impaled you, burrowing themselves in your core. “I wanted to make sure you were awake when I finally fuck you.”

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

This was a bit hard for me because the one thing that takes me out of reader stories the most is when the author decides what I say and what I do, so I try to avoid it. That was hard with this but I did my best. ^^;

[uriekukistan]

megumi character analysis, fearsome womb arc edition: establishing motivations

as im going through my re-read of jujutsu kaisen, i wanted to share some of my thoughts on characters and topics that im most passionate about, and of course megumi is one of those things. disclaimer, i am only going to be referring to things that occurred during the fearsome womb arc in this post, so the range of material im using to support my points is a bit limited.

my point in doing this is to draw attention to the misconceptions about megumi that lead to the large amount of hate he’s been receiving over the past year. if you keep up with the jjk fandom, you’ve no doubt seen the bumgumi allegations (eye twitches). honestly, i think a lot of this comes from a lack of understanding of megumi’s character, and what pushes him to act, or in some cases, not act. to me, this is absolutely wild, because megumi is one of the characters whose motivations and intentions are stated straight from the beginning, quite possibly some of the clearest stated motivations in the entire series.

i. he was never interested in being a sorcerer and has an established distaste for the system.

i would agree that sometimes megumi is a bit half-assed in his actions, but it’s important to understand why. he isn’t fond of his job. the reasoning behind this is not established until later on, but megumi’s stance is very clear. compared to nobara and yuuji, he’s very focused on getting his job done, rather than saving people.

being a sorcerer is not something he cares particularly about. it's just a task that he has to get done.

there’s also the way he talks about being a jujutsu sorcerer as being a “cog” in a system that he is personally disgusted with, due to the fact that it does nothing to help good people, like tsumiki for example.

sorcerers are one part of a system that completely disgusts him. his decision to save yuuji is another example of this.

his distaste for this system is clearly established early on in the story when he asks gojo to save yuuji because he can’t stand to see a good person like that die just because someone else somewhere said it was “right.” so it makes sense that he’s not going to put his all in all of the time, but it’s not because he’s lazy or a bum or a waste of potential. it’s because of his core sense of justice that has been a part of him and a central theme in jjk since the beginning.

ii. he is interested in saving good people.

i don’t want to spend too much time on this because it’s a pretty discussed and well-recognized aspect of megumi’s character, but this is a pretty fundamental principle behind his actions. for the most part, he is able to buckle down and do what he is “supposed” to do, regardless of if it’s what he personally believes is right, but there’s a visible difference in his effort level when there is someone he believes is good at stake.

when it’s the people he cares about at stake, he can and will push himself beyond his limits. after saving nobara, megumi is completely exhausted.

despite this, he still chooses to stay behind and wait for him, and puts forward the most effort he’d displayed thus far in the series, using his technique and his body more efficiently and more boldly than before, because yuuji is someone he believes is worth saving

he's also ready to let himself die to save yuuji.

in contrast, when fighting against todo, he shows an arguably much lower capacity of both his technique and his physical abilities compared to when he went against sukuna to save yuuji, because what's at stake is "only" himself, not someone he believes is "good," according to his own definition. he's not thinking about how to push his technique to be better or anything like that.

there's far better examples of this in other arcs, so i think i generally spoke about this and how it plays into the megumi hate better here, mostly because i’m restricting my materials for this analysis.

iii. he uses challenges as motivation to push himself beyond his limits.

in a somewhat different direction (aka not fully related to my overall point but i wanted to mention it anyway), megumi uses challenges to his abilities as an opportunity to grow. by challenges, i specifically mean verbal taunts. there’s not quite as many examples of this in just the fearsome womb arc, but probably the best example is when he figures out how to use shadows as an inventory for cursed tools, he remembers what sukuna said to him at the detention center, and it’s what motivates him to grow.

additionally, when he’s fighting against todo, he’s pushed to put more into the fight by todo taunting him and challenging his strength. if only inumaki hadn't stopped them, i would have loved to see what he pulled out...when megumi gets that crazy look, you know it's gonna be good.

this is interesting to me, because megumi is someone who carries a lot of self doubt, but the second someone else starts to doubt him, he pushes himself harder. he doesn’t want others to doubt him, despite constantly doubting himself.

anyway, i hope this was a useful look at why megumi acts the way he does. i think it’s very interesting how much he gets misinterpreted, despite how clearly his characteristics are laid out for the reader.

[akrasianwords]

a few people were interested in my aspd dazai analysis but I feel like no one is seeing the reblog of the essay so it gets its own post now! yap ahead

A couple of days ago, I was having a conversation with an acquaintance about Dazai. At one point, I had offhandedly mentioned that I believe Dazai is someone who deals with ASPD. While I thought it was fairly obviously implied throughout the show, they were quick to disagree with me, offering instead the opinion of him having BPD. Now, I’m not one to start arguments over simple things like this and I could tell they were not the type of person who would enjoy a debate. So like any rational, passionate person, I decided to write a 5 page essay on it instead. In this essay I will elaborate on why I believe ASPD is a better fit diagnosis for Dazai than BPD, present evidence to support it, and talk about why I don’t think he has BPD.

Before we get into this, let’s talk about what exactly ASPD and BPD are. Disclaimer, I am not a professional, nor have I been formally diagnosed with either. So, I am not an expert. However, I do believe I’ve done enough research and have my own personal experiences with a large portion of symptoms of ASPD, as well as having several personal connections to people with BPD, to speak on this.

Antisocial Personality Disorder is a cluster B disorder characterised mostly by a frequent lack of understanding of empathy, using manipulation and/or deception to further one’s own needs or wants, and being generally apathetic towards people’s personal thoughts and feelings. People with ASPD often have a hard time discerning and comprehending morals, forming meaningful attachments with people around them, and caring about societal norms. Overall, the struggle of ASPD is mostly found with morality and empathy.

(I would like to note that just because someone may struggle with these things, it does not mean they are incapable of it. Someone with ASPD is just as able to love and be loved as the next person, they just have a more difficult time overcoming their own personal blocks in order to do so. Similarly, they may struggle with understanding morality but that does not mean they are incapable of conforming to what is widely considered right or wrong. They may have different reasons for being kind or just, such as ‘it’s too much trouble to be bad,’ ‘I like it when others tell me I’m a good person,’ or ‘it’s just what I’m supposed to do.’ This does not mean their actions are invalid, simply that they have differing motivations from the larger population.)

On the other hand, Borderline Personality Disorder, also cluster B, is most well known for intense and irregular mood swings, attachment and abandonment issues, and impulsive and self destructive behaviour. People who deal with BPD typically also struggle with mania, a warped and unstable sense of self, and intense and generally unjustified anger issues. The gist of BPD, at its core, is the inability to regulate thoughts and emotions. Someone with BPD may do a complete 180 emotionally because of something another individual may deem small or insignificant. A partner forgetting to text back could trigger emotions that have the same weight as if the partner were to break up with them. Someone who has just experienced the death of their father could suddenly the next day feel on top of the world, given the right prompting. BPD is all about the instability and insecurity regarding thoughts, feelings, or identity.

So! How does this relate to Dazai? I’m glad you asked!

Throughout the series, Dazai continuously shows signs and behavioural patterns aligning with that of someone with ASPD. He is constantly seen manipulating people and situations to get the results he desires, he’s outright stated to have no interest or understanding of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, and it’s not uncommon to see him using or mistreating certain people in his life with little to no empathy or regret. The prevalence of this behaviour changes significantly with his transfer to the Armed Detective Agency, but is definitely still something that affects Dazai to this day. If he has to threaten to torture someone to get the information he wants, as seen with Kouyou after Kyouka was taken, or sacrifice one innocent person’s life to end a villain’s, as seen with Rokuzo and Miss Sasaki in his entrance exam, he has no issue doing such.

In the Dark Ages, Oda tells Dazai outright that he doesn’t care about morality. Dazai is as Dazai does, and he has no reservations doing things deemed evil to further his (or Mori’s) own goals. His list of crimes is extensive. His personal relationships are messy and toxic. He has no issue with lying, stealing, or killing. The only reason he decides to pursue the life of a good man is because someone he grew to care for, Oda, had requested it as his dying wish. It’s likely that in stating his understanding of Dazai’s views, or lack thereof, on good and evil, he proved to Dazai that he understood him. This is one of the main factors that convinced Dazai to take his wish into consideration. Knowing that Oda understood his true apathetic nature and still requested this of him convinced Dazai to give Oda’s ideologies a chance. Had Oda not asked it of Dazai, he likely would have stayed with the Port Mafia without much thought to it.

Manipulation is perhaps one of Dazai’s most well known traits. He’s famous for his schemes, his tricks, his ability to transform any person or situation into what he wants them to be. Take Akutagawa for example. Dazai is cruel to him with the interest of moulding him into something the Port Mafia (or himself, later on) can use. He has little to no regard for Akutagawa’s safety or emotions. This is something that, for the most part, follows him into his new life at the Armed Detective Agency. He says and does things to manipulate Akutagawa’s emotions to play in Dazai’s favour. He makes comments about Akutagawa being inferior to Atsushi (‘my new apprentice is superior to you in every way imaginable’), he uses Akutagawa’s admiration against him (ex. The Moby Dick, when Dazai has Atsushi throw the cellphone in order to distract Akutagawa), and he holds the promise of approval over his head in order to get Akutagawa to do things he typically wouldn’t (‘I hope to see you a little more competent now’ during the Cannibalism Arc as he’s told to work with Atsushi).

During the prison arc, Dazai is shown to play a game of chess with Fyodor. It’s obvious what the pieces on the board represent: each piece is a character. Every character plays a role in Dazai’s chess match against the Demon. He’s got his Queen, his Knights, his Bishop, etc. and he’ll manipulate them and the situation as he sees fit in order to win the match. One of the main components to his relationship with Fyodor is how similar they think. Dazai has stated on several occasions that the reason he’s able to predict Fyodor’s actions and plans is because ‘it’s what he would do.’ They share ideas, strategies, and behaviours. Both are prone to manipulation and deception in order to get what they want.

Some other noticeable examples that I’m too lazy to elaborate on but speak for themselves are the scene with the nurse and the phone, the scene where Dazai sends Atsushi to go investigate his own abuser’s death, and when Dazai manipulates Chuuya into joining the Port Mafia.

I’ve touched on deception a few times so far, but I felt it was significant enough to deserve its own paragraph. It’s not uncommon for Dazai to leave out important details, or tell outright lies in order to get what he wants. He lied to most of the members of the Agency about his past for years in order to keep his place there, assuming that they would shun them had they known. His entire personality is mostly a facade, putting up the mask of a silly detective man to avoid being taken too seriously.

He’s prone to apathy, and doesn’t really ever show any characters empathy throughout the series. When Atsushi is having a panic attack, Dazai’s instinct is to slap him back to reality rather than cater to his emotional needs. When Kunikida is upset by the results of his and Dazai’s actions in Dazai’s Entrance Exam, Dazai simply tells him that reality won’t conform to his ideals. After Chuuya is betrayed by the Sheep, Dazai uses his vulnerability to recruit him into the Port Mafia. It’s rare to see him act sympathetic with characters. This does not mean he doesn’t show kindness to them, but he clearly has difficulties empathising with people going through crises.

Along with others, he’s rather uncaring towards himself. Most of the times we’ve seen him in dangerous situations, he’s continued to act carefree and unbothered. When he was captured by the Port Mafia he had no reservations about provoking Akutagawa even though he knew it would cause himself harm. He also has consistently proven that he doesn’t care about his own life. Via attempts and jokes alike, he’s prone to suicide in a way that makes it obvious he holds very little value to himself. This doesn’t necessarily mean that he has a low sense of self, or that he’s insecure. He’s got a very solid opinion of himself. He just doesn’t care whether he’s dead or alive.

While Dazai struggles with all of these, it doesn’t mean he is incapable of doing good. His relationship with Oda was clearly genuine, and he obviously cared for him a great deal. He’s also the only reason Atsushi is alive right now, and he’s taken great care to give Atsushi a decent life. He’s a sufficient mentor for him, and he’s done a lot of good for Yokohama with the Armed Detective Agency. He’s come clean about his past to his friends, and overall has improved his way of life. Dazai has grown from the Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia into a respectable man of justice. He still has moments where his apathetic side will shine through, but he’s clearly healed and developed quite a bit since joining the ADA.

‘Okay cool. So… what about BPD? He could share some symptoms. You haven’t talked about that since the intro paragraphs. Wasn’t this about ASPD and BPD? You suck. Loser.’

I’m getting there! Control yourself. It’s taken 14 paragraphs to get to this point. God forbid I be thorough with my analysis. SMH. Anyways.

Now that we’ve talked significantly enough about Dazai having ASPD, let’s touch on why I don’t think he has BPD. This is a headcanon I’ve seen frequently enough that I’ve formed an opinion on it. Obviously. That’s why I’m writing this essay.

The thing is, BPD relies on emotional instability and a disorganised attachment and sense of self. I don’t see any of that in Dazai. He has a fairly concrete opinion of himself and his identity. His emotional state is consistent throughout the show, excluding a few specific scenarios, and while he seems reckless and impulsive, he’s not. All of his actions are always carefully planned out, even if it doesn’t seem so.

Dazai is well known for his carefree and jokester persona. When he’s not playfully dumping his work on Atsushi or Kunikida, he’s cracking jokes and poking fun at the members of the Detective Agency. It’s not often that we see the mask slip off. When it does, though, it’s almost always when he’s reminiscing over Oda. That, or actively plotting against a formidable opponent he takes seriously. These are pretty normal situations to not be joking around in. The guy is grieving his dead best friend. Not exactly a drastic mood swing. Fairly run of the mill. Outside of this, we don’t ever see him react severely and unjustifiedly. His emotions are always carefully balanced.

(Note, I am aware of the scene with Akutagawa during the Dark Ages. Have patience. I’ll get to that eventually.)

We also don’t see him struggle with abandonment/attachment issues. He has the ‘everything worth wanting is lost the moment I obtain it’ mentality, but that doesn’t exactly prohibit him from forming bonds with the people around him. He’s fairly normal about everyone at the Armed Detective Agency. He obviously cares for Atsushi, and he doesn’t make any moves to push him or anyone else away—or become unhealthily attached, on the contrary—both of which are very common behaviours in people with BPD. He goes to their parties (I can’t exactly remember when, but I’m fairly certain he was there when Poe visited Ranpo during the ADA party, and on the yacht with the infamous ‘to the Stray Dogs’ scene), runs errands and completes chores with them (the Wan episode where he and Atsushi are cleaning lockers together), and makes a point to hang out with them outside of work (the fireworks festival we all know and love/hate).

He doesn’t struggle with his self image. It’s never implied that Dazai doesn’t know who he is or where he belongs. He doesn’t have any internal conflict about whether he’s Port Mafia or Armed Detective Agency; he’s actually quite firm on his stance. He rejects Mori’s offers and requests to return to the Mafia several times throughout the series. He’s secure in his sense of self. He has no issues admitting his strengths and flaws, and he knows who he is and what he wants.

The only time we’ve seen him become angry to the point of an extreme reaction is when Akutagawa doesn’t do as Dazai had wanted in the Dark Ages. He kills the hostages they had taken rather than prodding them for information. Dazai’s reaction, while definitely intense, was neither unprovoked nor unjustified in his point of view. Him shooting the gun at Akutagawa was both a punishment and a lesson. The pressure of a life or death situation was what provoked Akutagawa to finally grasp control over Rashomon in a way that would allow him to use Devoured Space. So while extreme, Dazai’s anger had reason to it.

I also would like to remind everyone that this scene was set during the time Dazai was in the Mafia. It’s understandable for the stakes and punishments to be intense. If a subordinate doesn’t learn a lesson quickly and efficiently, the consequences can range from a mild beating to the fall of an entire organisation. Dazai knew this as well, which is why he wasn’t going to tolerate impulsivity. Also it’s the Mafia. They’re like, known for guns and killing and shit.

Contrary to anger, mania is the state of intense highs, feeling like you’re on top of the world. People who experience mania often feel like they’re invincible, either physically or metaphorically. They may put themselves in harm’s way to prove that ‘nothing can hurt them,’ or risk all their money gambling because ‘they just can’t lose.’ They’re excitable, irrational, and impulsive. Dazai is none of these things. He puts himself in harm’s way to either attempt to destroy himself, or as a part of his plan to get things to play out the way he wants. Everything he does, while it may look impulsive, has a plan. The only thing I can think of within the series where he acts without thinking is in his entrance exam where he offers to drive the taxi for the thrill of the fact that he is actually a terrible fucking driver. If he gambles, he knows he’ll win. If he jumps, he hopes he’ll fall. His behaviour is always carefully thought out. Also he’s consistently depressed throughout the story, so. No room for that.

Now onto everyone's favourite topic, self destructive behaviour! It's pretty widely known and agreed upon that Dazai either does or has self-harmed before. Hence the bandages. He's also very loud and proud about his passion for suicide. This could count, it's definitely self destructive in the physical sense, but I don't believe it's because of BPD. I think the guy is just really fucking depressed. He just wants to die, it's not so much in an ‘I don't deserve good things or comfort’ way. I also want to touch on the more figurative methods of self destruction. He doesn't exactly go out of his way to sabotage himself in regards to his work, his relationships (he fucks with Chuuya, but he just generally enjoys riling him up), or anything like that. On the contrary, we see him actively putting effort into keeping those things stable. (Lying in order to keep his place at the ADA, being active in his social circle, working towards keeping the ADA and Yokohama in general safe.) So, not really self sabotage in a way that makes me think of BPD.

Overall, most of Dazai's struggles or traits fall under understanding empathy, morality, and manipulation. His actions throughout the series are not hard to connect to these patterns, and it doesn’t take much digging to find supporting evidence. All of his characterization leads to the conclusion of ASPD, rather than BPD. He isn't a very emotionally unregulated character, in my opinion. He’s level-headed, well managed, and secure in himself and his environment. The guy just doesn't quite know how to function as a human being with other human beings, but he's trying.

Also no you cannot change my mind. Anyways I've been writing for like 4 hours so goodbye.

[sativaonsaturn]

random sun observations

some of these are based on requests :)

libra sun

great conversationalists! they know how to read a room or even just the person they’re talking to and do a great job catching the vibe so to speak. given that, sometimes they can mirror the people they’re around too. because of this sometimes people may think libra likes them even if they don’t 😭 a lot of times the only way you’ll know how libra feels (especially september) is if they reach a boiling point or if you know them well enough.

they’re great at dressing themselves as well, i’ve never seen a libra who didn’t know how to carry themselves. even if a libra chooses to dress down, they still happen to look put together.

if you’re dating/ pursuing one, (ofc factor in their venus) they typically love love. so (if they really like you) they’re dedicated, love a storybook relationship and will absolutely provide you with that in return. also very diplomatic in any relationship, they want things to be balanced and fair - but keep in mind this depends on their own moral compass, not yours.

capricorn sun

disclaimer! i’ll try my best not to be biased 😭 but i’ve had the worst experiences with them; i have to be honest before i begin.

capricorns are literally the goat, so often they can be blinded by their “horns”. meaning that their pride can make them short sided, especially the men. this can be good sometimes because when a cap goes for something they get it. saturn is about learning from mistakes, discipline; a lot of capricorns go through some real shit before they’re even adults. that being said they are often harder than most and therefore sometimes have a difficult time maintaining interpersonal relationships - they’re often too focused on results and surviving for too long.

often very funny, dry humor. like other earth signs, they tend to just get it. the men tend to spend quite a bit unless developed. they also tend to buy things because they’re 5 star or the most expensive, not necessarily because of the quality. however, great providers and if you are relying on one to get shit done, get somewhere on time, to lead a team - cap is the one because of their tunnel vision and practicality.

aquarius sun

another sign who just gets it. aquarians are the people who laugh at the joke no one got, who catch the little nuances, who actually do like things before they’re cool. i’ve said previously they are one of the most intelligent signs because of how much they observe and how much they remember.

people tend to dub this sign as emotionless but similar to aquarius moon, i think people just misunderstand how they handle emotions as a whole. they need to intellectualize and understand their emotions on a practical level before addressing them. also they’re ruled by uranus, so the way they see the world is always going to be different or abstract. but if you lead with patience, they’re usually open to talking out their feelings/ thoughts - aquas just want to know that you want to understand, that you’re open minded.

very practical and sometimes worry too much. usually on time to every event/ job and great planners because they think of everything. i will note however, that they tend to be very forgetful or reckless until they’re developed. they are often the children who break their glasses a lot or lose their new sweater 😭

as they rule the 11th house (networking), they are wonderful, fun and considerate friends. they make jokes about literally everything (very unserious people 💀) and often give thoughtful gifts because of how observant they are.

leo sun

truly the life of the party, they really carry the sun wherever they go. if it seems like they always have energy it’s because they do, whether it’s natural or manufactured. i’ve found that they can’t be as high functioning if they stay in a funk too long. even if these people are insecure, they will create the confidence.

they often do care about how others perceive them, especially those close to them. this includes leos who are less of the golden retriever type and more of the lioness type. lioness leos are the ones who walk and talk w/ pride, command attention and respect, usually leaders. golden retriever leos are usually bubbly, friends w/ everyone, keeps things light and jovial. sometimes they tend to let things slide or don’t say what they mean because they’d like to maintain their image or aren’t actually as confident as they seem.

much like leo venus, they are passionate and intentional lovers. very thoughtful and compassionate friends too. you want a leo in your life if you want someone who will bring you warmth and a sense of belonging.

sativaonsaturn 🪐🍃

[daandism]

i think there's something i need to say about Daan and this may be a little "controversial" but i'll try to explain it very detailed because it's quite complex. this is a long post.

disclaimer: it's my view, my personal opinion based on canon stuff and everyone can disagree with me, you're free to do so and i love having healthy, polite discussions so, yeah, feel free to ask me too to add or disagree :3

okay, i'll start straightforward: i don't think he's repulsed towards sex and sexual stuff in general. i'll elaborate because it's something a bit hard to understand considering what he went through.

it's 100% true that he hates everything related to religion and gods, specifically Sylvian and he wants to be away from it as much as possible. In my view, his relationship with the act as it is it's deeper and specific, something that his past shaped but not necessarily made him feel disgust if it's a thing he, consciously, want.

HOWEVER, it doesn't mean he wouldn't feel guilty. This topic i talked more about it here and because i already wrote it I won't go much further on his guilt here. To sum up a little: it would feel to him like a "worship" to Sylvian, but i recommend reading the previous post to understand this topic better.

back to what i was saying about his relationship with sex: i believe he's not against it if he wants, if he consent to it; he probably would enjoy it, but the thought of it remembering the Sylvian cult would make him feel bad, not because he engaged in sexual stuff, it's more like a "paranoia" that even he being fully conscious that he's NOT doing it for Sylvian, that he's doing it because he wants, for his own sake, he still feels like he somewhat is doing it "secretly" for the religion

but he won't stop doing something by fault of a religion himself doesn't "believe" anymore and just uses it when it's convenient (for example, in the game he sacrifices organs to Vitruvia to cure debuffs and the magna-medicinal skill is self explanatory)

i fully believe he still struggles with it, with the two feelings inside of him of wanting to engage in sex with someone and thinking it'll may appease Sylvian. these type of feelings can coexist because human mind is complex, people are complex, their relations with such an intimate topic are also really complex. csa survivors have different relationships with their trauma and engaging again with sex. some are repulsed, some aren't and all these feelings are 100% valid.

in Daan's case, for me, he's not repulsed. he don't think it's a bad thing at all. There are these two party talks, one with O'saa and the other one with Levi and i'll elaborate a bit on them.

the O'saa one is quite obvious the thing they're talking about and Daan's implications. this talk also shows more of his mischievous personality and kudos to it. This kind of thing doesn't "cancel" all he went through and his trauma.

the Levi one is another talk that i find interesting because of the speech that triggers the interaction and his reply to Levi. He's the only contestant that mention the "pleasure" possibility on the top floor of the department store and to consider too the people's will to engage in that voluntarily.

however, there's 2 talks with Abella that are really interesting too.

these two, specially the second one, shows his annoyance towards it too, but when it comes to religion and Sylvian. "But the department store isn't a religious place!", true, but there's drawings on the walls that resembles A LOT to Sylvian's sigil. Besides that, there's a huge difference in talking about a sexual-related matter (like the Levi talk) and helping the people who partake in something similar voluntarily (the second talk with Abella). In the first talk seemed like he didn't want to extend the discussion of what the statue shape resembles.

and i can't elaborate all of this post without talking about the museum party talk with Marcoh. that talk is a recorrent topic on my blog so yeah, you'll see that again.

i explained briefly here about the homoerotic implications of this talk and even though this one is pretty shippy, i'm not here to talk about daanmarcoh, this is a Daan post.

we know the suggestion here and it reinforces what i said earlier, that he doesn't has a problem with it when it's something he's willing to do, when desire to do so. He can want it, feel guilty about it and all of that doesn't mean he's not traumatized and out of character.

i believe his complexity of feelings regarding sexual stuff adds tons of impact on his personality, thoughts and beliefs. maybe that's the reason why i don't have the hc of him being asexual, personally i think it doesn't fit him much (i'm ace myself, so pls don't assume i'm being acephobic). of course, i'm not here to talk shit about other ppl headcanons, that's my personal take and i support everyone who has this hc for him, i understand where it comes from and the different views, they're all valid!

sexuality is an important side of Daan's lore and personality and it needs to be treated seriously because it's essential to understand him better. all of his life was, one way or another, related to sexual stuff and his view and feelings towards it matter too. Sylvian is like a ghost that haunts him since his childhood. I'm not saying he's only sexuality, what i'm trying to say is that's a intrinsic part of him and we can't deny it, he can't be summed to this but we also can't ignore the impact of it on his life. it's part of the complexity of his character and it's interesting to think about it.

pretty extensive text i know but i needed to unlock this from my mind's basement and share. i apologize in advance if something i said was confusing or if i worded poorly; i'd love to discuss it too!

thank you for reading and for your patience!

[tin-wufborf]

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 5)

Hi everyone! I am back from brink of death to bring you yet another platter of fic recs. Thank you all so much for you patience and for the continued love you all have shown these posts. I truly appreciate you all.

Also, just in case this has been bothering anyone: you will definitely see more author-diversity and newer fics as I work my way though my bookmarks. I'm working chronologically through my Sterek bookmarks from the oldest to the newest, so that means we're all currently reliving the early Sterek scene together while also getting to experience the moments where I would discover an author whose writing-style I particularly liked and then binged their entire body of work all at once before going back to the main tag's offerings (hence the large number of works by specific authors going on right now). Not sure if that bothered anyone, particularly the point about there being multiple fics from the same authors--people care about odd things sometimes, but I've seen discourse around this specific thing and would like to head it off at the pass--but I thought I'd make a statement about it because I was noticing it and was like "I wonder if this is bothering people...lemme speak on it". And now here we are!

Okay, enough yappin' from me. Let's do this!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20

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i'm just the same as i was (now don't you understand?) by paradis (T | 1/1 | 2,738)

"You're a virgin," Jackson says. "Everyone says you're a virgin." "Everyone but me," Stiles points out. More silence. Stiles thinks he can hear crickets chirping. "I'm kinda cold," he complains. "Well when were you not a virgin anymore?" Isaac asks, perplexed.

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by nightlights the children pray by hoars (T | 1/1 | 2,745)

Scott leaves for ten years and comes back.

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Nothing is as Bad as it Seems by paradis (T | 1/1 | 3,636)

“I know, it’s a shock,” he says. “But there’s more. Your friends– they’re werewolves. And that’s dangerous, Stiles. But I can keep them away!”

“I know they’re werewolves, you idiot!” Stiles shouts

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Stiles Stilinski's Knitting School for the Were, Other-Worldly and Supernaturally-Inclined by TypewriterLove (G | 1/1 | 3,789)

He'd trawled through online pattern directories, before finding something called Ravelry. Drumming his fingers against the desk, he'd hit the "register now!" button.

ScarletNerded's first action on their new account is to look up patterns with "wolf" keywords.

(In which Stiles ends up teaching the entire pack how to knit- which results in werewolves making socks. Alternatively named "Beacon Hills Stitch & Bitch")

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different definitions of good by preromantics (G | 1/1 | 4,259)

The one where Stiles has a fishy sort of excuse for not getting in a boat on the ocean. "Maybe I'm not really into the idea of getting caught by the coast guard on a stolen boat," Stiles says. Which, while not the reason Stiles definitely needs to stay behind, is also a pretty valid reason.

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No Destination by scottmcniceass (T | 1/1 | 5,043)

It's not like they're going anywhere in particular. They're just driving, getting away for a bit. Escaping everything. Together.

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Well Tempered by jsea (T | 1/1 | 5,290)

His fingers start moving almost of their own accord, and it feels easier suddenly. His fingers feel less clumsy, and the music that flows forth isn’t quite so somber anymore. It’s not the happy airy sound he wants so desperately to give to Stiles, but this feels right in its own way. More him. More them.

Or, the fic where Derek used to play piano, and he does again. But only for Stiles.

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we are tangled by drunktuesdays (T | 1/1 | 5,716)

"Derek was at your house?" "For like ten seconds," Stiles said. "I'd say it was weird, but is anything about Derek ever not weird?"

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can't be hateful, gotta be grateful by HalfFizzbin (T | 1/1 | 6,260)

"Be cool, Dad, we've decided to con Grandma."

(Or, the one where the Stilinski men drag Derek to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's and she gets the right wrong idea.)

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Flint and Tinder by rufflefeather (T | 1/1 | 6,781)

"Hi," a voice comes through and Derek really wishes it’d take more than that to know who it is.

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The Alpha to My Alpha by CupcakeGirlA (T | 1/1 | 10,717)

“Derek will kill you. He’ll tear you limb from limb!” Stiles says, scrambling away from him. The Alpha ambles closer.

“No, I don’t think he will,” the Alpha says. “I mean aside from killing a couple of hikers in his territory and doing him this favor, I haven’t really done anything to Hale. Once I’m gone he’ll probably be happy with the gift I’ve left for him.”

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Derelictions of Duty by Regann (T | 1/1 | 10,846)

No one wants to be the bearer of bad news to someone as nice as Sheriff Stilinski -- especially when he's your boss. That's why none of his employees want to be the first one to tell him about the scandalous goings-on between his only son and the former murder suspect Derek Hale. For all of their sakes, hopefully the Sheriff will find out all on his own...

(Or, 5 times a Beacon County Sheriff's Office employee witnesses the unique relationship between Stiles and Derek but neglects to tell the Sheriff and 1 time he witnesses it for himself.)

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Going, Going, Gone by paradis (M | 3/3 | 12,296)

The Sheriff comes up to him after the services. "I don't believe he's dead," he tells Derek.

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Promises aren't Meant to be Broken by paradis (T | 1/1 | 12,463)

“Thanks for saving me,” Stiles blurts out, staring up at Laura, wide eyed.

Laura grins. “I like you,” she says, “we’ll be friends.”

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powerful in-scent-ive by kellifer_fic (T | 1/1 | 14,533)

Stiles holds up a hand, because he really can't listen to the bites-are-all-right speech that Derek has given Scott dozens of times. "Dude, don't."

"Look-" Derek tries again, oddly persistent.

"Derek, man, my worst nightmare is not me getting bitten, it's him. It's always been him."

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Strangeness and Charm series by hoars (4 works | NR-M | 14,744)

The Gypsy AU

1. for the way this animal love, lurches monstrous up my chest (M | 1/1 | 2,481) “Strangeness follows the Romani, what is a little more?” Elder Travj asked. That was the night Derek’s pack began to follow the caravan; a night marked by fire and loss. 2. wanting to make you happy and warm and unafraid and free (M | 1/1 | 4,022) "Laura called you a thief." Derek breathes into his neck. "And what did the she-wolf call you?" Stiles asks. "She called me a gypsy." And Derek does not sound wronged. He sounds insecure and of longing. "Then perhaps she finally speaks truths." Stiles says. "I am a thief and you like me, a Roma." 3. these places will have to substitute (NR | 1/1 | 2,229) (Interlude) “The chovihano is harmless to Derek.” Mother says. “I assure you, Miss Laura, Stiles would not hurt Derek.” The shaman says. “Stiles cares greatly for your brother.” But still. Something in her is screaming, howling and growling. 4. for the grunts and the screams we extract from each other (NR | 1/1 | 6,012) It doesn't make sense for the lunatic to be eating people but biting others. All evidence but for the mass grave indicated the lunatic had been recruiting, building a pack, not finding a meat source. Werewolves, even lunatics, weren't prone to cannibalism. “It's a true sign of madness.” Derek says, as if repeating something he’s heard a dozen times since he was a child. "The mark of the beast."

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You Make Me See How Much I Have by paradis (T | 1/1 | 16,943)

“You’re lucky you got here now,” he says, “Ten minutes – maybe you could get your –” there’s a crash before he can say get your daughter, and Stiles resists the urge to either slap his hand against his face, or slap Derek, because no one ever understands how difficult it is to have a kid in the store by themselves unless they’re also parents.

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Past Imperfect, Future Conditional series by elisera (3 works | T-E | 17,311)

1. Necessitate by (E | 1/1 | 3,888) Derek’s juggling the kids -- Noah hanging off his back, Ella standing on his foot while holding onto his jeans with a death grip and both of them still talking up a storm about their day at kindergarten -- and two bags of groceries in his arms that evening when the sight of Stiles standing in the backyard makes him weak in the knees. Stiles is in profile, ranting on his phone to Scott about the contract negotiations for the new construction on the Peterson property, and there’s a flush on his face, his ears pink and his mouth red from where he keeps biting it but the worst thing, the absolute worst thing is the round curve of his stomach, straining against the tank top he liberated earlier in the week from Derek when the heat wave hit and none of his own fit him anymore. It’s going to be stretched to hell by the time the kid is born but right now Derek can’t find it in himself to care. 2. The Weapon You Choose (E | 1/1 | 12,029) When Noah trudges down the backstairs that morning, he finds Dad sitting on a step halfway down and chewing on his knuckles, watching Papa making coffee like it’s a special on the discovery channel and not an almost daily ritual. Anyway, Noah needs the car on Friday; he might as well make nice so he sits down next to Dad, jostling his shoulder with his own in greeting. Dad raises an eyebrow, mirth in his eyes and his mouth curving around the knuckle stuck in it. Papa grunts just then, still trying and failing to open the tin with the ground coffee in it and Dad head snaps around, once again riveted. Noah rolls his eyes hard but he guesses people who’ve been together since the dawn of time need to get their fun wherever they can find it. 3. Pancake Wolves (T | 1/1 | 1,394) Stiles is on his third cup of coffee when Derek tromps down the stairs. He looks at him over his shoulder, taking in his barely open eyes and the pillow creases on his face, unable to keep from smiling at him. Derek yawns widely and just keeps going until he can wrap his arms tightly around Stiles’ waist and lean against his back, letting Stiles take his weight.

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Jurisdiction series by elisera (3 works | T-E | 19,897)

1. Jurisdiction (M | 1/1 | 7,025) John is a pretty level-headed guy. He wasn’t always, back during his own Sturm und Drang period, but he married a firecracker of a woman and got a kid with an affinity for trouble like he got payed for ending up in it, so someone had to level out or they would’ve ended up living in a treehouse or Lapland doing god knows what. Anyway, getting a hold of his temper is one of John’s better life achievements. It makes him a good sheriff and it kept him from blowing his lid too badly those last two years when Stiles started acting out in a way that John had never seen before. But the temper is still there. He’s reminded of it when he comes home on a random Saturday in March after spilling his milkshake all over his uniform shirt only to notice he didn’t have a spare in the station and finds Stiles bend over the kitchen sink with hunched shoulders. 2. Life With Werewolves: A Beginner's Class (T | 1/1 | 2,836) Five times Sheriff Stilinski was really through with werewolves and one time he wasn’t. 3. Life With Humans: The Stilinski Edition (E | 1/1 | 10,036) “You still smell weird,” Derek says, pressing his nose against Stiles’ armpit, trying to figure out what about Stiles’ scent still bothers him so much. Stiles slaps his head and Derek nips the soft skin of his inner bicep in retaliation. “I,” Stiles says, still panting and shivering from his orgasm, “do not smell weird, you weirdo. Maybe you should take your nose in for a checkup, it’s clearly out of whack.”

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red series by hoars (3 works | NR-E | 32,156)

1. Festival of Red (E | 1/1 | 11,592) “See? I need my daisy crown or I won’t get Chased.” Stiles frowned. “And then I’ll have to do it again next year. I really don’t want to do it twice.” The good and the bad of getting Caught this year included not having to do it again and the bad was he’d have a werewolf mate for the rest of his life. Stiles is seventeen. He has a lot of life to live. Unless his wolfy mate has no sense of humor or a temper. Those with no sense of humor and tempers tended to hate Stiles the most and wouldn’t that suck? Being tied to someone for the rest of his life who hates him. That actually sounds like his type of luck. “You’ll be fine.” Allison beams because she’s a sweet person and can obviously read Stiles like a picture book aimed at toddlers. 2. Navigating our Marriage (NR | 1/1 | 8,316) The squeal to the bride-hunting fic that involves moving, emancipation, a family feud, a baby shower, a list of reasons and a magic cat lady. 3. Families: Eternally Messy (NR | 1/1 | 12,248) The third installment to the bride hunting fic that now involves pregnancy then babies, adult looking responsibilities, epic fails and proof no one picks their family.

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